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macbookpro-hard-drive · 5 years ago

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control [jeremy h. x squipped!reader] pt.5

why is it almost 9 and im tired already smh

anyway, i almost titled this part 5 because i dont know what numbers are

update im a dumbass bc this was, indeed, part 5

warnings: uhhh sick moments. hospitals. guilt. squip aftermath. mentions of nightmares.

You woke up days later in the hospital.

The first thing that happened was a blur of motions: you trying to rip out your IV as you panicked, and a nurse who just opened the door grabbed you by the wrist to stop you before you did any true damage. Then came a thousand questions from a thousand people, all trying to pinpoint the when and why and how and what happened that you could barely remember at that moment. When your breathing picked up and panic set in, the room was cleared save for a single person taking vitals. When he left, you were alone. The room felt cold. The room was silent-

Wait.

The room was silent.

Oh, god, the room was silent.

It was gone. Your thoughts were your own again, yet it still felt as if a piece of you had been snapped off. Broken off. Crumbled away over time, yet - yet... how long had you been out? Hours? A day? You couldn’t completely recall. You remembered someone asking you the date, the time, the anything, but... it slipped your mind far too quickly as a thousand other questions followed suit. You squinted at the whiteboard on the wall across from you, stamped into the corner, and red dry-erase marker spelling out the date.

Barely two days. That was good. You were... you were fine. You were okay. This was okay. Two days was okay. Two days was much less than what Rich dealt with-

Oh. Fuck, Rich - had he woken up? He must still be in the hospital - was - were you in the same one? Fuck, you felt foggier than ever. Like the pieces wouldn’t connect, yet lined up perfectly. Every little bit of pressure merely popped the piece apart again, and it left nothing but frustration to fill the space between. You’d have to see him as soon as you could.

The first person who came to see you (not quite counting your parents) was Christine Canigula with a pretty bouquet of sunflowers in her arms. Her purse bounced against her hip with every step around the room (mainly due to her trying to find a nice place to set the flowers down), and she finally gently sat at the end of your bed and talked to you happily about everything that had gone on within the past few days. She opened her bag, fishing out a small little bag of assorted goodies that she placed in your hands.

“I thought you could use something nice,” she smiled, “I hope you get out of here soon.” When you couldn’t muster up anything past a weak smile, she continued, “Rich actually asked about you, when I saw him earlier.”

You looked up. “He did?” You asked, voice quiet and broken.

“Yeah!” She chirped, “he woke up the other day, actually,” she drummed her fingers against her leg, “

The second was Michael. Michael, who had a ball of emotions choking him as he searched for the right thing to say to you. Worried and angry and upset and... relieved. All of it evaporated as you told him everything. Every detail, every action explained - and he realized what lied beyond the glimpse you’d given him while you looked as if you were trying to escape his house. He sat on the edge of your bed in stunned silence, just staring at the floor as you felt guilt creep into your stomach.

“Michael?” You finally said, voice quiet. “I’m... I’m sorry.” You paused, “for everything. You - you don’t have to forgive me, but...”

“You used me.” He said. You could hear the underlying anger dripping from those three words alone.

“I know.” You swallowed your emotions. “I’m... I know it was awful and I should have fought more to not do that, but...”

He finally looked back at you. “So,uh... how much of that was real, then?”

You opened your mouth to answer, only to stop for a moment, looking away. “I... I don’t really know,” you said, voice cracking and giving you away entirely. “Shit.”

“I mean-” He said, “you were - it was weird, [y/n]. One minute you’d be one way, and then... you were, y’know, you. It was like things never changed.”

That hit you hard. “Michael?” You choked out his name, before continuing, “please don’t tell Jeremy.”

“What?” He stared at you, “[y/n], he deserves to know-”

“No! I mean - he does,” you clarified, “I just - I need to tell him this myself.”

He bit his tongue for a moment. “I, uh, I think I’m gonna have to tell him some things before he loses his shit, [y/n]. He was fuckin’ freaked when the ambulance drove off.”

After a moment of stunned quiet, you mustered up a quick nod. “Right. Just - don’t tell him everything, alright?”

The conversation had died there. After a few more minutes of silence, Michael stood and made his way to leave - rattling off the usual “get well soon” message that you expected.

“Michael?” You called out, and he stopped. “Thank you for coming to see me. I... I appreciate it.”

His smile had faded, and he nodded a little. “Yeah...” He looked back at you, and he looked so soft and genuine that time. “Later, [y/n].”

The next day, Jeremy was shoved into your room without much of a chance to gather his bearings. True to his word, Michael had explained a few things while leaving Jeremy pretty in the dark on what had happened. The hardest thing was looking at Jeremy and telling him the rest of your story. That you had wasted six hundred dollars on a stupid, shitty pill that you thought would help you. A pill that you thought would help you essentially get Jeremy to reciprocate the feelings that you bit back and hid underneath everything. You lied through your teeth that you had just wanted him and Michael back. You couldn’t just... admit that you had a crush on him, could you?

He reached out and laid a hand on your own. “Michael told me.”

Shit. Fuck. Nope. You nearly hit the button for a nurse in that moment to try and see if you could get him out. What the fuck, Michael? “He told you...?”

“Look,” he said, “I’m flattered, [y/n], I just... I like someone else. I mean, you’re - you’re cool and all, but-”

“I get it, Jeremy.” You said. “I... I understand.” You paused for a moment, “but... I did miss you and Michael, y’know.”

“Why’d we stop hanging out?” Jeremy asked.

Something inside of you hurt at that question. “I don’t know.” And that was true, to say the least. You had your suspicions, sure, but at the end of the day, the why rested without an answer.

He stared at you. “Wait...” He trailed off, before looking away. “Oh.” His voice dropped to a whisper, “shit.” He looked back at you, “hey, uh, I’m - I’m sorry for dropping you like that- I just-”

“I get it.” Which was sort-of the truth, at least. “You don’t have to apologize, Jeremy.”

“... Okay,” he said after a moment, “I’ll, uh, I’ll see you in school,” he stood, “feel better soon-”

And then he was gone.

Three months later, and you were still haunted by a voice in your head every so often. You started therapy shortly after you were released from the hospital, the mystery of what happened to you remaining as such. You started medication soon after, your depression having grown worse post-SQUIP (and your father had been glad for you getting help, since he’d admitted it hurt him to watch you suffer for so long while being unsure of what to actually do to help you). You attended group therapy outside of Metuchen.

You had Rich. Rich, who picked you up on Thursday nights to drive you to group and back again. Rich, who knew how you felt and hid his guilt for pulling you into this shitty world of trauma and pain that’d haunt you for who knows how long. Rich, who slung his arm around your waist casually when the two of you were hanging out and was touchy with you in a way that made you feel safe and secure. You had Rich at your side, the friend that you honestly had never expected to have but were glad for at the end of the day. While you wished he didn’t feel the pain that you did, it was almost... nice to know that someone else understood.

At two in the morning, one mid-February day, he called you.

“Another nightmare?”

“Yeah... you?”

“Yeah.” A pause. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Yep,” he dragged the word out. “Uh - do you...?”

“You go first, Rich.”

His phone must have been on speaker, because you heard the sound of him shifting in bed - blanket swooshing as he probably turned over onto his side. “Same old shit.” He began, “I, uh, was in Jake’s house, and... it was on fire. My, uh... It was there.” He paused for a moment, “y’know. Saying the same shit.” You didn’t have to see Rich to know he was touching his neck, fingers running along the scars there. “What about you?”

Your phone was lying beside your head. Shutting your eyes, you took a breath before exhaling slowly. “It was, uh, actually... good for once. I mean - it started good. I was... I was with Jeremy. I... think we were dating? I don’t know - we were holding hands and I had let go and walked ahead only to notice he was standing still, and - it... it’s weird, Rich, but - I swear there was some kind of stupid circuit pattern that, like, trailed down his neck - and... and his smile, Rich-” You paused, taking a shaky breath, “and then I heard it.” Another long pause. “Then I woke up.”

You heard Rich suck in a breath. For the longest time, there was silence on the other end. Despite not hearing any chimes to indicate it, you thought that maybe he had hung up. But then he spoke, voice quiet and broken, “why did you say yes?”

“What?”

“To - to buying it, [y/n].”

You stared up at your ceiling. Soon enough, you kicked off your blankets as you grew too hot for comfort, shifting against to try and find some sort of comfortable position. “You sold it pretty well, I guess.” You started, before biting your lip for a moment, “I thought it could help me.”

“... With?”

You changed the topic. “Why’d you take it?”

No response.

“Rich?”

“Gretch is gonna fucking suck tomorrow.”

“... Yeah.”

“You wanna skip?”

No, you wanted to say. But you shrugged. “Yeah. Where are we doing?”

“Fuck, I don’t know - Wawa?”

“Sure.”

Rich’s truck was like a second home to you, between the times the two of you skipped classes and every drive to and from therapy. The two of you skipped class too often - sometimes morning classes, sometimes afternoon, it always depended on how the two of you were doing. Sometimes you’d sit in the Wawa parking lot, eating breakfast or lunch, enjoying the rebellious freedom that came with skipping class. The guilt would stay in the backseat, a constant reminder of your fuck-ups, but... you were glad to have a moment to breathe.

Rich’s hand found yours that morning. He squeezed it. For a minute, there were just two broken teens sitting together, holding hands, trying to feel less broken together.

