#taylan & ﹙ 𝗸𝗶𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗻 𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗯𝗼𝘁 ﹚

[ofvolatile]

the  brush  of  kieran’s  shoulder  against  his  is  an amber pressed to frost , a quiet warmth  scraping against the edges of cold circling thoughts . kieran’s voice follows , unravelling into the stillness like a thread pulling apart the seams of the quiet . taylan doesn't listen to the words so much as let them wash over him , the offer of solving murders a ridiculous one , and  yet  it  doesn’t  feel  absurd .  it  feels familiar , a memory stirred back to life .  like  kieran  is  still  that  kid  from  their  past ,  the  one  who  never  stopped  showing  up , who never stopped pressing warmth against the coldest part of his world . something unguarded flickers in his gaze - an ember of regret , though he doesn't let it catch . he snuffs it out before it has the chance . the warmth remains , though , stubbornly refusing to fade . the mattress shifts beneath him as he moves , sinking low in the middle and drawing him into the gravity of the space they share . the pull is tangible , a tension beneath his skin that makes him itch , he should move , rip himself out of this too-small-space , but he doesn't . he stays right where he is , even as kieran's fingers tighten around his hold . it's grounding , or maybe stifling . taylan can't tell the difference anymore , can't draw the line between the comfort he need and the suffocation he fears . his breath falters , catching on the stillness between them . he  hears  the  soft rhythm of their  breathing aligning ,  shallow  and  steady , the space between pulling them into synchronicity . it not the panicked , burning gasps he remembers from the ice , the desperate claw for air . this is quieter , steadier , but no less suffocating .  “ yeah , sure . ” he  finally  murmurs ,  “ maybe it'd keep my mind off things . ” the weight of the statement drags behind him like a ball and chain . he won't talk about what he really means , won't speak of the way the though of hockey twists in his chest , coiled tight between longing and dread . he's been back to the edge a hundred times in his mind , circling like a skater testing uncertain ice . the weight of skates , the scrape of blades - it haunts him . taylan knows better than to step out onto that surface again . not without something to numb and smooth the edges . “ you on skates is a fucking disaster . you’d spend more time kissing the ice than moving on it . baby deer aren’t exactly known for their grace . ” his chuckle is faint , trailing off into something softer , laced with amusement . but his eyelids grow heavier with every passing moment , and the tiredness presses harder now , a heaviness that's deeper than sleep . curls around his limbs , dragging him under . before he can stop himself , his head tips forward , brushing against kieran's shoulder . the touch is light , almost incidental . exhaustion roots him there . tethering him to the warmth of the moment , too drained to pull away .

ꜜ ﹙ ⚰️  ﹚ ﹕ “   i   missed   you,   too.    ”    voice   low   and   steady,   an   admission   that   had   been   waiting   on   his   tongue   for   years.   everything   always   looped   back   to   childhood   friends,   didn't   it   ?   how   they   always   felt   gravitational⸻   and   taylan   was   no   different,   no   matter   if   they   had   grown   apart,   almost   as   if   the   world   and   the   stars   arranged   itself   around   him,   around   the   places   where   kieran   first   learned   to   bruise   and   heal   in   equal   measure.   and   childhood   friends   were   the   ones   to   see   him   at   his   rawest,   before   all   the   cold   cases   and   weighing   organs   for   a   living,   just   a   weird   lanky   kid   meant   to   be   some   kind   of   smalltown   prince and became anything but.   and   taylan   was   always there,   untidy   and   unfiltered,   a   constant   through   everything,   with   the   kind   of   bond   that   made   him   believe   someone   could   hold   all   the   worst   parts   of   him   without   needing   to   be   put   back   together.    so   he   meant   it   when   he   said   he   missed   him.   but   he   still   missed   him   even   next   to   him.   it   still   felt   like   a   loss.   maybe   it   always   would.   because   he   knew   taylan   yalçınkaya   was   meant   for   bigger   things   than   this   small   town.   because he knew he'd be much happier somewhere else. and just   like   their   in final   year   of   high   school⸻   kieran looked   at   taylan   now the same way he did then,   knowing   he   always   carried   the   threat   of   drifting   away.   but   he   decided   to   take   a   more   radical   approach   this   time   around   ﹕   instead   of   retreating   to   his   own   corner   of   the   world,   kieran   wanted   to   desperately hold   him   for   as   long   as   he   could,   for   as   long   as   taylan   would   allow   him,   until   he   leaves   again.

