Bitter, bitter
(another little Not Me fic)
They take way too long to spot him – especially Gram, who should know better and who, when he finally realizes they aren’t alone, just pushes Gene behind him and then fucking freezes, the moron.
Funny, the effect Black tends to have on people.
"Gonna have a panic attack ?" He does not bother to sound sympathetic.
"Heart attack, actually." Hard to tell what’s more insulting : that Gram relaxes when he recognizes him, or that he doesn’t relax entirely. "And if I drop dead because of you Eugene will hate you for life, and that will serve you right."
"Don’t decide what I would or wouldn’t do", she chides, her head popping up over his shoulder. Her cheeks are flushed – unsurprising, given how giddily and enthusiastically they were making out a minute ago – and she seems a little embarassed, but her gaze has its usual quiet, attentive quality. Did he even know she could kiss like that, so recklessly ? He was always careful with her. Caution is all you’ve got when you're bad at tenderness. "Good evening, Black. It’s been a while."
"Eugene."
"Really ?" cuts Gram, propping himself up on his desk. "This is how we’re gonna do this ?" His lips are very red. That makes sense. They would be.
"Mind your own business," Black shoots back before he can think better of it. Behind strands of bleached hair, two incredulous eyes meet his :
"This is my dorm. My door which lock you picked –"
"Great job noticing it, by the way."
"– my beer you’re drinking in my chair. But please tell me how this isn’t my business."
"Eloquent," Black deadpans. "What happened to property is theft ?"
"And what happened to anarchy is an ideology for artists, only applicable in the abstract ?" retorts Gene, because she has a phenomenal memory when it comes to winning an argument.
He shrugs. "I stand by it."
"I’m with him on that one."
"Yeah, because you’re both uncultured idiots who won’t open a history book that doesn’t have Laws written on the cover."
For a moment, it almost feels like nothing has changed, like everything is the same as before – before he’d understood just how urgently Todd had to be dealt with and that this was something he needed to do alone.
But if nothing had changed Gene would be nestled against him, not positioned carefully equidistant from the two people facing her. He wonders how Gram feels about that. How he felt about it back then. He always looked happy, and inordinately fond, but – as Black should have kept in mind – that doesn’t actually mean shit. He certainly feels neither joy nor fondness at Gram’s red lips and Gene’s flushed cheeks. Maybe that’s his punishment for choosing Todd over them.
"I came to talk," he says, and drowns Gram’s sarcastic "he wants to talk but it’s not my business" with "I didn’t know Eugene would be here." A mistake.
"What, you can’t talk when I’m here ?"
"No." It’s the truth. Black’s a lousy liar, and he always tells her the truth. The problem is that he can’t voice the rest of it : that he wishes he could, that he’s never been good at it and that wanting only makes things worse. That he remembers exactly how soft her hair was under his palm, and that he may not know how Gram’s hair feel but he does know it smells of basil. That those two phantom sensations burn in his throat, not unlike teargas.
"I promised I’d get out of your life."
"So I should just let you two discuss me between men ?"
"That’s not –" starts Gram. Black shuts him down fast.
"You take it however you want. I have no right to tell you how to feel."
"You could explain, Black ! For once in your life, you could explain yourself !"
"No," he repeats, and pushes himself up. "I’ve taken enough of your time. I’m off."
"Wait !" Gram grabs him by the arm, then winces and lets go before Black can finish weighting the pros and cons of punching him in his fucking mouth. "Wait, please."
"Did you come on your bike ?" asks Gene. She’s eyeing the empty beer bottles. "You should spend the night here."
He doesn’t remind her that she is mad at him, or that this isn’t her room. "I’m not drunk." Maybe he would have been if White hadn’t teased him the other day. Eugene said you’re sooo gentle when you’re wasted. Perhaps he is. He couldn’t risk it.
"But you wouldn’t pass breath-testing. Sleep here, man. Eugene can take the bed and we can take the floor."
"Stop acting like you’re not dating her."
"It’s a one person bed."
"Right. You were absolutely planning to sleep on the floor tonight. That’s why you came in with your hands so far down her –"
"Enough." Anger is back in Gene’s tone. Good. He cannot stand one more second of sad concern. "We just want you to stay."
"Yeah, well," and he’s finally outside, in the corridor, in the clear. "We don’t always get what we want, do we ?"
He turns to look at them, both standing in the doorway, so close to each other like a proper couple, cheeks still a little flushed, lips still a little red. What a waste of an evening.
"See you later I guess," he says, and makes his way down the stairs.
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