kwlcs-blog
–- ARSONIST'S LULLABY
I'M THE VIOLENCE IN THE POURING RAIN.
KYLE HENDERSON. 27. JOURNALIST – CNN.
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RILEY HENDERSON @rileyxhenderson
The big irony of life is that when everything seems to be going okay –– when you're finally adapting to a place that you previously hated, or when the ratings of your show have raised in the previous month ––, it finds the most unexpected ways to get to you and to show you that happiness just doesn't last long... On that warm Friday afternoon, life's enormous ironic quip manifested itself in the form of a 2018 Lincoln Continental parked right in front of Kyle's apartment building. Not only was it strangely unusual to see that specific model of car in Westport, but it also reminded him of one particular person that refused to ride anything less. The clumsy parking, the window left half-open, typical of someone who didn't have to worry about their car getting stolen because they could buy a dozen of those, all pointing to that one person... Kyle immediately picked up his phone, before even walking into his building. 'Gerard is at my place.', read the text he sent Riley in a matter of milliseconds.
Kyle had always been one of those people that were hardly ever surprised. Usually, before something happened, his brain would already have considered all the realistically possible scenarios in the book and generated a way to deal with every one of them. But that was the problem with being a realist... Sometimes the impossible would happen and catch you abruptly off guard. And that was very much the case, at that moment. Having his father's car parked right outside his door had left him so astonished that he had no idea how to even greet the man. As a matter of fact, an encounter with Gerard was so unexpected that, up until that moment, Kyle was pretty sure that the next time he would see his father –– after their brief meeting in Atlanta, days after Kyle was rescued –– would be at his grave. Nevertheless, Kyle's brain had already come up with half a dozen explanations for his father's unannounced –– and unwanted –– appearance... None of which could have prepared him for what would happen in the following moments.
He took in a deep breath, trying to push back the rage that had started to heat up in his stomach, triggered by a myriad of memories that came flashing into his mind –– open palms against his cheek, closed fists against his jaw, glass breaking under his back... Another deep breath. Kyle was a grown man. Intelligent, mature, reasonable. Very much unlike his father. And that was leverage... Being able to deal with adversity in a way much better than his father. That was an advantage. And that was how he would face that meeting... Like he was in control. Because he was. Which was what Kyle kept reassuring himself of, as he climbed up the stairs all the way up to his apartment–– That he was in control.
As the distance to his apartment started to dwindle, he could sense the perfume in the air. Clive Christian's No. 1. Floral and sweet –– just as he remembered it from his childhood –– as if to disguise the thorns that his underneath the ever-so-preset charcoal-grey blazer and the black shirt... "Gerard––" Kyle announced, as he finally landed on the final step of the staircase. His father, who stood by the door, waiting for his arrival, immediately raised his head from his smartphone, his pretentious green eyes stared into his son's blue hues. "What brings you here?" Kyle's tone was somber and quite blunt, slightly denoting that he did not intend on inviting the man into his home.
"I would prefer if we could have this conversation inside, Kyle." His tone was quite polite, which was, of course, surprising.
This conversation? His father's choice of words left him uneasy. You're in control, he thought to himself. He took in another deep breath before approaching the door... He had been civil so far, something to which Kyle believed he could reciprocate. "I reckon Riley doesn't know about this." Kyle's voice still sounded cold and serious, as he placed his finger on the biometric lock. "Why did you come here?" And that last question had nothing to do with Gerard's visit to Westport, but with his choice of Kyle's place over Riley's.
"He would simply refuse to see me–– And even if he did, he might have had an... unbalanced reaction, if he heard it from me. " Hear what?!, Kyle wanted to ask, but he maintained his silence, just as he did about Gerard suggesting that his brother was "unbalanced"... It filled him with anger, the way Gerard talked about Riley, but Kyle had to be civil...
And, as much as he wanted to give Gerard a piece of his mind about not talking of Riley in that –– on any –– way, all he let out was a serene, "Well, he'll be here in a while. So, you either talk to the both of us, or you talk to no one, at all." He could feel his father's regretful breath on his neck as they walked into the apartment.
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WESTPORT CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT TASK 002: PLAYLIST.
Spotify link: XXX, No Church in the Wild by Jay-Z.
About: A compilation of songs that Kyle likes and/or that resonate with him in some way. Quotes and explanations as to why the songs were added to the list are listed below.
Song #01: Broken Bones by Kaleo.
Why?
"I've busted bones, broken stones, looked the devil in the eye. I hope he's going to b r e a k these chains."
In this song by Kaleo, it is mentioned that the writer looks for the devil and for sin as a means to free himself. And, while this sin might be able to break his bones, it gets the job of liberating him done. Just as fighting does Kyle.
Song #02: Cold Little Heart by Michael Kiwanuka.
Why?
"In my heart, in this cold heart, I can live, or I can D I E..."