Over a week later, you texted Rich after hearing it - or, at least, you thought you did. He told you to call Michael - closer to you, and carrier of the Mountain Dew Red at you and Rich’s mutual request. Your finger lingered over Michael’s contact information when a thought struck you, hard and heavy. Why call him? Why not let it come back and fix what it had done? You felt broken enough - how much more damage could it do to you? Besides... now you knew how to take care of it. Maybe that knowledge would be enough to help you gain some sort of control over it.

An hour later, Rich texted you saying Michael hadn’t heard from you. Another hour passed. He told you he was coming over. You couldn’t respond, staring at your phone blankly as tears began to well up. Thirty minutes later, rocks hit your window. Five minutes later, Rich was sitting on the end of your bed as you curled back up, the bottle sitting on the bed between the two of you. He looked tired, running a hand nervously through his hair as he didn’t meet your eyes.

“I know.” He said, breaking the silence. “Just - don’t fucking do it, okay?”

You broke your gaze away from the bottle. “What?”

“I... I’ve thought about it too,” he said, quieter this time. “But... I think...” He paused, “it’s just a bad idea, alright?”

“It can’t-”

“It can.” He stressed, before grabbing the bottle with one hand and your hand in the other. He pressed the bottle into your hand, curling your fingers around it in a cliche action. “Just - fucking drink it, [y/n]. I’m tired.”

“You can stay here tonight.”

“Nah,” he stood. “I... need to get home soon. Just... drink it, alright?”

He didn’t leave you until you finally obliged.

The chill in the air that came with early March was no match for the chill you felt whenever you were around Michael. But Michael had the soda, and Rich lived farther away from you, so he became your lifeline whenever you felt the prickly feeling that came with every nightmare of it and he, thankfully without much complaint, would show up on your front lawn. You sat next to him in silence, an half-empty bottle of Mountain Dew Red sitting in your lap as Michael quietly looked up at the stars. The feeling in your stomach almost seemed to weigh you down, keeping you in place until Michael decided he’d had enough, until he gave up on sitting with you.

But he didn’t. He just sat there in silence, wearing his signature red hoodie in an attempt to keep himself warm. His breath colored the air with a puff of white as he exhaled. It was too cold for this shit, and yet... he sat with you.

“What was it like?” He began at one point, slowly looking over to you. “Y’know... the...” He paused, before tapping his temple, as if you hadn’t understood before. But you understood the why there.

“Like I was a puppet,” you said, echoing back something you’d said before in therapy. Almost completely subconsciously, you tugged at your sleeve. “I... I could disobey, but... it would get mad, and - and I didn’t like that, so I just... I did what it told me to. Sometimes, it would...” The ghost of a shock silenced you, and your breath hitched for a second as you try to regain some control over yourself.

When Michael’s hand landed on your forearm, you flinched immediately. But before he could fully tear his hand away from you (having only just pulled it away slightly), you immediately shifted closer to him. Almost as if he understood, he opened himself to you, and - after hesitating for too many moments - you nearly collapsed into his arms, wrapping your own around his torso and burying your face in his neck. At first you had just wanted the comfort. The warmth of another person. But your breath went shaky, and before Michael could say or do anything else, he heard you choke back a sob before you clutched at the fabric of his hoodie. Every soft, broken apology sent pain rippling through him. He’d been so pissed with you before, and now...

Now it was as if Michael was a child again, having seen the aftermath of hurricanes through Florida on the news. Or like the car accident he once witnessed, only staring before one of his moms tore him away from the sight, picking him up with ease and keeping his face turned away. He understood, all within that moment. He knew you were hurting, and in turn, he felt that pain too. He had hurt. He was in so much damn pain when he found out you’d originally just been using him, and now... he understood that maybe (or, perhaps, definitely, but a definite wasn’t quite there yet in his book) nothing had been your idea. Part of him wanted to look away from you, to give you some kind of privacy, and yet... you clung to him. You kept your face buried in his neck, hot tears wetting his skin, and you shook in his arms as you kept stammering out apology after apology for things that did and didn’t involve him.

That was when Michael decided that forgiveness was back on the table. Neither of you were ready to have that talk, but... the fact of the matter was that he let that option exist again. Every glimpse of you that had come flooding back to him when he visited you in the hospital seemed to haunt his memory once more. The real you. The you he hadn’t seen in so long. And, if he were honest, the you that he genuinely had begun to miss when your presence disappeared all that time ago.

He was ready to try again, if you were there to meet him halfway.

The following Wednesday came with a disgusting feeling of dread the moment that thunder clapped during your last class. You’d left your umbrella at home - clear skies, your weather app had lied - and chances were you were going to miss your bus when meeting with the guidance counselor quickly after school (because, of course, shit never worked out in your favor). So you clenched your jaw and pulled your bag close to you, taking off as the rain pounded against the pavement. You almost slipped, you could barely see through the rain, and you were already soaked to the bone by the time you were a fourth of the way home. When you heard a car coming down the street, you thought nothing of it until it slowed down, pulling over towards the side of the road and steadily crawling alongside you.

Well, fuck, if you were about to die, at least you wouldn’t deal with-

The car honked. When you turned, you immediately recognized the P.T. Cruiser and the two boys inside of it. Immediately, the passenger side window rolled down. “Get in, loser, we’re going shopping-”

“Michael-” You started to say, only to stop as you weigh your options. Get in the car and face Michael and Jeremy - or keep waking home in the rain. You barely even considered the latter as you pulled open the back door, throwing your bag in and immediately slipping into the warm car.

The backseat was comfortable. It had always been comfortable, actually - that much was certain. Even when you were shivering endlessly, sopping-wet backpack lying in the floorboard between your legs as you rub your arms in some attempt to get warm, you felt strangely at home sitting in the back of Michael’s car. The sticker was still on the head-rest of the driver’s side. Jeremy kept looking back at you every so often as Michael made his way towards your house. The moment he turned onto your street, you went for your keys.

And, of fucking course, you must have forgotten them that morning. So you ended up in Michael’s house, sitting on his bed in some of his spare clothes while your clothes are being oh-so-lovingly laundered by the ever-so-gracious Michael Mell. You toyed with the fabric of tee-shirt you were wearing, some indie band logo printed across the chest - something that felt so Michael, when you thought about it. Of course he’d have some obscure merch. You sat there with one of your class binders in your lap, working on homework when you finally get to geometry. As if to make the day even worse, you realized you were missing your calculator.

“Shit,” you said, “fuck-” You looked up to Michael and Jeremy, “can I, uh, borrow a calculator? I think I left mine at school-”

Jeremy stared at you for a split second before immediately going for his own bag. He stammered through a sentence, before he finally pulled out a familiar purple case and held it out to you. “I, uh, was going to give it to you tomorrow - I meant to give it back earlier but I, uh, forgot-”

You took it gingerly from him, before kind-of smiling in return. “It’s fine,” you said, “thank you-” and then you cut yourself off with a sneeze, your arm flying to cover your mouth.

Michael chuckled a little as he laid back, stretching himself along the foot of his bed. “If you needed a ride, you should have just asked, ya goof,” he smiled at you.

You nudged him with your foot. “Come on, Mell,” you said, “I thought I’d be fine.”

“You’re lucky Jeremy saw you, y’know,” he said, “I didn’t notice you crossing the street earlier, so...”

Jeremy flushed at the comment. Your gaze flickered from him back to Michael, “I thought you were driving, Michael.”

“I was!”

“Aren’t you supposed to pay attention?”

��I was!” He said again, sitting up, “you weren’t even crossing in front of me!”

“Thank god for that,” you said.

“Wh- I wouldn’t hit you!”

“That’s what they all say, Michael.” You smiled a little, “no, dude, I totally wouldn’t kill my wife, who would do that? Not me. I wouldn’t kill my wife-”

“[y/n]!” Michael poked you in the leg, “come on - I don’t think I’d be that obvious-”

“Are you seriously trying to say you’d be able to get away with that?” You said, only to notice how silent Jeremy had gone. When you looked back to him, you noticed that he had just sat there, watching you and Michael playfully bicker over his totally not real plans to murder someone. When your eyes meet his, he blinked, awkwardly smiling as he looked away and towards his phone. You barely get a glimpse of the time before you realized that your parents should be home.

So Michael drove you (and Jeremy) home at long last, leaving you to thank him a thousand times on the way there and as you got out of the car. You barely had time to wave back at him before you crossed your front lawn to get to shelter, rain pelting you the entire time as you head inside with plans to tackle your homework.

The next morning, you felt like shit. At three in the morning, you woke up with the grossest feeling taking hold of you and forcing you out of bed and to the bathroom. With a disgusting taste left in your mouth, you sank back, your senses completely muffled as you realized what had happened. Fever. Fuck. You pressed your back against the rim of the bathtub, and you breathed. Shit. Shit shit shit shit- you didn’t need to get sick. You skipped enough class as it was - this was only going to make shit worse.

You didn’t realize you passed out shortly after until your dad stumbled across you. He woke you up gently, before helping you to your feet and helping your sluggish form back to your bedroom after pressing a cold hand against your forehead. Shaking his head, he walked you to your bed, leaving the room and returning with a cup of water to leave on your nightstand. He told you that he would be at work, but that your mom would drop by during her lunch break to check on you and hopefully bring some medicine. You barely processed it before you fell back asleep.

