#my roommate which i miss more than ive ever missed anyone before | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bandaigaeru · 3 years

Text

gravitational pull - seo changbin

→genre: brief fake dating, childhood friends to weird enemies to fake lovers to real lovers →synopsis: he was a glimmering star of hope until he exploded, suspending your relationship into a seesawing gravity. →pairing: changbin x gender neutral reader →word count: 8.1k →warnings: hyunjins kinda mean at one point, mentions of alcohol

Mulch crunches beneath the adolescent shoes of your classmates. One intention is shared, in this playground warfare, and it’s to get a swing.

You disregard the heap rushing towards the ones closest, for your gaze is set on the far end of the swingset. And it is just within your reach. Your eyes narrow as you outstretch a palm, prepared to feel the coolness of the rusty chain.

The chain sways away from you beneath the harsh touch of another boy.

You stare at him with wide eyes, mouth fallen agape.

He smiles, the plastic seat dipping beneath his weight. “This one’s mine.”

A small shake in your tone as you return, “I was here first.”

“So? Everyone knows this is my swing.”

You slowly nod, taking small footsteps backwards. Hwang Hyunjin is bigger than you. And more accustomed with goons of friends. There’s no point in fighting.

Though as you start for the abandoned monkey bars (their vibrant red paint chipped to a sad haze) with blurry vision faulting your path, a voice booms over the rush between your ears.

You glance in the direction. A short boy sits in a stationary swing, smiling as though it is all he’s ever known. He waves you over.

Taking all of the precautions, you glance over your shoulder to make sure he’s talking to you. When you confirm, you drag your feet along the mulch.

You flinch when he stands, bringing guarding forearms to protect your face. The blow never comes.

“You can take my swing,” he says. You peek at him through your shield. His puffy cheeks are still indented with the smile. And his hands, not balled into a fist, lay calmly at his side.

You blink, slowly lowering your defense. “W-Why?”

He laughs, “That’s what friends are for. Duh.”

The laugh that trembles over your lips is shaky and foreign. You reach for the chain.

“I’ll push you!” he declares, rushing behind you as you steady yourself in the small seat.

He pulls you from the ground, the tips of your shoes trailing back amber woodchips.

The tip of your nose kisses the blue sky. Though, inevitably, the time comes when you must fall back to the earth. Steady hands push against your back, returning you to freedom. You find yourself grinning each time.

The next day, Changbin saves you the swing beside him. He waits until you are ready before kicking off on the ground. You swing in sync, sharing a few glances under the sun’s hugging rays.

It only takes a week before he’s begging his mother to arrange a playdate. And to your luck, he follows through with the promises, meeting you at your doorstep that Saturday. He guides you a block over to his house. He must be a good kid if his mother entrusted him with such a task, bringing two first-graders over. One returning home and one in need of a home away from home.

His mother is extremely nice, smiling at you each time you catch her eyes. She sets a plate of fruit on the coffee table while you and Changbin battle over the next Spongebob episode. His sister comes out of her room, too, asking you whether you prefer Barbies or Matchbox.

Elementary school passes like this. Recess is spent with his presence, as is lunch and gym and any class freetime. On the off days that it rains, barring you inside the school, you play Mancala. It’s totally civil. Not once does Changbin storm off when he loses. He merely shrugs and offers to set up the next round.

So unusual, though each time you find yourself smiling.

After an emotional graduation party—emotional for the teachers and family, you mean—he hands you a small piece of paper.

“What’s this?” you curiously look at him. His tie has loosened since the ceremony and his hair is ruffled by his father’s hand.

“My phone number. I won’t be in town this summer, but I still wanna keep touch with you.”

You smile down at the small digits. Neatly, you fold the post-it before slipping it into your pocket. You wrap your arms around his neck, leaning into his touch as he wraps his arms around your waist. “I’m gonna miss you,” you announce, voice muffled by his shoulder.

“It’s only one summer,” he reassures. “Plus, I’ll bring you back something nice. A keychain or something.”

You laugh through the sting that stabs your body, nodding. One summer cannot mark the end of the world, you tell yourself as you watch his car drift over the hill leading into town.

ii.

On the first, dreaded, day of middle school, you scan the halls carefully. The new faces do not scare you as much as the lack of his does. Each call was sent to voicemail. And each time the dial sounded, you frantically returned the phone to the receiver. Maybe he had accidentally miswrote the number. Or maybe he was too busy to return your calls. Summer has that effect on people, you think, where you have so much fun you forget the things you used to do daily. Like a memory disorder.

You finally see him in the lunch line. A breath of fresh air invades your lungs as you rush over to him.

“Changbin! How was your summer? I called, but you never answered,” you grin, nudging his shoulder.

He does not shoot you a glance, nor does he send a glare. Instead, he keeps his eyes glued on his shoes. A sharp pain strikes your chest—that breath might have been poison.

You gently shove his shoulder again, forcing a shaky laugh as you continue, “Hello? Anyone in there?”

The boy in front of him spins on his heel. His eyes are cold, painful, as they meet yours. “Can’t you tell he doesn’t wanna talk to you?” Hyunjin scoffs. “Go somewhere else, dumbass.”

Hesitantly, you look to Changbin. Surely, he’ll defend you, right?

Right?

His eyes have traveled to the lunch menu, displayed on a TV in cheap font. Far away from this conversation.

You nod, looking back to Hyunjin. His abrasive eyes are still waiting for you, eagerly begging you to move on. “Sorry, then,” you murmur as you start for the bathroom that will become your haven.

Behind you, Hyunjin’s loud laugh taunts you. Hidden beneath it is a quieter one that stabs you in the chest. Something painful blurs your vision, twists your insides, and curls the corners of your lips as you try to fight it.

You were a fool to think he was different. Elementary promises should never be trusted.

Secondary school passes in dreary blinks. Watching Changbin run for class president. Bubbling in his name despite everything. Hearing Changbin got the lead role in Cinderella. Showing up despite the physics test you had to study for.

You wonder momentarily if Newton was behind this twisted feeling in your chest. Drawing you to him—like a moth to a flame. You even scan his sister’s Instagram from time to time, finding a picture of Changbin framed carefully beneath the stars, a twinkle in his eye.

You watch from afar as he accepts his diploma, a careful smile seated on your lips.

A bitter taste haunts your tongue as you pack for college.

“This is good for me,” you mutter to yourself. “I’ll be far, far away from him. I can move on.”

Some things are better left unsaid.

iii.

Awkward introductions replay in your memory as you get ready for your first college class. Seven fifteen, physics with Professor Kim. Denoted as one of the best in the country. Physicist and professor, respectively. It would be a lie to say he didn’t take part in your decision to attend this college. And the ocean, which is only a fifteen minute walk (that’s what the RA told you when you moved in).

You arrive with a hot americano precisely on time.

As you climb the lecture hall’s steps, your eyes drift among the sea of unfamiliar faces. One in particular sticks out—a glimmer of hope among the trenches. You raise a hand to wave, a smile quirking your lips. But, at the face directly next to him, you drift back.

Evidently, you didn’t move far enough.

You stand at the edge of the aisle, glancing down at the empty seat. “Hey, is this spot empty?”

Hope looks back at you with shock glazing his features. “Oh my God, Y/N! Of course. I didn’t know you decided to come here,” Minho smiles, tugging his notebook closer to allow you more room.

You pull out the chair, glancing at the boy on the other side of him. “I didn’t really tell anyone where I was going.”

He fills the silence with his tales of life, occasionally glancing at Changbin to see if he wants to add something. Each time, he is met with the boy’s indifferent profile. Mindlessly scrolling through his phone, though not once stopping to read one of the passing captions or like a picture.

Professor Kim claps, fizzling any remaining conversation. The syllabus fades in your mind as you wonder how Changbin’s summer went. Maybe he spent it with his sister. Or perhaps he accompanied a love interest to a string of dates.

This thought shoots a concoction of contradicting emotions through your heart. You return distracted eyes to Professor Kim just as he’s dismissing class, burying a content fist into the customly tailored pocket of his navy suit. Minho turns to you immediately, filling your ears with proposals to coffee and lunch and maybe you could come to the dorm later and catch up. Changbin’s ears perk up as he begs for Minho’s eyes.

For a split second, his eyes fall on you before they dart away.

“I need to get back to my dorm,” you announce when you can finally slip into Minho’s breaths of pause. “My roommate’s waiting.”

“Who’s your roommate? Maybe we know him.”

You fight a laugh when he finally glances back at Changbin, who has long since given up. “His name’s Yang Jeongin.”

iv.

While Minho is overly focused on you, begging you to tell him what happened after he moved in tenth grade, Changbin pretends you do not exist. When the conversations trail outside of the lecture hall, he clings to Minho’s side but does not speak. His eyes stay glued to the sidewalk. Or his textbook, whose cover he seems very invested in.

So when Professor Kim announces a project, your heart thumps a little too fast.

Minho grabs your arm, “Be my partner?”

Changbin kicks his leg. “Dude.”

He glances back at him, as though nothing he has said goes against him. “What? Just join our group.”

Changbin’s eyes find yours reluctantly. They ignite a spark in your fingertips as you reach for a pen. “Can I?”

You smile as your head twitches in a nod. “Of course.”

The plan is this: meet at the library on October 15th (a Saturday, you realize) at 1 P.M. “Expect to be there long, I wanna get this done ASAP,” Minho adds as he downs the rest of your americano.

When the day finally comes, despite your daily prayers that time would somehow freeze or somehow skip over the day, you leave your dorm right when you need to. Early October aids a brusque breeze, and you wrap your jacket around you as you approach the small crosswalk. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you dread the inevitable message.

Lee Minho [12:59 P.M.]: Sorry guys, I can’t make it. Mama Lee’s in town and wants to see her favorite son.

It’s too late to go home, you realize, when shoes scrape against the cement and a sigh penetrates the silence. “I cannot stand him,” the voice mutters behind you.

You turn to him, offering pitied condolences with a small smile. “Just the two of us, huh?”

He nods. “Guess so.”

A loud hum draws closer as his foot leans down for the asphalt. You look to the source, seeing a red car barreling down the street. You gasp, grabbing Changbin’s sleeve and tugging him back on the sidewalk. The horn echoes in the back of your head like an alarm.

His eyes are wide when they find yours. “T-Thank you,” he stutters, cocking his head a little. As though, for the first time, he is taking in your appearance.

You realize your grip is still tight on his wrist and you let go, tensing up. “You’re welcome.”

In the library, you work in silence. As though nothing happened outside. As though your entire history lies merely within the timespan of a few weeks. Minho serving as the mutual friend to your forced, awkward friendship.

He shoots you a dizzying look as he turns his packet to you. “Can you look this over?”

The tip of your eraser taps a number. “This has to be meters per second, not centimeters per second.”

A small sigh tumbles over his bottom lip as he realizes, “That’s why the final answer looked so weird. Thank you.”

The corner of your lip must have an opposite gravity to it, because it curls upward without intent.

Returning to class the next Monday leaves the soft hint of a calm lavender in the air. You share a quick, almost childish, glance with Changbin before settling back into the tune of physics. Newtons and joules and all the fun things that make up energy.

The next few weeks pass with a quiet hum, one that hangs in the background and, if you lose sight of it, you’re scared you’ll lose it forever. It’s a time of your life where you will look back with a sigh and whisper, “How did I not realize how good I had it?”

At your peak, you fall onto your bed on a Friday night. Jeongin scribbles impatient homework answers while your eyes fall shut.

The storm of your phone blaring its tune awakes you.

Lee Minho calls to remind you that he expects you to arrive at his ‘rager of a birthday party.’ He tells you the address, enthusiastically repeating himself (like an auctioneer) as you try to find a pad of paper. Jeongin’s jumping up to fix his hair before you even hang up.

You’re really not sure what you expect as you drag your roommate in tow towards the destination. Though, when you feel the tremble of music and hear shouts from the lawn of the frat house, you somehow know you’re in the right place.

The foyer is packed with jumping bodies. Leaning on the stairs, a red solo cup in hand, is the man of the hour. His cheeks are dusted in a light coating of heat and, as you approach him, you notice that glitter brushes soft highlights along his cheekbones.

“Happy early birthday!” you shout over the music.

He dizzily turns to you and drags you towards his chest in a swift motion. “Y/N! Thank you for coming!”

You had no choice. It was either come to the party or admit yourself to Lee Minho’s terrifying grudge list.

Despite this, you return with a grin, “Of course!”

When he lets you go into the stale air, he shoves his cup into your hand. “Try some,” he nods.

You tip the plastic to your lips. As the liquid scrapes the back of your throat, you flinch back. “What is this?” Your face twists.

“Just vodka and Coke.”

You hastily return the cup to him and glance around. Jeongin has disappeared to a desolate corner, you presume. A spark of jealousy runs through your veins.

“Where’s the bathroom?” you find yourself asking Minho.

He points down a vacant hallway and tells you it’s the last door on your left. You thank him before scurrying in that direction.

Your knock echoes, though nothing returns. The pale wood feels cold against your cheek as you listen for any life inside. You find it safe to enter. Instantly, you press your palms against the cold marble. Identical eyes stare into each other in the mirror until your eyes slip to the pale, spotless basin. You stare into the milky dome absently, pondering why you feel so odd being here. And for a moment you forget where you are, lost in the dizzying world of your thoughts.

Until you hear the choked sob from behind the shower curtain.

It takes you by surprise. Hesitantly, you reach out for the navy shield.

“Ch-Changbin?” you stutter, staring down at the boy in a mess of shock.

His legs are drawn to his chest as trails of tears line his cheeks. He lets out a squeak as he looks up to you. Arms fall to his sides as he leans forward. Though, he appears to have no intention of stopping, surrendering himself to gravity.

Your hands find his shoulders merely moments before his nose slams into the porcelain. “Are you drunk?” you whisper.

Though, in return, he sobs. “I’m sorry.”

Something pierces your chest. Your lips part to say something, but the words are clogged in your throat.

“I was such an idiot,” he slurs, swaying gently.

“What’re you talking about?” you finally ask.

His balled fist slams against the tub. “You!” he shouts, face twisting as he releases another cry.

You flinch back.

“My mom always asks how you’re doing, no matter how many times I tell her. My sister still has a grudge. Hell, even Hwang Hyunjin thinks I’m an idiot and he’s the one who tricked me into leaving you!”

He leans his cheek against the wall, once again releasing a cry. Though, this one, he fights to hold back. It scalds the air in a whimper.

Quieter, he admits, “You were the only person I’ve ever felt safe with.”

You sigh, looking down at your shoes. Those days when you wondered what had gone wrong, staring up at your blank ceiling and trying to relive his smile as quiet tears fell to your pillow, wash down the drain.

He watches intently as you climb into the tub. You do not look at him as you slowly lean against the wall he rests his cheek on. Instead, you stare at the mahogany finish of the small cabinets. Regardless, you can feel his eyes burning holes into your cheek. In this cold porcelain cage, all you can hear is the distant thumping of music and the occasional sniffle from the boy beside you. You smile at the familiarity of it, returning you to your former years cozied up on a playground. No worries back then, you jealously note with a muted snicker.

“I missed you,” you finally say. Tears blur your vision, warping the defined lines of wood into a mess of color.

When you bring yourself to look at him, his eyes are closed. You lean a little closer to see if he’s sleeping. Reluctant lips part as he whispers, his breath hot and reeking of tequila, “I missed you too.”

vi.

One of the things you come to realize is that Changbin’s smile has never changed. There’s still that little indent where his cheeks fold over and each time he offers a glimpse at it you are returned to the days of the swing.

Thanks to the drunken night (half drunken night, you should say, since he had enough for both of you), Changbin has allowed a sneak peek back to his life. Strictly over text, though. You’re not sure why he’s never asked to meet up—maybe it’s too much too fast, you think—but you cannot find it in you to complain. He’s back after all these years and that seems to be enough.

So you endure it, texting him until the early hours of the morning and fascinating yourself over all of these things you have missed.

Seo Changbin [2:39 A.M.]: My sister and I went to the elementary school a couple of weeks ago.

Looking at your phone burns your eyes, as does the weird feeling in your chest.

Y/N [2:40 A.M.]: Really? Has it changed much?

Seo Changbin [2:40 A.M.]: The kids after us got all the cool playground equipment :(

Seo Changbin [2:40 A.M.]: I should take you there one day haha. I think that’d be fun.

You fight the giggle that wishes to flee, glancing up at a sleeping Jeongin for reassurance.

Waking up in the morning is aided with fleeting regrets, though beneath it you realize there is a small skip in your step. One that flares a heat in your face when you walk into the physics classroom and reach to meet Changbin’s eyes. And there, waiting, is his gaze and a small smile.

Maybe you have it bad for Seo Changbin, you think, as Professor Kim begins talking about Newton’s Third Law.

vii.

Yang Jeongin is broadcasting his homework onto the cheap projector he bought on Amazon for $50. “Isn’t it so cool?” he marvels as his red pen underlines a key part of his notes.

You absently nod, glaring at your textbook. Between the lines is a screaming thought that cascades a waterfall of forget towards your upcoming exam. You fail to notice your phone buzzing against your bed. Daydreams are dangerous like that.

“Y/N,” Jeongin’s voice finally snaps you out of it. You look to him, standing at the door and lazily holding the knob. “You’ve got a visitor.”

Your heart leaps in your chest as you rush to take his spot. Before you can tug the door open, he presses a hand on your shoulder. “Be careful around him, please.”

You watch as he struts and flops down on his bed, opening a comic book above his head.

As you open the door, a little more hesitant than before the interaction with Jeongin, you smile.

Changbin is watching the end of your hall and playing with the sleeves of his hoodie. When he senses your presence, he finally breaks his trance and offers a smile. He keeps his voice low, “Can I talk to you?”

You nod, ignoring the annoying thump thump of your heart, “Sure. What’s up?”

“In private,” he adds, peeking over your head at Jeongin. Maintaining his hold on the comic book, though his eyes have drifted to you with a parental glare.

You shut the door behind you. His footsteps draw towards the common area, and you follow. There’s a silence draped over you until he abruptly stops in the middle of the hallway and turns to you. “I need you to pretend to date me.”

You blink. “W-What?”

He draws his bottom lip between his teeth momentarily before continuing, “I made a stupid bet and I kind of really need the money.”

A shroud of toughness hides your instant willingness to help. “What do I get out of this?”

His eyes radiate the innocence of a child. They draw you to a distant memory, one that you might have seen in a movie and forced into a memory, but you’re not sure. You were at his house after he broke his arm and he cried, those same eyes staring at you as he whined about how much it hurt. And how itchy his arm was beneath the cast.

Your heart softens, and you have to fight the crumbling beneath your feet.

“Whatever you want,” he assertively nods. “Seriously.”

You sigh. “Do you have a plan?”

“I always have a plan,” he smiles, pulling you into a grateful hug. His hoodie smells vaguely of ramen with a hint of sealike cologne you might find in Lee Minho’s bathroom. You find yourself smiling as your hands rest on his back.

viii.

His hand, admittedly, feels a little odd in your hand. The last time you had held his hand was in second grade, when you went to the zoo on a field trip. Your class was already flooding into the bird exhibit with anticipation and exuberance. But you were crying your eyes out at the mere thought of seeing a parrot. (This unfounded fear is all thanks to Spongebob)

Changbin’s hand slipped into yours and slowly urged you in, mumbling that if you didn’t go you’d get stuck there forever. And then, he had whispered, the parrots might eat us alive. Even then, his hand was oddly clammy and a little sticky.

But now, as he guides you through the small neighborhood, you feel a calm mix of elation and awkwardness. Sure, this is groundbreaking material for you and your “small” crush on him. However, he’s not doing this because he likes you. He’s doing this because he needs some cash and you were a means of aiding him.

“Where are we going?” you ask, a cloud of your breath expanding from your lips. It’s only the beginning of November.

“You’ll see,” he glances over at you, a small smile painted on his pale cheeks.

There’s a small line of shrubs on your side of the sidewalk. Serving as a break in them is a metal archway, accompanied by a small wooden sign reading: Gyeonghwa Park. He turns into it, guiding you into the small fenced area. A two person swing set stands in the corner, absent seats trembling in the breeze. There’s a few wooden benches, though most are tainted in a layer of leaves.

“Ta-da,” he says, gesturing with his free arm at the small park.

You look around to the little duck statue in the corner. “I don’t mean to be rude, but why are we here again?” you turn to him. His hand burns against your skin like a constant reminder.

“I can’t take you to our playground, so I thought we could settle for here as our first fake date,” he smiles. “Plus, we need couple pictures and I think this works well.”

You’re grateful for the breeze that dashes pink across your cheeks, disguising the heat that has rushed to them at his words. “R-Right,” you stutter.

He takes a seat on a leafless bench and slips his phone from his pocket. As you reluctantly sit beside him, you watch as he sends texts to his friends. Nothing regarding you, you presume, but when he feels your eyes he quickly closes the chat.

The pictures are poised carefully, his arm resting on the top of the bench behind you, your head tilted towards his as you smile. Without warning, he presses his lips to your cheek as the shutter clicks. You try not to make your flinch obvious.

He pulls back, smiling slightly as he inquires, “Should we kiss to seal the deal?”

Fire poisons your veins as you stare back at him. The invisible mark his lips had left sizzles in the air. “Do you think we should?” you whisper.

He shrugs. “It’ll make it a bit more believable. We don’t have to if you’re not comfortable, though.”

You shake your head. “No, it’s fine. Kiss me.”

The corners of his lips upturn a little further, sending a shiver down your spine—though maybe it was just the wind. He readjusts his phone, glancing to assure you’re both in frame, before leaning in. At first, his lips merely wander in the air before yours, as though he is thinking about the best way to do this. But then, confident lips press against yours. His touch melts away the numbness in your fingers, the shiver of the cold. In this moment of freedom, you wonder if he had ever wondered what your lips tasted like. Because you sure have.

ix.

Each of your fake dates is constructed with careful attention to detail. A trip to the movies (seeing a film you had mentioned wanting to see very briefly over text). A study ‘date’ that didn’t really feel romantic, though he brought you an americano and a fancy pen he stole from his dad’s work.

But your date today is very special. The diner is filled to the brim with hungry college students and elderly couples. In the back, bunched up against the upholstery, are Changbin’s friends. They throw their heads back to laugh as one tells a stupid joke. Changbin leads you down the aisle slowly. He squeezes your hand, whispering over his shoulder, “Thank you, again, for doing this. It means a lot.”

You smile against your will,“That’s what friends are for.”

As you approach, the new and familiar faces turn to you. Some hold smiles, others hold gaping lips.

“I didn’t think you actually found someone willing to date you,” a boy marvels.

“Let alone Y/N! How come I didn’t know you were dating?” Minho shouts, garnering certain harsh looks from neighboring booths.

A glimmering smile finds your lips as you slide into the booth beside him, “You never asked.”

He scoffs. “Am I supposed to ask when anything life-changing happens?”

Changbin files in beside you, sighing, “Not necessarily, but you talk a lot.”

“How long have you been dating?” a boy across from you asks. His cheeks are dusted with light freckles, and a friendly smile paints across his lips.

“Nearly two months,” you glance at Changbin, who nods. The finer details, he stressed, must be known like the back of your hand. A single hair out of place could be the end.

“Are you serious?” Minho booms. His eyes are wide and his lips are parted. Even his eyebrows raise in awe, scratching dull wrinkles across his forehead.

“You do talk a lot,” you mumble.

Before Minho can have the chance to shout profanities aiding his awe, another boy sighs. “Shut up and congratulate them, okay? This is karma for laughing at him when he wanted in on the bet.”

“Thank you, Chan,” Changbin smiles, wrapping an adept arm around your shoulder. Instinctively, you lean into his touch, resting your head on his shoulder.

As the night unfolds, queued by digging questions and the occasional groan from Minho, you nearly forget that this is an act. That when Changbin presses a kiss to your forehead it’s not real.

Outside of the diner, as his friends disperse into their means of transportation, he cups your cheeks and presses a soft kiss to your lips. When he parts, there’s a small smile and a gloss hanging over his eyes. “Thank you,” he whispers.

He promises to pick you up at five. All that remains is the reward, you realize. A simple favor has brought you here, waiting impatiently for his knock on your door. Your heart beats harshly against your chest.

“Why are you even messing with him?” Jeongin mutters, stirring his ramen with the tips of his chopsticks.

You glance up at him, sighing, “I’m not messing with him. I’m doing him a favor.”

“Yeah, but, why? He’s an asshole, Y/N,” he shakes his head. As he shoves the steaming noodles into his mouth, he hisses at the heat and tilts his head to the side.

You watch him as he gulps down water.

At your prolonged silence, he adds, “When is he supposed to pick you up?”

You tap your phone screen, illuminating the time. “Five minutes ago.”

Jeongin drowns his harsh words with more noodles. Though, in between bites, he says, “Maybe he’s standing you up.”

The thought has crossed your mind, though a hollow in your chest wants to believe he wouldn’t do that. Friends, if that’s what you are, don’t do that.

Seconds drift into minutes. And minutes turn into an hour. Jeongin’s gone through three more ramen cups. Your lips ache as you nervously bite them, jumping for your phone at each notification.

At half past six, Jeongin rests into your bed beside you. “I’m sorry,” he whispers as he wraps a cautious arm around your shoulder.

Though, you do not feel anything aside from the irritation blurring your eyes. “Are you okay?” he asks. These simple words open the floodgate.

xi.

His eyes avert yours as though they had never known you in the first place. Minho doesn’t say anything when you lower yourself in the seat beside him. Instead, he cautiously slips you a small note. Large, scratchy words read: are you okay?

You crumble the note in your palm before tucking it into your bag. He does not bother you for the rest of class. Class travels by in grueling moments. Professor Kim’s voice seems slowed, stripped of any tone. When he finally dismisses class, warning that the semester is ending soon, you haphazardly shove your things into your bag and leave.

Over your shoulder, you hear a low smack and Minho mutter, “What the hell is the matter with you?”

It hurts to admit, given that you had known from the beginning, but Seo Changbin used you. Though, despite the anger you should be feeling, you can only find yourself wondering what he needed the money so badly for.

