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Post by ISA KRISTOFF on May 3, 2015 3:32:37 GMT
"whatever," isa repeats. he leans over to tap ash into the sink, eying virgil sidelong as he does it. there's discontent in his expression - it isn't the answer he wanted. virgil's apathy is infuriating, and in the back of his mind isa thinks about how he should have let him skin his face on the pavement instead. "we had it coming." isa takes a drag, pausing cryptically for several seconds before he decides he's pissed off and instigational enough to elaborate. "i only came to get you because i felt bad about letting someone else blow me in my car the other week."VIRGIL MARION |
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Post by VIRGIL MARION on May 12, 2015 2:25:19 GMT
contrary to popular belief (and perhaps even to his own belief) there is no heart-dropping and there is no wave of nausua that courses through him. it's a wave of hard apathy that fills him instead.
he reminds himself this thing, this thing, they have isn't something he can lay claim too. he's never thought hard about what they are, boyfriends, sure, he tells everyone that because it's easier to explain, but he doesn't know the real definition of it.
if anything, the closest thing he can put to their physical description is static, steady; something that doesn't change in the ever-changing waters of life. isa plus virgil doesn't equal ideal romantic relationship, but it can be substituted into the equation to make it seem like it does.
he figures to himself, if isa wants to get blown he can. it's not his choice, he doesn't have a say in it. "wow," he says, a ghost of a grin on his lips as he looks up at the ceiling. "so good it felt wrong, huh?" he laughs a little.
ISA KRISTOFF
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Post by ISA KRISTOFF on May 21, 2015 2:26:17 GMT
he watches virgil closely for something of a reaction. naturally, there is none; virgil averts his gaze and laughs. (isa loves his laugh. he has an urge to take him by the throat and cut off the sound.) with a heavy sigh he flicks his cigarette into the sink. this is what they've come down to - a sinkful of vomit and cigarette butts. isa doesn’t remember when they were made official - maybe that was the point, that they weren’t. they had never made promises or sworn undying loyalty to one another. but isa may have, entirely on his own terms. his anger, he tells himself, doesn't stem from the petty need to be wanted. it stems from concern of virgil's irresponsibility, (isa used to teach him little bits of french, used to laugh when virgil tried, 'je m'en fous', and now the mangled words ring in his head). he's silent, inarticulate, tired. "you don't even care who it was." it's not entirely phrased as a question. VIRGIL MARION |
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Post by VIRGIL MARION on May 21, 2015 3:01:33 GMT
ah. does he care? isa's words hang in the air, heavy, not disappearing.
he's quiet, eyes trained on the ceiling. not thinking, not musing, just... existing? who knows. that's too poetic for him, he doesn't want to think about it (he made a wrong choice, he hates making wrong choices, he hates how isa makes him weaker in seven words than his parents made him in his whole childhood. he hates the tightening, twisting, turbulence building in his stomach).
but that wave of apathy that coursed through him is still riding its way out. he can't bring himself to say: i do care, i fucking care- don't hate me for caring like a fucking teenage girl.
instead he twists his words until they're sour in taste, but familiar in feeling. "did you expect me to care?" say no, please say no so i don't have to regret my choices, so i don't have to feel guilty, so i don't have to go back and say sorry, i actually do, but-
just say no.
ISA KRISTOFF
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Post by ISA KRISTOFF on May 23, 2015 5:23:33 GMT
"a little." his reply is flat and immediate. isa isn't sure if he would have preferred outrage - at the very least, curiosity. outwardly, his apathy rivals virgil's. isa's unhappy but unsurprised;he won't pretend otherwise. he wants to be candid and he wants to explain, he wants to know if virgil cares about anything - it doesn't have to be isa. (but it isn't fair, that he dropped everything in the dead of night, that's he's become so desperate to please and quick to take favours) maybe that's why they get on - isa can't carry the train of thought on in english, the worst of him gets lost in translation. "only one of us has to care." VIRGIL MARION |
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May 24, 2015 5:21:49 GMT
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Post by VIRGIL MARION on May 24, 2015 5:21:49 GMT
"only one, huh?" virgil says as his gaze moves down, slowly.
his eyes travel everywhere except where they should be, but virgil doesn't have the motivation to make them do what they should be doing, doesn't care enough despite the fact that wave of apathy he had is gone.
"does it have to be me?" he asks as his gaze finally falls towards the direction of isa. he can see him (isa in all his glory), but he can't bring himself to look at him.
he settles his gaze a little off, but still close enough to make it seem like he's looking at him. |
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Post by ISA KRISTOFF on May 25, 2015 3:47:18 GMT
he realizes he has a hard grip on the counter's edge. isa flexes his fingers, tries to relax. he almost expects everything to crumble in his hands. maybe he's already holding dust and trying to pat it back into place; maybe it's too late. "it obviously isn't." he forgets about the coffee, pushing himself off from the counter. he needs to leave. VIRGIL MARION |
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