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spine-buster · 5 years ago

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the storm before the calm (f. andersen) | 4

A/N: There are a few things to note about this chapter: one is that I’m sorry if the Spanish is off - I don’t speak Spanish, so I basically just plugged it into Google Translate. Second, you’ll find the Chipi Chipi song on the fic’s playlist (link is on the Masterlist page). This scene was more or less inspired by the scene where this song plays in the movie “The Motorcycle Diaries”.

Aleida listened to Fred. Mostly.

When they kissed and he told her “You have to start doing things that make you happy”, she took it to heart. She didn’t know why. She didn’t take what anybody said to heart – well, just a few people, but no-one else – so it was a wonder to her why she listened to Fred.

Maybe it was because part of that – part of doing things that made her happy – meant she got to kiss him now.

Aleida would never, ever declare a weakness. She wouldn’t show a weak bone in her body to anyone or anything. But she was weak. For Fred. For his eyes and for his ginger hair and for his soft voice and big body and broad shoulders and big hands and…everything. She was weak for everything. And in admitting she was weak, she knew she was becoming more vulnerable. But she couldn’t stop herself. She kept kissing him. Almost every time she saw him now they were kissing, and he was touching, and when he touched her it felt like her body was on fire – in a good way. It didn’t feel like how it did in the past. It felt better. Superior to every other feeling. Yes – when Fred touched her, she didn’t think of anything else. It was a miracle.

For his part, Fred liked kissy Aleida. He liked her lips, and her smile, and how while kissing him he’d feel her smile, and it made the butterflies in his stomach flutter with content, as cheesy as it sounded, because with each kiss Aleida was becoming softer, more like the Aleida he knew she was, the Aleida he saw that night when her band was over and she has no front and no inhibitions. He so desperately wanted to see more of that Aleida, and he would do whatever it took to see her that way – and to get her there permanently.

So when she told him “We’re going out. We’re taking your car. Get it ready”, he took it through a car wash asked how to dress but she told him “Don’t ask too many questions” so he shut his mouth and just…trusted her. He pulled his aubergine Porsche to the curb to pick her up at her townhouse. He parked it and went to her front door. He thought himself a gentleman. He bent down to kiss her before even saying hi.

“Where are we going?” he asked as they walked back to her car, their fingers loosely tangled in each other’s before he opened the door for her.

“I said don’t ask too many questions,” she smiled before crouching to get into the passenger seat. “Just follow my directions.”

“Are you gonna lead me off a cliff?”

“I think I already have.”

A shiver ran up his spine. He closed the door.

***

They were apparently late.

At least, that’s how it seemed when Fred pulled into the parking lot of wherever Aleida brought him and there were practically no spaces – he had to go all the way to the back of the lot, under the overarching branches of a tree to find a space. When he shut off the engine and they exited his car, Fred looked up, reading the large lettering at the side of the building.

Our Lady of Charity Catholic Church / Iglesia Católica Nuestra Senora de la Caridad

“You brought me to a church?” he asked, looking at her. She had a cheeky smile on her face. “You trying to convert me or something? Trying to get me to burst into flames?”

She snorted. “Shut it. We’re going to do something that makes me happy.”

“In a church?”

Aleida slapped his arm playfully. “You’re mean.”

“C’mere,” he held her hand, pulling her towards him and the backing her up against the car. He bent down again to kiss her, placing his hands on the small of her back.

He was able to give her a few deep kisses before she pulled away to catch her breath. “Mmm…” she mumbled, a small smile on her face as she looked down at his lips. “You’re lucky I buy the good lipstick that doesn’t transfer.”

“Wouldn’t matter,” he mumbled quickly as he leaned in again to continue. She let him. “I just wanna kiss you. I just wanna kiss you all the time.”

They kissed for a few more minutes – unable to keep their lips off each other – until Aleida pulled back again. She bit her lip as she took a quick look at him. Her hand went down to his to grab it and she tugged on it lightly. “Come on,” she tried to move him away from the car and towards the building.

“Aleida.”

“Frederik,” she eyed him. “Let’s go.”

As Aleida led them into the side door of the church, she immediately led them down the stairs and into the basement hall. The place was buzzing. There were people everywhere, young and old, and everybody he could hear was speaking Spanish. Fred had to watch his head as they turned the corridor, coming upon some sort of check-in station. Aleida spoke quickly in Spanish to the older women manning the station who wrote down her name and handed her two of those small raffle tickets. They looked behind her to see Fred lurking.

“¿Es este tu invitado?” she asked Aleida. [[ Is this your guest? ]]

“Si,” Aleida nodded, smiling slightly. “Sun ombre es Frederik. Federico.” [[ Yes. His name is Frederik. ]]

“El es muy alto,” the other woman said, giving him an up down. “Un trago alto de agua. Y tan jengibre.” [[ He’s very tall. A tall drink of water. And so ginger. ]]

“Definitivamente no es Cubano,” the first woman said. [[ He’s definitely not Cuban. ]]

“El es danés.” [[ He’s Danish. ]]

“Claro que lo es. Los cubanos nunca son tan altos,” she smiled. She looked at him and smiled, and he smiled politely back. “Have fun tonight,” she said, her voice heavy with an accent. [[Of course he is. Cuban men are never that tall. ]]

“Gracias,” Fred bowed his head slightly as Aleida grabbed his hand again and led him further down the hall. He felt like a little puppy being led around new environments for the first time. “What were those ladies saying?”

“They had the hots for you.”

Fred snorted. “Be serious.”

“I am!” she defended herself. “They said they knew you weren’t Cuban because of your height.”

“Not my ginger hair?”

“That too. You stick out like a sore thumb.”

There was a pause as Fred looked around again. Stepping into the church hall, he saw a lineup of people being served food. The place was packed – filled to the brim with people sitting at tables and enjoying themselves, laughing and telling jokes and eating the food. Men and women were walked around putting wine bottles on tables. Children were running through the spaces in between the tables trying to catch each other.

He really did stick out like a sore thumb.

“What is this?” he asked.

“The Cuban Society of Toronto puts this on once a month,” she began. “Cuban food, Cuban music, Cuban people all together. And this is…you know…my culture,” she said. “This is something I love. Being with, and engaging with my culture. Especially since things lead me to become so disconnected from it.”

Fred smiled down at her. “This is amazing, Aleida.”

“It’s nice to be around people who don’t care who I am,” she continued. “I mean…I mean some of them might know, but they don’t stare—”

“I get i—”

“—and they don’t – they don’t – I don’t know, they just don’t care.”

“I get it Aleida. It’s okay,” he said softly. He took one more look around the room, at all the people having a good time, and smiled. “Should we go eat before it’s all gone?”

Aleida smiled. “You bet.”

***

Fred was served something called ropa vieja – the classic Cuban dish of shredded beef, rice, vegetables, and a sauce. The flavouring was to die for, and Fred could only chalk it up to the old grandmas serving the food who had probably made all the dishes in the first place. It was one of the best things he’d ever had; one of the best meals he’d ever eaten. He asked Aleida if she knew how to make it. She did.

Conversation at their section of the table was lively though Fred didn’t understand 95% of what was being said. Aleida was deep in conversation with the Cuban family surrounding them, translating quickly for Fred before delving into what sounded like philosophy lectures with the family and their children – a young teen and two younger children. Grandma, grandpa, aunts, uncles – everybody was there. Aleida was having the time of her life. She couldn’t speak fast enough to say what she wanted to say. The smile on her face was as wide as when she was surrounded by her band, and just like when that happened, Fred didn’t want it to end. He would stay here all night if he needed to. He’d help clean up.

Suddenly, before he could realize what was happening, they began clearing the plates away and folding up the tables very, very quickly. Fred heard a quick few notes being played on a piano. He looked towards the stage to see a man – maybe in his early sixties – sitting at the piano. Around him, a band was bringing their instruments onto the stage. There was already a drum set he hadn’t noticed. Now a woman was testing a microphone.

He gulped.

“Aleida…” he tugged on the sleeve of her turtleneck like a small child.

“Perdóneme,” she excused herself from the conversation she was having with the matriarch of the family. “Yes Fred?”

“What are they doing on stage?”

Aleida took a quick look and a smile appeared on her face. “The band is setting up!”

“The band? What band?”

“The band that plays the Cuban music!” she said excitedly.

There had been Cuban music playing from a speaker somewhere in the room throughout dinner – Fred didn’t think there’d be an actual band. “Aleida – you – you didn’t tell me there’d be music,” he said worriedly.

“Yes I did. I said Cuban food, Cuban music, and Cuban people all together. It’s a dinner-dance, Fred. There has to be a live band.”

Okay, so maybe she did. He gulped at her words. “Aleida, I don’t dance,” he said definitively.

“Oh, Fred—”

“No, Aleida – I – I don’t dance.”

“Fred, it will be fine.”

“No it won’t,” he said. “I’m a six-foot-four, two-hundred-and-twenty-pound Danish man who can’t move his body unless it’s in a goalie crease. This isn’t going to end well.”

“Frederik—”

“Aleida—”

“I can teach you, Fred. It’s not that hard.”

“You won’t be able to.”

“It’s mostly salsa and mambo. It’s not rocket science. I’ll teach you the basic moves and you’ll be fine.”

“Aleida, I really don’t think you understand—”

“¡Hola todos!” a voice called out on the microphone. Fred whipped his head around to see a woman with perfectly coiffed hair, probably in her early fifties, waving to everybody to get their attention. “¡Bienvenido a la Iglesia de Nuestra Señora de la Caridad! Si nunca has estado, te damos la bienvenida a nuestra comunidad. ¡Esperamos que hayas disfrutado de la comida y estés listo para bailar con un filete! ¡Vamonos!” [[ Hello everybody! Welcome to Our Lady of Charity Church! If you have never been, we welcome you to our community. We hope you have enjoyed the food and are ready to dance away to pulled steak! Let's go! ]]

“Federico – do you know how to dance?” he was asked by the matriarch.

