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stronghours · 3 years ago

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SUNSHINE IN THE SKY REPRISE

And it came to pass, a few weeks after she and Jules made a bad decision on his thrifted futon, that they met again during 4th of July merrymaking.

Lux toddled in grey lake water among Ava, Claire, and Archie (Celeste down and out with summer flu). Lux couldn’t swim, a fact disclosed in private to Ava, which Ava hadn’t kept to herself, and the group formed a stooped, anxious ring around her doggy-paddling. She was forced, among the smell of hot dogs in the safe green grass hundreds of yards beyond and the ominous cloud cover above, to make sure only her ass whomped her protectors’ knees when the waves tried to boil her body up and away. She’d made a mistake, and her only wardrobe protection beyond her suit itself and her spandex underthing was a hastily added solid color sarong, which while dry didn’t match, and while wet, just looked lousy and modest. But she couldn’t be parted with it and had made up a past bout of minor skin cancer, a pin-mole insidiously located on her protected inner thigh, the paranoia of which haunted her still. Even Ava dropped her chin for the C-word.

Now she suggested Lux float on her back and allow her perception of the water to form fingers in the magic slot located on her lower back, and soon she’d be floating like crazy among the wacky kids and her hot workmates and her boss and all their invisible pubes. A wave slapped dirty fingers up Lux’s nose.

“It’s kind of like learning a language,” Archie contributed. “Got to learn it when you’re young. Looks like your parents fucking doomed you.”

“My pap pap slam-dunked me in our above-ground when I was five,” said Claire, who floated tummy-down in frog position by exerting no effort Lux could observe. “I bobbed right back up, but like, what if I hadn’t?”

Lux, six feet tall, decided to use it to her advantage and planted her knees in the sandbar. She could just about do it and keep her eyes and forehead in periscope position.

“Reuben and I are thinking of installing an above-ground,” said Ava, and seeing Lux shrink, rose to her feet and splashed water across her dewy collarbone. Lux pushed every single one of them out of her mind and stared between the chops out into the open sea to make-believe Michigan somewhere on the other side. A rhythmic slap approached from the left and the white bow of a lifeguard’s canoe sailed past their collected heads.

“Hey now,” scolded the familiar voice behind the sunglasses, “only three hot bitches are allowed in the water at a time. Think of the community.”

Ava sloshed around at the familiarity, but everybody else had already noticed it was, absurdly, Jules, and sent up a bunch of soggy greetings, all except Lux who rose into a semi-crouch in the drifting seabed out of surprise, and Ava, who let them all perform verbal recognition on her behalf and only spared a nod.

Jules looked very high school, very lanky on the bobbing bench, with the oars braced under his tanned arms and his cute red tank top cinched under his fanny pack. He rode the up-down of the surf the same way he did most things, with enough bored grace to suggest he’d learned quite enough and had more interesting things to do. Lux had recently learned this conceit of his could be bypassed, and she was glad he kept the sunglasses on when he looked her over.

“What’s up Cathy,” he said, with the same Sophomore carelessness, and she plunged her head under an oncoming wave, the pressure preferable to the dawning knowledge that now, he had information he could disclose, and he’d had it for weeks.

She rose again, squinting. She couldn’t tell if he had caught on.

“What?” he asked. “What did I do?”

“You got another job, Jules?” Ava surged forward, displaced Lux. “Roscoe doesn’t give you enough to do, on top of commissions?”

“Give me another commission and you’ll find out.” He drew the left oar’s pole hard under his titty to keep the nose of the canoe from slicing into their crescent. The mechanism bucked like a horse and the wind snatched the ugly white hat off his head and toward an oblivion of preteens due north. Claire yelped and threw herself into the water, rippled away to go fetch it. “You ever been in the cellar underneath Rawhide, Ava? That’s like, thrice-darkness. I was gonna kill myself.”

“I’ve never been in a situation that required me to be in the cellar underneath Rawhide.” Prim Ava glanced pityingly at Lux, who allowed wave after wave to pummel her head in her effort to stay low. “Poor baby. She can’t swim.”

“Throw her off the pier,” Jules suggested.

“It worked for Claire’s pap pap,” Archie said, and braced an annoying hand on the back of Lux’s neck. “Sorry babe, looks like you’re going down.”

Lux threw herself underwater before Archie could push her into the drink. Beneath the top swell she had enough time to touch her palms to the sand and try to dig her hands where she’d braced her knees, but she was blind, and the divots were washed away and the grains were swept off and replaced swept off and replaced, and she panicked when the water tugged the sarong’s knot. She resurfaced from the green and grey, coughing and yanking the weedy fabric around her legs. Ava, shining and petite against the sky, so securely tucked to smoothness, had finished with Jules herself and was high stepping back to shore.

“…I’m just saying, you should definitely try it out –” Archie had spoken in the interim. Jules was nodding. He’d shoved the sunglasses up and over his curly head and while his gaze was trained forward to take in the gamboling bathers, Lux could feel him keeping her in the corner of his eye.

She remembered being in good if overenergetic spirits. She recalled a hot yellow sun. She wore her lavender halter with the powder-blue culottes, her hair freshly hennaed from the night before and trustily bunned. She traveled from a three-hour duo with Ava regarding some mind-numbing bouts of predicament ropework that left her guiltily bored of the client and his ballerina snobbishness, but pleased with her improving knots, and with the fact she could at least trick Ava into thinking she was a viable rope top. She’d exited the bus prematurely and entered the sidewalk throng to burn through her constipated spirits, past a raucous patio partition of a dippy sport’s bar and collided with Jules himself, exiting.

It was like striking a human-size grasshopper. He recoiled, elbows up, and almost upset a busboy’s tray. She reared at his excess, ready to dive into the full indulgence of her insult. In the past year after the Annelise Petro incident she’d only seen him at a distance. Their last words, exchanged in close quarters within Jules’s car more than twelve months ago, had not been civil. He was much tanner than she remembered of him in previous summers. He’d filled out in the chest and shoulders. For a second, she could glimpse he’d gained some weird physical vitality – but as she observed, the color drained from his face. His shoulders slumped. He looked sick as a dog. She’d thought he was drunk.

She grabbed him by the shoulders and steered his head away from her. “Do not,” she ordered, “Do not fucking puke on me.”

He pulled himself straight but didn’t dislodge from her grip. “Don’t say anything,” he hissed, dirt-sober, and before she could make him clarify, a middle-aged couple loomed over his shoulders. The woman, a full six inches shorter than both Lux and Jules (it was just then Lux realized she and Jules were precisely the same height) sparkled nervously, trussed in Cubs blues.

“Oh Jules,” she said, “Who’s this?”

She was blond and ferrety, but in the man, Lux could see a sour and fleshy shadow of Jules’s own face and bearing. He looked at her with the same stern contemplation Jules had leveled on her in the past, and Jules presently, dead in the eyes, curled in on himself like a shrimp.

She’d inexplicably exited her rancorous ditch and stumbled over Jules in the no-man’s land of Blood Relatives. She wanted to, against all rational thought, shove him behind her back and put her arms out.

Instead, she reached a hand to the man (dad? Oh boy, what fun) and chirped, “Hi, I’m Catherine!”

And to the woman (mother? God in heaven), “don’t we just all love Jules!”

The woman shriveled with feeling that hardly looked like relief. The man gravely shook Lux’s hand, and she was pleased with his grip’s condescending pressure. Her body moved far ahead of her brain. She could see herself at distance, popping one toe behind her planted heel, one hip cocked, tits pushed out, but no further than her glowing smile. “And how do you two know each other,” the man said, said, explicitly did not ask. Neither man nor woman introduced themselves.

Jules, white-lipped, opened his mouth but Lux flowed over him. “2007,” she answered, “Leidermeister Playhouse, down in, uh, are you from around here? No? Well, Tinley-ish. Way down there. Spring musical. I was on playbill. And Jules was doing costumes for Pippin.”

For the first time, Jules treated her to the sweet sight of his smug, sick face struck totally dumb.

“Theater!” The woman bubbled. She put her hand on her companion’s meaty forearm, placating.

But the man was not letting her go without a fight. “Theater,” he said. “And what part did you play.”

She treated him to her glowing smile first (cracking, a little). If Jules had learned his own abysmal manners from these creeps, then he’d somehow made improvements on his own time.

“The Mother,” she improvised. “Of course.”

“Stepmother,” Jules piped up, at last.

It was all yadda-yadda to Lux, but the man finally checked the neon dial of his watch, gripped the woman by the elbow, said they would have to start taking pains for a cab if they wanted to catch the game in time. “Sure,” Jules said, though his permission hadn’t been asked, his advice unsought. “You’re not far away.”

“You call her and say you saw us, sir,” the man said. “She’ll expect it.”

Jules was too busy accepting limp patty-pats from the woman, who shot Lux a tragic grin before she scampered up the sidewalk, followed by the broad back of her presumed husband. No proper hug, no I-Love-You, no masculine head smacks or back whacks or take-care-of-yourself-you-hear pronouncements. They just walked away. Her own parents would be appalled.

The life was coming back to Jules’s face, but he was still doubled over, as if from a cramp. “Jiminy Christmas,” he uttered, and she wanted, in a surge, nothing more than to pinch his cheeks and trap his head in her armpit and noogie him to death and bust his fluff. Instead, she assisted him away from the crowd, and before long they strolled down a quiet residential street, arm in arm. She decided to give him five whole minutes to recover from the encounter, but he did it in two.

“Ledermeister,” he said to her, appalled.

“Leider,” she corrected.

“You nutty bitch,” he dared, but there was no gas behind it.

“It’s like you think I’m some kind of pervert or something,” she said, and before she could help it, she started to nag. “What did you think I was going to say? Jules makes rubber sex suits with built-in condoms? I saw him in street clothes in a high-etiquette dungeon fingering my boss’s twenty-one-year-old latex bottom?” She felt him up a little in her haste, accidentally, and he squeaked. “Who actually has something to lose here?” She asked. “Who’s the fucking dominatrix here?”

“You don’t like me,” Jules said, coolly. “I had no idea what you would say.”

He sounded terribly calm. The sidewalk was dappled in shadows of maple leaves and, boxed in by reasonable townhouses on both sides, she was inclined to stay calm as well, and in her calm, she found a strange truth.

“I like you just fine,” she said.

“Oh.”

She liked him just fine. She liked him more than she liked Ava.

They walked.

“God, it’s fucking hot,” she said. It would be more comfortable not to have their arms around the other, but she didn’t unlatch.

“I moved to this neighborhood a couple weeks ago,” he said. “We’re not too far. I’ve got a window unit.”

A window unit meant he’d accumulated an actual window; a net gain from what she remembered of the dismal basement unit she’d ducked inside three times over their three year acquaintance, along with a damp cement strip notating the kitchen and two hoary pipes jutting six inches from the ceiling where tawny water dripped into provided buckets and Jules himself, barefoot, crisscross applesauce on a carpet square stringing the hundredth of ten-thousand waiting bugle beads with one or two local drag queens, staring open mouthed at a small, shit television propped up on a pile of clean laundry encased in a garbage bag, and onscreen a shoulder-padded daytime soap actress made lines like “there’s nothing to worry about Blake – do you really think I’d expose the Nazi treasure to outsiders?”

“Yeah, let’s,” she said.

He’d found a squat, orangey building with collapsed flower beds out front and only the faintest smell of weed in the halls. She noted, vain, that he opened the doors for her and motioned her up the stairs first and it wasn’t until she’d reached the top landing of the third floor, and he was sorting out keys that she felt the pluck of that old sexy situation, which was Going Inside a Boy’s Apartment, something she hadn’t done since college, and even at that time, something that usually happened under the close watch of protective friends. She couldn’t eye him either, to see which way his intentions were shifting – he was already eying her – but then he let her inside and the feeling was wiped out by absurd, maternal relief.

“Oh, thank God,” she blurted out. “This is so much better.”

The place still smelled like paint and floor wax, and she walked about at her leisure, touching the walls, and flapping her arms, knowing she wasn’t going to crash into a spiderweb or trod on mummified centipedes. The only furniture yet was a pulled-out futon (he was a bedmaker, who knew) and the walls had been built out to delineate a kitchen. She lifted the back of her shirt to the air conditioner.

“I thought you were an idiot for accepting that place, before,” she told him, regarding the old basement. “Or you’d picked it to antagonize people on purpose.”

“Give me a break! I was broke. I was nineteen.”

He shed one flip-flop on his way to the kitchen. She watched it prone on the floor while she calculated.

“No, no,” she reminded him. “When we first met, Ava said you were twenty. We were in a bar. She made you duck under the table when the bouncer made rounds. You were illegal.”

“Nuh-uh,” he said, unevenly thwap-thwapping back to her. He handed her a beer. “I was here a whole year before you showed up. I came before you.”

He sat on the edge of the futon, and she considered that perspective as he scratched the back of his shin with his bare foot. He had long, narrow feet, and when he was looking at things that weren’t people looking back at him, his eyes tended to glaze over. He was looking at the blank wall.

“Hold up,” she said. “How old are you now?”

“Old enough for you to sit next to me,” he replied.

It didn’t mean anything, coming from him. She left her beer on the windowsill and sat next to him. He’d have to get a nicer bed at some point, she thought, bouncing up and down a little, and wondered if, all along, his manners and his living situation pissed her off so much not because, as she initially believed, they were representations of his obnoxious personality, but because she had been frightened that he was going to get hurt and clearly no one else around was going to warn him otherwise.

“You must have left your parents pretty quick,” she said.

“That was my aunt and uncle, just now.”

“Were they more fun when you were growing up?”

“My grandma raised me,” he said. “For eight years. Then we swapped.”

She unfastened her sandal straps and tried to dream up a guess about him that could possibly be correct, but she had the feeling if she said raised in a house? He’d go no, in Mr. Toad’s canary-colored caravan, and the woodland squirrels taught me how to sew, and I lost my virginity to Morlocks. She wondered if she was the first girl he’d ever brought up here. She wondered if his aunt and uncle already knew he was gay. She wondered if he was gay. And in her wonderings, she missed, at first, his growing impatience beside her. He touched her hand; she accidentally flipped her right sandal underneath the futon.

