Myles couldn't steady his breathing, and he still kind of wanted to yell or push her away or something, but Ivy made it impossible. It wasn't fair. He did know, and he loved her too. That was why they could only trust each other. He couldn't accept that she would ever love anyone else more.
"If I hear anything weird-" he said, voice dipping lower, almost to a whisper. "If I hear anything, I'm gonna come in there and-" Blow his head off. Stab him in the eyes like Ivy had done to Tirzah, and for a couple seconds, he wouldn't even care about the consequences.
"In the morning, he's gone." They didn't have to argue further. Ivy had said just for the night.
When the sun was up and Ace was gone, Myles wouldn't even remember how it felt to be upset like this.
who is the lamb and who is the knife?
PM For Entry! Day 9, Post Announcement
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
It was hard not to hide that smug sense of victory when Myles put down the gun and relented.
It was even harder when he threw a temper tantrum and Ivy had to go off and play nurse maid. Shit, the sight was so over the top that Ace didn't even mind Myles pickin' up the shotgun. Ace didn’t want to judge people on reputation (shit, look at his situationship with Ivy)—but fuck, Myles was a Drama King. Reputation well earned. He pouted and he screamed and he postured and Ace could do very little but hold his head down, grab his bag and play it cool. Myles wasn't 'bout it and wasn't gonna do shit. That little exchange had proven it.
Ivy brought with her a certain confidence to Ace's actions, it was true. Ivy loved Myles, that was true as well. Ace knew that. But, Ivy liked and wanted him, didn’t she? That was the difference, wasn't it? A lot of the time it was easier to like someone than it was to love them. It was always easier to want someone than it was to need them. That was an advantage Ace had over Myles, like it or not--he knew Ivy in a way that Myles simply did not.
That shit mattered, like it or not. Everybody knew it, from Myles to Meilin to Ace and Ivy both. That's why Meilin had felt betrayed and Myles felt annoyed and Ace had felt guilty. At the time. For a long time after. Until he added bigger sins to his list.
That guilt that had been so paralyzing and uncomfortable—it faded quickly into the darkness of his core. Ivy comforted Myles, shadows in the dark. Garren did his Garren thing. Ace walked towards his bag picked it up and put it on his shoulder. He felt the weight of his supplies and the BR-18. Just as quickly as he had lost his weapon, he was again locked and loaded.
He should’ve felt powerful. He had just had a gun to his back and hadn’t backed down, had talked his shit the whole way and stood tall. He had come in to this house through the front—and now he had a place to stay and a familiar face to be by his side at night. Warming his bed. Myles would be out here pissed and lonely and Ace would be in there cuddled up with the Prom Queen. Ace didn't feel powerful--he felt petty. It still felt good, it almost felt like a victory.
Out here, you took those where you could.
“You tryna go back to sleep?”
And as fucked up as it was…
Saying that felt like a victory too.
It was even harder when he threw a temper tantrum and Ivy had to go off and play nurse maid. Shit, the sight was so over the top that Ace didn't even mind Myles pickin' up the shotgun. Ace didn’t want to judge people on reputation (shit, look at his situationship with Ivy)—but fuck, Myles was a Drama King. Reputation well earned. He pouted and he screamed and he postured and Ace could do very little but hold his head down, grab his bag and play it cool. Myles wasn't 'bout it and wasn't gonna do shit. That little exchange had proven it.
Ivy brought with her a certain confidence to Ace's actions, it was true. Ivy loved Myles, that was true as well. Ace knew that. But, Ivy liked and wanted him, didn’t she? That was the difference, wasn't it? A lot of the time it was easier to like someone than it was to love them. It was always easier to want someone than it was to need them. That was an advantage Ace had over Myles, like it or not--he knew Ivy in a way that Myles simply did not.
That shit mattered, like it or not. Everybody knew it, from Myles to Meilin to Ace and Ivy both. That's why Meilin had felt betrayed and Myles felt annoyed and Ace had felt guilty. At the time. For a long time after. Until he added bigger sins to his list.
That guilt that had been so paralyzing and uncomfortable—it faded quickly into the darkness of his core. Ivy comforted Myles, shadows in the dark. Garren did his Garren thing. Ace walked towards his bag picked it up and put it on his shoulder. He felt the weight of his supplies and the BR-18. Just as quickly as he had lost his weapon, he was again locked and loaded.
He should’ve felt powerful. He had just had a gun to his back and hadn’t backed down, had talked his shit the whole way and stood tall. He had come in to this house through the front—and now he had a place to stay and a familiar face to be by his side at night. Warming his bed. Myles would be out here pissed and lonely and Ace would be in there cuddled up with the Prom Queen. Ace didn't feel powerful--he felt petty. It still felt good, it almost felt like a victory.
Out here, you took those where you could.
“You tryna go back to sleep?”
And as fucked up as it was…
Saying that felt like a victory too.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
"Yeah."
She nodded at Myles. One night. She'd be selfish to ask for more, and she was selfish, but not enough for this. His threats were thinly veiled, but she didn't mind them. There was something inherently funny about imagining Myles protecting her from big scary Ace; that shotgun was way too big for him. It was sweet of him, anyway. He meant it with love.
She wanted to reach out again, but she'd pressed her luck already. She glanced at Garren, who, bless him, was clearly unprepared for all of this. She nodded again.
"Goodnight," she said softly, aimed at them both. "Sleep well. Get me if—um."
If anything happens felt like it was inviting trouble.
"If you need me."
Her eye locked onto Myles's for one breath more before she turned around. The bedroom door was still open; she followed her feet back the way she'd came, Ace following behind, overly aware of the eyes at her back until the door closed behind her. Darkness settled in quickly, the thin light from the flashlight under the door barely illuminating the room in outlines. Not like there was much to see, anyway. Just a couple of bags and a bed.
The tension drained from her immediately, and in its place the pain that fear had kept at bay crept back in. She immediately became aware of how long she'd been on her feet—half an hour or less, yes, but that was far too much. She swayed and stumbled on her first step toward the bed, stopping to catch her breath. The slicing pain in her skull made everything else poor competition. She took another step.
"Yes. No, just—in a bit," she mumbled indistinctly. She could think thoughts when she was back in bed.
"Watch, um, careful. The floor." She was fairly certain Garren had taken care of all of the glass, and Ace had shoes on, besides, so it didn't matter. She was just making words to make them. Another step. Painkillers, maybe, they took the edge off a little, but the effort required to take them seemed like too much to bear. Her breathing had been so steady, up until this moment. She'd really wanted so badly to be the strong one, just for a minute, hadn't she?
