[ after a few seconds struggling to open the camera on his phone, tross snaps a pic of the mystical tree he's been ranting about for the past ten minutes and sends it to sena. it's a blurry and super dark shot of the trunk of a palm tree, and if sena looks close enough he might realize that tross is standing on a beach right across from the pike, with a ferris wheel in the background. ]
did you forfeit your brain when you signed up to become an internationally famous model stupid ksinny bitvh *bitch **skinny
you mean an internationally famed supermodel on the cover of a billion magazines no i don't think you could do that without inevitably losing your shit
that was the old me impressive in my old life and still impressive now anyway let's talk about your issues instead why did you stab me bitch
internationally famous but you're such a disappointment irl
[ don't think he doesn't have his own gigs lined up u insufferable bitch. they're just only ever scheduled on his time, and his time is whenever he feels like rolling out of bed for that particular week. he is notoriously unreliable. ]
if you were fucking normal and we boned like how it was supposed to go you wouldn't be saying that you tanked our whole night by being a weirdo and a freak
[ his impeccable work ethic even when tripping balls or tragically crashing is what will always make him better than ur underachieving ass ]
can we get some facts straight 1. no one invited you into my head 2. i didn't try to kill you the first time that happened because you STABBED me 3. you're a pussy ass bitch
let me edit your super straight facts bc right now they're as straight as you i'm a pussy ass bitch that YOU failed to kill (bet that doesn't happen often) i didn't stab you i came close you walked away with some bruises and a microscopic cut on your neck and probably a bad headache what are you so fucking upset about
or i can get faded on my own without you forcing your baggage on me nonconsensually you're high risk
actually just kidding i take that back i had a loving mother and father 2 younger siblings and a labradoodle they all died in a tragic water polo accident when i was 10
high risk?? do you know how many jobs i've pulled off flawlessly????? i'm an expert at everything you're high risk because you could go fucking bananas without notice
shut up what happens to the kids like us delphi told me i was picked out to be her special project so i never met any others
if we're not taken from our cribs in the middle of the night we're bred like dogs in every corner of the world your mentor should've spent less time teaching you ballet or whatever the fuck it is you do in your spare time and more time teaching you about your own history
she’s not my mentor and i don’t have fucking history or any camaraderie with anyone there’s nothing the same about any of us all you have to do is get good at what you do and then you’ve got leverage clearly you missed that lesson and it’s not ballet it’s fucking martial arts you uncultured goat
i wasn’t trying to kill you dumbass ok i was for a minute but that’s because i thought the poison was gonna get you and i wanted to speed up the process but after that i wasn’t because i’m not a fucking psycho plus no one’s paying me to kill you
no one's going to pay you to kill me unless i'm spec'd as a total loss and that hasn't happened yet and i doubt that person would ever be you anyway you should've killed me because i tried to kill you, fucking obviously
[ the drugs don't hit him for another five minutes, and even then it barely makes a dime-sized dent in his crushing anxiety, his ribs cemented in brick, refusing to expand. he lays belly-first on the floor, cheek to cold hardwood, and only moves when some faceless stranger touches his cheek to check if he's still conscious or maybe it's sena's alleged frenemy looking for an easy fuck.
tross pushes prodding hands away and stumbles to the punch table, blue liquid sloshing everywhere as he blindly pours sena another drink. when he exits out the back door to the cobblestone patio, he narrowly avoids tripping into a bubbling hot tub, and hiccups around a wheezing, dry sob, focusing on a single point, a crinkled brown leaf on a hedge shrub.
some distant part of him that's not consumed by overwhelming panic realizes that he could accidentally take the entire mansion down to pegs and foundation in a blink. he ignores that part. directly in front of him, intricately locked stone dislodges from the patio and crumbles soundlessly into an empty black void until he's teetering on the edge of nothing, staring into an inviting abyss.
tross cups his palm over sena's drink and tips forward into darkness.
a block from his apartment, he lands knees-first on concrete, burning a hole through his tight jeans straight to his skin. sena is standing under a lamppost as tross approaches — both knees bleeding, no longer crying, lashes wet but his expression locked, cold and impassive — and wordlessly hands him his drink with sticky fingers. ]
[ he doesn't like this feeling. is it concern? guilt for leaving? it's as if he's done something wrong and he isn't sure what, but it's something. something that set tross off, because it's obvious that he's not happy. tross is even harder to navigate than delphi in her moods, and he's entirely too fucked up for this level of emotional scrutiny.
the drink is pushed into his hands — a surprise, because he already forgot about it — but his eyes are focused on tross instead of his punch. ]
I'm sorry I broke into your house. [ his face feels too warm. is he too drunk? is this shame? ] I'm sorry I left you at the party. Don't be mad at me. I didn't fucking — I didn't mean to piss you off. Are you crying? I didn't want to make you cry, I just — I wanted to... I don't know. I don't fucking know.
