#not so fun fact: my comp crashed the first time i wrote this so this is V2
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Day 4: Glasses
Fandom: Dragon Age Characters: Varric Tethras, F!Hawke, Bethany Hawke Words: 2,894 Rating: T (Language, alcohol) Author’s note: Four days in and I’m not giving up yet!!! This is 100% inspired by this fanTASTIC art drawn by @demdoodles for a smooch prompt (and the tags on said art ;P).
Now, one didn’t need to be a genius to see Hawke wasn’t enjoying the party. One sort of had to be an out and out idiot not to see it, really, what with the grimacing and the wincing and the mouthed pleas whenever Leandra wasn’t looking her way (he wasn’t sure, since lip-reading wasn’t particularly high up on his list of skills, but he had a pretty good idea the last one had either been ‘Can we leave?’ or ‘Kill me, please!’). Still, it wasn’t until right around the third - whoops, fourth - champagne flute he watched her drain and set on a nearby table that Varric realized just how much she wasn’t enjoying it.
“If she doesn’t slow down, Mother’s going to make me drag her home...”
He glanced over to see Bethany milling about nearby, a tiny twist to one corner of her mouth suggesting she wasn’t half as frustrated as she’d have him believe. “I dunno, sure looks to me like she’s handling herself all right.”
Bethany made a noise he was more than passingly familiar with - the younger sibling grunt of disapproval. “She’s absolutely going to make a fool of herself…”
“Oh, of that I have no doubt,” he joked, “But take it from me – I know you’re usually snuggled up all safe and warm in your bed by the time we’re just hitting our stride in the Hanged Man – ” Ah, the younger sibling snort of derision. Another classic. “- just suffice it to say I’ve seen Hawke do much more dangerous than rubbing elbows with nobles while significantly drunker. She’s gonna be fine.”
Gathering up the fabric of her skirt, she sighed, delicately sitting herself down next to him on the chaise. “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you something all night.”
Oh, this was bound to be good. If he’d come to learn anything during his time knowing the Hawke family, it was that Hawke herself had inherited most (if not all) of the genes needed for subterfuge; Bethany’s methods of sussing out information were usually much more direct. “A question, hmm? Well, if that question is ‘Did I teach Merrill how to cheat at Diamondback,’ the answer is yes, but that’s not the reason you lost the other night, Sunshine. That was just dumb luck, pure and simple.”
She fixed him with a glare that was only exasperated on the surface. “That’s not what I was going to ask you.”
“Ah, then go ahead.”
“I was wondering why you’re here at all, tonight. This doesn’t seem like the kind of place where you’d waste an entire evening.” Her attention was momentarily grabbed by something just over his shoulder, no doubt her mother and sister, but it was back on him in a flash, her curiosity evident in those big ol’ eyes of hers.
Varric shrugged. “What? Is it so hard to believe that I’d want to come cheer on my favorite mud-farming Fereldens as they try so valiantly to scrape away all the shit Gamlen’s run the family name through?”
For her part, Bethany didn’t appear particularly amused. She quirked an eyebrow, folding her arms across her chest in an obvious show of disbelief. “You’re lying.”
“Accusations! Madam, you wound me.”
The eyebrow crept higher.
“Look. Sunshine. Here’s what you need to understand: Of all of us, only one has known Kirkwall’s hoitiest and toitiest long enough to have all the information needed to pull together a solid extortion on short notice, and that would be yours truly. I figured I could help by pointing Hawke to the right peop – ”
“You are so full of it.”
That time, he was almost actually taken aback; he angled himself to get a better look at her, and what he found there wasn’t entirely unfamiliar. The Hawkes were good at one thing above all else, he’d learned, and that was stubbornness. “Wow, this is what it’s come to, huh?” He looked over his shoulder briefly, just in time to watch Hawke set another empty glass down with a grimace. She caught his eye for an instant and mouthed what seemed to be ‘Fine dining,’ but was probably ‘I’m dying.’ He offered a sympathetic shrug in response before turning back to Bethany. “All right then, why do you think I’m here tonight?”
