glass houses || g & m & n || clue

[maverick hale 🌧️ d5 [nyte]]

NAOMI VALERO

Safe places never stay that way. Like the old park where she skinned her knees and Grady laughed or the gnarled oak tree she'd called her kingdom as she pelted Maverick with leaves from above. Time had turned them to ghosts in the absence of innocence. They stand against the the dreary horizon, a threat shrouded in morning fog full of rotten happiness.

She used to dread coming home, swallowing sobs as they said their goodbyes because tears would only serve as one more ugly thing for her mother to critique. Naomi thinks they were friends back then, or at least she didn't know enough as to call them anything else. They made her laugh, they were fun to be around. That had been enough for her.

That is, until they got older and everyone was finally told what they were worth. Only one of them had come out a winner, but Naomi's chosen to ignore that for her own sake. Sure, she still talks to Maverick sometimes and she's offered Grady an occasional smile in the halls but it's nothing like it used to be. It's been so many years that all her memories must be coated in rose petals and gold dust because she misses it so much.

Especially when it's midnight and her mother's singing a drunken tune out the window, loud but not loud enough to drown out her own panicked breaths. She used to dread coming home but now she can't stand the thought of leaving. Salvatore was meant to be her safe haven but today she's sure she's walking into a lion's den.

Naomi never said Scarlet's name, not while she was alive and certainly not after they'd found the scattered puzzle pieces she'd become. Even now it rests heavy on her lips and she determined to take it to her grave. No one can know what she saw.

Instead of thinking about all of that murder nonsense, Naomi busied herself with a simpler project. Grady and Maverick might have become patchwork pieces of different tapestries but Naomi has never been afraid of some clever needlework.

(Hey Mav, I'm working on a new song could you meet me after class and tell me what you think?)

(Grady! My mom gave me something for you - meet me in the music room after class, I'll give it to you then!)

Too easy, really.

It's not bad to lie if it's for the greater good!

She's positioned herself in front of the door, waiting for the boys to arrive so that she can block off their escape the minute they've wandered into her trap.

Well, trap's a harsh word, perhaps a carefully orchestrated coincidence is more accurate. After all, they were friends, once upon a time.

Her hands are clasped, white knuckled behind her back. All that's left is the wait. She's not very good at this part.

[tick 12a / calla]

After class you go through the motions; walk Cleo to practice and make sure the team can see it when you kiss her cheek goodbye, wander back to your locker and let all the little wannabes that follow you drone on about their summers while you pretend to listen. There's about half a dozen of them that come and go as you make your way back to the main building, all trying to get the smallest sliver of your attention.

'How was your summer, Grady?' One of the younger girls in your program asks, 'I spent a month at my uncle's winery!' Says another one, steamrolling over the first. "He said I could bring a friend next year if you wanna come too!'

Most of the time you just ignore them. Controlling the masses is Cleo's thing, and you're more than happy to let her do it. You don't like the way they all look at you anyways, like you're one word away from becoming their best friend. It's a little too familiar for comfort.

Sometimes they can take the hint. Sometimes they can't. You reach your locker and they're both still bickering about something stupid that you haven't even bothered to keep listening to. Ever since you got involved with one half of the Burns sisters you've gotten used to having a constant shadow.

So you ignore them and open your locker, ready to shove your books inside and spend a few hours in the studio when something flutters out. You take a step back and stare at the floor, or more accurately, at the little pale green piece of stationary that lies there and makes your heart leap up into your throat. Because you've been waiting for it, of course you have, the tiniest little threat slipped into your locker from her that says I know.

Because she does, Naomi, that is. It can't be anyone else. You and Maverick and Naomi - that's where it all started.

You three were inseparable weren't you? And then you went and fucked it up, because it's what you were best at back then. And then they left you and now you're here, all alone and a little empty, but still stronger for it.

You look out at your kingdom, at this stupid little school that you've invested everything into and think that maybe you should be thanking them for it.

Except, Naomi, god, you told her everything. You can't remember when you started keeping so many secrets, but you have a sinking feeling that she still remembers them all. She could rip all this out from under you if she wanted.

