#each house sings but normally I can’t hear it over the constant buzz of electricity running through the walls

[drafty-castle]

First time the power went out when I was a kid, I cried and cried because the “house was dead”. I was too little to really articulate what I meant. My parents thought I was talking about the lights or tv not working. I was talking about the silence.

I read an article the other day that was like “You’re actually not fully conscious of things most of the time. If you were the sensory input would overload you” and I was just like asjhfdksajks

Yeah that’s literally what being autistic is like. Allistic people’s brains filter out a lot of the sensory “noise” (from all senses) around them but autistic people’s brains don’t or at least don’t do it as well.

Which is why we can hear shit like hums from all electronics and we are aware of this all the time.

[senditcolton]

So Tragic and Rare

"Are You What I Need?" (pt. 20)

word count: 2.9k warnings: none! just a lot of emotions masterlist

Another season ended. Another elimination from the playoffs. Another Eastern Conference Final without a single win.

And Andrei Svechnikov felt awful.

The feeling wasn’t new. It was the default when the hockey season ended without him lifting that silver chalice above his head. But this year felt different. And he knew exactly why. Unlike previous years where the goal of winning the Stanley Cup next season was focus of the off-season, he had different plans. He had planned to come home to an amazing woman.

That ideal off-season – one of him and Keely spending the summer together while he trained and she created and they both travelled the world was still fresh in his mind, even though now it seemed destined to stay a fantasy. And unlike the Stanley Cup, he wasn’t sure what he could do to get Keely Halloran back in his life.

Andrei tried to forget about her: her smile, her voice, her touch. Even though he never really wanted to erase her beautiful blue eyes and playful laugh from his memory. It just would’ve been easier for him. The playoffs did help, while they lasted. But now that they were over, he was left with a daunting summer alone. And those hopes and dreams returned to the forefront of his mind, now more painful since he saw no chance at making them a reality.

Instead of that sparkling summer he dreamed of, he sits in his Carolina house, the space empty and silent. His family had already gone back home, leaving him alone to wrap up any remaining responsibilities he had to attend to before joining them. He should be packing, should be organizing, should be doing something other than sitting on his living room couch, wallowing.

His phone buzzes from its spot on the table, a notification lighting up the screen. Andrei’s eyes glance down, registering the words on the Google Alert banner.

Keely Halloran performance at the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame

Andrei knows that he should’ve silenced these alerts long ago. They were partially the reason it all went downhill – the constant bombardment of headlines that involved rumors of her with someone who wasn’t him surely wasn’t good for his self-esteem. But after he left her Beacon Hill brownstone that evening in April, he didn’t have the heart to stop them. Call it morbid curiosity, call it being a glutton for punishment, he didn’t care. He wanted to know what she was doing, where she was going, who she was hanging out with. And in the months that they were apart, no alert had sent him spiraling. They were all pretty standard: interviews, paparazzi shots, recordings.

He had seen an announcement about new music amid the Eastern Conference Final series, the idea of listening to it pushed to the side. But now… he had nothing better to do.

Andrei walks to his office/gaming room to grab his wireless headphones, quickly connecting them to his cellphone before clicking the video link.

He can’t stop the pull of his heart as Keely walks onto the stage, the black lace jumpsuit as intoxicating as everything about her. The music begins and Andrei watches as she lifts the microphone to her mouth, the melody falling from her lips.

It was beautiful. She always sounded beautiful but this… it was mournful, it was apologetic. But more importantly, it felt like she was singing directly to him. Every lyric was an explanation, each line an apology.

The video ends and Andrei registers her gentle smile, ladened with melancholy. He sees her blue eyes, the normally electric irises now dark as a stormy sea. He fights back against the urge to replay the video, watch it on repeat, get his fill of seeing Keely’s face and hearing her voice. But something tells him that there was more of whatever story she was trying to tell.

His fingers move quickly, opening his Instagram, ignoring the thousands of tags and mentions and direct messages and typing ‘keelyhalloran’ into the search bar. Her profile pops up in an instant and he clicks the very first post.

It’s an album cover, the burnt orange as eye-catching as the image within the album title. Andrei’s eyes scan over the track titles before moving onto the caption that Keely added to the image. And every word feels as if it tugs at a deeper part of him, an instinct that says he wasn’t crazy. His instinct was right – this album was for him and he needed to listen.

