#went off the rails and wanted to ghost everyone and fuck off to seattle. but im glad to see she stuck around and we go to the same uni

[zhuhongs]

ah, the universality of wanting to see a familiar face. idk i just. have a lot of thoughts

#theres a guy in my chinese class that looks like a classmate i had in elementary school and i couldnt stop staring at him. i just. i think #its him. we werent friends but. its like. wow. i never had a conversation with u but ive known u since i was 5. i hope you're doing well. #funny that we're in the same class in uni huh? #it is him. i just confirmed using canvas. i should message him. #and earlier today i also say a friend from high school. she was a year older but we became friends bc i loitered at the starbucks were she #worked. she always gave me soy for free. she was 1 of my 3 prom dates. we kinda fell putta contact but we live in the same town. she kinda #went off the rails and wanted to ghost everyone and fuck off to seattle. but im glad to see she stuck around and we go to the same uni #its funny. i chose that uni bc no one else from my hs wanted to go there. and yet here i am #and its also smth ive noticed with my students #one of the girls in my program was at my camp in 2020 when i first started and when i saw her at ny new job i said hi and she said 'how do #you know my name. i dont know u' and i told her that she does know me. i was her art teacher a year ago and then she went OH. and now when #ever she sees me she hugs me and says hi. even though shes not in my class. but she knows that she knew me and is still like. fond of that #and my other students from that year i saw again and they all are happy to see me #one of the kids that graduated has a brother thats at ny school but not in my program and said hes gonna tell his brother to sign up so he #couple see me. and another girl always says she misses me. that im the best art teacher shes ever had and im rlly not a good teacher but #she likes me bc she knows me. and another kid told one of his friends on the first day of camp this year to be quiet bc i was cool. bc he #had me last year. and its nice. its nice. its nice to see a familiar face. no matter how old you are #i always wanted to become a stranger. move away and leave after high school. i wanted to start anew where no one knows me. but i realize. #how nice it is to see a familiar face. even if its someone you werent close with. just knowing them. even at a surface level is nice. it #feels good. its comforting really. and i used to hate it. but im rlly learning to value things and ppl. no matter how shallow. its just #nice to not be fully alone. huh.. its a strange feeling #after spending so long wanting to leave and become a stranger. i feel that its actually nice to reconnect. its nice to make acquiantances #and friends along the way. its nice #and seeing old faces is nostalgic. it makes me wish for something i cant really describe #not that i want to return to being a kid. im glad im an adult but it makes me aware that one day. the current me will be in the pass and i #will think of her fondly. and think of ppl fondly. huh #🐌.txt #🐌.pdf

[bechloeislegit]

Last Call - Chapter 1

Synopsis: Beca Mitchell hasn't seen or spoken to Chloe Beale in a year. Something happens and Beca leaves Chloe a message. Some angst and drama ahead.

It was just past 7:30 am on a foggy Friday morning when Beca Mitchell said goodbye to her mother and stepped onto the ferry that would take her into downtown Seattle. She had visited with her mom for the last few days and now had to return to her press tour for her debut album. She was scheduled to be on Seattle's iHeart Radio show that morning and then had various press interviews that afternoon.

Beca was hoping if she kept busy today she wouldn't have to think about what happened one year ago today. She stood at the second deck railing staring out into the waters of Puget Sound trying to think of anything but Chloe Beale. She had no control over it, so her memory went back to that day exactly one year ago. They were in Paris and Beca had just given her first solo appearance.

Beca couldn't believe that she and Chloe had finally gotten together a few weeks before the USO tour. Beca had just finished her first solo concert and was on a high when she spotted Chloe walking toward the back of the Citadel. She followed after Chloe, ready to take her girlfriend to the celebration that DJ Khaled's label had planned for her. She saw Chloe go through an arch and followed her. Her heart dropped as soon as she stepped through the arch. There, in front of her, was Chloe kissing Chicago.

"What the hell, Chloe?"

Chloe pulled back from the kiss and looked at Beca. She asked Chicago to give them a minute. He nodded his head and walked away. Chloe looked at Beca.

"I'm sorry, Beca, but I didn't mean for you to see that before I had a chance to talk to you," Chloe said nervously seeing the pained look in Beca's eyes. "I didn't want to say anything earlier because I didn't want to mess up your performance. I think, I, um. I think I need some time to figure some things out."

"Figure out what exactly?"

"Figure out what my feelings are for Chicago. And you."

"What's that supposed to mean? I thought you loved me."

"I did, do," Chloe told her unable to look her in the eye. "I do, but, I also have strong feelings for Chicago. Since you're going to L.A., I thought I'd stay here with him for another week and see how things go."

Beca felt her heart shatter and her eyes teared up. "You told me you were in love with me."

"So much is changing. You're going to be in L.A.; I'm starting Vet School in New York. I don't know, Beca. It's all so confusing, and I'm not sure about anything anymore."

"So, just like that? You no longer love me, but some guy who you've known for all of five days. You can't be with me because I'll be L.A. and you'll be in New York. But, you can be with a guy who's on the other side of the world from you."

"I'm sorry, Beca. I can't explain it, but there's just something about him. It just happened. It has nothing to do with how I feel about you."

"It has everything to do with how you feel about me," Beca yelled. "Or should I say, how you don't feel about me?"

Chloe stood with tears falling down her cheeks. "I don't want to hurt you, but I feel like I owe it to myself to see where this thing with Chicago goes. I'm sorry. No matter what happens, I hope we can still at least be friends."

"Are you serious?" Beca was hurt and angry. "What do you expect me to do? Leave you here and go off to L.A. and sit and wait for you to decide to fully dump me over the phone or by text? No thanks! Stay with Chicago and don't worry about me. I'm done!" Beca turned and walked away from Chloe. She yelled back over her shoulder, "Oh, and as for being friends, fuck you!"

Beca heard Chloe let out a sob as she continued to walk away. She listened, but Chloe never called out her name like she used to whenever Beca walked away from her. She didn't let the tears fall until she was almost back to the hotel.

A little while later, Beca found Theo and told him she wanted to fly to L.A. immediately. Theo made the arrangements and had Beca on a plane early the next morning. She avoided everyone and turned off her phone. She ignored texts and phone calls, especially those from Chloe and the Bellas. She never looked at or listened to any of them. Once she was in L.A., she got a new phone and a new number, and never looked back.

Beca hadn't spoken to Chloe, or any of the Bellas for that matter, since that day. Amy and Aubrey both tried to reach her through the label, but she gave the receptionist a list of people who she did not want to talk to, no matter what. The list consisted of Chloe and all the other Bellas. She half expected Amy and Aubrey to show up at the studio one day, but they haven't.

Beca was brought out of her thoughts when the ferry lurched causing her to grab the railing to keep from falling. Suddenly, the ferry lurched again and she was thrown to the deck. She tried to stand and grabbed onto a doorway. There was a loud noise and she was thrown into an inside observation room. She hit her head on something and then there was nothing but darkness.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

It was just past 2:00 pm in Atlanta when Chloe found herself sitting at the bar she, Stacie and Aubrey had become regulars at since it was just a few blocks from their shared apartment. She knocked back another tequila shot and slammed the glass down on the bar.

"Another," she said getting the bartender's attention.

The guy sitting two seats away from her was watching her. "Are you celebrating something? Or trying to drink away a memory?"

