#ofwingsandclaws; apus

[witchcrownxd]

❛ is that my shirt? ❜ (Colin steals one of Alec's)

@ofwings-andclaws (*apus)

"shouldn't you know the answer to that, love? you know your wardrobe almost as well as i do mine. love the organization, lovely little system you've got going."

colin hadn't needed to steal a shirt. he also hadn't needed to invite himself into apus' home the night before & yet he did. they were so familiar with each other, so comfortable around each other ... it was nice. yes, he enjoyed the thrill of hooking up with strangers & finding out only during whether he was wasting his time or not, but this was nice, too.

& he didn't find an ounce of regret within him about the stolen shirt, which he intended to keep. "looks good on me, doesn't it?"

[cheetahsung]

@ofwings-andclaws

being a writer definitely wasn’t as easy as society made it out to be. it had its up & downs, but definitely more downs. the constant doubt, the distractions at every corner, bills & the human body made the job exponentially more difficult & then there was writer’s block. a whole new problem in itself, because it resulted from so much more than earthly problems & yet it resulted from those more than anything. the human (or non-human) mind is so complex, affected by little things like nothing else possibly could be. then there was charles. chuck - or charlie, he really didn't care. who… was affected by a lot more than most people — at least he thought so, because if anybody else potentially had to lead a life like he did… then he wondered why they hadn’t ended their misery yet.

admittedly, he asked himself that every day, but his suspicion was that somewhere deep within him… was a fire burning, a fire of spite & resentment for his parents leaving him, for god to have chosen him to suffer eternally when he was just a little boy at the time & for the fact he’d die alone. that spite kept him going, although he wasn’t sure why, because neither of those issues could be fixed.

there was no miracle cure for the nightmares or the clusters, there was no cure for anxiety other than meds… which he’d been experimenting with, but those aren’t friends with the booze & there was no way he could do without it. the nightmares & cluster headaches would diminish his soul in hours if sober & as for dying alone or not. well, he was a mess. from the outside, his house surely looked like just another ramshackle ruin, inside… it was dark, yet comfortable. old wooden interior, stacks of papers scattered around the entire place, a blanket & pillow on the couch because chuck rarely made it upstairs to sleep & the kitchen — while clean because chuck didn’t really cook, didn’t look too inviting either simply because other than cupboards full of cans & booze.. there wasn’t much there.

well, & coffee. when his booze ran out, he had to sober up quick & coffee would do that for him, but the coffee was empty. as was his booze. terrible planning on his side, clearly shit. so, he’d have to stumble around like this? he didn’t have the money to order this time around… so… well he was fucked. first stop: coffee. after that, he could get to the grocery store to pick up…. jack & daniel, his closest friends. jeans & a shirt with more stains that he’d like to admit thrown on, a hoodie on top with the hood on his head & he was off. fingers trembled, his heart — oh, his heart suffered the most surely. everything in charles' life affected the heart. it thrummed faster than it should half the day - every day, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. chuck never looked up…. when he stormed through the streets, trusting those before him to step aside as needed & it usually worked out just fine.

until today. today didn’t work out just fine, because chuck was making his way towards the one coffee shop he liked & knew would let him pay later when he … well, he didn’t just bump into something. it was someone & he all but crashed into the man, hit liquid spilled between them & while some of it hit him in the face…. when he glanced up to hiss in discomfort, he saw the majority of that hot-ass steaming liquid went somewhere else entirely. a suit. oh no. no no no. blue hues glanced up carefully to assess the situation, the hood slipping off his head halfway to bear a mob of unruly curls that really could use a little touch. dark circles under his eyes, skin pale & his brows were pulled close together in worry.

“shit, i’m so sorry.” there wasn’t much he could do to save the suit, or himself from the man’s anger - surely. not would he be able to pay for the cleaning. in other words, he was fucked. “it’s uh… i’m… sorry.” fingers trembled even harder, one arm had wound around his middle, trying to ground himself so he didn’t collapse right in front of the guy when he was the one who’d done bad. this was not how he’d planned today to go. quick out… quick in…. or something like that. what would happen if he fainted now?