ever since...knox's gaze follows jayden's. knox is, by no means, a pokemon expert, but he's fairly certain that he's never seen anything like the cat that's investigating the lanai. it turns its head and knox glimpses the swords in its mouth; despite the heat of the jacuzzi, he shivers. 

knox wades closer and folds his arms up, propping his chin against them, head tilted, and when jayden gives him the news, he looks so, so sad. 

merrick used him like any rocket father does his son, but jayden's own was another breed. there's a reason the two of them got along. 

"you okay?" he asks. "i got some things that could help." 

jayden cross

☉

and then oopsie, he gets his way. captain loses and when sam picks him up bridal style, knox looks over his shoulder and sticks his tongue out at the pikachu. she pips in anger, bouncing after them with a promise of vengeance sparking at the end of her tail. 

but she's the more compassionate of the two of them and when sam places knox down and stays there, she sighs and acquieces. she'll just have to dig through the junk food he keeps hidden away from her...

captain completely forgotten, knox smooths his hands over sam's back, thumbs tracing the black lines swooping down the curve of his shoulders. he tilts his head back, giving sam free reign, and hitches his ankles greedily around sam's calves. 

they'd already gone at it for hours, but what's several more? 

"of course," he says airily. because forever is easy. forever isn't fifty years, until we're old and grey, through thick and thin, sickness and in health. forever is now and it's future and that's all that really matters. 

"and now we definitely can," he teases, "now that all the stores are gone 'n there's no one but us in the whole wide world."

samuel carter

☉

okay, so he invites his friend jayden cross over. his friend who also wears another name - michael volkov - but who has, up until this point, apparently, never worn another face. knox doesn't startle when he walks in 'cause knox's back is to the patio doors, but he gets a cheeky grin when he hears his friend jayden cross' voice, but he startles when he turns. 

the nifty little bracelet on his wrist goes beep beep beep and opens up captain's pokeball, but the pikachu's already out and lounging around somewhere else in the house. not here for medical emergencies. 

"jay?" knox says, incredulously. "hair dye's one thing, but bleaching your lashes? that shit can make you go blind. i know. i almost tried it once."

jayden cross

☉

fucking off to the edge of the world is all well and good because he's absolutely abos-slutly obsessed with sam, but even he needs a damn break every once in a while. and because he's not the sentimental type, all the memories the bigass mansion houses don't bother him at all. he'd come here to bother summer 'cause he's bored, but she's gone. 

even left a fucking note on the table 'cause somehow she knew he'd be coming around. telling him not to have anyone over. 

so, naturally, he invites someone over. 

he's in the hot tub out back, stretching and watching his breath curl in the too-fucking-cold-air. 

jayden cross

☉

monaco gets his prize, but it's gone. it's always gone. it's always gone too fast. down at the bottom of the bottle, he sees his reflection and he sees the grimy streets and he sees everything he's ever done wrong with his life and fuck, it kills him it kills him it kills him. 

he turns to rockefeller and says, you foohkkkken speeled it, sputtering the blame, off of him and off of him and off of him please he can't take the blame anymore. 

knox grooves with it. he thinks, been there done that, poor schmuck, but all the world's his oyster and a trapper's looking at him and asking how fuckin' much he's charging. 

"shit's pristine," he says. "one ten a gram." it's not. it's highway robbery. the shit he gets from moro is better, but they're running an empire here. 

"my brain's already scrambled; life's more fun that way. but thanks for lookin' out, old man. you want? you want? you want?"

Fletcher Hyland

☉

thirteen minutes now. old man moves some type of way and knox picks up on a few things - a slight trembling of his hands, the draw of his shoulders, that tight, wanting look in his eyes. oh, he's got it bad.

rockefeller gets in a good slug and monaco goes down, but as his jaw scrapes the concrete, he realizes he's closest to their prize. fingers grasp for the bottle. piss-colored ambrosia sloshes out the side as he raises it up to his lips. 

"what kind of dough have you been spending?" he says, lips lilting - "what kind of bubblegum have you been blowing lately?"

he bats his pretty eyelashes and laughs. 

Fletcher Hyland

☉

can't they just get doordash for the rest of the week? sam's only just gotten back and yes, knox has had his fill for several hours now, but so much time away has literally made him insane and oh, he has sam anyway. fingers under the hem of only-just-put-on-pants, turning in a dance that will inevitably turn into a tumble or, if he's lucky, a slamming of his wrists up against the wall, or bent over - 

he loses his footing and sam's there to catch him, looking dazzlingly smug. 