"Trying to drink away a memory," Chloe said and downed the shot.

"May I ask what memory?"

"One year ago today is the day I lost my best friend and the love of my life. She was my everything, and I lost her because of some guy who turned out to be a major dick and married."

"Wow," the guy said. "If you're not with the guy, why haven't you tried reaching out to her? Sometimes a simple apology goes a long way."

"She ghosted me," Chloe replied twirling her finger around her glass to let the bartender know she wanted another. "Cut me totally out of her life."

"Can't say that I blame her," the guy said. At Chloe's glare, he held up his hands saying, "Sorry."

"It's okay. You're right and I don't blame her either," Chloe said. "I just wish I had the courage to find her and beg her to forgive me. Even if she doesn't love me anymore, we were once best friends. I miss that. I miss her."

The guy took a sip of his drink and heard the sounds of a phone ringing. He looked over at Chloe since it sounded like it was coming from her direction. Chloe hadn't made a move to answer it.

"Your phone is ringing," the guy told Chloe.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

Beca's head jerked up and she sputtered. The water was all around her and she was being held up by something or someone. Her head was killing her and she had no idea what was happening. She put her hand to her head and groaned.

"You hit your head," a voice said close to Beca's ear.

Startled, she tried to look over her shoulder but couldn't see because it was fairly dark.

"I'm Ben," the voice said.

"Beca," Beca told him. "What happened? How long was I out?"

"Something hit the ferry," Ben said. "Or the ferry hit something. Whichever, the ferry partially sank. We're in an air pocket somewhere inside the ferry. I was thrown around quite a bit, so I have no idea where. I think you've been out for about an hour, maybe a little longer."

Beca let this information sink in. She tried to look around but could only see flashes of sunlight reflecting in the water. They were silent and Beca felt herself wanting to close her eyes. Beca could feel herself relaxing and then stiffening.

She took a deep breath and said, "We're not getting out of this, are we?" Beca's voice was thick with tears.

"Don't think like that," Ben said. "I believe we're going to make it."

Beca realized Ben was supporting her entire weight. "I can swim," Beca said. "You can let go of me."

"Only for a few minutes," Ben said. "And only because my arms are feeling kind of numb."

Ben loosened his grip on Beca and she moved her arms to keep herself afloat. Beca's eyes adjusted to the dark and could see that Ben's head and shoulders were above the water. Ben reached his arms up and shook them a few times. He then rubbed up and down his arms.

"How are you not sinking?," Beca asked looking at him.

"I'm standing on what I think is a table," Ben said. "We're in a large air pocket so we should be okay. I don't want you to have to try and stay afloat on your own. So, please give me a couple of minutes, and I'll hold you up again. I'm worried about that hit you took to the head and I don't want you tiring yourself out."

"How did you come to be holding onto me?," Beca asked.

"I kept struggling and finally made it out of the water into this air pocket and then you popped up next to me," Ben said. "Not gonna lie, I thought you were dead at first. I turned you over to check and you took a breath, so I found something to set my feet on and started keeping your head above water."

"Thank you for that," Beca said. Beca tired quickly and let out a yawn.

"I've got you," Ben said pulling Beca back to him. "Close your eyes and rest. You're going to need all the strength you can to get out of here."

"What about you?," Beca said. "You can't keep holding me up. You're going to get tired again."

"I had some time to think while you were out and I've got an idea," Ben said. "I'm standing on a table. I'm guessing there are other tables in the water. What if I can find another one and stack it on top of this one? We might be able to sit and keep our heads above water."

"I'm kind of short. You might need a third table," Beca said and laughed.

Ben chuckled. "I think we'll be fine with two."

It was dark and Beca could barely see Ben's features, but she could tell he was worried.

"We can both get the table," Beca said.

"Okay," Ben said. "You hold onto my belt and we'll go together. Are you ready?"

"No," Beca said. "But, let's do it anyway."

Ben let go of Beca and she grabbed his belt. They both went under the water. Ben led the way and ran into an object and determined it was another table. They maneuvered it next to their original table but had to resurface for air.

They were both breathing heavy and waited until their breathing had settled. "We just need to lift the table and stack on top of the other. We shouldn't have to be underwater as long as last time. You ready?"

"Ready," Beca said.

They both dipped back under the water and managed to maneuver the table on top of the other. They resurfaced and Beca sat cross-legged on the table. The water was up to her chest but she felt better knowing Ben was more comfortable.

Beca put her hand to her head and Ben told her it was okay for her to rest. Beca was afraid to close her eyes, but before she knew it, she had dozed off. She jerked awake after and was sitting between Ben's legs with her back to him. Ben had his arms wrapped around her waist, holding onto her. The water was now up to her shoulders.

"Sorry," Beca said. "I'm just really tired."

Ben didn't say anything. They stayed quiet for a bit.

"I called my wife," Ben said softly. "Just in case we don't, um. Anyway, my phone's waterproof. Is there anyone you want to call?"

Beca let out a small sob. She really wanted to call Chloe and tell her she still loved her and that she was sorry for walking away.

"No," Beca said.

"It might make you feel better about things," Ben said.

"Could I just talk to you about it?," Beca asked.

"Sure," Ben said. "Tell me whatever you want."

Beca moved out of Ben's arms and sat cross-legged facing him. She spent what felt like an hour telling Ben all about Chloe. How they met, even the shower incident. She told him about how she finally told Chloe how she felt about her and Chloe had told her she felt the same way. She stopped for a moment.

"You can stop," Ben said. "I don't need to hear any more."

"No," Beca said. "It still hurts but it's part of our story."

"Then tell me," Ben said.

Beca then recounted how they ended up in Europe on a USO tour. And, about how she found Chloe kissing Chicago and how Chloe had decided to stay behind to see how things went with him.

"That must have sucked," Ben said.

Beca chuckled. "Maybe a little."

Ben started to say something when it felt like the ferry dropped and the tables they were sitting on shifted throwing them both into the water. Beca fell backward and Ben tried to grab her but his weight caused the table to fall toward him and they lost each other in the water.

Beca felt like she bounced off the table leg and then was being turned this way and that; she didn't know which way was up. She panicked slightly but finally managed to get her head above the water line and took in a big breath of air. She kept herself afloat and coughed a bit before her breathing returned to somewhat normal. The air pocket she was in felt smaller than before. She pushed the hair off her face and began to panic when she realized that Ben hadn't surfaced.

"Ben!"

Beca went back under the water to see if she could find Ben. She came back up and went down again until breathing became an issue and she had to stop. It was too dark to see and she hadn't been able to find Ben. The tears came and Beca started feeling dizzy. She shook her head to clear it.

"I'm going to make that phone call now," Beca mumbled. She had trouble keeping her head above water as she reached to pull her phone out of her jacket pocket. She managed to get her phone out and sunk down into the water. She struggled back up. She laughed and cried for a bit when her head popped out of the water. "I'm glad I paid extra for the waterproof phone," she said and laughed a laugh that was tinged with both a little bit of humor and a whole lot of hysteria.

Beca fought down her panic and found Chloe's number. She was glad she put all the Bellas' numbers back in a few months ago. It was during one of those odd times she thought about calling and changed her mind. She took a deep breath before pressing the call button. The phone started ringing.

~oOo~ ~oOo~ ~oOo~

"Your phone is ringing," the guy told Chloe.

