#also yeah plasma balls are. not meant to actually shock you

[mars-ipan]

Soso tired and. Owww BUT I went to a science museum and it was fun. Some guy ranted to us about space in this room for 30 mins. They had the sky projected on an orb like ceiling and I got motion sick when it loves but we persist. Uh, also there was a whole ant colony and they were really cool and some other guy ranted to me about ants. Hm what else... Uh there was an eye tracker thing. A heart beat tracker, this cool sign language thingy, a thing so you can see ur veins (my veins are hardly visible?? Like. You cannot see them it's weird) uh there was an energy ball. Like, that orb that you put your hands on and the energy connects to them. Turns out it isn't meant to give you an electric shock like it did when I had my own when was a younger child. And a lot of other cool stuff. It was rlly loud and had a bunch of little kids but I survived.

woah!!! big day

[gofordrakgo]

Dwelling Chapter Six

“Watching chocolatey syrup drip down his chin she just knew that Drew was not the kind of guy who could handle jail. Hell, he’d probably freak out about getting yelled at by a teacher, it was anyone’s guess what he’d do if he got arrested. Shea’s fork clattered to her plate, guilt twisting her stomach. If something happened to him, it would be her fault.”

Dwelling Summary

Dwelling Chapter One

Dwelling Chapter Five

Dwelling Chapter Seven

Shea noticed two things immediately upon waking up. First, her neck hurt. Every time she so much as tried to move it, pain went rippling through her. Why exactly had she let herself fall asleep with her head hanging off the back of the couch? Second, she noticed that Drew’s head rested in her lap, and she had, at some point in the night, buried her hand in his hair. At least, that's what the feeling of the loose curls wrapped around her fingers indicated.

Her eyes shot open as she realized this, her head snapping up despite the pain it caused in her neck. She forced herself to take deep breaths, trying to stay calm so she could examine the situation. One of Drew's knees stuck up in the air, his foot resting on the armrest. His other leg hung over it. His right arm covered his face, his fingers less than an inch away from touching hers. His left arm dangled off the side of the couch, limp.

In contrast, she hadn't moved much at all. The only real difference between the way she'd fallen asleep and the way she woke up, was her hand in his hair. Which, she noticed with a hint of annoyance, was really soft—and even more mussy than the day before, thanks to her. 

She could still hear his quiet snoring, which gave her some sense of relief. At least he didn't know about the situation they were in. She needed to figure out how to get out of it before he woke up too. Knowing they had, in a way, cuddled during the night embarrassed her enough. She didn't want to know how much more flustered she'd feel if he also knew.

Running away crossed her mind. Pushing him off of her and running out the door to never come back seemed far more enticing than dealing with it. Until she remembered that she needed him, that without him she would be on the streets. Also, she didn't actually like the idea of never getting to see him again. Whether she liked it or not, she liked him. It didn't make the whole cuddling thing any less embarrassing. Sure, she'd sort of wanted him to move closer while they watched Fancy-Free, but she didn't want him to know about that!

She bit her lip, debating her next move. Running away was out of the question. She wondered if she would be able to move without waking him. Would it be possible for her to disentangle herself from him, and remain quiet enough that he didn't wake up? The more she thought about it, the more it seemed like her only option. To make matters worse, the more she thought about it the more time she wasted. She could hear the clock in the kitchen ticking away the seconds until Drew woke up. 

Now or never, she decided and began trying to get up. She pulled her hand out of his hair, careful not to pull it, and lifted his head up and out of her lap. She slid out from under him, before letting his head drop back down onto the cushion. She sighed in relief when his only response was to twitch and turn over.

She bolted back into the sanctity of her own room, careful not to slam the door behind her. Trying not to hyperventilate, she wondered what she was meant to do next. Did she open the door and pretend to just be waking up? Did she wait to hear him moving around in the kitchen before leaving the room? Ugh. Why did he have to go and do that? And why did she have to be so darn embarrassed about it?

She crawled under the cover of her bed, trying to ignore the part of her mind that told her she was only embarrassed because she’d liked it. Because she’d liked how warm he felt, and how soft his hair was between her fingers. Crap, she’d even liked that she could smell that stupid blueberry-ash shampoo, and somehow, on him, it actually smelled good. 

No. No way did she like it. She definitely didn’t like it. Or him, for that matter. She buried her face in her pillow and groaned. Except she did like him. Even though he was a total dork, even though horror movies obviously scared him, hell even though he liked Mighty Martian, she couldn’t deny that she liked him. 

