#idk this is just a quick little place to put a fraction of my emotions so i can function LOL

[superfluouskeys]

a thousand times before

Stray Gods || Grace/Persephone

Persephone drags her finger along a familiar groove in the surface of her desk, a scar from a time when she still believed violence to be the only way to win her battles.  Sometimes she still misses the feeling of carrying a knife in her boot. Sometimes she even misses needing to.

Calliope didn’t like violence.  Of course she didn’t.  Ranting about how nobody ever deserves to die for any reason was one of her favorite pastimes, and one that particularly grated on Persephone’s nerves.  They’ve all killed, and many times, but Persephone’s incarnations perhaps more than most.  Persephone knows full well the weight of a soul on her hands, but she has never stopped believing there are plenty of reasons a person deserves to be parted from his wretched existence.

Looking back, she can see why.  The idols are drawn to people like them in some way, those who share the same struggles.  Back and back and back, there have been precious few Persephones who did not fall prey to the whims of a powerful man for a time.  Even with the benefit of millennia of memories, a part of her still loathes herself for ever allowing herself to be so powerless.  Did she really need the soul of a god to change her fate?  Pathetic.

Read More (AO3)

[volleychumps]

ive been feeling fluffy lately and can u make scenarios where s/o accidentally bump or crash into akaashi, iwaizumi, kuroo, oikawa, and eita and s/o highkey has a crush on them and shocked and doesn’t know how to react but then suddenly gets a kiss on the lips/cheek/nose with a confession? idk if this makes sense loll! thx!

Awh, I’ll do a continuation of this one for the requested boys, thank you for the request, love I know you’ve been waiting a bit<3

Accidental Confessions w/ Akaashi, Iwaizumi, Kuroo, Oikawa, and Semi

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Akaashi

The library bustled with light chatter as your earbuds played a light tune in your ears as you scanned the bookshelves, deep in thought as you decided on what to grab. The aisle was more isolated away from the others, and you didn’t mind- most people were here to study anyway, uninterested in the aisle that held the older novels.

Your eyes widen a little when you begin to pull a certain book out, the whole shelf seeming to rock with your movement as you still immediately, wanting not to cause a commotion if the shelf were to fall along with the many books obviously over-stacked on the shelves. You bite back a groan, glancing around before deciding to quickly pull the book out anyway, thinking if you were fast enough, the shelf wouldn’t be able to lose its’ weak sturdiness.

The shelf immediately begins to lurch forward, and you panic, shutting your eyes tightly on instinct, knowing your current upper body strength wouldn’t be able to support such a hardware. All you could do was pray it wouldn’t lurch far enough to fall-

You wince for potential impact, instead hearing quick footsteps and the sound of two hands jutting against the shelf. You hear books fall to your feet, and put your hands over your head in case any fell on you.

Either you were just lucky, or-

“Must be a really good book then, huh?”

You open your eyes just in time to see a hard-covered book hit Akaashi Keiji’s head, one of his blue-green eyes shutting at the impact in slight pain. The heat flames to your cheeks before you can control it, glancing around to realize if your now distanced friend hadn’t been there, you could have been squashed flat. His hands were resting on either side of you, arms outstretched as he had ducked his head to cover yours from any falling books.

The tune still playing in your ears seemed muffled as you tried to grasp the situation, a stutter fumbling into your words.

“I’m so s-sorry, does it hurt?” You melt into panic, looking away from anywhere except Akaashi’s usual blunt stare.

“Getting hit by books is never fun. Now I know how Bokuto feels.”

You shrink away, attempting to escape from Akaashi’s human cage.

“Thank you, Keiji.” You manage out in doing so, still not meeting the eyes of someone you once called a friend before certain feelings led to you avoiding him. “We should get you checked-”

“Why are you avoiding me, Y/N?”

Fuck.

“I’m not. And we should really go to the nurse-”

“Y/N.” Your mouth goes dry when Akaashi tugs one of your earbuds out, leaning into you even more as you’re suddenly thankful for the isolated aisle. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No!” You exclaim, fumbling your words. “I-I did something wrong! And it would just be easier to ignore everything I feel for you, but I can’t when I’m near you all the time-”

You clamp a hand over your mouth, eyes widening as you try to run again, but Akaashi easily keeps you in place, the blunt blue stare seeming to have another emotion swimming amongst his eyes matching the ocean.

