#「 ʟɪғᴇ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ━ fn. ( in chara )

[afterdeaths]

— 「 RE: @hebled .

THE CIGARETTE IS HEAVY ON HIS lips, but he's yet to light it. Hands are shaking, just a little, QUIVERING under the dark black gloves, the leather a familiar and soothing feeling against his skin. Fever is staring at Beck with that sort of look that could only mean one thing, like he's looking right through him, like he wants to EAT him. ❝ 'S good t'see you. ❞ SOFT.

Tour had dragged, towards the end. The EXHAUSTION is obvious in the bags under his eyes, in the way his jaw clenches and loosens with every breath he takes. The musician was a live wire about to SNAP at any moment, but when he looks at the veteran, there's an unfamiliar sweetness in his eyes. They'd started as a hookup, a one off one night where he'd played guitar in a bar as a surprise. Fever had seen him across the room, and they'd locked eyes. He'd sucked him off in the parking lot, given him his phone number and told him to text.

There was just SOMETHING about Beck's eyes.

Foot slides and bumps against the other's under the table, the guitarist cracks a smile. ❝ Y'miss me ? ❞

[afterdeaths]

FINGER TAPS AGAINST THE GLASS IN his hand as though in a rhythm, playing one of his songs softly with just the beat. It's a way to calm himself, keep him ROOTED in place for more than a few seconds. His mother always used to complain that he was hard to hold down, hard to keep out of trouble.

Fever was always on the go.

❝ You just get off work or somethin'? ❞ Most of his own was during sundown, flashing lights and music that was too loud and thrummed in his bones.

❝ I don't always have nights off. ❞ Or days. In fact, the rockstar was running OUT of time, his hours to sleep waning like the moon hovering above them, unseen through the roof of the building. He can feel the pull of it even now.

The man falls into silence for a long moment, and goes back to taking sips of his drink. From across the bar, two girls are staring at him, WHISPERING to each other while blue eyes accost him in the distance. He shifts in his seat, and twists towards the dark-haired man. Considers leaving. ❝ Y'don't look like the type to party till sunrise. ❞

By this point he'd come to the conclusion that he was effectively DRIFTING for the time being, waiting for his next job so he can continue to press forward. Of course he could sign up for hunts on his own but where was the fun in that?

Brows raise for half a second when the man speaks, nodding along quietly but remaining silent as he just ruminates on those words. Kindred travelers through the night was something he didn't get often, and when he turns his attention to raise his glass at the other man, he speaks.

"Best time of the day if you ask me, but I figure if nothing else, I can enjoy the rest of the evening in peace. No muss, no fuss."

Perhaps that's why he's so relaxed. A drink in hand. No troubles on his mind, and the night still being so young that it's practically dusk still.

"Besides, I'm in the big city, there's lots to do and plenty of night still left to enjoy all things said."

[afterdeaths]

— RE: @bldrdsh / BARRETT.

❝ SUPPOSE SHE TOLD YOU. ❞ HE'S LEANING on the railing, not looking — but Fever can hear the other's footsteps and he KNOWS who it is without even having to turn his head. There's a shift in his demeanor, still CLOSED OFF, but less... angry. He'd been out here for an hour now, unable to go back inside. The phone in his hand is still hot, still PRIMED to be tossed into the river below but he's yet to let go of it.

The fury in him boils, and the fight is still quick on the tip of his tongue. The rims of fever's eyes are red like he's been crying, and his SNIFFLING does nothing to hide that fact.

Kassius. She'd told him he was out here.

❝ Calysto won't let me see her. ❞ There's grit on his tongue. ❝ Says it's in her best interest, wha'ever the fuck that means. She's my fucking DAUGHTER, Rett. ❞

[afterdeaths]

— 「 RE: @chaos--mode / DAWN & THISTLE.

❝ Y'DON' GOTTA STARE, MATE. ❞ GRUFF TONE, a snap, as he twists his eyes to look at the passerby, one green, the other a blinded white. They scuttle, like they've been caught, feet SHUFFLING over the pavement until they're out of sight. Fever sighs, runs a gloved hand over his face and the splintered scar that ran the length of it and down his neck. The musician tugs up his hood, his broad frame leans back. He closes his eyes.

