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noctualilith · 3 years

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Our Past Got Us Here

We all love the Harvard FinnLo pining, but after the amazing and painful art Haz posted today we needed an extra dose of fluff to balance the feels. Co-written with the amazing and eloquent @ais-for-alex , the characters and universe by queen of the hazelhoots @lumosinlove

The box with the ominous title Harvard in blood red sharpie should have been heavier for all the memories it carried, Logan thought as he hefted it on his desk in his new room. He was all moved in with Finn and Leo, unpacked and fitting seamlessly in their space just as he did in their lives… but for this one last box.

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he reminded himself that whatever he unearthed was firmly in the past now, and his present was so much lighter and happier than anything he would find in there.

He heard Finn and Leo moving around in the apartment and he knew they were there for him if he needed them. He knew Finn saw the box and suspected what was inside, if the way he was lurking close to his door was any indication. He also knew that this was his task first and foremost - to unpack the past and claim it fully as his own, with all the good and the bad it brought. This was where he met Finn. This was where he fell for Finn. This was where he carried the burning flame of all he felt for him, held it close and hid it away from everyone including himself, until it burned him from the inside. He could still feel the hot rush of shame and hurt he was so well used to pushing back under and avoiding at all costs.

Opening the box would mean coming face to face with it for the first time after years, no more deflecting.

He was ready. He was home, their home, the three of them together and he was ready.

He pulled the lid off the box and was met with Finn’s warm gaze staring at him from a treasured photograph lying on top, the two of them only a few weeks after Logan got to Harvard, throwing him back into a memory that cut with precision right into those places that hurt the most. Years ago, he had packed that box in a state of numb resignation, putting away his heart piece by piece, alone in his room back at Harvard because Finn had left him for a dream and it hurt too much to see the reminders all around him. He had been crying too hard by the time he placed that last photo in the box, Finn’s smiling face blurred by the tears and hidden away when he closed the box and tucked it away. Now the feeling roared to life in his chest, loud and hungry for a resolution.

He wasn’t ready.

He must have made a noise, or maybe Finn had a sixth sense for when Logan needed him because the next thing he knew were his arms wrapping him in a hug, the safest place on Earth as far as Logan was concerned.

“Lo, baby, we’re okay.” Finn murmured into his hair as Logan hid his face in his neck, breathing him in. They were okay, they were great, but there were still some things unsaid between them, an unspoken agreement to leave that box unopened for another day.

Well, it was open now and waiting for them on the desk innocently.

Logan took a breath and lifted his head, searching for a kiss and the reassurance that came with it. He wasn’t alone, with Finn thousands of miles away, both of them silent and hurting. He was here, with his boys, allowed to touch whenever he wanted. They were good at reminding him of that, too. He needed that reminder now.

“Tell me.” He knew Finn would understand what he was asking for. Logan wasn’t good at talking, but Finn could read him like an open book after all those years. Logan only realized how much after he stopped pushing him away and allowed himself to love and be loved exactly how he’d yearned for.

“We’re okay. I love you. I’m never leaving you. Leo is never leaving us. You moved in with us and everything is finally as it should be, because being away from you feels like I’m missing a part of myself and fuck, I’m done with that. Do you know how important you’re to me? I’ll spend the rest of our lives telling you, Lo.” Finn was cradling his face in his hands and pressing a kiss to his lips after every declaration.

Logan’s hands were grasping at the fabric of Finn’s hoodie - Leo’s hoodie, actually - and that brought an unbidden smile to his face, helping the words hit home. Finn, in Leo’s hoodie, in his room. He didn’t have to do this alone, do anything alone, ever again.

“I know, mon amour. It’s just-- we haven’t really talked about-- I know I wasn’t in a hurry to unpack all that and you probably weren’t either but I want to, now. I think I need to.” He gestured to the innocent-looking box, watching Finn step closer to it and look inside, emotions playing across his face. He knew what it represented, of course he did. He probably had one just like that at some point, or maybe his was still unpacked too.

Finn reached into the box and picked up the photo from the top, the same one that Logan could barely look at just moments ago. He held it out to Logan with a wistful smile. “Let’s unpack this one together, what do you say?”

“Yeah, I’d really like to do that.” Logan’s voice was shaky, but he was determined. They’d probably end up crying, he could already feel the hot press of tears behind his eyes just thinking about all the memories that they were going to bring to light, but he wanted them all. He wanted to touch them, to put them up on his walls and see them every day without hurting for their past selves. A story of how they got to here and now, of how they lost each other and then found each other again. How they found their missing piece and built a home together.

He took the photo from Finn, their fingers brushing and unfailingly sending sparks across Logan’s skin. It’s been like that since he could remember, Finn’s touch like a brand, whether accidental and forcedly platonic for the longest time, or purposeful now but no less exciting with the promise of forever. It made him feel brave, so he cast around for the tape and tore a piece to stick it to the back of the photo. First one for the wall. First memory to unpack.

