late night blunders [c]

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O C E A N D U S T

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I'LL MAKE AN HOURGLASS FROM MY FINGERS[break]
I KNOW I'M ONLY PASSING THROUGH

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Two thoughts hit her the moment she stepped into the moon block of the much-too-big apartment complex; had she locked the door to the library before she started drinking and how much had she ended up drinking?[break][break]

It hadn't been her idea. She stood by this fact with every fiber of her being -- it hadn't been her idea. The guy with the charming tongue insisted that she relax after having a hard day (she hadn't really had a hard day) and join him, his friends, and a few people she barely recognized for a drink to celebrate the start of the weekend. Okay, she had thought at the time, why not? Alcohol wasn't something she actively partook in on a regular basis, so having a drink or two with the gathered group beat going to her empty apartment on a Friday night where she'd do nothing except pick up a book, turn the television on, and alternate between reading the pages and browsing whatever happened to capture her interest on the old picture box.[break][break]

But two drinks lead to two more, and two more, and whoa the room started to move faster than the clock did, and six hours passed by without her knowledge. By the gods, it wasn't like her. A couple of aspirin, a cup of coffee, and a plate of fries helped put her in a better mental state to make her way back home. She took a deep breath and pulled a small compact out of her purse to check her complexion quickly. Sure, she didn't have anyone waiting for her at home, but she didn't want to look like a complete disaster in case someone made a surprise visit. Doubtful, yet still. It never hurt to be prepared.[break][break]

It never hurt to carry pepper spray, either, when dealing with strange situations. Like the sight that greeted her when she approached her front door. Her mind might have been a bit hazy from the alcohol and her watch certainly did read that it was one o'clock in the morning, but that didn't explain why someone was trying to open the door to her apartment. Especially someone she didn't recognize from her view point.[break][break]

The absence of fear surprised her. So, that stuff really did deserve to be called liquid courage. Crossing her arms over her chest, Robin kept her voice soft. "Need a hand?"[break][break]

★ your idea was too fun to pass up c<

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FOR Nikki

[attr="class","justsleep9"]

[attr="class","justsleep10"]

[attr="class","leapcred"]leap's codes

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[Nikki]

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[attr="class","nikkipostlyric"]IF I COULD JUST SLEEP

[attr="class","nikkipostlyric2"]

[attr="class","nikkipostlyric3"]CALL OFF THE ATTACK, AND IF YOU LOOK, DREAMS ARE NOTHING I LACK

[attr="class","nikkipostlyrics4"]AND ALL I SEEK: A FINAL CHANCE TO SPEAK, IF I COULD JUST SLEEP

[attr="class","nikkipostmid"]



It was the exhaustion of a day's worth of work, twenty-four hours and then some, that had his mind tumbling in a blur by one o'clock in the morning and not a thing else. He was used to the listlessness that came with sleeping habits that could barely be called that (never sleeping until his body forced him to shut down didn't really have a name of its own, so “sleeping habits”, inaccurate is the term was, was the one he'd have to settle with), used to the fatigue of spending most of his active life up and about in the earliest hours of the morning. This, though, this was different. Work had only ever been a gun pointed in the direction of the Doctor's extended finger, one pull of the trigger, and bam, done, gone. He'd killed thirteen people in one night once – murderers themselves, all of them, horrible people who deserved the bullet – and had gone home complacent, just a touch more slow and bleary than the usual. The difference was that Doctor X never had him running around all across this city whenever he so “needed” it, keeping a hawk's eye out for any and all that may pose a threat. No, no, the Doctor had spies for that, multiple ones, and information to go off of before he sent out even them. Now, Nikki was the spies. All of them. And the prior information. And still the bullet to the brain. The workload that he was put under had been essentially quadrupled, and while he didn't have to worry about his bosses pulling the rug out from under him and telling him to turn his barrel in the direction of those he most loved, he worked harder for every penny he earn than he ever had in his entire left. It left him disoriented to say the least. Disoriented enough to stumble somewhere entirely different in the hot pursuit of the bed he had so long ignored and only now wished to use for its intended purpose. Sad was the day that Nicklaus Strauss deigned to sleep of his own accord. Sad was that very day.[break][break]