“Crap,” she said.

He rolled his eyes and slid to the floor, slipped between her legs, and with one cheek pressed to her thigh he rooted one armed underneath the springs and came out with the sandal, which he deliberately tossed several feet away. He came up on his knees, face lifted to hers, and she had to spread her own knees to accommodate him. His stern little expression was very cute, and she was warm with pleasant condescension, something sorely missing from her and Ava’s ropework that afternoon. She was tired of art, she decided, ignoring Jules’ cold hands creeping up the back her shirt, and she was tired of fantasy and she was sick of endurance feats physical and mental, and she was tired of her own cowardly communication, so much so the tiny bubble of unearned pride she felt for Jules’s ability to maneuver himself into the positions he required ballooned, out of control, into an old familiar cocoon where she couldn’t hurt him and he couldn’t hurt her.

“Nobody knows,” he told her, perhaps feeling it too. “But I can be a good boy.”

Jiminy Christmas, indeed. But he couldn’t have her for cheap, and he clawed her spine too confidently. She put her palm to his left cheek, let her thumbnail scrape over a pale divot where it looked like the nap of a paint scraper had teased out a pill of his flesh, years ago.

“Listen,” she asked, and squeezed his ribs with her knees. “If you had met me while I was with relatives, and I looked scared about it, what would you have done?”

His fixed gaze skittered to the side, over the wall, across the floor, and while he didn’t retreat, he only spoke up when his face reached a zenith of clumsy guilt. “I would have fucked around with you first,” he admitted. “Only a little.”

“I thought so,” she said, and smacked him a nasty one across the face.

With no furniture around, the crack resonated. Jules took it open-eyed. He didn’t whine or argue and only clenched his jaw a couple seconds after, when the real pain hit. He faced her again, glowing and pink, his left eye watering. She couldn’t help it. She grabbed his head and squeezed and clawed and palpated, yanked his lamby hair, perfect for yanking, and beat his butt with her heels. His head thrashed and his hands flapped around behind her back. She seized one and forced it down on the blanket and let the other undo her halter knot while she bridled him with her free thumb. His back molars rose on the edges in sharp ridges, and she whirled her wrist under his chin until she could see him swallow from the inside. The whites of his eyes showed.

“Good boy my ass,” she said, to herself, but he heard and appeared wounded. “Okay, okay,” she conceded. She wiped her thumb on his face, forgave him silently, and even her playful meanness disintegrated. He crawled over her lap and rubbed his red-hot face in her shoulder, gnawed painlessly on her clavicle. His shorts stuck out in front.

She knew a hundred ways of positioning and a hundred more roleplay scenarios he’d probably accept without suspecting she used them not to her pleasure, but to protect her modesty. She was sick of it all, hadn’t fucked or been fucked properly since she’d been his age, and was horny enough to maim. She took him again by the shorthairs along the nape of his toasted neck, and when he sighed down her back, she pressed his hand to her groin.

“Feel,” she ordered.

He felt dopily, paused, and resumed. Squeezed. Offered no comment.

“Tell me what that is,” she said.

He had delicate ways when he had enough patience to reveal them. Without asking permission he slipped a hand down her waistband, far between her legs, far too quickly for her to chase him off, and by the time she felt him properly, he held her so the head nestled in the heel of his hand, wedged against the meat of his thumb. He felt her up against the underside vein of his silky wrist.

“That’s the cock that’s gonna fuck me,” he answered, correctly.

She had condoms in her purse. He had Vaseline in a bric-a-brac moving tub besides the futon. He rolled onto his narrow tummy, and she flipped him onto his back again so fast he nearly rolled off the mattress. She wished, as she watched him raise a knee and finger himself, that she’d brought her toolkit with her from the club where she kept her nitrile gloves and her fancy salves and her more mobile toys. Jules laid himself out on the futon like somebody else would on a beach, languid and comfortable and she pressed one of his nipples with impatience. She suspected he’d be chatty, but he didn’t speak at all during the preliminaries. He had more body hair than she would have expected, but not enough to grab, and a severe bathing suit tan line that reminded her of Ava’s jabs about the minor gossip between him and Roscoe. She wondered if some queen paid him to lay out on a patio somewhere, if that kind of arrangement still happened, and she wondered if he could let go of the sniping and the attitude long enough to show that hypothetical crowd what he was showing her now – that he was, actually, a very good boy.

When he was ready for her, the very good boy reached out with his arms (and made gimme-gimme clutches with his hands). She obligingly sank on top of him, then, quicker than she intended, into him, guided by his hooked shin and a decisive hand on her ass. She clawed his scalp and arched, involuntarily driving herself forward. A telltale sensation like he’d dumped a bucket of his own blood over her head soaked her from head to toe, and for a hot second she thought it was too late – then he jerked one her nipples until she shrieked and came back to him, stunned.

You’ve got more than that in you, she heard him say, through the haze in her brain, and in between two blinks he swapped out the sadist faunlet for, once again, being her very good boy, and he undid her bun with one hand and guided her head so he could kiss her mouth and calm her down. She saw from above his legs lock around the small of her back. She was shocked she could get hard enough to effectively penetrate, a shock that blissfully vaporized as she rocked inside him.

His own cock, which they mutually ignored, was restrained by her soft stomach. Her breasts ached, pressed against his chest, and she had to break free from his clasp to prop herself on her forearms. He followed her, licked her lips until she gave up and sank back down. The tip of his nose was cold against her cheek. She could feel his lashes and the curve of his eyeball roam around in the socket. He was a ferocious and intent kisser, not nearly so languid now, and every goosebump outside his skin and strand of muscle beneath rose to her, encased her in his prickles. His focus made her quite aware of a separation between her hips (melted, as far as she was concerned) and her brain, electric-bright now, entertaining Jules by turns as a barbed, poisonous plant, as a nuzzling, brainless creature, as a mean bottom slut who clawed her bottom and held her hair in a knot in his fist, who maybe needed to be exercised as a handler would a spirited pony, in order to nurture his kindness, improve his manners, and keep his juices fresh – and she giggled involuntarily, a tight muscle in her back relaxed, and she came inside a boy for the first time.

She either made an unacceptable noise, or a had been making noises all along. A downstairs neighbor ratta-tat-tatted their ceiling, Jules’s floor. Practical as a fillet knife, Jules pushed her out of his ass, swung one leg wide, slammed his heel rudely against the floorboards, uttered “fuck off, asshole” then rolled back to her again and rubbed his face between her breasts. She cuddled him a couple tender seconds, which he tolerated, before scuttling backward and regarding her from a lucid distance as she disposed the condom.

“Come back here, she said. He looked like a praying mantis.

First, he stuck his legs off the thin mattress and with one judicious sweep of his torso, seemed to crack every bone in his body. Then he crawled over and allowed himself to be held.

“Oh,” she noticed. “You didn’t come.” His dick was still hard, and when he laid his back flat against her hip, it bobbed due west of his belly button.

“Relax, it doesn’t always happen for me.”

She ignored him and let her ego propel her forward. He reclined on her like she was a chaise and breathed through his nose.

“You know what Ava calls you?” She asked, jerking him onward and upward, hopefully.

“I’m a community opportunist,” he answered smugly. “Plus, Roscoe’s houseboy.”

Two out of two, verbatim. She drew her nails up and down his stomach and he twitched, fought against curling up. “Houseboy,” he repeated, hissed. “The last houseboy passed away in the fucking nineties. They peeled him down with the wallpaper.” She felt, through his spine, how he tried and failed to work up a temper. “Then they tatted his chalk outline above some burlesque artist’s John Willie tramp stamp. Mistress Avalon sure is concerned with faggot business.”

“Your boys don’t make you come?” She asked, a hill over him now, and above arguing. He sparred solely with himself.

“What boys? These guys – big guys –”

She went back for more Vaseline, not great for this kind of thing, but she was getting the idea Jules had a sensible nursery spirit and rarely abused himself. He didn’t appear to know much about his body and froze like a striker frame when she rolled the tip of him in her palm for more than fifteen seconds.

“– They think your asshole is your only sex organ,” he continued. “They hate themselves for loving twinks. And then they give you the reach around and if you aren’t wet like pussy then oh-h-h-h my god, it’s like the fucking sky is falling –”

She sat up, and his feet paddled the blanket to stay in contact. He reached behind her and grabbed her hair again but didn’t pull. He turned his face into her neck, and he shook all over.

“Being a slut is really hard,” he said, woefully, failing to hide, for a millisecond, the ghost of what might have been a sweet kid. Or it was her imagination. Either way, she made him come all over himself. It didn’t seem to register to him until the drops hit his chest. He looked down at his sad, wet dick and then back up at her, so testily she laughed in his face. He was smudged pink all over from her lipstick, and she pinched his springy cheeks.

“I’m a cradle-robber,” she declared.

“Okay, Methuselah,” he said, unimpressed, and darted away into the dirty ivory bathroom before she could slap his ass.

He recovered rapidly. In the sunny room things took a slumber party turn. He fetched her abandoned beer, dug out makeup wipes he inexplicably possessed, and repaired the damage to her makeup. He berated her when she couldn’t stop giggling.

“I was kind of wondering…” he began.

He paused. Sex had made him tactful.

“Go on,” she allowed.

“I was wondering if I’d ever figure out why you bothered being a dominatrix.” He used the point of his little finger to clear wet black scuzz from the corner of her eye. She hardly felt it. “Ava’s got her thing about being top dog. Claire’s a sadist. And somebody needs to get around to neutering Archie before he starts spraying the furniture. You, a mystery.”

“You think about me!” She preened and wiggled.

“You go on.”

“I like,” she confided, “to strap muscle hunks to the pommel horse and tickle them until they scream.”

“Gee whiz.”

“I like straitjackets, but I don’t like rope,” she continued. “And I like floggers, but not single-tail whips. And I like human furniture, but not human ashtrays.”

“The Marquis de Lux over here.”

He’d reached around and started French-braiding her hair. She put her ear to his chest and found his mousey heart.

“My mom and dad were angels,” she continued. “And my sisters were angels and my aunts and uncles and my grandparents. They were angels from the start. So was I. I liked it. Doctors like it too. When a kid is angelic, and very, very, very, very good, and says the right things, and rolls over. They give you what you need.” She thought that over. “They decide to give you what you need,” she clarified. “I was rolling over constantly. I didn’t know how to stop. It freaked me out.”

Jules’s heart answered wug-wug-wug. He sat in her lap and tried to get her braid to stay fixed in a twist. “See, I’m the opposite,” he said. “I’m a huge cunt, but I’m always looking for an excuse to be nice.”

Her hair unwound down her back. He clamped her bobby pins between his teeth, to deliberately make the job harder, then, looking down in their laps, spit them on the floor. And as quickly as she decided she needed to find her clothes and depart, having revealed too much, she stayed the entire night.

On the lifeguard pavilions, the green flags were lowered, and yellow flags were handed up.

“Archie,” said Jules, from the safety of the canoe, “Head on back to dry land. No! no,” he called when Archie took Lux’s elbow. “Cathy and I need to talk really quick.”

“It’s not safe,” Archie said.

“I’m Red Cross certified,” Jules said, arms outspread up the oars as far as they could go. “I’m a beautiful heroine, waiting to happen. Also, I’m in fucking charge.”

“Go away, Archie,” Lux agreed, and Archie slopped to the shore, his broad back damp red in the sun’s undergrowth. Dark clouds approached from the west.

“Actually, that’s my boss.” Jules pointed to the sand straight ahead, where a bronzed ingenue, her thigh muscles sticking out like bread loaves, appeared to be watching the duo intently.

“You’ll get in trouble,” Lux cautioned.

“She wants to ride me hard and put me away wet, I think I can get away with it. I feel like you must have,” he added, pointedly. “She’s nineteen.”

It was hard to glare when wet, and it was hard to talk with Jules high and dry. Lux was clammy and clingy, and she couldn’t understand why he sniped at her. Then he crouched down, chest to knees, under pretext of scraping the oars straight down his gunwales and snapped, with pure, guileless annoyance: “Why are you pissed off? I’m the one who should be mad.”

That was too much to bear. “Jules –”

“I showed you my hole and said call me.” He straightened, the little snot, sincerity evaporated. “And you didn’t call me. Now I feel cheap.”

“Jules,” she said, sticking to her own path. “They don’t know.”

“Of course, they don’t know!” He said, clueless, if technically correct. “I didn’t think you’d spread it around to that crowd.”

“Shut up, Jules,” she tried again, and when his mouth opened automatically, she really blew. “Shut the fuck up!”

He shut the fuck up.

“They don’t know. They don’t know.”

She refused to say anymore. She wasn’t in the mood to roll over. Funny, how fucking a guy in the ass could spackle over a few of the gaping holes in her dignity. Patiently, she watched Jules rock to-and-fro, his face oscillating between his premature certainty and the vanishing tail of what she was trying to explain. Then he exclaimed, “huh!” and raised his face to the heavens.

Whistles sounded north and south, and one of his canoe companions raced twenty yards past, churning the creaming waves to reach the point to disembark. Jules ignored it all.

“Oh.” He started, blank-faced. “There’s bossola.”

He waved to the girl on the beach, who was really putting her back into her whistle. “Jesus, baby,” he said just as abruptly to Lux, who had been forced to retreat a few feet to find higher ground. “Now I’m really starting to worry.”

It was either of their guesses, as to what situation he was talking about. Lux wasn’t sure herself, and doubted he knew. His confusion reminded her less of him now, more of him the morning after, when she’d woken up, found him sitting bolt upright, staring at the walls of his clean, sunny studio. He’d turned to her bleary face, and with no confidence whatsoever, asked, Is it really so much better?

“You want to climb up?” He asked now. “I’ll tell boss you have a cramp.”

