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aclosetfan · 3 years

Note

hi so like

“i saw this and thought of you immediately”

if you want to for any ship HDHDHDHDHD

@over-under-through1 Okay, so, I gave ya greens last time, and you said ANY ship, so I decided to give my rare pair some love. And it’s just sweet pure brain rot. Anyway, as always, thanks for the prompt!!!

Prompt: “I saw this and thought of you immediately” from the prompt list of ways to say “I love you” without actually saying it 😊 that whole list makes me go soft. Pairing: brick/bubbles

Word count: 4696// this was supposed to be a drabble :)))))

Summary: I’ve got nothing witty to say. Bubbles just gives our boy a gift and he almost hemorrhages.

(Bubbles’ love language would totally be gift-giving based on how crafty she is, my love language is definitely NOT gift giving so I hope this isn’t horrible)

Brick licked chip crumbs from his fingers as he flipped through the tv. On the floor, next to the recliner he had deemed his for the afternoon, his journalism partner—one seemingly disgruntled Blossom Utonium—was busy organizing their project into five hundred million different tasks. She was dividing them evenly, and despite her warnings and threats, he had already resigned to do his two hundred and fifty million assigned mini-steps last minute like usual. It was the same song and dance they did for every project they were paired up for, which was incredibly often and, frankly, not by choice, though now, he supposed he'd be a bit insulted if she went and picked a new partner after everything they had been through together.

Investigative Journalism 302 was supposed to be another blowoff class he had decided to take solely for the credits. Still, when it became clear to the professor that Brick wasn't going to be taking their class seriously, they had gone out of their way to ruin his life and pair him with Blossom Utonium. Despite the good A-quality content they churned out, it had not been an easy go around the first few times they had been paired together. They were too similar and too different in all the worst ways. She was too type-A to his type-B, and they were both too stubborn to admit when they were wrong. But, him and Blossom both had a penchant for sticking their noses in places they shouldn't, so somewhere along the line—probably around the time they had broken into More Co. to follow a lead and diffused a hostage situation at the Mayor's Manor—they figured it was easier to be friends, not enemies.

They were chalking up to be Townsville's resident Sherlock and Watson, except they both fancied themselves Sherlock and the other Watson, but, eh, what relationship was perfect?

This time around, they were investigating some strange chemical. The only lead they had come from Blossom's own father. He had apparently said something "cryptic" over Sunday brunch that had launched Blossom into overdrive. Eavesdropping on one of her old man's telephone conversations, she had listened to him mutter about the letter X, failed mutations, a strict deadline, and an explosion that may or may not have been the same explosion at the 'abandon' smelting factory two weeks ago.

She took the information personally since it involved her father, but Brick had met the man before and didn't think there was an evil bone in his body. The lab he worked for, though, was an entirely different story. H.I. Mechanics was one hundred different kinds of shady.

Three days from now, Blossom had decided that he would need to have the, again, two hundred and fifty million preliminary tasks done before their big stakeout. She’d be lucky if he decided to do three of them, but he entertained her ramblings anyway because the longer he stuck around her place, the longer he got to bum her cable.

That had become their routine. Meet at Blossom's place, let her rant like an anal madwoman, ignore her in favor of the reality trash tv that he loved but could not afford at his own apartment, and then have whatever painstakingly thought-out plan Blossom had concocted backfire on them in the near distant future. The process was like clockwork.

"—and if we go in at that time, really, why would they refuse us entry? The records we're looking for should technically be public record, though they're no doubt redacted. We're going to have to—you're not listening to me, are you?"

"Yeah," he hummed, more focused on the reality tv season wrap-up reunion he was watching, then whatever she was talking about, "that sounds good."

"So, you're not." She snipped, and the tone of her voice caught his attention.

"Huh?" He glanced at her for a moment before looking back at the tv, "Not what?

"Listening to me." She gave him a cross look, stepping in front of the tv, "You're not listening to me.

"Whaaa?" He tried sounding offended as he attempted to shoo her out of the way, "Noooo, what gave you that impression?"

"Listen," she snapped her fingers in front of his face a few times, and he felt his face scrunch up in distaste—he wasn't a dog, "both of my sisters are going to be home soon, and I don't want them to get mixed up in all of this, so we need to drill out the details of this plan before they get home!"

Blossom lived with her sisters—Buttercup, and Bubbles—in a two-bedroom apartment close to the University in downtown Townsville. All three went to TownU, which wasn't too surprising to Brick. It was an incredibly good school, and he'd admit all three of them were smart, but still, three for three had to be a little weird, right? And to think, people accused him and his brothers of being joined at the hips.

He gave her a dry look as she walked back to her spot on the carpet. "We both know that's not how this works."

Blossom slammed the book she had opened shut, "You're impossible."

"I think you meant to say consistent." He spared her one last glance before settling back into the recliner, "Really, Bloss, how in the world do you think you'd be able to keep this one from them? At this point, my brothers just assume I'm at the center of the mayhem."

She tsked, but the lack of argument was deafening. After a moment, she sighed, and her shoulders dropped, "I just don't want them to get hurt. Not like last time."

"Don't know what you're so worried about." He drawled, "I recall them saving us, not the other way around."

"And I recall the scar that's now running up and down Butters' back." She shot back, "This time, there will be no mess-ups."

"Yeah, wanna bet on—"

"Home!" Buttercup's voice rang throughout the apartment as the front door was slammed open and shut, "How we feeling about take-out—Oh, sup, Brick. You good with Chinese tonight?"

"We're working on school stuff!" Blossom exclaimed, scrambling to cover up the more elicit details of their ‘homework.'

Buttercup rolled her eyes, placing a hand on her hip, "I can tell. What's it this time, huh? Something normal or is there a bomb threatening to reactivate the volcano in Townsville Central Park that I should be made aware of?"

"It's norm—"

"—mutants." He interrupted Blossom, "The man funding your dad's company is sups sketch."

Buttercup shifted on her feet and crossed her arms, "Does this have to do with that Chemical-X stuff dad was talking about?"

"Don't you have a shower you should be taking?" Blossom huffed, glaring at the both of them, "You just finished a run, I can tell; you smell like a pig."

"That's what tipped you off?" Buttercup snorted, "Not the copious amount of sweat dripping down my face? Hey," she nodded her head at them, "ask me how my run went."

Together, he and Blossom rolled their eyes and sighed, "How'd your run—"

"Really well, wow, thanks for asking!" Buttercup smiled, "I beat my average, sooo think hard about what where you want to order from for dinner tonight. We're celebrating! I already texted Bubs," Buttercup stuck her tongue out at them, "she was much more enthusiastic."

"Then celebrate with her," Blossom frowned from her spot on the floor, fingering the edges of her notebook, "we've got a lot to finish tonight. I don't think we'll have—"

"Yeah, yeah. Listen here, hero-girl," Buttercup scowled, hands back on her hips, "you still gotta eat. Ima take a shower, you have till then to put the spy shit away. Speaking of spy shit," her glare shifted to him, "your brother done fixing my car yet?"

"Ask him, babe." He sniffed, looking pointedly at the tv, "I ain't the middleman."

He suppressed the urge to bulk as Buttercup lifted him up off the recliner by the collar of his shirt. A dark smile snuck its way across her face as she leaned close into him, "Considering the fact that you owe me for getting it destroyed in the first place, baby, then I think you are."

"A lesson in forgiveness would do you well, but fine, I'll ask." He sneered back, unwillingly to show the dread that ran up his spine when he saw the look in her eyes, "You do realize, though, it'd be faster if you just called—"

"Nope!" She sang, dropping him back down in the seat, like nothing had just transpired between them, "If he wants my number, he has to ask for it!" She walked down the hall towards the bathroom, "I don't make the rules."

He scowled, watching her walk away before turning his head back to Blossom, "She's lucky I owe her."

"You're lucky," Buttercup called from down the hallway, "that I saved your sorry ass!"

Blossom snorted, and he shot her a dirty look, "Don't encourage her."

"Oh, be quiet," Blossom snickered, "just watch TV like you always do, and I'll put—"

"I'm home!" A high, singsong voice rang through the house, as the door was once again thrown open, and his heart palpitated without permission. He forced his eyes to focus on the tv, and if Blossom noticed how he sunk low into the recliner, she thankfully didn't say anything.

"In here!" Blossom called back, and from the corner of his eye, he watched as Bubbles stuck her head around the corner. Quickly, he turned his attention back to the tv and tried his best not to seem at all interested as she practically danced her way into the room. She was always practically dancing everywhere she went. It was annoying.

"Blossy, oh my god, you will not believe what—Brick!" She exclaimed, shoving a finger in his face when she noticed he was in the room, "Wai—Brick Jojo! Do not move from that spot!"

He blinked and looked around at the spot he had forged for himself in their living room. His bookbag, snack bags, disregarded textbooks, and his jacket littered the space around him, and his body had imprinted into the recliner's seat cushions, so when he looked back at Bubbles and gave her a dry look, he meant it when he said, "Yeah, wasn't planning on it."

He looked away quickly when she beamed at him. Her smile was bright, sweet, and dimply, and also very annoying. People couldn't always be so immovably happy, could they?

Bubbles giggled and did a little hoppy-dance before she calmed down and looked back at him, "Ahhh, okay!" She wagged a finger at him, "You stay! I've got a surpriiiisseee for you."

"Again," He huffed, ignoring all the less-than-innocent surprise scenarios his traitorous brain played through, "wasn't going anywhere."

"If you're not going anywhere, why don't you actually do some work while you wait." Blossom's voice bit through the air, but he ignored her, going back to flipping through the tv.

"Yeeepp," He popped, his tone no drier than hers, "wasn't planning on that either."

Blossom mumbled to herself and looked at Bubbles, "Before you go, can you help me with these books? I'm putting them in my bedroom."

Bubbles held out her arms, moving around the recliner and out of his field of vision, "No prob-lamo, chica! What's this all for?"

"Don't worry about it." Blossom brushed Bubbles off, and her sister giggled again.

"What?" The blonde snorted, "Is there a bomb in the volcano?"

He could practically hear the way Blossom stiffened, "Why does everyone keep saying—do people think there's a bomb in the—"

"Blossom!" He groaned, "I'm fucking hungry, hurry up."

She hmphed and stomped out of the living room with Bubbles presumably following, so he relaxed in his seat, ready to blow out the deep breath he was holding when Bubbles' visage filled his vision.

Her smile crinkled the corners of her baby blue eyes, and the back of his neck instantly warmed at the proximity. He wasn't one for people invading his personal space, but Bubbles literally had no freaking concept of it. She was always shoving her face in his. So, unfortunately, Brick was very aware of the sun freckles that littered their way throughout her cheeks and it was particularly distressing because staring at her face made it easier to forget the No Touching Rule he was pretty adamant about people following.

"Stay." She reminded him; her tone tinged with lingering laughter. This close, she smelt like the physical embodiment of a bakery, and it took a significant amount of willpower to pull his eyes away from her.

"Whatever." He mumbled.

