TEXTS FROM LAST NIGHT

[sanjunipero]

TEXTS FROM LAST NIGHT

Have a little too much to drink last night and send that embarrassing text to your ex?

Did you party a little too hard and send pictures of the wild night... to all of your contacts?

Was 3am when you dusted off the number of that old flame and confessed how much you wanted them back?

Or simply catching up on the adventures that drunk you got into?

Just because heaven is a place on earth at San Junipero doesn't mean it's without any consequence. Be careful checking your phone in the morning, it might have some weird texts from last night.

MAY BE NSFW

Comments

[corve]

that's different. turning over a new leaf?

yeah.
don't wait up.

[fucking_kavinsky]

man, bitches always gotta work for this dick.
i know its a fuckin gift so u might be confused

did u suddenly get ur period? moodswings re a drag

[corve]

i don't think you know the definition of work.
or gift.

[fucking_kavinsky]

good thing im not gonna be the one doin it then
plz. im generous as FUCK

[corve]

like you ever have before.

[ Like he's really one to talk. ]

you also don't know the definition of generous, either.

[fucking_kavinsky]

why should i???

i give ppl wat they want. why u gotta deny that?

[corve]

never hurts to try something new. variety is the spice of life.

i'm not denying anybody anything, man. give people whatever you want.
just make sure you tell them how to get rid of it later though.

[fucking_kavinsky]

did u just fukin cliche me?

now where's teh fukin fun in that?

[corve]

just because it's cliche as fuck doesn't mean it isn't true.

going for the surprise gift that keeps on giving?

[fucking_kavinsky]

everything i do is trying new things, bitch. doesn't mean i gotta work.
bsides, when the fuck do u?

if ur lucky.

[corve]

so that's where you draw the line? good to know.
i work plenty.

[ Or, he used to. Farms don't keep themselves up. Not that it'd need much upkeep now. With Ronan no longer living, he's sure that everything has dropped into that coma-like sleeping state. Dreams can't exist without their dreamer, after all. ]

i'm hoping i'm not

[fucking_kavinsky]

dont gotta work if shit comes right to u.
oh yeah? on what?

[ Kavinsky doesn't know much about that far, or the coma-like sleeping state. He has no idea about Prokopenko ]

always playing hard to get.

[corve]

what a life.
don't worry about it.

that's what you think this is? yeah right.

[fucking_kavinsky]

the fuck u actin all high an mighty for? like ur life is so fukin hard? what happened?
u get poor or somethin? life bringin u down?
right. so nothing, then.

yeah man, i see the pattern here.

[corve]

can you read, shitstain?
i said don't fucking worry about it.

and what pattern is that?

[fucking_kavinsky]

riiiight, u give me shit cause u got nothin to say about ur own.
not worried, sweetheart. fuckin amused is more like it.

u start out all one way and then it gets too real for u and u start acting like a little bitch.
thefuck u keeping shit up for then if ur so over it?

[corve]

whatever, man.

[ His phone vibrates in his hand with the second incoming message and Ronan's surprised he hasn't yet completely destroyed the thing -- though, that's probably less to do with caring about the device itself and more to do with the fact that it's his only means of communication with Adam while the boy isn't there with him.

Stupid piece of shit technology that he's now tied to and the stupid piece of shit currently on the other end of his messages. ]

how's this for keeping shit up: fuck off, lose my number, forget my fucking face and go find somebody else to jerk off to at night.

[fucking_kavinsky]

wow, such a good comeback, bet it took u all night to think of that one

[ And yet, Ronan keeps replying to him. Keeps checking his texts even though he knows it's not going to be Adam. Kavinsky's pretty sure Ronan is still a lying person who lies, especially to himself. Nothing changes. ]

awwww truth hurts, don't it, sweetheart. now that i'm back, u can't stop thinkin about it and it fukin kills u cause u know how much u want it. believe me, shitstain, i've moved the fuck on. there hasn't been a single damn thing here that's ever reminded me of u.

[corve]

only half of it, spent the other half thinking up this one: go fuck yourself, kavinsky.