"Ace," she murmured, like she was tasting it. "You're really here."
She nodded at Myles. One night. She'd be selfish to ask for more, and she was selfish, but not enough for this. His threats were thinly veiled, but she didn't mind them. There was something inherently funny about imagining Myles protecting her from big scary Ace; that shotgun was way too big for him. It was sweet of him, anyway. He meant it with love.
She wanted to reach out again, but she'd pressed her luck already. She glanced at Garren, who, bless him, was clearly unprepared for all of this. She nodded again.
"Goodnight," she said softly, aimed at them both. "Sleep well. Get me if—um."
If anything happens felt like it was inviting trouble.
"If you need me."
Her eye locked onto Myles's for one breath more before she turned around. The bedroom door was still open; she followed her feet back the way she'd came, Ace following behind, overly aware of the eyes at her back until the door closed behind her. Darkness settled in quickly, the thin light from the flashlight under the door barely illuminating the room in outlines. Not like there was much to see, anyway. Just a couple of bags and a bed.
The tension drained from her immediately, and in its place the pain that fear had kept at bay crept back in. She immediately became aware of how long she'd been on her feet—half an hour or less, yes, but that was far too much. She swayed and stumbled on her first step toward the bed, stopping to catch her breath. The slicing pain in her skull made everything else poor competition. She took another step.
"Yes. No, just—in a bit," she mumbled indistinctly. She could think thoughts when she was back in bed.
"Watch, um, careful. The floor." She was fairly certain Garren had taken care of all of the glass, and Ace had shoes on, besides, so it didn't matter. She was just making words to make them. Another step. Painkillers, maybe, they took the edge off a little, but the effort required to take them seemed like too much to bear. Her breathing had been so steady, up until this moment. She'd really wanted so badly to be the strong one, just for a minute, hadn't she?
"Ace," she murmured, like she was tasting it. "You're really here."
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
“Somehow,” he managed to say softly, “Someway.”
He looked down on the floor to avoid looking at her too much. Not that he could see much of her anyway. In many respects, she was what had made this whole experience real to him. She had been the first person he had found on this island—battered and bruised. They had spent so many nights leaning into one another and relying on one another. They kept special batches of kindness and intimacy reserved for each other against better judgement and advice.
It was strange and strangely human, but so was this situation, right? That was the big lesson he had learned, wasn’t it?
He used to think that people rose to the challenge of trauma and that the struggle built strength. The struggle didn’t build jack shit. The only thing the challenge brought was challenge. They didn’t build you up, they just revealed who you already were. Deep down inside. The version of yourself that even you deny.
He rolled his duffel bag off with a thud and laid it next to lump in the dark he assumed was the bed. It would be quick and easy to grab—a bigger gun with more ammo. Myles wouldn’t get the jump on him again. Nobody would.
He couldn’t help but laugh in his head—he had said that after he had run into Tirzah. That was just who he was, right? The last time was always supposed to be the last time.
Speakin’ of which.
“Lemme help you, c’mon…,” he muttered, an old habit, forged in the fires of fear, “Alright? Grab a hold of me—one, two, thre—”
He lifted her up bridal style and she wrapped her arms around him and pushed her body close. It was all so familiar and not so long ago he had convinced himself that it was so damn wrong. It didn’t feel like that. He missed it. He felt powerful but not scary. He didn’t mind it—fuck, he really liked it. He didn’t even care that it was a lie. Shit, he knew he was lying to himself.
“What the fuck happened…?”
He knew, Garren had told him as much in the little he had told. He still wanted her to tell him. It wouldn't really be real until he heard it from her. It was hard to truly understand until he knew what the fuck happened. It was stupid and it was selfish and those had never been big enough reasons to stop him before. They weren't about to start doing so now.
When he reached the bed, he gently and carefully laid her down within it. Then he stopped and he hesitated, because no matter how much had changed--some things just never would.
He looked down on the floor to avoid looking at her too much. Not that he could see much of her anyway. In many respects, she was what had made this whole experience real to him. She had been the first person he had found on this island—battered and bruised. They had spent so many nights leaning into one another and relying on one another. They kept special batches of kindness and intimacy reserved for each other against better judgement and advice.
It was strange and strangely human, but so was this situation, right? That was the big lesson he had learned, wasn’t it?
He used to think that people rose to the challenge of trauma and that the struggle built strength. The struggle didn’t build jack shit. The only thing the challenge brought was challenge. They didn’t build you up, they just revealed who you already were. Deep down inside. The version of yourself that even you deny.
He rolled his duffel bag off with a thud and laid it next to lump in the dark he assumed was the bed. It would be quick and easy to grab—a bigger gun with more ammo. Myles wouldn’t get the jump on him again. Nobody would.
He couldn’t help but laugh in his head—he had said that after he had run into Tirzah. That was just who he was, right? The last time was always supposed to be the last time.
Speakin’ of which.
“Lemme help you, c’mon…,” he muttered, an old habit, forged in the fires of fear, “Alright? Grab a hold of me—one, two, thre—”
He lifted her up bridal style and she wrapped her arms around him and pushed her body close. It was all so familiar and not so long ago he had convinced himself that it was so damn wrong. It didn’t feel like that. He missed it. He felt powerful but not scary. He didn’t mind it—fuck, he really liked it. He didn’t even care that it was a lie. Shit, he knew he was lying to himself.
“What the fuck happened…?”
He knew, Garren had told him as much in the little he had told. He still wanted her to tell him. It wouldn't really be real until he heard it from her. It was hard to truly understand until he knew what the fuck happened. It was stupid and it was selfish and those had never been big enough reasons to stop him before. They weren't about to start doing so now.
When he reached the bed, he gently and carefully laid her down within it. Then he stopped and he hesitated, because no matter how much had changed--some things just never would.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Ivy wasn't asking for help, not really. It seemed sort of pointless to act prideful in front of Ace of all people, who had seen her at her lowest points before today; she wasn't sure if pride was really the word for it, though. Things had changed, in the last five days, more than just the obvious things she could pinpoint, injuries and murders and dead friends. She still clung to him, when he picked her up, and for a moment it was so familiar that her heart clenched sweetly, her head on his chest. If she closed her eye she could smell the water a million miles away.
The wrong body, the wrong boy. She knew what she wanted him for, anyways. It was fine.
He lowered her into bed and her wounds pushed into the old mattress, but the relief was still palpable. She could barely see him in the dark, but he was still there.
"It's a long story."
She reached for his hand.
