“We try never to write about our personal lives,” Gaspard adds, before conceding a little with a smile: “But we are not totally hermetic to the outside world, so our love situation might have influenced things a little bit.”
Spending time with Justice—talking to them about what they make and why they make it—made me long for being a teenager. It made me long for that apparently unending but then suddenly lost time when the most important stretches of the universe existed endlessly in my head, but also ended abruptly with the four-walls of my bedroom. When I only sought counsel from the confused approximations and wild dreams of my best friends. When I’d watch a film, read a book, listen to an album, and it would enter my bloodstream immediately. When I’d stick posters up on my walls with Blu Tack—not frame them and position them delicately next to houseplants. When finding something cool was enough.
based on these prompts: “I recently got into this band and I’m trying to buy all their CDs and only need one more to finish my collection, but this CD store only has one copy and it’s mega fucking rare and you wanna buy it to and I LITERALLY WANNA FIGHT YOU FOR IT” AU, and “I went on Omegle to find someone to sext with, but you started talking about really innocent shit and your face is really cute on camera so I couldn’t find it in me to next you” AU [x]
“If you pick that up I’m going to literally kill you.”
Dean froze, hand poised above his buzzing phone, to meet his little brother’s glare. He returns the look automatically. “Whats your deal?”
“My deal is that your boyfriend’s texted you no less than ten times in the last two minutes and you’ve answered every one of them smiling like an idiot. Have you even been listening to me?”
“Of course I have.”
“Yeah? What was I talking about?”
“Uh…” Dean’s eyes flick around the Roadhouse, between his bacon cheeseburger and Sam’s garden salad. They were in Kansas City, having lunch on Sam’s break from work while Dean was in the city to find a record he wanted in the shop down the street. Admittedly, with Dean living all the way in Lawrence, they didn’t get to see each other very often, but Sam had his girlfriend Jess and now Dean had Cas. “How you desperately want to change your eating habits?” he tries, grinning.
Sam scoffs and leans back in his seat. “Forget it.”
“Aw, c’mon, Sammy, I’m s-” His phone buzzes again on the table, and Dean finds himself reaching for it without thinking.