“No.”

“It’s very easy,” she said. “You just move your hips and move your feet and—”

Suddenly, the music started. An upbeat tempo introduced on the piano – apparently one everybody knew judging by their riotous cheers – and soon, the drums and guitar came in. People coupled up almost instantaneously. Fred’s cheeks flushed red and he backed himself up towards the wall.

“Fred – Frederik,” Aleida called out to him, following him and extending her hand so he could grab it. “Fred, it’s fine.”

“I don’t know how to dance to this music,” he said as he watched everybody move so in tune to the music and the beat so easily.

“Let me teach you,” she said, more softly this time, taking the initiative to grab his hand. “Fred, it’ll be fine. I’ll teach you. No-one’s looking.”

“Aleida—”

“Fred – no-one’s looking,” Aleida stressed, getting even closer to him. She pushed her body against his gently. “Nobody’s looking. And nobody’s gonna care. We can do this.”

He knew what she meant by those words. He did. And so, his heartrate slowed down slightly, and he looked at Aleida’s smile, and how big it was, and he looked at her eyes, and the excitement in them – the happiness – rather than the sorrow he saw so much, and he relented. For her. Only for Aleida Casillas.

Aleida was extremely patient with him. She tried teaching him the proper steps, and he got it a little bit, but then she tried to incorporate the hips, and he lost it, so she couldn’t help but laugh at his awkward limbs and nervous smile and think he was the absolute cutest person in the world. Eventually, they had to give up, and Aleida just had to say “Just pretend and look like you know what you’re doing”, and Fred did. And he was still awkward, and still bumped into a lot of people with his large body, and still moved his hips awkwardly and did abysmal footwork, but he was dancing with her. He was having fun dancing with her, spinning her out and around before pulling her back in and having his hands all over her hips and body as she lost herself in the music.

Then the band started to play a different type of music. Upbeat still, but sultrier. A bit of a slower tempo. Footwork and moves didn’t have to be so fast, and the movement of the hips was more pronounced – at least on Aleida – than before. He liked it. He really liked it. He got to hold Aleida closer; place his hand on her hips and the small of her back before she would spin out and then rejoin him. As the songs progressed, the beat got sultrier; and as the beat got sultrier, the closer Aleida got. The more eye contact they’d make. The more she’d feel the heat from his hands on her body.

During a stop between songs, when everyone was clapping for the band, Aleida took a deep breath. “Fred?” she eventually whispered.

“Hmm?”

“Let’s go to your car.”

He furrowed his brows. “You already want to go home?”

He could be so innocent sometimes. It was part of his charm and softness that she was drawn to so much. “No, Fred. Just follow me.”

She grabbed his hand and led him out of the church basement quickly, not bothering to look back. She could hear the jingle of his keys as he pulled them out of his pocket to unlock his car, and she practically shoved him into the driver’s seat before she returned to the passenger’s seat. As he was about to stick his keys into the ignition, she slapped his hand away. “Don’t do that.”

He looked at her skeptically. “What’s going on?”

“Push your seat back.”

“Wh—”

“I said push your seat back.”

“Aleida, I’m six-foot-four in a sports car – it’s already as far back as it can go.”

That was when it all got rolling. Aleida hopped over the centre console to straddle Fred’s lap, almost immediately bringing her hands up to caress his face and crash her lips onto his. Fred responded immediately, his tongue gliding along her lips gently and his hands squeezing her thighs before moving to cup her ass through the fabric of her tight pants.

His lips were soft – so soft – just how Aleida remembered them – and his beard was rough – so rough – against her skin. Just like before, his lips moved so in tune with hers, and after a while she really couldn’t figure out where his ended and hers began. His hands kept wandering up and down her thighs, eventually tugging at her turtleneck that was tucked into her pants. It didn’t take long until she pulled away reluctantly, helping him push the fabric up and over her head and onto the passenger’s seat, leaving her in her nude coloured lace bra on his lap.

Fred gulped. This was the first time he’d ever seen her like this; so flush with raw emotion and so…exposed – physically at least – that he almost didn’t know what to do. But then his body took over, and he stopped thinking too much, and his lips were on her skin again, and his hands were on her skin again, and he realized they were going to hook up in his God damn car, and he reminded himself to stop thinking too much again, and he licked and sucked a trail down her neck to the top of her breasts as she grinded down onto his lap.

It was going to be interesting to maneuver, this whole…situation. There was no point in thinking of the logistics of it because Aleida started making little noises and moaning softly and it was driving Fred crazy. Absolutely fucking crazy. And Aleida could tell, because she could feel how hard he was getting beneath her.

So she started fumbling with his belt.

There was a sharp intake of breath from Fred. She still had her pants on. “Aleida…” he huffed.

She didn’t respond. She was focused in on his belt and continued working on it until it was unbuckled.

So he started to unbutton her pants.

There was a sharp intake of breath from Aleida. She lifted herself so Fred could shove her pants down past her knees. “Fred…” she huffed.

He didn’t respond. He was focused on the underwear she was wearing.

When he looked up at her, she kissed him again. Feverishly. There was no point in holding back anymore and it wasn’t like she even wanted to. She was initiating this and they were doing this and it was happening fast. His hands returned wandering along her exposed skin as his lips returned to her neck and breasts.

She tugged gently at his hair as his tongue ran across her clavicle. The noise that escaped him was…God, she didn’t even have a word for it. It was the first time she’d heard it and she had never heard it before. Unexplainable. His hands dug into the ample flesh of her ass as she did it again. She noticed the windows were starting to fog slightly. She let out a sigh.

Her hand eventually moved down in between their bodies to free his member. She lifted herself slightly again to do so, giving it a few strokes that garnered heavy sighs from Fred. He pulled down her panties easily before she lowered herself back onto his lap. She gave him a quick kiss.

“You alright?” Fred breathed out.

Aleida nodded. “You?”

Fred nodded. He gave her another kiss and as he did, she moved so he could enter her slowly. They didn’t lose eye contact as she kept lowering herself onto him, gripping onto the skin at the nape of his neck. “Jesus fuck,” she sighed out. She tried to steady her breathing, the ache between her legs due to his size shocking her. “God, Frederik.”

He gave her a big, wet kiss and she moaned into his mouth as she adjusted to his size. When she did, she began to grind back and forth on his lap, keeping eye contact with him as she did so, her body filling with pleasure. She let out some more soft moans before tugging Fred’s hair again.

Two could play at that game.

One of his giant hands immediately went to her core and he used his thumb to start rubbing circles. A string of expletives left her mouth as they leaned their foreheads against each other’s, keeping eye contact, their breath becoming more erratic and hotter with each passing second. Judging by her movements and breathing, he knew she was close – this wasn’t meant to last long, anyway – and he was close, too. He increased the pressure he was putting on her hot core.

“Fred…” she leaned forward slightly, whispering his name against his lips. “F…F…Freddie…Freddie…Freddie…”

At the feeling of him releasing inside her she came undone. Writhing and shaking on top of him, repeating his name in mewls over and over again between moans and sighs, she rode out her orgasm for as long as she could. Fred gripped one of her thighs, squeezing them as they both tried to steady their breathing. Fred kissed her tenderly on the shoulder and neck as they began to settle down, Aleida eventually resting her forehead against his again. She stared into his soul. Her body felt warm with pleasure.

“That was fucking hot,” he blurted out.

Aleida bit her lip as she tried to suppress a laugh, smiling devilishly instead. She gave him a small peck on the lips. “That was hot,” she whispered back.

“Fuck, Aleida,” he sighed as he slipped out of her. He quickly looked down at her ample breasts, still in their bra, pushed against his chest. “Aleida—”

She kissed him again, needing him to be quiet. She wanted to revel in this moment for just a bit longer. And she needed to do that without voices – without her inner thoughts, without him saying anything. She’d just had sex in a sportscar parked in a church parking lot. She felt like she was young again, a teenage giddiness within her at the thought of what just happened. What she had just done with Fred.

With Fred.

When her lips left his again, she looked deep into his eyes. She kissed the tip of his nose. She couldn’t help it. “You’re going to have to help me put my panties back on,” she smiled slightly.

“How about you keep them off for the ride back to my place,” Fred suggested.

Aleida giggled. “We’re not going home.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not done dancing, Frederik.”

Fred’s face dropped, and Aleida snorted into a fit of giggles. “You don’t expect me to go back in there, do you?” he asked.

“I said I’m not done dancing, which means neither are you,” she continued to giggle, giving him another kiss on the nose. “Now help me with my panties.”

“Aleida.”

“I’ll help you with yours,” she wiggled her eyebrows.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m as serious as a stroke,” she said, reaching down to grab her own panties since Fred hadn’t bothered due to his shock. “We’re gonna get dressed, I’m gonna go to the washroom to freshen up, and then we’re gonna continue dancing until the band stops playing.”

“I’m gonna kill you,” Fred huffed out.

She leaned in to his ear. “Save that energy for when we go back to your place later.”

Fred groaned loudly.

***

Fred waited for Aleida outside the women’s washroom. Every person that passed gave him the complete up-down, clearly still surprised to see someone so ginger and so tall at the event. It couldn’t have been because he was probably flushed red after what just happened. It couldn’t have been because his hair was now disheveled, unlike earlier. It couldn’t have been because he was jittery waiting for Aleida.

He smiled politely at every patron who stared.

When Aleida finally emerged, looking as fresh and beautiful as ever – not at all like she had just fucked someone out in the parking lot in a sportscar – he pushed himself off his leaning position on the wall. “Are we seriously going to keep dancing?” he asked. Maybe she had been playing a trick on him. Come back in and go to the washroom but then drag him back outside again. She would be one to do so.