[ his hand shakes, and then he throws the cup on the sidewalk, blue punch splashing onto both of them. his rage threatens to swallow him whole, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip so hard that he nearly draws blood, and then he rushes forward, grabbing tross by his collar with both hands. ]
I know I fucked up. [ he shakes him, his eyes turning desperate. is he going to leave? is this the end? ] I didn't mean to make you cry. I'm sorry. Don't... don't be mad. I'll never leave you again.
[ somewhere between sena throwing his cup on the ground and shaking him like a ragdoll, tross thinks how easy it'd be to bait him a second time. full eye contact, so close he can smell the liquor on his breath, like candied coconut and honeyed rum. he could pull him under in a heartbeat and leave him with another crippling migraine, and if that's dangerously petty and cruel he doesn't fucking care.
what does it matter if he left him alone? he's been alone. he is alone.
his hands circle sena's skinny wrists, thumb touching forefinger. he roughly jerks him into his space, catching the brunt of sena's weight with his chest, and squeezes his arms hard so he'll shut the fuck up for five seconds or stop apologizing. ]
We're cool. Don't worry about it. [ no gusto, all monotone, as hollow as he feels. like he hadn't spent almost a half hour in near hysterics at some stranger's house, slamming two consecutive lines to keep from breaking down in front of a hundred watchful, curious eyes. like his face isn't still damp with damning evidence. like sena doesn't already know.
raw discomfort cracks his apathy in half. he can't look sena in the eye, so he drops his wrists and turns to punch in the code for his building, holding the door for him. ]
[ don't worry about it, he says, but sena knows they're not cool, and he is worrying about it — mistakes are the one thing he hates to make because he never knows what they'll cost him. sometimes it's a band-aid and a scolding. other times it's broken bones and his entire world.
he doesn't yet know what this one will cost, but he feels sick thinking about it as he walks through the open door, following tross with completely silent footsteps. it was supposed to be fun. a couple of nudes in tross' bed and a quick raid of his fridge. a harmless joke.
he's so fucking stupid. he made tross cry.
did he do this to delphi, too? ]
You don't have to fucking lie. I know you're mad. Just — say whatever you want to say. You want to hit me? Just don't go for the face. And you only get one shot.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sena.
what is your problem asshole
[ after a few seconds struggling to open the camera on his phone, tross snaps a pic of the mystical tree he's been ranting about for the past ten minutes and sends it to sena. it's a blurry and super dark shot of the trunk of a palm tree, and if sena looks close enough he might realize that tross is standing on a beach right across from the pike, with a ferris wheel in the background. ]
did you forfeit your brain when you signed up to become an internationally famous model
stupid ksinny bitvh
*bitch
**skinny
no subject
[ he squints at the blurry image, trying to zoom in but quickly giving up. it's not a selfie of tross, so it's been filed into his no fucks bucket. ]
thank you
i appreciate the compliment ~(˘▾˘~)
how do you know the tree is alive like is it talking shit about you
??
sena.
only because of choices i've made for myself
do you really think i couldn't be where you're at if i wanted to be?
i know you're wintersweet
or used to be
i know that woman you keep calling a bitch left you because you're a mess
no subject
no i don't think you could do that without inevitably losing your shit
that was the old me
impressive in my old life and still impressive now
anyway let's talk about your issues instead
why did you stab me bitch
no subject
[ don't think he doesn't have his own gigs lined up u insufferable bitch. they're just only ever scheduled on his time, and his time is whenever he feels like rolling out of bed for that particular week. he is notoriously unreliable. ]
tripped a wire somewhere
i got confused
no subject
you tanked our whole night by being a weirdo and a freak
[ his impeccable work ethic even when tripping balls or tragically crashing is what will always make him better than ur underachieving ass ]
you stab people when you're confused
no subject
bc i didn't fuck you
i stab people when their head is a hoarder's nest
[ what is taking responsibly for one's own actions. ]
it's not like you didn't get even either
no subject
1. no one invited you into my head
2. i didn't try to kill you the first time that happened because you STABBED me
3. you're a pussy ass bitch
no subject
so you're saying you're mad i didn't fuck you
let me edit your super straight facts bc right now they're as straight as you
i'm a pussy ass bitch that YOU failed to kill (bet that doesn't happen often)
i didn't stab you
i came close
you walked away with some bruises and a microscopic cut on your neck and probably a bad headache
what are you so fucking upset about
no subject
hello??? did you forget????????
you ever heard about the word CONSENT
who the hell raised you anyway
no subject
that defeats the purpose
no one raised me
no subject
go on a real date with me
we can get blazed at the club and tell each other secrets
ok so you're like a wolf baby or what
no subject
you're high risk
actually just kidding i take that back
i had a loving mother and father
2 younger siblings and a labradoodle
they all died in a tragic water polo accident when i was 10
no subject
do you know how many jobs i've pulled off flawlessly?????
