#emnesias

             ❝        —     izzat  any  way  to  greet  an  old  pal  ?      ❞           it’s  a  tepid  reception  at  best   ,   not  quite  the  cold  shoulder  but  hardly  the  welcome  wagon  she’d  been  anticipating  .     clearly  some  resentment  still  lingers   ,   and  perhaps  rightly  so      —      after  all   ,   she  had  left  @emnesias  high  and  dry  not  even  six  months  ago   ,   riding  off  into  the  sunset  with  her  pockets  lined  and  a  plane  ticket  already  booked  .        (     but    .  .  .    in  harley’s  defense   ,   she  did  send  him  a  postcard     )  .         cue  the  roll  of  baby  blues   ,   an  exasperated  huff  slipping  from  rouged  pout  .

it's rare man lets himself be distracted from job at hand . but burden felt heavy upon broad shoulders and the gentle hum of the bar seemed a necessary intrusion into preoccupied mind . tired eyes of blue survey their surroundings , taking in whatever detail seemed interesting . gaze falls upon man he felt almost flushed to look at , and eyes stay on him for perhaps just a little too long . i don't have time for that , mind repeated over and over , like a chanted mantra .

but to feel , pleaded heart .

a deep breath , moment of courage needed as he pushes himself off barstool and wandered over to @emnesias' side , rusty being an understatement . " can i , uh. . . can i buy you a drink ? "

the floral arrangement had caught him terribly off guard —— a gift entirely unexpected. not that he'd expected anything at all ; and it's only as the bouquet is passed in his direction , offered out towards him until his own hand grasp bundled stems , that he even remembers what day of the week it was. ( he hadn't entirely forgotten the holiday. ) no , it was impossible to do so with constant reminders at every corner he turned. the entire world seemed to love making such a big deal out of the money spending tooth rotting month , more than the actual act of love itself [ ... ] but this must be how affection deprived girls feel when receiving a kind gesture every once in a blue moon.

⁽ ᴿᴼᴳᴱᴿ ⁾       …       ‘    asked by @emnesias :          send a number for spice : 3 !     ⁽ ᴼᵁᵀ ⁾

in the light of the early morning that flows through the windows of james’ kitchen, i strip myself of my shirt and tie, throwing them over the counter  &  not bothering to pick them up when they fall. i barely notice the host of the party walk in, tending to his wounds and moving to the sink to grab himself a cold cloth and a moment of reprieve; i’m far too busy examining the injuries of my own to pay any sort of close attention. i spend time prodding at my own skin, gliding my fingers over great purple welts that only make me inhale sharply through gritted teeth. against my ghostly skin, they’re grotesque. horrifying. i guess i’m lucky not to have broken bones or a swollen eye but blood still drips from my nose  &  my lips are sore from being nicked by some geezer’s wedding ring, colouring them maroon. it’s disgusting. it’s so fucked up. it hurts. i can’t look away. 

─   but i do eventually. look away, i mean. after a few seconds, seeing your body like this is just sad. embarrassing, even. i resolve to replace that feeling by drowning in a pool of vexation, breathing hard as my hands move from my bruises to the damage that peppers my mouth. i come to the conclusion that it doesn’t feel too bad   ─   they’re soft, tender   ─   and when i pull away only a light sprinkle of blood comes away with it. a sigh of relief escapes me though there’s still a twinge of discomfort:     “   fuck.   ”

i forget that i’m not alone. i’ve been celebrating my pity party for so long that i’ve hardly given any sort of acknowledgment to my friend who was also caught in a wave of cuss words and flying fists. i should really thank him   ─   not right now, but soon. when i think the time is right. just because i got us into this mess doesn’t mean i owe him anything. he did of it his own accord. the frustration begins to settle in my face through the means of furrowed brows and i find myself being rough with my body. i hastily wipe my face with the back of my hand, i pull off my belt and drop it to the floor, and i ignore the grazing feeling of bruising taking form on my ribs. i could’ve handled it, if you ignore the bleeding under my skin and the coarseness of my throat. 

he grabs me by the arm and i groan, remembering  ( albeit painfully now, thank you very much )  that he’s been stood by my side all this time. it’s poetic, it’s stupid; there’s something to be said here about two people who are unable to stray from each other despite the bad luck that seems to stalking them. i don’t have the right words for it and james doesn’t really give me the time to attempt to think of any   ─   before i know it, he’s wiping at my face with the clean edge of the cloth he had been using earlier, and he’s being oddly gentle about it. i hold my breath so i don’t give him reason to suffocate me with it. or worse. 

i watch him clean me up. he moves with such grace that i don’t feel him run the tips of his fingers over my biceps, finding more sore parts under my skin that have yet to make themselves known with splashes of grey and green. in fact, i don’t even know he’s doing it; my attention was undoubtedly his, and it came with such intensity that everything   ─   all annoyance, all pain, all distrust  &  unfamiliarity   ─   i held in my muscles seemed to disappear and i relax, almost leaning into james completely. i don’t think he notices. i’m thankful for that.

when he moves to reach past me, grabbing a handful of bandages and anti-septic, i notice how his eyes aren’t entirely blue like i had originally thought. they’re a little grey, a little brown, a little green. they’re an interesting accumulation of colours and definitely not the kind you’d typically sing home about but they were still beautiful in the way that thunderstorms were. this discovery throws me off my original train of thought. i’m confused. yet, i stand by it.

i realise then that i’m not holding my breath so i don’t distract him or say something that i’ll regret later. i’m not holding it to stay still and avoid the consequence of a wavering hand. i’m holding my breath because i’m worried that, if i don’t, he might also realise what he’s doing. it’s like he’s running on autopilot and i daren’t disturb him. is it selfish that i don’t want this to end?