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panda-noosh · 7 years

Text

Action!{FINAL}{Lance x YouTuber!Reader}

Words: 8264

Summary: Being a YouTube guru is hard enough without the added stress of living with Lance McClain, the man who insists on bombarding into every YouTube video you try to film. His viewers love him, and so do you.

Pairing: Lance McClain x Youtuber!Reader

Notes: p1 – p2 – p3 – p4 – p5 – p6 ; well here it is guys - the final! i really just wana say a massive thank you to everyone who has read this series and sent me feedback. the outpour of positive messages that this message brought was overwhelming and i don’t think i’ve ever felt so proud of my own writing before. that’s all on you guys. you guys made me feel like my writing was actually doing something, and that is an indescribable feeling. i love you all, and i hope you can look back on this series one day and smile. i know i will. thank you for reading and enduring all this angst with me x

The thing about Lance McClain, you had noticed over the course of three years, was that he spoke whenever he was trying to avoid a topic.

He spoke whenever he was nervous, whenever there was something lingering in his brain that he didn't exactly want to indulge on.

A part of you wanted to believe it was just the fact that he was pumped up on all sorts of pain-numbing medication, but the other part of you knew the real reason as to why he hadn't shut his mouth in the past ten minutes – you had walked in the room, and he quite frankly didn't know what else to do.

His parents were seated at his bed side, Francesca listening on in mild confusion as Lance babbles on about how he's scared he's going to feel 'phantom pain' where the blood once pumped through his system and now it wasn't. Averall had to constantly remind him that the blood had been replaced, and you didn't feel pain in your blood anyway.

But Lance wasn't having it. Or rather, he didn't want an excuse to be quiet.

You leaned against the door frame, arms folded over your chest as you listen on to him talking. You don't want to feel bad for him in this moment, but his clearly flustered state is enough to make you feel just a little bit at fault – he was already under enough stress and, no matter how badly he had hurt you, you didn't want to cause him even more unnecessary disturbance.

“Lance, honey, I think it's time for you to be quiet,” Francesca sighs, patting her sons hand gently. “Your father and I need to go and see about your discharge papers, but until then -” She looks up, gives you a warm smile. “Y/N can help you pack up your hospital bag, yeah?”

You nod your head without hesitance, the task seeming so easy. You had helped him pack on multiple occasions – he was a pilot in training. There was always some place he needed to go to, some place overseas that he needed to be at. This was an everyday thing for you.

You move out of the way of the door and allow Lance's parents to exit the room, leaving you and Lance alone at last.

For a single second the air is clear. The air is normal, unmoving. For a single second, it's just you and Lance and old times sake. No hurt. No memories. No regrets to place a wall between you two.

It's shattered as soon as Lance starts to talk again.

“Do you wanna see my surgery scars? I think they're pretty cool, but my parents don't want to look at them. They think they're gross. I, personally, think they're natural. Like – Like a sign I survived or something cheesy like that. Do you wanna see?”

You narrow your eyes, hauling his empty hospital bag onto the bed at his feet to begin packing away his essentials. “I think I'm good.”

Lance frowns. “Fine. I'll just let you dismiss the evidence of my life. I'll look at them happily on my own. I don't even need anybodies support. I've got myself. That's all I need.”

You nod. “Okay.”

“And maybe, like, two churros to keep me busy. I've never liked not having something to chew on. It's like a tic of mine.”

“I know.”

“Remember that bag full of sunflower seeds we kept on the mantle piece after we watched Holes? We thought the sheriff's habit was so cool, even though sunflower seeds tasted like baking flour and vinegar.”

You remember. You simply nod in response, keeping yourself busy by folding his clothes up and trying not to make eye contact with him. The idea of looking into his eyes and seeing that mild case of panic he always had on whenever he was in one of his nervous states was almost too much for you to bare. You had seen him wear said expression before, but never around you. He never needed to wear it around you. Whenever you two had anything to talk about, it was the easiest thing in the world to just sit down and talk things through.

Not this time, apparently. Apparently this time was different.

“The nurse told me you stayed by my bedside the whole time.” Lance's words startle you a little bit. You were hoping he hadn't been informed of the situation – you were hoping he hadn't heard you say the things you had said to him the other day, right before he woke up. You didn't want to give him hope that things could go back to normal, because even you weren't so sure of such a thing. But the words you had spoken were the truth, whether you wanted to believe it or not. If he had died, you would have been in ruins.

At least he knew that.

You purse your lips as you throw his alcohol-stained shirt into the sports bag his parents had hauled down from his hotel room the day before. “Right.”

Lance nods, eyes watching your hands work at his clothes. You can tell he is itching to help by the way he hesitantly reaches forward every now and then, before pulling his hand back.

“That was sweet of you,” he says. “You didn't have to.”

“I know. I wanted to.”

“I find that very hard to believe,” Lance chuckles. He takes one look at your deadpan face and the humour in his voice wears off immediately, half-startled by your lack of response to something that would usually have you at least cracking a smile. “You don't have to feel guilty for the collision. I know you well enough to know that you feel guilty about it.”

You shrug loosely. There was no point in denying it, because he was right. He did know you well enough to know that. He had seen you in these kind of states before, completely paralysed by your own guilt against something that you couldn't have helped.

But the thing with this situation was, you could have helped. And that thought plays like a broken record in your mind as you work at packing up Lance's clothes for him.

Lance sighs, leaning his head back against the freshly-fluffed pillows. “It was my own stupid fault and we both know it. My body can’t handle more than a few bottles of beer. Any more than that and-”

“And you’re stepping out in front of moving vehicles.”

Lance nods slowly, looking at you now. You can feel his gaze burning the side of your head as you work, a soft smile forming itself on his features that he clearly tries to hide with the back of his IV-littered hand. He doesn’t want to push his luck. He doesn’t want to think you’re making jokes with him to ease the tension.

Maybe you were mad at him. He didn’t know that and he certainly didn’t want to assume anything less.

“You know,” he continues, pushing himself with a grunt of pain that the medication had yet to chase away, “my parents work full time at the high school. The doctors won’t let them take me back to their house with them, which means I’m gonna have to go back to the apartment in San Fran.”

He pauses, waiting for you to catch on to what he is saying. You know what he’s insinuating, but you don’t speak up. You keep your eyes glued onto the pair of trousers you are currently folding.

He nibbles on his bottom lip before continuing. “I know I’m probably overstepping my boundaries by asking you this, but I just - I kind of need help getting places, and the doctors won’t let me leave if I don’t have a guardian who can take care of me whilst this heals up. If it can’t be my parents, I would - uh - I would love it - appreciate it - if that person could be you.”

There it is.

You feel the butterflies bubbling back in your stomach, the idea of being back in your apartment with Lance with some sense of normalcy to it making you more happy than you would like to admit. Because he had hurt you, badly, and things would never just go back to normal like you hoped, but this could be a start.

A start you weren’t even sure you wanted.

But you had to put your grudges aside for now. He was right. You could either be the decent person you always claimed to be and help him out just this once, or you could leave him to rot in this hospital until his leg healed.

Lance was lucky you were raised right.

You nod your head, finally looking up from the folding of clothes you had been so engulfed in. “I’ll go back to the apartment with you.”

Lance’s shoulders visibly relax, a hesitant smile gracing his lips and making his pale face look slightly brighter than it had done over the past few days. You smile back just as hesitantly, unsure of what this all means, of how you should feel, if this is right.

It’s just to help him out until he gets better. That’s what you had to remind yourself. It was just temporary, and the reason behind your agreeing was based firmly on your own morals. Nothing more.

No strings attached.

“Jesus Christ, Lance, you need to help me out here!” you grunt.

One of Lance’s arms were strung over your shoulders whilst you held him up, guiding him up the long set of stairs that took you to the apartment you had been avoiding for nearly ten days now.

Your other hand held his crutches, meaning you had nothing to lean on to keep yourself balanced bar Lance’s body, and that wasn’t much use. One of his feet was wrapped up in bandages and he could put hardly any weight on it, and besides that, he had surgery scars to heal up from, meaning he shouldn’t have even been standing up right now.

“I can’t put weight on anything,” Lance hisses. “The fact that I’m even standing up right now is, quite frankly, a miracle.”

“With the way you’re tugging me right now, it’s a miracle that I’m still standing as well.”

You groan as you finally throw you and Lance forward, reaching the red door that led into your apartment. You quickly fish the key out of your pocket, place it in the door and unlock it, watching as it slides open to reveal the cold, abandoned room you had lived in for three years.