The next time you woke up was around lunchtime. You still felt hazy and hot with fever, but the sound of your phone going off was enough to capture your attention. Michael. He had asked where you were, and you barely have enough energy to type out what you thought was just a simple “fever” - thankfully, auto-correct caught you - before you turned back over with the intent of going back to sleep. Barely ten minutes pass before your mom came in with a plastic bag in her hands, rattling off the contents of it before she felt your forehead. She told you to get some more rest. You happily obliged.

The next day, after a night of bland soup and forcing down your meds with ice cold water, you see a newly formed group chat with you, Michael, and Jeremy, poised proudly at the top of your messages.

Michael: u guys need anything or

You stared at the message. You guys? You barely have time to try and question it further when a text bubble popped up.

Jeremy: i’m good

You: what

You: you ok, jer?

Jeremy: no im sick

You: what

You: how???

Jeremy: you

Michael: jeremys being a little bitch

Michael: hes always like this when he’s sick

Michael: you need anything, [y/n]??

You: idk some good soup would be rad

You: my dad brought some gross shit last night and it sucked

You: parents got medicine.

You: send me love.

You: and tissues

Jeremy: please let me sleep

You: sorry jer

Michael: kk

Later that afternoon, the doorbell rang. You forced yourself out of bed, managing to get the front door open only to see a little plastic bag sitting right outside of it. You looked up to see Michael standing outside of his car, and you could only assume that he rushed back to his car to avoid exposure. He waved at you, only budging from his spot when you wave back at him.

Bless Michael Mell and the soup he brought you. You’d have to thank his mom. Or maybe both of them - they were both goddesses in your eyes. You only knew that Michael couldn’t cook for shit.

At midnight, you woke up again, a dull hunger restless in your stomach. You had left some soup for later, and you were fully ready to heat the rest of it up and devour it. You shoved the Tupperware bowl into the microwave, punching in a number before you swayed into the counter, leaning against it to keep yourself standing as the microwave buzzed. Strangely enough... it almost felt internal after a minute.

Then you heard it. Your own name being cooed in a voice that sent shivers and a ghost of a shock through you. Glitching in and out. You panicked. You bolted, dashing to your room to find your phone. Your hands were shaking as you went to unlock it, fucking it up the first two times before finally getting it the last. You didn’t think. You went for the first number you saw.

The moment someone picked up, you spoke. “Michael,” you said, voice caught in your throat, “shit - dude- it’s - it’s back-” You took a breath, trying to calm yourself before continuing, “just - I need the Mountain Dew Red. Please-”

You heard a distant, groggy “...what?” on the other hand as a hand fell over your own, causing you to slowly lower the phone as it appeared before you.

It stood tall as ever, eyes gentle, manipulating your senses as you swore you felt warmth from it’s hand over your’s. “We can fix this.” It said, voice quiet. Soft. Gentle. “We can start over and make everything right.”

“I...” You whimpered, attempting to take a step back. Instinctively, you dropped your phone and shut your eyes and covered your ears in an attempt to drown everything out. “No.” The word spilled past your lips once, twice, too many times as tears rolled down your cheeks.

Fingers grazed your cheek almost lovingly. “Just let me fix this, [y/n].” It said softly, almost kind, and you felt your stomach drop. “You can reboot me - just - another dose of regular Mountain Dew-”

“No,” you shook your head, “I’m - you’d-”

“I’ll fix this. I promise-”

The sound of frantic knocking at your front door was enough to force you to your feet as you rushed to answer before anyone else could wake up. “Michael-”

Jeremy stood there, soaking wet and panting like crazy as he clutched a bottle of salvation within his right hand. He straightened up a bit, holding it out to you. “Sorry - Michael, uh, gave me a few bottles as back-up so I ran-” He said.

He shut up the moment you flung your arms around him, burying your face in his chest, completely ignoring the soda he carried in favor of comfort. Just for a second. That’s all you had needed. He stiffened up underneath you as you clung to him, only for you to pull away almost immediately after.

After you took the bottle and unscrewed the cap, downing the drink with nothing with a minor headache following in it’s wake, Jeremy could only stare at you. “You... You really heard it, huh?”

You winced, breath hitching as you swayed slightly. Jeremy’s hands found your shoulders, steadying you as you looked back up at him. “I-” You started, only to stop immediately, “thank you- I’m- I’m sorry you had to run here.” You paused, “I... didn’t know it was raining, or I wouldn’t have-”

“It’s fine,” he said, letting go of you as he took a small step back. “I’m - I’m gonna head back home-”

Thunder clapped. Lightning flashed in the distance. You reached out and caught him by the wrist, “stay here.” You said, “it’s - it’s late, and... and I don’t want you walking home in the rain.”

He almost debated with you, but another growl of thunder was enough to debunk whatever argument he was formulating as he followed you inside. You locked your front door back, retreated back to your room to find some clean clothes that would hopefully fit him (thank fuck for all your baggy shit, still hidden away in your closet), and handed him a towel. The microwave chirped for what you could assume was the thousandth time, and you rushed to stop it - only to have to punch in more time. You could hear the shower running from the room over. The hum of the microwave, the smell of spices tinting the air... and you felt alive. You were there. Breathing. Heart pumping. Mind... going, at least - even if there were moments of betrayal there. You were still there, and it was strange to think about that sometimes.

The water shut off abruptly, and you pulled yourself from your thoughts as you stopped the microwave just a second before it was meant to go off. As you seated yourself at the kitchen table, Jeremy emerged and made his way over to you. He pulled out the chair nearest to you, and slowly sank into it.

“You feeling better?” You asked, looking up at him.

“I, uh, I should be asking you that.”

“You were sick too, Jeremy,” you said, “why’d you run here?”

“You sounded scared,” he shrugged, “besides - I’m better-” Immediately he was cut off by a cacophony of coughs, as he turned away from you. “I’m fine. What about-” He finally looked back at you, still embarrassed of the shades of red he’d turned, “what about you?”

You suppressed a smile. “I’m... decent.” You shrugged, “I’ve... never really seen it before tonight.”

“You haven’t?”

“Nope.” You paused, “I dunno. Maybe being sick like... weakened me or something.” After another pause, you noticed Jeremy shiver. “You can take my room, Jer. It’s warmer - I’ll just - I’ll take the couch-”

“It’s fine, [y/n] - I’ll just - I’ll sleep on the floor-”

“You are not sleeping on the floor, Jeremiah,” you feigned offense, “you are a guest! You’ll take my room and I’ll sleep on the floor-”

“You’re still sick too, y’know,” he retorted, “just - I’ll take one side of the bed if you want-”

“Fine.” You frowned as you stood, “if you insist.”

After leaving the bowl in the sink, filled with water in the classic “it has to soak” manner, you lead Jeremy to your bedroom. You snagged your phone from the floor, plugging it back into charge as you took one side of your bed - making sure to stay as close to the edge as possible while Jeremy took the other. The room was almost silent, the sound of Jeremy breathing quiet enough to merely tint the air.

Right as you started to fall asleep, you turned onto your back. “Jeremy?” You said, stifled by a yawn. When he hummed in acknowledgement, you continued, “thanks for coming here.”

You barely caught his soft, almost hesitant “yeah, uh, no problem” as you fell asleep.

#mj's writing corner #be more chill x reader #be more chill reader insert #bmc reader insert #bmc imagine #jeremy heere x reader #jeremy heere imagine

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sprnklersplashes · 5 years ago

Text

weathering the storm

AO3

Janis x Gretchen one shot. Janis comes to Gretchen's rescue as she tries to walk home on a miserable afternoon. Being in her old/new friend's house is odd, but nowhere near as odd as the growing feelings inside her; both new and unfamiliar. But maybe there's more to her daring and bold classmate than Gretchen thought; and maybe there's more to herself too.

Rain pours down over the suburban streets, even heavier than the news had warned, accompanied by claps of thunder that seem to shake the sky. As she tries to make her way home through the near-flooded streets, Gretchen pulls her jacket tighter around her, although if she’s honest, it’s not much of a jacket. It’s thin and flimsy, held together with a silver broach and used more for decoration than any actual warmth. But it was the only garment she was able to find in her closet that morning that went with her blue top and knee-length white skirt. All of which she is fiercely regretting now. Even with her tights, her legs are covered in goose bumps and rain clings to them like little kids in stores clinging to their moms. The rain hits the back of her neck and head hard, mussing up her carefully-styled dark hair, and her back and shoulders ache from shivering. And all that is without thinking about the pain in her ankles from trying to navigate the uneven street in her heels when she can barely see in front of herself. In short, Gretchen a lot like the weather. Completely and utterly miserable.

She rolls her shoulder around, trying to ease the pain that the weight of her bag brings. She decided to bring more books than she needed today, hoping to get into some studying after the library. She needs to get some sort of grasp on chemistry, otherwise she’ll have to face another D, and the workload for English is getting greater with every passing class so that even with dedicating her free periods to it, she feels like she’s watching her classmates speed ahead of her and leave her in the dust. Part of her begins to wish she had left some books in her locker, despite having never opened her locker since freshman year. She left a book there by mistake and ever since, the idea of opening her locker has forms a heavy weight in her stomach.