With another giggle—always with the dumb giggling—she was gone, and he was finally alone to collect himself. He pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered a string of particularly nasty curse words at himself. Objectively, he was well aware that Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup were…attractive, but he was never actually supposed to be attracted to any of them. They were the girls. They were just the girls. Ever since he had known them, they had been just the girls.

Blossom had a stick up her ass.

Buttercup could probably disembowel him.

And Bubbles giggled and smiled.

And it didn't matter if she giggled and smiled at him. Because she giggled and smiled at everything. She was one of those people, the kind of person that gave someone their undivided attention in a room full of people. She was good at making people feel good about themselves. She didn’t do it just for him. No see, if he was attracted to Bubbles, which he wasn't, it was because she was very good at making all people feel seen. So, he wasn't special. He wasn't. And it just—she would…he wasn't used to people just automatically assuming the good in him. People so optimistic tended to avoid him.

The positive attention was just making his head spin, making things confusing, and that was it. He wasn't one of those sad, lonely guys who mistook niceness for flirting. He had a clear head on his shoulders. It was just attention he was unused to. And it was a kind of attention he didn't need. Bubbles was just a nuisance. Her personality was too sweet. They were so different. Even if he did actually end up somehow magically liking her, it wouldn't work between them in a million years.

Besides, everyone already knew that pretty social butterflies didn't actually go for anti-social dweebs. Real-life wasn't an overdramatic coming-of-age rom-com. Realistically, she probably went for guys like Boomer.

He let out a shaky breath and turned up the volume on the tv. Some housewife was crying about something laughably petty, but he couldn't find it in himself to smile.

A second later, he nearly jumped out of his skin when a pair of hands clasped together over his eyes. He only relaxed when he heard Bubbles voice nice and warm next to his ear. "Peak-a-boo," she laughed, "guess who!"

He ignored the way her breath tickled his neck and frowned into the darkness, "A heart attack?"

"Oof, so close!" She snorted, releasing her hands from his face and leaning around the recliner, so he could see her smiling at him, "It's Bubbles!"

"Hello, Bubbles." He droned, not resisting the way his eyes rolled but fighting the way his mouth was trying to twitch into a smile.

"Ready for your surpriiisse!" She sang, walking around the chair so she could stand in front of him with her hands clasped behind her back. He pressed his way further into the recliner after their knees knocked together, distancing himself from her.

"As ready as I'll ever be." He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, "What is it?"

"It's a gift!" She rocked back and forth on the heels of her feet, still smiling.

"Okaayyy." He reached a hand out with grabby fingers, "Let's get this over with, give it here."

She tilted her head back and laughed, a real honest belly laugh, before she looked down at him again, and suddenly, he felt tiny under her gaze. "Oh, my goodness, Brick," She chided, "I'm not just gonna hand it to you! Close your eyes and hold out your hands!"

He adjusted the brim of his hat lower down his face and looked away, "I don't—"

"I said—" she repeated, reaching a hand out to pull his hat down completely over his eyes, "Close your eyes!"

"Fine." He hissed, trying to sound as grumpy as he was pretending to be and readjusted his hat as he shut his eyes, "They're closed. Happy?"

"Hold out your hands!"

He sighed but complied, and after a bit of shuffling on Bubbles' part, something small was placed in his hands.

"Okay," she announced, "now open your eyes!"

He opened his eyes and stared at the little…thing in his hands. He didn't know exactly what it was, but he figured it was some kind of fluffy…hat…keychain? He didn't know. He gave it a quizzical look before returning his stare to Bubbles.

"Ta-da!" she sang, accompanied by a pair of jazz hands, before she clapped them together, "Do you like it!"

"What…is it?"

There was a pause, and the smile on Bubbles's face fell away. "What is it!" She huffed, cheeks puffed out like an angry chipmunk, which was the worst angry face she could have because it just made her cuter, "It's a dog keychain!"

"This—" he held the keychain up for both of them to examine, "—is not a dog. It's a ball of fluff."

Bubbles' mouth dropped open, "It totally is! Look," she snatched it out of his hands, smooshing the fluff down so she could show off its' pointed ears, stubby little legs, and tail, "see! Puppy! A little Pomeranian! Baby puppy! Puppy, puppy, puppy!"

With something akin to bloodcurdling embarrassment pulsing through his veins, he watched as Bubbles continued to baby talk the offensive keychain, placing a tiny peck on its' small nose.

"And look!" She gushed, shoving it back into his face, "Look at its wittle red hat!" She squealed, bring it back to her so she could cuddle it to her face, "It's so cute I can't even!" Without warning, she dropped into his lap, which was around the same time his heart dropped into his stomach, "I saw it and thought of you immediately!"

He froze at the admission. He had never once thought of himself as someone who short-circuited very often, but people didn't compare him to a cute Pomeranian keychain very often either. In fact, he had been called a lot of things in his short lifespan—wiseass, smartass, punkass, there was a very consistent theme of derogatory titles thrown at him on the daily—but cute Pomeranian was not one of them. And, frankly, he couldn't say he was a fan.

"Are you comparing me to a Pomeranian?" He sneered, momentarily forgetting the fact that Bubbles Utonium was making herself comfortable on his lap, and he was neglecting to stop her.

"Duh!" She said rather flippantly, pushing the brim of his hat up and off his face, so they could look at each other. Another definite no-no that he was too flabbergasted to address.

"I would not be a Pomeranian!" He argued when he collected his jaw off the ground.

"Uhhh, yes, you would, lol." She argued back, playing with the fluffy little keychain in her hands. She kissed its face again, and in turn, his face only got hotter.

"Uhhhhhh," he mocked, "no, I wouldn't be."

She looked up from the keychain and gave him a somewhat patronizing look, "Yes, you would be."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

She laughed, "Brick, yes! You're just like a Pomeranian! You're super intelligent, curious, feisty, you like being the center of attention," she looked off for a second in thought, waving a hand in the air as she talked, "and you've definitely got some tiny dog syndrome in you."

He blinked at her, gaping, as his brain worked overload to find something to dispute in that analysis, but when he couldn't find any, he spat at her, "Why do you know all this shit about Pomeranians, huh?"

"They're one of my favorite breeds!" Her face lit up, "They're just so cute! I love them! And you remind me of them, so I got this for you!" She held the keychain up again, "It's so cute!"

His mind ground to a sudden halt as the words' cute' and 'love' and 'you' repeatedly echoed in his head. His heart hammered away in his chest, and in his panic, he contemplated throwing her off his lap and burning the whole apartment complex to the ground. What was one more arson charge on his record, anyway?

"Bubs—stop saying…so what?" He asked, floundering before changing tactics. She wasn't the only one who could say embarrassing shit. "Does that mean you think I'm cute or something?" He flirted with a smirk, but it was only after the sentence left his mouth that he remembered Bubbles Utonium didn't get embarrassed. She smiled and giggled.

And that continued to ring turn even now, as she laughed, wrapping her arms around hia neck, she squeezed him. Only letting go of him slightly, to the bring the keychain up to his face, so she could bop the little dog’s nose and his nose together. "Of course!" She agreed, "Cute as a button!"

"N-no!" He sputtered.

"No," she pulled away from the crook of his neck, tilting her head in question, "what?"

"No," he sneered, "I'm not cute like a button."

She considered this for a second, tapping the keychain to her face, before shooting him a broad smile, "Handsome? Is that better?" Mirth tinkled in her big doe eyes, "You're our handsome boy?"

"That's worse!" He complained almost hysterically, running a frantic hand through his hair, knocking the hat he had somehow forgotten he had on from his head.

"Aw, Brick, come on," She rolled her eyes, catching the hat before it fell to the ground and plopping it on her head, "what do you want me to say then?"

"The truth never hurt," He spat as if he hadn't lied through his teeth at least three different times this week to three professors that he couldn't attend class because his beloved family pet 'Insert Name Here' had died.

Bubbles pouted, "But I told you the truth! I think you're handsome!" She held up the keychain, and with a horribly fake and cheesy deep voice, she used the gift as a puppet, "You're the most handsomest boy in the whole world!"

She solidified her point by making the keychain kiss his nose once more before pulling back to gape at him, "Wow, see even Mr. Puppy agrees with me!"

"Oh, right," he shook his head, in mock agreement, "a handsome boy with little dog syndrome, right?"

"Well," she shrugged, waving him off, "I never said you were charming."

His retort was caught off with a giggle, and she made the keychain kiss his nose once, then twice, and then his breath hitched as a third wet kiss was planted on his cheek by Bubbles herself. She pulled back with a coy smile.

"Brick…" she hummed, trailing off, and something about her tone made him swallow thickly.

"Y-yeah." He finally pushed out after a moment.

"Can I play with your hair?" She asked, leaning forward, laying her head on his shoulder as she twirled a lock of his hair around her finger, and he swore his soul left his body. No one, absolutely no one, touched his hair. No one wore his hat. No one sat on his lap. And here she was. And here he was. And he wasn't stopping her like he should have been.

"Uhh, umm, I—uhh—"

"Bubs, jeez!"

He jumped, choking on his own spit, as Buttercup marched into the room, her hair still dripping wet.

"Seriously, personal space, you're making him uncomfortable." Buttercup huffed, one hand on her hip as he gestured to his face, which was probably redder than his hat.

"Uncomfy!" Bubbles shot up, and a guilty look flashed across her face as she took in his face, "Ah, shoot, sorry, is this too much?" She took her arms away from his neck and wrung her hands together, for the first time blushing, "I just get too excited sometimes! I have a lotta love in my heart, ya know?" She finished with a bashful chuckle.

The small distance between them actually made it a little easier to think again, but she didn't need to know that. Embarrassed by the noticeable flush of his face and his reaction to Buttercup catching them, Brick shrugged and looked away, "You're fine."

That was apparently not good enough for Bubbles because she pleaded again, "I'm sorry!"

"I said," he hissed, wishing she'd drop it, "you're fine!"

"I'm still so sorry!" Looking back over, he was surprised to see her lower lip wobbling, "I shouldn't have forgotten!" She put her hands on her face, squishing her cheeks, as tears began to well in her eyes, and he sent a frantic look over towards Buttercup, "I know you're not a hugger, I should have asked and—"

"—Bubs, he said he was fine." Buttercup interjected again, "Now, you're just making him uncomfortable all over!"

Bubbles looked from Buttercup to him, back to Buttercup, and then finally to him once more. "You're fine?" She clarified, “This is okay?”

And all he could do was nod, "Yep."

Visibly relaxing, her eyes became less and less watery, and she shot him a relieved look.

"Sheesh." Buttercup mumbled and walked away, "zero to one hundred. Bloss!" She called out, "Come save your poor counterpart from the clutches of cuddly evil over here and let's order the food!"

"What!" Blossom called from her room down the hall.

With an exasperated huff on Buttercup’s part and something more frantic on his part, they both yelled out, "Food!" and there was a scoff from the bedrooms.

"No need to yell!" She shot back, "I'm coming!"

Buttercup shook her head before jabbing her thumb in the direction of their tiny kitchen and announced, "I'm getting the take-out menus."

Bubbles nodded and then, beamed when she noticed Blossom had walked into the room.