She stayed in bed for another few minutes, before growing bored of feeling embarrassed and getting back up. She refused to hesitate at the door and instead walked through it before she could let herself stop. When she stepped outside she saw Drew, sitting up on the couch and stretching, the rumpled shirt lifting up and exposing his back. She almost slammed the door shut again, except he turned around and saw her.

She faked a yawn and stepped into the hallway, rubbing at her eyes. “Morning,” she mumbled.

He yawned too, though she presumed his was real, and said, “Yeah, mornin’. Um… Sorry for falling asleep out here.”

“It’s fine.”

“What time did you leave?” Shea just shrugged, but he nodded as if her non-answer told him everything he needed to know. She certainly hoped it didn’t tell him anything actually worth knowing. He put his glasses on, blinking, and asked, “are you hungry?”

“I guess, a little.”

“How do you feel about pancakes?”

She shrugged again. “Sounds good.” As he walked past her into the kitchen she shot out a hand to stop him. “Are you still humming Fancy-Free?”

He paused to glare at her. “It’s a good song!” By the time she jumped onto the counter to watch him cook he had begun humming again. Shea swung her legs back and forth, unconsciously moving to the rhythm of the song as he began mixing the batter. 

“Check that cabinet over there, will you?” he asked suddenly, interrupting his own humming. “I think there’s chocolate chips.” 

To her dismay, she caught herself humming the last few lines of the song as she jumped off the counter. As soon as she realized she stopped, snatched the half-empty bag of chocolate chips from the cabinet, and turned to toss them to him. She paused when she saw the smug look on Drew’s face. 

“Told you it was a good song,” he said, clearly trying to suppress a laugh. 

“Oh, shut up!” She threw the bag at him, with a little more force than was strictly necessary. He fumbled after it bounced off his chest but managed to catch it before it hit the floor. She took her place on the counter once more. “You just got it stuck in my head, is all.”

Dumping the chocolate chips into the bowl he turned to face her. “Admit you like the song or… or you’re not allowed to have pancakes.”

“That’s not a fair justification for withholding food, Lipsky.”

“Just admit it!”

“Any confession given under threat, fear, torture or promise is labeled an involuntary confession and is not admissible in court.”

He blinked at her, looking perplexed for a moment. Then he started laughing. “Well, alright then. Fine, you can still have pancakes.”

“It is true, you know,” she pointed out, annoyed at herself for how much she hated the thought that he didn’t believe her. 

“I’m sure it is,” he said, turning around to the stove on. 

“Besides, I already said that I liked the movie last night.”

“True, but you never said you liked the song.” 

“You’re such a dork.”

Like he was a little kid he stuck his tongue out her and started pouring the pancake batter into the pan. “Pest.”

Shea scoffed and lit her hands, as she watched him. She tried to toss a ping-pong ball sized plasma ball back and forth, something she’d gotten better at but catching the plasma once she released it still proved to be difficult. 

“You know,” she began, distracted, “I wonder if, at the right temperature, my plasma could actually work to cook food.”

“You can control the temperature too?”

“Sure. Sometimes at least, and only up to a point.”

“We should try it!”

“What?” She asked, the tiny plasma ball finally falling from her grasp and singing her leg. “Ow. No! That’d be so stupid. Remember what I said about the whole food poisoning thing? Not to mention the plasma is literally radioactive.”

“We don’t have to eat it! C’mon, Shea, please! Now I wanna find out.”

“Ugh! Fine.” She held her hand out, her palm facing the ceiling. He grinned, and placed the pan on top of her hand, holding it in place for her. She slowly let her palm warm up, stopping when she started to feel the heat burning the calluses. 

The pancake batter started bubbling much too quickly in her opinion, but Drew kept smiling. At least, he kept smiling until a sudden popping sound echoed throughout the small kitchen, the moment before the entire pan shattered. Pieces of smoking metal fell to the floor, pancake batter covering her hand and dripping off of her fingers. 

He yelped and jumped away from her, dropping the handle which clattered to the floor with the rest of the broken pan. He stared, shell-shocked, at the mess.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted quickly, dousing the flames and pulling her hands back into herself. 

Slowly, the smile spread back across his face. “Neat,” he whispered. “I didn’t think metal could shatter like that. Good thing I have others.” He reached back into the cabinet and pulled out another pan.

Shea shrugged, the slight guilt she’d felt already fading away as she wiped her hand off on a paper towel. “Cheap metal, probably.”

“Probably.” He held the other pan out. “We should try that again.”

She nearly kicked him. “No, we shouldn’t.”

“But don’t you want to know if-”

“Just make the pancakes!”

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Um… Do you- Would you mind cleaning-” He gestured vaguely to the mess on the floor.