"Let 'em call back," Chloe said and got the bartender's attention.

The bartender walked over and set a bottle of water in front of Chloe and walked away.

"This isn't what I wanted," Chloe yelled after him.

"Aubrey's on her way," the bartender told her.

Chloe huffed and tried to stand up, only to flop back down on her stool. She decided to sit there and drink the water.

"Chloe," Aubrey said and sighed when she spotted her best friend.

"Brey, leave me alone," Chloe said teary-eyed. "I just need this today. Please?"

Chloe started crying and Aubrey paid her tab. She helped Chloe up and led her out of the bar to her car. She buckled Chloe in and got behind the wheel and drove off.

"Have you eaten today?," Aubrey asked. Chloe remained silent. "Let's get some food in you and then I'll take you home."

"I just want Beca," Chloe cried. "It's been a year, Brey. One year today. I should never have kissed Chicago. I should never have told Beca I was staying with him. I should never have let her walk away." Chloe let out a sob and let the tears fall. "I still love her, Brey. Why did I have to fuck it up so bad with her? She hates me."

"She doesn't hate you," Aubrey said.

"Then why did she shut me out of her life?"

"She didn't just shut you out of her life," Aubrey snapped at her."She shut us all out."

"I never thought she'd run away and just erase me, us, from her life," Chloe said.

"She was upset by what happened between you two. I don't want to be a bitch, Chloe, but you broke her heart. Something you swore you would never do. And for what? Some married douchebag who just wanted to get into your pants? You're smarter than that."

"Apparently not," Chloe mumbled and stared out the window.

#bechloe fanfiction #bechloe #beca mitchell #chloe beale

[pjbehindthesun]

chapter 23: an hour and a half from now

Saturday, November 3rd, 1990

What does it say about me, that this is the most at home I’ve felt in this city since I’ve moved here? Leaning on a cold metal pole in the back of a shithole music venue by myself with nobody to talk to, just watching the people in the crowd who have no idea they’re being watched. Shit, I don’t mean it to sound all creepy like that, it’s just one of my favorite things to do: pay attention to people when they think they’re being ignored. That whole “dance while no one’s watching” idea? Makes for a solid evening of entertainment all by itself. Unless, like tonight, everyone seems to be here on a goddamn date. For the first half of the set, it’s just felt nice, the way no one’s bothered me all night, but it’s like a light switch flicked in my head and now all I can see is that everyone’s here with someone. Fucking great. Can’t even enjoy a show without reverting into a self-pitying, morose fucker. Maybe if I find a different spot in the club, I can try to force my attention back on the band. At least no one’s hassling me about shouldering my way forward. In a small enough place like the Off Ramp, no one really gives a shit.

Yeah, okay, this is better. The only people I can see are the handful of people directly in front of me and the band. They’re pretty fucking great, I never saw ‘em before… Jesus Lizard, I wanna say? Supposed to be out of Chicago, so we probably know a lot of the same people, although Beth was always way more into the noise rock scene than me…

Fuck. Stop it, Vedder. I hate this whole fucking break-up thing. Whose idea was it, anyway, not mine… I hate how everything reminds me of her. Or, I guess, I want to hate it. Truthfully, those painful little stabs of memory are all I have of her anymore, so I guess I should be grateful for them. I have a habit of hoarding them, like a collector, turning them over and over like cherished trinkets. How fucked up is that? Wait a minute… that’s not her, is it? There, the little brunette, up on the rail, in the white t-shirt that’s too big for her frame... fuck, it looks just like her from this angle, it’s got to be her… what the fuck is she doing here? She wouldn’t have come all the way up here, would she? For what reason? To tell me she wants to get back together? I shove between a couple of guys who are probably gonna murder me in an alleyway later, but it doesn’t matter, my hand’s on her shoulder, she whips around, and…

“M’sorry, thought you were someone else,” I mutter as the girl turns back to the music with a justified look of disgust, although there’s no way she heard my apology and definitely no way she cared. Of course it wasn’t her. What the fuck would she be doing in Seattle? What sense would that make? So fucking stupid. Doesn’t matter how many times I think I spot her in a crowd, it’s only wishful thinking. Stupid, invasive, immature dreams of her coming to find me, to tell me we’d made a horrible mistake. Just dreams. I can’t get myself outside the club fast enough. There’s a stack of the local circular on the counter by the door, so I grab one on my way out, hoping I’ll find something in there that’s actually worth thinking about, and shiver when I hit the damp outside air after escaping the stuffy club.

Maybe I should have gone out with Jeff and Mike after all, seen whatever show they wanted to see. Maybe I would have had a different set of distractions with them, done a better job keeping my mind off of Beth. Then again, seems like every time I go out with the guys, we end up hanging out with like a dozen of their closest friends in the music scene. Normally that’d be great, but I can’t shake the feeling that their buddies are always making fun of me somehow. I don’t blame ‘em, I’m probably fucking hilarious to them, a surfer in Seattle, a terrified frontman, the absolute antithesis of everything the guys had going on before, with Andy, just a…

...just a self-absorbed knucklehead whose problems aren’t shit compared to what I can see a little ways down the road from me. There’s a person, a woman, maybe, looks like she’s about my mom’s age, and she’s settling in for the night underneath the highway overpass. Okay, there’s one way I can quit being a mopey sack of shit and do something positive.

After giving her all the change in my wallet, the newspaper I wasn’t really reading anyway, the flannel under my coat, and the cut-off gloves I’d forgotten I had stashed in my pocket, I start back in the direction of home. Or Jeff’s apartment, I should say. Home’s a long way away. But I don’t get very far past the door of the Off-Ramp.

“Eddie?”

The door opens, carrying with it a wall of club noise and a familiar, mellow voice that makes me turn around.

“Oh, uh, hey Chris,” I greet him as he materializes out on the street, looming in all black. “You been here long? I didn’t see you, I woulda said hi.”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” he smiles, “but it’s cool, I probably wouldn’t have either. It’s just one of those nights. You probably know how that is. I figured you’d be over at Squid Row with Jeff and Cready.”

“Oh, uh, you know, I was just…”

“Hey, like I said, it’s one of those nights. I’m being an antisocial shit too,” his grin widens. “We could team up, you know? Twice the brooding.”

“The more the moodier,” I’m chuckling in spite of myself. Chris seems to do that -- put people at ease. If he wants to. I’m glad I ran into him.

“Where were you headed?”

“There’s this footpath over at Discovery Park, and it’s usually pretty kinda quiet this time of night. My wife, she’s a big fan of these ridiculous little dogs. You ever seen a Pomeranian?”

I squint, racking my brain. “Those the Chinese ones, the little ones that look like mops?”

“No, no, that’s a Pekingese,” he laughs at the characterization. “Poms are even less dignified, they’re literally just pom poms with googly eyes glued on. Anyway, Susan’s all about ‘em, and we just got one. Well, a new one, I should say, we already had one, so now they’re a dynamic duo. Kinda funny to watch them try and keep up with my shepherd in the mud,” he mimes short legs flailing and a tongue panting, and his long hair looks for all the world like a pair of poodle ears as it sways along, “so I go out there by myself with a bunch of shitty beer and watch ‘em run around until they’re too tired and I have to carry ‘em back, one under each arm. It’s really fucking therapeutic, you should try it.”

