#he'd be beaten within an inch of his life before he could reach for his gun and one warning from spain and swiss is like jesus fuck my guy

[fafayayarhen]

cw: suggestive themes of violence + mild gore & it's dark cause of theme at play here okay so heed that thx

that concludes the doodle dump series of yandere!spain concept

tune in for more!!! having ideas for a more spaus centric ideas for this concept ngl

also please note the characters included in the speech bubbles that's like a 'hit list' is really just a gag on the whole insanity that is the yandere trope of "killing off" the rivals or whoever was close to their person of interest, i don't mind any of those ships!! i fucken love pruaus and swissaus (even if one sided lmFAOOO) so don't anyone come at me HSDJKFHS

[sweetestlamb]

Bring Me To Life

Summary: Kang Sujin has never had anyone to turn to, hiding behind a façade her entire life. Someone begins to peek behind the mask. 

Author’s note: My two favorite characters in TB are Seojun and Sujin, both characters who are honestly treated like trash by the writers. I cannot begin to tell how upsetting it was to see Sujin’s character assassination or how painful it is to watch her being physically abused knowing that the writers will not give her therapy or a true happy ending. She’s just here to be beaten and vilified. Seojun, I won’t even rant everyone knows what the problem is (idk who told them we wanted to see Start-Up the high school edition.) So I wrote this after watching the most recent episode and hating most of it for these reasons. I don’t know how far it’ll go or how often I can update, but I need my two babies to have a happy ending preferably together because the visuals are just a dreammmm. 

The rain crashes down loudly from aggrieved storm clouds bellowing above her in the sky, the chilled condensation plastering her thin satin pajamas to her trembling body. She had to get out, the pain in her cheek numbing and electrifying all at once.

How dare she tell him that she didn't want to get married, want to stand on her own two feet without a man giving her value?

His hand had flown across the room before she could sidestep the blow, the fragile glass filled with water in her hand- the very reason she'd left her room in the dead of night- shattering into jagged pieces as it collided with a greater force. Just like her.

She hadn't been trying to eavesdrop but it was hard not to hear him chuckling deeply on the phone, offering up his only child like she was an item on a menu.

"Yes we should set them up. It seems Suho isn't interested and she should marry young, that's when women are worth the most."

Nausea rolled like waves in the pits of her stomach and before she could think logically, her feet were sprinting into the living room, air barely filling her lungs as she stared at the man she'd never once thought of as a father. The last time she'd made the grave mistake of calling him daddy he'd smacked her so hard that was how she lost her first tooth. He'd been father ever since or Mr. Kang. She tried her best to avoid him at all cost, she would never be good enough and it was getting harder to hide the marks he left behind.

It was difficult to remember clearly what occurred seconds after her refusal to marry a man she didn't know left her lips, his fist connected and she was knocked back onto their coffee table the sharp edge cutting at her cheek. As she looked at him, anger painting his face a demonic red, fear crippled her and her hands twitched desperately wanting to wash them raw. Then he grabbed a thick marble ashtray from the table and her instincts took over and she was out the door, running as fast as she could, knowing her life was at stake and she couldn't afford to stop.

When the cloud in her head cleared that was when she found herself at the bus stop.

Judgmental whispers breeze by her ears as people passed by with umbrellas, shocked to see the young girl crying in her pajamas at the stop, but none stopped to offer her help or inquire about her situation, happy just to pass judgement. She ignores them all, panicking racing through her blood until she's unable to breathe, choking on nothing as she twitches in the harsh air. Her throat constricts as she screams at herself, breathe. 

Breathe.

BREATHE! 

But it's useless as her body shuts down, forgetting how to do the basic function, she sways as she starts to feel light headed from the lack of oxygen and with a final wheeze she collapses. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

He signs as he weaves past cars moving far too slowly, adrenaline rushing through his veins as he marginally misses nipping a car to the left of him, easily dragging his motorcycle away with the fluid movements of his body. He glares up at the sky before cursing, "Fucking weather report didn't say anything about a sudden rainstorm." If he'd known he would have stayed home, always hating the rain. It brought back bad memories.

Halting at a red light, he puts his leg down for balance bouncing slightly in place. Pulling the shield up on his helmet he glances around, recognizing the area easily, before something in his peripheral catches his attention, a lump on the ground. Tilting his head he revs his trusty iron steed to live, riding over to the direction of the mysterious mass on the wet ground. As he gets closer his heart falters, it's too evident now. 