This song relates to him essentially because Kyle knows his heart to be a hostile place with little space for people, that can either thrive, and receive his complete devotion, or die and become completely meaningless (like his father is).
Song #03: Everybody Wants to Rule the World. Lorde's cover of the Tears for Fears song.
Why?
"Help me make the MOST of freedom and of p l e a s u r e... NOTHING ever lasts forever... Everybody wants to rule the world."
This one reminds me of his political aspirations that are slowly but consistently becoming a major determining factor in his life.
Song #04: Earned It by The Weeknd.
Why?
I don't know. It's just very sexual and from 50 shades, and Ky has this Christian Grey side to him, so I thought why not.
Song #05: Arsonist's Lullabye by Hozier.
Song #06: Control by Halsey.
Why?
"DON'T you ever tame your demons. Always keep them on a leash."
"I can't help this AWFUL energy, GODDAMN right, you should be scared of me!"
He isn't 100% certain that he can control the demons that live inside his mind, the violence, the greed, his innate thirst for power... But they happen to come in handy from time to time, which is why he is gradually coming to notice he might need them to get where wants.
Song #07: Come as You Are by Nirvana.
Why?
Emo memories from his childhood. He has always been into rock, so yeah.
Song #08: Sucker for Pain by Lil' Wayne, Wiz Khalifa, Logic, Ty Dolla $ign, Imagine Dragons and X Ambassadors.
Why?
"I'm just a sucker for PAIN."
Another nod to his bad habit of being addicted to violence.
Song #09: Miracle by The Score.
Why?
"Yeah, I'm losing my mind, counting seconds passing by... And I don't know when I'll be fine..."
He is, as a matter of fact, losign his mind. The move to Westport, his anger issues, the constant pressure from the press and the traumas he suffered after being kidnapped certainly did a number on him, and he doesn't really know when he'll be fine, if ever.
Song #10: Waves by Dotan.
Why?
An obscure genre of rock that he enjoys. Yes. Kyle is into sadboy indie rock.
Song #11: Ordinary Life by Wild Wild Horses.
Why?
When I first wrote the para where he gets kidnapped, I used a quote from this song to introduce it, so yeah. Just thought this could be a little nod to those good memories where he was almost killed.
Song #12: Humans by Oscar Zia.
Why?
“You have to realize you’re STRONGER than you think. ‘Cause once you have what’s on the other side, you have to believe you can win this fight.”
This one speaks about battling through hard moments in life and it took me back to Kyle's childhood, where he had this very abusive relationship with his father, but in the end he got through it because he knew that waited for him afterward, like freedom and independence, was much more rewarding.
Song #13: Game of Survival by Ruelle.
Why?
I really like this song and I think that it resonates with Kyle, in more of a physical sense than a personality one? I feel like this is the feeling he gets when he goes into a fight, the agitated rythm, the speed, the aggressiveness of the beat...
Song #14: Legendary by Welshly Arms.
Why?
I know that this has nothing to do with the overall meaning of the song, but I love when they say, "You know, the truth can be a weapon" because that's something that really relates to Kyle? And also the fact that they say they're going to be "legends" with somewhat resonates with Kyle in the sense that he has this secret will to do major good to the world in his life one day.
Song #15: Horns by Bryce Fox.
Why?
Kyle enjoys this sort of power-play in the bedroom, so when this song came on on Spotify, I thought why not?
Song #16: Watch Me by The Phantoms.
Why?
This one relates to his career, I guess. One of the hc's that I have for him is that some older names in the journalistic industry have underestimated him from the very begining of his career and now he's like "look where I am now".
Song #17: Monster by Imagine Dragons.
Song #18: Seven Devils by Florence + The Machine.
Why?
Two other songs that remind me of his inner demons, kinda like Control.
Song #19: After Midnight by DOROTHY.
Why?
"Nothing good comes after midnight, when you play the devil's game."
Another song that relates to his illicit habits, I think, beyond just fighting, this one could relate to when he had to occasionaly work as a male escort.
Song #20: No Church in the Wild by Kanye West, Jay-Z, Frank Ocean and The-Dream.
Why?
"What's a king to a god? What's a god to an unbeliever, who don't believe in anything."
Objectively speaking, Kyle is an atheist, so this song does relate to him on a more obvious level, but there's a philosophy attached to it as well... To put it lightly, Kyle usually would rather not be subject to others, prefering to be the one in command, instead. And I guess this is what the first verses of the song talk about, not having anyone above you and being the one in command.
