#thread farley 1

There are indomitable forces in the universe that are simply beyond explanation. For example — how is it possible that despite the vastness of New York City and the propagation of what must be over a thousand nightclubs, Lightning Surannawat finds himself once more under the same blare of scarlet lights as the demonic bastard who has ruined his life over and over again? He spots them across the hazy sea of inebriated individuals as though knowing they were there by instinct, a figure so unmistakable to him because it has belonged to him for some ten years now. Or, well, it had belonged to him — because according to their last fight it would be their final fight, that Lightning would sooner kill himself than willingly see Farley’s face ever again.

Funnily enough, Lightning would be found half-dead the next day, and really, it was an accident of arrogance more than anything else: an ardent belief that he could always handle more, being himself a god and entirely invincible, fuelled by a gluttonous desire to inundate himself with sensations in order to escape the fear that it might actually actually be their very last fight. And the next few weeks were a blur — he doesn’t know how he got to the hospital, he doesn’t even know how long he was out, but when he awoke his younger sister was there giving him the tongue lashing of a lifetime, telling him that he was to return home the moment he was released by the hospital, and that was when he had snuck out of the hospital and, well, run into hiding. That was a month or two ago, and now he had returned to New York City.

And almost immediately, the inexplicable forces of the universe that have never allowed the two entwined souls to part for too long once more manipulated the paths of their fates, for better or for worse. Lightning doesn’t approach Farley immediately: the right time will come. It always does. This time, it comes when Lightning steps through the door to the terrace to smoke. He never carries cigarettes with him, always reliant on the generosity of drunk fools. He is faced with the ever-piercing gaze of Farley Erskine Corcoran IV, and there is always something about looking them in the eye, because the emotions rush to Lightning’s chest and throat, that intense yet familiar taste of acidic rage and pitless hurt and fiery passion all at once, something that the other has always without fail evoked in him. It is an addicting feeling. He has almost missed it.    

“Did you miss me?” Lightning asks, his tone mocking, without a doubt meant to irritate and provoke, stepping into the space in front of Farley as though this space were his to seize as he desired, as though nothing has happened and the other belongs still to him and him alone. Without caring to ask for permission, he slips his hand into the inner right pocket of Farley’s suit jacket, drawing the ever-familiar cigarette case from within. His tremulous fingers fumble with the clasp, taking several moments to open the case. It is even a struggle to take a cigarette out of the case and bring it to his lips, and both of them are well aware enough of why that is. Lightning waits patiently for the other to light the cigarette that dangles from his lips.