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flowerandthesongstress · 12 days

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"Orion and the Dark" is about writing. It’s like "Adaptation." 2.0 This Time For All Audiences, whoah.

I mean, of course it is an allegory of writing. Kaufman makes movies about making movies, Kaufman writes about writing, and that is all that Kaufman does. Even "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" is about creativity. Y’all think it’s a love story? Sure, on the surface it is. But ju-ust below the surface it is an allegory too. It's about letting go of unwritten ideas, whether because you're not ready or not equipped to write them and give them justice or they're just too out-there for the Current You; it's about killing your darlings — and about putting them to sleep, as well. About how these ideas fade from your life and your memory, and how soul-crushing it is when they do, and yet keeping them in your memory is soul-crushing, too, because their presence is unhealthy right now, it's a torment, it impedes you from moving on and paralyzes your creative progress and your growth as a writer and a human being.

Anyway, “Orion and the Dark” is about writing. Nope, it's not about generalized anxiety, it's not about overcoming your existential fears. At its core, “Orion and the Dark” is about one specific fear: losing your integrity and authenticity as a person and as a writer via stepping out into the spotlight.

Truly writing 'for yourself' means writing for an audience of one. The ruthless beast that is capitalism, and the devaluing and self-hatred it brings upon each of us, is what pushes so many people into asking the heartbreaking question: "what even is the pOinT of creatiViTy without an audiEnCe?!" I.e. in the context of the movie "what is the point of the Dark?!" The not-straightforward answer is in this movie. The very-very personal and exasperated — and straightforward — answer is: Creativity itself. Keeping one’s mind sharp. Learning a language. Processing trauma. Celebrating a memory. Savoring a memory. Cementing a memory. Honoring a friend’s memory. Fighting back the tide of existential dread. Making peace with yourself, your past, or your future. Debating a moral dilemma with yourself. Comforting your inner child. Soothing your inner teenager. Bleaching your brain. Introspection. Self-compassion. Self-actualization. Building a structural-support frame around yourself to brace against a crippling fear; for instance, the fear of death, or the fear of losing a loved one — by creating stories or worlds where we could be together forever and nobody gets sick or dies, because we can do magic there.

Dark has many quirky, industrious, and unique companions. They are his companions. They do not belong with the Light, they are distorted in the light. Fear of the Dark (in the movie, super cleverly ‘the Fear that Dark Experiences’ and not only ‘the fear that Orion experiences as a stand-in for The Author’) is: ‘Am I truly a writer if my voice will never be heard and my word will never be read?’ (psst, spoilers: yes) but also ‘Will I be able to retain my true self, the love I hold for my creativity, and the internal benefits I reap from my creativity if/when I share the result of my creativity with others?’ and ‘Will I burn to cinders / fade into nothing / lose the drive to create when/if my creativity is rejected or misunderstood?’ and ‘If I am misunderstood, will this misunderstanding inflict lasting harm? Will the responsibility of doing this harm be my burden to bear? And just how guilty will I feel for what I did?’

The unending tug-o-war between creativity for the sake of creativity, for the sake of you — and the desire to have your voice heard. The inner conflict between your yearning for an audience — and hating your yearning for an audience (or even hating the audience itself/the audience that you get, but welp, that's often projection, albeit no-o-ot always). The conflict between looking for a genuine connection with other like-minded humans — and the desire to be admired, borne long ago in a sandbox on a playground. Between striving to keep your integrity and self-respect, to stay true to yourself — and the learned urge to please, conform and placate, because you want to fit in and/or because you can see that popularity often equals conformity and that you may never get your voice heard in any capacity if you don't conform.

Sometimes it feels like the healthy balance between the two can’t ever be achieved, that they can never overlap, should not; that it should be either one or the other.

Btw you know who else expressed this inner fight super well while also hiding the subtext under a whole pile of distracting text? Aside from that old narc Bulgakov in “The Master and Margarita” who did the long format. Bo Burnham in his exquisite and poignant and heart-wrenching Kanye Rant. 🙏 🌯

The truth is frighteningly simple, and the truth is frighteningly hard to remember, and the truth is simply hard to stay true to, because the glimmer of the spotlight somewhere far ahead is too blinding, and its veneer is too distracting and enticing. The truth is: separate your damn laundry the purpose of writing should be Writing. That's it. Creativity is about creativity. Writing should be in the moment. Writing should not take into account anyone else other than the writer themself. The purpose of writing is the writing; this process should be free of any and all outside influences. Night and Day, Dark and Light should remain apart at all times. Writing is not about/for sharing that writing. Not about obtaining the strangers' praise for that writing. Not about placating and pleasing an ephemeral 'reader'. Not about the junkie rush to obtain some dopamine hits through getting patted on the head by strangers via pleasing them 'correctly'. None of these things should matter, and it's tragic that they do matter so much and to so many, and it's tragic that they have taken over so many minds so fully and so quickly, replacing and pushing out the bliss of the Simple Truth. Well... Capitalism is tragic. Every aspect and consequence of it, direct or indirect. At times, capitalism and its reach and scope feel like a void of hopelessness.