Is this guy serious? I know I’m new to Seattle, but you’d have to live under a rock to miss how big Soundgarden is around here. And this notorious rockstar spends his weekends roaming through forests like a lonely ghost with a pack of ridiculous hounds? That’s officially the coolest fucking thing I’ve ever heard another human being say.

“Well? You in?”

I bob my head once in agreement, trying not to smile like too much of a fucking maniac, and another easy smile spreads across his face.

“Yes! My car’s that one, the Galaxie. Fuckin’ radio’s stuck on a religious station right now, though, hope you’re feeling the right combination of gullible and guilty.” He points at something parked behind him on the corner before turning on his heels to head in that direction. A massive, battered, late ‘60s Ford land yacht. I don’t think I could feel more heartfelt and instant love for an inanimate object if I tried.

“Hey, if you’re into hiking, we oughta go tomorrow too, there’s that trail Cora and I were telling you about a while back, I don’t think she’d be too mad if we went without her… although on second thought, I don’t want her to kill either one of us, so maybe we should probably check and see if she wants in... ” he trails off as I break into a jog to try and keep up.

***

Sunday, November 4th, 1990

“Where are you off to at this hour?”

In the quiet and darkened apartment, Alex’s voice makes me bounce into the air from my seat on the couch where I’d been tying my shoe.

“JESUS! You scared the shit out of me!”

He watches me with a rueful twist of his lips. “It’s my apartment too, ya know. You got too used to it being empty while I was gone, huh?”

“No, it’s not like that…” ...except it’s exactly like that, I mutter to myself as I try to stop my heart from racing like a cornered bunny's… “I just didn’t think you were awake yet and I didn’t want to be the one to wake you. I figured you’re probably still tired. From your trip.”

“Nah,” he groans through a stretch, “wide awake. My body’s still on mountain time.”

“Hmm.” I return my attention to my laces in the absence of anything else to say to him.

“You didn’t answer my question, though.”

“Your…?”

“Where are you off to?”

“So long, Mom, I’m off to drop the Bomb...” I singsong absently while I finish tying the other sneaker’s laces. When I straighten up, Alex is looking utterly lost and more than a little annoyed.

“Come again?”

“Little bit of pre-nostalgia for World War III, that’s all.”

I bite my lip to shut myself up. Weapons of mass destruction and nuclear holocaust are maybe slightly less funny when we’re actually keeping so many secrets from one another.

“You’re so fucking weird.” Alex shakes his head in dismissal, not showing any signs of having gotten the joke. Stone would have thought it was funny. UGH, god damn it, speak of the devil. Why am I thinking about Stone? Stop thinking about Stone! Stop it! Quick, change the subject…

“Well, I was going to go for a run, if that helps answer your question.”

Alex nods and I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s the only excuse I can find for getting out of the house long enough to clear my head and sort through some of the chaos of the last 48 hours. Making sense of what Lucy was trying to tell me the other day. Deciding what to do about this gift Alex sent Patch. Figuring out what the hell I actually think of Stone now. It’s gonna need to be a long run.

“Can I come with you?”

“Are you feeling okay?” I frown as he circles his arms around me, my body staying stiff as he tries to coax me to relax.

“Better than ever. So can I?”

“You want to come with me.”

“Mmm.” He kisses the tip of my nose, and it's a struggle not to wrinkle it in response.

“Outside.”

“Unless you just want me to chase you around the apartment, I figured as much.”

“Run-ning,” I stretch my word out, unsure whether I've lost my mind or he has.

His bottom lip pokes out. “Don’t sound so shocked, you might hurt my feelings.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just… I don’t think you’ve ever…”

“Who says I can’t start now?”

“No one, but…”

“But what?”

“I can’t guarantee there will be any bears or murderers chasing us, Alex, and I’ve never heard you say anything nice about weirdos like me who run for fun.”

“Are you impugning my athletic ability?” He laughs, grabbing my ass and making me contort away from him yet again. At the look of confusion on his face, it occurs to me that I'm being a colossal asshole.

“You really want to come running with me?”

“Mmhmm.”

“But… why?”

“Why what?”

“Alex. You hate running. And hiking. And being outside. And, like, nature in general.”

He shrugs and says, very simply, “yeah, but I love you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” he grabs my ass again, and it’s all I can do not to grimace, “I missed you, okay? I kinda want to spend time with you.”

Well, it’s official, if I blow him off right now, I’m a sub-human. So much for my grand plan to figure out how in the world I'm supposed to tell him I don't really love him anymore.

“Yeah… okay. Let me, uh, let me get some stuff together and we’ll go?”

He lets go of me with a smirk and heads towards the kitchen, but pauses a few paces away and groans as he claps his hand over his eyes.

“Pull a muscle?” I ask, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“I don't even think I have running shoes.” He faces me with a sheepish look, pulling his hand back to ruffle his hair. That always used to make me melt, when he’d do that. Used to. Now it just seems like a juvenile gesture he drops whenever he’s trying to get out of trouble. I never used to understand how falling out of love with someone was possible. I dimly remember thinking Stone sounded like a total asshole when he explained having gone through it. But right now, he’s the only person I want to talk to about it. Which is deeply inconvenient when I’m supposed to be hating his guts. Stupid Stone. But on the bright side, now I have an easy excuse to go on that solitary run.

“Oh, well, that solves th --”

“I’ll call Brian, he runs, I bet he has a pair I can steal!”

Before I can finish my objection, he’s got the phone to his ear and has already dialed his friend. I sink back against the lip of the kitchen table while he and his friend haggle over a pair of stinky running shoes, his friend who he’s never introduced me to, his friend who suddenly symbolizes how thoroughly we established completely different lives the moment we moved to Seattle. Why did it take me so long to figure this out? Lucy’s been trying to tell me, even Patch tried to tell me… damn it, I should really call Patch.

“Okay, don’t move a muscle, I’ll be right back!”

Alex plants a slightly-too-rough kiss on my cheek before flinging on his coat and bolting out the door. I numbly make my way over to the couch to curl up and stare at the phone. This is as good a time as ever to call Patch, right? See what he really thinks about Alex’s $500 stunt? Make sure he isn’t going to hate me if I go through with breaking up with Alex? God, they’ve always been such good friends, how on earth do you break up with someone who’s become a part of your family?

But instead of picking up the phone, I pick at a loose piece of rubber on the sole of my shoe. I want to hear my brother’s voice, but I’m terrified that maybe, possibly, there’s a slim chance he’ll tell me exactly what I want to hear and then I’ll have nothing left to do but act. And anyway, as much as I need his affirmation, I’m afraid of hearing yet again how I’m making all the wrong choices. It’s not his problem to solve, any more than it’s Lucy’s. I can hear how exasperated they’re both getting with me. So instead of calling my brother, and bothering him with my bullshit and hearing his predictable answers, I sit in a giant pile of mope and pick at my shoes while I wait for Alex to come back.

A heavy pair of footsteps slows down as it approaches my door. That must be Alex. I don’t even look up. Until the owner of the footsteps knocks. Alex wouldn’t knock.

“Uh, it’s open?” I call from the couch.

When Chris cracks the door and leans to peer inside, his hair precedes him, cracking me up and shaking me out of my mopey idiocy.

“Smokey! Can I come in?”

“Always. What are you doing in this neck of the woods?”