thumb   continued   to   gently   skim   over   the   edge   of   taylan's   knuckles,   pausing   at   the   ridges   of   broken   skin,   and   he   hesitated   for   a   moment   when   his   gaze   unwillingly   flickered   back   to   the   pale   line   across   taylan's   throat⸻   impossible   not   to   see,   the   way   it   was   both   a   mark   of   survival   and   a   reminder   of   everything   that   he   could   have   been   lost.   kieran   swallowed   hard,   the   weight   of   what   was   left   unsaid   pressing   against   his   chest.   kieran's   fingers   tighten,   just   briefly,   before   easing   again,   his   touch   deliberate,   steady.   he   cleared   his   throat   and   shifted   closer,   just   barely,   the   heat   in   the   brush   of   their   shoulders   subtle   and   insistent,   a   kind   of   awareness   that   made   his   skin   prickle.    “ y'know, while   you're   here   ...   taking   a   break   from   all   that   professional hockey   shit, ”    he   began,   lips   curling   into   a   faint   teasing   smile   as   he   tilted   his   head   to   catch   taylan's   gaze.    “     maybe   you   could,   i   don't   know,   help   me   figure   this   whole   murder   thing   out   ?   give   you   something   to   do   while   you're   still   recuperating. ”    it   was   a   thin   excuse,   and   kieran   knew   it,   but   he   couldn't   quite   bring   himself   to   let   go   of   the   idea.   spending   time   together   felt   like   something   he   didn't   want   to   admit   he   was   desperate   for.   as   if   embarrassed   to   ask   for   everything   he   wanted.   “     we   could   split   the   time. ”    he   added,   tone   softer   now.    “ solving   murders   by   day,   and   once   the   lake   freezes,   i   could   help   you   with   hockey   by   night.   i'm   still   shit,   but   hey ...   you   can   laugh   at   me   falling   on   my   ass   every   five   minutes. i mean, that's   better   than   nothing,   right   ? ”

[ofvolatile]

the  hastily  imposed  halloween  curfew   ,  fragile  as  a spider's  web  in the wind  ,  had  already  been  broken  by  two  late-night  visitors  .  the biting chill of autumn crept through the window , slashing into the room like a blade , and taylan stirred from uneasy sleep , muscles groaning under the weight of old hockey wounds , the ache coiling around him like ghost chains — a haunting reminder of everything he lost . his  eyes  ,  still  heavy  with  sleep  ,  drag to  the  empty  side of  the  bed  .  kieran  wasn't  there  . only the faint imprint on the pillow said he'd ever been . being back felt wrong , like a dislocated shoulder — familiar but misaligned . and he sighs , throws an arm over his eyes . sleep had come in fits and starts , dreams of cheers , chased away by nightmares of his collision on the ice . when he finally rolls out of bed , his bare foot hits something solid . taylan stumbles , cursing as his hip hit the desk . a hockey stick lay abandoned on the floor , its surface rough and splintered from years of use . the same battered one he'd left behind . “ figures , ” he mutters , kicking it aside . the house creaks as he makes his way downstairs , the weight of last night lingering in the air . the  acrid  scent  of  burnt  eggs  curls around him , drawing a grimace . voice filter up from the kitchen , tugging him the rest of the way , and taylan pauses in the doorway . the scene was of familiar chaos : kieran  standing  by  the  stove  ,  futilely  trying  to  salvage  a  pan  of  charred  eggs  , pasha curling lazily by june's feet , but  then  his  gaze  lands  on  selin , and the rest of the room fades . guilt surges , sharp and unrelenting , and the tide turned bitter . six  years  away  ,  and  now  he's  back  , useless as ever , unable to protect her . he crosses the kitchen , rough palms brush her hair back from her face , chest tightens at the bruise darkening her eye —  a  cruel  souvenir  from  last  night's  bar  fight  ,  and it tightens  his  chest  .  “ does it hurt ? ” he asks , voice low , rasping . turning to the cabinet he grabs a bottle of painkillers , a  necessary  ritual ,  a uninvited  reminder  of  the  body  that  had  once  been  unstoppable  now  betrays  him  at  every  turn  , and taylan shakes out  three  pills  into  his  hand  , he  swallows  two  dry  ,  the  faint  trace  of  iron  biting  on  his  tongue  .  the last , he presses into selin's palm , his touch brief but firm . “ he climbed through my window like you did , june . ” taylan comments , takes one look at the pan , a  mixture  of  charred  eggs  and  half-burned  butter , and shakes his head in mock disapproval . “  trying  to  burn  the  house  down  ?  ” he chides ,  swatting kieran's hand away , before he could make things worse . stepping  past  him  , taylan yanks open the fridge . his movements , already  knowing  what he's  looking  for .  he grabs a half-empty protein shake , gives it a vigorous shake like a bartender . “  guess this  is  what we'll have to do for breakfast .  ” ( @inlustre )

