[ since gaby's sudden disappearance, he's been a little more reserved than usual. after solo and then daisy, he'd known it was a possibility but so much so close together is enough to affect even him. it is not something he will admit though and thus he falls back on some less than helpful coping mechanisms.
he fights a little later than usual to work out the pent up energy and anger so he doesn't take it out on anyone (especially daisy) when she comes over. he's typing out a message to her in between fights now while he waits. ]
[ she knows about gaby. it's hard not to know — disappearances seem to whisper through the small collection of displaced souls, and the loss of someone so close to her own is felt even harder.
she's tried not to push, though. she knows it won't do any good. ]
i suppose i will, since you asked so nicely where are you now?
[ well, that was mostly true. he considered it work since he wasn't doing it entirely because he enjoyed it. there was a thread of intel gathering to the whole thing. ]
[ she's bored, mostly. but she's only seen him in the ring the one time, and he hadn't known she was there. plus, she could make a little money, too — and that was never a bad thing ]
[ so now, he was going to have to make sure he won and won handily since really doesn't want to make her watch him get the beaten down so soon after everything. ]
[ luckily, the ring isn't far from her apartment. she doesn't text him when she arrives, but she's careful to find a spot to stand where she can have a good view of the action — a spot near one of the basement pillars, one that allows her to lean up against it, resting her ribs like he's asked her to.
when he climbs in, she does her best to catch his eye. if he's quick, he might catch her head tilt towards a bookie too. the odds are stacked against him by now tonight, possibly due to how many fights he's done; if he wins, she'll make out like a bandit. (if she doesn't, she'll still make out with him.) ]
[ illya isn't one of those people who thinks he has to impress a pretty girl in attendance. he knows he'll able to do that as long as he's competent and focused. he's never really been one to get a big head because, while he knows he's good, he does not gloat.
so, seeing her doesn't change his plan of attack. he is not going to go t this with pomp and circumstance especially since that would open himself up for mistakes. with money and his pride riding on this, he is not going to allow himself to be weak.
but it is not an altogether easy fight. his opponent is fast, resilient and catches him a few times sharply enough that he rocks back on his feet. he recovers quickly and uses his size and reach to advance into his personal space, refusing to relent with his own blows.
his opponent manages to get one last blow in, just hard enough and well placed that it cut his cheek and draws blood. unfortunate. he grabs the other man then, driving his face down into his knee and watching him crumple to the mat.
there. done. he doesn't even stay in the ring long enough for a celebration. he never does but he has more incentive to get out of there tonight. ]
[ watching him fight is … odd. there's a grace to him, even with his bulk; he's light on his feet, focused and capable, each blow carefully choreographed to hurt in just the right way. she can appreciate that, respect it for the talent that it is.
but this time, each blow he takes in return twists at something in her stomach; each time, her gaze stays locked on his face, even as she wishes she could tear it away. watching his opponent draw blood from his face had earned a gasp, loud enough for onlookers to notice (and scoff, mumbling about girls out past their bedtimes, to which daisy scowled back).
she turns away after that, slipping out of the crowd to wait near the back exit for a little peace and quiet to calm her nerves. it's strange to be nervous. she's not the one in the ring. but yet, she is, somehow — and even the digital notice of her winnings doesn't quite calm it.
she'll feel better when she sees him, she's sure of that. but in the meantime, she'll wait. ]
[ when he steps out of the ring, he doesn't see her where she'd previously been standing. he frowns, looking around and guessing that she must have left before things had ended. unexpected but perhaps she'd gotten bored or had something better to attend to before he saw her later.
he spends a little time cleaning himself up since he assumes she's gone. he wipes the blood from the cut on his face and covers it with ointment to stop the bleeding. he showers in the facilities and changes back into his clothes before grabbing his back and heading out.
that's when he sees her, waiting. for him? it has to be for him. ]
I thought you had left already. [ he's pleased that she hasn't but also curious why she's here when she'd wanted to come watch him in the first place. ]
Hi, [ a little chiding, her tone light but voice loud enough to be heard over the din of the next bout of fighting and the crowd's jeers. as he steps into the light, she's able to get a better look at his face — it looks better already, the sheen of what she assumes to be knockoff future neosporin covering over the cut.
obviously, she's gonna touch it. a hand reaches up to skim over his still-stubbled (thank you) face, thumb carefully skirting around the edges of the grease line. he doesn't wince or pull away, so it can't be that bad. she's glad for that. ]
I — well. [ she'd almost lied. she could have said she went to the bathroom or stepped outside to answer a call, but there's no real point in lying, is there? why would she lie to him about this? ] Honestly, I panicked a little when that guy punched you in the face.
