#i feel for chelsea tbh: imagine thinking your roommate is Very Straight to your roommate talking about gay princess bride headcanons

[toomanyfeelings5]

happy, part 5

drama! intrigue! sexual tension!  

the fic continues. here’s a post i made that links to the other parts.

9. the door closes. there’s a long, embarrassed silence. 

then, finally, after a brief cough:

“sorry about that.”

rosamund doesn’t look up from her laptop. she has a fashion design exam tomorrow morning. “no problem.”

chelsea doesn’t take the hint. she keeps talking. rosamund hears her shift from foot to foot. “no really, that wasn’t cool. i should’ve, um, texted you or something--”

rosamund shakes her head, sits straighter at her desk, skims the title of an article she has to review. “just let me know next time. it’s alright.”

chelsea almost says something, mutters under her breath, and then she asks, “are you sure?”

textile design in the industrial age: a comprehensive summary. that’s the article she has to review. she leans closer to the laptop--the text is tiny.

she tries to read, but she can’t focus, not really. chelsea doesn’t answer her texts promptly. chelsea hadn’t bothered to tell her that she had someone coming over. chelsea hadn’t bothered to answer when rosamund had texted her to ask if she could use the room to study. chelsea hadn’t even bothered to lock the door when her and some girl decided to make out on her bed and--and-- 

the other thing is that chelsea’s half of the room is decked out in punk aesthetic--band posters, embroidered patches, a guitar rosamund hasn’t ever seen her play--it’s a disaster. an absolute disaster. 

rosamund squeezes her eyes shut. she doesn’t want to think about opening the door, about seeing her roommate half-dressed in an entirely new context, about any of it. she opens her eyes. it was just a lack of communication. that’s all. she’s just tired from schoolwork. chill. she needs to chill.

rosamund says, “it’s fine.”

chelsea probably runs a hand through her dark hair--it’s probably a mess, all tangled and loose--but rosamund doesn’t know for sure, because rosamund stares at her laptop. rosamund does not look at her. eventually, chelsea apologizes one more time, gets the hint, and leaves to get dinner with friends. 

rosamund gets an A on her exam. she grips the paper tight in her hands, and it still doesn’t feel like a victory. 

10. it’s been a month since dorming with chelsea beatrice, and thankfully, there has only been one other time in which chelsea forgot to text her about having "a friend” over.

chelsea doesn’t have hook-ups over often--she doesn’t seem to hook up with a lot of people anyway. mostly she skypes with her grandma and her mom and her younger sisters, hikes on the weekends, and has her artsy-music-STEM friends over occasionally, and ok, rosamund has to admit it: chelsea isn’t an awful roommate. not ideal--the sex pistols, really?-- but not awful.

there’s one friday night in early october when they both finish all of their work around the same time--this is a bit of a minor miracle, since chelsea double-majors in physics and political science, and rosamund double-majors in business and fashion--and chelsea suggests that they watch the princess bride to celebrate. 

“you said it’s one of your favorites, right?”

“yeah,” rosamund smiles, pleased that chelsea remembered. “yeah, it is.”

“cool, it’s one of mine too. let’s watch it.”

it’s all well and good, sitting on rosamund’s bed, watching the princess bride on chelsea’s bigger laptop, until chelsea points to the screen when the dread pirate rogers makes his first appearance and says, “you know, i think that this movie would be a lot better if wesley was a girl.”

rosamund frowns. “i....suppose that would be nice--”

“i mean--” chelsea pauses the movie, waves her hand. “i mean like, wesley is a super hot guy, don’t get me wrong.”

rosamund nods, because of course, of course he’s a super hot guy.

chelsea continues. “so like, wesley was one of my biggest crushes when i was little, but i also totally loved buttercup. and my point is that the princess bride should have had wesley be a girl. it’d have the whole True Love theme be so...revolutionary, and...” her voice quiets. she picks at the sleeve of the weathered leather jacket she wears all the time. “i think i really needed that kind of stuff, when i was a kid.” 

rosamund hums. “yeah.” she shifts slightly. she doesn’t know what to say, has never known what to say when things like this come up. “can we keep watching?”