It's a person.

Jumping off his bike and pushing out the kickstand he flings his helmet off, his hair immediately drenched under the downpour as he races over to help. As he nears the figure, it becomes clearer it's a woman wearing what looks like sleep clothes. Momentarily he wonders if this is a crazy person and if he should just mind his business but a frightening image of his little sister unconscious on the ground and no one coming to her aid flashes in his mind.

"I'll just check if she's breathing and call an ambulance. That's all, if she tries to attack me I'll just ride away." He takes a deep breath, collecting his courage before closing the gap between him and the unconscious woman.

Crouching beside her, he reaches out a hand hesitating before sighing and shaking at her cold shoulder. No response. He shakes harder now, watching the motion quake through her entire body, but still she is unresponsive.

"Hey! Hey! Are you okay? Wake up, you're scaring me!" He starts to jiggle her with both hands, before he crawls into her space not caring about his safety any longer, the idea that this unknown woman might be dead is making him nauseous. People are always dying without his permission. It's so frustrating.

"Wake up! Come on!" He shouts at the figure now holding both her shoulders and turning the woman over, lifting her face from its place on the ground, cradling her limp body in his lap. After two more vicious shakes, she starts to cough and groan in his arms. Relief swims through his veins as he watches her come back to life, anxiously watching as her dewy long lashes flutter open and he's caught in a lifeless deep gaze.

"Han Seo-Jun?"

It takes a long pause for him to register that the woman has said his name and then a longer moment to recognize who she is.

"Kang Su-Jin?" He replies in genuine shock, taking in the wom--young girl in his arms. She's shivering so violently that it's becoming difficult to hold onto her, vibrating out of his hold before he grips her tighter, whipping off his jacket without second thought and wrapping it around her. Goosebumps raising on his skin as his body mentally berates his lack of survival skills.

"What are you doing here?" She looks at him bewildered as if the stranger occurrence is his presence and not her own.

He squints his eyes looking back at her, "I could ask you the same thing. I found you unconscious here. I thought you were...." He trails off unable to utter the rest of his sentence.

"You should have left me here. Maybe I would have. If I was that lucky."

"What? Are you crazy, you want to die? Did you do this to yourself, what are you on?!" He roars at her, rage flooding his system as he shouts at the stupid girl, how dare she try to kill herself and leave her body for him to find? He wishes he had taken a different route, that he'd never come across her. He was in no state to comfort someone who was suicidal, still too raw and hurt. What was so hard about living that made people want to do that? Hot tears gather in his eyes as he abruptly pulls away from Sujin, unapologetic as she tumbles to the ground without his support.

She starts at him, stunned before righteous fury twists her features and she roars back at him.

"Who are you to judge me! I didn't ask you to help me, leave me alone!"

He glares back at her ready to yank his jacket away and run away from her but a small movement stops him, as she's screaming at him a small muscle twitches in her cheek bringing his attention to said cheek. It's nearly purple, standing out obscenely on her pale skin and then he notices the split lip and the bruises on her neck and he's so ashamed of himself he could bawl.

He deflates before speaking to her, "What happened to your face? Who did this to you?"

He doesn't know what kind of look he has on his face but before his questions can even settle between them she's sneering and twisting away from him, throwing his jacket on the ground before making her escape. Unprepared for her sudden departure he reacts too late, before chasing after her. It's easy to close the distance separating them with his long legs and within seconds she's merely inches in front of him, he reaches out a large hand to grab her wrist but hesitates recalling the bruises littering her frame. Instead he races past her, blocking her with his body swerving to the left and then the right when she tries to dodge him. They play this cat and mouse game before she finally gives up, glaring up at him with moist enraged eyes.

"Why do you care? We aren't even friends!"

Her piercing shout rings in his ears as he looks down at her passively. He can't answer that question, doesn't know what brought him to this area so late and not understanding why he was the one to find her in this condition. He doesn't know why he cares. But maybe things could have been different if Se-Yeon had someone to chase him. Maybe he'd still be alive...

So he answers her honestly.

"I don't want anymore people to die."

To his complete shock she starts to cry, tears falling rapidly from her eyes before she crumples to the ground, the rain pounding on her head and he stands still unsure of what to do before he drapes the jacket he'd rescued from the ground over her head, shielding her from most of the thunderous downpour. When she looks up to see the jacket protecting her, he almost falls backwards as her head slams into his chest, her tears simmering hot on his chilled body. It's almost painfully uncomfortable but he doesn't move away. Letting her cry on his chest, his shirt is soaked anyway this makes no difference.