“Yes,” she said like it was the most obvious thing in the world, grabbing his hand to drag him back into the hall. The band was taking a break, but everyone was still congregated in the hall, talking to one another.

She found the family they had eaten with and began speaking with the matriarch again, and then the matriarch seemed really excited to introduce another family to Aleida – a great grandfather, the grandparents, the parents, and their four children – and the great-grandfather kissed Aleida’s hand and whispered something to her, and the grandfather gave her a big hug and held her face lovingly, and the little girl, maybe nine or ten years old, tugged on her dad’s sleeve and nodded over to Fred, who smiled and waved at everyone. He had no clue what was going on. Aleida motioned for him to come closer.

“This is Manuel Alvarez,” she pointed to the great-grandfather, “and Martìn and Sofìa,” she pointed at the grandparents, “and their son Santiago and his wife Nina,” she pointed to the parents, “and their children Augusto, Antonio, Ximena, and Rosa.”

“Hello,” Fred shook all of their hands, even the children, and smiled politely.

“Tu marido es muy guapo,” Sofìa smiled at Aleida. [[ Your husband is very handsome. ]]

“Oh, el no es mi esposo.” [[ Oh, he’s not my husband. ]]

“Será major que lo hagas tu esposo o alguien má en esta sala,” Sofìa giggled, giving Fred another look. “Rosa definitivamente lo hará.” [[ You better make him your husband or else someone else in this room will. Rosa definitely will.]]

Fred smiled awkwardly as Aleida laughed. He looked at her, confused. “Do you know them?” he asked timidly.

“My dad operated on Manuel – double bypass surgery – ten years ago,” Aleida informed him quickly. “He recognized me from a picture in my dad’s office and wanted to say thank you.”

The band interrupted any further explanation or conversation they could have, the sound of them testing their instruments filling the room. That’s when Manuel limped over to Aleida, grabbing her hand tenderly again. “¡Señorita Casillas, debo tener al menos un baile con usted! ¿Puedo mantenerte alejado de tu novio por tanto tiempo?” [[ Miss Casillas, I must have at least once dance with you! Can I keep you away from your boyfriend for that long? ]]

Aleida smiled. She couldn’t deny him. He reminded her so much of her own great-grandfather – God rest his soul. She looked at Fred. “I think Rosa wants to dance with you.”

Fred looked down at the little girl, who was looking away shyly. He bent down so he could be at somewhat eye-level with her, though he was still taller. “Do you think you can show me how to do the next dance?”

She nodded her head. “Do you know the Chipi Chipi?”

“No.”

“It’s easy. You get to wave your hands like this,” she gave him an example. “And the music is fun.”

As if on cue, the band began to play intro music to let everyone know it was time to dance again. People partnered up almost automatically. Manuel held Aleida’s hand up and placed his hand gently on her waist, ready to dance. Fred stood up and extended his hands for Rosa to hold, which she did enthusiastically. The music started. Everybody began dancing.

The first song apparently wasn’t the Chipi Chipi, because they didn’t have to wave hands, but after that song ended, Aleida continued dancing with Manuel and Fred with Rosa, and it was all in good fun – Fred would glance at Aleida to see the movements he was supposed to be doing, and try to mimic them as much as possible. When he couldn’t – or when he became a stumbling mess – he resorted to just spinning Rosa in and out, even lifting her up and twirling her around, making her giggle in excitement every time.

When Rosa squeaked excitedly at the start of a new song, Fred knew it was the song she was waiting for. Everybody in the hall seemed excited, too, as the band began playing. Fred looked over to Aleida, still dancing with Manuel, and they smiled at each other before the woman began singing the lyrics.

Amor, te voy a comprar un avioncito para volar En nuestra luna de miel Amor, te voy a comprar un trencito para viajar En nuestra luna de miel Escucha lo que dice al caminar.. Tu canta el chipi chipi para bailar..

The dancing was easy enough, and the tempo was so happy and upbeat, Fred couldn’t help but break out into a smile. Rosa readied him for the chorus, where they flung their arms in the air.

Pichipi chipi, eh! Chipi chipi, eh! Aprende a bailar el ritmo del Chipi chipi Pichipi chipi, eh!, Chipi chipi, eh! Aprende a bailar el ritmo del Chipi chipi Epaaaaaaa! Opalaaaa!. Gózalaaaa! Así, aprende negro..

Aleida eyed Fred dancing with Rosa, and how he was letting her lead. Manuel took notice too, and knew Aleida wanted to join him.

Amor, te voy a comprar un buquecito para pescar En nuestra luna de miel Amor, te voy a comprar un trencito para viajar En nuestra luna de miel Escucha lo que dice al caminar.. Nos canta el Chipi chipi para bailar..

In one swift movement, Manuel let go of Aleida so she could join Fred, and Rosa let go of Fred and began dancing with her great-grandfather. Fred’s arm snaked around her body as he held her close and danced with her, letting go of every inhibition he had.

Chipi chipi, eh!. Chipi chipi, eh! Aprende a bailar el ritmo del Chipi chipi Pichipi chipi, eh! Pichipi chipi, eh! Aprende a bailar el ritmo del Chipi chipi

For Aleida, this was happiness. Being with Fred. Dancing to Cuban music. Her stomach full of Cuban food.

This was happiness.

***

Late that night, Fred noticed that Aleida had a tattoo. It was in between her shoulder blades, on her back, about the size of the palm of his hand – and he had a big palm. It was done impeccably well – the shading was incredibly realistic. He couldn’t make out what it was at first, and he started to trace the area of it with his fingertips after Aleida had collapsed onto the bed – half on, half off his body – after they made love.

“What is it?” he asked softly.

“It’s the photo of the monk burning himself. The cover of the first Rage Against the Machine album.”

“Rage Against the Machine is your favourite band?” he asked. He figured as such since she had the album art tattooed on her. She nodded her head, confirming his suspicions. “Why?”

She shrugged slightly. “I’m angry.”

***

Aleida found herself in a bar downtown sipping on a long island iced tea as she stood in between Fred’s legs as he sat on a barstool. A few of his teammates were there – Auston, Andreas Johnsson, Mitch Marner, and Kasperi Kapanen. Steph hadn’t shown up yet – and maybe she wouldn’t knowing that Aleida was there – but Auston was already chatting up his usual girls, and Kasperi’s apparent new squeeze Saylor – an Instagram model, of course – brought a group of her friends along who Aleida knew very well. Aleida rolled her eyes as they entered one by one, their chain bags, false eyelashes, and over-injected lips making her laugh. To each their own, but at the same time, they were so stereotypical of Toronto party girls that it was almost comical.

“You feeling okay?” she could hear Fred ask softly as his hand gripped the back of her thigh.

“They keep staring at me.”

“Who?”

“Kasperi’s fivesome,” she gave one a glare. “Saylor, Gina, Amanda, Sadie, and Jen.”

“You know them?”

“Unfortunately,” she rolled her eyes. “Saylor’s gotten some work done with my sister – same with Sadie and Jen. Gina’s a known problem. She dated a friend of a friend and was an utter psychopath.”

“Can I ask you a question?” Fred asked. Aleida looked at him to continue. “Why do you care to know who has gotten work done with your mom or sister? Like, what does it matter?”

“People have been obsessed with my body for as long as I can remember. And because of that, I’ve been accused of it – of getting plastic surgery to look the way I do – and girls like them made my life a literal living hell as they tried to dig as far as they could to prove it. But they couldn’t because I never did. Nobody could fathom it so they decided to spread nasty rumours about me instead.”

“Don’t you think you should break the cycle of that?” Fred asked. “Like, not participate in it since it ruined your life or whatever.”

“No,” Aleida said abruptly. “That’s not my job.”

“Isn’t that everybody’s job?”

“Not when they make your life a living hell.”

“I don’t know if I agree with you,” Fred said.

“You don’t have to. I’m not changing my mind.” Aleida took a quick sip of her drink. “I’m not asking you to agree with my choices, Fred,” she said, suddenly feeling annoyed. “You have no idea what I’ve been through. What’s been said about me and what girls like that did to me in the past. You have no idea.”

“But my point is those girls aren’t doing it right now,” he tried again.

“Oh, but they are,” Aleida said. “Believe me. They are.”

Fred looked back at them quickly. He wasn’t so sure. They seemed to be minding their own business. But then again, he didn’t know Aleida’s world. He had no clue, no concept of not only this world, but the different worlds she had to inhabit; the different worlds that still ate away at her. “Aleida, I just want you to be as happy as you were when we were at the church.”

She looked Fred in the eye, breaking eye contact with the girls. It was the first time in a long time someone had said they wanted her to be happy. She almost didn’t know how to address it. She almost didn’t know what to say. “I know you do.”

“If you want to leave, we can,” he offered. “We’ve been here long enough, and Auston’s preoccupied now,” he nodded his head over to his friend. “He won’t be mad.”

Aleida considered it, wondering if she really wanted to go. She decided that she did. She didn’t need to be around these girls – and she was pretty sure the second she left, Steph would show up anyway. “Let me finish my drink – I’m not paying almost twenty bucks for a cocktail without finishing it.”

When she left for a final trip to the washroom, she looked at herself in the mirror, her makeup making her skin looked dewy, but her bold red lip giving her the slightest edge. Aleida knew she looked good virtually always – she wasn’t going to be subtle or pretend she didn’t – and she knew it affected people’s perception of her, because they thought she was always on. Like, she was always Aleida Casillas. She was never just a girl from Toronto to them – she was always Aleida Casillas, a persona that occupied the minds of so many people that they had preconceived notions of her before they even met her. She wasn’t an idiot. She saw the looks people gave her when they saw her in a crowded room; the slight raise of their eyebrows when they saw her or were introduced, like ‘Oh my God, it’s really her! I’m really meeting her!’. It was either that or a prodding – a push to see if she really lived up to every expectation, every negative stereotype, every negative story they heard about her being “bitchy” and a “handful”; another girl with an inflated sense of self, an inflated ego, with too much money to spend to care.

