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Realistic or Modern Crazy World (Closed)

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neverbackdown

neverbackdown

To live would be an awfully big adventure








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Crazy World




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It's all fun and games until somebody dies.

A statement that unfortunately 7 childhood friends discovered to be true after one of their own died from an overdose on 9th January 2022.

Jake Peterson was only 22 years old when he succumbed to the addiction he had been secretly struggling with for almost a year. A Secret that mightn't have actually been kept hidden very well , a secret knowledge that has the power to destroy the group and the individuals themselves.

Will the guilt and grief be too much to keep the friendship going, will they band together or will old woes come to the front during this sensitive time that could ultimately end the friendship

The story starts on Friday 14th January 2022 (exactly a week after Jake's death) at his funeral back in their home town in New York.

A cold brisk day with temperatures of only 46°F (8°c), Partially cloudy with a low sun in the blue sky.

The Funeral will take place at 11am followed by a reception in Petersons Household.







♡coded by uxie♡
 
Last edited:







Brooke Williams



  • .



It's my fault ....

I should have done something ...

maybe if we didn't fight

Trying to drown out the neverending thoughts, Brooke sat at her vanity mirror to do her makeup. Her eyes getting lost in her image as she barely recognised the girl staring back at her, puffy red eyes, tear stained cheeks, dark black circles under her eyes and a colourful healing bruise on the left side of her face, her appearance she noted showed her to be just as broken on the outside as she felt on the inside.

Her hand gently went to her cheek as her head spun remembering her last few moments with Jake, his memory and the memory of their relationship forever more tainted by that horrible fight and the unnecessary violence that could have been prevented had she only told someone and seeked help for him.

It's my fault

Blinking back tears, Brooke applied a layer of concealer over the bruise before blending in her foundation. Her eyes scrutinizing the work to ensure everything was hidden, hence the long sleeved black dress and long jacket too. She was not going to taint the memory of Jake for his parents, she could never do that. She had kept this secret long enough and besides a secret is always easier to keep when one of them is dead.

Brooke pulled on her boots before standing up and moving towards her floor length mirror as she double checked her outfit, not that she really cared how she looked, if Brooke could have her own way she would get back into bed and lie there with the covers up over her head like a fort, hidden safely away from the world and the harsh reality that Jake was dead. Brooke had found him, Brooke had seen the body and yet for some reason it still didn't feel real, it was the funeral that was so daming, like it was the final point and if she went to this it would only confirm that Jake was really never coming back, that he was ... gone.

A knock on the door pulled Brooke from her thoughts and she turned to see her mother enter the room "Oh you look gorgeous sweetheart, are you ready to go?" All Brooke could do in response was to nod her head as she tried to keep the tears at bay. Taking a deep shaky breath, Brooke grabbed her handbag of her bed before following her mother out to the car. The drive was silent as Brooke leaned her head against the window with her eyes closed. She wasn't ready for this but she knew that she also never would be.

Arriving into the church grounds, Brooke linked her mother's arms as they walked up the stairs and in the church ahead of them. As they stepped in through the large wooden doors, Brooke's eyes were immediately drawn towards the coffin in the middle of the aisle, a small noise that could only be described as a squeak escaped her lips as she found her hold tighten on her mother's arm. Her mother whispered something to her but before Brooke could ask her to repeat it she noticed Jakes parents walking towards them.

"Oh Brooke" Jake's' mother exclaimed as she wrapped her arms around her tightly. Brooke hugged her back just as tight trying to hold it together in front of his mother. Stepping back from their embrace, Brooke was then suddenly wrapped up in another hug with Jakes' father before the four of them exchanged pleasantries, although having been over with them most nights since returning home, there wasnt much left to be said between the four. "We'd like Jakes' friends to be up front, I know he would have wanted it that way" Brooke nodded and gave a small smile to his parents before letting go of her mother's arm and walking up towards the seats beside the coffin.

Her eyes were transfixed on the picture on top of the coffin, a smiling Jake beaming down at them, the picture was obviously taken before he began to spiral and a soft smile played on her lips as she remembered how Jake used to be, how funny and caring he once was.

He would have loved this turnout.

Seeing some of his family sat in the front row of the right side, Brooke gave them a small nod of acknowledgement before moving to sit in the empty front row to the left side of the coffin as requested by his parents. Her eyes still transfixed on the coffin as tears began to flow down her cheeks, sniffling, Brooke pulled the sleeves of her jacket down over her hands playing with the hem as she averted her eyes from the coffin to her shaking legs.







/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.
 








minho kang










  • mood
    Nah... this doesn't feel real


    location
    At the funeral


    mention
    Brooke, Jake and Leon











Give me your loneliness and I'll give you mine

The loss of any life is a tragedy.
But when it was one of your closest friends, it hits just that little bit harder.

The daily routine of scrolling through social media wasn’t the same anymore; that silly video or random picture that oozed their essence was now left unshared. Instead of being filled with serotonin, the sense of dread and realisation that days on this Earth are numbered with the reflection that their body is going to be buried six feet deep within the next coming days. The fleeting thought of ‘I’ll tell them when I see them’ dwindles on the mind for a millisecond before grief floods the soul, reminding us that the next time you’ll see them will be in the afterlife. There are moments throughout the day where they don’t even pass your mind until something triggers a thought. A smell, a song, a piece of clothing, a fragment of memories once forgotten with time, a recipe. Each little factor becoming a contributing domino piece aiding in the completion of the journey through grieving.

It wasn’t the first time Minho had to experience grief.

There was the passing disappearance of his mother at the age of six and then the death of his foster father after succumbing to the complications of complex heart surgery. But it was his first time attending a funeral. When Mr. Reiner had his heart attack and Mrs Reiner was diagnosed with breast cancer, Minho was chucked right back into the foster system as there were fears they would be unable to care for the teenager. His new foster family were met with a rage-filled teen, spitting and foaming at the mouth over the decision his new parents had made - telling him he wasn’t allowed to attend the funeral of the one man who he had been close enough to drop the formalities and actually call Dad.

With Jake, it was different.

Minho felt… numb.

It was almost like he was expecting Jake to pop out of nowhere all a sudden. To spring out and say gotcha! as they all sat around in fine black attire and their mouths hanging wide in astonishment. He even had the audacity to curse out their deceased friend as he ventured through his wardrobe, looking for something to wear to the funeral - “The asshole knew I don’t own a suit - and that I’m freaking poor right now. Goddamnit Jake. I’d choke him if he weren’t dead already” The obvious early stages of denial, of course.

When he finally found a suit that would fit him and didn’t cost his weekly salary, it didn’t hit him. It wasn’t real. Even when he and Leon sat on the subway train, patiently waiting to hear the name of their exit, it wasn’t real. Hurriedly walking up the stairs that brought them from the subway to the direction of the funeral home, it wasn’t real. Approaching the location and entering through the doors to see a sea of saddened faces, grieving over the boy whose life had tragically ended, it still wasn’t real.

Something that was real, however, was the uneasiness and how uncomfortable Minho felt seeing so many people crying. The twenty-three-year-old shuffled in his steps, taking safety in standing behind his roommate with hopes the younger male would take the lead. Watching the tears falling from people’s faces made Minho frown slightly; a discomfort roamed his soul as those around him raised their tissues to dab the tears away.

As he attempted to avoid any and all eye contact from those tearing up, Minho scanned the room to finally find a familiar face. “Brooke” he muttered to Leon, patting him lightly on the shoulder before nodding in the direction of the girl. He then gave his roommate a slight nudge in the back, like a rider kicking off their horse onwards and forwards on their journey. It wasn’t that he and Brooke weren’t friends, but she was crying. How was he meant to respond to that? Was he meant to just give her a hug and move along? Obviously he was not well known in funeral etiquette and despite Leon having never attended a funeral himself, he was relying on his dear friend to lead the way. There was something in the air that just made Minho feel… awkward. Like Jake was just going to pop out of nowhere and tease them all for acting so mopey.

Afterall… this still didn’t feel real.




coded by weldherwings.
 
michelle crozier
Michelle didn't cry. She was never a crier, even when she woke up in the hospital so many years ago, confused and disoriented, she was just as tearless and heartless as it seemed in this situation. She was not about to cry about Jake Peterson being dumb enough for dying, let alone being the first to die in the friend group. That was always Michelle's role and now it was a dead bit she couldn't joke about anymore, all puns intended. That's what Michelle said to herself for comfort's sake when she found out about his death. She was at her boyfriend's condo when it all went down but she could only imagine the emotional whirlwind of seeing the ambulance no one could afford to drive down their little complex and then Jake being pulled out... Brooke, just how Brooke would respond to it all.

As days of planning her trip back home turned into actually packing and figuring out her all black attire, reality set in. It wasn't hard finding an all black outfit but finding one appropriate for a funeral made it real. Although, Jake would probably prefer anything to ogle at during a debbie-downer event like his own god damn funeral. That's Jake for you. "New Jake" wasn't far from "Old Jake" in Michelle's humble opinion but she kept that to herself, as a bitch wasn't exactly a celebrated trait in this situation.

Even with her car humming and warming up for the not-too-long drive home, she could hear her ex-boyfriend follow right behind her. "You could have asked me to carry that for you." His voice was breaking from last night,as he was definitely the crier for the both of them in the relationship. The blonde only squinted at her new enemy with a cold response after slamming her ford focus's trunk, "I only let future husbands help me.

"Come in, Michelle," His British accent only made him more annoying with all his regrets, "You asked me to answer honestly and I did."

"Word of advice, Andy, when a girl asks you if you see yourself marrying her, you fucking lie!" She had enough of this back and forth about their break up. Two years wasted on some tennis protégé who probably only saw her as a charity case? Fuck that. She was quick in getting herself into the car and the radio syncing with her phone to start playing immediately loud. God bless for Dance Gavin Dance as she could hide her upset from her ex. He could tell how deep he hurt her from the way she looked at him like scum of the deepest parts of the world. Even if she wanted to look strong, she crumbled easily with people she love loved. She peeled out of the apartment complex without looking back, with false confidence, knowing very well her two year long mistake would disappear forever by the time she came back. Good riddance anyways as she poured her heart out at every single song on the highway drive. Her music taste was always sad, so who could tell when she was with her dramatic drumming through whiney ballads?

After all the experiences, Michelle still kept all the same preferences: driving early in the morning, singing loudly, cursing at bad drivers in French, buzzed driving. Life changing experiences weren't that life changing, or Michelle made sure she was the exception to the rules even holding back on tears about learning of Jake's theatrical exit.

The drive was simple, with her alone, she didn't need to check in on anyone else, although she'd prefer and even offered her other friends a ride. Most replied quickly, finding their schedules, or being left on read, although Jake had the nerve to not even open her message ‐ wait... Right. When Michelle got into her best known territory, she managed to turn off the navigation with ease. She felt herself tense up as her eyes quickly left the road to properly cancel the badly designed user interface. Nothing in this town changed interesting enough for her eyes to glance at the commercial buildings that rolled by letting her focus on getting to her modern trash-heap her parents bought when she was eight.

Her brother waited for her at the front steps, already dressed in a brand new suit to match her. They both kept their "siblings forever" bracelets on even at this terrible time. No words needed as Ben could tell his older sister was running late, or her version of late, and as the always good service dog he was, taking her suitcase up to her room. Their parents did their version of comforting word for their walled off child with a question she didn't want to answer, "Where's Andy?"

"You said he'd be here?"