“Only cause it’s kinda my fault,” she sighed, before jumping off the counter for what must have been the billionth time that morning. At least she wasn’t humming anymore. And, she thought as she chucked broken, melted metal into the trashcan under the sink, at least she no longer felt even the slightest embarrassment. Although she knew she would if she focused on the image of Drew lying across her lap any longer. Distracting herself from that thought she asked, “do you have syrup?”

“In the fridge.”

They ate at the table again, but eating chocolate-filled pancakes with syrup and butter dripping down the sides felt distinctly less date-like than the previous nights' pasta had, for which Shea was grateful. 

“I haven’t had pancakes since I was a kid.”

“You still are-”

“A little kid,” she corrected, rolling her eyes.

“Why not?”

“I just wasn’t allowed to.” She really didn’t feel like going into detail about her mother's increasingly restrictive diet and exercise plans. She still hadn’t even told him that she was a superhero. Although, she knew it was only a matter of time before someone recognized her while she was out with him. What was she going to do then? She knew she should just tell him. But, she found herself worrying, maybe it was too late- maybe he’d be upset with her for not telling him earlier, for some reason or another. 

Well, she had to admit to herself, there was one good reason for him to be upset with her for not telling him. She hadn’t considered it before. If anyone found out about him, would they assume he’d kidnapped her? Watching chocolatey syrup drip down his chin she just knew that Drew was not the kind of guy who could handle jail. Hell, he’d probably freak out about getting yelled at by a teacher, it was anyone’s guess what he’d do if he got arrested. 

Shea’s fork clattered to her plate, guilt twisting her stomach. If something happened to him, it would be her fault. If he got arrested or hurt, or- gah- even if he misspelled a word it would be her fault now. And what if he was right? What if his career never got anywhere because of a spelling mistake that she let him make? What if her brothers found him when she wasn’t around? Would they hurt him? What about her parents? What if one of the villains found them? Electronique? Or The Hunter? Would they know that hurting him would hurt her worse than anything else they could throw her way?

Would seeing him hurt, hurt her? Sure, she hated watching Wendell or Westley get hurt, but she never really spent much time worrying about them. Half the time she saw Heath or Merrick hurt she found it funny. At least, when she could tell it wasn’t a serious injury. She’d met Drew less than two days ago, how could she possibly feel so strongly about protecting him, when she felt almost no inclination towards protecting her family- or anyone else, for that matter?

“Are you alright?” he asked, interrupting her spiraling thoughts. For a moment she just blinked at him, until she realized she probably looked even more ridiculous than she felt.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” She stared at her plate forcing herself to eat the last few bites of her food. When she looked up again, he was staring at her.

“Are you- I mean- do you. Do you… miss… home?”

“No,” she laughed, “Not at all. It’s just…”

“Just?”

Shea sighed. “I’m worried that if, on the off chance that anyone is actually looking for me… I just- I don’t.” She paused, pulling in a breath. Even back when she’d been a perfectly normal child she’d been bad at talking about her emotions, and half a decade of forcing herself not to feel anything at all definitely wasn’t helping. In a hurried rush she said, “If anyone is actually looking for me, and they actually find me, I don’t want them assuming you kidnapped me or something.”

“Do you really think they aren’t looking for you?”

“How did you manage to completely miss my point?”

“No, I understood your point. I just don’t think that part is worth worrying about all that much. I mean, they can’t really put me into prison for something I didn’t do. But, really. Why are you so sure nobody is looking for you?” She shrugged but didn’t answer. They were looking for Shego, and she wasn’t Shego. “I am sorry,” Drew finally murmured. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to think my family wouldn’t look for me.”

“It’s not that bad. I didn’t run away for attention or anything.”

“Why did you run away?”

She started to open her mouth but shut it quickly when she noticed his smirk. “Shut up.”

“You could just tell me, you know.”

Inside her head, her own voice screamed at her to just tell him. After all, him not knowing was why she started to feel so guilty and upset in the first place. Instead what left her mouth was, “I could, but I’m not going to.”

“You’re such a pest.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is just that. You’re a pest.”

“Probably why nobody’s gonna look for me.”

He bit his lip, staring at her. “I would,” he blurted, his face flushing even before he finished speaking. She didn’t get a chance to respond he so quickly stood up and walked to the kitchen. She picked up her own plate, trying to work out just what she was meant to say to that.

Her mind provided nothing helpful but she found herself saying, “does that mean I’m not just some runaway brat anymore?”

He was still blushing when he turned to look at her. “You are a runaway brat but, you know, it’s… it’s nice having you around, I guess. You’re not, you know- I just. I just… You’re worth looking for.”

