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astormyjet · 3 years ago

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Winter of 2018 - Summer of 2021 TIME FILES WHEN YOU’RE IN YOUR 20s!!!!

OH BOY. It’s been three years (or more) since I updated this. “Time is a weird soup!” to quote a fave. I guess I quit tumblr around the time there was a purge of content and creators and a smack down on a lot of the fandom communities. Tumblr has always been something of a crapshow though so I’ve been more productive with my time than I was in some ways, but I’ve also found other ways to waste my time. *cough twitter/netflix/youtube/MTGArena cough*.

General Life Achievements since 2018 -JLPT N3 GET in 2019! -Blackbelt GET in 2018! -TESOL 120 Hour and BE 50 Hour Cert from online provider GET in 2021 -STUDENT LOAN BANISHED (Thank you grandparents) -Survived Apartment flooding in early 2020. -Mystery anxiety related illness and chronic pain in my left leg from early 2020 - Present. -A mythical 6th and 7th year on the JET Programme. -Started posting on Instagram a lot more about my wanderings around Matsuyama/Uwajima. Mainly old buildings and stray cats. @astormyknight -Surviving so far in Japan with old rona-chan.

2018 was rough. I was given an additional school in the first semester (March to July) as we had someone find a better job. I enjoyed it, but it was a bit of a rough go especially when I was transferred that August after three fantastic years at Tsubaki JHS and ES and only a semester there. I legit went through the five stages of grief - which I think is another reason I stopped blogging. I was given my current base school along with four other schools. Going from 2(3) to 5 schools was a bit of an adjustment. I still feel a bit spread out.

That said, I keep running into teachers and students who were at the Tsubaki’s. The teachers shuffle around every April, so it's always a lottery with which new faces are going to be old friends (or enemies…). A couple of kids moved and transferred into my current schools from Tsubaki too. So I have one kid I can say I've been teaching for 6 out of the 7 years I've been here!

One of the kids who was in JHS 3rd grade when I first got here (in 2015!) hangs out around one of my favorite cafes, so I got chatting with him recently. He's in his second year of nursing school - his class nearly broke me in the first year, it was really a trial by fire with those kids. I was 22 then, and he’s 20 now, so it was interesting chatting to him about that first year of teaching. His younger sister was one of my favorite students too, she was in the group of kids that graduated in the March of 2018, the year group that went through Tsubaki JHS with me - they’re newly minted University students now!

This Thursday morning when I was cycling in to work, a kid who was 2nd year JHS when I left (so 2nd or 3rd year JHS now) pulled up with their Mum in a van and got their mamachari out of the back to bike to school. The franticness of it all was hilarious. Their Mum legit sat on the horn until I pulled over. I was so happy to run into this kid, even at social distance and both of us late to work/school - because we both remembered each other and as they were going around the corners they were yelling each time they turned and humming the old elementary school directions chant and pelting me with questions about what I’ve been up to.

I've had so many students and schools now, that everything is kind of running into a blur. I remember flashes of kids faces and voices, random memories of in class or out of class shenanigans out of the blue. Also, I now, more than ever, have issues remembering kids' names, but I still know their faces (even with their masks), whose homeroom class they were in, who their friends were and which club they were in. I get random flashbacks to past conversations with them when I see them on the street or we run into each other. I feel bad because the first thing former students ask is ‘Do you remember my name?’ and I always have to be like, ‘Honestly, no, but I remember you did this on x day, x month in x classroom’.

Socially in 2018 -2019 - a few of our friends went home and things shook up a little. Our DnD group changed a bit - one of our players stepped into the role forever DM (THANK YOU RALPH). From memory the newbies were great - some of them just went home at the start of last month and it’s weird not seeing them around (JESS DO YOUR BEST!). I think we only have one or two people left from that rotation. There’s no 6th year ALTs, and only two 5th years.

Aug 2018 - Aug 2019 was the year of Hiura - my mountain school. Dang man, they were so cool. The students of the JHS and the ES combined barely hit 30, so each class was between 3-10 students depending on the grade. It was easier to get to know the kids, their abilities and their goals than it has been for me at other schools. I miss it so bad, being in nature once a week did my country-kid heart so good! The bugs! The frogs! The river! The mountain! The monkeys! The lizards! The dilapidated houses and hidden shrines!!!! The random crabs in the English room...I forgot that there was such a thing as freshwater crabs, and being right next to a river, the invasion wasn’t as out of place as I first thought...

The area is so picturesque and calming. Every week up there was a small adventure (after getting over my motion sickness from the bus ride up). The kids were constantly pranking either myself or the main English teacher. There was always some new weird bug or lizard in a tank to be educated about. There were chickens on the way to the JHS that used to escape from their cardboard box prisons to run riot on the gardens. There were old people to freak out with my youth and foreignness! The kids also got to do a lot of extra classes, sumiyakai (making charcoal the traditional way), planting and maintaining rice paddies, setting up vegetable gardens, raising fireflies, conserving a special breed of fire lily (only found in this particular mountain valley) and another rare flower, wilderness training ect.

I wish I could have stayed there a lot longer but SOMEONE (read...the BoE) decided that schools had to be shuffled again(thank goodness the dude who has it now was able to keep it from the 2021 shuffle, he's the best fit for the school). I had so many good memories from there, I wish I had been more consistent in writing it down. I do have a bunch of photos and videos from there though, so that's nice. The only thing I don’t miss is the bus trip up and down - not only was it motion sickness, there was a healthy dose of fear each ride as the driver brought us perilously close to the edge of the mountain drop…

2019 - 2020 was interesting. With the school I got given instead of the Hirua’s I was roped into more demonstration lessons which was a lot of pressure because I was also involved quite heavily with the JHS observation and training lessons too. They were somewhat rewarding, the third graders are now super smart 5th graders, but the teachers who need to embrace the new curriculum and ways of teaching really haven’t taken on anything from the lessons....

Outside of work as well, I was given the chance, thanks to an ALT buddy of mine, to join in with the local festival. It's been one of the biggest highlights of my time here, and I am gutted it’s been cancelled for the last two years, but I understand the reason…. I was able to travel to Okinawa too during that summer for an international Karate seminar with the Dojo I train with. I met the head of the style I currently practice and a bunch of people from around the world. I also got to see Shuri castle before it burned down. So that was a stroke of luck. One of the places I want to go when/if we get out of this pandemic is Okinawa. I want to see more of those Islands so bad. Just before the whole pandemic thing too - I managed to see the Rugby World Cup, a Canada vs NZ match, I even ran into Tana Umanga in Oita city!!!

2019 - 2020 was supposed to be my last year on JET, so I was frantically Job hunting. I went to the Career Fair in Osaka in early Feb/Late January 2020. I applied and got interviewed for a position in Sendai in early Jan 2020. In the end though - the Rona hit. We started hearing whispers of it around the end of 2019, then the cruise boats happened, and then Japan refused to cancel the Olympics...every holiday season there is a new wave of infections, my nurse friends in Tokyo are struggling....my teacher friends in more populous areas of Japan are struggling…

JET couldn't get new ALTs for 2020-2021, I took the extra year when it was eventually offered, as the one job I had managed to get a serious offer for was hesitating because with the rona setting in, things were uncertain. There was a lot of time spent adjusting to the new rules surrounding what we could do in class with the kids as well as textbook change. Schools shut on and off during the spring months.

I also got a reminder of my mortality mid May with an unrelated illness which is still smacking me around a bit - stress/age, it does things to the human body it has no right to. It's only been in the last three months I’ve been able to exercise like I used to, I’ve put on a bunch of weight I can't shrug off (one part medication, another part diet) My relationship with food needs to change, and I really need a kitchen that allows me for more than one pan meals. I also need to figure out what to do with a left leg that is in constant pain from the knee down and a heart that misses beats when stressed out (mentally and physically…).

My apartment also got flooded by the guy upstairs at one point, I spent most of late February/early March living in a hotel while my walls and floor got redone - I think this was one of the things that really stressed me out and kicked my anxiety right up a notch, it was right when things were getting REALLY bad with rona-chan in Hokkaido and schools were shutting down here as it was filtering into the prefecture and so Japan closed schools for the first time…

Classes in covid times have been weird. We’ve been wearing facemasks full time since the early stages of the pandemic (March 2020) - so I admit that I get a bit pissed off seeing both Americans and New Zealanders back home bitching about just having to start wearing them full time in public. I have asthma and have been suffering with the things on during the 30*C plus with high 90s humidity summers. Teachers were offered vaccines late July 2021, just days before the Olympics were open - and I finished my two shots in the middle of August. But the overall distribution and take up of the jab has been slow. As mentioned above, we can't play a lot of the games we used to play with kids in classes anymore, and a lot of the activities outlined in the textbook curriculum need to be adjusted too, so we’ve had to be creative. We use hand sanitizer a lot more too. One of the things I miss the most though, is eating lunch with the kids.

Socially from summer 2020 - now 2021 we played a lot of DnD and board games, both online and in person when we could. There were no new ALTs again for the 2021-2022 JET year, and those of us who were in 6th year were offered a 7th. Four out of six of us took it. As a whole we’re down from a peak of 38 ALTs for Junior High and Elementary school to 22 for now. We hopefully will get a new person at the end of September, and 4 more in November. Which will bring us to 27. This has led to ANOTHER round of school shuffles.

Summer vacation has been weird the last two years. With rona-chan, we haven’t really been able to travel. All the summer festivals (all the Autumn and Winter ones too!) have been cancelled, so the changing of seasons just feels, wrong. I dunno. There is so much we all miss from pre-rona-chan, and so much that doesn’t happen that makes this just feel like one long long unending year of sadness, coldness, raininess, unbearable heat and repeat. I’m tired. Time is going so fast, but so.dang.slow.

I lost my favorite school (AGAIN GDI!!!) and gained the school I taught a semester at in 2019....I had my first day there on Wednesday. Schools actually started back on September 1st so there was some drama as the BoE didn’t communicate fast enough about our school changes. We legit got told on the 27th of August (on a Friday) our schools were changing effective September 1st, but somehow some of our schools found out on the Monday 30th August. In July we were told we would be changing schools at the end of September, so.a lot of ALTs and schools were left short changed, not having opportunities to say goodbye to co-workers or students/having their planning for the semester more or less thrown out the window too. I love my job. I really dislike the way the BoE treats us, the Japanese assistant language teachers and our schools.

The new school I have is used to having an ALT there twice a week, who plans all the lessons and executes them. I’m at three elementary schools. I'm only at each once a week, I want to plan, but being that I miss an entire lesson in between visits, it's going to be difficult to do so. Not impossible, but being that I'm already doing it for two other schools, who are at two different places in the textbook ah…….. From what I have talked to my new supervisor about though, it sounds like the teachers have taken on more of the lesson planning and I'll be able to contribute ideas when I'm there. I just want to and wish I could do more without being confused all the time. (This is all usually done in my second language too, not in English so extra levels of confusion and miscommunication abound).

I feel like this at my JHS too a lot of the time. I want to contribute more, but even with constant communication with my main in school supervisor (who is a badass and pretty much on the same page about everything with me) I still feel about as useful as tits on a bull. Especially now that classes have been cancelled and or shortened, there's less time to do stuff. Any game or activity I plan is usually cut in favor of making up time in the textbook. When I'm in class, I'm back to being a tape recorder, the fun police and general nuisance.　

Also in the last week...my two of my schools were shut due to students testing positive for the rona. This is the second time my schools have had a scare in the last 8 months. And by shut, I mean the students were all at home, but the teachers all had to come into the office. Because why not I guess….. I mean, the cases increasing is really not unexpected with the amount of people who were travelling over obon and the increase of cases due to the Olympics/Japan being slow on vaccinating/delta being the dominant strain/Japan's leaders doing relatively little except asking shops and restaurants to limit people coming in at one time and closing before 8pm. I know my schools weren't the only one shut either - but still High Schools were having their sports days this week. I kept on seeing groups of kids hanging in the park after, so that was a little bit nerve wracking.

It's just frustrating - we’ve been on half days to “minimize the risk of infection” for kids and teachers, as if only being at school from 8am through to 1pm is going to reduce the risk. My schools have only just started testing out Microsoft teams and Zoom lesson equipment. Thankfully our school’s run in this time was contained real quick, the family was super good about informing us when they got their results back, and the fact they needed to be tested. The homeroom teacher and the students from the same class were the only ones tested, and they all came back clear, which was nice. But the information came back so SLOW.

I’m a little irritated because I found out on Wednesday night what was going on, and even if I am vaccinated, I am super worried that I will end up being the covid monkey due to being at different schools three days out of five. I think other than being worried that I will catch it myself and get real sick, my biggest fear is that I will be protected from bad symptoms from the vaccine, but still be able to pass it onto some of my more vulnerable friends and students. The whole thing is a mess.

Other than Covid and BoE drama, life is good. I’ve had a couple of other big changes - both fantastic and not so great, but yeah. I have my health (and health insurance!) for now. I have a job, for now. I have a sense of existential dread for the next 12 months, but we’ll see where we end up. Life post JET is going to be way less cushy and I am TERRIFIED. I mean, I have a BA in Eng/Ling and no idea what to do with it…..because I am NOT suited for academia.

TLDR: Love my job. Don’t like the system. What is life? Future scary.

#life on JET #blog post #life in Japan #jet programme #jet program

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lostinfic · 5 years ago

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Self Indulgent prompts, huh? I love anything with artist Rose so something with that theme. I'm not picky about the Doctor- like my current obsession is Eight/Rose, but I'm perpetually in love with Nine/Rose and Ten/Rose too so whichever Doctor you're most comfortable with.

The Museum of Serendipity

Doctor x Rose, Wilf, male OC (Original Cat)

Rated E | 2300 words

Sorry this took longer than anticipated, I got sidetracked by research and 8th Doctor audio adventures ;)

I’m fulfilling your self-indulgent prompts

Of all the wonderful, celebrated museums in London, Rose’s favourite was an anarchic collection housed in a crooked Georgian house in Marylebone.

From ground floor to attic, over four storeys, shelves and frames lined the walls of every room, following a seemingly incoherent design. Part cabinet of curiosity and part celebration of beauty in all its forms, the collection was curated by an anonymous— and eccentric, Rose liked to imagine— philanthropist.

Its name, the Museum of Serendipity, summed up how the collection was put together. Or perhaps it indicated how this museum could be found: by sheer good luck, as it was not advertised anywhere. Rose herself had stumbled upon it by accident last September, when looking for a shelter from the rain. Quite a happy accident, since her art teacher had asked them to visit a gallery for their first assignment of the semester (she’d earned extra points for originality).

Despite few visitors, it remained open from morning to evening. More often than not, the elderly greeter slept in his rocking chair by the door, leaving Basil the cat in charge.

Its location near Regent’s Park, made it a perfect destination for a drawing session. On a beautiful spring day like today, Rose would walk along the paths of the park and draw the flora and fauna in her sketchbook. Then make her way towards the museum. Other days, after a long time indoors, she would enjoy the park’s fresh air and time to reflect on the latest collection piece she’d discovered.

Since her childhood, art had been a way for Rose to travel, around the globe and across time, a way to see the world through other people’s eyes and to share her own vision. A way to exist beyond the Powell Estate. The Museum of Serendipity transported her like nothing else.

Although she enjoyed the morning sun, she didn’t linger in Regent’s Park, too eager to get there.

The elderly greeter was listening to the radio in his small front office.

“Hello, Wilf!”

He jumped to his feet with an energy that belied his years.

“Ah, Rose, luv. Alright? How’s school?”

“Got another assignment to complete for art history class. By the way, mid-term break is coming up, if you fancy a holiday, I could cover your shifts here for a few days.”

He would be doing her a favour more than the other way around.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “We got a new piece came in.”

New pieces were simply added to the exhibition wherever a space was available. As they walked to the drawing room, Rose tried to know more about the museum.

“Who brought this new piece?”

“John did, just this morning.”

“John?”

“Yeah, John McConnell , the mailman,” Wilf said. “Here it is.”

On the mantel lay an artifact shaped like a metal glove without fingertips. Or a pan flute.

“Looks like something from the future,” she joked.

“Modern art, then,” Wilf said.

He left her to look at it a while longer. The pattern that covered it, both engraved and raised all at once, looked like scales. Rose pulled her sketchbook out of her messenger bag and drew it. Texture study.

Basil, the museum’s Abyssinian cat, greeted her, rubbing himself against her legs. She petted his long ears and ruddy coat. She followed Basil out of the room, and wandered the now familiar corridors and staircases. Her hand trailed along the faded floral wallpaper and oak paneling. The smell of candle wax and pine wood polish always hung in the air.

There was one painting in particular Rose always came back to, in the third floor library, just above a loveseat that once belonged to Marie Antoinette. Ahead of her, Basil jumped on the loveseat and looked at her expectantly.

Rose pulled up a chair to sit down, the museum was almost a second home now, she had no qualms moving furniture around.

With a dreamy sigh, she let her eyes roam the large canvas. It depicted a dozen people in elegant Edwardian clothing, visiting an art exhibition. She was transported back in times, it seemed. Back to la Belle Époque. Late 19th- early 20th century, in France. Among women in high-necked waist shirts, carrying white lace parasols and men wearing mustaches and straw boating hats. The era of Moulin Rouge and absinthe, of the first movie, of bicycles and Marie Curie, just to name a few. The era of Gustav Klimt, Toulouse-Lautrec, Van Gogh and Renoir, the artists whose work Rose had first fallen in love with. The painting itself blended elements of Art Nouveau and Impressionism (as she’d described in her second assignment).

But there was one character in particular that commanded her attention again and again. There, in the upper left corner. The painter had done this trick which makes it look like the subject’s eyes are on you wherever you stand in the room. Though unnerved at first, Rose now tried to master this technique. Countless time she’d drawn his thick, curly brown hair, the soft contours of his jaw, his blue eyes, the creases that bracketed his mouth. And that smile, a Mona Lisa smile, the hardest trait to capture.

His clothes also offered many details to work on: the sheen of his satin cravat, the velvet of his jacket, the pattern of his waistcoat.

At first, she only tried to capture his likeness in various mediums, but over time she tried to sketch his profile, his back. She depicted that gentleman in various poses and actions. He had taken a life of his own. What was he doing there that day? What was his relationship with the painter? Why was he looking at her like that?

Basil meowed.

“Alright, don’t be jealous. I’ll draw you first, you beautiful boy.”

“Thanks, it’s a new jumper. Do you like the colour?” said a man with a northern accent.

Rose started. He was leaning against the door, looking at her, with the smallest hint of a smile.

He picked up Basil and sat down on the loveseat, laying the cat on his legs crossed at the knees. Rose held back a quip about the similar size of their ears.

“Well, go on, then,” he said, indicating her sketchbook with his chin.

“Hold on, are you the director of the museum? Or the curator?”

“No,” he said. “I don’t think so.”

At a loss for a reply, Rose simply got to work.

If Basil wasn’t running away, then surely this man posed no threat. Just a lost, slightly odd item, like everything else in the Museum of Serendipity. Including herself.

His face offered such striking features to draw, that bold nose, those sharp cheekbones. The cropped hair revealed the shape of his skull and the collar of his sweater, a beautiful neck. A face for charcoal, she thought, to capture the lights and darks of him, in loose, almost intangible strokes. Charcoal and dry pastels, she amended, she had to recreate the infinite blue of his eyes.

They chatted about everything big and small: cats, galaxies, her doubts about art school and his hopes for the future of humanity.

Time flowed differently when she was creating. In that moment more than ever. A sort of appeasing, melodic hum filled her mind, and everything, but her subject, faded away.

When she traced his eyes, she was surprised to find in them a spark, as if he knew her.

She looked up at him, and he smiled. “Hello,” he said.

Before she could think of a good way to phrase her question, he stood up and looked at the sketch over her shoulder. He gave an appreciative nod.

“We need someone to do a painting of the museum,” he announced. “Are you free to do it?”

“A painting? Are you taking the piss?”

“I’m serious. Great big canvas. Like this one.” He pointed to her favourite painting of la Belle Époque.

“I’ll need money to buy supplies,” she said, to test his good faith.

“Of course.”

He grabbed a tin box in a nearby bookcase; it was full of cash. He handed her the stack of pound notes without counting. Almost as if he was ignorant of their value. “Will this do?”

Rose nodded dumbly. She resolved right away to only spend a reasonable sum.

“I’ll come by next Wednesday afternoon,” she said.

“Perfect. See you, then, Rose Tyler.”

She spent the next few days in a state of disbelief. Her mind constantly replayed her encounter with the blue-eyed man. Several times, she opened her sketchbook to look at his portrait. The fondness it aroused in her took her breath away. She found herself doodling both him and the gentleman in the painting, over and over.

She bought a load of art supplies, but kept the receipt in a secure place in case she needed a refund.

On Wednesday, she arrived at the museum with a knot in her stomach. Wilf greeted her, as usual, but he was wearing a smart new uniform.

A moment later, the blue-eyed man skipped down the stairs, two at a time, and welcomed her with a bright smile. He introduced himself as the Doctor, just the Doctor, and Rose went along with it— after all, it wasn’t the weirdest thing about him.

He’d set up an easel and a canvas in the third floor library. She barely paid attention to his directives, she was distracted by the number of visitors in the museum, more than she had ever seen.

“Is this a prank show thing or what?” she asked.

“Why would it be a prank show?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you said it. Why a prank show?” he repeated.

“‘Cause to get that many actors and props, it’s got to be on telly.”

“That makes sense. Well done.”

“Thanks?”

“It’s not a tv show,” he said.

“But— why?”

“It’s the museum’s anniversary. We are interested in collecting unique pieces, and what’s more unique than Rose Tyler’s first commissioned artwork?”

“Maybe the last,” she mumbled.

“It won’t be,” he said, stating a fact rather than paying a compliment. “Coffee?”

The Doctor knew something she didn’t, and as irritating as it was, it incited her to stay and fulfill his request.

She laid a tarp on the floor below the easel, spread out her brushes and palette knives, picked the colours.

Basil, of course, wanted to be part of the painting. He lay down in the sunniest spot, on the window sill, looking ever so regal.

As she prepped the canvas, her brain ran ahead of her with ideas to best infuse her art with feelings this room evoked. Warm earth tones, old leather bound books, a thick Persian rug, but also glass cases to keep people away, artworks by undisclosed artists, mysteries all around. Inviting and distant all at once. Much like the Doctor.

She scanned the room for him. He stood in a corner of the library, surveying. As she traced his silhouette, she noticed the similarity, in his posture and smile, with the fascinating gentleman in the Belle Époque painting. She made a mental note to ask about that too.

Hours passed by, Wilf kept her comfortable with cups of tea, snacks, a stool, opening the window, closing the window.

Everyone had left. The sun had set. Only the Doctor and Basil remained in the room with her.

The artwork wasn’t finished, but it had everything she needed to continue another day. Yet, she didn’t leave. She didn’t want to. She stood there, wringing her paint-splattered hands waiting for something, anything, from the Doctor.

“I want to show you something,” he said. He took her hand and they both stood up on Marie Antoinette’s loveseat. “Look closely.”

Now inches from the Belle Époque painting, she saw it like she never had before. It shimmered and shifted. Like those 3D images you have to cross your eyes to see. She blinked. Looked closer. And drifted through the canvas.

Rose gripped the Doctor’s hand tighter. Behind them, there was no library, only a blue door. And in front of her, the painting had come to life. No— they weren’t in the painting, they were in Paris of the 1900s. Around her, people chatted in French, cigar smoke wafted to her nose, and through a window that wasn’t on the painting, she could see the brand new Eiffel tower.

The gentleman that had so fascinated her was there too. Thick hair, bright smile.

“Rose, we meet at last,” he said.

His voice sounded exactly like she’d imagined. She didn’t know until now that she’d imagined his voice.

“She’s all yours,” the Doctor said.

Rose didn’t let go of his hand.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be here to bring you back to your own timeline.”

He disappeared through the blue door.

The other man linked their arms together. A feeling of safety washed over her. He was a stranger and yet not at all. As if to reassure her further, an Abyssinian cat sauntered by.

“Is that Basil?” Rose asked.

“In a fashion. Cats have nine lives, as you know.”

“And you, Doctor, how many have you got?”

The Doctor smiled. “Ah, you figured it out, clever girl.”

That didn’t mean she didn’t have a ton of questions, but for now, she only wanted to soak up the magic of it all.

The Doctor showed her around the room. They mingled with the other visitors, admiring the artwork on the walls. Rose couldn’t stop grinning.

They stopped in front of a painting depicting another gallery, in another museum, in another era.

“Can we go through there too?” Rose ventured.

“Yes, but wouldn’t you like to see Paris first?”

“We can go out?”

“Of course. You know, my friend Claude has been pestering me about visiting his garden. Nice fellow, this Claude. Mind you, he’s a tad obsessed with water lilies.”

#ficandchips #Nine x Rose #Eight x Rose #artist!Rose #yes I'm still working on those #self indulgent prompts #lostinfic writes stuff #lotsofthinkythoughts

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everlarkficexchange · 7 years ago

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Written by: @savvylark

Prompt 48: “You’re an Art student and I’m an English major and you keep stealing the papers for my assignment to doodle and I would kill you but you’re really cute and hey that’s actually a really nice sketch.” [Submitted by: @katnissdoesnotfollowback]

Rate: Mature for mild smut.

AN: Thank you to the lovely and talented @javistg and @xerxia31 for putting this exchange in motion. @javistg thank you so much for being my beta, this story would be pitiful at best without your help. @katnissdoesnotfollowback I appreciate this prompt, I just couldn’t resist!

I tried to sit somewhere else today. Still near the back of the lecture hall where I like to disappear, but not in the very back where the late losers like to sneak in.

I’m not avoiding him, per se, I just don’t want to owe him, I have to admit that he helped me.

I might as well admit that I’m avoiding the longing I feel too.

His blue eyes meet mine. He takes the seat next to me –his unofficial spot since the semester began.

I shake my head. I was trying to avoid him but, as he sits down, I can’t help the desire to smile from the inside out.

