#i think the holes were originally from a kittycat

[cozycassette]

Holes in my favorite transformers pj pants. To repair or somehow replace with the exact same pair of probably vintage pants?

[thvnderr]

Hers was once a face that represented comfort, hope and a light at the end of the tunnel. "If someone like her can trust me —," Lynx used to think, "then I cannot be that bad of a person, right?" He would tell her of a place he had found, of the best coffee hidden inside a dingy bar that only opens at ungodly hours in the basement of an art gallery. The puppy would grab her hand; hers delicate, soft and taken care of. Meanwhile his was rarely clean, chipped nail polish, rough on the palms and the knuckles; he knew no kindness, but for her, Lynx was willing to learn.

A dynamic that stayed as friendship, even when she owned the sighs of his heart. When he would offer that cup of coffee and wait with expectant eyes as her lips touched the beverage. A big grin at her reaction and stars taking a swim in the dark of his eyes. Hopes and plans were soon shattered when she entered the courtroom. His original confident self was kicked to the depths of hell as she stated her testimony against him. Seven years in a shithole had been nothing in comparison to the heartbreak he felt at that instant.

His name was foreign on her tone, even with the venom spilling from behind his fangs, a spine drilled into his heart at the formalities he was forcing her upon. The warm spark of their past had been stomped on and buried six-feet-down.

Bah. Excuses.

Lynx felt the rage pool in his heart, squeeze it out of any compassion or love he once held for her. Seeing her struggling to speak, looking to the ground would have easily moved him to his knees in the past, but now? "Wow", he scoffed. "You're such a great actor. Tone's similar to the one used at court." No warning before he threw the jab. "Kittiya... Kittycat..." her own pet name feeling like burning iron at the back of his throat "You want to fix this?" Voice in a higher pitch as skepticism spat at the air. "I don't think there's anythin' to fix, doll. Very much picked your side back then. You were scared? Holy shit! The princess was scared!" a dry chuckle left his lips, expression full of amusement before it soon dropped dramatically as he closed the space between them, noses brushing as the permanent sadness of his eyes was extinguished by rage and rage alone. "Well, how do you think I was fucking feeling, hm?" aggressive whispers fanned at her face. "I spent eight years taking care of myself while you were doing exactly what? Ah, right... enjoying your fucking freedom. Burying your rich ass in daddy's money while I cried and rotted in a fucking cage and WHY?! Because the baby was young and scared." Lynx takes a couple of steps back, spitting on the ground that separated both of them now. "Fuckin' liar" the ex-convict hissed, "there's no fixin' this. You can't give me back my time, my plans, my future." More words said between clenched teeth. "If there's anythin' you can do is leaving me the fuck alone. Go the fuck back to whatever fucking hole you crawled out from and for everybody's sake... stay in there."

Here's a riddle: how do you say I'm sorry and I love you in the same sentence?

What about: you're the only one who ever accepted me for who I am and I betrayed you?

Perhaps it is said in the longing; the endless distance between them that had nothing to do with measurement and everything to do with the hands? Hands — how he'd once grasped hers as her bodyguard trailed them, a mischievous grin on his features and beam on hers. He hadn't hesitated to grab hers, and she hadn't hesitated to tighten her fingers around his grasp. Meaning, I trust you. Meaning, Don't let me go.

Perhaps if Kittiya were less of a coward, she would tell him that she regretted listening to her family. Would tell him that she should've trusted her instinct — after all, he had seen through the glitter and carefully practiced false pretenses; he had chosen to be her friend not for her family nor her wealth — but simply because it was her. Wasn't it the bare minimum that she would do the same? Her fingers curled around the flute of champagne, if only for something else to hold onto.

Perhaps if she were less of a coward, she would say this: I haven't felt like myself ever since I betrayed you.

I don't know what to do with my hands when they're just hands.

"Lynx." There was a pleading in her tone that her family would've frowned upon, his given name sounding unfamiliar on her lips when she'd only ever used his pet name during their friendship. Once, she'd been afraid of going against her family; of what they would say if she defended him. But now? The hatred in his eyes; the poison in his words. Whatever her family could have said — it wouldn't be worse than this. "All those years ago — I was young. I was scared. I shouldn't have listened to them, but—" Kitty choked on the words, gaze moving to the ground in front of them. "What can I do to fix this?" Or am I eight years too late? Please don't say it's too late.