Back at the dorm, Jeongin silently pulls a piece of cake from the small fridge and hands it to you. “Here,” he mumbles. “My friend made it for you.”

You look up at him. “Why?” Your voice is raw from desuetude, crackles like an old radio.

Jeongin bites his lip, eyes slipping to your comforter. “I told him you were having a rough time. Plus, he knows Changbin, so he knows the story.”

You take the paper plate in your fingertips, dragging it toward you. You poke the delicacy with the tip of your fork. “What’s the story?”

A sigh slips past his lips. “That you guys dated and you broke up. That’s all Changbin told them.”

You nod. He must’ve gotten the money and thrown you away.

Your phone buzzes against the mattress. Jeongin leans over to check who it is. When his eyes meet yours again, he informs, “It’s just Minho.”

So you allow yourself to look at your phone.

Lee Minho [9:20 A.M.]: I’m outside your dorm. Let me in please.

You look up to the door, though your energy is below zero. Jeongin grabs your phone, reading the message, before going to answer the door.

“Hey, Jeongin,” Minho pushes past him. He sits at the foot of your bed. “What happened?”

You blink, eyes staring into his absently. “What?”

“With Changbin. Tell me what happened, please. He won’t tell us anything and I’m starting to get worried for both of you. He’s never this quiet and you’re never this sulky,” he reluctantly rests his hand on your knee.

You look at Jeongin, who stands there with arms against his chest. He shrugs, silently telling you it’s up to you.

You sigh. “Where do I start?”

“The beginning, preferably.”

“I think I fell in love with him, but I can’t tell you when. Maybe it was when we were kids. Maybe it was at the party when he apologized,” you slowly say. The words do not feel like yours. A small pit rumbles in your stomach, begging you to continue. “He wanted a favor, to pretend to date him for that bet you guys made. I didn’t ask why he needed the money or why I should do this for him, given all he did to me. I just went with it. And things were great, as far as fake relationships go.”

In your break of silence, you find yourself smiling at all the fake dates. You wonder if the pictures still live in his phone or if he discarded them the moment he got rid of you.

“So you guys faked the whole thing?” Minho’s eyebrows furrow.

You nod. “He was supposed to pick me up on Saturday, but he stood me up. And now we’re here.”

Minho blinks. “Either Changbin’s a good actor or he’s a fucking asshole.”

“It’s the latter,” Jeongin announces as he crosses to his bed.

Minho shakes his head. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Don’t tell him what I said,” you rush. “About loving him or anything.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

After he leaves, Jeongin loudly sighs. “I knew you were in love with him.”

You look at him, slowly nodding, “I didn’t really make an effort to hide it.”

xii.

There are tears irritating your skin as you pull yourself out of bed. Surviving off of Felix’s cake and Jeongin’s ramen cups is less than attractive, but you cannot build enough will to leave your dorm. You ask Minho to take notes in physics for you and he quickly obliges, no questions asked.

Changbin, still, plagues your mind like venom. Each time you think maybe a nap is in order, you shut your eyes and see his smile. Or you’ll think of his lips on yours as he smiles into the kiss. Your eyes shoot open, chest rising heavily. Even when you stare at your ceiling too long, your brain deems it a screen for a memory to play. Casted like Jeongin’s cheap projector.

There was this once, in fourth grade when you grew bored of the swings so you relocated to the plastic blue tunnel. He blocked off one end while you took the other. On hotter days, you’d lay on top of the tunnel. One day, he looked at you across the plastic and asked, “Do you ever think we’ll be grown ups far away from each other?”

You shook your head so confidently. “No. We’re gonna live together. Like roommates.”

Jeongin comes home from his classes with a cup of coffee. He sets it on your nightstand as he whispers, “I’m spending the night at Chan’s tonight. Call me if you need anything.”

You take a sip of the americano. “Thanks, have fun.”

In his wake is a dreaded silence that reminds you of Changbin’s laugh. Time has only plagued it with a dash of depth.

Your phone buzzes. Hesitantly, you roll over and grab it. The metal is cold against your fingers.

Lee Minho [4:29 P.M.]: Hey, I need you to come to the beach. There’s something I want to show you.

The thing that tipped you over the edge when looking for a college was the beach. As you carefully scouted, the grains of sand kept drawing you back. It’s ironic as you realize that you haven’t been once, despite its proximity. You can already feel the bitter cold against your cheeks as you rise from your bed. Dots of dizziness scatter across your eyes.

The mid November air is cooler than you expected as you step out of the complex. You shove balled fists deeper into your hoodie pocket.

The walk to the beach is shorter than you had expected, only passing ten minutes. You see Minho waiting on the wooden slats leading to the sand. He jumps to preserve his heat.

“Hey,” you call out to him.

He looks to you, daring to unveil a pale hand as he waves. When you’re closer he says, “It’s fucking cold out here.”

You nod, looking out onto the vacant sand. Huddled like a speck of trash is a small figure.

“Why’d you want to meet out here?” you return to look at him, a piercing cold slashing your heart at the realization.

His face softens as he glances out towards the black speck in the sand. “Well, he wanted to meet you here but he wasn’t sure if you’d come if he texted. So he dragged me out here.”

You find yourself laughing. “And you agreed?”

“I didn’t know it was negative twenty out here,” he mutters. “So go and talk to him so I can get back in my car.”

You smile. Your heart thunders against your chest and, even though you know you shouldn’t, your feet move towards the small figure. He tugs you in, time and time again.

You glance over your shoulder when you reach him. Minho’s already gone, as though his presence was merely a ghost. You squat next to Changbin, wrapping your arms around your knees.

He looks at you, though you keep focused on the pale water. Brushing up on the sand, pulling back into the ocean.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

You nod. “You always say that.”

“I really am,” he admits. “I know you probably think I’m an asshole, reasonably so, but I really am sorry for everything.”

You finally look at him. “What’d you need the money for?”

He’s taken aback. He had expected more of a heartbreaking confession, a perspective he had not once explored. “Music equipment,” he says. “It’s really for me, Chan, and Jisung.”

You nod, looking back at the water. “I was just a ragdoll so you could get that.”

“Not really,” he whispers. “It was kinda a double positive for me.”

Furrowed eyebrows turn back to him.

“I got the money,” he starts, “and I also got the luxury of pretending to be yours.”

You blink. Your voice is small, barely audible over a gust of wind, “What?”

“Every time I did something stupid that got in between us, I always knew I’d find my way back to you. I was the tide and you were the moon, reaching out and tugging me back into reality. Time and time again, as we’ve come to understand,” he nods, glancing at his red fingers, bitten by the air.

You stare at him. “So why do you keep pushing me away?”

He shrugs. “There was always the fear that you didn’t want to bring me back.”

You scoff, remembering your childhood and the way he kept drawing you closer. You shake your head, words failing you.

“So truly, I am so sorry. You still have your end of the deal, you know. You get whatever you want. You can tell me to fuck off and I’ll go home. Sure, I’d be a little heartbroken, but-”

You cut him off, “Why would I ever do that?”

“Because I treat you like shit to fuel this stupid ideology that you don’t hate me,” he admits. “Even when I don’t try to be, I’m a selfish asshole. I only kissed you because I wanted to, not because of the stupid pictures for the bet. I only asked you for the favor because I wanted to paint this stupid little picture in my head. I only stood you up because I couldn’t bring myself to face you and admit that my stupid fantasy was over.”

“That’s not selfish,” you say. “That’s just very Seo Changbin of you.”

“I really cannot tell if you hate my guts or not,” he sighs, picking up a handful of sand and watching as it trickles down again.

You shake your head. “Minho didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

You look back at the empty space where the ghost once stood. A sigh of a distant nostalgia slips from your lips—the times you’ve pictured this moment over and over in your daydreams. However, you did not imagine the bitter bite of the wind nipping at your cheeks. “That I’m in love with you.”

“You what?” he gawks, leaning a bit closer. As though his ears deceive him.

Your eyes return to his as you nod. “I love you. I probably have since we were kids. That’s the only reason I agreed to your favor. Because I, too, wanted to be a little selfish.”

His lips slowly curl up into a smile as he releases an abrasive laugh. “How much did Minho pay you to say that?”

“He didn’t. I’m being completely honest. Why else would I be here if I wasn’t stupidly in love with you, huh?”

“Really?”

“Yes, now can we speed this up? It’s fucking cold out here.”

He presses his lips against yours. You expect them to mold against yours like they had in previous weeks, but now they are fiery. It sends tingles down your spine as he cups your cheek. With those internal feelings finally suspended from your body, you can sigh a breath of relief.

You wonder if younger you would be proud.

xiii.

“Are you guys actually dating now or are you just fucking with us again?” one of Changbin’s friends, Jisung, asks as you slide into the same booth as a few weeks ago.

“They are,” Minho intervenes. “I watched them confess and everything. Like a minister.”

“Bullshit,” you mutter. “You went back to your car as soon as I got there.”

Changbin’s laugh tickles against your ear as he scoots in next to you.

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing we didn’t revoke the award,” the freckled boy, who you’ve now concluded is Felix, observes.

“Why?” Jisung asks, bringing the straw of his soda to his lips.

“Because we would have had to give it right back.”

His friends are very welcoming of you, despite the deception that marked your first greeting. Chan catches you in the parking lot as Changbin and Jisung fight over the extra mint the server placed on the table.

“I just want you to know,” he starts with a smile, “that he really loves you. It’s not a front, I promise.”

Your eyes crinkle at the corners as you ask, “Those are suspicious words. How should I trust you?”

“Because he talks about you all the time. I know more about your childhood than I know about mine. Plus, he’s written three songs about you and we don’t even have the equipment to record anything yet.”

You laugh, “You’re in luck, then.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Why?”

You smile, shaking your head. “You’ll find out.”

Changbin returns to your side, a sullen scowl pressed against his lips as he watches Jisung pop the mint into his mouth. Chan dismisses himself to attend to Felix attempting to teach Minho a taekwondo move.

You look over at Changbin, “You’ve written songs about me?”

His eyes widen, “No? Why would I ever do that?”

A giggle bubbles up from your stomach as you shake your head, starting off to his car. Behind you, he repeats the same question urgently.

xiv.

Seo Changbin is like a pest that flies around your head, begging your attention at all moments of the day. He invited you over to his dorm so you could study together, though when you arrived with your textbook and notes, he appeared offended.

“What?” you asked as you settled on his bed, fluffing pillows before leaning against them.

“Studying doesn’t mean studying, it means cuddling,” he pouted.

It’s lucky for him that Minho isn’t home because if he ever heard those words falling from his lips, he’d never hear the end of it.

So that’s why you’re laying your head on his pillow, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as you read over your notes.

“What’s the formula for Newton’s law of universal gravitation?” you quiz him when you feel his arms start to loosen with the temptation of sleep.

He hums, “I don’t know. You’re the one with the strong magnetic force. Shouldn’t they call it Y/N’s law of universal gravitation?”

You sigh, setting the spiral notebook on his nightstand before you turn in his arms to face him. The hint of a smile already greets you. You press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. “What’s your grade in physics?”

He looks up at the ceiling as he pretends to think. “38.”

“What?” you hiss, pulling back away from him as though he has an illness you didn’t know about.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” he whines, pulling you back. “I only signed up for the class because it reminded me of you.”

You smile. “Why?”

He shyly pouts, “I may have gone out of my way to hear about you when we were in high school.”

“And you never thought to apologize?” you counter, your smile still reigning.

“You looked like you were doing fine without me,” he shyly admits.

“Changbin,” you shake your head. “I had no friends after Minho moved. I chased after you, thinking maybe something would happen.”

He closes his eyes. “Tell me you didn’t see me in Cinderella.”

“I saw you in Cinderella,” you laugh.

He throws his head back and whines. “The pants they put me in were two sizes too big.”

The memory of him standing on stage and having to hold up his pants, disguising it by having his hands on his hips, brings another laugh to the air. “Did they really not have any clothespins or anything?”

“No!” he exclaims, looking back into your eyes. “Fucking Hyunjin was hoarding them all!”

You feel the vibrations of your laugh against the pillow. It’s good being like this, having him tethered close.

He’s in the middle of saying something, probably further pursuing his complaints about high school or Hyunjin, but you do not care. You press your lips against his. A moment of stillness, thanks to his shock, before he kisses you back.

The only word to describe this feeling brewing in your stomach: bliss. Pure, hot bliss.

You hope gravity will keep you grounded here.

130 notes · View notes

maren-as-an-adult · 3 years

Text

The 2020 Experience, Part 2

When I flew back to New York a few days later (yes, I braved the airports and a plane) I could not stop crying. What should have been a loving and heartfelt reunion between myself and Graham turned into an awkward situation for him, with me bent double in the front seat of his car sobbing inconsolably.

And suddenly I had to adjust back to life more or less on my own. I couldn’t have friends come over, my family who lived in NYC were too far for me to get to them without public transit, and Graham’s mother was immunocompromised so we couldn’t spend much time together. I was back to sitting at my computer, taking online surveys for the promise of money and sending out application after application. Jena and Julia, my other two roommates, were still not back, so it was just me and Polina.

Things started to get a little better though. I had applied for Medicaid so I had some health coverage again. I scheduled an appointment with my new doctor, I started talking to a therapist again in August, and I stopped budgeting for birth control and got it for free. The after school program was up and running again, this time remotely (only one of my schools was able to host their program though, so my work hours were still cut). I looked forward to every other weekend, where Graham would drive out and pick me up to spend a few nights at his place. Jena came back and announced she was moving out, and our new roommate Michelle moved in. Michelle and I had a lot in common, and I found it easy to talk to and connect with her.

I even got out to see my family. I braved the subway to see my family up in Astoria, and Polina told me about the ferries I could take that brought me to my family on the Upper East Side.

One day in late September, however, I woke up with abdominal pain. It was pretty mild at first, but it kept getting worse. As someone who has periods, I assumed it was just week-early cramps brought on by stress combined with a poor diet that didn’t include much fiber. I tried to assuage the feeling by eating an apple, but after a quick trip to the bathroom it made a reappearance coming back up the way it went down. I decided to do what most people do (and what doctors hate) and look up my symptoms online to try and self-diagnose. The two big contenders for what I was suffering from were IBS or an ulcer. I texted Graham and told him what was up, and he asked what I was going to do. My current plan was to try and wait it out, and if things still felt bad in the morning, I would go to the ER.

If it wasn’t for Graham’s suggestion that I go to an urgent care center (which I had completely forgot existed at this point in time) I may have died.

At 7:12pm I grabbed my bag and walked three blocks to the urgent care center closest to my apartment. Unfortunately, they were no longer taking walk-ins for the day, but told me that another urgent care center was open until 8 and would take walk-ins.

It was 17 blocks away.

I walked 17 blocks with severe abdominal pain to this urgent care center just to be seen and tell a health professional I wasn’t feeling well. I knew there wouldn’t be much they could do, but maybe they could give me a better idea of what was wrong with me. I called Graham and gave him the address of the urgent care center, asking that he come out to be with me. Whatever was happening to me, I did not want to go through it alone.

I made it to the urgent care center fifteen minutes before they closed. I was taken to an observation room where a brusque young Russian woman took down my vitals and information as we waited for the RN to come see me. When he finally did come in and I started telling him what was wrong, I barely finished explaining what happened after I ate and failed to keep down the apple that he interrupted me saying, “You need to go to the ER immediately, because what you described sounds like you have a GI bleed. You’ll need an endoscopy, where they take a camera on a long, thin tube and feed it down in through your stomach and into your intestines to see if you’re bleeding internally.”

It was getting late, I was alone, and I was TERRIFIED.

I was told where the nearest ERs were, was given a printed referral, and then dismissed for the evening. All I could do was wait for Graham and tell him what was going on... and then call my mother and tell her.

I love my mom. I’ll likely never not love my mom for the rest of my life. But sometimes she takes a bad situation and makes me feel even worse. When I told her I had called Graham to come get me, she pointedly asked why I didn’t call any of my family who lived closer than Graham. Well, of my family who live in the greater metropolitan area of New York City, we have:

- My Aunt Barbara and Uncle Danny, currently NOT in NYC and instead staying out in Milford, PA

- My Uncle Brian, Aunt Corinne, and cousin Nikki up in Astoria. My aunt cannot drive and gets panicked easily, my cousin only has her learner’s permit, and my uncle (though I love him) would not be the most comforting presence to me at the moment, being VERY pro-Trump Republican and a FIRM anti-masker

- My Uncle Mike, Aunt Gloria, and cousins Maura (and her husband Andrew), Brendan, and Kevin. Maura, at this point in time, was nine months pregnant and due to give birth any minute, and I was not going to be responsible for pulling my aunt or uncle away from the birth of their first grandchild

With this information presented to my mother, she did concede that calling Graham had not been a terrible idea. Continuing to fret, however, she said I should at least have called them to let them know what was happening. She took it upon herself to do that, and additionally call my father and tell him (dad was on the road at that point and so missed my initial call of “Hey, jsyk, I’m going to the ER, wish me luck!”). Graham pulled up, I ended my mom’s call telling her I’d keep her posted, and headed off to the unknown.

As we were driving to the closest ER, my dad called. Thankfully, he gave advice that calmed me down. He listened to my symptoms, told me it was likely an ulcer, and told me what would happen when I went in: I’d be admitted to the ER, they’d take my vitals, I’d explain my symptoms over and over and over to multiple people, they’d probably admit me overnight, knock me out and do an endoscopy, and in the morning I’d be sent home with a prescription to help with the ulcer. I felt better.

Graham and I made it to the ER at about 8:45pm. I was admitted immediately, my vitals were taken, I was given a cup to pee in, an IV was placed in my arm, my blood was taken, and I told my story to two different doctors and a few different nurses. I went in for an ultrasound to rule out pregnancy, endometriosis, and ovarian cysts. I waited, with Graham by my side.

The doctor came back at about 11:30pm and told me my urinalysis and ultrasound came back unremarkable, but my bloodwork showed a high white blood cell count, which meant my body was fighting off an infection somewhere. This is absolutely something I did and did not want to hear in the middle of a global pandemic. On the one hand, go immune system! Keep me safe, you beautiful, hard-working bitch! On the other hand, what was it my body was fighting off?

The doctor said if I wanted to leave at that point, I could, because nothing obvious was found. “But,” she said, “I would strongly recommend we do a CT scan just to be safe.”

It was late, both Graham and I were tired, and my abdominal pain wasn’t awful to the point where I was bent double anymore. I could stand and walk around with only a slight discomfort. The thought of getting out of the ER, a frankly dangerous place to be in these COVID times, was deliciously appealing.

“What the hell, lets do the CT scan.”

I was given almost two liters of fluid to drink to prep for the scan. It didn’t taste bad, actually, kind of like a flat lemon La Croix that had been left in its aluminum can too long. At 12:30am I went in for the scan. Two hours later, Graham and I were still waiting for the results. At around 2:30am Graham turned to me and said, “Honestly, I’m ready to go. I won’t leave you here alone, but I’m exhausted and ready to get out of here.” I responded, “Honestly, I am too.”

At that moment, a doctor walked around the corner into our area and said, in a too cheery voice, “Hi there! You have appendicitis.”

I swear in that moment I could feel the cosmic force of the universe tremble with suppressed laughter at this finely crafted moment of ironic timing. My only response to the doctor and Graham was, “Well... I guess I’m staying here for the night?” Remember when I thought it was IBS? Couldn’t we go back to that?

I’ve mentioned before the idea of surgery scares me. I’d hoped I’d only have to experience anesthesia from getting my wisdom teeth removed. I fully expected to break down in hysterics then, but I guess I was just too tired and overwhelmed to react in such a big way. I called my mom and told her what was happening, and the first suggestion she made was for me to come home and heal in Chicago.

...mom, I love you, but getting on a plane immediately after major surgery in the MIDDLE OF A GLOBAL PANDEMIC FROM AN AIRBORNE VIRUS is frankly the DUMBEST IDEA EVER.

After realizing that would be a bad move, she suggested she come out to be with me while I heal. While an appealing process, it ultimately wouldn’t be of much use, because she’d have to quarantine for two weeks before seeing anyone at that point. Eventually, she offered to book a hotel room for me and Graham for a long, extended weekend to help me recover. It was extremely generous of her, and I’ll forever be grateful she did it.

I was hooked up to antibiotics to prep for surgery, and the attending surgeon explained the procedure to me. Everyone was so calm and sure of themselves that I felt okay, and the inevitable wave of panic was held off. At 4:30am, I was wheeled up to the operating room. Graham stayed by my side as long as he could and walked all the way to the doors of the OR hallway with me and the attending. I made sure he and my mom had each others’ phone numbers so he could give updates. I was wheeled through the doors, and met with my operating team.

The anesthesiologist and practicing surgeon assured me that they felt fine, well-rested, and at the top of their game, and I was able to relax some as I moved off of my gurney onto the operating table. Once I was on the table, clad only in a thin hospital gown and gripper socks, my body started to shake. Whether it was from the cold or the panic had finally set in I wasn’t sure, but I calmly told the doctors that I thought my fight or flight response was kicking in, and they might need to consider restraining my shaking limbs.

They did, and they also put a heated (and somewhat weighted) blanket over me which relaxed me so my limbs weren’t shaking so violently. An oxygen mask was placed on my face, sealing my nose and mouth into a thick plastic chamber. I tried to breathe deeply and evenly, forcing myself to think of pleasant thoughts and not spiral into a headspace of worst case scenarios. I think what helped most was actually an attending nurse reading out loud my patient chart for posterity and recording’s sake, and he said, “Patient is a twenty-seven year old female named Maureen Ford.”

The annoyance I felt at being misnamed (again as Maureen) cut through the second wave of panic buildup, and my only goal was to correct him. The oxygen mask muffled my voice, but I like to think if you were to listen to the audio recording of my surgery, you would hear, very faintly in the background, me indignantly stating, “It’s pronounced MAREN!”

My last thought before I went under was that I need to make sure that nurse was corrected.

When I woke up, I felt more comfortable than I had in a very long time. The only thing that kept me from being in a total state of comfortable bliss was the slowly incoming knowledge that my mouth was drier than the Sahara desert at noon in July. Despite this, and the residual effects of the anesthesia still in effect, I was pleased to find that not only could I clearly hear and understand the conversations happening around me, I could also coherently speak and communicate with people. I asked for water as soon as I could, and the nurse told me that they’d have to work me up to water. We’d start with a lemon swab in my mouth, followed by ice chips, and then I could get water. The attending surgeon came in to tell me the surgery went smoothly without complications, and I asked her if she could make sure whoever called me Maureen was corrected on my name pronunciation.

I really hope it wasn’t written off as a sleepy patient’s delirious request, because I was absolutely serious about it.

After eating some very powdery eggs and drinking an apple juice, I was discharged and told to get my medications, rest up, avoid lifting anything over 15 pounds, stay away from submerging my sutures in water, and to schedule a one week post-op follow up with my primary care provider and a two week post-op follow up with the attending surgeon.

Graham drove us back to Bay Ridge, and I gave him my keys to go grab some essentials from my apartment. I gave Michelle and Polina a heads up that he was coming up (and I had let them know what was happening before I went into surgery) and that I’d be gone recovering through the weekend and partway into the week. They both wished me a speedy recovery, Graham grabbed a few essentials for me, and we drove up the street to pick up my meds from Rite Aid.

For some reason, they had only filled two of the four prescriptions. One they didn’t fill because it was a controlled substance and the hospital hadn’t submitted the proper authorization for it, and the other prescription (one of two laxatives) I have no idea why it wasn’t filled. Eventually, I got both my pain medications and one of the laxatives, with the other laxative to be filled and picked up at a different Rite Aid, closer to Graham’s work.

Exhausted, sore, hungry, and (in my case) in desperate need of a shower, we made it back to Graham’s to spend one more day there before going off to the hotel my mom had booked us. Graham had been scheduled to work that day, but after calling into the office was told he should only come in if he thought it was absolutely necessary. He ended up catching a few hours of sleep before going in for the late shift at work. I managed to take a shower and fell asleep on his couch as his bed was too soft and sent my abdomen into absolute agony. I blinked in and out of consciousness for the next few hours, waiting for Graham to come home with my last bit of medication. In that time, my dad called to check on me and ask how I felt, what I was prescribed, and what was expected of me. As we were talking Graham called, and I excused myself so I could answer the call. Nothing could have prepared me for what Graham was going to say to me.

“I was just hit by a truck.”

*click*

#part 2

1 note · View note

chaoskatya · 4 years

Text

unfinished brooke x katya hatefuck fic

hi yall :^) so ive had this sitting in my drafts for a WHILE and ive barely dented the actual planned plot but still i felt like it was kind of a waste of what i did write to not ?? idk do something with it? this was originally written for AQ’s rarepair event but irl stuff got in the way so it never got finished, and i kinda lost the inspo to finish it (for now? idk) so here it is, posted unedited in however it was when i last touched it

brooke x katya hatefuck, (well, planned, i obv hadnt written that far) inspired by pics of trixie and brooke together that one time they were weirdly hanging out a lot irl and that one outfit brooke has that looks like that one outfit katya has the polkadot one u know it

“Ugh, I swear, Vi! She really has something against me! I think she hates me!”

Katya punctuates her sentence with a flail of her arms for emphasis before flopping back onto her bed. Violet just rolls her eyes at her roommate’s dramatics, as per usual. This is the third time they’ve had this conversation this week.

“So she’s a little icy, what of it? It’s not like you’re not used to having a mega bitch around, you live with me,” Violet responds plainly, not even bothering to look up from her laptop, “and I don’t think anybody could hate you, Kat.”

Katya huffs at that. “No, I swear, she hates me.”

Katya Zamolodchikova is absolutely sure of three things in her university life: One, Trixie Mattel is her best friend. Two, nothing gets in between her and Trixie. Three, Brooke Lynn Hytes is absolutely making her best fucking attempt.

Katya and Trixie had met last year, Katya being a sophomore in visual arts and Trixie a freshman in musical theater, when Katya had accidentally crashed Ginger’s (kind of pathetic) attempt at being a tour guide for the freshmen of her course. They’ve only known each other for a year, but ever since then the two quickly became inseparable and a year had felt like a lifetime. All of their friends knew, and Katya held it close to her heart, that nothing could possibly stand in their way. That is, until the beginning of this semester.