[ she hadn't wanted to watch him get hurt again. ]
[ it probably looked worse than it was, honestly. he stays still while she touches his face, barely even feeling a string when she gets near the worst of the cut. the blood is what threw her, he suspects, especially after seeing her reaction to the injuries to his hands so many weeks ago. ]
It is barely even a cut. [ he reaches up to snag her wrist and curl his fingers around hers once she's done a thorough examination of the cut on his cheek. ]
Have you calmed down? [ or do they need to stand there for a little longer until she feels better? ]
[ "have you calmed down," he asks. daisy shoots him a Look, brow raised in silent defiance; she doesn't jerk her hand away, but she's quick to squeeze her fingers around his. she's not a baby. she doesn't need to calm down.
but she won't lie. being told he's okay does put her at ease a little. even if she does rib him a little bit too. ]
Yeah, you better be. [ she's not ready to cry about him being hurt again. ] Do we need to stop and get more of that stuff?
[ he'd look cute with a scar, but it's probably too early in this story for a kylo ren parallel face slash. it's better if his face remains unblemished and attractive for everyone involved. ]
[ she obviously needed to calm down somewhat since she'd come back here to get some air. but, he does not argue that point. he meets her look with the same expression he typically wears and waits for the brief bit of tension to break. ]
No, I have some at the apartment. [ well, he had an entire first aid kit for this and other situations that might arise. you never knew when you were going to get your face cut in a fight or when prompto was going to come by and need you to wrap his possibly fractured wrist. ]
Are you ready to go or did you need to do something before that? [ at least he doesn't ask if she's calmed down again? ]
[ she's fine, you can stop bringing up her admission of weakness now. she got some air, she saw his face, she's holding his hand. she's really good. plus, she's flush with cash now, so that's something. ]
We can go. [ for a brief moment, daisy reflects on how nice that sounds. 'we', no justification required. ] Are you hungry?
[ either way, she's going to go ahead and tug him forward, out the exit door and up the stairs to the street level beyond. it's late (early, this time-flip sucks); the heat is starting to rise. they should really consider getting home or at least getting indoors before it gets too miserable to be outdoors. ]
I am sure there's something on the way to pick up. [ because for all that he'd done well tonight, he doesn't want to spend much more time out, baking in the heat and waiting around for food. there was bound to be something that he could slip in, order and come out with in a short amount of time on the way back to his place. ]
You don't have to come watch again, if you'd rather not. [ it's what he thinks is a gentlemanly out. he doesn't want to be a cause of stress for her anymore than he already is by being himself. ]
I've just needed -- [ an outlet that wasn't constantly daisy. she's still recovering and she'd just come back from being gone to parts unknown. gaby's disappearance shouldn't be on her so he takes it on himself and compartmentalizes. ]
Mm, [ quiet agreement. there's a few places they've frequented that are quick and easy, at least one of which is not the sushi restaurant with a nearby alleyway. there's sure to be something. ] Maybe the smoothie place, they had good lettuce wraps.
[ doesn't matter, really. she'll eat anything. they could eat dinosaur egg oatmeal packets scrounged up from a time capsule if they had to.
and though she nearly opens her mouth to ask if he wants her to come — because she will, if her presence is important to him — he cuts himself off mid-next sentence, and daisy loses her train of thought. ]
What? [ her hand squeezes against his own again. ] What do you need?
