I gave myself the goal of 5k, and I exceeded it by about 300 words. Not bad, considering I was also trying to relax and take it easy, not to mention figure out some deeply personal questions. 

I have my answers.

And I completed my goal. It’s been a good day. There’s one scene where I’m questioning how good it actually is, but I intend to clean it up once I get feed back from my BFF. I don’t think the piece is “feelsy” enough. A highlight from today’s writing, however:


Mitchel leaned back against the booth, his eyes focusing on some point beyond Jazz as he sipped his drink — scotch, probably, if Jazz remembered correctly. “I’m just concerned, Callahan –”

Jazz laughed, nearly choking on his own beer. “You? Concerned for anyone but yourself? Just — fuck off, okay?” His voice cracked, his sarcastic laughter subsiding as tears threatened to take its place. “You don’t actually care, so stop pretending to.”

“Jasper, I have always cared,” Mitchel whispered, reaching out for Jazz’s hand. Jazz pulled his hand away, sliding it under the table as he glared at Mitchel.

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. He shivered as he remembered Savin saying his full name, the hatred and anger that had seeped around it. “And don’t fucking touch me, either. I know what you’re doing, Mitchel — I’m not playing this fucking game with you.”

“This isn’t a game to me, Callahan,” Mitchel insisted, frowning himself. He tossed back the rest of his scotch and set the empty glass aside. “You and Bates are our Emperors. If there’s trouble in paradise –”

“There’s no trouble, Mitchel,” Jazz said, pushing his own bottle aside as he began to gather the papers in front of him. He shoved his pen in his pocket before scooping up his folder and sliding out of the booth. He needed to leave. Now. Before Mitchel pushed any harder.

Jazz turned on his heel and stormed out of the bar before Mitchel could say anything else in protest. He needed to get home. Needed to just sit and relax and not have anyone talk to him, just for a little bit, before inevitably crawling into bed with Savin and wishing with all his strength that things could just go back to the way they used to be.

Tears were in his eyes before he could stop them, causing Jazz to hug his folder even closer to his heart. Mitchel wouldn’t follow him, right? Mitchel would just leave him alone and get the hint, wouldn’t he? It wasn’t like he actually cared — wasn’t like he actually wanted to help or bring Jazz any comfort. He just wanted Jazz for himself, still, after all these years.