"Come to bed and I'll tell you."
The wrong body, the wrong boy. She knew what she wanted him for, anyways. It was fine.
He lowered her into bed and her wounds pushed into the old mattress, but the relief was still palpable. She could barely see him in the dark, but he was still there.
"It's a long story."
She reached for his hand.
"Come to bed and I'll tell you."
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
The last time was supposed to be the last time--but he had said that the last time. And the time before that. And once more before that. So fuckin' what? Who was counting? Not like it was on camera for the world to see or nuthin'.
"Yeah."
He kicked off his shoes, grimy once white Adidas. He crawled into bed with her and quickly they got into familiar position, her head resting against his bare chest. The rough bandages contrasting against her soft pink hair. They were battered and they were bruised, both worse for wear and missing non-essential appendages (depending on who you asked). They were still together in whatever twisted definition of that word they had managed to manufacture in between states both lucid and ludicrous,
He thought of Meilin, who had died for him even after knowing who he was. Who had her heart broken by a few teenage dudes who couldn't keep it in their pants. Nick, Lucas and Ace. They were alive and she was dead. She was buried in a shared grave and Ace was out here sharing a bed with the girl he had cheated on her with--less than a week after her death.
But, someway, somehow, through the death and the killing that had followed him for the past week--since Ivy had walked out that Infirmary door--Ace found himself feeling okay. He laid in bed next to Ivy and he stroked her hair and he looked at the darkness of the ceiling. He felt at peace. He felt good. Something that felt that good, couldn't be that bad.
"So...?"
He was an idiot.
"Yeah."
He kicked off his shoes, grimy once white Adidas. He crawled into bed with her and quickly they got into familiar position, her head resting against his bare chest. The rough bandages contrasting against her soft pink hair. They were battered and they were bruised, both worse for wear and missing non-essential appendages (depending on who you asked). They were still together in whatever twisted definition of that word they had managed to manufacture in between states both lucid and ludicrous,
He thought of Meilin, who had died for him even after knowing who he was. Who had her heart broken by a few teenage dudes who couldn't keep it in their pants. Nick, Lucas and Ace. They were alive and she was dead. She was buried in a shared grave and Ace was out here sharing a bed with the girl he had cheated on her with--less than a week after her death.
But, someway, somehow, through the death and the killing that had followed him for the past week--since Ivy had walked out that Infirmary door--Ace found himself feeling okay. He laid in bed next to Ivy and he stroked her hair and he looked at the darkness of the ceiling. He felt at peace. He felt good. Something that felt that good, couldn't be that bad.
"So...?"
He was an idiot.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
He was so warm.
Her head laid on his chest, her hand resting gently on his stomach, they had been here before. All she could hear was their breathing and his heart, and when she looked up at him he was looking back. He looked tired and nervous and exactly the same. She couldn't imagine what else he could have been.
How had they gotten here?
Ace. She knew him too well for someone she barely knew, thought she grasped something in him she hadn't even grasped in herself, though that much was just the drugs talking. She'd thought about him more than she'd like to admit, these last few days. But she'd left him herself, on what she wanted to call her own terms, as though Meilin hadn't forced her hand, as though she wouldn't have clung to him for every moment he'd let her if Meilin hadn't turned up. He'd asked her to stay but he hadn't followed her. It wouldn't have been hard, if he'd wanted to, but he hadn't. And she'd thought to herself the next day how convenient it would be if she died, how much easier it would make things. She'd thought the same about Bret. It would make things so much easier, she'd thought, if she saw Wyatt again.
She hadn't meant it. It didn't count. It still happened. Meilin, Bret. Wyatt. Like a bad joke at her expense. What did she have left? Myles, of course. Garren didn't really count. But why would Ace, then? They were the same thing. Convenient tools. One to carry her bags and one to try and fill a hole in her heart that wouldn't heal.
They were both people. Ivy didn't think she had room for that. Why had she left in the first place? She hadn't wanted a person, she hadn't wanted a friend, she needed help but she didn't want it. She wanted what Meilin took away from her. Meilin was dead now, and her head was back on Ace's chest. She'd argued with Myles for his sake. How much was that worth?
He was so warm, and so steady, and maybe she was thinking too hard. All she had was one night. She had promised. This was hers.
She breathed him in.
"So."
They were friends. Ace and Tirzah. Ivy and Tirzah. He'd been looking for her, sworn something that wasn't vengeance for a dead friend. Not that anyone really knew her, she remembered in her own voice. An idle curiosity, then. She didn't know Toby, she hadn't really cared, she hadn't really been surprised. Another bad thought coming back to bite her.
"I—me and Myles, we—" this part didn't matter, did it, it was too complicated and he didn't care, "—were separated, for a little. I was looking for somewhere to rest, for a minute, so I could get back to him, and I found the wrong house, I guess. Bad luck." She shrugged. The movement hurt her shoulder; she motioned to it vaguely. "She was—she had a gun. A little pistol, she started shooting, got me in the—not, like, in the shoulder? Like, it scratched me, I guess. Still hurts, though."
She frowned, thinking back, thinking of the sequence of events, remembering. She hadn't told the full story. Myles hadn't asked. She imagined he didn't care. Tirzah was dead and she wasn't and that was all that mattered.
"It was... a lot happened. We... talked, for a minute. She was—she was hurt, we both were but her worse, she went to hide in the bedroom and I wasn't—"
I wasn't going to go after her, she lied to herself, but she kept speaking.
"—I asked. What happened, and she said it was a mercy kill, something about—I don't know. It doesn't matter. It really doesn't matter. Why would I believe her? She's been a liar as long as I've met her and he wouldn't, Wyatt—"
She shuddered, her eye flicking away, this didn't matter. It didn't matter. It had already happened. She breathed. She was still breathing.
"I went after her. I broke—we broke that mirror, over there," she nodded at a piece of furniture that was near invisible in the dark but whose position she knew all too well, "glass was everywhere, and we just—"
She paused for another moment. One more breath. Her voice steadied but lost its feeling.
"—She stabbed me in the eye. With the glass. Myles had to get it out. Later. He took care of everything."
Fingers digging in her skull. She wasn't allowed to forget. She was trembling again.
"She would have killed me. If I hadn't. That's all."
Her head laid on his chest, her hand resting gently on his stomach, they had been here before. All she could hear was their breathing and his heart, and when she looked up at him he was looking back. He looked tired and nervous and exactly the same. She couldn't imagine what else he could have been.
How had they gotten here?