"Blossom! Look at this cute keychain I got for Brick!" She cooed, her eyes bright and excited again, which would have brought him some relief if she hadn't opened her big mouth and kept talking, "Doesn't it remind you of him? It's a Pomeranian!"

Face aflame once more, he snapped, "I'm not a Pomeranian!"

"Ho—ly shit!" Obnoxious laughter floated its way out of the kitchen that only made him grind his teeth, "He totally is!"

"It's the little dog syndrome." Blossom agreed, flipping her hair over her shoulder and ignoring the crude gesture he shot her way as she walked past him towards the kitchen, "BC, let's order from Lee's!"

"No way!" Buttercup argued, "Pa Changs!"

He turned back to Bubbles, who, despite it all, had yet to remove herself from his lap. He was about to make some remark about him pushing her off of his lap in the next three seconds, but the way her eyes flinted over his face made him pause. When she realized she had been caught staring, she smiled once more, bright and beaming, and his heart did another funny little dance.

"You like it, right?" She tilted her head, holding the keychain up so it dangled between them, "I…I can take it back if you want."

Her smile fell the slightest of fractions along with his heart.

"No!" His hand shot out, taking hold of the keychain, "It's—I like it, whatever." He sniffed and turned his head away, "So quit the kicked puppy shit, alright?"

Another smile. Another giggle. It felt like a sick joke, but Brick was pretty sure he was falling in love.

-----------------------------------------------

A/N: That’s right! It seems the only way I can write romance is with a shit ton of pining!!!! To love is to long, I guess. It’s a little awkward in some places, but it was for fun, so I decided to cut myself some slack and post it anyway! I hope you like it!!! The pairing doesn’t get a lot of love, but I think opposites attract dynamic is so so so cute.

Also, sorry this took me forever! First, I got distracted looking at cute dog pics and then halfway through writing the drabble I was like “hey what if I stuck Blossom in this and she and Brick solved mysteries??” So, then I lived with that AU floating around in my head rent-free, and now, finally, here we are. ANYWAY, in this AU, Blossom is in a very sapphic relationship with Princess, who, along with HIM, is the main antagonist. The Professor is the damsel in distress btws. Brick and Bubbles are disgusting cute. Boomer’s gay, who for tho?? Who knows! Not me! But he’s a freelancer, who’s hardcore freeloading off of Brick and Butch, and that’s all you really need to know. Buttercup has big Mom Friend vibes. Also, Butch is a mechanic and playfully flirts with Buttercup, which she thinks is funny until he actually starts really flirting with her, and then she’s like “um, sir, I am a maiden???” b/c she is actually both shy and a prude. (And you know I like my greens) Anyway, el oh el, it’s a good time.

inspo for the keychain (and brick):

#ppg fic drabble #i love you prompts #brickxbubs #my writing

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emilyutonium · 4 years

Text

Butchercup dreamz

Just a preview of my short story, it can be found on Wattpad, Fanfiction.net or archiveofourown.com ;))

Buttercup took a deep breath in as she shifted on the cool mattress once more, pulling the thin forest green blankets over her shoulders as she desperately tried to relax. But after more than 2 and a half hours of laying in Butch's bed wide awake and realizing that his cheap alarm clock in the corner of the room read, 3:24 am, she finally gave up.

She rolled over onto her back and stared up at Butch's cracked and slightly moldy ceiling. She hated this. Fighting with her sisters, she meant and having to leave the house. At this time both Blossom, Bubbles and the Professor, who must not even know she's gone, were probably fast asleep, knowing she'll show up in the morning like she always did.

As she slowly turned her head to her right, where Butch's matted hair lay, the sounds of his deep rough snores were the only thing Buttercup could focus on and she smiled to herself. At least she had a someone to come to when she was angry; Butch. He hadn't said a word when she had shown up at nearly 12 or 11, yelling and ranting about how frustrating her sisters were for once again excluding her in important sister bonding time.

He had simply led her outside for a very late night patrol, helped her sock a couple of amateur burglars and got all her pent up angry energy out. She usually needed someone to relax her safely and Butch was so good at doing just that it was almost creepy. To be fair, he was technically made from her, her counterpart. It made sense that he would understand her in a way no one else could.

The wide-body on the right of Buttercup's smaller one suddenly stirred, his head turning to face hers. She took the opportunity to study the distinctive features that lined his face. Like his messy out of order eyebrows that were planted firmly in place above his shut eyes. Or the faint bruises that adorned his jaw, the chemical X working fast to heal them. Or his shiny lips that sat perfectly still and slightly set apart to reveal his pearly white fangs.

Buttercup huffed, admiring the sharpness of his teeth and comparing them to her dull ones. She didn't want to admit she was jealous, but she liked the idea of having sharp monster like teeth. It scared off more bad guys.

As she watched the green ruff's sleeping figure for a few more moments, she found herself scooting just a bit closer to the boy, so that their bare shoulders touched and her face lay inches away from his. The sudden urge to take his hand in hers forced itself into her mind and before she could come up for an excuse as to why her brain had come up with such a weirdly sensitive attraction, one large arm swung and wrapped itself around Buttercup's back, pulling her chest to his.

Was he awake? She thought as her emerald eyes darted up towards his still face. Just at that moment, his body let out a loud snore and she couldn't stop the grin that formed on her face. No, he wasn't.

She had never had anything wrong with hugging Butch when they were both awake so, to Buttercup, this was no different, obviously. Her arm snaked itself gently under Butch's to rest over his middle, her skin gently relaxing over the hard muscles of his side. There was nothing wrong with a little cuddling between best friends and the intense warmth that spread over her face and body were making a testimony to that.

Their legs tangled together, the green puff took a deep breath. Butch's chin rested on top of Buttercup's unruly hair and she finally closed her eyes to let sleep take her.

And it almost did.

Until she felt 4 thick fingers, 1 thumb, and a large palm slowly move from the dip of her back to the curve of her ass. Her eyes shot open as the familiar warmth enclosed her entire body, forcing her to freeze. She held her breath for a few moments, immediately checking if her best friend's forest green irises were looking down at her with his signature smirk.

But they weren't. He was still peacefully deep in slumber.

Ok Calm down Buttercup, he obviously doesn't even know he's touching you right now. Just let it go and go to sleep. You need rest to deal with Blossom and Bubbles in the morning. She thought firmly to herself and shut her eyes again, forcing herself to forget about the warm hand that lay on her bottom or the firm yet soft nature of his bare chest or the pressure of his thigh in between her-

Alright, that's enough. The green-eyed superheroine furrowed her brows, willing herself to relax but it seemed that she couldn't anymore. The feeling of Butch's hand touching her was too much of a distraction and she thought that maybe it would be best that she left like went and slept on their couch or something. But a large portion of Buttercup's brain, the part that she hated to acknowledge knew that she didn't want to leave Butch's touch, even if he had no idea what he was doing.

So she didn't move away and that same part of her brain celebrated her decision as the hand started MOVING.

His arm around her tightened as the other gingerly squeezed and rubbed at the thin material that made up Buttercup's biker shorts. There was no way she would be going to sleep anytime soon as she gasped softly, her forehead practically pressed against his large tan pec. Her body went into overdrive, not knowing how to react not only because of the perpetrator, former childhood enemy turned best friend who Buttercup had no choice but to admit was a decent looking guy, but because of the fact that she hadn't been touched by a guy in over a year and a half.

#theyarenervousandsmol #ppg #ppgfanfic #butchercup #shortstory #powerpuffgirls #buttercupxbutch

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laylacooke · 4 years

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Chemicals React || Ari & Layla

timing: the night after the wolf pack meeting. parties: @letsbenditlikebennett & @laylacooke summary: Ari & a medicated Layla have a heart-to-heart. ♥

Everything about today had left Ariana feeling frustrated. Not even a run left her feeling better though now she at least felt exhausted enough to melt into the bed. She was done trying to reason with Lucas for the night and it felt like Layla was taking forever to get home. Staring at the ceiling was the only thing she had energy to do. Not even heating up some of the venison stew she’d made sounded appealing. Just sitting here, in mostly silence, while Celeste was working an evening shift and Ulfric was keeping watch outside the trailer. She considered joining him and hanging out for a bit, but she knew she was in a bad mood and didn’t want to take it out on someone who had shown her nothing but support. So she laid lazily in bed, humming along quietly as the Petals for Armor album played over the speakers. She’d smelled Layla before she heard the door to the room click open, but hadn’t moved until she saw her, slowly sitting up on the bed. “Hey,” she said, somewhat awkwardly. After chatting with Simon, she wasn’t really mad anymore, but she still felt kind of sad about the whole thing. She wanted to be someone Layla and the rest of the pack could turn to. Not just someone who was potentially attracting even more hunters to town and overcrowding Ulfric’s trailer.

The drugs in Layla’s system had been the one thing that got her through everything at the hospital, well that and Rio being there. But she had missed Ariana being nearby, because Ari had been the one that made it feel like she could bear the weight of the world. Coming into the room feeling like everything was okay for once, she flipped on the light not even processing that Ariana could’ve been asleep. The ‘hey’ had startled her, “Whoa! You’re totes awake. So not expecting that cause you never texted back, but my phone died, too, which sucks, because I had to walk like miles to get back here. But don’t worry! Everybody’s safe. Not even Rio knows how to get here. I just followed the yellow brick road. Hey.” She was a mess, her eyes were bloodshot from all the crying she had been doing, and her brain was on overdrive while her body just wanted to sleep. “Are you still mad at me? You said you weren’t, but I feel like you are.” She walked over to the bed and fell down onto it face first next to Ari making sure to clear her cast so she could avoid feeling even more pain.

It was hard for Ariana not to laugh at Layla’s rambling greeting. The pain medication was definitely still in effect and she watched as she plopped face first into the bed beside her. It was kind of cute how long winded she was under the influence. If she had much of a filter to begin with, it was entirely gone now. With a light exhale, she said, “I broke my phone earlier. Long story. Okay, not really, I threw it after Lucas sent something to me and well, it shattered. Been getting everything downloaded back on the new one since we got home.” She looked down at her hand now in a cast, “How’s your hand?” As upset as she’d been earlier, it was nice to have Layla home and know she was okay. It hadn’t been long, but she’d gotten kind of used to having her around and they had fun together. At the mention of being mad, Ariana sighed, leaning back down beside her and propping herself up with her elbows. She looked to Layla and explained, “I’m not still mad at you. Really, I’m not. I was… well, I was more hurt than mad but I think I kind of get it now. You’ve been on your own for a while, but I don’t know. We just share a lot and I want to be the person you can come to when you need help, not the internet. That, and I kind of just… worry, you know? Because obviously I’d have to eat someone if they hurt you.”

