#yes im drunk and yes i STILL refrained from expressing my true self to this person

[junesquibb]

im always so proud of myself after emerging from a social interaction where someone tells me that they like that My Favorite Murder podcast and I resist the urge to respond that i think they should be exiled to an island without wifi as punishment for their SINS

[hhemeraa-a]

         Fingers trailed along the velvet covered walls; dark maroon accented with black ornate designs made the dim hallway feel too warm despite the overhead lights gave off an odd cold modernism with paintings of new age abstraction that were jarring against the soft feel. It was tacky, but he continued to trail fingers passively along the fabric as he strolled with mild purpose. Somewhere there was music playing, loud and booming-- he could feel it in the walls at each vibration of bass and drum that rumbled. 

        He wasn’t drunk, but the half empty glass in his hand wanted to tell him otherwise, and he continued on with a wavering smile until eyebrows raised at the sudden table that disrupted his path. Hand and arm didn’t stop touching the wall, even as the single vase rested out of place (another piece of modern art that didn’t fit the increasingly dreary hall) crashed to the ground. 

        Tacky.

        Dark wood doors in front of him opened without needing to touch the handles and he was greeted by a familiar woman in black behind a desk that continued to look out of place. 

        “And what are you~ doing working on such a fine evening as this, Erica?” Myles called in the sing song voice he knew she liked, posture straightening as he glided across the suddenly bright room. He wasn’t expecting her there, but that wouldn’t stop him. H knew he was getting closer to his objective the cleaner it started to look. “It’s such a warm night, you should be out with that sweet sweet husband of yours~”         “O-oh! Mister Baida, I--- y-you know he’s n-not my--” she scrambled to stand, clearly flustered, checking the clock on the computer screen, wall, watch... she was never very good with time, “you’re not supposed to be--”         “I know he’s not~ but you make it so easy to tease-- and we’ve talked about this, you can call... me...?” Leaning in, he motioned with his hand, urging her to finish the sentence.         “M-Myless...--” She faltered as she whispered it, opening her mouth to continue on with her worries to which Myles very sharply interrupted her.         “Yes, and where is he?” Impatience dotted the over politeness he used, but the game with her was dull right now and he was done with it, “I assume in the usual spot? Thank you, Erica, you’ve been an amazing bit of help.”

           A hand waved her away and already ignoring her bland attempts to stop him with each steady stride to the doors to his left. Plastic smile faded and the glass in his hand felt too warm, but he sipped from it anyway as if its bitterness could fill his mouth with fire.            More dark wood. More velvet walls. More disgusting clashing new age modernism.          Pulling out the letter opener he swiped from Erica’s desk, Myles dragged the sharp end into those damn... velvet.. walls he hated so damn much the closer he got to the office.  They were stuffy, oppressive. A single jagged line followed his path, filling the small space with the soothing sound of tearing and he nearly skipped had the journey not been so short.

          “Evening Mister Ba--”           “--Myles~”           “...Mister Baida.”           The guard at the door remained placid in expression and response with an expectant outstretched hand. Myles begrudgingly slapped the letter opener into his palm.            “You never were any fun.”           “...and you never had any control... please refrain from breaking the furniture this time.”           Hazel eyes flickered violently as the door opened to a large room, “you’re starting to sound like my brother.”

          Familiar face sat behind a desk facing away from large bay windows that stared out across nothing but blackness and dim city lights. Taller with dirty blond hair speckled with strands of gray that was a clear reflection of their father, Myles’ older brother Jayson remained unwavering in his reading as Myles carelessly sat with cross legs to the burgundy chair from an era long dead. 

          ”You know it’s going to cost a small fortune to replace the wallpaper you damaged,” the other didn’t bother looking up as he addressed him. Looks like he was caught.            ”Good. Maybe you’ll pick something that matches for a change.”           “You know mother picks the style.”           “And you sign off on them.”           “......why are you here.”           “You called me here.”           “11pm is our appointment. It’s 10.”           “I was around... Can I not come early and see my dear Jay--”           “Cut the shit.”           Ah, there it was. That ugly annoyed anger he was so used to and Myles bristled in his chair, but lips pressed shut as he watched the tight strain in the other’s hands. What a delight to ruffle another’s feathers by simply being.            Another short silence only filled with the sound of turning pages and Myles took the opportunity to finish off the last of his drink before setting it on the hard wood of the desk. 

