hadriel_logs | We specialise in self-inflicted disaster

Speaking of a complete lack of concern about personal safety, Klaus honestly has no idea who it is that he's going to see, beyond a name. Of course, he's never really had much of a sense of his own personal safety beyond dodging bullets in Nam and on missions when he was a kid. Between the two of them, for over a decade on the streets? No thought of it. It hadn't mattered.

He's not sure it matters right now either.

So when she opens the door, he's leaning casually on the door frame in his usual uniform - war vest, a t-shirt, his leather pants, and bowling shoes. They're the only shoes he has. He looks tired, his hair is a mess, but he's smiling, his body language is loose and relaxed even though he's practically buzzing with nervous anticipation.

"That's me." A mock salute, "And you're Julie? Thanks for the offer, by the way. I know there's no money here or anything, but..." A lazy wave of a hand, "Whatever I can do..."

"Yeah, Julie Cabernet."

The name attached to the message said Grigio, but that's a story, and she doesn't go by that name anymore. She gives the man a quick up-and-down glance. Doesn't look dangerous. Dressed like a soldier, but doesn't have the air of one. Maybe it's a fashion thing. She shrugs one bird-boned shoulder and steps back to let him in, leaving the baseball bat untouched behind the door.

"You can let me join you, if you want. I was gonna have a joint some time today anyway." Because sometimes it's the only way to stop thoughts from racing. Sometimes it's the only way she can get some rest, some sleep, or just a bit of escape. And, honestly, it's not bad stuff.

"You're new around here, aren't you?"

It's nice, to have someone look him up and down without that hint of recognition, like they've seen his face somewhere. That look that comes before someone asks if he's Klaus Hargreeves. He's sure that happens way more often to Allison, or even Diego, but there's just no risk of it here, and that's frankly lovely.

"You got it."

When she steps back to let him in, he enters, pulls his feet out of the bowling shoes, and pads in a little further, barefoot, looking around curiously. Not much different than Drake's apartment or the place he's been squatting.

"Been here almost a month, so yeah I guess. Still longer than I hang around most places."

Spinning on a heel, he looks back at her, "I don't suppose you happen to have music too, huh?"

He took his shoes off? Well... that's interesting. Kind of cute, even. Julie lifts her eyebrows at his back as he walks in, and closes the door without giving a word to the fact.

She doesn't put that much effort into keeping the place too tidy, but it's clean. Every wall has something painted on it, almost covering the room from floor to ceiling. Her skills aren't stellar, but she clearly isn't going for any kind of realism in what she daubs on the walls - every stroke of paint and splash of colour is an emotion, a thought, nothing careful or planned out about it.

His question makes her grin, and she shakes her head.

"Don't get that lucky. I'd kill for an mp3 player." God, even a record player might be nice, but the music she'd get would probably be garbage anyway.

Breezing past him, she rounds the couch and drops down onto it, picking up one of the joints she was rolling before he arrived. "What do you think of it? Hadriel, I mean. Kind of a buzzkill, right?"

A long groan. He'd heard that, of course, that it was hard getting music here, but the confirmation is a bitch.

"Of course, of course. Man, I wish I'd had my walkman in my pocket when I left because there is nothing better than a joint and a bath and some really good music. Ah well."

There are better things, of course, there's opioids and Dave holding him and dancing in a Vietnamese disco, but those aren't things that exist here, and so this is about the best he can get.

So he follows her over to the couch and sits down heavily, lifts his feet and hooks them on the edge of the couch, knees up, leaning over to peer at the joints. When she asks what he thinks of this place, he snorts, tilting his head back against the couch and sighing deeply.

"No kidding. I mean, it seems like you guys are all settled in so well and everything...seriously, these paintings are amazing, by the way...but this whole robot war thing is...a mess. It's just a mess."

God, he's right though. Preaching to the choir when it comes to what's really good in life, and it's been far too long since Julie's been able to have all three of those things at once. The amount of water you'd need for a bath is hard to come by back home when there are thirsty people to take care of first and foremost.

You just have to settle for 'the best you can get', and what she has on the table in front of her is about it.

"Um-- thanks." Embarrassed, she moves past the compliment quickly. "People looking like they're settled in... it's just a smoke-screen. For most of us, anyway. You don't really get to 'settle', here... you just get used to the bullshit." Julie lights up and breathes in deep, holding the burning in her lungs for a moment. She lets it out in a steady stream of sweet-smelling smoke.