“Oh,” she managed. “Um… thanks. I… Uh- yeah. Thanks.” 

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away from her. “Yeah, sure. You’re- um, just. No problem.”

She swallowed, blinking back tears that threatened to fall. Gah! What was wrong with her? Since when did she feel like crying just because some geek said something kinda nice? And why couldn’t she just know how to respond? But, she had to admit, he was sweet and… she sort of liked it. 

Shea blinked as Drew cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’m going to take a shower. Then maybe we should talk about what we want to get for groceries tomorrow,” his voice trailed off as if he were asking for her permission rather than telling her.

“Okay.” She shrugged, trying to sound more casual than she felt. He nodded, in her general direction before walking back towards his bedroom.

Groaning, she walked over to the couch, collapsing on it with about as much dramatic flair as she could muster. Which, really, wasn’t all that much, and she almost instantly sat back up. She sighed and grabbed the previous night's discarded book, glad for the escape. 

She quickly grew so engrossed in her reading that she didn’t even realize that Drew had left his room- let alone actually taken a shower- until he sat down in the chair. 

“Good book?” She glanced up at him, from her position lying on her stomach, hummed a response, and went back to reading. “Groceries?” “Shush. Lemme finish the chapter.”

“Well, alright then, fine.” He fell silent… for all of one minute. “What’s it about?” he asked, leaning over the arm of the couch to pull at the cover of the book.

She held back a sigh and put her book down. When she caught him eagerly watching her she couldn’t help the smirk that spread across her face. “Pest.”

“Hey,” he protested, immediately, the dumb boyish grin vanishing from his face. “You’re the pest!”

“Fine then. Dork,” she amended.

“Hmph. Runaway brat, indeed.” He sat back in his chair, crossing his arms and mock-glaring at the tv.

Ignoring him, Shea continued reading. She couldn’t help glancing over to him again, to see that within seconds of assuming his pout, he’d become distracted and had begun to fidget with the TV remote. 

She’d make fun of him for that if it didn’t remind her so much of herself. She hated being still, and even when fully engrossed in reading she’d be bouncing her knees or tapping her fingers in a quiet ba-dum-bum-bum on the books cover. At least she had the overworked superhero excuse. It seemed like his ability to sit still just so happened to be nonexistent. The way he glanced around the room, flipping the remote in his hands all the while, told her that he probably didn’t even realize he was fidgeting. She forced herself to stop watching him, and finished the chapter, muttering about plot twists as she eventually put the book down. 

She heard Drew say, “groceries?” again before she spotted him. He’d moved to the kitchen table, where papers were scattered around in front of him. He must have had his face in hands before she looked over; one of his cheeks was flushed a deep red color and his glasses were awkwardly skewed towards one side of his face. Shea noticed for the first time that he gelled his hair back after his shower. It had the same sleek, slick look that it’d had the first night they met—without the dishevelment that follows a long day.

“You know,” she drawled as she made her way over to him “I just realized you never actually told me what your deal was Friday night.” His other cheek flushed too, and he avoided her gaze as he shuffled his papers together. She caught a brief glimpse at some sort of blue-prints, with tiny notes scribbled all along the margin, before he flipped the papers over. 

“That’s not important,” he muttered. “We really do need to make a list, if you want me to make anything you like this week.”

“Whatever.” Well, now he’d piqued her curiosity, but she knew she could get him to spill eventually so there was little point in pressing the matter. “How is this gonna work?’

“Well, I normally just make a list of what meals I want to eat over the course of the week. And then from there what ingredients I’ll need. It just makes the actual shopping go faster. Is there anything you’re going to want?”

“I’m honestly fine eating anything. I don’t really think I’m that picky.”

“Do you want me to just do this on my own then? You have no preferences whatsoever?”

“I mean, I like spice. But… well,” she argued with herself quickly, wondering if what she felt like saying needed to be said, before finally continuing, “all you need to know about growing up with my family is that my brothers and I have all been on super restrictive diets since the whole thing with the comet. So, you know, I don’t have a whole lot of opinions on foods. Except for fruits and vegetables. If you try to make me eat cantaloupe or turnips I will shoot you with a plasma ball.”

“There’s no need to threaten me, you know.” His eyebrow furrowed as he wrote something down on a piece of paper. He scratched some of it out, then sheepishly slid it over to her, mumbling, “I don’t know how to spell cantaloupe, but it doesn’t look right to me.” 

She looked down to see NO turnips or cantalope, written across the top of the paper; he’d crossed out cantaloupe and re-written it three times before giving it to her. With a more mocking than serious roll of her eyes, she wrote it down for him, too caught up in the fact that he’d actually wanted to make a note of the foods she disliked to make any sort of comment. 