"I'll talk to you guys more after the service." Michelle wanted out of their grasp as soon as possible, and this time she had good reason to be brisk with their reconnection. She had somewhere to be, someone who depended on her, and she hated having people waiting for her. Michelle zoomed out from her problems yet again, now playing the shared playlist she had with Juno. The train station was a shit place to to wait for a ride, and Michelle couldn't imagine Juno snapping at homeless and horny fucks like she did as a teen. Hell, Michelle thought Juno would give out her actual number if they were scary enough.

All the anxiety Michelle started to feel seized with the train leaving as she arrived. She even got a spot in front of Juno before a panhandler reached her. If the circumstances of their meetup were different, Michelle would call today a lucky day. "Oh, pretty. The mossy swamp queen aesthetic is a good one." She took the time to appreciate Juno's thoughtful curation. She must have changed in the train restrooms. Those things left a bad experience in Michelle's memory with all the concerts she snuck herself to as a teen. "You think Jake's aunt's gonna have a field day with my dress like she did during winter formal?" Michelle was trying to ease the sadness with memory lane. God, Jake's Aunt Tristina was a frumpy old bitch.

Luck kept on their side as traffic wasn't obnoxious and parking was always simple now with Michelle's plates shining the disability plaque. The parking lot looked pretty full, although the inside seemed sparse still. It was easy for Michelle to identify her friends, it was always easy to find Minnie them. She made herself as tall with pride as she walked past every pew to get to them, assuming Juno followed along. She noticed Brooke second first, then Leon... Michelle didn't think Leon was the comforting type but she'd throw him into the pit of lions before she had to be the consoling friend. She decided her best bet of hollow chatter was with the tallest monster in the room.

"Your pant leg shouldn't show your ankles when you're standing. Hope you kept that receipt." She let her smugness shine as she looked up at him as another attempt to make things familiar. Out of all the things to have changed in the last few days, one thing would always be the same. Michelle hated Minho's guts almost as much as he hated hers.

Mentions:
Brooke and Leon
Interactions:
Juno and Minho
Tags:
weldherwings weldherwings Miaow Miaow
coded by sugarnaut
 
Last edited:
drug use, mention of suicide (joke)
wigs
  • .
scroll

staring idly at the lines of light glued to the rugged carpet, all on the mind of wiggy rosenberg was flashes of blankness mixed with the worst images his mind could concur. his fingers–just as idle on the strings he forgot he was strumming.

the last heroin smoke of the early morning was a little less than four hours ago, giving him time to be coherent enough to drive the near two hours to the last place he wanted to be today. well, maybe not the last. though it was a miracle in itself he’d waken up from his morning crash.

from an optimist’s perspective, he’d be surrounded by friends. dear friends, the same ones he’d rather be with all the time. though in actuality, their gathering had an array of obstacles. starting with the least painful: it was cloudy and dim–cold as fuck as it always was as brooklyn januarys go anyway. then there was the presence of parents–his parents to be specific. he’d already heard an earful by voice messages left from his mother: how he should dress, what he should say–how he should go home early like brooke and spend some time with his family in these tragic times. that.. was just not going to happen. though now he’d manage to get some use from the monkey suit stuffed in the storage closest. thanks jake.

there it was again. the inevitable thought and the biggest obstacle of them all.

what’s wrong with me?

wigs and jake. 'jake and wigs' sounded a lot better. jake was his best friend since 4th grade. he’s the sole reason wiggy didn’t turn into a screwed up homeschool freak. he’s the reason why he actually tried to put himself out there, retiring the shy, uncertain persona that held him back all those years before high school. jake was the reason he actually had these good friends, more or less–the glue that held them together at several points. maybe he was the reason he started doing smack in the first place, but that was a different story entirely. wiggy couldn’t blame him for that.

he could blame him for dying though. maybe.

when they’d found the outlet, their integrity concerning the substance was tested beyond lengths. if he pondered on it, the two were NEVER good at taking accountability on anything before then either. shoplifting at the bodega, cheating their way into first place those times on the baseball field, getting into scraps at the park–always finding a way to win following celebration with a cigarette and a root beer float.

boyhood was filled with mistakes, but never as permanent as this.

he knew he should’ve said something, done something. he sort of tried..

no. not enough obviously.

there was that time with brooke. seeing his friend crying on the steps, trying her hardest to stop. it amounted to the true severity of the situation, but at the time he couldn’t properly register. sure, jake was getting bad. real bad. but brooke was the one who really suffered.

the day after he tried to talk some sense into him, but it all just fell flat. jokes were made, wigs tried to push the issue once more. it fell flat again. by then the spoon was out–inevitably so–with the plastic bag pathetically wrapped in a thin sticker soon following.

wigs hated it. he hated all of it. he hated it so much he had to laugh to keep from crying again. at himself, at jake, and at life.

taking one long look in the mirror, he straightened the black tie–fastening and refastening until he decided to remove it from the equation entirely. his eyes didn’t look too bad–except for the shadow subsumed underneath them, but that wasn’t exactly new. there was nothing he could do about the redness. the german-dane in him would never let him keep from a light pink in the winter–withdrawing or not. his mother would more than likely say he looked sickly. at least he finally had a good excuse this time.

~

it was probably a good thing he wasn’t showing up alone. wigs let denys man the aux the entire drive so he could focus on speeding through what he could of the dreaded new york city traffic. if the kid wasn’t there, the ride would’ve been a lot more depressing–also he’d probably have shown up considerably late. perhaps wigs would’ve even swerved head first into the opposite lane. haha…

between the discussion of fond memories, passing the joint back and forth over denny’s collective of isaiah rashad and danny brown alike, almost missing the exit twice….they’d narrowly made it in time. “thanks for coming with me.” wigs said blankly, the husk in the voice that came out reminded him he was supposed to speak to a crowd. jesus. "this fucking sucks."

now approaching the somber air that filled the service, he avoided looking anywhere but the path in front of him. running into his parents first would suck, but running into anybody in general wasn’t going to be much fun either way. (highly unavoidable by the way)

as they neared the front of the rows of chairs, he noticed a familiar sight–one he couldn’t miss if he tried. we’re an odd looking bunch aren’t we? wigs nudged denys, acknowledging their friends had all gathered and they might as well join them. the ceremony was bound to start any minute. together they walked up to the five–wigs desperately tried to shake off the ominous feeling capering at the pit of his stomach. he felt increasingly sick--for more reasons than just the affair.

before contact, he looked up at the sky for a half second--a veil of a peaceful moment. smog colored it like ash in such a way that felt unreal. too bad the sky couldn’t match the circumstance, he thought as they entered within sightline of the group. this was way too real.

wigs bit the inside of his cheek, affirming the acknowledgement from jake’s parents and seating himself by brooke. “hey.” he tried to say, but it came out broken–almost unheard. “hey.. brooke.” he said with a bit more heft, “sorry i didn’t respond to your message about going home, i just.. i don’t know.” wigs scrunched the fabric of his pant legs, “i don’t even know why i said that. that doesn't matter.” the boy sunk back in the metal chair.

thinking before he spoke was probably a better way to approach his crying friend, but his thoughts were all over the place. he felt the note card poking at his chest from inside his breast pocket. he couldn’t even remember what he’d written before shoving it in there the night before, but hopefully it had more gusto than he felt he could manage at the moment.

“im sorry.” he fizzled, closing his eyes for a painful second. wigs wished he could sleep. a nice, long nap–even an extra three hours would be nice; anything to divert the wretchedness of today.









a fond farewell - elliott smith




/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */
© weldherwings.
 
Last edited:






mood
a little tipsy and terrified

location
The Funeral Home

tag
Sugarnaut Sugarnaut

outfit
a fancy black suit with a purple tie






Tiger Johnson





Tiger knew that he was a terrible friend, he knew but he tried ignoring that fact completely.
He left most of his friends out of the blue all because he wanted to be able to shove his money in everybody’s face. To show his old man he was capable of buying everything he had never had.
Yeah, maybe Tiger got carried away a little.

Tiger drove a new car, a black Mercedes SUV, it even had the new leather smell to it. On his passenger chair, a blanket with underneath a bottle of Jack. He hid it mostly, especially from his friends and peers but he was scared today it was going to be a little more obvious. Thus the more reason to drink enough to not care about it.

Funeral homes always had this eery feeling about them and this grey weather wasn’t really helping. Tiger took a last big chug of whatever was left in that bottle and put the blanket back over it like he was tucking it to bed.
There was a lot of come-up for Jake, Tiger’s parents weren’t going to show but his brother was rumored to be some where. It was not like he was going to look for him but it was nice knowing he came to support his little brother.

Tiger fidgeted with his hands, he was late and had not been able to get any sleep last night. He even had thought several times about not going at all. Him and Jake were best friends and had been for all those years but their last interaction wasn’t pretty and then there was Brooke. God, he was going to have a fucking panic attack.

Fuck this, he turned around and headed back to his car. He wasn’t going to sit through this shit sober, he fumbled in his pockets looking for a cigarette and paced his way back out of the funeral home. This had to be some sort of sick joke where they were going to highlight how terrible of a friend he was and how he had only thought about himself. He thought about others a lot of times, he had bought Wigs socks for his birthday that year he turned 22 and he was there when Minho had that. . Soccer thing? Whatever, he did a lot of things for his friends, they had no right to be disappointed in him ever.

When Tiger embraced the cold air and felt himself finally cool down a bit, his gaze fell on a very familiar face and one he would recognize out of a thousands. Juno. Oh god, not right now. Normally he be thrilled to see her but on a day like this he wasn’t so sure, besides he couldn’t drink if she saw him, she would drag him to where he just ran from.
Tiger couldn’t help but smile a little by the sight of her and held his cigarette behind his back in case she wanted to greet him.






/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.
 













Juno Belrose
the entomologist














i'd like to go home, please




funeral home car park



[/tab]




I'll fuck you up if you're mean to bugs
Though Juno had had plenty of sleepovers, it felt a little stranger as an adult. She was sure the others had caught on by now. She hadn't been back to her parent's house since she was a kid, and she wouldn't be surprised if they'd said something to their parents. Juno was apparently the drug addict of their hometown... well, she was. It wouldn't be surprising if that was Jake's role, now.

She dreaded asking the group chat if she could stay with someone. She didn't have the money for a hotel... and it wasn't really worth it when she had 7 other friends she could bunk with... but she dreaded the question.
"How come you're not staying with your parents?"
Because I value my life?
Thankfully, Michelle didn't ask, and Juno certainly wasn't ready to tell.

Getting up early to get the train to a funeral wasn't exactly her ideal morning. She'd get on the train in her pyjamas if they let her. Looking nice just felt... wrong. Why would anyone care what she looked like at a funeral? Whatever she wore, whatever she did with her hair and her makeup... she'd look a damn sight better than Jake did.

She left before her brother was awake, though he'd already said his goodbyes the night before. He'd made sure she had someone to stay with, someone to help her get back to campus once everything was over and done with, that she had enough cash for a taxi if something went awry... He knew the chances of him being awake when she had to leave were slim to none. She stepped onto the train in her comfiest trousers, her fluffiest socks and her softest shoes, planning to sleep half of the journey away. Sleeping had always been a chore... but being present when her friend died, waking up to the sirens... before she could even do anything, he was dead. She didn't have the chance... but who was she to think she could have saved him? If a fucking paramedic couldn't do it, why would an idiot whose main personality trait were insects be able to?

What if she fell asleep and something bad happened? What if she took a nap and the man in the seat across from her had a massive heart attack, and she simply snoozed her way through it? What if there was a sheep on the track and she was the only one to see it and the only way to stop it was if she were awake and able to tell someone and... and...