"About the Null... yeah, that's a mess. Wish I could say 'they started it' but you know what..? I really don't know if it's true. I just know they want us dead, and I don't want to give them the fucking satisfaction."

Klaus can feel the excited anticipation mounting in him, heart pounding, breath coming fast while he waits to see what the etiquette is here, whether she's gonna hand him the joint after she takes that first hit and exhales (goddammit, weed smells so fucking good) or if he's free to grab the other one.

When she doesn't, he leans forward, scoops up the second joint with a little sigh, and accepts the lighter, flicking it and holding it to the end of the joint while he inhales through it. The smoke is like inhaling cotton balls, it burns his throat and in his lungs, and it's amazing. Absolutely amazing. He holds it for as long as he can, exhales it like a pro, blowing a smoke ring as he tilts his head back and watches the ring float lazily through the air before taking another puff.

"Well, that certainly sounds familiar." His voice is quiet, a little sad, a little far-off, and the smoke escapes his lips while he speaks, "I'm pretty sure I've lived most of my life that way. Bullshit, beginning to end."

Another puff, and he squirms in the couch, getting comfortable, knees flopping to the side while his torso shifts a bit closer to her, craving contact even if it's just a slight touch of upper arms.

"Who cares who started it, really? I'm just so tired of war, you know? Man, it gets old after a while."

And another acrid smoke ring joins the other one floating into the air of the room.

He leans in for a fresh joint, and she says nothing. Evidently that's what she was going for, but she'll at least offer him the light. A smile tilts her lips as she watches the smoke ring float up into the room, spreading and fading until it joins the smoke slowly gathering around it. There's a window open somewhere, but the smell of this is still going to linger for a while.

"Yeah? Sucks to be us."

Julie curls her legs up and doesn't shy from the light touch of skin against her arm. Her own are bare, old marks criss-crossed across her forearms in pale silver lines. She doesn't flinch, but leans her shoulder slightly into his. Hell, might as well get comfortable.

"Didn't have you for a soldier. Dressed like one, but you don't feel like one." She muses aloud, slanting her attention towards him with an amused look. "But you talk like you know what war is."

When she says that, he laughs, abruptly, a big puff of smoke coming out of his mouth along with it. A shameful waste, but that was worth a laugh. Tilting his head to the side, he looks at her with a grin - oh, it's kicking in now, he can feel it fading out the edges of his consciousness, feels the pain subsiding as everything gets a little more funny. His green eyes are bright, and he lets her shoulder lean in against his.

God the touch feels good. He thinks of Dave, and takes another pull from the joint to force the thought to fade away, ends up laughing a little when he's ready to exhale.

"Didn't have myself for a soldier, but these things happen. Would you believe I accidentally time traveled and ended up in the Vietnam war? Accidental drafting, hah."

Usually he doesn't mention that, because people wouldn't believe him, but hey, they've been kidnapped to a weird alternate universe where they're facing robot war, so stranger things have happened.

"I spent ten months there."

His eyes slide down her arm, and he lifts his hand, brushes fingers down her inner arm, the tips sliding softly over the little bumps of scars there.

"Looks like you've seen some war too."

"If you told me that before I'd seen this place, I'd tell you you needed to get your head examined."

But, God, now? Now, she's seen so much. She's seen magic and demons, gods and crazy genocidal robots, and the idea of someone going back in time and being accidentally drafted into the Vietnam War isn't that strange at all. She snorts out a quiet laugh between one pull and the next, smirking and shaking her head.

Her eyes drop, and she follows the trail of his fingers. The calm has sunk in enough that she doesn't move her arm away, but tilts her head and lets out a low hum instead.

"Yeah. Personal kind of war, you know?" She pauses to take another drag, and lets the smoke wisp out while she speaks again. "World started going to shit before I was nine years old. I killed my first person before I was twelve." A catch in her lungs makes her cough, just for a moment.

"But the dead back home, they don't always stay down."

"Not an uncommon reaction, I imagine. S'why I haven't really told anyone, except my brother who time travels on the regular, so..."

He gestures vaguely with the hand holding the joint, smoke trailing behind the movement, and takes another puff, closing his eyes against how badly he misses Five abruptly. Five, of all people.

"I know all about personal kinds of war. Never fought that particular one, myself, but I had friends who did. Same, on the killing people thing, though, lovely isn't it?"

He moves his hand from her arm down to her hand, and slides his fingers between hers, making a noise of surprise in his throat at that last comment, "What do you mean, the dead don't stay down?"