Bethany held his stare for a moment longer before raising one of her hands, coyly acting as though she were examining her nails. “You’re here because you fancy my sister.”
Now, his expression didn’t change. Oh no, he hadn’t gotten where he’d gotten in life by being so easily readable. He simply watched her for a beat, trying to parse the particulars of her expression – it wasn’t hard, considering she was giving him the Hawke grin, the one where the corners of the eyes crinkled and the nose scrunched up and the childish threat of a tongue being stuck out seemed ever-present. “More accusations, huh? You know, that’s the best way to get in trouble around these parts, young Mistress Hawke, throwing around unsubstantiated claims like that…”
“You do,” she repeated, more insistent that time, still carrying on her act of carefully inspecting her manicure.
There was some kind of movement in his periphery, and while it was nothing especially big or sudden, he found himself fighting to keep from turning around again. Oh no, no, no. If there was anything he valued, it was his pokerface, and whirling around to give Hawke another look would’ve been more than enough to give Bethany all the information she wanted. Absolutely not. “I’m starting to wonder if you’ve had anything to drink tonight, Sunshine.”
“Oh don’t do that! We both know I’m right.”
“Do we?”
She pooched her lower lip out in something he couldn’t exactly call a pout, but wasn’t too far off. “I’m right. And I think tonight would be the perfect time for you to say something about it to her.”
That time his face must’ve changed, because her grin widened until she appeared every inch like the cat that got the cream. “Of course you do. And uh, why, pray tell, do you think that?” He raised an eyebrow of his own to match hers. “Inquiring minds must know.”
“Well…” Smoothing her skirt out, Bethany shrugged her shoulders once in a feign of innocence. “Between you and me…I think…personally…you’ll find that, as usual…you two will…have very similar opinions on the matter.” She punctuated every few words with a vague wave of her hand.
It was difficult to describe exactly what that revelation brought about inside of him. Again, best not to put a name to it. He wasn’t about to crack and let Bethany see…whatever there was to see there below the surface. “Uh huh. Okay. I can see the problem here…you’re confused.”
“I am not!”
“No, you are. Now, here’s the thing Sunshine, you’re young. So young. A baby, practically.” He smirked when her response was, yes, the younger sibling glare of disdain – she was really going all out tonight! “So I’m going to clue you in on a lesson you only learn once you get to be my age, all right? The intrepid hero never winds up with the narrator, okay? Sorry to say it, I know I’m breaking your heart here, but that’s just how it goes. You’d have better luck trying with the rebellious swashbuckler or the tormented, selfless apostate. Trust me on this, I’ve read this story a time or two in my life, and it always – always – ends up the same.”
Bethany folded her hands in her lap again, a strange expression coming over her face. If he had to name it, he might’ve called it ‘stony,’ but that…that wasn’t quite right. There was something else there too, something distinctly Hawke-like, and ooh that couldn’t be good. When she spoke up again, her words were no longer sugared or drawled, instead wrought with confidence enough to be, quite frankly, startling. “If you’re so sure of yourself, would you care to bet on it? Three sovereigns says I’m right.”
He reeled backwards, only a little, only a bit, the question surprising a laugh out of him. What was her game? “Oh, this is something we’re going to bet on, now?”
“Oooh, a bet?”
And in that moment, he understood in perfect, crystal clarity. That sneaky little so-and-so…
Instinctively, Varric moved over a few inches to give Hawke more space as she sat herself down between the two of them. “What’re we betting on?”
“How long you’ll be laid up in bed tomorrow bellyaching about how bad your hangover is.” The lie came quickly, naturally, to him, and sure, under normal circumstances he never would’ve tried such a transparent cover-up on her (there was, after all, no bullshitting a bullshitter), but Hawke’s words had gone runny and soft at the edges, and sweet merciful Andraste, she smelled like alcohol.
