#and after today.... yeah she might as well book an overseas holiday and buy a boat and

[fazcinatingblog]

me starting therapy: oh thank god, she's not younger than me, she'll definitely understand all my totally normal adult problems

me actually in therapy: talks about getting really into olivia rodrigo and my aversion of tumblr and the random love triangle that i created in my head and

[onesp1cyboi]

ahem ok i said 10 notes but i actually rly like my writing so chapter 1 of my book (”Parasite” altho thts a working title tbh)

little bit of background, i’m calling it an anti-romance rn tbh bc it takes romance tropes and then goes “fuck u” n is basically a call out for abusive actions tht rnt always seen as abusive ft. flower meanings, magic and stuff

um also it’s based in shanghai, which is where i grew up, so. if any references go over people’s heads, pls pls pLS dont hesitate to ask about them!! i’ll edit those in later if needed, and i’m 110% open to any criticism

Most people describe it as falling. I more or less walked backwards into it.

In case you don’t know what I’m talking about, it’s this glorified train wreck of emotions known as love. Oh Chris, you might be thinking, don’t be so cynical about it! To which my only reply is: wait and see! I think my general feelings toward romance are totally understandable.

It started at the beginning of the summer holidays. XinTianDi was packed with people from all over, tourists and locals alike swarming in and out of malls, onto small side streets and tight alleys. It all brushed past me, sitting at a small table a few textbooks strewn around me, half-filled cup of coffee balanced on the opened pages of an outdated science book, an empty plate decorated with cake crumbs lying haphazardly on top of my half-open pencil case.

I wasn’t studying. I told my mom I would when I left my apartment (dad was already at work), although she wouldn’t have cared if I told her I’d gone out to drink myself half to death and run away to some exotic land halfway across the planet. I don’t know why I bothered to lie to her, considering she didn’t care for anything I said anyways. She’d probably appreciate it if I did run away from home, because that would mean one less mouth to feed, and an extra room in the apartment she could convert into something new.

Mom always liked new things.

I sighed, picking up my cold cup of coffee and knocking it back, letting the gritty contents slither down my throat to an uncomfortable stop in my stomach. I put the cheap porcelain cup back on its tiny useless plate, gathering up my books. It was the summer holidays, I had better things to do than pretending to be productive.

I fished my phone out of my pocket, checking for texts. Nothing. I didn’t let it disappoint me; most of my friends had gone overseas for the holidays, to timezones totally out of sync with my own. The few friends who were also stuck in Shanghai for the summer break tended to sleep in past lunch as well. I was alone until noon.

Stuffing my backpack with my books, I stood up slowly, letting my legs stretch out. It was only 10 in the morning, but I’d been sitting in the coffee shop forcing bitter caffeine down my throat for the better part of 3 hours. I swung around, stepping into the foot traffic surging around the soft oases of the restaurants and cafes dotted here and there throughout the entire downtown area. I remembered the first time I’d gone out without my parents or friends, the crowd had thrown me this way and that, forcing me in and out of the tide of people. Now, however, I was able to stick to the border, never touching or interacting with anyone else, besides a few bumps against my shoulders. My friends told me it was because I tended to look like I was on the warpath when walking alone, brows narrowed in a threatening glare, lips curled up in a near permanent scowl. I always thought it was a good thing.

I broke out of the stream near the entrances to one of the malls, joining the slow and steady trickle of people coming in and out of it, marching up the stairs. I didn’t look up, staring at my feet, glare heavy. Step after step, slow and tortured. I was tired. I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t know where I wanted to go.

A cold rush of wind blew over me as I stepped through the glass doors into the mall. I untied my hoodie, blood red, from around my waist, pulling it on as I walked, pointlessly, aimlessly. I felt like it too; pointless and aimless. I was tired. It wasn’t unusual for me to feel awful when I was like this. I found myself making my way out of the back of the mall, feet stomping hard against the ground, the shock almost painful through the soft soled sneakers I was wearing.

I came back outside, flipping my hood up to hide my face, slinging my backpack in front of me. I took off into a smaller alley, unzipping the small pocket in front of my bag and curling my fingers around that sleek cardboard box of self-destructive relaxation. I breathed out a sigh through my lips, allowing myself a small, quirked smile as I opened the box, hidden safely in the space between two buildings. I leaned against the wall, sliding a cigarette between my lips, pulling my lighter out of the box and lighting the cancer stick quickly.

I didn’t do this often, but the feeling of smoke in my lungs was comforting, warm. I breathed out, watching the smoke fly into the air in front of me like a thin, grey ghost, a vision of my own soul flitting into the wind, fading into nothingness.

