#i had people in my film theory class shouting no spoilers about no way home like last week... i was like ??????????????????

[3416]

Dude, I hate spoilers AND have major fomo at the same time it's horrible 😂. Sometimes if it's something I'm really into (including Marvel ;)) I save people's reactions to like set pictures or trailers, and look at them after I've watched the real thing. I just want to see things things fresh without wondering when what I saw is going to happen, if it will match my expectations etc. It seriously ruins my experience, even if it's not something that has shock value. It's challenging lol.

but in that case, i'd assume you're one of the first people in line to see that kind of stuff, right? like if you're a big fan,,,,, the way some people get genuinely mad you're not using 'spoiler' in your posts or tweets or whatever 2 weeks after something comes out is like.. come on flkdsfkdls. in my opinion, it kinda falls to the individual to do the best they can to keep away from it, which seems pretty easy on socials with blacklist options nowadays, and in my case, i'll never not tag something on purpose to spoil you or talk to someone who doesn't want to hear it, like i'm not trying to be an ass 😭 but it's the expectation and entitlement after sustained periods of time that pisses me off more than anything. or the need to approach every piece of art with an entirely blank slate.

[fandammit]

Look how long this love can hold its breath (3/?)

Alright, I officially do not know how long this is going to be. I had a plan at one point...like 4 thousand words ago. I have an ending in mind, now it’s just about writing Ben and Devi to get there in a way that makes sense. Strap in, folks -- and thanks for reading!

Part 1 || Part 2 || On Ao3

*******

“Is Shira, like, weirded out or anything that I’m staying over here?”

It’s the third night of Devi living with him, which is definitely a sentence he never in his life thought he’d say. They’re sitting across the table from each other working on their pre-cal homework, snacks strewn across the space between them.  

He glances up to see her chewing on her lip, waiting for his answer. For some reason, he doesn’t know quite how to say that the two of them aren’t together any more, so he just shrugs and looks away from her.

“It doesn’t matter.”

She sighs heavily and he hears her lean back against the chair.

“She’s pissed, huh.” She sounds genuinely upset, and he looks up and sees her chewing on the corner of her bottom lip. “I’m so sorry, Ben, I didn’t think about how she might feel about this.” She clears her throat. “I mean, did you tell her that, like, you and me, you know…” She gestures between them and shrugs.

It takes everything within him not to ask what she means by that. He’s trying to be normal, to pretend like he never tried to kiss her -- twice! -- to act like he never wanted to.

He thinks if things were like they used to be, he’d make some snide comment about how she should be so lucky to be here with him. If things were like it used to be, his reply would be designed to remind her that he was better than her, manufactured to make her feel small.

But if things were like they used to be, they’d never be in this position in the first place. He isn’t sure of a lot lately, but he’s sure that he doesn’t want them to go back to things as they used to be.

So he decides to go for a new normal.

“We, uh --.” He scratches the back of his head, then gives her a small, lopsided smile. “We broke up.”

“Oh.” She blinks rapidly, then leans forward with a sympathetic slant to her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Ben.”

And the thing is, she does sound genuinely sorry about it, and for some reason that makes him feel more than the actual breakup did.

He shrugs again.

“It’s no big deal.”

She tilts her head at him as though trying to figure out what he might really mean. But the truth is, that’s really what he means.

“I mean, you guys were together a while.”

He nods.

“We were but --.” He taps his fingers on the table, trying to put it in a way that doesn’t make both of them sound callous and shallow, even though that’s exactly what they are. “I think we liked the idea of one another more than who the other person actually was.”

It’s the softest way he can put the reality that Shira really only liked him for his money, and he mostly liked her for the simple fact that it meant that someone wanted him.  

“Huh.” She sits back in her chair and looks at him. “That’s deep, dude.”

“Yeah, well, you should know by now that I have stores of wisdom beyond your comprehension, David,” he drawls out, though it’s less cutting than it once would have been.

She rolls her eyes at him, but that motion, too, isn't as sharp as it used to be.

*******

“Jesus, Kevin McAllister’s kind of homicidal.”

