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thinkingaboutsanfrancisco · 3 years

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I’d like to be.

I’d like to be known as someone who doesn’t have to remember to be kind and naturally thinks of other people first without any other selfish ulterior motives — like Ray — yet I’m not that upstanding. I don’t consider that I’m incapable of nice gestures either and I’d rather he had complimented me on doing one instead so I could’ve accepted it and thanked him properly...but he didn’t. He said I’m a really sweet kid...and it’s put some pressure on me because I can’t say that about myself. For one thing, I’d look like a pompous and egocentric brat if I told him that yes, I do regard myself that highly — I don’t deserve to, not for being somewhat sweet sometimes...and even that feels like too much credit. Yet, it’s equally as wrong to reject it and tell him no, I don’t think so at all; undermining his feelings again solely to appease my guilty conscience and throwing him back in the spot that’s even more uncomfortable than this one. I’ve already wiped that tender smile off his face once tonight…

“I... try to be.” I answer, because there’s truth in it. I don’t exactly aim to be sweet, but I do try to be nice. I try to be fair. I try to lend my help if it’s needed.

I still try to be good.

“You’re successful in your attempts, JJ, trust me.”

I wish.

Success is a big word with a chasmic definition to me; where my goodwill impacts something so considerably that it creates a permanent change for the better so I wouldn’t have to keep making efforts, because one alone would be worthy enough. If I were so successful, we’d never have to be on the floor for him to finally figure it out...

I’d never be here at all.

“I’m glad you think so,” I concede to his simpler, more lenient definition, keeping my voice quiet as I do so I don’t have to hear it echo so loud anymore. I’m tired of my mind getting tangled in these choking cords of existentialism like it’s so prone to when…

I need a cigarette.

Goddamn it. I thought I’d shoved that pestering craving down by now but that was some wishful fucking thinking. Doesn’t matter that I’ve gotten too lazy to feel like moving or that this is a swankier bathroom than where I usually sneak my smoke breaks and undeserving of my pollution, it's been ignored enough and I have to satiate its vengeful appetite.

Unclasping my hands, I exhale a deep sigh while I stare at my lap...and the arm that blocks my way. Ending a hug is always an awkward thing to do, and I don’t have the energy to verbalize my weak excuse for why his moment of comfort must come to such an abrupt close.

Except I forgot that he’s a fellow fiend, who senses what I’m reaching for without me having to nudge him with my knuckles; shifting his arm up an inch and granting me full access to dive into my pocket to grab the box. Freeing a precious Parliament from the pack, I stick it in my lip and try to light it as quick as my fucking thumb can flick the sparkwheel— I fumble twice, I’m that impatient.

Then I hear it; the crisp crackling of tucked tobacco leaves scorching under the flame. I yank the lighter away and my finger latches around the cigarette, closing my eyes to concentrate on drawing it deeper into my lungs, keen on filling up that aching void as if it’s been several hours of cold separation instead of hardly one. I turn my head and tilt up towards the ceiling, looking to spare him from choking on my filthy fumes.

#/filthyandidontloveit #04172015 #the bros #jason's being an environmentalist again #sorta #PARLIAMENT 13 RISE UP

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thinkingaboutsanfrancisco · 3 years

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The weight of his weary head soon rests upon me. His cheekbone feels substantial and awkward against my clavicle, but it’s an improvement over loitering or staring directly into his piteous soul and my mild affliction isn’t in vain; his shoulders loosen up and make his body seem slightly less laden whilst he slackens against my side.

He believes me.

That’s satisfying as it is. It’ll be verbalized eventually, but neither of us are exactly keen to disturb the stillness that’s settled in and alleviated the smothering from the air. We’ve fucking needed this break.

While he uses it to regain his composure, my eyes are kept fixed on the silver door before us, getting a good look at our reflection...or rather the distorted remnants of it. The stainless steel blurs us to where the distinction between our blobby forms are the colors of our clothes and the shades of our pallor; everything is so unclear and I smile wryly at the reflection’s apt reminder.

Whatever will be, will be. The future’s not ours to see, what will be will be...

That silly tune loops in my sleep deprived head until there’s some shifting on my side that pulls me out of it, and, as I look over at him, his head lifts off my shoulder.

Already? Damn, you rebounded quick.

Yet he doesn’t push himself off the floor and my breath hitches at the strange sensation of something slowly snaking around my back — his arm, the other looping around the front of my stomach. His bleary eyes, again blind to how wide mine are, are benevolent; long devoid of the menace that almost got him jabbed by my elbow out in the parking lot. My friend’s not out to embarrass me, if he was past that quota at the bar he’s way beyond it now, but my face burns anyway when he squeezes me tight at my waist.

Oh uh, okay…

I laugh a little at first because being squished feels really weird and funny; this move is definitely brought to me by the remnants of his inebriation, but the surge of warmth is overwhelming and my hesitance is cleansed by this nice rush of fuzziness that floods in through my chest. He comes in peace; this embrace is his simple attempt to extend the olive branch and express how thankful he is to have someone there to cling onto. I pick up my end of it, loosely wrapping my other arm over one of his, letting him know he's welcome by lightly patting it twice.

He ceases squeezing me to death before it gets too cloying, his arms gently laxing in their place around my sides. That gesture spent whatever energy he’d accumulated, because he can’t keep his head even slightly upright anymore. I have to smoothen out the small stutter in my breathing that happens when his cheek starts to slunk down to my ribcage, kept shielded from the remnants of tequila and vomit tainting his breath by him nestling his face into my shirt as he finally expels the contents of his mind…

“Give another hour for my ransom to rake in and I may reconsider,” My brows raise as I grin at that thought, though it all falls quickly since I know that isn't the tone of reassurance he wants to hear, “It hasn’t been that hopeless. Yeah, you absolutely should’ve listened to me— or rather, your own advice. Older people aren’t magically exempt from getting it wrong, man, they do it easily and often; what matters is that you recognized how you fucked up and, now that you’re okay, you have plenty of time to correct it. It’s still early enough, y’know? It’s...” I pause, lifting my left wrist up so I can read the hands of my analog watch, “Not even eleven yet.”

Lord knows how.

Exhaling a long sigh, I clasp my hands back together at his shoulder, staring down loosely at my knuckles as I continue, “If it’s any consolation, watching you get overzealous with shots and throwing up once isn’t exactly enough criteria to rile my resentment. You didn’t put me through anything I didn’t stay for, man. I mean come on... I would’ve been knocked to my knees here too had you not intervened and nursed me back to health at the bar, so I reckon it’s only right for me to do the same in return when you need it. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re the only person I know in this place and I suspect I’m the only one you know too, so if we want to survive this night and keep it as prosperous as it promised to be, we’re going to have to try and take care of ourselves first and foremost, but also keep taking care of each other...like friends do.”

#/restyourwearybones #04172015 #the bros #happy seventh anniversary to the caldwell restart #idk why i was racing to make this deadline but if i didn't get this posted i was going to keep reworking it and go insane so

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