“You remember this one?” he asked Finn while he picked a place for it, pressing it to the wall and making sure it held. “I loved you already, when we took this photo. I was trying to convince myself that I couldn’t, but I did.” He heard Finn behind him suck in a breath, but he stayed quiet, letting him speak. Logan turned a bit, just enough to reach his hand back, wordlessly asking for the next photo, sticking it to the wall without looking at it first.

It was a photo of the two of them at a party. At the party.

“Lo--” Finn started behind him, already gearing up to tell him they could do this another day, Logan could hear it in his voice. It’s happened often enough. Logan was sick of it, of swallowing the pain and the tears and hiding in the safe topics of their everyday life, like what to get for dinner and who should drive.

“I’m sorry.” He interrupted Finn, softly but with determination, still looking at the photo. He felt Finn pressing himself along his back, one arm coming up to drape over his shoulder, his hand pressing over his heart. There was another photo of them, just like this, a favourite of Logan’s and currently in Finn’s room, another piece of his heart captured forever. He leaned back into the embrace, drawing strength from the unwavering support. Now, then, always, Finn was by his side no matter how often Logan pushed him away. He was done pushing him away.

“I shouldn’t have done that, at the party. It was a shitty thing to do. I’m sorry. You deserved so much better.” Logan felt the first tear roll down his face, felt Finn’s breath stutter in his chest.

“I’m sorry too. You weren’t the only one not talking about it, you know? It’s on me, too. And we’re better now, aren’t we?”

Logan nodded wordlessly, breathing through the swell of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him when he thought about that night. A miracle turned into a secret and sitting heavy and unaddressed instead of being treasured as it should have been.

Finn spoke for the both of them, needing to acknowledge in words what happened. “That was our first kiss, Lo. I still remember it, like it happened just yesterday. I loved you already, when we took this photo. I couldn’t believe what happened after. I’m glad it did.”

Logan turned to him at that, surprised. “You’re glad? I blamed it on being drunk and then never talked about it. It might as well not have happened at all! Our first kiss was a lie and I can never change it. How--” Finn pressed a kiss to his lips and stayed there, interrupting his rant and waiting for him to kiss back before pulling away again, keeping their foreheads together.

“I’m glad because we’re here now. We’re talking about it now. It was real to me, Lo. I was afraid then, too. I’m not anymore, you’re not anymore. We found each other. We found Leo. That’s what matters.” Finn’s eyes were swimming in tears but he was smiling, and Logan couldn’t help but kiss that smile right off his lips. “You’re right. That’s what matters. Gimme the next one. Let’s talk about all of them.”

The wall was slowly filled with memories and their weight was lifted from their unspoken past word for word as they remembered each moment for the good and the bad. So often Logan had felt close to crumbling under the guilt, but Finn was right there holding him close and offering him absolution with each new piece out of the box, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Beside photos, there were other things too. Movie tickets, four of them from the same movie they kept going back for. A receipt from a dinner at a roadie, just the two of them, where Finn doodled stick figures playing hockey while they waited for dessert. Crumpled notes that Finn would sometimes leave stuck to Logan’s door, sometimes a shopping list, sometimes an inside joke. Logan kept them all.

FInally, the box was empty and the wall was full. Logan felt exhausted but his heart was lighter than it had been in years, brimming with love for his boys and gratitude for the road that brought him here. He and Finn stood shoulder to shoulder in the middle of the room, looking at the wall, tears drying on both their faces.

“I want Leo” Logan spoke into the comfortable silence, pulling on Finn’s arm, suddenly eager to have them both close, to bask in the reality of having them, of being loved by them. “Come on Harz, let’s find him.”

Finn reeled him back in for one more kiss. “Love you, Lo.”

“Love you, too. Love Leo. Want Leo now.”

“Yeah, me too. Come on, he’s in the kitchen.” Logan was already squirming away and Finn let him pull them from the room and towards the kitchen where they could hear the clatter of utensils. He did the hard work and now he wanted his rewards. He wanted his boys close.

Hand in hand, they padded down the hall towards the kitchen, towards their missing piece, towards their future, leaving all the guilt and the hurt finally where it belonged; in their past.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Leo brushed a bit of flour from his hands. He suppressed the urge to wander into Logan’s room where he knew his partners were unpacking more than just the old boxes beaten by years of hiding in the closet. Those old boxes that carried memories of Finn and Logan’s days spent so close to each other but separated by an ocean of feelings that fit between their dorm beds.

No, Leo had to let them unpack together. Finn and Logan needed to be the ones to pull each memory from the moth eaten cardboard. They needed to be the ones to hold them close to their hearts and feel, and once the hurt of all those years past had been aired away they could finally hang those memories on the walls to look at without that bitter hurt anymore.

Leo would wait though, he would wait for them to emerge from the solemn confessional of Logan’s room, he would wait for them to be ready, he would wait until they wanted him there to pull them back together. He would wait for them forever. Luckily though he didn’t have to wait forever. Leo turned as he heard their footsteps padding closer to the kitchen.