Perhaps it was months, maybe even years of ignoring the slab of springs and coated cotton that formed his mattress that cursed him to keep away, or maybe it was just the fact that his key was never meant to fit in to this particular door, but to a hazy mind, the first explanation for why his key moved into the hole but could not managed to turn the hole was easy. User error. Some of these locks were worn, probably, (most of them were actually new, but what state was he in to notice now?) and just needed an ounce more pressure. This time, he applied forward force, hoping that would do the trick. Nope. Maybe turning it the other way would do it? It was entirely possible he was simply forgetting which way a door unlocke- oh, no, that wasn't it, either. An intelligent man would take this moment to pause and assess the situation, let himself calm from the confusion of a seemingly defective lock-opener and tilt his upward to see that the room number read “001” and not “104”. For heaven's sake, they weren't even on the same spot on different floors. The raven-haired man himself, however, was not an intelligent man, and his inability to get through the door so he could get some goodness darned rest was only a cause for frustration. Loud frustration. Fruitlessly, he twisted and turned that lock (or didn't, rather) in an angry huff, thinking over and over that just one of these times it would finally work. So absorbed in this task was he that he never stopped to think of the people around who might be awoken by his fuss – nor did he notice the arrival of another person until the words were already stumbling out of her mouth.[break][break]

“Need a hand?” the voice said, calmly, quietly, almost enough to to be drown out by his racket. He'd heard, though, and his response was immediate.[break][break]

“Yeah. This fucking key doesn't work anymore. Worked fine just yesterday! It's almost like this isn't the right -” Apartment. Realization struck him like a train, and when he turned to see the stranger who had spoken to him, dressed as though she were out, standing as though she was patiently waiting for him to step out of her way, he knew that he'd been caught doing something very stupid. Something that could have been interpreted as something very bad. “Oh, God, is this...? I swear, it isn't what it looks like. I wasn't trying to break in or anything! Shit. I'm just -” The world wobbled, and he stumbled against the door almost as if on cue. Goodness, would he even be able to manage the walk upstairs? “ – tired. V...very tired.”

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[music]https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/s/hp5uluhdws0wqng/%E6%9D%B1%E6%96%B9%20%5BPiano%5D%20Faint%20Dream%20-%20Inanimate%20Dream%20%E3%80%8E3%E3%80%8F%20-%20Copy.mp3?dl=0[/music]

[attr="class","nikkipostbot2"]NOTES

[attr="class","nikkipostbot3"] 825 WORDS

[attr="class","nikkipostbot3"] @robin

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rip, i don't have the mp3 for this song, take a substitute song (it's called inanimate dream, mweheh) and a tired boi instead.

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O C E A N D U S T

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I'LL MAKE AN HOURGLASS FROM MY FINGERS[break]
I KNOW I'M ONLY PASSING THROUGH

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If it weren't for the fact that the poor man looked ready to collapse on his feet where he stood, Robin might have taken the time to make a playful jibe at his expense. There were times and places for things such as that, and judging by how he did in fact slump a bit against the door of her apartment, now wasn't one of those times. She moved with surprising speed and closed the distance in order to give the man a quick once over with her steady gaze. Albeit looking a bit disheveled from his tired state, he didn't look like he'd lash out in a negative way if she tried to touch him and offer assistance. But appearances were hard to trust and caution was best kept on hand in case of a situation.[break][break]

"Hold on, just a moment." Opening up her purse, the white-haired woman pulled out the key to her apartment and jingled it in the air to prove it was, indeed, her residence. The situation felt more humorous (to her) than frightening, and it wouldn't be the last time she invited a stranger into her home. After she made she he wouldn't fall onto the floor once she opened the door, she made an exaggerated show out of opening it, doing her best to suppress the laughter bubbling inside of her.[break][break]

Robin slid out of her coat and set her purse down on the dining room table, situated in a small alcove to the right of the front door. To the left, a comfortable couch in front of a television set with a coffee table nearby looked like the most welcoming thing in the entire world at that late night hour.[break][break]

"I've become an expert at brewing coffee since I moved in here," she said. "My skills at the art of tea are a bit lacking in comparison, but if you prefer that, I'll give it an attempt. It'd be rude of me to turn down a request from the person who is exhausted enough to forget where he lives." A slight smirk graced her features. "Does this happen a lot or am I lucky?"[break][break]

★ the start of that song put me in a Persona 3 tower climb mood. dammit, leap, now I need to hook up my ps2 ;;

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FOR Nikki

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[attr="class","leapcred"]leap's codes