I took another drag.

The end of the cigarette glowed a soft orange. For a second, I was tempted to snuff it out into my skin, but the moment passed, another ghost lost in the wind, and I filled my lungs with smoke again.

I moved to step out of the shade of the buildings, out onto the streets again, when I spotted her. She was chattering in quick Chinese to the vendor of a small street side flower shop, a bouquet of roses in one pale, soft hand. She wasn’t small, probably about my height, but the way she held herself made her seem placid. It was weird compared to the way she spoke, confident and sharp. The shopkeeper looked amused, his attempts at bargaining with her more playful than anything. My eyes flitted quickly across her body, from the way her dark, nearly black hair hung over her round shoulders to her to the narrow curve of her waist. She was wearing a pastel blue summer dress, a tan bag hanging off her shoulder matching the roman sandals on her feet. There were flowers printed on her dress, the impression of roses in pink and yellow floating over the fabric.

She flipped her hair over her shoulder, turning her head to the side, and my breath caught in my throat. Like me, she was an expat, but she looked mixed, maybe part Chinese? Her narrow eyes were dark, but warm, inviting. Her cheeks were dusted a light pink, lips painted glossy red. I felt my own cheeks darken as she turned away to face the vendor, the cigarette between my fingers all but forgotten, the light on the end already expired.

She was beautiful.

I turned away, determined to hide in the alley again, but then again…

It was summer. Summer meant change, adventure, something different and new. Maybe this could be a change for me.

I crossed the street.

She didn’t notice me, still arguing with the flower vendor, but I figured I’d try. I dropped my cig onto the pavement, kicking it subtly into the road. I wished my breath didn’t smell of smoke, either, but maybe she’d overlook it.

The vendor noticed me. He quickly turned away from her, trying to speak in slow, broken English.

“Buy flower?” he asked, English accented and barely understandable. I nodded.

“I’ll buy her the roses if the price is really that…” I started to reply in Chinese, pausing to glance over at the girl. She was giving me a flat, unimpressed glare, nose puckering as the smell of the smoke flew over her. I turned away quickly. “Difficult.”

The vendor beamed, nodding ecstatically. “Very difficult! Women, you know.”

“Excuse me? These flowers are incredibly overpriced,” she spat out, shaking her head. Well. My entrance obviously wasn’t as good as I’d hoped it would be.

“How much is he selling them for?” I asked, in English this time. She sighed, running her fingers through her long, thick hair, slightly wavy, curled around her face like a picture frame.

“Too much. I’m not paying 120 yuan for a couple of flowers off the side of the road,” she replied. “And I don’t need you buying them for me either.”

I huffed a slight laugh, scratching at the back of my head. Well. Guess I should’ve expected that. “Sorry, I guess?”

She smiled at me, sighing in what seemed to be frustrated adoration. “You really wanna pay for them?”

“Uh,” I muttered. 120 yuan. For a girl I’d never met before. Christ. “Sure? But, can I know your name? Since I’m gonna be buying flowers for you and all.”

“Wynona Lynn,” she replied. “You?”

“Chris.”

“Just Chris?”

“Christopher?” I answered, shrugging.

“Last name, stupid.” Ouch. She obviously didn’t like me.

“Lee.”

“Was that so hard?” she quipped with a smirk, grinning at me. The vender coughed, giving the two of us a pointed look. I pulled the 120 out of my wallet, handing it over in defeat. The girl, Wynona, smiled at me.

“Thanks for the flowers,” she said, fingers wrapping around the stem of one, gently tugging it out of the arrangement. She held it out to me. I took it from her, the thorns digging into my fingers when I wrapped them around it. I didn’t wince.

“Thanks?” I muttered, confused.

“I should buy you lunch,” she remarked. “You free today?”

“Is this a date?” I shot back, not wanting to be one-upped by some random girl I just met.

“If you want it to be.” She punctuated it with a wink. I felt my cheeks grow warm, fingers tightening around the stem of the rose.

“Uh…” Shoot. I couldn’t think straight. “Ok?”

“Date then?”

“Please?” I winced at the high, desperate pitch of my voice. Thanks a lot, puberty. She probably felt sorry for me. I couldn’t imagine what else she’d find attractive about me; I wasn’t tall, or handsome. Maybe she thought I was cute, in a kind of pathetic way. That had to be it.

She hummed, smiling at me. “Meet me at Starbucks at 12, then?” she asked. “I gotta go home and drop these off, so I can’t stick around for now.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, sure,” I stuttered. Ugh. Her smile made my brain stop working. It was frustrating. “Starbucks. Yeah. I’ll see you then.”