Layla rolled over onto her back, so she could have a proper conversation with Ariana. “Are you okay? Do I need to go eat him? Because I will eat him, but not tonight, because I’m soooo tired. Plus, my hand is kind of starting to feel all achy again. But the doctor gave me more pills, so I can feel better. Yayyyyyyyy!” Even though she was loopy, Layla could still process what she had done to Ariana. She could still feel the sadness and depression lingering just inside of herself. The pain medicine was a temporary fix, and one that she knew would run out sooner rather than later. Looking over at her friend, Layla stuck her hand in the girl’s face, “Wanna sign it?” But she soon pulled it back and laid it across her stomach as she listened to Ari explain how she felt. It broke Layla’s heart knowing she had done that to her friend, and while she had already piled it on top of everything else, she had least wanted to speak from her own heart, that wasn’t completely numb at the moment, “I’m sorry, Ari. That rhymed.” She paused trying to regain her headspace, “I’m sorry, Ariana. Just after everything that happened, finding out about Salva, and then the meeting wasn’t what I expected...I never meant to hurt you. And I know you’re trying to help. You guys have already done so much, and I was scared that if Ulf found out about my hand that he might kick me out. And I know going online was stupid. I get it, but I’m still a kid, and getting kicked out when you’ve never lived on your own, it’s scary. Like really fucking scary. And I don’t always make the best decisions. I just have so much going on inside, and I don’t know how to deal with it all…”

It was kind of amusing to see Layla acting so goofy. Ariana laughed a bit and assured, “No. No eating Luke. He’s being weird about getting help with the whole security thing to catch this hunter. We argued a little. It’s fine now.” She raised a brow at Layla, “Just don’t take too many now. Glad the hand isn’t hurting as badly now though.” She laughed at the cast waving in her face. There was something very carefree about the action that put her at ease. “Yeah, I’ll sign it in the morning, feeling a little too lazy to go grab a Sharpie.” She turned over onto her side and rested her head on her palm, trying to watch carefully as Layla processed things and spoke. More than anything, she wanted to understand. Maybe it would make it easier to help her and make her believe she really did want to be here for her. She cracked a small smile at the rhyme, “I’m sorry, too. I know you’ve been through a lot and I just want to help and make sure you’re safe.” She quietly listened as Layla explained what was going through her head. It didn’t all make sense to her, but she was trying to peace it together. Why did she think Ulfric would kick her out? She was definitely jumping through a lot of emotions right now. Ariana did her best to keep her own features soft as she nodded along. “I can’t say I get what you’re going through, but I’m here anyway. What happened with Salva anyway? He’s the one who turned you? He seems like a huge dick, honestly. And Ulf isn’t going to kick you out because you hurt your hand. Seriously, I know he’s like a huge dude, but he’s pretty cool about things. I literally broke into a mime restaurant while there were murder mimes and I’m still here. I know it’s a lot, but try to remember you’re not alone. You’ve been having to fend for yourself for a while through all this and you don’t have to anymore. You have us and we want to be here for you, if you’ll let us.”

Layla tried to focus on Ariana’s words, but the medicine was making it hard, and before she realized it, she was on her side staring intensely at the girl laying in front of her. When Ari had finished speaking, the red-head slowly started to formulate thoughts in her head knowing they were having a serious conversation, even though she wanted to do anything but that at the moment, “You have, like, such pretty fur…” Shutting her eyes tightly, she spoke to herself, “Focus, Layla. Focus…” Replaying the convo in her head, she opened her eyes again, “I want that, too. It’s just so hard to let my guard down, when I’ve lived like this for almost a year, and some really scary shit happened while I was on my own.” She sighed, Salva coming to mind, “Ugh, that grimey bastard. He’s basically my wolf daddy. But it’s okay cause I broke his fucking nose, and I would gladly do it again in a heartbeat, because he’s the one that made me what I am. And like no offense to you or any of your wolf friends, because I know like being a wolf is everything, but I was born a human, and I miss being a human, and I miss my friends...I miss Frankie...I miss the way she would hold me and tell me she loved me and the way she would...the way s-she would…” Looking into Ari’s eyes, she could see the kindness and the softness in the way she looked at Layla. Without thinking, the young wolf raised up onto her arm, leaned forward, and planted a soft kiss on Ari’s lips, before pulling back. Realizing what she had done, she quickly rolled back onto her back and stared at the ceiling in silence.

It was hard not to giggle a bit at the mention of pretty fur. Ariana shook her head and realized she was staring at her a bit intensely. She slyly answered, “You know, when we’re not wolves, you can just call it hair.” Maybe this wasn’t the best time to be having this talk. It seemed like Layla could hardly focus on her words so she just sighed lightly, watching her. More than anything, she was just happy her friend was okay. She listened, trying to further understand, sleepily nodding along, “I get that it’s hard for you to let your guard down, but I promise if you need help, I’ll always be here for you. Even if I’m mad or it’s not easy, we’re family now, okay?” She gave her long red hair a gentle pet and tucked her arms back under her own head. When she mentioned what happened with Salva, she felt herself tense up. She knew she didn’t like that dude. She continued to listen and as she was ready to say something along the lines Salva is an asshole and she understood missing her old life, she was surprised to feel Layla’s lips pressing against hers. For a moment she froze, unsure of how missing Frankie translated into… well, that. Her cheeks were bright pink and her face felt flushed as she stared up at the ceiling. She hadn’t hated the fact that Layla kissed her, it just left her feeling confused. It was probably just a being high on pain meds thing. They were friends and she missed her girlfriend. Or maybe- She cut the thought of anything more than that off. Sure, Layla was gorgeous and they had a lot in common, but her friend had a lot to figure out still. They both laid there staring up at the ceiling before she finally said, “Yeah, I get that. Salva’s an ass. It’s getting late, though. We can talk more tomorrow.” Her eyes were still looking straight up at the ceiling, still nervous to look back over at Layla.

Stupid, Layla. Stupid. Stupid. It was sobering, yet she found herself wanting to kiss Ariana again. Maybe it was the lack of human touch or maybe it was the medicine. Whatever it was, she secretly enjoyed it, but had Ari? It was wrong. She knew it was wrong, but considering she had said her goodbyes to Frankie, she wasn’t sure what her future held. However, she couldn’t bring herself to look back over at the other girl, “Uh, yeah. I think that’d probably be for the best. You know, when I’m not high on pain medicine.” A small smile slipped across her lips. She would forever be curious about what her friend had felt, but there was always the chance Layla would feel different come morning, if she could even remember. Okay, yeah. She’d remember that. And she’d be willing to accept the consequences of her actions tomorrow, but tonight, she was just going to enjoy it and enjoy not really having to think or feel the heartbreak she had been living in.

#p: chemicals react #letsbenditlikebennett #wickedswriting #medical drug tw

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almondharry · 5 years

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you look so good: four

you look so good — [10.1k]

She should’ve stayed at the library.

She should’ve gone home.

She should’ve gone to a coffee shop.

“Well, don’t just stand there.” His eyes did not part from the novel cracked open in front of him. His nose wiggled when he found a particular line amusing. An awkward beat passed and Genevieve was at a loss of words. “Have you become a statue? Do I need to unfreeze you?”

She should’ve gone anywhere, but here.

Part Four: The Markov Theorem

The Markov Theorem

November 3, 2016

“You’re staring.” Genevieve noticed without looking up. A pen pressed tightly to paper, runny swirls of leaky blue ink stained the page.

Her neck was stiff, like age old wood, bent like an archer’s bow. The only time she blinked was to copy a specific formula needed from her textbook—situated strategically to her right. Her iced coffee had condensation lined around the plastic to-go cup, the beads came together to pool in a ring on the library table. She was running late and skipped on grabbing a napkin. It was full to the brim, not a sip had been taken. Time slipped through her fingers like playground sand. The answers were due at the beginning of her next lab, t minus twenty minutes. The clicking of calculator keys was the loudest sound in the room, apart from the coughing radiator.

He looked on in slight terror, but mostly amusement, at the rate her pen skimmed over her notepad. He found it a bit odd that she preferred to use grid lined paper than regular. He remembers her starting at the top left corner of the page, he had turned around for a minute to plug the thick cord of his laptop charger into an outlet, and when he turned back she was already past the middle.

Futile attempts were made to decode the numbers and letters scribbled in her path. The page resembled a bowl of alphabet soup, letters and numbers swimming together. He gave up all too soon when he felt the beginnings of a headache. The only thing he took away is that she looped her two’s.

Her penmanship captured an urgency. The once pin straight numbers became more and more italicized, as if they sprinted to chase a bus that slowly drove away. His line of sight started from the tip of her pen to the escaped wiry strands of hair from her ponytail, and lastly, to the hold her teeth had on her bottom lip. A skittish frenzy bounced in her eyes behind the square frames. An impression of a mad scientist, he thought. They rest on the apple of her cheeks and slide down the bridge of her nose at a sloth’s pace.

“Crazy,” he said after observing her for another second. He shook his head, a ghost of a smile quirked at the end of his lips. “Absolutely insane.”

“A bit looney,” she hummed. Her lips pursed and they both knew it was a poor effort to hide a grin.

“Little obsessive.”

“Quite dull.”

“Completely mad.”

“Oh, most definitely mad,” Genevieve settled. Her pen paused its dance and her hand reached to push her frames up to finally look across. He was already staring at her, his grin widened to a size that can span out acres worth of empty land.

It was something they did, a harmless game of bickering adjectives that goes back and forth between them like an intense ping pong match. It was a childish way of name calling and poking fun. Their legs were a comfortably tangled mess, hidden by the smooth wooden desk, but his knee would knock against her shin every once in a while.

Genevieve sighed, “Now, are we done discussing your outstanding qualities or—”

“—Remarkably clumsy,” He added on abruptly. Genevieve knew he preferred to get the last word in.

She paused. “—Oh, you’ve still got a few then.”

“No,” he laughed through his nose, the corner of his lips twitched like he knew something she didn’t. His eyes squinted and gleamed like a reflection does in a fresh puddle after rain.

“Then?”

“There’s…” Genevieve heard blinds being tampered with across the room, soon something is sliding against a metal rod. A flash of yellow is thrown at them like a bucket of splattered paint. His pupils slowly dilated to accommodate the sudden change of lighting, and Genevive decided then that she would want to see that happen once more. Tiny dust particles floated up and waltzed together as their skin warms. His index finger gestures towards his face. “You’ve… nevermind.”

He dismissed with a quick wave when her brows curled inwards in soft curves.

Genevieve gave him a look, wary and doubting.

Their table was pressed up against a wall. It had a bookshelf that once was seeded at ground level, but now has branched out and up the ceiling, only stopping once the plaster slopes into a curved, dome-like ceiling.

He busied himself by trailing the tips of his digits over worn out spines. Genevieve watched his lips part to gently mouth words. He silently recited a title of interest to himself under his breath. His pointer finger curled into a pirate’s hook and attaches itself to pull a hardcover from its slumber.

He kept a list of unread books he planned to read, she pondered if this one would make it.

There was a way—a careful cradle, a light touch— that came so easily to him when he held a book between his fingers. It was as natural as sunlight and brought a distinct warmth to her bones. He regarded every page with a keen consideration, a dip sat between his brows from his concentrated frown. But it was after some flipping that the pad of his finger hovered over a particular sentence. Genevieve wondered if the same arrangement of words were to be on her skin, would he touch her with the same tenderness.

