#taylan & ﹙ 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗵 𝗸𝗶𝘀𝗸𝗼𝘃𝗮 ﹚

[ofvolatile]

“ had to see if i was a ghost ? ” taylan laugh sharp and jagged , like a glass cracking under pressure . “ guess that's easier to believe than me walking back through that fucking door . ” his eyes flick to the hockey game on the screen - a replay of his teammate scoring . his jaw tightens . when his gaze shifts back to finch , there's something colder there now , harder . a memory still raw under his skin . he's back in the same mess he left behind , only this time he's managed to fuck it up worse . it's not just the accident that haunts him now ; it's the suspension . no hockey until he finishes that ridiculous program . a hoop he can't jump through when all he wants is to drown his pain in oxy and call it a day . “ sexier , huh ? ” taylan’s lips curl into something between a smirk and a sneer , his voice drops low , sarcasm flickering underneath . “ guess that’s one way to look at it . ” taylan's never been good with words - not like finch , who speaks them like a second skin , twisting languages into something sharp and clever . the only word that sticks in his mind is careful . “ speak english . i've got no fucking clue what you're saying . ” his eyes narrow on the cigarette , and then he's moving . the cabinet below the tv groans as he yanks it open . “ if you're gonna smoke , we're doing it the right way . ” he grabs the hookah without looking - muscle memory . places it on the table with a solid thud . the ornate base , a relic from istanbul , gleams faintly in the dim light . “ selin's asleep upstairs , ” taylan mutters , as he sets up the hookah , hands working with the ease of someone who’s done this a hundred times . “ last thing i need is her waking up and thinking her place smells like an ashtray . this though ? ” he shrugs , packing the bowl , “ she can deal . ” the hookah comes together quickly : base-filled with water , flavored tobacco packed tight , coals glowing hot on the foil . smoke curls up , thick and smooth , as taylan takes the first pull . the rhythmic bubbling grounds him , pulling him back from the edge . he exhales slowly , deliberately , sending the blueberry- mint haze towards finch . “ you gonna repeat that in english , or should i take it as an invitation to find out what you really meant ? ”

*    ❪   🦇   ❫    ﹕ 𝗮   𝘃𝗮𝗺𝗽𝗶𝗿𝗲   𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴   𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱  𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲  𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼   𝗮   𝘀𝗽𝗮𝗰𝗲   absolved   by   living,   breathing   individuals   that   all   at   one   point   or   another   served   purpose.   lucky   enough   that   this   door   was    one   of   the   only   ones in   redcreek   not   automatically   slammed   in   his   face.   between he & kaz, if there had to be a kiskova present, the latter was always preferred.    &   if   they   weren't   a   fan   of   enforcement,   his   replica.   the   other   side   of   him   with   a   polished   frame.   well   groomed.   well   maintained.   well  -  mannered   where   it   mattered.   to   finch,   it   never   did,   which   meant   he's   miming   a   talking   hand.   a   childish   action   as   taylan   makes   his   threat.   a   warm,   welcome   chill   during   this   autumn   season.   about   as   comfortable   as   mittens   encompassing   a   mug   &   settling   down   into   a   fluffy  cafe  chair.   the blonde's    choice   of   landing   is   the   hard   floor   that   oozes   heat,   limbs   stretching   until   they're   hitting   sofa   legs.   a   panther   lured   in   by   the   promise   of   luxury.   his   coffee   in   the   form   of   the   grey   goose   that's   passed   onto   him.   no   chasers,   no   sweetners.   finch   is   taking   a   full   gulp,   a   lifeline   for   the   pain   that   throttles   his   jawbone.   the   question   is   simple   &   it   doesn't   matter,   but   he   responds   all   the   same with   a   rusty   language   that   he   hasn't   had   use   for   in   years.   getting   back   onto   it   with   the   instinct   of   riding   a   childhood   bike.    ❛   bazı   insanlar   paylaşmayı   sevmez. ❜    said   with   a   tsk,   glancing   up   between   tousled   bangs.   ❛  sound   familiar ? ❜   a   hint   at   the   hockey   game that plays in static,   analyzed   with   acute   eyes   that   hold   a   million   inquiries.   someone   had   finally   gotten   the fuck out of here.   but   no   one   ever   really   leaves —   once  a  legend,   now   proof   in   the   flesh.   it's   almost   sad.   almost,   if   the   pleasure   of   knowing didn't encompass genuine care.   a   freshly   flattened   squirrel   in   the   middle   of   the   road,   guts   dangling   in   the   form   of   taylan's   scar   that   reaches   the   end   of   his   throat.       ❛  why   the fuck are   you   here ?   heard   you   were   back   and   had   to   come   check   that   shit   for   myself.   we   were   never   supposed   to   see   your   ass   back   here.   ever. ❜    a   callous   confession   if   you   were   a   bystander.   but   the   two   had   a   way   of   communicating:   all   ragged   edges   &   no   filter.   full   of   honesty   &   less   of   polite   curtsy   to   the   emotion. ❛  it   makes   you   sexier   i'll   give   you   that,   але   не   більше.   можливо  тобі   доведеться   бути   обережним   зі   мною. ❜ a   montoned warning   of   sin,  shoving   the   bottle back   in   trade   for   the   cigarette   that   calls   out   from   tattered   sweater   pockets.