Should've worn a mask.

❝ Sorry. ❞ He apologizes like it's his fault. It digs into his skull. He wishes he had a cigarette, or a drink, something to calm the nerves. The screeching in his ears that just doesn't seem to CEASE no matter what he does, where he goes... who he's with. It's louder, here. ❝ Long day. Longer night. Did you sleep? — Or could you hear it too? ❞

[afterdeaths]

— 「 RE: @stainedpast / FYNN .

❝ CAN'T WAIT TO SLEEP IN A real bed. ❞ The tour had really taken a toll on him this time, he could feel it in the creak in his shoulders, the way his hip seemed to be lit on fire every time he took a step. That cramped bed in the tour bus wasn't doing him any good.

A gloved hand raises the glass to his lips, takes a sip of the whisky he'd ordered. It burns in a way that soothes him, brings him back down to earth. He'd been having trouble with his head being in the clouds as of late, unable to CENTER himself. Fever's good green eye wanders over the other, interest palpable even through the haze of the pills and booze.

❝ Don't know how you do it for long periods, mate. ❞

[afterdeaths]

「 RE: @bldrdsh / BARRETT .

THE GLOVES ARE OFF, THEY SIT next to him like an omen, as his fingers play with the edge of his shirt. FEELING the fabric underneath them, and the little hole at the end where his studded belt has ripped the material clean. It's still strange, being here like this. There's a vulnerability that came with the gloves settled next to Fever instead of being on his hands.

Something Barrett has been working very closely on with him.

❝ Do you HAVE to go? ❞ His tone is so soft, it doesn't sound like it's coming from his lips.

One white eye, one green lands on the larger man across the room, he's in the little kitchenette of the B&B that the band had rented for the night. The rockstar is settled on the couch. ❝ Was thinkin'... you could stay. Bunks are shi', but there's the big bed in the back. Kassius offered to SWITCH if y... ❞ He falters, bites down hard on his tongue. ❝ Nevermind, it's a shite idea. ❞

[afterdeaths]

— 「 RE: BLITZ! / KASSIUS MEETS FEVER.

SHE'S JUST STUMBLED OFF THE STAGE, there's a drink that's immediately shoved into her hand that frankly, Kassius shouldn't have been surprised isn't water. Still, the woman wrinkles her nose, and holds it OVER her head and battles her way to the back door. No one was taking it from her, FINDERS KEEPERS, BITCHES. Hands reach out, and while it's darker than dark in the venue, the rainbow lights her only INDICATION as to where the siren is going, she pulls sunglasses over her eyes.

❝ Ex-CUSE me! ❞ Voice breaking the crowd with ease, a painted lip smiles, pulls back to show rows of teeth ( too many ? or is that a trick of the light ? ), ❝ Thank you ! ❞ Sing-song, she PRANCES.

Onto the street, finally. Into FRESH air, cold, bitter in the January air. God, she wished she had a jacket. Stumbles, now, to the middle of the alleyway. A sniff, a shudder, she chugs the drink and TOSSES the plastic cup to the side. Curls scatter over her cheek.

❝ Quite the performance. ❞ RIGID.

Her body is STOCK still. There was no way for anyone outside of the entertainment to get here. Yet here stands a figure, IMPOSING, almost. He's got his hood up, but it drops as a tattooed hand slides over the dark material. What Kassius is faced with... to this day she still can't describe.

— WICKED.

❝ Shitty band, though. You can do better. ❞ Okay. Eyes narrow, and the spritely woman quirks her head. Fixes him with that look that makes most men WEAK, but he just stares back. One green, one white. A cascading of spiderwebs down his face, his neck... She knows him. Recognization slides into her spine. She's staring up at him, while HE'S onstage, a few months back, caught in her own SPIRAL.

❝ Like you could. ❞ He just grins.

[afterdeaths]

— 「 RE: @signetied .

❝ I SAW THAT. ❞ HIS ONE GOOD eye is almost sparkling, mischievous, like he’s got a secret now that he can hold over the other’s head. And maybe he does. That FUELS Fever. He leans back in his chair, lounging as the cigarette in his lips emits a soft DRIFT of smoke. He’s BUZZING. Like the entire world is slipping in and out, and he’s there in the middle light as a feather watching as it drifts by. He grins, and it’s akin to a wolf, LARGE rows of imaginary teeth.

