Naji Hates That Pout. It Makes His Stomach Flip And His Chest Go Tight , That Irrational Fear Of Disappointing

to be fair , naji's not really a happy anything. he's always felt too much or too little , and even tonight he leans towards the former , awkward and messy in a way that he's hoping she won't find pathetic. the word mopey sticks with him , but he's simply amused , the feeling tugging his lips into a reluctant, lopsided smile he has no business letting mabel see. he swears it's the first time he's smiled all night , but hey , she's always carried a kind of warmth with her that's bled into his gloom. " i'm not grumpy all the time — " i'm definitely not grumpy around you. " — and , believe it or not , the eeyore comment is unoriginal. " naji stares at her reflection for a beat longer than he should , alcohol addled senses fixating his gaze there. he swallows , hard. tentative fingers drift to the door handle , rough thumbs brushing over it before the cold metal finally snaps him out of it, naji’s blinking hard like he’s trying to shake off the fog. " maybe i'll get you that shot when you're done. " before he's encouraged to say another drunken word , he pulls the door closed between them , letting the latch click softly into place before he leans against it. the heels of his palms press into his eyes , the pressure sending his vision dark and filled with sprinklings of stars. he's hoping that now — now that mabel's behind a door, where he can’t see her — he might finally be able to get a grip. 

in  her  own  defense,  mabel  isn't  completely  sure  that  her  pouts  work  on  naji  ;  there's  the  sneaking  suspicion,  yes,  and  maybe  she  weaponizes  it  a  lot  because  she  knows  it'll  work,  yes,  but  she's  never  been  sure.  always  the  gnawing  feeling  that  maybe  he's  just  humoring  her,  insecurity  personified  and  speaking  in  the  most  irritating  little  voice  in  her  head  —  if  mabel  thinks  about  it  too  much  her  stomach  hurts.  cheeks  go  pink  when  she  looks  at  him  like  this,  enough  to  make  her  freeze  for  a  sputtering  moment  before  giving  up  and  ducking  under  his  arm  to  get  in.  push  past  him  (  ignore  the  stumbling,  she  didn't  claim  to  be  sober  )  and  she  won't  have  to  look  too  long.  "  i  don't  even  have  attitude,  you're  just  so  grumpy  all  the  time.  thought  you'd  be  a  happy  drunk,  you  know.  "  confidence  is  restored  and  her  tone  evens  out,  gains  the  little  lilt  typical  of  her.  mabel's  even  brave  enough  to  grin  at  him  from  the  mirror,  "  awww,  you're  being  so  sweet.  f'i  knew  you'd  be  like  this  i  would've  asked  you  for  a  shot  earlier.  "  mabel  contemplates  kicking  him  out,  feels  the  nerves  in  waves  ;  naji's  aura  was  quite  blue  (  or  maybe  purple  ?  )  right  now,  she  wonders  if  he  notices.  "  mm  —  actually,  i'm  fine  !  are  you  okay,  though  ?  you  look  so  ...  mopey.  like  eeyore.  "  ouch.

#i'm a slut for height difference and lack of personal space

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

henry being just a 🤏 tiny little guy

"why is my mental health so bad" -> oh yeah I haven't gazed fondly at a large body of water in a month

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.