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the-six-who-stayed-blog · 10 years

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How You Said || Sam

How you were supposed to be mine. Never supposed to leave. How I remember your arms around me and how they still are. How I need you and you were never supposed to leave and were supposed to need me, too. How I love you and how you said you loved me. How your arms felt around me, how you promised you'd never let go, what you felt like in my arms and how I'd never let go and how I still wouldn't and still don't because I remember your arms around me. How you said you loved me and how I love you, how very very much I love you. How your arms felt around me. How you were supposed to stay and you didn't and now I'm. How your arms felt around me how you're hand felt in mine how you felt in my arms. How your hand felt in mine and mine and yours and how we held hands and how you weren't supposed to leave but you did and how I want to hate you but I can't because how your arms felt around me. You, how it was you, how it is you, how it will always be you and it should have been me. How I thought it was me, how I really fucking thought it was me, and how I guess it wasn't because I'm here and you're not and how your arms felt around me. You, how. How. You. How I love you and how you loved me, I thought you -- because how your arms felt around me. How it was you and I thought it was me but it's you and how you felt in my arms on my lap curled up on and against my chest and how I thought it was forever. You, how it felt to hold you and be held by you. How my smiles were real when you were here. How I can't say how I am because it's bad, it's getting worse and worse, and how when it was bad you held me and how it felt in your arms. How you should have held me when it was bad but you didn't except when you did and how your arms felt around me. How your lips felt on mine and how much I miss them and you and the taste of you and the feel of your lips on mine and how your arms felt around me. How sad I am without you and how you fixed it, you fixed everything, and you would again if you just came back and how much I need you, desperately need you to come back so I can be everything for you again. How you made it better. How I wanted to dance with you and feel you in my arms and feel myself in yours and how much I want and how it doesn't matter. You, how it's you and it doesn't matter. How it's always you and it has always been you and how it will always be you. You, how it's you and how much I need you and to be with you in your arms and how your arms felt around me. How. How it would be you. How it is you. How I need you so badly and how I love you and how your arms feel around be. How very very very much I want to kiss you. How I need you and your arms around me and you just you always you. It's always you and I need you and you aren't here and I need you here but you aren't here and I'm here and you aren't. How I miss you and your voice and you and if you. If you. If you. If you'd put your arms around me I'd be okay again. How I need you to put me back together and how many tunes I put you together how I gave you myself when you had missing pieces you couldn't find so I gave you mine and all I wanted was your arms around me how that's all I could ever ask from you is once just once to have your arms around me just once more. How I need you and how beautiful you are and how much I need you and your lips against mine and you in my arms. How I'd give anything to put you back together again because putting you together puts me together because having you in my arms is the best thing that's ever happened to me and how I need you so desperately. How I just want your arms around me one more time. Once more. Please.

#sam #sam journals #about him

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the-six-who-stayed-blog · 10 years

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Home || Maggie

I’m home. No matter how comfortable the beds are at the Ritz, I missed mine, and it’s wonderful to be back in my bed. Bert isn’t here yet; he’s taking the train tomorrow and should arrive right around when I get off work. I’m a little anxious to go back to work with my wrist in a cast and a black eye, but hey, I just got mugged in New York, right? Shit happens.

…and it’s not like this is the first time anyway, so.

Dancing was awesome. I ended up at a gay bar and had Bad Romance dedicated to me. I feel so safe in gay bars, I love it. I’ve never been scared or felt threatened once. I’ve also never been with Bert, so there’s a good distance. No associations.

I really need to work on my playlist, I’m still only partway through L, but I’m still exhausted. Good exhausted, more like pleasantly tired, but not really in the mood to spend hours looking at songs that remind me of how depressing my life is. I’d rather kick back, marathon Netflix, and get to sleep early. Besides, I cleaned the apartment today, and flew home from JFK, so I deserve one last night of relaxation.

Projection of tomorrow:

I’ll get looks at work. They’re the sort of looks you get when you’re a Battered Woman (which I’m not (shut up)), and I hate them.

I’ll get well-meaning suggestions and offers of help.

David will probably stop by on his way to work.