Trixie had been elected as class representative at the start of their sophomore year, which did not surprise Katya one bit. But that meant that when Canadian exchange student Brooke Lynn Hytes had arrived for the semester, it was Trixie’s job to show her around and make her feel welcomed. And being that Brooke’s degree in classical dance meant her and Trixie had quite a few overlapping classes, the two hit it off and had gotten closer and closer since. It’s only half way through the semester, yet Katya feels as though she’s slowly becoming more and more of a background character in Trixie’s life. They still text each other when they can, but hangout times have slowly grown increasingly thin and so has Katya’s sanity. Not that it’s Trixie’s fault, of course…

“I can’t explain it. But I promise, it’s almost like she’s purposefully occupying Trixie from me! Every time it looks like we might get a chance to even just talk, she’s there coming round the corner asking Trixie for help in one of their classes or for show recs or whatever. And she always looks me dead in the eye, with her stupid fucking smirk, like she knows what she just did! I can’t explain the feeling I get when I see her!”

Katya’s hit full ranting steam now, half hanging off her bed still flailing as animated as ever.

Violet shuts her laptop and turns to face her. “Mama, sounds like you hate her. Sure it’s not just in your head because you’re jealous the amazon’s occupying your barbie?”

There’s a beat of silence. “Jealous? I guess?” Katya scrunches up her face and sits up. “I mean, how could I not be? With her stupid long legs and her flowing blonde hair, like god, Vi, she’s practically perfect! And have you seen her dance?”

Katya turns to pose her question, but Violet is just staring, giving her a look she can’t decipher. She continues,

“So then, fine, of course I’m jealous, but that’s because Trix is my best friend. I barely see her anymore, and when I do she’s always there and I just get so riled up! And I’m sure Trix has started to notice because god I just can’t stand it when she’s near, it just sets me alight in an awful way. I’ve never felt this way about anybody before!” And it’s true, Katya really does not think of herself as someone capable of fully hating someone else. But by god, is Brooke really testing that.

Violet scoffs, turning away to open her laptop once more. “Look Mary, all I gotta say is that that’s an awful lot of emotion for some best friend jealousy. Also, you have a lecture starting in ten minutes.”

Fuck! Katya checks her watch and immediately jumps up to scramble for her belongings, deeply thankful for her roommate’s type A tendencies yet internally chastising herself for allowing her ranting to consume her time like that. She quickly kisses Violet on the cheek and bids her farewell before putting on her boots and heading out of their dorm room to make her best effort to speed walk to class.

But as luck would have it, not that Katya has a lot of it, she quite literally walks right into the subject of their prior conversation. Well, speak of the devils…

“Oh! Trixie, hi!” Katya laughs, immediately reacting to steady Trixie from where Katya had almost knocked her over with the door. From the way she was standing, she figured she had opened the door just as Trixie was about knock.

“Katya! Thank god, I was worried you wouldn’t be in,” Trixie smiles back brightly, smoothing her fluffy golden hair back into place. (Not that it’s ever really out of place, Katya thinks to herself.)

Katya smiles at her, a sight for sore eyes she thinks, but when she realizes Brooke is standing at the end of the hall waiting for Trixie, her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Whether Trixie noticed Katya’s tension or not, she didn’t let on. At least Brooke had the decency to wait at a reasonable distance.

“Uh, yeah, I was just heading out though,” Katya replies, trying her best to look sympathetic. She doesn’t mind that she’s running late anymore, just feels bad she even has to go. “But did you need something?”

Trixie looks equally as sympathetic. “Yeah, uh, listen, I’m really sorry. I know we haven’t been able to hang recently and I’m really sorry for that, midterms and all…”

“Hey, it’s alright, I knew you were busy. It’s no problem, really.” That’s a lie.

“But now that it’s over, let’s celebrate! Let me make it up to you? Be my date to the Edwards party tonight?”

Katya’s smile softens. As much as she was planning to trade in the party for a well-deserved movie night in with Violet and Pearl, she finds she really can’t say no to Trixie, especially not when she’s looking at her like an apologetic puppy. Whipped.

“Down for anything with you, Barbie. Meet you at the dorm hall at 8?”

Trixie squeals and picks Katya up by the middle, “AAAAAAAH yes!! See you bitch!!”

Katya squirms violently to be put down but laughs it off anyway. She really can’t be too mad at her best friend.

“Anyway, I gotta run, see you later Trix!” She rushes to hug Trixie quickly once more before escaping as briskly yet casually as she can out the door. This fails her when all semblance of casualty is lost as she passes the point where Brooke is, all tall and blonde and beautiful even just standing around. As she passes, her gaze quite obviously steels ahead to avoid looking Brooke in the eye, but she can’t fail to catch the quite obvious smug smirk the Canadian has posed on her painted lips.

----

Katya managed to make it to class with only 5 minutes late, thankfully just as her professor was entering the other door. She plops down into her usual seat with an audible groan and immediately drops her head in her hands.

Brooke. Stupid fucking Brooke Lynn Hytes. Lately, Katya’s wandering thoughts always go back to her. There hasn’t been a time where her idle time hasn’t been haunted by a certain ballerina chipping away at her precious concentration. She sees perfect long blonde hair, icy blue eyes, and tone legs that go all the way up.

If she’s being completely honest with herself, she is just a bit jealous of Brooke but not for the reasons Violet insinuates. I mean, sure, she misses Trixie to bits. But that’s only one of the many straws on the camel that is Katya’s completely rational anger.

It’s not that she’s perfect, either, but that sure adds another straw. Seemingly introverted, but able to capture the hearts of anyone in her path through quick and honest charm. Graceful and poised, where Katya is not, and tall and curvy, where Katya is not. Katya really doesn’t understand how someone can attend 7am dance classes with a flawless mug and still leave rehearsals with not an eyelash out of place, it’s inhuman.

No, it’s that no matter how much others testify on her behalf, Katya does not understand it. She doesn’t know what she did, but she has somehow done something to aggravate Brooke against her, and it bothers her endlessly that she doesn’t even know what she did to incur such spite. Katya doesn’t see any of the charm or kindness that others profess, only smug smirks and cocky passive-aggressive jabs and a seemingly passionate desire to find any way she can to poke Katya’s buttons and prompt some kind of response. She’s lucky Katya has a lot more self control than most, and she’s restrained herself from biting back thus far.

She thinks back to the first time she spotted Brooke, on the first day of the semester when Katya had gotten bored and decided to drop in on Trixie’s representative duties despite explicit instructions not to intrude. She had found her in one of the gardens of the student commons, and instinctively made her way to run up and tackle her before realizing Trixie wasn’t alone and stopping dead in her tracks.

Trixie was sitting next to someone Katya didn’t recognize, which was a surprise in itself because Katya knew next to everybody personally in their modestly sized arts college. The girl was sitting next to Trixie on a bench, both hands holding one of Trixie’s own as Trixie appeared to animatedly be telling some story. Trixie then finally noticed Katya frozen standing awkwardly at some distance and paused in the middle of her speech to yell at Katya and becon her over.

“Katya! This is Brooke Lynn, a Canadian exchange student for the semester. Brooke, this is Katya, my best friend!”

Brooke lazily shifted her gaze from Trixie to give Katya the once over, glancing her up and down. Whatever she saw, she suddenly stood up and crowded into Katya’s space, gazing down at her intensely directly from the advantage their clear height difference gave her.

“Well, it’s certainly nice to meet you… Katya.”

And on her lips, the same painted red smirk. The same stupid smirk that would continuously haunt her until…

“Kat, you with us girl?” Hissed Pearl in her ear, jabbing her hard in the side.

#brooke lynn hytes #katya zamolodchikova #rpdr rpf #rpdr fanfic #brooke x katya #THE WHOLE PLOT WAS LIKE DONE i just lost the inspo to finish the thing #so idk i just felt weirdly compelled to like. post it #idk itll ease my guilt maybe for not finishing it #cat writes #cat.txt #my fics #wips

7 notes · View notes

skrillahead · 4 years

Text

Ten years ago, when I was 23 an old friend introduced me to @taylorswift music. I had just gone through a horrendous breakup to a guy named John and she mentioned how she felt I would appreciate the song “Dear John.” To my surprise it resonated every thought and feeling I was going through. It didn’t take long before I begged her to let me borrow her Speak Now album. I’ll admit here and now that it was one of the fundemental albums I listened to help me recover from one of the worst relationships I’ve ever been in.

Two years later in 2012, history repeated itself. The relationship wasn’t as dramatic or eventful but it still hurt like hell. I mean, how could it not? when no matter how many times you put your love out there they never want to stay. To my surprise Taylor Swift put out her singles for her Red album that fall and I can’t even begin to describe how therapeutic it was to listen to “I knew you were trouble” but also how much I cried every time I listened to “Red” because it really did feel like driving a Maserati down a dead end street *cries even now*

Two years after that in 2014, Taylor’s 1989 album was released and at the time I hadn’t really cared to date anymore. I was happy being on my own and wasn’t looking to detox of any sad emotions but I bought the album because “Shake it off” was just super fun to listen to and I’m so glad that one song convinced me to buy the album because that year I had a falling out with the very friend who introduced me to Taylor’s music. So one can only imagine what song I had on repeat that fall. You guessed it “Bad Blood” it was almost as if she had premeditated my life. Like she knew what was coming before I did and said, “here. This might help”

In 2015, an ex bf from 2006 (my first real bf) sent me a text one night after not speaking for about six years because he was in a new relationship and wouldn’t stop messaging me. Keep in mind, I had never gotten over this guy because he was my first everything. It was hard to forget him (up until this series of events of course) but as hard as it was to ignore him i knew it wasn’t right to talk to him while he had a girlfriend because yes, I believe in karma. The night he textd me we talked for hours. He says “we broke up” and “she wasn’t you” I fight it for a bit but eventually I bite. Not long after, I see him and get to kiss him again. It felt like magic all over again, he even mentioned going on vacation together and getting married but as fast as he came he left. Turns out he was still seeing his “at the time ex” (you can see where this is going) I eventually put all the pieces together and tell him to never speak to me again. I felt so broken and stupid for believing every word he said and for thinking that I could even mean anything to him when he had been with this other girl for 7 years at that point. So what did I do to heal? Like most people I hung out with friends and kept busy but honestly, none of that helped as much as listening to “You’re not Sorry” from the Fearless album on repeat. It was the one album I hadn’t listened to in its entirety yet and when I heard that song I cried like someone spilled onion juice in my eyes but I kept moving forward and eventually got out of my depressive state. So again, thank you for that. Btw fast forward to present time and they’re now married. So, congratulations Mr and Mrs Muir. Side note: there are so many details missing from this but I don’t want to bore anyone with that in the middle of an already long post.

Flash forward to 2016, there wasn’t a new Taylor Swift album. Which almost felt odd considering there had been 2 year gaps between her albums before but I did read a lot about her in the tabloids that year so I figured her absence might’ve been related to it. Regardless, my own personal and very unrealistic agenda for Taylor made me angry with her that year. 2016, was the year Trump ran for President, and as we all know he won. For some crazy reason my head went crazy. I strongly believed that Taylor could’ve kept that man from winning had she used her voice because of how strong her following is but we couldn’t find her until voting day. I conjured up this idea in my head that she was more concerned about losing followers over where she stood in politics than what actually happened to us as a nation. I really don’t know what I was going through that year to be so delusional. It probably didn’t even have to do with Taylor Swift but I did become angry. There was just so much uncertainty by the end of that year that maybe I used her as a scape goat and just started believing all of the negative things that were being posted online about her which in retrospect, wasn’t right and wasn’t fair. She’s still a person with not only her own thoughts and feelings but also her own struggles. So if by any crazy chance you happen to read this I want to say I am deeply sorry.

Okay, so now it’s the year 2017 and I am celebrating one year of living with my awesome new roommate, who legitimately has been one of the bestest if not thee best friend I have ever had and Taylor has released her Reputation album BUT I do a personal protest to not listen to it (because remember? I’m still angry) but it was inevitable. She was everywhere! and while I may not have been a huge fan of the first single, I have to admit when I heard “Ready for it” in that one commercial it got so hard to not want to just listen to it on Spotify because the whole song just sounded so good. Yet, somehow I kept strong.

Flash forward to 2018, and what is this I see? Taylor Swift finally voiced her opinion on politics? Let me tell you, when I say I ran so fast to the Spotify app so fast it felt like my life was depending on it. I relapsed the second Taylor Swift announces her political stance because I may have been wrong about her but I was wrong for a good reason. She showed what she truly valued and it wasn’t numbers. Thank you by the way because I was aching to listen to “Ready for it” on repeat for about a year at this point. Not only that! But she released her 2 hour Reputation Tour documentary on Netflix that year and now I was upset that I let my emotions get the best of me because it looked like such a fun tour to be a part of.

2019, wasn’t too eventful from what I can remember. Well, with the exception of Taylor fighting for the rights to her music which by the way, what the hell is up with that? Just give her work back! Still I hoped that regardless of that her and her boo Joe Alwyn were doing well. I personally loved the story I read somewhere about how he told you he wasn’t giving up that easy or something along those lines. I’m personally a hopeless romantic and like cheesy stuff like that even though I may come across as tough ogre. In the words of Shrek himself, I’m like an onion. I’ve got layers.

So now we’ve finally reached present year 2020, a whole 4 years since I got irrationally upset with a person I’ve never met before except through her work. It’s 6 days before my 33rd bday and the Miss Americana documentary is released on Netflix. I felt angry once again but this time at myself. I was upset with this artist I had admired for so long who had helped me mend wounds and collect broken heart pieces. All while she was dealing with her own family issues, her breakups, sexual abuse, body image issues, scandal, and finding the strength to voice her political opinions. I really had the nerve to be upset? I’ll admit another thing on here at the risk of someone I know reading this and thinking I’m overdramatic for doing so but I cried. I genuinely felt terrible. How she’s been able to keep such a strong and wise head on those shoulders after everything that’s been thrown at her is admirable. I can only dream of being that damn strong and I find refuge in the fact that while everything may not be perfect in her life at least she has a good support system whether that be in the shape of her parents, her brother, her boyfriend, or her friends (yes, that includes fans.)

Anyway, I wrote all of that to show you guys that while we’ve been in quarantine I’ve found solace in bullet journaling and had added a bunch of my favorite Taylor Swift lyrics from the last 4 albums she’s released. It helped me let go of a lot of old thoughts and emotions to rewrite them myself. Your music, your words, and your values have helped me and so many others so much Taylor. I know it’s selfish to ask but please keep writing even when you get married or when you have kids and they need their diaper changed (shoot I’ll babysit if you need me to) or til you get old lady fingers and they’re all spotty and wrinkly. I’ll even send cookies as a thank you. If you’ve read this far I hope Ive made you laugh even a little. Stay, stay, stay, safe and quarantined guys :)

#taylorswift taylornation #taylor swift #i love you taylor #taylornation #taylortoldthetruth #bullet journal #journal #lyric quotes #lyrics #music #quarantine #heartbreak #relationship #evil exes #friendships #self healing #life #boyfriend

6 notes · View notes

lasercruz · 4 years

Text

@quarterdollar fuck you and im sorry that i took so long to answer and i hope that im mostly coherent because i am. very tired as im typing this

1: Full name Nicky Jackie Marie Cruz !!

2: Age 21

3: 3 Fears Mold, tall heights if I’m not secured (like, I’m not scared of rollercoaster heights but I’m scared of like, cliffs), and balloons esp balloon animals

4: 3 things I love I love so many things uhh hh h. Jjba, adventure zone, and my friendssss 💞

I know turn ons/offs aren’t inherently sexual but i never know what to say for them so im skipping them :0

7: My best friend you 🥺🥺

8: Sexual orientation bi

9: My best first date ive never really been on a actual date :0

10: How tall am I 5′3

11: What do I miss being with my friends physically and just watching stuff or goofing around on the floor 😭

12: What time were I born 11:02pm

13: Favourite color Dark blues

14: Do I have a crush yes shh

15: Favourite quote there so much sappy quotes that are on uquizzes a lot that i like a lot the first that comes to mind is “ You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you.” and so on and also “if i loved you less i might be able to talk about it more”

16: Favourite place As far as just physically and not like people or other stuff that comes with with a place, I miss VT campus a lot tbh more than I thought I would. To pick a more specific place, the gazebo at the duck pond cause its where I’d go if I wanted to be alone or like if my roommate was sleeping or working and i didnt want to worry about being quite and it was always super peaceful

17: Favourite food I dont really have One favorite food it just depends what I’m in the mood for but my go to answer for favorite food category wise is either chinese or seafood

18: Do I use sarcasm Depends who I’m with ?? Generally no not often but if im close with someone and just goofin yeah

19: What am I listening to right now My love song playlist. its my go to thing to listen to cause my playlist with all my music has so much on it that i end up skipping half the songs until i find something im in the mood for and this one has a lot less that i end up skipping. the current song its on is day without you by keep for cheap

20: First thing I notice in new person It depends on the person like if they have something that stands out about them, thats what I tend to notice but like. How they carry themself i guess ? cause i feel like thats a easy way to get a read on somebody before talking to them

21: Shoe size 5 mens / 7 womans

22: Eye color Brown

23: Hair color Naturally dark brown but currently dyed black with rainbow bangs

24: Favourite style of clothing this question is on so many ask games and quizzes and I never know how to answer it cause i feel like i dont really have one specific style,, I like colorful and fun stuff i guess ?

25: Ever done a prank call? No and if you prank call a place of business youre annoying. i used to answer phones at work and we didn’t get them super often but GOD i hate prank callers

27: Meaning behind my URL emu is an old nickname and what i mainly went by until i settled on Nicky and this. is my blog.

28: Favourite movie Baby driver !!

29: Favourite song my go to answer for this is community gardens by the scary jokes

30: Favourite band THE SCARY JOKES

31: How I feel right now sleeby,,,,

32: Someone I love i love , my friendz ,, 🥺🥰

33: My current relationship status single ✌️

34: My relationship with my parents im close to my mom but i dont really get along with my dad ,

35: Favourite holiday Christmas !

36: Tattoos and piercing i have no tattoos, 3 piercings in each ear (2 on each earlobe and 1 on the top on each side)

37: Tattoos and piercing i want I want a interrobang on my wrist and an Aquarius symbol on my ankle and MAYBE the joestar birthmark, i wouldn’t mind more ear piercings and i want a septum piercing but ive seen videos of them getting done and they make me squirm i dont know if id go through with it

38: The reason I joined Tumblr sdklgkjgh i had a my little pony roleplay blog before i made my personal account

39: Do I and my last ex hate each other? no we’re good friends !!

40: Do I ever get “good morning” or “good night ” texts? no not regularly at least

41: Have I ever kissed the last person you texted? no

42: When did I last hold hands? my mom tried to hold my hand when i was half asleep on the couch the other day but like i was so out of it so like it was more our fingers together and the rest of my hand just loosely dangling so if that doesnt count, you

43: How long does it take me to get ready in the morning? i give myself about 2 hours if im doing full makeup but thats purposefully longer than i need so i dont have to worry about rushing and i can relax and take my time

44: Have You shaved your legs in the past three days? no i only shave them if they’re gonna be showing or if the Urge to be Smooth comes over me

45: Where am I right now? my room at home on my bed

46: If I were drunk & can’t stand, who’s taking care of me? probably Kaylie cause she doesn’t drink and i assume if im drunk with other friends there she’d be the only sober one

47: Do I like my music loud or at a reasonable level? Reasonable, if i have it too loud i cant think so the only time i have my music loud is if im doing nothing and want to Not Think

48: Do I live with my Mom and Dad? Ye

49: Am I excited for anything? short term im excited for the ai crushes all banks stream tonight and long term im excited to move into our apartment

50: Do I have someone of the opposite sex I can tell everything to? no im not a tell everything to someone type of person .

51: How often do I wear a fake smile? i smile most of the time like, at work (before we wore masks) id always be smiling to look nice and like. just in general if i want to Not Look Unhappy or whatever

52: When was the last time I hugged someone? my mom probably like, yesterday

53: What if the last person I kissed was kissing someone else right in front of me? ive never kissed any1 .

54: Is there anyone I trust even though I should not? nope i don’t think i really trust easily so like this doesnt rlly happen,

55: What is something I disliked about today? i woke up late cause i was up late last night so ive been tired all day I dont like the feeling

56: If I could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be? language barriers aside itd be super cool to meet hirohiko araki

57: What do I think about most? Whatever media im currently most into so right now adventure zone and magnus archives

58: What’s my strangest talent? umm i dunno im kinda flexable i guess ? not like ~contortionist~ level but like enough that i can freak people out sometimes

59: Do I have any strange phobias? i mentioned balloons as a fear in an eariler question so yeah that but im a lot better about it than i used to be

60: Do I prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it? in front tbh

61: What was the last lie I told? i was on phones for the last hour and a half of my shift on friday and like. when people call and ask if an item is in stock and i can’t confirm it i, just tell them its not. like, someone asked if we had a specific kayak and i usually just search the walmart app or run over to where itd be to check but the kayaks are to far for me to run to and the app said limited stock which usually means little to none so , i just put it on hold for a bit then tell him we’re out.

62: Do I perfer talking on the phone or video chatting online? i like video chatting in theory cause its nice to see people visibly react to stuff but i tend to get too self conscious about how i look so i just do audio only

63: Do I believe in ghosts? How about aliens? yes to both !! i am both

64: Do I believe in magic? yes in some ways i suppose

65: Do I believe in luck? yes im v superstitious

66: What’s the weather like right now? its a pretty good day its sunny but not too hot :oo

67: What was the last book I’ve read? its been ages since i last read a book in full 😔 i honestly dont knwo what the last one would of been 😔 😔

68: Do I like the smell of gasoline? yes !!! love it

69: Do I have any nicknames? not anything i get consistently called no

70: What was the worst injury I’ve ever had? ive never gotten super hurt that i can think of ??

71: Do I spend money or save it? save it

72: Can I touch my nose with a tounge? no

73: Is there anything pink in 10 feets from me? doppio bean plush ,,,,

74: Favourite animal? hedgehogs!!!!

75: What was I doing last night at 12 AM? on my phone probably on tiktok or something waiting for jojo to come on toonami

76: What do I think is Satan’s last name is? I? dont think he has one i guess ??

77: What’s a song that always makes me happy when I hear it? butterflies by samsa but it makes me happy in the “im crying now” kinda way itss cute

78: How can you win my heart? just by being nice and respectful tbh ,

79: What would I want to be written on my tombstone? idk i dont really want anything fancy just my name (chosen name please god im so scared of dying and geting my birth name on my tombstone if that happens i WILL come back as a vengeful ghost) and my birth and death dates

80: What is my favorite word? saccharine

81: My top 5 blogs on tumblr by my tumblr crushes (which its been YEARS since i looked at) ; frostios, 27names4tears, smollpurrito, happynaru, and warpedlamp

82: If the whole world were listening to me right now, what would I say? if we being real id just get so scared dsjkfsldjglg theres so much i could say i dont know :((

83: Do I have any relatives in jail? not ? that i know of

84: I accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow me with the super-power of my choice! What is that power? why are all the questions worded super basic except this one skdlskdjfj. Shape shifting

85: What would be a question I’d be afraid to tell the truth on? i can really think of anything really as long as a friend is asking i tend to answer truthfully ?

86: What is my current desktop picture? Sobble BUT this reminded me that i wanted to change it to a xenoblade pic so its this now :

90: Failed a class? no

91: Kissed a boy? no

92: Kissed a girl? no

93: Have I ever kissed somebody in the rain? no but oh god just thinking about that im 🥺🥺🥺🥺 id die id melt 🥺🥺

94: Had job? ye i was a cashier for a year in highschool and then i work in wamlart apparel in the summers

95: Left the house without my wallet? not when I know ill need it no, but ive left it home if im just going to a friend or family member’s house or i have my mom’s card or some cash in my pocket

96: Bullied someone on the internet? no !!

