she moves steadily forward, toward him, as if in a trance. he doesn’t actually expect this ––– with the way she’s staring at him, he sooner expected her to run, or at the very least only attempt communication from afar, where she’s safer. she looks so fragile, all by herself in the middle of a downpour in her purple pajamas. but no, the closer she comes, with every step she takes, the easier it is to identify the mesmerized quality to her expression. he isn’t sure what to make of it, what to make of her, and the entire situation renders him immobile, WATCHING, waiting. a statue.

closer, closer, closer. until her umbrella shelters him from the weather’s onslaught and he can more vividly make out the green of her irises. she hasn’t spoken yet, so neither does he; silence holds power, and he doesn’t intend to lose any more of it. the absence of cold raindrops crashing onto his head and shoulders might have come as a relief if not for the caution radiating through him, reacting to the INTENSITY he finds in her gaze ––– a gaze that won’t hold his, instead absorbing his face. ( and this is dangerous, letting her memorize his features, every scar, every little detail she can report back to the police. assuming he lets her live long enough to do so. )

when she extends her fingers toward him, the movement unsteady and hypnotic like she isn’t even aware of her own actions, his only reaction is a subtle tightening of his grip on the motorcycle’s handlebars. his attention zeroes in, however, on the BURNS marking her palm. burns. somehow he didn’t expect this girl to come with scars, with a past, and there’s a brief curious moment in which he wonders how connected those burns are to the shroud of despair hanging over her not unlike one of the dark clouds drifting overhead even now.

then she TOUCHES him. cold fingertips brush over his cheek in a featherlight touch, a caress, and he inhales, sharp and quick and involuntary. his mind betrays him, jumps backwards in time ––– not to kara, as it should, but to her, to skye, to DAISY, with her hand on his face just like this back when she could look him in the eyes and tell him he’s a good man. in spite of the cold surrounding them, stealing the heat from this girl’s fingers, they feel so warm on his skin, and if he could be tempted to close his eyes, he might even be able to imagine that it’s her again, that they’re back in time and he hasn’t proven her so damn wrong quite just yet.

it isn’t until she’s wrenching her hand away that grant realizes he’s nearly lost his composure, eyes narrowed, shoulders leaning toward her, grasp loose on the vehicle below him. while she rambles out an apology, he recollects himself, eases off the motorcycle, steps slowly around it to bring himself closer beneath her umbrella. “ don’t worry about it. ” he doesn’t bother dragging another smile back into place, but he does look at her again, brows pinching together as if in concern. she’s still trembling. from the cold, or a memory? “ i know you don’t know me, but i’m a little lost and freezing, so if you live nearby… ” 

trailing off, he slides the buildings around them a look of longing, then glances back at her, down at her ( she’s even shorter than he expects, makes her seem all the more young and vulnerable ), his eyebrows pinching together with practiced concern. “ it wouldn’t feel right not escorting you to your door, anyway. you seem a little out of it. ”

–– ASHLEY was aware of how insane she might appear to the stranger ( whom she still had difficulty in viewing as such, instead giving this man the name of michael until his identity is revealed to her ); in honesty, if she could step into his own shoes, view the world with his brown eyes, her mind would think the same thing. there was nothing normal about a woman, shivering from the cold of the breezes, standing in thin pajamas, of her stature walking around in an almost dream-like state; there were bound to be endless questions of ‘ why ’ and ‘ what ’ battering in his head – though, he hid his emotions seemingly well.

that, or the light was much too dim for her to see him clearly enough.

she wondered what was going through his head before she’d pulled away. although her brain had been scattered in those few moments – stuck between reality and fiction – she had sensed something in him, as if just a touch of her trembling fingers against his wet cheek had brought back a memory. he’d gone slack, then, leaning towards her in the slightest way that she wondered if he had even staggered at all – and ashley could relate to this all too well, this sudden jolt of undesired recollection that attacks without warning, without MERCY. not only has she experienced it herself, but she has seen it in others, in josh, the real mike, samantha.. she wonders what it is he flash backed to, where his mind wandered –

his voice, the one that should sound familiar but does not, is what brings ash back to the present, blinking a couple times as if a light had just been pointed in her direction after being surrounded by dark. her head tilts up, and she takes in his expression, one of concern – there is no doubt why – allows the words to soak into her. she is silent a moment, hesitant, her fingers gripping tighter against the metal of the umbrella handle, feet shifting ( her toes ached, but she tried not to show her slight discomfort ). she does not know this man, is not aware of his intentions with her or the current situation.

it didn’t take a genius to figure out ashley wasn’t completely stable ( listening to someone she could see herself possibly falling in l o v e with have sex in her own bedroom proved a good excuse for her current state ), and it would be simple for this much more intimidating, much stronger, ‘ mike ’ to take advantage of that. her second chance at life could end with his hands around her neck –

as if she hadn’t already considered how it’d feel.