“No, I can make it by myself.” She strolled backwards, ass out of the water, and twisted the sarong in front.

“I told Roscoe I fucked a girl for the first time,” he called to her, his eyes cast demurely downward. “You should have seen the sweat roll down his back.”

“I’ll call you,” she promised.

“Yeah, you better,” he advised, and shielded his face against the bursting spray. “Before someone else does. Ladies love the canoe.”

One perky heave-ho, and he displaced bow and stern, fixed his little craft perpendicular to the beach, and cast off toward the pier.

On the beach, Archie and Claire scuttled in the sand, packing their bags, and shaking out their towels. Claire held Jules’s rogue, soaked hat. “I was going to swim back over, but she yanked me out,” she explained, and pointed out Jules’s bossola, who had, watching Lux emerge from the dirty waters, eyed her face, eyed her cleavage, and continued stalking down the shore. She had an ass that needed to be seen to be believed. Lux hoped Jules wouldn’t tease her too much. She might call him sooner, to demand that exclusively. Possibilities, vistas, scenarios, she thought of all these and wrapped her towel around her waist, and she faced the dreary city skyline and she dreamed, and the full force of her imagination asserted itself.

“I’ll give it to him when I see him next.”

Domme Lux took property of the hat.

Ava, ever watchful, caressed their folded umbrella. “I thought you and Jules didn’t get along,” she said. Deliberately did not ask. Lux, in that moment, didn’t care. It wasn’t her job to teach Ava manners.

“I like him just fine,” she said.

#SAFEWORLD #intimacies; ambiguities; a twunk in a boat #beautiful friendships have been sprung for less #isn't particularly relevant but this takes place in 2009

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there-must-be-a-lock · 5 years ago

Text

Big Damn Heroes

A Supernatural / Buffy the Vampire Slayer crossover!

Characters: Sam, Dean, Cas, Charlie, Buffy, Willow, Spike, Xander, Giles, Anya, Faith

Word Count: ~4930

Warnings: Flirting, play-fighting... it’s sexy but not smutty. 75% banter, 20% geeky references. (No, seriously, SO MANY. If anyone can spot all the easter eggs/quotes from Supernatural, the Whedonverse, and beyond, I’ll give you a cookie.)

A/N: For @impala-dreamer and @deanwanddamons, and the I Do Understand That Reference Challenge! I’ve been wanting to write a SPN/BtVS crossover since I first started watching Supernatural; I’ve been imagining some of these character interactions for a while. Thanks for giving me an excuse to finally do it!

Major thanks to @stunudo and @thoughtslikeaminefield for the reading and cheerleading. This was the most excited I’ve been about writing in a hot minute and I was so happy that you guys were excited to read it.

This bears very little resemblance to either show’s canon/timeline. No Dawn, no Tara. Just go with it.

“Okay, stand super still for me?” Charlie asks apprehensively. She twiddles a few knobs on the gadget she’d built, and a little fan of laser beams shoots out one end. She points it at Dean, who grimaces and shields his junk protectively as the lights sweep up and down his body.

Sam rubs at the tension headache that’s developing between his eyes. “You sure about this?”

“No?” Charlie says, voice squeaking slightly, and Sam’s headache throbs again. “But… I think so. It should work. I don’t think you understand how ridiculously complicated this whole thing is.”

“You are bringing their alternate selves here from an entirely different universe,” Cas says skeptically, arms crossed as he looks critically at the scene. “There are a lot of variables at work.”

Charlie points the device at Sam and scans him as she nods firmly. “Yes. Thank you. What Cas said. What’s the worst that can happen, right?”

Sam raises his eyebrows and sees Dean and Cas making near-identical expressions of disbelief.

“Right. Probably not a good thing to ask around here, huh? You guys are like the living embodiment of Murphy’s Law. I don’t think I’m gonna, like, blow anything up though, so that’s something!” Charlie cuts off her own nervous babbling and takes a deep breath. “Well, here goes nothing.”

Sam's ears start to ring, and he feels a tug somewhere in his chest. The bunker fuzzes and fades around them.

The last thing Sam hears is Cas saying flatly, “Well that can’t be good.”

***

Dean’s drawing his gun before the room even comes into focus, fighting a dizzying surge of nausea. He looks around wildly, turning to scan his surroundings. There’s a redhead in an eye-poppingly colorful sweater sitting on the couch, looking at him open-mouthed; a cute, tiny blonde at her side; a cozy, utterly suburban living room; and most importantly, a total lack of Sam, as far as he can see, and that’s a problem.

“Whoa, hey, take it easy,” the blonde says sharply. “Drop the gun.” She’s standing, coming toward him with her hands raised, and she’s clearly not a threat, but Dean’s not letting his guard down yet. He eases his finger off the safety but keeps it pointed at her.

“Where’s my brother?” Dean snaps.

“You just Apparated into the middle of my house, buddy, how ‘bout I ask the questions?” she says, unfazed. Which. Fair. Dean lowers the gun slightly.

The second he starts to relax, the blonde is whipping around like a goddamn ninja and kicking the gun out of his hand. She settles back into a fighting stance, looking way more serious than anyone wearing sparkly lip gloss has any right to look. Dean’s so stunned he doesn’t even try to fight back; he stares for a second, torn between the urge to pull his other gun out of the back of his pants, just to make a point, and the urge to propose on the spot, because wow.

“Um, hi, answers now?” the redhead says, still sitting on the couch, staring incredulously.

Dean takes a deep breath. “I’m Dean Winchester. I’m pretty sure this was a fuckup of gigantic proportions. Where am I? Who are you? How did you…”

“Sunnydale, Buffy, and mystical forces-of-evil-fighting Slayer powers,” she rattles off, with a little smile at the look of astonishment on his face. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“Buffy?” Dean says, smirking, and she raises an eyebrow.

“That’s really not the part most people fixate on,” she says bemusedly. There’s a phone ringing somewhere in the next room, and Buffy shouts without taking her eyes off Dean: “Xander? Would you get that?”

“I’m not most people.”

***

“Yes, quite. We’ll be right over,” Giles says, and he hangs up before turning back to Sam with a long-suffering expression. “Your brother is safe and sound. I’ll take you to him and we can try to sort this mess out.”

Sam lets out a long sigh of relief, following Giles to the door. He looks down at his phone again as Giles locks up, but it still displays “no signal.” Sam frowns.

“Where are we?” he asks.

“Sunnydale, California.” Giles leads the way to a tiny European car. Sam has to fold up like a pretzel to get in the passenger seat.

He watches out the window as Giles drives, frowning to himself as he tries to figure out why they’re here of all places. He’d been so busy with the whole Apparition thing that he didn’t question Giles’s initial reaction to a stranger materializing in the middle of his living room, but his expression had definitely been more resigned and exasperated than astonished, like maybe this sort of thing happened to him a little too often.

“Is there such a thing as magic in this world?” Sam says, with a sneaking suspicion that he already knows the answer. “Or… ghosts? Demons?”

Giles blinks a few times. “Magic, yes. Demons, quite. Ghosts… not that I’m aware of, but stranger things have happened on a Hellmouth, I’m sure.”

“A what?”

“Hellmouth. Sunnydale sits on top of a literal gate to hell, and as such, there is a convergence of mystical energy here. It tends to draw monsters and… well, general disaster.” Giles sounds like he’s repeated this little speech a few times before.

“Averted any apocalypses lately?” Sam asks wryly, and that does get him a very polite, British expression of surprise.

“Well, yes. A few, as a matter of fact. Buffy does stay busy.”

“Buffy?”

“Yes, the friend I called when you arrived. The Slayer. Do they have one of those in whatever world you’re from?”

“In my world, Slayer is a band,” Sam says with a shrug. “So… you’ve never heard of me? Or my brother? Dean Winchester?”

Giles gives him a skeptical sideways look. “Should I have?”

“I think I have a theory.”

“It’s not bunnies.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Go on.”

***

“This is where you live?” Dean asks, looking around at the big windows and unlocked door. “Are there protective spells or anything, at least?”

“No. And thus, the neverending construction,” Xander says mournfully, nodding toward an unfinished window frame.

Dean’s still processing how normal it is. They’re all sitting around in the incredibly ordinary living room on comfortably mismatched couches, and the coffee table in front of him has a copy of Cosmo on it, for fuck’s sake. He’s never met a hunter of any kind who’d be reading about “Why Wet Kisses Make Men Horny.”

He looks up hopefully when he hears the door, but it’s not Sam; there’s a bleach-blonde guy coming in, shaking off the ratty blanket he’d been wearing like a cape.

“Oh, great, you’re back,” Willow grumbles.

Buffy gives him a look that’s borderline murderous, which would be about as threatening as a newborn kitten if Dean didn’t know what she’s capable of. “Why, exactly, are you back?”

“Bored. Not much to do in a crypt.” The guy shrugs, looking Dean up and down with an appraising gleam in his eye. “Who’s the pretty boy?”

Dean’s still processing “crypt.” Before he can decide how he feels about the flirtatious tone, Buffy answers for him: “Spike, this is Dean. Dean, this is Spike. Spike, you can fuck right off now. Dean, you want a glass of water or something? Sorry, all the alternate universe talk made me forget my manners.”

“Got anything stronger?”

“If by stronger you mean orange juice?” Buffy offers apologetically, but Spike pulls a flask out of the inside of his long coat and passes it to Dean with a smug half-smile. Then he makes himself at home in one of the armchairs, raising an eyebrow at Buffy as if to make it extra clear that he has no plans to “fuck right off” any time soon.

“Cheers,” Dean says gratefully.

Spike winks at him, obvious and shameless, and drawls, “You just let me know if you need anything else.”

Buffy’s got her arms crossed, glaring daggers at Spike, and Dean can tell there’s something going on there, but he can’t really resist flashing his most charming grin in Spike’s direction.

The front door opens again, and Dean breathes a long sigh of relief when he sees Sam.

***

“What makes you think there’s a version of you in this universe, anyway?” Willow asks, and everybody pauses to think about that one for a second. “I mean, if there are all these different worlds, why are you guys the heroes in every single one?”

“Bit bloody full of yourselves,” Spike says. There’s no reason for that sentence to sound as suggestive as it does, but that seems to be his default tone. Sam tries not to notice the way Spike’s staring at his brother. Not like Dean is aware of it; he’s too busy staring at Buffy.

“There’s a world with nothing but shrimp,” Xander chips in unhelpfully. Sam shakes his head like that might clear his ears.

“Chuck said -” Dean starts, and Sam cuts him off with a gesture before anyone can ask who “Chuck” is. That seems like a surefire way to derail this barely-coherent conversation, and Sam wants to figure out how to get the hell home.

“It’s not a bad point,” he says. “So if Charlie programmed the thing -” Willow opens her mouth like she really wants to interrupt, but Sam plows on, “- to bring us from a world that didn’t have an us, maybe that’s what made it glitch. It couldn’t bring anyone to us, so it brought us here instead.”

“But why would it drop you with us?” Buffy asks.

“You guys seem to be the ones who deal with the apocalypses around here,” Dean says, shrugging.

“We are the local experts at the saving people and the hunting things,” Buffy agrees.

Spike smirks. “Big damn heroes, is what we are.”

Buffy shoots him a withering glare. “You are not included in this.”

“But why split us up?” Sam muses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. His headache has not improved in the slightest. When he looks up, Dean’s eyes are darting between Sam and Giles, who has his glasses off and is pinching his own nose in the exact same spot.

“Wow, Sammy,” Dean says, an infuriating grin spreading over his face.

“What?”

Dean turns to Buffy. “So this whole Slayer thing. Kind of a birthright? Destiny?”

She shrugs. “I guess so. There was this whole group of old British guys with sticks up their asses, but... ”

Sam rolls his eyes, starting to see where Dean’s heading with this, and asks Buffy, “Ever died, by any chance?”

“Twice, actually,” she replies, without batting an eye. She looks back and forth between them. “Wait, have either of you -”

“Trust me, you don’t wanna know,” Dean says ruefully. “Sacrificed yourself to save someone, I’m guessing?”

“That’s me, self-sacrificey girl,” Buffy says, matter-of-fact and borderline chipper. “Kind of my specialty. That and the quipping.”

“Let me guess, you handle the research,” Sam says to Giles.

“Well, yes, I suppose. Although I’m not exactly helpless in a fight. I do know a bit of magic as well.”

Sam buries his face in his hands for a second.

“So when the program couldn’t find a match for either of us, it sent us to… someone as much like us as it could find,” Dean says.

Willow jumps in quickly. “What sort of computer -”

“What was that about shrimp?” Dean asks at the same time. Everybody starts talking at once, and Sam sighs heavily. He almost rubs his forehead again, but he stops himself when he notices Giles doing the same thing.

***

Dean’s trying to explain the whole Chuck situation when he sees the distortion in the middle of the room, and he trails off in the middle of the sentence, watching anxiously as Charlie blurs in and out a few times before solidifying in front of them.

“Okay, weird,” she blurts out, looking around wide-eyed and overwhelmed.

“Holy fuck am I glad to see you,” Dean says fervently.

“Right back atcha,” Charlie says. “Somebody want to tell me what the fuck is going on?”

“Ooh, are you the one who beamed them up?” Willow asks excitedly. “Actually… you look weirdly familiar, have we met before?”

Charlie blinks at her a few times, a smile spreading across her face, and shakes her head. “I don’t think so. Pretty sure I’d remember you.”

“This is Charlie, she’s our resident computer genius,” Dean says, and they make the rounds of introductions yet again.

Charlie gives everyone an awkward little wave. “Charlie. Um. I like LARPing, pretty women, and long walks on the beach.”

Dean doesn’t miss the way Willow perks up at that, and he bites the inside of his cheek to hold back his laughter.

“Hey, where’s Cas?” Charlie asks, finally tearing her eyes away from Willow long enough to look around the room, as if Cas might’ve hid behind the bookshelf when he arrived.