Whatever he says next, you shouldn’t believe.

❝ Don’t worry, Farleigh, I won’t tell anyone, mate. ❞

[afterdeaths]

fever tag drop.

[afterdeaths]

FEVER SITS THERE IN QUIET CONTEMPLATION for a long moment, his one good green eye taking in the look of the other man. The way his shoulders seemed to DROOP as he spoke, the shortness of breath in his chest as though he's waiting for the shoe to drop. Except the rockstar holds it steady above the ground, he waits.

❝ It's just the life I live, Beck. ❞ His tone isn't scathing anymore, instead it's soft and muted. Yes, he's more than exhausted, it's clear with the bags under his eyes, the way he yawns every few seconds or so even though he's trying not to. Fever's skin is slightly paler, and he's slouched in his seat like he just might slip down and pass out — but this was NORMAL for the end of tour. ❝ Y'should see Kassius, she can barely speak. ❞

He STRETCHES back, waves away the waitress that wanders over and leans his head on the seat behind him. The booth is far more INVITING than he'd like to admit.

So he nods, that smile on his face cementing itself for a moment. Making a home among features where it was unfamiliar. He didn't smile that often, and when he did, it was like a ghost of a person on troubled cheekbones.

❝ If you're sure. ❞ He'll leave that decision up to the veteran, allow him to make the FINAL CALL. If anything goes wrong, he would be the only one to blame.

You let me come here, is what he'll be able to say.

❝ I wouldn't mind a good bed and body to lay with. Would prefer it being you than anyone else, feel like I've been missing you for months now. ❞

Beck is STOCK still . His lids flutter a little , expression SQUEEZING into a frown that he can't stop . HURT . Fever's words are like a short sharp knife to the chest , he has to take a second just to breathe && wait to see whether he'll twist it .

❝ I - ❞ a huff. ❝ I AM happy to see you , Fee . ❞ Flat , edged with sadness , because it should be easy to see , Fuck it should be written plainly across the older man's face because he can FEEL the happiness sitting just under his skin . Like he was meant to be here , able to JUST smell the scent of his lover across the table . ❝ I just - ❞ quieter , getting quieter . ❝ .... worry about you . ❞

He averts his eyes again , looking down at his arms where they rest , moving one hand over the other to trace his FINGERS across the skin there . Ground himself . He wants to take the offer back , it feels STUPID now , to offer it up to Fever when the musician is looking at him like that .

Beck brushes his leg over his without thinking .

He chews on the inside of his lip && takes a couple of breaths . His head is flooded with images of Fever && all of the places they've fucked , all the places they've SAT like this && just existed with each other .

❝ you could take some of mine . ❞ still quiet , still not looking at him . Fingers pick at one of his knuckles . ❝ if you wanted me to sleep with you - the idea is that YOU get some rest though. ❞ Eyes finally lift back up , dark . Darker than eyes like his should be . ❝ again , it's just an idea . No pressure . ❞

[afterdeaths]

HE'D PICKED HERE BECAUSE IT WAS safest. A common ground between the two of them where they could pick up the pieces of their relationship, or what was left of it. He’d had to do a few extra things for the band, a few INTERVIEWS across the sea — record a new song in London. It had been a while since they were face to face. Even longer since they’d been ABLE to catch each other at the right time for a phone call.

Still, Fever looks at him now, and there’s a sense of ownership in his chest. A desire. His green eye is blazing with a passion as it finds blues, daring him to look away.

❝ I'm fine, Beck. ❞ His tone is a little sharper than he'd like, ❝ Thought you'd be happy to see me. ❞ Softer, like he's a little hurt. Maybe he is, maybe that's what this feeling in his chest is. A sort of TWISTING like the veteran has his hand on his heart and he's squeezing until there's no blood left.

Perhaps that's what he's doing to HIM, too.

Breath is sucked in between teeth, he shifts his weight ever so slightly. Legs bump again under the table, like a small reminder that even when at odds they're connected. Fever imagines him back at Beck's place, wonders what it looks like. They've not gotten that far. He's interested, now, why it's taken so long for the other man to invite him. Realizes they really just haven't had the TIME. He'd met him, and then promptly went on tour not even a week later, stuck to communicating through a small screen.