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[newclass=.justsleep10]height:5px;width:500px;background-color:#9BC4E2;[/newclass]

[Nikki]

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[attr="class","nikkipostlyric"]IF I COULD JUST SLEEP

[attr="class","nikkipostlyric2"]

[attr="class","nikkipostlyric3"]CALL OFF THE ATTACK, AND IF YOU LOOK, DREAMS ARE NOTHING I LACK

[attr="class","nikkipostlyrics4"]AND ALL I SEEK: A FINAL CHANCE TO SPEAK, IF I COULD JUST SLEEP

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The woman moved faster than his tired eyes could follow with the intent to close the distance between them, but something, call it survivor's instinct, drove him to sluggishly fall back, still leaning on what he supposed was her door for support. The only reason she could be moving in closer would be to strike him, right? Dish out swift and painful judgment for what could only look like an attempted break in? Fine, fine, let it come. At best, it'd wake him up, and at worst, it'd leave him sore in the morning, the latter of which he... probably deserved for making as stupid an error as this. He flinched, then, expecting some sort of blow, but was surprised to feel nothing at all; surprised even more so to find her only glancing him up in down, malice undetectable. (Not that he hadn't met someone just earlier this week who'd flipped the switched from amiable to violent in no more than five seconds. The bruises were only just turning that awful yellow that meant they'd finally be going away. Another reason to be suspicious of any and all if there ever was one.) “Hold on just a moment,” she said, and he was all too glad to have her eyes off of him, but the moment his own landed on the act of her reaching down into her purse, the dread came back full force. Alright, so she wasn't going to hit him, but she was definitely going to call the police on him. The council had warned him and, apparently, all other Omega Five members that unlawful conduct was means for termination – whatever that meant, but the word, despite having no solid definition in his mind, was said darkly enough to figure that the ramifications for stepping out of line weren't gonna be pretty. Would this count? Would they believe him if he tried to explain that it was just a case of mixed up numbers? He doubt it. History had only worked to show him that police officers didn't believe a word out of his mouth. Did repeating “I didn't do it” over and over like a mantra not get through their heads?[break][break]

As it turned out, however, the object she was grabbing was not, in fact, a cellular device with which to call the police – unsurprising, in hindsight, considering his idea of a mobile phone was much too large to fit comfortably in that – but the keys to the apartment that he'd been foolishly trying to enter. Well, that definitely confirmed it. Odd, though, that she hadn't tried to run him off. She didn't even say a word, either, as she moved past him, his own sloppy footwork carrying him out of her way, in order to unlock the handle and open the wooden slab wide. He noticed the humor spilled across her face, suppressed laughter pushing at the lips of her mouth, but the invitation to enter was not made clear until well after she'd already disappeared further into the residence, door left wide open. His first thought was that the island may have been safe, but leaving the apartment door ajar that far still couldn't have been a good idea. Only a moment before she started speaking to him did it finally dawn on him what he was supposed to do here. Later, he'd blame it on the fatigue. Realistically, it was just because he was slow. No slower than the steps he took under the frame and into the stranger's home, though, mind whirling with how this could all go terribly, horribly wrong. Again, people didn't just do nice things for him, particularly when he'd looked to be acting out a crime at their expense just seconds earlier, and it was only a matter of time before this whole thing came back to nip him in the rear end – hard. If his work had left him any more energy, any more fight, he might have argued and fled for the horizon (or his own apartment), but the unfortunate reality was that, in his current state, he had no choice but to accept.[break][break]

“I've become an expert at brewing coffee since I moved here. My skills at the art of tea are a bit lacking in comparison, but if you prefer that, I'll give it an attempt.” Since she moved here? Come to think of it, her clothing didn't look all that similar to what he was used to – but the same could be said about near everyone else on the island. It still struck the hitman was bizarre that things that were so common place in his world were abstract in the eyes of those who came from places far away. Not that he was an avid drinker of either. “It'd be rude of me to turn down a request from the person who is exhausted enough to forget where he lives.” Exhausted enough to deem the floor a comfortable place to fall face down into, as well. There was a level of snark in that comment that struck him as familiar, but he had neither the desire to think of why that was or come up with some prickly comment to combat it. Instead, he spoke into the floor loud enough to be heard: “Mm – coffee.”[break][break]