She painfully stayed awake, hugging a knee to her chest as she stared out of the window. She fidgeted with the hem of her trouser leg restlessly, though her eyelids begged for rest. She pulled a hand mirror from her pocket, checking the state of her eye bags. This was going to take a lot of concealer... She pulled her makeup bag from her backpack. If she was going to be sitting there for an hour, she might as well do something productive.

Then, she woke up. Oh God, she'd passed out, concealer wand still in hand. She sat up, feeling around for her phone. Had she missed her stop? Had anyone died while she was asleep? The man across from her was still sat reading his book... and the clock above the door said it had only been above 10 minutes. She let out a sigh of relief. She hadn't been out for long... How the hell could she fall asleep like that?! She packed up her concealer, checking her face to make sure she'd managed to blend her undereyes before conking out, then dragged her bags to the bathroom to change.

As her stop came around, she stepped off, scanning the platform for Michelle as she held on tight to her backpack. She flinched as Michelle seemed to appear in front of her, thankfully separating her from the rest of the people on the platform. She paused at her compliment, looking down at herself.
"I'm not sure if it's... funerally enough," She muttered as she lifted part of her skirt, but she had left most of her clothes on campus, forming an outfit from the clothes she had left with her brother. As she looked up at Michelle's outfit, thinking over her question, she managed a small laugh.
"You've got tights on... that counts for something, right?"

She clambered into Michelle's car, leaning back in her seat as she listened to their playlist... She didn't really have much to say... they were driving to the funeral of one of their best friends. She wasn't exactly in the talking mood... She simply followed after her as they arrived at the funeral home, headed straight for their group of friends. Unfortunately, out of the three of them that were there, she was the most likely to comfort Brooke... but if she made eye contact with her, she'd probably start crying, too. Instead, she avoided eye contact, focusing on her ring.

She stood behind Michelle, barely visible to the rest of the group as she fidgeted with the spinning ring on her finger. She was listening... sort of, barely taking in what the group were talking about. Something about... Minho's ankles being on show? How scandalous of him. She looked up, catching someone's eye from the car park...

Tiger.

She glanced back at the group. Did they even know she was stood there? She stepped away, headed for the door. She hadn't seen him in... well... she'd lost count. She was certainly upset when he left out of the blue, she didn't know why he'd left them behind, had they done something wrong? Had she done something wrong? That didn't stop her from missing him, though.

She stepped in front of him... she wasn't sure what she was meant to say. She fidgeted with her ring for a moment, avoiding eye contact... Then, she threw her arms around his waist, squeezing him tightly. Her eyes welled up with tears as she pressed her head to his chest.
"Where the hell have you been?!"







/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.
 
LEON PIERCE
Not understanding that you’re a horrible person doesn’t make you less of

a horrible person
the sinner
fell asleep and forgot to die
the weekend
— mac miller
mood: i hate this ty
location: front row seats at the funeral baby
interactions: weldherwings weldherwings - Minho | neverbackdown neverbackdown - Brooke
scroll
For as long as he could recall, strong emotions had manifested themselves in specific parts of his body and the way some traveled.

Anger started in the chest. Rage would move from the chest to the stomach before exploding towards the rest of him.

The head was home to joy and occasionally anxiety, though the latter most often planted itself firmly in his stomach.

Sadness, oddly enough, made his fingers tingle before settling in his chest, heavy and suffocating.

When he'd heard about Jake's death, he'd assumed it'd feel like sadness. A more intense version, maybe, but one that would spiderweb its way towards his center nonetheless. The realization that grief wasn't contained, that it affected his whole body all the time, was startling. Loss wasn't something he had much experience with, most people in his life little more than fleeting interactions no one could recall. It didn't help that he'd figured his friends would have to mourn him, not the other way around. People like Leon were always the ones in the box.

Except today it was Jake, and Leon found himself struggling to reconcile with the fact that even someone like Liz had outlived him. Maybe the good really did die young, and he and his mother would be in the clear forever. Like cockroaches or some shit.

Speaking of cockroaches, he'd only seen two in Liz's studio in the days he and Minho had been there, which he considered a massive win. He was pretty sure Minho wouldn't mind even if there'd been more, but it was nice that they hadn't made their presence too known.

What a juvenile thing to concern yourself with on the train ride to your best friend's funeral.

The thing is, Leon still wasn't entirely convinced it was a funeral, y'know? Jake was a funny dude, it was probably just an extremely elaborate prank.

Except the memory of the ambulance's flashing lights and Jake's pale body, resembling a corpse even then, laid out on a stretcher was burned to the back of his eyelids, an image he was entirely too familiar with. In his mother's apartment, they kept Narcan on hand without fail but overdoses weren't supposed to happen to people like Jake, so it'd never even occurred to him.

Stupid.

The probability that Jake would jump out of the box all smiles going, "Haha, got your asses," fell even further when Leon and Minho arrived at the funeral home and theirs were the only dry faces.

His eyes widened when they stepped in the room, discomfort evident across the entirety of his being. Any efforts to scan the room for a familiar face were in vain, the faces before him melding together in his brain. He blinked and shook his head slightly in an attempt - also pointless - to focus himself when he felt Minho nudged him in the direction of Brooke. The relief he felt at the sight of his friend was short lived when he realized she was crying, and Minho was using him as a human emotional shield.

With a glance of disbelief over his shoulder, Leon squared his shoulders and mustered up an awkward tight-lipped smile. "Hey, B," he said, hands still shoved in his pockets. Generally speaking, he considered himself a charming guy with a pretty solid grasp on social etiquette. Knowing what he was feeling and where he was feeling it helped, but right now? He didn't have a name for his emotions, much less a location. He was lost.

Clearing his throat, he freed his hands and wrapped his arms around Brooke, praying to whoever was listening that he'd remembered to put deodorant on that morning. "We're here," he said quietly before releasing her and taking a seat.

When Minho took the spot next to him, Leon nudged his leg lightly with his knee before leaning in slightly and whispering, "Asshole," and hoping the slight glint in his eye gave away that he didn't fully mean it.
© reveriee
 






mood
a little tipsy and terrified

location
The Funeral Home

tag
Sugarnaut Sugarnaut

outfit
a fancy black suit with a purple tie






Tiger Johnson






Tiger was a great liar, an excellent liar some would even argue but in front of Juno he was absolutely shit at it. Her standing there made him awkwardly fidget with his watch until she suddenly threw her arms around his waist and gave him a big hug.
He put his hands on her head as he sort of hugged her back, hearing her voice crack a little when she asked him where he had been.

Tiger looked up at the sky, hoping anything or anybody could answer that question for him right now so that he wouldn’t have to take any responsibility. Not right now. Not here.
Tiger never really hugged any of his friends, except for Leon but then he’d have a lot more to drink than just this bottle of Jack.
Juno always seemed different in approaching him and though he’d never admit it, he did like it a lot.

Once she stood in front of him again with those brown doe eyes, he gave her a shrug and an apologetic smirk. Okay, maybe he was a little more drunk than he thought he would be.
‘I was busy June,’ he said while leaning against the wooden post that was in desperate need of fixing. ‘I-‘ He looked away for a second, ‘I really thought I told you I was leaving.’
There was a silence for just a moment as Tiger had the balls to look Juno in her eyes again. He had not told Jake he was leaving either, he just left. He remembered the texts after quite clearly, Jake was pissed that Tiger had not paid yet and he had must have called him sixteen times. Tiger felt guilty, knowing it was just a stupid argument and that Jake was now. . Gone.

Tiger took a big hit of his cigarette, trying his very hardest to not show any emotions. ‘So, you still. . do the bug thing?’ He asked, genuinely interested. He didn’t know what she did for a living just that she liked showing him bugs, he always wondered how that paid for anything.
It felt weird, talking to her in front of this funeral home, it was the same funeral home he had been when his grandma died. He loved his grandma but he wasn’t even able to say goodbye as his dad insisted on him to not come back when he was in the army. The thought still made him sad inside, god, he needed that drink.
‘Why don’t you just go already?’ He nodded towards the group inside even though he had just pretended to not seen them. ‘I don’t think I’m ready to hear Wigs’ speech yet,’ he added giving her a small smirk.






/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.
 







Brooke Williams



  • .



You shouldn't even be here, you dont deserve to be here, you did this, you ...

With a shaky breath Brooke squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to drown out the voice, the voice that had loudly taken over every single thought in her head since Jake had died. Opening her eyes, Brooke remained staring at her knees shaking in unison as she played with the hem of her jacket, completely oblivious to her surroundings. It was only when she heard Leon's voice address her that she even remembered she was in public.

Wiping the tears from her cheeks, Brooke slowly stood to greet her friends, or at least try to, as she wrapped her arms around Leon in return, needing the hug more that he would ever possibly know, "Thank you" she whispered her voice breaking as they broke apart and her eyes found her friends somewhat hiding behind Leon. It only took a matter of seconds for Brooke to figure out what had happened and how Leon had clearly been the sacrificial lamb for emotional support.

She wasn't surprised to be honest and if anything it gave her a small sense of amusement, excluding Leon who seemed to be the only person with their emotions somewhat in check, the group combined had the emotional maturity of a child, she could tell how awkward they were from here and so instead of moving to hug them all as like her usual greeting she settled to send them a small smile in acknowledgement before taking her seat once again. She couldn't blame them for not wanting to comfort her, hell she didn't even know how to comfort someone. Her go to would be to offer alcohol but she felt that was extremely unacceptable in a church.

As she sat another familiar face joined the group and she looked towards Wigs as he took a seat on her other side. She listened to what he had to say before giving a small smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes "Dont worry about it, it's not important" she told him, her voice soft, afraid that if she spoke any louder the breaking of her tone would be more obviously heard.

Brooke had felt no comfort since that night, her mind constantly spinning with the "what ifs", the voice continuously telling her it was her fault and the sheer pain of it all burning through her being but while they were at the funeral and Jakes body was within reaching distance she found that being in her friends presence allowed her a glimpse at that comfort she seeked, the pain dulling by a miniscule and the feeling that she could get through this was finally present. She knew that if she looked towards the coffin it would be back to square one and so she kept her attention on anything but that, on anything other than the elephant in the room and their reason for being here today. As her eyes scanned her friend group she noted that Tiger and Juno were not yet present, biting her lip she turned to look towards the entrance before turning back in her seat to face the front. She knew that Juno would show up aware that she was probably outside but Tiger, she was unsure if Tiger would even show today, having not spoken to him since he vanished from their lives without warning. Deciding she had enough going on than to dig up the pain from the past as well, Brooke let the thoughts drift from her mind as her fingers grasped the hem of her sleeve once more.

Her hand subconsciously found her pocket as she pulled out the piece of paper she had written her eulogy on, the neat handwriting scrawled on an A4 page she had pulled from her notebook earlier that day, nice words on Jake's life and the person he was, words to make his family proud and reminisce on the good boy that he was, intentionally leaving out the words that were left unspoken, the questions and facts that haunted Brooke. She twirled the folded note in her fingers before turning towards Wigs again "are you still speaking?" she asked him.



 








minho kang










  • mood
    Made a right fool out of yourself, you know that?


    location
    At the funeral


    mention
    Jake, Leon, and She-Devil (Michelle)











Give me your loneliness and I'll give you mine

“Your pant leg shouldn't show your ankles when you're standing. Hope you kept that receipt.”

