harness your hopes - the boys.

02. thought to think.

TODAY IS ANY OTHER DAY. They all seem to blend together now, honestly, especially the Saturdays. Saturdays are the only day in which Avery is freed from his bummy job at the local nursing home, even though he himself is truly in no state to be taking care of other people to begin with, but it pays the bills. Not that he needs to work, no, but he likes to be around old people. They're fun. Hearing their thoughts are like cracking time capsules and hearing the shit they're able to come out with verbally is even better. There are no people as brave as the old. There are also no cunts like the old, but, you win some you lose some.

And so, that's why it's one in the afternoon and Avery is freshly awoken, huffing out a thick sigh as he settles himself onto the messy couch of his dimly lit apartment, the cushions melding beneath his weight and memorising the concerning curve of his fucked up spine, sinking into the same spot he always finds himself in with a bowl of cereal resting on his right thigh while his left-hand stretches out for the TV remote on the coffee table. The screen before him flickers to life, though he has no reaction to it, his focus concentrated on the delicately decorated porcelain bowl beneath the pads of his fingertips and the incoming ball of fuzzy heat as it bounds from the kitchen island to the back of the couch, the sound of his feline companion's small heart beating steadily filling his ears rather than the chitter of the news on the television.

"Hey there, little lady," Avery's lax grip instinctively wades towards the soft huffs of Miss Peanuts' breath, crooking a finger out towards the creature and awaiting its acceptance before he gently soothes his scarred palm down the slope of the ginger nape of the kitty's neck. He laughs softly at the feeling of dull claws digging into his bare thighs over the thin fabric of his plaid boxers, along with the curious sniffs of the hesitant feline. This was a cycle that Avery knew all too well. She never seemed to get enough to eat, either that or she had a vehement preference for human food, and she'd scrounge off of Avery with soft purrs and persistent nuzzles and suffocating cuddles. And it always works, just as it does this morning — Miss Peanuts is more than pleased with the singular Froot Loop she's handfed. "Fuckin' beggar. You're lucky I love you, y'know that?"

Miss Peanuts lets out a huff of acknowledgment before sauntering off, pleased with her second dosage of breakfast whilst Avery tunes into the news as he always does, curious about the world around him and what harrowing information may await him. Oh, what's that, you say? Homelander took a shit and wiped? Get it on all the fucking stations in 4K quality! Better yet, smack it on a billboard for the next twenty-four hours until that bleach-blonde, veneer-wearing cyborg does something of significance!

In other words, Avery is not fond of the news. But it's entertainment in the perpetually boring life he lives. Or, at least something to get mad at, which he seems to do a lot now, and with a lot of ease.

"In other news, Believe Expo has kicked off bright and early today," The voice of a reporter fills his ear, monotonous and blank as ever, her tone never wavering as she reads off one of those shitty, prepped scripts that doesn't do much to aid Avery in figuring out the mood of this whole shebang. "With beloved Seven members Starlight and Homelander headlining the event. And even some appearances from former Teenage Kix members such as Big Game and Jetstreak, along with fellow Supes, Shockwave, and Blindspot, all here in light of the event."

"Blindspot." Avery snorts, chewing on the artificial sweetness of the spoonful that he brings to his lips, allowing the cutlery to clink against the side of the bowl s he sets it back down with a squint of his drowsy eyes. Vought were really trying again after, like, their only disabled Supe went off the grid? Damn, that's desperation and a half. Still, pride is nothing if not utilised. "I did it first, bitch."

As he feels for the handle of his spoon again, fingers curling around the metal, he halts, dead in his tracks. Shuffling's coming up the stairs, along with the sound of a muffled voice and a lot of grunting, squirming commotion. Though the noises are three flights down, Avery hears them crystal clear, as though it is on the other side of a door, and it's not surprising that curiosity creeps itself onto his face at the sound of it. Surprisingly, Saturdays are quiet at his complex, and the sound of someone seemingly arguing with themselves as they trek up the old, creaky steps is something suspicious in and of itself. Avery's spoon stabs the bottom of the bowl a couple of times as he contemplates, but eventually, he rams another spoonful between his lips, hoping that maybe it's just a drunk who will see themselves into their own apartment without a hassle.