She’s pulled out of her thoughts when she feels a wave crashing over her; cold water attacking her side and nearly toppling her. It’s partly her fault; these shoes were definitely not made for walking in. Gasping, she pushes a thick clump of wet hair away from her face just in time to see a small dark blue car speeding off into the distance, as well as a large grey puddle rippling beside her.

Gretchen feels her face crumple. Hot tears spill over her cheeks, a startling contrast to the cold of the rain and wind. The puddle attack had already left her breathless, but now as her chest tightens and sobs wreck through her sore body, it’s feeling next to impossible.

She tenses as another pair of headlights roll up beside her in her peripheral vision and make two bright yellow circles on the puddle. She tenses even more as the truck the headlights belong to slows down. She’s heard horror stories in assembly of kids who are offered lifts home from school. At least her heels are probably sharp enough to use as a weapon. And her bag heavy enough to use as a bludgeon. And she has her phone on her.

Except the window rolls down and she doesn’t see a man with a kind face but cunning eyes; she sees Janis. Her classmate, slash old friend, slash possible new friend, half leaning on the window of her pick-up truck, in all her purple lipsticked, thick mascara-ed glory.

“You okay there, Gretch?” she asks.

“Fine,” she says, shouting a little over the rain. She blinks are more tears make their way down her face. “Just.. bad weather.”

“Yeah, it’s a bitch,” Janis replies. She slaps the side of her truck. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride home.”

“Oh, no,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s fine, really. I-I like walking.” Janis raises an eyebrow. “Okay, well, maybe not, but I don’t live that far away.”

“Yes, you do,” she replies. “Unless you moved in the last five years.” Gretchen curses under her breath. Janis went to her house plenty of times back when they were still friends. She’s sat in the back of Gretchen’s mom’s cat as they drove back from the park to her place. “And you are not walking that distance. Come on, get in. You can even pick the music.”

“No,” she says again, shaking her head. “It’s fine. Thanks, Janis, really, but I don’t need a ride.”

“Gretchen,” Janis says sternly, looking at how her wet clothes cling to her. “Either you get in or I will go out there myself and drag you in here.”

“Okay,” she sighs, cringing at the idea of Janis tossing her over her shoulder and pushing her into the passenger seat of her truck. “Fine.” She scurries around to the passenger door and climbs in, much to Janis’ pleasure. She’s smiling triumphantly as she closes the door.

“There we go,” she says, turning up the heat on the dashboard. Within seconds Gretchen feels warm air all around her, as though it’s wrapping her in a tight hug. She has to hold herself back from sighing in relief as Janis pulls away from the kerb. She’s frowning at the scene in front of her, window wipers moving frantically in a race between them and the weather. The sky is completely grey, just as it was when Gretchen woke up this morning. “Beautiful weather. What were you even doing walking in it?” She asks bluntly, no intention of holding back even a little, and for some reason it makes Gretchen smile.

“Well, Regina left school before me,” she explains. “She’s usually my ride home but I wanted to stay in the library. And Karen couldn’t stay either. And the buses have been cancelled.”

“Why? Regina’s not around,” Janis states, a broad grin on her face.

Gretchen falls against the back of the chair, covering her mouth with her hand as high pitched giggles fill the car. She knows it’s rude to laugh about what happened to Regina; she feels bad about it now and she’ll definitely feel worse later. But… well that was funny. And she does have the beck brace off now.

“It’s because of the weather,” she tells her.

“Yeah well maybe they were right there,” Janis says, leaning forward in her seat. “Can’t see shit out here.” She rolls her purple lips into a thin line, her brow furrowing in thought. She turns to look at Gretchen just in time for a shiver to run through her body. “Hey, I live a lot closer than you do. Why don’t we go to my place, you can dry off there, and then maybe call your mom? I’m pretty sure Sabrina here is going to short out if I try to take her that far.”

“Sabrina?”

“My truck.” She shrugs, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world for a white, slightly rusted truck to be named after a TV witch. “So my place?”

“Sure,” she says, curling her hands into tight fists so that her long nails press into her palms. Truthfully, she doesn’t want to go to Janis’ house and take up space there and use up her towels. But she also doesn’t want to walk out all the way to her house. And she’s not sure Janis would let her. “Thank you. So much.”

“I’m just letting you crash in my place, Gretch,” she says softly. “Not giving you a kidney.” Gretchen huffs a small laugh. Janis drums her fingers on the steering wheel, singing along to the Alanis Morrisette song coming from her CD player and bopping her head along. Janis walks through the halls like she’s in her own world, like Gretchen is on the other side of some glass wall watching her paint rainbows on the walls, taking up as much space as she likes and making all the noise she wants and not caring when people roll their eyes at her. Sometimes she wishes she could join her.

“Here we go,” Janis says, pulling up in front of her house. “Casa Janis. Or Maison Janis.” The house looks fairly familiar, not having changed much since she was here last. Small and white with a black painted roof and a flower box in one of the downstairs windows. Those flowers are being well fed now. Janis jumps out of the truck and opens the back to lift a heavy looking A3 folder out of it before running up the path, Gretchen following tightly behind her.

“I’m back!” she calls as they step into the hallway. The light is on and warmth seeps into Gretchen’s bones even with her wet clothes clinging to her skin.

“Janice!” a voice from further into the house, followed by a long stream of French that Gretchen can barely hear, never mind understand or translate. Janis responds in French as well; it rolls so perfectly off her tongue you’d think she had grown up in Paris.

“Oh that’s right! Your dad’s French!” As soon as she’s said it she regrets it. Despite weeks of trying, she still can’t seem to get herself under control. Something comes into her head and races out her mouth before she can even think about it. She steps back, goose bumps prickling on her arms that aren’t from the cold. Even Janis’ light giggle and fond smile doesn’t dispel her worries.

“Yep. But the rule is we speak English when there’s friends over.” She turns back to where her dad must be and calls again. “Dad! I’ve brought a friend over!” With that, Janis begins climbing up the stairs. She’s up four when she turns and motions for Gretchen to come with her.

“Okay!” he replies. “Which friend?”

��Gretchen,” she replies before running up the stairs, taking two at a time, and leading Gretchen into the first door on the right; her bedroom.

Just like the girl herself, Janis’ bedroom has changed dramatically since they were 13. The once blue walls are painted purple now, her single bed gone and replaced by a queen sized with a red and black check cover over it and about four plush, soft looking pillows. In the midst of all those pillows is a small toy cat, probably no bigger than Gretchen’s hand, with black fur and little white paws.

“Purrlock!” she exclaims, picking him up. Janis turns from where she stands at her open closet and laughs slightly as Gretchen holds her little cat. “Aw, I remember him. God you used to take him everywhere. Like to my sleepover when I was 11. The one for my birthday.”

“He’s my little kitty,” she answers, crossing over to the bed with a fluffy looking navy towel in her arms. She scratches Purrlock’s back with her finger. “I had to take him with me.” Gretchen’s sure she’s imagining the pink hue in Janis’ otherwise pale cheeks as the other girl hands her the towel. “Here, dry yourself off.” Gretchen takes it gratefully and runs it over her hair first before drying off her neck and rolling up her sleeves to get at her arms. Janis cocks her head as she watches her, concern flickering in her brown eyes. “Although… maybe, here you can borrow some of my clothes.”

“Oh, no it’s fine,” Gretchen argues, even though Janis is already up and at her wardrobe, one hand on her hip. “I mean these are comfortable enough.” It’s an outright lie; the skirt is sticking to her legs and coming away red and her top is clinging to her stomach like a limpet, but she’s already in Janis’ house and using her towel. There’s a line. She stands up, stumbling and falling slightly on her shaky legs, weakened by the cold and rain. She probably just proved Janis’ point to her. “That’s really nice of you Janis, but I can’t take your clothes too.”

“Sure you can.” She struts back over to the end, handing her a small dark bundle of clothes. “You’re about my size anyway. I’ll give you some privacy to change.” Gretchen can barely get another feeble protest out before Janis flounces out, clicking the door shut behind her. She’s left alone in the room, shivering in her soaked clothes, holding Janis’ ones in her hands. They’re certainly a lot drier. And warmer, heat seeping into her frozen hands. And it would be rude not to wear them now.

With a sigh, she peels her jacket off and flips her top over her head, gasping lightly as the cold air hits her damp skin. She hastily dries herself with the towel before pulling on the t-shirt Janis lent her and then pulling the grey plaid shirt on over it. The skirt is thankfully easier to get off and the gets the jeans on with a surprising amount of ease. They’re skinny, but not at all like the skin tight ones she’s grown used to wearing; they hug her legs and chase away the cold. The t shirt is soft and thick against her skin and the plaid shirt might as well be a blanket around her shoulders, the fabric impossibly soft and the sleeves falling just past her hands. As she folds up her own clothes, she bites back a laugh-and a blush-as she sees what’s on the bed; Janis left her a pair of impossibly fluffy white socks. She puts them on, immediately warming her blue toes.

She sits back down on the bed, feeling awkward and agitated as she hears Janis and her dad moving around downstairs. She looks around the room for a distraction; drawn to the canvases that hang on the walls. She guesses they’re Janis’ work, the brushstrokes strikingly similar to the ones she’s seen in the art rooms on the rare occasion she’s been in there. They’re all a bit well… not traditional; a picture of a pale girl purple hair and red eyes and pointed fangs, one of a fairy with crimson wings trapped in a jar, one of a mermaid with a shark’s tail. There’s less fantastical ones too; she spots one of Janis, Damian and Cady, all caught up in a moment and laughing with bright eyes. She forces the flicker of envy inside her to die down, not really being able to remember the last time she and Karen and Regina laughed together without Gretchen then feeling guilty for it.

