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Cyra smiles and places a cold pack in Huey's hands, "It helps with anxiety." She says before sitting down next to him, "Now, talk to me." She smiles, "I know, I'm Elliot's sister, but I promise, I'm not gonna harp on you for whatever's going on. This isn't the time."
- ✩ 「 @double-knots 」 ✩
「 ☆ 」 Huey wordlessly takes the cold pack, too tired to argue against it... Besides, it wouldn’t do any good. Like Cyra had said, this isn’t the time. Yet Huey doesn’t do much with the pack besides fidget. Fingers squish and toy with the cold surface, the duckling’s troubled gaze focused on it but not appearing to see much of anything. Huey doesn’t appear to even CONSIDER doing anything else with the pack. Not out of stubbornness— however believable that would be —but because his mind is far too busy to spare the thought.
His arms feel too heavy... the rest of his body not faring much better.
So, he just pokes at it... feeling the chill start to bite at his palms as he sucks in a deep breath and finally admits out loud the one thing that’s been weighing heaviest on his chest.
❝ I think... I need to break up with Elliot. ❞ 「 ☆ 」
For your OCS: What is the one thing people assume about your oc that they wish was true?
I feel like this would be an interesting question for Shawn. On the outside, people can assume he is a fairly well-off guy that came from a wealthy family. He doesn't spend left and right with no self-control - he's a businessman at heart who knows how to handle money. However, that doesn't stop him from enjoying the higher things in life since he can afford it. He dresses nice and classy, he owns a sportscar, has a nice apartment that overlooks the city, every hair in the right place upon his head, and etc. He refuses to look run-down and bad.
True, the money comes from less than stellar means, but people don't know that at surface level. Truly, he is big deal within his organized crime ring that was passed down to him by a close colleague and almost father figure on his deathbed.
He WISHED the assumptions and rumors were true, He wished he was born in a well-rounded family. Wished he wasn't born surrounded by bad decisions, inadequate supervision/affection, and being exposed to the horrors of drugs so young. He wished his parents were normal and didn't have to be arrested.
In fact, he wished he could've kept his sisters together beside him, because he spent SO long taking care of them and protecting them from their parent's neglect.
But at the time, he was still a child ,with no way to support them on his own, and allowed them to get taken by child services. Meanwhile, he ran off to a gang since he felt he had a sense of belonging there.
“If you won’t pay attention to me, then can you at least pretend to do something important?” Hiccup says with a small smirk, his hand brushing against her side.
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Kaito leans against the table, debating on if he ought to approach. Taro said to “just go for it”. The boy had caught his eye months ago now, and Kaito had spent too much time analyzing, watching, waiting. He had every social media Hazu had ever made bookmarked on his phone, he had his entire schedule memorized. It was bordering on something past obsession. Not that Kaito was obsessing, of course. He was on his medicine daily.
It was just the fact that Hazu had the right gene, of course. It wasn’t a conscious thing that Kaito could control. He could control many pieces of this puzzle, and the current piece was finding a way to get Hazu into Kaito’s personal space. Into his social bubble. Make it so that Hazu wouldn’t leave.
At least, that was the idea. Similar to what had happened with Taro, of course.
So, please explain, how— HOW Kaito ended up placing a soda can down next to Hazu, a bit too forcefully, crunching the can just enough to pop it open, and spray soda in his own face?
The dark drink drips down his face, the entire front of his uniform now soaked, and orange-ish pink locks also dripping into his face. “….” Kaito’s mouth opens as if to speak, only to shut again.
“… I should go.” Kaito finally manages, just barely above a whisper.
- ✩ 「 @double-knots 」 ✩
「 ☆ 」 Hazu is used to being alone.
It’s his fault, honestly. He knows it is... He’s alone because he’s too scared to try NOT to be. Because he’s such an unbelievable coward that he can’t even comprehend taking any steps, any RISKS, to change that. Because the threat of rejection, the pain of hatred, is such a well-known sensation by now— settled deep within his skin, marring it with bruises both seen and phantom —that all he can bring himself to do is try to mitigate it as much he can. Even if it means hiding away, disappearing into the background ( not that it makes much difference, rumors and occasional run-ins with ‘ disapproving ’ peers still a large part of his life ) and praying that he can make it through the day without so much as eliciting a THOUGHT.