Dean’s stomach sinks. “He came with you?”

“Yeah, we -” Charlie starts, but she’s interrupted by the door opening, and much to Dean’s relief, Cas is walking through it next to a frazzled-looking girl.

“I’m hoping one of you can explain why this man materialized in my car?” the girl asks irritably. “As if parallel parking wasn’t hard enough without surprises.”

“Hi to you too, Anya,” Buffy chirps. “Glad everybody could join us for what was supposed to be my relaxing day of solitude.”

“I’m not a man, exactly,” Cas interjects.

Anya tilts her head to the side inquisitively, glancing very blatantly down at Cas’s crotch for a second, and Dean snorts.

“Would it be rude if I asked -” Anya starts.

Giles answers before she can finish: “Yes, it undoubtedly would be.”

“I’m an angel,” Cas says nonchalantly.

“Judging by everyone’s faces, Anya’s not an angel, then?” Sam asks, looking between the two of them.

“Only that one time, for Xander’s birthday,” Anya volunteers, and Xander splutters an incoherent protest. “But that was a sexy angel, not a real angel. I don’t think we have those here.”

“She used to be a revenge demon,” Buffy explains.

“Used to be?” Cas asks.

“Oh, I’m human now,” Anya reassures him.

Spike adds, “Not that you’d know it, talking to her.”

“Considering how primitive and strange humans are considered to be by most of the known universe, I wouldn’t say that’s a bad thing,” Cas says mildly. “Some of your customs are utterly incomprehensible to an outsider.”

“That’s what I keep saying!” Anya exclaims. “I mean, how am I supposed to know exactly which reproductive habits are acceptable for public discussion?”

“They do have some very arbitrary rules about appropriate behavior,” Cas says. Dean notices Sam and Giles rubbing their foreheads in tandem again.

***

By the time they finish asking all their questions and comparing apocalypses, Sam’s actually kind of having fun, but he knows it’s time to get back to work.

“You ready to get out of here?” he asks Dean, during the next lull in the conversation. Dean looks more than a little put out as he sneaks a glance at Buffy, but he shrugs.

“Probably should. Charlie? Hey, Earth to Charlie.”

Charlie looks pretty dazed as she turns to face them. “Hmm?”

“We should probably get home,” Sam says apologetically.

Charlie’s face falls. “Really?”

Dean gives her a sympathetic look. “Worlds to save, and stuff. Still need to find a way to warn all those other Sams and Deans. Sorry, kiddo.”

“Maybe you can come back sometime, if you… y’know, survive the apocalypse?” Willow says, with a hopeful smile. Charlie grins at her.

“We also have places to be,” Anya says cheerfully. “Very important things to do.”

“Subtle,” Xander mutters. They wave their goodbyes and head for the door, followed by a somewhat sulky-looking Spike. Then again, that might just be Spike’s face; Sam can’t really tell.

Cas, Charlie, Sam, and Dean huddle in the middle of the living room, and Charlie says resignedly, “Strap yourselves in, I’m gonna make the jump to lightspeed.”

“You don’t have to scan us again, do you?” Dean asks, eyeing the gadget with some mistrust.

“Nope. We’re all saved in the system. Ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Dean says, with one last half-smile in Buffy’s direction. Charlie hits the button.

Nothing happens. Charlie frowns and hits it again.

“Charlie?” Sam says hesitantly.

“No, obviously that’s not supposed to be happening,” she retorts. She fiddles with a couple knobs. “I think I know what it is, though. There are all sorts of parameters for, like, which Earth you’re coming from and which Earth you’re going to, and I think the weird glitchy thingy might’ve scrambled the algorithm.”

Dean leans in to look. “Did you try hitting it?”

“It’s quantum physics, Dean, you can’t just keymash until it works,” Charlie says, rolling her eyes and holding it away from him. “Unless you want to be stuck in shrimp-world or something.”

“How long do you think it’ll take to fix it?” Sam asks.

Charlie shrugs. “Could be a couple hours, could be a day or two.”

“I could help you,” Willow offers. Charlie looks like Christmas came early.

“You guys are welcome to stay, it’s no biggie,” Buffy offers. “Not like you’re the strangest thing that’s ended up in my living room.”

“I’m flattered,” Dean says with a grin.

Sam sighs, but he can think of worse worlds to be in for a day or two. At least they’re not surrounded by shrimp.

***

“So this is what you do every night?” Dean asks, as Buffy hops the fence with zero visible effort. He might have actual hearts in his eyes.

“Pretty much,” she says cheerfully. Dean follows her. He does okay, even if he doesn’t stick the landing like a Russian gymnast.

Sam had stayed home, after some silent pleading in eyebrow-speak, so it’s just the two of them, and it’s nice, for a graveyard. There’s something about the idea of “patrolling” that Dean likes. He imagines coming here night after night, recognizing the mausoleums, getting familiar with all the paths. It sounds stable.

“Do you like it?” Dean asks. “The whole Slayer thing.”

Buffy wrinkles her nose adorably at him. “I’m not sure like is the word I’d choose. What else would I do, though? Not like I could just walk away from it. I tried, once. The weird follows me wherever I go.”

“Sorry, if you don’t want me to follow you any more I can just…”

She laughs at that. Dean feels butterflies in his stomach, like he’s just a middle schooler with a crush. It’s been a minute since he put actual effort into flirting with somebody, beyond the easy one-liners. Dean fiddles with the stake she gave him, twirling it in his fingers, trying to keep an eye on his surroundings instead of just staring at Buffy.

“Sometimes I wonder,” she says softly. “Y’know? Like, why me?”

“You’re basically a superhero,” Dean says. She can probably tell how hard he’s geeking out about it. “That’s what heroes do.”

“It’s not just that, though! Like… I was bored out of my mind trying to be normal.”

Dean laughs. “Normal was a disaster.”

“So even if the weird wasn’t following me, I’d go find the monsters myself. Who does that?”

“Crazy people,” Dean agrees. “I can’t imagine doing anything else, though. Never gonna have a normal job, never gonna have a normal relationship, and yet.”

“So you’re not - there’s no relationship?” she asks, exaggeratedly casual.

“Nah.” Dean tries to hide his grin, and then he asks cautiously, “What’s up with you and Spike?”

She stops dead, mouth open, staring at him. “Wait. Oh god. Please don’t tell me Faith is already running her mouth, I told her -”

“No, it’s cool, I just… guessed, earlier,” Dean says sheepishly. “Don’t worry, I don’t think anybody else noticed.”

Buffy makes a face and rolls her eyes, and they start walking again. “It’s complicated, the… thing with Spike. It’s definitely not a relationship though.” She stresses that last bit, and Dean really shouldn’t feel relieved, at that, but he does.

“Isn’t it always complicated?”

Buffy sighs. “There’s the whole undead creature of the night thing, for starters, which. Oddly enough, seems to be a type for me?”

“Yeah?”

Something must show on his face, because Buffy frowns. “Oh, Jesus, don’t tell me you’re some sort of demon too.”

“Would that help my chances?” Dean asks wryly. “Cause I kinda used to be.”

She stares for a second. “You’re joking, right?”

“Really not.”

There’s a moment where she’s clearly deciding whether she wants to go there, but then a familiar voice rings out behind them and interrupts: “Thought you were heading home, pretty boy.”

Dean turns, grinning in spite of himself. “Change of plans.”

“Lucky us,” Spike drawls. “Mind if I join you for a walk, pet?”

“No,” Dean answers, just as Buffy lets out a resigned, “Kinda.”

Spike catches up to them and slings an arm around Dean’s waist, pulling him against his side. Buffy lets out a huff, but she’s laughing too.

“Are you really trying to make me jealous?” she asks Spike.

“Is it working?”

Dean disentangles himself and looks back and forth between the two of them. “Yeah, this is obviously healthy.”

Buffy laughs, but Spike just retorts, “Like you would know a healthy attachment pattern if it bit you in the ass.”

Dean considers protesting, but he doesn’t really have a leg to stand on there.

“Guess it’s in the job description. Are we gonna go fight some monsters, or what?”

“Yeah, let’s go find the monsters,” Buffy says, grinning at Dean. “That’s what heroes do, right?”

***

Sam zones out of the discussion around the time Cas and Giles start talking comparative theology through the millennia. He slouches back on the couch and watches them fondly as Cas answers question after question. His eyelids feel heavy and he’s comfortable, and even though he knows he should take the opportunity to learn more about this totally new Earth, all he really wants to do is sit, and breathe, and rest.

Cas and Giles end up heading back to Giles’s house for tea and… something about an old book of etchings? Sam can’t really follow Giles’s breathless, excited rambling. He waves them off, thinking that he might actually go to sleep early, for once.

Sam goes to the kitchen, chugs a glass of water and then fills another, and he just stands there for a moment, one hip leaning against the counter as he looks around. It’s such a normal house. Even on their most domestic days, they’re still in a bunker. Must be nice to have a little bit of normalcy, no matter how crazy life gets. There’s faint music and the occasional giggle from upstairs, but otherwise, the house is quiet.

Of course, just as he has that thought, the front door slams open and someone shouts, “Yo, B! Ready to go?”

“She went out already,” Sam says, bemused.

He gets an impression of red lips, dark hair, and leather as the girl closes the door behind herself, moving whirlwind-quick. She plants her feet (loudly, in big stompy combat boots) and crosses her arms, looking at Sam suspiciously. Neither of them move for a second.

“I’m Faith,” she announces eventually. “Who the fuck are you, why the fuck are you in B’s kitchen, and where the fuck is she?”

“Sam, and… it’s a long story. She’s out patrolling with my brother, they left about an hour ago.”

Faith seems to make some sort of decision about him, and suspicion turns to mischief as she gives him a broad grin. “If your brother looks anything like you, can’t blame the girl for ditchin’ me.”

Sam’s mouth twitches as he tries to hold back a smile, and he takes a sip of water to cover it.

“Aww, you shy?” Faith teases. Her voice is low and raspy, kind of absurdly sexy, and she clearly knows it. “Must be one of those nice guys I’ve heard so much about.”

Sam doesn’t answer. He watches Faith stalk toward him.

She’s a fucking force of nature, Sam can already tell, all aggression and attitude as she comes at him with a challenge in her eyes. He doesn’t move when she gets up in his space, looking Sam up and down like she’s inspecting him. He has a feeling she’s used to people backing away before they let her get this close.

“Sam, huh? What brings you to Sunnydale?”

“Just passing through,” Sam says calmly. “What about you?”

“How do you know I’m not from around here?” she asks, looking up at him coyly.

Sam doesn’t dignify that with a response, just smirks and waits. She takes a step back and leans against the counter, mirroring his pose. Her eyes are sparkling.

“Fair enough. I’m a Slayer, figured I’d stick around in Sunnydale and help B for a while. Always seems to be somethin’ around here that needs its ass kicked.”

Sam cocks his head to the side, considering her. “So you fight vampires?”

“And whatever else is askin’ for a fight,” she retorts. “Why, is your brother a vampire?”

“What?”

“Buffy’s got a type. A demonic kinda type, if you know what I’m sayin’. Don’t worry, I won’t stake him.”

Sam laughs. Figures. “I wasn’t worried. Just curious if the superpowers are all they’re cracked up to be.”

“You better believe it,” Faith says proudly. “Strength, speed… stamina.” She says the last with a sly, unsubtle smirk, watching Sam to gauge his reaction.

“Show me,” he challenges. He doesn’t specify which one he means, and Faith raises one eyebrow.

“Right here? I figured you’d be the candlelight and Al Green type.”

Sam smiles. She’s not the first person to make that assumption.

The first punch is light, and he lets her see it coming; she dodges it easily, without so much as blinking. Sam’s left hand snakes out, lightning-fast this time, and she sidesteps neatly, grabbing his wrist instead and holding his arm in place. She’s stronger than he expected, and she’s grinning like this is the most fun she’s had all week.

“Sure about this? I wouldn’t want to hurt you,” she says, sugary-sweet.

The next punch is in earnest. She blocks it, throws one of her own, and then it’s a blur for a moment, a flurry of blows one after another, none of them landing. Neither of them are moving their feet much, trapped in the narrow space between the counter and the kitchen table; they’re just testing each other.

“Not bad,” Sam admits.

“Right back atcha.”

She takes a couple steps backward, out into the open space, and Sam follows, watching closely. This time she lets loose with a flashy spin-jump-kick thing like something out of a cheesy action movie, and Sam’s laughing as he ducks.

“Points for style, but not for substance,” he teases.

She comes back at him twice as hard and almost gets him this time, but then he snatches her wrists and slams her back against the wall with a thunk that’s a whole lot louder than he expected. They both wince and freeze.

“Everything okay?” Willow yells from upstairs.

Charlie’s pissy voice adds, “Please don’t tell me that was a monster.”

“Just tripped,” Sam shouts back. He looks down at Faith, taking a half-step closer so that there’s maybe an inch of space between their bodies. He’s still got her wrists pinned over her head. She’s definitely not trying to get away. He has a feeling she could, easily, if she wanted to.

“Not so nice after all, then,” she purrs, looking up at him through her lashes.

Sam shakes his head slightly. “Not so much. You giving up, then?”

“Not a fuckin’ chance. Just thinkin’ maybe we should have the rematch back at my place. You know, in case you ‘trip’ again.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

***

Probably good they only stayed for a day, Dean thinks, looking around the room. Nobody, from either world, looks particularly happy about the departure, but they’ve all said goodbye often enough that they don’t draw it out. Charlie gives Willow one last little wave, and then she hits the button. Everything goes fuzzy.

It’s disorienting, for a moment, but the bunker comes into focus around them. After the dizziness has passed, Dean gives Charlie a wordless hug.

“I’m gonna go read a book with pictures in it,” she says glumly, and shuffles away. “And eat ice cream.”

“Research time, I guess,” Sam says. “Back to work.”