Bert will absolutely not stop by, he knows better than to show up when I look like how I look.

Bert will be incredibly sweet and give me flowers and neck rubs and anything else he can think of.

Bert will promise to never do it again.

Bert will swear off drugs and alcohol forever.

Bert won’t mean to lie or think he’s lying, but he’ll be lying.

So yeah. Netflix tonight. I think I’m going to start Parks and Recreation; I’ve been meaning to for ages, and I could use something silly and not too serious.

Realistic projection of tonight:

Too upset to focus on anything.

Too upset to sleep.

Stay up all night hating myself.

Sounds good.

Let’s go.

#maggie #maggie journals #about bert #abuse #so abuse

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the-six-who-stayed-blog · 10 years

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Entry #10: Analyzing Entry #9 || Spencer

I am aware this is overanalyzing but it’s inescapable. At least my blog won’t yell at me for refusing to shut up, unlike certain other people.

We’re still in Franklin, by the way. I’ve been paired with JJ for the rest of the case; her press liaison skills come in handy when I’m being unreasonable, apparently. I just wish she would stop looking at me like she knows something. It’s a kind look, a “Spencer is being adorable” look, but I don’t appreciate it. I’ve completed the geographical and I’m in the station waiting to hear back from Aaron and Derek, who are checking out the most likely areas. That’s why I have time to blog. I’m not blowing off work, I’m just waiting.

About yesterday.

I don’t believe I overreacted. I do believe what I said was detrimental to the case and shouldn’t have been said, but I refuse to say that my actions were uncalled for.

About the more interesting parts of yesterday.

Dave grabbing my wrist was debatably appropriate. It’s true that I was being belligerent and needed to leave before I got us kicked off the case, and it’s true that I was talking back to Aaron. Physically ushering me from the room was most likely reasonable and nothing to be suspicious about. Not letting go once we were alone, though?

If Dave wasn’t a profiler, wasn’t so aware of every action at all times, I’d say he forgot, only he is a profiler and he is aware of every action at all times. The most logical explanation is that he was trying to calm me down via touch, a well-accepted means of comfort, but everyone knows I’m generally uncomfortable with touch, and Dave isn’t one for prolonged contact. A pat on the shoulder, absolutely. Holding my wrist for approximately 238 seconds is unprecedented. I say approximately because I was distracted; usually there wouldn’t be a question.

Moving on.

Dave knows I’m not straight. Everyone knows I’m not straight, apparently (Dave’s emphasis). What does that mean? Well, obviously it means that everyone knows I’m not straight, but what does it mean in relation to Dave? What does he think about it? Given that I’m a profiler myself I really should know, but I was too distracted to pick up on whatever micro-expressions he was exhibiting. It’s infuriating.

Also I need to work on my subtly? Does that mean everyone also knows I have a crush on Dave? I’m aware that when I liked JJ years ago that wasn’t a secret, but I was much younger then. Nobody knew about Maeve until I had Alex drop me off at a phone booth, and that was six months after she and I started talking. Maeve wasn’t a member of the BAU so we didn’t interact in front of the team until the very end, but still. If I managed to hide that relationship, I must have gotten better at hiding my feelings.

Dave held my wrist, told me he knew I’m not straight, and said I need to work on my subtly.

He gave no indicators of whether or not he returned my feelings. Or that he knows I have feelings.

This is too complicated. As soon as we get back to DC I’m going to talk to Penelope. After dinner at Dave’s, of course.

2104/11/16. Spencer Reid.

#spencer #spencer journals #about dave

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the-six-who-stayed-blog · 10 years

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Mouse || Mouse

Maman a commencé m’appeler quand j’ai deux ans. Nous avons à London parce que mon père a été promu; maman a vu rester dans Nice, mais les choses ont encore bien avec leur, si elle a été d’accord. Même si, elle a pensé que mon père a déjà essayé pousser une chose entre nous, rendre nous malheureux, si elle a vu un chose juste pour nous.

J’ai toujours été petit.

Mon père déteste les diminutifs. À il, je suis Denis et rien d’autre.