[ofvolatile]

the television plays rewinds of last nights hockey game , and in the dark living room , taylan is restless . sleep has never come easy , but these days , it's difficult to make peace with it ; there are no early flights to wake up for ; no match games to prepare for . hockey gave him purpose , and now , each days blends into vast endless of nothingness . the buzzing of the doorbell pulls him up from the couch and makes him shoot glance up the stairway , his mind wandering upstairs to selin , who is asleep . for once they have a visitor that actually knows how to use the front door , and taylan's expression turns to amusement as he takes finch in . undone buckle , swollen lips , a violent bruise on his jaw , he can take one guess on what happened . “ been out fishing finch ? ” question laces through a chuckle . he leans against the doorframe , arms crossed over each other , he decides to torment his friend for a little longer by leaving him out and exposed in the november chill - a cold he doesn't mind . “ only if you ask nicely . ” appearing serious for a moment before his shark - line grin widens and he steps back inside , leaving the door wide open for his friend . “ come in , i won't be tending your whiny ass if you get sick . ” taylan throws himself back on the couch , reaching for a bottle on the coffee table that he had stolen from his father's liquor cabinet . he takes a swig of vodka lets it burn his taste buds for a second longer than necessary , before passing it over , “ so what the fucked happened ? ”

𝗳𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗱      :   taylan    &    finch    (    @ofvolatile  ) !

𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗿:   11:52pm, the night after halloween.

𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻:   the yalçınkaya residence.

*      ❪        🦇       ❫    ﹕   𝗮   𝗹𝗶𝗺𝗽   𝗮𝗿𝗺   𝘀𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀   𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘀𝘁   𝘁𝗵𝗲   𝗱𝗼𝗼𝗿𝗳𝗿𝗮𝗺𝗲   𝘁𝗼   𝗵𝗼𝗹𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿   unbalanced   movements  –    feet   pulsating   from   the   walk   toward   the   home   embodying   the   sole   persons   that’d   take   in   such   a   shoddy   appearance   at   this   time   of   night.   once   purposely mussed   locks   were   now   plastered   against   a   beanie covered   forehead,   buckle   undone   &   long   sleeves   embalmed   in   stale   sweat   &   a   variety   of   other   curious   stains.   hues   of   violet   &   cyan   bloom   along   the   clean   bone   of   his   jaw,   bare   skin   of   paleing   hips   lined   with   thin   cuts   from   unkind   nails.   finch   stands,   waiting,   focused   on   the   device   encased   within   sore   fingers   (   earned   from   tonight’s   failed   conquest   ;   the   miscalculation   of   a   wife   who’s   lover   had   returned   a   day   earlier   than   expected   ).   the   pad   of   his   thumb   scrolls   over   incoming   messages,   rose   swollen   lips   twitching   with   every   flicker.   a   burst   of   apologies   from   one   end   &   reparational   demands   from   the   other.   the   front   door   opens   with   a   loud   swing   &    black   irises   blow   over   whatever   expression   his   counterpart   displays,   nose   scrunching  up  in   a   flurry of    sniffles.    ❛    gonna   let   me   in   before   i   freeze   my   fuckin   balls   off   or   what   ?    ❜   he   cuts   in   before   anything   else   is   said.   he   knows   the   answer   already,   though.   but   fuck   if   it   ain’t   music   to   his   ears — especially from redcreek's most infamous feral.