07-05-2018, 07:14 PM
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[sup]c) miithers[/sup]
★ I NEVER HAD NOBODY TOUCH ME LIKE I’M G L A S S WITH A MOON BIRD KISS
Things had been...quiet. Quiet as they could possibly get, at least. Hazel had managed to catch a wink of sleep that was probably closer to dozing than napping, but now she felt a little better: her vision wasn’t swimming and her headaches were less frequent and painful. Light didn’t hurt her eyes anymore. It was easier to keep the voice in her head quiet. It was getting easier to absorb the little shocks of emotion that startled her every now and again, knowing that it was Bastille.
Unfortunately, not everything had lessened. Tremors still jittered in her fingers, under her skin, in her knees. Unease still rattled her bones; still put her on edge. Now she was aware that there was another person inside her head — a person that had access to classified memories Hazel had put under lock and key for a while now. A person that, seemingly, enjoyed using them to throw Hazel off her game. Hazel could feel the girl waiting for a weak moment, a flash of vulnerability, to punch through the crumbling remains of her wall. Hazel was incredibly weary of that day and struggled to procrastinate its arrival, though she knew it was inevitable, like the setting of the sun.
Everything with Bastille had seemed a little more muted than it should be. A little...duller. Maybe it was his apathy, or maybe that was just how bonds worked. Nevertheless. She had felt the tug and pull of his withdrawals before; the restlessness, the itch for the next fix. It was bland in her mind compared to his, but she could still feel it. Hazel had decided that she would take withdrawal symptoms over the risk of a bad trip or a bad come down. Bastille didn’t seem to care, but the moment Hazel felt the false light leak into her brain from the uppers, she’d be on edge until she felt the drag of the come down.
Sometimes the come downs made for really interesting charcoal pieces, she discovered. At least, when she could see straight. Some were more intense than others. And she could feel it, his anxiety and misery, and she wanted to help. She wanted to be the one to comfort him in his agony, not the other way around. Though if she went, she wasn’t terribly sure of what she’d find. Was she scared?
Yeah. Terrified.
The sudden slam of something jittering and restless and painful made Hazel drop her pencil, a gasp stuttering out past her lips from where she sat against the wall in the grand circle. She knew immediately that it was from Bastille, but what the fuck — this was more painful than anything she’d experienced through him so far.
She curled in on herself, forehead hitting her knees as wave after wave of the worst come down slammed against her nervous system. Something shifted, deep and soul-rooted and perfectly fucking awful, because Hazel could practically taste the fear on the back of her tongue, shocked that for once, it wasn’t her terror. It was the roll of knowing that Bastille had done something he had tried so hard not to that had Hazel leaning back against the wall, trying to blink through the pain, the agony, the fear and the horror crashed into her mainframe. It hurt to breathe, hurt to move, hurt to fucking think because everything was just screaming —
Then a pause. A waft of vanilla. A chill of familiarity. Grief so heavy it pulled her heart to the floor and desperation so miserable it made her hands shake. Baby blue flashed behind her eyelids, and a sensation flooded her veins, something oddly familiar. Eerily familiar, but unplaceable.
Hazel was moving as soon as she could, exhaustion tripping her feet and sending her stumbling into walls as her vision tunneled, but she was too close — a few more steps, and she was there, she could help him —
But his room was empty. Empty and reeking of vomit, his lingering presence doing little to soothe the fire that burned under her skin. Hazel had just missed Cooper and Suite carrying the unconscious boy to Rin, instead left with his mess of a room. The girl leaned against his doorframe, struggling to keep her eyes open against the amount of weight pulling them closed. Because what the fuck. There was still a wisp of the unplaceable aura hanging in the air, but Hazel couldn’t spare the mental space to identify it. All she could do was steady herself, steady the tears, the ache in her bones and the exhaustion crawling up her spine.
Unfortunately, not everything had lessened. Tremors still jittered in her fingers, under her skin, in her knees. Unease still rattled her bones; still put her on edge. Now she was aware that there was another person inside her head — a person that had access to classified memories Hazel had put under lock and key for a while now. A person that, seemingly, enjoyed using them to throw Hazel off her game. Hazel could feel the girl waiting for a weak moment, a flash of vulnerability, to punch through the crumbling remains of her wall. Hazel was incredibly weary of that day and struggled to procrastinate its arrival, though she knew it was inevitable, like the setting of the sun.
Everything with Bastille had seemed a little more muted than it should be. A little...duller. Maybe it was his apathy, or maybe that was just how bonds worked. Nevertheless. She had felt the tug and pull of his withdrawals before; the restlessness, the itch for the next fix. It was bland in her mind compared to his, but she could still feel it. Hazel had decided that she would take withdrawal symptoms over the risk of a bad trip or a bad come down. Bastille didn’t seem to care, but the moment Hazel felt the false light leak into her brain from the uppers, she’d be on edge until she felt the drag of the come down.
Sometimes the come downs made for really interesting charcoal pieces, she discovered. At least, when she could see straight. Some were more intense than others. And she could feel it, his anxiety and misery, and she wanted to help. She wanted to be the one to comfort him in his agony, not the other way around. Though if she went, she wasn’t terribly sure of what she’d find. Was she scared?
Yeah. Terrified.
The sudden slam of something jittering and restless and painful made Hazel drop her pencil, a gasp stuttering out past her lips from where she sat against the wall in the grand circle. She knew immediately that it was from Bastille, but what the fuck — this was more painful than anything she’d experienced through him so far.
She curled in on herself, forehead hitting her knees as wave after wave of the worst come down slammed against her nervous system. Something shifted, deep and soul-rooted and perfectly fucking awful, because Hazel could practically taste the fear on the back of her tongue, shocked that for once, it wasn’t her terror. It was the roll of knowing that Bastille had done something he had tried so hard not to that had Hazel leaning back against the wall, trying to blink through the pain, the agony, the fear and the horror crashed into her mainframe. It hurt to breathe, hurt to move, hurt to fucking think because everything was just screaming —
Then a pause. A waft of vanilla. A chill of familiarity. Grief so heavy it pulled her heart to the floor and desperation so miserable it made her hands shake. Baby blue flashed behind her eyelids, and a sensation flooded her veins, something oddly familiar. Eerily familiar, but unplaceable.
Hazel was moving as soon as she could, exhaustion tripping her feet and sending her stumbling into walls as her vision tunneled, but she was too close — a few more steps, and she was there, she could help him —
But his room was empty. Empty and reeking of vomit, his lingering presence doing little to soothe the fire that burned under her skin. Hazel had just missed Cooper and Suite carrying the unconscious boy to Rin, instead left with his mess of a room. The girl leaned against his doorframe, struggling to keep her eyes open against the amount of weight pulling them closed. Because what the fuck. There was still a wisp of the unplaceable aura hanging in the air, but Hazel couldn’t spare the mental space to identify it. All she could do was steady herself, steady the tears, the ache in her bones and the exhaustion crawling up her spine.
★ — hazel — "speech" — eight months — the ascendants — tags — ★
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WITH EVERY HEARTBEAT I HAVE LEFT
i will defend your every breath; i'll do better