He doesn't know how long they are crouched there on the ground, so dark that the sidewalk is completely devoid of anyone else, it feels like they are the only two people left on Earth.

"If we stay here you're going to get a cold."

He voices his concern but the only reply he receives is a gross sounding sniffle and he grimaces, knowing that his poor shirt is probably damaged beyond repair covered in snot and tears.

Sighing he starts to repeat himself before she whispers, "I don't have anywhere to go."

"I can take you home." Her fists tighten in his drenched shirt, he can practically feel the fear wafting off her, he'd assumed the marks on her face were from a possessive unhinged boyfriend but her reaction makes him uneasy. He tries to push those unpleasant thoughts to the corner.

"What about your friends? Why don't you call Su-ah or Ju-Kyung, I’m sure they’ll help you.” 

She stiffens in his arms before shaking her head in decline.

"No. I can't let anyone else see me like this. I don't need them looking at me the way you did, like I'm a sad pitiful puppy. I never want anyone look at me like that again."

He can respect that, he never wants to appear weak in front of others. It was easier to become angry and lash out rather than showing your true heart, nobody could hurt you that way.

"Then what? Where do you want to go?"

"I have nowhere to go. I'll stay here until morning. I'll be fine, you can go."

He looks at her dumbfounded, what kind of man would leave a battered woman alone in the rain? He wasn't raised by animals, damn it.

"Let's go." He makes a point not to touch her, their only point of connection are her hands twisted in his shirt.

"What?"

He bulldozes past her confusion, looking at her with what he hopes are comforting eyes.

"I'm taking you to my house. I can't just leave you here."

"Are you crazy? Don't you live with your mother and sister, what will they say?"

He winces at the logical inquiry, he had already considered that himself, thinking of his mother's subsequent smacks and his sister's teasing once they learned what he'd done but still deciding that he has no other choice. He can't just leave her here.

He shrugs, "That's my problem to worry about. I'm not leaving you here, I'd really like to get out of his rain. Let's go." He repeats himself harder, pleading with her.

She looks away and he's prepared to throw her over his shoulders and face the consequences when he hears her response, "Okay. Let's go."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It's a quiet ride back, the engine rumbling through the aching bones of her frozen body. Han Seojun. The last person she ever expected to see after being roused from her panic induced collapse. Her arms tighten around his thin waist as he swerves around a car, adrenaline and fear battling for dominance in her body. When her fingers accidentally brush across wet bare skin she quickly moves her hands higher, fighting the embarrassment that washes over her.

If he notices she can't hear his reaction over the roar of the motorcycle.

When they finally pull up to a small apartment, she loosens her hold on him cracking her frozen digits.

"You didn't need to hold that tightly, I wasn't going to let anything happen to you. I ride this everyday you know."

She doesn't reply focusing on getting off the bike, swinging her leg over and hopping off not graceful but effective, a small proud smile spreads on her face before she gazes back at him.

He stares back before shaking his head, as if lost in a daze before he stomps off for her to follow.

Wordlessly she trails behind him, feeling foolish in her duck pajamas, a gift from Su-ah.

When he pushes his front door open, letting her in first she steps out of her sopping wet house slippers standing awkwardly looking around.

"Stay here. I'll get towels so we don't trail too much water."

She nods at his command, gazing at the floor and seeing how much water is already pooling around her feet.

"Here." He hands her a fluffy pink towel, she raises an eyebrow at the color.

"It's the guest towel. I wouldn't give you my towel."

That makes sense, sharing towels is far too intimate for the relationship they have. That being none. 

She rapidly towels at her hair, before running the towel down her body and wrapping it around her waist.

"You can use the bathroom. It's the second door on the right. I'll bring you dry clothes."

She steps cross the doorway, finally entering his home. Before she turns back to him staring directly into his eyes, "Than.... You didn't have to do this." She loses her confidence but his answering smirk lets her know he understood enough, with that she walks to the bathroom locking herself inside.

The sight of her bruised face in the mirror makes her pause, reaching up to finger at the stark purple mark on her cheek. She's crying before she can control her emotions, tears dripping into the sink as she remembers her night, how close she was to the end despite what she said to Seojun she wanted to live. As her father stood above her ready to snuff her out like a mere nuisance in his life, she realized with a burning passion how desperately she wanted to live.