So, he did.

The album is easy to find, the first thing that pops up when he types her name. Without hesitation, he hits play on the first track an allows the music to fill his ears. And when each song ends, he feels as if he knows more than he did before.

Every single song is another form of apology, another explanation, an insight into her thoughts and her side of their relationship, and their ending. Andrei could hear it on his first listen, but on his second listen with the lyrics scrolling in time with her voice he understood more, and on every subsequent listen, it felt as if each song was a letter addressed specifically to him.

Andrei was sure that if it were anyone else, they would see Keely’s words as an excuse, a way of writing off the hurt she caused. But he saw it as another look behind the curtain that obscured the real Keely Halloran – a woman that he admired and loved but admits that he didn’t know much about.

He should’ve learned, should’ve tried to understand the hurt that he saw still festering within her instead of pretending like this was just another relationship and she was just another girl.

He should call her. He should text her. He should reach out to her in some way. But what would he say? What words could he string together to make her realize that he understood now, that he took responsibility for the way things ended, that he was sorry: for not understanding, for the way he treated her, for everything he did or didn’t do, for –

The sound of a knocking on his front door filters through his headphones, echoing around the living room. Andrei’s hands hit the pause button on his phone, silencing Keely’s voice before removing the headphones from over his ears. He is half sure he imagined the sound or that it was some wild animal outside making the noise. But the knocking comes again, stronger this time. There was no doubt now that it came from someone on the other side of his front door.

Andrei lifts himself off the plush cushions, his mind flitting through the list of who it could possibly be. There were only a few people that were close enough to him to know his address, excluding delivery drivers and mail carriers. He wasn’t expecting a package of any kind, nor was he expecting an audience. The only logical possibility was a teammate, coming over to share the misery of a season ended too soon.

Andrei peers out the windows embedded in his front door and through the warped view of the glass, he sees the outline of a feminine figure standing on his front porch, a baseball hat perched on their head, their blondish hair flowing down their back.

A heavy sigh rushes through Andrei, his annoyance coming to the forefront. This happened sometimes – fans finding his address and not understanding what should be implicit boundaries between him and them. But as soon as that thought passes through him, he can’t help but laugh at the hypocrisy of his words. If this is how he felt about a single fan every few months, imagine how Keely felt not being able to step out of her house without someone taking her picture. It makes him feel guiltier about his demands back in April, his jealousy blinding him to the reality.

Andrei shakes his head gently before unlocking the door, pulling it open. He is ready to politely tell whoever it was to please leave. But his words die on his lips when she turns around, removing her sunglasses and those unforgettable cerulean irises meet his.

“Hi,” Keely says, her voice soft as if from a dream. Hell, Andrei wasn’t sure that he didn’t fall asleep on the couch and this was just a fantasy brought on from Keely’s singing still filtering through his headphones.

It’s a soft clearing of her throat that finally knocks Andrei out of his paralysis and he finally finds his own words.

“Hi.”

Andrei is sure he looks like an idiot, standing there dumbly the threshold of his house while Keely waits on his porch, her hands in front of her body, the fingers playing with the hem of yet another oversized band t-shirt.

“Can I come in?” she asks, her gentle voice floating into his ears.

“Oh, yea – yeah. Of course,” he responds, the words somewhat stuck in his throat. He steps back, holding the door open to her as she walks into his house. Andrei smells the aroma of her familiar cherry perfume and he is tempted to pull her close and commit the smell to his memory once again. He resists, watching instead as her eyes scan over the space. She had been here once before, during a long homestead for the Canes. She had managed to sneak down to North Carolina and meet him in his space for the first and only time before… well, before now.

After gently shutting and relocking the door, Andrei follows her into his living room. Keely politely sits on the edge of his couch, her body perched upright as if she was ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.

“How are you here?” he asks, his eyes surely wide at the fact that she was indeed here: in Raleigh, in his house, in his life.

“A private jet and a chauffeur helps.”

Her words and tone are teasing but Andrei can sense the apprehension hiding beneath them. Using humor to diffuse the situation – another thing that was uniquely Keely. He replies with a half-hearted chuckle as if to tell her that it’s okay; he’s just as nervous, just as uncertain as she is. He walks past to sit on the other end of the couch, angling his body towards her.