“Funny you mention woods,” he smiles, bounding over to the couch. He hesitates for a moment at the pile of laundry I haven’t folded yet, which is occupying the entire cushion next to me, but after I shrug at him, he scoops it up and dumps it unceremoniously on the floor. One item, my favorite navy blue bra, stays hooked to the afghan, and I cringe as I watch him gently untangle it and set it down on top of the rest of my clothes, looking totally unfazed. He joins me on the couch, staring at the toes of my shoes and stretching his arm along the back of the cushion. “I’m heading out for a hike, just gotta pick up my date first.”

He reaches over and shoves my arm with his fingertips.

“Nuh uh, no can do.”

“Smokeyyyyy,” he whines.

“I have to study! And, uh, I’m waiting for Alex to get back so we can go for a run?” I wish I could have kept my voice from turning my statement into a question, because there’s a glint of understanding in Chris’s eyes that I don’t particularly like. But his voice is mild enough when he speaks. I like him for that.

“Sure, sure.”

“Okay, fine, I kinda don’t feel like being around people today, are you happy?”

“Hardly ever,” his mouth twists, “but I know the feeling. Kinda why we’re friends in the first place, right?”

The corners of my mouth tug up just as his have as I stare at him and reflect on how much he’s brought into my life since I scolded him on a mountaintop on a day when we both needed to escape into the woods. This friendship that has never demanded much at all, but always been easy to settle into again after a lapse. The reassurance that there’s always someone with whom I have this maladjusted ghosting habit in common. And the Mookie guys. I have him to thank for that too. I swallow the peculiar lump rising in my throat.

“So, what’s new with you?”

“Yeah, I miss you too. Not much. Just working on Temple stuff now that we’re home for the rest of the year.”

“Ah, right. How’s that going?”

“Excellent,” he enthuses. “Shouldn’t even call it working. Never quite done anything like it. Have you heard any of it yet?”

“No, not that I can think of.” I haven’t heard the guys play in a while, but I’m not about to go into that. “You guys have that show coming up?”

He nods. “Couple weeks. You’ll be there, right?”

I let out a sigh that I feel like I’ve been holding in for days and resume torturing my shoe. “Uhm, I don’t know, I’ll have to see, I might be working that night. What day is it?”

“The 13th,” his voice drops about an octave, “and just what the fuck do you mean, you don’t know? Stoney’s gonna shit a brick if you if you miss it.”

“Yeah, maybe.” I glance back up at him and flinch at his menacing expression. “I don’t know. Things are just... weird… there... right now.”

“You and Stone? Seemed pretty okay a few nights ago.”

I cringe in immediate regret of how publicly cozy Stone and I had gotten on Halloween. And if that’s all Chris knows, then he doesn’t know the half of it…

“Yeah, well, I don’t know, it’s weird now.”

“When was the last time you talked to him?” Chris presses, shifting his posture to face me more directly and still glowering at me.

“The other day, before he went home with the flu or whatever, Jesus,” I pat the arm of the couch, “is this a witness stand or something?”

“Okay, okay,” his demeanor relaxes. “Just be there, okay? This whole thing, I mean, the vibe of working on it has been really overwhelmingly positive, but it’s the kind of thing that’s still… I don’t know, it’s just important to me that you’re there, I feel like you’d get something out of it. And whatever’s going on with Stone, I’m pretty sure it’s important to him too.”

“Okay,” I mumble, fighting back the lump again, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Chris bobs his head. “Flu, huh?”

“What? Oh, right. I don’t know, he just looked like death warmed over and I’m pretty sure he went home right after we talked.” Another twinge of regret twists my insides, this time because it hasn’t even occurred to me in all my anger to check in on Stone and see how he’s feeling. He looked really, really terrible. Fight or no fight, he’s still my friend, and if I were the one to contract whatever bubonic plague is going around, I know he would be the first one to make sure I was okay. Especially since I think his parents are still out of town, which leaves him all by himself trying to take care of that dog and house. Shit, I should probably go over there.

Chris doesn’t point any of that out, though, thankfully. Instead, he silently looks around my apartment with interest, seeming very much all of a sudden like a cocker spaniel with a very short attention span. For everything this friendship means, it’s kind of weirdly emblematic that he’s never even seen my place before.

“Chris?”

“Mm?” he responds, not looking away from the bookcase in the opposite direction.

“You didn’t come all the way over here just to see if I wanted to go hiking, did you?”

“Nah, I’m actually here to pick up Eddie, he said he’d go. I think I finally sold him on our mountain.”

“Judas!!”

I aim a kick square at his hip, laughing as he intercepts my foot and disarms it by yanking off my shoe and throwing it across the room where it thuds against the opening door, missing Eddie’s face by inches.

“Whoa-oh,” he calls as he flinches, but his dimples dawn as a smile draws on his mouth, “who the hell throws a fuckin shoe?”

Chris grins back, yanking off my other one to lob it at Ed’s face, but it’s caught easily. Eddie throws them both back to me in a pair of gentle underhand tosses.

“So you coming with us or what, Cora?”

“Nah, leave her for dead, she’s a lost cause,” Chris chuckles as he stands up.

“Gee golly, mister, can’t imagine why I wouldn’t want to go hiking with you,” I drawl. Eddie’s eyes bounce back and forth keenly.

“Well, uh, too bad, maybe another time?” he says softly as plaintive wrinkles appear on his forehead.

“You bet. Just, you know, the boyfriend’s on his way home and we’re gonna go running, so it’s not a great time.”

“Oh, alright,” Eddie nods, but the wrinkles deepen in a way that tells me he’s about as believing of my excuses as Chris.

“No Jeff?” Chris asks as they head for my front door.

“No, he said it sounded cool but he said he’s gonna help Lucy do some stuff around the apartment today.”

“I bet he is.”

“Okay, you pigs, get out,” I shove Chris in the back toward the door, throwing all my weight against him, although he digs in his heels and I have no hope of moving him unless he wants to be moved. “You kill any more fucking time and you’re gonna lose the light, you know.”

“She’s got a very good point,” Eddie agrees, and Chris unlocks his knees, laughing as I stumble to keep my footing.

I’ve just shooed the two of them out the door when Alex comes home, carrying borrowed running shoes and still exuding the same smothering, sycophantic energy as when he left. I’m feeling extraordinarily stupid for not calling Patch to sort this shit out when I had the chance. Maybe after the run. On the bright side, Alex is in terrible shape for such a beanpole, and I’m confident I can outrun him, or at least make him wheeze enough not to have to worry about making conversation.

***

My head swims from the fumes as I take another deep breath and force myself to steady the paint brush, even though my arm is starting to ache from reaching so high, and my knees are getting sore from balancing on the sink basin. Whose bright idea was it to repaint a room with so much trim all by herself with no ladder? Oh right, that would be me. The white noise of the bathroom fan blocks out everything except the exertion of doing the work properly and the joy of seeing a new color stain a primed surface. Even if I’m not sure about the color just yet. I’m not really a blue sort of person. But this feels like a direction I wanted to follow. Any of the weird “improvements” I’ve done to this place, I’ve done by following that urge. I accepted a long time ago that I wasn’t getting my security deposit back. It’s fine. I’m not good at coloring in the lines or making up my mind. Let me make my messes and see what happens. It usually cleans up okay.