A soft knock drags her back to reality as she rapidly wipes her tears away.

"I'm leaving clothes by the door. You can come out whenever you're ready. I'm making tea."

When she hears the light steps of his feet moving away from the door she opens the door a crack, picking up the neatly folded pile of clothes. Sending the boy a mental thank you before closing the door quietly.

It's clear that these clothes belong to Seojun, draping off her body, too large for her frame, a black T-shirt with a microphone on the center and sweatpants that cover her feet as well, he'd even remembered to bring her socks. Instantly she feels her body warming as her body temperature returns to normal. 

Folding her wet clothes and splashing water on her face then using the towel to rub it dry, she exits the bathroom walking towards the light she sees assuming that's the kitchen.

"The water's almost done boiling. Sit down."

His deep voice greets her as she follows his orders and takes a seat.

"Are these your clothes?"

"What? Oh yeah they're mine, sorry my sister locked her door. They're very old though, I haven't worn them in years I thought they would fit you better." He eyes her as he says the last sentence, "I guess it didn't make much of a difference I'm just too tall and manly for my own good."

She scoffs at his narcissistic comment rolling her eyes "Tall and manly my foot. You're so skinny I could probably pick you up with one arm."

He immediately turns at her comment, affronted look on his face, "Shut up! It's hard for me to put on weight, I'm not that skinny."

He places his hands on his hips, looking down at himself before puffing his chest out to make himself appear broader, it's so ridiculous that she can't control her reaction.

Sudden uncontrollable laughter.

She laughs breathlessly, folding onto her lap trying to contain her giggles but his scandalized look makes her laugh harder and she has to stuff her face in her elbow to prevent herself from waking his family.

After a few minutes of random spasms of laughter she finally peers back up at him.

He looks just like he did outside when she'd smiled after successively getting off his motorcycle.

"What? What are you looking at?"

"Nothing. I just never see you smile at school."

"Well you never do anything worth smiling about." She quips back, wondering if she'd gone too far but he doesn't reply beyond a slight smile that's gone too fast to even be titled that, he places her steaming cup of tea before her sipping at his own after blowing on it.

They drink in comfortable silence.

She's the first to rapture the silence, "I don't need pity."

"I don't pity yo--"

"But thank you. Thank you for stopping. Thank you for this, thank you."

He stares wordlessly before nodding, a slight blush on his cheeks before he hides his face in the cup of tea. She doesn't bring attention to it.

"You can sleep in my room. It's the door next to the bathroom."

Humming she looks up, fatigue hitting her like a brick at the mention of sleeping.

"Where will you sleep?"

"I have a perfectly good couch, don't argue you're sleeping in my room. That's final. It's better that my mother doesn't see a strange woman on the couch when she wakes up."

Well, she can't argue with that logic.

"Okay." Drinking the last of the soothing beverage, she stands up walking over to place the cup in the sink.

"Good night." She starts to walk back in the direction of the bathroom, seeing another door next to it. Seojun's room. Twisting the doorknob she pushes it open, before she hears his voice from behind her.

"If you need anything I'm right outside."

Blinking her tears away, she nods without looking back, too vulnerable with his palpable concern.

When she lays her head down on his pillow, his scent fills her senses and she falls into a deep restless slumber feeling safer than she has in long time.

Tomorrow will be horrible.

But tonight, she will allow herself to breath easy knowing that someone is on her side.

[misscrazyfangirl321]

@badthingshappenbingo prompt fill for anonymous, who requested Lucy/Wyatt "Panic Attack."

Fandom: Timeless

Trope: Panic Attack

Rating: T

Warnings: References to canonical past child abuse

Canon Divergence post 2x10.

-

He couldn't breathe.

Fluorescent lights hummed, seeming far too loud around him. Was this how Lucy felt when she got into the Lifeboat? How did she do it? The walls seemed to be closing in on him, suffocating him, trapping him in the tiny bunker washroom, with nothing but his own reflection for company.

(His reflection. Not his father's. Right? But the bunker always seemed so dark, the lights were flickering and weak, and in the shadows, he could almost see the man who broke him.)

He was fine. Not broken. Not damaged. He drove the truck into the lake, and he was fine.