The silence falls and the only adjective Andrei can prescribe to the quiet is… heavy. Heavy with what? That much he wasn’t sure of. With the weight of everything they had said? The weight of everything left unsaid between them?

He follows her gaze as it dances around the space, registering the subtle changes in décor that his mom had added before her eyes drop to coffee table in front of them. He can see her zero in on his phone and with a quick glance, he sees that he left it unlocked, her album cover still emblazoned on the screen.

Keely’s eyes dart up to him and he stills, the stare stronger than he was expecting.

“Did you listen to it?” she asks, her voice soft.

“I did.”

“And… what did you think?”

The question is simple and if it were any other situation and if they were different people, the answer would be just as uncomplicated. But Andrei knows the implicit meaning behind Keely’s question. She didn’t want to know if he liked the music or the production or the lyrics; she wanted to know if he really listened to every that she was trying to say.

“It was… you,” he replies, his own voice gentle.

Those electric blue irises stay locked on him and he can see the small tilt of her head, a silent request for clarification.

“I felt you, when I listened. I understood, I – I heard you, Keely.”

He isn’t certain if his words are adequate enough, if they land perfectly so she herself understands what he is trying to say, but he doesn’t know what else to add.

What do you say to the person you never though you would see again? What do you promise someone who already has the world? What else can you give but understanding? How do you prove that you do now – finally – understand when you didn’t two months ago? How do you prove you’ve changed?

However, all of those questions spiraling inside Andrei’s skull silence when a gentle smile tugs at Keely’s lips, those blue eyes turning from ice to spring-water.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” she replies, looking away with a light laugh, one that Andrei returns. He can see her body relax and his own body responds in kind. Her attention darts back to him and there is no stopping the skip of his heart in his chest at the sight of her clear earnest stare, emotions on clear display – not hidden beneath a mask of her own design.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, the apology that was laced within every song of her latest release now spoken directly to him.  

“So am I,” he tells her. Because it was the truth.

There was no one person to blame for their ending. He was insecure and impatient and ignorant to the reality of her world. She let her past control her reaction to his fears, overcorrecting in order not to get hurt again. They both shared the blame. They were both owed an apology.

“I missed you,” Keely continues, “You still aren’t easy to forget.”

The words are an echo from that first day at her recording studio in New York – another moment where she reached out to him to connect. A moment that was only achieved because he waited for her.

That was what Andrei forgot. He forgot about the promise he made back in Toronto, the first honest question Keely had asked him, the first time he saw the entirety of her. He had been blinded by the amazement of her, the impossibility of being allowed to float in her orbit that he somehow forgot that the bold, brash, confident woman in front of him had been hurt and was vulnerable to being hurt again.

“I… I was thinking. I mean,” Keely says, her voice pulling his attention fully to her. He watches as she trips over her words, her hands coming to the hem of her shirt, twisting the material around her fingers as a humorless chuckle falls from her mouth.

“This is insane.”

“Has this ever not been?” Andrei asks, his turn to lightly tease everything that they had been through, all the events that brought them to this moment. Keely returns his laughter, her blue eyes bright as they land on him. He sees her chest raise, hears the deep breath she takes, her body shifting ever so slightly towards him. He lets her gather herself, lets her take whatever time she needed before speaking again.

“I wanted to say – I came here to let you know that I’ve gotten better. Took the time I needed and… And if you want… I would like to try again.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I want to let you know that I can’t make any guarantees. Can’t promise that people won’t talk or whisper still. Can’t promise you that you won’t see and hear things that you might not want to. I can’t even promise that I’ll be perfect. There will be most likely be times where I’ll get scared and might falter. The only thing that I can promise is that… I like you and I want this – us – to work.”

Her words hang in the air, the truth of them echoing clearly. Andrei can’t stop the smile that appears on his face.

There she was. This was the woman that he fell in love with, this was the woman he wanted in his life. This was Keely – the entirety of her: honest, brave, vulnerable, hopeful, determined.