Even before consciously realizing the metaphor, I was bawling my eyes out when Orion was fighting to save the Dark, when he was grieving the Dark. This is one of my biggest fears too: losing my authentic self by succumbing to the enticing brightness of daylight. In the fight against this fear, I was doing, and continue doing, all of the irrational and oftentimes harmful things Orion does, and more: hole up, bristle up and snarl, push away, erect defenses, withdraw, and even fawn, etc. Mostly withdraw.

Only when we embrace the essence, the joy of sheer creativity — embrace the Dark, make the Dark our friend — when we discard everything superficial, when we forgive ourselves for our weaknesses and learn self-compassion, only then can we remember why we're writing, why we started writing, what we write for, and only then can we create unimpeded. The struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy. There's so much peace in the Dark. Truth is, this balance can rarely be achieved in reality; life is not a story, and humans are infinitely flawed. Truth is, the fight remains a constant fight, with good and bad moments, with losses and wins, and the fight persists for decades, throughout our lives. But that's why fairy tales exist, right? Why children's stories exist. In them, there's magic and blasters and time machines and everything is simple and everything is always resolved.

I love every manifestation of Kaufman’s creative mind and I loved this movie. The script is based on a picture book of the same name that is a thing on its own.

P.S. In light of the above, might I also suggest "Why You Should Read Children's Books, Even Though You Are So Old and Wise" by Katherine Rundell.

#orion and the dark #charlie kaufman #personal #génération désenchantée #movie recommendation #metamodernism

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flowerandthesongstress · 6 months

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Alice/Noah anything!

🤖🌹beep instructions scarce and unclear beep defaulting to base parameters: lifelong friends. healthy relationship. instantly resolved miscommunication. emotionally mature. ¡qué viva colombia! pining. just a bit sad. life is shit but hugs aren’t shit. family issues. emotional support. ambiguous cryptid pc cameo. comfort comfort comfort comfort comforrrr *erupts in sparks* mmffffffrrrr *blasts some hardcore extreme bass-heavy sarah mclachlan*

An Ordinary Miracle

Alice (x) Noah | G; no tw.

Here she is, fresh out of bed, still sleepy, barefoot, not even dressed — marveling in awe at what might have always been here; unsure of why today, of all days.

read below or on the other hellsite.

The first thing that crosses her mind as she looks out the wide-open window of her room: has the sky always been this blue?

The curtains fluttered, disturbed by a gust of breeze invading her room, just as the alarm shrieked. Punching the button, Alice groaned, turned away from it and towards the light, and grimaced, and opened her eyes, and saw.

Has the sky always been this blue?

Alice wasn’t sure, and this uncertainty puzzled her. Instead of shuffling to the kitchen or the bathroom, the way she always does, she approached the window and discovered that it wasn’t only the sky. All of these colors were mesmerizing; a strikingly vivid turquoise blue of the water lapping at the platinum shore, bathed in a quince-marmalade sunrise.

So taken aback by the spectacular view, that for the last several minutes Alice has been stock-still, staring at it with her mouth agape.

Alice knows this island like the back of her hand; she was born and raised here, after all. Living right by the ocean for so long, she got used to seeing, hearing, and breathing it every single day. It became an insignificant background — noise, sight, smell, and the whole notion of its perpetual neighbourship. Tourists always gush about how extraordinarily beautiful the island is; usually, Alice gives a polite nod in response, offering words of agreement and one of those automated platitudes which lost their meaning long ago. In truth, she just couldn’t see it; she barely looked.

Today, it’s different. All of it. The sound of the waves crashing on the shore, the tang of the salty breeze caressing her skin, the warmth of the sun’s rays on her face — each one of these sensations feels new and fascinating. As if she has never met the sea before; as if it was a stranger to her, or she was a stranger to the sea. Despite how they’ve known each other since her birth.

Fresh out of bed, still sleepy, barefoot, not even dressed, she is marveling at what might have always been here; unsure of why today, of all days.

Nothing’s changed, after all. Her life is just as drab, isn’t it?

Alice checks herself and stops staring; there’s only so much spare time to spend on her morning routine, and she would do better not to waste any. Her sister Suki likes to say, ‘Hospitality is all about putting the guest first’ and ‘Laziness is reserved for tourists’ and ‘Chop-chop!’

She’d hate to give Suki a reason to say any of these things. Today or on any other day. But in the staff kitchen on the ground floor of Coral Inn, instead of doing anything useful, she idly stands, waiting for her coffee to brew, a thermal cup clutched in her hand, and stares out the window. At the hotel-adjacent beach — a long stretch of white sand— and at the pier jutting far into the water.

It’s not the final beep that brings Alice out of her reverie; she flinches as the fabric of her cropped summer pants is yanked. Knowing what’s coming, she moves to the side and opens the fridge door like an automaton.