You still pick up the paper and you gently unfold it and read 'Grady!' You immediately grimace. 'My mom gave me something for you - meet me in the music room after class, I'll give it to you then!'

You falter then, because it could still be a threat. Or some kind of trap. Naomi probably has enough dirt on you to last a lifetime, but you know that you have the same. Of course, there's the smallest part of you, something naive, that thinks, or hopes maybe, that the words scribbled on this innocent little scrap are real. Because it's not like Mrs. Valero ever did anything to you. Sure she liked you well enough, you were a finely behaved child, and whatever faults you had were made up for by your parents' money.

Either way, you think it's worth it to find out what Naomi wants. You've worked to hard to let her ruin what you have.

You slam your locker door closed again and when the girls beside you squeak you suddenly remember they're still there. You walk away anyways.

'Grady!' They call after you, 'Hey! See you tomorrow?'

But you're already turning the corner.

The music room is a foreign place, but you still know where it is. You have a one track mind as you try not to storm over, steadying your breathing before you start to panic and show weakness. Because you're surrounded by sharks here, and they'll jump on it like blood in the water.

This is just to find you what she knows, you tell yourself, because between Mav and Scarlet and Benji there's a whole mess of things that could get you into trouble now.

"Naomi." You say stiffly when you finally see her,. She looks the same as she did last year, she looks the same as she did when you were kids and it feels somehow biting that's she's been able to get  away without changing, without sacrificing, like you have. "I got your note."

And you you decide to cut to the chase and ignore whatever kind of farce this is. You don't mince your words because you've never had a reason to. She knows that better than almost anyone. "What do you want?"

[gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin.]

M A V E R I C K

It's easier to remember pain than it is to remember happiness.

Scars aren't formed from kindnesses.

You never have anything to show for those moments of happiness. It's only pain that leaves its hand prints all over your skin and bones.

It's a horrible truth, really, the fact that it is so hard to forget, and harder still to try and remember the things that have made you smile. Rationally, this is a thing that you know to be true, the kind of thought that lingers at the back of your head, a nagging reminder that maybe you're being irrational, that you're being unfair, that you should forgive and forget and move on. You know that once upon a time, Grady loved you, know that you thought of him like your brother, but the same way every single one of your thoughts about your actual brothers is tinged by malice now, as are your thoughts about Grady. In the back of your head, you remember him sitting at the base of a tree and drawing while you ran around a field, scraped knees and scraped palms, hair askew. You remember laughing, deep and real and honest, as if happiness was the only thing that you or he could ever feel. But you better remember that he was the first person you wanted to see when your Dad died, remember running out your front door, trembling all over, and sitting outside his house for an hour while you tried to work up the nerve to see him again. You remember finally knocking on the door and seeing his face in the upstairs window when his father opened the door and said that you weren't welcome here anymore.

You remember Grady not even being strong enough to tell you himself that he didn't want to see you anymore, that he didn't trust you anymore, that he thought you were low and worthless and reckless. You remember how alone you felt after that, how you pushed everyone you had ever loved away, how you had thought Grady giving up on you surely meant that everyone else would sooner or later and you didn't want to give them the chance to leave you, too.

The pain outlasts every happy memory, burns away the good, and leave you only with this tenuous thread of something you doubt you will ever be able to grasp.

"Alright, Nai," you say, voice light around the nickname for her you have never quite been able to shake no matter how much space and time passes between the pair of you. The note hadn't been vague, though brief, and you're always ready to listen to one of her songs, to listen to any music really. "I'm all ears. Play me something magic."

But then you stop dead, brightened eyes now flat.

There's Grady, with his perfectly coiffed hair and his perfectly coiffed clothes and his perfectly coiffed expression, distant and open somehow all at the same time. Looking some how like you know him, and somehow like you're never going to know him, like he is a million miles away and still sharp as a shard of ice. You see him all the time, but it is still jarring, to be standing with just him and Naomi alone. You know that you need to collect yourself, rearrange your features into something smoother like you have watched him do a million times.

Because the truth of it all is this: you love both of them still. You love them so much that it hurts, can feel gooseflesh rising across your entire body as you stand in the same room as both of them.

