#idk i wrote this after thinking about ive disliked my birthday since i was 10 bc my dad got mad that i wanted to eat at some restaurant

[skonkania]

— softly

story: open heart

pairing: bryce lahela x mc ( vera onruang )

word count: 1.6k

notes: vera kinda just hates her birthday and just wants to cry all day

summary: didn't mean to get so close and i know that i should probably go.

As she looks in the mirror, Vera does the math in her head. If she spent 26 years in North Carolina then another 2 years working her way to be a resident at Edenbrook; how much time does she have left? It’s a loaded question but she knows that the average human residing in the United States lives upward to 78 years and she’s turning 28 this year.

28 years old, just 50 more birthdays she never wants to celebrate. 50 more years to put her name on this Earth. (Even though she knows there’s a possibility that she’ll develop some life-debilitating disease once she reaches her sixties.) Yet, here she is; wasting another day just to celebrate something she’s come to loathe.

She told Sienna she didn’t want a party with all the seriousness she could muster after a 17-hour shift with only 30 minutes to rest. But the peppy girl must’ve assumed this was some reverse psychology shit or something because Jackie told her to get ready for tonight. She rolled her eyes and went to change out of vomit stained coat.

It’s September 30th and sometimes she wishes her friends weren’t so nice.

There’s too many numbers floating around in her head, too many variables to fill over how this night will inevitably end, and so much more to worry about than just a simple party. Her eyes stare at her lips through the reflection, trying out different grins with a lidded expression. A toothy one seems fine, she decides and leaves the sanctuary of her room.

Her senses are already overwhelmed as she enters the hallway, a thick thump following every step she takes on hardwood floors. Counting how many seconds it takes for her to reach the archway between the hallway and the living room and how many seconds it takes for her to brush past people before she can reach their kitchen island that’s overflowing with unattended drinks. Some of them have names, some of them don’t, but she’ll have to clean them up anyway.

She hasn’t even seen her friends, they baked (more like Sienna did) with 32 candles on it and her name messily scrawled with frosting. It was red velvet, her favorite, but she never had an appetite when it came to this day. She needs a distraction, something pushing back thoughts of home and she doesn’t really feel like tequila will cut it.

Yet, soon enough, a chaste kiss is pressed to her cheek, a smile already blooming onto her features as she’s assured with who it is. Bryce always liked to show up to these things as a showoff and a people person, challenging her to something before he stayed to clean up as an excuse to sleep over. But he’s been busy with Keiki and she’s somehow in charge of making sure the diagnostic team doesn’t shut down because of Ethan’s unmoving morals.

Although, that’s too heavy to speak about, so she starts off with something light. Something to tease him with, something she can distract herself with.

“Leave little Lahela with a sitter?”

“No,” he stops on the other end of the island, concern flashing in his features. “was I supposed to?”

“She’s fifteen, I used just leave pizza rolls and juice out whenever my—” she pauses and tucks her lips under her teeth, it’s not time yet. “my cousins stopped by. We’re not qualified guardians.”

They’re not and it’s why she left home, it’s why she thinks birthdays are lonely even with mountains of bodies crowded in a single room and why red velvet is a good cake flavor but a shitty one for a birthday. She ignores her critiques and focuses back on Bryce, eyes shining as she returns his mischievous grin.

“We’re not, but we are qualified to party.”

“I hate how cheesy you are.”

“You don’t hate anything about me. Anyways, you ready for a Bryce special?” he asks while she watches him pluck out differing types of alcohol. Most noticeably, some peach-colored liquid that she doesn’t even remember purchasing.

Maybe when Sienna went out with Elijah, they like getting stuff that looks pretty. Although it pretty much always tastes like shit.

She snorts at the name, relying on his part to play the narcissist of their relationship. “You mean that awful shit where you put margarita mix, rum, and vodka?”

He pulls a solo cup from the stack and starts mixing flavors that his abomination should be considered something close to a biohazard. He seems unphased at the prospect of mixing of rum and Jackie’s jungle juice. “It’s not awful shit, not when it comes from me.”

“That claim is arguable with everything you do except surgery.”