Ace. She knew him too well for someone she barely knew, thought she grasped something in him she hadn't even grasped in herself, though that much was just the drugs talking. She'd thought about him more than she'd like to admit, these last few days. But she'd left him herself, on what she wanted to call her own terms, as though Meilin hadn't forced her hand, as though she wouldn't have clung to him for every moment he'd let her if Meilin hadn't turned up. He'd asked her to stay but he hadn't followed her. It wouldn't have been hard, if he'd wanted to, but he hadn't. And she'd thought to herself the next day how convenient it would be if she died, how much easier it would make things. She'd thought the same about Bret. It would make things so much easier, she'd thought, if she saw Wyatt again.
She hadn't meant it. It didn't count. It still happened. Meilin, Bret. Wyatt. Like a bad joke at her expense. What did she have left? Myles, of course. Garren didn't really count. But why would Ace, then? They were the same thing. Convenient tools. One to carry her bags and one to try and fill a hole in her heart that wouldn't heal.
They were both people. Ivy didn't think she had room for that. Why had she left in the first place? She hadn't wanted a person, she hadn't wanted a friend, she needed help but she didn't want it. She wanted what Meilin took away from her. Meilin was dead now, and her head was back on Ace's chest. She'd argued with Myles for his sake. How much was that worth?
He was so warm, and so steady, and maybe she was thinking too hard. All she had was one night. She had promised. This was hers.
She breathed him in.
"So."
They were friends. Ace and Tirzah. Ivy and Tirzah. He'd been looking for her, sworn something that wasn't vengeance for a dead friend. Not that anyone really knew her, she remembered in her own voice. An idle curiosity, then. She didn't know Toby, she hadn't really cared, she hadn't really been surprised. Another bad thought coming back to bite her.
"I—me and Myles, we—" this part didn't matter, did it, it was too complicated and he didn't care, "—were separated, for a little. I was looking for somewhere to rest, for a minute, so I could get back to him, and I found the wrong house, I guess. Bad luck." She shrugged. The movement hurt her shoulder; she motioned to it vaguely. "She was—she had a gun. A little pistol, she started shooting, got me in the—not, like, in the shoulder? Like, it scratched me, I guess. Still hurts, though."
She frowned, thinking back, thinking of the sequence of events, remembering. She hadn't told the full story. Myles hadn't asked. She imagined he didn't care. Tirzah was dead and she wasn't and that was all that mattered.
"It was... a lot happened. We... talked, for a minute. She was—she was hurt, we both were but her worse, she went to hide in the bedroom and I wasn't—"
I wasn't going to go after her, she lied to herself, but she kept speaking.
"—I asked. What happened, and she said it was a mercy kill, something about—I don't know. It doesn't matter. It really doesn't matter. Why would I believe her? She's been a liar as long as I've met her and he wouldn't, Wyatt—"
She shuddered, her eye flicking away, this didn't matter. It didn't matter. It had already happened. She breathed. She was still breathing.
"I went after her. I broke—we broke that mirror, over there," she nodded at a piece of furniture that was near invisible in the dark but whose position she knew all too well, "glass was everywhere, and we just—"
She paused for another moment. One more breath. Her voice steadied but lost its feeling.
"—She stabbed me in the eye. With the glass. Myles had to get it out. Later. He took care of everything."
Fingers digging in her skull. She wasn't allowed to forget. She was trembling again.
"She would have killed me. If I hadn't. That's all."
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
“I understand,” he said weakly, “Makes sense.”
That was all. That was that. He didn’t know what he wanted from this story. He didn’t know how he expected to feel. She spoke and he listened and he wore silence like an ill-fitted ugly sweater. When she was done...he couldn't manage to do much other than sputter.
Then, of course, once he started talking, he couldn't shut up.
“I ran into her—like two, three days ago? After she had killed Wyatt,” he paused, “I mighta been the first person she saw after she killed him.”
He swallowed. His arm found itself around her waist, he pulled her close, he lowered his hands and he rested them on her bottom. The Spirit of Wyatt indeed. What was he doing? What game was he playing? What was he expecting? What did he want to feel? She felt so small and so weak and so…hot. Like she had a fever. They were bloody and sweaty and bandaged. Both of ‘em. They sweated on top of one another and he could hardly feel where he began and Ivy ended. He could swear that she was gonna phase right through that nightgown. He held her tighter, he squeezed her harder—as if by hugging her, maybe they would meld together forreal.
Yeah, a lot of what he felt about Ivy could be blamed on those drugs. Just say no kids.
“I let her walk away, she told me what she did…she told me she wasn't planning' to stop…,” he drifted, “She gave me a bottle of water and a hug--and I just let her go.”
He swallowed.
“You were a better friend to the big guy than me.”
He closed his eyes.
“It don’t matter what happened to her, right?”, he took a breath, “That’s what friend’s do--they die. ”
He nodded.
“Usually gettin' themselves killed by other friends.”
He sat there in a moment, holding her and thinking. Dealing with silence and thinking about how everything had gone down. He thought about asking her what had happened with Declyn—getting more dirt on Myles. Knowing more because knowing was half the battle and all that. But it didn’t matter, right? That’s what friends did—they died. That’s what friends do—they kill other friends. Myles was neither and Declyn had only counted as one for a few hours.
“After you left…,” he said after some time, “It’s been nuthin’ but death. Killin' and death.”
He opened his eyes, he kissed her on the forehead.
“It’s messed up...but I missed you, y’know?”
He blinked his eyes hard. He wanted to cry—he needed to cry. He hadn’t since Mei died. It would be silly to think he would be able to do it in bed with Ivy. Hand on her ass, eyes on the ceiling. Thinking about all the bullshit and tragedy and trauma of the last week.
“I can’t handle another bad thing happenin’ without havin’ nuthin’ good.”
He wanted to say ‘And you’re good’, but although he was okay lying to himself—he couldn’t do the same to her.
That was all. That was that. He didn’t know what he wanted from this story. He didn’t know how he expected to feel. She spoke and he listened and he wore silence like an ill-fitted ugly sweater. When she was done...he couldn't manage to do much other than sputter.
Then, of course, once he started talking, he couldn't shut up.
“I ran into her—like two, three days ago? After she had killed Wyatt,” he paused, “I mighta been the first person she saw after she killed him.”
He swallowed. His arm found itself around her waist, he pulled her close, he lowered his hands and he rested them on her bottom. The Spirit of Wyatt indeed. What was he doing? What game was he playing? What was he expecting? What did he want to feel? She felt so small and so weak and so…hot. Like she had a fever. They were bloody and sweaty and bandaged. Both of ‘em. They sweated on top of one another and he could hardly feel where he began and Ivy ended. He could swear that she was gonna phase right through that nightgown. He held her tighter, he squeezed her harder—as if by hugging her, maybe they would meld together forreal.
