#brcckens

        Who knew that Hadley would actually miss losing sleep at the hands of her neighbour? God, she hated that she was standing here, pounding on Perry’s door waiting for him to answer, but she hasn’t seen him for nearly a week, and, despite the quasi-irritation she pretended to feel every time he spent the night with his girlfriend doing sappy romantic shit like dancing and singing and laughing she missed the nerd. Something clearly happened, and being the gracious neighbour slash best-friend slash pain in the ass she was, it was time to pull him out of his funk

         “Perry, come on,” she huffed, “I know you’re in there. Mrs. Goldstein is going to report me as a noise disturbance to the landlord if you don’t open up in the next five minutes, and then you’ll owe me another donut. We both know you can’t afford to fall further down that rabbit hole.” She paused, waiting for a sign of life from the inside and huffed when all she was meet with was quiet. “Plus, I was working cash today which means I’ve been on my feet for hours so I need you to take extra pity on me and my ugly blue polo shirt.”

        Still nothing? What the fuck? Time to change tactics.

at least once a week, usually on tuesdays, atticus gave blaine an evening alone with the kids without his imposition. or, at the very least, that was his excuse for it. and he didn’t need an excuse, either, because he was free to do as he pleased and he had no reason to feel guilty for getting what he needed elsewhere. blaine would never love him, and atticus had long since accepted that; still, he felt like he needed to be discrete about his indiscretions, as if he was a bad person for chasing that little bit of escape. like he didn’t deserve some kind of relief. so. shrouded in the idea that he was doing blaine and rosie and ollie a favor, once or twice a week, atticus went out.

it was all very routine. he went to the same bar every time. he ordered the same amount of drinks--not enough for him to black out, but enough to numb the thoughts that always ran rampant through his mind. he picked someone out--usually a guy, almost always with dark hair and olive skin--and fucked them in the bathroom or in the alleyway. sometimes, blaine’s name would fall from his lips if he went past his drink limit. sometimes, he’d go in and have just a couple more. always, he left before the other could ask his name. always, he only managed to just get out the door before the guilt set in.

blaine didn’t care what he did. no. atticus was the babysitter, the comfort zone, the rock. but atticus didn’t feel like he deserved a night off. no, he felt like he was prometheus, bound every day to this life of being unloved and worthless and unable to escape no matter how desperate he was to be free. (it wouldn’t be off to call him melodramatic; still, he felt entitled to complain, at least in his own inner monologue, about the hellish situation he’d managed to get himself into.)

like every night, atticus took the time to shower and change into sweatpants before he crawled back into blaine’s bed, tucking himself under the covers. as always, he was still a little drunk, still a little horny, and still very much unfulfilled. still, he was aware enough to notice that blaine was awake next to him, and he sighed. “i’m sorry if i woke you up--should i, uh. go back to the guest room?”

Send “✉” for a text that WASN’T SENT. 

                                        UNSENT TEXTS : OZZY

That crystal collection though 😍😍😍