Si Maman a me commencé Mouse.

C’est estrange qu’elle n’a pas utilisé Souris, et même si elle n’a pas le parlé, je pense c’est ni faire il fâché. Il aussi déteste français parce qu’il appartient à nous, et si elle a réglé sur Mouse.

Je l’aime parce qu’est d’elle, parce qu’il me fait aimé, parce qu’il est moi.

Parce que mon père et ma grand-mère ont les seulement uns que m’appellent Denis.

Parce que Mouse a rien faire avec leur.

Si, bonjour, je m’appelle Mouse. Ça va?

#mouse #about mouse #about le mauvais #about maman #mouse journals

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the-six-who-stayed-blog · 10 years

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Tumble || Nicholas

Last—oh oh last night Dark it was—oh, was so dark Seeing was—no no Small small small small small All eyes on me watching watch A smallest mistake Breathing—oh oh no Closed up everything closed up Tighter than so tight Swirling around me Grey clouds grey smoke grey grey eyes My eyes turned grey, oh

Eyes open into Dark not so dark fire dance Warm crackling good Safe safe fireplace I’m in a bed I don’t know But warm and comfort Smells like home like safe Like Severus, like the one Like it might be good

Footsteps oh footsteps Disappear under blankets I’m heavy heavy Can’t move arms blankets Calm though still calm smells like him Fire so so warm

“Nicholas?”—oh oh I’m—oh—and he’s, he’s here, and— Am I in his bed?

Okay okay yes Things these things they happen I Broken unstable Overwhelmed I was Many many letters I Have assigned to me Avoidant (so scared) Personality (I don’t) Disorder (damaged) Sometimes it all goes Everything falls so sideways And I tumble down

“Nicholas?”—oh oh Love my name coming from him “Yes”—breathe—“yes I’m here” Voice quiet and cracked But I am here I am in His bed so so here

Soft quiet movement And—oh oh—the bed dips down And—and he—he does— Hand on my forehead Gentle careful loving oh My eyes close and he

“How are you feeling?” I am in your bed your hand Oh how do you think So much better than “Okay” is all I can say Tell me you love me

“Is there anything I can do for you?” oh yes Oh so very much Instead I’m drifting Drifting drifting away and “No” all I can say

“Sleep” and your hand is On my forehead in my hair But I’m so tired I hum and I feel You smile your atoms still Connected to mine It’s so beautiful And you say again to sleep And so then I do

#nicholas #nicholas journals #nicholas stories #nicholas poetry #about severus

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the-six-who-stayed-blog · 10 years

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Entry #9: My Wrist is Tingling

Before I start writing, I should say that I have not followed Penelope’s advice, and I have changed my password.

That aside.

We’re in Franklin, South Carolina. It’s a tiny, hick town with an unsub killing gay men, almost certainly due to repressed homosexual urges and the accompanying guilt from a background so religious it’s on par with brainwashing. He’s white, in his mid-to-late twenties, likely caring for an ailing parent, most probably his father. He’s mobile and has space to keep his victims for several days and soundproofing to allow for it.

Sorry, that was work.

The sheriff and I don’t get along. Actually, I don’t get along with almost anyone here. I hate to use stupid as an insult, but in all honesty, these are some of the stupidest, most close-minded people I have ever met. This has been one of those cases where I actively need another agent at my side to translate what I’m saying because the sheriff literally didn’t know the word tangentially.

How are there people who don’t know what tangentially means?

Anyway, the sheriff started to rescind his invitation to the BAU on the grounds of “the guy’s practically a hero riddin’ our town of abominations the way he is.” I was there, along with Dave and Aaron. I’m aware I should have let Aaron take care of it, but that didn’t happen. Not right away, not soon enough.

“Excuse me?” I burst out. “Abominations? Homosexuality is as natural as—”

“There ain’t nothing natural ‘bout two men doin’ what they’ve been doin’,” Sheriff Clark interrupted.

“—heterosexuality, if not more so,” I continued. “It’s been around for as long as recorded history, and ‘doin’ what they’re doin’ is nothing more than a perfectly natural way of showing their love for each other.”