That's fine. [ lettuce wraps. were there no places in this city that served actual meat? he could make an exception for sushi all things considered but why would you wrap lettuce around something? lettuce went on things to give him a crunch. food in this time and in this city was strange.
he doesn't answer her query immediately because he knows if he doesn't say what he's thinking in the right way, it could cause an argument and despite the frequency of their arguments, he doesn't actively try and find a reason to fight with her when he sees her. ]
Can we talk about that when we're inside? [ maybe she will forget by then but all he really knows is he doesn't want to speak about his emotional state while they walk. it's hot and he's a little tired from the fights which could be a potentially bad mix. ]
[ there's a part of her that considers saying no. they can talk about it here, she's sure, in these now-empty streets, with the ambient noise of the groundtram in the distance and the chatter of people in nearby businesses for distraction.
but his request is sincere, almost uncertain, and for once in her life, daisy doesn't push. she simply nods, her fingers snugly twined against his own, and leads him down the blocks until they find the shop in question. it doesn't take long. there aren't many people out and about at this hour; as it is, by the time they pull up to the door, it's barely five til closing and the girl sweeping up looks particularly irritable to be disturbed.
daisy tips her, though, which seems to help. they don't linger, either. they get their food, they pay, they leave (all truly exciting concepts in their own right); even the walk is understated. he's tired, so he doesn't say much — and considering how much of a chatterbox he usually was not, it leaves the conversation comfortably quiet most of the way. just idle talk, every so often; she asks about his opponents, he asks what she did that day, nothing argumentative or potentially so.
until, that is, illya unlocks the door (both digital and old-fashioned deadbolts, a fact she's sure has caught a few eyes by now) and they're left in a very different kind of quiet. the quiet of an apartment left empty, all its inhabitants either out for the day or gone for seemingly good, and daisy's reminded of the reason why he likely reached out to her.
she releases his hold on her hand just long enough to settle the food on the counter, but she comes back. the daisy johnson special, leaving and coming back. ]
What's going on, Illya?
[ they're inside. he can't skirt around the issue with that request anymore. ]
[ it had probably been too much to think that she would forget about his aborted attempt at talking about what he might be feeling. she's far too smart for that and far too perceptive but maybe he'd still hoped. maybe he'd hoped they'd come back and eat and do whatever else a night in could consist of.
but, she's a dog with a bone when she wants to be and so he tenses just a bit at the question when it reaches his ears. he'd come back to his bedroom to drop his fingers and straighten himself up a little so the question greets him as he comes back into the front room. ]
We are about to have dinner.
[ that wasn't precisely a lie, at least. they were going to eat and so it was going on. he knows that's not what she means though and sticking to that is only going to make her angry. ]
I am all right. [ again, mostly. ] I just needed something to...be angry at earlier.
Yes, [ they are. and she'll pull out plates, too, while he starts and stops his words, dispensing out the takeout containers onto real dishware like the grown up she absolutely is not. it's probably not necessary, but it's nice to have something to do with her hands. ] We can talk and eat, that's not a crime.
[ she gives him a plate and a quiet look, brows lifted just a bit to betray her curiosity, and settles beside him on the couch, her own plate resting in her lap as she considers his words. something to be angry at isn't unusual — they've fought over nothing enough times for daisy to recognize the need to unleash that adrenaline churning in her belly. they've sparred in the gym, too, on rare occasions; she's gone alone, too, and taken out her frustrations on punching bags that never quite swing the way she wants them to.
but the way he says it makes her wonder. was fighting enough? was it the right kind of release? or did he need something more? ]
What are you angry at?
[ she has an idea, of course, but maybe she's wrong. she takes a bite of her wrap, chewing slowly, mostly as an excuse to give him time to sort through his answer. ]
[ does he even really need to answer that question? he's angry at this place. he's angry that he feels helpless in that he can't stop people from just disappearing. solo, her, gaby. if whatever...thing that runs this city wants to take someone, it will happen and he'll be unable to do anything but stand there and react. ]
It is something that I have to accept happens. I cannot stop it. [ which was a huge part of the problem. he was used to being able to control situations. this city was controlling him more like. ]
Anyway, I just needed to be angry. [ he doesn't know if it had worked. he can't even tell if he's still angry. ]
[ it hits her with a sudden, almost dazzling clarity: control. daisy's used to losing people — a sad fact, but true, in that almost everyone she's ever loved has been taken from her or left her in some way. she's learned to cope with it, to some degree, even if those coping mechanisms haven't always been the most healthy. ]
You know you can come to me when you feel like that, right? [ not necessarily to hit her, though she won't say no to a spar if he needs it. but he can come to her all the same, in this space they've carved out for each other, unlabeled all the same. ] I … [ she sighs. her plate is set to the side, freeing up her hands and her lap to turn towards him, to reach out and take his hands. again. ] I know what it's feel like you're losing control.