Outside of their little tryst where he’d flown Beck halfway across the state to fuck him in the bathroom, and the bit of time where the veteran had FOLLOWED him like a lost puppy across the three shows in Canada… they’d been separate.

The rockstar allows a small smile to form, it grows, and grows. ❝ Think I'd like that. Don't got clothes though. Had them shipped back t'the flat... You gonna sleep with me? ❞

When Fever moves , Beck feels almost TRICKED into looking at him && their eyes MEET for a soft , quick moment that stretches out into what feels like forever . Beck doesn't move , lets his hands rest their on the table as he stares at the rockstar , drums his fingers one at a time like momentum travelling through a Newton's cradle . His expression is blank , trying to calculate just WHAT it should be doing with his features to convey the torrent of different emotions he's feeling . Instead of stumbling through all of them - it chooses NONE .

Eyes shift from Fever's green eye to his white one && back again , over && over . He bites down on the inside of his lower lip && then takes a deep breath as though that's all he'd needed to jump start his words .

❝ Not really . ❞ he says , A LIE . He hasn't eaten all day , But he won't let the other man know that . ❝ some would say that choosing to come && meet me instead of resting is a sign of an unhealthy dependency . ❞ Right Beck , you know all about those . ❝ You should look after yourself , your health is your career in your line of work . ❞

His head tilts to the side , regarding Fever steadily . Eyes roving over his shoulders - down his arms , landing on the table top as he imagines his hips && legs underneath where they're pressed against him . Cheeks suck inward for a second .

❝ You don't have to be here , Fever . I'm not going anywhere , got nowhere to be . You could come see me tomorrow - or next week . ❞ Stay . Never leave me again . I can't breathe when you're not around . ❝ - Or you could come back to mine , take my bed for a few hours , I'll make you pancakes when you wake up . ❞

[afterdeaths]

THE ROCKSTAR HOLDS BACK A ROLL of his eyes, instead, he shifts in his seat, and pulls up his sleeves inch by inch revealing a SMATTERING of tattoos. These, he was proud of, a display of colors like a PEACOCK with its feathers. The parts of himself that Fever can control the image of, a distraction from the HORROR that was his scars and his face.

She starts to circle him, and he has to sit a little taller. Back straightens like he's in school, being judged by a professor he can't remember the name of and looks at him DISAPPROVINGLY all the same. A part of him wants to tell her to stop.

Instead, Fever's jaw tilts, and when he can, he catches her gaze. Regarding her with almost the same sort of interest that she was holding herself.

❝ Sometimes it's fast, like a heartbeat. ❞

He remembers the first time he'd heard it. It had been shortly after the accident, and the boy had been laying in bed staring at the ceiling, trying to fall asleep ( and FAILING ). There was a low sound filling his ears, a familiar sound even in its strangeness. It made his heart ache in a way he couldn't EXPLAIN.

❝ Other times, I barely notice it's there. Slow, quiet. Like it's dormant. ❞

❝ Good. I'm sure you'll feel sooo much better! ❞

She hums, smile growing just that little bit wider at Fever's brush-off. Dawn likes pushing people's buttons. There's something about it, like, it just scratches an itch inside of her, or something. Thistle isn't pleased with the notion, has always been sort of adverse to Dawn's so-called dispositions.

It's such a spoil sport, really.

Dawn might not think much of it, the whole scar thing, but Thistle does. It knows a little something about being othered ( though in its case it really is a bit more valid ) . Still, it understands why Fever doesn't bask in the penetrating stare of judgmental strangers the way that Dawn does.

Hands untangle as she twirls around Fever, sidestepping to walk a loose circle around him. Dawn and Thistle are both listening, now, both interested in his candor. Even if Dawn isn't really showing it.

It's Thistle that answers him, this time, voice like crystal chimes in a warm summer breeze; ❝ Does it ever get louder, or quieter? Any different tones, changes in rhythm, anything of that sort? ❞

It just wants to understand.