I crawl off the sink, hastily wiping the smear of bright teal paint off the porcelain with the damp rag tucked into the waist of my shorts, and look around. It’s… very blue. But the cabinet’s dark stain doesn’t look so dingy next to it, and I’ve got plans for the mirror that should warm the room up a little more. I’m refilling the tray when I hear the apartment door open and close, the sound of hightops being nudged off, and the familiar beat of heavy footprints padding down the hall to find me. Just the sound of him in my apartment has always made the place feel brighter.

“Whoa,” Jeff’s rasp reverberates off the walls, “you weren’t kidding, that’s… that’s fuckin BLUE.”

“Too much?” I spin around to study his face as he studies the walls.

“Nah, it’s cool. Vivid. It’s very you.”

“Ooh, your stock is falling, Jeffrey, I was just thinking to myself that it might have been the wrong color.”

“Why?” he pulls the headband out of my hair and begins to kiss my temple, the outside edge of my ear, and down along my neck to my shoulder. It’s a struggle not to wrap myself up in him, but my hands are still covered in paint. I manage to resist that temptation, but talking remains a challenge.

“Blue’s, uhm, it’s kind of a bummer…”

“No, no way, it’s so… like… sensitive, and strong, and… okay, I’m babbling, but can you blame me…”

“Yeah… but… like… the trim’s kind of glaring now, I don’t know what to do about it…”

Time to abandon any pretense of thinking straight, now that he’s got his nose in my collarbone like this. Maybe he won’t mind a little paint on his jersey...

“So this is you staying close to home, huh?”

“What?”

“Cora, all that shit. You bailed on all my ideas for plans, remember? Wanted to stay close to home?”

I frown at him, wondering where he’s going with this. There’s that neediness again. It’s not like him at all. So far, we’ve always been able to strike the right balance naturally, without putting any thought into it. We’re together when we want to be, we have space when we want it. And lately, Jeff’s been throwing all that out of balance. I wish he’d just tell me what the fuck’s going on… I wish he’d stop kissing my ear like that, or I’d remember to ask him about it…

“I still do… I think that’s for the best. But, uh, there’s a lot we can do at home, though, right?”

“I have some ideas…”

Before I can respond with some cute, pithy bullshit, he’s spun me around like I weigh nothing at all and pinned me against the wall, seemingly oblivious to the fact that it’s still dripping with wet turquoise paint. But I don’t give a shit either. I manage to reach my bare foot out behind him and nudge the paint tray out of our reach, ease him over so we’re both standing on the dropcloth, and give in to the full force of his kiss, trying to plant my feet as much as I can because my back’s slipping sideways in the paint. But my effort is unnecessary, because I’m not going anywhere in his grip. His hand lands flat on the wall next to my head before raking blue paint through my hair and dragging blue fingerprints across my throat, and it’s a race to see who can get undressed enough, fast enough…

*

Winded, and thoroughly slathered in turquoise, we splay out on the soaked dropcloth in a blissful, painted pile.

“Well, at least now I know what to do about the fucking trim color,” I nod at the formerly crisp, white door frame, which is now coated in Smurfy fingerprints from our failed efforts to keep our balance.

“I dunno, it’s a nice artistic statement when paired with your vertebrae sliding down the wall,” his fingers point out the trajectory of my body.

“I think I’ll just do the trim and walls and ceiling all the same color. You know. Very Masque of the Red Death.”

“Gothic, I like it.” He sighs, letting his head fall back and his eyes close. I squelch a little closer, remembering that we still have unfinished business.

“Jeff.”

“Present,” he sighs, not opening his eyes.

“Just checking.” Somehow, I still can’t bring myself to spit it out. “Uhm, you still willing to help me finish painting?”

“What else am I gonna do,” he muses with a contended smile.

After a farcical attempt at cleaning ourselves up, we continue to paint, halfway dressed, until the entire room is saturated in turquoise. My every pore and mucous membrane sympathizes.

“Anyone ever told you you’re a disaster with a paint brush?” he teases, watching me try to wash the paint from deep under my fingernails in the sink.

“Oh, yeah, it’s on my resume, actually.”

“Smartass,” he reaches out with a menacing blue paw, attempting to smear the arm I’ve just washed off, but I manage to dodge him.

“Missed me, missed me, now you gotta kiss me,” I taunt, feinting left and then right.

“Ugh, work work work,” he gives a gravelly laugh and abandons all pretense of not being able to catch me, wrapping me up once again and finding my mouth with his. But that annoying thought that there’s something we’re not saying still won’t leave me alone.

“Hey, hey, Jeff?” I kiss him back lightly but maintain my ground, until he finally quits and looks at me in confusion. “Why… uh, why don’t you just fucking say it?”

His grip on me lightens and his jaw falls slack, confirming that I was right to press the issue, that it wasn’t just my issue. I persist, “I know you’re all pissed about not making plans this weekend, I know you’ve got something you want to say to me, there’s some occasion you’re trying to manufacture, and either you’re really terrible at breaking up with me or it’s something I really want to hear, so either way, can you just spit it out already?”

Jeff’s shocked stare makes me wish immediately that I hadn’t said anything, damn it Lucy, things were fine, why did you have to put him on edge, here we go, the other shoe’s bound to drop, he’s gonna break up with me, come on, let’s just get it over with…

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” he starts to pull himself together, making my stomach lurch and my shoulders tighten as I brace for the bad news. “Uh, I just… I really fucking love you. A lot.”

Now it’s my turn to gape like a fucking idiot.

“You what?”

“Yeah, Luce, I love you, and I’ve been thinking it, like, forever, and I just… I don’t know why I didn’t say it already, maybe I just assumed you already knew or something, because we’ve been so good at like, not needing to say the obvious thing… but I’m kinda tired of not saying the obvious thing, because we’re not promised anything, and I’m tired of taking it for granted, so... I love you, and I don’t want to spend my time with anyone else, and I don’t want to have to walk downstairs to see you in the morning, it’s just too fucking far, okay?”

My mind is full of stammering thoughts as I turn over the logistics of what he’s just said, but all that I can manage to say out loud through the grin splitting my face is, “I love you too,” as I pull him into a still-not-quite pigment-free kiss.

***

This. This is what dying feels like. I’m sure of it. Oh, yuck, I’m pretty certain the color coming out of my lungs does not occur in nature. Dark. Why is it so dark in here? What the hell time is it? Jesus, I slept the entire fucking day, that's just grand...

At least there's no one around to witness how pathetic I probably look right now. This whole flu thing's not very big on dignity. Although, who am I kidding, I'd wear a robe and slippers everywhere if it was socially acceptable, and I’d kill for someone to bring me a cup of tea so I don’t have to slither out of this bed and get it myself. My fever finally broke this morning, in a disgusting, sweaty miracle, which is a mixed blessing because it's nice not to feel like a shivery rag doll anymore, but now my sheets smell like gross fever sweat and not the much more pleasant smell left behind on my pillow by Cora the other night. I wish her hair didn't smell so damn good all the time. It's really fucking inconvenient.

Ow. Crap. Dehydration headache. One of the downfalls of attempted hibernation. With a chorus of my most pathetic whines, I manage to get myself out of bed and over to the kitchen to nuke a cup of water for some tea. Just as I’m steeping the bag, though, there’s a knock on my door. Fucking great. I wasn’t serious about actually wanting someone around… unless it’s…

“Hello?” I croak, wincing at my sore throat.