It is pure instinct that causes Andrei to reach out to her, gently taking her wrist, untangling her fingers from the fabric of her shirt and replacing it with his own calloused skin. He feels her warmth flow into him and he takes a moment to soak in the sunlight of her that he had been missing before locking his eyes with hers.

“Do you remember what you said to me, in Toronto, when I first asked you if you wanted… this? Wanted me for more than a night?”

A smile tugs at Keely’s lips and Andrei can almost see the memory of that moment in the tunnels of Scotiabank playing through her mind.

“Would you wait for me?”

“And you remember what I told you?”

“That you would.”

“I will. And I have been,” he says, his brown eyes staring into the ocean blue depths of hers. “I’ve been waiting for you to show up to a game or call me on the phone or come through my front door. I think would’ve waited an eternity for you to come back. Because I want you, Keely.”

Andrei’s hand tightens around hers, pulling her closer to him as if the action would emphasize his next words. He isn’t sure if it will. A part of him hopes it does.

“All of you.”

And when he sees that smile – that beautiful smile that pulled him into her gravity the very first time they met – appear on Keely’s face, he can’t help but smile in return.

She came back to him. And he’d be damned if he ever let her go again.

a/n: a reconnection!! surely everything will go smoothly from now on (says the author who has the entire fic planned out already). little bonus - this is the outfit Keely is wearing in this fic if you want the visual.

taglist: @fallinallincurls @laureniray @comphy-and-cozy@smileysvech@pyotrkochetkov @thewintersoldierdisaster @svexhenthusiast

let me know if you want to be tagged in this story or if you want to add yourself to my general taglist, click here!!

[tirednotflirting]

found a space and time in the holocene

some ssf boys (mostly boy. like this is more an alex fic than a jalex fic tbh) inspired by this post on Alex’s insta a few weeks ago 

been a min since i wanted to write so it was fun to give this a shot :)

here on ao3 if that’s more ur jam x

Alex is the last one back on the bus after the show.

They played rock-paper-scissors to decide shower order and luck had not been on his side. The last of the cars in the lot outside the venue have left by the time he’s headed across the grounds to the buses. It’s a strange feeling, Alex thinks, walking across the ground that was filled with so many smiling, singing faces just a couple hours earlier. There’s still a buzz in the air, something like static, that hums into his ears as he passes the stage he spent the evening running across. He would stick around for longer and just let himself soak it all in, but he knows that the floodlights shining above him are likely being turned off soon and the phone weighing down the pocket of his sweatpants died an hour ago.

He walks down the line of buses and smiles at the muffled sounds of laughter and conversation he picks up on when he passes each one. He’d forgotten just how much he loved the makeshift community that forms so quickly on a tour like this. His mind wanders back to their earlier Warped Tour years and the insanity that was their traveling musical circus. John had joked at some point that Sad Summer felt like a vaguely more grown up version of their wild, reckless days on Warped Tour. It’s still only the first night so he’s not quite sure about that comparison yet, but the prospect of taking part in something that he holds such a nostalgic fondness for, especially after the last eighteen months, makes his heart flutter.

The first thing Alex hears when he opens the door to the All Time Low bus is Jack’s bright (and probably tipsy) laughter. He climbs the steps and is greeted by Zack and Jack sitting on couches facing each other. Zack’s phone being held out toward Jack, whatever was on the screen likely being the cause for the laughter. The door closing behind Alex causes them to look up, and their smiles widen ever so slightly. Jack makes grabby hands out toward Alex, and he rolls his eyes playfully in response before dropping the gym bag that’s been resting on his shoulder and taking up the seat beside Jack. Arms immediately lock around Alex’s waist and a sigh leaves his lips as he leans most of his weight back against Jack’s chest.

“Hello, boy,” Jack says with a laugh. He turns to press his lips against Alex’s shoulder. “Welcome to the party bus.”

“Aren’t we getting a little old to be the party bus?” Alex asks. He’s mostly joking but then Zack yawns and Alex can’t help but repeat the action himself.

“See, Rian said the same thing before he disappeared to call his lady,” Jack says, shaking his head. “We haven’t been on tour in forever, I want to celebrate.”

“Maybe after Anaheim?” Alex suggests. “We’ve got guests coming to that show, you’ll have more people to entertain.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought about that.”