[ He really hates how he can't seem to stop himself from replying to each and every one of Kavinsky's messages. Something about the knowledge of it sitting there in his inbox constantly draws him in, has him rolling over in his bed in the middle of the night to fire off some stupid reply to the boy. ]

who the fuck said any of that shit is the truth? you still think really fucking highly of yourself, huh? don't tell me that you actually believe any of that bullshit coming out of your mouth.
if you've moved the fuck on then why are you still talking to me? if you're so over me, then fuck off already.

[fucking_kavinsky]

ooh maaan. u got me now. drowning in fukin tears, how do i go on.

[He will text Ronan all night. This is fun for him. ]

ur just provin it over and over gain, i dont gotta tell myself shit. ur doin it all for me.
hey, ur the one telling me to fuck off, to lose ur number. i dont give a shit. its fucking funny tho, how u cant stop even after telling me to. i was having a perfectly nice convo with u till u turned it to shit cuz u realized how deep u still are. boo fucking hoo.

[corve]

drowning in your tears? don't get my hopes up, man.

[ Ronan clenches his phone tight enough in his hand that there's probably a real risk of breaking the stupid thing. At least then he would have actually been rid of Kavinsky -- at least until he saw him again. Which he suspected would end up being sooner rather than later.

Neither of them had ever been good at staying away for long.

He's not "still in deep", or whatever Kavinsky was implying -- and truthfully he probably only ever had been for a fleeting moment in his teenage years (for as much as Ronan touted about how truthful he was, he surely enjoyed lying to himself a lot. It was longer than a fleeting moment during his teenage years.) -- he'd hardly thought about the other until he'd found him here and now he's... ]

i'm fucking done with this conversation.

[fucking_kavinsky]

i kno how hard it is for u to get anything up, so i think you'll be alright.

[ Is there ever such a thing as getting rid of Kavinsky? At this point, probably not. He's tried to get rid of himself, so he knows the feeling.

From where Kavinsky's standing Ronan's still in pretty deep. He doubts it'll ever be any different, though he can probably keep lying to himself as well. At least kavinsky doesn't pretend to be truthful, though. ]

this is about the 8th time you've said that, sweetheart. ur lies are showing.

[corve]

[ He's positively fuming by now. Each message of Kavinsky's that flashes across his screen echoes loudly in his head in the boy's voice and only manages to infuriate him even more. He hates that Kavinsky still knows how to get under his skin, how to worm himself into every one of Ronan's thoughts -- awake, asleep, it doesn't matter, Kavinsky's always fucking there.

Like he's traded out one demon for another and he isn't sure which is worse. ]

will you shut the fuck up already? don't you have something else to do with your time?

8 is my lucky number then.
bye, k.

[ And there goes the phone to the other side of the room -- and likely sporting a nice crack down the screen now, too as it collides with the wall. ]

[fucking_kavinsky]

nah, faggot. i could do this alllll night.

[ What else is there to do? he parties all the time, he fucks even more than that, he gets drugged out, drunk, starts fights. On not so bad days he does other shit like fast driving and sometimes surfing, but nothing nothing has ever been better than getting under Ronan Lynch's skin.

So does he have something else to do with his time? Sure. But why? ]

whoooops, looks like it's 9!
sure. till next time then, bitch.

[corve]

[ Hours pass and Ronan completely ignores the unread messages in his inbox. He knows who they're from and, more importantly, he knows that the second he reads them, his fingers will type out a reply and he'll be indulging in Kavinsky's little game again.

But, as the night goes on, Ronan becomes restless. He can't sleep and when he does close his eyes he can't dream -- and, fuck if that's not something he misses, like his own personal escape, a private sanctuary in a place that only a few know about. So he stares at his ceiling and thinks: about Henrietta, about Adam, Gansey, and Blue, about his BMW, about the few remaining red pills hidden away in an old Altoids container in the glovebox, about the white sunglasses hidden even further behind them.

And eventually, as he always does, about Kavinsky.

Snatching his phone up, he types only 2 words, sending them before regret can rear its ugly head and stop him. ]

you up?

[ Weakness in its truest form. How long had he lasted? Four hours? Maybe five? ]