#wrp.task#no church in the wild is not on spotify so#there's a link there lol#also this task is me being completely bipolar about wanting to describe everything to its last detail and being like yeah you got the gist#honestly don't even waste your time#this is cringy af
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KATRINA UNGER:
Katrina cradled her chin in her palm, glancing around the bar to gauge if anyone else was overhearing the conversation that she was. She had decided to head to the bar, determined to find company despite her lack of interest in a drink, but her evening was already well onto it’s way of being spoiled. A couple leaned into each other, limbs tangled and voices a touch above a whisper– I love you snugglekins. You’re my wubby bear– prompting her brows to shoot skyward. Physically turning, Kat found the features of a kindred spirit, mouthing her reaction. “What the fuck?”
Never in his right mind would he have said that out loud... Not in Atlanta, not in New York and especially, not there in Westport, where he had been doing his absolute best to steer clear of trouble. Perhaps, he wouldn't even have silently mouthed those words... Yes, public demonstrations of affection did bother him, but usually, he would just move away and allow his annoyance to die out in the realm of his thoughts. But then again, Kyle really wasn't in his right mind... That week's latest news had gotten his nerves rattled –– the elections in Italy, the trade tariff war brewing on the horizon and the growing political extremism in Latin America were just some of the many factors that had turned him into a Molotov cocktail of fiery rage ––, there was also the fact that he hadn't been able to get into the ring a single time that month, which was around 10 times worse then all those bad news combined. The incessant snuggling was just the little spark that he needed to explode. And when the impressively irritating lovebirds looked at him, his primal reaction was turning to the nearest person –– a woman who seemed just as annoyed as him –– and pretend that his comment wasn't aimed at them. Though, it was clear from his eye roll that it was.
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ALEX WILLIAMS:
He’d had trouble sleeping since he’d woken up in the hospital, moving between being plagued by dreams of the unknown and lying awake, his brain working far too quickly as it took in the stress, pain and loss his life seemed to solely adhere to. He’d always been an active person. Since he’d first discovered sport at middle school, Alex had used exercise to work out his issues, to take his mind off of things and even though he didn’t remember, he just knew that this had carried on throughout his life. It was for this reason that he found himself at the gym late at night, most nights and had made a new comrade in Kyle. There was something similar about them, they both had their own problems to work out and had similar ways of doing it. Something clicked and now, Alex was just grateful that someone didn’t look at him with pity, or more so lately, anger. “In your dreams, maybe.” His time in Westport had been fractious, it was supposed to help him start to make sense of his lost years but instead it was just making him more confused, more frustrated. Grabbing a pair of gloves from the box near the ring, Alex tossed them over to Kyle before grabbing a pair for himself, clasping onto them as he opened the side of the ring to step into, ducking under the side before holding it open for Kyle. “We gotta go easy up top though, my landlady thought there was a mugging problem after the last time I came back after one of these. How’ve you been anyway?”
"Noted," Kyle responded, with an assuring nod. Keeping their hands away from their faces during the fight was definitely a wise choice, he thought, especially considering that he would have to be in Atlanta to shoot on the following morning and he didn't want to hear his boss calling him out again. "You'd think I would have learned after almost losing my job once, but no." It had been a problem in the past, right after he had been kidnapped... There would not be a single day where he would show up for work with a face clean of cuts and bruises, that is until his boss had had enough of it and threatened to cancel his show, as he couldn't have his highest viewed anchor playing fight club in his free time. And it was not that Kyle was one to repeat his mistakes, but fighting was something he couldn't just stop doing. It was in that all-encompassing violence, in the adrenaline, and in the action that Kyle found peace. The punches, and the kicks, and the painful groans were so much louder than his inner demons' whisperings, that it felt like, for those few moments when he was in the ring, he was still somewhat sane... For the sake of his job, however, most of the illegal fighting in the outskirts of the town had been reduced to very legal ones inside the gym. Of course, there were still some secret escapades every now and then, but the old Kyle would certainly look down on this new version of him considering him to be the loser of his own personal battle against the system, chained to his job like a pet dog and just as obedient... But his priorities had changed, with time, just as he had and, so far, the new Kyle had been doing quite a good job at ignoring his old self. "I've been–– adapting. You're from Boston, right? How did you do it?" He muttered a thank you, as he put on his gloves, "I usually don't have a hard time adapting to change, but living in a small town has been a little more difficult than I had expected..." Perhaps it was the feeling of being misplaced. The fact that he had been forced to move there against his will and that he had no idea when he would be back to his natural habitat –– the concrete jungle. After cracking his neck on both sides, he adjusted himself into position, one leg in front of the other, fists tightly shut before his face.