The Sewing Room is a good place to do that, even if it only serves as a beginning and end to his school day. A sanctuary to try and settle his mind, prepare his nerves for the start of another ordeal and then, blessedly something to look forward to if it proves to be as horrendous as Hazu’s instincts assures him it will be. Even if it’s a decent day, it’s calming to settle back into the room he feels safest in before having to return to an empty home. Sometimes Hazu wonders how a place so quiet and barren of life could feel vastly different than the one he dreads returning to. But it does... It’s bright in a non-assaultive way, sunlight streaming through the windows, gently painting the room in a warm glow.
Reflecting off the desk, ebony fabric of the half-finished uniform stands out beautifully, lulling Hazu into a dreamlike haze as he stitches by instinct. Patterns that he’s done plenty of times before, the ache in his chest lessened at the thought of providing the school with something it needs. Of being USEFUL to someone; to many someones, a stack of folded uniforms beside him acting as a testament to how busy he’s been the past few days. So engrossed in his work, he doesn’t realize he has company until a can is slammed down upon his desk, Hazu’s hands fumbling at the surprise, jolting the fabric from its steady trek and tangling his stitching.
Shoot... That’s going to take some time to correct.
But Hazu doesn’t even notice that, nor how dangerously close his hands were to meeting the business end of the machine’s needle. Yelping at the intrusion, Hazu abruptly turns in his seat, haphazardly grabbing the edge of the desk to keep himself from falling backward, wide eyes riveted on the other student— oh no, a name isn’t coming to mind —as his chest struggles to bring in enough air to counteract the frantic POUNDING of his heart. Adrenaline shooting through his small form, he feels as if the air was stolen from his lungs, all the words he’s ever known snatched from his mind and replaced with nothing but useless static.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit, SHIT— Oh.
The soaked stranger speaks and Hazu has an out-of-body experience, lasting only a moment, an objective view into the utter MESS that’s been unleashed upon his safe haven. Not plagued by the panic of being caught off-guard by a disaster— small-scale, but still disastrous —Hazu’s chest now clenches with the secondhand-panic of what it must be like to be drenched in soda after what was very clearly a misguided move. Hazu would be humiliated. He’d be in near-tears. He’d want to crawl into a ditch and DIE... He wouldn’t have had the strength to muster a single word, let alone a sentence, whispered as it may have been. But most importantly, he’d want some help. Want someone, anyone, to make everything feel a little less horrible.
❝ W-WAIT! I-I mean, please wait. Don’t— Don’t go, please... ❞ Hazu clumsily begins, knocking his chair back as he hastily stands up, waving his hands in front of himself as words frantically pour out, ❝ You’re soaked— Which, you probably already know. Since- it happened to you, but um— I have— That is, I was making— I... Uniforms.... ❞ Words fade the more he speaks, trailing off into awkward silence as Hazu nods towards the uniforms stacked on the desk, thankfully spared from the sticky soda that had assaulted the other. No longer looking at the taller male, Hazu searches through the clothing, focused way too intensely on it in his effort to will away the nerves at having someone else looking at HIM, ❝ You can wear one, if you want to... I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’m, uh— pretty good at guessing sizes... It’s kinda a useless talent but I guess it’s coming in handy now so..... ❞
Sheepishly looking down at the ground, gaze hidden by his bangs but clearly not looking at the visitor from the lowering of his head, he holds out a folded uniform, ❝ I have others if the fit isn’t quite right... So, please- feel free to tell me. ❞ 「 ☆ 」
(( *CRASHES THROUGH THE WALL* YOU are a good writer! *grabs you* Hella amazing muses and writing and aesthetics— I have a million things stashed in my drafts to write for you and i regret literally None of It fdjkgndfjkgdfgf ))