He’s so annoying! With a wavy mop of unruly hair, a wild side, a stark contrast to his classic All-American boy looks and tidy, smart attire. His sunny disposition is especially difficult to palate. Who’s friends with this many people? Unheard of.

Of course I thought he was shallow, but the more I learn about Peeta Mellark the more he surprises me. His depths could fill an ocean. The color of his eyes match the soul inside. Depth. Swirling of emotions.

The beauty he sees in the world, he commits to paper so profoundly. It’s soul-stirring.

Upon smiling at him, Peeta gives me a knowing smirk. “Trying to ditch me, Everdeen?”

“Didn’t work.” I fake a scowl, then laugh.

Hmm, I’ve been laughing a lot around him. It’s unsettling.

He grabs my papers, and shifts through them while we wait for class.

I roll my eyes as he uses a pen to draw on the final draft of the poem I have to turn in next class.

A beautiful dandelion to go along with my poem. It’s breathtaking.

The first time he did this I was furious. For a moment, I let myself get I lost in the memory.

Peeta sat next to me for our first class of the semester in Professor Crane’s lecture period.

After Peeta sat next to me 3 lectures in a row, I remained indifferent. I pretended I didn’t notice. Apart from the “bless you” I uttered when he sneezed, I never spoke to him.

I have a feeling Peeta is not used to being ignored because his attempts at communication increased. I don’t really do small talk, so his every attempt fell flat. Yet, he continued to sit by me. I gave him short answers or shrugs.

I’m focused on my degree. Junior year as an English major is no walk in the park.

“What are you, a writer?” he asked as he observed just how many pages and pages of my notebook were filled with my penmanship.

“Mhmm, English major,” I mumbled.

I’m not fond of people raffling through my stuff but, I also don’t really care what he reads.

He started reading some of my original work and his eyes widened.

I briefly panicked, ‘that wasn’t the erotic one was it?’ Then I reminded myself that that particular notebook is tucked away in my apartment.

“Woah, this is really good! You’re a decent writer, Everdeen!” He announced.

I shrugged. ‘Good’ is relatively subjective. Especially when it comes to the written word.

Peeta takes his pencil and starts doodling, which he often does. I used to think he was kind of a slacker because of this, but he gets good grades. I also noticed that at times he has paint splatters or a rogue charcoal smudge.

I remember my roommate, Madge, who is a psych major, once explaining that highly creative children and adults are often active learners. I assume Peeta is the same and it helps him absorb the boring information.

This professor in particular is especially fond of the sound of his own voice.

I look over and he’s drawing in the margin of my notebook. The nerve of this guy! As class ends, I snatch my notebook from him, and scowl.

How dare he?

What kind of person grafitis all over someone else’s hard work?

I was livid.

Seething.

Until I looked at what he’d drawn.

It gave me pause.

Peeta’s good. He’s really good!

I look back up at him, I hadn’t looked at him face to face until this moment.

His blue eyes are gorgeous and they shine. The intense masculine gaze I’m met with makes me sweat a little. I take a moment to observe his strong jawline and the light stubble he’s rocking. The way his hair sweeps over his forehead in a disheveled rockstar kind of way. Something in my stomach did a flip.

This might actually be the hottest guy I’ve ever talked to.

“This is really good! You’re a decent artist, Mellark,” I echo his words, but my praise was sincere.

Peeta’s smile brightened. Near perfect teeth, and a dimple. If I wasn’t sitting I think I would have gone weak in the knees.

I don’t think a guy has ever had this effect on me before.

“Art major,” he stated simply.

So I might have a crush on him, that I’m only slightly aware of and definitely NOT acknowledging…

Unless he feels the same.

I sigh to myself.

Since I can’t avoid him, I have to admit how much he helped me with a class I was struggling to keep an A in.

I whip out a few of my graded papers from moronic Professor Venia who previously felt that my poetry was “far too serious.”

To be fair, I’m indifferent about flowery poetry.

On the last 4 poems I turned in, Peeta drew an illustration. As a result, my poems have increased an entire letter grade.

Professor Venia prattled on and on about how I must have found some new inspiration.

“Look.” I point to the papers just as class gets out.

“Great job, Katniss!”

“My grade went up after you started illustrating my poems,” I state with a smile.

I bit my lip and meet his eyes.

“So, thank you. I thought this teacher had it out for me, but your magical illustrations convinced her that I have more feeling and depth and um, hope, I think she said? ” I explain.

Peeta lifts one of the poems and reads it. A warm smile spreads on his face. He looks up at me. I’m momentarily captivated in his gaze.

“That’s all you. This one in particular is beautiful,” he says and, for some reason, I get the feeling he’s not just talking about the poem I wrote about my favorite pond as a child.

Back to the subject at hand. “What, suddenly my poetry improved?” I ask Peeta.

He slowly moves toward me.

“I’m saying.” Peeta’s arms plant themselves on either of me on the table I’m leaning against. “Maybe you found new inspiration?” His voice gets softer as he speaks. His face is so close to mine our noses almost touch.

I’m lost in his eyes, and the way our bodies are mere inches from touching. My heart beats erratically as his cheek brushes mine. His lips graze my ear as he whispers, “A muse, maybe? I know I’ve found mine.”

I’m breathless at I slowly take in his words.

He’s right. He figured it out. Peeta is my muse, my new inspiration. He’s the male lead in all my new stories. A noticeable optimism has brightened the tone of everything I’ve written since Peeta Mellark first doodled on my notebook.

It takes me a moment to register the last part of what he said to me.

“Who’s your muse?” I wonder out loud.

He pulls back so our eyes meet again. The intensity in his blue irises seek out my very soul. ‘You’ they speak without words.

The smile that follows could eclipse the sun.

Peeta reaches into his backpack for his sketchbook.

I squint my eyes in curiosity.

He bites his lip to fight the small laugh emerging. Then flips a few pages and hands me his artwork.

Gray eyes, a scowl, a long braid; petite, feminine but calloused hands holding a pencil. My profile, my neck, my collarbone, the back of my head. Pages and pages of my eyes in various states of expression.

And in every single one I’m not just beautiful, I’m radiant! I feel something hot burn the corner of my eye and find a tear there.

I tend to be unusually apathetic by nature, but I’m overcome by emotion looking at these sketches, and how Peeta sees me.

Me.

Ordinary, average, easily overlooked Katniss Everdeen.

“It’s always been you, Katniss. You don’t know the effect you can have,” Peeta confesses.

If he had more to say, his words are cut off by my lips. I grip his shirt and pull Peeta into a kiss.

Oh, what a kiss! His lips are surprisingly soft and powerful. The strength and intensity with which they respond makes me dizzy.

I wonder if he can feel how manically my heart beats in my chest.

I didn’t know a kiss could feel like this.

I’m a goner.

Peeta Mellark has me, I’m putty in his hands.

His strong fingers –the fingers that create such beauty with the pen, pencil, and paint– weave through my hair at the nape of my neck and pull me closer.

A moan escapes my throat.

Bliss. It feels like we’re dancing or riding a rollercoaster. I feel like I’m free-falling as his lips dive in again and take possession of mine. The passion and vigour he kisses me with whispers to my heart loudly, words best expressed in prose or a painting.

An elbow strikes my shoulder and breaks us out of our bubble where fantasies are real.

Johanna Mason flashes a shit-eating grin as I catch my breath and try to stand up right. I wobble, and steady myself with the support of the table.

Peeta just kissed me senseless.

Amazing!

“Can’t you take this to your dorm? And also, it’s about time! All of us have had enough with the sexual tension filling the entire room. It’s ridiculous!” Johanna blurted out.

She turns to Peeta and slaps him on the back.

“Good going, Blondie! You wouldn’t believe how many of us have been trying to get in her pants. To no avail, we would have gotten the same response from a dead slug. Only around you… she’s a girl on fire!” She leaves Peeta with a wink.

For the second time today I’m speechless.

I don’t know why I feel embarrassed. The words ‘dead slug’ being used to describe myself are a pretty awful thing to hear, but ‘girl on fire’ is a little over the top.

I shyly look up at Peeta, his grin actually makes me laugh.

Peeta has bright smiles but this one takes the cake, he’s over the moon. His lips are red and his cheeks are flushed.

‘I did that.’ I think to myself and can’t contain my own smile.

Peeta clears his throat and nervously rubs the back of his neck. “So, uh, what are you doing Friday? Do you want to go out with me, Katniss?” he asks me with a voice that’s more raspy than usual, dangerously arousing.

Instead of answering right away, I just want his lips again. I stand up in my top toes and take his bottom lip in mine. I inhale deeply through my nose, lost in the feel of his wet soft lips. The euphoria surges in waves, leaving a buzz in its wake from my head to my toes.

I pull away and whisper, “Yes, I do.”

————————————————-

“All of us need to be in touch with a mysterious, tantalizing source of inspiration that teases our sense of wonder and goads us on to life’s next adventure.” -Rob Brezsny

“Thanks!” I give a grateful nod to the barista as she hands me two steaming oversized mugs of hot chocolate. I take in the cozy atmosphere at this uptown coffee shop and bookstore my boyfriend just had to show me.

I settle into a cozy reading nook in the corner as steam bellows off the top of my hot chocolate. I lightly blow on it and glance over the rim to enjoy the view. I’m not talking about out the window, I’m talking about that broad-shouldered hot blond man perusing the bookshelves just in my vision.

Just from general observation, I can see that this man keeps up an active lifestyle. His t-shirt does little to hide his muscular back and triceps. Any woman could appreciate a nicely shaped backside in those jeans. I find the air caught in my throat as I take in the masculine specimen before me. Mentally taking note to describe every detail for future writing purposes.

The man turns and I’m immediately captivated by his deep blue eyes.

“Come here often?” I flirtatiously approach the handsome man.

By nature I’m not this forward or coquettish, but there’s something about this man that pulls me out of my shell. Time and time again.

He smirks and licks his lips. I try to ignore the effect he has on me.

He’s debating what to say, finally answering, “Ah, no I don’t, but I heard that this new author was in town, and I just had to be here for this. Take a look?”

In his hands, Peeta holds a book from the “Best Sellers” section of the store.

My jaw drops. I tear my eyes from the beautifully designed book cover, up to his handsome earnest expression, his blue eyes dancing with happiness. The excitement on his face surely matches my own.

I launch myself into his arms and give an uncharacteristic shriek as Peeta dramatically spins me in a circle. The deep abiding happiness that radiates through me every time his comforting arms wrap around me returns.

Before placing me back on my feet, he places a sweet peck on my cheek.

“How did–?” I’m baffled.

Peeta waves me over to the reading nook where we settle in with our hot chocolate.

“Your publisher, Effie, called me yesterday and told me you were making the bestseller list today!! It was her idea to surprise you!” he rushes his explanation in is his excitement.

“You mean WE made the bestseller list!” I correct him.

He looks skeptical.

“Together?” I reinforce my point, echoing the words he used before we committed to this journey. I reach out my hand for his, Peeta Mellark, my inspiration.

He smiles at my open palm, placing his hand where it belongs, in mine.

“Together,” he answers, a little breathless.

Our eyes meet as we share a moment, the room is filled with electric energy.

There’s no way I would have done this without him. I stare down at our best selling young adult novel, written by Katniss Everdeen, illustrations by award-winning indie artist Peeta Mellark.

I’m taken back to a time when it was just a pipe dream.

I remember it so vividly…

I love watching him when he gets that “mad scientist” look while he paints the most brilliant creations.

I love when the waves on his forehead slip into his vision, forcing him to carelessly jerk his head to the side while he continues his work.

I love his impossibly long eyelashes, I don’t understand how they don’t get all tangled up.

I love the light in his eyes when he explains a particular art concept that excites him.

How shading just right creates the depth he desired. Echoing the depths of his soul. His incredible vision of the world, committed to canvas and paint.

My heart skips a beat as he explains the joy of capturing the sunset just right with an angled brush. Mixing the contrasting colors, yet keeping the vibrancy derived from the very sun.

Upon finishing his latest masterpiece, his presence, demeanor, and expression are especially contagious.

I’m so drawn to this man. He’s addicting.

I can’t get enough of Peeta Mellark.

After placing his paintbrush down, he catches me staring.

I blush and look away, trying to pretend that I haven’t been studying him.

Peeta smirks at me and joins me on the couch. When he pulls me into his lap my heart starts to race. I so easily get lost in his kisses. His tongue deliciously roams past my lips and meets my tongue, making my toes curl. His kisses make their journey down my neck where he finds that particular spot that makes me hum.

My hands sneak under his shirt, they roam over every plane and slope on his muscular back and broad shoulders.

His hand travels up my ribcage and lightly cups my left breast while his lips seem to find my cleavage. The moan that escapes me when he squeezes my nipple is louder than I expected.

I’ve never needed anyone like I need Peeta. I could definitely get lost in this man for decades to come.

Our clothes fall away. A feverish desire for one another takes over.

I’m dizzy with happiness and lust. I’m not sure where I end and he begins at this point. We fit together perfectly, like a puzzle.

As the waves of pleasure wash over me, Peeta grunts and sputters with whispers of affection and admiration in my ear at the point his own release. I find myself overcome with an overwhelming, life changing fact that I just can’t deny any longer.

I love him.

I love Peeta Mellark, with everything that I am.

I find tears in my eyes as I cling to him. Silently chanting the truth I’m terrified to hear out loud from my own voice, ‘I love you, I love you, I love you.’ I tell him silently. The words stay in my mind.

We fall asleep holding each other. Waking up in his arms seems to be the most natural haven in the world, one that brings the best sleep of my entire life.

Grateful doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of how I feel to have this man in my life, to be able to call him mine.

I have to tell him that we have come to a crossroads. A decision has to be made.

The thought this taunts and nags at me throughout the day, and my mood becomes more sour.

Peeta catches on before I even realized what I’m doing.

He furrows his brow and crosses his arms over his chest to addresses my concerns, “Katniss, honestly, I can pick up my art corner, and I don’t have to buy groceries. I know this isn’t my apartment, but you’ve never ever indicated that it bothered you before!”

He looks at me suspiciously and waits for an explanation that never comes.

I feel his eyes as he studies me for a moment. I try to remain indifferent to his scrutiny, but it appears Peeta can read me all too well.

He smiles for a moment, which only builds my frustration.

I’m immune to his charms, I tell myself.

He leans in closer, and holds my gaze.

I know what he’s doing, it won’t work.

Then, he makes me laugh and, before I realize it, I’m kissing him with an unusual degree of aggression. As I nip and scrape at his bottom lip, I feel a tremble roll down Peeta’s back, and a shuttering exhale from his lips. I try to hold in a smile as I realize the effect I have on him.

This is part of the trouble, I don’t know what to do. What would I do without him?

My confusion comes to a head and I shove him away. “You drive me crazy!”

Peeta laughs, then sobers when he sees my expression.

My fearful reaction to the look on his face morphs into a more manageable emotion, anger. I start ranting about how I don’t understand why he would want me when I’m a mess, and trail off into all the reasons he would be better off without me, and why we’re so different. It’s glaringly obvious.

I’m shy and quiet, he’s outgoing, the life of the party.

I’m a concrete thinker, my thoughts are more linear and tangible. He thinks in abstract concepts, he understands emotion and keeps this in balance.

I’m a writer, creative in my own right, but everything fits in neat little boxes, there’s a framework.

Over time, I’ve also learned that there is a framework, a structure and planning, to creating a successful artwork. The feeling and emotion that goes into his creations is a process I can’t even begin to grasp.

When I actually take a moment to look at his face his hurt expression guts me. He’s pulling his hair in frustration as he tries to make sense of everything I’m saying.

Then he takes a step towards me and asks, “Why are you pushing me away, Katniss?”

“Because I’m just going to hurt you. You deserve so much better than me…�� As I speak the words, I find my eyes pooling with tears. I stare at the ceiling, willing them not to fall.

He looks stunned for a moment, then I feel his warm and comforting hand in mine. “Let me be the judge of that, Katniss. I think I get to decide where my heart belongs.”

His heart.

I just stare at him, jaw slack, for a moment.

Then I listen to him, let his words sink in. He’s right. I guess I should tell Peeta and let him decide.

“I… I have to show you something.” I tell him, giving his hand a squeeze before releasing it and retrieving the letter from Effie Trinket, my uncle’s friend, the publisher who’s very interested in my writing.

If I move there.

She would set me up with an apartment, and I would have to commit to living there for more than a year.

Uncle Haymitch assured me that this is an amazing opportunity. Ms. Trinket goes to great lengths to be formal and show decorum. Once I arrive, she will take me under her wing, as she takes a personal interest in the success of her chosen few.

Peeta reads the letter once, then twice, before looking up at me.

“Milan, Italy,” is all he says.

“I don’t know why I feel this way, why I’m so torn, why I feel so confused…” I start pacing and muttering all kinds of things that don’t matter at all.

Peeta interrupts me, “Katniss, Katniss! Why are you upset?”

I bury face with my hands and yell angrily, “Because I LOVE YOU! This is my dream, but I don’t think I can do this without you!”

I feel the tears pour out of my eyes onto my hands.

I hate feeling this vulnerable.

I don’t want to need another person.

His warm comforting arms envelop me, and I sigh in his embrace. He kisses the top of my head and rubs my back, soothing my fears. He waits for me to stop crying before he speaks, his low timbre is just above a whisper, “What if we go together? I would love to move to Italy with you, Katniss, because I love you too!”

I never ever imagined this best case scenario, but Peeta Mellark continues to surprise me. I pull away just so I can look him in the eye.

“What would I do without muse? I can do my artwork from anywhere, if anything, a change of scenery can bring entirely new points of inspiration. Italy, Katniss!” he further explains, excitement raising in his voice as he speaks.

Instantly, I realize he is dead serious. My expression softens as I read the love written all over his face. My lips find his. This is just as breathtaking and mind blowing as our first kiss, but with this kiss I know this is love.

The kind of love you fight for.

“So I might be publishing my original work, with a world-renowned publisher, and we’re moving to Italy together?” I lose my confidence at the end of my question, and it shows in my tone and the expression on my face.

Peeta clasps his hand in mine and answers with unwavering support, “Together.”

————————

Peeta’s strong muscular arms wrap around my waist and barely noticeable baby bump as he pulls me flush to his broad chest, hugging me from behind. This is his new favorite way to snuggle me close. His hands cradle the mound where our unborn child grows.

Every single time he does something like this I find myself a little choked up. Not a lot, I’m still the same practical, level-headed Katniss. But, damn it! These pregnancy hormones have gripped me with emotion in these tender moments we share.

The tear I willed away rebelliously escapes my eye and trails down my cheek.

Peeta Mellark gets to be a daddy. If anyone should have children and bring more hope in this world it should be him.

We need more Peeta Mellarks in this world.

I’m so incredibly lucky I get to be on this journey with him. Another petulant tear escapes despite my protests.

I wipe it away hoping Peeta and anyone else around didn’t notice.

“What are we going to tell our children when they find the erotic literature we write together?” I whisper in his ear.

His warm laugh rumbles in his chest against my back. I find myself turning my head to the side, inviting Peeta’s lips to graze my neck. He obliges, my husband knows me so well.

I sigh. His kisses are like sweet honey.

“That’s why we wrote them under a pen name, dear wife,” he reminds me. “God! You look so HOT in this dress!”

“Cinna,” I answer with a shrug. Despite living in the epicenter of fashion for over 2 years, being dragged to every fashion week with Effie Trinket, and my friendship with the award-winning it designer Cinna, I still don’t care much for it and am grateful he choses my wardrobe for events like this one.

“No, Cinna made the dress, but you’ve always been the smoking hot Girl on Fire,” Peeta says, referencing the nickname I was called in college, completely unbeknownst to me for years.

I can’t contain the laugh that bursts forth. Peeta joins me, maybe out of pity, because it wasn’t that funny. The whole thing is still absurd to me.

Effie makes her appearance, eyeing us with curiosity at our laughter.

The affectionate smile Effie gives me reminds me of one a mother gives a daughter. She’s thrilled do be this child’s “Nonna.”

As “extra” as she can be, I’m extremely lucky to have found favor in her eyes. I loathe to admit, Effie also holds a maternal place in my life that I hold dear.

I clutch Peeta’s like a lifeline. My love. My muse. My husband.

With the squeeze of my hand Effie leads us, “Eyes bright, chins up, smiles on. I’m talking to you, Katniss! It’s showtime!”

#Springtime Edition 2018 #savvylark #katnisdoesnotfollowback #prompt 48 #submission

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seokpapi-blog · 7 years ago

Text

CHARCOAL (M) | kth

“The thing with Taehyung is that he use his hands a lot while drawing and get his fingers stained with charcoal, a lot. But when I come back home later, I love to see the same black prints all over my body.”

+Pairing: Taehyung x femlale MC ft Seokjin +Genre: College!AU, Artist!kth +Warnings: sexual assault victim +Note: GUYS! This is an adaptation of the book “Easy” by Tammara Webber. I decided to start like this because im not sure of my writing skill yet, so enjoy!

01 02 03 04 05

“Kim T, I’m having more trouble with the current material than I let on, but I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to make it to one of your tutoring sessions. Too bad for both of us that my ex didn’t dump me early enough in the semester to drop this class! (No offense. You’re probably an econ major and like this stuff.) I’ve started researching online journals for the project. Thanks for decoding Dr. Park’s notes before sending them to me. If you’d have forwarded them without a translation, I’d be searching for a tall building/ overpass/ water tower from which to yell “goodbye cruel world.” Y/N”

“Y/N, Please, no leaping from towering structures. Do you have any idea how much damage that would do to my tutoring reputation?? If nothing else, think of the effect on me. ;) I create worksheets for the tutoring sessions. I’ve attached the past three weeks’ worth. Use them as study guides, or fill them in and send them back to me, and we’ll see where you’re getting confused. Actually, I’m an engineering major, but we have to take econ. I think everyone should, though – it’s a good starting point for explaining how money, politics and commerce work together to create the total chaos that is our economic system. KT PS – How did the regional competitions go? And btw, your ex is obviously a moron.”

I downloaded the worksheets, turning over his last statement in my mind. Whether my tutor knew Seokjin or not—unlikely, given the size of the university and their differing majors—he’d taken my side. Me, a girl so absurdly unhinged by a breakup that she’d skipped class for two weeks.

He was smart and funny, and after only three days, I already looked forward to his name in my inbox, our back-and-forth banter. All of a sudden, I wondered what he looked like. God. Just yesterday, I’d left class telling myself to ignore the brooding stares of a guy in class because I needed time to get over Seokjin’s desertion.

It didn’t matter. I needed time to recover, even if Kim was right. Even if Kennedy was a moron.

I clicked on the first worksheet and opened my econ text, and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Kim, The worksheets are definitely going to help. I already feel less scared of failing this class. I did the first two - when you have time, could you look them over? Thank you again for wasting your time on me. I’ll try to get caught up quickly. I’m not used to being the student who’s a pain in the butt.

I had two freshmen from rival schools in competition with each other at regionals. Both asked me, separately thank God, who was my favorite. (I told each of them, “You are, of course.” Was that wrong??) They were very smug with each other when they came to get their basses from my truck, and I prayed that neither would mention the favorite status in front of the other. BOYS.

Engineering? Wow. No wonder you seem so brainy.

Y/N”

"Y/N, The worksheets look great. I marked a couple of minor mistakes that could trip you up on an exam, so check those.

Ah, sounds like your freshmen have crushes on you? Not surprised. A bass-playing college girl would have rendered me speechless at 14.

Of course I’m brainy! I’m the all-knowing tutor. And in case you’re wondering - yes, you’re my favorite. ;)

KT”

Saturday night, Elee was once again threatening to drag me out of our room, ignoring my protests and reluctance. This time, three of us were heading to the strip to hit some clubs with our fake IDs.

“Don’t you remember how the party last weekend went for me?” I asked when she shoved a clingy black dress into my outspread arms. Of course she didn’t remember; I hadn’t told her. All she knew was that I’d bailed early.

“Y/N, babe, I know this is hard. But you can’t let Seokjin win! You can’t let him make you a hermit, or keep you scared of falling for someone new. God, I love this part of it—the hunt for a new guy, everything unknown, untried—the mass of hot prospects in front of you, waiting to be discovered. If I didn’t lust after Jongkyung so hard, I’d be jealous of you.”

The way she described it, the process sounded like an expedition to an exotic continent. I didn’t share her feelings, not in the least. The idea of finding a new guy sounded exhausting and depressing. “Elee, I don’t think I’m ready—”

“That’s what you said last weekend, and you did fine!” She frowned, thinking, and for the hundredth time, I almost told her about Junmin. “Even if you did leave early.” She rehung the black dress I didn’t intend to wear, and I held my tongue, losing my chance again. I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t tell her. I was mostly afraid she’d be infuriated. More unreasonably, I was afraid she’d be disbelieving. Neither response was something I wanted to contend with; I just wanted to forget.

I thought of Taehyung, annoyed that his presence in econ was making that process impossible, because he was irrevocably connected to the horror of that night. He’d not looked at me at all Friday—as far as I knew. Every time I snuck a look back at him, he appeared to be sketching rather than taking notes, his black pencil held low between his fingers, a concentrated expression on his face. When class ended, he stuck the pencil behind his ear, turned and walked from the classroom without a backward glance, first one out the door.

“Now this will show off the goods,” Elee said, breaking into my reverie. Next up was a stretchy, low-cut purple top. Yanking it from the hanger, she tossed it to me. “Put on your skinny jeans and those badass boots. This fits your tough, I’m-a-challenge mood better anyway. You have to dress to attract the right guys, and if I make you too cute, you’ll flick them all away with glares and irritated rolls of your eyes.”

I sighed and she laughed, pulling the black dress over her own head. Elee knew me far too well.

I’d lost count of the number of drinks Elee had pressed into my hand, telling me that since she was the designated driver, I was required to drink for two. “I can’t touch any of these hotties, either—so I have to live vicariously. Now finish that margarita, stop scowling, and stare at one of these guys until he knows he won’t lose a limb if he asks you to dance.”