“I'm fine,” he snapped, the words echoing in the nearly empty room. Taunting him. (Even his voice was the same, these days.) “I'm not him. Okay? I'm fine. I'm-” His words were lost in a growl as he struck, punching the wall in front of him, throwing every ounce of frustration into the action.

“Wyatt?” The door opened, just a crack, and Lucy's soft voice floated through. He didn't-couldn't-look.

“Yeah?” His hand throbbed, and he glanced down, wincing. His knuckles were cracked and bloody.

“Are you-” She hesitated. “Are you okay?” Unsure. Cautious. It wasn't right. That wasn't Lucy. She wasn't cautious or unsure of anything. (Until him. He messed that up, messed her up, just like he messed everything up. Jessica. Jiya. Rufus. What on earth was he going to do with a kid?)

“I'm-” Fine, he tried to say, but the word stuck in his throat. He ordered his brain to force it out, but it just wouldn't come. “I'm-”

Footsteps. She was coming toward him, slow but steady. “Wyatt?” He couldn't answer. Her hand rested on his arm, tentatively, and he absently noted that it was the first time she'd touched him since that horrifying day, when he'd been so angry and afraid that he'd caught her in a strike meant for Flynn. He could hardly stand to think of it. He could still see her, in his mind's eye, her hand flying to her mouth, tears springing up in her eyes.

A soft gasp distracted him from his thoughts, and he turned his attention back to Lucy. Her gaze was fixed on his hands, soft and horrified. “What happened?”

Suddenly ashamed, he pulled away. “It was nothing. I was just… Being stupid. It's stupid. Don't worry about it.” He needed to get out of there. Where he was going to go, he wasn't sure, because everywhere he turned, there were traces of Jessica, or darting glances from betrayed teammates, but he couldn't stay there anymore, couldn't stand her looking at him with such gentle concern. “I need to-”

“Wait.” Quiet, but firm. Unyielding. (Now, that sounded more like Lucy.) “Let me…” She maneuvered around him, as he stood frozen, unable to refuse her.

Within seconds, she had a warm, wet rag, and was reaching for his hands. For just a brief second, she hesitated, and he could practically feel the memories tugging at her, just as they tugged at him, but then she swallowed hard, and set to work. Slowly, with impossible care, she ran the rag over each knuckle, never applying too much pressure, just enough to rinse away the blood.

He couldn't find his voice, so he simply watched, mouth half-open, grasping for words that weren't there.

With the work of cleaning done, she moved on to a small bottle of ointment, dipping her fingers in, and applying it to the damaged skin. It was cold, and he couldn't help but flinch in surprise. “Sorry,” she murmured, finishing up the last knuckle.

His racing heart had calmed a little, and he took a breath, shaking his head. “‘s fine.” How did she do it? How could she calm him down when the entire world seemed to be spinning out of control? (And why would she, after the things he'd done?)

She didn't respond, but started rifling through the cabinets again, searching for something else.

Without quite meaning to, he spoke.

“I'm going to have a kid.”

She stilled for a brief moment, before continuing, responding in a deceptively light tone. “I know.”

Right. Of course she did. Of course she knew that he got his wife pregnant, while she was right down the hall. This whole bunker thing didn't really allow for healthy breakups, did it? “I don't-Lucy, you know what my dad was like. I can't just-” He groaned, shutting his eyes tightly. “I don't know how to be a dad.”

A soft pressure on his hand distracted him, and he opened his eyes to see her wrapping it in gauze. “You don't have to-” He started, but she shook her head warningly, and he didn't push. The last thing he wanted to do was tell her what to do-again-so he just went silent.

At length, she spoke. “I think you'll be a great dad.” Her voice was so quiet, he could barely hear her, but the words settled in his soul, nonetheless.

“I'm just… So scared I'm going to hurt them.” The images wouldn't leave his mind. Him getting a little too angry. Lashing out. His child-

“You won't,” she said firmly, tucking the gauze in place. Nodding in satisfaction at her work, she stepped back, looking him up and down. “You’re not your father, Wyatt. You don't have to be like him.”

He wanted to believe her, wanted it badly, but uncertainty clawed at him, and he reached out, grabbing the sink in front of him to steady himself. “How? How do I keep from becoming… That?” He shuddered a little at the thought.

There was an odd note to her voice when she answered. “You look at everything your father did that hurt you, and you make sure to never do that to anyone else. Especially your kid.” Her eyes were steely and determined, and he wasn’t quite sure she was talking about him. “You don't let him define you. And…” She faltered. “If you really want to know about being a father…” He realized where this was going a half-second before she said it. “Maybe you should talk to Flynn.”