Yeah, a lot of what he felt about Ivy could be blamed on those drugs. Just say no kids.
“I let her walk away, she told me what she did…she told me she wasn't planning' to stop…,” he drifted, “She gave me a bottle of water and a hug--and I just let her go.”
He swallowed.
“You were a better friend to the big guy than me.”
He closed his eyes.
“It don’t matter what happened to her, right?”, he took a breath, “That’s what friend’s do--they die. ”
He nodded.
“Usually gettin' themselves killed by other friends.”
He sat there in a moment, holding her and thinking. Dealing with silence and thinking about how everything had gone down. He thought about asking her what had happened with Declyn—getting more dirt on Myles. Knowing more because knowing was half the battle and all that. But it didn’t matter, right? That’s what friends did—they died. That’s what friends do—they kill other friends. Myles was neither and Declyn had only counted as one for a few hours.
“After you left…,” he said after some time, “It’s been nuthin’ but death. Killin' and death.”
He opened his eyes, he kissed her on the forehead.
“It’s messed up...but I missed you, y’know?”
He blinked his eyes hard. He wanted to cry—he needed to cry. He hadn’t since Mei died. It would be silly to think he would be able to do it in bed with Ivy. Hand on her ass, eyes on the ceiling. Thinking about all the bullshit and tragedy and trauma of the last week.
“I can’t handle another bad thing happenin’ without havin’ nuthin’ good.”
He wanted to say ‘And you’re good’, but although he was okay lying to himself—he couldn’t do the same to her.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
It really hadn't mattered, what happened to Tirzah. Ivy could have told Ace anything and he'd have no option but to nod along. It didn't surprise her, that he'd seen her himself, that he hadn't acted. If he had it would've saved her a lot of trouble, yes, but it wasn't in him. He didn't know Parker, she was almost certain. She couldn't imagine him knowingly killing anyone who'd made any imprint on his heart. Too soft for her, she'd thought, and she was right. She could forgive him. She knew what she was getting into.
He touched her and the corner of her mouth turned up; his hands felt familiar in that way that wasn't his. She did him the courtesy of not shutting her eye and pretending, tracking his face as he spoke. He didn't say much she didn't know, but she liked the sound of his voice, even if that was all his own. He missed her, she said, and she'd missed him too. Not as much as she should and more than she wanted to. It was almost funny, someone like him calling someone like her good if not in so many words, but she thought she understood.
Good had always been relative.
She thought of saying something, this is something good or whatever, but it felt strange. Still tainted with guilt and pain. She shifted under his touch instead, touching his face with one hand. A sort of thoughtless intimacy. It didn't feel wrong.
"You've been luckier than me," she said. Her forehead burned where he kissed it. She wished he hadn't. She kept thinking of Myles. "I should have kept the hat."
Cautiously, playfully, her hand moved up his face and plucked the hat off his head and pulled it onto her own. A magic hat to keep the shadows at bay. There were more shadows all the time. She thought she liked the ones on that first night better.
"Oh—"
Under his hat. Bandages. She hadn't seen. Her eyebrows scrunched as she frowned, moving her hand away.
"What happened to you?"
He touched her and the corner of her mouth turned up; his hands felt familiar in that way that wasn't his. She did him the courtesy of not shutting her eye and pretending, tracking his face as he spoke. He didn't say much she didn't know, but she liked the sound of his voice, even if that was all his own. He missed her, she said, and she'd missed him too. Not as much as she should and more than she wanted to. It was almost funny, someone like him calling someone like her good if not in so many words, but she thought she understood.
Good had always been relative.
She thought of saying something, this is something good or whatever, but it felt strange. Still tainted with guilt and pain. She shifted under his touch instead, touching his face with one hand. A sort of thoughtless intimacy. It didn't feel wrong.
"You've been luckier than me," she said. Her forehead burned where he kissed it. She wished he hadn't. She kept thinking of Myles. "I should have kept the hat."
Cautiously, playfully, her hand moved up his face and plucked the hat off his head and pulled it onto her own. A magic hat to keep the shadows at bay. There were more shadows all the time. She thought she liked the ones on that first night better.
"Oh—"
Under his hat. Bandages. She hadn't seen. Her eyebrows scrunched as she frowned, moving her hand away.
"What happened to you?"
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
"A lot."
Ivy was a strange sort of person.
She was very small, both in her emotional range and in her stature. In spite of this she never seemed weak or defenseless at home. In Chattanooga she held court like the blonde bitch with the wine in Game of Dragons. But this wasn't Chattanooga. Out here? Ivy was broken. She had been battered and wounded for a week, struggling to move but still managing to survive. She seemed so frail, right? But she was much stronger than she let on.
Tirzah had always seemed so sure that everything would always come up Tirzah. Ivy had always seemed so confident, infecting everywhere with her own brand of charisma and quickly gaining converts. Ace was throwing rocks at glass houses hating on that. He had been caught up in Ivy’s web since the moment he saw her unconscious and beaten down by Leblanc.
She stared at him, with the hat on her head. She looked cute, in a y’know, she was pretty much a mummy sort of way. She didn’t have to move much, not in this position, but she did what she did best with a skilled efficiency. She was very small, she was very frail…
She was powerful all the same.
“A-fuckin-lot.”
He didn’t know where to begin…his story was longer than hers. He knew better than to think Ivy cared much for the details. He didn’t really care much to tell her. He’d keep it short.
“I’ve had a couple run-ins, with like, a couple bad folks,” he said with some trepidation, “Quinn—that’s how I lost Meilin, she died distractin’ her while I ran off. Ran back in time to see her gutted like a fish," it was fucked up to say it so plainly while in bed with Ivy. It was disrespectful. He did it anyway, Meilin was too good for him even as a ghost, "Justin—I was there when he killed Jackson…he used my gun to do it. I ran off and left Jackson to bleed out and die,” that last one made him think of Aliya, he hadn’t processed that yet, “I can’t seem to shake that fuckin’ fat fuck Justin for shit”
He shifted and stirred.
What game was he playing? What was he expecting? What did he want? What was worth braving a homicidal Myles for? She couldn’t be worth getting robbed at gunpoint, could she? Ivy Langley? Really? He couldn’t be that desperate.