She taps her toes against the purple carpet as she waits for Janis, growing more anxious by the minute. Maybe she’s meant to go downstairs and tell her she’s ready? Maybe she’s meant to text her? She takes her phone out of her bag and holds it in her lap her thumb hovering over it. The tapping of her toes gets faster.

“Gretch?” She jumps as Janis’ loud voice calls from the other side of her door. “You decent?”

“Y-yeah,” she says, jumping off the bed and running to the door to open it. Janis beats her to the punch and swings it open, a plate with two cookies in her hand and a smile on her face.

“You look good,” she says, crossing over to the bed and sitting down. “Here, I got you a cookie.”

“Oh, thanks.” It’s soft and gooey in her mouth, warm chocolate spreading over her teeth and tongue.

“Also I was talking to my dad downstairs,” Janis goes on, turning to face Gretchen and tucking one leg underneath her. “He said that a lot of the roads have been closed because of the rain. Lot of flooding and shit. So I thought… Maybe you could just hang here for a while until the roads clear up? We can study together. You can have dinner here if you need to. My dad always goes overboard with the cooking. He loves having company.”

She wants to say no. But she also knows that if she does, Janis will press her until she agrees. Anyway, it’s not like she can say no. The rain pounds against the window, the wind scrapes loudly against the glass and a clap of thunder makes Gretchen squeak.

“Okay,” she agrees. “Thanks. So much.”

“I’m just letting you study here, Gretch,” Janis tells her. “It’s nothing.”

“You also lent me these,” she reminds her, gesturing to the clothes. “They’re great by the way. I really love them. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Janis says fondly. She gestures her hand at the shirt. “You know, sometimes the stereotypes are true.”

“Stereotypes… Oh, you mean the lesbian one.” Not for the first time, Gretchen kicks herself, especially when Janis’ smile falters a little. Those two words that Regina keyed into Janis’ locker those years ago are still fresh in her mind, and no doubt in Janis’.

“Yeah, the lesbian stereotype,” she says, shaking her head slightly. “Not all of them are true though. I don’t know jack shit about DIY.”

Gretchen doesn’t entirely get what Janis means, but she smiles and nods anyway. She sends a quick text to her mom before picking up her bag and taking out her notes, picking up where she left off in the library. She looks through her annotated copy of Hamlet, trying to do what her mum suggested and make mind maps of the important stuff.

“Ugh, English is killing me this year,” Janis says, nodding to her book.

“Yeah, but you’re really good at it,” Gretchen reminds her. “Remember you wrote all those stories in middle school?”

“Yeah writing’s the easy part. Not so much all that reading. Doesn’t help that Mr McKenna is an ableist bastard.” There’s something so compelling in the ferocity of her voice, the way she so casually slips out a swear word the way anyone else would casually call someone a friend. “He’s not very dyslexia friendly.”

“I know. Or just friendly in general.” She does remember a rather intense panic in sophomore year following one of his classes. “Ms Boyle’s an angel though.”

“Don’t I know it. She lets us use her classroom for the LGBT+ society meetings.”

“Oh, I heard about that. I mean I always mean to go, but I’ve been so busy.”

“You should come on down,” Janis tells her, propping her plastic-covered canvases against the wall. “Next week me and Aaron are doing an ace introduction workshop. For the little baby aces. Or just anyone who wants to know about it.”

“I’ll try to make it.” Gretchen wonders if she’s imagining the elephant in the room. Janis doesn’t seem to notice, humming something only she knows as she takes a ratty looking notebook out of her beg and starts flipping through it, clicking a pen absent mindedly. If she went to the LGBT+ society then that would make her…

She doesn’t know. Well, she kind of knows. She knows girls are pretty and she wouldn’t mind kissing them and that boys are… less so. No one else knows, except maybe Janis now. She studies her more than she studies her Shakespeare, taking in her furrowed brow as she tries to make sense of her maths notes. She can’t think why she told Janis. Maybe it’s because she’s never push her. Or maybe part of her holds on to middle school where Janis was trusted with Gretchen’s deepest secrets.

“Maybe I’ll just get Caddy to help me,” she sighs. “She gets all this stuff. She loves it. Sometimes I think she’s more into math than she is Aaron.”

“I mean, she grew up doing math,” Gretchen offers. “And her parents are… math people? Don’t zoologists do math?”

“I think so,” Janis says, wrinkling her nose. “Imagine if we all took after our parents. Bleh.”

“You don’t want to be like your parents?”

“Aw, not like that,” she says, leaning back on her arm. “I mean, I love them. But my dad does human resources and my mom’s a museum curator. None of that says me, you know. If I end up in a museum, I want it to my work that ends up there.”

“It will! You’re so great at art.” A little pink blush glows on Janis’ face.

“Thanks,” she says. “I’ve been looking at art colleges and stuff. Somewhere cool. Big city. Like New York or something.” She takes another notebook out of her bag and pulls a face, showing it to Gretchen. It has “GEOGRAPHY” written in block letters and red pen on a label, but what draws Gretchen’s eye is the phrase “The Lesbian Agenda” printed across the front for all to see. “But I still have to pass this shit too.”

Janis turns on the music on her phone, letting Gretchen scroll through her library and pick a playlist, and they study with Sara Bareilles in the background. As each song plays, Gretchen feels the tension in her stomach lighten more and more, to the point where she is sitting up against Janis’ wall with her legs crossed, giggling at the faces Janis pulls at her calculus notes, which Cady is attempting to explain through text messages.

“So I never asked,” Janis begins. “What are you thinking of doing? In college I mean.”

“Um…” Gretchen taps the top of her pen with her fingertip. “I mean… I’ve kind of started looking at social work.”

“No way, that’s awesome!” she replies. “My aunt’s a social worker, and she’s a complete badass.”

“Yeah, my cousin is too. It just looks great, you know. Getting to help all those little kids.” There’s so much more on the tip of her tongue, begging to be said, but she holds it all back, the image of Regina rolling her eyes at her sharp in her mind.

“That’s what my aunt says,” Janis agrees. “So do you know where you want to go?”

“Not too far,” she says. “Maybe just stay in Chicago.” Janis hums, her wrist moving quickly as she doodles in her notebook. “But I won’t go anywhere if I don’t get my grades up. My dad will kill me if I get another C in English.” She pulls Hamlet back into her lap and frowns at it. Janis scoots closer to her on the bed, rolling onto her stomach.

“Hey, maybe we can study together,” she suggests. “Help each other out.”

“Okay,” Gretchen agrees. “But I don’t know how much help I’ll be.”

“Oh you’ll be fine,” she says, sitting opposite her and crossing her long legs. “Fetch, even.” She opens up her own copy of Hamlet, her scribbles sprawling out all over the pages, each one in a different coloured pen. She leans over and lifts her backpack onto the bed, pulling out her English notebook. It has pink and white stripes on the front, and it embarrassingly takes Gretchen a moment to realise it’s the lesbian pride flag. Janis wears who she is wherever she can; on her stationery, her clothes, her bag. It’s beautiful, how fearless she is. She remembers after those months when she didn’t come back to school, when she marched back in September with Doc Martens and heavy make-up. From then on she was loud and unapologetic, her middle finger her new best friend. People compare Regina to a lion; the queen of the jungle that is their school, but Gretchen secretly thinks that if anyone is a lion, it’s Janis. Fearless and proud, a stunning beauty you’d never want to cross.

She takes her notecards out of her folder.

They work through each act of Hamlet, Gretchen showing Janis her mind map for act one and Janis being so impressed with it she decides to have a go at doing one herself, the artist in her loving it and even drawing a little picture next to each sub-heading. Gretchen walks her through it, a thrill running through her as she keeps talking and Janis just nods, filling it in as she tells her. In return, Janis helps her with the character biographies, making her laugh by referring to Hamlet as a “tricky bitch” and then promptly Tip-Ex-ing it out. They’re interrupted by Janis’ dad, who comes up with two plates of vegetable omelettes with sweet potato, asparagus and a bread roll on the side.

“Thank you so much,” Gretchen says as she takes the plate from him. He also hands two cans of Diet Coke to Janis and she sets them between them.

“You’re welcome, Gretchen. Long time, no see. Isn’t that the expression.”

“Yeah,” she says, discomfort slithering around her. “Been busy.”

“Of course. Happy studying.” Janis nods, a piece of asparagus hanging out of her mouth.

“Got to love how he still acts like he can’t speak English,” she chuckles fondly. “He speaks better English than me.”

“Still, do you always get dinners like this?” she asks, thinking about her and her mom eating oven cooked chicken and fries or microwaved rice.

“Yeah,” she says. “He works part time, and he really likes cooking. Guess it’s the French in him.”

“What part of France is he from?”

“The south. Brittany. Here…” She leans over and lifts a framed photo off the bedside table, turning it around so Gretchen can see it. It’s Janis, her hair much shorter and more blonde, with her natural black just beginning to creep into it, sitting next to a red-haired girl around the same age on a grassy hill, a sparkling blue ocean behind them. “Sun all day, ocean everywhere.”

