“Oh, You’re Breaking My Heart.”

i have feelings for you

disgust and contempt i hope

opening the door had seemed to welcome in the scent of alcohol , and it's heavy enough to make naji's stomach churn. he's already regretting his last drink — and the cigarette that went with it — and now he’s greeted with a familiar face , as well as the sight of blood staining the white of leo’s t - shirt. for a moment, he just stands there , blinking , as if his intrusion is some kind of joke the universe decided to play on him tonight. the other man seems quite drawn to those anyway ( jokes , he means ) and naji's half tempted to roll his eyes at him as he takes in the scene. but he's always been the protective type , and warmth wins out before annoyance can as he ushers leo in through the door . naji kicks it closed again behind them , only after offering the long line outside nothing but a brusque " wait a little longer. " " god , martinez , what are you smiling for ? and what the hell did you do to yourself ? " the fluorescent light flickers again as he dips down to rummage under the sink. it takes him a minute to find and grab the half - busted first - aid kit from under the sink , brown eyes flickering up to look at leo as he straightens himself to his full height again. he wrote off leo as the type to pull stunts like this long ago — it grates on him , but as he pulls out gauze and disinfectant , his usual exasperation sounds like something closer to concern. he tilts his head, gesturing for leo to take a seat somewhere. " whatever. sit still. gotta clean that shit up. "

this was inevitable. he'd been baited into doing a poor man's interpretation of missy elliot's 1,2 step when he'd tripped on his untied shoelaces and went arm-first into one of those ugly, glass coffee tables. it definitely could've been worse. if he hadn't caught himself, he could have cut his face, which as his mother always said, was his moneymaker. instead, he had a thin, but fairly deep, cut on his left forearm. he hadn't even noticed the blood at first. it wasn't until one of the others, white-faced and voice tinged with worry, pointed it out that he felt the warm trail of it down his arm. "shit," he'd said, ruining one of his favorite t-shirts to try and staunch the bleeding and immediately hustled down the hallway to the bathroom.

he cut the line with a few apologies and when he got any complaints, leo simply held up his cradled arm, white t-shirt darkening with each passing second. at least it didn't hurt. he was drunk enough for that, apparently. when he reached the bathroom door, he knocked quickly in rhythm and waited a thirty count before trying again.

when the door does open, leo blinks in surprise at a familiar face and wordlessly holds up his injured arm with a toothy smile. he figures it's a good enough reason to pound on the bathroom door.

he noticed the staring long ago. how could he not ? it's as brazen as everything else the woman does — sharp , like a silent dare , a challenge in the air like she's looking just to see if he'll offer his gaze back. ( he doesn't. ) instead , naji ignores her for the time being , shadow falling behind flickering lights , half - swallowed by the dark and half - swathed in neon pink. a cigarette burns low between his fingers — should he go outside ? he's deciding — but it does nothing to fight the perpetual scowl that is twisted onto his lips , even as he lifts it up again to take a drag. he's got an air about him that screams leave me alone , and , on a normal day , most people catch on quick. ( it is important to note , then , that he knows juno zhang is not 'most people'. ) her gaze sticks like static , and so does his bleary memory of last night , the wild woman on his doorstep and asking to stay like he's her last resort. less than twenty - four hours ago was when naji learned he can't say no to her , and , already it's proving to make things difficult. he knows this even as she approaches , brash and barefoot , bringing all her wit and audacity with her. the scowl twists deeper at her tone , eyebrows knitting together. the teasing otherwise rolls off his shoulders , but it does something strange , somewhere deep , just enough to make him wonder why she cares to notice what he's doing at all. his eyes fixate somewhere to her left , and he leans back further agains the wall. don't look chaos in the eye , that's not good for you. " hmm. " a noncommital grunt , like he isn't buying into her taunt. " where the fuck did you leave your shoes ? " he pauses again. " you wanna talk about being 'lost', yeah? " the implications of that are clear , but he's not insolent enough to bring up the night before. " or just here for a cigarette ? "

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐄, @najiikarim ! 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 : major's stinky loft.

the  loud  and shitty music  blasting  from  the  janky  speakers  and  sweaty  bodies  slamming  against  her  absurdly  furry  exterior  aren’t  enough  to  pull  her  stabbing  gaze  away from  him  ; meticulous examination  made  all  the  more  obvious  by  the  haze  coating  her  inebriated  brain.  yes,  juno’s  never  been  —  and  never  will  be  —  someone  who’s  subtle  (  because  fuck  that  ),  but  right  now,  she’s  doing  absolutely  nothing  to  hide  the  fact  that  she’s  been  staring,  staring  and  staring  some  more.  he  seems  lonely.  he  saved  you  last  night.  just  move.  and, like  everything  she  ever  does  in  life,  she  follows  the  first  impulse  that  jerks  at  her  bruised  heart.  wants  to  thank  him,  needs  to — it’s  been  a  gnawing  itch  that she  hasn’t  been  able  to  scratch  since  stepping  out  of  his  home  this  morning.  the  altoids tin  box  that she filled  with  four hand - rolled joints burning her  pocket, a symbol of unspoken gratitude. she can’t stomach the thought of not repaying him ... for some reason. kindness for the sake of being kind is a myth, after all. naked  feet  —  she  ditched  her  heels  a  while  back  and  didn’t bother  looking  for  them — carry  her  toward  him in all of her messy glory,  an inevitable curse. excitement  pulses  through  her  veins;  this  is  the  closest  her  prying  eyes  have  been  to  him  the  entire  night. what a thrill. “ lookin’  a  little  lost  there … ”  she  says,  not  meaning  to  mock,  but  her  words  still  have  a  sharp  edge  to  them.  “  never  been  to  a  party  before,  roadie  ?  no  one’s  gonna jump  you.  ”

EMILIO SAKRAYA IN SIXTY MINUTES (2024)

THE SUMMER I TURNED PRETTY 2.06 "Love Fest"

 They’re so friendly. Don’t you think daisies are the friendliest flower? I do. 

You’ve Got Mail (1998) dir. Nora Ephron

which ben wyatt are you today?

✦ . ── HEADED TO THE MOUNTAINS

( emilio sakraya , he/him , twenty-six ) hey , is that NAJI KARIM walking around town with some pep in their step ? last i heard , they joined a band called static avenue as their ROADIE — which totally tracks . they’ve always been known for being + PROTECTIVE , - JADED & for listening to DESPERADO by THE EAGLES on repeat . it’s a bit annoying , really . maybe you’ll think about them the next time you picture FRESHLY BREWED TEA OR AN ARM AROUND THE SHOULDER TO SILENTLY SHOW YOU CARE , WORN OUT DENIM AND HAIR MUSSED BY BASEBALL CAPS , CRACKED LEATHER SEATS AND LEGS UP ON THE DASH , SHARING THE OTHER SIDE OF YOUR EARBUDS WITHOUT BEING ASKED TO , SCRATCHES ON YOUR FAVORITE VINYL RECORD , THE FEAR OF SAYING "I LOVE YOU" , or when you hear someone yell THE LOST SOUL .

google doc !

pinterest !

spotify !

musings !

wanted !

10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU (1999) dir. Gil Junger