the one with the bonfire. clue.
Sept 23, 2022 17:56:31 GMT -5
Post by gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽♂️kaitlin. on Sept 23, 2022 17:56:31 GMT -5
» maverick «Maverick watched Presley go with trained eyes, felt his whole body relax and slump as he muttered coward under his breath, Ally's hands running through the hair on the back of his head. Presley feels too human for him tonight, the ferocity of what Maverick feels for the other boy burning crimson in his chest. Walking out to the bonfire behind the house feels a lot less like a choice than it does a compulsion when Maverick pushes up from the couch, extricating himself from where Ally has slung her limbs across his body instead of the cushions.
He barely notices when she stands up after him, trailing behind and saying something that he's not listening to. It feels like he's staring into static, walking through the room as the people around him fade into nothingness. He stumbles into a door frame, shoulder slamming into the wood, but he just keeps on moving, furious and desperate to move somewhere else. Presley wants to walk away out the front, so Maverick finds the back door, pushes through it so hard there's a resounding slam that echoes along the wall it slams back against.
Down the stairs, towards the fire, he finds another beer and leans back against a tree. He stares at the fire but there's a mass of white fog in front of his face that slowly blurs away the rest of the world.
Behind his eyes, it's Presley meeting his gaze again across the crowded living room, turning on his heel and leaving. Over and over, it's all he can picture. Presley's shoulders, Presley walking away, Presley leaving. It's a particularly ironic projection when he considers it was Maverick leaving the first time. He takes a sip, warm beer hitting the back of his throat, sloshing in his stomach. Ally has her arms wrapped around his waist, fingers anchored through the black fabric of his belt loops. He goes to rub the heel of his hand into his eye socket before realizing his arm is halfway slung over her shoulder; somewhere between thinking he was walking away from her and now, she'd wriggled up under him and he'd let her.
"My head feels heavy," Maverick says and pulls her closer by accident, on instinct, trying to comfort himself and clear his thoughts. He tips his head until it's leaning on hers, feels it tip to the side. His thoughts are a disorganized mess, scattered pictures burning behind his eyes. His best friends dark mat of curls bouncing up and down as he spoke animatedly about the prank they were pulling; Naomi's shuttered eyes as she slept in his bed, scars ruining her pink mouth; Cleo digging her nails into his forearm at the opening assembly; his lips on Ally's neck as she breathed in his ear, making promises he never intended to keep. The worst thing he can think to say, his lips against Ally's ear now: "what ever made you think I was interested in you?"
He pulls back, head heavy, heavy, heavy, heavy; it tips, sloppy, but he pulls it upright before he loses his balance. One step back, two, he mentally takes them, knows that he should take more than that before he says anything else. His feet stay planted, weight against her hips.
He smiles then, and it's a weapon.
"Think I'd be an easy lay cause Frankie died?"