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POSTED ON Feb 12, 2021 23:07:05 GMT

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[attr="class","hanahaki"]

[attr="class","top"]

[attr="class","main"]

[attr="class","quote"]you touched me with fresh hurt on your hands; [break]
it clung to me like water.

What?

[break][break] She was just supposed to be sitting in class. A normal day. Sitting behind her desk, pen to her mouth, as she stared out at the Kantonian skyline, cherry blossom petals floating down onto the spring floor. Just biding her time until the school day was over, bruises hidden beneath a pink sweater, until she could go home and fall apart.

[break][break] But she was holding it together — she was — until she heard.

[break][break] She heard.

[break][break] He was back.

[break][break] Desk clattering as she shoved her palms against the wood, metal screeching as she shoved her chair back and excused herself. There was the sound of a denial, of a 'Mila, where do you think you're going?' and 'It's the middle of the day —'

[break][break] But she paid them no mind. None of it. No, she tore the classroom door open and ran. The moment her feet hit the pavement of the parking lot, there was no hope. She was gone.

[break][break] Tires screeched, aand she looked up to see the familiar faces of —

[break][break] Of course, they knew. Of course, they'd been expecting it. Had they planned it? Perhaps at another time, at another moment, she would have been offended. Perhaps, she would have had time to think —

[break][break] "Mila, honey," the voice said, as the window rolled down. "Do you want a ride?"

[break][break] She nearly sobbed. Yes.

[break][break] The car screeched to a halt in front of the ER, and Mila wasted no time. The fifteen-year old thrust the door open and darted down the hospital hallways, paying no mind to the nurses, doctors and various medical professionals that tried to stop her. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. The only thing that mattered —

[break][break] She burst through the hospital room door, gasping for breath. Her eyes glistened.

[break][break] "Fernie," she breathed.

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POSTED ON Feb 13, 2021 20:13:12 GMT

arthur finnian vanderbilt likes this

[attr="class","spiral"]The world hinges on specific events.

The way these events shape people dictate who they are, who they become. What happens when a life changing event never comes to pass? How does it alter one’s core tenets when fate’s predetermined route get undermined? What becomes of those that steer off course?

Fernando’s change is not extravagant; his journey to Mount Silver is postponed, delayed so that he may become a better trainer and acclimate himself to the dangers of the wilderness. It leaves him older when he makes his pilgrimage. But age and discretion is not enough to overcome the world’s most treacherous pass.

“…”

His eyes don’t shy away from her. Not when she demands his attention. It’s the only consolation he can give her while his limb remain wrapped up in slings strewn across his bed like a well woven web. They speak for him, sunken with an embarrassed ‘sorry’ at his helplessness.

The inability to do anything feel strange. It’s the first time he’s felt so powerless, so weak. Coming to grip with it, in the face of someone who was always on the other side of the spectrum, makes Fernando feel an inconsolable awkwardness grow between the two.

He cuts through her worry with a half-baked smile.

“Is that what takes you to come running?”

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rustboro city

chaotic bisexual

fashion designer

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ooh, she'll take your name and number then she'll hit erase and walk away

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TAG WITH @mila

POSTED ON Feb 13, 2021 20:30:31 GMT

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[attr="class","hanahaki"]

[attr="class","top"]

[attr="class","main"]

[attr="class","quote"]you touched me with fresh hurt on your hands; [break]
it clung to me like water.

"You're ridiculous." [break][break]

She lets out a laugh. It hurts.

[break][break] But definitely not as much as he is probably hurting — or at least looks. Her childhood friend is strapped with hospital wires and wrappings, more tightly wound than a spiderweb's nest. There is an incessant beep, beep, beeping of a monitor that she doesn't pay attention to, her fingers tightening around the edge of the doorframe enough to splinter.

[break][break] She runs the back of her hand across her eyes, wiping away the tears. It's not becoming of her — that's what her father would say. 'That's not what we do, Mila.' And it isn't — Mila is not a crybaby. Ordinarily.

[break][break] But this calls for a special circumstance.

[break][break] In a few, simple strides Mila crosses the room towards him and pulls up a chair. She fights the urge to wrap him in a hug - or slap him. The urge is equally as strong.

[break][break] Instead, her fingers reach for his. Squeezing. "But yeah," she says, her voice still slightly choked. Her heart in her throat as she looks up at him, gaze still teary. "What happened, Fernie?"