“Juice!” her niece Valentina demands with a delay, raising her mug. A mug decorated with a ‘cartoony’ mermaid possessing exaggerated facial features and a couple of other exaggerated things; Suki bought it. Suki thinks that this insensitive and appropriating mug is funny. Suki bought a whole batch in bulk and now resells them to tourists as souvenirs.

Pouring some juice into the mug, Alice once again — for the hundredth time, perhaps — wishes she could choose a new one for her niece, although she’d never admit this wish to Suki, and it’s a fleeting, routine thought. But today, all of a sudden, Alice muses on whether she’d actually be able to pull it off. What if she just buys a really pretty mug for Val’s birthday? It’s in a week. If Val likes the gift and chooses to keep it for her own daily use, there’d be no reason for Suki to object, or discuss, or split hairs, or to say anything at all. Val is headstrong, and, despite what Suki loves to repeat on the regular, it’s her daughter who is the top priority, and not the tourists.

Tourists are the close second.

Val gulps down her juice in one go and raises the mug again, this time with both hands. “More!”

It’s odd how early she is today — and already dressed. Val loves to surf, but the weather is too calm for a surfing lesson. Not to mention, this frilly and cute sundress could hardly serve as surfing gear.

“Why are you up so early?” Alice asks, pouring her more with no objections. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes! Ollie invited me to go flower-spotting. Have you ever gone flower-spotting?”

When she and Noah were little, they used to go looking for all kinds of stuff, just the two of them. Bugs, critters, flowers, ghosts, gods, and stories. When they were kids, every day spent with Noah was about something brand new and exciting.

“Of course. It’s a lot of fun. Just watch out for fairies, they can be vicious this time of year.”

Alice doesn’t remember how and why precisely they stopped going. Was it because a flower fairy bit him on the nose? Or did they stop after Noah kissed her? As she was braiding three grass stalks together to make into a bracelet for him, he pressed his cushiony lips to hers in a quick and loud smooch, and ran off. It was the first kiss for both of them. She remembers it better than a lot of things from her childhood. She remembers the kiss tasting of bubble gum. She remembers the ‘bracelet’ slipping out of her petrified fingers. These memories and feelings are anything but bitter ... yet they are so distant and faded that she can’t help but wonder whether they’re even real, whether she imagined them, dreamt them. She and Noah remained friends, after all, up until he left for school. She thought he would never return, but he did...

“Hair!” Val’s already deposited the mug into the dishwasher and procured the hairbrush, out of one of the kitchen drawers. Suki keeps on putting the brush away, but it always ends up back here.

It’s a tradition: for Val to sit on the same chair in the staff kitchen and for Alice to style her long tawny hair into a half-up crown braid. It’s been a tradition since Val still had to climb the chair instead of simply sitting down on it.

“Would you like something different today?” Alice always asks her, and the answer is always no.

“Yes!” says Val. Today, she wants her hair ‘all down and pretty’.

Coffee is done. Most mornings, when she needs to unwind, Alice pours herself a full cup and goes to the square. With a book or with her thoughts; doesn’t matter. This ritual allows her to level her mind, calm down, and cope with the upcoming day. Always to the square. But today she can’t help but feel that this morning routine could use some variation.

The pier looks so inviting, bathed in the summer sun, framed by a glittering expanse of turquoise blue. Alice decides to take her coffee to the pier today.

Outside, the soothing, persistent sound of the ocean waves rolls into her ears. It’s been a while since she last noticed, really noticed it. How long has it been since she’s last gone for a swim?

Walking the length of the pier, she sits at its furthest edge, her bare legs dangling above the water.

The pier is old, and it might remember things which Alice forgot. Old, but not neglected; Valentina’s favorite uncle Rafi is making sure to maintain it in neat condition. The wooden planks might be worn from decades of use, but they’re still safe and sound, and they will last.

The breeze tugs at Alice’s hair and makes it sway about her face, tickling. Taking care to not let any of her coffee spill, she brushes the strands off to the side with her free hand. Perhaps today she should have done something different to her hair, too, instead of leaving it down as usual.

Inhaling the tang of the salty brine, she watches the gently swaying water. The sea is as endless as the sky, but more alive. It seems like a gentle, almost imperceptible pulsation is going through it. The waves are shifting in sync, as if the sea itself is breathing ... Breaking its surface, a couple of merfolk emerge in the distance. Alice tenses, praying that she will neither be waved at nor, as that would be much worse, approached and forced to partake in meaningless small talk; praying that she’d be left alone. Luckily, the merfolk dive back into the depths in seconds, having not noticed her. Alice exhales in relief.

A strange sensation is stirring in her chest, and Alice isn’t sure what to call it.

It reminds her of anxiety, of nervousness, but lacks the distinct prickly edge of either. An overwhelming, breath-stalling kind of anticipation that borders jubilance; she might have experienced this feeling as a child ... If she absolutely had to, she’d have called it ‘waiting for a miracle’.

Although she tried, Alice can’t shake this unexplainable premonition: today will be a day unlike any other.