The taunt came from behind, but he didn’t need to turn around to figure out who it was. Michelle. A heaviness dropped into the pit of his gut before bobbing in the waters of his stomach like a buoy, rocking back and forth with the motions of the waves. Had it been the sight of the tears of his friend that caused this feeling? Oddly, no. Had it been the glance towards the perfectly sculptured wooden craft that would contain the decaying remains of his best friend? Surprisingly enough, no. For it had been the voice of the damn girl that kept running laps in his mind at night, and during the day, and at any given moment when he wasn’t thinking of something else. Her feet dug into his grass, embedding a clear path to gleefully track around in a predictable pattern. The voice of the girl who was the root of regret and often the main star in his stories to his therapists.

Minho’s dark eyes finally tore away from the casket and looked down at Michelle. A half-assed scowl ran across his face, releasing a softly breathed ‘tsk’. “You’re one to comment on fashion choices” he swiftly responded; a game of cat and dog only to continue progressing as they spoke. “You did realise we’re at a funeral, right? And not a nightclub?” He turned to her, his whole body pointed in her direction before bending at the knee ever so slightly. Palms pressed upon his knees, he attempted to narrow down the twenty-eight-centimetre difference between the pair so he could look at her dead in the eye. “Actually, children shouldn’t be at nightclubs. Speaking of children - where is your guardian? You’re far too young to be roaming around by yourself.”

As he spoke of a ‘guardian’, his head popped up to try and catch sight of the person lingering on his mind. Minho had never liked Andy, and it was pretty evident from the exaggerated sighs or eye-rolls whenever someone spoke about him, or the man had his back turned from him. But, I suppose if there was a day to act like everything was at peace and he didn’t want to rip his eyelashes out after spending more than a minute in the same room as him, it would be today. As he began to gaze around dramatically, putting on quite a show for the petite girl before him, Minho did catch the eye of someone; Jake’s Aunt. Who was staring at him like he had just walked all over Jake’s grave, placed up a tent and was prepared to spend the night sleeping over the bones of her nephew’s remains.

Minho stood up tall once more, lowering his head slightly to bow in the direction of the Aunt with sympathetic eyes. Well, that was great. His hands found the edges of his jacket, fiddling them lightly as he could feel his heart beginning to race from a combination of making a fool out of himself not only in front of Jake’s family but in front of her. In classic Minho style, he released a breathy, exaggerated sigh before cursing softly under his breath, “Aish… ssi-bal”. He had already done enough damage at this funeral for today. A glance at Michelle, Minho stood in silence for a second or more, trying to calculate a way to recover from his downfall. There was no answer to the equation. “Aishhh…” he once again groaned under his breath, turning to catch sight of Leon moving towards the chairs to sit down.

Without another word, almost too embarrassed and stubborn to recover, Minho began to move towards the chairs that Leon had been aiming for. Surely, he thought to himself as he sat down next to his friend, this has to start soon. Let’s get this over and done with. A nudge to his leg, along with Leon calling him an asshole with cheek, caused Minho to mischievously glare at the boy, raising and lowering his brows. If there was one thing Minho was good at, it was hiding away and never having to process emotions. Unhealthy? Exceedingly. But did it work for him? Well, for the time being, it was.

As he adjusted himself in the seat, leaning forward slightly and placing his elbows onto his thigh as he clasped his hands, he could sense the chair next to him was unused. He didn’t realise it until it was far too late that automatically his eyes had travelled to find Michelle. And once he had caught her eye, his own motioned towards the chair next to his own. Now, why did you do that? She hates your guts those inner demons cursed him, causing Minho to press his lips together harshly before turning his attention back to Leon. “How… uhh…” Minho could feel a crackle in the back of his throat as he spoke, taking a moment to swallow thickly to push it back down once more “How long do these things usually go for?





coded by weldherwings.
 
Last edited:






microissant



  • .






scroll


Michelle’s focus was only on the tallest idiot in the room. She was holding her own well as she felt like she always did when Minho was in a ten foot radius. She hated him, everyone knew that. Not even some weird brother-sister dynamic that was secretly sweet when no one was watching, ever since “the event” he’s been on her shit list, even below Tiger.

Especially below Tiger.

“No, fucker-” She spoke brasen words before meeting Brooke’s teary gaze… and then to the shiny casket of their friend. For just a second, Michelle considered continuing on with whatever insult she kept in her back pocket before a cough reeled her back into the situation at hand. They were at a funeral. For their close friend. Just as she shifted to leave, so did Minho, and she didn’t care about him enough to look to where he was going to avoid their inevitable screaming match. She was too prideful to be the one to turn around to look at him anyways, spotting her parents walking in with her little brother. Her mom was already bawling her eyes out with the theatrics while her dad let his red eyes show the same expression although Michelle could see through the dead eyes. Ben, on the other hand, wasn’t a crier - just like Michelle. Instead his hands was rubbing against the index cards he had ready to go, she could feel the weight his lungs held inside to force himself in. She forgot for a second that Jake was a friend to Bennett too - not as close with Ben always being a student athlete for all four seasons, but still friends.

“If you make my mascara run, I swear. . . ” She was making an attempt to be her normal self, only to flinch when her father’s mouth escaped a single tsk of annoyance of her presence. The same vocalization that meant she was in trouble when they got home as a child made her uneasy. It was still the only trick her parents still kept control of her - the subtle bad memories. Ben only gave his sister a sympathetic smile before signing, “I won’t.” He had seen Tiger when Juno exited out, deciding to keep his sister distracted from looking back by continuing on with the language their parents were too embarrassed to learn, “If I do, make you cry, you have to make breakfast tomorrow.”

“Deal.” Michelle let out the first sign of laughter in the whole funeral home out of her lips, giving her favorite brother a hardier hug before her parents scurried him away into the pew to avoid associating with the madwoman who laughs at a funeral. Michelle made her way back around to her friends, eyes immediately catching with Minho, and keeping a straight face to first greet the other boys. She sneaked in the default hugs she gave to every male friend - minus Minho obviously, and a throwaway compliment, “On time and looking all snazzzyyy.” She walked backwards to the seat Minho assigned to her, doing a little dance now that her parents decided she was the clown of the century. She could tell she was overcompensating for the minus one in the group, sitting pretty and proper beside her most annoying tree asshole of a friend.

“Suit shops measures and tailor all suits as a standard. I was just saying they fucked up your suit. I don’t want to see you get jipped by some assholes. I’ll return it for you if you want.” Michelle explained even though she forced herself to stare forward just to avoid making eye contact with him again. It also meant Michelle forced herself to watch the coffin of her friend and the cluster of people who were braver than her to say their goodbyes.





Little Nothing
Worst Funeral Ever




/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */
© weldherwings.
 
description of overdose, drug use, domestic violence
wigs
  • .
scroll

at the sound of her voice, wigs could only stare at his shoes. stupid leather shoes–not even the cool punk kind; just a half-size too small and fit only for an occasion as morose as this. an absence of poise kept him away from her eyes–for safety from his own emotions. it felt cold, but it was all too difficult. her words created a terrible picture on their own and wigs knew she was close to crumbling. he’d heard it before in the way her voice went up a little at the end like those ghost melodies in the background of a favorite song. pretty, but frail. painfully frail.

…

the last time he’d properly heard them was the night he’d found brooke on the steps of their apartment complex. instead of smoking in his own apartment, he felt it was time for a change of scenery after nearly cooping himself inside for over a week. he took the stairs this time, quickly making his way down until he reached the next floor and found brooke crying. for a moment–it was as if she was crying so hard, but stopped at the sound of footsteps. the girl didn’t even look up to see who was behind her; just halted the emotions until the stranger passed by like nothing happened–like most people would.

wigs made himself known and brooke just couldn’t contain it.

he’d hit her that night. a bruise already red and splotchy forming over her cheekbone and spreading to the arch of her eyebrow. not only that, but marks on her wrist–as if he’d had such a tight grip on her it left a mark. thoughts of the violent conflict evoked immediate disgust–pure anguish on the cusp of disbelief about his own friend doing something so awful. jake was always really strong–naturally built in stature even now at a nearly 40 pounds lighter than he was before they’d started spiraling together. he’d never use his strength over a girl. no way.

but he had. and it prompted wigs to do something about it immediately. brooke herself was even hesitant–the look in her eyes as if she was scared of the outcome. though, he assured her he had to talk to him. what happened after they’d made it down the hallway and into their unit was one of the most sickening he’d ever experienced.

jake was sprawled on the floor, still halfway in the chair that had seemingly fallen over with him. “shit. the narcan. where is it?”--in hushed tone, scanning his eyes around the messy room. her response was as if she’d never been informed by jake prior that narcan injections were even supposed to be around.

you fucking asshole, you don’t have narcan on you? idiot. idiot. idiot.

wigs’ first instinct: close the door. no need for others in the building to be alarmed if a person were to catch a glimpse. it looked bad enough already–obvious signs an addict living in the unit (much like his own place just a floor above) but the shattered glass on the floor paired with a girl’s visible bruises were not as easy to explain.

brooke, in her already vulnerable state, started to cry–panicking and fumbling around for her phone on the bed; jeering out the strong suggestion they ought to call an ambulance. at the mention of 911, wigs was quick to shut the idea down entirely–taking a deep breath and kneeling over his friend with a pillow forced under his neck.

the rest of the night was some sort of a blur. he remembered the chest compressions. jake, cmon. please. fucking wake up. he remembered a bit of muttering he couldn’t keep to himself, growing desperate for a sign of life back in the cold, bluish pink jake had become. and finally a gasping breath followed by a pulse. the event had only occurred a month before january 9th.

…

wiggy looked over at brooke, unsure of what to say next. clutching the piece of paper in her hands, she finally met eye contact with him and it hurt the way he ancipated it would.

brooke was so close, but her gaze into his eyes was miles away from this place.

before he could answer her question, michelle dawned in.. funeral chic? –made an appearance with a small greeting towards him to which he instinctively met her hug and offering a "hey". her expression took wigs out of the misery for a split second. sitting back down as the two girls greeted eachother, the train of thought left his mind.

“god. i’m.. not ready for this speech. and i refuse to look at the card, you know–coz i know it’s gotta be totally incoherent.” he said with a small chuckle. wigs officially had the worst handwriting out of anybody in the group now that jake was out of the picture. the once disputable bout of competition had a crowned winner, though not really as satisfying of a win.

“i think i wrote something about the time jake and i rode the ferry to long island, trying to catch up with that scrawny dude who stole your phone–remember?--and like how the guy ended up dropping a stolen wallet too and it was jake’s idea we give the guy a little money and turn the wallet into the police–i mean we told his parents we did and bought the dude a meal since he ended up being homeless. and that was kind of true if half eaten beef jerky counts–” wigs continued, actually finding something to laugh at–unknowingly distracting him and brooke from the depressing air. “leaving out the part that we were drunk off our asses and totally kept the wallet all for ourselves.”

wigs smiled at the memory though a little fucked off. they were kids though, only juniors in high school growing up on the streets of brooklyn–not much was to be expected.

well, at least his speech wasn’t going to all be gloom and doom.

















angeles - elliott smith




/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */
© weldherwings.
 













Juno Belrose
the entomologist
























i wanna be sick




funeral home car park



[/tab]




I'll fuck you up if you're mean to bugs
Juno stepped back.
God, that was awkward.
Tiger wasn't exactly huggy. For Juno, it depended on the day, and today sucked. She needed as many hugs as she could get. She crossed her arms as he seemed to think of what to say, how to explain himself. Then, he smirked at her.
She huffed, shoving his shoulder. It wasn't exactly enough to hurt him, it was more of a way to get some of her anger out.
"You didn't tell me anything! You didn't even text me back!"

