#elle2

DAY THREE | evening

Hopeful.

It wasn’t a familiar feeling-- his relationship with it tenuous at best-- but it had begun to sink its claws into him all the same. He hadn’t realized until this weekend that the walls he’d built around himself had been nothing more than a cage. He’d spent his life battling feelings like his own personal demons and now that he’d given himself permission to follow this nameless whatever, he wondered why he’d spent so long running from it all, hiding from it in the lines of a song, in the first place.

He’d been hit with that tugging feeling in the pit of his stomach, that unquenchable feeling of restlessness he usually felt when there was a song living inside him he hadn’t given life to yet. So, he’d found himself here, in the vast, white, frozen fucking tundra, with one of the two remaining blunts he’d rolled for the now-extended weekend resting between his fingers. 

He should have felt the cold more acutely than he did, but he felt almost numb to it now. That was probably not a good sign, but he wiggled all his fingers and toes as a little check-in with himself and they all responded, so he figured he was good for now.

Bringing the blunt to his lips on a long inhale, he heard the crunching of snow beneath light steps and nearly tossed the blunt into the powdery white landscape before him before he remembered they couldn’t really do shit about it. Were they gonna call the cops? Good luck with that.

He was prepared with something snarky when his eyes settled instead on familiar blonde locks. “Elle Reynolds,” he greeted her like a guest of honor, the tension leaving him in a single exhale. “It’s an honor and a privilege.” He bowed at the waist and took another hit before he nodded his chin in her direction. “You never told me. Lemurs versus monkeys, what’s the verdict?”