“‘Love’ that God Himself wrote down to be a sin,” Clark shot back.

I’m not stupid. I can read social cues, at least enough to know that it was time for me to stop talking. I didn’t, but I did know I should have.

“First, your supposed God didn’t write anything. The Bible was written by men, as fallible as you or me—especially you. Second, I assume you’re referring to Leviticus 18:22; do you have any idea how many interpretations there are of that passage, almost none of which have anything to do with homosexuality? Not once in the Bible does God condemn it, and by the way, do your uniforms contain polyester? Because that is explicitly stated as a sin.”

“Reid,” Aaron cut in sharply.

“For all we know, maybe you’re the unsub,” I continued. “You certainly have the irrational hatred that fits the profile, and given how adamant you are, I wouldn’t at all be surprised if you get yourself off thinking about—”

“Reid,” Aaron yelled. “Get out. Go take a walk.”

I spun to face him. “Why are you defending this hick of a—”

Dave grabbed my wrist, and that successfully cut off my tirade. I had no memory of what I was about to say, and only the vaguest recollection of what we were talking about in the first place.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Dave led me out of the room while Aaron placated Sheriff Clark. I followed without protest, too focused on the feel of his hand to put up a fight. It was warm and strong and his fingers were the sort of smooth that comes with a life devoid of hard labor. His thumb was on my pulse and I’m nearly positive that was an accident, but it was just as terrifying than if it had been intentional. Presumably, he attributed my elevated heart rate to the fact that I was upset. He led us into an empty interrogation room, closed the door, and looked at me with a mixture of surprise, anger, and concern. He was still holding my wrist.

“What the hell was that?”

I opened my mouth with no idea of what I was going to say, other than it probably shouldn’t be why are you still holding onto me?

“I don’t like ignorance.”

“Neither do I, but is that really an excuse to antagonize our already tenuous relationship with the only person allowing us to continue to find a killer?” Dave asked.

“Yes,” I replied immediately. “Well. No. Probably not.”

“You know he’s not the unsub,” he replied, almost gently. “This isn’t like you. What’s going on?”

You’re still touching me, I thought.

“I’m just tired,” I lied. “I’m behind on caffeine, the withdrawal is making me irritable.”

Dave raised an eyebrow. “Uh huh.”

I huffed. “Why doesn’t anyone ever believe me?”

“Because you’re a terrible liar and you spend all your time with profilers,” he replied with a bit of a smile. “Sounds like this is personal?”

I looked away. “So what? We’ve all had personal cases. You came out of retirement to solve your own cold case. I don’t like homophobia. So sue me.”

“Still sounds personal,” Dave said. “Have a close encounter with the phobic kind?”

I couldn’t stop a small smile. “No, not I just—wait.” I met his eyes again. “You know I’m not straight?”

Dave laughed. “Spencer, everyone knows you aren’t straight. You really need to work on your subtlety.”

Wait what? They do?

“I—o-okay then, yes, it hits a nerve,” I stammered.

Why are you still holding my wrist?

Dave let go, and immediately I felt the loss. “It’s hard, I know, but you’ve got to keep it together. You don’t want a murderer walking because you got us kicked off the case, do you?”

“No,” I said. “No, of course not.”

“All right, then.” Dave put his hand on my shoulder for a split second before dropping it. “Now why don’t you take that walk while Aaron and I clean up your mess.”

I flushed. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” He smiled at me again, then left.

I’m writing this entry on my phone on a park bench instead of walking. I really need to get back to work, but I had to post it, it’s too important. Analysis will come later.

2014/11/15, Saturday. Spencer Reid.

#spencer #spencer journals #spencer stories #about spencer #about dave

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the-six-who-stayed-blog · 10 years

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L'Appartement || Mouse

Je mon appartement aime. Je sais que n’est pas quelqu’uns écrit sûr, que ce n’est pas très intéressant, mais il est à moi.

C’est mon appartement première c’appartiens à moi et personne d’autre. Non les camarades de chambre, non les copains, rien. Juste moi.

C’est marvelous. Parfait.