“Tried to get Blaise and got Parker instead, so y'know, no justice for Dante,” he finally said, “This mornin' I ran into Justin again, with my friend Aliya…Justin got her before I got him. And when I got him, I didn’t make it count.”
He swallowed again, he felt sweat pool on his brow, he used one hand to try and wipe it off. It was like wet ice on wet ice.
“He got me in the ear,” he said with a casualness, “Mine were always kinda big.”
He paused. He wrapped the arm around her waist again. He knew what game he was playing. He knew what he was expecting. He knew what he wanted. He knew what was worth braving a homicidal Myles for. He knew she was worth getting robbed at gunpoint for. Ivy Langley. Really. He couldn’t be that desperate? Shit. Fuck. Christ. He was.
“Eye beats ear, I am luckier than you.”
He smiled weakly. Fake it till you make it. Life don’t come with no instruction manual.
“You can keep the hat,” he said with that same smile, it felt more strained with chapped lips, “Startin’ to think it’s cursed more than magic.”
He grinned.
“Did the big bad Ivy curse my hat just to get it back? Tch. I knew you were takin' advantage of my givin' heart.”
It was a silly and stupid distraction. A brief respite from the serious. He was stupid for even entertaining it—he very well could’ve been shot dead and killed today. Twice. Once to start the day and once to end it. Come to think of it, that was probably why he was entertaining it.
But he wasn’t thinking and you knew that already.
Ivy was a strange sort of person.
She was very small, both in her emotional range and in her stature. In spite of this she never seemed weak or defenseless at home. In Chattanooga she held court like the blonde bitch with the wine in Game of Dragons. But this wasn't Chattanooga. Out here? Ivy was broken. She had been battered and wounded for a week, struggling to move but still managing to survive. She seemed so frail, right? But she was much stronger than she let on.
Tirzah had always seemed so sure that everything would always come up Tirzah. Ivy had always seemed so confident, infecting everywhere with her own brand of charisma and quickly gaining converts. Ace was throwing rocks at glass houses hating on that. He had been caught up in Ivy’s web since the moment he saw her unconscious and beaten down by Leblanc.
She stared at him, with the hat on her head. She looked cute, in a y’know, she was pretty much a mummy sort of way. She didn’t have to move much, not in this position, but she did what she did best with a skilled efficiency. She was very small, she was very frail…
She was powerful all the same.
“A-fuckin-lot.”
He didn’t know where to begin…his story was longer than hers. He knew better than to think Ivy cared much for the details. He didn’t really care much to tell her. He’d keep it short.
“I’ve had a couple run-ins, with like, a couple bad folks,” he said with some trepidation, “Quinn—that’s how I lost Meilin, she died distractin’ her while I ran off. Ran back in time to see her gutted like a fish," it was fucked up to say it so plainly while in bed with Ivy. It was disrespectful. He did it anyway, Meilin was too good for him even as a ghost, "Justin—I was there when he killed Jackson…he used my gun to do it. I ran off and left Jackson to bleed out and die,” that last one made him think of Aliya, he hadn’t processed that yet, “I can’t seem to shake that fuckin’ fat fuck Justin for shit”
He shifted and stirred.
What game was he playing? What was he expecting? What did he want? What was worth braving a homicidal Myles for? She couldn’t be worth getting robbed at gunpoint, could she? Ivy Langley? Really? He couldn’t be that desperate.
“Tried to get Blaise and got Parker instead, so y'know, no justice for Dante,” he finally said, “This mornin' I ran into Justin again, with my friend Aliya…Justin got her before I got him. And when I got him, I didn’t make it count.”
He swallowed again, he felt sweat pool on his brow, he used one hand to try and wipe it off. It was like wet ice on wet ice.
“He got me in the ear,” he said with a casualness, “Mine were always kinda big.”
He paused. He wrapped the arm around her waist again. He knew what game he was playing. He knew what he was expecting. He knew what he wanted. He knew what was worth braving a homicidal Myles for. He knew she was worth getting robbed at gunpoint for. Ivy Langley. Really. He couldn’t be that desperate? Shit. Fuck. Christ. He was.
“Eye beats ear, I am luckier than you.”
He smiled weakly. Fake it till you make it. Life don’t come with no instruction manual.
“You can keep the hat,” he said with that same smile, it felt more strained with chapped lips, “Startin’ to think it’s cursed more than magic.”
He grinned.
“Did the big bad Ivy curse my hat just to get it back? Tch. I knew you were takin' advantage of my givin' heart.”
It was a silly and stupid distraction. A brief respite from the serious. He was stupid for even entertaining it—he very well could’ve been shot dead and killed today. Twice. Once to start the day and once to end it. Come to think of it, that was probably why he was entertaining it.
But he wasn’t thinking and you knew that already.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
A-fucking-lot, indeed.
Ivy tried to follow. She honestly did, even though she could have nodded along thoughtlessly and come to the same result; she didn't have any helpful commentary, any novel insight. She couldn't say how much she cared, even, how much of her question had been curiosity and how much had been concern. On one hand she'd risked his life when she asked him to stay for her benefit and hers alone, on the other hand she would have been upset to hear his name on the announcements if she had. Wouldn't she? It was a weird hypothetical to ponder with his arms around her. What mattered most to her was that he was alive now. The rest was interesting, useful, even, but most of it was a list of names that belonged to corpses. The precious few dead she had the space left to care for she'd given as little real estate in her heart as she could. The rest were just bodies.
She remembered that first announcement, being scared by every name. She knew most of them. They were human beings, every one of them, even the ones that meant nothing to her, and her classmates had killed them, and that was so impossibly scary and distant and heavy. There had only been those names, then. She could carry eight names and make them mean something. She couldn't carry a hundred. No one could. Quinn, Meilin, Justin, Parker, Dante, Aliya. White noise.
He would understand, she thought, if she tried to describe it. More than Myles would. But that wasn't the kind of comfort she wanted from him. In a just world her and Ace would have gone off to separate colleges and they probably never would have seen each other again, and this was their sick, sad consolation prize. But he wrapped his arm around her waist and he tried to smile at her and she tried to smile back, and she loved him, a little, because he was there. Because he'd still hold her. What else was there anymore?
Breathing. There was breathing. Hers and his, layered on top of each other. They weren't in sync. They never had been. That was okay.
"You think I'm wasting my curses on your hat?"
She smiled, just a little. She leaned in closer.
"You let me have it cause you wanted to," she whispered. "You're too nice. I can forgive you for that, I think."
There was no space left between them.
"I missed you too."
She felt his heartbeat in his lips.