“It looks beautiful,” Gretchen says. The Janis in the photo is laughing, carefree as the breeze that blows her short hair away from her face. “I remember when you got that haircut. It looked amazing.” Of course, she’s talking about when Janis walked back into North Shore, making her grand return with shoulder length half-blonde, half-black hair and her chin up.

“I did it myself,” she confesses, her tone uncharacteristically shy. She rakes a hand through her longer hair. “It was just time for a change, I guess.”

There’s a lot Gretchen wants to say. She wants to say that she’s sorry for her part in it, that she never stood up and stopped Regina herself. She wants to say that she thinks Janis is amazing and that she wishes every day that she could be more like her. She wants to say that she’s worth ten of Regina.

“This food’s really good,” is what she says instead.

They start on Act Three after they finish eating. Janis’ phone pings as they work and she texts back quickly, fingers flying over the keyboard.

“Damian,” she explains. “Just asking about my suggestions for a movie night for the LGBT+ thing.”

“What did you suggest?”

“I wanted Jennifer’s Body,” she explains. “But Damian thinks it’s too gory for freshmen. So I’m suggesting Pride.” She grins as her phone pings again. “And Cady’s on my side.”

“Pride… that’s the one about the coal miners in England, right?” She vaguely remembers seeing the title on Netflix. And remembers suddenly looking away and feigning disinterest when her mom looked at it.

“Well, Wales technically, but yeah,” she says. “It’s so good though. My mom said she’s trying to put up an exhibit in her museum about that part of history. But there’s pushback, as per usual.” She takes another drink of Coke and taps her pen against her notebook. “We were meant to have agreed on the movie last week, but… shit happened. We’re not good at this.”

“I think you are,” Gretchen assures her. Janis looks up, her mouth falling open just slightly. “I mean, you said you and Aaron are doing that workshop thing. And I see all the posters for the stuff you do around school. All the fundraisers and things like that. It looks like you guys are handling it really well.”

“We’re like swans,” she explains with a grin. “We look beautiful and graceful, but in reality, we’re paddling for our lives. It’s me, Cady, Damian and Aaron, but we’re going to start recruiting juniors pretty soon so they can keep it running when we graduate. And then they’ll recruit juniors to run it after they graduate and then they’ll recruit juniors and it will go on and one and on until the sun burns out of the sky.”

The sun doesn’t show any sign of burning out of the sky right now, the rain continuing its attack on Janis’ window and the sky a dark shade of grey. Janis follows her gaze, pulling a face at the scene outside.

“Nice weather for ducks,” she comments, shrugging when Gretchen looks at her with a confused frown. “It’s what my mom likes to say.”

“Oh.” She checks her phone and finds no messages from her own mom. Maybe she’s stranded herself; stuck in her office building thanks to the downpour. “Maybe I should start getting home-”

“The roads are still closed though,” Janis points out.

“I can walk the rest of the way,” she says, getting up. “Thank you so much for the clothes and the food and everything, I’ll get them back to you as soon as I-”

“Gretchen.” Janis gets up and closes the space between them, placing her hands on her shoulders. Gretchen wonders how someone’s touch can be firm and also soft. That actually encapsulates Janis perfectly. A combination of fierce and gentle that shouldn’t exist but does. “You can stay here as long as you need. Or as long as this storm keeps up for.”

“I appreciate that. So much.” The words tumble and fall out of her now with no control. “But I’ve already used your towels and eaten your food and I’m wearing your clothes, and I don’t want to bother you-”

“Gretch, I invited you,” she reminds her. She hesitates for a moment and then pushes her hair away from her face, her fingers trailing down her cheek and jawline. “You’re not bothering me. Or anyone.”

Her cheeks flame red and she opens her mouth, hunting for the right words to say. Even if she could, her chest and throat are too tight for her to even speak. All she can really do is smile and nod a little and let Janis lead her back to the bed.

“You know, studying’s pretty boring,” she sighs. “What do you say we take a break? Go see if there’s any cookies left, maybe watch a little Netflix?”

Gretchen allows herself to nod and smile. She lets Janis take her by the hand and lead her into the kitchen, stealing two more cookies before slipping back upstairs. The whole way down and up the stairs, their hands stayed intertwined, palm to palm. Janis made no move to separate them, so why would Gretchen?

“Come on.” Janis lifts her tablet and settles down on the bed, motioning for Gretchen to do the same. She sits down next to her, leaving just enough space so that she can still see the tablet screen if she cranes her neck. Janis looks at her sideways, her mouth turning into a slight frown. “Is it okay if I move a little closer? Just so you can see it better.”

“Um, sure.” Janis scoots a little closer. There’s just a hair’s breadth between their knees; Janis’ fishnet tights against the grey jeans she borrowed from her. Gretchen’s heart picks up and that shouldn’t be new to her, but it’s not out of panic or fear. Something flutters in her stomach, something light and soft. When Janis is this close to her, the feeling radiates throughout her whole body, tugging the corners of her mouth into a smile and making her melt onto Janis’ bed.

“So what do you want to watch?” Janis asks.

“I don’t mind, you pick.”

“Aw, come on, Gretchen, don’t do that to me. There’s got to be something you like.” She taps out her password and opens up the tablet, revealing a sketch on a familiar character; the long red hair and green tail were a favourite of a young Gretchen.

“Ariel!” she squeaks. Immediately her face flushes, especially in front of the “too cool for school” Janis. She clears her throat. “So… did you draw this?”

“Yeah, this is my art page,” she explains. “I do Disney stuff sometimes. This one’s going on my Redbubble.”

“Redbubble?”

“It’s an online store, basically,” she explains. “Once I print this out I’ll make stickers, I’ll put it on laptop skins and notebooks. One is going to be a present for my little cousin, but the rest I charge for.”

“Cool,” she replies. “That’s really cool.”

“Hey, since you’re an Ariel fan, how about we watch some of The Little Mermaid?”

“Only if you want to.”

“Of course I do. Ariel was little Janis’ crush.” She opens up Netflix. “Yeah, one day it just all fell into place and I realised why I watched this movie so many times as a kid.”

Must be nice, Gretchen thinks. To have it all worked out. Whereas for her, the more she’s around Janis, the more confused about herself and her feelings and Janis herself she gets.

Together they watch the brightly coloured underwater adventure unfold before them, and it’s nice. It’s more than nice, really. Gretchen stopped watching Disney movies when she hit high school, hiding her DVDs in the back of her closet. Even her stuffed Flounder was hidden away under piles of coats, skirts and jeans after Regina had raised an eyebrow at him. She wishes she had him now. Maybe Janis would find him cute. Her own stuffed animal, Purrlock, lies across her lap, her finger running down his fuzzy back.

Gretchen’s hand slips from her hand as Prince Eric’s ship begins to go underwater. She doesn’t think much of it until she realises her fingers haven’t landed on the fabric of Janis’ bed, but on her warm fingers and cool metal rings. Her heartbeat pounds loudly in her ears. She should pull her hand away, but instead she just freezes and lets Janis wrap her fingers around her hand.

When Janis turns and smiles at her, she manages a smile back, and hopes she doesn’t look as freaked out as she feels.

She tries to do what her mom tells her to do when she’s feeling like this; break it all down to its bare essentials, try to work out why she’s feeling like this and what she can do to stop it. Take it apart and lay it out in front of her, count and total everything up until she finds the part of her that doesn’t work like it should.

She’s watching The Little Mermaid.

She’s in Janis’ room.

She’s wearing Janis’ clothes. Because hers got soaked by the rain which hasn’t shown any sign of changing; the frantic storm outside matching the one inside her head.

Janis’ dad made them dinner.

Janis invited her here. And she had said yes.

There it is, she realises. There’s the faulty bit. She’s sitting right next to her, long legs and dual-coloured hair and purple lipstick. She’s spent all afternoon with her and doesn’t really know why. But there’s more. Maybe there’s a reason she tends to avoid Janis; something to do with a racing pulse in the art room and sweaty palms as they stand outside the movie theatre waiting for Cady.

How long had she known? How long had she ignored it, denied it, pretended it doesn’t exist?

It’s only when Janis turns and looks at her that Gretchen realises she’s been staring at her. And biting her lip too, a habit she’d gotten so close to kicking. It makes her teeth look gross.

“Are you okay?” she asks. Warm brown eyes dusted with navy eyeshadow.

“I…” she begins. “I don’t know.”

“What is it?” She pauses the movie and pushes the tablet away, turning her body to face her. “Gretchen are you okay? If you want we can chance it and I can drive you home. Or maybe you can call your mom?”

“No.” The bed suddenly feels too small, Janis’s body so close to her making her claustrophobic. She jumps off the bed and runs over to the window, her reflection half-visible in the misty window. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She hears Janis come up behind her. “Do you… do you want to talk about it?”

No, she thinks.

“Why did you invite me here?”

“Because of that.” Out of the corner of her eye, she fees Janis pointing out the window. “Because I couldn’t let you walk home in that.”

“Why?” she asks again. Her fingers dig into the fabric of the shirt. It feels like Janis; unique and daring, but soft around her.