even  asleep,  as  selin  lifts  herself  up  and  out  of  bed  -  june's  body  moves  on  it's  own  to  fill  the  empty  space,  to  soak  up  her  leftover  warmth  like  a  poor,  sun  -  deprived  houseplant.  even  somewhere  in  her  subconscious  -  it's  unfamiliar,  the  soft  silence  that  hangs  in  the  air  instead  of  screams  and  shouts,  doors  slamming  shut;  glass  shattering  against  ground.  her  feet  kick  out,  legs  spreading  across  the  mattress,  only  to  meet  more  comforter,  more  empty  sheets.  no  shins  to  smash  her  heels  into,  no  other  bodies  to  combat  with  for  a  good  night's  sleep.  the  only  thing  that's  familiar,  even  asleep,  is  the  scent  of  selin's  shampoo  -  a  heavy  arm  emerging  from  duvet  to  wrap  lazily  around  her  now  -  abandoned  pillow,  drawing  it  near  and  dear.  even  asleep,  june  misses  selin's  presence.  she's  not  used  to  it,  loving  someone  so  much  -  or  at  least,  someone  so  soft.  malleable.  and  no  longer  in  bed.  her  eyes  flicker  awake,  sleep  clinging  between  eyelid  and  sticking  to  her  eyelashes  -  instantly  squinting  against  the  sunrays  that  slit  between  blinds.  she  wants  to  go  back  to  sleep;  wants  to  pretend  for  a  moment  that  she  doesn't  live  in  a  glorified  shed  with  certified  mole  -  that  it's  just  her  and  selin  against  the  world,  that  taylan  isn't  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall  -  that  chaos  doesn't  trail  behind  her  like  a  bad  omen.  that  she  isn't  the  bad  omen.  then  the  scent  of  burnt  eggs  trail  beneath  the  door  -  and  june  sighs.

she's  slow  to  get  up  -  if  the  apartment  was  on  fire,  there'd  be  a  lot  more  screaming,  probably  -  socked  feet  hitting  the  ground  as  she  attempts  not  to  roll  right  back  onto  the  ground.  selin's  room  is  so  -  different,  to  everything  june  knows.  love  is  held  everywhere,  from  the  photos  adorning  the  walls  to  the  pieces  of  her  strewn  across  every  surface.  possessions  that'll  always  be  hers',  and  nobody  else's.  for  a  brief,  fleeting  moment  -  june  feels  envious.  she  doesn't  know  what  it's  like,  to  have  something  all  for  herself  -  not  even  her  bedroom  is  her  own,  her  most  prized  possessions  kept  in  a  shoebox  beneath  the  floorboards  and  away  from  sticky  fingers.  it's  suffocating,  almost  -  to  be  surrounded  by  a  life  she'll  never  have.  june  pushes  against  the  door,  only  walking  a  few  feet  forward  before  stopping  in  her  tracks  completely.

there  kieran  stands,  bent  over  the  kitchen's  stovetop  as  he  frantically  tries  to  stop  the  eggs  from  burning  further.  it's  a  foreign  sight,  and  june  can't  help  but  feel  possessive.  "what  the  fuck  is  going  on?"  as  she  steps  closer,  pasha  circles  her  feet,  bumps  against  her  ankles  -  practically  tries  to  trip  and  kill  june,  just  to  get  her  sleeping  spot  back.  "you're  a  sick  fuck,  pash  -"  a  briefly  distracted  mumble  as  june  bends  down  to  pat  pasha's  back,  half  -  fond  -  before  she's  jerking  upright  again  to  glare  at  kieran.  "christ  -  are  you  following  me  now,  or  some  shit?  first  you  have  me  go  on  a  fucking  -  high  speed  chase  in  fucking  -  platforms,  like  a  sicko  -  then  you  follow  me  to  selin's  and  make  shit  eggs?"