98: Played on a sports team? no lmao i dont do sports

99: Smoked weed? no

100: Did drugs? i had a weed brownie like once but it was such a small piece i didnt really feel anything

101: Smoked cigarettes? no

102: Drank alcohol? Ye

103: Am I a vegetarian/vegan? not currently i was vegan for a little bit to encourage a friend that was doing it though

104: Been overweight? no

105: Been underweight? no

106: Been to a wedding? yes three, my grandma’s when she got remarried, and both my brothers

107: Been on the computer for 5 hours straight? probably yes lmao often

108: Watched TV for 5 hours straight? not TV TV but if netflix and the like count then yes

109: Been outside my home country? no :(

110: Gotten my heart broken? not ? really no

111: Been to a professional sports game? ive been to a handful of Yankee games

112: Broken a bone? no

114: Been to prom? yes i went to my highschool’s and a friend’s highschool’s my senior year

115: Been in airplane? no

116: Fly by helicopter? no

117: What concerts have I been to? none :((((

118: Had a crush on someone of the same sex? ye

119: Learned another language? i took 3 years of Spanish in high school but i wasn’t any good at it and dont really remember much of what i did learn

120: Wore make up? yes i do often :0

123: Dyed my hair? ye a lot

124: Voted in a presidential election? yes ever since iv been old enough to i vote

125: Rode in an ambulance? no

126: Had a surgery? dental surgery yes

127: Met someone famous? Not anyone i’d count no

128: Stalked someone on a social network? depends on what you count as stalking i guess but like not ever in a creepy way like ive been on people’s social media to find out stuff about them like. if theyre in a relationship or especially after highschool ill wonder about someone i havent talked to in awhile and ill see what theyve been up to and what theyre doing with their life and stuff

129: Peed outside? no

130: Been fishing? yes like once

131: Helped with charity? donation wise yes

132: Been rejected by a crush? ive never confessed to anyone and been rejected but once a friend told my crush i liked them and they confronted me about it and rejected me but it made me more mad at the friend that told them than it made me sad about being rejected because i knew it’d probably go like that and it justmade thing awkward between us for awhile 😔

133: Broken a mirror? ive broken the little mirrors inside eyeshadow pallets but i havent broken full ones

134: What do I want for birthday? usually just money lol or something thoughtful and cute

135: How many kids do I want and what will be their names? i aggresivly do NOT want kids BUT hypohetically Elliot or Xander for a boy and idk what i’d nam a girl

136: Was I named after anyone? no

137: Do I like my handwriting? its messy so no not really but if im writing something for myself like a not or whatever i dont mind as long as i can read it

138: What was my favourite toy as a child? even as a little kid i always played computer games but other than that, this guy :

139: Favourite Tv Show? Jojo

140: Where do I want to live when older? New york or japan

141: Play any musical instrument? i can kind of play harmonica

142: One of my scars, how did I get it? i burnt my thumb kinda bad on the oven a while ago its still kinda healing but right now it looks like its gonna stay a scar

143: Favourite pizza toping? i like everything/suprieme pizza but if i have to pick one single topping pepperoni

144: Am I afraid of the dark? yes :((

145: Am I afraid of heights? mentioned it earlier but yes if im not strapped in or secured etc

146: Have I ever got caught sneaking out or doing anything bad? no im so scared of being caught doing something bad that i just. dont

147: Have I ever tried my hardest and then gotten disappointed in the end? i mean yes but thats life babey

149: What my greatest achievments are ive gotten awards for grades and stuff but that boring BUT i got the english department award or whatever that was called im very proud of that

151: What I’d do if I won in a lottery i donate some and save the rest tbh

152: What do I like about myself i can be pretty sometimes 👉👈 im cute or whateva ,,,

153: My closest Tumblr friend i dont really havent “tumblr friends” aside from friends i know irl and also tey have tumblrs ,,

154: Something I fantasise about just. growing up and having my own place maybe with someone and. being comfortable and okay and not having to worry ,,

155: Any question you’d like? dkfjhdskhf japan :000

#ask #mine

3 notes · View notes

cosmonaughty · 5 years

Text

I recently re-watched Season 1 of Fargo FX and, as is the case with every great show or movie, there were things I noticed that I had missed in earlier viewings. A few of these had to do with the portrayal of hospitals in film, which is another small obsession of mine, so I thought that I would take the time to combine these two interests and talk about the way that Fargo FX depicts hospitals. I will be mentioning the inaccuracies in this portrayal and the way that the liberties that are taken advance the plot and enhance the mood of certain scenes. By pointing out these inaccuracies, I am not trying to criticize the show or its writers, I’m just using my specific experiences to talk at length about something I love.

(Also, this post will contain big ol’ spoilers for Season 1 of Fargo FX, so go watch it if you haven’t yet and then come back.)

There are a few scenes that I wanted to discuss here, and I will bring them up chronologically. In episode 5, Lester is rushed to the hospital in an ambulance with what appears to be sepsis resulting from a shotgun pellet lodged in his hand. In the following episode, he sneaks out of the hospital to frame his brother for his wife’s murder. He does this by switching beds with his roommate, whose face is bandaged. As far as accuracy goes, it pretty much goes without saying that this concept is pretty farfetched, but I’ll run down the issues here anyway.

It’s never really clear to me what injuries require intensive care in this show (more on that later), but I will say that Lester recovers from sepsis in what must be record time. When I had more or less the same thing, my body essentially held down its own power button and restarted everything. I was in the ICU for multiple days, though I’m not sure how many because I wasn’t lucid the entire time, and I was pumped full of fluids and antibiotics, as well as hooked up to multiple tubes and wires.

Lester, however, is in excellent condition pretty much as soon as the source of his infection is removed, despite having been delirious, vomiting, sweating, shivering, and all that other fun stuff only the night before. His room seems to be on the general ward and the only thing hooked up to him is an IV, which appears to be dispensing saline and nothing else.

He is also under the care of what may be the least competent nurse I’ve ever seen in any show. Nurse Farber comes in to transport Lester’s roommate to radiology, but if she had checked his bracelet, she would have realized she was transporting the wrong patient. She also moves the entire hospital bed, rather than moving the patient to a gurney or a wheelchair, as has been my experience in the past (those beds are portable, but they’re very heavy and unwieldy).

However, these aren’t “mistakes”. They are deliberate choices that serve to move the plot along. We can’t put the story on hold so that Lester has a couple of weeks to recover and gain his strength back, so that process needs to be hurried along for the sake of the plot. If the nurse had checked his bracelet, his plan would have been foiled and, again, the plot would not be able to progress. If she had moved him to a wheelchair or gurney, he wouldn’t have been able to smuggle a change of clothes with him. So, these choices don’t arise from the writers’ ignorance of hospital procedure, they just need to bend some aspects of reality to advance the plot.

I would also like to point out some things this scene gets right about the hospital (based on my experience).

This room layout is pretty accurate. I like the little details like the plastic cup + bendy straw that everyone always has on their bedside table (even if you can lift a cup to your mouth, a bendy straw is required. It’s like an unwritten rule). I like the detail that the windows don’t open and I really appreciate that they didn’t have Lester pull out his IV like every renegade tv character seems to do. Instead, he simply disconnects the port from the tube so that he can move around, which I’m sure is more difficult than he makes it look but it’s leaps and bounds better than the old rip-em-out technique that I seem to see all the time.

I also like that the nurse uses the pain scale, which is pretty standard but I get a kick out of it. And, believe it or not, I have actually been deposited in the hall and left alone by nurses while waiting for imaging, which is how Lester manages to escape in the first place. Personally, I’ve never made it out the front door, but I haven’t tried that hard.

Now that we’ve talked about how the writers take liberties to advance the plot, let’s look at how similar inaccuracies can be used enhance the mood of a scene. If you want to see me get emotional (you sadist), get me talking about episode 7. In this episode, Molly, having been hospitalized after an emergency splenectomy, makes a trip from her room on the general ward to question Mr. Wrench, who is in custody in the ICU after having been shot twice by her (it’s not clear where he was shot, but he indicates his upper right chest, so somewhere in that area). He uses a white board to ask about his partner (Mr. Numbers) and Molly confirms that he is dead. She makes an attempt to connect with him and asks for his help in finding Lorne Malvo, but he shuts her out by refusing to look at her and she leaves. Later, in episode 8, Malvo shows up to taunt Wrench about having killed his partner, as well as to commend him for coming closer to killing him than anyone else had in the past. He gives Wrench the handcuff key and leaves.

Like I said earlier, it’s not clear what requires intensive care in this show, since Mr. Wrench doesn’t appear to be any worse off physically than Molly is (or than Lester was earlier). He does have more stuff attached to him, which is…good(?), but let’s talk about this ICU room:

This looks nothing like any ICU room I’ve ever stayed in. For one thing, in my experience the bed has always been facing the door, not inward to the rest of the room. I assume this is to make it easier to provide emergency care, which is the function of just about everything in the ICU. For this same reason, there’s very little privacy; the doors are usually clear glass and people come in and out all the time (nobody checks on patients in this show).

As I mentioned above, he has more “gear” (no, that’s not the correct term, but just be glad I didn’t call it “swag”) than either Molly or Lester, but far less than I would expect to see. There are maybe two bags on that IV pole, so probably saline and morphine (no blood/plasma/antibiotics/other medications). He’s got a heart monitor and a pulse oximeter, but no oxygen or bp monitor. Whether I like it or not, I’m always given oxygen in the ICU (which I tend to remove as soon as possible, apologies to my nurses) and if he was shot in the chest, he might actually need it. I’m also not convinced that heart monitor is working, since it doesn’t fluctuate at all when Malvo shows up in episode 8. ALSO: that bed rail should be up; I don’t care if he is handcuffed in place, that looks like a fall risk to me. Who is running this place?

(I’m also kinda jealous, because I’ve never been in an ICU room with this much natural light.)

As I mentioned before, there is specific intent behind these omissions and changes. For one thing, if there were several different machines and wires and lines and the like, the shot would be really busy and it would be distracting, both visually and auditorily, as hospital equipment tends to beep and beep and beep and beep.

Additionally, the shots are very clean, which effectively communicates a sterile environment to the audience; the natural light from the window compliments the Season 1 aesthetic really well and it also contributes somewhat to the coldness of the scenes in this room.

Speaking of which, this is as good a time as ever to bring up something I only consciously noticed very recently. Let’s go back to episode 7 and take a look at the difference between his room and Molly’s.

It’s very subtle, but the light above her bed is a warmer tone; her bedding is also comprised of warmer, lighter tones. Additionally, there’s some framed artwork on the wall, and most importantly she is surrounded by people (and flowers) in every shot.

Even in reverse shots of her, the frame contains color and warm tones. Contrast this with a similar OTS shot of Wrench in his hospital room. The temperature of the scene is a lot colder and the frame surrounding him is empty, which is excellent shorthand to communicate loneliness and alienation.

His room also has some kind of mesh over the window, the practical purpose of which (if there is one) eludes me. As I mentioned earlier, hospital windows don’t open, something the writers are obviously aware of, and I’ve personally never been in a hospital room that had a grate or bars over the windows. Regardless of its practical purpose, this is another detail that contributes to the theme of isolation that is present in the design of these scenes. Being in the hospital can be a lonely, alienating experience, which is something I feel is communicated really well here.

These are subtle decisions that make a huge impact on the mood of the scene. I’m gonna be real with you right now, Mr. Wrench is my favorite character and this scene breaks my heart every time I see it. A good deal of that is owed to the quality of the show’s writing and the amazing talent of Russell Harvard and Allison Tolman, but it is always fun to see how my emotions are being relentlessly manipulated by the cinematographer as well. Good job, you guys.

I want to conclude with a proposed alternative to the staging of that last scene.

As you can see here, this scene is set during the day, with daylight clearly visible from the window. However, imagine how the emotional intensity might be different if the scene was set at night.

In my experience, nighttime in the hospital can be the most difficult, emotionally speaking, and it’s something I’ve even come to dread as a patient. For the most part, visitors have to go home, the room is dark but the lights are on in the hall and the nurses’ station. You can’t sleep because you’re uncomfortable and people keep coming in to take vitals and blood, and overall it’s very lonely.

So, imagine this scene exactly as it is played out in Season 1, but now instead of a closed off room with daylight coming through the window, the lights in the room are dimmed, it’s night outside (maybe street lights are visible through the window, but not too much). There is a soft glow coming from the heart monitor. Molly is sitting beside the bed with her back to the open door rather than the window. In the background the lights are on in the hall, you can see hospital staff going about their routine in the background. His life is falling apart in this scene, but it’s business as usual for everyone else. Even Molly, as sympathetic as she is, is just doing her job here.

I’m not saying that this staging would have been better, but it would have had a different emotional intensity. I like to see how the environment of the hospital could be used to enhance the mood of a scene, rather than simply act as a back drop because hospitals are deeply personal places, but can be so alienating at the same time. That said, I think that the way they used the environment to impart that sense of loneliness was excellent, and I support the decision to omit certain specifics that might compromise the mood or the flow of the plot.

Oh, and, if you still haven’t done it: go watch Fargo FX.

#fargo fx #fargo season 1 #lester nygaard #lorne malvo #mr wrench #molly solverson

52 notes · View notes

vexedtonightmares · 5 years

Text

last dance (elu ballet au) chapter treize

Lucas is in his final year at the Paris Opera Ballet School and he’ll be damned if he lets his former friend-turned-rival Eliott steal the lead role in their production of Swan Lake.

aka- lucas and eliott are rivals who are forced to room together for their final year of ballet school before they try to enter the company. we can all see where this is going.

i. ii. iii. iv. v. vi. vii. viii. ix. x. xi. xii. xiii.

ao3

tw: eating disorder, brief discussion of past manic episode, depressive episode, very brief mentions of depression/self harm, internalized/self imposed ableist thought patterns, discussion of bipolar disorder

Mardi 6:45

Eliott still wasn’t there. Lucas had stayed up practically all night waiting, seeing if Eliott would come home, come back to him, but he hadn’t, and Lucas didn’t know what to do about that. There was still time though, and before they’d gotten together Eliott had been chronically on time to class every day, which meant he was late by ballet standards. Lucas was able to kid himself into thinking that would be the case that day as well.

He ran his spoon through his bowl of cereal, debating between taking another bite and throwing it out. Maybe Eliott had left him for this reason, that he couldn’t just get it together and force himself to function like a normal human being.

The door was unlocked, so Lucas barely looked up when Manon walked in, knowing from the way she did so that it wasn’t Eliott. She sat down next to him at the counter and looked at what he was eating.

“Cereal, fun,” she said conversationally.

He shrugged, bringing another bite to his mouth, forcing it down. It tasted fine, if not a little bland. “What’s up?” he asked after a moment of awkward silence.

“I should be asking you that,” she said pointedly.

He forced out a laugh. “What makes you say that?”

“Lucas, you’ve been in a daze since last week. No one can get through to you. I know that Imane came and hung out with you on Sunday, but even she won’t tell me why you’re acting so strangely, and I know you told her.” Manon sounded a bit hurt and Lucas felt guilty. He didn’t want to be hiding things from Manon, really, it was just hard especially when things were so up in the air at the moment.

He’d been trying to convince himself so much that nothing bad had happened to Eliott and talking about it would only convince him otherwise. The hard thing was that Manon would probably have great advice, but he wasn’t sure he wanted it. Sometimes toiling in his own misery was better than searching for a way out. He knew it probably wasn’t the healthiest way to cope, but he was quickly realizing none of his coping strategies were very healthy.

“I love you Manon, and I’m really sorry, but I just… I can’t.” She said nothing, eyeing him carefully, so he continued, “I only told Imane because I was having a full on breakdown, I would have talked to anyone who showed up at my door, even Chloé, but now I need time to process things on my own before I discuss them. Is that ok?”

She sighed, biting her bottom lip. “Does it have to do with Eliott?”

“Why would you say that?” he asked nervously.

“Well… he’s disappeared once again and you look ten minutes away from passing out again either from stress, lack of sleep, or both, so I just figured… Did you guys fight again?” she asked seriously, and oh, right. She was asking because she thought they hated each other.

“Something like that.” It was the best he could give her, and thankfully she was willing to accept it for the time being. She folded him into a hug that he reciprocated readily. He tried to communicate with her through the hug more than he could through words, to tell her that maybe he wasn’t ok, but he was trying to get better. The only problem was that he wouldn’t be better completely until he knew what the hell was going on with Eliott.

She released him, placing her hands on his shoulders. “Off to class we go?”

“Off to class we go,” he agreed, throwing his bowl into the sink and grabbing his bag before following her out the door. They prepped for class in silence, running through various parts of the pas de deux between Odette and the Prince just in case Lucas had to stand in for Eliott again. He felt bad for ditching Imane another day, but at least she didn’t seem to ruffled by it all, able to practice on her own when Lucas was Eliott for the day.

He’d also noticed her and Sofiane spending a lot of time together during practices when Lucas stood in for Eliott, not that they didn’t hang out usually but the air seemed charged between the two of them and Lucas found it in himself to smile at the fact that his instincts had been pretty spot on regarding the two of them.

When eight o’clock hit and Eliott wasn’t there, Lucas felt his heart sink even further into the pit of his stomach than it had since he woke up Sunday morning and Eliott wasn’t in bed beside him.

Madame Rigaux obviously noticed he wasn’t there, as they all did, because his spot at the front of the barre remained empty and, for the first time since Lucas had started attending the school, she walked out of class.

Imane turned to Lucas, intuitive as always, and Lucas couldn’t keep his concern from showing on his face. “He’s not back?” she asked in a hushed tone as everyone else whispered around them.

He shook his head, and Imane swore under her breath. “This really isn’t good Lucas, you have to tell someone about what happened. He could be a danger to himself or others.”

“He’s not some fucking psychopath, Imane, and he’s not on drugs. I don’t know what’s going on but there’s a logical explanation, I know it.” He could hear in his voice that he was pleading, and that she was probably right, but he didn’t want her to be.

Madame Rigaux entered the room once again just as Imane was about to speak again, director trailing behind her.

“M. Lallemant, can you come with me?” he asked, back straight, voice emotionless as always. Fuck. Why him? He figured it was common knowledge the two of them were rivals of sorts, even to the instructors. They didn’t think he’d done something to Eliott, did they?

He nodded, swallowing his unease and following the director out the door and down not to his office, but to Lucas’ suite. “Um, Sir? Have I done something wrong?” he asked nervously.

The director looked down at him as if he were a nuisance. “No, but M. Demaury is your roommate, you should be more responsible for him.”

“In what way?”

“You’re aware this is the seventh class he has failed to attend this semester? We should have pulled him at three, but he was physically ill that week, and had a doctor’s note, so we let it slide because he is so pivotal to the performance and to this school as a whole,” the director explained boredly. Lucas might have been offended if his worry hadn’t outweighed his desire for the director to see him as more than second best to Eliott.

“But now,” he continued, “Two more unexcused absences, we’ll have no choice but to put him on probation.”

“But Sir—” Lucas started.

“What? Aren’t you glad to take his place? Pitying M. Demaury only shows me that I’ve been right about you all along. You don’t have the drive, the passion. It’s why you’ll always be an understudy, that and your unfortunate physique.” Lucas staggered on his feet, feeling the heat rise to his face and having that sensation in the back of his throat that told him tears were imminent. If he cried he’d only prove the director right, so he swallowed them and put on as brave a face as necessary.

He cleared his throat. “What I was going to say, Sir, is that while I am grateful for the opportunity, I think Eliott might be physically ill again, so he might come back with a doctor’s note.”

The director’s gaze snapped to his. “Come back?”

“Yeah?” Lucas shrugged, brows furrowing.

“You mean to tell me he’s left school grounds?”

“Um…”

“Open the door to your suite, M. Lallemant,” the director said sternly.

Lucas pushed it open. “It’s… not locked, Sir, just in case he came back. He left his keys here.”

The director stepped into the room, surveying it. Thank god Lucas had cleaned up all of Eliott’s nonsensical scribbles. “How long has he been gone?”

“Well…”

“How. Long.”

“Since Sunday, possibly Saturday night,” Lucas replied miserably.

The director shook his head in disbelief. “And you’re only now telling me?”

“I thought he’d be back by now!” Lucas knew it wasn’t a good excuse, but he also hadn’t been expecting to have this conversation with the director. He knew he should say something regarding how he’d left, but he still couldn’t bring himself to.

“Have you had contact with him since then?” the director asked.

Lucas shook his head. “No. He, uh, left his phone here too. I don’t know where he went or who he’s with, so I don’t know how to contact him.”

“Did you try his parents?” There was some concern in the director’s voice now and Lucas nearly laughed. Of course he’d be concerned now, because it was Eliott who was missing, not Lucas. He was certain that if he’d been the one to disappear, the director would pack up his things without a second thought and bar him from the school should he ever try to return.

“I don’t have their contact information,” Lucas said truthfully. There was a time he had, but that time had passed years ago. He missed the Demaurys often, actually, and he sometimes wondered if they missed him. Probably not, given what Eliott had likely told them about him over the years.

The director sighed. “I have to do everything myself, then?”

“I’m sorry, Sir—”

“Just go back to class, M. Lallemant, I daresay you need it more than most. I’ve always thought you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

“Yes, Sir,” Lucas answered, hating how small his voice sounded, hating how he let the words get to him in such a way. The director had never really been nice to him, especially not when he filled in for Eliott, but he could take it when they were corrections about his dancing, not when they were corrections about himself in general.

He turned on his heel and walked out of the room, making a pit stop in the bathroom and locking the door behind him. The tears came out all at once and he leaned over the sink, sobbing with every breath. It was times like these when he wondered why he was even doing any of this in the first place. Why he’d chosen ballet if it was only ever going to hurt him.

Still crying, he caught his breath enough to stand up straight, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked a mess, and he hated how he looked, even when Eliott had spent so much time telling him how beautiful he was. Beautiful in one person’s eyes didn’t mean good enough to everyone else.

He flinched away from himself turning towards the stall, toilet beckoning him, reaching inside his head and pulling out his worst thoughts about himself. He’d never done this before, what he was thinking of doing now. His brand of disordered eating included restriction, never purging, but all he wanted to do at that moment was to let it out, empty himself of all the feelings of worthlessness, anger, even love, empty himself until there were no feelings at all.

But then he thought of Eliott. Of what Eliott might think if he saw Lucas there, kneeling in front of the toilet hating himself and his situation so much he hadn’t felt he had anywhere else to go. Eliott would understand, that was the problem, he wouldn’t judge him but he’d show concern, making Lucas feel like as long as he was there Lucas never had to feel like that again. That was why he stood up, drying his eyes one last time before marching out of the bathroom, determined to be the version of Lucas that Eliott saw, not the one who needed to feel nothing at all to feel something.

Mercredi 19:12

Eliott hadn’t shown again, but Madame Rigaux hadn’t stormed out of class, instead ignoring Eliott’s empty space, so Lucas wondered if there had been some sort of communication between Eliott and the school. If so, why hadn’t Eliott found a way to contact him yet?

Arthur was coming over to study with him, against Lucas’ wishes, but Imane had agreed to it for him, telling him that he needed a distraction to take his mind off things. Honestly, Lucas was surprised that Arthur was studying at all.

The door remained unlocked, just in case, so Arthur barged right in just as Manon had done, but with more of a flourish. “Hello my fellow gay child,” Arthur said, swinging the door open.

Lucas looked up from his laptop. “Hi?”

Arthur didn’t say anything more, merely smiled before plopping down next to Lucas on the couch and looking at what he was doing, which happened to be that week’s French homework.

“Aren’t you bi? Have there been new developments I’m unaware of?” Lucas joked, setting his laptop down beside him. It looked like Arthur hadn’t brought any homework with him to study, so Lucas assumed they were really just hanging out.

“I am bi, but I’m gay enough that I can refer to myself as such.”

“Is that how that works?” Lucas asked

Arthur grinned cheesily. “Do any of us know enough to know how anything works?”

“Fair enough.”

Arthur suddenly frowned, and nodded towards Eliott’s closed door. “He still sick or whatever?”

“I don’t know,” Lucas said. It was the truth.

“You don’t know?” Arthur asked incredulously, “Listen, I understand you don’t like him, but as a roommate, you have to at least have common human decency and make sure he’s all right. I was his roommate for years, I know the deal.”

Lucas was about to interject that the reason he hadn’t spoken to Eliott was because he wasn’t even there, but he paused. “Know the deal?”

“Yeah.” Arthur frowned even deeper. “You know, like, obviously I know he isn’t actually ‘sick’ or whatever, he’s at another low.”

“Anther low?”

Arthur sighed. “Seriously, Lucas? Eliott’s clinically depressed. He has been for years, and sometimes it hits harder than other times. Sofiane and I have been covering for him for years, because we know the director would cut him faster than you can snap your fingers if he caught a whiff of neurodivergence.”

Lucas was gaping up at Arthur in wide eyed shock. It explained some things, explained his behavior that one week where he didn’t even get out of bed, but it didn’t explain his behavior this time, he definitely hadn’t been depressed. “I didn’t know,” was all Lucas could think to say.

Arthur must have felt bad, because his expression grew sheepish. “I mean, it isn’t your job to know, or to do anything about it, I just figured he’d told you about it because it can impact him pretty heavily.”

Lucas felt like a horrible person. Somehow Eliott had been the only one to see him when he wasn’t ok, when he needed help, and he felt sick to his stomach at the thought he hadn’t seen when Eliott was hurting. Or that he had, and he’d ignored it.

“But wait… he was only ever depressed? Did he ever seem weirdly happy, or anything?” Lucas asked.

Arthur thought about it. “No. I mean, Eliott’s a generally happy person, that’s why the depressive cycles were more noticeable. You can ask him, he’d know better than me.”

“He’s not here,” Lucas said at last, which he probably should have said first.

“What? Where is he?”

Lucas put his head in his hands. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t—” Arthur broke off, taking a breath. “Lucas, I get that you hate him, put damn it call him or something! I didn’t know he was missing, Lucas something could be seriously wrong, he’s had a history of self-harm and shit, fuck!”

Lucas thought back to the things he’d ignored, feeling worse and worse with each word Arthur said. He’d never noticed anything of the sort when he and Eliott did things together, but he admittedly wasn’t paying much attention when Eliott’s mouth was anywhere close to his body.

“He left all his stuff here, I didn’t know how to contact him!” Lucas yelled, wanting to prove to Arthur he wasn’t a bad person and prove to himself that he wasn’t a bad boyfriend.

“Did you try his parents?” Arthur asked.

Lucas shook his head. “I don’t have their contact information, Eliott and I haven’t been friends since we were ten.”

“But you told the director, right?” Arthur pressed, and Lucas nodded.

“I also told Imane, because Idriss knows him better than most of us do.” A lie, Lucas knew Eliott better than most at this point, at least he’d thought he did, but Lucas did hope Imane had said something to Idriss about it all. “The director must have gotten contact with him somehow, because Rigaux wasn’t foaming out of the mouth at his absence and the director told me in rehearsal today to not get comfortable substituting for him. Though, that may have just been because he hates me.”

“First of all, the director is a dick and as soon as we graduate I’m keying his car, and second of all, that’s a good sign, I guess. Good as we can expect for the time being,” Arthur shrugged, leaning back against the arm of the couch.

“I guess,” Lucas said, doing the same. It wasn’t his intention to sound so detached, but it was probably a good thing, considering what Arthur thought Lucas thought about Eliott.

Lucas flexed and pointed his feet aimlessly, glancing up at a silent Arthur every once and awhile. Arthur seemed completely content, but Lucas still wasn’t sure why he’d come over in the first place, since they both knew it wasn’t to study.

“How’s Von Rothbart treating you?” Lucas asked at last. There were never usually uncomfortable silences between them, so he didn’t know why there should be now.

Arthur raised his eyebrows over his glasses. “The day I actually get to stand in for Sofiane is the day this school burns to the ground.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Lucas said with a laugh.

“I’m not!” Arthur argued, reaching for a pillow and hitting Lucas with it.

Lucas blocked the pillow with his forearms, still grinning. “I thought you didn’t really care, anyway.”

“I don’t care because I stopped allowing myself to care years ago. I used to care a lot really, but I know now that if I ever want to make a living in ballet, it’s not going to be here. I don’t even know if I want a living in ballet anymore, and it used to be all I dreamed about.” Arthur looked at his hands in his lap, traces of his small falling to something more serious. “I guess that’s what this place does to you, crushes you and your dreams until you have to find a new one.”