It had only been left alone for four days whilst you and Lance were in LA, and yet it still seemed completely foreign to you when you stepped inside. Nothing major had changed - the sofa had a few extra pizza boxes lying on top of it, but that was the extent of it. The TV needed dusted, and as you stepped in you couldn’t help but wrinkle your nose up at the lack of Febreze that had been sprayed around.

Nothing major and yet it felt like a new place to you. You felt as if you had never been in here before.

You grunt as you let Lance drop onto the sofa, him immediately letting out a sigh of relief when his body hits the pillows. You make a show of stretching your limbs out, popping your neck in the way that always made Lance squirm out of discomfort.

Even now he looks up at you and shakes his head at the action, but he clearly doesn’t think scolding you is a good idea.

You are unsure of what to do from this moment onwards - do you sit next to him? Does he need his meds? Does he want the TV on?

You purse your lips, awkwardly hovering over the back of the sofa as Lance fiddles with the pillows in an attempt to get himself comfortable. His face twitches in pain at almost every movement he makes, and you’re half tempted to question whether him being released from the hospital was a good idea.

“My mum used to sing Spanish lullabies to me whenever I got sick,” Lance says, suddenly.

You inhale deeply, shocked at the sudden conversation starter. You try to make yourself look like you hadn’t been standing over him for the past two minutes.

“I don’t know any Spanish lullabies,” you tell him. “And I can’t sing.”

“I wasn’t asking you to sing for me,” he scoffs. “I was just telling you a fun fact about my childhood. I thought that was one you didn’t know.”

You shrug. “I knew that one. You bring it up every time anything goes wrong with your health.”

“Which isn’t often enough for that fact to be put in your long-term memory,” he replies. “I have a very strong immune system, and my bones aren’t exactly easily breakable.”

You raise your brow. “Yeah. That’s why you currently have a broken ankle and can barely stand up without assistance.”

“Cut me some slack! My bones may be strong,but certainly not strong enough to fend off a car coming at me at 70mph.”

You roll your eyes, spinning on your heel to face the conjoined kitchen. “I’m gonna go make us some food. The drive from LA has me hungry. Do you want anything?”

“Something I can drink through a straw, please. I don’t feel like chewing.”

You nod as if his words were the most natural thing in the world, as if your heart wasn’t moving at one thousand miles per minute, as if everything right now didn’t seem completely twisted and scripted.

As you make soup over the stove, watching Lance from the counter as he keeps his eyes glued on the now-turned-on television, you can’t help but realise just how weird this entire thing was. A little over a week ago, you would have cursed the person who forced you and Lance into a room together. One car crash later and here you were; making him soup as he rewatched Friends for what you knew was the hundredth time in his lifetime.

It didn’t necessarily feel wrong as much as it felt fake. There was an underlying topic that you two were avoiding, gently pulling it out of the conversation as if you were playing Jenga with conversation starters. Trying to work your way around inevitable collapse, getting rid of all of the things that could trigger said conversation.

Everything was peaceful now, but you didn’t know how long it would last for. How long you could keep up this charade of oh, everything’s fine!

Lance was good at putting on a front, but you knew him well enough to know that he felt the same way. The way his eyes shifted to the ground whenever he was at risk of making eye contact with you, or the way he narrowly avoided the topic of Shiro whenever the two of you were discussing how Emma, Samuel and he had gotten home. He had only asked about Emma and Samuel, even though he knew full well Shiro was accompanying you also.

You hated to admit it, but you had barely thought about Shiro outside of the incident. Any time his name popped up in your head, all you could think about was the look on Lance’s face whenever he saw Shiro’s arm around your waist, the horror and the anger and the misplaced betrayal that immediately slapped itself onto his drunken features.

You felt bad about that. He had treated you with nothing but kindness and all you could think about was the man who had ripped your heart from your chest. And now, said man was sitting in front of you with a broken leg, a fractured collar bone and a skull that still had mild swelling in it.

Oh, what a day.

“Y/N!”

You pluck your earphones out of your ear, cautiously looking over at the closed door that currently separated you and the patient you had been forced to care for.

“Y/N! Y/N, are you sleeping? I can’t stand up to come and wake you up, so if you could just stop that, that would be great!”

You roll your eyes, throwing the earphones down onto your laptop, where your face is popped up on the editing program you were currently using. After making Lance and yourself some soup and watching yours get cold whilst Lance slurped his up in seconds, you had excused yourself from the living room to go and do something useful with your time. Despite your exhaustion from having driven a 6 hour drive from LA to San Fransisco, you didn’t trust Lance enough on his own to fall asleep, so you instead decided to edit your recent video.

But it seemed as though Lance had other ideas for your evening.

You trot downstairs grudgingly, barely popping your head around the living room door. “What is it?”

Lance perks up at the sght of your face. “Oh, you’re not sleeping. Great. I was just - uh - I was just wondering if you would help me get to my room? I feel lonely in the living room on my own, and I wanna sleep on my bed.”

You raise a brow. “Why can’t you just sleep on the sofa and save us both the bother?”

“Sleeping on the sofa is a bother. What if we get robbed during the night? I can’t run, and I’m the first person they’ll see.”

You shake your head slightly, fighting off the urge to roll your eyes. Same old Lance.

You say no more before you make your way over to him, looping one of his arms around your shoulders and hauling him into your side. He hisses out in pain, letting out a chorus of “Ah, ah, ah’s” as he bounces slightly, trying to find a position against you that would stop the pain from going through his body.

His body which is pressed to yours very closely.

You bite at your bottom lip, shoving all thoughts out of your head. He was ill. He was hardly leaning on you for anything more than medical reasons. The fact that he can’t even stand upright is most likely a big part of it.

And even know you know this fact is truth, your heart still picks up at the way his arm tightens slightly over your shoulders as he tries to find a good position to hobble in. A blush still creeps up onto your cheeks whenever he instinctively winds his fingers through yours in an attempt to keep him upright even better.

You still lose your mind whenever his breath tickles your neck.

“Fuck,“ he hisses now, his hopping coming to a halt as he finally gets comfortable against you. “Sorry. Did I hurt you there?”

You go to speak, but your mouth opens and no words come out. His fingers are still wound with yours, and you aren’t letting go, but neither is he and you can no longer think past the warm feeling spreading up your arm and the way his hand fits so closely with yours and how familiar it all feels even though it shouldn’t.

So instead, you opt for simply nodding before leading him up the stairs in silence, trying your hardest to hide your blush behind your hair, trying to make it seem like this was just exactly what it should have been - an innocent, morally charged exchange. You were helping him out because he was ill. He couldn’t do this on his own, and that was all there was to it.

You arrive at his room and you inwardly cringe at the sight of it - he clearly hadn’t been sleeping in his room during your time away, because your side of the bed is still a crumpled mess from the last time you had gotten out of his sheets. It seems like ages ago.

Lance clearly notices the crumpled sheets as well, as a blush begins to take form on his cheeks and his fingers tighten around your own. You inhale deeply, shake your head to nothingness as you set him down in the centre of the pillows, trying not to make it seem like you still thought of the right side as your side. He could have the whole bed to himself if he wanted.

“There,” you say, cracking your knuckles dramatically. Lance scoffs and rolls his eyes playfully at the over-exaggerated action. “If you need anything, call me. I’ll be just down the hall.”

I want to be beside you, but we both know that can’t happen.

You wince as the thought strikes you, too quick for you to dismiss it before it grows into something more.

Lance nods at you, giving you one last lazy smile before you turn to leave. Half you wants to leave. Half of you wants to stay, curl up in Lance’s arms like you had grown so used to those three months you had done so.

“Oh, Y/N, wait.”

You pause in your tracks, hand hovering over the door handle.

“Hm?”

Lance pushes himself up, turning to face you fully now. “I never thanked you for the soup you made me. It was nice. Thank you.”

How such a simple comment can make your knees feel weak is beyond you, and you silently curse your low tolerance levels when it comes to Lance McClain.

You hide your suddenly woozy state by smiling softly, whispering “No problem,” and exiting the room.

As soon as the door closes behind you, you catch your breath. You need to. The day had been so simple, so easy and usually, chill days like this took nothing out of you. But today, something had affected you and it was making you feel a thousand emotions at once.

Nostalgia? Regret? Confusion?

Everything. Even happiness, though you didn’t want to admit that to yourself right now. You wanted to keep yourself under the illusion that you were just here for moral reasons, to keep yourself from feeling guilty. You were helping out somebody in need.

But the happiness was unavoidable. Happiness whenever Lance smiled at you. Happiness at the fact that he was sitting on the sofa, smiling, laughing along to the television, alive. He was alive. He was thriving again, and sure, he was in pain and he wasn’t as active as he used to be, but he was happy and he was trying to make you happy even though he knew he had messed up and you would be a fool not to see such a thing.

