Chopped

by CaptianHorseman

Romantic one shots concerning two lost souls; an eccentric and ambitious man of the name Randy Marsh and the love of his life, a wayward woman called Faceless.

1. Randy Marsh Archive One

Anything At All

Age seemed impossible to touch the ethereally youthful skin of Randy Marsh. He was simply one of those people that were ageless, through and through; without one element to touch them or their mind.

It was almost a question not of why, but rather how it was even possible.

Even when he had hit the age of well past fifty, it seemed as if he was growing in reverse; that he was becoming younger as age touched him, or more full of that youthful golden zest through the years, rather than older. It was enough to convince her that he was made of a certain kind of magic- as if the unpredictable zest of his personality wasn't enough to add more magic to that which was within him anyway. The unforgiving threads and claws of time that normally worse and tore at the average person's skin seemed as if it was rendered insusceptible to Randy, and every day was she reminded what it felt like not just to truly love someone beyond what they could stand, but to admiration them in a sort of almost hardly predictable awe as well. It wasn't until the door was opened to his tired, grey, and lifeless eyes she was reminded that people did, in fact, eventually reach their physical end, no matter how seemingly youthful and almost terrifyingly zest filled their disposition was cradled within from before.

For Randy's youth had, in a sense, been terrifying; if only for the simple and undeniable fact that it had been laced with a certain insecurity that wrapped around him at all ends, and forced to keep him upright as he had desperately tried to hold onto every last moment about his life, and that which his youth promised. The threads that tied and tried against his body had hardly marked or touched his skin , and yet his soul had been utterly touched by the bleeding, bleakly truthful truth of getting older that seemed inevitable that he would be defined by, if only for the simple fact that he allowed himself to be defined by them. Regardless of whatever blackened and hardened dust that speckled his heart with said relentlessly insecurity, there was, more than that, something innate within him that was untouchable, even by his own demonic causes that destroyed even himself; that reminded him and reprimanded him, time and time again, that he had a certain golden fire inside of him that would continue to burst forward through himself like a flame, until there was nothing left inside of him except for golden speckled dust that not even his deepest or most bleeding insecurities could affect.

He had seemed invincible in that way, as if nothing and no one could-or would-touch him. Despite all the fragility that was so naturally intertwined and interwoven inside of his stumbling and unsure feet, there had been the most unexpected power inside of him- a youth that radiated from all ends of his body, a small and unsuspecting but nonetheless enduring thing that had only been made even more so by his unidentifiable and unintentional flame that surrounded him on all sides; which was the simple act of the youth that carried and led him though every possible challenge. It had driven him, stayed with him, and had quite literally cradled him through the otherwise would be helpless unknowing and unrelenting sadness that pounded af him from all sides; rendered unbearable on its own, but bearable through the fire inside of him that made him seem that he, without fail, was made of some kind of untouchable youth.

She hadn't know how it feel to see such a golden beast slain under the touch of time, and when she had seen him there slouched and hunched over his form, shoulders slumped in an unsuppressed defeat that seemed as if time weighed on him far more than even she ever could have suspected, she couldn't help but feel frozen in her tracks.

The seemingly untouched midnight waves of his hair were now gone, leaving in its wake nothing except for a tinted grey that was meant to signify the aging of time, gradually pulling and tearing out whatever healthy locks that were beautiful and lusciously painted against the side of his porcelain skin that was shining like marble form the hues of his body. Though his skin wasn't the same as it had been, there was a certain fullness to it that hadn't been there before, right along with his plusher body. His eyes were tired and downcast, eyes hooded as he settled for gazing in front of him, shoulders slumped and heavy, as if a physical weight had leaned in front of them. His clothes were worn and tired, much like the grey bags that rendered themselves under his eyes, his tired foggy eyes blinking ahead of him with a destination of exhaustion that hadn't been there previously.

Faceless paused as she stood in front of the door, pressing her back against it. She leaned her hand against the side of the door as she tried to stop her breathing, knowing that even now, she could taste the element of fresh air that he was so naturally and fully made of.

His entire body tensed with sudden knowing-he had sensed she was there. "Wu-who's there?" he mumbled, eyes beginning to trail upward , mouth hanging open in a sloppy and uncertain disconnect as he blinked slowly in front of him. Faceless paused for a moment before she responded, feeling as if she was walking on a tightrope that would easily push her over to one side if she made even one wrong move. That was how fragile he felt within that moment, and though he had felt stocky and stable physically when he was younger, it seemed as if the natural softness from when he was younger was now reaching its full conclusion to outward as well.

"Randy," she murmured. She felt her breath catch in her throat, but still did she stand still there, feeling an ache inside of her very lungs. He lifted his heavy eyes up at her, although it seemed as if he was looking right through her; not at her, but rather unto in her; seeing into her as if she were a mirage, rather than truly there. With the tired and a wrong gaze that gave away an exhaustion that didn't suit him inside of his tired vision, she wondered how much that was true.

"Hun?" He rasped. His voice was croaked, raspy-an edges to if that wouldn't had been there previously had he not smoke the amount that he had. Faceless felt her eyes glimmer as she heard his voice for the first time in the longest time she could remember. It made her feel strange, as if she was being physically transported somewhere else entirely. His voice had all that masculine raspy softness to it, just the right amount of emotional intelligence, and still that same youthful innocence that wasn't going anywhere

She felt her heart squeeze in her chest as she leaned down, allowing her hands to level with his knees as her eyes managed to try and level with his eyes. He had that same naive lostness inside of his ocean greens that seemed as if it was always there; not even the aged that seemed as if it had sucked out his youth was able to pierce the present of the naive looseness that always accompanied him, no matter where he went.

"Hun," he repeated, gazing at her as if there was a fight inside of him to see her clearly, despite whatever fog was inside of his mind. "That-that you?"

She shivered as she heard his soft tones that gave way the soft core of naivety within his voice. She smiled, and leaned forward as she traced her hands against his knee.

"It's me, darling," she muttered softly. "I'm right here." She squeezed her hands intensely against his knees, as if to confirm the fact.

He blinked his eyes frantically as he opened up his green wonders further, glinting as he looked at her with surprise. His hands were trembling as he looked down at her, his eyes full of disbelief as the muscles inside his own face took to trembling with disbelief that was inside of his every core that gently pounded at him from all ends.

"Faceless?," he echoed, looking at he now-truly looking at her, his voice echoing up in the familiarity that she knew that he would be able to give her even the slightest sign of who she was. She smiled at him, letting out a deep sigh that resonated with his own weariness. She reached out her hand as she allowed herself to press closer to him again-Randy, all the while, sat with his mouth still hanging open as he gazed at her with a slightly lost expression inside of his green wonders that had always held more life inside of him that Faceless had ever seen in the majority of people she had ever encountered. He was still uncertain-that was clear.

But it was no matter, not really, and she would help guide him and lead him to whatever it was that he needed in order to get to the desperate hour that was within his mind- in order to find whatever defined each other and to interact, to love each other the way that they needed to again.

After a moment of hesitation, he allowed his own hands that were so different from the way that she had remembered them feeling to caress against her own searching skin. Previously, they have been soft, gentle to the touch, feeling almost as if they were a young man's hands, or possibly even a little boys' with the way they had always been stained with some sort of sense of candy, drinks, or other such substance.

For the time, they felt as if they were completely worn with the time that had aged his previously softened and naturally moisturized skin-making him feel rather as if it was some kind of leather sweating. Faceless, though she tried to fight the feeling that this may be the last time she was home-truly and really home, the feeling persisted.. For the first time did she feel as if she was only on the porch of her home-not inside of Randy and of his every crevice, the way she so deeply desired. For years she had felt outside of home, and, as far as she was concerned, she almost always was.

Regardless, it was clear that the warmth of Randy Marsh couldn't physically be contained inside of what he was made of, and it certainly showed through the way he was always so quick to express his physical and emotional needs, even now-in his weakened state.

And yet, still, with his hands feeling so different from the way that she had known and remembered the softness. They no longer felt like those useful, erratically woven, adorably messy hands that she had known him as before, but rather some sort of leather from every side of his old skin, pierced by a layer of his blue veins. She caressed her thumb softly against his skin again, just to test to see how he would react, holding her breath as she gauged his every muscle for his reaction. His eyes flashed up in front of him with still that same lost expression inside of his eyes.

He was looking at her as clear trouble treamored through him slowly, as if he couldn't quite take her in-as if the wrinkles and the gray bags were wondering and so sad, so relentlessly, completely heavy under the atlas time of life that had rendered him to what he was now-so much so, that it was almost next to impossible for him to even be able to comprehend anything that was surrounding him. And yet he could see her, and that much she knew, before he even confirmed it with his own raspy voice, which felt as if it was lost within a permit sense of loss of his own that only she was able to reach through his thickened age and gently grab him outside of.

Her hands caressed him once more, and that golden strike between them-that shaking feeling of desperate and maddening animalistic longing was all the confirmation she needed-they were sickeningly, maddeningly in love, even now.

"Sweetheart," he rasped again-soft, his voice echoing inside of his own and gentle canopy of fascination as he looked at her through his own heavy eyelids, through the fog of his eyes that previously had seen so clearly, in more ways than one. Maybe not in regards to others' souls, but certainly to his own and to whom he loved, and, as it had turned out, that had always been more than enough. "Is that really you?"

"It's me," she muttered softly.. She said the words in hesitant confirmation-almost as if she was trying to convince herself, and there was a sadness that left the side of her tone; a soft, gentle, saddening smile of her own accompanied her words. She couldn't even try to hide her sorrow, although she wasn't even really sure what she was so sad about. She knew when she met him that, realistically, eventually Randy would get to be as old as he was now, especially considering that he was now at the age of eighty. With a dark, stagnant truth did she remember that she was amazed that he was even alive at all, especially considering his lifestyle that he decided to dedicate himself to, which was full of more self sabotaging, and chugging of wine, and use of drugs more than she could've imagined within her mind.

To see his youth so defeated, to see weakness inside of his decaying body she had been convinced for the longest time, especially when she hadn't even known him before he passed the age of fifty; she was convinced she had never been given enough time with him. She never truly wanted to leave him alone, or let life pass either of them by, He simply was, through and through, a person that was completely in love with the endless trials of life, and had absolutely loved taking life by the storm and using his own fist to divide up against the challenges that life threw at him. He was the kind of man that loved to take life by the storm, and she had been convinced that, after a certain point, there was something about him that was quite literally invincible in the most unexpected ways that most people didn't think of when they thought of instability. But in Randy's case that had simply been the case; of being able to hold onto his eternal youth, as if it wasn't going anywhere. Though she couldn't see the designs now inside of his broken threads, she desperately hoped that they were true.

She squeezed her hands against the side of his own thighs, memorizing the way that his blue veins were pressing out from his spotted skin; there was some of the brown spots and marks against the side of his own previous pale skin that had never once been marked by any signs of age even well past the age of fifty, even with his unhealthy coping mechanisms. Perhaps that was the real grief that was in front of her now-not so the fact that he was closer to dying and leaving her on the earth without him as age took him away from her, but more so the fact that he had finally been defeated, and that the both of them, even if they hadn't spoken aloud, had been convinced that there was nothing that could bring him down, nothing that ever would. But the way that he was laying in front of her now with his shoulders slumped and his grey skin slumped, she saw that nothing could possibly be less true, and couldn't possibly be less proven. Nothing could be more true than the idea of both of them knowing that, somehow, he wasn't the exception to getting older-that it was pierced, most especially because of his misfortune too allow the times of life to gradually render him broken under his inevitable heaviness, such as the way that he currently was sitting in front of her. Part of her partially wondered what else there has been about the relationship that they had misunderstood when they were younger- and about each other as individuals. Things that they could have sworn that were true, but hadn't necessarily been true at all. Shewondered if those truths would execute them to themselves in ways that were just as painful and just as devastating as this one was doing to her now.

"Do you want to come lay down?" Faceless asked urgently, crossing her fingers against the side of the hills of his hands, trying to keep him grounded and present as much as she could. She didn't know if he was actually struggling to be able to stay himself present within this time, but with the fogginess of his slurred speeches, mixed with him looking as if he wasn't quite "here"-, she wouldn't have been surprised if that was the case. His eyes opened wide as he looked over at her with that same loss, precious gaze, and she briefly wondered if had lost some of his old white teeth, which used to sparkle to almost a criminal glow every time he smiled.

"Are you sure?" he asked. His voice, which was already completely full of that gentle slowness inside of its tones, that even when he had been young and sharp, sounded as if it had reached almost a painful degree of cluelessness. She used to have found that cluelessness lovable; now, she just found it heartbreakingly painful. "I mean, do you want to go? You want to go lie down? Because I know that you probably have a lot of stuff on your plate these days. I mean- you're still so young, look at you." He nodded at her, indicating his impression of her with his tired expression. "You're still so young, and I, I can't give you what I used to, honey."

There it was; the undeniable truth of his relentless insecurity. There was a tremor to his voice, and although she could tell that he was trying to speak his truth by fighting back of everything that he had been struggling and dealing with accepting, she could see the way that he struggled to keep the rejection outside his voice of his own affair with disaster. He have her the most adorable boylike smile that she remembered seeing from him for the long time-and she could feel her own heart giving out that it was clearly nobody visited him anymore-and she knew well enough about his original family and his original wife and kids that they had moved on from him in years ago, finding it justified to leave him behind, not even fighting the slightest regret with the way that they quite literally left behind their dad and husband, left him long, rotten, and forgotten. It was true that everyone in his life had forgotten about him-, at some point, they had gotten angry at him and had dropped him-or they simply just didn't care enough to come and visit him. Many had moved onto other things within the business of the craziness that the town has become. And his father was already dead- his mother had died before he could even reach the age of fifty himself.

There was nothing in front of him now except for her, and it seemed, for all the childish denial that Randy had fallen into when he was younger about even the simplest unpleasant truths that most people simply swallowed and accepted, that he had run away from the deepest one that most couldn't swallow-the truth that he was going to be one of those unfortunate people that would die alone. Had it not been for the fact that she had managed to find him and to love him so deeply long before age age had managed to render him practically completely immobile as the four walls pressed around him of age and time, practically serving as a cage with his own just as equally caged demons inside of mind and body, perhaps he would've fallen prey to his addictions, and never would have made it at all. The truth had been tethering on his skin even as they had fallen in love; like a shore lapping against and teasing happily dried sand that would soon be rendered cold and wet from the waves, had it not been for Faceless picking him up far from their dangers. It showed as he felt his body getting heavier,, his skin tight and breathing a little harder, his eyes sinking deeper and his health decreased further in every horrid way possible. But he had been saved, and, truth be told, it had been because of the conflicting loved-seared, somewhat despairing woman that was sitting in front of him now, who didn't need even the reward of recognition to find the act of loving him utterly rewarding.

"Of course I want to," she said, not hesitance or anything that could suggest an otherwise different desire in her voice. "And there's nothing else in this entire world that I ever want, Randy. There's nothing else that I ever will want as much as simply being with you ever again. I don't care how much has changed or how much you have changed…" She gently squeezed her hands against the side of his, making sure that she could execute in a physical manner everything she was saying. It was an unwelcoming intense sensation-the act of touching him, for it reminded her how much they needed one another-how painful it had been to be apart.

"I promise you, darling," she murmured. "I said that I wasn't going anywhere from the moment that I realized that we were made for each other, and that we did something for each other, and I meant every single word every time I spoke it."

Slowly did Randy blink his tired eyes at her; for a hesitant moment, within the futile detachment of his eyes, she couldn't tell if he was actually truly able to take in the meaning of her words-or if he was only just barely managing to hear anything that she was saying. The next statement that he spoke made her lips in a comical grin.

"Are you-are you-you didn't bring a joint, did you?" he stammered after a moment. "I could really use it. It's been a while."

Faceless couldn't help but laugh as she squeezed her hands against his skin in the most tender welcome she was sure Randy, or herself, had ever known. Regardless of whatever was or wasn't true, she knew that was Randy tried and true; whether he could recognize the depths of her intense intent and the depth of her love, she couldn't tell, but for as long as he was himself, she supposed it didn't matter.

"I haven't, darling," she responded softly. She knew that he was still addicted to drugs and alcohol, even now, and she also knew and had heard about the fits from nurses that have reported to her about his shouting whenever he wasn't able to get a joint, or a glass of wine. She gently squeezed her hands against him, wondering when the last time he had even had either of those things was-and also knowing that the hunger of his addiction must be one of the reasons why he was sweating now. She felt her chest save; she was feeling for his isolation and for everything that his life had become. For all the craze and hype of his youth and farming years- for all the busyness, for all the loudness and for the extroversion that Randy had executed when he had been young; it all had ultimately left him as this small, forgettable form that was surrounded by those stagnant walls now, with nothing but apathetic nurses to check on him to make sure that he wasn't dead yet. And when he was, it would merely be a business deal that they would carry out to bury him.

Though Randy had clearly tried hard and have done everything that he could to have been the kind of person that most people would think that they wouldn't be able to forget, it seemed as if he had become the most forgotten person from the town of South Park- more out of people's minds than even the worst scenario that she could've dreamed up inside of her mind. It was enough that she felt as if her heart was choking inside of her chest, feeling as if it was trembling up around herself and him the same-freezing up her very body. She couldn't stand to see him this way, with nothing but his own sad body leaning forward and having nothing but the foggy memory of his addictions to cling onto to help him cope with it all. She knew that he was smart enough that he must be at least somewhat aware of what was happening to him, or the way that he watched his sad fate unravel in front of him; even as he fought against it with hungry and desperate fingers to reach for whatever imaginary drug he could.

Randy didn't say a word as he blinked at Faceless with another uncertain gaze inside of his eyes that were somehow still so loud despite the quiet of his disposition, as if he was trying to push any kind of foggy thought out of his mind just to stay present in the conversation. She felt her heart melt as she felt the unwanted and intrusive comparison of the relentless golden man he used to be-who's intelligence was useful, his leadership natural, and his wit sharp when it mattered. He had always been a lost and slow soul, admittedly-but never quite like this.

"Oh," he mumbled, looking in front of him as he pressed his lips together. "Well, that sucks." The simplicity of the statement almost felt harrowing; she could give anything to tell him it was ok, but she found there was no truth in the reassurance, and never in all their years of emotional comfort had she even found it in herself to lie to him, even if the life felt as if it would feel better. There was that certain newfound gentleness about him, so relentlessly precious in his already soft naivety. There was that inherent beauty about him that Faceles had almost forgotten, at least down to every instinct detail that there was within him; it was something that couldn't be memorized in all of its glorious entirely-that the only thing that could do it justice was seeing it in person. Even within her own desperation to cling on to every single bit of his precious memory whenever she wasn't granted the blessing of being right there with him, she still never quite did it justice. It made her shiver as she took him in and admired him for everything that he was. There was something about him that just seemed as if it was quite literally in touch within himself and his own specific naive insanity, rather than the rest of the world, and how much richer of a soul he seemed for it. and would continue to be so, despite the fact that he himself fell into so many homeless dangerous countless times before. She pressed her thick lips against her own and felt the sickliness of longing as the stickiness of her lips met together, as she reached out her hand yet again and gently caressed it against the side of his leg, feeling the way that the stale, stagnant color of his pants of the nursing home that dressed his legs was soft to the touch, but dull compared to the colorful colors that she knew he used to use for his wardrobe.

She gently teased and searched her hand into the precious place where his stomach pressed against the side of his pants, snaking her hand as she teased it against the soft pudge of his stomach that was even plushier than she ever remembered it being. Even just with the grace of her hand against his stomach, she felt that relentlessly and promising heat that radiated from his skin like a furnace. He was completely and relentlessly warm, the way that she remembered he would be. She wondered if he himself was warm; she wanted him to be comfortable, especially as the rest of his mind and body continued to fall apart around him. She couldn't necessarily save him from the endless ending of his days, and inevitable sense that he would eventually give out with his heart eventually growing old- but she could, at the very least, comfort him and make it as comfortable for him as she could manage-so that it rather felt like a gentle sleeping of falling into something that was utterly natural and comfortable, rather than something that felt as if it was being broken at the seams.

She couldn't deny in that moment that it did feel as if she was practically doing that-fabricating a mattress for him to catch his age. It was too expensive to watch his process as he was now; she was practically watching him unravel and break right in front of her, piece of glass out of piece of glass breaking from the side of the base that he was made of that had previously been so stable, so endlessly upright and confident with the way that he carried himself. He had been nothing less than a magic of admiration with that natural sensitivity that he had about him, even whenever he himself felt as if he was trying his best to prove that he had that fire that would go to the end of the world that can never truly be burnt out. But he was gentle, and he was someone that, deep inside of him, underneath those layers of chaos of impsulive, selfish decision, and the isolation that had come with it, was he perhaps the most gentle person that she had ever met in her life. She knew that the only way she could possibly continue going forward with him was to simply allow wasn't to stop to burning of the flame within him-whether it was exploding or burning out, she didn't know, but the best thing she could do for him was simply wait-wait with him, and for him. So long as they didn't fall out of their place within which they were meant to love each other, there was no reason what they experienced wouldn't be at least somewhat bearable-at least for him. Her being forced to watch him decay right in front of her was quite a different story.

For her part, however, she was going to completely and utterly fall apart as soon as she wasn't around him. She had never known that something as the simplicity of the image of a man in front of her that used to look so permanently young and so incredibly beautiful could now look so completely broken in front of her, most especially as he slouched in front of her now. She gently caressed your fingertips against the side of his sideburns, feeling herself shiver at the sensation, cutting down on her life as she felt her heartbreak for the countless time that day. It was almost getting to the point where, at this point, she could remember a time when it didn't break when she took Randy in-if not for his decay, then certainly for his beauty. She couldn't remember a time when her heart didn't shatter completely inside of her chest. There was something about seeing the way to his face that was completely broken and almost taken inside of itself, as if it was a torn, soggy piece of paper that had been trampled over time. It made her feel as if her heart was giving out as she took him in-his tired eyes that used to be clean with so much life and passion, the gray bags underneath them that seemed as if they were physically arrested underneath his previously glowing skin.

"That sucks,'' Randy said simply. His voice- still with that same tired drawl as much as it always had- was the first thing that broke her out of her reflections-almost as if he was physically taking her to someone else. Her eyes fluttered upward as she gazed at him for a moment, and slowly did the softest, weary smile trace against the side of her lips. " It does," she muttered, gently allowing themselves to, if nothing else, bond in their disappointment in that moment. "It does, Randy. I'll tell you that much." She gently leans forward as she dared to press her lips against the side of his, feeling herself shiver if she felt the suggestion of the softest of his skin that she knew was resting just underneath the layer of this dull clothes.

She felt him on his leaning himself backwards, the chair creaking slightly underneath his weight as he leaned backward. He shifted slightly underneath her weight as he allowed the soft, gentle sensation of her hands to softly cross against his pants as she massaged him into his softened confession of his physical and emtionlalogning. She would do anything to offer in the comfort that she knew that he was so desperately needed. He had always been a man that desperately needed constant validation and comfort, and, somehow, it was that combination of his constant need for it underneath that fired chaos and hurricane that he was that perfectly matched up against the tormented knowing that was inside her own heart and her own soul of his fate, and inevitably soon-hers the same. His fate was her fate, after all. She smiled as leaned her own head against his as she reached her other hand to gently caress them against the side of his pants, watching the way that his face continued to break out into that soft, gentle adorable fashion-that adorable navitley with the way he always did with his expression. His wrinkles broke out into an even deeper crevices in front of his pale skin that felt as if it was the very embodiment of a pale parchment paper that was continuously being broken into with a pen that was pressing too hard. She smiled as she took him in and his every inch of preciousness, feeling a clicking inside of her chest as she gently took him in that let her know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was where she belonged.

"Do you want to do something?" She said softly.

"Like what?" Randy questioned, slow voice laced in tenderness.

"Anything. Anything at all. We can go outside and go for a walk. I know the sun is shining really nicely today. We can sit here and we can talk, or we could grab a meal somewhere down the hall." She caressed her hands further against his thigh, squeezing it as she did so. "Anything at all, sweetheart. Anything at all."

She couldn't stop saying it, and she would have continued saying it over and over again if that was what he needed to have it sink it; it almost seemed as if it was the most natural for her to continue speaking those promises to him. She wanted him to know that, without a shadow of a doubt, even with the way that his mind was leaving him and the way he was falling apart, that she was there for him above all else. That there wasn't one thing that she wouldn't do for him-and not one way she wouldn't care for him if she could help it. There was truly not one thing that she could think of that she wouldn't at least attempt to do for him if it was even remotely in her power to do so. Randy leaned his head further back on his shoulders as he moaned slowly, mouth open slightly in that adorable, completely and utterly helpless way that he did more often than not whenever he was in over his head. With the adorable innocence of his nature, it seemed as if being clueless was the case more often than not.

"I guess," he mused after a moment, flickering his eyes in thought as he smacked his lips. There was something about him that was so tragically tormented within the way that he was so endlessly fighting against his weakened character-so incredibly isolated from the other people from his past, who have been more than happy to leave him from behind, and almost rightfully so. And yet there was something about him that seemed as if it was so helplessly innocent, even within his flaws and the bloody crimes that he had done throughout his life; it seemed as if he was only becoming even more compelling of an innocence that she only wanted to fall into further. It was almost painful, just how much he was desperate to be loved, and just how much people misinterpreted the things that he did that made him seem as if he deserved as anything but.

"I guess I just- just want to lie down for a little bit. It's been a little while since I've actually gotten a chance to lie down. To cuddle." He shifted in his chair slightly. "Like we used to.'

He said the words but with uncertainty, his voice low and searching as he spoke them. Faceless' eyes flickered for a moment as she gazed at him. After a pause did she nod, far more weight on the simple request than it seemed on the surface.

"Okay," she whispered softly. She felt as if she was speaking some sort of secret-and for some reason the request, despite how simple it was, was a precious nature of promise between the both of them. Truth be told, she couldn't believe this was even happening-or some reason, despite the ease of the request, it seemed as if it was the most painful one that Randt could have asked for. The thought of lying down and being so utterly intimate with him within that moment the way that she had with him when he was young-with his breathless skin and just as equally disposition, and his endless light that never truly ended-almost as if it was a train of naive spiritual neverending power that could knock a moving train out of the way. It was one that seemed as if it was almost too much of her to take.

Slowly did she take a deep breath as she made herself upward, and then slowly did she lean herself forward and press ger lips against his own. She felt the way Randy's eyelashes fluttered closed against her touch; for a moment, she felt the way that the crevice of his skin was chillingly meeting against the side of he lips as he pressed his own against hers, breathing against the side of her face all the while. Faceless gasped as she felt a shudder overcome here. There was a strike of madness inside of her to get closer to him, but the only thing she could do to acknowledge it was to reach out of her hand and gently caress against his skin, just as she would have done every morning when they lived together. The way she touched him was evident as it shivered down to his chest, the black coarse hair on his body standing on end and ticking her own skin the same. It was the hair he had grown out a few times when he had been younger-it was growing further down his body as she looked down at him, letting out her own soft awe of fanscation as she gently took him in and everything that he was. His eyes looked it up at her, she felt her heart give out for a moment she saw within those green oceans the depths of the thought never seem to stop within their endless mistress of the way it danced with the world-so much the point and not even he was quite aware of what they consisted of. There was already, deep down inside, even underneath all that inmate exhaustion that he seemed to be made of, still that relentless light, and he was reaching out to her now- his soft expression and soft heavy gray eyelids that traced against the side of his features framing him as he looked at her with that moon song of meaning inside of his expression.

"Faceless?" he said gently. "You okay?" He said the words slow and uncertain, and Faceless pressed her kiss against his cheek-something that she was doing to reassure herself that this was more than ok-that she was ok.

"I've never been better," she whispered earnestly against his cheek. Her words were soaked with tender admittance of her own confession. Despite the words that she spoke, she felt as if she was speaking a lie, if only for just how good to be true the sensation she was expercinign felt.

But it really was true. She had really never felt better, she knew that she never would feel better than within this moment-sitting next to the one man that had always felt like he was perfectly everything that she needed within each other, every last final piece that fit against each other despite the rest of the world and its endless chaos; the unwanted white noise of the world would filter until there was nothing except for the two of them. She felt Randy's lips lift up into a smile as his mustache tickled against her-he leaned her further into his chair as if gently creaked underneath his weight, causing her to lean forward while he gently rubbed his hands around the side of her hips, not jutting softly into his.

"I still have it in me, you know," he teased against her ear. Just by the tired exhaustion of his voice, she could tell that wasn't quite ture, but there was something inside of him that had that familiar party boy personality to it-even though it seemed as if it was hidden the wear of time she was seeing now. Somewhere inside, there was that man that still had those gleaming eyes and rich black hair uninterrupted by grey strands- the relentlessly beautiful man that have been there before, with his endless heat following him no matter where he went, as well as that unapologetic flamed energy inside of him following him wherever he went. She pressed her hips further downward against his hips, ensuring that she could feel the soft intimacy between his plush thighs once more. She gasped as she felt the way her middle gradually met his own; awakened intimacy between the two of them. His middle was even more stocky and fleshy then she had remembered it; his stomach more like a plush pillow than anything else. And she adored every moment of it. She allowed herself to lean forward further against him, fluttering her eyes close in gentle login as she did so. She allowed her arms to caress against the side of his own plush lovehandles, loving the way the blanket that surrounded his shoulders perfectly matched up against her arms and his own natural warmth as a person.

Slowly did he let out a moan as he smiled, his mustache gradually reaching upward. He reached out his hands and trailed against the of her own hips. She squeezed the spaces of his fingers against the side of her own, feeling his green wonders continue to gently search inside of hers- and she couldn't help but smile as she feel unto another sense of rich contentment that only he could give her.

"Mm," she muttered. "You may still have it in you, but you have slowed down a lot, ," she teased softly. Her voice was gentle, uncertain- she didn't know if their usual loving teasing that they would have fallen into before was something that he could even necessarily recognize right now-so different was he from the sharp, always on edge light he had always been. Yet he was the same in the ways that counted; a repeat of life that was in front of her now. As she took her fingers to running through his blacks waves, his green eyes flickered up at her, a soft ambition now in his eyes.

"Can I show you?" he muttered. "It's been a really really long time since I've had a chance to be intimate with anyone since I've been here. Since...since I got old, I guess." There was an admittance of defeat inside his words, and he sighed as he spoke them. "Don't get me wrong, I'm still just as awesome as I've always been, but….it's been a little while. I just really want to feel like what it feels like to touch someone right now." His former attempt at cockiness was falling away entirely as that natural gentle, almost pathetically softest energy inside of him started to overcome and fully executed from him and into her; his words choking inside his throat as he spoke them.

"So, please, Faceless," he rasped. His voice now choking as he gazed at her, his drawl voice giving away to something that was even slower and more helpless as he looked into her-almost tragically. Faceless swallowed, and she couldn't help but take him in as she saw the tears of his eyes mirrored her own. He gently reached out his thumbs and traced it against her trembling lip-which still tasted of alcohol.

"Your little alcohol fingers," she smiled.

"Hey, I said I still haven't changed," Randy chuckled.

" Come on," she said softly. It came out as a sign that she would do anything at all with him as she traced her hands against the side of his own, decialt did she indicate her head over towards the bed that was beside them. Randy's eyes flickered over towards the bed, and then back over towards her, and slowly did he nod as she started to hoist his tired body upward.

"Wait," he spoke, his voice choking as he looked over at her. She turned her head over her shoulder as she looked at him- and there was Randy, with all of his eyes bulging out of his socket as he gazed at her helplessly. "Can-can you help me up?" he muttered, voice trembling as he gazed at her. "It's just-it's not too easy for me to get myself up and around. Kind of the point of the wheelchair, you know?" He granted her a charming smile as he gave her a quick shrug, and even within the wrinkles that were with his face she could see and hear in his voice just how fight he still had within him. She smiled as she turned and made her way over towards him, gently allowing her hands to caress against his body as she hoisted him upward-or prepared to. His hands rested against his own plush ribs.

"Whenever you're ready, party boy," she said softly.

She could feel the way he shivered just from that one name- that one soft gentle crevice of the person that he used to be. That full, erratic glowing man that she knew that he had always taken pride in being, in his own chaotic way. She slowly pressed her body against his until there was no space between them; she began to gently massage her hands around his love handles as his own arms wrapped even more tightly around her body as he gripped his hands against hers to hoist himself upward- even his hands firmly pressed against her as much as he could get himself to. He clumsily pressed his soft middle against her hands as they stayed firmly on his body while he got himself upward-but it was an endearing sensation. She felt her body shiver with logning as she felt the way he slowly started to get himself further upward, even with his body clearly trembling with the effort-she felt her skin shiver as she felt the very spiritual caress of his body against her own. Randy let out a soft moan-she squeezed her hands reassuringly against his body as she pressed a kiss against the side of his hair in what was meant to be reassurance. She allowed one of her hands to snake away from where it was in the space between his side and his stomach as she travelled her touch over to his hair, still rich with black, even now; her fingertips gently threaded through his waves as she did so.

"Sweet thing. You're really tired, aren't you?" she murmured softly against his hair. It wasn't the same endless black locks that it had been before, admittley-those black waves that had hardly been interrupted by even one grey strand. Now, it was more of something that was a combination between the two-with possibly more gray than there was midnight black hair than had ever been there before. But there wasn't one man his age Faceless had ever seen that was quite like the blacks locks of magic that Randy sported; he was far from bald, unlike so many of the men that were currently surrounding the area. Rather, it was silver oceans teased and tingled with black hair; with a couple of deep grey hairs in between. She smiled as she continued to thread her fingers beneath the side of his hair, loving the way that she could memorize the softness of his body in one of her palms, and the gentle waves of his hair in another. His body pressed against the side of her hand as he completed getting himself mostly upward-although his knees still buckled. She felt complete within that moment more than she ever had in her life- more complete than she had ever felt in a long time that she can remember.

"Come on," she insisted, still smiling as she reached out her hand now fully over towards his stomach and pressed it against his softest middle, caressing her fingertips against the plump pudge that gave away his age. His hand trembled, and with a shaky breath he slowly reached over his hand and pressed it against her own. There were certain curves and crevices in her hands that hadn't been there before- so different from the smooth, gentle, relentlessly youthful man that he had been for so long that had smelled like the welcomed contradiction of fresh air and yet the musky smell of weed- and adventure, more than anything else. Always adventure. Adventure had a smell-and it was the very scent of what Randy was. It was such a distinct smell that it would continue to occur inside of him, even after years of being surrounded by that stagnant smell of the old peoples' home, once of which often made its victims smell of old food, and even older souls. But the endless sense of fresh air that he had always been hadn't left once; it made Faceless' breath catch for a moment as she took it in.

Randy used to smell like the very embodiment of fresh air-and, by some miracle, he still did, even when the overpowering smell of lifeless old, dust fortune and even more dusty rooms- the only thing surrounding them within the four walls of nursing homes. He felt as if he had second endurace, not just in his personality, but in the very way he was simply made; and she could see the way he was coming to life; how he genuinely moved in the longest time, and how it simulated his senses that could never truly be caged. She felt her heard give out at the thought of him simply sitting here, day in and day out-feeling that a misfire within him that wasn't meant to be in places like this; though she knew his flame wasn;t going anywhere, and knew it certainly be dimmed, still was there pain in the situation.

"Sweetheart," she began gently. With visible effort did Randy start to turn around slowly, and she felt the feeling of conflict growing inside of her as she saw how much he struggled.

"How are you feeling?" She took her hands and pressed both back against his sides, guiding him to follow her as much as his hunched over form would allow. She reached the bed, with Randy dragging his tired feet from behind. With a soft groan from his end did he lean himself down onto the mattress, and Faceless wasted no time in kneeling down next to him so that she was level to him. He half leaned down, stomach spilling out into his lap, which was plump and round and even more lovable than she remembered it being. She tried to resist the urge to touch him right then and there as she gently guided him downward. Randy let out a soft moan, still with his mouth half-open in that adorable concentration, and still with his heavy eyelids tracing against the front of his green oceans. He leaned his hand against her shoulder and the other against the mattress, slowly pressing his body down on the sheets in front of him as he laid his head closest towards her shoulder. She could tell he wanted to lie down, but he was so scared to let her go.

"Fucking tired," he admitted after a moment. He smiled as he leaned forward and pressed his lips against her cheek. She shivered as she felt the way his lips massaged against the side of her skin-starved for his touch more than even she was aware of. "But a little bit better, now that the best chick that I ever knew is actually right here with me. The best woman."

He stopped after a moment, a pause on his hands as he pressed it further against her skin. "That's the way I felt about you, honey. You really are the only person that actually gave a damn enough to actually take care of me when I needed it, and when I didn't even know that I needed it. To talk me out of my busllhit without making me feel like I was being called out. Made me feel like I was actually being taken care of and looked after...you know, without feeling like I was just being some sort of burden that wasn't wanted around." She felt his hot breath beat against her as he spoke, and she felt herself shutter at the sensation. "But yeah, Im really fucking tired, sweetheart, if I can be honest. I feel this way all the time now. I can't believe I used to pull half the crap that I did every single day and actually wanted to do it."

There was a soft pause that interrupted his voice, and she knew it was coming before he even spoke the words-so well did she know the patterns of the song that was in his rhythm, making itself known into his every pattern and his every tone that spoke more confessions than Randy himself even wanted to speak. He was a man that wore his heart on his sleeve, through and through.

"I'm just-I don't even know who I am half the time, if I can be honest." There was a soft shudder that left his lips-almost as if he was nervous to speak the confession, and he let out a raspy chuckle, as if he was trying to dispel the emotional seriousness of what he was saying, trying to make it come across as some sort of joke. This Faceless knew about him far too well, and she was going to help him speak his deepest truth if she could help it; it was the only way to get that poison out of his system. Gently did she reach out one hand, gently caressing against the side of his features all the while as she looked at him with her own softened consideration.

"Lie down," she said softly. It wasn't a command-but rather more so a soft suggestion- but one that she knew that he needed to hear. Randy blinked at her, then quickly gave her a nod after a moment, and then slowly did he began to lean himself down further, not taking his green searching eyes off her once. Slowly did he ease his clearly weary bones against the stale white of the mattress, both of them hearing the way it creaked underneath his weight as he allowed his body to fully rely on the bed. His stomach spilled out; a soft and gentle plump hill that was trembling with his heavy emotion. As he lied himself down, it seemed to strike inside of his very eyes of just how weary he truly was; the realization began to reveal itself on his face further as he pressed himself and finally allowed his bones to breathe. His skin became softer as it gave out from the soft middle he was made of as he eased his body fully onto the bed. There was something that was more tired about him than he had ever been before that executed itself around his body and shining inside of his very eyes-and so sore and red from the sides. Faceless let out her own sad, weary sigh as she inched herself closer to him and wrapped herself around the side of his own plush form.

She gently leaned herself further against him as her arms began to tease and press against his skin, feeling the way that the soft, inviting ball that was his stomach that was his stomach pressed against her body. She let out a shaky sigh as she pressed her embrace as fully against his skin as much as she was able, feeling the way that his black hair gently trembled and kissed up against the side of her own skin. She could feel the melody of her own dizzy enlightenment being summoned by his; a light jazz tinged her vision, feeling as if something was giving away inside of her as she allowed to top him, and for Randy to allow himself to be softly crushed underneath her. She had been alone since they had been apart-completely, truly alone in a way that she had been before the day she met him. It seemed as if, in some ways, it was her own selfishness that she was putting his weakened body through this-but it seemed as if, somewhere in his lost age, Randy wanted this just as much. She felt as if he had been specifically made just so that she could feel what it was like to be loved and known, such as they way she was loved and known by him now-to feel what it was like to be caressed by one she desired that was warm in the temperature she needed it to be.

What would have been her otherwise bleak existence and lifestyle just trying to find a chance to breathe was now breathtaking because of the enduring, plush man in her embrace now. As if he had literally come around just to show her exactly what it felt like to save and to be saved-to be loved, to be understood. She leaned forward as she gently pressed her lips against his skin, this time now no longer dreading this sense of the crevices of the hill that was within his skin that gave away how close he was to death, but rather falling into them; she allowed her lips to press up against the coast of his own skin, to feel the way her body shuttered underneath her own touch. "Just take it easy, sweet thing," she suggested tenderly. She could feel the way that he was breathing heavy-could feel the way that he was full of his own desperation as he looked at her.

"But what if I am- but what if I'm crap again this time around, Faceless?" he whispered. She was surprised at the question; Randy had always been such a confident man, for better or for worse, and she had assumed the same was true now. She frowned as she leaned away from where she had been pressing her lips on his face only a moment before, blinking at him in question. "What if I'm just really, really bad this time, and it's really embarrassing? I don't, I don't really even know if I even remember how to even do half of this shit anymore. Honest. I really want to give you what I want to give you, and I really want to be a good husband, and I really want to-to give you what I used to be able to give you. But I'm just not built the way that I used to be, and I'm just really worried that you're not going to see me-"

She gently pressed her lips against his own trembling ones, but he didn't stop with his own violent, insecure speech even she pressed her lips against the side of his, quickly replacing her finger with her mouth. His words were now being muffled gently, and she smirked in tender love, reminded of just how soft and insecure he truly was. Slowly did she let her breath guide against his face as she pecked her lips against his until it interrupted his tormented speech. She could feel the way he wanted to be stopped from his own babbling, tortured speech as his words were replaced by a weary sigh, and she felt his bones lose their tension as his fight did much the same.

"Take it easy sweetheart," she suggested patiently. "God knows that I can't afford to have the love of my life begin to stumble over himself with any negative thoughts. Not if I can help it, anyway. Not because you're not allowed to have them-but because I think my heart might physically give out right now if I continue to see you suffering in more ways than one." She sighed, and even in the increasingly dim light could she see the way Randy's eyes danced with a tender devastation as he gazed into her own.

"You're a miracle. You're golden, and there's not one thing you could ever do to make me see you in a different way," she murmured against the side of his lips. She smiled as she gently leaned further against the side of his trembling lips, gently allowing her hands to trembling and caress him all the while as she did so. His own hot, shadowed breath pressed against her face, and he leaned himself farther backward against the side of the mattress, adjusting so they could both be most comfortable according-or perhaps it was a shift to process the weight of what she said.

"Hun-" His voice came across as uncertain as he spoke with that voice that was so laced with endless croaking that have been spoiled from the smoke he induced himself in all those years. "I just- I just want you to know that I'm not the man that used to be, okay? I'm not who I used to be, in general. I just- I don't want you to feel like something is up, or like some shit is going on if I can't give you what I used to be able to give you."

"All those nights," she murmured against his skin."All those nights we lived together and made love, countless times over. And all I have are these insecurities in you, after all that thrusting and love making we did, no matter how awful we were feeling as people."

"Yeah, but-" He pressed his lips against the side of her again, grabbing his fingertips even further against her body, increasing in pressure, just as his words were. "Exactly. I just really, really don't want you to think for even a moment that I'm trying to do any of this on purpose, alright? Or that I'm not trying my best. Believe me, sweetheart, I really, really want this just as much as you do." A cough succumbed in his throat- something that wasn't uncommon when he spoke too quickly, the smoke he indulged in when he was younger evidently having ruined his lungs in the process. It was a horrible sound, but Faceless adored it; he made even wretchedness a golden art. Faceless lifted herself from his body slightly and pressed herself against the side of his face, offering her own breath deeper and further against the side of his body as an interlude to sex. She was offering him his own tender comfort as she pressed herself as tightly against his body as much as physical bounds would allow. "You don't have to say or prove anything," she reassured him. "Especially not to me. I'm the one person that you could always go to-the one person you could always trust to see you and to love you. To know you today, tomorrow, and every day. I'm the person you don't have to explain yourself to, Randy, and you don't ever have to worry about anything bad happening between us, okay?"

She couldn't explain it, but as he opened up his eyes and gaze at her, she couldn't help but see a beautiful man that was so full that light, energy, and relentless stiek into her core; as if there was a purity inside of him that not even the circumstance of his life would take away. Regardless of whether or not that confidence was causing him trouble wasn't of any concern to her-she would reach for him and to him in whatever way he needed. Randy may have always been his worst enemy, but she would do whatever she could to break through his wounds and become the antidote. No matter what kind of scandals or what kind of man he was- or even whether he was a good or a bad person, she found that it wouldn't hurt her in the slightest. When it came to him, and most especially to loving him, she found that they way she loved him was relentlessly maddening-even selfish, and there was no one else, and nothing else, that could ever come between the way that she felt about him-it was an unapologetic, almost monstrous source that would have terrified her, had it not felt so sweet. that much she knew, time and time again, and if there was any one thing that she had pushed aside, it was certainly all her morals. She could take care of him, would tell him any truth, and would satisfy him in any way that he needed.

"Okay, honey," Randy breathed softly as he gazed into her eyes. "If you really-if you really mean it."

"I do," she murmured without one hesitation. "As long as you're taking care of yourself, and as long as we're taking it at your pace-this is everything that I ever could have wanted." She smiled as she trailed her hands down the side of his face, feeling the way that he shuddered at her touch. She squeezed her hand against the other side of his lovehandles, Randy's body now trembling for sex, and then slolwy did her hand journey towards the stiockiness in between his two legs. A breath of a shuttered moan left his lips as he felt the tenderness of her touch-her hands were the equivalent of a honeyed caress as she gently began to tremble her fingers against the side of his thighs. She let out her own shaky, awe-stricken sigh as she pressed her lips against the side of his sweatpants that she started to pull away the sweatpants that sat at his plump middle. She felt satisfaction for his own clear pleasure as she took in the way his eyes rolled to the back of his head all the while as he felt her pleasure, the back of his head melting and sinking further into the pillow, black hair serving as soft waves as they pressed against the pillow.

"God," he whispered out as a breath. "You're really good at this, you know that? Even though-yeah, even though I'm not like I used to be. You're really, really incredible."

Faceless smirked as she lied down and pressed her lips against the patch of chest that was revealing itself to her in all of its shuddering, coarse black hair and glory.. She continued to pull down his sweatpants all the while, rhythm soft and considerate. She could feel the way that he was shuttering underneath her touch as she softly pressed her skin against the side of his own.

"I haven't even started yet, sweetheart," she murmured with some tender amusement. She laughed as she traveled his lips to the side of his thighs, grazing her teeth against it as she smoothed his skin over with his lips, feeling alive just from the way that he utterly shattered underneath her touche.

"You've always been a tactile one," she whispered against him. "Always completely susceptible and sensitive to touch, in all the ways that you always so wonderfully are." She pressed her lips incessantly against him further, pressing her knees against the softness of his skin, and continued to pull his pants further down his trembling legs. Another moan came from Randy; just as loud and as incessant as it had always been. The moans continued as he brushed his own hands further against the side of her body, letting out shaky breaths all the while as Faceless continued to pull his pants further down the side-all the way down to his ankles.

The soft moonlight was starting to peaky through the shudders, tracing and even kissing against his peeking skin-which seemed as if was significantly blessed with a conventional beauty. Just like the rest of his body, his very air and the patches of his skin was night in every passing season; there wasn't one form of the world where his body wouldn't make it beauty; his green forest eyes were spring teased to autumn by the brown stain of his teeth, his skin winter and his hair midnight. She gently began to trace their hands against the side of his body, feeling goosebumps raise from the way that his hair stood up on all ends as his coarse black hair caressed her searching fingertips against the side of his own body. "Just be nice and slow," she breathed gently. She couldn't deny that she was nervous herself; it had been so long since their bodies had come together like this. She didn't know how a man that was so plump and so stocky within his own build could be so utterly breakable when it came to emotions; how he could melt like wax under heat at her touch.

"Faceless, honey, please, just make love right now," Randy practically begged. "I'm just please-come on. I really, really need you right now." He reached out his hand as he stroked it against her cheek, gently pressing his hairy knuckles against her skin. For just how completely dismissive or full of himself he could have been with him the moment, for just how much he could have been so prodigal and so money-oriented when he was younger, she could see that man underneath that was so utterly sincere that desperately needed to be loved. She took a deep breath and she gazed into his eyes and nodded, but not before grabbing her hands further against the side of his own hips.

"I'm coming sweetheart," she promised. "And believe me, I want to see you just as much as you want to see me."

A loud sigh-one that was both lustful and yet softdally artistic at the same time-left his lips. "I'm going to take you by the boatload once I get over this ache in my bones," Randy gritted out of his teeth. Faceless couldn't help but laugh and smile at his promise that he was desperately trying to give her.

"I don't doubt that you would," she reassured him. It was important his feelings were validated. "And I don't doubt that you still can, if you really wanted to. But what matters to me right now is that you're comfortable and that you're safe-but most importantly that you're taken care of and that you're happy." She felt your voice choked inside her throat, and softly did she rock herself further against his hips. She could feel the way that her own weight, which was so incredibly light compared to his own, just barely managed to be affected by his own soft plush form, although spiritually they were on the same levels of desperation within that moment. She only began to rock her hips against the side of his own, feeling the way that Randy's body melted and was wrecked underneath the touches that she gave him as she rocked her hips against his, sporting pleasure between the two of them.

"Oh-yeah," Randy whispered. "Yeah, that's it." His voice began to have that same usual raspy lust to it that she had always remembered him having before, and it only made her even more hungry for him. She started rocking herself with an even stronger rhythm against the side of his own cock, loving the way it reached every side of her own sensitive walls as it rocked against her. She eased herself further rinto him, but not before she could feel those weathered hands pressed against her head, fingers gripping into her intensely. She opened her eyes and blinked at him in surprise,, feeling his urgency through the action.

"Wait," Randy husked. "Can-can I please just-" He let out a heavy sigh as his eyes flickered up at her. "Babe, I really want to top you." His voice was almost relentlessly wobbling as he looked over at her, leaving their glittering desperation as tickers for whatever tormented cave was inside of him. "Please," he begged again, when he still hadn't gotten an answer. "I want to show you that I still have it in me. I want to do it in more ways than one. I don't want to be spoiled like some fuddy-duddy. I'm better than that."

Sometimes love could be suffocated under the endless dirt that was muffled or rather muddled emotions-and she could see that most especially in Randy now. She couldn't help it-of course she would allow him to. She nodded as she laced her fingers through one of his black hairs that rested against his face.. She felt the way that he shuddered against her, and she knew that the hunger that she had for him- the sheer amount of famished nature that trembled through her- with something that she couldn't help but only fall deeper inside herself, and she could see Randy himself had his own hunger that engulfed him completely. He was just barely managing to control it enough as it was.. The fact that he even made it this far was something that she couldn't help with the impressed by- knowing his nature with hardly being able to fight against any addictions or anything that he could ever crave for even half of the moment. This was for their love, of course, but also for Randy's ego; something that had just as much of a griphold on him as much as anything else in his life did.

"Hey, honey, just take it easy, alright?" Randy whispered. He spoke the words abruptly, as she looked at him as she blinked rapidly. She forgot herself as she gazed into his green wonders for a moment-and not even the weight of the gray bags underneath his eyes could take her away from her admiration of his eternal youth. She was taking him in more than she could stand as she raced her eyes against his entire body, her frantic hunger only being fed further as she relentlessly took in all patches of his skin.

She choked, and she nodded that she looked up at him and gave him a quick nod. If she can manage with this feeling of hardly being able to function, she knew she could do anything. Randy was both her vice and her cure. She would feel that he was hurt from all sides, but still she would go to him-whatever hurt the intensity of their love gave them, it was worth it. She continued tugging on the soft black hair that was reaching out from the side of his body, memorizing the coarse black hair that caressed against his skin and to her body as she did so.

"Look at you," she whispered softly. "Even with all the phases you went through, even with everything in life that has brought you down- somehow you're still the same person.. It's like you haven't aged or changed a day." She smiled as she nuzzled her nose against his, loving the way that the warmth radiated out from his very skin and wrapped around her very own body.

She briefly heard Randy chuckle as she felt the way his hair brushed against hers, coarse body hair and fluffy black hair on his head the same, and she looked up at him as she felt the way that his face caressed against her own.

"Thanks, honey," he whispered softly. His voice was raspy, childlike-not just with the permanent raspiness that he had inside his voice, but also with emotion that was inside of him hat wrapped around him from outside. She let out her own desperate gasp as she felt the way that he continued to press his fingertips against the side of her own body. She leaned her head further against him as she continued nuzzling her against the side of the soft, gentle of his skin-her own calm and personal invitation towards allowing him to be everything that he needed to be within that moment.

"You've always been exactly what I wanted and needed," she murmured against him. "Even when I didn't even know what I needed myself."

There was a loud chuckle that came from Randy, but one that was laced in an emotionally intelligent, understanding pain.

"Yeah, yeah I hear that, honey," he whispered, his voice coming out with that previously reflective pain, as if the tones of his voice itself had been nothing except a reminder of everything that had ever gone wrong in Randy's life-with everything that he never wanted it to be, and with dealing with his life becoming the complete opposite of everything that she knew that he had ever been fighting for. She smiled.

He was such a mess, and she knew that he was the biggest mess that she would ever know within her life. After all, everything that he had ever done for his life had always ended up with the opposite result of what he had wanted, and it seemed as if he hardly had anything to show for his life that had only succeeded in wearing him down. He had been successful with his business-but on a spiritual level he had starved. There was nothing now around him except for the floor and the four walls that surrounded him, and she desperately wished that there was something that she could do to promise him the life that was full of all the endless luxuries he wanted-money, luxury, ambition, fame and worldwide adoration. That she knew he so desperately craved more than he almost could even physically or mentally stand. These desires had driven him mad; his red hot desires and addictions that he struggled with followed him every day. The desire to simply escape life and reality as he knew it. Now, she couldn't imagine what he felt like-if the hurricanes of frustration was what he had known when he was younger, especially knowing that he had hardly been able to handle it even when he had been younger, and even when he had been able to escape it with alcohol and whatever else was available to him that his own desperate fingers would go out and reach for. In that way he was a tortured soul- in the sense that he had inherited an addiction where there was nothing that he could do about it; nothing that he could save himself from. Only to learn how to live around it, rather than through it. There was no living through something that he had been born with because of his family line, and there was quite literally nothing that she could do except to simply love him through it-and time and time again where others had previously failed within their patience would she stay, trying to heal those wounds that were left behind from those that gave up on him entirely and left him for the sake of their own peace of mind.

"Sweet thing," she cooed. She realized now that wanting to be intimate wasn't just something that she wanted to do out of some sort of generic attachment, or even that he wanted to prove himself that he still had it, but more so was it about the reconnection of therapy they gave each other. And though she knew he had lost his truest self ages ago, if he had ever had it at all, she knew that his desire to make love to her was far more deeper and far more intense than any of that. She could sense the way his fingertips were trembling as they tried to stay calm, but she could ssense those familiar sensations of addictions all too well. He didn't just want to get with her-but he also wanted to escape himself. and no doubt his own thoughts that he had never been very good at having to deal with. Constantly had he told her he wasn't strong enough in the past, and that he didn't wanna deal with himself. and that he didn't wanna stay with his own thoughts for too long-even going so far did not even recognize some sort of symptoms of illness that he had, preferring to stay in denial. These parts of him needed to be treated with gentle love and patience-desperalty. She thought that time alone being locked up here would do at least some good for him, but as she saw the desperation in his eyes and the trembling lip that graced his features, she realized that was the farthest thing from the case.

"Oh," she choked, trying her best to stop the choking of emotion that was building inside of her throat. "Randy…" Even to speak his name felt like a certain level of addiction, and she couldn't help but taste the bittersweet sorrow that speaking the words left on her tongue. She swallowed as she eased herself further onto her hips, and she couldn't help but have it fully on her dawn just how much she had affected him with her own desperation to help him cope with his flaws. She wasn't sure if there wa anything she could do-or anything she could say- that would even come close to curing that torment inside of his heart, or those addictions that had taken so many different forms but had seldom actually curved much of anything worthwhile; rather had it only plunged him deeper into darkness, leaving him with nothing but his own demons that he had tried and failed to burst away from, time and time again.

"Hey, hun, it's ok, alright?" Randy rasped. Faceless flickered her eyes downward and gazed at him in question; whatever she had been expecting from his ceaseless unpredictable nature, it hadn't been this. "You don't gotta worry about the stuff that's been going through my head. It hasn't been sweet, but it's ok, because you're here now." He smiled as he leaned forward and grazed his fingertips against her ears, traveling them from where they had been resting against her hips only a second before.

She felt herself hardly able to fight against the heat that overcame her, and she slowly nodded as she dared to press another kiss to his fleshy thigh-the action soft and slow with a consideration that was so deep it was almost poetic. He let out another moan-another squeeze of his hands and another caressed against her ear. She smiled as she nuzzled herself against him. She felt the grazing of his soft body against her face, and somehow even that tenderness was enough to make her feel another wave of relentless emotion that overcame her body fully. This feeling was surely madness, and it was one she fully accepted.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured. "I just want to make it up to you." Another kiss to his happy trial that grazed above his stomach. "Make you happy."

Randy let out a soft moan that crawled out of his lips, and Faceless couldn't help but smirk at the sensation. His round belly stuck out further as he pressed up his body from where it was lying against the mattress, arching his back in lust.

"You've always been so adorable," she murmured. Another kiss. "So soft. Naturally clumsy and sweet in your own way."

"It was easier once you came along," Randy gruffed. He thrusted his hips against hers, as if begging for her to dare to travel further inside of him. "Thanks for that. Made getting older a lot easier than it was before."

Faceless smiled, and she pressed the side of her face against his trembling stomach. He was halfway within her now, and though she wanted to keep him thrusting into her, over and over and countless times again, she also wanted to enjoy this. The sweet, soft, sensual pages of what they shared together of their past that was written within the very patches of his existence. The way his trembling fingertips spoke of all the promises she never even knew existed to the extent of magic that they were until she had come to know him. Quite literally did they share layers upon layers of a certain kind of fabricated mystery that consistently kept revealing its secrets time and time again; Randy himself was unpredictable, but so was the love they shared.

"Hun..." Randy hoisted his hips further against hers. "I really, really need to make love to you. Right now. Right on top." Another desperate request that was executed through his hands. "Please, honey," he moaned. "Let me try to do this. For..for me."

There it was. His desperation to become one wasn't just from his desire for her, but also the desire for himself that she had granted him within their life together before. Their admitted selfishness was nothing to be hidden or ashedm of, but rather was it utterly welcomed. Faceless fluttered her eyes, and with one soft, gentle nod of agreement did she ease herself off of him, feeling the bed creak underneath their shifting weight. Randy's eyes, pretty in all of their glimmering wonders, raised himself upward along with his torso and he hoisted himself from his elbows as he gave her a quick, adorable and disbelieving look with his expression, thick hair sticking out in all directions.

"Wait, really?" he breathed, looking at her with all of his predestined boysness. "We're doing this? You're gonna let me…"

"I'll lie down next to you," Faceless guided him. Randy let out a deep, awe-stricken and disbelieving breath, like a boy that had just been promised candy; it was almost comical. She smiled as she eased herself down next to his body, allowing her own tired bones to rest against the softness of the sheets. "Come on, Randy. I want this." She reached out a hand and traced it against his skin, shivering all the while as she did so. "Just as much as you. I want you to be happy. Get everything that you want and deserve." She nuzzled her head against the pillow sheets, smiling almost beyond her control as she gazed at him.

Randy blinked rapidly for a moment, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. There was a certain innocence in his shock, as if he didn't quite believe he would get this far with this request, and that realization was enough to make her realize just how defeated he was. Where precisely he would have gone after exactly what he wanted without a second thought, now he was tripping over his own feet trying to get even one trusted request out. Although he had always been clumsy and uncertain, despite his confidence, it seemed that he was only becoming more so-more abundantly cautious because of his fragility, and more uncertain with each passing day. It only drove her mad with how much she wanted to comfort him even more.

Randy let out a soft click of his tounge, and then slowly did he ease himself further towards the top of her. He looked at her with that usual fire inside of his green wonders, and yet there was still an uncertain dark glint in his eyes that gave away his true character decay from whatever it was he had been enduring the past few months. He was clinging onto who he was and to her at the same time-far too a part of the youthful and fired man he had used to be. Tired beyond his time.

"Ok, honey," he whispered, gently easing his hips down onto her own thighs as he pressed his knees against the side of hers. "You really want me to do this?"

Faceless laughed. It was loud enough that it echoed through the walls that surrounded them." Randy, I want you so badly that I hardly even know what to do with myself." She raised up her knees and pressed them around his hips, squeezing them tighter around the plump flesh of his body. "Believe me, darling, I do."

Randy took a deep breath, and quickly did his lips curl into an uncertain smile. "Jesus, that's a relief," he mumbled. "I was worried I was gonna have to phone fucking PC Principle for the fucking consent forms."

"I'm surprised you remember that," Faceless murmured with amusement, gazing at him considerately. The conversations she had with him must be jogging his memories from his forties. Even now she was notching he was more full of a light and a certain energy that he hadn't when she had first walked in. She smiled as she trailed her fingers against his skin, genuinely meaning and surprise in her words. Randy shivered under her touch as he nodded at her.

"Yeah. It's weird. I didn't think I would remember much either. And honestly...I didn't, up until you came in a few minutes ago." He trailed his hands against his skin. It was welcomingly torturous. "Something about you just jogs my brain. Makes me feel like me again."

Faceless made a noise between a laugh and sigh as she pressed her knees tighter around him. "I'm glad," she whispered. "You've always done that for me. It's nice to know I can do the same for you.``

He leaned down, ghosting his lips against her stomach. "You taste incredible," he husked againt her skin. His hot breath beat against her, and she felt herself lean backwards under his touch, jutting her hips into his plush middle. His stomach was hanging downwards at significant length, caressing and trembling against her own body.

"I've always wanted to be on top, you know," he mumbled against her skin. "Always wanted to find ways I could try to be... I don't know." He sighed, heaviness on the action. "Someone else." She smiled fondly at the incoherent mumbling musings of his precious words.

"If you think I don't know every crevice of your heart at this point, darling-" She travelled her hands to his back, a wordless confirmation of the stability of her love. "-then I still have a lot to teach you, my love."

Randy chuckled, all thought there was a sense of nervousness to it that hadn't existed previously.

"Show me, then," he murmured "Show me every way you know me. Help me to feel different." His voice broke on the last word, and Faceless frantically squeezed her hands further against his skin. He leaned his face forward, resting his lips against her neck as he offered one soft peck against the most vulnerable part of it. It was devastating.

"I don't like who I am, honey," he admitted against the curve of her neck. "Don't like who I was, don't like who I'm becoming. It all just feels..it all feels so unlike the person I knew I was supposed to be. Please-" His voice choked as he leaned himself further against her skin, hot breath pressing against her. She could feel the natural sense of the freshness of his disposition pounding through the stagnant smell of the food he ate, and she gripped her hands further against his skin. She looked up at him, feeling a felt sadness overcome as she did so.

Evidently, Randy picked up on her observations of him and her hesitation, because he lifted his face up from the few inches he had allowed himself to fall into her as she blinked at her rapidly.

"Hun?" He murmured. He reached out a fingertip and caressed it against her face, and it was enough to make her shiver with another stab of painful emotion that was far too great for her to process within the hurricanes she was feeling within that moment. "Are you ok?"

She didn't know what to say; she felt herself overcome with her observations of everything he was.

"Do you not want to?" he whispered. There it was again; that same insecurity that spoiled him that never would have been present previously. It was strange in him-but then again, she knew that the act of getting older, and with his original family leaving and giving up on him, was something that had humbled his somewhat uncertain soul to a great extent.

"Of course I want to," she said quickly. She couldn't imagine one second she wanted him to suffer in his thoughts if she could help it. She smiled, almost bitterly, as she reached out a hand and caressed it against the black hair that made up his sideburns. "You're just so different." It came out as a broken whisper; an uncertain observation that echoed through her every laced vowel of voice.

Randy's winkles deepened on his face as she gazed at her with surprise.

"Different?" he echoed. She could see his expression flickering with conflict, and it echoed in his precariously raspy voice and uncertain vice that he presented only a second ago. It was now replaced with almost a bitter sense of worry. "Different how? Is-is it bad?" She shook her head. "Never bad," she murmured. "Just different." She reached out a hand and caressed his sideburns once more; Randy let out another shaky sigh at her touch.

Randy took a deep breath, and slowly did he lean his face further against the cures of her face. There was a certain acceptance that overcame his air at the softness of her words. Hurricane and peace, hurricane and then peace-that was the dynamic between both of their flawed names.

"Ah-what's this?" he mumbled. There was a soft, tender smirk that laced his lips as he pressed his mouth against her cheek. He smacked his lips together, darting out his tongue between his lips. "Salt? Salty tears? Is that what I'm tasting right now?"

Faceless let out a soft chuckle, though this time it was shaped sadder and shakier than it had been the first time. Her emotions were getting the best of her now.

"Can't help it," she whispered. "You do that to me."

Randy let out a soft hum; one that she assumed was his own soft form of agreement. He pressed his lips against hers once, twice, three times-then a fourth, followed by countless time again, incessantly snaking his lips against the side of her cheek until there was nothing except for his softened murmured words and gentle touches of his lips against her skin. There were his loving , tender touches, and the whispers and whiskers of his moustache as it grazed against her skin. He had grown out a slight grey beard, and that sensation of the hairs of it tickling against her was enough to throw her head backward, her mouth trembling open in welcome. This was a pattern that he had done within their love that they had shared before; the soiling of his lips against her cheek; the soft sparkling his kisses and touches the same, the gentle thumbing and soft motions of his lips against her touch.

She let out another shaky laugh, leaning her head backward, arching her neck. Her joy was almost oddly broken in that moment; as if she were still trying really to come to terms with everythi between them and everything that it was becoming, as well as the fact that it wasn't ever going to quite be able to come to any kind of comforting, definite conclusion between the two of them-but rather was going to keep going and going until it reached its inevitable end. But they would continue moving and drawing themselves forward-for as long as they possibly could together.

"No tears. Alright?" he murmured, voice always comforting and the way that it was in company that Randy felt truly knew him;the only person that would be able to understand appreciate where his tenderness was coming from. "You're oj,, baby. We're ok. Everything.. everything is going to be just fine As long as we have you and me/"

"I know," she murmured. She let out a shaky gasp as she slowed her hands to dance further around his body, loving the way he seemed to melt under her touch. She smiled as she felt the gentle hill of his stomach as it eased against her. He was heavy- the most heavy she had ever felt he was in her life, but she had no issue with the concept. She adored the heaviness; it reminded her , beyond a shadow of a doubt , that he was here, whole, and true.

"You got it ," he breathed gently against her face. He let out a softened chuckle as he nuzzled his nose against her face, smiling all the while as he did so. "We totally got this being old and sick thing.

She let out her own shaky laugh, loving the way his usual playful demeanor and confidence was now fully leaning out from him once more. She felt the nuzzling of his beard against her skin, felt the relentless warmth of his skin that was still so undeniably addicting, even with the way that so much of the rest of him had changed. He was still the same Randy, through and through; and she was famished for him now that she had tasted him again.

"Let's see how much we can push this, ok?" Randy was caressing his lips against her skin, and though it was an addicting sensation that was sending thrills through her body, she also could sense the worry, even the self consciousness that was in his voice. She flickered open her eyes as she looked down at him, smiling as she met his own green glimmering eyes that shined with all the wonders inside of his depths.

"You can do this, Randy," she reassured him gently. She reached out a hand and gently wove it through his locks, loving the way red dashed against his pale cheeks as he looked into his own eyes.

"No weird shit, ok?" Randy whispered against her skin. "Just us. No aching bones, no coughing, no sickness. Just...this." He reached out his hands and gently caressed them against her breasts, and she let out a soft, shaky sigh at the touch of his hands on her hills. She nodded, lip jutting out and trembling, as she felt the soft touch Randy gave her as he continued to caress his hands against her, exploring and softening around the soft surface of her skin.

She could sense a hesitance in his touch, and she didn't hesitate to reach out her hand and place it against his wrist; firmly, but with gentle confrontation.

"You can't run from yourself, baby," she murmured. "Don't do that. Whether you can do this or not, its ok."

Randy blinked frantically, looking at her with that usual panic in his boyish expression. Even with his wrinkles and his clear age, that innocence was still within him.

"Do what?" His voice was soft, relevantly gentle in his genuine bewildered lostness.

"Don't pretend like you're something that you're not, honey. You don't have to pretend you're not old to enjoy this. To enjoy what's between the two of us." She squeezed her fingers against his hand, snaking her fingers into the spaces of them. "To enjoy yourself."

"Do-do ya not want to?" Randy stammered. "Is that what this is about?"

"No." She spoke the word firmly, shaking her head, trying to ease any doubt. "Not in the slightest. Stop with this. This insecurity." 'This what?"

"I'm not-I'm not insecure!" He stammered. "I just...I just don't know if I'm doing the right thing here." He felt his face fall as he gazed at her, eyebrows knitted in concern. His usual lovable self doubt was overcoming him now entitlerly; for all his confidence and all his self endowed fire, it was nothing but an untouched wound for the time being. The handsome carving of his black eyebrows were tracing his expression as his worry melted entirely against his face.

She frowned, an almost playful and loving feeling tracing him with her own eyes. They could fight and yet not fight at the same time-for even when there was conflict, there was still fired and relentless love.

"Who are you?" She murmured. "You're not you."

"Yeah-that's-that's what I'm saying!" Randy stammered. He blinked as his own eyes became wet, letting out a sharp and heated breath as he did so." I'm not who I used to be, that's why I don't know if-"

"You're not you because you're not allowing yourself to be you," she reminded him with tender patience. "You're not accepting yourself with who you are, right now, within this moment, with what time eventually molded you to be. You're trying to trip into somebody that you wish you were, somebody that you used to be with someone that used to be told that you should be-rather than who you truly, actually are." She allowed her her hand to gently curve around him even further, loving the plush appeal of his stomach as she felt it shudder with the truth and the weight of her words. "You're old, Randy. You have wrinkles on your face-so many that I almost can't even quite recognize your face compared to the way that it used to look." There was a glimpse of defense inside of Randy's eyes, but she knew that she had to keep talking her truth. She spoke it only in love-not bitter harshness like Sharon had. "You're slower, foggier, fatter, and you're completely and utterly fragile in a way that you didn't used to be before. Everything about you and everything that you were made of-it eventually lead to the person that you are now. You've always been somebody else different from who you wanted to be from who you were inside of your mind. I think that's one of the reasons why you're always fighting and tripping over yourself trying to be that other person."

Randy visibly swallowed. "So..so what?" Despite the defense in his voice, she could sense his walls weakening.

"So stop allowing yourself to trip against yourself, and stop allowing yourself to invalidate who you truly are, because we both know, at the end of it all, who that actually is. And it's not the person that your grandpa told you that you should be here when you were growing up, and it's not the person that your wife told you you should be throughout the years of your marriage, and not even see who your kids said that you should be. It's exactly who you are, who you are most naturally within yourself, and if you allow yourself to see who that person is, I can promise you that you'll come out from the other side."

Randy swallowed thickly for a moment as he gazed at her, frantically looking back and forth between her own eyes.

"I don't know how to do that," he whispered earnestly as he gazed down at her. His voice broke as he gazed at her, every echoing of his conflicted emotions pressing in the side of his own vocals as he gazed at her.
" I want-I want to know how to do that, Faceless, believe me, I want to do that more than anything. But I just feel like it's so goddamn pointless. I feel like every time I try to accept myself, the world always gives me a reason why I shouldn't. And you're telling me that now I have to start doing me now that-now that my life is over anyway?" He pattered his fingertips nervously against her skin, eyes her with his eyes. " I just, I don't know. Can I just pretend like I'm someone else? At least just for tonight."

"Your life is over Randy." She said it bluntly, but only to allow him to know where the wall ended.

"It's not over! he shot back at her. "It's not, it's never going to be over. Not tonight, as far as I can tell, anyway. As long as I'm here breathing with stuff in my lungs, I don't know why I should let anything or anybody's expectations to come around and shut me down!" He choked for a moment, and swallowed too quickly. He flickered his eyes over at her, as if he was waiting for her to speak whatever it is that she had inside of her own expression; as if she had some sort of secret inside of her that he needed to reach out and take for himself.

" I didn't mean that your life is over in the sense that it's time for you to just give up, or that it's not still worth it for what it is," she responded, voice calmer for the sake of calming him. "But it's over in the sense that you don't have to fight every thought the way you did when you were younger anymore. You didn't have to prove anybody anything when you were younger, and you definitely don't have anything to prove to anyone now. Now, sweetheart, you can just relax. You can breathe, you can let go, Randy. There's no one around telling you what you're doing wrong, nobody around you telling me that you need to do better, or even father anyone else, and there's no one around you telling you that you need to be more hip, more cool, more adventurous. All these things you struggled with when you were younger…. you can just let it go, honey. There's no one watching you, no one paying attention, no one judging you from every last action that you could fall into."

Rany waited as he took in the true meaning of her words for a moment, blinking wildly as he gazed at her. It was as if his tired, grey bags underneath his eyes seemed as if they were being lifted up slightly from the words that she was speaking, harsh as they were. There were other words that were within his own chest that were being raised out through her words. Whether or not he was having revelations inside of himself, she couldn't quite tell. But she was touching him in a way that mattered, and that was what mattered most of all.

"Just do whatever I want for the rest of my life, since it's pretty much over anyway?" Randy repeated, voice trembling as he spoke the hard truth. He swallowed, and then, with a tense hesitation, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against hers. She closed her eyes, drinking in the intimacy.

"It's over, darling. It's over in the very best way," she whispered, cold breath hitting his twitching, desperate face. "We can get lost in each other, but most importantly, get lost in yourself. You don't have to prove anything to me. You don't have to be on top to prove to me or yourself that you're enough. You don't have to worry or fight for so much like you did when you were younger. You don't have to trip over yourself trying to keep up with every little thing that every other person is doing just so that you can try to be whatever it is that other people want. Just like how you were born to be, and just like how you're meant to be, you can fall into the purity of the childlike man you are without any cause for shame now."

She smiled as she gently squeezed her fingertips against the side of his skin, feeling the way that he shuddered underneath her touch all the while as he looked and gazed at her still with that same frantic lostness inside the his eyes, but now it seemed as if there was some sort of gentle retrieve, understanding. and acceptance that was gently molding itself inside of his always erratic soul.

"Oh," he breathed, gazing at her with his uncertain but flexible, open expression. "I-okay." He took a deep breath as he gazed at her, rolling his shoulders as he reset his body. "Okay, Faceless," he whispered. His voice was so painfully soft-Radny was such a simple soul with complicated issues, but love was the answer to it all. It pained her how simple and humbly human of a man he was.

He let a deep breath, pressing his soft middle against his he teased his cock between her legs. She smiled as she leaned her head back to its preferred position; backward. Her hips jutted further up as he reached out his hands and gently caressed against the side of her own body. Although he had always been gentle with her-most especially in those breathless nights when they had made love within the soft intimate sheets of their bed before, it seemed as if there was something that was more special about him now as he touched her, as if he was afraid that the delicacy of the heat that they share between the both of each other was somehow going to be broken if he went after it a little bit too quickly. Or perhaps it was himself that he was afraid of breaking-as if he were to fall into the patterns of how himself or who he was deeply, he would somehow break in front of her. He felt a cry build up in his throat, but he kept it down as he gazed at her, his eyes frantically searching for her every emotion that she could have inside her body. She was so awfully beautiful; from her arching neck to her jutted body that welcomed him and him alone.

"You okay?" He asked, watching the way that she seemed as if she was completely breaking underneath him in the most graceful fashion. For all the selfishness and anger that he had fallen into only a couple of years ago in his life once he had reached fifty, , there is still that goodness inside him, and there was still that consideration that he held that ultimately did consider other people when it really came down to it. It seemed as if there was no other way that he knew how to be, and as he got older, he realized that there was no other way that he wanted to be, and certainly no other way that it was easier to be. He cocked his head to the side as he saw the way that she trembled underneath his touch, her lips opening wide as they troubled underneath the weight of whatever crushing a gentle curiosity he was giving her.

"I'm fine," she whispered. Her voice sounded as if it was a broken song; beautiful and heart wrenching to listen to, full of every melody and orchestra that even the best chorus ever had been. "I'm more than fine. I'm...I'm free. Free within you.. I'm just-I'm just heartbroken over you, is all." Her liquid eyes opened wide as she met Randy's curious gaze, for a moment. He felt as if she was practically piercing into him from the intense way of how she looked over and into him. He gave a small swallow as he gazed into her, giving her a quick nod.

"I'm-I'm heartbroken over you too," he whispered, his voice almost coming out clumsy as he gazed at her, trying to meet her on the same plane that she was meeting him with just as much grace. "Can't believe this is it for us." He was rocking his hips against her, and although the significant weight of his stomach was still pressing up against her, it wasn't piercing their usual rhythm of how they loved and how they helped each other. Faceless' lips trembled further as she bit down on her lips off as she gazed at him.

"Not like that, sweetheart," she reassured him gently. "I just mean-I just mean that I'm heartbroken over you, all the time. Not for any particular reason, and not for any particular reason or anything that's happened between us, but simply because you're...you. Simply because you exist. There's just something about you that just- takes my breath away, and it's almost painful just how quickly it snatches about the breath from my lungs. I try to ignore it sometimes- if only because it's so painful, but at the end of the day. there's just something about you that just breaks me, Randy. And the more that I try to get you inside of my grasp and the more I try to understand you, the more complicated that it all seems to be. I wish I could only understand you more, that I could be apart of you more. That I could have helped you more. The very fact that you're not a part of my everyday existence in and of itself is something that's quite a burden for me. The fact that I'll never be able to entirely understand or to feel each other as one. Not even close-and in a more selfish way, the fact that you can never really be mine, something that I'm still coming to terms with day in and day out. That time has you. Not me. Never me."

Randy swallowed-thickly. He felt his fingers tremble.

"Well, yeah," he whispered. "I think that's what lovers are supposed to feel like, right? Just always missing each other and shut, wishing that they could be closer together. I feel that way too, sweetheart. I wish we could have all the sweet time together even more, but I guess that's not really how...you know. Not really how the world works." There was a significant sigh as he kissed her, massaging his hips against her still as a soft background song to their affection. "But I guess that's why we gotta keep trying, right? Because God knows other people take my happiness away from me for a long-ass time, and what do I have to show for it? Just a bunch of crap. Just sitting around and watching myself and feeling myself with these four walls around me, with these nurses that aren't even that hot coming in to try to take care of me every single day. Missing my loving wife that I got to come back to at home . And now I can't see her anymore, just because I can't take care of myself, or something. It all just sounds like a load of crap. These people in this town are crap-they copied me and brought me down for years. Everything these people told me-it was just an excuse for me not being able to just, just enjoy whatever it is that's between the two of us." He let out a sigh as he pressed himself further against her fac, rendering her breathless as she rolled her body back further against the side of the sheets, gripping her hands against the side of his skin all the while, as if he was anchoring her knot the earth. Was it not for the skin of their bodies and how they gripped it, perhaps they would have gone mad from the pleasure they got from one another.

"That's why we just have to take care of the times we have together," he whispered to her. "Because nothing else makes sense about any of this. Nothing makes sense about me getting older, and goddamn, if I thought it didn't make sense when I was in my forties, imagine how it looks inside me now."

She felt his hips cave again to rest from their pleasurable rhythm, and she closed her eyes as she allowed herself to listen to his voice. It had hardly changed since they were younger, and she was old and tired he sounded, yet young at the same time. The parchment of his skin only felt sweeter as she dug her fingers inside of his skin. Despite the crevices of the layers that were inside of his mind as his body, she could read him so clearly; there was a revelation inside them, his trembling green eyes looking down at her with endless echoes inside of him that she could never stop getting lost into. For all the labels of stupidity that people had thrown on him, he certainly seemed as if he was one of the most compelling men that she had ever known- with plenty of complications and intelligence inside his mind and within his heart-with his intelligence practically pounding all around him from all layers. She smiled as she gasped, letting herself be taken away by her every observance of him. His eyelids became heavily hooded as his own infauction overcame him, as if he couldn't quite manage to take her in entirely, and yet it was within that soft moment when she appeared to be him as fully as she ever that gave him a soft release that summoned from inside himself as he felt the tightening of her thighs and the kiss of her lips. Slowly did he stop fighting whatever ego he had, and he allowed himself to become hers. Not from cockiness or from a feeling that he was getting a woman on, but rather because he had finally found something that was far more deeper and far more fulfilling than any money, ambition, or sense of ego that he had fallen into. The amount he had come to know life-and even himself knowing her-was astounding.

For now there was no illness or aching bones-not fight against the long-term effects drugs had given him-nothing else except for the softness of her lips against him, the soft moaning and the welcoming that was coming from her every caress. His eyes rolled backwards as he felt the way her adornment reached him as her fingertips danced against his every patch of skin; if he were violin strings, they would be reaching their utmost potential. Her fingertips gently pressed against the side of his wrinkles that he wouldn't have otherwise had any peace with. The very first day that he had seen one, he hadn't even been able to look at himself for the rest of the day. Being overweight was something that he was indifferent to- he knew women liked that anyway. But to actually see that his physical youth was leaving him had been more than he could take. Rather, he had desperately tried to just take care of himself for the rest of the day-which was to distract himself. He couldn't possibly have been able to accept the fact that he was getting old, but within her now, within her gentleness and her truly unconditional acceptance that was more than just murmured and fancy words...he found that there is nothing else that he wanted to do except to accept it. Within her it felt like something that he wasn't forced to do with getting old-but rather something he wanted to do-not just today, but time and time again.

" Faceless," he gasped as he felt the way that her lips broke away from his momentarily. They were bruised and touched and marked by one another in all the ways that counted. She let out a hum as she allowed him to speak. "Do you mind, if I just, one last time, show you exactly what a wild time feels like? And not because I want to be anything different from where I am right now, but because I just really, really miss having a good good time with you."

She's smirked as she fluttered open her eyes ans gazed at him. For all those countless nights that they had been younger and came across as cliche star-crossed lovers that had been lost inside of sheets, completely transcending into another's existence from the very touches and from their soft, rough understanding with each other alone; for all those countless nights his legs had brushed up against hers as they had completely lost themselves inside of the entanglement of each other, forgetting about the rest of the long and unforgiving day and instead fallen into each other time and time again-nothing compared to this long awaited reunion. He squeezed their fingers against her skin in a desperation question, and she felt the way that he was begging her with his own adorable, almost clumsily spoken but authentic request that started and ended in love. Although he was finally accepting himself, there was certainly some sort of eternal youth between the two of them that no amount of physical age could come between, and within that eternal youth came that relentless, reckless energy and all the impulsivity that came from within it.

"I thought you would never ask, party boy," she whispered.

Randy's eyes widened. "You really mean it?" he breathed. "You really want to try?"

" Like I said," she continued. "Anything for you. Anything at all."

"In a Name"

"It's just- it's not what I wanted, Sharon."

He couldn't help but notice said woman rolling her eyes as she pushed her way outside the hospital door.

"Randy, just focus on getting inside the car," she seethed.

He could tell she was trying to keep her voice as patient as she could-although they both found that such a task was to become increasingly harder the longer that their marriage went on. To think that she'd only just gotten pregnant a couple of months ago, and yet Randy could already sense a complete difference in the way that they responded to each other-so much colder than they had when they were younger. When things were simpler.

Randy clicked his tongue in exasperated frustration, but he quickly rushed his way over towards the car door to open it for her. She tried to wiggle her large body in as best as she could, one hand pressed underneath her round pregnant belly.

"All I'm saying-" Randy continued, sweeping his hand through his hair nervously as he made his way towards the other side of the door, heaving his way inward as he shut the door from behind him-"is that I think it would be really, really awesome if we could try for a boy a couple of years after we get our stuff together with our daughter." He fluttered his blue eyes over towards Sharon, picking apart her every movement for her reaction. Much to his disappointment, her thin eyebrows only frowned deeper at the suggestion as she started the car.

"What do you think, huh?" Randy tried again, desperation lacing his voice. It took all his control not to bounce in his seat.

Sharon kept both hands on the wheel as she started driving the car, not responding for a good couple of long moments. Randy recognized that expression anywhere, and, much to his dismay, he had been seeing it increasingly more lately. He rolled his eyes as he laid his back against the car chair.

"You know I didn't want a girl," he mumbled after a moment. "We talked about this, Sharon. We talked all about how we're going to have a boy and I was going to raise him to be everything this town needs, teach him everything that he knows, be the best father that this town ever fucking saw. How am I supposed to do that with a girl anyway, huh?"

"Randy, stop being a child about this," Sharon finally sternly responded, gritting her teeth further as she continued to drive her car down the street. Her knuckles were gripping a little too tightly against the car wheel in that bitchy fashion; something Randy knew he shouldn't point out, despite the fact that it was almost all he could focus on- just how tight and rigid she was. He wondered if she was on her period. He made a point in his mind to ask her later. "You knew that there was a possibility that the child would be a girl from the moment that we decide to have a child. It's not something that I can control, Randy."

"Yeah, I know!" he exclaimed. He waited for a couple of moments before elaborating to try to see if her bitching would gradually die down. After about a minute of silence, he decided to try again. He raised his body upward, rolling his shoulders as he did so.

"So what if we try it again?" he suggested. He flew his eyes back towards Sharon, who briefly looked out of the corner of hers for a moment. A decent sign.

"What if we just tried again, once we settled in with our daughter? I don't think that it's completely out of the possibility, honey. We're only just getting started, and we have our entire lives ahead of us. We can definitely handle at least two children, right?"

There was a long pause that came from Sharon. She flicked her hand on the signaling light as she turned the car towards the right at the intersection, making her way closer towards the driveway. With a sinking heart did Randy think she wasn't going to answer, and that she would simply give him the silent treatment-which she did more often than not those days. Just as he was about to slip back into his chair, he heard the very thing that made his body feel as if it had been stricken with excitement.

"After we settle in with our daughter," Sharon said quietly after a moment. "It might be a couple of years. Maybe you won't even still want a son by then-once you get used to having a daughter."

But Randy didn't even hear those words. He began to bounce in his chair, gripping his hands against the leather like a child who had just been granted his first candy.

"Oh god, really?" he gushed excitedly. "I mean, you really mean it? You really mean it, like even just a little bit?" He raised his hand as he pressed his two fingers an inch away from each other to add a visual to his speech, squinting playfully as he did so.

"I mean it," Sharon said, her voice slightly exasperated, although he could sense the slightest bit of humor that was now beginning to enter her voice. Good, that hardly happened. anymore. She used to do it all the time.

"Oh, Sharon, you're the best," he breathed, smiling now with satisfaction as he leaned his back heavily against the chair in deep relief. He tapped his fingers against the chair, bouncing his legs as he did so, letting out a soft, satisfied hum. "The Marsh family is going to be incredible," he whispered after a moment. "We're going to be incredible."

He had already constructed the perfect dynamic between him and his son in his mind, and he knew that he would do anything to make it exactly the way that he imagined it. The way that he wanted it.

"Randy, that's ridiculous. I'm not going to name the both of our children after you."

"And why not?" Randy shot back. He stomped his foot on the ground for emphasis. Shelly was currently making her way upstairs after the outing that they just had, and his son was still a newborn that was being cradled inside of his mother's arms. Her air was soft, nurturing. The way that Sharon was looking at Randy with that stern determination on her face gave away her true emotions, however, despite how gently she was cradling Stan.

"Because Randy," she said, rolling her eyes as she did so, as if she was having a talk to a child. "They're going to have their own lives. They're their own people- they're not going to be a little copy of you just because that's what makes you feel good."

Randy blinked rapidly in insulted disbelief. "Nu-huh!" he spat, crossing his arms in front of his chest, pouting his lips in a full blown fit. "That's not fair, Sharon! I mean, these are my children too. I'm allowed to raise them exactly the way that I want to! It's my right, Sharon, as their father! Don't I get a say in at least what we name them?"

Sharon said nothing, but rather did she give him a cold glare, continuing to bounce Stan inside of her hands as she did so. She gradually turned around as she started to make way over towards the stairs. There was a certain hard and cold glare on her face that would have turned Randy's blood cold….had he not started becoming so used to seeing it. She was almost always angry at him these days, especially ever since they had started raising Shelly, and in some way that made Randy only more disappointed in the fact that they had had a daughter. Maybe if they had had a son that the first time, Sharon would have been more laid back, and she would have been more cool about the whole parenthood thing.

But as it was now, she had just turned into a one-dimensional, raging bitch; Randy's worst nightmare. Like a woman who was always on her period, instead of just once a month. The exact kind woman that Randy tried to avoid when he was younger. He ran his way over towards Sharon, pressing one hand against the side of the stairs as he stared at her back, which was carefully making its way upward.

"You know, if you're going to be a total cunt about this whole thing, then maybe I won't help raise the kids at all! Or you can change your mind, and be cool about this. Yeah! Maybe-maybe we can even go back to the hospital and rename the girl-something that's named after me, and then we can do the same with our son after! Then I'll really work on being the best father and husband!"

He didn't really mean a word of it, but he was in one of his pouting, stubborn moods, and he would say anything to get his way. He felt a satisfied grin paint itself on his face as he spoke the words. He knew just how upset she could get sometimes when he spoke to her in a cold way, knowing how much she loved to feel flattered and lavished, like the way he had treated her when they were younger. When it had actually been fun and satisfying to do so.

But Sharon didn't turn around-she didn't give him even the slightest bit of reaction. Instead there was a cold laugh that came from our lives, one that he could just barely hear as she made her way up towards the last last step and into the hallway.

"Jesus Randy, if I thought you were going to be this much of a narcissist about raising our children, maybe I would have chosen someone else."

Randy felt a strange slap inside of his chest as he heard those words; a process exploded in his brain. First denial that he had heard it, then a burning hot pain...and then a numbness. A cold, choking numb of hurt. Always had Randy spoken down to Sharon occasionally whenever he had gotten fed up with her-but he would quickly apologize in a fit of love when he realized that he didn't mean it. But very rarely had he ever heard Sharon speaking the same cold way to him, and never before had she ever talked to him as if he truly was disposable-as if she actually meant it.

He felt a strange nothing as he saw the back of her nightgown disappear into the darkness of the upper hallway. The devastation was working itself inside of his chest more than he could take, despite how good he usually was at shaking things off.

There was something different about how she had spoken those words just now-as of he didn't really love him at all.

He felt his bottom lip tremble as he bit down on it hard, feeling a familiar build up of tears teasing his eyes. His gaze turned toward the kitchen, and without a moment's thought did he consider the beer that was waiting inside of the fridge. Without even being aware of his movements did he take his numb hand away from where it was resting against the side of the railing, and started to stumble his way towards the kitchen, walking with an unfocused air, as if he was already drunk. He crashed his body down on the couch with the cold beer in hand, not even remembering taking it out of the fridge.

He shivered as he realized that already, they were becoming like those miserable couples that he loathed seeing growing up his entire life. The very thing that he promised himself he wouldn't become. Not with Sharon. Not with the woman who had stuck with him through it all-the one constant good thing in a life that was otherwise full of failures.

He slumped down on the couch further as his lips started to nurse on the beer, realizing that, for the second time in his life, his dreams of being somebody that he had wanted to be was turning to a rotting trash before his eyes.

He was too devastated to speak to her for the rest of the night.

Come morning, she had already decided on a name for their newborn son, and Randy found that he was far too numb inside himself to mumble out one last complaint.

"Randy, It's a boy."

Randy lifted up his eyes from where they had previously been glued on the football game only a second before, his legs crossed over his lap. A beer was inside his hand, one that he almost dropped towards the ground as he looked over at Sharon, who was currently standing with her hand pressed on her significantly now more pregnant belly, rounding out the same way that it had when they had had their daughter for the first time.

Randy blinked at her with disbelief for a moment, looking gazing at her with something that gave away his complete disbelief-one that was almost giving away into a lack of acceptance. He frowned, shaking his head.

"Wait," he tried after a moment. "Whoa whoa whoa-wait." He put his beer down on the couch side table, the glass instantly toppled over as he knocked it with his hand, which he clumsily swerved with his body as he spun around on the couch in disbelief. "Are you serious?"

Sharon couldn't help but smile. There was something that was almost contagious about the way that Randy could get so easily excited about something whenever things went his way.

"I'm serious," she replied. The way that she said it without any teasing gave away that she truly was.

Randy trembled at an almost visible degree. There was a long pause- and then he burst inside of himself as he rushed his way upward, running his way across the room towards Sharon, letting out loud, almost boylike laughs that echoed around the living room as he wrapped his arms around her. He lifted her off of the side of the stairs and spung her into the living room. Sharon couldn't help but laugh, placing a hand on top of her mouth, feeling his own enjoyment sweeping into hers too. It wasn't as if she hadn't wanted a boy- it was just that she was more open-minded to having a girl than Randy had been.

"Oh, wow," Randy breathed, placing Sharon down after a few more spins. "This is- this is fucking incredible."

He had that look in his eyes that Sharon knew all too well- it was a sign that he felt like this was the beginning of a new start towards his life-a beginning towards a life where he would actually be fulfilled within himself. For whatever reason, he had created a narrative in his head that having a son would help him to feel more content with himself.

Regardless of whether or not that was true, she couldn't deny that she was enjoying this moment. The sweetest grin she had ever seen on him graced his face, and he reached out a finger and caressed it against her cheek.

"Really, Sharon. This is really, really amazing," he whispered. "This is it, Sharon. This is the start of the best family that this town has ever fucking seen. Now that I can completely promise you."

Sharon didn't say anything-she knew she couldn't break Randy out of his narratives once he started them. She instead smiled as she pressed her lips against the side of his. He let out a moan that was almost too loud as he pressed himself against her, grabbing his hands against her body in the most welcoming and intimate way that she had remembered him doing in the longest time she could remember.

Maybe the boy was what they needed to rekindle that flame between each other after all.

"Here he is, ," the nurse said, making her way over towards Sharon, who was currently sitting up with her tired body resting against the pillows. Rather than doing anything useful, Randy was pacing in front of the hospital bed, feet dancing back and forth nervously, which he had been doing since the moment Sharon had gone into labor only about two hours ago. He had done it so much to the point that it was almost a miracle that he hadn't run a hole into the ground. At the announcement that his newborn son was now officially in the room, his head snapped up so quickly that it almost seemed as if he was stricken. His mouth hung open in that naive fashion as his eyes lit up with their trembling blue ocean green colors as they pinpointed the small, wailing bundle that was inside the nurse's arms.

"Would you like to hold him?" The nurse offered. Sharon didn't hesitate as she nodded eagerly, and the nurse smiled as she made her way over towards her, gently placing the baby inside of Sharon's arms. Sharon let out her own tender laugh as she traced her hands against the side of their newborn son's chubby cheeks, taking him in for everything that he was with her almond eyes.

"Hey-what about me?" Randy pouted, rushing his way from where he had previously been pacing and running over towards the side of the bed, leading downward as he reached up both of his arms. "Can I, can I see him, honey? Please?"

Sharon fluttered upward towards them, raising up a brow. She had just barely managed to have any time with her son herself, but as she saw the pleading eyes of her husband, she found she couldn't say no. "

All right," she said softly, a soft sigh accompanying her permission. "Just be careful with him, okay, Randy?"

"Oh yeah, I'll be totally careful," Randy promised, nodding almost a little bit too quickly that communicated the complete opposite of his words. "Absolutely promise, babe. I got this in the bag, you know what I mean? I've been waiting for this for months. My entire life, it feels like."

His voice was trembling in a dramatic fashion, and Sharon rolled her eyes playfully as she leaned their son over towards Randy. Randy took a deep breath as he looked at the small bundle that was the miracle of his son that was placed inside his arms. Randy kept his arms placed firmly on the bed so that his son was safely in his grasp. As he took in the soft, porcelain skin of his son, he felt an overwhelming tenderness overcoming him like a wave-he just barely suppressed a large sigh as he saw the soft weight of his son in his arms. He was so fragile. So soft.

"Ohhh god," Randy breathed. "Oh God, oh God, oh God." He took a deep breath, trying to keep himself together as best as he could.

"Just stay calm, Randy," Sharon advised. He's just a little boy. As long as you don't drop him, I'm sure that he would love to be in his father's arms."

From the words confirming that Randy was, in fact, good enough by Sharon's standards to be considered this child's father, his eyes fluttered up towards his wife.

"Really?" Randy gushed, voice trembling with that soft, slow tenderness that he always had in his tone. Sharon smiled as she looked at him and nodded.

"Really," she said. She could see his own tears reflected in her; there was the softest moment of connection between them. With a creak of the bed from her movement, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his briefly. His son gave a soft kick in his arms as they did so, and Randy gave a raspy laugh against Sharon's lips.

"Jesus," he whispered against the side of her lips as they pulled away. "I can't believe this is happening. This is already the best family ever." His eyes fluttered down towards his son, looking at the soft skin of his face-at the innocent expression that was gazing back at him.

"Hey, little buddy," he cooed. "How's it hanging?"

He grabbed his hand against his son's soft feet-so small that Randy almost couldn't tell it was in his grasp.

"Oh, yeah," he whispered. "This is going to be incredible. He's my favorite kid already."

He briefly heard a soft gasp from behind him, and Randy snapped his head over towards the entrance of the room. He saw a flash of the strangled brown hair of Shelly disappearing seconds away from where Randy had pinpointed his gaze over towards the corner-as if she had been listening. Randy knew that she had been; she was always the nosiest kid. He rolled his eyes as he turned away from the entrance. She would get over it.

He turned his eyes back over towards his son, already feeling his infatuation overcoming him as he now entirely forgot his daughter.

He did, after all, mean every word, and he knew that this was the beginning of a new era of his life. He would turn his son into everything that he wanted him to be-anything so that he could escape his own self.

"Grey Strand"

Randy finds grey strand in his brush

"Uh-crap"- Randy gritted his teeth, frowning as he gazed back at his own expression that was glaring at him in the mirror. He had his hand gripped up against the side of the hairbrush that he was attempting to brush through his waves, which were still slightly sticky from the unintentional experiment Towelie and he had gotten into last night as they had tried to make a new specific experimentation of weed. It had been something he had thought would have been a good idea at the time-but, just like with many of his ideas lately, it only ended up becoming a complete and utter disaster that was currently spattering itself against his body now in the form of unidentified goo.

He gritted his teeth with increasing frustration as he continued to brush the hair strands as best as he could through the thick substance that spoiled his hair, tugging on them so much to the point that he was almost half surprised that he wasn't pulling out the black strands from the hairbrushes's teeth. He couldn't even imagine himself going bald, and he certainly didn't want to, either. He gritted his teeth as he continued to force his hairbrush against the balck wars of his hair, watching the way that the unforgiving strands of the brush was being none too gentle on his black waves.

There was a sudden, unwanted flash of silver that met Randy's furious expression as it was caught inside of the furious strands of the brush, and his eyes widened with a barely processed disbelief as he saw the ay the grey strand met his eyes, almost as if it was mocking him. He let out a his between his lips as he leaned forward further, frantically gazing at every detail of his face, as if he expected himself to deteriorate into an old man right there and then. The face that greeted him back from the mirror seemed as if it was more child than it was man, despite the fact that he was nearing fifty. That offered him some relief, but not enough that it calmed the squeezing thud inside his heart. He turned his head back towards the hairbrush, flying it away from the side of his head as he looked at it and blinked frantically, still not quite able to process the grey strand that was clearly sitting between the teeth of the brush. There it was; one single but undeniable grey hair that was sitting in the teeth of the brush, sitting inside of him as if it was a waving sign that he was no longer the man he thought he would always be-young, hip, and cool.

" Oh, crap" Randy muttered under his breath, gripping his hands further against the handle of the brush. "Oh, God, oh God, oh crap. Oh shit." He gripped his other hand inside of his balck waves of hair, as if gripping his hands against his hair could somehow help him emotionally process, but it only served to make him feel more stressed. He whipped his head back over to the bathroom door. He shot his way over towards it, tumbling over his feet as he fumbled his hands against the doorknob, throwing the door open all the while as he threw his head frantically out into the hallway.

"Faceless!" he whined. He shot his head to the left and right, eye squinting as he tried to stop the tears from falling down his face.. "Faceless!" He could feel his voice breaking out into a high-pitched wail as he continued to turn his head back and forth with equal amounts of desperation. Quikly did he let out a deep breath as he turned his head towards the stairs. He began to make his way downstairs, his arms flying clumsily as he just barley managed to avoid tripping over his own feet as he flew his clumsy movements down the steps.

"Faceless!" he called again. "Honey! You're not going to fucking believe this! Hell, I don't even believe it!"

She was sitting on the edge of the green couch, the way that she always was more often than not. She turned her head upward as she looked over at him and blinked in surprise. "Randy," she greeted tenderly. "I thought you were still out with-"

"No time to talk about that!" Randy interjected frantically,, his voice almost flirting with panic as he flew his body downstairs. It was a miracle that he didn't trip and smash his face down the stairs as he made his way over towards her frantically.. Instantly he threw himself down on his knees up as he dramatically threw himself on the ground in front of her, reaching out the hairbrush and raising it before her. "Look, Faceless!" he begged as he threw it in her face. "Do you see thus? Do you see this crap right now? What the hell is that?" His voice was troubling now, congested in the way that it became so easily whenever he became emotional.

Faceless raised up her eyebrows as she exclaimed the hairbrush slowly, reaching on one hand as to take it away from Randy's trembling grip.. She examined it for a moment with careful eyes. After a moment of observation did she let out a light-hearted chuckle that only serve to make Randy's face even more distressed as he looked at her and waited for her reaction.

"What's so funny?" Randy asked with an increasing attitude toward her.

"It's not funny, hun! There's no fucking way that came out of my head, is there? My hair is the healthiest black hair that I've ever seen! I've had this amazing head of hair since I was young! There's no fucking way that it's turning into this, is it?" He reached out his hand as he threw his swaying palms against the side of the hairbrush,, turning it backwards and forth as he gazed at the single lone grey hair that sat in its strands. "I mean, there's no fucking way that this crap is coming out of me, is there? My good looks aren't going anywhere anytime soon!"

"I will say, darling, that as long as you were brushing your hair and this is what came out of it, then probably came from you," Faceless responded patiently and tenderly; the two things Randy clearly needed right now the most.. Her loving smile only oncread further on her face, which made Randy's bewilderment as to why she was reacting to this so peacefully only increase further.

"I'm sorry, darling," she murmured. Randy's breath was coming out in hardly suppressed gasps as he looked at her, blinking frantically all the while as he gazed at her with a hardly believing-much less accepting-expression.

"No way!"he breathed definitely. "Nu-huh. No sir-ree! There's no way that this is from me, Faceless.. I'm not even going to listen to that for half a minute! Gawl!" He tore the brush out of her hands and examined it with an intense glare as he made his way over towards the kitchen. He was breathing almost too dramatically; tripping over own feet as he walked his way across the living room.

"It probably just came from one of the strands that's inside of the barn! Yeah-that's it!" He called over his shoulder. He started to frantically turn the brush underneath the hot water as he turned on the sink, as if somehow that was going to make it any easier. As if, somehow, by flushing out the strand of hair, it would make it all easier to accept, or make it so that it never even existed. "There's no fucking way that any of this came from me. I may be turning fifty, but that doesn't mean that I'm falling apart at the seams like my Grandpa did before he even turned forty! I got the good genes, honey, and these good looks are not leaving me anytime soon! Hell, none of this is leaving anytime soon. I found the life that I want and you're telling me that I'm going to start getting gray hair right now that I'm starting to get used to it?" He chuckled darkly as he pressed the hairbrush further under the sink, feeling the way that it clunked against the metal all the while as he did so. "That's a load of crap, honey, I'm not taking it from anyone, not even you."

" You do have one thing right," Faceless called across the room, using her hands to lift herself off the couch as she got herself upward, making her way over towards his own frantic hurricane. "There's absolutely no possible way that anything good in your life is going anywhere." She reached out a hand and she wrapped her arms against his hips, loving the way that he melted against her even in his worst mood. She smiled as she leaned forward and pressed a kiss against the side of a shoulder, loving the way that the soft, gentle fabric on the checkered shirt that he wore pressed up against her.

"Why on Earth is getting old such a bad thing?" she inquired softly. "Why on Earth does it have to feel like a race against time,, or something that you have to deny to yourself in order for anything good to be in your life? You can be old and have all the amazing things that you had when you were younger and when you were middle-aged, honey. It doesn't have to instantly be some sort of horrible deal breaker." She smiled as she reached out a finger and caressed it against his curls, feeling the way he shoved under her ouch.

Randy took a deep breath, and functionally did he nod. "Yeah, I know! I know that doesn't have to be that way, but,-that doesn't mean that I actually have to become that way! I've seen the way old people become around me, honey. Can't even fucking drive right on the roads, and you can forget about them ever getting any, or doing anything new. I already feel like I spent half my middle-aged life sitting around and just accepting things for what they are and watching my life being wasted and passing me by, and I'm not going to sit around and keep doing that now!" He let out another frantic, shaky sigh as he pressed his hairbrush again underneath the hot water, biting down on his lip all the way.

"Damn it, it's not going away!" He slammed the hairbrush against the sink, as if that would somehow make the ordeal easier. He pressed his fingers against the side of the strands as he pulled out the grey hair, watching the way that it tugged against the strands, as if clinging on with a certain resistance."God, what the hell is wrong with this thing?" He muttered under his breath, looking down as he tugged his fingers with greater force against the hair, while the hair was continuing to be spoiled underneath the hot water that was pressing up against it. Faceless smiled in bittersweet understanding as she pressed her lips against the side of his shoulders, gently squeezing her arms around his love handles.

"Just take it easy, darling," she murmured to him softly. "It is what it is, regardless of whether you accept it or not." Randy didn't respond; he only continued to slam the brush against the sink.

"Here, look at me for a minute," she insisted softly.

Randy's teeth were gritting; his frustration only increasing as he continued to slam the hairbrush uselessly against the skin. "I can't even this damn strand out of the fucking hairbrush," he snarled. :If I get rid of it, then t's basically as if it never happened, and if it never happened, then nobody, not even me, actually has to worry about any of it happening. Just keep getting rid of it, right? That has to be at least some kind of solution. I'm not saying I have to deny myself of my flaws or any of my issues, but I sure as hell don't have to accept things if it's so easy to get rid of! I don't have time to talk about this with you, Faceless. I don't have time for any of this. I don't have time for getting old and I sure as hell don't have time for slowing down. If I start getting older, I'm not going to be able to keep up with my business, and I'm not going to be able to make all of the things that I want to make every single day to make sure that I get all the money that I can. And if I don't make all the money that I can-then- then I'll just be proving everyone else growing up I am actually a failure and that I can't do everything I said I would do, and if that's the cas- I-I don't know how I'm going to come to terms with who I am or who I've been when my life is over. And if I feel like I didn't even do anything with it?" He took another shaky breath, as if the notion was unthinkable to him. "So yeah, I can't look at you-"

There was a soft moan that left his lips as he felt the way Faceless gripped her hands with an almost commanding force against the side of his face. She grabbed him firmly, but still with her touch gentle, but that firmness that begged to be listened to was still there. She smiled as she turned his expression around to face her. "Look at me," she repeated softly. He gazed at her after a moment of hesitancy, anf after a long, tension filled moment did she physically see the way the fight began to leave his shoulders. Ease started to execute itself onto his every muscle inside of his expression. He let out a long, defeated breath as he rolled his eyes in emotional exhaustion, turning over towards her as he did so, his last sign of defeat. "Well?" he insisted. "I'm looking at you, Faceless. Is this what you wanted?"

Faceless allowed her own soft, considerate smile to grace her features as she slowly reached out her hand and gently pressed it against his lips. Randy let out the softest moan as she shivered, memorizing the soft touches of her tenderness as it so perfectly suited him. Randy surrendered all tension within one simple pause of a second, letting out one last sigh as he allowed his insecurities to melt away instead into something that he dared to be dressed and responded to in tenderness. To accept love for it would be to admit that it was true; that he was getting older. But he found he couldn't resist the gentle melted honeyed nature that her love granted him.

"You have wrinkles," she murmured softly. "Not very prominent ones, but one they're still on your face. They're only going to get more prominent as the years go on." She traced her fingertips from the winkles that dissed the side of his lips and traveled them over to the bridge of his nose, and then, with a gentle rhythm as if her fingers were lovestruck wanderers and his skin was the map, over towards his forehead.

"Oh, haha, epic," Randy mumbled sarcastically. Even with his air of exasperation, however, she could sense the appreciation that was flowing from his lips. His eyes were almost closed in his own gentle memorization of her touches. "You're just going to start making fun of me now for something I can't help with my skin? And start pointing out all the stuff that's going wrong with me as I get older just for the hell of it? When you know that it bothers me?"

She shook her head patiently. That was what Randy needed most in these moments; tenderness and patience. No matter how hard he tried, even if it was only unintentionally, no amount of aggression for anything she said could ever get rid of the patience that she had with him. It seemed to be something that was within her, something that she had been born to give him.

"Just take it easy, darling," she cooed gently. "I'm just trying to let you know the reality of things. I don't want you thinking I'm telling you these things because I'm trying to give you a hard time. I'm telling you because you deserve to know, and you deserve to be able to accept it. You deserve to be happy with it within who you are, with who you will be, and with who you've always been." She smiled as she reached out her hand so gently pressed it further against the crevices of his forehead, and it only furthered her hunger to press her lips against his own starved skin, which was a balance between youthful and somehow marked by the age of experience and time. She fluttered her eyes as she felt the suggested hills of his skin as it flowed inward and outward from his wrinkles, loving the way that the marks of his skin met the side of her fingertips that served as eccentric kisses.. For all the hopelessness that life sometimes made them both feel, it certainly felt as if it was a gentle canopy of a deep-seated acceptance between the two of them, especially when it came to the ways that she could memorize every way that he existed and every way that he was himself-which, as far as she was concerned, was the human embodiment of romantic honeyed magic.

"I'm scared, Faceless," Randy admitted. His voice was now a soft whisper, trembling as he spoke. "I've always been so goddamn scared. Of a lot of things in life, if I can be honest, but especially of getting old. It just sounds so fucking horrible. The thought of not being as capable as I used to be, at least, you know, when I actually wanted to do something. Not being able to do everything that I can do and even worse….being lame." He shivered as he spoke the last words, pressing himself closer against her. :Not being able to fit in with the younger and the cooler kids anymore, not even having being taken seriously by them. I feel like my youth was taken away from me, and I sure as hell don't want to have it keep getting taken away from me because of something that I can't control."

"I know," she breathed softly against his skin. "You told me everything about how you felt like throwing up at the thought of feeling or looking older. But that doesn't mean that it has to be like that when you get older, honey. Being older is only a physical state, but it doesn't automatically guarantee anything for you to be emotionally affected by it. All it means is that you're taking another step in your journey, that you're experiencing another change, and if you accept it and you allow it to happen, I can promise you it's all going to feel so much more natural and it may seem." She continued to gently caress her fingers against the side of his head, his own expression gently melting into defeat as he gazed into her own.

"Do you mean it?" Randy whispered. "Because I feel like-I feel like no matter what I do or no matter who I become, I'm always going to have this no goddamn voice in the back of my head that I need to keep doing more. That I'm not really trying, not doing enough, that... I don't know. That I deserved it to wake up everyday to feel the way that I do. Do you know that sometimes I can't even sleep at night because I think of the person that I've become overtime?"

"I do," she admitted. She traced her fingertip against the black framing curls. "All the more reason to be gentle on yourself. To forgive yourself."

"And what if I can't?" Randy whispered.

There was a soft pause from her for a moment; her eyes betrayed the layers of her thought at Randy's shakily asked question. She stepped forward, grazing her lips against the side of his own. He moaned as he took a sharp intake of breath, leaning backward under her touch. The tenderness of his touch was all he needed, and it spoke all the meaning he needed far before she even said one.

"Then keep going."

And with those three simple words threaded out of her whispered, tender lips, Randy began to see the value in the meaning of moving forward.

"Your Good Time"

Faceless finds Randy's collection of Playboy magazines, and goes into his bedroom to show it to him only with the simple intention that he can organize it. Complicated emotions arise between the both of them, as well as the connection that throws them both for a spin.

It hadn't been the first time that she had found his magazines thrown all around across the floor, right in the place where he spent the majority of his time by himself whenever he got too caught up on computer work, or anything that related to keep business afloat. Essentially, it was his space for whatever he involved himself in that didn't include walking around the fields of the farm.

The slick covers were completely and utterly spoiled with curved women, with their large breasts and even larger curves, their lips perfectly carved like a rose as they sat with their seductive pouts on their face. Their heavenly carved expressions perfectly matched their delicate balanced plump proportions, one of which complemented the side of their wide eyes, eyelashes flattering as they looked in front of them with an alluring, almost challenging expression. She didn't hold any unpleasant feelings or animosity for the way that they looked or for how Randy was attracted to them; his passion was her own adoration for everything he was. If anything, she was inspired by the way they had managed to make a living out of something that could be as natural as creatively expressing themselves and simply money off of their looks. Still, there was a sense of sadness to the whole oreal. She loved Randy only deeper for what he was, not despite his qualities.

But Randy seemed to pleasure himself to these women to the point that it made her head spin with just how much he would get off to them so frequently that it seemed impossible to keep up with the hunger that possessed him more than she even knew was possible. She had heard him moaning to touching himself, and only a little bit after found the magazines on the floor, so much to the point that she lost count of the amount of times she would walk into his workspace with managzies strewn across the floor, seeming littered with his previous semen. Randy certainly never cared to clean up after himself. She wondered if he ever even did work in that space at all. More often than not would a magazine fall out of the side of the closet if she even so much as elbowed it, and even other drawers and closet spaces that she never would have guessed. He would no doubt occasionally stash a magazine into every corner he could get every now and then-or perhaps it was every night, for all that she knew, so unpredictable could he be at times. She imagined that he got them in the mail, and then just as quickly pleasured himself to them, and then tripped over himself to bring it into some secretive-or what he deemed as secretive-corner of his own world forever. She couldn't help but memoize the general look of every woman as the magazine would fall under the floor; they all had a similar air, yet they all had a particular sort of lure to them that Faceless couldn't blame Randy for being drawn to.

Almost all of the women were only half dressed or less, with their breasts pressing against the front of the magazine so intensely that oftentimes she couldn't even begin to comprehend just the amount of how much Randy had no doubt gotten excited to it. She stood up in front of the magazines now with the laundry that she had originally been going into the room for. He was always throwing his clothes as impulsive as he could almost everywhere he went, with little to no organization following his steps. His clothes were always his signs that he had been in his room, with a shirt thrown to the side of the floor, or a pair of pants as it hung or started to fall from the front of the drawer. Said drawer in his workspace was not spiling out with his pants today, however, but instead those same shiny magazines. They had practically exploded onto the floor, and a countless amount was lying inside of the wardrobe still.

She blinked for a long moment as she took in the scene; the sheer amount of unorganized chaos of shin, laminated boobs. She smiled, and after a moment did she kneel down in front of them, beginning to pick them up one by one as she placed them inside an organized stack inside of her hands. Even when it came to things that could make her feel the slightest threat of generic insecurity, so cliche of a feeling and a mark of an unremarkable or lesser love that it disgusted her-she avoided feeling it at all costs. But today it was something that she couldn't help but feel nonetheless within her incredibly predictable human nature that was a part of her whether she wanted it to be or not. She could still find nothing but fondness in the fact that she knew about his passions, even if it was a rather generic one that most men had that weren't content with the woman that they dated or ended up with. But she knew that Randy's mind doesn't necessarily work like that, and it was wayward and full of crooks and those curves that didn't necessarily match up against a typical man's mind. Randy never made anything generic; anything that touched him was unique by nature. He could be just as happy with her and just as content within their sexual life and their marriage-he could and had made it abundantly clear that he was the happiest he had been in his life, both on a physical and an emotional level. But even with those blessings that dressed around his every patch of existence, he could still just as well jack it off to other women every night, as if he was still that same unfulfilled and lost man he had been when he was younger, or the patronized husband role he had acquired with Sharon.

He simply had that hunger and adventure inside of him. Faceless wasn't sure if it was born from a deep-seated habit after so many years of being with a woman that he wasn't pleased or pleasure by, or if it came from something that was deeply embedded inside of him; a deep and bloodied lust that he was born with, or if it was simply just a bad habit of his, and his inherent wonderment that he could spoil himself with all the different types of woman that he wanted at any moment's pace. No matter what the case was, she didn't dare hate him for it, but rather did she only love him deeper for it. That was the way that she loved him- the only way that she knew how to experience what they shared; she only found every crevice that he was made of even more endearing through all of his habits, interests, and all of his chosen capabilities, and what he decided to do with them. She had allowed him to be in an open relationship from his end of things for a reason, and although she still had her own struggles of being able to understand exactly how he could love her in all of her entirely the same way that she loved him and yet still love other women, she had decided years ago that she didn't need to understand. The best things in life, she was coming to understand, often made no sense at all, and more often than not was complete irrationality the most rational thing that she had ever known in her life. Rather than making sense of anything that he was, she allowed herself to simply breath and take him in.

She allowed her lips tug into a simple smile she felt warm the familiar warmth that he granted her flow through her, grateful that he felt like he was safe enough to be able to let her know of every single purpose of his habits and of who he was most truthfully- of how he carried himself throughout his days in the most natural sense of who he was. There really wasn't one thought inside of his mind that he wouldn't eventually tell her or let her become aware of, and through this did their intimacy become all the deeper. Yet somehow, through all these tender understandings, she didn't understand him any deeper, and yet she never truly did need to understand him-and she was becoming more than content and at peace at the fact.

She pressed the magazine inside of her hands harder, squeezing her fingers against it. She hesitated as she thought about shoving them back inside of the cabinet. She wasn't sure if he was aware of the fact they had fallen out, and perhaps they had a certain kind of organization that they needed to be put back inside of. With her eyebrows drawn into a concentrated frown did she push her way out the door and make her way down the hallway, shouldering her way into the master bedroom. Randy's chaotic air instantly greeted her as she made her way to the room, instantly smelling the permanent smell of weed as it hit against her senses. There was the clear blasting sound of what sounded like video games emitting from the control that was inside of his hands. That confident, unwavering smile was plastered on his face as he looked forward at the television with excited eyes. He flittered over his eyes as his green piercing eyes struck into her, his smile increasing further on his face in his zest as he did so.

"Oh, hey babe!" Randy greeted excitedly. "Long time no see, huh? Did you find all my laundry and everything?"

She smiled as she made her way closer to him, walking her way over to his side of the bed where he was lying. He raised his head as he lifted up an eyebrow in curiosity. Faceless smiled as she leaned forward and she pressed her lips against the side of his forehead, loving the way the soft glean of sweat met her own touch.

Randy chuckled. "You okay, hun?" he questioned as he looked up at her, temporarily pausing the game that was on his phone. She reached out for the magazine that she laid down gently, wrapped her hand around his back softly, bringing him into a tender half hug. His eyes shot downward to the magazines as he looked at them with surprise, and even the slightest bit of guilt.

"Clothes and everything is nice and clean," she whispered softly against the skin. "And I found these falling down inside of your work in your area. Just thought you would want to know that they fell out, in case you wanted to organize something in any specific way."

Randy's eyes widened even further as he looked at the magazine in front of him. His lips lifted even further into an excited grin as he dropped the phone that was between his hands, picking up the magazine with a newfound fascination. "Whoa, hey, no way!" he exclaimed. His phone and game was now forgotten about entirely as he instead pressed his hands against the side of the magazine, as if it was a gift she had just dropped into his lap. "I had no idea that you bought these!"

"I didn't," she explained calmly. "I just told you that I found them in your closet. You must have used to collect them, or maybe you still do. But I thought you would at least want to know the kind of state that they're in. Where they are."

Randy let out a scoff from his lips as he granted her a distracted nod. "Well, yeah, these are some of the best issues I think I've ever owned in my life," he exclaimed, already flipping through the pages with an excited fire at the tip of his fingers.

Some of the pages were dogeared with a particular type of woman, and Faceless couldn't help but notice that they were the ones with the most skin showing of all-some of them even borderline completely naked.

"Do you know what these are, babe?" Randy asked as he shot up his eyes at her, mouth hanging open in his barely suppressed excitement. Faceless smiled as she looked allowed herself a brief look into the photos and shook her head. "Babe, there's are like….some of the best and most rare Playboy magazines that have ever existed. Most of the guys that I ever knew in college can't even come close having the amount of hot ass that I've had inside of these magazines. I was even going to show Stan how to jack off to a real woman properly by showing him them. These women, babe... they just don't make them anymore, I swear to God. The way that their curves and their body moves around and I swear, they way these pictures are taken-" He bit down on his lip, eye shining with hardly suppressed excitement, letting out a throaty and raspy chuckle. "Ohoh- it's like you can practically see them waving their ass right in front of you. Grandpa used to take me out when I was a young boy out to strip clubs and holy shit, when I tell you I had some experiences most grown men can't even say that they have! I always think about those times whenever I look at these magazines. All those times I went to the strip club with my dad and then later with the guys, sometimes even by myself when Sharon was being a particular bitch. It was the time of my life." He let out another satisfied chuckle, raspy and low with lust as he continued to thumb through the pages. He reached the end of one, and then instantly threw it down and reached for another, thumbing through them with the same incessant speed as before.

"Thank you, Faceless," he said, breathing out of his lips more than he was speaking. "Thank you so much. This is awesome. I'm totally going to call my son and let him know that I found my Playboy magazines to get him to come over so I can tell him how to be a real man, you now? I worry about him sometimes. He acts a little bit too gay sometimes. Nothing wrong with that, but its just like….like he's just, totally withdrawing in on himself or something weird like that. He needs to learn how to stay up and drink all night and beat off like a real man like this." Randy let out another satisfying chuckle as a woman with a particularly large breasts that had her boob pressed against the camera unfolded onto the page. Randy's eyes widened further, eyes large as saucers.

"Oh, look at those pair of knockers," he whispered. There was genuine awe and wonderment in his voice, as if he truly couldn't believe what he was seeing. "I gotta teach me Shelley how to get herself to look like that so she can score a real man herself-like me. These Playboy magazines, they just don't make them like this anymore. This is exactly how you teach your kids how to actually make a life for themselves, how to present themselves in a way actually make them relevant, you know? Got to teach them how to make a living. And I got to teach Shelly how to use whatever she can to try to get men to actually like her. She's always bitching about wanting these boys she likes, but she doesn't know how to try, you know? You know how it is with girls these days. She wants a boyfriend, and I know that she's always talking about it and complaining about that she doesn't have one, or that he's not around because he's online or whatever, but she's got to learn how to attract the guys that are actually around here. She's never going to be able to get a proper guy if she doesn't get it together, you know? And Stan-well, he just needs to learn how to beat it off like a real man. Once he learns how to beat off all those emotions-all that rage, all that hatred, hell, all the ways he hates me...it's all totally going to totally fall away when he learns how to beat it off like his old man. I bet you anything that the poor guy just doesn't know how to beat off the frustration. Took me a while to figure that out myself, but once I did, I realize that it was all I really needed. Just good old fashioned jacking off, you know?"

On and on he went, still flipping through the pages all the while. His voice was slurring in the way that gave away that gave away that he must have been drinking, and these were clearly the epitome of his unfiltered thoughts. She smiled, finding it oddly sweet that at the very least he was thinking of how he could try to help his kids with one of his obsessions, even if it was the farthest thing from appropriate. Randy wasn't the kind of man that was incredibly mature, but was most certainly incredibly irresponsible, and she also knew that he more than likely meant what he said. Considering that Sharon and he had split long ago, it was unlikely that he would ever be able to have time with his kids anytime soon, much less to have time with such an in depth conversation with them about something like what he was planning.

He was a lost soul through and through, and at times genuinely oblivious to right and wrong, but he meant well. Always did he mean well. Slowly did she lean forward and pressed her lips against the side of his head, lingering there for a moment as she took in his endearing babbling. Just as quickly did she begin to make her way back over towards the other side of the room, giving him one last squeeze against the shoulders before she left his side.

"Glad you found them," she whispered against the side of his forehead. She squeezed her hands against the side of his hairy shoulders one last time, memorizing the soft, coarse black hair that tickled against the side of her fingers that made her shiver. She didn't mean for her voice to have even the slightest suggestion of sadness to it, but her tone ended up coming out rather sad-almost a little bit defeated. There was, of course, far more tenderness, far more love and admiration inside of her voice than there was anything else, and at the pinnacle of the words that she breathed into his ear was the the symbol message that she loved and adored him for all his passion, for everything that he was. There was no jealousy or broken bitterness inside of the way she whispered and loved against him; nothing less than complete and authentic elation simply for the man that he was, for everything that she loved him for, for his wayward thinking and quirky nature, and every interwoven unexpected gift that breathed between his very ribs in between. But there was a tinge of pained sadness, and she couldn't ignore it no matter how hard she tried. So, with a tinge of hesitation, did she snake her arms away from his shoulders and make her way over towards the other side of the wardrobe, figuring that since, while she was here, she may as well work on trying to clean some of his farm clothes as well.

As Randy continued to excitedly snap his fingers through the magazine, he couldn't help but lift up his eyes as he gazed at Faceless from across the room. He had picked up on that small but honest hint she had given him of her endeavoured self admitted sadness, whether she was aware of it or not. Although he was normally the kind of man that would usually only focus on his own emotions-not intentionally but simply because it was the route in life that made his perception most comfortable-his connection with her was different. When it came to Faceless in particular, he was especially attentive. Almost uncharacteristically so-but then again, the love they shared between one another was so rich-so completely unheard of-that it did strange things in both of them that neither of them ever could have dreamed or imagined would have molded inside of their chests and their very essence of whatever it was they were made of. It was as if they were both modeled with hands of the universe that had been made to be brought aflame by one another.

Previously this potential light of aflamed complexity of life had laid utterly doormat-just waiting to be properly mold breathed into the very lungs of their previously collected, compacted, painfully complacent dry and dirtied lungs, until finally they had found each other, and slowly had their hooded eyes begun to breath their own precious version of lungs, slowly had their chests begun to rise and fall into something that could only be known as relentlessly alive. They were both clay that had been dormant and unimpressive-ugly, even, but they were clay with hands now, brought to life by the caress of the other, and within their now known presence of one another that they found within each and one another's gasping souls did they find the strength to reach out and gradually begin to search every crevice of their whispered desperations. They had begun to mold not just one another but into each other, against one another, until they both had been modeled into the shape that they needed to be in life to be most comfortable, in order to face their most worthwhile purpose. It was because of this that he could see perfectly see clearly where previously there was something in his mind that was an unwanted fog, and her golden presence had occasionally broken through it was that wasn't quite right inside of her mind, or something inside of him that made simply existence and functionality in relationships far more complicated than they needed to be.