“That’s dark,” Lucas said, and Arthur merely shrugged.

“That’s life.”

Maybe it was, but Lucas never liked to believe it to be the truth for everyone. If he gave up on his dreams now, even when the world was telling him that might be the best thing to do, was he still himself? Letting himself believe every horrible thing every instructor had said about himself over the years was a pattern he couldn’t allow himself to fall into, he had plenty of other problems without having to face the idea that maybe he didn’t quite have the level of talent he hoped he did.

“Maybe so,” he said, “But if you love it don’t you find it hard to give it up?”

“Of course. And maybe I won’t give it up, but I’m learning to broaden my goals and narrow my expectations.” Arthur said it so simply, like he was resigned to it all. It made Lucas kind of angry, because Arthur had that same natural talent as Eliott and Manon and Sofiane, but he always acted so flippant about it that it was hard to tell whether he was serious or not.

“I guess I just still don’t understand. You have so much talent, more than Yann and me for sure. Probably more than Sofiane, maybe even Eliott, but you never give yourself a chance,” Lucas said, because he still wanted to understand.

Arthur bit the inside of his cheek. “The problem was that I was as good as Eliott, and I did give myself a chance. I… I don’t really want to talk about it, but I did give myself a chance, and I’m still recovering from it.”

Lucas’ heart stuttered and he reached for Arthur’s hand. He didn’t know what had happened, but he had his own fair share of childhood traumas so he could only imagine. “Well, it you ever want to give yourself another chance, know that I’ll be by your side every step of the way.”

Arthur looked down at their joined hands, then up at Lucas’ face. He stood abruptly. “Thanks. I should go, though, it’s getting late.”

“Oh. Yeah, of course,” Lucas said, a little taken aback. Had he said something wrong?

When Arthur left, he cast a glance back over his shoulder, almost like he was hoping Lucas would ask him to stay. But then he was gone and Lucas was confused again.

Lucas went to bed shortly after, leaving the door unlocked just in case Eliott or Arthur came back and helped clear up the mess going on in his mind.

Jeudi 13:00

That morning had been the first he’d woken up with the expectation of Eliott not returning, hoping he’d be surprised. He wasn’t, and Eliott was still gone. Imane had shared worried looks with him as class started for the morning that he’d only been able to return with a shrug, past the point of hoping any more.

Yann joined him for lunch that day, but Arthur left to go by himself off school grounds. Lucas wondered if it had anything to do with him, but he decided instead to focus on Yann, it had been way too long since the two of them had hung out one on one.

“Should I even ask if you know what’s up with Eliott?” Yann asked, taking a bite of his pizza. He’s brought Lucas a slice as well, but Lucas had yet to conquer it. He was determined to, but kept stopping himself before he could.

Lucas sighed. “No, because I’m as clueless as anyone is.”

“Fuck. I hope he’s ok? Like, I know you’re not his biggest fan, but I really hope nothing bad happened to him,” Yann lamented.

“Me neither,” Lucas said, then quickly amended, “Can’t have a rivalry if my rival is missing in action.”

Yann quirked his lips into a small smirk, ruffling Lucas’ hair. “Let’s not talk about him then.”

“Good idea.”

Not talking about Eliott was one thing, not thinking about him was quite another, one Lucas was in no way prepared for. Yann wiped his mouth with his napkin and Lucas realized he’d already finished eating, and Lucas hadn’t even started. Fuck. It was so much easier to eat when he wasn’t the only one.

“Do you know what’s up with Arthur?” Yann asked, just as Lucas worked up the nerve to take a bite.

He faltered dropping the pizza back on his plate. “What do you mean?”

Yann shrugged. “Maybe nothing, but I just feel like he’s been acting weirdly closed off. You know Arthur, he always talks about everything all the time, even when we don’t want the details. Recently he hasn’t been talking about things as much, hasn’t been sneaking out as much. I mean, that part’s probably good, but I don’t know if he has some secret or something he doesn’t want us to know.”

Lucas had been wondering the same thing, actually. “I don’t know what it could possibly be, but we had a conversation last night that kind of made me wonder the same thing.”

Yann hummed, clearly not finding anything else to say about the matter. Lucas didn’t have anything else to say either, at least not without Arthur there to confirm or deny their suspicions, so he waited until Yann launched into a new topic, something about some new superhero movie the two of them just had to watch together. Lucas found himself laughing, and he found himself eating, the action easier when he was talking mindlessly about something that didn’t cause him worry.

Lunch ended far too quickly and it was only then that Lucas realized he’d gone almost an hour without thinking about Eliott once. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

Vendredi 20:27

He was lying on Eliott’s bed when he got the first text. It hadn’t been purposeful, but he’d somehow wandered there, finding it exactly as he’d left it when he’d cleaned up some of Eliott’s things. It wasn’t like he’d expected anything to have moved, but he was somehow still surprised to see Eliott’s phone laying on his bedside table, dead now that it had been almost a week.

Unknown: Is this Lucas?

Lucas didn’t normally respond to unknown numbers, a lot of times they ended up being spam or his friends taking the piss at him, so he didn’t take the bait, dropping his phone back onto the bed and burying his face in Eliott’s pillow. It still smelled like him. Then his phone buzzed again, twice.

Unknown: Lucas Lallemant?

Unknown: If it is you, Lucas, this is Caroline Demaury.

Lucas sat up faster than he would have thought possible, hands shaking. Why was Caroline Demaury texting him? Something must have happened to Eliott, something bad.

Lucas: Mme. Demaury? Yes, this is Lucas. Is everything all right?

Unknown: Hello, Lucas, yes, everything is all right, but Eliott has been talking about you, so I wondered if you might come pay him a visit.

Lucas: Eliott is with you?

Unknown: Yes. You didn’t know that? We informed the school.

Lucas: All due respect Mme. Demaury, but the last I heard from Eliott was Saturday night, so no, I had no idea he was with you.

Lucas: Is he ok? What happened? I didn’t know how to contact you but he said some things that made me really worried

Lucas: I’m sorry for not saying anything sooner I was just so scared

Unknown: No need to apologize, Lucas, none of this is your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.

Lucas: What wasn’t anyone’s fault?

Unknown: I think it’s best if Eliott gets to explain himself. I can have Harold pick you up at school whenever you’d like.

Lucas: It’s ok, I can walk. I still remember where you live

Unknown: Lucas, it’s no trouble, I’d prefer to know you’re safe with Harold than out wandering the streets alone. He can pick you up in a half hour?

Lucas: Ok. Thank you Mme. Demaury

Unknown: It’s ok to call me Caroline now, darling.

Lucas: Thank you, Caroline

Unknown: Let me know when Harold gets there, I’ll tell Eliott you’re coming. He hasn’t been very receptive to guests, but we’re hoping that he might want to see you.

Lucas: I want to see him too

Vendredi 21:21

Lucas didn’t know what to expect. The car ride to the Demaurys house had been slightly awkward, but Harold Demaury still treated him like he’d been best friends with Eliott for years, which was nice. He could only imagine the things they’d heard about him from Eliott over the years, and was thankful they didn’t appear to hold a grudge.

Seeing Caroline Demaury for the first time in almost eight years was also a shock, and his throat got tight the minute he stepped into their home. This home, that felt more like his home than his actual home to him for so many years. It still looked practically the same.

She folded him into a hug without a word, and Lucas wondered if maybe Eliott had let slip the nature of their falling out, all the problems Lucas hadn’t known how to face at ten years old. He waited with her in the kitchen for a little bit, because Eliott was sleeping. She didn’t say whether or not he’d been receptive to a visit from Lucas, so he could only hope for the best when he opened Eliott’s bedroom door and saw Eliott lying with his back to Lucas, bundled up under the covers.

His bedroom was the only part of the house that had changed. It looked so different from what Lucas had known, but it was so distinctly Eliott that it was hard not to feel at home. There were drawings taped up on all the walls, an impressive collection of vinyl records that Lucas was both stunned and repulsed to see included dubstep. Dubstep. On vinyl. Leave it to Eliott to still have the absolute worst taste in music. There were old ballet shoes strewn about the room, just like in Lucas’ room back at his flatshare, and Lucas saw a few notebooks and folders labelled “Polaris” on his desk.

He sank down onto the bed next to Eliott, who didn’t move an inch. Lucas was beginning to wonder if he might still be asleep.

“They told you, I suppose.” Eliott’s voice came muffled and broken, startling Lucas.

“Told me what?” he asked softly.

Eliott buried his face further into his pillow, refusing to look at Lucas. “That I’m crazy.”

Lucas sank down next to Eliott, attempting to carefully fold his arms around him, but Eliott flinched away from his touch. “Eli?” he tried.

“You don’t want this, Lucas, trust me.” He finally looked over at Lucas, eyes dead and empty as his voice. Lucas nearly cried, seeing him like that. He wanted to see Eliott full of life again.

“I can decide for myself what I do and don’t want,” he said adamantly, waiting for Eliott to explain.

Eliott sighed, closed his eyes. “I’m bipolar.”

Something clicked into place and Lucas’ head and he sighed in relief, realizing that made sense. He didn’t know much about bipolar disorder, but he knew that people sometimes had depressed and manic episodes, so that explained last weekend. “Ok,” Lucas said.

“Ok? That’s all you have to say?”

“Sorry, um, I guess I don’t know what else to say? You could have told me sooner, or Arthur and Sofiane. We understand, though I’m sorry if we made you feel like we wouldn’t,” he amended.

“I didn’t know,” Eliott said.

Lucas shifted to look at him better, and Eliott opened his eyes. “You didn’t know?”

Eliott shook his head. “Not until this week. I’d been diagnosed with depression previously, because I’d never had a manic episode before, but after last week…” He took a deep breath, “The police found me Sunday morning, and they got in contact with my parents somehow. I don’t remember the details, I was still manic during that time, but I guess my parents took me to the hospital and voila. Here I am. They told me that I would crash into a deep depression soon, but I didn’t believe them. I felt so good, I felt like nothing could ever knock me down again. But then I guess I crashed, like they said. It feels awful Lucas, worse than any depressive spiral I’ve ever had.”

“Oh,” Lucas started to understand, though he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to give Eliott pity, because he knew Eliott would hate that, so instead he said, “Thank you for telling me.”

“Why are you acting like this? Shouldn’t you be running by now?”

Lucas squinted his eyes. “Why would I do that?”

“Because I’m fucking crazy! I could hurt you, or myself, or anyone and I don’t have any control over it and I don’t know what to do because my head is either empty or full and I can’t function like I’m supposed to and—”

“Eliott.” Lucas placed a hand on his cheek, and Eliott didn’t pull away. “You’re not crazy.”

“Tell that to the rest of the world,” Eliott hissed.

“I don’t care about the rest of the world, I care about you,” Lucas said.

Eliott blinked up at him, eyes so flat and gray when they usually brought as much life into the world as humanly possible. “Why?”

Why? Because Eliott was everything good in the world. He was the sun rising in the morning and setting in the evening. He was the stars shining through Lucas’ window and making him feel less alone, less afraid of the dark. He was Lucas’ promise of a better life than the one he’d been living, he was the most beautiful person in the world. His mind was so complex and Lucas wanted to get to know every bit of it, even the parts that Eliott felt were shameful. Lucas didn’t think they were shameful at all, not if they made Eliott who he was. Eliott had shown Lucas time and time again that he wasn’t alone, and now it was time for Lucas to do the same.

“Because you see me, and somehow still love me,” Lucas said, inching closer. Eliott didn’t back away, and he placed his hand on top of Lucas’, still resting on his face. “I’m the broken one, not you. You don’t deserve to be dealt this hand, you deserve only the best the world has to offer.”

“You’re not broken.”

“Neither are you. You’re not alone, either. Not anymore, never again.”

Eliott bit his lip. “How do you know?”

“How do any of us know anything? We don’t, but we have to have trust and patience and believe that the best is yet to come,” Lucas said, surprising himself. He’d never ever been the one to preach positivity in the face of darkness, but he could learn if that’s what Eliott needed from him.

“I’m going to be a burden to you.”

Lucas sighed. “So am I. Remember? Daddy issues, eating disorder, possible abandonment issues I’m only now realizing definitely exist. It’s a lot to deal with, for anyone. Including myself. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you ran for the hills. But you didn’t, and if you think I’m going to you’re dead wrong.”

“Lucas I don’t deserve you—”

“Me neither.”

“Lucas I’m serious—”

“Me too.”

He was finally close enough that he could see every inch of Eliott’s flawless face, and he pressed their foreheads together gently.

“I’m going to have to start taking medication, and I don’t want to. I’m going to lie to you about it and you’re going to get mad at me for lying, and then I’ll snap again and I’ll hurt us both,” Eliott said, and Lucas listened. “I’m going to have extreme highs and extreme lows and sometimes I won’t even be aware of it. I’ll yell at you, I’ll insult you, I’ll make you feel like shit and I won’t be able to help it.”

“I’m going to have to start eating again, like a normal person would, and I don’t want to. I’m going to try to lie about it and you’re going to get mad at me for lying and then I’ll snap and I’ll hurt us both,” Lucas said, and Eliott listened. “I’m going to have days where I shrink into a hole inside of myself because I don’t believe I’m worth it and nothing you say will help at all. I’ll yell at you, I’ll insult you, I’ll make you feel like shit, and I won’t be able to help it. You’re not alone in this either, Eli.”

“Lu.” It was a soft, hushed breath. A whisper, a promise.

“And I don’t care about any of that stuff either, you know why? Because we don’t even know where we’ll be an hour from now, so why worry that far into the future? What’s the point of that? We’ll play a game, Lu and Eli, minute by minute. The only thing either of us has to worry about is the next minute, no time to dwell on the past or the future,” he proposed, meeting Eliott’s gaze again. “You in?”

Eliott took a deep, rattling breath. “I’m scared.”

“I am too, but I was scared of the dark and you brought all this light into my world and now I never have to be afraid again,” Lucas said, putting every ounce of honesty into his words.

“Lu and Eli, minute by minute,” Eliott repeated.

“Minute by minute.”

“Ok. I’m in.”

“Good, because I’d rather have you annoy me than not have you at all,” Lucas whispered with a smile, folding them closer into one another. Eliott laughed at that. It was small, almost indiscernible, but it was there. “You’re beautiful when you laugh,” Lucas said, because Eliott had said so when he was at his most vulnerable and he wanted nothing more than to return the favor. Plus, it was true.

“You’re still it for me, you know,” Eliott said, and Lucas’ heart soared. “If I couldn’t have you I don’t think I would ever have anyone else.”

Lucas pulled his hand from Eliott’s face and laced their fingers together, pressing them to his heart. “You’re still it for me too. In this universe, in every universe.”

Eliott said nothing more, but he allowed Lucas to place a kiss on his brow bone, resting there a moment as if Eliott would disappear should he move away. Eliott didn’t even give him a chance to move away, tangling their bodies and legs together in that jigsaw way they always did, breathing synching up as they each held the world in their hands and tried not to ever let go.

Maybe they’d both been dealt a poor hand in this life, but was it really a poor hand if they’d found each other through it? Lucas would go through all of it again if they found a way to end up at this exact moment in time, this one where it felt like all peace had been restored in the atmosphere. They may have still had a long way to go before they could find that peace all the time, but Lucas knew that they would get there eventually. They were both fighters, and the thing they’d fight most for was each other.

They deserved to live a soft, sweet song, not a tempestuous melody, and Lucas was ready to write it for them.

#skam france #elu fic #elu ballet au #lucas lallemant #eliott demaury #elu

52 notes · View notes

lostandwonlove · 4 years

Text

In a Lonely Place

Some Rafa ramblings courtesy of the ‘Rona. Hope you like.

On paper, there was no way she would ever be interested in someone like you.

You, the mature, meticulous, ADA. She, the prodigious detective recently transferred to Manhattan SVU from some Podunk police department upstate.

Really, Liv? You had asked her as she walked you to her office to discuss the new serial rapist case they’d just caught. There was no one experienced enough in any of the other five boroughs to take this job? Or has Carisi put you off that for life?

Just wait until you meet her, Rafa. She’s done some pretty incredible stuff up there, and I think she’ll be a great addition to the team.

You’d harrumphed. Do they even have juries up there or do is it just a farmer and his 11 sheep?

Just ten actually, you heard a voice say and it made you jump.

I’m sorry?

The owner of the voice, a dark-haired woman in a leather jacket perched on the edge of Liv’s desk, got up and walked towards you. Just ten sheep actually. One of them got caught by the big bad wolf. Real shame. Farmer’s sheepdog makes up the twelve, but honestly, his attention span is poor.

You smirked. So in that sense maybe not all that different from a New York City juror.

Her eyes flicked over you, appraising the candy-cane shirt and tie combo you’d opted for that morning. Well I can see why if you’re wearing that outfit in court.

You’d do well to take a leaf out of my book. Biker-chic doesn’t play well with a jury here.

Play nice, Liv had interjected before taking you through the case they’d built so far.

Your eyes met behind Liv’s head and she smiled at you, mouthed touché, and you felt a sort of uncomfortable lurch in your stomach that you hadn’t really felt since Lauren Sullivan in 11th Grade.

Best to ignore it. No way she would ever be interested in someone like you.

ii.

- or might she? The way she caught your eye and held it for just a second too long in meetings; the way her eyes flicked over you before she made some comment about the tie you’d taken far too long to choose that morning; the way she always managed to end up sandwiched next to you in the booth at Forlini’s after a big case.

The way she told Amanda ‘all my boyfriends have been older than me’ in response to a drunken conversation about silver foxes, her eyes resting square on you as you felt your heart leap before she burst out laughing and took a sip of her drink.

So what’s your type counsellor, Carisi had asked you, and uncharacteristically relaxed after a big win and two scotches, you’d told him it was girls who wear hoop earrings. You can take the boy out of the Bronx you’d said while the squad hollered around you, so loudly that you almost missed when she leant forward, tucked her hair behind her right ear and pointed at a scar on her earlobe. Learned the hard way that hoop earrings and chasing down perps really don’t mix, she whispered and her warm breath in your ear made your stomach lurch again –

iii.

Alarm goes off at 6.00am. First cup of coffee ten minutes later. You check your emails while you brush your teeth and shave.

Three times a week you jog, just enough to get the doctor off your back about your cholesterol.

Get dressed. Cufflinks, pocket square, tie.

You don’t eat breakfast, never have, even though you can always hear your mother’s voice telling you it’s the most important meal of the day.

Briefcase, packed the night before, by the door. Second cup of coffee on your way to the subway. In the office by 7.30, saying good morning to the night-time security guards who are just about to come off shift.

It’s been that way ever since you can remember.

It’s the same single-mindedness and determination that got you out of Jerome Avenue and to where you are now.

She is no less determined, but where you are all clean lines and black and white, she is hazy, mixed up and all different shades of grey. She always seems to be running late for something, has a messenger bag full of scrunched up old receipts and crumbs and hair ties, leaves the squad car filled with empty soda cans and takeaway boxes.

You find yourself compiling facts about her life. Two brothers, one older one younger, a roommate who works in the mayor’s office, a landlord who was taking forever to fix a dripping faucet in the bathroom. One date that went badly, one date that went realllly well as you overheard her tell Amanda in the break room, and one date that didn’t happen at all.

I need to get off those apps, you heard her tell Fin one day as she fiddled with her phone, waiting outside the court room for a verdict, and you found yourself silently agreeing.

iv.

- all this before you knew that she slept on the right hand side of the bed; hated coffee but drank gallons of diet coke; could do a killer impersonation of Chief Dodds; loved nothing more than classic movie marathons on TCM, your neighbour’s Labrador puppy which reminded her of her childhood dog, Dex, sleeping past noon at the weekend, the crusts of pizza dipped into hot sauce–

Home. Sometimes 9pm, sometimes later.

You pick up dinner along the way. Sushi, salad, noodles. Or leftovers wrapped in foil from Sunday lunch with your mother.

You eat at the dining table, case files spread out in front of you. One scotch, maybe two.

Bed. Sleep, when it comes, is fitful.

More and more you find yourself joining in for squad drinks – ignoring Fin’s raised eyebrows – or taking the slightly longer route past the bar on your way to the subway just in case they’re there – although really you’re doing it for the extra exercise and the fresh air, and it takes you past one of the better bodegas, anyway…

One night in January you run into her on the courthouse steps after a particularly gruesome first trial day and you fall into step.

Is it always like that? She asked, jerking a thumb in the direction of the courthouse.

With Buchanan as defence counsel? Pretty much. You did a great job with your testimony though; you have nothing to worry about.

She gave a half smile. Only because I have a really good ADA.

You reach the bottom of the steps in companionable silence and as you think about the leftover Pad Thai and empty silence waiting for you back at your apartment, you find yourself doing something you haven’t done for a while.

Do you want to grab a drink? You blurt out, and already regret it. I mean, I was going to with Liv but she had to bail to go pick up Noah and it’s been a long day and…

Sloppy seconds, huh? She raises an eyebrow at you.

No, I just mean…

She smiles. Lucky for you, I have no objections to that. But I’m picking.

vi.

- when you told her later, much later, that you hadn’t asked Liv for a drink, never had any intention of doing so, she’d just laughed, told you she’d waited on the steps for half an hour in the hope she’d run into you –

vii.

The place she picks is some dingy, basement dive bar, Dempsey’s, Kelly’s, Dennehy’s, something like that – a place you must have walked past hundreds of times but never really noticed.

This feels like the type of place where my defendants would hang out. You feel out of place in your three-piece suit and cashmere scarf, and can’t ignore the stares of some of the other patrons who were clearly confused as to why you were there, and with her no less. Judging from the bottles behind the bar, you were going to have to find something other than Scotch to drink.

Yeah, your defendants and me. She pulls off her coat and jumps up onto a stool at the bar, where the tattooed bartender places two bottles of generic lager in front of her.

Thank you Stan, she smiles sweetly. And…? She gestures throwing back a shot and he laughs and nods, pouring tequila into two shot glasses and placing them besides the beer. He gives you a perfunctory nod, clearly puzzled as to why she’s with you.

So this is where you hide then. You take a sip of the beer and try not to wince. You can’t remember the last time you drank beer.

Does that mean you’ve been looking for me then, Mr Barba? She smiles at you over the top of her beer and you feel yourself flush.

Only when I’m trying to track you down and reprimand you for illegal search and seizures. You emphasise illegal, and take another sip of beer. It’s beginning to grow on you.

That was one time, she says, in mock dismay, eyes opening wide. And it cracked that case, so I don’t know what you’re complaining about.

Me? Complain? Never.

She rolls her eyes. Ha. Well I’d rather have you on my side than anyone else.

I’m far too modest to respond to that.

She laughs and rolls her eyes. Modest and Rafael Barba in the same sentence is an oxymoron. It’s the first time you’ve heard her use your first name and you’re embarrassed that it gives you such a jolt of pleasure.

It’s true though, she continues. I’ve worked with some really dismal prosecutors in my time. Guys who turn up, collect a paycheck, go home again. I feel like you live and breathe this. Like you were always supposed to do it.

That’s weird, you quip. When I was younger I always wanted to be Hawkeye Pierce when I grew up.

She looks puzzled.

You groan and take another sip of your beer. No! You cry in mock dismay. You cannot be so young that you don’t know who Hawkeye is. MASH? Alan Alda?

She shakes her head and wrinkles her nose. When I was younger, I wanted to be Hannah Montana, she offers by way of consolation.

Oh Good God, you say as you rest your head in your hands. How old are you? But when you turn to look at her she’s smiling, her tongue between her teeth, and you can tell she’s messing with you.

Just kidding, she says. For me, it was the Pink Power Ranger.

Thank God. I was worried I was going to have to prosecute you for under-age drinking.

You both laugh at this, and then she stops suddenly. She leans closer to you and you wonder whether this is it, whether she’s going to kiss you. What she does feels much more intimate. She reaches over and grabs your tie, loosening the knot. You’re not in court now, Rafael. She clinks her shot glass to yours, tosses it back before she runs her hand through her hair and smiles at you. You notice, not for the first time, just how pretty she is.

viii.

- when you wake the next morning you realise you’ve slept through your alarm and two missed calls. Your head is pounding and your mouth feels like a cotton wool pad, but you realise, as you frantically splash water on your face that you can’t stop smiling like a maniac –

ix.

Nothing happened that time. Or the time after. Or the time after that.

When it did happen, it wasn’t at all how you imagined. In your head, you were cooler, calmer, way more collected. It was you who initiated it, you who would open up and tell her how you felt at the bar after a couple of drinks. You would ask her out, set a date, pick somewhere nice, dress up.

In reality, the bar rang last call and she signalled for two shots.

No, not again, you laughed. I’m still having to grovel after turning up later after the last time.

Who said one of these was for you? She knocked both of them back herself, one after the other.

Dutch courage she told you and your puzzled expression as she placed one hand on each of your knees, jumping down for the bar stool to stand in between your legs, so that you were eye level. I’ve come to the conclusion that you’re never going to act on anything, so I’ve got to do it myself.

Your heart quickened. What…

But she cut you off as she covered your mouth with hers, her breath warm and sickly sweet from the shot. You felt her mouth curve into a smile as you kissed her back. Good, she murmured. It wasn’t just my imagination.

- God, you were like a horny teenager or something, hands all over her at the bar, continuing outside in the street after you were finally kicked out. You weren’t thinking straight, weren’t thinking anything at all really. Only a bunch of drunk Wall Street bros wolf-whistling broke you out of your reverie, and you stood, staring at each other, panting, lips parted. She pulled at the bottom of your jacket and pressed her body into yours. Well Rafael, I’d invite you back to mine but I have a roommate so –

xi.

In the end, you never really had that date you had planned. She just went from not being in your life to – well, being there.

Now you sleep until 7.30, wake rested, satiated, ready for the day. You drink your coffee in bed, gag in mock horror when she makes you eat breakfast, get dressed while she sings loudly in the shower.

You whistle on your way to the subway, say hi to the morning security team who you don’t recognise, buy coffee for Carmen and the other assistants on the corridor.

