Im Not 4 Taking 3458934 Years Sorry Finch. - Blog Posts

" clearly those melodramatic fucking monologues still get your attention. " words are accompanied by a laugh. sure, they'd noticed the guitarist doing what he does best up on the bar's stage. strumming like there's something to lose in the strings vibrations. hard not to, given history. given damon's insistence on knowing who he was in the room with. the expression on his face shows he doesn't mind finch's appearance, but the scrunch of his nose shows he minds their tab. the snagged bottle didn't even receive that much attention. " and you're still getting me to pay for your drinks. shit just don't change. " and it never seems to. if one day the sky dusted in technicolor, letting off sparks ... maybe they'd view red creek in a different light. the corner of their mouth twitches in a smirk towards the roaming gaze— their own sharp gaze fliting towards a covered hipbone. acknowledgement. a ' F ' and a ' D '. always some sort of reminder they both were here. " well, finny, ain't that the question? what haven't i fucking done? " two fingers tap against the wood of the bar. they mimic the rhythm strummed on the bass just moments ago ; the thing that countered the slight tension in the atmosphere. maybe that was just damon's, though. anxiety they'd briefly exposed with that dramatic fucking monologue. they'll stick to biting their tongue again. damon doesn't offer a toast, but their newly opened bottle clinks against finch's with a satisfying noise. they take a moment to continue, swallowing down a long drink. just for those melodramatics finch loved to point out.

" got into a fight right where we're sitting and you'll never guess when ... fucking murder night. halloween homicide. " tattooed hand with the bottle lifts to slice a finger across their own neck, " talk about bad timing, but looks like i've skeeved my way past the consequences of my actions. " their body leans just slightly closer. it isn't enough to breach personal space, but enough to prove attention is zeroed in on the younger man. beer released and rested on a coaster in favor of leaning against their own arms. " what kinda shit you been into lately, huh? "

*    ❪   🦇   ❫    ﹕ 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲'𝘀 𝗮   𝗰𝗹𝗮𝗽   𝗼𝗳   𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗱𝘀   𝗼𝗻   𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻   𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱𝗲𝗿   𝗯𝗹𝗮𝗱𝗲𝘀   in a job well done as   he worms  his way  through   the   crowd,   guitar   strapped   against   his   back   in   an   embellished   shield   for   the   A/C   that   threatens   to   dry   him   up   like   an   orange   peel.   metal   strings   are   splattered   with   the   blood   that   seeps   through   the   bandages   pasted   erratically   on   each   slim,   boney   digit.  ❛ what   the  fuck   are   you  even  chatting about ? ❜  he interjects, icy hues glancing over at the older man. a   familiar   face   that   usually   serves   to   spark   an   irritable   flame,   but   the   stench   of   violent   forthcomings   demands  attention from someone who relishes it,   letting   the   conversation   further   rather   than   die   out.   ❛ still   haven't   let   go of those   melodramatic   fucking   monologues. ❜    their   temper included.   it's what had kept the two tethered to one another. that and, other things.  finch's   gaze   roams   their physique,   seeking   out the   assumably   faded   ' F ' initial   that   marks   his   territory.  ❛ what'd   you   do,   d ? ❜    straight canines bare a lazy smile,   snatching   the   bottle   and   downing   it   in   one   parched   swig   before   tapping   it   against   the   island.  ❛ two more rox,   put   it   on   their   tab. ❜