You close your eyes and lean your head back against his bedroom door, hoping and praying that he doesn’t hear the slight bang that comes from the contact. Even though your heartbeat speeds up at the risk, you don’t move. You simply keep your ground, inhaling and exhaling deeply, trying everything and anything to keep yourself from crumbling all over again.

“Okay, but if I had an adult colouring book, I wouldn’t be complaining so much about now having an adult colouring book.”

You squeeze your eyes closed, your laptop balanced on your knees in the way you found so uncomfortable. You hadn’t realised that looking after Lance meant having to sit with him in the living room all day, listening to him complain about not having an adult colouring book.

“I’m not going to the shop and buying you an adult colouring book. Those are expensive, and the Adpocolypse has been cutting me short lately.”

Lance groans, throwing his head back. He sat on the sofa across from you, the TV playing in the background though he didn’t seem to be paying it any attention. His eyes were fixed on your working form, watching as you sat hunched over your laptop, putting the finishing touches on the video you were making.

“I already offered to pay for it, for gods sake! All you need to do is go down the street to Barnes & Noble and pick one up for me.”

“Why can’t you just have a normal colouring book?”

“Because I am an 19 year old adult who needs an adult colouring book.This isn’t a game of pick and choose, Y/N. I can’t just pick up a Mandala colouring book and be on my merry way. That’s basically fraud.”

You bite down on your bottom lip. You had to constantly remind yourself that he was ill. He was hyped up on pain medication, and that was why he was being such a pain.

“Maybe later, Lance,” you say. “I’ve gotta get this video up tonight or else there will be questions.”

Lance sighs, slumping back against the sofa again. His arms hang loosely over the back of it, though you had warned him time and time again that that would do nothing good for his sore back. He had ignored you, claiming he was tough enough to put up with it.

He watches you now - you can feel his stare. You knew he had always taken an interest in the way you worked off camera. How you could take your happy, make-up obsessed persona and suddenly replace them with this work-savvy tec person who knew everything there was to know about editing videos and the process behind it all. After working with editing videos for nearly half of your life, you had picked up a thing or two and editing had become just as simple and thoughtless as breathing.

Lance had always found that cool. How you could watch a YouTube video on how to edit and suddenly you were being filled with stock-piles of information. A little bit of practice and a weekly upload schedule had you becoming a professional even before you had met Lance.

The topic of your YouTube channel was one you hadn’t brought up until now, either, and you knew it had caused some tension. Though you didn’t want to dwell on it too much, it was quite difficult to dismiss. The way Lance suddenly got quiet, the way he pulled his bottom lip into his teeth and chewed awkwardly, watching you now as if waiting to see you bash him in a video for what he had done.

But no. It was a simple make up tutorial. You had gone another week on your YouTube channel, totally ignoring the rumours which had been circulating the internet from the moment Lance’s interview had surfaced. You were hoping they would blow over eventually. Until then, a smokey eye tutorial would have to suffice.

Lance speaks up suddenly. “I watched your LA vlog that you put up a few days ago.”

Your eyes snap up, mouth forming a line as you do so. “Right. What did you think of it?”

He shuffles awkwardly in his position on the sofa, finally pulling his hands into his lap and intertwining his fingers together. “I was a little shocked that you still put it up after - after what happened with me. Surprised you had found the time to edit it.”

“I had a lot of time on my hands whilst I was waiting for you to wake up. The waiting room has surprisingly good WiFi.”

Lance winces, your tone of voice so monotone, so free of emotion. You had planned it that way. You didn’t want him to think that you dwelled on him too much over the past few days, even though you had. Keeping your voice low and monotone would wipe out all hope he may have of you rekindling anything with him - you hoped.

No you don’t.

“Well, it was a good video. I enjoyed it. The art looked - nice.” He shifts his eyes up hesitantly, meeting yours for a moment. “You and Shiro looked like you were having a good time.”

There it was. The name that he had been avoiding since he had woken up four days ago. The name which had seemed almost a taboo topic had just fell from his mouth and had opened up an entire can of worms.

The tension was undeniable, because you went silent as soon as he mentioned Shiro. Your eyes darted back to your computer screen, your demeanour completely changing as you try your hardest to fight off the conversation which is now inevitable.

Lance leans forward a little bit, hisses in pain and decides against it. “You were laughing a lot with him. Going through the rooms of the museum and stuff. You looked happy.”

“I was having a good time,” you grunt. You don’t want to talk about this any longer, because you no longer have the choice to just get up and leave. You have to stay and take care of him, which is your invisible handcuff to this room.

He didn’t need to make it any more awkward.

“I’m glad,” he replies. “But it’s just - I don’t mean to bring this up now and make things awkward between us, but since we have nothing else to talk about, I might as well. It made me think about all the good times we used to have together and how we used to break the rules like that. We used to laugh about it, remember? Just like how you were laughing with Shiro.”

You bite down harder on your lip, suppressing the urge to throw your laptop to the side and walk off. What were you even supposed to say to that? Were you supposed to apologise for doing things with Shiro that you once did with Lance? Were you supposed to feel the stabbing guilt that you were currently feeling?

“Lance,” you breath out, clicking mercilessly at the screen on your laptop - anything to distract yourself. The more distracted you are from Lance’s prying eyes, the easier the words will come. “I was having a good night out with my friends. It was Emma’s special day, and I wanted to enjoy myself. You’re selfish if you think I can’t have a laugh just because my best friend pulled the rug out from underneath me a few days prior.”

Lance’s eyes widen and you hear him take a breath. He clearly hadn’t expected you to bring that situation up. He had clearly hoped that he could take a dig at you and your friends and get away from his own wrong-doings scotch free.

“Hey, hey, you know that’s not what I meant,” he says frantically. “I was just commenting on it. It was playing on my mind so I said it.” He winces as he folds his arms over his chest. “No need to get mad.”

You grit your teeth, hands clenching the fabric you had balled up in your hand in an attempt to ease the anger swarming through you. It was weird how you could go from questioning your anger towards him to suddenly realising why you felt it all in the first place.

You’re not yelling because you don’t want to ruin the happiness between you two. You still care.

“You know what, Lance?” you nearly exclaim, cutting the thoughts off before you can stop yourself.

You were going to prove yourself wrong. You didn’t want to be friends with Lance any more. You could yell at him. You could get mad if he gave you a reason to be.

Lance looks up at you, arms still folded over his chest, waiting for you to explode.

One look at his face and you feel like melting all over again. You can feel your anger disappearing and you grapple for it as quickly as you can, pretending the butterflies in your stomach weren’t there.

“You - You have no right to form an opinion on my social life any more,” you say, silently cursing yourself for stuttering. “You messed up. That’s not my problem. You’re not my problem any more. You’re lucky I’m actually staying here right now, because me of all people has every right to walk out and leave you if I wanted to.”

Lance blinks.

“Don’t act - God - don’t act stupid! You’re clearly annoyed about me and Shiro getting closer even though you have no right to be.”

“I’m not mad,” Lance insists, and it seems as if his nervous persona had melted away. His eyes are burning directly into yours as the two of you argue, him moving around as dramatically as his injuries will let him. “I was just commenting on the video you put up! Excuse me for trying to start a fucking conversation!”

“You really must think I’m stupid,” you scoff. “Or soft. Or something like that. Thinking I would just never replace you after what you did. You don’t orchestrate my life like that, Lance! You hurt me, and you’re surprised whenever I’m finally getting my life back on track-”

“My God, Y/N, I didn’t mean to hurt you!” he exclaims. “You know I would never do anything bad to you without a good enough reason-”

“I was hoping not even a good reason would be enough for you to hurt me. I thought our friendship was strong enough for that.”

Lance grits his teeth, his hands tugging at his hair even though the action clearly pains him. “Okay, fine. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for complimenting your stupid little vlog. Sorry for being interested in your day-to-day life.” He grunts and folds his arms back over his chest. “Plus, I’m not jealous of you and Shiro. I could never be jealous of that stupid-haircut-looking cunt.”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, anger souring through you. “Are you serious, Lance McClain?”

He had pulled the final straw. You set your laptop to the side, standing up after slamming the lid closed. Lance follows your movements, but his eyes don’t meet yours. They click on every other part of your body that he can find - legs, arms, stomach. Anywhere that aren’t your eyes, because even as you glare down at him now, you know he’s repeating the words he has just spoken in his head and realising just how petty and angry he had sounded in his moment of weakness.