She splashes colour right across the black and white of your life.

She leaves coins that she empties out of her pockets on every available surface. She never puts the top back on the toothpaste, leaves the tube snarled and twisted because of her insistence on squeezing from the top and not from the bottom like a normal person. She folds down the corner of pages in books that you’ve kept pristine for years, chews on the end of your pens while she does the crossword, leaves the bed sheets in a crumpled mess, when she wakes up late than you, her damp towel on the bathroom floor.

You leave work on time. She cooks dinner. You work while she stretches out on her stomach on your L-shaped sofa watching black and white movies, while you pretend not to notice the red wine she spills on your cushions.

xii.

- without telling anyone, everyone else seems to know too. Amanda raises her eyebrows knowingly at you when you leave the precinct one night together. I’ve never seen you so relaxed, Liv says, it looks good on you. Most mortifyingly of all you run into Nick at a pharmacy, when he comes up behind you as you’re picking up a box of condoms. Evening counsellor, he says, smirking as he strides past you, turning to wink at you -

xiii.

We’re a bit like them, she had said one night, gesturing to the flickering screen in your apartment where some old black and white movie was playing.

Hmmm, you responded, barely paying attention as your eyes scanned a case file at the dining table behind the sofa where she lounged in shorts and a vest top.

Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart, she said. He was the older, debonair man. She was the sultry younger woman. She paused stretching her legs up in the air seductively, cocking an eyebrow at you.

You laugh half-heartedly. I always thought of myself more as a Gary Cooper.

She looks at you appraisingly. No, definitely a Bogie.

Oh, great, you say. The guy who was so much older than his partner that he died about ten years after they got married.

But he drank and smoked like a sailor.

You raised your glass of scotch to her, tapping it with your index finger. One out of two ain’t bad.

Yeah you need to cut down on those.

And who was it I had to put to bed last week because she drank too much red wine and fell asleep in the taxi home?

She stuck her middle finger up at you. I’m not an old man though.

You grimaced, your exaggerated facial expression only just masking the real pang that shot through you with her words.

She rolled over and jumped off the sofa, stretching and arching her back so that her vest top lifted and you could see the smooth, pale skin of her stomach.

Careful, you’ll give this old man a heart attack.

She turned towards him and grinned. Right on cue, on screen Lauren Bacall turned to Humphrey Bogart.

You know how to whistle, don’t you Rafa? You just put your lips together and blow. She purred as she pushed your papers to one side and straddled you, just before showing you what else her lips could do.

xiv.

- but then all of a sudden it’s sloppy mistakes, uncrossed t’s and undotted i's. It’s McCoy in your office, eyebrows raised in surprise that he’s even having to pull you up on these things. I don’t know what’s got you distracted he says, but I need you to sort it out before we really blunder, the DA’s office can’t afford another mistake –

xv.

On weekends you sleep in, go out for brunch. You walk round the park, laugh as she refuses to accept your help with the crossword. You make plans to try that new French place that’s opened across the street from your apartment, to help her paint her room, to take her skiing.

One weekend you barely even leave the bedroom. After the third time you ask her to slow down, I’m an old man, I’m not like the young studs you’re used to.

She grins and rolls to splay on top of you, her face fitting into the crook of your neck where she says you smell most like you. And where can I find these young studs of which you speak she murmurs, biting your earlobe causing you both to start convulsing with laughter until you’re both on top of each other again and your laughter is replaced by something else entirely.

xvi.

- you seen Barba’s new piece? You hear a male voice, one you don’t recognise, come into the restroom. Whoever he’s with laughs. Yeah, who would have thought? Must be some real Daddy issues going on there. Then there’s a crude joke about what you’re like in bed. You feel your face burn with anger, but also shame, and you wait until they’re gone before you unlock the cubicle and come out to wash your hands –

xvii.

One Sunday you take her to lunch with your mom. When you pick her up she’s wearing a dress, carrying a bottle of red wine. Is this OK? She asks. Do you think she’ll like it? She fusses with her hair as you knock on the door and wait and you squeeze her hand in reassurance.

You eat your mother’s ropa vieja and hide your embarrassment by drinking your wine while your mother tells the story of how she knew you were going to be a lawyer after you’d argued you, Eddie and Alex out of detention for breaking up a fight on the school bus.

She compliments your mother on her home, asks to see photos of you as a child, clears the table without being asked and gets to work washing up in the kitchen.

Your mother eyes you over the table. You look happy, she says finally.

Why do I feel like that’s not a compliment, you ask.

She takes a sip of her wine. She’s much younger than I was expecting, mijo. Just be careful. I don’t want you to get hurt.

You make some joke about not being as fit as you once were, but that you weren’t that worried about your cardiac health while she fixed you with a pointed look.

xviii.

- she carries home a Tupperware container filled with leftovers on the subway, asks you how she did, if your mom liked her. She tells you that her big brother is going to be in New York for work next month, that maybe you can all go for dinner at that Thai place you tried last week. You kiss her on the lips and tell her that sounds great, not without noticing the looks you get from the two women sitting across from you who whisper something to one another, the man standing by the door with headphones on who smirks at you –

xix.

You start to doubt yourself.

You notice how the eyes of younger men, better looking men, men with biceps and triceps and god knows what other else-ceps, linger on her when she walks by. The unis in the squad room, the court officers, the barista in the coffee shop by your apartment.

You become ever more aware of the grey hairs creeping into your sideburns, of the way your shirt stretches across your stomach.

You don’t miss the glances her friends exchange with one another when you’re the first to leave drinks to head home.

Jailbait, you hear. Cradle robber. Mid-life crisis. Barba? Thought he was gay. Must be rich, huh.

It starts to feel wrong, illicit. You lie and tell her you need to stay late at work, that maybe it’s best if she doesn’t come over tonight, you’ll see her at the weekend.

xx.

- you don’t tell her how much it hurts when she sends you a selfie of her and Carisi and Amaro later that night. Her eyes are scrunched up in a smile and she has one arm draped lazily over Nick’s shoulder, while Sonny’s hand grabs her waist. Hope work going ok, she texts with a winky face emoji. You lock your phone and place it face down on the coffee table at home where you’ve been all evening, drinking scotch and watching CSPAN –

xxi.

You’ve never really broken up with someone before. It’s strange for someone who’s normally so assertive, so intentional about their life and their work, but you’ve either just let things fizzle out slowly or pull back long enough for the other person to break up with you.

That doesn’t work this time.

We need to talk, she says as you open your front door to you one night. You’re caught off guard, expecting the delivery driver with your Chinese, and she marches straight past you, arms folded, mouth in a line.

What the hell is going on with you?

Nothing, you say. I’ve just been busy. I keep meaning to call you.

Seriously? She says. That’s what you’re going with?

Unusually, you find yourself lost for words, stunned into silence by her eyes that are shiny with rage. You try to think of something clever to say but find yourself only able to shrug half-heartedly.

Because from my point of view you’re behaving like a frat boy asshole, and I’m way too old to have to deal with that shit anymore. I don’t understand… She tails off, as if she’s tired herself out. She collapses on the sofa and you realise that her eyes are not shining with rage, but with something else entirely. Hurt.

What did I do, Raf?

You didn’t do anything you want to say. You’re beautiful and perfect and incredible and deserve so much more than me and what everyone else says about us. You’re better off without me and I wish things were different. You don’t say any of that, throat so thick with emotion that you barely trust yourself to speak at all.

I just don’t see this working out, you say instead.

She stares at you wordlessly, apparently waiting for you to continue. When you don’t, she stands, winds the scarf she’s been holding in her hand around her neck and moves to leave. She stops at the door, looks back at you. God, I’ve been such a fucking idiot, haven’t I.

You move towards her, reaching a handout to touch your shoulder. I still really want us to be frie…

She recoils like you just slapped here. Don’t even say it, she had snapped suddenly, pulling away from you, eyes flashing. Fuck you.

And then she’s gone, door slamming behind her, leaving you stunned into silence until its broken by the door buzzer going again. Your Chinese food has arrived.

xxii.

- only to have that thrown back in your face months later when you joined the squad for drinks, Amanda asking what had happened to you guys, oh we decided that we’re better off as FRIENDS, she said, but you couldn’t miss the hard edge in her voice, the split second when she made direct eye contact with you –

xxiii.

Your alarm goes off at 6.00am. Coffee, emails, shower and shave.

You get dressed. Cufflinks, pocket square, tie, avoiding the yellow and black striped one she said made you look like a bumblebee.

Briefcase, coffee shop, subway. You ignore the security guards gossiping as they finish their shift, head straight to your office.

It’s always Nick or Amanda who come to collect the warrants or to drop off files now. When you’re forced to go down to the precinct for a line-up or to meet with Liv, she’s conspicuously absent, always out on a job or on a coffee run.

You think you catch a glimpse of her in a packed courtroom one day, but she leaves right as its adjourned, takes the stairs and doesn’t linger out on the courthouse steps.

Excellent job, says McCoy, fantastic work on the Barker case. The folks at City Hall are really taking notice. Rumours of a judicial appointment are circulating.

You go home late, when it’s already dark. It’s quiet. Your bed is perfectly made, the dishwasher stacked exactly how you like it, the towels are hung up. You turn on the lights, unpack your take-out and eat it alone at the dining room table in silence.

You like it better like this, you tell yourself. Everything back to the way it was.

xxiv.

- but sometimes you ran Turner Classic Movies while you worked late at night, until you caught a snippet of Humphrey Bogart speaking to a woman in a car. I was born when she kissed me, I died when she left me, I lived a few weeks while she loved me, he said. You turned it off and worked in silence for the rest of the month –

xxv.

She calls you once. It’s Thursday night, you’re still in the office.

Hey, she says, long and slow and you can tell she’s be drinking, can tell from the background noise that she’s probably still out somewhere. Her voice is warm and syrupy and you feel your stomach tighten.

I miss you, she says.

Please don’t do this, you ask.

Do what, she says. I just wanted to phone to speak to you. Like friends do. Her voice turns sharp and bitter then before she bursts out laughing.

I think you should go home.

There’s nothing on the end of the line then, just shouting and static.

Hello? You say.

Sorry, she slurs. I dropped the phone. What did you say?

I said I think you should hang up this call and go home. I think you’re going to regret this tomorrow morning.

OK Dad. She starts laughing again. Dad, that’s what everyone said to me when we were dating, like I had some sort of Electro complex.

Electra, you correct.

Yeah that’s the one. Which is ridiculous, because I just liked you so much.

She pauses. So so much.

You sigh. I’m going to hang up now, you tell her.

Not if I hang up first, she responds and then the line goes dead. You put your phone on silent and bury it at the bottom of your desk drawer but she doesn’t call back.

xxvi.

- she’s running late the next morning, Liv tells you as you sit in her office. Something about a broken shower. You see her walk in two hours later, sunglasses on, dumping her coat and her bag on the floor beside her desk, avoiding eye contact with anybody. When you leave Liv’s office she bolts from her desk, mutters something about needing some fresh air and she’s gone before you can say anything -

xxvii.

It’s a cold, overcast March Monday the next time you see her.

We need you up at Green Haven, Liv tells you over the phone. A low-level trafficker offering to spill on the rest of the organisation in exchange for a few years off a sentence. I’ll send someone up with you, I seem to remember Uber doesn’t go that far.

You roll your eyes at the joke that you’ve heard too many times for it to be funny. Just send anyone but Carisi, you say. That guy insisted on listening to Journey the whole way there and back.

When you head out to meet the car a couple of hours later, it’s not Carisi in the driver’s seat. It’s her, staring straight ahead, hands clutching the steering wheel, sunglasses on despite the clouds.

Save it, she says. I was all for inflicting Carisi’s one man Journey tribute act on you, but according to Liv I’m the only one who has a rapport with this guy.

xxviii.

- it’s not until you check your phone at a rest stop that you see the message from Liv with just the winky face emoji –

xxix.

The silence is excruciating. She fiddles with the radio as you head of the city but the reception keeps dropping in and out until the only station you can pick up is some call-in show about vegetable gardening that even she can’t stand listening to. She turns it off and you continue in silence.

The visit itself goes smoothly, the trafficker spills without any encouragement. You agree three years off the sentence if the information turns out to be true.

Then you’re back out again, her striding towards the card ahead of you. Hey, you say. Come on. I really don’t want to spend another 2 hours with you in complete silence. Can we talk?

She stops and turns to look at you. You know I’ve always thought Greenhaven Correctional Facility had the perfect ambience for difficult discussions with ex-lovers.

You laugh despite yourself. I didn’t mean here. Look, what was that place we passed on the turn-off on our way here? Ray’s? Jay’s?

As it turns out, it was Sal’s, and that’s where you found yourself sitting next to her on the hood of the car, drinking one of the worst cups of coffee you’ve ever had in your life. You’re both quiet for what seems like an age, the low hum of the cars passing on the highway the only sound.

I feel like I owe you an apology, you finally start.

She snorts derisively.

I treated you like a – what were the words you used again – ah yes, a fratboy asshole. That gets a weak laugh out of her. I’m sorry.

She shrugs in a way that seems defeated. I just don’t understand what happened, Rafa. I thought things were going great, I met your mom – which, you should know, is not something I do with every guy – and then next minute you’re just gone.

She takes off her sunglasses and looks at you dead in the eye for what’s probably the first time that day. I just want to know why.

You take a deep breath. Honestly? You ask.

Honestly, she says.

I got sick of people making comments about us. I’m what, 20 years older than you? And I look it too. It felt like everyone was judging me, making me feel like I was some sort of perv. I started to believe it; maybe it was disgusting, maybe you were better off without me.

She laughs outright at that. Seriously? Don’t you think I get to have a say in whether I’m better off without you? She says. Because I don’t think I am. People can say whatever they want to, I only care about what me and you say.

She pauses. Also, you are a bit of a perv.

That makes you laugh softly too. You know, I wish I’d had a girlfriend as mature as you when I was your age. I’d probably be in a lot better shape than I am now.

She purses her lips and moves her head from side to side as if she’s considering something. Yeah well, maybe you’d be married to them and you wouldn’t even have noticed me. And I’d probably be dating some fratboy asshole who could never make me nearly as happy as I was when I was with you.

You sit in silence briefly. Then you slide your hand over to cover hers laying on the hood. Was, you ask? Past tense.

She just takes a sip of energy drink from some luminescent can and makes a face. Ugh, she says. If I’m going to date you, maybe it’s finally time I learn to like coffee.

xxx.

When you open your eyes the next morning, its light and for the first time in a long time, you don’t remember having wakened in the night.

You can see a pile of change and scrunched up receipts on your bedside table. A pair of jeans thrown on the chair in the corner. You can hear the shower running and her voice as she sings along to the radio.

You smile.

#law and order svu #law and order: special victims unit #rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #svu #rafael barba imagine

5 notes · View notes

lonelypond · 5 years

Text

Moonlight Becomes You: Apocalypse Midnight Dance Party, Ch. 8

NicoMaki, NozoEli, YohaMaru, KanaMari, Love Live/Love Live Sunshine, 2.5K, 8/?

Summary: Dia tries to escape scrutiny and conversation, while Nozomi gets closer to Eli and answers.

Everyone To Their Corners

Yoshiko sagged, a shocked look on her face, her hand to her jaw, and You felt the bubble of tension in the air around them pop. Dia was shaking her hand as if she’d been stung by something. The door burst open as Hanamaru stepped between Dia and Yoshiko with a look on her face You had only ever seen once and You, thinking quickly, grabbed Dia and pulled her back.

“Trust me.” You whispered. “Please.”

Dia blinked, surprised, Yoshiko seemingly forgotten. She rubbed her hand, somehow, punching the winged annoyance had felt like a cross between pushing through an electrical field and grabbing the handle of a heated pot. You’s expression almost landed on hopeful and then Hanamaru tapped Dia on the shoulder and she turned, her shoulders squaring up again.

“No violence.” Hanamaru stated, her eyebrows low and weaponized.

“Yeah.” Yoshiko muttered. “Violence hurts.” She was sagging against Hanamaru’s back, still coddling her jaw.

Before Dia could speak, Nico and Maki were inside the room.

“You’re up.” Maki frowned as she noticed the IV and stand, “Should you be up?”

“I feel all right, Ma…”

You coughed. In a desperate, HINTING fashion.

“Maki.” Dia had no idea why she decided to go along, but the bright blue eyes rewarded her with a quick wink. And her parents really didn’t seem to know her. And they looked so young. But someone would be answering questions soon. So many questions.

And then Nico was right there, her expression suspicious. “You do know her.” Nico glared. Dia didn’t know how to process her mother as an enemy so she glanced to Maki, who at least wasn’t actively hostile to anyone but You. And then Nico was right in front of Dia, “How do you know her? Are you crazy stalking her?”

Oh. Nico was trying to protect Maki. Dia recognized that mood.

Dia knew how sharp Nico’s radar was for suspicious fan behavior so she focused on a memory from her childhood, of both her and Ruby listening to their Mama play the piano and let that shared joy of sisterhood color her voice, “No no, my sister and I are just big fans. Since we were kids. And I wanted an autograph to surprise her...my sister...before her tour starts…”

Nico had raised an eyebrow in Maki’s direction when Dia said “since we were kids,” but Maki was puzzling over Yoshiko, who was glancing wildly between Hanamaru and You, trying to communicate something with hand gestures.

The door opened again. Nico was forcing Dia back toward the window, Yoshiko had given up and decided to sit on the bed, still rubbing her jaw and muttering, Hanamaru caressing her back in a comforting fashion. Dr. Nishikino stepped into the room.

“There you are, Maki. And You. Good. Sorry, I got distracted.” Hands in her lab coat, Dr. Nishikino examined the scene and made a quick decision, “Can we get the young lady with the IV back in her bed and let her have some privacy. Are any of you family?”

You choked.

Hanamaru shoved Yoshiko off the bed, “No, but Ms. Tsushima here is her tour guide.”

“Tour guide?” Nico and Dia spoke at the same moment, their joint skepticism a near perfect echo. Maki looked startled. So did Yoshiko.

Hanamaru smiled her sweetest smile, “Historical Los Angeles. Very trendy in Tokyo right now, zura.”

“No, it’s not.” Maki stated, a recent trip to Tokyo still fresh in her memory. “Everything’s about the Olympics right now.”

“Which they held in LA.” Yoshiko blurted. Everyone in the room was now staring at her.

“Don’t help.” Hanamaru hissed, leaning over Yoshiko’s ear.

“I’d like to leave the hospital.” Dia stated, surely anywhere else would be calmer than here.

“That’s a good idea. We have a room for you…” Yoshiko started.

“No.” Dia’s arms crossed. “I am not going anywhere with you.”

“Do you have anywhere to go? Your luggage was apparently lost.” Dr. Nishikino asked. “And I would advise waiting for your test. Head injuries can be deceptive and dangerous.”

Dia had...money in her digital wallet that wouldn’t be created for decades yet. So no, nowhere to go...she glanced in You’s direction.

“Mama.” Maki came back into focus, her years of hosting parties and family friends clicking in, “We have a big house. And Dia seems about my size. So she can borrow some clothes.”

“No.” You and Yoshiko agreed, too hastily for everyone else in the room. Hanamaru rolled her eyes.

“Really?” Nico turned, now it was her turn to scrutinize You, “Nico thinks both of you answer too many questions not directed at you.”

Maki nodded and stepped up next to Nico. “Come along if you want. But I at least insist on getting Dia some spare clothes.”

“And if there might be a head injury, Dia shouldn’t be left alone.” Dr. Nishikino stated.

“I didn’t hit my head.” Dia insisted. No one was asking her anything. Her parents had once again stolen the spotlight.

“What’s today’s date?” Dr. Nishikino wondered, voice laced with a deceptive sweetness.

Dia froze, “I...I...I don’t know…” She scratched at her mole, “But that’s jet lag.”

“I’ll call the driver.” Dr. Nishikino wanted this party out of the confines of this hospital room, “And get the paperwork so Dia can sign herself out. Maki, take whoever wants to go to the house. All the guest rooms should be ready.”

All the guest rooms. Nico grunted and glanced out the window. Hospitals and doctors and DJ Diamond Princess fans and Maki’s mother and...Dia was staring at her, a little sad, and Nico got a sudden flash of Cocoa, the rare few times when she didn’t have an active project to juggle. That was weird. Maybe it was the hair color. Or Nico just being the best big sister in the world, even for strangers.

“You’ll be fine. Nico knows Maki will take good care of you.” Nico grinned.

And then Dia grinned back, “Yeah.”

With a sigh and a hip nudge, Nico got Maki’s attention back, “Nico has to go home and change and make sure Eli gets tucked in all right.”

“Just text her and tell her to call if she needs you.” Maki was trying so hard to keep the frustration out of her voice and failing so thoroughly. “You can make dinner in my kitchen.”

“Oh, you just want to put Nico to work...”

“No, that’s not what...I thought you wanted...I didn’t mean…”

And then Dr. Nishikino was there, her hand on her daughter’s shoulder, “Maki, just order food for everyone. Don’t put your friend on the spot like that.” Then she was holding her other hand out for Nico to shake, “I’m happy to meet you, Nico. You’re very welcome to anything in our kitchen, Maki’s just a little…”

“MAMA!” Maki jumped back, nearly knocking You over.

Dia giggled and now everyone was staring at her. But it really was amazing how little her parents had changed, especially Maki when her own mother put her on the spot.

Nico shook hands, “Thank you, Maki’s Mama. Nico looks forward to the tour, someday. But Maki will have to have this party without me. I have a roommate to talk some sense into.”

“Nico?” A hurt bleat forced from Maki. The rest of the room was seemingly trying to blend in with the walls as much as possible, except Dia who was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring with open interest.

Nico dropped her voice as she pulled Maki aside, “Eli had such a bad night; Nico is worried.”

Maki held Nico’s gaze, frowning, “some of us might be worried about…” Maki hesitated, “the people around Eli.”

Nico mock posed for the start of a fight, “Nico is fine.” Then she relaxed, “The dinner offer still stands. Bring,” And here Nico smiled at Dia again, “anybody who’s hungry or still needs medical observation. Nico’s cooking can cure anything.”

Maki became hyper aware of the rest of the room, and stammering, turned away from Nico, “We’ll be fine.”

After a pause and an almost comment, Nico shrugged and waved, including everyone in her audience, “Nico has to run. Let’s party again.”

“To save this world from the flames of chaos.” Yohane intoned from the window, but Nico had already closed the door.

“Hush, zura,” Hanamaru chided the new center of attention in the overpacked and confused room.

###

Mari pushed back from the table where Nozomi had laid out three cards, “Not my cards. I have no problems in my love life. Kanan is perfect tea.”

Eli was slouching on the couch, watching Nozomi, wondering if she should just take herself home or wait.

“Strength.” Mari flipped one of the cards at Nozomi, “A lovely lady and her lovely lion.” Mari winked, “You might find that useful someday, taming a beast.”

Eli froze. Eli froze so hard everyone in the room could hear the silent scream from every muscle in her body. Her mouth was open, then closed, more than a dozen times in near zero seconds, no sounds released, her blue eyes wild as she stared at Mari.

“Elichi?” Nozomi turned, wondering.

“You should see her bedhead, it’s adorable,” Mari giggled as she leaned to kiss Nozomi on the cheek, “Read her future. See if you’re in it. And Basta! on you for thinking Lovers Reversed has anything to do with me.” Mari flicked Nozomi mid forehead and then sashayed into her bedroom while Nozomi stared at her, and Eli continued to malfunction.

Nozomi took a look at the cards, Lovers and Strength reversed, and the Three of Cups in the middle, slid Strength back into place in the array, and bit her lip as she watched Eli become aware that Time was passing, Mari was gone, and Nozomi was watching Eli. Eli shot up from the couch.

“I need to get home. I should have left with Nico.”

Nozomi hummed. She did not have the years of experience with Eli that she had with Tarot cards, but the cards didn’t have so many tells. The first, refusal to make eye contact.

“Eli.” A short snap of a command.

Eli looked.

“I missed our text conversations.” Nozomi stood, slowly, watching Eli watch her move, noticing where Eli’s eyes went, pausing to stretch her arms behind her head, catching Eli’s quick glance away and blush.

“I’ve been focusing on dance.” Eli slumped back into a seat, arms loose over her knees, “It’s been a lifeline.”

There was no conviction in Eli’s tone. Nozomi sat next to her on the couch, carefully maintaining a break between them.

“Roommate trouble?”

Eli’s laugh was harsh, pained. “Yeah, me.”

Nozomi winced. She was pretty certain Eli was trying to blink away tears. But just grabbing and crushing her with a hug wouldn’t cut it. Needing to do something with her hands, Nozomi scratched her ear, while madly connecting words in her head to see if any might help.

And then Eli threw herself onto Nozomi’s shoulder, sobbing.

###

Dia had been silent throughout the limo ride. Actually, Dia corrected her internal narrator, everyone had been silent the entire ride, although You had been humming occasionally. And stealing glances in Dia’s direction. And not looking away the one time Dia obviously caught her, instead smiling and saluting. Maki sitting across from them frowned and crossed her arms. Dia had to giggle, the frown on her mother’s face was only slightly eased from the first time Ruby’s fiancée had been invited to dinner.

Dia suddenly found the silence obtrusive. “Is this normal weather for Los Angeles?”

Maki shrugged, “It’s hot. It’s always hot these days.”

“That is an unfortunate trend due to decades of human overconsumption and is directly responsible for....” Dia had had this conversation too often at extended Nishikino family events with some elderly relatives who refused to support climate austerity measures.

You double over with a cough and Dia stopped talking.

“We can take you right back to the hospital, Watanabe, if you’re not feeling well. I’m sure my mother will be thrilled.” Maki’s voice moved in with a cold front.

You waved a dismissive hand and bumped Dia before unfolding herself, “We don’t really know about the FuTURE, but I hear the weekend will be cooler.”

Maki muttered, “weather cop” as the limo started climbing the hills of Malibu.

###

When Eli’s sobbing started to ebb, Nozomi carefully shifted position so Eli could sit back easily if she wanted. Then, her arms still securing the blonde, Nozomi whispered, “It’s okay to let me help, Eli.”