          “What happened last time?”           “...what do you mean.” Myles knew and he stared boredly out into the darkness.           “I thought we had an agreement.”           “We did-- We do.”           “Then why is the man I paid you not to kill, dead?”           Myles paused, pretending to think it over.           “I’m... still not sure what you mean. Last I saw him he was alive.”           “Barely,” the distaste in his brother’s voice was like music to the blond’s ears and it took everything he had to hold in the smile when photos were thrown across the desk towards him from the folder the other held, “he killed himself yesterday.”           “Ah, well that’s unfortunate, but he wasn’t a very nice man. Kept crying all the time about his poor children or something or other...”           “So I ask again... what happened?”           “You can’t really be blaming this on me? Their emotional instability is no longer my responsibility once they leave my care Jayson, and you knew exactly what was going to happen to him if you left him alone with me, in fact you wanted this, this is more your fault than min--”            He had been too busy carelessly flipping through the photos to admire the beautiful stain the victim left on concrete to notice the low threatening tone in Jayson’s voice or that his brother had quietly stood and walked to his side. It wasn’t until the fist connected with his jaw that Myles snapped out of his self indulgent haze flipping out of the seat and onto the ground. Somewhere a door opened, (probably the guard) and Myles silently cursed him for taking away the letter opener as another fist collided with his nose. Feet scrambled to get their bearings, but large hands gripped the front of his shirt to lift his small frame from the ground and he was reminded exactly how much stronger the other was. Palms that seemed scrawny in comparison pawed fruitlessly against the stifling hold as the familiar taste of copper filled his mouth.            “You’re weak Myles, always have been with no GODDAMN SELF CONTROL. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH YOU’VE COST US?”           Hysterically frantic words fell out in an attempt to play confidence. Accusatory and angry, there were few people the smaller could hide his true intentions with, his brother being one, and his voice seemed shrill in the vast room, “THEN WHY DID YOU CALL ME HERE? IF IM SO WEAK, WHY CALL??”            Eyes shut expecting another blow... but to his surprise, none came. The raised and readied fist squeezed and didn’t move and hazel eyes blinked open and stared nervously between a stoic face (whose gears were visibly turning like sludge between what he so obviously wanted to do and what he needed to do) and fist before Myles stopped his attempts at escape to relish in the fact that this could only mean one thing.

His brother needed him for something. 

          A barked out short laugh escaped unnaturally smiling lips and he couldn’t help the sneer as he wheezed, “Hmm? Why did you call me? A job? A personal favor? If it was just to fight, you could have saved me the damn trip--” The large hand let go and Myles fell back against the floor, wiping slow dripping blood from nose and a bitter triumphant laugh shook his chest as he pulled himself from the ground. The pain that was welling up in folds on his cheek was almost negligible compared to the excitement that his oh-so-put together brother was going to ask him - the filthy perverted family mess - for a task. By the time he was standing, the other was already trying to ignore him, wiping bloody knuckles and sighing as if this was all some large inconvenience. It wasn’t. Not yet. 

          “...you must really hate whoever it is to have called me.”           “Be quiet for once for fucks sake...” Familiar hands appeared next to the blond’s face with a readied damp towel. It was the man that had taken his weapon of choice.            “What’s this guy’s name?” eyes narrowed as he took it and pressed it against his nose, “he’s cute--”           “Stop that--”            Another snicker muffled behind the towel, he sighed suddenly exhausted. (Although he heard the muffled name ‘Sean’ under breath and he was thankful that the towel covered his mouth.) A manila folder slid its way within arms reach and the blond eyed once again between man and paper before reaching out to take it. How odd that they were always able to prioritize work from their scuffles (as they were called by their mother). 

          “HA!” Myles couldn’t stop it as he opened the folder to see who it was and an ugly laugh filled the room, unbridled.

          “...once you complete this...” Jayson aggravatingly grumbled through the noise, “you’ll have that... freedom, you were crying so loudly about. You will become just another contractor free to explore your... disgusting hobbies. I wanted to cut you completely, but mom doesn’t trust you on your own and after some thought...” Myles was still in a fit, trying to hold his mouth as he flipped through the information, “...neither do I.”

          “That’s fine and all, seriously it is, but you, Jayson. You after all you’ve called me - sick, perverted, filthy, psychotic - this? This is... priceless,” his brother didn’t say a word and Myles relished in his silence. A single photo was held up as if it was his crowning achievement, “you want me to question your wife?”              “No one can know and it must look like an accident,” finger tapped against wood, “apparently she’s been embezzling funds from a client hiding behind our name and if there’s one thing I hate it’s--”           “Liars.”