“Stoney! You live!”

“Cornell?”

“You gonna let me in or what?”

“I don’t know, how’s your immune system?”

“Strong, like ox.”

Laughing and coughing, I open the door to let Chris in. He shoves a box of tissues into my chest and blows past me to set a quart container of some kind of murky liquid, which I eye suspiciously.

“Hot and sour soup, from Grand Palace. Foolproof cold remedy, I’m pretty convinced this shit cures cancer, or at least ebola or something. Cora told me you looked like death warmed over. Girl doesn’t lie.”

“Oh, uh, you… you talked to Cora?” I pick up the soup and inspect it more closely.

“Yeah, I, uh, talked to Cora.”

“Hmm.”

“Dude, eat something, it’s not gonna kill you.”

“Doubtful.”

“Pansy.”

“Pusher.”

My laughter dissolves into a choked cough again as Chris saunters over to the cabinet like he owns the place and grabs a couple of bowls.

“Hey, let’s sit out on the steps, it’ll help the black lung.” He hands me a bowl of soup and, in no position to argue, I snag the blanket from the back of my couch to wrap around my shoulders as I follow him onto the landing outside my front door where we sit and dangle our feet over the edge, like little kids. I’m feeling too rundown to admit it, but he’s right -- my chest feels better within seconds.

“Eat, man, eat, you’re looking so thin you’re gonna blow away out here.”

“Who died and made you my grandma?”

“I prefer the philanthropic, mysterious stranger vibe, but have it your way.”

I try a bit of the soup, which sticks in my gullet after a day of not eating or drinking, and I sputter into another full-body coughing fit.

“Gahh, why’s it so… viscous??”

“It’s the viscosity,” Chris beams, slurping up another spoonful. “Coats the throat, or something.”

“Yeah, I bet you say that to all the girls,” I choke, but the soup’s actually pretty good and not too heavy, so I have some more. We sit in silence for a while, which is one of the things I’ve always appreciated about Chris, before I pipe up against my better judgement.

“So,” I have to clear my throat again, “uh, how’s, how’s Cora?”

“She’ll be alright, I think. Seems pretty unhappy with you.”

“That makes it a day that ends in -y.”

“But she’s fine. Tried to get her to go hiking today, but she was going running with that Alex guy.”

“You don’t say.” Alex and physical exertion? What the fuck? Is this a fever dream, still?  

“Seemed weird, I mean, he doesn’t really come along for a lot, she does a lot on her own. And she didn’t seem too excited about the idea of him tagging along, I dunno.”

“Would you be excited about trying to outrun a wart on your ass?”

“Ouch. So, you hate him, yeah?”

“It’s not that I hate the guy, necessarily…” Chris’s eyebrows shoot up as I continue, “...just… you know… kinda always wanted to buy him a toaster for his bathtub.”

He tosses me a pity laugh. “Yeah, well, she’s not an idiot, don’t think she hasn’t picked up on that. Whatever the hell’s going on with you two, you can’t ignore him.”

“You’re telling me.” I hold up my hand to shush him when I hear the phone ring, and we both listen as the garbled sound of my answering machine comes through the door, but there’s no message.

“Stoney, what the hell happened, anyway?”

I squint at his face for a moment, torn between not wanting to drag everyone into this little drama that’s been playing out with Cora and actually wanting to talk to a friend about it. Jeff and Cready were zero help, but Chris has always been a better listener for the heavy stuff.

“We… kinda… I mean, she stayed over the other night, and…”

Chris’s eyes widen and his jaw drops, although he can barely contain the laughter that accompanies his surprise. “Oh!” he exclaims with glee. “You’re idiots!”

“Okay, (a), thanks man, good talk, real supportive. And (b), why are we idiots, exactly?”

“You slept with her even though you knew it was a bad idea! That's not like you. That's like something Mike would do. Or me. You’ve always got all the angles figured out. And Cora, she's like, got her shit together more than any of the rest of us. She should have known better.” He frowns, drumming his empty spoon on his kneecap.

“Yeah, well, she's sorta… new at this. And anyway we didn’t actually sleep together, alright, I mean, we slept together but not like you’re thinking.”

“Reeeeal convincing, Stone,” he teases. “Whaddya mean she’s new at this? Haven’t she and that guy been together since, like the dawn of time?”

“Yeah, but like, that’s it, that’s her whole story, and I think… I think she and I have something really good, and I think she knows that, but it probably really freaks her out to think about ending anything that’s been, you know, such a fixture for so long. I don’t know, I’m probably not making any sense.”

“More than you know. Just give her time, man. She thinks the world of you, and it really pisses her off to admit it. That’s a good thing, it’ll still be there after she figures out the whole ‘first love’ thing.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I whine, which devolves into more coughing, which cycles back into even more whining.

“On the bright side, you’ve really perfected that Tibetan throat-singing technique,” Chris cracks as he stands up. “You’d better get back inside. Anything I can do to help while I’m here?”

“Nah, thanks, the toxic sludge seems to be working, I’m feeling a little better already.”

Chris claps me on the back, betrays the slightest slip of a smile, and starts down the staircase without another word. I let myself back inside, free to moan and groan as much as I like in the absence of anyone to make fun of me for it, and shuffle my way over to the answering machine. The first message is pure auditory chaos, but through the cacophony, I gather that Mudhoney’s on a tour stop in Tijuana and that my answering machine tape should probably be burned after I listen to the message so as not to implicate anyone in a felony. The usual. That’s got to have been from earlier today and not just now -- Chris and I would have heard that excitement through the door for sure, but I wouldn’t put it past myself to have slept through it this afternoon. Whatever. I delete their message and listen to the second, much quieter one.

“Hey, Stone? uh…”  Cora’s hushed voice is interrupted by Alex calling her name in the background. I hear her give a sharp inhale, followed by a click, and that’s all.

#hey. does anyone still read this thing? #here's a thing i wrote. it's not great but after two months i give you what i can #chapter 23 #behind the sun #fanfiction #fanfic #eddie vedder #chris cornell #jeff ament #stone gossard #pearl jam

[shipmvns]

How The Salem Witch Trials Almost Ruined Everything

i wrote this all in one sitting and about thirty minutes- you know, like an asshole. anyways, us dead dad kids get awfully autobiographical.

Pairing: Chloe/Max & Chloe/Rachel Words: 1,790 Summary: Chloe has always been especially good at counting her losses, and she knows all about magic and breaking things, intimacy and anger, and every other high place in Arcadia Bay from the time Max left to now.

ALTERNATIVELY, READ IT ON AO3/LEAVE A COMMENT

           The most important thing about Max was maybe that she was always, always there, even when she wasn’t, her absence punctuating every heartbeat, cracked breath, broken vase and funeral, and every time you saw something beautiful you thought of her, her, her, until you figured that she must be the most innocent looking witch on the whole damn west coast, wondered what other witches she’d meet in big bright Seattle, wondered if she’d laugh and tell stories, talk about, think about, dream about you, you, you.

           There are weirder ways to learn about death just in time, crying like a child and feeling stupid on the side of the road over a cat, but Max was there, arms tangled together and tears forming ponds, lakes, oceans, until you couldn’t tell who was who anymore, and it must have been an hour home alone before you could gather the gall to call your parents and quit balling like you were three and not thirteen, and then Max collected up all of your broken pieces, held them together by just your right hand, and you spent the golden hour digging up a grave in your mother’s marigolds because Max knew how to make the sad shit beautiful.