He raised up his eyes from the magazine as he gazed at her for a moment, and then hesitated as his eyes traveled back down towards the half-naked woman that was gazing at him with a gracefully dangling cigarette between the spaces of her foners, and a seductive expression that sat on perfectly pouted red lips. After a moment did he let out a sigh as he put aside the magazine, looking up at Faceless as he prepared himself for what he knew most women wanted to hear in this moment. But Faceless wasn't just a woman to him, and he would take the extra leap to make himself uncomfortable for the sake of making her comfortable. He gripped his hands against the sheets, preparing himself for whatever awkward conversation would unfold from the ice he would attempt to break. He needed to tell her he loved her, in whatever way was humanly possible. It felt like a desperate, demanding need for her to know that much at the very least.

"Awh-but they're nothing compared to you, sweetheart," he cooed after a moment with nothing but the blood roaring in his ears to accompany him. His voice was taking on those soft and earned slow tone that he now only ever used with her-one that he had shown Sharon-but never with Sharon had this tone actually been able to be truly appreciated. With Faceless, he finally felt he was giving his partner something that mattered, and that made him want to try. Relentlessly so.

She turned her eyes over her shoulder, her hands pausing midway in between folding clothes, and slowly did she offer him a loving, but tired, smile.

"I appreciate it," she muttered softly. Randy gazed at her as he gave her a quick smile and a nod, meant to be reassurance, but as he did the action he couldn't help but think he was doing it more for herself than for her.

"Yeah...yeah," he breathed after a moment, excitedly tripping over his words as he did so. "I mean, really, honey. There don't-they don't really even do much to me anymore the way that they used to ever since I found you. Like, yeah, don't get me wrong, they got a sweet ass and they're really hot, and they totally remind me of what it feels like to be cool and young and everything, and I'm always going to have a soft spot for that. And like-yeah, it's always going to be fun to stay up late at night drinking and trying to forget that I'm all….old feeling now. I feel like I'm losing my touch sometimes, and I know I'm just looking at a damn piece of paper- and that-maybe-I'm not as cool and hip as I used to be. I don't want to think I'm old and fat now, but it's kind of hard to forget sometimes that I'm not the same cool young man that I used to be. Don't get me wrong, I'm still really cool, but I know my age has kinda caught up to me. But-" He paused as his eyes got lost in thought, trying to get the sentence out as best as he could that he knew was on the tip of his tongue that he wanted to express in only the best way. He just couldn't quite fight against the muddiness of his mind to be able to get it out properly. How he could tell her how he felt about her-how deeply he loved her. He gripped his now sweating palms further against the sheets. "Shit, what I'm trying to say, sweetheart, is that you're really fucking hot. And I really, really like how you make me feel...calm. Like, you're not just hot, not even like one of those large knockers that are inside of the magazine. Sure, it's a really fun ride seeing them, but like- I don't know. It's like seeing some sort of attraction at an amusement park and being temporarily excited by it, but then you're just kind of over it when it's over, you know? It's like, I get this little spark in between my legs….and then it's totally over." He offered her a smile that tugged at the left side of his lip, already feeling warm at the next words he would speak.

"With you? It's always totally amazing with you. It's fucking incredible. You always know how to touch me, know how to make a man feel good. You know how to make me feel everything. I just fell into this great sense of everything-love, tenderness, being truly loved and understood. It's not just sex with you. You totally know how to make me totally melt. I just forget about everything else. It's really awesome, the way that you always know how to….you know."

He lifted up his finger and placed it in his mouth as he formed his lips into a hole, digging his finger into it, and then pulling out his finger with a loud pop. "You always know how to do the exact perfect blowjob the way that no woman ever has before, no matter how many times I try to teach her. "God knows Sharon never even came close, even when she went through one of those days when she would even bother." He swallowed thickly as he gazed at Faceless, seeing the way that she was smirking slightly as she watched the way he was stumbling over his words as he desperately tried to explain to her exactly what he meant. After a moment did he feel a strike of exasperation go through him as he rolled his eyes and gave a sigh. He shot her a defeated, adorable grin.

"Do you know what I'm saying, honey?" He tried after a moment. "I just really, really love you, and I don't feel the way that we feel when we're together with anyone else. Everyone else is just-they're just something in my past that used to make me feel really good, but now all I really want is you." He shrugged again as he looked at her, not even realizing himself just how true those words were even as he tasted them on his tongue. They left a soft, tangible feeling on his lips that spoke of the emotional equivalent of mildew, softened sweetness that only words that were soaked in the adoration he had for her brought him.

"Only you," he repeated after a moment. His eyes trailed down the side of her body, as if he was physically dancing his wandering, thirsty eyes against her every seretice crevice; a map that was only for him to discover. "You, with all of your awesome advice and your even smaller ass…" He sighed as his eyes traced around the soft curve of her body, and he gripped the sheets even further with logning. "Yeah, that's exactly what I'm talking about. That's what gets me going these days. Not a bunch of women who are just trying to get a lost guy like me horny. Not even a bunch of alcohol and a bunch of women at a strip club. I can imagine my ex's big tits all I want, but they're not…. they don't actually make me feel good anymore. They just make me feel like the way that things used to be back when I was patronized half the time, even when I was just trying to goddamn enjoy myself. I would even had to ask her to have sex with me half the time. Sure, she had a hot bod, but there was something about the way that she talked to me that drove me crazy. Made me want to drink even more."

He sighed as he leaned his head backward almost a little bit too dramatically, but it was justified with the way that he looked at her with that deep-seated honeyed longing that struck inside his own green, naive desperate pools. It made Faceless weak just to look into them, to see them once. She could feel her knees buckling even as she took in his soft, plush body as it spilled over the sheets, his softened skin and the coarse, thick black caress of his body hair. The plump and irresistibility inviting hill of his tomatch as it spread over the sheets was nothing less than mouth wateringly intimacy even just to see it. As he looked at her with his own doleful, soft, and gently affirmation eyes, she found she had never felt quite so refreshed in her life. All the while did he gaze at her with that softened, forgiving smile tracing and dancing against his own wrinkled kissed features.

"Just know that you're really incredible," he whispered, every word traced with a softnted observation that made Faceless almost sick with longing and that rich golden love just to hear it. "We're...we're pretty good together. I'll keep saying it until you come over here so I can show you how much I actually mean these words that I'm saying."

He was drunk, and she could tell from the way that his eyes were heavily lidded over his eyelids in a way that gave away more than just exhaustion. The whites of his eyes were dancing with a flowered red in the way that gave away that not only was he drunk. but he was also high-and there was no one that was more of an honor to witness than the sloppy romantic that Randy was when he lost all sense of reality under the influence of the drugs. She had seen it from his countless times; the way he would trip over his own clumsy but well intended and clumsy words for the sake of soppily romanticizing her. But she had never seen him be quite so worried-not with the with the way that he was described so desperately of how deeply he appreciated her, with a certain kind of desperation that he had never given her before. Slowly did Faceless put down the clothes that were being wrapped around her arm as she began forget the task entirely; the mundane routines of the day could wait.

She started to feel; a smile tug insistently against her lips, and she was more than willing to follow its call. She slowly closed the door from behind her and turned around, taking in his own soft, endearing form lovingly. With step by care step-each one speaking of her increasing lust- did she step towards the end of the bed. She began to gradually let her hands travel up the soft sheets, her knees following shortly from behind as he began to crawl towards him. Randy was letting out his own moans and whimpers of curiosity all the while as she made her way over towards his body that was, by all appearances, hers for the taking. Randy let out a moan even further as his soft, gentle, and authentic light showed through the nosies; the soft gentleness that was always within his naturally good nature. Though he was wayward, uncertain, flawed, and horribly insecure, not to mention cursed and additions to the strings that guided in life to his attachment to alcohol,, he was nonetheless still completely and utterly inviting; from helpless expression to trembling fingers. That only called to Faceless even further, however, as she made her way over towards his body.

She dared to lie her body against the side of his own as she dropped her elbows against his love handles, then quickly her arms snaked around the plumo hill of his stomach and followed shortly from behind. She leaned forward and pressed her lips against the top of his head. A deep, slow moan left Randy's lips as his eyes rolled to the back of his head as his eyelashes fluttered backward. His addiction of endearing air was most especially executed by the scenery of his handsome features that were melting under her tenderness. Her hungry, searching fingers were primarily clinging onto his black waves of hair, tugging on each strand as if it were the wonderment of the grounding of her remaining sanity. As far as she was concerned it was. Finally, with one last hungry kiss against his cheek, She let out a sigh as she let his larger body fully melt against her, smiling in rich contentment as she lifted her hands around his body and memorized his moans that were somewhere between appreciative and released stress.

The soft, yet coarse hair of his body caressed her goosebumps as his own arm wrapped against her, and she knew that was a reminder for the second time that not only did their love made sense in all the ways that counted, but that she also completely and utterly believed every word that he was speaking.

"You know how to speak every word to make it sound like the most authentic truth that anyone has ever spoken, you know that?" she muttered with her pretty words of awe against his clammy skin. She smiled as she heard a soft moan emit from his lips just from feeling her body wrapping around him with that whispered promise of security with every drive that his body was made of, in mind and body the same. He was the most tactile, physically addicted, and love-starved man that she had ever known, which was such an odd combination for somebody who has been married to somebody, or at the very least has always had a girlfriend. He must have never known somebody that seemed to shiver and melt against his own body the way he did his partner; he was always the cross-started lover, while his partner settled for settled complacency. Randy was an authentic and genuinely love stricken soul, and through her touch did she heal his long sense acquired starvation. She wanted to constantly devour him for everything that he was at all hours, whether honry many that jerked off to Playboy, or the thoughtful father and geologist he had been for some many years.

She had never seen somebody that had the naivety of approach to love such as Randy did; someone with such an innocence of disbelief whenever she gave him the slightest sign that she truly loved him. She found him to be one of those most unfortunate souls she had ever known, despite all of his stricken golden enthusiasm for everything he met with a rich zest most children lost by their teenage years. Though Randy had always been surrounded by company, and had always had a busy life and an even louder personality, he very rarely, if ever, had been surrounded by a company that actually did the most desperate part of his soul any favors. Any company that actually made him feel loved and appreciated for what he truly was; which wasn't a paty boy, nor a pot farmer, bur rather a desperate, soft soul who only wanted to love and be loved only in the rawest fashions. She gradually turned her head towards the side as she pressed her lips against the side of his chest,, keeping her arms rested against the side of his plump stomach that was breathing heavily against up and down against the side of hers, and only because of the complete emotional and complete anticipation that was clearly dancing inside of his chest.

"I love you," he whispered. It came out abrupt, uncertain, yet with the air of always communicative endearing words between them, it seemed as if the words had already been spoken before they left his trembling lips, which were traced by the soft whiskers of his mustache they way they had ticked her lips countless times before. "You're the only one that's ever made me feel truly loved. To know what it feels like to give love in a way that matters."

She nodded, and gently pressed the spaces of her fingers against one of the black hairs of his ocean of soft curls, tugging on it until she felt the strain of the hair against his head. She knew that he liked his combination of pleasure and pain as it shot through him, and his black eyebrows twitched as he groaned while he felt the sensation. And she was right-she felt him buckle under her touch as he laid his head forward, gripping his hands against the side of her shoulders, digging his fingers inside her skin as the sweetest kind of welcomed pain shot through his body.

"I love loving you," Faceless murmured simply. Randy chuckled, shaking his head slightly.

"Yeah, well, you sure as hell do you make it easy," he gasped after a moment. "You make everything a lot easier, really. I used to think that the only thing that was easy in this life was smoking and drinking-trying to avoid conversation. But with you- you actually make the smoking and drinking a little bit harder. You actually make everything feel like, I don't know, like it's actually in the way that it's supposed to be. Whatever the hell that means." He let out a hiccup, which was another sign he had been drinking before bed-which was also a sure sign he'd had a hard day. Smoking, drinking, and all complimented by video games at the same time.

She smiled as she pressed her head against his quivering chest. He let out a sigh as he leaned his head back helplessly with his own high and cross faded face melting, clearly trying to bring himself back to consciousness as best he could to enjoy this moment. He was clearly on the brink of falling asleep after drinking and smoking the amount that he had, and she giggled as she lifted her head to nuzzle her nose against his. He let out a soft and welcoming sigh as he leaned his body against her further, pressing his own hands against her all the while as he did so, fingertips pattering softly against her shoulder.

"Do you want to make love now, or do you want to take a nap while I make you dinner?" she whispered against his ear. She adored the offer; either way would his needs be met, and that was what mattered to her. There was no sense of slavery, no sense of being forced to do something that she didn't want to do. There was only the sense of complete and absolute gentle consideration-her own addiction of taking care of him just as much as he adored being taken cared of. It was the richest, most welcome dynamic, and a sign of how well they completed one another. He smirked as he looked up at her and reached out a hand, pressed it against the side of her face, gazing at her with his considerate look in his expression.

"Hard to answer the questions when I just had like, twelve hundred beers," he confessed under his breath. She could smell it even as the words left his lips, but she adored even the slightly sour taste of the beer as it lapped against her face. She smiled as she leaned forward and pressed her lips against the side of his, loving the way that he opened up his lips a few inches so that she could instantly climb inside of his own mouth. A soft, tender touch of connection between them, executed just so. She allowed her tongue to dance out of her lips as it slowly danced underneath his own lips, loving the way that his naive, slow moans left his own hungry salivated lips like an endearing song, with his own hands gently caressing her absentmindedly all the while.

"Is-Is this you?" he stammered after a moment, reaching his hand out as he gently patted his hands rather awkwardly against the side of her face as they traveled away from where they had been caressing her arms. She frowned slightly playfully as she turned her head away from him and looked at him questionly, reaching out the back of her knuckles as it caressed the side of his own. "What do you mean, is it me?" she laughed softly against the side of his face. He was adorably bewildered as he looked up at her and blinked rapidly for his own sake, looking at her with a just barely comprehensible expression. After a moment did he let out another clueless hiccup, giving her a soft, adorable strong.

"Just wanted to make sure it was actually you that was here," he confessed after a moment. "Na-not one of those girls that are really hot in the body, but that are totally fake when it comes to how they treat me. You know, the ones that are really good and that makes me feel good between my legs, but not so much in the head." He blinked at her with detached, slow, red eyes for a moment as a lazy thoughtfulness crossed his sleepy eyes. "Can't lie, it's really hard for me to tell what's what right now. Wouldn't be surprised if you're one of those women that walked out of the magazine right now and just started begging me, you know? Would have been my dream in college, but nowadays all I want is my wife."

His voice broke on the last word, and Faceless could feel her own breaking in the way of his own emotional discovery of what he truly wanted. He gently laid his hands down and traveleved it down her body. He squeezed them against the side of her ass, tenderly but intensely pressing his hands hungrily against her. She felt her own heat and excitement strike through her as she felt his own touches overcame her, and slowly did she let out a noise that was somewhere between a humorist laugh and yet a painful longing that was finally being drawn inside her own body through his outward touches.

"It's me. Darling, she murmured after a moment. "It's Faceless, the woman that you decided to marry a couple of years ago."

Randy's lips pulled together in soft consideration, blinking adorably all the while. Finally did a drunken smile begin to trace at the side of his plump lips, somewhat clarity rising in his own endearing and impossibly soft eyes again that she could have sworn were already searching for her and what they shared as much as she search for him.

"Oh," he murmured bluntly after a moment. "Well, that's good." He sounded so adorable and so simple minded in that moment-so completely and recklessly lost inside his own simple truth, and it made her very essence melt the way she saw just how precious he was. He was made from precious gems, and he was all hers. Willingly so. It made her heart give out to think of it. More than that, she was working and cleaning herself the very same way that she always longed to do with him, and she was healing him in much of the same way. Randy looked at her with something between desperation and satisfied happiness, she knew he half expected her to slip out of his grasp at any given moment. The Playboy magazines that he had thrown over to the side, right along with his small video gaming system, were pressing against his body in the bed awkwardly. The magazines pressed against both of their bodies even as Faceless pressed herself further against him.. It was such a messy way that they were entangled inside of themselves within that moment, and yet that was the very reason why she enjoyed it so much.

They couldn't do one thing without Randy's scatterbrained nature and his messy execution of how he went through tasks getting in the way, but she adored it, she wouldn't have it any other way. Everything that he wasn't, everything that he was, he did was a certain nostalgia that summoned inside of her that she didn't understand, but she didn't need to. She completely adored the way that he was so utterly within himself, the way that there was something about the very essence of himself that made her feel more like her own self in a way that was the truest form of happiest;purest form of herself that she was ever meant to be. She didn't need to understand who he was, and she didn't need to understand why they matched against each other; all she needed was to understand exactly how to help each him; how to love and one another through such a soft element-and most importantly within these moments, how to reassure one another. Randy was the kind of man that needed endless reassurance, especially when it came to love, even though he never knew how to ask for it. Most especially when he didn't.

"You're pretty hot, aren't you?" He breathed under his hot, alcohol stained breath. "You know, sometimes I wonder if you're actually real, or if you're just one of my strange fantasies that just started following me around everywhere. I started seeing some wild shit once I started smoking some of my usual experiments, but the stuff just hit you so good that you almost don't really care about the aftereffects, you know? I really gotta teach Stan how to smoke like a real man so he can act like a real man, smoke like a real man. And Shelly will come around too when she realizes how fucking awesome it is to forget about all that anger that she's got inside of her. She won't be so much of a fat bitch if I show her how to actually smoke and to just forget about everything that makes her so angry all the time. I wish I could say the same for my wife, but she already smoked behind my back. Fake bitch." He chuckled darkly against the side of her face, nibbling against her ear all the while even as she gently pressed her hips further against his own.

"Fake cunt," he whispered against her. As innocent as Randy was, Faceless was reminded with a shiver of just how much wounded and unresolved hurt he carried within him.

He was whispering all of his dark secrets about the dynamics of how he truly felt about his family. Although he was hardly the filtered man anyway, even when he was sober and clear-headed, he most certainly wasn't any kind of man that would hold anything back whenever he was drunk and so lost within his own muddled mind the way he was now. There was something that was mortifyingly addicting about it, the fact that they were becoming one and melting into each other physically within that moment; within that dark rum that was changing to the orange light of the sunset of Randy's secrets; somewhere that was between addicting to listen to, yet also blood chillingly cold. The colored, complex portrait of his pained words spelled in through the window as the colors of his inner darkness match the sunset spilling through the window. It was for his own secrets of his heart that were implanted inside of him forever because of the life that he shared with his family that his dark words were summoned.

He was a single and lone, broken father that pressed against her, and with a tug of his hands was she reminded who she was truly in love with. His slightly goofy mutterings were always present, but they were faced with a relentless dark. Going inside of his dark wounds was the only thing that she could focus on, even as she actually allowed him to start to tease against the beginning endurance of his achievement of getting to her desperate, wet and soft folds that sat between her legs. They were both just as equally hungry for one another-craving each other, and whatever disassociation she felt in the moment only fell away into something that was the very definition of welcome for the both of them. There was something about him that made her so animalistically famished and disoriented, as if she was falling up into a world that didn't quite exist except for whenever she was near him-for whenever she could memorize him and take in his every unique quirk.

It wasn't the real world that he made her fall into-it was one that she felt as if it was right inside of her soul, perhaps not right with the way that her soul was put inside of the world that she was actually in, but it certainly felt right to some other version of herself where there was only him and her at all hours, at all ends of existences of other days. She didn't even understand it, and she reminded herself yet again even though she fit into him, she would never become one with him the way that she so painfully wished. Randy was a soul that was shifted a little to the left, gently sucing and misaligned witht he rest of the world, and the alcohol that was coming into his life was permanently embedded inside of him that she breathed against the side of his own hungry kissed and meinded him there was more to him than what he was now. She pressed her jointed hips further into him and he let another gasp, letting out a sharp, deep breath.

"Yeah, you remind me of how sex is supposed to be," he breathed after a moment, voice raspy and shaking as he dug his fingers further against the back of her head and the other against her ass. Another sloppy hiccup. "You remind me of why it's the best thing that's ever happened in this world. Without sex-without sex...all we would have to talk about is just drugs, and drugs are really amazing at everything, but what the hell would would talk about that would be cool. Like, human connection and everything?" He hiccuped again, and she giggled softly at the fragility of the action. "What the hell would I brag about all day to the guys? I can't talk to them about how much weed I smoke at home. Everybody can smoke weed. But how many guys can get some hot piece of ass inside of the bed like the way that I could when I was younger? The way that I can now when I'm older, even while I sit here. Everybody else my age has gotten older married to the same women that they found when they were younger. Nothing wrong with that, and I'm not saying that there is, and I even tried it myself. But it really gets you down after awhile, when you remember the women you could get when you were younger."

Faceless guided her hands against his back. "I think you're talking a lot like your father right now, " she whispered against his ear. There was no judgement in her voice, but only that worried and endring consideration and the insight she had to what he felt inside himself. He chuckled against her further as he gently dragged his fingernails against her skin, loving the way that the surface of he skin gently responded to his own touch.

"Yeah, well, I guess the guy kind of rubs off on you when you've been having to deal with him your whole life," Randy muttered against the curve of her neck. "Just glad I don't have a bitch wife that's always asking me to go visit the guy anymore, considering that neither of us seem to enjoy it. Now it's just you, and the kids that we're going to have in the future, and it's all good. It makes so much more sense than any of that other stuff that I ever did."

He breathed against her as he rolled his eyes backward, and his voice began to leak out into a trembling gasp as he felt eh way Faceless ghosted her hands from his back to his hardened cock, only forcing her to want to become even deeper inside of him, to melt even further against him. She gently rocked her hips against his own, loving the way that he melted underneath her touch as his now fogged eyes rolled to the back of his head, which only fed her own burning lust as she saw the way he was coming undone right in front of her. He was showing all sides of himself without apology; trashy party body, hopeless romantic, and soft, lost soul.

She loved all sides.

"God, yeah, that is nice," he whispered under his lips. "That, now this is special. I can come up with all the specials that I want, but this is the stuff that really hits it up. Can't really imagine a one night stand being the same when there's actually a woman that you really love in your arms, you know what I mean? This is so much better than boobs, or porn, or ass, or all that stuff, really." He gently traveled his hands from her ass and traveled it up to her back, and she felt goosebumps spoil against the side of her skin.

"You're such a romantic, aren't you?" she whispered against his lips. "You always try to put on this party for people, and I'm sure that it's a part of who you actually are, but I know that there's a part of you that's always going to want this." Only then did she press her folds further inside of him, and just as quickly pressed her lips against the side of his mouth before he could respond.

With a breathless gasp did she somehow manage to speak another word through trembling breaths. "Somebody who not only gives you everything that you need, physically and emotionally, but someone who loves you, who understands you, somebody who can see you for everything that you are." She gently reached out her hand and pressed against the side of his sideburns that framed the side of his always expressive handsome features with a perfect grace that was almost tortuously handsome.

"Whoa, whoa, okay," he muttered, chuckling against her. "Here comes the philosopher woman. Why don't we just focus on having a good time, ok? Besides-" He gently traced the tip of his finger against her own lips, his mustache tickling against her skin making her let out her own shuttered gasp again. "We both know that this is a hell of a good time just the way that it is. We don't got to understand why we feel the way we do about each other, why we love the way that we do, right? I definitely know that I have a good time just feeling the way that it feels to have you against me like this." He let out a softened sigh that was nothing less than adorable as he pressed his plump body further against her without warning, and she felt the way his stocky legs pressed around her hungry hips, cock furthering deeper inside of her own body.

Her eyes widened. She found herself inching forward with one shudder of breath and a gasp that was somewhere in between a pain that was so deep that it was pleasure, and she settled for cutting off all reason as she felt how he pressed himself fully inside her. She could feel his cock pressing against her tender spots now, the way his inches perfectly graced every tender spit, the way his polump body so successfully pleasured her own. She gradually felt the way his cock entered inside of her until it was demanding to be felt against her every wet fold.

"This was the way it as meant to be," he whispered to her. "Sucks- feeling like it's the only thing that's actually been making me feel alive for the longest time that I can remember. Something that most men only dream about because most of the time-something that I would've become if I had stayed with Sharon. It just really fucking sucks. The amount of times the guys and I went out to the strip club without our wives, just to come home bragging about stuff that wasn't even that fun? We pretended to have a good time because we wanted to be cool like we always heard about. But-it was nothing like this." He closed his eyes for a moment as another desperate tremor assed over his features that came from nothing less than the deepest of emotion. "Of this-this is the best thing I think I've ever known." He let out another shaky breath as he slicked himself deeper and further inside for her, and she fluttered open her eyes as she rolled her back against her neck, losing herself in something that was nothing less than complete and utter pleasure, seeing stars behind her vision.

"How many times have you pleasure yourself, hun? Or jack off, whatever. Whatever it is that women do. How many times do you think of me while you're doing it? Because I know you're not thinking about anything other than me."

There he was. He got so cocky into himself whenever they had sex. She enjoyed it, and she smirked, satisfied that he was well aware of what he did to her. She felt the way that his own breath tickled against the side of her neck, the way his thrusting paused, teasing her mind, yet not quite giving her what she wanted. Which, Ironically, in the twisted fashion that they loved each other, that was exactly what she wanted. But as long as it was him that was teasing her, it was nothing less than the deepest sense of the pinnacle of pain-something that was almost completely desperately longing to be touched and fulfilled to the point that drove her mad, like an itch that desperately needed to be scratched.

"I don't know, big boy," she muttered teasingly against him, keeping her head turned to the ceiling. "How many times have you pleasured yourself thinking of me?"

"Come on, Faceless! You first." "How many times do you want me to say?" "I dunno. Once, twice, three times? How many times every single day? I can't be anything less than three times a day, or else you're definitely a lesbian. That's what I've heard, anyway."

Faceless chuckled humorously, still gently rocking her hips unto him all the while and she did so, even though he refused to respond. So crazy was she about loving him tenderly that she could never resist granting him such sensations-and it was a gift for her to be able to do such things, anway. She cold tell when he was on the brink of trying his best not to break out into those moans that he always did whenever he was pleasured; it was almost as if it he was sad because he knew this time with her was the pinnacle of his pleasure, and come morning he wouldn't feel anything even remotely the same; but the feeling he felt with her was the pinnacle of his sexual pleasure, as of it physically was something that was pounding against him.

She personally found the quality completely, relentlessly adorable, with the way that it completely possessed him from all sides, causing a smile to carve upon his face as he gazed at her with a soft, desperate and boylike intimacy, eyelashes fluttering behind the smile in his eyes. Only he was the kind of man that was so perfectly in tune with his secual emotions that they would perfectly match, portrait, and paint on the front of his face. She allowed her own humor to dress her lips as she tendelry leaned forward and pressed her lips against the tip of his nose, grazing her fingers against his hair.

"What?" Randy mumbled, adorable and defensively, even as he was starting to rock his hips now back into the rhythm of her own. Pleasures of waves were now again starting to gently travel through the both of them, and they were somewhere in between a hellish ecstasy and a delicate heaven, hardly able to perceive anything because of how much their pleasure rocked into one another. But just how much the waves of complaints and true love was flowing through the months of their hearts and the time they had shared together. But there was still that playful, testing tension that was threaded and intervened between the both of them.

"It's all it's just what I heard, sweetheart," he continued defensively. "Like, how on Earth can somebody not be a lesbian if they don't jerk off to the man at least three times a week? Check that, about three times a day. Don't really tell me that you don't at least think about me, like, every couple of hours at the very least? Maybe take one finger and tease it down to the middle of your legs a little bit? I heard chicks love doing that too. Something about chicks that they love to tease the tip of their finger against the top of their clit. I've heard they love it when they do that, but I don't think you've ever actually tried it, have you, hun?"

"I do it all the time," she confessed against his skin, smirking as she visibly cut him off with all of his own incessant and adorable babbling. He was looking for validation; that as all he wanted or needed. He started rocking his hips against her again, the plum hill of his stomach gently resting against her own.

"You serious?" Randy questioned, voice now laced with an adorable and awe stricken disbelief. "Like, every second of every single day?"

She smiled as she heard the disbelief inside of his voice. Even though he tried to put on this confident demeanor, she knew what he deeply longed for. He was searching helplessly for any sign that she actually did, in fact, do that-any sign that she loved him as deeply as she always told him she did. For everything that Randy tried to do to pretend to be confident, it was clear that he wasn't as nearly as confident about how desirable he was as much as he wanted to come across, or as much as he believed himself to be. Rather was a trembling, desperate pulp of tenderness, desperate to be loved on. She gently pressed her lips against the side of his face, loving the way that he was already melting as he began to give up his fight of trying to keep himself together. His fallen disposition and demeanor was already starting to break out of his hungry lips. Every single day, every second, she thought of him, truth be told. As a matter of fact, there were rare moments when she didn't, and she could hardly go one hour without thinking of him.

"Whenever I think of you, I instantly feel better, whether I pleasure myself or not," she murmured. "Sometimes I do everything I can for even the chance to even look at you while you go about your day. You have no idea how beautiful you are, Randy, going about in the sunlight every single day, and you make even the dullest days full of excitement just from the very way that you exist."

She smiled as she felt the way that he let another hardly suppressed moan she he gently pressed his grazing teeth against his own ears, and she could feel the way that her own body was becoming excited and slick with swat from the very precious nature than was his own noises that were falling on his lips and and wrapping around her ears. "You have no idea how much it turns me on just to see you walk around every single day and be that passionate life that you are so naturally," she whispered.

She was whispering now so softly that it almost felt as if she was sharing some dirty secret between the two of them- something that was so precious that only the two of them were worthy of hearing of it. He turned his head toward the side as he looked at her with adorable, heavily laden red highlight that looked as if they they half asleep, but most especially where they completely flowered and bloomed in pleasure as he looked over her entirely lazily and slowly, with a slowly mild happiness beginning to reach against the side of his lips.

"Hey, you're pretty sweet yourself," he whispered, and although he was trying to play it off as casual, she could feel the way his voice was wild with awe stricken praise that he now actually had a wife that not only loved and understood him, but wanted to come to know him, completely and utterly, and with relentlessly drive the same way he approached her with the fire he was made of. She's smirked as she stuck herself against his body, shooting pleasured wave through his body, loving the way that she felt his own soft plump body pressed against the side of her chest, the soft curve of his skin nothing less than an invitation of ecstasy.

"What about you?" She whispered softly against him. "How many times do you jack off to me every single day? Or jack off, in general" She didn't want him any kind of filter with him thinking that she would get angry at him if he said any other woman other than her. She wanted him to be free, wanted him to experiment in the way that his naturally adventurous soul needed.

"Oh God, yeah, because the amount of times I jack off every single day is so interesting," he said, sarcasm dripping from his own voice as his hands caressed up and down her back all the while. Even within their own safety did Randy sound as if he was convinced he was completely unremarkable to anybody who would listen-the damage from his past was far from gone from the way it affected him daily.

"Everything about you is," she reassured him softly. "Don't talk down to yourself like that, love, not even as a joke. You know how much I don't like to hear it." Randy clicked his tongue and he popped his lips.

"Oh, come on, Faceless," he muttered softly. "You know I'm just kidding around. I know that you love everything that I have to talk about, especially when it comes to myself. I love it, too." His voice was dripping with a confident sarcasm, and Faceless smiled as she pressed herself against him, feeling the way his cock gently rested inside of her folds. He sighed, admitting defeat for the conversation for what it was. "I don't know, I guess, at least, at least five times a day, I guess. That's on an off day," he added after a moment, almost as if saying it somewhat defensively.

She traced her hands against the back of his head further, wanting to let him know it was ok. His insecurities were more than secure for as long as they were being spoken towards her always tender acceptance.

"It depends," he said after a moment. "It depends on what I'm thinking about, or what I want that day. If I'm thinking about a huge grouping of huge tits being pressed on my face, feeling the way random women feel around me, then probably only like twice a day. That just gets me excited and gets me going to get some energy for the day in case the day is a little bit extra dumb, you know? And then after that, and….then I start thinking of you. Once I get all that crap out of my system from the past that I can't quite get over, I start thinking of you like it's no one else's business. Because it's not. It's just, it's just you and me inside my head; the way I think about you. The way you touch me, talk to me, make me feel. Yeah, you really feel good in the way that sounds, honey."

Randy let out his own breath of confidence as he gently pressed his hands further against her back, now rocking his hips against the rhythm of her own, rendering her number completely weak as she felt the way that was now quik literally being slammed against him with his own desperate desire. He was hungry now, and he would no longer pretend he wasn't for the sake of whatever civil nature there could be attempted between them.

"You definitely know how to get it man going, honey, even when you're not around, I'll tell you that much. You totally make my imagination go wild."

"So you're not-so you're not a player?" Faceless questioned with a teasing and softened question.

He gently looked up at her with desperation and as he blinked at her in consideration, and he couldn't help but laugh as she briefly opened up her eyes and pulled her face away from where it had been facing towards the ceiling.

"No," he mumbled. "I'm not any of that, honey. Just a husband who wants to actually be a good husband this time."

She felt her heart break in a strange way as she saw the utterly sweet way that his appearance met her from underneath her soft touch. His black hair of crowned curls were plastered against his forehead in all their blackened curls as they pressed up around the frame of his own face that looked like nothing less than a porcelain angel as he blinked at her with helpless naivety. And within his eyes were glimmering softened helplessness, expression bulging out of his eyes as he gazed at her with the question that was pinning down the majority of his insecurities. He was gazing at her with something that was in between a soft, gentle boylike innocence, and at the same time a man that was desperate to know beyond the shadow of a doubt that he could overcome his wounds in the past from the failure of his expectations,, and of being with a wife that simply hadn't loved him.

After a tense, considerate moment did he lean forward, and Faceless grinned, feeling click inside of her rich and so thick and with a warmth that was so rich she felt as if she could have choked on it; it was the very reason why, for the first time in her life, that she felt like she could truy breathe; the simple sensation of himself against her. It was the most overwhelming and yet freeing connection that she had ever felt, and with one last thrust did she feel the way his pleasure wrap against her own body, responding to his own action as she felt her own intimate confessions against his. She knew that within a couple of moments she could, and would, black out from pleasure, and from there he would take care of her, just as she often took care of him.

"Definitely not a lesbian," she muttered against him. "Although I will say that if you ever do want to go through with that transition that you keep talking about, I'll be more than happy to switch around my sexuality to make it a graceful for the both of us."

Randy let out a raspy laugh against her that was drenched in tenderness, and then quickly did he press himself further inside of her with sudden passion. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she moaned for him one last time, diggin her fingers further against him, no longer trusting her body to keep itself upright of its own accord. Her body broke away from whatever little dainty she had left as she felt him fall against the side of her chest, and the moans that left his lips were so loud that part of her knew it would be heard all the way back to South Park, through the several miles of acres that was between them in the farm.

"God-God God-Oh-God," he mumbled in between his usual nosies and whines, kicking his feet adorable as he came inside of her with his own hot liquid. She had felt the way he was building up inside of her; could feel how he was hardly able to stop himself kicking and caressing his body against her own as they had whispered their words of secret and soft intimacy. Within mere moments did she feel the way that he exploded inside of her, accompanied with a deep, hardly suppressed moan that drenched in his own sift, faished and endearing naive nature that had been starved from love for far too long. His moans weren't piercing or loud; or sharp or unpleasant to listen to. Rather instead was his voice utterly drenched in softness; so slow and so deep that it was nothing but the very definition of a melody that never failed to comfort her.

Finally did he let out a gasp, and he let out one last particularly loud moan as his head fell against her body, the weight of his body falling against the sheets as he released both the tension in his mind and his emotions the same. Hsi hands lazily caressed her skin like a lazy lover; his hot breath beat against her own trembling skin.

"So you're not going to ground me for funding the Playboy magazine?" he whispered against her breasts, which he was pleasuring by grazing his teeth against her skin, and lubricating it with his lips. It was meant to be a joke, but Faceless could sense the insecurity behind the question. Faceless rested that beautifully tired sensation of her body against his; the very definition of a healing and welcomed exhaustion.

"Darling, your good time is my good time."

Randy shuddered as another loud moan left his lips. Those simple words had spoken and confirmed his own desperate love language that he had always longed for, but had never once gotten;

That he was free.

Delicate Newborn

Randy goes to the crib in the middle of the night to meet his new son Stan

Randy swallowed as he leaned his shoulder against the side of the door. Even as he did that very simple action, he felt as if it was a confirmation of his new step into fatherhood. He could already hear the soft and gentle sounds of the literal living gift that Sharon had given birth to only a couple of weeks ago. His heart sped further.

He was still getting used to the idea of a new child being around the three of them, and he still couldn't quite get his mind around the idea that he was now a husband that now had not only a wife to love and to take care of, but also a daughter that resembled her astoundingly. It was an intimidating role that he was still getting used to, feeably trying to wrap his head around the concept since the wedding a couple of years ago.

But now he also had to get used to the idea that they now had another another small life that had been born from the love between the both of them that they had shared within their bodies countless times before that eventually led to the small, giggling, and burping bubble of life that he could hear from the other side of the door now. He smiled shakily at the idea.

Though the thought of their full fledged family was sweeping off of his feet with joy, he most certainly was still having trouble accepting it. He felt a strange sort of sense of intimidation even at the idea of the future ahead of him, and all of what it entailed. It made his entire skin break out into a shiver. But all in the same strain of thought did it make him smile; the thought made his lips lift up into a certain kind of irreversible happiness, knowing that, for the first time in his life, there were people regarding his life that were bigger than himself. No more would he live those days where he would simply get himself drunk for the hell of it and smoke himself out of his mind, knowing that there was no purpose for living such a meaningless existence. He would miss it, but he could remember the painful aimlessness of the purposeness, and the inevitable inner death of defeat that would follow him because of it.

But that was behind him now. No more would he be worrying too much about feeling there would never be anything worthwhile in his life except for simply trying to take care of his own self, of trying to get himself up the next morning from his drunken nights. Finally did he not only have just two people to look after and to love, but now three, and in this case, this small bundle particularly depended on him more than he depended on anything else within his small and short life so far. After all, Randy believed that there was nothing more valuable to a growing son than his father.

For all the dedication and the excitement that he felt for the small bundle already, though, he certainly hadn't found any grace at taking care of the child yet. He felt awkward every time Sharon even so much as let him hold his son, a rare but welcomed endeavor. He felt as if he would do something wrong even from that simple action.

He bit down on his lip as he felt his heart begin to increase, but he knew he had to do this. He wanted to, more than anything. He hesitated as he began to lean against the door, creaking open the door forward as he ducked his head inside. It was past midnight, and his wife was long since inside of her bed, and Shelley had long since retreated to her room doing whatever it was that little girls did. The majority of the day has been Sharon taking their son out for walks and giving him some fresh air; loving him, feeding him, and generally making sure that he was healthy and safe throughout the day. Randy had no idea how someone that was so small and so simple with the way they existed could require so much attention and so much more than even all that- more than he had ever seen anybody need any kind of attention in their life. But he did admire the way his wife seemed to stick to it, even as her eyes became increasingly heavier throughout the day, even after the bags under her eyes became increasingly sorer. With a smile and a kiss that accompanied his statement for her to go to bed early, he'd spend the rest of the night watching television with his son. He wasn't sure if that was exactly what parents were supposed to do, but it seemed like Stan had been content enough with the activity, looking at it with a rather indifferent but also curious eyes, his contentment given away by his preoccupied expression. Randy knew what that face was, and he certainly knew Stan was relaxing and having a good time. As long as they were both happy, who cared if it wasn't healthy?

But he hadn't been able to sleep after he had shortly taken Stan to bed, and he found that he wanted to bond more with his son before Sharon woke up and took over. He took a deep, raspy breath as he closed the door from behind him as quietly as he could. Stan's crib was right in front of him now, as if it was a beacon of encouragement, yet also of warning of what would happen if this went wrong. Sharon would be pissed, Shelley would be annoyed, but even worse..he wouldn't get bonding time with his son. His son, who he knew for a fact was the son he had been praying for since the moment he realized he wanted to be a father. Stan had to knew how much he loved him; he had to.

In his nervousness he closed the door a bit too quickly, and he felt himself cringe at the abrupt sound of the wood of the door as it met the frame, and with frantic speed did he turn his head and look over towards Stan to see if he had woken him. He knew for a fact that his wife would have his head if he woke up their son after she had done so much just to keep him calm. Randy knew just how easily he was prone to crying aloud when one thing was even remotely wrong.

"Oh, boy. Oh, god, oh god," he whispered.

To his relief, he saw that Stan hadn't been disturbed in the slightest. His chubby arms were waving up in front of him; soft, gentle, sleepy hiccups coming out of his plump lips that must have been a response to whatever he was dreaming about. Randy could make out his soft and gentle kicks, could see the pale of his skin as it illuminated in the dark. Randy tried to get used to the darkness as his eyes began to adjust, focusing on his son's legs and arms as the sleepily wove in the air.

He smiled as he made his way over toward him, chucking all the while. He kneeled down beside the crib and placed both hands against the bars and looked through the spaces to get a glimpse of his son. Evidently, Stan was at least half awake-he turned his own chubby cheeks towards the side as he looked over at his father. His expression looked partially lost, but mostly was it full of innocent simplicity that could only come from living in the moment. Stan looked at him with a chubby and innocent expression, his plump lips wet with his saliva. He was somewhere in between a messy sort of indifference, but at the same time an irreplaceable kind of joy that only children, and Randy himself, had.

Randy chuckled as a token his own silly nature as he reached out a hand for connection. Stan blinked, and after a moment, in all of his gentle and soft innocent simplicity, reached out a hand and gently pressed up against the side of his own fingers, squeezing his small hands against Randy's own. Randy swallowed thickly as he felt the way his impossibly tender, small fingers pressed up against the side of his own more grown fingers, loving the way of just how gentle, utterly soft, and fresh his skin felt. He never could have dreamed that any human could ever have skin so soft-skin that felt just as fresh and innocent as the wide-eyed blue expression the child was currently giving him.

Stan was kicking, screaming and giggling up in front of him in his own childlike excitement. It seemed as if he was in one of those rare moods where he didn't wake up and instantly start crying for his mother, but rather instead was content to simply to exist inside that crib and take in the world around him. His eyes were wide, mesmerizing ocean blue, and glimmering as he turned over towards Randy, his eyes much like Randy's own. Randy smiled even further as he looked at him and allowed his hands to be squeezed slightly by his son's. Slowly did Randy squeeze back; his own silent way of reminding his son that he was completely within him in that moment.

"Hey, buddy," he muttered softly, his voice low and uncertain, but certainly full of all that awe inside of him that he knew was only coming from a place up of man who simply want to learn how to be a father, to try to understand the sheer wonderment that was in front of him. To experience that bundle of life that depended on him as much as he depended on the baby was nothing less than perhaps the richest experience either of them had felt in their lives yet. Both of them knew that they would learn and grow from each other from the simple act of knowing that each other existed.

"How's my little buddy coming along?"

The child looked at him for a moment, as if trying to process his question. His midlight lashes fluttered against his dolefully wide eyes. His soft, plump lips turned up into an innocent smile, and without another hesitation did he give a giggle, kicking his feet all the while as he looked at his father. Glee glimmered inside of his eyes, and it was flowing over to Randy's own heart. Randy chuckled as he laughed and nodded, considering his son and all the wonders that overcame his heart as he gazed at him.

A thought flew into his mind, and he felt nervousness overcome him as he considered it; yet despite his queasiness he knew it was too tempting to pretend like he wasn't going to at least try to to execute it. He hoisted himself on his elbows, letting out a grunt as he did so.

"Daddy's going to pick you up for a minute, okay, bud?" he whispered. Stan blinked at him with wide, curious eyes in response.

Sharon never let him pick his son up; he had to take advantage while he could. He took a deep intake of breath as he reached out his hand and began gradually placing it underneath his small body. When Stan's body lifted under his touch, he started bringing him upward from the soft mattress that he was resting on inside of the crib. Randy was holding his breath with tension all the while, concentrating as best as he could. Stan looked at him for a moment as his happy expression gave away to an innocent curiosity as he felt his body was beginning to levitate upward. His lip trembled, which made Randy's heart lurch with panic.

"Don't cry, ok?" Randy begged. "Just please don't cry." The only response Randy got was a blink.

Randy then took his other hand and used it to safely cradle Stan inside both of his hands. Or at least, he hoped he was safely cradling him. He couldn't really be sure, but he was certainly going to try. His heart thudded in his chest as he started lifting Stan further out of the crib, and then finally managed to get his small body rising above the bars. He took his other hand that was cradling his back away as he briefly sneaked away his arm from where it had rested between the spaces of the crib bars and instead reached over it, placing his hand back on Stanley's body, and then quickly did the same with the other hand. With one last anticipating gasp did he bring the baby forward towards him and cradle him by his chest.

Randy took a deep breath, rolling his eyes in relief. Stan's chubby face pressed against his yellow highlighted pajamas as he nuzzled closer towards his father. He was even smaller than Randy had anticipated, and he could feel the fragility of his son's bones under his touch. Slowly did he take another deep breath, and with one strike of courage did he lower his eyes down to look at his son.

Much to his surprise, Stan was already looking up at him with his seas of blue-green, staring at his father with all the wonderment in the world. His expression was one of pure curiosity, and it only served to make Randy choke even further of just how beautiful he was as he looked down at him with his own green blinking eyes.

"You look just like Daddy, you know that, bud?" he whispered. Slowly did he raise him away from his chest and raised him upward over his head, meaning it as a playful gesture. His son caught on quickly; he started kicking his feet excitedly as a gummy smile spread on his face. Randy chuckled as he began to bounce him up and down, his small and chubby legs gently dangling all the while.

"There you go," Randy whispered. "Nice and brave, just like your father. Maybe you'll be as awesome as me some day."

Stan stopped in his giggling as he looked down and binked slowly, and then slowly let out another high-pitched laugh, nodding excitedly as he kicked his feet again. Randy grinned as he nodded back; it was just another symbolic indication that they appreciated and understood one another, even at Stan's young age. He continued to bounce him, adoring the way Stan's eyes lit up as he did so.

"Yeah, that's right," Randy whispered after a moment, his voice low, raspy, and full of fatherly adoration that he didn't even know existed inside of him up until he had this bundle inside of his arms now. This was only Randy's second official time holding his son since he had been born; Sharon had let him hold him for a brief moment when he had first been born inside the hospital, and even then it was only because Randy has been bouncing from toe to toe in excitement without even taking a breath to ask if he could hold their newborn son. He'd been so excited and elated when their son had finally been born, when he had seen his softened and gentle face for the first time, especially after so many hours of sitting around nothing but those dull, stagnant walls, and having nothing but the dreaded anticipation that both his wife and his son would come out ok. As it had turned out, they both came out of it more than healthy, with his son being one of the healthiest babies that they had seen in a while, as told by their doctor.

"I really lucked out with you, didn't I, bud?" Randy cooed as he looked up at his giggling son.. He continued to bounce him with that soft rhythm, Stan gazing at him with his gleaming eyes that were nothing short of inspirational. Inspiration not just to love, but also to create, to try...to be more than Randy's own father had ever allowed him to be in his life. For a brief moment did Randy allow himself to believe that this could be the start of being the best self he had ever been. The thought both scared him and inspired him, but more importantly did it fill him with a warmth that could be nothing less than love.

After a few minutes did Stan let out a soft giggle again, his smile spreading even further on his face as he took in his father. They were playing off of each other's playful energies, and how utterly lifegiving it was. Randy let out another laugh that was a little too loud, feeling the most authentic joy that he couldn't remember feeling in the longest time he could remember. Finally did he pull Stan down closer towards himself, leaning forward as he pressed his lips against the front of Stan's nose. Stan let out a soft whine as he wrinkled his nose, which only made Randy chuckle further in adoration. Stan reached out his hand and tugged on his father's pajamas, looking up at him with an expression that signified he wanted more. Randy reached out a hand and gently placed it against the back of his son's head, feeling the beginnings of the suggestions of his son's black hair that was starting to grow out.

His son turned his head upward and looked at his father with widened and almost wonder-stricken eyes, as if he himself couldn't quite believe the wonder that his father was himself. Randy smiled.

"The feeling is mutual, bud," he muttered. He had the very same a black hair as Randy that was starting to stick out from his soft head, the very same structure of his face that shined even through his baby fat, and that same sense of pale skin, which was practically glowing in the dark from how light they both were. They were truly father and son; a mirror of one another. Always had Randy wanted a son, but he never could have dreamed the rich wonderment of feeling like he was staring back at a mirror of himself could feel so relentlessly incredible; he felt as if his very chemistry and the way he saw the world was changing. He was no longer the most important person in his life; his son was, and he would die to keep him safe. He was fire, and Stan was the soft gentle promise of life that water brought. And what a beautiful and delicate combination it was. A flowered blossom of rich pride burst in his chest that this son, this love, was his.

"Not sure if you're ever going to look as good as your old man, but you're certainly always going to have me to give you some tips in life, alright?" Randy teased as he gently caressed his finger against the side of Stan's cheek.

Stan kicked his feet, as if he was asking for something, and Randy knew that his son was smart enough to know exactly what he was asking for. Randy made his way back over towards the crib, reaching for the blue and red hat that his son had been attached to ever since the moment he had been born. Randy was sure it at least partially how to do with the fact that because it was almost always snowing in South Park; the poor child must be even more cold than his sister was. And he certainly always clinged onto whatever his mother gave him; it smelled like Sharon, and it was no wonder it did; she had bought the damn thing before Stan was even born, fretting that Stan would suffer a cold before his body was strong enough to fight it.

Stan waved his arms excitedly as he saw Randy lift it, which spoke one simple sentence; Smells like Mama! He reached for it excitedly, extending on chubby hand for him to take it. Randy laughed as he allowed his son to take the hat that had no doubt been cradled by his son every night while they slept. Stan's hand gripped it excitedly as he pressed it fondly to his own small chest, snuggling against it. "

Yeah, mama got you that first thing once we left the hospital, remember? Wouldn't stop bitching and fussing about how she thought you were going to be freezing to death if she didn't."

Stan giggled, and with excitement did he press the cloth further to his chest, nuzzling into it all the while. Randy felt a squeeze inside of his heart, and without even knowing why he leaned forward as he gently pressed his lips against the side of his son's forehead. It was delicately soft, almost tragically so with how much it made Randy feel just to even touch it. Randy thought about all the crazy things that had happened within the town...the wild things that had happened to him as he had grown up and had tried to find his way. He thought about the kind of man he had been molded into because of it, and rather unwillingly. But it was one of those trains of thoughts that demanded to be acknowledged.

He had his issues, that much he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt, and he knew being a father wouldn't be easy. Not in the slightest, even. And part of him wondered what long term marriage was going to feel like; though Randy and Sharon loved each other, they still had their fights. But he supposed that for as long as he did the best he could with every passing hour, every trying day….as long as he has loved his wife, and as long as he did the best he could to take care of the small, trembling bundle inside of his arms that was now chewing on the pompom of his hat, he knew that this would all make sense eventually. He was going to try to fight against his issues, his bloody addictions-fight against his insecurity of failure and his sense of discontent with his life to be a better man for his children. That he could do.

He squeezed his hands back around Stan's small hands, felt the way that his son bumped his hands against his, almost as if it was a way of confirmation that he had heard his own promise. Randy choked, and then softly did he smile.

"Yeah, that's right," Randy mumbled, half to himself, as he saw the way that Stan's eyes were starting to become sleepy even as he continued to chew the pompom. "I'm going to take real good care of you, and everything's always going to be okay, because I'm going to make sure I'm the best daddy that there is in this town, alright?"

Slowly did he repeat the promise to himself as he cradled San in his arms, hoping that it would be something that the both of them would remember.

"The Lost Little Girl"

Randy notices a little girl and wants to take her in. Faceless hesitates due to the reckless of the decision. But the desperate need is in Randy's eyes, and she knows this is far more than just another mindless phase.

Faceless hadn't noticed the girl.

She wasn't, in fact, focused on much of anything that day, except for the soft grasp of Randy's hand in hers. She wasn't aware of much other than that very simple root of her joy as they ran their rushed errands-and the rhythm of the day wasn't once interrupted. That was, not until Randy let out an awkward whine of pain as they walked by the dirty, graffiti spoiled wall that greeted them on their way home from South Park to Tegrity Farms.

Faceless hasn't noticed, and she wouldn't have without that whine. But Randy did. He noticed everything, but only when he wanted to. The golden parts inside of his heart that were often hidden by the preferred storms of his disposition were, more of then not, painfully buried, but if Randy was anything, it was certainly that he was unpredictable; even to himself.

"Good god," he whispered with rapsy wonderment under his breath. "What in the hell happened to her?"

Faceless heard Randy let out an abrupt awkward grunt, and she felt the way his speed suddenly stopped from behind her. He had been stepping humorously and half awkwardly; cross-faded, no doubt, as they had made their way home up until that point/ She could smell the musty scent of weed on him like an unapologetic smell of thickness. She glanced over her shoulder at Randy as she heard the soft observance that must have summoned his sentence. There was a sense of dread to his tone, one that made her own chest lurch with anxiety.

"What is it, sweetheart ?" she inquired softly. Randy's eyes were bugging out of his sockets; he didn't reply for the time bring. Her eyes followed his green-blue wonders over to a small, dirty girl that was leaning against the side of the dirty wall; one of the very few bits of the leftover area that it had been before the area had started being reinvented for SaPoSoa. She looked as if she couldn't be more than about a few years old; her knees were tucked into her chest as she whimpered and murmured incoherent nothings to herself helplessly. Her hair was a dirty brown, falling in front of her face with her dress ripped and torn, being rendered now as nothing but a muddy pink color. Somehow, the contrast of the dirty neon pink paint to the rest of her body only made her an even more pitiable sight. She shivered, her polluted arms only wrapped further and tighter around her knees, shivering into herself helplessly, brown eyes knitted as she pressed her chin on her knees.

"Awh-look at her, sweetheart," Randy muttered. "She looks so...hurt. Where the hell did she even come from?" He rushed his eyes to Faceless, thumb brushing against her in something that was in both concern and sympathy. "Can we please go over and check on her?" That naive, innocent expression was dancing across his features as his eyes melted into that boyish innocence "Please?" He begged, squeezed his fingers further against her. He even went so far to bounce slightly on the tip of his toes; he was channeling himself into his full blown begging mode.

Faceless bit down on her lip as she considered. It wasn't uncommon for homeless people and children alike to be on the streets, and this sight was as expected as the air that surrounded them. It wasn't unusual for her to see sights such as this, especially on afternoon walks together, and she couldn't deny that she was numb to it-and Randy was, too.

"This isn't about your business, is it?" she pushed, her voice not full of attack, but rather of a genuine concern of the possibility that they would lead the girl into a corner that she didn't want to be in. Randy was unpredictable; there were times when it seemed as if he genuinely did want to help people, and Faceless knew, despite his quirks and his damn near impossible to understand decisions, he had a big heart that truly did want to help people. But his intentions with what he did were often so hidden that not even he could perceive or understand why he wanted to do the things he did, and any clarity with those decisions often wouldn't come to their clear conclusion until much later, and always at a time when people were involved and many were getting hurt.

"Nu-huh!" Randy shot back at her. "It's not, Faceless, I promise! I just really, really wanna see what her deal is, ya know? This town's gone to shit since the pandmeic, and we gotta do what we can to help people, you know?"

There was a certain panicked begging in his eyes, and as he mentioned that dreaded word, understanding began to click inside of Faceless' mind. Her lips quirked into a knowing, pained smile as she met Randy's. She knew what this was about now; he wanted-almost needed-to redeem the guilt that he was still coping with to this day from what he was convinced he had caused. The guilt had been interwoven into his every action, every thought, and to say he was tripping over himself trying to find a cure was an understatement. Deep down under that desperation he had, and the guilt he possessed- which was rooted in his purpose of caring for other people in and of itself-was a man who was in over his head who simply really did want to make things better.

Her love overcame his hurt and tormented night she had had to hold him through. His misadventures were enough to remind her of the uprooted storm he was, and she was more than willing and fulfilled within herself to catch his fall. But when he had come to know about the conclusions he had drawn and the guilt he faced of starting the virus, he had only fallen even deeper into the guilt roots of his otherwise misguided but innocent actions. Somehow, knowing how hopeless he was within the ways he so naturally fell into trouble only made her want to protect him more; to cradle him within her own starved arms all the deeper until there was nothing but a carpet of comfort between them; until they themselves became the carpet of the starved material of gentleness that she know he so desperately needed. The very particles of their skin would become the threads. Still was he healing, and still was he finding his way with it all; decisions such as this were one of the many requests he had made trying to heal.

She opened her mouth to give him a reply, but just as quickly did she close it as a thought struck her. There could easily be a toxic adult nearby that might try to buy something off of them if they came up to the girl. Perhaps they were using the girl as bait. Within the toxic and questionable people of the town, it wouldn't have surprised her. It wouldn't have been the first time it happened.

Randy squeezed her hand deseperly once more, the bugging panic of his eyes showing how much it meant to him.

"Please, Faceless," he bagged, drawl voice begging in his desperation. "This would mean, like-a lot. It would mean the world to me."

She gazed into his begging green eyes, seeing the film of tears that was overcoming his expression. Randy was, without a doubt, a man that cried incredibly easily, and that had only become more true the more his life had twisted into the sufficiated mess that he had become now. She knew there was a deeper reason for him to want to help children so desperately, and she knew how much it meant to him now.. His broken relationship with Shelly and Stan had left more holes in him than he wanted to admit, and there was a large part of him that wanted to convince himself that he was, in fact, still capable of being a father. Of taking care of children the way he used to. That the man he used to be was still there, somewhere, even if it was buried under the layers of addiction that wrecked him now.

As she looked into his trembling green eyes, she found that it was impossible for her to refuse him. With a small, loving sigh did Faceless finally nod. "Okay," she murmured softly. " But let's be careful, alright, sweetheart? We don't know who this little girl is, or where she comes from."

Randy let out a raspy grumble as he rolled his eyes."Don't be a bummer, babe. It's a little girl. What's she gonna do, huh? C'mon."

"Just be careful, is all I'm saying," she repeated, tenderly but firmly.

Randy nodded vigorously in agreement, and then slowly did he take his hand out of hers as he began to tiptoe his way to the girl, humorously exaggerating his steps as he made his way towards her, empathizing his sneakiness in only the clumsy and bumbly way he could pull off. She couldn't help but smile and laugh as she watched him; If anyone made anything instantly loveable, it was Randy. He kneeled down in front of the girl and gazed at her with his, no doubt, warm and inviting green eyes .

"Howdy!" he greeted her cheerfully in his playful southern voice. "My name is Randy Marsh." He kneeled further forward, and though the girl shrunk away shyly, there seemed to be a hesitance in the action, as if she wanted to believe the warmth that was no doubt radiating from Randy's disposition. When she didn't reply, Randy let out an awkward but friendly chuckle. "What's your name?"

The only response she gave Randy was a tremor of her body, fluttering her vision up at Randy with unsure eyes. She didn't answer the question; rather did she settle for shaking her head as she shrunk further inside of herself. Randy clicked his tongue, and then let out a raspy chuckle.

"Hey, we won't hurt you!" Randy reassured her with his playful tone, one that was both inviting and yet full of his usual unapologetic, blaring zest and flare. "We just wanna help! Is there anything that we can do?"

The girl shook her head with a paralyzed, unsure fear. The unsaintly fear on her face spoke of everything she wanted in that moment, which was, no doubt, was for them to leave.

Yet there was a sense of self aware hopelessness to the way she was dirty and shrunken inside of herself; she knew she needed help. She fluttered her own unsure, paralyzed eyes over to Faceless, her questioning gaze giving away her question if either of them were a danger. As Faceless was met with the opportunity to encourage the girl when her watery and uncertain eyes gaze met hers, she felt a flicker of hope and admiration inside of her chest, and even a warmth of a golden essence that almost could have been mistaken for love. If this was important to Randy, then it was certainly important to her, and she couldn't deny that the girl did look pitiable.

She nodded softly with gentle understanding as she met the girl's eyes, determined to show her that the both of them were safe. Though the fear didn't leave her expression, she flew her eyes back over to Randy, who was meeting her fear with that soft and encouraging smile that traced perfectly under his moustache. After one last tense moment from the girl did she start to relax the slightest bit as she looked into Randy's equally understanding eyes.

"My-my-" she gulped, then shivered, and then tried again after another swallow that looked as if it was painful to go down her throat. "My-mom." That was all that left her lips. The choked inspiration on her face showed further as the trembling of her throat gave away that she wanted to choke out more words, but instead of anything coherent leaving her lips did her face break out into a twisted expression, thin eyebrows knitting as her knees trembled. With another squeal of pain did she fall forward fully against the side of the wall. With an even quicker speed did she bury her face inside of her knees, her fearful expression now hidden as she buried her face into herself, shoulders shaking and a tremor following the slope of her small and lithe shoulders shortly after. Cries began to wreck inside her body, sounding weakened and starved for comfort.

Randy let out a sigh, his slow and soft voice tracing even that soft expression of his breath. After a moment did he dare to inch forward closer, reaching out a hand. "Hey-hey, it's ok," Randy tried, voice now trembling and awkward in the wake of her upset nature, but nonetheless still determined to comfort. "You don't have to cry, ok? We're gonna totally figure this out." He reached forward in an attempt to give her a hug, but she jerked away the minute he was in her reach to wrap his arms around her. The slightest hurt flashed in Randy's eyes'; he was sensitive to rejection even with his confident disposition, especially ever since his family had decided to move out from the house. He froze for a moment, as if trying to decide what to do. After one last awkward pause did he sigh as his shoulders slumped in acceptance of the difficulty of the situation for what it was. His eyes traveled over towards the girl, and slowly, with a tender hesitancy, did he bring his warm hands back by his knees and turn his head over to Faceless, who was waiting with her own tense curiosity.

"The girl needs help!" Randy called over to her. " Is there anything that we can do, sweetheart? Anything you can think of?"

Faceless pused as she thought it over. Though Randy made a considerable amount of money with his business, she wasn't sure if he could emotionally handle the weight of another mouth to feed. She knew how he worked; caught in an idea one moment, and then completely forgetting about it only a few hours later. She knew many of his phases only caught his attention for a few days, if that, and then left his consideration as if they never happened at all. He had a good heart, but a scattered mind. There were some days when it seemed as if Randy could hardly even care for himself, with the stumbling and uncertain way he went about the challenges of his life. On even worse days, was he so high that he could hardly speak a coherent sentence, and Faceless would spend the rest of the afternoon trying to pull him together to be somewhat functional again. To have to have another mouth to take care of , especially one as needy and as helpless as the little girl in front of her now, seemed borderline impossible for the chaotic and uncertain dynamic they shared.

She clicked her tongue before replying, preparing herself for whatever petty disagreement might come up from what she was about to speak. Randy had that look plastered upon his handsome features; eyes bulging in that desperate begging as they glinted with an innocent begging inside of his eyes that spoke of his desperation for his fleeting desires for the moment. He was fixated on the girl, and Faceless knew what kind of man he could be when he was fixated.

"Sweetheart, I don't know if we can afford to take her," Faceless murmured, her voice breaking slightly. She hated disappointing him. She didn't get into what she meant by 'afford', though she knew that what she was referring to wasn't regarding lack of money, but more so an emotional payment that neither of them could take the toll of. A look of frustration fluttered across Randy's face, and his thick eyebrows furrowed in clear disappointment.

"Aw-c'mon, Faceless!" he whined. "You always wanted kids-and this would be a great way for us to introduce ourselves as parents. You... me...and this little girl. I'm sure some old lady somewhere is dying to know where her girl is. We'll just take her in and show her around the farm until they come and get her!" His eyes were glittering with his own portrayal he was painting with his own words, voice full of that adorable, naive hope that made Faceless weak in the knees to hear it. When she didn't reply, Randy's somewhat fragile hope fell away, and instead was it replaced by a heavy disappointment that picked at his features. His face fell,, eyes going downwards.

"There must be a way," he rasped softly under his breath. He sighed as he did what he usually did when he was troubled; placing his hand on the back of his neck, rubbing the inside of his hand against his neck as he looked downward at the dirty ground, eyes troubled as his own thoughts wrecked inside of her green ocean of eyes. "I can't stand to just leave her here. That's totally lame," Randy mumbled. His voice was soft with disappointment, the natural slowness in his tones presenting themself in his disappointment. The girl seemed slightly more relaxed as she watched Randy, looking at him with eyes that were still scared through and through, but were now pierced with a layer of curiosity. Faceless smiled with a bittersweet understanding as she looked between the two of them; she knew that the girl wanted to go home and be looked after as much as Randy wanted to care for her in that moment.

"I understand, darling," she murmured gently. " But we just simply...can't take her in."

"Why not?" Randy shot back. True to his unpredictable nature did he switch between saddened and angry, almost like a lightswitch, right in front of her eyes. His eye shot up as he looked at her, green eyes glaring. "We all know I can do it, honey! I got the money and the house and-it just makes sense! Dontcha think?"

"We 're too busy for it, Randy. You know that. I know that."

The little girl was looking up at her with reddened eyes all while as she spoke to Randy, and it made her heart break to look at them. With the combination of the desperate look Randy was giving her that rendered her very knees weak and the tear-stricken gaze the girl was giving her with saddened, hopeless eyes, she could already feel herself caving.

Randy visibly rolled his eyes, his aggravation clearly getting the best of him. "It doesn't have to be that big of a deal! We'll just..we'll just switch off during the day. I go out in the mornings and do business, you stay home and watch, and at night we can all spend the afternoon together!"

"And what about the parents who are looking for her? How do we let them know we found her?"

"Advertising! I'm an expert on that stuff now, honey."

"And if we don't hear from them?"

Randy blinked rapidly, clearly dumbfounded at her words, but after a moment did he let out a sigh of exasperation. "We could just-I don't know I- don't know, babe, but we can figure it out. Think about it, honey. We can't just leave her here! We can't just...you know, let her not see her parents again." His voice lost some of its power as it became to fall into a softer reflection; the intentions behind why he wanted to help this girl in particular so badly were starting to unfold in the quiet reflection of his words. Faceless watched him as she saw his stocky, plump body shake with some inner conflict, and she smiled in a bittersweet understanding of the brokenness that he was still coping from within.

His family had given up and left him, and one of his purest purposes in life had been to be a father. There had been countless nights between the two of them when he had messily cried into the crook on her arms as they lied in bed together, telling her his every loss of how he wanted to see his kids. He felt he had failed them; something he would only ever admit to the protected nature that was their love in the quiet hours of the night, when the rest of the world had put itself to bed. He expressed his grief in eccentric ways ; excessive smoking, and even more excessive jokes, and taking to burying himself in project after creative project. But grief was grief, and no matter how much people overlooked it, and the very crevice of his broken heart was in his every movement. He would always have that innocent, childlike life about him, but there was a laced pain in everything he did now. He wanted to heal something within himself and his loss by helping this girl; that much she knew.

But she knew how Randy worked; today's passion was tomorrow's disinterest. She loved him and his every quirk and flaw, but she wouldn't dare drag such an already misfortunate girl into it. Her next words came out more as a broken sigh than they did words. "I'm so sorry, angel," she replied gently. "But we just can't. W simply can't. We'll just have to call the pol-"

"I think we can!" Randy shot back. "I promise you we can! Please just give it a chance, Faceless." He began to lift himself up from where he was kneeling in front of the girl, making her way instead over towards where Faceless was standing. He wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face inside of her neck for a moment, then quickly moving his lips to her temple. She could feel him trembling with his desperate desire.

"Can we just take her home for one afternoon and see how it goes?" He guided his arms away from her waist as he leaned out a hand for her to take, looking at her with deepened seriousness.

She hesitated with a newfound heaviness, switching her expression between Randy and the little girl, who was still shaking and looking at her with quaking fear. She felt something inside of her heart give out, and her shoulders slumped in defeat, a sigh following shortly afterword. Randy was gazing at her with that irresistible, green-eyed helplessness as he looked at her with an opened mouth and a desperate gaze, and she felt her own acceptance of the situation-most especially of the griphold of adoration Randy had on her-take over her fully as she felt herself coming to that conclusion that she knew had been inevitable form the moment she had felt her chest squeeze and seeing Randy's irresistible begging gaze.

"Alright." She sighed deeply, exhaustion already lacing her answer, knowing what she was setting herself up for. Allowing Randy to make an impulsive decision was the equivalent to allowing a child to buy whatever they wanted at the pet store, only for her to be the one to take care of it later.

But that pain in his eyes. That deep, irresistible and stabbing pain that trembled in his green wonders. She couldn't resist even the slightest action she could do to sooth it, even if only for a few short moments. There was nothing within his rich and golden sparkling eyes that wouldn't draw her to him; that wouldn't make her drop all reason simply so she could satisfy even one dire, or caress one wound, inside of his heart. Already did Randy's previously hurt eyes begin to shine with a new light, and a smile tugged at each side of his carved lips, an ecstatic chuckle tumbling out of his lips. His entire face was molding itself in joy, transforming from disappointment to a barely contained excitement at her permission. To see that look upon his previously pained features was all she needed to see to know she made the right decision, even if they both would have to sacrifice several things for a while for it.

"So she can come?" Randy pleaded. He was practically bouncing on his knees now; it was heart wrenchingly adorable. Faceless couldn't help but chuckle, but the sound came more so from heart wrenching fondness than it did amusement.

"Yes. Randy. She can come home with us until we can figure out where her real parents are."

"Really?" Randy's mouth fell open even further, an ecstatic laughter leaving his lips as his eyes widened all the further. That tender shock overcame his features, and his eyebrows raised in shock as he looked at her with that joy gleaming even further in his eyes. When she only looked at him with that smile that was now tugging at her own features as she met his eyes, the realization overcame him that she meant exactly what she said. A crazed smile fell on his features as he bounced on his toes, and he balled his fingers into his palms as he spun on his heels with an inhuman speed, throwing himself into a circle as a satisfied chuckle threw itself around the air. The girl cringed away slightly in fear, but there was a softened look of understanding now on her face; one that seemed to communicate that she now knew that neither of them meant any harm.

"Oh-yeah!" He spun on his heels for a second time, an erratic smile lifting upward as he pumped a fist in the air. "Yeah! That's fucking awesome!" He danced his way over towards her, throwing his clumsy, trembling hands around her own, eyes gleaming and bursting with that hardly suppressed gleam of innocent magic. "Thank you, babe, thank you so much!" Just as quickly did he take his clammy hands away from Faceless and shot his way over to the girl, kneeling down in front of her with a smile that seemed permanently carved now into his features. "Hey-hey. We're going to take you home, alright?t We're going to give you a nice hot meal and a bed to sleep in. I promise. It's gonna be totally awesome, alright?"

The girl gave him an uncertain blink at first, followed by a pause, and for a moment did both Randy and Faceless both catch their breath, wondering if she would allow herself to be taken in by them.

"Come on," Randy urged, voice insisting but tender as he nodded at her eagerly. "You're gonna love it. We got fields and acres of land-tractors and weed and all that cool stuff! Hey, maybe I'll even let you take a drag of it."

"Randy," Faceless warned. This wasn't the first time he had offered drugs to children. But Randy didn't acknowledge her; instead did he keep his eyes fixated and glued onto the girl, as if his life depended on it. As far as morality was concerned, it may as well have been. With one small, shaking tug of the side of the girl's lips did a smile begin to grace her own petite features, and quickly did a vigorous nod followed shortly from behind.

"Yeah!" Randy chuckled, a rich satisfaction tracing his voice that Faceless hadn't heard from him in the longest time she could remember; only his weed get that kind of enthusiasm, or any other matter that was close to his heart. She smiled, knowing that she was hitting a nerve for him that had long been waiting to be healed. Breathed upon. Seen. Carrassed.

"Hey, take my hand," Randy offered. He reached out his own trembling for her to take. She reached out after a moment, swiping her hand just out of reach of his. She missed, letting out a soft gasp as she fell forward, catching her dirty hands on the floor. Her bottom lips trembled, bur quickly did Randy press his hand against her back.

"Hey, you're doin' great!" Randy encouraged. He reached out his arm and wrapped it around her body, and then slowly did he take his hands and press it on the top of her own. The girl let out a hiccup as she shot her eyes over towards him, clearly fearful, but the fear softened slightly under the support that Randy's hand was giving her as she leaned against his arm.

"Here. Nice and slow, ok?" An encouraging and soppy smile danced on his lips as he couragred her upward, and with a soft encouraged and hesitant grin did she allow herself to be eased upward, hiccuping all the while as she found her balance. Though her knees trembled, finally did she raise herself upward, and Randy's eyes gleamed with success as his expression danced around her with an adoration that Faceless hadn't seen within him since he had last talked to his own children.

"There we go!" Randy gushed. "See? Told ya it was easy." He gently began to squeeze her shoulders from behind to let her know that it was alright, and sloow did the girl smile as she allowed his own easygoing disposition to affect her own previously nervous one. The smile that was teasing and tugging at the side of her lips only grew as she started to walk forward, Randy keeping one hand on her for encouragement. She looked over towards Faceless for direction and encouragement, who nodded at her with a warmth that had its own hints of motherly nature inside of it. Slowly did the girl allow the smile to take a certain permanent tone on her face, signaling a new comfortability of trust between the three of them.

The three of them walked home with the little girl's hand in Randy's, who had traveled his grasp from her shoulders to support her and instead down to her shaking hand, which had now lessened since she had felt Randy's hand wrap around her. Faceless had never seen Randy act quite so fatherly, so considerate, so grounded as much as she was now as they made their way home. But there were still signs of the babbling brook of a man that he so naturally was, and he became quite talkative as he walked her all the way home, mostly telling her about her new weed strains, what he did for a living as a pot farmer, and where she would be sleeping-which would be the old bedroom where Shelly used to sleep before she moved out. He talked a little too quickly when he brought up his daughter, and Faceless knew all too well why; he was trying to mask and skip over the pain of her loss and what he deemed a shameful part of his life as quickly as he could before he thought about it too deeply.

Though the girl didn't respond to the majority of what Randy said other than an occasional hum, Faceless could tell she was already becoming a little bit warmer and a little bit more relaxed in the wake of Randy's unapologetic confidence and passion. She couldn't blame the girl; as someone who has used to be as lost and as uncertain as she was, she knew just how healing the unwavering wholeness of Randy could be.

"Have you ever tried a spicy flavored weed strand before? Oh, no, you wouldn't, you're too young. But you'll start one day, though, and it's gonna be with Tegridy! I can promise you that much."

"Really?" The girl whispered.

"Totally. Now that we've taken you in, you're a permanent prime Tegridy Farms member now!"

Randy was, undoubtedly, the kind of man that simply helped lesser beings to relax; to let people who were more uncertain of themselves to gradually fall into a soft radiance through the unwavering flame that was his core. By the time they made their way home the girl was even smiling with the occasional giggle leaving her lips, which only encouraged Randy's excitement towards having someone who appreciated his presence and his constant talk even further. Although not everything that he said was accurate- and there were plenty of words that he mixed up with the meaning of others-the words he spoke were knowledgeable and interesting, and the slurring in his voice that almost made him sound drunk let Faceless know that he was being healed by bonding with her as much as she was. One of his hands was within hers, and the other was placed in Faceless' as she gravaited her way over towards his side. She was surprised at how natural it all felt; as if bonding with the child was as natural as breathing.

As soon as they made their way over to the porch of Randy's farm house, Faceless walked over to the kitchen and started to work on hot soup for the girl. She assumed she must be starving, and even if she wasn't now, she would no doubt be later.

"So here's the palace where my wife and I watch television. You can totally join us with that if you want. I'll show you the barn later where we make all our experiments and stuff-but don't you-Oh-dinner! Good idea," Randy encouraged as he made his way into the kitchen, the girl's hand still securely placed in his. "Here-take a seat on the end seat," Randy guided her. "You'll love it, promise." He gave her one of his signature grins of encouragement when she gave him a doubtful look.

Slowly did a smile begin to grace her features, and she sped her small form over to the chair. She grunted as she placed her body on it, swinging her legs forward and backwards as she looked in front of her, expression still shy but nonetheless curious. Faceless felt another indeniable pang of pity; she looked so small and helpless compared to the chair that she was sitting in now. Faceless didn't realize how tragically young the girl really seemed until now. She was only half the size of Stan, which meant she must be younger than Stan. She still had chub gracing her face. Her helpless disposition seemed as if it had a way of making everything seem particularly intimating. Even something as simple as a kitchen chair.

Randy clapped both of his hands together in satisfaction, swiping them together, as if he were cleaning dirt off his hands; something he did at times when he was at the pinnacle of satisfaction.

"Arlightly, gang!" Randy exclaimed excitedly. "Now we just gotta get everything prepared for the next couple of future events so this girl can see how totally awesome this place is." He turned his gleaming eyes over to the girl, who, despite her slouching shoulders, offered him her own shy grin. "You'll love this place in no time, sweetie, I promise," he gushed at her. Faceless smiled; this far more nurturing and fatherly side of Randy was one that wasn't seen very often, but when it did, it shined. Randy darted his eyes over to Faceless, clumsily making his way over towards her and the heated pot, eyes shooting down at the steam that rose from it.

"What are we making?"he inquired, words slurred in his excitement, as if he was drunk.

Faceless smiled. "We're going to try some sou-" Before Faceless could respond, Randy was already frantically grabbing for one of the bowls, digging out the large soup with the spoon and pouring it into the bowel. He then spun on his heels, grinning widely as he made his way over to the girl. She raised her head up shyly as Randy placed the bowl in front of her, eyes gleaming as he kneeled down and gauged her reaction. His disposition was no doubt overwhelming for her shy and uncertain form, but Faceless could tell the girl knew he meant well.

"Well-Go ahead, eat!" he encouraged. "I promise you it's perfectly fine. My wife and I eat this all the time. Like, every single night, even."

The little girl nodded ever so slowly, an uncertain look clearly gleaming in her expression, but for whatever uncertainty she was feeling, clearly she was more hungry than she was afraid. After one last moment of hesitance did she spin herself over towards the bowl, almost seeming as if she transformed into an entire other soul completely as she went from withdrawn to a open desperation. She took the ball with both hands and flew it straight to her mouth , ignoring the spoon all together. Some soup dribbled down her chin as she did so. Randy chucked and nodded with encouragement that she was willing to accept their company and food.

"Yeah, there we go!" Randy engorged. "Just keep chugging, honey, I know it'll hit the spot just right. I don't brag about my wife's cooking for nothin', ya know!"

"Randy," Faceless murmured, her soft interjection temporarily interrupting the scene before her. Randy frowned as he turned his focus away from the girl hesitantly, and as soon as his questioned eyes met hers, she indicated with her head for him to come over to her. "Come here. We have something to talk about for a minute."

Randy let out an exasperated sigh, but after a moment did he grunt as he got his elbows off of the table, looking over at Faceless with that innocent but impatient inquiry that he always had in his eyes as he made his way over towards her. Despite his clear slight annoyance, he didn't waste one moment placing the spaces of his fingers into hers as soon as he was within reach; physical touch was one of his main love languages, and how he adored entangling himself in her while they communicated. He could never get enough of her touch, no matter what the situation was.

"Honey, how are we going to sleep tonight?" she asked softly, just gently enough so that the girl-who seemed rather occupied with the soup regardless-wouldn't hear. "Is she going to sleep with us?"

Randy chuckled, that confident smile that gave away that he was convinced he knew everything already beginning to show on his face. " She'll have to, and it'll be amazing," Randy reassured her. His excitement was replaced by gradual realization as he saw the hesitance in Faceless' features at his words. His words took on a slower tone as he spoke his next words. 'Is-is that okay with you?"

She felt him squeeze his hands as a way of begging her to say yes. He wanted to so badly; she could see it in the depths of his green eyes. He wanted to redeem that desperate and broken part of himself that felt as if he were no longer capable of being a father. Being a father was the most worthwhile part of his life; a part of him he forgot for a time, but undoubtedly the most precious part of his identity. Many times had he wanted to remember it, but there had always been some underlying force that told him that he couldn't-whether it be from a patrozning word from Sharon, or that dark inner voice inside of him, or one of the bad seeds of companions he had made since he had gotten into the dirty side of business. The task of redeeming that purer and truer part of himself seemed as if it was starting to be long forgotten, without a hope of being redeemed. Even to himself.

But for the first time was fate-and his current partner- actually allowing him to do so, and she could see how much it meant to him now, with his slight layer of sweat from barley suppressed excitement and a hint of disbelief, the fluttering of his eyes, the hyper and scattered nature of his movements. She hadn't even seen him get this passionate even about his weed, and she knew she was witnessing a side of him that was as rare as the sight of a gleam of a rainbow. If she allowed it to be suffocated before he would properly be able to experience this side of himself, it would soon be gone without recall.

"It's alright with me," she responded after a moment. But we're going to have to scrunch together on the other side of the bed so that she has lots of room to sleep without us touching or disturbing her. I'm sure she's not comfortable sharing a bed with us, but we both know there's no other choice."

"Not comfortable?" Randy shook his head. "No-that won't work." He sighed as he placed his hands on his hips for a moment, eyebrows frowning in thought. "She can sleep on our bed and we can just share the couch. Or-or maybe you can sleep with the girl and I can sleep on the couch. You'll both have plenty of room without me."

Faceless was surprised at the suggestions; it was unusual for Randy to make such a selfless request. "Are you sure?" she questioned. Randy looked up at her and shrugged.

"Yeah, sure, why not? Seems to be what's best for her anyway."

"Your back can't handle that, sweetheart," she reminded him gently. "Are you sure you want to sacrifice that for her?"

Randy laughed, and then rolled his eyes playfully. "Look, I know I'm not what I used to be, but I'm not getting that much older. I'm sure, sweetheart. Sure as much as anything. This is all I've wanted since...you know, since they all walked out on me." His throat trembled, and he swallowed, but Faceless encouraged him to go on with a small nod. "Just to help someone," he murmured after a moment.

He was speaking with a slow, almost ashamed voice, but Faceless saw into his efforts of what he was trying to do for himself, and her heart broke for him. He was trying to heal that abused addict that had failed to be a father. She couldn't deny him whatever would make this easier, and slowly did she nod her head.

"Ok," she said softly. She reached out her hands and caressed it against Randy's hand; she smiled as she felt him shiver. "Let me know if you need anything, alright, sweetheart? I'm right in the door upstairs."

Randy sniffed, nodded, and the deal was set. And so it was that Randy ended up sleeping on the couch, with Faceless sleeping with the little girl beside her in their king bed. Randy had even gone so far to give her a quick bath before she went to sleep. He had done so with the utmost consideration; gently pouring warm water over her head and using his soft, warm hands to massage the shampoo into her wet hair until it was completely clean- until her face and skin was clean in much of the same way. He was humming in low, soft, drawl hums all the while as he did so; it was the embodiment of an adorable happiness. He gently washed her skin with a cloth and looked at her with deep consideration that was spoken only through his worried green eyes all the while. Faceless has sat on the toilet seat and had considerately taken in the scene before her, knowing that it wasn't just her own soul that was being soothed in that moment with adoration as she watched her husband. The girl was feeling that same love, too.

And, somewhere even deeper inside Randy, so was he.

The next morning when she woke up, she could tell Randy's back hurt. He didn't have to say anything ; she could tell simply by the way that he was walking around with that slight hunch and with his hand softly touching his back every now and then.

"Long night, darling?" Faceless inquired softly with that rich sympathy in her voice that was reserved only for him.

It took Randy a moment as he worked on the cereal he was putting together for the girl when she woke up. But it was more than worth it. He looked over at Faceless with a surprising amount of softness striking inside his eyes;. There was a lot of pain there, but more than that was there also a sense of relentless ambition that she knew he used for anything he truly cared about.

"For her," he replied simply.

And so the weeks went on with this repetition. It wasn't hard for them to switch off to look after the girl; Randy would be busy with the farm during the day, leaving the days to Faceless and the girl, and at night Faceless would get the night off as Randy spent more time bonding with the girl. Though she was more than content to sit inside of their cozy farmhouse all day, she worried often how much this was affecting Randy mentally. She wondered if it was healing him, or only reminding him of his own tormented journey as a father even further. She could tell there was something off about Randy; the way he would speak too quickly, the flickering of his eyes, the strange sober disposition of his usually playful nature.

Still, she tried to distract her worries by talking to the girl, playing games with her, watching television, or anything else she could think of. The girl didn't reveal much about herself, but despite her mysteries it was clear she was just another normal girl trying to find her way.

After about a week of this dynamic, Randy began to spend more time with the little girl, taking increasing more time off from the farm and leaving one of his more experienced workers-or sometimes Towelie-in charge. Faceless couldn't help but notice that they were forming a rich-and dare she even think healing-bond as the weeks went on while he began to spend more time with the little girl. When Faceless came home from work, she would see them tangled on the couch, Randy letting out playful chuckles and bouncing the girl playfully on his leg as he watched television with her, or working on his laptop towards something related to his now multiple open and active restaurants. Faceless would smile tenderly and sneak up behind them, touching Randy's back and spoiling his shoulder in kisses until he looked up at her with a soft and innocent look on his face that he had always possessed; but there was something different about him this time that made her catch her breath. This was a softer expression on his face now, more soft than what she had ever seen in her life from him, even when he was spending time with Faceless herself. He seemed, calmer, gentler. More at peace with who he was and what his life had become.

Even the little girl began to warm up to the both of them after a while, looking at Faceless with gentle honeyed and welcoming eyes at the start of every early morning. She had taken a liking to Randy the most; many of her first requests in the morning were to see him, and from the bouncing of Randy as he made his way into their bedroom, it was clear the feeling was mutual.

All the while was Faceless trying to do research to try and find out her true parents. In this sense did Faceless worry; she could tell Randy was becoming attached to the little girl, and the girl was in turn, too. Randy would playfully ask her the next best idea to keep his business relevant; they had started playing games together too, and often would Faceless come home at night with the girl chasing Randy around, Randy laughing and waving his arms in the erratic way he did all the while. He would often include her in games if she had the energy, begging more than asking Faceless to join them in their tag and chase games in that farmhouse that was confided but nonetheless full of so much energy, love, and attention. It was clear she was redeeming the toxic family dynamic Randy had experienced before. Though he had always been a carefree man, there was a certain lightness in his shoulders and every gleaming eyes now that hadn't been there before.

Within only about two weeks did the girl's personality begin to shine as she started to become more comfortable with both Faceless and Randy. Though bonding and playing with Randy did her personality, which was funny, sweet, and creative all at once, begin to shine. Clearly the girl was starting to take a liking to the both of them, and, Faceless dared to think that she perhaps even loved them, too.

This went on as both Randy and the girl became the best of friends; Randy even became more comfortable with taking the little girl out to show her his acres of land. As it turned out, it wasn't a horrible idea at all for the girl to learn how to be gentle with crops, how to explore his acres upon acres of land as she spread her arms out payully and began to rush around the fields. She even began to accompany Randy on his Tegrity Tours; her eyes were shining bight with awe all the while as she saw how many people came and went solely for his tours and what he knew. Randy taught her how to check on the weed, how to turn the soil, and introduced her to the various customers they would run into. He even showed her his multiple shops that held all his precious merchandise that not even Faceless was allowed to handle many of the time. Of course, the girl didn't even come close to Randy's practice and charm with business, but he was willing to help her in any way he could, always offering her an encouraging word and glimmering eyes of playful encouragement.

Weeks later and it was next to impossible not to see them together in some way; from the moment they both got up was Randy kneeling on his knees and asking her in his kind southern accent if she was ready for the day. She would bounce excitedly, emitting a chuckle from Randy, and they would quickly be on their way. Faceless could see the way Randy was glowing now in a way he hadn't been before; she was granting him a life-changing gift, even with how short lived their time was so far.

Faceless decided to talk to Randy one night about it just as he finished putting her to bed, letting out his soft humming all the while. Faceless herself had grown so used to sharing the bed with her, though sometimes the girl requested to check on Randy throughout the night, and sometimes even preferred to sleep by Randy on the couch. As time went on, Faceless and Randy decided that they would take turns with who slept on the couch.

The night she talked to Randy it was her turn for the couch, and she already knew, from the sounds of the giggles and the talks that were happening behind the door that led to the bedroom, that neither Randy or the girl were sleeping. No doubt they staying up late to talk to one another and bond over whatever it was that Randy loved to talk with her about that he didn't have many others companions to share with. It showed in his eye bags the next morning, but the healing it was giving his soul was more than worth it.

"She's really doing wonders for you, isn't she, Randy?" she asked softly as Randy shut the door behind him. She reached out a hand and traced it against his balck sideburns, and she smiled as she saw the way he shivered. He smiled at Faceless as he turned his head to respond.

"Indescribable," he responded, wonder glinting in his eyes. "I really love her, sweetheart. I really wish she could stay with us forever."

Faceless smiled at him in return, feeling a bittersweet squeeze in her chest, knowing that they couldn't keep her around forever.

As it turned out, the mystery of the girl's parents was solved only about a day later after that conversation. Randy has just finished putting on his checkered shirt and his pants, ready to go out with another day of the girl assisting him.

"Well, come on, honey!" Randy encouraged as he nodded at the girl. She was wearing her new clothes that Randy had bought her online a few days ago; though they were baggy and a little too big, but the overalls fit her in a comfortable manner that made her beam. Randy winked and chuckled as he turned his body towards the door, flying open the screen door with enthusiasm.

A fairly old woman was the first thing that greeted him-her eyes instantly darted over to the girl that was standing beside Randy only a few feet away. Instantly did the girl scream with delight as she ran into the old woman's arms; Randy's mouth was ajar with slight shock as he stepped backward.

"Where have you been, little thing?" the old woman inquired as she swayed the girl back and forth. The girl was letting out small giggles as she was smothered. "I've-I've been looking for you everywhere for weeks!"

Faceless could see the look of bewildered devastation on Randy's face. She rushed over and took Randy's hand in hers, squeezed him reassuringly as she saw the already slightly crestfallen look on his face only increase.

"We've been taking care of her for a couple of weeks," Faceless reassured the old lady. "She's been doing very well. We've been feeding her, cleaning her, and she's even been helping my husband with his farming. She's been a joy around to have the house, and I'm glad I found you online."

Randy, for once, was silent. She could tell that he was a little bit more upset than he was letting on in that moment, though he was trying to force a smile on his face for the little girl.

"Oh- I've been looking for her for ages!" the old woman said with a relieved thil in her voice. "Sweetheart, how did you get so lost?" The little girl giggled and kicked her feet.

"Sorry, Mama!" she squealed. "But I made an amazing friend." She looked over at Randy, and then her eyes trailed over to Faceless. Randy swallowed thickly at this, and Faceless squeezed his hand harder. The old lady looked up at Randy and smiled at him.

"Thank you for taking care of my little girl," she said earnestly. "If it's not too much trouble, you can always come down and visit. We only live a little bit away from here."

Randy blinked. "You live in South Park?" His voice was distant, slow, and traced with a hardly hidden sadness, and a certain detachment that let Faceless know that he was still processing.

The old lady smiled, and then nodded. "Yes," she responded, the wrinkles deepening on her face as she looked up at him. "We moved her only a little while ago. It was a delight...up until I lost her one day at Whole Foods. Been looking like crazy for her ever since."

" Can I come visit every day?" the girl begged, gripping onto her mother as she tugged on her garments. "Please, mama. Please!"

The woman sighed, but softly did she smile. Randy leaned forward with his own clear anticipation painted on his face.

"All right," she responded, tiredly but fondly. She winked up at Randy and Faceless, her smiling only increasing. "Thank you. I can't explain how much you looking after her means to me."

" I can't explain how much this means to us," Faceless reassured her, deciding it was best to speak for Randy, who wasn't always good with words. She squeezed his hands as she spoke the words, knowing it was the very message that was inside of his head. Randy only nodded, clearing his throat.

"Yeah," he choked.

The mother nodded, a knowing glint in her eyes. "Feel free to come over anytime," she said kindly. Faceless smiled and nodded, and Randy followed suit with his own awkward but heartfelt nod.

"Come on, sweetie," the lady spoke, taking the girl's hand in her own. But instead of allowing herself to be guided, she let her hand fall out of her mother's grasp as she ran over to Randy, tugging on his patched trousers.

"Aw-hey, sweetheart," Randy said softly. His eyes glimmered as he kneeled down and wrapped her up into his arms, pulling her in for a tight hug. His eyebrows relaxed from their previous distress position as a smile spread across his features; the girl only let out a soft laugh as she kicked herself further into his arms.

"Don't forget about me now, okay?" he said softly into her neck.

The little girl nodded earnestly. "I'll never forget you about you, Randy. I promise," she responded. "I'll see you every day." She hesitated as she looked over her shoulder towards her mother, who raised an eyebrow playfully. "Well, almost," she added.

Randy chuckled, burying his face further in hers. "Every day," he muttered against her neck. "I'll think of you every day while I'm doin' my little business."

"Come on, honey," the mother called. Her hand was pushing against the door, leaving it half open as she waited patiently for her daughter. "We have to get you settled back in. I've been worried sick, and we have a lot to talk about, young lady."

Randy lifted up his eyes at the mother, biting down on his lip. He pushed the girl away from his embrace after a hesitant tone, offering her a smile as he caressed his knuckles against her face.

"Uh-oh," Randy said playfully. "Looks like you're in trouble. Better get goin' if you want to hang onto your Tegridy." The little girl looked at Randy, worryingly, but Randy nodded at her encouragingly. He pressed one soft, warm kiss to her temple as a form of goodbye. The girl offered him one last saddened gaze, and for a moment Faceless wondered if she would beg to stay. But she heard her mother grunt, and with that did she run into her mother's arms as they walked away with her hand in hers.

Randy paused for a long moment as he saw how the girl skipped and hummed happily away with her mother. After a moment, as if brought out of a trance, he sighed. His body trembled as he got himself upward, smiling with an emotion that seemed both tired and sweet as he made his way over to Faceless, taking her hand in his and caressing his lips to her cheek gently. She shivered as she felt his moustache ticking her face.

"Thank you for letting me do that," he whispered softly. "I know it's been a lot , and I know it's been hard. Not just the girl." He caressed his thumbs against her, making her shiver. "But, you know, marrying a man who's family…"

"It's all right, Randy," she said gently. "I understand. I know what it means to you."

Randy blinked, sniffed, and then nodded slowly. "It meant the world to me, sweetheart. The entire world."

Faceless looked at him and smiled gently. She could see in his glimmering eyes that there was something a little bit more in his eyes, something that hadn't been there before. Because, although his own failure of being a father to his original kids would always torment him, there was something in him that seemed as if it was breathing little bit of a sigh of relief; as if that that torment has been turned into something beautiful when he was able to take the gentleness that was in his soul and help another fellow a struggling soul. She could tell that the memories made with the little girl were locked inside his secret chambers of his complex mind forever, and without him saying it out loud did she know Randy would remember this small breath of fresh air from the chaos of his life forever.

"You know.." she murmured hesitantly. "We might be able to have our own one day."

Randy's eyes gleamed in barely suppressed excitement. He had wanted to ask her for so long, but always had the felt he didn't deserve another chance. So instead would she give it to him. Another chance to redeem himself. Another chance to be a father.

Another chance to be happy.

"Really? Do you really mean that?" he breathed.

Faceless leaned forward and pressed her lips to his softly, and she smiled as she realized she could feel his own lips turn into a smile as he returned it feverishly.

" I do."

"Away From You"

Stan runs away from Randy with a letter. Randy pursues him.

The storm inside of his father happened quickly, startlingly so, as if it were a rushing speed of a hurricane that left nothing tangible in its wake. Yet it happened at a painstakingly slow pace all the same-resembling the suffocating mask of poison, gradually being drizzled into water so precariously that anyone who drank it hardly noticed it was being polluted.

It was such a contradiction. It happened so gradually, so slowly, even revoltingly naturally, as if it was inevitable that his father would come and unwind to his foretold end sooner or latter, no matter how much the forced walls of normalcy tried to protect their otherwise normal family.

But how little normal lasted when there was one utterly abnormal one leading the crowd. And lead the crowd he did, with his sparkling eyes that almost seemed as if they spoke of some inner hope to promise that only he knew, and wouldn't dare tell anyone else. More than that was it a secret that seemed to serve him and him alone; and gladly did his devastatingly frustrated and hungry nature take it in, regarding little else in his wake as his starved tongue and hungry lips tasted whatever little golden speck of freedom he could get.

It almost seem as if the very shackles of the marriage that had made their family that had been born from their two impulsive decisions had been built on the very foundation of a trap with knives on all ends; a gradual and inevitable sort of dak end, yet so slowly executed that-despite the horror it entailed- it almost seemed as it was boring. Mind numbingly so.

It was a torturous sort of end to all of them, and slowly was Stan starting to feel the grazing of the knives that had been gradually inching towards all four of them ever since they had muttered "I do", under confident but idioic promises that fell in empty meanings. Stan was gripping on each of his family's sides-or he had been, until he realized that there were no sides at all; only the rotting, dancing corpses that they all had become. Stan could see the danger threatening to loom over all if them at any given moment- to erupt into something that not only waited like a hungry beast on the edge of its prey with glittering eyes and even shaper claws, a danger constantly painting at the edge of the dysfunctional dynamic made from the Marsh family over the years.

Stan took a sigh as he tried to refocus himself for his hardly wanted desperate escape, but even as he made his way into the bedroom still did he thoughts come. They always came sooner or later; he couldn't help but see his family for what it was right in front of him, and no amount of turning away would make it easier. Nor would it make it any less existent.

Randy, ironically enough, was the biggest victim of this bloodied darkness that had been suffocating them in all of their unhappiness for an account of years that Stan couldn't even dream to guess. So deep were his own walls that had been born from his sides due to his discontent all his years that although it wrecked those around him, it ruined himself just as much; even more so. If his wife and his two kids were dancing corpses of the very real and the very alive flesh the had used to be, Randy was the one that was still alive, but living under a burning flesh; a person who was set aflame far before their time, constantly wicked in hardly perceptible but undeniable pain as the flames lick around him. So unbearable was the pain of being set on fire while still alive that rather than fighting it, he simply allowed himself to become it, and now, instead of fighting the pain, he allowed himself to be it, so that it no longer marred and scurtoniozied him under torment, but rather he gave himself the power to extend the pain elsewhere.

But a strange thing had happened to him when he accepted the torment, had become it, and now he was no less than unrecognizable from the monotoned, reasonable man he had been. Always had that fire been inside of him, bur rather now driving him, now it was devouring him, descending him into madness. And he had given up the fight. And his family knew it. And, somewhere in his muddled mind, Randy did too.

It had increased so gradually in passing years that Stan had only recently started to think about not only how this would further in the future-not just for his family, but also for himself. He could see all their perceived ends as he finally allowed himself to step away from all the chaos that was typically inside of his own mind that was an extension of the chaos of the family- and now he could see clearly how it was manifesting, even formatting, inside of himself beyond his control. There was hardly any room for either of them, and there was most certainly hardly any room for redemption. Most especially now.

Stan took a deep breath as he took in an intense intake of his lungs, and-just as was the usual-instantly choked as the overpowering smell of weed that was always surrounding him more often than it wasn't these days polluted his lungs. He instantly felt himself gag as his shoulders shuddered. This wouldn't be the first time he had vomited, and with eyes that widened in his sockets he threw up his elbow in front of his now trembling lips. He took to burying his face in his elbow, shaking slightly as he took in the smoke, despite the effort of his disgusted expression being buried in his arm. His shoulders shuttered as he leaned forward further into his clothes as much as physically possible, trying to off the sudden urge to vomit as best as he could. He wished he could have told himself that the urge to vomit simply by breathing was something new, but it had become increasingly more common within the past couple of weeks. For all the endless miles of acres of land that they now lived on, for all the slightly new larger rooms that they all now had in their possession, for all the time that he spent in his room-the only place that he had even the smallest hope of having refugee from his father's endless sporadic storms-the air around every last inch of the property was smelling of weed, and how he hated it. That sinking and thick smell that demanded to be breathed in at all hours of the clock. It was so bad to the point that there was quite literally no escape from the smell; and there most certainly was no hope for him to even remember what fresh air tasted like.

He only wanted to forget it all. To escape in whatever way that was possible, whether it be through the mind or the body. He texted Kyle, Kenny, even Cartman as much as he could; anybody that could possibly remind himself that there was more to this life than what it currently became.

But, as it was more often than not with most efforts that Stan made to better himself these days-his friends were almost always busy-or at least, that was what they said. Stan wouldn't have been surprised if they were avoiding him; if they didn't care anymore. He hadn't seen anyone since his last band session, and even then had their energy been off, at best, and the majority of his peers that he considered his close friends weren't even there to witness his music; something that didn't happen frequently anyway, but that he appreciated when they did.

There were the ghostly threads that still tugged on his closest friends that reminded him of the disconnect he had experienced from their friendship that had erupted back when Stan had fallen into the threads of hopelessness for the first time all those years ago, with very little to catch his fall. Those hardened gazes that had come from his friends that he had expected to see him through anything had only met him with hardened eyes, and even harder attitudes. A weight had been born when they had walked away from Stan outside of that movie theatre the day when his depression truly erupted, and it was something that was still present inside of their friendship, even now. Stan had his own revelations about exactly what kind of people he was friends with on that day; these realizations were unwanted and relentlessly heavy, but providing no relief from his desire to escape it, for it had simply been..the truth.

He even saw Kyle differently from the way that he had before his episode; that judgmental expression of who he had considered his constant was burned inside of his memory forever. The way Kyle had walked away from him with a detached and hopelessly uncaring demeanor from all that time ago was a mark on Stan's chest. Stan himself was a hopeless wreck, and there was nothing but defeat and disgust from Kyle's end while Stan had looked at him with his own squinted and drunken eyes, not wanting to admit even to himself just how much he felt like his father in that moment as he stumbled forwards and backwards, throwing carelessly his middle finger up at Kyle without processing or even caring what he was doing. All he knew in that moment was that it felt good; that freedom of being away from the most authentic version of himself, and therefore of the illness of his mind that was spearading like a wildfire. And in that moment, for as long as he felt good, that was all he cared about, because it had been so long since he had felt good-or anything at all.

That lost, uncaring part of himself that mirrored his dad a little too deeply was gone now, however; now that he had begun to realize exactly the kind of person that his addictions and depression threatened to make him become, for as long as he was living with his father and under his influence. He never could have dreamed that he would feel about his father the way he did now; with a thickened sense of unforgiving repulsion. Although he had never completely admired his father for the kind of person that he was-always recognizing that his father had something deep inside of himself that he had no hope of fighting-Stan hardly even recognized him now, more often than not. It was as if he had been twisted and cracked into another man entirely; as if the flaws that had used to only be quirks was now the entire portrait of his very core. His father could no longer be his father now, that much was clear; he was too caught up in the various storms that made him that unapologetic violent businessman, no better than the next scumbag that would take the headlines of the upcoming scandal all for the sake of getting a few cheap bucks; no more moral than the next polluted dictator that would have no problem taking away human and animal rights just to sleep comfortably on a pile of money. It was vile. It was disgusting. It was his father.

Stan had realized, with an increasing shock that only deepened overtime with a sickening sense of horror, that he was only a couple of bad months away from feeling so terrible himself that he would quickly fall into the relief of weed or alcohol or anything that would make him feel better if he suffered for a little too long, such as his father did. Stan understood his father, but he didn't empathize with him. He wished he didn't even understand him. It filled Stan with a disgusted horror that left his very fingertips numb that he was only a couple of wrong steps away from becoming the very man that Randy was.

That was only one of the many reasons why he was currently reaching out towards the drawer by his bed, his touch trembling as he threw open the drawer that previously had sat dormant by his bed. His hands were shaking so badly that he could hardly focus, but that only filled him with a deeper flight and even deeper determination. The trembling of his hands was no less than a reminder of why he needed to do what he had to do-it was now as essential as survival. Like a frantic bird in a cage did he throw his hands against various loose papers that sat inside of the drawer in front of him as he graped against one of them as best as his shaking hands would allow. He got his grip on one of them, the paper already cracking under the sweat that was summoning itself out of his skin. He let out a shaky gasp, which was the closest thing he could get to in that moment to celebration, as he leaned forward and began to frantically pressing the paper on the tabletop in front of him, quickly reaching out with his other hand that was just as distracted within the emotional turmoil that he was feeling as he reached for a pen from the same drawer where he had justed gripped the paper. Despite his panic, he was moving quickly. With those shaking and trembling hands did he begin to frantically scribble with an almost completely incomprehensible writing, but still did he write. The words were as scrawled and unforgiving as the way his mental state felt; they consisted of what he wanted to say to his father that have been manifesting inside the back of head since he had possibly been old enough to be able to perceive his father; things that he never wanted to admit, but that were bursting inside of his head nonetheless. These words were his last and final defeating call.

There was nowhere to go, nothing to do, nothing to even try to heal from for while he was here. He could sit sound inside of that weed smelling room and moan; he could sit inside that house he had come to loathe his life for what it had become and feel sorry for himself; he could allow his father to continue to define their very lives as he did exactly whatever it felt that he wanted; and Randy's desires knew no end to their roads. Shelley didn't even bother speaking her own anger-filled pieces anymore; Stan couldn't even remember the last time that she had left her room for more than about fifteen minutes in the past two months since they had moved here, and every time she did, it was almost always to sit down at dinner, and only because Sharon threatened that she would punish her if she didn't come down and at least try to be a part of the family. Whatever family there was left.

His mother was struggling too; he could see it in that heavy look that was inside her eyes that seemed to mirror his own. That dead, complacent, dry feeling that he felt more often than not, that emotional desert that seemed as if it was sucking out the life of all of them without even the slightest hope that they had better for one another; and that Stan could have ever hoped to find even for himself. That struggling, suffocating sense of hope that he had only been able to reach by a thread towards life even before they moved to the farm. Meeting friends with no longer something that could be as casual as leaving his door and walking down the street, and he knew that his mother was far away from her job that had been the only thing that gave her any kind of sense of being an individual that was away from her husband. Someone that she had an incredibly complicated relationship with that seemed to be only getting more complicated, more suffocatingly toxic.

She was wise enough to know that at this point it could fall through at any given moment. She had to hold on to at least the slightest bit of financial stability as her own individual person as much as she could outside of what Randy gave them, although none of them could deny that he did provide all of them with a roof over their heads and ample space of property and space of their own. Even now did they own acres upon acres of land; plenty of free space where Stan knew he could walk around for countless hours and yet still never reach the end of it, but that wasn't what Stan wanted. Stan didn't want more isolation;, he didn't want more land, didn't want to have his reflections and his own inner demons haunt him as what Randy considered fresh air that smelled more of weed than it ever would of anything actually fresh polluted his lungs. No amount of his father's leaves or crops would be enough for him to be able to find that sense of normal again; no amounts of money that Randy always boasted about so freely would give him the same peace. Rather, moving to the farm was a kind of death for Stan; a realization that it was the end for even the most modest of joys he had been granted to enjoy in life. It was getting to the point where he couldn't even feel anymore, and he wasn't sure if he even wanted to; he was afraid to explore those bleeding layers inside himself that he knew existed, somewhere deep in the most lost parts of him, begging to be listened to,and showing Stan the truest faces of himself, if he dared to allow himself to listen. He had fought relentlessly against these layers, knowing it was the last thing about himself-the last darkened truth-that he wanted to feel.

But now was not the time to be numb; and for only a couple of moments, as he crouched on the edge of the table with his hands trembling against the crumbled paper, did it overcome him just how horrible this felt. How horrible everything felt. His black eyebrows frowned as he felt hot tears stinging at his eyes, he dared not allow himself to feel them. Instead did he focus on the pressure of his pen against the paper, sweating hands barely gripping against it as he tried to stop himself from crying right then and there. The layers of his emotional reckoning was something that was still pounding against him with so much of their own demand that it felt as if it was the very reason why he felt so utterly relentlessly unhappy inside himself, and for a moment he wondered if this wasn't a good idea. But he dared to keep moving forward. These layers inside of him were not something to be prevented, but something to run towards; what would hold him back today would be what would help him move forward tomorrow; to fight for something different. Something better. Anything different than from what Randy had given him, and most certainly anything other than being yet another complacent family member with heavy, distant eyes as Randy continued to do exactly whatever it was that made him happy, only offering a careless word every now and then to show that he had any consideration for others that were around him. By the time his love reached them, they had already fallen on dead ears that had long since given up on hope of being listened to.

"Dear Dad," he barely managed with his still shaking hand as he pressed the black ink against the crumpled paper, the canvas of torment both mocking him and encouraging him all at once; a physical form of both freedom and guilt. So deeply was his trembling that the words were rendered almost completely incomprehensible as they danced in front of Stan's vision, which was becoming increasingly blurry as the tears possessed his eyes. He blinked rapidly as he felt one tear fall down the side of his cheeks, despite his very best effort for it to not, and he swallowed thickly again as he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and recentered himself.

He frowned as he reminded himself what he could do. He could do this; he had a plan, one that he had already talked out with his Uncle Jimbo; a plan to take him away from somewhere that was far, far away from here. Jimbo wasn't exactly very fond of Randy himself lately, and every time that he was even so much as mentioned whenever Sharon was on the phone with him did it seem as if Jimbo's voice instantly became a little bit harder, a little bit less forgiving. Even Stan was surprised at this; and even inside of his complacency to his father's affairs that surrounded him did he wonder what had happened between the two of them. Randy might not have been the very best of friends towards anybody in his life, and he might have been questionable at best with the way that he treated most people that were around him- even the people that were considered his peers.

But Stan knew that Jimbo and Randy had always gotten along with their commonalities, if nothing else. They had common interests; they liked to drink beer and talk local shit together with careless laughs, as well as bond over whatever it was that just as equally questionable adults inside the unstable town bonded over doing whatever it was that their impulsive phases and interests consisted of.

Stan hadn't bothered to worry about it too much; nothing about his father interested him very much anymore; it was only fair. But the second that Stan had picked up the phone last night to frantically ask his uncle if it was okay for him to stay with him for a little while, Jimbo had granted him permission with deep enthusiasm, and with very little hesitation, so much to the point that it even took Stan aback with surprise. It was almost as if Jimbo was right there with him on the farm as Stan was struggling, almost as if Jimbo knew every detail of what it felt like to live on that farm with his father. As if he knew the kind of man that Randy had become, and how it was affecting him, and his family as a whole.

As he finished the last of the disgruntled thoughts that he quickly jotted down, not even being sure of what he had written but only knowing that it constrained everything that have been pounding adamantly against his head to be spoken, he found the tension in his shoulders falling for the first time in the longest time he could remember. He allowed the pen to fall as he finished signing his name, and then took a deep breath as he felt his entire body leaning backward. He let out a choking breath that was somewhere in between relief and yet that endless devastation that seemed to lace everything he did now, even when it was a good thing. He leaned his head backward until his bones cracked, and then slowly leaned forward as his green eyes fluttered over the letter that he had placed in front of him. He bit down hard on his lip as he felt his bottom lip tremble as he gazed against the maddened, scrawled words of emotional desperation that he had written to his father-feelings that he had always felt towards him to at least some degree. He felt his heart break and the realization; he had always felt these negative emotions towards his father, but even back when he was younger and more innocent had he loved Randy.

He felt none of that love now; the prologue of his negative emotions gradually gave out to something that was far sharpener, something that demanded to be heard so harshly to the point that it blared out whatever love he felt for his father before. Always had Stan felt these feelings, but never in such a harsh, complete, and utter unapologetic and dark extent that he did now. Though Stan's eyes glanced over the tormented aesthetic of the words, he didn't bother reading them over, knowing that, in a strange way, it hurt him to feel this way about his father, despite the fact that he meant every word.

Instead did he tear away his watery eyes as quickly as he could as he reached for the cellphone that was sitting beside his bed, wrapping his palm around it. The screen lit up as he brought it closer to his face. He tried to ignore the fact that there were no replies from either Kyle or Cartman from the texts that he had sent about two hours ago, and instead did he instantly search for Uncle Jimbo's phone number in his increasingly small contact list. He tried to still his shaking hand as he gripped it against the side on the phone, listening to the ringing from the other side and trying his best to focus on that much.. It was the only thing that could ground him within that moment, the only thing that could overcome that sense of panic that was overcoming him, despite his best efforts. He hadn't even told his mother his plans, not wanting her slightly more rational nature to get in the way of the decision that he knew that would be the best for him. The decision that he knew that he deserved.

The ringing went on for a little too long, and for a moment did Stan feel black panic overcome him that was almost uncontrollable, wondering if Jimbo had changed his mind and wasn't going to pick up after all. Almost as if to dispel his fears did he hear the phone being picked up and the ringing was interrupted, and Stan rolled his eyes in relief as he heard rustling on the other side. Just as quickly did he hear that friendly, slightly nasally voice of Jimbo answering from the other side of the phone. Stanley leaned his hand forward as he gripped the side of the table in front of him, trying his best to stop his whimpering that was a physical manifestation of his guilt as best as he could-and most especially trying to stop that sense of sweating panic that threatened to leave his skin. His father was the one that broke into a cold sweat whenever things weren't going his way, not him. He never wanted to be his father, not even down to every last little detail, not if he could help it.

"Hey, Stan," Jimbo responded from the other side of the phone. "You almost ready to go, I assume?"

Stan nodded, trying his best to ignore that squeeze inside of his chest that came from guilt. He wasn't doing anything wrong, and although he knew it was going to worry his mother and he felt bad about that much, he also knew that he had to go forward with this for his own sake. Stan being gone was something his mother would have to figure out with his father on their own. Stan felt sorry for his mother, but he couldn't stand this, not for one more moment. He quite literally couldn't even breathe here without being reminded of his father and of the person that had chosen his own insecurities and ambitions as an individual over his family; couldn't even take in the very air from around him without feeling like it was choking inside of his lungs, without gagging with a certain repulsion, not only for his father, but also towards the very life that he was being forced to live, and all simply wouldn't fight. Maybe his mother wouldn't stand up to Randy, and maybe his sister would sit around and be angry all day, but he wasn't going to allow himself to fall into the same fate. Not for even one moment.

Stan gripped his knuckles so hard against the side of the table that they started to turn white, but he was more focused on the way he tried to ignore how his skin was working itself into a cold sweat the way that it did with Randy so often whatever he was nervous. For the time being Stan couldn't stand having even the slightest resemblance to him, and he would fight every single comminaility that he had, down to every last detail.

"Yeah," Stan choked from the other side of the phone. He cleared his throat, and then tried to answer again. He nodded, more so to reassure himself than Jimbo, who obviously couldn't see him. Still, somehow the action calmed him. "Yeah, Uncle Jimbo, I-I definitely am. I have all my bags packed from last night...and at this point all I need is just a quick ride over. Are you at the place where I told you to meet up?" He turned his head over his shoulder and looked over towards his bags. He had about two small bags- one that was light enough that he could carry it on his back, and the other that was light enough that he could carry him with his other hand. It was depressingly small; it reminded Stan of just how small he was himself, just how hopeless he felt, and just how unlikely it was that he would be able to get out of all this with a happy ending, But he was going to try. He had to try, at the very least. He owed himself that much. He felt his black eyebrows furrow in determination as he went over every detail in his mind of the plan he had made of escape that had practically tormented him and kept him awake every single night since he had thought of it. Even before he had gotten Jimbo's permission. That was how desperately that he wanted it, and he knew from the moment that the idea of escape had entwined inside of his heavied mind that he would do anything to make it a reality; he was that desperate for change. If there was anything that he would fight for more than anything, it was most certainly leaving the farm, and everything that it represented. How it reminded him that it had taken away everything he had loved.

Jimbo let out a whistle, and then a chuckle. It was nervous, yet Stan appreciated his attempt at making this situation feel at least somewhat normal. "Well, alright. I think I have all your bedroom setup and everything for when you get over here." He sounded helpful, but nervous, and Stan half wondered if Jimbo was hoping that perhaps this would be the beginning of the end of Randy's business-with his family now actively leaving him, it seemed like that would be the final thing to make Randy crack. Or perhaps it was hope that Jimbo taking in Randy's son would help Jimbo show Randy how much better of a man he was than Randy-and an indirect middle finger towards the man that had physically slapped him when he had been on the brink of death only a few months ago. Stan had heard Randy's violent voice trailing from the walls when he had; even when Randy was quiet, he was still loud.

The truth of the matter was Stan didn't know exactly why Jimbo was helping him out, but he did know that Jimbo was certainly more on his side than he was on Randy's. Whatever it was that was motivating him, it was certainly good, as far as Stan was concerned. Though the task Stan had ahead of him was a questionably challenging one, it was one he felt some support for with Jimbo's acceptance. One thing that calmed Stan's fears even more was remembering that Randy more than likely wouldn't even notice he was gone; he was indifferent to almost everyone's affairs lately, only concerned with his own desires, so much to the point that it seemed as if he had no consideration left for anyone. Much less his son.

Jimbo's thoughts abruptly cut into Stan's deepened contemplation. "So you can just make your way on over towards the very end of your dirt road, and I promise I'll be over there in about fifteen minutes, all right?" Jimbo encouraged.

Stan bit down on his lip as he tried to calm the sudden strike of nervous fear inside of him, but he nodded, once again more to ground himself than anything else. "Sounds good," he whispered. He tried to ignore just how scared and helpless his voice sounded as it wobbled, despite his best efforts to keep it calm and steady. He wasn't going to be scared and he wasn't going to allow himself-for even for one moment-to believe that he didn't deserve to fight against the life that his father was quite literally forcing on him. He wasn't going to allow himself to feel guilty. He deserved to run away, he deserved to feel better about himself, and he most certainly deserved to live near his friends, to live the life that he had held with whatever hope it had possessed inside of it before. He had taken those smaller blessings that he had been granted in South Park for granted, but he wouldn't ever do that again-not after this. His previous life was old and worn pages that he kept flipping though over and over; thinking about every small blessing he had ever had back in town that had made him happy. He didn't deserve to worry about the feelings of his father, who was far more concerned with his individual happiness. His father had failed the ultimate promise every decent parent made to their kids from the moment they were born-which was to put their child's happiness before their own. Though Stan tried to tell himself that he didn't care about whatever this would mean to his father or his mother-if anything at all-he had to put on visible effort to ignore that voice inside the back of his head that told him this was wrong regardless. The resistance was so strong that he had to bite down on his tongue to fight it, and he felt blood begin to pour inside of his mouth as he broke the skin; he felt the taste of metal as it spoiled against the side of his mouth.

"Make sure that your father doesn't see you," Jimbo wanted after a moment. There was a slight suggestion of caution that was on the edge of his very own voice, despite the fact that Jimbo was clearly trung to remain normal and casual about the situation. Both of them knew, deep down, that there was nothing normal and casual about the situation; not in the slightest. The threat of how much of a hothead that Randy had become these days was looming over them-most especially when it came to his family doing whatever it was that he deemed would make him happy. To defy these delusions in his head that he was doing what he was doing for his family was just his own way of frantically making excuses for his own selfish behavior; to try and deny the existence of the pain and insecurities of his own demons that told him he wasn't enough in life; to defy the truth that the family he made with Sharon was a wreck. His farm was his own personal weapon against the idea that he had finally begun to find the perfect family life for all of them, a family life that made him happy, as well as a family that was happy with him. But nothing could be further from the truth, and they all knew it.

"Of course," Stan said, swallowing thickly as he nodded for a third time. He felt as if he were on some sort of business call, and with the way that his heart was pounding against his chest despite his best efforts, and despite his promise to himself that he was in the right in this situation and that there was no reason for him to feel bad or panicked, he still felt as if he were on the bridge of something that was going to be more than a lost game if he was caught,, or if even one thing went wrong. More than that, even if he did successfully escape away with Jimbo, he couldn't help but think of the long-term punishments of what could happen in the future. There was still a good chance that his mother would end up being so angry at him for running away without telling her what was going on; that she would punish him and ground him for who knew how long, and would drag him back to the farm before he even as much had a chance to protest. He felt another wave of vomit overcome him at the idea of sitting inside of his own room that felt more of a cage than it did his own space, with nothing but the overpowering smell of weed that spoiled in through the window, regardless of whether it was open or closed. He choked as his shoulders shudders, fighting the urge gag.

"Alright," Jimbo said again. His voice sounded as if it was accepting, now slightly more sober as he spoke from the other side, and now not quite so forceful and cheery as it had been when the conversation had first started. The truth was setting in and their plan was beginning to unfold, and Stan could tell he was no longer so determined to show that everything was all right. It wouldn't be, not until he got into that car, and they both knew it. They both knew the tense situation that they were in, and they knew the punishment that would wait on the other side of the wall. Still, they would both persist. "Just be nice and quiet about it, ok? Remember, you're not doing anything wrong. I wouldn't help you out with this if I thought it was wrong either, and if you get in trouble, I'll be in trouble right behind you. You're not alone in this, okay, Stan? it's all going to be alright. Just grab your bag, run outside, and if your mom catches you or asks where you're going, just tell her that you're going out to hang out with your friends for a little bit. She'll like that, I'm sure." His nasally voice was congested with concern, and it was almost oddly comforting.

Someone cared.

Stan smiled at the suggestion that at least one of his two parents still cared about him the way that they used to. Although Sharon spent her days more often than not sitting on the couch with a detached frown on her face while Randy danced around and did whatever passions he wanted to do in every single unpredictable way of his nature, she still felt like his mom. Although she hardly even took the time to even speak to her children unless something important or dangerous happened at school that was so bad that it brought out her own natural motherly concern, Stan could tell that his mother did still truly love him in the way that she always had.

He wasn't so sure that you could say the same about Randy, which was part of the reason now that he felt as if he was committing something that was not only anything but wrong; but rather something that was truly and genuinely justified, and not only justified, but desperately needed.

"Okay, see you in fifteen," Stan replied. There was a soft grunt that came from Jimbo from the other side of the phone that confirmed they were both on the same page, and with some rustling did the deadline of the phone meet Stan's ear only a few seconds later.

Stan took a deep breath as he straightened up for a moment, knowing that he was now on his own until he was able to jump inside of Jimbo's car fifteen minutes later from now. His hand trembled as he placed his phone away from his ear and put it inside of his pocket. He needed to be able to call Jimbo easily in case he was seen or in case anything else went wrong, and for whatever chance that Randy took an interest in whatever Stan was doing-which was unlikely, considering that he was so occupied with his own interest these days that he hardly ever even sked Stan anything that he was doing.

He tried to ignore the shot of pain that went through him at the thought as he turned his head over to the bags. He made his way over to the bgas as he kneeled down in front of them, shivering as he did so for reasons that he didn't want to think too much about, or understand. Understanding things had never done him any favors.

He grunted as he took one bag and hoisted it over his shoulders, then took the other and placed it between his fingers. He made his way quickly over to the bedroom door, cracking it open as slightly as he could-he didn't even want Shelley to be aware that he was leaving. She could be trustworthy at times, but not always .He paused for a moment as it sunk into him fully what he was doing as the hallway loomed up in front of him, as if it was his last chance to turn back. He frowned, and the last hesitancy that he felt dissipated without a trace as he made his way down the stairs. Luckily for him was his mother not sitting on the same green couch that she always was, and Stan took that as a sign that this was meant to be; that he was truly doing the right thing.

He made his way over towards the front door, which was mostly nothing but a cheap screen door that only farm owners had. It was almost too easy to get out now, and Stan hesitated slightly for a second time. He almost wished that it wasn't so easy for him to escape. He wished his parents were standing with their arms crossed and disapproving frown on their faces; to hear Randy yell "Stan Marsh!" the way he did when he was younger whenever he had been in trouble. At least that would show that they still caed.

Stan felt tears sting at his eyes again, but it turned into anger almost as quickly as the feelings had stung at his eyes. This was exactly why he was leaving, and this would show his mom and his father the way he felt once and for all. As he threw open the door, another breath of weed assaulted against the side of his senses, causing him to gag yet again. He swallowed, feeling the unforgiving burning sensation polluting his lungs as that sense of smoke stung at his eyes, as the unwanted taste of weed spoiled his tongue. He leaned forward as he pressed his hands against his knees, wondering if Randy would even notice if he vomited right there on the porch, wondering if seeing his son in such a state would break his heart. He hated himself for even wondering, knowing that this was a sign that he still cared about what his father thought, and far more than he wanted to admit. By allowing himself to wonder what his father thought, he was also admitting a sort of weakness inside of him about how much he still worried whether or not his father still cared about him, despite the fact that it was so clear that he didn't.

Stan chuckled darkly as he felt another unforiging burst of weed pollute his senses again as a blow of air flew through the swaying crops, suffocating him so much to the point that it felt like someone had blown smoke in front of his face. Something that Stan had seen Randy do carelessly to other people before. That wasn't even the slightest indication that Randy was thinking about him, despite having it been hours since they had last seen each other. He was probably somewhere out there with his crops, not even thinking about Stan or any of his family directly, and wouldn't be thinking about them for who knew how long. More likely than not, was he talking to his minimum wage workers, and no doubt smoking out of his mind until he could hardly even perceive his reality in front of him. Stan felt a shudder of loathing overcome him for his situation with his father that he had endured countless days like this, and if he stayed, who knew how many countless more he would endure.

With that did he rush himself off of the porch, throwing his body down the steps as he pushed his way down the dirt road, taking to running rather than walking. His belongings he brought were clanging inside of his backpack, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He didn't care if anything got damaged; he only cared about getting out of here.

It wasn't as if he himself wasn't already more damaged than he ever could have dreamed of surviving anyway.

"Hey Sharon, you seen Stan or Shelley yet today?" Randy called as he made his way inside through the front of the door. The sky was already beginning to gently melt into a distant mix of gentled pink fire and of plump purple, away from that previous blue sky that had been the sky above him all day. It carried away from eggshell blue and instead fell into that tender orange of melted sun as it said goodbye to the previous day from before it. The tickled pink and orange teased against the swaying crops that flowed in the wind. The sunset was his own clock that it was time to send everyone home for the day; his reminder that another hard day at work was done. It filled him with pride.