It's Friday night and they’re only halfway through her very first showing of Home Alone, but he can tell by the tone of her voice that that’s the conclusion she’s come up with for the entire film.

“I mean, it’s a fun 90’s children's film that I don’t think we’re meant to take as having any bearing on real life,” he replies dryly. “But, yeah, he absolutely is.”

She’s curled up on the seat next to him in the screening room, her feet tucked in under her and a blanket draped across her legs.

They’re sitting in the exact same two seats they sat in during his party when he tried to kiss her, a fact that seems to bother her not at all and that he can’t get out of his mind for more than two minutes at a time.

Which means he’s spent a good duration of the movie being very aware of the placement of his arms, the movement of his limbs, the slant of his body. He’s also tried to make sure he hasn’t spent too much time looking at her, though that backfires when she asks why he keeps looking just past her right shoulder every time she talks.

He’s at least grateful that she’s somehow never seen Home Alone, because it means she hasn’t completely picked up on how incredibly weird he’s being.

“I mean, these guys should’ve been dead like, ten times over with all the shit he’s put them through.”

“Again -- children’s movie.” He grimaces as they watch Marv’s foot hover above a protruding nail on the stairs, then turns and faces Devi so he doesn’t have to see it. “You know, there was an article a few years back that theorized that Kevin McAllister grew up to be the villain for all the Saw movies.”

Her eyes go comically wide.

“Dude! I can totally see that.”

He takes out his phone and starts googling the article so that he can send it to her.

“I mean, I’ve never seen any of the Saw movies, but I know enough about them generally to think that it’s a pretty good theory.”

He feels Devi clamp onto his arm with her hand.

“Ben, how have you never seen any of the Saw movies?”

He looks down at where her hand is resting on his arm, then back up at her. Tries to focus on the incredulous look on her face rather than the warm pinpricks of her fingertips settling on his skin.

“I -- uh. Um. Well, I --.”

Oh dear God, he is such a mess.

“Are you trying to think of some excuse for why you haven’t seen a modern horror classic like Saw?” She says with a smirk, then (blissfully? unfortunately?) lifts her hand to cross her arms in front of her chest. “I can’t believe you made fun of me for not seeing Home Alone when you haven’t seen Saw.”

He breathes out a relieved sigh and turns into a scoff at the last moment.

“I’m not much of a horror movie guy.” He clears his throat. “Besides, Home Alone is a classic.”

“Saw is a classic!”

He rolls his eyes.

“I’m not sure that a movie about someone sawing off one of his own limbs could be considered a classic.” He quirks an eyebrow at her. “Or, you know, even good.”

Devi gives him an incredulous look.

“Uh, I believe 127 Hours was nominated for like six Academy Awards, Ben.”

“Yeah, I walked right into that one.” He turns to face her. “But, 127 Hours was an inspiring story of survival, humanity and hope. Saw is the story of some guy making people complete stupid tasks because he thinks it’ll teach them something. It’s basically a demented version of Mr. Shapiro’s class.”

Devi lets out a loud shout of laughter, and he feels a pleased grin spread across his face.

“You know what, I love that description so much I won’t even argue with you.”

“Finally ready to admit that I’m your intellectual superior?”

She rolls her eyes.

“You wish.” She gestures at the screen. “But no, you’re making me miss the movie.”

She settles back into the chair and turns to face the screen. They watch the last half hour in comfortable silence, and when it’s over, Devi turns to him.

“So one of your favorite childhood movies is about an 8 year old who terrorizes two grown men and probably gave them both traumatic brain injuries before sending them to jail?”

He huffs a small laugh.

“I think it was probably more getting to see the story of a kid being so important to his parents they flew home from Paris to be with him. Like, gee, wonder what that must be like.” The last part is as bitter as he’s let himself feel lately -- and definitely more bitter than he’s let himself say out loud. He regrets it when he glances over at Devi and sees her giving him a sympathetic look. It seems selfish and unfair to complain about his parents given what she’s been through, so he gives her a half-smile and a shrug. “It’s fine, Devi.”  

She shakes her head.

“It isn’t, but we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want.” She gestures towards the screen. “So, given that you picked the first movie, the next movie choice should be mine.” She turns back to him and grins. “And my choice is Saw.”