She swallowed. She couldn't make a scene at Jake's funeral. Tiger leaving without saying anything felt like such a small problem compared to everything else going on. She was angry, but... she was more upset over how much she had missed him. She ran a hand through her hair, averting her gaze.
"Sorry..." She muttered.

She glanced up at him as he spoke up again. Bug thing... It wasn't a bug thing.
"It's called entomology," She told him, folding her arms to keep them warm, "I... I applied to work at a butterfly house, but... I don't really want to start something new right now."

She looked over her shoulder as he nodded towards the group. Don't you want to come in, too? She didn't want to play dumb. Obviously, he didn't want to see them, and it was pretty clear why. If she was mad at him, everyone else would be furious.
"You can't miss Jake's funeral..." She muttered, fidgeting with the lace at the bottom of her shirt, "At least... I think you'll feel worse if you don't come inside."

She glanced back at the funeral home again. The group were starting to take their seats, she knew she should probably do the same... God, she felt sick. The idea of being trapped in there, staring at a casket. She couldn't leave. How bad would she look if she walked out of her friend's funeral? She was sure at least some of the people in that room had heard what her parents had to say about her... What did it matter what they thought? Her friend was gone. That was way more important... Her hands became more frantic as she fidgeted, her eyes seeming to glaze over as she became lost in her own head. Imagining all those strangers looking at her... hating her... Did Jake's parents know? Did Jake know?

"I don't want to go in, either."







/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.
 
Last edited:
LEON PIERCE
not understanding that youre a horrible person doesnt make you less of

a horrible person
the sinner
fell asleep and forgot to die
the weekend
— mac miller
mood: i hate this ty
location: front row seats at the funeral baby
interactions: weldherwings weldherwings - Minho
scroll
Leon let out an exhale, eyebrows shooting up as he stared at the ground momentarily in response to Minho's question. He'd been to funerals before - a perk of growing up the way he did, he supposed - but none quite like this. He hadn't been to a funeral that actually felt like a loss rather than a fulfillment of a premonition.

"Honestly, bro," they began, finding their voice as they leaned forward, elbows resting on knees and wrists overlapping. Cocking his head to face his roommate, the corners of his lips downturned ever so slightly as he said "No clue, but I'm hoping like a half hour."

Even half an hour of this would feel like an eternity. A drawn out, unnecessarily cruel punishment to force them to stare their mistakes in the face. To really feel the gravity of the death before them. The preventability of it all.

It took a great deal of self control to shut his mouth and not tell Minho what he really thought; that however long it took was too long, that it shouldn't even be happening, and that they all deserved every miserable second of it and then some.

They weren't usually one to sugarcoat, but that seemed a bit too loaded.

He found himself wondering if anyone else felt that way. Like they didn't do enough for Jake. Like they had a direct hand in his death. Maybe if Leon hadn't smoked with him so much, or introduced him to that one shady dealer, or done this or that or a million other things. It was the least any of them could do to pay a little more attention, and they just... didn't.

And now Jake was dead. And Leon had the nerve to be inconvenienced by his funeral with Jake's crying girlfriend less than five feet away from him, and his sobbing family members in the same room.

Hell, he was too much of a selfish pussy to even give a speech.

Leaning back in his seat, he folded his arms over his stomach, looking once more towards his friends, and the crushing weight of Jake's absence - so close still, but cold and dead - hit him all over again.
© reveriee
 








minho kang










  • mood
    nah nah nah nah no seizures today don't ruin this for me brain


    location
    At the funeral


    mention
    Jake, Leon, and She-Devil (Michelle)











Give me your loneliness and I'll give you mine

trigger warning: absence seizure

“I'm hoping like a half hour.”

Half an hour.

He had to get through half an hour of sitting before his best friend’s body, laid stone cold, lifeless. Half an hour of listening to people speak about how amazing Jake was; a true gentleman with zero flaws despite the cause of his death. Half an hour of sitting around, listening to people weep with sorrowful remorse for the death of yet another young, tragic soul. Half an hour of making sure he was on his best behaviour, with all eyes glued to the front row, and not to cause any sort of scene.

The immense, crippling fear of an impending seizure tickled the back of his brain, causing a slight shiver down his spine. Both he and Leon knew that emotions often helped to trigger his seizures. Absent and drop seizures came and went like the shoreline kissing the sea, but it was the larger ones - the ones that caused scenes - that were draining and often left him exhausted both physically and mentally. It wasn’t often he could feel the larger ones upon him, but when he did, Leon often took it to his advantage to ask much more personal questions to his dear friend. After all, it was helping him to progress with the warning signs and would trigger the seizures much earlier. He was helping Minho by trying to pry into the incredibly secretive boy’s life and emotions.

This was how he was going to be in trouble today. Emotions. While people around him wore their hearts on their sleeves, Minho sat with intentions of continuing to push any and all bubbling sadness or grief. At the moment, he just felt… numb. But here and there, small waves turned in the pit of his stomach, and he knew that there was some source of grief struggling to make its way through. Tears fell from the eyes of those around, allowing their grief to crawl into their systems, and all Minho could do was sit with fear weighing down on his shoulders.

With Michelle gracing her presence once more, Minho was actually surprised that she had decided to come and sit next to him. Sure, he had motioned it to her. But he didn’t think she would actually come and sit down. As she approached, his posture shifted upwards and upright as he sat in the chair with a straight posture. Hands clasped before him, allowing them to dangle between the space between his legs, Minho swallowed thickly with anticipation. He knew something was about to come out of Michelle’s mouth. He could already sense the venom in the air, lingering as the girl sorted herself out upon her chair.

And there was her voice.

But instead of a hurtful, sour tone, her voice came with some sort of… he wasn’t sure what it was, but it wasn’t out of a place of malice. Dark eyes travelled from watching his hands that nervously fidgeted before him to the face of the girl as she spoke. The lack of eye contact was nothing new, but it was a rather odd sensation to be the witness to it while she was saying something somewhat nice. After all, she was saying she would return the suit for him. At that moment, Minho’s words slipped from his lips before he took a second to process them. Honestly, it was typical of him to do so. A rather delightful trait of his.

“I have to return it anyways.” his response with only the slightest of cheek as he elongated the word have. It only dawned on him after he had said it that he was in fact speaking to someone who had not been in the conversation that took place only last week. In fact, the only people present for this conversation were himself and Leon as they searched through their wardrobes in turmoil, trying to find something to wear. A wave of embarrassment flooded through his body at the sudden realisation that Michelle was probably the last person out of their friendship circle who knew - or even cared - about the financial woes Minho was finding himself in as of late.

After spending a large sum of his savings on a new trial medication for his seizures, the vial just somehow disappeared without a trace. Two months' worth of incredibly expensive medicine which was meant to help his doctors understand his epilepsy better just… gone without a trace. So, the concept of going out of his way to purchase a suit that he would probably never wear again was not in alignment with the savings beginning to suffocate in his bank account. Pressing his lips together as if to physically stop himself from saying anything else that could come off as passive-aggressive or rude, Minho brought his attention back to his hands that twiddled anxiously before him.

“It’s a rental”, he painfully explained to her, his words borderline mumbled as he fought through the sheer discomfort. Minho straightened his arms slightly, relieving the sleeves to awkwardly pull up. It was quite apparent that the suit was not created nor fitted to someone of Minho’s height or body type. “It was the only one I could find that could somewhat fit in such a short amount of time”

Ugh. He hated this. He felt almost vunerable.

Shaking his head lightly, he brought his arms up and crossed them over his chest as he leaned back into his chair. Eyes that were once focused on his hands, were now forced to look upwards towards the casket before him. Thump oh, God. There it was. Grief struck a chord in his heart as his eyes danced along the crafted wooden structure. Minho thickly swallowed, hoping that in doing so, whatever emotion was trying to break loose would be thrown behind prison bars once more. His mind searched through its archive, attempting to find something - anything - to release the awful emotional tension building up within the room's atmosphere. “Jake would’ve been pissed” Minho spoke, unsure if anyone around him was actually listening as he spoke as his eyes remained glued to the casket. “He told me in high school that if he ever died, he wanted a black casket with… with uh… a…”

A pause.

He had once read a quote that said Every second we live is precious. You’d think it was a load of crap until those seconds were taken from you without warning, without the opportunity to fight back, and without any memory of what those seconds held. These eight seconds that brought Minho to a pause were eight seconds he could never reclaim ever again. To an observer, it would look like the boy had simply gone off on a daydream adventure or trance, or just forgotten what he was going to say. But for Minho, there was no recognition of time lost. Like a CD skipping, in a blink of an eye, everything had changed. The volume of the room had considerably grown with a jump, the light coming from the window had suddenly illuminated their surroundings with great power, and there was a drop in the pit of his gut.

Shit

A deep exhale poured from his nose, a breath that he had been unintentionally holding in as the seconds had gone by. He could feel the heat forming up his cheek, a mixture of embarrassment and an after-effect of the absence seizure that had just taken place. Just shrug it off. It didn’t happen. I’m not seizing up today. his mind raced, parading around as it attempted to take hold of his disorientated brain, grabbing it by the reigns once more. Now, what had he been saying?

“Umm… black casket with a lightning strike on the side” He managed to trail on as if nothing had happened. “A… a red lightning strike. He said red goes faster… Not…. Not sure where he thought he was going in a casket where you would need to go faster.”






coded by weldherwings.
 







Brooke Williams



  • .



Please stand....

The church stood in unison as the Priest stepped up to the altar and began to address them all. The usual greeting, inviting them in,welcoming the family and sharing the feeling of loss and celebration of life. It didn't matter what religion anyone was, everyone was here to say goodbye to Jake, beliefs aside, this Church was not an ordinary Sunday mass it was Jakes mass, their loss and Jakes celebration of life.

Brooke watched silently as the priest blessed the coffin, not that it mattered he was probably going to hell, they all were. Now don't get her wrong she didn't think they were evil or deserved to go but they had all done stuff they weren't proud off, the lines can be blurred so easily but she doubted the ticket to heaven was easily got, if going by scripture then you have to be perfect, to live the life of an idelliac angel, never straying from the word of the lord, never living ...

Please be seated ...

Like a rehearsed dance the entire crowd sat in one delicate motion. The priest was the puppeteer and they were the puppets. Stand up ... be seated.. kneel.. a wave of movements never ending one after the other a relentless workout in the eyes of the Lord. Like mindless sheep in a heard it helped to keep the pain at bay, the swirling guilt and blameful thoughts quietened from the repetitive movements, almost allowing her body to go into autodrive as her thoughts shut down and for once she felt what some might describe as "Inner peace", a sort of quiet, empty space but good things don't last and the sound of Jakes younger cousin Abby breaking down during her prayer of the faithful brought Brooke right back to the pain and misery surrounding her. Tears pricked at her eyes as she looked up in time to see a crying Abby being helped back to her seat by her mother, sniffling as she walked. A deep breath and a clenched fist, Brooke tried to calm her breathing, pushing back the cries before they came.

Her name said softly followed by a elbow to the ribs finally broke Brooke from her thoughts, confusion lasting only for a second as she looked at Wigs but realisation quickly settled, it was time. Biting her lip, Brooke slowly stood up, clenching her speech in her hand to try and stop the shaking of her fists.

I cant do this....

Standing on the altar, Brooke turned to look up at the crowd, her eyes looking everywhere but at the coffin, at him ...

I'm going to be sick ...