He gave a gentle tug of his own hands as he pulled on his trousers, making his way forward inside the living room as he looked around him with curiosity. Sharon was sitting on the edge of the green couch, pounding away at her laptop the way that she usually did more often than not these days. Most especially when he came in.

"I'm surprised you're even asking that question," Sharon responded firmly, not even bothering to lift up her eyes. Randy rolled his eyes as he let out a sigh, quickly reaching for the joint that he had inside his pockets. He always had at least one or two on him at all times, knowing that he could need it at any given moment, especially when it came to dealing with the person his wife had become; a stiff piece of cardboard, who never went either forward or backward.

'Well, of course I'm going to ask," he grumbled. "I still care about them and all, Sharon. Just really busy with everything lately. You know that." He tried to keep his voice as light and as casual as he always did these days. If Randy knew anything, it was that keeping the same monotone, indifferent voice like the way that his wife did was the very last way for him to be happy. When he had married her, he had tried to copy her calm and revered disposition for the sake of them getting along, hoping that would keep them in love. But as he had gone through the very unforgiving patterns of his life and had dealt with his increasing sense of self-loathing while he was molded into a man that was the last person he wanted to be, he realized that the boredom of who he was becoming was killing off whatever slim chance of happiness he could get. Besides, even when he had tried to be someone she could love, they had never gotten along. Now he fully accepted and fell into who he was; he was full of fire and zest and enthusiasm far too large for Sharon's comfortability, and he was tired of feeling sorry about it.

He sat down, or rather slumped, next to her, not even bothering to put his arm around her shoulders the way he would have a few years ago. Her shoulders were so stiff and rigid that it felt like trying to cuddle a hardened rock. Instead did he slump forward as he looked at the black television screen in front of him without thinking. He had half a mind to turn it on, light up a joint, and watch whatever it was on. Maybe even call up Towelie, if he got the chance. Sharon would be angry at him either way, whether he was quiet or loud-and for that he disliked her for, so he would do whatever suited his fancy.

True to their dynamic, Sharon's frown only increased further on her face as she continued to slam her fingers against the front of her keyboards, almost as if she was pretending that it was his head. Knowing up the way that she felt about him these days, he wouldn't be surprised if that was exactly what she was thinking.

"Hey, what are you doing on there that's so important anyway?" Randy inquired, traveling his eyes over to her as he cocked his head towards the side. The second he even so much as inched himself a little closer, Sharon's eyes instantly shot her eyes over towards him, the deepest sense of loathing on her face. He was getting used to that by now.

"Believe it or not, Randy, but I have a job and responsibilities outside of your business," she spat, her voice full of her own poison venom that was so forceful that it made Randy physically retech as he pulled back slightly, as if he had been stricken. Sharon's tension increased, but she straighted herself upward from her spitting words as she sighed and resigned herself back to her previous stagnant, focused position. "But that's not the reason why I'm sitting here right now."

When she didn't elaborate, Randy knew that he was going to have to tug the truth out of her. This hadn't been the first time, and he knew it would be far from the last. "Sooo.?" he tried, drawing out the word as he blinked at her slowly. The tension on Sharon's face grew even further, as if she was angry at him for not instantly knowing exactly what was on her mind. Women were like that.

"So I'm trying to send a message to see if anybody has seen Stan in the past couple of hours. I haven't seen him all afternoon, and I'm not surprised you haven't noticed up until now. I'm doing something about it, Randy."

Randy blinked at her slowly. He couldn't deny that he was still feeling some of the effects of the last joint that he smoked only about an hour ago, and the world felt a little bit distant, a little bit all over the place...and fuzzy. Definitely fuzzy.

"What do you mean?" Randy sniffed, his voice low and uncertain, almost oddly innocent. He sniffed again as he looked at his own wife, who's face seemed as if it was made of stone that was only able to show two emotions these days; detachment or anger. Both of them were just as equally draining, and just as equally unhelpful.

She blinked rapidly, as if she had been slapped."What I mean is that Stan isn't here!" She shot back, het voice raising with an edge that was only getting even more annoyed than it was before. Randy shrunk back even further against the pillows, raising up both hands, as if he were at gunpoint. "What I mean is that I haven't been able to find him for the past couple of hours and his sister hasn't heard from him either and I'm worried, Randy! God!"

Randy franctailly nodded, as if that would somehow calm her feelings. He felt as if he was on the brink of the weapon that he knew all too well; his wife's unrelenting anger. Something that he did everything he could to avoid these days, yet somehow did it come back around far too often without fail every single time. The tension increased between both of them for a moment, so deep that it seemed almost tangible. Randy kept still for a moment as he tried to allow his wife space to breath..

After a minute did he shrug, and then nod, sighing as he tried to keep it as civil as he could between the both of them; something that she, for whatever reason, interpreted as a lack of care. He scrambled in his mind anything he could say to calm her. To get rid of this incessantly bitchy attitude of hers.

"Aw, come on, Sharon. Don't be upset. He probably...probably just went out with his friends or something. You know what he's like, especially these days at this age." He rolled his eyes playfully, trying to lighten the conversation as best as he could. He was finally happy, and despite what his family thought, he wanted them to join him on his happiness, too. He just didn't want to sacrifice anything that was important to him while he was at it. "You know, going out with his friends, trying to prove to us that he's better off without us."

"Better off without you, maybe," Sharon snapped back. "But this is different, Randy." She turned her eyes back over towards the laptop, which seemed as if it consisted of multiple chats with people she must have known back in South Park. "This is different now. I haven't heard from anybody, and no one else has heard from him, either. I did manage to get in contact with his friend Kyle and Kenny, and neither of them have heard from him, either. Nobody knows where he is, and you know what he's been feeling like. And look-" She indicated her expression towards a paper that was sitting by her on the couch table, reaching for it and throwing it on Randy's lap.

He blinked slowly, trying to clear the fog in his head ast he frowned and looked at the messily scrawled paper in front of him. He gripped it with his cold sweat fingers as he squinted and gazed at the words, raising it up to meet his eyes. Scrawled, angry, and hardly comprensible handwriting that was clearly written by his son met Randy's foggy eyes. It seemed as if every word was full of the most anger and resentment that Randy had possibly seen from his son in his life; so much pain was emitting from the words that Randy felt as if he could feel it for himself. He swallowed as his eyes began to read the words, rather unwillingly. Though he could tell the words would hurt him, he was so curious-and, admittedly, ashamed-that his eyes simply followed suit to the natural sense of worry inside of him. Something told him in the back of his head of the last thing that he wanted was to read what his son thought about him, but his eyes were following his mood, which was far more full of curiosity than he wanted to admit, and they were running over the words and receiving them before he even had the chance to stop himself.

'Dear Randy' was the first thing that sat at the top of the tormented message on the crumpled page. It was written with something that looked as if it was hardly even made with a clear mind, much less a healthy and happy son that Randy wanted to believe that Stan was. Randy swallowed as he looked at it, unsure of the sudden bitter and despairing feeling that was overcoming him as the messy font that was the only thing he had left of his son greeted and even mocked him. The meaning of the words and simply how they looked were clear; Randy had failed at being a father. His two fingers were breaking out into a swat and spoiling the already crumpled and delicate paper.

"Well?" Sharon challenged as she gazed at him, voice even more hardened and angry than it happened before. No matter what Randy did or didn't do, she was always getting angry at him. It was a part of the reason why he didn't even take her seriously now- part of the reason why he was always so complacent in what she thought of him, and almost didn't care anymore in regards to the emotionally violent ways she responded to him. He knew by now that no matter what he did, she would never be happy with him.

Besides, this was shedding his heart beyond what he knew what to do with.

"Sharon-" Randy tried to say something, anything at all, but he found the words dying inside of his throat as he continued to flutter his eyes across the font of the note. He pressed his fingers against it further as he felt himself breaking out into colder sweat, and he squeezed his fingers against the size of paper as he saw the way the thin sheet crumpled under his damp touch. He closed his eyes for a moment as he tried his best to calm himself, knowing that he had to do anything he could to calm this sudden sense of being knocked on his feet as best as I could. If Randy was anything these days, it was a man that possessed utter loathing towards this feeling that was a reminded to him that, no matter how hard he worked or what kind of life he built for himself, many things in his life that were outside of his control, and most especially that his children were outside of his control-that they simply didn't understand how he felt about him; that they didn't understand why he was working so hard on the farm. It wasn't for him; it was for them.

"Are you just going to sit there and fall asleep?" Sharon's hard voice pierced through his thoughts. "What exactly are you going to do about this, Randy? He's running away because of you! He's made that clear, and I have no idea where the hell he is! You're going to stay up all night and help me find him, do you understand?"

Randy frowned, and quickly did he open his eyes back up as he shot himself upward, not even bothering to look over his shoulder as he made his way towards the door. He kept the letter inside of his hands, rubbing his thumb against it, almost serving as a caress.

"Where the hell are you going?" Sharon yelled, her voice more so that usual scream now than it was anything even remotely controlled. He almost wished he could get his boring, stable wife back. "If you're just going to walk out without saying anything, then fuck you!"

"I need a joint," Randy sighed with exhaustion, his voice surprisingly despondent in response to Sharon as he pushed his way towards the door, allowing the door to shut behind him with a loud bang. He no longer allowed himself to get caught up in his wife's games; he knew it was only an endless back and forth cat fight that only succeeded in exhausting him. He used to get angry in the same way that she would, but he realized a long time ago that their fights, if he allowed himself to get riled up in the same way that she did, only both ended up with them hating each other even more than they ever did before.

He stepped his way down the stairs, ignoring the name "asshole!" being thrown in his directions as he made his way towards the spot that he always went to to think. He briefly heard her swearing at him up and down, screaming at him that was something along the lines of, "how the hell you think about smoking at a time like this?"-but he couldn't bring himself to give a damn. Their marriage was only a dead carcass of a dancing skeleton of what it used to be, and the best he could do for their marriage, or to make her happy with him at this point, was to join in with being a dancing corpse right with her, to get angry when she got angry, to get worried when she got worried, and to have conversations whenever she decided it was a good time to do so. He learned a long time ago that he could no longer dance with the corpse that she had become; not if he wanted to save his own skin from being anything but a dead corpse. His wife, as far as he was concerned, was only half the woman that she had been when he had known and loved her in high school. She had been full of life and energy and zest for the world, such as he did; but that wasn't the woman she was anymore. She became someone who gave up on her own version of happiness; sacrificed her own spirit for the sake of falling into the logics of being an adult and with being a parent according to what others told her that she should. Instead of trying to fight for her own individuality-and what Randy considered could have been their possible version of eccentric happiness as parents together-she had complied with normalcy. She had only wanted to go the logical way; the way everyone else had gone, and now she was only half the woman that lived that impulsive and breathtaking life that Randy had fallen in love with. She tried to reach him, to force him to join her in these mundane patterns she fell into for the sake of the superficial label of the stereotype definition of what made a good parent, and although he couldn't deny that in many ways she was braver and stronger than he was, she also had long since lost her ability to experiment. Just because they became parents didn't mean that they had to sacrifice their own individual happiness or their own individual way of figuring out life in the way that would make them happy. Just like Randy was trying to do for himself and had been trying to do for himself as long as he could remember now.

But this.

This was more than Randy had bargained for. He stumbled over towards the flowing crops that grew beside the dirt road as he made his way over towards the front of the fence, the very same one that he had leaned on before when he had realized that the town was quite literally set on fire, and that too many people had died-more than he cared to think of for his comfort. And all because of Randy's impulsive actions in China. As he had leaned against the wooden fence and had gazed at the flaming and licking fires, he realized he had long since suppressed being redeemed. He was so scared, so uncharastically reflective as he watched the chaos of his beloved hometown quite literally explode in front of him, and not even Randy, with all of his perfectly constructed distractions inside of his mind and on all sides of his physical actions, not even with his every richly made denial that he told himself within his life that he did nothing wrong, and no matter how much he denied how painfully lost and hopeless he felt inside himself….none of it had worked that night. Even all the miles away from Tegrity Farms to South Park had he felt the licking heated flames of the town's demise, and all the mistakes that he had made that had not only let to his own suffering, but also to his family suffering, and even more so, the suffering of the entire town. It had rushed at him and choked him with an iron claw. He had quite literally killed more people that he could bother to count, both directly and indirectly, since he had started the farm, and although killing people had become a habit since he had moved to the farm, it had hardly been when he had been in a clear state of mind. It seemed almost oddly insignificant, Randy dared to think, the people he had killed in the past because of homegrowing in South Park-but somehow, wiping out half the world had hit him differently. For all of his flaws and all of his infamous nature, for all his unloveable quirks, he never thought he would get to the point where he no longer felt like a father; his main and golden identity. He never would have imagined that he was a father that would drive his son away, so much to the point that there didn't seem to be even the slightest bit of hesitation or remorse from his son's end.

"I have a soft spot for you, son, you know that?" Randy whispered against the whistling blowing of the wind as he pressed his elbows in front of him. A couple of months later and there was no longer that flaming fire that was dancing up in front of him that symbolized literal buildings being burnt down because of his actions, or of countless deaths that had been caused because of his few impulsive decisions. But still did the ghosts of the past torment his mind, and in a twisted way he almost wished he could go back to when there was that painted fire that he could stare at, reminding him of everything that had come to pass. At least that pain had had nothing to do with his son or how his son felt about him; at least that kind of pain hadn't caused to chase away his loved ones the way he clearly did now. The white hot self-loathing that he felt now went so deep that it cut him as if it was a physical feeling; he could physically feel the pain and throbbing inside of his chest.

He swallowed us he leaned forward, hardly caring about the way the splinters pointed at his skin, letting go of all physical strength as he instead allowed the fence to support his tired body. He felt as if he could barely speak, but he knew that he needed to. He always knew that he needed to talk to himself whenever he felt he had lost his way; anyone who he had ever been close with had long since disintegrated into somebody else, o a version of themselves that he no longer could recognize from a few years ago. He let out a dark chuckle as a realization overcame him. "But then again, I've disintegrated too, haven't I?" he murmured. In many ways he could no longer recognize even himself, and clearly his son felt the same.

He raised the note in front of him as he wrapped both fingers around it, leaning his elbows on the wood to get as supported and as comfortable as he could. He had already read it countless times, and even from the short walk over had he read it countless times in his mind's eyes. It was torment to read it, but he also knew that he had to read it; within these pained words written by his son where his every answer of where it had gone wrong. He had to understand his son, at least once. He had to let his son know, even if it was only by sitting here now and reflecting on his actions and the way that his son felt, that he did care.

Dear Randy,

I'm leaving because I can't stand how you act, and how you don't even seem to care. I'm leaving because even though you've always been a pretty awful father, there was something about what we shared together that always felt like it made it worth it at the end of the day. You gave me advice, you help me with sports, let me hang out with my friends after school. You didn't control my life and you didn't try to change me, either, for the most part. As long as your insecurities were controlled, you were a decent father, who sometimes even gave me good advice when I was scared or confused. You took care of me and my sister, and I did love you. And I did think you were the best father ever when I was younger. But that was a father who helped me with my boyband, who called out my addictions issues, who owned up to his mistakes. The one that wasn't always so high all the time that you could barely see your family in front of you.. I can't remember the last time you actually talked to me like a father, the last time you considered me. Even as I write this letter, I feel like maybe you'll just roll your eyes and continue smoking, and maybe you won't even care. Maybe you'll laugh and you'll go get high with one of your customers and laugh about how your family doesn't seem to be on the same page as you. The fact that I wouldn't even be surprised at this just goes to show how much you've changed. I tried to pretend like it's okay for so long, and I know that Mom will continue to pretend like it's okay and that my sister will just get angrier, but I'm done, You're going to have to deal with it on your own.

Because I'm done, and I'm not going to sit here and allow my life to be defined by you while you continue to do whatever it is you think is best. Because it's not best, dad, and it never has been, and at this point, the only thing that's best for me is by being away from you.

So I'm leaving. Don't try to look for me. I'm not going to be easy to find. I've made sure of that.

Stan

Randy 's watery eyes rested on his son's name, and he started at it until the word lost its meaning. The fact that he had even bothered to sign it made Randy's heart squeeze with a deep sensation of love that could only exist between a father and a son, and he felt himself smiling, with bittersweet tears coming from his eyes that seemed from nowhere and everywhere all the same time.

He reached out a finger and traced his hands against the side of the letters, which were written in a way that was so messy that only a parent could understand. That only Randy could understand. It seemed as if not even Sharon had fully understood the letter, or what Stan was truly saying under those words.

"I caused this didn't I, bud?" he whispered as he looked up in front of him. He read the words countless times as they sat in front of him, as if, somehow, they would have a different message if he allowed himself to read them over again. As if somehow they would change meaning, or that he would find a different solution inside of their codes that he hadn't seen before. A sign that Stan still loved him. But no matter how many times he read over the hastily written message, they were the same words, the same loathing for him. By the time he was done reading it for the countless times it did it seem as if the very words lost meaning, and by the time they lost their meaning, Randy's vision was too blurry with tears to understand them anyway.

He swallowed as he forced his eyes away from the letter, gazing at the crops that were swaying in the breeze without seeing anything at all. Normally seeing what he had grown from his own hands filled him with a sense of accomplishment, a sense that he truly was the best father ever, and also the best individual towards himself-the fact that he could provide for his family and give them these acres of land. But his son had a different love language-his entire family did. And clearly his son felt differently from him, and not even the deepest denial inside of Randy was able to keep him away from the truth that was quite literally communicated in front of him; shown to him through something as simple as the parchment held inside of his trembling fingers, through the erratic and unforgiving sense of his son's pain and how it was commuted through his angered writing that had been cursed on his paper. The undeniable truth that his son was on the brink of not loving him anyway, and Randy had to do anything he could to get him back.

He swallowed as he reached for his phone in his pocket, pressing his sweating hands against it. He didn't know who he was going to call, but he knew he wasn't just going to sit around here and listen to his wife telling him what a horrible man he was all afternoon. He needed to find productivity in his devastation, at the very least. He swallowed as he balanced his phone in the same hand he kept his letter in, scrolling aimlessly through his contacts after he hastily unlocked his screen, not wanting to think too much about the fact that his son was a part of the family photo on his screen. It was a family trip that they had made to get the photo, and even though the majority of the time Shelley had been complaining that she only wanted to go home to message her boyfriend, and even though Stand was apathetic most of the time and complained how he hated to play video games, and Sharon had been pooliety disinterested in Randy's suggestion of the idea, Randy remembered it as a day when they all truly feel like a family. A flawed family, but a family nonetheless. A family who loved each other, dysfunction and flaws and all.

This wasn't his family, whatever this was. This was a mess; a complete and utter bloodied mess, and Randy knew he had to do anything he could to fix it This wasn't the first time he had hurt his children with his actions, and it most certainly wouldn't be the last, and finally was Randy accepting enough of the natural flaws of his nature to understand that. He had to at least try to fix things, though, just as he always had in the past, and just as he would always continue to do, because, contrary to whatever his kids thought, he truly did love his family, more than even the ambition or the money he made on the farm. He only had to communicate it to them.

But where to begin?

He tapped his fingers against the screen as he thought about the guys he knew at the bar. The only people that he ever could have truly hung out with as an adult, the only people that he could bond over the same interests with. The guys who had comforted him when things had gone wrong with his family before. His thumb hesitated on Gerald's number as he considered him. They hadn't exactly been on the same page lately- they had ended up arguing over some of the ingredients inside of Randy's vegetarian burgers when he had allowed Gerlad to try them, and he hasn't heard from him ever since his scandal of killing the cows. Randy let out a deep breath as he continued to scroll down the contacts, gradually going through name by name, mostly feeling either indifference or dislike towards them all, only wishing that there was at least one he knew would answer him.

He hesitated as his eyes rested on the contact of Jimbo. The last time that he had seen Jimbo, it hadn't exactly been the most gracious of affairs. He had slapped him while he had been on the brink of a death of a virus that Randy himself had started, and though he had seen him when the town had celebrated that the virus was officially over, it seemed as if Jimbo had been trying to keep his distance. He hesitated as his fingertip danced against the name. He supposed that he couldn't apologize to his son, at least not right now, but at the very least maybe he could call and make up with someone where the hurt wasn't quite so intense- where it wasn't quite so personal, as if a physical knife was being jarred through his heart. He pressed his hand against the name, and instantly did the phone's screen switch into calling mode. Randy felt a shoot of panic go through him, but after a moment did he dare to press the phone against his ears. There was a long, unforgiving wait for a moment; and for half of a self loathing second Randy wondered why he even bothered calling. He didn't know if Jimbo had the kind of phone that told him who was calling, but he did know that if Jimbo found out who was him calling, he certainly wouldn't take the call. He felt his self-loathing and his hopelessness increase even deeper when it went to voicemail, but he dared it to allow himself to leave a message. It wasn't much, but at the very least he could do that much.

"Uh-hey, Jimbo," he stammered. His voice was soft, slow, and unsure, and Randy felt like such a fool. "I know that it's been awhile, and I know it...it was kinda awkward the last time we saw each other." He clicked his tongue, took a deep breath, and then tried again. He rolled his shoulders, feeling a new sense of determination strike through him. "Look, I just wanted to sit down and talk about everything that's been going on these past few months. I was dealing with a lot the last time I saw you and I was really, really scared about something, and I was just doing the best that I could with the situation. I just want to-I just want to explain everything about the hospital and everything, and if you want to sit down and just like-I dunno, grab a beer and just chill out like old times, that would be totally awesome." He paused, knowing just how pushy he sounded whenever he fell into his natural confidence and extroverted nature. He closed his eyes, then took another breath. "But if you don't want to, you know, I totally get it. I know things aren't the same between us and that everything's totally different now. But like, if you ever wanted to, I'm totally up for it, alright? Just let me know."

He was just about to press his fingertip on the button to end the call. Much to his surprise was there a sudden sound of the receiver from the other side of the phone, a slight rustling, and finally the friendly and congested voice of Jimbo quickly answered from the other side.

"Randy, " Jimbo spoke. His voice sounded friendly, but strained. "I didn't think I would ever hear from you again like this."

Randy leaned forward further on the fence. He couldn't explain it, but there was a deep-seated knowing just from the way that Jimbo spoke that Randy knew that he wasn't supposed to notice, but did nonetheless.

"He's there, isn't he?" Randy whispered. He felt crazy just for speaking it out loud, but he didn't even need to hear Jimbo's answer to know that his instincts were right.

"He wasn't going to talk to you," Jimbo responded. "But he heard your voicemail, and I guess... I guess he wants to give it another try. He really doesn't want to give up on you, Randy."

Randy smiled in a bitter fashion, and without even knowing it did he feel a lone tear fall down the side of his cheek. It felt so real and not real at the same time- the confirmation that his son did still love him. He tasted the salt in between the crevice of his lips as it trailed downward.

"Yeah, yeah," Randy whispered. "Me too."

"He's been here for the past couple of hours, settling in and everything else," Jimbp explained. "The only reason why I answered your phone call is because Stan over here heard your message, and I guess it got the little guy seeing this all in a different light. He's got a soft heart, Randy, and he's a good kid. A really, really good kid.

Randy heistied, a pained pause speaking more than words ever could.

"I know," he finally choked out. He sniffed as he brought his sleeve to his wet face, rubbing his checkered shirt against his tears. "I know."

"Don't worry about apologizing to me, alright? I just worry about Stan and his health right now."

Randy squeezed his hands further against the fence. With another breeze did the smell of weed fly into his face yet again, but it didn't give him the usual joy or pride it normally would have. None of it mattered to him within that moment, not in the slightest. The only thing his mind consisted of was the image of his son as he sat inside of his uncle's house, trying to run away from the one person that was always meant to take care of him. The one role that Randy was always meant to fill, no matter what other mistakes he made in his life.

"I'll be there in an hour," Randy croaked. "I promise."

For the first time did Randy feel as if he actually not only believed in the words that he spoke, but that it was coming from a place that Randy himself didn't even know existed-a virtuous, loving, selfless place that was nothing but moral, raw good.

He only hoped Stan could see this side of himself, too.

"Baby"

Faceless tries to convince Randy to call her baby

"Awh-come on, Faceless," Randy urged. He placed his two elbows even firmer against the side of the counter, as if that could somehow ground him in his answer further. "You know it's just not really my thing, hun. It's just-it's just too feminine, or something. It would feel weird going around saying that, even to you. You know I'm just not comfortable with it. Just not my thing, you know?"

This was currently the first and only time that she had mentioned it-the first time other than today, anyway. But that day in particular was the third time she had mentioned her hesitant request, and she found that not even then did she feel that she requested it enough. It was so uncharacteristic and so unlike her to constantly be so loud about exactly what she wanted from him; more often than not, the only thing that she ever wanted or ever needed to be satisfied with Randy was to simply have him be who he was naturally. To wake up to him in and of itself was, as far as she was concerned, all that she ever needed to be happy and satisfied when it came to being with him.

That was still completely and resoundly true, just as much as it has always been throughout their relationship, but for the time being did she feel as if there was something on the tip of her wavering tongue that was an unusual and uncharacteristic request that have been dancing against the front of her lips that she hadn't been able to ignore even if she had wanted to. From the moment that she had woken up that morning that one request, that one simple thing that she dared to want to ask from him-one she normally wouldn't even dare ask at least in regard to how he loved her-had been torturing on the front of her lips. Though she had tried to fight it intentionally, she had found, unlike her other occasional impulsive urges, that this one demanded to be heard. Though she was, more often than not, filled with utter contentment with the way he loved her in whatever way that came to be the most natural to him, the exception was the request that danced at the top of her lips.

"Can you call me baby?" It was the first statement that had left her lips when she had woken up that morning. Randy had looked over at her with a bewildered, sleepy expression, eyes gently reddened with the sleepiness of his still waking form. He blinked at her several times, as if he didn't quite believe what he had heard. His expression was spoiled with an adorable lostness, executed by his boyish exhaustion.

"Huh?" he had mumbled, looking over at her with his adorably charming, slow look on his face as he blinked at her with heavy, sleepy eyes. Randy was a slow waker; at least when he was allowed to be. When the snappy fingers of Sharon didn't wake him up, he would, more often than not, wake up with a slowness that was almost innocent in the way it was executed. He had still been waking up even as she had spoken of her admitted conflict, meeting his own disposition that was dressed in nothing but his underwear as the plump curve of his stomach spilled over his underwear.

Faceless had swallowed, and then she tried again. She had felt bad even just for considering the request, for asking even this small request from him-but at the same time, this was the one thing that she made an exception for. It was the one thing that her spirit practically screamed out for. For reasons that she couldn't understand, admittedly. She didn't need to understand why that pet name in particular was so important to her; she felt the urge to be called it regardless. She felt it, and that was all she needed to know.

She had reached out her own trembling hand as she gently traced against the side of his arm, the black hair of his arms tickling against her touch. She was looking at him with an uncertainty that glinited inside of her eyes, even as she felt her confidence leaking and pounding inside of her. No matter what else was true, she knew that was what she wanted.

"Can you call me baby?" she had repeated again. "I know-I know that it doesn't really seem like it would be your thing, but I just-I was just wondering if maybe, if at all possible, you would be interested-"

"Come on, sweetheart," Randy had grumbled, his own voice coming out in the unusually raspy way it did in the mornings as he hoisted himself upward. "Let's not worry about this right now, okay? The only thing that matters is just taking care of business today. You know how much we both have to take care of today, right?" He looked over at her and gave her that soft, gentle smirk that danced across and completed his already pretty features. Despite his attempt at unswayed confidence, there was some sort of rich hesitance inside of him that she could sense that was no doubt brought on by her request. She knew him well enough to tell that there was something about the request that had made him uncomfortable. It wasn't like him to brush her off-unless he was caught up in something so much to the point that he wasn't thinking about others in general. She knew that she had pushed him a little too far already that morning. She had taken a deep breath, took in his slightly ridged disposition that her request had thrusted upon him, and then nodded. Randy had smiled, relief flooding his softened green eyes.

"Well, good!" he chuckled. "Let's get going then, huh?" They had both made their way to the bathroom, and the rest of the morning had gone on with its usual routine, as peaceful and as loving as it always. Yet it seemed as if there was some sort of sense of strain between the two of them now that the requests had been spoken, but had so easily and abruptly shut down by Randy; it was unusual for their relationship, which so often was about patience that they had given one another that had been robbed from somewhere else within their lives of their still healing past. As the day went on, she tried not to think about it too much as best as she could as they had gone about their day, which mostly consisted of running around with their creaseless but passionate errands as much as it always did.

Randy had become increasingly more cheery as the day had gone on; something that seemed most natural to him those days now that he was living a life of passion that he actually believed in. It seemed as if, slowly but surely, their usual soft and gentle dynamic between one another began to take place, and the request that had been clumsily asked for was eventually forgotten from whatever awkward crevice of her mind that it had come out from before. Gradually did they fall back into the usual softness, understanding, and sense of unconditional love that they always had for each other. By midafternoon, had they fallen back into the most natural tenderness that they gave one another.

But as she stood there in line, waiting for Randy to get some of the products that he insisted he needed for his next big weed event, she couldn't help but feel the hurt start to leak out from her denial. Even as she had leaned against Randy's comforting warmth, she couldn't help but feel the reflection bleed further. She couldn't help but wonder if there was something that needed to be spoken; that perhaps she needed to ask the request again.

Before she could find the answer within herself, she knew that she had to speak it. At least one last time. She needed that much. She would try her luck, trying to ignore the squeeze of anxiety inside of her chest, and slowly had she turned her head to the side, looking at Randy as she felt that hardly helped resistance tremble on her lips for a second time. She felt herself melt as she was reminded once again of his prettiness that was executed by his innocence; there was his heated excitement executed on his expression as he looked forward excitedly at the products he was buying. He was bouncing on his heels as he looked up in front of him, no doubt looking forward to the imagined event that was being perfectly patched and executed in his mind.

"This is it, Faceless!" he breathed. "This is going to be the event that knocks everyone off their ass. No one will ever be able to stop talking about it!"

She smiled as she looked over at him, slowly allowing her lips to find his shoulder as she pressed her kiss against him. She couldn't help but get caught up in everything he did, most especially when he was in his most heartfelt element within that moment, which he always was whenever he was caught up in his relentless passion, such as he was now.

"Well, hey!" Randy chuckled,, kindly and playfully, as he turned his expression to look over at Faceless. "What was that for?"

His voice was kind, cheerful, innocent, accommodating, and of course, appreciative of the love she gave him. He was someone that was always waiting to be showered in love, as if he was so soft and so horribly desperate to be reassured he was valuable and wanted that he would do anything possible to get that warm validation at any given moment. The way he melted when he did was the wordless answer he gave her that this was entirely, painstakingly true.

She smiled as she looked up at him, allowing a soft, genuine appreciation to tug at her lips. "I just wanted to kiss you," she murmured. She smiled as she leaned forward and nuzzled her nose against him, but subconsciously did she know that she was trying to prepare herself for what she was about to ask of him. Randy must have sensed it too; the man was rarely quiet unless he was preparing himself for something emotionally. "And also…" she paused for a moment, gently grazing her teeth against his fabric as she felt her heart pound against her chest incessantly, right along with her nerves. The request was begging to be spoken, and even though she knew she normally wouldn't dream of pushing him towards something that had made him uncomfortable in the past for even half a moment, she also knew that she had to at least try one last time to fight for her happiness. " I just want to know if you felt any differently…." she distracted herself as she tugged at the buttons on his shirt, pulling at the loose strands-which were many, considering the feeble and free way Randy lived. "Just about...the whole baby thing I brought up this morning. I just wanted to see if you... if you still feel the same way." She felt the red dust and burn at her cheeks; it was almost unbearable.

Randy looked at her for a moment without saying anything; an act that was unusually uncharacteristic for him, who usually almost always stumbled over himself to give her a response in any way that he could as quickly as he could, for better or for worse. The excitement dimmed on his face, replaced by an unreadable, stoic expression. She felt her heart forcefully squeezing in her chest as she met his own expression, giving him one soft, shy smile as she fluttered up her eyes and gave him a quick shrug. She very rarely, if ever, felt shy or ever felt awkward around him, knowing that the both of them were safe from all sides of themselves, but she also knew this was one of those very strange conversations between the two of them where they didn't instantly connect. It was incredibly rare that that happened between the two of them; so much to the point that whenever it did happen, she felt as if it wasn't really happening at all, but rather did she feel she was merely misinterpreting his emotions.

But his eyes were flickering uncomfortably as he looked at her, and she couldn't deny just how off guard he looked. Much to her relief, it only lasted for about half a moment before his usual tenderness-which was a part of him just as much as the muscles that he used to be able to love her and to memorize every way she moved-quickly fell back into its usual softer expression as he granted her a quick smile, showing off his his white teeth that perfectly matched the blackhiar of his moustache.

"Ok...ok, honey," he responded gently. "Don't worry about it for now, all right? Just-just don't think about it. We have a great thing going together. We don't have to force or rush any other elements about it, you know?" He leaned forward as he pressed his lips against the side of her forehead, reaching out his other hand that was currently being completely drowned in enthusiasm as he waited for the items that he had bought in record time as he gently allowed his lip massage against the side of her forehead.

She let out her own soft murmur of understanding she leaned forward and allowed herself to be gently massaged by his lips, and let out a sigh. She was disappointed- but not surprised-at the vagueness of his answer. She let herself be spoiled against him softly regardless; that was one promise she would never deny herself-which was the healing way he felt against her.

"Let's just take it easy, sweetheart," he murmured against her forehead. "Let's just…. let's not think about it too much, ok? I know that we got a lot of stuff that we have going on lately anyway, so let's just focus on all that, you know? We got a lot of crap going on and it's going to be a totally awesome and amazing time tonight, and everyone's going to have the time of their lives. Don't need to make it complicated with any extra conversations right now."

She smiled as she recognized the way that he was already trying to tiptoe away from the conversation as tenderly as he could. She understood the codes that he was unintentionally speaking all too well, knowing the languages of him like the back of her hand. For the time being all she could manage in response was a small nod of understanding.

"Alright," she said softly, giving him a strained smile as best as she could manage. Slowly did she lean forward as she allowed her lips to spoil the side of his body, which he leaned into with his usual excited reprieve. He let out his own soft moan of relief and gratitude, no doubt relieved that she didn't push the subject, unlike his previous partner. He allowed himself to be tenderly spoiled by her touch, melting his comforting body weight fully against her own. He returned the favor by reaching out and wrapping his arms around her waist-his usual spot for his arms to find their rest-as he gently pulled her inside of his embrace so that she was as close as could be.. He let out a gruff of satisfaction as he felt her hands as they rested on his chest.

"Yeah, there we go," he rasped, his usual satifciation and homeliness that was almost always present within her voice making her feel she was home, always, without fail. "Now let's get going and get this party started when we get back home, alright? It's gonna be an incredible time, I promise you that, babe." He looked at her through the reddened veins of his influenced eyes, almost always weighed down by his weed, and granted her a tender smile, followed by a squeeze of his hands against her hips. He then turned back towards the register man in front of him, letting out his own self, drawl hums all the while as he did so.

As he returned back to his usual confidence, lack self and his usual enthusiasm, Faceless couldn't help but feel a strike of guilt. It really had been the worst place to bring up such a subject within that space, and it really hadn't been the best place to bring up something that was so intimate with so many different layers that they both had to fight through. Randy was here for his event; he was here for something he had been working his entire life for. Finally was he happy, and she was making even just this one day more complicated for him more than it needed to be. She mentally hit herself that she had even considered for even half of the moment that it has been a good idea. She rolled her shoulders as she straightened her bones upward, trying to collect herself as best as she could. As Randy got his products, which were handed to him in a plastic bag so large it was big enough to live in-with Randy's excited smile that was just as big to match- she couldn't help but hope that there would be too much chaos tonight for her to reflect too much on the disaster that her actions had caused. She followed him shortly from behind as they made their way out the door, Randy skipping more than he was walking.

They drove home, which, for the most part, consisted of their usual chatting, with their natural loving patterns making itself present to one another. Despite the usual normalcy of what they were falling into now that the awkwardness was, once again, falling away into forgettable memory, Faceless couldn't help but be aware of an unusual sensation that she had never felt with him before. It was an emotion that she instantly recognized, and yet one she wanted to will away as best as she could, but still it was theore, glaring at her with invisible, demanding eyes. The feeling was persistently and unapologetically spoiling her consciousness, rearing its ugly head and forcing her to take in its details. Despite how much she tried to push it away, she was experiencing the green tinged feeling nonetheless. It was the soft, gentle sting of guilt that was pounding against the side of her mind, and even though she tried to ignore it as best she could, she couldn't help but feel emotionally exhausted as she felt the way its presence lingered persistently inside of her mind. Randy was being his usual babbling, bumbling self; she tried to strain her focus to listen to the way that Randy was chattering about everything that he had planned for the day. With the slight wavering of the car, it was clear that Randy wasn't focused on driving within his frantic excitement for his planned event. Despite the stagnant, miserable lie of her forced happiness she was thrusting on herself for the moment, she couldn't help but smile as she took in the scatterbrained nature of his mind that she never failed to find painfully endearing.

"You excited for this event, honey?" Randy insisted, voice almost slurring in his excitement as he got lost in his words. "There's gonna be a couple of entertainers-you know, for the guys and all-and a bunch of stuff for women and a bunch of party favors that people are gonna flip their shit over!"

"It sounds like fun," Faceless admitted, smiling as she reached out her hand and caressed it against his thigh the way she always did; her own wordless and loving way of keeping him grounded. She could feel him trembling in his excitement, and it only served to make him more adorable.

"Hell yeah, it is!" Randy bursted, letting out a small jump in his seat. "It totally is! No one's ever gonna believe what's gonna happen tonight! It's all anyone's gonna be talking about for months-Aw-shit! Asshole!" He pounded his fist against the steering wheel, flaring as he just barely managed to dodge a car that honked its own car as it swerved to the side.

Despite the usual storm that was Randy, Faceless found comfort in everything he was-golden, impulsive enthusiasm and everything else besides. He was precious, through and through. As she heard the way that he stumbled over his passion the way that he always did, she felt a peace overcome her, at least for the duration on the way home. She adored everything about him and his storm, and she always would. At the same time, she couldn't help but feel something inside of her that seemed as if it was a little too isolated with the desired element that she had been longing for before she knew that even she had wanted it.

She wasn't exactly sure why the pet name means so much to her more than any other one she had been called before. She did know that she found it the most tender, loving, and utterly intimate name she had ever known before, and the thought of being called it by Randy-someone that she loved, and felt understood by, just as known by, as much as she was by Randy so naturally-was enough to make her feel as if her body was entering another plane of existence in the most welcomed fashion. She knew that to be called something so tender by Randy-a man that could so often be so aggressive and arrogant within his wishes and desires, and most certainly didn't shy away from telling someone when he thought something was "too lame" for him-would be a layered promise that he loved her especially so as the word left his lips.

But that was where the inherent disconnect that had occurred between the two of them and how they loved each other; how they wanted to love each other, which was rooted in the essential and the deep-seated idea that, at the core of who they were, Randy wasn't really somebody who felt comfortable-at least not as far as she could see-calling her that. He was always so concerned about being a "bro", so concerned about making sure that everyone around him saw him as masculine and "cool", despite the fact that he had a natural childlike nature of his own that he's didn't seem to be fully aware of, and possibly was even in denial about, at least to some extent. She could see the way that he was hyper self-conscious about the way that other men saw and perceived him, and even women. People in general, truth be told. Randy wanted to impress anyone and everyone. He never wanted to come across as too soft, too much of a pushover, or anything else people could possibly ever put a label on. The thought repulsed him. If anything was important to Randy, it was certainly his ego. She knew it came from a deep seated sense of insecurity, and he would fall into those more tortured parts of himself without even conscious knowing, again and again and again. She understood this, and she allowed him to present whatever side of himself that made him most comfortable; after all, there was nothing else that made her herself more comfortable than to allow him to do whatever made him comfortable.

And yet.

Complete and relentless unhappiness continued to pound inside of her at all hours on that day in particular, continuing to be the only thing that she felt even as she followed him inside while he carried the rest of the products to the kitchen, trying to focus the best that she could on his own adorable humming. But that incessant sting of rejection simply would not leave her alone.

"Whoa-whauh!" Randy bellowed, letting out a loveable huff and a look of panic as he financially tried to balance the products inside of his arms. The products were already starting to fall from his grasp, and she chuckled as she leaned down and picked up the fallen products and placed them inside of her own arms, leaning forward as she lovingly pecked him on the cheek.

"Let me help, darling," she murmured.

"Ru-really?" Randy gruffed. "Yeah, that would be incredible, honey. Guess I bite more than I can chew sometimes, huh?" He shouldered her playfully, causing yet more products to fall. "Dammit!" Randy hissed. A look of hopelessness crossed his features, and his loveable, clumsy vulnerability only served to make her feel that warmth strike through her again. She put the stuff she had taken from him on the counter, feeling unnaturally heavy inside her chest in a way that she hadn't felt since she had found Randy and the soft warmth he had given her since he had come into her life. As she pressed one last kiss on the side of his cheek with Randy humming all the while as he started to clumsy get the products together, she herself started to focus on getting everything ready as best as she could.

With Randy's endless rich excitement and the events of the people coming in, the night had gone on, full of the endless diversity of people that Randy had a talent for attracting. Randy had a welcomed fire inside of his actions at all times, and it drew in far more people than either of them had expected. The night went on, the hours trailing on, full of events that made the hours go by relentlessly quickly in a way that was true to the fashion of Randy. He was drunk and stumbling by eight, arms waving around he threw a hand on customer's shoulder's, sporting a look of annoyance from them, but Randy was far too lost in his own happiness to care. For all the chaos the people caused and the seemingly countless conversations that surrounded her, she felt it go by slowly, at least in regards to how her own feelings were concerned.

She was already feeling exhausted by the end of the night. Randy stumbled through the debris left behind from the party as he clumsy wrapped his arms around her, pressing his own lips against the side of her face, alcoholic breath and musty weed wrapping around her.

"Well? Whaddya think, huh?" Randy slurred. At some point in the night had he taken his shirt off; his soft, plush body was spilling over the sides of his pants, the cold sweat of his skin wrapping around here. which was full of all his usual messiness that was almost always present within him at the end of every given day. No doubt he'd spent the majority of the afternoon sharing people's joints, sharing as many germs as humanly possible, and, in general, being as impulsive of a man as he possibly could. It was what made him feel alive; she knew this about him most of all.

She smiled as she felt the weight of his lips pressed against the side of her cheek, tasting not only of himself, but also the countless other people that he had touched and come into contact with that afternoon. She let out a much needed breath as she felt herself lean backward inside of his arms, turning her head to the side as she felt the way her neck was being spoiled by the side of his lips.

"Pretty sweet night, huh?" Randy chuckled as he continued to graze his teeth against her throat, nuzzling his nose against the side of her let out a shaky breath as she memorized the way that he nuzzled his black moustache against her, the whispers of the gentleness of his facial hair tickling up against the side of her body. She shivered as you memorized the feeling of his own soft, gentle jelly skin as it caressed against the side of her hips, the hill of his stomach serving as the perfect compliment to her own starved body.

She didn't know how she could ever allow herself to feel anything bad, when she knew this.

"It was a pretty good night," she murmured, slitting open one eye and gazing at him gently.

Randy's eyes widened with an adorable hope of her validation as he gazed at her. "Yeah? You-you really think?" he stammered. An adorable hiccup left his lips, and she smirked as she gazed at his heavy hooded eyes. She nodded as she pressed her fingers against the side of his love handles, squeezing her hands against them gently. No matter what hardly comprehensible thoughts she was having herself, she knew that she, at the very least, she could conjure up the warm feelings that she felt for him at all hours.

"Exactly the way that you always manage it every time." She allowed a genuine smile to trace her lips as she met his own shining green ones; ones that were still red-rimmed on the sides with the high that he was still experiencing. Even so, in his detachment from the rest of the world, there was a softened gentleness in his vision that leaked out from him in his messy disposition, and the foggy heaviness did nothing to lessen from the striking passion he was clearly experiencing. There was a that softened and golden passion inside of him at all hours, even in his most impulsive and violent moments; and even when he was slightly separated from the rest of the world. She allowed the tug of comfort that he gave her to lift up on the corners of her lips even further as she leaned forward and grazed her lips against the side of his cheeks. Randy let out a raspy chuckle as he allowed the pressure of her lips to crash against his own skin, messy in the way it was executed with the cold, dampened sweat of his body as it mixed in with the soft touch of her kiss. Saliva traced against his skin as she grazed her tongue against the soft carving of his cheek; a messy sensation, but one she still wanted to fall into in its entirety. Soon did her lips travel from the side of his skin as they made their way over to his lips, which were trembling with their own hungry anticipation as she grazed her lips against his own. He was trembling, as always with Randy; he was either completely stagnant in his heavy highs, or radiating and shaking with excitement. He was often a swinging pendulum, going from one extreme to the other; a maddening unpredictability of one combination of one extreme or another.

She leaned her head back as she felt the way he danced and pressed his lips against the inside of her own, adoring the soft pressure of his mouth as it combined beautifully with the soft ticking if his moustache against her own mouth, which was now, unashamedly, watering with invitation. The warmth of his own skin pressed against her and surrounded her from all sides of her body, and she felt herself trembling with a softened relief; not just from his lips and from the way that his tongue was caressing her, but also his arms; the way that they were wrapping around her hips the same. She let out her own hardly resisted moan as she felt the way that Randy was now tearing his lips against hers; not wanting anything other than his addicting, honeyed sensation of his lips against hers; with all of the musty smell of saliva against her lips along with it. She only wanted to fall into the encouraging, healing warmth that was the love they shared together forever. To have what she felt with him she wanted to last a lifetime. She knew neither of them really believed in such things as individuals, but together did the notion not seem completely laughable, but rather just….true.

She let her own soft mumble against his lips,, and softly, subconsciously did she trace her fingers inside of his. She felt Randy's lips, limp from desire, slump with a smirk as he continued to caress his mouth against her own. "You want to take this upstairs, honey?" Randy whispered against her lips. "I really, really need a nice old fashioned after today. Took a lot out of me, ya know?" Faceless allowed her own lips to meet his smirk, and with one soft squeeze of her fingers against the spaces of his was her answer made clear.

The next few days passed rather uneventfully, and nothing changed between them with the strain of her request; though the confidence and love they shared seemed to be overcoming whatever weakness or conflict that could have been present in their relationship. Randy kissed her, over and over again, every time he got the chance, and the nights were full of breathless kisses and softened skin under even softer bedsheets after a long day of his essence becoming the combination of fired fresh air as he took on the world.

There was an occasional strain of her touch as she touched him throughout all hours, but none that either of them couldn't shake off. But Randy noticed, and he knew, and Faceless could see it in his glinting eyes that, for all their carefree innocence, he perceived far more than anyone ever gave him credit for. Including himself.

He continued to call her the usual pet names that he had throughout the entirety of their relationship; there were just as soft and as sweet as they always were as they graced her ears with all of their softened tenderness that was so tender that it only could have come from a man as naturally clumsily simple as Randy. The pet names of sweetheart, honey, babe, and anything else that he had ever called all his other women partners he ever had before were still the only names for her that left his lips. Through she knew he had called all his partners from his youth the same names before, she tried not to take it as a sign that what she shared with him was only a cookie cutter pattern of the relationships that he had shared with any other woman, or that his relationship that he had with her was replaceable by the others. S

till, even with her visible mental effort, the thought lingered. She knew that he felt the same way about her as she did about him, at least in the sense that what they shared was almost suffocatingly passionate to a pleasured degree that only the most twisted and romantic of souls could understand, and she only knew that he called her those names because they were the ones he was decidedly the most used to. And comfortable with. Randy was, after all, a man of comfort.

She felt the small hairs on her skin stand tall every time she heard herself be called them, and every single time did it feel like a gentle caress against the side of her mind. Everything that he spoke, in general, was always something that was completely and utterly honeyed and healing for her to listen to, feeling as if his very thoughts were her own personal version of angelic with the words he was speaking. Even if he wasn't speaking to her. There were always slurred, and messily executed, but always were they there; full of his own clumsy gentleness that he always tried to give others. She absolutely adored being able to talk to him at all hours of the day, and even more so by feeling the way that he would press himself against her skin, leaning on her as much as she did him. Their love was just as rich as it had always been, through and through, and only grew in its golden execution.

But still that hole was there, and still does she feel that sensation that simply wouldn't go away of feeling as if a bridge needed to be crossed between them. Though it became less noticeable as the days went on, still was it there, poking, prodding, and even dancing against her at all sides. Her own personal jester of tormented insecurity.

It wasn't until one day when Randy was going on yet another rant one busy afternoon, with her frantically helping him with the vegetables to make some snacks, when it had left his lips; the exact word she had been waiting for.

"You know, babe, this stuff is already starting to stock up lately, don't you think?" he grumbled, frantically fluttering his eyes in front of him as he clumsily reached for a carrot in front of him. It was pretty rare when he actually assisted with the cooking- or with anything that didn't instantly connect with the weed, but she knew that he had an especially special soft spot for cooking, considering his past passion for it.

"What do you mean?" she said softly. She could hardly register even the conversation they were having, she had been so busy that whole day, and so tired within her foggy mind. He shrugged as he continued to look down at the carrot up in front of him, gazing at it with all the intense passion that she always knew that he held inside him, no matter what he was doing; even when he got into one of those moods where he could hardly focus at all. He was so full of his natural creativity and bulldozer passion in that way.

" I just- I just mean-all the stuff I've bought and created-I thought it would make it better out here, you know? When I first came out here, I wasn't really sure if this was going to lead anywhere, but goddamn if I would ever let my family know that, because they already try to patronize me every second they get the chance! But...but like...I feel like, maybe, that I've really done a really great stuff with this place, don't you? I mean, I've connected with people in this town in a way that I never have before. I have authority in this town that I never really did before! Isn't that awesome? Sure, I was always good at reading people and helping people out in a crisis and everything in with my science, but nowadays people are going here to the daily just to be able to get a little bit of relaxation to help them get through the day! If you ask me, I think we're helping out a lot of people, and I think it's pretty damn exciting." He sighed, putting down the carrot, despite having done nothing with it. "But I don't know, honey. It can get so tiring sometimes. All these other business are comin' out on top too-and its so fucking tiring trying to figure out how to keep Tegirty Farms on top."

Faceless smiled with a soft, saddened understanding as she placed down the food in front of her. The cabbage that she had been peeling was now resting against the counter as she laid down the leaves, which she had been working on with a just as equally fired fashion to match Randy's energy. She now gripped the chopping knife with just as much precision as she gazed in front of her. "I agree, darling," she murmured. "I think everything that you've done, everything you are, everything that you continue to do, really is one of the most significant things that's happened in the town of the longest time. I know I only just moved here a little while ago, but I can definitely say that I'm the most proud of all that I can be with you out of everyone." That was the understatement of her life; it was almost a joke that it even needed to be said out loud. "But I can see how hard you work, and how tired you are, baby."

Randy paused for a moment as he gripped his own hands against the side of his own chopping knife that rested against the forgotten orange vegetable. There was a slitter of thought in his eyes as he considered her words. After a moment he set it down as he looked over at her, black eyelashes blinking frantically as he gazed at her slowly. the midnight of his lashes tracing up against the glinting, curious green of his eyes.

"Really?" he breathed, his voice coming out in that soft, gentle tone in that way that almost always made her feel as if she was being crumbled into the dust of gold as he crushed her, gently, with the infatuation that he gave her as he looked at her. He swallowed thickly as he looked at her softly, holding his breath as he waited with intimate anticipation for a response. For all his confidence, validation meant so much to him.

She turned towards him, giving him a smile that was followed by a confident nod. "Really," she repeated back at him. "I really mean it, Randy/ I really can't imagine anyone else that I could ever be more proud to be with. But I don't love you and feel about you the way I do-I don't treat you and talk to you the way that I do-because of anything that you accomplish. I love you because you exist, Randy, through and through. You shine the most out of anybody that I've ever seen within this town, sweetheart, and perhaps that's one of the reasons why some people simply can't accept you, or convince themselves that they don't like you. You just glow, honey." She swallowed, seeing the red that was forming at the side of his eyes, and not just from the weed he had smoked that morning. "You're so much...you're so much to take in, but that's the exact reason why you're so wonderful. You're so unapologetically you throughout all the hours of the day, no matter what anybody does or doesn't tell you, and that's what so many people don't have. So many people wish they could stay true to themselves, but don't know how, and probably never will, because they're simply not as brave and so authentically talented at being true to themselves as you are. You have a gift, Randy, and there's something about you that's simply...breathtaking because of the way that you just completely fall into your truth and into who you are, no matter what happens to you, and no matter who throws anything at you. It's because of that ….just to simply know you, much less to live with you and to spend my life with you, is incredible. Something that's a gift that I'll never be able to get over that I received."

Randy looked at her for a moment, his eyes trembling as his own eyes glittered underneath his own disbelieving expression. He was frozen, but after a moment did he simply swallow and nod.

"Well, can't argue with all that," he chuckled as he looked over at her. Despite his teasing demeanor, the truth of how much it truly meant to him was written all over his face. "You really, you really mean it, babe?" His voice was coming out as a gentle whisper, full of all that gentle gold passion inside of him that was always leaking out in so many different directions.

She smiled as she nodded, taking him in fully. "I do," she said softly. I mean everything that I ever see within you, Randy. I don't think I could ever have been more in love with you, or crazy about you, even if I tried."

Randy put the knife down as he looked over at her, leading his own hand against the side of the counter. She was convinced that she had never seen any man that was so beautiful, so perfectly innocent in their own perfectly twisted way before such as he was, with the way his own naturally tender features melted as he gazed at her with disbelief washing over him, with that frantic blinking inside of his expression as he gazed at her with his boylike disbelief. He swallowed as he took her in, red lips trembling as his emotions overcame him.

Finally, did someone believe in him. No jokes, no patronizing, no double meaning. Just endless, countless love.

"You're incredible, baby," he whispered, the name tumbling out of his lips as if it were tied by a string that had been waiting to be yanked, and only know was it being properly pulled out. Faceless' eyes widened as she took in the pet name, raising up her eyebrows as she looked at him with disbelief. Her heart stopped; her fingers trembled, her blood ran cold.

"What did you say?" she whispered as she looked over at him, feeling her own voice tremble as they left her own closing throat.

Randy granted her a quick smile, then gently did he reach out his hand and rub the back of his neck. "I guess….I guess-I called you baby?" he admitted after a moment. His eyes flickered up at her, gauging for her reaction. "That's what you wanted from me, right? That's the name that really gets you going, that totally makes you melt?" He gazed at her for any signs of confirmation as his eyes searched her to see if he had said the right thing.

After a moment did a smile break on Faceless' expression; she couldn't have suppressed or fought the happiness that danced on her features even if she tried. "Randy," she whispered. She felt her lips curving into a smile that was so wide it was almost maddening. "Just when I think that you couldn't possibly give me any more, you somehow just do." She choked on her words as she spoke to him, and she found that she could no longer concentrate on the vegetables in front of her-not just because of the glory that was inside of her expression, but also from the way that she could she could no longer stop herself some shaking as she looked over her husband.

Randy smirked in the sweetest fashion she had ever seen anyone smirk. He raised out both of his arms for her to fall into.

"Come here, sweetheart," he encouraged gently, looking at her with his own trembling emotion that transferred to his voice that spoke of all the gentleness she knew he possessed inside of him. A tender honeyed warmth that she had never even known existed until she met him. She tenderly smiled as she threw herself forward and allowed herself to fall into his warm embrace, the soft hill of his stomach pressing and caressing against her skin; her very favorite sensation. Randy let out his own light, adorable moan as he allowed herself to be fully comforted against the front of her body as his own fleshy stomach completed the embrace. He let out his own soft, lovable, completely and utterly almost inhuman sigh that was incomprehensibly tender with a way only his sweetened soul managed. She met him fully with her own sigh as she wrapped herself around the side of his love handles and nuzzled herself further against his chest, feeling the way his chest hair was caressing and tickling her as it grazed underneath his own soft checkered shirt. He gently began to caress his hand against her own back, feeling the way that she melted under his touch the way that she always did.

"I really do want to give you everything that you want out of me, baby," Randy sighed as he pressed his lips against the top of her hair. "I just-it's so hard sometimes, you know? Trying to find different parts of me…..different sides of me that I didn't even know existed, and finding them only based on the person that you're currently with and are loving. Sharon was so different from you, sweetheart. She didn't even care half the time when I even called her a pet name or whenever I tried to be sweet with her. All she wanted out of me was just to work harder, to help more around the house, to try to get her more shit, to try to do more extravagant things for her. It was indigenous. Total crap. I'm not used to being with a woman who actually appreciates and cherishes the smaller things that I try to give her, ya know? I feel like I did everything I could to love her and to make sure that she felt like she was appreciated, but I only felt pushed aside whenever I tried to love her in my love language. So I guess...I find myself just-frustrated, and I just gave up after a certain point." His shoulders slumped as the unwanted experience left his lips, the confession full of pain as he continued to gently pressed against her, his lips pressing and resting against the top of her head. "But yeah...this makes sense," he whispered after a moment, complete and genuine contentment gently dancing against the front of his lips as he nodded against her. "Whatever it is that makes you love me and me love you, whatever commonality we have...whatever the hell it is, it sure as hell makes sense." Faceless smiled as she nuzzled her face further against the side of his chest, letting out her own soft murmur of agreement as she allowed her body to be fully caressed against his own curves and lump stomach.

"I think so, too," she murmured with contentment. "I think so more than anything."

There was a soft pause between them for a moment, she could feel the way that Randy was gently rocking her back and forth without even meaning to; a soft rhythm for them both. So easily and so naturally did they love each other and did they comfort each other that it came to the both of them so naturally. Time and time again did they make each other feel all those warm, considerate feelings of two souls that were perfectly matched to be fabricated and intertwined within one another. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and continued to rock her back and forth inside his own embrace, the rhythm proving to be comforting and soothing. She smiled even wider as she allowed her fingertips to graze the soft fabric of his blue checkered shirt, feeling as if the rest of the world was falling away into irrelevant nonsense as they loved each other. Surely this was all that mattered; to love and to be loved.

She let her own soft hum, and she felt the way that Randy was softly pressing his lips against her countless times, over and over again. Even with how violent and just how easily angry he could get within the chaos of the world, there was something inside him that truly was so utterly simple, and almost relentlessly and tragically soft with the way that he simply wanted to be loved by the world. It seemed as if nothing else was more important to him, and at the end of the day, everything that he did and everything that he said came from the simple act of wanting to be loved-to have someone to love and return that appreciation in his own specific love language. She knew he wasn't the kind of man that was very good at adjusting to the way that other people wanted to be loved, and she knew that he had to be loved in the way that would make him recognized that he was, in fact, being loved, and that his efforts to support his partner were endlessly appreciated. She gently nuzzled herself further into his musky weed smell, feeling her entire body shiver with goosebumps as she took in his very essence. "So you're really going to call me that now?" she tried sofly. "You're going to call me baby? At least sometimes?"

Randy let out a soft chuckle as his fingertips pattered reassuringly against the back of her head, summoning even more chills from her skin. "Sweetheart, if that's what you want, I'll call you that every single day until you beg me to stop. I can promise you that much. If it really means that much to you." He gently reached out his knuckles and traced them against her barley deciphered skin that was lost in their passion for one another. She let out her own soft breath as she rested herself further against his chest. She allowed her face to travel from where it was resting against his chest as she traveled it up again the side of his stomach, eyes glittering fondly with his endless warmth. She was almost drunk with passion and the richened sense of warmth; and as Randy gazed at her with heavy eyelids, she could tell he was too.

"It does," she murmured. "It definitely does." She laid her head against the side of his chest as he continued to caress her from the back of her head. Even as she turned away from his gaze did she memorize and think about his green eyes that were always full of endless life and wonders, but most especially those gentle layers of insecurities and complexities that she would never cease or grow weary of exploring.

"Well, in that case, let me make sure I put it on my list of the most important things that I have to do every single day, why don't I?" Randy teased as he leaned forward and pressed his lips against her forehead. "I had no idea something so small would mean so much to you, babe," he confessed as he traveled his lips over to her ear, making her shiver as his hot breath that smelled of vegetables, weed, and smoke wrapped around her sense. "I'm trying to do the best that I can to learn how to love someone else again without feeling like I'm doing everything wrong or walking on eggshells. I want to make a good start for the both of us."

She smiled as she nuzzled her chin against her face, which now rested only mere millimeters away from her. Gently did she lean her face against his shoulder, nuzzling it softly. There was nothing more comforting, nothing that made more sense, nothing that brought her to a more gentle conclusion, than the way that he loved her, than the way his slow voice was drenched in his promises that he may have struggled to executed as he balanced his own flaws, but that only served to remind her that he needed her as much as she needed him.

"And all I ever wanted was just to learn how to be loved and how to receive it in a way that doesn't feel forced. Doesn't feel like it's only going to lead to some kind of hurt," she murmured against him. He leaned forward further as she unbuttoned one button, exposing a pale patch of skin that was littered in black hairs. She smiled as she felt the way the fabric gently caressed against the side of her lips as she grazed her own mouth against his skin. "Thank you, darling," she murmured. "I just-thank you." As she leaned herself further against him, he couldn't help but wrap and tightened his arms around her further. The coziness of his body surrounded her; his softened flesh and just as equally soft choice in clothes was all she knew.

"No,, babe, thanks. Thank you. Thank you for letting me be me, thank you for letting me love you in the way that's comfortable for me. For not being a total bitch about it. Thanks for letting me do everything that I like to do and for not only accepting me for it, but for helping me out. And not with any catch of bitching at me at the end of every long day. Every day doesn't even feel as long anymore, and even the best days now only feel like they're not only...good, but great. They're great, especially without worries about coming to a wife that complains about the bad she sees in me. It's just all good with you, you know? I can't thank you enough for that." He grazed his lips against the corner of her own, gently nuzzling his nose against her cheeks as she let out her own softened gasp.

"Me too, darling," she whispered. She nuzzled her face against him again; countless times were they healing and healed against each other; two hills that were coming to harmony after decades alone in the field. "And I'm glad that I can do everything and give you that freedom, too."

"Hey, if there's anything that we've done for each other, it's definitely teaching each other how to fucking relax with who we are and with how we love. So let's keep doing that, ok?" He gently caressed his hands against the back of her ear. "Because if you ask me, it's pretty fucking awesome, and I'm totaly stoked to see what the future is like. Somethin' tells me it's gonna get even better."

She couldn't have agreed with any sentiment more, she smiled as allowed her nose to meet the tip of his, allowing themselves to fully fall into the irrevocable warm, earthly embrace and release that was each other.

"The Bloodiest of Ends (Unfinished)"

Randy had felt, for lack of a better word, disturbed as he had gone to bed that night.

It was a simple emotion, and yet it was one that seemed to have layers of ceaseless thickness that he couldn't quite see past the other side of, much less find the strength inside of him to push past. This feeling was heavy, rotten, toxic, but worst of all was it a settled pain that had an unspoken whispered promise that it wasn't going anywhere. For something that was so soft, it was incessantly loud; the loudest promise he had ever heard, even with the unceasing fire that surrounded his natural unapologetic nature.

The second that his head had plopped against the side of the soft pillow, he had felt those all too familiar bleeding, relentless fears that could be felt, but not understood, pounding against his mind from all sides. It was almost a violent, weaponized sensation; one he was loath to even admit was there, much less to feel. But it seemed there was no choice in this manner; the pain was there, whether he acknowledged it or not.

Though Randy wasn't the best soul at being able to discern exactly what it was that bothered him more often than not, he could tell far too easily what this one particular unseen pain was about.

Faceless had decided that they wouldn't be able to see each other for as long as he was going on the amount of business trips that he was. He had strung out a slur of possibilities of ways he could come home and see her the second she had shown her discontentment, so quickly that he couldn't even remember half of the things he had suggested. His lips had felt numb by the time he had finished speaking his panicked language.

But her slightly more rational personality had ultimately come on top, and within minutes were they trying to measure exactly how long they would go without seeing the other. He was doing so many strings of travel in such drastic places-and in such a short amount of time -that there was no point in him planning on coming back home in the first place, even if it was only to visit for a day. It was too much money, too much hassle, and it was certainly too much uncertainty that was between them with how it would make them feel. It seemed as if the more they saw each other, the more unbearably hungry they became for one another. They both knew that the two of them were only going to miss each other even more if they could only see each other within a suffocated amount throughout trips, and the thought was enough to make both of their stomachs churn in disgust.

He sighed as he forced himself against the side of the pillow with an even harder force, trying to block out the tormented, black tinted thoughts. He was already missing that feeling of her lying down next to him; the soft sensation of her arms as her tender touch wrapped around his own fleshy hips that was one sensation he would never tire of. Even just to think of it did he feel a familiar maddening hunger between his legs, and most especially within his chest, where his heart that beat even faster than he could keep up with lied.

But Faceless had insisted that considering he was leaving early in the morning in only a few hours, that it would be easier for the both of them if she slept on the couch, while he took the bed. She had insisted he take the bed; her usual loving concern lightning in her eyes as he considered and put his comfort before her own. Randy, being who he was, had no argument to the manner, and he had reluctantly said goodnight as he had given her one last hesitant kiss before heading upstairs. He hadn't liked the idea, but within the simplicity of his mind, muddled in with his devastation, he knew it was best to let her make the decisions.

He let out a drawled, tired sigh as he nuzzled his head further against the soft fabric of the sheets while he squeezed his hands against the material, trying to calm the storm inside of his chest that felt like it was all he knew these days.

He didn't remember exactly when it happened, but at some point did he begin to drift off, despite the tormented thoughts that danced uninvited inside of all corners of his mind. At some point within the tortured and unpleasant heaviness did sleep overcome him. A vision overcame his state of mind; one that resembled a dream within its surrealness, nothing feeling quite real, yet real enough that his mind had trouble believing it wasn't reality. Rather than a dream did it like falling into a sort of a separate consciousness, and as he fell further into the sensation, he found he couldn't tell if it was a dream, or rather a suppressed and forgotten memory.

There she was; her body so perfectly matched up against his kitchen counter. Her disposition was utterly cozy, considerate, and caretaking such as it always was, especially when it came to his own needs. She often called him the embodiment of fresh air, but as far as he was concerned, she was the embodiment of comfort. Healing. Safety. Something he hadn't realized he had been as deprived of as he had until he met her.

She was standing against the side of the counter, pressing her hands against the plates that sank in the sink, surrounded in all of their sud comfort softness after their just as equally comfortable dinner. She was humming off tune, but pleasantly, as she continued to wipe the dishes up and down in front of her, her warmth trailing through the air like a song. Randy had familiarized himself with this time of day; the time of day where there was nothing but that cozied, welcomed heat between the two of them after a meal she had made with nothing less than that richened and considerate love she always had for him with everything she did. He could feel the way she loved him; it was tangible ,physical sensation. The hours after she cleaned up after making dinner were the softest and most considerate; the epilogue to another day of discovering how they loved each other and what they did for each other; of reaching that tangible nostalgia between one another. He adored everything about it; adored the way that she was so determined to take care of him after a long day that he had, or even any day that he had, in general. It was a gift for her to take care of him, and it had become a precious for him to be taken cared of by her in kind. Just as much as he needed to be taken care of, she needed to take care of him much the same for her own reasons.

Randy smiled as he leaned his body against the side of the door frame, watching her every single soft intention that was inside of her hands and arms the same.

"Hey, sweetheart," Randy chimed in after a moment, breaking the previous peaceful silence that was surrounding them. So incredibly deep and peaceful was the air that was between them that he was almost convinced that nothing could pierce it in general; it seemed it only enriched the more time they spent with one another.

Faceless jumped slightly, then turned, and quickly did her look of abrupt surprise change to one that was of softened comfort.

"Randy," she greeted gently, her voice laced with her own surprise that gradually melted into genteless as she took him in. " I thought you were relaxing on the couch."

He chuckled, and nodded his head. "Yeah, I was, but I think it's a lot more relaxing to watch my hot wife making me dinner for the night." He smirked as he spoke the statement, knowing that she would be able to understand where he was coming from, and most especially knowing that they shared the same sense of humor when it came to how he showed affection for her with his own love language. He could be such an old-fashioned romantic, but he could just as much be a party boy that spoke with all the careless slang that anybody could ever speak in the world. It was incredibly unpredictable the exact way he chose to speak to her within his endless speech patterns, but she adored the unpredictability, and Randy adored the freedom of being himself.

She smiled as she turned fully over towards him, placing her hands on the side of the kitchen counter as she raised up her eyebrow in a quirky fashion, her own execution of loving teasing inside of her.

"Look at you," she murmured softly. "You know how to tease a woman." There was something that was in between frustratingly disciplined yet accidentally admirable in her voice, and he wanted to break down every wall to get her to come to him; to get her to devour him in the way he knew she wanted to.

He let out a raspy chuckle at her statement; he knew what it did to her when he undressed her with his eyes the way he was now.

"What do you want to do about it?" he challenged. She smirked as she began to make her way towards him, soap surrounding her arms that were left over from her previous chore.

"Yeah…" Randy breathed. The simplicity of the statement was all he could manage; at least until he could get his fill by touching her. He felt his own lust overcome him as he felt that familiar sense of eager, almost animalistic wanting take him fully. He wasted no time falling into the hunger that he got from her at all times as he allowed her to fall into his arms, wrapping his own arms that were dressed in his brown sweatshirt to encapture around her as she pressed herself against his plush body. He felt her smile as she allowed her body to be fully pressed up against the curve of the fat of his stomach; her own soft and relentlessly heated addiction of consistent promised comfort.

"You smell incredible," Randy whispered against her. His nose and lips nuzzled against the top curve of her head. He breathed her in fully, fluttering his eyes closed as he did so. "You smell like-like earth, dirt, and weed. Fuck. Yeah. That's it."

He let out a breath of contentment as she squeezed his arms further around her body, nuzzling her nose deeper against her. Her own confirmation, Randyknew,that she was enjoying this just as much as he was.

"Exactly the way a pot farmer's wife should smell, if I do say so myself!" He was trying out his playful southern accent now, and he chuckled as he felt her nuzzle herself further against him.

"I'm glad you like it," Faceless murmured earnestly. "I do all this just for you, you know. It's kind of hard not to smell like all those things when it's your entire lifestyle."

He let out a scoff. "Geez, you can say that again." He was hardly aware of what he was saying; the plane of happiness she gave him simply by her existence was more than plenty to take him away from the bore of rational thought. He couldn't get enough of her; he was taking her in with every intake of his breath. She felt so soft, so incredibly safe within his arms, and within the safety he gave her did he feel as if he was safe much of the same. Whatever they gave each other, it wasn't just for the other person, but they were comforting themselves stimintioulsy just the same. The others' comfort was their own; they shared the same strand of emotion, in more ways than one, though and though, for such was what happened to those that loved each other as deeply as they did for themselves.

His stocky, plush, fairly average height felt invincible and recklessly impressive against hers. There was no time to feel insecure, there was no time to wish he was remarkable. There was only the loving touch that she gave him; one that separated himself from whatever unimpressive judgment he usually felt within the world-and , as a default extension, himself-as it instead replaced him with a sense of complete, utter belonging in a place where his soul was previously only lost. It was simply the dynamic that they had within each other and for each other, and every single day would the understanding and love that they gave each other time and time again only increase further.

He let out a moan as he wrapped his arms further against her, loving the way that she was completely and utterly surrendered against him the way he could do to her so easily. They were, undoubtedly, each other's safe space, and it had become an unspoken but committed promise to know each other above all else, and he found that within her arms did everything suddenly make sense within the otherwise chaotic storm with his mind.

As if to mock his very temporally comforted thoughts, there was a shift just then. An unexplainable but significant shift, and Randy felt as if it was something so terrible that it was better for him not to think or even acknowledge it at all; it was one that would render him better off dead if he did. His first instinct was to ignore it, and with that attempt to ignore it did a numb overcome him. Somehow, the numb was even more dreaded than the original hint of the feeling.

Faceless pulled herself away from him in an almost inuman, robotic fashion. It was so different from the way she had fluttered over to him only a second before with all her natural, gentle cadence.

He stared at her as she blinked in bewilderment; there was something different about her now. Despite all the positives and the endless infatuated safety they gave each other, he felt as if there was a physical cold that was now forming between them.

The feeling increased as she gradually pulled herself out of his arms, a look of disgust overcoming her features, her body language making herself seem as if she had been forced into him into the first place. Her body was cringing away from him; she was not looking at him now, but rather through him, and never had he been looked at with such utter contempt in anothers' eyes the way she was looking at him now. No through any of his misadventures, or for any of his increased infamous reputation. There was a sickly twisted sadness on her face, almost as if she was looking at him in pity.

"What?" Randy sputtered out the question, his eyes frantically flying back and forth between her now unreadable expression with such a cold, detached air that made his blood turn cold for reasons he knew he didn't want to understand. "What is it?"

He was almost scared to ask any further questions as he gazed into her own eyes, her previous warmth now looking as if it was the very definition of unfamiliar. It was as if she had been modeled into a different person entirely within only mere seconds right in front of his eyes, and it had stricken his usual confident, playful disposition uncomfortably numb with shock. She smirked as she looked at him, and somehow that was even more painful than the deepest and most violent word she could have spoken. She looked as if she knew something he didn't; as if she felt a certain way about him that she had only just discovered, or could see something into him that he had never been able to see inside of himself before. Something he had spent his entire life running away from.

"You're just so distant," she said simply. She spoke it factually, as if she were reading a textbook, rather than speaking to the man that she had promised to love forever. "You're never really here, are you?"

Randy furrowed his eyebrows in something that was between anger and confusion.

"Here?" he spat. "I'm right here, Faceless!" As if it would help his cause, he spread his arms out in front of him, blinking at her frantically.

She didn't acknowledge his desperate reaction that was drenched in violent shock; it was as if he wasn't there at all.

"And I think what we have together-it was just a fling, like what everyone else does in life, right?" she continued, voice sounding as if it came from another women-another soul-entirely. It was incredible just how much the way a person's disposition felt could affect their every move and sound. She had been a fire of comfort before; now she was nothing but thick and unforgiving ice.

Randy stood frozen for a moment, his arms still reached out beside him in his shock. He looked clumsy and ridiolous; something she normally would have adored. The only thing he was getting her from her currently, however, was that hardly pierced disgust.

"What in the hell are you talking about?" he sputtered. His voice was somewhere between choking with a hardly admitted devastation, and yet a challenge of denial. He wasn't sure what he was feeling; it felt as if his heart was threatening to pound out of his ribs as his nervousness overcame him entirely, and within that nervousness did his anger and aggravation only grow further against each other, their branches wrapping tightly around his every move until he felt as if he could choke on their thorns. It was trying to overcome him entirely, and the more he fought it, the more he felt it. "I'm right here, Faceless. What in the hell do you mean that I'm not around? I'm always here. We live together, remember? This is my business! Where else would I go? Back to goddamn South Park? Huh?"

She turned her head over towards the side, the side of her lip still rawling up into something that looked as if it was almost screaming with malicious intent. She was looking away from him with a strange air, as if she was disgusted at even the idea of having to look at him for a second longer.

"It just doesn't make any sense, what's between us," she muttered after a moment. "Not anymore."

He felt his mouth grow dry; it felt as if his heart was dropping inside of his chest. "Do-doesn't make any sense?" he echoed back, almost dumbly. "What in the hell are you talking about? We've been together since the moment we met each other, for christ's sake! You used to tell me all the time about how much you had always waited for me and how much you would wait for me forever, remember? You told that to me last night! You do every single day, to some extent, really." He took a deep breath; it was hard-damn near impossible-to speak through his choked emotion. "Who in the hell are you right now?"

Even as he spoke the words could he feel his panic becoming increasingly more rich inside of his chest, and he felt sick as he saw the way that her eyes flickered inside of their sockets in detached thought.

After a moment did she turn back to him and give him that same pitied smile that made Randy feel as if his stomach was churning inside of his chest as he gazed at her. He almost wanted to step away from how she was looking at him, as if he could physically dodge her judgmental gaze that pierced him that was full of so much contempt that it almost seemed as if she wanted to destroy him. Perhaps she did, for all he knew.. The woman that he was looking at now wasn't the woman that he knew before; that was all that was certain. He no longer knew her, much less her intentions.

"You're so ridiculous," Faceless murmured. Randy's blood went cold; that was one typical label that was slapped on him more than he could count that he never dreamed he would hear from her. Her voice was still that comforting tone, but somehow, the irony of the opposite of her loving tone versus her words only served to make Randy feel as if he was being stabbed further. It only made her detached voice and her contempt expression even more unbearable.

"Everything about you, everything that we share, it's just ridiculous, isn't it? It was just a phase, just another thing that two bored people do to cope with their lives for a little while. But we can't really stay in love unless we're constantly seeing each other, can we? It can't stay fresh between us unless we can constantly see one another. Whatever it is that we share, it's not special enough that it can endure whatever it is that could separate the two of us."

"Wha-what are you saying?" Randy breathed. The question felt more like a survival instinct to ask, rather than something he truly wanted the answer to.

She looked down at the ground, as if unable to handle the rejection that was so deep that it was a burden just for her to even speak it. "It's not…. it's just not good enough, Randy. We were passionate about each other for a time, yes, and what we shared between us was incredibly special, but it's not good enough to be able to face up against all the challenges of the world, is it? It's not good enough to face the way that the way people feel about you, the way that you're always messing up, the way that it completely isolates me from being able to get along with everyone else because of what you do and because of how much people hate you for it. It's not even worth it, is it?"

A pounding of blood in his ears and a shaking, sweating numb were all his skin knew. Randy felt as if he had been seared through with a sword; he may as well had been. It would have hurt less.

"You can't-you can't be serious, Faceless," he stammered. He even felt himself chuckle nervously, swallowing quickly as he did so. "I mean, come on. You don't actually mean what you're saying, do ya?"

She took him in for a moment. It seemed as if there was a physical detachment as she looked at him; cold, uncaring, as if she had come to some sort of realization that she hadn't known up until this very moment. Or perhaps she had known the whole time, and she simply didn't have the words to express it until now.

"What we share is-is totally awesome, Faceless," he breathed. He was desperate to try; he didn't know what invisible stairs she had climbed, but he was desperate to reach her on the other side. He almost couldn't even believe that he even had to say the words as they left his lips, and he felt as if he was completely detached from himself; as if he was within some other plane of existence, or rather, that he was watching from outside of himself, rather than experiencing any of it.

"I mean, honey. We agreed a long time ago that we don't feel the way we feel about each other the way we do about anyone else, right? What we share together- it's different than anything either of us have ever felt! We established that years ago, and there hasn't been one day when you haven't felt that way." He chuckled, his expression giving away his pleading defeat. "Hell, sometimes it even got to the point where sometimes I almost felt overwhelmed with the way we felt about each other, but I always knew that it was always worth it, because we were always going to come home to each other, you know what I'm saying? This person,-what are you doing right now, it doesn't even make sense to me, honey." He hesitated, taking a deep breath. "Are you feeling okay? Is your period…" His eyes darted down between her legs in silent suggestion. "You know?" He gave her a quick, defeated shrug, trying to communicate that it wasn't an attack, bur rather a genuine concern. He had to think of some reasonable conclusion as to why she was acting this way; it was all that made sense.

She sighed, taking a few steps backward as she pressed her hands against the side of her counter, squeezing her fingers against it in what seemed like a strained frustration. "I'm starting to wonder if I was okay before I met you, and I only convinced myself that I was happier with you because it was something to do," she murmured. "Because I will admit, Randy, that there was something that was entertaining about you that was hard to find anyone else. But once it's done, it's done, and...there's hardly anything left of love once everything is over with the two people who share it. You're like a hurricane, and although I was happy being caught up in you and the adventure…. once it's over, it's hard to really care about anything that happens between us." She leaned her head back over towards him as she fluttered her eyes back open, giving him a sickly smile as she considered him in a way that felt as if he was being torn apart. "Because that's what it's all about, right? Just people meeting each other, really. They think they both know each other for a little while, and then once it's over, once it's not working out anymore; that reason they stayed together, the infatuation...the love leaves. The promises that we spoke only because we were caught up in the moment started to become what they were; just superficial, almost childish. And everything else just begins to fall into a foggy memory. And even when we're standing in front of each other, such as the way that we are now, it's never the same as what it was. Because what we share between us is what every single other person has ever shared between anyone, Randy. It was just something that bored people do to temporarily forget ourselves. We entertained each other with the idea of loving each other for a few years. As we begin to know and learn every curve of each other, we feel that spark begin to melt. Now that it's over, and now that we've memorized each other fully down to every last extent...there's nothing new to explore and nothing new to do. There's nothing to do except to fall out of love and to move on with our lives. We're done using each other, Randy. If we can't see each other frequently, then there's nothing left that we can do. There's no more entertainment or distraction to be had."

"Whu-I'm-I'm not even gonna be gone that long!" he stammered as he looked at her. "What has gotten into you, Faceless? We've had business trips before and I've been gone from you before and we've been ok! Jesus, I can't even believe what I'm hearing right now!" He placed one hand to the side of his face the way that he did whenever he was overwhelmed; trying to ignore the nausea that was overcoming him. His voice was slurring as he got lost in his panic, borderlining on incomprehensible.

"God, I nee-I need a joint. I need a drink," he gasped. "I can't deal with this right now. I can't deal with you right now!"

Not only was his voice slurring; it was wobbling with a childlike lack of control of his emotions that it always did whatever he was overcome with emotion. Faceless didn't respond; she simply watched him with that same heart wrenching detachment, as if he were some school project. He frantically began looking for any kind of redemption from the way he was feeling as quickly as he could. He turned towards the cabinets, slamming his hand frantically against the wood where the wine glasses were meant to be. And yet he could still feel the look of disapproval from her eyes boring into her back; could still feel the way that she was tearing him apart, could feel the way that she was so unlike her usual comfort with all of his fired nature and insecurity.

"You know what I think about you, Randy," she said as he continued to slam the cabinets frantically, trying to do it as loud as possible to slam her out. "You're just the same trick over and over. And it's an incredibly entertaining trick, I'll admit, and it's one that's kept me entertained for a long time, and I think I even loved you so much to the point that I convinced myself that I loved you more than I love my own flaws. My own demons, my own shortcomings. But I don't think any kind of love like that is ever truly possible at the end of the day, not when it really comes down to it. At the end of the day, I'm just like everyone else, I don't have it in me to love someone forever, and I don't think you really do, either."

Randy closed his eyes as he pressed his forehead against the side of the cabin. "Where in the hell did you put my wine glass?" he shot back. His words were almost violent in a way that they have never been before, and he didn't feel quite right, as if he was physically detached outside his body. He could feel the way she was watching him struggle as he continued to slam the cabinets against the wood, almost cracking them in their force.

"I did love you," she said simply. "And in some ways, I still do. But not in the way that I thought I did, and not in the way I meant when I said I was going to love you forever. Infatuation was keeping the both of us entertained. That's what people do, Randy, especially people like us. We're both so bored with our lives that we want to convince ourselves that there's some sort of promise, some sort of magic to it that can only be found within another person, that we found a connection that's special to us alone, something that makes us unique from everyone else."

"Gawl-Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" Randy's voice was being thrown with careless violence over his shoulder, still pounding the cabinets in front of him as he tried his best to get himself away from the words she was speaking. He was aimless in his anger now; almost bloodily desperate to simply hearing anyof what she was saying. "God-Jesus, you don't know anything about anything, 'cuz you don't know anything about this or anything about what you're saying!" It was one of the most unclever things Randy had ever said, and he wasn't sure if the words even made sense, but within the muddled panic of his mind, he found it was the best he could come up with.

She continued, as if she was speaking to a wall, her gaze still keeping that same cold and uncaring ice of discontent. For all his desperate efforts, she was only becoming colder. "But it's funny, because at the end of the day, I think we tricked ourselves-with the same insecurities and the same coping mechanisms-that we both fooled ourselves into thinking that what we shared was special. That it could overcome any challenge, that it could overcome any way that people disliked you for the horrible person that you are. That it could have...overcome any kind of isolation that I could ever experience from loving you as deeply as I do." A dark smirk tugged at the right side of her lip. "It's almost funny that we actually convinced ourselves within our own delusions that we so desperately cling onto that we actually found something special with one another. When the fact of the matter is, just like everyone else, and just like every other couple...there really isn't one damn thing that is special about us. We're just another couple of idiots who fell into each other as a form of entertainment for a little while to distract ourselves from how unhappy we are as individuals, and now it's wearing off, because you're always gone and I can never see you. It's wearing off because I'm so goddamn tired of being isolated because of you. There's nothing left to do except for us to simply accept the fact that it's done. To move on to the next chapter of our lives. Because there was nothing ever really particularly special between us, was there? Not any more or less than the average star crossed lovers that convince themselves that they found something incredibly unique that nobody else had ever experienced before."

Randy's face was flustered now; he could feel his blood coursing through his veins. "Yo-you know, you're acting like a total bitch right now, you know that?" Randy bristled. He turned his head back over to her, and although it felt like a dagger inside of his heart to look at her, he knew that he couldn't stop himself , or his anger, anymore. "You don't have to say all this, Faceless! I don't know what the hell has gotten into you or who you even are right now, but I sure as hell don't like it! We-we do-we did have something incredibly special, I know it!" He jabbed his finger at her. "Hell, you would always be the one that would tell me that even when I couldn't believe it myself! I don't know if this is always the right decision or the best thing that we can do for each other, but you were always the one that would say that what we shared could overcome anything! And now you're spewing all this crap at me saying that everything that we shared these past couple months was all for nothing? You expect me to just take that lying down and expect me to just agree because you decided that you don't feel the same anymore?" He took a deep breath; he couldn't remember the last time he had felt his overtaken by emotions. Despite the fact that he was stationary and in place, he felt as if he was running a marathon. "Well, I hate to break it to you, I don't feel the same way, Faceless."

There was a pause; a deafening, stilling pause.

"Are you happy?" she challenged after a moment.. "Are you even happy with me, or or are you just going with the motions because it's something else familiar with you? Because you want to have the facade of having everything figured out after you got divorced from your previous wreckage of a marriage?"

"Of course I love you!" Randy sputtered. He didn't take into account that he didn't answer the question she had actually asked; as far as he was concerned, that was the answer that mattered. His voice was breaking now, and rather than being angry and defensive was it a strange kind of bleeding desperation to convince her of just how much he felt at the very idea of losing her. He was desperate for her now; he could feel his knees weakening, and within moments would he be on the floor. "I've always loved you, honey, and I think I loved you even before I even knew you. What we share- it's like nothing else I ever even knew existed even when I was young, babe. All the women I ever hooked up with-and it never even came close to what I feel with you. I feel safe with you, sweetheart, and nobody's ever going to be able to take care of you the way that you do with me. Jesus, I can't even think of one time that I had one day go by where I wasn't grateful that I actually had you. I thought I couldn't even have that feeling with anyone in my life, because sooner or later, it always felt like everyone revealed to me that they were full of crap sooner or later, but with you-everything just made sense! And now you're saying now that it's just a lie to you, that you were the one pretending?" He let out a maddened, choked sob. "Cut me a break! Jesus!"

"GG and PC"

"Wait," Faceless spoke as Randy began to jump and bounce up his pants while he pulled up the dirty trousers around his legs.

Randy looked over at her as he raised up one black eyebrow, gazing at her with his curious and questioning eyes. She was standing across the master bedroom where they had just been crawling out of bed to get ready for the day. It had been another cuddly morning of simply spending an hour or two wrapped inside of each other as they forgot about the rest of the world; even now could she feel the ghost that the warmth of his body left against her skin.

His green eyes gazed at her as his eyes flooded in question. He indicated that she had his attention with the sudden intensity of his eyes as he stopped mid-posture from when he was leaning down to pull his pants up. Faceless tore her eyes away from him as she traveled her gaze over to his thigh that had been present only a moment before.

"Can...you pull your pants down again for a minute?" she requested softly. It was a strange request as it left her lips, but then again, almost everything between them was at least to some extent, and they both understood and accepted the strangeness to its full capacity without question; it was their own personal love language, and they were utterly safe within each other anyway.

His eyes flew down to his trousers, giving her a quick, raw glance of curiosity as he gazed at her with that flaring question inside of his eyes.

"What, this?" he asked as he shot his eyes down to his pants, shooting her a look of bewilderment as he began to pull his trousers down again. Faceless nodded subconsciously as she watched the mark start to reveal itself on his pale skin yet again. As the brown fabric of his pants began to fall away, Faceless felt her heart stop with shock. There it was again; that black mark on the side of his left thigh, one that had been so eerily similar to the tattoo that she had on her right, so much to the point that she almost wondered if she had imagined it when she had caught a glance of it just now.

"Yes," she breathed softly. She traveled her eyes back up towards him, and Randy's eyes glinted as he realized now what she meant. He began to slowly pull his pants back down again, his mouth slightly open in that adorable way he did whenever he was caught up in something. "Ohh, you mean my awesome PC tattoo?" he asked, voice tinted with humor.

"Just,-can I see it again, really quickly?" Faceless requested. "I don't think I've ever seen that on you before." She didn't mention that it looked eerily similar to the marking that she had on the other opposite side of her thigh, but she could continue to elaborate on that when she could confirm that she had actually seen what she thought she did.

"Oh- yeah, sure honey," Randy murmured. Even though he was trying to civilly respond to her curiosity, there was a bewildered storm starting to manifest inside of his eyes as he continued to pull his pants down, and also a strick of eagerness, the way he always did with anything that ever caught his attention; and her curiosity always, without fail, did. He pulled his pants down a few inches further. And there it was; those two large letters that were in an incredibly similar font to what her own was. There were those two letters shining up at her; the two simple letters of PC, the black of the initials shining from the pale skin of his thigh that was so similar to her own.

The world fell away as she gazed at it for a moment, feeling her heart quickening inside of her chest as a strange feeling of wonderment overcame her, even as she felt herself detach from her body. Vaguely did she feel her fingertips tremble, though she didn't truly feel anything at all. The only thing she was even vaguely aware within her reaction was the feeling of Randy's green eyes boring into her. She tried to double down her reaction as much as she could, with little success following from her attempts.

"I can't believe it," she whispered. "What are the odds?"

Randy chuckled nervously. "Okay, babe, you're going to have to tell me what the hell is going on and what you're thinking, because I'm really fucking confused," Randy said. "It's just my PC tattoo! Had it for years now." He began to pull up his trousers again, quickly but with a certain carefulness as he tightened up his belt. "Besides, you know that we've got a big day ahead of business ahead of us! Whatever it is, just let me know so that we can get it started, alright?" His voice was pushy in that way that was executed by his own ambition, but also from the simple fact that he wanted to get on with his day with all that natural is excitement that was almost always inside of his body. She looked at him and she gave him a quick nod, and slowly did she begin to indicate her eyes over towards his thigh.

"It's just...the marking that's on your thigh," she responded. "I have one that's just like it on mine-or at least, it's incredibly similar. It's a similar font, with different words, but it's roughly on the same place. The same size, a similar font, all capital letters...it's on my right, and everything on yours is just like mine. It's just on a different thigh." She indicated her expression towards her legs as she began to pull her own dress up, urging him to come forward so he could see what she meant. The bewildered expression didn't leave Randy's eyes as he began to walk over towards her, cocking his head adorably to the side in curiosity and confusion as he watched her pull her dress up. As soon as he saw the two letters GG that were traced against the right side of her thigh that was almost on the exact place that his tattoo was on his opposite thigh, his eyes widened, his mouth falling open slightly. True to his dramatic fashion, he fell down to his knees, lips visibility trembling as he gazed at it with a wonderment that executed exactly what Faceless has been feeling since the moment she had seen his own.

He leaned forward, pressing both of his hands against the front of her thigh, gazing at it with his own fascination that was only executing itself further on his handsome features as his eyes widened in disbelief.

"Holy shit," he breathed. He traced his fingers against the marking in her skin as his fascination increased all the further, reflecting her own that she had felt only a second before. It took him a moment to collect himself as his amazement overcame him, but with a few quick, frantic adorable blinks did he come back to himself. "This-can't this-this can't be real! Did you do this on purpose or something? It is for our anniversary, or what?"

He looked up at her with frantic, glittering eyes, his mouth hung open in that way that it always did whenever he was truly taken aback or surprised by something.

She laughed softly, and then quickly did she nod. "It's not on purpose. I just noticed it myself, darling," she said softly. "I got it a little bit before I met you, as a matter of fact. It's something that represents a..rougher time that happened to me when I was a child growing up. I wanted it for the longest time; for years growing up, really. At first I wanted it to be completely written out by what it meant, but then I realized I didn't want to have something that was so...heavy permanently pressed into my skin, so I decided to just settle for initials." She smiled as she watched the way his golden zest of amazement overcame his expression; it matched the adorable nature of his expression perfectly. "I was so disappointed at first-the fact that it couldn't just simply be exactly how I wanted to be."

Randy frowned as his eyes fluttered up at her, black eyebrows knitting in concern. "What?" he asked. "Why? Wasn't it what you wanted?"

Faceless shrugged, a look of reflective resignation on her face. "It wasn't my choice. Not initially, anyway. The first tattoo artist I reached out to seemed interested in servicing me-until I told them exactly what it was that I wanted on my thigh. And then they stopped responding entirely."

Randy let out a rasp, bitter chuckle, keeping his fingers caressed against her skin as a form of grounding as best as he could give her. "Geez. Fucking chod," he muttered.

She nodded, feeling a warm glow at his validation of what happened to her. "After that….I realized I didn't have enough bravery to go around for the rest of my life having my trauma tattooed on my skin in such a literal matter, realizing that there was always a way someone could respond to it in a way that was..hurtful." She gently began to ease her thigh against the side of the wall, allowing her eyes to trial down towards him with a softened rest. She tenderly allowed her fingertips to tracer on the front of his own fingers; it sent a chill of thrill over her. "I'll admit that I didn't like the design at first. But I had no idea that it was going to represent something- or someone- that meant the entire world to me so shortly after I got it," she muttered softly. "No idea that we could have had so much in common before we even knew each other existed."

"Yeah, I'll say," Randy breathed, continuing to gaze at her tattoo with that adorable fascination plastered on his face. He swallowed as he looked at it, cocking his head towards the side as he continued to gently caress his hands against it in his own curiosity. "It's just... it's kind of unbelievable, isn't it?" he breathed as he allowed his eyes to dance over it. "Like...I really can't imagine what the odds would have been that we would both have the same exact mark, and in a place that's on the opposite sides of each other over! And-It's almost kind of-kind of like-I'm almost like-I don't know...like we're soulmates, or some shit like that. I never really believed in that stuff before, and I always thought it was really corny, but right now?" A smile tugged on each side of his lips as he leaned forward and pressed his mouth against the side of her tattoo, and she shuddered at the feeling of his gentle kiss against her. "This is incredible, baby. This is like- this is totally out of the world. This is so incredible that I almost can't even believe it."

His voice was slurring now in all of his barely contained excitement. She shivered with gentle infatuation as she felt the way the warmth of his lips gently pressed against the side of her tattoo with all of his own fascinating tremor of emotion. It wasn't the first time that he had kissed the side of her skin in such a maddening tantalizing fashion, but evidently, even now, they were still getting to know their bodies and all the ways that they explored each other. Even now; it seemed like the journey would never quite end with how they learned how to love each other, nor did she ever want it to; it was breathtakingly addicting how they took care of each other. They both had perfectly memorized every single patch of each other's skin; they were always so utterly familiar to each other, and yet there was still more for them to find every time. It was a fitting adventure for the both of them, considering that the majority of the nights they were, more often than not, simply wrapped inside of each other in the dark of the night, when everything else was completely shut off; when there was nothing except for their bodies against bodies, their desperation against desperation for one each other, their hearts against hearts.

She could see that within his own naive, softened heart was starting to choke within his throat and his eyes, and she could feel her own emotion overcome her within the invisible thread that connected and intertwined the two of them. She smiled as he continued to gently press and massage his hands against the side of the tattoo; he was both maddening and soft at the same time. "This is fucking incredible," he whispered against her skin. His voice was raspy, soft, masculine, but most importantly, completely adorable with his own endless awe that most only occupied as children. "Just like everything that we shared together, isn't it, baby?"

She smiled as she heard the pet name that he spoke to her now be repeated again only for her and her alone. It had taken him a long time to get him into the habit of saying it, but it meant the world to her to hear him say it, and although every pet name that he called her felt like as if it was the reminiscent of a golden thread of honey being pressed around her skin, essence, and her soul the same, there was something about that pet name in particular that especially melted her.

"Yeah," she breathed softly. "Right." She leaned her head back as she allowed a soft moan to leave her lips, adoring the way that he continued to massage his lips against the side of her thigh, shivering as she melted underneath his touch. The hair of his moustache was serving as nothing less than a softened massage against her skin, rendering her just as equally helpless under his tender touches.

"Can I see yours again?" she inquired softly. God help her, she could hardly function as she felt the way his lips paused against the side of her skin, his tender touch matched perfectly with the soft ticking of his mustache that was teasing against her with a softness that matched his soul perfectly. She felt him smirk against her skin, and a second later did he gaze up at her and nod frantically.

"Oh, yeah. yeah, sure. Of course," he stammered, adorably overcame with his emotion as his cheeks flushed red. He reached down for his belt as he undid it with frantic fingers, pulling them downwards with all his own adorable panic, grunting all the while as he did so. He turned himself over by the side so that she could gaze at it. Randy let out a whistle and a swing around the other way so that he could match the mark up against her own as they faced each other perfectly.

"Whoa. Check that out, huh?" Randy breathed. "It's like- it's like we're different pieces of a puzzle or something." He sounded so endearingly fascinated as he spoke, eyes glittering as he gazed at her own tattoo.

"We finally found each other," Randy whispered as he gazed at the tattoo on his right side with that childlike fascination that he did whenever something truly held his interest. Faceless let out her own softened breath as she kneeled down in front of his own tattoo now, turning her head to the side as she allowed her eyes now to explore the details of his own. The artistity of the font was still incredibly detailed and had a certain sophistication to it, but wasn't quite as detailed as her own. Still, it represented the same disposition and feeling as her own.

"What does yours mean?" she questioned as she allowed her fingertips to trace against the front of the ink. He blinked adorably as he gave her a quick shrug.

"Oh, you know, I just wanted to mark a time in my life where I was so righteous and so right about everything that people didn't even know how to react to me. People would start bitching at me that I was being too politically correct-my kids and my wife especially-but they didn't realize that it was that time in my life when I was the one of the most virtuous people in this entire fucking town. Yeah, sure, we got drunk a lot whenever we hung out, but we were doin' it for a good cause, and like hell if we weren't helping everybody out there in this town who was a minority. It was one of those times in my life when I feel like I was truly a part of something, and I was truly doing something with my life, ya know? It was a time in my life when I was doing something that really mattered. I was actually helping people everyday, and I was having a good time connecting with people doing it. Shit, I hadn't felt that alive or that young ever since I had been in college, and ever since then I haven't been able to let the experience go. Because I actually felt young again, but more than feeling young and feeling alive did I actually feel good about what I was doing. Sure, we didn't always make the best decisions or whatever, but as far as I could see, for the most part we were standing up for what mattered. We were standing up to the upper class, and as long as I was ever doing that with them, that was all that ever mattered to me." His eyes were glittering even as he retold the story. Faceless hadn't seen that certain light on his expression in the longest time.

"You know, as long as I was having a good time-and I sure as hell was- and long as I felt young again….everything worked out. It was worth it to me. All the politics surrounding us was some wild crazy times, but we did things. Awesome things. We made a difference. We made it into the newspapers, and some people thought it was good what we were doing for minorities! The way I see it, we were standing up for people who actually needed a voice, which otherwise wouldn't happen without us, and we were getting drunk and having a damn good time doing it. What could ever be better than that? I was partying and staying out and...just being really alive."

His shoulders slumped as the light inside of his green wonders dimmed slightly that had been alight since the moment he had started speaking.

"But that was a while ago," he mumbled after a moment. "You know, after awhile, all the bros started to move on. PC principal began to move on to teaching, and all the other guys just... either started to grow up and started to focus on their studies, or they just grew up out of partying. And culture changed, too. It wasn't so cool after a certain point to be politically correct. People just...gave up on it." He ran a hair through his black waves, frowning as he did so. "Who in the hell would ever do that? I could never figure that out, either. But everybody's moved on and it's not what it used to be now. But, hell, that was one of the best times of my life, babe. I remember the very day that I got surrounded by all those bros, and I remember just thinking about how worthwhile my life felt in the longest time I could remember. It was life changing, honey,, and I'm sure you would have loved to be there. Gawl, I wish you had been there, so that I could have had your support and with you backing me up, instead of whatever bitching and moaning I had to put up with with Sharon. So what if I came home late and woke up drunk and hungover every morning? I was out there doing something that mattered, which was more than what Sharon could say! Or-or what my kids could say. Those guys always had something to say, even when they weren't even mature enough to understand!" His voice was raised in his emotional pinnacle peak now, signifying the peak of his emotions, but after a moment did he sigh and roll his eyes. "But they'll learn one day. They're just kids, after all, and I'm their father, and I have to put on a good example of what a worthwhile life was. And if you ask me, that was one of the best times of my life that I could remember. The times in my life when I feel like I finally found my purpose in life, when I feel like I wasn't only having a good time, but then I was being really young, too. It was fucking incredible."

He turned his eyes back over towards her, as if he was coming out of his deep memory sewn within his thought, and slowly did he smile as he looked down at her own tattoo and indicated his head towards her.

"And what about yours, babe? You must have a lot to say about yours, too." He reached out his own hand as he pressed it against her skin, the warmth of his palm calming her as he did so. She looked into her green, sparkling eyes; looked into his kind face that was so perfectly executed by his smile, and she shivered. She shivered because, even now, she couldn't quite believe how good he was; relentlessly so. He was so simple, so curious, so kind. He was wild, unpredictable, and sometimes even malicious with his actions, but at the core of who he was he simply...good. It was who he was most naturally, so long as he had someone to ensure that he didn't lose his way. Somehow, his flaws only made him more endearing; they were something that were bigger than him. He was not his mistakes, but rather was he always in a fight against them, and he was the kind of naive and weakened soul that needed a loving hand to guide his way.

She shivered as she melted under his touch the way that she always did, but especially now, with this part of her tattoo that was especially sensitive because of what the marking meant. How long she had waited to feel the warmth and the love of someone like Randy, she didn't know, but it felt breathtakingly heavenly as it traveled through her veins even more from that much awaited fire that was doing more than she could have guessed. It felt as if that particular part of her skin was set aflame, but only in the most life giving and enlightening way. She had never known that she was going to be lucky enough to be able to experience this feeling of such an utter and golden melody of his lips against her trauma, and it was better than even the most heavenly daydreams she ever could have experienced. She felt any previous tension roll off her shoulders as the sense of his warm lips gently massaging against the side of her skin stilled any previous troubles. The gentle tickling of his mustache, accompanied by the touch of his fingertips that were as soft as his soul the same as he allowed one last softened kiss against her skin, were her own personal forms of medicine.

"You must got quite a story to get this tattoo and to think about it for so long, right?" he insisted, voice gently and instantly soothing the way that his voice always was without fail.

She offered him a smile as her eyes fluttered open, a temporary break from the heated heaven she had fallen into. It was a bittersweet sort of smile, despite the fact that she was melting under her very own personal definition of heaven within that moment.

"My story behind my tattoo isn't nearly as happy," she warned after a moment. She said the word 'happy' as if she was speaking some sort of bitter taste that sat on the tip of her tongue, and Randy lifted up his eyes from where he was gazing at her with his own curious expression, his tender empathy almost always being attached to her own as he gazed at her with his own intensity of question.

"Happy?" he echoed, his voice adorable and soft as the innocence that would lace within him whenever he was curious about anything. It was enough that made her knees feel that familiar softened weakness, and she knew that she didn't want to fight this side of herself anymore, not if she could help it.

"I don't want to bore you with the details," she began hesitantly. "Because God knows that I've gone over in my head over and over again."

"Bore me?" Randy echoed. He let out a scoff from his lips. "Babe, you could never bore me with anything. Everything that you have to say about yourself is totally awesome. It's not just any chick that I can just sit down and hear any story about, but with you, everything is interesting."

Faceless felt a warm glow blossom inside of her chest. No matter what kind of flaws Randy or her had as individuals, they certainly had learned and had discovered how to love each other properly.

"I appreciate that, sweetheart," she murmured softly. She paused before she spoke her next words, considering what she wanted to say. The words she chose would define the rest of the conversion, and therefore the rest of the way of how Rndy saw this side of her. "I guess what I really mean is that I don't want to bore myself. God knows that I've told the story to myself over and over again, and that I've gone over it in my head more times than I ever actually experienced it."

"Well," Randy's expression furrowed adorably as he thought for a moment, pattering his fingers against her thigh. His eyes lit up as an idea struck him. "Just tell me all the details that you're comfortable telling me, then! The ones that don't bore you so much. Whatever you feel comfortable telling me. You don't gotta tell me the whole story if you don't want to."

"Innocent Pain"

Faceless comforts Randy during a tantrum.

Randy was a wrecked pulp of a storm; that much was resoundingly evident. He was tired, incomprehensibly exasperated, burnt out, and fed up behind what he could recall.

The slamming of his alcholcom stained fingertips as he muttered under breath spoke all anyone needed to know of the storm that brewed under him, even with his helpless and fairly innocent nature. One thing was resoundingly clear; even with all his unpredictability; he was becoming increasingly more vulnerable to breakdowns; to falling and spitting out his rich discontentment,, stumbling over his own words whenever life became too much for him; which was, admittedly, more often than not.

It hadn't been a pleasant breakdown that she had witnessed this afternoon; as a matter of fact, it was one of the most intense she had seen from him in the longest time she could recall. His eyes had been rendered red at their rims, and were utterly bloodshot within the whites of his eyes. His words were stuttering, his spit spluttering from his mouth as he had strung together every swear word he could think of within the incomprehensible language that only was invented by him unintentionally through his incontianable rage that had no clear beginning, and certainly no end.

"And this fucking cunt? She comes up to me and starts tellin' me I'm doing everything wrong! Tells me that Stanley doesn't acts the way he used to-tells me everything in my life is just goddamn difficult or messed up somehow! What am I supposed to say to that, huh? All these bitches are always in my business these days! They need to stop tripping on me, babe. They're tripping on my balls." His throat trembled, eyes burning with endless thoughts that had no clear containment. "They-re-they're jealous of me, yeah! Jealous! Jealous that I'm successful while they live their boring pathetic lives! I figured it all out, and they want what I have now!" Another slamming of a cabinet door. "Fucking pussies."

He had slammed cabinets; multiple of them, as he had fallen into his spitting of rage. It had made Faceless shrink against herself slightly; she had always seen him fall into these storms before, but neve quite so bluntly. Never with such a fired storm to the point where she was worried she would hurt himself, or someone else-accidentally, of course. Randy could become enraged and swear like a sailor, but he wasn't abusive. Never that.

Despite knowing this, she would almost even go so far to say that his actions were violent; not in the conventional ways of physical hiting or slamming, but rather because of the emotions that tugged at him with every decided impsulive action. There was a certain recklessness with the way he was crashing cabinets against the wood as he frantically searched-and failed-to find the nearest form of bottle of alcohol. His actions were messy, undone, and the anger that laced his voice was even more haunting; but more than that, and even more heartbreaking, did she sense the lace of sadness on his voice; a unhinged and hardly detectable hint, but still was it there, and she knew that for all that flare that was inside of his actions, for all that fire and for all that dazzling show, was he suffering underneath a complex incomprehensible torment that even he wasn't aware of, but still was it there. Hauntingly so.

She had given him space, she knew not what else to do. There was a certain suffocation of breaking inside of her own heart when she saw how he got like this; she felt his pain more than she felt her own, in countless ways. She would sit with her back against the side of the green couch as he had stormed his way upstairs, feet pounding, mumbling and muttering under his breath as he had made his way upward. For a long while was there nothing except for the echoing of the silence surrounding them; unceasing as the silence pounded against the side of her skull unforgivingly.

Finally she had started to make her way up the stairs. She knew she shouldn't leave Randy alone for too long when he got like this; nor did she want to. She wanted to be there for him throughout this; she wanted to comfort him in whatever way she could. She knew she could never truly pierce that layer of torment that was inside of his head, and she knew she could never truly calm his storm, but in a way did that only make her want to try even harder.

She could try to do that much for him, at the very least.

She hesitated against the side of the wooden door, and then gently did she knock. It almost felt like a certain betrayal, but she knew she had to do it.

"Darling?"

There was no response, but she could hear his congested sobbing coming from the other side of the door. Faceless closed her eyes as she bit down on her lip, trying her best to steady the uncertain pounding inside of her heart. She knew she had to go forward and love him through this; there was nothing else she could do.

"Randy, I'm coming in, alright?" she murmured gently. There was still no coherent response that came from the other side of the door; just more of that congested sobbing from the other side. She pushed her hand against the door and walked in; she knew she couldn't stand to hear this for much longer.

His body was thrown against the side of the bed, his arms thrown in front of him as he rested his dampened face against the side of the pillow. His fingers were clenching the soft fabric, and his black waves, which were getting increasingly longer with every passing day, were spilling around him like a crown. His back was shuttering at increasing heavy speeds as his crying only increased even further, his shoulder blades heaving up and down in a fashion only he could manage.

She didn't even need him to lift up his face to know how he more than likely looked; his usual porcelain face was more likely than not reddened like a heated flame, cheeks dusted like a blossomed flower that danced around his otherwise pale cheeks. She could imagine that reckless but tormented innocence inside of his eyes; the way his green eyes would tremble under their sockets with those emotions sickened of him that wrecked inside of him like a hurricane with nowhere to go. She longed to press her lips against the front of his nose, then travel them to his cheek; to gently nurture, suck, and massage the salt of his frustration that bloomed from the sorrow of his eyes, to ease them with the tenderness of her own touch.

She wanted to calm him; to soothe him, to, quite simply, be there for him in whatever way she had any way in her power to. He was worth that, and that much she knew.

But for now, there were only words.

"Su-something's wrong with me, Faceless." He choked, voice still clogged inside of his throat as he continued to allow the rather impressive wobbling to leave his throat. "It's not-it's not good, honey. It's a lot of bad shit. No-nothings going right." His voice sounded like it was a child trapped in a man's tones, and Faceless nodded as she reached out a hand and pressed it against the side of his shuddering back.

"I know, darling," she murmured. "It's not fair." She couldn't understand every thought he was thinking or exactly what had been triggered inside of him to bring this one, but she could certainly try.

Randy shook his head against the pillow with frantic speed. "Nu-huh! No, it's not! It's not fair!" He kicked

his feet against the end of the bed, a slight pout in his feet as he pounded them against the side of the sheets. He squeezed his fingers further against the front of the pillowcase, shaking his head further into the pillow. Had she not known the layers of his soul and loved him so deeply, she would admit it would be the most bewildering-if not even off putting-sight she had ever seen. But she knew his tantrums came from a very grown and even mascluine side of him, and she only needed to pull back the layers to find it.

"Sweetheart," she murmured softly. She could feel her own tension inside of her chest overcoming her senses; it was almost always there whenever he was like this. She leaned forward as she tried her best to still her breathing; even in his erratic, thumping, and grumpy nature did she find a very certain kind of stability that was innate inside of him that she gripped on to help him through this fit he was going through. As much as she was able, anyway. He could be an irreversible possession of unhappiness when he decided to be.

She allowed her hand to stay leaned against his back: she felt as if she were trying to comfort her own self as she watched the way he was so lost within his misery. He wretched himself away from her, shuddering further into the sheets and shaking his head with an even further speed.

"Nu-no!" he sobbed. "I don't care what you have to say, Faceless! I'm ruined! I hate everything! And everyone-" a loud sniff. "Everyone hates me, too!" His voice was entirely clogged now with his unsurpassed emotions, and he only took to huddling his face further inside of the pillow, shoulder hunching inward.

"Randy, honey," she whispered." Don't do this. Let me help you, ok?" She could see the his shoulders were only shuddering even further underneath his intense sobbing, and he shook his head as he buried himself further into the pillow.

"Nu-nu-huh! You wouldn't get it, Faceless! No one gets it! No one gets what it's like to be me!"

She paused for a moment, thinking carefully about her response. "You're right," she sighed gently. "I don't, darling. Which is why it's so important to me that you show me how."

She heard the way Randy tensed slightly, and paused even in the middle of his affair with his tears. After a moment did he detach his face away from where it was placed against the pillow, looking up at her and sniffing in that messy, boyish congested way that he did more often than not, especially when he was overcome with his emotions.

"You-you really mean it?" he mumbled as he looked over at her. He took a sleeve to his running nose as he wiped it, looking at her with sudden gleaming, interested eyes. It almost felt like the equivalent to cheering up a child after they found themselves upset in a corner; such was the rich genteless and innocence, and therefore reckless misery with nowhere to land, that came along with it. "You're not gonna find a way to blame me for all this? Tell me everything I'm thinking is wrong?"

She smiled at him, a bittersweet knowing tracing her lips. "When have I ever done that, darling?" The statement was meant to grant him a gentle and bittersweet reminder of just how much she loved him, and all the times she had done so unconditionally before. Her words were firm, yet tender.

Randy blinked at her slowly, causing more messy tears to fall from the corner of his eyes. He frowned in thought, then raised up one wrist and sloppy pressed it against the front of his nose for a second time, discontentment still racing across his expression. Despite the upset nature that was still on his face, there was a certain peace to it now, a certain understanding, that hadn't been there before.

"I just-ok," Randy mumbled. He allowed himself a deep breath, then gradually did he let out a grunt as he hoisted himself slightly upward. He gradually started to ease himself upward, letting out his own soft sighs as he did so. His black eyelashes were still trembling against his green pools of wonder, and his voice was still shaking with that hardly enclosed unhappy emotion that he never bothered hiding.

That was one of the main elements that stuck out about Randy Marsh and his character; he always, without fail, managed to separate himself from others his age, in more ways than one. His slightly more maslcine tones were starting to become more present, however, especially as he sighed as pulled himself together with only some successful effort.

"It's all crap, Faceless," he mumbled. He was halfway upward, but it seemed as if he lost his motivation to do even that much, because within a short few seconds he was collapsing back into himself again, allowing his body to fall back against the pillow as he leaned his head against the pillow, raising up one hand and pressing it against his forehead, the trouble in his eyes now fully present again once more.

"What do you mean, sweet thing?" she inquired gently. She didn't mean to, and she wasn't sure if she even should, but gradually did she lean her body forward against him. It seemed as if he had absolutely no intention of getting himself upward to acknowledge the way he was practically soaked in the damp, wet mess that surrounded him that was brought about by no less than his tears that were executed furiously by his fired, barely contained emotions.

"Th-they all talk about me! I know they do! I do everything I ca-everything I can-" He let out a dramatic gasp, and then gripped the fabric of the pillow even further. "Everything I can to make sure everyone is happy , everyone's taken care of, and what do I get for it, huh? I get-I get a load of crap! A load of people tellin' me what to do and what not to do! I'm- I'm really fucking sick of it! I just don't fucking care anymore!"

"Randy," she murmured. "Take down breaths, sweetheart." She let out her own breath as an example as she gradually leaned her body forward towards the side of his own body, tightening herself against him until she was practically cradling him in her grasp, gently allowing her weight now to mirror his as she eased herself onto the bed beside him. He swallowed thickly, his eyes still burning red from the tears that were spilling against the side of his eyes. He sniffed, half of the pale, innocent tender touch upon his handsome features that was normally present only becoming more apparent as he blinked at her through wet, tear filled eyes. Yet still was there hurt, as well as incessant anger.

"Don't tell me this is all gonna be alright!" he shot back, almost angrily in his sadness. Had she not known him so well, she wouldn't have been able to sense where the true violence of his were coming from, which was a deep hurt that was coming from the core of a soul that didn't know how to cope. There was that grating, upset tone in his voice that was struggling between his conflicting emotions, and trembling all at the same time with a barely surpassed boyishness. "It isn't. It fucking sucks. It's all bullshit."

"It is." She nodded as she gazed at him, her entire body trembling slightly in the wake of her empathy for him. There wasn't one thing he would feel that wouldn't make her feel it too; it felt as if she was strung onto the same balance of emotions as him, the same line of thoughts, and even the same cord that connected wherever human emotions manifested and wrapped their claws around them from. It was a bittersweet sensation, and yet there was nothing she would trade for it in the world, and certainly nothing that made her feel less alive, and certainly nothing more in tune with what she was convinced was her deepest and more irrevocable purpose.

"I'm not telling you it's alright, darling, because it's not." She found that any words she would speak would only make her feel even more incompetent, so slowly did she allow her attempted comfort to fall to a still silence. There was a rich hesitance from her end, but after a moment did she reach out her hand and gently caress it against the black waves that framed his troubled features. He let out a soft, adorable hiccup, his body shuddering underneath the weight of what he had just fallen under.

"You're so upset," she whispered softly. It was such a simple, blatant,, and blunt truth, but it was one that somehow broke some layer between them to speak it. Her voice broke, and, truth be told, she wasn't surprised that she was so taken aback by the emotions that were coming out from him like a wave. Randy was always the kind of man that felt too much or not at all; he was always one extreme or the other. She let out her own softened, defeated sigh as she allowed her body to now fully rest beside his, allowing her soft cheek to press against the origin comfort that was the pillow that they shared, leaning her hand underneath her cheek as she gazed at him softly.

He allowed his own trembling pools of wonders to meet her own eyes, still with his face that was reddened with his precious tears that had been spoiling the front of his face. Had there ever been anything that she had ever known that was the most earthly and welcomed physical state of manifestation of a certain kind of heaven, it was the flowered, chaotic, and endless waves of emotion that was inside of his expression, and the trembling red of his lip; one that she could kiss and taste time and time again, and yet still would she never get any less hungry for.

"It sucks," he mumbled boyishly.

"What does?" she inquired softly. She wanted to gently guide and lead him through his thoughts; she felt she could do that much for him. It was her greatest honor and purpose,and had been since she had started to learn to love him, to gently lead him through every challenge inside of his mind and heart, and to help him just as much as she could, and in the most executed and gently claden way possible.

He shrugged. "Everything does. Got all the way out here, finally made something of myself, and now everyone just wants to shit on me. And I'm supposed to act like that's ok? Like it doesn't bother me? How the hell does Garrison put up with all these people and all this crap talking down on him? I could never understand it. He just-he just takes it, ya know? He tells me all this advice and I just fall flat on my ass for it. I try, but-" he sighed, eyes pulling downward. "I dunno. It doesn't feel right, and no one buys it from me anyway."

"You're softer than Garrison," Faceless murmured. "Things get to you a little more. It's not as easy for you to push everyone aside like the way he does."

Randy frowned. "Hey, I can totally push people aside. That's easy."

"It's not a bad thing, sweetheart. Not at all."

Randy's eyes flickered downward, and he sniffed. "Yeah, well, being softer sucks."

Faceless smiled at him with a bitter understanding and empathy. "It does,"" she murmured. She didn't try to add any kind of catch line or any kind of extra comfort. Instead did she simply allow her own sign to leave her lips that she didn't even need to confirm was a wordless sound of sympathy for him. Her cold breath eased his own troubled heart, especially as it gently caressed the front of his face. Her cold breath and his warm breath against her face was like being drenched in a softened awakening for them both; and it was much needed and much craved. Randy's breath was hot, uncertain, and almost always had that musky smell of weed; and there wasn't any other sensation she could have craved more than his.

"You can do it, darling," she whispered. "You can do everything that you dreamed of, and more."

A thought flickered across Randy's eyes, and slowly he let out a deep sigh.

"Hun?" he murmured.

"Yes?"

"You don't..you don't think there's something wrong with me, do you?" He said the question with a saddened reflection, gazing down at himself as he looked forward, picking at the sheets of the pillow absentmindedly. "Like...you don't think I do something awful or something wrong? Because-I dunno. Somehow I feel like all the crap people give me...I don't know, it's gotta come from somewhere, right? They gotta get all that inspiration to shit on me from something."

"People are people," she responded simply. "And all we can do is...be people along with them."

Randy was pattering his finger against the side of the sheets; there was an unspoken thought inside of his eyes that glinted within the depths of his mind. She knew that no matter what he reflected upon, he wouldn't get the answer quite right, but she found that only more of an endearing reason to help him in any way she could. That much she could do for him, at the very least. The wayward ways of his mind and how he saw the world only inspired her to help him further, even if the challenge was one that presented an inflating and intimidating climb. That was her Randy, after all; an endless challenge, and an exhilarating one at that.

She eased herself even closer towards him, inching herself as close to his body as she could get herself. She wrapped her arms around him, resuming her mission of trying to cradle him as best as she could; her own much wanted and famished addiction that never quite got satisfied. She gently snaked her arms around the soft plush of his love handles as she tenderly nuzzled her nose against the side of his own features, nipping her teeth against the side of his skin. If she couldn't comfort him with words, actions would have to do, and she was more than happy and more than willing to take on the challenge of comforting him with her actions. They were the language that Randy spoke most of all, after all, and she would be more than happy to join him in the dance of it.

Then again, if anything summoned her to speak word after word after word in speechless and countless thoughts, it was certainly Randy. She couldn't stop herself, and the words would come spilling out of her like a babbling brook of endless admiration.

"Look at you," she breathed. "So full of life, so full of energy, even after everything you've gone and been through." She smiled as she nuzzled her face against the side of his precious features, and Randy let out his own raspy chuckle, and though the raspiness was laced in a layer of his own reflective sadness and the congested crying he had fallen into only a second before, there was a sense of humor to it now. The tip of his nose was rendered red as he looked up at her and sniffed helplessly.

"Thanks, babe," he muttered. His voice was shaky and softly, and vaguely relieved. There was a pause for a moment that was full of some sort of rich thought, and then slowly did a request ;leave his lips that had more heaviness behind it than Randy intended.

"You got a handkerchief? Left mine downstairs," he mumbled.

Faceless laughed gently against his ear, and her cold breath softly moved against the threads of his black hair. What a wonderful intimacy it was to have her arms pressed up around him; how much it quieted the noise of the world that surrounded them.

"Goddammit, Randy," she whispered, grazing her teeth against the bottom of his ear in desperate famished hunger. 'Just when I think you can't get any more adorable, you somehow just do." She found that he was her own gentle promise simply by existing, and she would try to be his never ending reassurance. Her sweetness that surrounded his sorrow wrapped fully around him, as if she was physically catching him with some unforeseen fall that he had felt helplessly only a moment before. This was where she belonged; this was her purpose within life. Her arms wrapped around him, enwrapping around his confidence that was only temporarily halted by the fragile nature that was him as he lied there within her own arms, her legs wrapped around his hips with that gentle and endlessly melody with much the same way he did with her when the emotions were the other way around, in his own messy but well intended way.

"Hey, you know how much those little white things help," Randy mumbled, a slightly self knowing smirk trembling against the side of his lip.

"I'll get it in a moment,"she showered the tips of his ears with her own softened breath. "Need to memorize my own personal version of heaven for a moment."

Rnays let out a broken chuckle, and it broke her heart how she could hear the barely suppressed emotions that were dancing on the top of his lips.

"Yeah, sure, babe," he whispered. "Me...me too." He nuzzled himself further against the curve of her neck, his black hair spoiling against her. She caught a sight of his appearance as she cracked open her eyes slightly to catch sight of him; he was so pretty, so defiantly traced literally with the crown of his black waves of hair that framed his porcelain face, the flowers of his bloody viens blossomed red as they spilled against his cheeks.

But there was a sense of aging, a sense of his skin falling under his age, even though it was obvious that Randy was one of those people that wouldn't age a day. Regardless of his eternal youth, there was a certain unhealthiness to him brought about by his addictions and habits, and it broke her heart to know that that sense of weary physical strain wasn't brought about him by natural means. That glowing youth was still there inside of him, but it seemed dulled under the weight of his smoking and drinking. He was so helplessly fraile under his own flaws that were gradually destroying him, and it only made her love him more. His stomach was becoming rounded, softer, and more plush underneath her touch. Her fingers seemed as if it was gracing a gentle softness that trembled as if it had ben waiting for her, and she shivered at the precious sensation. She felt her throat close as she allowed her questioning fingers to trial underneath his shirt, allowing her hands to explore the soft skin of his body that was so tender it was almost painful; some may have even so considered it pathetically so, had they not know the preciousness that was within his that she was so mindnumblingly addicted to once she had tasted his warmth for the first time all those years ago.

"You know, darling, you'll always be free." Those were some of the warmest words she had spoken that night, but ironically, she shivered as she spoke the words, as if she couldn't quite believe the power of them herself, nor could she constrain the emotions behind them that were so powerful they were almost choking.

Randy niffed within the dark, the precious sunset orange melting into the dim of the light from the outside as it pooled into the window, rendering and tracing his features with a certain nostalgia that was so rich, so eerie, and so strange that only she had seen it within his very core, and it almost choked her with a powerful wave of emotion in and of itself.

"What-what do you mean?" A simple question, asked in a slow voice that was prolonged with every vowel in his gentle tones.

She took a breath; she was overcome with love for him that she wasn't sure if she would even survive it, much less be able to hold a conversation with him now. "No matter what happens to you in life, you'll always be free, Randy. Especially you. Our souls can't help but fight for our freedom, for our happiness. No matter how suffocating or helpless the circumstances become, you'll always find a way to break free. It's in our very attire. I'm still figuring it out myself, but I'll be damned if I don't see it in you, darling. The endurance."

Randy sniffed as he gazed at her, eyes blinking with something that was a balance between his usual hardened frustration, and yet that gentle listening in his green garden wonders. There was a gentle quiet that was overcoming the air and adding to the sensitive area that was surrounding them, and she felt a sense of a complete detachment from the rest of the chaos of the world, as if nothing could ever affect her again and never would, not as long as she had him within her arms. As long as he was happy, even if only remotely underneath the comfort that she was giving him, this feeling would persist. That soft and gentle detachment that only his presence and the rich bonding that they gave that they both knew wasn't going anywhere, even with the unpredictable chaos that was within Randy, would stay with the both of them, for as long as they remembered each other; as long as they held on tight to this feeling they gave each other in precious moments such as now.