[ofvolatile]

taylan can feel the mattress dip under their shared weight , laying side by side , shoulders barely brushing , they fall into a familiar silence that feels like a ghost of better times , the kind that once stretched lazily between late-night confessions and early-morning banter , back when insomnia was an unspoken companion and not a relentless torment . “ if i killed anyone , you'd know , ” taylan murmurs into darkness . his eyes flicker to kieran , who take a swig from the bottle . a low , raspy laugh falls at the hiss that leaves his friend's lips , but its short-lived , dissolving into the quiet as kieran grabs his hand . taylan's breath falters , shifts uncomfortably beneath the touch with the urge to pull away , but something keeps him rooted . he looks up , meet kieran's brown eyes , and the exhaustion in his own gaze weighs heavy . his eyes drift to their hands , a gentleness that feels so foreign , so alien that it might as well belong to a different species . and he doesn't know if he wants to explore it or run . unlike his twin , taylan has never been the bearer of kindness . his hands have always been tools of violence — clenched fists , rough shoves . they press into bruises , and prod at weakness , cause more pain than they have ever healed . “ don't call me that ” he snaps , but there wasn't much bite in his voice , instead his tone betrays more than he wants , making his jaw tighten . hand still caught in the warm embrace of the other , his throat tightens , the betraying motions of his adam's apple rising and falling as if suffocating on words unsaid , and taylan's gaze drift upward , surrendering to the fractured patterns on the ceiling above . his lashes , long and dark , flutter against the full of his upper cheekbone , and his lips , press into a line , tightly sealed . there is loss hidden under his pillow and this is how he lives with it , he stays up for hours every night , reliving the hockey accident that left its mark not only on his body , but on his soul . the sound of his head hitting the ice reverberates in his thoughts , sharp and jarring , the echo of fear still bitter on his tongue . blood mercilessly flows in his memories , threatening to extinguish the flickering light of his consciousness . twelve days ago , he had tasted the possibility of an end — the terrifying certainty that maybe this was the last chapter of his story. it hollows him from the inside out , and he wants to tell kieran about it without mentioning how much it hurts , but he cannot bear to peel back the scar on his throat and reveal the raw wounds beneath . vulnerability wasn't something he knew how to do , a forbidden language he has never been taught . his father's anger towards him , filled every corner of his childhood home , leaving little room for softness or surrender . he was never allowed to be like selin . shifting his head on his pillow , taylan meets kieran's eyes , hand remain caught in his grasp , fingers twitch , hesitant and unsure , but he doesn't let go . “ i missed you , ” he murmurs voice rough , settles for a truth he can manage .

ꜜ ﹙ ⚰️  ﹚ ﹕ asking the difficult questions was his wheelhouse⸻ how contemptuous it must be for someone to ask if you were a killer, only expected the acerbity of taylan's reaction, but it was a necessary evil. for his own peace of mind. for that part of him still frozen at fourteen, who looked at taylan with an all-consuming adoration, always following closely behind as he dove into every trouble and brawl. and even now, if the answer given was not the one he predicted and received, there was probably still nothing he wouldn't do for him ﹕ ready to take a shovel and bury all the skeletons of whoever taylan needed to feed the feral animal that had been clawing at his ribcage since they were children. but thankfully, there was no need to help an old friend get away with murder. taylan's admission struck with all the rawness of truth, cutting through the frayed fear clinging to the corners of his mind, pulse slowing down as certainty finally gave way for something softer. vulnerable. the question and any doubt he had fell away, like a leaf dislodged from a branch, drifting to a place unreachable, irrelevant. tension finally unfurled from his body, every muscle and sinew loosening, allowing himself to finally be obedient to the exhaustion for once and fall to the mattress. there was an apologetic look across his features as his gaze lingered on taylan, underlined by a small foolish smile conveying that he didn't regret it however. it was just to be expected after all. kieran talbot ﹕ freak of nature, curious and paranoid, morbid and indelicate. but the world seemed to narrow here as two old friends reconnect⸻ the uneven rise and fall of breaths, the overlap of their shadows on the wall. his fingers found the neck of the vodka before thought did, prying it from taylan's hold. the glass was cool and wet against his palm, the liquid bitter as it seared down his throat, conjuring a hiss that tasted of every reckless decision he made soaked in pale moonlight. the burn subsided, but the string lingered for a little longer, letting out a quiet laugh before eyes were drawn toward the pale line running along taylan's throat ﹕ so many questions he wanted to ask ( were you scared ? i was ) but kieran let each one die on his tongue before they could be spoken out loud. maybe another time, a time chosen by taylan. instead, gaze shifted towards his eyes, and he reached for taylan's hand, fingers pressing into the jagged red streaks marring knuckles. he rubbed slow circles into bruised flesh, gentle and deliberate, mapping out a comfort that spoke where language faltered ﹕ i see you. “ did you come home to lick your wounds ? ” kieran asked, thumb ghosting over the deepest cut. “ be a good dog, yeah ? i can't handle both you and finch bein' a pain in my ass. ” it was a request that he knew would fall on deaf ears, trouble just an inevitability with taylan around, a smile curling his lips upward knowingly.