“Absolutely not,” He answered automatically, and she scoffed.

“He's not so bad, you know? And he's been a lifesaver since he got out of prison. Literally.”

There was some truth to that, of course. Flynn had been more than picking up his slack during the entire Jessica debacle, and it hadn't escaped Wyatt's notice. Honestly, maybe that was the worst of it: The man who had hurt them all was now being weirdly reliable, and even trustworthy. Maybe he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But the thought of going to him, of asking him for parenting advice, of all things… It was humiliating. “Maybe,” he allowed, and she eyed him skeptically, but didn't push.

“Good.” She gave him a final once-over, as if looking for any other damage, before turning to go.

‘You look at everything your father did you hurt you, and you make sure to never do that to anyone else.’

What had his father done? He'd called him horrible things, locked him in the trunk of a car, beaten him within an inch of his life…. And never even apologized.

Suddenly determined, he cleared his throat. “Lucy?” She hesitated, and he took a breath. All this time, and he hadn't apologized since that first day, hadn't even been able to find the words for it. How do you apologize for breaking someone's heart when you were supposed to protect it? But he knew it was time. “I'm sorry.”

She started to shake her head, brushing him off, but he stood his ground. “I need to say this. Ever since Jessica came back, the only thing I've done is hurt you.” His gaze darted to a bruise near her lip. Probably from Emma, but it could have just as easily come from him. “Believe me, that's the last thing I ever wanted to do. So I'm going to try to do better. But if I do something stupid again…” Oh, he was gonna regret this. “Tell Flynn he can punch me.”

A startled laugh slipped from her lips. (And oh, that felt good. Being the one to make her laugh-really laugh-again? He loved it.) “Thank you, Wyatt. Really.” She hesitated. Smiled at him, small but sincere. “You're a good man.”

It was utterly untrue, and he knew it, but something in the conviction of her words made him want to believe it, nonetheless. He wanted to wrap himself up in them, to play them on repeat in his head until they drowned out his father's voice, angry and destructive.

Instead, he took a breath, and looked up at the mirror. His own reflection stared back, not a ghost of a man long gone, and he exhaled, a hint of a smile flickering across his face.

For the first time in ages, he was calm.

[ecotone99]

[MF] Laying Tracks

EDIT: I have no idea why it’s formatting like this, I’ve tried posting it like 6 times and it doesn’t change. Give it a read if you can deal with the font, I think it’s a pretty good story. Would love any feedback.

I laid my tracks up his forearm, tracing his own with my fingers, softly, softly. My transgression, nameless, lay in a pool of his own vomit. A bin big enough to fit him into propped his neck and head up at an almost 90 degree angle. Were it not for the soft glow of my iPhone, the nighttime would render his body a black mass. I inched closer and closer to him, hoping and wishing that osmosis would permit me to share with him this heroin induced euphoria. I took in all the details, savouring every last morsel of him. I followed the path of a thin strand of saliva, which formed a bridge that connected the bottom of his chin to the collar of his beige corduroy jacket. Sunken cheeks softly inflated and deflated, revealing and hiding his sharp cheekbones. For seconds only, I dared to place my trembling hand in his. I let out a soft gasp and my heart melted when in his dreams, something told him to intertwine his fingers with mine. He stirred as unlocked our hands, rolling so that I had to leap away lest he bump into me and wake. I hurried down the alleyway back into the light, replaying every second of the encounter in my head.

Guilt began to eat me alive as soon as I got in the door that night. My housemates greeted me, and though there was no way they could’ve known what I just did, the split second of eye contact that happened as I hurried from the living room to my bedroom unnerved me. I heaved myself onto my bed, and sprung up immediately as if there’d been a thumbtack laying in wait. Actually, I’d just remembered that when I lay beside him, I got his vomit on my jacket. I threw it to the floor, then stared at it for a while. I sniffed the air. I took a step toward the jacket now laying spread eagle, and sniffed the air again. I got closer and closer to it, until I was on the ground. It was HIS vomit. A faltering smile flickered on and off my face, the centimetres I moved closer to the jacket cementing my fate further and further, as if I was laying tracks on a one way train line. And as I laid by them, I indulged in reflection. His hair was shorter then, mine the same as always. I’d paid the café and was checking my account balance outside when his drawl first hit my ears. ‘Scuse me mate, you got any baccy for mix?’ he asked me. I began to say no, as usual, but I saw his face and everything changed. I scrambled to get my pouch out of my pocket, ten different topics of conversation coming to my head at once, but he walked off as soon as the tobacco hit his hand. I watched as he lit a cigarette he’d had stashed behind his ear, blew a plume up into the air, and turned the corner into that alleyway I now knew so well.

