#requism

POV | not accepting

Zoe Murph.y! You’ve seen her around in years past, being sound tech for basically every school event that involved the auditorium. You barely knew her, but you admired and respected her from up in the sound box. You very much preferred to be out of the spotlight, but Zoe really seemed to like it.

Upon meeting her, though, your admiration turned to affection, as you soon realized just how kind and sweet she was. Her dumb jokes made you laugh, not because they were funny (they really weren’t), but just because it was her telling them and seeing her happy made you happy. You’d text each other memes and old vines that made you both laugh, hang out more and more often, enjoy each other’s company.

Zoe was sweet, she really was. She cared about you a lot--you weren’t sure why. You weren’t worth it, why should she expend that energy? But she cared about you, helped you when you needed help, even if you didn’t want help. You really did love being around her, even if you felt a bit guilty, and you considered her a close friend.

april 2014, september 2015.

“what are we?” “....”

⌠ mutually assured destruction ⌡  any situation or course of action which ensures the total eradication of all parties involved;  an ode to the monster i am.

► ( + kjungsj  ) 01. bloodsport, raleigh ritchie. // 02. fourth of july, fall out boy. 

► ( + aiiaska ) 03. angel 2 me, mckay & jeff bernat. // 04. honey bee, zee avi.

► ( + requism ) 05. crazy in love (remix), beyoncé // 06. i wanna be yours (slowed), arctic monkeys.

► ( + incarnos ) 07. everybody wants to rule the world, lorde. // 08. $ting, the neighborhood. 

► ( + apostello ) 09. ballad of mona lisa, panic! at the disco. // 10. time is running out, muse.

► ( + chiwendi ) 11. mistakes like this, prelow. // 12. bff, mike jay.

► ( + chrstxan ) 13. thanks for the memories, fall out boy. // 14. i don’t want to be in love (dance floor anthem), good charlotte. 

☠  five times my muse thought about hitting yours, and the one time they did.

i.

they meet at a black tie party, one that he’s been assigned to guard, it’s all part of the job. it’s monotonous, people with far too much money up their asses to even pretend to be nice to those whom they deem beneath them. it’s an undercover job to protect the city’s richest, ironic that they’ve invited a killer himself to the celebrations. information is on this particular man is scarce, but clearly placing kieran in the same room as him changes the game altogether. people are too naive for their own good. but it’s also what has him in a black vest over a pressed white collared shirt, a bowtie at his neck and linen over his arm, holding a tray of champagne flutes that he’s dying to down. 

the throbbing in his temple is only amplified tenfold when a balding old man decides that tripping a waiter— him— would be a great conversation starter. he’s quick to regain his balance, but the small group of people that he’s joined by is already snickering, some outright laughing and whispering “good job herald", “put them in their place”. his teeth are gritted, but the amicable smile never leaves his face as he bows profusely, spluttering apologies in the least sarcastic way he can manage. they ignore him, and he’s relived, at least he doesn’t have to deal with their wrinkly asses. 

with head tilted down slightly, he offers them the glasses of champagne which they snatch greedily. there’s someone that stands out amongst them, someone that doesn’t quite fit in. he’s presented in a form that’s not dissimilar to the other guests, formal attire, hair slicked up stylishly— basically everything that screams money. but there’s a glint in his eye, something that flashes momentarily before it’s hidden under a guise once more. the look is directed to him. he can’t help but narrow his eyes at the aforementioned male, who’s now hiding his smile at the edge of the glass of champagne. their eyes meet and it’s a battle of wits, no one’s about to look away first. he keeps his pride, and it has him tilting his chin up in silent challenge— it’s unlike him to get so riled up over a complete stranger, but there’s a sinking feeling in his gut, this meeting will not be their last. it doesn’t stop kieran from wanting the slap the smug smile off his face.

ii.

their next encounter is not long after. his blood is still singing, and he’s riled up in ways that he can’t even begin comprehend. the couple of seconds of eye contact that they shared is enough to leave him fuming for some reason. perhaps it was the way that the dark orbs seemed to bore into his, as if all his secrets were laid out for the other male to see. it has him gripping the sink, cool porcelain under his fingers the only thing that’s keeping him from punching the mirror, shattering it into oblivion. his eyes are squeezed shut as he wills the anger within him away, lips pressing into a thin line and a silent mantra repeated in his head. he has to calm down, has to be professional, has to get around to collecting and gathering any information that could be of use to him. his heart thumps in his ears but it gradually slows to the norm, blood pumping less vigourously. 

adam’s apple bobbing once, twice, thri— water’s running. eyes flutter open and his neck is snapped in the direction of the source of noise. the serene smile that he had managed only after much coaxing falls. it’s him. guard up and jaw clenched, but unable to tear his gaze away, kieran stares holes into the side of his face hoping that the hateful look will have him incinerated, out of sight. the smile on the male’s face grows wider, but he’s not facing kieran, only looking at him in his peripheral. it pisses him off to no end, the power that he thinks he has over kieran. the tick in his neck intensifies but he forces himself to turn on his heel and leave. the water stops running but the clench of his fist does not go away.

iii.

it’s a sick twist of fate, like the gods are toying with him, shifting things so they’d meet again. and so they do, he’s starting to think that it isn’t a coincidence. maybe they’d been subconsciously seeking each other out. in any case, it leads to them bumping into each other yet again and at this point, kieran’s seething. he can’t focus— his target forgotten as he tried to unravel whatever this person is. subtlety is key and he’s learned, past assignments putting him at what he thinks is a much better stand point as compared to the other male. but he could not have been more wrong. they both play the same game. but the misjudgement and underestimation goes both ways, they’re like dogs trying to chase each other’s tails. it fuels his frustration and irritation, that’s what it does ( at least that’s what he convinces himself: it’s not intrigue or curiosity, no, no no. ). nails dig into his palm, veins protruding on pale skin as he watches on from across the room. but it’s as soon as he turns that the very same eyes that he’s been watching turn towards him, observing. the cycle repeats itself.

iv.

he forces himself to focus on the task at hand, scouting out the person that he came here for. a name is what he needs, something that he can match to a face— two of the things that he needs in order for justice to be served ( well, his version of justice ). but there again, it’s him, now talking and laughing with the person that he so desperately needs the name of. is he somehow out to sabotage him? it’s weird, how they seem to be chasing after the same person, and now kieran has another reason for wanting to punch his lights out.

v.

delicate fingers pour a fine powder into a glass of champagne— one that he served moments prior. he doesn’t miss anything.

vi.

the party is cut short for obvious reasons. a dead man on the ground is not a sight to behold, although he can see poorly hidden smiles from even the widowed. they’re all too busy “grieving” to notice one of the guests leaving, the heels of his dress shoes clicking against the marble flooring of the ballroom. they don’t notice the shoes that trail after his either.

he has the male pressed up against a wall, fist in his collar and the other raised in silent threat. the smirk on his lips indicates what kieran already knows is true. a lump forms in his throat— he must have an inkling as to what kieran does too for him to be as calm as this.

“hit me”, the words ring clear in his ears and he doesn’t hesitate to throw a punch, one that lands squarely on his jaw, one that bruises for weeks.