Bulls see one color and they can't seem to control themselves. Bright, distracting color, something they must ward off, destroy. And quick.
Alex can't cope without Ryland. It's some co-dependant thing that his doctor said she would watch, carefully. All it is, is Alex isn't used to falling apart alone. He's not practiced at being a quiet sufferer. And he's one to let the world easily get to him, leaning on Ryland for support, for a spine. Something solid and able.
So when a few drinks turns into a few more turns into a bar fight, Alex is sort of paralyzed. Not an entire functioning drunken waste without Ryland around.
And then, Ryland's around, Seeing red; set to destroy.
The aftermath are a few split lips, bowls of ice, and Ryland talking directly into Alex's ear, saying, "You keep me excited." The aftermath is swollen kisses, a solid, spine-tingling sensation of triumph.
Alex smiles at Zack through the mirror. "You'll look fine, dude. Quit fidgeting. You're like a fucking squirrel or something."
Zack tries to smile back, but can't. He's a little nervous. Alex hasn't ever dyed anybody's hair before. It's an experiment. A trial-run thing. Why he chose Zack to try it out on, he's not so sure.
Alex mumbles, "Like a hot . . . popsicle."
Finally, Zack snorts. "Isn't that, like all kinds of contradictory?"
"You used a big word," Alex says, distracted, running his fingers through Zack's hair. It feels good, like a massage. "And no," Alex continues. "It's not contradictory. Popsicles can be hot, dude. Like . . . When you suck on it."
Zack lets that sink in and he covers his face, smiling.
Alex laughs, his forehead on Zack's shoulder, shifting the material of the wife beater. And it's all Zack can do to not nuzzle into it.
"I can't believe I'm letting you dye my hair." Zack looks at Alex through the mirror. "Purple." He sighs, kicking the counter. "You're so retarded, Alex."
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Alex can't cope without Ryland. It's some co-dependant thing that his doctor said she would watch, carefully. All it is, is Alex isn't used to falling apart alone. He's not practiced at being a quiet sufferer. And he's one to let the world easily get to him, leaning on Ryland for support, for a spine. Something solid and able.
So when a few drinks turns into a few more turns into a bar fight, Alex is sort of paralyzed. Not an entire functioning drunken waste without Ryland around.
And then, Ryland's around, Seeing red; set to destroy.
The aftermath are a few split lips, bowls of ice, and Ryland talking directly into Alex's ear, saying, "You keep me excited." The aftermath is swollen kisses, a solid, spine-tingling sensation of triumph.
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Zack tries to smile back, but can't. He's a little nervous. Alex hasn't ever dyed anybody's hair before. It's an experiment. A trial-run thing. Why he chose Zack to try it out on, he's not so sure.
Alex mumbles, "Like a hot . . . popsicle."
Finally, Zack snorts. "Isn't that, like all kinds of contradictory?"
"You used a big word," Alex says, distracted, running his fingers through Zack's hair. It feels good, like a massage. "And no," Alex continues. "It's not contradictory. Popsicles can be hot, dude. Like . . . When you suck on it."
Zack lets that sink in and he covers his face, smiling.
Alex laughs, his forehead on Zack's shoulder, shifting the material of the wife beater. And it's all Zack can do to not nuzzle into it.
"I can't believe I'm letting you dye my hair." Zack looks at Alex through the mirror. "Purple." He sighs, kicking the counter. "You're so retarded, Alex."
"Yeah, but it'll be so punk- ( ... )
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I thought you were gonna be like "Um. You're weird." for some reason LOL. I feel much better now. Can I just request that there be smooches? :)
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^_^
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