When she left, she saw Auston and Kasperi speaking to Fred, which meant the Kasperi Fivesome were left unattended. Before she could look around the room to check where they were, she heard them instead.

“Hey Aleida,” it was Saylor who said the words. The entire group approached her, some more timid than others. Saylor and Gina were the confident ones. Saylor because she sucked Kasperi’s dick; Gina because she was just a psychopath.

“Hi,” she said abruptly.

“Can’t believe the rumours are true. You’re here with Fred,” Saylor said.

“So? That’s none of your fucking business,” Aleida said harshly. “Shouldn’t you be taking more asinine videos of yourself posing in bikinis for Instagram?”

“Modelling seems to be working for you,” Gina butt in.

Aleida rolled her eyes. “Are you really trying to start something, Gina? You don’t even want to seem above all the drama?” Out of the corner of her eye, Aleida could see the boys looking over at them. Fred was probably getting scared. She focused her attention back on Saylor. “I thought you and your group would be classier than Kasperi’s last.”

“I just think it’s funny that you make fun of Saylor when you’ve done modelling too,” Gina butt in again.

Aleida couldn’t help but laugh. “The type of modelling I do and the type of modelling Saylor does are worlds away from each other.”

Suddenly, Fred and Kasperi were beside her. Fred looked down at her and to the girls. “Everything cool?” Kasperi asked cautiously.

“Is it though? You think it’s dumb she does bikini shoots but we’ve all seen your pictures for Genevieve Jones. I mean, what would Gabriela and Matias think?” Gina arched her brow. “Would they want to see pictures like that of their tía?”

Aleida’s eyes went dark – darker than anything Fred had ever seen. On the outside she remained calm, but Fred could tell a fire had been ignited inside. Something switched inside Aleida. She leaned into Gina to get closer to her ear, but was still far away enough so everybody within the close vicinity could hear her words. “If you ever bring up my niece and nephew again, I will slit your throat in a church. Do you understand me?”

Gina giggled. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Try me,” Aleida shrugged her shoulders, smiling politely at her. “Either that or I call your sugar daddy to stop giving you your candy, fucking coke whore. Maybe I’ll call the cops too. You choose.”

Kasperi’s eyes went wide as he stepped back. Everybody’s did. “Excuse me?” Gina’s jaw dropped.

“Whoops!” Aleida smiled. “I bet you didn’t want Kasperi knowing about that. It’s okay – you know what – I’ll do the heavy lifting for you and go ahead and tell Auston because we all know you want to suck him off in the bathroom—”

“Aleida—”

“Is that why you got the nose job? Did you get coke nose already at the tender age of 21? God, even Saylor hasn’t even developed one yet—”

“Aleida—”

“Let’s do this, actually – you bring up my niece and nephew ever again, and I tell everybody you snorted your first rails off a Louis Vuitton your escorting pimp bought you that time last year you got really desperate.”

“Aleida!”

“Let’s get one thing straight, alright? I could put $10,000 under my Manolos and you’d eat it up and fucking like it,” Aleida was scathing. “You’d be so fucking desperate for it you’d do anything. You’re so desperate to be relevant and so desperate to have your name on my mouth that you would do anything, and I’m here to tell you the game doesn’t work like that with desperate coke whores like you. So don’t you dare put my name in your mouth ever again.”

And with that, Aleida turned on her heels and walked out of the bar.

Fred followed after her, his long strides catching up to her fairly quickly. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. He couldn’t believe the complete 180 she’d done in mere minutes. The vitriol that came out of her mouth – however true – and the way that she said it. The tone of her voice. The confidence in her voice that with her knowledge, she could ruin someone’s life. The fact that she couldn’t do it so easily and not even hesitate. Sometimes, he thought that she was just as bad as the girls she seemed to hate; the girls that apparently caused her so much trouble. But at the same time, he wondered: if she found this acceptable, what had people said about her? How bad had it been it against her? How bad was it against her, currently? He didn’t know what to think anymore. He didn’t know where he stood on everything and he was more confused than ever. He had seen her at her best, dancing to Cuban music with him and a great-grandfather in the basement of a Catholic church; and now, he felt like he’d seen her at her worst. The most despicable. The most reprehensible behaviour. He didn’t know if he could justify it in any way. He didn’t know if he wanted to justify it in any way. How could he? “Aleida. Aleida!” he yelled after her. “Aleida, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“A lot, can’t you tell?” she yelled over her shoulder, not breaking her stride.

Fred caught up with her. He grabbed her elbow gently and pulled her into an illuminated side alley – dumpsters just a few feet away from them. How symbolic, she thought. Fred glared down at her. “What the fuck was that in there?”

“The truth.”

“Don’t,” he cautioned. “Not with me.”

“Not with you what?” she demanded.

“We’re fucking past that.”

“Not with you what?!” she repeated.

“Stop being Aleida with me and start being Aleida,” he demanded. “What the hell was all that? Why do you constantly feel the need to do that? To do that to people?”

“Because I can, Fred.”

“What gives you the right, Aleida?”

She looked at him indignantly. “I’m going home.”

“Aleida—”

“I’m going home and you better not follow me,” she turned on her heels again and began walking.

“Aleida!” Fred called out to her again. “Aleida! Aleida!”

She didn’t bother looking back.

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purplesurveys · 4 years ago

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1149

What is your age? 22, but there’s less than a month to go before I turn 23.

What annoys you? Literally every single person who still supports the government at this point. For context, we are back to square one and we’re under the exact same quarantine imposed in March 2020 because of the surge in cases. Nothing has changed and nothing has been done in the last 365 days while people are getting hungrier and poorer. I’m done feeling hopeful for this country and I cannot wait to abandon it forever.

Do you have any allergies? Apparently, grass. Can’t be exposed to it for too long otherwise the skin on my thighs turn red and occasionally even get rashes.

Do you know anyone named Billy? Kind of, but they’re girls with their name spelled as Billie.

When is your birthday? April 21st and spending it in quarantine once again this year...

Who is your best friend(s)? Angela and Andi.

What's your favorite candy? I like gummy bears and worms. As for sweets, I really like Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, Butterfinger, Twix, and the Hershey’s Cookies and Creme bar.

When was the last time you cried? Maybe a day or two ago while watching a snippet from Caught in Providence.

Have you been out of the country? Yes.

Do you daydream? Not so much these days. I’ve been better at keeping my focus at work.

What's your favorite kind of dog? I love alllllll dogs, but I’d usually be wary of smaller dogs because 87% of the times I’ve met some, they’re aggressive or a bit moody. I don’t like stereotyping dogs as much as possible but because I’ve had direct experiences to back it up anyway, *shrug*

What day of the week is it? It’s a Sunday.

How do you like your eggs? Scrambled, poached, or an omelette with lots of fillings. Balut is also great.

Have you ever been in the emergency room? Only when I was born, I’m guessing.

What's the easiest thing ever to do? Idk, what comes easy to me might not be the same for others. But my answer would be to smile, regardless if it were genuine or otherwise.

Have you ever flown in a plane? Yeah, many times. The child-like excitement I get whenever I get on one will probably never go away, either.

Do you use fly swatters? No, my mom usually uses old shoebox covers or rolled-up scratch papers we have lying around to swat them.

Have you ever used a foghorn?: Only in video games lol, never in real life.

Have you pet a goat? I don’t think I have. I’ve pet lots of animals before but I don’t think a goat has been one of them yet.

Are you a giver or a taker? Giver, but I’ve been allowing myself to take more these days.

Do you like gummy candies? Love them.

How are you? We’ve entered summer weather now, so I feel hot and miserable. It’s also Sunday and I am stuck at home, which doesn’t make me the happiest camper.

What's your height? 5′1″ or a tiny tiny tiny bit taller than that.

What color is your hair? It’s black but on extremely rare occasions I’ll catch a single light brown strand when I play with my hair.

What's your favorite ice cream? Cookies and cream and chocolate chip cookie dough. My friend Leigh actually started her own ice cream shop recently and I bought her coffee crumble ice cream, and it is sooooooooo fuckinggggggggg good??????? It’s so rare to find coffee ice cream where I live period, so I’m fucking stoked to have a close friend who makes literally the best one and in generous servings too.

Have you ever ice skated? Many times as a kid. I was never formally trained, but it was something I wanted to try from watching other kids play in mall ice skating rinks; and when I did give it a shot, I ended up enjoying it. Luckily my mom was encouraging and actually frequently dropped me off at a rink so I can practice gliding and all for a few hours while she ran errands.

Have you cheated the IRS? That’s like an American tax thingy, right? We don’t have that here and my employer handles my TIN.

What's your favorite jelly bean? Not a big fan but if I had to have Jelly Belly, I obviously would want to get the pleasant-tasting ones.

Do you tell jokes? Yes.

Do you wear nice jewelry? Only on special occasions.

Do you want to kill anybody? I don’t want to kill anybody but I certainly wish a good number of public officials would finally die.

Do you want to have kids? Yes. I really wish I could still have a future with them. Thanks for the trauma, my real asshole of an ex.

Where did you have kindergarten? Somewhere.

Are you laidback? I doubt my friends would use this to describe me. I for sure lean more towards the uptight side of the spectrum.

Do you lie? Eh, occasionally.

When is the last time you sent a hand-written letter? I have no idea. Christmas 2019 maybe?

Ever talked in a microphone? Sure. Many times.

Do you still watch Disney Movies? I very rarely get in the mood for them if I’m by myself, but yes, I’d gladly sit down and watch should an opportunity come.

Do you like mangoes? No.