C’est un chambre (et une salle de bain, bien sûr). Quand vous entrez dans, la cuisine est sur la droit et la machine à laver séchant sur la gauche. C’est une autre chose—j’ai une machine à laver séchant dans mon appartement. La cuisine est petite mais fonctionnel, et je seulement cuisinais pour moi-même, si je n’ai besoin pas de quelque chose plus grande.

Puis la salle de bain sur la droit, et la salle-de-séjour-et-chambre à le bout. C’est tellement en ensoleillé, et c’est que me fait decider sur ça. Je détesté le noir, et mon appartement ne peut pas plus ensoleillé. La vue est bien, jamais especial, mais c’est orientée l’est, et je le lever du soleil aime.

Touts mes meubles ont d’occasion ou de Ikea. Le canapé est recouvert dans les fleures, la lit craque, et demi du mes livres ont en les boîtes parce que là n’est pas assez espace des bibliothèques, mais c’est bien. Bon, très bon. Je les espaces petits aime, et les boîtes ne dérange-moi pas.

C’est une penderie petite à côte de la lit, et un portemanteau sur la porte.

C’est tout.

Je l’aime.

Sauf peut-être…

Toujours plus les fleures :)

#mouse #mouse journals #about mouse

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the-six-who-stayed-blog · 10 years

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Beat || Maggie

David is back in Toronto. He texted one of the guys in Bert’s band to see if he’s still alive, and he is. He’s sleeping off his bender at a friend’s in New York and will be back in Toronto when he’s mobile.

I spent the day walking around the city not doing anything in particular. I really do love walking, though I could do without shoving my way through hordes of people. Still, even that. It’s kind of nice to be lost in a crowd sometimes. To be nobody in a city full of somebodies.

I also got a giant slice of New York pizza that was fucking incredible.

Tonight, against all odds, I think I’m gonna go out. Go dancing. No drinking, obviously, or at least not enough to get drunk, and definitely no drugs. Find a club with a disgustingly loud beat and become the music.

Bert even packed clubbing clothes for me. What a gentleman.

I have a flight booked home early Sunday morning, so I can stay out all night tonight and sleep in without risking missing it. Then tomorrow night probably just lounging around the hotel room and going to bed early. Back to work on Monday.

All things considered, this has been a pretty good vacation.

Not even sarcastic.

Which is probably sad.

#maggie #maggie journals #about david #about bert

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the-six-who-stayed-blog · 10 years

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Entry #Whatever: Is it really hacking if I set up the password? || Spencer

TO DOCTOR SUPERVISORY SPECIAL AGENT SPENCER REID:

GO FIND SUPERVISORY SPECIAL AGENT DAVID ROSSI AND EXPLICITLY ASK HIM ON A DATE I’M SICK OF THE CULTURAL IMPLICATIONS OF GELATO NOBODY CARES BUT YOU GO NOW FORTHWITH OR WHATEVER YOU SAY ALLONS-Y GET OUT OF MY OFFICE AND GO ASK HIM OUT THIS INSTANT

YOURS TRULY, DIDN’T VOLUNTEER TO BE SUPERVISORY EXTRAORDINARILY SPECIAL NOT AN AGENT AT ALL PENELOPE GARCIA

P.S.

I HAVE OFFICIALLY BLESSED YOU NOW GO AWAY

#spencer #about penelope

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the-six-who-stayed-blog · 10 years

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Eyes Open || Nicholas

Eyes open pre-dawn Fireplace dying embers This is important

—

I have no memory of writing this, but I must have woken up in the middle of the night and thought it needed to be said.

#nicholas #nicholas journals #nicholas poetry

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the-six-who-stayed-blog · 10 years

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~ intermission cont. ~ || Emlyn

Okay I odn’t have time to write this because jim is here and he’s in the bathroom and I really don’t want him to know I have a blog even though realistically he probably does because he’s Jim but

I’m still sick, still just a cold, Dr Allen will be back tomorrow (Friday) if I’m not feeling better.

Today for lunch Jim brought my soup. Jim. He otld me to call him Jim. And hten he stayed with me.

