#something about this drawing is utterly bizarre to me i dont know why. i think it reminds me of Old art of mine | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

i-read-good-books · 7 years

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So I’ve just read all of the webcomic Countdown to Countdown , and it’s absolutely gorgeous. Every word the characters speak seems to have meaning, and it’s very easy to realize the author has been planning the story for a long time. I urge everyone to check it out!

Because I’m trash, I’ve written some fanfiction. Because of course I have. It’s awful, please dont’ judge the webcomic on it!

@velocesmells I hope it’s not too terrible? It’s supposed to be an AU so I’m justifying how OOC they are in this with that O.O

There’s never anyone that eats with Lillium, but he makes a second plate anyways. You know, just in case.

…

Lillium’s place is dark.

Iris glances at it as he walks down the city streets, his bag slung over his shoulder, and furrows his brow slightly, biting his lower lip. Usually, the guy’s up and running by this time of the day, no matter how late it may be, the kitchen lights turned on until Iris can barely guess if it’s night or day. He doesn’t even have his obnoxious hipster music blasting from the house, which would be a welcome relief, if it weren’t so utterly bizarre.

Iris hesitates. He should be getting to centre soon, there’s a curfew he’s supposed to make on weekdays, regardless of how much he complains about it. It’s just… Lillium doesn’t do quiet evenings in the house. He spends the whole day working his arse off, switching from shitty job to shittier job, so he can come back to the house and cook the whole night, bragging about his omelette magic. Iris has scolded him about it enough times not to know that.

With the hollow, dull feeling in his chest from being perfectly aware that he’s going to regret this, Iris turns and marches up to the battered old house in the worst part of the neighbourhood, his footsteps echoing in the narrow alley. He makes a face at the stench, but powers on through.

There’s not much to Lillium’s that constitutes as a proper house; he’s being nice by not calling it a shack. It’s only one storey, of course (as if the guy could afford anything more than that), and it’s been sitting there, in between two tall apartment buildings, since the beginning of time, dwarfed by the growing urbanization of the landscape around it. Iris has told Lillium a thousand times that it seems more like an abandoned cabin in a horror movie than anything, given the way the wooden walls are slowly rotting, the random spurts of paint on the walls without any order to them.

Iris fumbles to open the door with his key, swearing when he accidentally pokes his finger, and pushes it open without much trouble. He steps into the kitchen, glancing around for any sign of Lillium.

The place only has three rooms: the bathroom, a bedroom, and the kitchen. The bathroom is pretty terrible, which explains why Iris makes sure he’s done his business back at the centre before coming here, and the bedroom has been offered to him so many times (eyes twinkling, a smirk curling Lillium’s lips) that it’s become unthinkable to even go in. It’s not surprising that it’s the kitchen that’s the heart of the house (Lillium lives here), but he has to admit that it’s gotten pretty nice over the years, as more money has come in. Most of the appliances are decent, and it’s always kept pristine when Lillium’s not cooking, although all bets are off the moment he cracks some eggs. He’s also got all of his pictures and stuff there; his books cluttering the shaky shelves, dozens of volumes filled with recipes, his stupid teddy bear reclined against the wall. It makes it seem extremely more personal than his own room, much more intimate.

“Iris?” the familiar voice startles him, and he turns around towards where it’s coming from, tightening his grip on his bag. Lillium’s standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed over his chest in a way that screams ‘unsure’ rather than ‘defensive’, slightly hunched over. He’s frowning. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have a curfew?”

“I…,” Iris swallows, before lifting his chin, determined, “Oh, shush, White, leave it alone. Why aren’t you cooking? Did you finally realize everything you make tastes like ash sprinkled with ketchup?”

Lillium doesn’t laugh.

Iris’s heartbeat is faster than it should be. They’re just talking, after all. It’s just… Lillium isn’t smiling, joking around, or teasing him. He’s not even even offering him food, for Christ’s sake. Iris bites his lip again, lowering his gaze.

“You should go back to the centre,” Lillium murmurs, facing away from him. His bleached roots are starting to show amidst all the pink. His voice sounds forcibly light when he adds, “I know you want to be a bad boy and all, but don’t be stupid.”

Something’s wrong.

Iris looks down at the kitchen table. There’s some papers piled up on top of it, smudges of dirt on the corners of them from carrying them around with greasy fingers; besides that, his #1 Chef cup is resting on the table, half-empty. He narrows his eyes…

His apron is missing. In fact, it wasn’t at the rusty hanger Lillium uses to put all his coats up in the corridor. Where’s his apron from the café?

“You got fired,” he realizes, feeling a bit dumb for not noticing earlier, and watches his friend’s shoulders go down. “The café place you liked.”

“10 points for Gryffindor,” Lillium sighs, finally meeting his eyes again, a self-deprecating smile on his lips. “Guess it wasn’t just meant to be, eh? Alas, they probably knew that, deep in my heart, I belong to you.”

Lillium used to tell him about the café. He was so excited when he got the job, prancing around the house and making Iris stand up to have a ‘happy dance’ in celebration of the first time he actually worked at a place near food. “Just you wait,” he told him, in a sing-song. “Soon I’ll be in the kitchens instead of wiping tables.”

Iris isn’t good at comforting people. Hell, he’s not even good at being around people, the centre’s made sure of that. Mostly he just broods around Lillium and the guy feeds him, takes him out to the park and puts flowers in his hair, snapping pictures of an old Nokia that smells like cat piss. They’re friends because Lillium likes him, not because he’s actually made any effort to keep in touch.