A knock on the door jerked me back to reality. My sleepless night was not unproductive. I jerked off four or five times. I figured out how to make him mine. It was a simple plan. Get him to my house, get him stoned. The drugs, I hoped, would take care of the rest. As I walked down yet another dimly lit alleyway with a strong scent of piss and rotten fish emanating from it, I noticed the very rational fear of what was to come had disappeared. A smile broke out on my face, and I stopped for a moment. I looked up at the stars, smiling like they were clapping for me, like the whole universe shared in my excitement- it was beginning. The key ingredient in my love potion, heroin, was not all that difficult to source- Chapel Street was, after all, a strange convergence of the worst of both worlds- a place of synthetic highs and all too real lows. A quick exchange was made, neither of us particularly interested in the other. Looking from left to right as I strolled out of the Great Provider’s alley onto this 12am equilibrium, I was overwhelmed with an alarming juxtaposition: revellers, from Rev’s, with eyes rolled back into their heads in a desperate search for lost minds, ambled alongside a horde of doped up residents of the street; whose own eyes, glazed or altogether shut, were an indicator of differing poisons of choice. The kinship I felt with them confused me, but I thought nothing of it. I hurried away, clutching the tinfoil in my pocket and rehearsing obsessively in preparation for the first day of my life- “Need any gear, mate?…After some H?”. None of it sounded quite right, but I surmised I’d know what to say at the time.

My love was a fickle thing. I did not know his name, nor his favourite colour. I did not like what love did to me, the way it skewed my innermost principles and morals all in the desperate, primal pursuit of my opiate. We were both broken men, yes, but all those shattered pieces put together created a beautiful mosaic. With that in mind, I opened my mouth. 'First time buyers get a free sample so they know what they're buying, and yeah, I can tick you if need be', I heard myself say. The disconnect from my own vernacular only bothered me temporarily, as his was far more appealing. Slurred words spilled out of his mouth, doing their best to force his cracked lips open and succeeding only slightly. From what I could gather as we strolled through the park opposite the train station, like a couple going for an afternoon walk, he would indeed like some heroin- but could only pay me in 3 weeks when the money came through from the Great Danes him and an accomplice were breeding. Lots of money in Great Danes, it seemed. Little did my Javo know, he would be paying me in full and then some, within an hour or two at max. I offered up my place as a safe injecting facility, careful to come across as nonchalant, as if all my customers came over for a hit. Ecstatic, given his alternative was the alleyway he didn't know I knew of, he said it was pleasure doing business with me and shook my hand.

I had to consciously let his go.

Graciously, he offered to do me first. Torn between my past life and the one beginning now, I took far too long to answer. We were searching for two different climaxes, two different fleeting minutes of pleasure. I wanted him, his body and his soul, to join mine. I wanted to be as close to my obsession as one physically could be. His hand on my arm, we were skin on skin- still, I yearned to pull him closer. I murmured affirmation, and it seemed that while my veins had not yet been pierced, something foreign was running through them. The onset of the golden fog came slowly, slowly, and then, 20 seconds after penetration, it was there. I watched in anticipation as he, needle in his mouth like a cigarette, aroused his hungry veins with his belt. Using the same needle as me, he injected his dose, and my blood found itself in his. He lay back next to me and turned his weather-beaten face to mine. Simultaneously, we let go. His skin shed before me and I reached my hand over to his face without a second thought. We were kissing. Our tongues found each other as if they were magnetic, our hands transferred pleasure from one body to another as we touched and rolled in our beautiful drug induced little world. We peaked simultaneously. Twenty minutes passed in seconds, and the peak began to wear off. He became less receptive, as did I. I rolled off him, panting, exhausted, thrilled. I could find no words to express my happiness, so I lay staring at the ceiling in silence, as he did. He did not pant, nor sigh, and I worried he'd not enjoyed himself. I turned to him for reassurance, but found the polar opposite.

It seemed he'd been dead for quite some time now.

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