Lovely. Hah! Funny, this one. Julie smiles grimly and only nods in a kind of black agreement. Not her favourite topic in the least but it doesn't feel too bad to talk about it when the calm of the joint is seeping its way through her veins and into every rapidly firing synapse.

"Fucks you up. Killing people that young, because you have to. Because they'll kill you if you don't."

She isn't one often given to verbal outpourings, but damn, Klaus is easy to talk to. And it doesn't feel like he minds it, either. Her fingers flex loosely against his, and she briefly purses her lips. That's nice.

"Bet zombies are only in movies where you come from."

Klaus has a habit of joking about things that aren't funny, of making light of them so they don't feel like they hurt so much. Par for the course, and this one hurts enough that he still feels it even through the pot - not that he's going to stop puffing at his joint, halfway through, exhaling another smoke ring.

"Sure does. God, though, it was less self-defense for me and more..." Another vague wave of his hand, "Well, let's just say the consequences if I didn't do the dancing monkey thing for my sadistic prick of a father weren't worth it."

His thumb slides against the outside of her hand, and he's always been touchy when he's high or drunk, because he likes to know the people he's talking to are real and not ghosts. Because he still hasn't been touched enough to make up for all the affection he didn't get as a kid.

"Zombies? Huh. Yeah, they're just in movies back home. Bet ghosts are only in movies where you come from, but I see those all the time."

"Ghosts, wow... I dunno. I think I'd prefer them to be ghosts." Another of those small, grim smiles and she distractedly detaches her hand from his to tuck her hair behind her ear. Ghosts wouldn't have been able to hurt her family, kill her boyfriend, or ruin the world the way the Dead had. Surely...

She drops her head back into the couch and a dry laugh bubbles up from somewhere low in her chest. After a moment, she drapes her fingers over his wrist.

"I hear you on asshole dads. Though, I guess mine wasn't..." A sigh. Her nose scrunches up slightly. "I guess he was trying to look out for me in his own weird, emotionally detached kind of way."

She rolls her head to look at him, and smirks crookedly.

"We're a pair, huh?"

"Comparing ghosts and zombies, yeah...I get that. Besides, back home it's only me who can see the ghosts. Not sure if that makes it better or worse."

For a moment, he pauses, watching as she pulls her hand away and tucks her hair back. She looks tired, in a particularly familiar way that reminds him of how he feels on his bad days, and he laughs too.

"Comparing it to the zombie movies I've seen? Zombies are probably worse. I mean, it's like I'm living in my own personal zombie movie but at least they can't kill anyone. You know? Just...invade my dreams and scream my name constantly and show off their spilled guts and remain completely invisible to anyone but me so I also seem crazy. Tons of fun for the whole family."

A long pull from the joint, and he can feel his head spinning, his mouth feels like it's full of cotton balls, and everything around him is fuzzy, quiet, and it feels so fucking good. So good. After a moment, he realizes he's still holding the smoke in, and he exhales, too uncoordinated to make another ring.

"Mine was definitely not trying to look out for me. He locked me in a mausoleum overnight. What a sadistic prick."

Licking his lips, he rolls his head over to look back at her, and laughs, abrupt and breathy, realizes her fingers are against his wrist, and it feels so nice to be touched.

"Man, it feels really nice to be touched right now."

He says it out loud a second after thinking it, before he's really registered the thought, and he laughs again.

"Hey, you wanna touch me more?"

Turning his hand, he exposes the sensitive skin at his inner forearm. And where she has scars from self-harm, he has track marks, older ones, mostly faded but still present.

"I don't think you're crazy."

She says it with such certainty that anyone would be hard-pressed to deny the sincerity of her words. She says it simply, easily, and despite knowing this man for all of ten minutes the words hold a sharp ring of unequivocal certainty. She does not think that Klaus is crazy, because if he's crazy, so are more than half of the people here.

Julie sinks into the fuzzy contentment with the air of someone entirely accustomed to it, and slowly the edge of sharp steel in her eyes fades off to nothing more than a soft blue. 'Feels really nice to be touched', he says, and she only half-registers the words and what they could mean, because he follows it up with that and then she's giving him a sidelong look, half curious, half resigned.

Is that what he's really here for? Did he hear a young woman's voice and just think she'd be easy..? She's not sure. She isn't sure he could overpower her. Old trains of thought light up with flickering halogen and begin a screeching acceleration on tracks that aren't nearly rusted enough, but they don't make it far before her attention slides down to the marks on his arm, the ones that mirror hers, and the ones that don't.