“yeah, let’s do it,” chelsea enthuses too quickly.

rosamund wants to enjoy watching it, and in some ways she does: she likes laughing with chelsea at all of the funny parts, she likes telling chelsea her favorite moments. 

the problem is that she gets distracted whenever wesley and buttercup hold hands or kiss or say, “as you wish,” because rosamund keeps picturing wesley as a girl, and she she shouldn’t want to, and it’s distracting. 

the movie ends, rosamund almost flinching when wesley and buttercup kiss for the last time, and chelsea leans back against a few makeshift pillows after she’s put her laptop away. “man, that’s a classic. fezzik and inigo are totally married.”

“totally.” rosamund lets loose a laugh, a bit higher than her normal one, but at least she knows exactly how to talk about this. “my brother fred says the same thing! his friend max always says that wesley and inigo should’ve ended up together.”

“oh my god,” chelsea grins, and she shifts slightly closer to rosamund: when had she moved away? why is she so much more relaxed now? “oh my god, wesley and inigo! i hadn’t thought of that.”

“yeah, fred and max argue about it a lot.”

“it’s worth arguing about!”

they chat about it some more, and they talk about the costuming in the movie, and the sword fight choreography, and eventually chelsea nudges rosaumund’s shoulder and asks, “hey, you’re taking dance classes, right?”

“yeah,” rosamund says, raising her eyebrows. “why do you ask?”

“oh, well, you know.” chelsea adjusts her thick-framed glasses. “do you need a partner still? you were saying something about it to your friend dana--?”

“oh right,” rosamund says, frowning slightly: since when did chelsea remember so much about her, or care? “yeah, i need a partner for next week. we’re practicing the waltz.”

“cool,” chelsea almost mumbles, and stares at her hands. “i just--i did a lot of ballroom dancing when i was younger, and i’m looking to get back into it i guess. i hope it’s not weird or anything, but--” she looks up at rosamund, plaintive, and asks, “but is it ok if i’m your partner? for next week?”

rosamund raises her eyebrows, feels her shoulders tense. she had been planning to ask robert or emmanuel or jason, guys from the dance class, or even luke from the student association, but chelsea...well, she’s apparently an experienced ballroom dancer. it might be useful. 

“i suppose--yes, that would be nice of you.”

“awesome,” chelsea beams. “thank you so much, i’m so excited to get back into dance--i’m a little rusty but i shouldn’t be too awful--”

“not a problem, i have two left feet most of the time anyway--”

“so i could teach you,” chelsea laughs, and rosamund shakes her head: chelsea had never teased her before. are they friends now instead of semi-cordial roommates?

chelsea is expecting a response, so rosamund says quickly, “i’ve always wanted to learn to dance. i’m just not very good at it so far.”

“that’s alright,” chelsea shrugs easily. “you’ll pick up on it the more you do it.”

“yeah. practice makes perfect.”

“eh,” chelsea shrugs again. “perfect isn’t the goal anyway.”

rosamund’s not sure what to say to that, and then she feels inept about it, so she’s almost grateful when chelsea changes the subject and asks, “is it ok if i have a girl over next week? i’ll definitely text you in advance and we won’t be long, i--”

“alright.”

chelsea frowns. her voice cools. “you’re doing that thing again.”

rosamund’s jaw twitches. “what thing?”

“that thing where you freeze up whenever i mention being with a girl.” chelsea squints. her brown eyes harden. “you didn’t do that when i brought a guy over.”

rosamund opens her mouth, closes it. her face is heating up, she can feel it. her nails dig into her palms. “i’m not prejudiced, if that’s what you’re asking. i don’t care who you have relations with--”

“i’m not saying you’re a total biphobe,” chelsea interjects. “jeez, i’m not saying that at all. i’m just....look, i have to ask: do you have a problem with me being bisexual? do you have a problem with me being with a girl?”

“no, no of course not!” rosamund smiles slightly, because this is a ridiculous line of questioning. there’s a stab of guilt in her chest--she sees max at his first pride--but she elects to ignore it this time. why does everyone keep asking her this? why does everyone assume that she’s--that she’s--“i have no problem with you being bisexual, or being with girls or guys or otherwise or whoever you want to be with. my brother’s gay, and max is basically my second brother and he’s gay, and i’m--”

“ok,” chelsea raises her hands. “ok, i get it. sorry for asking, it’s--i’ve had shitty people say shitty things to me before, and i wanted to make sure, that’s all.” her tone remains light and casual, but rosamund feels the air still when chelsea continues. “when you, uh...when you walked in on georgia and i, you’d looked--”

“terrified?”

the word slips out of her mouth, stark and open in the air.

rosamund wishes very much that chelsea would move away so their shoulders are no longer touching. she needs her space. she needs to control herself.