“I’m not scowling!” I scowled, obeying and tossing the drink back. I grimaced. Cheap tequila refused to be concealed by an abundance of even cheaper margarita mix, but that’s what you get for no cover charge and five dollar drinks.

Still relatively early, the small club we decided to occupy for the night wasn’t yet overcrowded with the hundreds of college students and townies it would hold soon. Elee, Mina and I claimed a corner of the near-vacant floor. Having downed the drinks and dressed the part, I moved to the music, gradually loosening up while laughing at Elee’s cheer poses and Mina’s ballet movements. The first guy to interrupt us approached Elee, but she shook her head as her lips mouthed the word boyfriend. She turned him toward me and I thought: That’s me: SINGLE. No more relationship. No more Seokjin. No more You’re my Kkul.

“Wanna dance?” the guy yelled over the music, fidgeting as though he was ready to bolt if I turned him down. I nodded, choking back the pointless, almost physical pain. I was no one’s girlfriend, for the first time in three years.

We moved to an open space a few feet from Elee and Mina—who also had a boyfriend. It didn’t take long to figure out that the two of them planned to point every guy who asked one of them to dance at me. I was their pet project for the night.

Two hours later, I’d danced with too many guys to remember, dodging wandering hands and turning down any drinks not handed to me by Elee. Crowded around a tall table near the floor, we leaned hips on the barstools surrounding it, watching the surrounding hookup activity. As Mina returned from bopping and pirouetting her way to the bathroom and back, I asked if we could go yet, and Elee fixed me with a look she usually reserved for ill-mannered steakhouse patrons. I smirked at her and sipped my drink.I knew when the next guy walked up behind me, and that Elee and Mina approved, because their eyes widened simultaneously, focusing over my shoulder. Fingers grazed the back of my arm, and I took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly before turning around.

Good thing, too—because it was Taehyung who stood there, his eyes dropping to my cleavage for a split second. He crooked an eyebrow and gazed into my eyes with a faint smile, unapologetic for looking. The heels on my boots were killing my feet, but they weren’t tall enough to bring me eye-to-eye. Rather than raising his voice like everyone else, he leaned close to my ear and asked, “Dance with me?” I felt his warm breath and inhaled the scent of his aftershave—something basic and male—before he withdrew, his eyes on mine, waiting for my answer. An enthusiastic nudge between my shoulder blades told me Elee’s vote: go dance with him.

I nodded, and he took my hand and made his way to the floor, maneuvering through the crowd, which parted easily for him. Once we reached the worn oak floor, he turned and pulled me close, never letting go of my hand. As we found the rhythm of the slow-paced song, swaying together, he took my other hand in his and moved both hands behind my back, gently holding me captive. My breasts grazed against his chest and I struggled not to gasp at the subtle contact. I’d barely let anyone else touch me at all tonight, adamantly refusing all slow dances. Dizzy from weak-but-plentiful margaritas, I closed my eyes and let him lead, telling myself that the difference was the alcohol in my blood, nothing more. A minute later, he released my fingers and spread his hands across my lower back, and my hands moved to his biceps. Solid, as I knew they would be. Tracking a path, my palms encountered equally hard shoulders.

Finally, I hooked my fingers behind his neck and opened my eyes. His gaze was penetrating, not wavering for a moment, and my pulse hammered under his silent scrutiny. Finally, I stretched up toward his ear, and he leaned down to accommodate my question. “S-so what’s your major?” I breathed.From the corner of my eye, I watched his mouth twitch up on one side. “Do you really want to talk about that?” He maintained the closeness, our torsos pressed together chest to thigh, ostensibly waiting for my answer. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so full of pure, unqualified desire.I swallowed. “As opposed to talking about what?” He chuckled, and I felt the vibrations of his chest against mine. “As opposed to not talking.” His hands at my waist gripped a little tighter, thumbs pressing into my ribcage, fingers still at my lower back. I blinked, one moment not understanding what his words implied, and the next knowing unreservedly. “I don’t know what you mean,” I lied. He leaned closer still, his smooth cheek whispering against mine as he murmured “Yes, you do.” Struck again by his scent—clean and subtle. I felt an impulse to bring my fingertips to his face and trail them over his jaw. His skin would feel so soft againstt mine now if he kissed me, hard. I would feel nothing but his mouth on mine—and maybe that slim ring at the edge of his lip…The errant thought made my breath catch. When his lips touched just south of my earlobe, I thought I might pass out. “Let’s just dance,” he said. Pulling back just far enough to stare into my eyes, he drew my body against his, and my legs obeyed where his said to go.

“Bitch, who was that hot guy?” Elee carefully maneuvered her daddy-furnished Volvo sedan around the people weaving drunkenly through the parking lot. “If I wasn’t stone cold sober, I’d think he was a figment of my sex-starved imagination.”

“Psshh,” I mumbled, eyes closed, my spinning head lolling back against the headrest. “Don’t even talk to me about sex-starved.”

A minute later, Mina piped up from the back seat. “You haven’t answered the question, Y/N!” Her speech was almost as slurred as mine, my name pronounced in distinct syllables. “Who was that beautiful guy, and more importantly, why didn’t you solve your sex-starvedness with him? Holy hell, I think I’d be willing to boot Jinyoung outta bed for a night with him!”

“Slut,” Elee said, rolling her eyes into her rearview mirror.

Mina laughed. “In this case… Hell. Yeah.”

They both grew quiet, staring at me, waiting for me to reveal who he was. I mentally sorted through everything I knew about him. He’d saved me from Junmin’s attack, which I hadn’t told anyone about. He’d beaten the crap out of Junmin, which I likewise hadn’t told anyone. He’d stared at me all through economics on Wednesday, and then ignored me completely on Friday, which I hadn’t told anyone. He worked at the Coffe. And he kept asking me if I was okay… but he hadn’t asked me that tonight.

Tonight had been something else altogether. By unspoken agreement, we’d danced several dances without stopping—slow, fast, and everything in between. His hands never left my body, triggering an upsurge of longing I’d not felt in a very long time—longer than four or five weeks ago. His hands hadn’t wandered inappropriately, his fingers not even teasing beneath the fabric of my top at the waist, but they’d seared the skin beneath regardless.

And then he disappeared. Bending, his lips next to my ear, he thanked me for the dances, led me back to my table, and vanished into the throng of people. I hadn’t seen him again, and could only assume he’d left the club.

“His name is Taehyung. He’s in my economics class. And he draws stuff.”

Mina began giggling and slapped the leather seat. “He draws stuff? What kind of stuff? Naked girls? That’s pretty much the extent of most guys’ artistic endeavors. Usually not even whole girls. Just boobs.”

Elee laughed along with her. “I don’t know what he draws. He was just… sketching something in class Friday. I don’t think he listened to the lecture at all.”

“Oh no, Elee!” Maggie leaned as far up as her seatbelt would allow. “Sounds like that god of a man is a bad student. We know what that means for Y/N.”

I frowned. “What does it mean?”

Elee shook her head, smiling. “Come on, Y/N—have you ever in your life been attracted to a bad boy? Or a boy who’s, um, academically challenged? In other words, a boy who isn’t—gasp!—a brainiac?”

My mouth fell open. “Shut up! Are you saying I’m an intellectual snob?”

“No! We didn’t say you were—we don’t mean that. We just mean… you sure didn’t look indifferent to this Taehyung guy tonight, while you two danced together for like ever, and it sounds like he’s maybe not your usual type—” “My only ‘type’ has been Seokjin for the past three years! Who knows what my type is?” “Don’t get huffy. You know what I mean—you don’t even crush on dumb guys.” “Well, who does?” I rebelled against the idea that Taehyung was dumb. Maybe he was unmotivated in economics, but nothing about him seemed unintelligent.

“And all of this talk is for—?”

Elee grinned at me. “You’re ready for a new man, my girl.”

“Ooohhh,” Mina sighed.

“Um. I don’t think—”

“Exactly. Don’t think. You’re gonna seduce this Taehyung guy and rebound the hell out of him. That’s the thing about boys—they don’t have any qualms about being the rebound guy because they don’t hang around for long anyway. He probably lives for being the rebound guy—especially in a situation like this, where he’ll get to teach you all sorts of naughty stuff.”

Mina endorsed Elee’s crazy idea with one heavily sighed word. “Lucky.”

I thought of Taehyung’s hands at my waist, his mouth grazing my ear, and I shivered. I recalled his penetrating gaze Wednesday during class, and the breath in my lungs went shallow. Maybe I was experiencing alcohol perspective, and everything would look different tomorrow—but at the moment, Elee’s crazy idea was starting to sound almost not crazy.

I was a ball of nerves as I approached the classroom Monday morning, unsure if I should initiate the man-snaring strategy I’d agreed to test on my unsuspecting classmate, or abandon it fully while I still could. He walked into the room ahead of me, and I watched his eyes flick over my recently assigned seat, and the vacant one next to Seokjin, who was already seated, thank God. I had about thirty seconds to reconsider the whole thing.

Go time.

I took a deep breath. I had three minutes until class started. Elee said I needed one minute, no more than two. “But two is pushing it,” she insisted, “because then you look too interested. One is better.”

I slid into the seat next to him, but perched on the edge, making it obvious that I had no intention of remaining. His eyes snapped to mine immediately, dark brows disappearing into that messy hair falling over his forehead. His eyes were almost colorless. I’d never seen anyone with eyes so light.

He was definitely startled by my appearance next to him. Good, according to Elee and Mina.

“Hey,” I said, a subtle smile on my lips, hoping I appeared somewhere between interested and indifferent. According to Elee and Mina, that impression was a vital part of the strategy.

“Hey.” He opened his econ text, concealing the open sketchbook in front of him. Before he obscured it, I caught a detailed illustration of the venerated old oak tree in the center of campus.

I swallowed. Interested and indifferent. “So, it just occurred to me that I don’t remember your name from the other night. Too many margaritas, I guess.”

He wet his lips and stared at me a moment before answering, and I blinked, wondering if he was purposefully making my loosely-sustained indifference more challenging to maintain. “It’s Taehyung. And I don’t think I gave it.”

In the next moment, Dr. Park entered noisily near the podium, catching his handled case in the door. An audible, “Dammit,” echoed through the lecture hall, thanks to the planned acoustics of the room. Taehyung and I smiled at each other as our fellow classmates tittered.

“So… you, um, called me Kkul, before?” I said, and his head tilted slightly. “My name is actually Y/N…”

His brows drew down slightly. “Okay.”

I cleared my throat and stood—surprising him again, judging by his expression. “Nice to meet you, Taehyung.” I smiled again before turning away and darting to my assigned seat.

Keeping my attention on the lecture and defying the compulsion to peek over my shoulder was excruciating. I was sure I felt Taehyung’s eyes boring into the back of my head. Like an out-of-reach itch, the sensation nettled me for fifty minutes straight, and it took herculean effort to refrain from turning around.

Unknowingly, Jungkook helped by making distracting observations on Dr. Park, like tallying the number of times he said, “Uuummm,” during the lecture with marks at the top of his notebook, and pointing out the fact that our professor was sporting one navy and one brown sock.

Instead of lingering at the end of class to see what Taehyung would do (speak to me or ignore me?), instead of waiting for Seokjin to leave (funny, I’d paid scant attention to him for the past hour—that was a first), I swung my backpack onto my shoulder and practically sprinted from the room without looking at either of them. Emerging from the side door into the crisp fall air, I sucked in a deep breath.

When Elee and I joined the line at the Coffe, I didn’t see Taehyung.

“Rats.” She craned her neck, making sure he wasn’t one of the people behind the counter. “He was here last Monday, right?”

I shrugged. “Yeah, but his work schedule is probably unpredictable.”

She elbowed me lightly. “Not so much. That’s him there, right?”

He came through a door to the back with an industrial-sized bag of coffee. My physical reaction to him was unnerving. It was as though my insides all clenched up at the sight of him, and when they unwound, everything restarted at once—my heart rate accelerating, lungs pumping air, brainwaves running amok.

“Ooh, Y/N, he’s got ink, too,” Elee murmured appreciatively. “Just when I didn’t think he could get any hotter…”

My eyes fell to his forearms, flexing as he sliced the bag open. Tattooed designs wrapped around his wrists, contiguous symbols and script running up both arms and disappearing into the sleeves of the gray knit shirt, which were shoved above his elbows. I’d never seen him without his sleeves pulled to the wrists. Even Saturday night, he’d worn long sleeves—a faded black button-down, open over a white t-shirt.

Now, I wondered how far the tattoos spread—just the sleeves of his arms? His back? His chest?

Elee tugged my arm as the line moved forward. “You’re botching our carefully crafted indifferent act, by the way. Not that I can blame you.” She sighed. “Maybe we should bail now before he—”

I glanced at her when she fell silent, and watched a devious smile cross her face as she turned to me.

“Keep looking at me,” she said, laughing as though we were having an amusing conversation. “He’s staring at you. And I mean staring. That boy is undressing you with his eyes. Can you feel it?” Her expression was triumphant.

Could I feel his stare? I can now, thanks, I thought. My face heated.

“Hoe, you’re blushing,” she whispered, her dark eyes widening.

“No shit.” My teeth were clenched, voice tight. “Stop telling me he’s—he’s—”

“Undressing you with his eyes?” She laughed again and I’d never wanted to kick her more. “Okay, okay—but Y/N, do not worry. You’ve got this. I don’t know what you’ve done to him, but he’s ready to sit up and beg. Trust me.” She glanced in his direction. “Okay, he’s starting a new batch of coffee now. You can do your own staring.”

We stepped closer; there were only two people in front of us. I watched Taehyung replace the filter, measure out the coffee, and set the controls. His green apron was haphazardly secured in the back—more of a knot than a bow.

He turned then, eyes on the second register as he punched buttons and brought it to life. I wondered if he planned to ignore me as I had him during class. It would serve me right, playing this game. Just as the guy in front of me began his detailed drink order to the girl at the first register, Taehyung’s gaze swung up to meet mine. “Next?” The steel gray of his shirt set off the gray in his eyes, the blue disappearing. “Y/N.” He greeted me with a smirk, and I worried that he could read my mind, and the devious plans Elee had implanted in it. “Americano today, or something else?”

He remembered my drink order from a week ago.

I nodded, and he flashed a barely-there grin at my bemusement, ringing up the order and printing the cup with a sharpie. Instead of passing it to a coworker, though, he made the drink himself.

He added a protective sleeve and a lid and handed me the cup. I couldn’t read his trace of a smile. “Have a nice day.” Looking over my shoulder, he said, “Next?”

I joined Elee at the pick-up counter, confused and sulking.

“He made the drink for you?” She retrieved her drink and followed me to the condiment counter.

“Yeah.” I removed the lid and added sugar and milk while she shook cinnamon over her latte. “But he just handed it over like I was any other customer and took the next guy’s order.” We watched him interact with customers. He didn’t once glance my way.

“I could have sworn he was so into you he couldn’t see straight,” she mused as we left, rounding a corner to join the mass of people flowing through the student center.

“Hey, baby!” Jongkyung’s voice pulled both of us from our thoughts. He snatched Elee out of the flow of people and I followed, laughing at her delighted squeal until I noticed the guy standing next to him.

My face went hot, blood pounding in my ears. As our friends kissed hello and began talking about what time they each got off work tonight, Junmi stared down at me, his mouth turning up on one side. My breath came in pants and I fought to keep the rising panic and nausea under control. I wanted to turn and run, but I was immobilized.

He couldn’t touch me here. He couldn’t hurt me here.

“Hey, Kkul.” His piercing gaze roamed over me and my skin crawled. “Lookin’ good, as always.” His words gushed flirtation, but all I felt was the threat underneath, intended or not.

The bruises had faded from his face, but weren’t entirely gone. One yellowish streak ringed his left eye, and another brushed along the right side of his nose like a pale smear. Taehyung had given him those, and only the three of us knew it. I stared back, mute, the coffee clutched in my hand. I’d once thought this boy handsome and charming—the all-American veneer he wore fooling me as thoroughly as it fooled everyone else.

I raised my chin, ignoring my physical reaction to him, and the fear causing it. “It’s Y/N.”

He cocked one eyebrow, confused. “Huh?”

Elee grabbed my elbow. “Come on, hot stuff. Don’t you have art history in like five minutes?”

I stumbled slightly as I turned and followed her, and he issued a soft, taunting laugh as I passed him. “See you around, Y/N” he teased.

My name in his mouth sent a tremor through me, and I trailed behind Elee into the sea of students. Once I could move, I couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

Elee: Do you still have your coffee cup?

Me: Yes?

Elee: Take the sleeve off

Me: BITCH

Elee: His phone number?

Me: How did you know???

Elee: I’m Elee. I know all.

If Elee hadn’t texted me during class, that cup, and his number, would have been pitched into the hallway wastebasket.

So… Taehyung wasn’t writing an unnecessary drink order onto my cup, he was giving me his phone number. I entered it into my phone, wondering what I was meant to do with it. Call him? Text him?

I thought about what I knew of him: He’d come out of nowhere the night of the party. After putting a stop to the attack, some further protective trait had obliged him to see me safely back to the dorm. He’d somehow known my name that night—my nickname—but I’d never noticed him before.

He sat in the back row in economics, sketching or staring at me instead of paying attention to the lecture. Saturday night, the firm touch of his hands as we danced made my head swim, before he disappeared without explanation. He’d undressed me with his eyes, Elee said. He was cocky and self-sure. Tattooed and too hot for words.

And now, his number was programmed into my phone. It was as though he knew all about my desesperation to see another dick, and he was as willing and eager to cooperate as my friends believed he’d be.

82 notes · View notes

vote-for-eggman · 7 years ago

Text

Please read this short story for me.

It’s inspired by the premise for Shameless except not written to become tiresome after a while. Need responses. Submitting it for a “romantic evening” prompt. Other requirements were importance of setting and abstract description.

It’s like every breath I take in the house shudders the foundation.

Perhaps my ragged breaths only slipped out so irregularly in the moment due to Sophie’s reckless raking through my hair with the only comb we had. Or perhaps it was nerves for the date.

“Hold still, Rory!” Sophie hissed. Her little hands slipped on some more aged product into my hair; she was clearly struggling to spread it.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” I asked gruffly.

Another tug into my hair. “Yes, of course!” she claimed. Then she pushed my head down so I was staring at my bare chest. The chair swayed uneasily on its crooked legs.

Sophie’s young life probably would have granted her naivety if she, like the rest of us, were in a normal life. Therefore, I was musing on whether she was deliberately trying to mess up my hair or if she was genuinely trying her best. I didn’t have the heart to tell her to stop.

“You don’t think I’m old enough to do this, huh?” she teased.

“What? No!” I lied.

She crookedly pulled the comb through my hair again. “I’m mature,” she said. “I walk myself to school. AND I make my school lunches sometimes.”

I turned my head up slightly to make eye contact with the little girl standing over me. “Sometimes?” I questioned.

Her voice quieted. “When we have food at the house,” she said meekly.

The room submerged into a humid silence.

Suddenly, a rampaging and repeating thudding roared around the tight stairwell. “Rory! Rory!” followed the rolling noise descending down the stairs.

I pulled my head up. Callan was now at the foot of the stairwell, which was only feet away from my hair salon.

“What are you doing?” he asked. His eyes looked up and down, “Sophie’s doing your hair? In the kitchen?” Callan put a hand up to the back of his head, stroking through his hair as it traveled behind him.

Autumn, the quiet one in the house, piped up from her work of doing the dishes adjacent to the chair. “Rory has a date and Sophie offered to make him look ‘perfect.’”

“Huh,” he noted incredulously.

Callan shook the thought aside. He got closer to me and confidently smiled. “Guess who is officially in the running for class president in the upcoming semester at East Arm High School.” His voice was light and direct.

Callan didn’t wait for a response.

He pumped his fist into the air and announced, “Callan Renato! The one. And. Only!”

I leaped from the chair, sending the comb swinging into the dishwater. I grabbed him by the hands and instinctively beamed at him. “You did? You really did?”

“Yes!” Callan exclaimed. His face was ruby red. He freed his hands and rubbed one through his charcoal hair again. “I’m… I can’t believe I did it.”

“Not yet, you haven’t,” I pointed out. “But you will. Since when have you ever quit while you were ahead?”

His face hardened and his brow lowered. “Right. The race has just begun.” I could tell Callan was suppressing a smile, even if he was doing his best to portray his focus. Of the four of us, Callan clearly was the one who desired to fight for success and overcome our difficulties. Though, I’d argue we all had our ways of dealing with them.

My brother turned to Autumn, who was fishing out the comb from the dish water. He pointed at her with a confident smile. “You will see me. I’ll be the junior class president and you’ll see ME in the Student Council with you,” Callan declared.

Autumn softly cheered, “I’ll be happy to have you.”

He was about to go back up the stairs, but just as his hand gripped the banister, he said, “Autumn, you might want to help out with Rory’s… situation.” He moved his finger in a circular and pitiful fashion around my hair.

Sophie glanced mischievously up at me. “I think he looks perfect.”

I pulled my wallet out of my pants and grabbed a quarter. I handed it to her gingerly and snootily said, “Why thank you my good madam.” I set my wallet on the kitchen table next to my button-up.

She giggled, snatched the quarter like it were the last apple on earth, and followed Callan up the stairs.

The chair shifted again as I sat back down into it. “Would you mind fixing whatever Sophie did, Autumn?” I requested with a defeated shrug.

With the bent comb in hand, she drifted around the counter and towards me. Her crystalline brown eyes studied me. Autumn was wearing her signature smile: slight, barely-upturned, but replete with an aura of comfort. With her red hair up in a ponytail like it was, she in a complete look.

She looked like Mom.

“I think I can do something with this,” Autumn decided.

But she didn’t act like her.

My head was twisted and turned around the chair as she made quick work into styling my hair into something acceptable. All the while, she was silent, except for the occasional “Tck! No!” creeping out her lips.

A few times she held up a pan for me to check on how I liked it. I insisted it was flawless multiple times, but Autumn would silently continue her work until she was satisfied with the result.

It had been a while I was going out on the date.

When was that last? When Callan was thirteen? How old was he now? Sixteen? Yes! Sixteen.

Dear God, it's not been just a while. It’s been an era.

It isn’t like I’ve had the time to do so anyway. What, with all the meals to cook? Jobs to work? And-

HONK! HONK!

“What’s that?” Autumn asked.

“My date doesn’t start until 8:30,” I noted.

I felt Autumn shift to her left to check the oven clock. “Oh,” she breathed.

My voice went up a pitch. “‘Oh’? ‘Oh’ what?”

“It’s 8:45.”

I could sense my eyes trying to burst from my skull. “Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod,” I stammered. I launched off the chair and spun around the kitchen. I buttoned up the olive-colored shirt in a panic. Autumn was still picking at my hair as I tried to finger the buttons through the holes that I was sure kept moving as I tried to push the white buttons through them.

Without thinking, I burst out of the slanted front door.

“Good luck!” Autumn sheepishly chirped as I slammed the door behind me.

I felt the September chill of night tackle through the moth holes.

The Uber at the bottom of the brick stairs was a black so drastic, I was sure if it weren’t parked under the street light, it’d have been invisible.

The window rolled down and a greasy man with leathery skin greeted me callously. “Roark?”

I grunted out “It’s just Rory” and planted myself into the back seat of the car with a shaky sigh.

The back seat had a water bottle and a candy bar wrapper.

“The water bottle and candy bar are for you,” the Uber driver stated. “But you took so damn long, I ate the candy bar.”

“Thanks,” I said deadpanned.

And that was all we said. I relied on the window to keep me company.

Box houses and square porches painted in various shades of forget squeezed together along our street, as if on an execution line. The other street lights had long since been broken and their bulbs were never changed. But, because of this, the stars were clearly visible in this part of the city; they were vividly gleaming at the house. The Uber car picked up speed as we left, shivering from the potholed road and kicking up a little pool of stagnant rain water.

The ride greeted me to familiar trees in uncomfortable poses hanging over their darkened vermillion leaves. I steadily watched as yellowed windows passed by or bruised mailboxes jumped like bats through my view.

The driver took a sharp left onto the freeway to the central city. As we advanced to the city, the lights above us twinkled out of view. My thoughts distorted the closer we approached, but still, the driver and I shared no words.

I reflected on my family.

Was it the job as patriarch that held me back or my fear of living for myself stopping me from going on dates? Or did I just think too much about that sort of thing?

I imagined Sophie next to me.

She would have grabbed the water bottle in amazement. “Whoa! Free water? And we can keep it?” she would have exclaimed. Then she’d jerk up and down eagerly, maybe badger the driver into getting her in the driver’s seat.

Then Callan, if he were here, would say, “I’m sixteen AND I have a permit, so if anyone’s doing the driving, it’d be me.” He’d definitely try to get us there in one piece, but I’m not so sure if he could. The Renato car was beat up in the back from his failures at driving in reverse.

Of course, Autumn would try to keep the peace. She’d probably put a hand on one of their shoulders and gesture to the greasy guy, maybe even fake a smile to him. “We already have a driver,” she’d softly remark. “Why change things now when Rory has his big date?”

Oh yeah.

I was going on a date.

The car was lurching through traffic; its black body swam through a sea of screeching wheels with a worrying grace. I grabbed the underside of the seat, which was slightly torn and bleeding stuffing.

It halted. It sped up. It erratically jutted between lanes. My brain started to swirl.

Finally, the car shrieked and halted with a powerful tug.

I had stuffing in my fingernails.

“We’re here. Good night,” the driver flatly snapped.

“Oh… okay, thank you,” I began but before I could return the ‘good night’ as I got out of the car, he drove off. The back seat door was still slightly open.

I turned around to the restaurant.

The earthen-colored columns held up the building fortuitously. The building itself loomed over me. Unappetized, it looked at me

I uncomfortably slipped in.

The breeze swam again into the moth holes of my shirt as I opened the door. But the smell of baked bread overpowered the chilly feeling.