We’re watching Being Human—the bbc one, the real one—, marathoning it, and he’s not complaining or telling e to be interesting or coming onto me or expecting sex. He’s just sitting with me while I’m sick.

What the actual fuck is happening.

#emlyn #emlyn journals #about jim

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the-six-who-stayed-blog · 10 years

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ugh || Maggie

David brought me my computer and I’ve spent most of the day in bed working on my playlist. I’m partway through L.

Huge accomplishment, right?

Ugh.

I hate myself.

And David’s hovering so I can’t do anything about it which is exactly why he’s hovering and I know that and he knows I know and it’s probably a good thing but it really fucking doesn’t feel like it.

He’s going home tomorrow, early enough that he can still get to work. Unlike me, he doesn’t have secondary savings for abusive boyfriends and suicidal tendencies.

I think I’ll go home this weekend, maybe Saturday. Give myself a few days to relax. I might stay longer.

Ugh, fuck if I know.

It’s 6:56pm and I’m going to take a nap because today that’s what self care looks like.

Isn’t my life fascinating can’t you see why I keep a journal oh my god I’m so interesting.

#maggie #maggie journal #about david #self harm #depression

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the-six-who-stayed-blog · 10 years

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Thérapie, Presque || Mouse

J’ai presque appelé un thérapeute aujourd’hui. Je sais que j’ai besoin d’un, mais.

Mais la dernière fois j’ai le vu, je n’ai peux pas parler sûr tout sans—sans le mauvais—

Je n’ai peux pas parler, et je ne veux pas parlera en général, et parce que j’associe thérapie en particulièrement avec n’étais parler…

C’est très difficile pour moi, même juste prenais un rendez-vous.

Je ferai.

Je ferai à bientôt.

Pour le Nouvel An.

Les résolutions du nouvel an peut être dans novembre, oui?

Oui… >.>

#mouse #mouse journals #about le mauvais

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the-six-who-stayed-blog · 10 years

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wait;; (2/4) || Sam

My best friend found this challenge on deviantArt ages ago. Your iTunes library on shuffle, no skipping, ten songs, ten drabbles, not allowed to write for longer than the song is. I thought it a brilliant idea, and then forgot about it. I was looking for inspiration, for anything to write about other than our meeting, and I stumbled across her stories.

Perfect.

I changed it slightly; I have a playlist of songs that remind me of him, and I’m using those. It’s not on shuffle either, I spent forever making the order, and it’s as important as the songs themselves. There are thirty-six songs and I think I might end up doing them all, but for now here are the first ten. I did edit them, which you aren’t supposed to do, but I couldn’t help myself.

—

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 — Breathing by Lifehouse

You don’t always talk, and that’s okay. When we aren’t fighting, when you aren’t shutting me out, when you just don’t talk sometimes. You don’t need to talk, I don’t need you to. I just want to be with you, to stay close, to hear you when you do talk.

You breathe so slowly when you sleep. It scared me at first; I thought you were dying, or that you’d taken too much of something. Now I think it’s beautiful. Reassuring. The steady rise and fall of your chest. I try to match my breathing to yours, but I can never get it quite right. Even your breathing is purely, uniquely you, unable to be copied or imitated.

I know you get sick of me. I know I don’t know the meaning of personal space, or alone time. I know I don’t understand how you give affection by not giving it. It’s okay. I don’t need to understand. I’ll stay outside, waiting for you. You always come back, come out to me, talk to me again. Even though you don’t give affection, you always do. Every now and then you do, and those moments are beautiful.

Watching you breathe is beautiful.

I don't know how to be anywhere else.

All You Wanted by Michelle Branch

At first I tried to be like you. Not the criminal mastermind part, but to never let the sophisticated socialite mask fall away.

Then I realized how stupid that was.

You have a million sophisticated socialites on call, and you get bored. Not only bored, you get lost in that world. You’d never admit it, but when we’re alone together, I see how you don’t know what to do, what to say. How to be yourself.

When I say that you make me more than me, that’s what I mean. I become more of myself to show you how to be yourself. I let you see when I’m lost so you know it’s okay. Really lost, long-term lost. When you don’t know what to do with yourself, not in any given moment but with your being.