Unlikely.

Sure, there are some days which stand out from the rest and are especially vivid in her memory. Days when everything that could possibly go wrong — does go wrong. The toaster in the breakfast hall breaking down along with the coffee machine, a guest bringing in an infectious disease, a guest getting drunk and rowdy, a guest starting a fight, a guest trying to take a picture of a stone statue and getting a stone punch in the groin because the ‘statue’ was a stone giant who didn’t appreciate being gawked at when they’re meditating; Alice being the one who has to remind the guest to read the Terms of stay when he yells to be given monetary compensation, Alice being the one who has to endure verbal abuse from him, Alice trying not to cry, Alice failing; Suki requesting this, Suki demanding that, Suki making decisions for both of them, Suki shaming her, Suki pushing her into doing things that make Alice want to ball up and bawl, things like making calls and yelling at suppliers and demanding things from them and shaming them.

Alice gets such days quite often.

Best she can hope for is a quiet day without too much stress. There is no tangible reason to expect any miracles.

No reason to expect anything out of the ordinary, even.

But Alice is convinced. Something is going to happen. Something big and profound. Something— She sighs; although the waves are masking the sound, although there is no noticeable shaking, she can still feel the weight of the footsteps through the interconnected wooden planks, and knows that someone stepped onto the jetty and is about to approach her.

Alice doesn’t want to turn or look over her shoulder in order to see who that is. It could hardly be Suki. Suki would have shouted from the boardwalk. Taco, a mountain spirit inhabiting the body of a dog, does come over sometimes, but he always politely inquires whether he’s allowed to enter private property, or if his presence would be disruptive today — before stepping on the hotel’s jetty. So it’s likely a guest who’s either feeling flirty or wants to complain or demand, or Suki’s ex-husband Antonio, who, despite them being divorced, still lives at the Inn and likes to grumble or cry into Alice’s shoulder, although Alice’s shoulder never gave Antonio consent to do that. Whoever that is, the magic will be disrupted. She is clinging to the last threads of the pleasant and mysterious feeling, while strongly suspecting that it’s about to be washed off and disappear forever.

She can feel the threatening presence behind her back, the footsteps light, quiet, and confident. When a shadow falls over her, Alice shrinks into herself, as if she could turn invisible this way, and inadvertently looks up.

“Hey, Allie.”

Her rigid shoulders sag and the tightness within her uncoils. Right before her body tenses in an entirely different way.

As a child, Noah would have grinned ear to ear at her, or roughhoused her, or grabbed her wrist and pulled her away to the beach or to look at something fun, or to nick sweets off the tavern’s kitchen, or play a new game he’d invented. He would have done many things, and would have had no reservations and no second thoughts.

As a child, she would have thrown herself at him and hugged him, or asked if he’d like to go snorkeling, or insisted that he read a book to her today, or made him listen to a song that she liked. She would have done many things, and would have had no reservations and no second thoughts.

But now she just stares, with no clue as to what to do or what else to say except for ‘hi’.

Now he just smiles softly and asks if he’s allowed to stay a while and keep her company.

Now Alice finds herself nodding and then nodding some more. Now, raising her unsealed thermal cup as Noah lowers himself to sit next to her, she asks, “Coffee?”

Now Noah shows her the sealed thermal cup he’s brought with him.

He’s been back for a while, but it’s the first time they’re one-on-one since his return from uni.

The first time she’s seeing him from so up close.

As teenagers, they were awkward, neglected and miserable, and believing that the entire world was against them, and always pretending to be mad at everything but each other, and always lying to their parents and siblings, and sneaking out, and drinking beer and smoking cigarettes, and listening to shitty music way too loud, and trying to act grown-up and tough, and failing at it together, and always saying ‘I hate this island, I hate this world, but I don’t hate you’, and they were allies and accomplices.

As a child, she was pudgy and plump, and always dirty from head to toe, and her hair was always tangled, and she had chubby cheeks and a huge gap between her front teeth, and was always sporting bruises and scratches, and always getting new ones as soon as the old ones would start to fade, and always wearing mismatched hand-me-downs, and always telling Noah that he was the coolest and that they would be best friends forever.

As a child, he was gawky and clumsy, and his feet were too big, and his arms were too long, and his hair was a mess, and he had pockmarks from varicella, and he was always chewing on a piece of gum and scowling a huge white-tombstone grin, and always blowing pink bubbles in her face, and always threatening to stick the gum in her hair, and never doing that, and always wearing mismatched hand-me-downs, and always teasing her by calling her his future wife and saying that one day they would marry, and always being gawky and clumsy and not caring about it, and her hand never strayed from his, and she always felt so brave when by his side, and they were equals.

And now ... now he’s one of the most handsome men Alice has ever seen. Now, Noah is tall, lean, and graceful. His face is all but perfect. His arms are strong and toned. His skin is smooth and clear. His black hair is a row of neat lopsided spikes on top of an even neater undercut, and the golden glow of the sun is giving it a mirror sheen. His clothes — the snow-white trainers, the expertly fitted black jeans, the ironed polo shirt — are immaculate. His voice is warm and mellow. He looks and sounds so confident, so composed. And his smile is dimpled and easy, and he is not her best friend anymore, and Noah is his own man.