The hostess at the front looked at me through the sea of people waiting for seats.

“Roark?” she asked immediately.

I stumbled forward. Clumsily, I remarked, “It’s just Rory.”

The girl pulled her hair through her tight locks. “Whatever it is, I’ve been calling your name at each guy who came in for the past fifteen minutes,” she absentmindedly huffed. There were countless waiters bringing out meals much too large for me. I saw a lobster dish that I’m certain amounted to more than what I had in my savings.

The hostess dragged me into a booth seat where my date was.

He looked a little frazzled. Was it worry or frustration?

“Roark?”

“It’s just Rory,” I said for a third time.

He made a stern look towards me. The hostess scurried off.

“It doesn’t matter. I thought I’d been stood up.”

I looked down at the silverware roll, refusing to making eye contact. I picked at the seat. “Oh,” I slurred. “I wouldn’t have been surprised if you did. I was preoccupied.” Cautiously, I looked back up at him; my head was still down.

He put on a forgiving smile. “It’s okay. I’m happy I got to see you.”

I blushed. I turned my head to look out the window, nervously. He held out a tanned hand.

“Are you okay? You seem nervous.”

Nodding, I whimpered, “This is my first date in almost three years.” I looked back him. “And that date ended in a fountain at one in the morning with me finding him drunkenly chasing after another guy he met at the bar,” I bashfully said.

His eyes widened. All he said was a hesitant “O-oh.”

Why is he giving me that look? Does he want me to do something? I thought.

Suddenly, a tall man with mysterious eyes approached us. “Have you gentlemen decided on what you’ll have to drink?”

“The strongest and cheapest wine you have,” I blurted automatically.

My date gulped. “I’ll just have a martini,” he decided.

My fingers rolled along the table. Then again. Once mores.

Seconds dragged onward.

He looked at me with a slight tilt to his head, as if there were water in his right ear and it was just barely still in there. His lips were slightly jutted out but his brow was lowered. He gave the gaze a scientist would to a hyperactive particle.

“You look curious,” I remarked.

He put his head in one hand. With the other, he brushed out a long blonde hair resting on his nose. “I’m trying to understand,” he said, “why a guy as handsome as you hasn’t had a date in three years.”

I shifted my eyes from side to side.

“I’ve been… busy. And…” I paused, “Did you just say I’m handsome?”

The hand that brushed his hair from his face skulked towards mine still rolling its fingers along the table. His pressured expression warmed and a coy grin cracked through his face. “I absolutely did,” he crooned and placed his fingers over mine.

I blushed. I didn’t think of myself as anything special. He was really handsome, too.

“I-I-I…” I blubbered. I felt like I were going through a plight rather than a pleasure.

The waiter returned to us. I swiped my hand back. He brought our drinks on a pristine serving tray.

I looked up at him, screaming for an answer on what to say with my eyes. He stared down at me with a similar feeling of curiosity. But this one felt… cool. Like an autumn morning. We shared a beat of eye contact before he snapped back to the two of us.

“Your drinks,” he stated dryly. He placed the martini before my date. Then, he slowly placed the full wine glass in front of me. It was drearily black. The waiter held that look towards me as he set the drink down.

I hastily sipped at the wine. It tasted like discordance.

My date rolled his eyes.

Nice job, Rory.

“Have you two chosen what you’ll have?” the waiter asked with a fake smile. He was still looking at me.

My date stated plainly, “Well, while I was waiting for you Rory, I figured out that I’ll be getting the pan-seared salmon.”

My face flushed.

I feverishly flew along the menu.

29.99? 43.99?!

I couldn’t afford any of it.

I looked at the appetizers.

Avocado Cucumber bites?

It was the cheapest on the menu.

“The Avocado Cucumber bites?” I stated. Or asked.

I could feel sweat rushing to my armpits.

“You realize those are an appetizer?” the waiter asked. His face seemed half-heartedly agog for my response. The side of his lips twitched.

Was there something on my damn face and he just wasn’t telling me?

Sheepishly, I nodded.

A glint of amusement came through his amber eyes. “Okay then. I’ll have those right for you.”

I took another chug of wine.

Still, I couldn’t keep eye contact with my date.

Just as the waiter took the menus, I noticed something out the window.

No.

A familiar red-headed woman, black-haired man, and mischievous-looking girl were peeping through the window.

I felt sick.

How and more importantly WHY are Autumn, Callan, and Sophie here?

Sophie held up something. It was my wallet.

I had a quick flashback to earlier in the night. I had left it on the counter. My hands rushed to my pocket, feeling for it instinctively.

Callan rolled his eyes and dragged the girls towards the restaurant.

Another imbibe of wine.

“Is something wrong, Rory?” he said, clearly irritated. He followed my eyes but saw nothing. The three were already making their way to the door.

A frog leaped into my throat.

Then, speeding through the waiters pivoting around tables came three children. Sophie led the way, now, wallet in tow. Callan was pulling a hesitant Autumn behind the youngest.

“Oh my shit…” I sighed and finished the glass.

“We can’t let you go anywhere,” Callan jeered as Sophie slapped the wallet onto the table.

My date put a hand up. “E-excuse me?!” he stammered.

Sophie pointed to her brother and cried, “Callan insisted on HIM driving here.”

“Yeah,” he retorted, “because I’m the only one who knows how.”

“I beat you in Mario Kart.”

“When I had a broken arm!” he replied. He pointed to his right arm and squinted, as if to ridicule her.

My date turned to me, enraged. “Who the heck are these three?”

I put my hands to my temples. “These,” I moaned, “are my siblings.”

“Why the hell are they not at home with your parents?” he exasperatedly shouted.

A few heads turned.

My ears stung.

The world caged up around me. I was being watched.

“We…” I bit my lip. “We don’t have parents.”

He slammed his hands onto the table. His face was as red as a crabapple. “God! No wonder you haven’t had a date in three years!” he bellowed. “You haven’t shown a lick of interest in me all night,” he started to list, “you were late, you’ve been avoiding eye contact all night, and, top it all off… you have this freak show family life that you brought!” He pointed his hand towards my siblings.

“Don’t talk about my siblings like that,” I robotically countered.

He snarled and threw his hands up in the air. He pushed Autumn out of the way, then barreled out of the booth.

People were staring at us now.

I put my hands in my head.

“Why couldn’t you guys have just waited for me?” I groaned.

I heard a pathetic cello play out the night, echoing through my head like a concert hall. Empty and dimmed. My heart was painfully morose.

“Sounds like your date really wasn’t going great to begin with,” Callan countered.

I ignored him. “He had it all,” I remarked. I forced myself to compliment the man. “Tall, tan, hot, blonde…”

“Called Anya?” Sophie jested in a sing-song voice. She brushed her hair about as if it were long like a model’s.

Autumn put her hands on her sister’s shoulders.

To top of the night’s calamity, the waiter returned. “Alright, well I got the avocado bites but the salmon has yet to-” He halted.

He looked at the empty booth, then at the children beside me, and finally, into my eyes. “What happened to your date?” His face wasn’t cross. That same autumnal stare pooled through his own eyes.

“Cancel the salmon,” I simply said.

The cello boomed louder. My heart drowned further into it.

Autumn looked between the two of us and piped, “Callan, Sophie, let’s go wait in the car.”

Sophie protested at first but Callan happily took her away from me, probably sensing the tension.

Smart kids.

The waiter watched them leave.

Instead of just leaving, he placed the ridiculous appetizer before me.

He gave me half a smile and glanced to the wine glass. “Rough date, hm?” he sighed.

I only stared at the unfinished martini to respond.

He sat down where my date was and pushed the martini aside. He picked up an avocado bite and popped it in his mouth. I pulled my head up from my hands. I looked at him wildly and stammered, “A-aren’t you an employee here? Can you do that?”

“Did you know avocados are an aphrodisiac?” he dodged.

I turned around.

“Am I being pranked?” I nervously asked to no one in particular. I looked for a camera.

He put his hand on mine.

I froze.

He warmly smiled, “You look like you need a friend is all, man.”

I looked down at his hand. It was a clean white color with hair on each knuckle. The fingers were worn, almost like he punched a lot of things. The rest of his arm was hiding underneath a firmly pressed white shirt. I followed his arm back up to his face.

“I’m going to come back,” he affirmed to himself. “I’m going to take my break.”

The waiter flew away.

I picked up an avocado bite myself. I considered it for a moment and tried it out. It tasted strange. Savory and salty. I ate another.

He came back. His curly black hair was now a little out of its neat waiter-y look; there was a glint of fanaticism on his face. “I had to run and get this,” he whispered. From under his arm, he pulled out a small loaf of bread.

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “A waiter stealing from his own job? That’s deducting from your tip,” I snickered and took it from his hands. I grazed his fingers. It was cool to the touch. I looked up at him, eyes wide open. He smiled from the corner of his mouth.

“Go on, take it,” he said.

I did. It smelled divine.

He moved his head closer towards me. His bearded face creased into that same curious look. “I’ve been trying to figure you out all night. Who were those kids?”

I exhaled heavily.

I was enjoying this moment, too.

“My siblings,” I explained and picked up my wallet. “They came to give me my whole,” I continued, combing through the wallet and expelling its content, “seven dollars and… twenty six cents to pay for dinner.” A quarter drearily rolled against the martini glass.

The waiter picked up the quarter.

“Neat. Nevada,” he said.

“Is that enough to even pay for the appetizer,” I sighed, forgetting the cost.

The waiter shook his head. “Not even close.”

I groaned and buried my face into the table.

I heard him put the quarter gently in front of the plate. “It’s on the house,” he decided.

Immediately, I snapped my head upward. I couldn’t believe someone was paying for my food. The last dinner someone had bought me was a beer a girl gave me before realizing I wasn’t interested around the last Thanksgiving.

“Really?” I gasped.

He snatched back the quarter. “If…” he slickly said, “you tell me what’s up with you.”

I looked down at the unopened silverware roll again.

“...but I really was liking where this was going,” I muttered.

“Well I am now,” he sweetly stated, equally as soft.

Those damn pools of amber.

Another exhale. “Those kids are my siblings even if I’m basically their dad now. Our father shot himself two Christmases ago…”

He put his hands up to his lips. He whispered, “Oh my god, dude, you d-”

I was on a roll.

“My mother was an addict and neglectful at best,” I painfully spat out. “She left us when I was eleven. My dad was never the same. He’d go to work but never speak to us. There was this… haunting sadness in his eyes. For seven years, we lived with that…” I wheezed. I bit my lip, “and then… bam.” My hand was in the shape of a finger gun and sadly kicked back against my temple.

The waiter gripped the quarter.

“I haven’t seen my mother since she left. And I hate her for that. She ruined us. Because of her, I’m now my sibling’s parent. At eighteen, I became a father of three,” I continued. I put up my hands and exhaled, “Don’t get me wrong, I love my siblings to death but… it sucks I’m just in this position.”

I blinked back tears.

“I just want them to be happy, now. My life is already in shambles… but they barely knew Mistral. And they had to grow up only with a distant father and me. They don’t… they don’t deserve this life. I’m no parent… I can’t even keep a date...”

I shook my frustration over the wallet away. I could hear Callan saying “It shouldn’t be your responsibility.” I could feel Sophie’s confused embrace, unsure of most of the situation. I could see Autumn’s knobby fingers pat my shoulder.

It wasn’t Autumn’s fingers, though.

It was the strong fingers of the waiter.

“I checked the reservations because I thought you were cute…” he sighed with a smile. “It’s Roark, right?”

I gulped.

“Yes,” I meekly responded.

The waiter shook his head and chided out, “You deserve happiness, too, Roark.” He firmed his grip on my shoulder.

My heart soared with felicity, but my brain felt crestfallen.

I ate another cucumber bite woefully. I stared at the dish.

“Look at me,” he said sternly.

I did.

I liked looking at him.

“You. Deserve. Happiness.” He said it with a great vigor. “Say it.”

I swallowed the appetizer.

“I… deserve… happiness…” I croaked.

He grabbed me by either side of the head and kissed me.

I nearly choked on the avocado.

He tasted like a cinnamon stick. Warm and enchanting. His dark stubbly beard poked at my chin, tickling my own little bit of facial hair. Then, it ceased. Ended like a fuse that wouldn’t finish.

My mouth was still agape as he pulled away.

“Are you happy?” he grinned.

I let out a faint sigh in response.

He pulled out a receipt. He wordlessly scratched something onto it. He got up from the booth and slid it forward to me. “Let me know if you need more help with your situation,” he said. Then he winked at me.

A guy. Winked. At me.

My mouth was still open.

He walked away.

I looked at the writing. It said, “Here’s my number. You better call it. -Jack.”

Below, his number was hastily scrawled out in blue ink. A smiley face with lines for eyes eagerly sat next to it.

I scrambled to parking lot and to the car, with the bread under my arm.

Callan was in the driver’s seat; Sophie was in the back with Autumn.

“Is that bread?” he only asked.

I slammed the car door, which shook the old car to its core. I leaned against the window and only said, “I got it from a hot waiter.”

Callan widened his eyes and pulled out of the parking space.

As we neared our home, stars blinked back into place. The beat up mailboxes leaped by the window like deer. The multicolored houses along the road stood in line, welcoming me home.

I just couldn’t stop smiling.

#eg writing #thanks #short story #please read

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sarahlemkeconsume · 5 years ago

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Day 11 (9/14/19)

I guess I’m a yogi now. I went to Corepower in the morning with my roommate and friend Austyn. This time I went to the one on Grand Ave in St. Paul. There were a lot more people there and I noticed me and Austyn were drawn to the retail athletic clothing located right outside the studio rooms and directly to the side of the front desk. I wish I had money to buy new athletic clothes that I could sweat through. Afterwards I felt somewhat better but also felt like I had a lot built up in me still. I hat into feeling like myself.

After yoga I quickly changed out my sweaty clothes and rushed over to where my mom lives. I had to drive a longer route because 35W was closed. When will that construction ever be over? I had to go to my old neighborhood because I was doing something special. I was spending the day with two very important girls in my life. Lucy is twelve years old and her younger sister, Lyla, is now nine years old. I have known them since the day their parents brought Lucy home from the hospital. I have nannied them ever since and have built a strong, loving second family. While their mom was gone I planned a day with them. We drove to one of my favorite places in Minneapolis-Hidden Beach. There is a little walkway that takes you to this beautiful secluded hill just beyond the beach. There we hiked and talked about random things and even talked about boys, which I thought was hilarious. Lyla said she had four crushes. Upon arriving the hill, we went to the bottom where it meets Cedar Lake. Lucy wanted to read on a stoop while Lyla was collecting mud to make a charcoal face mask. I hope she won't ever actually use it, though I saw her putting it on her hands. While they were doing their own thing I climbed a tree near by that had a gorgeous view of the lake. I just sat there listening to the wind and watching the water twinkle in the light. I forgot how much I enjoy being alone in nature, just watching things. Eventually Lucy and Lyla climbed up too. After that we went to Sebastian Joes in Uptown. I probably shouldn't have given them ice cream but its hard to say no. I ended up having to pay $13 for all us. Once we finished, we headed over to Patina which is right next door. This was also a bad idea because Lucy often gets distracted and invested in things, so much that I have to ask her multiple times to focus and tell her we are leaving. I ended up buying some new earrings, a new purse, and a birthday card for a friend. oops. I also probably shouldn't have done that either but I needed all three things.

I then ended my day with my best friend Niki and her sister Tess. Together we went to Joaan Fabrics so Niki could buy gems for her make up. I also wanted to buy some but I already had spent $100 and we were going out to dinner later on. We then went to Broaders Deli. I usually get the Mac and cheese but that’s $8 compared to the $4 pizza. Its always odd being home but also nice. I was surrounded by high schoolers in the restaurant and various families with kids. I felt a little out of place but also felt older. Upon arriving to my home after dinner I decided to step out of my comfort zone and go to a birthday party of a girl that I sorta know. We met in class last spring semester. I thought we could be really good friends but it never worked out. Until she randomly invited me to this party! I have been forcing myself to expand more so that I’ll be somewhat more prepared for study abroad in Florence. There ended up only being seven other people there which I didn't mind since I don't like big groups. My friend Claire, kept saying “I'm sorry this is lame” but little did she know that it was the perfect environment for me. I ended up having a good time and enjoyed meeting her friends. I was most happy just to hang out with Claire. I did consume some alcohol that Claire offered to me. I had been wanting to try the new drink Pink Whitney. I had even asked Morgan to pick me up some but she said they were out and got me grapefruit New amsterdam instead. All I can say is waste of money. I did however get Tess to drive me to Claire's and back so I wouldn't have pay money for an Uber or ride alone due to my fear of being kidnapped. I love being a woman and always being scared that my life will be in danger because of creepy men!!!! Except, I didn't really save money because it was my car and my consumption of gas.

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camsinconverse-blog · 8 years ago

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A/N: My school recently did a production of High School Musical: the Musical and the whole time I just thought, wow, this would be an amazing gay story !!! so i wrote it, and it sucks a lot, but i don’t care, i just have it done now so here’s a shitty gay version of HSM with no singing and a completely different plot line !!!!!

The halls of Lincoln Park High were decorated with large "WELCOME BACK" posters and the school's mascot wandered the halls and high-fived students. Students ran to embrace one another and loud chatter filled every corner of the school as kids caught up on what they had all done over the summer break.

Baker McClellan ran a hand through her hair as she walked toward her first period. The underclassmen in the hallway parted a path for her like the Red Sea parted for Moses. Teachers greeted her happily and Baker smiled back at them.

"You'd think you were a local celebrity, the way everyone gawks at you. I'm almost positive that one freshmen wanted to ask you for a picture."

Baker snorted and turned to see her best friend, Olivia Danehower, walking toward her. Olivia plucked Baker's schedule out from her pocket and examined it.

"Excellent. We have first period and lunch together," Olivia said. "You don't have a last period?"

"My mother requested I have it off so I could go to powertrain to get ready for softball season," Baker explained.

"Softball season doesn't even start until March." Olivia shook her head and handed Baker her schedule back. "But there's no arguing with the General."

Baker laughed and fell into step with Olivia as they headed to their first period. Olivia chatted happily about the summer she had spent in France with her cousins. Baker only half listened since Olivia went to France every summer and did the same thing every time.

"What did you do?" Olivia asked.

Baker opened her mouth to respond when Olivia held up a hand and feigned a puzzled face. "Hold on, I bet I can guess. Your mom sent you to a softball camp for two weeks in June and then you stayed at the beach with your grandparents to lifeguard for the rest of the summer?"

"How did you ever guess?" Baker asked.

"You've done that since you were fifteen."

Baker shrugged and fidgeted with the straps on her backpack. "Yeah, suppose so."

Their first period teacher stood outside the door and smiled brightly as the two girls approached. His shirt was stained with paint and he had a smudge of charcoal on his forehead.

"Glad to see you two returning," Mr. Freud said.

"Wouldn't be a school year without at least one art class with Freud," Baker replied.

Freud laughed and waved the two in. Baker scanned the class to see what other students she'd be spending the semester with. A group of musical kids sat around one table and sang along to whatever music was playing on the morning announcements. It sounded like a broadway musical, and Baker didn't care enough to figure out if she was right.

Around another table, three of the school's best art students were already messing around with clay. Baker watched as they molded the clay into small human figurines. Baker knew for a fact the three students had already completed all of Freud's art classes, but since they were seniors and going to PAFA next year, she figured the school made an exception.

"If those kids sing the whole time, I'll kill myself," Olivia said.

Baker laughed and sat down at an empty table. "How about you kill me and I'll kill you? Then we won't leave each other alone with them."

"Perfect," Olivia said.

Baker unzipped her backpack and pulled out her sketchbook. As she flipped through the pages, a picture fluttered out and Olivia grabbed it.

"Who is this?"

Baker looked at the picture and felt her heart stop for a moment. In the picture, Baker stood with another girl at the pool where she lifeguarded during the summer. Neither of them were aware of the picture being taken, and Baker had just gotten done with a workout. Her hair was in a messy ponytail and she was accepting a water bottle that the girl was handing her. The girl donned her lifeguard uniform and was laughing at something Baker had said.

"She's cute," Olivia said.

"Yeah, that's Charlie," Baker said. "She and I worked together."

Olivia handed the picture back and Baker slipped it into her back pocket. The bell rang and Freud closed the door and smiled brightly.

"Welcome to another year of school," Freud said. "I was trying to get some supplies down from a cabinet and some of the acrylic paint exploded." Freud gestured to his shirt and laughed. "I've ordered some new paints and they'll come in next week, so I'm just thankful that none of you in here use paint as your main medium."

"How did they explode?" One of the musical kids asked.

"I dropped them," Freud admitted. "Obviously I need to workout more. McClellan, think you have room for one more in your workouts?"

"Oh trust me, Freud," Olivia said. "I can't even make it through a Baker workout. You wouldn't either."

Freud feigned a hurt expression before he laughed. "I supposed I would die."

Freud turned on his projector and a list of the school rules popped up on the whiteboard. "So, I'm technically supposed to read this to you. But everyone in this class is either a junior or senior, so I don't feel like I need to. If you really want to read them, they're here." Freud made his way to his desk and pulled out his pointing stick. "This is Art Four, and if you've made it this far, it means that there's little i can teach you-" Freud glances at the three art seniors. "-and this is just to get a portfolio together. The school requires you write two essays and take a final, so we're going to get the essays done now."

Freud points to the back of the room where a large paper with five different essay prompts hangs from the wall.

"There your essay prompts. Pick two and hand them both to me by the end of September. Please make it at least five sentences and no more than ten."

Baker smiled and felt a strong admiration for Freud flow through her. He had always been her favorite teacher, but she had never truly appreciated him until this moment.

"So today, I want you all to grab whatever materials you want and just express yourself. If you have projects from last semester you didn't get to finish, I stored them in the back so you can get them." Freud waved a hand and smiled. "The power is yours."

The musical kids immediately went to the water colors. They sang Disney songs as they passed around paper and brushes. The art kids glared at them and then shoved earbuds in.

"You'd think they'd get along more," Olivia said as she grabbed a rag for her oil paints. "Since they're both under appreciated."

Baker frowned and rolled the kneaded eraser between her thumb and pointer finger. "What do you mean?"

"Didn't you hear? The district might make some cuts on the art programs," Olivia said. "Budget cuts and whatnot."

"That's crazy," Baker said. "Didn't we just get endorsed by Nike?"

Olivia rolled her eyes and began to lay down a light layer of oil paint. "The softball team got endorsed by Nike, not the whole school."

"That's not my-"

"It's not, but I'm just saying," Olivia said. "The district is making money off sports teams, especially when they do well and get endorsed. The art programs don't get endorsed."

"That's stupid," Baker said.

Olivia shrugged and used a rag to start wiping away some oil paint. "It makes sense though."

Baker sighed and stared at the blank sheet of paper in front of her. She lightly traced sketches on it with her charcoal, but each time she hated it and wiped it away.

"We're halfway through the period and you haven't done a single piece."

Baker sighed and glanced up at Freud. He pulled up a stood and sat across from Baker. The charcoal smudge on his forehead had gotten worse and his hands were nearly black.

"I can't think of anything to draw," Baker said.

"So? Don't think, just do," Freud said. "It's whatever you want. There is no rubric or requirements. Want to draw a naked man? Go ahead. No one's going to stop you."

Baker laughed and Freud smiled. "I believe in you, McClellan."

He stood and walked to the musical kids who had thankfully stopped singing. Baker stared at her blank sheet of paper and then lowered her charcoal to it.

When the period was finished, Baker had drawn a sketch of her dream house. Freud promised to spray it by the end of the day so the charcoal wouldn't blow off when Baker took it home.

"See you at lunch," Olivia said.

Baker nodded and headed toward the math wing to AP Calculus.

Inside the room, most of the school's smartest were talking rapidly to one another about the different formulas and problems they had seen in their books.

Baker headed toward the only vacant seat and pulled out the picture of her and Charlie. On this particular day that the picture had been taken, Baker had run from her grandparent's beach house to the pool to surprise Charlie. The run was a little less than ten miles, and Baker had run a couple extra laps around the pool to make it a full ten. Charlie had refused to hug Baker when she was done, and instead gave her a water bottle.

"I'll hug you when you're not sweaty and smell," Charlie had said.

"It's my natural scent though," Baker had said as she reached out to take the water from Charlie.

Someone had snapped a picture right then on a polaroid and handed it to them. Charlie hated the way she looked in it even when Baker tried to convince her that she looked beautiful.

"I just hate that I'm now immortalized in this gaudy pool uniform," Charlie had said.

"Well, I'll keep it then. I think you look cute," Baker had said.

And after Charlie dropped Baker off at her grandparents, she tucked the photo into her sketchbook.

Baker stared at the picture and smiled. She tucked it back into her pocket when the door opened and the teacher stepped in to start class.

By the time fourth period came around, Baker's stomach was eating itself. She followed the sea of second lunch eaters to the library for flex. Olivia had saved a table in the back for them with a few other softball players.

"I wish we had first lunch," Baker said as she sat down.

"Why?" Olivia asked. "You get to leave after flex."

"True," Baker said. "But I'm starving and I'm going to eat lunch before I go to powertrain."

Olivia shook her head and flipped through her chemistry book. "I'd still leave and get some Chick-Fil-A."

"I'm saving for a new car," Baker said. "I can't keep driving around in a car that breaks down every other week."

Olivia rolled her eyes and began to take Chemistry notes. The other softball players asked Baker how her summer training went and if it was true the team would be getting new uniforms.

"Pretty sure," Baker said. "I'd ask the Coach, but he hasn't responded to any of my texts."

At this, all the girls turned to look at Olivia. She shrugged and popped a mint into her mouth. "I don't know why my dad's been nonrespondent on the phone. I swear he's alive."

They all laughed and then the bell rang for second lunch to begin. Baker slung her backpack over her shoulder and rushed to the cafeteria. She ignored Olivia's yells to wait and she shoved her backpack into a cubby after she grabbed her lunch box out of the front compartment.