Do you have a nickname? 99% of people call me Robyn while my family calls me Byn, but there are a select few friends who’ve stayed long enough with me to catch other names I’ve gotten over the years, which have since become inside jokes/nicknames. There’s Reben and Rolayn, and literally just yesterday ‘Roby’ happened when I ordered food for lunch so that will probably catch on as well.

What’s your favorite number? 4.

Do you prefer night over day? Absolutely.

Are you an only child? No, I’m two siblings away from that status.

Do you wish this was over? I haven’t felt that way, no.

What is the closet orange object near you? An orange tumbler my Kuya gave me as a Christmas gift in 2019. There is also orange tape wrapped around the charger adaptor of my company laptop.

What one fear are you most paranoid about? Waking up in the middle of surgery and being unable to speak nor move.

Do you play any instruments? Nope.

Do you think you are pretty? Some days.

Are you quick to judge people? No, unless they are already blatantly showing their character like being rude towards service staff, tossing their trash to the ground, or cutting in queues. Whenever those things happen I give myself the space and freedom to guiltlessly judge.

What do you keep quiet about? How dysfunctional my family really is, and the things I really want to say about Gabie.

Do you have any quirks? Food-wise, I like peeling off the breading from fried chicken and placing them on the side of my plate so I can eat them last, because they’re my favorite part.

What’s a good reason to cry? Frustration. Crying can be really helpful in lessening stress.

Do you think you're always right? No.

Do you watch reality TV? Not religiously, but I love watching snippets of reality shows on Facebook because they’re all so embarrassing and it’s hilarious to watch hahahahah. Literally last night I was watching clips of Big Ed on 90 Day Fiance.

Are you a social person? More so now than I was years ago.

What states have you lived in? I lived in Manila briefly but it didn’t take long till we transferred to another city for a more peaceful life in the suburbs.

What is your favorite season? I wanna say winter because of what I’ve seen from it in movies and shows, but I’ve never actually experienced it before.

When did you last sleep in a tent? Sometime in March or April last year.

Do you like tomatoes? Mostly in diced form. Tomato sauce is fine but I don’t really like it in my pasta. Bloody Mary also tastes rather awful.

What time did you wake up? 8:30 AM.

Do you have an umbrella in your car? I think so, yeah. I finally placed one in there lmao.

Do listen to Usher? Eh, not really. 2000s R&B isn’t my thing, save for Beyoncé.

Describe the underwear your wearing? It’s light blue.

What’s the worst veggie? I never learned to like pechay. I’d still eat it, but only because I like cleaning up my entire plate.

Do you like movies with violence? Some. Like I hate action movies but I enjoyed A Clockwork Orange and Scream lol.

Where do you want to go on vacation? I recently bookmarked an Airbnb in Zambales and the accommodation is basically this super cute line of tipi-styled huts by the beach. I'd love to have a solo trip push through once this Covid mess subsides.

Ever been on a wave runner? No.

Where do you work? I work in a PR company.

Do you wish on stars? Just sometimes.

Have you ever had an x-ray? Only for mandatory medical exams.

Do you own a xylophone? I think I had a toy one as a kid, but it’s not with me anymore.

Have you watched the x-games? No, not interested.

What did you do yesterday? I stayed at home; ordered food for Angela as a surprise; debated if I should buy a pair of Air Maxes – and ultimately decided I’ve already spent too much this month to deserve a new pair of shows lol; and just settled to buy a new night lamp for my bedroom. I also watched the newest episode of 2 Days 1 Night and ate more of Leigh’s ice cream while doing work.

Do you like the color yellow? Only in mustard yellow. I also like the song Yellow, heh.

What year were you born?: 1998.

Do you believe in the zodiac? No.

Has your bank account been at zero? No. I remember when I was first opening my own account at the bank and the clerk told me to make sure I don’t go below P2,000, and my intensely by-the-book ass has been following the rule ever since, even though my dad has told me it’s absolutely fine to go below it so long as I have P2,000 back in the account after a month hahaha.

Ever been to the zoo? A few.

#survey #surveys

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paradisobound · 5 years ago

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World’s Greatest First Love: Chapter 11

Summary: Dan Howell wanted a clean break from his father’s publishing company. It was why he applied for a different company in London: to stop the ridicule of his coworkers for riding on his ‘daddy’s coat tails’. But he wasn’t expecting to suddenly be going from a literature editor, to a graphic novel editor. And he certainly wasn’t expecting to come face first with his first love who broke his heart from when he was a teenager: who just happens to be his new editor-in-chief.

Based on the Anime and Manga “The World’s Greatest First Love: The Case of Ritsu Onodera” aka Sekai-Ichi Hatsukoi

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.3k (this chapter)

Warnings: mentions of alcohol

Beta Read by: @phanandpenguins

Updates Every Tuesday 12pm EST and Saturday at 1pm EST

READ ON AO3

“We have the New Years Party tomorrow evening so make sure your work is finished before the party begins.”

Dan looks up from his laptop to where Phil is stood in front of them all, a pile of paperwork in his hands. Dan was never aware that they were even having a New Years Party. He knew that obviously companies had parties but what was the point of this one?

Phil didn’t say anything more about it, probably because the other editors have all been here for a lot than Dan has been there and so it makes sense that they all already know the protocol while Dan is completely confused.

What type of party was it? Was it formal? Did he have to rent a tuxedo? Should he have known about this in advance?

He was starting to panic a bit at the thought of having to go to a party and actually socialize with all of the people.

“Mitch…” Dan says, trying to catch Mitch’s attention next to him. “What is the New Years Party?”

Mitch turns to him and smiles, “The party? Oh, it’s a New Years Party held by the company where editors, authors, and other publishing companies can mingle and start thinking about the next year. It actually doubles as a mixer and you’ll be talking with authors who are looking to change publishing companies and you’ll be trying to recruit them to ours.”

Dan furrowed his brows. He wasn’t sure that he really liked that. He hated socializing with people, let alone going to a party to try and speak with new authors to try and get them to come to their publishing company.

“What is the dress code?” Dan asks.

“Formal!” Mitch says. “Think of it like you’re going to a fancy cocktail party. All of the women will be in elegant dresses and normally we try and dress in suits. If you ask Phil, you might be able to borrow one of his if you don’t have one. You look about the same size and height.”

Dan just scoffed at the comment and Mitch shrugged, thinking he gave pretty solid advice to Dan. But in actuality, that didn’t help Dan at all. That only made him more nervous for the event and feeling more like he really did not want to attend.

He went the rest of his work day finishing his last edits and sending them back to his author before shutting his computer down and wishing everyone a goodbye for the evening. He needed to run to the shops and pick up a nice looking suit and he refused to ask in shame to borrow one of Phil’s. For one, he didn’t even know if he and Phil would even fit and secondly, he wasn’t going to ask his...no, they’re not anything at the moment. They’re just bridging past the state of awkwardness where they’re able to be together and occassionally have sex and kiss. But they haven’t established what they are.

And Dan’s not going to rush it by any means.

He stops by a clothing shop on the corner of his street and picks up a nice black blazer and a white button down shirt with black polka dots. He then gets a new pair of black slacks and buys them, cringing a bit at the price but knowing they would be worth it, he just threw the paper receipt into the black bag and walked down to his apartment.

When he got there, he hung up the clothes to get any wrinkles out of them before tomorrow night and then he made himself a quick dinner of pasta and sauce. For once, when Dan sat down that night, he felt really relaxed and not under pressure of anything.

He was really enjoying it.

***

Dan arrived to the venue at the time that Phil told him that all of the editors should get there. He knew that they had to all sign in and get their name badges and their complimentary drink before they headed into the banquet hall where they would all be mingling with everyone.

Dan walked up to the table and said his name to the two women manning it. They gave him his name tag and when he looked it, he wanted to roll his eyes when he saw, “Daniel Howell, Onyx Publishing Company, New Editor” on it. He’s been there for four months now. He wishes he would stop being called a “new editor”. He’s not a new editor by any means. He’s been editing for a long time now...just not with this company.

“Is there something wrong with your name tag, Mr. Howell?” The one woman asked him as she looked at him concerned about the way he was staring down at it.

He quickly shook his head and smiled, “No, just spaced out a moment.”

He quickly pinned the nametag to the outside of his blazer and walked further inside the open set of double doors to a room full of fancy dressed people and tables and cocktails going around.

Dan felt overwhelmed. This entire scenario felt like something out of a movie, not something happening in his real life. He’s never been to a party this fancy before. He felt totally out of place and worst of all, there were so many people walking around and mingling at tables that Dan couldn’t even locate where any of his coworkers were.

He couldn’t even see Phil in the crowd.

He was nearly ready to just give up and sit in the corner for the evening when he felt a tug on his arm and he turned his head quickly to see Phil stood beside him. His hair was perfectly styled back, his glasses perched neatly on his nose. He suit was beautifully tailored and he looked...stunning. Dan seriously felt a bit weak in the knees seeing him.

“There you are!” Phil said with a laugh. “We were all looking for you.”

“I just got here.”

“Mitch and Damien are walking around already speaking with authors but I had something to give you quickly.”

Dan’s about to ask what it was when he sees Phil ruffling in his pants pocket. Just as Dan is ready to make a lewd joke, Phil pulls out a tiny stack of neaty plastic wrapped cards and he hands them to Dan.

“You never had business cards. I know this because I never saw you with them. So I had some made for you before tonight. Here you go,” Phil hands him the cards and Dan looks down at them, noticing how beautiful they look. They have accents of gold and black and his name is shiny, sparkling in the light. They looked extremely well done. “You should hand them out to every author you meet regardless. We always say at the company that you shouldn’t have any left by the end of the night. So aim for that.”

Dan just nods and smiles because he’s utterly speechless at the kind gesture from Phil. He rips open the plastic and stuffs the garbage into his pocket. He then takes the cards and puts them in the pocket of his blazer, giving a few out in his hands for quick distributing.