💥💊 @frczenbuns

[ text – hash brown ]: first off washington’s find dw bout him [ text – hash brown ]: i have some sweet greenies or the orange ones i got for munroe. could take them together but [ text – hash brown ]: idk how opposed are u to death as a side effect i guess [ text – hash brown ]: i’m coming over but u gotta stop texting me your feelings bc i just can’t w this shit.

[ text – ash. ]: oh, you mean right now? [ text – ash. ]: okay. [ text – ash. ]: i suppose you could come to mine. [ text – ash. ]: how long will it take you to get here?

     “damn — i think i’m a good bad influence on you, ash.” said the bluenette as she plucked the pink hair dye out of the shopping bag. “like you have to ask. should know i’m goin’ to pick pink. you hold the shampoo bottle and i’ll pour the dye in.”

–– THE beginning of a mischievous grin ghosts over ashley’s lips; she’d never been one to participate in such pranks ( for logical reasons ), but it didn’t take much time to convince her to get involved in something such as this. she grabs hold of the shampoo bottle and undid the top, holding it open for chloe. “ hurry; he’ll probably be back any minute. ”

@frczenbuns 🐺

[ text – ash. ]: wow, really? [ text – ash. ]: i would love to hear it. [ text – ash. ]: fair warning, i don’t know anything about writing. so i’m probably not the best audience. [ text – ash. ]: but if you want to, then of course.

[ text – neilio 🐱 ]: okay cool!!

[ text – neilio 🐱 ]: no no don’t worry. if you’re willing to listen then that’s all i really want.

[ text – neilio 🐱 ]: when can you come over?

[ text – neilio 🐱 ]: or should i go over there? it doesn’t matter.

@frczenbuns // ★

     “if only you knew how inappropriate and dysfunctional this is.”

–– “ DON’T act like you don’t want to see the look on michael’s face; he needs to change it up a bit, anyway. we’re doing him a favor. now, pick a color: pink or green? personally, i like pink. ”

@frczenbuns // ★

     “is this a habit of yours? falling off of stuff?”

–– “ UNFORTUNATELY, it’s pretty common. i was born with two left feet, i guess; ‘s why gym were never my thing. do you mind.. helping me up? and never letting me try to balance on anything again? please? ”

@frczenbuns

the weather is ROUGH, to say the least. grant should have considered this dramatic downside about living in seattle when he’d still been deciding on a vehicle to steal. now it’s only a thin cotton black shirt separating him from the pouring down rain, the relentless pounding against his helmet giving him enough of a HEADACHE to pull into the closest apartment complex ( if he can find an abandoned one, it’s an ideal place to obtain shelter, cash, supplies. ) he stops his motorcycle in an empty parking space, but continues to linger there for a moment, straddling it, as he tugs his helmet off and frowns, almost tempted to toss it to the side and leave it behind if only it didn’t successfully protect his vision from the rain.

familiar claws rake up the back of his neck: he’s being WATCHED.

his gaze darts up, locks onto a pair of wide eyes staring back at him. for a split second, his fingers itch for one of the weapons tucked away on his person, but it doesn’t take much longer than that to realize she isn’t a threat. the DEFEATED hunch to her shoulders, the way her body curls very slightly in on herself, like life or her own mind or a combination of both has made her want to withdraw from the world ––– she isn’t after him, she’s after herself.

but she’s also SURPRISED to see him, and that sets him on edge, though he doesn’t show it. “ mind if i borrow that? ” he calls, casual, hand gesturing to the umbrella clutched firmly in hers. he doesn’t truly need it, though; he just wants to know why she has recognition in her eyes, and if he needs to do something about it. ( he judges the distance, knows he could sprint to her faster than she could reach a neighbor’s door, break her neck before she could scream. ) his lips quirk into an AMIABLE smile as he observes her, careful, calculating. “ soaking wet doesn’t tend to feel as good as it LOOKS. ”

–– IT was only a matter of time, ashley supposes, before her mind became completely insane. the former few days have not assisted in her ability to think clearly; every terrible event that could occur seemed to attack all at once, rendering her mentally abused to a state of utter, clingy sadness that has set deep into her bones, leaving her weighed down by the overwhelming tears yet to be spilled settling in the empty spaces in herself. setting her eyes on ‘ michael’s ’ soaked figure, straddling a motorcycle, alive, just after she had just escorted his drunken, destroyed body to his apartment, was a great place to begin a downward spiral of following in josh’s ghostly footsteps.