Clearing her throat, Brooke looked down at the note shaking in her hand before she placed it on the podium, her fingers found the hem of her sleeves, tightly gripping them within her fingers, pulling the sleeves down subconsciously to hide the healing bruises as she willed herself to do this, to just get through this.

"Jake, I want to start this by saying, I love you, I always will and you shall live on in my heart.

You were far too young and life is unfair in taking you. I’ve lost the most amazing man, my biggest supporter, my protector and soulmate.

Jake was my best friend for what feels like my whole life and boyfriend of almost 5 years, a big child at heart I honestly didn’t know sometimes if I was his girlfriend or mother, sometimes I was both. Naïve to the world, never liked asking for help but that was Jake. I remember when we first moved into the apartment together, our first time living away from home and Jake decided he was going to cook us a nice dinner, knowing his pride I left him alone but after an hour of listening to him cussing at the oven, I walked in to find him turning all the dials begging it to work. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he had somehow missed the big red button to turn it on and so agreed that it was obviously broken and we needed a replacement, needless to say we got pizza that night and most nights after that. I honestly don’t know if he ever figured out what that button was for but knowing Jake probably not, the washing machine fiasco was even worse but as he always used to say “at least the apartment smells good”. Positivity and always trying to look on the Brightside, it was hard not to be optimistic with Jake around. The type of guy to always look out for his family and friends, he hated to see anyone upset, it seemed his mission in life was to make those around him smile and he did a pretty amazing job of it based on the amount of people here today, it’s clear that Jake touched the lives of many people in his short time on this earth.

He was the most confident man I had ever met, he was always so sure of himself, anything but modest and he had this way of making those around him feel confident too. When his attention was on you, he made you feel important, invincible like nothing could touch you. He was the glue that first melded our group together, he was also the cause of many close breakdown as well with his spontaneous way and reckless ideas such as “his shortcuts” which were never short and never led to your destination, we only did learn to stop taking his directions after getting lost in the woodlands on the way back from the beach. We followed him for 2 hours before eventually making him climb a tree to spot the road, which off course turned out to be the opposite way of where he was leading us. But we all knew what Jake was life, friends for life and so we remain

I will not say goodbye to Jake, goodbye is to finite and I do believe that those we love, never truly leave us. They live on in our memories, they walk beside us, unheard and unseen but always near. So instead, Jake I loved you completely. And you loved me the same. That's all. The rest is confetti."

Brooke's eyes fell on the coffin as she finished, tears flowing down her cheeks as she stared down at the picture of him beaming up at her. She had decided to focus her thoughts on the old Jake, the happier and more caring Jake from school before the addiction took over. For Brooke, Jake had died a long time ago, replaced by a stranger that looked exactly him but Brooke had always held onto the hope that the real Jake, her Jake would come back to her but now he never would.

Suddenly exhausted as though mentally and emotionally drained from life, Brooke slowly made her way back to her seat as she wiped the tears from her cheeks. As she sat down she ran her hands over her face before sitting back in the seat, quickly placing her hands on her knees to stop them shaking as she focused on controlling her breathing so as not to turn into a blubbering mess at the front of the church.

As the next speaker began their speech, Brooke drifted her eyes up to look at the altar as she leaned slightly to her left, her head gently lowering onto Leon's shoulder for a moment as she tried to regain some of her energy and fight in her. She wanted to believe that the hard part was now over but she knew in her soul it wasn't, the hard part was going back to the apartment, seeing his things laid out waiting for his return, the hard part was the rest of her life.






/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.
 
implication of drug use
wigs
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brooke was spacing out, understandably, so he’d given her a light nudge to remind her she was up. it worked though it did more to remind him of his own fate on the stage minutes after her spotlight. wigs watched his friend walk up the short staircase, pausing his thoughts for a moment and feeling her grievance in full.

the lonely stage, a microphone reserved for words he knew–just by the look on her face–were a burden to carry. speaking at your young friend’s funeral was too surreal of an experience–one that few endure. he wouldn’t wish this on anybody. the whole encounter was as erratic as a seesaw, one minute distracted by a thousand different details–struggling to react appropriately to everything going on around; or being pulled away by something light-hearted (if you so choose to let it in). the next moment–fixated on the complete and crushing reality of it all. surreal was the only word wigs could really settle at. it was the only one that made sense to describe these strange conflictions.

wigs didn’t look down at his hands, nor directly at brooke but instead at the clouds above her in the window and the outline of the city beneath them. the long windows set a lovely scene for an affair so dreary.

as she spoke, he kept his face stoic–listening and watching anything that moved even ever so slightly in that small frame of vision. he laughed at her retelling of jake’s attempt at cooking dinner–the goofy face of his best friend appearing at the mention. he even let out a muffled laugh upon hearing her speak on his confidence. he’d had this very conversation with brooke so many times he couldn’t count. it was nice to hear it again.

wigs knew it from the very beginning of their friendship. without jake, there wouldn’t have been wigs. well, he’d still be living but not in the same way–not in the way jake showed him was possible. shy and careful, wigs was an anxious ball of suppression until jake had grabbed his life by the shoulders–shaking him to his core and teaching him things he still had a hard time explaining; things about how to live and what to live by–what mattered most.

maybe jake did save his life.

wigs shook his head, pursing his lips–an almost euthymic look on his face. he peered into the shining spot of sun momentarily showering them with light even covered over in so deep a fog of sky. brooke had finished her speech–with many a positive response by the crowd of people. wigs gulped, offering a reassuring look to her as she made her way back to the seat beside him–though she didn’t so much as look in any direction but the ground. her knees shook with vim.

now it seemed to be his turn to say peace. the man at the alter introduced the next speaker by his real name–oskar rosenberg. wigs was used to it, but not quite like this.

wigs didn’t exactly feel the rush of anxiety, more like pent up despair gradually releasing pressure like a steel kettle on a stove top. the unease was pushed so far down his throat, the shortness of breath in his lungs burned though he tried to look less choked up compared to the weary faces in the crowd. it was futile. he felt the weight of the world on his heart.

the mahogany pedestal was the first place he looked, putting both of his hands on the wood before taking out his paper–his thumb already finding a chip in the wood to distract himself from the pressure.

he looked at his notes blankly–scribbles of remnant thoughts from last night’s rive barely gave him the idea of where to start. well, the first word on the page was ‘fuck’. as long as he didn’t start it with ‘fuck’ he’d probably figure it out. how do i NOT start it with ‘fuck’?

wigs placed the crinkled note paper on the ridge of the pedestal and looked up.

“....shit.” he started, hearing a couple familiar chuckles from the crowd gave him the strength to smile a little. with the smile came a painful chuckle out of himself.

the smile disappeared into focus and he decided the only way he could properly continue was by locking his eyes on that little notch and letting the words out as his brain conjured them up. in a comical, yet sentimental fashion he began his speech.

“i met jake at a really strange part of my life. uh, third grade. see–being a homeschooler you just don’t get to know a lot of things. people actually tell you whatever they want ‘cause you’re just so gullible, you know. jake did a lot of that for sure, but he showed me alot of real things too. stuff i don’t think i could forget if i tried.

can’t really talk about all of them in full right now, we swore a few pacts. ill say we definitely weren’t angels growing up.

all i know is he made this great impact on me, on so many people. if you knew the real jake, you could tell he was genuine at heart–under all the jokes and recklessness. it’s hard.. finding people you don’t feel like a total idiot or a freak next to–luckily for me he was both so,”

wigs looked up for a moment, the first time since he stepped foot on stage. he caught a few smiles which compelled him to keep his eyes down once more, but he guessed it wasn’t going so bad.

“i didn’t really understand jake until i saw how he was with other people. he never switched up. jake was always true to himself–he had no other face, but his own. i don’t think he could act if he tried. people loved him for that.

he loved his family. and his friends. he went out of his way for anyone, anybody who needed something he’d try his hand at it. he fought for people. i respected that a lot growing up.

i think i actually learned the importance of loyalty from him–i watched him love the fuck out of everybody. love the fuck out of life and living it and waking up happy just to breath another day. jake–a man with so many people he cared about; friends he wanted to share with others just because he had a hunch they’d get along so well. and they always did somehow. jake opened doors for people i don’t think he knew in full. and jake knew me better than myself sometimes. jake was the brother i never had.”

wigs paused, sniffling–his face stayed gruff and still turned away from the crowd. if this was graded, his communications teacher would be handing him a F.

“he, uh, ..if he knew..how many people came to this some of you might probably think he’d be laughing his ass off right now–and he would, but more than that he’d be really really happy. really surprised.

i’m not really.”

he gulped, feeling is throat grow dry. wigs was feeling itchy and sick to his stomach as the speech wore on, trying his hardest to remain hidden behind the emotion of it all just to mask any doubt. he felt pale–he hoped he didn’t look it. the cravings for smack didn’t help his sanity in the moment and the physical toll always affected his mental immediately upon notice. wigs bit the inside of his cheek, drawing a bit of blood and feeling tears welling up above his already red waterlines. “i miss him so goddamn much.”--another pause as if he had more to say, his knuckles white as bone and unknowingly gripping the pedestal.

he wanted to say more. not willingly, but he was plagued with a guilt he wished could be taken off his chest. wigs hadn’t spoke about jake in this light to anyone, not even brooke besides small words in passing. trying to express how he felt about it–about him, and how he felt it was his fault. it was too much. he could talk more about the good times–he remembered scribbling instances to mention, but he didn’t feel right about any of it.

losing his best friend to a drug habit they both shared, it was sad. it was dark. nothing about how he felt right now would be appropriate to speak on.

he felt a constricting weakness in the presence of a crowd he knew just wouldn’t understand. they couldn’t. it wasn’t so easy to explain.

or maybe it was just too soon.

either way, he was wrong. he couldn’t do it.

wigs didn’t even look up. he walked straight off and around the pews to turn the first corner for the bathroom. it was sort of embarrassing, but he didn’t care. if he stayed on that stage any longer he might’ve thrown up from all of it. wigs opened the first stall, sitting on the toilet and reaching in his jacket pocket for the little plastic wrap,

red bic lighter

and foil.

















stupidity tries - elliott smith




/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */
© weldherwings.
 
Last edited:








minho kang


















Give me your loneliness and I'll give you mine

trigger warning: absence seizures + atonic seizure

Half an hour.

It was all it was going to take. Just half an hour of sitting there, paying attention, and not letting anything affect him. Half an hour of pretending that he was just another normal human being, coming to celebrate and remember the magical, happy moments of his best friend’s life. But it seemed that half an hour was far too much for him to handle. It felt like his brain was on a loop; a poorly stored record from the seventies, riddled with scratches and morphed lines that cause nothing but jumps within the songs and a continuous loop starting and ending with a soul-tingling scratch.

One by one, people began to walk up to the podium and would pour their heart and soul out. Minho tried to concentrate and listen carefully to each delicate word that fell from their lips. But much like a Christian-edited version of Harry Potter, main key points that created the plot and flow of these stories were left unheard or blanked out. He had prayed that he would be able to make it through this service without having one seizure. And yet he sat there, barely five minutes into it and already had dealt with four of them. A cluster of absence seizures marched towards his brain and grabbed their number as they waited to take their turn. Waiting patiently before rising up and taking their turn in, creating havoc in his brain. They came and went like the shoreline kissing the sea, and with each gradual pull of the water, they left behind a parting gift for him; an overwhelming sense of dread, guilt, embarrassment, and resentment towards his own damn brain.