He knew it, too, even within his muddled mind. There was something within how she loved him that was greater than even herself, something about it that not even she could understand. A lot of things she had ceased to understand when it came to falling in love with Randy-a reckless decision in and of itself, and yet as far as her spirit was concerned, nothing had ever made more sense.

And she knew that it wasn't going to go anywhere anytime soon, either. The feeling had rested and even interwoven inside of her heart, and slowly, over the years, as she had come to memorize and to know him, she found that he was completely sewing his very nature around her; his very uncertain and sweating hands that previously always went through so many phases but were never truly satisfied that explored her skin with a certain kind of rich newfound contentment for the first time since he had started searching for something to take the pained emptiness away. His touches would wrap around her, unintentionally but successfully helping her forget her all else except for the way his innate, bumbling warmth felt around her starved skin that was quenched only by him and him alone. He was her relentless freedom, and she would be much the same for him, but more than that where they each other's medicine and comfort. They both needed a lot of different things, and together were shaped by different elements of the life that had made the both of them, and it was through their opposite natures that so perfectly healed and helped one another to grow in all the ways they needed.

As long as that was true, and as long as they held on tight what they gave each other and to what they extracted and gave each other, she knew that there wasn't one day that they couldn't get through, as long as they could intertwine inside of each other, their bodies' limbs almost rendered like a stretched gum that created the perfect rested chair that was made from the very bones of their bodies, each body part now no longer randomly put in their natural ways such as the random and useless nature of human bodies were, but instead found their own eccentric places to perfectly cradle each other as they discovered within one another how they molded one another not only to their true natural form and purpose, even as unfamiliar as it was, but also to their soul's purpose; his hand under her chest to hold her heart, her flowered blossom of pained emotions that burst from her eyes to form a sea to make his boat he built with his own ambition a palace to purposely float. His arm stretched forward unnaturally at a strain to carry her fragility. It would have been monotonous, had it not been so beautiful. Together, in bodies and in the materials of the world they explored and were given the same, did they help each other.

"Do you really think so?" Randy sniffed, still gently patting his fingertip nervously up against the front of him as he gently traced his fingertips against the front of the sheet. "You really-you really think that this isn't going to last forever? This feeling, these people, the way that these people talk about me... it's not going to last? Because sometimes it feels like this shit is going to last forever, or it's like just the new life that I signed up for with myself. It fucking sucks."

"I know it does," she murmured. "And believe mem sweetheart, I empathize with you more than I think I can communicate properly to you a lot of the time."

His liquid wonders shot up towards her, that gentle question always dancing inside of his eyes that she always wanted to answer, to caress, to massage away from his pain as best as she could. He deserved that much, at the very least, as far as she was concerned.

"What do you mean?" he asked, voice wavering as he gently wobbled his voice with his hardly suppressed emotions, furrowing his eyebrows as he gazed at her, his green eyes gently inquiring inside her own expression.

Faceless offered him a soft, empathetic, understanding smile. "I just mean that I've had my fair share of people bringing me down-by not believing in me, with me feeling like I was the only one who wanted to go forward in life with what I wanted, like I was the only one that supported me. And it's okay to make mistakes, darling, and it's okay for people to talk about them, but what is not ok is for people to bring you down because of those things."

Evidently she was hitting inside of some sore spot that was within him more than she originally planned, and she felt her words strike inside of her own throat as it transferred to the own wounded hurt inside of his eyes even as she spoke them. Randy lifted up his eyes within breathless seconds as he gazed at her and watched the way she practically unraveled herself right in front of him, now more focused even within his own soft and gentle blush of the orange and red that dusted his cheeks that executed his previous upset sadness. He was falling into her fast; quickly, and unapologetically so as he was surrounded up against the front of the blankets; it was the strongest sensation either of them had ever known, and neither of them could deny it, and certainly neither of them wanted to run from it.

Randy swallowed, and then cleared his throat, clearly trying to chase away whatever suffocating emotion was possessing his throat. "Well, hey," Randy stammered, looking at her with a sudden frantic nature dancing inside of his green eyes that was always there more often than not. "It's all right, okay, honey? I know that everything about this really sucks for the both of us, but it's okay, you know? Because we have this." He reached out his hand and caressed it against her skin with his trembling thumb, stroking his touch against her arms. Faceless let out a hardly suppressed breath as she felt the way that he tenderly touched her, considerately caressed his fingers against the side of her in that clumsy tenderness only he possessed. "So just take it easy, honey. I really, really do appreciate it. There was never anyone around here before- nothin' that I actually wanted or needed to hear, anyways. Sometimes I didn't even care, and sometimes I just wanted to be miserable, because god knows there was nothing around me except for a lot of bitching anyway." He swallowed, lip trembling, and she traced the thumb of her hands against his lip, watching the way he was still being gently unravelled by her unintentional but furious touch. Whatever he was made of, it must have been of some kind of delicate, innocent ribbon, and she was unwrapping the softening material simply by pressing her touch against him. "But-but you make it a little bit easier to not want to be that." He blinked softly as he gazed at her, as if he was coming to his own conclusions, or his own realizations that he hadn't quite been able to reach before, through her. "Yeah, you definitely do that for me," he murmured again.

It wasn't always often that Randy sounded this thoughtful, but for the time being was his never ending storm calming. There was a soft, tender and much-awaited contentment that was inside of his own voice as he gazed at her; a soft and gentle peace tracing from his lips seeming to come from the source that was the soft grass of his voice as he gazed at her.

She smiled for a moment, but even with these kind words that he spoke from his trembling lip did she feel the gentle sting that was inside of his eyes, and it certainly wasted no time gradually leaking out from the sides and poking and prodding all the feelings she felt for him. She felt her emotion glob inside her throat, and whether it was from memorizing the beauty and the warmth that was him that seemed so rich that it was almost unbelievable, or whether it was a soft, gentle caress of his touches was that were loving nd soothing her trembling skin, or that look inside of his eyes that was the equivalent to a reckless honey that she would never get tired of drinking or of memorizing, she didn't know.

But what she did know is that she was no longer capable, for the time being, of speaking a coherent sentence, or having a worthwhile conversation. She gazed at him as she felt her watery lips twist into a smile as best as she could manage even within her flooded emotion, and despite the heaviness of what she was feeling did her desire execute itself against her lips further as she leaned herself forward while she pressed her lips against the side of his dampened cheek.

No matter how hard she tried, every time she tasted him her addition and her love for him only grew all the stronger; it was almost painful with the way it did. She knew she would be consumed by it one day, but truth be told, even with as bittersweet as it was, she couldn't imagine any better way to go. She would go out like a light because of him.

But for the time being there was only the tender fire of being inside of each other's embrace, and most especially of taking care of each other. "Let me get you that handkerchief," she offered gently, fully smiling against his cheek as she did so, and before Randy could speak did she lift herself out of the front of the bed as she made a way over towards the front of the door.

Randy didn't say anything, but she could imagine the way that his face was melted into that gentle helplessness as he watched her go. There were many times, despite how loud he could be at times, and despite how chatty, that he could be overtaken by his own emotion, or simply by being overwhelmed by the other person. He was both confident and painfully sensitive. He was incredibly perceptive when it came down to it, and there were times when he allowed the other person to simply talk first, even when it came to anger at times. This trait was especially present when he was particularly overwhelmed by the others' emotions, when he felt even his own storm knocked out from another's anger. Randy was violent, but he was just as easily soft. There were times when his more softened side would become present while the person from the other end of the interaction spoke their truth. He was very childlike and innocent the same, looking and staring at other people while he let them rant about whatever went through their mind. He would settle at times for looking at them with a wide-eyed innocence, as if he didn't always know quite what to say. It was in that moment that the urge to kiss him was almost completely maddening and utterly helpless, knowing just how naive and just how innocent he was himself; he was utterly sweet and softened in his own way, even if sometimes it was a little bit twisted. He was completely and irrevocably a gently tender, soft, lost soul, and with the combination of the love she had for his essence, his stocky body, the innocence of his large eyes, the raspy masculine of his voice, and that perfect frame of midnight waves that crashed against the side of his porcelain face like tired waves finding their rest against the beach, she knew he would be the death of her.

He was the perfect combination of a much-needed support of a partner that offered her all the abilities that she needed, but at the same time had a gentle tenderness inside him that constantly begged to be taken cared of. She was the medicine to his endless addictions and the torment of his inner core, and she would be that for him as much as she was able. Within that way were they perfectly combined and wonderfully intertwined against each other, she knew there wasn't going to be one day when she wouldn't ever feel truly lost, and she couldn't believe how lucky she was to be able to experience him and the very perfect batch of intertwined nature that he was every day.

Even now, as she made her way down the stairs did she find herself falling into a sort of detachment, leaving her body and feeling a heavy disassociation as she reflected on just how lucky she was even just to know him, let alone to love him in the internment and utterly relentless and yet simple way that she did. She felt almost sick with the sensation as she felt the salty tears fall down her cheek, and she chuckled as she raised her fingertips and dabbed at them from the salty tears that were falling from her eyes as she made her way over towards the kitchen.

All of the lights were off, but she had gone through these very rooms countless times before, so much so that she didn't need to have the lights on in order to see her way. She made her way over towards the kitchen as she wrapped her hand against the front of the wall in order to guide her way over towards it, gradually making her way over towards the kitchen as she did so.

She took a deep breath as she tried to balance herself, trying her best to study herself as best as she could, finding herself losing control of her body in a way only the truest of verison love did to her, most especially within these and warm intimate moments of the night, and most especially when he at was his most vulnerable in his most irresistible state, at least as far as her own rushing, wrecked heart was concerned. Her only heart's concern was to simply take care of him, and she knew there was a certain kind of magic between them that almost seemed as if it was rendered incomprehensible, much less something that she was able to understand at such short notice. There was something about what he did to her, in general, that made her feel as if the love that they shared between each other was bigger than anything else that she had experienced within her life, and she always felt a slight detachment for the rest of the world within what he gave her that was a certain kind of blessing, knowing that no matter what kind of challenges or what kind of devastations could be thrown at either of them, at the end of the day, they both shared the love between the two of them that was bigger than any of it combined.

It was within these quiet hours of the night, most especially when Randy came to his own emotional breakdown at the end of a long day, when she reached some sort of pinnacle of emotional bittersweet height and complexity with the way that she felt about him.

Even now did she feel as if she was floating, as if her rushing feet weren't really touching the cold of the tile ground at all, as if her trembling fingers weren't really touching anything at all, as if her searching eyes were gazing at something that wasn't there. She felt as if everything around her was only a teasing illusion, a mirage, a piece of a past that had already reached its conclusion-not real, and certainly not something to be taken seriously. She felt, quite simply, like she was reaching a higher plane of existence that made her stronger than anything she had ever experienced, or than anything that she would ever know. It was a feeling that was so sweet and so persistently strong it almost felt as if it was choking her and surrounding her with its own threads on all sides of her body, but she knew it was the sweetest sensation that she has ever known, and it was also the feeling that she was always longing for the most; this feeling of simply being completely within her purpose, and utterly within herself.

And more than that….there was something within her that was memorizing the way that it felt to stay awake with him for the rest of these long nights, and she only wished she could somehow take a knife to the fabrication of time that constantly surrounded them and kept moving like a madman that was greedily pushing the fabric along. She wanted to stop it abruptly and violently, to stab her knife inside of it to stop it from continuing to pass both of them by. She wanted to force the morning not to come, to put an end to the chaos, and all of the other people that came with it. Just like love, it would be messy and bloody with the way that she would take her knife and plunge it into the passage of time in order to stop it, and she would watch the fragile fabric tremble under the weight of the point of the deranged knife, but it would be something that the both of them would find an enriched reward within, and she would keep that knife there against the front of the fabrication of the world surrounding them until they had finally had all the time together that they wanted; until she had memorized everything that he was. They would melt within one another until she had fully experienced the love that he gave her that was bigger than life itself to its fullest extent without the endless noise and interruption of the world. To do anything else simply was something that was pain, and there was a sense of bittersweet strain that she knew, at least in realistic terms, that she couldn't escape, knowing that, technically, there would always be a life without him. She knew that the sense of falling into the perfect vacation that he was wasn't going to last, but she knew that, at least for the time being she could at least make the most of it, and with the way that it felt as if her heart was distracted by the cruel noise of the world, as if it might have been reduced to something that was a simple cloud that was lost in a much welcomed fog, she already knew that she had, in more ways than one.

She reached out a hand as she caressed her fingertips against the side of the cabinet where she gradually began to open it, already making her way into the stash of handkerchiefs that he brought with him almost everywhere he went, especially now, since he started to cry most days more often than not. She hadn't known him too well when she had first met him, and it had taken her awhile to learn how to love a wayward man like Randy in all the ways he deserved, but she had felt, with an unspeakable certainty, that she had known him even before they have physically known each other within any actual reality, and she smiled, feeling proud of the fact that he finally had some sort of comfort within his emotions; at least in the sense that he finally allowed himself to truly feel them; that he allowed himself to cry whenever he wanted and whenever he felt like he needed, even as he watched the rest of the world try to stop him all the while. She couldn't have been more proud that he was finally coming into his truest self, in more ways than one, and tapping into his true nature. There had been a miserable fight inside of him before with who he was and his place within the world, but slowly he had started to accept himself since he had moved to the farm.

She pressed her fingertips against the side of the handkerchief and quickly began to rush away back upstairs as she hugged the tissue to her chest, already desperate to bring him back to that version of himself that she knew he needed just as much as she needed him. There were multiple versions of each other that they needed for different reasons, and there was a much needed, bittersweet sensation that they would simply never be able to get enough of each other and all of the different faces and versions of one another that they possessed within each other.

Her mission was overcome by a sudden strike of rich, sweetened, poisoned emotion, however, and she found herself stumbling backward at its sudden force. She tried to make way up the stairs, but she felt a sudden choking stop and overcome her. She doubled over as she pressed one hand up against the front of her mouth even as she squeezed her hand up against the side of the wooden stair handle as she tried to make her way upward. Despite her best efforts, she stopped herself abruptly as she pressed her hand against the side of the stairs as she leaned against it, her own choking dancing and squeezing inside her chest as she felt her emotions overcome her entirely. Whether the sobbing inside of her throat that ached with pressure was one of sorrow, or whether it was one that was in a complete and utter gratitude that was so rich that it almost felt painful, she couldn't quite know. There were so many feelings she possessed for him within these moments that she felt as if she was rendered completely helpless underneath them, as if she was on some sort of boat that simply wasn't large enough to brave the sudden wave of storms that overcame her. She couldn't even begin to read the codes that were within the endless mystery of her own storm; couldn't even begin to read the messages that were within the messages. Her mind and her heart both worked together and yet against one another, and she knew that there was no point in trying to make sense of them, but only to simply feel them; to embrace the thoughtful pause forced upon her by the wrecking waves of her mind.

She grabbed her hand against the wallpaper as she squinted her vision while tears began to overcome her sight, and slowly did she let herself allow the sobs to overcome her throat. Her the cries were already becoming ;oud enough to be heard as they traveled around the otherwise empty and completely silent four walls that were surrounding her and, she felt her entire body tremble under the current wrought weight that she was feeling that was so bittersweet that it tickled at her every wound. The wounds were not aggravated, but rather caressed shyly by the hands of her sudden unforeseen wave of emotions.

"Sweetheart?" As if she wasn't already feeling too much, she could already hear his own soft, prolonged vowels of his voice beginning to gently make its way through the door. She heard the door that was a few inches away from her body close from behind her, and she shook her head slightly, feeling something that was between a complete reckless gratitude that was almost painful, yet at the same time a sudden frantic need to hide. Not because she thought she wasn't safe for her emotions, but because she truly did want to focus on the love that he gave her, and she knew that if she allowed her own painful emotions, or her own bittersweet perception to overcome her, it would flutter away the same way that a indecisive butterfly did, and it would be as if it would have never been there at all.

But his own soft footsteps were coming down, the sounds of them echoing against the side of the hallways, and she swallowed thickly even as she tried to tap into her self-control, but she knew that it was already lost cause before she could prevent it.

"Hun, whoa-hey, what the hell is going on?" Randy questioned, softened and innocent voice wrapping around her own trembling body. Even as he began to rush his own feet up against the downward trail of the steps she could feel the way that he was racing his way over towards her, could hear the way his feet patterned against the ground in their endless dance of his erratic nature, taking him out of whatever impulsive sleep he could have fallen into as he instead had chosen to fall into the gentle fire of her own chaotic storm. His was loud, and hers was soft, but they both had them.

He wrapped his hands against the front of her shoulders with a swing of his sudden movements even as he began to rush his way over down towards her. She doubled herself over, seeing nothing except for the wooden steps up in front of her that almost seemed as if it was mocking her from her lack of being able to climb it. The only thing that was able to break her out of the paralyzed ice of what she was feeling was the sudden feeling of that interwoven tender element; which was nothing less than his warm hands that wrapped around her body. She let out a deep, shuttered sigh is she allowed herself to give away from her fight to help her own self up as she felt herself be gently intertwined by Randy's own arms that held her so tightly that she could smell the musky scent of the weed fuming from his skin, could feel the perfectly interwoven warm even through the soft material of his robe that was almost hard compared to the soft warmth of his skin that she was so addicted to feeling. The soft of his chest that was poking out from the front of his green robe was the first thing she met as she truly came back to the surface while he pulled her towards him, the black, coarse hair tickling her skin and making her lips tremble. She allowed her head to fall backward as she let herself to be fully pressed up against him, her body subconsciously falling into him as she gave up any need or desire to take care of herself, gently caressing the back of her head against the curve of his welcoming skin. She melted into him in more ways than one, the tender touch of his hands reaching her core and her goosebump polluted skin much the same, as he gently began to caress the back of her head, offering her whatever comfort that he could as he rested his own chin against the front of her head.

"Whoa, whoa, hey, hun. What's going on?" Randy questioned, whispered voice softened and panicked all at slightly more masculine version of his voice was beginning to overcome his previous drawled, prolonged, congested upset panic that had been present within his voice previously, marking his sudden concentration from something that was greater than himself, and slowly did he allow his own hand to press against the side of her. "I thought you were just going to get a handkerchief, not start crying so that you could join me."

Faceless let out a shaky laugh, but it was a bittersweet sound that broke slightly in the way that executed itself out of her lips. "Just a lot of emotions tonight, is all," she murmured softly. Randy's own soft, innocent expression gazed at her as he nodded at her softly, his curiosity and hurt in the wake of hers only continuing the sense of hers. "Not even necessarily all them bad, but just a lot. It's a lot to just….feel, in general." She sniffed as her voice broke, her voice trembling with her own congested, wobbling voice. She shivered as she felt the way Randy's soft fingertips caressed against her; almost shyly from just how gentle they were, true to Randy's fashion.

"Yeah, I know how that feels, honey," he sighed, the softest and the most empathetic tones leaving his lips as he nodded. "It's not easy feeling all these emotions, and surrounded by people who just want to shit on you. I've been there, honey. Hell, I am there." There was a soft, tender, bittersweet knowing smile that traced itself against his lips as he allowed his own hands to travel from the back of her head and over towards the front of her face. She shivered at the touch; it was like medicine for her sorrow.

"But, anyways, hey," he added as he saw the way she flicked her eyes up at him. "We're gonna take care of this, alight? Just like we always do, and just like we always have in the past. We're going to take care of each other. We're going to get through this, and we're going to hold on to our tegrity. Unlike these folks." He ended the last word on his usual playul determined nature, and he grinned as he began to gently caress away the falling tears with his thumb as he did so, his own eyes furrowing in his playful nature. She laughed, and sniffed softly, nodding as she looked down at her hands for a moment as she collected the pieces of something that was bittersweet in its richness. She then shot her eyes back up at him and gave him a soft, broken, but nonetheless confirming nod.

"Sometimes I just wonder if I'm doing enough," she admitted. "If I'm enjoying our love enough, if I'm taking care of it enough. I know….I know just how quickly love comes and goes. It's so fragile-possibly the most fragile human experience in the entire world. It can come and go like the tide, and one day it can be there like it's the only thing that exists, and the next day it disappears as if it was never there at all. And I just wonder...sometimes, if I'm really making the most of everything that's between us. If there's-if there's even anything to make the most of, or if it's just something that I simply need to...experience, to watch pass me by. But at the same time I'm not sure if that's what I want, either. I never know what to do with what we've been given, and I never know what to do to take care of you." Her throat trembled as she choked on her words, reflecting her torment even deeper than she suspected. "All I ever wanted to take care of you, to give you the world, and sometimes I feel as if I don't know how to even do that." She laughed bitterly as she shook her head back and forth, nuzzling her cheek up against the side of his own fingers, which were gently catching and caressing against the side of her own face as best as he could manage.

Love soaked concern was present within Randy's own expression. A tender, naive bewilderment and sense of overwhelmed nature the same, but such was the way with Randy, more often than not, even when he wanted to help the most. Especially then. He was such a simple soul, who was relentlessly tender, who only ever wanted to help as best as he could-even if he couldn't always see the way to go in front of him.

"Love,-love is just so- it's just so fleeting, it feels like, and on my worst days and times I feel like it's going to be so fleeting between the two of us that in a decade's time I won't even remember what it felt like to love you, to feel this way tonight. Not even when I feel so much for you that it feels as if my world is physically overcoming overflowing on itself-"

"Whoa, hey." Randy reached out his hands as he placed them against the side of her arms, turning her now more towards him than she was towards the wall. She continued to shake her head, but not before Randy could ghost a finger under her chin to life back up her expression. He was so artistically and naturally tender in that way, even with his violent and impulsive nature. There was a change in his expression as her eyes met his, and he smiled as he gazed within her own trembling questions of eyes.

"Let me kiss the bad thoughts away, ok, honey?" Randy offered, voice reaching their most natural and tender gifted tones. He was giving her his own sympathetic smile as he gazed at her; a gift within a tender gift. Faceless' lip trembled in response, giving away her still troubled mind, and Randy allowed himself a sight, a soft reset, before he continued.

"Hun….I don't have all the answers, but that doesn't mean that we can't make the most of whatever it is that we're going through, alright?" He nodded down towards the handkerchief as he intertwined his hands around it, pulling into her hands as he reached forward and began to dab it against the side of the front of her own damp face. She sniffed as she allowed herself to gaze at him, smiling with a wounded but tender expression as he gently began to press the soft fabric against the side of her salted tear stained face, its own soft and gentle validation that could gently intertwin itself between the two of them as a physical manifestation of all the ways he wanted to comfort her.

"We got to get all these bad thoughts away, because they are bullshit," he said, his green wonders watching the every movement of the trail of her tears that were caught only by the soft fabric of the handkerchief." I know what you mean, honey, and believe me, I've seen with my own eyes the way that love can kind of just-change. People change, like Sharon used to say. The way love can pass you by right in front of you-and let me tell you what I say that it does fucking suck. It sucks just as much as you think it does, but that doesn't mean that either of us has to suffer thinking about it. Not like thinking will solve the problem anyway, you know?" He sighed as he continued to catch the salted tears against the front of his handkerchief, allowing his even softer fingertips to graze her damp cheek all the while. "It's just-it's just something that you just got to do, not think about, you know what I'm saying? You can try to love all you want-but at the end of the day….it's just going to pass you by." He gazed at her heartbreaking expression, raising up one hand and rubbing the back of his neck that wasn't dabbing at her wet cheek. "You're right, honey, it's something that goes by even faster than alcohol when you buy for the first time, faster than any kind of high that goes through you. It's over before you even know it, and when you are experiencing it, you're not even sure why you're even experiencing it, because it's so overwhelming that you hardly even know that it's there."

She smiled as he finished chopping away at the rest of the tears, felt a certain calm as she felt the way his soft fingertips grazed against her cheek as she clumsily pressed his handkerchief against her skin with her hands that were sharing the spaces within his.

"But- that doesn't mean that we can't make the absolute most of it when we do have it, you know what I mean? But we can't control anything, especially not something as wack as love. We sure as hell at the very least make the most of whatever it is that we got going for the two of us as individuals, and we can enjoy the fact that we've ever had this experience all the first place while we can! Everything else is just bullshit, as far as I'm concerned. Everything-everything else is just a whole lot of crap that the world just wants to spoon feed us so that they can make us just as miserable and just as soulless as they are, but you know... I stopped allowing people to tell me who I am and what I wanted and what I should want a long time ago, and let me tell you, I've never been happier."

His voice was softly traced with that glow inside of him as he reached his most confident revelations, and Faceless smiled, knowing that what he was speaking was true, and knowing that he truly believed in them.

"You got plenty of wisdom in that head of yours, you know that?" she murmured. "It really is a gift, hearing the way that you can talk about your own experience. I never thought I would be lucky enough to be able to experience you-to experience everything that we shared together- but I'm so glad that we did." She gently leaned herself forward as she caught his own gentle patterning of his fingertips that rested against the side of her cheeks, a pattern that was coming out from the front of his own hand as it caressed against the side of her in that loveable, tender gentleness only Randy had. He continued to patter his handkerchief against the side of her cheeks and gazed at her with that look of playful patience. There was a glint of happiness inside of his eyes; a golden dust of surprise that traced his eyes.

"Hell, yeah," he chuckled. "Nice to get some goodman appreciation around here. You're the only one that even bothers to say anything about me whenever I try to help with anything." A zesty chuckle escaped out of his own soft, plump lips; as the comforting round of his stomach that she so deeply cherished, and as gentle as the muttering that came out of his raspy voice. "Just...thanks, sweetheart," he muttered, his voice trembling with that gentleness that she always knew he was capable of within him. "You're the only one that actually wants to see that I'm trying to do fucking better for everyone around here. Everybody else just wants to throw my efforts under the rug, but you actually at least want to see. You want to, and you want to know whatever it is that I'm trying to do for other people. Now that is pretty fucking incrdible, if you ask me."

Faceless allowed her tender smile to graze the side of his fingers. "I couldn't stop seeing you even if I tried, Randy," she whispered, her own voice caught in her tender tones as he gazed at him with her own loving nature; one that only came out to its full intensity when she was around him.

Randy paused with his caressing as his fingers froze against the side of her lips, letting out his own deep breath as he allowed his hot breath to melt against her thoughtfully. "Thank you, sweetheart," he whispered earnestly. His own voice was trembling now, and gradually it began to become reduced from that masculine seriousness to that gentle, soft, dare she even think quiet and childlike nature that was inside him under all those deep layers and layers of impulsive violence, and she smiled as she watched the very way that he transformed in front of her front the endless complex layer is that she knew he was made of. He was such a loud man, and she adored that about him, and he would be loud through and through to the rest of his days, but she was more than happy and more than willing to catch the other sides of him that would sweep out from under his spiritual tiredness from time to time.

"You're a mystery, Randy, and I want to figure you out everyday for the rest of my life," she whispered against his fingertips. She reached out her own trembling hand and wrapped it around his fingers that were still dangling with the handkerchief as she gently begin to press it up against the front of his own face now, which was still damp from his own salted tears that had fallen from the front of his own green and trembling eyes only a few moments before.

"Whoa," Randy breathed. "So cool." He believed her, and he knew her love ,and he didn't need to execute the knowledge into comprehensible form for that understanding to be between the two of them.

Her lips tugged into a welcomed comfort as she saw him genuinely smile with the soft childish boyishness of his expression, and the softness inside of him only executed itself even further through the damp tears that had fallen down his face only a few moments before. He was the only man she knew that could look so masculine and yet so hopelessly childlike all at the same time, and it broke her heart in a way that was choking in the most empowering sense. The boy pounded through the handsome features of his masculinity, and the man pounded through the blossomed tantrums. There were still traces of that tantrum that he had fallen into and would fall into again, and it wasn't going to be the last one that he would ever fall into. It was simply that tormented nature surrounding him, but that didn't matter. None of it mattered, not really, not as long as there was that one gentle, soft, quiet nature that completed their contentment between the two of them, of understanding that they granted each other. He was a flowered combination of grown and yet not grown, and she could help him through whatever disbalance that each side of the blossomed flower of his unpredictable complicity came to as it passed by every day.

She gently pressed the softened handkerchief further against him, and he closed his own eyes as he felt the fabrication confirm and validate his own thoughts as he felt the way the fabric was now caressed against his own face. He turned his head towards the side, fluttering his eyes closed as he leaned against the side of the fabric between the incomprehensible richness that was between her hand and the handkerchief. Slowly did a smile begin to tug against each side of his own lips as the last of the salt of the tears began to fall fully from his precious face as he leaned his weight up against the side of it. There was a gentle exhaustion that begin to overcome the front of his expression now, and no doubt it was coming from the fact that not only was it late at night after a long day, but also the fact that fighting his emotions, mixed in with falling into her tender embrace after the battle that left him exhausted that she always knew that was within him, was coming to its much awaited and much resounding end. Even with all of his own confidence-even with all of his capability and unpredictable but consistent intelligence-did he trip over his own feet frequently, and he needed, desperately,, to have someone to fall into.

He was falling into her own love language as he looked at her, and he felt himself let out a shaky breath as he felt himself fall into her much awaited embrace that was easing all of his erratic torment that, previously, had had nowhere to go except for the promise of alcohol. He really was his own mystery in his own way- from the stereotype that others saw him as only a goofy farmer and father, tripping over his own feet, who just wanted to get as high as he could; to the trembling and conflicted man that had so much depth and secrets inside of him that not even he was aware of them. Perhaps they were so hidden because he was so unable to make sense of them. But within those layers was so much going on that not even he quite understood or could properly communicate it to other people, and it was within those complex layers that she knew that she wanted to be able to follow him, to caress him, to know him with every passing day. Even if the task seemed intimidating, sometimes considered almost impossible, she knew that the best way that she could comfort him was to simply know him. For all his fired nature, he was completely and utterly calm entirely now, more than ever she had even known him. He was such an easy person to brush off, at least on the superficial layers-so easy to simply shrug off as yet another person that was just stumbling through life that was selfish, superficial and who miserably didn't know what they were doing; an average mundane, unremarkable fit for a cruel world. And yet it was within that cruel judgment that the world thrusted upon him that she saw into the purest man she had ever known; a truth which executed itself into every known detail of his very existence.

His own tears glistened and were shining even without the moonlight reflecting against them; the salted glowing of his green eyes reflected and wonderfully complimented against the pale porcelain and gentle parchment of his face. Though he looked like the most peaceful man she had even known within that moment, she knew the impulsive fire he was made of that could explode at any given moment. She knew that she had never been with a man before in her life that was more addictingly reckless, endearingly impsulive, and breathtakingly unpredictable, and it was that very reason why she knew he was sheer poetry that she could never cease memorising. It amazed her how all she needed was to love one and one alone; it was overwhelming in and of itself how it made every crevice of life worth it. Most especially now that she had found the one person, the one soul, that perfectly matched her in all the ways she needed.

And most special of all; that he needed her just as much the same. It was a breathtaking, relentlessly addicting spell.

"Thank you, honey," he whispered. His wandering green eyes floated over her expression, and softly did he lean his face forward against the side of the handkerchief that was pressed against the softened cloth. "This is wild, what we have between you and me. What we discovered." He looked up at her as he swallowed, giving her a quick, saddened, yet gifted smile that was drenched in naive, lost, but wise realization. "We're just gonna fight for it, right? Nothin' is coming between us. We're not going to let -these fucking pussies push us around and try to take everything away from us,, from what we feel and what we know about us and each other. We got this, honey, and we know us, and that's what matters. I spent so many years of my life robbing myself of decent experience because I was scared to really feel something, you know? I was scared and I was so damn bored because of it. But you know what? I'm not bored anymore." His gentle voice was honeyed with a softened revelation. He squeezed hands against the front of her own hips as he gently pulled her forward, leaning himself against her; a perfect support that they gave each other that balanced what they were within themselves and within their life that the world had given them, something they were both starting to cherish increasingly moe, even within their shortcomings. It was more than enough, as far as he was concerned, to just simply memorize it at all, and to simply have even just these soft moments within the life they shared.

"Is this enough for you, darling?" Faceless inquired. Randy blinked at her slowly.

"What do you mean?"

"I know how much you struggled with wanting more." Randy furrowed his eyebrows as he considered the question. It was unexpected, yet unsurprising, especially when he reflected on all the ways she knew him.

"Awh, I don't know, babe." He sighed, shoulders slumping in unwanted but necessary reflection. Though he often ran away from his demons so easily, there was also that part within him that was more than willing to be reflective, once he pushed past his ego, something time with her always did for him.

"I do always want more," he admitted. "But something about this..it makes the hunger a bit easier to bear. And that is something else." He found he had never spoken anything that was ever more true; they were intertwined within each other in the most life changing of ways, and together were the puzzle pieces of each other coming together. Together did they truly feel something that was completely and utterly healing within itself, and there wasn't one thing, not even Randy's own sense of self sabotaging, that could ever come between that come between either of them, not once, not even if they tried. "It's so good it's almost...unbelievable," he breathed. "But, yeah, I don't...I don't go after shit as much as I used to anymore. Don't feel like I need to chase so much anymore. It's...it's really nice, actually. And I'd like for us both to stay this way." There was some sort of immovable stability their love had granted inside of him, and though Randy would always be prone to madness and to fire, it was wrapped in a claden protection of love now, and he felt as if he was granted with a permanent breath of fresh air that cradled him and his misadventures that had previously only caused him scorn from others.

She smiled as she allowed herself to be gently pulled against his chest with his insisting hands that wrapped around her wrists as he pulled her needily forward.

"I agree," she murmured softly. "That sounds like a good idea to me, too."

" Yeah?" He smiled with his own soft, teasing and loving amusement as his eyes shined with happy contentment. "Yeah, well, me too." He smirked as he lifted her hand to his lips as the whiskers of his moustache tickled her fingertips, and then pressed his warm lips against each one of them, causing her to shiver. "Me too, honey," he whispered softly. The tears were still gently plastered against the front of his cheeks, forming from the new ones that fell from his eyes, but gradually he starting to have a sense of acceptance and stability that hadn't been present before. He let out his own softened sigh as he nuzzled his nose against hers. That familiar, musky weed smell wrapped around her entirely, and she allowed herself now to fall into her own peaceful exhaustion as she allowed himself to fall into the entirely of all he was; soft skin, weed smell, and that gentle crazed nature that he was that was everything that she would always understand, and yet everything that she wouldn't.

After all, the very best love was often full of an endless mystery that would never be understood, but it was that very reason that they would continue to fall into the continuous wonderment that was their perfectly wrought dynamic that would never dull, never lessen, and certainly never fade. Only richer, day by passing day. For the first time the idea didn't seem naive, but rather simply true; and as a part of their lives as breathing.

The rich, softened moan that left Randy's lips and how it caressed Faceless' essence that was deeper than even her soul was aware was possible, and all the confirmation she needed that such a thought was true. AAnd true would it be; just as true as how she held him at night, just as true as the hot breath that escaped out of Randy's lips as it pooled against her knuckles; the softest and most welcomed honey she had ever felt and ever would feel against her own starved hand.

His eyes flickered up at her playfully, and she felt the way his lips smirked against her knuckles. "First time around Tegrity Farms?" he asked, pulling his hand against the small of her back as he looked down at her with that playful hunger. He was falling into his playful accent now as he gently unraveled her with his own playful eyes. Faceless laughed through her tears; it was a bittersweet feeling of fresh air. He did this often; and she loved playing along.

"Not my first time here," she answered. "But definitely my first time being loved by a pot farmer." She tugged on his clothes as her eyes glinted up at him playfully. "Want to take me to the bedroom and show me how it's done?"

Randy's eyes shined with all the light in the world, and he let out an adorably excited laugh at her words. He pushed his hands against her back instantly as he guided her into a standing position, both of them knowing they had full intent to go to the bedroom.

"Babe, believe me, I thought you would never ask."

His stumbling, socked feet pressed against her own bare ones as he led her towards the wooden door, and already Randy was breathing heavily. She didn't waste any time; she slammed him against the side of the wall as she pressed her lips against the slight stubble of his pale chin, allowing her hands to travel and tremble of his own skin that was tortuously covered in his clothes. Not for long.

And besides, they were always bare around each other anyway; in all the ways that counted.

"Catty"

A flicker of his alcohol stained padded fingers. Slurred vowels that traced a prolonged, drawling voice. Golden passion lacing his words. Black hair failing in the front of his face, uneven bangs growing just as much as his lack of care for anything other than his increasing, growing ambition.

"It's not really a thing that you guys would understand," Randy boasted. He was teasing them, stringing them along, and he loved every moment of it. "It's a little bit more complicated once you actually start to study it. I can't get into it. I would love to teach you guys about it, but business is really a more complicated thing more than you would think. You know, it took me a good couple of textbooks just to even be able to find the ones that were actually useful, that actually had good reviews. Stuff that would actually get me out there instead of just me tripping over my own feet with the years passing away the way that other people do."

"You don't say?" The man with a ginger beard grumbled,, raising up an eyebrow as he leaned his elbows further against the front of his knees, as if to execute a wordless challenge. "So that's why you started your business, Randy? Just picking up some coffee and books and just seeing where it would take you?" His tone-for the time being, anyway-was friendly, but nonetheless teasing in a way that was becoming increasingly more apparent the more they got lost into the context of the conversation. The topic had, of course, been brought about by Randy, who somehow managed to make everything about his weed these days. His lips had become an instrument to execute his passion more than they had become anything to do much with any other element of his existence-taking care of himself certainly being one.

"Hey, I totally know what I'm talking about!" Randy exclaimed, friendly yet starkly stern in that bouncy, joyous, utterly determined scorn that only he could manage all at the same time. Only he could manage to be charming yet stern all at the same time. There was a defense in his voice; the same defense that was almost always layered inside of his otherwise naive and childlike tones. Faceless couldn't say that she blamed him; there was, more often than not, always someone trying to find an excuse to patronize him for anything and everything he came about doing, most especially when it was accompanied by that endless eagerness that almost always danced in his voice.

"You know, it all starts with just a little bit of good old-fashioned farmin'. Taking care of the soil. Good shit. You find some decent dirt, or you find someone who wants to sell it to you-whatever floats your boat, bro-and you just start making sure that the land is nice, healthy, well neutered, and taken care of. It starts with the worms, you know what I mean? It starts with some good, natural soil. That rich, deep, black soil. Hell, even the soil that smells like shit- literally-if you can find it. Ain't no better way to start growing crops other than finding some good old-fashioned maneuver, or some good old-fashioned horseshit, that you can move around to really take in that rich soil smell. Sounds kind of weird at first, I know, but once you get used to it, you start to learn the regular details of farmin'."

Faceless was trailing her hands inside waves of his black curls, almost falling into a trance as she heard the way his drunken voice was slurring its attempted spoken vowels as he preached to the men around the fire. There were about four of them total, all of them looking and reacting to Randy in a way that made Faceless hopelessly nervous, even as she tried to keep herself grounded and calm. Randy couldn't gave stopped talking about the knowledge that he had acquired even if he had tried; he was going through a phase where he actually wanted to tell his secrets now, rather than wanting to keep them to himself, telling Faceless that "he had a certain talent nobody could replicate anyways". Even so, for whatever risk or vulnerability he was putting both himself and his business on that night, Faceless couldn't help but be appreciative for the time she was getting with him. She got so lost in his words; adored the way that he was so naturally bumbly and soft, from his plump body, to the rich slurring of his words, stumbling so adorable and clumsily within his naive enthusiasm even as he babbled to the other men that surrounded him about what he knew. His round, fat, plump stomach was spilling onto his lap as he spoke as he leaned forward. The stocky and slightly older appearance that was brought upon no doubt his age that was catching up with him, and it was the most gentle and most irreplaceable sight that she had ever seen. She adored the way his voice was coming out the way he did whenever he was crossfaded, stressed, or simply relaxed. and the way he allowed his tones to fall into their own natural, lacked nature.

His voice, with all of its natural execution of vowels, was almost childlike and immature as he, frankly, tripped over his every word while he stammered over his enthusiasm to tell them the information he knew. He was an intelligent man, as far as she was concerned, and he knew plenty of interesting, complex, and layered concepts, and yet she could tell that the men who were asking questions were asking in an almost mocking fashion, as if they were trying to poke or prod a bear.

Despite the fact that Randy spoke everything with his usual confidence and clarity, it seemed for the four men it was an invitation to aggravate him as much as they could, to use every unintentional invitation Randy gave them to rip against him, to snicker at everything that he was trying to tell them. They were being subtle enough that there was no way Randy would notice, especially in his crossfaded state, but Faceless could pick up on the very vibrations of their patronizing nature, and it made her skin crawl. She tried to focus on gently lacing her fingers through Randy's waves; anything to keep her distracted.

"So what happens when the soil ain't good when you buy a piece of land?" one of the men asked , taking a quick, messy dousing of his beer as soon as the question left his lips. "Are you expected to just- just make whatever you can make with it even if the crops are coming out like crap?" There was genuine curiosity in his voice, even with his mocking tones, and Faceless tried to keep herself from snapping a quick word at him that she could see right through his polite facade.

"Oh, there's always a way to make sure that the soil is good, buddy," Randy husked. He hoisted himself forward with one hand as he adjusted, his glass of wine placed in the other. He took his own long swing of what was left as he looked over at the man, some leftover wine sloppily falling down his neck, red droplets reflecting the flames of the fire as it ran down his pale neck. "Really, all you have to do is just keep checking up on it, just keep on adding the ingredients to it. Just keep mixing all that shit around until it comes across as something else other than what it was before. It's kind of like-I don't know. Like soup. You just start out with this soup, and you can add any ingredients that you want to it to make it any kind of soup that you want, ya know? You can make good soup, chunky soup, or anything else, but you gotta make sure that it's good soup, or else you're going to end up on some tough luck. You can't sell bad weed to anybody, especially in this town, and especially not after they've tasted my good stuff, so you've really got to work as hard as you can to make sure that the cr-" he hiccuped, and then continued sloppily- "crops that you're growing come from a good place in the first place so that the roots will really grow and really spread. So that-so that the plants will actually, you know, grow the way they're supposed to. Believe me, I know all this stuff. It wasn't easy at first, but once you start to know this stuff, it's almost impossible not to understand it. It's farming shit. Gotta stick with it."

There was some disgruntled, disbelieving chuckling that came from the four men, interrupted only by the occasional crackling of the fire, and Faceless tried her best to ignore it as she continued to softly caress her hands against the front of Randy's curls. For the time being, it proved to not be too difficult; she fell into a certain spell anyway whenever she heard him talking about anything that he'd ever did, in general. He simply had that effect on her without hardly even trying, but most especially when he was falling into one of these moments when he simply couldn't stop talking about the things that meant the world to him. Everything about him was her own gentle escape from everything else, and his passion was her passion by extension, and she found that she fell into a whole different place that only existed within the consciousness that was formed between the bond that they made together, entwined within the love that she had for him that seemed more powerful than any other element or sensation. It was natural for her to memorize the way that he was speaking, the soft slurring of his voice when talking, the messy pattern of his languages-passionate but clumsy-to cherish the way that he expressed himself. There was nothing else about him and there was nothing else in the world, in general, where she could get this feeling, this sense of utter presence that he made her fall into that essentially helped her to simply enjoy and accept the moment for what it was. As long as he was there, that was all she needed for her to treasure it herself.

Luckily, Randy was too oblivious, too passionate, too in his own world to even remotely pick up on the way that the men were chuckling in front of him. The fact that he was on his third glass of wine that night, and countless joints, definitely had something to do with it.

He burped, and then continued. "Anyways, all you really have to do is just keep checking on the soil until it's nice and good and black. Once you're sure that you got some good ass soil on your hands, then you can start planting the seeds. After that the next step is pretty easy, as long as you can find yourself being patient with it. I mean, honestly, it depends on the kind of man you are, but when it comes to running a business, the customer service part is easy. All you have to do is really give whatever the customers ask for, and that's it, you know? They show up frequently as long as you give them what they ask for. The hard part is waiting for the crops to grow in the first place. During this time you don't really have a whole lot to do, especially if you're only just getting started. Personally, while I was going through this phase when I started Tegrity Farms, I still had to play along with my geology job, even though I was planning on quitting as soon as I could manage to get it all put together. Work from home, and everything. Wasn't easy at first, it was definitely a really fucking strange schedule, especially with the wife always bitching at me and telling me that I was doing something wrong, but you know, my passion for it always ended up seeing it through, like the way that it always does. I meant Sharon-not you, honey," Randy added quickly as he flipped his eyes over his shoulder and gazed over at Faceless with slight anxiety, no doubt born from being so easily ridiculed in his last marriage whenever he said something even remotely wrong.

A smile traced Faceless' features as she gazed at him reassuringly. "Didn't even cross my mind for a moment," she reassured him softly. "And besides, I'm sure that's exactly what she was doing. Never gave you or your dreams any chance to breathe, did she, honey?"

Randy let out a loud, relieved sigh as his shoulders slumped in relaxed relief. "You can say that -she never even gave me a chance to even try anything that I wanted, not unless I just...learned how to walk on eggshells while she told me everything about me that I was doing wrong and everything that she didn't like." He took another swing of wine, dramatically closing his eyes as he did so. "Anyway, that's all behind me now. Now I have this amazing business and all these crops, I'm telling you guys how to grow e'm, because you know, I'm totally awesome like that." He smiled with happy clarity as he looked at the man that were sitting in front of him. "Not sure if all of you guys have it inside you, if I can be honest. I think it takes a certain kind of man to be able to really grow crops the way that I can. Not really something that you can teach. That's why I'm telling you guys now, because I know that there's no way you guys could come close. But yeah, if you guys are interested, I can definitely let you guys have some tips. I'm totally ok with homegrowers now." The rich cockiness was now mocking itself fully known in the tones of his voice, as well as his actions. He was fluttering his fingers over his wine glass as he gazed at them all with a confident disposition that wasn't necessarily paid off by the knowledge he was giving them. Or, at least, attempting to give them. There was more chuckling that came from the men surrounding them, and Randy suspected that it was because they were agreeing with what he was saying.

"Well, if that's true, with all steps you have to make to create some goddamn soil, that must only be one step out of a thousand to make as many acres as you have," one of the men gruffed. "What am I supposed to do with a couple inches of quality dirt?"

"Oh, like I said, you don't really have to do anything once you plant the seeds in the soil," Randy huffed as he lazily took another drag of his cigarette. "All you have to do is just….wait once you throw the seeds into the ground. Takes two seconds, really. Takes a couple of weeks before you can even begin to see some actual growth, which is why you got to wait for the warmest season possible so that winter doesn't come along and completely knock over your hard work before you even get a chance to try. Believe me, it's not easy, but if I can do it, I'm pretty sure that you can figure it all out, whether or not you have that natural artistic touch to you that makes it such goddamn good weed. Just make sure that you don't do it too much or try to sell around this area. It's not good for my business. And since I'm the one that did it first, it's only fair that you people can only do it for a little pleasure, or whatever. I don't want you guys coming the way of me and my business, but there ain't nothing wrong with you guys dabbling and having a little fun, you know? It's fun to teach people what I've learned. I have a certain touch by now, and no one can grow weed the way I can."

"I thought that was a company secret?" one of them inquired, lifting up his eyebrows, referring to the endless times Randy had refused to tell them anything when customers had asked his secrets to his success, often taking to referring to it as a "family secret", which was really just his excuse to keep out all the trials to success he had found.

Randy nodded financially. "Oh, it is!" Another drag of his cigarette. "It is, my friend. But you know, there's nothing wrong with just showing off a little bit of what I've learned-of tellin' some hints about everything that I know. I think it wouldn't necessarily be one hundred percent fair to know how to grow such awesome weed and to not let other people know. Besides, I tried teaching my kids and my ex-wife, and trust me, not everybody has the same touch that I do, you know? Not everybody can get it the way I do. I'm totally gifted with it. I'm not sure if anybody else could do my business even if they wanted to. I just have a certain kind of flavor and creativity and taste that other people can't just acquire from doing the baby steps, you know what I mean? So really, when I think about it now, I don't really have anything to lose. All I really have is just, well, my talent and my green thumb, and me tell you, it's really fucking nice to brag once you realize that you're really fucking good at something. And, if you ask me, I'm really goddamn good at this, and I'm not shy to talk about it, either."

"Clearly," one of the men grunted as he shouldered his friend, who let out his own chuckle as he nodded in agreement. Malicious curiosity was on both of their faces.

"Okay okay. So, next step." Randy slurred as he straightened his shoulders. Evidently, he wasn't picking up on the subtle hints that they weren't really giving him any respect at all, and Faceless tried her best to focus traveling her fingers through his hair as fast as she could, which was more so as an act of tender grounding for her than it was anything else.

"So all you really have to do, like I said, is just get really good soil, make sure that there's lots of worms and shit, make sure that it's healthy, and then plant the seeds. Once you're done with a couple of weeks of waiting for it to grow, add in just the right amount of water. Make sure it's good water, or else it's just going to kill off the plants. And don't underwater 'em! That'll kill them off so fast. But you can't dehydrate them either, or that'll make the damn plants die right in front of you. So, like, you really just gotta take it one step at a time as fast as you can. I would suggest about, like, I don't know, a gallon a day for patch? And make sure that there's not more than a couple of sprouts per inch. Anything more than that is just going to be a little bit overcrowded and the roots are just going to get all tangled and crap.. Already made that mistake with about twelve dollars worth of weed once, and let me tell you, it was a bloody nightmare, especially when I was just getting everything worked out and everything figured out." He took another drag of his burning joint, then let out another blow as he released the smoke. "So, remember guys; lack of overcrowding, make sure that it's spaced out, and that it gets a decent amount of water a day. Trust me, , that's going to change everything for ya'll.'

There was no response except for a long, soundless pause that traveled from the four. She couldn't see exactly who it was within the dark, but she briefly heard one of the men snicker. Randy didn't notice, and the only acknowledgement he made of the tense air in the situation was taking another drag of his joint. "It's just a bunch of stuff that only people who are in the sciences would understand, really." Another drag of his joint, and quickly did a husky cough escape out of his lungs. The childlike slurring in his voice was only becoming increasingly worse; half of the sentences he was speaking almost tethered on incompressible with the way he was slurring and melting his vowels together.

Faceless let her hands dance against the side of the waves of his hair, trying to calm her own nerves-as well as anger- as she heard the men's disrespect, who were still grunting and cackling to each other from behind the cackling fire.

"Well, Randy, sounds like you're a real expert on this stuff," one of the men snickered. Their mockery was becoming almost painfully obvious at this point, and Faceless could feel her anger traveling up right along with it. "Why don't you tell us a little more about this farming and whatnot? Or are you all out of ideas already?

Even In the darkness and without being able to see his face, Faceless could imagine the way Randy's green eyes glinted with that excited flare that it always did whenever someone showed even the slightest interest in his work. "Oh, there's lots more where that came from, my friend!" Randy boasted. "This knowledge doesn't just come to anyone, though, you know. My ex wife would get all bitchy at me when she didn't 'get it' for a reason." He made air quotes as he spoke the words, rolling his eyes, followed by an exasperated sigh. "Had to work real hard to make it. Real hard to know the stuff I know now." He chuckled as he took another sloppy drag of his joint, watching the way the left over residue of the dust fell from his joint and into the ground, spoiling against his always dirty pants that were now more patched these days than they were fabric. "Just take it from a simple but talented farmer, bro. I know what I'm saying. If you listen to even half of the stuff I'm saying? It'll take your ass for a ride. Guarantee it, hands down."

Faceless could feel the most protective layers of her core that came only from the essence of how deeply she loved him being summoned from the way his voice was now even more disgruntled and disoriented, melting syllables of messy erratic vowels that were being thrown everywhere more than they were coherent sentences. Her infauction with him only became even more intense when he got like this; when the messiest part of his core began to fully execute himself until he was nothing but a hopeless, naive wreck of everything he wanted to be, yet wasn't. She saw everything he wanted and attempted to be within him, and yet there was some sort of unspoken caution that kept him from being able to present and execute it out loud in a way where others could see it, too.

God help him, he was so helpless, so soft, and trying so hard. Even with the way the world treated him like he was some sort of shallow fool was he so confident in a way that turned her on, especially knowing that not even Randy himself could take away that solidified confidence inside of himself even if he tried; no one could, really. It was embedded into who he was, possibly even more than the blood that flowed through his veins. He was gifted with the characteristic that he simply was himself, and grounded in who he was: he believed in himself, despite all odds. Yet it was within that confidence nature that was so messily executed by his flaws that it made it almost impossible for others to take that golden hue inside of him seriously; and it was that chuckled and mocking discontent that surrounded Randy now that only made Faceless love him more, want to protect him more; almost painfully so; it was a rich and bitter feeling of longing to help him and yet wanting to execute his confidence in any way that made him happy all at once.

He was a delicate, fragile ambition, one that never stopped, even when everybody around told him that he should. Even his own physical system alluded to him that he should; his own body was breaking down even as he tried to live in it, but even that wasn't enough to stop that endless, almost animalistic ambition that seem to be almost a bittersweet and welcomed curse inside of him, growing like thorns that grew and twisted around his character as he had grown that were forced to grow around deepend flaws inside of him, forcing him to try to find his way and to find his ultimate contentment within who he was, even with his pain. The ambition could occasionally falter within the endless challenges he faced, but never truly seem to go anywhere. It was clearly pain for him, but Randy was the kind of fiery soul that enjoyed pain.

She continued to press her finger tips against the front of his black waves of hair, feeling nothing except for the infatuation and the incessant warmth sweep inside of her for everything he was, for everything that he was becoming. She only wished that she could somehow help him in a way that she knew that he desperately needed and that he wanted, even if he himself wasn't aware how much he wanted it, even how much he craved it. The folded elements that had been born from her hand were meant to love him and him alone, but there were trials that she needed to face before she could even dream of experiencing his own blossomed poisoned tulip of nature. He was beauty, yet tragedy all in one. Everything about him-everything that he was condition to be, everything that he had grown up to be-it was everything that she would never change about him, not even for the better, and it was only within these moments that she fell into a deep trance that she knew only his very presence was capable of making her fall into. He was perfectly intertwined within his countless flaws, and it was within the pain that came from them that was breathtaking. He had taught her that, in many ways, beauty really did come from pain. She could only have such a rich experience within his presence, within the way that he made her feel so deeply so naturally simply by being his clumsy, uncertain self that just happened to be perfectly melted within what she needed the same.

It was the fact that people were treating him so cruelly, most especially the most precious parts of him that made her fall into this trance that was not like anything else she had ever known and would ever know again, that only furthered the feeling of that protection that stemmed from that rich and deep nature of love that she had for him. Nothing except for how much she loved him fuled her almost violent desire to help him, and how much she wanted to do for him. The suffocating flaws that prevented him from being the man that he wanted to be served as a gift from her end, considering the fact that it reminded her, time and time again, that they needed each other, and that, in many ways, he needed her in particular. She was beyond happiness and more than willing to be there for him in any way that he could ever need.

Because this was the most delicate, and irreplaceable feeling that she could ever feel, and its richness was only executed further, ironically, by the lack of love that was exhibited by those around him.

The event unfolding before her being the perfect example.

The men's chuckling were only becoming all the louder now, and Faceless knew she had to intervene as best as she could without disrupting Randy's flow, peace, or confidence, and without drawing negativity to the atmosphere surrounding them. Slowly she leaned forward as she wrapped her arms around his neck, traveling her arms towards his chest, gently suckling her lips against the nape of nis neck, nuzzling her nose against the side of his skin.

"Darling, why don't we head off to bed?" she suggested gently. "You seem so tired."

He turned his head only a few centimeters around towards her, letting out his own scoff.

"Tired? Awh, I ain't tired, Faceless! We're just getting started, aren't we, my friends?" He turned his head back over towards the men as he raised a joint at the four of them, sporting them a wink. They shouldered each other and chuckled to one another discreetly; there was an all too familiar patronizing glint inside of all their specific malicious airs.

Faceless knew she had to keep trying. It was blatant torture watching him unknowingly dance like a jester fot these men's cheap entertainment.

"But darling, you're so tired," Faceless pushed. She gently allowed her hands to travel against the front of his chest, wanting to offer him whatever softened and tender temptations that she could. "Let's go to bed, see how it feels? Does that sound good?" She leaned her lip against the side of his ear now, enough so that the sensation was nothing less than a deepened and raw intimacy between the two of them, her heated breath gently bathing his own skin. She would loathe the idea of the men hearing whatever softened intimacies she spoke to him that were meant for him and him alone. "I can give you a massage. Maybe even old-fashioned," she murmured gently. "A massage, whatever you'd like. Both, even, if that's what you want?"

Randy swallowed, and he leaned his head further backward until his black waves were falling in their delicate, long strands against the side of her arm. She smirked as she felt the way he melted under her touch; if she thought he had been adorable before, with all his slurring confidence and melting vowels, he was heart wrenchingly so now.

"Sounds incredible," he rasped. "Bet these bozos don't even have a woman that would do any of that for them." He trailed his hands against hers, and then pulled it away just as quickly. "But I want to show off what I know. You know? Come on, Faceless. A few more hours. I gotta show these guys I'm more than what they think, you know?"

Faceless hesitated as she let out a soft sigh. She knew that now he was in a certain headspace, there was no going back with him; once he made up his mind about something, everything ended there. He would see through every storm until it blew up right in front of him. Every time, without fail.

"Please, babe," he insisted, sensing her hestaince. He knew her well enough to sense her wordless worry, and he squeezed his fingers against hers reassuringly. "Promise I got this. I got all of this. You think I don't see these guys and the way they're lookin' at me? I gotta show them what I'm made of. Gottta show everyone I'm not being pushed around anymore." A hiccup left his lips. "By anyone."

Faceless smiled, though there was a slight wound to the action on her face. She wished she could let him do whatever it was that he wanted, whatever he pleased, but she also knew him well enough to know how sensitive he was, even to himself. It wouldn't end well, and would no doubt would this experience wound him more than it was worth if she allowed him to continue.

"Let's just go, sweetheart," she suggested. There was almost a pleading and a soft begging within her voice now. She glided her lips against his skin, her teeth following shortly behind as they grazed his veins that were poking against his neck. She frowned with a pained, desperate fashion. "Please," she whispered again. "Come to bed."

She was discreet enough that the men had seen their conversation as generic talk, but there was a strain that was starting to present around the four men as they sat in front of the two of them. She bit down on her lip as she paused from the way she was spoiling against his neck, knowing that she was only making cause for even deeper hurt for him if she allowed this to continue much longer.

"Hey, babe, you don't have to worry, ok?" Randy mumbled softly. He gently caressed his hands against the side of her arms, but it only served to make her even more worried for him and for the way he was practically stumbling into fire; both literally, and metaphorically." I got this. Selling business is my thing, you know?"

"I know," she murmured. "Trust me, baby, I know. I just know how tired you are. You worked so hard all day." She pressed her hands further against the side of his chest, feeling the warmth radiate form his skin. "Please," she whispered. She didn't care that her voice was trembling with an emotional desperation now; she no longer had any interest in hiding it.

Randy was now easing fully inside of her embrace, and he let out his own sigh as he felt her relentless insistence that was communicated through her touches and her trembling voice the same.

"Blowjobs? You promise?" His voice was adorably questioning and perked as he asked the question, and Faceless only quirked her lips up further at his question.

"Promise," she whispered gently. "I'll take you to bed and I'll spoil you until you pass out. The way that you always like it."

Randy let out his own raspy laugh, full of his own rich satisfaction. "Well, can't say not to that, can I?" He husked. He turned his head over as he gazed at her with blinking, heartbreakingly fogged eyes as he caressed and ghosted his hands against the side of her skin. "Alright, babe, sure," he agreed after a moment. "Just get all the stuff ready and I'll be ready in a minute, ok?"

She nodded, feeling a rich relief that came from a worried starvation overcome her. "Thank you," she whispered. She pressed her lips against the side of his cheek, gratitude overflowing her as she pressed her lips several times against the side of his cheek. His skin was helpless and irresistibly soft, with a delicate trace of sweat dancing over its layers that tasted of a spicy salt. She smiled in bittersweet admiration of everything he was as she nuzzled her nose further against his skin in gratitude.

"So, Randy, what else you got?" One of the men pipped up after a moment. There was yet more disgruntled chuckling that came from the request, and Randy looked over at them with his own confident, satisfied chuckle.

"Oh-ohoh, just you guys wait until I tell ya what I have in mind next!" He boasted. "You haven't heard of my fire flavored weed, have you?"

"Nah," one of the men sloppily spoke through the cigar dangling from his lips.

"Yeah. Well, there's a special way you go about growing those. Just gotta take the roots and spoil 'em a bit, if you know what I mean!"

The man outwardly scoffed. "Huh? Sounds like nonsense."

"Not when you find out how it's done, my friend!"

Faceless could see the tension between the men as they continued to aggravate Randy with their passive aggressive tones, and she knew she had to use all this nervous energy for something other than worrying. Quickly did she spoil her lips against him one last time, and then she ghosted her arms away from where they were wrapped around his neck, temporarily her touches away from spoiling his chest, as she rushed to get everything ready for him; to lead him into that gentle nest that was currently their apartment only a few miles away.

She had taken him on a trip towards the shoreside for his birthday, knowing how much he was always talking about getting away from South Park. Not even the distance of Tegrity Farms had lessened that wound. He was turning fifty today; a concerning age, but one that she was proud of him for making, even if it worried her how time was running out for the two of them. In his own way, Randy was just as proud of himself, once he got over his own fears of watching time pass him by. Randy was a soft soul, and there was no way he would say no to lying down in bed with her. She tried to fight from tripping over her own feet as she made her way over to the sliding doors that led into the bedroom.

She could feel her panic flowing through her body as she threw her hands against the side of the bedsheets in front of her, stumbling over her own uncertain hands to make sure the bed was as well made enough for when he came in. She knew how this worked; only a few short minutes from now and there was a chance that the entire situation could blow up. The potential conflict was managed with Randy and the other men-for now. But who knew what his unpredictable nature could turn the situation to at any given moment. That was how unpredictable and just how quickly Randy-and any situation he was in0worked; and she knew she had to do what she could to get him to before the situation could execute itself into some sort of endless disaster that she knew that was, no doubt, at least slightly within the realm of possibility for as long as Randy was at the center of it, most especially when it came to his passion and his ambition.

With the furious sort of speed did she pull up the sheets as she tucked them into the sides of the bed, pattering up the pillow that she knew that he would lie against as soon as she started to pleasure him once he lied down. For a brief moment did she smile, even in her nervousness. He was such a pillow princess, especially when it came to being sexually pleasured, and most especially when it came to being spoiled by her. She adored the way that he would lie down himself as he waited for his own pleasure to be brought to him from her mouth, and how much she adored giving him the pleasure the same. It would do well to make sure the bed was as well made as possible, knowing what Randy was like when it came to stuff like this; and just how picky he would be if everything was anything less than perfect.

The sheets were tightened up and the pillow was softly propped against the side of the bed, and she sighed in relief for herself as she stepped back and examined her work. Once she recognized that she had done everything that she could for the time being, she sped her way back out towards the outward, running as if it was an emergency. As far as she was concreted, it was; everything was when it came to the storm that was Randy.

She made her way bakx over to the fire pit as quickly as she could, already feeling the burnt, spoiling air that came from the fire spoiling inside of her lungs. She coughed as she made her way back to the perched nest known as Randy's shoulders as she wrapped her arms around him, letting out a sigh as relief as she saw he was doing his usual slurring and talking that she had left him with.

"My little flame," she teased him gently as she caressed her fingers against his shoulders, murmuring her promises against the side of his ear. She adored calling him that, and it certainly did his essence justice. "You ready now?"

"Huh-whoa, what?" Randy shot her head back over to her, barely being able to see through the fog of his eyes. Recognition just barley glinted inside of his green gaze as he met her gentle, softened, loving ones. "Oh-yeah, sure," he stammered, quickly crossing his fingers against the side of her arms that had rested against his chest. He turned around as he looked over at her, and she felt her heart break lightly as she saw just how red his own eyes were, that burning sensation tracing around the white of his eyes with that high that was no doubt polluting the side of his eyes and fogging up his mind. He blinked at her slowly as his eyes continued to squint, and she could tell he was fighting through the effects of the weed to be able to see her properly; both within his thoughts, and within his mind. "Wu-where are we going again?" He stammered as he looked over at her, even as she lifted up her fingers and gently began to massage them against his shoulders, trying to bring him back to his body a little bit. Evidently, he wasn't clear headed enough that he would have been able to even stand up on his own two feet on his own accord.

"We're going to bed, honey," she repeated simply, trying to her best trying to keep her voice as even as possible, even as she felt her nerves starting to flare up again as she watched the way that the four men watched her, no doubt with that judgmental look as they practically unraveled her from every last inch that was currently underneath their unforgiving gazes. She gradually eased her hands towards his hips as she started to help lift him up, and slowly did Randy stumble upward, even as a barley coherent mumble of protest stumbled out of his trembling lips. God help him, he was so helpless.

"But babe!" Randy whined. "I was just-I was just starting to really get into everything that I was going to tell these guys. These guys are totally hopeless, and they need all the help they can get. I'm just tryin' to put my knowledge to a place where it goes where people actually need it, you know? Don't ruin this for all of us!"

His voice was slurring so much now to the point that his words were completely incomprehensible to anyone other than Faceless. The combination of his borderline delusional bragging and the slurring of his words hardy made for a good combination. The men were watching with their smug smirks as they watched the way Randy was hardly managing to carry himself as he frantically stumbled over his words as they slowly fell out of his lips like rotten honey, the sight only causing to make them chuckle even further as they elbowed the other, their eyes glistening with their own malicious and satisfied nature as they watch the way that Faceless attempted to pull the last of his trembling legs out of the chair. It was serving to be incredibly awkward to try and fight his stumbling body as his limbs fought with hers, but considering that Randy was so limp and so helpless as he tried to function within the drunk nature, it proved to be easy enough to lift him out of the chair. He was like a wet rag, with only a few hills that she had to fight against. Faceless shot the men a glare, no longer able to find any kind of motivation to keep anything civil between the two parties anymore. She wasn't going to stand for him being walked over, especially when he was too drunk to even keep himself upright. The man with a fat cigar in his dripping mouth and flaming red hair lifted up an eyebrow as he met her own fired gaze.

"Oh, I think it's all right," one of the men chuckled, a little bit too satisfyingly. He took another swing of his own beer bottle as the liquid dribbled down his lips. He threw his head back in an aggressive way, as if it was meant to serve as a challenge. Somehow, it was done so aggressively that it almost felt like an insult in and of itself. "I think we learned everything that we could ever need to know about your little farm business. Thanks for selling all your secrets, big guy. I think we got everything under control now. You're quite the genius, you know that?"

The sarcasm was dripping from his lips even more than the messily drunken alcohol had been, and the other men were only chuckling and laughing even further to accompany his sarcasm. Faceless squeezed her fingertips against Randy's skin as an attempt to calm herself and her sudden rush of rage. Quickly did she wrap her arms further around Randy's love handles as he finally got his dancing legs away front the chair, and he melted his body against her as he leaned his head against her shoulder, lazily wrapping one arm around her neck.

"Baby, let's go," she insisted softly, her breaking underneath her barely controlled rage. Randy stumbled forward in a sudden hurry, and she let out a soft hush of comfort ."Don't rush, honey, but hurry."

Evidently, Randy had been able to pick up on at least some of the men's mocking nature this time, and a frown began to dance on his features as a heated realization overcame him. An anger light inside his eyes, looking as if it were some sort of green forest caught on fire.

"Oh-oh-oh yeah?" he slurred as he turned his expression over towards them, raising up an eyebrow and clearly trying to look threatening even as he swayed back and forth. Faceless gently pressed her hands against the side of his belt as he turned, trying her best to keep his pants up as best as she could, knowing how little thought Randy put into his clothes and how they did-or didn't-fit him. They fell down so easily unless he pulled them up every couple of minutes, and it always happened whenever he couldn't have given less of a damn about pulling them back up. "Well, well, you all- you all smell and look like shit, you know that? You're treatin' me like dirt when all I'm doing is trying to help! So don't-don't come blame me that I figured out everything and that I have a hot ass wife, while all of you are just sitting around and just drinking the piss from your beer bottles and pretending like you got it all figured out all day!" The men went quiet as they looked at him, and Randy let out another burp as he stumbled forward without any dignity. "Yeah, yeah, how do you like that?"

He was getting concerningly closer to the fire as he stumbled within his stance that it seemed he hardly had any control over, and if it hadn't been for Faceless pressing her hands firmly against the side of his fleshy hips, he would have stumbled inside the fire that was in front of him. The men were hardly phased, however, and once the initial surprise passed through them; they chucked and elbowed each other as they watched the Randy barely managed to stay on his own two feet. He was clearly only one more shot away from passing out with his blinking, heavy, hooded eyelids as he continued to try and throw himself at them, halted only by Faceless and her hands being pressed against his body that hardly had any strength in it, considering his limp drunken state. The man with the red hair chuckled, and quickly did he take a sloppy swing of his beer as he gazed at him with judgemental eyes.

"Whatever you say, big guy," he chuckled. "We wouldn't dare to ever come in between you and your business, or anything else. You really accomplished something unique with that thing. We're grateful that you took this time to teach us things, you know?"

Faceless cringed. She could hear the sheer amount of mocking that was inside of his voice, but evidently, Randy was currently oblivious and naive enough to take what they were that he was saying as truth. He stopped for a moment as he blinked slowly, and gradually did his words begin to leak out, slurred and uncertain, but nonetheless grateful as they left his lips.

"Oh, really?" he mumbled, voice slow and prolonged even more that his tones could be by default. He strengthened himself upward, and then pretended to tip his farmer's hat that he wasn't wearing. "Well, well, in that case, you're very welcome!" His voice was somewhere in between drunken and grateful as he playfully tipped himself forward. Despite the fact that he seemed to be calming down, Faceless kept her hands placed on his belt. Just in case. " Just, just don't come around my parts anymore with that kind of attitude, you got it, buddy?" Faceless gripped her fingers against his belt even as he spoke, gradually easing him away from the men as best as she could. Much to her relief, this time he allowed his body to be guided, rather than fighting it, and slowly did he begin to stumble over his own feet as he made his way through the path in front of them. Slowly did she travel her hand from his belt and instead moved it over to the small of his back, pushing and encouraging him gently.

"Do you believe that guy?" Faceless heard after they were only a few steps away. Either they thought they were out of earshot, or they didn't care if either of them heard the insults. A sickening feeling told Faceless it was the latter. "What a fucking idiot. Telling us a bunch of stuff that's just common sense. He actually thinks that he figured something out that nobody else has done before? Any average joe down the street could do what he's done."

Faceless felt hardly suppressed rage flow through her, but she focused on pushing Randy forward, knowing that if she allowed to both of them to get caught up in the malicious nature of the men, it was only more than likely going to cause the big blowout that Faceless had been dreading ever since she had realized the men didn't mean well.

"I think they were really excited!" Randy exclaimed, his excitement and enthusiasm piercing through her worried thoughts as he continued to stumble forward. "I think they really liked everything that I had to-to tell them. A little rude, maybe, but they made it up with their comments in the end!" He continued to trip over his feet, looking over at Faceless with his drunken, heavily lidded eyes that were red rimmed to an extent that almost seemed unnatural. There was his signature naive smile that traced his features that sat on both sides of his lips as he looked over at her. "What do you think, huh?" He shouldered her encouragely, almost missing his target because of the alcohol in his veins.

She couldn't help but smile. He was so adorably enthusiastic and charmingly oblivious, even if it could be worrisome. "I think it was incredible, everything that you knew," she replied earnestly. Her smile met his salted skin again as she leaned forward and pressed her lips against the side of his cheek, to which he leaned into happily. He tasted of sweat, salt, beer, and the brunt taste of fire. Truthfully, she didn't care about anything anymore, and she only felt immense gratitude that she had finally gotten him out of the heart of what could have ruined his entire birthday. "Let's just get you into bed, alright, sweet thing? You've had quite a day today, sweetheart."

"Oh, man, hell yeah I did!" he agreed. "Everything-everything that I've been telling everyone else lately,-sometimes I wonder if it's the best idea, or if people are going to try to start home growin' shit again, but I already know that I have something inside of me that other people just don't have, you know? People can't learn the stuff that I've been doing with my farm, or the success that's been given to it. God, it really takes a lot out of you, constantly having to tell everybody everything that you know." He gave his body a stretch even as he leaned against her body, looking over on her with still that same content smile that Faceless normally found painfully adorable. For the time being, however, it only just made her feel pain for him; for just how much he had passion inside him, for just how much he truly just wanted to be accepted for his passion that he held for everything he did, even with how complicated other people's maliciousness made it for him.

"I know," she said encouragingly. Her voice was soft, and painfully gentle, the way it always was whenever she talked to him. "You're doing so good, sweetheart. I love the efforts you make to help other people, and don't worry about their reaction, darling. That's more of a reflection of them than it ever is of you." She nuzzled her nose against the side of his face, and he let out his own satisfied, raspy chuckled as he leaned his face against hers. "Geez, you can say that again," he gruffed. "It feels like every single time I try to help out these chods, they always try to find a way to make it totally lame. Nobody really understands what it feels like to actually, like, to know as much as I do. Everything thinks I'm a fuddy-duddy. Believe me, I'm anything but. I'm going to show everybody that I'm way more than anything that everybody thinks I am." Almost as if to defy his very words, he let out another painful hiccup, which threw his body forward awkwardly. There was some laughter that came from the men from behind him; even now, they were still in earshot. Although they were finally far away enough that Faceless could no longer make any sense of their malicious chattering, it was still enough to make Faceless' skin crawl. She could feel the way their judgmental eyes were practically boring into their skin, could feel the way that they were just waiting for one of them to trip up to give them something else to laugh about.

"One foot in front of the other, darling," she guided him softly. She gently nibbled her teeth against the side of his shoulder, smiling as she felt a bittersweet sensation of the absolute welcome opportunity to taking care of him,, while at the same time feeling a certain ache that there wasn't more she could do for him to help him have a better life. Or, at the very least, a better reputation. Randy continued to stumble forward as his own disgruntled, raspy mumbles left his lips, and for a moment did she wonder if he would pass out. But still did he continue to walk forward with her own gentle invitation of her presence and her own pushing of her hand against his back.

Finally they made their way over to the sliding doors, and slowly she reached out her hand as encouraged him inward, pressing his body forward into the room. Slowly did Randy stumble his way inside, still grumbling within his slightly discontented grumblings, but still making his way within regardless. Faceless smiled as watched him stumble in, following him short afterword, closing the door from behind as she did so. Randy began to stumble his way inside of the bedroom, still tripping on his own feet as he did so, laying his hand against the front of the door as he pressed his hands against it, using that as his new weight as he left his previous stability from leaning on Faceless.

"Wait." He paused. "Since the fuck when did this room start spinning?" He leaned the weight of his body against the side of the frame of the door as he blinked with bewildered and confused eyes that trailed around the room through a squinting, pained gaze. Faceless smiled as she continued to gently encourage him forward, pressing her hand against him to encourage him inside. Without that guidance that she gave him, he so quickly and completely lose his place, and it made her heart hurt for him, while at the same time gave her a tingled warmth as it reminded her it was her biggest, and also the most rewarding, purpose; the simple act of loving him and being there for him as much as she could. As physically and emotionally as possible. Nothing else mattered. "Just keep walking baby," she said softly. "You're doing incredible." She leaned forward and pressed her lips against the side of his shoulder, and his own shaking breath increased as he nodded.

"Yu-yeah, sure," he slurred, pushing his weight through the frame of the door as he continued to make his way inside the bedroom. He tripped, rather than walked, over to the bed, catching himself on his hands to keep himself from falling fully against it.

"Whoa-uhoh!" He chuckled playfully. "This place really knows how to take you for a spin." He threw his head backward, his black waves of hair sticking against the sweat of his forehead as he froze himself against the side of the bed, still keeping his hands clenched on the sheets as much as he could. His lips were trembling, and he looked down at his hands as he squeezed them up against the sheets; trying to keep himself as grounded as he could, no doubt; the way that she had taught him throughout the past couple of years whenever she had seen him get this drunk and lost this grip on himself this much.

She walked her way over towards him, gradually helping to ease him down onto the bed, her own body settling down next to him down on the edge of the bed, reaching out her hand and gently tracing it up against the sides of his back. He laid his body on its side as he allowed his body to be guided by her, his fat stomach spilling out to the side from his hips as he settled into his position.

"Let me help you take this off," she suggested softly. She gradually began to undo his buttons, and she could see from the adorable, disgruntled bewilderment on his face that he appreciated what she was doing. His eyes were stuck in almost different directions, serving to show just how disoriented he truly was.

"Oh," he mumbled. His voice was painfully tender and inviting, even when he didn't mean for it to be.``Sure, honey."

She leaned forward as she pressed a kiss up against each to patch of skin that revealed itself as she undid the buttons, gently caressing his fingers around his clothes and loving her lips up against the side of his chest hair as she brushed her hungry lips against the strands, grazing them in between the spaces of her teeth. With every single undone button did she press another kiss on the naked patches of his chest, and Randy continued to let out his softened moans as he felt her tenderness against him. She smiled as she felt the way that he gradually began to ease his weight further against her in the bed, his softened moans leaving his sloppy lips as his expression frowned in desperate relief that only physical comfort could give him. Randy Marsh was an incredibly tactile man; almost addictingly so. There was nothing that made him melt more than the softness of a touch.

Faceless brought herself further to the side of his body as she gently traced her hands around his now exposed chest, loving the way that he plainly melted underneath her the way that he almost always did. He really was the kind of man that, deep underneath all of those layers of confidence and ambition that was inside of him, really did just want to be loved, supported, and, most importantly, seen. What he wanted to be was so utterly simple, but so impossibly complicated to get within that endless world that was so quick to judge, to label, to be superficial, to throw more wayward people like him to the side.

She tried her best to focus on getting his shirt off of his shoulders, which was now almost entirely unbuttoned. He was reduced to a complete helplessness as he felt the way she danced and explored her hands across his skin. "Let me do this, baby," she murmured softly when she felt him tense. His eyes fluttered open as he gazed at her with his lightning green gardens of eyes. She gazed at him reassuringly as she gently traced her hands against the last of his shirt that was clinging onto him, which fell from his shoulders entirely as she pushed it off. It fell onto the bed, and now his plump, round body was presented in front of her in all of its pale glory. She couldn't help but be transfixed by the way he looked at her with those heated, drunken eyes as the fabric fell from the front of his shoulders. He was gazing at her with a relentless, incomprehensible mountains of mystery that only came from him. No matter how unreadable they were, they gave away just how appreciative he was in that moment, even if he wasn't in the mind to say it out loud.

"Oh..oh, okay," he stammered, voice uncertain in a way that was completely adorable as he executed his muddled thoughts in his sloppy fashion. She smiled as she undid his belt now, easing the pants downward, exposing his stocky, pale legs that were littered with black hair. Randy let out his own moan, and a deep, shuttered breath as he focused on her hands that replaced the soft fabric feeling. A moment before he had been clothed, and now he was rendered almost entirely naked underneath the touch of a woman that drove him mad. He was trembling underneath her own hands as she gradually pressed her hands up against the space between his thighs. He was breaking out into a slight sweat, and whether it was from just how easily he worked himself up when it came to sexual pleasure, or whether it was something else that he couldn't quite see or something that he wasn't comprehending or functional enough to tell her within the moment, Faceless didn't quite know, but she did know beyond a shadow of a doubt that whatever it was, she wanted to call him to it, to help him, as much as it was within her power to do so.

"Randy," she whispered. His eyes opened as much as they could within his heated infatuation as he gazed at her through muddled eyes. "I'm going to take your pants off now, okay?" She leaned on her hands downward to complete the process of taking his pants off that were now bunched up at his ankles. The trembling, soft lump of his body was currently breathing upward and downward incessantly in anticipation as she made her way over towards the bottom half of his body. . His stomach was a soft hill that poured over his waist, the fat round nature of his stomach shuttering inward and outward as he gazed at her, green eyes searching her as he memorized the way she was pleasuring him. His stomach was a mountain, no less, which was born from the fattened flesh that he had acquired those past couple of years from his diet and from his alcoholism; a quite literal tribute to what he struggled with. Randy was one of those unlucky people that had their addictions presented in a physical way for all to see and judge. All the more reason to love him, and on those parts especially. She allowed her hands to explore his trembling skin, adoring just how innocently vulnerable he felt with his warm and softened skin, most especially with the way that it was shuttering and breathing now.

Up and down, up and down. She could and would memorize the way his breathing body felt. He leaned forward as she pressed her lips on the front of his happy trail that was underneath his belly button, loving the way that jelied fat of his stomach was shuttering up and down underneath his breath. Everything about him was relentlessly precious, but more than that was there something about so clumsy, something uncertain, and so completely helpless about him only made her want to care for him, to be there for him, even more than she ever could have dreamed. She could have kept her lips pressed up against that soft flesh of his stomach forever as she felt every minute breathed he breathed inward and outward, an action that not only turned her on beyond comprehension, but that also served a sign that he did, in fact, need and want for her to care for him. "Ohh-ahaha-ohh," Randy sighed softly. He was the most audible lover; and the softened tones of his voice only encouraged her further. Slowly did she keep her hands pressed against the side of his stomach, which felt as if it was the equivalent to a softened plush of pillow as it gently pressed up against the side of her own hands. Breathing. He was breathing, and he was alive, and it was relentlessly precious and breathtaking in its own right. She had never known that feeling the process of such a common thing could feel so momentous. She moved her lips down to the space between his two legs. She couldn't bring herself to take her hands off of his heaving stomach, feeling as if she was already craving him more than she could stand, so slowly did she move her lips and pressed them gradually against hr space of his thighs, gradually watching the way he only continued to melt further under her touches as he let out another lodu moan that was almost certainly something the men would hear. It was only with him that she was completely and utterly present when it came to helping him and teasing him outside his clothes, only with him and that she was able to completely undo and unravel him from his usual anger in a way that completely satisfied the both of them. Only what they did for each other could take them away from the chaos of the world-and from themselves.

She could hear his adorable moans as they came out of his lips as she continued to gradually ease her kisses down his thighs, and she couldn't help but smile against his tender skin. She was completely, utterly, almost maddeningly turned on. The combination of soft lump of his belly that was breathing in and out against the front of her hands, and the gentle, dedicate, addicting, sensation of his thighs against hers- his face of an angel traced by his black hair all the while, mixed in with his soft moans that were just as maddeningly tender as they left the front of his lips, was almost more than she could take. She wanted so much more than to just enter him; she wanted to be into him, to make love with him, but more than that did she simply want to be a part of him, to wrap herself around him like a rose's thorn and to forget they had ever been apart.

"You beautiful thing," were the only words she could manage as the expression danced out of her lips as she continued to gradually ease her face further down his legs, kicking the remains of the clothes off the bed along with the actions. She could feel the way his feet were kicking with lust, and slowly, with the feeling that her body was stretching to try and balance keeping her hands on the side of his stomach as well as dragging her face along his legs, did she start to force herself away from where her hands felt wonderfully glued to his stomach, like an addict that had finally found its well awaited drug.

"Hun," Randy croacked, his voice coming out strained, lusty, and rich with the masculine way that executed itself whenever he smoked or drank too much. He reached out a hand as he wrapped it against the side of her head, and she looked at him as she saw the prettiness of his face that was looking over at her through the hill of his stomach. It made her lose all feeling in her body in and of itself; and certainly all functioning. "Just take it easy, all right?" he murmured. "I know I pushed myself too hard today." His voice broke as he gazed down at her with that helpless, boyish expression; almost childlike in its bewilderment. Faceless managed a nod, even despite the resistance she was feeling to not devour him whole. They both wanted each other so badly that it hurt, but she also knew just how exhausted they both were, in more ways than one, and it seemed as if that exhaustion was beginning to catch up with the both of them.

"All right, sweetheart," she agreed. She smirked as she traveled upward and pressed her lips against his stomach. "Whatever the birthday man wants, right?" She gradually squeezed our hands further against his skin, a wordless promise that whatever he wanted was what they would do. She finally successfully managed to get her hands off of the sensation of his stomach, and then slowly did she press her lips against the front of where his bloated belly jutted out the most, grazing her teeth against his happy trail for the second time. She let out her own breath as she took in just how beautiful his pale body was as it was kissed against the moonlight, the rest of his stomach pooling out of his hips and the pale of his skin kissed and illuminated against the moonlight trailing from the window. No doubt was she, even then, taking care of some unspoken wound that he hadn't yet properly communicated to her. Hadn't even communcoated to himself, perhaps. Whatever it was, she was going to put it to rest as much as she could stand, and as much as she was able to give him.

"Let's go to bed honey," she whispered. Gradually did she lean herself downward further against him. She wrapped her arms up around Randy, pressing her head against the front of the shoulder. Randy let out his own grumble that she assumed was meant to be a sound of agreement as she felt the way he relaxed against her, as he felt the way that her lips gently caressed up against the side of his shoulder in kind. Her hands trailed towards the back of his head, tugging on the black stands lovingly. His hot breath pooled her face as she eased herself against the curves of his neck, as she wrapped her arms further around his body. Gradually did she begin to press her lips further against the side of his face, and within only a couple of breathless seconds did she feel the soft, gentle and precious stones of sleep start to take him as he began to gradually fall off on the edge of unconsciousness.

She laid there for a moment as she felt his body being held by her grasp, already hearing his softened snoring that was just as precious as everything else about him was. She kept her arms wrapped around the front of his body as she felt the way his stomach pressed against her as she lay there with him. The sounds were coming out of his lips with a softened breath, like a tender exhaustion that was only becoming deeper as he got older, as his body became plushier. She found it adorable how he was only falling into nature's most natural patterns with age.

She traveled her arms to his chest as she felt the way he was rendered utterly innocent inside of her arms. There was nothing that was more tender, more addicting, or more life-giving than this feeling of him being completely and utterly cradled within her arms. Not only did she completely revel and feel immense gratitude that he was in her arms, but she also adored the feeling of his fat as he pressed himself against her, as he wrapped his arms around her own body. He was real, and he was here. Hearing the soft snores emitting from his mouth that were almost as adorable as his body was almost more than she could take. Everything about Randy Marsh, in general, was more than she could take, and it seemed as if everything that he had ever been, psychologically and physically the same, was made of so much more than she ever could have imagined herself, as if he had been perfectly and delicately made simply to be loved by her, to be soothed by her touches. The thought made her smile, and she felt so much emotion inside her rise so much that it almost seemed to overcome her entirely, taking her away even from the very feelings and sensations of her own body.

An unwanted idea was what pierced her outside of the heavenly and rich sensation, and though she tried to push it aside, she already knew there was no choice. With trembling hands did she reach out for her phone, gradually easing herself away from Randy as much as much as she could without waking him. With trembling hands did she place the phone inside her hands as she opened up the internet, pressing on the news app as she tried to keep her heart from racing as best as she could. She began to scroll through the results as she searched his very name after she typed it inside the search bar. He was officially loud enough and officially recognized in South Park that there were reports about the things that he did now. It was something that she was both proud of and worried about at the same time.

She continued to scroll through the search results as she looked through the past couple of articles that were written about him and his business ever since it had truly blown into success. There were a couple of old articles she had read before about how he was selling weed, different types of he was selling, and a couple of ones discussing if he would be the first and only pot farmer that would go around selling in the small town. Faceless smiled to herself, already knowing that Randy would never allow anybody else to do what he did in actuality, even with his performance of encouragement to others. Not without a fight, anyway. He was too insecure about something taking his dream away that he had fought tooth and nail for himself.

She pressed her fingertips on the link of the first result; one that was new and looked particularly suspicious. She read the articles as fast they were posted normally, but in the birthday celebration today, she hadn't had the time to check until now. She wanted to protect him from any kind of cruel words that he could read as much as she possibly could.

"Randy Marsh: Heck or Hack?" Was the name of the article that flashed in neon blue letters up in front of her, almost mocking her in the meaning it suggested. It was posted about two hours ago.

Shea allowed herself a deep breath, hesitant to click on the article, but she knew that she had to go forward. If she didn't look at it, it was going to be the only thing that she would think about-the only thing that she could even consider-until it completely fogged up her brain. Even though it made her heart frantically thud inside her chest and made her body feel it was going to implode with anxiety, she knew she had to do it. She had to do it for the sake of protecting him, as well as also protecting herself. It seemed like Randy's reputation was soured these days, and it was unlikely that the article had any kind of forgiving conclusion. She had to read it before he did. His loss was hers, and his pain was hers, and she wanted to be at least a couple of steps in front of him to keep him from being in pain as much as possible. She pressed the link, and instantly did it bring her to the article.

A picture of Randy, one that must have been taken when he wasn't aware while he had been out of town, was what sat at the top of the article, right underneath what looked like a large block of words that stated the toxic title. His hands were inside of his pockets, his face was downcast, his black hair pressed against the front of his face. He didn't look like his usual confident self, and Faceless had no doubt that they had snapped that picture on purpose to make it look as if he was completely falling apart. She already felt anger flare inside of her, and already was she looking for the link that could report the article as inappropriate to help it be taken down, but there was no such option on the website. She bit down on her lip in frustration, continuing to scroll down the article, her eyes frantically darting over the words with an unwanted but necessary curiosity.

"Almost everyone in town at this point knows about the man named Randy Marsh, who has spent the majority of his life the past two years turning everything around for himself. Or at least, so he believes. Everyone knows that he is one of the loudest people in this town, and he has no problem letting everyone know the next thing that he's up to. In some ways, some people would even consider him the town's entertainer."

The frown on Faceless' expression increased as she continued to scroll through the article. She wasn't sure what the article was getting at, but she could already tell that it wasn't good news. The entire article radiated a deep-seated maliciousness inside of it that made her feel sick to her stomach. Still did she continue to scroll, knowing that there was no other choice. She knew what she had signed up for when she decided to be with Randy, and she wasn't backing down now.

"It has come to our attention recently that the man has gotten significantly more scandalous than anybody ever would've assumed. It's gotten to the point where many townspeople are becoming aggravated by the way he's acting. He wants to force himself into other people's conversations, and it's alleged that he tries to force his own business on people who have made it abundantly clear that they're not even interested. More than that, we have cause to believe that he's even gone so far to have a completely disingenuous way of going about selling his products and his business, and we know that it's only a matter of time before people are fed up with him and begin to chase him away as much as they can- as well as his business, which has seems to become the majority of everything that he stands for. Even though Marsh has occasionally helped people with his business and with weed, and even has received good reviews about its quality, many people-far more people, even-have come to complain about the way that he seems to be giving people an increasingly harder time. He doesn't seem to care about anybody that he's affecting or hurting in the process of going after what he wants. If anything is certain, it is clear that he clearly does not have anyone's best interest in mind other than his own. Although he may coincidentally help people with his business overall, it's become abundantly more clear that he's not understanding and helping anybody other than himself and to validate his own impulsive actions. To make matters worse, it has become increasingly more reconginzed by others that Marsh is certainly one of the most dumb and slowest people that exist inside of this town. He has always has been, and always will be, one of the town's biggest regrets, when it really comes down to it, as well as one of the town's biggest and most incompetent idiots."

She squeezed her hands against the front of the phone, not even bothering to fight the sensation of tears that blurred her vision. Her face was becoming hot with anger, her lips trembling and her chest tightening some sort unseen pressure that seemed to be coming from within. That was the end of the article; it seemed the majority of it had only been written for the sake of trying to trigger whatever it was that they felt they could from Randy. Whether they were just trying to get his attention, or whether it was just some new writer was just trying to write as much controversy as they could for clicks, she didn't know, but for whatever the intention that article was written, it certainly hadn't had a pretty end result.

"Dammit," she whispered out of her lips as she allowed the phone to fall out of her hand in the midst of her heavied pain. She squeezed her fingers inside of her palm as she tried to stop her shaking as best as she could. Although she had already known the article was going to be bad news from the second that she had seen the title, she hadn't been expecting that complete imploding that was inside of her now. Her skin was trembling, her eyes burning, and she had never been convineed more in that moment that she would entirely unravel inside of herself at any given moment. This feeling was unbearable; the sense of having so much hurt inside of her, with nowhere for it to go. It was like a bear scratching its claws against her hide, with nowhere for her to release it.

She flew her eyes over towards Randy, who was completely lost within his own secret dreams. He was sleeping in his usual messy position; one hand thrown against the side of his head, a slippy and content smile tracing his features. Whatever concept it was that he was falling into in his dreams, it must have been wonderful; his face was melted into the pillow, an utterly content smile of his face that was almost childish in its peace. Faceless turned her face over towards him, hardly able to see through her blurred tears. There was a certain serenity on his face that gently traced on his adorable features that were, executed perfectly by his frame of black hair. He looked as if he was completely content within the moment, as if he had never been aggravated by those other men at all. He was completely, utterly, delicately lost within whatever secret happiness that he had inside of himself that was so present in the innocence of his core that he always carried even beyond sleep; it was gently cradled and increased tenfold especially with whatever Faceless gave him whenever she took care of him.

She gazed at him for a moment; simply breathing him in, blinking softly. As her eyes began to memorize his every delicate twitch of the muscles in his relaxed and pale face, she began to feel her own peace overcome her in the most unexpected ways. His own eyes fluttered underneath his eyelids, the movement of endless fascination to her. The feeling she felt when she looked at him could be born of nothing less than a golden magic.

He was the embodiment of peace within the moment, more than even she could've imagined, and she felt herself swallow as she allowed her eyes to tug on his every interwoven fabric that made him who he was. His black hair was framing his face, and she knew she had never seen anyone-much less someone his age-quite so content within that moment, so peaceful and so present. She felt a shutter of admiration and richless flow through her that she didn't even know existed. She allowed herself a shaky, teary smile as she reached out and traced her fingertips against his black sideburns, dancing her fingertips against the waves of his curls, watching the way that his expression flooded with appreciation underneath her own touches as she watched him, even in his unconsciousness. He was her own personalized mystery, and as she took in his tender features, the sensation completely drowning out whatever other unpleasant feelings that she has been experiencing before. She felt her mouth go dry as he took in his every detail; his moustache ticked the under part of his nose and the top of his lip, an intelligent and quickened, smug smirk on his face that was both innocent and guarded at the same time.

"You're a little miracle," she whispered. Her whispered words were the final seal to pushing off whatever previous aggravation she had felt before, her physical shaking following shortly from behind. It never ceased to amaze her what literal magic spending time with a loved one did; especially one she loved as deeply as him. It was literal medicine, with no side effects, no catch, no uncaring professional hand from behind the tube. A gentle, satisfied smile danced on her lips as she went through the simple but utterly meaningful action of tracing her fingertips against his face. If there was anything that could ever chase away any of the bad, even when it came to Randy being attacked himself, it was being with his own soft, gentle and childlike simplicity; his own happiness and talent for simply living the moment and accepting everything for what it was, rather than always trying to fight or change it like she did.

She was going to try to get rid of that article before he could find it, but as she watched the way that he was peacefully lost inside of his own happiness now, she found that it almost didn't even matter. Even if he were to read it, she would be able to catch him and whatever bad feelings would complement the new intake of information. She would be able to comfort him, to remind him that there was so much more to his life, to his success, and, in general, to who he was as a person, other than what the world would say and misunderstand about him. She would continue to remind him of those golden parts of his passion for life that had carried him throughout all the previous mundane days of his days and challenges and the cruelty the world had given him. When the cruelty got a little bit too thick, she would be there for him, unconditionally, time and time again. He made his mistakes, but it was within those mistakes that she found that he was only even more deserving of love, knowing that they ultimately came from a place of only wanting to do the best, of doing the best he could with the tools he had been given. She would guide and help him through every step of the way, hoping that, somehow, they would both come out from the other side. That was good enough for the both of them, and through one another would they be content within the pieces of heaven that life had given the both of them.

She felt the warmth of what he was and how it called out to her. It drowned out even the echo of those words that she could hear from outside the window. Instantly did she recognize it as the men that had been around the fire. No doubt they were making their way back over towards their own place where they sad, slept, and hung out. She felt her hair stand on end as she heard the way their boots were stepping on the crunching leaves that were on the ground as they continued to walk past the window. She could hear their chuckles and their unwanted and harsh remarks already. She felt her blood boil, felt her defense going up even just had the suggestion of their presence that was only drawing closer. She kept her arms wrapped even further around Randy's body, as if she could physically keep him away from their daggers of words, protect him from whatever it was that they were going to speak to each other; or just from their toxic presence in general, really. Everything about them made her skin crawl, disgustingly so, and she felt sick at the idea of what material Randy might've already unintentionally given them with his own messy nature.

"That guy? Complete idiot. Did you hear how he was slurring his words?"

"Yeah right," the other man chucked. " I mean, how hard is it to just speak, drunk or not? That guy was just stumbling over his words and couldn't even complete fucking sentences!"

"Hell, even my two-year-old son knows how to plant a fucking weed. He's just a fucking idiot, and he's totally causing more trouble in this town than it's worth. I hope it's only a matter of time before he really gets bored off of his ass and goes off and ruins some other place, because this town certainly doesn't need him."

"Yeah, I hear that. Moved here a couple of weeks ago, and he's already become one of the least favorite parts of me being here. It's only a matter of time before everyone chases him out, in my opinion, if he doesn't leave on his own accord. Which, if he has even one single brain cell in that mind of his, and I'm starting to think that he doesn't, he would take full advantage of. If he's so bored of it here, why the hell doesn't he just leave? Especially knowing that everyone here wants him to go anyway. How the hell more clear-cut could everyone even make it?"

There was a soft, sudden murmuring that escaped Randy's lips, and Faceless threw her head over towards him, feeling panic squeeze in her chest at the thought that the men's disgruntled mocking had woken him up, and even worse, that he had heard what the men were saying. Luckily enough the men were already making their distance away from the window as they walked away, but still did she feel as if she had been stabbed several times. That imploding feeling was back. She gazed at him frantically, trying to look for even the slightest signs that Randy was awake. When there was nothing except for another soft, subconsciously, almost satisfied sigh from his lips, she felt herself relax so deeply that it was almost sickening. She was shaking from the words that took the forms of weapons that she knew she just barely managed to dodge. He had been so close to hearing those hurtful words, and although she did the best she could to keep that cruelty away from him, and even though she tried so damn hard to protect from the terrible way people thought about him, she knew it was only a matter of time before he heard them himself. She knew that there was a part of him that was so sensitive; and despite his easily aggressive nature, underneath his violence and anger, was there only a man with a boyish disposition that got hurt time and time again, that spent his afternoons messily crying into his handkerchief. That was one of the biggest parts of him, and she knew there was only so much that she could do to protect him, at the end of the day. He had to navigate life on his own, and she could only do the best she could to help him, but at the end of the day, she knew that she had to let him do what he had to do. Whatever he was made for, the purpose that seemed to be mysterious to both of them every day, and something they were both still trying to figure out.

She just wished it didn't have to hurt so much in the process.

He was still clumsily dazed in his dreams, his body plump, soft, and relentlessly endearing. Though he looked unkempt and chubby now, she knew that when he woke up, his appearance would mold him naturally like an angel. His black hair would fall into its messy but precious place, and the fat on his face would fall just right on his bones. The perfect combination between endearing plump, bumbly, and angelically attractive. She adored both versions, and they were both breathtakingly endearing.

He was so endearing to gaze at that she found that she hardly even cared anymore about the chaos of the day, or even the uncertainty of tomorrow, or the day after that. The last of the sounds of the stepping boots of the men were rendered inaudible, and she found she no longer cared about that, either. If there was anything that has been proven between their relationship and the love they shared time and time again, it was just how easily they took care of each other, just how well they were able to help each other, even when the other wasn't even trying. As long as she continued to trust in what they had, and as long as he continued to remind himself of what they had together, she knew that nothing could ever hurt them in any way that trust mattered.

There was just this. Simply this, and as she wrapped her arms around the front of his fleshy body again, she couldn't help but smile in a way that reached her core as she breathed in his thick, musty weed smell. This was all that mattered to her, and all that ever would, and as she felt herself drift off to sleep, she knew that the promises that they gave each other where going to be something that they would continue to promise to themselves every day. Some days they would trip onto the promise, and other days they would gracefully dance into it, but no matter what, it would always be what came naturally to the both of them. Messy had been the journey for him, but already had they both found their destination, and everything else was simply something that would entertain them on the way to discover the perfect and genuine true answer that was at the core of their lives. What a miracle it was that he had been born, and what even more of a miracle was it that she had been given the gift of taking care of him; of being able to love him.

"Happy Birthday, Randy Marsh," she murmured against his hair just as she tethered and teased on the edge of sleep.

A soft kick of his feet against hers let her know that was one statement within the last hour that he had heard.

"Wounded Addiction"

Randy has another partner while Faceless is dying.

Randy had always had a funnily particular attitude towards two elements within his life: the guaranteed promise of death, and the mysterious heat of lust.

He had an almost indifferent attitude towards the first. He had never gotten or understood why he should be anything other than indifferent to something that was utterly inevitable, regardless of whatever he did or didn't do. Besides, it seemed like something that would hit like adrenaline-almost like a drug. He even went so far as to use it as an excuse to be able to treat himself terribly; to allow himself to be overweight, an addict to alcohol and weed, and, frankly, to not care about his rapidly declining health that foretold an early death later within his life. It was going to happen anyway, and he didn't see why he should be bored for the rest of his life just for the sake of avoiding something that would happen regardless. It was his much welcomed and guided crutch to smoke until his lungs were more fog than they were organ, to drink until he could feel nothing except for a hardened hill that reduced his stomach to a pained shape and feel, and to reduce his mind to a thoughtless cloud much of the same. He didn't even bother to get much more than a half hour of sleep a night on average, so much to the point that there were grey bags tracing under eyes, the exhaustion serving as something that was consuming his previous youthful and healthy body for all it was worth like a hungry animal that had finally found its prey.

And lust. Lust was something that he perceived almost as a certain accomplishment, something to be achieved, something to give him validation and purpose that would fulfill that otherwise dark and blackened hole that haunted him throughout his days. Somewhere along the way within those back, richened red ribbons that danced around his endless torment was the search for the perfect warm vessel of a partner-but, more often than not, simply was he just looking for someone to help him to forget himself for a while.

Only two sparse times had he managed to find love within the endless chaotic patterns of his life. Only twice, but those two times had changed his life in permanent altering ways that he knew were impossible to replace. They had shaped his life-and, therefore, himself, more than he could have ever imagined. Yet it hadn't changed one thing about him; it hadn't changed that constant fighting. It hadn't changed that impulse to hook up with whatever women who took his interest within himself from the lack of satisfaction from his life had taken the red riched and golden form of lust.

Fool's gold, but Randy was nothing if not a fool.

It has been one of the most mouth-watering, painfully irresistible, and velvet laced intriguing aspects of his active escapism that he had struggled with throughout his life, one of the actions that he had fallen into to be able to milk substance off of the act. There was always at least the slightest hint of a suggestion that perhaps he desired more than those close to him had granted him throughout his life, although it always ended up feeling that he allowed himself to go too far within the act; a sense of green tinted guilt that never left would always haunt the next few long and dragging days whenever he allowed himself to completely devour the woman underneath him that would serve as the human embodiment of his drug for the night to escape himself, his life, and, most especially, his thoughts, which were the equivalent to a reckless energy that never ceased to poke and prod him with his every awakening weakness that only his demons knew. He had convinced himself ever since he was a teenager-and certainly encouraged by his father-that mindless and egotastic lust would fulfill him in the way that gap in his chest desperately needed, and yet it had ended up failing miserably every time.

Love had always felt the most natural around Randy's crazed but softened nature; almost deceitfully so was the belief inside of him that never failed to remind him that there was nothing that would ever feel better than love. Yet he felt deceived from that truth that pressed against him over and over with every ego fulfilled action; love hadn't been enough with Sharon, so why would it be enough with anyone else, either? For the longest time the concept of love equicating happiness was shut off to Randy, and he was simpleminded enough to accept that, as unnatural as it felt, it simply was what it was, and there was nothing left to do but accept it.

A new woman had come into his life, and even after all the years he shared with her, still was he learning about the balance of what he needed and what he wanted. It was a stark, bleak contrast that was so violent in its execution that it cut Randy like swords through his chest, and Randy knew there was nowhere to go but by balancing on the tightrope of unconditional love that Faceless had given him. It was anxiety ridden and painful for him to let go of his pride to reflect on the fact that he wasn't perfect in how he loved, and yet with her was the self loathing cushioned at least slightly as he tired to learn about true love and rich happiness; as he tried to untangled to bad habits of escapism he had fallen into since he had been a lost and uncertain boy in high school.

Admittedly, there were times when he wondered if the two of them were truly as utterly content within one another as they were: he knew there had been a time he had loved Sharon as deeply as he loved Faceless, and he remembered its gradual decay with a painful clarity as remembered how their previous love had rotted and aged over time. Despite his doubts, it had been proven, time and time over again, that Faceless and him were different; that they undoubtedly not only good for one another, but needed each other.

Yet still did he wrestle with his desperate need for that constant escape, that happiness and validation that he had only just managed to get in bits and pieces throughout his life. Within the rotting and misfortune situation that the cruel tides of fate had thrown them both into, Randy had lost sight of that much more content, stable man he had gradually evolved into when Stan and Shelley had been young. Those craved simpler years. And from the past few years of his life he shared with Faceless on the farm was he becoming more unhinged. More hungry.

There was lust, and there was love, and Randy knew not yet, even now, which path he needed to take. Love had been all he had seen, felt, and heard; all he had attested to within the otherwise hungered and crazed desperation he had felt when he had experienced it to its pinnacle of execution when Faceless had been well. But she was no longer in good health, and as a result, neither was Randy's perfectly painted and richly pained portrait of his sheer unknowing of who he truly was, of what path he needed to take. He loved her, painfully so, but he was also in love with hunger. His famished nature for more. To have those two faces completely and utterly intertwining and combine against each other was almost more than he knew what the process now.

He kept the questions in the back of his mind as best as he could as he pressed one sweating hand up against the front of the door to the master bedroom, already feeling his heart squeezing inside of his chest as he felt the weight of the door crack open. His eyes gently fluttered frantically over to where she was sitting on the bed, already feeling a strange sensation of an alarmed siren inside of his mind as he saw just how weak, fragile, and recklessly small she truly was. He knocked his fist against the front of the door, even though he knew he could walk right in. He felt horribly guilty and conflicted for what he was doing on the side despite her condition-because of her condition, really-and he needed to do whatever he could to show that he still, if nothing else, respected her, lest she would somehow pick up on his guilty secret. Women were like that. He darted his eyes over as his vision memorized her form, feeling his mouth hang open slightly the way that it did whenever he was highly focused or concentrated on something.

"Hey, babe. Knock, knock. Can I come in?" he whispered softly. His voice was tender and unsure, wobbling with intimating and yet his own emotional devastation at her condition. He looked over at the bulk of her own form, which was so thin that it almost seemed as if it could be something Randy imagined. It would have been just as believable that no one was there at all. Her shoulder blades were sticking out from her skin, almost reduced to sharpened and jarred weapons. For a second Randy wondered, with a lurch in his heart, if she was even capable of responding. He felt a sickened wave of relief overcome him as she turned around slightly from where her head was rested against the pillow, the action seeming as if it was taking far more action than it should have as he watched her body shudder with the effort. Although her features were usually painted with a gentle relief whenever she saw him for the first time after a couple of hours, for the time being did he only see a gentle and weathed pain that was plastered against her skin, one that he felt a flare of anger for. Not for her, but at fate.

"Sure, sweetheart," she muttered softly. She smiled at him weakly. It was a pitiful attempt.

He furrowed his thick eyebrows as he began to make his way forward, steps uncertain and soft as his socked feet hit the carpet, stained with the beer he had sloppily doused before seeing her. He couldn't stand seeing her in this state even on a good day, or in general, but especially not with the ghost of another's woman's scent that still lingered and tingled on his very skin, despite how much he had tried to mask it beforehand. Much like how he tried not to feel the sensation of his guilt, he put effort in trying to ignore that squeeze in his chest that was more painful than any burning liquor he had doused before. He took a deep breath as he sat down on the edge of the bed, and then, after a moment of thought, instinctively leaned forward and rested one hand against her hip, which was thinning to a concerning degree.

"How you feelin'?" he asked, leaning forward and allowing his hands to be intertwined with her own sickly ones. He looked so full and glowing compared to her, and it only made him feel worse. She smiled in a bittersweet, heartbreaking fashion as she reached out her own hands and gently placed it against his. She felt clammy and weak, just as she looked. She leaned forward and gently pressed her lips up against the front of his knuckles, the action tender, soft, and slow with every single kiss that pressed against his knuckles. It was nothing less than a gentle sort of worship for his own body as he felt a gentle sort of soft appreciative moan leave his lips as he felt the way that her own skin was gently spoiling up against his knuckles.

"Better. Now that you're here," she admitted softly, her breath beating gently pressing up against the front of his own.

Randy chuckled, albeit nervously. Almost guilty. He had just kissed another woman; it was the pretty brunette that he had been eyeing in the corner of his mind before he had even started to consider the idea of divorcing Sharon. He hadn't known when it happened, but he had figured, considering that they'd been in an open relationship before Faceless had fallen ill, before the guaranteed promise of death had started to grip her, that perhaps it would be okay. Even so, despite this same story that he repeated in his head over and over through the hours of his day while he was out with another woman, he couldn't help but feel like he was doing something horribly and irrevocably unforgivable.

And fuck, he felt guilty for it.

"That's good," Randy murmured gently, his voice soft and slow, and relentlessly understanding as he looked into her own eyes, hoping that by some sick and twisted miracle she wouldn't be able to see the fight and the inherent conflict within them. She read him too well, and he knew it. He subconsciously allowed his fingers to keep caressing her, though the action was more for him than it was for her. "How-how is everything?"

He felt so miserably cowardly and evil, like a jester that was dancing to keep away from being burned by the fire from his master. He felt like he was only two steps away from being burned up inside of the fire that was his own actions. He swallowed thickly as he saw the way her eyes flickered, wondering if, somehow, she had managed to see his latest hookup like it was broadcasted on live television. He felt that way sometimes. But she looked at him and gave him the softest and the most gentle of shrugs.

"I was mostly thinking about you," she admitted gently. "I'm always thinking about you, Randy. You're the main thing that I'm worried about." She smiled at him, the action seeming as if it was tugged on by strings from another force. Her consideration for him almost seemed unnatural, considering the depth of her sickliness. It matched so horribly unwell. It was almost bitter how considerate she was being, the way it was drenched in her gentle reflection as he gazed at him. BItter with a sweetness that he knew he didn't deserve. "The main thing that's on my mind," she added softly.

She may as well have stabbed him. It would have hurt less. There was an awkward, intense pause that came from Randy as he gazed at her with his own searching eyes, trying to discern between how serious she was, as well as trying to process the sudden wave of emotion that overcame himself. When too much time went by, he realized he had to simply let go; to say something. The silence was becoming increasingly more awkward, more full of barely surpassed tension that was the last thing he wanted to feel.

"Oh, come on," he chuckled, desperately attempting to keep his voice as teasing and as light as he could, though his panic was as broad as a flashing light as he gazed at her with his eyes frantically glinting eyes. "You-you can't be serious. You didn't think about me all day, did you? Come on, hun. You must have thought about at least something else." He was keeping a smile plastered on his face as he gazed at her nervously, and though he wanted to fall into that gentle tenderness that they had with each other more often than not, he also didn't want to feel like he was the most sinful man in existence to allow her to believe that he wasn't out kissing a woman, laughing with another woman...celebrating life with another in the way that only Faceless had taught him to do in a relationship in a healthy manner. He felt as if he had taken those rich lessons and had robbed them, thieved them for his own selfish missions. And he felt horrible for it.

"I did," she said softly. There was something inside of her eyes; and even before she spoke did he already feel as if she had spoken the heavied truth that was choking between the both of them.

Randy paused as he gazed at her. He already knew what she was going to say, and for once he wished they didn't have such an intense connection. He had to say something. Had to. "So-"

"It's okay, Randy," she whispered. "It's okay." She cut him off with a gentle, understating grace.

It worried him, the way that she said it; as if she already knew. Randy blinked at her frantically, trying not to feel called out as much as he possibly could as he looked over at her. "What's okay? Everything is not okay." He stopped his caressing temporarily as he flickered his eyes down at her in a heated and panicked fashion. "Look at you! I mean-everything is ok with me. What's okay with you? Everything is perfectly okay with me! Why are you saying it like that?" He slurred and stumbled over his words, and he knew he was putting his foot inside of his mouth, and yet he couldn't bring himself to stop; the guilt was too much.

Faceless smiled at him, and there was more of that sickening sweetness; it made Randy's stomach do a sickly flip. "You know that pretty woman you love so much? Go to her," she murmured softly.

Ready furrowed his black eyebrows in surprise as he heard her words leave her lips, surprise gripping him like a cold claw. He felt his throat go dry as he looked at her frantically back and forth.

"Wha..what?" he chuckled, his eyes dancing inside of his sockets as his vision flew back and forth between her own eyes, desperate questioning flaring inside of his chest before he could even prevent the dreaded panic from overcoming him. When he looked into her eyes he realized nothing was there except an utter and complete knowing, and he took a deep breath, raising his hands against his arms, feeling his body hair prickle with shock underneath his touch.

"Oh, goddammit, Faceless. Shit." He took a deep breath, attempting to collect himself. He rolled his shoulders, breathed deeply, gripped his fingers a bit harder against her hip to ground himself. How ironic was it that the very person he was running away from was also the person that saved him, even now. He rubbed his fingers over her hands, an action that was more to calm him than her within that moment. "How..how did you know?" He hated to ask the question, and it left like a pained dagger leaving his throat, but he knew he had to ask. There was no way he couldn't not ask, and certainly no way he could back down now. Not now.

She gazed at him in a particular fashion that made Randy feel as if he was freezing in his skin; it seemed as if she was looking at something that wasn't there, or that only she could see. Gently did she lean forward as she pressed her lips up against the front of his own. Though he felt as if he should push away, he didn't have it in him to resist her. It took him a long, awkward, and tense minute to respond to her lips, being far too lost within his sudden strike of ice that was inside of him that was born from cold bred shock of betrayal that was born from a deepened self loathing; one that was born from himself and towards himself at the same time, as well as towards Faceless, in a twisted way, mainly for the tender way she was reacting to what she knew he had done.

Finally did she pull away, but Randy felt as if something had been physically pulled out of him by the time she did; he let out an audible gasp as he felt the way her lips tore away from his.

"I know how much you desperately needed a partner in life," she murmured softly against the front of his warm lips, still so close that he could feel the vibration of her voice as it pressed against his; so much that he could feel the way his mustache tickled against her lips. "All I want is for you to be happy. I know that you've been out with another woman, sweetheart. You think I don't smell her perfume on your skin when you come to visit me? You think that I don't know you well enough to know that you wouldn't be able to go very long taking on life single? Something I know you find unbearably boring? Trying to discipline yourself from your eyes straying towards the next woman who helps you to feel comfort?" She let out a soft laugh. It wasn't malicious, but rather simple, reflective, and tired, yet loving in the saddest way Randy had ever heard. Randy would have thought it was meant to be mocking, had he not known that natural tenderness that was within her every laugh, most especially when it came to any manners concerning him. As if she could sense his wrecked discomfort, she nuzzled herself further up against him, her eyes almost drowning him in deep seated pain even as her intimacy was meant to be communicated as a comfort.

He swallowed nervously. He knew he had to give her some response, at least. "What-what are you talking about?" he stammered, just barely managing to meet her own inquiring eyes, trying his best to keep himself as sturdy as he could despite the panic that was blossoming inside of his chest. Maybe he could manage to dance away from the inevitable truth, even now. "I'm so happy, Faceless. I'm the happiest when I'm with you, you know that?" Even with the authenticity of his words, he felt his thought process hitting a dead end within his panic. It only caused him to want to speak even faster, to stumble his words out faster; anything to keep from hurting her, and most especially anything he could do to run from himself. "And-you know, just because I'm going out, just because maybe I'm kind of looking at some other woman sometimes..It-It doesn't mean anything. It doesn't mean anything, doesn't make this any less meaningful." He squeezed his fingers against her skin, not sure why he was feeling that desperation exploding inside of his chest to reassure her as much as the muddled panic in his mind would allow him to.

He expected her to counter his words; to tell him that he was horribly wrong, to take back everything he was saying. To, quite frankly, tell him he was full of shit. He would have expected the same from Sharon, or any partner, really.

Which is why a rich surprise fluttered in his chest when Faceless only sighed. There was no questioning, no yelling, no hidden anger in her words. Rather, she sounded awfully, painfully, bone deep tired, and somehow, that only served to make Randy feel worse than any yelling ever could have.

"I love you unconditionally," she murmured. "And that's exactly why I don't have any quarrels, or any reason, to feel upset or mad that you're seeing someone else just because I'm dying. I know that you need someone else to carry you through life, baby. I know that you can't take this life all on your own, and I know that you have a particular sort of tenderness about you that needs a little bit of extra love. Which is only some of the reasons why I fell in love with you so deeply myself. I wanted to give you that. It was like an addiction, an medicine for my own soul, to give you all that, and more." She gently traced her lips against the front of his knuckles again, and Randy's breath hitched as he felt the considerate way that she caressed and pressed her fingertips against the side of his own knuckles. The guilt made him almost want to wretch himself away, but it felt too good for him to actually execute the action. "I wanted to give you that, but I can't anymore, and that's what I want to see you do with someone else," she murmured softly against his skin.

His soul felt as if it had been drenched in ice. "Faceless-God." His voice was beginning to overcome with emotion as he gazed at her. He didn't know which emotion he felt more; a deep shock from her understanding, or an anger at himself for putting her in such a position in the first place. Rather than being able to decide on any one emotion, he felt as if he had been poured into some sort of unforgiving lava, swirling and knocking him around from all ends, rendering him helpless to make a certain decision. And, even more bitterly, devouring him beyond recall.

"You can't-you can't be serious, right? You're really okay with me going out and banging some other woman while you're sitting here and rotting and waiting for Satan to come take your ass? You really think that that's….that's justified?" Her eyes flickered up towards him, and he felt only worse at the action as he saw the way her eyes were striking into his with that neverending tenderness. "I feel terrible, Faceless. I don't feel like this is okay at all." His voice was trembling with his confessions, and not even he could express how much he was hurting; just how frustrated he was with his own impulsive nature, one of which was so quick to indulge in anything that gave him even the slightest peace even with knowing it was wrong; or at least, wrong by many other people's standards. Faceless had given him the freedom of an open relationship, but never had he thought he would take advantage while she was dying on her deathbed.

And yet, he did, and he had, and he would. It was just like his addictions with drinking and smoking; it only worsened the more he tried to resist. The need, the want, the cravings only worsened. He felt as if he was caught in his own wreckless storm, with no way that even he could get out.

The world turned souls like him into a forgettable and unforgivable blimp. Whatever few golden threads of preciousness that were present within his character were swallowed whole and turned him into a disgrace far before his time due to his disgraceful inactions. And he knew that she saw much the same in him. It was the deepest heartbreak she knew; to know him and yet to only see him for half the shadow he was by the age of fifty, that shadow most especially executed by his own relentless judgement, by his own self doubt, swallowing him whole and making him only half the man he was meant to be.

And yet she loved him the same, and that was what took his breath away.

"I can see how happy she makes you," Faceless murmured. Randy's eyes shot back up to hers in inquiry and surprise; he didn't want to hear anything more, yet at the same time could he not help it; he was clinging onto her every word like it was his own grounding of comfort. "I could sense it from the first day that you came to visit me. There was a lighter dance in your step for the first time since I had fallen sick. I saw some glimpses of you that I know you only hold when you're at your happiest and most passionate self." Her throat trembled, betraying a hardly suppressed weakness. A consuming emotion. "You're nearing fifty, sweetheart, and when we met you were only forty six. You were just beginning to get to divorce from Sharon. And now it's time for you to find someone else. Most especially now that death is taking me away from you."

Randy frowned, shaking his head with a frantic and feverish anger as he began to put the pieces together of where her true wrecked and heavier energy was truly originated from. "Wait-wait-you don't think she's gonna replace you, do you?"

A self-aware, saddened smile traced her features. There was a long pause, and there was the answer within it.

"Faceless!" Randy whined. "Honey-you can't actually believe-"

"Do you really think I'm some world's most confident woman, even when it comes to what we share?" She smirked as she asked the question, a bitterness trembling on her lips. She shook her head slightly, then pressed her cheek up against the front of his knuckles again. "I'm not going to lie, sweetheart, it does hurt a little bit, but not because I think that you owe me anything, or because I love you any less, or any less unconditionally. Your happiness really is my happiness, and I'm glad that you found someone." She gently paused. "But you know how much I struggled with isolation in my life. You know how hard it can be for me to see and to love a man that can so easily be with someone else."

Randy took a deep breath; the tension was shuddering within him as he squeezed his hands against her. "Honey-how in the hell could you be so damn wrong?" He allowed himself a moment to breathe, knowing that he had to get his next words right, and also knowing he would disappoint himself anyway, no matter how hard he tried not to. "Look, sweetheart-I-I do like her, ok? You know how easily I can meet women, how I can...I don't know, find what I want really easily...sometimes. I mean, hell, when it comes to marriage, I'm a wreck, but something about casually dating women is just...easier. Or at least, you know how easy it is for me to kind of just..meet someone and just start talking to them. That doesn't mean for even a second that I'm moving on before you can even kick the grave."

"I just want you to be happy." Her words were tired, wrecked, and yet there was a strain of happiness even under her saddened tone, and Randy knew it was because she wanted his happiness more than anything else; it was a realization between their relationship that made him feel a bitters shiver of self loathing, even with knowing that it wasn't his fault. Not truly. But that didn't see to matter right now.

He blinked at her rapidly. "I-I am happy! I mean, I guess. I'm not happy about this." He nodded towards her sickened form. "I'm happy right now, sitting here, with you. You. I'm happy about you." He gently trailed his hands against her own, caressing and ghosting the natural almost maddening tenderness that he felt for her and with her at all hours. "I don't know the right words to say, babe, but I just want you to let you know that the part of my heart, the part of what we shared together for a few years- it has nothing to do with anything with what I'm seeing in her. I'm seeing her, yeah, sure, but she's just a chick, honey. She's just someone that listens to me, and she makes me feel a little bit better, but she's not you." He gently leaned forward as he caressed his lips against her knuckles, determination gracing his lips as he caressed his warm lips further against the front of her hand. "Never you. That's ridiculous." He let out a chuckle, almost as if he couldn't even believe or entertain the idea.

"But you went out with her. You like her, baby, and I think I know you better than you may think."

He sniffed. "What do you mean?" His voice gave away his uncertainty that perhaps he didn't even understand himself: he did have a tendency to trip over his own feet, to not even understand what or why he was doing himself. He simply knew that it felt good, and that had always been a good enough reason for him.

"I mean...perhaps you'll be able to find a gentle home within with her, the same way that you did with me." Randy blinked at her for a moment in thought. Faceless smiled in a bittersweet knowing as he raised up one hand and pressed it against the front of his cheek as she met his gaze. Randy still held that same fractured unhappiness inside of his eyes that originated from the conviction that she wasn't truly understanding what he meant. He processed her words, and quickly did frustration follow slowly from behind.

"No!" he hissed back, almost shouting it this time, and he would have, had his voice not been so naturally tender more often than not even when his voice was raised; not unless he was drunk or feeling particularly angry. But more often than not, especially when it came to the gentle confessions between them now, only the most tender tones executed the thoughts of his naturally soft soul, more so than she had ever heard from anyone else before, and she knew she never would from anyone again. He was a rare man, in more ways than one, and relentlessly soft at his core that made hi painfully endearing.

He bit down on his tongue as he looked at her, feeling his confused aggravation getting the best of him, even as he tried to cling onto patience. Patience had never really been his thing, even in his best moments. He let out shuddered breath as he took in her words; took in the emotional layers of them, and then slowly did he press his hand up against the front of her forehead, not taking his own eyes away from her, desperately wanting for her to be able to understand where he was coming from with the woman he was seeing. He felt like such a generic ass, but he wanted to at least try to explain where the wounds of his own heart of her dying were coming from, and why his healing looked different from hers when it came to dealing with death.

"Look, sweetheart, I will admit...I-I, shit, don't know. I do like the way she feels. She's gentle, warm, kind. She's pretty sweet. But that doesn't mean I'm moving on, alright?"

"I wouldn't mind if you did. As long as it made you happy." Her voice was confident and entirely self assured in what she was saying, though even within her confidence could Randy sense there was pain behind her words, barely masked despite her efforts.

Randy took a breath as he took her in. He was angry now; this time, angry with the fact that she was assuming that he would, in fact, get up and leave just because she was no longer able to be with him in the physical sense. It was insulting, and even for him, even with his impulsive nature, even with him not knowing exactly what he truly wanted-except for this; a loyal and loving woman in between his two hands that had been everything that he needed even before he had even been aware he had needed it.

"Oh, c'mon, Faceless, you know me better than that. You really think I'm gonna pack up my shit and leave the second you pass?" Something stopped him continuing even the suggestion of the situation, and a deep seated glob of unspoken emotion choked and wobbled in his throat before he could even finish the sentence; there was a stroke of doubt within him even as he spoke the words. He desperately wanted to believe that he was a good, kind, trustworthy partner, but he also couldn't deny there were parts of him that felt unsure of who even he thought he was; there were shivers and secrets inside of him that were undiscovered, that were doubtful if he really was going to stay suited within the nest he had built with Faceless, or if he would honor it properly after she was gone. Even now, even after all his mistakes and selfish decisions that had, ironically, led the to the relationship he shared with Faceless now, did he fight for that version of himself that he knew could be better, that knew he could be a more loving and unconditional partner, that he could grow and mold himself to be someone that someone like Faceless deserved and was proud of.

He could feel a determination flare inside of him, determined to scream over even those doubts that were pounding inside his head that he wasn't a common scumbag, and that he was, in fact, worthy of love and worthy of being a loyal husband, most especially after she passed.