Hawke scoffed, “Cleary – ahem – clearly neither of you know who you’re talking to. I’m fine.” She sunk a bit deeper into the cushions, fanning herself lightly with one hand, pursing her lips in an exhausted exhalation. “Maker, I hate this shit. All this pointless talk about estates and politics and…and…horses.”
Bethany’s leaned over enough that Varric could see her around Hawke, her forehead creased and mouth turning down in a silent question. The very look itself seemed to ask: Horses? But alas, he couldn’t even begin to guess at an answer for her.
Confused though she was, Bethany recovered with an incredible quickness, turning to Hawke. “Well, look on the bright side! At least – ”
“There’s free champagne.”
“Wh…no. That isn’t what I was going to say and you know it.”
“I know. But it is true, though.”
“Maker, you’re impossible.”
Laughing, Hawke leaned away from Bethany and towards Varric, her bare shoulder coming exceptionally close to jabbing him smack-dab in the collarbone. “Sounds to me like someone needs more champagne.”
He returned her laugh, but it was a short-lived thing; all at once he was aware of Bethany’s smug gaze on him again, clearly and obviously appraising the interaction. “I can’t disagree with you there,” he began, reaching over to the table nearest the chaise and grabbing his glass of water, forcing it into Hawke’s hands. “As long as the someone in question isn’t you.”
She groaned even as she accepted the glass, taking an unhappy sip. For a moment, only a moment, he saw her glare down into the water as though angry at its insolence for not being champagne. “Fine, fine…worse than Mother.”
“What I was going to say,” Bethany tried again, raising her voice to get Hawke’s attention. “Is that this whole ordeal might be miserable, but at least you look so lovely tonight.”
“Awww…Bethany!”
Her smile went pointed at the corners, and just as it had happened before, Varric saw her entire scheme laid out in front of him as if she’d written it in the air. “It’s true! Varric was just saying that too, weren’t you Varric?” She cocked her head to the side, appearing very proud of herself as she continued, “Just going on and on and on about how lovely you are in that gown…”
What he wanted to do was glare daggers at her. What he actually ended up doing was giving Hawke his signature smirk and shrug as she turned to him with another appreciative coo. “What can I say? It’s a nice change from the armor.”
Leaning herself against his side, Hawke used her free hand to grab his cheeks between her fingers, giving him a playful jostle. “There’s nothing wrong with my armor! It’s perfectly fine!”
“It’s disgusting, Hawke. It’s absolutely rancid, and one of these days you’re going to have to come to terms with that.”
“It’s perfectly fu – ” She paused when a few nearby guests turned to look their way, no doubt due to the volume of her voice. Hawke merely smiled, took another sip of the water, cleared her throat, and then tried again softer (and slower) than before. “My armor is perfectly functional, thank you very much.”
“Spoken like a true dog lord.”
Her laugh came at precisely the wrong time, and she snorted into the glass, sending a fine spray of water into her own face. Hawke did her best to restrain her laughter, but it was a futile effort; she giggled as she wiped her face dry, shaking her head all the while. “How dare you, serah? How dare you?”
He wasn’t going to say it out loud, not with Bethany right there, but there was something about the sight of Hawke sitting there in the parlor, lit by the warm glow of a fire, gown cut to show the curve of her neck and shoulders, cheeks flushed and lips parted with laughter that was…
Something. It was something.
Something that Bethany, it seemed, didn’t notice. No, she was too preoccupied with the fact that her little trick hadn’t worked, her lips momentarily tightening into a flat line of thought. Then the light came back into her eyes and Varric knew he was about to have his ass held to the fire again. “We were having the most interesting conversation before you joined us, you know…”
“Oh?” Hawke had managed to get the worst of her laughter under control by then. “Do tell! I’m desperate to hear about anything that isn’t Lord and Lady Such-and-Such’s summer home in Tantervale.”
“I was just saying to Varric that it’s very obvious that he fancies - ”
And there was her mistake.