Ivy tried to follow. She honestly did, even though she could have nodded along thoughtlessly and come to the same result; she didn't have any helpful commentary, any novel insight. She couldn't say how much she cared, even, how much of her question had been curiosity and how much had been concern. On one hand she'd risked his life when she asked him to stay for her benefit and hers alone, on the other hand she would have been upset to hear his name on the announcements if she had. Wouldn't she? It was a weird hypothetical to ponder with his arms around her. What mattered most to her was that he was alive now. The rest was interesting, useful, even, but most of it was a list of names that belonged to corpses. The precious few dead she had the space left to care for she'd given as little real estate in her heart as she could. The rest were just bodies.
She remembered that first announcement, being scared by every name. She knew most of them. They were human beings, every one of them, even the ones that meant nothing to her, and her classmates had killed them, and that was so impossibly scary and distant and heavy. There had only been those names, then. She could carry eight names and make them mean something. She couldn't carry a hundred. No one could. Quinn, Meilin, Justin, Parker, Dante, Aliya. White noise.
He would understand, she thought, if she tried to describe it. More than Myles would. But that wasn't the kind of comfort she wanted from him. In a just world her and Ace would have gone off to separate colleges and they probably never would have seen each other again, and this was their sick, sad consolation prize. But he wrapped his arm around her waist and he tried to smile at her and she tried to smile back, and she loved him, a little, because he was there. Because he'd still hold her. What else was there anymore?
Breathing. There was breathing. Hers and his, layered on top of each other. They weren't in sync. They never had been. That was okay.
"You think I'm wasting my curses on your hat?"
She smiled, just a little. She leaned in closer.
"You let me have it cause you wanted to," she whispered. "You're too nice. I can forgive you for that, I think."
There was no space left between them.
"I missed you too."
She felt his heartbeat in his lips.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
What game were they playing? Well it sure wasn’t checkers.
Wasn’t Survival of the Fittest either.
She kissed him and it felt familiar and strange. Her breath was heavy and hot. He could’ve sworn she tasted like copper. He pushed that thought down. A rush of strength and adrenaline took over his mind. A ravenous energy that he had felt only a few times before took over his body. He kissed her back. He wrapped his arms around her tighter. His hands found the hem of her night gown and rested on her bottom, one inched it's way up and felt the slickness of her sweat covered skin. He felt instinct take over and he liked that. In football (and it always went back to football, didn’t it?) if you were thinking, you were losing. There was comfort in that, especially if you were like him and too often lost in your own head.
Muscle memory.
Instinct.
Don’t think, feel. Don’t try, do.
Yeah, sure, what-the-fuck-ever.
He separated from her, he breathed again, deep and quick. He looked at her eye and then rested his forehead on hers. She was so small, so frail, battered and bruised—one eyed and bandaged. She was weak and she was wounded. He stared at her. He took a deep breath.
She wasn't frail, she wasn't weak. She was strong. Very fuckin' strong.
He kissed her again.
“Please.”
Again.
“Be.”
Again.
“Quiet.”
One last time.
“He'll fuckin' kill me.”
He then kissed her again, deep and long. One last time. Even though the last time was supposed to be the last time. Just like the time before that.
Wasn’t Survival of the Fittest either.
She kissed him and it felt familiar and strange. Her breath was heavy and hot. He could’ve sworn she tasted like copper. He pushed that thought down. A rush of strength and adrenaline took over his mind. A ravenous energy that he had felt only a few times before took over his body. He kissed her back. He wrapped his arms around her tighter. His hands found the hem of her night gown and rested on her bottom, one inched it's way up and felt the slickness of her sweat covered skin. He felt instinct take over and he liked that. In football (and it always went back to football, didn’t it?) if you were thinking, you were losing. There was comfort in that, especially if you were like him and too often lost in your own head.
Muscle memory.
Instinct.
Don’t think, feel. Don’t try, do.
Yeah, sure, what-the-fuck-ever.
He separated from her, he breathed again, deep and quick. He looked at her eye and then rested his forehead on hers. She was so small, so frail, battered and bruised—one eyed and bandaged. She was weak and she was wounded. He stared at her. He took a deep breath.
She wasn't frail, she wasn't weak. She was strong. Very fuckin' strong.
He kissed her again.
“Please.”
Again.
“Be.”
Again.
“Quiet.”
One last time.
“He'll fuckin' kill me.”
He then kissed her again, deep and long. One last time. Even though the last time was supposed to be the last time. Just like the time before that.
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
He'll fuckin' kill me. Ivy laughed until he silenced her with his lips. It was funny because it was probably true. It seemed like they'd both agreed it was a risk they were willing to take.
It was stupid and reckless and that was all she needed.
It was just around sunrise, when she came to.
Not much light made its way into the bedroom, but there was enough to cast it in a dark orange glow. She felt as though she hadn't slept but she must have slept a little, she thought, just from how groggy she was, from the dreams she couldn't grasp the moment she opened her eye. Her heart was beating too fast and she had no memory of why. She breathed. Ace was still here. All was quiet and still, besides him. Things were as okay as she could ask for them to be.
She slipped out of bed, anyway, after taking the magic hat off of her head and placing it gently on the pillow beside him. Unsteady and half-blind and slick with sweat, she glanced back at Ace, as though he might vanish if she stopped looking. She felt a little stronger, at least compared to how weak she'd been when she'd gotten into bed; her steps were still shaky but she could trust herself to take them without needing to hold onto the wall. She did nearly trip over Myles's bag, which would have certainly made enough noise to send Myles running in, shotgun blazing, but she instead took the opportunity to pick it up. There wasn't much in it, but the additional weight was still a challenge. It made a good excuse, if nothing else. Why was she coming to bother Myles so early? He needed his things. Right?
It didn't make sense, it was stupid, she knew that, but stupid was her watchword tonight. Stupid and reckless, from the moment she'd opened the bedroom door. She didn't think she regretted it. But she could hardly fall back asleep with Ace snoring like he was, and she'd wind herself back around to misery if she allowed herself to stew in her thoughts, and she could wake Ace back up to distract her instead but, but, but.
But distractions could only do so much, but the snoring wasn't even important. It was all her. Not that selfish, she'd thought, but selfish enough to leave Myles alone in the dark. She'd forgotten until the guilt weighed too heavy for Ace's arms to keep it away.
She crept out the bedroom door, leaving it open to lessen the noise. More light made it into the main room than the bedroom, the orange and pink light of dawn touching every surface. She checked the couch, surprised to see Garren sleeping on it, not relegated to some corner on the floor. Myles was there, too; the two had curled up as much as they could to share the couch without touching. It looked distinctly uncomfortable, and Ivy felt a swell of remorse for having kicked Myles out of bed.