That’s when something shifted for Genevieve, a twig snaps. The air, once crisp, goes stale and dormant. The tip of her tongue stung and she tasted copper behind her clenched teeth.

She doesn’t know how to define this variable. It’s part mixture of guilt and shame that pricks her spine. Her brain feels like a ball of yarn, tangled. She tried to unravel the string in hopes to understand where this is coming from. How could she reach such an irrational conclusion? She looked across the table one last time, to remind herself that the statistical probability remains zero.

She pressed her lips together and stood up from her seat, it’s wooden legs screech against the floor. “I’ve got to go.”

She tucked her notebook, pen, and calculator in her bag. She almost lost the grip on the calculator slider. Her hands, shifty and restless, trembled from wound up nerves. The strap of her bag sunk into her shoulder. She hadn’t taken more than three steps away from the table before another set of wooden legs sounded.

“Wait,” he called out.

Genevieve glanced to her wrist, the second hand slowly crawling towards the twelfth digit.

“Yeah?” She turned around, eyes still on her wrist watch, an inquisitive pinch between brows.“Gotta be quick or else I’ll be late”

“You’re…” His strides made up for the lost distance. She was hyper aware of the heat his body brings forth. “Come here.”

It was a gravitational pull, she neared him like waves hit the shore. With half a step, she is the closest to him she will ever get. Genevieve inhaled a strong scent of pine needles. It mixed with lingering whiskey and mouthwash. She takes whatever she can with him.

“Hold still,” he instructed tentatively.

Her head angled up, a strain knotted at the back of her neck. But all sense of unease evaporates when he raised his hand and cupped her jaw. A careful cradle, a light touch.

Genevieve doesn’t move—she can’t move. Her arms and legs were dead weight. The neurons attached to her face where his skin meets hers are flamed. Everything was in overdrive, her heightened awareness only furthered this torture. She watched his gaze zeroed in on her parted lips. A focused and determined stare locked on to the bottom half of her profile.

His thumb, previously settled on her cheek, teetered towards the corner of her mouth. The tension was like pulling both ends of an elastic band. The rubber stretched at a snail’s pace. The tension grew, the band thinned.

Tiny ridges in the skin of his thumb were felt as he pressed it down on her bottom lip. He gradually dragged it from one corner to the center, each second felt like an hour. Her lip wobbled with the pressure.

“There,” he said easily.

The elastic snapped.

He removed his hand from her. The pad of his thumb is coloured a deep blue like he had given his fingerprint for a passport. Genevieve’s eyes widened and her fingers immediately touch her mouth, trying to press the feeling there forever. Her lip, caged behind teeth, tasted bitter like a potent chemical—residual ink. “All good.”

Good. Good. Good.

He stepped back and her lungs take in a breath through her nose. It was much easier to breathe when he stood in his respective bubble and didn’t steal her oxygen. Or sanity.

The reality was, if he asked for either, she would present it on a golden platter.

***

November 8, 2019

The fourth floor of the library was something else really. In the corner, a girl sobbed as she clutched the grade of her failed midterm. Another girl stared off into space for more than twenty minutes, going through an existential crisis of some sorts. A boy opened his textbook to do a question then shut it promptly two minutes later, only to open his laptop to change his major. It was a help centre for math related inquiries. Computers lined in two neat rows and a couple circular tables were occupied with graduate students tutoring students with appointments and the occasional walk-ins.

A student slowly dragged their feet on the carpet walking towards the front desk. Their eyes glazed over in a zombie like fashion; the coffee mug in hand and eye bags were this season’s hottest look.

“Hi.” Genevieve smiled. “What can I do for you?”

The first year girl wore a hoodie a size too big for her. “I need to book a study room for my group. Is there any available?”

“One minute.” Genevieve spun, the wheels on the chair pulled towards the administrative computer. Trained fingers typed their login and password, before a scheduled calendar popped up. “How many people are you looking for? And would you like a tutor with you?”

The girl mentally counted the people in her head. “I think there are four of us, and a tutor won’t be needed.”

Genevieve scrolled through the previous bookings with her mouse. Different colours blocked out specific periods until a vacancy popped up. “The next open slot is in fifteen minutes. Floor twelve, room nine. It’s available for two hours, how does that sound?”

“Perfect, that will be just fine.”

For a second, the sound of keyboard typing filled the hole in the conversation. “Can I get a student ID number?”

The girl presented her university issued card. Genevieve copied the numbers before finishing the booking. “That’s it, you’re good to go.”

The girl mumbled her thanks and dragged her feet towards the elevator.

Between the diner and her lectures, Genevieve had found herself at the library more often than she’d like to admit. This eventually lead her to pick up a part time position as the front desk help.

People would either come up to schedule bookings for study groups, tutors, or a computer. Professors of the mathematical science’s department held their office hours in certain rooms, so maintaining a strict schedule was key to avoid overlap. Dr. Bida, a professor she had done research with during her first year, always smiled brightly and waved whenever he passed by. The pay was great, the tasks were minimal, and it gave her the opportunity to do her course readings when it was particularly dead.

“Zayn, what the fuck are you talking about?” The faint voice travelled from a distance away. Genevieve’s ears perk up from the familiarity. “I’m completely lost.”

“Okay, how about one way ANOVA? You must have done that by now at this point of the semester.” Genevieve knew it compared the means between groups and determines whether any of those means are statistically significantly different from each other. Specifically, it tested the null hypothesis: where µ is the group mean and k is the number of groups. “Does that ring any bells?”

“Maybe, I don’t know?”

“Please tell me you know what the acronym stands for at least.”

“Nope. Nothing. I’m blank.”

“Really?”

“I’m dead serious.” Angie’s words held no comic relief. “When I told you I needed help with this course, I really meant it.”

“And you tell me this a day before your assignment is due.”

“Sorry! I got the dates mixed up, honest mistake.” Angie’s voice squeaked as she neared the end of her sentence. The voices became clearer and clearer as they stepped from behind the wall. “Why did you ask to meet here anyway? We could’ve done this at yours.”

“No we need—” Zayn didn’t get to finish his train of thought. His words cut abruptly like a slice of sponge cake under a steak knife. “—Gen? Is that you?”

Genevieve’s neck snapped up at the mention of her name, her eyes owlish. She was guilty of listening in on their back and forth, but wasn’t sure if their friendship had reached a point where she could freely insert herself into the conversation, so she had kept her head down to her books.

“Gen! I didn’t know you worked here!” Angie exclaimed marching over to the desk, Zayn in tow. Genevieve smiled, a genuine one, not the one she had in her back pocket for the sake of customer service. “Holy shit, this must be a great job!”

“You’ll find me here more than anywhere.” Angie played with the free pens and sticky notepads that advertised the university’s logo. She almost tipped over the brochures about managing mental health with a full course load. “What brings you guys here?”

Zayn hissed in pain. “Don’t ask—” but it was too late.

The back of Angie’s palm hit her forehead.

“A horrendous tragedy,” she moaned with her eyes shut. Faux grief made her lips tremble. Though sadness transformed her face, a bitter scowl soon tugged at the end of her lips. “You know apparently I have a thirty percent assignment due tomorrow? Like a whole thirty percent. And I found out yesterday.”

“Ouch,” Genevieve sympathized.

“It’s your fault for not going to the lectures and sleeping in.”

“Zayn, who’s side are you on?” Angie challenged. He dodged her attempts at giving him a twisting pinch to the ribs. “Anyway, Z here has taken the course before so he’s being a sweetheart and lending his brain. Well, whatever is left of it anyway.”

“Angie, I’m helping you. If you don’t tone down your quips, I might as well put in the wrong answers on purpose and poof! That thirty percent of your grade will amount to a zero.”

Angie narrowed her eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

“Don’t try me.”

“Do you see what I have to deal with?” Angie faced Genevieve and motioned a limp hand towards Zayn. She resembled a bored weatherman with a greenscreen behind.

“Ignore her, Gen. Can we get a computer?”

“‘Course,” Genevieve laughed. “Do you need a tutor with you?”

“That would be a dream,” Angie added as she pulled her hair into a ponytail with the band wrapped around her wrist. “The more the merrier, you know! There’s strength in numbers.”

Zayn leaned his weight on the slab of counter in front of them and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s only an assignment, you’re not going off to war.”

“With the amount of torture I am enduring, I might as well.”

Zayn and Angie’s conversation went back and forth like a tennis match. Genevieve’s fingers robotically put in her login and password because the monitor had gone to sleep. Genevieve examined the calendar that popped up on her screen momentarily, her lips puckered in concentration. “You’re good for a computer, but I’m afraid the next tutor isn’t available for four hours.”

“Shit.” Angie rubbed her temple to ease her climbing stress.

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for a lack of availability between tutors and students. Genevieve scanned the page in front of her once more to find any possible way to squeeze them in. Usually when an appointment was a no show, it was possible. But when the screen showed no cancelations, there was not much to do. “What course is it anyway?”

“It’s an intro course to stats.”

“Oh, I might know a few things about it here and there.” Genevieve clicked the x on her window and met Angie’s pleading gaze. The desperation in her eyes disappeared with her next words. “I’m here to help if you need it!”

“Yeah? Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I had to take it first year, it was very straightforward.”

“Speak for yourself, I went to one lecture and felt like the prof had taken a baseball bat to my face.”

“I’m guessing you need the computer for the SPSS software?” Genevieve recalled they had one assignment in that course. The tricky software was already installed on campus computers, but cost a fortune if purchased individually. It made sense as to why they didn’t do it on their laptops.

Zayn piped up. “Yeah, there’s like a tonne of raw data to analyze. It’s gonna take a while.”

Genevieve nodded, already clearing her station. “Ah, well, I’m not doing much right now, I can take a look.”

“You’re an absolute angel, godsend!” Angie would’ve jumped over the desk to crush her in a hug if Genevieve hadn’t rolled back her chair to step around the table. She turned a small sign towards the middle of the desk. Ring bell for help.

Genevieve brushed off her thanks. “Oh I’m far from, just doing what I can. It’s no problem, really.”

Genevieve was making sure that her textbooks were shut and put away along with her expensive calculator when Angie started again. “This is what we need in our life! More selflessness! Everyone is so greedy now days, don’t you think? So noble of you. In fact, I’m gonna write your name down for the nobel prize for math!”

“That’s not how it works, Angie, but sure knock yourself out.” Zayn chewed his gum so slowly that his jaw flexed with each bite. “I think it’s not even called that. Right, Gen?”

“It’s called the Field's medal. It’s like the nobel prize, but it’s awarded every four years.”

“To-may-to, to-mah-to. Same thing.” Angie shrugged and threw an arm over Genevieve’s shoulder when she was close enough.

Genevieve lead the duo to the assigned computer, their row was thankfully empty. The room was shared with two other students seated further away; with their headphones on, they seemed oblivious to the world. Angie logged into her account and Zayn took it from there. He sandwiched himself between Angie on his left and Genevieve on the right.

The chairs in the lab weren’t as comfy as the one Genevieve was previously seated on. Without a cushion, it was just hard blue plastic which made your behind sore.