“See you,” she said. She sounded like she was trying not to laugh. I couldn’t blame her. I’d laugh at me too. She turned away from me, beginning to walk away, but paused. “Oh, and one more thing,” she started, turning to face me again. She walked up to me quickly and pressed a kiss against my cheek, before taking off again, blending quickly in with the crowd. My hand moved up to my cheek, fingers brushing over where she kissed me. The vendor wolf-whistled, cackling. I stared after her, even when her flower print dress vanished from sight.

~*~

I hunched over in my seat, letting my phone drop into my lap. I’d sat back down in Starbucks, forking over more of my money to fuel my growing caffeine addiction and the power-hungry capitalist society that caused it. I took another sip of my quickly cooling cappuccino, tongue already sensitive from the first burning taste I’d had of it. The rose Wynona had given me was lying on the table in front of me, bright red petals looking out of place against the dusty, dirty green-tinged grain of the table I was sat at. The dark stem was still brighter and more alive that the wooden table it was lying on, green leaves shuddering in the slight wind offered by the whirring fans above me.

My phone buzzed in my lap, snapping me out of my daze. I picked it up, glancing at the message.

bae😩 💦  said: have fun!!~~ <33

Jerk.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it lightly. I glanced up quickly, catching a glimpse of her pale face before her dark hair covered it again and she breezed in front of me, sliding into the seat across from me.

“Did I keep you waiting?” she asked, smiling. I could feel my cheeks heating again, the dimples at the corners of her lips causing me to feel things I never thought possible.

“Uh, no. Nah. I had nothing to do anyways, so. No.” I smiled at the end, awkward and too wide, but I wasn’t really sure what else to do. She grinned.

“You’re such a dork,” she laughed. “Ok! C’mon, there’s no way I’d take you on a date to Starbucks. I’m not a cheapskate.”

“Wow, we’re going on a proper date?”

“It’s only because I’m craving good food. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late.”

She snorted, reaching over the table to grab my arm. “Are we going then?”

I knocked back my coffee as I stood. It still burned a little going down, and I choked on it as it went, but we were already out of the cafe, despite my spluttered attempts to tell her to slow down. I chucked my coffee cup in a bin as we ran, shoving my phone back in my pocket and attempting to make sure I had all my stuff on me.

We slowed down in front of a large shopping mall, Wynona’s cheeks a little pink with exertion. She was panting lightly, breaths passing in bursts through her plump red lips, quirked at the ends in a sly little smile.

“Why did we run?” I huffed, doubled over and clutching my stomach. I was pathetically horrible at sports. My everything was aching from the mild bit of exercise, and I was starting to hate my decision of going on a date with Wynona.

“Why not?” she replied. I realized she was holding the rose she gifted me, twirling it between her fingers. She seemed to be whispering something to it, pressing a quick kiss against the petals. The red of her lips matched the red of the flower, and she looked like she was glowing when she turned back around to face me. I straightened, standing up stiffly in front of her, trying not to let it bother me that she was almost taller than me. She tucked the flower behind my ear, brushing my hair away with her hand. My face felt hot again.

“If you keep blushing like that, the rose’ll match your face like it matches your hoodie,” she quipped. I scowled, reaching up to take the flower out of my hair. She batted my hand away, grinning. “I’m kidding! You look cute with it, ok? Just keep it there.”

“Thanks. Really wanted to look cute today,” I grumbled, pouting. She pinched my cheek.

“Keep pouting like that and you will,” she replied. I sighed, shoving my hands into the pockets of my hoodie. I forced a smile, trying as hard as possible to make it look uncomfortable. She rolled her eyes. “Perfect.”

She led me to a small restaurant, one of Shanghai’s many attempts at being trendy, with rustic wooden furniture and dark but warm lighting. She looked like she belonged there, under the gentle glow. She led me inside, guiding me to a secluded seat in a brighter corner of the room. The dark felt a little claustrophobic for me, but I didn’t want to say anything, seated here across from her, watching the yellow light bring a strange glow to her eyes, exposing freckles and lines of gold that were shot through the brown.

“You’re pretty,” I mumbled, staring into her eyes. She blushed, coughing lightly, hands immediately shooting to her lap as she searched for something to toy around with, avoiding my gaze. I smirked, leaning back. “You’re prettier when you blush.” She kicked me under the table.

She opened her mouth to say something back when the waitress came over, asking us if we were ready to order drinks in slightly accented English, handing us menus. Wynona glared at me, taking one of the menus and quickly flipping it open. She scanned the drinks quickly while I ordered a soda, settling on a rose tea.