#i live#Alex Williams#tbh i just feel like ky is so comfortable around him and also fangirling on the inside cause he loves new england
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ISABELLE FLORES:
Maybe at one point in time, Isabelle had patience. Perhaps, even an ounce of consideration to those around her. Whether that was true, it all seemed long gone now, as she stands in the middle of Iron Hen, tasting the bitterness from her coffee cup. “Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Her mutter was low but clearly heard, as heads turned to face the dramatics unfold before them. “Listen, I don’t want to cause a scene. Just remake my fucking drink –the right way– so I can get out of here,” she demands, sliding her drink towards the barista. “It’s too fucking bitter and there’s not a trace of almond milk. Get it done, please.” @kwlcs
Never, in his right mind, would Kyle had interfered in an argument that had absolutely nothing to do with him, especially against someone who was on their right. But then again, he really wasn't in his right mind, that day, his assistant had mistaken the due date of a report –– which meant that Kyle would have to make it himself ––, he still had to finish the script for the shooting of his show, two days from then, there were articles to published by the end of the day and, on top of that, he had just been caught up in a massive writer's block, which happened to be the main reason to his going to the coffee shop... Coffee shops were a good place. The scent of freshly grounded beans, the sobriety, and especially, the silence, were all factors that added up into a peaceful scenario that, somehow, managed to get his mind straight... Something that would have happened, had his train of thought not have been completely derailed by a woman standing beside him, as he waited for his order. He tried to ignore her, at first, keeping his eyes on his phone as he slowly tried to get through the redaction of that article, but the sound of her voice became more irritating by the second, "Holy fuck, could you please stop throwing a tantrum?!"
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SETH RUSSO @sethrusso
Whenever someone's birthday came and, for some reason, Kyle couldn't be present, it was standard procedure, for him, to have their gift delivered with a short "Happy Birthday" note inside the wrapping and consider the ordeal resolved. But the latest birthday he had missed wasn't just any birthday. It was the birthday of one of the few members of that select group of people Kyle called his best friends –– the group of less than half a dozen people that he truly loved and trusted, for whom he would kill and die –– and, for that reason he couldn't just have something dropped at Seth Russo's door and deem it dealt with. So, the moment his flight from Heathrow landed on Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson, Kyle hopped in his car and drove to his best friend's place. On the passenger seat, was a box, minimalistic as can be. Plain cardboard-beige with a black ribbon tying it shut. Inside it, was one of those birthday gifts he secretly took proud on –– handpicking presents was an art he had mastered through the course of his life, something that came with noticing every small detail about everyone and everything –– a black Breitling Transocean, a bottle of scotch straight from Scotland, and a brand new set of gloves. It didn't take him long to arrive at Seth, and when his best friend opened the door, a genuine smile colored Kyle's features –– it wasn't as big and bright as his brother's, but it was still just as truthful ––, "Happy belated birthday, man."
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ALEX WILLIAMS @alexjwilliams
As much as he enjoyed the emptiness of the gym past-10 PM, those late hours could easily become somewhat tedious as the all-encompassing silence could make minutes seem to stretch on for much longer than they actually did. That was the kind of night in which they met, a night where hours had been taking too long to pass and his circuit had seemed strangely endless, that was when he first approached Alex. He didn't really need someone spotting him as he lifted... He just needed to strike up a conversation with, someone to remind him that he wasn't the last man awake in that small town. First, it was just a 'Can you help me out?' here and there, but eventually the two ended up bonding over football –– of course, Kyle knew him, the wide receiver for New England, how could he not? –– and, eventually, Alex became the first actual friend Kyle had made since his arrival in Westport. He had become one of the few people that actually made his daily life in that small town less dull, so much so, that hitting the gym without seemed quite strange. But luckily, that was not one of those nights... It was Wednesday, which meant that the boxing ring upstairs would be empty and that the two could have a man to man there without being bothered. "Ready to get your ass kicked?" As they finished climbing up the stairs, Kyle turned on the lights on the second floor, revealing an empty ring waiting for them.
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KYLE HENDERSON –– AESTHETICS (001/???)
"I used to punch walls until my knuckles { bled } because I was filled with R A G E and A N G E R, now I punch walls until they bleed just to fucking feel < something >, or to at least try..."
#so i did this#it sucks#but i like it#so yeah have it#aesthetics#(&& i'm well acquainted with villains that live in my head; &&)
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— OUTGOING MESSAGE: KYLE
PRIVATE MESSAGE: Suppose there are twin brothers – one who always tells the truth, and one who always lies.
PRIVATE MESSAGE: Are you sure you'd be able to look into the mirror and figure out which one you are?
PRIVATE MESSAGE: The answer might lie in a set of eyes. - A
KYLE: Riley, if that's you trying to prank me, that's not how the charade goes.
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ROSIE MORETTI:
The brunette leaned against the wooden rail, kicking the dirt with her pretty boots, completely defeated. She huffed as she looked over her shoulder to the old chevy truck, the hood was open and there was still some smoke coming out of it, no houses in the are and her phone had stayed behind. Just her luck. Rosie had decided to take Jonny’s old truck for a spin, he would always take her to the backroads to cheer her up, but she had failed to think about how the vehicle hadn’t moved in over four years, she should’ve known better. But now she was stranded, with no knowledge of what to do. She closed her eyes and leaned her chin on her arms, completely lost into her own struggle. “I must be cursed, I’m sure.”