Because the truth of it all is this: the people you love are never the ones who love you.

"Who invited the toy king?"

elegant

[maverick hale 🌧️ d5 [nyte]]

NAOMI VALERO

Chasing happiness had seemed like a good idea at the time. There's so much good in what they used to be, growing faded and yellow like prophecies on aged parchment. Maybe she's crazy, she thinks, because she's too scared to look into Grady's eyes and search for a hint of something that might not even be there. Had they ever really been friends or had she fooled herself into thinking his smile was something more than sandpaper.

Grady knows her every secret, not because she wasn't strong enough to keep them but because she'd once trusted him to take some of her pain. She'd wanted to take his in turn. Now it hurts to be in the same room as him, looking past him with a smile like she does everyone else. Because that's all he is to her. Smooth as polished porcelain now that he laid whatever remained of her best friend on a funeral pyre. Not even she can see his scars, though she knows they're there.

"About that..." Naomi makes an effort to speak with her chin held high, only brave enough to speak with pride away from prying eyes. She inches toward the door in an attempt to place an obstacle between Grady and escape. It's a good thing that he arrived first, this would be a lot more difficult if she had had to coax him into a room where Maverick already was.

Heartbroken, headstrong boys are so difficult to work with.

"Nai," Speak of the second devil. Her heart breaks at the way he says her name, stark in contrast to how Grady spat it as though it were an unfamiliar taste. It's the little lies that sting the most.

She's always worrying about Mav but can never find the courage to tell him as much. It's merely lucky she always manages to have an extra candy bar stashed in her purse when she just so happens to take the long route back to the dorms, past the ceramics room. It's an odd habit given that she hasn't been allowed to eat candy well, ever, but it would be a crime not to offer Maverick something she couldn't have anyway. It's nice to know he has at least something on his stomach.

There's something of the old Maverick and Naomi left, but she's scared even that is slipping away.

The last time she remembers seeing them happy was when they were all together, if that meant staring down the both of them right now she'd let herself be devoured.

Her expression melts into something softer as she turns to Mav, full of relief and regret. "I invited him. I invited you both,"

Her mouth is dry and for the first time in her life Naomi doesn't know what to say.

Things used to be so easy between them, she'd thought they could fall back into it like nothing had changed. "With... everything I- I got to thinking about how it used to be. And I still don't understand how everything managed to end up this broken," Another lie for the greater good, "it's not like the whole school is gonna know we talk I just-"

She stares at her shoes, "I guess I miss you guys,"

[tick 12a / calla]

Naomi doesn't even get a chance to explain herself before you hear footsteps at the door.

"Nai." he says, and the voice makes you freeze. It sets something acidic alight in your stomach.

You don't even try to pretend that the fact that Naomi and Maverick are still friendly doesn't hurt. But you can't say that you're exactly surprised. They're two peas in a pod, two thorns in your side, two bits of your history that you can't seem to shake. They're blue and green and you're still blank, they're nothing and everything without you. You tell yourself that you've become something without them.

Because it's been years since you last drew out the curves of their smiles or laughed in that free way they used to pull out of you.

It isn't like you don't know what happened. Deep deep down, you know who's fault it was, and you know why everything crumbled down into pieces.

Not that that makes it any easier.

The three of you just grew up, that's all. You all realized what you wanted, and what you wanted wasn't each other.

Is that what you tell yourself? That you don't want them?

Fuck, you're such a liar.

When you sit at the popular table at lunch-hour, and someone says something about Maverick, or about his father or his family, you still laugh along with them. And not because you have to. Not because you're forced to. Just because you simply do. You exist in the simple space where things happen and you react. These are all outside factors, you've decided, things out of your control, and it's not your fault. Not really. You're not stupid enough to believe in fate but you believe in something close to it.

You haven't looked at Maverick, really looked at him, in a very long time. The last time you did, you were so damn afraid of what you saw that you ran as fast and as far as you could. Or he did. Or

it's better not to think about it anymore.

Losing Naomi was a little different. A little slower. You're cut from different cloth and so the divide was inevitable, you just wanted something more out of life and she couldn't give you that anymore. You had an innocent few years together, before all the politics and pressure that came with age stifled and stilted you and twisted you into someone else. But all that matters is when the time came, maybe when she realized that that's who you really are, she left too.