“Y/N.”

“W-What?”

“I just saved you from a bookshelf and potential death. Do me a favor.”

“What?” You repeat in a squeak, shying away behind your book as Akaashi merely shows a ghost of a smile, pushing the book away as you back into the bookshelf, eyes widening at the proximity. 

The book cluttered to your feet amongst the others, the tune in your one ear still playing as Akaashi slipped the loose earbud in, filling your ears with music and your chest with symphony as his lips pressed tightly against your forehead. 

“Just let me say that I like you too, will you?” 

Iwaizumi

“Sit here! I’ll be right back!”

Iwaizumi didn’t really know how he ended up here.

The ace watches as you rush out of your kitchen with flushed features, examining the few cuts on his hand and legs from the fall of his bike. Your morning jog just so happened to be one you lost yourself in, your foot entangling with one of Iwa’s wheels that led to his painful outcome and you insisting you come back to yours to assess the damage.

Iwa crosses his arms, leaning back against the counter before wincing a little. This was nothing. The whole reason he had even accepted was-

“I found the kit-!”

Iwa watches amusedly as you trip over yourself in your return, stumbling a little before giving him a cute apologetic bow and settling next to him, fiddling with the opening of the kit.

“I’m really fine, Y/N.”

Iwa arches a brow when your movements still, and your blossomed cheeks had the ace feel pride swell in his chest at his effect on you.

“W-Wait, you know me?”

“We’re in the same class.” Iwa attempts to play it off, clearing his throat. Truth be told, the ace had heard of your cutesy crush on him a few weeks ago, only making Iwaizumi notice you more and more with each passing day. Of course, he was really good about being discreet about it-

still, that didn’t cover the smirk on his face when he caught you glancing his way once or twice.

“Right...”

“That is why you invited me here, right?” Iwa sweatdrops. “You don’t just let random men you don’t know-”

“No! Of course not!” You rush out embarrasedly as Iwa hides his teasing smirk, covering his mouth with his hand as you sterilize a cotton swab. “I do know you...”

Iwaizumi closes his eyes at the stinging on his cheek as you gently glide the swab over it, disinfecting it thoroughly as your heart pounds at the situation. How had your crush ended up seated in your empty kitchen on a Sunday morning?

“Is your bike alright?” Your shaky voice makes conversation as Iwa takes another teasing jab, scoff in his words.

“I’m doing just fine, thanks.”

“T-That’s not what I mean!” You whine, even more embarrassed than before as Iwa’s chest rises with a chuckle. This was fun.

“Where else?!” You question, wanting this to be over with once you placed a bandaid over the cuts on his cheek and hands.

“My back.”

You spin around hastily when Iwa deadass takes his shirt off, flexing a little as you hide your face in your hands, not believing this was happening. You take a shaky breath that had a coy grin tickling Iwa’s lips as he feels your hands gently trace up his back to his wound.

“Enjoying yourself?” Iwa questions as your silence makes him turn around a little, smirk fading when he sees you had buried your face in your hands once again.

“Please stop teasing me.” Your hushed voice mumbles into your palms as Iwa immediately feels the guilt wash over him, prompting the dark haired boy to turn around completely.

“Hey- I’m sorry.” Iwa gently tugs one of your hands away from your voice to reveal your teary eyes and blushing face, eyes widening at the sight as a warmth spread over his chest.

“You’re fun to mess with- I didn’t mean to go that far.”

Iwa feels something in him snap when you pout, nodding and refusing to meet his eyes before he pulls the wrist in his hand towards him, causing you to lean a little into him as your eyes widen.

“Let me make it up to you.”

“Hm?”

Your face burns at the feel of Iwa brushing his lips against your cheek, causing you to wrench out of his grip and stumble back in absolute shock. You control your breathing as Iwa pulls his shirt back on over his head, looking at you casually before swinging his bike keys on one finger. 

“So do you want to go on a date, or what?”

Kuroo

“Please grab him!”

Kuroo’s eyes widen as the cutest cat he had ever seen leaps up into his arms with ease, a grin spreading out across the captain’s features as he strokes its’ soft fur as it purrs, snuggling into his arms.

Apparently, the owner of this cat just happened to be the cutest person, in his book. For awhile now, actually.