She brushes her fingertips across the centre of his forearm, from the pale veins at his wrist to the soft crook of his elbow.

The rattling in her head shudders to a stop, the lights switching off.

"... I don't think you're crazy, Klaus."

"That's a relief."

It's soft, breathed out, and it doesn't even occur to him, really, how that could sound at first. He just knows that he's high, and it feels good, feels like a huge relief, he feels free, and it feels so good to feel skin on skin right now. Klaus leaves his head turned slightly to the side, his green eyes searching her face for a few moments - he sees the moment where her expression goes curious and resigned, and doesn't really track why she's looking like that for a few moments.

Not until after she's touched his arm (god it feels good, her fingertips sliding over the skin on his arm, where it's sensitive and soft and abused) does he realize how it sounded for him to ask if she'd keep touching him, and a soft laugh bubbles up in his chest. He takes the final deep drag from his joint, inhales until it's burning his fingers because he doesn't want it to be over, and then stubs it out on whatever's closest that either has ash on it already or looks like it won't be damaged by having ash on it.

Turning a little, toward her, he brings one leg up so he can sit sideways on the couch, his head tilted to the side, resting against the cushion at the back. Slowly, slowly he lets the smoke slip out between his lips, holds it in for as long as he can, until his head is swimming and the edges of his vision are darkening with lack of oxygen, and then exhales the rest, tilting his head so he's not blowing it at her.

"I meant my arm." he explains, a little lamely, feeling loopy and weird, "With the touching. Not that I'd object to whatever touching you wanted. I like touching, see, and I don't get enough of it. Like, ever. You know, I'm not even entirely sure I'm capable of getting enough touching. It feels good. Warm. Not..." He lifts an arm, vaguely gesturing off to the side with a swirl of his wrist, fingers drifting through the air, "Lonely, you know?"

Reaching out, he delicately brushes those fingers against her jaw, up her cheek to her hair, slipping fingers through it, a little cautious in case she startles again but with eyes intent on her face, wearing a slightly crooked smile.

"Like that."

"I guess if I saw ghosts all the time, I'd want to touch living people too," Julie reasons in a low murmur, not feeling it necessary to raise her voice much higher than that. It's just the two of them, and he's only a couple of feet away from her. Less so, even, when he reaches forward and touches her jaw, runs his fingers through her hair, and she feels her skin tingle slightly under the contact.

"Sorry, I guess... I'm just used to most guys only wanting one thing." The admittance comes with a sharp smile, but a gentle and distant kind of sadness in her eyes. She's used to that, and she's used to them trying to take it whether she wants them to or not. Back home, she always carried a knife as a child. Now, she carries a gun.

It's an unusual thing to look at a stranger and see so much of yourself in them. To see the peaks and valleys of the hurt and a life of anger and fear mapped out almost mirror-like in what looks back at you. Julie stubs out the last half-inch of her own joint and catches Klaus' hand in both of hers, sliding her thumbs up the warm expanse of his palm.

Julie knows what being lonely is. God, how well she knows.

She brings his hand up again, clasps it to her jaw, turns her head and presses her lips ghost-like to the inside of his wrist. Her eyes don't leave his for a moment. Somehow, that's more intimate than the contact.

"You want to feel everything and nothing at the same time? I get that."

"Mmm-hmmm..."

It's funny, how she seems to actually understand that seeing ghosts all the time is fucked up, that it can mess with a person's head. Klaus smiles at her in a sort of dopey, adoring way because it's nice to have someone empathize after a lifetime of people telling him it's no big deal or thinking they get it and yet somehow completely underestimating how messed up it is.

Then she's taking his hand and closing hers around it and her thumbs are rubbing against the tattooed skin, and he exhales a soft sigh, lashes fluttering a bit, making a little groan of pleasure in his throat.

"So nice..."

It's barely above a whisper, and she's saying how most guys only want one thing, asking him if he wants to feel everything and nothing at the same time, and wow, she really gets it.

"Man, I haven't done that one thing with a girl in like...forever. Didn't even think of..."

But now he is thinking of it, and she's leaning in to put his hand against her jaw, kissing the inside of his wrist, and it isn't Dave, he can't think about Dave, it just feels good and he slides his hand to the base of her skull, cupping her head - she's tiny, like a bird, her hair is soft like clouds, and he laughs softly at his own thoughts, closing his eyes as he leans in and presses a kiss against her mouth. Tentative, soft, just trying it out to see how it fits. To see if this high, this kiss can wipe away the feeling of Dave's lips and mouth.