“Why on earth is there a ‘u’ in cantaloupe?” Shea just laughed, which earned her a sharp glare.

She held her hands up. “Hey, I don’t decide how words are spelled, I just spell them.”

“I just spell them,” he said, in a grumbly high-pitched mockery of her voice. She didn’t know if he was trying to annoy her or make her laugh harder, but he succeeded at the latter. A moment later he started laughing too. 

“Alright, alright. So, no turnip or cantaloupe. Anything you do want?”

She shook her head, then stole the paper from him. “I’ll write, you just tell me what to put down.” She did her best to ignore the smile he shot her way as she took the pen he offered her.

It took almost an hour, and a few back and forth debates over what meals sounded better before they actually managed to finish the grocery list. “I have to admit,” Shea said, “this is a lot more exhaustive than I would have expected.”

A strange smirk flitted across Drew’s face before he obviously forced it away. “Yes, well, it doesn’t tend to take that long. But it’s normally just me deciding what to make.”

She narrowed her eyes at him before deciding that asking him about the smirk was going to be less than useless and said, “so, what now?”

“What now what?”

“What’s the plan for the rest of the day?”

“I’ve got the last of the tests to grade, and then I have to put it all in the grade book. I’ve got homework for advanced organic chemistry, and I figure we’ll need to eat lunch sometime between all that, and I’ll make dinner sometime after I’m done.”

“Are we going to go to the library before or after dinner?”

“Erm… after. If I’m done with everything else.”

“I’m sure you’ll get it done with plenty of time for us to watch The Exorciser.”

“We’ll see.” He shrugged.

It dawned on her all at once, why he’d kept pulling her into debates about dinner choices when she couldn’t care less what he made so long as she was allowed to eat it. She couldn’t help the surprised, borderline offended, gasp that left her. “You baby! You’ve been stalling, haven’t you? There was no reason for this to take so long!”

This time the smirk that graced his face stayed put. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He was practically humming he sounded so smug. He left her at the table, and she found she could do little more than stare after him as he sauntered towards the couch. 

She almost called him ‘poindexter’ again, just because she knew it would bother him, but decided that was pushing it too far. Instead, she crossed her arms, called out, “you’re such a wimp,” and left it at that. 

He grinned at her from the couch. “I’d prefer cunning, thank you.” 

“What’s so cunning about stalling on getting a horror movie that I’m gonna make you watch at some point, anyway?”

“Well, it’s almost time for lunch and you only just figured out that I’ve been stalling,” he said. “I think that at least counts. And it means I don’t have to watch it yet, which works for me.”

“No, it means I figured it out before the library closes, so now I’m going to rush you through the rest of the day just so we can get it.”

“Nygh! Gah- no! No, it means we’re not going to have time to go. It means I won!”

She rolled her eyes. “Where do you keep the grade book? I’ll start putting the grades in for you.”

“I’m not telling you,” he said, the grin turning into nothing short of a pout as he crossed his arms.

“D’you really want me snooping through your room? Don’t think I won’t,” she threatened, falling on the other side of the couch. She didn’t actually want to snoop through his room, but he didn’t have to know it was an empty threat. 

“You’re not going to find anything interesting in there.” The slight squeak in his voice belied him and Shea had to force her mind to stop wandering to all the ‘interesting’ things she might find in a college guys’ bedroom. 

“Ew,” she muttered, despite herself. Drew’s face turned red, and she couldn’t help wondering if her face turned equally green as she felt it heating up.

“I- nngh! I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that I don’t keep the grade book in there!” He reached over to the side table, yanked open the drawer and pulled out a black leather notebook. “Here!” He chucked the book… well, saying at her would be generous, but he chucked it in her general direction. She snatched it out of the air before it could fall to the ground. She beamed at him as he grumbled, “have at it.”

“So, are we going to the library before or after dinner?” Shea asked again a few minutes later, putting some ‘Darren Fisley’s’ damning grade of 36% into the grade book.

Drew groaned and buried his face in his palms like he might start to cry. “We can go after lunch. I’m making sloppy joe’s,” he declared as if trying to prove that he was in charge. Shea didn’t say anything, but already she could tell she held more sway over him than either of them had expected when he first agreed to let her stay the night.

 “Sounds good, chief. Now gimme that, I’ve got to put the last grade into the grade book.” He begrudgingly handed over the final graded exam and shuffled into the kitchen. “There’s no point in trying to stall anymore,” she teased, “pick up the pace, Lipsky.”

“Zip it, pest.”

“Dork.”

“You’re such a brat,” he whined, but before he’d even begun to start cooking he was laughing.