"Faceless, I love you, ok? I'm more certain about that than anything I've ever experienced. I love you...even more than my weed, or my escapes, or partying, or any of that mindless shit." He blinked his eyes rapidly in frustration, angered with the way that the words were coming out. His words sounded so..clumsy. Possibly even inauthentic. The thought made his blood run cold, and he knew that, if nothing else, he wanted to fix at least that much. He bit down on his lip until he felt it bleed; the taste of the metallic liquid struck something in him. "This is all coming out wrong, honey, but what I'm trying to say is that I-I fucking love you, okay? I really, really fucking love you; more than any other woman I've ever met. Hell, possibly more than anybody that I've ever met in general. You..do something for me. I got a lot going on, and sometimes it gets to be so much that not even I can take it-but...with this…"He reached out a hand and ghosted it against her fingers, rather than squeezed like he normally would. He almost felt that if he touched her too intensely, she would crumble in front of his eyes. He gave her his sharpest, intense, but kindest look as best as he could, feeling frustration blob up inside of his chest. He desperately wished he wasn't so clumsy with words. He used to have been better at it when he was young, but evidently the weed and alcohol had affected him more than even he had anticipated. "What I'm trying to say is that...nothin' is gonna take me away from you, ok? This is it for me. You're it for me. Another woman's not even gonna touch anything we've shared."

"But you do need someone." She spoke the statement sadly, and matter of factly, as if she was reading it from a textbook.

Randy opened his mouth to reject her statement, but he found himself pausing as he looked at her, surprised at the sudden inspitaton of consideration he wanted to give her words. He let out a softened, pained hum at her words, unintentionally rolling over the heaviness of the waves of the words that she was saying. The idea that she presented to him ultimately came from the source that she did truly know him, and excruciatingly so. And, much to Randy's both relief and dread, in many ways did she know him even more than he knew himself; and he couldn't deny, for even a moment, that the fact was anything less than richly and deeply true.

He took a deep breath as he flickered his eyes back at her, nodding uncertrinaly as he met her own certain eyes. He was on the pinnacle of some truth about himself; some weakness part of his character that not even he wanted to admit to himself. He wanted to be strong, desperately, but there were so many parts of him that longed to be cradled. Taken care of. Dare he even think….coddled. There was a part of him that simply craved it, relentlessly, for better or for worse.

"Yeah," he rasped. "Yeah. Yeah, I do." The tortured admittance that left his lips made him shiver, and he felt himself both ashamed and yet fansicated at the traits he discovered about himself, even to this day. The surprises he gave his own character could be exciting, sometimes even welcomed, but for the time being he feel nothing but shame at this trait of a strained emotional codependency in particular, and no avoidance of the fact could help him accept it. He was a confident man, but he was a walking contradiction in much of the same ways he was unpredictable; he was so independent, but he would unravel at the idea of not being with and loved by another. The gentle, soft connection of tone that came within his voice was more so from an unwanted sort of connection that it was anything else, a tired confession that left his lips before he could stop it. It tasted bitter on his lips.

She gave him a knowing, loving, but tired smile; it was a strange contradiction. "That's what I'm saying, Randy." Her eyes fluttered as she hoisted herself into a half sitting position; Randy leaned forward, then backward, as if he was both intimidated and drawn to her sudden strength and determination to properly transfer the message that she desperately wanted to give him that was sitting on her lips. She settled for sitting herself against the side of the headboard, then turned to Randy, still with that same gentle and tender exhaustion on her lips that he wished he could take away. He was such a tender man, but fuck, if he didn't struggle with his own flaws and his own desperation to simple have more; to always have a backup plan.

"Randy," she started. Her voice was anticipatory, and Randy leaned forward as he nodded at her encouragingly,, albeit painfully.

"Yeah?" he whispered "Go on, honey. Tell me anything." He could grant her that much, at the very least.

The words that left her lips seemed painful, yet also much needed to be spoken, as if it was gradually leaking out from a pain that was settled inside of both their hearts and souls. "I don't know if there's a reason why we came together, why we did what we did for one another. But I do know that I wouldn't have wanted to experience this life without it. Even with how hard it was for you with your ex-wife, your kids, your house…" There was a distant, tired smile on her lips as she remembered the intensity of the memories. She was absentmindedly twisting the bedsheets in her hand. "We really brought each other to life, didn't we?" She breathed the words rather than spoke them, and she smiled tenderly as she allowed her eyes to rest on his beloved features. Slowly she pressed the warmth of her lips against his knuckles for the countless time; Randy trembled at the touch.

"We-we sure did, honey," he whispered softly as he allowed her to whisper her own lovingly wrought promises onto his knuckles. The prolonged slowness of his voice was wobbling with emotion; every syllable that let his lips was drowned in his tender slowness that was so innate in his nature, but also in his richly wrought appreciation for her. "You taught me how to really try again, you know? I didn't see the point for a long time, not really. Everything felt like a chore, and even the chores I did right only led to more bitching from Sharon. I just never really knew what I could do right after a certain point, you know?" His adam's apple bobbed as he allowed his confessions to leave his lips; uncertain though they were, they were undoubtedly heartfelt, and Faceless nodded encouragingly as she watched the confessions leave his lips; tormented secrets that he would only allow for her and her alone. "You showed me how to love again, the way I used to, with who I used to be. The man who used to try, who used to want to try. I'm scared what's gonna happen to me when you're gone, Faceless. When you leave, it's just gonna be me and my broken family again, and I-I don't want to be the pothead everyone says I am."

"There's nothing wrong with having something that takes the pain away, baby," she muttered. Just don't fall into it so easily when you struggle." Her lips didn't leave his knuckles as he murmured against them; the cool of her breath and the vibration of her tones gently tickled his skin, making him shiver. "Trust yourself I know you can do that."

"See, that's it, babe-I don't know if I know how to do that," Randy shot back abruptly. He looked at her as he blinked rapidly, already beginning to feel that childlike sob inside of his throat starting to clog his lungs in a way that was all too familiar with him now. "It's gonna be so hard without you, honey." His voice was at the pinnacle of its tender tones now, and he would have been embarrassed at how slow the natural prolonged vowels of his voice sounded if it wasn't for the emotional safety she so naturally gave him.

"I know," she murmured. "I wouldn't know what to do with myself if you left, darling. If it was the other way around…" There was a heavy tremor that left her lips even as she spoke the words, as if she couldn't quite even admit or entertain the idea entirely of her living life without him. Randy nodded frantically as he looked at her, feeling the most desperate of his nature bringing itself to the forefront of his demeanor in the sight of her weakness that was dispel temporary from nothing less than sheer love for him.

"Yeah-yeah! That's exactly what I'm talkin' about. I know, sweetheart. I know. That's why I want to be strong for you; I want to be what you need right now, ok? RIght now." He paused, knowing there was more to be said, and knowing that he simply needed to speak it, even with how painful it might be. "But, dammit-but I also need...I need someone to be here for while I'm still on this earth, Faceless. I'm not as strong as you are, honey. I can't take isolation the same way you can. I don't know how to navigate life all the ways that you do."

Faceless shook her head, sadness lightning in her eyes that seemed to almost always be present these days. It never left; it merely shifted around. "You're so much stronger than you think you are, Randy. That anyone thinks you are." She pressed one last considerate, slow kiss on his knuckles, and he knew there were soundless words she was communicating to him even with that action alone. "And I don't want you for even a second to be struggling on this earth alone. I want you to be happy, and I love you so deeply that I would even be happy if you found someone else, honey. When you find someone that makes you happy, it's also my own treasure, and wherever-or whoever-you find your happiness, it's mine too." Her voice trembled, and never had there been so much truth spoken in such simply spoken words.

Randy swallowed, and he felt sweat starting to take a layer on his skin. His fingers were still trembling as he pressed his hand up against the front of her own, this time firmer, as if he was gripping onto to what they had as best as he could. "Yeah-but-do you see where I'm coming from? I need someone to lie down with-someone to be happy with. Do you understand what I mean? I never want to hurt you, honey, and I don't think of you any differently. But, shit-I need someone to hold my hand until I can come home to you."

"I know," she repeated. He couldn't; tell if the strain he heard was there, or if he was only imagining it within his heartbreak and paraoania.

"But I'm not replacing you. Geez. Even just saying it out loud makes me sick."

"Yes," she nodded with a small fashion og agreement, the action seeming almost forced. "And I want you to have an endlessly good life with anyone that you can find. You deserve nothing less than that. And I can't imagine a day where I would want anything less for you. That's what I'm saying, Randy. There's nothing that you could ever do that could ever truly break my heart. Even just knowing that you exist, just knowing that you're happy and out there and in love, is more than enough for me to ever know."

Randy gave her a bitter, sweetened, twisted smile that executed all of his complicated emotional complexity. "Aw, honey. This old man's gonna keel over eventually, sweetheart. You really think I'm just gonna keep kicking it? This world's gonna knock me down before the breath can leave my lungs. Especially with all this weed that I smoke. Hey honey, I love it. But I know-I know that my body isn't healthy as it used to be. It's not as….young as I used to be." It was hard for him to admit, but he knew he had to. He couldn't deny to himself anymore that his body wasn't the same healthy, useful, bouncy nature that it used to be.

Worry glinted in Faceless' eyes, and he knew he had to reassure her. She had enough to worry about as it was. "Hey, hey, honey, my body is pretty damn healthy for my age, especially compared to some of these bozos my age. So don't worry about me too much, right? But-" He pattered his thumb against her knuckles as he gazed below him. He was increasingly more overweight, more than he had ever been in his life, and he could feel the way that it was becoming increasingly harder to breathe; not just from his weight gain, but from the pollution of the drugs he took. Although it had become increasingly harder for him to admit his flaws and his mistakes with the older that he got, and though the more he always wanted to fall the comfort of denial more often than not, he couldn't deny that it was becoming impossible even for him to deny the fact that it was coming a little bit harder to breathe, a little bit harder to function.

The fact of the manner was that he was simply becoming older, and whether he accepted it or not, the train of youth had long since left him behind.

She nodded, reaching out a hand and tracing it against the soft of his black sideburns that framed his face. "I know, baby," she muttered. "I know. I always told you to take better care of yourself-"

"And I tried!" Randy interrupted frantically. "I always want to try. For you. The part of me that matters-the part of me that wrote lyrics for Lorde, about the island and those lyrics that touched everyone-and the part of me that grows plants from my own hands and makes some good ass weed; that passionate, artistic part of me is always going to be yours, honey. What I'm doing isn't an replacement for what we have. It's a coping mechanism. Like...like weed, and beer, and all that other shit I...I abuse." He pinned her down with his gaze, desperate for her to believe him. There was no greater language of love for him to admit than to speak his mistakes. That was his ultimate love language, and it was horribly painful. "Alright? Do you get what I'm saying?" He gazed into her eyes with begging, desperate eyes; each holding endless pain within his gaze. His vision was watered and uncertain as he searched and fluttered desperalty within hers.

She caressed her hands against his trembling, sweating skin, his body having broken out into its own form of emotional release a few minutes ago. She knew how deeply he tried to convey the complex emotions that were already so hard to unravel for him enough as it was; she could see it in his every movement, every uncertain squeeze of his hand against hers that held so much passion within it, yet so much pain and confusion even in regards to what he wanted as his own individual.

"I know what you mean, Randy," she reassured him gently. She tenderly caressed the front of her fingers against the softened surface of his own; they were almost always stained with alcohol or some similar substance; the liquor almost always littered against his hands, along with any other messy substances that he used to entertain the boredom that he suffered with his nature. Anything that would take him away from the heavied flawed mysteriousness of his mind that was impossibly muddled with what he wanted. Bittersweet understanding was starting to sink instead of her heart. She would have to lie about her feelings to make sure he was happy; it was the only way she could let him go. "I want you to be happy more than anything. Truth be told, honey, I can't even be mad or upset at the idea of you being with something else. The thought is absurd."

"Re-really?" Randy sniffed, looking up at her with those innocent, doleful green eyes.

"Baby, you don't think I let you stay in an open relationship this whole time just so that you could feel guilty when the time came for me to go, did you?" She shook her head softly, and in his own childlike nativity he reflected on the action; it was true that she had given him the freedom to experience with any woman he had wanted even when they were in together. He had occasionally gone out with another woman, but the impulsive one night stands had done nothing compared to what it felt like to come home to Faceless' own soft and loving embrace. "No, Randy. I didn't love you to put you in a cage. I didn't love you and come to know you just so that I could leave you in this disgruntled...dust that you're in now.""

Randy sniffed violently, clear snot running from his nose as he allowed the congested tears inside of his body to take their full course. "You're-you're not mad? You get it?"

"Of course I get it, Randy. I get you" That much wasn't a lie, nor was her telling him that she wanted him to be happy. She only had to lie about the negativity of how she would be left behind. His happiness was her appiness, but she couldn;t deny that the thought of him thinking about and loving another felt like a burning of a flamed knife being forced down her throat. "We're apart and yet different, and you were never mine. We share life, darling, we don't have to belong to one another like properly."

Randy felt a strange anger flare in his chest. "But-I do belong to you; Faceless!" he whined. "That's exactly what I'm trying to say!"

"And I'll always belong to you," she responded simply, voice tired, yet infused with emotion at the same time. "But you deserve to have happiness with someone else too."

She gently ghosted her lips against this knuckles once more; a gentle caress of a promise against his skin. This time the massage of her tender lips against his skin was different; different from any other kiss they had shared before, even with all their complexities of intimacies that they shared with one another. So complex and rich were they that to remember all of them in each specific way each one felt was rendered entirely incompressible. Each way that they kissed and loved one another, every way that they pressed their own damp, gentle kisses up against each other had left him speechless every time. The soft saliva of their kisses was nothing less than a golden position of madness known as true love, and their trembling skin against skin was much the same.

It was within this moment that he was able to now fully and utterly let go as he fell into her, but more than that did he fall into the version of himself that he wasn't proud of; the kind that couldn't stay dedicated to one woman, not within the hungered impulsivity of his nature, not the one that fell into his vices more than he did any other coping mechanism within life. He let out a softened moan as he fell into absolute acceptance that came from her gentle, trembling fingertips that allowed him to fall into a warmed acceptance of his hungry nature that threw him around like a helpless man tied to a lion.

Slowly did she trace her lips from massaging his lips as she leaned forward and caressed her lips against the side of his cheek, letting her own touch massage against his as he leaned into her with a boylike desperation. There was another loud moan that escaped his lips, and it was a signifying of the most gentle sort of ailment that he had ever heard within himself, and he furrowed his midnight eyebrows in pained happiness as he felt the way she pressed her lips further up against his own.

"There we are," she breathed as she took her lips away from his cheek that was made as if it was a delicate parchment. He allowed his own breath to be released as he felt the tension that was their compelling intimacy began to leave their threads and thorns that were embedding inside of his skin behind right along with her lips. He flickered his eyes up at her even as he felt his eyelids heavy with a delicate uncertinacy. "Do you understand?" Faceless inquired. "Do we understand what we're doing for each other? By allowing me to go, and by allowing me to let you go, we're taking care of each other, even in death."

Randy blinked rapidly as he tried to piece together her words. There was pain and denial inside of the clouds of his mind. When was the last time he could think clearly? He couldn't even remember. But somewhere within that struggle against himself did he lift his eyebrows as he came to a pained, but much awaited revelation.

After that tense moment of traveling through his fogged mind did he nod; it was a slow, detached action, but a confirmation of all that he felt nonetheless. "I understand," he mumbled. Now it was his turn to trace his lips up against the front of her own knuckles, and slowly did he flicker her eyes through the length of his lashes as he met her own pained gaze. "Thank you, sweetheart. For everything. For understanding. For...letting me go." With one last gentle kiss of his lips against the hill of one of her knuckles was there an understanding that was fully and entirely reached, and for the first time did Randy know what freedom in true love truly was.

"You're a tender man, Randy Marsh," she whispered. She was looking at him as if he was a favored tender relief from everything she had ever struggled with. When she looked at him with all that tendered happiness that was so rich it was almost violence, he sometimes wondered if he was. "Don't let the world take away that light in you. Hold onto that light forever, and know that no matter who you're with, and no matter where life takes you, it's always within you."

He swallowed, but he nodded.

Some new clicked within him. And it felt good.

Amazingly good.

"I will."

"Spoiled Care"

"Damn it!"

An abrupt swear word trailed through from the direction of the front of the greenfield that Randy was currently kneeling on the edges of the outskirts from. The weed plants themselves were swaying around his slouched over body that surrounded him as he kneeled in front of one particularly concentrated piece of dirt. He was frantically pressing his hands against the sprout in front of him as he continued to dig out some more dirt, a pile of it being left in a disheveled and forgotten mess that sat right next to the withering and struggling-almost impossibly small-plant. Randy had his two palms placed precariously around it as he stared it at with an incessantly worried expression, his own love for farming twisting into a deeper sort of darker energy inside of his ever growing ambition, turning his usual enthusiasm into an angered temperament in that heated moment. He was taking that frustration and converting it to the energy he needed to dig his dirty gloves deeper into the ground where the plant was meant to be nourished. The dirt in question was now taking the form of a significant pile of forgotten mush, and Randy seemed helplessly oblivious to the fact. Faceless' eyes were watching the way the dirt was piling around him as he continued to functionally take his hands and dug them further up against the front of struggling sprout that Randy had been obsessing over with a particular sort of desperation for the past few days.

His black waves, which were usually sticking out in a particular short of disarrayed chaos whenever he was in one of these moods where his violent passion got the best of him, where currently sheltered underneath his farmer's hat that sat on the top of his head; the one that he refused to even consider leaving the house without. He would throw a fit unless he could take it outside and wear it. He told her, with his confident air and goofy farmers' accent that he talked in currently more often than not to appease the ambition of the phase he was going through, that wearing the hat-the entire decked out farmer outfit, really-made him a real farmer. It was just like Randy; to go all out, from head to toe, but only to a superficial extent, mainly to satisfy and to entertain his inner hunger with the prettiness of that which he adorned his body in that pleased his eye. He insisted, with a deep and unswayed conviction, that if he didn't look the part, no one would be able to take him seriously, and he wouldn't be a "real pot farmer with homegrown tegrity." It was incredibly important to him right now-just as it always was with any phase that he went through-for him to look the part of whatever role he wanted to be, or any role other than who he truly was, really. With his fully decked out farmer's outfit, complete with the overalls that were dressed in front of him that lied on top of his brown farmer shirt that adorned his plump body, it seemed to satisfy his inner ambition that never left him alone. His soft, round belly was sticking out from the overalls he bought himself a few months ago. If one thing couldn't be denied, it was that he certainly did look the part.

She had been watching him from the front of the porch, sitting in the chair up as she let her entire weight rest against it, loving the gentle rhythm of the rocking chair as it carried her body. She adored watching the way that he continued to frantically press his hands against the side of the dirt with a reckless passion that she had never seen possessed by anyone before, in general, but much less a man his age, who was tethering on the age of fifty one. She was lost in her much welcomed trance that she fell into whenever she watched him do much of anything at all, even down to the simplicity of him existing. He did that for her; grounded her, helped her, gave her purpose, a trail, a direction.

As she watched the way that he continued to throw that dirt around him, the words he had just hissed struck through his pearl white teeth, the violent words spoiling the previously peaceful air around him. It had been a serene morning; one of those delicate, gentle poetries of a morning where it seemed as if there was nothing but that rich, choking, nosgliatic and incomprehensible love that surrounded every patch of both of their existences from all sides.

One thing about Randy Marsh; he was the human embodiment of fresh air.

The enthusiasm that covered his every skin when he woke up was served in a relentless passion that tasted of fresh dew on a soft morning that was sure to promise a tender, breezy weather ahead that was a perfect balance between the temperatures of cool and warm. Faceless had never known a person's very energy could have a certain taste, but with Randy, there was always endless, relentlessly surprises, and it would have overwhelmed her, bulldozed her with his unapologetic flare, had it not been for the fact that everything he did guided, threaded, and covered the both of them in a richly endearing love, serving as irreplaceable medicine to her soul that only gave, never took; not even when his actions attempted to take was the action accomplished.. His very energy, the very embodiment of who and what he was, was perfectly made for her in that way; he couldn't have hurt her even if he tried. So much did he warm and soothe her that it even surprised her how whatever they shared only became richer, deeper, and more profound with every passing day.

His own plump body had been covered in the sheets that adorned his body that sleepy morning, his face slack with that precious peace that she had only ever seen children fall into, that gentle and undisturbed rest that most children only experienced until the world corrupted and polluted their hearts. Randy's soul was polluted, undoubtedly, but there was a certain golden lace inside of his very disposition that couldn't be touched, even with his torment of always trying to be more. If his very energy tasted of fresh air and autumn dew and a tree's moisture that dripped from its' leaves, then his apprentice was only just as equally precious; serving as a softened and gently claden surface of a tender touch with the very way his handsome features were carved.

He had been resting his hand up against the front of his own pillow, fluttering his eyes open almost as quickly as they had shut. Front the moment he had opened his green gardens of wonders a rich excitement had glinted inside of them even as he had got himself upward, his energy serving almost as excited and as rich as a way a soul that had areas untouched by the world only could. He has lifted his weight onto his elbows as he had gotten himself upward almost instantly, rushing his way way over towards the front of the window, kneeling down in front of it with both his palms and his nose pressed against the glass. His breath fogged up the surface of it, but it did nothing to disarray his enthusiasm. In more ways than one, especially when it came to more eccentric passions, Randy saw things other people didn't.

"Can you believe it, Faceless?" he breathed against the glass, genuine awe lacing his voice as his green fields, one of which were serving as a gentle green garden pasture all on their own. He scanned the beauty of the fields that he had lovingly wrought from the past few months with his own hand. Endless nights of scanning and pouring over farming and planting, and even longer days actually doing the action of such a thing, was what led him to the endless artistry that was in front of them now, green plants swaying in the fresh and sharpened air. If artists sometimes recalled their art with their very energy, Randy was certainly one of those rich and lucky few.

He had pressed his face against the front of the window that was kissed with morning dew, his eyes glinting with that same sort of green canopy of serenity that was reflective of the fields of weed that he had made so naturally with his own passionate and artistic hand. He pressed his hand up against the side of the window, lovingly and adorably caught up in his own excited flare of fascination with the world, as if he was only a boy. He was a very embodiment of passion within those early morning hours, ones that she didn't mind even in the slightest now that she finally had him to gently wake and to kiss away her every usual previous frustrated exhaustion that she had had to cope with herself before she had met the relentless and warm fire that was him. He was the fresh air of a spring morning on one of those particularly beautiful days when the weather was just right, with a fresh breeze blowing up around the human body and surrounding it with all the much needed natural comfort that a human being needed that was born into the world; as an animal that was born into the world that needed that fresh air from the world around and from the very nature of what all living things were born from. Randy was the human embodiment of that very need, that very feeling. It was only within Randy and his most excited and gentlest moments, the richest and most tender warmth in the bubbling, soft nature of his very own disposition that twisted around his every patch of disposition and existence as he rolled himself out of one side of the bed.

She was convinced that nothing would unglue his hands that were pressured up against the glass of the window as he looked up in front of him, the green grass being reflected inside his own eyes that were constantly waiting with their own emotion that was the photo of of which he had created from his passionate hands; those very plants that have been gently wrought out from the ground from his unapologetic passion that had the fire of thousands of seas that had simply been too ambitious for the quiet and passive town of South Park..

He had to quickly rushed his way out of the bedroom as he had finished pressing his face up against the glass, which was now rendered fully foggy from the smoke of his breath, which was coming out of his plump, red apple lips in a passionate storm even as he stepped himself upward and quickly brushed his body against the side of her own arm, which was dangling sleepy and lazily from the side of the bed before she had woken up to join him. So strong was his creative passion that she could feel it radiating out of him like a relentlessly static energy as he stumbled his way outside of the door.

She had quickly followed him from behind, following him with a sleepy but sharpened happy air as she followed his own stumbling body out into the field, settling for sitting on the rocking chair where they had spent countless mornings simply intertwining against each other, with his own hands and his plump stomach pressing against the entirely of her body. She couldn't wait for him to come back up so that they could continue that exact ritual that they always did. Her hands were pressed up against the front of the homemade wood that the rocking chair was made of, trying to keep her hunger to devour him afloat. She had never known just how much she had craved that feeling of a simple, homegrown life, and never would have guessed how much it made the both of them relentlessly happy to escape the endless loud pollution of modern life. Randy was just as sick of it as she was, and it was becoming increasingly more evident within their new life of just how good this acres upon acres of freedom was for his easily influenced soul. It was an isolated life, a stark contrast to Randy's extroverted soul, but it was relentlessly fresher and increasingly healthier, and the two of them could have never been more happy to finally have to have escaped the world that always polluted their minds that they needed more to be happy-Randy especially. Every day they discover something new about themselves and each other, and the fresh air was making it little bit easier to breathe, physically and psychologically the same. Each day did he find a little more healing inside of each of the wounds that the endless expectations of the modern world had pounded up against him that had made him prone to being angry and short-tempered, but slowly was it healing him better, healing that literal sickliness in his heart and soul. The main source of the feeling was mostly coming from the simple source that was the love that they shared between the two of them; so heavy and so thick that it was almost choking, but only in the most welcoming of ways.

She had opened her own sleepy laden eyes to his frantically whispered swear word, the only element that broke through that otherwise soft, tender and quiet morning that was full of nothing but a tender species of promise that buried her in the best and most welcomed ways. She pried open her eyes, leaning her head from where it had been peacefully resting against the side of the chair, as she darted her eyes over towards him, her sleepy and blinking gaze watching the way that he was beginning to kneel forward over a particular dirt spot-no doubt hyper concentrated on one of the dirt patches that had caught his spirit and transferred it to frustration.

"Muffin?" She called over towards him. "Is something wrong?"

There was a sarcastic scoff that left his lips; that was the closest she got to a response. He turned around and shot his gaze over at her, green eyes burning with his melted anger inside their sockets.

"It's just- it's just this damn weed seed! It's just not fucking growing, no matter how much I tend to it, no matter how tender I try to be with it." He shook his head and turned it back towards the plant, one hand placed against the side of his knee. "Come on, little buddy," he encouraged with a desperate manner, tracing his other hand around the plant that had been surrounded in his own shaking palms for the past few minutes.

She smiled in understanding. For a man that was one of the most aggravated, violent, and involved men when it came to getting into last minute bar fights, he could certainly be one of the most gentle and artistic men that she had ever known, especially when it came to his passion and creativity. The contradictions that were placed within whatever he was made of was nothing less than an alluring spell that she would never get tired of observing.

Slowly did she make her way off her chair, easing her weight off of the rocking chair with her hands as she leaned her palms against the side of the wood to help lift herself off. She made her way down the steps that connected the porch and the field as she walked her way over towards his hunched over form. She kneeled down in front of the plant herself that was currently merely a sprout compared to the other plants; she laced her hand against it and she considered it, cocking her head to the side with curiosity as she saw the way that it was struggling to make any kind of significant length out of the ground.

She could understand the core of Randy's frustration; the plant seemed as if it was merely a weakling compared to the others; much shorter and much stubbier, with its leaves seeming dreary and dispersed within their lack of nutrition. She let out a gentle hum of consideration as she gazed at it. It looked as if it was only a couple of bad days away from shriveling up entirely, despite the relentless and dedicated attending that Randy had given to it the same way he had the others the past few weeks.

"Strange," she murmured. "I know how much you've been caring for this thing."

"Yeah, right?" Randy huffed, pressing his own hands that were dressed in his dirty farmer's gloves against the side of his just as equally dirty pants as he pulled his palm away from the plant. "Yeah, I've been giving this little buddy all the attention and all the love that it needs these past couple of weeks, but it doesn't seem like it's fuckng doing anything for this plant. All it does is keep shriveling up and dying, no matter how many times I try to help it lift itself back up. I just don't get it!"

She felt the way the sprout trembled against her hand even as she kept her palms wrapped around it. A chill breeze accompanied Randy's words, the invisible fingers of mother nature trailing through the black waves of his hair as it caressed between his soft strands. It was a gentle sigh from the rest of the acres of the farm, as if it were resonating with Randy's words. So a part of the farm had Randy become that Faceless wouldn't be surprised if, somehow, the very patches of Randy's zest for the farm were somehow connected to the land itself.

An idea came to her mind, and she smiled at herself at the childishness of it, but she knew that if their relationship relied on anything, it was certainly the idea of approaching life with the belief of a child.

"I know this sounds ridiculous," she spoke after a moment. "And you can laugh at me- but I've heard that, sometimes, if you sing to plants, it will help them grow." She shrugged, feeling a blush dust her cheeks as she spoke the words. It sounded even more silly saying it out loud. "Don't know if it's actually true, but I know that you tried everything from technical manners. Couldn't hurt, right?"

Frustration flooded Randy's eyes at her suggestion; of course they did. Randy wasn't in one of his easy-going, goofer moods; he was in his business mode, where his main priority was to accomplish as much as he could. "Geez, Faceless, I don't think singing to a goddamn plant is going to do anything. It's not Shelley, and I'm not Lorde. Not anymore. I'm just some simpler new farmer trying to figure how to grow some weed." He took a breath as he looked down at the small patch of the struggling life form that sat in front of him, his eyes watering with a startling dance of disappointment that presented itself as a wet glimmer of wet against his own glittering green eyes. He took a deep sigh, and Faceless could tell he already regretted snapping at her.

"I don't know, honey," he admitted after a moment, his shoulders slumping right along with his admittance of defeat. " I'm just doubting everything now. I just-if this one won't grow, who's to say that it won't happen with other plants I try to grow, too? I've already wasted way more money on this thing that I already thought I would, and I've already wasted a lot of time on trying to get this one damn thing to grow. It's...starting to make me wonder if maybe this is going to happen with all of my plants, even the ones that grew the way they were supposed to. If I can't get these all to corporate, then what?" He leaned forward as a rich worry glinted in his green eyes, reflecting the swaying plants in front of him. He dug one hand and flew it through his black waves.

"Oh my god, it's going to affect the entirety of the business and it's going to affect everything that could be successful about it! It makes me wonder if this is all just going to be a waste of time." He leaned forward as he gripped his fingers against the front of his curls, throwing his uneven bangs back as he did so. "It's kind of hard to find any kind of... Shit, I don't know, any genuine truth in anything, when nobody cares other than you, you know? All I get is pissed on from other people. From my family." His raspy voice was trembling slightly, the natural tenderness and lost nature within his heart executed through the natural slowness of his tone as he spoke his own troubled consideration. She placed one hand up against the front of his knee as an attempt at comfort, but Randy's eyes remained glued onto the plant, as if it was every single fear that he currently held inside of him, painfully packed and manufactured into one simple plant.

"You're very resourceful," Faceless reminded him gently. Randy's eyes flickered over towards her, but hardly enough to sway away the troubled part of his nature. "I know that you'll think of something, sweetheart. If you've managed to get everything to work out that you've ever wanted to do before, I know that you'll manage to do it with this, as well." She traveled her hand from where it was resting against his knee; full of dirt and speaking of childlike mannerisms with the way Randy threw himself into farming every day, taking to practically rolling himself dirt half the time while he laughed his careless laughs, and reached it up towards his dirty glove that was surrounding his warm hands that she never grew tired of memorizing with her own fingers the same, squeezing them gently as her fingers found the spaces of his. Slowly did Randy's eyes travel upward from the plant as they rested on her own gently encouraging eyes, and he let out a softened breath that had a tone of naivety to it that perfectly matched the endless magic that gently danced inside of his eyes at all hours. It was the equivalent to an endless lake of stillness that resembled a rich peace, yet at the same time a highway of never ending cars that sped by on the highway, for all the excitement and speed that he possessed inside of him. He was a relentless breath of fresh air; he always was.

Although for the time being they look troubled more than she wanted to allow him to be. If he deserved credit for anything, he certainly deserved credit for his every attempt for how he approached any challenge; he deserved a deep and rich reward for the act of how he simply tried, no matter what the odds were.

"How am I supposed to care what no one else cares, Faceless?" Randy mumbled as he looked into her.

Faceless grazed her teeth against her lip in thought; she knew she was walking precious and fragile territory. Randy was often like a child that needed constant reassurance, and though he was confident enough to do his own thing, there was always a sense of him being on edge of wanting to be approved, included...to feel like he mattered. It was one of the main reasons why he did anything at all; that unforgiving feeling of wondering if he was ever enough to begin with. The soft gentle tenderness of the morning was starting to reach midway, switching over from the stillness of the morning hours and being replaced by the louder hours that were surrounded by signing birds and shouts from other farmers- although nothing compared to the pollution, cars, and incessant yelling that was in South Park. The previous orange morning sunlight that had spoiled against the sky like spilled paint was now replaced by the color of sky blue that complemented the sun's rays, and the rays themselves seemed to kiss, to bless upon his own beautiful porcelain skin, as well as the plants that surrounded him. He was beauty, even when he wasn't trying to be, and every frustration he was talking about now was the complete opposite of the innocent tone in his words that he was speaking. He would always be art, always be beauty, even when he himself didn't feel like he was. It was innate within him, and every time, without fail, would she get lost in everything he was.

"Faceless?" Randy tried again. "How the hell do I care when no one else does?" She shook her head as she tried to snap herself back to reality ,leaving only just enough room to come back to reality to speak to him. How funny it was that she had to resist the tender magic the man brought her in order to find the functionality to speak to him. Every answer was inside of him, but he couldn't see that, so she would have to take her hands and wrap it against the trembling and uncertain, sometimes violent fingertips of his, and slowly would she guide him into those golden parts of himself that she always saw within him. He needed only help to find it. He had all the answers that he needed inside of him, but she knew that he was the kind of person that needed to be taught and shown, for he himself was unsure of how to go about finding himself and the virtues he held within him. He was an incredibly present man, and tap danced away from self inquiry, and often would he miss or overlook his own virtues because of it. He was independent enough when it came to any technical situation, but he was misguided and wounded in spiritual terms, and certainly needed a helping hand when it came to understanding life-and most especially understanding how he responded to life around him.

Faceless allowed herself the luxury of a deep breath, anticipating what she was about to say. She normally would have found it pretentious-even useless-to speak anything she had to give that even remotely resembled wisdom, but, as usual, the soft wordless desperation that exceutured itself into Randy's every patch of existence made her at least want to try.

"I've lived some of the richest experiences at times when no one else cared about me, or anything else that I was doing," she reflected softly. "I would even go so far to say that the most rich and life changing, choking experiences I've ever had in my life were times when I was left simply with myself, and with whatever thoughts and whatever passion that I currently had following me at every hour of every given day. We live in a world where people think that we constantly have to have people care about us and what we're doing in order for it to be worth anything, in order for the experience to be anything that stays with us, but in my experience, it's actually...quite the opposite."

Randy blinked at her, eyes glittering with his lost curiosity. How much he had suffered in his life already because of his own curse for caring so much about being approved and a part of the world "What do you mean?" he asked, tone gentle, prolonged with slowness, and relentlessly curious.

"Other people trained us into thought patterns that took us away from the trutest version of ourselves that we were meant to be. Other people and expectations of how they perceive our situations has kept us from the deepest and truest part of ourselves. We, in a sense, already are our own soulmates, and there's nothing that we could ever need to know-or anyone else that we ever need to experience-to give ourselves the deepest experiences in the richest ways. But we lose the way, and we end up getting lost in what we think we should, what the world and what other people tell us that we are supposed to want and what we should be." She paused, watching the way Randy gazed at her words with that childlike expression that was lost in an adorable awe. She inwardly smiled; if there was ever anything that made her feel like she was appreciated, it was the way Randy often had it written all over his face whenever was touched by anything. Randy was charmingly desperate for any kind of genuine guidance and support, and the few times he was given it did he fall into an innocent, life giving awe.

"I've seen the way that you fall into that, darling, just as everyone has, and I don't want you to be taken away from yourself anymore." She nodded her head over towards the endless green acres upon acres of weed plants that he had grown tirelessly from his own hand; a remarkable land that would have been left to unremarkable and forgotten dirt had it not been grown by Randy's own loving and talented hand. "You see all this around you?" she murmured. "None of this could have been done without you and without your own truth, a truth that doesn't come from anywhere other than you. Don't let anyone ever take away that rich experience of experiencing yourself take away from you and all of your own natural passions; of all of the things that you love and care about so deeply whenever you're left to your own devices. Just take it easy every day, take every day in your own stride, and take every task in whatever way you, personally, would want to take it. When you wake up in the morning and when you're full of nothing but your own zest for the project ahead-and I know you always are, darling, I always see it on your face from the moment you wake up- hang onto that. Hang onto that golden zest and for the things that you love and for the things that you want to go out after. Nothing can ever beat that feeling, and I promise you that it doesn't get any richer than that. No one has to care, Randy, not about any of this, and even if this business doesn't work out, promise you that, if nothing else, we're going to make the most out of it, just as we have always have."

Randy sniffed. "Yeah. Even with Sharon's bitchin' and patronizing."

Faceless smiled in a bittersweet fashion. "Yes. Especially then. Most importantly, you have to make the most out of it for yourself, and as long as you have that experience of knowing yourself, to take your own truth and face against the world around you..that's all that you'll need." She gently squeezed her hands up against the rough surface of his gloves, her fingers gliding smoothly and lovingly between her own. "I promise," she whispered.

Randy's green orbs of green ice gradually trailed down towards the ground, and slowly did he press his two fingers against some of the soil that had been dug up from the plant that was in front of him-from where Randy had been digging it up in a frantic fashion only a few minutes before. He pressed the soil in between his two fingertips, squeezing it against the pads of the gloves he was wearing, and then slowly, after a long, considerate, and hesitant moment, did he allow it to fall down from the spaces of his fingers.

He looked over at her, and for a moment was there nothing except for some sort of wild thought dancing in his eyes, and even more so inside of his mind; she saw a shiver go through his body. There was a tense connection between the two of them, and not even the sharpened wind that could come between the way he was gazing at her with some sort of wordless relevealtion. The only thing that broke the spell was the way he suddenly granted her an abrupt, quick nod, followed by an expression of an increasing appreciation towards his increasing realization. The way he looked at her was the equivalent of hearing a song she never wanted to stop listening to; he made her feel her ever quickened move inside of her that had previously been still into an unwanted and complacent stillness.

"Whoa," he breathed. "No way."

"What?"

"It's just...shit, how did I end up with such a wise wife?" His voice was present and yet not at the same time within his somewhat detached nature, no doubt overwhelmed by his thoughts and by the road ahead towards his success that he wanted more than the air he breathed; ambition was all Randy knew. Yet despite his disoriented self, there was genuine appreciation dancing inside of his boys.

Faceless laughed. "The same reason why I ask myself how I ended up with such an adorably enthusiastic and confident husband. No idea how I did, but I'm lucky I did." She leaned forward and gently allowed her lips to massage against his, and he let out a soft him and a soft smile that tugged from each of his lips as he leaned backward, adorably and awkwardly.

The combination of the air with the fresh smell the planets that surrounded them combined with the simple, natural, irrevocable, and irreplaceable earthly smell that was Randy Marsh that surrounded their touches and spoiled in between the heat of their lips and intimacy the same was nothing less than a shot of heroin. It was stronger than even that sensation; it was a shot of a certain strength that coursed through the both of them that couldn't be replaced or found anywhere else.

"Now come on," she breathed softly, her lips vibrating with the tones of her voice against his, just enough space to speak, and nothing more; she hated tearing herself away from his relentless, goofy warmth at all hours of the day.

Randy fluttered his eyes open, green eyes poking out from their sofly intertwined black lashes. "Let's make some goddamn tegrity," he husked. She giggled as she nuzzled her face against his, the sculpt of his face enough to make her shiver with logning alone.

There was a certain rich nostalgia to sharing life with him; so rich that sometimes she felt her heart would give out from just how much she felt it-and, in turn, just how deeply she felt him; the very essence of his life and of his energy the same that had a certain childlike nostalgia within his happy and oblivious nature that consistently reminded her what it truly felt like to be one simple but necessary thing within the cruelty of the chaotic world;

Carefree.

She knew that if her heart ever did one day give out from the beauty of the life they shared, it would be the best way to go.

Randy pressed his hands up against the front of the soil, quickly burying the previously uprooted sprout back into its place in the dirt again.

"Aw, shit. There we go," Randy mused. "Little thing just needs some extra care and lovin'."

It would eventually fall down again within a couple of days, but Randy would check on it, over and over again, until it started to grow. Just as they did for each other, and just as she did for his endless ambition that constantly fell down, but that could always and would always be brought back up again, most especially with the help and nourishment of a loving hand.

"Pretty good and easy morning', ain't it, honey?" Randy drawled in his southern accent. Faceless laughed, and for the first time in the longest time did she truly feel it in a way that counted.

"It sure is."

"Definition of Infatuation"

Faceless teaches Randy certain words after he mixes them up during an interview

"I don't want to do it now, Faceless. Geeze."

Randy's delicate, frustrated words trailed through the air in all their pouting glory, just as he had been since the event had been suggested. He was complaining even as he was pulled through the spaces of her fingers over to the couch. She looked over her shoulder and granted him a look from her gleaming eyes, flashing him a knowing smirk as she temporarily met his own hardened, frustrated green gaze that stared-or rather, glared-back at her.

"I'm sure this will benefit you in the long run, sweetheart," she eased-or at least, attempted to ease-the man that was the human equivalent to a constant burning fire that was before her. She spoke to him as she always did; sofly, her words accompanied by a honoyed patience. "You're plenty intelligent, Randy. But, like me, you get some words mixed up, or forget the meaning of certain ones sometimes, so let's make that a little bit easier on you, alight?" Her words were soft, patient, and relentlessly gentle. The last thing she ever wanted was for him to be perceived as incapable.

The only response Randy granted her was an all too familiar moan as he rolled his eyes within their sockets. He was starting to trip over his own feet as he was dragged towards the living room, distracted and resistant towards the event that was brought about by her insistence. "But I told you I already know everything that I need to know. I've been living this life for a long time, Faceless. Do you think that I'm suddenly just….going to suddenly start mixing up words and shit at the age of fifty just because I said something wrong on television a few times yesterday? It wasn't my fault, Faceless. That guy had some kind of stick up his ass, and he was definitely looking at me a certain kind away that was making me want to beat him up. He's lucky that I'm a homegrown pot farmer now and that I have my good old fashion moral values so that I don't do stuff like that anymore. If he had met me when I was going through my bat dad phase, he wouldn't have even been able to look in the other direction before I had him down. Just like I did with that other guy all the way a while back. You remember that?"

"I know, honey," she responded patiently, a loving smile tracing against the side of her lips. "You tell me all the time."

A knowing, confident chuckle left his lips. "Yeah, well, it was awesome!"

She didn't respond for the time being; she knew it would only encourage his distracted nature further. Instead did she allow him to fall into his usual pattern of bragging about his past accomplishments as she walked him over toward that familiar green couch in the living room. That same familiar charmed grin on her face that only time with him could summon out of her traced her features they both made their way towards it. She needed to keep offering him reassurances in any way she could; otherwise, he could become frustrated and insulted, and wouldn't appease her with anything at all.

"I know that you're more than capable of taking care of yourself, sweetheart. I just want to make sure that you're able to at least learn some extra words in case anything else happens, ok? Now that you're getting some more interviews on television from your business, it's definitely a good idea that you learn as many words as you can, because I know that you struggle with getting some of them mixed up."

Randy squeezed his hands against hers; whether it was from frustration, or whether he was looking towards her for that usual grounding that he did, she couldn't tell for the time being.

"Yeah, just like you," Randy mumbled. She smiled as he turned her eyes over her shoulder again, looking at him with her eyes glinting.

"Yes, Randy, just like me," she agreed, her voice full not of a hardened defense, but rather of comfort, one that was able to soothe Randy at least slightly, where usually he would only become more frustrated. His shoulders slumped as the hardness in his eyes melted as he looked into hers that disclosed that she loved him, and after a moment did he nod. Frustrated and at the end of his patience was he, but he supposed it didn't truly matter. She had a way of offering him the right words so that those usual sharpened swords of frustration wouldn't poke or prod at him too deeply.

She turned around and pressed her lips up against the side of his own mouth before he could speak another protest, and his eyes widened slightly in surprise as he felt the way that her lips gently massaged up against the side of his in a comforting fashion. His eyes fluttered closed in a welcomed relaxation after a moment of being tense as his resistance melted away, instead focusing on the comforting sensation that her lips granted him by tenderly being pressed up against the side of his. After a much awaited moment of delicate peace did whatever previous angry and rigidness he feel melt away entirely as he allowed himself to accept the gentle,honoyed sensations that she gave him with her own lingering tenderness, memorizing the oft comfort that was her lips as it massaged against the hungry sensation of his own; one that he hadn't even been aware had been as thick as it was until now.

He sighed in defeat and acceptance as she broke away from him, her eyes gently searching his, a silent conversation between the two of them, her fingers caressed against his own hands..

"I know that you mean well, honey," he breathed as he allowed his admittance to leave his lips, the softly breathed words complimenting the kiss he pressed up against her himself one last time just before she pulled herself away. Before she pulled away entirely he managed to give her one last soft, gentle, and richly graceful peck up against the side of her lip. She let out her own squeal of surprise as she felt the way that he gently pressed his lips up against the side of hers, and he smirked to himself at her reaction.

"God, you're adorable.," he breathed, his green eyes searching her features with a soft fascination. Even in his moments of his frustration, previously erratic and unable to be contained-and always for the worse-did she soothe him. "You know I always have to be the dominant one when it comes to the two of us and kissing," he teased against the side of her lips.

She let out a soft, gentle murmur that was somewhere between amusement and agreement, as well as a tender melting of a smile from Randy that was an indication of how he loved her, as she felt the way his own smirking smile continued to grace against her own. She allowed herself to subconsciously trace her hands up against the side of his hips, knowing that it got himself and her weak just the same, only in slightly similar ways. "I do know," she murmured in response, not bothering to hide her leaking lust and longing as her fingertips traced the side of his love handles that were just barely felt through the soft shirt of his checkered outfit. His taste in clothes was almost as soft as he himself was. It all made her mouth water in a desperation and hunger that was so rich it was almost painful. "So let me teach you this one time what it feels like to be taught and taken care of a little bit, ok?"

Randy let out a deep sigh, she could still feel the way that there was a slight tension inside of his body still at the prospect of having to sit down and to be taught something for the first time in what must have been decades of his life. "I graduated from the University of Denmark, Faceless," he reminded her even as he kept his face closely pressed up against the curves of her own. "That's some really high-quality stuff. You really don't think that I couldn't teach you a couple of things while we do this? Or really just in general? You know that I got all the stuff that I need to know. If I really wanted to learn all the..words and junk, I could've just done it in my free time. I don't really need a session with you, you know." There was no insult in his voice, but rather a fairly innocent defense that she knew came from deepened insecurity. She wasn't surprised he was acting this way; she knew that he was at least vaguely embarrassed. She needed to be at least a little bit more stern with him now; otherwise, her softness for him would get the best of her, and she would allow him to be cradled by the comfort of his pride and ego, rather than to give him what she knew would be better for him. What he needed.

"Until you can go on television and not mix up the word with the meaning of them, I think we're just going to have to sit down and do our best that we can, alright?" The incident that she mentioned caused another soft moan out of his lips, boyish in its execution, as he rolled his evergreen forest eyes and a forced reminder about the event that had happened yesterday came into the conversation. Faceless lovingly kept reminding him of it ever since she had suggested that they sit down and help him relearn some words.

Just yesterday has been his big day that he hadn't been able to stop talking about since the moment he had been told about it months ago. Yesterday his dreams had not only come true, but had been executed as well; he had finally been able to show off his hard work and his success with Tegrity Farms, and his happiness was perfectly executed by the white of his teeth that beautifully and chamringly contrasted his moustache, serving as nothing less than a perfect portrait of the pinnacle of his happiness. Faceless had been in the audience, watching him with that gentle smile of warmth and relentless pride on her face as she had clasped her fingers together in her lap. The action was partially for her nervousness for him in case anything went wrong-especially knowing how much of a loose cannon he could be those rare times he was in the spotlight- but mainly because she was feeling pride and confidence that he has finally been able to get to a place where she knew that he had been wanting to get to desperately even before he had ever met her. For the most part, the interview had gone well, and smoothly enough, despite some of the slightly narcissistic statements that Randy had dropped that gave away hints that he didn't truly have a people's best interest in mind in certain parts of the corners of his business. But for the most part, he came across as a capable, passionate, and well off man. The only two parts of the interview that made Faceless' cheeks burn bright red, not for judgment for him, but more so just knowing that she would've done something similar-and also knowing that that that she could've easily have made it so that it had never happened-was when Randy got two words mixed up together as he had stumbled over his rushed response to a few of the questions. Perhaps it had been because he was panicked, or perhaps it was because he truly didn't know what the words meant.

Whatever the reason was, it had left at least a couple of spaces of awkward replies in the interview, and by the time she had been driving him home, she had already resolved and made up her mind of what she would do to try and solve the issue for the future. Randy hadn't even been aware of the incident, and she allowed him to be the bubbling brook that he was most naturally as he tripped over his own gushing words about how excited and proud he was. So endearing had his excitement been that her worry and secondhand embarrassment hadn't lasted long, and she even agreed with him and told him that she was just as proud of him the same. The rest of the afternoon had been laced with Randy's reckless and unapologetic happiness towards himself, and Faceless felt her knees weakened at just how adorable the purity of his joy was throughout the otherwise beloved hours of the afternoon. But the resolve and the conclusion she had fallen into hadn't changed her mind, and later that night, she had lied down with him as she had lovingly, briefly, but insistently to him with an unapologetic flare about the lesson that she had already thought of that she would promise to make as brief as she possibly could. Randy, being the kind of person that enjoyed being taken care of-and being a man that certainly didn't know how to stand up against his spouse whenever they made up their mind about something-had given her a quick pout that was executed by the adorable disposition of the beloved clay of his molded red apple lips, accompanied by a couple of groans and moans and a couple of sentences of protest, but quickly had he fallen asleep inside her arms, sleepily murmuring a few simple words before precious sleep took him. Faceless had felt a warm smile tug at her face, knowing him well enough that, despite his protests, it had already been confirmed by him that he would, in fact, sit down with her tomorrow and at least try to learn, even if there was some difficulty or complaining from his end.

"For the sake of your not getting distracted," Faceless began as she brushed her hand up against the side of the green couch to get rid of any left over dust, sitting down and turning her eyes over towards Randy, who was already making his way over with hesitancy in his eyes as he gazed over at her with still that same bewildered frown plastered on his face. "I'm going to sit on here, and you can sit down right in front of me, ok? I promise we won't be doing this for more than about a half hour, so if you're uncomfortable, just wait until it's over."

Randy's eyes flared with surprise and discomfort as they shot down to the patch of ground that was meant for him to be sitting. "Oh, come one, Faceless, that's bullcrap! Sittin' down on the ground like a fucking kindergardener?" He spoke his words of protest with his usual frustration as he looked over at her with a sort of bulging inside his eyes, his gaze switching and forth between hers with a desperate plea. His expression was a combination between a glare and the tender extra patience he had for her that took form a soft, gentle begging for her to take things his way. Normally, she would, but tonight was the night for tough love.

"I really have to sit here like some goddamn little kid in kindergarten while you try to teach me? I'm the one that pays the bills around here, don't forget that." Despite his words, it was clear that he was mostly just expressing his frustrations in a way that wasn't truly serious, and she knew that, deep down inside and underneath his own protest, that he truly did at least slightly want to learn some new words so that it would be less likely that he would do what happened yesterday again. When she had told him initially, he had looked at her with bulging, disbelieving eyes, and quickly had a hiss of swear words escaped outside of his lips. Even though he had an abundance of pride and plenty of ego that was carrying him throughout his days-and most certainly through the way that he went about his interviews-she knew that he was capable of admitting the areas of his life where he was a little bit rougher in the head, for whatever reason; and most especially ever since he had gotten older. She was more than willing, and more than happy, to help him through those parts himself.

"Come on, darling," she encouraged softly. "The sooner you stop complaining, the better." She indicated her eyes towards the spot in front of him, and Randy let out one last moan as he eased his body downward, pressing both knees against his chest as he looked up at her with that almost childlike naivety in his eyes, gazing up at her as if he was a kid about to be helped with his homework. He started up at her with his begging, slightly impatient, but also curious eyes that were almost always rendered in that adorable fashion that made her melt as he looked up at her with his own fluttering expression that darted in between his two black midnight eyelashes.

"Criss-cross applesauce. Like we talked about," she added, indicating his position. "It'll help you not to feel any back pain by the time we're done."

Randy let out a deep sigh that was accompanied by another sigh, but quickly did he do just that as he readjusted his body so that his legs were crossed up in front of him as he looked up at her, placing his hands against his knees and squeezing them in his palm, as if that would somehow helped with his concentration. Or his anger. With the slightly glare of concentration on his face right now, Faceless wasn't sure which one it was. Whatever the unpredictable man was feeling, there was, undoubtedly, a strain against the side of his knees as he looked up at her. His veins were fully visible as they were summoned out from the tense grip of his palm. He let out one last sigh as he rolled his shoulders, spreading out both of his hands to indicate that he was doing exactly what she had asked.

"Alright, Faceless," he spoke once he adjusted, still slight exasperation inside his voice, even with the slight gleam inside of his green pools that gave away that he was secretly enjoying this time with her. "I'm doing exactly what you said to do. Now what?"

A smile of satisfaction traced her lips. "Well, I already have some cards here of words I know you've gotten mixed up before in the past. I'm just going to read them one by one, and you can answer if you know it, and we'll just go over the meaning of them and everything else, ok? It doesn't guarantee that what happened yesterday won't happen again, but at the very least it will make it a little bit less likely. It may, at least,make you more aware not to speak on words that you don't know the meaning of, or at the very least in situations where you're literally being recorded in front of millions."

Randy let out a groan as he rolled his head on his neck at the reminder. "Ok, Faceless, ok. I get it."

Quickly did he press both of his plumb, parchment cheeks against the side of his knuckles as he looked up at her with that frown still dancing on his face, his bottom lip jutting out into a pout as he gazed up at her with that enchanting gleaming black lace of his eyelashes "Ok, hit me," he mumbled under his lips his lips. "Let's let loose, babe."

"Sympathy," she started simply. A smile graced her lips even as she threw out the word towards him. She could remember the day specifically when he had gotten that word mixed up; when he had said that the hands of squirrels had a certain kind of sympathy about the way that they dug their way into fruit and into holes in the ground. It had happened on one of their usual morning walks that they went on to ease into the day-Randy had definitely become more of a morning before since he had started the farm; the zest of running his own business was making him more eager and excited towards life in a precious way she had never seen from a man his age. She knew that it would've been a sort of poetic kind of statement, had it not been for the fact that she knew Randy well enough to know that he was meaning it in an entirely different way than the way that he spoke it.

Randy's eyes quickly darted around in a sporadic fashion and scattered thought as he considered the word that she had just thrown to him, his thought clearly dancing inside of his eyes all the while as he did so. The only thing that was able to break up the concentrated frown that was plastered against his face was the layer of water in his eyes as he frantically thought about the meaning. She had told him the very day that he had spoken it wrong, but evidently it hadn't been enough.

"Sympathy? Like-like a type of fruit, right?" he tried after a moment, voice raspy, thoughtful and soft-and enough to make Faceless feel a stab of strain that she couldn't wrap herself around him and ease him right there and then. Discipline was needed for the both of them today.

"No," she murmured tenderly. A frown was executed through the thick black brows of Randy's eyebrows as he flickered his eyes up at her. "You know that thing that we do every single night together? Where we lie down next to each other and tell each other about our troubles or anything unpleasant that might've happened to us that would've made us feel bad, or would've made anything more difficult?" She indicated her head over towards the card, and Randy flickered his eyesight down towards it, and quickly did a glint of recognition gleam inside as the memory began to resurface inside of his eyes as he fixated on the cards. "That's what sympathy with someone else is, honey. It's when you feel deeply for somebody else, for whatever they're going through or for whatever they're telling you."

"Oh. Huh," Randy grunted thoughtfully, his eyes knitted as he rested his chelf chin on his palm as he gazed at her with a perplexed expression. She could see that he was putting the pieces together now as his eyes frantically fluttered in thought. Finally did he raise up his eyes and meet her gaze again slowly.

"So, that's it, then?" He began to lean forward as he waited for his reward, but Faceless shook her head as she reached out one hand to indicate for him to lean back. He looked at her with a pouting protest upon his expression, gazing at her with a cheated expression.

"I'm not done yet," she insisted gently, her own strain giving away that this was torture for her, too. "You have to get at least one right before you get even one kiss for me, sweetheart." It was just as hard for her as it was for him, but she knew she had to keep her ground. Randy looked at her as his eyes widened, slightly disbelief dancing inside his green meadows, but after a moment did the stubborn frown turn to acceptance that danced across his features.

"Oh, crap," he whispered under his breath, pouting as he leaned his cheeks back on his hands with a pouting acceptance.

"What about this one?" she tried,, trying to keep her voice as gentle and as encouraging as she could. In many ways, Randy did often act like a child when it came to being taught; easy to be frustrated, and often being short tempered when it came to learning. She knew that treating him and talking to him gently and with a certain kind of patience was something he would need to lessen his easily increased impatience. "Kneeling."

"Oh, come on, that one's easy! I don't think I've ever mixed that one out before, Faceless, I'm really smart. That's the one where people have to blow really hard outside of their mouth to get the shit out of their mouth." His eyes widened as remembrance suddenly glinted in his green eyes. "Oh-I did that before when I was younger, remember? I tell you that story all the time. It was really fucking awesome Faceless. I think you really would've loved it if you saw me do it. Sharon didn't care."

Faceless laughed, allowing the amusement that he never failed to grant her to flow through her like a wave. "I know you do, darling, you tell me all the time," she reminded him, words laced with a gratitude for the stories he always had to tell her. "And I do think it's impressive, but that's not what the word means."

Randy's eyes bulged out towards her with a desperate kind of cluelessness as he looked back and forth between her own gaze. "What the hell do you mean?" he questioned as he looked back and forth between her with an almost insulted look. "Are you serious? That's not what that means?" His voice drifted away into a considerate quiet as he thought it over. "What the hell.."

"It means when you bend down in front of somebody. In a sense, it's kind of like what you're doing to me right now." She indicated her head towards where he was sitting a few inches below from her position on the couch. Randy's eyes shot to his two legs were crossed in front of him. "The only difference would be if you were on your knees in front of me right now."

Randy smirked as he shot his eyes back up towards her, a familiar heat lightning in his eyes that Faceless knew all too well. "You mean if I kneeled down in front of you right now so that I can get exactly what you told me I would get if I did this for you?" Randy husked as he rasped his clearly lust driven question at her.

Faceless gave him a stern but loving look, and quickly did she turn back down towards the cards that was up in front of her before she fell into temptation of the offer he was giving her of. The pure intimacy that she always craved with him was becoming maddening.

"At least one right," she choked. Randy's shoulders slumped as his confidence melted, as he leaned his chin against the side of her knees in drained disappointment. She was already taking out the other card to read to him, but evidently Randy was far more impatient than even Faceless had been able to anticipate. She looked over at him over the card and saw the way he was scooting his way over towards her as closely as possible, still gazing at her with that tender begging that was poised inside of his green eyes as he continued to scoot and inch himself over towards her, eyes switching back and forth between her eyes in a adorably begging fashion all the while as he did so.

"Come on, Faceless," he urged softly. "You haven't kissed me in the past couple of hours, and it's all just because I got a couple of goddamn words wrong? How am I supposed to have motivation for continuing the lesson if you don't give me anything that you promised you would? A man needs at least some reward, Faceless. At least something."

He leaned forward for his reward; she pressed her hand against his lips.

A frustrated scoff left his mouth as he frowned when his lips met the palmed flesh instead of her own lips. He pulled away, a frustrated sigh leaving him as he glared in front of him. His eyes darted towards her, gleaming in their frustrated nature.

"Oh, give me a break!" he leaned forward again, only to feel her fingertips gently press up against him with that same tender resistance up against the front of his face as they pressed against his mouth for a second time. He let out a defeated moan, quickly followed by a roll of his eyes.

"You can't really be that resistant towards kissing me right now, Faceless. I'm doing everything that you said that I could! What else am I supposed to do, huh?"

"No kisses. Not until you think about it."

"I am thinking about it!" he insisted, that adorable pout not leaving his face that was rendered beautifully by the red of his plump lips that was alluring enough that it almost made Faceless want to give in for that reason in and of itself. She adjusted from where her fingertips were pressed up against the front of his lips-keeping them an inch away from him to make a point-as she quickly used her other hand to bring out another card. "Insidious."

"Insidious? The country?" Randy tried, sputtering out the word as if it was the first word that came to his mind, rather than driven by genuine thought. Clearly, he was too caught up in wanting to kiss her now, and she knew he wasn't going to be able to concentrate until she gave him at least some reward. She smirked as she threw the card to the side, knowing the exact word she would need to lead him to the gateway of what they both wanted. There was no card; she simply had to speak it.

"Infatuation," she stated, looking up at him as she raised an eyebrow. "Pretty sure I used this word with you at least once or twice before when we first met each other." She smiled as she twirled at the card inside her hands while she looked at the way that thought instantly began to dance inside of Randy's eyes as he started up in front of the empty space before him, frantically thinking over the meaning, resting his cheeks on his two palms as he sat in front of her, the ball shape of his stomach spilling into his lap as he kneeled forward.

"Infatuation," he whispered under his breath, his voice raspy and thoughtful in the way that Faceless couldn't deny was making her crave him more than she wanted to believe within that moment. It wasn't very often between the two of them that she had any dominance, especially when it came to intimacy, and she knew that, for the time being, she simply had to let him think inside his racing mind. He was lost inside of his desperate determination as he looked at the ground and allowed the thoughts to dance inside his own eyes. To do anything else would only distract him, and then he would beg her for another kiss.

"Isn't that-isn't that something to do with heat, or something? Something to do with some kind of furnace or something? Something that you cook something in? Pretty sure I used that myself before in the past whenever I wanted to do my cooking or anything. Definitely remember feeling kind of... infatuated when I pressed those buns inside of that hot oven when I was in a certain kind of mood. It's really hot stuff, Faceless."

Faceless supraseed as giggle as she leaned forward and pressed her fingertips against the side of his lips, teasing them with a gentle comfort. It made his eyes alight with a maddening yellow light.

"Close," she murmured softly, trying to fight off her own desire for him as best as she could. It was starting to become more of a challenge than it was worth; she could feel that heat of relentless desire forming between her legs. "But not quite. You're going in the right direction. I'm not surprised that you associate it with cooking things, especially knowing your personality with cooking. And especially knowing the way that I've used the word with you before when we were in certain..situations." She smirked as she saw the realization that began to gently glint inside his own dashing eyes as a thick realization began to overcome him entirely.

"Oh, I get it! " he stammered quickly as he looked over at her with a certain confident lighted reelection in his disposition "Yeah, yeah. I know exactly what you're talking about now, honey! Infatuation is when there's something between two people that makes them not able to see each other quite right, or something like that. Like- there's so much affection between the two of you that it just seems like there's nothing except for how much you love that person. I remember you saying that to me at least a couple of times when we first started to get to know each other, but then-then later you changed your mind and said that you weren't infatuated with me; you loved me, and you decided that there was a difference between those two things. Yeah, I remember now, Faceless." His voice was coming out as a rushed breath within his excitement, his hot breath gently pouring up against the front of her to fingertips. Faceless' own gaze melted as she gazed at him, adoring even just the gratification of being able to even watch the way that he was falling into his own adorable and relentlessly confident excitement. He now allowed himself to fully come completely up against the front of her lips as he felt her inviting nature within her very disposition increasing.

"That's exactly right, darling," she encouraged, a smile even within her very tone. "Now that one I knew that you were going to get right, if only for the memories that we both have associated with it. We really treasure a lot of the same things when it comes to how we've bonded in over the years, haven't we?"

"We sure do," Randy whispered, that familiar lost awe and lust inside his voice that he certainly wasn't shy to be made known as he gently pressed his lips up against her fingertips, fully and entirely now, with no pulling away from her end. He took out his own hand and pressed it up against her wrist as he squeezed against the fragility of her very form, pressing his lips softly up against the front of her own fingertips as he kept his green wonders glued against her with still that same naive, adorable, and mouth wateringly hungry expression his eyes. She shivered as she let a gasp leave her own mouth as she felt her heat overcome her fully within the moment as he squeezed fingertips up against her wrist further, feeling the way Randy's plump lips smirked against her shivering fingertips as he massaged them against the tips of her fingers. He knew what he could to do her, and he was establishing his dominance once again, and she loved it beyond comprehension. She was already feeling herself beginning to balance on the pinnacle of exploding into her always famished, nostalgic longing for him, especially whenever he got into one of those moods, such as within this moment now. Their famished and almost animalistic nature were overcoming both their senses. Randy certainly wasn't shy in making his longing for her fully known through the heat that danced inside his eyes as he looked back and forth between her vision, searching and gauging for her every response. He was memorizing the way she melted under his touch, no doubt, the same way he studied and memorized the different kinds of weed he made. Those were the two things that were most important to Randy; the partner he loved, and weed.

Or, in other words, he craved the recklessly human desire for intimacy, and the passion for something more than the mundane day to day life of existence.

"So," he started, "Since I technically got that one right. Does that mean I finally get at least one? I get that one thing that you used to do all the time what you thought about...you're, uh-" He cleared his through teasingly as he heard her moan now, her eyes fluttering shut with the pleasure he gave her even just by these simple acts. "Infatuation?"

He was saying it with a teasing cocky huskiness as he contuied to watch her melt before him, and she barely managed a smile as she nodded and leaned forward, gently allowing her fingertips to be spoiled now by his peppering kisses he was granting them with. She couldn't get them entirely away from him, due to the fact that he was keeping his fingertips pressed up around her wrist, but she moved well enough that she managed to lean forward with a desperate desire, allowing her lips to press up against the side of his own.

"That's well and fine with me," she shakily admitted as she felt the whiskers if his moustache tickle her lips, the perfect and signifature combination to the satisfaction of the warmth of his lips pressing against hers. Randy let out his own enriched moan that was done in pleasure now, rather than frustration, as she smiled and guided her lips to gently ghost up against the side of his. He allowed himself to be leaned backward as he felt his heart squeezing inside his chest as he felt the way she was falling off of the couch now, his body quite literally catching her fall as she leaned her chest against his, making her gradually meet-practically melt-from the green couch and down towards the floor where he had been squatting. He had no trouble catching her fall; it was second nature to him now, and without even thinking about it did he allow his arms to press around her so that her significantly smaller and more fragile body were caught in the sturdiness of his, pressing her against both sides of his embrace as he began to gently pull her from word from the couch and fully into his lap.

She gradually allowed her body to be considerately but hungrily pulled off the front of the couch as she wrapped her legs around his fleshy body, placing her thighs just so around his hips. Randy felt the way his heart fluttered inside his chest with pained longing as she let out her own gentle smirk-or perhaps it was a smile laden in twisted and pained longing-as she allowed herself now to be fully overtaken by his clear hunger for him that was inside of her body. With the way Randy was breathing labored breaths, accompanied by trembling, searching, and sweating fingertips, the feeling was clearly recklessly mutual.

He pressed his lips against her once, twice, three times, until she was quite as breathless as he was in only the most liberating fashion.

"I'm not sure if I'll be able to remember the meaning of any words myself once you're done with me," she breathed up against the side of his lips, letting out a breathless laugh at the irony of her statement. Randy let out a chuckle as he dug his fingers further up against the side of her face.

"Believe me, babe, if there's any one thing that I'm always going to remember-if there's any one thing that I'm always going to get right-it's going to be how to melt a chick in my arms," he rasped against her moisturized skin, slick with her desire. Trembling skin met trembling skin, and their souls uncald themselves in front of each other.

For the time being, they both knew everything they needed to, and even beyond.

"Spat (unfinished)"

Randy argues with Shelley and Stan about his home life; Faceless helps him throughout.

Randy was feeling utterly, recklessly confident. The dance of his steps, the off key hums that spilled out of his lips, the erratic laughter that spilled between him as he thought of something funny; it all pointed to the same truth that Randy was certainly not shy to execute and make utterly known;

He was in a good mood. And when he was in a good mood, he had no trouble, even more than usual, speaking exactly what was in his mind.

His humming that he had fallen into since the moment he had left his weed selling event was only interrupted by the slight pressure of the door that abruptly pressed against his body as he clumsily tried to shove his body, as well as the crate he was holding, into it. He frowned humously, letting out a soft chuckle as he felt his own feet go backward, the slight pressure of the door causing him to step back, and, in turn, clanging the weed jars clumsily together that were inside of the wooden box that sat inside of the embrace of his arms.

"Whu-oh!" he chuckled playfully, all the while stumbling over his two feet as he tried to push himself for a second time against the door, letting out a humored, goofy, light-hearted laugh all the while when the second attempt to get through threw him backward for a second time. He was stumbling back at forth, no doubt at least a slight effect of the fact that he was crossfaded. He certainly had had no trouble smoking and drinking to excess when he had been at the event. "Faceless, if I fall, you got to catch me. all right? Every pot farmer needs at least one woman to catch them when they fall. That's what Tegrity is all about; catching one another, helpin' one another!"

The woman in question was only a few feet behind him. She smiled in a bittersweet fondness for the midnight haired man as she traced her hands up against the side of his love handles, gradually easing him and guiding him through his way inward. She had no doubt that he was drunk and high; he had certainly not been shy in treating himself to all of his own homegrown weed and impulsive store bought beer that he had gotten on the way to the event as a last thought and whim that he had, theoretically, made and bought for his other customers.

"They're gonna love this shit, Faceless," he had slurred to her in the car after they had left the supermarket, chugging one of the beers that he said he was tasting on the way to make sure it was of "worthwhile quality", as he had stated. "I'm gonna give them complimentary drinks. Customers love that stuff."

Despite his words, one of which she knew well enough were traced in a fierce but nonetheless unintentionally and fairy innocent hypocrisy, she couldn't have helped but notice that glint of excitement in his green eyes when he had seen that there was plenty left behind; and no doubt Towelie and him were going to dig into the stash and smoke every last leftover strand. And there was certainly no doubt that he was planning on not even listening to his body when it gave him signs that enough was enough. Not even the cracks of the red of his veins within his eyes that screamed out his body's exhaustion would stop him from smoking every last nugget. If Randy would fight for anything, for better or for worse, it was certainly to have fun, even if it was at his own expense.

Especially then, even.

He began to stumble his way inward towards the front of the living room for a third time as Faceless reached out one hand and kept the door open for him. His legs were comically tripping over his own feet as he made his way into the living room, trying his best to move even with the awkwardly large square that was the crate. He didn't bother thanking her; he was too lost in his own foggy, recklessly confident world. He began looking around excitedly as he stumbled his way in, the clumsiness of his footsteps almost serving as the physical embodiment of the slurring of the vowels of his voice that he fell into whenever he was truly under the indulgence of the influence.

"Oh! Shelley!" he exclaimed with a fired heat of excitement as his eyes darted over towards his daughter's unmistakable brown, frizzy hair. She was sitting up on one side of the dark green couch, her eyes glaring at the screen that sat on her phone as she clutched it with strained fingers that screamed out her already aggravated frustration, knuckles turned white, her eyes hard, such as they almost always were whenever she heard Randy even so much as even enter the room. Randy ignored her, just as he ignored all of his family's dislike and hatred towards what he was doing, and their cleary dislike for even who he was. The pain was too great to acknowledge, and so he avoided it at all costs.

Besides, he saw no point in fighting or even acknowledging it. He had tried to talk it out with Sharon before and had only ever gotten bitched at for it, and he knew his kids were just being kids and siding with their mother. At least, that's what he tried to tell himself to remedy the sting of rejection. But then again, beer and weed had always been impeccably more effective than any string of positive thought, and that had been more than enough to help him escape his pained and conflicted reality with every passing days, ones that were happily spoiled with his own passion, but ironically dampened by his loved ones.

His daughter didn't even bother looking up from her phone, and didn't take to acknowledging Randy in the slightest, but that did nothing to pierce the golden confident he was feeling within that foggy moment as he continued to stumble his way inward, his steps clumsy and rendered comical with heavy duty as the weight of the casket was carried in his arms. He continued to walk-or rather, lumber- his way forward, the jars cluttering up against each other all the while as he did so, loudly announcing his arrival, as if he didn't do a well enough job at that himself.

"We got all the best shit today, Shelley! Tons of money was made, it was like a dream. And I didn't miss even one customer request today." He kicked her foot as he passed by her while he cradled the weight of the rest of the weed just barely within his arms. He was particularly amazed the jars weren't falling out of the wooden crate, but he wasn't going to question it. He wasn't questioning anything tonight; he was tired of that. "Hey, grab me a beer; willya? I think I earned it after today."

Shelly didn't respond; the only resolve or even slightest sign that she had that she even had known that he had walked in was the way that her thin brown eyebrows strained with a deepened disdain even more so than before against the front of her face as she continued to press her fingers up against the front of the phone with an even more furious heat than she had sported on her rigid disposition previously. Randy felt a strike of annoyance at her, but he was determined to ignore her the same way she was ignoring him.

He continued to stumble his way forward with that same dance of zest inside his steps as he lumbered his way through the front of the carpet, letting out a playful, unapologetically loud moan all the while as he quickly and clumsily placed the wooden box in front of the fire, the glass jars clattering against each other as he set them down with a force that was a little too clumsy and rough. He let out a loud whistle as he stood himself upward, raising his arms in front of him as he stretched his limbs, adoring the way the slight strain within his bones left entirely as he felt his bones crack with a much awaited, and, as far as he was concerned, a much earned relief. He clasped his his own two hands within the spaces of each set of fingers and reached his arms as far as they could go above as head, stretching and even challenging his limbs as far as they could as he allowed his limbs to stretch and let go of the exciting but long day of hard work, letting out yet another a loud and unapologetic groan as he did so to compliment the way the strain was leaving his bones.

He knew he was being as loud as possible, and was certainly doing it on purpose. There was a smug part of him that celebrated the way that he was practically bursting into his daughter's quiet time. There was a more patient side to him that knew that she deserved her quiet time, but he himself also wanted, even more so than even giving her space, for her to be involved with the farm. How else would it work, otherwise?

A part of him felt guilty; he had no doubt in her mind that Shelley certainly thought that he was cheating her out of her own time away from him, and yet it was because of her satisfaction from being away from him, unapologetically executed within its richness, that was exactly why he wanted to interrupt it. He allowed himself to be oblivious at times, finding that self reflection was an unwanted and pointless journey that was all pain that left to nowhere. As it was, he was thriving off the full knowledge that he was annoying his daughter. She would have to accept him for who he was one day, whether she liked it or not.

"May as well be now," he mumbled to himself as he finished stretching, pulling his arms back down to his sides. He didn't know where his relationship where his kids were going, and he definitely wasn't sure if he liked it, but he knew he was certainly at least trying to be a good father for them. And he was going to squeeze any gratitude out of them that he felt he deserved in the meantime. Even if he had to practically beg for it.

Randy turned around on his heel, placing one hand against his hip as he barely managed to balance on his drunken stance, supported only by his wavering heels, as he turned around towards his daughter, swaying slightly back and forth even as he tried to focus on his daughter. He was squinting slightly, his vision blurring in and out as he tried to focus on his daughter, and yet it seemed as if it was a fruitless and unrewarding task. He let out a sigh from his lips, allowing a rich sigh of exasperation to leave him as he tried to blink away the sleepy fogginess. He was exhausted, his mind was foggy, his throat hurt from the weed he had smoked, and his eyelids felt as if they weighed two tons, but he tried as hard as he could to force himself to cling onto that strand of heated excitement. He had to show her farm life was fun; he had to. His reputation as a father, and whatever was left of his barely coherent or even existent relationship with his daughter, depended on it.

"Hey-hey Shelly," he slurred quickly, voiced vowels mixing just as the smoke he inhaled that melted every detail of his vision together. He blinked at her heavily with that same rich eagerness that he always did whenever he talked about anything that was important to him. "Shelley?"

His daughter, however, as always, continued to keep her eyes glued against her screen, her fingertips turning white from how much she gripped her fingers against it as she did so, the lines of her eyebrows only increasing even further as she continued to try her best to focus on her phone as best as she possibly could.

"Damn, that phone really that fascinating, Shelley?" Randy asked, his voice soaked in sarcasm as he raised an eyebrow and watched her with his own judgemental gaze, increasing with the edges of the exhaustion that was his seemingly permanent red rimmed eyes, which was partially from emotional and physical exhaustion, and partially from drug addiction.

Shelly didn't care, not even as she heard her father's voice becoming increasingly more aggravated. She wasn't in the mood, not in the slightest, and she certainly wasn't going to entertain her own father and his antics today, especially ones she deemed dim witted and impulsive, her own hatred for him embedded in how he treated her. The thought of even so much as lifting her head to meet his no doubt demanding and entitled gaze was almost more than she could take in and of itself.

The ironic and funny thing was that she desperately wanted his approval for who she was as a person, but more than that was she bitter at him for his blatant disregard for her entire life, for who she was as a person. He hardly showed her that he cared, and she was more than willing to do the same. The spit was all she knew anymore. Had she thought she had been miserable when they lived in South Park, she was more miserable than she ever could have imagined now. She wasn't going to get caught up in his crazy games or wild heat. Not today, and not tomorrow, either.

She kept her eyes pointedly focused on the screen without really seeing it at all, not even bothering to look up from it. She saw no point in entertaining her father that was only interested in her when it was for his own gain or interest. It was clear her own bitter escape into her own mind was the only refuge from all the hurricanes and energies that he was made of that she wanted nothing to do with, and never would.

Randy frowned as he picked up on the tense energy that was between the two of them, and he pointedly jutted his bottom lip out and wrapped both his arms against the front of his chest. His malsculine features formed a combination between grown and yet childlike as the thick of his black eyebrows furrowed, lips jutted out into a pout underneath his moustache as he glared at her through his disapproving expression.

"Hey, Shelly, you may not like that my business has been doing really fucking awesome lately and whatever, but that's not my problem, alright? I'm not going to appease your attitude just because you're too cool for your dad right now. You're going to get over this phase one day, and you're going to wonder why you didn't trip over yourself to try and help me out with everything. Promise you that." He looked at her with that unapologetic smug confidence that was painted inside his voice, along with his expression, as he imagined the future he clearly believed would happen, his very eyes bragging with a deep-seated knowing as he clicked his tongue in a pointed, bitter fashion. "Just let me know when you want to help your old man out with bringing in the rest of the weed, all right? You got about five minutes before I make you anyway. The business needs you, Shelly, and whether you like it or not, you're important here, and you're going to do everything that you need to do to keep this place alive." Still there was no response, and anger and disappointment flared in Randy's chest. He had never been very good at controlling his emotions, not did he see any point in doing so.

"You have to come and help eventually, Shelly, it's not a choice!" He didn't bother waiting for her ill awaited reply; rather did he start to make his way back over towards the front of the door, not bothering to look back over at her as he walked past her, his zest temporarily interrupted. At Randy's words did Shelly's tempered frown, so sharp it could have cut butter, only increased further on her face as she continued to let her angry fingertips type with an even deeper sort of wounded rage as her fingertips danced up against the front of the phone screen. She didn't process or even care what she was looking up; all that mattered to her was that she would make it clear that she wanted nothing to do with entertaining his selfish requests; or with him in general. Randy didn't know it, but she was venting in her notes app, having nowhere else to go.

"Stupid dad," Shelly mumbled under her breath. "Stupid fucking farm." There was an eruption inside of her, and it was practically painted against the front of her face, her rage was strangling her lungs with anger before she even found it within her to give him a response even if she had wanted to. From the second he entered the room these days was she filled with anger that was so controlling that it kept her from reacting or talking to him rationally even if she had wanted to. It only melted after hours of not speaking to him, but was reignited just as quickly as soon as he came back into her own space, which he did recklessly, and unapologetically, every time.

Even now did she feel her rage deepening ever further than she could have ever known, flaring back inside of her when she felt the way that Randy kicked his own feet up against the front of hers that were dangling against the side of the couch. Whether it was intentional, or whether it was Randy simply being his usual clumsy self, it hardly mattered. That was the final straw, and she wasn't going to endure one more second being pushed around with his uncaring, richly toxic, and annoyingly bubbly nature. The fact that he now had a new girlfriend that Randy had started seeing since he and Sharon had officially split, for the third time, did nothing to help with the issues that Shelley had of feeling neglected and unwanted by him. Seeing her always encourage Randy for being the obnoxious monster that he was did nothing to quell her anger or hatred that was developing for the both of them equally. The last thing that she ever wanted was for her father to become what he had, especially when this new version of him was someone who so easily and so blatantly pushed-and even used-his children, disregarding them to the sidelines of his life the way that he did.

He was quite literally doing it now as he tripped over her feet as he made his way over towards the front door, perhaps it was his own clumsy and awkward way of trying to bond with her; one last wordless goodbye before he dedicated the rest of his night to weed; but it came across more so as if he was intentionally shoving her within her anger at that moment. The fact that he had done it the first time when he had walked in, complimented by his selfish request, only made her anger flare further.

She bit down so hard on her lip that her braces cut through her skin and caused her to bleed; her entire body was now radiating with the anger that she already struggled to keep under control enough as it was. If she thought she had barely managed to keep it under control before, it was rendered impossible now.

She threw her phone across the room, hearing it clatter as it fell against the carpet. She would worry about it later. She hardly had anyone to talk to since she had moved here anyway; there was nothing left except to see school friends and old crushes going out and forgetting about her over time. It had become almost impossible to hang out with anyone now that she lived so far away; something that only deepened her enriching loneliness, and therefor her hatred of the bumbling, ignorant, and, as far as she was concerned, increasingly stupid man in front of her.

Randy was practically skipping his way over towards the front of the door, his back completely turned towards her, and even though he had heard the phone be thrown, given away by the way his shoulders cringed slightly when it hit the ground, he was clearly choosing to ignore it as he continued walking forward. Shelly wasn't surprised; it was just like he chose to ignore everything about her these days. She was convinced she could scream at the top of her lungs and he still wouldn't hear her in the way that counted.

"Just because you moved in and got over this family, doesn't mean you just get to do whatever you want!" Shelley's voice was a particular sort of gritty that night, laced with a newfound enriched species of anger that was physically traced by the blood that that was now leaking into her mouth, giving her the taste of metal as it spilled against her lips. She stood on the couch and turned towards him with that same sort of defiance and challenging nature fired in her chest.

The front of the door where he had one hand placed was just about to press it open, fully intending to make his way back over towards the boxes that were full of that leftover jars that he would smoke all of tonight. He felt all those intentions fall away from his mind without recall as instead his own fired defense flared in his chest. He could instantly feel that familiar angered betrayal burst inside his own chest slightly as he felt the way his daughter was glaring at his back, sensing her fire bore into his skin, even through the distance between them. She had a way of being intensely intimating like that, just like her mother.. Although he tried his best, in his own way, to be the mature one, he was starting to lose his motivation the more angry that his children became with him. He was angry and unhappy too, and he wasn't going to let even his family walk all over him and his efforts to make his life better.

He shook his head and laughed in passive aggressive frustration, which now felt as if it was choking his lungs, as he turned around and glared at her over his shoulder, his normally relaxed green eyes now a deep burning that was traced within his green pools as he met her own eyes that was glaring at him from the couch. The tension was palatable, and utterly present; so much to the point that he couldn't have ignored, or not felt it, even if he had made a visible effort not to.

"Shelley, you really want to talk to your father like?" he shot back at her. He half expected her, within his confidence and his slightly more naive nature, to fully agree with him and apologize, so when she continued to stand on the side of the couch with that persistent glare in her eyes, it only served to make Randy's energy all the stronger. He turned around on his he now fully, position stout as he stood in front of the door and allowed his glare to pierce through the air between them that was increasing with a thickened tension. "Shelley, I am your father! You don't talk to me like that, you understand?" The way he slurred the words of her name almost made it hard to take him seriously, yet his anger was clear and perfectly present within his voice.

"You're barely anyone's father anymore!" she shot back at him. Randy took an intake of breath, partially born from pain, and partially from shock.

Shelley threw her own body off of the couch and stood firmly on the carpet as she glared in front of him, her fists balled into anger. Deep down inside, this is what she had always longed from him, underneath all those layers of anger that were constantly eating away at the deepest parts of her heart, the part of her desire and needs that was so neglected despite being so painstakingly simple; and that desire lied within the desperate want for even the slightest acknowledgment from him, or to even just one simple sign that he even gave the slightest care about anything that she ever thought or ever did; or at all, in general. So quick was he to push her to the side and pretend as if she didn't exist, or as if she was just sort of some sort of chore that he was forced to attend to, so often to the point that she herself often forgot that it was not only his job to take care of her, but to nuriosh her as well.

Randy crossed his two arms against his chest as he leaned forward, purposely trying to get into her face as much as he could, serving his usual patterns of acting like a parent and child all at once within the thick fog of his erratic and panicked nature in his muddled head as he leaned his torso forward and met her at eye level.

"Yeah-huh! Yes I am!" he shot back, voice full as much venom as the anger that laced his tones. "Every time you say stuff like that to me, you take the weed out of your own mouth, you know that? You take everything out of my pockets that makes everything we buy for you and make your life what it is! What do you think is going to happen to this family if I lose my motivation to take care of this place, Shelly? Huh? How do you think it feels to have to wake up every single day, to be the only one that's providing for the goddamn family? Huh?"

Shelley didn't respond or show even the slightest sign that she heard; her resolve remained just as stiff and full of anger as it had previously. It only served to make Randy feel even more angry himself; his frustration was now pounding against the side of his chest like shards of glass that seemed as if they were summoned from her brown eyed, sharpened gaze that was piercing into his chest incessantly. It made him feel so much suffocation himself that he could hardly stand it, and all he could think of to do to make any of it even remotely more bearable was to continue yelling the heavy truths and insecurities that pounded against him at almost all hours.

"All you ever wanna do is just sit around a pout and talk about how lame everything is. Do you know where you would be without me?" His voice was beginning to shake, even wobbling and breaking underneath his furious heat,, as more emotion spoiled inside of it. "Stop trying to sabotage this farm on purpose and get over it!" His voice broke, and his shoulders visibilbly fell as he felt a bittersweet exhaustion inside of him. "Look...just-just come out and help with the goddamn weed. It'll be good for you, really." He was attempting to calm his voice down even as he felt the desire to allow himself to speak even further into his erratic anger that, more often than not, seized him and took the best of him. He managed it now only slightly as he calmed down only by a few layers as he spoke the last sentence, still feeling his breath coming out of his lungs faster than he knew how to control.

And yet, even with his own attempt to try and calm himself, even with his own determination in the midst of her stubbornness to get her at least somewhat interested in his own passions, still did she stand firm and rigid with her own clear resolve to remain stubborn. She continued to stand as if she had been paralyzed, her glare thickly furious and thickened with red as her own fists balled into her own hands. It made Randy himself even more angry that she was being so stubborn, despite that fact that he was even attempting to show her any grace-an act that she didn't deserve, in his opinion-and it served to only make him even more determined to play himself out in the same way that she was. She returned that same glare of determination inside of her brown eyes that looked terribly like her mother's as she met his expression.

"Why on earth do you care so much about that stuff, anyway?" she seethed out of her teeth. Randy's fingers were frozen rigid as he heard the way she spat her venom in his face. "All it does is make you even more stupid and even more impulsive than you already are! If I thought I hated you in the town sometimes, I really hate you now. You didn't even try to get to know me back then, but you definitely don't try to get to know me now, and you don't even care anymore. You're doing this for you, dad. You're doing this because you want money, not for me or for Stan or for Mom or anyone else. You know that, too. It was so obvious the second that you left mom just to go be with some other woman just because you were tired of fighting with mom. Everything about you is just for you, and the worst part is that you don't even admit it!" Her voice was so lost within her frustration hat it was now rendered to a cracking tone, her words spitting out between the metal of her braces as she continued to yell at him. Although she hardly ever had a filter before enough as it was, she certainly didn't now as she allowed the words to fall out of her that she always longed to speak. Even as she yelled them did she feel a deep squeeze a pain inside her chest that was more suffocating than even she wanted to admit, and yet, with a bitter irony, it was almost therapeutic with the way that she was acknowledging her father's lack of care that had built up that frustration inside of her that was only bringing her even further inside herself and her choking anger that now formed themselves into ill poisoned words that had been long awaited to be expressed to his face. She knew he would never listen, but even the act of trying was enough. It had to be. Somehow, acknowledging the pain made it feel more bearable, and, if nothing else, it made her feel a little bit stronger. She could get angry, she could shut down, but there was nothing that could make her feel stronger than speaking her deepest and most painful truth, no matter how incredibly hard it was to swallow as she spoke it.

Randy looked at her as he blinked slowly for a moment, and there was a combination between a painful reflection that was traced by a heated betrayal of rage at same time as a rich anger flashed across his face as he continued to glared at her. He took in a sharp intake of breath as he gazed at her, seething with his own frustration, stomped his foot once, and then settled for glaring at her for one long, intense moment as he observed every way that she was looking up at him with her own unapologetic consistency of disgust.

He kept his arms pressed against the front of his chest as he continued his eye contact with her, determined to keep himself pouting for as long as he could. He figured that he had earned that, at the very least, especially with having to put up with the children that he did; and most especially with having to put up with her attitude the way that he did. Father or not, he didn't think it was fair that he had to deal with her attitude, or that he had to constantly be the better or bigger person just because he was-as Sharon always reminded him-the parent. That was Sharon's job, as far as he was concerned. His job was to simply take care of the business, to do whatever he could to make it out in the world, and to keep the family functional within society, even if no one else appreciated it.

Even now did he felt a tender fondness deep within towards Shelly, but for the time being was his frustrations with his daughter taking the forefront of his mind. "Look, I can't control the way that you see me or anything that I do, but I can control the way that you try to help me. It wouldn't hurt you to try to help your father out for even just one night, would it? Come on, just try it!" He tried to force his voice to become more lighthearted even as he spoke with that strangled madness. Even with his anger, he didn't want to fight, not really, and there was a deep part of him that really did want his daughter to get along with him, to fall into the lifestyle that he had already learned not just to accept, but to adore with his entire heart. If only he could find a way for his family to feel the same, it would be more than enough for him, and then his life would be off well enough. Perhaps never perfect, but well enough.

"I want to go back to South Park," Shelley seethed. "The whole family does! It's where we grew up!"

"South Park isn't what it used to be, Shelley! Hasn't been for years! I didn't want to move, but who the hell can afford it? And you know how dangerous it is!"

"Like you cared when we lived there!"

"Did too, Shelley! Did too!"

"I was happy!"

"Well, I wasn't!"

"There you go again!" Shelley spat. "There you go again! It's always about you! It's all always about whatever you want, whatever makes you feel good, whatever your dream is! Have you ever stopped to consider for a second that maybe what you want isn't what the rest of us want? That maybe there's more to all this then whenever you care about?" Trembling with anger now, she could hardly get herself to speak another word. Randy's eyes flared in their sockets as he took another sharp intake of breath.

"Shelley!" he hissed. Everything that I do is for you guys!" He could hardly hold in his deepened betrayal as his daughter continued to glare at him, her face not giving away even the slightest indication that she believed him, or cared.

Randy closed his eyes for a moment, took his own breath, and then opened them again as he met her own hardened brown eyes, thick with that disapproval that was making him sick with his own rage. He was almost surprised at himself; he knew he should have been used to it by now. There was a certain wounded hurt inside of him that went deeper than he wanted to admit, but he would worry about that another time. He didn't have time to process his own hurt, not when his daughter was so insistent on fighting him. "You guys may not realize it, but I'm doing all this because I'm trying to take care of you guys. You may not see it that way, but it's true whether you see it or not. Now come on, I'm not going to stand here and argue with my daughter all night just because she refuses to see things for the way that they are. You're going to grow out of this phase of thinking that you're too cool to get along with your dad, Shelly, and when you do, you're going to wish that you had done everything that you could get this business off of the ground. As it is now, I'm not even going to mention you in any speeches once I get them. Because I will get my success, Shelley. People love everything that I make, and there's no reason why any of that would change now. Business is only blooming further and it's only going to get better and it's in your best interest to just go along with it and love it for what it is."

He didn't bother entertaining her unrelenting glare anymore; he spun around on his heels as he pressed his hand up against the front of the door, still frowning as he felt the bitter taste of the words that he had spoken even as he pushed it open.

"There you go! Again!" Shelley's shrill voice pierced through the air, spitting out her words so venomously that he felt himself felt that bitter bile rise in his throat yet again before he could even respond, and he squeezed his fingers against the knob as his only way to ground himself. "It's always about everything that you want, dad! I don't think you're even capable of seeing anything from anybody else's perspective. And you wonder why none of us would have anything to do with you anymore! Do you even think about trying to help out with anything to do with Mom anymore? Do you even care about trying to help her with anything that normal adults do, not your weird gross shit? When was the last time you did dishes or helped take care of the house or took care of me or my brother? Yeah, he's a turd, but he sure as hell deserves a better father than you. You're a piece of shit, dad, and the worst part is that you don't even care no matter how many times any of us tell you!" She kicked her feet against the phone that had landed on the carpet where she was standing. She didn't care in the slightest if it was broken; that didn't matter. Nothing mattered, not as long as she still had him as a father, not as long as she had someone like him who simply didn't listen to what her or what anyone else said. "The only person you talk to anymore is Faceless-and she's just some random woman you picked up to make up for your midlife crisis!"

Randy's blood turned red with rage. She had gone too far. He felt his veins turn a bloodied, icy cold, a strange mixture between fire and ice.

"You take that back, Shelly! Daddy's not going through a midlife crisis; I love her and if you can't respect that, then I can't respect you, Shelley! God!" Feeling as if his skin was melting off his bones did he turn back over towards her, teeth seething. By now he was almost a reflection of his daughter, at least in regards to her burning disposition.

She, however, was feeling the most immense, burning and ironic joy that her father was finally offering her attention, that he was finally playing into her protests, even if it was unpleasant, and even if he was only doing it to serve his own anger. She didn't care about the blood that was beginning to spill inside of her mouth due to the metal of her braces that had pierced her lip; if anything, she enjoyed the way she felt the metallic taste. The name calling she had thrown at him served as the sweetest taste on her tongue; and Randy knew her well enough to catch that glimpse of dark satisfaction that glinted in her eyes.

Randy took a deep breath, hardly able to contain-and hardly wanting to contain, at this point-the anger that was presisiting against his chest, knowing that was one of the many times that she was going to throw that word at him. This wasn't the first time she had called him a piece of shit, and countless other things besides, and it wouldn't be the last. "You can call me whatever names you want, Shelly, but doesn't change the fact that you're an uncooperative daughter that doesn't support her father. And, personally, I can't think of anything that's any worse than being something like that." He spun around for another time as he now threw the door open without his previous hesitation,, determined only to get away from the situation. If he had become anything, it was a person that certainly didn't wanna have to deal with anything that was more than difficult. He was finally happy, and no one, not even his daughter, was going to talk him out of that. "You're doing this on purpose, Shelly," he seethed as he began to step his way through the frame of the door, words slurring as he got lost within them. 'You're-you're trying to find ways to make me feel bad about myself so that I'll give up and take you back home, just so that you can go bitching and moaning about how I'm not taking care of you there too. You've never liked me, so why the hell would I give up my dreams just so that I can go back to my daughter's whims who's clearly never gonna like me anyway?"

He was surprised at the bitterness inside his own voice, and he smacked his lips together as he tried to keep away the tears that were beginning to frame up against the front of his own eyes. He turned his expression back towards the front of the door as he stepped his way outward, eyes frantically searching for Faceless, or for any signs of any sign of her at all. He was feeling that familiar weight against the front of his chest, much to his own dread, as he did so. He was in one of those dark corridors of his mind where his anger got the best of him, where he felt as if everything had been rendered to a stabbing obstacle that he knew he would do anything to get rid of. He wasn't sure how he felt about this side of himself, but he knew more than anything else that he certainly couldn't control it. It scared him, and more than anything else did he only want to escape these unpleasant emotions by smoking the next strand of weed he could get.

He couldn't see her, and part of him figured that she must have gone back to the truck to take care of some of the jars of weed left behind on his truck. One last striking thought flittered across his mind, and he found, as the words tumbled out of his lips, that he had no motivation to control the way they left his lips.

"You know, Shelley...It's funny how a woman that only came to my life a year or two ago already cares about me more than any of his family ever has." There was a certain bit in his voice that was a cold as the nip of air that was against the air. "Believe me, none of you support me, and none of you care about anything that I do, either." He chucked his feet against the front of the frame of the door as he tripped his way forward. He fully and entirely planned to make his way outward and to greet Faceless up from wherever she was taking care of the weed, wanting to leave this mess of an incident behind. He could deal with it later; they all could. He was fully confident in his resolve as he began to make his way fully out the door, wood creaking under his weight.

The only thing that stopped him with the sound of that familiar even toned, mature voice that trailed up through the front of the stairs.

"No, dad," Stan spoke. Randy froze within his confident direction as he heard his son's voice, seizing him in his place. He turned his eyes over his shoulder as he met his gaze with his son. His son's eyes resolved with a decision that turned Randy's blood cold before a word was spoken out of his son's mouth. "She's right."

"Acceptance of Skin"

Summary: Randy can't quite come to terms that his old suits from his forties don't fit him anymore. To him, it symbolizes a certain failure that he is, in fact, getting older, and he can't quite cope with how others may treat him because of it.

Words: 5.2k

"Honey," Randy whined softly, ducking his head through the front of the door that led to the master bedroom as he turned his bulging, begging eyes around the side of the door. "It doesn't fit, sweetheart. It actually looks really dumb on me." Even just speaking the words did he feel embarrassed, and he pressed his two feet against each other as he allowed his shoulders to cave in on himself, melting inside of his chest as he peaked within his insecurity that was painted around his every inch of his current shy disposition. He pressed his shoulder against the front of the frame of the door, as if that could help him hide.

Faceless was sat up against the side of the bed, tracing her own fingertips up against the dress that was the first one that she'd worn in the longest time that she could remember. She wasn't too keen on dressing up, especially not these days, when all she ever wanted to do was simply be lost within the warm shelter of all that she made with Randy. Where she had used to obsess over her physical attractiveness, worrying about impressing others and, generally, putting immense worth onto her attractiveness from the outside, it now seemed as nothing more than an unwanted echo from the past. Where her world had used to be full of insecurity and psychological insecurities and danger, she now only felt a wamr, stable acceptance of what Randy so naturally gave her. They perfectly gave each other whenever they needed, most especially within that delicate, soft understanding that was granted between their two previously exhausted and spent souls simply from being alive, which were now breathtakingly healed from being with one another.

She snapped her head up as she gazed at him with a question poised inside of her eyes, and quickly did she let out a tender laugh, followed by a soft murmur of rich sympathy as she saw that look of complete helplessness on his face. His head was poking out from the side of the doorframe, face rendered in a helpless plea. His pale, usually naive expression was utterly and hopelessly adorable as his green eyes bulged out in desperation. He was a comically adorable sight.

"It doesn't?" she responded as she looked over at him, tilting her head sideways to get a better view of his suit. She indicated with her head with a curt nod for him to come in, and after a moment of hesitation did he do so. He waddled himself towards the front of the open door, looking at her with the slight expression of apology on his face as he slumped over in front of her. Instantly did another coo of sympathy leave her lips, Her eyes melted with tender sympathy, ausment, but most of all-love. His two arms were placed in a boyish fashion in front of his suit as he slouched over the front of himself, hsi two black eyebrows furrowed in that painfully adorable and vulnerable fashion. The two buttons that sat on the front of his suit that rested at the bottom of the lining-one of his favorites that he had worn when he was younger-had fallen entirely outside of the holes they were meant to be placed within as they sat loose against the front of his stomach. The pale flesh of his stomach was poking out slightly from the last two loose buttons that refused to stay in the holes, and the rest looked as if they were hardly staying together. The fabric wrapped around his love handles tightly, hugging onto his plush love handles, and showing off the round plump fat of his body.

"It fit me last time this year," he mumbled as he looked down at his body, arms still glued to the front of him in that self conscious fashion. "I know that I've gained a little bit of weight since we moved to the farm and everything, but I didn't think it was this much." He let out a sigh as he rolled his eyes, adjusting his position slightly as he looked down at his own body as he swerved his hips back and forth. "Every time I move it feels like it's going to explode on me. I didn't even know it was possible for clothes to be this tight on me. It fit the entirety of my forties. I didn't think that fifty was going to feel so damn….different."

Faceless smiled tenderly. Knowingly. "I guess the both of us have gotten pretty comfortable in the lives that we've given each other, haven't we?"

Randy's shoulders slumped in defeat, seeming to give up his attempt on getting the suit to fit. 'I guess," he mumbled. "I guess...yeah. I've been so happy that I forgot about caring about shit like how my stomach looks. Normally I don't care, but...this feels like a defeat, somehow. Like...I'm really old now." He shivered slightly, and a look of disgust overcame his face. "Bleh."

"You're beautiful," Faceless murmured. She said it almost to herself, as if it was a gently whispered observation that was so authentic and so known between them in regards to how she saw him that there was no need to say it out loud. She indicated with her head for him to come over with her fingers now, pattering them against the side of the mattress where she was sitting. "Come here, let me see what I can do," she offered.

Randy looked over at her as he frowned slightly, but after a moment did he flutter his way over towards her, leaning his hips forward in a self conscious fashion as he rushed his way forward, bending over as he kept his arms in front of his chest in an attempt to hide the suit that was falling apart right before her eyes. Despite the plump form of his body, he still had a certain agility and speed to his disposition; such was the way of how unpredictable he was. "I really didn't think I gained that much," he sighed as he stood in front of her, still playing with the bottom of his suit. "I haven't even been drinking that much or anything since I moved on to this farm. All my old clothes just feels so damn different." He let out a heavy sigh, still adjusting his fingers against the suit, and failing miserably at getting it to fit. "I hate it"

"Smoking?" Faceless offered kindly. Randy sighed and shrugged.

"Maybe," he admitted, eyes lowering, drawl voice laced in defeat. "I just...I feel like I don't pork out that much even when I'm high. But that weed does make me want to munch on a lot more." The prettiness of his features frowned in thoughtfulness as he considered the possibility. "Never even really thought about it that way." It was true that his stomach stuck out significantly more than it had when he had lived in that small purple house that had been at the center of that complacent and small town. Though Randy could be an expert at being in denial of anything he was, he couldn't deny the new body he possessed, looking more like the body of a fifty year old man than he did the younger man he desperately still wanted to be, even at the age of fifty.

"I'm sure those nights that you spent binging multiple vegetable burgers certainly doesn't have anything to do with this," she teased softly, tracing her hands out as she caressed of the plump of his stomach that stretched at least a couple of inches away from where it stuck out from his breasts. He looked down at her as he frowned thoughtfully slightly, tracing his own hands against hers as they rested against his stomach. The trembling desire of her fingers caused his stomach to stick out even further from his buried hip bones as he looked down at her, feeling whatever self consciousness he had born falling away as he relaxed under her touch that so blanalty adored him.

"Whatever," he breathed after a moment. "Can you just fix it? I don't want Sharon to see me like this. She's never going to let it go if she knows that I don't even fit into my old clothes anymore. She always finds anything that she can to talk bad about me with everyone else enough as it is." He rolled his ees. "The woman loves gossip. Talking about dumb crap with others is all she knows."

Faceless hesitated, not meeting his eyes as a tender thoughtfulness in regards to his emotional pain occupied her mind, transferring itself over to the gentle rhythm of her fingers as she kept them pressed against his stomach. She couldn't help but get lost in condensation whenever he opened up at the wounds of his previous marriage; anything and everything that he went through was her pain by default just as much. She got lost in every detail of where he was coming from, wanting to empathize as she imagined how it must feel to go through what he did from his ex-wife. The more she could envision and understand his pain, the more she could help him.

"Please, honey," he whined, squeezing his fingers against the spaces of hers with a sudden intensity. Faceless fluttered her eyes up at him as she was broken out of her spell, gentle warmth and understanding striking in her expression as she looked up at him. "She's gonna be a total bitch if she sees me like this. She gonna tell me you're not good for me, tell me the farm's not good for us...It's gonna be hell, sweetheart."

"I know, baby," she murmured softly. She continued to ease her hands gently against the front of his stomach, already feeling her own clenching of desire inside of her red petals that rested between her legs as she begin to feel the way that the warmth of his irreplaceable skin was radiating from the holes that was in between his buttons, as well as the spaces of the suit-where it was clearly too small-left behind patches of his skin to poke out. Randy let out a helpless moan as he rolled his own eyes back slightly as he felt the way her gentle tracing of her fingers pressed up against the front of him in a way that served with just enough intensity. She drove him wild whenever she did that, and she smirked knowingly. She wasn't truly trying to help with buttons to fit, not really-and it was a lost cause anyway-and they both knew it. His head began to fall back as he felt the way that her hands trailed down against the most sensitive part of his body, dancing with pleasure as her always burning hands were tracing up and down the surface of his skin, massaging up against of the trembling surface of the heated furnace of his body. Her hunger for him only grew as her hands continued to tease against his skin, daring to press her fingertips underneath the turquoise fabric as he allowed her hands to graduate from caressing his suit and instead to the very surface of his skin. The suit strained against the back of her hands, barely any room between his suit and the exploration of her hands that was now pressed between the suffocating, tight suit, and his body that bore it.

"God, those buttons are pretty tight," she whispered, her voice soft and full of that fire that she always had for him. Her mouth went dry as she watched the way the rest of the hardly secure buttons began to come loose with her hardly even having to try.

"I know," he moaned, red apple lips trembling as his head continued to be pushed backward, his eyes now rendered towards the back of the skull. "It sucks. I mean, I know that I'm getting older and everything, I just didn't think that there was going to be such drastic changes in my body. I always thought I was going to be a ...cool old man, not the kind that can't even fit into young people's clothes. I always wanted to stay young, as much as I could." There was genuine shame inside of his voice, and not even the rasped, lusty, whispered tones that their connection summoned within him could make or undo the slight shame and depression that he had inside of him.

Faceless considered him, already hearing the confessions that he was speaking without even meaning to say them at all, so deeply and so naturally did she read him. He also had a tendency to wear his heart on his leave without even meaning to; such was the innocence of his nature. She gently transferred one of her hands that were glued against his always warm skin and traveled it against the side of the bed as she looked up at him and indicated with a slight curt nod of her head for him to sit down. His lifted his head from its vulnerable state of being thrown backwards within his lost lust as the heavy, hungry, foggy look of his eyelids was broken slightly, eyes adorable dazed within the phase she had clearly lost him in. He hesitated as he came out of his slight stuperior, a soft, gentle glean in his eyes from the tears that he was trying to keep back.

"Wha..?" His drawl voice mumbled adorably, sporting his confusion, as he slowly trailed his eyes over to the patch where her slender hand rested against the soft of the fabric. The same place where they had shared countless passionate nights.

He swallowed as he put the pieces together, then stumbled forward as he settled for sitting down next to her, causing the rest of the buttons that were still inside the holes up against the front of the round of his stomach to pop out, resulting in the soft flesh of his stomach to be rendered back to its most natural round and plump hill as it rested on his lap. His eyes flared with a frustrated surprise as he shot his eyes down in front of him, instantly pulling the fabric over the patch skin that had just been revealed.

"Oh, damn it," he hissed through his teeth as he tried to hide the round of his stomach, his pale cheeks spilling red from the sudden embarrassment that was spoiling against the front of the skin. Faceless smiled tenderly, and she didn't waste one second to comfort him as she gently took his hands away from where they were hiding against the front of his stomach, trailing her arms around the front of his waist. She traced her hands up against the front of his own body up and began to cradle him downward, easing herself onto him as she did so. Randy looked at her as he blinked with rapid curiosity and confusion, but still did he allow himself to be eased downward with that tender naivety that was permanently patched within his core that made him go along with almost anything.

"Faceless?" he questioned softly as he was eased onto the sheet. "What are you doing, honey? We gotta leave in five minutes." Even with his bewilderment did he allow himself to be eased down onto the bed. Faceless began to trace her fingers underneath the firm of his suit yet again as she caressed her fingers underneath the fabric that was pressing up against the patch of his skin with only a slightly less strain, mostly due to the buttons that had come undone. There was only one left still in tact to its hole that rested at the top, but otherwise it was only Randy's plump body lying in front of her, the suit spreading out from both dies. The soft, considerable hill and pudge of his body, complemented by the slight grey hair that was starting to grace the waves of his blakc locks, was a testament to the man he was becoming, whether he accepted it or not. There was only one bridge left to cross now, and that bridge was the concept of who he actually was, verses who he wished he was.

She traced her fingers against the tender plush of his love handles as she allowed herself to be guided into the honeyed gentle welcome of deep-seated heat and love inside of his own chaotic and unpredictable, yet stout and warm, eyes.

"You're perfect, you know that?" she whispered softly. "Absolutely beautiful, exactly the way that you are. Always have been, and always will be, no matter how others have or haven't perceived you as." She let out a deep sigh that was born from the deepest core of her infatuation as she began to trail her fingers up and down the front of his stomach,, starting from the hill of his belly button that was spoiled in coarse black hair, and traveling it up towards the patch of his chest, teasing her fingers between his hair, then ghosting the pads of her exploring lovers known as pads of fingers back down to his belly button. Her fingers ghosted up and down that well known trail only she knew on the irreplaceable and treasured interwoven fabric of skin that served as nothing less than a carpet of artistry of his body as she traced on his chest, exploring the considerable hill that was his stomach that was sticking out with significant length from the rest of his chest. Countless times had she explored his body, and yet it never failed to utterly fascinated her every time she had the privilege of being allowed to explore every patch of existence that was Randy Marsh. Much like his mind, his body was ever evolving, and there was always something new to discover.

And God help him if he wasn't enjoying it himself. He took in a deep breath as he felt the honeyed fingertips gently massaging him ease up against the front of his own stomach, pads trailing and sticking themselves into the soft, coarse black hair that littered up against the front of his chest from the patch was just in between his two breasts, as well as where they littered up against the front of his belly button. His eyes rolled to the back of his head for a second time as he felt the way her touches continued to spoil up against him, that one simple action getting rid of any insecurity and every single bleeding sharpened sword of any words that had ever been thrown up against him before, through any violent bloodied words that had ever told him that his identity wasn't enough before.

She smiled as she gently continued to caress her fingertips up against the front of his curly black hair, her fingers wandering lovers that never tired within their travels, exploring his chest and belly button hair that kissed so naturally against her own love starved fingers, adoring watching the way that his face completely melted underneath the loving, irreplicable touch of her hands.

"No matter what you've ever wanted to be, no matter what you ever become, no matter what you've been, and most especially no matter what other people have said or how they've responded to you, it's always exactly where you've needed to be, sweetheart," she breathed. She leaned down and she gently began to press the coarse black hair in between the spaces of front her teeth, tugging on the hair slightly, shooting a much welcomed pain through Randy's body that signified just how desperately she craved him. Their lust for one another was almost maddening in its hunger, and somehow physical pain helped. He let out yet another frantic hiss as he hoisted his buried hips into hers, the waves of his black hair spilling around his head as he got lost within the magic attraction and comfort that was her.

I just-" He hiccuped slightly, his entire body shuttering at the action. He rolled his eyes at his own lack of functionality, something he only experienced when he was around her, something his body only every experienced within these heated quiet of invisible walls, serving as a library of books written of their love that only they knew. "I'm old enough to know I shouldn't feel any kind of shame for who I am, babe. I just don't want anybody to see me the way that I know that they do. If I go out there looking even slightly like I let myself go, everyone's going to make fun of me. Everyone's going to laugh at me. I finally got my dreams fulfilled, you know? I finally showed people what I'm made of, after years of being a goodman laughing stock since I was a teen. But now my body's going to go right when my dreams are finally taking off? It's always something, dammit." He gently reached out his hands and caressed them against her hips. She let out her own deep shudder as she felt the way he caressed his fingertips up against the side of her hips, letting out her own soft sigh of gentle reckoning and understanding as she nodded and allowed herself to ease further against him.

"That's exactly why you're perfect the way you are," she whispered softly. "Everything you've ever been, everything you ever will be, anything that you will ever become has always been exactly where you're meant to be. The way that people respond to you doesn't have anything to do with how you find yourself, honey." She now pressed the entirety of her palms with a deeper pressure against the significant hill of his stomach, dressing her fingertips against the front of his trembling, fattened flesh as she did so. She had never seen anyone so painfully tender, someone who accepted their innocence with such unapologetic revere, more than him.

His eyes continue to flutter back in stunned silence at both the softness of her words and her touches the same. As far as he was concerned, it was her gentle caressing that was, for all intents and purposes, fucking out his every insecuoty, gaving him the deepest validation within the way that she loved him as deeply as she did, gently massaging out his every wound against the front of his own shuddering and trembling skin that practically screamed out and desired for her love.

"Wow," he whispered, tones trembling underneath the weight of the beauty he was feeling that could only be gifted from the connection he hadn't realized he had been starving for until he had known the softness that was genuine understanding. "You're really good at this, you know that?" he's whispered. Her eyes fluttered up at him in curiosity and question, her mouth smirking against the black hair that was settled between her lips that she was tugging on with a maddening furious lust, and yet at the same time a tender consideration. "Like..this whole calming me down thing. Sharon could never fucking do it. It feels...it feels like you're making love to my body, but with your words. Your touches. Your...everything."

Faceless smiled as her eyes glinted with gratitude. 'You're not so bad yourself, sweetheart," she murmured. She leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to the chest, causing Randy to let out another helpless moan of defeat within the pleasure she gave him.

"Thanks….thank you, sweetheart." There was a trembling inside of his voice that gave away his gratitude for the sheer relief he was being granted from fighting against his own insecurities. "I just don't want-'specially don't want Sharon-of all people, to be able to use what I've become and use it against me. I like who I am, actually. At least I think I do….until she reminds me of everything that's wrong with me. Until people look at me like...that. Until my own damn kids remind me of everything that's wrong with me." He raised up his head as best as could as he looked down at her, expression rendered comically adorable as he raised up his expression in an awkward fashion, his own gaze desperately looking into her own.. "But I guess I….I shouldn't have to worry so much..not if you're going to be right there with me." He took a deep breath as his throat trembled. "Should I, honey?"

She paused her lips from where it was nursing a single black, beloved coarse hair as she met his own green, troubling gaze that was so utterly wise and smart in his own quirky way. After a moment did she ease her body up and tenderly trace her hips up against the front of his, beginning to to rock her own hips up against the front of the hill of his stomach. She was still getting used to the way it jutted out when she made love to him, which was considerably larger than it had been a couple of months ago when she had first begun to make love to him shortly after they had just met. And yet it seemed as if the older he got, as the more plush his body was molded, as the more relaxed he became within his own body and with his lifestyle that manifested into even his physical form... the more that she desired and craved every single natural pattern that was him. She adored beyond words his goody, warm, welcoming, and endlessly confident disposition. He was her endless promise simply by being him.

As she leaned forward and gently eased her body up against the curve of the stomach, taking to pressing her lips up against the front of his, smirking as she felt the way that his own soft moan gave away his hunger, complimented by his hungry hands that explored her, she knew that she had found every single endless unpierced promise within his every insecurity. She knew now beyond a shadow of a doubt that, for whatever insecurities that he had ever had to suffer through before, they had only ever been preparing for him to have those imperfect holes inside of himself that were made to be gently caressed and loved by her. It was through those insecurities that he harbored that she was able to learn how to love him the way that he needed, and, in turn, did she heal herself through healing him.

She whispered those promises just from massaging her lips against his; the language they spoke together so naturally was spoken through more than just spoken word, but body the same. "You're strong enough to get through this life on your own, sweetheart, but I'm more than happy to make even just one step a little bit easier. To just make one breath a little bit easier to breathe." She traced her fingertips up against the side of his softened jaw now, and he let out another unsurpassed moan as he felt the way her lips gently pressed up against the slight stumble of the side of his pale face. He dug his fingers further inside her the small of her back, as if desperalty digging into the discovery she granted him for every single healing that he gave her, trying to find every single gentle melody and answer that she had ever given him, and would continue to give him, until her heart gave out.

"Goddamn, woman," he whispered as his voice broke through his infatuated heat of desire for her, his words perfecting and matching up with the way her body trembled against his. She let out her own soft hum and mummer of emotional pinnacle of understanding and contentment as she continued to press her lips against the side of his face.

She now raised and rhythmically rose her ribs against him as she massaged her hips against his. His green gardens of eyes widened slightly as he felt the way that she began to ease herself against the front of his torso with her legs, wrapping the, around his waist as she eased her hips and her torso the same against the side of his stomach, the pleasure reaching all the way to the middle of his own thighs with a striking heat. She opened up her eyes for half a moment to look into his, and he greeted her own haze with a fired welcome as he looked at her and let out a nod.

"Let's go show them what I'm made of," he whispered, a determination now within the rasped muscliatinity of his voice.. I'm getting pretty sick of being told that everything that I am is wrong."

She smiled as she looked at him as she leaned forward and gently nuzzled her nose against his. "That's my baby," she whispered softly.

He shuddered and let out a raspy laugh, drunk within the sheer tender love she granted him. The chuckle beat up against her face as it reached her own ear, hot breath beating against her. He gently traced fingertips now up against the front of her shoulders, gently allowing an unspoken promise to intertwine itself inside of her own skin, and therefore his the same.

Finally was he starting to accept his own skin. Not just the physical skin that he harbored that was constantly wretched with a forced perception to others, whether he wanted it to or not, but he was also beginning to accept his own psychological state and who he was born to be as well.

It was the sweetest, most golden and breathtaking freedom.

He laid his head back as yet another thankfulness spilled out of his lips that was golden gratitude disguised as a moan, yet this time it danced up against from the tip of his thumbs as he gently melted himself up against the front of her, allowing himself, for the first time, to fall into everything that he wanted to be. He had always done so, such was the golden light of his conviction and confidence, but he had never had acceptance within who he was. There had only been a suffocating wall of judgment from the other end of whoever perceived him.

But there was no strain of judgement from the other end of the person who perceived him now. Only endless, loving comfort. Being him was now made significantly easier by the fact that he finally had a person that wanted to see him with the same enthusiasm that he always had that had previously been snuffed out by others with such a callous disdain previously.

"That's me, alright," he breathed. "Here I am."

He smiled to himself as the words left his lips.

Here he was, indeed.

"Belief in You" (unfinished)

There were many tender, subconscious, lovingly executed games that she played with Randy; and many took place within the warmth of the sheets that they shared with one another.

They were so full of a heated welcomed love that it was almost suffocating in the best way. Often would their minds go numb as they plunged into each other for a few short moments, content only to letting their bodies take over in an animalistic familiarity. They plunged into the entirely of the heated chaos of what they knew, which consisted of trembling fingers and soft, sweating fingertips against each other, until finally, with breathtaking gasps, did they resurface.

Each time did it remind her with an uncaring, unapologetic fire of just how lucky they both were, a reminder that was so intense that it left her breathless, and, for Randy's part, he was often rendered significantly more healed than from before. His own naive and precious soul was finally granted that which was needed so badly that she could see the change within his very intertwined disposition even as she untangled from him. She was his healing, just as much as he was hers. A certain insibible weight was lifted from him after one of these countless sessions of lovemaking they shared with one another, the natural naivety in his eyes having a warmer glow to it that he didn't possess before.

One of the favorite games that she played was when he was passed out in his secret sleep underneath the sheets of the bed. To even witness the warmest, coziest man she had ever known underneath the thin white sheets that presented the most precious and untouchable parts of their relationships was more than she could bear in only the richest and most welcomed fashion. There was a certain feeling they gave each other, and though she still struggled with feeling aimless as an individual, stumbling and trembling up against the uncaring chaos of the world, to come together within their own lost natures and away from the judgment of the world and to instead fell into the gentle and soft game that was each other was nothing less than a severed and much welcomed gift between the two of them. It was one of the most irreplaceable and irrevocably warm, breathless moments they spent together, but more than that was it a time when their connection was able to transcend not just physical and emotional communication between the two of them, but also something that was greater beyond than either of those known elements, reaching a place that only the truest and deepest love could reach. enabling treatment in places where only he could feel, and where only she could reach. Life was an exhausting engine that never stopped demeaning fuel that never of them possessed any longer, and though the world was a constant sharp weapon that would never stop slapping against the two of them, they had found a secret relief between each other, a gentle heaven that only they were aware of. There was something about speaking to him whenever he was sleeping that reached certain parts of him that he only knew on a subconscious level, and yet she could see the ways in which it reached, healed, and rewarded himself in literal ways. He would stand little taller when he awoke after she softly murmured her whispered promises to him, was less prone to violent and frustrated fits, and that golden glint in his eyes that was born not from color, but rather that energetic nature in his heart, was only brought to a deeper hue..

He was currently nothing but a misshapen lump that was hidden inside of the sheets, his own body no doubt warmed to the pinnacle of the heat he had inside him so naturally underneath it. Countless nights had she drank that same heat, memorized the way he felt underneath her own loving and desperate touches. There was a soft breathing that came from underneath the sheets that signified his own snoring, and she wasted no time gently cracking open the door and shutting it behind her, hearing it shut with a satisfying click as she pushed it from behind her. She hyper focused on the man that was laying under the sheets, those same sheets where or they had spent kissing each other's desired lips, caressing each other, and catching up on the days with each other, and, quite simply, taking care of each other. That was the main spirit of the reason and essence of what they shared; that they took care of each other.

She rushed her way over towards the other side of the bed as she felt a sudden strike of inspired love go through her that served almost as a shot of cocaine, so strong and so full of a shocking force was it, shooting herself over to the side of the bed where he was facing. Already she was beginning to memorize the way his black sideburns, traced by shy curls that framed his face, kissed up against the side of his head as they curled and formed every precious carving of every muscle on his expression. Said muscles were currently slacked, lazy, fallen. His mouth was hanging open in a sloppy, vulnerable, painfully adorable fashion that she had taken to memorizing throughout all those wonderfully long nights. Within those nights had life gone by too fast and yet beautifully slow; true love had a funny way of making time pass, making it so congested and rich with love that it seemed as it the very chemistry of time moved a little slower, yet at the same time did the infatuation she felt towards him make it all go by so mind numbly fast, more than she could process.

There were more nights than she could count where she had preferred to stay up and to drink in the energy that memorizing him gave her, rather than fall asleep when she was laying next to him. She didn't mind in the slightest that tracing him with his eyes turned out to be more common than sleep more nights more often than not, and when the sun rose the next mourning, she didn't care that her legs ached with a certain throbbing sensation that only came with psychological exhaustion, nor did she care that the bags under her eyes were a little too red, a little too heavy for natural comfort. There was a fire within her from memorizing him that gave her all the wellness and energy-all the unrelenting strength-that she needed, and not even countless sleep or physical wellbeing would match up against the strength that he gave her simply from his existence. Rather than falling into the mundanity of sleep- something that had been granted sweeter since she had come to love him, yet still paled in contrast to her tracing her eyes against his presence and memozing how his disposition felt- she much would have rathered taken to staying up to memorize every detail of those beautiful answers within the questions of her heart that was only presented through him and him alone. So much did he give her simply from the act of being. He didn't have to be wise, strong, or even virtuous; there was something innate within simply who he was that took her breath away.

She would have stayed up for the rest of her life, until her eyes gave out and her heart stopped, to memorize every detail of the sloppy, endearing and utterly adorable way his muscle slack when sleep overcame him. He was the kind of tender and gentle soul that completely allowed his dreams to take over him, and that allowed for a little else than rest while he completely fell into the softness of the welcoming gentleness of sleep that she hadn't been able to achieve herself for years, and she knew that most her age hadn't either. In more ways than one had Randy somehow managed to achieve the beauty of innocent sleep that most only children achieved. She also knew the way he fell into his dreams was a side effect of his own exhaustion that he often didn't admit even to himself, not unless he wanted or needed to get something done; or, alternately, if he wanted to use it as an excuse to do nothing at all.

He was a very definition of irreplaceable within these quiet moments of the morning, even more so than the fragile feather of desperation he was when he woke up. Desperation for validation, productivity, validation, and full of manic energy, but at the core of all those elements what he craved most was, undoubtedly, love. Endless love.

She got far more energy from waking up every single morning and tracing up every little detail about him than sleep; she was addicted to gently caressing her fingers as much as she could without waking him up, massaging with her eyes every single soft, gentle muscle that made the beautiful pierceable pale of his own face, a harmony of delicately. It was within those moments when she was at the complete abrupt definition of contentment, knowing that there was nothing more worthwhile, or anything more human, than what she was sharing with him. Within those precious hours in the morning, with nothing but his heated breath and the gentle snoring that came out of his mouth, with her cradling his face with a comfort that could only come simply from him and from him alone, was she reminded that there was so much more to the human experience than even she was aware of. Never had she known that peace could come from something as simple as another human being, and it was proven to her time and time again that there was nothing there was anything more true. She got far more healing from him, far more answers for the chaos that was existence, and endless vital refreshment, simply from memorizing the very stout and confident existence that was him, which had been brought to the very definition of what she and he the same had been searching for within the broken natures of their lives, finally resting against each other and coming to a gentle place of contentment that was furious in its peace that existed only between the two of them.

She saw within the way he carried himself when he aware that Randy was wired the same; he couldn't imagine anything else that gave him that same sense of complete peace, fulfillment, and utter contentment inside of him that his fragile nature had been searching for, save for when she was lying down and whispering her words of adoration that trailed from her lips and intertwined into his subconscious mind, offering him healing when he awoke. It was welcomingly heart wrenching.

There were times in her life when she felt as if she was nothing more than just a forgettable, floating blimp that was aimlessly and torturously being knocked by the universe, not knowing where she was going with the punches and the bruises in the slightest. The deepest curse of her pain hadn't been the pain itself, but rather had been born from how she had been swayed through cruelty of the world in a way that seemed it served no meaning, no end. She had always felt she was meeting with some torturous chamber of complacency within existence, with nothing truly worthwhile to fulfill her.

Yet every single time that she even so much as got to glance at Randy's own porcelain features, framed by that same bruised and wrecked lostness in his eyes, every single time that she got even just so much is a chance to hear the one soft mumble of his voice that was innocent, youthful, yet muscluline and aged at the same time, was she reminded, even without words, that in fact, golden nuggets were within even her existence that were so strong, so powerful, that they did, in fact, make everything worth living.