she moved her fingers against the metal handle of the umbrella clutched in her hand, allowed the coolness to sink into her fingertips, felt goosebumps raise along the exposed, pale skin of her arms. from walking to mike’s apartment, puddles she’d stepped in had splashed rain onto the bottoms of her too-long, purple pajamas, causing them to stick to her flesh, creating the inability to stop shivering from the cold – this couldn’t be some sort of dream; everything was much too real to be such a thing.

it was sudden when HIS head finally snapped up, darkened eyes meeting her wide ones, and that’s when she KNEW the man standing feet in front of her was not michael munroe; rather, HE appeared a distorted doppelganger, one that carried a strength so grand that the breath was nearly tugged out of ashley’s lungs. the beginning of a beard surrounding the sharpness of his jaw, and he stood tall, almost as if proud; and his voice startles her because it is not mike’s like she still expects. it’s deeper, raspier, and she reacts with a slight jump, a sharp exhale slipping past her lips.

she almost misses all that he had said; she’s staring. his request eventually clicks, however, after a moment, and ashley finds herself stepping towards the man, eyes still locked on his face ( there was difficulty in holding his gaze ), studying the familiarity of him as well as the tiny differences – the scars on his face were not mike’s, and he seemed older, more experienced, in a way. ash reaches him, the distance between them now dangerously close in order to shelter them both from the downpour, her head tilted up – she balances on the tips of her sneakers so he doesn’t have to bend down so far.

ashley wants to touch him. her fingertips itch to reach out and feel the wetness of his skin, to make sure HE does not fizzle away, and ensure the loud question in her mind is answered. she loses herself for a second, her free hand doing just that – delicate, shaky fingers stretch out, slow, her eyes following, and press against his cheek, caressing it for a second, and then two. and then, the trance is over, and she’s yanking her hand back as if the contact BURNED.

“ sorry. ” it tumbles out of her mouth quickly, and she blinks. she clears her throat, a glowing heat crawling up her neck. “ you, um.. you look a lot like someone i know. i didn’t mean – ” she stops, her hand curling around the metal of the umbrella, which still trembled – from HIM or the cold, ashley couldn’t be certain. “ i’m sorry. ”

–– NINETEEN years, ashley has lived on this planet when it probably should have been much less. she is not sure if it is a miracle or a curse.

ashley is failing to recall the last time she had a proper birthday party full of cake and easy laughter and balloons that were present in the house for two weeks after the event. her beginning years of life had consisted of smaller gatherings of family rather than of friends ( not because she began her life lonely, but due to the fact her father did not enjoy them around longer than a couple hours ), and the numbers dwindled from year to year; she supposes some had lost interest, or maybe the tension always thick in the air was suffocating them far beyond their comfort ( ashley grew in this life; each breath as a child was simple and prepared her for a life of heavy lungs anyway ). whatever the case, she was never angry, never upset with the idea of not carrying normal memories of childhood. like with many trials and tribulations, to a certain point, she passed on, like a ghost, in quiet.

but if all birthdays were like this – a half-eaten chocolate cake with the words ‘ fuck this ’ scribbled messily in pink icing, streamers pinned against walls, crooked, some ripped, a joint being passed between chloe and herself – ashley may have cared more.

–– SHE is sat on the couch; there is nothing but darkness surrounding her, mirroring the deepest corners of her mind. no moon is present tonight; it is in hiding, she guesses, understands why it has done such a thing. shaky hands are clasped together in a trembling lap, fingers fiddling restlessly with one another, sharp nails digging into her own raw flesh – eventually, she figures, she will draw sweet, sweet blood. and she will relish in the pain, because anything has to be better than this.

watering eyes are stilled on the glowing clock, the only source of light, watching as each digit is replaced with another. the time reads eleven fifty-three ( it is almost time ). she recalls the idea of not being here right now, not feeling anything. it cannot be much different from her current state; calmer, possibly. the pitch blackness of DEATH must be similar to her own thoughts now. except, perhaps, it would be easier. maybe she would feel nothing at all instead of everything all at once, swarming her, like a tsunami, destroying what dares to step in its path ( no one knows what the overwhelming waves are thinking, if they truly desire to obliterate ), and, GOD, does she not mean to –

she is silent.

the apartment is not. the room beside her is not. the bed – H E R S – is not.

this is not the first time ashley has wished for the gift of deafness.