[ and how much it sucks. how much it tears you apart, when you're used to your world operating a certain way. ]
[ there is nothing surprising about her immediate offer to help. he's learned a lot about her over a short amount of time and wanting to help those that needed it was absolutely something that drove her. he's not very familiar with a sentiment like that being used on him but he hadn't been dumb to think she wouldn't offer.
he sighs and glances down to where she's taken his hands. they're a little less battered tonight than usual, the bone broken from a few weeks ago healed and fully functional once again. ]
I don't know a way that anyone can help with this.
[ he's not going to take out his anger on her. it's not her fault and he's not that cruel of a man because he knows how angry he can get at certain times. ]
We could spar again. [ maybe she couldn't have today, but soon. she'll be healed and back to normal in the next week or so, according to the medical staff at the safehouse; she's out of practice, but it won't take long to be comfortable back in the ring. ] Or —
[ she pauses as his gaze flits back up to hers. she can see the retort ready to spill from his lips — you're not ready, you're injured, the implied i don't want to hurt you said so many times over. but this isn't about hurting her or causing her pain. it's about soothing his. with his bones healed, she feels a little less guilty about squeezing his hands, pads of her fingertips pressing into palms as they wrap around. ]
You're always so worried you're going to hurt me. [ kind, in his own way. caring, without always knowing how. she doesn't always feel deserving of it, but she appreciates it. more than he knows. ] But I'm not going to break.
[ at first, he thinks this is all about sparring. that she thinks he is going easy on her when that's the last thing he does when a spar happens. what good is training if you do not go full out. you don't get the best of your opponent and your opponent doesn't get the best of you.
but then something shifts in his head and he realizes she's talking about something else. sparring or. that's what she'd said precisely and then had gone on about how he was afraid to hurt her.
and he was especially when she was injured. he'd backed off, been careful, tentative, and easy as of late. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
@illya.kuryakin
he fights a little later than usual to work out the pent up energy and anger so he doesn't take it out on anyone (especially daisy) when she comes over. he's typing out a message to her in between fights now while he waits. ]
Will you be over tonight?
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she's tried not to push, though. she knows it won't do any good. ]
i suppose i will, since you asked so nicely
where are you now?
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[ well, that was mostly true. he considered it work since he wasn't doing it entirely because he enjoyed it. there was a thread of intel gathering to the whole thing. ]
For a little while longer.
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[ she's bored, mostly. but she's only seen him in the ring the one time, and he hadn't known she was there. plus, she could make a little money, too — and that was never a bad thing ]
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[ so now, he was going to have to make sure he won and won handily since really doesn't want to make her watch him get the beaten down so soon after everything. ]
I should be up again in a few minutes.
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[ luckily, the ring isn't far from her apartment. she doesn't text him when she arrives, but she's careful to find a spot to stand where she can have a good view of the action — a spot near one of the basement pillars, one that allows her to lean up against it, resting her ribs like he's asked her to.
when he climbs in, she does her best to catch his eye. if he's quick, he might catch her head tilt towards a bookie too. the odds are stacked against him by now tonight, possibly due to how many fights he's done; if he wins, she'll make out like a bandit. (if she doesn't, she'll still make out with him.) ]
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so, seeing her doesn't change his plan of attack. he is not going to go t this with pomp and circumstance especially since that would open himself up for mistakes. with money and his pride riding on this, he is not going to allow himself to be weak.
but it is not an altogether easy fight. his opponent is fast, resilient and catches him a few times sharply enough that he rocks back on his feet. he recovers quickly and uses his size and reach to advance into his personal space, refusing to relent with his own blows.
his opponent manages to get one last blow in, just hard enough and well placed that it cut his cheek and draws blood. unfortunate. he grabs the other man then, driving his face down into his knee and watching him crumple to the mat.
there. done. he doesn't even stay in the ring long enough for a celebration. he never does but he has more incentive to get out of there tonight. ]
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but this time, each blow he takes in return twists at something in her stomach; each time, her gaze stays locked on his face, even as she wishes she could tear it away. watching his opponent draw blood from his face had earned a gasp, loud enough for onlookers to notice (and scoff, mumbling about girls out past their bedtimes, to which daisy scowled back).
she turns away after that, slipping out of the crowd to wait near the back exit for a little peace and quiet to calm her nerves. it's strange to be nervous. she's not the one in the ring. but yet, she is, somehow — and even the digital notice of her winnings doesn't quite calm it.