Silence. Then a sigh and pressure against Nozomi’s arms as Eli sat up, leaning forward, her head drooping over clasped hands.

“Thanks.” Eli glanced to the side and her smile was sad and sweet and Nozomi found her heart digging a deeper, softer burrow for whatever these feelings were to drop into. Then Eli shook herself in a whole body movement that fascinated Nozomi, who watched it ripple and radiate from Eli’s back. Another sigh, and Eli forcing herself to her feet, “Nico’s right. I need to get home.”

Nozomi’s hand reached out, seemingly on its own instinct, but before Nozomi could speak and ask again if Eli always listened to Nico, Kanan returned to the room, speaking briskly, “Oh good, you’re still here, Eli. I want to talk to you about this program my friend, Yoshiko…”

Nozomi switched her attention to Kanan. This was a surprise. What would Eli and Hanamaru’s impossible and inept ‘displaced celestial being’ have to talk about?

“Not now,” Eli snapped, a slight head tilt in Nozomi’s direction, “please. I just want to go home.”

Kanan met Eli’s gaze, not hiding her concern, then nodded, “I’ll call you a car. And see you at our next rehearsal.” Kanan looked so stern Nozomi had a quick and mistaken impression she was seeing a stranger who’d replaced her friend. Kanan’s voice was an order, “Don’t even think about missing. We have a contract.”

Eli couldn’t argue with paperwork. And although her nod of agreement was defeatist, Eli was honestly glad to have an unbreachable reason to keep dancing. Dance was the only thing keeping her together right now. And deep in Kanan’s eyes, she’d seen not pity or curiosity, but solidarity. And Eli wanted to know why.

Nozomi’s hand was a kind touch on Eli’s arm, “Can I see you home? I’ll only stay as long as you want me to.”

Three days worth of tired, Eli considered declining. But Nozomi was nice and friendly and solid and not asking questions and Eli found herself dreading sitting alone in her apartment until the moon rose or Nico came home. So Eli shrugged half hearted assent, as bold a move as she could currently manage.

A/N: Moving is so much worse than I expected. How are you?

12 notes · View notes

cockbiteproductions · 5 years

Note

primed to scream PRIMES! PRIMES! PRIMES!!

f i just typed the answer to most of these questions and chrome crashed so christ i have to fucking retype all these but much condensed because i am lazy.

2. chocolate bars or lollipops?

chocolate bars. but only milk. my mom buys exclusively Very Dark Chocolate though so i usually just stare at those and Wish.

3. bubblegum or cotton candy?

well bubblegum or cotton candy flavored stuff neither they both taste nauseating. if we’re talking about the actual stuff then bubblegum because i can pop it. this actually reminded me i have gum in the pantry from the beginning of the semester i havent even opened yet so now my roommates have you to thank for popping noises the next hr or so

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups?

soda bottles because i dont like to drink soda quickly and so i want to close it and not let the carbon dioxide escape. soda cans a close second because it’s satisfying to open the tab.

7. earbuds or headphones?

wired earbuds because headphones are too big and clunky and you cant easily lay on your side with headphones on. but if my next pair of earbuds break within a month i might consider Switching because ive had 3 break on me in the past month and half and im at my wits end with earbuds.

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day?

i dont eat much for breakfast cause i want to sleep in until the last possible moment and i get stomachaches when i eat a lot in the morning but ill eat a piece of bread and yogurt maybe.

13. lanyard or key ring?

key ring but that’s just because i havent used a lanyard before. i think i would like a lanyard. im constantly looking for my keys in bags.

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes?

this pair of black sandals that i have tan lines on my feet from how much ive worn them

19. sleeping position?

ill sleep however... i like sleeping on my left side. on my stomach with my head to the right. on my back with my arms crossover my chest to keep warm. at the end of the bed with my head where my feet should be. i dont move at all when i sleep so freshman year when i had a lofted bed i think my roommate was a bit concerned in the beginning when i refused a bedrail because she thought i might fall. i never fell which was nice.

23. strange habits?

oh man idk i probably have a lot of those but nothing i can think about right now when im being put on the spot.

in elementary school i used to refuse to step on the yellow tiles at school.

29. best way to bond with you?

talk to me about the stuff i love!!!! and watch the stuff i love with me!!!! i am always down to [whatever the rabb.it replacement is these days] stuff with people and just generally both yell at each other and be passionate about stuff. currently what im passionate about is the stuff im screaming over at @winstonbillions so talk to me about that stuff!! please. i am always 3 seconds from screaming about ANY of that stuff.

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names?

idk about outfits to kick ass and take names but i have outfits where i get my ass kicked and name taken aka what i wear to exams. which is my tower of pimps shirt which ive deemed lucky. is it lucky in any way? no, but i’m hoping if i wear it enough to exams it might.

37. suitcase or duffel bag?

duffel bag. suitcases are so large and unwieldily. that reminds me i have a suitcase of winter clothes in my trunk i need to take out.

41. last person you texted?

as in actual texts on my phone? that would be my dad. asking him if i should drop my class im failing.

as for the last person i instant messaged, that would be one of my mutuals through my musical theater sideblog im currently yelling at about [musical theater related interest]. im not kidding guys talk to me about the stuff i post about on @winstonbillions PLEASE

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket?

2 months ago i would have said hoodie but im kinda becoming a cardigan kind of person now. theyre just Soft and and Long and Casual and i love them. hoodies are too hard to take off.

47. favorite type of cheese?

mild cheddar, american, and mozzarella. i actually only Recently started cataloging cheeses in my brain to their actual names so for my entire life i was like i just like cheese even though there are certain ones i hate like swiss and blue cheese.

53. what is the current state of your hands?

a bit cold and a bit tired from typing all the answers to all these asks tbh. but other than that good. i just cut my nails because they were atrociously long.

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be?

“worm” or “fuck” or “no!” according to my roommate

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.?

oh my ogdokh oym ogdos sd fdospohm to mo edf ucmign fugod mfyo uacant just ask me this im going to absolutely die

in absolutely no order, all from completely from memory, and favorite for a variety of different reasons

“fuck you, math man. if you’re such a genius why can’t you count to loyalty” - mafee in 4x11 lamster billions

“captain, he think, and feels that much more powerful” - luminousbeings in you don’t have to (say yes) the star trek fic

“more than you know, i understand wanting to walk away from the jedi”“i know.” - anakin skywalker and ahsoka tano in 5x12 the wrong jedi star wars the clone wars

“i won’t leave you, not this time.” “then you will die” - ahsoka tano and darth vader in 2x12 twilight of the apprentice star wars rebels

“there is nothing so pure as a man on a mission. when faced with the fire, never quivers or runs. there is nothing so noble as sticking together, for lonely is the life lead when sticking to its guns." - narrator in bloodsong of love by joe iconis

“now i’ve got myself a name and i’m ready to risk it with a battle cry disguised as a sing-along” - never heard nothing by joe iconis

“i’m frickin done with being the loser, the wuss, the underdog. being the misfit, the old school analog. being the oddball, the weakling freak. the failure, the sucker, the please-don’t-speak. oh i can’t hardly wait for the moment when i’m not the loser the geek or whatever, ever again” - jeremy heere in be more chill by joe iconis

“i’m tired of being the person that everyone thinks that i am” - various in be more chill by joe iconis

“q is for quantitative, baby!” - winston in 4x12 extreme sandbox billions

“the cheering is just as important as the song” - lisa and ms. werring in the black suits by joe iconis

“first, best destiny” - spock in star trek ii wrath of khan

“be proud of your place in the cosmos. it is small, and yet it is. how unlikely. how fantastic, and stupid. and excellent.” - cecil in welcome to night vale old oak doors part b

“are we living a life that is safe from harm? of course not. we never are. the questions is are we living a life that is worth the harm?” - cecil in welcome to night vale parade day

“as I turned and my eyes beheld you, i displayed emotion. i beg forgiveness.” - spock somewhere in star trek tos

“the sky collapsed without a sound. these broken pieces hit the ground. the rain fell down around me and i drowned, but i will save you.” - part of me from dear evan hansen

“this is, after all, the story of how i died” - epsilon in the rvb13 trailer

“and while the law has many punishments for the atrocities we inflict on others, there are no punishments for the terrors we inflict on ourselves.” - the director in the s6 finale of red vs blue

that was in no way an exhaustive list but all i could think of at the moment

67. good luck charms?

not really any tbh. i try to wear my tower of pimps shirt whenever i take an exam but that’s about it.

71. least favorite pattern?

what does this even fucking mean?????? i will say the observer design pattern in programming because i don’t understand it well despite having used it twice now.

73. favorite weird flavor combo?

oh god idk why are all these questions getting harder. nothing i can think of at the moment.

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo?

i say school id tentatively, but neither of them looks great. my school id photo was a selfie.

83. writing or drawing?

writing. i wish to GOD i could draw and i probably could if i put in the amount of time i need to to learn how to draw but im a lazy bastard. but i’m not that great at writing either as i’ve found out. everything is way too short and out of character and too venty and i am weird about letting people i know read what i write (sorry @ all the people who keep asking me to let them read my writing. it’s not that great you’re not missing out at all and i hate the Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known) and i abandon ideas literal minutes after getting them.

89. who would you put before everyone else?

what the fuck kind of question is this?????? i GUESS the answer should be me but uh i am not even putting myself before myself as i am procrastinating on a shitload of homework with this. i guess my “close” friends. they’re pretty chill. but generally ill do anything for anyone all you have to do is ask.

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized?

4, my own, my home landline, my dad’s cell, and my dad’s work.

#not rt #teresa answers stuff #long post #jesus christ sorry for the infodump #Anonymous

5 notes · View notes

feralhogs · 4 years

Note

Questions 1, 2, skip a few, 99 100! ANSWER THEM ALL!!!!!!

LETS DO THIS

99 gay-ish asks

how tall are you?5 SOMETHING

what is your body type?SLENDERMAN

what is your favorite part about your body?THE T

is your current hair color your natural hair color?YES

are you more outgoing or more shy?SHY

are you more femme or butch?ITS COMPLICATED, BUT, BUTCH

are you tol or smol?APPARENTLY IM TWINK. NOT SURE WHERE THAT IS ON THIS SCALE

wine mom or vodka aunt?NO

weird habit?I EAT BREAKFAST FOOD AT ANY HOUR

favorite meme?VIBE CHECK, IM SMUG ABOUT MY URL

do you sing in the shower?NO BUT I USED TO. JUST SHY ABOUT ROOMMATES. I DO IN MY CAR

ever used a bow and arrow?NO, BUT MY BROTHER DESIGNED AND BUILT ONE, GOT IN TROUBLE FOR MAKING A WEAPON

are/were you a theatre kid?IN AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE WHERE IM ALLOWED TO HAVE AN EGO, YES

have you ever seen a broadway musical?NO

do you think musicals are cheesy?NO I THINK THEYRE JUST A MEDIUM OF ART

have you ever been a part of a protest or a march?NO WEIRDLY

favorite Cards Against Humanity Card?IDK THEM

last movie you watched?PROBABLY MEGEAMIND

behind the camera or in front of it?BEHIND. BUT BOTH IS GOOD

favorite tv show?AVATAR THE LAST AIRBENDER

meaning behind your urlTHE ACTUAL REASON IS IT REMINDS ME I CAN TRUST MY INTUITION

reason you joined tumblrA CRUSH WROTE IN MY YEARBOOK I SHOULD GET IT. DONT WRITE THAT IN PEOPLES YEARBOOKS

who’s your closest tumblr friend?THE PERSON ASKING ME 99 QUESTIONS

what’s something most people love that you hate?TACOS AT WORK. THEYRE POPULAR OF COURSE. I MAY NOT KNOW MY TACOS, BUT PLAIN RAW CABBAGE ON THEM MAKES ME DOUBT

have you ever taken narcotics?NO

have you had sex?NO

have you ever gotten caught sneaking out or doing anything bad?I DONT GET CAUGHT!!!! IM SO SNEAKY… AND TRAUMATIZED. I ONLY GOT CAUGHT WHEN PEOPLE WERE LIKE, HUNTING ME. NOT FAIR. ALSO HOW DO YOU “GET CAUGHT” FOR DOING NORMAL THINGS LIKE READING AND HAVING CLOTHES

worst/funniest lie you’ve ever told?PROBABLY THE REASSURING CHRISTIAN VALUES THINGS I TOLD MY PARENTS TO GET MY BIRTH CERTIFICATE. IT WAS THE FUNNIEST BECAUSE FOR SOMEONE INCONVENIENTLY TRUTHFUL, THAT WAS SOME PRETTY HARDCORE LYING IN A RIDICULOUS SITUATION, AND THE WORST BECAUSE WHAT A HORRIBLE THING TO HAVE TO DO. IT WAS HORRIBLE BECAUSE I WAS SO CONVINCING BECAUSE I MIXED IT WITH THE TRUTH I COULD SINCERELY EXPRESS

describe your passion without mentioning it.HEY GUYS IM WRITING CHAPTER 1 AGAIN I THINK I FIGURED IT OUT THIS TIME

describe your best friend.WARM STRONG RESILIENT UNCONDITIONALLY LOVING KINDLY HONEST CREATIVE TALENTED BRAVE HARDWORKING BEAUTIFUL ORIGINAL NURTURING SELF CONFIDENT

give us one thing about you that no one knows.NO ONE KNOWS THE GRITTY DETAILS OF SOME SAD MOMENTS IN MY PAST. DID YOU KNOW I HATE THE SMELL OF HOSPITAL FOOD FROM WHEN I VISITED A FAMILY MEMBER IN A PSYCH WARD

how do you feel right now?GOOD, I SHOULD PROBABLY GO TO BED THOUGH

what is your biggest fear?BREAKING SELF HARM STREAK

what’s a song that always makes you happy when you hear it?SING A SONG EARTH WIND AND FIRE

what is the best decision you’ve made in your life so far?LEAVING MY PARENTS. ITS TAKEN ME AGES TO UNLEARN SO MUCH SELF-DEFEATING STUFF

have you ever tried your hardest and then been disappointed in the end?MOSTLY EVERYTHING IN MY LIFE BUT IM CHILL

something you fantasize about.ACTUALLY DANCING TO MUSIC I LIKE. I NEVER LEARNED HOW TO DANCE BUT I WANT TO SFM

last time you cried and whyTHAT PREACHER GUY IN LUCIFER. IT SUCKED BUT IM SO BLOWN AWAY BY LUCIFERS ANGRY YELLING AT THE SKY. WHAT A GIANT MOOD

what was the last thing that made you laugh?MY SISTER ASKING ME WHAT DILF MEANT

do you really, truly miss someone right now?NO. IF I MISS SOMEONE, ITS A SIGN THEY WERE A BAG OF DICKS TO ME AND MESSED UP MY INNER CLARITY

who do you feel most comfortable talking to about anything?YOU

the last time you felt broken?WHEN MY TWO FRIENDS AT THE TIME GANGED UP ON ME AND ABANDONED ME AT A NOT PRETTY TIME IN MY LIFE. I COULDNT EAT WHICH AND I STILL STRUGGLE WITH EATING, I NEVER USED TO

are you starting to realize anything?THAT IF I RELY ON MY LIFE EXPERIENCE, ILL EXPECT TO FAIL AND SABOTAGE MYSELF, AND INSTEAD I NEED TO TAKE RISKS AND PUT FAITH IN MY FUTURE.

are you more dominant or more submissive?THERES EVIDENCE FOR BOTH, BUT I THINK THE LATTER IS JUST FROM ABUSE AND GIRL RULES

i’ll only date you if _____. (fill in the blank)WASH YOUR HANDS FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

do you prefer to date people the same age as you, younger, or older?AROUND MY AGE THERE IS SOME UNDERSTANDING

describe the person you’re in love with/have a crush on in great detail.IM NOT IN LOVE I DONT EVEN HAVE A CRUSH. I MAY HAVE A SQUISH

do you have any kinks?MAYBE SO

first thing you notice in a person?HOW THEY HANDLE STRESS AND PROBLEMS, IF THEY BLAME/GET ANGRY, OR IF THEY ARE COMPASSIONATE AND PATIENT. LOOKING FOR RED FLAGS

how can someone win your heart?FOOD. CHEESECAKE WAS A POWER MOVE. BONDING… OVER FOOD. I HAVE HAPPY MEMORIES ATTACHED TO BEVERAGES.

been rejected by a crush?YES

have you ever had feelings for someone who didn’t have them back?YES

would you have sex with the last person you text messaged?NO

is trust a big issue for you?YES

did you hang out with the person you like recently?NO

is confidence cute?YES, SELF LOVE LOOKS GOOD ON PEOPLE

what would you say if the person you love/like kissed another girl/boy?GOOD FOR THEM. I DONT LIKE ANYONE RIGHT NOW

would you be able to date someone who doesn’t make you laugh?NO. GIGGLING LIKE A LUNATIC IS AN IMPORTANT PART OF MY LIFE AND YOU NEED TO KEEP UP

does the person you have feelings for right now know you do?IF THEYRE FEELINGS, PROBABLY, BECAUSE IM TRANSPARENT

ever embarrass yourself in front of a crush?IVE HAD MY EMBARRASSMENT GLANDS REMOVED FOR MY FTM TRANSITION

do you want to get marriedYEAH WHEN IM FIFTY THEN ILL GET A BUNCH OF DOGS AND CATS AND CHICKENS

worst thing you’ve ever done?APPARENTLY IVE BORROWED BOOKS AND NEVER RETURNED THEM

three things that turn you on.IM GOING THRU PUBERTY 2, TEENAGE BOY EDITION, IT DOESNT TAKE MUCH

who do you hate?I DONT LIKE SUCH SIMPLE CATEGORIES, BUT I START TO FEEL HATRED WITH REPEATED CRUELTY/WHEN SOMEONE REFUSES TO HEAR ME

favorite term of endearment?MY FRIEND

who was your celebrity/fictional gay awakening?I DIDNT REALLY HAVE TVS/POP CULTURE GROWING UP LIKE MOST PEOPLE, PROBABLY FOUND IT IN CREATIVE WRITING

intimidating girls or kind girls?KIND

what do you look for in a possible partner?EQUALITY

do you tend to like more masculine, feminine, or androgynous girls?YES

are you good at flirting?PERHAPS. WHEN IM NOT THINKING ABOUT IT

who was the first person you came out to?I DONT ACTUALLY REMEMBER. A HIGH SCHOOL FRIEND. IT WAS A STRESSFUL COMPLICATED TIME, MY WORLD WAS UPSIDE DOWN, IT WAS GRADUAL

do you have any friends who are wlw?PROBABLY

is your crush wlw?IDK

last person to make you reconsider your sexuality?A DOUCHE CANOE UNFORTUNATELY

write a short love poem to your crush/self?DEAR PERSON,THANK YOU FOR THE CHEESECAKEIT WAS SO GOODBUT ONLY BECAUSE IT WAS FROM YOU

do you fall in love easily?NO. I WISH I DID. I COULD USE THE HIGH TO GET STUFF DONE

is there something that happened in your past that you hate talking about?I HATE TALKING ABOUT THINGS THAT MAKE ME FEEL HUMILIATED AND ASHAMED, SO I JUST DONT. I ALSO HATE TALKING ABOUT SELF HARM BECAUSE I NEVER KNOW HOW. AM I GOING TO TRIGGER PEOPLE? AND IT IS SHROUDED IN SHAME AND FEAR.

are you good at hiding your feelings?YES, WHEN I CONSCIOUSLY MAKE AN EFFORT TO

are you a forgiving person?NO. I USED TO BE ALL ABOUT FORGIVENESS, AND GREW UP FORGIVING ABUSIVE CYCLES, IT WAS SO UNHEALTHY. NOW I FEEL LIKE A CROW HOLDING GRUDGES FOR CENTURIES, AND I DONT WANT TO BE BITTER EITHER – I OFTEN FEEL BAD FOR NOT FORGIVING, EVEN IF ITS JUST FORGIVENESS FOR MY OWN SAKE. BUT ITS A NEW DEVELOPMENT THAT IM ALLOWING MYSELF TO FEEL ANGRY, BE TRUTHFUL ABOUT BEING WRONGED, WANT JUSTICE FOR MYSELF. AND MAYBE SOME THINGS SHOULDNT BE FORGIVEN.

what is your “type?”I DONT KNOW. I RECENTLY STARTED GROWING SOME SELF WORTH, AND I DONT THINK THE PEOPLE IVE SOUGHT OUT TO RELIVE MY PAIN COUNTS

fall asleep in her arms or rub her back until she falls asleep in yours?LAST ONE

tall girls or short girls?BOTH IS GOOD

hugs or kisses?HUGS

twirl her around or get twirled?I WANNA TWIRL PEOPLE

tummy kisses or thigh kisses?BOTH

hairline kisses or neck kisses?NECK

play with her hair or stroke her tummy?PLAYING WITH HAIR

making out or soft kisses?MAKING OUT

hugs around the neck or hugs around the waist?WAIST

how confident are you in your sexuality?I THINK PEOPLE WOULD ASSUME IM NOT. IM SHY, AND MY NERDY CHRISTIAN VIBE ISNT GOING ANYWHERE. IM ALSO JUST BEGINNING TO LIVE AS MYSELF AND IM RELEARNING EVERYTHING. BUT WHEN IT COMES TO REALLY KNOWING MYSELF IM CONFIDENT

when you like someone do you blush or get butterflies in your stomach?NO. I WILL START CRANKING OUT ART AND FOCUS LESS THAN USUAL

have you ever liked a friend as more than a friend? did you tell them?YES

how old were you when you realized you were into girls?20ISH BUT THE SIGNS WERE THERE LONG BEFORE

most embarrassing thing you’ve done in front of a cute girl?I GOT MY EMBARRASSMENT GLANDS REMOVED REMEMBER

do you have a favorite lesbian ship? is it canon?I DONT KNOW MANY BUT IM HAPPY FOR THE CANON MARCELINE AND BUBBLEGUM

what is the most aggravating thing someone has said to you about your sexuality?MY SISTER PROJECTING ABOUT HER LIFE. WE HAVE CONSERVATIVE MISOGYNIST PARENTS BUT WE ARE VERY DIFFERENT PEOPLE AND IT DID NOT AFFECT US IN THE SAME WAY

when was the last time a girl made your heart flutter?I FEEL LIKE IM FORGETTING SOMETHING NICE A STRANGER SAID ONCE

what is love to you?NOT SOMETHING YOU DISPENSE AT YOUR CONVENIENCE. ITS A WAY OF LIVING – IF YOU LOVE YOURSELF, YOU LOVE OTHER PEOPLE, AND YOU LOVE THE WORLD AROUND YOU AND TAKE CARE OF IT. ITS NEITHER FAWNING NOR CONTROL – ITS ACCEPTANCE

ask me anything.YOU DIDNT ASK ME ANYTHING SO IM JUST GOING TO TELL YOU SOMETHING. IVE BEEN EATING POPCORN CHICKEN WITH HONEY

#zee5tarbug #asks #chatty tag #I DID IT

4 notes · View notes

eleanor-writes-stuff · 6 years

Text

Ben catches feelings and decides to take things to the next level with his long-time roommate, close friend, and occasional hook-up. Rey, ever the more sensible half of the duo, decides that they should make sure a relationship between them won’t be a total disaster first.

What they need is a trial run.

Featuring: awkward run-ins with a family member, even more awkward holidays with the whole family, and fluff. So much fluff. All the fluff.

It’s Christmas! In the penultimate chapter of REYLO FLUFF FAMILY FLUFF ALL THE FLUFF: Leia ambushes Rey with questions! Han and Ben nearly ruin Christmas lunch! AND BABY PICTURES, SO MANY BABY BEN PICTURES.

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V Also available on AO3.

On Christmas morning, Rey hesitantly ventures down the stairs on her own after a good half hour spent trying to get Ben to keep his eyes open for more than two minutes at a time.

She finds Leia alone in the kitchen, staring out the windows at the far end of the room as she sips on her coffee. It’s just past eight, and it is Christmas morning, but somehow she’s still jarred by the sight of the famed Senator in her pajamas with no make-up and her hair pulled into a single braid.

“Merry Christmas,” Rey says quietly, to keep from shocking the older woman with her presence. To her relief, Leia doesn’t jump or tense; she turns around slowly, a smile blooming on her face as she spots Rey by the doorway.

“Rey,” Leia waves for her to come in. “Merry Christmas. I take it my son is still dead to the waking world?” She turns slightly to her left, and that’s when Rey notices a tray bearing a pot of coffee, five mugs, and a bottle of Baileys Irish Cream.

Leia follows her eyes and offers her a shrug. “Hey, it’s Christmas. If that’s not an excuse to drink in the morning, I don’t know what is. Besides, this barely counts.”

“Oh, no, that’s not… honestly, I think I’ll join you,” Rey tells her, taking a seat opposite Leia. If lunch is going to be anything like the night before, she might as well get a head-start on mellowing out. “And yes, Ben’s still asleep. I don’t think we’ll be seeing him anytime soon.”

“That’s fine with me,” Leia says, sliding her a cup of coffee. “I’ve been wanting to spend some time with you anyway, and God knows there’s no way Ben will let that happen while he’s conscious.”

She’s known Leia for two years now, idolized her for basically half her life, and on top of that her grandfather had always spoken highly and warmly of the woman in front of her. All of that means that while Rey should not fear a quick chat with Ben’s mother, she knows better than to let her guard down around the Senator.

“Oh,” she murmurs, buying herself some time by trying the coffee. It’s warm and sweet, much milder than Poe’s version of Irish coffee which is really just equal parts black coffee and the cheapest whiskey they have on hand. “This is good,” Rey comments, and it’s not even entirely a bid to distract Leia from the coming interrogation.

“Tell that to Han,” Leia snorts. “He takes one look at the stuff and just pours his precious Corellian whiskey into his mug instead.”

“Ben seems equally fond of it,” Rey says unthinkingly, prompted by the memory of a bottle hidden away on the highest shelf in their kitchen.

Leia takes the opening and runs with it, her eyes the tiniest bit narrowed as she leans closer. “So, how long have you two been seeing each other? You don’t have to tell me, of course, but I like to think I would have noticed the difference in him during Thanksgiving if you were already together by then.”