You groan, jogging lightly up to the boy you knew as the captain of the volleyball team while bowing your head apologetically as Kuroo’s grin only widens at the sight of you. You plant your feet on the sidewalk, smiling a little at the way your cat seemed to be content with the feel of Kuroo’s arms.

“I’m so sorry!” You click your tongue, carefully taking your pet from the captain’s arms and setting it on the ground as your cat rubs up against one of your legs, grinning a tad apologetically. “Kuroo-senpai!” 

Kuroo didn’t know what to say, chuckling a little awkwardly as a heat tickled his ears. You weren’t strangers for the most part, you were just the girl who passed by him after the third bell with the same friend everyday, always offering him a bright smile and nod as you strolled past him. 

And he continued to look for that smile at the same time of each day, a little more bounce to his step each time your lips stretched for him. 

“It’s nothing, little fella got loose, did he?” Kuroo crosses his arms, fighting to keep the nervous crack out of his voice as you sigh, running the hand that wasn’t holding the loose leash through your hair. 

“He hates walks because of this thing, so I’m not that surprised.” 

“Walking a cat is a rare sight to see.” 

“You’re a rare sight to see.” You counter, tone teasing as Kuroo’s eyes widen a fraction as the heat spreads to his cheeks. “Shouldn’t you be like, spiking a volleyball right now?” 

Before Kuroo could question whether or not you paid attention in a flirtatious manner, a tug at his legs stopped him as the captain reacts quickly- 

Your pet, as a form of hell to pay, had casually walked a circle around the two of you with both of you failing to notice, walking off as the leash slowly tightened around your pairs of ankles, prompting you to trip as your ankles become tied together. 

A squeak slips your lips as Kuroo turns, relasing a loud groan as his back hits the concrete, your front falling onto his chest as Kuroo instinctively wrapped his arms around you for utmost protection. 

“You damn cat!” You groan, trying to get up to no avail as said cat licks its’ paw from a distance, causing you to roll your eyes before realizing the situation you were in. 

You lift yourself up a little with both arms, a blush rushing to your face at how close your face and the captain’s was as Kuroo’s slackened jaw tightens to form a smirk. 

“Falling for me, are you?” 

“Talk about cheesy.” You laugh awkwardly, beginning to scramble off. “Again, I’m so sorry-” 

Kuroo’s arms tighten around your waist, tugging you back down to hold you tightly from this position as the captain’s feral eyes seem to gaze up at the sky, you stuttering as you look up from his chest with blossomed cheeks. 

“S-Senpai?” 

“Just a little longer.” His arms tighten. “Please?” 

The beat of silence was filled with shock as your eyes widen at the sound of Kuroo’s chest beating rapidly, the captain chuckling when you seemed to be listening a bit too intently. 

“Now would probably be a good time for me to tell you that you’re the cutest girl I’ve wanted to take out for awhile, huh?” 

Oikawa

“Gotcha!” 

You blanch as Oikawa Tooru’s gym bag falls to the ground with a thud, catching you in the flashiest way possible before you could fully hit the ground, your papers flittering around you like snow as you bite back a groan. One of your hands rested on the captain’s chest, your waist in the hands of the one and only- 

Really, right in front of his fangirls? You think, reminded of the salad meme as you scramble out of the brunette’s hold, rushing past him with a rushed thank you in hopes to avoid the herd. 

“W-Wait, Y/N-chan!” 

You nod to his friend Matsukawa in thanks as you accept your now collected papers, ignoring his calls as you turned the corner hastily, embarrassment flooding your cheeks along with a strange beat in your chest. 

“Mattsun, I failed again...” Oikawa’s hand slackens as a pout overtakes the brunette’s lips as Matsukawa shrugs, amused by the whole situation as he nods over to the poorly-hidden fanclub. 

“Blame them.” 

Oikawa groans, turning to glare at his fellow senior. “I said help me win her over, not trip her!” 

“I’m no miracle worker.” Matsukawa simply shrugs, pocketing his hands in his school pants as he grins in the direction you had run off in. “Still, I get it. You want the girl who’s not a complete ditz for you.” 

“That’s not why!” Oikawa denies, brushing past the group of girls vying for his attention. “Y/N’s special. She doesn’t...” 

“Treat you like the asshole you are?” 