"You'll get to eat, relax," Olivia said once she finally caught up.

The two girls made their way to their usual table by the windows and Baker began to unpack her lunch. Olivia watched in amazement as Baker kept pulling out small containers.

"See, it looks like you're eating a lot," Olivia said. "But really, your lunch is under five hundred calories."

Baker laughed and popped her five almonds into her mouth. "It's a regiment by the General."

Olivia nodded and unpacked her own lunch. Baker's mouth watered when she caught a waft of the Indian food Olivia brought.

"Did your mom make that?"

Olivia nodded and stabbed a fork into it. "Lamb curry with naan and rice."

"Bless Ms. Danehower," Baker said. "She's the best cook around." Baker reached her fork over to steal a chunk of lamb and Olivia whacked her hand.

"You have your General lunch," she said. "Don't cheat now."

Baker sighed and opened her container of yogurt. She watched with jealousy as Baker engulfed her own lunch.

When the bell rang for the fifth and final period of the day, Baker walked with Olivia to her last class.

"Have fun at your workout," Olivia said.

"You know I will," Baker said.

Olivia laughed and went inside her class. Baker waited until the hallways were empty to walk to her car.

Outside, the North Carolina air was crisp and clean. Baker took in a deep breath and smiled.

Her car wasn't too far away from the school's main entrance, and Baker regretted the decision. At the time of purchasing her parking spot, it had made sense to be as close as possible. But Baker had forgotten how nice the walk from the school to her car was.

Once she was in her car, Baker changed into her athletics and made her way to the school's track. Her mother waited at the starting line with a timer in her hand.

"How was the first day of school, Bakes?" She asked.

"Decent," Baker said.

She strapped her phone into her armband and put on her earbuds. Mrs. McClellan glanced at the sky and gestured for Baker to get in starting position.

Baker watched her mother's mouth as the music played in her ears. Mrs. McClellan raised on hand, two hands, and when she brought them both down, Baker took off into a sprint.

"Thirty six minutes and seven seconds," Mrs. McClellan said once Baker finished. "That's a minute slower than last week."

Baker bent over and tried to slow her breathing. "So?"

Mrs. McClellan's face scrunched up and she reset her timer. "What made you go slower?" Baker shrugged and Mrs. McClellan waved her hand in a circle. "Two cool down laps. I want an answer when you're finished."

Baker groaned and reluctantly jogged two more laps around the track. As she jogged, she racked her brains to think of a logical solution as to why her time was slower.

"So?"

Baker wiped the sweat off her brow with her t-shirt and ran a hand through her messy ponytail.

"I'm not used to being mentally exhausted on my runs," Baker lied. "I was thinking about my art projects and AP Calculus homework."

Mrs. McClellan's eyes narrowed. "I told you you didn't need to take another art class. It's not important to your life."

After her practice, Baker drove to her grandma's coffee shop in the town. The parking lot was fuller than Baker expected it to be, and through the large windows, she could see her grandma happily talking to customers.

Baker looked at her reflection in the mirror before she got out and walked into the small shop.

The familiar hum and smell of the shop calmed her immediately. After her mother had given her a long talk about how art class was pointless, Baker needed somewhere to cool off. And ever since her dad had died, Baker found herself going to his mom's nearly every day.

"Baker!"

Her grandma squealed when Baker walked in and she quickly made her way around the counter to embrace her granddaughter.

"I was wondering if I'd see you today!"

Baker laughed and hugged her grandma back. Her grandma was slightly overweight -- something Baker and other customers attributed to all her baked goods. There wasn't any questions in town about it -- Baker's grandma made the best baked goods. Whenever people craved a sweet tooth, they went straight to her without a second thought.

"Need any help?" Baker asked.

"No, I think I have this. Your grandfather is in the back -- go see him!"

"Pappy's back from Pennsylvania?"

Her grandma nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, he's interviewing some girl who moved here. We both adore her, so it's alright to interrupt." Her grandma's eyes twinkled and Baker shook her head.

It didn't matter how many summers Baker spent with her mother's parents at the beach, they could never come close to the relationship Baker had with her dad's parents. Just like her mother, Baker's other grandparents were rigid and didn't entertain the idea that something other than sports could be important in someone's life.

Baker moved behind the counter and entered the back room. The girl's back was to her and her grandpa didn't notice her right away. Baker quietly moved closer and was about six feet away when the board squeaked under her foot.

"Hazel, I-"

Her grandpa looked up and his face immediately broke out into a grin. "Baker!"

He stood as quickly as he could and embraced her. Baker laughed and clung to her grandfather. The last time she had seen him was on the second anniversary of her father's death.

"Sorry, Ms. Anderson. This is my granddaughter, Baker."

The girl turned and Baker sucked in a breath. Charlie seemed just as surprised as her and then she laughed.

"Baker McClellan," she said.

Baker's grandpa arched a brow and looked between the two. "You know each other?"

"Baker and I work at the pool together in the summer," Charlie said.

"Yeah." Baker stared at Charlie and tried to process how she would be here.

"Well, if you're a friend of Baker's, then you're definitely hired!" Baker's grandpa shook Charlie's hand and excused himself to go tell his wife.

Baker stared at Charlie and she arched a brow. "What?"

"I don't understand why you're here," Baker said slowly.

"I was kicked out," Charlie explained. "My dad caught me kissing a girl in my room and that was it. He set a timer on the microwave for me to get everything I could and leave."

Charlie shrugged and leaned back into her seat. Baker felt her stomach knot at the idea of Charlie kissing someone else.

"So you came here?"

"Not originally, obviously. I stayed with some friends for the first few days. Then I got sick of seeing my parents around the town, so I left for good. And I've never looked back. Then I met Don -- I guess your grandfather -- at a gas station and we just started talking. He offered to have me stay in the room above in exchange for work."

Charlie shrugged again and ran a hand through her hair. "So, that's how I ended up here. I didn't know he was your grandpa, honest. I'm not some psycho ex-girlfriend who tracks her old flames across the state."

Baker laughed at this and shook her head. "I mean, I didn't think you were." Baker glanced at the tablet on the desk that was filled with her grandpa's shaky handwriting. "Why were they interviewing you if you made a deal anyway?"

"To make it fair, I guess."

Charlie stood and smoothed out her jeans. When she stood, Baker could see how much weight Charlie had lost since they last saw each other three weeks ago. Charlie's face as thinner and paler, and she kept pulling up her jeans. And it wasn't as if Charlie had been fat before. In fact, she was nearly all muscle. But it was evident now that getting kicked out had taken a toll.

"Baker, if you don't want me to work here-"

"No," Baker said quickly. "Work here. I think it'll be good for you."

Charlie hiked her pants up again and smiled. "Thanks. If you don't mind, I think I should be getting out there."

Charlie tied an apron around her and looped it through her belt loops. She twisted her long hair up into a bun and winked at Baker before she went out into the main part.

Baker collapsed onto the couch and tried to find her pulse. She could hear her heart pounding in her chest and she tried to slow her breathing.

She had forgotten how beautiful Charlie was. Her long hair, permanently tanned skin, and bright brown eyes with the mischievous twinkle in them. The way she moved -- with a strong air of confidence -- made Baker's heart flutter and her cheeks flush.

Baker groaned and rubbed her temple. Only a select few knew about her sexuality. In fact, the only ones who knew were working in the coffee shop right now. Baker had tried once to tell her mother, but the result of it had been catastrophic and she tried her best to not remember that particular day's events.

Baker was almost late the next day for school. She had stayed up most of the night debating whether or not to send Charlie a text. It was going to be a simple "hello", but the thought of getting a reply freaked Baker out. And when Baker finally accepted she wouldn't reach out, she scrolled through a folder of pictures of the two of them on her laptop.

Olivia smirked as Baker stumbled in two seconds before the bell rang and Freud shook his head.

"Senioritis is kicking in and it's only day two," he said.

Baker gave him a small smile and made her way to Olivia. The morning announcements ceased playing and the musical kids protested that of course it stopped in the middle of a "great" song.

"So what's the excuse?" Olivia asked.

"I was up late with AP Calc," Baker lied.

Olivia nodded and tapped her APUSH book. "This class is killing me. On the first day, we were assigned all of the chapters up to five. Do you know how boring this book is? They're all dead, who cares?"

Baker forced a laugh and laid her head down on the table. Olivia furrowed her brows in confusion.

"You alright?"

Baker nodded and closed her eyes for a second. When she woke up, the bell had rang and everyone was gone. Freud stood above her with a concerned expression.

"Baker, are you okay?" He asked.

Baker nodded and shoved her sketchbook back into her backpack. She rubbed her eyes and tried to fix her hair.

"I was just up late."

Baker rushed out of the art room, not wanting to face the questions Freud would ask her. It wasn't like the two of them never had serious talks before. In fact, when her father had died a little over two years ago, Freud stepped in as her new father figure. Baker found herself spending many hours after school with Freud in the art room. He helped her express her pain through art and even helped her submit a few pieces to local art shows.

The hallways were empty as Baker sprinted to AP Calc. The class was on the other side of the school and Baker predicted she had about fifteen more seconds to make it before the bell rang.

"Late. Please get a pass from the office."

Baker stared at her teacher and then her eyes swept the room. Everyone immediately avoided her eyes and she sagged her shoulders.

"But the bell just rang-"

"And you were not in your seat, Ms. McClellan."

"But I was in the room-"

The teacher tapped her foot impatiently and Baker sighed. She turned and headed toward the office. Her footsteps echoed down the halls as she did and Baker's mind wandered back to Charlie.

She wondered if she had opened the coffee shop yet -- it was nine thirty. Baker imagined Charlie's lean figure relaxing over the counter and she flirted with some customers. When they had been together, Charlie's constant flirting with others was somewhat of a sore spot to Baker. It had caused several small arguments, to which Charlie always promised Baker that no matter who she flirted with, Baker was the only one she meant it to.

Baker stopped outside the office doors and looked inside. The three receptionists all chatted happily to one another while the principal leaned against a cabinet.

Baker opened the doors and all four heads turned to her. The principal smiled brightly and waved.

"Baker," she said. "How are you?"

"Decent," Baker said.

The first receptionist, Mr. Morgan, pulled out his tablet to write passes. He tapped his pen against the side of his desk and made a disapproving tsk-ing noise.

"Day two and you're already in trouble," he joked.

Baker forced a smile and shook her head. "My grandpa called me. Something happened at the coffee shop. Mind if I go help?"

She felt bad for lying, but all the time she had spent in the office crying over her father's death and her mother's strange lack of disinterest in anything other than softball made the four people in the room have an immense soft spot for Baker.

"Of course. I'll call your teachers and let them know."

Baker thanked them and walked out the doors leading to the outside.

At the coffee shop, Baker's grandpa stood behind the counter. Charlie was nowhere to be seen and Baker felt relief rush through her.

"Don't you have school today?" Baker's grandpa asked.

"Yeah, but I slept terribly last night and couldn't concentrate," Baker said. "Mind if I crash here for a bit?"

Baker's grandpa nodded and gestured to the couch by the window. Baker made her way over and passed out the minute her head fell back.

When she woke up, Charlie was polishing a mug and smirking at her. Baker rubbed her eyes and glanced around the shop. A few work-from-home people had brought their laptops in and two college kids sat in a corner studying.

"Afternoon sleeping beauty," Charlie said.

"Hey." Baker avoided Charlie's eyes and stretched out her back. The door opened and Baker half expected Charlie to go to the counter, but instead she stayed put.

"Don't you have school?"

Baker nodded and glanced at her watch. She had twenty more minutes until she had to get to the track. The person at the counter cleared his throats and Charlie hesitated for a moment before she walked over.

Baker half listened as Charlie immediately fell into the bubbly personality that made everyone at the pool love her. She laughed at the man's jokes and scribbled something on a coffee cup.

Baker rubbed her eyes again and stood from the couch. Charlie glanced her way but quickly fell back on the man in front of her.

"Where did my grandpa go?" Baker asked.

Charlie nodded to the back room and Baker whispered a thanks.

In the back, Baker's grandparents sat around the computer. They whispered quickly to one another and immediately stopped when Baker's grandma noticed her.

"You're awake!" She stood and gave Baker a tight embrace. "Pappy was just telling me how great Charlie is."

Baker saw her grandparents exchange a glance and she wondered if Charlie had mentioned anything about the extent of their relationship to them.

"Yeah, well, I have to get to practice," Charlie said. "I just came back to say bye."

Baker's grandpa smiled and blew her a kiss. "I would stand, but my hip was bugging me a bit today."

Baker nodded and waved. "I'll see you guys later."

She left the back room and thankfully, Charlie was clearing the table where the college kids had been. Baker slipped out of the shop and headed to her car. The sun was behind the clouds and Baker silently prayed that it would rain so her mother would end her practice early.

By late September, Baker fell into an unhealthy schedule of not sleeping during the night time and passing out in nearly every single one of her classes. Her grades began to slip so much that her mother was no longer allowed to have her during fifth period and instead, Baker would sit in the library and try to make up her work. To make up for the lost practice time, her mother made Baker run after school. Often times, Baker's runs went too late that by the time she finished, her grandparent's coffee shop was closed.

Olivia often visited her during fifth period, always with a concerned look and a new piece of gossip.

"I don't understand what's happening," Olivia said one day. "You were so excited for senior year."

Baker stopped taking history notes and glanced up. Olivia's brow was furrowed and her steely gaze made Baker's insides crumble.

"Are you slipping back?"

Baker glanced around the library. No one was in sight, except Baker could see the librarian Mr. Cole in the office. Students technically weren't allowed to be alone in a room -- especially ones with expensive computer equipment -- but Mr. Cole figured Baker and Olivia wouldn't risk their college scholarships.

"No," Baker said.

She wasn't sure if she was slipping back.

When Baker was going into her sophomore year, her father had died at the hands of a drunk driver. Baker had removed herself from the environment around her. Her grades slipped and she had almost been ineligible for the softball season that year. The school took pity on her, knowing how close she had been with her dad, and Freud began to stay after school to help Baker get back into her normal self.

By the time softball season rolled around, Freud showed up to every home game to show support for Baker.

Over the summer, Freud would take Baker out for lunch whenever she came home for a bit from lifeguarding. By the time junior year came around, Baker had adopted Freud as her new father.

Olivia stared at Baker, her eyes narrowed. "I don't believe you."

Baker ignored Olivia glanced at the clock. "You've been gone from APUSH for ten minutes now. You should head back."

Olivia opened her mouth to protest but Mr. Cole came in and tapped her shoulder.

"Ms. Danehower, your teacher called the office for you. I'd head back if I were you."

Olivia sighed in frustration and stood. She looked as if she wanted to say more to Baker, but instead she turned and left.

"I think her teacher's catching on that she's not in the bathroom," Mr. Cole said.

The announcements for Homecoming Queen candidates came the first week of October. Baker was surprised to hear her name on the list but Olivia smiled brightly.

"I knew you'd get on, Bakes!"

Freud nodded in agreement before he assigned the class their new project. Baker focused her attention on the dried paint on the tables. Their last project had been a complete mess. Freud had thought it would be fun to make paper mâché heads and finger paint ben. The art kids excelled at this -- their mâché heads were entered in an art show -- but the musical kids were dead set on creating famous characters from Broadway musicals, even if their physical characteristics were not practical for mâché.

There were still clumps of mâchéd paper stuck in the tables and the paint from it also dried. Freud had been so proud before on how clean he kept his art room, but now it was just as messy as any other school's art room.

"So who's your escort going to be?" Olivia asked.

"I don't know."

"You have two weeks to figure it out."

Baker nodded and glanced down at her art project. The charcoal was rubbing away and Freud had encouraged her to let it.

"It's a cool effect," he had said.

Baker tilted her head at the portrait of her father. It had been when he was her age and one of her in similar attire was going to be next. Everyone always commented how Baker looked so much like her father that Freud proposed she do a side-by-side art piece.

Her father's mischievous smile grinned up at her and his eyes were light with life. She claimed it impossible to recreate this in her charcoal, but Freud insisted she try.

"It's coming along nicely," Freud said. "Maybe you should take a break from it and start on the self portrait."

Baker nodded her head and took the papers back to her cubby. She heard Freud and Olivia whisper behind her back as she left, but she didn't care enough to listen to exactly what they said.

"I want you to come here for fifth period," Freud said when Baker returned with her own portrait and new charcoal paper.

"Will you tell Mr. Cole?"

Freud nodded and Baker sighed. She had composed the perfect speech to tell Mr. Cole to let her go visit her grandparents instead of staying in the library, but with Freud asking her to come to him instead, she would have to save her speech for another day.

When Baker arrived at Freud's class fifth period, she was surprised to find no students in the room.

"It's my prep period," Freud explained.

He gestured to the empty seat across from him and Baker hesitated before she took a seat.

"Are you okay?"

Baker stared at Freud.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

The lie came out so easily. Freud furrowed his brows and he reached out a hand. Hesitantly, he placed it on Baker's wrist and tugged her closer.

"I can tell you're not. Just tell me what's going on."

"No."

"Baker, I won't judge you."

Baker turned away and stood. She shouldered her backpack and avoided Freud's eyes.

"I'm going to the library."

They both knew it was a lie. Baker left Freud's room and slipped out a side door. She waited for the principal to come running or Mr. Morgan to use the intercom to call her back. When nothing happened, she set off for the coffee shop.

Charlie stood behind the counter and smiled brightly when Baker walked in.

"Hey, stranger," she said.

Baker nodded and glanced around the shop. An old man and his granddaughter played chess in the corner and two college kids were sleeping on the couch.

"Want anything to drink? On the house."

Baker rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"I'm looking for my grandma."

Charlie nodded her head to the back and Baker smiled before she slipped into the backroom.

Her grandma sat at the desk with an old fashioned calculator. Her glasses were tucked into her curly grey hair and she hit her lip as she bunched in numbers.

"Nan?"

Her grandma's face immediately split open in a grin. She stood up with her arms open and embraced Baker tightly.

"I haven't seen you in forever!"

"I know," Baker said.

Her grandma tapped the empty seat and sat in the chair across from it. Baker ran a hand through her hair and made a mental note to brush it later.

"Why haven't you come around?" Baker's grandma asked.

"I fell behind in school work," Baker admitted. "They took away my free period so I could try and catch up. And then my mother still has me workout after school, so by the time I'd finish, the shop would be closed."

Her grandma's mouth twitched at this and Baker held in a giggle. It was no secret that her grandparents weren't massive fans of her mother. When Baker's parents first married, Baker's grandparents had adored her mother That was until a few months passed and Baker's mother’s true colors began to bleed through.

"So how did you get out today?"

"I just left." Baker shrugged and her grandma shook her head.

"Bakes, you shouldn't do that."

Baker shrugged again and stared at her hands. "It's fine."

Baker's grandma pressed her lips together and then she nodded. "Well, as long as you won't get into too much trouble."

Baker shook her head and glanced at the papers her grandma had been copying numbers from.

"What's that?"

"Just taxes. You know, the usually beginning of the month stuff." Baker's grandma slid the papers out of sight and smiled. "So what's happened that caused you to come here?"

"Nothing," Baker lied. "I promise."

Baker's grandma shook a finger and laughed. "Oh please. Don't lie to your grandma."

"I've been nominated for the Homecoming Queen," Baker said.

"Congratulations! That's awesome."

Baker shrugged and stared at her hands. "Candidates need to have an escort though."

"So?"

"All the girls in the court are going to use their dads."

A silence fell between them and Baker pressed her lips together. Baker rarely ever talked about her dad's death to anyone, even her grandparents. The only day she made any signs of acknowledging it was on his anniversary when she and her grandparents would go to his grave and lay flowers down before eating lunch at his favorite spot in the town.

"So use Pappy," Her grandma said.

"Would he be able to walk down the field?"

"Of course."

Baker tapped her fingers against the table and nodded slowly. "I'll ask him."

"He'd be honored to walk you."

Baker smiled and imagined her grandpa's proud look as they walked down the football field together. He always stood a little straighter when he was with Baker, and she wasn't sure if that was because she was almost the same height as him.

"But that's obviously not the reason why you came here." Baker's grandma leaned forward and grasped Baker's hands. "What's going on with you and Charlie?"

Baker felt her ears grow red and she hoped that her grandma didn't notice.

"Nothing."

And that was the truth. Nothing had happened since Charlie came to town other than a few awkward conversations. At least, they felt awkward to Baker. She was sure Charlie didn't even notice.

"Baker."

Baker moistened her lips and wondered if she should tell her grandma everything. She was sure her grandma didn't know the reason her son was dead was because of Baker. He had been on his way to see them when the drunk driver hit him and he was killed instantly. And she knew her mother wouldn't tell anyone his true reasons for being out so late or else she would have to face a fact about her daughter that she couldn't stomach.

"It's nothing," Baker lied.

Her grandma's eyes narrowed and she held Baker's hand a little tighter. "You can tell me anything."

Baker shook her head and made a motion to stand. "I've got to go to practice now, grandma. But I'll call later to ask Pappy about escorting me."

Her grandma looked like she wanted to protest, but instead she nodded and allowed Baker to leave.

The day before homecoming, Baker stared at her naked self in the mirror.

Her hip and ribs jutted out into the cold air. Her hair tumbled cascaded around her shoulders and hid her breasts away. Baker twisted to the side and felt sick to the stomach when she realized how little she had gotten in the past couple weeks.

She tied her hair up into a messy bun and glanced at her collarbone that was sharply protruding outwards. She stepped onto a scale and held her breath as the numbers moved. The numbers that blinked back at her were at an all time low, and Baker felt that this should've concerned her more, but instead she felt some sick satisfaction with how small the number was.

"Baker?"

Baker froze at the sound of Olivia's voice, and she quickly slammed the bathroom door shut.

"I'm naked."

The footsteps slowed to a stop and then Olivia laughed.

"Alright, I'll wait in the rec room."

Baker quickly threw on an old sweatshirt and pair of shorts and made sure her newfound thinness was hidden. She pulled her hair out of the bun and made her way to the rec room.

Olivia sat on the futon while her dog, Bear, roamed around. Olivia smiled brightly when Baker entered and she held up Bear's leash.

"I was walking him through the neighborhood and I figured I'd stop by," Olivia said.

"I'm glad you did," Baker lied.

Olivia smiled and gestured to the dress that hung on the back of the door. "Is that for tomorrow?"

Baker stared at the dress and felt her stomach knot. The dress had been snug when she had bought it, but now it hung loose and had to be safety pinned to stay up. Her mother didn't seem to notice when she had forced Baker to try it on the other day, but unless it was her mile times and batting average, Baker's mother never seemed to pay that much attention to her.

"No," Baker lied again. "It was an option."

"I love it. What are you going to wear?"

Baker shrugged and shifted her weight. "Probably a normal dress. Maybe a suit."

Olivia raised a brow. "A suit?"

"Yeah. I mean, I've never been too comfortable in dresses."

Olivia nodded and shrugged. "Do whatever makes you feel good."

Baker smiled and leaned down to pick up Bear. As she did, her sweatshirt hiked up a little and Olivia's eyes widened.

"Baker?"

"Hm?"

"Have you weighed yourself recently?"

Baker froze and kept her eyes trained on Bear. "No, why?"

"You just uh, you just look thinner."

"I mean, I've been eating better. And I guess working out more."

Olivia didn't seem convinced but she nodded anyway. "Well, as long as you're being healthy."

Baker nodded and placed Bear down. She tugged her sweatshirt sleeves down to hide her wrists. Olivia watched her and then stood.

"Well, I'll see you at the football game tonight. Good luck."

Baker nodded again and Olivia gave her an awkward hug before she picked Bear up and left.

"Nervous?"

Baker clutched her grandpa's arm and shook her head. The person in front of her started her walk down the football field. The announcer's voice sounded muffled, and Baker found that odd as it had been clear just seconds ago.

"Bakes?"

Baker glanced at her grandpa and was surprised to see a concerned look on his face.

"What?"

"I asked if you were nervous four times."

"Oh. I mean, no? It's just a stupid title."

Her grandpa laughed and then they announced her name. The person at the end signaled for them to walk down and Baker made it a few steps when her vision began to tunnel. She felt herself stumble forward and she vaguely heard her grandpa yell. The last thing she saw before she blacked out were hands reaching down to grab her.

When Baker woke up, she was in the nurse's office.

Or at least, she assumed it was the nurse's office.

The ceiling was a bland white and the opening was a curtain. Hushed voices came from the other side and Baker felt a dull ache on the side of her head.

Someone had taken off her clothes and put her into shorts and a sweatshirt. Two bottles of water and a box of Wheat Thins sat on the table beside her.

Baker sat up and pinched the bridge of her nose. The bed creaked as she did and the talking outside the curtain stopped.

A hand appeared and then the curtain was slowly drawn back, revealing Baker's grandparents, Olivia, and two people Baker assumed were doctors.

"Morning sunshine," Olivia said.

It was evident that Olivia had been crying. Her eyes were red and her skin was blotchy. Baker's grandparents looked as if they had slept in chairs, and Baker realized that if she was in the hospital, they probably had.

"What happened?"

"You passed out."

The two doctors made their way in and one took Baker's blood pressure while the other checked her eyes and listened to her heartbeat.

"Low blood sugar," the one who took her blood pressure explained when she finished. "And extreme malnutrition. You've been starving yourself."

Baker shook her head. "No, I've been eating."

"What have you been eating? Be honest."

Baker pressed her lips together. "An apple."

"Just an apple?"

"Yeah. Sometimes with peanut butter."

The doctor shook her head and dismissed the other one.

"You need to eat more than that," she said. "If what your friend and grandparents are saying is true about your workout schedule, then it's a wonder we haven't seen you here earlier."

Baker rubbed her eyes and shook her head.

"I'm fine."

"You're not, though. Baker we all thought you died."

Baker glanced at Olivia and was alarmed to see tears streaming down her face.

"You weren't responsive at all and your skin was so pale and your lips were blue and your breathing was terrible." Olivia wiped her tears away and shook her head. "Freud cried when he thought you were gone. We all cried."

