[attr="class","hkappbody2"]

[attr="class","hkappbody3"]

if i were what you liked

(i wouldn't be me, that's key)

"logan, again?" his eyes shine with dark disapproval, and you frown, grabbing at the collar of his jacket. you miss, arm flopping back down to your side. you try to pull yourself up to lean against him, but struggle, something warm and soft and comfortable bringing your arms down like lead. you haven't slept in a while, now-how long? ah, you don't know...you giggle at his concerned expression, still half-asleep, the unamused frown bleeding into naked worry.
[break][break]
"ahh," you say back, blinking slowly because it feels so nice to just close your eyes. maybe you should do that for a long, long time, and not open them...there's a fancy word for that, right? you just knew it. you try to think of it, but you give up two seconds in, instead blinking. "are you worried? i knew i was too pretty for you to resist. are you going to steal me away, now?"
[break][break]
"i might," he says very, very quietly, and you startle because he can't say that. he can't break that careful, careful dynamic you built up between the two of you, a delicate balance between what should be and what shouldn't be, and you frown at him, or maybe that's the clock behind him. he offers you his hand, which you take after a few mistakes, supporting you with his other arm. he hesitates, suddenly, and you stumble, to which he offers a quick, startled noise that might be one of apology. "are you alright?"
[break][break]
"i'm fine," you brush off, smiling at him. he falters at that, holds his breath in a sharp inhale, and when you butt your head against his cheek curiously, a little softer than intended, he jolts back as if shocked. "you're being weird again."
[break][break]
"and you fell asleep again," he shoots back, and you pout, tugging on his jacket. mean, you want to protest, something fiery flickering up in you and making you able to jolt with a sudden rush of energy. you tackle him, both falling to the ground-and your body protests. sparks of pain travel through your body like sparks, but you ignore it, instead settling for a grin. "wha-ugh, logan."
[break][break]
you let him up. actually, it's more like you grow too tired to actually hold him down anymore, and instead flop uselessly against his chest, laying down on him unceremoniously. he struggles against you, trying to squirm out of your grasp, but you cling to him like he's your lifeline. "logan. let me up."
[break][break]
"mhmm."
[break][break]
he falls silent so quietly that you almost think he's fallen asleep. you're almost asleep, at any rate-your eyelids flutter shut, and you sigh in contentment, breathing steadily. he speaks to you, quietly, and it's in a murmur. "hey, logan. about that thing...you know. i...might. i just might."
[break][break]
no.
[break][break]
that's not fair. that's so not fair, what the hell?
[break][break]
your breath seizes for a moment, and an undecipherable anger wells up in your chest, burning your lungs with a white-hot lick of flame that rushes through you. he can't go and say that, destroy that carefully made balance the two of you had crafted between each other, the careful borders and rules that went unspoken but understood, the ones that you had managed to abide by for so long.
[break][break]
"go to sleep," you tell him, and if you ignore his sudden gasp of surprise-well, that's on him.

(i couldn't like me, sweetpea)

you like music like you like air; breathe it, feel it settle in your bones. it isn't really something that you like because it's this bigger thing, this concept about beauty and time and grace and everlasting messages, because that's sappy and should be thrown to the romantics. instead, you merely like music for what it is: something fun. you like to brush your fingers against the shining keys of your instrument, even if it's discordant and ugly. you like it because you're good at it, because it suits you, because it makes you seem refined even when you're the type of guy who's called trash as he stumbles out of a seedy establishment at two am in the morning.
[break][break]
it's something that you want to do, something that you need to do-as soon as you get home from whatever activity you're at, you head towards music. not only music-your bandmates, too. is it weird? you think that you sometimes-that you really don't like music, that you just like the community and relate to the way their appreciate what they do.
[break][break]
but then you realize that you've been awake for two days straight working on something new that you're positive will sound good, and though you can hear slivers of worry entering other people's voices as you walk by, shadow-smudged eyes tired but glittering with energy and vivaciousness, you're positive that you love it. love this. and yeah, maybe your music isn't the type of thing that makes awe glitter in others' tones as they see you walk by, maybe it's just a "wait, so you do what?" murmur and then a laugh that's at you and never with you, but still.
[break][break]
this isn't poetic. not really-you're terrible at poetry and even worse at diction. sometimes it comes to you, silver-quick like flashes of fish in shallow ponds, but that's fleeting and barely ever there, only around people that make you want to grasp the edges of their shoulders and pull them close, just to keep them near. to make sure they're real.

(can't you see that i'm free?)

(can't you see that i'm free?)