“You cannot insult Shiro. You just can’t,” you seethe. “He’s a better man than you will ever be, because he knows how to treat people who show him kindness.”

“I’m sorry,” Lance mutters.

“No. I don’t wanna hear it,” you say, waving his apology off. “I’m going to my room. If you need help off the sofa, call me, but I don’t wanna be associated with you outside of that.”

You start towards the hallway, hands balled up at your sides, nails digging into the flesh on your palm so harshly you’re almost certain there will be blood when you uncurl them. Everything in you screams to stay, but you know it’s just the remaining remnants of friendship you had with him - remnants which you hope will disappear after tonight.

“Y/N, please wait,” Lance calls after you, suddenly sounding exhausted. “Y/N, please! Let me explain myself!”

“Go to hell, Lance!”

Your door slams closed, blocking his voice out for good.

The night brings no sleep for you.

Your bed feels cold and unfamiliar. Your body rejects it, feeling each and every spring you had missed shove itself into your spine, making you twist and turn in an uncomfortable attempt to escape it.

Usually Lance’s arms around be wrapped tight around you, protecting you from the protruding springs which were currently jabbing into your back due to how old your mattress was. Contrary to popular belief, being a YouTuber didn’t rack up a large wad of money. You needed to use things for as long as possible, meaning your mattress hadn’t seen a replacement since you moved in here.

That was your excuse. It was old. That was why you couldn’t sleep, even though you had only been out of it for a little over a week.

You knew the real reason, buried deep within the back of your head - the part that was blocked by the fuming anger you had towards Lance, the disbelief at the audacity he had shown today.

He shouldn’t have said the things he did. He shouldn’t have insulted Shiro just because he was mad at you.

But in the same breath, maybe you shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions whenever he was talking about the vlog you had posted. Maybe he was genuinely just curious - anybody would be. He wanted to know if he had been replaced and, in the moment, that had annoyed you. You had forgot to realise that Lance wasn’t a bad guy. He was a good guy who had done something bad to you - that didn’t mean every single word that fell out of his mouth was a sinister attack on you and your friends.

You sigh and bury your head in your pillow. 4am was soon to be rolling around and you had a multitude of videos to film tomorrow, as well as taking care of the big child you had left gob smacked a few hours prior. How you were going to handle the day in all it’s awkwardness was beyond you, but you were going to have to make it work.

You weren’t going to take back what you had said. It was one step closer to you illiminating him from your life completely, and maybe that was what you needed.

Not particularly what you wanted, but you couldn’t have it all.

It was around 4:30am whenever you heard it.

It was quiet in the house for the most part, meaning the sudden crash and grunt of “Oh, fuck,” wasn’t difficult to miss. It had you bolting upright almost immediately - any excuse to get out of the confines of your sheets, in which you didn’t want to be trapped in any longer.

You were out of your bedroom in seconds, marching down the hall to Lance’s room. You threw open his door and wasn’t surprised to see him lying face-down on the carpeted floor, a globe laying broken at the side of him and his sheets tangled in his legs.

He looks up at you when you enter, groans before lowering his head back onto the carpet.

You don’t speak as you march over to him, kicking the broken globe out of the way and untangling the sheets from his legs, being careful of his ankle cast. He doesn’t speak either. It’s an unspoken exchange, a confirmation that you were serious about what you had said earlier in your fit of rage.

You haul Lance to his feet with a struggle and set him back on his bed. That was all. That was all you were needed for, and you quickly turn to leave, but his voice stops you.

Of course it does.

“Please call me stupid.”

You pause in your tracks, narrowing your eyes. You could have easily turned and left, continue on being mad at him, but you stay exactly where you are, waiting for him to continue.

“Do it like you used to,” he continues. “Don’t block me out.”

You grit your teeth, lowering you head. You don’t want to give in. He had done this too many times, against his own knowledge but that wasn’t important.

Your fingers close around the door knob, ready to leave. Ready to continue on with the charade until he gets better and you can leave for good, but Lance has other plans.

He jolts his body forward, yelling in pain as he tries to make his way over to you, but his broken and fractured and bruised body doesn’t let him get very far. His hand has barely closed on your arm before he’s tumbling to the floor, yelling in pain.

You gasp, whirling around at the sudden movement which was the last thing you had expected him to do.

“Lance!” you exclaim, grabbing onto his arms. He closes his eyes in pain, his mouth in a box shape as small hisses of pain escape his lips. His fingers crawl up your arms as you go to grab for his shoulders, a signal for you to wait a minute as he catches his breath.

You look down at him, worry coating your expression. He became overwhelmed with pain almost every time he tried to stand up, but you hadn’t seen him like this. His eyes are screwed shut, deep breaths leaving his mouth alongside little whimpers of pain that claw at your heart and make you want to pull him into a hug.

Instead, you keep your hands on his shoulders until he’s ready to move again.

“The things I put myself through for you,” he grunts, eyes still closed, breathing still shallow. “Is this enough for you to hear me out? Because I won’t move until you’ve spoken to me.”

You blink rapidly, heart still racing. “Are you-”

“I don’t care if you’re dating Shiro,” he says, eyes finally opening but his fingers tighten on your arms, stopping you from moving him any further. “I’m happy if you’re happy, but I don’t want you leaving this friendship - what we had - without knowing how - how I feel and why I did what I did.”

Your mouth is running dry and your hands are shaking and no words come out of your mouth. Nothing is clicking right now. All you can see, all you can hear is Lance.

He takes your silence as a reason to continue. “I didn’t get paid to do that interview.” You gawk. “I was walking on the street one night whenever you were back at the apartment, and some guy recognised me from the video we did together. He came up to me and was saying all this stuff - all this crazy, weird stuff about how he had hacked into one of your old phones from when you were a teenager and found all these texts between you and your mum. Right when she was beginning to get sick. He said - He told me he wanted a tell-all interview or else he would release the texts and I panicked. I freaked out and I said I’d do it, because I know how private you are about your mother’s condition. I didn’t want him to put you through that, and I thought me ‘exposing’ you would hurt a little less than him leaking those texts to the world.”

Your chest burns. Your eyes burn, tears falling down your cheeks without you even realising it. At the mention of your mother - a lady who had been diagnosed with MS whenever you were young - the tears fall even quicker.

You had never spoken publicly about your mothers condition. Keeping it silent was a lot easier than explaining to everyone why she had limited time left on earth, or why none of her treatment was working. Pretending that everything was okay was a lot easier than explaining why it wasn’t.

That was why you hadn’t brought up anything about Lance in your recent videos. Explaining to people why was a whole lot more difficult than ignoring the situation completely.

Hearing that Lance hadn’t been getting paid, that he had done the interview to protect you and your mother, made your heartbeat pick up with a thing you wanted to say was hope. Hope that this could all work out. Hope that this wasn’t the end of you and Lance.

Lance reaches up with his shaky arms and wipes the tears off of your cheeks. You simply stare down at him, mouth open in shock, frozen.

He nods gently. “I know. I’m sorry. I tried to distance myself from you afterwards because I knew that when the interview released, you’d want nothing to do with me anyway. And I was right, and I don’t blame you. I wasn’t even going to say anything because I want you to go on without me if it makes you happier, but I - I can’t live with the fact that you hate me, Y/N. I don’t want you to ever hate me. If I can’t love you in the way I want to, I at least want to be friends. But I can’t have you out of my life forever. I wasn’t wired to function without my best friend.”

A stab in the gut would have hurt less.

You close your eyes, finally letting go of Lance’s shoulders and letting yourself fall back against his bed frame. Once your back has hit the frame, you tug your legs up to your chest, rest your chin on your knees and let the tears fall freely, soft sobs racking your body.

Lance does his best to sit up as quickly as he possibly can, hissing in pain in the process, but he eventually manages to move himself to the side of you, where he finally wraps his long arm over your shoulders and pulls you into his side.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I can call Shiro if you want. Get him to come over. You don’t have to stay here if you don’t-”

“Thank you.” The words sound scratchy against your throat, burning as they arise to the surface. Two words you never thought you would be saying to Lance again.

Lance tenses at the side of you. “For what?”

“For protecting me and my mother that way,” you reply. “You - You risked our friendship to protect my family. That was a brave move.”

“I still jeopardized our relationship-”

You shake your head, swallowing the golf ball sized lump in your throat. It doesn’t budge, and your words come out even groggier than before. “No, you didn’t Lance. I was mad before because I thought you had used me for the money and the publicity, but now I know the truth. I know why you did it.”

“Y/N, please don’t feel pressured-”

“I’m not dating Shiro,” you say. You look up as you say it, watching in mild amusement as Lance’s face goes from stiff to completely placid, eyes widening and mouth falling open.

