post for psls;

[threesecrets]

 

✞ m/m only
✞ no invitation needed

✞ feel free to just drop an idea
✞ if you wanna do adam & ronan chat me up first
✞ safeaslife#0150 or PM, at your leisure

Comments

idk what I'm doing /o\

[dreamedboy]

[He felt like he was coming apart at the seams. Prokopenko had moments, whole days, like this sometimes. It'd been months since his 'rebirth' and yet he still struggled with it at times. How did he know he was still the same? How did he know if he was missing anything? Missing parts of who he was? What if there was something more than the day Skov had freaked out upon seeing him eat a peanut butter sandwich, claiming Proko was allergic to peanuts? Proko had no recollection of any allergy and the peanut butter hadn't done him any harm.

Sometimes, he wondered if he was still human.

His grandmother, when he'd visited her, hadn't seemed to think he was any different, but it hadn't done much to reassure him. She knew him better than maybe his own parents did, but... things could still slip through the cracks. What if she was wrong? What if he was wrong?

The thoughts twisted around and around in his head until his stomach felt just as tangled and he desperately needed to get out of his own mind. That was how he'd come to be at a party--not one of Kavinsky's, surprisingly--doing his best to get drunk. The Fourth of July was approaching, K was neck-deep in planning for that, and Proko...was here by himself. It was a house party, thrown by an Aglionby boy, and Aglionby boys didn't usually disappoint.

Proko didn't even care how good the alcohol was; it was enough to get him drunk and that was what he needed. Except somehow, it wasn't helping. He felt worse even if his thoughts were more...all over the place. Maybe he should have gone for getting high instead. Instead of being stomach lurchingly drunk, still clutching a cup of alcohol. He probably wasn't going to throw up, but it was never a guarantee when he was drinking; he was a sloppy drunk and sometimes couldn't handle it.

He was torn between focusing on not puking and lost in thoughts about whether or not he was human or if he was still the same as before when he bumped into someone, sloshing his drink. He turned, not to apologize, but just to see who he'd walked into, when he stopped, blinking slowly.]

Lynch.

[Proko hadn't expected to see him here. He hadn't been expecting to see any familiar faces, honestly. Last he'd heard, Skov and Swan were doing whatever they did when they had time to themselves, probably fucking, and Jiang was out getting high. He wasn't friends with Ronan Lynch, not really, but he'd seen him around enough that it would've been impossible not to recognize him, even with how drunk Proko was.]

What are you doing here?

[Lame. That was lame. Proko had been told (mostly by Kavinsky) that he had a resting bitch face, but even that couldn't mask the troubled expression in his eyes. Again, he was torn. This time between being angry about what Kavinsky had told him about things that had happened, and being strangely relieved to see a familiar face.]