I Have Feelings For You

✦ . ── picks a direction , it's ninety in memphis turns up the music so thoughts don't intrude predictably winds up thinkin' of elvis — and wonders if he believed SONGS COULD COME TRUE .

NAJI KARIM ( emilio sakraya) , he/him , roadie for @staticavenue .ᐟ intro. pinterest. spotify.

── .✦ penned by envy ( she/her , 21 ).

WHO ? naji & open. WHERE ? right in front of the (insanely long) bathroom line. WHAT ? event 01 — house party.

he's leaning heavy against the sink , fingers gripping the cool edge as naji finds himself in the mirror . one of the lights above it is flickering — bulb's gone out ? — and it's terribly eerie how his face is cast in a sickly yellow glow that is doing nothing to flatter him. not that he's doing himself any favors , anyway : he's half - convinced that the cherry four loko from earlier wasn't as good for him as the others had insisted it'd be. yeah , he's looking at his reflection again , fingers brushing against his temple as he wonders how long it'll take to shake himself back into sobriety. naji closes his eyes , breathes in , out , in again , out again , and — bang , bang , bang ! fuck. his jaw tenses as he listens, eyes narrowing, hoping they’ll give up. no such luck , because barely thirty seconds follow those aggressive knocks before another set makes the door shake. he can hear someone complaining on the other side , and even drunk , naji finds the irritation to roll his eyes. lord , are there no other bathrooms in major's home ? he's not thinking when he flings the door open , drunk words spilling out before he can rein them in. " the fuck is your problem ? you can’t wait one damn minute ? "

My God, are we gonna be like our parents?

Dellamorte Dellamore ,  Michele Soavi , 1994.

THE SUMMER I TURNED PRETTY 2.06 "Love Fest"

“He was silent and reserved. But he talked to me. And out of every sentence that guy ever said to me, my favorite line might have to be: ‘I don’t talk much, but it was easy for me to open up to you.’”

— walkingirony   (via wnq-writers)

Are you alive

Don’t ask me no personal shit like this

opening the door had seemed to welcome in the scent of alcohol , and it's heavy enough to make naji's stomach churn. he's already regretting his last drink — and the cigarette that went with it — and now he’s greeted with a familiar face , as well as the sight of blood staining the white of leo’s t - shirt. for a moment, he just stands there , blinking , as if his intrusion is some kind of joke the universe decided to play on him tonight. the other man seems quite drawn to those anyway ( jokes , he means ) and naji's half tempted to roll his eyes at him as he takes in the scene. but he's always been the protective type , and warmth wins out before annoyance can as he ushers leo in through the door . naji kicks it closed again behind them , only after offering the long line outside nothing but a brusque " wait a little longer. " " god , martinez , what are you smiling for ? and what the hell did you do to yourself ? " the fluorescent light flickers again as he dips down to rummage under the sink. it takes him a minute to find and grab the half - busted first - aid kit from under the sink , brown eyes flickering up to look at leo as he straightens himself to his full height again. he wrote off leo as the type to pull stunts like this long ago — it grates on him , but as he pulls out gauze and disinfectant , his usual exasperation sounds like something closer to concern. he tilts his head, gesturing for leo to take a seat somewhere. " whatever. sit still. gotta clean that shit up. "

this was inevitable. he'd been baited into doing a poor man's interpretation of missy elliot's 1,2 step when he'd tripped on his untied shoelaces and went arm-first into one of those ugly, glass coffee tables. it definitely could've been worse. if he hadn't caught himself, he could have cut his face, which as his mother always said, was his moneymaker. instead, he had a thin, but fairly deep, cut on his left forearm. he hadn't even noticed the blood at first. it wasn't until one of the others, white-faced and voice tinged with worry, pointed it out that he felt the warm trail of it down his arm. "shit," he'd said, ruining one of his favorite t-shirts to try and staunch the bleeding and immediately hustled down the hallway to the bathroom.

he cut the line with a few apologies and when he got any complaints, leo simply held up his cradled arm, white t-shirt darkening with each passing second. at least it didn't hurt. he was drunk enough for that, apparently. when he reached the bathroom door, he knocked quickly in rhythm and waited a thirty count before trying again.

when the door does open, leo blinks in surprise at a familiar face and wordlessly holds up his injured arm with a toothy smile. he figures it's a good enough reason to pound on the bathroom door.

“ur so quiet” thanks i do not want to talk to you