His eyes meet yours and he immediately closes his mouth, coughing awkwardly into his hand. “Oh, you aren’t?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m not. Wanna know why?”

“There’s a reason?”

“It’s because I’m in love with my best friend. Head over heels in love. Completely smitten.”

Lance smiles, biting his lip at the same time, clearly trying to hide the overjoyed expression making it’s way onto his face.

You let your knees fall away from your chest so you can look at him dead in the eye this time. He looks at you, eyes still wide, hands hesitantly reaching out to grab your own but you pull away from his grip, opting to wrap your arms over his shoulders instead.

“I fell for the man who protected my family from media outcry. I fell for the man who used to lock me in the bathroom when I was being moody so I could calm down. I fell for the man who never fails to race me up the stairs, even though there’s only three steps to walk up.” You smile down at him now, eyes glistening with both tears and lust. “I fell for the stupid idiot who got hit by a car because he was mad at Takashi Shirogane.”

Lance raises a brow now, hands instinctively coming to your waist as you hover over him. “You’re being awfully vague. I think I need more hints.”

You roll your eyes. “What I’m saying is, I love you, Lance McClain. Being away from you was the hardest task I’ve ever had to endure, and I don’t wanna do it again. Not in a million years.”

He grins. He grins widely and brightly, happily staring up at you as he does so. “You won’t have to be away from me ever again.”

With those words spoken, you seal the deal with a kiss. Long and drawn out and needed, but not needy. It’s soft and gentle, though the way Lance’s hands tighten on your waist and the way you pull him impossibly closer make up for the distance you two had had from one another for the past ten days.

You’d missed this. Feeling happy. Feeling happy with Lance. Feeling like the world could no longer drag you down because you finally had your anchor back with you, even if you knew things would be mildly complicated from here on out.

You would have to deal with Samuel and Emma, who no doubt would have a lot to say about you going back to an ex. You would have to deal with Shiro - you weren’t sure what Shiro felt about you. If he felt anything. If he really did like you in that way. You just knew you would deal with it all eventually - but for now, you were with Lance.

Finally, you were back with Lance.

#voltron #voltron headcanons #voltron scenarios #voltron series #voltron fics #lance mcclain #lance voltron #takashi shirogane #shiro voltron #keith kogane #keith voltron #pidge gunderson #pidge voltron #hunk garrett #hunk voltron #lance mcclain x reader #lance x reader #lance voltron x reader #Action!

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screamingwithlife · 8 years

Text

I am so sorry, It’s 5AM and I have no more brain but here’s a thing i wrote.

tw: drug use, hospitals | also me having no idea about, like, science and stuff

It’s been three months, two weeks and five days since he broke up with Owen, and Aaron is probably ODing.

At least, he’s pretty sure that’s what’s happening. It’s the only real thought he’s been able to hang on to for… oh, about a million years, now. Everything’s spinning. He’s seeing things and then forgetting them. He can’t try to focus, because he’s just been too distracted to think; he’s so hot and so thirsty and his heart is going to explode at any second, if his head doesn’t burst first—

…

Christ.

Jesus Christ.

Fuck these drugs.

The first thing he recognizes – really, truly focuses on, remembers and recognizes – is the low, droning hum of a hospital room. An age later, Aaron pries his eyelid creakily open.

There’s a silhouette in the doorway with dark, curling hair.

Aaron closes his eyes to the figure for a moment; His chest has been aching with loss since the last time he’s seen Owen, and though he has no idea how Owen knows, he’s also glad he’s there.

Aaron tries to get something out of his throat, but it’s so dry and cracked that what comes out is a rasp. He coughs.

From the doorway, he feels rather than hears a low and resonant baritone laugh.

It stops Aaron immediately, and he has to remind himself to breathe. Suddenly, he knows for certain that Owen is smaller than the man in the doorway, of course he is, and his laugh is more melodic, like singing. How could he not have noticed it right away? It must be because the room is still spinning, and the lines of the walls aren’t staying straight.

Owen isn’t visiting him at all.

The figure walks towards the bed and sits. Slowly, slowly, a sweet and slightly gap-toothed smile comes into soft focus.

“Hello, baby,” says Jack, and Aaron closes his eyes.

The next thing Aaron remembers is the feeling of Jack’s fingers running through his hair. His ex is sitting on the edge of the bed, right up by the pillow, strong shoulders leaning casually towards the wall. Despite the gentle touch, it bloody hurts.

Aaron tries to pull his tongue from the roof of his mouth, he really does, but his throat is the Sahara and his palate is sandpaper. He makes a wheezing sound instead, and seems to think more than speak.

“How did you know?” he asks. “How did you know I was here?”

Jack smiles softly at him, but his eyes are pained. “I heard,” is what he says. His voice is both familiar and strange. “Don’t try to talk, baby, you’re not out of the woods yet.”

Aaron exhales in a ragged sound, and has to look away, towards the high window. Dimly, some corner of his mind is surprised to notice that the hospital room looks remarkably like the one Eoin sent him to in Ohio an eon ago.

There’s a sixpack of beer and a pizza on the table.

He twitches again. Maybe he’s been sedated.

Painfully, Aaron tries to roll toward Jack – a pathetically bad decision. At some point, he’d sweat through his hair, and he’s now sticking to the sheets, so when he rolls his skin seems to shriek. The shift to one side makes his head pound like a countdown. For a moment, Aaron is so deeply aware of how pitiful he looks that he wheezes out a laugh into the pillow, but that just makes the pain in his throat worse, and he starts to cough instead.

He has to take far too long to collect himself before he can form words.

“Not my finest hour, I’ll admit,” Aaron rasps, still trying to be flippant despite himself. It’s exhausting.

Jack, never one to hide a feeling, looks like his heart is breaking. He kisses Aaron’s forehead, and Aaron’s skin just feels hotter for it, though Jack doesn’t seem to notice. “Aaron… I don’t understand. Why would you do this to yourself?” he asks, and it sounds almost like he’s pleading. “This isn’t you, baby. You’re supposed to be so full of life. You never used to put yourself in harm’s way at all.” Aaron watches Jack swallow in slow motion. “So why?”

Something fills Aaron’s stomach, cold and nauseating. Shame. He looks away.

“I changed,” he says, and it comes out in a thready little whisper. “I… think I broke. And—and I reckon when I put myself back together, I just wasn’t the same. Is all.” The therapist he had been seeing – seeing, but not really talking to – for Owen’s sake had mentioned something about personality disorders, the age of presentation, and Aaron being ‘textbook’, but he can’t really remember right now.

He hasn’t seen the therapist since the last time he saw Owen, actually. Sitting here with Jack, who looks so like him, that little reminder is like a punch to Aaron’s solar plexus. He shoves the thought violently aside and twitches.

Jack tries to shush him, to calm the shaking, and Aaron dimly recognizes his ex is brushing sweaty strands of ginger hair aside with surprisingly gentle fingers. “I am so, so sorry I hurt you, baby,” Jack murmurs, his voice warm and low. “You know I never meant to. You’re the one who kept me centered and sane throughout everything in high school, and I… really owed you a better ending. But you can’t keep holding on to old love like this – it’ll kill you. It almost did, for a second.”

It feels like Aaron would be crying, if his eyes weren’t so dry. Instead, he just shakes. “I missed you, Jack,” he says. “Every damned day. We didn’t get closure – we got nothin’. Just the end, all at once, and it—”

He chokes. His throat is so dry he can’t breathe. He cannot breathe.

Aaron’s heart rate spikes, and there’s suddenly activity around him – racing footsteps, then noise, then nothing.

When Aaron returns, the room is quiet. Jack is leaning against the doorframe. For several minutes, both men say nothing.

“You’re not here,” Aaron creaks. “You’re a dream.”

“Maybe,” says Jack.

“All right.”

Aaron closes his eyes.

The next time he’s conscious, Aaron’s vision is too blurry for him to really see. He can’t even lift his head from the pillow to look around. Around him there is only a wash of cool white light, a clean smell, and a voice.

“You’re right, baby,” says Jack. “I think you have changed, in one important way: you love Owen now. You really, really do, no matter what you think. And he loves you just as much. You can’t keep pushing that away – for your sake or mine or anyone else’s.

“You’ve got to let me go.”

Aaron says nothing. This time, the tears do come.

When he finally is able to ask how to do that – how to let Jack go – there is no more answer.

This is how you do it: you start somewhere.