It was obvious this lady was making fun of him with every word she spoke. If there was ill will behind it, he couldn't tell, but if she expected some sort of witty banter to come back at her, now certainly wasn't the time for it. He'd feel bad; but then again, when was he ever the sort to be called “witty”? “Does this happen a lot,” she was asking, “or am I just lucky?” Lucky. Ha. Not the word he'd personally use to describe this mess, but to each their own. “'M... always tired. Not like this, though. Not... usually.” Nikki rotated his neck, searching futilely for the one angle that didn't kill it and wondering idly if that was too cryptic to be a valid answer. She'd invited him here, offered him a drink. The least he could do was try to answer her questions, joking as they were or otherwise, as best he could. (A shame he'd be as good as a dead man if he spilled all the details.) “Work is hell.” A pause. “S... Sorry about this.”

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[music]https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/s/hp5uluhdws0wqng/%E6%9D%B1%E6%96%B9%20%5BPiano%5D%20Faint%20Dream%20-%20Inanimate%20Dream%20%E3%80%8E3%E3%80%8F%20-%20Copy.mp3?dl=0[/music]

[attr="class","nikkipostbot2"]NOTES

[attr="class","nikkipostbot3"] 1072 WORDS

[attr="class","nikkipostbot3"] @robin

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you deserve more than a rushed ending, bUT I GOTTA GET TO CLASS, SO. *SWEATS* I AM ALSO SORRY.

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O C E A N D U S T

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I'LL MAKE AN HOURGLASS FROM MY FINGERS[break]
I KNOW I'M ONLY PASSING THROUGH

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Coffee! Good, good -- she wanted to busy her hands with something for a few moments and tea didn't do the trick. The white-painted kitchen, accented with dried herbs hanging from the walls and a splash of colored mason jars on a high shelf, might have been rather small in size, but it had a certain inviting charm that couldn't be denied. The woman worked quickly and smoothly, measuring out the right amount of coffee grounds to make sure the flavor wouldn't be too weak. Oddly enough, she added a tablespoon of vanilla extract directly to the pot before the water started to fill it. The mixed smell filled the air within seconds. Had it been done for the future flavor or the current scent? Either way, it smelled like a cafe in the morning, and that little jolt pressed her on.[break][break]

She washed her hands in the large white tub-like sink before moving back through the open arch doorway to the cozy living room. Her legs threatened to crack when she sat on the couch, proof of her own wariness. A red and white pillow quickly found its way into her arms to hold on to. "Sounds like it. If it keeps you tired all the time, is it something you enjoy, at least?" If it was a hard job to do, then it was either important or something he found himself stuck with. What it was didn't matter to her; his well-being with it was. If he found himself exhausted to the point of making such a large mistake, hopefully he at the very least enjoyed what he did.[break][break]

The librarian reached up, curling slender wings around a tendril of snowy hair. "Sorry, if that's prying, you don't have to answer. It just looks like you could use a mental health day, that's all. Sleep only does so much for recovering exhaustion." She bit down on her lower lip, humming in the back of her throat as she did so. "A nice run and a bubble bath, and a few hours with a good book do the trick for me most of the time."[break][break]

Everyone was different. How one person handled tiredness might be the worst way for someone else. If he didn't look so... so... downright miserable (she meant that in the best way possible) it wouldn't stick with her too much. Sort of like finding a lost puppy and wanting nothing more than feed it, bathe it, and give it a place to rest for a few days while looking for its owner.[break][break]

A steady arm stretched out, wrist locked for a firm shake. "Unit zero-zero-one's single occupant slash temporary barista, Robin, at your service."[break][break]

★ omgosh darlin' don't apologize your posts are always great <333

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FOR Nikki

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[attr="class","leapcred"]leap's codes

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[newclass=.justsleep10]height:5px;width:500px;background-color:#9BC4E2;[/newclass]

[Nikki]

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[attr="class","nikkipostlyric"]IF I COULD JUST SLEEP

[attr="class","nikkipostlyric2"]

[attr="class","nikkipostlyric3"]CALL OFF THE ATTACK, AND IF YOU LOOK, DREAMS ARE NOTHING I LACK

[attr="class","nikkipostlyrics4"]AND ALL I SEEK: A FINAL CHANCE TO SPEAK, IF I COULD JUST SLEEP

