( Kennedy Ft. Santiago ) - Blog Posts

any mention of marie never fails to make kennedy advert their gaze from santiago. it's subtle, usually under the pretense of being occupied with something else, like inputing a password into a laptop. "thank you." they say, not willing to comment on the two reminders that passweord held. 3126— the house the two grew up in. marie—that house was never meant for kennedy and their mother to begin with.

it takes them back to one of their earliest memories as a new 'family'. at the time kennedy was certain their mother's attempt of uniting their two families was just a ploy to make her own father jealous. a classic move: mom and dad split. mom and dad introduce new partners. mom and dad get back together again. but suzanne's affinity with jonathan herrera was of a different beast. when suzanne wasn't with him, she was daydreaming about him—his wealth, his gifts, his home—3126. the future he would provide her and by extension, his daughter... and kennedy absolutely hated it. so the first time santiago mentions his mother and how she was not coming back, kennedy responds with. 'well my father isn't dead so he is.'

an apology had been given. indignantly. from behind her mother's legs. an 11 year old who knew the cruelty in their words but was too overwhelmed by their own emotions to worry about anyone else's. though the years had slowly managed to mend the bad foot in which the two started their sibling relationship, there is a part of kennedy that still replays that moment. they can still picture santiago's expression—the hurt in his brown eyes, raw and clear in their memory. he deserved a better apology and maybe tonight was the best night to finally give it—

"that's so depressing, santi. don't say that." they say instead, brows pinching together both at his words and at their own internal cowardice. "the city could suit you too, you know." now that they secured access to a laptop, kennedy's shoulders visibly relax. "you know what? after crashing in that disgusting dumpster fire that june, finch, and avery like to gaslight everyone into believing is an actual apartment... the guest room doesn't feel too bad." they say with a chuckle. if a zombie apocalypse hits kennedy swears that their apartment will be ground zero. "i was thinking of renting something closer to work for the time being." closer to santiago too.

then maybe jon's requests to 'talk some sense' into santiago would lessen to the occasional text or phone call. kennedy knew coming back to town would revert them back to the role they often played within the family— the devils advocate. if the oldest can't lead by example, they're expected to play the role of a third parent. "he doesn't mean it." there they go. "he’s just saying that cus he thinks it’ll... i don’t know. stir something in you.” a sigh escapes them then as they go pinch the bridge of their nose, the wright of the night settling in. "sorry, i know i brought it up but... can we not talk about our parents tonight? i don't want to fight." not when their chest still aches from the panic that gripped them earlier—the panic at the thought that the body found tonight might have been his.

⁑ he rolls his eyes at the comment, all in good fun. ❝ yup. i'm, uh, so well - versed in it, didn't even open the laptop to clear it out. ❞ all said while the dust on the laptop cover tells an entirely different story. as it hums to life, he presses the back of his hand to his temple – like added pressure could stop the pounding in his head. as an afterthought, he adds, ❝ password's marie three - one - two - six. ❞ ( small reminders of his late mother are constants throughout his daily life, if one was to look close enough. )

❝ sorry, freshly accepted i'm doomed to red creek livin' forever. the city suits you, though. ❞ a tired laugh escapes him. just 5 years ago, santi would've shrunk away from the thought. now, it's met with bittersweet acceptance. a life in red creek is— well, it's exactly what he deserves. a small sting ignites in his chest at mention of his own father's excitement. for all intents and purposes, kennedy was his child too. she probably saw his fatherly side more than santi ever would. ❝ noooo. just makin' sure they haven't roped you into a permanent residency of the guest bedroom or somethin'. ❞ he exhales sharply through his nose at the invitation, not quite in him to have a laugh over it. ❝ tell jon he can ask me himself. last i heard from him, i'm not welcome at the table. ❞

SUCCESSION — 1.02 Shit Show at the Fuck Factory

"if it makes you feel better, i think that you'd be better at a fight than me," admittedly, tthat isn’t saying much when the biggest risk they face at the office is a paper cut. "hey, wait—" they bend down to snatch the bag of peas off the floor but before they can nag him to sit back down, he's disappeared from the room. kennedy scoffs, sinking back into the sofa in a grumble and taking this moment to close their eyes. with a sigh, the adrenaline of the night drains away, replaced by exhaustion. what a fucked up night. the sound of the laptop thudding onto thetable jolts them, followed by santiago plopping back down on the sofa "what, did you have to clean your browser history or something? you freak." they reach out for the laptop and charger, quickly connecting the device before they forget.