She kneeled down up in front of him with the camera inside her hands, already feeling her heart melt as her vision was greeted by the soft sculpted art that was his face. The slack aesthetic of his features were pressed up against the pillow, two sheets wrapped as far as they could go up around his shoulders, almost completely burying him in an adorable fashion that reminded her of just how precious and just how fragile he was in only the most alluring way.

"Hi, baby," she whispered softly. Her voice was the utmost epitome of consideration as she spoke to him in that precious way that she did at almost all hours. There were often nights when she spent the long of the quiet night simply speaking to him, gently and softly, and the routine would leak into the morning. Even now, the craving called to her; to speak to him the most gentle sweet nothings that were summoned from within her simply from even observing him. Her legs were squeezing with a bittersweet paralyzation that only getting lost in him did to her.

She dared to reach out and caress her fingers against the side of his face, which was completely lost within the peaceful canopy of sleep, and his lip twitched slightly at the sensation. It was the most adorable reaction she had ever seen. She giggled to herself ,pressing one hand cautiously up against the griphold of the camera as she raised it up in front of her. She had done this with him countless times before, and she had never bothered to tell him the way that she practically worshipped him whenever he was sleeping; mostly for the sake of avoiding any unnecessary glorification that was only fuel his narcissism that she knew he struggled with.

She was convinced that when he woke up, there would be something about his eyes seemed a little bit more peace, that seemed a little bit more gentler, a little bit more soft within the soul, and she was convinced that he was aware of the gentle ritual that she did with him, even if he wasn't necessarily consciously aware of it. There was a part of his subconscious that was aware of it-more than aware-and it reached into the parts of him that greatly needed that peace inside of him, and it was the simple whispers and considerate caresses that she gave to him every single night and every morning when he was asleep that she was able to reach him in a way that not even knew he needed to the extent that he did. It was her endless desire to grant him any sort of healing, and she knew he craved just to hear her softly spoken words even within the spell of sleep. It was a two way gratification as well; he granted her just as much healing just by falling into the careless vulnerability that the boyish nature of who he was. To be able to spend that time with him as she whispered her secrets of adoration to him was more than enough healing, and made her feel luckier than she ever could have known.

Not that they were secrets at all, and they practically burned out from her every action, no matter how hard she tried to keep them a secret or kept them even within herself, and yet it was the kind of love that was so rich that it demanded to be spoken, expressed, caressed. It quite literally burst forth, refusing to be anything other than completely and entirely known between the two. It was the one thing that she couldn't have stopped even if she had tried. There were times when she couldn't quite believe that he was real, when she couldn't quite wrap her head around the fact that someone like him had come into existence, that the innocent complications of his preciousness and all of what he was, flaws and virtues the same, had come together to create that which was the very embodiment of human love, as far as she was concerned.

And, the best miracle of all; he had come to exist within the hurricanes of his nature right around the time when it perfectly matched up around the way of her own life, which had tumbled and turned down much in the same way that his had. Their pains weren't exactly the same; his was more family-oriented and were more of a side effect of trying his best despite his flawed nature, whereas she had never had it in her to even try to live. But together did they ultimately come with a deep seated understanding and reckoning within each other that, much of the time, completely pressed against each other, that melted through each other's wounds, and helped within his own feelings of incapability, and her own feelings of complete and utter loneliness. The warmth of his skin was the very definition of medication for heart and for her body. For whatever negative feelings that she had felt before she fell into the warm embrace that was his existence, they were all completely gone now. Without a trace. Through him she was able to follow into his welcomed, well-intended madness and wrap her arms up around him; to kiss his wounds and, in turn, to kiss hers.

As it was now, she was kneeling down in front of him with his own face completely stuffed up against the front pillow up that his face pressed against, his face rendered lazy with that way that it always was in that adorable fashion than he did whenever sleep overtook him. Her eyes gently cradled over every patch on his face as she traced his body and his every contorted and cluming muscle. She had never seen someone who is so damn good at the simple act of relaxing before in her life. He held onto his childlike innocence with an iron grip, and the scorn of others for it was only a reflection of just how lucky he was to hold onto to something that still made experiencing the simplest pleasures in life so deeply precious, most especially because other adults his age didn't understand the value of it.

He would be up and awake in only a little bit, although it seemed as if it was one of those mornings when he slept in a little bit past when he should have. Passionate though he was about the business that he has successfully managed to create from the ground up-endless hours of pouring over business books and using his own charismatic charm to get it off the ground as quickly as he could- there were those times when he became more lazy, where his sluggish nature got the best of him. He was hard working and yet lazy at the same time, and endlessly unpredictable. And she wanted to love him through every phase every face, and every side to him there was.

"How did you even come to be?" Faceless whispered. Fawning over him was an entirely different kind of preciousness. Her hands caressed around his face, falling now into the habit of trying to comprehend how someone like him even existed; so deeply did she love him that she could hardly wrap her mind around the fact. Worshiping him within those moments, when he was falling into the gentle nobility that was sleep, was when she could truly do justice to talk about how he made her feel. When he was awake, his fire had a tendency to distract her.

"Everything about you, from the way that you talk , the way you think, to the way that your complex simplicity is exactly what I need every single day to be grounded. It's incredible, Randy. You're so familiar to me, and yet you endlessly excite and surprise me. The way that you always know exactly what I need just from being you, the way you can give me somany questions and so many answers just from being the person that you are. Your unwavering confidence always helps me to believe in myself. It helps me to know that it's okay for me to stand up for myself...to simply be myself." She swallowed thicky as she heard a hitch in his breath; she only wanted to trend the patterns that were the love they shared within the softer than soft moments as best as she could. She would be loath to wake him. Her voice now came out as a gentle, tender whisper.

"Your goofiness is able to let me know that there's still ways of having fun in this world. The way that you endure so much, and yet you're still so true yourself even when everyone around you,-even when your loved ones-are telling you that you're not. I can't quite comprehend how you're so unapologetically loud and so yourself within your passions, even with the way that everyone's always talking down to you and bringing you down. I don't know how you're so strong and so consistently and endearing and so lovable even with the never ending flow of chaos, but...whatever it is that you're made of, it's exactly what my soul needs to give me strength." She paused, reflecting on her words. Her words were a delicate thread that were always present within her heart, finally spoken from her lips only from the comfort and bravery he gave her.

"You inspire me every single day." She dared to ghost fingertips up against his cheek as she whispered her words of adoration to him, precariously tracing her memories of how she could spoil him without waking him. A gentle touch of trembling and infatuated fingers was all she needed to be for him within that moment. A touch of gentle pads against uncertain fingers that sighed against the black waves sof his hair. Just so. The heat of his skin radiating as a welcome without him needing to say anything at all. Everything he was made of was begging to be loved; he was a lost little boy at his core, even with all of his independence and complexities. So rich was his energy that he gave even the very air that surrounded him a taste; a musty smell of a earthly humbleness that reminded her of the modest warmth of the innocence he so naturally was, even when he himself tried to fight it in order to fit into the narcissism of the world. Perhaps he would have lived a spiritually easier life had he not been so easily influenced by the world. The ways he acted wasn't so much a reflection of him, but rather a reflection of the failure of the world. The world put ideas in his head of what determined his worth, and he was naive enough to live accordingly to his flaring insecurities. She tasted his innocence within the air, his energy trailing to the air along with her words, and she knew that it was reaching his own heart and his ears and settling exactly where it needed to be.

She let out a deep breath, one that was almost painful from how it crawled out of the burning of her lungs, as she leaned forward and pressed her fingertips against the camera button, raising it up towards the forefront of his expression, the very definition of a peaceful and softened warm escape that was made just so from the way the muscles relaxed on his face. There was a bittersweet yearning within the way she felt her entire body practically give out from looking at him; it was a pain that she welcomed fully and entirely.

She snapped the photo of the sleepiness of his expression quickly, grateful that the snap was soft enough that it didn't wake him. There was a soft twitch within the midnight lashes of his expression; her heart lurched at the same time the twitch presented itself on his expression. Her breath hitched in a gentle adoration as she eyed every detail of his features.

"You're such a precious thing, you know that?" she whispered. Even as age was tugging on the work of his expression, gently wearing him down over time and making his muscles and expression more sluggish than before, there was still that same exuberant and unapologetic energy about his nature that made her heart squeeze in her chest, that granted her with an irreplaceable realization of what it truly meant to be human. The pale pudge of his face, delicate enough to be pierced by any sharp wound, almost alarmed her with just how fragile he was, and yet at the same time was there something incredibly stocky and sturdy about him that kept him grounded, and her much the same.

The soft tracing of his eyelashes began to open up, disgruntled out of his sleepy state as he blinked his vision over towards her through sleepy vision. She met him with her own heavy bags as he gazed at her with a desperate sort of curiosity inside of his eyes that was spoken only within the nature poetry of his vision.

"Wha... Faceless?" he mumbled, looking up at her with a fogged curiosity as she smiled at him, fingers still caressing against the side of his face. He blinked at her slowly, sleepily, as his eyes worked their way through the fogged position of his mind and eyesight that, for once, wasn't brought up by the way that he smoked more weed than even he could keep up with. She gently caressed, with a slightly more concentrated fashion, her fingertips up against the side of his face, gently ghosting them up against the black sideburns that framed his face as she greeted him with her own eyes that were rendered to gentle adoration when her eyes met his.

"Hi, sleepy head," she murmured again, this time slightly louder as she looked inside of his own bleary and irreparably tender vision. "I think you're slipping a little bit past your waking time. The customers should be arriving soon." Even as she spoke did she hear the sound of the leather tires tearing against the dirt road, signifying customers that were, no doubt, waiting outside as they eagerly awaited their promised weed that Randy had no trouble granting them when he was awake. He was awaking now quite quickly; they were alike in that way, falling prey to their secret exhaustion one second, and then furiously waking with a combination summoned by both the fear of missing out on the excitement of existence, or whatever it was people were doing that day, as well as that never ending anxiety simply from existence that came from everywhere and yet nowhere at the same time.

"Wait, seriously?" he grumbled, turning his eyes over his shoulder, which were delicately traced by black, coarse hair that she had become entirely familiar with from those nights she had tugged on them through the spaces of her two front teeth with a furious hunger. There wasn't one single crevice of his body and hers the same that hadn't been spoiled by their maddening hunger and intimacy for one another. She gently kept her fingertips pressed up against the side of face that she nodded, watching in the way that he turned his head over towards the clock.

"Oh, damn it," he hissed from his teeth as he clumsily tried to stumble his way upward. He was wearing nothing but his underwear, as usual, and the soft flesh of his stomach spilled into the front of his lap as he stretched forward. She was entranced by the way his muscles rippled through the equally soft warmth fat of his skin as he began to stretch himself back into consciousness.

"There's a lot to do this morning," she said gently. She didn't say it to threaten or to worry him, but simply to prepare him. She put the camera on the table beside the bed. For whatever time that they had spent together within those soft, quiet of the morning, it was currently put to an abrupt end from the quick chaos of the world around them. Something told her that if they wanted to do, there was nothing that was going to stop them from falling against each other, and forgetting everything else. She knew they couldn't resist each other, and yet she forced herself to resist. Randy was naive and easily influenced enough that he would allow himself to get straight back into bed and to simply make love to her for the rest of the day, customers be damned, but she wanted more for him than that. She wanted his business to do well, knowing that he was finally living his dream of living out a successfully artistically and independently owned business, where there was no patronizing boss, no judgemental stares from those that simply didn't get it..

She gently traced your fingertips up against the side of his own soft skin that was already broken out into a clammy sweat the way that it so naturally did when he got worked up, which was more often than not. She then trailed her exploring lovers manifested as fingers against the side of his love handles that she did so, traveling her curious touches from his shoulders and down to the soft plush of his hips. He looked over at her and blinked adorably,. followed quickly by a loud and sloppy burp that escaped from the front of his lips, no doubt left over from whatever wine he had chugged before bed.

"Shit- how long was I asleep for?" he mumbled under his own breath, tone raspy and soft in the way that it was only when he first woke up in the morning. The heavy lids of his eyes were still prominently present, looking slightly disoriented as he began to come into consciousness, allowing himself to come away from those secret and no doubt vivid dreams that he fell into so easily, partially due to the old of his age. He was becoming softer, plushier, slower and more prone to sleep and food, enjoying the simplicities of life more than ever before, and it made her knees weak to consider his preciousness. If he had been an irreplaceably precious man before, he certainly was the most painfully adorable man she had ever come to know now.

She shrugged. "Just your usual time," she responded gently. "I think we went to bed a little bit late last night, though." There was a glint of knowing teasing his eyes as he looked over ather and granted her a heated smirk.

"Hell, yeah, we did." he agreed as he hoisted himself further into a sitting position. "We really knew how to get frisky and pleasurable with each other last night, didn't we, sweetheart?" He nudged her slightly with his elbow, watching her reaction as an appreciative warmth glinted in his eyes. He was full and well aware of those gentle, soft precious moments that they shared together within the tender warmth of the sheets.

She blinked at him as she looked at him curiously. "You could hardly speak a sentence last night," she teased. "I was almost wondering if I should just take you to bed, if you hadn't been begging for us to make love so much. I was worried about you."

Randy rolled his eyes as amusement glinted in his vision. "Oh, honey, don't look so surprised," he shot back, playfulness lacing his voice. "I know and remember all that stuff, sweetheart, cross-faded or not. I'm an expert at that stuff." She smiled to herself as she caressed her fingers further up against the front of his skin, unwilling to break away from the soft spell that was between the two of them. "I know you are," she whispered. "You're the most complex and capable man I know, sweetheart, in more ways than one.

"New Year With You"

There was no definite answer when it came to true love; there was no linear direction to comprehend anything to do with how it shaped or changed one's life.

But if Faceless had come to learn anything from the past few years that she had spent with Randy, and, most, especially, within the last year with him in particular-which was especially and particularly passionate-it was one fact that was simple to the ears, but took endless complications of experience to truly learn;

In the most bittersweet fashion, the deepest of love physically brought pain, and yet it was the most welcomed and life-giving pain she had ever known. She wouldn't have traded it for the world; there was a certain golden wretched and beautiful canopy of how deeply she loved him.

Every ghost of her lips against the soft rolls of pudge and coarse black hair that had etched itself onto his pale skin as time had molded him was rendered helpless to her physiological perception and physical response to it. Every heated breath that left his lips shuttered under her touch; every green sparkle of his eyes rolled backward at her touches that she spoiled him with in a maddening desperation. His lips held a musical tone of surrender that made her weak in turn.

She wanted to drink his hurricane of insanity for all it was worth; to feel every tremble of the pained wretched essence he was into the poetry and beer bated breath of his lips and mind that was utterly unpredictable within the very predictable patterns of his life, a contradicting but endearing combination. She wanted to memorize his every hidden secrets, many were they within the always curious naive mind the vessel of his body harborded, both in regards to physical exploration of his body that was ever evolving, as well as the ones he held within his secret psychological states that even he didn't understand.

Whatever Randy was or wasn't, he was remarkable. That was one thing she knew was true. The unofficial categories he fell into in life were ever evolving, but that one fact would remain relentlessly consistent. Her life was full of questions; she would explore and find them with him.

His stomach was the opposite of hollow; it was soft, plump, and beautifully full, rendered to everything she had ever wanted to know. The hill of his plush bulge was trembling at her touch; and it was the warmest healing she had ever been lucky enough to memorize.

And memorize him she did, and it was with a breathless passion that she allowed the deepest warmth of his core to become her own. He was a beautifully mundane portrait of everything she had ever wanted to know; earth shattering in the exhilaration of his buried ribs, symbolizing the safety he would so naturally grant her if she allowed him to. She had never known someone considered so average could be so utterly breathtaking; a flower that blossomed only under the deepest of circumstances that seemed to never stop flowering, evolving, to never cease to keep finding his way. He was cold in his insecurity, yet utterly warm in the truest essence of who he was.

There was a certain impeccable nostalgia that came with knowing him, as if there were countless unknown adventures and entire lives she had known before with him that she didn't quite remember. It was a silly thought, yet the feelings that were summoned within her because of him were all entirely indescribable.

"Happy New Year, Randy," she whispered softly. He was sitting in front of the television, beer glass traced in his alcohol stained hands. She was standing behind him as she caressed her hands against the waves of his balck hair, occasionally traveling to his bare stomach, exposed due to the fact that he was wearing nothing but his underneath for the night as he walked around the house.

He chuckled and reached over his shoulder and stroked his fingers against hers. Tenderly so. She shivered at his touch. He wasted no time in taking the spaces of her always desiring fingers within his and tracing it to his own lips as he brought her enclosed hands to the warmth of his lips, moustache ticking the tip of her trembling hands as he kissed her. Everything felt surreal around him; the world itself seemed as it it was implode with the richness he granted her. The love they shared almost always seemed too good to be true, and yet every day was she proven that it was the truest thing in her life.

"Happy New Year, babe. Let's make this one even more wild."

She smiled; not just in regards to her expression, but also deep within the most meaningful layers of her core.

For once, she trusted in the optimism of the upcoming years of her life ahead of her.

For once, did she have a love worth living for.

For once, she believed.

"Flying High"

"You want anything?" Faceless asked, her question summoning the cold of her breath as it beat against the patch of his exposed chest.

Randy didn't answer right away; his eyes were practically glued onto the TV that sat in front of him from within that otherwise unimpressive hospital bed. He gave her a distracted shrug as he kept his hand pressed up against his particularly bloated stomach, reduced to a unnaturally round, stiff and large hill from the diet he had allowed himself to indulge himself in from the past couple of weeks.

"Do whatever you want," he murmured, raspy voice only half present within the conversation. Faceless gave him a few minutes to come out from the fog in his head; she knew how this worked.

He hesitated for a moment, thought about it further, then flipped over his eyes towards her and gave her a stroke from his fingers that rested against her arm and a smile. "Sure," he added quickly after a moment. "Something quick, cold, if it's ok. Throat's a little dry."

Faceless smiled in fondness for how well she knew him, but mostly for him in general. She leaned forward and pressed her lips up against the side of his cheek, and he smiled as he accepted it fully, learning his head against the side of her inviting lips.

Quickly did she unwrap her legs from where they had previously been embracing up around his bloated body and began to ease them up towards the other side of the bed. She made her way over towards the mini fridge that was placed up against the side of the stark and bleak walls, kneeling down in front of it as she looked for some water. Water was what he could use right now more than anything else, for certain; he hadn't eaten anything except for KFC-that dry and intentionally unhealthy chicken-for countless months. She had stopped counting after the fifth; in a strange way did it make her feel a bittersweet pain that he cared more about his ambition than he did about his health, but from the start she had known there was nothing she could have done to stop it. Only to support. To do anything otherwise would have pushed him into an argument or relentless defensive, and she loved him far too deeply to ever push him into that kind of suffocating physiological corner of desperate defense, something she knew he had already experienced far too much with Sharon.

Randy had done it yet again. He had fallen into one of those phases where he had wanted to do something relentlessly different with his life, even if what he was chasing after was ultimately a far worse alternative than where he had been before. He had once again taken to his lifestyle of unapologetic chaos for at least the past few months straight, trying to prove to himself that people would pay attention to him- that they would like him, that they would talk about him- if he set the record for the amount of KFC that could be eaten within a certain amount of time. If he could get himself to stand out in any way at all.

"No one else has thought of it, Faceless." He had whispered the words to her with his green eyes shining alight with that endless flame inside of them, the kind of fire that Faceless knew could only be snuffed out by his own hand; it was far too enduring to be even once affected by anyone else. Anyway else trying to do so would only make the flame burn even brighter, summoned with an even greater fight.

He had been cradelining himself on top of her in their masterbed, his own legs wrapped up against the front of her torso within the warm sheets they shared, his eyes glinting with that mad eagerness that she knew already gave away that he wasn't turning back now that he had made up his mind. Once Randy Marsh made up his mind about something, there was no talking out of him talking about it, and there was certainly no going back.

His words had been passionately whispered, hot breath beating up against her face between the kisses he was granting her lips, his entire body trembling with his excitement. For the time being in that moment he entered a new realm of existence, one where he convinced himself he had finally found the one plan that would take away the meaningless unfulfillment of his existence. There was no talking him out of it in these moments, and there was certainly no going back.

"Once people realize how much KFC I've eaten in a certain amount of time, they're going to make some sort of documentary about me. And once people make a documentary about me, they'll recognize my good looks and just how interesting of a man that I am, and just how much I do every single time and every single day, and once I get that out of the way, I'll really be able to show people what I'm made of. This is going to be the beginning of the rest of our lives, Faceless, I promise. I did some research on that documentary of that guy who ate McDonald's everyday for a year-or some shit like that, I dunno. And nobody could stop talking about it for decades. They showed it to everyone's classrooms for years, months-hell, every single kid who's grown up now knows who he is. Even Stan and Shelly had to watch it, and even though they came home bitching and crying about how dumb it was when they came home, I could see that it was awesome, that it was something that they weren't going to forget. I'm going to be a part of that now, Faceless. I'm going to be the next to be known for the amount of stuff that they eat. No one at Skeeter's will ever stop talking about it!"

She hadn't bothered trying to talk him out of it, but she had warned him of just how unhealthy it would be. Besides, her legs had been trembling far too deeply with her own infatuation as he had continued to talk to her about all his wild dreams for the next few months. She loved everything that came from him, crazed ideas and all, and to watch him talk for the rest of that night in his excited and unrelenting innocent voice was her own personal form of addiction. She adored everything about him, and everything from which he came from, no matter how ridiculous or irrational his ideas sounded to the average level-headed person. Level-headed was a concept she had fallen out of love with long ago, most especially since she had found his utterly unpredictable nature.

Besides, she could understand where he was coming from within the phases of the mad ideas that he thought of. She could, and deeply so. The older she got, the more invisible and loveless that her own life felt, save for the gentle heaven that they had given one another-although not even the love they shared could take away their unrelenting desire for something more, for simply more; a desire that never went away that never failed to poke, prod, and aggravate the two of them; but most especially Randy. It was his own easily influenced soul that only made her love and protection for him all the greater; she loved him not only because she saw herself in him, but because she saw within him a man that was precious and relentlessly human, someone who craved love and attention, a perfectly natural desire, until it drove him mad. She would be his brakes within the storm of his soul for as long as he wanted her to be. She was in awe of his storm, and even more honored that he loved her enough that he wanted her to be a part of it. The truest love came from understanding, and that was certainly what they gave each other.

She could understand the emptiness that he felt, the aimlessness he struggled with, elements that poked and prodded him even when his own life was going quite well. She could understand the struggles of trying to be an average person within a world that constantly glorified being anything but, stabbing against them and making the both of them feel invisible, causing their deepest and even strongest efforts left feeling as if they were and meant nothing. She could see the way that he often did anything that he could to fight against even the slightest bit of stereotypes and relentless urgent judgement of the world that determinedly pressed its suffocating grip against her neck and his the same.

Above all, she knew that he was doing the best that he could to make himself happy. At the end of the day, that was all his antics were, and it was an incredibly human and natural desire that would be cruel to deny him of to explore in his own way. People fell the deepest in love when they faced the same struggles, and together were they learning how to face and to fight against the endless challenges of life. She knew that he went about it in all the wrong ways, but she could also understand just how easy it was for the human mind, especially once as naive and easily influenced as Randy's, to get lost within that unrelenting desperation, within that heated determination to be anything other than what they had become. For most adults, it only happened every now and then, but with Randy it was an endless and active element within his life, even if what he tried to turn himself into was, by all means and purposes, technically something that was simply different from what he had come to know about himself from the past couple of decades of his adulthood, but not necessarily better.

Yet he seemed to have a conviction within his mind that different was better by default. He was blind to the man of quality and virtue of who he was by default; one that was richly artistic and adventurous, one that wasn't made for the mundane and repetitive patterns of life that inevitably kept throwing its vomited lovelessness up against the front of his heart, no matter how hard he tried to fight it. It had worn on him-and it had changed him- as the years had gone on, and the impulsive wreck of blossomed insanity that was left in front of her was the result.

And she irrevocably adored every moment.

She pressed her hand up against the front of the cold water, and she couldn't help but reflect on how she had done much of the same thing-perhaps not to the same drastic extent that he had, but nonetheless enough that she could feel the same scars that pressed up against her inner body from phases she had convinced would save her as well, from the hopes that she had gotten herself up for for things that had turned to ultimately nothing, the same way that he had time and time again. The difference between the two of them was that Randy never slowed, and he never stopped trying, no matter how much he was bleeding, and he would pound himself against that unforgiving grey wall known as "not enough" endless times until his body was bloodied, broken, and bruised. It wasn't just a metaphor; he had done it literally countless times before in life. If Randy was anything, it was a blind fighter, for better or for worse.

She knew they were one and the same, and that she could never judge him for what others deemed as signs of an unremarkable man. What was she herself, anyway? Just a mass of skin and bone and unbeloved blood clots; so easily could she unravel her very physical body and pull away the string that so wretchedly kept her together, like a piece of string tied within a compact cake that could be pulled out with one tug of a hand and leave crumbling, left to nonexistence.

She turned her eyes back over towards the bloated form of his body, covered partway by the sheets, as she made her way back over towards his plump torso that was propped up by the pillow against the wall. She kept her fingers up against the front of the cold of the water bottle; the drastic change in temperature in contrast to the rest of the room grounded her. There was something about being around Randy that made her feel as if the very walls of reality as she knew it was beginning to blur, and it was a heavied but sweet sensation of simply letting go. It was a slightly incomprehensible feeling, and one that was greater than life itself. How funny it was that a man that was so overlooked by the world could bring out such complex feelings within her; perhaps that was what a soulmate was; someone who showed them what it felt like to be outside of the realms of superficial and corrupted reality, which doomed to the perception of the flaws of human nature, even if only for a few short tender, breathless moments.

He was leaned up against the back of the wall with his back propped up against the side of the slightly dirted pillow, the previous white fabric rendered grey under the countless nights she had stayed over to be with him, their bodies intertwined against one another even with the bloat of his stomach that keep space and a slight distance from their usual intimacy. His eyes were glued to the television as he continued to keep his eyes glued towards it, one hand pressed up against the stomach that was so round, so built in height, that it was concerning just how out of proportion it was with the rest of his body. She had no idea how much excrement had built up inside of him from the past few weeks, but she knew that Randy was proud simply for the fact that he looked different; a simple but exhilarating concept for his tired and bored soul. He was always trying to go after different, always trying to be anything other than the man that he already was and had been for years upon years, despite the fact that she had tried to convince him, through the conversations of her body with him and through her words the same, that he was already more than enough exactly how he was.

For he was so much more; almost tragically so, when one considered the way even he discounted his remarkability. He was, even by societal standards, a man that was worthy of respect when he allowed himself to believe he was. Everyone was worthy of respect no matter what elements they did or didn't posses, but what was unfortunately remarkable about Randy was that he was so quick to feel like he wasn't worth any, not even the most basic self-care, despite his exceptional virtues that would please the cruel and otherwise disapproving glare of the world. He was handsome, he was pretty, he was hardworking, he had raised a family, he had a house that he was involved in taking care of all of his own. He could make his own decisions and he was independent-and, by all accounts, he could get any woman that he wanted, as long as he presented himself in a certain way, rather than the more crazed and eccentric version of himself that he truly was. Faceless adored that side of him, and his quirks matched perfectly against hers, and she had learned that that was what had made their connection so different from others; the simple fact that she accepted, understood, and saw him and all that he was, even within all his quirks and all of his madness. He was charming, outgoing, kind, creative, flexible, interesting, and had done plenty with his life ever since he had been a young boy. Even now had he not gotten around to telling her of all the crazed adventures he had done as a kid, and still continued to do so even as he aged. Age wouldn't stop him from living the life he wanted; he had stated it himself.

And yet still did he chase after different, and still was he convinced that the person that he was most naturally wasn't enough. He wanted to be anything else, anything at all, and there was a bittersweet pain in her heart from knowing that it was his love and passion for adventure that kept him from accepting the person that he was most naturally. And yet, she understood him, through and through. Even now could she could feel herself getting bored of the person that she was most naturally herself, and there were many times when she wanted to change simply for the act of changing in and of itself.

But there were bittersweet and complicated emotions that mixed in with what he allowed himself to do. Seeing him falling into habits that so blatantly affected his health, which already was borderline questionable with the way that he already didn't take care of himself, was already enough to push him over the edge enough as it was in regards to physical manners, and, in turn pushed her over the edge in regards to how much she worried about him.

"Here you go sweetheart," she offered softly as she eased herself back down next to him, wrapping her arms and legs back up around the front of his body. She felt that familiar click that let her know that her soul knew she was home. She pressed her lips up against the side of his cheek, and once again did he lean into her kiss.

"Hey, thanks," he mumbled. He tore his eyes away from the television to look over at her instead, granting her a quick, distracted smile as he reached out and placed his own hands up against the side of the water bottle, unscrewed the cap, and then rested it up the front of his lips, quickly drinking in the water as fast as he could, his throat bobbing as he drunk it at record speed. She wasn't surprised; he had only consumed two meals of KFC chicken that day with no beverage. After a moment did he pull the water bottle away from his dribbling mouth, the water dripping down his lips and spilling onto his chest. Already was the water almost gone, the rest left sloshing at the bottom. "This'll help me with making sure the shit is nice and compact, Faceless. Water'll ruin it," he had explained to her matter of factly earlier, when she had insisted he drink something. He spoke it bluntly, as if it was common sense. Randy was nothing else if not an expert on how to ruin himself.

He took another swing, finishing off the rest of it in a record of only a few seconds. "Whew, that really helps that dry crap go down," Randy breathed as he took the brim of the plastic water bottle away from his lips for a second time, letting out a small burp and wiping the side of his lips as he turned his eyes back towards the television. Faceless smiled fondly as she wrapped her arms around him further, legs and arms finding their perfect rest against the plump of his body. Time ceased to exist around him in the most beautiful way; it passed without even the slightest impatience or groan in her soul that she used to feel in the unremarkable evenings previously.

"You're not watching it, Faceless," he whined softly, starting her out of the fog of unconsciousness when her eyes began to close as she lost herself in her thoughts. "This is the best part, honey! I told you Blade Runner is an awesome movie. You're missing it." There was that pout in his voice that was that delicate balance between masculine and yet relentlessly boyish. She fluttered her eyes open as she felt the way the warmth of his body gently cradled her with the comfort that only his disposition could give. She quickly opened up her eyes as focused her sleepy eyes back to the television, snuggling even closer to him and enclosing the slight space their bodies had taken when she had realized.

"Sorry, darling," she apologized softly. "It's just been a long day, is all."

"You don't have to stay here if you don't want to," Randy pouted. His expression had been reduced to a slight discontment, his relentless now making itself fully known as it graced his expression. She knew he was just as tired of being locked up within that space as she suspected he was since the third day had passed of the doctor informing him he was in no condition to be at home until the stone was removed from his body. "I know that you'd probably much rather be at home, in our nice bed, then sticking around here with me. It's probably going to take them a while for them to get this thing out, but once I have it out?" He chucked with confidence. "It's going to be proof that I've eaten the amount that I have in the time that I have, and nobody's ever going to be able to say shit then. Everyone's going to be amazed just by how much I was able to eat the same stuff everyday, Faceless. It was pretty fun too. Two wins in one, right?"

Faceless smirked as she pretended to be focused on the television. "I just wish that you could stay healthy while you do all this," she murmured. "You know how much I worry about you."

Randy let out a slight scoff, yet there was a gentleness even in the way that he became impatient with her. There was a certain romantic patience and warmth to him that was always there within him by default that was suffocated by his past toxic relationships, but with her those virtues only became more prominent when he talked with her. "I promise you that everything's going to be fine, honey. I've done a lot worse stuff-cool stuff, though-with my body than this before, and I found my way back every single time. I'm more than just a middle aged man, Faceless, and I can promise you that we're going to get through this together. And I can't thank you enough for supporting me with it, instead of just bitching at me and telling me how wrong all this is. Nothing that I do is wrong, it's just….different." He pattered the pads of his fingers thoughtfully against the side of her arm, where he had wrapped his arm around her shoulders in a silent confirmation that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. "People hate different things." There was a sadness that was increasing as he spoke.

She turned her eyes away from the television as she instead put her focus on the fragility of the man that was wrapped around her. It was almost impossible for her to focus on the television- on anything, really-with the prettiness that was him, with the endless erratic and unapologetic energy and literal glow that surrounded him at all times. She felt goosebumps lace her skin as she hoisted herself up on her elbows and then slowly, with a sudden desire that suddenly blared itself up against the front of her chest, did she she raise both of her legs over the front of his own bloated stomach as she eased herself up on top of him, a significant separation between the two of them from the sheer amount of his stomach's height. It was unlike his usual soft plush surface that his stomach normally was, yet still did she adore it. For the time being was his stomach bloated and hard to the touch under her hand as she caressed her palms against him, meeting his own inquiring gaze with her own reflective sadness that was inevitably connected to his own. He looked up at her with his striking green gardens and thick, black eyebrows that were painted on the delicate parchment of his face, furrowing in a contemplative curiosity of innocence as he looked up at her with his own teasing question inside of his eyes.

"What?" he questioned in his prolonged, slow and always curious voice as he looked up at her. The prettiness of his face was breathtaking, and the bloated ruin of his stomach, the physical embodiment of his lack of care for his health due to his excessive hunger towards his ambition, only added to the preciousness of his trembling disposition.

"I just...love you," she breathed. It was almost a heavied sigh of a confession with all the intimacy and adoration she felt for him. It had a tendency to build up inside of her the more she was with him. "I wish I could give you the contentment that we both keep desperately ruining ourselves trying to find." She gently traced her hands up against the front of his stomach, and she couldn't deny the lust she was feeling even just looking at him. No matter what kind of storm he got lost in, no matter how it warped and corrupted his mind and body the same, she found that she only fell deeper in love with him, not despite but because of his unpredictable endless madness. She only caught glimpses of it, but always did it leave her desperate to know more. He was the most unintentionally intriguing man she had ever met in her life, and she would chase his every unintentional adventure to keep memorizing the way he tasted. Whatever she was made of, she was always and desperately craving him. She would even go so far to think that she loved him even more every time she saw him at his lowest moments, when his mind was grappled with the corruption of his heart of wanting more, when he forgot all morals and dignity simply so he could even touch that one part of him that kept telling him that what he already possessed wasn't enough.

No. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt as the thought rendered itself in her mind, that she did love him more, and it came to her so naturally to do so that she found that loving him because of what was deemed as flaws was the most natural trait within her own existence. He was wise in his own way, but it was only after he decided to weather the storm. He clearly needed help to be taken care of, and she couldn't deny that there were certain parts of his body, his stomach especially, that simply made her acquaintance with his madness even more intriguing, and relentlessly tender. Even more from the soft plush of what he was made of did he scream of an endless intriguing nature that was a far cry from the comfort of middle aged predictability that most would be quick to label his life as. He was the craziest, softest, warmest man that she had ever known, and no matter what kind of form his body was in it, even if it was grotesquely unhealthy, she couldn't help but only be even more drawn him, to desire him more, to cradle him more. He was her every maddened and unending craving embodied in human, comprehensible form, although the understanding only went as far as physical terms. She would let him pull out the string that just barely made a success of her existence as it strung her together and allow him to pull it out from the crumbs of her existence, rendering her known physical existence to be fully and completely unravelled in front of him as that single, pathetically thin string was pulled. His eyes were light aflame as he heard the soft confession that raised and inspired the connection that was always there between them; sometimes hidden, but never dormant. Both of his own hands trembled as they rested on her hips.

"This world just keeps going on, doesn't it?" Randy whispered. It's just wild and crazy and doesn't care about people like us. And I have to say...I'm-I'm pretty fucking sick of it. Aren't you?"

She nodded as she gazed into his own mad discontment, her breath catching in her throat. "I am," she breathed. She shuddered with desire as she leaned down, as best as she could manage, to press her lips up against the front of his, and he moaned as he leaned forward and allowed her to catch his bottom lip against the front of her hungry teeth. Her torso contoured awkwardly as she tried to reach him over the hill of his stomach, but the way he leaned forward with his own hunger certainly helped. The hairs of his mustache traced against her own skin, and she let out a giggle as she felt the tender touch of his lips massaging her own.

"No matter what happens, I'm going to take care of you until my heart gets out," she whispered against him. "I'll let you do whatever you want, Randy, because I know the emptiness that you feel. I understand, baby, and I'll let you fight for any happiness that you want. But don't think for a second that I'm not going to follow you wherever you go, for as long as you want me."

"Oh, I know," Randy mumbled with his lips that pressed with a furious tenderness against the wet surface of hers. She had never known furiousness could be so gentle until she had known his touches, until she had felt his unrelenting and all consuming fire that was permanently clad in the sheep's wool of his softness. "Yeah, I do, Faceless. I can't imagine what it feels like to have a wife that actually supports me-or at least, I couldn't, until I met you. Thanks for letting me fight for what I want. Thanks for letting me fight for more…" His trailed away as his voice trembled slightly as he gazed at her with his endless soft, begging disposition that was clad in a permanent summer, surrounded by the warmth and zest of his heart. He reached out and trailed a finger against the side of her face, causing her to take a deep intake of breath at the tenderness of his touch. "Thanks for letting me at least try things instead of patronizing me and making it all harder than it already is." He squeezed his fingertips up against the side of her hips, and she lost her senses entirely as she felt the way the soft warmth of his finger's pads caressed on her in the most natural fashion; so perfect were they for loving one another. "Just-thank you, honey," he whispered.

She nodded as she pressed her breasts further against the front of his chest. She could feel the way the black coarse hair of his chest pressed in between their clothes, and yet it wasn't enough. None of it was ever enough. "Thank you just for existing," she responded in turn. Their tones were a softly claden poem that only they could read as the stanzas of the words, inspired so perfect only by the specific presence of the other, so naturally wrote the poetry that was within them and written only when they were near one another. "I was lost before I found you. And now I have a purpose, and I feel so...different. Better." Her voice cracked, and Randy hiccuped as an echo of the same bittersweet and choking emotion she was feeling reflected against his own soul. Faceless smiled at just how adorable he was, and Randy smirked in turn.

"Too much water, Whoops," Randy murmured softly, eyes teasing with a breathtaking and adorable light of playfulness that was more precious than gold.

She nuzzled her nose against him, and he returned it in kind. "To simply take care of you means everything to me. Believe me when I say that that's all that I ever could have wanted."

"I know, sweetheart," he choked as he pressed himself further against her, arms fully embracing around her hips in the most reassuring and stabilizing fashion that flew and chased away her every insecurity. "Not only do you make me feel like the stuff I like isn't stupid, but you make me feel...understood. I never realized how damn good feeling understood was until you gave me that." He pushed away from her softly so that he could look properly into her eyes, reaching up one finger and tracing it up against the side of her hollow cheeks, so different from his full and plush ones. His eyes were the very definition of a wet garden as the green of his vision was complement by the fluorescent tears of his eyes, and she knew that, even now, he was searching for answers within her that she couldn't quite give him.

"I can't give you what you want, sweetheart," she whispered against the pad of his thumb that rested against the side of her lip. "But I'll help you every step of the way until you find contentment within yourself." Randy's eyes glinted with an adorable and accepting joy as he looked into her. She had never seen a spirit so innocent within her life, and she knew that even his darkest deeds only came from a place of deep desperation. He was a tormented soul, and it was arguable that he would never be content with where he was in life; everything he did was more so just a distraction of that endless frustrated sense of emptiness that he would always struggle with. But she could see herself within those green depths that were full of so much life and artistic light, full of a wisdom of his own that only a few could understand, and she would never allow herself to ever stop falling into them for as long as she was allowed to. She had finally been granted access to the one thing in life that gave her not only healing, but also the answers that she needed, and through those answers did she find peace. She longed to do the same for him, in whatever way she had the power to do. His journey to peace was a far more complicated, complex, and rocky journey, but his inherent lostness only made her fall deeper every time.

There was, after all, no madness more beautiful than his own, nothing more breathtaking than his aimless, senseless, and utterly prepossessing disposition that spoke of the deepest freedom that most craved, but never found. With Randy, he had already been born with it, and he would be the most precious soul forevermore because of it.

"I love you, she confessed softly. "I'll never stop saying it." It was a deep truth that demanded to be spoken, and as it left her lips she felt a heaviness leave her. It wasn't a usual burdened heaviness; it was the sweetest happiness that she had ever known, the heaviness that came from loving and supporting him through his crazed nature. Some things were so complex, so compact with sheer humanity, that they demanded to be felt; they way she felt about him was one.

"I love you, too," he rasped, voice trembling. "You're...really fucking awesome, Faceless. I couldn't have dreamt you up even with my best weed. Really." He gently but firmly squeezed his fingers up against the front of her hips, and she knew, without even one word spoken, that he already found everything that he needed. Though he would never have all the answers within himself or within his life that he crawled to with bloodied hands and desperate searching, at least now he would he be able to return home to her; her gentleness, the one place where he experienced understanding, and the one place where he had found his peace within a world that constantly told him that he wasn't enough.

She allowed her body to lean forward over the hill of his stomach, and not even the most unforgiving disorientating ambition that affected his mind or his body could keep them from the way that they perfectly and properly intertwined against each other, ever since the moment that they had felt each other; not ever since ever since he had tasted her blossoming peace, and she the taste of that the musky smell of weed that wrapped up around her and quenched her own desperation to feel him and for all that he was, for all that he had become. Forever and a day would they be memorizing the way that they felt against one another; the utmost definition of utter contentment.

"Why, honey?" he whispered as he pressed the back of his hand up against the side of her head as he pulled her closer to his own body. "Why do you want to love me and support me so much? I mean, I'm not arguing about it, sure- I fucking love it and I wouldn't change it for anything." He hesitated, unspoken doubts of pain presented in his eyes. "But I do wonder sometimes, why-oh, I don't know. I guess-because there were so many times where nobody else wanted to support me, to the point where I stopped even supporting myself at times...unless I let myself become so lost in what I wanted and pushed everyone else away, settled for people misunderstanding me...and, shit, sometimes I just wonder...why." He tasted the word on his lips as he spoke it, only just now noticing how bitter the word that embodied his doubts felt on his tongue, yet it was a bitterness that he needed to get out of him before it increased in its taste.

Faceless didn't miss a beat; these were her favorite questions of his for her to answer; the ones where she could truly show him how much he meant to her. "Because you're you," she answered simply. She traced a finger tenderly against the soft wave of his sideburns, feeling her entire body trembling in incomprehensible tenderness as she took in just how adorable he was. He was relentlessly complex, endlessly unpredictable, and yet there was a simplicity about him that was clad in innocence that would never leave him. "And there's nothing that you won't ever be that I won't ever feel connected for...reasons that I can't understand myself. But I don't need to, Randy. We understand each other exactly how we are, and that's all we need."

Randy paused for a moment as he blinked at her with a trembling innocence. These were best relentlessly tender moments with him; the ones where he looked boyish in his innocence as he took in her every spoken word. She knew he was wise and mature enough to understand, but there was a soft innocence and simplicity in his mind that needed guiding. She would take his hand and lead him through every lesson as they would discover together, through the ever changing years of their life, what true love was, a tough but breathtaking adventure.

Randy then chuckled tenderly as he continued to gently patter his fingertips up against the back of her head, making her shiver with infatuation unpierced by her insecurities as she felt goosebumps summon from her skin with every single tender touch of his own fingertips.

"Flying high, right, sweetheart?" he breathed against her. It was a saying that they had both spoken to each other before, something he had begun to say to her whenever they had these passionate talks between one another. It was, essentially, the ultimate principle and simplified definition of how they felt about one another. Together they would get themselves a few inches off the ground from where they had settled for disgruntled discontentment previously. She helped him to find whatever it was that he needed to be able to at least glide softer for the rest of his days. And he? He had already given her any air she needed underneath her hesitancy towards life from the second she had tasted the freedom of his disposition, which never failed to taste like the freshest of sharp air.

She smiled as she pressed her lips up against the corner of his, making his own body shiver. The pale porcelain of his parchment of pale skin rose to goosebumps from her tender touches. Her own touch was just as much of a craving for him as it was for her, maddeningly so, just as his flaws and virtues the same were an always a welcomed rose with thorns for her.

"Flying high, Randy," she whispered.

"Bathroom Talks"

Summary: Insecurity plagues Faceless on one of the loudest nights she share with Randy on a party they attend together. It's only through his own determination to go looking for her that helps the both of them find the answers they seek within one another. They have endless differences, and whether or not they can work through them is something that eats away at Faceless' mind on nights like tonight.

"Hey-hey Faceless? We'd you go, honey?" A slurred and drunken voice trailed form outside the frame of the door. "I was lookin' for you and the woman said-said you were...out here somewhere."

His voice was stammering, drawl, low, confused. Even just to hear the natural prolonged slowness of his tones was enough to draw her towards him, and yet tonight she felt the need to fight it, despite her other truths telling her otherwise. It was an unwelcomed, forced, and trembling pain that was manifesting itself through her in physical form.

She huddled further against the dirty bathroom room, hands shaking with a devastation that she couldn't quite understand herself. Despite her attempt to protect herself from being triggered further, she darted her eyes over towards his form that stood in the door way. His black waves were sticking out, eyelids heavy as they were traced by the dim of the purple and green light from the main floor of the outside party. His mouth was hanging open in that helpless drunken fashion, the bags under his eyes rendered grey. His checkered farmer's shirt seemed as if it was made of more alcohol than it was fabric, so much had the piece of clothing endured the impulsive spills Randy had accidentally spilled onto it from the unpredictability of the night, and most especially from his own actions. His first three buttons were undone, half of his shirt hanging out from his fly.

"I'm surprised you came in," Faceless spoke, voice wobbling with unidentifiable insecurity that had formed within her in the wake of seeing how relentlessly confident he had been that night. So much had Randy gotten lost within the women and the people that surrounded him that Faceless had come close to forgetting that he was her partner, which had been a strange and disorienting sensation after all the passionate and heated nights that had been full of carefree giggling underneath sheets, of spoken jokes and promises that were shared between the two of them through whispered and playful nights, his legs wrapped around hers, body hair caressing her own skin in a way that made her crave every experience she could ever have of knowing what it felt like to be with him in such a irrevocable fashion. "Thought you were...occupied."

He blinked at her slowly, eyes hardly seeming as if they were even capable of focusing on her entirely. She longed to pressed her arms around his waist, to kiss him, to cradle him, to care for him. Never had she ever quite felt such a deep desire flame in her chest, and it mixed in with her insecurity in a sickening and unwelcome fashion.

"Occupied?" he mumbled. The lost innocence of his slow voice was the very definition of a sweet and honeyed sensation in her ear. Ironically did it remind her how much she loved him, and, therefore, how much she desired him-something that, for the time being, she would have rather not thought about. "Yeah-I was-when I had two pretty women sandwiched in between me, maybe I was, but then it started to feel emptier and something didn't feel right and the babe said you'd left, so I hurried out and went lookin' for you." He stumbled his two feet forward, only to aimless stop right where he had started. He truly had no idea where he was going, or why. But the fact that it was clear he did miss her, even with the women that surrounded him that night, and even with the drunken fog of his nature, that sparked a small hope in her heart.

Randy frowned as he turned towards her, or, at least, as best as his drunken state would allow him. "What's up with you tonight, anyway? You're not acting like the cool wife tonight. You're acting like...acting like the bitchy lame wife. Just...not cool." He was attempting a pout, but he was too drunk to be able to manage even the slightest expression other than the slack, dazed expression he was currently sporting, facial muscles lazy with the alcohol that weighed on his bones.

"I'll be my usual self soon," she promised. She turned and gave him a smile. She knew it was true, but for the time being did even speaking the promise feel like it was more effort than she could manage.

Randy's eyes glinted with slight clarity. He was an emotionally intelligent man, even with his own lost uncertainty that he held within himself, as well as his lack of care for reflecting on his actions, which, Faceless was determined, was intentional, rather than from a lack of genuine incapability. In any case, he was connected to her enough to her to hear the saddened tones in her voice, heavy and uncertain, and giving away how she truly felt. Drunk though he was, his love for her, his capacity for good even within his flaws, made itself fully known as he finally landed his two eyes over towards her.

"Oh-sweetheart, I didn't mean it like that," Randy hushed softly. He now began to make at least somewhat successful steps over towards her, stumbling into the frame of the bathroom. He shot one foot from behind him as he used the back of his shoes to kick the door shut, causing the blaring music of the part to be muted away from the two of them. He dropped his beer, just close enough to the floor that it clattered, rather than broke, against the floor, although the sound was still obnoxious enough to make Faceless wince. Evidently, Randy didn't make the connection, and his eyes only deepened with a greater worry as he saw her flinch within herself, assuming it came from a greater emotional reaction.

"Hey, c'here, honey," he cooed, voice still almost incomprehensible with the alcohol that was still affecting his every action. He began to stumble his way forward closer and kneeled down in front of her, reaching out a hand and placing it against her knee. The feeling was enough to make her shiver with the welcomed addiction that he was for her. "Something's not right with you." His eyes flew back and forth between her gaze, desperate for even the slightest hint she could give him. "Wanna talk about it? Anything at all?" God help her, he was so impulsive, relentlessly clumsy, crazed, flawed, and wayward, but so kind and good.

Faceless let out a sigh, and she knew that the weight was on her could only be truly released if she were to speak her truth, one that she found embarrassingly possessive, but nonetheless relentlessly true.

"I wanted you to myself tonight." She spoke it as if it was a secret that she wished only she could hear. Her ears burned even just to speak the confession.

Randy raised an eyebrow as he ducked his head towards her in a childlike and adorable fashion, so close that his breath was blowing against her face. He lowered his voice as he took in the hushed tones of her own. "What are we whispering and shit for?" he husked. His voice was raspy, low, and still gazing at her from that prettiness of his voice that sported his delicate concern.

"I don't know," she admitted. She felt so childish, naive, with the way she was executing her emotions that night, but her insecurities were blaring inside of her too much for her to care. "Sometimes it makes it all less...difficult. Harder to not feel them, if I only speak them softly."

Randy blinked at her slowly. There was a hesitant question in his eyes, yet it was traced over by the bewildered fog in his vision.

He traced a hand through his black waves that had been left sticking out in a chaotic fashion as he took a breath. She felt a sudden urge to simply leave in the midst of her embarrassment.

Faceless shook her head and began to raise herself upward, pressing her palms against the dirty of the tiles to ease herself into a standing position. But Randy quickly took his own alcohol stained, clammy hands and pressed them frantically against her wrist, pulling her back down as he looked at her with a begging question in his eyes. Faceless shot her eyes over to him and met his trembling gaze, which were clearly wounded in the face of her own wounds. He was such a tender and soft man, almost tragically so, so easily affected by her emotions to the point that it was almost frustrating, had she not loved him so deeply that it only made her appreciate his own naive and easily influenced nature even more.

"Hey-let's sit down for a minute, ok, honey?" he suggested. "I mean, not here, on this diary floor." He made a face as he wiped his palm against it. "Gross." He stumbled his way upward with his own palms, leaning his weight against her wrist as he stumbled frontwards and forwards, taking a few tense moments to gather his balance. He began to stumble around the bathroom, looking over his shoulder sloppily as his fogged vision gazed at the buckets and toilet in front of them. He was so adorable, so aimless, so carefree within himself, and yet so comforting and stable within who he was. Faceless felt a deep strike within her heart as she watched the way he stumbled aimlessly around the space, eyes adorably lost as the searched the room.

"Oh, really?" she questioned with amusement. "And where do you suggest we go sit, party boy?" She was feeling teasing, loving amusement within her chest for the first time that night. How ironic it was that the very love that she treasured so deeply that it made her miserable at even the hint of losing it was also the very love that saved her every time.

"Over-over there," he slurred as he nodded towards the toilet. "I've had-" He raised a fist to his mouth as a violent tremor went through his body. A slight burp escaped his lips, and he let out a groan that quickly followed. "I've had some excellent heart to hearts sitting on the toilet, babe. Promise. With myself, mostly. But there's a first time for everything, right?" He stumbled his way over as he pressed one clammy palm against the seat, then looked over at her and smiled as he slammed it down, a little too hard.

"Woah-oh shit!" he slurred, jumping slightly at the noise. "God, that was startling."

Despite her own heaviness, Faceless couldn't help but laugh. Randy looked over at her and quirked a smile at her in his own satisfied fashion, pleased that he had gotten at least that much out of her. He sat himself down on the seat, then pattered his hands against the front of his own knee to invite her to join him.

"Hey, Faceless, it's okay, really. It's all going to be ok. Just come sit down here, sweetheart. We can figure this out, ok? I mean, whatever the hell it is that you're going through." He smiled at her, utterly and maddeningly adorable as he looked up at her with that same desperate question inside his green meadows of eyes that communicated to her what he meant, even if he didn't quite have the energy to be able to execute it the way that he wanted to. He loved her, and he wanted to be there for her, even and especially because of the differences that were between them. He was looking at her with a desperate insistence and execution of love that she knew that he intended.

She nodded as she began to make her war to him, and Randy let out his own whistle of celebration as he opened his arms to invite her into his lap. His eyes were alight with a gentle flame as he kept both of his hands opened so that she could fall easily into his embrace, and she quickly allowed her body to melt against the warmth of his brown jacket that he refused to ever take off, She let out her own content whimper as she nuzzled her face against his chest, breathing in his musky scent of weed deeply. Only he could make the smell seem so comforting, so multifaceted and fascinating. He did that with most things, including the way she saw her life, which had seemed so horribly one dimensional before. He was so sloppy, full of stains, and no doubt he wasn't going to remember even half of what he did or said come morning, but none of that mattered, and she wouldn't of had him as anything other than the messy array of a lost boy that then he was. As she settled herself down, gently nuzzling herself up against the side of his own body, she felt every answer she had been looking for before ay words were even spoken. His very existence dispersed any fear or doubts that her sick mind could have thrown against her. He allowed her to gently rest her head underneath his chin as he wrapped his arms further around her, letting out a drawl hum of contentment even as she herself felt the way that the warmth of his body was pressed further up around her. They were both home.

"The world can be damned from the outside, with that blaring, loud music and those loud fuckin' PC men drunk off their asses," Randy murmured as he caressed his finger tips against the side of her head. "I got my wife here now." Faceless smiled at his unrealized hypocrisy; only a second before had she heard him shouting about how "totally awesome" those very elements had been to some woman only a few moments before. He lived in the moment, much like a child, and because of that did he contradict himself often.

"Really, Faceless, sitting on one of these things changes your life. Wrote some of my best songs on them." He gave her the closest thing he could to a confident smile within his drunken nature as he looked down at her. She raised her chin against his chest as she turned her head upward to look at him, meeting his gaze. Her breath caught in her lungs; even with the slack features of heavy, hoodies eyelids and with his lip busted and bruised with the brawl he had gotten into earlier that night, he was that most perfect portrait of any human she had ever seen. Evidently, Randy was filled with his own admiration for what they shared even as his gaze met hers. A soft sheen of wet began to trace his eyes as he looked further into her own.

"Do you think I'm a good husband, Faceless? I mean, really." His words were, for once that night, full of a lack of confidence, unsure and stumbling.

She hesitated before she answered, not because she didn't know the nature of her answer, but because she wanted to execute it properly. She knew that their differences was what led her for her to act the way she did tonight, and it was, admittedly, his flaws mixed in with her own that could clash. Where he was confident and unwavering in how he executed himself, she was withdrawn, unsure, and her loneliness was only pronounced by his ability to talk to people easily-to click with people.

Yet it was those differences that brought them closer together, and that made her treasure him all the deeper. Where he was stumbling and unsure when it came to that which had true depth, she helped him reach it, and where she struggled with blending in within those she wanted to connect to, he wrapped his arms around her every bleeding doubt and brought her to her ultimate peace where she could exist comfortably. Every drunken night with him, every misstep, and every crazed decision he had ever fallen into had only been met by her tender unfailing touch, and that was one thing she was certain would always be a good thing.

There was one element within how she loved him that was almost too much to bear, which was the simple fact that she loved him deeply. Almost too deeply. That element made her almost painfully possessive to experience and to spend all the time with him that she could. There was a bittersweet knowledge to knowing that the man that she loved beyond comprehension would, one day, leave her behind as death took him.

Without a shadow of a doubt was he turning an age that marked a time in his life that was more than half way towards his death, coming to him much sooner than her much significantly younger age. Although it certainly didn't show in the way that he executed his own childlike and endlessly erratic and unpredictable behavior, displaying more enthusiasm, more zest, and more energy than any child she had never ever known in her life, it didn't show in the way that his body was becoming slower, in the way that he needed for more help and far more assistance with everything that he did; from his morning routine, to the way that he was gradually forgetting more things, and, most especially, in the way that the drugs and excessive alcoholism that he had fallen into his earlier years was now catching up with him. There was a certain fire that she felt inside her heart on that night that was balanced between the deepest bittersweet emotions that was between protection and love, wanting to memorize and take advantage of every single moment that she could could have with him while he was still alive to the point that it was almost relentlessly suffocating. She knew she couldn't control fate, but dammit, she wanted to. She wanted to more than could comprehend.

Yet the very best things in life had no reason, they simply were. Randy himself simply was, completely and utterly so. There were no questions with him, no doubts or second questions; there was only action, and there was only doing whatever felt good to him within that moment. Through him had Faceless learned how to truly see his life in a way that she previously only been able to dream, and it was because of that that her previously dormant fire had been struck by his own match. Together did he teach her how to live, and she taught him how to be loved, and it was that perfect combination that they were able to completely fall within one another, to give each other exactly what they lacked within themselves.

"You're everything I could ever want," she whispered, digging her fingers against the back of his hair that stuck out much like he did within that small town that his spirit was simply too big for. She dug her fingers further against the back of his head, an array of night sky that was traced by the endless fields of his eyes.

"Am I?" he whispered. That slow, soft, utterly precious and confused voice, traced by his innocence that was permanently planted within his sou summoned goosebumps from her skin. There was no reply that could do what she felt justice, so instead did she allow her body to answer him.

Heated lips massaged heated lips, and the noise from the world was forgotten under the caresses of promise they were giving each other within the pieces of each other's bodies that would always be able to give healing and answers where human language failed. For what they shared went beyond comprehensible language, and instead did they fall into the most natural and human desire of simply being loved by who they had been searching for. The deepest and truest love held the core element between two souls which they had found within the other;

The simple act of understanding the other.

Randy kicked his legs slightly as he wrapped his arms around her, letting out a welcomed and adorable moan. She smirked as she pressed her lips with a deeper furiousness against his own, loving the way his moustache tickled against her face.

"Don't hold back, party boy," she whispered against his own trembling lips. "Show me what you got. Show me how you want me."

Determined fingers pressed into the cushion of her thighs, and she knew her desperate cry that was executed through heated rasps within that small bathroom had been entirely and utterly heard.

"Oh, I will," Randy breathed against her. "I will. I'm a man of my word, Faceless."

She knew that when it came to that which truly mattered to him, he was, and she knew, with the heated combination of his touches and his breathed promises the same, that he wouldn't waste one second showing her for the rest of his life.

"Heart of Mickey" Excerpt

a/n: this won't make any sense because it's only a small section of a much larger story I'm writing but I liked the way the dialogue came out in terms of "depth" or whatever and I wanted to post it on its own, which sometimes happens to me with longer stories. Warnings of mentions of queefing/burping if that bothers anyone, lol. This may be a bit (or a lot) OOC, but I'd rather have it a bit OOC and be playing around with depth and interpretations than to just have the same speech patterns all the time. I think this oneshot is more old school Randy. Either way, I like it.

"Where did you leave the good kush, Randy?" Towelie asked, voice nasally yet congested all at once as he jumped up frantically to reach the opening to the front of the door. His grunts were becoming increasingly more frustrated with every bounce, his efforts leading to absolutely nowhere due to how short his white legs were. Randy sighed, heavily yet with a patient fondness for his friend. There was a heaviness even to the laced breath of his tones, partially from the partially gruesome physical strain he had endured that day, but also for the inevitable deep seated worry in his own heart, which was practically serving as a physical weight against his shoulders. He walked his way up the wooden steps as he took his arm out of Faceless' and stepped forward, opening the door for the struggling creature.

"There, bud," Randy murmured, his exhausted tone giving away his defeated mood. Yet his relentlessly honeyed tones offered both Faceless and Towelie at least some soft natural reassurance from the natural drawled tone of his voice that was so fatherly and comforting by nature.

Yet despite the natural fabrication of softness within the tones of his voice, it was laced inside a heavy defeat that he couldn't hide, not today.

"Should be in the kitchen, left side to the fridge," Randy called as the creature rushed his way inwards. Towelie's small white legs practically tripped over himself as he rushed his way through the frame of the door; it was the closest that Randy saw him be his usual manic self since he had gotten home. Towelie rushed his way forward with a relentless speed, pale blue threads dashing through the living room, almost tripping over his feet as he made his way towards the kitchen.

Randy, for his part, leaned his weight against the side of the farmhouse door, looking over at Faceless with that heartbreakingly naive, aimless, desperate expression that was plastered on his own face that he couldn't prevent himself from showing even if he wanted to; his nature for presenting his heart on his sleeve was too innate within him for him to prevent it. He reached out a hand, wiggling his fingers at her playfully, prone to be goofy even with the heaviness of his mood. He smiled in contentment despite the doubt and sheer fear that was demanding to be felt inside of him as she walked forward and placed her hands into the spaces of his, those same spaces and same hands where she had offered him endless comfort within the squeezing of their fingers countless times before. He let out another deep breath, his complicated emotions from being near to her rendered bittersweet as they were interwoven from the burdens he was relentlessly enduring. Despite the pain he was feeling, he gently guided her over to lean next to him, and she took the invitation wholeheartedly.

"You don't have your usual zest," Faceless muttered. The words weren't a challenge; rather were they lovingly spoken words laced with a deep concern. Her body was leaning forward with a hesitance, wanting to test how much she was able to lean into him; she knew he was feeling particularly weak within that moment, and she wanted to trend on his vulnerability lightly. After a moment of tense pause in which she could feel the tangible pain he was in did she understand that she needed to make an effort to push past his pain to reach him. She let out a soft murmur of understanding as he pressed her lips against the soft brown hood of the jacket he almost never took off. Randy let out another deep breath that came from the deepest parts of his chest; there was the greatest pinnacle of wounds within the breaths of his voice as he allowed it to leave his lips.

He was beyond grateful within that moment that she saw him; saw into him in ways that not even he knew was possible. Words were dying on his own uncertain lips, and they made as little sense as the muddled of the core of his brain. The sigh that left his mouth fully communicated the wordless and directionless pain he was feeling, a natural artistry to the heaviness of how he looked in that moment. Everything about him within that moment spoke of the pain he was feeling; through the blue blood in his veins that pressed against the pudgy yet carved cheek bones that traced his features, to the innocent darkness within his eyes; the deepest and most compelling contradiction. The pale of his face was the deepest and most breakable parchment of pure poetry of what was so naturally presented on his aged and conventional face, masked only by the midnight of his hair.

"This all just...really sucks," heh mumbled. He couldn't even begin to do justice the emotions he was feeling. He sounded childlike in his exhaustion, overwhelmed with the challenges that were presented in front of him, yet not knowing how to properly overcome it, or even how to understand it. "It-it blows..I-I thought I was really making something of me this time, you know? If I can't get this to work out...honey, this was all for nothing." He nodded his head over towards the peaceful green pastures that consisted of the green of the weed plants that were blowing against the sharp shadow of the wind. Even just to gaze at them brought a certain pain in his eye: she could practically see how to zest of light within them faded as he gazed at the field where he had poured his artistic energy that was so naturally innate within his soft, undeniable core. "I keep having these patterns where I get super passionate, thinking I'm doing something, and then...It all just goes to shit. The emptiness that I'm fighting just gets even more sparse, even worse, the more I try to fight it. Like I'm just goin' in the same circles, but never really know my detestation." He turned his gaze over towards her and blinked painfully, eyes traced by a gentle wet hue. "Does...is what I'm saying making any sense, sweetheart?"

She nodded her face against his shoulder, humming in soft, understanding agreement. "Perfect sense," she whispered. "I know you feel this way. I see it in the way you carry yourself." She nuzzled her cheek further against him, letting out a softened hum as she memorized the warmth that radiated from his skin. The sharp cold of the wind and the seemingly unpierceable quiet of the farm, mixed with the warmth of his body, was the proof of how naturally warm he was not only as an individual, but how he fought so beautifully for the things he wanted. He was a treasure, and she would fight endlessly for the preciousness of his soul.

"What do you mean?" he murmured, his softhearted and consistently fatherly tone laced in that precious and aimless inquiry. His emotional intelligence presented within the gentle question of his equality endless soft core. It was music in its rawest and most natural form, as far as Faceless was concerned.

Faceless shrugged as she considered the question for a moment. When she spoke, the very warm tones of her voice were pressing against his skin, a physical soft promise of how much she loved him, even when she didn't say it out loud.

"I see it in your shoulders, in the way you sometimes can't always quite look me in the eye whenever you feel like you did something wrong. Back then, you were always expecting to get patronized, or even violently yelled at for everything that you did, even though you did everything that you could. You always seemed invalidated, or felt like everything that you did was wrong, or...worthless somehow." She pressed her lips against his shoulder, a gentle pause in the telling of her observations. He let out a shuttered, soft breath, caressed to peace by the way she understood him. "You've been acting that way again, darling. I can see it in the way that you carry yourself, and it breaks my heart that you do." Her eyebrows knitted as she continued to furiously press her lips against him, a soft demanding for him to listen to how much she loved him.

Randy let out a soft and gentle hum of his own surprise at the peace she was giving him so naturally simply by talking to him. He laid his head up against the side of the door as he looked up towards the black of the sky, the bloodied sunset now given away to a sky that was confident within its omniscient blackness. Stars were peaking out from the sky as they poked at him, and he felt a squeeze inside his chest that was born of a bittersweet gratitude. There was so much light pollution within the town of South Park, and there had been even more in China. Here, there was only a softness.

"I'm in love with the farm more than I ever could have imagined," he whispered. "That's why I'm so scared it's all gonna get taken away by these...these maniacs." He dug his hands into the deep pockets of his pants. He raised his head upwards towards the sky, memorizing the way the breeze caressed his own tired expression. He felt tired, immeasurably so, and more scared than he had ever felt within his life. Yet even within his exhaustion was there a hinted exuberance still rested on his face, even with as drained as he felt.

"You're right," he mumbled as he traced his own green seas against the stars. "Everyone is always used to just treating me like I'm some kind of big joke, so much to the point that...I guess I stopped caring about what kind of person I was. I accepted that when I was younger, years before I even met you. For two decades, at least. Ever since I left this town behind to go become a rockstar, everyone treated me different. And then it all fell apart and I came back..determined to just..move on. But no one would let me. Everyone laughed at me when I came back just because my dreams didn't work out for reasons that were bigger than me. I-I don't think anyone's ever taken me seriously since then." He let out a soft, saddened chuckle. The deepest of his emotional scars that had never quite healed were only causing his voice to sound slower, more precious with the upset nature he was feeling, and Faceless nuzzled herself even closer against him as a way of wordless encouragement. It felt better than she could ever imagine to be as closely pressed against him as possible; the warmth of him was endlessly resistible, her endless comfort. He pressed his hands against her skin. She did much the same for him.

"I think..I think it got to a point where not even I took myself seriously, because I just stopped seeing the point. Stopped seeing the motivation, you know? I started feeling this weird kind of like.. uncaring inside of me when I woke up every single time and took on the day. Sometimes I would even get angry that I woke up after a long night of drinking. My first thought would be 'aw, this shit again?' As if it wasn't bad enough that I hated what I was doing with my life, being married to a woman and all that I wasn't sure even liked me. It was even worse when I took into account the fact that I couldn't even be myself anymore, knowing nobody else would take me seriously with everything that I said and did with my life. Everything that I did always just ended up falling on deaf ears after a certain point, even when they looked to me to guidance. You know?"

She nuzzled herself against him softly as an answer. He tried his best to focus on the way she naturally grounded him, concentrating on how the warmth of his fingertips caressed her with a melody against her back.

"They looked to me when things went wrong with our stupid little town, even after they had decided years ago that I was the outcast. They wanted me when they needed someone to guide them, but when it came to what mattered to me...oh, now I was just some chopped bullshit. And, God, that only made me even more frustrated, to the point that I just started not caring even what I did. There were times when I didn't even have the motivation to do anything seriously, and I think there were some days when I even allowed myself to completely let go because I didn't know what else to do. And no one gave a shit, anyhow." He pressed his hands up against the side of her own fragile waist, pressing his warm hands against the small of it, remembering those days in detail that he didn't want to remember.

Those days when he had allowed himself to over drink into sickness, to burp, fart, overeat, to allow every single uncaring rotted motivation to be at the forefront of his mind, of his stumbling disposition, of the messy demeanor of how he expressed himself every single day. There were endless days when he fully succumb to the unremarkably that the world wanted him to be, and slowly, with a pained defeat, had he stopped fighting for a better version of himself. Happiness was different for everyone, and for Randy, it had been creativity. And every time he had fought for that enlightened version of himself, it had only been thrown back in his face, labeled as a mere stupid phase by the people who were meant to support him the most. Despite allowing them to grate him overtime, it hadn't gotten rid of that natural passion and fight within him, but rather had it added a layer of suffocation and anger to it. Still did he continue to fight, but it was now with a layer of darkened bitter pang that burned on his lips.

And none of it had mattered, not truly, not the good or bad days. It had all started to become blurred together, relentlessly meaningless, and there were countless times he felt as if his entire existence had been sealed off from ever being heard ever again, as if it didn't matter what he became after a certain age; the world was utterly done with him regardless. All those days when he had completely given up on himself, when he had only lied in his underwear all day on the couch and had pressed beer after beer against his lips, until all he could taste was the burning liquor as it burned down his throat, had felt nothing but the bloated hill of his stomach grow, right along with his incessant self loathing.

He hadn't seen what the point was, giving a shit about anything that he had to come to know, or anything that he ever would. The world was going to overlook him every single day no matter how hard he tried, so instead he had allow himself to fall in to the very stereotype that the world had told him that he was, and rather cruelly so, every day; horribly and forgettably unremarkable, and terribly unworthy of love, of purpose. His downfall from fitting into the town hadn't been because of how he was naturally, but rather from who he was told he should have been.

As the years of his life had churned away with those monotone years, he had started to get to a point where not even he took himself seriously. Although he had always been a little bit clueless, a little bit worse for wear when it came to processing, he had always had an innate complexity about his state and intelligence that went over the heads most of the people he interacted with, partially due to the erratic emotion of his nature. His boss had always made fun of him for whatever questions that he asked at his job, even when he had always always tried his best. The older Randy got, the more he had realized nobody was going to care about him no matter what he did, and they cared even less about him bettering himself. Randy himself had grown more violent, more desperate over the years to simply have more, even if he wasn't sure what more even was. He only had known that it wasn't present within his life, and that his soul was rotting without it.

"In some ways..I almost envy who I was when I was younger," Randy breathed against the top of her head. "At least I knew what I wanted to be back then. A popstar. A cool guy. A woman's man. The older and more miserable I got, and the more doors were shut off from me..the more I just wanted to be anything at all."

He traced his hands up and down Faceless' back, and she shivered at his touch. He could feel the goosebumps being summoned from the surface of her skin that he was so good at summoning. He smirked tenderly; at least that was one thing he would always be good at.

"That damn needle," he mumbled under his breath, as he remembered in detail the first day that he had walked in on his first day as a geologist, when he had asked when the moving needle did. His boss has looked at him as if he had grown a second head, and quickly had he called him a dimwit, the comment followed by a rich, mocking laugh before he had lumbered his way over to his office. Randy hadn't even been given a chance to ask him anything else. Later, his boss had answered him, but the execution of his boss's answer had only deepened Randy'd resentment. His boss' eyes had hardened as he answered Randy's question, his tone dumbed down, as if he was talking to a toddler. Randy's resentment for the boss he already hated only increased that day.

Once he was done he had patted Randy on the back, either uncaring or indifferent to the anger pressed on Randy's face, and then had made his own lumbering form back towards the office desk, leaving Randy at his desk to struggle and cry, and then, eventually, to fall asleep for the rest of the day. As it had turned out, that had been the first day of what was going to be many of the following days, each suffocating and repetitive hour pressing up against each side of his mind. Almost routinely had he pressed his hand up against the side of his cheek as he had watched that unbelievably mundane needle move, falling asleep countless times as he watched the same patterns so many times that it almost became mind numbing. He didn't quite know what it didn't until months later, never having the courage to ask his boss anything else after the patronizing and utterly unhelpful explanation.

"I never had the balls to ask him anything else after I ask my boss what that needle did," Randy murmured. It mattered not that his thoughts were disconnected; Faceless knew damn well near everything about him, and she knew what he was referring to. "He looked at me like I was some sort of dumbass, just because I didn't know exactly what everything did, and from that day on he always treated me like I was an idiot. When I came in, I always tried my best, did my best, sat up straight, for as long as I could, anyway. Focused as much as I could, but it felt like the old guy never took me seriously."

Faceless was silent, yet it was the most comforting silence Randy had ever heard. She was listening to him, really listening, and by listening to him was she helping him hear himself.

"Even when I came up with solutions, it seemed as if they were mocking me even for trying to do that much, even though nobody else was trying. I just...I just wanted to be accepted again, like the way I was before that record producer dropped me on my ass. I got older and more unhappy, and I stopped caring, even for myself." His eyes fluttered down to Faceless, who was still leaning her body against his own, her breath steady and unsure, yet the soft rhythm of her voice let him know that she was listening. Her breathing, the pattern of her cold breath against his chest, gradually brought him back to reality and tugged him away from his past. "It seems like-I don't know, even my father didn't care, didn't want to take me seriously, which I guess is why it was so easy not to take my studies seriously. I don't...don't even think he wanted me around." He didn't allow that sentence to hang in the air; instead did he keep talking frantically. He needed to bury the pain, bury it as fast as he could.

"I was lucky that I was so naturally talented at certain subjects that I didn't need to concentrate that much so that I could still have a future, but still. I was a party guy anyway, and the way no one seemed to...give a shit just made me realize that, maybe, there wasn't anything about me to give a shit about." He let out a shuttered breath as he looked down at Faceless, desperate for answers.

Faceless gave her own gentle nod as she looked up at him and pulled her face away from where it had rested against his chest, her gaze meeting his own to encourage him to speak his truth, even with how painful it was for him. He swallowed thickly as the truth continued to leave his lips. It was unstoppable now; once he started reflecting, the waves of self loathing and regret overcame him like the tide.

"So many times did I run away from my thoughts that I think..sometimes I forgot I had any. It just never made sense, honey. My life stopped making sense, so I stopped finding any motivation for it to make sense. And I stopped giving a shit about how other people saw me. Even how I saw myself. The way that I saw it after a certain point was like...people were going to find a way to treat me like shit once I got into a certain place in my life anyway, so the hell would it matter whatever I did or didn't do? It didn't, and I'm convinced that it still doesn't, but for the first time in years….are people at least listening to me. The real me. People wanna buy my weed and I have something good, really good, goin' for me that makes me happy. Someone's listening to me. I don't think anyone understands how much that means to me, and what I'm going to do, how I'm going to fall apart, if I can't-if I can't find a way for it to stick around. I'm not letting my greed and Mickey Mouse take this away from me, not if I can help it."

Faceless searched her eyes into his; her eyes glinting with a deep and pained sympathy. Without saying one word did she reach out and trace her hands against his lips; he let out a soft and welcomed moan as he fluttered his eyes closed at the tender caress of her trembling fingertips.

"So much pain," she murmured softly. Randy let out a moan that was almost too loud; he never tried to stifle the way his noises left his lips whenever he was granted pleasure. "And yet here you are, so strong, so confident, so you. You've already won in the way that counts, as far as I"m concerned, darling."

Randy leaned his head against the net of the door as he hungered lust overcame him; he slammed his head against it as if he had been stricken.

"Th-thanks, honey," he stammered, his voice a whisper full of a desperate emotion. He was so perceptive to touch, and that was no expectation now as he melted underneath the understanding of her words. His beauty shown even with the grating of the world around him. What kind of husband and person, what kind of father, would he be if he had always be treated this way throughout the years of his life, rather than having been aggravated by those that told him he wasn't enough?

With the delicate beauty he was now even with his misfortune, she couldn't even begin to imagine.

"snow kissed touch"

Randy asks Faceless a life changing question. She doubts if she is worthy.

The red blush that traced itself against the porcelain skin of Randy was a violent red melody that could only be glorified to a natural golden grace by the innate magical that he held within his very core. There was a poetic scarlet in his appearance that blared against the otherwise quiet natural soft white of the world; the drawl humming that left his lips only added to the portrait that was his irreplaceable features. His lips were wine red, the same shade of the substance that he chugged one those harder nights, drowning out every heavy feeling and unwanted thought.

He was skipping back and forth, leather brown gloved hand clasped within the spaces of hers. Had she not known every layer of his core and of the pain he held within him, she would have thought him the most carefree spirit she had ever known. Even the natural nature of the blood that made itself known through the flowered red veins of his skin, painting against the tearable paper like spilled red violence against the pale of his skin, seemed to serve as a peaceful artistry. He had a way of making everything seem so distinguished and humbly human within the natural peaceful canopy of his nature.

"C'mon, honey," he hummed, zest lacing his every innocent spoken word. "You're gonna love this. Totally gonna be worth it." A soft squeeze from his hand, the leather of them a cursed separation between the addicting warmth of his fingers. "Promise."

She believed him. She always did. He was the one thing within the aimless confused wreck of her existence that was worth believing in.

They were both empty within the world's response to them, lost souls that were drenched in pain, yet rich in enlightened spirit. The worn nature of being as unloved as the two of them had been within their lives had worn down more on his softer soul, causing him to be more sensitive, more on the defense than ever, the wounds that had trashed against him within his life only causing the wall of his guard to raise up ever he further within his older, more damaged age. Regardless of whatever pain he felt within his heart that caused him to act a way she knew he wasn't proud of, whenever she gazed into his own delicate shades of green-which always so impeccably good at undressing her with the gentle desire of his eyes-did she know she had found the truest and purest form of home, and that there was an innate goodness about him, a rich virtue, that could never be taken away.

He was heart stoppingly adorable as he sat her against that bench; but then, he always ways. The permeant youth that was within his step was full of a pride that no amount of patronizing invalidation could take away. He looked over at her, still with that zest of pride fully portrayed within his green sparkling eyes, more rich and more worthwhile than even the most expensive beer that he had convinced himself over time was somehow worth more than he was.

When she had asked him where he was taking her, he had only cheerily called out, "Chill out, babe! Can't ruin the big surprise!" His red apple lips, traced his the brush of his dark twilight mustache, was an artistic contrast. He was, quite simply, a work of art; his almost translucent porcelain skin was blended almost entirely into the snow surrounding them; the top of his red nose signifying the red blush that traveled like forest fire through the curve of his painfully raw human skin, as gently wrought as his precious albeit weak soul was. She never wanted to take her eyes of him; to even observe him was a gift in and of itself that never stopped giving, so naturally did he grant her those things within his own wayward soul that had finally found its most innate home within her own flawed but well meaning ways.

She could tell he was nervous, and a bit high; his breathing was quickened more then usual, his green meadow fields and trees of permeant green flickering over towards her in that shy, boyish fashion while they were traced up by the red flame of the drugs he had indulged in. There was something about him that seemed previously damaged, despite the childlike zest within his disposition. Whether from the world and its cruelty, or his own insecurities, she knew not; but it made him all the more precious, the tender natural of his maddeningly tender heart and soul demanding to be protected.

"Over here, sweetheart," Randy gushed, always encouraging her softly yet insistently as he eased his own body down up against the front of the bench that was littered up with snow, placing his dirtied farmer's pants against the cold of the wooden surface. He gently pattered his hands up against the front of it as he looked up at her and nodded encouragingly, a precarious, anticipating soft smile pressed up against the sides of his lips as he looked up at her.

She patted away some of the snow, her eyes frantically looking up against that soft dance that was so naturally inside of his own body, even if he himself didn't quite realize that it was. Her heart could have given out from the sight in front of her alone.; she took a deep intake of breath as she took in the preciousness of the man in front of her.

He was gazing at her encouragingly with the kindest pleading inside of his eyes as he pressed his artistic yet maddened and unfocused hands further up against the side of the bench. She smiled as she watched him, loving the gentle tracing of the portrait that was nothing less than complete and absolute gentle poetry of peace that was so naturally invited inside of him,most especially with the way that the snow gently traced itself against the waves of his own black hair. The pulpy and gentle way that his own paper skin was brought to the most precious glowing life as it was surrounded by the snow almost seemed as if it could be torn from just how fragile it was, much like his own heart and himself the snow pressed up against the front of him, kissed him, even. There was a natural chemistry between Randy and nature; it accepted his chaotic grace with a determined and heated grace that matched his own, suiting against each other comfortably.

It was a completely implacable just to even witness him, and she would have been more than content just to even watch the way that his own tragically tearable yet enduring and childlike demeanor was pressing itself up against the front of the bench with a choked anticipation as he patterned his fingers against the bench up in front of her.

But she was suffering for the endless yearning she felt for him, and she could sense the question that danced on his lips, torturing the more impatient part of his soul.

"Please, Faceless," he whimpered softly. "This is really, really important, ok?" He was tapping into the most tender and innocent tones he had within him; considered stupid to those that didn't understand the fabric of his tender and complicated nature. To her, it was a breathtaking art, healing her and yet challenging her at the same time.

She wanted to comply with whatever game that he was playing, no doubt completely innocent in the way that he was playing it with her. He was one of the most innocent men that she had ever known. Although he had plenty of his own flaws that he would and could fall into, even those flaws came from a tender sort of unintentional deep-seated innocence that only he had inside of him, a place where he was only doing his best, a misplaced wayward chaotic well meaning nature that practically begged to be loved and to be cherished, even with how aimless and wayward, even dangerous, that misguided innocence and desires were. If he were only to find the right person that would be able to stabilize him, no doubt would he be able to keep them from all of the chaotic nature and all the bloody insecurities that he found within himself before, both emotionally, psychologically, and spiritually the same.

He was her own exhilarating escape, just as she was his, and as she looked at the way that he frantically threw that invitation at her that was painted inside of the suffocating container of his face, she knew that there was no other place for her to be other than right next to him.

She sat down, hardly concerned about the way that the snow pressed up against her pants as she allowed the cold surface to leak inside of her own clothes. It mattered not; Randy would warm her, in all the ways that counted. Nothing was truly a problem as long as she was with him; his presence was a magic in that way.

A flitter of surprise glinted in Randy's eyes as he watched her sit down. "Whoa, really?" he whispered. "We're-we're doing this?" A soft congratulatory glint danced in his eyes. "Score!"

She laughed as she looked at him, innate and gentle warmth within her eyes. "I hope I can be let in on the know of what we're doing soon."

Randy blinked rapidly, and then nodded with a just as equally rushed fashion. "Oh-yeah-yeah-yeah, of course." He cleared his throat, then adjusted himself as he angled his body further towards her direction. He was wearing his usual leather coat, lined in fake white fur; he had argued that real fur would have been "too feminine, not that there's anything wrong with that", and he had also going through an intense vegan phase at the time, one that he had forgotten about entirely; he now ate meat every now. Randy didn't commit to much; it was more so whatever phase he was currently going through to entertain himself.

The only one thing in his life that never was a phase was how he entirely, irreplaceably, and irrevocably loved her.

She looked over at him with her own gentle invitation and a smile as she reached out her arms and traced her cold nipped finegertips up around the back of his shoulder. All the while with him looking at her, his own eyes frantically looking back and forth between her own as he gazed at her with that frantic fired warmth of invitation inside of his own dazzled green eyes. It seemed as if he was on the pinnacle of some sort of desperate excitement, and she had read that eagerness inside of his own face before. It was the kind that he had whenever he was on the verge of an idea, whenever he was on the bridge of what he thought was the delicacy of what he considered his genius before he jumped, or made a full turn around within his life. His passion could often aimless and wayward, but it was always completely and authentically utterly rich in the way it came from the deepest parts of his most passionate soul, and that made it irreplaceable yet precious in a way most people ever failed to even come close to within the superficial judgmental of the world. Most people were scared of themselves; but Randy ran towards his deepest self, completely and recklessly, with little disregard for any ridicule he would get from others for it. Though he was inherently flawed through and through, so was she, and he accepted and even left his flaws out in the open. He was himself, and he never bothered trying to pretend to be otherwise, and it was within his authentically that made him one of those wholesome men she had ever known, and why he made others uncomfortable that hadn't made peace with their deepest selves such as he did. Randy run full force towards the truth of who he was and lived within the moment; the childlike nature of his soul made others uncomfortable because someone like him was rare and unfamiliar, and, somewhere subconsciously, they knew they would never be within the same free spirit that he was.

Randy took a deep breath as he took her in. There was uncertain poetry on the end of his tongue; she could see it within his uncertain eyes before he even spoke.

"I just...I got a lot on my mind, lately, honey. And I know you know that." She could see he was trembling, and something told her without even having to ask that it wasn't just because of the cold that was surrounding him.

She nodded as she took his hands within hers, a gentle, warm strike of encouragement in her eyes. "I know, Randy," she murmured softly. She gave him a soft quirk of the tip of her lips as she reached forward, tracing her fingertips against the side of his sideburns. Randy shuttered his eyes closed at her touch as he let out a soft moan, the softened noise leaking out of his lips in that carefree way that he always did; he never worried about how loud or untimely he sounded; he was simply himself, through and through.

He fluttered his eyes closed as he traced his palm against the front of hers, as if preparing himself. She could see the way his eyelids danced underneath the pale layer of his skin. He then fluttered them back open, looking into her own with a piercing green gaze. There was insecurity within those depths, but also that undeniable deep seated eagerness that he always held within him.

"This-this big, stupid, superficial and cruel world that only focuses on the rich, despite the ugliness of its own dynamic, which is so dumb, and I wanted it for so long. It was all I every really thought about, because nothing else around me every felt like enough, And yet all I want now... is the soft, predictable support that's you, honey." He swallowed as he spoke the words, and, as they rested against the chill of the air, insecurity instantly leaked itself across his vision. "Whew-that sounded pretty lame, didn't it?"

She tilted her head as she looked at him, her own eyes full of a gentle, endless understanding that rendered his own doubt breathless, voiceless, being over spoken by her own soft understanding. "Not at all," she reassured him, voice tender and heated with empathy, lacing against the white of the snow along with the cold of her breath. "You're a poet in your own right, Randy. I know what you mean, and not just because I love you. You could make all those songs for a reason that all those people could relate to."

Randy gazed at her with surprise, eyes frantically darting back and forth between her own. "Wait-really?" he whispered, surprise glinting in his green depths as he looked at her. "You-you really mean it?"

She smiled as she let out a chiming laugh, traced only by the irreplaceable warmth that was him. "Of course I mean it, Randy. You have a far better idea of how to pierce the deepest truth of being human more than anyone I know."

"Oh, good." Randy let out an adorable, softened sigh as he leaned his back against the back of the chair. His pearl white teeth were glinting out from his lips from underneath his moustache as his body visibly relaxed, shoulders slumping as muscles within his expression relaxed. It was the most precious sight Faceless had ever seen. She wanted to press her starved lips against every patch of his mouth, to remind him, beyond a shadow of a shred of doubt, that she cherished him. That he was finally loved, richly and unconditionally loved in a way she knew the tender of his heart couldn't live without.

She paused as she gazed at him, that curious inquiry still present within her eyes. "What do you mean, though, darling?" she questioned, voice always traced with that curiosity that was rendered so deep and rich when it came to the endless fascination she had that was him.

Randy took an anticipatory breath, deep with the emotions it was carrying. "I just-I really need-no-shit." He blinked in rapid confusion at his own words, then rolled his shoulders as he mentally tried to pull himself together. She could practically see the puzzles that he was frantically trying to pull together in that erratic and ever desperate to please fashion. "Ok-let me start over," he stammered. A glint of frustration came within his eyes. "Dammit."

She caressed her fingers against the soft leather of his own, patience within her every touch and caress. "Take you time," she muttered. "Really." Randy's eyes glinted up towards her, hat precious blush of red fire within his veins causing her a infatuated numb that was brought on by more than just the cold or the snow.

People expected the most spiritual and rewarding of love to come from exceptional beings; instead did it come from the mundane, average existence that was the two of them, that was the unimpressive concept of being human. Psychology underdeveloped was Randy, in more ways than one, and it was because of that that he needed even more love, increasing patience, comfort and understanding than most people his own age, or even anyone, in general. It wasn't that he was stupid; he was anything but. He had a complex and intelligent dynamic about his very intelligence that most people overlooked. But the trials of life had led him to become damaged beyond what most could relate to, and even if the roads of his life not pressed the deep seated wounds against him the way they had, it still wouldn't have changed the fact that Randy was, at his core, a wayward and particularly artistic and sensitive soul, causing him to be knocked down far more easily than most.

Life had slowed down as they had gotten older; but Randy's soul hadn't. If anything, it had almost increased, his very energy drinking in the eccentricity of his artistic heart as if it was the very fare and energy of his his increased energy, at odds with his age that was declining in health in all ways except for spiritual. Life expected him to slow down, to become less full of life, but there was too much erratic hunger within him that had only not been fed from his younger unfulfilled years, but also relentlessly starved. And even if these elements within him hadn't been rendered true from the misfortune of the relationships of his life, it wouldn't have changed the fact that there was a soft, almost begging delicately inside of him that begged to be protected, one that was pleasing in the action how much he wore his heart on his sleeve, threading his deepest emotions on layers of his existence where most only kept their superficial selves. And it called to her. Relentlessly.

The dark truth of the matter was that he was an all or nothing person; when he fell out of love with Sharon and the life he had built with her, he fell out of love with even trying to care for his children, too. The question of just how deep his incredibly selfish person was and far it went was something that Faceless was still trying to discover for herself with the swinging pendulum that was his unpredictable mind, but she knew that he was more than capable and more interested than it came across to help his family. But within the delicate fabrication of his soul did she know that he also became discouraged easily, and lost interest even faster when he felt as if he wasn't needed, or if he felt wasn't doing a good job. Sharon had done an impeccable good job of making him feel relentlessly terrible at any efforts he had made of being a father, pushing him away from even trying further and further. Ironically, Sharon's anger at him now being the specific mold of father she expected him to be only had pushed him away further, and now the previous Marsh family was entirely separated. Randy only saw his kids on weekends, if that. She saw the conflict in him every day of how he felt he had ultimately failed at being a father for his kids. She knew he was relieved to no longer live with Sharon, yet she knew he loved his kids, despite his conviction that he wasn't good enough to be their father anymore. He felt Shelley hated him, and Stan had become apathetic years ago. The grumpy cynicism of his children had been the final push for his sensitive soul-confident only on the first layer-right along with Sharon's incessant anger, and slowly and Randy given up on his life entirely. Yet it hadn't been his choice, and she could see how it weighed on him every day.

Yet there was a certain twisted triumph within the biggest loss of his life. Ultimately, what Randy cared the most about was feeding his own soul, and he found that he had possessed increasingly less interest in taking care of his children the more that he had fallen out of with the previously tolerable dynamic he had shared with Sharon. There was a dark and undeniable truth that was waiting against every erratic nature of how he functioned; he only wanted to concern himself with his own happiness at his deepest core of what he wanted. As he gazed at her with that deep wanting, she couldn't help but feel she was the final piece to that part of him tat had been suffocating with rich discontentment. Even now was he violently trying to escape the insecurities and the endless sense of insecurity he had experienced within the past, desperately trying to prevent his life from becoming even more empty than it already was. There were wounds within how he expressed himself, as well as in how he spoke with a sometimes overly considerate nature towards himself, of just how much those gashes effected everything he did.

But he hardly cared about that within that moment. For the time being were patronizing words falling in the back of his mind, completely forgotten and only being seduced with a soft echo within his self conscious. She was so faultlessly forgiving as he sat in front of him, her gaze tenderly looking back and forth between him with a gentle, unspoken question. Randy was vibrating at frequencies he didn't even know existed as he remembered how the trials of his life had led him here, and how those warm, irreplaceable, soft and healing nights had gently threaded the question that was trembling at the forefront of Randy's tongue now. Either full of love or of empty was he always; all or nothing, one extreme or the other. As it was now, he was so full of love he felt high from it, a deep seated detachment that not even the best weed he had ever grown gave him.

"Let's-let's just start over, ok?" he whispered as he gazed his eyes within her with that relentless begging. Faceless smiled as she nodded her head, endless invitation of soft patience within her every action that made Randy weak in the most healing of ways.

"Ok, ok. Uh-" He bit down on his lip, and then, in an act of a daring bold and slightly thoughtless action, did he place his hands against hers. He caressed his thumbs against the top of her own, eyes glinting within hers. "Hey, honey," Randy's hands trembled as he ghosted them against hers. "Pretty cold out, huh?"

She smiled tenderly. She would play along with whatever pattern of conversation made him most comfortable. "Hi, baby. What's up?" They did this often; greeting each other in mid-conversation. It seemed as if they could never get tired of saying hello to one another, of constantly breathing one another's names, consistently reminding each other that the other existed, and revealing in the miracle it was that they had met, that they were able to exist for one another. He gazed at her for an innocent and lost moment, eyes uncertain, yet after a moment did warmth, confidence, and his usual unapologetic exuberance that was interrupted by little begin to trace his lips. His increasingly warmth, most encouraged by Faceless' gentle invitation and acceptance, trailed up inside his eyes as he gazed back and forth between her own. He always loved it whenever she played along with his own uncertain games. The parts of him that were more scarred and insecure, the scars on his own inner heart and of his chest, that desperately needed those constant caressing of her own gentle tenderness, were soothed by her actions that constantly signified to him that she loved him. Everything that she did for him, and with him, was a reminder that she did love him, and irrevocably and utterly so.

"Uhm-" He placed his hands on the back of his neck, frowning in a bewildered expression as he tried to collect his thoughts. "Sweetheart, we've been together for awhile, haven't we?" His voice was coming out almost as a clumsy stutter, far more than he intended it to. He would have swore and mentally cursed himself, loathing the innate nervousness that was inside of him. The back of his neck was sweating, right along with his hands, and not even the cold of the snow could lessen his fear.

"We have," she agreed softly, nodding her head towards him with an encouragement and wordless inquiry. Randy looked up at her as he gave her a nod, mirroring her own, using her as a guidance of how to calm himself, failing considerably as he did so.

"I know that- shit. I know that a lot of things can get turned upside down with me a lot but…" His voice trailed away from his confused muttering as he scrambled to find the right words. He felt as if he was stumbling over his own two feet, and although he could be charming in his own way whenever it came to talking to people, though he could easily go from a frantic hurricane and then to a canopy of stability and unwavering conference within moments depending on the situation, it seemed he couldn't quite find it within him in that moment to be much of anything, except to be speech maskingly nervous.

As she caressed her fingers against the leather of his gloves, a trembling promise of a reminder he was safe, he was reminded once again of how she felt about him. Although he himself was quite unknown to the rest of the world, unseen and labeled as yet another countless and replaceable number, he knew just how much she read his lines that was within his existence and was fascinated, completely, utterly, and uniquely irreplaceable in the way that only he was, and never had a truly seen himself or the threads of what he was made of, never had he felt truly precious, until he had met her. He was beyond horrified that he would lose it. Why wouldn't he? He had already lost everything else within his life.

He took another deep breath as his eyes flew back towards her own. He decided that he just needed to let the words leave his lips, like the way that the lyrics of his songs did whenever he sat down and tried to write them. There was that innate poetry inside of him, and he merely had to let go of his ego and insecurities to let them breathe.

"Faceless, I want to try with you. Like, really try."

There was a gentle confusion that placed itself up against the front of her eyes as she looked back and forth between his own. The fabric in them was both comforting, knowing she would never judge him, yet worrying all at once that her response was only silence. "What do you mean?" she asked gently.

Randy let out another deep sigh, feeling as if he were taking step after painful step towards where he wanted to go. His words were coming out slightly more heavy than he intended for them to, yet he still know that he wanted to at least try to get the entrance of a future with her out of his lips, even if he himself didn't quite know the entirety of the intentions of the complexity of why he was even speaking them as desperately and with as much distance as he was.

The simple truth was that he loved her, completely and utterly and maddeningly so, and it was almost made him panic she wasn't completely his in the way that he so desperately wanted her to be. They way he had wanted her to be since the moment he realized that he truly was loved by her in a way he had never been before. His desperation to become one with her was choked by the wounds of the past, knowing how his previous marriage had gone sour. Yet this was different, he reminded himself over with relentless passion as he gazed at her inquiring expression. This was different.

"Hun.. you know I love you, right? You know I think you're hot and sweet...and just, really cool. And all those nights we spend together-you really helped a lot and healed a lot for me." He was frantically looking back and forth between her own eyes as he spoke, looking for any rejection within them, and she knew that he was speaking with a slightly more clumsy nature that he would have liked. She knew he was dancing around the bush more than he originally intended. She knew him far too well, better than even he wanted to admit.

"What is it, Randy?" Her voice wasn't impatient like the way that it would have been with Sharon; the monotone impatience of her voice that always aggravated him so many times, but with Faceless was it only healing. It was full of a rich sort of inquiry that was gently pushing him forward. With one last breathless pause did he frantically allow the confessions to stumble out of his lips before he could stop them. They came out quickly and unforgivingly, trailing out of his trembling and uncertain red apple lips before he himself could stop it, and, by the time he heard them leave his lips, as if he was even more chilled now than even the snow was able to make him.

"Dammit, Faceless, will you marry me?" He sputtered out the confession of how much he loved her that was disguised as a question before I could stop it. He didn't dare look away from her eyes; not now. He felt his breath hitch inside of his burning lungs, rendered hot by the cold, as he looked over at her. His heart was bursting inside of his chest with a deep sort of panicked black that had been summoned by the words he uttered. He waited with a breathless and desperate anticipation for her answer.

There was a soft regret that traced the front of her face, and, despite how well he could read her, despite his undeniable talent for being able to see her rawest feelings, there was a tendered, honeyed darkness that processed against the front of her face that was originated from a place that he couldn't quite understand.

"No," she whispered.

A flash of incomprehensible and burning flash of bloodied hurt and surprise flew inside of Randy; he felt as if he had fallen on the edge of a sharpened cliff. He felt a deep flash of pain flow through the entirety of his body, through the blood in his veins, switching between hot and cold within the midst of his own shock. He felt as if he had fallen from the one place he thought he had found a final and permanent gratitude and safety within.

"Wha-No?" His voice was full of those softened tones, looking desperately into her own, trying to find any catch within her eyes. "What-what do you mean, no? I thought we were good, Faceless. I thought we understood that we were gonna spend our lives...I thought-" He swallowed thickly, finding that words were failing him.

There was a soft regret that placed itself up against the front of her face as she gently looked back and forth between the clear heat that was within his own dispersion of emotions, born from her her unwarranted and certainly unexpected response.

"I don't know why you want to marry me," she confessed, her own voice trembling with emotion in the wake of his distressed one. There was her own soft confessions that left her lips as she looked at him, a deep regret that she was sorry for, and he was gently trying to come over come his own panic within him that moment, his own insult, so that he would be able to focus on the clear wounds of her own that was making itself known from her own hidden hurt. She was reaching out to him, desperate for reassurance, even if she herself didn't know she was asking for it.

He began to stumble over his words the way he did whenever he was overwhelmed. He was completely overcome within his own frantic nature to be able to reassure her, and yet within his own hurt and the bleeding of his wounds was it rendered impossible to function enough as it was. Randy wanted to be there for his loved ones, but his own wounds occupied the majority of his energy when he was rendered as wounded as he was now. As devastated as he was now.

"Faceless-you're my future! Because-because you're fucking awesome! You're incredible, honey! You-you know how to take care of me. That's priceless. That's even better than video games or weed or-or any of that crap. Nothing makes me feel the way you do, sweetheart. Nothin'! " The frantic confessions were leaving his lips fast than even he could process. All the while was he desperately trying to find the answers within her reaction. He was now undoing her threads, yearning for her more than any vice that he had ever fallen into, chasing and fighting for the warm future he had promised himself he would share with her. It couldn't be snatched away now. It couldn't.

"I'm sorry," Faceless whispered. She tried to pull her hands away from his; he pulled her back with an accidental force. She looked up at him, her own saddened nature in her eyes. "It's not you, honey."

"Then-then what is it?" He was demanding now, and unapologetically so, so desperate was he to reach her and to find out how to fix the future he was promised with her.

"I don't feel worthy." There was a pause in her speech as she considered what she spoke. Randy blinked at her in surprise.

"Go on," he whispered. He wasn't sure if he even wanted her to, but he had to know. Randy wasn't good with the unknown, but especially now, with the women he cherished perhaps even more than his own ambitions, the one thing he had latched onto because it was something that would never leave him.

"I just..love you more than anything, Randy, I love you more than I knew was ever even possible to love anybody, but maybe...that's the reason why I feel like I can't. The reason why I don't feel worthy of this." She gently reached out her hand so it gently pressed against the front of his hands, caressing and her numb and tinged red fingers up against the front of his hand. Had she not been so in love with him, and had he not loved her as deeply as he did, had he not known every crevice of her every quirks and how she expressed herself, he wouldn't have been able to read the messages that she was giving him, which was nothing less than a gentle screaming of confession for him to gently reassure her, to know her, and to see into every single violent bloodied insecurity that she was presenting up to him now.

He read her so perfectly, almost painfully. that it was almost infuriating; even his eyes trailing over hers felt as if he was reading her every private thought. Despite her own frustration due to lack of privacy, she knew there was no one she rather would have been with than him, no no else she'd rather be naked in front of in the only way that mattered; emotionally.

His voice was now shaking slightly as he spoke his next words, and he gradually began to plunge towards the hidden messages that she was speaking to him, which was nothing less than the desperate cry for him to see that the last thing she wanted was a life without him. Her eyelashes were traced by the white flutter of the snow, and it almost seemed as if she would crumble underneath the furious yet precariously soft touch of the snow from how breakable she seemed within that moment. She did want this; she wanted this life with him more than anything, and he could feel it even with her words. He could feel it within the way that her own cold, numb fingers gently caressed against the front of his own hands now as he frantically flew his eyes back and forth between her own.

"Don't...feel worthy?" he whispered softly. His voice was the utmost very definition of gentle; he knew she had a weakness for that. He was being natural, but a part of him wondered if he summoned that part of him that was precious and softer than soft, perhaps she would dare to run to him, to seize what she wanted.

"Maybe next year," she murmured. Almost whispered. Randy squeezed his hands painfully against the soft and regretful tone of her voice, digging his fingertips into his palm. She squeezed her hands in his in turn; she was trying to let him know that she did, in fact, still love him just as deeply as she always had. As if she could tell actions weren't enough, her silent bloodied insecurity trailed from her lips as he watched her with a fascination inside the curve of his awe struck expression, one that was both of dread, yet of rich anticipation.

"This doesn't mean that I love you any less, Randy. It just means that...there's a lot of things with my own inadequacy that I still need to figure out when it comes to being loved. When it comes to being known as someone's..wife." She said the word with an hesitant vacillation, as if it tasted alien and foreign on her tongue. "Randy, if I was your wife, it would be the greatest thing I've ever done with my life. But..but every single time I would see you getting along with someone else, every time I saw you make a connection with someone worthwhile, I would always wonder why you wouldn't just go off with them, rather than with me. I know it sounds childish, but.." She flickered her eyes down to her hands, squeezing her fingers with a frustration compression. "I want to be worthy of you, and I want to feel like I'm worthy of that status within your life, but I want to wait until it's the right time. I want to wait until I feel like I'm worthy of you...of everything that we've shared before."

She was speaking tongues for all Randy knew; he had never heard anything that made so little sense to his own ears within his life.

"That's bullshit, Faceless!" he spat. Even he was surprised by the venom of his words, but he was feeling too many complications to care. Randy acted first, and reflected later. Faceless flickered her own shy gaze up towards him, wounds presented in her uncertain eyes. "I don't-I don't mean the way that you feel, but its bullshit that you don't feel like you're worthy of this. I mean-oh, god, your insecurities are bullshit, honey. I'm marrying you because I love you, Faceless. Because you're the only thing that's ever made sense, because you're the only thing that's ever been able to even slightly calm me whenever I've needed it the most. You really think that I like going out every single day and feeling like everything that I do is wrong, then I'm always inadequate, that I never do enough? You really think that I love feeling every single day like a rag doll, like nothing that I ever do is jackshit for everyone else? Everything I ever do finally feels like enough because of you, and all of those patronizing gazes and everything that I used to have to deal-all that crap with everything that I used to have to cope with-it's all gone now. It's all gone because of you. I wake up every morning and I feel good enough now, I feel stable, and I just want to figure out how that feels like with you every single day. You think I feel worthy, either?" His shoulders slump, and so quickly and intensely had he been speaking that he was now rendered breathless. "I don't want to wait in till next year," he mumbled. "I love you. I want you with me like that, right now." He squeezed his hands further against hers. "Please?"

She could feel herself easing up in the midst of the passion that was coming out of the fire of Randy's lips. It was overwhelming, knocking her over like a wave. She didn't respond. She couldn't.

Her hands slipped out of his as she stood herself upward, beginning to walk away towards the known. She didn't know where she was going, but she only knew that it needed to be away from him. Away from that fire inside of him that it saved her and healed her so much to the point that it terrified her. Such raw irony, yet she didn't have the energy within her in that moment to try to make sense of it. She only knew she needed to get away.

Randy's green meadows of eyes bore into her back as he watched her leave. He could feel his frantic hurricane inside of his heart, and he hoisted himself upward and began to frantically his way over towards her, not thinking about what or why he was doing it. He didn't say anything, anything at all, he knew he had to reach into his deepest parts of the woods inside her heart be able to speak to her the way that he so desperately needed, the way that she needed. Although he wasn't the kind of man that was usually good at reaching into the deepest part of any wounds, most especially his own, he knew that he had to do within this moment; he could do it for her. He had no choice, not if he wanted to save her, not if he wanted o save the future that he desperately needed with her.

Despite how he continued to run after her after he stumbled himself upward, he felt as if he was running through quicksand as he watched her become increasingly further away. He was significantly heavier than she was, and it was showing. He stopped to catch his breath after only a few steps; the heaviness of the coat he was wearing didn't help matters.

There was no choice; he would have to yell.

"Oh-honey-why is it such a big deal how you feel? Just-just get over it! You think I feel worthy of you? I don't-but I still want to try!" His breath was searing through his lungs like swords as he watched her continue to walk through the know, "C'mon-you don't mean it! I know you!"

She stopped, and Randy's heartbeat stopped right along with her as he watched her.

"Try?" She turned around as she paused, and there was a soft gentle pause within her steps that were previously walking as if they had had literal weights wrung around her ankles.

Randy nodded frantically, gloved hands on his knees as he breathed deeply. "Yeah-huh! Try. Like- how I tried to love you, to be with you, even with all the moaning and bitching I got from Shelley about how I was a piece of crap for leaving my family behind. God, Faceless, you think it's easy for any of us? I want to be with you because I want to, because I love you. Ain't that enough of a reason? It's never gonna make complete sense, honey, but together, I think we can figure something out. Don't you?"

She stared at him for a moment, and it was only the snow that was fluttering in between both of their faces that interrupted the tangible tension that was that was growing between the two of them. It was utterly painful between the both of them of just how much they wanted-needed-the other. They were both just as matched within their wounds of their relationships from the past, and perhaps it was the very reason why he was able to walk towards her now through the snow, to overcome his own cowardly fear when it came both to emotions and physical danger the same. Not only did they share similar wounds, but they were meant for each other regardless; there was a quite literal inexplicable and innate drawing of everything he was that drew him to her, and likewise, her to him.

He was a fool, bumbling and unsure, and she was empty and lost, and together did the precious aimlessness of what he was, mixed in with a curious complexity, remind each other that, from whatever they were both made of, it complimented and fed the other in a way that was even more furious than even the most maddeningly addicting drug. Randy didn't care so much about physical danger, especially the older and emptier that his life became, and many times he had forced himself with an uncaring laughter towards it because he had grown to care so little about his life, seeing what little value it possessed, if any at all. There was a reason he got drunk and high all the time now; it seemed before he had found Faceless that there was nowhere else to go, only downward, spiraling and fast, choking out the very life from him before he could stop it.

But he certainly cared about physical danger now, now that he had a reason to stay alive, now that he had a reason to want to. He gently reached out his hands and placed them up against the front of hers, the red tip of his fingers precariously pressing up against the front of hers, the blood itself painted up against the pale of his skin as he looked directly into her eyes. So lost had he been within her and observing her that he hadn't even realized he had made his own over to her. With her, everything seemed effortless, and not even the heavy weight of the snow could hold him back.

"Honey...you take such good care of me. Now let me try to take care of you. To use all you taught me. Baby steps, right? Just like you always told me when I was drunk. All those times you took care of me, all those times that you treated me with patience whenever I was used to being patronized and started yelling, all those times you took care of me whenever I thought I was just going to get yelled at again. When I was vomiting out of my ass. Whenever I thought I was just going to get bitched out again. You taught me how to take care of me, babe, and now-now let me teach you-okay-let me at least try to teach you-and let me learn how to teach myself-how to take care of you." He squeezed his hands back into the spaces of hers, bringing an end to whatever unpleasantry accompanied that tension before and instead making it a heated layer of welcome. He didn't take his eyes from her once as he leaned his head down and pressed his lips up against the side of the pale of her cheek. The warmth of his lips trailed out with a soft electricity through his lips and rested its journey against the side of her cheek, much like the journey Randy had had to endure to find her. "You take care of me. Now please, let me take care of you. Let me show you what it feels like, how you make me feel." His breath was husky and rasped, inviting and endlessly full of that desire to live and to be loved.

"What..what do you mean?" she breathed. Her entire demeanor was becoming his even more than it already was before; her entire body lit aflame even with the mere touch of his body and the drawl of his tone. Had she not known the effects he had on her, she would have thought she was experiencing hypothermia, so well did he transcend her to a different state of being altogether.

"I didn't care about taking care of myself before, alright? All ever wanted to do was get drunk and get high until one day I died. I didn't even care when Mickey Mouse threatened to kill me, because it didn't seem to really matter. My life was crumbling around after every failure, and I was just trying to figure out how the hell to keep the emptiness away as much as I could until my heart gave out. Nothing made sense, not even my relationships or my loved ones, and even those things were completely empty and total bullshit when it came down to it. Nothing made sense, but now-" His eyes looked into hers, and his wrecked peace was wrought into a tranquil reckoning as he gazed into her own. "Now something finally does, and I'm sure as hell not going to let it go without a fight. Damn it, I'm not going to let go of you without a fight, not the person who finally showed me that the failure of my life actually is worth fighting for." The gentle determination poured itself out of his lips, and the fire that was inside of his soul that had been planted by her own hand was chilling around her own heart. "I take care of you, and you take care of me, right? You said that to me once when I came home stumbling crossfaded that one time, so much to the point that I was blowing my guts out. You remember all of that? You remember that time when I came in, when I didn't even know how to take care of myself or even how to see straight, and I thought I was going to die, and you helped to calm me down and you took me to bed?"

She did remember; she kept every night and memory with him deeply locked within her heart, safe, where she could access it forever.

"I do," she whispered softly. Randy nodded encouragingly, gently traveling his hands up against the front of her own chest after a moment of hesitancy, pressing the palms of his hands up in front of her as he looked into her with that gentle determination inside of his eyes.

"Then let me show you, Faceless," he rasped. "Let me show you the way you showed me all those nights. I never valued myself before, and life was just something that I did because it felt like there was nothing else to do because I was too scared to kill myself, but I always hope that maybe it would just..happen. And partying was fun anyway, but..it wasn't enough. It didn't make me happy. But now I want this." He squeezed his hands further against hers. "I want marriage more than I wanted it when I was younger, when I was only doing it because everybody else was. I only ever did shit because everybody else wanted me to, 'cause I just wanted to be respected." He gripped his hands further against her chest, an intake of her own breath left her lips as she felt and she looked into his intelligent intensity. "But ever since I started doing what I wanted to do, everything came around for the better. And I told everyone else to stick it up their ass. Even Sharon! I found my passion, and I actually started doing things that actually mattered to me, that actually fed my heart in the way that nothing ever did, and I was so damn proud of myself for all that, but most especially because it brought me to you. Hell, yeah, my family hates me, but you know what? I'm finally happy, and I get to take care of me. And now you. I know that I'm not always the easiest man to love, Faceless, but that's exactly why I deserve you and why you deserve me, right? We fall in the same ways, you know?" The gentle soft innocence and stumbling of his nature was bringing out the full poetry that was within his voice that she always knew was there when he allowed himself to actually stop and reflect, such as he was now.

She knew there was flawed logic and complications with how he put his happiness before his family, but she saw that desperation in his eyes, authentic and raw, and she could help him through every step to see the other end until the fog of the endless battle for his happiness and his moral well being blanched and cleared. There wasn't one thing she would rather do than to fight for him.

She smiled as she looked at him, and slowly, considerately, did she trail her fingers up away from frozen cold of her own body as she dared to trace it up against the love handles pressed up against her chest that were known as his warm fingers. Marvelously warm was he always, even with the snow.

With an intake of breath did she furiously press her fingers up against the front of his hand. Slowly did she lift her eyes, and there was Randy, searching within her, his green eyes a life giving garden of complete and utter humanity within that moment, so incredibly human was he, so incredibly flawed, and beautifully so. He was art; with the way that his cheeks were dusted with a blushed hue and speckled with that red fire that was the blood underneath the porcelain pale of a skin that was as paper thin as was his heart, so easy to influence, so naive and yet so previous because of those qualities, and it was even within his fragility that the deep is preciousness that was him drew her home. The paper of his skin and the blood of his fired veins reflected his spirit; a fire clad in softness. A home that she had never felt or seen in another was now making itself fully known.

"You want this, you want me?" she whispered.

Randy chuckled, almost as if she had made a joke. That humor that was always within him no matter what the situation made it so fully known, mixed in with the sparkle that was within the green canopy of his eyes that made even the deepest rich of of colors pale next to the rich portrait of the vivid life within him.

With the way that he was pressed around the indifferent, pale cold winter around him, it seemed as if she'd never seen anybody that was quite so colorful within her life, and it was a reflection of the deepest part of his most colorful soul. Though his own skin was as pale as a snow, the sheer amount of how much there was a glowing from the golden zest of his heart made it seem as if she never seen anyone so beautiful in her life. Beauty wasn't a physical sensation; it was within the very light and life that he was made of that could only be found within him alone.

She didn't know if she would ever feel worthy for him, but she supposed that it didn't really matter. What mattered was the way that he was feeding her with those breathless heated words coming out of his own uncertain lips, which had spent so many nights previously chugging beer, smoking joints, and trying to forget his own misery. No matter what she thought of what she did or didn't deserve, and whether or not she thought she was worthy of being married him or being worthy of his warm, goofy love, she supposed it didn't matter. She loved him too deeply, top maddeningly, to be able to deny him even the slightest bit of happiness, or the slightest bit of anything that was good for him, and not even the fog of the illness of her own mind could deny to herself that she was good for him. She saw his every action speak with the gentle artistic nature that she knew was inside his heart whenever he was brought to his best self, and she would do that for him, forever, for the rest of her days, no matter how she felt about what she deserved.

She gently reached out her fingertips and pressed it up against his own, which was trembling against her chest with a fragile hesitance as she pressed her own snow kissed touch up against the front of her chest.

"Right," she whispered softly.

"Really?" Randy breathed. "Really?"

"Yes," she whispered. Tears stung at her eyes, and it wasn't because of the cold; his did much the same, causing the green striking of his eyes to be even more breathtaking with color. He was the prettiest and most honest crier she had ever seen; never did she see crying as something that could be honest until she had seen how he wore his heart on his sleeve with every complicated emotion he ever felt while he did.

A flitter of shock went over Randy's expression. His facial muscles went slack as he looked into her.

"I-no way!" he breathed. "That's-that's awesome!" One last pause of processing, and then a loud, celebratory laugh left his lips. He was shouting now, pumping his first into the air and it slid out of her fingers.

"Yeah! I'm awesome! I just got the coolest woman ever to marry me! I'm-this is great! Fuck all those normal people back at South Park-I just got the coolest deal ever! Whoo!" He swirled on his heels and then danced wrapped his arms around her waist, peppering her in kisses, causing her red blushing to deepen as she laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck as her cheek was rendered numb not by nature's indifferent touch, but rather now by Randy unconditional love, executed by kiss after kiss, suffocating only in the best way.

Regardless of whatever her answer had been that day, it would have been inevitable that they were going to be bound forever. Their marriage was permanently intertwined within the seals of their heart, constantly craving the other, needed the other, and, now that they had discovered it, there was no reality where it wouldn't be there.

She pressed her face into his neck, the fur of his coat pressing against her face. She was smiling now, truly smiling, so much that it hurt her cheeks, and she couldn't have stopped even if she had wanted to. A deep seated content trailed itself itself from heart and around them both as she felt Randy's swinging of her back and forth, still singing his celebratory bragging all the while.

For the first time in their life did they both feel treasured.

"A Predicted Goodbye"

Summary: Faceless can't understand or handle how she feels about Randy's much loved, utterly unpredictable, extroverted lifestyle. An emotional conclusion that tethers on the end of what they both worked so hard for arises, and the rest of their love is risked on what would have otherwise been another passionate morning.

Without even knowing it herself, Faceless felt a deep, resented burning within her that ate away at the numb hours of the miserable well of overthinking of whenever her insecurities got the best of her. The bleeding incapability that was born even further from her invisibility, full of a rich self doubt within the bittersweet disposition of what fate had fallen her into was no help; an isolated and mostly unseen life was what she had lived. There were times when even she wondered if anything she was feeling was valid, or if she was only rendered weaker than most.

The more malicious side of her craved the kind of anger that came quietly, so furious, that it disguised itself in love, and then snapped without warning; like a predator blending itself into its surroundings and leading its prey into its claws. If Randy was a soft, gentle, utterly and ultimately naive spirit, clad in a permanent innocence that traced up against the natural youth within him, then she was hard, uncomfortable, and relentlessly angry, a cold metal against the armed fabric of his soul. Though Randy had his own share of insecurities, it was forever cradled in a permanent innocence of not truly knowing or even being aware of what he was doing; hers was of a heated violence and even, in the worst of times, malicious vengeance.

It had been a small detail that had set her off. An infuriating, embarrassingly small detail-so much so that even she was frustrated with herself with just how blatantly angry she'd become within mere moments of feeling his warmth leave her. She could feel that eruption inside of her, encouraged unforgivingly by her insecurities, building up inside her body in a way that she had memorized and knew all too well.

The self loathing she struggled with only increased whenever she felt like this; when she began to turn on the only person who loved her, and, most importantly, the one person that she loved more than she could even comprehend. It was breathtakingly incomprehensible, tangible in only the most bittersweet and wondrous of ways, yet escaping any intellectual understanding. The best things in life weren't meant to be understood, only felt, and Randy was certainly the embodiment of what was meant to only be experienced, never truly comprehended.

It was almost unbelievable, a bound outside of human existence, the way she felt about him. And yet, perhaps, it was the heated and irreplaceable connection that prodded at her insecurities with an unforgiving claw; something that contrasted with an ugly starkness against the complete opposite of extroverted gold that was in Randy's life, so rich and so full of love that it reflected against even his very skin. Even with as flawed as he was, he had friends.

He had countless connections and friends, and he certainly had no problem talking to people. It was, undoubtedly, the complete and utter opposite of the isolated and ice layered cold that she felt within herself with the loneliness of her life, persistent until she had felt the warmth and the loving tender nature of his soft fabric layers of endless warmth, of irresistible innocence that was warmer than ray she had ever felt. Those always shining green meadows of eyes that were too good to even be considered eyes, so utterly full of life and irrecoverable zest were they. To find someone within the flawed, suffocated, and uncertain townspeople of South Park in and of itself was quite an accomplishment, much less someone of his age that was well past the age of fifty, and that was not even taking into account the toxicity of his previous marriage, which had attempted to trample his natural and golden innocent rare appetite for the world, and, much to her deepened relief, had failed every time.

But there was one bleeding insecurity, even within the fire of the love the shared.

It seemed as if she was only capable of one person loving her at once within her life. The observations that she couldn't help but notice when she watched Randy so easily interact and be bubbly around others was almost mocking in how she struggled to the the same easy fair, albeit unintentionally. Randy loved her, as deeply as she loved him; there was no maliciousness in how he so easily and easy melded with others. Still, her insecurities were poked and prodded.

She was only capable of one intimacy at a time; one bond, one relationship. That thought in and of itself was enough to make her plunge into a red volcano of endless self loathing of unwanted self reflective thought. She knew herself well enough to know that she possessed an endless space of disdain, both for herself and for the situations that life threw her in, so different was it from what most knew, so ugly and repulsive was it. There were more years within her life that had been entirely spent alone then there were ones that weren't, and the ones that had had love within them had ended like a wrecked storm. There were countless times when she felt she never would have made another connection again; and still, even within the love she shared with Randy, did that feeling persist. It was always a burden for others to talk about the love they not only had in their lives, but had; the adventures the had experiences with past partners that Faceless had never experienced, the countless counts of stories with more friends than people Faceless had ever even talked to. There were endless days where Faceless found herself far from lovable. Those days had been long and cold, full of a self effort that seemed to lead nowhere at a startlingly fast pace. And no one had been there, except for her own deranged thoughts that were heavier than helpful, to lift her back on her feet.

And, most surprisingly of all, they had become incredibly less frequent the more she had come to know Randy Marsh, the warmest man she had ever known.

So deeply ingrained was he within her that she could see him dancing behind her eyelids with his perceived ingrained nature, rendered to art underneath her own eyes. It had been an abrupt surprise when Randy had decided to enter her life; one that was almost painful with just how much he caressed her wounds, not intentionally did he do the action, but simply by being himself did everything feel easier, lighter, did everything make sense. She felt strong within and around him. He was a natural, chaotic dance of bubbly zest, and every patch of him was deeply ingrained within him, transferring itself and intertwining his own gently wrought, clumsy and uncertain touches around her body. The very sweat of his skin, the very hair on his black waves of hair that rest against his soft head, and on the pretty muscles and pale skin of his face the same, eyes dazzling far more than even the most extravagant bubbling, sparkling beer he would ever use and gloat himself on to chase away his demons shining deeper than anything she had ever known. He tried so little to be these things, and yet he tried so hard to be someone else.

She hadn't allowed herself to think about these unhealed wounds inside of her-always bleeding enough to hurt, but never drown-too much ever since Randy and the love that they shared that had entered. It had been the most unexpected and breathtaking blessing. His very existence was her reminder for what it felt like to be loved, a most blaring welcomed reminder that she, in fact, despite the isolation that had carried her throughout her life, was capable of being loved, and, not only that, but his love for her provided to her spoke with an forced shout that she was as worthy to be with someone that was just as connected, confident, and self-assured as Randy was.

He himself was her endless blessing. There was endless elements of him that fascinated her; he was able to quite literally lead people simply by being himself in a way that came out naturally within him. He had done much the same for her and her own flaws, as well as her own unwanted and mocking insecurity of her past; he had taken his masculine, albeit childlike, and unsure touch and had placed it under her quivering chin, and within his eyes had she seen his pain, his flaws, and the deepest of love had blossomed when they realized that they would not only complement each other, but they would understand each other, without fault or judgment.

From the moment her eyes had set against his own porcelain and iridescent skin had she known she had found a glue within him that would never cease to help her to piece together the broken wood that was each other; she would take care of him, just as he did her, and there would be no true effort or reason to it; they simply would, because they were cut from the same cloth, one and the same. The fatherly carving of the wrinkles of his skin, mixed with the goody nature of his permeant eternal youth that no devastations or losses could rob, had made her know without a shadow of a doubt that she had undoubtedly met her own personal golden throne. He was unseen by the world, a joke or an average man at best, but he was her own gentle answer; loud and yet soft at the same time in all his endless unintentional complexities.

Which is why she was so utterly horrified of ruining it with the blades of her past, often cutting up that which she didn't want touched.

One simple thing has set her off, and yet at the same time it hadn't been simple at all, for it had only been the tip of the iceberg that had been building up inside of her from the past couple of days of the events that Randy had unknowingly been participating in, unaware of the storm brewing within her. He could be preceptive, most especially of his loved ones, when it came to emotions that were important, but she could hide. Oh, she could hide. So much so that not even she could see it coming; but it had started like a low rumble within her, and, evidently, she loved Randy deeply enough that she had been able to catch herself on her own hands before it had been able to wreck what she perceived as the most loving and warm glow in her life, serving as a vessel to a equally soft soul. So precious and adorably innocent was Randy that it physically made her heart patter with a infatuated pain.

Speaking of that soft, precious addition; that was here the start of her storm had started in the cloudy, sun peaking day that warmed its rays over the weed plants that grew within the acres of land.

His arms have been wrapped up around her, warm, soft, and reassuring in all of their pudgy poetic touch; she couldn't help but feel that everything about him and within him had a natural essence of art to it that made her shiver at her lack of knowledge of understanding of why he so endlessly fascinated her, from every brush of hair of his arm against hers, to every way the hot breath of his lips lapped against her neck. The way that his soft, clueless unknowing in regards to how to be a 'good' human was her ultimate strength; she wanted to help him through ever tried and uncertain step of the ways of his days. The sensation of his soft breath that escaped his lips was almost always gently caressing up against the curve of her own love-starved skin; his snores gentle and yet sloppy, graceful yet unsure, such as he was himself. She could feel the indefinable squeeze between her thighs of pure and sheer desire from his charming subconscious nuzzling of his nose against hers; he was such a child, in the most tender, innocent, impressive way that only he could be. The both of them were sensitive souls, artistic even down to their lost natures. He was subconsciously pressing his lips up against the side of her head as he did so; he got so easily lost within how they shared this bond of heat with one another, even in dreams.

