#taylan & ﹙ 𝗸𝗶𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗻 𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗯𝗼𝘁 ﹚

[ofvolatile]

where : thorne house , 9:15 pm . status : closed with @gorebound

lone and shadowed against the setting of the dark sky , thorne house stands out in all the worst ways . a stark contrast next to the other residences on norwood street . the building untouched and abandoned . the mystery of dead creek's past haunting it from the inside out . when taylan was younger his father had warned him about the boogeyman , hoping to get him to behave , and turn him into a dog on a leash that only knew how to heel and follow orders , but it had done the complete opposite . he ignores the no trespassing sign , pushes through the haunted home's door , and steps between the dust and dirt . in the phantom moonlight that shines through the windows of thorne house , with a lit cigarette between his lips , taylan searches the graffiti-sprayed walls , looking for his own tag . six years have passed since his last visit , but in this light , he's taken right back to his teenage years , when he trashed the place with a stream of hedonistic superiority in his genes . in some ways , the hours spend here smoking weed with his friends felt more like home than the white , plain walls of his childhood bedroom . the wind whistles and jives through broken windows as he turns the corner into the living room , where he spots the same abandoned couch , brownish-grey cigarette burns littered across velvet green . thrown across the floor are cushions , broken glass and other decaying thrash . ash collects at the tip of his cigarette , taylan flicks it off , takes another step and its then that he notices a familiar figure in the corner of the room , right by the window . finding kieran talbot under the dark marks of thorne house past  , doesn't surprise him ; his morbid curiosity has been there since their childhood . in a nasty habit , taylan stomps his mostly smoked cigarette out against his hand , causing a burn against his skin that he pays no mind to . pulling the boogeyman mask back down and hiding his features . the floorboards threaten to creak beneath his shoes , as he tries not to reveal himself . once he gets close enough , he grabs kieran by his shoulder pulling him back to meet the mask of a scary childhood story . “ boo . ”

[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

[ofvolatile]

the  reaction  kieran  gives  him  spoils  the  fun  ,  of course , he  wouldn't  be  easily  fooled  ,  not  when  he  spend  his  days  and  nights  obsessing  over  red  creek's  past  , but if it were not for him ,   taylan  wouldn't  have  known  half-the-shit  about  the  town  that  he  did  now  .  his father preferred to keep him and his sister in the shadows , oblivious to the truth that lurks every corner of red creek . jacob thorne , a name whispered in the dark of their childhood home when the twins were pretending to be upstairs and asleep . the boogeyman only a fable . as  kieran  goes  on  about  a  horror  show  ,  taylan's eyes  rolls  his  eyes  behind  the  mask  ,  he’s never  been  one  for  the  dramatics  .  there  was  no  plan  , or  thought  put  behind  any  of  his  actions  ; it was  pure  white impulse  and  whatever  the  fuck  felt  right  at  that  moment  —   it  worked  on  the  little  kids  he  had  scared  away  at  lakeside  grill  ,  ruining  their  halloween  like  the  grinch  on  christmas  .  complaints  about  his  costume  already  had  reached  the  sheriff's  department  and  his  father's  ears  .  “  you  know  how  hard  its  to  breath  under  this  damn  thing  .  got  to  give  the  boogeyman  some  credit  ,  ”  removing  the  mask  ,  taylan  throws  it  to  the  side  ,  not  caring  where  it  lands ,  brown  eyes  meeting  those  of  his  childhood  friend  , and  he  feels  like  he's  fallen  seven  years  back  in  time  .  “  duly  noted  director  ,  will  tell  selin  to  add  more  blood  next  time  ,  ”   words  choking  in  sarcasm  ,  his  hand  goes  through  his  hair  where  the  fake  blood  sticks  to  his  curls  ,  messing  it  up  even  more  .  now  in  a  better  light  ,  blood  visibly  lingers  on  his  clothes  and  skin  .  copper  sticking  to  his  cheek  bones  .  familiar to the sanguinary , blood  had  never  much  bothered  taylan  , but  when  selin  helped  him  out  with  his  costume  ,  he  tried  not  to  linger  on  the  fact  that  the  wet fake blood  sticking to  his  frame  was  overwhelmingly  familiar — too  soon  ,  and  catching  his  reflection  in  the  window  ,  he  can't  help  but  cast  his  gaze  down  to  the  scar  on  his  throat  .  a  pack  of  red  marlboro  cigarettes  is  pulled  from  his  worn  out  leather  jacket  , with hockey on pause  ,   taylan is marring  his  lungs  black  ,  hoping  to  rid  the  anxiety  that  he  feels  .  with  one  hand  ,  he  flicks  the  cardboard  pack  open  ,  and  with  the  other  ,  pulls  out  a  lighter  ,  a  tiny  souvenir  from  heartbreak  motel  .  he  doesn't  hand  kieran  a  cigarette  right  away  ,  instead  he  places  two  cigarettes  between  his  lips  at  the  same  time  .  then  ,  lights  them  both  up  .  inhaling  a  mouthful  of  nicotine  ,  he exhales , smooth tones of grey pooling , polluting the grim area . “  so  this  is  what  you  have  been  doing  while  i  was  away  .  hoping  to  kiss  the  boogeyman  under  the  moonlight  ?  make  it  romantic  in  thorne  house  ?  ”  mouth  twist  into  a  grin  .  he  hands  a  cigarette  over  .  “  good  to  see  you're  still  the  same  old freak  ,  was  starting  to  think  everyone  in  town  was  going  through  an  identity  crisis  .   santi  sure  seems  like  he  does  .  ” 