There it was again, in all its crude coastal glory, the Westportian landscape… Standing tall –– only relatively, of course –– ahead of him, as his two-hour-drive from Atlanta came to an end. The little wooden houses, with their white picket fences, the small buildings, always a bit too short for his standards and the empty streets, that gave the city a phantasmagoric atmosphere that he couldn’t quite ignore. As always, he felt the urge to make a U-turn, right there, in the middle of that empty highway, and drive back to Atlanta, back to its skyscrapers, and the bustling streets that were so incredibly full of life and energy. He almost came back... But, then, as always, he didn’t. Instead, he just slowed down to make the trip down to his place longer, as if he were rejoicing the last remnants of what was now just a ghost of his urban life, gradually fading on that salty wind, so characteristic of coastal towns. However, his journey was interrupted as an old pick up truck came into view, as rustic as Westport itself. He was sure that there was a metaphor in there somewhere –– his brand new Jaguar reluctantly approaching an old truck –– he just wasn't the type to waste his time trying to pinpoint it. Rosie? He immediately stopped the car. "Hey. What happened?" He questioned, though, by the looks of it, he imagined that he had already figured it out.
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RORY CALLAHAN:
The path Rory had worked to carve for her life after college had gifted her with the chance to see more beautiful places than her ten fingers could tally. And, in her opinion, each of their personalities were more nuanced and thought-provoking, more creative than Westport. The deepest parts of her resented being home again, shamefully feeling like she’d taken a step backwards. Of course, her family was here –– something she did not overlook, but if she were somehow able to package Lila, Maverick, and Lucien neatly into her suitcase and jet off to somewhere different, she would. In a heartbeat. So, she sympathized with Kyle’s distaste for small towns, particularly after the last few months’ offerings. When he had told her that he was moving to Westport, a piece of Rory came alive again. It replaced the linen of the suffocating town with something more breathable, and she had practically squealed on the phone call’s receiving end. In typical Aurora fashion, she’d fashioned a page in her notebook (one littered with musings, so much so that the pages threatened to drift away like leaves from one of Georgia’s maple trees) with a list of her handpicked Westport spots to show her best friend. Though coarsely cynical herself about her home, she would be damned if she didn’t try to make Kyle happy he had settled here, at least for the time being.
She consciously pulled a sweater from her closet, craving to cover the stubborn burn on her arm. Westport’s most recent event may have somehow beaten her out her high school experience for worst prom of all time, and that was saying something. The memories of the fire at the gala clung to every one of Rory’s dreams, melding maliciously with visions of Alexis too, creating a distrust of sleep and an exhaustion that hollowed her lively features. She needed Kyle for a myriad of reasons, but one being that he had an unwavering ability to keep her busy mind at ease. Not unlike theater, not unlike writing, he was salvation. As she left her bedroom, she heard his voice from the door’s other end, unsurprised by his perfected punctuality. She ran to open it, energy bursting through the frame when she wrapped her arms around his neck. Though he wasn’t much taller, she pressed her converse to the ground to stand up a bit straighter, hugging him to her as tightly as she could. “Yay, everything’s right in the world now that you’re here,” she stated simply, elatedly. “Yeah, yes. I’m ready. Let’s go.” Rory pulled the door shut behind her and locked it, burying her keys in her small backpack and trading them for her notebook. “This is our agenda for the night, but you don’t get to see. It’s a surprise, so I’m driving,” she announced brightly.
Should that have been anyone else, other than her, he would have, most likely, tried to make that embrace end as fast as possible –– hugs were not his thing, especially in public –– but when it came to Rory, his rules always changed a bit. And so, instead of shaking her off or patting her back in a desperate attempt to make her let go of him, he wrapped her arms around her just as tightly, allowing her natural warmth to flow into him, momentarily melting the iceberg he had for a heart. "Everything aside from the dead beauty pageant and the arsonist on the loose, right?" And that reunion wouldn't have been complete if it hadn't been marred by his ever-so-present sarcastic comments. There was no laugh afterward. There hardly ever was, with him. His sardonic mockeries were always left to the public's interpretation; no suggestions of what their reactions should be, not a single smirk afterward to sign the difference between a humorous comment or a de facto one. It was his genuine sense of humor –– dark and raw –– reserved for a very strict group of people that consisted of his brother and a few of his closest friends. Not those boring, family-oriented jokes that everyone was tired of hearing him pull off on television, no. His type of humor, much like himself, loomed over that grey area between shameless sarcasm and social commentary. "Speaking of–– How are you doing?"