the way santiago wrinkles his nose at the mention of their boss bring them to chuckle. it's nice to know that they might not be the only one offended by ricardo's antics. "yeah, him. he's a prick. i suppose all rich pretty boys are." how the hell he ended up in red creek is beyond them. they offer a lazy shrug at santiago's resistance to coming to new york with them. "dunno. think it might be good for you to go to the city. see that there's more to life than this shitty town." they have their attention focused on booting the laptop up now. "mom is... yeah. i think she's happy. i think jon is too, actually. you should have seen how hard he hugged me when they picked me up from the airport. thought the man was gonna break my ribs." kennedy shoots santiago a quick glance. "trying to get rid of me, already?" they ask, scrunching their nose in jest before offering another shrug. "i don't know. mom and jon would kill me if i didn't at least stick around for the holidays. i'm hoping i won't be long after that. i'd hate to give them the impression that i was here to stay for good." they pause then, before adding. "they wanted me to check how you were doing. if... you were planning on attending any family dinners."

⁑ he nods almost mindlessly, opting to trust that his friends made it home safe rather than spiral into a panic. ❝ yeah. guess i wouldn't be much help if i nearly get knocked out tryin' to split a bar fight. ❞ santi pushes himself off of the armchair, make-shift ice bag tumbling to the floor. ❝ i'll grab it for you. ❞ it's a welcome distraction from the pulse in his temple. he pulls the laptop from it's place on a (mostly empty) bookshelf. there's a dull ache in his chest as he peers down at long - abandoned textbooks; santi had loved nursing at one point & the end was so sudden. he spins on his heel before he can stare too long. he laughs out loud when kennedy suggests he may have signed an nda to work at heartbreak motel. ❝ you haven't been gone that long, kens. doubt they even know what an nda is. maybe i'll toss you somethin' if it happens. ❞ he drops the laptop on his coffee table with a concerning thump, then falls back onto the couch equally as careless.

❝ your boss . . . ricardo, right ? ❞ santi asks, wrinkling his nose. narcissistic may be the nicest way to put it. kennedy probably put up with far worse in new york. which— ❝ like you would've wanted me buggin' you in the city. ❞ there's no bite to his words, but they fall flat. ❝ suzanne happy that you're home for a bit ? how long are you stayin' in town anyways ? ❞

“i’m sure they are fine.” if she’s with taylan then kennedy feels a little better about selin's safety. what were brothers for if not to have some muscle when needed? or to provide a place to crash when the town decides to mandate a curfew all of a sudden? their smile only widens when santiago offers his laptop. "really? yeah, where is it?" it would be a good idea for them to check it out sooner rather than later. to this day, kennedy can’t fathom why he would leave his nursing job to work at a dingy little motel. it felt like such a waste and it was no secret that their parents felt the same way… but they don’t need to remind santiago of that—not tonight, at least. “maybe we should collab sometime. you hand me the fresh gossip and i see if there’s any story to be gained. did you have to sign an nda or anything like that? like, would you be allowed to tell me if someone was having an affair or something?” probably it wouldn't be newsworthy unless it was the mayor or the sheriff but still— “are you happier there?” kennedy can’t help but ask, perhaps against their better judgment.

santiago's question about how they’re doing at the register reminds kennedy of the interaction they had with ricardo earlier that evening. their expression shifts into something more sour. “my boss is about as narcissistic as it gets, which is… interesting, i suppose.” that’s one way to put it. you'd think they'd be used to dealing with them by now. "aside from that, it’s not bad. a little boring, honestly. tonight is probably the most newsworthy thing to happen in... well, 25 years." are they a monster for thinking that? maybe. "the parties in new york are obviously better. you would know if you visited me some time."