Now Alice is all too aware how his thigh brushes against hers, and she can barely breathe, and she can barely focus, and she can barely manage not to let her coffee spill or to choke on her words, and she can barely notice anything at all except for how beautiful he looks, although she’s known him all her life and never ever noticed.

“How’s it going?” he asks.

Alice’s reply is an eloquent, “Huh?”

“How are you holding up?”

Alice thought that he would never come back; his eldest brother, Eddy, left the island, his older sister Aaliyah, having spent a few years away and tasted of the outside world, has been thinking of leaving for good, too, and likely would do so soon. Alice thought that he would never come back, so she let him go. Or so she thought. She did her best to feel happy for him; a new and exciting life awaited him out there. Or so she told herself.

Then he came back, changed.

Instead of ‘good’ or ‘same old’ she blurts out a “Why?”

Terrified of conflicts, she avoids them at all costs. Habitually bracing for impact, Alice winces; the word came out sounding harsher than she intended. She’s about to follow it up with a desperate ‘Nevermind, I mean, it’s fine, everything is great, just livin’ life, you know, uh, thanks for asking, how are you?’ making use of the fact that he’s taking a sip — when Noah briskly lowers the cup, turns his head, and the phrase gets stuck in her throat.

She’s staring at his stylish, minimalist, browline-rimmed glasses, this tiny chin cup beard, and the thin and tidy patch under his plump lower lip. Since when—

He takes a deep breath, as if he’s about to dive. “I’m sorry, Allie. ‘Tis the season, so I know that you’re busy, and I know that this is why we haven’t gotten a chance to properly talk and hang out and all.” Noah’s voice is low, and soft as velvet, and Alice finds herself wishing she could listen to it for hours. Isn’t it the same voice he’s had since his teenage years? He couldn’t have changed his voice, as well, could he? “I know, I get it, and I hope it’s okay that I dropped by. But I just— I’ve recently gotten this feeling that you’re avoiding me. Tell me I’m paranoid?” His forehead creases; Noah tilts his head to the side, with a small, sheepish smile.

Her lips unpin. “You’re—”

It was Noah who seemed like the busy one. After his return, Alice has been watching from the sidelines — or shadows — of the tavern’s hall, not approaching. Only a couple of times, though. Mostly, she’s been hearing things about him, and, judging by these things, he was indeed a new man. The way others described him, calling him suave, witty, charming, full of energy, but also responsible, level-headed, thorough, slow, mature ... felt alienating.

Noah inherited a family business alongside his brother, and, by all indications, took to it as a duck to water. He keeps it running smoothly, is doing books and handling suppliers now, and gets along well with Frank.

Alice inherited a family business alongside her sister, and it’s a never-ending, slow-motion nightmare. Always stressed and strained, Alice can hardly deal with the simplest, most mundane tasks, and Suki gets mad at her every single day.

She and Noah used to be equals, allies, and accomplices. After his return, she couldn’t help but feel inferior to him, couldn’t help but wonder if maybe she was only slowing him down.

She’s supposed to act polite and to say to this confident, strange, handsome man, ‘Of course you’re being paranoid. Please don’t worry. How’s work? How’s your mom doing?’ And she’s about to spell out this white lie, but—

“I just miss you a lot, Allie,” he adds so quickly and quietly that she needs to strain in order to hear him.

Noah was never a skilled liar, but what if he’s grown out of this, too?

“You ... miss me?”

Her body feels like a shell of lead, and the sound of the ocean and the beating of her heart suddenly become deafening as she meets his gaze.

Everything else about him seems so different. Noah looks like a carefree supermodel now, but his eyes are as earnest as they have always been. Deep and kind and soulful, and just a little mischievous as he quirks an eyebrow; it’s the same eyes she remembers. Is this an illusion?

Or is it truly the same boy who taught her to swim?

“Like crazy.”

She and Noah started growing apart long before his departure. His dad passed away, then Eddy left, then Frank got married and moved out, then Aaliyah’s conflicts with Betty started. Noah was trying as hard as he could to be there for what remained of his family. And Alice barely had a spare minute, what with all of that inheriting-the-hotel business and taking classes online ... Whenever she and Noah had time to meet and talk at all, they only talked of how stressed and wrung out they both were, and half-assedly joked about how much they both wanted to be abducted by aliens so that there’d be no need to deal with any of this, but aliens favored big cities and continuously ignored their corner of the world, and those meetings were growing more and more scarce. Then he left... She could not blame him. She did not blame him, not for a single second.

Lately, there have been days which Alice spent in complete silence, having said zero words to zero people. She’s come to consider days like that positive. They’re less tiring. No words means no conflict, or at least it means a one-sided conflict which is destined to fizzle out soon. No words means no shallow small talk, no empty questions about how she’s doing, coming from people who don’t actually care how she’s doing.