She reached out, gently, and shook his shoulder. She had to talk to him before Ace woke up.
"Myles," she whispered, glancing at Garren and back. "Hey."
It was stupid and reckless and that was all she needed.
It was just around sunrise, when she came to.
Not much light made its way into the bedroom, but there was enough to cast it in a dark orange glow. She felt as though she hadn't slept but she must have slept a little, she thought, just from how groggy she was, from the dreams she couldn't grasp the moment she opened her eye. Her heart was beating too fast and she had no memory of why. She breathed. Ace was still here. All was quiet and still, besides him. Things were as okay as she could ask for them to be.
She slipped out of bed, anyway, after taking the magic hat off of her head and placing it gently on the pillow beside him. Unsteady and half-blind and slick with sweat, she glanced back at Ace, as though he might vanish if she stopped looking. She felt a little stronger, at least compared to how weak she'd been when she'd gotten into bed; her steps were still shaky but she could trust herself to take them without needing to hold onto the wall. She did nearly trip over Myles's bag, which would have certainly made enough noise to send Myles running in, shotgun blazing, but she instead took the opportunity to pick it up. There wasn't much in it, but the additional weight was still a challenge. It made a good excuse, if nothing else. Why was she coming to bother Myles so early? He needed his things. Right?
It didn't make sense, it was stupid, she knew that, but stupid was her watchword tonight. Stupid and reckless, from the moment she'd opened the bedroom door. She didn't think she regretted it. But she could hardly fall back asleep with Ace snoring like he was, and she'd wind herself back around to misery if she allowed herself to stew in her thoughts, and she could wake Ace back up to distract her instead but, but, but.
But distractions could only do so much, but the snoring wasn't even important. It was all her. Not that selfish, she'd thought, but selfish enough to leave Myles alone in the dark. She'd forgotten until the guilt weighed too heavy for Ace's arms to keep it away.
She crept out the bedroom door, leaving it open to lessen the noise. More light made it into the main room than the bedroom, the orange and pink light of dawn touching every surface. She checked the couch, surprised to see Garren sleeping on it, not relegated to some corner on the floor. Myles was there, too; the two had curled up as much as they could to share the couch without touching. It looked distinctly uncomfortable, and Ivy felt a swell of remorse for having kicked Myles out of bed.
She reached out, gently, and shook his shoulder. She had to talk to him before Ace woke up.
"Myles," she whispered, glancing at Garren and back. "Hey."
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
When the adrenaline faded, Myles didn't have the energy to do anything except curl up on the couch with his back to the rest of the room. This was what he got. Exiled from the bedroom like the unwanted roommate. He had given in but that didn't mean he had to be okay with it. Ace may have kept Ivy company for a few days, but had he run screaming for her when there was danger? Had he risked slivers of glass in his fingers and let himself get covered in her blood, desperately trying to keep her alive? Promised her Julien's blood on his hands or put Meilin down himself because he knew that if he had to choose, it would be Ivy? Of course not.
Ace didn't care, when the chips were down. They all knew that, but Ivy had still chosen to let him in.
Myles loved her, and he knew that she loved him back the most, but he couldn't make himself forgive her tonight.
Sleep had again come in fitful snatches, trying to keep himself small in his corner of the couch and resisting the urge to kick Garren away. Myles had had half a mind to tell him to sleep on the floor, but it was just an unnecessary fight. If he'd wanted to make anyone lay down there with the mess and the risk of broken glass, it was Ace, and he'd already lost that argument.
He'd dropped the shotgun over to the side of the couch at some point, tired of holding it and unsure if there was a safety on it, where it was, or if it was on or off. It'd just be the icing on the cake of this stupid, horrible day and night if he had a hilarious shotgun mishap and blew his own hand off or something. He held onto Declyn's gun, holding it to his chest like a comfort toy.
He was dozing when Ivy shook his shoulder, and he jerked up in response, almost smacking himself in the chin with the gun. It just went to show that once again, Myles wasn't the one who needed to be sitting out here playing guard dog.
"Mn- what?" Too groggy, too full of residual bad feelings for a proper good morning. But there was light creeping in now, and as his foggy brain caught up with reality, Myles couldn't help feeling a tinge of relief.
Ace didn't care, when the chips were down. They all knew that, but Ivy had still chosen to let him in.
Myles loved her, and he knew that she loved him back the most, but he couldn't make himself forgive her tonight.
Sleep had again come in fitful snatches, trying to keep himself small in his corner of the couch and resisting the urge to kick Garren away. Myles had had half a mind to tell him to sleep on the floor, but it was just an unnecessary fight. If he'd wanted to make anyone lay down there with the mess and the risk of broken glass, it was Ace, and he'd already lost that argument.
He'd dropped the shotgun over to the side of the couch at some point, tired of holding it and unsure if there was a safety on it, where it was, or if it was on or off. It'd just be the icing on the cake of this stupid, horrible day and night if he had a hilarious shotgun mishap and blew his own hand off or something. He held onto Declyn's gun, holding it to his chest like a comfort toy.
He was dozing when Ivy shook his shoulder, and he jerked up in response, almost smacking himself in the chin with the gun. It just went to show that once again, Myles wasn't the one who needed to be sitting out here playing guard dog.
"Mn- what?" Too groggy, too full of residual bad feelings for a proper good morning. But there was light creeping in now, and as his foggy brain caught up with reality, Myles couldn't help feeling a tinge of relief.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Ivy squeaked in surprise at how quickly Myles woke up, though she probably shouldn't have expected anything else; he was a jumpy sleeper at the best of times. She'd felt him restless beside her the last three nights. It had felt good, falling asleep curled into Ace's chest, but the wrongness of it had struck her when she'd woken up to his snoring and not Myles's quiet breaths. Even asleep, she was supposed to take every moment she could. She had to save every single one.
"Hey," she repeated, softly. "I, um."
She motioned vaguely to the bag she'd dropped next to her.
"I brought your things?"
It sounded like a question, despite being what she'd done, and it carried the weight of the forgiveness she would still beg for, if she had to.
"And, um, I just. I wanted to check on you."
"Hey," she repeated, softly. "I, um."
She motioned vaguely to the bag she'd dropped next to her.
"I brought your things?"
It sounded like a question, despite being what she'd done, and it carried the weight of the forgiveness she would still beg for, if she had to.
"And, um, I just. I wanted to check on you."
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."