Cas heads to the kitchen to make some coffee as Sam starts flipping through his notes. Dean settles down at the table and looks at the nearest book without really seeing it. He feels fucking off, almost sad, as if he could’ve possibly gotten attached to that other world in less than twenty-four hours.

“That was… kinda a nice universe, right?” he says. “I dunno. There was something about it.”

Sam gives him a knowing look. “Yeah.”

“Ever wish we could just… stay somewhere else?” Dean says, and he can’t keep the bitter note out of his voice. “I mean, why do we keep coming back to this world? What’s so great about it?”

“It’s ours,” Sam says, with a shrug. “I mean, the other one wasn’t our responsibility, you know? Of course it was nice, not having to worry, but… this one’s ours. Gotta take care of it.”

Dean twirls a pencil between his fingers and wishes it was a stake. He smiles, slightly, as he remembers.

That’s what heroes do.

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#spn #btvs #buffy #buffy x supernatural #supernatural fanfiction

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hey-hey-chan · 6 years ago

Text

Grincherella - Chan

❀ Comedy/fluff/romance with a dash of angst (Cinderella AU)

❀ Word count: 9, 284

❀ It is THAT time of year again, yes, Christmas season and y/n seems to hate everything and anyone who talks about it. Once she is forced to attending a Christmas party, she is forced to sing, onstage, with the cute boy in her psych class. But the thing is: he doesn’t recognize her. Will she finally let go of her troubled past and present or will she let her insecurities haunt her forever?

❀ A/N: ummmm a mix between Cinderella and High School Musical ? idk what i was thinking but i felt nostalgic i guess .,,, this is the longest fic i’ve EVER written pLEASE dont let this flop AHAHAHA /sweats/ but i also feel bad for making u sit through 9k words /sweats again/ so do what u want i guess

P.S I LOVE YOU ALL! this is a treat for you guys who have been missing my writing!! now im on break so im back in the game !!

---------

“MERRY CHRISTMAS!” I suddenly got a puff of snow to the face, which made me crinkle my red nose in disgust. “Y/N!!” I slammed my book shut and glared at the boy.

“What?” Jisung giggled and sat on the bench next to me.

“It’s funny.”

“What’s so funny about throwing wet snow in someone’s face when they’re trying to read.” I pointed at my book exaggeratedly, a signal for him to leave. He didn’t take it.

Jisung fixed his scarf, making sure it knocked into my face as usual. He then proceeded to scooch closer to me, which was the final line. “Jisung? What’s your deal? What do you want?” I finally caved. The boy only came to me when he is bored, wants him, or is bored; all in that order. Don’t get me wrong, he was my best friend, but sometimes I just wanted to punch him in the face.

He chuckled and kicked his feet in the snow. I noted they were adorned with new black snow boots. “I don’t know, I’m just in the Christmas spirit I guess.” I crinkled my nose. “Oh c’mon, I still don’t get why you don’t like Christmas so much. That’s like... illegal.” I rolled my eyes at his exaggeration.

“Just ‘cause everyone else likes it, doesn’t mean I have to.” I slammed my book shut and looked at the boy in the eyes. “So, it would be great if you would stop pestering me about it because you’re not going to change my mind.”

I got up from the bench and started to walk off to my next class, already starting my day off feeling irritated.

It wasn’t like I hated Christmas, I just hated when people started to be fake because of is. Kids would act nicer to their parents and relatives to get more money and loot for the winter, but return to the devilish children they are when January rolls around. Cuffing season starts and then couples start to pop up, only for the intent of getting gifts and a “cute” Christmas romance for the holidays. Then, their forced relationship ends. Everything about this season was fake, fake, and more fake.

And I like real.

I stopped by a coffee shop and ordered my usual drink: black coffee. It tasted bitter, but I liked the harsh taste of it. It woke me up.

I walked into my early psychology class and took a seat at the back, my usual spot. I immediately was greeted to the group of loud and rambunctious students who sat in the front row. I groaned internally but simply leaned back in my chair and plugged in my earbuds.

Suddenly, I felt a presence beside me and out of reflex, I took my earbuds out.

“Good morning, y/n.” I immediately smiled at his cheeky voice.

“Morning, Chan.” The light haired boy frowned and gave me the famous dimple that killed all the girls on campus. Besides me of course.

“Aw, not even a good in front of that? Now how am I supposed to know what kind of morning I should have?” He pouted, tugging off his scarf and beanie since the room we were in was overly heated.

I scoffed and shook my head. “What’s so good about it, dude? Our final is today and I feel like death himself.” I joked. It was true, our final was today, and yes, I felt horrible, but even I couldn’t help myself from feeling giddy about the end of the year.

Chan smile and leaned closer to my desk. “Aw c’mon, y/n, it’s almost Chris-”

I groaned and made a motion to put my earbuds back in. “I swear to God, if I hear one more person talk bout Christmas, I’m going to explode.” I sighed. Chan broke out into cheerful laughter, like he always does, and shook his head at my reaction.

“You know, you’re the only person I’ve ever met who hates Christmas so much. How can you hate it?? Everyone’s in a better mood, everyone’s in a relationship so you don’t have to run away from boys anymore-” He nudged me jokingly while I rolled my eyes. “And plus, you love peppermint.”

I nodded, affirming he made a good point. “Ok, you’re right, I do love peppermint.” He was about to give me the cheekiest smile but I cut him off. “BUT, I hate that everyone is so happy this season when I swear everyone looked like they were about to cut me in half in the other 11 months. Plus, my devil for step siblings are shitloads nicer in December but once it hits New Years, all of a sudden they’re stealing my stuff again and pretending to be each other, ‘cause you know...”

“Twins.” He finished my sentence. I nodded and fiddled with my necklace.

I’ll admit, ever since my dad got remarried, it had never been the same. It’s not like I hated my step mom... all the time... but she wasn’t mom. My mom had always treated me like an adult, even when I wasn’t. I had matured faster than all the kids in my grade, and always had felt like an old soul compared to everyone else.

Mom used to let me have a sip of her eggnog, that had a little bit of burbon in it, and it wasn’t a big deal. But in my stepmom’s house, it wasn’t allowed, neither was running up the stairs or listening to the music while walking because I could “trip”. I had the same rules as her children, and it was irritating at times. Ok all the time.

“Hm, well I hope that some day a person will change that for you.” Chan said melodramatically. I chuckled comfortingly, but I knew that would never happen. No one could do Christmas like my mom.

“Just like how Chaeyoung did that for you?” I teased. His pale cheeks turned a soft red color, blending into his red sweated. I laughed even harder. “Oh come on, you cannot still be embarrassed about your girlfriend, you’ve been dating for a month now.”

Chan tsked and slumped back in his chair. “See, you said two completely different things. Chaeyoung is not my girlfriend, but we are dating. Different. People who have dated someone can understand the difference.” He teased. Usually that would offend people, but I let the insult roll off my back.

“You act like it’s a bad thing I’ve never dated, it’s normal, weirdo. Also, I know you Chan, and I know that you’re a hopeless romantic who just started ‘dating’ someone because it’s cuffing season and you want someone to hold your hand in the snow at night.” I spat back.

Before he could say anything, the teacher walked in, signaling the start of the final. I got out my number 2 pencils and gave a thumbs up to Chan.

“Good luck.” I whispered.

“Break a leg.”

------

“Finally!!” I screamed into my house when I got home. Finals season was officially over and winter break had commenced. I flung my backpack into my room and plopped down on my bed. My back had ached from carry my backpack around everywhere and from the unneeded stress from school. It was finally time to relax.

Suddenly, I heard a slight buzz to my left. I groaned and looked at the text message.

It was from my stepmom, saying ‘will be home late today, theres some shrimp in the fridge, u can make pasta’.

Well, that was a long vacation.

I rolled out of bed and threw on a flannel, ready to cook some pasta. It wasn’t hard, but I just hated deshelling shrimp. It was time consuming, even though shrimp was one of my favorite foods, I would rather someone else cook it for me to be honest.

After I cleaned the shrimp, I got out the pasta, preparing all my ingredients before I had to start actually cooking something. But before I could do that, I heard my phone ring.

I rolled my eyes at the caller ID: Han Jisung, aka, Han Solo in my phone.

“What.” I answered.

“So....” He paused. I rolled my eyes

“Jisung, I’m cooking dinner, just get on with it.” I heard rustling in the back ground, which meant he was laying down in bed. Lucky him.

“Fine, fine, so, you know how I’m going to that holiday party thing tomorrow that’s for like 3 days and 2 nights right?” I nodded, but realized he couldn’t see me.

“Yup, why, you need me to watch Pepper?”

“Nope, my sister said she can take him for the days I’m gone, but anyways, my friend, he really needs a date and he-”

“Jisung, no-”

“Ok, so I already knew you would say no, so I already said ye-”

“YOU DID WHAT?” I screamed into the phone.

I could feel my heart beat pick up in panic and I had to set down my phone to calm down. “Ok, ok y/n, I know what you’re thinking and I’m really sorry but-”

“No you’re not Jisung, you love this don’t you? UGH, why do you always have to set me up with people?” I felt whiny but I couldn’t help myself. I hated when anyone, especially Jisung, tried to set me up on dates. They always ended terribly where either I, or the dude, was awkward or the thing just never clicked.

Most of the dudes weren’t even friend material for me, it was a terrifying experience.

“Ok, but look, this time, the dude is really a good guy. He’s funny, talkative, charming, attractive, good at singing-”

“Oh then why don’t you just date him?” I mocked. Jisung made a whiny noise and said “Y/n, please, you know I’m already going with Naeun, I made a commitment!”

I stared at the bowl of dead shrimp, wishing I could be that chill for one day. “God Jisung, you know how uncomfortable this makes me, why would you do this?” I finally said after a long time of silence.

He sighed and I knew he truly felt guilty. “Ok, I swear I’m really, really sorry. But this time, I think this guy is at least a good friend match for you. Plus, he’s my friend, so he’s got to be a good friend for you, right??”

“Please y/n? I’ll make it up to you I promise!”

I tapped my foot rapidly, trying to make a decision quickly.

“Jisung, even if I say yes, my stepmom is a whole nother story. I need to watch the twins, remember?”

Jisung sighed like he had forgot I had siblings. I guess it was even a new thing for me sometimes, even though it had been seven years.

“Ok, fine, if she says yes, are you game?”

“Game.” I muttered. He squealed in delight. “But don’t think I’m not mad at you, ok? I’m still mad.” I pouted, even though I couldn’t really be mad at him when I had just finished finals. My world seemed like it was so much calmer now, yet it never got exciting in the first place.

“Ok, ok, I’ll make it up to you, all of it! It’ll be great, we’ll have so much fun! AAAH!”

I hung up the phone before he could convince me to do anything else. I sighed, opening the box of pasta.

“What have I gotten myself into?”

-----------

Once I was done with the pasta, I heard the door unlock, soon followed by rambunctious screaming and yelling.

“Heeyoung!! I can’t believe you asked Jake for his number, I called dibs first!”

“Oh shut up, he was way into me anyways.”

Suddenly, I heard some sort of wrestling on the ground.

“Girls, girls, c’mon now, you both can have Jake! Remember, if you guys behave, then I’ll get you two new phones.” At the mention of a new phone, the girls both shut up immediately.

The girls were twelve years old now as Hanna, my stepmom, already had them with her previous marriage. At 12, I never remembered being so spoiled and entitled, it was disturbing to say the least.

“Oh, y/n, is dinner done?” She said like she just noticed my presence. I nodded and flicked off the stove.

“Yup, just finished cooking, you guys eat first, I’m not hungry.” I lied. I was starving, but I hated eating with them and I knew they would rather eat with my as well. That’s just how things worked in this household.

“Ok, you go upstairs then.” Hanna’s attention then turned to her girls who were trying their hardest to not tear out each other’s hair. It was hilarious and sad all the same time.

Before I could go upstairs, I heard the doorbell ring, which meant Jisung was here.

“It’s Jisung!” I called out to the table and they didn’t really pay me any attention besides the two girls who were giggling. Yes, I knew they had a crush on Jisung. Yes, it was weird.

I threw the door open and saw the boy all bundled up in his bright white winter jacket. I raised a brow. “You’re really gonna-”

Before I could finish, he walked into the house and went right up to my mom, who adored him, only because Jisung was rich, funny, nice, and good looking.

“Jisung! You’re here, oh gosh, did you have dinner? I made dinner, go ahead and have some.” I wanted to correct her lie, but it would do nothing except make me feel awkward. Jisung raised a brow at me but said nothing either.

“Oh no thank you, I just had dinner at my house. But, I just came over to ask you a very important question, Hanna.” I could tell my stepmom loved the attention and was already blushing. God, I hate Jisung and love him all at the same time.

“Of course, darling.” She cooed at him, her botox hindering her from smiling widely.

Jisung smiled and brushed his hair out of his face. “So, there was this little get-together thing that I wanted to bring y/n to, and it’s only for a couple nights and-”

Hanna shook her head and set her fork down loudly. “Jisung, honey, you cannot ask for stuff like that. I like you a lot but you know y/n needs to stay home and watch the girls. I work and can’t be tied down all day.”

Jisung feigned sadness, which I knew hit some pity points for Hanna. “Hanna, please, it’s a holiday party and-”

Hanna scoffed. “Ok, we both know y/n hates anything Christmas, she’s the grinch in girl form.”

“Ok, yes, but she promised me she would go because it won’t just be about Christmas, but about meeting new people, and hanging out in a nice lodge. So please, can she go, only for a few nights?”

I felt my heart thump rapidly, for some reason, hoping she’ll say yes. I shook away the thought as quickly as it came; I hated Christmas and the snow and the mountains, which is what I would be facing if I went to this party.

“Well...”

Everyone’s ears peaked up to hear her answer.

“Well, y/n shouldn’t make promises she can’t keep.” Hanna continued to down her dinner and Jisung turned his head to shake his head in failure. I smirked and shrugged my shoulders.