Zayn double clicked the software icon. His screen filled with horizontal and vertical cells similar to excel. He split the screen, on one side there was SPSS and on the other there were instructions. He copy pasted the raw data assigned by the professor, numbers in the squares from A1 to G93 rolled in like a lottery machine.

“Okay let's sort this out,” he sighed under his breath. It was the most redundant part of the assignment. The variables needed to correspond correctly or else your analysis would not be fruitful.

Genevieve frowned, confusion pressed her brows together. People had different ways of doing things, and of course, there is no harm in that. But the more she observed Zayn’s cursor, she realized his approach was inefficient and clumsy. “Are you doing it manually?”

“Isn’t this the only way?”

“Nope, I can just plug in a few formulas to set the parameters and the software will pick up how we want it organized.”

“You’re kidding,” Zayn deadpanned. He turned to Genevieve with his mouth parted and eyes popped. “Last time, I hand sifted through pages and pages of data.”

“All 900 points?” Zayn nodded enthusiastically at Genevieve’s raised brow. “That must have taken hours. Here, let me show you.”

It went on like that. Zayn mainly lead the direction; Genevieve added in her two cents and supervised. Angie was busy picking her peeling gel nailpolish. There was a solid fifteen minutes where she put in effort, but her clicks ended up deleting two rows. Then a mutual agreement was reached that Angie fingers would remain far away from the mouse or keyboard. She was free to voice her concerns from a distance.

Genevieve sneaked a few glances at the front desk, but there was no one in dire need of help.

“Fucking hell,” Angie seethed in a hushed whisper. The way she jumped off her seat suggested someone lit a round of firecrackers under her chair. She darted to grab her bag and hold it in front of her face. Behind her disguise, her face twitched with fear and she slouched to make herself smaller. “What on God’s green Earth is she doing here?”

“Who?” Zayn said without peeling his eyes from the screen, used to her dramatics. Angie scampered underneath the empty space of their desk. It was remarkable how quickly she could get her body to fold into a fetal position. From her cramped place on the floor, Angie still had Zayn and Genevieve’s view.

“Don’t look now, but it’s Rebecca by the front.” As if it was a staged cue, their necks snapped towards the red head exiting off the elevator, in sync. She carried a binder with papers and a textbook topped it off. Rebecca had a phone pressed to the side of her ear as she spoke into the receiver. Angie’s advice was lost in thin air which resulted in her face contorting into a snarl. “I said don’t look, great, you’ve both made it painfully obvious now. Wonderful.”

“Who’s Rebecca?” Genevieve whispered as low she could.

“Angie’s ex.” Zayn informed.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Zayn finally noticed Angie’s ridiculous hiding spot and a look of second hand embarrassment flushed his cheeks. “Get out from behind there, Angie, you look like a loon.”

“Is she gone?” Angie inquired.

“No.”

“Then I’m not coming out.”

“Great.” Zayn had learned how to pick and choose his battles with Angie. This was a time to let her be.

Genevieve felt like she had heard the thirty second trailer of the topic. It was difficult to string the beginning, middle, and end of the saga that seemed to be Angie’s relationship. “What happened between you guys?”

“She broke my heart, smashed it and then threw a party like nothing else happened. I caught her in bed with a first year and she said they were cuddling. Cuddling! Can you believe that?” Angie scoffed. She had taken a bite out of a chewy bar that she swiped from her bag. The plastic crinkled loudly in her fist. “I’d rather be left at the altar, it would’ve been less painful. The smugness of the first year didn’t help matters, went around campus gloating. Menace.”

“She fucked Angie over real bad. She had commitment issues and shit.”

“She didn’t fuck me over, Zayn. I’m plenty fine, can’t you see? I’m lovely, I’m—”

“—Hiding pathetically under a desk?”

“—great. Splendid, even. Perfectly intact.”

Zayn eyes were like a bowling ball going full speed down an empty ally. The mouse double clicked under his index finger as his attention diverted back to the task at hand. “Save your breath, you’re sounding more and more like Harry.”

“Why are you comparing me to him, have you gone mad? He was ten times worse than me.”

“I’m saying both of you are like kicked puppies. Moping and basking in your misery every second of the day. So what you lost someone, people come and go! That’s life!”

Angie scoffed again. Her competitive streak was bold and prominent and very visible. “Give me some credit, I’m much better at coping than Harry. He’s a complete mess, makes me look like an angel.”

“What do you mean?” Genevieve prompted, leaning forward. She chewed on the corner of her mouth. The skin was soon to be raw and agitated.

“When we first met Harry, he was a wreck. He doesn’t talk about it much but we assume he went through a nasty breakup of some sorts.”

Genevieve didn’t have experience with what hot flashes felt like, but she was sure this was it. The room was suddenly a couple degrees colder, but her skin was flaming hot. The warmth was most intense over her face, neck and chest. The tips of her fingers felt like she held onto ice cubes for a moment too long.

Genevieve ran her tongue over the dry cracks in her bottom lip. “Oh.”

Angie bit off another piece of her bar, a few crumbs falling from her mouth. If Genevieve was in a decent state of mind, the mind numbing hours of training videos would’ve reminded her to enforce the no food policy in the building. Instead, her tongue sat heavy in her mouth.

“He sulked for at least a year before getting over whoever it was, he won’t give us a name. I tried prying it out of him when he was sloshed, but he’s a stubborn little knob.”

The steady percussion of Genevieve’s heart raised in tempo. A dagger twisted in her gut which explained the sharp pain in her abdomen. The four walls of the room took gradual steps towards her. The space became limited, suffocating, and the oxygen was being slowly sucked away.

“But the difference between you and Harry is that he got over it! Whereas you, on the other hand, can’t get past the first stage of grief.”

“Stop talking, you sound more and more like my therapist. And I’m not paying you, so don’t get any ideas.” Angie narrowed her eyes at Zayn, then peered up at Genevieve with a sorry gaze. “If I got a dime for everytime Zayn psychoanalyzed me, I’d pay off my tuition and get a fancy bungalow in The Bahamas. Maybe even a minifridge. He thinks he’s the next Freud, don’t you?”

Zayn laughed. “Do you see what you’re doing? Deflecting the actual problem.”

“Oh come off it! Less talking and more doing my assignment, chop, chop! It won’t finish itself, you know?”

“While I’m here slaving away, would you like to tack on any more insults, Your Highness?”

“Now that you mention it….”

Gen exhaled in hopes to loosen the winding nerves in her shoulders and chest. Her eyes focused on the digital clock at the bottom right hand corner of the monitor. “You guys good with this? I’m gonna run to the loo then head home since my shift ends in five.”

“Thanks so much for doing this, Gen. Absolute lifesaver,” Angie dropped her teasing in a second. A soft smile spoke of her gratitude with great conviction.

“No worries, text me if you need any more help.” Genevieve stood up from her chair. The sudden movement made her head dizzy. Her legs were as stable as jelly.

“Hope that won’t be necessary, but go ahead and feed your number just in case, you know? Zayn isn’t the brightest bulb at times.”

“I’m not the brightest bulb? Are you listening to yourself? You haven’t touched the keyboard once!” Zayn snapped his eyes over to Genevive as she handed back Angie’s phone. An exasperated rage glossed his features. His hair pointed a million different directions from the countless times he ran his fingers through it. “Gen, get out while you can or else you won’t get another chance.”

“You guys are too much,” Genevieve chuckled shaking her head. “I’ll see you around.”

Genevieve’s bladder wasn’t the reason behind her brisk steps towards the toilets. She needed to splash her face with ice cold water to balance out her temperature. It was overwhelming, to say the least. All the information thrown at her needed time to come down to a simmer, currently, it was bubbling at an all time high and slipping over the edge.

Her fingers pressed to the polymer of the salmon coloured sink. The skin under her nails turned paper white from the pressure of her weight. Her breaths were laboured, so she shut her eyes tightly and steadied all the possibilities her mind was running to.

A flush sounds loudly. The high pitched noise dwindles when the tank is refilling. A lock turned and out comes the click click click of tall heels.

“Genny? Is that you?”

“Hannah?” Migraine Morton wore a tight leather skirt that did wonders for her legs, which of course were covered in fake tan. She waved her manicured hands under the sink, the sensors blinked a blue light and water rushed out of the tap. “How are you?”

“It’s been forever, you’ve changed so much! And look at those cheekbones, you look straight off the runway.” She ripped paper towels from the dispenser. The colour becoming a dark brown as it soaked the water off of her. “It’s the Keto Diet, isn’t it? It’s been working for so many of my girlfriends, but I can’t get even keep five pounds off. Anyway, how’s everything?”

The way she tilted her head assumed that they were lifelong friends who spoke everyday. That wasn’t the case whatsoever. The most Hannah knew about Genevieve was from a boy that once connected them. They probably qualified as acquaintances rather than friends on facebook. But Hannah had a knack for befriending anything with a living pulse—fucking too, if you listened to the gossip on campus.

“Yeah, it’s been going well! Lectures, the diner, bouncing back everywhere.”

“It’s… it’s good to keep yourself busy, you know.” Hannah’s tone transformed into that of a sympathetic one. It probably came from a good place. But when her brows crumpled together, Genevieve wanted the ground to swallow her whole.“I know how hard it must be after...”

“I’m actually doing alright.” Genevieve smiled, an on command customer service grin.

“It’s just when I heard, I thought you would be absolutely devastated! I mean, who wouldn’t be right?” Hannah twirled a stupid blond lock of hair around her pointer finger. “Both of you were always joined at the hip”

“People learn to let go. It’s only natural.”

Hannah’s face morphed into one thought provoking one, as if Genevieve’s words were a part of some philosophical theory.

“You know what? You’re absolutely right!” By her face, you would assume that clouds had parted and a beam of light shone down. This revelation was probably the first and last of the century for her. “Do you remember Amanda Wang? From first year sociology? How we were inseparable? Well she literally disappeared off the Earth and I haven’t heard from her. Just between us though, she was a bit of a pretentious bitch.” Hannah smacked her glossy lips. The shine seemed sticky and too bubblegum. “Of course, there’s no comparison to be made between our situation, you knew him for years.”

“Yeah,” Genevieve answered weakly.

“Shit I’m sorry!” Her eyes widened as she registered what she said, palms coming up in defence. Her brain had a tendency to lag a couple steps behind. It was always a few seconds too late. “I’m not making things any better. That probably sounded really daft.”

“It’s all good.”

Hannah threw away her used paper towel. She hiked her purse in the crook of her elbow. “Keep hanging in there girlie, it gets better!”

“Don’t I know it!”

She reached forward and squeezed her shoulder. “Oh, Genny! You’re still the jokester as ever! I’ve got to run off to my next lecture, but it was nice seeing you! Don’t be a stranger, we should meet up again! Text me!”

“See you, Hannah!” Genevieve grinned, fake and compulsory.

She wiggled her fingers, like a main character of some cheesy 2000’s movie, and clicked off.