You needed someone like me, and I was there.

Deadlines and Commitments by The Killers

Usually we stay at your apartment. It’s familiar when I’m so foreign, it has everything you need, it’s yours and it grounds you in a way I can’t. Couldn’t?

“I can’t do this!” you scream. “I can’t be here, it’s eating me alive. There’s nothing here, it’s everything, it’s nothing, everything is screaming, I can’t—”

“It’s okay,” I say. I try to hug you, to see what happens, and you throw yourself into me, pressed against my chest, and I hold you. “C’mon. We’re going to my place.”

You let out a strangled sob, I think one of thanks. You don’t hesitate or drag your feet, you just walk with me down to my car, sit quietly in the passenger seat while I drive, looking out the window and seeing anything but the city. Everything you have to do, every voice that requires your immediate attention, your calendar laid out in front of you screaming at you to focus.

It’s better in my apartment. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when you walk through the front door. You go to the couch and curl up, the old, overstuffed one you make fun of me for. And the blanket, you wrap yourself in my Burberry fleece that you regularly threaten to burn for its vulgarity, and you’re asleep before the tea is ready.

Look After You by The Fray

I don’t know how to say it more plainly.

“I love you. “I need you. “I’m staying. “I’m not leaving.”

You don’t believe me, I know you don’t. I can see the empty in your eyes, everyone who thought they loved you until they learned who you are, everyone who was nothing more than a pawn and was discarded when they outlived their uselessness, everyone who died through no fault of your own—your parents, that is, the first who left you, the ones who made you believe more than anything that nobody stays.

That nothing is permanent.

“I love you,” I say softly, running a hand through your hair. “I need you,” I sigh, kissing the lobe of your ear. “I’m staying,” I whisper, fitting my fingers between yours. “I’m not leaving,” I breathe, nuzzling your neck.

“Sam…”

“No, shh,” I interrupt, only you had already stopped talking. “It’s okay. Just know.”

“I can’t.”

I kiss your jaw, and you sigh quietly. “Yes, you can. I love you.” “No, you don’t. You idolize me.”

“I need you,” I tell you, squeezing your hand. “You need someone as involved as you.”

“I’m staying,” I affirm, taking your other hand. “Until I chase you away.”

“I’m not leaving,” I say, resting my forehead in the crook of your neck. “Not yet.” Breathe by Angels & Airwaves

Your good days are so beautiful, like the sun decided to shine just for me.

“Come on,” you say, a light in your eyes. “Come on come on come on.”

I laugh. “Where are we going?”

“Who cares!” you cry, throwing open the door, pulling me through. “We’ll lie in the grass and watch the clouds drift by.”

“Will we say what the clouds look like?” I ask, locking the door behind us, because you’re too excited to remember.

“They’ll look like love,” you say, and something warm and wonderful twists through me. “Come on.”

—

We found a quiet place were we could sit together, just us. We are lying in the grass, even though you’re wearing designer clothes. Your head is on my stomach, my arm on your chest, your hand in mine.

“What about that one?” I ask, pointing at a cloud.

You frown slightly. “Three-legged elephant?” I laugh again, and you reach behind to slap me. “Stop it, you make my head bounce when you laugh.”

“Then stop being so adorable,” I tell you, still smiling.

“I am not adorable,” you say definitively.

—

I’m drifting closer and closer to sleep. It’s warm, and you’re happy, and we’re lying together. We stopped looking at the clouds a while ago, and we aren’t doing anything at all.

“Do you know I love you?”

I stop breathing for a moment. “I—I think—do you know you love me?”

You huff. “That’s an idiotic question. Don’t ruin this, Samuel. I never say it, I never will again. I’m serious. Do you know I love you?”

I lick my lips. “Yes.” I Will Follow You Into the Dark by Death Cab for Cutie

You’re not usually suicidal.

The days when you are threaten to tear me apart more than you.