"Listen––" As someone who loved cars, Kyle couldn't be more careful with what he considered to be one of his most prized possessions, "This is a brand new XJL Supercharged, be careful." It was an engineering masterpiece, aligning comfort, sophistication, safety, and speed all under one masterfully hood. Handing her the keys, now that was another sign of how much he actually trusted her. Only three other people, aside from himself, were ever allowed to touch those keys, and those were the people he confided the most, the people that knew the password to his phone and that knew exactly where he hid his apartment keys in case of an emergency. Her, Calvin and his brother. The passenger seat perspective was rather unusual for him, usually, he would be the one driving, on any occasion –– it was another one of those things that brought him peace... driving. Not on the LA traffic jam, no, for fuck's sake, NO. But on an empty highway, late in the night, or maybe during a long road trip with a close friend or two... –– he was certain that there was a metaphor in there somewhere, in his feeling weird on not being the one in command, but he simply shrugged it off, as he didn't mind letting Rory take the wheel. "No pressure, but I'm depositing all my trust in you, Callahan."
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RILEY HENDERSON:
Riley didn’t expect the touch, though Kyle’s was the only he wouldn’t flinch away from. It was hard to make him flinch in general, though it had been happening as of late. He curled his hand into a fist, grateful for his brother’s presence. Riley carried hatred like a second layer of skin, projecting that on anyone he came across. Hardly anyone was free of his wrath at times, but Kyle was a solid presence. And while they were the same age, Kyle had always felt like more of a protector than anything less. “He stabbed you with glass?” Riley glanced over at his twin, more anger flashing in his eyes before he willed himself to calm down. These flashes of anger were never good for him, though it was easy to reign himself back in as of late. “Jesus fuck, Kyle. He should’ve…I don’t fucking know. I would’ve broken his ribs before letting him get away with that,” he said quietly, rubbing his jaw with his free hand. Maybe he would drop by one of the nights Kyle was fighting – if anything, he could watch his twin’s back.
“It’s something. Not sure if I’d call it a gift, but kids are…I like kids. They tell it how it is, and they’re always trying their best to please. Even the snot nosed unruly ones I get eventually learn some manners. I think I know how to handle them ‘cause I was one. Even when I’d drag you outside to play catch, at least I used the word please.” Riley smirked, though it faded at the mention of their father. He didn’t even wonder how the man was doing, nor did he care to ask. “Yeah, maybe you could’ve been the star,” he huffed, taking another sip from his drink like it would fix the bad taste he had in his mouth. He thought about the bat for a second, shrugging his shoulders, “I got mad. It was just one of those nights, you know? Too much alcohol and now I have a cracked countertop at home and a split wooden bat. They don’t last forever, but that one was from UCLA. I should’ve taken better care of it.”
"He didn't." A shrug, "He didn't. I broke his nose, Riles." It would have sounded so strange for the average ear to hear that a 26-year-old, fully grown man had gotten into a fight, had been stabbed and then broke his opponent's nose. but to them –– and a very select group of people, that consisted of Kyle's best friends –– that was just another day on the life of Kyle Mason Henderson, full-time journalist, part-time Tyler Durden cosplay. Sure, it was not every day that a sore loser pulled out a makeshift knife and plunged it into his back, but it wasn't unusual to find him with bruises that would be enough to have a nonfighter rushing to a hospital. And he knew just how much Riley hated it, he could still recall the look on his face when Kyle first told him about his nocturnal habit, the consternation, the questions, the preoccupation... But deep down, there was nothing any of them could do about it. Kyle had once read somewhere that, 'Only your siblings know how fucked up your parents have made you', and in their case, each had their own way to deal with the traumas caused by their parents, with the scars from their pasts with the heartache; Kyle's just happened to be the most dangerous one.
"There you go again with that childhood bullshit. I did have a childhood, we've been through this, it was just way better spent than yours." Much as Kyle enjoyed football –– which happened to be, strictly the only sport that he actually enjoyed ––, he didn't have much of traditional, 90's boy childhood. Instead of long Saturday mornings spent playing baseball, or at their swimming pool, Kyle would, most likely, find himself reading a book, maybe some classical Orwellian novel or an Anatomy textbook, or watching the news report in his bedroom, or just wandering around the neighborhood, trying to get some time away from the toxic wasteland that was the Henderson household. But there were times, few of them, but still very present in his memory, where his life did bare a slight resemblance to an ordinary childhood. Those were the moments where Riley would drag him outside to play, to bike or skate around, to run to the opposite end of their neighborhood to play with one Cecelia Carslile. Those were the moments of his childhood he was the most grateful for, those sunny afternoons, watching the sunset from the roof of their home, the scratches from falling while running after a ball during a soccer match, and he owed them all to Riley. "If I hadn't spent so long reading books I wouldn't have turned out as the one with the 157 IQ." For a second there, there was a slight hint of preoccupation on his features. Riley becoming angry to the point he destroyed his beloved UCLA baseball bat and a kitchen counter? Now that was a little too much even for his anger outbreaks. That added to the whole shaking factor that Kyle had just witnessed was enough to cause Kyle's worry. "We should go back there, do you think they'd sell you a new one? I know how much you cherished that bat... And, if you want, I can fix that counter for you..."