He scoffs, but only to cover up the smile that is creeping up on him.

“So we’re doing a marathon now?”

“Two movies isn’t a marathon, Ben, it’s a double feature.” She stands up to grab the bowl of kettle corn she put on the floor earlier and puts it back on her lap. “I mean, really it’s like we’re watching the spiritual sequel to your favorite childhood movie, so I’m actually being pretty generous with my movie choice.”

“Wow, truly magnanimous of you, David. I’m so grateful.”  

“You’re welcome,” she says without a trace of irony, then gestures for him to pick up the iPad next to him so that he can start looking for the film. “And I know you’re used to watching movies in this dope setup, but I’m not, so we’re going to revel in the dopeness of it until I get tired of it, which will probably be never.”

They don’t own Saw because no one in his family would ever want to watch it, so he clicks over to their Amazon account to buy it.

“I actually don’t use this room all that much. It isn’t as fun by yourself, so, this is --.” He glances over at her and shrugs. “It’s nice.” She gives him a smile that might be described as soft, if he were doing such a thing as cataloging her smiles. He turns his attention back to the iPad screen before he can do anything stupid like tell her how pretty her smile is, and scrolls through the list. “There are eight Saw movies?” He says incredulously. “How are there eight Saw movies?”

Devi shrugs.

“They’re cheap to make and people keep watching them, hoping any one of them will be as good as the first one.” She takes a sip of her soda. “Spoiler alert, that hope remains unfulfilled.”

“Wow, you’re really doing a great job at selling me this franchise.”

“Hey,” she says, slapping him with the back of her hand. “I wasn’t trying to sell you the franchise, just the first movie.” She moves the popcorn bowl between them and settles back into her chair. “Now shut up and get ready to see the type of person Kevin McAllister became when he grew up.”

*******

They end up watching all of Paddington 2 (his choice, to scrub the horrifying but admittedly -- and surprisingly -- alright Saw from his memory) and Cabin in the Woods (Devi’s choice, as an example of -- in her words -- a legit awesome horror film, to which he finds himself agreeing).

By the time they finish it’s nearly 3 A.M., and they’ve eaten their way through two huge bowls  of kettle corn, an entire tub of Red Vines, and a mixed bag of mini candy bars.

“You wanna choose another movie?” Devi asks, even though she’s all curled up in the comfortable plush of the chair with her head pillowed on her arms.

“So I can sit here and watch it alone while you snore next to me?” He turns off the screen and climbs out of the chair, stretching his arms over his head. “C’mon.”

“You go,” Devi mutters, her eyes now closed. “I’m comfortable here.”

He gives a small chuckle.

“Yeah, well, you won’t be when you wake up in a few hours with a sore neck and numb feet.”

“Nuh uh,” she counters as she buries her face further into her arms. “I’m smaller than you, I can fit.”

“Devi, I know from experience that these chairs are deceptively comfortable now, but it’s killer for your back and neck.” He crouches down and attempts to tug the blanket off of her. “Besides, you’re not really that much smaller than me.”

Devi gives a tired smile, and he has to twist his hand into the blanket to keep himself from doing something truly idiotic like brush away the stray curl that’s fallen across her face.

“At dinner one night my mom asked why I let you rile me up so much when you’re like 5’2.”

She huffs a laugh, and he finds it so immediately and absurdly appealing that he can’t even find it in himself to be all that insulted.

“First of all,” he starts, once again trying to pull the blanket from her and getting a weary, half-assed scowl in return for his trouble. “I’m 5’5. Secondly, I’m glad you just admitted that you’re always talking about me at the dinner table. Not that I didn’t already know that you’re obsessed with me, but it’s nice to hear it straight from you.”

She opens one eye just so she can roll it at him.

“You’re the worst, Ben Gross.”

“I know you’re just saying that because I’m trying to get you out of this chair.”  

She groans and throws the blanket off of her, then lifts her head off her arms and sits up.

“But why make them so comfortable if they aren’t even good to sleep in?”

“Specifically to torture you, obviously.”