"Honey," he mumbled softly; the combination of his soft, drawl tone, mixed in with the sleepiness of his current state, was more adorable than she could take; she felt those goosebumps litter against her skin. His sleep talk was perhaps even more precious than the soft drawl of his usual speaking voice; although every time he spoke did she think it was a rare speckle of honeyed gold that she was honored to witness. She was utterly lucked when she caught him in these most vulnerable moments, when even the fire of his demeanor was dampened by the softness of his essence, two forces that were constantly clashing when he was awake, leading to his endless chaos. Yet that was the very reason why she knew that this was his most natural state; when he was soft, mumbly, gentle, and warm. Utterly, inconceivably warm. When the world stopped aggravated his insecurities of how to be good enough for the world, he became the most precious man she had ever known.

She smiled into the pillow as she realized he was half asleep; just awake enough to kiss her, and just asleep enough to smack his lips softly against one another as he lost himself in his secret dreams. Randy was a mystery and yet wasn't; he could be read only by those that read the code; the rest was an unintentional facade that others often would disdain at, but only because of their lack of understanding of where he was coming from, their lack of care.

Ironically, perhaps it was because that lack of care that he was such a trembling essence of softness, desperate for success ,riches, and the like. He was a ball of ironic nature; mirrored up and quite literally a product of the cruelty of what had used to be that modest town. People said he had changed, but then, so had the town; where it was once modest, simple, and quiet natured, it was now loud, overcrowded, and prone to even more chaos than before. An easily influenced and weak willed mind such as Randy had no chance facing against it, not until he had moved to those quiet acres of the farm. She felt his trembling fragility in every touch, and even in his loudest moments could she sense his quiet desperation. The enthusiasm that he held for the farm was born not only of that desperate narcissism that was rooted in wanting to be loved, but also his intelligent recognition that he was finally able to save himself.

She had smiled as she had pressed the side of her hollowed cheek further into the pillow that she was pressed up against, rocking the sheets further around herself. This was surely all she had ever needed, all she had ever wanted before she had even known she had needed it. It was funny how unintentional answers to questions she had suffering inside of herself were born from and all answered at once from true love.

But for all the softness within those sheets, all that hot breath, gentle arms, and that curve of Randy's plush stomach that eased against her spine, for all that panicked peace that was congested into those soft morning hours that were so rich it was almost painful, the essence and demeanor of it was quickly pierced. One simple act had completely cut through the simple and delicate harmony that they would have shared within one another had the world not been what it was; loud and unpredictable. And it was endless so; and the irony of it all was that Randy's own loud and proud, endlessly confident nature was always drawn towards it, something that she adored, save for when it came to her insecurities. And when she took into account the she was feeling lately, it was more than she could take.

The phone had rung. It's vibrations were loud and rude, like a violent sword through the previously peaceful air. Faceless had frowned, visibly upset, as she felt a strike of cold go through her despite Randy's warmth, snuggling herself further still inside the pillow, desperate that Randy would ignore it. She was enjoying-more than even she could comprehend, so rich was the feeling-the sensation of his arms wrapped around her the way that he did every single morning. He never left her side without kissing her on the cheek; he would, more often than not, at least kiss her several times on the side of the face; he was a wild and even selfish spirit, but when he was treated with patience did his inner romantic come out. Those were, undoubtedly, the most precious parts of her morning the same.

There was no expectancy for him to do that for her every morning, and she wouldn't have loved him any less if he hadn't, but there was, admittedly, a certain sort of expectation that have pulled at the strings of her heart that were born from attachment that had been strummed by the natural artistic of his hands the last few precious months they had spent together. They were still getting to know one another, and yet at the same time they already did. It felt, despite all reason for logic and how they were still clearly getting to know one another, that they had been together for what felt like the entirety of her life; she felt she had memorized every spoken vowel of his drunken voice, every impulsivity within his untimely actions, and every other pattern of fire that existed within him the same.

She knew he felt the same, through the noticeable tender nature that he treated her with, yet there was an embarrassed side of her that made her feel as if she was with someone that was the equivalent to an insecure teenager that was only just beginning to discover their partner for the first time, despite him being well past the age of fifty. Randy was a storm, even to himself; the budging of his veins within his eyes from his lack of sleep, from his weed overuse, from the prominent bulging of his fat stomach and alcohol stained fingers, were a testament to the fact that he was inconceivably lost, and even mentally underdeveloped, a quality that seemed to be following him the more his discontentment followed him in life. Intelligent he was, but he was also wildly unpredictable, and unsure of what he wanted. And hungry for more; always was he hungry for more. And no amount of self awareness took that away.

There were times when her insecurities, placed within her wounds from the isolation, complemented by bloody rejection, got the best for her, and even overcame the best and simplest of heavens. Randy hadn't done anything particularly wrong that morning; as a matter of fact, he had done everything right, and perhaps that was why her heart had bleed as it had sink within her fully how lucky she was to have him. Almost too lucky. Almost as if it was pathetic for a withdrawn and uncertain soul like her to have an extroverted, confident, and skilled man such as Randy.

"Crap," he whispered against his her neck, hot breath beating through her always anticipating skin, undeniable masculinity underneath his own raspy voice the way that he almost always did whenever he was caught off guard, and, much to her dismay, initially had his arm ghosted out of placement of her hips as he jumped himself upward and rushed his way over towards the phone, clumsy bouncing his way over as his love handles jiggled against his underwear in a clumsy and adorable fashion, black night waves of hair bouncing in their uneven glory.

"Shit-coming!" he shouted in that wobbled voice, somehow still so full of that tender artistry even when he was lost within his panic. She had never heard him not have those gentle tender tones within him; every day did she gradually unravel the gift that he was. The lack of logic of him talking to a phone didn't cross his mind; he was too scattered brained- too emotional-for that. Her lips quirked up tenderly as she turned and watched him race his way towards the phone, tripping over himself in that clumsy fashion, chubby body and the hill of his stomach jiggling in his rushed towards it. It was the most precious sight she had ever seen; the space between her legs trembled with desire.

As soon as he placed his hand against it, the previous panic was gone without a trace.

"Yello?" he spoke into the phone, leaning his body against the wall, attempting to stifle his breathing. He was speaking in that playful farmer's accent that he did whenever he got into a certain mood; from the moment he woke up to the moment he went to sleep was he full of undeniable playful energy. His green eyes, always so reminiscent of a green canopy of leaves with the amount of beauty and life he held within them, instantly widened with that boyish excitement as the person on the other end answered his humorously presented question.

"Steven! No way, bro! What's up, bruh? I haven't talked to you in ages! Got any good jokes since the last time we talked? I gotta tweet it to my followers. I've been slacking."

He had let out a raspy chuckle as he had pressed the phone up against his ear, evidently lost in the conversation within mere seconds. Faceless had looked over her shoulder as she watched him stand at the end of the wardrobe that sat across from the end of the room, his back now turned away from her.

"Whoa-hey, Gerald,, bro! What are you two gaywads doing hanging out together?"

Another charmed chuckle left his lips.

"Oh, early mornings and late nights, but its worth it to take care of my kids."

He leaned his arm that was meant to be hers within that morning against the wardrobe. The toxic thought flew through her mind before she could prevent it. There was a pause as Randy listened to the reply from the other side; she caught slight suggestions of the excited patterns of energetic talk from the other end, bubbly tones insulating adventures, life, and invitations of spiritual and literal invitations of warmth the same.

"Yeah-yeah! Never been better. What are you guys doing later,? I need some proper down time with you guys to satisfy my youthful spirit and healthy body."

It would have been embarrassing, the almost obvious forced slang and confidence he made himself speak for the sake of fitting in, for the sake of seeming better off than how he really was. He wasn't healthy; he was overweight, and smoked and drank more than she had ever seen even the worst alcoholics indulge in in her life. She knew Randy struggled with denial, and it always showed the deepest when he bonded with others he wasn't as sure with, and sometimes did his insecurities go so deep that it even happened around her. She wondered if that was why connections could be so difficult for him at times, in regards of getting people to stick around long term; he was well-meaning, but the subconscious of people's minds told them that something wasn't quite right in regards to his insecurity within himself. He met people constantly, but she had sensed long ago that true friends for him were few and far between, if not almost entirely nonexistent. Whether it was a reflection of his moral character or a reflection of Randy being too much for most people to handle, she knew not, but it didn't matter; she loved him just as much either way.

Though Faceless knew it wasn't entirely fair to label Randy's personality as fabricated when he talked to his others friends from back at home, she had seen first had what he would pretend he was for the sake of fitting in. The superficiality of what Randy referred to as "bro culture", something that he prided himself on being apart of, wasn't truly his soul. She knew it was a part of him, yet not him at the same time; there was a sense of forced nature to how he spoke and acted when he was around men his age, in contrast to the more tender, softer, and more vulnerable man that he was when he was around her. Even so, she was filled with a tender affection seeing him be excited to talk to his friends. He was in his element; and more importantly was he happy and healthy in spirit. Nothing warmed her heart more than that.

"Pssyh-yeah, of course I've been keeping up with football! What, do you think moving onto the farm made me gay?" A pause, and then a panicked look came into his eyes. "Not-not that there's anything wrong with that!" His words were rushed and uncertain; a little forced and worn, and clearly panicked that he would say something wrong. "But yeah, I'm just as up to date with everything I've ever been! Duh!"

He hadn't been keeping up with football, not once. He had become in tune with a new side of himself, utterly and entirely; a softer, older, and more artistic side that spent the days tending to the land, rather than partying, or even consuming media. He had changed for the better here; she could see it within the literal glow of his porcelain skin.

"Yeah, bruh, I'm totally down! What time?"

At least the conversation seemed to be moving on from his forced stuttering. His breath hitched as he waited for a response; he was feigning confidence as much as he could stand within his almost childlike excitement. It was the most heartbreakingly adorable sight Faceless had ever seen; he was a bittersweet combination between a unbearable innocent, and yet a polluted insecurity. A loud and satisfied whistle escaped his lips.

"Yeah, man, I'm there! I'll make the whole day free just so I can go."

The next couple of minutes had consisted of him laughing and talking on the phone some more, making jokes that she knew was between them that they shared only between each other. If she asked him to share, he would only pout at her and declare "Chicks wouldn't get it! God!", which would then end with her kissing the pout off his expression with a tender smirk. Throughout the duration of the call he didn't look over at her once; not even for when she pointedly turned her head over to make eye contact with him.

He was lost within his own world; that was unapologetically clear. He was pacing back and forth, completely lost in his own universe that was full of a heartfelt yet not complete understanding of the friendships that he shared with men back at South Park. His friendships with them were nurturing, human, and yet flawed and superficial to a worrying extent; Faceless knew him well enough to recognize that he wasn't entirely himself around them; that there was a sense of performance to how he interacted with them. Even within her knowledge of knowing him did a shiver of doubt escape into her mind; perhaps she was projecting her own jealousy, her own possessiveness, over and onto a life of Randy's that was clearly full of light and light, one that her own had been deprived of outside of what they shared.

He leaned his own plush body against the side of the bedroom wall, body radiating and glowing with that confident air that he possessed so unapologetically. Tender yet obnoxious was his presence as he continued to laugh and talk within the exclusive conversations that only his friends understood, that only they were welcomed into. She couldn't blame him for being exclusive; she knew that he was underdeveloped in how he desperately wanted to be accepted, and sometimes it made him act in immature ways, such as shutting her out because he "didn't want to be the lame one with the guys."

He hadn't kissed her awake, hadn't acknowledged her, or even given her a smile since he had woken. She rested her hands against the side of the pillow again, content to no longer look at him, but to simply listen to the rasped childlike demeanor of his voice; a masculine flower bloomed energy was within it, and yet it was born of a gentle innocence that she furiously always wanted to protect, to love, whatever that even meant, if anything at all. There was no right or wrong way to love; there was only humanity. Even within her frustration did she love him and crave him so deeply that it was maddening. Even when he made her feel negative feelings were they laced with an incomprehensible trace of breathtaking warm gold. Randy getting lost within his own world wasn't normally something that would have bothered her; if anything, it was what made her most happy, was him being unapologetically and entirely himself. in whatever way made him the most content. His happiness was her happiness, and in turn was his freedom her freedom.

But she had wounds born from her isolation that were almost alien in contrast to the extroversion of Randy's light of life. His leadership quality brought him not just friends, but people calling him, asking him for advice, souls drawn to his innate energy. She felt a wave of self loathing when she felt herself, subconsciously but loudly, comparing herself to his own richness of his social life. She had little friends of her own, and family was unspoken for.

They had met up with his first family yesterday. Though Faceless tried, and it often came natural to her regardless-especially when it came to the beautiful addition that was him-be an unconditional lover, jealously grabbed at her heart at those times. She had remembered the way that Randy had looked at Sharon with that familiar sort of glint of familiarity inside of his eyes that she almost saw as a certain fondness that she knew that she would never be able to quite have inside of his heart in the same way. The mother of his own two children, his first wife, the person that he'd grown up with in high school and beyond; he had looked over at her and greeted her with a laugh and a smile, tracing up into the spark of his green eyes. Despite the fact that Randy and Faceless had undoubtedly found their connection with one another, it was undeniable that there was a certain connection between the two of the ex spouses that Faceless didn't understand, and, much to her own hesitation to admit it to herself, never would understand.

There was a part of Randy that was forever separate from her; it presented itself in a unapologetic, stabbing way when he talked to his children in a fatherly, warm tone, within every time he called Sharon with that energy and understanding that only two people who shared their life together had. Though he was still slightly distant from the past with the broken shards of his family, and though he was within the process of trying to make amends in his own clumsy way, it was nonetheless full of a certain sort of dynamic that Faceless had never experienced before; he had a certain warm bonding with his experiences that she didn't quite understand.

On her worst days did it fully sink within the deepest part of her broken sinking of murky depths that she would never quite experience the way he bonded with Stan, full of high fives and knowing, gleaming, teasing smiles towards the other. She would never experience the way his children called him "Dad" unfailingly, no matter what situations or mistakes he fell into. Even the awkward conversations with Shelly that started out rough ultimately ended in a gentle sort of father and daughter dynamic, which would sink into a deep meddling of gold that she craved deeply. What she shared with Randy healed her wounds, but, despite his best efforts, his lifestyle stabbed them as well. Randy was extraordinarily unique, complex before even those around him could understand, and yet at the same time did he share a commonality with others, a stability that only loved and worthwhile people did; at least, that's what the illness of her mind taught her. He was just like everyone else, different enough that he could fall into the wild nature of her empty life, but similar enough that he melded comfortably into the patterns of the average happy life that made her own sickly hands utterly comfortable.

He had family, he had a history with people that were going to undoubtedly stick in his life forever. He had friends, and he had plenty of people within and without his life that came and went, plenty of people who knew he existed, and, no doubt in her mind, even though it gave her the deepest dread to even admit it, did she know that he would be able to even move on, to find another girlfriend to spend his life with if it didn't work out between the two of them. He was her one and only; she was not. She saw the patterns of his unpredictable mind, saw how his flexibility made it so much easier for him to mix in with others. As she observed him, grew to know him, as she traced her hands against his body and mind the same, the doubts grew along with the love. She grew increasingly aware of how replaceable she was to someone like him, and, in turn, how irreplaceable he was to her. She began to see, through hesitant blinking eyes, how painfully easy it would be for him to be able to throw her away-not because he was a bad lover; but because she was forgettable, toxic, and terrible at meeting people, awful at keeping them around within her life. Where his life was full of blessings, relationships, of people, and would be for the rest of his days from the simple charm of his nature, in the natural talent that he had to be able to connect with others, and to keep people around, even when he made the bloodiest mistakes, Faceless couldn't help but feel like there something inevitably unlovable about her that made it so that no one else ever stuck around with in her life, that almost every relationship that she had, if not every single relationship, save for the one that she currently had up in front of her, always end up falling away into a ghostly absolute nothing that faded away over time, beyond recall. Normally Randy's soft, warm touches would calm her in the midist of these thoughts; today, he was busying dancing within the richness of the life he had made for himself.

Finally did Randy hang up the phone, letting out soft, drawl and honeyed hums as he walked his through the frame of the bathroom. He shut the door from behind him as he made his way out the master bedroom. Shortly after did she begin to hear his childlike, off tune singing that came from the shower as he began to step inside it. It was soul chokingly adorable; even within her insecurities did she feel a desire to go to him. She could imagine the soft pudge of his stomach jiggling as he bounced his way into the shower with that unapologetic zest; she could image every mouth watering detail of how he threw his head back and allowed his own uneven cut bangs to be spoiled against the red hot of the water, caressing and running up against the back of his love handles and sculpted stomach brought to utter perfection, soft curves and warm skin, complimented by the striking green of his eyes, and a honeyed soul rendered by a spoken voice of slow, tender comfort. Her deepest comfort, even on days such as today. Normally she wouldn't have hesitated to get herself out of the bed and make her way over towards the shower, to join him in his endless inviting warmth of eternal youth and zest, wrapping her arms around the soft plump of his body, to forget all everything else for at least those soft fifteen minutes that was being showered in the delicate heat that was of the pouring of water that was placed against the two of them. Even when the water was burning and pounding against her skin with furious patterns, nothing compared to the gentle and tender heat of Randy Marsh.

He was undoubtedly clad in soft droplets of dew that matched up against the humble simplicity of her own soul, a man that only wanted, quite desperately, to love and to be loved in return. She bit down on her lip as she absentmindedly caressed her hand over the space between her two thighs; she couldn't help but to feel such a desire when she thought of him. She would kiss up against the front of his chest of his body, nipples spread apart wide and black hair trailing against his chest. There was nothing more detailed than the love between them both. The morning would pass on in that gently loved tender morning that they shared between them both; unapologetic and unceasing in the fire of how they adored each other. He would throw is head back, say something silly, trace his hungry hands that were graceful yet clumsy against hers. The love they shared was proof that even the most mundane souls were capable of the richest spiritual existence.

But today is she felt strange, almost angry, as if she wanted to distance herself, as if distance was what she needed to be able to protect herself from whatever strange ruin was inside of her that was being poked at a little bit more then she would liked for comfort that day. She let out a sharp intake of breath as his own childlike hums instantly began it drill through the air; drill, not trail, for everything about Randy demanded to be felt, to be heard. She could distinctly hear his mumbles bursting through the air, the soft drawl of his voice adorably humming and mumbling the natural musical talent within his voice.

"Freedom, freedom. Sometimes I feel like a motherless child..a long way from home.." He sang the lyrics with an uncaring freedom and zest; a gift he had within him that couldn't and wouldn't be taken away.

Though his tone was amatuer and off key, it was beautifully and delicately masculine as his voice traveled its way through the air, complemented by the sound of the hot water hitting the floor. She subconsciously snuggled herself further inside of her pillow, wanting to completely shrink away from her own thoughts, knowing that she didn't want to push him away from the heaven they shared, and yet, with the bittersweet beauty of innocence that was him, mixed in with how much she loved him, melded in with the combination of her inner thoughts, it felt like it made too much sense to do so. To to anything else was, for the time being, too painful.

Within a few warm moments did she hear the water shut off, and Randy's now softer hums were the only element that was heard catching the vibrations of the air within the quiet morning hours of soft dew light of Tegrity Farms as he went about his morning routine. She couldn't push away the stabbing thought that he didn't seem to be bothered by the fact that she didn't get up to join him the way that she usually did, and for a desperate moment did she wonder if he had ever enjoyed it when she had done it all those endless mornings, or if he'd only ever endured it because it was what the two of them were used to. Randy was, after all, a fan of repetition and comfort; it was what made him so addicting to know.

She wouldn't put it past Randy to settle for something, or someone, simply because it was what his partner wanted, or because it would help him fit in into those around him. He was a fairly simple minded man when it came down to it, which was one of the things that she loved the most about him. He was so simple to love, to care for; he wanted to love, to be told he was good enough, and though the ambitions of the world made him crave fame, it was only rooted in his desire to be told that he was worthy of respect, love, and of light. With every single year that came and presented itself to him in life, with how slower and older he became, it seemed that he had immensely enjoyed her attempts to give that to him; it showed in the way that his eyes is glowed when he looked at her, with the way that he had said almost always something flirty, albeit lovingly awkward and clumsy, having lost his younger charm in his old age, and with always a loving will towards her when he had looked at her and invited her over into his warm arms, even warmer than the deepest of fire she could image. Randy's warmth wasn't just comforting; it was exhilarating, comforting and yet unpredictable in a charming wave of light that made every day an adventure. Always did she miss him.

She pressed herself further against the surface of the pillow as she heard his footsteps begin to make its way down the hallway, and then, with one last strained anticipation from her end, finally did he open up the door as he began to make his way up towards the wardrobe. As she heard him open it she felt her curiosity get the best of her; she looked out of the corner of her eyes as she caught glimpse of the pale of his back, delicately traced up up by the white of the towel that was wrapped around his waist, perfectly and lovingly tracing up against the overhang of his stomach and love handles. He was an addicting and mouth watering sight; she loved him more than she knew was possible.

His off key and endearing hums continued to look for his farmer's clothes inside of the wardrobe. She knew his own routine like the back of her hand. Just a glimpse of him alone was enough for her to feel a squeeze within her heart, a bittersweet and loving sensation. Normally it would have been one that was only a complete love, but her bleeding insecurities were a little bit louder than anything else would be that day. Instead she pull the sheets further against her face as she watched the way that he continued to dance with his erratic and childlike mannerisms up in front of the wooden wardrobe in front of him. He pulled out checkered shirt after checkered shirt, throwing them onto the ground in the careless way he often did. Finally did he let a home and a chuckle, followed quickly by the soft gentle toned nature of his laugh. He turned around on his heel, his own handsome carved features plastered up by the waves of his uneven bangs that were glued against his face, looking over at her with a delicate smirk, traced up with the handsome whiskers of his moustache, green eyes of meadows sparking as he met her eyes and smiled. Even just to make eye contact with him for the first time was enough to make her feel as if lighting was striking through her; she took in a sharp intake of breath without even realizing it, feeling as if she was feeling as he looked into her gaze.

"Oh shit," he rasped, still chucking as he pressed one hand up against the side of his flesh hip. "Babe, you're not going to believe what I just pulled on myself. I just spent the last five minutes going through this wardrobe trying to find my blue shirt, and it's been on you this entire time. God, maybe I do get high a little bit too much." He chuckled at his own statement as he made his way over to her, sitting down on the edge of the bed, only a few inches away from her. "Ha! As if! Sharon would love to hear me say that though, I'll bet."

He reached out a hand and gently placed it on her waist, instantly causing her to feel a strike of warmth, traced with a delicate anger born from love, which was a bittersweet and contracting sensation. She felt the way that he gently pressed his fingers up against the top of her hip, gentle yet unfocused at the same time in the way that he always was. She desperately wanted to sit herself upward, to place her hands up against him in that way she always hungered to do, but she felt a hesitance, a strange discipline to keep up the act of keeping herself as distant from him as possible. She knew that it was childish; the complete lack of communication that her melancholy and self loathing were giving her within that moment, but at the same time was she feeling far too many negative emotions to be able to even consider ignoring them. Randy could be emotionally challenging at times, but he could just as easily be oblivious, especially when he was in high spirits, such as he was now. He was, no doubt, only focused on the day that he was looking forward to that signified a full life, other people, connections, friends, and a successful business, and possibly even a couple of calls from his family. She couldn't help but tense of the thought, knowing that she didn't even have even half of those things on her plate for the day. She had him, and the richness of her life ended with him. More often than not was she more than content to be his partner, his guiding hand, in more ways than one, in whatever way he needed that day. To do something, She was normally more than happy to be that; but not today, not when she felt as if she was the very definition of an empty vessel that she didn't know what to do with.

"Hey, hun. You want to take a turn with the shower?" His towel was pressed over his waist, the overhang of his plush stomach leaning over it a few inches as he sat down and relaxed his body. His damp hair was stuck out in multiple directions as he looked at her with his blinking, still tired eyes, not having rubbed sleep out of his vision. The sight would have normally driven her crazy with desire; usually, the next few minutes would be overtaken by heated and feverish kisses, peppered around every inch of his face until his raspy, delicate laughter left his own playful lips. Instead she felt nothing; or rather did she feel too much, more than she could handle. Today the sight of him, the feeling of her admiration for him, made her feel colder, more frustrated, more brisk as she raised herself onto her elbows on the bed sheets.

"That's alright," she mumbled as she sat herself upward. She looked over at him and gave him the closest resemblance to a smile that she can manage out of the strain that was plastered up against the muscles on her face, feeling as if nails were embedded inside of her expression as she looked over at his own innocent face that blinked at her cluelessly. Though Randy was, in fact, lost in his own world, he could sense that there was something off, and he was beginning to pick up on it as he gazed at her with his two searching and ever gentle eyes, searching back and forth between her own.

"Oh," he mumbled softly, tenderly, and slowly; every vowel within his tone was the most gentle poetry she could never tire of hearing, even now. "Are-Are you sure, hun? It's still pretty warm." He gave her a soppy smile as he caressed his fingers against her thigh once again; even with the layer of sheet between them did she feel goosebumps raise on her bod. "I could help you in and...stuff. Could be super romantic."

He smiled as he granted her that soppy, tender, charming disposition that always drove her mad; perfectly masculine and yet at the same time a gentle sort of clumsy naivety that she adored more than her heart could comprehend. As if purposely trying to coerce her out of her bad state without outwardly acknowledging it did he continued to gently caress his fingertips up against the soft of her waist. "How was wearing my shirt last night? I know you've been asking to wear it at night for ages." The gentle begging that was present within his voice was not lost on her; it never was. She could read him like a book, just as he could read her.

Which was how she knew she was failing miserably at keeping her anger away from him, which she could feel radiating in waves as she turned away. She could feel his eyes boring into back, the eyes that knew her better than she often knew herself, but rather than falling into that rich sense of love did she instead dimly dismiss it, making her annoyance all the thicker.

She gave him a strained, almost burning glare with her own eyes as she looked over at him. "Just leave it, Randy."

He chuckled softly; nervously. The white of his teeth poked out from the delicate hair on his moustache, each one almost seemingly artistically placed with the pretty way it framed his lips and expression the same. Randy wasn't just an artist; he was art himself. Her heart broke in her chest; she hated when she did this to him. And he was so heartbreakingly beautiful; everything she had ever looked for before she knew she had ever needed it.

"What?" he chuckled, a nervous and heart stoppingly adorable smile tugging his lips as he laughed out the word more than he spoke it.

Even so did her anger, did her damage, present. "Just leave it. The shirt, the shower." She paused as she reflected on the blunt venom in her voice, trying to figure out how she could make it kinder, without betraying how she truly felt. "Thanks for the shirt. I'll leave it on your bed. Shower in a minute. Thanks."

He blinked at her slowly, lively eyes caught in surprise as he looked over at her. She could feel black regret inside her chest as she saw that genuine clueless misery glint in his eyes that he so didn't deserve. He chuckled again slightly, a slight defense out of the clear hurt that he was feeling. He continued to stare at her with his still searching and confused eyes. She almost hated how he knew her so well; she could sense how he was turning the pages inside of her own hurt and was reading them like a book, yet they were also clueless within the midst of the shock of his own hurt, clouding the connection they normally would have shared. His finger was still placed against her hip, although his palm breaking out into a sweat, signifying his nervousness.

"Wha-what?" His voice was soft, slow, unsure. His gentle safety, for the time being, had been ruined.

She looked at him, and shrugged shortly. Despite the way that she was feeling multiple devastations inside of her chest, her anger was presisting. She was angry at herself, at her damage, and her isolation, but not at him. Never at him. But that wasn't how it was executing itself, and Randy was getting hurt in the process. She knew that she was being impulsive, even toxic with the way that she was acting, and yet couldn't quite bring herself to care; she supposed that was another thing her and Randy shared in common. Both of them danced within their toxicity, most especially when they knee they shouldn't.

"I said, just leave it. Just leave the whole morning routine, Randy. I can just figure it out myself today. You're busy. Go be busy." She couldn't bring herself to look him in the eyes when she talked like this. So flat in tone, so different from the softness she usually gave him. She knew she was going too far; yet that was the thing about pain; it ate away until there was nothing left. She didn't want to think too much about the pressure of his palm up against the side of her hip, how it was becoming increasingly more painted with the sweating surface of his palm. He was beautifully innocent, persistent to his youth in a way no one around him was so much that they scorned him for it. He deserved better than her.

"Uh-ok," he mumbled, gazing at her with a glinted question of caution in his eyes. He hesitated for a moment. Tension increased between sweating palm and the fabric of the blanket that protected giving away the goosebumps of vulnerability on her skin of how much she truly needed him. Though normally she adored how obvious it was, today it was would have brought more unwanted annoyance. More complicated pain. "Everything ok?"

"Never been better," she snapped. Her heart shredded; she never snapped. She didn't mean for her voice to come out quite as sharp as it did, and instantly did she feel black wave of sticky regret when she saw the way that Randy almost physically pushed himself away from her, pain glinting in his eyes, and a sharp pain of breath accompanying his hurt. She was almost frustrated with the way that he wasn't giving up on her the way that so many people had in the past on a bad day. He was surprisingly patient, and rich in how consistently enduring he was with a loved one, even within his own hurricanes and flaws. When he didn't move, she raised up an eyebrow and returned his own slightly wounded gaze. "Just leave," she murmured softly.

Randy looked at her for a moment, a twitch against his lip that was a subtle pain within the muscles of his features, but after a long, tense moment did he get himself upward as he nodded curtly. He never got angry; not in the way that many other people, most especially Sharon, did. He had kept his own softness despite the years that he had put up with her; perhaps that was the reason why he did.

He could be reckless sometimes, and became clumsily ridiculous whenever he was truly bothered, but he wasn't truly a violent man; he was the most tender soul that she never met with in her life. Though sometimes he did occasionally let his violence get the best of him, it was almost the equivalent to a child that had more emotions than they knew what to do with, rather than it was a genuine sort of violent adult anger that she is seen from others. When it came to the gentler, more unsure and uncertain soul of Randy in regards to conflict with those he loved, that harder part of him hardly existed. Those he didn't were more prone to his ferocity; he was a gentle golden dove to those he loved, but sharper than a rock than those he didn't-he would become distant, look at her with a wounded gaze, and, in the most intense of times, become panicked inside of himself as he continued to search her with his eyes.

That side of him was what was presenting itself to her now; his red rimmed eyes glittering not with the weed he smoked, but rather the undeniable emotions he was wrestling with that came from the golden rich of his soul. He got himself up nonetheless, and she knew that the next words that he spoke were going to have some sort of sharp edge, the equivalent to a sword within her chest, knowing that his tender words were going to come out apologetic, the way that they almost always did whatever he felt like he was doing something wrong.

"Dammit," she whispered, soft enough that only she could hear.

She wanted him to fight for himself; to fight for better than her. The worst part was that he hadn't done anything wrong; he'd only ever been himself, the most special and delicate thing that she had ever known or had fallen in love with, and here she was, forcing him to doubt the precious nature that he was. She hated herself for it so much that she could have destroyed herself, scratched her own skin within that moment, had it not been for a strange feeling that was up against the tip of her lips. One of hesitance. Of curiosity. She was pushing Randy's patience; she wanted to see how far it would go.

"Are-are you sure, hun? I mean.." He rubbed the back of his neck, gripping up against the side of the frame of the door to give himself some stability as he stepped backward. "I'll give you space if you need it, honey. You just seem a little...on edge. A little bit of a bitc-" He stopped what he was saying before it could leave his lips, his demeanor becoming frozen as he looked over at her. He had said the word; the one Sharon had blown up at him so many times before. She could see the clear panic inside of his gaze as he looked over at her. He was waiting with a frozen and numb demeanor to see what her response would be, if she would truly be a more nurturing and understanding partner than the brown haired women he had shared his life had been.

"What? You can say it," Faceless responded shortly as she met his uncertain eyes. She wanted to talk to him, to challenge the bounds of their love; she wanted to know how he would treat her if she was anything other than the loving person towards him she had always been. It was more than enough for her to be that, but right now she couldn't, not with the insecurities that were practically dancing up inside her mind and walking into her head, into her eyesight so much to the point that she couldn't even think straight. Clearly she couldn't see straight, either; she had no idea how else she could resist the pale, chubby, stocky, and delicately traced handsome features of the pretty man in front of her, his naivety inside of his eyes speaking of alluring safety of adventure that instilled a preciousness that could never be taken away. She was more than the loving partner she was with him, and she wanted to see if he could handle all that she was. She wanted him to see all sides of her existence, and, in turn, she wanted to see all side of him.

He frantically shook his hand, looking as if he wasn't even considering the notion of calling her the name that so easily left his lips with his previous wife.

"Never mind, honey. Let's just get you up, okay? Come on." He spoke encouragingly as he pattered his hand against the frame of the door with that attempted fired zest within his own two eyes that were that were gently traced up against the delicate welcome of his face as he looked at her with an attempt at throwing away the negative. "Up, up, Faceless, we got a big day ahead! Lots of Tegrity needs to be had! Am I right?"

Normally the soft and gentle pattern of his goofy personality that was almost the equivalent to a gentle peppering of kisses on her face before starting their day would be enough for her to be able to help herself upward, to motivated for the day, but instead she continued to look over at him as she felt a increasing frustration hardening up against her chest.

She sighed as she shook her head. Randy's eyes darted towards the window; no doubt there was at least several things that had already come and gone on his schedule; that he normally would have been happy to put aside for more time between the two of them. Instead did she sense a fragile impatience within him. With the way she was acting, she couldn't say that she necessarily blamed him for not wanting to stick around. She was amazed that Randy's own fragile patience had made it this far, knowing how much he was prone to exploding like a volcano.

After a moment did his green eyes flutter back over towards her, those green eyes that were the very definition of the essence of the very nature of beauty and compelling core of his soul that caused his eternal youth to glisten striking into her with a new determination. He began to make his way over towards our, leaning down on his own two knees up against the front of the bed as he leaned himself against it.

"Here, hun, let me help you," he encouraged as he reached up his hands for her to take. But she shook her head. She was surprisingly even more angry at the gentle notion that he was giving her than she would be at him calling her a bitch. He blinked in surprise as he took his hands back, hesitantly forcing them back against his chest. It seemed so unnatural for him to pull himself away from her.

"Just let me do it, Randy," she spoke curtly. Randy paused and blinked at her in shock; his eyes watched her as he pressed both of his hands now up against his chest, closing in on inside himself in that childlike way that he did whenever someone was angry at him, giving him a hard time, or, in the worst of times, when his feelings had been truly hurt in a way that would last.

She threw her legs upward and rushed her away over to the wardrobe, desperate to escape the clutches of the tension between them. She felt the way his green fires bored into her as he turned and watched the way that she made her way towards the wardrobe. There was a tense silence between them that was deeper than she had ever felt between them before. She had numbed herself too much to care. She instead hyper focused on getting the clothes out of the wardrobe; anything to escape what was happening both within herself and between him, two elements that were inevitably linked. Despite her best efforts, she wasn't even focusing on the rustling of the clothes that came from her angry, searching fingertips as much as she was on the man that was staring at her from behind, so tangible was his gaze that she could practically hear the words that he was thinking before he even spoke them. Finally, after a long, tense, and frozen pause, did he speak them, his own voice finally beginning to be present in anger, rather than tenderness. She had pushed him too far.

"You just sounded a lot like Sharon, you know that? She was super fun when we first met, and even the first few years we were together, but as time went on. ..well." He clicked his tongue. "She became a real bitch."

She heard how he turned around as he spoke to her, and she could hear the way that his own dirty farmer pants were rustling as he got himself upward. They were slightly too big for him, and full of patches that she had sewn on for him at the end of every day. Those nights have been full of love, gentle laughing, murmuring, and caresses that were the very definition of true love as they had spoken and spent time together, and she swallowed thickly as she realized that she could no longer see the clothes in front of her trembling fingertips as she continued to look down in front of them, tears spoiling her vision.

"Well, I'm sorry that I can't have it all together every single day," she mumbled softly. Her voice was choking on the hurt she had brought upon herself, and her self loathing increased. She pressed her hands further up against the pants up in front of her, grabbing a random one, and pressed the material up in front of her chest, more so as a method of grounding than it was anything else. There was a soft, loud, and heavy sigh that came from Randy from behind her, and though she desperately wanted to turn around to see what he looked like, she knew that if she were to see his expression now that she would completely break within that moment. She had hurt him for the first time that she had ever known him, and though their relationship had never been perfect, though they always had moments of spiritual struggling that all adults had to work through, they had certainly never snapped at each other before. And the worst, most striking, painful part: it had been her own decision.

She closed your eyes for a moment as she placed trembling hand against the material. The voice instead of her mind was now blaring; telling her that she was enough, that she wasn't worthy of this house, of this man, who had so many friends and such a normal life, of the people that surrounded her, of the lifestyle that he had given her. Of even the shirt that was wrapping around her shoulders.

After a moment did she throw down the pants that was pressed up against her chest as she began to frantically take her fingers and throw off Randy's shirt around her shoulders, letting out pained gasping breaths all the while as she began to work on throwing the clothes off her body that so unapologetically smelled like him.

"Woah, woah, woah, honey, calm down, okay?" The frantic and now slightly more tender voice of Randy make its way from behind as she heard the way that he tripped over himself towards her, placing both of his hands up against each side of her arms that were now only slightly draped up by the blue of his shirt as she continued to push herself away from him.

"No," she whined, almost sounding like a child herself as she spoke with her voice trembling. She could feel the way Randy had placed his own hands up against the side of her own trembling arms; even within her struggle did he hesitantly make sure the shirt was draped around her shoulders as he watched her still with those red-rimmed, searching eyes.

There was a long and hesitant pause between the two of them while her face turned her face away from him entirely, her eyes completely blurred with tears as she looked over towards the side. She could sense the hesitancy in the way that he spoke his next words.

"Hun," he murmured after a tense moment, pained uncertainty inside of his voice, and yet at the same time was their determination inside of his tones that she knew that he only reserved for those that he truly loved. "This isn't about your period, is it? Or is something else is really bothering you? Just..just throwing out suggestions here." There was a pause of silence from her end. In his tentative, enduring nature did he find it in him to try again.

"Sweetheart, something is really, really, really bothering you, isn't it?" A long pause from her end; no response. He let out his own deep and uncertain sigh as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, Faceless-I know that I don't necessarily always understand women, or the stuff they get upset about, but this is about way more and than just something going on with your body, isn't it? This is about way more than just a little bitchiness, or about something that I don't understand. Isn't it? You don't act like this, Faceless. You never do." He gently patched his fingers up against the side of her elbow, and although she cringed slightly at the feeling, not because she didn't want him, but because she wanted it with such hunger she felt as if she could go mad; his delicate touches were the remedy to her cold layers. She found that she was too choked to be able to give him a proper response. Instead she began to shake slightly, and, as Randy felt the way that her shaking increased further up against his fingertips, his own defense lessened.

She hard the way he let out a soft, drawl whine, followed by a soft and tender hum that quite literally the equivalent to a soft caress her soul as he began to press fingers up against the side of her shoulder, pulling her into him quietly. She began to feel the full tears fully overcoming her, the choking sob inside of her chest only becoming deeper as she allowed herself to be pressed up against the side of his chest. The care taking instinct of Randy didn't hesitate as he threw her hands up against his chest, gripping tightly up against her shoulder blades to ground himself, as well as her. A gentle click transmitted between the two of them; something desperate was being healed. She began to press her face further against the front of his chest, gritting her teeth and frowning violently as she allowed her hands to grip up against the font of his shirt, as she allowed herself to utterly fall into the warmth of his chest, of his natural clumsy and fatherly nature.

"Hey, hey, hey. It's ok, sweetheart. I'm here," he murmured softly, his hands against her back in an attempted reckoning of peace. He was letting out deep breaths of his own, ones that were clearly giving away just how overwhelmed he was himself. She would make this up to him later; and it dawned on her then just how lucky she was to even know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that later still existence between the two of them; that not even her bleeding swords of wounds could come between them. It was a sign that she was certain of the love they shared, despite it all. That in and of itself was endlessly healing.

Randy's usual alcohol stained fingertips were currently cleaned from his shower. Pure human skin was against pure human skin. She wanted to make this up to him; it was the least that she could do for him; it almost felt like a desperate need. She felt the way that his fingertips gently begin to caress across up and down the small of her back; his favorite place to put his hands, his touches, on her whenever he needed his own grounding.

Her sob overtook her within only a few moments, and she knew he was listening to the disclosure she was giving him simply by her silent cries, against the veil of his trust that was presented in every patch of his existence, traced up against the black of his hair as she nuzzled herself up against the caress of his chest hair, and even in the midst of her torment and of the confusion that was inside the fog of her head did she know that she was comforted simply the way that his body here was gently pressing up against her body, reminding her that he was real, that he was holding her inside this arms. Flawed though he was, he was utterly real; and honest in his presence. Despite her emotion did she begin to choke out the first thing that came to her mind, yet it never really came to her thoughts at all, but rather was it something that she felt as if she had needed to speak before she had even known that the words had even been processed inside of her heart.

"I'm so sorry. I've been so hard on you, haven't I? I'm doing exactly what I said I wouldn't," she murmured as she allowed her lips to gently press up against the front of his chest. He shuddered slightly, but he pressed his fingers further and more intensely up against the small of her back, nodding slightly, shyly, as he did so. She was expecting him to say something that was an agreement, something that was aggressive yet tender in his own overwhelmed voice, something she could easily get through to him with. But the complete opposite occurred; she felt her blood run cold as she heard the words he spoke.

His words came out pained, unnatural, boylike in his emotional devastation."I-I can't do this." His voice was congested, the slowness of his voice making itself fully known as he choked out his confession. The rhythm of his fingertips up against the small of her back ceased. She had almost been healed by the combination of the words that he spoke that signified some sort of spiritual sympathy, mixed in with the gentleness that he had just granted her with his fingertips that was almost too much of a burning desire that was more than she could take.

She gazed up at him with her own shocked and questioning eyes at his unexpected words, and his red-rimmed gaze that was a burning of canopy trees within his natural nature looked down at her with a boyish defeat. His own tears clearly were presenting up against his eyes from the interaction that they had just shared; she was seeing the pieces of the man she loved within that moment, and it was utterly, mind numbingly, soul strikingly devastating.

"Why not?" she whispered softly. Her worse fears were coming true, and it seemed as if it was becoming confirmed that their love was far more superficial than she thought it had been all these years. That her fears that he would drop her at the drop of a hat if she allowed her own doubts to overcome her more than her presented stability, that they weren't strong enough to be able to get through anything and that was a little bit too difficult for them to be able to overcome.

Randy sniffed; his nose ran with clear snot. He cried like a child; it was irreplaceably precious. "Because I don't think I know how to love anymore." He sputtered the dark confession out before he knew himself what was leaving his lips. He blinked in surprise at himself, and there was a slight deep sorrow ingrained in the canopy of leaves that was inside the electric gaze of his own eyes that never fail to make her weak in the knees as he looked down at her. Endless days and trails were within those eyes that she could explore forever. His lip was trembling, his cheeks were spoiled red with his own blood that was summoned by his emotions that he looked down at her with an emotional defeat; one single tear ran down the midnight of his lashes as he blinked at her rapidly. "Every day I wonder-is this the day I'll do something wrong? Too wrong? That she'll start bitching at me the way Sharon did? I always feel like I do stuff wrong and people get sick of me-I don't know what the right answer is, Faceless, and I never will. Even-even my kids are sick of me, Faceless!"

Faceless blinked at him in panicked, yet tender, recognition of her own wounds. The words that he was speaking where something that she knew that she had been expecting in the back of her head, and hearing them out loud felt as if she was feeling a sword being cut inside of her heart. She knew him so well that she knew his deepest fears even before he spoke them. She felt a deep black panic inside inside of her that perhaps she had opened a wound that was inside of the love that they shared that had been too deep for her to be able to amend now that she had allowed it to breathe.

She swallowed thickly, and the only thing that gave her the strength to continue to talk to the man in front of her that was a very definition of the life, love, and strength he gave her simply by his existence. She looked up at him with her own scars as she blinked desperately with her own emotional weakness that was plastered all against Randy's own face; a complete mirror against one another were they. He wore his heart on his sleeve, a delicate art that was only born from him and him alone, and one of the things that made it both terrifying yet utterly rewarding to be able to render her soul to him the way that she was now.

"Randy…" she murmured softly. She looked up at him with her own troubling whisper. His broken gaze met hers, lip pouting and trembling in the way of his confession. He looked as if he was a child waiting for answers from the sheer amount of his own emotional reckoning that fostered up against his face. Although Randy could be a leader, though he could be masculine and unwaveringly confident in many ways, deep down inside was he just as tender and as soft as she was, if not even more so, and just as insecure.

She realize the mistakes of her thought patterns that morning, and with a striking wave of unexpected and harsh realization did she come to remember all at once the reasons why they were so inexplicably bound to one another. Though he had plenty of friends, and countless numbers people that he had surrounding him, very few people, if anyone at all, was able to catch his fall in the way that he specifically needed, and even less people truly connected with him; truly saw him. He was a soul lost in a broken sea, prone to make noise, but almost entirely uncertain of how to find an anchor within the reckless waves of life.

"You don't think I'm scared too, Faceless?" he whispered out of his trembling lips, rendered red apple with the emotion that was bubbling to the top of his mind. He wiped the front of his dampened face, shaking his head slowly. "You-you don't think I don't wake up every day wondering where the hell this is all gonna go? That our love will fail...like- like my status as a father did? Or as a husband with Sharon?" A pained hiccup left his lips, delicate and yet childlike congested with the conflicted emotion he was feeling. The flowers of red within his eyes as he looked down now seemed as if the very essence of his life had been crushed out of him; the precious gusto and enthusiastic man he had been that morning was gone without a trace. He had that unpredictability about his nature, but she always recognized that she had pushed him to the brink of the edge of where he stood now.

She hadn't created a new wound, she realized, but rather had she unmasked suffering that was already there. Still did she feel that self loathing inside of her chest; the only element that spoke louder than that black tar within that moment was the utterly raw feel of the sheer love she had for him. "

Words felt as if they would die on her lips, but she had to at least try to express them. "I never wanted to do this to you," she choked; it was a miracle she could speak through the lump within her throat, through the literal tangible hole that gaped open in her chest. She had to push herself to be emotionally vulnerable; she had to. There was no other choice. Even word felt like nails leaving her throat, yet she knew that was the very reason she had to try,

"Randy-I-I just get so insecure sometimes, and sometimes...I feel like there is better for you out there, or that it would be so easy for you to move on… that nothing none of this would mean anything to you if it became too hard to be in."

Despite the clear weak trembling within his expression did Randy raise his eyebrows as he watched the way that she spoke. It was a combination between the suspicion and emotional devastation that he had been showing only a moment before in its entirety. He was an endless contradiction in that way, and completely unpredictable. It was one of the reasons why he took her breath away every single time, just from observing him, just by watching the way that he existed. He was a breathing living page of poetry, rewriting itself countless times, over and over again.

"This?" he muttered, in that low, drawl, slow and ever confused tone that he did whenever he was truly bewildered or taken surprised by something. It was, as everything was with him, breathtakingly precious To be able to hear her made him weak the knees with the sheer amount of how much he realized just how precious he was towards her, and for her. He was, for all intents and purposes, her life, which was a precious notion for the both, and yet that had been the very reason why her insecurities had gotten to her in the first place.

"This," she repeated. She reached at one fingertip and gently traced it up against the part of his chest that exposed where his heart was underneath a layer of porcelain skin that had been spoiled up against with her kisses countless mornings and even more passionate nights, and even still countless daytime hours as well. Every second they had together was a remedy for the chaos the world was made of. A deep and pained hitch presented itself in his breath as he felt the way her fingertip pressed up against the front of his trembling heart, sculpted cleft chin spoiled in tears.

"I-I don't want to fuck this up either, Faceless," he gasped out, raising up one hand and pressing it up against her wrist, temporarily stopping her in the way that she was gently caressing small circles up against the patch over his own beating and wounded heart; so full of endless youthful passion was the vulnerability of his presence.

She could feel the way that it was beating in that panic that he had, could feel the way that he was on the edge of anticipation just as much as she was. Her insecurities have been so horribly, almost excruciatingly wrong, taking him cruelly to the same place of black panic that she was, that same place of emotional doubt that was grounded on shaking land.

She understood now. Although the way that they stood on their own two feet with in life on a day-to-day basis looked entirely different on the surface, deep down inside, they were in that same place of desperation, of deeply clinging onto one another, knowing that the other person's arms, that the maps of the complex essence, perfectly led to the same road. Gentle understanding of the others' psychological state was the only thing that truly caught each other's fall at the end of every long, trying, and misunderstanding day.

"I-I don't want anything to do with you leaving my life," Randy breathed shakily. "Everything that you've done for me since you've come into it has been for the better, Faceless. I-I don't know if sometimes I'm the problem, or if sometimes it's you, or maybe it's both of us." He paused as a thoughtful flicker of doubt crossed his eyes. "Both. It's probably both." He let out a sigh even just at the small reckoning of conversation that he was having within himself as he closed his eyes for a moment. He paused, still keeping his fingertips pressed up against her wrist of her hand, as she kept her fingertip pressed up against one simple place that was right up next to his heart on his chest.

"But-but I do know that you came, and you really did change me to be better, Faceless. I'm still me, you know? But I don't know..I-I feel better, somehow. More healthy. More in tune with what I want. Every day I don't really recognize myself entirely, but it's in the best way. I still have my friends, I still have my business and farm shit going on-but-but-" he let out a deep breath, his eyes flickering with doubt over towards her. She smiled an nodded encouragingly at the truth that was leaving his lips. "I guess, at the end of the day, without having you to come home to, it all stops making sense, somehow." He choked on the last words as he looked at her, surprised with himself at the intensity of the truth he spoke. A flare ignited inside of his eyes as he gazed at her. "If-If there's any problems with how you feel about me, I want you to say it." He said the words with an almost furious command as he spoke them, his eyes sticking into her questioning ones, the black of his eyebrows tracing up against the handsome of his face as he looked over at her in a way that was almost a challenge.

"I want you to say it, Faceless, if you have a problem with what I do, okay? Sharon never wanted to talk about it, and it destroyed all of us." He let out a bitter chuckle, followed by a bitter laugh. "Oh, she wanted to talk about stuff. all right, don't get me wrong about that. But she only ever want to talk about how everything that I was doing was wrong. How everything that I was doing was selfish, wasn't the right thing for the family. She never wanted to see things from my side, and of course I'm not going to want to talk to her about how messed up she thinks I am. Of course I won't talk to someone who only ever wanted to invalidate everything that I did."

"What about your children?" Faceless murmured. She wanted him to get the poison out; ranting was good for him.

Randy let out another bitter chuckle, white teeth poking out from his moustache as she shrugged. A dark glint flew across his green eyes.

"Stan always just..sat there. It was like he wasn't alive! How am I supposed to talk to that?" His adam's apple wobbled, and Faceless gently caressed her fingers against his wrist. She never saw him quite so at the height of his emotional height of complicated anger and devestations the same than when he talked about his family. "And Shelley? Shelley calls me a piece of shit-she always hated me, but it was even worse when she gave me the cold shoulder."

He took out a deep breath as he looked at her, raw emotions radiating from every trembling inch within his green eyes. There were delicate flowers of red tracing against the white emotions of his eyes that were so irresistible and childlike, yet so experienced with the trails of adulthood and the complications of living life as a creative and complex spirit. She could feel the way that he was trembling as he let his own spiritual poison eave his lips.

"The-the point is, Faceless, is that when you came in, there was a certain grounding that came into me that I haven't been able to find in anyone else." Faceless tried to offer him another nod, but a bittersweet emotion flared through her body. Her bottom lip trembled of its own accord and Randy's eyes flew with a sudden fire of consideration as he watched the way she unraveled in front of him.

"Hey-" he hushed softly, as Faceless felt another tremor of emotion plaster itself against her face. "Don't worry about all that bullshit about me finding some other chick, babe. There's nothin' out there. I'm pretty sure of it at this point. I don't know everything, and I never will, but-you love me, right, honey? You love my flaws and-God, you even love my vices." His caressed his thumb that rested against her her wrist, leaving a burning of gentle tender consideration within its wake. "Honey, whatever this is, whatever we got going at the end of every day, and whatever it is that brings us together, and whatever it is that makes you see me and me understand you...it- it's what I've been looking for ever since I was middle-aged, you know? Hell, even when I was young." A strike of determination crossed his face; admirable in how it dressed his expression. "We were put together for a reason, Faceless, and I think we got a lot of the same wounds and a lot of the same shit going on for a reason to, and I want to figure this out with you together. Together, honey." He pressed his fingers further up against her, in a way that was almost squeezing the pressure of his fingertips as they clasped up against her, and she found comfort in the intensity as she looked up at him. She let out a deep breath, and nodded. The intense fire that was within his eyes was almost more she could take; it made her breathless in the most addicting of ways.

"Faceless, listen to me, ok? I never want to go back to that dull, sexless marriage that I had, where all we ever did was try to figure out how to make it good. Everything that we have is already good, Faceless,, and I don't want us to throw it away just because of some bad morning."

She could understand now, and she felt as if a physical weight have been lifted up from her insecurities that had been stabbing inside of her up until this very moment; this love, this unforgettable thrilling heat, was full of intensity, and yet it was a good kind of intensity that was within human emotions and experience. The insanity was so thick that it almost felt as real as the man that was standing up in front of her. It was quite literally radiating from him, and she couldn't help but feel the love sweep into the entirety of her existence. She looked up at him and let out shaky nod. It was time for her to let her own confessions, for herself to be vulnerable.

Hesitantly did she step forward as she dared to look up inside his own eyes that were trembling with those endless emotions that made her breathless whenever she saw them. She swallowed the ugly pill of pride as she looked at him, finding that looking into his eyes at that moment was the most intimidating yet rewarding act that she ever could have done, and yet at the same time was it the most healing. She can literally feel the way that he was caressing the bleeding of her wounds, where previously in the past she would have had to endure them for days until finally did she succumb to a painful numb. Instead did she feel entirely caressed, understood, and considered underneath his burning touches he gazed at her within his own awe.

He was the very human embodiment of fresh air on an autumn day. Despite his own damages from his past within his own insecurities, within his own wounds that he inevitably struggled with, she could see within his eyes that he meant every single word, and it was all that her own damage needed to hear. Their wounds and their bleeding perfectly came and caressed up against one another's, leaving them beyond recall.

She gently reached on one finger as she traced it up against the pudgy overhang of his stomach that caressed against that white towel that was pressed up against the side of his hip; even his subconscious touches towards items were gentle. There was an anticipation leaving her lips that she looked up at him, allowing her emotions to flow out entirely out of her own wounded scars once and for all, the final reckoning to be able to get the poison out of their systems.

"I don't feel worthy of this." She trailed her fingers against his stomach; It was enough to make her feel as if her legs were already beginning to tremble with desire, already enough to make her feel her breath hitch inside her breath as she looked up at him, eyes blinking rapidly with emotion, traced by his black sideburns, as intense as coal and a deep as his love. He was so fucking pretty, and so full of endless experience of family that she felt within him, She understood now; he would transfer that warmth of family, of relationships, over to her own isolated life, slowly but surely. There was a part of her that worried that she would always feel there was someone out there that could be better for him, but perhaps that was only her own insecurity, her own love for wanting the best for him, speaking over what they shared. But within these moments, when there was so much spiritual conclusion between the two of them that it was next impossible to be able to deny herself the amount of connection that they have between them-one that was utterly and completely irreplaceable with the way that they loved and caressed up against each other,in more ways than one- did she find she couldn't deny the truth that was portrayed between them.

Healing. There was healing between them, and it was utterly breathtaking. His breath hitched as she spoke her truth,; she couldn't tell if it was one that was between physical lust, from the amount of love that he was feeling, or if he was feeling overwhelmed by the heaviness of the confession that left her lips. it didn't matter; her truth continued to be spoken.

"I don't feel worthy of this house," she whispered. "Of you." Another caress of circle from her finger. "Of this shirt." A kiss against his still damped skin, kissed by the burning of the shower water. "Of this love. Of being taken cared of. Of you working so hard. Of me being married to a husband that wants to take care of me." Randy let out a deep shuddered breath, his eyes fogged over from a clear hinger of lust, yet he fought through it, his love for her overcoming any physical hunger. They fed each other through soft whispers and tenderly spoken words alone. He needed to focus on helping her; every day was he trying to be better for her.

"Hey-hey," he muttered as he leaned himself upward, bringing them closer together. It seemed as if he had been stricken with lighting as he looked over at her; his entire body trembled with desperate emotion. He grasped both of his hands against her face; it was a delicate and much needed sensation for the both of them, and most especially within the awakening within both of their hearts as he looked at her.

"You know why you're worthy of this? Huh?" He traced his finger under hers; her chin trembled as he looked at him. "Because I love you, Faceless. And you love me. Simple as that!" He spoke the word simply in that soft, zesty, tender and masculine drawl tone that he did as he looked down at her, his eyes switching back and forth with hers with an almost desperation for her to see where he was coming from, of where he was trying to understand so that he could bring her with him. "I've always wanted someone to provide for, someone who appreciated it, but it always felt like I was just being an ass. You know? Or at the least, that's what my family would always say. That's what she would always say." He didn't need to say her name, they already understood who, and her name was already spoken far too much between the two of them more than she deserved. He swallowed thickly as he looked at her, his adam's apple bobbing as he fought his reckless yet synthetic and beautiful emotion. "The point is, Faceless, is that I've been waiting for someone like you my entire life. Someone who not only wants to be taken care of in the way that I can do provide, to feel good about myself, but also in a way that you take care of me in the way that I need to be taken care of. I don't-I know-Faceless, honey, there's a lot of things about me that I don't understand, and don't want to understand. I fall into a game of running away from the entirety of my life, and I actually managed to do it with majority of it, but it always ended up making me even more ashamed of the man that it was. You-you make it easier for me to face myself a little bit more every day, and I don't want that to be taken away just because you think that I might leave you one day. Total bullshit, by the way."

Faceless smiled, truly smiled, as she heard the passion that was inside his words. She took both of her hands and gently placed them up against his own hands that were still gripping her wrists, looking at her with a slight anticipation, They were climbing the tightropes of their confessions together; literally aligning and clinging onto every single word that can possibly leave their lips. She caressed her thumbs against the side of his hands; the blue veins that popped out of them were aged just right; perfectly and delicately brought into an interwoven and gentle nature that was only his own.

"If anything ever happens to me, I want you to move on, ok?" she whispered. She could see him with some pretty brunette, laughing and teasing in the way he did himself. "I want you to be happy. That's all that matters to me." She wasn't sure where the request came from, but she felt the need to speak it.

"I won't be without you," he muttered, still sniffing from his tears. "You're the love of my life, Faceless. I used to think that concept was kind of lame, but it's not. I've never felt so warm, so understood, so safe, "till you." He reached down one soft fingertip and pressed it underneath the trembling of her chin, damp with tears that were her own, and his own emotion was a clear extension of hers. It seemed as if they were quite literally a contrast each other more often than not, a perfect portrayal of what was meant for two souls who truly needed one another, if only because of how incredibly in tune they were.

A shaky breath left her lips. "I know what you mean," she murmured softly, For her to hear him speak the words meant more to her than she could say, more than she could understand herself, as she looked at him and gave him a nod that was strained with emotion, the only thing that she could manage within that breathless and timeless moment. She could breathe now as she felt the way his pudgy hands pressed against the side of her lips; a gentle whispering of a conversation were they having, in more ways than one, with just the words they were speaking out of the broken confessions of their lips. Every moment with Randy was utterly timeless.

"You're mine," Randy mumbled softly. "And damn it, I sure as hell am yours. I can't imagine who else I would even be at this point, or why I would ever even want to. The thought of me getting up and going to someone else would have bullshitted even more than the marriage that I had previously? Bleh!" He let out a childlike, disgusted noise, making Faceless giggle softly. "But with you, Faceless?" He chuckled as he gazed at her. "Me leaving our conversations? How you take care of me? Now that's a fucking joke that I could laugh my ass off for the rest of the day if I wanted to. It's just such a fucking joke."

His confessions were leaving his lips for the countless time that morning. She knew that she had to least try to explain to him where her insecurities were coming from that day herself; he deserved that much. She knew how much he loved to hide, but for once was he not hiding, and she wanted him to feel like letting his truest face show itself was more than worth it.

"Randy, its not your fault. People..people always end up leaving," she confessed softly. "I crave emotional intimacy, but when they leave, I get so furious that I ever let them know me in the first place. Not because I think I'm this great person to know, but it makes me feel cheaper, somehow, like I gave a person access to know all of me just got them to lose interest over time. And it always takes me so much effort to open up in the first place. It's infuriating, and it makes me not want to talk to anyone ever again. Much less open up. I feel like every single time I give someone access to know me..by the time they leave and throw me away, as if I was nothing, it leaves me even more damaged than it was before. It becomes harder for me to appreciate myself, harder for me to live with myself. If that person threw me away and moved on for me as if I was nothing, then who's to say that they're not right? And it's happened with every single person in my life. I don't know how you get people to stick around Randy, even if it's only a superficial way. I've never been able to do that." There was a defeat within the tones of her voice, but the natural bounce within Randy's demeanor caught her before she even fell.

"Oh, yeah?" Randy challenged. There was an emotional sort of awakening inside of him, but he was at least attempting to bring up his usual slightly more teasing, goofy, casual tone to talk to her. "Well, sweetheart, let me tell you something. My lessons for how to keep people around are completely free. Every day I can try to show you a little bit how you can talk to someone, how to be casual with a relationship, how to keep shit running a bit more. Hey, I'm not saying that I can teach you how to have every relationship in your life and how to keep everyone around, but we can do some baby steps, alright? If you ever have a problem with someone, just come to me, and I can give you some of my good old-fashioned hip and totally awesome man advice to help you through it. How does that sound?"

She smiled as she looked at him, memorizing his face that was so eager to please. He could be the most kind-hearted and considerate man that she had known, what he wanted to be. Although more often than not he did fall into his own insecurities and selfishness that she was have to help him through, ironically, through her own flaws, was she able to see where his main source of his flaws were coming from; and through that understanding did she help him, heal him, love him through it. it seemed as if there were many times when the greatest, best part of him was able to shine through when she was given patience. When he was left to his own devices, what he left to his artistry, to his own lifestyle that he wanted, he could have become so good at emotional intelligence and consideration. It seemed as if she was able to bring out that side of him in all of its shining glory.

"Well," she said softly, laughing tenderly as she felt true peace for the first time that morning. "If you want to talk to me about lessons, I have been struggling a little bit with this one woman I met a couple of months back. We haven't been talking much lately, and I've been trying to wonder how to bring it up again. You know." She shrugged sheepishly. "So that we can start talking again."

Randy let out a loving and teasing chuckle as he let out a sigh of relief as he looked at her, intentionally dramatic as he glinted his eyes with amusement over her own form. His wife was back. "Oh, boy. Is this about that bozo chick you were meeting up with for a while? The one with the big ass and tits?"

"That's the one," she laughed, their usual dynamic of teasing and utter love between them both. "That's the one that I've been talking to, and we've been getting kind of distant. Think you could help me out with that a bit?"

A pause came from Randy. A tender silent poetry formed in his eyes. Instead of immediately responding did he lean forward, reaching out one hand and gently tracing up against the side of her own own. A gentle melody within his eyes danced that only she could hear as he fluttered up his naive eyes into hers, brushing his lips against her knuckles. It was completed and utter infatuation on his face, benign and kind understanding that made make her weak in the knees as she looked down at his own utterly tender gaze. His lips brushed against her knuckles, and within one movement where his arms wrapped around her waist. He placed his hand against her waist, gently studying her.

"You're beautiful, honey," he muttered. "I'm sorry. I love you. You can be angry if you want. About-you know." He shrugged, and it was adorable; breathtakingly so. Already were so many of her wounds healed. "Whatever I did."

Faceless shook her head as he looked at him; his tender innocent was making it so that he would allow himself to take the brunt of her anger, if she wanted. Nothing in the world could take her away from those beautiful canopy of leaves of green eyes as her gratitude for his own tender soul increased.

"No. You don't deserve anger. You did nothing wrong." She allowed herself to completely melt now, not even bothering to fight it. The insecurities were gone now; in replacement was the utterly warm man that presented itself before her. She felt her lips begin to ghost across his chest, and then down towards the hill of his stomach. A loud, yet tender and considerate moan left Randy's lips; he was a hurricane with little disregard for what was around him, and she adored that about him; it taught her how to stand up for her own self.

"Come here, honey," she murmured, as she begin to gently pressed her lips up against the front of the protruding flesh of his stomach, caressing and massaging her favorite favorite place to love on him. The tender of his stomach was a place that never failed to make her feel completely and utterly full of lust, enough desire both for his body and his mind same as she pressed her lips up against the front of the soft pudginess of a stomach. It was a symbol of his own carefree zest, a sign of the self love he had that deserved to eat, and to take care of himself in abundance, something she struggled with. He was her very sign that self care, self-acceptance, and confidence was all she needed, and every day would she memorize the patterns of his naturally youthful existed to feel her own paths. He was her guidance, her endless healing in places she didn't even know needed to be caressed. She smiled as she kissed the curve of the surface. Randy moaned as he felt the gentle caress of her lips; he loved the way she pressed and bit her lips against the bottom of his stomach; they were a perfect combination between hungry and yet gentle. She tenderly pressed herself up against him with her gentle yet furious lips.

She nibbled his stomach with her teeth, softly yet hungrily, lips considerate and warm as she pressed her inviting mouth up against his stomach that was her very definition of a gentle and mind numbing, perfect escape. She leaned her head against the side of his stomach; he let out a loud moan as he reached out his hands and traced them against the top of her head, rhythmically caressing his fingertips on her head. She smiled as she turned her head to the side, listening to the sounds of his stomach.

"Your tummy is gurgling," she murmured with teasing amusement.

"Is it?" He murmured sleepily. Sex and sleep went hand in hand for him; she found it utterly precious.

"It's adorable," she whispered softly. Another kiss to his stomach. "You're adorable."

He hummed in gentle contentment at the way she loved on him, at the way she made him feel deeply cherished. He dug his fingers further inside of her head, allowing his fingers to press up against the back of her head while she continued to benevolently love on the front of his stomach with her lips.

"You make me feel so safe, whole and grounded. it's because of you that I know what it feels like to fall in love, to stay in love, to want to get married; a feeling that starts from every day together, where love only solidifies until it becomes a part of you entirely, in the most tender way. I understand all of those complexities that being in love and staying in love brings, and it's breathtaking, and I dare say it even makes life worth living," she whispered.

Another moan from Randy; his fingers bruised her skin. They were tattoos of the passion they shared.

"I feel you sweetheart," Randy whispered. A shaky breath from his own end, traced by the gentle and permanent tender nature of his voice. "I feel you."

One last soft caress of his fingers, and they were home. A road long traveled that started with insecurities, and now ended with only the most reverent understanding of healing that was true love.

"an older man"

Randy is jealous from the lack of attention he is getting because of their children. In his older age, he needs love and attention now more than ever. Faceless comforts him and his clear insecurity, but there's an intensity to how he's wired that's hard to pierce.

Randy knew, as a man as unpredictable as he was, even to himself, that he was capable of being a handful, to say the least.

Most who knew him would agree tenfold. He knew he was an endless portrait of chaos, most of the times unwanted. Yet the fires that were within him were too loud, too full of a heated intensity, for him to care more often than not. It was years ago that Randy had accepted that he would have to live, rather than to know, what would happen next. What he would feel next.

If he was being honest with himself, even he occasionally became burnt out with the endless array of unknown trails within the threads of his heart that dragged him around more than they guided him. He had accepted within the

suffocating mundanity of his life that he had been reduced to a man of unremarkable phases, none of which stuck around. He had become the closest to content that he could manage that he would never truly know himself, only that he would know that he wasn't where he wanted to be. He no longer could even code his own emotions, so much did the ghosts of his past selves that he had murdered to fit in haunt him. It was through his forced dance to fit in with the world that he had lost his most authentic self, and, therefore, where he was meant to be, or who he was at all.

It was a bloodied sensation, one he had come to accept, despite his childlike denial of most hard things within his life. Randy didn't want hard; he wanted easy, safe. Most days were a strange balance of balancing on a tightrope between the two, with only one misstep causing him to fall over into the fire that was the truth he didn't want to face. One he had fallen into it, and it had lead to the most pained divorce in his life. He knew, or at least he feared, that he would fall face first into those consuming red flames that overcame even his own confident, assured heat of flame that was too much for most people.

But one thing he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was on that otherwise soft afternoon;

Completely, utterly unhappy.

It seemed as if there was hardly any genuine quiet time anymore with in that household, most especially now that he and Faceless shared a total of six lively children that they had made with their love making together within the soft and gentle dark of the hours of the night. They were the very living definition of the rich tender dance they shared with one another, in mind and body the same.

Those soft hours of love making were full of richness, so full of gentle , clumsy touches from Randy's own confident and soft fingers that were always so incredibly hungry for a lot of things; money, escapes, ambition, but most especially the trembling, gentle women that was begging for him under his touches. He was just as hungry for her at all hours of the day. His own incredible and undeniable flawed but precious human nature would press against her as he entered her, the closest element that they both craved of finally becoming one, which was the simple act of being one. Both of them would be clumsy and often awkward at times during those quiet, irreplaceable hours that consisted of laughing and giggling, knocking their knees up against one another, placing their elbows in awkward places, clumsily yet passionately pressing against one another as they figured out how they perfectly fit against one another.

Their sex was flawed, unremarkable; at least it would have been deemed that way by the rest of the world. But it fed one another, and it gave them the most precious taste they had ever felt on their previously stale, trembling tongues, formerly dry from the depression that had sucked their senses dry before they had met; each other. And that was more than enough; more either of them could have ever dreamed.

And yet it was within those very soft hours of the night when their lost souls would be able to find a complete and absolute gentle definition of what brought them together, of what made the love that they shared together richer than anything that they had ever known, and part of that was simply the act of being together, in and of itself. That simple act had only increased into the extension of the unconditional love they intertwined together which was the element of the family that they shared now, richer than even Randy's naturally caretaking soul-when he was satisfied with the elements of his own bleeding and demanding ambitions-could have guessed.

Even now did Randy not quite comprehend how he had gotten lucky to not only just have one new child with the woman that had become the very definition of the perfect partner for his own wayward flaws within her own scars, but six, lively and loving in all their messy and unpredictable ways that Randy's fatherly nature was drawn to. Despite his ambitions, he was a humble man that immensely appreciated the concept of family; his previous was only broken, even invisible cobweb of what it had been, but he was building from the ground up that which he desperately wanted, but didn't know how to ask for, didn't know how to handle. He needed love, community, and most especially the warm elements of family more than he needed air; it was now only a matter of him trying to understand how his own troubled, weak-willed nature could overcome his selfish ambitions to be the be father he could be. It wasn't a second chance that Faceless had given him, it was merely and extension of that which he had wanted so desperately that it had poured out of of his fingertips from how he had loved and caressed her before he could prevent it from fully falling.

Evidently, with the way that man's shoulders were slumped up in that childlike way that he did whenever he was upset of intimated, his bottom lip jutted out with an unforgiving pout as he pressed himself up against the side of the kitchen table, he was failing at that new inner revelation he had desperately wanted to give himself. To give her. Yet, true to his almost naturally spoiled fashion, he couldn't being himself to care. He was utterly miserable, and he wasn't interested in pretending otherwise.

His arms were crossed up in front of him, his shoulders slouched inside of himself, a naive and desperate shout for attention plastered against his own carved, fatherly expression. He was a contradiction in that way; a man who had the very curves of fatherly experience curved into his skin, yet also had his own childlike desperation that leaked out of his features. Despite his show that he was certain Faceless would have noticed, always attentive was the woman, especially when it came to him or any of his wants or desires, Faceless remained inattentive to the performance he was putting on that was made for her and for her alone.

Their children were currently taking out the entirety of the Faceless' attention; they always did these days. She was kneeling down in front of the kids and letting out her soft and gentle coos, completely and entirely talented at taking care of the kids that were overwhelming in their energy, as far as Randy was concerned. She somehow managed to stay calm, even in the chaos that all the kids created. Randy watched with a dry mouth as he memorized how she powdered her own gentle touch up against each of their own kid's soft cheeks with her ever attentive fingertips. They were all a mess; crumbs, messy fingers, and endless giggling coming from one to the other. It was expected that they all would be; they were are still so young. The oldest were Nessie and Stuart, and even they were only shy of just two years. The endless chattering of the children, mixed in with Faceless' soft and gentle murmuring, did nothing to lessen at the sound of the chaos that was not only within the room, but within Randy's mind as well, feeling as if there were literally daggers against his mind.

"Geez, these kids," he mumbled under his breath. He said it loud enough to ensure Faceless would hear; she always did, even when he didn't mean for her to. He glanced over at the picture of him and his family in front of him; it portrayed a picture of that warm spring day, where his weed had been especially fresh, and the sky had been blue. Normally the sight would have warmed his heart, or at the very least, it would have reminded him how lucky he was to have a second chance at partnership, and he would have remembered, even within the muddled prioritizes of his mind, how lucky he was to be a father. How much the natural warmth of his heart adored it..

As it was, all he could summon currently within himself was a strange sensation of being cheated. He had had a long day out of working and farming, and although he enjoyed every minute minute of it, certainly more than he had anything else he had ever experience within his life, there was always a promise in the back of his head that he was always going to come home to Faceless, to have the entirety of her attention; that he would be able to fall into her and forget all else and anything else as he instead focused on the warm touch of her fingertips, always meant for him. Randy, for the most part, hated hard work of any kind; if he could, he would cuddle and watch television forever, such was the lax of his nature. And more importantly-and he dreamed about this often-he would massage his own alcohol strained lips against Faceless until his mouth was rendered numb, until he couldn't taste the burning of the fog of the alcohol and musty weed he used to fog of his mind to distract himself from the disgust of who he had become, of the unremarkable and insignificant fate his life had become.

She was certainly the most addicting vice he had ever known, and he was addicted to her fully.

Her loving touches, complemented by her gentle hands, and everything else besides that was simply the utter escape and healing that was her. Always did his particularly soft and vulnerable soul-considered pathetic by those who didn't understand him- need what she could give him.

As it was, he felt as if he had come home to where he was anything but the center of attention, and though he knew in the back of his head that he was meant to be part of the solution to the problem, all that he could feel was that childlike desperation of his own inside him as he pressed himself further up against the side of the counter, knuckles turning white form the force of how he gripped against it. Faceless had the entirety of her intention occupied to the children from the second that he had walked in. There was a part of his heart that was full with a warm glow of a honeyed feeling that could only come from love and pride, racing for just how dedicated she was towards his family, especially with his own experience of knowing how hard it could be, how much of a strain it was from his own experience of raising Stan and Shelley, before Sharon had taken the both of them and moved across town.

Yet, even knowing this, he couldn't help but feel like he had had the majority of her own attention that he desperately needed, craved from her, taken away. Snatched, even. In countless ways even he didn't understand did he need extra nurturing, a little more validation and consideration from his partner; the thankless years he had spent with Sharon had only increased the fact. Though he was hardly aware of it, his own softened soul was often fabricated like a child, and to be denied love as often as he had lately was making him grumpy, closed in, such as he was now. Part of him was starting to wonder now if she would notice, or even care.

He let out a loud, audible sigh as he rolled his eyes when Faceless didn't say anything to his murmured words of discontentment, and he turned his head back over towards the kitchen sink. The thought of helping with the dishes crossed his mind, but he was far too lost within the murky suds of his own mind to be able to even think about helping. He didn't see the point, not when he was the one that felt cheated, not one he was the one that felt like he needed love, and not when he was the one that needed attention.

His eyes flickered back over towards Faceless, hoping that that she would, at least, notice he was pouting. She always loved it when he pouted. It didn't usually take him long to be spoiled by her, and it took her even less time to notice that something was wrong, yet she didn't even look up at him as she continued to attend to the children up in front of her. She was cleaning up their plates, gently offering them softly spoken words of comfort, trailing her fingers in their hair in that motherly sort of loving way that she always did; she did it in the same way she did for him whenever he needed comforting.

Despite his hurt, he couldn't help but smile softly, feeling a strike of blistering warmth for her very existence, always finding a certain kind of complete love inside him whenever he saw the way that she took care of their children so naturally. God, he loved her.

But Randy was persistent when he was hurting, and his pain was the priority for him tonight.

He began to purposely put dishes up against the front of the cabinet, purposely clanging them to make it sound like they were only one misstep from breaking. He was still flickering his eyes over towards her to see if she would notice. Still did their soft natured children take up the majority of her attention. His black, thick eyebrows knitted in a frown.

"God!" he whispered under his breath. He didn't bother shouting swears that he would have normally; he knew, at this point, that she wouldn't hear anyway. Randy grunted as he shoved more of the dishes inside of the front of the cabinet. They clashed against one another with loud, clumsy, cringe worthy clangs. Still she didn't notice, and he felt his frustration only increasing all the deeper, only becoming all the more mind numbingly frustrated, and the frown on his face only traced itself deeper against his features as he continued to purposely clash the loud glass against each other. His displeasure only increased, right along with that desperate fire inside of his chest; this was a game, a competition for him now, as far as he was concerned. Abruptly did he turn himself away from the kitchen sink, and instead began to make his way over towards the refrigerator, banging some of the bottles in it as he swung the door open.

"Hey, Faceless, did you see the beer bottle that I put in here last week? I haven't seen it in a week." It was right in front of him, but she didn't know that, and it didn't matter anyway, not really. What mattered was that she gave him attention, and the fact that she wasn't giving it to him was only making him feel that much more infuriated as he looked from the front of the beer bottles and instead glared his eyes over towards her. She didn't even look away from their son's face, who she was currently brushing the crumbs off of.

"They should be right at the front, honey," Faceless murmured, her voice still distracted, and still not getting him nearly enough attention. Or any at all. He bite down on his lip in a enriched frustration as he let out yet another frustrated, loud cough. He slapped the door in front of him, still feeling his heartbeat increase inside of his chest with that apodictic and utter frustration as he turned his head back over towards her. His green ocean eyes were now unapologetically glaring at her, and doing it obviously so. He had no problem showing his deepest emotions in any situation, at any given hour. It was the way of his emotional nature; and he had no problem causing trouble due to his own discomfort.

it seemed as if the less attention he got, the more he wanted to express his burning emotion. It was an addiction for him to wear his heart on his sleeve, and he was at a point in his life where he was convinced that there was no other way that he could be. The age that his mind and body were enduring was more than he could take, more often than not; it wasn't only his stomach softening, but his mind as well. Love and patience was the only answer.

Faceless glanced over at him for a moment, briefly giving him eye contact from the corner of her eye, the first that she had given him since he had walked in the door a long and unforgiving four ago.

"Oh, now you look at me? Once I slam shit to get you to even glance at me?" he scoffed. A venomous spit in his voice was all he could muster. He wanted to be better for her, and he knew he hated how he was acting, but he didn't know how to stop once he started.

She blinked slowly, a tired and confused glint in her eyes. "What?" There was genuine confusion in her voice, but it only fed his flames further.

He crossed both arms in front of his chest. "You haven't looked at me all night, Faceless!"

She quirked up an eyebrow. "Honey, I kissed you on the cheek as soon as you came home." There was the honeyed patience in her voice that she always gave him. Normally it would soothe him; as it was, it only aggravated him further.

He let out a frustrated breath from his lips. "Yeah-huh, so? That was like, the only thing! Practically! God!"

Since that time he had spent the majority of the afternoon having to entertain himself, and although he was plenty fine at that, being used to rely on his own self for any entertainment or comfort from the past empty years of the downfall of his previous marriage, he missed her. Faceless had, for all intents and purposes, spoiled him, had caused him to forget what it felt like to be truly disregarded, even if only accidentally. For the first time since he had found her had he been denied; he wanted to fall completely and entirely into her, and he had been cheated from that affection. Randy wasn't good at being cheated out of things that he wanted in general, but especially when it came to her attention.

"Did you find it?" she inquired softly after a moment of Randy standing in front of the fridge. Though he could feel a slight peace that she had at least attempted to acknowledge him, he was still aggravated. Her fingers were still attending to Stuart's hair, and her eyes were just as equally distracted as they had been. It made him feel only a deeper strike of jealousy as he watched ever detail of her, of how she wasn't, for the time being, his.

He rolled his eyes as he let out a scoff, leaning his body up against the side of the refrigerator. He had reached his emotional end; the volcano was about to erupt.

"Jesus, Faceless, it doesn't matter okay? I just wanted to hear you at least acknowledge anything that I was doing, is all. Shit!" He spat out the words with far more frustration than he meant to, and he tensed at the venom within his own words.

He sniffed as she looked at him with surprise; he felt himself freezing within his own surprise at the heat of what he had just spat out. Faceless pulled herself together quickly; another thing that she was far better at than he was.

"Are you ok?" she whispered. The air between them was so tense that he could feel it churning around his already troubled heart. Despite the fact that she was finally giving him what he wanted, he felt only one emotion; relenting, choking embarrassment.

Without saying one more word did he storm himself out of the kitchen as he rushed his way through the living room, face awash with a red and unforgiving heat. He stumbled his way upstairs, purposely making a point to stomp his feet up against the front of the wooden stairs with every step, not knowing if he felt satisfied or if he felt even more upset that her attention had only made him embarrassed of his behavior.

He made his way up the stairs with that frustrated thumping, then slammed his hand up against the front of the door as he rushed his way inward. He collapsed onto the side of the bed, feeling every emotion clash against each other more than he could care to understand. Without noticing had he bit down on his lip so hard that it was now bleeding; he couldn't feel or taste anything except for the unforgiving red metallic scent of blood. His entire body was now trembling and hot; he was sweating from the armpits down.

He could no longer tell what emotions he was feeling, and he almost wished that he could have the easy answer of frustration to tell him what to make of what he felt. There were endless, glowing flames within him that gave him no rest when he fell into this unforgiving pattern of feeling too many emotions that it gave away to an unsatisfying and unforgiving numb. He let out a moan as he threw his back against the bed, staring at the uncaring ceiling in front of him, his throat hard with a lump, his skin shaking and trembling in an unwanted dance of the sweat that was leaking from his skin.

He could take neglect from a lot of people, and he could fight back just as well as any, both in terms of words and of body the same, but one thing that he had a undeniable, bleeding weakness for was being ignored by his wife, the one person who has known the cracks of his psychological mind and body the same, even before he himself did, delicately and yet with a furious and loving knowledge that was unapologetic in how intensely she loved him did she give him exactly what he needed whenever he needed it. Having that denied from him for even half a moment was more than he could stand, more than he could handle; his innate flawed human nature that was more unhinged than the average mind never gave him any of his own rest.

Burning tears began to fall on the side of the stubble of his cheek as he gazed at the ceiling up in front of him; in the midst of the maddening thoughts he was feeling did he not think anything profound, but rather was he kicking himself that he hadn't thought to grab himself a joint before heading upstairs. He hated feeling emotions in their raw entirely, despite the fact that he himself was patched and made from them more than the average person; such was the tender flaw of his human heart.

He lost track of time. After what must have been about ten minutes of him simply lying there, far too long for his liking, yet too numb and frozen to care, a feeling that was alien to the always action filled soul of Randy, did he begin to hear her ghostly footsteps begin to make their way up the stairs. He couldn't help but notice it subconsciously, although he would have preferred to shut her out. The distant noises of the kids had begun to fall away almost entirely since the time that he allowed himself to lay there and simply wipe his tears away, still sniffing all of the while in the boyish yet striking, alluring masculine way he did as he looked up in front of him. He could feel the way that her eyes were boring into every thread of his broken body as she just stood against the frame of the door; he could almost memorize the way her fingertips that were born from her eyes were already caressing him, soothing him, before she even spoke a word; such was the heated connection they shared that was so strong that he couldn't have ignored it even if he tried. He shivered as he felt the the way that she was gently searching him with her own gentle quality of emotional intelligence, unwinding him with her own eyes gaze without having to even touch him, reading between his tense bones within his body and unsure and erratic thoughts the same.

"Baby?" she said softly. Her own tender voice was first thing that he needed to hear within the hurricanes of that moment without him even realizing that it was, and he would have practically sighed in utter relief to find her again, so desperate and so soft for love was his heart, had he not still been so determined to be frustrated. When he decided he would be upset about something, he was set on keeping it that way, even when it wasn't what he himself wanted.

He raised himself onto his elbows as he gazed at her, still with that frown on his face, sniffing away the cold tears, wiping the running snot from his nose. How he could look so delicately handsome, so masculine and so grown, yet so childlike, so desperate, and naive at the same time, was simply all apart of the complexity of his nature. He was going to hurt her, the way she hurt him. The stabs would be dull, and would hardly leave a mark; even when Randy Marsh wanted to be violent, he wasn't truly; the natural drawl and soft nature of his core that was so innate that it even traveled to the tones of his voice always made even blow he dealt was gentle at its core, whether he wanted it to be or not. He quite literally couldn't help it.

"Oh- look who it is," he sniffed, his voice still consisting of that fresh wobbling frustration inside every spoken slow vowel as he glared at her. "It's the wife, deciding that she finally wants to come upstairs and give me what I've been asking for it since I fucking walked into that door only a couple thousand hours ago!" His voice sounded almost pathetically childlike within the drawl of his tone, still wiping the snot off of his face all the while. Faceless' eyes instantly melted with that gentle patience that was so rich that he had only ever seen and experienced it with her alone; her responses to his reactions previously had only been labeled as dramatic, especially by his loved ones. Still was he getting used to how she not only saw his pain, but listened to him, took him seriously. She blinked at him slowly, considerately, as she leaned against the door, eyes burning with that tender knowing and understanding. She was the only one that ever took him- his emotions, his reactions-seriously, and still to this day did he not quite know how to respond to such a different experience than what he was used to. He sniffed clumsily as he wiped away yet more tears that were dampening his face as he continued to look at her and glare at her, a gentle challenge inside his eyes as he did so.

"Sweetheart," she murmured softly. Somehow her voice was even softer than it had been previously, despite the venom of his words. "You have to understand that I've been busy with the children these past couple of hours. We have six, Randy. Six. I love every single one, but I don't have as much time-"

"As- much time for the two of us as you used to. Yeah, yeah, I noticed, Faceless!" He shot back at her, unapologetic and perfectly molded venom in his voice now. The fact that he sounded like an overgrown child was not lost on him, but he hardly could bring himself to care. This was his truest, rawest core, and the years of his life where he had been younger and more mature were lost on him. Those years had been full of neglect; perhaps that was why he was so unapologetic in how he practically whined for his needs now. His mind was slowing, right along with his body, and with it was an almost desperate childlike need, to beg, for the love he craved.

He continued to sniff as he wiped his tears through his sleeve and threw the back of his body against the bed, still looking up at the ceiling and glaring at it all the while, only feeling more frustrated tears fall down his face. There was only a half of a minute of him lying there before there was a ghost of movement that came from the frame of the door. Despite his determination to keep himself as closed off as possible, he felt his eyes flicker over towards her in curiosity as he looked at the way that she began to gradually ease her weight down up against the side of the bed. He sniffed yet again as his eyes flickered over towards her in helpless anticipation. His green meadows searched her own helplessly warm ones, and already did the natural innocence that was inside of his body begin to fully make itself known on his face as he melted slightly against the curve of her body.

"Randy, I didn't mean it like that, sweetheart," she whispered gently. She always spoke to him in these gentler moments with whispers, as if what they shared was only shared by them, and needed to be protected by the world. As if she was trying to protect him from the world. He appreciated that, more than he knew; though he wanted to do the same for her, in his own chaotic fashion.

"I didn't mean for even a second that I wouldn't have time for you. That it would ever be normal for me to not have time for you. Sweetheart…" Her throat wobbled as she gazed at him, her warm eyes reducing to a gentle concentration as she looked at him with something that was warmer than even the deepest fire.

Het let out a soft, delicate sniff as he felt himself being caressed, lovingly reassured by her words; everything about her was his addicting medicine. Her warm, healing honey nectar didn't leave his expression once as she leaned herself down up in front of him entirely, reaching out one hand and gently caressing it up against the curb of his plush, plump stomach, countlessly spoiled by the same hands before. Randy's breath hitched.

"I only ever want to spend time with you, I promise. Every time when you come home, it's the best time of my day, and I promise you that I've been waiting for you just as much as you've been waiting for me. I'm so sorry if that hasn't been communicated, honey." She swallowed, as if she herself was unfolding her own truth even as she unfolded it before his inquiring eyes.

"I'm-I'm a mother now, Randy, and it does take up a lot more by time, but I never want you to feel neglected for even a moment. I need attention from you just as much as you need it from me." Her voice was full of a bittersweet appreciation that could only be born from the most intense complications that two souls that were utterly connected brought. She felt her voice crack as she looked over at his portrait of the softest nature that he was as she gradually eased her face entirely up against the front of the curves of his own face. His gently beating heart was utterly painted perfectly within the pain of his eyes the same; everything was connected when it came to Randy. Perhaps that was why he was so endlessly authentic, even if it made him unpopular; he couldn't help but be anything but what he was. His innocence was a purity that was lost from the word. His green flames gently and frantically searched hers, gentle yet heavy relief in his eyes as he searched her own.

"You-you mean it?" he whispered as he looked over at her, his voice low, raspy, virile, yet naive all at once; he was that endless portrait of unintentional complexity. Just like a child, his anger was now almost entirely from the all encompassing throbbing he had been feeling only a second before; he rarely reflected, and lived only in the moment. It now was melting faster than he could remember it. She found it addictingly attractive.

She nodded as she gently reached out her knuckles and traced the back of them against the side of his face; a gentle and tender wordless confirmation.

"I do," she whispered tenderly. Randy had never known that such simply spoken words could ever hold so much meaning, could make him feel so breathless. Faceless shivered as she looked into the endless beauty of his face, her own emotional turmoil overcoming her fully now that she realized just how deeply he had been affected by everything for the past few weeks. She was breaking through a wall that he had been building without even realizing it; she could see it from the pain that was within his eyes. He never would have put up a wall in front of him on purpose; he was incapable of running from his emotions, even when he wanted to.

She gently raised herself over further towards him, and a tender hesitance balanced between their bodies for a tense moment, his hot breath against her cold one. After a breathless moment did she fully wrap her legs around his plush waist; a soft whine escaped his lips as she slowly eased herself on top of him. The reassurance was now fully clad over the doubt; stifling out his own negative emotions. He allowed himself to be entirely engulfed as her trembling fingers began to caress against his uneven bangs as he looked up at her with paused, hitched breath, rendered breathless as he was tenderly caressed and reassured by the person he looked up to, needed, craved, adored. They were pieces of a thread that would fall apart without the other; he was the bleeding wound and she was the bandage. Such was their dynamic; the hurt was met by the gentle caretaker, and they each played the role differently for the other. She was able to give him that simple by being herself, such as he did for her, and both were always constantly and desperately looking for ways to help their other breath, their other half.

"You really think that I ever wouldn't have time, wouldn't ever be able to make time, no matter how busy things got, to make time for the love of my life?" She murmured. A unexpected chuckle left her lips. "What a ridiculous notion."

Randy blinked slowly as he considered her words; he was gently unraveling them at his own pace. There was still a gentle conflict presented up against the front of the muscles on his expression, but it was now almost entirely gone as he looked up at her with a gentle fascination.

"I...I dunno," he mumbled, feeling almost intimated by the heat between them, despite the fact that he was a part of it.. "I….It just seems like you're so busy with stuff these days, even busier than I am. I thought, maybe, I don't know, that we wouldn't be the same." His voice was slow and unsure as he spoke his truth towards her; her eyes glinted with a gentle heat of the soft challenge that he was giving her without even quite realizing that he was giving her it. She was more than willing to take the challenge, more than willing to show him just how wrong he was, more than willing to show him that everything that they shared was undoubtedly going to never leave the other.

When Randy dared to look up at her, rather than fixating on her breasts as a safer focus from the intensity from her eyes, his breath caught in his throat as he saw the fire in them. His throat hitched as he watched and felt the way that her fingertips pressed up against the front of his face, as he felt the way that she looked down at him with that gentle sort of persistent demanding that he couldn't ignore, so incredibly intense and so violent was it to be listened to. Never had he known tenderness could be so violent.

"Randy," she murmured as her eyes continued to unravel him; his every patch inside and out. "The time that I ever don't have time for you is the time that I no longer know myself.. The time that I don't make time for you is the time when I don't want to know who I am. You made me the best version of myself I ever was, and I'll never be able to thank you for that." Her voice was trembling as she looked down at him, and slowly did she begin to press her arms and hands slowly up against the front of his chest; a deep emotion he didn't understand caught in his heaving chest as he looked up at her while he felt the way her hands were already striking that warmth within him and through him; that pleasure that he had quote literally been starving to feel since he had tasted it from her fingertips and her lips the same. She made everything taste like something; such was the richness of what they shared.

"You are my everything, sweetheart. You are everything that I've ever wanted, everything that I ever knew that I needed. And to take care of you is...a breathtaking gift." Her lips quirked into a smile as she looked over at him with a gentle yet furious emotional reckoning within her eyes as she undressed him, and he could feel his own release being transferred from his body as he listened to her in a way he had never been compelled to do by any women before.

"You made me who I am, and you gave me my world, you all gave me this." She caressed her hand against her stomach from where their children had been born; Randy managed a nod, understanding. "By loving the world you gave me, it makes it that much easier to love on you when we get the chance to. And I promise you that we will always have the chance." A soft, desperate breath between spoken confessions.. "Always."

Gently did she lean forward as she pressed her lips against his own, and he let out another soft moan as he felt the way that his lips were gently massaged against her own. Randy whined as he felt the way that her lips were pressed up against his stubbled skin as she gently massaged to her lips further up against the front of his, the trembling and heated action already starting to lift up his own to hurt and instead transferring it to the simple act of being.

He raised up his own two arms and lifted them against the back of her shoulder blades as he began to spoil her back with his touches, his fingertips pattering with a gentle delicately against her skin as he brought her further against the plump of his body. She left out her own moan now as she felt the way that his own soft and stocky legs began to wrap further up around her hips, bringing her at a breathtaking inch away from his chest as he brought her deeper up against his own body that he never knew could feel so worthy of love until her.

"It just..it just sucks, sometimes, honey. Being an adult, and shit," he breathed. "But-you really know how to say those words, Faceless." He was whispering against her massaging touches as her lips was pressed incredibly more against hers with an increased heat. Already had the entirety of his insecurities fallen away, with only ghostly threads left behind, and already had they fallen behind him as he felt the way that Faceless wrapped her arms sound him further; one and the same, such as they always craved. The insecurities were always there, but they had taken a backseat for now. The temperature between their bodies was almost a crime from how inhumanely heavenly it felt.

"You don't say," she murmured softly, her voice full of loving, empathetic teasing as she felt the way that his fingers and his lips pressed up against hers with that increasingly hungry nature. She smirked slightly as she felt the way his hungry moans begged for her, the way his desperate fingertips caressed her body. She felt the way at her hands begin to trace softly up against the soft of his body that was that traced up against the usual cotton farmer;s outfit of his soft sweatshirt, one that she had worn countless time whenever she missed him in the early hours in the morning.

Soft. Everything about Randy Marsh was soft, and utterly warm. Her fingertips traced up by the soft of his checkered shirt, quickly followed by his just as equally cotton, dirty pants that were underneath them. She adored everything about him, from the the soft choice of his clothes, to the fabrication of his trembling pale skin, and, most especially, the core that was clad by both essences of ever dimension of the complexities of his face. She raised up his shirt delicately and she pressed herself deeper up against him, showing the pale, irresistible, unbelievable rich warmth of his skin that had been kissed by many women, but loved by few, and seen by none.

Her skin perfectly melted within his own, his moans gentle, soft, drawl, and masculine in the way that his honeyed whines were leaving his lips in that unhinged, adorable a way that he couldn't help. He was the loudest and most vocal partner when it came to having sex; Randy had no interest in being a mystery, and she found immense comfort within that. The soft of his own innocent eyes gently pressed up against the sockets of his increasingly wrinkled yet youthful eyes as he leaned his head back in sheer lust, feeling the way that she undressed him with her eyes and fingertips the same, hungry in her every touch as she began to explore his body with a delicate and desperate fever.

She undid his soft fabric that was only the first layer to his softened soul, button by button. He could already feel himself undressing himself for her, in body and mind the same; the gentle layer of fabric and cotton being undone by her own previously uncertain hand that hand become irreversibly certain through him. He knew she felt that addicting and breathtaking intertwining; he felt it just as much, and it was the reason for his weakness. The two of them allowed each other to completely and utterly fall against their hungry bodies as she began to gradually spoil every last patch exposed, hairy porcelain patch of skin up against her own lips, biting the hairs between her teeth with an almost violent desire. It was the purest, cruelest, most soul striking sensation he had ever known.

"Faceless..please-please don't stop," he gasped, the begging coming out of his lips in a desperate plea, mixed in with his own gentle emotional relief that was accompanied by shaky sighs that were born from complete, absolute relief that he was finally getting the adoration that he had desperately needed. He wasn't greedy because he wanted more; he needed more. It was how his body and mind was made, and she saw that need, completely and utterly. She nodded as she pressed deeper up against him, already peppering her lips up against the front of his chest as he continued to let out his soft and delicate moans out of his lips that always made her weak. They brought her to her own pinnacle of her own orgasm just from simply hearing of the sound of his voice, just from simply taking him within in his existence. The act of being truly, utterly known was more than he could take, in the most breathless and welcoming way.

"My God," Randy whispered softly as she continued to press her lips up against the front of the sides of every patch of skin, her fingertips down just as hungry as her lips that was still gently spoiling him in a breathless, exhilarating fashion."I-I didn't know anything ever felt like this."

"Do you really think for even a moment that the best thing that's ever happened to me wouldn't ever be at the forefront of my mind?" Faceless murmured. Her breasts pressed front of his chest that was easing up with his own deep heavy breathing. She bit down on his lip; a delicate rock between them that kept them both grounded within that moment. She began to trail a hand underneath from where she was pressing her body up in front of him as she started to place it up around the front of the belt of his pants, quickly undoing it with a heated speed that she only had within the memory that she had of his body, a map that she knew all too well that she would continue to know and to explore for the rest of her life.

With delicate tenderness did she begin to gently ease her fingers into his cock, which was carved up by the hill of his pudgy stomach. She pressed her fingers up the front of it as she continued to to gently massaged her lips up against his, spoiling herself just as much as he was spoiling her. Her own pink tulips that were between her two legs were watered the by the gentle touches of the whispers his moustache that tickled her lips as their bodies and mouth the same continued to spoil one another. Randy was a musically talented, and there was never am instrument that he was more talented at playing than how he played her.

"Thank you-thank you, Faceless," he barley managed to stammer underneath his rasped breath He was the most talkative person on a normal day, the kind of person who spoke every thought whenever he was being pleasured, who always let his partner how much he was enjoying himself-or when he wasn't. He wasn't very good at any kind of suspense, any tension, or emotional build up when they had sex; he liked things to be clear, and in the open. He told her exactly what he was thinking, and exactly how much of gratitude he was from the second that he started to experience the pleasure. She found the quality of that adorable, and she was brought to peace from the way that he often was able to give her own gentle gratification and reassurance just from simply being his own talkative self. With Randy she always knew what was happening, and it quietened her fears that he had any ulterior motive.

Yet he had been rendered speechless tonight; his sweating fingertips told her all she needed to know.

"I just...I was really, really was looking forward to this all day," he breathed against her skin. "But then...I came home and you were so busy with the kids, and it just got me all fired up. And I thought-maybe-that this was the beginning of us being distant. That's kinda...how it works sometimes, with married shit. I felt so cheated, and I started thinking about how shit it would be if I loved you more than you loved me. And..that would just be crap if that was the case, you know? Who the hell doesn't want to be loved by their wife? That would be just..horrible. So...lame. It just sucks, when my mind gets like that." He looked up at her as he blinked, feeling his confessions coming out of his lips faster than he could stop them. Although his voice was traced by that soft innocence that was within his voice and naturally within his presence, there was a surprising confidence that came within the emotional wobbling that had made itself fully present within his voice.

She looked down at him as she continued to gently caress her hands against his cock, leaning forward and pressing her lips up against the front of his own in a gentle promise of validation.

"I know sweetheart," she murmured softly. "I know that we haven't had as much time to touch each other, to be together, to spend every moment together the way that we did." She traced her other hand that wasn't cradling his cock against his shuddering chest as she eased her own folds up further into him as she allowed herself to ease inside of him. The soft and gentle pleasure that struck through him that was somehow maddening and yet at the same time utterly soothing was more than he could take. He let out another sharp gasp as he felt the way she continued to enter inside him, thrusting her hips with one gratification of pleasure.

"But when you think about it," she continued softly, still continuing to bite down her teeth over his lips, making him give him take a sharp intake of breathe, "When you think about it, Randy, when I'm spending time them, I'm also spending time with you."

Randy paused and sniffed softly, delicately. "Wh-wha..?" Though they more often than not had that innate emotional connection, every now and then did she speak of concepts that went over his head. She didn't mind guiding him; she would lead him down ever eccentric trail her own mind traveled to let him know he was unconditionally and irrevocably loved.

She smiled tenderly at his soft, innocent, slow nature. "I'm spending time with the gift that we gave each other from all those nights that we made love, just like now." She began to gradually ease herself against his cock further with another thrust of her hips, shooting waves of pleasure between the both of their bodies. He gasped and moaned in pleasure that was louder than he intended as he pressed his fingers up against the small of her back that was certain to leave bruises. She let out her own shuttered breath of lust as she allowed another wave of pleasure to soar through them. "When you think about it, whenever I spend time with my children, I'm also spending time with all those endless nights that we had, pleasuring one another, of-of-being together, of me loving on you, and of you loving on me." She could hardly get out the words through the shocked breathing of the maddened strike of pleasure they were both feeling; her skin was breaking out into her own sweat, her lips trembling with a deep seated lust that belonged only to the pale of the man underneath her. Our children are apart of us, darling; they're an extension of the love that we have that is so deep that it made new life. In that why am I always with you, even when I'm not spending time with you."

Randy could hardly bring himself to respond now, so completely overcome with complete and absolute pleasure was his mind and body, ecstasy and happiness of a certain kind that he hadn't even known existed shooting through him as he felt the way that those ways of glorifying striking heat higher than any crack he had ever tasted. He continued to gently spoil up against the entirety of his trembling body against hers.

"Fuck.." he gasped. "Wh-who the hell needs drugs, when I have this?" His soft reflected mutterings were rendered incoherent as another incomprehensible wave of pleasure struck through him. His two legs were stuck out entirely as he was now rendered in an undignified but lovingly wrought position of having both of his legs sticking out from the sheer amount of how much he was utterly considered and known underneath her, legs raised up in front of him as he allowed himself to be gently intertwined and loved on by her. How rich of an experience it was to be considered, to be loved, he reflected. He felt the way that the soft curve of his body was being spoiled up by her as she continued to press herself against him in that maddening fashion of lust, the soft flesh of his belly gently squishing in between her own body as they became as close as physical bounds would allow.

"This...is so cool...being loved...and by you," he whispered. The natural innocence of his voice was only brought to an even more precious tone of voice; his voice was the most brawny, innocent tone her hearing had ever tasted; everything about him enlightened all of her sensations, and she tasted the way he sounded. It was a delicate and forgiving honey against all of her sense. He was grown and yet not grown, endless complex layers within him that begged to be understood.

She had compromised with the significant weight gain that he had gained, and it seemed as if the more that she loved him for exactly for who he was, the more that he was able to accept for who he was as well. Always had he been confident, but genuine self-acceptance for who he was, both physically and personality wise, was quite different. As he felt the way that she pressed her body up against him with a complete and absolute certainty that she truly meant what she was saying, he found he truly believed it; he felt the last of his insecurities that he had been carrying cease silent as he realized what she was referring to when she talked about their children being a part of one another.

"Oh," he whispered, the softly spoken response almost coming out as a gentle sort of realization as he rested his cleft chin rest against her shoulder as she leaned forward and danced her lips, grazed her white teeth, against his neck. "I get it," he mumbled thoughtfully, his voice slow as he came fully towards the conclusion that was at the end of his battle; he could sense that he was turning her on even more just by the soft prolonged vowels of his slow voice; another wave of pleasure shot through them both. Surely this was the pinnacle of existence; to know another in mind and body the same, to wholly accept and to adore the other. She loved him so remarkably just by being close to him, and just by him being at the slightly slower man than he had been when he had been younger. His mind, admittedly, had slowed down, right around with the rest of his body, and although he was becoming slower, plushier, fatter, and softer around the edges, both in terms of his intelligence and with his body, it seemed as if he had never feel quite so loved, unconditionally wanted, endlessly understood more than he did within the woman that was softly and hungrily pressing her kisses up against the side of his jaw now.

"I hope you do," she murmured, her voice cracking with emotion as she continued to gently press her kisses and cold breath against the side of his lips, bruised by her furious passion as she did so. "Because your pain is mine, and I only ever want you to understand just how much I completely adore you, and always will. I love you a little bit more than love, Randy, and any day that I don't communicate that is a day that I want to take back and do all over again."

Randy let out a deep breath as he felt the way that she was pressing against him now in a suffocating fashion, and he swallowed deeply as he nodded eagerly.

"No-no," he stammered, trying his best to assure her the way that she had gotten through to him. " I-I get it, Faceless, I really do. I didn't want to see it, but I know what you mean. Our family that we made together...is a bonding that we have together, and I should know that, with my own family." He briefly thought in the back of his head of Stan and Shelly; the two of his children that he didn't have quite the same bond with that he did with the children that he had with Faceless, but even those broken bonds of his family has taught him lessons, even if he hadn't been in the right mindset to be able to properly process. As he was getting older, he was becoming more childlike, increasingly softer, a little bit harder to be able to understand around the edges, and a little bit slower, more prone to needing care, more desperate to needing love. It was part of the reason why his past relationship with Sharon had fallen apart before its time; she hadn't understood why his mind and his body was gradually decaying the way that it was, and that he needed someone to take care of him a little bit more than he had when he was younger.

It seemed as if he was quite literally begging be taken cared of before he even reached the age of sixty. Whether it was because of the psychological damage that he had gone through growing up because of his cruel household of being unwanted from his father, his existence rendered unintentionally conceived, or whether it was because of the unhealthy lifestyle that he had done from all the partying that he had fallen into since his teenage years up, he didn't quite know, but he did know that he learned lessons, both from his first family and from the family that he was having now, and every day was he learning, and every day was he utterly in love with the gifts he had been granted. "

I'm sorry, Faceless," he murmured after a moment, emotion choking on words, almost being unable to focus even with the maddening pleasure that was going through him. Being able to find the gentle delicacy between pleasure and crazed addition, while at the same time giving him space to feel out his thoughts, was something Faceless had mastered. "I..I make mistakes, ok? I know I mess and I have my flaws, and I don't want to do that anymore. Especially not with you, honey. Never..with you." Another gentle gasp left his trembling lips. This hadn't been the first time that they had figured out difficult concepts together while making love, and he knew that it wasn't going to be the last. Such was the passionate connection they shared that ofttimes needed to be figured out by hungrily pressing against each other in order to be able to properly have the conversations that they wanted to have with one another; that they had with their bodies and words the same.

"What's mine is yours," he murmured after a moment. He looked over towards her, and quickly did she ease herself up away from the side of his jaw where she was hungrily pressing her lips up against him. The only thing that could have brought her away from his essence was the softly spoken tone of his voice itself.

"Right? He questioned, voice soft and slow, and maddeningly innocent, desperate for validation, as he looked up with her and waited in breathless anticipation. She nodded without hesitance, smiling in a way that reached the patches of her core and shortly after his. She leaned forward and gently pressed her lips up against the side of his face for the countless time, her knuckles gently pressing up against the side of his face that had been rendered red from her furious touches. Even the blood that painted itself in the blue veins under the pale of his skin was rendered endlessly precious. Randy was so endlessly human, so unapologetically flawed and yet virtuous the same, and it broke her heart, in a strange fashion, of how she would never know or understand him entirely. Yet that was only one of the endless reasons why she was bindingly, immutably, changelessly in love with him, and always would be. To explore him was a treasure, an adventure that would always taste of a fresh tang of autumn air, that would never dull.

"Right," she murmured softly, looking down at him with her own gentle whisper that came up from his own love as she looked at him. He returned her gaze as he smiled shakily, and then slowly did he lean forward and wrap his arms even further up around her waist, causing her own hips and folds to fall even further cast of against his own cock as he felt the way that she was thrusted deeper up around him, her lips completely engulfed by his own.

"I love you, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice gently soothed as he wrapped his body back against her own; they were each other's gentle nests through and through. He was now entirely cradling her with his own body, just as she had cradled his own insecurities with her words. She let out a laugh as she felt the way that he pressed himself hungrily up against his lips even further, with the way that he let out his moaned pleasure. Randy smirked softly at her loving humor.

"What a pair we make," he whispered shakily as he gently nuzzled his face against her. Faceless let out a soft chuckle of soft agreement that she nodded, pressing herself further up around him. "What a pair we make," she repeated back towards him, smiling softly as she pressed her lips further up against the side of his still trembling lips. His face was perfectly modeled with that gentle, naive tremor that was always echoing through his body like waves of eternal youth that no doubt was within very own energy at the fountain of his essence. It was only the wrinkles of his face that was carved into his skin that made him seem otherwise than a child, who grew too quickly before their time.

There was a sudden, abrupt interruption of a giggling that came from the front of the door, and Randy temporarily pulled his lips away from her as he strained his eyes over towards the front of the door. He couldn't help but lift up off his eyebrows in question, and then quickly a smile graced his face as he watched the way their daughter, the one with the long black hair that always had her black hair within waves, was standing up against the front of the door. She looked in between the two of them, bouncing slightly as she did so.

"Mama! Dada!" She squeaked excitedly as she looked in between the two of them. Stuart is showing us new tricks to do with his spoon!"

Faceless chuckled as she eased herself away from the heat between their bodies.

"oh, ok, ok," Randy mumbled, slightly sleepily within the fog of their infatuation as he eased himself away from her under the sheets.

"One second, sweetheart," Faceless called over her shoulder. Randy smiled as he trailed his fingers through her hair, the jealousy almost completely gone now as he looked he watched the two of them. He felt only a deep canopy of fondness now; this was his, his gentle island of love. He was still learning new lessons every day with fatherhood, even twenty plus years later, and it seemed he was the kind of person that was always going to be learning lessons for the rest of his life, that he would be making more mistakes than he would be doing things right. And yet he had finally found the person that would be able to gently lead him through that, to teach him and that he did deserve love, not despite those qualities, but deserved love because of it.

Faceless eased herself back down towards Randy as she looked away from their daughter, surprise crossing her face when Randy leaned forward and pressed his lips up against the side of her cheek, then pushed her away gently. He nuzzled his nose against her as she looked at him in bewildered question.

"It's okay, babe," he muttered softly. "Go ahead."

The soft permission that was innate within his gentle fired green eyes was all the confirmation that she needed. She felt her body tremble with emotion as she leaned down, pressing her lips against the side of his own. He let out a desperate breath of release, and, as his fingertips trembled against the small of her back, they both they were finally home, in the ways that counted.

"Thank you," she whispered softly.

"No," Randy shook his head. "Thank you. For being my wife. For teaching me things again. For...for giving the word meaning to marriage again. It all seemed so...cheap before." Every prolonged vowel was choked, and Faceless found that she could no longer make out is features through the water that stung at her eyes.

"Mommy!" Their daughter squeaked.

Randy chuckled, then pressed his hands against her side encouragingly. "Go be a Mommy," he murmured softly. "Daddy's coming soon. Now that I know...how."A gentle breath of emotional relief left his lips; a burden had been lifted.

She furrowed her eyebrows and leaned forward, kissing his forehead gently.

"We're a Marsh family," she whispered. "And we'll always take care of each other."

Randy smirked in a tender, knowing fashion. "We sure will, sweetheart." One lat breath of intimacy between them that brought the battle to a close. "We sure will."

"The Question of Why"

One of Faceless' children asks her why she loves Randy. Her answer is more than she knows how to put into words.

"I'm telling you, sweetheart, people totally need this right now. Absolutely nothin's going to stop me from being one of the most beloved men here in South Park the second that they hear of the genius stuff I've got going on." Randy's eyes, bursting with that ever unapologetic energy, were almost too distracting for her to focus on the road; everything about him drew her to him almost recklessly with an unapologetic fire of just how much she craved his existence, every minute detail of how he expressed himself being her own personal burning fire of liquor she could never get enough of consuming. Still, she persisted. His energy, his sheer golden light aflame with thickened passion, was like a magnetic of happiness for her; his own erratic and unapologetic flame reminded her that true zest came, undoubtedly, from within, not from validation or even approval from others, something Randy certainly lacked. Yet within that car did none of outside hard ice of the world matter; there was only a heated comfort within that space where he was allowed to be his fullest, most enthusiastic self; there were no walls, limitations, judgements or barriers within that space that consisted of his second family.

"I wish you would tell me," she murmured tenderly, smiling as she looked up ahead of her. Their kids, six of them total, were sitting in the back, rather squished; but when it came to his large business truck, which he had bought an even bigger version of once they had managed to have the amount of kids that they did, there was more than enough space, and it did the trick well enough. They were squirming and squealing from behind; an extension and even reflection of the love shared between the two wayward souls who had born them.

"Oh, come on, I don't have to tell you," Randy responded, the heated flame of passion that was often mistaken for rudeness fully present within his voice, that usual flame within him igniting even further in the wake of his deepest passion; his ambitions. To see him locked within his own happiness was certainly her own; there wasn't one experience he had where she didn't followed quickly from behind. The tightrope that they inevitably walked together made sure of that much. He temporarily paused in the vehement passion of the babbling brook that was his rich speech, aflame with light that speckled itself both on his skin and his speech the same. "Believe me, you're going to know exactly what I'm talking about once we get there. Everything that I've been bragging about is going to be clear the second that I announcement on stage. Times are bleak, but not right now. Not for the Marsh family-right, gang?" He looked over his shoulder at his children with that signature, eager smile of his pearl white teeth poking out from his lips, one which was an almost begging plead for human interaction, or approval. He desperately needed more than he got. For the most part, their own zest filled children granted him that, taking after Randy's own unstable and bursting golden hues of personality, though for the time being most of them were unresponsive, lost within their own world.

Stuart, who was almost a spitting image of Randy in personality and appearance the same, looked up at him and kicked his legs with a muted excitement. His black waves of hair were spiked up into a tall few inches that were placed on top of his head. Randy chuckled as his forest green eyes met the stark mirror of his sons'.

"That's right, bud!" Not after what I'm about to drop on all of these people who don't even know what hit 'em."

Faceless smiled even deeper as she watched the road pour out in front of her without truly seeing it. The town of South Park was beginning to become steadily more all encompassing as the claustrophobic structure of the buildings began to become increasingly more apparent up around them. She drove the truck towards the left side of the road, driving closer up into the clearing of the parking lot that was between the main town houses, complimented by convenience stores that were littered up by people who were wearing those blue masks.

Just to see them made reminded her of just how lucky she was to be able to have a place to go home, a place to be able to call safety, acres of green artistic land that they could call their own-a refuge from the chaos of the mainstream of the world. And, more importantly, that she had someone like Randy, who was able to protect her, to provide for her, to give her that extra gleam of rich gratitude within life of every passing day. He could, undoubtedly, make every day an adventure; it was an innate talent that was unseen within him. He was unpredictable, and he could be selfish in deep and lasting ways, but he was a wholesome trail of endless trippings of an unexpected and much wanted tender touch of a fresh intake of ever changing air. As she watched the frantic gleam of his green pools of magic, complimented by the way he bouncing himself with uncontained excitement that she had only seen in children-although it suited a grown man well, especially one as delicately made as Randy-she could see why he had hardly fit in anymore into the increasingly more inflexible town of South Park. Though Randy wasn't who he used to be, neither was the town himself, and he had outgrown the town to the point that it made people uncomfortable. It mattered not; he was happy in a way she had never seen on a person in general. He was a rare, rich, and enlightened spirit that was glowing within the passion that was permanently present within his heart. It was impossible to be damped, even by the dark judgement of others, so bright did he shine, from the frantic glint of his eyes to the porcelain glow of his skin,

"Aren't we lucky, gang?" Randy gushed as he started to frantically take in the people surrounding them. He always did things rather frantically these days; full of an endless unhinged energy that was only draining to those who didn't know how to handle it, or that lacked within it themselves. She could tell that he was becoming increasingly more excited the more that he saw the people that were pressing up around the front of the stage; the one he had made a point to make a reservation for the second he had gotten the chance. He was always incredibly resourceful in that way; and he jumped at any opportunity he got when it came to what was most important to him. He was a blossomed garden of endless canopy of surprises, and his spirit was the ever peeking sun.

"We got all this awesome stuff going on even in these dark times. And our business is only blooming more because of it! And everybody was always trying to tell me that running this farm was a bad idea!' A bemused and cocky chuckle left his lips. "I bet they're not so sure about that now!" His husked chuckles continued as he pressed his hands with that ever shimmering energy up against the side of the car door handle, tried to open it with one abrupt push, then looked over at Faceless with a frustrated pout on his expression.

"Faceless?" he whined softly. She looked over at him and smiled with a bemused expression, and then leaned forward and gently caressed the back of her knuckles against the side of his cheek. "Good luck, sweetheart," she murmured tenderly. "Give them hell for me." She smirked as she repeated the same sentiment that Randy had told her countless times whenever she had needed much of the same confidence. Randy's eyes instantly glinted with a warm, temporary pause in the middle of the erotic storm of uncontainable excitement that was within his eyes, pressing his body forward in that pause of magic that only they could feel as he pressed his lips up against the side of her cheek. She trembled delicately as she felt the way the side of his warm lips pressed up against her skin; a gentle flamed fire of welcomed desire. Her own shuttered breath left her lips as she memorized the way that his mustache tickled up against her own surface of gentle begging trembling that was born of the endless desire to be touched by him. She let out a soft moan as she tilted her head back against the car, bones and skin melting the same as she felt the way his own warm hands gently caressed and ghosted with a tender passion even within his own unfocused nature, her mind memorizing how his trembling fingertips caressed against her thighs with a intense, flamed tenderness.

"Hey, that's right, Faceless," he whispered, his own raspy laden lust escaping from his lips with his own hardly suppressed lust, breathing his truth softly against her lips. "I am going to give them exactly that, and a hell of a lot more. You'll see-and they'll see too." He smirked as he pressed his lips with another ghost of passion against her own begging ones; he could melt her instantly just by being him. "Just some good old fashioned tegrity is what they all need, am I right?" She was rendered breathless before she could respond as he pressed his lips against her cheek with another frantic and determined energy, his lips grazed up against her skin once, twice, three times, rendering her almost incomprehensibly breathless once again with the way he pleased her so easily just by falling into his own truth without allowing the repercussions of others to define him or his passions. His uncaring, sloppy, and zesty strength was her very light outside of the heavy tunnels she could fine herself within.

She let out a soft whimper of longing as a strike of warmth shot through her body at the silliness of his farmer's accident that he was speaking in within that moment; charmingly goofy and yet masculine, intelligent, and serious was he all at the same time. He was an endless array of a perfect portrait of everything she had ever needed. He smiled at her with that deep knowledge of knowing the deeper depths of the pain of insecurity they shared; he didn't need to tell her how tired he was, despite his enthusiasm. He had stayed up all night for the past two weeks to get everything right, and still did he worry it wasn't enough. His business was his ticket to freedom, his ticket to providing for his family, as well as a satisfying feed towards that insecurity he always felt that he was never enough. Even so did he manage that smile that could melt even the blackest tar off of her own heart, despite his own war of failed cleansing inside of his green canopy of peaceful yet ever racing tree green eyes. He pressed his lips against her one last time, and she could feel the way that her own response to his very existence was giving him strength. A gentle pause was what they most needed, what they most craved, from the other; it was within these soft moments that only they shared where the hurricanes of human consciousness slowed, even for Randy, a storm that never seemed to end, not even when he himself wanted it to. He was so utterly sensitive. Tragically so.

"Can I open the door now?" he murmured softly, almost shyly, against her lips. "Promise that I have everything already. All the stuff is in the back of the trunk, and I got all of my lines ready. There's nothing that anybody can say or do to me now." He always had that heated defensive within him up in arms, always being so prepared for anyone to invalidate or patronize him. Faceless couldn't blame him; she knew he had suffered the same from his wife for countless years. It would take a long time to cut the suffocating ribbons that squeezed around his chest more than he could breathe.

He pulled away from her as he gently caressed his hands against the side of her knee, making her shiver as she felt his promises from his words and action the same. It was the most precious promise that he could give her; that he would be ok. Always did she worry about his spirit getting dampened beyond recall, especially with how easily people tramped against naturally vulnerable people like him, who put their heart on their sleeve. With Randy, it seemed as if he had no choice; so loud were his emotions that there was no stopping them; they were like an famished dog let loose on a lease, a fire with a constant flammable liquid pressed against the flames that spread like forest fire. She knew he couldn't stop being who he was even if he wanted to; and it was all the more reason why he was the most precious man she had ever known, and why she was the most desperate to love him so much that it fed her own maddened fever to be what she could for him.

She could hear, without a shadow of a doubt, the gentle promises he was granting her about both his physical and emotional safety. "I'm gonna be fine, honey," he whispered, the most soft and tender tones making themselves known within the endless tender fascination that was his voice. His family was his net of safety from the rest of the world; a gift he hadn't had the first year of owning the farm, where his previous family ha failed him, and uncaringly had they left him. She knew he could be a handful, yet she had never known anyone she wanted to be destroyed by more than his fire.

He gently traced his finger against the side of her face; her trembling increased as another soft moan escaped her lips. It was painfully yet exhilaratingly suppressed; she didn't want any questions from the kids of what these emotions were. But Randy remained as oblivious and within his own world as always.

"Especially now that I got my own little gang with me to always encouraged me and to remind me who I am, and what's important." His green ocean meadows glinted darkly within the memory as he briefly thought about his past, back when he hadn't had much but his own encouragement to give him any support for what he did; everything else was met with cruel daggers of patronizing words from Sharon at best, cutting into his soft essence that was as fragile as the molded glass he was made from.

She nodded in understanding as she leaned forward, gently pressing her lips up against him with one last gentle desperation to feel him. Always were they hungry for one another. She wanted to heal his every wound, his every insecurity, even if only one day at a time. He was incredibly self-reassured, yet there were bleeding wounds that desperately needed attention too; and she had known since before she had memorized his every patch of interwoven existence that he was one of those particularly innocent souls that needed love like fuel, though he could be clumsy at giving it in return with his own flaws. She only loved him deeper for these qualities; she loved his messy, flawed, beautifully authentic soul.

She massaged her trembling lips up against his own, feeling the plump of his stomach pressing against her body that was always begging for her hungry space between her legs throbbed as his hands ghosted against her thighs. Every detail-from the flutter of his eyelashes, to his rasped heated breath, to the way his uneven bangs traced against her forehead, to the trembling hunger of his own fingertips- reminded her beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were the endless fuel for each other's desperate appetites for love an support; always hungry and only getting full of just enough to want more. Randy had many addictions, but receiving love was, without a doubt, the most prominent of all, and she could practically see the way he would fall apart without it; so easily did his assured yet sensitive soul crumble.

He was her gentle peace, her madding addiction, the peace and the madness all in one beautiful patched human bundle. She let out another barely suppressed moan as he allowed his tongue to dance between her own, and she smiled as she felt way that he gently sighed within her lips.

"If it wasn't for these kids with us right now, I'd have you pinned against this seat like it was nobody's business," he rasped against her. "Fuck..all pressed up against me. Yeah..." His voice was raspy, husked; an endless invitation for her to fall into him. It was a miracle she could resist the innocent, naive masculinity of his nature, Another desperate tremble left his lips, signifying how helpless she made him, maddeningly so.

She had to let him go; she had gotten her fill, at least for now. "Stay safe. I love you." Her lips pressed against him one last time, teeth biting skin, voice trembling with deepening passion. That happened with him often; she craved him so deeply that the tender passion often came within every crack that was within her mind and body whenever she spoke to him, especially when it was in regards to his safety. She was endlessly protective over him; not just because she knew she needed him in every possible way, but because she truly, without a doubt in her mind, wanted the best for him.

With one last final desperate resistance did she press her breasts deeper up against him, still not being able to keep that pleased smile away as she pressed herself against his plush body, relief in the action, yet an almost deepened torment from how much she craved his tender essence. But the heat was gone as quickly as it came; the chaos of the town was calling. She could feel everyone's eyes on the two of them, and Randy did as well.

He ripped his lips away form her, his natural leadership quality coming to the forefront of his mind as he frantically pressed his hands against the door. "Shit-honey-I can't-" he hissed as he banged his hand against the door frantically, making little to no logical process with the desire to open it. Faceless leaned forward as he quickly pressed the switch that opened the door, and Randy's panicked eyes turned to excited and aimless fire at seeing it open. He pounded his hands against it as it swung open, then rushed his ways outward.

"Ok, cool! Love you honey!" He rushed his way towards the back of the truck, his fleeting actions masking his panicked and brief reply. There was that irreplaceable zest again; that almost childlike energy, his rich enthusiasm only comparable by the children that they shared together. She treasured those eccentric parts of him that separated him from people his own age the most; he was utterly precious, and yet there was a tinge of sadness to how he was made. She knew that the rushed maturity that he was forced to put on his demeanor for the sake of fitting into adults his own age wasn't him in his truest essence, as much as the incredibly naive, childlike, and hyper energy that he had inside of him was. There was so much more to him than anyone could see; even herself, and she had made it a mission to unravel him, to understand him. She watched the way his uneven black bangs bounced against porcelain of his skin as he made his way over towards the back of the truck, where jars upon jars of his products were placed against each other. She felt a bittersweet stab that knew that she was never going to be able to find somebody who was so delicately, perfectly, and utterly him; something that was next to impossible to achieve within a world that looked for every reason to tell one to be otherwise than who they were. Randy had a rare gift within the fact of the matter that he couldn't contain, or prevent who he was, even if he wanted to.