she'll feel better when she sees him, she's sure of that. but in the meantime, she'll wait. ]
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he spends a little time cleaning himself up since he assumes she's gone. he wipes the blood from the cut on his face and covers it with ointment to stop the bleeding. he showers in the facilities and changes back into his clothes before grabbing his back and heading out.
that's when he sees her, waiting. for him? it has to be for him. ]
I thought you had left already. [ he's pleased that she hasn't but also curious why she's here when she'd wanted to come watch him in the first place. ]
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obviously, she's gonna touch it. a hand reaches up to skim over his still-stubbled (thank you) face, thumb carefully skirting around the edges of the grease line. he doesn't wince or pull away, so it can't be that bad. she's glad for that. ]
I — well. [ she'd almost lied. she could have said she went to the bathroom or stepped outside to answer a call, but there's no real point in lying, is there? why would she lie to him about this? ] Honestly, I panicked a little when that guy punched you in the face.
[ she hadn't wanted to watch him get hurt again. ]
I just needed to get some air.
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[ it probably looked worse than it was, honestly. he stays still while she touches his face, barely even feeling a string when she gets near the worst of the cut. the blood is what threw her, he suspects, especially after seeing her reaction to the injuries to his hands so many weeks ago. ]
It is barely even a cut. [ he reaches up to snag her wrist and curl his fingers around hers once she's done a thorough examination of the cut on his cheek. ]
Have you calmed down? [ or do they need to stand there for a little longer until she feels better? ]
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but she won't lie. being told he's okay does put her at ease a little. even if she does rib him a little bit too. ]
Yeah, you better be. [ she's not ready to cry about him being hurt again. ] Do we need to stop and get more of that stuff?
[ he'd look cute with a scar, but it's probably too early in this story for a kylo ren parallel face slash. it's better if his face remains unblemished and attractive for everyone involved. ]
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No, I have some at the apartment. [ well, he had an entire first aid kit for this and other situations that might arise. you never knew when you were going to get your face cut in a fight or when prompto was going to come by and need you to wrap his possibly fractured wrist. ]
Are you ready to go or did you need to do something before that? [ at least he doesn't ask if she's calmed down again? ]
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We can go. [ for a brief moment, daisy reflects on how nice that sounds. 'we', no justification required. ] Are you hungry?
[ either way, she's going to go ahead and tug him forward, out the exit door and up the stairs to the street level beyond. it's late (early, this time-flip sucks); the heat is starting to rise. they should really consider getting home or at least getting indoors before it gets too miserable to be outdoors. ]
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You don't have to come watch again, if you'd rather not. [ it's what he thinks is a gentlemanly out. he doesn't want to be a cause of stress for her anymore than he already is by being himself. ]
I've just needed -- [ an outlet that wasn't constantly daisy. she's still recovering and she'd just come back from being gone to parts unknown. gaby's disappearance shouldn't be on her so he takes it on himself and compartmentalizes. ]
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[ doesn't matter, really. she'll eat anything. they could eat dinosaur egg oatmeal packets scrounged up from a time capsule if they had to.
and though she nearly opens her mouth to ask if he wants her to come — because she will, if her presence is important to him — he cuts himself off mid-next sentence, and daisy loses her train of thought. ]
What? [ her hand squeezes against his own again. ] What do you need?
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he doesn't answer her query immediately because he knows if he doesn't say what he's thinking in the right way, it could cause an argument and despite the frequency of their arguments, he doesn't actively try and find a reason to fight with her when he sees her. ]
Can we talk about that when we're inside? [ maybe she will forget by then but all he really knows is he doesn't want to speak about his emotional state while they walk. it's hot and he's a little tired from the fights which could be a potentially bad mix. ]
I'm fine. [ somewhat. ] Truly.