[afterdeaths]

THE ROCKSTAR SNIFFS, FINGERS PINCHING THE bridge of his nose, wiping at his eyes like he can HIDE the evidence settled there. But this is Barrett, he's seen him at his worst, and his best. The one consistent factor outside of the band settled in the building behind them. ❝ Right. Wasn't really hiding it, was I? ❞

It was hard. He would drop anything for his daughter if it meant that she'd be happy, safe, cared for. Not a single thing MATTERED more to him... Fever's throat was sore from the screaming.

❝ I don't — ❞ A short shake of his head, the one good green eye finally finding his partner's face. ❝ I-I don't know. ❞ Because he doesn't. Because all of this isn't easily fixed. His daughter is miles away, and Calysto... She had the means to deny him, regardless of how wrong her reasons were.

❝ I need t'call my lawyer. ❞ His hands shake as he grips at his phone.

❝ I-I need... Fuck ! ❞ Fever reacts before he thinks, foot slamming into the railing in front of him which rings a soft bell sound in return. His boot might as well have a dent in it. The man twists, grabs the edge of the other man's jacket. ❝ She's goin' to think that I don't want to see her. ❞

He watches intently. KASSIUS had mentioned today was a BAD day for him, and judging by the HOLLERING he'd heard on his way out, he can only guess. He crosses his arms quietly, nodding. Normally he'd be offering a WARM HUG to ease him, but right now he figured FEVER would want to burn off more of his anger before he'd want or need comfort.

"Yeah...well––that and I kinda heard."

He's ANGRY TOO, but this scenario isn't about him, and the last thing he wants to do is make this about him AT ALL. It wasn't. He furrows his brow for a second, drawing in a DEEP BREATH. He scoots a little closer, enough for Fever to know he's there. HE HAS SUPPORT, but he isn't going to invade his space. Not when he's so understandably upset.

"What can I do?"

HE MEANS in this moment. He wants to know what he can do to help. WHAT CAN HE GIVE of himself right now to be there for Fever in whatever way he needs most.

[afterdeaths]

WHEN HE FIRST GOT HIS SCAR, Fever thought it was one of the coolest things, but his mother had SCREAMED the first time she saw him. The look of horror on her face was enough to turn him stone cold. Any knowledge that she LOVED him for him, went out the window, and he realized very quickly she was not the only one who felt that way.

No matter how many people TELL him he's unique, he looks in the mirror and the pure hatred he gets in return is enough to turn anyone's blood frigid.

Dawn looks at him like he's a normal person. His band see him and they don't look at his scar, but at the green of his one good eye... and they smile. It's not enough, god it's not even CLOSE, but the rockstar has gotten USED to it, now. He finds himself forgetting, occasionally, that he's WRONG.

That is until strangers stare.

❝ Yeah, I'll get right on making that switch. ❞ Fever has to hold back a roll of his eyes, because really, how the fuck would he be able to control that. That was like telling him to STOP seeing shit when he touched people with his gloves off. Wasn't something he could exactly TURN OFF.

Still, there's a bit of a smirk on his face now, and he runs a hand down it to HIDE the woman from the view. He's stoic when he returns, hands shoving into his pockets.

❝ There's a thrumming. Like a beat. It's low. ❞

Dawn just barely suppresses a snicker as the gawker skitters off, metaphorical tail between their legs. Fever doesn't seem amused by it, but that's his problem. Dawn is used to being stared at ; she seeks it out, lures and baits it from people and cackles when they get spooked and run off. Fever does not seem to share this indulgence.

It's a shame, really, she thinks. There are plenty worse ways to draw attention than mismatched eyes and a scar, nasty as it is ( though Dawn thinks it's wicked cool ) .

She waves his apology off with a huff. ❝ Nah, that's nothin'. ❞

She means to make a joke of it, maybe offer to chase them off proper with a real good scare, something that would blanche their skin and set their hair white. But then Thistle stirs, just a little tingle at the back of their head that whispers to Dawn, not right now ; not today. So she bites her tongue and lets him talk first.

She's glad Thistle shut her up, in the end.

Lots of people hear lots of things. Dawn's gift is more of a sight thing than a hearing things, uh, thing. But, still ; she knows. And if she didn't, Thistle probably would've.

