Max Caulfield (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mypartnerintime) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2017-02-03 08:18 pm
mypartnerintime) wrote in entrancelogs2017-02-03 08:18 pm
Entry tags:
The love I sell you in the evening by the morning won't exist.
Who: Max Caulfield and Tim Wright
Where: Tim's room (6th floor, room 19)
When: Feb 3
Rating: Heck I dunno PG?
Summary: Chloe's gone.
The Story:
She woke up cold and-
The morning light poured in through the-
Chloe was gone.
The rest of the details don't really matter.
For a few days she didn't bother telling anyone. Who would she tell, anyway? Chloe's friends were hardly hers. And Chloe didn't even have very many friends.
But at some point, being alone in her room and doing nothing... just lost its appeal. She needed to do something, anything, if only to stop the deafening silence of her room and the insistent blankness of her thoughts, that threatened over and over to slip into darker places.
And the ability of her own mind to come up with distressing images and words scared her.
Like how she would think about the uselessness of it all, of Chloe coming and going, and leaving her alone again- that it wasn't even some malicious plot on Wonderland's part, but that life was just fucking random and terrifying.
That nobody was out to get her. There was no deeper destiny or fate to everything that had happened. That Chloe dying was just some meaningless accident, a blip in the grand scheme of things, and that nobody fucking cared about any of it, because why would they?
People come and go from Wonderland. Eventually everyone forgets.
She could rewind and rewind and rewind, and people would die, and it wouldn't matter. Who would remember by the time everyone went home? Or ended up like Alice?
Today is just another timeline, with no real permanence, and no real point.
A new reality is only a rewind away.
No, no, she can't think like that. That's the start of a bad habit, a dangerous routine, and this time there's no living Chloe to snap her back into this reality, and gratefulness for the things she has... Even if it's only by turning over in the middle of the night to wrap her arm around her best friend, and to know that she's alive.
Still, it's comforting to think that life might get worse and worse, and her pain might grow, but in the end none of it matters. And she doesn't have to care.
So to keep herself from going stir crazy in the emptiness of her room, in the emptiness of the room across the hall, where she'd hung an "occupied" sign like some dumb hopeful fucking child, she jerks herself out of bed and several floors up to Tim's room. Because she loathes Tim, and loathing seems like an appropriate emotion, and he seems like a fucking messed-up sort of guy.
She knocks on his door, looking worn and generally unkempt, eyes downcast and unfocused.
Where: Tim's room (6th floor, room 19)
When: Feb 3
Rating: Heck I dunno PG?
Summary: Chloe's gone.
The Story:
She woke up cold and-
The morning light poured in through the-
Chloe was gone.
The rest of the details don't really matter.
For a few days she didn't bother telling anyone. Who would she tell, anyway? Chloe's friends were hardly hers. And Chloe didn't even have very many friends.
But at some point, being alone in her room and doing nothing... just lost its appeal. She needed to do something, anything, if only to stop the deafening silence of her room and the insistent blankness of her thoughts, that threatened over and over to slip into darker places.
And the ability of her own mind to come up with distressing images and words scared her.
Like how she would think about the uselessness of it all, of Chloe coming and going, and leaving her alone again- that it wasn't even some malicious plot on Wonderland's part, but that life was just fucking random and terrifying.
That nobody was out to get her. There was no deeper destiny or fate to everything that had happened. That Chloe dying was just some meaningless accident, a blip in the grand scheme of things, and that nobody fucking cared about any of it, because why would they?
People come and go from Wonderland. Eventually everyone forgets.
She could rewind and rewind and rewind, and people would die, and it wouldn't matter. Who would remember by the time everyone went home? Or ended up like Alice?
Today is just another timeline, with no real permanence, and no real point.
A new reality is only a rewind away.
No, no, she can't think like that. That's the start of a bad habit, a dangerous routine, and this time there's no living Chloe to snap her back into this reality, and gratefulness for the things she has... Even if it's only by turning over in the middle of the night to wrap her arm around her best friend, and to know that she's alive.
Still, it's comforting to think that life might get worse and worse, and her pain might grow, but in the end none of it matters. And she doesn't have to care.
So to keep herself from going stir crazy in the emptiness of her room, in the emptiness of the room across the hall, where she'd hung an "occupied" sign like some dumb hopeful fucking child, she jerks herself out of bed and several floors up to Tim's room. Because she loathes Tim, and loathing seems like an appropriate emotion, and he seems like a fucking messed-up sort of guy.
She knocks on his door, looking worn and generally unkempt, eyes downcast and unfocused.
no subject
But she certainly doesn't feel worse, either. If Tim had refused to smoke- if he had forced sympathy or pity on her- well, that would have made her miserable and drive home all the more how terrble things are.
In the end she decides that she feels like she just finished a tiring chore. Not quite upset, or rather not any more upset. But not particularly proud or fulfilled, either. Status quo.
It's sad to think that breaking down and multiple rewinds constitue "status quo."
Eventually she speaks. "Hey, Tim..." she starts, then realizes that she can't follow it up with you're actually not that bad, because she's still not sure.
She settles for something that's been nagging at her slightly instead. "I kinda had to... rewind a bit, just- just this past hour or so. I- uhh, I'm sorry. It... it got a little bad, sometimes. On my part."
And you better believe she'll rewind this too, if it goes wrong.
no subject
Great, he almost mutters, low and resentful, but that'd probably just make things worse. Make her feel guilty, or whatever. So instead he jams his hands into his pockets as he follows, shoulders hiking up to his ears in a shrug.
"Can't really stop you, I guess." And the sooner he accepts that, the better. Why bother trying to wrest control back from a life that's never given him any such thing? It's nothing new.
It's the same problem he's always had, from the same perspective.
The comment didn't post sigh
Or maybe he doesn't care.
Or maybe she's just downright wrong about all of it.
She nods in silence, more to herself than to him. Once they're at the sixth floor landing she stands aside to let him through into the hall.
"Uh," she mumbles, not sure how to end this... weird trip. Not sure if he still even wants to talk of if he'll just brush past toward his room.
lmao nice one dw
So he's had zero control on how the conversation went, this whole time. She might as well have been holding his hand through it, maybe trying all the different iterations until she figured out what combination of words worked best on someone like him. Bit too used to the feeling, and it's not like he'd be any wiser if it were true.
Still, though.
Can't help but wonder what else Max might've caused him to forget.
no subject
She lets him pass her, without making any comment, willing to let the conversation end in an awkward silence.