#ofecho3s

IT HAD TAKEN PETRA NO TIME at all to fall into step with the lazy sundays. she wouldn't have guessed it a year ago — that the chaos of them, conflicting with everything she knows about herself, would find a way to fit so perfectly into her life after all. it's why she's now parading around in julian's t-shirt and nothing else, waving an empty tub of moisturizer in the air as she enters the living room. « so i know for a fact this wasn't empty two days ago, » she announces, an attempt at being stern melting away as she looks at them both. it's damn near impossible to not smile at how lucky she's been, no moisturizer aside. « and i'm not naming names, but one of you's got glowing skin. » her gaze settles onto oliver for a beat longer.

HE FEELS STUCK IN SOME DREAM, the wonderland he has written so many lyrics about. wanderlust has always been so prominent in hudson that he'd started to believe he'd never find a home anywhere — and now he has it. her. their apartment is nothing to brag about it, between the leak under the kitchen sink and the suspicious crack in the bedroom wall, but it is theirs. hudson enters the living room to find her, the door creaking as he opens it, and the handle rattling on the verge of detaching itself completely from the door. « i'll fix that, » he announces to narin with a sheepish smile. he can list at least twenty other things he has identified and promised to fix in the last week, but all of it seems so trivial in the grand scheme of things. he is here. and she is here with him. he plops down onto the couch, arms wide open. « come here. »

BEING IN A BAND IS DOING irreparable damage to her ear drums, but tobi couldn't be happier about it. she bounces over to sage right after their last song ends, guitar still strapped around her body as the others start packing up unenthusiastically. none of them have ambitions of making it big, but it's always a reality check to come down from this high and land back in the vocalist's parents' garage. « is there an alarm going off or is that in my head ? » she questions, letting out a grunt as she falls down onto the empty seat next to him. « i could kill for a burger right now. »

GUILT IS ALWAYS THREATENING to spill right out of him. he's always been wired this way, always attempting to pay off some debt that doesn't exist, always making sure those around him have an abundance of things they do not necessarily need. what else is the point of doing what he does ? as he lies on his couch, dejected, foot held high on a tower of pillows, he can't fight the feeling that he's letting everyone down. and still, lily is here and the world may not be so bleak after all. « you don't have to stay if you have somewhere to be, lils. it's just a stupid sprain, » he attempts nonchalantly, but the thought of them leaving is more painful than the faint ache in his foot.

SHE HAS TO STOP ENTERTAINING the idea of dating. it has never led to anything but disappointments, and still the thought of going home to her own cold, shitty apartment alone makes her desperate for momentary heat by someone's side. it's not surprising to find herself stuck outside some gas station after her latest conquest had decided to take off on his stupid motorcycle. it's admitting defeat to text lily to pick her up, but she's out of other options and would meet judgement everywhere else she looks. she's sitting on the curbside hugging her knees to her chest when the sound of a motorized vehicle that is certainly not a car cuts through eerie silence. she looks up at the familiar figure that comes into view, and momentary relief is soon overshadowed by confusion. « oh, for fuck's sake. where's lily ? »

SHE'S AWAITING HIS RETURN, the way she so often does. time stands still here and the other deities find it to be suffocating, but hestia has never known anything else. time stands still, but so does she — why would she complain ? she's curled up on the chaise lounge, the fire crackling pleasantly in front of her, and she doesn't even realize she's fallen asleep until she feels the shift underneath her, a second body settling in next to her. she tilts her head, looking up at hermes — the flush in his cheeks, the pink of his lips. he's always beautiful, but even more so when he comes from the land of the living. « hey, » she coos gently, sitting up to regard him with a beam. one hand lifts to flick away a piece of hair from his face. « you're late, » she teases. time stands still here, though never quite as still as when they're apart.

HE DOESN'T FOLLOW RULES, except for the one he's made for his time on earth — do not fight the mortals. even here, in this form, he is much stronger than most, and he has visited prison enough times to deduce that he holds no fondness for it. so when his devilish smirk and wandering hands had agitated someone's boyfriend, thiago finds himself reduced to a crouching figure on the curb. he presses a bag of ice cubes against his cheeks, a parting gift from the club he's sat in front of. he senses her long before he sees her — she's never far from his peripheral vision — beaming as he glances up at her. « what is it they say ... you should see the other guy ? » he muses, though his split lip tells a different story. « do you think i can still get a sympathy shag ? » not from her, of course. she's onto better things tonight, and that rarely involves him.

HE KNOWS HIS FATHER'S RAGE; has stood on the receiving end of it more times than he can count; sees it in the mirror staring back at him on days that are particularly bad. troye has become an expert at outrunning the ghosts that chase him, but this is one he cannot shake, especially not when he's back to living with it. he is no longer his father's favorite punching bag though. he finds the other out on the balcony, the one part of the house charles won't venture when he's drunk and angry. troye isn't sure what drives him to be here: the urge to confirm that he's no longer the only person in this house to know what it's like to feel a fist that can cradle and hurt, or the urge to lick similar wounds. either way he hands sunny an ice packet quietly, averting his gaze from the way red is blooming on the other's cheek. « does he do this often ? »