“Hello, my loves,” he said as Finn and Logan peeked their heads in to see what he was doing.

“Mmm,” Finn hummed in greeting and came up to press a soft sweet kiss to Leo’s lips. Out of the corner of his eye Leo saw Logan hop up to sit on the counter. When Finn finally pulled away his lips were pulled into a gentle smile and his eyes as warm and sweet as melted chocolate. Leo sighed at the sight, but turned to Logan who was softly kicking the cabinet doors where his feet dangled from the counter.

“Hi baby,” he whispered, slotting himself between Logan’s knees and running his hands soft against his thighs. Logan sighed and wrapped his legs around Leo’s waist pulling him in closer.

“You all unpacked?” Leo asked so softly for a moment he wasn’t sure Logan had actually heard him. But he saw that look in Logan’s bright green eyes that meant he was thinking, choosing his words carefully before he tried to speak. So Leo waited, he reached up to lightly trace his fingers against the scratchy stubble on Logan’s jaw as his partner gathered his thoughts. Leo felt Finn settle in behind him, pressing his chest flush to his back and rest his chin on his shoulder. He turned his face inwards pressing closer just to place a kiss to the soft skin on Leo’s neck.

“Yeah,” Logan finally answered with a sigh, he turned his face to nuzzle into Leo’s palm. “It was- it was hard,” he whispered, then looked over at Finn still resting his head on Leo’s shoulder and smiled softly. “But as hard as it was to live through, and remember, I don’t think I would change even a minute of it.”

Leo gave him a bit of a puzzled look at that, why on earth wouldn’t he change it if he could? Why would he be willing to live through that pain? Logan chuckled lightly at his confusion and leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to the corner of Leo’s mouth.

“Mon amour, I would live every minute of it again and not change a thing, because mine and Finn's past is what led us to you. And you know what? Thinking of it like that, it doesn’t hurt at all.”

Leo couldn’t help the sheen of tears that glazed his eyes, or the sniffles as he reached forward to pull Logan fully into his arms, holding him tight like he couldn’t bear to leave even an inch of space between them.

“We love you so much Nutty,” Finn whispered, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck, “you make it easier. God, you make everything better.”

“Guys,” Leo sighed at the feel of them pressed so close against him, “this wasn't supposed to be about me.”

Logan reached out to cup his face, his eyes bright and sure as they gazed into Leo’s own, “sweetheart, it’s about us, all three of us, together. Our past, and yours, they were stepping stone to get to this exact moment.”

“Leo,” Finn said softly, he pulled away slightly and turned Leo to look at him so his back was now pressed against Logan's chest where he was still sitting on the counter. Logan twined his arms around Leo’s torso as Finn tilted his chin just so until he couldn't look anywhere but those chocolate eyes. “It’s time we all moved on from the past, ok? Instead, lets focus on building a future, one for all of us, that we’ll get to spend the rest of our lives cultivating.”

Leo swallowed hard, Finn's words seemed to crawl into his heart mending cracks and fissures he hadn’t realized were there. His words put to rest that horrible feeling that crept into Leo’s mind in the dead of night, in those moments he was all alone with no one to soothe away the fear, that he was the odd man out. That one day Finn and Logan would realize that they didn't need him, because they already had a foundation to build on.

“I love you guys so fucking much,” he breathed, and felt Logans arms tighten around him. Finn smiled and leaned in, pressing closer gently until they were so close they were breathing the same air.

“D’accord, d’accord,” Logan mumbled into his shoulder, he breathed in deeply then continued, “no more sad for tonight.”

“I think I can get on board with that,” Leo said with a chuckle.

“Same,” Finn agreed before finally pulling away.

Leo grinned and padded back to the other side of the kitchen where he had left ingredients for dinner strewn across the counter, “Well, do you guys want to help me make dinner then?”

“Le, my precious Peanut Butter, I need you to understand this;” Finn said seriously, “just because we have grown emotionally does not mean our skills in the kitchen have improved in the slightest.”

“Well yeah, and they never will if you don’t let me teach you,” Leo teased, snagging a dish towel and snapping Finn in the thigh.

Logan laughed at Finn's pout as he rubbed the welt now forming and jumped down from the counter, “Alright Nutty, teach us your ways, impart your vast cooking wisdom upon us.”

Leo rolled his eyes at their dramatics but set them to work nonetheless. Finn was tasked with peeling potatoes, with a stern warning from Leo about slicing off his finger. As he was prepping the meat, Leo glanced over at Logan who seemed to be having far too much fun smashing the crackers to make a breading. He couldn't help but grin as he felt warm affection rush through his veins, like he had injected pure love directly into his bloodstream. Leo couldn't wait to feel this for the rest of his life, to build and grow with them, and love them for as long as humanly possible.

