#notyourlie

       ‘ if you are ever told to run in a loud authoritative voice -- i’d advise listening. ‘

          he enters the kitchen quietly, sweatpants handing low on his hips, a hand rubbing his bare chest. the same hand moves to the back of his neck as he yawns, a shiver moving through him. he rolls his shoulders, working the sleep out of his body. each muscle aches, back making a satisfying POP ! as he stretches. it’s late in the morning ( 12:34 p.m. to be exact ), but he had a LATE NIGHT. ❝ willow ? ❞ he calls out, voice still THICK. ❝ c’mere. ❞

d o i t

        “WHY IS IT you’ve become infatuated with me all of a sudden ?? I can see you staring from a mile a w a y.”

          he’s fucked --- or at least it feels that way. he can’t go back, not now. if the boss seems him all fucked up like this, shit.. he won’t see the fuckin’ light of day again. seeing rhys beaten, bloody && bruised is a red flag. he fucked up a job, he SLIPPED UP. the thug knocks weakly at willow’s door, shaky hands fumbling with a cigarette as he waits. he’s leaning beside the entrance, grimacing. when the door opens, he tries perking up. ❝ hey, darlin’ ! y’busy ? maybe got a band-aid t’spare ? ❞

          ❝ you FUCKED up, darlin’. ❞ rhys takes a seat, leaning forward to allow elbows to rest on knees. he lights a cigarette, tossing the pack && lighter to the side. as he takes a drag, he watches the woman quietly. the silence is nearly too much to bear, so he breaks out in a grin and gives her a light NUDGE with his foot. ❝ y’came back ’n didn’t tell me. i missed ya. ❞