Zack laughs from where he sits across from them before standing. “I need to call my house sitter back, gonna go steal the back lounge for a bit before I call it a night. Sleep well, boys.”

He leans down to press a kiss against the top of each of their heads before heading toward the opposite end of the bus. Alex pulls his legs up onto the couch and over Jack’s lap as they fall into a comfortable silence for a few moments once it’s just the two of them. The electric excitement Alex had felt in the air outside no longer buzzes like a fly in his ear but something else still tingles under his skin. It’s only heightened when Jack starts tracing patterns with his fingertip up and down Alex’s arm.

The ground starts rumbling underneath where they sit and when Alex turns and glances toward the front of the bus, he sees the headlights are on now. The line of buses start their journey out of the lot and toward Anaheim for the next show. For a moment he closes his eyes, his head still resting against Jack’s shoulder and he takes a deep breath.

“Didn’t realize how much I missed being on a bus,” he mumbles against Jack’s t-shirt. He still smells like home, like laundry detergent and the candle he keeps beside his bed. It’s a strange sensation, Alex thinks, the gentle movements of the bus accompanied by the scents of being stuck inside the tiny space he locked himself up in with Jack the last year and change. He’s not sure what to make of it right now.

“I’m sorry,” Jack says, his tone all teasing. “Do you not remember when I had to stop you from drunk-ordering a tour bus to be dropped off in front of my apartment in the spring? I have a really funny video if you want a reminder.”

“I’m good, thank you,” Alex replies. He pats a hand against Jack’s chest before he sits up and untangles himself from Jack’s arms. His legs cross below him and he takes a look around the space.

“I really missed this,” he repeats with a nod. “I missed doing our job and meeting all those kids and having them all sing back at me and having all three of you with me.”

Alex’s vision goes blurry and he feels tears hang onto the edge of his lashes. Likely by instinct, Jack’s hand reaches for Alex’s, their fingers intertwining and palms pressing together. “It’s really nice to be back on the road.”

“Feels right, yeah.”

They sit in silence again for a moment, the buzz now replaced by the sound of tires against the road as they merge onto the interstate. Alex feels Jack’s lips press below his ear. “I love you a lot, but I am going to be a grumpy and achy old boy in the morning so I’m gonna take my own bunk tonight if that’s okay with you?”

“Of course,” Alex replies, his head shaking quickly to break him out of his daze. “Take some Advil before you fall asleep.”

Jack hums in agreement before moving to stand. “Think Rian is done on the phone in his bunk, I’m gonna call it a night,” Jack announces. He kisses Alex’s knuckles before releasing his hand. “Don’t stay up too late, rock star.”

Alex laughs. “I won’t, I promise. Love you.”

“Love you,” Jack sings back, and then he’s gone from the room. 

The room settles again, and Alex realizes that it’s moments like these that he missed too. Alone on the tour bus couch is where he’s written some of their best lyrics, the stillness caught in the middle of movement providing a strange sense of inspiration. He wonders what he’ll write about on this tour, what precious moments from the last year will get a new poetic meaning and life.

It’s been so long since being on the road felt like something new, and it both excites and scares him. He stays stuck on that idea for another several minutes before the passing headlights of other cars on the highway begin to feel like hypnosis. Time for bed, he decides.

Quiet and careful so he doesn’t wake his boys, Alex slides the door to the bunks open and gently closes it behind him. He slips into his normal bunk (bottom on the right - he likes being close to the ground) and pulls his quilt up over his chest.

The real exhaustion hits him the moment his head drops to his pillow, but for a moment before his eyes flutter shut, Alex is taken back to a moment practically a lifetime ago now. On their first bus tour (he almost cringes thinking about the constant state of chaos that that bus was) he was the only one who could manage to fall asleep immediately in the bunks. The boys complained of tiny spaces and the constant noise of the road and the way the bus stopping and moving never failed to wake them up. It was never a problem for Alex. He remembers that it provided him a lot of solace, made him feel like they were making the right choice to let this be the path they chose to go down. It only took the rest of them a few days into tour for their exhaustion after shows to settle in and help them sleep through the night. 

And now, as he lets himself fall toward sleep, surrounded by his favorite people in the world, Alex feels peace. After so long cooped up inside, he finally feels like they’ve arrived home.

*