It’s like cleaning out a messy house – when it comes to your start point, any place will do, no matter how small. Maybe you move a teacup, and that’s all you have in you to do that day. Maybe the next day you can clean off a chair, or fix a broken television. Maybe some days you’re able to get a whole room dusted – and maybe some days you find something you’d forgotten about, and you have to take the evening to mourn.

Be patient. Make sure you keep coming back. Just start.

I don’t know, man. To me, Owen seems like a pretty good place to begin. Maybe you should give that a shot.

The next time Aaron wakes up, his skin is cool. The hospital room looks different now – it seems less familiar, though the hum is the same. The IV is an alien weight in his arm. For the first time in a while, he feels a strange sort of clarity.

Slowly, bracingly, he sits up in bed, and unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth again.

Aaron doesn't remember the last few days very clearly, if he's honest. But he wants to call Owen, and that's a start.

#!mine #!tw #pairing; jaron #pairing; aarow #char; aaron treacy #char; jack aldama #char; harper owen warren #verse; dalton originals #!writing

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theliterateape · 5 years

Text

Hope Idiotic | Part 44

By David Himmel

Hope Idiotic is a serialized novel. This is the final installment.

SOMEONE WAS KNOCKING ON THE FRONT DOOR. It woke Lou up. It took him a moment to realize where he was and what was happening. The knocking sounded furious. Lou pulled himself up off the floor and moved to the master bathroom where he splashed some water on his face and took a moment to look at himself in the mirror.

“Jesus Christ, Louis,” he said to the reflection. “Feel better?”

The furious knocking came again. He ran down the stairs yelling at it, “Hang on!” and winced at how sore his throat was. He flung the door open to see Michelle standing there.

“Hi,” she said.

“What the hell?...”

“I was, um, driving by and saw the car—is it a rental?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I heard you were in town, and so I thought that maybe that car was yours and that I would stop by to say hello and see how you were.”

“You were driving by? Just happened to be driving by?”

“Well, okay, I took a detour from the mall on the off chance you would be here.”

“Why?”

“To say hello and see…”

“Come on, Michelle. See how I was doing? Really? We don’t speak for over a year while living in the same city, and now you want to reach out to me? Why are you here?”

“I guess I don’t know. You don’t think it’s strange that we haven’t talked?”

“No.”

“After everything?”

“That’s why I don’t think it’s strange. After everything, I was perfectly happy to never talk to you again and to certainly never see you again.”

“Wow. That’s pretty harsh, Lou.”

He could see she was hurt. He didn’t want to hurt her. He didn’t want to do anything to her. He was completely indifferent. But he couldn’t help being honest to her. He took a deep breath and invited her in.

“So, are you selling it?”

“Just getting it ready to have a management company rent it out.”

“You look good.”

“Thanks.” Honesty prevented him from returning the compliment. She didn’t look bad, but she looked like a lesser version of the Michelle he had known.

“Anyway,” she said.

“Anyway. I’d invite you to sit, but as you can see, there’s no furniture.”

“That’s okay, I can’t stay long. My parents and I are going to Cut for dinner tonight.”

“Of course.”

“Did you hear Bella’s closed?”

“Yeah. A while ago.”

“Yeah. So, I heard you got a job. Copywriting or something?”

“Where are you hearing all of this? Because I haven’t heard one word about you.”

“Well, you know, Scott’s parents talk to my parents, so.”

“Of course. Yeah, I’m a copywriter at an creative agency. Doing a lot of freelancing, too. Business is good. Mark and I are playing around with a few ideas for TV pilots. We’ll see.”

“That’s really great.”

“You still at the firm?”

“Yeah. I don’t know how much longer though. I really keep thinking about moving to L.A.”

“I figured you would have done that by now. You always wanted to.”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“Do you want the answer to that?”

“I guess not. I wish things had been different with us.”

“Me, too. But I think it worked out in the end.”

Hope won’t get anyone a goddamn thing. It never has, and it never will.

Lou surprised himself when he realized the words that had just come out of his mouth. Only an hour ago, he was having a complete meltdown over the relationship and the life that had been—and even the life that had come to be. He didn’t say that to hurt her. He said it because he meant it. He had realized that his life was better without her and that it would have only gotten worse if they hadn’t broken up. He couldn’t have managed his grief through alcohol with her. He couldn’t have worked through the weekends writing with her. What he was seeing for the first time was that he was going to be just fine. Because looking back on the last year of hiding out in booze and women and feeling angry and sad and going through all of the shit that brought him to the need to do that, had given him perspective. Lou’s puzzle may have been shy a few pieces, but that’s okay, because that’s what life is. Sometimes it’s terrible. And sometimes it’s wonderful. And sometimes it’s easy. And sometimes it’s hard. And sometimes it’s boring. And sometimes it’s exciting. And since he’d gone through all of those things with such intensity in such a short period of time, Lou understood that he could stand to keep living. He never wanted to kill himself, but there were times during those years when he would have been okay to just not wake up. You have to go through the shit so that you know how to handle it when it comes around for you again, he thought.

“I’m sorry, I take that back. It’s just that I couldn’t have done any of this with you. I was unhappy and that made you unhappy and that made me even more unhappy because all I tried to do was live up to your idea of living a life where everything is perfect and falls into place. But that’s crazy because it’s impossible. And I think I realized that a long time ago, I just ignored it. And it took my best friend dying and a complete emotional breakdown to accept it.”

“Are you sick? Your voice sounds a little hoarse.”

“Part of the emotional breakdown requires getting into a screaming match with yourself.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Forget it. You don’t have to.”

“Lou, this is going to sound like it’s coming out of nowhere, but I have to say it. I spent most of this year missing you and wondering if I made a mistake by letting things end.”

“Michelle…”

“Let me finish. I don’t sit up all night wondering about you anymore. The thoughts of you with another woman don’t make me sick anymore—maybe a little uncomfortable, but not sick to the point where I have to throw up.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I always knew you had potential, and I see now that you can make things happen. And I’m happy for you. Are you happy?”

“At the moment, yes.”

“Good. It’s just strange, Lou, because even though I know there’s a good chance we’ll never be together again, and I am pretty sure that I don’t even want to be with you right now anyhow, but there’s this part of me that still has hope. I don’t know if it’s hope for us to be married and sit on a park bench when we’re old together, or if it’s hope that we’ll be friends again someday. I just know that now, when I think of you, I feel hope.”

“And there’s the biggest difference between us, Michelle. There’s the difference that should have kept us from maybe ever even becoming friends to begin with. Hope doesn’t mean anything. Hope is what people have or do when they can’t have or do anything else. Hope is inaction. It’s sitting back and just waiting for what you want to come. It’s hoping for everything to work out. It’s what we have when we feel we have nothing else. I don’t ever want to hope. I want to have. I want to try. And I’m okay if I fail. Hope won’t get anyone a goddamn thing. It never has, and it never will.”

“Wow.”

“I don’t mean to be mean.”

She sighed and looked down. “You’re not. You’re being honest. And I appreciate that. I should go.”

“Okay.”

She stepped toward him and opened her arms. An old instinct kicked in and he stepped toward her and they hugged. She kissed him with her check against his like she had always done when she didn’t want to mess up her lipstick. He laughed.

“Bye, Michelle.”

“Take care of yourself, Lou. I’m so happy for you.”

She opened the door and walked out. Lou walked into the garage and said, “Hey, Chuck, can you fucking believe that?” Then he stood there for a few more minutes and tried to cry. When the tears wouldn’t come, he walked outside to check the backyard for anything that might need fixing or readying before he put the house up for rent. Everything outside looked perfect.

✶

LOU HAS DREAMS OF CHUCK. In all of them, he’s a ghost, and they both know it.

They began shortly after Chuck died. In one, Lou is standing in the dining room of the Las Vegas house. I’m in the kitchen cutting up Subway sandwiches. Chuck walks in from the garage.

“I just flew here all the way from Cayuga,” he says.

“Are you done with this shit?” Lou says. “Are you done fucking up? Can you just get down to business and keep on the right path and figure it out already? Can you do that, please?”

Chuck starts to cry. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

In another dream, Lou is driving Chuck’s BMW along the winding road that led to Bella’s. Chuck is riding shotgun. They are laughing and chatting away like they had always done.

And then Lou says, “You know, if this is the only way I get to spend time with you now, I’m okay with that.”

Chuck pulls a bottle of beer out from between his feet and takes a long gulp, then looks at Lou, smiles and says “I guess you got it all figured out then, eh?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

Chuck smiles crookedly. “Fuck it. Just drive.”