“Because you’d have gotten pneumonia if you stayed out there,” she explains, but it’s half hearted and her voice shakes. When Gretchen turns around, she sees Janis driving her fist into her palm and taking in a deep breath. She stays quiet as she watches the cogs move in Janis’ head. Somehow the girl who towers over everyone else, both with her impressive height and her fierce personality, shrinks down, her walls stripped away, the fire extinguished until it’s steaming embers. “You really want to know?”

“Yeah.”

“Well…” Janis sticks her hands in her back pockets, her eyes glued to the window. Her jaw is clenched so tightly it might never open. And the more sick Gretchen feels, the more she regrets ever getting off that bed, she hopes it doesn’t. “Maybe… maybe I like you.”

“Like me?” she echoes softly. The words hang between them, written in the steam on the window. Janis gives a tiny nod, her shoulders hunched over. Gretchen’s knees nearly give out when she realises when she’s seen that look on her before; in middle school, the day their friendship was knocked down.

“I mean, it’s not that I just invited you because I like you,” she explains quickly, her voice just that much too loud. “I’d have done it for anyone. Well, not anyone. But any of my friends. Like I’d do it for Cady. Or Karen. But I don’t like them. Well, I do, but not-not the way I like you.” She scrunches up her face, letting out a groan and running a hand over her face. “I’m sorry, Gretch, I shouldn’t have-”

“Why?” Every part of her is shaking; her hands, her voice, her heart. She feels like a clockwork toy that’s been wound up too tightly and is overworked to the point of breaking.

“Why?” Janis asks. Her own cheeks turn red. “Well, because you make me laugh. And you’re thoughtful. You look out for people. You want other people to be happy.” She shrugs, her eyes wide and honest and clear. “Why wouldn’t I?”

A lot of reasons.

Gretchen swallows the lump in her throat, daring to glance up just long enough to look at Janis. She’s not sure what she expected; some movies have tear stained faces, others have nothing except for raised eyebrows and a nonchalant shrug. Janis on the other hand is squirming awkwardly from foot to foot, wringing and stretching her hands, wearing an apologetic and fearful look that Gretchen knows so well she may as well be looking in a mirror.

“Gretchen, I’m sorry. I wasn’t going to tell you-then I was. Damian said it’s better to tell you, but I didn’t plan for it like this.” She waves her hand, gesturing to the space between them. “Believe me, I’d have invited you here even if I didn’t like you… that way.”

“Janis.” Gretchen’s brain seems to turn on autopilot, because she closes the distance between them almost completely, tilting her chin up to look at her. She does have the bizarre idea to jump out the window, run and never speak to Janis for the rest of the year. Her feet stay firmly on the floor though. “It’s okay.”

“It is?”

“Yeah.” She pulls the sleeves of her shirt down over her hands. Janis’ shirt. “It’s fine. I’m not-I wouldn’t think of you like that.” She wants to look down and avoid Janis’ eyes, but she can’t. Janis reaches out, her finger brushing against Gretchen’s wrist, and her heartbeat spikes. Words flee her brain. “It’s okay. I-”

I like you too. Four words she couldn’t get out if she tried.

“Gretchen.” Janis’ hand stays against her wrist. The other girl bites her lip hard. Another habit she seems to share with Gretchen. “Tell me-tell me if I’m wrong.” She hesitates and takes a daring move closer. Daring-that’s Janis through and through. For one minute, the phrase her Janis crosses her mind. Janis’ eyes flit down to her lips. “Gretchen-tell me if I’m wrong.”

“You’re not,” she whispers. “You’re not wrong.”

Janis’ lips are warm. Warm enough to chase away the chill in the air brought by the storm outside. They’re soft too; Gretchen has no problem melting into her. Her arms come up around Gretchen’s shoulders, one hand tangling in her hair. She thinks that Janis must have experience in this; she knows exactly what to do and when to do it, knows how to leave her just slightly breathless. It’s not exactly Gretchen’s first kiss, but it’s the first one that matters.

Janis is grinning when she pulls away, laughing that full, bright laugh of hers and slipping her hand into Gretchen’s back pocket. Gretchen’s first instinct is to say ‘thank you’ but she beats it down quickly.

“Wow,” she breathes. She leans a little forward so that her forehead rests against Janis’. “That was… really good.”

“Thanks,” Janis replies, her cheeks pink. They dissolve into quiet giggles. The rain patters against the window, just as harshly as before, and Gretchen burrows into Janis. The other girl takes her hands out of Gretchen’s pockets and takes her hands with a heavy sigh. “Look Gretch, I don’t know how long you’ve known or how comfortable you are or how slow you want to take it. But I’ll be here. Every step of the way.”

Every step of the way. That makes her smile more than the kiss did. Well, almost more.

“Can I keep your shirt?” she asks. Janis snorts a laugh.

“Yeah. You can keep it. It’ll give me an excuse to see you again.”

“Have you ever needed an excuse for anything though?”

When Janis’ lips touch hers again, Gretchen takes her phone out of her pocket and throws it at what she hopes is the bed. The wind howls and scrapes at the window, the rain beating down harshly against the walls, and even a clap of thunder rolls through the sky. But Gretchen doesn’t mind. As long as Janis keeps kissing her like this, it can rain for as long as God wants.

#janis x gretchen #janis sarkisian #gretchen wieners #mean girls broadway #mean girls fanfic #janchen?#grenis?#whats the ship name pls tell me #i accidentally started shipping this lmao

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thisnoisemademe · 11 months ago

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Tell me what you need, what's right, whatever is just enough. Is living with the truth a start? Maybe it's just enough?

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luienios · 5 years ago

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Aparecerán nuevos horizontes, ocurrirán milagros pero siempre ten en cuenta algo no es cuando tu digas ni cuando lo esperes... vive el momento y ocurrirá todo. /// . .👉@jgerardoglez . . . . . . #photooftheday ||| #snapseed ||| #afterlight ||| #talentosMex ||| #musiclife ||| #tattooes ||| #bass ||| #drums ||| #band ||| #friends ||| #pearl ||| #tama ||| #song ||| #musicman ||| #pop ||| #live ||| #funk ||| #music ||| #rap ||| #rnb ||| hiphop ||| #fender ||| #newband ||| #gretch ||| #soundcloud ||| #live ||| #show ||| #newsounds ||| #kingsofgroovemx (en UNAM Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México) https://www.instagram.com/p/B3jP3_fAZxB/?igshid=1mch08iygpahz

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odddustin · 5 years ago

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New Drums that my Dad built are squeezed into our practice room. Time to rock! #gretch #drums https://www.instagram.com/p/BxZprBRAeNj/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=pf9xdjqglo4d

#gretch #drums

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trust-in-coblos · 5 years ago

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Finally got the Gretch set up like I needed. #drums #gretchdrums https://www.instagram.com/p/B0PUkKvllBF/?igshid=x8j7hvho0lru

#drums #gretchdrums

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dasebasstian · 7 years ago

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Years ago I was asked to interview one of the most unique and talented musicians around- The Reverend Horton Heat. Unfortunately the interview got lost in the editorial shuffle and never saw the light of day. Below is that lost interview.

Setting The Record Straight With The Reverend Horton Heat

Interviewed by D.A. Sebasstian

Jim “Reverend Horton Heat “ Heath has been tearin’ it up for over two decades now, with eleven albums, dozens of compilation appearances, songs in major motion pictures and even video games and cartoons! You might expect a man with that kind of success to slow down...just a little. Well sir- not on your life! The latest incarnation of Jim Heath’s band including The Reverend on guitar and vocals, Jimbo Wallace on upright bass and Paul Simmons on drums, is arguably one of the tightest and hardest working bands on the road today. I got the chance to talk with the Reverend by phone while they were in the midst of their 2009 tour...somewhere in the beautiful state of Colorado.

From what I’ve read on the internet you had it pretty rough as a teen growing up hustling the pool halls for cash-

You read the wrong bio (laughs). Lemme tell you what happened. We had just signed to Sub Pop Records back in the ‘90’s and I get this call waking me up early in the morning. It was some girl from Sub Pop wanting to ask me all these questions. She had this monotone voice with questions like (speaking like a robot ) “Where did you grown up?” “What do you like to do?” “What cigarettes do you smoke?” etc. So I told her that I was adopted, like to play pool and I smoke Merit Cigarettes. Later on Sub Pop gets this information and turns it into, “Reverend Horton Heat was an orphan who became a pool shark and smokes Lucky Strike Cigarettes.” (laughs). Complete B.S. I have hung out in pool halls, but growing up,I had a wonderful middle class family, a great extended family with cousins, aunts and uncles. You know Sub Pop had a history of that kind of thing.

Does personal experience fuel your song writing?

Yeah- personal experience definitely fuels my song writing...but then again sometimes you gotta stretch out beyond personal experience and use your imagination. You know, get a little phantasmagorical.

Besides Jerry Lee Lewis, who are your biggest musical influences?

I really love the Sun Records stuff like early Elvis and Carl Perkins. Non-Sun bands like Johnny Burnette and the Rock & Roll Trio, Gene Vincent and the Blue Cats, but ya know man...I really like music from the mid-twentieth century era. I really love Henry Mancini as well as the Blues, a lot of the Chess records stuff like Howlin’ Wolf, Buddy Guy and Muddy Waters. Its had a big influence on me. Then of course the Country Music of that era was just great too.

As a band you guys are extremely tight live do you guys rehearse or just set and play out?