“Hrmph, you would.” Her eyes are half closed again, and she’s leaning dangerously to the side. He’s worried that she’s going to curl back up in the chair again, but then she lifts her arms out in front of her.

“Are you...doing your best zombie impression?”

She scowls at him -- or she tries to, at least. Her eyes are closed and it’s like her face is too tired to dedicate itself to the expression, so the result is much less menacing than it is adorable. He’s glad she can’t see him right now because he’s almost sure the look on his face would give it all away.

“Help me up, you dick,” she says, though there isn’t any heat in the words.  

“Oh well, geez, since you asked so nicely.”

She smiles sweetly at him, though her eyes are still closed.

“Help me up please, you dick.”

He huffs a laugh and hopes it sounds casual, which is how he should feel, instead of slightly panicked, which is how he actually feels.

He reaches down to grab both her hands in his and pulls her up. His brain is yelling at him to let go of her immediately, but his traitorous hands aren’t listening, and he just keeps them wrapped around hers as she sways unsteadily on her feet.

“Dunno why I’m so tired,” she mumbles, her head falling forward with her eyes still closed. Her face is half hidden by the wild mass of her hair and he feels his fingers twitch at the thought of gently tucking a wayward strand behind her ear. “Must be ‘cuz your movie commentary is so boring.”

He makes a noise that he intends to be a laugh, but it just comes out a breathy sigh instead. His hands are still loosely wrapped around hers, and she’s standing so close to him that a stray curl brushes across the edge of his chin every time she breathes.

“Yes, that must be the reason,” he murmurs, because speaking quietly seems like the only way to hide how he’s feeling right now.  “Not the fact that it’s 3 in the morning, we just watched four movies in a row or you’ve been sleeping in a bed that you aren’t used to.”

“The bed’s comfortable,” she says, her words slurred with sleep. She lifts her head at him with her eyes closed and wrinkles her nose as she smiles, then gently tips forward and rests her forehead on his shoulder.

He freezes, and it takes all of the self control he’s ever possessed to not wrap his arms around her shoulders, rest his cheek against the top of her head and just breath the moment in. He thinks he might want that more than he’s ever wanted anything in his entire life, and it feels particularly cruel of the universe to grant him that knowledge at the very same moment he has to fight to not have it.

Devi makes a motion that he can really only describe as nuzzling into his shoulder, which causes him to take a sharp intake of breath and then just...does not breath for the next half minute. He’s so acutely aware of his senses -- the softness of her palms against his fingertips, the scent of her lavender shampoo, the gentle slope of her cheek pressed against his chest -- that for one wild moment he seriously entertains the possibility that he’s developed superpowers.

“You’re more comfortable than you look,” she mumbles, the words muffled because she’s half saying them into his shirt. He thinks she must truly be on the verge of sleep to have said it at all and not immediately recoil in disgust at the words.

If he were not so focused on keeping his breath calm and even, on telling his arms to stay glued to either side of him, and devoting too much energy to keeping his fingers from interlacing with hers, he would say something quippy and casual about how there’s more to him than meets the eye, or gently teasing about the fact that she so clearly thinks about how comfortable he might look in the first place.

But he doesn’t have the focus or the will to be clever, and there’s nothing casual about what his heart is doing right now, so instead he just makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and grits his teeth.

He takes a deep breath in and out again, slowly bringing the crashing wave of his feelings to a somewhat manageable level, then forces himself to let go of her hands.

He flexes his fingers a few times, then reaches up and sets his hands gently on her shoulders and takes a step back from her, the space between them allowing him to clear his head a bit.

Her head lolls forward against air, causing her to frown and flutter her eyes open momentarily.

“As much as I’d like to see you try to sleep standing up, I don’t think it’s humanly possible,” he says, smiling at her when she opens her eyes and gives him a bleary stare.

“You don’t know that,” she replies, opening and closing her eyes a few times to try and inject wakefulness into them. “I bet I could.”

He shrugs.

“Well, I bet you’d sleep better in a bed.”

She heaves a deep sigh, then gives him an inexplicable and lazy salute and a sleepy smile.

“See you in the morning, Ben.”

“Good night, Devi.”