Alice hasn’t felt relaxed in ages. She’s so tired. She is tired of feeling like a failure. Tired of feeling out of place, like an outsider in her own home, tired of feeling that nothing she does is good enough, tired of being told off for every single transgression, tired of living in her sister’s shadow. She is so tired of—

“Allie?”

—of having no one to talk to about how tired she is.

“I was, Noah. I was avoiding you. I’m ... so sorry. But I—” Words rise to her throat, words spill and spill and spill out of her in batches. Much like pearls and spherical rubies out of the mouths of half the townsfolk did, during that nasty epidemic last year, one which gave Yuri and Charles so much trouble and a lasting addiction to coffee.

The stream seems never-ending, but it doesn’t feel like an ailment. It feels like it used to, long ago, when his presence was making her brave. Alice tells him what she’s heard about him, she speaks of all the praise and compliments the townspeople have been directing at him, and how she got an impression that the things which she never had the strength or confidence to do, he now does effortlessly.

“I just felt like I had nothing to offer anymore, like maybe you were avoiding me, because you’re so brilliant, and all I can do is—”

Noah laughs. He laughs, and his deep, braying laughter, so familiar, so forgotten, resonates inside her with a nameless ache. She missed this sound so much. She missed his unabashed, white-tombstone smile, his dimples, and the way the skin around his eyes crinkles. He laughs, and it’s a dam to the stream.

Silent, mesmerized, she watches him. Alice is terrified of conflicts; Noah used to de-escalate conflicts and any tense situations in seconds, with a smile on his face. No, not ‘used to’—

“Oh Gh-awd, Allieeeee.” Pinching them by a corner, Noah raises his glasses and wipes a tear of mirth off his left eyelid. “And here I thought— First of all, you know they’re praising you just as much, right? Ohhh dearest Alice, always so polite, so composed and patient, so dutiful and respectful! Just the other day I overheard Wataru using you as an example to shame his son. His son is a goddamn STEM academic! Who, by the way, says he doesn’t ‘believe’ in aliens, as if that’s a question of belief, but that’s beside the point... Secondly, we both got stuck in the hospitality business, come on, you must be aware by now that it’s a crapshoot that’s all about window dressing! Horeca is hell. But you gotta fake it till you make it, and, you know, we gotta show visitors a good time and be there for them, there’s no choice, because our families depend on this, on us. But did you really think— I’m sorry. Allie, I’m so sorry. But come on. Come o-on! Even if I was this brilliant and suave hero, which I’m so not, I assure you, you know it wouldn’t have changed a thing, right? Like I would leave you in the dust to be all high and mighty?! We were buddies, you and I, we were— We are. I would never, not in a million years, think less of you, for whatever reason, I would never want us to stop being buddies. You’re amazing, you’re legit the best person in the world, precisely ‘cause you hate window-dressing, you’re so real, no one gets me like you do. Come on, I know you, don’t you know me? I’m still me, and you’re still you, and no matter what, it’s gonna be you and me, because that’s just the way it is.”

Someone else in his place would have acted offended or annoyed at her presumptuousness. Someone else would have scolded her. Someone else would have clicked their tongue, formed a grimace, and shaken their head ... Alice is speechless. Not fumbling for words, not avoiding words, not scared of words. It’s not some stranger. It’s him, it’s Noah.

Noah, who taught her to swim and to count.

Noah, whom she taught to read and write and to ride a bicycle.

The same Noah whom she stole Frank’s moped with — and then they crashed it while learning to drive. Together.

It’s the same man she’s known all her life, possessing the same unshakeable confidence and faith in their friendship.

While she almost threw it away. If not for this moment of bravery— Alice feels like a fool. She feels like a child who got scared of her own shadow.

“I don’t know why I’m like this,” she mutters.

“I do.” Tilting sideways, he nudges her shoulder with his own, and the gesture is as familiar to Alice as her own breathing. “‘Cause you’re tired A-F, that’s why.”

The feeling of relief is so intense that for a moment Alice is worried her bones will melt.

The silence which follows is not strained in the slightest. It’s as comfortable as a warm blanket on a cold and stormy night. It’s the silence of two people who know each other so well, they barely need to worry about talking. With but a hint of concussed silence.

For a time, they sit sipping their coffee, looking at the water, listening to the gentle, steady cadence of the waves. Alice remembers; this is not the first time the two of them are on this pier. They used to spend hours here, as kids. Although never in silence.

“So. Tourists being a pain?” he finally pipes up. Alice turns just in time to see him adjusting his glasses again. Do they not fit well or is it a nervous habit?

“No. I mean, yes, I mean it’s—” This time, she does stutter. They say he is the perfect son. They say Betty is the luckiest mother on the island. Alice has no trouble believing this, and a small part of her is still reluctant and cautious in regards to his boundaries. He hasn’t badmouthed his family directly since the two of them were angsty hormonal teenagers. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, in what unmistakably is a nervous habit, she starts, “I’m grateful to Suki. She keeps the business running, she’s always so determined, full of energy. She’s a problem solver. She’s my sister and I lo—”

“Don’t,” interrupts Noah briskly, startling her. “Don’t do that.”