It wasn't long before their kitchen was filled with laughter, and banter, and music played over the bluetooth speakers. The three of them worked in tandem, until the delicious aroma of home cooked food was wafting through their apartment. And so what if Finns mashed potatoes were a bit soupy, and what if the veggies Logan chopped were a bit uneven, it was something that they created together, Leo wanted to savor every bite.

#lumosinlove #coast to coast #sweater weather #inspired by coast to coast #inspired by sweater weather #coast to coast fic #sweater weather fic #O'Knutzy #Finn O'Hara #Logan Tremblay #Leo Knut #FinnLo #Harvard pining but with comfort #domestic fluff #needed fluff after that art Haz hit us with today #here is our humble offering

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calliecat93 · 4 years

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Top 5 Things I Liked About Red vs Blue: Season 2

(Top 5 Dislikes)

One post down, one more to go… and then twenty-six more to go for the rest of this series. Why did I decide to do this again? Meh, whatever. Let’s just get on with it as we resume looking over Season 2.

#5. Machinima

Okay, this might sound weird, but hear me out. The machinima last season was… basic. Not bad mind you, there is only so much that you can do without a lot of creativity and resources. Resources that RT didn’t have at this point in time. But mostly, they just went through the default motions. Nothing really stood out. It had some cool stuff, like them somehow managing to blow the Warthog on top of Red Base. I think they even said in the commentary that trying to replicate it for the remaster was a pain in the ass. Still, it just didn’t stand out, though the humor made you not notice.

Clearly, the RT guys wanted to push themselves a little more now that they knew how Halo operated and they could machinimate better. Which they did. I noticed a lot of little things when watching the season. Like having Caboose jumping up and down during the opening gunfight while behind a rock, or even Doc just pretending to fire his blaster. Or having Simmons more or less trembling in the finale when his… ugh… fax parts act up and you can tell what Grif is staring at when he questions it. Or adding in things like Lopez’ note in the finale, and even having it written in binary. Heck, we even have smoke come out of Grif’s helmet when Simmons catches him in the act.

These are small things, but it helps make the world and characters feel a little more alive. Clearly, machinima has its limitations, and we’re a long way away from them adding in animation. But creative people will find a way to work within their limitations, and even use those limitations to their advantage. Considering how long this show has been going, I’d say that they succeeded.

#4. Caboose’s Mind

One of the most memorable parts, and one with some actual effects on the characters, is when Church and Tex go into Caboose’s mind to kill O’Malley. It’s one of the weirdest, yet funniest parts of the season. We get to see how Caboose views everyone, with Tucker being stupid and Church being obsessed with being Caboose’s best friend. He gets them wrong, but it makes sense because it’s how /Caboose/ interprets these individuals. They aren’t supposed to be accurate. It’s especially funny when we see the Reds and only Simmons is close to right Grif is Yellow (which they outright did to prove that he was Orange to viewers), Donut is a girl since that’s what Caboose thought at the time, and Sarge has a pirate accent instead of a Southern one.

It’s just funny to see Caboose, who at this point had been portrayed as the most dim-witted, and how he views these people. It kinda reflects what he wants with Church being his best friend and the Reds fearing him and his greatness. His ideal version of himself is pretty much a cool version of himself, though otherwise not too different. Church’s reaction and frustration at all fo this, especially Caboose!Church, only makes it funnier as is Tex being unfazed by all of it. It did kinda throw me off when I watched it the first time, but God it’s funnier on rewatch now that I know what’s going on. It’s a nice look into Caboose’s mind, and we got to see glimpses of the others int he S14 episode Head Cannon.

I think the biggest things though were for one, we got a location that wasn’t Blood Gulch finally. Sure it’s pretty much a standard video game map with a bunch of cubes, but after having the only setting be a canyon, it was refreshing. We also have some major impact with this since due to all the chaos, Caboose’s character becomes what it is now. We can debate all day how we should view Caboose and his intellectual level, but I do think that this helped endear the character to people and allowed him to stand out much, much more. Even now I know very few people, if anyone, who dislikes Caboose so while maybe they should acknowledge that he was more or less brain-damaged, the character himself has become better due to this. Which is nice~

#3. O’Malley Subplot

Speaking of Caboose’s mind, the O’Malley plot was by far the standout in this season. At first, it wasn’t too much since only Tucker cared about Caboose’s sudden murderous behavior. But once Tex came back, things picked up. While the backstory wasn’t totally accurate, it would certainly lead to more ahead. The fight in Caboose’s mind was fun. Tucker got to show some genuine competence when he came up with the plan to make the Reds turn their comms off and even using Lopez as a backup plan. With how much more competent Tucker grows later once circumstances pretty much force him to, this was an early sign showing that he is capable. He just needs to be pushed into doing it.