She hums, lips pursed as she tangles her fingers together like she's trying to play Cat's Cradle with no string. She doesn't look at Fever as she says, ❝ I slept fine, but that's sorta my thing. I see the stuff I see when I sleep. You hear the things you hear when you're not asleep. ❞

She pauses after a moment and looks up at him, expression poised somewhere halfway between serious and decidedly not. ❝ You ever think of switchin' that up? Might make the sleeping come easier. ❞

[afterdeaths]

THEY HAD STARTED THEIR LITTLE TRYST right before he went on tour, and Fever hadn’t really expected it to continue, but then Beck had shown up at the concert when BLITZ passed through. His phone, too, went off at random times, always with messages that made his lips CURL into the ghost of a smile. They’d started to call each other, long talks into the night that sometimes devolved into LUST, and other times just laying there… half asleep and not saying a word.

The larger man isn’t looking at him, now. It was almost amusing, blues DUCKING as often as they can to avoid his piercing gaze. Fever doesn’t blame him. If he was in his position, the musician wouldn’t look at him, either.

Their legs TAP against each other under the table, and he lets out the softest of sighs. To Beck, he’ll see the brunette physically relax. MELTING into the seat. He allows the veteran's words to sink into him, wash away the irritation in his chest. A hum, almost sing-song. For a second he feels something akin to HAPPINESS. ❝ Course I did. Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, would I ? ❞

Then he LEANS forwards, over the table, long, thin body stretching as he moves. He wants to be closer, months of phone conversations not ENOUGH to quell the vexation in his bones. ❝ Couldn't even wait a day. Got off the plane like, a few hours ago, or somethin'. Proper knackered. ❞ Silence, he's just STARING.

❝ You hungry ? ❞

Beck found that if you started spending enough time with someone that just SEEING their face was enough to get a reaction out of your body . Most of the time he saw Fever's face over the PHONE , but that was nothing compared to seeing him here in person . As soon as he rounds the corner && see's the shape of his body slouched in the seat , cigarette hanging between his lips - his heart rate increases .

Into the seat opposite , hands out on the table in front of him - thumbs pressed together && fingers CROOKED into claws as though this isn't him reaching out - reaching for the other man . Of course it is , he's desperate for physical connection .

❝ not bad to see you , either . ❞ he replies , he's trying not to look him directly in the eye because Fever had the ability to look at him && DO something so stupid to his chemical makeup with his gaze . Beck liked to pretend he was still in control .

Foot meets foot . Beck's knee bobs , he stretches his leg out so that their ANKLES make a little X . He stays quiet for a long moment , just breathing deeply - just WATCHING the cigarette as it moves between the other's lips .

❝ I missed you . I missed the feel of leather on my skin when you touch me , && I missed your voice - your voice is different in person . Like you're hearing a song on vinyl after only listening to music on your phone for a couple months . ❞ a pause . He nibbles at the inside of his lower lip . ❝ did you miss me ?? ❞

[afterdeaths]

THE ROCKSTAR HAD BEEN QUITE CONTENT not talking the entire time they sat there. Staring at the bar in front of them, the wood, the bottles upon bottles that littered the wall. It wasn't often he got time for rest, and during tour, that time was even less.

So when Barrett speaks it's almost a surprise, his head snaps up like he'd forgotten who was next to him. One green, one white eye REGARDING him with a hum in the back of his throat.

❝ Can say that again, mate. ❞ Soft, just for him. There's a little quirk of his lips as he studies him, gloved hand wrapping around the glass in front of him.

❝ Good thing I THRIVE at night, innit? ❞ That smirk pulls into a bigger grin, almost wicked. He lifts the glass and takes a sip, allows the burn to quell the anxiety in his bones.

Maybe he'll let Barrett take him home.

@afterdeaths / barrett ian

He draws in a quiet breath, shoulders loosening for a second as a hand runs down his own features for half a second. He figures it's better not to stress about the frustrating nature of work when he can just relax.

Eyes turn back up to the tv before he rubs the back of his neck. He doesn't like the idea of drinking TOO MUCH, but as a moment comes he takes the drink to his lips and offers a small grin at the bartender.

Good time to relax it seems.

"Long night..."

HE EXHALES, the sound of alcohol passing his lips as he tries his lets out the frustration through the breath he lets out of his lungs.