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FINN PRESCOTT:
The remnants of white walls, CT scans, blood tests, latex gloves, dejected gazes, frown lines –– they fell the wayside as Finn peeled off his scrubs and donned plaid pajama pants. The air was easy in his home as he played through his routine. Since Milo wasn’t back yet, NPR played over the Sonos, swelling his bedroom with the news as Finn brushed his teeth. The windows of the house overlooked Westport’s beaches, and Finn found himself peering out of one, catching the dusting of galaxies onto Georgia’s velvet sky and the seclusion of their neighborhood. He watched how barely anything stirred past midnight, save the ocean’s surface and the camera flash of periodic headlights. Past the tangle of voices in the speakers, the world was quiet until Finn’s ears perked as they caught something unexpected. He thought maybe Milo had forgotten his keys. He set his jaw and ditched his toothbrush. Finn quickly rinsed his mouth in the bathroom sink, before he started towards the main of the house, flipping off the radio on his way. With that, the voice rang much clearer and, though Finn hadn’t caught his initial introduction, he recognized immediately that it was his most discreet patient. He rushed to the door and pulled it open and, while Finn had treated Kyle before, many times –– he had never seen an injury like this wailing from the journalist since his kidnapping.
He didn’t waste any time, taking the discarded shirt and maneuvering to allow Kyle to lean his weight against his own if he needed to. Finn guided him inside and kicked the door shut behind their steps and tiny bloodied river. “Lay down here, alright? On your stomach,” he urged gently, positioning Kyle on their makeshift cot –– his couch before kneeling to assess the damage. The waning light of a sleepy living room may not have made for the sharpest eyes, but it still caught the sprinkling of shattered glass in Kyle’s open wound. The blood seemed angry as it pooled and Finn knew he must have already lost a great deal of it before arriving. This was truly a scene for a medical center, not a residence, but, between Kyle’s career and the severity of his injury, their location didn’t seem to be flexible. Over the year or so that Milo and Finn had lived in this home, the doctor had begun to assemble quite the first-aid kit. It would rival that of any summer camp or professional kitchen. He was gone for all of ten seconds as he gathered it. Kneeling back down at Kyle’s side, he slid on a pair of gloves and he took the tweezers from their place, eyeing the stab wound once again. “Jesus Christ, Henderson, what happened this time?” Finn’s question held no trace of judgement, or disappointment either. It was laden with concern and inquiry. “I’m gonna fix this alright. Just relax best you can.”
Lying there, bleeding on someone else's kitchen floor, asking that someone assisted him instead of doing everything on his own, that was hell to Kyle –– that is if he did believe in such nonsense as heaven and hell. Still, that shameful sensation of appearing so vulnerable to someone else, of having to ask favors of someone else, when all his life he had done everything by himself, that was much worse than the stinging pain on his upper back. And it was not that he didn't trust Finn (if anything, he trusted that oncologist more than he did 99% of the people in Westport, the fact that he was there, at his home, so late in the night other than anywhere else was sheer proof of that), or that he didn't like him –– because he did, very much so, if it wasn't for Finn being there, at the hospital while Kyle went through those endless physiotherapy sessions, he would probably not have come out a sane man –– the real issue was on having to bother someone with his problems, exposing his secrets, having to have someone know about his personal issues... The problem was wasting someone else's time, asking favors. It was everything he hated doing. And Kyle couldn't help overthinking that, as he lay there on those perfectly clean, cool tiles, that would soon enough be warm and soaked in his blood, waiting for the doctor to tell him that he was good to go. He would still make it up to Finn, one day, one way or another, he would make it up for all the late night calls and the patching up. Perhaps give him the most incredible wedding gift or the best honeymoon trip one could ever have? All he knew was that he was indescribably grateful for being able to count on him for that. "Some asshole pulled a piece of glass out of his pocket and thrust it into my back. Talk about a sore loser, huh?"