⁑ ❝ man versus chair, more like it. ❞ santi huffs, recalling the impossibly fast play - through of events. in all honestly, he may have acted with instinct over intellect, trying to pry the two apart and getting knocked back instead. ❝ don't even really know how that happened— one minute i'm chasin' after taylan & selin, the next i'm knocked flat on my ass. i'm sure she got home safe but it was so— . . . ❞ he puffs air into his cheeks, frustrated he slipped up on his one goal of seeing her get home safe. he tells himself he'll call first thing in the morning. at least kennedy doesn't push back on his offer to stay over; that's one less person he has to worry about falling into the hands of a knife - wielding boogeyman. even if they've never gotten along well, she's still his sister in all the ways that matter.

at the mention of her deadline, he feels a familiar twist of envy in his stomach — his step - sister, the best selling author, their parents are probably so proud. he tries not to dwell tonight. ❝ do you need a laptop ? i've barely touched mine since i graduated but– it probably still works. ❞ ( she might need to leave it plugged in, but still. ) there's the mention of his own work— the clerical position that he finally secured after leaving nursing. extremely dull in comparison. ❝ it's okay. i get to see what all the people in red creek are sneakin' to the motel for, which is fun. no shift tomorrow 'cos i covered the day shift today. ❞ he shrugs it off. ❝ how's workin' in red creek after leaving new york ? y'know . . . repeat of the boogeyman aside. ❞

"yikes, dude. they got you good." kennedy winces when he gestures towards his face. "people are losing their goddamn minds — did sel make it out, okay?" they ask, though they wouldn't blame him if he didn't know. maybe they should text her. a tender smile grows at santiago's offer. god, when was the last time they slept under the same roof? "it's okay, i can take the couch. i have to whip something up for work by 5am." they can still make it, they think. if they borrow santi's laptop and chug some water. "i don't think i could sleep even if i wanted to... do you have work tomorrow? how is that going?" is now the time for them to have some small talk? probably not but if the tremble of their fingers as they aimlessly smooth their dress down is an indicator for anything, it's that they would rather not be alone right now.

⁑ the corner of his mouth quirks into a smile when he's humored. ❝ glad you're okay too. ❞ and he's genuine about that. santi doesn't mention the body that police found tonight, but he's sure they know about it. ❝ fuck, i don't even know. i was walking to catch up with sel and then— i dunno, boom. smacked in the head. ❞ he gestures to the bruising part of his face. he hesitates for a moment, then offers, ❝ you should stay over tonight. i can take the couch. crazy night. ❞

santiago's attempt at levity makes her scoff, and it's only because she got most of her bitching out already that it manages to add a hint of amusement in there. "you're so annoying." and right. when has santiago ever listened to kennedy? how many friends has she warned him against? how many parties did she try to dissuade him from going? how many family dinners did she suggest he attend? kennedy knows that santiago has always been the type to march at the beat of his own drum. maybe she wouldn't get so worked up about it... if it didn't sometimes feel so personal. "i'm glad you didn't get into any trouble." she huffs, "- and that you're okay." she makes her way over to the other side of the couch and settles themselves down there. "i wonder what the fight was about... do you think it was just some drunk dudes pounding their chest at each other?" men are so unserious.

⁑ ❝ okay, but— when have i ever listened ? ❞ santi asks, trying to shift the mood to something lighter. he wants to roll his eyes, but she does have medicine in hand & his head is starting to pound. the wound on the side of his cheek stings, but nothing too bad. santiago huffs and adjusts the frozen bag of peas on his head, holding out his free hand. ❝ i'm alright. at least i didn't get in the fight, right ? ❞

location : santiago's apartment

time : sometime after 3:00am.

for : santiago @atonehart

“it’s borderline fascinating…” they had been going on a while now, from the moment they walked through the door. “...how you can’t seem to listen to save your life! i said go home and what do you do? you go to the fucking bar! seriously santi, it’s like you— no, leave the peas on for a couple minutes more. it’ll help with the swelling.” kennedy shouldn’t even be here. they should be out there. gathering intel,  securing interviews, writing that damn story for the register. tending to the wounds of the prodigal ‘brother’ should be at the bottom of their priorities right now. yet there they were, walking over with a glass of water, a dose of painkillers, and an awfully sour expression. there's a pause the transaction ensues and after a beat, they finally ask, "are you okay?"