“Sorry Jisung, it’s just that me and the girls are going to this huge Christmas party tomorrow night as well and I need someone to watch the dog. You know how they get.” Hanna lied lamely and took a bite of shrimp, that was her favorite food as well. “But that’s ok, y/n hates Christmas anyways, I’m sure you can make cooler and better friends at the party anyways.”

Five years ago, those words would’ve hurt me, but now they were just annoying. I couldn’t wait til I finished college and didn’t have to depend on her for college tuition. I wasn’t like the normal girls in the fairytales; I wasn’t exceptionally smart and heading to Princeton or an amazing dancer like Selena Gomez, I was just... me.

Jisung didn’t stick around to hear her annoying jabber and made up some excuse. “Well, my mom is expecting me home and I need to pack me for my trip. It was nice seeing you guys.” The all waved to him as I just shrugged at him as he left. He looked defeated in the moment, but with the evil glint in his eyes, I could tell this wasn’t over.

------

“Don’t forget to feed Princess!! She needs some real food too so just cook her some fried rice, ok!?”

“OK!” The door shut loudly, signaling I finally had the house to myself.

I covered my mouth with a yawn, feeling warm and cozy in my flannel pajamas. My hair was tied loosely into two braids.

“Thank God I don’t have to go out tonight,” I whispered to myself. I felt bad that Jisung had to go to this event by himself since his girlfriend was going with a group of friends. But I didn’t feel bad enough to go.

I pulled out my guitar and started to strum lightly on the strings. I never could play and sing when they were home; the twins always complained about my music being too loud when they were studying, even though they never studied.

“All I hear is raindrops

Falling on the rooftop

Oh baby tell me why’d you have to go

Cause this pain I feel

It wont go away

And today I’m officially missing you”

I gently strummed the strings on my guitar, feeling the groove of the music.

Breaking my magic, I heard my phone buzz. I set my guitar down on my bed and looked at my phone.

‘open your window’ -jisung

I scoffed and popped open my window and somehow, Jisung jumped inside my room. That’s what I get for not chopping down that humongous tree I guess.

“Jisung... what the hell are you doing here?” I finally asked in confusion. “You’re gonna be late to the party.” I deadpanned slowly. Jisung shrugged off all the snow on his body, leaving my carpet wet. He was dressed with raggedly clothes and a black mask over his face. Of course he would go as a ninja. For some reason, the party planner decided that the ball should be a Christmas costume party... interesting.

“HEY, asshole, what do you-”

“You know, I love hearing you sing, why don’t you do it in front of-.” My cheeks were now as red as cherries from the anger and compliment.

“Jisung, what are you doing here?” He shrugged and adjusted his mask.

“Well, um, so we are gonna go to that party.”

I paused at his words and stared at him in silence.

“No... I’m not going because you couldn’t convince Hanna. Done deal, bye!” I tried to shove him out, but obviously I wasn’t strong enough.

“Y/n, y/n, listen, listen.” I crossed my arms at the desperation in his voice. “The girls and Hanna are all gone tonight, and probably tomorrow morning-”

“Jisung, they’re coming home at one am, and it takes an hour to just get to the location of your party, and maybe even longer in the snow. I’m not gonna risk it.” I walked away from him, hoping he wouldn’t follow.

“Y/n, for Pete’s sake, you never do anything bad or even a little rebellious. You stick to rules and you stick to routine, and yes, I know it’s ‘cause of your mom-”

“She’s not my mom.”

“Right, sorry, I mean Hanna, she controls you but she’s finally not here! That’s gotta be a sign, right??” He spoke with such a desperation that I almost felt sorry for him, and myself, but what could I do? I was stuck here until she came back!

“Jisung, really, I can’t just sneak out, what if she catches me? There goes my college tuition and I can’t even finish college and become a choir teacher like I’ve always wanted. It’s just... I don’t wanna risk it.” I said lamely.

For a few moments, Jisung was silent, which was extremely rare. He sat on my bed, making it creak slightly. I felt like the atmosphere was tense, even though I didn’t know why.

“I just... you never take chances y/n, the party is gonna be amazing and all I want is my best friend there.” I sighed and patted him on the head.

“Jisung, I’m not Cinderella, I can’t sneak out of the house and get back before one.” At those words, he shot up and stared at me.

“You know what? If Cinderella can do it, we can! We can just leave the party at midnight and then we’ll make it home before one, I swear on it. It’s not like the road is crowded when it’s that late anyways.”

I laid in bed, the plan not sounding too bad when he said it that way.I tried to protest, but I had little fight left since he was making such a good argument.

“I don’t even have a costume.” I mumbled lamely. He raised a brow and gave me his signature smirk. “Oh what this time, Jisung?”

-----

Before I could comprehend what we were doing, we were sorting through my closet and dug out something I never thought I would be pulling out.

“Really, my mom’s wedding dress... why.” I spoke, but I was quite breathless. I couldn’t imagine wearing something so beautiful.

Jisung shook the top off the box and shrugged. “It’s perfect for the winter and perfect for a costume as well. You know your mom, she loved...”

I smiled sadly. “Yeah, she loved winter and Christmas.” I mumbled quietly, but I lost my voice once I saw the dress. I covered my mouth and pulled out the outfit.

“You’re trying that on now.” Jisung yelped.

I took my time trying on the dress; as I stared at myself in the mirror, I was astonished by the detailing.

It was a beautiful, pale white dress that was adorned in glitter and sparkles. There were small flowers which resembled snowflakes that fell over the poofy skirt. The cut wasn’t too low, but wasn’t too high either. The sleeves were decked out in glitter, and somehow, it fit me perfectly.

“Y/n, we don’t have all day now!” I hurried up and walked out. As he caught sight of me, he dropped my phone. “Damn, you look so much like your mom.” He whispered. Jisung was one of my only friends who had known me when my mom was still alive and that’s probably why he was still friends with me, because I wasn’t the nicest person after she passed.

“Ok, hurry up, Grincherella, we’re getting in the car.”

-------

This was the most fun I’d ever had. We were jamming out to classics in the car and not caring who were waking up.

Jisung turned down the music and shouted to tell me something.

“Oh yeah, that guy who I sold you out too? He doesn’t need a date anymore, I felt really bad so I told him you weren’t looking for a serious date and he said he’d rather go alone anyways. So now we get to party together, WOOP!” He shouted turned up the music again. I almost forgot about my so-called date and now I was happy I didn’t have one. I could just hide in the corner and eat all the food they had.

Soon, we arrived at the venue, and I couldn’t even hide that it was beautiful. There was a fountain up front that was decked out in Christmas decor. There was a machine that projected snowflakes on the building that made the snow around us stand out. And also, it was huge.

“Oh shit.” Jisung suddenly said. I turned to him in surprise.

“What??”

“I forgot a mask for you.” He mumbled. I shrugged.

“That’s fine, I don’t really need one.” I noted. He glared at me.

“That’s a lie, hold on, lemme pull out my party box.” I was about to question what that was until the boy pulled out a box from the back seat and started to rummage through it. “YES!” He said pulling out a black mask that was lacey and probably too beautiful for me to wear. “Ok, it’s not white like I wanted it to be, but... hmhmmh hold on.”

I groaned as he pulled out a paintbrush and some white paint and glitter. “Hold still.” Before I could question him, he put on my mask and started to draw white swiggle lines from the mask and out. He layered silver glitter on me and brushed some glitter all around my face and neck.

“I love being friends with an art major.” He let out a chuckle and threw the art stuff in the box.

“You look hot, I hope you get laid tonight or else this all will be in vain.” I rolled my eyes.

“Please, I’d be lucky to even get someone to stare at me.” Jisung laughed and helped me out of the car. The cold air hit my arms, making them erupt with goosebumps.

“Oh they’ll be staring all right. Now c’mon!”

-----

If the outside was already wild, the inside was even crazier. Music was blaring through the speakers, people were grinding on each other and I’m sure some people were blatantly just making out. This is why I never leave my house.

“C’mon grinch, at least look alive.” I rolled my eyes and tried to hide myself as stares started to come my way. “Don’t look so nervous, they’re looking ‘cause you’re h o t.” I slapped his arm and chuckled, feeling nervous at all the attention.

Before the two of us could get far, I felt Jisung being pulled away from me.

“JISUNG! Baby!” I looked to my side and saw all of Jisung’s friends. Naeun had pulled him into a deep kiss, one that I felt awkward to look at.

“Oh hey, y/n, you look so pretty!” Naeun greeted happily, opening her arms for a hug. Honestly, I never liked the girl, but she was a good fake nice I guess. I smiled widely at her and hugged her back.

“You look stunning as well!” I exclaimed. “All of you guys look really cool.” I complimented to the entire group.

“You look hot too, y/n, who knew you could dress up so well?” One of the boys exclaimed, making me feel a bit embarrassed. Jisung rolled his eyes.

“Whatever, let’s go get some drinks.” As they all went to get drinks, I pulled Jisung back.

“No drinks until after you’re back at the party, I am not going to die or kill anybody when sitting in a car with you, got it?” The boy nodded and gulped, knowing I would actually run over him if he drove under the influence.

The rest of the night moved by slowly, until the party started to pick up at 11.

“OK GUYS, EVERYBODY ON THE DANCE FLOOR!” A crowd of people started to swarm into the middle of the venue, making me feel restricted and uncomfortable. In the corner of my eye, I saw Naeun pull Jisung into the crowd, leaving me to fend for myself.

Great, I expected this.

I immediately stepped back and found a way out of the crowd and ending up in the corner, like I had imagined.

“Stupid Jisung, forcing me to come out here.” I pulled out my phone that showed I only had 30 minutes left. Suddenly, the DJ stopped played music and another due stepped on the stage.

“Ok people, so tonight, like usual, it’s our annual karaoke night! Since most people hate singing in front of people, it’s best that we have our costumes on tonight am I right?!” The crowed screamed and whooped. It was a gigantic crowd, probably the most people I’ve seen together in my entire life. Ok that’s a lie but still.

I drowned out the rest of the yelling and went back to my phone, mindlessly watching food videos online until someone had sat next to me. I tried to ignore the person, but he kept getting closer and closer, and me? I got further and further.

“Hi.” The dude stated. I looked over to him and noticed he was dressed as a mummy. Clever. Not.

“Um, hi.” I said to not be rude. I shouldn’t assume he was hitting on me, maybe he just wanted to be friends.

“You’re beautiful, what is a girl like you sitting here alone?” Ok scratch that precious thought. I rolled my eyes and scooted away.

“’Cause I want to?” I spat back. Before the creepy guy could advance even more, the strobe lights started to go crazy.

“SO PEOPLE! Who wants to sing first?!” Numerous people were screaming and others were shoving their friends forward. I somewhat enjoyed the multiple people becoming targets.

“ME ME!” I heard being screamed louder than anyone else. I watched as a blonde haired boy jumped onstage. His back was facing my side, but I could tell he was dressed as Prince Charming.

“Well, Chan, isn’t it time we’ve seen you again?” Chan and the MC hugged.

Wait... Chan ...

My heart raced faster at the realization when the boy turned around. He had a white mask over the top of his face, but I could recognize that face anymore.

“Oh shit.”

“For those who don’t know, Chan is the best singer we have here and he’s here every year, what a guy! Without him, most of the girls wouldn’t even show up AHAHAHA” The MC laughed loudly into the mic and I flinched back to cover my ears.

Suddenly, Chan’s eyes danced across mine, giving me a mini heart attack. I locked eyes with him, unsure of what I wanted him to do. After a few moments, he just looked away, making the whole interaction anti-climatic.

Wow, he doesn’t recognize me.

I felt part relief that he wouldn’t make me in a wedding dress and attending a holiday party a big deal. But part sadness that a person I considered my friend couldn’t even recognize me when I was dressed as something else.

“Well, let’s stop the chatter and get this party started! You know how it goes, you start with a duet first to break the ice!” The crowd oohed and awed while I just wanted the clock to hit midnight as soon as possible.

“So what’s gonna happen is that this light.” The MC pointed to a giant yellow light that seemed quite intimidating. “Is going to land on one of you lucky people who is going to get to sing with Chan, ok? Everyone excited??” Screams erupted even though I knew someone who was probably a crappy singer would get picked. 90% of these people were drunk and the other 10% were drunk AND high.

Suddenly, the light started to wave everywhere, blinding everyone’s eyes.

“Chan, you get the honor of yelling stop!” Chan took the mic gladly and closed his eyes. Typical Chan.

Before I could take off running, the light landed right on my face, warming my entire body from head to toe.

“STOP!” He yelled loudly. I felt my vision blur as everyone in the room turned and looked at me.

Fuck, shit, fuck.

“Wow, lucky Chan, choosing his Cinderella for a partner! C’mon up here, miss!” I felt my heart throb immensely as I forced myself to stand. Ok, I’m just gonna run it’s fine-

Suddenly, a group of people started to usher me to the stage, which I started to protest, but it was no use. I wobbled up on stage and tried to not look at the looming crowd.

“Well, well, aren’t you two the perfect couple? You even have matching outfits!” I glanced over to Chan shyly, and avoided all eye contact. Still, even standing so close, he couldn’t tell who I was. I guess I had never dressed up or put on makeup, and I had tons of detailing on my face so whatever.

“So, what song do you want to sing?” The MC asked me. I grew nervous, as I hadn’t chosen a song.

I turned to Chan and gestured for him to choose. Chan gave me a small smile.

“Sorry, the guest has to choose, but whatever you choose is fine with me.” I felt my face blush with his words and I was suddenly thankful I had a mask on. I felt more empowered with it on as no one would know who I was. Except for Jisung and his friends of course. Oh shit, I wonder how Jisung is reacting to this.

“Um, ok, h-how about... Rewrite the Stars?”

The MC clapped his hands and suddenly music started to gear up. I felt my palms get sweaty and my dress started to feel too big for my small pride. The lights dimmed and the venue turned dark, probably for dramatic effect. If I knew that this happened at these events, I would have not have gone. But it’s too late now.