“Yeah! That!” Oikawa snaps before realization dawns on the brunette’s features, glaring at a cackling Matsukawa. “Wait, no-” 

“I can’t believe we’re friends.” 

Oikawa’s sassy retort falls on deaf ears as Matsukawa turns into his class, offering a single wave to his captain as Oikawa groans, heading in his own direction as he wonders if he’ll ever be able to tell you, deciding to skip class to sulk in his sadness. 

Rounding a corner, he’s surprised to see none-other than your figure sitting quietly in a secluded staircase that was hardly used, seeming to be skipping as well as you tapped a pen to your lips, working on some forgotten homework as a pile of the previous scattered papers sat at your side. Oikawa’s lips pull into a natural smile at your content features, his heart rate picking up, thinking he was being given another chance. 

The brunette considers his next course of action, grinning before shaking your shoulders and scaring you out of nowhere. 

“Y/N-chan~!” 

You jump, a small scream erupting from your mouth before you hastily cover your mouth with widened eyes meeting chocolate ones as Oikawa flinches, not expecting you to react that way. 

“Who’s there?” An authoritive voice booms as you both seem to panic at the same time, and the next thing the captain knows, your papers were shoved messily into your bag before your hand tugged at his sleeve as you ran, pulling him along in the process.

You throw the door to an unused classroom open before dragging Oikawa in and sliding the door shut quietly, not bothering with the light as Oikawa watches with widened eyes, thoroughly impressed. 

“You-!” 

Oikawa swallows, nodding obediently when you put a finger to his lips, listening for the chaser’s footsteps to fade away before you sigh, flicking the light on before glaring at the brunette. 

“Are you insane?”

“In my defense- who could’ve guessed that corridor echoed?” Oikawa responds with an easy smile as you relax a little at the sight before going to retort- 

The footsteps come again, prompting Oikawa to panic and tugging you so your back hits the wall next to the door, shushing you as you did to him as the easy smile comes back as his pointer finger rests against your lips as he seizes the opportunity. 

“If we get caught, I just want you to know that I love you.” 

Oikawa’s breath hitches when you roll your eyes, prompting the brunette to tilt your head up carefully, brown eyes drifting over yours before cupping your face and kissing the tip of your nose just as the footsteps race past the door, your stunned features causing the captain to smirk at the pink that lightens your cheeks. 

“I wasn’t joking.” 

Semi

The car seemed to have come out of nowhere, and your feet stilled on the crosswalk stupidly as the sign for pedestrians continued to flash as the driver tried to skid to a stop-

but it was clear that it wouldn’t be enough.

The breath gets knocked out of you as soon as you clench your eyes shut tight, trembling at what was to come until you realize that the car wasn’t what caused your loss of breath. 

Semi Eita pants, chest heaving as both of the setter’s arms supported his weight off of you, nonetheless protecting you from the horrid outcome that was darting straight at you as his brown eyes lit up, brimmed with fury and worry. You lay on your back, frozen in shock at the fast-paced events as the street of cars zoomed past the two of you on the sidewalk. 

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Your classmate questions, backing off immediately when he sees your eyes well up with tears, voice shaky as you stare up at him, unblinking as the fear trickles over. 

“T-The sign...” 

Semi sighs, turning to flick off the driver who was asking if you were okay before telling him to get the hell out of there, helping you to your feet in doing so. The walk to school should have been like any other day, Semi walking behind you to the same destination about eight feet away with his eyes trained on the back of your head- 

ever since you had held back the eight feet to wait for him on a rainy day, ushering him under the umbrella so you could both get to school at least semi-dry, Semi Eita had made it a point to work up the nerve to walk to school with you as an every day occurence-

Even if was eight feet away, content with making sure you made it there safe. 

“Can you walk okay?” Your classmate’s voice was unusually softer, yet still had his custom hard edge to it as all thoughts of making it to school on time faded from his head. 

You blink, seeming to be in a daze as you stared at the ongoing traffic that seemed to be going about as it normally would as you begin to imagine what you would have looked like under it. Semi scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, not used to being so close to you as you begin to tremble before sighing. 

“Don’t worry about being late. Sensei wouldn’t-” 

“I could’ve died...” 

Semi’s eyes widen when you wrap your arms around yourself, still shaking. 

“...right?” 