“I need to introduce you to someone,” Phil says, grabbing for Dan’s hand without Dan’s permission. Dan feels caught off guard as Phil pulls him through the crowd, weaving through all of the tables and people.

They get to a small corner of the hall where a small group is gathered around a male author. He’s smiling, beaming actually, as his hands remain in his pockets and his posture looks a little bit on the bad side.

Dan feels bad in a way. He almost feels like the author is being cornered. But then he realizes that isn’t the case at all.

Mitch is stood there, a glass of wine in his hand, “Ah! Dan! Come meet Jacob! He’s our top selling author at the company.”

Dan immediately nodded his introduction to the author and handed him a business card as he shook his hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Dan said, trying to force out the classic business talk. “I’m Daniel Howell and I’m a new editor with Onyx.”

Jacob nodded and smiled at Dan before being bombarded with questions all over again by everyone else.

Dan figured that he did his duty by saying hello to the author so he turned around just in time to see Phil wasn’t with him anymore. Feeling a bit like a lost child in a store, he quickly looked and searched around and he noticed Phil on the other side of the hall, laughing and taking a sip of some wine with Damien and a group of females.

Dan felt a little pang of jealousy seeing Phil and Damien still acting so close. But he tried to remind himself that there was nothing happening between Phil and Damien and he brushed any intrusive thoughts from his head.

Dan spent the rest of the evening walking around and trying to mingle with people. A few people he was able to spend a short amount of time talking to and he really enjoyed it. But a select other people definitely did not new like him and he could feel that when they read his name tag and immediately dispelled anything he was about to say.

By the end of the evening, Dan was exhausted, mentally and physically. He felt like he had used up all of his communication for the day and he was ready to go home and not speak to anyone he ventured work Monday morning.

Dan was on his way to grab a third class of red wine when someone stepped up to the front of the room with a microphone and announced that the event had ended and everyone was welcome to start making their way out via the double doors in the front.

Dan felt beyond relieved, and it was no secret he was the first person out of the door so he could get outside and call for a taxi to his flat. He barely stepped out of the doors when he heard his name being called, “Dan!”

Dan turned towards the voice, seeing Annie stood there in a black cocktail dress. Her hair styled up in a messy bun and her makeup done all the way down to her bright red lips, “What are you doing here?” Dan asked.

“I was attending the event tonight on behalf of your dads company.”

“Why?” Dan asked, genuinely a bit disgusted that Annie would be attending something on behalf of his family’s company.

“They needed someone to go in place of your father and they asked me to go since you obviously were going for Onyx.”

“And they didn’t consult me about that?” Dan asked, completely outraged.

“Dan, even I know you haven’t spoken to your family since you left your dad’s company. Think about that.”

“But why would they ask you?” Dan asks because he can’t make heads or tails of the situation.

“Because they still think we’re getting married, Dan!” Her voice was louder than Dan wished for it to be. He was hoping that no one else was listening to them. But from what he could see, there weren’t many people coming out yet.

“You didn’t tell them that we broke off the engagement?” Dan asked, his voice raising higher in pitch.

“No!” Annie said, edging closer to Dan. “Because that shouldn’t be what I have to do. You’re their son, you need to do it!”

Dan stood back, biting his tongue for all of the nasty stuff that is threatening to spew out of his lips right now. He can’t say anything. He can’t afford to say anything that could hurt anyone in the process.

“Are you in love with someone else?”

Dan bites his lip. He hesitates to answer, but as he dips his head down, he sees his business card in his hand, now crumbled from the small stack he kept his grasp the entire time. When he sees the card, he remembers who got them for him and his heart picks up speed.

“I…”

“Dan!” Dan quickly turns on his heels and sees Phil rushing towards him, his jacket unbuttoned and flying with the breeze around him. “Where did you go? We need you to go back in there and help clean up with the rest of us.”

Dan turns around and opens his mouth to give Annie an apology, but nothing comes out. So he shuts his mouth and follows Phil back inside the hall.

***

They go home together, him and Phil. It’s nearly silent between them but it’s not a bad silent. It’s a we’re both tired and need some rest, kind of silent. It’s much more peaceful. They get to their apartment building and walk inside together.

When they get to outside their doors, Phil invites Dan inside to his apartment for another round of wine and drinks to wind down after the intense mingling that they had to do. Dan doesn’t have the heart to tell Phil he only gave out a handful of his cards and the rest are in his back pocket.

“I saw you talking with…”

“Annie?” Dan says, completing Phil’s sentence.

Phil nods and Dan sighs.

“It’s...there is nothing between us.”

“I know,” Phil says, a smile playing on his lips. “I heard you two.”

“You heard us?” Dan asked, outraged. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough.”

Dan was able to protest, about to joke that Phil shouldn’t listen in to other peoples conversations. But Phil stops him in his tracks as he lunges forward and presses their lips together and Dan loses all sense of what he was going to say.

Everything about Phil feels like comfort now. It’s like going back home after being lost for days on end with no where to go. Being with Phil is exactly what he needed to make his life feel complete again.

As he wraps his arms around Phil’s neck and lets himself be dragged to the bedroom, he’s 100% sure now...that he is in love with Phil.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #angst #fluff #implied smut #first love fic #princesslexi763fics

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rosyredlipstick · 7 years ago

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going soft and selling out (1/1)

a/n: god i love steven universe.

Vidalia is in the guest bathroom at the Fish Stew Pizzeria when she finds out she is pregnant. It’s a Thursday. She’s nineteen, wearing her favorite shirt, and ignoring her mother’s calls.

She is only nineteen.

Vidalia is in the guest bathroom at the Fish Stew Pizzeria when she finds out she is pregnant. It’s a Thursday. She’s nineteen, wearing her favorite shirt, and ignoring her mother’s calls.

She is only nineteen.

When she was in elementary school, their shitty school library received a donation of used books from the local bookstore going out of business.

In it, was a book of names. Her classmates and she had poured over the book for hours, each looking up their own names, their parents names, their siblings names, and every name they could think of.

Vidalia’s name was Latin, apparently, and it was deprived from the word for life.

Her mother frowned when she had told her, instead questioning why Vidalia hadn’t been studying during library time, but her father had only laughed, throwing his head back, and told her that that made sense. You see, he explained in that secret way he did, where he lowered his voice, bended his back, and acted like he was telling her the most important thing in the world. You see, when your mom was pregnant with you, you never stopped moving. Always jumping and kicking and running. He smiled at her, ruffling her hair, you’ve always had a lot of life in you, doll.

That was before Joe Miller had one too many midnight beers and took his rusted Chevy out for a too fast joy ride. Before the funeral, and the move from the only place she’d ever called home.

Before she was left alone with her mother.

It was names that was running through her head, as she stared down at the double lines on the white stick. She was folded down on the dirty tile of the bathroom, but she couldn’t find it herself to mind. She just been staring at the white stick, already knowing, for the past two minutes. She hadn’t even wash her hands yet.

She gives herself ten minutes. Ten minutes to stare at the wall, not cry into her hands, to sit on that dirty ass floor. And then she stands.

She stands, washes her hands, wraps the test in toilet paper and throws it away, and returns to her table at the Pizzeria. Her paper drug store bag is still there, with the receipt a wrinkled mess half hanging out.

She takes a breath, pulls the free ice water closer to herself, and tries to find the cheapest thing on the menu to calm her turning stomach.

Breadsticks, without sauce, it turns out. And when she glances up, Nanefua is standing there, quietly looking down at her. Vidalia has no idea how long she’s been standing her.

Nanefua continued to stand at her table, a slice of pizza on the tray balanced in her capable hands. She observed Vidalia for a long moment.

“I didn’t order…” Vidalia trailed off. She cleared her throat, “I didn’t order anything.”

Nanefua placed the paper plate in front of her, giving her a considering look. Vidalia had to swallow against the bile in her throat. Pizza - good pepperoni pizza, her favorite food pizza - had never disgusted her more. She swallowed her gag.

“Your mother know?”

Vidalia froze, her hands clenching at the plastic covered table. The other woman was considering, neutral, her head only slightly cocked.

Vidalia didn’t try to play dumb. She began ripping up the paper napkins into a confetti mess, her hands needing something to do. “Not yet.”

Nanefua nodded like she was expecting this answer. “Tell her. A mother will always figure it out.”

Vidalia bit her tongue. It wouldn’t do good for her sarcasm to make another enemy of her in this town, especially not of the Pizza family. She said nothing and, after a long moment, Nanefua dipped back behind the counter.

Nanefua shuffled around the back area for another few moments before emerging yet again, holding out a fat, large pink bottle.

“Afia is having twins,” she explained, like she and the entirety of Beach City hadn’t already heard when Kofi broke out into tears, celebrating with a two-for-one pizza slice special. Afia, Vidalia had noticed, had just been entirely too still and quiet that night, as half the town crowded into the restaurant for cheap food and loud toasts. Nanefua shook the bottle impatiently, bringing her back to attention.

Vidalia blinked down at the brightly colored bottle, “Won’t she…” Vidalia trailed off, her eyes looking up to the other woman. “Won’t she need them?”

Nanefua only shrugged. “I am getting older. I misplace things. Kofi can pick up more.” She pushed the bottle into Vidalia’s hands, standing to her full height, which wasn’t much. “You come by, you hear? Always pizza for you.” She gave Vidalia a stern look, even as her hands went white knuckled around the bottle.

Vidalia could only nod in face of that look, the prenatal vitamins - the nice ones, the ones they kept lined up behind a locked glass case in the drug store on the bad part of town - were now pressing marks into her soft palms.

Two weeks later, after rushing out of dinner when her mother’s sauerkraut made her gag into her bowl, she finally tells her mother. She tells her about Marty, his job, those hours spent with him two and a half months ago. She cries, and sobs, and eventually does throw up into the kitchen sink.