It’s… it’s strange, that his heart shrinks when he thinks of how Lillium’s incandescent smile must have faded today, in front of his boss. It pulls at his insides, the thought of him very quietly leaving through the back instead of spending the day at work.

Iris swallows hard, fidgeting, and chokes out, “Could I get an omelette?”

Lillium raises his eyebrows, “You’re actually asking me for an omelette? Have I died and gone to Heaven?” His eyes twinkle, “Are you my angel?”

Please never die, he thinks, with a terrifying sense of alarm, please.

He’s bad with people, yeah, but Lillium always makes it so that he never has to try. He’s rude and pushes him around, gives him stuff he’s too embarrassed to ask for, and doesn’t care at all that he’s dating both of the twins at the centre at the same time. Lillium’s kind of an older brother, in that way, except he’s constantly offering sex.

“It’s just not right, seeing you mope around like this,” Iris mutters, pursing his lips, “You’re supposed to be cooking or something, you weirdo. And don’t make any angel jokes, those are just old.”

Lillium pouts, taking a step closer to him, “Oh, honeybun.”

“Honeybun,” Iris repeats, faintly amused despite himself. “You do know there are knives in the kitchen, right?”

It takes a little while, but Lillium gives in, pushes Iris aside (“This omelette is supposed to taste good, Iris, shoo.”), and turns on the lights before starting to cook. The smell of bacon slowly being fried fills the room, and Iris sits down on the chair, letting his bag fall to the floor with a soft thump. He takes his sketchbook out, shoving the papers on the table away and starting to draw absently, wrinkling his nose at his sloppy sketch. Meh, it’s late, anyway.

After some time, the sound of a plate being set on the table startle him, making him look up. The omelette smells heavenly, and it’s a rich, warm colour; between gold and a murky brown from the mushrooms.

“Here you go, my lord,” Lillium sighs, sitting across from him and holding his head up with his bandaged hands, smiling softly. “Enjoy.”

Wordlessly, Iris glares, fuming, and divides the omelette in two.

Lillium raises his eyebrows.

“We’re supposed to share, idiot,” Iris mumbles, feeling his cheeks heat. “I won’t be the only one eating here.”

“Ooh,” he smirks, “Is this a date, perhaps?”

“I’m leaving - “

“Aw, c’mon, c’mon, stay,” Lillium whines, holding out one of his hands to grab his wrist as he tries to rise from his seat, flushing furiously.

He sits back down, breath coming out in small huffs, “...You’ll get another job, Lillium, okay? Soon you can be the #1 Chef and Begonia will throw a party or something.”

Lillium sticks a forkful of omelette in his mouth, chewing for a moment before answering, “It’s not kind to lie to people who care about you.”

Iris looks at him, slightly annoyed, “I’m not a liar. You won’t be winning any beauty competitions, Mr. White, but you can cook, alright? Stop being all emo, it’s creeping me out.”

“Says the ultimate emo,” Lillium bites back, but his smile seems a little more honest.

“Have you seen your clothes?”

“Have you seen your hair?”

Lillium snorts, “Rude, my hair is fabulous.”

It’s getting late; so much that he’s guaranteed a scolding from the people at the centre, if not being grounded for this weekend. He should really, really go, before they get truly mad and take his sketchbook away. Living alone is much lonelier without his sketchbook.

But, after a short while, when there’s only small bites of the omelette on the plate and Iris has already given up trying to finish it, Lillium’s hand settles over his hesitantly, trembling a little. He says, “Thank you.”

Iris stays.

…

They end up in the bedroom; and it’s one of the few times Iris has ever been inside the place. Despite the fact that Lillium’s lived alone ever since he met him, he’s still got a double bed “for overnight visitors”, or that’s what he claims.

Lillium rests his back against the headboard, and Iris lies down next to him, leaning his head on his shoulder and looking up at the ceiling. He doesn’t protest when Lillium links their hands together, or when he gently nudges closer to him, in a move so terribly unsubtle and telling that it’s almost cute that he seems so nervous.

It’s weird, knowing that Lillium wants him there. Iris can barely manage to cover up his scars with his clothes, he’s a mess in school in almost every subject, he’s dry and sarcastic with people he doesn’t know very well and he’s a guy who likes other guys, possibly at the same time. At first, he thought maybe Lillium wanted to have hook up with him, but, even though the guy can’t have five minutes without an innuendo, he’s never made any move to touch him in a way that’s not reassuring or affectionate, instead of sexual.

“You’re going to regret this so much tomorrow,” Lillium whispers into his hair, his voice giddy. “But I’m milking it.”

Iris sighs dramatically, mock-offended, and moves his head up to kiss his cheek, so quickly he’s not quite sure he’s actually done it. Next to him, Lillium freezes.

“Now, I’m dead,” he murmurs, and the touch of his lips against his scalp makes him shiver.

“Shut up,” Iris pokes him in the shoulder. “I’m the one who’s going to die when I get back to the fostering centre. If I’m not out in three days, you’ll know I’m not coming back.”

“I’ll have an omelette made in honour of your death,” Lillium teases, and Iris shuts his eyes.

Fin.

#countdown to countdown #ctccomic #webcomic #lgbt webcomic #apocalyptic webcomic #fanfiction #i love this guys #tw: self harm #tw: self harm scars

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