…                      he told himself that this would be an easy in and out, just a quick walk-through to clear his head ⸻ but the thorne house always had its way of reeling kieran in, one creaky floorboard after the next, and he just couldn't seem to turn around. how could he ? everything about this place wove themselves into his every thought : the history, the misfortunes that befell its former habitants, all the secrets still clinging to every surface like mildew in the dark. the house felt heavier these days, too, as if the walls had soaked up too much tragedy over the years. and with daniela estrada's disappearance, the house itself seemed to be at the edge of collapse more than ever, buckling under decades of sorrow and despair packed into it foundations. everything would always come back here, time after time, until they finally dig up the truth. but it was a little funny, wasn't it ? this old abandoned house, a relic of the past, a reminder of tragedies, now stood as a reflection of their town : haunted, on the precipice of breakdown, so many secrets buried like dead things in shallow graves. and maybe that was just another reason why he lingered here, waiting for ghosts of the past to point him to right direction. he wandered around the house, hoping for an epiphany, running a hand along a doorframe, fingers brushing against the splintered wood. but a something else fully piqued his attention, a smile tugging on his lips as his gaze shifted towards the carvings on the window sill, hewn with the initials of vandals and lovers who once found solace in this decrepit place. fingertips were tracing his initials on layers of dust when he suddenly felt a prickling sensation at the back of his neck, instinct kicking in, his spine stiffening as he jerked around to face the boogeyman, hands prepared to shove, to strike, to create some distance. but a quick glance was all it took for kieran to steady himself, quick to notice the boogeyman's lack of weapon. and for a moment, kieran almost looked disappointed to be facing just another fraud. “ y'know, this whole attempt to scare me ? ” a smirk curling one side of his lips upwards as he leaned in, almost as if about to kiss the mask, curiosity and reckless thrills pulling him closer. “ it's like trying to dress up a corpse— no matter how fancy the outfit, it's still just dead weight ... c'mon, you can do better than this. ” gaze remained fixated on the masked person, curious about who could be underneath it, something so vaguely familiar about the single syllable uttered. kieran took a step back as his hands settled loosely in his pockets, a quiet sigh slipping past his lips. “ bring the whole horror show next time. butcher knife, blood, and don't say boo. ”