O’Malley himself didn’t stand out too much, just being kinda murderous. Then he escaped into Doc. I’ll go more into this next season, but this was the best decision ever. Doc is a whiny goody-two-shoes while O’Malley is gleefully, over-the-top evil. The contrast of the two personalities works super well and is just really funny to watch, though again it applies more for the next season. By the end, O’Malley makes his move and firmly sets himself up as the first proper Big Bad of the series, and he’s the perfect villain for the Blood Gulch Chronicles.

Overall, the whole subplot was really fun even though it did kind of have a slow start. It brought back Tex, had some really funny moments like the Reds' reactions to Lopez’s horrible love song. At least Donut liked it, haha~ It gave us our first proper villain, which led to one Hell of an insane finale. Even everything in between with Donut getting captured by the Blues and them trying to use this to make Sarge build them new bodies was fun to watch. The first half of S2 s super fun, but the second half is, without doubt, the best part for me. O’Malley was the catalyst, and to this day is one of my favorite villains. Love it~

#2. Improved Production Standards

Season 1 was good but flawed. It was clear that the RT guys weren’t really sure what they were doing. Audio quality was meh, jokes could drag, and the pacing was rather slow. It makes sense though when you read about what the original plans were. RvB was meant to be a miniseries, and nothing more. But pretty much a combination of them not getting to what they planned as soon as they thought (Donut was supposed to be in pink armor much sooner for example, and they realized how long it was taking to get there) as well as just coming up with more ideas extended things to a nineteen episode run. So there was no long term plan and things like writing and machinima were done in mere days in between releases. Plus there were only two main machinimators, Burnie and Geoff, and if you listen to the original S1 commentary they are both clearly exhausted. Burnie even said on a one-on-one podcast with Geoff on how they had pretty much had every conversation ever and they’d be like some old married couple just staring at each other. You can find it here if you’re interested, it’s a fun one~

So yeah… when you look back you can kinda tell that S1 was a bit of a rush job, and a tiring one at that. It’s still very good and like I said, they found ways to use so much you barely notice things were made up on the fly. But clearly, they needed a better system. Enter Matt Hullum. He had already been voicing Sarge, but he ended up stepping in to play a larger behind the scenes role. He joined Burnie on writing and directing, and thus they started planning things much farther ahead. As such, they knew the general plot and thus things could be tightened. The pacing is much better with episodes feeling faster, but having plenty of things happening. I already talked about the machinima improvements, which having Matt as well as Gus coming back from Puerto Rico also helped there. The voice acting, while still amateur, improved as well as the audio mixing. The filter is still a little distracting, but it and the general audio mixing is greatly improved. Pretty much every aspect of S1 was improved big time. It wasn’t perfect, but still, they clearly put a lot in creating a more quality product.

Season 2 had a hard job. Season One had to prove that this was a show worth watching. Season 2 had to prove that it could keep going and wasn’t just a one-hit-wonder. And ho boy did they. It’s funnier, it’s more ambitious, and even starts adding in some story. This season got the viewers from last time to come back, and probably brought in some new ones. It proved that this was a show that was sticking around and that RT had staying power. If this season failed, RvB would probably just be remembered as this funny Halo show. But it succeeded because they wanted the show to keep succeeding and be good, and that effort shows.

#1. Improved Characterizations

The thing that I enjoyed most about Season 1 was the character interactions. They just had natural chemistry and their interactions were funny. The characters themselves though were a little one-note. They had personality, but they didn’t really stand out when you compare them to other comedies like The Simpsons or South Park. I guess that RT realized this as well because this is where the characters really begin to become the same ones that we know now. Not all of them mind you like Simmons and Tucker are the least fleshed out here, but even then the signs of who they would become are there with things like Simmons clinginess to Sarge and the joke about Tucker’s rock, as well as the previously mentioned show of competence when pushed.

Donut and Grif show more of their personality, with Donut expressing his hobbies like home decor and growing to like his lightish-red armor. Grif shows his more lazy slacker attributes, like sleeping during meetings and forgetting the ammo, and his unhealthy habits like smoking and his constant eating. Which he’s pretty much doing intentionally to annoy Simmons and mess up the parts that he got from him. Lopez also got a lot of personalities now that he can talk. Namely, after the Reds nearly kill him and the Blues use him for their own means, he hates them all and his apathetic personality has stuck ever since. Poor guy has had such a hard time, haha. And I already went into Caboose, so there's no need to repeat myself. Even Shelia got sassier this season~

The one I think got the most improvement though is Sarge. In S1, he was just kind of a standard sergeant character you could find in just about any military movie, and the voice reflected it. Here? Matt just goes off the wall. He said in the S2 commentary that Sarge is pretty much the combination of various 50’s character tropes, like the grumpy old guy and the mad scientist. It shows. Sarge’s hatred of Blues and love of warfare are much more evident, especially in the finale. His hatred of Grif is also much more played up. We see that he is absolutely insane with his conspiracy theories about Lopez being brainwashed by the Blues instead of reprogrammed and turning Simmons into a cyborg instead of just getting a new robot. Sarge is the opposite of sensible, and having this guy be the leader and forcing everyone to follow his plans due to it is freakin’ hilarious. Matt exaggerating the accent from this point on only adds to this characterization and is much, much more fitting.