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twenty-nine

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POSTED ON Feb 13, 2021 20:59:58 GMT

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[attr="class","spiral"]It isn’t until she pulls up a seat that Fernando recognizes both the time of day and the ramifications of her visit. It’s midday—a weekday no less, meaning that she’s literally putting her life on pause for him. For that, he’s grateful, eager to gobble up the long sought after attention he’s pestered her for years on end.

Otherwise, he’d be left here. Alone. To his own devices. Left to allow the insidious concoction of failure and regret to eat at him as it festers in his heart.

When he finally attains her affections. When he feels her fingers brush against his own, Fernando feels the weight of the situation bear down on him. He averts her gaze, coughing as he tries to stomach the heat flowing through his face. It almost makes the pain bearable.

Almost.

“Nothing serious.” The way he lies so effortlessly, nonchalant, as if he actually believes it, goes to belie how much he refuses to admit weakness. “I just fell some stairs.”

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FEB 28

rustboro city

chaotic bisexual

fashion designer

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5'4" height

ooh, she'll take your name and number then she'll hit erase and walk away

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340 posts

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TAG WITH @mila

POSTED ON Feb 17, 2021 5:57:27 GMT

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[attr="class","hanahaki"]

[attr="class","top"]

[attr="class","main"]

[attr="class","quote"]you touched me with fresh hurt on your hands; [break]
it clung to me like water.

She's sure that someone is looking for her. Probably - no definitely. Especially with the way that she had left the classroom like that, with the way that she had caused a scene.

[break][break] Her father definitely wouldn't have approved. He would have clicked his tongue and given her that look of disappointment that made her stomach churn. But what was she supposed to do? It was Fern.

[break][break] He looks away from her, but she doesn't look away from him. Her gaze burns into him, following the bruises, the bandages on his face, the slight curve of his jaw.

[break][break] She swallows.

[break][break] A different version of her would not have allowed herself to be so close to him, to fall prey to her own inhibitions. But this is a special circumstance and at least for this moment, Mila lets herself be. Her fingers tighten around his own, squeezing gently.

[break][break] His words, however, cause her eyes to widen and then huff, her fingers pulling away from his. "What stairs? The stairs on Mt. Silver?" She huffs, not realizing how close her words may hit to home.

[break][break] Then again, it's likely that neither does he — I just fell down some stairs. How many times had she used the same excuse, with her own teachers? Her fingers, subconsciously, pull at the buff of her sleeves as she sets them down upon her knees.

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twenty-nine

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POSTED ON Feb 21, 2021 5:10:16 GMT

[attr="class","spiral"]He can feel her eyes on him. It’s beyond unnerving. The cold gaze of his own father, of those around him, all pompous in their expectations, don’t hold a candle in comparison. It makes him feel guilty.

Guilty to the point that his fingers curl around her own, a quiet plead for her to stop.

In any other circumstance, he would’ve gloated about their handholding. The last time they carelessly interlocked fingers was during their trips home from school, up until the front gate where family and distinction separated them between pristine limousine and tinted windows.

She pulls away from his careless remarks but he doesn’t let her go. He can feel her tug away but the way his fingers curve at the phalanges anchor her to him. He won’t let her go. Not without a fight. Not when she’s the only thing he has.

But she proves stronger than him. His attempt is half-hearted, unable to persist.

“N-no.” The fact that she’s so on the mark is embarrassing. His usual bravado is wrapped away in his bandages. There’s no place for it when his weakness is apparent. The contrast is palpable.

“You don’t have to worry that much. I said I’d make it and I made it.”

He pulls at the only victory he has.

"I'll be fine."

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milky

n/a

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FEB 28

rustboro city

chaotic bisexual

fashion designer

part-time ranger

5'4" height

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340 posts

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TAG WITH @mila

POSTED ON Jun 14, 2021 8:11:50 GMT

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[attr="class","hanahaki"]

[attr="class","top"]

[attr="class","main"]

[attr="class","quote"]you touched me with fresh hurt on your hands; [break]
it clung to me like water.

His fingers brush against hers — no, they curl around hers. It sends a spark up along her skin, as it always does whenever they touch, and she swallows. To anyone else, this might look like an innocent touch — just a moment of affection, of skinship. But because it's Fern, and because it's her, Mila instinctively knows that this is more than that.

[break][break] It's a plea.