He had to give her credit, really he did, but oh, something she was going to have to learn was to be much, much more careful with her setups. Particularly when she was dealing with someone like him.
“That Sunshine here has a bit of a thing for Choir Boy.” He did his best to control his grin as he watched her eyes go wide and her jaw go slack with betrayal. “Yeah,” he added before she could get another word in edgewise, “It’s real sweet, don’t you think, Hawke?”
Hawke whirled towards Bethany so quickly that she seemed to throw herself off balance, rocking back and forth for a moment before steadying. “Oh, Bethany, please.”
It was too hard to hold his snickers back that time, so…he didn’t. Varric laughed, holding his hands palms-up in a ‘What can you do’ gesture behind Hawke.
Pursing her lips tightly together, Bethany folded her arms tightly across her chest and averted her gaze, her face bright red. “I said nothing of the sort.”
“Oh thank the Maker,” Hawke breathed, pressing a hand flat to her own chest in relief. “He’s nice enough, but Bethany, he’s so boring.”
The look Bethany shot him was nothing short of withering. Varric just grinned.
“I…oh no.” The cushions of the chaise dipped as Hawke tried to sink down even lower. “Mother found me. Ugh.” She let her head loll back onto her shoulders before she appeared to resign herself to her fate. Hawke finished off the water in one impressive gulp, grabbing either side of her bodice and hoisting it upwards into its proper place. “Duty calls,” she groaned, beginning to ease herself onto her feet.
Before she could get too far, Varric grabbed her wrist, giving it a covert tug. “The one she’s talking to right now? Owes the Guard more than you’d believe. I’d make a point of mentioning how close you are with Aveline, how the Guard’s awfully kind to your house.”
Hawke nodded once curtly, bent down so she could hear him, though her eyes flicked towards the people in question. “Got it. Can do.”
“Oh, and before I forget, I mentioned to Corff that we had a uh, unpleasant job ahead of us tonight,” he added, “He promised he’d push last call until we got a round or two in.”
The sound Hawke made was so joyful it was nearly a sob. That much he’d expected. What he hadn’t expected, what he couldn’t have expected, was what she did next.
Namely, she grabbed him by his face, her hands warm on his cheeks, and pulled him into a deep, dizzying kiss. It was over before he could figure out what in the great blue fuck had just happened – one second she was there, pressed flush against him, her lips soft but insistent against his, and then she was gone, sweeping off to join her mother near the main staircase.
“I’ll take my winnings, please,” Bethany said, pleased as punch. She didn’t immediately move to take up the space Hawke had been sitting in, but she did hold her hand out to him as covertly as possible, fingers wiggling in wait for his coin.
It took him a moment to find his voice, and wasn’t that the damnedest thing? When he did, though, he found he had to clear his throat a couple times before managing to eke out a low, “I never said I agreed to that.”
She gave his shoulder a petulant smack, but he didn’t even feel it. For that moment, he wasn’t aware of much besides the racing of his heart and the faint taste of champagne on his lips…except, of course, the growing suspicion that maybe Sunshine had been right all along.
At least…he let himself hope she was.
#dragon age#da2#hawke x varric#varric x hawke#queenie writes dragon age#queenie writes challenge stuff#my fanfiction#not so fun fact: my comp crashed the first time i wrote this so this is V2#and NOT EDITED LOL
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The Princess’ Fantasy (Mysme)
Summary: At the end of the fantasy, you have to wake up.
(Similar to ‘Never to Belong’, as it’s the same ‘series’, this is 100% cynical angst, not fun angst. There’s no deeper message or lesson to be found in it. Sometimes...you just have to write these things. You just gotta, just so it’ll leave you alone.)
She fidgeted a bit, smoothing out her dress. She'd done it three times already, but honestly she was just trying to strengthen her resolve and rid herself of the dread and insecurity she felt at the idea of knocking on the door in front of her.
It's silly. It's probably noth-
No. It really wasn't.