"I'm sorry."

"We didn't even know what caused this," Olivia continued. "You seemed so fine before school started and then you refused to talk to any of us. We wanted to help you, Baker. We want to help you."

Olivia sobbed and Baker's grandma pulled her in for a hug. Baker stared at the two of them and bit her lip to stop herself from also crying.

"I'm sorry."

Olivia shook her head and Baker felt tears prick her eyes. The curtain opened again and Charlie walked in with a bouquet of flowers. She looked surprised to see Baker up and then she glanced at Olivia.

"I can come back-"

"No, please stay," Baker said.

The smallness of her own voice surprised Baker as well as everyone else. Charlie stared at Baker before she nodded once.

"If you want."

She set the flowers on Baker's bedside table and awkwardly stood by Baker's grandpa.

"You all need to hear this."

Baker met Charlie's eyes and as if she understood what Baker was about to do, she nodded.

"I killed my dad."

Everyone stared at her. Baker's grandparents gave her a confused look and Charlie nodded encouragingly. Baker took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Memories of that day flooded in and she pressed her lips together.

"What...what do you mean?"

"Charlie and I worked at the pool together every summer. I-we were sort of a thing. The first summer, she was an alternate head guard and I was a new recruit. She trained me and we got really close."

Realization seemed to hit everyone in the room one at a time. Olivia stared at Baker as if she was seeing someone new. Her grandparents looked between Charlie and Baker as if they had known it all along.

"I loved being around Charlie. I didn't know what it was, I thought it was just some stupid girl crush. But then on the last night, she and I and a bunch of other guards got drunk and we kissed. And that was the end of that summer. And I went home that August and told my parents. My dad, he was fine with it. He wanted to meet Charlie so badly. But my mother, she wasn't as okay with it. She screamed and yelled and threatened to kick me out. But she wasn't mad at me, she was mad at Dad for being okay with it. So he said he needed some air and went to talk to you guys."

Baker looked at her grandparents and watched as the gears turned. Everything was falling into place now.

"He didn't make it. He got killed by that drunk driver and it's my fault." Baker sobbed and felt her hands shake. "I tried to fix myself. I really did. I dated boys, I let them do stuff, I needed something to fix me." Baker shook her head. "I couldn't. That summer, going into my junior year, Charlie and I got close again. And I told her everything. She was the only one I felt like I could and she helped me feel okay with this, she helped me accept it."

Baker looked at her grandparents and took a deep breath. "Remember the day I came home? I went straight to you guys and told you. And you guys didn't care. You said whatever made me happy. But I couldn't tell anyone else. I couldn't let my mother think I was broken again after she was sure she had fixed me."

Baker cried and clutched the sheets in her hand. "And then I went back to the pool this summer. And Charlie was there, waiting for me. And the minute I saw her, I kissed her. I didn't care, because my mother’s parents never left their house. They wouldn't ever know what I did outside their house."

"So what happened?" Olivia gestured to Baker and Charlie.

"We broke up."

Charlie nodded and Baker's grandma cried.

"It's not your fault he died," Baker's grandpa said, his voice hollow. "It's not your fault at all. It's that man's fault. That stupid, awful man who drove drunk. Don't you dare blame yourself for a second."

Baker cried and shook her head. That's what Charlie had told her. That's what she had tried to convince herself for the past two years. But if she hadn't told her parents, if she hadn't thought they'd be okay with it, then he'd still be alive.

Olivia turned to Charlie and furrowed her brows. "So, why are you here then?"

"I got kicked out," Charlie said. "I ran into Baker's grandpa at a gas station a few miles outside of this town and he offered a job and place to stay. I didn't know he was Baker's grandpa."

“No, I mean here.” Olivia gestured to the hospital. “If you and Baker broke up, why are you here?”

Charlie fiddled with the leaves on the flowers and refused to meet anyone’s eyes.

“I still care about her.”

Charlie’s voice shook as she said that and Baker wanted nothing more than to hug her. Olivia stared at Charlie and then turned to Baker.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

Olivia sagged her shoulders and glanced at the ceiling. “I mean, we never talked about the possibility of one of us not being straight. And I guess, I don’t know, I just feel bad I never made it known that I would’ve supported you.”

Baker blinked and stared at Olivia, dumbfounded. “Why would we have talked about it? It’s not exactly your everyday conversation.”

“I mean, that’s true,” Olivia said. “But I mean, I don’t know. I just feel like I have fault in this. I should’ve suspected it, at the very least. You never seemed too interested in talking about boys with me and whenever you did date one, you just seemed so, over them, you know what I mean?”

Baker nodded and Olivia moistened her lips. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Olivia glanced at her watch and hesitated before she gave Baker a hug. “I’ve got to go now, but I’m just a call or text away if you need anything.”

“Thank you.”

Olivia left and Baker’s grandparents shifted. “We need to head out too.”

Baker noticed her grandparents avoided her eyes as they hugged her and left her alone with Charlie. Charlie pulled up a chair and hesitated for a moment before she took Baker’s hand.

“How are you feeling?”

Baker stared at their intertwined hands. “Decent for someone who’s just passed out and came out to her best friend.”

Charlie laughed and pressed a kiss to Baker’s hand. Baker’s eyes widened at this and Charlie froze. She quickly drew back and dropped Baker’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s fine.”

Charlie shifted her weight and stared at her hands in her lap. A heavy but comfortable silence fell between them and Baker’s mind wandered back to all the stolen moments she and Charlie had in between guard shifts.

“So, when do you think I’ll be out of here?”

Charlie glanced her way and shrugged. “I’m not a doctor, but I heard them say tomorrow, so unfortunately, you’ll have to miss homecoming.”

Baker snorted and shook her head. “Thank God. I wasn’t too thrilled about being in the court to begin with.”

“I doubt that,” Charlie said. “You just love being the center of attention.”

Baker laughed at this and Charlie gestured to the Wheat Thins. “You should eat some of those.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Liar.”

Charlie opened the box and placed a few crackers into Baker’s hand. She helped herself to a handful as well and crunched on them as Baker examined a cracker.

“Afraid it’s going to transform or something?”

Baker laughed and shook her head. “No, I just forgot how weird these are.”

She took a small bite of the corner and chewed it thoughtfully. Charlie watched her and then opened a bottle of water.

“Don’t forget to stay hydrated.”

She took a long swig before she handed it to Baker. When Baker didn’t take a sip right away, Charlie rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

“Come on. You can’t convince me you’re not thirsty.”

Baker stuck out her tongue and took a small sip. Before she knew it, she had finished the bottle. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was.

“So why did we break up?” Baker asked. She compressed the water bottle down and threw it into the recycling bin. “It was never too clear.”

“What do you mean?”

Baker shrugged and opened the other water. “I mean, we weren’t fighting, so that wasn’t it.”

Charlie watched as Baker downed the second water bottle. “We broke up because of our parents.”

“So it wasn’t because of something I did?”

Charlie blinked and then laughed. “Of course not. Our parents -- or my parents, your grandparents -- were getting suspicious. It was the safest option.”

Baker twiddled her thumbs and furrowed her brows. “So why did you get caught kissing that girl?”

Charlie sighed and pressed her lips together. “My parents were going out for dinner. I invited a girl over while they were gone and my dad forgot his wallet at home. He came back and walked in on us. I didn’t even think to make sure they had taken all their stuff or else I would’ve never asked her over.”

“So how long did it take you to move on?” Charlie looked surprised at this question and Baker shrugged. “It’s been on my mind a lot.”

“I mean, it didn’t mean anything,” Charlie said. “Just a meaningless Tinder hookup. Like that one TV show says, get over your ex with meaningless sex.”

“So you were doing it to move on from me?”

Charlie nodded and held up her hands in surrender. “Sue me. There are probably better ways of coping than just meaningless sex. I mean, there are probably safer ways too, but that’s just how I cope.”

“There are definitely safer, better, and smarter ways to get over someone,” Baker said.

“Whatever,” Charlie said. “We all have different methods. Yours is running. Anytime you’d get upset over something, you’d just run for miles. Your grandparents made you mad? You’d show up at the pool all sweaty and gross.”

Baker laughed and nodded. “It’s true. Running is therapeutic.”

“Speak for yourself. The only reason I ever worked out was because it was required for the job. And I got paid for it.”

Charlie glanced at the clock on the wall and stood. “I should let you get some rest. I’m sure that everything that’s happened the past twenty-four hours has drained you. I’ll see you around, alright? Stay healthy.”

Baker nodded and Charlie embraced Baker tightly before she left.

When Baker returned to school that Monday, the rumors on why she had passed out had reached an incredible high. According to Freud and Olivia, the most extreme was she was secretly pregnant and the tamest being she got stage fright from being in front of so many people.

“Because the star softball player who was on the news nearly every season was afraid of the public,” Freud had snorted.

Olivia brought Baker some of her mom’s famous chicken dumplings and a long letter that stated how much Olivia and the rest of the Danehower family supported her.

“Just so you know,” Olivia said as they threw clay onto a spinning wheel a few weeks after the homecoming incident. “My parents have a spare room ready in case your mom reacts weird again.”

Baker laughed and thanked Olivia. During Baker’s two days in the hospital, her mother only came once and that was to take her home. The ride home was silent and Baker’s mother refused to leave her bedroom once they returned to their house.

“Thanks, that means a lot,” Baker said.

“What are you doing later?” Olivia asked. “Want to practice batting?”

Baker shook her head and tapped her phone. “I promised my grandparents I’d swing by the shop. I’m sorry.”

“No problem. Just thought I’d offer. If you have time, I’ll be at the batting cages until six.”

“Thanks.”

Olivia nodded and pulled Baker into a tight embrace. “Be safe.”

When Baker arrived at the coffee shop during her free period, her grandparents were both at the counter. Charlie sat in the corner with a sandwich and cup of water.

“Hey,” Baker said.

Her grandparents looked up and smiled brightly.

“We have a sandwich for you,” Baker’s grandma said.

“I’m-”

At her grandma’s stern look, Baker took the sandwich and forcefully took a bite.

“Mmm,” Baker said. “This is good.”

She put the plate down and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “So what am I here for?”

“Charlie wanted to talk to you.”

Baker glanced at Charlie, who didn’t even acknowledge that Baker had walked into the shop. Baker began to walk to her when her grandma grabbed her arm and shoved the sandwich into her hands.

“Charlie’s been instructed to ensure you eat this.”

Baker rolled her eyes but took another bite of the sandwich anyway. She made her way to Charlie, who only looked up when Baker was right beside her.

“Mind if I sit?”

Charlie nodded and Baker sat down. She picked at the bread on her sandwich and bit her lip.

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Baker looked up and frowned. Charlie pressed her lips together and pulled out a letter. She slid it across for Baker to read. Baker picked up the letter and looked at the perfect handwriting on it. The date was from a week ago, and Baker wondered why the letter had just been delivered. As if reading Baker’s mind, Charlie answered.

“I got it a few days ago, but I didn’t read it until last night.”

Baker scanned the writing and then stared at the signature.

“‘Love Mom,’” Baker said slowly.

Charlie nodded and took the letter back. “She’s left my dad and wants me to move back in with her.” Charlie tapped her fingers on the table and stared out the window. “Something about him being a pompous bigot who doesn’t deserve me or her. I don’t know. But I’m doing it.”

Baker rolled her hands into fists and she stared at her sandwich. “So why are you telling me?”

“Because you deserve to know. I came into back into your life without warning. And I think the least I can do is tell you why I’m leaving. Make it clearer than our breakup.”

Baker moistened her lips and stood up. “Well, I don’t care what you do. It’s your life.”

“Baker-”

“We’re not dating, you can do whatever the hell you want. You don’t need to tell me anything.”

Charlie stared at Baker and then she stood too. “Fine. I just thought it’d be a nice gesture.”

“Whatever.”

Baker bit her lip and turned away from Charlie. “I’m heading to the batting cages.”

Her grandma protested, stating that since Baker hadn’t finished her sandwich, she wasn’t going anywhere. But Baker ignored her and slammed the door on her way out.

“So, Charlie’s leaving?”

Baker swung at another pitch from the machine and growled in frustration when it didn’t go as far as she had hoped.

“Yeah, and she thought she needed to tell me.”

Baker swung again and gripped the bat tighter upon impact with the ball.

“It was a nice gesture, to be fair. She didn’t have to tell you, she could’ve just left.”

Baker turned and gave Olivia an incredulous look. Olivia held up her hands and took a step back.

“I mean, if I were in your shoes, I’d like to know before it happened,” Olivia said.

“Yeah, but I didn’t know,” Baker said. “It’d be one thing if she was asking my opinion on what she should do. But she isn’t, she’s just telling me, oh, hey, I’m going to do this and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Olivia fell silent and watched as Baker hit more balls. The sound of the metal hitting the ball echoed throughout the building. A few people stopped to watch Baker hit each ball, never missing one.

“So you’re mad because she’s just doing it,” Olivia said.

“I guess, I don’t know.”

Oliva pressed her lips together and sucked in a breath.

“So, don’t hate me for this.”

“Okay.”

“But maybe you still like her.”

“What?”

Baker swung and missed her first ball. Olivia shrugged and picked at some of the frayed parts of the net.

“I mean, why else would you be so worked up about this? The last time I saw you this upset was when the umpire said you weren’t safe.”

“Because I was clearly on the base before the catcher touched the plate!”

Olivia laughed and moistened her lips. “But I mean, if you didn’t have feelings for her, you wouldn’t have thought anything of this. And I don’t know Charlie that well, but if she didn’t have feelings for you, wouldn’t she have just left without saying anything? That would’ve showed she didn’t care at all.”

Baker sighed and tightened her grip on the bat. “No, you’re wrong.”

“Alright. I’m just trying to help.”

Baker shook her head and swung her bat back up into ready position. The machine pitched another ball and Baker gritted her teeth together and swung.

At approximately three in the morning, Baker woke up and sat forward. She glanced out her window and then opened her door to listen for sounds of life from her mother’s room. When she heard nothing, Baker slipped on a pair of sneakers and shot a quick text to Olivia.

She opened her window and dropped down onto the damp grass. The moon was high above the trees and it illuminated the streets for her. Baker lifted her hood up and sprinted down the street and past her school to the town. Her thoughts raced with every step she took and she prepared a speech in her mind.

She kept her eyes trained on the glow of lights from the town. Her sweatshirt hood blocked her peripherals, but she doubted anyone would be driving at this time of the night.

How wrong she was.

It wasn’t until she was in the middle of the road did she see the headlights speeding toward her.

And by the time she processed them, it was too late to move out of the way.

The first thing she felt when the car hit her was excruciating pain, beyond anything she had ever felt.

And then, as suddenly as it started, she felt nothing.

On that day, Olivia had awoken to fifteen missed calls and thirty texts.

She had scrolled through them and was alarmed to see most of them were from an unknown number. The only contact she had that was already in her phone was from Baker. Olivia stared at the text, which was three simple words: “U were right”, sent at three-oh-six in the morning.

Olivia had listened to the voicemails from the unknown number and almost didn’t recognize Charlie’s voice through all the crying. It wasn’t until the last voicemail that she understood one thing: someone was hurt in an accident earlier that morning.

Olivia had frowned at this and slipped on a pair of sneakers. She quickly put on deodorant and walked into her kitchen. Her parents sat at the table and held each other’s hands. Untouched mugs of coffee sat in front of them and they both looked up when Olivia approached them.

“What happened?” Olivia had felt a lump form in her throat and her mom stood.

Her mom had embraced her tightly and then her dad embraced her as well. When they stepped back, Olivia saw they were crying.

“Tell me! Please!” Olivia remembered the panic rise in her and her mom had taken a deep breath.

“Baker was injured badly last night. A car hit her.”

Olivia had stared at them and shook her head. “No, no she wasn’t. She sent me a text. She’s fine.”

Her parents shook their heads and Olivia collapsed into a chair.

Charlie and Olivia stayed in the coffee shop with Baker’s grandparents every day between the accident and when Baker finally came home from the hospital. People flooded the coffee shop with flowers and sympathy cards. People had speculation on who had been the one to hit Baker, and when the truth finally came out, everyone was surprised.

Baker’s mother had been drinking late at a bar. She had a drinking problem that no one knew about, not even her own parents.

She was making her way home before the sun rose so when Baker would wake up, she would be sound asleep in her own bed and there would be no questions.

Except, Baker wasn’t asleep. She was out running to God knows where. And her mother didn’t see her daughter run out into the middle of the road, she had been in all black.

And now, Baker sat in the coffee shop with her arm in a sling and a large bandage covering stitches on her head. The doctors had said that Baker’s mother being drunk saved her life. She hadn’t been going terribly fast and Baker’s muscles not tensing at the sight of a car coming toward her helped. Her mother was in jail and Baker lived with her grandparents. Charlie visited frequently and sat in the corner with Baker and the two of them played chess. Charlie’s visits were the highlight of Baker’s week, and Olivia caught them holding hands once when they thought no one could see.

Olivia cleaned the baked goods display case and watched as Baker’s grandparents opened a large rainbow flag. They proudly showed it to Baker and Charlie, who clapped in approval as they hung it in the front window. When it was up and the sun shone through the rainbow colors, Baker turned to Charlie and kissed her.

#lgbt #my writing

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phati-sari · 8 years ago

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RISHTAA AU: Chapter 15

Ha, take a moment to appreciate that I have an AU of an AU!

You might benefit from reading the alternate version of Chapter 14 first! Click away!

This is a draft of Chapter 15 of RISHTAA. This is how the story was going to be, and not how it is now. This version has no bearing on the RISHTAA canon, so to speak, and I'm sharing it here as an interesting aside. I think it's fun to compare the two and see what I kept and what I improved, and I think it showcases my drafting process as well. I repeat, this is an alternate version with no bearing on how RISHTAA actually plays out.

Since it is an abandoned version there will be some inconsistencies and it won't be as pretty as the final was. Please forgive any errors :)

Khushi

Six Months Later

Khushi sat in a café, sipping a cup of tea with a newspaper in front of her. Her fingers turned to the society and gossip section without permission, her eyes flicking over the colour photographs of celebrities. A sigh of relief left her when she saw he wasn't there.

Six months had passed, six months since she'd sat at a narrow table and watched him destroy the dreams she'd woven around him. Six months since she'd become a slave to Page 3.

Sometimes, her heart ached for him.

Sometimes, she hated him with everything she had.

He'd broken her somehow; left her unable to consider another man. Oh, she'd tried. She'd sat in her cramped sitting room as they filed in and out, cursing her inability to stop comparing them to him. None had his chiselled jaw or his expressive eyes. None had his intensity or his slow smile. None made her pulse race.

Two months after he'd left, Amma had taken her aside to ask if she regretted her decision.

She'd answered truthfully that she didn't and spent that night crying in her mother's arms, praying for the wounds to heal. But she hadn't revealed his stance on marriage or the extent to which he'd deceived them all.

She took solace in the temple, frequenting regularly and allowing the familiar rhythms of worship to comfort her. She'd thrown herself into her last semester of college to distract herself, working so hard that she fell into an exhausted sleep every night.

Anything to avoid her dreams.

She dreamt of him every night; hazy, confused dreams where he chased her through a fogged landscape and called her name. When he caught her, Khushi buried herself in him, breathing him in and crying into his shoulder. She gasped when his talented fingers traced fire over her back and neck, but when she tried to get away, he held her tighter. His hands cupped her face and his breath mingled with hers as he leaned in, close, and then closer.

The dreams always changed then, sometimes showing him kissing another woman as she watched, sometimes showing him kissing her, while another Khushi screamed in despair.

Sometimes he didn't kiss her at all.

Sometimes he did a lot more.

Khushi glanced at her watch, wondering how much longer she could avoid going home. Misery had reigned in Laxmi Nagar since Abhishek-ji had left Jiji at the altar. His family had demanded a dowry at the very last minute and Babu-ji hadn't been able to organize the money fast enough.

"It doesn't matter," Khushi had tried to convince her family, "What kind of life would Jiji have had with those people, who tried such underhanded tricks?"

But Jiji was inconsolable, blaming herself for not seeing his duplicity sooner. Babu-ji wanted to return to Lucknow, Amma wanted to search for a new groom at the earliest, and Bua-ji slouched around the house, lamenting the fate of both her nieces – one abandoned at the altar and the other too stupid to accept the alliance of a lifetime.

Draining her cup, Khushi resigned herself to another night of sorrow. She gathered her things and walked to the bus stop, thinking of new ways to make her sister smile. It was getting harder and harder to coax her out of her depression.

As she sat by the window, waiting for the bus to move, she glimpsed a familiar white car pull up on the other side of the road. Her heart hammered as he slid out, immaculate in a white shirt and charcoal gray suit with dark sunglasses hiding his eyes, and ducked into a shop selling pooja supplies. Relief seeped through her, as if she'd spent six months waiting for just this moment. She wiped her tears with her dupatta.

I miss him so much.

He'd become integral to her in just a few months. She'd grown used to texting him at all hours of the day, sharing even the most inconsequential details of her life with him. He was not good at texting, but she'd treasured his short, precise replies and wry observations.

Unable to stop herself, Khushi rushed off the bus and hurried across the busy road. She hid behind the bright red dupattas in the shop, hoping for another sight of him.

Just one more glimpse, Devi Maiyya. Please. Please. Please.

Her restless eyes found him in the corner, phone held to his ear as he asked someone to list items to him. Her heart swelled, her vision blurring slightly as tears pooled and fell. He scowled, and then his brow furrowed as he exhaled sharply and barked a curt reply into the phone. His hair threatened to fall into his eyes.

Everything inside her ached. Her exhale turned into a soft sob.

He looked up suddenly, and she wasn't quick enough to duck out of sight. She froze instead, a deer in proverbial headlights.

"Khushi."

He was at her side in an instant, the phone disappearing into a pocket as he took her by the elbow and pulled her out of the store. Surprise and outrage brought her voice back.

"Arnav-ji! What are you doing? Let go of me!"

Don't leave me again, her heart whispered.

He ignored her struggles as he led her to his car, where he yanked the passenger side door open and lifted her in. He leaned across to strap her seatbelt.

"Don't disappear," he warned.

A dozen conflicting desires held her frozen in her seat as Arnav-ji rounded the car and slid inside. Pulling into the evening traffic, he headed to the outskirts of Delhi.

Towards his house, she realised.

She opened her mouth to protest but his voice, cold and sharp-edged with barely contained rage, interrupted before she made a sound.

"Don't you ever ... ever do that to me again, Khushi Kumari Gupta. Do you understand? Never again."

What?

"Do you have any idea what I went through? Six months, Khushi. You ... Di cries all the time, Nani won't speak to me, and you ... This is all your fault!"

Arnav-ji struck the steering wheel in fury before turning his cold gaze on her. Words stuck in her throat.

I was supposed to call him? But he ...

The cold silence reigned until they reached his home. Arnav-ji pulled her out of the car, dragging her into his home and up the stairs. He didn't release her until they were inside a large bedroom.

His bedroom.

"You are driving me insane," he snarled as he turned from the locked door.

For a second, she quailed under his gaze. Then anger, hot and potent, pulled her out of her stupor.

"How dare you!" she yelled, "Unlock that door. Let me go. What will people think of this? Your family. My family."

"Shut up, Khushi!"

"You shut up!"

He blinked, momentarily nonplussed. She watched him carefully, her heart pounding with anger and fear and ... relief?

"You're shameless!" she continued hotly, pushing her inexplicable feelings aside, "Forcing me into your home, your bedroom, like this. If anyone finds out ..."

"What people? Who the hell will find out?"

"People! People who bring proposals to the house. People who—"

"—You don't want anyone but me, Khushi," he interrupted, stepping so close to her that she took a step back automatically, "If you did, there would be sindoor in your hair and a mangalsutra around your neck. Or, at the very least, an engagement ring on your finger."

And just like that, she was robbed of speech. This truth, undeniable in its bitter ugliness, hung between them.

You destroyed me. I hate that I love you.

"Not everyone is like you Mr Raizada," Khushi ignored the way her voice shook, "We don't have time to idle away, tricking strangers into trusting us. My classes have started again, Babu-ji wants to wait until I graduate before looking again."

Why didn't you want me?

Why wasn't I enough?

"Abhishek-ji left Jiji at the altar," she heard herself say.

Please let me know if you liked reading the alternate version of Chapter 15 :)

This is an alternate version with no bearing on how RISHTAA actually plays out. Please don't leave comments freaking out about what's happened here. It's not 'real' as far as the RISHTAA canon goes.

Read Chapter 16

#alternaterishtaa #mine #iwrotethis

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starglossie · 3 years ago

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title: stress relief rating: m tags: fwb / eventual relationships / humor + fluff / maybe angst most likely not word count: 7.3k+ chapters: 1/?

summary: oikawa is a law student on the verge of a burn out, and iwaizumi hajime just happens to know a really great way to relieve stress.

written for iwaoi week day two w/ prompts: university, fine arts, coffee shop.

can be read on ao3 or under the cut below!

Oikawa pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. His eyes twitched. Sharp stabs of pain traveled up his temples. He squinted at his Macbook screen. He had put in a good amount of work with his outline for Contracts. So far, he’d managed to copy and reorganize his notes from lectures and his book into a cohesive skeleton. The topics were outlined in an organized fashion. He even had color coding.

His brain hurt something awful, though.

“It’s almost three a.m.,” he croaked. He’d been in the library all day attempting to gather his life together and get a work on his revision materials.

Usually, Oikawa was ahead of the game when it came to balancing doing homework and reviewing what he’d already learned. The past month and a half though had thrown him off his path and right off a cliff. He pinched at the bridge of his nose.

Every joint in his body ached. When he yawned, he felt the exhaustion really settle on his bones. Finals were coming up. About three months away. Oikawa was at the top of his class. Sitting dangerously uncomfortable at number one. He was no genius, though. He hadn’t climbed to the top on coattails and summer breezes.

No, he’d clawed his way up there. With gnarled teeth, snarled bone, and blood from his adversaries, caked underneath his nails. .

