Najiikarim - 𝙬𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙙, 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮.ᐟ

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.

which ben wyatt are you today?

EMILIO SAKRAYA IN SIXTY MINUTES (2024)

it's as if he knows to sense the laughter before the sound hits his ears , loud and strong and vivid enough to cut through the life that pulses through the loft. she's always had a way of demanding attention — even from him , even right now — and perhaps that's why they fall into this tug of war : one where she tries to move close and he tries to pull away. it shouldn't bother him , but it does ( she'd like that , wouldn't she ? ) , and he lets his eyes flutter shut as her head falls beside his. he doesn't laugh at her little explanation , just lets out a huff with no definite meaning. " feelin' generous tonight , or did the jungle juice just fuck you up that bad? " naji shifts his weight just slightly , barely a movement at all , like it’s enough to put a barrier between them — even though he knows she'll break it , same as always. he's one to talk with the way the liquor is clouding up his brain already , making him a little less resistant to her casual audacity , fingers tightening around the cigarette as she leans close. naji's pulse quickens — he hates that it does — and he freezes up , like the creature carved out of stone like everyone else makes him out to be. the weight of the tin falls heavy in his pocket , his voice suddenly drying his throat . it drops low , a harsh murmur for just the two of them , barely loud enough to hear over the music. " guess i'm your second charity case of the night. " without waiting for a response, his fingers slip further into his pocket, feeling the cool, familiar shape of the tin. it doesn't rattle the same way it should , and his curiosity finally lets his gaze slide over to find the outline of her face beside him. " do i open it now , or when i get home? "

avoid  her  gaze,  and  she’ll  only  want  it  more.  a  masochist,  no  doubt.  words  sting,  sure,  but  they’re  far  more  amusing  when  delivered  by  someone  who  usually  seems  so  silent  and  stoic.  it’s  as  if  she  has  the  wicked  ability  to  reach  into  his  insides,  twisting  his  nerves  whenever  she  wants  …  and,  staring  at  the  side  of  his  face,  she  wants  now.  shoes,  right.  she  forces  her  eyes  away  from  him,  if  only  briefly,  glancing  down  at  her  feet  before  bursting  into  belly - aching  laughter  —  a  big,  thunderous  sound  that  could  surely  be  heard  over  the  pounding  music.  “  i  told  this  girl  that  my  heels  were  so  fuckin’  uncomfortable,  ”  juno  leans  against  the  same  wall  as  him,  slowly  encroaching  on  his  territory,  “  and  she  said  that,  if  i  wasn’t  gonna  use  them,  i  should  give  them  to  her  instead.  funny.  ”  there’s  a  brief  pause  as  her  amusement  dies  down,  only  a  few  weak chuckles  left  as  evidence  of  its  existence.  head  rolls  back, joining the pair in their rest with a bang.  “  well,  now  that  you’ve  had  your  fun  stabbing  me  a  little,  ”  she  nudges  naji’s  leg  with  one  of  the  victims  of  the  earlier  robbery,  hand  sticking  inside  her  enormous  coat  to  retrieve  her  debt’s  payment  —  feeling  like  she’s  holding  her  heart  between  shaky  fingers.  she  infiltrates  one  of  his  pockets  and  buries  it  in there. deep.  a  secret.  unable  —  or  unwilling  —  to  witness  his  reaction,   for  whatever  reason.  “  got  you  something.  use  ‘em  wisely.  ” 

i came. i saw. i left early

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

naji hates that pout. it makes his stomach flip and his chest go tight , that irrational fear of disappointing her always fluttering in his chest like he's holding in an atrium of butterflies. he swears mabel knows that , too , and that's the worst part. he's got half a mind to smile at the way she's standing now — hands planted on her hips , face all scrunched up , small frame still somehow demanding attention in the tiny hallway — but instead he just rolls his eyes again. it gives him a second to glance away , a low, frustrated sound escaping him. " maybe a little. " his gaze dances back to her again , vision a little less hazy with her standing in front of him. " not drunk enough to put up with your attitude , though. " and — " can’t help the face, i guess. " frustration laces the words , and he's not sure why he cares about her opinion as much as he does. naji decides to blame it on the alcohol. " just . . . you're fine. do your thing. " he finally steps aside his hands twisting together in nervous habit. even inebriated he's no good at being careless ( at least , not when it comes to the others ) and so he lingers in the hallway outside the door. " i'll make sure nobody tries to rush you. "

the  pout  is  instant  the  second  naji  opens  the  door.  mabel  takes  a  pause,  splays  her  hands  at  her  sides  and  turns  to  look  at  the  partygoers  around  her  (  who  do  not  care  one  bit,  mind  you  ),  because  surely  naji  isn't  talking  to  her  right  now.  "  oh  my  god  ?  why  are  we  so  touchy  right  now  ?  "  her  features  scrunch  up  in  a  grimace.  "  i  had  to  pee  !  and  that  was  the  first  time  i  knocked  !  you've  been  in  there  for,  like,  ever.  " '  ever  '  meaning  like  five  minutes,  but  time  eludes  mabel  when  she's  drunk.  and  she's  her  fair  share  of  tipsy,  "  what's  wrong  with  you  ?  you  look  drunk.  and  a  little  bit  like  a  serial  killer.  "  you  can  always  count  on  mabel  for  an  uplifting  pep  talk,  clearly.

Dellamorte Dellamore ,  Michele Soavi , 1994.

“ur so quiet” thanks i do not want to talk to you

✦ . ── picks a direction , it's ninety in memphis turns up the music so thoughts don't intrude predictably winds up thinkin' of elvis — and wonders if he believed SONGS COULD COME TRUE .

NAJI KARIM ( emilio sakraya) , he/him , roadie for @staticavenue .ᐟ intro. pinterest. spotify.

── .✦ penned by envy ( she/her , 21 ).