The characters, in my opinion, are the best part of Red vs Blue. This season demonstrates that very well. Unlike S1 where there were only shades of their later portrayal, this one uses broad strokes. I think some of the better voice acting can also be due to this since the cast now has more of a character to fool around with instead of just having to more or less act like their everyday selves. The characters were stronger, and as such the interaction and humor were even better. As such, it is my favorite part of Red vs Blue Season 2. Can they keep it up in Season 3? Well… we’ll find out soon~

#rvb #rvb reviews #top likes/dislikes

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eedwritingportfolio-blog · 6 years

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Personal Choice Piece 4

Fiction Piece

Untitled

We meet tentatively, our hands unsure as we explore foreign lands. We talk, getting to know one another, and it is as though we are dancing, spinning around, twirling, beautiful motions that swirl from one spot to another, our thoughts never landing in just the same step, never in sync. (I should’ve known then). Your favorite color is bright red while mine is dark blue. You tell me to stop you when you’ve gone too far. I never do.

It is then that we meet, every night, like clockwork. The clock hand ticks and lands on the hour and your hands are in mine, your voice seeping into the pores of my skin until every cell in my body is spiraling out of control, and I feel my emotions crashing against the muscles, bones, veins of my body as if there isn’t enough room, will never be enough room. Your favorite song is a rap song, with fast lyrics and a harsh beat. I love soft country, with sweet guitar and a soothing voice. But the way you look at me, the way you bite your lip and yank me up to you, it fills me with a satisfaction I’ve never felt, as no one’s looked at me ever, and especially not like that. You consume me and I succumb, allow myself to teeter and totter, until I’ve tipped off the edge and am falling.

You tell me about your life. Not a worry lines your face when you detail that time you snuck out to go to a party, when you fought the school bully in sixth grade, when you asked your high school girlfriend to prom in front of the entire school. When you mention you scored the winning goal in the championship soccer game, how everyone screamed your name and lifted you up, your eyes are shining and you’ve forgotten all about me as you relive your fame, your bubbling accomplishments that read off like a grocery list with all the memories of excitement and adrenaline, as you retell conversations with teachers who didn’t realize the grade you truly deserved; so you argued with them using words I wouldn’t be able to utter, never faltering from speaking how you truly feel. You spent your years trying new things, things I could only dream of, sky-diving for your birthday and skiing with strangers and sneaking alcohol into banquet halls celebrating your father’s company, who is your father? Why do you never speak of him?

I want to connect with you, want to press the subject but you’re laughing, chuckling about jokes I don’t understand like how that one time your friend didn’t realize his pants were unzipped and he asked a girl on a date with his “jingle my balls” boxers out for her to see and she said yes, he still went on a date with her that night, he got laid and the whole time he was wearing these pink boxers with the words “jingle my balls” sketched across them and you’re laughing and sighing and you miss your friends and you miss the glory and I can see without you saying that you’re ready to chase that glory once again. You are everything I am not and I crave to change this. You tell me about your life while I pray you stay in mine.

You have a poster in your room of a movie I’ve never seen. You say it’s your favorite; I’ve never heard of it. “That’s too bad,” you say as you unbutton my shirt. I know it’s a bad idea; you’ve made it clear this isn’t going anywhere. But when you kiss my neck, when you tug at my hair, I feel wanted, desired. I forget that my parents don’t call me anymore, that the last boy who said he wanted me had betrayed me with a strange girl at a party, that my friend’s sitting up waiting for me, that I’ve got an early class tomorrow and I need to get to bed. I forget it all and I kiss you back, falling into your bed. Our hands wander but our bodies stay separate.

It is the next night when you kiss her. I ignore the quaking of my hands, the contorting of my stomach as I tell everyone that I don’t care. You come back to me to remind me of our friendship, telling me “it’s just college” and that’s what college is about. “You’re great,” you say, twirling one of my curls around your finger as you gaze at my newly painted red toenails. “You’re great, but I think we’re better off as friends. We don’t have that much in common, you know?” My smile is tight as I agree. I cry at night. My bed smells like you.

But then you stumble over, drunk, and it’s late at night and we’ve both been out at different parties but you still came, you still came to see me. I’m drunk but sober enough to know that this is not a good idea. But when your hand reaches out and runs through my hair, when your eyes glaze over and stare into mine like I’m it, like I’m the one, and you grip me like I’m your prize, you clutch my sides so tight I couldn’t leave, you kiss me and I’m leaning into you like a wave that’s about to crash onto the shore but you are the sandy banks and I know it won’t hurt I pray it won’t hurt.

“You know, I usually have a thing for blondes,” you whisper in my ear as you twirl your finger through a dark brown curl. My thick tongue can’t form the words I should be saying and I find your blue eyes with speckles of gray as they look my body up and down but won’t see me.