Her hand trembled a moment, hovering in the air. Truthfully, she should have probably said something before coming by. She sort of figured that the fact she didn't share any selfies when Zen was so quick to snap them and send them - and really, everyone in the chat short of maybe Jaehee was. She thought it was something unspoken but known, except...707 had gone and teased Zen with the knowledge of what she looked like, and now he probably had a totally wrong idea.
Oh, whatever!
She knocked while her confident thought was still playing through her mind. They got along so well over text, it really didn't matter.
The door opened before she could think better of it, the face of the popular actor even more beautiful and radiant in person than through the screen. "He--...y?" His excitement morphed into an innocent look of confusion, crimson eyes flicking across her, and then turning to scan the area behind her, as if searching for clues to her identity.
Well. That killed the idea that he had any idea of how she looked.
She summoned an awkward smile and lifted her phone. "Ah...it's me...? The...um..." Granted, she normally wrote much more confidently, but a monitor gave her a bit of bravery she just didn't feel in front of the man she'd been flirting pretty shamelessly with for almost a week.
Who'd clearly been envisioning a different person than her. But then, of course he would have. She wasn't just 'plain'. She wasn't the kind of person to kid herself about her own unattractiveness. Crueler kids in school had always made sure she knew, and being unfit wouldn't have improved that.
To his credit, recognition flared in his eyes a moment later, and he smiled brightly. "Princess!"
Zen was a perfect gentleman, sweet and flirtatious, just as charming in person as he seemed on screen. And closer than that - genuinely interested in her, concerned for her safety and well-being. Nothing untoward happened, but then...well, she really wasn't expecting anything like that to happen. It was a nice fantasy, to think that the cute flirt would actually be physically attracted to her and want to make moves once they had time alone, but...she wasn't delusional.
After their 'date', a part of her thought that maybe he was a little less flirtatious with her over the messenger, but it was probably just her own insecurity overlaying his actions. When others asked how she looked, he called her cute. That made her smile to herself, sitting in the empty apartment.
The bomb deactivated, but that wasn't really a bad thing, because she could defend herself perfectly well against the freakish hacker guy that showed up to try to kidnap her, and getting blown up instead would have been pretty terrible.
When the RFA heard about it, the chatroom almost crashed with all of the panicked texts sent her way. 707 even called her personally to apologize for several minutes long. Among those was a bold claim about just how much Zen had ripped his ear off (verbally) for it.
That made her smile, too. It made Zen sound like a protective older brother, which wasn't a bad thing at all to have.
At the party, Jaehee called her dress elegant, and Jumin called her lovely. Seven winked and joked around with her at the punch bowl for a while, until he got hauled off somewhere to help with something.
The party was a success, and she felt pretty proud of her hard work. It also meant she didn't have to live in that death trap of an apartment any longer, which didn't hurt her mood either.
The year kept her pretty busy with her real job after that. Glitzy as the RFA's long term members were, she was just a normal person, and when her room and board weren't comped in exchange for living on top of a bomb and under the threat of a malicious hacker, she had to go work long hours that kept her away from the phone much of the time. With the exception of maybe Jumin, those connections weren't really leveragable into any position she could actually do.
Although V stopped showing up, the chatroom and those in it remained as friendly as ever whenever she did make it back to talk for a bit.
Christmas arrived.
Finally, she had a solid weekend off, and while she felt pretty tired, she couldn't go and leave the chat without a 'Merry Christmas'.
Most of the RFA were present when she logged in, chatting about their respective Christmas plans.
Yoosung hoped to cram video gaming in through the holiday vacation. Jaehee...might not have been getting a vacation until next week, when Jumin was going on vacation, and 7 was rambling about supposedly secret plans.
As she typed up a greeting, Zen joined the chat.
[Zen] I HAVE AN ANNOUNCEMENT
[Jaehee] A special appearance?!
[Zen] Not until New Years.
[Jaehee] That's a little disappointing...
[Zen] I FOUND
[Zen] MY SOULMATE
[Jaehee] ?!