He rubbed his eyes and closed his computer. He wanted to cram in another section but the clock—screaming how close the sun was to coming up—and how little Oikawa had slept in the past three days were all too loud to ignore. Tonight would not be another night of self destruction, he decided.

“Up and at ‘em, Tooru.” Oikawa packed away his books, highlighter, book stand, and laptop, and put them in his bag. He reached for his coffee cup and opened up the lid. What met him was one feeble sip of a honey almond milk flat white. Oikawa frowned. “This is a top ten anime betrayal…” he grumbled as he brought the cup to his lips to down the last remnants of his hope, sanity, and bliss, all in one gulp.

Whoever said law school was an incredible experience filled with rewards and life-long lessons could get hit by a truck. Then a bus. Then eaten by a shark.

Oikawa had never been more stressed. While he was a competitive little gremlin who enjoyed putting in the work behind the scenes to show up on stage and outshine everyone and anyone—law school was incredibly taxing. Though that’s not really new. This semester, however, was taking the cake in taxes.

As he headed home to his off-campus apartment, Oikawa debated—not for the first time—the pros and cons of dropping out. Yes, he was in the spring semester of his second year. And he had stellar grades. He was on Law Review and his Note Topic he’d written on the harms of using purposefully difficult vocabulary to gatekeep legal knowledge was accepted to be published in next year’s journal. He was the lead attorney on his school’s Mock Trial team. And he was sexy. Objectively, life was grand.

Oikawa climbed up the metal steps on the side of his apartment building. They were slippery from the rain storm that had passed by earlier in the evening. Oikawa had forgotten his umbrella and raincoat, which had forced him to stay on campus later than usual to get his work done. No way he was lugging ten pound books, notes, and a computer all the way to the bus stop. His apartment was about an hour away on a good day, but when it rained, the campus-owned, 24-hour buses were even slower.

He yawned. His jaw popped. He wanted his bed so badly. His knees creaked as he climbed the three flights of stairs to his floor. The world smelled of post-rain. Where the wooden steps smelled of wet bark. And the earth smelled of dew.

“Fuck you, rain. If you hadn’t come by, I'd have been in bed earlier.” He had many grievances against Mother Nature to file. But he’d do that after he shoved some food in him and went to bed.

As he reached the top of the steps he spotted someone leaning against the balcony. He froze. He saw his neighbor step out of their open door, talking to the man on the balcony. The man leaning against the balcony was shirtless and wearing gray sweatpants. He had spiky black hair and a silver piercing hooped on the top of his right ear. From his view, Oikawa could see the beginning of a black tattoo on the man’s left shoulder. His neighbor was also just in sweats.

A small trail of smoke curled into the space between his neighbor and whoever his guest was. Oikawa couldn’t catch what they were saying, but heard the clicking of a lighter. The soft rush of an inhale from the stranger. Oikawa shouldn’t be looking at this. He didn’t particularly care what his neighbor got up to, or who he got into. And it was nearing four in the morning and Oikawa had a lecture in about seven hours. Sleep should have been more pressing.

Yet for some reason, he couldn’t move. He watched his neighbor laugh, then curl his hand around the back of his guest’s arm. Oikawa’s grip on his messenger bag strap tightened. His breath caught in a gulp as he watched his neighbor bend down real freaking close to his guest’s face. His neighbor’s eyes were closed until they weren’t. They opened slightly.

And they met Oikawa’s widened gaze point. Blank. Center.

Right then! He should really get going.

Oikawa double timed it to his door. Once he got the door, he opened his bag and fumbled around for his keys. God. Shit. Where were his keys?

“Just my luck,” he felt around in his bag and came up with pencils, markers, and a gum wrapper he really should have thrown out in a trash can instead of putting in his bag.

Then he felt his pockets and remembered, oh right. They were in his jacket. Feeling his cheeks redden, and his back get incredibly hot—were they looking at him? He sure hoped not. Oikawa wasn’t into watching people get it on in public. Or well, he could be. If drunk, and properly convinced, but he at the very least had to be participating in it.

Just as he found his keys and slipped them into the door, his neighbor called out to him.

“Yer back late, Oikawa. Books got ya by the balls?”

Oikawa’s loose grip transformed into a titan crunch. He turned the lock as he turned his head, putting on his award-winning fake smile. “Tsu-chan! Good morning!” Now, he got the chance to see Atsumu’s guest properly.

What the fuck? He’s so hot.

Maybe it was one of those ‘attractive people attract attractive people’ things Hanamaki had always told Oikawa about. Oikawa knew that intimately. Because he was attractive. And Atsumu, objectively, was attractive. Until he spoke, then he was ugly.

But this guy? Whoever he was? With his strong jawline, tanned skin, charcoal eyes, and dark eyebrows. Holding a cigarette between his lips. His gaze, that looked somewhat bored—barely interested—was zeroed in on Oikawa. With such an intensity it made Oikawa want to do terrible things, many he couldn’t quite name. This guy was stupid attractive. Way out of Atsumu’s league.

Maybe he was drunk and didn’t know better. That had to be it. It was the only logical conclusion.

“Don’t mind me!” Oikawa continued as he pushed open his door, “I’m about to head in and completely forget our meeting in favor of sleeping. For my sanity, you know.”

“Yeah?” Atsumu leaned against the railing. “Ya could have done that sooner, ya know. Instead ya chose to be a creep”

Oikawa popped his lips quite loudly, “Well! Someone was giving me a free show! Hard to ignore that when you’re sucking face outside my door.” He turned to Atsumu’s guest, “Tsu-chan brings the horrible out in me, sorry about that.”

Atsumu’s guest for the night barked out a laugh, “Yeah.” He took a long drag of his cigarette, then snuffed it on the railing. “I found that out pretty quickly, myself.”

“Not true!” Atsumu pouted, “I brought great things out of you tonight. Like yer pretty little moans and yer-”

Oikawa slammed the door to his apartment before he could hear something he really, really didn’t want to hear.

“Tooru, you look like roadkill.”

“Thank you so much, Kou-chan!” Oikawa threw his hands in the air. Loud enough to have a few heads turn. “I love when you point out all my insecurities and flaws in broad daylight.”

Suga beamed. “It helps keep your colon clean.” He poked Oikawa on the side.

“Ow!” Oikawa jumped from the touch. Suga snickered and slid into the seat opposite of him. They sat on two, plush white chairs in the large hallway of their law school building. Oikawa had camped out there with his laptop balanced on his knees right after class.

He liked working in direct sunlight. And these two chairs, surrounded by potted plants, always sat right in front of windows as tall as skyscrapers that welcomed all the sun and its glory.

“How much sleep did you get last night?”

“I was in bed by 5 and up by 9 so technically 4 hours.”

“Technically?”

“Yeah,” Oikawa’s glasses slid down the slope of his nose as he typed away on his computer. “Technically. Because in bed doesn’t mean asleep. I probably entered REM around… 5:20? So really, I’m on about three hours of sleep. Unless you count the night before yesterday. Which my volleyball coach used to say the night before the night before was the most important night for resting before a big game because-”

“So you’re delirious,” Suga cut in. Oikawa glared up at him over the top of his computer monitor. Suga shrugged and reached for his phone. “I’m not wrong.”

Suga’s phone dinged and his fingers flew across the keyboard. Oikawa adjusted his glasses and closed his laptop. “Interesting how you’re suddenly all up in your phone when you’re with me but you know I die without constant attention?”

Suga kept texting, “RIP, my dear friend... I’ll speak at your funeral, I promise.”

Oikawa frowned. Suga was one of the few people in law school he genuinely liked. Suga was funny, friendly, and incredibly messy. He was entertaining to have around. He was also one of the few people willing to call Oikawa out on his bullshit. Which Oikawa always appreciated having around, even if he never vocalized it. And probably wouldn’t vocalize until maybe his funeral. Or at all.

“Rude and uncalled for!” Oikawa drummed his fingers on his laptop. He had practice for Mock Trial later that evening until about nine. His Law Review paper needed to go through another round of edits too. He also had to review his notes from lecture today and continue updating his outline. Oh, he should probably schedule in time to eat and sleep and poop too.

But when? With what free time?

Suga peeked up from his phone, “Wow,” Suga frowned, staring for a few seconds more. “You’re stressed,” he concluded.

Oikawa felt like he’d just gone under a microscope. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.” Oikawa turned his head as he heard his voice being called. A group of girls walking by had called out to him. He slapped on a smile and gave them a wave, while silently praying they didn’t come up to talk to him.

His prayers fell on deaf ears, apparently.

“Oikawa-senpai,” one of the underclassmen approached with two girls behind her. Oikawa vaguely knew her name. It started with a T. And that’s as far as he’d go with that. Her curly hair fell to her shoulders, and she wore a very bright red lipstick that somehow didn’t stain her teeth as she smiled bright and wide at Oikawa. “We wanted to know if you were coming to our class mixer this weekend.”

Ah right. Yes. A social life. He had to find time for that too.

“Where’s my personal invite, ladies?” Suga leaned forward in his seat, fixing a pout on his face. “I’m hurt! I’m wounded!”

The redhead behind the brunette laughed, “You’d come whether we invited you or not!”

“The mixer was your idea!” The dark-haired girl placed her hands on her hips.

Suga stuck out his tongue, “And it’s a good one.”

Oikawa couldn’t tell if it was the lack of sleep or not, but Suga was more hilarious than usual. He threw his head back and laughed, feeling the tiredness cling to the sound. He needed coffee. And a nap. At least thirty minutes. So he could be somewhat of a person to lead his team tonight.

He’d have to navigate these girls first, though. “Hmm, let me check my calendar! I’d love to come, but I want to make sure I don’t double book myself. I’ll text you?” Oikawa pulled out his phone and gave it a wave.

“Sounds good,” Tsumugi, that was her name. Tsumugi-chan smiled. “We’ll see you there, Oikawa-senpai! Sugawara-senpai!”

As the girls walked away, Oikawa turned his attention back to Suga. “I need coffee.”

“Oh, heck yes.” Suga jumped out of his seat. “I was waiting for you to say that. Let’s go! You need, like, seventy shots of caffeine inserted into your arm via IV at this rate.”

Oikawa packed up his stuff and slung his bag over his shoulder. He ran a hand through his messy hair and followed Suga out of the law building. “Okay, now you’re just exaggerating,” Oikawa said as they made their way to the bus stop. There was a local coffee shop in town about a ten-minute bus ride from the school. Most of the students went there for their midday breaks, coffee stops, or study sessions.

As the bus pulled up, Sugawara pulled out his wallet, as did Oikawa. He took out his bus card as he climbed the steps and swiped in. “Am I? Or am I telling you the truth, as I should, because I’m your bestest friend.”

“You’re more of a best pal,” Oikawa quipped as he scanned his bus card and followed Suga to the middle of the row. The bus was pretty empty. A few people were scattered in different seats, so it wasn’t hard to find two open ones. They clambered into a pair of seats in the back, elevated above the other seats. “A trusted comrade in arms, even.”

“Thank you so much,” Sugawara drawled. He claimed the window seat. Oikawa took the middle seat. Their knees bumped as the bus crawled from the stop and headed down the road. They passed buildings and people. On the way to the coffee shop Oikawa and Sugawara discussed the upcoming mixer.

“How do you have the energy to plan a party and study?” Oikawa took off his glasses to clean them with the hem of his shirt. He held up the glasses, squinting. Were they still smudged? A tad. So he went right back to cleaning. “I don’t even try to kid myself anymore. I don’t even pretend to act like I still have the social battery for that stuff.”

Suga was still on his phone. Type type typing away. Oikawa was a nosy bitch. And wanted to know who had sucked up all of Suga’s attention when he was in the almighty presence of Oikawa Tooru. So, because he knew he could, Oikawa leaned forward. Pressing his shoulder against Suga’s so he could get a better peak at his friend’s phone. All he managed to catch was a D for the contact photo and one flirty bitmoji before Suga’s fist connected right into his nose.

“Ow!” Oikawa fell back into the chair. Bumping and jostling around with the bus. His nose ached something awful. Bright red and stinging. He cupped his bruised nose and scowled. “That was rude! That was a tort! I’m taking you to court!”

“That was self defense, and I’d win that court case hands down.” Suga looked so fucking pleased with himself. The gremlin. “Who said you could look at my phone? An invasion of privacy is a tort, too.”

“We should have never gone to law school,” God, hearing himself and Suga talk about law related things in a casual, joking context made him want to hurl. Thankfully, the bus rolled up to the coffee shop in time. And that cut their conversation short as they stumbled out of the bus and went inside.

Their coffee shop was creatively named: Coffee. With a giant coffee cup sign that lit up past midnight on the weekends. Oikawa had asked the owner about that once and the owner had told him it was intentional. A sort of beacon, or a northern guiding light, for all the grad students up late doing work.

“Y’all don’t know the first thing about self care,” the owner, Osamu, said as he gave Oikawa Tooru, the moth that had followed the bright light of his sign, a decaf green tea latte with almond milk and an onigiri on the house. “So I figured lemme at least give y'all a pick me up before you crash several hours later. Which by the way, go to bed.”

Osamu was great. And after that, Oikawa made an effort to not only visit his cafe at the ass crack of night.

“I’ll grab us a table,” Suga said, motioning over to a circular table by a window. “Coffee on you?”

“You’re just grabbing the table to get out of ordering the coffee,” Oikawa said but he reached into his bag anyway for his wallet.

“Bingo!” Suga winked and without any more shame, sauntered over to the table before anyone else could claim it.

If Suga wasn’t so pretty and charming and a gremlin, Oikawa wouldn’t fall for his tune.

Oikawa went to the register. He searched for any signs of Osamu but found a worker at the coffee machine instead. The worker had short, cropped black hair but what it looked like fully was hidden by the black cap on his head. Oikawa drummed his card against the counter as he waited.

“Hi!” he called out. The worker turned his head and then, suddenly, Oikawa was punched in the gut.

Holy shit. It was him.

Oikawa had no idea that Atsumu’s hook up worked at Coffee. Nor that he would see him so soon. Atsumu’s hook up regarded him for a minute, before realization washed over his face. Oikawa’s breath caught in his throat as the man’s lips slowly pulled into a lopsided smirk.

“Long time no see,” Oikawa frantically dropped his gaze to the man’s name tag.

Iwaizumi.

“What can I get you?”

Iwaizumi.

“... You good, dude?”

“Right!” Oikawa jumped to attention. God, he hated this. Why was he so flustered? He’s seen hot people before. Fuck, he was one of the hot people. A random man (Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi) shouldn’t have him so off balance. “I’m good. I’m coffee.”

“You’re… coffee?” and now Oikawa wanted nothing more than to obliterate on the spot. Iwaizumi looked more amused than put out. In hindsight, that was probably a good sign. In current sight, Oikawa wanted to cease being in existence. “Then I’m tea.”

Oikawa snorted despite himself. His ears burned red at the tips. “Hilarious. Thank you for joking along and not making me feel like a dumbass.”

“That’s what I’m paid for.” Iwaizumi rested his hands on the counter. “So how can I help you, Coffee?” Oikawa caught a flash of his tattoo from his rolled up sleeves. He wondered what the full sleeve was? He wondered how big or small it was? If it had taken him hours in one sitting to get done or if he’d finished it between multiple trips? He wondered if his ears had hurt when he’d got them pierced. He wondered if Atsumu already knew all of this.

He wondered why he was wondering any of this at all.

“Can I get a chai latte and hazelnut iced coffee?”

“To go?”

“For here. I’m with a friend.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes trailed over Oikawa’s shoulder. He dragged them back once he found whatever it was he was searching for. “A study date?” he asked, punching in Oikawa’s order into the machine.

“Something like that,” Oikawa quipped, then suddenly, “but platonically!” he had no idea why he felt the urge to add that on. “We’re platonically… studying, together.”

Iwaizumi fixed Oikawa with a long, flat stare. Oikawa, not for the first time, wondered why he was blessed and cursed with a horribly beautiful mouth. He was going to be a lawyer for fuck’s sake! Why was he so nervous speaking to a stranger? He had to get it together.

Finally, like daybreak coming after a long night, Iwaizumi huffed. “That’s good to know.” Thank God he didn’t find Oikawa strange. “That’ll be 1400 yen.”

They completed the transaction. Iwaizumi reached for a plastic cup and a black sharpie. He hesitated, and then glanced up at Oikawa. “Should I write your name as Coffee or do you go by something else?”

“It’s Oikawa,” Oikawa felt a surge of something akin to hunger. A desire to hear his name spoken on this man’s tongue. Just once. “Oikawa Tooru. But,” he added quickly. “You can just say Oikawa.”

“O-i-ka-wa,” Iwaizumi’s enunciation of his name did something awful to Oikawa. He felt like he’d been struck by lightning and was rushing down a steep hill all at the same time. He watched Iwaizumi’s fingers intensely as he marked up the two cups. He noticed that Iwaizumi wore rings. Two silver bands. One on his index finger and one on his thumb. Oikawa had a sudden urge to stroke his thumb over them several times.

God, what was wrong with him?

“I’ll call you when it’s finished.”

“Thanks.” The word felt wrong on his tongue. He wanted to say something more, but wasn’t quite sure what. Did he even need to say anything at all?

Oikawa went back to Suga. Who was still, surprise surprise, on his phone when Oikawa sat down.

“Okay, spill,” Suga raised his head as Oikawa sat down and fixed him with a curious gaze. “Who are you texting? Who's the D? A dick appointment?”

Suga threw his head back and laughed, a blush staining his cheeks. “No! I mean, his dick is great and I’ve had several appointments with it since we’ve met…”

“Incredible!” Oikawa clapped. “I’m so glad one of us is getting laid,” he said with all the fake sincerity he could drizzle onto his words. “Who is he? To circle back to my question!”

“Why are you so in my business?” Suga retorted. “Who’s the cute barista you were chatting up, huh? Let’s get into that.”

“I’m cross-examining you here. Not the other way around!”

“Let’s call it a plea bargain,” Suga grinned.

“God,” Oikawa slid into his chair. “I hate this. Can we stop using legal terms when we chat? Can we be normal for five minutes?”

“Never,” Suga crossed his legs and played with the ripped part of his rubber phone case. “I think it’s become a coping mechanism now. We make so many law school jokes because if we’re not joking, we’re crying.”

That was far too real. Oikawa had to give him that. They kept going on in circles about Suga’s mystery D while they waited for their coffee orders. After an aggressive line of questioning, Suga finally relented and told Oikawa that he was talking to a guy named Sawamura Daichi. Daichi was an older guy Suga had met out one night when he was clubbing. According to Suga, Daichi made a living as a bodyguard for some CEO.

“His abs,” Suga’s mouth had a little drool on the corner, “they were so solid. I could build a four story house on them they were so stable and delicious and-”

“I can’t believe it’s not even demon hours and I’m sitting here hearing you objectifying poor Daichi-kun.”

“Hey!” Suga sat up in his chair. He pointed an accusatory finger at Oikawa, who stuck his tongue out playfully in return. “He told me I could objectify him if I wanted to. Since it’d only be fair ‘cause he kept talking about my ass like it was-”

“Here’s your order.”

Iwaizumi placed their coffees on the table. Oikawa’s heart skipped several beats. Suga made a quick grab for his coffee and cupped it in the palms of his hands.

“Oh, I thought you were going to call us when it’s done?” Oikawa wanted to find another place to land his gaze. Like the plants hanging above their heads or the way Suga slurped his coffee like he’d been dehydrated for days. Instead, he kept his eyes on Iwaizumi. He played with the brim of his hat as he spoke.

“You looked busy with your conversation. Didn’t want to interrupt that.”

“Ah, were you checking us out then?” Oikawa felt like such an ass. Flirting with people while they were on the job was such a scummy move. Why did he do that? Why couldn’t he have started flirting once Iwaizumi got off the clock.

Wait no. Why did he even want to flirt at all?

“I’m s-” he went to speak, but Iwaizumi was quicker.

“I was. But just you.”

Oikawa’s mouth hung open. Suga took an incredibly long sip of his coffee. Slurping loud enough to break the sound barrier. Iwaizumi smirked and turned on his heel, walking away to the counter to tend to a customer that had just entered.

Once he was gone, Oikawa heard Suga start cackling.

“Oh my God. You’re a disaster!” Suga had to put his cup down because it would jostle too much from how hard he was laughing. Oikawa’s lips pulled into a deep frown. Suga making fun of him was completely unwarranted! Was he disastrous at that moment? Yes. Did it need to be ridiculed? It could be—but not here.

“Don’t laugh!” Oikawa hissed. “Stop it,” he hissed again. But Suga just took one look at Iwaizumi who was talking to a customer and lost it all over again. “You’re the worst!” Oikawa flipped Suga off.

Suga flipped him off right back, “If you come back here to awkwardly flirt and panic around the hot barista again please alert me. I must know.”

Oikawa reached for his coffee and hoped the cold from his iced coffee would cool him down. And if he happened to steal glances at the cute barista who also, apparently, had slept with Atsumu Miya (for why?), then what of it?

At some point, the words on Oikawa’s screen began to blur together. He pinched the bridge of his nose underneath his glasses. God, he was tired. He was so tired. This past week had been so hectic. His computer had a day after his coffee run with Suga. So he had to resort to handwritten notes for three days. His fingers still cramped from how furiously he’d taken notes to make sure he got all the important information down. Suga was a godsend and had made an extra sheet of notes for Oikawa for their classes. So tonight, after he’d gotten his computer back, he was able to make a fresh sheet to put everything together.

Mock Trial had been a disaster this week, too. His team's been doing so well at first. Moving smoothly from openings to direct examination, but once they’d started practicing their cross-examinations, everything had gone downhill. The witnesses had forgotten their stories and the attorneys couldn’t keep their line of questioning straight enough to get through the important parts. Oikawa had told them to call it early that night. Start fresh again tomorrow. He could still see the frustrated and disappointed looks of his teammates as they’d filtered out of the classroom one by one.

He still felt the tinge of failure on his skin. Etched and caked so deep down, no amount of scrubbing could get it out. If his team failed, it was a reflection of him as a captain. He had to rework their strategy. Figure out a way to get his team back on track and confident enough to kill it at upcoming competitions.

But God, if Oikawa wasn’t on the very precipice of burn out right now.

Oikawa Tooru didn’t like to burn out. Well, who really did, right? Oikawa specifically hated knowing the crash and burn was coming. It always started slow. With irritation and clipped remarks. With not being able to focus for long periods of time. With indulgences becoming more and more gluttonous compared to a reward for hard work. Oikawa liked efficiency. He liked being on top of things. He liked being high functioning and even higher performing.

Of course, burn out was natural. You work at something so long, so rigorously, and without putting on the breaks—you wipe out. His therapist had encouraged him to seek self care. And while Oikawa had nodded and smiled and said “You got it, Doc!” he had not performed an ounce of self care since his last session three weeks ago.

He glanced at the clock on his computer screen. It read, in a rather gentle voice: 2:05 am.

He didn’t have class tomorrow, thankfully. But he did have to go into his internship to represent a client.

Oikawa shut his computer. He should go to sleep. That would be self care, right? Choosing himself over his work? But he had so much to do. He wasn’t on the ball with any of his tasks.

But sleep was persistent. He rubbed his eyes. The world was a bit blurry. “Okay, Tooru,” Oikawa made the executive decision then and there that sleep was a necessity. “Let’s go to sleep and be a normal person.”

Once Oikawa reached the top of his apartment steps, he smelled cigarette smoke. His heart raced a little. Wondering, if maybe, where the smoke was—there would also be fire.

Iwaizumi leaned against the railing. This time, in a t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the shoulder and a pair of jeans. His face turned towards the city. Illuminated by the soft glow of the buzzling lamp light hanging above his head. Oikawa gripped the strap of his bag. He wondered if he should say hi. They knew of each other, right? A greeting shouldn’t be too crazy.

“Hi hi!” Oikawa waved. His voice cracked. Ah shit.

Iwaizumi turned his head slowly. The light at the end of his cigarette glowed, a lazy firefly that could barely keep its light on. He raised an eyebrow—the one with a small gap in the brow, and then smiled. With a bit of teeth. And this time, from where Oikawa could see him standing, he could finally get a good look at Iwaizumis’ tattoo. On his shoulder, down to his forearm, linkedin thick black lines were leaves that spiraled down Iwaizumi’s arms like ivy vines. They curled and looped around an inked sword that went straight down Iwaizumi’s arm. Oikawa’s fingers twitched. He wanted to outline the shape of Iwaizumi’s tattoo with the tip of his fingers for hours.

“Oh, hey.” Iwaizumi gave a small wave himself. “We meet again. You worked late?”

“Unfortunately,” Oikawa brushed his hair back. His glasses slipped down his nose slightly. “Law school work is piling up, as all.”

“Ah, right.” Iwaizumi took a long drag of his cigarette. Then exhaled. “Osamu was telling me about that. How you law students come into his shop at the ass hours of the night, looking like zombies, begging for some caffeine to make it through the day.” Another drag. Another exhale. “Sounds stressful.”

Oikawa chuckled, but it was void of any humor. “Stressful doesn’t even describe the half of it.”

“Yeah?” Iwaizumi said. “Well, let’s hear it.”

Huh? Oikawa blinked several times. Rapidly as his brain scrambled to catch up with what Iwaizumi had offered. An opportunity to converse more. Why in the world did that make Oikawa feel so… so… excited?

“You sure?” Oikawa took one small step for progress, one giant leap towards his devastation. Until he stood right beside Iwaizumi. They both looked out towards the city scape. The night was dotted with the lights of homes still awake. With people still up. With the stars covered by the darkened clouds hanging above the city. “I’m sure Tsu-chan will be out here any minute looking for you. And if you couldn’t tell from last time, me and him don’t get along. It might be a brawl.”

“I like brawls,” Iwaizumi reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a cigarette. “You smoke?”

Oikawa shook his head, “No. It burns my lungs and I rather like my lungs.”

“Understood.” A beat later, “You want me to put mine out?”

“No, you can keep smoking. I don’t mind it.”