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It was a little surreal being in the abode of someone he had never met before once he took the time to pause and really take it all in. The time it took to brew the coffee, its smell crisp and more desirable than he could ever think of it being in his life, gave him the silent moment he needed to to do just that. It wasn't odd because it was owned by a stranger, however. Well, no, it was, but that wasn't what had his sluggish mind in muted awe. His own apartment, despite only being so many floors above this one, seemed like a different world entirely, adored in only the bare minimum, especially bleak in places where his slightly-more-caring roommate never went. His bedroom consisted only of a mattress on the floor that often times went neglected and a chair by the window, similarly rarely used, mostly placed there for old time's sake. It lacked personality. It didn't feel like a home. This, however, this apartment filled with the smell of a cafe's humble morning did. How incredible that one person could do what two had failed to as a unit. On the one hand, it was a comfort; serial killers didn't live in places that looked so homely, did they? Of course not. No one was ever robbed or skinned alive in a place that was decorated with mason jars, of all things. On the other, though, expectation was no reason to let down his guard... well, anymore than he had already, he supposed. The reality of the situation was that she could return from the kitchen with a coffee in one hand and a gun in the other, and he probably wouldn't even be able to peel himself from the flood he'd claimed residency over before the bullet made impact with his brain. What a way to go.[break][break]

When she returned, however, it was not with a weapon in tow, nor with the coffee he'd been expecting. She sat comfortably on the couch he had opted out of – too comfortably, in his opinion, for someone hosting a person they didn't even know the first name of – and it only dawned on him now how tired she, herself, looked. How early in the morning was it, anyway? From his vantage point, limited as it was, there wasn't a clock in sight, and he certainly hadn't been keeping track when he'd attempted, and failed, to return to his own “humble, lively home”. “If it keeps you tired all the time,” she was asking him while he searched in vain for some method with which to guess the time, “is it something you enjoy, at least?” The look for a clock or misplaced watched, though, could wait. The question was something so simple, perhaps something that would come to mind quickly for most anyone on or off the island, but all the same, it was something he had never heard before. Consequence for secluding himself from others, biproduct of keeping his life's work a secret for any and all with the inevitability of them turning on him for his unappreciated heroism. Just as he had never been asked, however, he'd never even considered the question himself. The fatigue he felt now was unwelcome, certainly, but was the job that had brought it on – how did he feel about it, necessarily? It was a necessity, of course. It had been since the day that he learned of Operation: Mindcrime on the rainy streets of Seattle. Good people were dying at the expense of those infected with money and the greed and self interested it brought along with it, and if the government would only play into the hands of the wicked, it was up to people like him to protect those innocent lives. He could remember a time, however, when the pain of taking a life had gotten to be too much (nights spent with Mary, bathed in candle light, false memoirs of people who had not looked evil in their dying moments), almost threatened to overwhelm him. It hadn't been until later that he'd found out that those had been innocent lives, too, and he'd been tricked into taking them under the guise of their deaths being a necessary step in moving along the Operation. Guilt, guilt, so much guilt. He didn't feel it now. He had no need to.[break][break]

“Sorry. If that's prying, you don't have to answer.” The sound of the white-haired woman's voice snapped him out of memories painful enough to tighten his hands into fists, and he hadn't even realized he'd lapsed into blanked eyed silence until she'd apologized for a question she'd come to the conclusion was unwanted. “No, I... I've just never been asked that before.” He blinked into the floor (into the past), wondering what the answer could be. It was a simple yes or no, wasn't it? And yet there was no real gratification in pulling the trigger and seeing another human being dead – there was in the past, high on heroin and his Death Angel parade – but he'd been younger, then, more foolish. (Still, though, he thought of the smiles of children on the street, the way couples held their hands, old men and women sat on rocking chairs on their porch. Small moments, yes, insignificant. These were moments he lived to save. Moments he maybe already had. There was meaning to his job – the joy that others sought in their work came not in the work itself, but in the aftermath of it.) “It just looks like you could use a mental health day, that's all. Sleep only does so much for recovering exhaustion.” She went on to speak of baths and books, luxuries he probably hadn't indulged in since before his father ran him right out the front door, although he didn't think either sounded like a go-to for a “mental health day”. Whatever that was. “A... what day? Some awareness thing... or somethin'...?” Mental health. Ha. She didn't even know it, but her simple questions and suggestions stirred up so much with so little effort.[break][break]