I am on my way back from a test, my head hurting, my eyes burning from my contacts, my mind swirling with formulas and equations and it is then that I see you with everyone else. I should go to bed, should eat something but instead I sit down. “How are you?” you ask, and it’s how you talk to me so casually, how you ask about me, it makes me feel like I matter. We sit across from one another and look at everywhere, anywhere, but at each other. You give a half smile as though I’ve told a joke and I refrain from grinning uncontrollably. You put me at peace. My shoulders relax and I ache to be closer to you, want to have you lean close and tell me about your day, talk so loud I can just listen, just keep chatting away and not wait for a response, I never respond, you don’t expect me to, don’t want me to; it makes it so easy to just fade away and enjoy your world, feel like I’m a part of it. But we sit in a crowd of people, staring but not staring, and God, I want to kiss you. I hope no one can tell. But then again, I hope they can.

“Are you in your room?” you ask. I am expecting more kisses, expecting something more, (it’s time, its been long enough) but instead when you arrive, you sit in my bed, eyes threatening tears as you tell me your deepest troubles. You want affection, desperately, and you don’t see the imploring in my eyes as I beg you with my hands to love me the way I love you. You tell me you’re waiting, saving yourself for someone special, for the girl of your dreams, for the girl that you’ll fall in love with. I tell myself we’re just friends as I stroke your back and reassure you that she’s coming, she will be there. When you leave, I don’t kiss you goodbye. You don’t notice.

You put your arms around me in front of your friends later in the week, so casually, so easily. They pretend they don’t see. I find myself wondering what this means. When you take me out on the stairwell, our stairwell, I know what is coming before your lips crash against mine and suddenly I’m burning, on fire, my lungs feel as though they will explode and I’m starving, ravenous for your touch. I need to feel something, anything more than this loneliness that threatens to fill me because I know I don’t compare to you, with your wild blue eyes and waving hands. You love roller coasters and thunderstorms. I am afraid of everything you love, but I tell myself I’ll do it for you.

“She’s pretty hot,” you say as you lean over to peer at my phone. I laugh while I tell you that she’s my best friend. When you ask me if I’d care, when you lick your lips and your hands run through your hair as you look at the curves of her chest, I recognize your motions and my words catch in my throat. Your tone is innocent but the words carve their way into my skin like a pen on paper until they’re all I can think about. My body spasms and retracts from your touch because, suddenly, the burning desire is too hot, searing through my clothes and singeing my hair and it smells like charcoal and smoky bonfires as I choke on my own saliva and struggle to form words I know I’ll regret saying. You ask about her in a way that makes me realize that you’ve been thinking about her all along. I am your consolation prize. I am the oyster and you desire the pearl. You flit around the topic and you’re like a match that refuses to light, refuses to acknowledge me, hear my feelings. I feel the ripping of my chest as I dig my nails into my thighs and crunch my teeth together to avoid saying the words I want to say. I tell you its fine if you want to go for her, if you want to make a move. You tell me I’m a great friend. I wish those words didn’t come so easily.

My phone dings at 2:33 A.M and I know that it is you. I have grown accustomed to these texts, find myself anticipating them, despite knowing that nothing has changed. I will be just as empty when you leave as I was before you came. But for those precious few minutes while you are here, while your lips are on mine, I feel happier than I can ever remember. You text me and wonder if I’m awake. I wonder how I could’ve fallen asleep. You pad barefoot down the hall and I have to stop myself from tearing the door off the hinges as I embrace you like the sky embraces its lost stars, gathering them into its jet black arms and stringing them together like a beautiful necklace, glittering and dazzling, reminding us that there is more to life than your lips on my neck and the soft crumpled sheets. There’s more to life than tying myself into a knot around you as though I am a ribbon clutching myself to the present; but when the wrapping paper is torn I am cast aside while you are cherished. You leave when you are done. I lie awake and wonder if I ever will be.

I’m trying to prove I don’t need you and you watch me kiss someone else. My friend cheers me on, her manicured hands clapping as she congratulates herself for bringing me out with her. The music resonates against the wall and I feel as though I’m being suffocated in his touch. I have made a mistake, an awful one, and though we never decided, we never said we couldn’t, I still feel a pit in my stomach, a spreading, engulfing sickness that swallows me whole. The room is too small, so suffocating, and I find myself looking for you even when I know it’s a bad idea. My friend tries to stop me, telling me to be happy, to have fun. I wrench away and she rolls her eyes. When I approach you, my movements are slow, deliberate. You look the other way. When I reach out to touch you, you feign ignorance. When my hands stroke yours, you pull away. You remind me we are just friends. I haven’t forgotten. I just hoped you had. I turn to find her and she has gone. She doesn’t come back.