Iwaizumi nodded. “Alright then. Go off, as the kids say.”

“The kids?” Oikawa scrunched his nose up. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-five. You?”

“Also twenty-five. But I don’t make a habit of talking like I’m fifty.”

“It’s not for everyone,” Iwaizumi said. Okay, excellent. He had wit and humor. Oikawa wouldn’t be bored, at least.

“You really want to hear me complain about school?” Oikawa could name seven other things he’d rather do than listen to someone go on about school, especially if he wasn’t in school himself. Wait, was Iwaizumi in school? Oikawa furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you do?”

“Two questions at once, very lawyer-y of you.” Oikawa scowled, which, apparently, Iwaizumi found hilarious, because he laughed. It was a husky, low sort of chuckle. That scraped at the corners of Oikawa’s sanity, right to the bone. He felt a burn, similar to the inhale of a cigarette, glow in the root of his chest. “To answer your second question first: I work at the coffee shop, but you knew that already. I’m also in school, so yes. To answer your first question,” Iwaizumi’s cigarette butt lit up like a firefly in the night. “I’m interested.”

He was interested. He was interested. Oikawa was transfixed on Iwaizumi and the light of his cigarette. On the rough way Iwaizumi spoke yet delivered his words so carefully. As if Oikawa was someone important, and as such deserved to be treated with tenderness. Oikawa’s lips pulled into a small grin despite himself. Slowly turning into a devil’s grin, a mischievous curl at the ends.

“Promise you won’t get bored?”

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow, the one with the gap, before matching Oikawa’s smile. “Only if you promise to keep me entertained.” he replied, with a crooked grin and smoke trailing out on his exhale.

Oikawa’s heart stuttered.

Iwaizumi stared at Oikawa for a long time. Oikawa held back the urge to flinch. His mouth felt dry from how much he had talked. Just talked. On and on and on about the few highs and many lows of law school. It was weird. Oikawa usually didn’t talk about his struggles. Not because he wanted to pretend like he had it all together, because he didn’t. All he did was try, and try his best, and then do better than his best, and then keep polishing and working and fine-tuning his progress until he got the results he wanted.

He knew he wasn’t a genius. He knew he wasn’t a prodigy. But he knew he was the epitome of hard work. He knew his strengths, and capitalized on those to make up for his weaknesses. He sharpened his weaknesses so if they were to ever come to light, he could navigate them with ease. He worked relentlessly and restlessly to rise above. His rankings showed that. His test results showed that. His current social position at school showed that. His work reflected that.

There was a price to pay for all that success, however.

Oikawa's shoulders were tense all the time. He hadn’t gotten proper sleep in two weeks. He was more irritable (than usual, which to Suga was very surprising as he thought Oikawa couldn’t get any more irritable). His focus and concentration were slipping and falling through his fingers like sand. He hated it. He hated being burned out. His eyes burned. His shoulders felt heavy. In this moment, as he expelled all his frustrations over Mock Trial, how he felt like a failure of a captain to his team, of the pressures of balancing life and work and everything--how he just wanted to turn himself off for a few days--everything had just come out.

And Iwaizumi listened through it all. Without judgment. Without pressure. A force of nature that said, so quietly and present like the vapor trail of smoke that had long since gone out from Iwaizumi’s cigarette, I’m here.

Oikawa could have cried. But if he did, it wouldn't be around a (hot) stranger.

“So that’s…” Oikawa said, curling his fingers around the railing, “my story!” He managed a brilliant smile. That didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I didn’t bore you after all, right?”

Iwaizumi shook his head, “Nah. You were good. I was entertained,” and those words had no right making Oikawa shiver. But they did. And he’d blame it on the cold, early morning instead of the heat twisting in his gut.

“I think it’s only appropriate I ask if you need to vent, too,” Oikawa motioned towards the door leading to Atsumu’s apartment. “Unless, uh, you need to get back there. To Atsumu.” He wrinkled his nose. “Though if you ever need to vent about that, I’m all ears.”

“Nah, he’s asleep. I’m in no rush,” Iwaizumi said. Then a beat after he added, “You guys don’t get along.”

“We’re like two dumpster cats fighting over the last fish bone. Though I’m the prettier, fluffier, less smelly dumpster cat.” Oikawa said.

Iwaizumi threw his head back and laughed. The sound was glorious. Rich, deep, beautiful. Oikawa’s gut twisted. “He said something similar, that’s so funny. You guys are kind of the same,” Iwaizumi wiped at the corner of his eyes.

Oikawa gasped, like he was electrocuted. “We are not! Take it back, Iwaizumi Coffee Shop Worker and Student!”

“Now what the fuck was that?”

“I don’t know your full name.”

“Would you like to?”

Suddenly, Iwaizumi was very, very close.

A stutter in a heartbeat. “I-I. Well.” Oikawa licked his lips, dropping his gaze to Iwaizumi’s mouth and then shooting it back up to Iwaizumi’s eyes. “If you’d like.”

Iwaizumi tilted his head, eyes remained glued on Oikawa. His gaze, unlike Oikawa’s, was slow to crawl down to Oikawa’s lips. As if he was trailing the tip of his finger down the slope of Oikawa’s nose, to the curves of Oikawa’s lips, to touch and to feel. Oikawa sucked in a sharp breath. His grip on the rail tightened. Iwaizumi’s eyes widened slightly, then he smirked.

“I’d like,” came out slowly. “You can know my full name. It’s Iwaizumi Hajime.”

Iwaizumi Hajime.

“Yours?” Iwaizumi continued. Still so close. Still so hyper focused on Oikawa.

“Oikawa-” Oikawa exhaled heavily through his nose, “Oikawa Tooru.”

“Oikawa Tooru,” Iwaizumi repeated. Oikawa had never enjoyed hearing his name from someone else until this moment. The buzzing light above them flickered. The cars below them drove on and on. The lights were dimming from the windows of houses going to sleep. The world was going, and turning, and sleeping, and staying awake, and here was Oikawa talking to Iwaizumi Hajime against the railing with his apartment a few feet away.

He liked it.

He liked this moment, a lot.

“Thank you for listening,” Oikawa said quietly into the small space between them.

Iwaizumi’s eyes searched Oikawa’s face. He rubbed at one of his rings. “You want some advice?”

Oikawa snorted, “If it doesn’t involve dropping out of law school to join a circus or a pyramid scheme, I’m not sure I want to hear it.”

“No, it’s nothing that dramatic.” Oikawa wanted to say that his escape plans were not dramatic and instead well-thought-out when Iwaizumi kept going, “You need a stress relief.”

“That’s what my therapist said, too. I’ve yet to do that, but I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Yeah? Well, maybe that’s because you haven’t found an option for stress relief that’s…” Iwaizumi leaned forward, “worth your time.”

“Yeah?” Oikawa asked, completely oblivious. “Like what?”

Iwaizumi’s hand rested on the nape of Oikawa’s neck. It was the hand with his rings. Their coldness pressed against Oikawa’s skin, making him shiver. Iwaizumi was now consuming Oikawa’s space. Enough that, if Oikawa dared. If he tried. He could lean forward. He could lean forward and-

Iwaizumi kissed him.

Oikawa’s eyes slowly grew and grew, until they were the size of Jupiter’s moons. Iwaizumi’s eyes weren’t closed either. They were narrowed, taking him in. As his mouth gently pressed against Oikawa’s. The kiss was a bolt of fire, a blaze of lightning. Oikawa’s fingers twitched on the railing. He inhaled, and Iwaizumi pulled back.

For a second, neither of them moved. The cars kept going, and distantly Oikawa could hear someone’s alarm going off. The light above them kept buzzing and buzzing but everything was so faint. Everything was so, so damn faint.

But Oikawa could feel the cold metal of Iwaizumi’s rings still on his neck. Present and overwhelming.

Oikawa’s nostrils flared, “Iwaizumi Hajime?” His voice cracked.

Iwaizumi smirked, “That’s me. And my suggestion? You need to get laid. And my offer?” Iwaizumi pulled his hand until his palm cupped Oikawa’s cheek. And his thumb, the one with the ring on it, traced the lines of Oikawa’s bottom lip. Oikawa felt delirious and ready to pass out and was on the verge of exploding. “I’m a real good stress reliever.”

Oikawa’s brain shut down. At that very moment. He forgot what it was like to have rational thoughts that didn’t revolve around sex and Iwaizumi Hajime and wondering what it would be like to taste his lips again and how smoke had never tasted so good until Iwaizumi Hajime had kissed him and how Oikawa might get addicted to nicotine if kissing Iwaizumi, just lips along, was like that and-

“You in?” Iwaizumi’s soft question broke through Oikawa’s inner disaster of a monologue. “If not, that’s okay. I can also be here to listen, too. I just thought, y’know. You’re not ugly, and I think we’re attracted to each other, so I figured...” Iwaizumi pulled his hand away to scratch at his nose. He looked a little shy now. The audacity of this man to look sheepish after pulling off such a bold stunt like that.

“No,” Oikawa blurted out. Iwaizumi’s face shifted into shock. “No, I mean-Yes. Yes, I’m in.”

What happened next, Oikawa never anticipated. Iwaizumi’s face morphed from shock to utter delight. His eyebrows arched to his hairline. Three little crinkles formed in the corner of his eyes, closed with content. As he smiled, brilliantly, with the tip of his nose reddening just a bit. He was adorable. He was so fucking adorable. Oikawa was going to die. He was going to die and Iwaizumi would be his cause of death, this much he was sure.

“That’s good. I’m glad.” Iwaizumi tugged on Oikawa’s bag strap, pulling him forward. Oikawa stumbled a bit, making an ‘oof’ at the sudden gesture. Iwaizumi leaned his head up and gone was his boyish charm, his utter delight.

Now he had become a predator, and Oikawa was his prey.

“Wanna relieve some stress right now?”

Oikawa never liked being prey. Never enjoyed the thrill of being hunted. But under Iwaizumi’s gaze, dark and filled with playful mischief—filled with promises he intended to keep. Oikawa’s mind went to a million places at once. All of them were filthy. All of them were wonderful.

Oikawa fell. He wrapped his arms around Iwaizumi’s hips, his fingers digging in as confirmation. His own smile was wicked and sharp and full of wanting. “Only if you promise to make it worth my while.”

“I intend to.”

#iwaoi #oikawa tooru #iwaizumi hajime #haikyuu #my fics

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jonah-wright · 6 years ago

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New Friends || Elliot&Jonah

Date: May 4th, 2019

Location: The Beach

Summary: Elliot and Jonah hang out for a little bit on the beach and chat. Elliot finds out that Noah is Jonah’s brother and they have a cute little moment.

@pretty-boyelliot

jonah: Jonah had tried to leave his free hour to as late as possible, wondering if he'd get a chance to watch the sunset, and even look at the stars for a little bit. That was probably the hardest part about being in the cells, not being able to stargaze nearly as much as he was used to. He eased himself down onto the sand, body still sore, but healing fairly well, and honestly, he just was trying not to think about it too much. Legs pull in so that he can cross them, leaning back gently on his hands, as his head tilts up, though the sky is still too bright to really see anything.

Elliot: Elliot had spent the day at the art studio, finishing up on some final touches for school. He had cited it as "schoolwork", even if it primarily felt like fun all day, but this was his free hour, finally, after he dropped off his projects at the cells. He came to the beach, because last night he was so comforted by it, and expected to be again. Elliot saw another sitting in a similar spot to where he was the previous night, and gave a smile. "Hi, can I--" Recognizing the other, he relaxed a little. "Oh, hey, Jonah, how are you?"

jonah: Jonah's head tilts back down when he hears another voice, eyes landing on Elliot, and he felt his shoulders immediately relax a fraction. "Elliot," He says with a smile and a small breath. "Hi! I'm good, I mean, well, as good as I guess I can be with uh, you know, finals and all." He says with a little nod. "How're you? Did you want to come sit?"

Elliot: "Yeah, I just spent all day doing projects," he said, holding up his hands, which had charcoal and paint on them, before dropping down next to him. "Thanks. The beach here is so relaxing, and I needed a bit of a break." Elliot shrugged off his backpack and plopped it into his own lap, taking out a bag of fast food.

jonah: Jonah shifts slightly against the sand, bringing his hands into his lap and sitting up a bit straighter. He looks to the other's hands with a little laugh as Elliot sat down beside him. "Yeah, I've been studying all day for finals and stuff. I think I might just be okay, even though I started the semester late, though I'm a little worried about my physics class." He gives a little shrug, watching Elliot, and so far, the other seemed to be looking okay after the last weekend, which Jonah was happy to see. "But I needed a bit of a break too... I was hoping that I'd be able to get out here late enough to see the sun go down." He says, looking back towards the water, the sun on its decent downwards, though it still had sometime to go.

Elliot: Digging into his cheeseburger, he looked up and around. "Yeah, the sunsets here are really pretty," he said. "This is a good spot for them. I've never gone out to see the sunrise here, though. I'd like to." Elliot was curious as to what the other got that last weekend, but he didn't want to ask in case he was really upset by it.

jonah: "Yeah?" Jonah asks, because he hadn't really let himself have much for free time since he'd gotten there, though he'd taken more of it this past week with just how he was feeling. "Yeah, I bet it must be real nice." He nods in agreement, giving the other another little smile. "Do you come out here a lot?" He asks curiously.

Elliot: "I used to," he told him, licking his fingers. "When I first got here, but I've just been busy or kind of a homebody, lately, so not so much anymore. Not as much as I'd like to."

jonah: Jonah nods, watching the water as he leans forward ever so slightly. "Yeah, i've really only spent my time in the library, or getting coffee." He really did need to try to get out and do more, though maybe he would in the summer. "Do you still have lots of work with your classes before you're done?"

Elliot: "I have to study for some finals," he nodded. "I didn't go to high school, so all the actual school stuff is kinda hard for me. I don't know if I've actually walked into the library once since I came to the island, honestly," he chuckled.

jonah: "Oh whoa, really?" Jonah says, eyes widening slightly, words coming out before he even realizes. "Oh crap, sorry, that's rude, I mean, I'm sorry that you weren't able to go to high school." He swallows, hoping he hadn't just stuffed his foot in his mouth, his head turns looking away, making a small face at himself. Idiot. He just couldn't really imagine not going to high school.

Elliot: He nodded, looking down at his food. No, he had circumstances that prevented that, but he got quite some life experience that he could never learn in a classroom - whether or not that was something he valued or not, he didn't know. "I went for a little, but I don't really know what I'm missing, I guess,"

jonah: Jonah chews on the inside of his cheek, internally kicking himself. He glances back over to Elliot, brows furrowed a little. "I mean, most people's high school experience suck." He says, not really sure if that was helping or not. "I mean, unless you're my older brother and sister, pretty sure they had a blast in high school, but I mean, it is kind of crappy." He frowns again, because his next sentence was normally 'and university is supposed to be a hell of a lot better', though he wasn't sure if the sentiment would work here. "It's mostly just bullies, and too much school work, and being like, really, really busy all the time. Or like, at least that's what it was like for me."

Elliot: "Is it like how it is in the movies?" he asked, genuinely curious. That was really he is only basis. He barely remembered his high school experience because he was so busy with everything in his home life; that had overtaken his study time and he would have probably flunked out if he didn't drop out first. "I remember a lot of assemblies. That's pretty much it, honestly."

jonah: Jonah gives a little shrug, because for his brother and sister, it basically had been, but for Jonah, not quite so much. "I mean, not really for me. I did a lot of extracurriculars, so I was just really busy all of the time." He'd spent so much of his teen years trying keep up with his siblings that he really didn't leave much time for himself. "But I mean, yeah, some of it was good. Made it better that I had a really good friend in school with me for my first couple years of high school. She actually goes here too, Rowan Aubri, do you know her?"

Elliot: "Oh!" he smiled, nodding. "Yeah, I've only met her a couple of times, she's really cool, though. She's like, friends with some of my friends, I think, but I don't see her all that often. She's the one that likes the bugs, right?"

jonah: Jonah's shoulders relax a little, glad to see the other smile because for a few minutes there he was worried that he'd really messed up the conversation. And he liked Elliot, the other was nice, and well, Jonah knew he really needed to try making more friends. "Yeah, she's the one who likes the bugs." He nods with a laugh. "She is really great, honestly, she made high school and everything so much better." He says, thinking fondly of his best friend. "It's really nice having her here too, and everything."

Elliot: "That's really cool, that you knew her before here," he said, smiling at him, but a little jealous. At least the one he knew from before was actually nice. "Yeah, I can only imagine," Elliot chuckled a little. "That's really luck of the universe, huh?"

jonah: "Yeah, she's great." Jonah says with a smile and a nod. "Yeah, really, I mean, honestly, I didn't even come here because she was here. I uhm..." He pauses, not really sure if this was casual conversation material, but Elliot seemed nice. "I came here looking for my brother, actually. It was just a weird coincidence that Ro was here too."

Elliot: "Oh, wow," he said, softly - as much as he could while he started chewing on chicken nuggets. "Did he go missing or something?"

jonah: "Oh no, well, not really." He shakes his head, taking a moment to think about how to phrase it. "He's actually my half brother. I'd never met him, my dad..." He pauses, because the next part was hard for him not to still get upset with. "My dad left him, when he was little... I didn't know he existed until four months ago."

Elliot: Elliot nodded in understanding. That was a feeling he knew, and he knew it wasn't an uncommon one around here - those lost to the world tended to wash up on the island's shores, it seemed. "What's his name?" he asked, wondering if he knew him.

jonah: For a moment, Jonah chews on the inside of his thumb, a habit he was trying to break, but it was hard to not get nervous around this subject. "Oh uh, his name is Noah, Noah Wright." He says with a little nod, not really even thinking that the other could know him. "He wasn't really all that happy to meet me, though I don't really blame him, I should have like, just written a letter or something, and not like, just showed up at the school he goes to."

Elliot: He froze a little, looking to Jonah. Did he hear him wrong? "Noah's your brother?" he asked, gently, but he could see it - there was something in their faces, it matched up. "I never would have guessed." He knew that Noah had been on the streets from a very young age, that they shared many characteristics, but there wasn't much else he knew. Elliot never wanted to pry. "Noah means so much to me. I can't believe he has a brother, sorry, it's crazy."

jonah: Jonah glances over at Elliot's reaction. "Yeah, do you know him?" He asks, not sure if that would be a good thing or a bad thing. On one hand, he felt a little excited if Elliot did know him, because in a weird way, if they were friends, it almost felt like Jonah was able to be a little closer to Elliot. But then, the bigger part of him felt a little crushed, because Noah didn't like him very much, which meant that Elliot probably wouldn't want anything to do with him either, and he was just starting to think that they were becoming friends. "Yeah, I uh, I don't really look like him, I know, I mean, he looks more like my older brother Isaac than me." He says with a quick little nod. "Really?" He asks, curious more so now about the other, because clearly him and Noah were close. "Yeah, I uh, it is a little crazy."

Elliot: "I love him," he said, suddenly. Noah was one of his favorite people on this island - he trusted him with his life, and that was something he didn't take lightly. "He's like a brother to me." It felt weird to him, like Elliot was the younger brother that was replacing his actual younger brother, and he felt really weird about it.

jonah: "Oh." Jonah says with a little nod, looking down into his lap where his fingers had found a thread on his jeans to play with, and he watches it for a moment like it was the most interesting thing on earth. He feels a little twist in his stomach, that familiar envious feeling that he got, eating away at him for a moment. "That's nice." He says with a little smile towards the other and a nod. His chest tightens slightly but he keeps the little smile forced on his lips, refusing to show any disappointment. "That's good."

Elliot: "I-I didn't think he had any siblings," he said, trying to get his foot out of his mouth. "I thought his dad was like a deadbeat, from how he described it to me. Sorry!" Oh god, that wasn't helping. "I'm sorry. Noah and I have a lot in common, some similar backstories, and stuff. Sometimes I think he just feels bad for me." No, he didn't really believe that, but maybe it would make Jonah feel better?

jonah: Jonah looks back up, and crap, no he hadn't wanted to make Elliot feel bad. "He didn't, or well, he didn't know that he did. I mean, I guess we almost really aren't, we're really just strangers." He says, that stupid smile still plastered on his face, out of place for the topic of conversation, but he was just trying so hard to keep from letting his voice crack in that telling way that it did. He swallows, eyes flickering down again, because a deadbeat, Winston Wright was not, though a father... well, Jonah was starting to question if he really was much of a father at all. "It's okay, it's fine." Jonah says, shaking his head at the other's apology. His smile softens slightly at the last comment, keeping his gaze down into his lap, fingers still idle and moving. "I'm sure that he doesn't." He says, meaning that honestly. "I can go, if you want me to." He says quietly.

Elliot: He frowned. "Why would I want you to go?" he asked, curiously. For all he was concerned, it was a second Wright child, another one that he got along with well enough already. Besides, he had liked Jonah before he found out who he was related to. And it almost felt like another addition to the little family Elliot had admitted to gathering up here. He quickly put his bag of fast food aside and gave Jonah a deep hug, resting his head on the other's shoulder.

jonah: "Because you're friends with Noah, and well, I mean, I guess he hasn't told you about me, which I don't blame him. He doesn't really like me much, so I would understand if you didn't want to hang out with more or whatever, honestly, it's okay." He says, the words coming out quick, attempting to keep his tone light. He was honestly about to get up and leave when Elliot moved his things aside, and the next thing he knew, the other boy was wrapping his arms around him. Out of instinct, Jonah stiffened. He hadn't grown up in a physically affectionate household, and hell, if it hadn't been for Rowan, he'd probably not have gotten much for hugs at all, but even still, he was awkward around these kinds of things. "O-oh um..." He says, swallowing, though he takes a small breath, relaxing ever so slightly, his hands moving around the other like he felt they should, holding there for a moment. He wasn't really sure what he'd done to warrant such a hug, but once he let himself relax into it a little more, it really wasn't all that bad, actually. "Thanks..." He says, a little quieter.

Elliot: "Of course he likes you," he insisted. Elliot had no way of knowing, truthfully, but Jonah was really cool and really smart, how couldn't he? He stayed put, holding the other because he really didn't want him to go. He liked making new friends, and he didn't want one to disappear now for reasons no one could control. Except their dad. "You want a french fry?"

jonah: Jonah could feel himself shaking his head a little as best he could while Elliot still hugged him. "He doesn't, but that's okay. I probably shouldn't have just showed up here." He knew his mistake now, and while he couldn't fix it, he could try to stay away from Noah as best he could, give the other the space he wanted. Jonah couldn't help but still feel a little awkward in the hug, even if it was nice, he just wasn't used to it, that's all. Eventually, when Elliot asked him a question, Jonah pulled back to the other, ensuring there was a little smile on his face. "Oh uh, yeah, actually, thank you." He says with a little nod, feeling his chest not as tight as it had been, because well, at least Elliot still seemed to want to be his friend, though he couldn't help the twinge of jealousy that ran through him. Jonah looks down for a moment, pausing before he looks back up. "Can I ask you something?"

Elliot: That helped a little, at least, and he pulled out a fry from the bag to hand to the other, with a little smile. Elliot couldn't believe that. "I know of some people he hates on the island. And believe me, they've done so much worse than I think you've done." Then again, this was a whole other issue. He didn't know how his friend would react to having another siblings, especially from the same father that Noah has always spewed hatred about. "Yeah, totally, you can."

jonah: Jonah accepts the fry with a little smile, taking a small bite, chewing, and then popping the rest into his mouth. He shrugs, because he was pretty sure that Noah hated him, and while his only crime was just existing, he knew that was enough. He'd had time to think about how he'd feel if the positions were reversed, and well, to find out that your father left you, only to go and make a family with other people? He really didn't blame Noah, no matter how much it hurt. Jonah swallows, looking down, now playing with the hem of his pant leg, pausing for a moment, a little hesitant to ask his question. "What's he like?"

Elliot: Elliot hesitated, because what if the answer made Jonah feel worse? Then it would be Elliot to blame, and he didn't want the other to hate him for it or anything. It was just like a really weird coincidence that this happened, he had to think. "Noah?" he asked, knowing full well what the answer was. "He's a little rough around the edges. He likes to pretend he doesn't care about things when he does, to me. He has good taste in music. And pets. And he gives really good hugs."

jonah: Jonah swallows, waiting, the silence seeming to stretch on longer than it actually did. He keeps his eyes trained on his fingers, the way they move, finding something, anything, to pick at, to keep them busy. A part of him wonders if he should have kept that little tub of play doh in his pocket that Noah had left behind in the lounge the last time they'd spoken. When Elliot finally starts to speak, he looks up, the fake smile gone from his lips, completely focused on what Elliot was saying. The corner of his lips turn up a little, genuinely liking to hear about Noah, and what he was like, soaking it all up. "Yeah?" He says, before looking back down. "Thanks." He says with a smaller smile and a nod. "It's just a little hard, not uh, like knowing him at all, y'know?"

Elliot: "I do, believe me," he said, honestly. He wondered about his own dad almost every single day, especially around the important dates of the year for him - his own birthday, his mom's, when she died. "You're learning, though," Elliot told him, gently. "He's a pretty complex guy. If he's stiffy, I don't think he's doing it on purpose. Maybe he just doesn't know what it's like to have a brother. A real one," he added.

jonah: Jonah gives Elliot a small, soft smile accompanied by a grateful expression. Okay, so maybe he'd still be able to be friends with Elliot, which was a relief for him, since making friends here didn't seem to be all that easy. He nods, because he was just learning, but being patient and taking the time to learn was something that was hard for Jonah, it always had been. He was the kind of person that liked to skip to the end to know how things turned out. Chewing on the inside of his thumb again, he nods, because maybe Elliot was right, though he didn't want to hold out too much hope, lest he be disappointed when Noah really didn't end up wanting anything to do with him. "Yeah, thank you, Elliot, I really appreciate it." He says, giving the other another genuine smile before looking back out at the water.

#( chat. ) || elliot raws #( ooc. ) || just a cute lil random chatzy we did last night #ended up far too cute not to post

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