THE END

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40 Part 41 Part 42 Part 43

#David Himmel Author #Hope Idiotic #David Himmel Novel #Fiction #Bildungsroman #Dark Humor #David Himmel Fiction #fiction

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bravoindigodelta-blog · 6 years

Text

12/14/18

What a fucking mess I’ve made. such an idiot.

enough. enough of that

I need to give my notice, the more time goes by the worse it gets. i feel so guilty, but I can’t do it. Its just not for me. I’m not sure if I need sleep or food or both. I need to not be a fucking monster and destroy my body. Surprised I’m still ok, like all the shit I’ve done. Gotta be ending soon.

I have to put an end to it. Stop being so reckless with your shit. You look like hell. WTF like I don’t feel well. I can’t continue doing this. My week, my hours of sleep are all messed up. I want to cook but I’m too lazy. My eye is starting to twitch and I’m shaking more and more. I need a massage like nobodies business. do i get another coffee? no, no

A nantucket summer is like a dream. It happens so fast you hardly believe you went through it. Like all the stuff I’ve done. So much to account for. Should I have done it differently? Funny how things changed so quickly with David. Flipped it all in an instant. I should leave here. Now I’m lingering.

Relationship advice with me- don’t

I have too much I need to fix, with myself. I need to be less paranoid- but to counter that Ive always been fucked over. Can no one these days be faithful? All you have to do is not fuck someone else. Apparently that’s too fucking hard. Shame really.

i think I like these glasses. Thats what I need to do. Im kind of tired but I don’t want to just sit in my room. Too much time on my hands. How long do I stay in nh. What’s keeping me here, is it just because I’m trying to be resilient. To say I did it. Shit, I don’t know anymore.

The bathrooms here are popular

I mean for the time I’ve been here there’s been at least two random people that have come in to use it. And he doesn’t use the hand blower. Interesting. Maybe thats what I should write about. blog? would anyone read it? id look like i was doing something important, but really doing nothing at all. funny. you see the people on computers and wonder are they actually doing real work? And thats me right now. Being in a public place being anti social. weird thought. And another person comes in and doesn’t order anything. looks at the food, then the bulletin board, then leaves. curious.

I wonder if or where that movie is or what it was called, such an old movie. and if I find it would i want to watch it?

Do I want to ask? weird random ass text, there’s always just don’t answer. Thats a pretty good answer.

I’m excited to go home though. I just nervous I’ll be bored soon. I have nothing to do.

I’m shaking like a mother fucker right now. is this the feeling before you pass out. is this the feeling that will make me change what the fuck im doing? no. never is.

likeliest night. tried to be emotional and couldn’t. I could not cry. I wanted to, I was upset. you cry when your upset, right? is there something wrong with me? - yes that answer is yes. of course there is.

this song is hilarious, remember to listen to this later- lil dicky- lemme freak haha

what the hell

how is this a song. a lot of story. how do you remember all the story. guess you just keep saying it a lot. hilarious

also hobo johnson is great. is this background music supposed to be there? wasn’t before or did i just not notice. I like to think I’m pretty perceptive. Maybe not though

am I an asshole? do I not smile enough, not acknowledging people around me. I want to burst into tears, will someone, a stranger come to console or just watch and wonder. Look the other way and pretend it’s not happening because they don’t want to deal with it.

hes cute. they’re all taken here. shit

I need to think of something awesome to do

vacations probably, or learn to knit or some shit

take a second look and walk away

these two over here. two ladies, on swayed coming in. that caught my eye. looking longer than just seeing who’s coming in

i feel like I’m in the twilight zone. time is weird, it could be really late.

and now im just smiling at my computer

i wonder if brandon got my letter

did he write back? will he? and why am i getting back into this. he’s trouble. big trouble. why just leave it alone. like with adam. he was just done. haven’t heard from him since.weird. or is it? I mean, thats basically my m.o. thats what I do. real good at ghosting. I want to go out cause i look good, cute. i deserve a beer. it was a rough night. fucking crazy. i am an asshole. what am i getting involved with. and what I did. jesus christ. like calm down. I need a chaperone. shouldn’t be allowed to do half the shit i am. fuck. so much has changed.

i wonder if Ryan ever thinks of me. worst break up. I just didn’t get it. almost as bad as Luke. it all seems like another lifetime

ok looking forward. it’ll get better. be positive and project. I need to get in contact with Tess. I’m a bad friend for not. I miss her and Mike. I wonder if they’ll be able to hangout on Monday.

this guy brice vine is cute. came out of nowhere with that drew barrymore song.

I wonder is im going to read this ever again. last ones I read felt so sad. upsetting

I want to go back to the beginning with sparks. with Josh. but then i think that he wasn’t good for me. which he wasn’t. but I have/ had no closure. what are you supposed to do? leave it. just forget about it? I don’t want to. but i want to. but i don’t. talk about conflicted. so stupid. silly girl with her feelings. already made the mistake of getting caught up last night. that ended so badly.I am glad he called today though. so adult like of us.

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samanthasroberts · 7 years

Text

Southern Charm Recap: Flamingo-ing Crazy

Evening, party people. Smiling faces, beautiful places, welcome back to another week of . Lets see what bat shit craziness this week has in store.

Cameran solidifies her role as the unofficial protagonist of the show, narrating the opening sequence (and even saying the word bitch. Well, I do declare!) My familys about to make fun of me for debasing myself by watching this show for yet another week. Suck it, dad, this shits entertaining and makes me feel like a very accomplished adult in comparison to these 35-year-old train wrecks. On a side note, Im kind of getting into this theme song. As an extra side note, my TV is broken and everything is green tinted, which is fitting, I feel.

We open with Thomas on the phone with JD, the former bitching about Kathryn (what else is new?). He rolls up to JDs house and cant even say yes to a cup of coffee without breaking out the French. Ugh, I thought that was a one-episode thing. Thomas apparently told Kathryn he wasnt cosigning her lease (after the whole polo fiasco, if you’ll recall) and she went so nuts that she ended up IN THE HOSPITAL AND MAY HAVE GONE INTO LABOR PREMATURELY. Jesus fucking Christ. So now, what does Thomas do? He agrees to cosign.

JD is like, wait, so you call Kathryn and tell her youre not cosigning, she gets upset, and now youre cosigning anyway because you feel bad for her

JD: I upset my wife plenty of times when she was pregnant but she didnt end up in the hospital over it.

Thomas is like, Wow, everybody was righthomegirl really does know how to manipulate.

Apparently Jennifer is the ultimate shadester, she used to date Thomas and screenshotted everything and sent it to Kathryn just to stir shit up. Taking it a bit far, don’t you think?

Thomas: If I can handle prison for six months, I can handle this bullshit for two more months.

Hold up, like actual prison or just being with Kathryn? Maybe that random Facebook commenter was right and I do need to go back and watch the show from season 1.

Cameran is one of those white people who answers the phone with, Yello! and we promptly learn she was up all night with diarrhea. Gross. Shep goes to watch Craig turn in his application for the bar exam because hes so full of shit that nobody believes him unless they see it with their own eyes. Thats gotta hurt, Craig.

Shep rolls up to good ol Gentry HQ and asks Craig how business is doing. Craig starts talking about some BS I zoned out pretty quick listening to, something about a bourbon side and a hotel side of something.Damn, and youre not gonna let Landon get in on this bourbon business? Thats cold, Craig.

Craig has one more step to nail before he can take the bar, and if he doesnt complete it in time he wont be able to take the test. I feel a setup coming on

These guys are literally arguing over which type of adhesive Craig should use to affix his passport photos to his application.

Cameran meets up with Danni, the roast thief from the earlier episode, and another friend for lunch. One of their friends orders a sweet tea instead of wine and they all jump on her immediately to ask if shes pregnant. Like…a girl can’t order a damn sweet tea in the middle of the day without everyone assuming she’s got a bun in the oven? Cameron is SO OBVIOUSLY not ready to be a mother and these bitches wont leave her the fuck alone about it. Newsflash: This is 2016! Women can aspire to more nowadays than just being a mother. Leave Cameran alone!

Cameran has anxiety too, she reveals, and this show is becoming one giant therapy advertisement. Just goes to show you, money cant solve all your problems. Spinoff idea: What if they all go to the same therapist? Also, Cam’s friend is like, because thats totally a cure for a legitimate mental illness. WTF is wrong with you. What decade do these people live in.

Only 15 minutes in and my fingers are already tired from all this ranting. Gonna be a long episode. Also, wtf happened to Whitney? Is he still alive?

Its finally (almost) time for the flamingo party. Yay! Patricia will be photographing this party for her entertainment book whcih, Im sorry, Im definitely buying. They’re going to have a ros tower and idk what that is, but I know I want one. Patricia is explaining those champagne tower things where you pour the champagne in the top of the pyramid and it spills into all the ones at the bottom and is like, No its not. Its basically 3D beer pong without the balls. Just chill.