“D-do what?” She turns her head to find him looking at her not with a judgmental crease in his brow, but with a small sardonic smile.

“Come on, Allie, it’s me. You don’t need to preface a rant with excuses. Just say it, say what’s on your mind. Go nuts.”

She has been apologizing and groveling, sometimes in advance, trying to appease so many people, to explain herself, for as long as she can remember. With Noah, she never felt the need to do that. Why start now?

“She’s pushy, Noah, she’s pushy, and it’s so hard on me,” Alice breathes out on a long exhale, peering right into his eyes.

And just like that, words start to flow from her again. Alice talks about the many little things that bother her, that wear her out. The phone calls she hates making, ones Suki insists she makes. Suki ordering her about, Suki making decisions for them both without Alice ever being consulted, Suki calling her out in public, or demonstratively humiliating her by asking strangers for advice on what Alice needs to do — rather than discuss the issue in private or just let her off the hook. Suki berating her whenever she believes her inefficient; telling her off for not working as fast as she works, for not doing as much as her. Suki saying things like, ‘It’s time you learned how to put your foot down and take charge of things, or at least how to hold a pen right!’ or ‘What’s wrong with you today? Can’t you do a simple math sum?! What are you, five?’ or ‘Chop-chop! It’s fine to be a klutz from time to time, but if you keep on slacking, you’ll let the whole family down!’

Alice talks about feeling like a failure — while at the same time starting to believe that she isn’t. She talks about how much she wants to stop feeling like a failure, because she knows she isn’t. Noah listens almost without interjecting. He nods along, in acknowledgment, and once in a while manifests a scowl or an ‘Oof’. He’s right there with her, he knows what’s expected of her, of them, and he relates. There is no doubt in her mind anymore.

It’s so liberating to talk about it all openly, and witness no judgment. It’s exhilarating.

In a few words, a few gestures, and through his sheer presence, he grounds her, puts her back together, and imparts some of that bravery in the way only he knows how.

“It’s hard to love them, sometimes. I know.” His voice is low, and it trembles. The smile on his face is fragile; Noah is looking down at his knees, at the water below the pier, at his cup.

She finally notices, behind the beautiful veneer, and the stylish glasses, how puffed up his eyelids are from lack of sleep. This small detail strikes her. Alice’s chest constricts, her stomach clenches. Noah is just as tired. He’s exhausted.

He’s not some superhuman, and the past two and a half years were just as hard on him. And he had no one to confide in, either.

“Noah,” she whispers, poking him in the shoulder, while at the same time registering the puzzling and alluring wish to cup his cheek instead — something she’s never done; a gesture that is so not them . “Your turn. Go nuts.”

Tossing his head up, he snorts. “You’re not gonna believe this, but it’s a-all the same shit—”

Alice listens to him talk about customers and suppliers, as rowdy and capricious as the ones she deals with; about how he handles them, and how tiring it is at times to keep a straight face, to be friendly and welcoming when all he wants is to strangle a dude. About equipment breaking down, about the days when everything at once goes wrong.

She listens, hoping that for him, as well, a shared burden would no longer be as heavy.

“Remember how we were teens, talking shit, saying all of the time about how we want to leave? That we hated the world and hated the island?”

But did not hate one another.

“Ow, man. Leaving is just not an option, even if I wanted to. But I had to go and learn and bust my ass for two years at uni, just to get a solid grip on how things oughta be handled, ‘cause I had no other choice, it was me or no one else, otherwise that mess of a tavern would have collapsed, now I’m bustin’ my ass here, but they—”

He talks about his family, for a long while. Noah tells her of how Betty still perceives and treats him as her baby boy, despite him being an adult and, by all known definitions, the most responsible sibling of them all, the one who always looks out for them; he talks of Aaliyah being moody and full of doubt, and getting into fights with their mom; about Frank’s devil-may-care attitude and the stupid experiments he pulls in the kitchen, trying to ‘expand’ the menu and fix what isn’t broken.

“And my sister-in-law is using me as a lab rat, and I let her, ‘cause she’s family now. But I swear, in comparison to everything else, that’s an upside, and—”

“Wait, what?” Alice stops him short, rewinding. “Lab rat? For what?”

“Everything.” Shrugging, Noah rubs the patch under his lower lip, with the pad of his thumb. “Hair and whatnot.”

Reclining, Alice freezes and stares at him, at the side of his head, at the neat, precise line-up. Suddenly, she’s wishing to run her hand over his undercut, just to find out if that neatly trimmed stubble would tickle. To learn what it feels like under her fingers. His hair used to be such a long shaggy mess...

“Everything?”

She sees his hand move in slow-motion. Noah aims to raise it to her face, but then stops midway, as if unsure. Alice holds her breath. Her heart is beating fast. He lowers his hand and fiddles with the lid of his empty cup instead.