What, at first, was an excruciating sting sending enough impulses through his body to make him quiver, had dwindled into a mere detail. He had learned how to stand the pain. Not only that, he had learned to enjoy it. After dozens of fights, a self-broken thumb, a snake bite and a bullet to his arm, Kyle had grown to appreciate the ache. A good punch against his chin, or a fierce slap across his face, maybe a couple of hands on his neck or a dozen nails digging into the skin of his back... It was like pain and violence had become innate parts of him and now, after years of suffering, he couldn't quite live without them. Not that the feeling of having someone remove shards of glass and stitch up his back was able to get him off, no, he knew how to differentiate; but they certainly didn't bother him as they would do the average person. He allowed his eyes to wander, to find him a distraction from his restless mind. And so, his gaze ventured into the hallway that led to the master suite. There was a light on, seemed to be the bathroom. Though there was no sound in the house aside from the two. Kyle figured they were probably alone. Finn's hair was dry, he clearly hadn't showered just now. Reminding the fresh breath with which he had been met when he walked through Finn's door, Kyle assumed he must have been brushing his teeth when he arrived. "Milo's away?" He inquired, trying to diverge from his thoughts that wouldn't let him rest. They were like an annoying child asking to go on all the rides at an amusement park. "By the way, I'm sorry for the hour, and the mess... Thank you." He would have added an 'I wouldn't know what to do if it weren't for you', but that would have been too corny for Kyle. Though he hoped that Finn would be able to read, or rather, hear between the lines.
#your writing is so amazing#and i'm so sorry this took me over a century to reply to#thanks for being patient and understanding and you're great <3#Finn Prescott
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Violence is always lurking in sharp cheekbones and a handsome face.
thoughts #50 | r.m
(via ibuzoo)
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OLIVIA LOCKE:
Showing up to this thing wasn’t even part of the plan. She had no desire to prance around in some ball gown and listen to boring small talk as people tried to relive their prom glory days from when they were still in high school. Yet, she came anyway. Half dressed, coked up, and ready to take in all the free booze before leaving faster than she arrived. While mingling around for a little, she managed to spot a familiar face—one of Kieran’s lover boys. She assumed it was the better twin considering Riley didn’t look that good. That meant that Liv was actually excited to see them and without hesitation, she waltzed straight up to the man and placed her hands over his eyes from behind. “Hey you,” she began, her smile growing by the second. “Try this.” Removing her hands, Liv reached down into her bag and pulled out a small bag. Moving around to face Kyle, she then took out one of small, paper-like substance that had a bright yellow smiley face in the middle, before holding it up toward his mouth. “Come on, open up.” — @kwlcs
Those long, delicate fingers and the scent of her decadent perfume sold her old. Kyle needn’t even hear her voice to know that who stood behind him, hands over his eyes was none other than Olivia Locke, Kieran’s costar who easily had managed to catch his attention at one of his house parties. Though as he turned to face her, it was not that sweet delight of their first meeting nor his bad-intention-filled smirk that colored his features. Instead, it was an expression of complete and utter shock, eyes wide, brows contorted inquiringly and his mouth a gap. The surprised look faded just as quickly as it had appeared, not allowing anyone, except them to know what was going on. ”What the fuck, Olivia?” He exclaimed, taking the still unidentified drug from her hand and shoving it in a pocket. The small particles beneath her nose and the edges of her fingers — completely unnoticeable to the average, untrained human eye — led him to figure that she was, most certainly under the influence of cocaine. ”What the hell are you thinking? This place is swarming with cops.” Off-duty, yes, but still cops. ”I think you have the wrong twin.”
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AXEL BERGEN:
After fleeing to the more crowded part of the gardens and deciding that the small bridge is far enough, he stands with his elbows resting on the red railing — the glass of water tipped over as he watches it spill into the river, lost in thought. Axel’s shirt is still wet from where some loud stranger emptied their glass in response to him asking whether they will “fuck off if he buys them a drink”, and honestly, that seemed like a good enough reason to get himself out of there before he gave in to desire to escalate things.
There’s some movement to his left that Axel’s acutely aware of, and he snaps out of it, perhaps too vigilant of any sound he doesn’t expect. God damn, the people at this thing.
He speaks without really bothering to check who it is.
“If you’re here for an apology, save us both the trouble and kindly hurl yourself into that river. You even get the courtesy of being able to remove any valuable pieces of clothing first.” Axel tugs at his own soaked collar, a wry smile on his lips. “See? Thoughtful.”
It is only then that he turns his head to see who the person is. There’s a brief pause, and Axel gives them a once-over like they’re the odd ones, and he didn’t just..say all of that.
That was yet another one of the attributions that came with his role as the responsible one; be it in it's literal or figurative –– or both, literal and figurative –– sense, Kyle would always find himself cleaning up after his friends' messes. Henceforth, it came as no surprise to him that after only one hour into the gala, Kyle found himself tending to that very duty. He had seen it coming, she had had enough drinks for the entire night in less than forty minutes and had tried flirting with 4 other people already, and it was only a matter of time until someone shut her down in a less-than-pleasant way... What he couldn't have predicted, however, was the tantrum she threw after having someone tell her to fuck off. After leaving her under the watch of another friend –– not as responsible as himself, but they'd do the job –– Kyle rushes through the crowd in search of a stranger who had just had a glassful of Martini thrown all over his shirt. "I am here to apologize for her. She's just been dealing with a lot and she tends to take it out on the booze. I have a spare shirt in my car, though. In case you might want to change that..."
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