[ofvolatile]

june had just left his room , and taylan's sigh comes out like a groan . he lets his body drop back onto the mattress , doesn't care to change out of his costume , and throws an arm over his eyes . in the darkness of unrest , he feels exhaustion in his limbs and on his lids , but he knows it will take him hours to put his consciousness to rest . still he begs sleep come take over , so the memory of his accident will stop haunting him and stop him from picking his scabs . its the sounds coming from his window that catches his attention , head lifts up from his pillow , taylan prompts himself up on his elbows , a flutter of lashes in the dark room , and he makes out the intruder . kieran and his long limbs don't have the grace that avery has from years of ballet , and amusement blooms in taylan's gaze watching him stumble and fall to the ground . “ two break- ins , in one night . selin needs better locks . ” a pressing concern he shelves for tomorrow , watches as kieran stands up , his shadow crawling up the plain white walls like a spider , spreading its long limbs . “ its a popular costume these days . maybe whoever that was , thought it was slender man running behind him , can you blame the guy ? ” a chuckle , low and vibrating , taylan defaults to find humor in a night so dark and gruesome . but his amusement dissipate with the next breath . his eyes narrow , lips fall into a tight line , and his tongue curls in irritation , against the open wound where his teeth have cut into his cheek from arguing with his father . the taste of the raw flesh sobering . “ bold of you to break into my home , and ask me if i'm the killer . ” he speaks rough , voice hoarse and slashed , feels the heaviness of all the arguing tonight against the back of his throat . taylan rests his head back on the pillow dismissing the urgency in kieran's need to know . nose sniffs on instinct , june's perfume is abusively overwhelming , marking their territory even in his space , and taylan throws the pillow in his direction . “ then why are you asking ? ” there's a look in his eyes , for the doubt that emanates from his childhood friend , and irritation coils tightly in his voice . “ i'm not a killer , kieran . ” eyes roll up and away , linger on the boogeyman mask left on his desk . before his arm stretch out to the side of his bed , blindly searches for the bottle of vodka that he grabs by the throat , with slim fingers flawed by marks of red cuts on his knuckles . “ got anymore questions for me deputy ? ” he asks , lift the drink to his lips , alcohol drips down the neck of his bottle . “ need me to tell you my alias for tonight too ? ”

…                      he already knew the answer, already knew that taylan might be capable terrible violence but he wasn't a killer. or at least that was the wish of someone who yearned to clear the dust off old photographs, nostalgic for a time when they were still young together, never quite innocent but still boyishly unaware of the slow decay of their flesh and bones. but a lot could have changed with taylan in the last seven years, couldn't ignore that the slaughter had only now began with his return, couldn't ignore that he was wearing the mask donned by who he believed to be the killer ⸻ and there was no room for the ache of childhood memories when blood had been spilled, only objectivity. he needed to know. he needed to know. he needed to know. but kieran still cared for taylan enough to go straight to the source of his worries. the desire for truth led him to worse places and worse choice before, but someone was dead and it was already well past curfew by the time he was hoisting himself up over the window sill, the edge biting into the curve of his palms, leaving shallow dents that should fade by sunrise. kieran moved with urgency, before some cop on patrol could notice him, wedging him in : uncomfortably contorting his long and wiry body, one leg first, then the rest, until his grip faltered and gravity took its chance. the room's darkness and the streetlight outside blurred as he tumbled forward, landing in a graceless heap on the hardwood floor, the thud echoing sharply. and for a split second, kieran just laid there, dazed and breathless, staring at the ceiling as if it had wronged him. but he was already pushing himself up on one elbow, muttering a string of curses ( and a prayer that the noise wouldn't wake selin ) under his breath, when his vision finally adjusted and caught sight of taylan, a smile tugging on his lips ⸻ sweet and verging on a laugh because, of course, taylan would still be awake. kieran could barely remember a time when he had fallen asleep before midnight. but this wasn't a time for reminiscing, quickly reminded by why he was here in the first place. and kieran was nothing if not honest. “ i saw the boogeyman tonight. wearing the same mask as you. chased after him for blocks and blocks. and he wouldn't have done that if he was just some guy wearing a costume .... ” said as he pushed himself to his feet, brushing off the dust from his jeans with a feigned casualness that felt hollow. he shifted his weight and leaned back against the wall, the cool plaster biting through his thin shirt, grounding him in this surreal moment. “ was it you ? ” gaze cast on taylan, it'snothimit'snothimit'snothim, but kieran just needed to hear it from him for his own peace of mind. “ i don't think you're a killer. so, tell me you're not. ” @ofvolatile