“You can do it!” I heard from the audience. I almost smiled at Jisung’s yell, but I was too nervous for that.

The spotlight focused on Chan, making him look more ethereal than before.

“You know I want you. It’s not a secret I try to hide.” I heard Chan’s voice fill the room, melting the heart’s of all the girls around us.

I knew Chan had an amazing voice, but with him staring right at me while he was singing was a little too intense for me. I smiled gently as his singing, but then he sang the next line to the audience, which showed he knew how to own the stage. The embellishments on his shoulders dazzled in the light, making his shoulders look broader than usual.

“it’s up to you, and it's up to me No one can say what we get to be So why don't we rewrite the stars? Maybe the world could be ours Tonight.”

Shit, shit, it’s my turn real soon.

My brain turned off and I only reacted on instinct now. My palms drenched the mic and made my grip tighter, but still slippery. I closed my eyes at the light focused on me and opened my mouth.

“You think it’s easy, you think I don’t wanna run to you?” The first note was shaky, yet filled with more composure than I imagined.

“But there are mountains, and there are doors that we can’t walk through.” Slowly, I opened my eyes and turned, finally gaining confidence. I stared at Chan who was already watching me with steady eyes.

Soon, it came to the duet,

“All I want is to fly with you All I want is to fall with you So just give me all of you”

“It’s feels impossible.”

“It’s not impossible”

“Is it impossible?”

“Say that it’s possible?” Our voices blended smoother than expected, making the crowd ooh and ah. I couldn’t deny that I felt the connection too as he made his way over to me, getting into the song.

I felt him grab my hand,

“No one can say what we get to be Why don't we rewrite the stars? Changing the world to be ours”

I could hear his breathing so closely. His palm was quiet sweaty from holding the mic, but our hands felt so perfect together.

Finally, I ended the song,

“You know I want you It's not a secret I try to hide”

I let go of his hand for dramatic effect,

“But I can't have you We're bound to break and My hands are tied”

The lights turned black, and then right back on when cheers and clapping started to erupt. Once the lights turned back on, I felt the anxiety ride in my stomach again.

We were still about 10 inches apart from each other. Chan’s eyes were stuck on me; the intensity was almost enough to cut right through me.

He looked stunning in the dim light; his blonde hair was neatly done and his face was shiny from all the sweat, but he still looked beautiful.

Damn, what am I thinking? I thought.

Suddenly, he cracked a smile. “Hey, you’re a really amazing singer... but you also sound quite familiar. Have we ever met?” I smelt the alcohol on his breath, making me crinkle my nose in disgust.

My heart pounded as I thought of answers to say.

“Uhh, um, no? Not that I remember.”

I saw his famous dimple splash onto his face, which sent butterflies in my stomach. What the hell am I feeling-

I saw him lick his lips and peer above us. I raised a brow and followed his stare. The crowd started whooping and hollering as our eyes landed at the thing hovering above us.

“Huh, mistletoe.” I felt my heart thump in anticipation as he leaned much closer to me. “Is this ok?” He whispered against my lips. I answered him by finally connecting out lips.

Suddenly, the rest of the crowd disappeared and it was just us.

Just me and Chan.

He pressed deeper into me, letting me taste the alcohol on his lips. I tried to not focus on the alcohol, letting myself fall deeply into the kiss. He pulled away slowly, confusing me.

Gently, he made a move to take off my mask. Hypnotized by how close he was, I couldn’t move until I felt my phone buzz. We both flinched back at the loud alarm.

It was midnight.

Meaning it was time to go.

“Um, I’m so sorry, I have to go!” I ran down the stage, not looking back, even when he yelled “WAIT!” I could NOT be late to getting home.

I ran towards the entrance and saw Jisung already there. His eyes widened.

“We are going to have a long talk, but let’s go!” I turned back, big mistake, and saw Chan looking for me. I pushed Jisung out the door in a hurry and we both started to run towards the car.

“So, uh, wanna tell me what the fuck was that?!” Jisung panted as he got into the car and immediately started the engine.

“Jisung, I wish I could say but I HAVE NO CLUE.” I emphasized. I tossed off my mask as the thing was starting to itch like hell.

Jisung groaned and started the car. “So are we just gonna ignore how you made out with one of my friends on stage?” I turned to him with wide eyes.

“Wait, did you just say that Chan was one of your friends?” Jisung rolled his eyes.

“Yes, I did. We’ve known each other for years, he’s Changbin’s older cousin and we hang out like all the time. How the hell do you know Chan? ‘Cause no way would you let a stranger make out with you on stage, even if he was hot.” I gulped and shook my head in disbelief.

“We were in the same psychology class and we sit, sat, next to each other.” I mumbled. I fiddled with my hair nervously, unsure of where our relationship stood now. Oh wait, he doesn’t even know that was you, you’re still just classmates., ex classmates. “And he didn’t recognize me, so I’m just going to forget this ever happened.”

Jisung scoffed. “Oh hell no, that was the most intense thing I’ve ever seen you do. You’re an amazing singer, y/n, I don’t know why you hide it all the time. Plus, you had SO much sexual tension on stage.” I slapped his arm as he cackled. “You know why this is so funny?” I shook my head as he continued “it’s hilarious because Chan was the dude I was going to set you up with but cancelled.”

Suddenly, all the thoughts flooded back to me.

“Oh my god, that was Chan? Oh shit, wait, that means him and Chaeyoung aren’t seeing each other anymore?” Then I realized, I had kissed Chan, knowing he was dating someone else. But I guess I forgot. But how could I have forgotten that? “Fuck, I didn’t know that Jisung, that means I kissed him and he could have been dating Chaeyoung! I am a terrible person.” I screamed into my dress. Jisung sighed and shoved me slightly to knock some sense into me.

“Jesus Christ, y/n, it’s fine! They were never serious and Chaeyoung wasn’t that into him anyways, she was dating other people without Chan knowing, that’s why they broke up. You know Chan, hopeless romantic, he was devastated either way.” I closed my eyes in anger. Jisung was terrible at making things better. But I couldn’t focus on whatever their relationship was right now when such an intense thing happened.

“Well, it’s whatever anyways. He didn’t know it was me and in his eyes, that’s the last time he’ll ever see me again. And technically it is the last time I’ll see him because we don’t have a class together anymore. It’s done, over.” I said turning up the radio, but Jisung turned it back down.

“Y/n, you cannot just ignore this! He was so into you!” I shook my head.

“He doesn’t even know me! It’s whatever Jisung, he’ll probably forget about it the next day or give up some time over another. This conversation is over.” I made a statement by turning up the radio, the conversation truly ending this time.

-----

The days went by so slowly. My thoughts couldn’t help but constantly be surrounded by Chan, thinking about what he was doing, if he still was pining over me.

*ding dong*

I heard my doorbell ring unexpectedly, making me jump out of my bed quickly. I pulled a hoodie over my tanktop and walked downstairs. Weird, I wasn’t expecting anybody.

I pulled open the door, “hello-”

My heart stopped and so did everything else around me as I looked at the person standing at the door.

“Oh my god?? y/n??” Chan exclaimed, going in for that weird dude hand shake. I patted him on the back and pulled away, feigning a happy surprise.

“Wow, um, what are you doing here Chan?” I exclaimed. He was wearing a turtleneck with a long jacket, my favorite outfit on him.

“Jisung sent me here saying that I needed to pick up something?” I rolled my eyes and closed the door, letting him into my house. Weird.

“Yeah, um, follow me.” I walked to the kitchen with him behind me and picked up the baggie of peppermint bark. I placed it in Chan’s hands while he looked at me with confused eyes. “It’s his dad’s favorite and Jisung asks me to make it every year and on his dad’s birthday because his dad likes mine the most. Of course his dad thinks Jisung makes it, but whatever makes him happy.” I shrugged.

Chan laughed and shook his head. “Wow, that’s so Jisung!” We both chuckled at the joke but then there was a silence.

“So, uh, I should ask how you know Jisung but he talks a dude named Chan sometimes and I’m assuming that’s you?” I feigned innocence. Chan nodded.

“Yeah! I’m Changbin’s, his neighbor, cousin, so we see each other a lot.” I nodded as we slowly walked to the door again.

“Well, I guess I should apologize on Jisung’s behalf for making you come here just to pick up peppermint bark. He’s an idiot and tries to set me with random dudes sometimes.” I rolled my eyes as Chan laughed.

“Wow, we both think you need to start dating, hmmm. Time to start searching.” I couldn’t help myself from feeling a bit hurt from him wanting me to date someone else, I guess I shouldn’t expect anything from him anyways.

I forced a chuckled and shook my head. “Nah, not into the whole dating game, sorry.” I waved him goodbye as he opened the door. He turned to leave, but looked back at me.

“You know, you’re fun to talk to. We should hang out sometime.” I raised a brow, knowing that was never going to happen.

“I guess, yeah.” I noted lamely. Chan squinted his eyes at me and laughed.

“Wow, trying to spare my feelings now?” I blushed, caught in a lie. He just laughed though. “It’s fine, y/n. I know where you live now so you can’t escape me.” He laughed as he playfully punched my shoulder.

As he stepped out the door, he looked back up at the top of it. “Oh what, is that a mistletoe?” I furrowed my eyebrows in shock and looked up. There was nothing. He broke out into laughter as I turned red in the face.

“Dude, why I was about to barf.” I joked.

He chuckled and put his hands in his pockets. “If there was a mistletoe there, would you have kissed me?” He asked abruptly. I leaned back, pretending to look confused. D-does he know? Impossible.

I raised a brow, wondering what his motives were. “I don’t know.” I deadpanned, closing the door in his face.

I was about to walk away but I heard a knock on the door again. Then again. And again. And again. I let out a low growl and opened the door.

“Jisung told me.” He said before I could let another peep out.

W-wait

I felt my hands turn numb and my legs go shaky. We stood in silence for a solid minute, which was a long time without saying anything.

My mind felt numb and I couldn’t think of any lie to save myself.

“Um... I’m sorry, you need to go.” I started to close the door, but he stopped me gently.

“Y/n, wait, I’m not mad, and technically I knew before he told me. Look, I feel terrible for not recognizing you earlier but I was really fucking drunk. And I wasn’t in the right mind since I had ended things with Chaeyoung and my mind was just not thinking of anything. But I swear as soon as I got shown a video of us singing the next day, I knew. And I felt terrible, so I’m so sorry.”

I felt shocked at his apology and I was unable to say anything in response.

“Please, say something.” He took my hands and pulled me closer to him.

And I felt terrible when I pulled back. I saw hurt run across his face as I said, “Look I was drunk too and--”

“No you weren’t, you were completely sober, I could tell in the video. Y/n please...” He made an attempt to come closer but stopped. “Look I know it’s bad that I just kissed a random girl and am now making attempts at you but there was something just drawing me to you that night. I mean the alcohol was helping me act on instinct but still.

I was so happy to find out it was you. I had no idea who the girl was gonna be but when it was you, I couldn’t help but feel so relieved because it’s you, the girl I had a crush on in my psych class who was sarcastic with a weird sense of humor but that’s what was so awesome about you so please, we can just work something out. We don’t have to work fast.”

A part of me wanted to just say yes and jump into his arms, but these things don’t happen to girls like me: girls who are constantly stuck in the background. He was still in love with that girl who sang confidently at karaoke, not that dull one in his psych class.

“I’m sorry, Chan but I just can’t.” I spoke softly. I couldn’t bare to look at him as he left, but he said nothing as he walked off my porch.

------

I laid in bed, feeling like the whole world was pressing down on my chest.

“Y/n! We’re going out to aunt josie’s house! Watch the house for us, we’ll be gone for 5 days! Merry Christmas!” The door slammed shut and I was officially alone on Christmas.

I’d always spent Christmas alone, every single year.

Jisung had his own family to tend to and I didn’t wanna bother him. I told him that I was fine being alone since I hated Christmas anyways, and he didn’t push thankfully. It was time for me to be alone, to mourn my parents.

It had been a few days, or maybe a week, since I last saw Chan. Jisung didn’t push the subject, knowing there was a more confusing internal battle in me.

I felt my phone vibrate, signaling a text. My eyes grew wide when I read the contact name, scared to read the message.

‘can we meet up right now?’ it read.

My fingers shook, unable to type a message. I hovered my finger over the ‘block’ button, wondering if that was a good idea. But before I could do anything, I got a call from Jisung. .

“Wha-”

“DON’T BLOCK HIM!” I pulled my phone away from my ear.

“What? How did you know-”

“’Cause I fucking know you, don’t block him. Ok, y/n, let’s be honest right here right now. This isn’t about Chan, this is about you. I guess and Chan but anyways. You’re scared because of these insecurities you have, which you shouldn’t have ‘cause you’re pretty and you’re funny and cool so yeah. But, you have them, so what can you do I guess. But Chan, he’s a great dude; he’s funny, talented, hot, sporty, he’s everything a girl could want and more. Especially what you want. So I know you like him and you should take this chance because even if things don’t work out forever, at least you made the effort.”

I could hear loud music and talking in the background and I knew he was outside of his house where a big party was happening. I went soft knowing he was taking the time out of his Christmas to say this to me.

“Ok... I’ll do it.”

“Wait what?”

“Call you later.”

I hung up the phone and returned to texting Chan with Jisung’s confidence in me.

‘yes... im home right now.’

‘are you flirting with me right now?’

I let out a bark of laughter. Chan knew how to get a girl to smile.

‘no :/’

‘well i’ll still be there in 20 mins’

‘ok i’ll be here too’

He read my message, didn’t respond. Does that mean he’s on his way over now?

I ran out of bed and looked at myself.

“I need a fucking shower.” I took a 5 minute shower and ran out, dried myself and put on a little makeup, just to look not dead. I pulled on a white sweater and leggings, trying to look like I’ve been lounging all day, but cute lounging.

Before I knew it, I heard my doorbell ring. I groaned in surprise but ran downstairs anyways. I took a deep breath, calming myself.

You can do this.