i'm an expert at everything
you're high risk because you could go fucking bananas without notice
shut up
what happens to the kids like us
delphi told me i was picked out to be her special project so i never met any others
no subject
if we're not taken from our cribs in the middle of the night we're bred like dogs
in every corner of the world
your mentor should've spent less time teaching you ballet or whatever the fuck it is you do in your spare time and more time teaching you about your own history
no subject
she’s not my mentor
and i don’t have fucking history or any camaraderie with anyone
there’s nothing the same about any of us
all you have to do is get good at what you do and then you’ve got leverage
clearly you missed that lesson
and it’s not ballet it’s fucking martial arts you uncultured goat
no subject
if i wasn't good at what i do i wouldn't have baited you so easily you stupid bitch
no subject
fact
i did once too
but just once
no subject
[ itty bitty ᵗᶦⁿʸ rage. it comes and goes in a blink, cracking a nearby shop window as tross passes by. ]
you choked when you left me on that beach
no subject
ok i was for a minute but that’s because i thought the poison was gonna get you and i wanted to speed up the process
but after that i wasn’t because i’m not a fucking psycho
plus no one’s paying me to kill you
no subject
and i doubt that person would ever be you anyway
you should've killed me because i tried to kill you, fucking obviously
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sena.
[ the drugs don't hit him for another five minutes, and even then it barely makes a dime-sized dent in his crushing anxiety, his ribs cemented in brick, refusing to expand. he lays belly-first on the floor, cheek to cold hardwood, and only moves when some faceless stranger touches his cheek to check if he's still conscious or maybe it's sena's alleged frenemy looking for an easy fuck.
tross pushes prodding hands away and stumbles to the punch table, blue liquid sloshing everywhere as he blindly pours sena another drink. when he exits out the back door to the cobblestone patio, he narrowly avoids tripping into a bubbling hot tub, and hiccups around a wheezing, dry sob, focusing on a single point, a crinkled brown leaf on a hedge shrub.
some distant part of him that's not consumed by overwhelming panic realizes that he could accidentally take the entire mansion down to pegs and foundation in a blink. he ignores that part. directly in front of him, intricately locked stone dislodges from the patio and crumbles soundlessly into an empty black void until he's teetering on the edge of nothing, staring into an inviting abyss.
tross cups his palm over sena's drink and tips forward into darkness.
a block from his apartment, he lands knees-first on concrete, burning a hole through his tight jeans straight to his skin. sena is standing under a lamppost as tross approaches — both knees bleeding, no longer crying, lashes wet but his expression locked, cold and impassive — and wordlessly hands him his drink with sticky fingers. ]
no subject
the drink is pushed into his hands — a surprise, because he already forgot about it — but his eyes are focused on tross instead of his punch. ]
I'm sorry I broke into your house. [ his face feels too warm. is he too drunk? is this shame? ] I'm sorry I left you at the party. Don't be mad at me. I didn't fucking — I didn't mean to piss you off. Are you crying? I didn't want to make you cry, I just — I wanted to... I don't know. I don't fucking know.
[ his hand shakes, and then he throws the cup on the sidewalk, blue punch splashing onto both of them. his rage threatens to swallow him whole, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip so hard that he nearly draws blood, and then he rushes forward, grabbing tross by his collar with both hands. ]
I know I fucked up. [ he shakes him, his eyes turning desperate. is he going to leave? is this the end? ] I didn't mean to make you cry. I'm sorry. Don't... don't be mad. I'll never leave you again.
no subject
what does it matter if he left him alone? he's been alone. he is alone.
his hands circle sena's skinny wrists, thumb touching forefinger. he roughly jerks him into his space, catching the brunt of sena's weight with his chest, and squeezes his arms hard so he'll shut the fuck up for five seconds or stop apologizing. ]
We're cool. Don't worry about it. [ no gusto, all monotone, as hollow as he feels. like he hadn't spent almost a half hour in near hysterics at some stranger's house, slamming two consecutive lines to keep from breaking down in front of a hundred watchful, curious eyes. like his face isn't still damp with damning evidence. like sena doesn't already know.
raw discomfort cracks his apathy in half. he can't look sena in the eye, so he drops his wrists and turns to punch in the code for his building, holding the door for him. ]
no subject
he doesn't yet know what this one will cost, but he feels sick thinking about it as he walks through the open door, following tross with completely silent footsteps. it was supposed to be fun. a couple of nudes in tross' bed and a quick raid of his fridge. a harmless joke.
he's so fucking stupid. he made tross cry.
did he do this to delphi, too? ]
You don't have to fucking lie. I know you're mad. Just — say whatever you want to say. You want to hit me? Just don't go for the face. And you only get one shot.