[Jumin] Did you find a mirror?
[Yoosung] lolol
Her finger hovered over the button, where she'd been about to send 'Merry Christmas'. If she sent it now, she'd be stealing his thunder, and possibly derailing the whole conversation. More than Jumin already had, anyway. For a bit, he bickered back and forth with Jumin, over an increasingly worried Jaehee.
Eventually, though, Zen sent a selfie of himself, smiling brighter than she'd ever seen, arm around the shoulders of a cute young brunette. Was that...the costar in that movie he was making? She looked somehow familiar.
Jaehee confirmed it.
[Zen] Actually...I've known her a little while now.
[Zen] We've been dating since after the party!
[Zen] But now...
[Zen] We're gonna announce it tomorrow! I wanted you guys to know first!
She erased her message.
That woman...now she remembered where she'd seen the woman before.
She'd sent the woman an email early on, when Jaehee had suggested inviting more entertainment figures in the party to keep the attendees well-rounded.
'Congratulations, Zenny. Many happy returns!'
There. Better. Message sent.
A swift few taps of the phone, and her room was plunged back into the darkness of the night. Which was fine. She didn't feel like looking at the expression reflected back at her from the glass.
The phone thumped lightly to the ground, and she stared up at the ceiling that she could barely make out in the night.
Stupid.
It was really stupid. She always knew this was going to happen, because she was nothing more than another admirer of him - a friend like Jaehee that also happily stoked his narcissism when given the chance - and he'd been pretty obviously desperate for a girlfriend since she'd met him. And if she'd been paying more attention, she probably would have suspected he found someone a while ago, as she couldn't remember him mentioning being single like he had so often the first few days she'd known him.
Really.
It was just that...in a private, self-indulgent little fantasy world she'd kept for herself, she'd let herself pretend for just...a little bit too long that she'd loved him.
A selfish, hot tear fell from her cheek to her ear. A cruel and vindictive voice in her head wanted to say things about how the beautiful and popular Zen would of course find a soulmate who was coincidentally just as beautiful and popular as he was, but that wasn't true at all. She knew him well enough to know he wasn't just some shallow person who cared only about how beautiful or powerful the person he loved was. He was wonderful, truly kind, and devoted to those he cared about, and...and maybe she wasn't pretending.
She really had fallen in love with him.
The truly selfish fantasy was believing someone like Zen would fall for someone like her.
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“Untitled” by S. Mare
The morning we moved out of what we’d later call “The Summer House” started off unremarkable. Enough so that I don’t recall much of it, save for the cleaning supplies littering the house. There was much to be done on move-out day, and the prairie that was once the lawn needed to be tended to. It was up to me to cut the grass, as it had been throughout the whole summer when we subletted the house, despite me having been the only person with a 9 to 5 job.
Unfortunately, the moment I aggressively yanked the cord to start the engine, it was clear the lawn mower didn’t have enough fuel. The dusty red gas canister in our similarly dusty car shed was empty as well. Instead of simply driving to the gas station and filling up the gas canister, I decided the better idea was to siphon gas out of my car. I called my Dad, knowing he could help lead me through how to do it, armed with an aquarium tube.
Eventually we both realized with having no gas to start off with, I’d have to suck gas from the tube like a straw to start the siphon. The first try was optimistic—it was a sunny day and I was a logician, a Comp Sci major, a handy woman who was using science to her advantage. The clear aquarium tube went through the open gas cap of my blue Honda Civic, until it couldn’t go in any farther. Satisfied, I prepared myself for discomfort, my Dad still on the phone waiting to see how the ordeal would go.