[break][break] Her gaze softens, an admission. So she looks away, away from him and his face, and instead to the surroundings. To the endless tangle of wires around him, to the beating monitor, to each and every sign that tells her, more than his words, that this is not just an accident.

[break][break] He didn't just fall down the staircase at his hundred-square-foot home. And Fern knows that.

[break][break] She tugs away from him despite his silent protest, and this time stares at him until he gives her an answer. In a way, it is a punishment. Mila has always been so so careful when it comes to him — she knows exactly the closeness of their relationship and what it might mean if they got too close. Mila has always been careful, but —

[break][break] "Of course I worry! Fern! You know that I — " There are tears in her eyes now, and it's her turn to look away, crossing her arms over her chest. He was always, always doing this. Deflecting his problems, and pretending that everything was okay. That he could handle it.

[break][break] That he could handle them.

[break][break] But he never took into account how she felt. This was just like all of those other times. She hiccups, fingers clutching at her elbows to contain herself and repeats herself again, throat thick.

[break][break] "Of course I worry Fern," she repeats, voice suddenly soft.

[break][break] Vulnerable.

[break][break] She blinks, tears spilling down her cheeks, as a thought suddenly occurs to her. She turns. "You.. made it?" Disbelief. Shock. And.. a little bit of pride.

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twenty-nine

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POSTED ON Aug 23, 2021 20:16:56 GMT

[attr="class","spiral"]HE CAN FEEL HER GAZE. It’s unnerving. That primal itch that comes from an understated sixth sense pricks at him. He doesn’t have the gall to call her out. Not when he’s still flustered by the lingering warmth of where their fingers touched.

“I know,” he answers with a sullen undertone. Shame coats his consciousness and he can’t wait for it to be over. It differs from being yelled at, something he’s long gotten used to. Knowing that he has this kind of sway, that he can hurt her to such a degree, pains him.

Their suffering is shared, hers fraught with worry, his in remorse.

“You’re looking at the youngest unofficial Hall of Famer to have graced Saffron in the past thirty years,” he boasts in a quick switch from the subject. Despite the circumstance of his visit, regardless of the pain he’s withstood and hereby transferred to her, there is dignity in his claim.

He cranes his neck upward, to gloat, “I’m going to be the hottest shit next semester,” he declares, hinting at his reenrollment before collapsing under the strain of his own neck.

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milky

n/a

she/her

FEB 28

rustboro city

chaotic bisexual

fashion designer

part-time ranger

5'4" height

ooh, she'll take your name and number then she'll hit erase and walk away

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340 posts

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TAG WITH @mila

POSTED ON Aug 26, 2021 15:48:25 GMT

[nospaces]

[attr="class","hanahaki"]

[attr="class","top"]

[attr="class","main"]

[attr="class","quote"]you touched me with fresh hurt on your hands; [break]
it clung to me like water.

'He made it?'

[break][break] He made it.

[break][break] Her eyes widen — first with shock, surprise, and then awe. Not everyone could make the climb — in fact, most people couldn't. Just like many people their age, Fern had always talked about making it but even though he was Fern, it wasn't like something that people could easily just believe.

[break][break] It just wasn't possible — it wasn't, and yet —

[break][break] "Fern!" she says with a gasp and before she can control herself, she leaps to envelop him in a hug. Excitement, pride, happiness overflow and she embraces him, only realizing a moment later that she's probably hurting him. She pulls away quickly, wincing, "Sorry."

[break][break] Her cheeks are flushed, and they're still close.

[break][break] Her fingers touch his cheek.

[break][break] "You're the hottest shit every semester," she teases, gentle.

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silph

SIR

twenty-nine

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saffron

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POSTED ON Sept 1, 2021 9:16:22 GMT

mila alexopoulos likes this

[attr="class","spiral"]RED HEAT SIMMERS IN HIS FACE WHEN SHE GRABS HIM. Her hug isn’t anything special. He’s been held by her, much to his dismay, plenty of times. Some serve as a greeting, others right before their departure, but never have they coupled with the severity of their situation.

But that ends immediately when he feels his bruises scream from right out from under him. A sharp, high-pitch, groan erupts from his throat as he croaks from the jolt.

Her release evaporates the pain but his blush never comes back. Instead, he’s left to mentally knead the pain of pinched nerves and aching muscles.

“You only say that because you’re the only one who can keep me in check.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Miss Silph Slayer.”

It’s a nickname he loathes but considering how often she pulls him out of trouble, it’s more than well deserved.