Brooke came to sit down from her speech; something which Minho had only caught maybe one or two sentences of. He almost wanted to lean over and question Leon if there would be a recording of the service so he could play catch-up later down the track. Wigs was called upon next, to which Minho watched as his friend made his way to the front. For a split second, he envied Wigs. Brooke had asked him if he wanted to say something - anything - at the funeral about Jake’s life. He had initially agreed and had even compiled a handwritten speech which he had intentions of reading to the service. That was until he was practising it before the mirror of his bedroom. Sat upon the floor, he began to talk about how Jake was the first person to ever really feel like family after the passing of his own mother. How Jake was the brother he never had, and while he was in and out of foster families, Jake was the only real family member that stayed consistent and loved him consistently - regardless of anything that may have been happening. How even days before his passing, Jake cared for him when he was going through his struggles and asked for nothing in return.

But before he could even finish half his lines, he found himself seizing up. He tried to push through, believing that the more he spoke the words out, the less effect it would have on him. It was when he awoke to find himself hunched over, face kissing the floor and a fresh carpet burn etched upon the top of his forehead that he came to the realisation that he wasn’t going to physically be able to do this. No matter how much he wanted to say his final goodbyes to his best friend and to explain to people just how much Jake meant to him, the immense fear of having a seizure before the church overshadowed his willingness to open up emotionally to a congregation. As so as Wigs stood up there, opening himself up and vulnerably inviting strangers into his past memories with Jake, all Minho could think was that could’ve been me had I got my shit together.

“Five… four…”

He could hear the soft whispering of his best friend next to him. Minho went to turn his gaze from Wigs to Leon, prepared to arch his brow and question him about what exactly he was doing. But for some reason, his neck didn’t want to turn. And as Leon finally counted down to one, dark orbs rolled backwards with Minho’s eyes began to flutter closed. It felt as if someone had just rested a steaming sack upon the top of his spine; the weight dragging him down to the Earth beneath him. His body limb, and his neck no longer able to hold up his own head as it flopped forward with gravity taking hold and control.

Minho wasn’t sure how long he was out for.

All he knew was that when he came back, Wigs was no longer on stage anymore and that Leon must’ve caught him as he had slumped forward; the side of his head was now resting upon his best friend’s shoulder. And despite having regained the consciousness his drop seizure had ripped from his hands, Minho allowed himself to remain rested against Leon’s shoulder as he watched the speeches continue through tired eyes. Half an hour was all he had hoped for; half an hour where he could be a proper, normal human being.







coded by weldherwings.
 






mood
a little tipsy and terrified

location
The Funeral Home

tag
Sugarnaut Sugarnaut

outfit
a fancy black suit with a purple tie






Tiger Johnson






Juno shoved his shoulder and even though she was tiny, he felt the frustration behind it. She couldn’t appreciate his joke and he totally got that, he owed everyone an apology but that felt physically impossible for him and would probably never happen. Even though Juno probably deserved that apology more than anyone.

While she looked the other way she mumbled an apology and tried to hide himself feeling terrible about this. There was way more he felt guilty over but it was nothing he couldn’t hide with a drink, reminding him of why he went outside in the first place. He was putting that flask in his pocket from now on.

‘Entomology,’ he repeated her softly as she lectured him about her job, he had no idea what Juno did in her free time and would probably never understand.
‘Great, so that’s a. . Real job, right?’ He teasingly answered, not knowing maybe right now was not the time to be a dick. Tiger was proud of Juno and would look at every single bug she showed him but he would never tell her that he was proud of her. Ever.

Tiger watched her shiver a little and folding her arms while she looked over her shoulder, obviously to the rest of their group, standing together uncomfortably.
In his head they all had a cloud above their head and it felt like their group was now a ticking time bomb and Jake was the only one who could diffuse it.

Juno looked worried after telling him he couldn’t miss the funeral, Tiger felt his courage drop to his feet the minute she started fidgeting with her shirt. He knew his responsibility and though he had a big mouth, he was a coward. Tiger took a big hit of his cigarette before throwing the half smoken tab away. He sighed before wanting to speak but was kind of glad when Juno spoke first. Tiger wouldn’t even mind staying with her right now, feeling kind of glad she was the first person he had seen today but also felt bad because at the same time as he was talking to Jun, all he had been thinking about was that flask coming to his rescue. He didn’t have the guts to see the rest but after he got himself secured, he could conquer the world.

‘I doubt if I feel worse,’ Tiger mumbled, he wished he could comfort her but if anybody was bad at comforting it was him. Thinking about it, maybe Wigs was worse. He wouldn’t be able to comfort a fucking broom.
‘You go in,’ he said, ‘I forgot my jacket.’ Lie. Terrible lie at that. He looked at Juno apologetically, giving her a small smile. He wanted to touch her shoulder, make her feel okay but instead rumbled his jacket, he was already wearing by the way, for his keys.

He arrived a little later at the ceremony, avoiding his friends by sitting two rows down his designated spot. Tiger had a hard time sitting still and keeping it dry, especially when Brooke reminisced about his old friend. He refused to think about Jake for as long as he had been away but this was purely to not feel any guilt. Jake was like a brother to him.
He peeked at his friends on the first row, they were all there. Even Wigs was sitting there. Tiger had to hold himself back from doing anything stupid at this point, with the amount of alcohol and cocaine going through his veins any misstep at this funeral would be the most embarrassing thing ever.
Tiger peeked a little longer at Michelle, hoping she wouldn’t be all too mad that he went away for so long. They always had a special connection but even they had sort of watered down their contact.

Tiger shook up when he heard a silence and saw Wigs coming up, he was doing a speech? Tiger didn’t know Wigs had a speech prepared. Tiger felt an immense amount of guilt and bit his lip to stop any tears from coming, before any words were spoken he fled to the bathroom and ten or twenty minutes later he heard the door open again.

With his shaking hands and the keys shaking he listened carefully while leaning against the door of his toilet although when he heard a lighter flick up he knew exactly who was next to him.

‘Get the fuck out. Wigs?’






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© weldherwings.
 
drug use
wigs
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wiggy wouldn’t squander the first toke, though the sound of that familiar voice only managed to startle him coldly–he inhaled it then exhaled slowly into his response, “of course you’d be in here.” he squinted hard, content with the smoke faithfully creeping through his veins. he was quiet for a moment, squaring his poise on the toilet, situating his elbows on his knees and lowering his head down–careful as to not drop the little blue pill charred in his grasp. the man behind the voice was his roommate and friend for years now. he was used to tiger leaving unannounced just to pop up out of the blue here and there. his most recent absence was comparably not one of those times but, between the stall wigs couldn’t feel an ounce of anxiety around his presence.

adverse to the shock of even hearing from tiger again, only the thought of juno could set sail in his compromised brain waves. wigs himself hadn’t been able to properly acknowledge her since his arrival at the ceremony–only seeing her face in the crowd for a tight moment on that awful stage he’d bolted off of and straight into the bathroom only minutes ago. another flick of the lighter–the sizzling sound hovering below the foil; he sniffled before cutting tiger off, “see june yet?”

perhaps he wouldn’t have began their reconciliation with her mention–to tiger, it could possibly be seen as out of place or maybe...passed over; with juno–a random friend out of the group he just decided to ask about. they were at jake’s funeral so consequently, the topic of jake or the jake-related would be avoided almost entirely. wigs and tiger weren’t ones for emotionally charged conversations–neither of them willingly spoke much about their feelings to anyone at all and especially not to eachother. and if tiger was still the same man he knew, he was most likely near drunk or coked out by now. probably both. how comforting to know they still shared similar ideas.

now high enough to play around with his words more aloofly, he awaited tiger’s response. there was a bit of history between tiger and juno that wigs had intense curiosity in.

slyly now, he wanted to see what he could gain from a conversation about his relationship with juno.

both tiger and minho already had transferred into university a couple semesters before the rest of the group, but tiger seemed to visit brooklyn often after his leave. it was no secret to anyone that him and juno were seeing eachother in some shape or form during this era of time, but tiger had officially revealed it to wigs after they celebrated the younger half of the group’s first night all together.

for wigs, his own relationship was always a bit complicated and poorly corresponsive. he’d first took notice of her on the way to p.e. freshman year. she had had it a period before him–configuring the opportunity to see her leave the gym every day at around 10:08 am. a sort of hallway crush was her unofficial title almost the entire school year until jake had introduced her to him and michelle during their lunch hour one of the last days of freshman year.

in the short summer months following, they’d hung out scarcely–only just starting to gain traction in their friendship the beginning of sophomore year. by then, he’d been distracted by his first real relationship–one he’d barely been able to realize was transpired before it was too late. and no it hadn’t ended up being juno. rather, the girl had transitioned from hallway crush to 'the one that got away' in a blink of an eye. by senior year, wigs felt he ruined his slight chance with her among the chaos of their high school years.

and wigs wouldn’t admit how quelling the news was that one of his good friends was now involved with his crush of years. he’d accepted it was probably his own fault for expending that small window of opportunity–settling on the idea she probably wasn’t interested. that arrogant, solipsistic—depraved egomaniacs were probably her type. half-jokingly, really. he’d leave their relationship as undisputed, carrying on as a friend and trying his hand lazily at the university dating pool–increasingly unsuccessful for obvious reasons.

though when tiger had left university after the fight he’d had with jake, the window didn’t seem so bolted shut.
it wasn’t so much that wigs actively pursued the whole time–like a hungry vulture, swooping in and taking what he’d been anxiously for prior to the tiger’s untimely kill–, but it kind of just…happened. juno and wigs started hanging out more. he started cleaning his damn room just so she could come and hang out. and more crucially, she started coming over to his apartment more–even though she knew tiger was gone.

there wasn’t much reason to get such information besides the fact that wigs and juno had hooked up. once. and almost many times before and after. they had been intimate and seeing each other ostensibly, but also in secrecy from the rest of the group–well at least to his knowledge. and most certainly from the man missing in action the entire time.

it was sensibly awkward for wigs. but at this very moment, a moment he pondered and often despised thinking about, he hardly felt much guilt. maybe it was shitty to have done that to a friend and not feel greatly remorseful. but..some friend tiger had been lately huh? initially, his hangouts with juno revolved around the topic of tiger; the bad and good–mostly the irritating. he had upset her for leaving too, not just himself. wiggy got ballsy on his pills, turning his mouth loose without a filter. he had to choose his words carefully especially if tiger still showed interest in her--not to reveal any hurtful truths.

















somebody that i used to know - elliott smith




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© weldherwings.
 






microissant



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In any other situation, Michelle would neg Minho about his lack of a spine. A rental should sit even better in this case, but she opened her mouth to speak only to see him already disengaging. Pride got the best of her, turning herself to the wall facing them, purposeful on not glancing at the coffin. If she didn't look at it, it wasn't real and part of her felt... bitter? Jealousy is what her mother would call it since Michelle always thought she'd be the first to die. But her mother always saw the scowl on her face as disgust when all she needed was time to sit with the uncomfortable.

Uncomfortable. That's how Michelle felt once the Catholic-forward sermon begun. She wasn't standing and doing all the ridiculous theatrics, even in solidarity of her dead friend... Actually, especially for Jake. She could feel the judgement of the priest as she sat tall and emotionless at the religious blabbering. It was the typical way people perceived her. There was no reason for her to not just "do the thing" because being pretty meant nothing was wrong, but the long drive had hit her weak body finally, and she didn't need to chance the abrupt movement to make things worse.

Michelle's dissociation only wavered with Brooke's move to the podium. Oh man, here we go...