"stores don't exist anymore actually," he says, fingers tightening. "i got rid of all of them while you were gone. guess we have to stay."

but captain wants to go. and she says as much by rubbing against sam's ankle and giving him a tiny shock. 

samuel carter

☉

it's taken this long for sam to look at him and think, oh, you're more important than a bunch of check marks? he isn't a mind reader, really, so he doesn't know that's exactly what sam's thinking, but he knows there's something going on in his weird, beautiful brain. 

something that has to do with knox. 

and maybe a year ago it would have made him want to yank his hands from sam's own and run to the other side of the world, just to see if he'd follow, but instead he gives in to his touch. allows sam to draw him closer and sways to the sound of the kricketune and the lapping shore that makes up their backyard.

his lips twinge. "i can't believe i was afraid i'd ruin you." 

he presses their foreheads together and then, of course, parts his lips to take sam's own, teeth seeking none-too-gently into his lower lip. 

samuel carter

☉

sam relaxes. he does that thing with his shoulders (his beautifully muscled, but always strained shoulders) and knox is happier for it and happier still that, despite sam's time away, he can still see him. he can still feel him. he still knows him. 

he hasn't, in these ridiculously long weeks, somehow lost his love or gotten bored. well, that's not entirely true. he's been bored. and then he's made himself not bored - with rainbow colors and tablets and even some watercolor paint and comics but mostly tabs and dabs and powder. 

and summer's given him an earful, blown his phone up, but he's doing small jobs without a hitch and he knows she's only screaming at him to make sure he's okay. 'cause he won't pick up if she's nice. 

still, talking about how sam's pretty much sold his soul on knox's account doesn't sit right with him. and he'd rather not talk about that. 

"you had to take care of stuff over there. i get that. and now you're back and you still gotta take care of stuff over here. and i get that too. and it's partly my fault - i know what you're going to say so don't say it. it's fine. 

"short of coming clean and getting summer thrown in jail and myself behind bars - i'm way too pretty for prison - this is just it. we're in it now. working for summer. well, you. i don't know. kinda me. she's at least...just putting me on transit jobs. the old stuff i used to do."

he breathes out a sigh. "at least it's just drugs now. not, y'know -" kids. 

samuel carter

☉

is it the cotton candy hair? is it the sparkles under his eyes? is it the purple mascara? is that why he looks younger, mr. fletcher? 

or is it because mr. fletcher has age lines and an ugly mug? 

that's why.

"what, to sit? yeah, i get to watch all the street rattata fight over a miller high life." he points down the street where two scruffy men drunkenly come to blows over a 40 oz. a spilled bottle. still draining and rolling around. 

"they spilled it - " he checks a children's vaporeon watch on his wrist - "twelve minutes ago and still haven't noticed."

surely the old man isn't here for the drug$.

Fletcher Hyland

☉

he doesn't know what a fuckin' americana is, but the song slaps anyway. he's shifted away from instagram and into the photos on his phone, which are literally just pictures of sam from every angle imaginable, most of them naked. and then cute photos of the two of them. and then hot photos of the two of them. 

some videos. 

high on legal marijuana / raised on biggie & nirvana

god, she's such trash, but if she doesn't tickle his brain in the best way possible. 

kid. 

he straightens from his slouch and hops up, shoving his phone in his hoodie pocket. 

"senior citizen," he quips back.

Fletcher Hyland

☉

don't fuck this up. 

yes, ma'am. 

don't touch the product. 

mhmmmmm.

i'm not wasting resources if you get into trouble, blue. 

okay. cool cool cool. 

he's not an idiot, no matter how much red wants him to think he is. he's got wired headphones in (just one ear), hoodie drawn up, nodding his head and he's scrolling through his phone. he leans over one tucked leg, swinging his foot to the beat with the other. 

it's not a bad part of town. it just hasn't been gentrified yet, but that'd scare the piss out of anyone else in knox's income percentile. except not really because technically he doesn't have an income. 

but sam does. 

am i a gold digger? he thinks idly as he thumbs through his instagram. nah, i'm making my keep. he hums idly to halsey and then gives a cursory glance up. he'd gotten here twenty minutes early because time likes to get away from him, abstract as it is.

Fletcher Hyland

☉