“I mean, yeah?” Semi regretted the words as soon as they slipped, watching as a new round of tears came on as the trembling turned almost violent as a hand covered your mouth. 

“Oh my god-!” You hiccup, and the setter panics, moving before he can think. 

Semi’s hands cautiously take your face gently, forcing you to look at his eyes. “You’re alive. You’re fine.”

“I-I’m not-!” You seem to be on the edge of falling to panic, and Semi’s eyes widen even more as he realizes he needs to bring you back and grounded, making a split decision before he can back out. 

“Close your eyes.” Semi instructs, an authority edge to his callous voice that had you listening as the tears continued- 

The trembling seeming to lift completely as soon as Semi Eita’s lips press against yours tightly, sending your mind awhirl in a way that had him holding you against him tighter until your breathing evens out, the buildup of anxiety fading at the feeling of the amount of emotion behind the setter’s actions. 

You’re still sniffling when the setter pulls back slightly, uncaring of the public eyes of traffic. 

“S-Semi?” You manage out, wiping your eyes as Semi’s breaths take a turn to become shaky, the setter looking down with his forehead resting against yours. 

“I’ll take you to school from now on.” The words came out confidently as Semi’s thumb catches a few stray tears, locking eyes with you as the anxious feeling in your chest is replaced with a beating one- one you could hear in your ears. 

“Would that be okay?” He presses, not prepared for the small smile that takes over your features before you reach up and press your lips against his cheek sweetly, taking the setter off-guard as Semi finds himself interlacing your fingers with his. 

“Okay.” 

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General works: @takemetovalhalla @kasandrafaye @savemesteeb @dreebbles @yams046

[dyker-farmer]

Ok this was supposed to be a quick draw and a description to go with, that blew into a full chapter and now it's also on Ao3 SO happy reading ig idk

I never see Shane works that don't go all in for romance nor explore the more realistic ugly parts of recovery, and I kind of crave That TM. So let me have at it too with the self-insert whump mumbo jumbo; no romo version.

Set post-8 hearts event, Farmer Uidelsib is two years or so in, full house built and married to Emily. They/them pronouns, same as me.

Diverges from then on, Shane-centric from an outside POV for the most part.

[[MORE]]

Take that can away if you can.

Gulp it down. Chapter 1/2/3/4

There's a few to-know to survive life in society, in the valley; there's no good way to comment on the age nor weight of both resident housewives, you can't say no to Evelyn's homemade cookies- and why would you, you fool-, you do not fight at the Saloon or you'll get no cheese anymore on your pizza and only sparkling water for drinks, and-

And you don't mess with Shane's alcohol related ritual.

Except I did, that night, because you do that, when your two-years long friendship with the guy taught you better than letting his impulses overcome yours, when your buddy is trying to recover from teenage long-lasting into early adulthood, trauma-enhanced heavy addiction, and you know, you know tomorrow he'll feel like absolute shit and question his right to therapy the moment he'll stop his pounding skull from splitting. Wonders what a three-dosage paracetamol can do. 

At least he doesn't drink it out anymore.

So yeah, when you're in my shoes, you get that Joja store-bought crap out of Shane's hand, and you brace yourself for the incoming lash out.

The first fractions of seconds are always those to look closely into most. It's only a glimpse, but before the scowl slips on like a well-worn boxing glove ready to strike, there is always this open page I learned I needed to decipher as quick as I could.

Tonight, it's heartbreaking. When I peck his forehead- doting big sibling habits die hard, even when you're actually the youngest of the pair- the eyes I catch looking at me are so confused and bare of any emotion, except for the sorrow that goes beer-soaked tears, it pangs. I get used to the breakdowns, working in the fields I do when I'm off the farm's, but it's not the same when it's a friend.

When I straighten back, offensive beverage in hand, it's already gone in a flinch, away from the empty space behind the chair and onto the table, as he snarls.

"Wha- giv'me back- 's mine!" I don't know how much he drunk before he met up with me, but from the slurring, it's a Lot. A season and a half into sobriety. That's harsh.

I ignore him and walk behind him, pondering where to put the beer for now.

"Y-you can't just do that! It's my booze I got with m'money, not some- who d'you think you are?-" He sputters indignantly, angry tears fewer than the sad ones but still there. He tries to turn around and grab behind his back, but the wild movement is way off and only gets the chair to nearly topples down. I rush in time to stabilize it, and profit off the moment to set a strong hand on his shoulder.