But the past is in the past now, and you have new friends, contrary to the whispers you hear. You do what you're good at and ignore Maverick's jibe, smooth over your mask and set your shoulders, pretend that looking at him does not burn. You think of what you've worked towards here and everything you've managed to achieve with their replacements. You grin at him and hope it looks cruel.

"Who let in the stray?"

You're certain that this is some sort of trap now, because you know that Naomi knows. You told her about a night sky under the shade of a gazebo and she held your hands when they shook.

And then she abandoned you. (You abandoned her.)

"You think two dead kids will magically make everything go back to the way it was?" You scoff and dig your own grave, a scattering years worth of old wounds coming to the surface, "Still naive as ever, I see."

I miss you, she says then, and it almost sends you off course. It rattles around in your skull and shifts your balance for half a second before you remember yourself. There are eyes and ears everywhere, and you've already spent too long here with them.

"I don't have time for this." But Naomi's shuffled her way in front of the door and you can't quite work up the drive to push her aside, "Get out of the way."

[gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin.]

M A V E R I C K

You don't want to hate them.

That's the worst part of it all. You don't hate Nai and you don't hate Grady and you don't even want to try. But if you can't hate her for not figuring out a way to keep you and Grady's friendship from crumbling and you can't hate him for leaving you in the dust, then the only person left for you to hate is yourself.

You're no stranger to the line of thought that it's only the one's you love that you hurt the worst though, have reminded yourself of that fact over and over and over again as the years have passed. You've convinced yourself that you're wretched and monstrous, that it was right for Grady to leave you and somehow end up hating you for it. Crippled yourself under hollow arrogance that somehow always manages to end up sounding like truth to the rest of the world, but you know that the real reason you haven't let yourself really love anyone since your father died wasn't only just because you know that you're going to hurt them.

It's because you know that it goes both ways. It's always the one's you love that hurt you the most right back.

And Naomi does it so well, cuts right through that cracked metal exterior you put on and buries her words right there next to that heart of yours. I still don't understand how everything managed to end up this broken, she says even though you know that she knows just as well as you do exactly what happened. You have to admire her attempt though, somewhere in the back of your head. Have to admire her bravery.

Her foolishness.

It's this little beat of admiration, a broken and fractured love for her that you don't know how to let go of and you don't know how to properly repair or fix that makes you want to send biting words at Grady even now. You are mad at her, you think, or you will be later, but it's the fear of the future that makes it so hard to give up the past, and your past with Grady is entirely worse than your past with Naomi, and it all comes boiling to the surface the second he talks to her with anything but the utmost respect.

You're the only one allowed to be cruel to your friends.

He calls her naive and you're already taking half a step towards him. "Don't talk to her like that," you say, voice sharp and low as the air before a storm, eyes dark clouds. He makes it all worse though, so much worse, says he doesn't have time for her, dares to demand that she move out of his way, like he is some kind of king and she is vermin that he's willing to step on if he needs to. You know that in another timeline, you might have said exactly the same thing to her, that if Grady had just managed to keep his god damned mouth shut and let you walk away first, then this burst of cold anger wouldn't have had to happen. He's right there in her space now though, and you find yourself right there between them. Your chest is against Grady's for a second before you're putting your hands on him and pushing him back a step.

You know he won't fight back.

You know he knows better.

You know him.

"She gets to say what she wants to say," you say, face closer to Grady's than it's been in what feels like a decade. "She's not some bug for you to flick away."

elegant

[maverick hale 🌧️ d5 [nyte]]

NAOMI VALERO

Her hands ball into fists at her side, jaw set in place as she stares up at Grady with nothing less than absolute indigence. Disappointment burns across her expression, settling there like a fresh brand. The skin is raw and red, three seconds from splitting. Of course she'd expected this outcome. Their wounds had not healed, not in all these years and digging fingers in infections will only make them spread but Naomi had the nerve to hope they were the exception.

Still naive as ever, I see. Grady hasn't hit her, yet, but it sure feels like he did.