You aren’t talking, and that’s okay. Not okay, it’s not okay, but I know better than to expect words. We’re sitting on the floor of the bathroom, me leaning against the tub, you in my arms. You’re holding my hand like you’d disappear without it, and there’s a razor in your other. My free hand is covered in shallow scratches from trying to get it from you.

This is good, as good as it can be.

You’re not trying, and I don’t have to wrestle death away from you. You’ll drop the razor soon, I’ll kick it away, and we’ll stay here until you can get up.

“You know I’d go with you,” I whisper. “If you left.”

Your eyes close, I can see your reflection in the mirror.

“Sam.”

“I’d follow you.”

Sugar, We’re Goin’ Down by Fall Out Boy

I remember when you first realized how fucked up I am.

“Sam. Jesus.”

I looked up at you, my neck cracking from staying in the same position for so long. “G’morning.”

You looked down at me like I was dog shit you’d stepped in. “Did you spend the night out here?”

I yawned. “Yeah. Guess so.”

“You’re a psychopath.”

“I’m in love with you.”

“It’s the same fucking thing. How long are you planning on staying here?”

I stretched. My body creaked in protest. I gesture at the half-empty pizza box I had delivered to the steps of your building last night. “I’ve got rations.”

You surprised yourself by laughing. “Rations, Samuel?”

I smiled. “Yeah.”

You groaned. “Alright, come on. Get up. Come inside, you reek.” Wonderland by Taylor Swift

“Stop, slow down,” you say. “You’re going way too fast. Do you even know what you’re saying?”

“The first thing I ever said to you is that I love you,” I say. “What do you expect?”

Your eyes spark. “That was—you meant it.” It’s a statement.

“Yeah, I still do.”

Your eyes are so beautiful. Lush, sparkling green. You loved it when I said it, and you still love it. “You’re rushing.”

“Yeah,” I say, and you smile, you can’t help it. The corners of your lips turn up in a sexy, unfair, coy smile.

“Don’t stop,” you pretend to whisper. You wrap your arms around my neck.

“You just told me to,” I say, dipping to kiss your neck.

“Just for show.” You slide your hands into my hair. “Don’t stop.”

“You sure?” I ask, nipping at your pulse.

You groan. “Yeah, I’m fucking sure.” You raise a leg, wrap it around my waist. “Don’t stop. Ever.”

Closer by Cauterize

“You’re killing yourself.”

I roll onto my side to look at you. It’s the middle of the night. You’re naked and I’m in boxers, the blankets kicked down to the foot of the bed.

“Sorry?”

You look at me for a second before turning back to the ceiling. “By being with me.”

I nuzzle your shoulder, and you shrug away from me. “No I’m not. I love you.”

You sigh. “Those aren’t mutually exclusive. I’ll kill you. I won’t mean to, I don’t think I will, but it’s going to happen. You’ll lose the skeleton war against my closet. You’ll burst into flames if you stay so close. I’ll set you on fire.”

I laugh, kind of. “I don’t care about your past, only how it’s made you who you are. I won’t be fighting it, I’ll be helping you work through it. And I’m already on fire, I have been since I first saw you.”

You sigh again. “I know, that’s the problem. A moth doesn’t think the light will kill it, it thinks it’s beautiful. That’s you, Samuel. You’re a moth circling me. Fire isn’t good, it burns.”

“I love your burn,” I whisper, almost inaudible.

“I know,” you say, just as quietly.

Tearing Through Me by JamisonParker

You’re asleep, lying in bed next to me, galaxies away.

I run my fingers along your face, tracing bones, dipping into your temples, feeling myself wear away as I fall further into you. Towards you, because you’re too far to fall into.

I don’t understand you. How sometimes you’re inside me and sometimes I can barely see you because you’re so far. It changes from second to second, minute to minute, hour to hour.

My lips are still swollen from the bites you call kisses. I lick them and taste you, shiver against the pleasure-pain you left. I have a meeting with my father tomorrow, and I’ll go with swollen lips. I love it, having you with me when I’m called home to Kentucky and you have to stay in New York.

You’re father away now when I’m touching you than you will be on the phone when I call you to tell you I’ve landed safely.

—

#sam #sam stories #sam music #about him

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