"I can just do that, 'cus it's my house I got with my money, and I think I'm your pal who knows when you've had enough. Dude, I trust you to be an adult, but minutes before, you were already so torched I had to keep your neck upright so you didn't faceplant into the table, and you nearly just kissed my floor good evening. Not to mention you clung to my arms the whole way from the little entry stairs to the kitchen because, quoting, 'If I don't I'll fall in the hole and won't get up'."

I turn to the fridge again, going to open it, before I think better of it. Likely enough, we'll both forget it was there in the first place, it'll stink up my fridge- it's Joja's- and it'll be money out of Shane's pocket for nothing. I set it on the counter, with the rest of the pack. He'll put it to cool down when he's back to Marnie's. Or he won't, probably. 

That's not a worry for now.

When I caught up with him, it was a few feet below my doorstep; he'd probably slipped up trying to climb the three steps up to it, and settled for it. He was nursing that same can, muttering to himself, head down, curled up on himself. Except for that leg sticked out, he probably hurt it when he fell, I'll have to look at that and work on it if it's too swollen. Hopefully that'll spare us from a visit to Harvey's.

Bad memories. Not mine, and it's warm and not raining outside, but. Déjà-vu.

Anyways, he looked the picture of "help I've fallen and I can't get up- and even if I can I won't because Fuck You", and it's been a hassle to have him cooperate. But when I asked if he wanted to leave, he shook his head with a fervor no somnolent drunk should have. That resulted in a lovely streak of vomit down the wall right next to the door. That's also for later. If Eryza doesn't lap it up. Ew. This cat's never predictable.

Now, he's staring at his hands, sitting at my table, contemplating something too far down for me to see- or maybe just zoning out with a sleeping brain. Then he mumbles. "Sorry."

I get back to the table and sit at arm's length across of him. "Nah, 's okay. I don't mind being a helping hand or touchy-feely, must be the frog-eater in me. Not for the helping part." I'd chuckle but my quip falls on deaf ears.

I go to put my hand over his. When he doesn't blink at it, I try and shake a reply out of him, gently. He startles and hawkeyes our joined fingers. When he's finally looking at me, I raise a single eyebrow. He doesn't say anything, but when he pulls back his arm, I let him. We both straighten up, and it's hard to keep up the eye contact.

"So…" There's a heavy air on us. Suddenly, like the last year didn't happen, we're sitting a stride away of each other, and yet it feels like he's all the way back to the forest, looking down at waves.

"Do you want me to do something?" I bend myself a little closer to him, not moving otherwise.

He puts his head in his hands, shivering. Can't tell if it's the AC or his system kicking the alcohol out, or itself, in stress. I think I hear something, but it might as just be his shuddering breath.

"Shane" I insist, voice level, not pressing. "I need words. I want to help, I truly don't mind, but I need words to know what to do." He's never shown signs of going nonverbal before. If he does, I'll improvise. Until then… I need words.

Time ticks slowly as we wait. Then, with great effort and deep fatigue, he drags his palms up from under his nose to his temple, spreading some snot and wet tears across his face from his scrunched shut eyes. Lips trembling but finally showing, that attempt to let out a sound that's not too garbled. He coughs, sniffles a bit, breathe in again, sounding like a sick dog, and blows through gritted teeth before his jaws go slack. Eyes still closed, he whispers, and I have to lower myself some more toward his crouched form to catch it.

"Can I get something to drink…?" His voice is hoarse.

The demand could be comical, if we were into sour humor. And we usually are. But right now, we're not finding the joke in the lines. I stand silently, and as I walk to the fridge again, I let my hand brush his shoulder- same spot as before.

I take a minute to choose, look into the pantry. When I'm back at the table with my items of choice, he's still sitting there, his cheek is cushioned on his arms, face hidden from view. His shoulder, except for the occasional tremor, rise and fall in rythm with his snores. Breaks my heart to interrupt that, but not really. Hangovers are mean bitches with the sharpest nail art on the blackest of boards.

"Psst, dude. C'mon." I rustle his hair backward. He hates when I do that, says it tickles, and it makes him sneeze. So I obligatory do it once a day if I can. Let's say today's my late quota for the last four days I haven't seen him.