A gentle breeze brushes past them, tugging at the hem of Alice’s blouse, flapping the collar of Noah’s shirt. She draws in a sharp breath as, distracted, she’s lost track of, well, everything.

The tempo of the ocean waves is speeding up. The tide is rising.

“Uuh, yup, everything. Nails and skin and all. Lucky for me, she’s a decent stylist.” His eyebrows jump, and she sees that they’ve been trimmed or plucked too. “So how’s my new look? Do I look like a proper douchebag?”

“Not even a little.”

“No douchebag vibes, even? So much for all the crap that sister’s put me through.”

Shaking her head, Alice lets out a solitary chuckle which instantly turns into a fit of laughter. Eyes roving over her features, Noah joins her, and it feels so good to laugh with him again. So right.

“Aww, poor you. I should drop by Erika’s and save you by heroically volunteering myself,” she teases, still laughing.

“My sister-in-law might be a decent stylist, but even she can’t improve perfection,” Noah counters, and for an additional second that grin is still stretching his face, before faltering and then flattening.

So does hers as the words sink in. Noah’s lips remain unsealed. He does not turn away. Instead, he holds her gaze. Eyes wide open, Noah is looking straight at her.

This is brand new. Completely new and unexplored.

Alice can feel heat rising to her cheeks, and she’s certain that it shows. She’s certain that he can hear her pulse pounding wildly in her veins; she feels like her heart is about to break out of her ribcage and jump right at him, and maybe a part of her wishes for Noah to keep looking at her like this forever, and, for another fleeting moment, she wants nothing more than to grab the collar of his shirt and to pull him close and taste his stupidly perfect mouth ... Exhaling, Alice ducks her head, hiding behind her hair, hoping that the sun will mask her blush.

Meanwhile, she can hear him clear his throat. Noah’s hand lands on her shoulder and squeezes it, and rocks her gently. “Anyway. It gets better. It’ll get better, Allie. We’ll pull through. We’ll make it, you and I.”

De-escalated.

But what if she doesn’t want him to fully de-escalate it?

Following an overwhelming, courage-fed impulse, Alice leans into him and wraps her free arm around his upper back, and nuzzles into his shoulder.

His breath catches. It takes him a few moments to relax, but he does: she can feel his lean muscles uncoil, can feel him ease into her half-embrace. Noah’s hand slips around her lower back.

“Noah.”

“Mhm?”

“I don’t actually hate the island. I never have.”

“Me neither. I love the island. I do hate you a little now, though,” he mumbles into the top of her head.

“Yeah. I hate you too.”

“Allie.”

She feels him shift; he is looking at her now.

“Mhm?”

“I have an idea. We both need a goddamn break. Let’s ditch our joints today. Let’s go somewhere.” Noah sounds resolute and gentle at the same time.

“Where?” Alice asks, but doesn’t dare raise her eyes to look into his.

“Does it matter?”

“I suppose not. But I’d have to tell Suki, and I—”

He squeezes his arm around her back. “It’s just an afternoon, Allie. We’re all grown up now, we don’t need to ask for permission.”

“But Suki is expecting me to—”

“Suki. Will. Be. Fine.”

Alice takes a deep breath, still nuzzling into his neck. He smells so good. Like fresh laundry, and a hint of cedar, but mostly, he smells like Noah. Like courage, like mischief and promises of an adventure, like venturing into the exciting unknown; like that low thrum of joy in her heart, so familiar, so forgotten. Like home.

“Flower-spotting?” he pitches, and she’s finally feeling brave enough to draw away and look at him.

His smile is now so sheepish that it would make any other man seem bashful. It just makes Noah appear boyish and sweet.

“I’d love to.”

Looking away, Noah runs a hand through his hair, messing up his perfectly tidy spikes, and Alice can see that his palm is trembling, ever-so-slightly. “Remember how we went flower-spotting that one time and I did something stupid that I shouldn’t have done—”

“You kissed me,” she whispers. Was that stupid? Alice’s heart falls; she did not expect it to react with so much intensity.

But then he starts speaking again. “Allie, the stupid thing was, I ran away. So if I—” Taking a deep breath, he finishes, “I’m not stupid anymore. I’m not gonna do stupid things again, because—”

Interrupting him, someone materializes right on the pier in a rustling vortex of pink petals, and then, to Alice’s utter relief, leaves in a haste — right away, without saying a word to either of them or even acknowledging their presence. And yet. So rude.

Noah slaps his knees, gets up, and offers her his hand. “Let’s go.”

As he pulls her away by the wrist, the way he used to do when they were kids, Alice suddenly understands the cause behind that mysterious anticipation. Why she was waiting for a miracle.

She remembers now. When the alarm woke her up, she was dreaming of him.

#I saw your other requests; thank you #I think I'll get to them after Nano though #my writing updates #requests #coral island fanfic #noah coral island #alice coral island #fanfiction #writing #coral island

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