Genevieve’s palms held her face as she tried her utmost best to not scream from frustration. There was one thing clear as day, she had to get away from the library. All the Harry talk, all the Hannah talk, was only depleting the count of her brain cells. She needed them to finish her untouched module. There were fifty questions. At one glance, she knew they would suck her soul.

Genevieve grabbed her coat and bag from her desk. The person who was assigned the next shift was signing on the computer to punch in their hours. She waved a quick goodbye and pressed the button to the elevator.

Her car returned from the shop. After a hefty oil change and the addition of four winter tires, it was safe to drive. Her seats were frozen so she turned on her engine and blasted the heat. In turn, the radio automatically switched on to the station set as the number one setting.

Liam: —That was Strangers you just heard by The Bell. I’ve been listening to them quite a bit, they’re bound to play stadiums soon, you can take my word. Now it is time for my personal favourite segment of the show. Usually it’s you guys listening in, but I’d thought we better switch it up! This is Listen Liam! Where you tell me what’s going on in your life and maybe I can offer an ear. You’re on the air.

Caller: Liam! I am in a bit of a pickle.

Liam: I’m all ears, go on!

Caller: I think my friend has a drinking problem. She went so overboard last night that she started chewing her bare foot thinking it was a piece of meat! She’s vegan! How is that even possible?!

Liam: [Laughs] Now, that has got to be the funniest thing I’ve heard all week. We all have a friend that’s like that. I’ve got Niall. Blonde, loud, talks a lot. You heard of him?

Caller: I think he was in one of my lectures.

Liam: Great! As soon as I think something is going iffy with one of my friends I just compare them to Niall. If they’re worse than him, I’m rushing to the closest rehab. If not, all is well!

Caller: That actually puts so much into perspective. Thanks Liam!

Liam: Always here for help! Thank you for your call. Our next song is very fitting, Here is Drunk in Love by the Legend herself.

Genevieve didn’t know she was in the parking lot of Liam’s radio station until she put her gear in park. If she couldn’t get peace in the library, the next resort was the couch generously offered to her on numerous occasions. Liam was only found here at wee hours in the night since he did night radio. Today was one of those odd days his show was on during the day—the same time she needed a place to study. It all seemed destined.

The architecture building was all points and sharp edges. The drop in quality design amplified as soon as she hit the basement. No longer was there fancy glass and shiny mirrors. The tiles on the floors were unevenly aligned and she didn’t want to analyze the yellow mold dripping down the side of one wall. She passed a custodian’s quarters, and in the corner was a door with a makeshift sign announcing the station’s territory.

Liam leaned against the wall beside the shut door. One of his foot was over the other. His phone glued to the side of his face. “Yes, yeah that apartment is no longer available.”

His eyes snapped up at the sound of her shoes against the floor. He grinned. Genevieve gave an excited wave as she walked further down the hallway and his eyes brightened.

“No, unfortunately,” he continued to mumble into the receiver.

When she got close enough, she could hear an angry accent blaring through his phone. Liam rolled his eyes and spoke into the receiver once more. “I’m sorry, there’s not much I can do.”

He pointed towards the door beside him, motioning to go inside. His phone call was probably going to take him a minute to sort out. Hopefully, he had queued up a couple songs to avoid a dead line.

Genevieve walked into the humble space, the door shut gently behind her by Liam.

There were two parts to the room. On the right side was a booth, the cramped size meant it was most likely used as a supply closet. All the equipment was squished in there. A computer sat on an ikea table and a foldable picnic chair did little to compliment it. It was a mess of wires and stray headphones lay lifelessly.

Adjacent to it was the second half of the room. A worn out rug was cut up on the floor to fit the small space. Then there was the infamous pissed on couch. The quality implied it was from the goodwill down the block. It’s ancient floral pattern proved it was previously owned by someone in their 60’s. On one end of the couch, a head of dark chestnut hair rested against the arm.

She should’ve stayed at the library.

She should’ve gone home.

She should’ve gone to a coffee shop.

Now looking at the sight in front of her, the possibilities were endless.

When Genevieve was twelve, she was sure she had lived through the worst day of her life. It was in Mrs. Webster’s afternoon math class. She hadn’t been keeping up with doing her homework. And Mrs. Webster picked on her to answer a simple multiplication question scratched on the board. She blurted out the first number that came to mind— two.

The whole class hollered with laugher and she sunk down in her assigned chair with red cheeks. Sixty-eight multiplied by nine was never, ever, two. If only she had made an educated guess and gave a number that wasn’t a single digit, she wouldn’t have seemed like a complete loser.

That night she went home and reviewed the chart of times table and made sure it was burned in the back of her eyelids.

The multiplication table, the public humiliation, and the sight in front of her was ingrained deeply in a part of her brain she would never voluntarily revisit.

He laid horizontally on the couch. The length of his legs —spread out across the cushions— shrunk the size of the furniture, making it seem smaller than it actually was. He propped his head on a folded arm, a makeshift pillow.

“You’re here.” Their disagreement from before was still a fresh wound. The alcohol aided her bravery last time, but now without its push, Genevieve wondered if he took those words to heart. She didn’t know where they stood. “Yet again.”

“I am.” He closed the book after folding a dog ear at the top right hand corner. His neck craned to look towards where she stood. “Hello to you, too.”

Genevieve clutched the strap of her bag. She noticed there was no resentment in his voice. “How… what are you doing here?”

“Liza’s show just finished up, I’m usually here for it. The million dollar question is, what made you decide to grace us with your presence on this fine Tuesday?”

She blinked quickly as panic flushed up her neck. She had to be tactical about her response. Admitting to needing a study space was the cheese at the end of a mouse trap. She didn’t want to trap herself in a room with Harry for God knows how long. Her day had gone through enough loops and twists and Genevieve wanted to get off the rollercoaster. She had to get out of here. “I came to drop off something for Liam, but I’ll get going.”

Genevieve turned around to grip the doorknob, but before she could twist it, Harry spoke up. “What is it?”

“Hm?” She asked looking over her shoulder. He sat upright, the book of his interest was now face down on his lap. He wore a simple black shirt, a red flannel was unbuttoned over it.

“The thing you were here to drop off.”

“Yeah, oh, I um, already gave it to him.”

“That still doesn’t answer the question.”

“It was a...” she mulled through an imaginary list of objects to fit this scenario.

When she took a minute too long, a knowing smile quirked his lips. “Lying isn’t a good look on you.”

She scoffed. “I’m not lying, Harry.”

“Yes you are and it’s written all over your face.” He pointed it out like a simple observation as if saying the sky is blue, birds fly, and Genevieve lies. “You do that thing when one part of your mouth is higher than the other and you avoid eye contact.”

The swinging door almost knocked her out from the sudden force. She dodged it just in time. It was a hair’s length distance away from breaking her nose. Her eyes widened in shock. Harry mouthed karma.

“Shit, Gen.” Liam stumbled in. “Why are you standing so close to the door? You alright?”

“Was actually leaving.”

Liam’s brows creased. “Rubbish, you just got here. You’re definitely staying for longer. I was thinking of popping to that pretzel shop right beside to get myself something to chew on. Which one do you want?”

“I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Liam looked over Genevieve’s shoulder. “Harry?”

“Anything, as long as it’s not super sweet.”

“You got it.” Liam nodded and gave a gleaming smile his way. “And you—” Liam turned to Genevieve with a pointed finger, it didn’t hold much authority “—Better not be gone until I’ve come back or else I’ll be very cross. I mean it, don’t even think about it.”

Genevieve huffed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “What am I even supposed to do here in the meantime? Queue up songs for you? I’ll play the Highschool Musical soundtrack for your listeners and soon there won’t be any left.”

“I’ve already got that taken care of. Don’t you have a mountain worth of coursework? Get a start on that.”

Genevieve felt like she was reaching into a magician's black hat and pulling out a rabbit. But in her case there were no furry animals, only poorly threaded excuses. “I… I don’t have my calculator or any pens or—”

Liam shuffled into the booth. His back curved as he bent over the desk. A cylinder container was situated at the corner beside the workplace lamp. It was sparsely filled with a couple highlighters, paperclips, and a single pen.

He plucked the utensil quickly before handing it to Genevieve. “Here, use this. I think I may have my finance calculator in my bag. It should have the same functions.”

The pace of everything slows down as the cheap plastic rolled between her thumb and forefinger. It was a classic blue BIC pen, the type offices bought in bulk to save money.

There is a reason why Genevieve only used black inked pens. Every time she saw blue on paper, she felt his thumb on her lip. It was too distracting, like a herd of bees buzzing collectively around her in threatening circles. Multiple stingers pierced nostalgia deep into her arms, legs, shoulders, lips. Her skin broke and red painful bumps erupted. Her chest tightened and her throat clamped shut.

“Gen, Gen? You alright?” Liam squeezed her forearm and Genevieve woke from her trance.

“Hm?”

“You became really pale.”

She cleared her throat to delay her response. “Um… I—can’t. I don’t use blue pens. It’s just…” She knew she sounded delirious. Though her left hand was fisted, the slight tremor was not well hidden.

Liam’s inquisitive look wasn’t judgemental or contemptuous and for that she was thankful.

What differentiated Liam from others is that he understood without needing to know the details. He didn’t ask questions because he knew if Genevieve wanted to share, she would at her own time. Most often times, her lips were the zig zag teeth of zippers—tightly fastened—but he remained on the sidelines, patient. With one look he appraised her and knew this stemmed deep.

“I’ve got another,” Harry interrupted, making Genevieve’s neck turn towards him. She forgot for a moment that he was in the room. He waved a pencil in the air. The pink eraser on the end was salmon coloured and the tip was a bit rounded. It wasn’t a pen, but it would have to do.

“That settles it,” Liam concluded with a clap. “You’re staying.” There was no room to rebuttal. He grabbed his wallet and cell phone and pulled the door open. Liam was gone, only leaving a gust of wind in his departure.

Genevieve rubbed her palm over her face.

“I don’t bite, you know?” His tone was steady. “Being in a room with me isn’t as dreadful as you’re making it out to be.”

“Oh, it’s worse,” Genevieve mumbled under her breath, but it was drowned out by Harry’s backpack hitting the floor. The spot on the couch beside him was now vacant.

“We need to set boundaries.” It’s ironic for her to say this as she walked over to empty space he set aside for her.

The only other place left to sit was the floor, she didn’t need to add back problems to her list of already growing concerns. This list had Harry’s name at the very top in red ink; underlined, and multiple exclamation marks surrounded it. If it was anytime to acknowledge it, this was it, when he was an arms length away on the opposite side of the couch.

“What do you mean?”

“Like we need some parameters. Some sort of rules to abide by if you’re just gonna end up popping up everywhere.”

He laughed, eyes screwed shut and head thrown back like Genevieve was on stage behind a microphone at stand up night. It took a minute for his chuckles to dwindle down. Harry’s brows almost met his hairline when Genevieve’s face remained stoic. “Oh wait… you’re serious.”

“I’ll go first.” Genevieve distracted herself by pulling out her notebook and flipping to the last page she worked on. She picked up the pencil he dropped beside his thigh. It was easier to get her thoughts in order when she didn’t make eye contact with him.“We can’t let anyone know about how we know each other. I haven’t… haven’t told Liam, Meena or Niall about any of it and I'd like to keep it that way.”