He gruffly tells me to kindly refrain from such pleasantries, and raise bleary eyes back up at the table. I can also guess he tried to bat a hand at me, but his coordination is off and he slaps himself lightly on the ear. Then he glares bewildered at his hand for a few seconds, obviously insulted. I profit of this moment to grab a small basin from under the sink, on second thought.

When he brings his attention back to me, I'm sitting again. Between us, a jug of fresh milk from this morning, a small sack of peppers, and a juice carafe sit aside a green glass bottle. There's also some bread, mostly for me to munch on. Because, hmmm dough. He squints at it all, especially at the bottle. Probably trying to read the label.

"Yeah no, didn't get you one of my best wine, not sorry."

"Hot pepper… juice?" He looks at the actual peppers next to it. "With actual peppers?" And then I get the squint too.

"Hmph, I know you like your elongated hell tomatoes, man, what can i say."

At that, a feeble snort.

I decide that it is the highlight victory of my soirée.

"Welp, have at it." I gesture to the half-liter liquor glass right by his left.

He fumbles with the drinks and some splashes around, but I lay back on my chair, arms crossed, letting him do his thing. While I don't hold back from growing downright doting on him when I got to- or even when I don't- I don't see how more devotion right now would be not smothering. He can break my fancy glass cups if he wants and spill my milk, so long he doesn't cut himself or cry over it.

Now, you could be thinking that plain water would have done the trick just fine, if not better, in rehydrating him. Here's the thing, though; going from booze to tasteless liquid, for Shane, that's a sure way to puking his heart out. And I'd rather not have us deal with an acid bile throat burn on top of near alcohol poisoning. Sorry to not spare you the squeamish details, but his oesophagus is pretty sensitive ever since that stomach pumping back at the clinic. Hot fiery hell fruits he can do just fine, with relative moderation and hydratation- hence the milk and juice- but liquor bursting its way back from his guts? Nuh uh. 

It had taken lots of coaxing, but he'd explained the plain tastes, or lackthereof, were very hard for him to deal with, especially when contrasting with strong ones like beers and whiskeys. I'd shackle it to gustative hypostimulation, but I don't know enough about him that way to say. He'd said sparkling water was a good compromise.

But I don't have sparkling water, because I do not like suffering.

I might buy a pack for when he visits though.

And I do know a handful about him already. Shackle that to perceptiveness and a stubborn streak on top of a year and so long camaraderie.

And having a certain uncontrollable fear of failing to act quick the next time coped with by accumulating information and patterns compulsively.

I shake my head to focus on the present again. He's switched from juices to soaking bread in milk to eat it small portion after small portion. He pauses in mid-bite when he catches me staring. He's still hunched on himself and red-faced and a tad bloated. His cheeks are drying and he's blown his nose. I smile calmly. Worst of the storm passed, unless I screw up and blow it.

"Ywou wan' chom'?" He offers a dripping piece of bread. In moments like this, when he's sobering but not quite, the resemblance with Jas are unmistakable. The glint in his reddened eyes that open wide, and his blank-but-not-quite wondering expression, it's all here to paint a scrutinizing but vulnerable picture of tired but bright minds.

"Nah thanks. You done with that milk?"

"...Sure." He eyes it, wary. He knows where this is going, and he doesn't like it. I take the drink off the table, and his gaze follows my movement until I bring it to my lips.

He frowns. A silent warning. 

And as I lock onto him with a dead stare, not blinking a millisecond, I down the rest of the 2 liters jug in three, five gulps. I even take the time to lick my new mustache away, and close my mouth with a click of my tongue.

His expression is the macabre marriage of beffudled horror and pure affliction, disgust if you will. The face of someone who doesn't hate milk, but has grown out of it enough to not be able to live off the stuff like the brave souls I'm apart of. And probably with reason, as I actually can't, like most 20+ years old, digest the liquid in large amount. But I smile like a smug cat, perfectly content.

Cats really can't digest milk once adults, it's all social mythos.

We silently judge and fuck with each other like that for a while more, as more time passes, until the room's elephant gets it all humid with its prancing around. Enough that tears and nervous sweats start again, for no apparent reasons but the residual anxiety from the whole chain of events that led to this.

"I think we should talk about this."

--- to be continued.