Her mom kicks her out with a dag of a cigarette and twenty minutes to pack her things.

She leaves her paint supplies. It all wouldn’t fit in her only backpack leftover from her ten minutes at the local high school, and it seems she won’t have much time for art come a few months.

But she packs some clothes, her favorite wrinkled blanket, a hairbrush and whatever else will fit in the side pockets. She steals her mother’s rolled up bundle of dollar bills, the one she’s always kept in the bottle right drawer of her jewelry box, and high tails out of there before she realizes.

She walks for nearly twenty minutes until she realizes she has absolutely no where to go.

No family. Not much money. No friends.

She cut herself off short as she came into the beach parking lot, not even realizing that’s where she was heading. Music, loud but good music, was drifting out. Greg Universe’s van was parked there, not even attempting to stay within the yellow lines.

She swallowed and clenched at her bag.

Universe himself was half out of the open back doors of his van, his legs draped out as he leaned back and sang along to some stupid song.

He was cute, in a sweet way. Not her type at all. She took a few steps forward.

“Vidalia!” Universe was always a bit too perky for her tastes. Not Rock Star style at all. “It’s good to see you! What can I do for ya?”

“‘Sup Universe,” She stared at the expand of sand just beyond his shoulder, her voice bored. “Mind if I crash here for a bit?”

“In the van?” He jumped up, boyishly excited. “Sure, Vid! Oh, you gotta see my sweet setup, I’ve figured out how to hook up a TV and VHS player in here.” He puffed out his chest in pride, “And I’ve got the latest season of Baby Butler.”

She tried not to visibly wrinkle in relief. But she lingered by the open back door for another moment, shifting her weight. “Will your space goddess care?”

She didn’t really care in regards to their relationship, mostly just to know if she had to keep on an eye on her own back. A warning was rare, but nice.

“Rose?” He seemed to beam and laugh with just the pronunciation of her name, “Oh, definitely not. She’s not like that.”

That was probably a lie. Or maybe that’s what he actually thought. But Vidalia had never met someone who wasn’t just a little bit ‘like that’. Not even his dream girl from the cosmos could be above jealousy.

But she only nodded, a single crisp dipping of her chin, before throwing her bag down. It was kind of a sweet set up for a van. “You still got that Quentin Tarantino box set?”

He wrinkled his nose, but reached for his stack of tapes, “God, do you have to like violence so much?”

She crawled in the back, settling on the small twin, and kept her gaze forwards, towards the small television, as he set it up.

She had gotten pregnant in this backseat. Marty hadn’t wanted to spare the bills for a hour rent at the nearby motel, and she had been too horny and dumb to really care. Universe had been crowing away at his microphone while they’d done it, singing to no one on the beach.

She was dumb for believing he’d ‘handle it’ like he promised as he slid his hand down her pants, too stupid to listen out for the tear of foil and the handling of rubber.

He finally got the movie going, already going on about hidden easter eggs, and she let her mind drift into his mindless rambling like being wrapped up in a soft blanket.

Greg had never turned her away from that shitty van, not once. He’d let her sleep on the single thin mattress and patted her back when she threw up on the curb, went and got her french fries when her feet were too swollen to stuff into her sneakers. He’d always grin just slightly, wave her off, and say always for you, Vid.

Months later, when the things to her name aren’t just a backpack and empty bank account, when it’s better and she has a heater she can turn on whenever she wants, and food in her fridge, she very quietly asks Greg if he wants a place to crash.

And, in typical Greg fashion, he only responds in a slightly confused voice, “I’ve already got a place, Vid.”

He never saw it - what he did for her - as a big deal, not really, but Vidalia could never see it as anything but. That’s why when he knocks on her door, that sheepish smile in place, she never turn him away, even if he teases on her going soft. She bitches about him eating her favorite cereal, or leaving the toilet up, or putting the milk back empty, but she always lets him in. She washes his shirt, lets him take too much time in the shower while using up the good soap, and buys those gross chips of his at the gas station.

She doesn’t know how to say thank you, not really, but maybe she could do this.

Marty was right; Greg wasn’t cut out to be a super star. He was too kind for that.

He was the third person she told, and also the only one to grin when she did so.

“I’m pregnant,” she mostly explained as she gagged around the greasy burgers he had brought back from the boardwalk. He was still riding on Marty’s last your check and had insisted. “Four months.”

“Oh,” he blinked once, twice, before grinning widely. “Wow, Vid! A baby! Congrats!”

He was also the only person to congratulate her.

“It’s Marty’s,” she’d tell him a bit blankly later that night, a bottle of orange juice split between them. Greg was taking his with a shot, giggling happily under his breath, and Vidalia was more amused by it then she would have thought.

There was a beat of silence after that and, for once, Greg didn’t automatically grin or laugh or beam with positivity. “Oh,” he grimaced, “that’s...too bad.”

“Yeah,” she gave him a nonchalant shrug. She had a reputation to uphold, after all. “Too bad.”

There was a long stretch of silence, Greg taking another shot, and Vidalia kept her gaze trained out the rolled down window, the waves splashing against the sand.

“I can…” Greg trailed off, sitting up a bit to ruffle through his things. After a moment of plastic CD cases clashing together, paper trash thrown around, he turned back to her. “I have his business card with, um, his number. If you want.”

Vidalia stared down at the small white rectangle. It was plain, just a star logo and information neatly printed across. She swallowed, her voice going soft. “Yeah, okay.”

She’d already called three times, using all the quarters piled up in Greg’s cup holder, and he hadn’t answered once.

The line was still in use, the first time she’d called the voicemail box was full and the next, it was ready for her message. Someone was checking it, clearing out the messages, ignoring or missing her.

She left a simple, short message that could honestly only mean one thing when a quick hookup from months ago calls. It’s Vidalia from Beach City. It’s important.

She was leaving the third call - straight to voicemail this time, not even ringing for a second - when she paused. Listened. Went home.

Afia Pizza gave birth to twin girls last month, or so the old gossiping women on the boardwalk had said. And last week, she’d gotten on the lone bus to Empire City with only a backpack and purse and no one had see. The babies were wrinkled, red, screaming their little heads off, and attached to the hip from day one. Afia, it seemed, shared no such attachment.

Vidalia was five months into her pregnancy and spent most of her time in Greg’s van working her way through his VHS tape collection, but that didn’t stop her from donning her sandals, her flip-flops being the only shoes that would fit her balloon feet nowadays, and making her away across town after only a few hours of contemplation.

The Pizzeria was dark, and the front door locked, but that had never been much of a problem with Vidalia and her bobby pins. The Pizza family lived above the shop after all, everyone knew that.

It only took barely a minute bend over the small lock - honestly, they should probably invest in better security - before the metal was popping open, the bell above the door ringing. She glanced around - still empty, dark, and deserted. She had gotten a bit more familiar with the place since that Thursday all those months ago. Nanefua was always glad to serve her a slice, pushing more of those vitamins into her hands as Videlia swelled up. The staircase to the apartment above was just beyond the backroom, near the guest bathroom.

There was sound coming from the staircase, a voice, and she headed up that way, only cursing stairs a bit along the way. She had never been up here before.

A small living room, with a hallway that broke off to the side. An even smaller kitchen, and a room that was either a closet or the most pathetic attempt at another bedroom.

Kofi was there, babies held to his chest, looking at her. There was no question or confusion, no anger or concern in his gaze. A blank gaze, as he stared at her.

“Where’s Nanefua?” She hadn’t been expecting him to be alone. She had honestly been expecting to show up, and almost immediately start being ordered around by the older woman.

Kofi only stared at her blankly for a long moment before swallowing. “She went to the store. During the pregnancy, Afia said she didn’t want to use formula so we didn’t stock up on any, but now…” His stare was still unnervingly blank, “We don’t have anything to give to the girls.”

His eyes were red, his cheeks the same. When he spoke, it was with a scratchy voice. He blinked at her a few times, as if acknowledging, remembering, she was there. He cleared his throat and shook his head. “The shop is not open today.”

“Clearly,” she could barely resist the urge to roll her eyes, only holding out her hands. Nanefua wasn’t here, so it looked like she had to go off book for this. “Hand ‘em over, Pizza.”

He stared empty at her, only coming back to Earth when the baby in his right arm begin fussing. He turned to her, bouncing his arm, and making soft, pleading noises.

He had baby vomit down the back of his shirt, along with probably a thousand different stains. He had, obviously, been crying. He and the babies had been sharing in activities, then.

She threw her shoulders back, ignoring the tightening of fabric as she did so - it wasn’t like she could afford any good clothes from the maternity shop the next town over, alright? - and stepped forward, taking the babies without much hesitation.

They cooed and fussed for a quick moment after being jostled, making her hold her breath in anticipated. But, after shifting closer to her warmth and softness, they quieted down, their soft flower petal eyes staying close.

Kofi was staring at her a bit more clearly now, like he was waking up. She gave him an unimpressed look.

“Go,” she tilted her chin towards the stairs. “Catch some Zs. Your mom’s been slipping me more than enough free pizza to hold you over for like, two months worth of babysitting.”

It should be noted how out of it Kofi must have been to only numbly accept the help, completely ignoring everything else as he stumbled up the stairs, not even bothering to strip his baby vomit shirt.

She wasn’t much help on her feet these days, but she could do this - rock a baby or two, try not to wince at their screams, avoid imaging herself in Kofi’s exact position four months from now.

Kiki and Jenny, with their matching yellow rabbit onesies, stared up at her with wide baby brown eyes. Kiki had a dark birthmark across her shoulder and, with them so young, this is the only way to set them apart. That was kind of cute. She vaguely wondered if they’d always stay so the same.

