#ofhenry

king: kinda feels like old times doesn’t it?

he wasn’t sure how he’d managed to make it into calloway without much fanfare. it was the first time he’d actually been on campus since getting back, and there was one person he had to see before anyone else. he asked an unfamiliar face where her room was, and followed their directions until he stood there, hand poised to knock, closer to her than they’d been in three years. he gulped, his fist trembling as it hovered, until impulse won out and his solid knock echoed through the empty hallway. he dropped his hood as the door swung open, hand bracing against it before she could close it again. “please don’t slam the door in my face,” he said, teeth catching on his bottom lip. “i mean, i won’t blame you if you do, and i definitely deserve it, but -- please don’t.” | @ofhenry​

and this ain't high school / why is it icy, spicy, dirty looks?

his eyes were drawn to her as though by magnetic force, and he shouldered his way through the crowded bar until he reached the counter. without saying anything, he set his phone down in front of henry, face up and opened to their text thread. “okay, so, what the fuck is going on?” he asked, though his voice lacked the usual edge it had around her. years of picking at each other had made him acutely tuned into henry’s facial features and body language, and if the location and her inebriated state on the phone hadn’t given it away, her entire persona did. “did i miss the truce or something? i really don’t recall a ‘cease fire’ text.” | @ofhenry​

Please unfollow! 

sunglasses still on his face, king pinched the bridge of his nose. he had to get used to the fact that he wasn’t 21 anymore, even if being almost 26 wasn’t that old. drinking to keep up with the younger students wasn’t something he could feasibly keep doing without expecting a hangover, and if that made him “grandpa king” as he’d been dubbed by some of his classmates, well…he may as well just buy a pair of bifocals and dye his roots gray. but at least his standing coffee date with henry brought some relief, as he switched back and forth between the his drink and the large cup of water the guy behind the counter had so graciously given to him ⁠— whether it was out of pity or flirting was anybody’s guess. he was early, as usual, and his eyes found henry the second she walked in. their newfound friendship still felt weird sometimes, though it had been a month or so since the night he picked her up from the bar. he supposed a month couldn’t quite erase a lifetime of vitriol fueled by their parents’ feud, but they were making it work. and if he knew henry peters at all ⁠— which, he liked to think he did ⁠— he was about to have a lot of explaining to do for their text conversation from the night before. as she approached the table, she looked normal, he noted, which could only mean one thing. “so, was i right?” he asked when she sat down, sliding her usual order across the table to her. “did blond gumby end up crawling back like i said he would?” he took a calculated sip from his coffee, eyes steady behind his sunglasses. “you don’t look like shit, so i can only assume.” | @ofhenry​