“It’s not something to hide.”

“For me, it is.” Genevieve breathed out a sigh. Her back hit the cushion and she folded her legs underneath herself. “And from what I’m hearing from Angie and Zayn, they don’t know much either.”

“It just never came up so I didn’t bother.” Harry shrugged cracking the novel open to his marked page. “Alright, I'll give you that, only if you agree not to be so...”

His sentence was a loose piece of thread, floating freely. He purposefully let it dangle between them.

“Go on.” Genevieve tilted her head. “Finish your sentence.”

His face contorted as he tried to find the right word. A tongue poked the inside of his cheek.

“...Tense.”

Genevieve threw the pencil at Harry. The gesture is so natural that it startled her. It bounced off the side of his forehead with a clunk. His fingers rushed to apply pressure on the sore spot. His pink lips pouted.

“Jesus, woman,” he groaned. He pretended as if Genevieve had chucked it at full force, when in reality it was a lousy throw, she had noodle arms. “I gave you that to use, not to assault me with.”

“I’m not tense.” Her jaw hung open in disbelief.

“Then it shouldn’t be a chore to agree to it.” Harry countered.

Genevieve rolled her eyes. “It shouldn’t.”

The radio switched tracks, Liam’s queued up a song sounded softly in the silence. An acoustic guitar strummed in the background as Genevieve started a problem and Harry went back to his book.

He spread out his legs in front of him, his back moulded against the couch in a way that would leave him to complain about an ache in a couple of hours. Genevieve refrained from pointing it out.

Two songs finished and a pre-recorded ad played. The brief thirty seconds advertised the fundraiser a student group put together to raise funds for Angie Wu’s family. The next song started, an upbeat tempo and rhythm.

“Never thought I'd see the day you’d say no to pretzels.”

She didn’t realize she was nodding with the music until she stopped and turned her head towards him. She raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

“Those were your favourite.”

“Yeah, I’m just not hungry.”

“You were so crazy about them. I took one bag from the pantry and you bit my head off. How was I supposed to know it was yours?”

Genevieve’s eyes flickered down towards the cover in his hand. “Never thought I’d see you read something by Toni Morrison.”

“It was on the list.”

“You still have it? I thought it was lost.”

“I do, the bloody thing never ends. Just when you think you’ve gone through a big chunk, you flip the page and there’s more.” He peered over the top of the book at her. “I’ve went to the library enough times, they know my name without checking my card.”

Genevieve dotted an equal sign and then a row of numbers. She collected like terms and simplified the problem. “I tried looking for it everywhere in the flat. Spent two weeks.”

“Should’ve checked the car.” His voice was low, almost lost in with the music, but she heard it. A sad smile played on the ends of his lips as he flipped the page.

Genevieve noticed his adam’s apple rise and fall. There is a distant look in his eyes that she had never seen before. Harry’s lashes fluttered quickly, to blink away the memories playing in his mind. He cleared his throat before speaking. “Most of them are confusing as shit, don’t make sense. Feels like reading in circles, but so far I’ve liked four of them.”

“Yeah? How many have you gone through?”

Harry’s forehead scrunched in thought as he mentally counts the different titles, using his digits to keep track if needed. His lips—puckered in concentration— were red and bitten, yet appear feather soft.

“Not many, maybe nine?” His ring and middle finger scratched at his hairline, light bounced off the metal bands wrapped around his digits. His posture softened as a blush rose up his neck. “‘I'm a slow reader,” he admitted, his tone timid and bashful.

Genevieve’s eyes rolled involuntarily, a breathy laugh danced through her lips. “Oh, I know.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means that you take two years to read a take out menu, always have.”

“It’s called browsing the options and specials.”

“Yet you order the same every time? Do explain.” Playful offence is threaded between them. It was starting to resemble the easy conversations they once shared over a cereal breakfast, lazy Sundays, in passing here and there. The smallest things they had taken for granted became a bitter recollection.

His throat grumbled in defeat. “Be nice.”

There were days where Genevieve wanted to put a halt to whatever distance they had carved from each other. Harry felt oceans away, but it would be cruel to put all the burden on him. Genevieve wasn’t standing there with warm welcoming arms either, she was rather stone cold.

They were dropped beads of a broken necklace, scattered on a tiled floor. The thread that joined them had snapped. There had been occurrences where Genevieve’s thumb hovered over his contact name, the number so old that she wasn’t sure if it still worked. She almost sent him a text, left a voicemail. She missed her friend, that wasn’t in question, but she couldn’t bring herself to go through with it. He was to blame.

But there they were. Harry was still Harry. And Genevieve was Genny. Sure, his shoulders were slightly broader, his hair a bit shorter, and his posture more crooked. It was also okay that they weren’t the same. There was an awkward space that separated them, one that didn’t exist before because Harry would have had his arm thrown over her shoulders and her head would comfortably align with his chest.

“Is it—” Genevieve gulped loudly, hesitant as nerves circled her belly like sharks do the ocean. She twisted her sleeves in her palm before starting once more. She didn’t know if her request was intrusive or disrespectful in any way. She hoped it wasn’t. “Is it okay if I maybe take a look at it?”

Harry had found the list, so it belonged to him. Much like how Genevieve protected some photographs and a lighter with her life. It would be reasonable if his answer wasn’t what she was pulling for. He had ownership and the right to say no.

A pause followed, it made her sure that she was twisting knobs on locked doors. Harry’s face remained impassive. Had she not said it loud enough? Her limbs felt heavy and heat began to crawl up Genevieve’s face as she realized rejection wasn’t a reality far away, but it was rather staring her in the face.

Genevieve deflated when he nodded eagerly.

“‘Course, yeah. I’ll bring it around sometime.”

The door swung open and Liam came in clutching far too much than he could balance. A bag hung from between his chest and chin, there were three more in his hand. The paper wrinkled loudly as he moved. He shut the door behind him with the heel of his foot.

Genevieve shot a confused look at his small buffet.

“They just increased the student discount for these! Can you believe?”

***

November 15, 2019

Genevieve was a match burning at both ends. Sometimes it would be too much of a chore to step in the shower or brush her teeth. The smallest tasks that once would come so naturally now demanded significant energy. Sure, she could blame it to her course load, and juggling jobs at Flo’s and the student help desk. But she knew self care was pushed to the back burner way before any of that started—three years ago precisely.

Today, she opened the shared document on her computer.

A long needle injected into her spine; the pinch was sharp. Stress shot through every nerve ending when the cursor scrolled down the screen.

Group assignments did more harm than good, if only professors understood that. The assignment was to be done between four random people in her course. The groups were preselected and Genevieve didn’t know a single face. The dropbox to hand in the report closed at midnight. Currently, the fifteen page report only came up to three pages.

She tried to get hold of her remaining group members, but the group chat was only a string of messages from her end. The shower she planned to take was now an unaffordable luxury. She cracked her knuckles and began pulling the dead weight of three people.

Her phone buzzed, disrupting the quiet in her flat. She was so caught up in editing the null hypothesis she didn’t check the caller ID and answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Genevieve?”

“Mum, hi,” Genevieve breathed out and the rush of air created static on the line.

“Are you in the middle of something? You sound busy.”

Genevieve skimmed over a research paper she wanted to reference. Her mouse copy pasted the citation. “Just doing an assignment last minute. I could throw up from the stress.”

“Baby, you need to take it easier, that is no way to live, no matter what deadline you’re under,” she scolded with gentle concern. Like always, it went through Genevieve’s ear and came out the other. “Anyway, I called because Sarah—the nice lady down the street—has started a donation drive for Syrian Refugees. I’m giving her your old clothes, is that alright?”

“The ones in boxes up in the attic?”

“Yes, if you need them I can—”

“No, give them away. I can’t remember the last time I wore them, it’s better they get some use out of them.” Genevieve selected two lines on the document. The words highlighted a sky blue, then she hit backspace.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking. Plus, it would clear up some space up there anyway.”

“Don’t go too intense with your cleaning, you get a bit kooky.” Genevieve giggled and pressed the phone between her shoulder and cheek. She continued her work on the laptop.

“There’s no harm in having a clean, tidy space!” Label makers and organizing bins got Margaret White more excited than any man. Spring cleaning happened quarterly at their residence. The attic was full of abandoned scrapbooks, VCR cassettes, old furniture, and her broken bicycle that had a neon pink basket. “While I was up there, I did find something.”

Genevieve smiled. “Did you cry to my elementary school pictures? Again?”

“Oh hush!” Genevieve pictured her crossed brows. Waterworks were in ample supply when taking a trip down memory lane with her mother, it was like forgetting to shut the water tap off. Genevieve found it amusing to poke fun at her for. “You still have a box of his stuff. Do you want me to get rid of it?”

The pause was deafening. The clicking of Genevieve’s fingers on the keyboard came to a definite halt. Her laptop screen became muddled as it went out of focus. She felt the back of her eyes sting as she recalled the specific box. She smelled August.

“Gen?”

“No, no, don’t do that.” Genevieve clutched the receiver with a sudden desperation. There was apparent sniffling on her end of the line. Genevieve cleared her throat and tried to disguise it as a cough. “Mum I just...”

“I can post it to you. There are a lot of pictures.”

“Can you, please?” Genevieve choked back a sob.

“Of course.”

Genevieve clamped her eyes shut and breathed deep through her nostrils. She assumed she owed her mother an explanation for the sudden onslaught of emotions. “I’m not crazy, it’s just this course, this assignment, is really putting a stress on me.”

“I know, Darling,” she said, but didn’t sound convinced in the slightest.

Genevieve swallowed sour bile. “It’s not… it’s not because of him, I swear.”

“Didn’t think it was.”

“Really?” Genevieve’s word squeaked.

“Genevieve, baby,” her mother began. Margaret pursed her lips and it built a bustling silence. Words were tricky in sensitive situations like these. If not cherry picked with care and caution, they can ruin relationships—even of blood—with a snap. “He left, he was a great boy, but he left. And a part of me tells me you’re not coping.”

“I am. I promise I am.”

Genevieve covered the mouthpiece on her to muffle any whimpers. She rolled her lips tightly.

Margaret sighed. “I just worry about you, is all.”

“No reason to be, I’m doing much better.”

Blue sky. Birds fly. Genevieve lies.

“Alright.” There was shuffling on the other side of the line. “I’ll ring you another time. Take care of yourself, please.”

“Will do, love you.”

“Love you, too.”

When the call ended, Genevieve bowed her head in shame. Her phone clattered on her wooden desk, then laid dead. The squares aligned in even rows on her keyboard were black. The font of each letter was simple, and the colour of winter. The U,G,S,A,T keys were dotted with small puddles of tears.

***

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#1dff #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x ofc #harry styles imagine #ylsg4 #the uni au no one asked for #fucking idiots to lovers #honestly if they learned to communicate this wouldnt be a 20 part fic #but thats not a possibility bc harrys an aquarius #q

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