"i'm a puppet on a string
tracy island, time-traveling diamond
could a shaped heartaches
come to find ya fall in some velvet morning
years too late she's a silver lining lone ranger riding
through an open space
in my mind when she's not right there beside me
i go crazy 'cause here isn't where i want to be
and satisfaction feels like a distant memory
and i can't help myself
all i wanna hear her say is are you mine?"

thud !!

the paintings and frames on pj liguori's wall shook as his body was slammed up against it, both his wrists pinned tightly above him as the boy in front of him attached his lips to his neck. pj let out a gasp at the contact of phil's soft, pliable lips moving along his jawline, leaving a trail of lovebites down his neck. they both knew he would get shit for it tomorrow at work, but this, this was worth it. not like his co-workers weren't already used to their heavy sex-life aftermaths, full of hickeys and uncoordinated cologne.

he moaned into the kiss as phil reattached his lips to pj's and drew one hand down from his wrists, bringing it to his cheek. he caressed it softly as he sucked on his swollen bottom lip, sharply tugging on pj's uniform collar. "jump," he spoke, pj complying. his legs wrapped around phil's waist, grinding harshly against him before --

buzz !!

phil's head shot to the side where his ringing phone lay, causing pj to groan, resentfully climbing off of his fiancé's torso. "d-detective lester," he stammered into his phone, rubbing his swollen lips. "yeah, i'm already on my way," he hissed, his eyes growing dark and his jaw clenching as the caller continued to speak. he hung up, a scowl tainting his lips.

"what is it?" pj mumbled, although, judging by phil's sudden solemn demeanor, he already knew what had happened. phil didn't even bother answering, grabbing his jacket and flinging himself out the door without so much as a goodbye.

this was one of the many downsides of being the fiancé of phil lester, as despite being one of the best detectives the london police department had ever seen, he threw himself into his work completely. with a shit-ton of caffeine and a brutal homicide case, particularly one regarding this 'curare', he would go days without sleeping or eating if pj wasn't there to remind him.

pj, being a district attorney, had seen enough of this case to know that it regarded one of the highest-casualty mass murderers he had ever seen. curare was the poison said murderer laced their bullets in, and since they're unidentified, had been coined as their nickname. this case particularly had gotten inside phil's head, as if all the unknown elements of it were mental torment for him. and there were a lot of unknown elements. no connections when it came to targeting or statuses, and honestly, no connections anywhere.

only that he, as it was presumed, used curare as a calling card and never missed his targets.

⚰

|1 year later|

the beat dropped, drunken screams and slurred shouts accompanying it, and the thin door that separated phil and pj from the club didn't provide much sound isolation. phil bit on pj's swollen bottom lip, drawing it forward and earning a raspy moan. phil's fingers fumbled with his fiancé's zipper desperately, heated beer-soaked breaths warming on his neck.

"that's it, baby," pj moaned huskily, except it suddenly wasn't pj. and phil realized it never was, as he found himself doing more often than he would like. it was a deep, raspy voice that belonged to the man phil had dragged into the back room, practically undressing him before closing the door. "what the fuck are you doing?" he angrily asked as phil mindlessly stumbled away from him, shaking his head. "hey!" he called, but phil didn't even seem to notice. he was probably just too drunk, honestly.

he dizzily wandered out of the storage room, staggering through the buzzing crowd and finding himself at the bar, something not unusual for him. he lazily waved over the bartender, who sighed once catching view of him. "i had hoped you'd left," felix said under his breath, making phil darkly chuckle. "it's only three, and it's not like i have anything to do," he grumbled, yawning and resting his face on the bar. "you've been here for hours, lester. i'm cuttin' you off," he said, pursing his lips before adding, "go home."

phil shook his head, bitterly laughing. "and where's that supposed to be?" felix groaned, waving over the bouncer. "come on, not aga-" phil started, being cut off by felix's demands to the approaching bouncer, "get him out." phil stood dizzily from his stool, shaking off the bouncer's tight grasp and mumbling about how he knew his way out.

"f-fuck you, felix," he stammered, watching the door slam behind him as he met the icy winds that accompanied london nights. he sighed, walking, or more accurately stumbling, mindlessly throughout the ever-bustling city he so resentfully called home. the sounds of the nightclub's music soon grew faint and was replaced by hurried footsteps and drunken giggles and whatever else made up the misadventure of city nightlife.

not much else besides cheap beer and cheap fucks made up phil lester's nightlife, and that had been his way of life for the past year. at first, it was nine days of sleep deprivation, pouring over hundreds of curare's murder cases, and ignoring every meaningless offer of help or condolence from his co-workers. then it was white powder at 2 a.m., the revoke of his detective's badge, and a ban from the police department.

now, it was any drug he could get his goddamned hands on and a pile of torn up eviction notices on his kitchen counter.

"h-hey, baby, come on!" a husky voice slurred, earning a dismissive groan from phil. "piss off, spencer!" he growled back, picking up his dizzy, intoxicated pace. "i said, piss off!" phil repeated, once spencer's tight grasp latched onto his shoulder; his fingernails digging into his porcelain skin. "don't be like that, baby, come on now," spencer half-heartedly laughed, drawing his hand down phil's torso.

"leave me alone," phil hissed through bared teeth, though his demands didn't stop spencer's hand from trailing across phil's waistband and tugging on it. the ravenette spun around with his fist raised, swinging it directly into spencer's jaw. he staggered back, his hand rubbing his already-bruising jaw. "fucking bitch!" he yelped, pouncing onto phil and slamming his frail body against the cement. his fist collided with phil's cheek, then with his nose, then with his eye, until-

"hey, hey get off him!" a painfully-nostalgic voice shouted, hurried footsteps pacing towards the two. phil let out a throaty groan as spencer was shoved off of him by the man in front of him, who's eyes were locked onto him. "phil?" he asked in disbelief, the bloodied ebony-haired man giving a small, unenthusiastic wave. "franta," he coughed under his shaky breath. "nice to see you."

⚰

"so this is what you're doing with your life now? come on phil, what would pj think?" connor shook his head, leaning against the wall of the police room. phil sighed, holding tissues to his bloodied nose. "dead people can't think," he spat back, keeping his gaze on the tile dismally. "look, i know it wasn't easy, but-" the brunette police officer started, before being cut off.

"i don't want your pitiful sympathy bullshit, okay?" he scoffed, resting his face against his fist. "this is why you got your detective's badge revoked in the first place. you lost control of yourself," connor said, rubbing the back of his neck. "i would've caught him. curare. i could've killed him myself if you wouldn't of banned me from the department," phil grumbled darkly, chewing on his split bottom lip.

"i don't like that he's still out there anymore than you do, but we're all working on it," connor said, though he wasn't sure if it was phil or himself that he was assuring. "it's been three fucking years! give me access to the case, damnit!" phil shouted, furrowing his eyebrows in expectancy.

connor exhaled deeply. "you know i can't do that. phil, this case, it's eating you up. i can give you some support group addresses with other people who get what you're going through, here-"

"i'm not going to any bloody support group! i don't need therapy, i need justice!" phil scoffed, crossing his arms. "curare's murder isn't justice," connor mumbled under his breath, opening up the door. "his death won't satisfy you."

"well, it won't make me any worse than i already am," phil spat, rising to his feet and limping out the door. "promise me you won't do anything reckless," connor said, holding phil back with his arm.

"what? like get away with murder?" phil mocked, shrugging off connor's grasp and walking out the all too familiar glass doors.

"no promises."

|thoughts on the story so far?|