“Aw, I thought you liked the way my fingers feel.” He moves away from the brown-greenish color starting to form in her drink to wiggle his fingers at her. Taking this as a moment to slide in close as if she’ll fluster under his gaze like some sheltered naive girl. He should know better by now, “You don’t complain during your lunch breaks anyway.”

“Pushing your luck, Lahela.” and she shoves him away with a grin, hands resting on his biceps. “You’re insufferable, completely insufferable.”

“Only with you.”

And he hands her the cup, taking it into her grasp to see the now mauve liquid clash against white colored plastic. It’s disgusting, she knows it will taste bitter against her tongue but she goes through with it. Just to see him smile, bringing him joy just to see her squirm.

She seems to ignore the crowd of bodies bustling around her living room and kitchen, eyes only trailing across his face. He’s perpetually calm with no wrinkles in his forehead from frowning too much or concerning himself with petty matters. At peace with what he does at whatever given time, and sometimes she wishes she could pass some of her burdens onto him.

It’s a cruel thought, but one he’d comply to is she asked. He’d do anything she asked.

“Now, I know you love a good old-fashioned shindig here.” a bit of Bryce’s homemade biochemical disaster spills on her jeans but she doesn’t mind the slightly unpleasant feeling. “But why’d you come?”

There’s a moment where he doesn’t answer, maybe a little unsure of the answer he has prepared. It’s not even a bullshit question where she’ll get unreasonably pissed at him no matter the outcome, she’s just curious of his intentions.

And after the small silence, he answers. “Because I know you, and I know you’d be miserable if I left you alone.”

Hmm, he knows me. Yet, he’s still right about that much despite the cynical tone her inner monologue uses. Taking another sip from her cup and relishing the bitter taste that invades her mouth.

“You didn’t seem like you were in a birthday spirit, even when I came around.”

She shrugs in response, unable to process the aching that comes with this day. A void in her chest she can never tear out, that this day simply feels like something for her to waste rather than commemorate. “I just wanted to stay in my room, maybe even crash at someone else’s place. This day stopped feeling like something to celebrate when I was 13.”

There are far better things to do on September 30th than recognize she’s finally 28. It’s all inconsequential from a objective point of view.

“Is that your birthday wish?” she nods and slouches on the stool, barely noticing how he has grabbed ahold of her palm and has brought it up to his lips. Always so affectionate when he can’t seem to find words to say. “Then let’s go, we can stay in your room until they call us back.”

She doesn’t argue like she usually does, and doesn’t insist on the fact that someone will notice she’s missing from her own party. Instead, she lets Bryce lightly grasp her elbow as he leads her away from the bustle of people having more fun of this night than she ever will. Letting out mumbled apologies to those she inadvertently brushes by but all her thoughts are jumbled together that only created an array of distress.

None of them even speak as they enter the dim hallway that leads to multiple rooms, hers at the far end of the hall. Vera makes no snarky comment as they enter of the bedroom and Bryce is at a loss for smart ass quips once he lays her down at the mattress. Their shoes clatter against hardwood as they nestle against her ivory white comforter, catching each others’ gazes once they settle.

He’s so ethereal bathed in whatever moonlight peeks through her curtains and now she is at a lost for words.

“Hi,” he whispers as she brushes back a lock of stray hair from her eyes.

She cups his cheek, “Hey.”

They break from their little moment, laughing at the intimacy that has spurred on from nothing but simply admiring one another. A grin grows on her features as she inches closer to him and lazily wraps an arm around his waist, he follows after her movement without a second thought. Enraptured, she thinks at first before looking back into his brown eyes filled with an unplaced warmth, I am enraptured with him.

In the comfort of his stare, she’s already forgotten about the party thrown just for her happened just outside her hallways and she laughs. Bursting with unexpected amusement at the whole situation and muttering her next words through a smile. “You’re insufferable. God, completely and utterly insufferable.”

And he returns her grin, some laughs breaking through his serene expression. “So are you.”

She tilts her head up, lightly lifting herself up from the bed just to press her lips to his forehead, chin, left cheek, and then the right cheek. Avoiding everything except his lips until she leans in and feels nothing but tight-lipped grins simply pressing against one another. Unbridled happiness he’s brought on a miserable day, combing through his hair as her head rests against the pillow.

“Guess we have to stick together then.”