The only time we rehearse is during sound check. The way we really keep it going is that we play so much...we play so many gigs. We’ve cut it back from what we used to do- but we’re still one of the hardest working bands out there as far as our tour schedule. I wish we could rehearse more but our new Drummer Paul lives in Nashville, so to schedule a rehearsal involves airline flights and motel rooms (laughs). It’s kinda crazy now. We got the new songs for the new album and we’re going to be getting together to actually rehearse it in Dallas in March. That’s really the only reason we need to rehearse, if we’re working up some new songs or going to rehash some older ones that fell by the wayside.

I love your song Galaxie 500. Are you a Ford guy?

Well I like the design of Fords, I mean I think Fords design, you know alot of people get mad at me for this, but a I just think the way their cars look have always had something just a little bit better. I think Chevy came back into the picture with the ‘55 Chevy- and honestly I have a great appreciation for all American cars. A long time ago people were like “Ford Sucks” and “Chevy Sucks” but what's funny now is like- “What abut Toyota?” “What about Hyundai?” All the sudden all that snobbery between Ford and Chevy people is out the window. It has to be or else we’re all gonna be driving Toyotas. We need to all stick together on this

You are considered by many to be the King of Psychobilly is that a crown you would wanna wear?

No no man...the Kings of Psychobilly are European bands man. The Meteors, Guana Batz, Demented Are Go, Necromantix...those types of bands We have a song called Psychobilly Freakout and when it came out alot of writers in the States didn’t really know what rockabilly was all about. So they heard the song title and were all “What is Psychobilly?” So that label got put on me. But in all honesty we do things that “Psychobilly Bands” don’t do. We’ll do a slow country song, we’ll do a slow blues song...ya know? Some of our stuff definitely fits in the Psychobilly mold but alot of it really doesn’t.

How long have you been playing Gretch and what is your guitar rig live and in the studio?

Well I really haven’t played Gretch my whole career. I had an old Guild back in the mid-80’s with a Bigsby Tremolo that eventually led me to a Gibson ES-175 with the 1954 P90 pickups. But with all the modern lights, dimmer packs and crazy electrical stuff they put in buildings for these light shows, those P90 pick ups would buzz so loud, almost as loud as the tone coming out of my amplifier. I dealt with it, I made it work, but once when I was on tour the 1/4 inch jake just broke into the guitar and at that time we were really at it- doing 275 shows a year. It was around the same time Gretch started doing their reissues. I went into a Guitar Center, saw the Gretch and noticed it was about the same thickness as the Gibson and had the Bigsby Tremolo. To me it had less of the older Gretch “nasal “ sound and more of a Telecaster vibe. That was something that i really liked and that the Gibson definitely couldn’t get. Gibson's are great for Jazz and some Rockabilly, but they just don’t have that Tele Twang . The Gretch had all that plus the Telecaster vibe, so I said, “That ‘s cool man.” Not to mention it was functional (laughs), so I ran with it. Since then I’ve acquired a lot of nice old Gretch guitars, but I don’t take ‘em on the road with me. I do sometimes play them in the studio along with my old Gibson 175 . Gretch started making the “Reverb Horton Heat” model so I play that as well.

What about Amplifiers?

I like the Silver Face Fender Super Reverb, I’ve got several mid seventies Silver Faces, but I have this one in particular that is unreal...it’s just the perfect amplifier. And so I’ve used that on every album I’ve ever done and in fact I’m gonna use it tonight. I spent more money keeping that amp in good repair...I mean it’s the most expensive amp in the world (laughs). We put one mic on that Silver Face and we’re good to go. It’s kinda funny I’m into my amps almost more than my guitars.

Your last album was the brilliant Christmas record Three Kings? Why a Christmas album?

Well for one thing our record label wanted it and for the other alot of my heroes did Christmas albums. They all did them. It was almost like part of their contract. Three Kings was a fun project. What was really interesting is I’ve got alot of record collector friends and as soon s they found out I was doing a Christmas album they all started mailing me their favorite CDs of the weirdest, craziest, most obscure and obscene Christmas Songs... like who put the Dick On Snowman. All this nasty, over the top, blue Christmas music. So at that point I was thinking, I am going to do a Christmas album and all the kids in my family...ya know I started thinking Christmas is for kids. Maybe I’ll do a Christmas album like that someday but in the mean time I’m just gonna do a straight up Frosty and Rudolph traditional album.

I’m a big rivet head so I gotta ask- what was it like working with Al Jourgenson of Ministry on the Liquor in the Front album?

Well..that was a crazy trip into an area I’d never really gone before. It was scary as hell. I mean I would leave the studio after being in there for eleven hours, working on one song, just bleary eyed and tired of working and I’d look over there and Al was about to die, the guy almost killed himself...several times. Not purposefully but you know what I mean? Al's a trip man...Al's a real trip. I mean Al and I got a little cross ways on that album but he brought a lot of good stuff to the table and alot of interesting ideas. You know that album sold more than any of our other albums so I really can’t knock him too much...but man he’s pretty out there. It’s funny though one thing about him is he knows alot about country music and obscure rockabilly stuff . He’s not just an industrial guy.

How about working with Gibby Haynes of The Butthole Surfers?

Now doin’ the sessions with Gibby, we ate so much Barbecue it was crazy...I mean every night it was BBQ. In fact we were going to this really famous place called Jim Neely's Interstate Bar-B-Que. We were buying so much every day...they had this shopping cart that they used when they would cater events and they just let us have the shopping cart full of Barbecue to use. We’d just take it to the studio, lift it out of the back of the van and roll it inside. Everyday we were buying a gallon of Barbecue Sauce...it was crazy! Gibby made his own drinks and was mixing Vodka and BBQ Sauce ...it was really nasty (laughs).

What bands do you like touring with?

Well we like touring with Nashville Pussy they’re alot of fun, then there's the Legendary Sack Shakers and Throw Rag...we’ve done alot of great tours with them. Some of my favorite tours were goin’ out with great guitar players that were so over the top good it’s kinda scary you know. Like Jr. Brown. I didn’t get to talk to him much on tour, he keeps to himself, but man what a great guitar player. I got to see him play every night. Deke Dickerson who's a monster player and Big Sandy and the Flyright Boys were always super inspiring because they are such great players and have such a great style.

Any new albums in the works?

Yeah it’s gonna be with Yep Roc, were gonna try to bang it out here as quickly as possible. Kinda on the cheap. We’re not gonna make too big a deal about it. Probably get Tim Alexander to help us do a little production and musical arrangement as well as some piano and accordion on a coupla things. The plan is were gonna go in a really old little studio in Dallas where Willie Nelson recorded “Red Headed Stranger” and “Blue Eyes Crying In The Rain.” I’ll give you a scoop- though I haven’t talked about too much, our new album is gonna be country...

Really?

And its not like “Well we’re goin’ country now,” because I actually have a lotta great rockin songs in the works too, but this upcoming album is just leaning heavily on country stuff. A lot of our fans that like us and are not Country fans seem to really enjoy our country type songs. We’re one of the only bands that they listen to that do anything like country music. So the guys who might normally hate country might still might like our country stuff. Many of my country songs and most of this new album have a humorous thing goin’ on with it.

I’ve always thought of your music reaching across genre borders- I have friends with record collections full of punk or metal or lounge music but they also have some Reverend Horton Heat CD’s in there too.

That was kinda the intention from the very beginning. At the time it was almost like shooting apples in a barrel. Back when we first started there really we not that many Rockabilly bands in existence. You had the Stray Cats, Rockats and Paladins playin’ upright bass and then The Blasters. Without getting into listing all the bands that were around at the time, it was pretty weird. There just wasn’t that big of a Rockabilly scene. So here we come in, doin’ original music that was Rockabilly, but a little more amped up. It really was like shooting apples in a barrel. People were like- “Whoa this band is really different!” “We never heard anything like this before!” (laughs)

Yeah but you have to be good too- I mean you could be different but if your not good your not gonna get the fans. There's a real power with what you guys do.

Well thank you. Anything you do at some point it’s gotta be entertaining

So you guys are writing the new album on the road? Yeah I’m writing as I go- yeah I’m gonna go in there and work on a new song today. So we're trying to get songs ready as we play on this tour, because we aren’t together. You know? When we’re off tour Paul goes back to Nashville. This is our time together so we get to annoy all the opening bands and crew people by turning our sound check into a rehearsal (laughs)

Do you believe in UFOs?

That's a cool question...and the answer is...no (laughter). I love to watch the shows about UFOs on TV. Its very entertaining to think about but I don't believe in UFOs. I’m one of these very skeptical persons- so until I see it myself I won’t believe it. I’ve got this thing about Government- I mean people get all bent out of shape that our Government keeps secrets from us. The simple fact of the matter is that they have too keep secrets from us or we would all die. I don’t think their keeping UFOs a secret. I think what they keep secret is the military stuff that if it came out that we had it then eventually our enemies would use it against us.

If you could rewrite the soundtrack to any older movie (say pre 1977) what film would it be?

Probably Thunder Road with Robert Mitchim. I’d keep the title song, “Thunder Road,” but that’d be a fun movie to do. When I was a kid, my Dad would take me to the car shows and the drag races and then he’d set me down and say, “You got to watch this movie Thunder Road.” After I saw it I was like, “Hey Dad what does that mean- all hopped up?” (laughs).

#IFTTT #Blogger

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