#short!!

small skirt and top, keychains and phone charms that clack against eachother, cute little handbag, rings and bracelets and a necklace stack (one of which you'd find looks identical to the thin silver chain shoko has tucked into her shirt). you are the complete opposite.

so when you know she's up in her office, signing off packs of documents and typing up e-mails to god knows who, you decide to pay her a visit.

"hi, sho!" you chirp, phone tucked between your chin and shoulder as you dig through your purse.

shoko smiles. she was hoping you'd give her a call, tired of meetings after meetings. leaning back in her chair, she answers your call.

"hi, baby," shoko hums.

"can you tell your receptionist to let me up," you crinkle your nose.

you don't like her new receptionist, shoko assumes, chuckling as she reaches across her desk to connect to the front desk. "can you let my girlfriend up?"

"y-yes ieiri-san! sorry for the confusion."

"she let you in, sweetheart? ijichi's on leave for a week." shoko leans back to mutter into her phone. she wasn't expecting to see you today.

"hmph. i already told her i was on your list, sho! and it was supposed a surprise," you whine, tacking on another hmph.

"sorry, baby. it was still a surprise though," and now you're standing at her door, your frustration melting away into a grin at the sight of your girlfriend.

"i'll have to call you back, sho," you whisper, "there's a really sexy woman in here and i just have to speak to her, maybe makeout a little," you giggle.

"it was nice speaking to you, sweetheart," shoko says in a conspiratorial whisper, "let me know how it goes, yeah?"

you both hang up, laughing. you drop your things on her guest sofa before walking to her, arms out.

shoko pushes her chair back, making space for you to climb on.

"hi sho," you whisper.

*

Like Real People Do

*

Michael had been beneath the desert for so long he'd almost forgotten his name. He certainly didn't remember air or water.

When the cool night air hit him for the first time in what felt like centuries, he was surprised that it tasted so sweet.

Then he saw the face above him, tear stained but long dry, a look Michael recognized from before he was buried. A desperate bid to escape. This man didn't look like his mother, though Michael thought they were both beautiful.

The man reached down and pulled him from the sand, frantic questions pouring from his mouth. How long had he been there? What had he seen? Was he okay? Hello?

Michael merely shook his head, sprinkling them both with the dirt still in his hair. The man held up his hand, so Michael bowed his head, and he gently brushed the rest out for him. When he was done, Michael caught his hand and kissed the back in gratitude.

Alex. His name was Alex. He stammered it out, and Michael responded in kind with his own name and kissed his hand again.

But he had to stop doing that, because Alex nervously asked him to. Michael squeezed his hand and relented.

Alex's eyes darted around, constantly evaluating their surroundings, but Michael couldn't care less about the desert, not with this man right in front of him like a whole oasis.

Could Michael stand? Could Alex take him somewhere?

Alex could keep him forever as far as Michael was concerned. He didn't quite have his legs beneath him and happily leaned on Alex as he guided him home.

Alex had dozens more questions, and Michael would've been happy to answer them had he known the answers. Fortunately, Alex could clearly tell he was doing his best. There was one question Alex didn't ask, though, even in the coming days and weeks and months: where did he come from?

He didn't ask, so neither did Michael. After all, they were together now, so what did their past matter?

*

"I had a thought, dear," Michael said.

"How scary," Alex teased.

Michael smiled, but continued, "About that night in the desert. Why were you digging? What did you bury?"

Alex looked down, paling faster than Michael had ever seen.

"I already know," he said quickly. "I knew that look. The same as my mother's. I know that she was a good person, and so are you."

"Thank you," Alex said quietly, though he still didn't look up.

Michael reached for his neck, traced up it and then down his jaw to his chin. He didn't force him to change his gaze, simply tapped his thumb there. "We could just kiss."

Alex smiled slowly and finally looked at him. "Like real people do."

She’s the you you were supposed to be. Tyrian. Pink. A princess, adored, beloved, murdered over. You fucking hate her fins, her gills, the gold and silk she wears, her long hair. She smells like saltwater and lipstick. Her hair is soft in your fist.

She called you shitblood and bit your lips, and you slammed her against the wall when she came back with lips stained rust. Her hair tangles around her horns when you throw her down, and she kicks your legs out from under you, snarling that you’re a disappointment. You want to kill her. She holds your arms when you kiss her again, one leg pressing between yours.

Matt had his hands on Ryan’s face massaging and manipulating his cheeks with his thumbs. Ryan had his hands on Matt’s hips keeping him in close and letting him sway from to side to side. They weren’t really dancing but they did stand swinging and enjoying their presence. Ryan’s eyelashes got on Matt’s face and their lips lightly dusting on each other’s. They didn’t kiss but they where breathing on each other’s lips and chins. Matt’s face was red and Ryan had heavy eyelids stuck on Matt. There was blood going to each other’s faces; chances are it was the few glasses of wine they previously had.

“Hey.” Ryan said.

“Hey.” Matt said.

“Come here often?”

“I live here Ryan.” Matt twisting the hairs on Ryan’s face gaining a sharp sigh from Ryan.

“Playing hard to get with me Matty boy?”

Matt couldn’t help but chuckle, “I’ve been dating you for two years you big goof.”

Time: 1 am

Location: Alleyway

Closed to: @ofhoratio

Blood on his hands. Blood in his hair. On his shoes, his pants, his shirt, a splatter on his face. What a mess. And Orion had always prided himself on his mastery of an artful slide, the smooth nicking of an artery so the bleeding was slow, clean, away from his clothing. But tonight–

He might have been a bit excessive.

As he flicked a piece of flesh off his shoulder (an ear? the man’s cheek?), he regretted it instantly. He quite liked this suit.

Footsteps by the mouth of the alley. And Orion turned,  hand already drawing his gun. While he preferred the intimacy of a knife, he wasn’t a fool enough to arm himself with just a blade. Not when the situation had the potential to escalate to bullets.

Hector.

Orion’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.