And I thought I lost you, thought I made a mistake so when you show up at my room and your eyes are tired but you’re there, you’re really there, I ignore the cracking of my bones and the frantic palpitations of my heart as I let you into my bed, pull you close, drink you in. I forget for a moment that this is fleeting; I know you won’t spend the night (you never do) and I know your touch is purposeful. But I allow the sliver of hope to ooze into my heart until it pumps through my veins, reaching my bloodstream as I am literally bleeding out hope and love, cut open and lying on the floor but you leave so soon and your kisses become less frequent and your grip is tight, so tight, and you’re gone before I can even kiss you goodbye. We don’t kiss goodbye anymore.

I tell myself that I’m okay. I haven’t spoken to my parents in weeks. My only friend thinks I’ve lost myself, she tells me as she straightens her blonde hair in my mirror, starting at the roots, as she clamps the device down and burns her own hair. She’s wondering why I don’t hang out with anyone anymore while I watch her from my bed, the only place I find myself being lately. It makes me laugh; she doesn’t know that I never knew myself to begin with.

It has been an entire semester when you finally lose yourself to me. I remember how you promised you were saving yourself for the one you’d love forever, how closely you held that promise to your heart. So when you don’t tell me it means something, I don’t ask. All I ask is if you’re ready and when your eyes sparkle and your kiss is slow, gentle, I absorb your answer into my skin and slip off my clothes like a caterpillar, gliding out of its cocoon. But you don’t wait; you tear at the edges of my cocoon until my wings are free just to pin me down and stop me from flight. But then you shred at my shell, split me in half, my insides exposed for the world to see, my heart trembling on the floor, (as I realize I am vulnerable, so vulnerable). And you collapse against me like a smack of thunder reverberating off the air. I hear you moan, hitting the notes of a song that is slightly off key. I try to tune my piano, try to start at the beginning, but your eyes are on the wall, on the floor, on the tips of my breasts, on the curve of my neck, searching everywhere for the love you never will find. You are loud and honest. Meanwhile I stitch my mouth shut and fantasize about all of the dreams I will never achieve.

“I met a girl today,” you tell me when you roll over. I wait for the punch line. It never comes. She saw the poster in your room and told you she had never seen that movie. “So of course, we had to watch it!” like it is common sense, like that would’ve been your reaction if anyone had said what she had. But all I’m thinking is that’s too bad, that’s too bad, you unbuttoning my shirt, your eyes closing, your tongue reaching my chest, and you never watched a movie with me, we’ve never watched a fucking movie and as you tell me about her, you turn and say, “This isn’t weird, right? After all, we’re just friends”.

I tell you it’s over. You didn’t think there was anything to end. I don’t correct you. It ends as abruptly as it began. It takes all I have, I gather up all of my bones that are scattered across the past semester and try to put myself back together. But I was never good at puzzles. I end it so you can be with her; you don’t tell me I’m beautiful (did you ever?) and her favorite color is scarlet. You two bond over music and my phone doesn’t ding at 2:33 AM anymore. You gush to me about her. I tell myself that I’ll be okay. My shaking hands and tear-stained sheets taunt me, reminding me of how many times I’ve said that before. I text my friend, tell her about what you’ve done. She responds with, well what did you expect? And so I put the phone down, that question a spool of thread unwinding in my mind. You walk your path and I realize I’ve lost the map to mine.

I call my parents. When my mother answers, I am in tears, heaving, choking. She is surprised to hear my voice. She doesn’t remember what I sound like. My father drives out in the storm and picks me up. I climb into the truck and he’s looking at me, his brow furrowed, in his cloth pajamas and when my shoulders shake I don’t know if it is because I want to laugh or cry. They don’t ask what’s wrong; they just know it had to be bad for me to call them. We arrive home, an empty house filled with empty people. I’m not surprised when they tell me that they replaced my room with an office. I sleep on the couch. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to sleep again.

My mother is making pancakes. She doesn’t cook and this image is so cliché, so mother-like, that I throw up in the trashcan when she asks if I want syrup. This isn’t where I belong, this house with its tinted windows and tinted hearts. I belong in your arms, with your booming voice and desiring hands. I crawl back into the couch that pretends to be a bed and tell myself you’ll come back to me. My phone never dings. (We were never really friends, now were we?)

My mother takes me to the mall with her. The blurs of passing shoppers makes me dizzy, and I am so lightheaded that when she puts a hand on my shoulder to steady me, I feel safe. I can’t remember the last time I felt this way. When my parents tell me that they’re getting a divorce, I should be surprised. But I’m not. Instead, I ask them if that is what will make them happy. My father looks me in the eye and says, “Sometimes you need to be selfish; you can only give so much”.

That night, I tape together my glass edges. You hold her hand and whisper to her the echo of words you never thought to tell me, that were never mine to hear. I text my friend, apologizing for never realizing how often she came by, how many plans I had cancelled to be with you. I lie in bed and turn on my music so loud that it makes my teeth shake. I don’t like country music anymore.

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