"Mommy, why do you love Daddy?" There was a gentle, soft squeak that came from behind in the midst of the soft, high pitched pattern of conversation that always manifested between their six children. They got so easily lost inside of their own conversations that they had with one another.

She melted as she turned around and rested her elbow against the side of the chair, admiring their colorful children; two redheads of opposite gender, two girls with black waves of that took after Randy, one boy that looked like a striking image of a younger version of her husband, and, with a soft squeeze of her heart, did she take in the last one; their disabled son, who didn't look quite like any of them, but who had an extra tender place within the motherly nature of her mind simply because how much extra love he needed. She had, quite literally, made a new world with the man who had taught her how to rebuild herself from the ground up, and she had done much of the same for him, in her own way. The child who had spoken the question was of course Stuart Marsh; her black haired son who seemed like a spitting image Randy in personality and appearance the same; sporting the same black hair, the same unapologetic personality that spoke exactly what was on his mind without hesitance. She met his own curious, flamed eyes as she considered the question, thoughtfully tapping her fingertips up against the side of the chair as she thought. She always took conversation with her children seriously; they deserved to be taken seriously in all their questionings of all their experiences. She knew Stuart had asked the question in genuine curiosity; there was no malice in the context of the conversation.

It was impossible for her to comprehend every way Randy had made her feel through the months they had spent together; there was an endless array of life that the two of them brought each other to that was too rich to be comprehended. Rather than trying to find a direct answer within her mind did she allow her heart to speak instead.

She thought about every single morning that she woke up within his arms, warm and soft, charmingly and unintentionally humble even within his narcissism; he simply couldn't help the purity of his soul, the charm of his clueless nature. The soft poetic of his flaming heart never failed to make her feel like the very definition of grounded; his undeniable warmth made her feel sure, not about any one element in particular, but rather a general conference of the existence that he had that she was only able to find a full kind of grounding and healing within the soft safety of his arms.

Yet he was so much more than just warm safety; she thought about the unpredictable of his nature, how he was always keeping her on her toes in only the best way; he was her gift that never stopped giving simply by being him. He was isolated from the unapologetic nature of how he took life at its core; and she only feel deeper in love with him to know what she could do for him. He didn't see himself as brave, or strong; he had said it himself in countless breathless nights of confessions, yet she had never known anyone that was more strong than someone who took on the world in such a vulnerable way such as he did. He showed off every grimy flaw of his existence, was goofy to the extent he was mocked, and was endlessly himself in a world that would surely only weaponize itself against him. She was sure that Randy himself wasn't aware of how brave or rare his approach towards the world was. It seemed as if there was an innate innocence in how he expressed himself; as if he expected the world to be as nonjudgemental and as cluelessly innocent as he was. Tragically, he was more than wrong on that font.

They needed each other, just as the sunlight needed to trace the clouds in order to portray the full beauty of their fullest existence. He was a breath of fresh air on every autumn day, every beautifully nostalgic feeling that had made her feel so painfully alive. He was her every bittersweet breath, both her peace and her adventure. He was a tender lost child in a world that forced people to grow up; she was his anchor, and she had never been more fulfilled than delicately stopping the dance that was his always trying perfect. There was blood with his unseen actions where he had pierced nails inside of his skin to contain his innate magic of madness.

There was a deep tender nature of how she was able to ground him, how he helped her to live, how he unintentionally guided her to get back the part of herself that had been completely buried underneath her own unpleasant experiences with the world, how healing of a presence he could be by his charming uncaring, yet fostering natural nature.

His shining eyes that held all of the life inside of them within the world, the way that the perfect black sky of his hair pressed up against the soft of his forehead that would be a tragedy not to be kissed. He was messy, flawed, erratic, selfish, and mean, but more importantly was he himself; and she loved what he was made of.

It was what she had been cut from the same; they had been born from the same stained fabric. His black hair a night sky for the stars of his eyes. The perfect combination between somebody who desperately needed love and guidance, and yet at the same time had plenty of his own that he had given from the natural need he had for family. How he was so perfectly and delicately inside of a dance every time that he moved around himself without even realizing it, so deeply did he have that natural artistic energy inside him.

He was completely and utter freedom for her; a perfect painted nostalgia. He was so incredibly safe and predictable only in the most nurturing of ways, a perfect combination between a boring and yet breathtakingly liberation with just how lovable he was. With an intake of emotional heaviness that was the sweetest that she had ever tasted did she think about both his mind and the patches of his existence, in personality and of skin the same; she could never get enough of memorizing every way of how he talked, with every slurred speech when he was drunk, with every way that he stumbled, with every slow tone of his prolonged voice, ever vowel that was sweetened honey to her soul.

In every way that he was unsure of himself was he was able to comfort her, to give her a sense of knowing that she was invited, worthy of giving someone love, and, more than that, that she was capable of healing someone who had long since given up on taking care of himself or concerned even himself with his own well-being within the past, due to the frequent uncaring of those around him. He was a lost feather in a breeze, but he had found his rested nest.

Her previously pattering fingers trembled as her mouth watered as she considered the soft body that would press up against hers in the middle of the night, the way that she would watch the muscles of his handsome carved face relax, fatherly yet a child at the same time, soft mouth hung out that was gradually being torn down by the ages of time as he increasingly grew older, yet she found him only more precious within the older age that he was falling into. His skin was loosening, his stomach softening, his mind slowing. She wanted to catch his every fall; always would be be the definition of love to her, most especially when the world refused to give it to him. He was a combination of anything and anyone she had ever loved, she would face any fear, go through any fire, and endure any torment just to be able to taste even a bit of his warm that she had realized she had been thirsting for since the moment that she had tasted the sweet human nectar that could be human skin when it was the right touch, and even before. His skin and appearance would rot, and she would fall further into loneliness and isolation, but within the burning chaos of the world would they continue to fight through the darkness to feel one another, and at the destination of each other's embrace would they find exactly what they thirsted for to the point of uncontained madness;

Home.

All these thoughts she possessed inside the layers of her mind, such was the endless and rich complexities that choked her when she thought of him. Her eyes were fogged; her mind numb, her pattered fingertips paralyzed. But somewhere within the spell that was the black haired man's existence did she look back over at her child and only gave him simple, straight forward smile. A simple explanation left her lips that paled in comparison to the answer that was within her mind, and yet she knew that it was truly all that she needed to speak, and words failed her to describe how Randy made her feel regardless. The world left her lips like a trailing ghost of fog; they were a stranger to her as she spoke them, a pale acquaintance compared to the inner life she shared with the hyper man with twilight ocean waves.

"He's the perfect companion to everything that I've ever wanted to do," she murmured. Stuart stared at her with a slow expression, trying to piece together what she had meant.

"What's that mean?" Stuart squeaked, kicking his own two feet up in front of him in an indicated confused fashion. The rest of her children were beginning to take interest in the context of the conversation they were having, lifting their eyes from their conversations.

"He's my happy juice," she stated simply. "Just like how you get happy every time you drink apple juice, right? That's how Mommy feels whenever she's with Daddy."

"That's right!" Randy's voice suddenly chimed in, loud and excited, from the side of the truck window as he poked his head in. Stuart bounced as he looked over at his father's head poking in surprise from the backseat. "Daddy!" he squeaked. Innocent surprise glinted on his soft features.

"Hey, sport," Randy chuckled. "Daddy loves Mommy, and Daddy especially loves Mommy right now, who's going to help him carry out all this stuff that's a lot heavier than he originally thought it was, right?" His eyes looked over at her in a desperate, comical fashion, and Faceless laughed as she felt a deep warmth strike through her body. The heaven she had gotten lost in was dissipating; the richness that she could get lost into with him could wait. She was too busy experiencing it for the time being. She didn't have to wholly understand how she loved him. Helping Randy was like medicine to her soul, so happy did he make her so naturally. Such was the true love and unconditional love that they shared, that helping him was helping herself.

"That's right," she promised, more eager than even she had anticipated. She pressed her hand up in front of her own car handle, and though the threads of the heaven she had made with Randy were still trailing like softly spoken poetry in her mind, it was resting in the subconscious of her soul for now. Everything she shared with him was her strength; every soft laden sleepy morning, every regretful, emotional night the same; yet at the same time all those healing misadventures were the very healing, the very fresh air, they both needed. Life for him was far from perfect-he was far from perfect, and so was she. And yet it was within that flawed imperfection that she had found everything that her own bleeding had ever needed.

She opened up the door and shut it from behind her, feeling the fresh breeze press against her face. She felt her body shiver as she tasted it; everything had grown a taste since she had fallen in love with Randy, so well did he add life to everything he touched when one looked.

The fresh tang of October air tasted the way that Randy always did to her; of exhilaration, freedom, and, more than that, of a deep seated and longing healing.

"On Nights Like This"

Randy parties again, and as hard as he ever has, or, at least, he intends to. Normally he would drink himself sick with little regard for his well being for the rest of the unforgiving night, who cares little about nobodies like him. But tonight there is a different kind of escape from his insecurity that he finds himself falling into, and this time, it doesn't have a toxic catch.

If Randy Marsh was anything, it was a heated, boisterous bubbling underneath the surface of a desperately attempted contained pot. The suffocation that meekly attempted to contain his heat was the town, pathetically and miserably done so, wounding him more than it protected the people, or any external source which it so desperately tried to keep as the same mundane pattern. The heat within him waited, and, when aggravated enough, the boiling water would spill over, burning the previously safe surface around him, and, on the worst of nights, those that he loved most, burning out the relationships before their time. Randy himself wouldn't consider him a tormented soul, yet he tripped over himself for a belonging and a fulfillment that would always be out of reach, rendering his life an endless race with no finish line. To add salt to his literal an vulnerable wounds, his efforts were invisible to those around him, and there his fruitless efforts would remain, until his exhausted bones would give out long before they took their natural course of aging.

"Whoo!" The unmistakable, loud, and maddening unapologetic heated blare of Randy's voice trailed it's way through the front of the doorway. His tone was slurred, unfocused, directionless. It had been for the countless time that night that his stumbling vowels had made themselves fully and loudly known throughout the street party that night; he wasn't the only one, either. There were countless people partying up against the front of the street, shoving, drinking, and encouraging the endless pattern of chaotic energy around them. Randy himself would drink every last sip of the energy that the atmosphere gave him; it was simply the way he was wired, to consume every last bit of energy he could from any tremulous energy from others, fall into the unpredictability of those at their least reasonable, their decisions that most only made sometimes he made at every hour of his days. The party was aggravating his own hurricane, taking him away from the unwanted shell of the repetitive and unwanted schedule of his own mundane days. Always was he looking for that wood that would feed his fire, that escape, and he did so gladly, loudly, and incessantly proudly.

"Party it up, guys! I'm just going in to get some more of that sick ass alcohol! Be back in a second!" Randy's voice was thick with his own drunken nature as he stumbled his way through the front of the door. He hit the front of his foot up against the front of it; a violent hiss escaped his lips.

Faceless smiled tenderly. That must have been at least the fourth time that night.

"Have you seen the shit happening out there? It's a fucking party!" His almost unbelievably slurred tone trailed in through the door, his words almost as dysfunctional as his actions. He continued, rather unsuccessfully, to attempt his way inward. He stumbled frontwards, then backwards, and then frontwards again, the lack of balance that he had making itself fully known, as much as the obnoxious fire that was enwrapping him was; hurting even him, despite how he willingly fell into it. There was a part of him that enjoyed the destruction. He had stopped caring for his physical health long ago; his soul was too granted with the misery of his life to be concerned with it. His apathy towards physical health wasn't a conscious choice, but rather a subconscious string of torture towards that which he couldn't resist.

Anything to take him away from the emptiness, the lack of fulfillment; anything.

He hit his foot up against the front of the front of the frame of the door within mere seconds after the first, the pain shooting up through his body. "Ow-dammit!" He hissed out of his teeth, a frown plastering upon his face as he leaned forward and pressed his hands against his now sore foot. He desperately tried to balance himself, but instead did he stumble backward, hardly managing to catch his balance with the swaying of his body against the frame of the door.

"You done beating yourself up, honey?" Faceless called out from the table where she was currently sitting. She smiled as she continued to pretend to read, flipping the pages that were up in front of her. She loved the gentle storm that he was; such as the way that he was tonight. And more importantly than that did she love taking care of him, even if there was a bittersweet tang to how little he cared about his health. As long as she could take care of him, there was at least some remedy for that hard truth.

An indignant scoff left his lips. "I'm not beating myself up, Faceless! I can't help that I can't see straight, okay? Alcohol really knows how to do you in." His eyes frantically darted between the frame in a panicked question of cluelessness. "Did-did you do something to this door? Shit's impossible to get through." He pounded his fist against it, as if that would help matters.

There was a loud hustle and bustle that came from the outside of the door that almost entirely drowned out his drawl voice, countless people screaming, banging, and yelling as they continuously knocked into one another. There was currently more people stumbling drunk outside than Faceless had ever seen in her life, especially for that small town that was usually so quiet, and frustratingly so; suffocating the man she loved that had more life inside of him than entirety of the rest of the town combined.

Evidently, Randy was up against the town for tonight; for once was he the one overwhelmed by the town's antics tonight, and Faceless knew that he would destroy himself to keep up with it. He would kill himself if it meant even just one night of feeling like he was apart of something worthwhile, important. He would bleed from the inside out for validation.

She lifted up her head, no longer being able to stand hearing himself beat his body up the way he was. He was letting out countless hisses and swears, beating his toe one after the other. He was going nowhere fast, but, just as he attempted to do with his life, he would kill himself trying to get there until he was a broken, bloodied pulp. She picked herself up as she made her way over through the frame of the kitchen door, another sharp and raspy hiss leaving Randy's lips as he jammed his feet yet again up against the front of the frame of the door as he tried to walk his way inward for the countless time. She felt her heart melt tenderly as she saw the sight of him; it was only the messiness of his existence that could make her feel the irreplaceable tender fondness that was only born from the wrecked, unintentional poetry that he so naturally was, most especially when he feel into the chaotic whirlwind that was the exhilarating promise of his truest essence.

He was quite the sight to behold. He was wearing nothing but a white shirt that hugged around his bloated stomach, belly stiff with beer, the off white cloth stained with countless liquor, and, she had no doubt, another's man's piss, or even his own. He himself was cut from a stained cloth that was the paper of his pretty pale skin, as admirable as marble, as breakable as paper. The surface of his paper skin had been cut several times tonight, the stanzas that spoke of the slight wrinkles of of his age that he fought against were temporarily interrupted by the gashes of whatever misshapen adventure he had gotten his wild heart into. His usual grey pants were gone; what replaced them was just as equally dirty underwear that wrapped around his stocky, hairy, and porcelain legs. The clothes that he bore seemed to be showing off just how unsteady the essence of he himself was as he tried his best to even mumble out a coherent word. His eyes were heavily fogged with that drunken nature that he had whenever he got carried away, such as he had tonight. The frustrated look plastered up against the front of his face as he tried to make his inward was only growing, a glowing red spoiling against his cheeks that was made from the violet blood underneath the pages of the paint that was the writing of his skin, speaking of the breathtaking story that filled her with undeniable nostalgia, strained by the paint of his flustered and utterly human blood.

"Shit-shit, can I just come in, Faceless?" he finally managed to slur after a struggling, tense moment. Each vowel of his voice was prolonged even further by the usual slow nature of his voice; a strange yet alluring contradiction to the frustration on his face. Always was he made and interwoven with those contradictions, and she adored exploring every one. "The-there's something wrong with the goddamn door." He placed both of his hands up against the front of each frame of the door, hands sticky and stained, arms trembling within the action. That unpleasant frown that was pressed forcibly up against the handsome curves and muscles of his face, increased as those lively, basil eyes tried to comprehend a plan the the seemingly impossible task of walking inward in his drunken nature, only increased in his displeasure. Even with that lack of basal smile he usually wore was he heartbreakingly adorable.

She made her way over towards him, opening the front of the door fully that, previously, had only half open a second before, the wood of it banging against Randy's knee with every attempt that he had made to walk in. His eyes lit up as he gazed trailed up to look at her with a look of naive and utterly adorable gratitude, rendering itself on his face like a carefully concentrated artist that she knew he was when it came to what truly gave him peace.

"Can you just-Faceless!" he whined.

"It's open," she said warmly, patiently.

Randy blinked cluelessly in a fogged realization. "Oh." Slowly did he step forward, reaching out one hand towards her shoulder, swaying all the while with a sloppy, detached relief, lost within his broken fog to truly understand what was happening around him.

"Hey-thanks, babe, you're-"a burp escaped his lips, followed by a cringe of pain from his stomach that expresses itself on his face. "Woah-woah," he mumbled, the unfocused of his vision and the hood of his heavy eyelids trailing downward; just as unsure and as unfocused as his direction spiritually always was, yet it was within his unpredictable trails that she found her deepest meaning, which was falling into the endless escape that was him. To his credit, he was trying his best to steady himself as he finally managed to trip his way forward, desperately reaching out one hand and clumsy pressing it against her shoulder. He other hand was still groping each side of the frame of the front of the door as if his life depended on it, his green meadows lugging up towards Faceless with still that same frown plastered up against the front of his expression as he did so, though it seemed as if a defeat was now making itself more well known than even his heated frustration. "Did-did you do something to the door, Faceless? I... I swear it's like hell trying to get through." Another soft, almost pained burp left his lips in the midst of his complaining as he tried his best to make his way forward again, his other stocky leg finally making its way past the first inch of the door, finally welcoming him fully into that living room where she had pressed her hungry, trembling fingertips against his own skin countless times before.

"You just have to walk forward, Randy," she advised softly, loving albeit worried amusement within her voice. She couldn't help but love him the most within these moments; the moments where he clearly needed caring more than any person she had ever known.

There were a certain lostness about Randy that made her desire to protect him only the stronger from every lost musing and pain that made itself so utterly present within his every action; a bittersweet man was what every action, every slurred word he spoke made him, and yet every sweet passion that was within his action that most could only wish to experience. His soul was a lost, but utterly rich soul, and he needed a caretaker; the space between her thighs ached that she could be that for him. She was in love and attracted to Randy in the way one loved only the deepest layers of another; wholly, and entirely within he patches of his demeanor.

The layers of his porcelain skin that was maddening alluring, mixed in with the plump of his plush body, was only an addicting and decidedly mouth watering bonus. She reached out as she placed her hands underneath his armpits, sweat and hot were the spaces of them, and he let out a moan as he was gradually pulled forward towards her own hands, towards her gentle and addicting safety. She gradually pulled his weight, as best as she could manage, through the front of the frame of the door.

"Walking? That's dumb," he mumbled after moment, allowing his body to be gently pressed up against the curves of hers she allowed him to fall forward into the embrace of her own arms, his significant weight pressing against hers. She adored the heavy fell of him; it reminded her that he, beyond a shadow of a doubt, was real, whole. Best of all did it remind her of his warm stability that was so innate within him that not even he could take it away within his messy decisions, and she was, ironically, most especially reminded of this when she had to be his. To take care of him was to take care of herself.

He gently nibbled against the side of her shirt, as if tasting the very home he had finally been brought into, allowing himself to wholly press against her body. She was his gentle reckoning safety, especially from the chaos of the world, one that left little to no breathing room for his own weak-willed and easily influenced soul. In a chaotic world where he could never decide who he was, he somehow instantly found his answer within her touch in a way he never had with the endless challenges and social cruelty of his youth. Tried though he might to fit in, something he desperately wanted, he could never quite figure it out. He was too wayward, a little too askew in his core, but that was why they perfectly came together in utter fresh understanding.

"Why the hell can't I just walk through it?" It was a genuine question; his voice was starkly confused, soft, slow, and unsure as he pushed himself further against her, letting out a deep, pained groan as he wrapped his arms further against her waist.

Faceless laughed as she allowed her hands to gently trail up against the stained surface of the soft of his shirt, slowly ghosting up from the surface of his clothes and trailing them up into the soft wave of the curls of his hair, tenderly pressing up against the back of his head. She was home.

"Sweetheart, are you okay?" she murmured softly, considerably, each vowel presented and laced in a gentle fever of heat that was only meant for him. "I think you might have had a little bit too much to drink tonight. It's a door, Randy. You walk through it. Nothing changed about it."

"Wha..?" Youthful bewilderment cross his canopy of sweet green eyes, black and thick eyebrows furrowing. "No-no," he mumbled, nuzzling himself up against the front of the side of the curve of her neck as he did so. "I didn't have too much to drink...yo-you had too much to drink." He gently poked in the side of his finger up against the side of her hip playfully, and then let out another moan as he felt another sickling wave go through the entirety of his body. Faceless let out a soft sigh as she pressed her hands slowly up against the side of his own love handles, gently allowing her hands to ghost against the soft fat of his own body as she did so.

"You can barely even walk straight," she muttered softly. "You couldn't even figure out how to get through the door, darling." There was no accusation in her voice, only gentle concern.

"Yeah-Yeah I can!" A hiccup escaped his lips. "You-you just did something to it, Faceless. You made it impossible to get through..somehow." His voice was consisting of that soft and slow confused defense that he fell into, even when he was sober at times, but most especially when he lost within that messiness that he was within that moment, that sheer reeking of thick alcohol surrounding itself around him. To look into the soft pollution of the flowered red blossoming of his eyes that was born from his drunken state, signifying pain, as well as exhaustion, was her own gentle reminder that he really did need someone soft and safe to fall into, and it made her physically trouble at the idea that she could be that for him. That was, at very least, what she could do for him, and she let a deep and loving gentle breath out of her own lips, one that was more born out of her own relief that she finally had her own reason to appreciate her arms that could give him that desperate rest he needed.

His trembling and uncertain body was now completely safe and tucked away from the rest of the partying that was occurring outside the open door before them. There were countless people packed together within the usual quiet of the street before them, clustering up against even mere inches before the front of the door. She felt relief go through her, yet a sickly feeling that Randy would destroy himself to be apart of it all night, even if it meant murdering him. His desperation to be apart of and accepted by the world would be his end, save for the single loved one he had that bothered to go out of her way to help him through his inevitable and demanding flaws. His family had given up on him before his time.

As she gazed at the scene in front of her, she felt her hand gently caressing every bump against Rudy's back that was signified by his vertebrae; one of the few parts of his body that hadn't yet been buried by thick flesh of his weight like the rest of him. She then traveled her wandering lovers of hands up against the side of his body, reaching out her left and pressing it up against the front of the door and shutting it behind them, a click separating them from the rest of the chaos.

She gently pressed nuzzled her face against the curves of his own, allowing her lips to pressed up against the side of his own neck with a breathless rendering of the safety she wanted to provide him. "You don't feel good, do you honey?" she whispered softly. The only response Randy made was letting out a soft and sickly moan, and she let her own soft whine in response to his clear discomfort. She poignantly caressed her fingers up against the side of his body as she allowed the the entirety of his weight to collapse into her, quite a feat, considering that he was at least a significant hundred pounds over than her; but she wouldn't have had the purpose of her life any other way. She feel a endearing peace within her own by being able to bring him his own grounding.

"Come here, sweet thing," she murmured softly, tracing her hands underneath his wrist as he guided him over to the side of the couch where she had taken care of him countless nights before. Randy let out another helpless, delicate whine as he stumbled forward, still trembling slightly back and forth as he did so. He crashed body up against the front of the couch, his alcohol stained hands polluting the previously clean chair as he pressed his sweating palms against the front of the couch, laying his head backward, adam's apple trembling.

"Jesus, what shit me out tonight?" he mumbled as he reached at one hand and rested up against the almost pretty gentle sweat that had come out of his skin. He always made everything look pretty, even being hungover, and even being on the brink of an unforgiving sickness, such as he was tonight. Faceless smiled as she leaned forward and gently pressed her lips up against the side of his shoulder, now allowing herself to lean against him as she did so.

"You have to be gentle with yourself, Randy," she muttered, tenderly but firmly. In the midst of all of the reeking of the alcohol could still make out the musty scent that was clearly and distinctly him. Weed, sweat, oil, exhaust, and alcohol was his signature scent, and only he could make the scent alluring; even the pollution of the world did his own sweet soul turn to gold.

"Yeah, whatever," Randy mumbled, eyes closing as he frowned in his pained concentration of trying not to vomit.

There was another scent that made her blood run cold with worry, stirling concern into her instantly even more than his drunken nature, which was the deep, sharp, and undeniable smell of blood.

She began to gently caress her hands up against the front of his own bloated stomach, then traveled it down towards his naked legs, which were helplessly bloody and banged up, and, had it not been for the thick black of his body hair, she would have seen just how completely banged up he truly was from his unwanted wanderings that night. She gently but clumsy pressed her hands up against the front of his own knee as she trailed it down the front of his own skin, gently caressing her fingers up against the front of the flesh of his tender thigh.

He let out soft, pained yet relieved moan as she did so; more than likely was he letting them out simply because he desperately needed that touch of her own love in that moment, able to reach him even in the subconscious torment and physically unpleasantry that he was in. She smiled as she gently reached her hand forward further against his knee, and then gradually reached down towards the second bottom half of his leg, trembling her fingertips forward up in front his legs as she did so. She was shaking with worry as she searched the patches of his skin. She stopped as she felt a sudden undeniable spilling of liquid that stained against her searching fingertips, and then quickly did she pressed her fingers further against the gash. She instantly recognized the smell of blood that was gushing out of the front of his leg.

He must have sensed her hesitance; he lifted up one eyebrow as he looked over at her, lifting up the heavy of his hooded eyelids as he did so. "What?" he questioned, voice, soft, slow, utterly vulnerable, precious, and precariously adorable. She could spend the rest of her life thinking about the wonder of his voice alone. He turned his head over towards her entirely when he picked up on her anxiety; he read and felt her well. She lifted up her eyes as she gave him a strained smile. She felt bittersweet in the way that she wanted to care for a man that had no intention of doing the same for himself. She felt that overpowering need to protect and to love him within the moment, most especially when he had a clear disregard for his own being. It was within these moments, when he was so incredibly unsure of how to take care of himself, when she wants to take care of him the most, and slowly did she reach forward and wrap her arms up around the front of his waist, reaching the bleeding of her fingertips against his cheek, staining the pale of his skin that was a fragile as paper, as breakable as glass, and as beautiful as the white of his would be healthy eyes if he took even the slightest moment for self care. He never would.

"You're bleeding," she murmured, him with a furious yet quieted worry; she didn't want to make him more worried than it was worth; she knew how easily worked up he could get about something, even if he himself didn't understand the reason why he was. Such was how he got easily worked up from the soft worry of his soul. He worried, but not with any clear direction; it was only his youth anger that seemed internally frustrated that needed a a place to put his energy within. No actual solutions were made from his worry, but worry he did, aimlessly, nonetheless.

Randy blinked slowly, fogged over with the drunken of his nature, yet his eyes desperately flickered back and forth between her own; always did he have that hyper energy within him. "What about it?" he questioned. There was an attempt a defensiveness, but it was lost with the drunken carelessness of his state. There is no challenge in his voice, but rather a genuine slow and even exhausted numbness that was inside him as he looked back and forth between her own eyes.

"It's bleeding, sweetheart," she repeated, more firmly. " I'm going to go get a cloth and wrap it over it so that it doesn't bleed anymore, okay?"

Randy shrugged, carelessness for his own well being still clear against his expression. "Yeah, ok. So?" It seemed as if he was hardly able to even process what was happening; Faceless sighed as she leaned forward and firmly pressed her lips up against the side of his cheek; she would have been angry, had she not loved him so deeply. He leaned forward as he allowed himself to be spoiled by her touches, moaning yet again slightly. He was the most vocal partner that she had ever known, but he spoke in soft wordless murmurs, confident to express the superficial of what he was thinking, but shy to ask for what he truly needed.

She threw herself upward and began to rush her way over towards the kitchen. She could fee his green piercing meadows of innocence boring into her back slowly with his own tender gaze as he watched the way that she frantically made herself over into the kitchen, frantically looking for where she left the bandages. She kneeled down in front of the cabinet where she kept white cloth and bandages, and then furiously made her way back over towards him, to his own slumped over form as he watched her with that same numb expression. That fog that only being drunk was able to close him in was still surrounding every patch of his existence, completely disregarding his own safety, despite her constantly telling him, begging him, to be able to look after himself even slightly.

She sighed lovingly, defeated, as she rushed down and placed the bandage against his bloodied skin. The first question that danced on her tongue poised itself, and left like a ghastly tremor before she could stop it. "Why don't you take care of yourself?" The question was tenderly laden with her love for him as she reached forward and pressed it up against the side of his own forehead, covered in his uneven midnight bangs. She left it there for a moment, then placed it against his knees, allowing a quick kiss of her lips to replace the spot where the cloth had been a moment before. She placed the cloth on the front of his knee, right where the gash was, allowing the blood to pollute up against the previous white cloth, taking the pain away from him slightly. He gritted his teeth, black eyebrows frowning in concentrated pain.

"Don't know," he hissed, voice now more raspy than it was lost and slow. "I guess I just don't really...just don't care." A soft hesitance of thought, and then the denial of reflecting on his lack of care dissipated like it had never existed. Instead was ti replaced with that usual oblivious zest that she adored more than she could comprehend, but worried her greatly. "This is great, Faceless! Everything that's happening in this town is for the better! Everything's going to change for the better. No more shitty jobs, no more no more being patronized by the people around me. Everything's going to make sense now, Faceless. It's finally happened! If any night is a good night to party, it's definitely tonight. Anyone who doesn't part tonight is a lame ass pussywad or...something. We're free! Yeah!" He raised up a fist in a way that was meant to be in a celebratory fashion, but it seemed as if the action struck through another wave of sickliness this through him, and quickly did a contortion go over his face. Panic threw over his expression as he pressed one hand up against the hill of bloated stomach, a slight contraction threatened to leave his lips. His eyes bulged in pained panic.

"Easy, Randy," she murmured softly, reaching out a hand and gently pressing up against the front of his back. She ignored the fact that he had avoided the subject, rather than had answered her question. His back was continuing to shutter, one hand pressed up against the front of his mouth as his entire body trembled with an unforgiving sickness.

She continued to gently press her hand up against his back, gently trailing her fingers underneath the top of his own shuddering back as she did so. The entirety of his body was completely woven over with the sickness that was taking over the his body, despite his best efforts to fight it.

"Let it out if you need to," she murmured softly. He shook his head slightly even as he was fighting the waves of sickness, and it seemed as if she could hear him swallow vomit as he gradually eased himself back upward.

"I'm...I'm fine," he choked, despite the clear exhaustion, the sickening nature in his usual tender and naive voice that he clearly wasn't. He glanced over at her, those pained red blossoms still within his eyes, still blinking slowly in the clear physical torment he was feeling. "Can..can we go upstairs? It's kinda lame sitting here. Don't really.. feel so good." His throat trembled with another contortion of pain. "I don't want to be an old man, but, this-shit-" he frantically pressed his hand up against the front of his stomach as another wave of sickliness came over him. "This sucks," he barely managed to finish.

She nodded tenderly as she leaned forward and placed her fingertips up against the front of his things. "Just let me finish up the bandage, sweetheart," she murmured, He looked at her and nodded clumsily, watching her with his uneven flowers of vision as slowly did she leaned forward and concentrate on the way that the bandage was pressed up against the front of his leg. She gently pressed the white fabric further around him, wrapping it up several layers around the space.

Within moments was there nothing except for a bandage, where previously there had been a bloodied gash. She heard the way he was letting out his own whispers of his own still present pain that he was clearly still feeling as she leaned forward and gently pressed her lips up against the front of the bandage. It wrecked her to hear his whines, and she would do what she could to offer him peace.

Her lips massaged against the gentle fabric once, twice, three times, each one summoning out a soft moan from Randy's lips, Finally did she ghost her hands against the side of the fabric of his body, the one layer between her and the addicting warmth of his skin, as she tenderly leaned herself back upward, pressing her hands up against the side of his neck as she did so.

"Let's get up, baby," she suggested, kindly and patiently. He was letting out soft, slowed gasps, and she could tell that he was struggling not to vomit. She gently trailed her hands underneath the soft love handles that was traced up against by the dirty stain of his shirt, and she wished she could take it off and release both her desire to be closer to him, as well as his to be free from his sweating panic, but it wold be impossible to get the clothes off of him in this state without struggle.

She leaned her hands up against the front of his love handles as she used her own weight to help lean him upward, letting out a soft and loving groan as she felt the way that his weight gradually was brought upward through her own effort, as well a bit of his.

"Ok, ok, Faceless," he grumbled. "I'm not that heavy."

He shaky legs leaned him forward in weak, frail attempt as he started to stand on his two feet, still stumbling backwards and forwards. After a moment of struggle did he over at her with his softly with those heavy-lidded islands, slightly dilated at, almost cross-eyed. He was completely lost within an unforgiving physical discomfort within that moment, and he leaned forward and gently pressed his cheek against her shoulder, squishing his face in a tremor that signified his childlike essence.

"Why's walking so damn hard?" he mumbled.

"One foot forward," she whispered. It wasn't a command, but rather a tender and loving suggestion, and luckily for her was he too lost within his drunken world, or rather lack of world, to be able to argue.

"Okay," he mumbled, voice honeyed and slow as he nuzzled his face against her shoulder. She placed her hands and arms around his waist as she led hum up the stairs, one after the other, the stairs creaking underneath their weight as they made their way upward. Through clumsy stamps did they make their way over towards the master bedroom as she reached her hand towards the front of the door and led him inward, his shaky demeanor following and tripping over nothing from behind.

She gently laid him down, allowing him to lean against her with every pained and struggling step. Although he was heavy compared to her, there wasn't one thing about him that ever felt like a burden. It gave her energy to be able to help him; she loved him so deeply that even just to be able to help him, let alone to know that he existed, with something that gave her endless strength that not even she understood. The way that he was pressed up against her was more than she could take with her hungry lust for him, and there was a part of her that permanently wished she could fall into him and forget everything else. Even his moments of sickness was her strength.

She quickly pressed him up against the side of the bed, heart breaking as she saw the way his chest trembled. "Just lie down, honey," she advised in trembling whisper, emotion heavy laden in her voice. Randy let out a soft, incoherent mumble of agreement as he gradually allowed his breathing to calm against the cool of the sheets, not even bothering to press at the sheets up in front of him as he curled against himself.

"Just gonna..lie down for a minute..." he mumbled into the sheets. He still smelled terribly sick, but she was going to allow him to rest, and, for the first time, he himself was going to allow himself to recover, for the first time within the endless party night he had fallen into since he was a teenager. It was inly because of Faceless that he could overcome those insecurities to party until the sun rose, dispelling even his own unhappiness, but only within those short hours. Punishment would only fall for the next twenty four, and his unhappiness would deepen.

They could always shower the next morning. She could still hear the yelling that came from the window from outside, and quickly did she rush over towards the front of the window and close it from behind them, quickly shutting out the rest of the world that never ceased to use people like Randy as prey. She knew he would have done anything that he could to be able to be included within those parties; quite literally partying until his heart gave out, having very little disregard for taking care of his own self. She looked over at him and she felt her heart squeeze as she observed the way that he lied up against the front of the sheets, and she found she couldn't resist him anymore. She quickly rushed her way forward lied down next to the patch on the bed where he didn't occupy. His sickly hooded eyes fluttered up at her, canopy green poetry eyes blinking slowly. She let out a soft whine of awe; he was the most unintentionally beautiful man she had ever seen. The uneven, black bugs that he never had the patience cut properly gently pressed up around the front of his pillow, black waves serving as a crown against his head as his eyes gently trailed shut in a wordless magic while he took her in.

"You're really cool, you know that?" he mumbled, voice now slightly more stable now that he was in a much needed comfort of rest. Talking to her, of having her beside him, certainly helped; he was confident in the way that she loved him, and most especially in the way that he was loved by her.

"I try to be," she whispered, gentle and tender amusement in her voice, laced by an endlessly rich consideration. She reached out a hand as she traced her fingers against the black sideburns that framed his face, wrapping the long, eccentric trails of hair around her fingers as she watched the way that his own sleepy eyes begin to be overcome the exhaustion of his vision.

"Yeah, well, you do a pretty sweet job," he whispered. "We...we should do something soon." Already has had his eyes begin to gently close as he felt the way that her own fingers gently pressed up against the side of his black sideburns. The muscles in his face twitched as he considered his own suggestion, eyes fluttering behind his eyelids in frantic thought. Already was he fixating on some impulsive plan to chase him away from the unpleasant sensations of reflections of the moment that only fragile quite brought. Randy loathed reflection. Yet self reflected he did regardless. Always did he talk about how weak he was, how he lacked strength, running away from that which challenge him too greatly. He was doing it now, but it was too adorable, too richly innocent for her to want to stop him. She could help him reflect on why he destroyed himself on nights like tonight another time.

"Something….something, something really, really cool. Something cool, like you. Something awesome. An event that's a lot like tonight. Every night should feel this good." Another soft yet less harsh hiccup left his lips as he spoke, the sound soft and rich at the same time, signifying just how much he drank. There was another soft contortion of his face, and Faceless let out a soft gentle hush of comfort as she leaned forward and rested her lips against he soft sweat of his forehead, her favorite place to love him, for it was the deepest symbolization of unconditional love, full of endless and rich consideration that asked for nothing in return.

"Why would you want to do anything with me?" she whispered softly up against the front of his forehead. She didn't ask him the question because she wanted to challenge him, especially knowing that he wasn't feeling good, but rather because she knew that Randy was the kind of person that spoke his most unfiltered thoughts when he was drunk. He would say anything at any time, as long as it was what he truly felt within his heart, when there was that detached fog over his usually intelligent mind. Her heart stopped at the idea of him saying anything less than what she needed to hear, which was simply any indication that he loved her as deeply as she did him.

"Because I love you." There was a soft, gentle mumble out of his lips as his eyes closed softly, now completely succumbing to the exhaustion that the impulsivity had left him with. "I dunno... because I love you, and stuff," he repeated softly. She felt her heart let out a maddened shiver within her chest as she heard his answer. A relieved, rich, and utterly devastatingly happy smile traced her lips, lacing against the clammy skin where her lips rested on the top of his forehead. She trailed her lips down to the tip of his nose, gently pressing her lips up against the front of the curves of his face. Randy let out his own soft, irresistibly tender moan as he felt how she gently pressed up against his skin; one that was born of relief of her touches, yet still the pain of the fire of his maddened actions that night. She let out a soft and gentle hush out of her lips as she kept her kiss against his nose.

"Why?" he mumbled. "Why do you care so much about what I think?"

She considered the question, but it came to her quickly. She understood the patterns of why she loved him and how she executed it, flaws and virtues the same, more than any element within her life."Because I love you," she repeated, softly. A simple, authentic answer; the most meaningful truth she had ever spoke. "And stuff." She smirked as she repeated the simplicity of his answer, born from the simple yet endlessly complex nature of his soul.

"Oh," Randy mumbled, his voice still that irresistible gentle slow, drunken, gentle natured tone. She had never heard a voice that was so soft, so adorable, so childlike yet so alluringly masculine within her life, save for the one that presented before her, within the gentle promises that left her lips. "Yeah," he sighed, as he snuggled softly, subconsciously, closer up against the front of her. "Thanks, babe. I never thought anyone would take me in anymore, with how much everything is falling apart with me. But... I guess I'll take you. Because you're a pretty awesome chick. And stuff." There was a soft, gentle smacking his lips as he spoke the words, letting out a soft and tired hum. He could feel the way that her fingertips were gently caressing up against the side of his black sideburn hair, giving her as much grounding as he did her,

She smiled tenderly. "Then I guess I'll take you, too." A gentle massaged kiss that pressed itself from her lips and up against the front of his own skin, and he smiled and hummed with upmost content, sighing tenderly as he buried himself further up against the pillow. The sight of his own handsome carved, permanently innocent features was more than she could take, making her heart squeeze as she looked up at him. "Because I love you, and stuff."

One last content hum left Randy's lips. Sleeping was taking him; his breath was becoming slower. The sweetness of his snores would trace her ears soon. "Goodnight, sweetheart," she whispered softly into the night. The soft of his porcelain skin was traced by the artificial light; the sickliness of the smell, mixed in with the artificial superficiality of the world, was brought to a gentle peace within him. There was a soft and slow response that came out of his own lips, from the most gentle, drawl, soft and adorable tone of voice that she had ever heard, gently traced in an innocence that could never be taken away, no matter how hard the world tried. Not matter how he tried.

"Goodnight," he mumbled softly. One last gentle word left his lips, and it was the only one that she ever needed to hear, from the only man that she had ever needed to hold. She would hold him and take care of him for the rest of his life, take care of him when he couldn't himself. The lack of love and nurturing within his life, his impulsive, ill actions, was exactly what she needed to be able to heal her own, and was exactly what she needed to be able to know that she worthy of loving somebody that she desperately wanted, such as she did him, and, in turn, worthy of being desperately wanted by someone in return. Randy didn't always say he loved her in obvious ways, but he did it in wordless ways, such as he had tonight, when he would rather trust her and fall into her, would rather have his plush body press up against the front of her own, to be gently caressed by her unsure fingers, then to be out partying until he vomited his lungs out. She had heard stories, had seen stories from the past, that he used to prefer to be out partying than to face his wife or his family. The thought made her chest burn with a heartache only the ruins of his fall gave her.

Within the madness of life had they somehow found each other, and she had finally offered him a gentle refuge from the cruelty of the world that had only ever patronized him, more often than not, and, in the best of times, had idolized him beyond someone that he wasn't, flaming is narcissism that he already struggled with. What he needed, more than anything, was peace; a rich, stable peace within himself. He had never been truly been seen, truly seen and known, until nights like tonight. What a stark difference did it make; she could see the peace presented against his forehead, painted now rather than forcibly plastered, such as the anger and the sickness had been earlier that night.

One last kiss from her lips pressed up against his skin, and with another subconscious moan from his pliant lips did she know she had given him the gentle piece that he had been frantically searching for on nights like this for the longest time that he could remember. Endless nights of crying after a drunken night out, unforgiving morning of shouting and vomiting. Surrounded by peers who only saw his efforts as mundane and stupid, never as the desperate cries for love they were. Always had he stumbled into these nights with little regard for himself, until he and his body had quite literally given him no choice but to vomit the sickness out.

Finally he did have a choice, and he had finally chosen her own nurturing, consoling arms. His own temperamental, breathtaking escape of his nature had done much of the same for her. Never would there be a day when she didn't love him, would she run out of patience for the crazed but loving, warm nature of his body and heart the same. Together was there a gentle net of safety that they only gave one another.

"Hey, Faceless?" Randy mumbled. It was unexpected; she had thought she had helped him drift off to sleep.

"Yes?" She whispered. Anything he could tell her, at any time, and she desperately hoped she communicated that through the warm, tender consideration that she spoke to him with.

"I just...I love you. You know?" His eyes glinted as he gazed at her, and she felt tears sting her eyes stung she nuzzled her nose against him. There was no dance more precious than that which they shared. He would tell her, over and over, and yet never would it be enough. "You make everything better. Easier, somehow. No bitchin', no tellin' me what to do. Just..you get it."

She kissed his forehead again; he shuttered softly at the beautifully breathtaking intimacy. "Go to sleep, party boy," she whispered. "I love you too."

The buzz outside was separated from the glass of the window, but the true protection came from the entanglement that was one another.

a preferred violent impulsivity

Randy has never had it in him to care about how much he's gotten wrecked in a fight before. When he urge overcomes him yet again, Faceless stops him reminding him that this time, his safety is now something that's considered precious, where it wasn't before in the previous stages of his life.

"Check out that guy. What a fucking genius," Randy chuckled darkly as he gazed over at the man that was rushing into a nearby car. He spoke the statement rather abruptly, a heated and daring statement that complemented awkwardly with his unassuming position. His body was sitting on the edge of the side of the road that they were resting on, back leaned forward in that lazy slouched stance he naturally took to. It seemed as if everything about his personality was awkward within the suffocated areas of South Park; misplaced was the essence of him, more often than not. His actions and responses to the world around him were often larger than life, with little place for the fire of his energy to go.

Despite his words, they contradicted to the actions of what he was willingly going to do today: take a ride from a complete stranger. He wasn't a fan of Uber's, but he was willing-or at least was going to try to be willing-to open at the prospect.

He could do that much for her, after everything she did for him. At least, that was what he hoped he could do; that was what he hoped he could be for her.

That much, at the very least.

Faceless lifted her lips up into a knowing smirk; he wasn't surprised at her reaction to his aggression. She knew how riled up he could get himself easily over the most obscure aspects of his surroundings if he was bored for even half a moment; such was the way of his lively, erratic, and unpredictable nature.

"Gentle on him, darling," she murmured gently, kindly, even with the soft warning that presented itself in her voice. Understanding was still present within her tone despite the warning of her words. There always was that element of understanding; she couldn't imagine talking to him without it. The thought was unimaginable with the unconditional warmth that she always felt for him, most especially within the moments when he acted with that fire that was always inside of him. That fire was sometimes violent and destructive, where other times it was the most warm and comforting essence she had ever known. She would take anything she could get of him; he was, after all, her unapologetic addiction. The adrenaline of his crazed nature was her own answered reckoning. "We don't have to beat him up because we don't agree with him." Though she spoke of the concept of the two of them, what she was truly referring to was the sole element of him. Everything that he did was associated with her by default; that was how deeply intertwined they were within one another. There was nowhere he would go where she quickly wouldn't follow, and happily so.

Besides, she never wanted him to feel like he was doing anything alone, knowing how much he had to cope within his wounds, what he had to deal relentlessly. How much he was aggravated by that unremarkable feeling of isolation with the execution of his passions, of how he dealt with the emptiness of his boredom in the past. A quality of him that undoubtedly made him stick out like a sore thumb within that small, mountain town, where most people were content to be quiet, repetitive, and unknown. The pale shine even of his porcelain skin, complement by the devastating handsome tracing of his twilight black waves, where almost a physical testament of that burning glow he possessed inside of him.

Randy scoffed as he leaned himself forward fully, elbows on his knees as he allowed the green of his eyes to harden further; they represented a burning canopy of trees when he was annoyed, and the softest place of zest, humor, and safety when he was calm. With the unpredictability of his nature, she experienced both almost on the daily from both extremities.

"Hey, all I'm saying is that anything that inherently involves trusting strangers doesn't sound so bright to me. Seems like something only young people would be into. Haven't seen one person my age try it yet." Despite his words, there was a tenderness laced to them; he knew it was a good idea to at least try new things every now and then, and he had quite the fondness of trying new things himself, even when he denied it. If nothing else, he would do it for Faceless. That much he would do, at the very least. He had made that promise within himself since he had realized she was his gentle healing with everything he had ever been told was wrong with him. There was very little that he wasn't willing to at least try to do, not for as long as Faceless was interested in doing it herself. In his own way, he immensely appreciated the desire he had to follow her anywhere, through anything. It seemed as if she was helping to take the old and the repetitive out of him that he had been fighting for so long that had, more often than not, been so horribly executed and even encouraged by Sharon. Even the thought of her made him feel heavier in mind and body the same; so long had he and his ex wife torn each other down through their differences. He patted his fingertips up against his knees at the remembrance of her memory.

Faceless was the opposite; she allowed him to fall into the storm of his actions. He smiled fondly whenever he thought of that; he could feel the youth that was so naturally and irreversibly in his soul coming back to him, day by day, leaking back out at him and for him in ways even he hadn't known he was still even capable of. He had become convinced, by small doubts that grew over the years of his time, that he was allowing his age to finally catch up, and that all those feared stereotypes that he heard about how getting old made one boring were finally coming true for him. He felt sick at the thought. But her, the presence of the frail woman who sat next to him, was certainly a remedy for that.

Still was that boredom pounding up inside of him as they waited. His eyes and the reckless impatience of his fingertips were only growing with that endless hunger inside of him for a distraction. Randy gazed across from the road in front of him as he saw a man sporting a red hat from across the street, one that read, in clear white letters, up against that the front of it, practically blaring through the stark contrast of white letters and the red of the hat, begging for all who was near it to look at it. Randy's lip lifted into a smirk.

"Oh, he is asking for it. He is asking for a fight!" Randy hissed. A chuckle bemused and almost malicious laugh left his lips. He elbowed Faceless frantically in that urgent way he did whenever something he deemed most important caught his attention. "Hey, look at that," Randy chuckled, as he leaned his arms further up his knees in heated aggravation. There was his bait; his distraction from the boredom and the emptiness he struggled with so relentlessly at all hours. "Bold and proud, eh?"

Faceless trailed her gaze over to where he was looking. Her own lips quirked up into a smirk when she realized who he was fixing his erratic energy on now.

"Well, I'll agree with you on this one, honey," she responded, that tender warmth of agreement within her voice that comforted him immensely. Never had he felt truly alone until he had met her. "People who support Garrison have been nothing but rude since he was elected. Always screaming slurs, always acting like they can do whatever they want. One even threw a small rock at me on the way home a few days ago." A dark, ironic chuckle left her lips as she leaned her head against Randy's shoulder as he continued to watch the scene of the man standing on the edge of the road, still a victim for Randy's never ending fired energy. She was immensely grateful that they were both able to have this time together to simply rant about the frustrations that poked and prodded at them every day. The both of them were so horribly aggravated by the conditions their life; every encounter they had reminded them of how small and helpless they were to fight against the elements which aggravated them both. To experience even just one unpleasant element within the world they were in was more than they could take; Randy, in particular, had a soul that was especially sensitive to the world and what it had forced him to be. A geologist who got up and went to the same job every day, a job that had lulled him to sleep more often than not.

Even within Faceless' gentle fever of unconditional love that served as his deepest freedom from the bounds of his past ghost of a life did he feel the scratches, and, dare he even think, the scars he had felt when he was young. The cruelty of the indifferences of the people of South Park left deeper wounds than perhaps either of even them could imagine, most especially when it all happened consistently every single day in the way that they both had to put up with. It had gradually given away to even bigger issues; most noticeably, Randy's alcoholism and excessive use of weed as a means of escape being one of the biggest, loudest of them all. The signs were everywhere, but he was in constant denial of the fact; even now did he ignore the sticky tang of the overnight, dried alcohol that rested on the tips of his fingertips; he ignored the taste of the sharp taste of the burning liquor of escape that was still a ghost spoiling on his tongue.

Randy frowned; he was always instantly annoyed whenever he heard of her own experience with how people treated her. If anything set him off more than his own mistreatment, it was hers. He had never felt anything quite like it before.

"Shit-I'm sorry about that, honey." His voice melted to a tender, empathetic, honeyed drawl within the slow rhythm of his voice; it always did with her. It surprised even him, at times. He knew he had always had it within him to be tender, but never quite as tender as he did her; not even in his early days with Sharon had he known a love that was so devoid of any bickering, so focused on the simple act of loving and of being loved.

It was exhilarating, how peaceful she had him feel. He had never known true peace until her; he had never known peace could feel so damn good.

"It's ok," she murmured, her voice soft and warm, such as it always was whenever she talked to him. No matter what the context of the conversation was, always did she feel that tender warmth, and always did she feel that soft patience; he did that to her, and he felt a strike of pride with every passing day that he did. He had never known he could have that effect on anyone, not until he had felt how her own troubled touches were brought to peace by his own storm.

But storms still persisted,even the the sun peeked shyly out of the clouds. The wheels were turning in his head. His burning annoyance that begged to be listened to was quickening.

"Yeah, hey-what's up with that, anyway?" he grumbled as he continued to watch the man up in front of him with a fired, intimating sort of concentration. "Why do people treat you like that? Treat anyone like that?" Even as he spoke the words did he know he had his fair share of being unfair to people, but he never allowed himself to think too much about his hypocrisy. Everyone, in their own way, was a hypocrite; he had learned that throughout the patterns of his life, through the countless flawed interactions and relationships he had. No one else concerned themselves with it; he hardly knew why he should. He was, after all, a sheep; he went where others followed, for better or for worse. He wanted to feel like he belonged, he wanted to feel seen, more than anything.

And peace. He wanted peace, for himself and for his community. Despite the ego and narcissism he dealt with, he felt, at his core, he was a family man that treasured community. He was a flawed and scratched heart of humble gold, of unapologetic contradictions that not even he could quite predict or understand.

Which was, perhaps, the reason why he got so easily aggravated when by others that fought against that philosophy, such as he was now.

"Why in the hell do people ask each other how they are and then not even give a real answer? 'Oh, I'm good'", he mocked in his slow, deep toned and drawl voice. He rolled his eyes knowingly. "As if anybody is feeling good right now in this fucking economy." He fluttered his eyes in annoyance as he looked back at the man up in front of him, almost feeling that familiar need to take out his raising fire on the man the way that he did whatever he got into one of these tumultuous moods where he worked himself up. He smiled at the idea, and after a moment did he raise his arm away from the gentle weight of Faceless, who looked over at him in question. He ignored her temporarily as he raised both hands up in front of his mouth, causing his voice to be heard across the road as it trailed through the polluted air.

"Hey, hey!" Randy called from across the street. The man's eyes flew over to his, and instantly did they narrow. Whether he knew who Randy was or not was unknown; if he did, clearly he wasn't pleased at the sight of him.

"Hey, hey bro-you should really wear that dumb shit around more, you know? It really adds to your charm!" The sarcasm was making itself fully known within Randy's voice.

The man glared; annoyance fluttered across his features.

"No-no really!" Ready encouraged as he met his gaze with that same determined sarcasm plastered over his voice, his tone drowning in it now. He was proud of it, even. He was almost grateful for the way that the man was playing into his games as he glared at him with an increasingly cocky look on his face. "It would only take a genius to wear that around! After all, it's the most important thing for people to know about you, is what fucking bullshit leader you support! Good job, man." Randy gave him a thumbs up, lips spoiled into a cocky air.

"Randy," Faceless hissed. She reached on one hand and gently yet firmly squeezed it up against the front of his knee; her own special way of getting him to be grounded whatever he got into one of these more aggressive moods that he did, such as within that moment. His burning canopy gaze flew over towards her, and, though there was still that fire ablaze in him, it damped at her touch. It always did.

He shrugged as he put both of his hands down and sat back down next to her, leaning one arm over her shoulder as an act of comfort for her.

"What?" he questioned in his aggravated tone; truth be told he knew what he was doing, but he was going to play clueless. He looked over at her as his tone went back down into that soft and tender one that it did more often than not. "I'm just trying to let the guy know to stick it where the sun doesn't shine. Don't you ever get tired of seeing people supporting that massive turd?"

Faceless leaned her head against his arm with obvious relief that the fire within him had temporarily been dampened, only by the gentle damp sprinkle of her touches. Her eyes closed as her shoulders shuddered in relief. There was a long pause that came from her end, as if there was fear inside of her that was leaking itself outward and away from her system. "I would much rather see you physically safe than to see you try to fight with someone over a hat," she muttered after a moment.

Randy's shoulders slumped in disappointment. "Oh, c'mon" he mumbled. Despite his words, she could feel his softly executed defeated shyly transformed from aggravated to withdrawn. He had, after all, wanted to show the man what he was capable of; and he wanted to take that fire inside of him out one someone so as to assure that it wouldn't burn him, or, even worse, Faceless instead. It wouldn't be the first time he had accidentally hurt a loved one by the storms in his heart.

She must have sensed his disappointment. She read him astoundly well; they did, in many ways, share the same heart, not just from how they loved each other, but through their similarities of how they responded to challenges in the same way as well. She opened up her left eye and gave him an understanding smile. It was like a caress to his worn heart; so used to be patronized for who he was that to see her gentle nature calm him, understand him, mean more to him than even he wanted to admit.

"I really do get it, honey, I do," she whispered, warm tender patience in her voice that made him tremble with that softness inside of him that was so helpless that it rendered him as the cause for the majority of his childlike mannerisms. He had never felt like that part of him had been loved, or even tolerated, until her. "It is frustrating, seeing people walking around and purposely trying to flush everything that we worked so hard to be able to find any kind of hope for."

Randy nodded frantically, almost boyishly. "Yeah, right? That's what I'm saying. This entire world, the town that we're living in, how we feel every single day and how we go about living our lives,-it's all affected by the people that lead us. And, you know, I think it even partially has to do with the way that we interact with one another. Our country's full of assholes and of people who just don't care. Shit, I don't even care sometimes. That's my privilege, Faceless. I need to check it. I need to check his privilege." He felt that frustrated, almost naturally drunken nature inside of him as he looked over at the man who had now begun to turn away from them entirely, who had not even bothering to look over his shoulder at the man who had just challenged him. It made him feel invisible. Pushed aside. Feelings that he knew far too well for comfort. All he could do was keep talking, even if he himself didn't know quite where he was coming from; such was the uncertain way he experienced and went about his life. How he endured it.

"I-I mean, I feel like our country is full of a bunch of cowards these days. If you're going to believe in your beliefs, fine, but don't be surprised if someone wants to knock you out for it." A built up chuckle left his lips, traced by the soft whiskers of his mustache, as he pressed his hands up against the front of his forehead. His eyes fluttered closed as he allowed a deep sigh to come out of his lips; one that was almost always within him in one way or another. "I'm just exhausted, Faceless," he muttered after a moment. "Exhausted of the people that surround us, exhausted of this small town, and exhausted of feeling like I'm the only one who even wants to even try to do anything about it."

"I know," she murmured softly. There was that golden of his heart that she knew so well; it shone and shined brighter than any other demeanor she had even known. She strummed at the golden thread of his chest within her words. It was the most bright when he wasn't being eaten up the molded darkness of his flaws, and she dusted that darkness away with a gentle fever of consideration reserved only for him with it's specific tender nature. She pressed herself further up against the turquoise sleeves of his body, feeling the soft plush of his aged body that made her shiver with desire. Her curious lips-always curious for him was she-gently started to spoil up against the side of his cheek, tracing against the handsome black stubble that spoiled against his check.

Randy couldn't help himself; he let out a tender moan as he felt the way her gentle touch, the cold of her breath that so perfectly complemented the natural heat of his, pressed against the left side of his lips. The whiskers of his moustache gently welcomed her lips. That was one thing that always melted him, no matter how frustrated or how he aggressive he could get at times; was the simple and utterly irreplaceable act of her tender touches, a certain tranquility that only existed form her and her alone.

And within that maddening desire that could only be summoned by her and for her did he let out yet another husked, raspy breath from his lips as he felt the way that she was tracing her lips up against the soft side of this cheek, her favorite place to spoil him, and his favorite place to be spoiled.

"I see you, Randy," she whispered against him. "I see all your pain, all you want to do. I see your flaws, and how you try so hard despite them."

"I know you do, sweetheart," he whispered with an intimidated, maddening fever under her touch. The way she loved him, how much he loved her, was so deep that sometimes not even he knew how to face it. "I know." Though Randy could be in denial of just how easily lost he could become within his own uncertain and questionable moral character, due to him feeling like it was an excuse to be trampled on-something he had been taught by Sharon- he didn't feel like it was such a burden to do the same with Faceless. She knew him, she had seen every dark and unpredictable crevice of his being, and still had she loved him, had she even been patient with him the same.

He knew how much his voice, how the soft moans that left his lips, was just as much of a gift for her as her patience and touches were for him. She was attracted to the natural soft drawl of his tone that he had always been so embarrassed of. He knew how much the slow, relaxed, lazy way he spoke soothed her. Though his voice was complemented by lengthened vowel sounds with which his vocal threads were made by which were particularly tender, especially for his own soul, that element of him had been so recklessly tramped by the superficial judgement of the world, and it hadn't been a quality he had been proud of. He had always felt it made his prone to be made fun of by the guys; something he had tried to hide by screaming more and drinking more; he could hide the slowness of his tone through slurring and through pretending like he was simply too drunk to help how he sounded. Either that, or he would yell, until his voice was unrecognizable from the natural soft tone that it was. He was an endlessly tortured soul, always relentlessly exhausted due to how much he fought his life for what it was. He always wanted more, and he would never quite get it; he was feeding a beast that would only devour, and never give back anything in return.

Faceless has never been good enough for anything. He had experienced much of the same pain; nothing either of them had even been, or had ever done, had ever been good enough, not up until they had met each other, had seen one another in all of their endless messy existence of understanding each other, but, much to their soul's dismay, not understood within the world. He was her safely simply by existence, just as she was his. Just as the world was every wound and every aggravation that he had to deal with on a day-to-day basis, she was his addicting remedy. Randy was a undeniably tired and insecure person; ironically, because of his insecurities, always would he be trying to make up for them, but it was because of how hard he tried to mask his insecurities that he only became even more so tired within himself. Faceless had seen it herself in the flesh countless times, and she knew that Sharon, and anybody else would ever lived with him, could see those bleeding insecurities as well; or they would have, if they had tried to look. She saw the pain within his actions, and she was grateful for these moments where she was allowed to bring his frustration into a rotation of affection, at least a little bit, knowing that it would be able to help her help him later whenever he got into one of those mysterious violet moods, or where he wouldn't explain himself, when he would only simply go forward without being stopped and without allowing himself to be stopped, for better or for worse.

She leaned forward and pressed her lips against the side of his lips now, making him let out a soft whisper of a moan; they were both so tired, both within their demons and within their jealousy, and with the world that made them both believe they should be rich, smarter, more successful, more energetic; more everything. They were both exhausted beyond human comprehension of a world that constructed the perfect psychological torture chamber for people like them; who were average, unremarkable and were just trying to get through life with as much fun and as dignity as they could stand.

The madness had taken over Randy a few times already; he had no doubt been pushed to the edge by his rigid ex wife, who never really gave him the chance to breathe, in more ways than one. The feelings of being worthless that were pushed up against him after every long and tiring day, only to be told that those feelings were melodramatic; invalid, that he was some sort of emotional manchild because of it, had taken their long awaited toll. Though he was, undoubtedly, particularly tender and childlike within how he carried himself, that was the furthest thing from the reason why people treated him like he did; he dared to feel and to allow himself to express how unhappy and frustrated he was in life, which made him a vulnerable target for those who had mastered numbing themselves long ago. He had comforted her own pain with his that he hadn't known how to endure; she had trailed her finger up his quivering chin and had seen her anger inside of his own, and he had let her heal him, already feeling something fall away that he hadn't known he had been carrying. Together did they carry each other. Life was crack within their bodies with no clear or distinct answer or healing, but the earth shattering connection they had made had broken the ground and cages beneath their feet, and together did they tell one another, through actions and whispered words alone, that they would shelter each other form the chaos of what it meant to be human in such a mind numbing endless storm of a world. Randy treasured the humble notion of being human endlessly; he was one with the earth when he was the best version of himself. His eyes were red rimmed with the tears he cried, as well as the nature he smoked to escape the world; hers were the same.

"Sometimes I almost wish that we hadn't started bringing in that fucking Whole Foods, and everything else. Sodosopa, and everything else that we brought in during that time when we were all going through that damn phase," he muttered. "Ever since we brought everything around here, everything's just been so much more busy. Polluted. Dangerous." As if to confirm his complaints, he wrinkled his nose at the exhaust that was coming up from the side streets. He rolled his eyes when he heard a shout that came from across the street, as if only existing to prove his point.

"I though you were enjoying this new town the most," she muttered softly against the side of his lips. It wasn't an attack; only a simple observation and reflection, and had anyone else said it he would have been annoyed, but he always knew the place form which she was coming form.

"Yeah-huh, I know, Faceless. But I didn't know it was going to do this to our small little town. I thought it was growing up, and I was so proud, kinda. But now I actually feel like...shit, I don't know, like it's been corrupted." He flicked his alcohol stained thumb against her thigh in thought. "Or something. It's not the same little Colorado town it used to be, you know?"

She nuzzled her nose softly against the side of his face as she nodded. "I know that everything around us is chaos," she murmured against his skin.. "But you know, at least for us...we're pretty lucky." She smiled as she watched the way that his eyes fluttered open as he looked over at her in a delicate question.

"Lucky?" he murmured as he looked at her. He didn't say it in the sense that he disagreed with her, but rather in the sense that he wanted her to continue to explain exactly what she meant. He adored hearing every patten of what she had to say, and how she said it. She fluttered her own eyes up at him and smiled with that same warm fever as she placed her hand up against the top of his own hand and gently caressed the top of his knuckles, a wordless tender answer for him before her literal one came. There was still honking from behind them, a constant reminder that Randy's reflection of the decay of the town was more true than he wanted to admit even to himself; the pollution of the cars speeding by was not lost on the two of them. Although South Park has used to be a rather quiet, albeit eccentric, town, it seemed as if it had become especially more complex with the more people that moved in. It had become more relentlessly rude with the more well-known that it became, especially ever since they had brought in those extra stores. Randy hated it; he hated all of it. At his deepest core had he lived a quiet life, and he was a simple man with complicated insecurities. He anticipated her words with a hitched breath,

"We're lucky in the sense that at least the both of us have one person that will always be able to find some sort of comfort, understanding, and stability in," she murmured softly. Her lips turned into a gentle, almost pained smile. "At the very least, that's certainly the case of me, and I would hope that that would be it for you, at least a little bit." Her words were shy, uncertain, the more the confessions left her lips.

She looked at him with a general question in her eyes; they were almost painfully beautiful. His mouth was dry with the gentle freedom and understanding she was granting him. He almost forgot himself until he saw that spark of doubt within her when he didn't respond, and he nodded at her eagerly, almost too eagerly, but it was adorable, and she laughed softly at the clumsiness of his response.

"Oh-oh yeah!" he stammered in a rushed fashion, genuine approval in his voice as he looked over at her. He cleared his throat as he adjusted himself now to face her fully; he needed to get over his soul stirring infatuation for at least a few moments to give her to response she deserved. He reached out his two sweating, trembling hands and placed them over her gentle touch where she had had her hands placed only a moment ago; she always had this effect on him.

"Faceless, I would have already lost my shit even more already If I hadn't found you. I can promise you that." He looked with something that almost represented desperation as his eyes gently flooded in between her own. There was a bleeding inside of his heart that could only be caressed by her gentle understanding; though the words scared him to speak and caught in his throat, he knew he had to speak them. He had to be brave, had to be accountable. It was so hard for him; he loathed judgement, especially from himself. But for that soft and gentle soft mattress that was her eyes that involved him within a pure and unconditional touch he had never known existed until now, he would try.

"Look, Faceless," he choked. Emotion laced his every vowel. "I-I know that I can get violent, and I know that if I can do some crazy shit sometimes, but always know that I'm always doing it with the best intentions in mind, okay? I-I know that I don't always get it right with trying to take care of my family, but I'm always doing the best I can, and I just wish that someone could…Just see what I'm always trying to do. Does that make sense?" It was too much; he broke the tense connection between them both with a hitch in his voice. It was a burning, life changing connection that could be touched, so tangible was it, and he doubted if he could face it. He frowned as he squeezed his hands against her own. "Dammit, I need to be braver!" he hissed under his breath, and despite trying to keep it to himself, he knew Faceless heard. He sighed heavily as he looked away from her a moment, rendered thoughtless by the dizziness of the street. He rolled his eyes again as yet another sharp pain of doubt came in his mind and words, and therefore his train of thought as well. He took both of his hands off of hers and placed both of his arms and back up against the front of his knees as he leaned forward, a perplexed and frustrated look of devastation on his face. He didn't dare look at her; he was ashamed.

Without Randy knowing did Faceless nod as she gently ghosted her fingers up against his back, feeling the way that he let on deep and soul deep sigh at her touch; this time his sigh was more of a caress to her and his heart more so than it was tired. Her touches always did that for him, too. A strike of surprise went through his chest as his heart quickened.

"I know honey," she muttered softly. "I know exactly what you're saying. And that's exactly what I was trying to say, too." Her fingers complemented the promise of love of her words; Randy already felt the insecurity leaving his chest, a sigh leaving his lips that was born only from the most tender lace within him."And I do know that you're always doing your best, and I'm so proud of you for doing everything that you do every day, Randy."

There it was; that tender melting inside of his chest that her words of comfort always brought him. He raised his burning green eyes over at her as he raised both of his eyebrows, genuine surprise taking place on his face. Although it was an adorable sight to see at the boylike and childish hints of naivety within him, charmingly complemented by the masculinity that was so innate within him, a perfect array of combination was everything that he was that she ever been attracted to within another person, she also saw his pain. The essence of his truest self made her maddened with her desire for him, and yet she couldn't help but feel a stabbing pain at seeing the expression on his face, just as much as she felt pleasure from seeing his irresistible allure that he had within him so naturally. It felt made her feel her own pain inside herself she had always endured.

Pain flickered within his eyes; had never truly ever felt congratulated on just from trying, not once, and it was going to take him a long time to accept the gentle caressing that those words she granted gave his frustrated wounds that was inside of him. Perhaps, through her, he could learn to be patient with the world, patient with himself and his own hypocrisy, even if the world didn't deserve it, and even on days when he felt he didn't himself.

He let out a deep breath; it felt as if it was the first time he had truly breathed in the longest time he could remember. "All those times that I wanted to get into another fight with another man that would just... leave wounds on my skin, and bruises and wounds...and for what? So Sharon could bitch at me? So Stan wouldn't care? When I was trying to be an example of a good father that fights for his son?" He shrugged to himself, a gentle combination that he was listening to his own musing; a habit he had picked up from all those years he hadn't been listened to. But the difference between those long, unwelcoming afternoons and now was that he was, in fact, being listened to, and passionately so. She gently pressed her fingers with a fiery sort of reminder up against his back as he looked at her and continued to flutter his eyes back and forth between her own, desperate for her answers that he had alway thirsted for. He thirsted no longer now. There was a delicate surprises inside of them, but more than that was there comfort.

"You..you really mean it?" he said, voice soft, gentle, unsure. "Really? You really, really mean it?" He was a desperate child within that moment; the rushed maturity he had thrusted on himself to fit in was temporarily gone.

"I do," she murmured softly. "All I ever want is you to be safe, and happy, now and every day. I know that you're frustrated honey, believe me. I do. I'm frustrated too." Another caress of her fingers against the black of his sideburns that traced against his face. "But we can do this together."

A jolt of surprise went through Randy's chest. He sniffed softly. "No one's ever wanted me safe before," he muttered in a paused, soft reflection. "Not that that was ever the reason why I ever did anything, but it never really felt like it mattered, you know? If I came home struggling and drunk with a black eye, all it meant was that my wife would complain at me a little bit more than usual." He straightened up as he looked at her Faceless; a strike of understanding went through her eyes. "Thanks, honey. With you, it makes a little bit more sense for even me to...care about me taking care of myself. Even with all fucking frustrating the world is. But you-you make it make sense, honey. Nothing mattered before; just partying and getting high. But now-" he reached out a hand and dared to place his hand by her thigh, so fragile under his touch. "Now, something does." His voice was the softest of reflection; it was honey to her soul, and even to his own wound. He was breathtakingly caring, when he wanted to be.

Suggestions of water where now within her own eyes, summoned by their irreplaceable emotion they for one another, and she nodded that she looked at him, genuine warmth striking through her eyes more than she could express that she trailed her hands up against the side of his cheeks, her breasts pressing against his chest. What a gentle, heated healing was the simple act of being close with another who saw into them. Healing was so innately simple, it was only a matter of finding the remedy. The softness that was inside of his eyes was reflected inside of her own, and for a moment where they mere love against love against one another, the deepest and strongest element of consideration at the core of what they shared.

"One day at a time," she whispered softly, nuzzling her face against the soft of his shirt. He couldn't wait for the surface of his skin to be what pressed up against the fragility of her body later that night; to feel her trembling underneath his touch. In some ways did he feel like a new person because of her, and the versions of himself he had murdered in his past for the sake of fitting in where celebrating in their ghostly presence that had previously haunted the back of his subconscious tortured mind that he had finally come to his full fruition with the person who gave him such a freedom. He was now he truest, richest, and deepest self; the person he had been before felt like only a portion of who he was now, the potential of who he could have been. Every person had the ability to be more than who they were; he just never known he would be lucky enough to experience such a transformation. "We just take it all one day at a time."

Randy let out a deep breath as he rested his chin on the top of her head. "Yeah," he whispered. "That's all that we could do, after all, and that's all that we know how to do, right?" He paused for a moment as he took in the reflection of the moment. "Thanks for teaching me how to take care of me, honey." A humble shrug. "Least a little bit.'

He felt Faceless smile against his chest, pressing up against the black hair that was poking out from his chest. She pressed her lips against the patch of his chest that poked out through the two unbuttoned spaces; Randy let out a sharpened gasp of lust.

He expressed his thanks in more ways than just words as he pressed his warm palms fiercely against her face in a way that only the two of them were able to experience; a heated compassionate hunger between the connection that they shared.

"One day at a time," he muttered. "One day."

Never would he have had the patience to take on such a philosophy before, but with the woman under his arms who had taught him the reward of vulnerability, he finally understood why patience, rather than violent impulsivity, was worth it.

"a satisfying click"

Faceless teaches Randy how to do a diaper

"Hey, Faceless," Randy's softly rasped mummer, masculine and yet seemingly permanently clad in a gentle innocence that seemed impossible to be taken away from the softness of his essence, trailed in through the from of the door.

Faceless snapped her head up from her task. The sight of his carefully carven face, youthful due to the warmth of his soul, yet molded with the years of his years of being a father, shaped by the relentless grind of navigating the world as an adult, greeted the sight of her vision. Whatever unpleasant feelings she had been feeling previous vanished entirely; the sight of the fascinating and utterly unexpected complexity of his striking green field of eyes, reminiscent of a peace canopy of tree green leaves, always had that effect on her without fail. Lovingly calamitous was the unexpected nature of his demeanor, and she fell into the maddening bond they shared without a shred of hesitation every time. His black waves of devastatingly rich coal black poked against the blinking of his youthful yet incessantly flawed soul that shined through his vision as he poked his head in through the side of the frame of the door.

"Hey, Hey, Faceless." His expression was that of one that was both needy, yet curious; two of the sides of his nature he most presented to her, more often than not, especially when he wanted to learn something new.

"Yes, honey?" she responded, every vowel of her words heated and tender, the way that she always did whenever she spoke to him. Amusement was in her voice that he was addressing her faster than she could reply.

He put on hand on a fleshy hip, a deep breath that held more emotion within it than clearly even he knew what to do with leaving his lips. The heaviness entrapped within his heart escaped his lips within q ghostly tension of an inner conflict only he could feel.

"I-uh-...I want to learn how to be a better father, Faceless," he mumbled. His green valleys that complemented wonderfully against the green acres of the farm within their lively richness darted away from her; his fingers gripped the side of the white frame awkwardly.

Faceless smiled; it reached the warm tender core that was a place reserved for him and him alone.

"Come here, sweet thing," she murmured softly. It was rare that Randy still tried to be a father, so wounded was he from his failures of the past with Stan and Shelley; he much rather preferred for Faceless to take the front wheel with it all, and from him to take a backseat, to enjoy parenthood for a second time, without being expected to take the brunt of it like he had the first time. He was still processing the suffocating situation with his previous family; the scars were presented in every area with how he carried himself. The wounds were still within his uncertain fingertips, with how he preferred to spend the nights off alone, assuming his family would be happier without him.

Randy raised his thick knitted eyebrows in surprise; a flash of shock flew across his vision. "Are you serious?" His voice sounded full of a hopeful, tender, and even childlike energy. It made her knees tremble with something that was between infatuation with everything he was, as well as a deep seated empathy.

She wiggled her fingers out towards him playfully. "Never been more serious."

He pressed one hand against the back of his neck, fingertips nervously trailing against the slightly long waves that danced against his beck. He gave her an uncertain, sickly smiled as he walked his socked feet towards her. His farming pants, which were slightly too big, dragged against the fabric of his socks, complimenting him in all of his terribly innocent insecurity that screamed for comfort that it almost drove her to madness to even witness it. He was such a tender, lost soul, and she was desperate at all hours to give him that comfort he not only wanted, but needed; it was a bittersweet sensation of just how deeply she wanted to give it to him with everything she was.

"Thanks, honey," he breathed as he wrapped his arms around her; it was a relief for the both of them to finally be able to press against the curves of one another after a long and unforgiving day. She could feel the way the black hair of his arms caressed against her skin through the fabric of his clothes. So perfectly made was he to be tender with her, and she the same with him.

Faceless gigged as she felt the soft whiskers of his moustache caress against her neck. He pressed his lips against her shoulder, moaning slightly as he did so. He got turned on so easily; it was a reflection of the adorable and vulnerability nature of him that always craved for comfort, even with the violent hurricanes of his nature. She shivered gently, precariously at his fragile touch; she couldn't fall into him too quickly, lest she lost all sense of control and devoured him for the rest of the night. Her hands were gently placed against the side of the crib, and though she had been enjoying the simple yet complicated task of changing their child's diaper, something clicked within her as she felt the plump curve of his body pressed against the touch starved curve of her back. A deep contentment soared through her, the richest emotions she had ever experienced that could only be summoned by the manchild of her ever heated craving. They were so beautifully, wonderfully made for each other; where he was loved and experienced, she lacked, and where she was innately talented with tenderness in certain areas he had lost along the way in parenthood, she reminded him.

And it was only the gentle soft warmth of Randy's porcelain skin, looking as breakable as his weak willed but lovable soul itself, that was gently masked around her that brought her home. His just as equally warm, delicately soft, checkered patterned farmer's clothes made it impossible for her not to lean into him, both in regards to the peace that he granted her within his natural chaotic spirit, as well as the literal massage he granted her tired bones and skin simply by pressing his own pudgy pale hands around her waist, so utterly similar to his. Their appearance would have been so forgettable to the world had they not known each other, but she swore, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she had memorized and traced very crevice within his skin, and she knew, with the mad famished pressing of his mouth against her skin, that he had done the same.

And his eyes. His eyes. The most delicate nature of canopy leaves she had ever see. A trace of madness within them. Peaceful when he was left to his own devices, and aflame with a forest fire when he was aggravated. She had never seen such an exhilarating, unpredictable, masculine yet painfully precious naive nature within one soul in her life; he was apart from the rest of the quick to be mundane, complacent souls of South Park. Many citizens within that quiet town took what they were given and accepted it, but not Randy. He fought for his happiness, even if it meant losing some of his sanity along the way.

She leaned back into him, finally finding rest within the exhaustion of her bones from the long of that day. Their child was lying down in the crib, eyes glowing with a light, looking up at them with a light so soft that she couldn't help but smile down at the small child, already feeling slight tears come to her eyes as she gazed at what they had made from the raw love they shared between their unremarkable bodies. She was at her spiritual end in life, but he was her medicine, her coping strength, and she knew Randy was much the same, communicated by the nuzzling of his nose as he looked with his own childlike nature over at the child, intimated yet curious at the same time.

"Jeez. They always smell this bad?" He wrinkled his nose against her neck. Faceless ghosted her hands against his wrist and laughed.

"Until they're a few years older, this is it, darling," she murmured with a patient and gentle energy. The combination of Randy's soft sultry lips, complimented with the musty scent of weed, mixed in with the gently celestial feel of his soft body against her, fat and stocky, and irresistibly lovable, was the very combination, the very definition, of a delicate sort of gift that she knew only existed within the irreplaceable element of family that she had made with his erratic demeanor.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" she questioned softly. She presented it in a way that didn't make it seem that she doubted him, but rather than she always, without fail, wanted to make sure he was comfortable what he was doing. She would heal the places where he had been failed in his previous marriage; she was determined with that, beyond all possible measure, when it came to loving him.

Randy let out a slight scoff that was meant to come across as cocky, confident, the way he so desperately wanted to be, and only sometimes actually succeeded at being. His natural leadership quality always shined through everything he did, but fear, self doubt, and the wounds from his previous marriage from the past made the execution of his natural confidence come across as clumsy and unsure in his worser moments.

"Positive. I got this today, Faceless. I can feel it," he boasted. She could hear the tremor in his voice, even with his attempt at unswayed confidence.

She smiled at his bragging that wasn't yet earned, and yet always would she be happily patient with him, and more importantly would she always offer him understanding. She turned around and looked at him, already feeling stronger at the act of being able to finally see him after a long day of only being able to observe him work through the fields. She gazed Into his eyes and saw nothing but a delicate promise in the midst of the green of them; he was willing to try tonight. Those years when he had lost himself, where he had become the cared for rather than the caretaker before his kid's time, due to the flaws he didn't know how to cope with, were finally reaching their end. Her eyes glinted as she looked at him, and she nodded.

"Alright," she agreed softly, smiling as she stepped aside, pushing him lovingly against the soft of his love handles and propelling him towards the front of crib. He began to look at the baby with an eager tenderness inside his eyes; wildly uncertain was his gaze, but enthusiastic nonetheless. He had become so lost within the ambitions of his own mind, and willingly so, and somewhere along the way did he lose the person he was meant to be; a father. He had admitted it himself through quiet drunken emotional nights, where his pained confessions that were carved into his chest and heart had unwillingly left his desperate suffering. He was the kind of hurricane of a person that had to learn things by doing mistakes, by living them.

Though she understood why he did the desperate measures he did to keep Tegridy Farms alive, knowing how suffocated he had been within the mundane days of his geology job, she knew he also regretted his actions within the more golden threads of his heart. He had made plenty since the moment that he had decided to become a pot farmer, from the moment that he decided that he would focus on his own wounds, rather than his children's. She could only love him deeper for the decisions he had made; there were scars inside of him that he didn't quite know how to cope with, and she knew that he was waiting, with his delicate and quite literal hitched breath, such as he was doing now as he stood in front of the crib with those big, broken, heartbreakingly unsure green eyes, to finally be shown exactly how to take care of a young tender person the way that he used to, back when purple walls and mundane every schedules were enough. Before the maddening boredom and emptiness had possessed him, causing him to give up on that which he had tolerated previously.

"Show me, how, honey. I want to feel..proud of me again. Not the pot farmer me. Of being a father." The words were coming out uncertain, yet they were authentically spoken. She knew many drunken and cross faded nights of him being lost within his unintentionally self reflections had led to this. She smiled as she nodded, then quickly did she place her arms around the soft plush of his waist, reaching out and tracing her right hand against the spaces of his, where he was picking up the clean diaper. Her other hand began caressing his spine, every bump considered by her gentle and always encouraging touch. He began to examine the diaper with a comically perplexed expression, completely clueless in the way he was with anything other than his immediate artistic passions.

"What the hell do you-Faceless?" He stammered, placing the diaper awkwardly between his hands as he exclaimed it with an increasingly bewildered expression.

She smiled tenderly, bemused, as she reached out a hand and placed it against his. "Here, sweetheart," she murmured against the back of his neck, looking over his shoulder as she placed her hand against the spaces of his. "All you have to do is gently place the diaper over his body, ok? One leg inside one hole. Like pants." She gently traced her hand against his back as he stepped forward a few inches too far in his concentration, slamming his hip against the harsh wood as he did so.

"Ow-dammit!" he hissed, ratherly violently. He got worked up so easily, those natural violent frustrations manifested from the uncomfortable years of the dead ends in his life hardly needed any fuel to be fed. His eyes flickered over towards Faceless in panic. "I-I mean-sorry, honey-I just can't figure out this shit for anything. How the hell do you even get the damn legs into the holes? It doesn't even make sense! What gaywad designed this?"

"Randy, breathe," she cooed softly. "You're getting worked up. Take your time, baby. I know that soft part of you is in there. You can do this. You're an amazing father."

Randy let out a shuttered breath; he was still trembling with that worked up nature, but he would allow her sooth him. He had an extra layer of patience when it came to her; whether it was because he loved her deeply, or because he had experienced far too many emptied and inhuman nights that were driven to their destination by his flaws, he didn't know. He figured it was both.

"Ok," he sighed softly, the slow drawl of his tone, that honeyed tender slowness that she was so addicted to hearing as his patience replaced his anger, traced up against ever vowel of his tone of his hesitant and conflicted reply. He frowned slightly as he looked down at the child up in front of him, frantic bewilderment still radiating from every patch of his core, despite his attempt to remain calm. He hectically took his shirt and placed it up against the front of his nose, the plump of his stomach poking out as he did so. A sickly wave of scent hit them both; the dirt diaper had been out for too long. Randy made a scowl underneath the surface of his shirt.

"Ew. Faceless, it's gross! It smells weird." His eyebrows were frowned in a childlike, adorable misshapen displeasure. He pouting was adorable, and even in the modest of his anger did Faceless smile to herself warmly. Nothing with him or from him was every unpleasant; everything about him was a gift. Utterly so.

"Easy, darling. Just take it slow, ok?" she murmured gently. Her fingertips continued to dance around his fleshy hips in a soft passion that grounded his aggravated wounds of nothing he did ever being enough.

"Ok, ok. Slow. Got it." Randy mumbled under his shirt, staying placed against his nose with the fabric leaning on the bridge of it.

With trembling hands did he reach out and take the diaper, clumsy but gently intertwining it around the baby's legs. The spaces of his fingers on his left hand was still gently intertwined by Faceless', gently guiding him as he figured out the maze that was the task. Her chin rested against his shoulder, giving him a strength that he desperately needed. Randy took a deep as he focused on the other leg, trying to calm his panicked breathing. She was proud of him, even for that, even with the way that he was trembling slightly with clear uncertainty. Especially because he was intimated, even. She would take the wounded, bleeding caresses of his heart and show him, with softened touches and even more softhearted spoken words, that he wasn't just another careless stereotype of failure within the layers of fatherhood. There was always so much more to him than met the eye; so much more than people around him bothered to see. So much more than the intentionally fogged display of his uncertain and lost eyes even allowed himself to see. She would show him the undeniable golden of the threads of his heart that were unseeable only because of the chaos of the world that had no fault on him.

"You know how you sing and hum to weed in that adorable way that you love so much?" she whispered tenderly into his ear. "Talk to the baby while you do it, sweetheart. Might make it easier." She smiled at the memories, more precious than any richness she had ever felt, of the utterly humble human memories she had shared with Randy that had replaced the previous lost, forgotten bone of her life. He has the most adorable humming, and it was almost damnable how much it reminded her how bound she was to him, and gladly so. Endless days had she come up behind him as she had stood contented to listen to his childlike and uncaring preciousness that made itself fully known through the tones and notes of his voice. The fact that the people who knew him only saw him as a joke only added to the maddening admiration she had for every patch of his element that made him the precious canopy of rescue from the emptiness that he was within his endless zest.

Randy took a deep, shuddering breath, He was more than halfway done; the one that had Faceless' assistance was fully wrapped around, and the other leg only needed a bit more adjusting.

"Ok. Ok." His twilight lashes fluttered up against the magic of his eyes as he tried to focus. He was a natural musician; gentle and artistic when he wanted to be. He was summoning that part within him now, conjuring away the nervousness and instead replacing it with anticipation. His drawl voice came out, tender, slow, fatherly; the most comforting and alluring voice she had ever heard.

"Hey, buddy. What's up? Daddy's going to change your diaper, ok?" The baby kicked their feet eagerly in response; Randy chuckled slightly, partly in fondness, and partly in nervousness.

"Ew. He's cute, babe, but-even saying it out loud sounds gross." Faceless smiled for the countless time as she pressed her lips up against the side of his shoulder, kissing the soft checkered fabric there with gentle encouragement.

"Didn't Sharon even show you this?" she murmured softly. She tried not to bring her up ,especially within these moments that were solely theirs, but for the time being did she know small talk would soothe him. He enjoyed the casualty of conversation.

"Shit-well-I dunno. Sharon always did the kid stuff. She was a lot more chill about a lot of stuff back then. "

She nodded in understanding. "Just be patient. Take it easy." Another tender kiss.

"But it just-shit-it reeks."

"Breathe, baby. Like the way you do when we make love."

The trailing of her fingertips against his spine was the closest element to comfort he could find; he tried to focus the best that he could on the general patterns of her fingertips as he continued the task in front of him. The dancing of her fingertips was an entrance of the flame within her that perfect matched his own. Her left hand was still placed within the spaces of his; a gentle and unconditional physical encouragement. Their child kicked and giggled as they looked up at Randy with still that same innocent gleam in their eyes, and Randy couldn't help but feel the tender, more patient parts of him be caressed and summoned as he looked down at the child as he was caught between wife and child.

"Hey, little buddy," he cooed, drawl voice dragging out every vowel. Faceless had taught him to love the unusually slow nature of his voice. He gently leaned down as he wrapped the rest of the material around the small of the child's chubby waist, then slumped in relief as he placed the baby's chubby leg out the other hole. A warmth struck through him, this time a gentler fire than anything he had felt previously, as he saw the way the baby gave him a gummy smile.

"That's right," he hushed, smiling with satisfaction that was more meaningful than that cocky superficiality he used as a defense so often to protect him from the patronizing of others. "Daddy's got you." He gently pressed his hand up against the baby's plump stomach. Faceless's own lips quirked into an even deeper satisfaction of her own as she pressed her lips up against the front of his own neck.

"There we go," she murmured against the back of his neck. "Another day of being a perfect father."

"'I'm-wha?" He turned halfway and blinked at her slowly, caught off guard from her ironic praise that had no second layers, no malicious meaning behind them that had to frantically be guessed at what they truly meant. When he realized she was serious, he collected himself as he took in Faceless, who always gazed into and at him with nothing less than a gentle sort of confidence. "I mean-yeah-yeah. That's me, all right. I'm the...best dad ever. Kid's gonna love me when I'm older," he stammered.

Truth be told, he couldn't be concerned even with his own ego as he focused on the way that his hand was pressed up against the baby's stomach, who quickly reached out his own small hands and wrapped it up around his own. But it was such a consistent habit for him to pretend he knew what he was doing, and the words left his lips regardless. Despite himself, he felt himself smiling tenderly for the first time he could remember as he focused on the child's soft and loving touch.

Randy let out a surprised grunt, albeit gently. Even within his own doubts of how good of a father he could be these days did his pessimistic nature melt under the unconditional love he was feeling with that moment, communicated through hushed whispers, trembling fingertips, and lenient touches.

"Don't do that, honey," Faceless whispered. "You don't have to have it all figured out all the time. Its ok to be lost, ok? We're learning together."

"Together?" Randy echoed. His voice was soft, full of a slow spoken surprise. He didn't take his eyes away from their child as he spoke to her, but he could feel her loving gaze boring into his back with that silent poetry of truly seeing within him.

"Together," she repeated. There was nothing less than a certain confidence in her voice that made Randy know she meant every word.

"No bullshit, right?" Randy asked, tender and uncertain was his tone."You guys are my gang, and you're not going anywhere." An uncertain pause, complimented by the desperate searching of confirmation with his eyes."Right?"

"No bullshit," she repeated. "We're in this, forever." Her hand squeezed against the space of his, a tender spoken promise.

A hushed whisper escaped his lips, soft and tender.

"I love you, Faceless," he breathed. A release broke from within him; an insecurity was conquered beyond recall.

A lost piece within him clicked into place, and within the embrace of his wife and the smiling of his child, he felt, for the first time in the longest time, that he was home.

self shipping tag game

I was tagged by someone else on one of my blogs that people actually pay attention to. I'm tired of not even taking our own love seriously and not giving myself the space to openly talk about the love that I share with him. I've always denied myself being an open self shipper, esp in regards to Randy, because I always had some stereotypes about it that I hated, but it is true that I naturally feel and experience this love with him through my head, and I'm tired of not giving myself a space to talk about it seriously. Though I've always loved Randy romantically, I have gone through phases were I never truly gave myself a place to express it, because I always felt like there was something "wrong" about it, but I'm over that and I'm more than ready to get myself the space to talk about the love that we share in whatever detail that needs. I never intentionally self shipped with Randy; it just "happened", because I always wanted to see him loved in the specific way that I would. It's never really been "me" me, just the way that I love, if that makes sense?

This ended up being quite long and detailed, just as everything that I do with him is lmao; and if nothing else, this will be a piece where I can look back and look at the love that we shared; warnings for one NSFW related question if anyone reads this (lmao not gonna happen but just for hypothetical cases). This was painful to write because I'm not used to expressing our dynamic in such literal terms, but I guess I'm proud of myself for expressing myself in a way I've denied myself in the past. I feel like this is an incredibly boring thing to read, but eh. It was fun!

This is a self shipping post, and talks about the multiverse and talks about the relationship as if it is real; if that's not your thing, skip over this post.

length: 4,632

The rest is under the cut:

did you get together/how long have you known them?

I think I have known him since I was around…..eight years old, or possibly younger. I have a very distinct and vivid memory of sitting in my room with my computer and watching "something you can do with your finger"; I remember feeling affection for him, and though I wasn't quite yet emotionally ready enough yet to completely "understand" my feelings for him to their full extent, I could recognize that I had a crush on him. ? I was dealing with a lot back then and I was a very different person, but I was definitely still drawn to him. He always was good at making me have fun; that was something that I distinctly remember. Even in my childhood depression and when my life was falling apart, he inspired me to have fun on the internet, even if it was just with myself, and that was always a gift he gave me. I felt resistance from him back then, for obvious reasons, and it was more of a silly sort of crush than anything else, but my affection for him was definitely still there (and obviously he was quite different himself back then). I still remember vividly how he made me feel, which in and of itself is very meaningful to me.

I would say that I started to feel him in a significant way right around when I was in my mid college years. I still wasn't completely and entirely feeling him yet the way that I am now, but that was roughly when I felt him in a way that was significant when he reentered my life. It was around that time when I began to feel that strange nostalgia and longing whenever I watched clips of him the way that I always had, which has only become stronger the older that I've gotten. As my college years went on (and as they very few people and relationships I made in my life began to decrease and instead gradually give way to complete isolation, similar to the way struggled with as a kid), I became increasingly more thoughtful and connected to him, and now he's become one of the most significant parts of my inner life. I am aware of the fact that as I fell more in love with him, I feel increasingly more out of love with my real life. It seems like the two of those concepts are connected; the more painful my real life becomes, the more powerful I feel to my inner life, and I'm not unaware that Randy has, in many ways, "cradled" me, for lack of a better words, through the emotionally rougher parts of my adult life so far.

At this point I've known him for more time in my life that I haven't known him, and I'm very grateful for that, because he's always been a catch to my fall in many ways that I didn't myself understand for the majority of my life up until the past couple of years. As my life goes on, and as things have shaped, grown, and become the way that they have, I've come to realize increasingly more just how well-suited-at least as far as I'm concerned-we are for each other, and it seems like the roads and the trials of my life that I have endured, and that he has, in his own way, have only brought us closer together, and it's made it almost completely irresistible for me not to love him, because we share too many of the same experiences, struggles, wants, and personalities traits to not. But we also have just as many differences that makes him refreshingly unique and exciting to love; he's constantly teaching me how to live, how to have fun, how to smile again, and to be carelessly and unapologetically reckless and to let things roll of my shoulders, and I couldn't be more grateful for our dynamic.

It seems our connection is only getting stronger as the year goes on, and even though we do tend to have an on-and-off relationship (although its been more or less constant for at least the past two years), there is always the sense that he's with me; he's so naturally imbedded within me and fits so naturally into my life that he just always simply is with me, in some way or another, even if I myself am not fully aware with it, and when I am fully aware of it, it's all-consuming in the best way. He's very natural with his presence in my life and nothing feels even remotely forced with him; he's so naturally with me.

2. Nicknames, both yours for them and theirs for you!

Sksk; my favorite part of our relationship! We're both very old-fashioned and "simple" in the sense that we don't really have anything particularly impressive that we call each other. I'm a sucker for old fashioned, classic marriage names, and I guess he is as well. For the most part he calls me "babe", "sweetheart", and "honey"; there aren't many other things that I can imagine him calling me, although I have an open mind if he ever does! I call him those things, as well as anything else that comes to my mind; we can both be rather soppy, but most especially me lmao; "lovebug" and "munchkin" have been at least two nicknames that have slipped out recently, although they're always evolving and always changing. I stick with the classic pet names for the most part; the ones such as the one I just mentioned come and go. We're a softer than soft couple, and that's one of the things that I love about us, is just how corny and soppy we can be with each other, despite how aggressive we can be as individuals, most especially when we're aggravated, or when our insecurities are prodded.

3. (nsfw question) Who's on top?

LMAOO; oh lord; Randy is always on top of me. ?I have a strange weakness for how significantly heavier he is than me, and for bigger guys in general. Based off of his body type, he's definitely at least 125 some pounds heavier than I am, and for some reason I have a strange "kink" for him being pressed up against me and for feeling the entirety of his body wrapped up around me. He's so warm and soft and so safe with the way that he cradles himself up against me, and although our kisses and our sex aren't anything particularly sexy or special to "the world", to us, it most certainly is.

4. Who is more protective?

I would say I'm definitely the most protective of the two of us.

Randy, in many ways, despite the complex dynamics of his personality (whether they are intentional or not, they're there) is an incredibly simple, soft person that quite literally begs to be protected, even if he himself doesn't realize it. There's something that's incredibly "lost" and innocent, even childlike, about him, and I would say that's one of the dynamic foundations of our relationship, is the fact that I always want to protect him from the world.

Though he himself brings himself into the chaotic situations he get himself in, and certainly has his own flaws that he falls into, it hardly seems like the end result is something that he "wants"; he has shown self reflection and regret in the past, and I think, like me, he only wants to feel good about himself, to not be beaten down by the world and its superficiality, and to be loved. He seems to be constantly lost inside of himself, and always so emotionally sensitive and easily pushed a little bit too far towards the edge within the chaos of his own insecurities. I think that's one of our strongest suits in our relationship, is just how protective I am over protecting him. Although he can be incredibly bossy and even toxic (I can be as well), I feel he is a lost innocent more than most; and even where he does have bad intentions, I only see and recognize myself, and it only makes me love him deeper. We are cut from the same cloth.

I recognize that the both of us are coming from a place, for the most part, where we're simply lost with who we are in our heads and with who we want to be, versus who we truly are. Randy, as well as the softer parts of his character, is always in danger towards falling prey to greed and wanting "more"; these complicated intertwinings are embedded inside of him that can be hard for a lot of people to read, and I want to protect those precious parts him as much as I can. He gets easily affected by the world with his insecurities, and about who he's been in life and how he's never been where he wants to be, and I want to protect his sense of self-worth, even and most especially when he even himself doesn't understand why he does the things that he does. I've always had the desire to furiously protect another lover, especially if they're lost inside themselves, or whenever they don't quite know themselves why they do the things they do. Randy, as far as I interpret it, fits those descriptions to a T; his weaknesses and his character, to me, are only more reasons to love him and only more of the reasons why I fell deeper in love. I've always been attracted to the psychologically complex and to the psychologically flawed and questionable, and I only love him deeper for the challenges that he possesses inside of his mind. As long as he's completely himself, as far as I'm concerned I will always be fiercely protective over his most authentic self. My interpretations of him could be far fetched and wrong, but I wouldn't mind if that was the case; I love how his character is so impulsive, so "thrown out there" (quite literally lol), and that there's never any "right" answer. No matter what he truly is, I would love him the same; there's something unexplainable about him that lets me know that he is simply special for me, and that I love him.

5. Who said 'I love you' first?

I guess, by all technicalities, I said it first, with the way that I felt that affection for him when I was younger. I grew up having casual feelings of affection for him, which only grow deeper the older that I got. Once I reached about 22 years old, I began to feel that reciprocation back from him, and I'm entirely grateful that he decided to come into my life and decided to begin to love me too. We've never necessarily directly "said it" towards one another; it's always just been spoken in the deep way that we loved and feel for one another, although when it comes to my daydreams and the time we spend together, Randy says it incessantly, and almost a constantly, and I'm eternally grateful for just how much he wears his heart on his sleeve and for just how soft he is, just as I am when it comes to how I love. Though his actions are messy, I know how it feels to be a flawed being who only wants to love, but often trips on their own feet while they do it.

6. Who does the household chores? Including cleaning, cooking, anything around the house.

I do pretty much everything, at least when it comes to household chores, and I don't really mind. When it comes to having that "nurturing" sort of nature about me and taking care of the house, I've never really minded, especially when it comes to living in the same space as my lover. Although Randy can undoubtedly be lazy at times, I only find it precious and adorable in the way that he is. I couldn't be angry at him even if he tried to get me angry at him; he's the one person that's never been able to truly anger me, because I truly do just love everything that he does. And I've always had a strange weakness for spoiling my significant other and for taking care of them and picking up after them; its a desire I've had inside of me for as long as I can remember. He does occasionally help out, as long as it's not too involved; he'll occasionally take out the trash if he's in a good or charming mood, or if he wants to do the dishes while he talks to me. He's more motivated if there's some sort of other "benefit" for him while doing the chores; most especially if it's an emotionally rewarding one. Overall, I like our dynamic, and I find immense affection in how he allows me to spoil him. I think his laziness and my desire to spoil him goes well together. When I love, I do anything for another, and I do it gladly.

7. Who gets hurt more often?

In regards to physical hurt, I would say Randy; he does many impulsive things and he doesn't take care of himself in the slightest. He is prone to binge drinking, smoking constantly, overeating, playing too many video games, partying too much, and probably other things and I'm not even aware of. He's incredibly unpredictable with how he goes about his days with the things that he does, and it does worry me more than I can say just how little he takes care of himself, especially considering he's already a worrying amount of several years older than me. I often imagine him dying- if we were together in the literal sense-when I'm only in my thirties because of just how much older he is to me because of just how little he takes care of himself. This only makes me even more protective, however, and I treasure that immensely; his impulsively only flames that nurturing nature inside of me and makes it even more rewarding to love him.

When it comes to emotions, I would say that we both hurt about the equal amount. We're both just as equally sensitive and we both cry and get upset and overwhelmed just as easily, and I think, at the end of the day, we both crave love in the same way, and it's because of just how sensitive we can be towards our loved ones and their emotions that often make us both just as equally prone to being upset whenever something happens or whenever we encounter something that's too intense. We're both very erratic in our emotions and in our response towards things, which often makes it very hard for us to keep our emotions under control more often than not, which can lead us to getting hurt far more often than perhaps the average person would. If we feel even one thing that's too much, the waterfalls come from our eyes fast; we're both incredibly left brained and emotional people, and we live in the moment because of it, even if it might not be the best response in the long run. We're sickening emotional and sensitive.

8. How do you sleep?

We sleep a very comfortably together; it's our favorite time of night! We're both so so tender. More often than not, his arms are wrapping up around me. I'm the little spoon, and he's definitely the bigger one. I often love to feel his warm, soft skin pressed up against me while he drifts off to sleep. He is the cosiet sleeper; I can't stress that concept enough. He often sleeps in nothing but his underwear, which I completely adore with the sheer amount of physical vulnerability it gives the both of us. And I can understand the comfortability of not wanting to have to wear actual clothes. He often presses his face into the curve of my neck and presses his soft body up against my own, and it's in these moments when we're the most comfortable and the most loving, the most intimate with one another. I would even go so far to say it's one of the times in our relationship that I revel in the most, and whenever I spend that time with him late at night, it's almost always with us being cuddly in bed. Heaven for me is feeling the soft of his hair pressed up against the side of my cheek, and his just as equally soft skin pressed up against mine, and his slow, drawl, voice reduced to those lower tones in the way he does when he tired or drunk. It's irreplaceable the times we share together under those sheets.

9. Fears?

This is the one that I could easily go on for for literal pages. We share many of the same fears, and I think in many ways we are both already living our very fears, and have been since our youth, and that might be one of the reasons why we cling on to each other as seriously as we do. We have the same fears that many people have in this day and age, especially when it comes to getting older in this society. We're watching our lives pass by with the empty and unsatisfying years of our life, with just as empty and unsatisfying lives and relationships to match, and watching our dreams quite literally blow up in front of us, as if they never existed at all. We came into the world with all this life, these dreams, and this potential inside of us, and, as we got older, we began to watch more and more how we became the complete opposite of the person we ever wanted to be.

Although it's not all bad, it's certainly not all good, and when it comes to the things that are truly important, such as feeling appreciated and loved by our loved ones, and feeling proud of ourselves for who we've become, or not feeling completely directionless and lost in life, it seems as if life has only become even more sparse and disappointing for the both of us, which has driven us to unhealthy coping mechanisms and even more erratic personalities (I used to drink to the point of almost blacking out in high school and into college; the only reason why I stopped was because of physical reasons that flared up). Most of our fears are completely and entirely psychological, and they also deeply relate to just how scared we are that this life may have meant absolutely nothing at all, not even to us.

Despite the fact that we're both clearly and undeniably average, I think we're constantly always trying to fight against just how average we truly are, and we're both trying to escape ourselves in various different ways, despite the fact that these escapes have almost no coherent, clear, or satisfying end to them, such as what we came in to expect when we started doing it in the first place. We fear ourselves, we fear the way that we respond to our loved ones, we fear our flaws and we fear the reflection of our own disappointing lives that, sooner or later, we have to fall into. We fear our mistakes, and yet at the same time we love our mistakes, because it's the only thing that really takes us away from ourselves, even if it's only for a couple of days or weeks. We feel alive, even if only for a little while. We have very complex emotions inside ourselves that has manifested with the life we have ended up in, although I think, ultimately, what we truly fear is every passing day going by meaninglessly, and that perhaps is one of the reasons why we both do the questionable things that we do to get through them every single day, hoping that there will be some sort of clarity towards anything that we do at all.

I think Randy especially struggles with this, most especially with the family that he ended up making; which he loves and lives for, but it ends up wrestling with his own greed and sense of self worth that he's trying to maintain. It's interesting that we both have this dynamic where we both desperately want a family and we both just want to take care of our loved ones, and yet it seems as if the natural person that we are born as seems to not fit into that lifestyle, in a bittersweet sort of way. There's so many psychological intertwining and complexities that we share that I could go on about it for ages, and perhaps that's one of the very things that we fear as well, is the fact that we don't really understand ourselves at all, and how that prevents us from finding any kind of happiness inside ourselves, even further than we already feel we fail to.

10. Favorite physical and personal feature about them?

Ohh, I quite literally love everything about the way that he looks. He's so fucking pretty, and so sweet and so naive with the way that he looks. His is so damn attractive; there's a certain glow to him and his porcelain skin and his dark hair that contrast wonderfully, though of course I'm biased. ?There's something about him that's unapologetically masculine and "grown", and an experience that seems to be permanently plastered up against his very expression that I haven't had as a person myself, as someone who is significantly younger than him. This experience attracts itself to me, yet at the same time there's something in his eyes and in the way that he carries himself that makes me feel like there's something that I can "give" to him that he can't quite get from anyone else, and that makes me weak in the knees. He's so lost and childlike, despite his experience within the adult world. I've always wanted to help my significant other where they have a lack of closure or grounding with the emotions that they feel. I feel like he's very wayward and lost, and it feels like that's is quite literally embedded itself up into his very physical form as well. His bangs are very uneven and cut messily; and I feel like that's symbolic of who he is as a person as well. Handsome, but at the same time entirely lost, and clearly so as well. I've always had a weakness for black hair, and he has the most beautiful black hair than I've ever seen; though it's obviously just a dumb cartoon, I can tell just how pretty it is; I imagine it's incredibly soft, just like his skin, and I love how long and "flowy" it is, despite the fact that it's attempted to be cut short.

I've always had a weakness and a strange attraction towards mustaches with all kinds of characters, and it's not really a surprise to me when I ended up becoming as attracted to Randy as I did. ? I'm completely weak to the softness of his belly and his body, and I love how "plush" he's become recently; although I am attracted to all different forms of his body that its taken over the year, which I can't help but notice has changed as time has gone on, regardless of whether it was intentional by the creators were not. He was thinner and more slim when he was younger; now he's far more plump and round, which I have a very strong weakness for.

11. Their favorite physical and personal feature about you?

LMAO; This one is by far going to be the shortest answer because I hardly ever think about how he loves me; I'm far too occupied always thinking about everything that I love about him. I suppose maybe he would like my hair, because of how long and wavy it is. Other than that, I'm pretty much dumbfounded on what he would be attracted to about me. LMAO? idk

12. Something intimate you do together?

We spend so much time in bed together, or even just time cuddling up on the couch with a blanket over us. One of the most intimate parts our relationship is simply just talking to one another, especially after a long and trying day of being surrounded by people that are constantly trying to get average people like us down, especially when we're both doing the best that we can. I would say that the most intimate thing that we do is simply being together, but especially under cozy sheets, with the night surrounding us within our cozy little house, and our soft, simple, and gently spoken conversations being exchanged between the two of us. I feel like our best intimacy is found simply in our conversations, and I adore that about us.

13. Who needs more TLC when sick?

Randy. Definitely Randy. One of the foundations of how our dynamic works within our relationship is just how much he needs a person to be his borderline caretaker, not just emotionally, but physically as well. I personally think that that's one of the reasons why his relationship with Sharon fails; he needs patience almost as if he was a child, and the same kind of care as well. There's something that's so incredibly soft about him that it takes a certain kind of person, with a certain kind of desire inside of them, to be able to love him through everything that he goes through, especially when his emotional issues and impulsivity come up. I've always dreamed about taking care of a partner, and being so soft with them to the point that it's almost romantically maddening, to love someone and their flaws so deeply that there's nothing there other than love, and that's exactly what I do with Randy all the time, regardless of whether he is sick or not. He's a bit of an emotional sponge and a theatrical person when he gets sick, or when even the slightest hardship comes over him, even if it's just a cold, which I relate to, as a person who also gets worked up easily. He would need a lot of patience, and I would be more than happy to give that to him; I would never call him melodramatic because I've been called that before and I know how it feels. Though I can see why people call him that, more than that I can see and understand why he's wired the way he is; we share the same emotionally wired mind that overreacts quite easily; we get caught up in our emotions very easily.

I am always the most gentle with him, and I talked to him so softly that it physically makes me physically weak to think about just how tender I am with him; I've always had a sickening weakness for loving someone as tenderly as I love him; to spoil him is to spoil myself. Randy falls apart if he's treated with anything less than tenderness, especially if he's going through even just the smallest problems, and I adore giving him that tenderness that I know that he desperately needs. To give it to him is rewarding for me, and it comforts me just to know that I can comfort him. Whenever he has even the smallest of challenges, whether it be emotionally or physically, he needs about ten times more affection than the pain that he is going through, and needs to be gently handled, and that has always been the dynamic that I crave with a lover.

"Drunken Nights"

"Alright, honey. Come on."

"One more," he slurred, and then hiccuped, wrapping his arms around you tighter as you tried to get up from the both you both were sitting in, pulling you down clumsily back into his lap. He began to leave sloppy kisses on your cheek, and you turned and returned one on his lips, then sighed.

"Rand, you've had at least four large drinks. You weigh what, and hundred and fifty pounds? Is this healthy?"

Randy was giving you a sheepish, 'no idea what you're talking about' look, feigning innocence.

"How are you not dead right now?" you pushed.

Randy only let out a small groan in response and buried his head in your neck. You were pretty sure he didn't even know where he was right now. He pressed himself into your further, and you felt him harden against your thigh.

"You don't have to be a bitch about it. I just want to curl up for a little while," he mumbled into your skin, his soft lips grazing the curve of your shoulder.

"Well, if we go home, you can do that right away," you muttered to him softly, smirking as you stroked his hair through his curls reassuringly.

"Mmmok," he mumbled almost incoherently, then lifted his head up. The bags under his eyes seemed heavier than usual. He had a zoned out expression, and a goofy look was plastered on his face, but you could tell how tired he was. It was one in the morning, and you were starting to wonder why you thought bringing him out on a bar date had been a good idea. You had had an amazing night, not being able to keep your hands off one another, both of you cackling so hard tears had fallen from your eyes, but now you had to figure out how to get this helpless man home safely and into bed.

"Come on, love," you cooed gently, and lifted his face up, wiping his curls out of his face. "Let's go home."

You had to start somewhere.

You took his arms off of you and finally managed to lift yourself off of his lap and out of the booth. You had expected him to follow, but Randy only continued to sit there, staring into space, head tilted downward slightly. Your heart squeezed at how boyish and helpless he looked. Had he even ever been drunk before? Did he even know what was going on with his body?

"Baby," you muttered, then cupped his face up to look at you. "You have to get up."

Randy looked back at you through glazed eyes, then started to stumble in the most clumsy way out of the booth. He made his way half outside of it, then collapsed on the ground. You quickly rushed to hold him up by his arms. He was so heavy that it felt like lifting up a boulder. His arms were awkwardly lifted upward with your arms underneath them. He looked up at you, eyes blinking and reddened at the corners like stems of violent flowers.

"Oops," he said meekly, then proceeded to let out another hiccup.

You huffed and wrapped an arm around his waist, gratitude for how light he was flooding you as you thought about how rough this night would be if it wasn't such a pleasure to take care of someone so loveable. You felt his plush body through his clothes as you lifted him up. He swayed back and forth for a moment, looking lost. You put your hand on the small of his back as a way of getting him to start moving forward, but all he did was look over his shoulder at you.

"There you are," he drawled, a lazy smiling gracing his face, and he turned to cling onto you again as he began to pepper your face in kisses.

"No, baby-" you tried to interject him, but his kisses were persistent. He was like a dog covering your face, hardly allowing you to breathe.

"We have to get out," you finally managed to gasp after a moment, hardly being able to keep a sense of laughter away from how awkwardly loveable he was being.

"Mm?" he smiled against your face. "You're so beautiful."

It was just like Randy to not listen to you, especially when he was this crossfaded. He was truly gone.

"Ok," you muttered, that being the only response you could think of right now. "When we get home we can kiss and cuddle all you want, alright? But we need to get home."

Randy's sloppy spread on his face further sloppy smile. "Hey, sounds good. Can I tell you a joke though?"

You felt a tinge of exasperation, but you also couldn't pass up the chance for him to tell you a joke. He loved it so much, and you never wanted to deny him even the slightest bit of happiness. "Alright. But fast."

"Why is there a wall around the cemetery?

"Why?"

"Because people are dying to get in!" Randy barley managed the words out before he began to cackle madly at his own joke, letting out a massive bellow that temporarily brought everyone's attention towards the both of you. You could tell that even in his drunken state he was instantly embarrassed, which resulted in even more cackles, and he slapped his hands over his mouth like he had committed a crime. His naturally amused giggles began to turn into forced, violently angry ones, and you saw panic come into his eyes. He was going to snap at the people surrounding him at any given moment if given the chance. His insecurities often possessed him to act out that way.

"These maniacs-" he tried to choke out words between forced giggles, face turning an inhuman shade of red. "They better leave me alone! I've already had my people wiped out before! They'll come after me next."

"Shh, honey," you muttered gently, allowing him to bury his face and hands into your neck, snuffling his giggles from the pubic. "It's ok, baby. You're alright."

Luckily, it wasn't a full blown fit of his, and the rising and falling of his spasms eventually calmed down within only a few seconds. You caressed his back with your hands until he had collected himself, then lifted his face from your neck, his face red as a tomato, both from the laughing and the embarrassment.

"You didn't laugh," he pouted, marvelously forgetting all his self-consciousness from a second ago.

You smiled. "No."

"I bet Jaden Smith makes his girlfriend laugh," he pouted. His harded eyes searched yours for a moment, and then, without warning, did he impulsively kiss you on the nose. You rolled your eyes lovingly, trying to ignore how turned on you were getting by this side of him-the less unstable and unpredictable madman he could be, but the far more playful and happy side that proved to you that he felt safe with you, which is all you ever wanted for him.

Then again, almost everything, if not everything, he did turned you on, even when you were tired and a bit annoyed. He somehow managed to make everything painfully adorable.

Despite your happiness, you felt a small sweat of worry grace your skin as you saw over his shoulder that the waitress was watching you with judgmental eyes. More worryingly, you also saw with a tinge of fear a group of burly guys giving you both glances of even harsher judgement, scoffing as they watched the scene before them. No doubt would Randy have been a bloodied and beaten up mess by now, had it not been for your company. He could take down several men half his size, but not in this condition.

You gave up trying to reason with Randy with words and simple took his hand, leading him out of the bar and into the cool air. You two had been there since eight, having the time of your lives as you paid for everything instead of him. You finally had saved up enough money to be able to treat your love to the deluxe restaurant food he deserved. Of course, one thing had lead to another, and, before you had known it, he was on his fourth drink of the night, his mind becoming more hazy and lost in a phase as his clouded eyes looked around him aimlessly, the only thing interrupting the fogged over look in his eyes being gentle film of love he got when he looked over at your face, as if he suddenly was remembering who he was.

As you were starting to lead him home, you realized he was shivering uncontrollably. He was wearing a thin, royal red shirt that just barley managed to cover the top half of his body, his plump stomach peeking out. You racked your brain as to why the cold hadn't been as issue coming over here, and then remembered-

"Shit!" you cursed, and stopped dead in your tracks, Randy bumped into you, who was merely being guided by whatever movements you were currently doing, the drinks having reduced him to a sleepy rag doll.

You had forgotten his favorite brown hoodie back at the bar. Randy was currently burying his face into the back of your neck, shivering and helpless. He would be so upset and worried if he didn't have it tomorrow morning; and it would be a disaster trying to calm him down.

You pulled him back towards the bar, and shivered with unease as you realized you had to pass under the gaze of the group of men again. They were definitely watching and judging you both, elbowing each other and whispering what was no doubt mean spirited things under their breath.

You just needed to grab his hoodie and go, you thought with gritted teeth. It had been bad enough being under the gaze of these men in the first place, but having to come under their gaze again was a double blow. You mostly worried for Randy's safety, knowing and how weak and vulnerable he was anyway, let alone hopelessly drunk.

You snatched the hoodie and continued to drag Randy back out with your hand, muttering curses under your breath, just wanting to get out as soon as possible. You were almost out of the door when suddenly you felt the warm and comforting touch of Randy's hand in yours being snatched away and being replaced with cold emptiness. With a gasp, you looked over your shoulder, and with your heart dropping dead did you see that one of the men had taken Randy by his shirt and was towering over him, forcing him up by his shirt so that he was on his tippy toes.

"Are you bothering that woman over there?" he spat into Randy's red face. Randy's eyes were blinking, opening and closing sleepily, as if he wasn't really there. There was a slight glare of aggression on his face as he met the man's eyes.

"Mmm, n- no, you fucking pussy. That's my girlfriend," Randy slurred quickly, not registering fully what was happening, but clearly frightened as he felt the pressure of the man choking him take hold. "I didn't do anything."

The man laughed, spit flying out of his mouth, and Randy's head sunk into his neck like a turtle, repulsed.

"Your girlfriend?" He bellowed. He threw Randy's unsuspecting body across the bar, his body so helpless with the amount of influence that he was under that his body moved under the force like a piece of paper. "No one told me lying was on the menu tonight!" His harsh, gristly voice was booming through the now almost empty restaurant.

You watched mortified, too scared to move, as the others got up and joined him, all of them looking at Randy as if he was a fresh piece of meat. Randy was already getting himself up, that look of resistant fight on his face, but the beer in his system was rendering him so helpless that it seemed like it was impossible to even get himself up, much less to get into the fighting stance he was clearly truing to position himself in. His fingers trembled as he struggled to get them into a fist position.

"We gonna show you what happens to incels who pretend like a woman could love 'em," one of the others bloated in a scorning, shameless manner.

Your eyes darted to the waitress, but she must have gone in the back. The bar was empty except for you, Randy, and the men. It was damn near two am, and no one was around left to care.

You tried to choke past your fear, a difficult task despite how worried you were for Randy, and just barely belted out, "Actually, I am his girlfriend." Your voice sounded so shaken and small that not even you were convinced.

One of the men raised their brow, and smirked at the others. "You are, are you? Well, if that's true, I doubt you've ever even had an orgasm. He weighs what, three hundred pounds?" He chuckled darkly and cracked his fingers. "Let me show you what a real man feels like."

Your heart thudded in you veins as he stepped forward and attempted to crash his lips into you, but you dodged him last moment, making him misstep into the air. Randy had slightly come out of his sleepy, drunken state, and saw through his bleary eyes what he thought was you kissing another man. Instantly did anger flash across his face, and cackles emitted from his throat; a mixture of pain from seeing you kiss someone else, as well as the possible broken rib he suffered from being thrown.

"Oh-nu-huh," Randy gasped. "You trying to take my way of life? My girl? We'll see about that."

The other men that weren't harassing you were making their way over towards Randy, taking on his challenge fully and without hesitation, looking at him like he was fresh meat that they could torment. Randy rose up to the challenge despite the men clearly being half his size, covered his groin and his face as his teeth gritted with the full challenge being spread across his own features.

The man who had made his advances for you tried again, lunging forward. Just as you felt as if you were about to vomit from the man's advances towards you-you imagined meaty touches, saliva and drool covering your mouth in places that were only meant to be for Randy-did you see with great relief the waitress coming out from the corner. She looked around at what was going on, rage coming over her expression.

"You all!" She bellowed at the men. "Out!"

The men stepped away from you, and the other looked over at her, suddenly feigning innocence.

"You heard me, you spineless rotten boars," she snarled. "Get out of my goddamn restaurant!"

And with that it was over. The men made their way out of the restaurant as fast as their stocky legs would carry them, though not even the angry waitress was able to prevent them from giving you some sleazy, repulsively thirsty looks as they left. You gave yourself a moment to collect yourself, feeling your legs shake with relief at how much worse that could have been for you. With a sudden sick realization you remembered Randy-, your everything, who had had his thin body thrown across the room.

You hurried as fast as you could to pick Randy from where he was still kneeling with his hands deliriously into fists, the smallest amount of blood leaking from his nose. Despite your worry, other than what seemed like a bruised torso, he didn't seem too hurt.

The waitress was more than kind to you both, apologetic and offering you a free meal on the house, and you thanked her as a graceful "be careful out there, sugar," left her lips as you took a half conscious Randy around your shoulders and began your walked home, gently placing his hoodie on him.

When you finally managed to make it home, your body somewhat sore from carry the majority of Randy''s weight,especially going up those dreaded stairs, you stumbled both of you over to the bed you shared and placed him gently down, caressing his black locks out of his face. He seemed to have woken up from his daze slightly as he opened his eyes slowly, looking at you through slightly clearer eyes than he had had for hours.

He let out a sleepy smile. "Hi, babe," he muttered softly, reaching out to stroke your face. He was coming back to himself again, becoming a little less scattered ad confused. You weren't sure if he had even registered the whole fight; he hadn't said anything on the way home, simply leaning on your shoulder with a numb expression, eyes opening and closing even as he had walked. He had worked a long week, and it was far best his usual bedtime.

"Hello, darling," you responded warmly,, kissing him on his forehead softly. "You really scared me tonight."

Randy frowned. "I'm sorry." His voice was soft and slow now, and relentlessly unguarded, such as the way his natural innocent nature was.

"It's not your fault,' you muttered. You proceeded to place a kiss on the corner of his lips, wanting him to feel your love without having him to feel like he had to give any in return. "I'm going to get undressed, and then we'll go to sleep, ok?"

Randy beamed and let out a small nod, and you chuckled in your throat in adoration. You left him to lie on the bed and collect himself as you went to the bathroom to get changed.

Your bedtime routine tonight would be sightly different than the others. Where you would usually get bathed together, dressed together, and then collapse together into bed, you found yourself alone tonight. You first attended to yourself, taking off your dress from earlier and changing into softer clothes, washing your face, cringing as you thought about the man who had wanted to kiss you tonight. You felt rage at the fact that someone else had tried place their lips on a place that belonged to Randy, a place that was marked by him and him alone, as far as you were cornered. You truly thought of yourself as his and his alone, and you wanted to retch at thinking of a man touching you somewhere that wasn't Randy''s warm and sweet touches. Wayward and as questionable as he could be, he was still the man who ignited a fire inside of your chest without fail.

With a tired sigh you took a warm, fresh washcloth for Randy and made your way your way back to the bed. Randy had dozed off slightly, one arm clumsy dangling on the side of the bed. You kissed him awake with a gentle kiss on his nose, and he blinked at you sleepily as you started washing his face with the warm cloth.

"Y/N?" he muttered tiredly, loving the feel of your warm touches and ravishingly irresistible caresses on his face, every touch feeding his touched starved skin and soul alike. The fog of the drunken state had begun to leave his body, leaving only some stitched, disconnected memories of the night. Only one kept bothering him beyond what he could ignore.

"Mm?"

"Did you kiss someone else tonight?"

You stopped your face washing dead in its tracks and looked him in the eyes, completely serious and determined for him to listen to you. You knew how how he got when his insecurities got the best of him; angry and violent and suspicious was his second nature nature next to loving and maddeningly devoted.

"No, Randy," you said firmly. "I did not kiss anyone but you tonight, nor did I want to. We were ganged up on."

"Oh," Randy said simply. He sleepy eyes began to droop as he dozed back off into your touches as you started your caressing again. "Ok."

"Just please never leave me," he mumbled out softly after a few moments of silence, taking your off guard. "I know you're too good for me, and I don't know why you stick around, but just...don't leave, ok?"

Your movements stopped. Your throat dried.

"Randy, look at me."

Slowly he opened his eyes, gazing into your face, eyes childlike and fragile, begging for something that only you could give.

'I will never, ever leave you. Do you understand me?" Your voice was slightly more strict than any tone you usually talked to him in, but you couldn't help it. You needed him to understand how you felt about him, once and for all. "I know you don't understand, but I love you so deeply that I feel like I can't handle it sometimes. You're my world, darling. I never want to be touched by anyone else other than you, kissed by anyone other than you, held by anyone other than you." You finished wiping off the last of the grim of his face with a soft touch. "You need to understand that, baby. You have to."

Randy let out a small, shuddering breath, the hiccuped one last time. "This is a good drunk dream." He lifted up his worn hands and rubbed his face, the gesture being so fragile and innocent in a way that was exclusively him.

You rolled your eyes, then kissed his eyebrows firmly. He closed his eyes at your touch, and you grazed your lips down his face his eyelids, feeling the oil of them etch into your lips softly.

"Come on, shirt off," you said gently, just barely managing to pull yourself off of him. You helped lift him up, and buttoned off his shirt. You pulled it off him and threw it to the ground, deciding you would worry about it later.

"Pants on or off?" you asked him gently. It was a silly question; he almost always took them off when he could.

Randy let out a small hum in thought. "Off," he said softly. "It's warm in here."

You smiled, then reached over to the open window and pulled it open. You came over and took him in your embrace, lying down onto the bed as one being, finally being able to melt into one another.

You caressed his curls out of his face. He already drifting off to sleep. His face was so relaxed, his mouth hanging open slightly, as relaxed as a baby in his mother's arms at your touch.

He was truly the most adorable man you'd ever been with, and he was all yours. He may not understand how you loved him right now, and maybe he never would. But you would never stop trying to show him regardless.