“i was going to say horrified,” chelsea says slowly, frowning slightly. she does not move away. “which like, yeah, it was an awkward situation--sorry again--but like, anyway. glad this is all behind us now. rosamund vincy is the one true ally, everyone.”

irritation prickles up her spine. “guess i am.”

“there it is,” chelsea mutters. “there’s that tone again.” a long pause. rosamund takes a tiny breath. she hadn’t realized she’d been holding it for so long.

in a quiet voice, chelsea asks, “why did you say you were terrified?”

rosamund forces herself to uncurl her fists. “i was surprised, that’s all.”

chelsea stares.

rosamund changes the subject. chelsea is getting way too TMI. “i’ve never danced with another girl before.”

chelsea startles, face no longer closed off. “what?”

rosamund nods rapidly. “i mean, i’ve danced with groups of friends before, but never one-on-one.” she doesn’t know why she feels this urge to prove herself, why there is this angry, heated feeling building in her chest, but she lifts her head and stares at chelsea and tells her, “i guess you’ll have to teach me.” 

chelsea makes some sort of spluttering, strangled noise, and rosamund smirks a little: finally, chelsea’s the one at a loss for words.

she doesn’t realize that she’s been leaning towards her until chelsea manages, “i guess i will,” breath hitting her face.

rosamund’s smirk grows wider. “good.”

“yeah?” chelsea’s voice is low. she is looking at her in a way she never has before, and rosamund--rosamund thinks of chelsea looking at georgia--she thinks that this is a similar kind of gaze, that maybe--

slowly, carefully, chelsea murmurs, “do you want me to teach you?” 

she is so close. rosamund sees the mole on her neck, the collection of freckles near her right eye. rosamund swallows, her entire body warm and tense and waiting--her hand grips the lapel of chelsea’s jacket, and chelsea is so close, chelsea is going to kiss her--

rosamund jolts back, yanks her hand away.

chelsea, dazed, hoarse: “what--?”

there’s a loud buzzing in rosamund’s head. her hands are shaking. she’s trembling all over, god, what was she thinking, what was she thinking, what was she thinking--

“i have to go.”

rosamund doesn’t hear chelsea’s reply, doesn’t sleep in the dorm that night--she stays with dana, dana has space on her couch, dana has lots of beer she’s more than happy to share--and rosamund doesn’t look back. 

“so why, exactly, do you plan to move into my spacious, bodacious single?” fred’s voice is too loud and too demanding and too annoyed for rosamund’s hangover right now, so she snaps, “my roommate and i had creative differences,” and that’s the end of it. rosamund texts chelsea goodbye, that it was nothing personal, that she’s dropping dance class because it’s too time-consuming, and she moves into fred’s that saturday morning. 

that’s the end of it. 

she ignores chelsea’s phone calls and texts. she ignores the static in her head, the ringing in her ears, how her lungs feel constricted, how it’s difficult to breathe sometimes--there are marks on her palms from her nails digging into them, from making them bleed--

she goes by rosy now. it’s shorter, it’s what fred calls her time. rosamund is too stuffy. rosamund is too proper. who’s going to marry someone named rosamund? rosy is easy, rosy is girlish, rosy is confident, rosy is fun. 

eventually rosy hears about a video project fred is helping out with, about a handsome, brilliant pre-med student named thomas lydgate who, according to dana, has spent the past semester in london and who has recently returned to middlemarch. she thinks of her list--1. find the man of your dreams--and that’s the end of it. rosy beams into the camera lens for the fifth time in a row. it is. 

#mmts #middlemarch: the series #fic #my fic #well idk if this is good or not i've barely edited this whoops #this sure is a whirlwind #rosamund vincy is A Disaster #is it too angsty? we just don't know #i feel for chelsea tbh: imagine thinking your roommate is Very Straight to your roommate talking about gay princess bride headcanons #to thinking maybe she isn't straight?? to thinking but what if she's biphobic. to thinking: WHAT THE FUCK I GUESS SHE'S NOT STRAIGHT THEN #ARE WE GOING TO MAKE OUT? to thinking: wow what a clusterfuck that was. who is she. who am i. #chelsea listens to against me! and violent femmes and the slits for a solid week afterwards #you'll see a bit more of her later!!!