I threw open the door and saw him standing there, in a white button down shirt with dark fancy pants. His hair was now a dark brown, making him look more mature and casual than his chic blonde look.

“Hi.” He said with a smile.

“Hey, um, come in I guess.” I stood back to let him in and closed and locked the door behind him. “Um, merry Christmas.” He looked at me with kind eyes and smiled.

“Merry Christmas to you too.”

We stood in a peaceful silence, one testing out the waters with the other.

“What are you doing here instead of spending time with your family?” I asked finally. He shrugged.

“Well, um, so both my parents died when I was 13.” I held in my gasp and held my head low for condolence.

“I’m sorry for your losses.” He nodded and looked up at me.

“I’ve heard you have a similar story.” I sighed and sat down next to him as he took a seat on the couch.

His body heat was radiating off him in waves and it made me feel like home. “Yeah, Jisung probably told you?” Chan nodded and I sighed. “Yeah, um, my mom died when I was pretty young, 8 to be exact. And my dad died just a couple years ago...leaving me with an ass for a stepmom and step sisters so.” I shrugged, not knowing how to go on.

“I’m sorry.” I nodded.

He leaned back in the couch and rolled up his sleeves. I couldn’t help but feel so attracted to him despite our situation being serious.

“So-” We both started.

“You go first.” He said. I nodded.

“So um, I’m just really sorry about what happened the last time I saw you. I guess I was just afraid of commitment and um, feeling loved I guess. To explain it simply, I’ve always felt like I was background music while everyone else is a title track.” I shrugged nonchalantly, but I couldn’t help but feel emotional. His arm immediately went to wrap around my body and pulled me closer. He rubbed my back in circular motions which calmed me down.

“I’m not blaming you for what happened, I guess we both have our faults.” I shook my head.

“No, you did nothing wrong, it was just me.” I argued as he laughed in surprise.

“Seriously, the first time we kissed, I was drunk as hell. I could tell you noticed ‘cause you made a face.” I blushed and hid my face in my hands.

“Shut up.”

As I said that, we returned to our usual banter and relationship. It felt normal again.

“Hey, I never got to tell you, you’re an amazing singer you know that?” I gave him a small smile and shrugged.

“Thanks, you are too.”

Then, he glanced up at the ceiling and raised his brows.

“Mistletoe!” He called out. I grew confused and looked up. “There’s no mistletoe up there.” He gave me a boyish smile and shrugged.

“I know, I just wanna kiss you.” I let out a harsh laugh and slapped his chest.

“Dude, you can’t just say mistletoe whenever you wanna kiss me.” He wiggled his eyes brows and came close to me. My body grew warm since the look on his face was nothing but innocent. “You sure?” I nodded, daring him to go on.

“Mistletoe.” He pecked me on the lips, sending tiggles through my body, but leaving me wanting more.

“Mistletoe.” He leaned in again for half a second then pulled away.

“Mistletoe.”

“Mis-” As he leaned in to kiss me for the fifth time, I pulled him closer and he didn’t fight it as he pulled me on his lap.

He pulled away softly to look up at me. I titled my head at him in curiosity.

“Hm, so how do you like Christmas now, Cinderella?” I gasped and shoved him away playfully.

“Cinderella? You are not calling me that!” I squealed as he tickled my sides.

“Really? How ‘bout Cindy? Ella? Cinder??” I flicked him on the neck harshly and he gasped in pain.

“You meanie!”

He laughed and held me down in his lap. “Ok ok fine! But I’m serious, how do you like Christmas now?”

I thought about his question for a moment until I leaned down to kiss him gently on the lips, surprising him.

“I could get used to it.”

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wish4youff · 7 years ago

Text

10 ~ Ugly Betty?

Chrissie

College Dayz

“You don’t know nothing ‘bout this, Chrissie.”

The second Kingston shut his mouth, the slow sounds of Marvin Gaye’s Just To Keep You Satisfied played through the room off the TV screen shared between myself and Destiny in the Dunster House’s room on Harvard’s campus.

Dropping the colored pen on the bed beside me, I listened closely. The sound ringing a bell, but I was mixing it with a movie for some reason. Putting the textbook down, I removed the remote from his hands, drawing King out of his trance of fake loving.

“You set my soul on fire My one desire was to love you”

Kingston’s horrible job of humming caught my attention, finally helping me to put it together as the lyrics seemed even more familiar the longer the song played. I almost couldn’t believe it. I’ve never listened to the song outside of the movie.

“Baby Boy…” Shaking my head, I tossed the remote back, laughing. The soft voice of Marvin Gaye, my humming and Kingston’s filling my ears now.

From the movie, I always heard that snippet of the song. From how Juanita and Melvin go from loving and singing to one another. To, Jody who is suffering from a broken heart, a man’s ego, and pride. Not wanting to show Yvette his deal of cards. I knew the lyrics. Knew them well enough to hum along right now as Kingston stood at the foot of my bed, eyes closed, and clearly in a different world.

At this age, I’m hearing Marvin in a different light. This was no love song, this was a goodbye, my love for you has ran its course song. Regardless of years and right or wrongs; we’ve hit the end of our road. Go your way, I go mines, and let’s hope that we see the best out of this.

It was truly depressing.

“Wow.” Marvin’s voice ended soon after the words; “All we can do is, we can both try to be happy,” filling the now saddened air surrounding me. While King looked as if he was on cloud nine.

“I told you, BabyGirl. You don’t know nothing about that.”

“In this case, you may have been right.”

I watched as he turned the TV back down to mute, obviously the title caught his attention because we both had the thing on mute so I could concentrate for the rest of this paper outlining.

“It’s deeper than Jody and Evette you know?”

“Obviously, now. I didn’t realize what he was saying. That’s like the song by Donell Jones you love so damn much. My God, I could punch that man for what he said. As a child, it was groovy. My mother would sing that around the house, but now, no.”

“Why? Because he’s honest?”

“Because it heartless.”

“No, BabyGirl. Both songs are real, they are full of emotions. The truth hurts, the real is painful, and both of those men are at the point in their lives where it times to be honest with their women,”

“If a woman had just fallen out of love. She’ll be a bitch, or accused of been messing around on the man.”

“Depends on who you ask.”

“I’m asking you.” I shot back at him. My eyes locked on King as he lowered himself onto my, well our bed.

“Well, no, but let’s not lie to ourselves. Nine times out of ten y'all are bitches because you’ve hurt a man’s pride. Leaving us for another man bruises our egos. We have nothing left but a fake façade and bitter words. I don’t see you as a bitch for falling out of love, though. You’re human. Not every relationship runs a course of forever.”

“And Donell? You think that’s the way to go about things?”

“I love the song. I love it even more, because I understand it. You hate it, because you understand it.”

Those words got my attention. My mind in a jumble as I thought of what he had said. Kingston is bright, he has a 4.0 GPA since freshmen year, making all A’s on every test that sat in front of him, but most importantly, he’s strong minded and knows life like the back of his hand. Seriously. We don’t talk much about his mother, but he’s said her death is the reason why. He was forced to learn the “game” by himself and as King says best; ‘he be damned if it’s the death of me,’

“You see yourself getting married and falling out of love?” The question was intended to be a joke. King knew it, but it didn’t stop the frown forming in those brushy eyebrows.

“If I’m blessed with a marriage, she’s not leaving me. My wife is mine. For better or worse. Until death do us apart.”

“Sounds like you’ll kill your wife on the low, my friend.”

“Maybe,” He mumbled, his eyes closing as he relaxed against the purple comforter. “Or maybe she’ll have to kill me.”

Present

I don’t want to meet my soulmate. No, a soulmate? They’re meant to come and awaken a part of your soul and heart. Being awareness for issues that we don’t typically see as problems. They teach us new rules, challenge our hearts to test the times. But I want forever with someone. I’m convinced a soulmate doesn’t exist because in this generation no one is willing to even commit and fight. I want a life-long partner, someone who is there through the challenges, the hardships, the pain and disappointments. Someone who understands me. And while that someone may push me to new limits, they know me and know what I can and can’t take. I want that person. I want forever.

I don’t know where Olivia received this one-page essay on Soulmates vs Life Partners from. Maybe it was something she took the time to type up herself just to slip it to me during our lunch date early today. Regardless it’s held my attention the entire afternoon and early night. I’ve been sitting in my truck for over ten minutes. There’s nothing wrong with being fashionably late even if it’s on purpose. Most importantly I decided to pull out this paper and read it. For the second time. Half way through I knew it was a mistake. Once I reached the end, again, I regretted not hating it. I don’t believe in a “life partner”. Nonetheless, the read is good. It’s always important to know what others are thinking to give yourself the opportunity for other sources and outlets. I fixed my Pretty Plump Mac gloss as I crossed the street to Club Steakhouse of 58th. My second time in the last week. This could almost be my second job. Sitting at tables with people, just to please them. “She’s here.” The sound of a female voice caught my fixed attention as I entered the restaurant, not in for one lone second before she spoke. I was lead through to the opposite end of the restaurant the moment my strappy gold sandal heels hit the marble floors. She led me across an empty sitting area and then to the private dinner rooms in the back of the restaurant. “Mr. Vitale. Your guess has arrived." And then we were alone. I took the only available seat besides his lap. "Good evening.” His chilled voice causing goosebumps to cover my arms. I grabbed the choice of wine off the table taking an small gulp. The sweet taste making my taste buds dance encouraging the next few sips. “Drink up.” Loosening the cap he refilled my glass to the brim. “You rented this place? Damn.” I guess a hello would be more appropriate. But, eh. “No, I just waited until they were close to closing and called in a favor to the head chef. He owed me one. This was his pay back." "He owed the hitman a favor?" My voice was intentionally low. I didn’t plan on anyone, but King hearing that question. It wasn’t meant for anyone, but him. "If you’re referring to me. Then yes, he did." "I thought if someone was in debt with you they died.” “Most do." His big brown eyes hadn’t left mines since he spoke. He wasn’t slightly amused by this. "Do you like it? Your job?" He sighed, taking a sip of the brown liquid in his cup and I knew it was Hennessey. He’ll only pick up that wine bottle for himself when the liquor was starting to do its job and he wanted something else to taste. Leaning up, he put the cup back, raking his eyes over me now. He took the time to analyze the gold necklaces I wore, the off-the-shoulder drawstring crop top, and then back up to my face. "I’m going to be in New York for about another month definitely,” He wasn’t going to answer my question. “The last time we spoke, you made it clear you weren’t happy. So, I’m wondering what’s the next step. I’m going to be here, we gotta get alone." "We have to?” “Don’t you think its best, Chrissie?" Yes, but, "Do we plan on seeing each other more?" "We have a wedding to attend together. So, yes. We will be seeing more of one another. Get used to it. After the wedding, maybe not. Stop being so damn stubborn though. You came here tonight because I called and asked you to. I didn’t force you. You didn’t hesitant and you came only ten minutes late, even though you had been parked across the street for fifteen. Don’t play yourself by trying to hate me. I said I was sorry,” “And that makes it better?” “No, but I don’t know how make it better to be honest, Chris. It was fucking college. I can’t go back to being a damn teenage boy. I don’t want to revisit that time in my life. I was a fuck up then. It was bound to happen because of the situation we placed ourselves in." Maybe there was some over reacting on my behave. I could admit I am stubborn. Always have been, but Kingston is as well and that’s where I draw the line because it’s not fair. Maybe it was years ago, but that decision has fucked me up since then. I haven’t been in a committed relationship since. I haven’t allowed anyone to get too close since then. No friends, no lovers. Just myself and my sister because even when I didn’t know rather I was coming or going Liv was there. My closest friends turned their backs on me when Kingston did. There was no speaking after that. An ugly silence as the waiter came in with an plates for myself and Kingston. Every item from lobster to steak and shrimp. Served with sides of potatoes and asparagus. Kingston kindly refilled my glass to the brim and the bartender brought him another two shots of Hennessey. "You said you forgave me, Chrissie,” He sat across from me, his pointer finger circling the glass brim. “I get the feeling you lied." "I have, but……." "What? Do you even know why you’re mad still?” “Kingston,” Was I mad? Or was I hurt? I think that’s the biggest question. Going into college I had no one. Kingston came with a group of people which he knew. Of course, the New York crew knew of one another, but only because we all that one thing in common; NY. And by God’s plan we found each other in Harvard. That first semester I hung with whoever the wind blew my way and suddenly Kingston came along in a College Composition class during the last semester of our freshmen year. That’s where we meant. “Like you said, what’s the next step for us?" "I don’t know. I’m in counselling now.” The volunteered piece of information surprised me. “Why?” Somehow, my question amused him. A small laugh passing his lips. “Because I’m fucked up and its time I let someone help. See, Chrissie, our biggest issues are that we don’t even acknowledge what’s wrong with us. We just keep it bundled up inside and until something ticks us off and we blow up. That’s backwards, BabyGirl. Talk about your issues.” “I don’t have any.” “And that’s where you’re wrong, BabyGirl. When was the last time you blankly spoke about your parents?” It took a second for me, I didn’t respond because I didn’t know. Maybe years now. I try not to. “See, Chrissie, that’s where it starts. Honestly, sweetheart? I’m the least of your headaches, but I’m here now so it easy to pick me out the bunch, but Chrissie, you have to acknowledge the fact that you lost your parents. You went from home to home, all while raising yourself and your sister because if you didn’t, no one else would. With the money left behind, you put yourself through college and Olivia. You got a home for y'all to live in, a decent car for transportation. You made shit happen for the piece of family you had left. Not because you wanted to, but because you had to. That’s where you must start. Not with some fuck boy you met in college. Your parent’s death and the effect it had on you. The crazy ass aunt you had no choice, but to leave your sister with. All the childhood pain that you subsided so you could see your sister with a smile. Start with the root, Chrissie. Until then, you get ya’ ass off this sorrow trip. I’m sorry for what I’ve done. But if you wanna be happy, you have to let go of the pain and make that happen for yourself."

#j. cole ff #ff

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