Wait ok the Gentry is a hotel?? I feel like an idiot but if they wouldve just explained this shit at the beginning we wouldnt be here. Anyway, Landon and Craig are prepping for the party and going to a spa.

Landon: Part of being a Southern belle is being well-kept, which makes you a good person.

Yeah, maybe on the outside. Im not convinced any of you except Cameran are good people on the inside. And maybeee Craig. He seems pretty earnest.

Craig is aiming for Gatsby-ish pink in terms of outfit color and Landon is like, Im sorry, bitch what? Don’t be over there acting like your Southern asses did not fucking invent salmon pink shorts as a menswear item. Yeah, you THOUGHT you could insult us Yankees.

Jennifer called Craig to let him know Kathryn literally made herself sick and is in the hospital, and he of course feels super bad for her. Meanwhile, Landon does not give one shit!

Landon: Ugh here we go with the drama. People go to the hospital every day. Calm the fuck down.

Okay, people also die everyday, does that make dying any less shitty?

Landon: Did she really almost die? Doubt it. TTYL, DGAF, going to the spa.

Jennifer tells Craig that Thomas didn’t visit Kathryn in the hospital. This detail is important later, so keep it in mind.

Landon: Im tired of Kathryn controlling and manipulating everyone with this child, Im not gonna be manipulated by this psychopath.

Landon literally thinks Kathryn got a slight headache and rushed to the ER. Not sure if this is warranted or not but I’m semi impressed by the fact that she can’t even pretend to be mildly concerned.

We see Kathryn and she explains she basically gave herself such high blood pressure that it affected the baby. IDK how you can personally know what your own blood pressure feels like unless youre constantly taking it, but ok.

Kathryn: All this baby and I need is a stable place to live in a not-stressful environment and if Thomas wont help me get a huge-ass house he doesnt deserve to be in my babys life as far as Im concerned.

Bonus round: Kathryn manipulates Thomas into helping her move, too.

Kathryn: Cosigning on this house is the least he could do for me at this point. YOU MEAN ASIDE FROM THE LIKE $2500 YOU GET A MONTH? YEAH, I REMEMBER THAT FROM LAST EPISODE, IM NOT A FUCKING IDIOT.

Back at Patricias house where shes still setting up for the flamingo party. God damn, they are milking it.

Patricia: I grew up in the 50s. Mothers wore dresses and high heels and had their hair and makeup done. Ive always maintained you have to put on the dog and try to ge as glamorous as you can.

IDK what putting on the dog means but thats gonna be my next getting ready Instagram caption.

Sligthly disappointed there are no real flamingos at this flamingo party. I was definitely holding out for some exotic birds to be present.

Thomas saying yeah, pop that is the most uncomfortable Ive been all evening, even if they are referring to a bottle of wine.

Thomas is setting Landon up with some dude with a ponytail who I feel like is probably her kryptonite since he seem like the type of dude whod call himself an artist, too. Landon also greets everyone with bonsoir. Can we fucking stop pretending we’re European?

Patricia has a fortune teller at her party. What a rager. I am very sad I did not get an invite. Patricia, if youre reading this, I can clean up really well and I wont get belligerent drunk, which is more than I can say of at least half your guests. Hook a girl up.

This is the first/most weve seen of Whitney in like, two weeks. Some girl said hi to Shep and called him babe and I can see the smoke coming out of Landons ears. OMG JUST HIT ON HIM ALREADY, THIS IS SO PATHETIC TO WATCH.

Craig got Patricia this gaudy flamingo-decorated martini glass and Patricia just HAS to drop that she has 18th-century porcelain. Calm down, Patricia, nobody doubts that you have class. You don’t need to be so ostentatious.

Whitney: Trying to watch Thomas flirt with girls is like trying to watch your horny drunk uncle.

YES. SPOT ON. Somebody give Whitney more screen time!

Cameran shows up poss wasted and with a huge flamingo hat. Cameran is me in college, committing to the theme so hard she doesn’t care if she looks ridiculous.

Five seconds into the party, and Shep is already naked and in the pool. Don’t you know this is a classy affair??

Craig confronts Thomas about Kathryns hospital visit and asks if he saw her. Thomas is likeand Craig is like *sips wine*

Shit-starting Jen may or may not be lying about Thomas not going to visit Kathryn. It’s about to get real.

Craig: One of the reasons Thomas hates Jen so much is because she was supposed to be the fun mistress and wasnt supposed to stick around and meddle in his affairs.

THE PLOT THICKENS. Who can we trust? Nobody, really. Everybodys conniving af. Except Cameran. Im really liking her. Can you tell?

Some girl Bailey asked Landon if she and Shep have ever fucked, or even kissed.

Landon: I’m not gonna lie, theres sometimes I wonder if Shep and I could be in a relationship but I dont wanna risk getting hurt.

Landon. OMG. You are more transparent than every Kardashian PR stunt ever. You clearly wonder ALL THE TIME if you and Shep could be in a relationship, why youre not, when hes going to wake up and realize youre the one for him

Shep gets his fortune told and the fortune teller is like and Sheps like and everyones like Shep is just making a bunch of thats what she said jokes like the mature gentleman he is. Landon, you picked a real winner.

The gay dude who visited Kathryn earlier in the first episode (idk his name, go cross-reference my other recap if you really care that much) pulls Patricia aside to be like

Patricia: I think its very unattractive that hes friends with Kathryn Dennis. Its very low-rent to me. (Yes, she actually used the words “low-rent.”)

Dude whose name I 100% forgot: Its very clear what Patricia sees in Kathryn that she doesnt like: she sees herself.

Patricia calls this dude a knockoff Truman Capote. I gotta say, the South has got their shit-talking on point.

Jen shows up and we already know its going to be good. Thomas is not pleased and calls her a piece of trash. HERE WE GO.

Thomas: Tell this chick Im going to throw her in the pool. JD: You dont need another assault charge, homie.

One things for sure: some type of confrontation is about to go down.

JD is talking about doing another polo match. Jen is likeaka,

Thomas is watching Jen talk to Elizabeth and JD and hes just seething over there. FWIW, Elizabeth seems like a very nice woman. Jen does not, really. Thomas pulls Jen aside.

Thomas: Craig told me you told him I didn’t see Kathryn in the hospital Jen: I meant you didnt stay overnight

Cut to: Jen definitely in plain English saying that Thomas wasnt there at all.

Then Jen criticizes Thomas for only being there for two hours. Like, splitting hairs much? Youre just looking for a reason to shit on him.

Jen: If Thomas is criticizing me for putting Kathryns health at risk, he needs to take a long hard look in the mirror and then go play in traffic.

Thomas: A blind person could see through these lies.

They have a lie vs. misunderstanding argument for like 30 seconds before Thomas tells Jennifer to fuck off.

Jennifer: Im the only friend Kathryn trusts. It would be nice if the father of her kids was the other one.

Thomas thinks its Jens mission in life to wreck his life and make him out to be the enemy.

Jen: Im torn between completely cussing him out and telling him how I really feel, or just feeling sorry for him because hes truly delusional.

AKA how I feel watching this show.

Jens like, and Thomas is like And I’m like:

Patricia is not going to like this argument. Very not luxe.

Just when you think punches are about to fly, they both walk away from the argument. Phew, dodged a bullet. Or like, an assault charge.

JD: Thomas and Kathryn have enough problems, Jennifer doesnt need to add to them. This dams gonna break.

Exciting news tidbit: Thomas pronounces water like wooder.

Whats the first thing Jennifer does after being accused of starting drama? She fucking calls Kathryn from the porch of Patricias house! Whitney is like because his mom has to fight his battles. Everybodys gathered to watch while acting like theyre too classy to watch. Jennifer leaves on her own accord, fuck this show for being anticlimactic AF. I wanted an eviction!

Jennifer: I know what Kathryns going through because now I’m the one nobody likes.

Thomas: I can take a lot. Imprisonment, false political allegations, but do not mess with my family. It’s only okay when I treat Kathryn like shit.

Jennifer leaves yelling and once again this show is so fucking anticlimactic! You built up this party for three fucking episodes and what did we get? A heated argument from which both adults walk away on their own accord, and not even one person gets thrown out? Give me some damn drama, give me a fucking cliffhanger! Come on, Bravo! Do better.

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Source: http://allofbeer.com/2017/05/27/southern-charm-recap-flamingo-ing-crazy/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2017/05/27/southern-charm-recap-flamingo-ing-crazy/

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adambstingus · 7 years