"Aren't I, Mav? At least in his eyes." Normally she'd muster a smile in an attempt to soothe the knot between his brow, that terrible ugly expression that made her insides twist into knots when they were kids. She'd always loved to make a fool of herself back then, dancing about the park with a crown of autumn leaves and dragging the boys behind her until they had no choice but to laugh at her. It made her feel special knowing she'd put those smiles on their faces.

Now her skin bristles, lips pressed into a tight line and muscles tensed as she waits for Grady's next move. She'd like to think he's safe, that no matter what the three of them have become he'd never hurt her. Naomi isn't willing to hope for that.

But she doesn't move.

"Grady can do whatever he wants, he's proven that." After all she is a bug, absolutely insignificant in the eyes of her old friend. It's obvious in the way his eyes look at her without seeing, glazed with panic and prejudice. He's more worried about being seen with them than anything else. Naomi bites down on her lip hard, holding onto the last of her composure with bloody fingernails caught on its threads. "But so can I."

It's easier to look past Grady toward Maverick, but not by much. There's a wrongness to them now - they're all past the point of redemption. Too different to love each other but similar enough to remember how it once felt. Each had crafted a little piece of Naomi, twisted it into their own likeness. She wouldn't be who she is today if she'd never met them. Maybe she'd be better off.

She is naive. She's so naive that she wants to believe there's a happy ending to salvage from shattered glass, if only she's willing to bleed.

But the way Maverick bristles, too close to Grady. Too willing to open up old wounds for the sake of her shitty plan has her scrambling for purchase, losing sight of her own story.

"And I'm not moving yet." She says after a long moment and though she's gathered up the dregs of her courage her voice still breaks on the last syllable.

She can make him listen, after all he's painfully aware of just how much she knows. "If this is it, if that's really what you want," Every word is painful as a tooth pulled, leaving her speaking through mouthfuls of agony. This is final. Hopeless and empty and smelling of an unhappy ending. "then I won't bother you after today. I'll forget everything,"

and I mean everything

"If you apologize to Maverick."

Because Naomi never wanted one anyway.

[tick 12a / calla]

You stumble backwards when Maverick approaches, letting your body move through the motion and recoiling almost immediately. His hands leave imprints on your chest, and you can feel the way every individual fingerprint burns through your shirt. But you think that it's the thought that hurts more than the action, and you try to hide the surprise on your face that he actually put his hands on you.

Your shoulders ache with the memory of play-tussling in the street, the time he tried to teach you to punch and you were so bad at it that the image of you flailing your fist around made the three of you laugh for weeks after.

It was easier to laugh at yourself back then.

But he's so close to you now that you couldn't crack a smile even if you wanted to. You feel the sudden urge to close your eyes instead, a familiar little trickle of weakness travelling down your spine. You know he could put you on the ground before you even had a chance to take a breath. You don't know him well enough anymore to tell if he actually would.

"Don't touch me." You still spit at him, taking a step forward before you can think better of it. You think it would be justified if he were to pummel you right now, because it would finally give you a reason to really hate him. It would finally give you an easy excuse.

Naomi's the one that finally gives you an ultimatum, and you can't exactly say you're surprised. I'll forget everything, Naomi pipes up and says, like it's that simple. But you know it could never be that easy. It never is.

You scoff at her, "I know you, Naomi. You act like you're this innocent little nobody, the shoulder everyone comes to cry to, but I know you."

She won't forget. One wrong step from you and she'll spread your secrets through the school like wildfire. You know that fact just as well as you know her own secret - the person she really is, deep deep down. All three of you have masks that you cling to. Maybe that's just a coincidence. Or maybe you each taught each other how to keep them in place, together against the odds, growing up in an environment that pitted you against one another.

It's almost suffocating in the room now, especially with the way they're both looking at you. You think that's what stings - they're ganging up you now, teaming up in a way that makes your blood boil and your heart sink.

Or whatever's left of it.

You think that if you glance at Maverick for too long your eyes will get stuck there and you'll never want to look away again. So you ignore his presence on purpose, talking to Naomi instead, or at her maybe, because that pretty little lie that you have built up in your head, it's been festering and filling in the empty spaces of your memories. You didn't do shit to Mav. To either of them. None of this is your fault.