I placed the end of the tube in my mouth, and with my strong asthmatic lungs I pulled in the most painful substance that has ever entered my body. It was like breathing in milky fire, quickly arresting my throat and my bronchial tubes. I ripped my lips from the plastic tube and coughed out the terrible fumes. While gasping for clean air, I briefly reflected on the fact people huffed gas for fun. Still on the phone, Dad heard my account on how awful the experience was. Eventually we decided I could give it another go, but once again, no success. I ended up driving to the Hy-Vee gas station after taking a puff or two from my inhaler. I spent the rest of the morning finally getting the lawn to a legal length, and shoving more of my belongings into the car shed. Our landlord had kindly let us use it during that weekend, where most college kids were in between leases, crashing on the couches of friends. There was much to move out of the house, and thankfully the woman who ended up living with us the last three weeks knew how to clean.
The original tenants offered the third empty bedroom to her while she waited for her next lease to start, her previous apartment complex having burnt down. Our landlord didn’t know about this, nor about her sweet cat and profusely smelly rabbit. Those last three weeks she’d sometimes let the two out of the screened back porch and into the house. The rabbit was a bit of an asshole, as it would tear apart and chew any wires on the ground. The issue was not that it did this, as that’s just a rabbit’s nature. The issue was that it was intentionally seeking out to rip everything apart, gnawing through the blockades I made between the kitchen and the living room. I liked the cat though.
Boxes dominated that weekend, my car packed with junk for a few days while I drove to work. There were only a few more weeks of the internship I had worked at that summer, working forty hours a week. Mornings started by making an omelette and brewing tea, leaving by seven nearly every morning for a forty minute commute. By some odd chance I had snagged the internship after hastily attending the last fifteen minutes of a job fair. I was the youngest and least experienced person they hired, as well as being the only female out of five interns. My button up shirts and black pants took over my wardrobe, pushing aside any skirts or dresses that would exaggerate my feminine identity in an already male-dominated workplace.
It had been my first summer in my new college town, and there was anticipation in my heart for a real college summer—get togethers with friends, nights out, with the unspoken yet strong desire of running into my crush at some point. I was going to be rooming with my closest friend, Jill, as they and I had been practically joined to the hip the semester before that summer. I had been Jill’s confidant for many challenges that had plagued them earlier that year. At one point, these challenges built up and caused a rift in our friendship, but we had resolved the problem fairly well and living together that summer was easy in most respects.
The issue is that I really didn’t know how time worked, despite having been alive and encountering it for nineteen years. I didn’t realize how much time I’d be working or driving. I’d come home at 7 PM sometimes, compensating for the days I’d leave early. Jill would be sitting down at the TV, watching D&D roleplays on Youtube or playing Smash with our friends, oftentimes with our one close mutual friend, Jack. I wanted to join, but first I wanted to eat, and then I wanted to nap, and by then it was 9 PM and I needed to be up at six the next day. Time left to a place still unbeknownst to me. I don’t remember much save for the nights I actually was able to do a thing or two: the one time we had a bond fire in our backyard, the one time I baked cookies in the kitchen, the one week Jill’s sister visited.
Jill had a few summer classes and two part time jobs, but they were free at various points during the weekdays, unlike me. It became more and more common for outings with friends to occur while I was gone away, working. While puzzling over code that made no sense to me, my mind would wander to what Jill and our friends were doing at the moment. As Jill became closer to our friends, notably Jack, I couldn’t help but feel a distance forming between myself and the other two. It wasn’t intentional, though, at least I don’t believe so, and we still had fun together. We even had sleepovers—one night, four of us slept in the pull-out bed together. I slept at the foot of it, a combination of not having enough room for a fourth person, as well as me simply avoiding close physical contact.
That morning I left to work, and after coming home, they were still there. Nobody had informed me another sleepover was happening, but the company was comforting and I didn’t complain. We were going to watch a movie, make a fort, etc. We did all that, this time setting up the living room a bit more comfortably. I slept on my loveseat, one friend slept on the couch (folded in) and Jill and Jack slept on a mound of pillows on the floor.