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but his request is sincere, almost uncertain, and for once in her life, daisy doesn't push. she simply nods, her fingers snugly twined against his own, and leads him down the blocks until they find the shop in question. it doesn't take long. there aren't many people out and about at this hour; as it is, by the time they pull up to the door, it's barely five til closing and the girl sweeping up looks particularly irritable to be disturbed.
daisy tips her, though, which seems to help. they don't linger, either. they get their food, they pay, they leave (all truly exciting concepts in their own right); even the walk is understated. he's tired, so he doesn't say much — and considering how much of a chatterbox he usually was not, it leaves the conversation comfortably quiet most of the way. just idle talk, every so often; she asks about his opponents, he asks what she did that day, nothing argumentative or potentially so.
until, that is, illya unlocks the door (both digital and old-fashioned deadbolts, a fact she's sure has caught a few eyes by now) and they're left in a very different kind of quiet. the quiet of an apartment left empty, all its inhabitants either out for the day or gone for seemingly good, and daisy's reminded of the reason why he likely reached out to her.
she releases his hold on her hand just long enough to settle the food on the counter, but she comes back. the daisy johnson special, leaving and coming back. ]
What's going on, Illya?
[ they're inside. he can't skirt around the issue with that request anymore. ]
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but, she's a dog with a bone when she wants to be and so he tenses just a bit at the question when it reaches his ears. he'd come back to his bedroom to drop his fingers and straighten himself up a little so the question greets him as he comes back into the front room. ]
We are about to have dinner.
[ that wasn't precisely a lie, at least. they were going to eat and so it was going on. he knows that's not what she means though and sticking to that is only going to make her angry. ]
I am all right. [ again, mostly. ] I just needed something to...be angry at earlier.
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[ she gives him a plate and a quiet look, brows lifted just a bit to betray her curiosity, and settles beside him on the couch, her own plate resting in her lap as she considers his words. something to be angry at isn't unusual — they've fought over nothing enough times for daisy to recognize the need to unleash that adrenaline churning in her belly. they've sparred in the gym, too, on rare occasions; she's gone alone, too, and taken out her frustrations on punching bags that never quite swing the way she wants them to.
but the way he says it makes her wonder. was fighting enough? was it the right kind of release? or did he need something more? ]
What are you angry at?
[ she has an idea, of course, but maybe she's wrong. she takes a bite of her wrap, chewing slowly, mostly as an excuse to give him time to sort through his answer. ]
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It is something that I have to accept happens. I cannot stop it. [ which was a huge part of the problem. he was used to being able to control situations. this city was controlling him more like. ]
Anyway, I just needed to be angry. [ he doesn't know if it had worked. he can't even tell if he's still angry. ]
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[ it hits her with a sudden, almost dazzling clarity: control. daisy's used to losing people — a sad fact, but true, in that almost everyone she's ever loved has been taken from her or left her in some way. she's learned to cope with it, to some degree, even if those coping mechanisms haven't always been the most healthy. ]
You know you can come to me when you feel like that, right? [ not necessarily to hit her, though she won't say no to a spar if he needs it. but he can come to her all the same, in this space they've carved out for each other, unlabeled all the same. ] I … [ she sighs. her plate is set to the side, freeing up her hands and her lap to turn towards him, to reach out and take his hands. again. ] I know what it's feel like you're losing control.
[ and how much it sucks. how much it tears you apart, when you're used to your world operating a certain way. ]
I want to help.
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he sighs and glances down to where she's taken his hands. they're a little less battered tonight than usual, the bone broken from a few weeks ago healed and fully functional once again. ]
I don't know a way that anyone can help with this.
[ he's not going to take out his anger on her. it's not her fault and he's not that cruel of a man because he knows how angry he can get at certain times. ]
It is just...it's fine.
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[ she pauses as his gaze flits back up to hers. she can see the retort ready to spill from his lips — you're not ready, you're injured, the implied i don't want to hurt you said so many times over. but this isn't about hurting her or causing her pain. it's about soothing his. with his bones healed, she feels a little less guilty about squeezing his hands, pads of her fingertips pressing into palms as they wrap around. ]
You're always so worried you're going to hurt me. [ kind, in his own way. caring, without always knowing how. she doesn't always feel deserving of it, but she appreciates it. more than he knows. ] But I'm not going to break.
[ her tone is sincere, but serious. ]
I can handle it.
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but then something shifts in his head and he realizes she's talking about something else. sparring or. that's what she'd said precisely and then had gone on about how he was afraid to hurt her.
and he was especially when she was injured. he'd backed off, been careful, tentative, and easy as of late. ]
You're not talking about sparring, are you?
[ just to...double check. ]
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count the commas in this tag
i counted nine
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wanted to write smut, wrote fuckin garbage emotions instead
but you know i love the garbage
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