“Rose tea?” I commented.

“I like flowers,” she replied, smiling.

“Evidently.”

She hummed in response, shutting her eyes as her ankles tapped lightly against mine. “What about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you like?”

“Oh.” I shrugged, thinking about it. “Music, maybe?”

“Music, maybe. That sounds like a fascinating interest. You’ve really got me on the edge of my seat here.”

“Shut up, ok. I just. Never thought about it before, I guess. I like reading? And music.”

“You play any instruments?”

“Piano and guitar. I’d love to learn drums but my mom would never let me. At least with piano and guitar she can have me play songs at whatever get-togethers she’s having with her friends without me being a pain in the backside or anything.”

She was staring at me.

“Uh. Um. Sorry,” I stuttered. “I tend to ramble.”

“You don’t need to apologize. It’s cute,” she giggled, reaching over to snatch at my fingers. “You know, you could go on,” she mumbled, playing with my fingers.

“Uh. What? About music?”

“Uh huh.”

“Oh. Uh. I sing sometimes? I used to write songs and stuff, but I guess I don’t really have time anymore, and I never really liked the songs I was writing either.”

“Why not?” she asked, lacing her own fingers through mine, glancing up at me. She looked genuinely interested.

“The lyrics never sounded right. I always felt like I was faking it, like I was being fake deep, and it never really reflected the points I actually wanted to get across. Like, sometimes I wrote love songs? But they just had cliched metaphors and were never really personal to the people I was writing them about.”

She looked surprised. “You’ve dated before?”

“Uh, yes? Should I… not have?”

“You struck me as a sweet innocent bean, new to the ideas of dating and relationships,” she quipped, pulling her hands away from mine to clasp them at her chest, cocking her head and sighing. “You would be my conquest, and I would show you how relationships work, and we could become the power couple of the century. You’d be the Anthony to my Cleopatra.”

“What.” I’ll admit, I was offended. “I’ve dated before! I didn’t walk up to you and start flirting without any idea of how to flirt at all.”

“A kid can know how to flirt without actually having flirted with someone. You ever watched movies?”

“I hate movies.”

She raised an eyebrow at me. “Really? Wow, never knew I was getting with Holden Caulfield reincarnate.”

I scoffed. “Rude. I’m way cooler than Holden Caulfield.”

“I’m surprised you picked up on that reference.”

“I’m surprised you made it.”

She blinked in surprise before grinning. “I had to read it for school.”

My face fell. “It’s one of my favorite books.”

“I knew you were a nerd! I knew it!”

“I already told you I like reading,” I retorted. “And I play piano. Of course I’m a nerd.”

Wynona was laughing, her hands reaching for mine again. She laced her fingers with mine, eyes squinted shut, wrinkling at the edges, her nose scrunched as her lips parted to let a small sound fall out. My heart melted.

“You’re really pretty. Please stop. It’s rude.”

She huffed, still laughing.

“It makes you flustered, so no,” she replied, grinning. She reached over to me with her free hand, snatching the flower from behind my ear. I’d forgotten it was there. “You know what roses symbolize?”

“Oh no, you’re one of those people who speaks ‘flower.’”

“Red roses symbolize love and passion, but in a bouquet the meaning can change. One rose means love, 12 shows gratitude, 50 shows unconditional love.”

“50? Who the hell is buying 50 roses?”

“Romantic couples.”

“Oh.” I paused for a second. “Wait a second, you gave me one rose-”

“I don’t love you. We just met, that would be ridiculous.”

“Uh-huh.” I cocked an eyebrow at her, fighting down the blush that was threatening to bloom across my cheeks.

“I would’ve given you an iris or something, it’s more appropriate, but I didn’t want to buy you a flower out of nowhere when you wouldn’t understand it,” she sighed, propping her head on the hand with the flower, the rose hanging limply out between her fingers.  

“What does an iris mean?”

“Thank you,” she mumbled, smiling at me. “I mean, since you payed for my roses and all.”

“Heh, yeah.” An awkward kind of silence built between us, Wynona still playing with my fingers. The waitress came over, placing our drinks in front of us. Wynona shifted, sitting up again, her hand leaving mine, the rose dropped onto the table. She picked up her cup instead, blowing lightly over the steam wafting off the rosey pink drink, her lips resting on the edge of the cup.

For a second, I wished I had a camera. I wasn’t much of an artist, but she looked beautiful. She smirked at me, and I knew I was blushing, but at that moment, I didn’t care.