           There are worse ways to learn about loss, you remind yourself, tell yourself as you pivot off of rails on traintracks, chant to yourself like it’s a mantra even though you’d never do yoga, repeat yourself as a method of survival, worse ways than shattering glass that you never saw and wandering in the dark, phone calls, emergency rooms, antiseptic bleeding from your pores for days after, eyes and ears bloody or clear in the mirror, gone if you touch it, gone if you wake up. Worse ways, worse ways, Max held you once again, you felt guilty and she was sympathetic but rigid, out of her emotional league and for a moment you resented her for the doe-eyed look ‘till you remembered that she was only thirteen, just a kid, just a kid, and then you went up to your room once she left and tried to count how many tragedies you’d held her together for off the top of your head, wondered if she was starting to hate you or love you, felt ridiculous, went to bed.

           When you were a kid everything was the static scent of vacuums or liquid sunlight, depending on countless variables. Everything was so beautiful, Max wouldn’t let you forget, and you could swear you could see her heart swell; she’d cry over nothing, she’d cry over everything, she was hardly ever sad. Even when there was nothing to cry about, her eyes were bright blue and watery, she’d trace her fingers over your wooden railings a dozen times but she’d never need anything, or you never knew how to offer.

           You only cried when it was important or when you felt so angry that it filled up your lungs; once, when you were twelve, you’d gotten so mad about something so dumb, and you’d yelled at Max in the late afternoon summer boil until you couldn’t breathe and your vision swam. Tears were streaming down your face and you were sputtering, but Max just stood there, like she wasn’t even there. She didn’t cry at all. Her eyes were just those same ancient headlight fears, and it made you so mad, but she didn’t speak or leave or try to interrupt until finally, your mom came out and led her out of the garden, out of the house, out of the block, kept leading her forever and ever.

           You know where Max is in the forefront of your brain, but somewhere, some part of you, twelve and wild-eyed, is still trying to figure out where they went.

           You both apologized at dawn the next day.

           Max believed in you better than anyone else did, and, honest to God, she thought you could fly.

           You were only seven and just stupid and tall, for your age, and all you could hear was screams and jeers as you hung off of the metal with peeling red paint catching under your thumbnail, and Max was earnest. And, really, she believed that as soon as you leapt from the matte tar, you’d stay in the air, and maybe go up, up, up, forever, maybe without her, maybe to Neverland or somewhere you’d forget her, but she didn’t mind; she just wanted you to fly, even if she couldn’t.

           You broke your arm in three places, but years afterwards, only in private, Max and everyone else on the Arcadia Bay Elementary School playground that May morning would swear that you flew for two seconds straight before you fell.

When you had to be rushed to the emergency room in an ambulance, Max was so scared you thought she was going to die. You spent your whole stay at the hospital asking each other ‘are you okay?’ After that, Max became more of a voice of reason, and you had to start believing in yourself enough for both of you, even though you knew it was dumb to fly.

           You thought about that a lot when you were sixteen and leaning against the rail of the top lighthouse: you thought about Max Caulfield and the day you flew, and so by the time it was dark out you’d always be on the ground, and you’d always take the stairs.

           The day Max left, you thought your life was over. You broke everything in your room and swept it into your closet with every other skeleton you recognized and the ones you didn’t while your mom was at work and then screamed into the wooden walls until you were hoarse. It was the end of the world. Again.

           When you were little, you thought that so long as Max was by your side, you could handle anything. The day she left for Seattle she came by with a car all packed up and the silence between you and her was worth a hundred and eighty-seven miles. She was rigid and only thirteen, but you couldn’t stop yourself from being angry.

           More than angry. More than any word you could think of, everything was so unfair, it would never get better, you worked yourself up into sickness in an empty house with no dad, no Max, no Bongo, so full of ghosts that you should have never felt alone again.

           When you were sixteen you met Rachel Amber, a whole new kind of witch who did it better than Max ever did, and you couldn’t tell if that might be worse.

           Rachel Amber was waves and gin, she lit you on fire and it spread until it was irreversible. She held you and kissed you and breathed you in until you felt like yourself, until you could figure out what that meant, and when you looked her in the eyes everything blended together.

           She was steady when you needed it, wild and thrashing with tears in her eyes when she couldn’t help herself, brimming with emotion, light and sound threatening to spill over into a world that didn’t deserve it. God, she was beautiful.

           You never stopped moving, the two of you, yin and yang, hands in perfect tempo, one way mirrors all of the time until all of your clothes smelled like campfires or expensive perfume and organic toothpaste, until you’d find her hairs in your bed, her eyes in the water, her hands in the clouds, like anything meant anything or something.

           Max, though almost two hundred miles away, was there, always there. Within a month of knowing you, Rachel could talk about Max like an old friend from years past with a future unknown. She could describe your childhood in top to bottoms, fill in all of Max’s dialogue, tell you how your heart ached for her and why, but never tell you why you’d been hearing nothing but radio silence since Max left for a bigger and better that might have swallowed her doe eyes whole in one sitting.

           Rachel always thought you could fly, too, but she only asked that she could come with you. When you let her know that you weren’t a kid anymore, and neither was she, she just laughed until the sun came up, even though you didn’t say anything funny.

           Life kept teaching you lessons about loss, even when you knew enough, knew maybe more than anyone in Arcadia Bay, and every inch of you was exhausted from each new hurt, battle, cigarette or disaster, and you could hardly breathe anymore by the time you were on the cusp of adulthood and Rachel Amber was gone.

           If you were a kid again, you’d try and be poetic, try and think that Rachel was like a star that couldn’t shine forever, but eighteen was old enough to know that was wrong. You were just angry. Everything was so unjust, nothing would ever feel the same again. Everything was so fucked, so fucked, so fucked, and there was no one left to cry on so you didn’t, you just sat in silence until you were numb like water, numb like hypothermia, until you could convince yourself that she just left without you when you knew that wasn’t true, knew you wouldn’t do the same, knew that there was no one in the world or otherwise who gave a shit about what came your way, knew nothing was worth it.

           You spent the better half of a year trying not to care, letting each pain kill your individual nerve endings in fighting spasms until you could maybe start new, or otherwise letting it all eat you alive- you could never tell. But you’d always been crafty and you knew where to turn pain into gain with pretty boy rich kid asshole who could only do wrong before a fire alarm sent you out, out, out, to the parking lot, hours and hours later.

           Seeing Max again was like coming home. You didn’t have it in you to be so angry anymore, didn’t want to let her suffer in silence and your cold anger, didn’t want to keep fighting, all you’d been doing all of your life was fighting, and you figured that you must be a thousand years old, and that was old enough and wise enough to let her apologize with her dignity and guilt wrapped up in her doe eyes, old enough to hold her until you forgot she’d ever left, old enough to remember that it was Max, always Max, and that maybe it could be Max again.

           When you and everything else finally let her go, she looked like she was going to cry.

#gray writes #life is strange #life is strange fanfiction #life is strange fic #pricefield #chloe price #max caulfield #rachel amber #before the storm #jus getting my tags in fam #this is so bad but i NEEDED Tto write bitch!!!!