The shop would open back up three days later, exactly a week after Afia had packed up her toothbrush and a change of clothes and used the tip money jar to buy herself a single bus ticket.

Vidalia, true to her word, would spent most of the months leading up to her sixteen hour labor in the Pizzeria backroom, two drooling girls on her lap, or in the occasional waitress apron when Nanefua was looking a bit too worn.

The Pizzeria. The beach. That fucking van.

Vidalia still gets free pizza from the shop, and hangs out in the back while she does so, even if it makes that vein in Kofi’s forehead poke out when she puts her boots on the counter. Years later, he tells her that she’s where Jenny inherited too much of her personality from, and the Vidalia doesn’t even attempt to not look pleased by that.

After a month and a half calling that number, and just as Greg was beginning to complain about the lack of change in his cup holder that prevented him from mastering the drop claw at Fun Land, Marty finally answered.

He actually let her explain it all without interrupting, which honestly surprised her the most about the whole ordeal. After their brief few day fling all those months ago, the only thing she could probably say certain about the other man was that he loved to listen to himself talk. Even during the sex, he was blabbering away about himself and her and their bodies together.

But he listened, he waited, and then he hung up without another word.

She walked back to Greg’s van, grateful he was off with his magic girlfriend so she could get a few pregnancy tears in peace without him fretting around in concern.

But it was only a week later, she and Greg still curled up in sleep despite the noon hour, when there was a quick, crisp knock on the van door, and they were sleepingly blinking at each other in question.

She doesn’t know how the guy found her, if he had to ask around or if he was just planning on dropping the manilla envelope off with Greg - Marty’s only contact within the city - and hoping for the best. But he only handed off the bundle, not bothering to answer any of their questions, before speeding back away on his motorcycle.

Greg peered over her shoulder for a quick moment before deciding they needed some breakfast, probably just to give her some alone time to look through it all, and hopped out the van, shirtless from sleep and only in a pair of ratty gym shorts. He was good like that.

It was a check. A large check, with a pretty colored note explaining that this was a one time thing, no repeats so don’t try, all you have to do is sign this paperwork and you can have it.

Paperwork that directly released him from any further parental duties.

But, the note promised her, if she didn’t, if Vidalia went after him or his money or his fame, she’d be in court for the rest of her pregnancy, and weren’t those legal fees just the worse? So expensive, especially if the other party decided to drag it out.

She is six months pregnant and given a choice.

A choice that she doesn’t have to think much of.

She would take the check. It wasn’t enough for forever, not from a guy like Marty, but it was enough for her to grab her shit and put down a first payment for a tiny two bedroom on an okay street, with a bit of yard and neighbors who didn’t automatically wrinkle their noses at her.

Vidalia was smart with money. From a town like hers, you had to be. She bought generic, stayed home most nights, and saved everything she could. It wasn’t enough for forever, but it was enough for now. It was enough to get a roof over her head, to grab a fuck ton of diapers, to load up her cart with those tiny glass jars of the good stuff - the stuff that made babies brains grow or whatever - and it was just enough for more of those pink bottled vitamins. She would have to get a job soon after the kid was born, but not right after. She could save enough for those few months at the beginning for when a babysitter from across the street would couldn’t cut it, and she could do it. Taking the money, the leave-me-alone-forever check, wasn’t much of a thought. Her pride was worth nothing in the long run. Her pride couldn’t feed her kid or mortgage a house or pay bills. This, the line of numbers that read back to her from her bank statement, this could. She could do this for her kid. Her son, because she knew it was a boy, she knew it in her stone cold heart that was just beginning to flare up every now and again when he kicked.

Marty would be back to chasing shorter skirts in no time, if he ever really stopped. He’d be hopping towns like they hopped themselves up on those good drugs he bought from the city. Maybe he’d get rich. Maybe he would actually discover the next big star like he told her, maybe this and that and whatever next girl he was swinging his arm around and smearing her lipstick.

And he could have all that.

Vidalia, as she smoothed her hands over her barely round stomach, only wanted this. Him. The best she could give him.

“I’m just saying Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks have like, the best onscreen chemistry in all of showbusiness right now.”

Vidalia only rolled her eyes, “You’re just saying that because you’re a sucker for rom-coms, Universe. If we’re talking about actual talent, sure, Tom Hanks could make the list - I mean, did you see Saving Private Ryan? Shit, - but your romance for Meg Ryan doesn’t automatically put her -” She paused, shifting in place.

Greg gave her a concerned look, “You good?”

She took a breath, nodding. “Yeah, it’s just still weird as fuck when he kicks.”

Greg grinned at that, like he did at every mention of the baby. “Can I -?”

She was already nodding. At least he asked - she nearly right hooked a random tourist when they began fawning over her, their hands automatically going to touch her.

“He’s a chill little fella,” Greg was smiling, his hand over her swollen stomach. “Hardly kicks at all.”

“My dad said I was crazy, in the womb.” Vidalia didn’t know why she was telling him this. “Never stopped moving.”

“Well, yeah.” Greg only gave her a fond look, leaning back to reach for his guitar. He absentmindedly begin strumming at it, a mostly unannoying habit of his.

Vidalia crossed her arms. Her back was against the other side of the van, leaving them across from each other. This was one of her last nights here, before she could move into that normal house on Seashell Dr. She was feeling more nostalgic then she could ever let on - Greg would never let her live it down. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean,” Greg gestured uselessly, “You’re Vidalia. You’re not just gonna sit still, or take anything without a fight. You’ve got more life in you then anyone. And I’ve met aliens.”

That was probably the nicest thing anyone has ever said about her.

She sniffed, her hands a wrinkled mess in her lap at she clenched at herself. Fuck pregnancy hormones.

“Aliens, huh?” She took a sip of her drink. “You’ll have to bring me around some time, let me get a good look.”

Greg only brightened at that, perking up in his slouch. “That’s a great idea! Oh, you’re gonna love Amethyst, seriously -”

She leaned away on to the door, her back aching. Maybe he was right - maybe she would like these friends of his. If they were anything like Greg himself - practically a golden retriever in kindness and positivity - they couldn’t be too bad.

It was be cool to see where all his crazy song ideas came from, anyways. Maybe she’ll stop by.

It’s in the middle of babysitting on a Monday when Kiki first rolls from her stomach to her back.

Vidalia immediately jumps up - well, as immediate as an eight months pregnant woman can do, and starts calling for Kofi and Nanefua, not caring the lunch rush was just beginning to start up.

They both burst through the door, wide eyes like expecting a catastrophe, and only blink a few times in relief as she explains.

They then they start nearly screaming in excitement.

They laugh and beam and hold Kiki up as they gush over her little fat baby body. Jenny gets passed around and teased and kissed on both cheeks, and both babies are smiling and giggling despite having no idea about anything but the love in which they’ve being smashed with.

Kofi, always a bit sad at milestones like these, manages a few laugh and grins and pokes at his own baby girls before the customers are yelling up the staircase and he’s rolling his eyes.

Nanefua leaves them all with lipstick kisses on their cheeks, Vidalia being the only one who cares enough to wipe off the color with a teasing look as she leaves.

Alone with the babies again, Vidalia only turns on them with a wide smile, and realizes that this - the swollen feet, the stretch marks across her hips and stomach, the aches and sickness and everything worse - it was kind of worth it.

She goes into labor on a Thursday, and in this way it feels almost as a full circle. But it also feels like the worst 16 hours of her life as she’s split apart and alone and crying and screaming with stranger’s hands on her. Her mother does not show up, even as she asks the nurses to call just one more time.

She’s alone for most of it, for more than half of it, but not all of it. Nanefua must have figured it out when she didn’t show up for babysitting, or maybe Greg when she didn’t answer his persistent knocking, but halfway through in the middle of a particularly horrible splitting of her body, she looks up and finds Nanefua pushing her way into the delivery room, strength ablazen in her eyes that Vidalia wasn’t even aware that she needed to borrow.

Nanefua lets Vidalia clench her hand in a bone crushing grip for nearly six hours, calm faced and composed as Vidalia screams and cries and sweats her way through three hospital gowns.

He is born on a Friday.

Friday, her favorite day of the week, because of what is yet to come.

He is born on a Friday.

Greg is in the waiting room, she later learns, where he paced and stood and brought tea to Kofi and the twins when they visited. He is the third person she chooses to let hold him - her kid, who’s quiet and sleepy and who’s feet the doctor’s have to slap to get him to cry out. It was her, then Nanefua, and then Greg, with his wild hair and beaming, watery eyes.

“He’s beautiful, Vid.” Greg told her, Nanefua going to relieve Kofi from twin duty. They were alone in the room. The nurses kept calling Greg the father when they came in, and despite Vidalia rolling her eyes and correcting them, Greg didn’t bother to once.

The weekend is ahead, and she’s already heard from Nanefua that Kofi is arranging a small surprise welcome home party in her two bedroom. He bought the twins new dresses for the occasion, and Greg is scheduled to play a few songs. Nanefua is making her signature accra banana peanut cake, and has already scheduled herself for two weeks of babysitting duty.

Her mother doesn’t show up, and her father is dead. She has no siblings or close cousins. But still, in this tiny beach town on the edge of sand and water, she finds herself a family.

Notes:

give me a slightly interesting minor female character and ill obsess over them and write an angsty found family backstory in a single night. god, i fucking love steven universe. it's finals week but tbh i needed this. Sorry if it's a bit choppy but if I don't post it now as is i'm going to keep working on it AND I HAVE TO STUDY OR I MIGHT DIE 8 AM ON TUESDAY. thanks for reading!

#steven universe #fic #vidalia #greg universe #nanefua #kofi pizza #jenny kofi #kiki pizza #my fic #rosy writes #teenage pregnancy #supportive relationships #found family #references to drugs #references to sex #teen and up #unaccepting parent #shifting time line #god i love steven universe

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