#pcisoned

aspen: I know i said I wasn’t gonnaget drunk at this event but

His eyes have just shut when he hears Nixon’s voice, low and soft, drifting to him from across the few inches between them. It’s well into the wee hours of the morning, though the passage of time doesn’t mean much to him when he’s with Nixon; days and nights could pass while Aspen wiles away the time with him and he wouldn’t even notice the difference — and if he did, he wouldn’t care. To Aspen, this, what they have — love seems too arbitrary a word — is the only thing in all his lifetimes to ever matter.

Aspen blinks the sleep from his eyes and levels Nixon with his low-lidded gaze, a smile tinged with a warmth reserved only for his lover tugging at the corner of his lips. He watches Nixon search his face in hopes of predicting his answer before Aspen voices it himself, but his poker face has always been impeccable, and this occasion is no exception. 

“In other lives?” Aspen murmurs, fatigue slurring his words. Even for a practiced liar such as himself, he struggles to deny the truth of their extraordinary circumstances: that Nixon has never once failed to come to him in every life, and that Aspen has never once failed to seek him out — that he would die before forsaking his endless search for the other half of his soul. Not a day goes by that Aspen doesn’t get on his knees and thank God — or perhaps fate — for bringing Nixon to him again and again, in any form or fashion. There isn’t a version of him that Aspen hasn’t loved, unconditionally, with his whole heart.

Eventually, he manages to piece together an answer, although it certainly isn’t what he wants to say. We’ve met in every life, Aspen yearns to tell him, and we always will. He wants to say, I would move heaven and earth for you, travel any distance, overcome any obstacle. Tentatively, he extends his arm to ghost the tips of his fingers along Nixon’s jawline before resting his palm there, thumb tracing the familiar — god, so painfully familiar — swell of his lower lip. Of all the things the universe has given to and taken from him, Nixon is the only one that has ever made a difference.

“I think…” He sucks in a deep breath, his fingers slipping deftly into Nixon’s dark curls. His heart thrums earnestly in his chest, rhythmically beating out his lover’s name with every flutter against his ribcage. Nix-on. Nix-on. Nix-on. 

-  i’m not unhappy to be alive and most of my life i couldn’t say that.[sms]: Being with you makes me happier than any man has ever been.[sms]: I exist only to love you as much as one person can possibly love another.

-  we’re soulmates.[sms]: No matter how many times I hear that, it will never get old.[sms]: I have loved you in every life I have ever lived, and I will love you until time itself ceases to exist.[sms]: My soul and yours are two halves of a whole, mio amore.

Aspen pointedly ignores the dirty look shot his way by the librarian when he snaps his gum for the umpteenth time in a row, her beady eyes boring into the side of his skull while he blatantly disrespects one of the most basic rules his school has set out for their students. Chewing gum in the library should earn him a day’s detention — two if he mouths off about it, which is pretty much guaranteed. At this point, though, the administration barely bothers reprimanding him for harmless misdemeanors like smacking his gum or turning up to class a few minutes tardy. Most of them have learned to simply let him have his way until it becomes too disruptive to overlook any longer.

If anything, she’s probably wondering why he’s here in the first place. The library isn’t one of his usual haunts — far from it — and Aspen wouldn’t give it more than a passing glance if his math teacher hadn’t threatened to make him repeat the class, effectively keeping him from graduating if he doesn’t bring his grade up. School is low on his priority list, to say the least, but he knows his mother will only put up with so much degeneracy, and not finishing school on time, wasting an entire extra year he could be dedicating to serving their family full time? Unacceptable. 

The name of the tutor they gave him didn’t ring a bell, but that doesn’t surprise him. Outside his tight-knit group of friends, Aspen has never made much of an effort to be social, nor does he care to. Once he finishes school, with any luck, that’s the last he’ll see of these people. 

The sound of a chair scraping pulls him from his thoughts, and Aspen blinks up lazily, blowing yet another bubble with his gum. The boy standing in front of him looks vaguely familiar, and Aspen’s sure he’s seen him in passing at some point. He looks too young to be teaching Aspen anything, that’s for certain.

sms › meatloaf 2

     our father

sms › meatloaf 2

     then maybe you should stop fucking bailing out all the fucking time     bitches hate that shit     you and keith are fucking worthless

sms › meatloaf 2

sms › zippy

     wHO IS SO HOW WHERE TELL ME  EVERYTHING

sms › zippy

    is it w the hot dude or like???? pls don’t be a date w your own hand...

sms › zippy

  Instinctively, Dove stops. Not because she wants to or because she doesn’t want him to, but because of the order. The way Deacon’s voice commands her so easily when her mind is focused on even the most benign of tasks rattles her. A girl so used to being in control of her engagements floated loftily along, pulled by invisible strings by a man she wasn’t sure saw her as more than a puppet to be played with.

  Her lips part slightly, her naturally fuller bottom lip swollen from her gnawing, and she debates giving him a snarky response. Snark for the sake of snark. But the words don’t come to the surface. As she watches the light from the television flash across his profile over the tub of ice cream clenched in her hands, she comes to a better plan. One that makes her insides coil before she even acts.

  Spooning a bit of ice cream into her mouth, she lets out a soft moan of appreciation, one that was most definitely not as innocent as enjoying her ice cream, in a dedicated effort of drawing his attention back to her. Forcing him to acknowledge her instead of the program they had been so engrossed in moments before. As soon as his gaze is trapped, she sucks her lip into her mouth and slowly draws it out. 

  How could words scorch her on such a molecular level? It was so simple - it looks good on you. A compliment you could throw at a stranger on a pleasant afternoon; a throwaway bundle of words that could tossed to the wind to be left meaningless. But they weren’t meaningless, not to Nyssa. He could have told her that he liked her pencil and she would have looked at him with the same doe eyes, swooning over words that meant the world to her.

  If she didn’t stop staring soon, she was going to lose her nerve to say anything at all.

  She tore her gaze away from him, looking down at the deep, dark cherry silk hugging her frame, the dress that was so laboriously chosen amidst an assortment of gowns she never would have picked for herself. It was snug, like a second skin - a new skin - and revealed patches of skin that would make her parents blush (it was already making her blush). But it was chosen for a reason, perhaps the most important one of all.

  “It’s soft,” she blurted, fumbling in her attempt at coming up with anything to say. Compliment him, she argued, but her throat was tight and her heart was hammering way too fast for this exchange. Wouldn’t it be nice if she could call a time out and dart back into her room to gather her thoughts and formulate a script? If hours in front of the mirror hadn’t done it, a time out in the middle of the game wasn’t going to. 

  “I wanted you to like it,” she admitted, finding her voice, “You could take it off.” She bit down on her lip, refusing to look at him until after the words had been dragged out of her, sounding painfully humiliating to her own ears. What if he said no? What if he laughed in her face? What if he thought she was an idiot for even suggesting it? It was too late to take it back and she was already trying to find ways to do exactly that.