“Difference?”

“He’s… softer, this time. Happier, I think, though I wouldn’t know,” Leia’s voice lowers, and she seems to age right in front of Rey’s eyes as her shoulders slump. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Ben happy, not as an adult. It’s gotten better in the last two years, of course, but he was only… content, never really happy.”

Rey thinks of the man she’d first gotten to know when Poe introduced them to his childhood friend, of the quiet, broody new roommate she hadn’t quite gotten along with, of the fact that he apparently used to have nightmares when he first moved in. He’s certainly come a long way since then, but Rey thinks she sees what Leia means.

After all, she’s noticed a similar change in herself this week. That’s not to say that she hadn’t been happy before, or that she’d been miserable until this past week – she’d been content, just like Ben. But now there’s… this feeling of things being right, of that last puzzle piece finally falling into place, of her life being complete.

“But then he shows up for Christmas for the first time in years, and he brings you along, and everything’s just… different, this time,” Leia continues. “I think this is what happiness looks like on my son, and there’s no way I could have missed it when I visited for Thanksgiving, which means this has only been going on for a month, at most. But you two are too comfortable around each other for that,” she mutters, almost as if to herself.

Leia gets the exact same crease in her forehead that Ben does when he furrows his brows, when he’s puzzled or worried or uncertain. Rey wonders if that’s why she gives in, an instinctive response to seeing that familiar look of concern and needing to do something about it.

“It’s been less than a week, actually,” she quietly reveals, focusing on her mug while she tries to come up with an appropriate version of events for Leia. Finally, she settles on, “We’ve been seeing each other casually for a while, and this Saturday Ben suggested that we make it more… permanent.” That’s more or less accurate, isn’t it? “So it’s only been a week,” Rey looks up and meets Leia’s curious eyes, “but at the same time I guess it’s been longer than that.”

She resists the urge to look away or blush or fidget under the weight of Leia’s scrutinizing gaze, and when the other woman finally speaks it’s almost a relief.

Almost.

“Okay, so what you’re saying is… you might have slept with my son before this, but you definitely weren’t together before Thanksgiving, right?”

Rey nearly falls off her chair. “I– no, that’s not– we didn’t–”

Leia dismisses her sputtering and flailing and blushing with a casual wave. “Honestly, Rey, I don’t give a shit about that. Han and I had Ben within a year of getting together, do you really think I’m here to judge you for living in sin with my son?”

“That’s not–”

“Besides, you’re forgetting who you’re talking to. If anyone can understand what you went through, it’s me. Solo men are fun to mess around with,” Leia smirks, she actually smirks, and Rey wishes she’d just stayed in bed and avoided this conversation altogether, “but God is it exhausting to actually be in a relationship with them. I don’t blame you for wanting all the fun and none of the messy parts. Hell, if that had been an option with Han I would’ve gone for it.”

“I… um…” Rey takes a gulp of coffee while she tries to figure out an appropriate response to that. By the time her mug is empty, she’s still speechless.

“Seriously, Rey, forget all of that,” Leia reaches for her cup and pours her a refill. “All I want to know is, did you and Ben properly get together before or after Thanksgiving?”

“Um, after,” she says, taking the cup from Leia. “Just this past Saturday, like I told you.”

Leia’s whole face lights up in delight. “Ha! I knew it!” she exclaims triumphantly, nearly causing Rey to choke on her coffee. But it’s nothing compared to what she says next, her voice smug as can be:

“Luke and Han owe me five hundred dollars.”

Lunch is a small affair compared to the party from the night before, just the four members of the Organa-Solo-Skywalker family along with Chewie, Maz, and Rey.

Leia sits at the head of the table with Han on her left and Luke on her right; Ben sits at the very end of the right side, as far away from his father as possible. Rey sits between him and Luke while Maz takes the seat right across the table, with Chewie between her and Han.

For the first twenty minutes, the clearly planned seating arrangement seems to be working just fine. Maz keeps up a steady stream of conversation with Rey and Ben while the others engage Han in mostly one-sided conversation, and Rey can’t see anything going wrong as long as everyone plays their parts.

And then–

“So, Ben, do you know what you want to do yet?” Maz asks just as there’s a lull in conversation on the other end of the table, and in the sudden silence Han’s quiet snort is deafening.

“Han,” Leia warns him quietly just as Rey places a hand on Ben’s thigh and wills him to stay calm. There’s a moment when he almost looks like he’s about to say something, but he backs down when she murmurs his name and takes her hand in his own instead.

Ben laces their fingers together and turns back to Maz, and the table seems to breathe a silent sigh of relief until–

“What, are we going to pretend the kid can be trusted to make his own choices?” Han grumbles at Leia. “Last time we let him do that, he nearly murdered me.”

Leia is full-on glaring at her husband, and even Luke looks the slightest bit disappointed and weary as he stares Han down. Chewie remains silent, and so it’s left to Maz to try and defuse the tension.

“Han Solo,” she chides, shaking her head at him. “You and your exaggerations. Reminds me of that time you filled my staff’s head with tall tales about–”

“Not now, Maz,” Han cuts her short, finally turning his attention to Ben. “I’d rather hear what the kid’s got up his sleeve this time.”

Rey squeezes Ben’s hand in desperation, turns her body towards him and wishes she were big enough to block the rest of the table out, even briefly considers abruptly pulling him away from the table and leading him back upstairs to cool off.

“I’m not a kid,” Ben growls, and Rey thinks she hears Leia mutter a very quiet well, fuck under her breath.

“Fine, we’ll stop treating you like one then,” Han fires back. “Two years I’ve been pretending that everything’s fine, because your mother told me you’re not ready to talk about it. And now suddenly here you are and we’re supposed to pretend you didn’t try to run me over with your fucking car just because that old creep told you to?”

Ben is shaking with the force of his anger, and there’s nothing she can do to steady him. “I didn’t–” Rey squeezes his hand again and he stops, breathes, lowers his voice. “I didn’t try to run you down. Snoke wanted me to, but I didn’t do it.”

“But you almost did, didn’t you? You followed every single order that piece of shit gave you like his goddamn lapdog,” Han snarls. “You nearly ruined your mother’s career because you were too busy being a blind, stubborn rebel!”

“You would know all about ruining Mom’s career, wouldn’t you, Han Solo the smuggler, the outlaw, the–”

“You goddamn–”

“That’s enough!” Leia snaps, her chair scraping against the floor as she stands. “I will not let that man come between our family again, and you two are idiots if you do. Ben,” she turns to her son with an almost apologetic look. “I know you’ve changed and I know you’re trying to move on and forget all about that, but at some point you’re going to have to at least apologize to your father. I’d ask you two to talk things through, but I stopped believing in miracles a long time ago,” she adds wryly.

“And you!” She turns to Han and slaps his arm, an actual hit if the way her husband flinches is anything to go by. “We’ve discussed this! You know what drove him away the first time, are you really going to make the same mistake twice?”

Han’s eyes flit to Ben before he points his eyes heavenward and crosses his arms. “Fine,” he huffs, taking his own sweet time before he turns to his son. “Sorry I brought this up,” Han mumbles, as though that’s the heart of the matter, as though that solves anything.

At least Ben is gracious enough to let it slide for now. “Sorry I thought about killing you,” he offers in return, and Rey thinks she could live for a hundred years and still not understand Solo men because father and son catch each other’s eye and after a moment, they start laughing.

“S’okay, kid. Hell,” Han chuckles, his voice gruff. “I’d be surprised if there’s anyone at this table who hasn’t thought of killing me.”

Ben turns to Rey, his laughter fading into an amused smile, and the rest of the table follows suit. “I don’t think you’ve given Rey here any reason to hate you… yet.”

“Give it some time,” Chewie suddenly speaks up. “He always finds a way to piss everyone off.”

“What the hell, Chewie?” Han demands with a scowl at his oldest friend, to which Chewie merely shrugs.

Luke launches into a story about that one time he actually came really close to physically strangling Han for one mishap or another, and under the table Ben keeps their hands together.

“You okay?” Rey asks quietly while everyone else is laughing at Luke’s story.

Ben smiles and presses a quick kiss to her hair. “As long as I’ve got you.”

After lunch, Rey is almost scared to leave Ben alone while she helps Leia with the dishes.

“It’ll be fine,” Leia assures her when she picks up on Rey’s reluctance. “Han and Chewie always spend at least an hour in the backyard, drinking and talking and God knows what.”

“Besides,” Luke chimes in, the third member of the clean-up party. “Maz wants to talk to him. That’s the only reason we’re not making him do this too,” he reveals.

“Well, if you think he’ll be okay…” Rey says slowly, watching Ben look away from Maz for just a second to shoot her a smile.

“Okay, look,” Leia reaches out and pulls Rey into the kitchen, her voice the slightest bit impatient. “Do you or do you not want us to show you embarrassing childhood pictures? Because Maz can only keep him distracted for so long.”

Rey blinks, and then a slow smile spreads across her face. “Well, in that case…”

She and Luke get started on rinsing the dishes and loading them in the dishwasher while Leia retrieves the photo albums she’d hidden in the kitchen earlier today for this exact purpose. “It’s the first time he’s ever brought a girl home,” Leia explains when she catches Rey watching her. “This is my only chance to do all the embarrassing mom things a mother is supposed to do when her son starts dating.” She finally pulls out the last of the albums, and Luke tells Rey to go ahead and get started while he finishes up with the dishes.

“We’ve got a lot of material and very little time,” Leia says, selecting the first of seven albums. “And no matter how badly you want to, do not laugh out loud. That’ll definitely make him suspicious.”

It’s all a lot of fuss over something that doesn’t seem like that big of a deal to her, but then Rey catches sight of the first baby Ben picture and knows she’ll do anything Leia says if that means seeing all of these.

The pictures are arranged in chronological order, and the first album is limited to Ben’s infancy. Ben, squishy and red and still not quite used to being in this world. Ben, slowly looking more like a tiny person who came from Leia and Han. Ben, with his familiar ears and eyes and curls. Ben, learning to smile and laugh and crawl.

“His first word was dada,” Leia whispers as the pictures slowly move to Ben’s second year of life, a soft smile on her face as she traces the outline of her tiny son stumbling towards his father on wobbly legs.

Luke puts one hand on his sister’s shoulder in a silent show of support, and Leia shakes the memory off and goes back to sharing all of young Ben’s mishaps. Rey watches him start to resemble the man she knows today, watches him start preschool and meet Poe (she snaps a few pictures on her phone for Finn) and build race car tracks with his father. She watches as Leia starts appearing less and less in the photos and something inside Ben breaks, too, but those observations she keeps to herself.

They’re just about to move on to Ben’s third year in elementary school when the man himself enters the kitchen, face drawn in suspicion as Leia immediately closes the album.

“What are you guys doing?”

“Nothing,” Leia says easily, stacking the albums up and collecting the pile in her arms. “Just talking about how you and Rey should come visit more often–”

“Are those photo albums?” Ben lunges forward and snatches one from his mother before she can move out of the way. “What the fuck, Mom?” He demands upon flipping the album open to find a picture of his awkward seventh-grade self.

Leia shrugs. “Rey deserves to know every part of you,” she sniffs, setting the albums back down. “Besides, she thinks they’re adorable, don’t you, Rey?”

“You were the cutest baby ever,” Rey grins, reaching for the first album. “Look at you!” She flips to a random page and holds the album up to Ben, pointing at a picture of him laughing directly into the camera, all chubby cheeks and gummy smile. “I have literally never seen a baby this adorable.”

Ben’s ears start to flush, but it’s nothing compared to the matching blushes that tint their cheeks cherry red when Leia casually says, “Oh, just wait till you see your own. All parents think their babies are the cutest.”

Rey meets Ben’s eyes for just a second before she turns back to the album and pretends to be utterly engrossed in it, but it doesn’t help that the smiles in the pictures remind her of the soft, barely-there smile she’d glimpsed on his face in that split-second, doesn’t help that now she’s picturing a baby with his hair and her eyes.

“What is this I hear about babies?” Maz asks, finally wandering into the kitchen in search of Ben. “Leia Organa, you slow your horses. Rey is only twenty, and she’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

“What? I didn’t say anything–” Leia claims innocently, drawing a scoff from Maz and a quiet chuckle from Luke. “Okay, fine. Who wants to see more pictures of Ben?” She holds up another album.

Ben groans, his ears now thoroughly red as he steps forward and takes the album Rey was looking at. “If you guys are going to embarrass me, I’d like to at least be there to defend myself.”

That’s how they end up in the living room, all of them sitting on the floor while they pass albums around and Ben does his best to filter which photos actually get to Rey. There are less and less pictures as time goes by, to the point that nearly all of Ben’s teenage years are contained in one album, and he makes a point of quickly snatching that one up and sitting on it for the rest of the evening.

“Maybe next time,” he eventually tells a persistent Rey, and they both know it’s not lost on his family that he’s just implied there’ll be a next time. For once, though, the twins show some discretion and don’t comment on it, and Maz merely smiles approvingly at them.

When Han and Chewie finally join them, the pictures begin to come with more stories – all the blanks Leia stopped being able to fill in after Ben turned six, all the memories only Han was there to witness. Eventually the albums are forgotten as the evening turns into Luke, Leia, and Han reminiscing about the old days, with Chewie occasionally jumping in to correct Han here and there.

They end up having dinner right there in the living room, everyone balancing plates and cups on their laps while conversation flows. With her side pressed against Ben’s, Rey can’t help but notice how comfortable he is, how every part of him is as relaxed as can be, how freely he smiles and laughs and speaks.

At some point after dinner they find themselves squished into a too-small loveseat, Ben’s arm around her as she rests her head on his shoulder. Maz takes the armchair, Luke remains cross-legged on the carpet, and the other three take the couch. Someone suggests a movie, and then a while later there are cards and board games, and much later there are murmured conversations and warm drinks.

Rey burrows closer to Ben, smiles sleepily as she feels a laugh rumble in his chest at something his father said, and allows herself to drift off to sleep.

The next morning they leave right after breakfast, with Rey promising Leia she’ll definitely come back soon and Ben tentatively extending an offer for Han to call him if he’s ever in Coruscant.

As they drive past the We hope you come back to Alderaan soon! / Welcome to Takodana! sign, Ben turns to her with a smile.

“So, did we pass the ultimate relationship test?” he asks, his eyes flitting between her and the road as if it’s not that important of a question, his voice carefully casual as if the answer doesn’t mean everything to him.

But his eyes are nervous when they meet hers, and there’s the slightest hint of insecurity in his smile, and his voice carries an undertone of fear – because of course this means everything.

Her heart is warm with the memory of his arms around her and full with something she’s not sure she’s ready to name, but they have time now. Time for her to name those feelings, time for him to admit why this is so important, time for them to figure out their future together.

Rey smiles and reaches for his hand, waits for him to look at her before she declares, “I think we’re going to be just fine.”

This is a bit later than usual - sorry about that! Daily updates are really starting to take a toll on me, but that's okay because we've only got one chapter left anyway.

This was both a joy and a monster to write, and at 3700+ words it's the longest chapter this fic will ever get. There's so much I wanted to include in this that didn't end up making the cut, and so much that was never in the original draft but just came to me as I was writing. I hope the final version is one you'll all find satisfactory.

All that's left now is the weekend, I suppose. It's really more of an epilogue than a chapter, but we will be getting a more detailed explanation about Snoke and Ben's past, in case that was driving anyone crazy. We'll also have them sit down and tentatively discuss a long-term plan, because I'll be damned if I leave these two without setting them up for a long and happy life together first.

As always, thank you so much for reading and commenting. You guys have really been the driving force behind my output this week, and it's been such a joy to write for you. Feel free to reach out if you’ve got any thoughts/comments/reactions you’d like to share.

#reylo #ben solo x rey #ben x rey #kylo ren x rey #kylo x rey #modern au #star wars #rey #ben solo #kylo ren #fic: sign up now for a free trial #my fics

6 notes · View notes

beepbeeprichiellc · 6 years

Note

for that big list of aus do you think you could combine 10.iv and 10.v with reddie ???? with Eddie being the one obsessed with Christmas and snow bc it just sounds adorable okay and your writing is amazing

You are too kind. This ended up really long, my bad.

Richie watched the snow fall from his seat, the white clumpsgathering at the base of the window before flying off back into the abyss. Asmile curled at the corner of his lips, he loved snow, probably more than anyof his friends. It had a purity to it, a sense that their sins would wash awaywith the new blanket of fluff. He preferred it around Christmas, but he wouldsettle for its early arrival.

“Okay you got Bill’s new roommate’s name down right? Youaren’t going to embarrass me right?” Stan asked flatly from beside him. Anyonewho gave him a second look would think that the boy was 60 rather than 23. He worepressed pants, a cardigan, and carried a sense of arrogance that only peoplewith years of experience in life have. Not to mention his granny reading glassesand Sunday newspaper that he insisted on bringing along with them for theirtrip. They were complete opposites. Richie had more of a punk rock vibe,choosing torn jeans over pressed ones and a leather jacket over a cardigan anyday.How they ended up best friends was beyond them.

“Yeah, yeah. Eddie. I got it the first time you told me.” Hereplied, huffing in annoyance. “Doesn’t he have his own family to be with forThanksgiving? That place is already going to be crowded with Mike’s new girl coming.”

Stan rolled his eyes, “Don’t be bitter just because you haveto sleep on the floor.”

“Well not everyone can sleep in Bill’s bed.” He retortedplayfully, enjoying the bush that crept up Stan’s neck. “I mean I could, butyou know I’m a vivid dreamer. I’d hate to play out my wet dreams with the twoof you and-“

“Beep beep Richie.” He jeered just as their stop wasannounced.

The two exited, heading out of the terminal and out into thebusy streets of New York. “So have you ever even met this guy?” Richie asked,following close to on his friends heels. “Is he a weirdo like Bill’s last roommate,or like a creep like his roommate before that?”

“Bill says he’s normal. A little pristine but normal.” Stanshrugged, pulling his coat tighter against him as the snow became heavier inthe air. “He’s a nurse at the hospital, real smart and real clean.”

“Sounds like I’m gonna hate him.”

“Wow you just have the most faith in people don’t you?” Hebit, the townhouse coming into view. “You don’t have to like him Rich, you justhave to deal with him okay? Just for this holiday and then Christmas is at Beverly’s.”

Richie blew a raspberry as his response, to which Stanmerely ignored. They took to the steps of the home, knocking at the door. “I’mtelling you Richie, if you ruin this I will kick you out of our apartment. Justbehave.”

There wasn’t enough time to respond because that second thedoor opened, reviling a very done up Beverly. She let out a squeal, embracingStan. “Oh finally, you were the last to arrive! Did you have a nice tripupstate?”

“Fine.” Stan lied, moving past her and into the home.

“Damn Bev, eat my heart out.” Richie cooed, pulling the fieryhaired woman into his arms.

“Don’t let Ben hear you. I’m spoken for now.” She repliedsweetly, holding out her left hand. “He’s going to make an honest woman of meafter all.”

“God damn look at that rock!” He cooed, pulling her hand toget a closer look. “Shit, I’ll let him fuck me if he gets me one of those!” Beverlypushed him playfully, shaking her head in annoyance.

Once Richie entered the home, the smell of turkey andstuffing wafted back into him. His stomach responded by growling eagerly. He wasnext met with Ben, who hugged him briefly but sternly, followed by Mike and hisnew girlfriend who he learned was named Maggie and who embraced him regardlessof just meeting him. Richie felt his heart swell at the sight of them all, thankfulthat he had his own little family this time of the year.

“Where’s Bill? I gotta tell him that that food smellsamazing.”

“Oh he’s in the kitchen with Eddie.” Mike replied, gesturingto the door. Richie grimaced at the statement, picturing an extremely primpedand uptight man helping his brother with their dinner. He nodded, trudging throughthe door.

He entered the room with a bang, the door slamming againstthe counters loudly. “Honey, I’m home!” Richie bellowed obnoxiously.

Bill looked up from the oven, smiling widely. “RichieTozier, as I live and breathe.” He cooed, dropping his spoon and pulling hisfriend into a sincere hug, “I feel like I haven’t seen you in a fucking year.”

“Just about.” He replied, looking over to the beautifularray of the food. “Since when did you become a chef? Last time you were incharge of dinner, you burnt the pizza.”

“Actually Eddie cooked.”

“You helped.” A voice replied from behind the door to thefridge. As the barrier was shut, Richie could feel his breath hitch in the backof his throat. The man, who he thought he would hate, was no older than him. Hewas short in stature, standing only to Richie’s chest. The pink polo he worewas partially covered by his apron, which looked well used. Bill was right indescribing him as pristine, but also horribly incorrect. Inside of him wasn’tan old soul like Stan, but rather a bright and beautiful one, one that wouldburn Richie to the core.

Eddie smiled, causing Richie’s knees to become weak. “I don’tthink we’ve met.” The small adult muttered, extending his hand. “You must be Richie.”

“Yes sir.” He managed in response, taking the petite hand intohis. God, he was soft. “You’re Eddie yeah?”

“That’s me.” Eddie jeered. “The party crasher.”

“Stop calling yourself that.” Bill interjected as they droppedtheir hands, making Richie instantly feel bare. “I invited you to this, therewasn’t any way you could go back home this year, not after what happened.”

“What happened?” Richie asked.

Eddie cringed, recovering quickly with a fake smile. “Nothingto worry about right now.” He replied softly. “Dinner is almost done. Do youmind telling the others?” Richie nodded, looking to Bill who only wore a sadface. As he left he could hear their hushed voices and although he could notmake out what was said he was sure that Eddie was scorning his roommate for theslip.

The food was absolutely fabulous.

Every single item was made to perfection, and the Losers atethe entire thing up. As they sat around the table lazily, conversation seemedto center around the surprising snow fall. Richie felt his stomach flip in excitement.His head perked up, smiling at his friends he blurted. “Okay, who is going togo out and look at the snow with me?”

Everyone groaned at once, all muttering smoothing profoundunder their breath. Maggie looked like she was going to raise her hand but Mikesnatched her wrist, shaking his head vigorously. “I’ll go.” A small voice fromthe opposite end of the table said.

“Uh Eddie, I don’t think you want to do that.” Ben warned, “Richieis a bit intense.”

“I’ll be fine. I love the snow.”

Richie barged outside with the small boy in tow, kicking upthe snow that had freshly fallen on their steps. He beamed as he watched Bill’sroommate follow him, his pea-coat nearly swallowing him whole. Eddie smiled,taking two steps at a time until his feet were firmly planted on the asphalt. “So.”He sang, raising an eyebrow at Richie. “Is there a specific reason your friendsdidn’t want to join you?”

“Maybe…” Richie replied sly, watching the other kid wanderaround the sidewalk. “Maybe not…”

Eddie hummed, rolling eyes and looking up towards the sky.Richie took his opening, shoving a handful of snow down the back of his coat.Eddie squealed in surprise, jumping in circles and cursing his name. Richiecouldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m the snow king Eds. That’s why no one-“He was cut shortby a snow ball that hit him squarely in the chest, sending shards of ice intohis mouth. “What in the hell!” he sputtered, tasting the lingering New Yorkflavor.

“You’re a shitty king.” Eddie retorted, throwing another ball,only this time missing by a few inches.

“Oh you’re dead.”

Bill and the others watched in horror as the two returned completelydrenched from head to toe. They were rushed off to shower and change with stupidlybig grins plastered on their faces. Richie refused to admit that he had losthis crown.

After that the night progressed quickly, becoming one bigblur of laughter and tomfoolery. It was like Eddie had been the missing pieceof their group, his smart mind keeping Stan and Ben entertained, his work andtravel interesting Mike and his quick mouth keeping Richie in line. No matterwho he spoke with, in a matter of mere minutes they were swooned, drawn in byhis charisma and kindness.

Two by two, the couples left for bed, leaving Richie andEddie. Conversation began to lag, an uncomfortable silence lingering betweenthen. Richie wasn’t typically the edgy type, hell he could make a politiciansmile, but there was something about Eddie that made him nervous. Almostscared. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing or make him uncomfortable in anyway so he opted for nothing. Which in retrospect probably wasn’t the best idea.

“Oh!” Eddie exclaimed after nearly thirty minutes ofsilence. “I almost forgot!”

Richie watched the small figure jump from the couch and bolttowards the hallway closet. There was a commotion and a few slurs buteventually he emerged with a tote that was almost as large as he was. Eddiesmirked up at him, popping open the lid and expelling the contents.

“What the actual fuck?” Richie griped, watching none otherthan Christmas directions spill at his feet. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Nope.” He replied with a pop of his p. Quickly he began togather his things, an excitable giggle following him as he went.

“It’s literally still Thanksgiving.”

“So?”

“So? It’s fucking November and-no, not the tree. Put thatback.”

Eddie ignored him, setting up the base by the staircase. Heskipped with enthusiasm, disregarding the looks that Richie gave him. It wasalmost too cute, his tiny hands working poorly with the twisted lights, hishappy hum causing Richie to just stare in awe.

How had he gone his entire life not knowing this kid? Whatwas this feeling burning in his chest and what in the hell was he doing startingin the middle of the bundle?

“Oh my god, you’re doing it all wrong!” Richie muttered,grabbing the tangled mess from Eddie. “Let me just do it.”

“Thanks.” He whispered, his cheeks blushing a beautiful pinktint.

“Yeah yeah.” Riche replied, his voice lacking bite.

“I owe ya one.” Eddie poked, moving to the tote and pullingout more decorations.

Richie could feel the question on his tongue, he bit downhard trying to kill it but somehow it managed to slip past him. “So uh, whydidn’t you just go home for Thanksgiving?”

He could see Eddie tense up at the question, making Richieregret even speaking. Surprisingly he relaxed, wrapping the long tinsel aroundhis neck and filling his tiny hands with ornaments. “I had it out with mymother recently, we got into a huge fight and she told me not to come home forthe holidays.”

“Oh.” Richie choked, watching Eddie shrug. “What was it all about?”

“She doesn’t want a faggot for a son.” He replied easily,before Richie had a chance to reply he turned towards him, smiling. “Do youthink I should hang mistletoe?”

“Hell yeah.”

115 notes · View notes