My eyes opened first that Saturday morning. I had fallen asleep early in the movie, and my internal alarm clock was set at 6 AM. As I sidestepped past the odd arrangement of pillows and blankets, I found Jack and Jill facing each other, fast asleep. Their hands were folded up to their faces, not touching each other, but close. Very close, unbearably close, closer than I’d ever seen them before. My feet didn’t move for a minute or two as my brain took in this image, attempting to analyze it like the broken code I wrote for a paycheck and a good resume.
The house was too quiet, and the feeling in my stomach took away my appetite for breakfast. I got out of my pajamas to go to the farmer’s market. It was my ritual, jumping onto my bike every Saturday. My weekends were precious days where I could dress appropriately for the eighty-degree weather, which would be considered (understandably) dressing inappropriately for work. A skimpy dress was worn proudly as I made my way to buy quality spinach. However, despite the beautiful scenery that my college town offered on the way, my mind kept bringing up the image of Jack and Jill.
Two weeks later, as I was headed upstairs to get ready for bed, Jack and Jill stopped me. They were both sitting on the big fold-out couch. My multi-color LED lighting strip around the window was slowly shifting colors, illuminating the living room in red, then a pale orange, then yellow, circulating through the color spectrum. My floor lamp, the one without a lampshade, in contrast, shone brightly in the corner, admittedly blinding, but arguably aesthetic. Various games littered the floor, atop my rug, a pattern of suns, moons, and stars. “We have something to tell you,” Jack said. He was smirking at Jill. I already knew what it was. “Yeah?”
Jill didn’t say anything, but smiled. Jack added, “Jill and I are an item now.”
How do I react? “Oh, yeah, uh, I was thinking something was up.” I laughed. I learned soon after that I wasn’t even the first person they told. I just lived with one of them.
That summer I listened to the same twenty songs on repeat, either when I was coding at work, or during a quick run squeezed in at dusk. I’d run all around town, oftentimes going to the cemetery—past eight, deer would frequent the area, and it was exciting to jog past them. I dreamed of what life would be like once I got back into school again, out of my internship. I’d dream of actually talking to my crush, then our hands folded up to our faces, not touching each other, but close.
Those thoughts were still prevalent throughout the summer and into move out day. Mom and Dad eventually came, helping clean and move more boxes out. At one point, I was in the living room with my Dad, my stereo being one of the only items left in it. For once, there was new music being played. A large plastic sheet for my futon was lying across my loveseat, placed out of the way for vacuuming. Two white cardboard boxes sat next to the white shelves that were not mine, but I would end up taking with me. Mom was putting some belongings of mine in boxes in my room upstairs.
All of a sudden, my head felt like it was pulling itself from my body, as if my brain was being yanked out slowly. It wasn’t pain but fear that overcame me, illogical, unexpected fear. I fell to my loveseat, something solid to cling to as my brain kept being pulled up. My Dad rushed into the picture, arriving by my side, sitting down on the loveseat with me. He asked if I was alright, what was going on. The fear was rising, overpowering, and I told him I didn’t know.
My disjointed body was clinging to him, hugging him and crying onto his green cotton sweater. My mind was convinced that something terribly bad was about to happen. He rubbed my back, in circular motions, and consoled me with his hushed voice, “It’s okay, it’s okay, everything’s gonna be alright.” My mind went to Mom, to her chemo, to my friendships, to hands folded up to faces, almost touching.
I sobbed for five minutes, until the sense of danger had passed. Eventually I pulled myself from my Dad. We talked about the gas fumes I inhaled that morning, and by the end of the day determined that was the cause of it all. I had three or four more “attacks” that day, but each one decreased in severity when it came. My parents were there to help me get through it all, though I don’t recall telling Jill much about it.
By 10 PM everything was gone, save for the bag of glass of bottles that had been left beside the car shed when we had arrived at the start of the summer. The large windows in the living room were open, and from the porch all of us sat on, we could see the empty space inside. The white walls were vacant, posters gone, and the beautiful wood floors more glossy than they had ever been that summer. My parents left, the woman with the cat and rabbit left, and then Jill and I left to Jack’s house.
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