“Unit zero-zero-one's single occupant slash temporary barista, Robin, at your service.”[break][break]

Robin, huh? He'd known males to go by that name, had never heard of a female taking it on – but then again, “Nikki” didn't exactly sound the most masculine itself, so who was he to play judge? She, Robin, extended her arm to shake, and while his body protested the movement, he thought it only fair to move to accept. “Nikki,” he said slowly, taking her hand with hesitation, but finding himself pleasantly surprised to find no knife strapped to it in secret. “I, uh... live upstairs. Somewhere. … Probably.”[break][break]

Despite the lack of any extra bit of sleep or any droplet of caffeine in his veins, the mental stimuli and being off his feet for even a few minutes were enough to have some level of awareness returning to him. That, paired with the better vantage point of sitting up rather than being face planted down and into the floor allowed the raven-haired man to take in an even better view of the apartment (which he attempted to do without drawing attention to his wandering eyes) than he had before. Books, pillows, a decent couch; definitely better looking than he was used to. It almost looked as though this was a place that Robin was intending to stay for much longer than most believed they'd have to. He spoke to little, but understood much. Most were looking for a way off this island. Was she? “Looks pretty cozy here, uh... You thinking you're going to be stuck here that long?”

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[attr="class","nikkipostbot2"]NOTES

[attr="class","nikkipostbot3"] 1289 WORDS

[attr="class","nikkipostbot3"] @robin

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i, myself, was tired enough to quote your post instead of mine for the template, rip. but thank you, though, that means a lot. ;o; they hardly compare to yours, though, hot darn. robin's too good for this world.

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O C E A N D U S T

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I'LL MAKE AN HOURGLASS FROM MY FINGERS[break]
I KNOW I'M ONLY PASSING THROUGH

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Getting the stranger's name without extra prodding felt like a reward in and of itself. He didn't make for much of a conversationalist, though whether it was a natural character flaw of his or due to his exhaustion, she couldn't tell.[break][break]

Some of the things he said stood out strongly in the depths of her mind. He'd never been asked if he enjoyed his work? Wasn't that something considered a given by most employers? Or was it one of her expectations being too high? Being able to work at the library, after quickly discovering the bibliophile part of herself, was nothing short of the greatest highlight of her time on the island so far. Not everyone could be as lucky as that, but with so many occupations for all sorts of people with all types of interests, surely finding something enjoyable wouldn't be that great of a task.[break][break]

"Mental health day. Awareness, not exactly. It is a term I've only learned recently myself," Robin confessed with a low chuckle. "It's basically just a day you take off because you need a break. The more high pressure a person's job is, the more likely they'll get overly stressed and burned out, and that is one of the worst things you can go through. It will effect your physical, mental, and emotional health, and..." Trailing off, the woman shook her head quickly. "Just something to consider. An excuse to nap."[break][break]

Meddlesome. Worrier. Inwardly she chided herself for overstepping already. She just said she wouldn't pry and there she was beginning to fret like a mother bird. It'd be something to work on in the future more.[break][break]

A little chime from the kitchen caused her to rise and retreat momentarily, only to return with two mugs on a tray. Along with the coffee came a bowl full of sugar cubes, a container with honey, some cinnamon in a shaker, and a jar filled to the brim with sweet whipped cream. She set them down on the table, then moved one of the mugs ("World's Best Hula Dancer" written on the side) within Nikki's reach.[break][break]

"Mmm..." Robin mused lightly, twisting the spoken words inside her mind. "I might be. I might not be, too. Since I don't now what will happen and when I will leave, if I can leave, it feels like a waste to leave this apartment empty. I make a decent amount of money at my job to decorate as I please and eat good food, so why live like a ghost?"[break][break]

She smiled, two cubes of sugar dissolving in her coffee. "There was a song I heard on the radio. The chorus struck me hard and I hunted down the lyrics online, and memorized them. 'But if my life is for rent and I don't learn to buy, well I deserve nothing more than I get 'cause nothing I have is truly mine.' Hearing that made me want to enjoy myself while I'm here. Because I am here and this place matters, doesn't it?"[break][break]

A shield to protect herself from the memories she couldn't remember. Living in the present was her only choice.[break][break]

★ I quote the wrong post half the time c| it is one of those things I've accepted will always happen /failsatlife also poor nikki and his paranoia I wanna hug the bby ;___;

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FOR Nikki

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