Michelle took in a deep breath to adjust, bringing her left leg to her chest to hold. Her eyes shifted to check judge Minho to avoid eye contact with Brooke as much as possible. She wished in that moment she was the deaf one to avoid the good words Brooke spoke. Michelle disagreed, feeling like Jake was the most insecure person she ever knew - spineless, even before addiction grappled him, and as she was forced to hear Brooke's anecdotes of Jake's stubbornness, the disdain began to fold onto itself. Michelle couldn't think of one good memory she had with Jake, not even in the good days.

"Jake I loved you completely. And you loved me the same."

Jealousy. If Brooke's words were true, Michelle would be jealous but instead guilt settled, making Michelle look over to Brooke as she finished her eulogy, taking the moment to glance at the casket holding in sour feelings and desperation, before following her friend's mistake decision to sit beside Leon instead. She wanted to comfort Brooke now, especially when Michelle held in a very terrible truth about Jake but the room was heavy as it shifted speakers. Michelle didn't know Wig was making a speech, hearing the paperwork fluster in front of everyone. This one would be easier, surely. She brought her legs together, letting her feet peek out the edge of the pew with her arms now cradling herself in the dreaded ambiance.

"I actually learned the importance of loyalty from him."

This was the first time Michelle ever saw Wig crack, not even sitting back down with everyone after his speech to avoid the tears everyone was bound to have. Michelle didn't move to go soothe him, knowing herself well enough that bitter words would escape her. Jake? Loyalty? She was glad she didn't volunteer to make a speech, merry actually as she cleared her throat when Minho came back to the room. She had noticed him like she always did, but Minnie wouldn't want her help anyways. He had Leon.

It was unfortunate timing how Michelle rolled her eyes when Minho eventually glanced her way. She didn't care how he interpreted it when her little brother caught her eye as he moved onto the stage next. His goofy smile eased the room as he spoke into the microphone, "Hello? I'll try my best but uh- let's see if I need help." His nervous chuckle was misplaced but wholesome enough. Most people in the room knew Ben, knew of the Crozier siblings' near death experience, and this was the first time in a long time where people would hear him speak. His annunciation wasn't clear as it used to while he was careful to speak into the microphone to project. Before, he never needed something to echo his voice. You could just hear him laugh too loudly from across the room. Things changed... Too many in Michelle's opinion.

"Thank you, Brooke... and Wig." Ben's smile pressed through as a wall before resetting, glancing at the entire room almost one by one before looking at his sister, and then finally letting his old self seem to be revived. "Jake and I have been neighbors all our lives. The first time we met, my sister dressed me up to play runway supermodel and made me strut down the sidewalk. I remember this tall kid yelling from his porch at us and my sister yelling back. He jumped down to help me "keep my dignity" and I remember how cool his Hot Wheels™ shirt was... before my sister kicked him in the shin. Who knew that was the first of many fights- since that next week they shared the same class... every year until they graduated from high school."

He let there be spaces in his speech to let the small laughs in the crowd settle. Michelle could tell he was faking it - just as much as he could tell she was as she hugged her legs for comfort. "My sister and Jake were destined to be best friends- and when they finally did, I wanted you to be my best friend too, as all little brothers do. Jake,-" Ben stopped to quickly take a sip of water, breaking the facade for strong will and strong speaking skills- something his father would nag about to the deaf in the car ride back for sure. He pulled back a few cards to make his speech shorter, while Michelle decided to lower her head to hide the rest of the time. "You and I share a lot of good and bad memories together. You were the first person I told about my first kiss at sports camp with Alice McKeighan. I was the person you called when you got high for the first time and cried when you discovered rainbow colored bowtie pasta... You were the first person to visit me in the hospital after the car crash... and last year, we went to Coachella together and oh man... I've got enough stories you wouldn't want me telling your future kids for sure..."

Ben was on a roll, talk talk talk. He didn't even catch the fact that Jake wouldn't have kids to tell any story. He was dead and Michelle felt guilty for the way she was all day. She didn't lift her head up to listen anymore. Instead, she let her forehead press onto her knees and her loose bits of light hair dangle while she tried to make sure no one knew she was crying. Nothing like the talk of a non-existing future to make reality set in. "For a long time," Ben's chuckle gave away his tired voice as he continued to the worst possible topic, "I imagined standing up here with you and my sister side by side on your wedding day. It was a silly dream of wanting to call you my brother officially - but I realize now... You've always been. You were a great man, one of the best." Ben had reached over to his almost finished water, glancing over to read his sister before noticing his water status. The microphone catching his throat clearing but not his faint words before stepping down from the podium. Michelle barely adjusted, only to let out a sniffle only the people beside her could hear. She was hardening her heart to face the rest of the world when she was ready. Ben couldn't have known about Jake being a rat infested... rat, and Michelle hoped her baby brother's words didn't hurt Brooke. She doubted Brooke would feel a way about the whole dream her baby brother had because it was simply that. A dream.

Michelle wished all of this was a dream.





I think there's something you should know
The 1975




/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */
© weldherwings.
[/b]
 
Last edited:







Brooke Williams






Brooke's concern for Wigs running from the altar was pushed to the back of her thoughts as Ben began his eulogy, a beautiful speech that really captured the essence of the Jake that Brooke had fallen in love with, the man that he used to be. As Ben finished his speech and moved back to the pews Brooke wiped away the fresh set of tears rolling down her face as she slowly lifted her head from Leon's shoulders.

Her attention was drawn towards the podium once more as the Priest moved up to end the mass "and let us go in Peace" a chorus of amens followed his words before the choir began to sing once more. Movement beside the coffin caught Brookes attention as she watched the pall-bearers lift the coffin and slowly make their way on Jake's final journey.

Final Journey.. into the ground

Her knees felt weak and Brooke genuinely believed she was going to collapse but took a deep breath before forcing herself to stand and walk slowly out after the coffin. Her fingers found the hem of her sleeves as her eyes watched her feet unable to look up incase she made eye contact with anyone. After all she didn't deserve their apologies, it was her fault Jake was dead.

If she thought the funeral mass was hard, Brooke was not in anyway prepared for the burial. The friends stood together at the foot of the grave as the coffin was slowly lowered. Brooke felt weak, her legs were like jelly threatening to give in at any moment and drop her to her knees. In her concentration to remain standing, Brooke didn't even realise that she had been squeezing the rose in her hand as thought it was her only lifeline . It was only after she threw her rose in on the coffin that she became aware of the small cut in her palm from pressing the thorn into her skin. Her eyes looked at the crimson red bubbling through the crack in her skin but the pain never came, she was too numb.. too broken to feel anything more than the crushing heartache and regret that was consuming her.

***********************************

After a few hours at Jake's home house surrounded by his family and friends, Brooke and the group finally broke off and moved on. As she settled back into the couch, Brooke lifted the bottle of vodka to her lips and took a large gulp. She hadn't spoken since they had got back to their den, the memories of all the times they had here as their full group, memories with Jake were crushing her more than she could have imagined.

This was their place, their hideout and the missing person was definitely felt. Brooke took another large gulp of the vodka before passing the bottle on to the person on her left absentmindedly, unaware of who it was and who was even here.

Brooke pulled her bag up on to her lap and rummaged through it before pulling out a packet of cigarettes. Brooke wasn't really a smoker, she tended to have the odd one on a night out but after everything that had happened, she was nearly onto her second packet of this week alone. She placed a cigarette between her lips and lit it, taking a large inhale before offering the packet out to the others in the room. Her free hand found the sleeve of her jacket once again pulling it down between her fingers, a nervous stim, along with her leg shaking that she wasn't even aware she was doing.

Brooke finally lifted her head as she looked around the room at her friends, a soft smile played on her lips but it didn't reach her eyes. Reaching over to the table Brooke picked up the bottle of rum, her plan tonight was to get absolutely wasted and it was a plan that she was definitely going to see through. "No-one else is allowed to die" she suddenly said, her voice was quiet and hoarse due to the crying and lack of speech all day "cause this is fucking shit". Brooke lifted the bottle to her lips and took a large gulp as she drowned away her pain. She could feel the effects of the alcohol starting to hit her and leaned back into the couch once more, placing her head back as she exhaled, watching the smoke swirling above her head.







/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.
 







Brooke Williams



  • .



Brooke lowered the bottle of vodka as she rubbed her forehead with her hand. She leaned her back against the kitchen press as she exhaled, ripping her eyes away from the sitting room as she faced ahead, staring blankly at the wall in front of her.

How long have i been here? What time is it? How is it daytime already?

Thoughts swirled in her mind but left as soon as they came, uncaring for real answers right now, she stretched out her legs as she took another gulp of the vodka, a frown playing on her lips as she realised she was nearly out.

I probably have more somewhere here

Although that required moving from her spot, the spot on the kitchen floor that she had been sitting in since she got back from New York and to her and Jake's apartment at around 2.30am. She had tried to go to bed when she got in but she couldn't get herself to open the bedroom door, to go into the room that she once shared with him, a room full of things waiting as though he was coming back for them, back for her. Similarly she found herself unable to cross into the sitting room, the place where her life changed forever, the place where it... She couldn't face the thought of being in there, in that room, reliving the moment her world came crashing down and so that is why she found herself sitting on the cold tiles on the kitchen floor with only a bottle of vodka for company.

While the funeral had been beautifully done the week at home had been hard. Pretending to his parents and family that she didn't know about his drug taking, hiding the bruising from their last night together so his parents could remember the man he once was and not the the aggressor he had become, keeping up the act she had lived by for the last couple of months along with the incident and his death had really taken its toll on Brooke emotionally , mentally and physically and yet she couldn't sleep, unable to block out the image of his cold body taking over her mind anytime she closed her eyes.

Was it my fault?

She had been unable to shake the feeling that she was the cause of it all, what if she had told someone sooner? what if she hadn't fought with him that night? what if she wasnt so goddam naive as to believe he wanted to get better? What if, what if , what if .... she knew there was no point in thinking about the what ifs, that they would only drive her mad and yet she found herself unable or maybe it was unwilling to block them out, to change the voice inside her head.

Her phone buzzed and her eyes subconsciously shot towards it sitting on the edge of the kitchen table before allowing them to move back to the wall in front of her, she wiped away the falling tears with her sleeve before taking another large gulp of vodka. Her phone had been constantly buzzing for hours now and she was sure it was just more people consoling her on her loss, maybe her friends and family checking in, messages that she just couldn't look at right now.

She knew she shouldn't stay in her apartment drinking by herself but the thoughts of being in a lecture hall or even in the public eye right now made her feel sick to her stomach. Besides she couldn't go out this drunk or on this little sleep, or so she told herself. Although she didn't feel that drunk, granted she hadn't moved in hours since her last trip to the bathroom but she knew that after the amount of alcohol she had consumed within the last 10 hours of being in this apartment she had a feeling that if she tried to stand she would end up falling back down into this spot, this position. It was safer to stay here.

A knock on the door startled Brooke, her breath caught in her throat as she sat frozen like a deer in headlights staring towards the hall.

Maybe they'll leave.

Another knock came and Brooke sighed as she slowly lifted herself off the ground, placing the almost empty bottle on the counter as she walked towards the door. She knew she looked a mess, no makeup on, oversized comfy clothes that were not really chosen for public adventures and she was sure the black circles under her eyes were only illuminated by her tired pale face but she didn't care.

Brooke peeked through the peephole and found herself releasing the breath as she realized it was Minho before she sighed to herself only now remembering he was coming over to help her clear out Jakes stuff from their room. She rubbed her face hoping to clear the signs of any tears before opening the door just enough to allow him to step inside.






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