EMILIO SAKRAYA IN SIXTY MINUTES (2024)

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.

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.  ”

naji's body relaxes almost imperceptibly as the familiar voice hits his ears , the sight of major's face clear in his hazy vision after he gets in a few hard blinks. the initial burn of irritation that has him clenching his jaw fades away , replaced with a feeling that's caught halfway between relief and embarrassment. the hand brushing at his temple slips down to rub his jaw , and he rolls his eyes — even in his drunken state he knows it's an affectionate action more than an irritated one — stepping further out into the hallway to join major where he's standing. " man , you scared the shit outta me , " he groans , even though they both likely know ' scared ' isn't the most appropriate word. naji has always been the type to come out fists swinging , and had it been an annoying stranger instead of the bassist , the conversation would've ended in a verbal or physical scuffle. tentatively , and after a minute of trying to make out the label , naji reaches out to take the gatorade from him. it's a sight for sore eyes , practically glistening under the party lights. " thanks , though — couldn’t pay me to touch that jungle juice. four loko was bad enough , maj. "

he shrugs as he twists the cap of the bottle off , hoping the words come off as nonchalant , but there’s an exhaustion somewhere in his voice. " was tryna hide out in the bathroom — " okay , he's chatty now , maybe that'll be a reminder to have fewer drinks next time. " — but clearly that isn't gonna work. know any good hiding places ? "

Sometimes throwing parties felt like being part of the babysitter’s club, or some shit – not that Major had ever babysat in his fuckin’ life! Nobody had ever been desperate enough to hand him a whole ass kid. He didn’t have enough family to make the whole, ‘little cousins running around the trailer park,’ thing a stereotype that applied. Major figured, though, that after seeing some of his bandmates lick down a drink or two, he might be able to put it on a resume. Major feats in daycare – who’d have  thought? 

“Yoooo, what’s all that noise?” His tone is false exasperation as soon as it leaves his lips – lightweight. Fun, and funny, and all that good shit: least he hoped that’s how it was all coming off. Major didn’t wanna overthink it, though; didn’t really wanna think on it at all! So he handed over the bottle of Gatorade he had in his baseball glove of a hand – the only unspiked shit he could fuckin’ find in the fray of the party. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, huh? I’m just out here lookin’ out for you, and shit, baby boy.” 

"You get into that Jungle Juice? Cuz, for the record - this is why I tell everyone to bring their own shit. Ain't no party like a rat loft party, because these guys don't give a fuck."

“He was silent and reserved. But he talked to me. And out of every sentence that guy ever said to me, my favorite line might have to be: ‘I don’t talk much, but it was easy for me to open up to you.’”

— walkingirony   (via wnq-writers)

“I watched life and wanted to be a part of it but found it painfully difficult.”

— Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934

henry being just a 🤏 tiny little guy

✦ . ── 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 !

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

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

anyone else feeling like what the fuck

EMILIO SAKRAYA 2024, ph. Max Cremer