You blame him instead, fuck, you know you do. You blame him for standing in front of you and simply being himself just like you blame him for the way you keep reliving that same summer over and over again, stuck in an endless loop of falling for him slowly and then all at once in a way that terrified you.

"Why should I apologize to him?" You ask Naomi stonily over his shoulder, rooted in place by his proximity, "I don't owe him anything."

If he knew-

he'd hate you even more.

You've been deflecting for so long - trying to ignore all the mistakes you've made and all the people you've hurt that there's a horrible kind of blaming that comes easy to you now. It's why you don't care about Prom King like Cleo does. You don't have time for popularity contests or candied words. You know who you are now, and who you are is above who you were.

Sometimes it's everyone else that needs a reminder of that, because if this was five years ago, three years ago even, you would've bowed your head and backed away and gone to lick your wounds. But you're different now, you've changed.

You all have.

You can't hold your tongue as well as you used to, and maybe that will be your downfall here, just like it was with Cleo and the little charade you two put on. But you're so blinded by a false sense of injustice, and all the old scars and unsaid confessions, that you're opening your mouth again before you even realize it.

"You know what, Maverick", And you spit his full name out, unfamiliar syllables and all, "I am sorry. I'm so sorry that you never pulled your head out of your own ass long enough to realize what was going on. I'm sorry that you think hating everyone changes the fact that you are still nothing.

Something feels like it's splintering in your ribcage, like you're in physical pain even though he isn't touching you anymore. You forget that Naomi is standing there behind him for a moment, because all you can see is the dark of his eyes and your own anger and all the fear that's been pent up for god knows how long. You make eye contact with her before you turn back to Mav, realizing that whatever happens in this room will be unchangeable.

"But most of all? You get in his face and feel dizzy, all the blood rushing to your head at once because you've never, ever, lost control like this at Salvatore. "I'm sorry that you never climbed out of the hole your father dug you into."

[gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin.]

M A V E R I C K

You wish Naomi wouldn't have done this.

You have never been someone willing to confront his demons, never the kind of boy that was willing to look into his own heart, see the darkness there, and try to cast some version of light into the pit. You've always been too afraid that whatever you tried to do, the cavern inside of your chest would just swallow whole whoever tried to know you, ruin everything and anything that ever dared to try and see the rotting thing at the pit and make it whole again.

Yourself included.

Even you have never been safe from the dead thing inside of you, a puppet attached to marionette strings. If anything, you think it hurts you most. It gouged its claws into your throat years ago and said: this is your life now.

It said: watch yourself die a little more inside every day.

I don't want his fucking apology, you're about to say when Naomi demands one from Grady, but he beats you to the punch, spits cruel thing after cruel thing your way, and a broken part of you wonders where he learned to be like there, how the boy you once knew who liked painting with you in the sunshine and didn't mind it when you ruffled up his hair with your dirt-covered hands could have turned out like this. A sneering monster, a hollow eyed boy with no fire left inside of him.

You wonder how the boy that abandoned you and somehow turned it into your fault could say the one thing that he knows will hurt you most of all, how he could do it without flinching, no remorse, no kindness.

Just slate blank eyes and a need to kill. A need to be on top.

"I would rather be nothing aand know it than prance around like some pretty little king pretending I'm someone anyone cares about," you say, voice low and simmering. If Grady isn't careful, you're going to punch him in the face and you know it, can feel the fire burning in your knuckles, your whole body starting to tremble with long suffering rage. You have said it before and you'll say it again: you are a walking threat of violence unhidden and anyone who comes near you only has themselves to blame when you bite. "Better an honest nobody than some fucking pretender that no one respects."

You have no interest in being known.

But you have even less in being anything other than exactly what you are. And as much as that terrified you, as much as you sometimes wonder what other versions of yourself there could have been in this world, this is what you got. This is who you are. So you take that small step right back into Grady's space, finger to his chest. You touch him even though he demanded you don't, or maybe because he demanded it, and you make your threat.

"Because you and I both know exactly how fake you are, Grady," you say. "And eventually everyone else is gonna know, too."

elegant