And it's funny, too, how you can know a person for all of fifteen minutes and yet feel like you know them so well. She feels like she knows him so well, like he's little parts of her taken into a different shape. Different experiences with the same outcome. Different wounds with the same scars. It's interesting, and a little terrifying at the same time. When was the last time she felt like she connected with someone so well?

She knows when. She knows when and she chases the thought away.

When she is trying to forget, Klaus is not the kind of man she would normally set her sights upon. He's slender and gentle and she's sure he'd only touch what of her skin was on show if she said that was all she wanted. She's holds her certainty of that in the way his green eyes hold hers and how his voice drops so quickly to a sigh, a whisper, and she knows she could take control of all of this if she wanted to.

"Are you--" There's a kiss, soft, electric, that she saw coming but did nothing to stop. The young girl who so desperately needs to be wanted rears up, pushes fingers into dark hair and chases the warmth when it moves away. As if pushed over a precipice she leans into his chest and finds his heartbeat with her palm, and the question--

'are you sober enough for this?'

--dies before the words find form.

Julie is small and delicate, but strong and the kiss she presses to Klaus' mouth is not as tentative as his had been. To hell with being sober enough for this. Her mind and battered heart follow what her drug-soothed body wants.

Julie isn't the type of person that Klaus would go to when he wants to forget either. Klaus likes intensity, especially when he's high, he likes to be pushed around, choked, tied up, likes the kind of thing that gets him even further out of his mind. But right now, this feels really right.

She's asking a question when he kisses her, and he thinks he knows the end of the sentence, can't help laughing softly against her mouth because he can't remember the last time someone gave a shit that he was sober enough to consent to something. Why in the hell would he not consent to this? It's nice, and he doesn't have to think, he just shifts to get his legs a little further apart, one folded against the back of the couch, the other off the edge of the couch, foot on the floor, so she can come in closer. He puts his hands on her waist, he pulls her in closer, and she kisses him.

Julie kisses hard, and he makes a little groan into her mouth, tilting his head and kissing back, mouth opening against hers, one hand lifting from her side to the back of her head, digging fingers into all that soft hair. Klaus isn't soft anymore, or gentle, he bites at her mouth, jaw working as he pushes his tongue forward to explore her mouth, making a needy noise in his throat.

Not so soft and gentle now, and that's just fine by her. Julie kisses him like it's a fight, one fist held tight in his hair and her other hand pressing his shoulder down into the couch. She moves herself up between his thighs, closer, and hums out a low sound of pleasure against his mouth.

"Not on the couch," she tells him, lifting herself away from his chest with no small amount of effort. It's not like anyone else lives here, but she knows from experience that a couch is not the best place for... well, for this. More chance of falling off it than not.

"Come on. We're fucking doing this."

Her fingers are hard in his hair, she yanks at a fistful of it and drags his head forward, and he whimpers in his throat, despite himself. It's not a whimper of pain but something else entirely, and he responds immediately, pulling her in closer against himself, hands closed into her shirt, kissing harder and biting at her lower lip, arching his back a little. The sharp spike of pain and the forcefulness, almost more than the kiss itself, is a massive turn-on, and when she pulls back from his mouth he pants a few times, looks up at her with his mouth a little red and swollen, lips parted.

"Yeah, okay okay okay...okay."

His voice comes out breathy, and he scoots back in the couch, gets both his feet on the floor, hisses a little when he stands up, and holds his hand out so she can take it, lead him to the bedroom.

"Is it too cliche to smoke after getting laid?" Julie wonders aloud, sitting cross-legged on the bed in underwear and a slightly off-white vest top. They'd been the first things to hand when they'd finished, and she'd come down off the high of both the weed and the sex, ending up feeling just a little embarrassed.

Whether or not it's cliche, she sparks up - a normal cigarette this time - and hisses a sharp breath in through her teeth before she exhales a stream of smoke into the humid room.

"Here," she says then, offering the cigarette out to Klaus while she moves to open a window... which doesn't help at all. Julie sighs and scrapes her hair back over the top of her head, still sorting out how she feels about what just... happened.

"So, uh... that's not normally the way I introduce myself? Just putting that out there. Usually I keep all my clothes on."

Klaus is still lounging back against the pillows at the top of the bed, half sitting up and half lying back, wearing his underwear and a tank top, legs crossed at the ankles, one arm above his head and with a distant expression. The buzz is still there for him, numbing out a lot of what he's feeling, and that's probably for the best right now, so he holds onto it as long as he can.

When she holds the cigarette out to him, he takes it between his fingers, takes a drag from it and exhales, holds onto it until she's back on the bed and then holds it out for her with a little smile.

"S'fine. Don't worry, no judgement. Even if you did."

His eyes slide up and down the length of her, and the smile widens a bit, "I mean, I'm grateful to be the exception, don't get me wrong..."

Julie makes a soft sound, a 'pfft' noise half in answer and half to cover her own embarrassment. It was a good time, sure, but... not usually how she'd choose to begin an acquaintance with somebody. God, she better remember this next time she decides to light up with someone. When did she get that desperate for attention?

She feels the way his eyes move down her body like something tangible, then she laughs.

"Fuck," she says, shaking her head. "I don't know what to do with you guys when you stick around afterwards."

And then tells more than she wants it to. She makes a face at herself and goes back to the bed, perching near Klaus' knees and pursing her lips for a moment. To tell the truth, she has a few questions.

"When was the last time you were with a woman?"

Honestly, Klaus has done so much that was so much worse that he couldn't really judge even if he wanted to, and right now he's too busy trying to evade his own judgments of himself to even really consider what she'd done as weird. Or embarrassing. Or whatever.

What he does notice is that she says she doesn't normally do this but then she says she doesn't know what to do with guys when they stick around after sex. That makes him laugh softly, and he tilts his head back a little, closes his eyes.

"Mmm, is that your way of telling me to get out?"

It's light, more of a joke than anything, and he shifts a little as she comes to sit back on the bed. When she asks that question, Klaus laughs again, a sort of helpless laugh that sounds more self-deprecating than the first one.

"Okay so I'm assuming I didn't do as good a job as I thought I did then. Uh. Wow. Let's see..."

Lips pursed, he makes a soft hum in his throat, considering, "Long time. A year or two, I guess?"

Both of the statements were true, in their own way, but Julie would be truthful about one thing and that thing is that she occasionally lies. She scrunches her nose up at him and smiles, shaking her head.

"You said you hadn't been with a girl in 'like, forever'. I guess you didn't do too badly."

She laughs then, and moves to lean back on her hands. Her fingers crunch up into the sheets and she hums, letting her eyes dip half-closed.

"Nah, you did good. I think I needed that."

When she shakes her head at him, scrunches up her nose all cute, he rolls his eyes and laughs softly, glancing away. A little flattered, a little embarrassed. She's cute, he can't deny that, and he suspects she's also full of shit, which he can also respect.

"Yeah, well, a couple years is a long time for me."

A little wink, and he leans back against the headboard, closing his eyes and tilting his head back, breathing deeply. There's a battle going on in him, between his mind and his body - his body feels good, relaxed and buzzing in the afterglow and remaining high from smoking up; his brain and heart are starting to register that he just had sex with someone who wasn't Dave, remembering how it had felt to hold the man he loved while he died.

"Me too." he says, his voice soft, a little distant. He's full of shit too.

Completely full of shit, and she'd be the first to admit it if challenged on the fact. Maybe not to someone she didn't feel like she could show it off to, but Klaus...

Let's just say Klaus has already skipped a few steps.

Julie all but flops down on her stomach beside him, her head at the level of his elbow, arms folded beneath her chin and legs bent up at the knees. Her hair is a wild mess of humidity and friction, but she makes no move at all to smooth it down.

"What's it like? Seeing ghosts?"

As she flops down on the bed beside him, he shifts a bit to make space for her on the bed beside him, and slides his fingers into her hair almost absently. It isn't that the fact it's a frizzed mess bothers him, it's that he's craving the contact, chasing it like a high. He can feel the knots in it tangling around his long fingers and fiddles with them, carefully unwinding them between the pads of his thumb and finger.

His head is still tilted back, eyes half-lidded as they lie on the bed in comfortable silence, at least until she asks what it's like to see ghosts. Closing his eyes, he lets out a soft chuckle, humourless and breathy, shaking his head.

"Awful, truly."

His voice is the same as his laugh, a little shaky, a little distant, like his mind is in some far-off place and he's forgotten to put his usual volume into his voice. When he speaks again, it's exhaled with a sigh.

"Extremely self-centered, dead people."

We specialise in self-inflicted disaster

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~ after the FTB ~

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