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cluelessnamelessao3 · 3 years

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But It’s Not Funny

1. Look, I Know

You had a pretty bad habit of laughing at everything.

Like, a really bad habit.

The world wasn’t actually as funny as you made it out to be, but honestly, how could anyone fault you for trying so hard to be happy? You were just trying to get by. Though, maybe avoiding serious topics by laughing it off wasn’t exactly the best of strategies—and avoiding feelings by pretending nothing bothered you?

Hah… You knew it wasn’t healthy. You knew it wasn’t funny. But what else could you do?

It was either pretend nothing was wrong or cry hysterically. And... you didn't like to cry.

You needed to be strong. Needed to be strong for everyone… and so that meant you smiled when you felt like crying, laughed when you felt like dying, and you let no one know your true pain.

Years back, when you had gone to your mother’s funeral, well, suffice it to say that you were a little too light-hearted about it. You just couldn’t take it as seriously as you knew you were supposed to. It was a problem.

(But it was so much easier to hide from your feelings than confront them, right?)

Though, no one who actually knew you would blame you for that—they’d never blame you for your oddities. They all knew… the things that had happened. They didn’t understand, but they knew. To them, you were pitiable.

You’d gone through some shit in your life. Shit that wasn’t just an everyday occurrence. You’d been to the doctor many times, too many times, for too many reasons (both within your control and completely out of your control). Technically, you were in trouble with the state—though not the kind of legal trouble most would expect. It was more of the kind of trouble that you weren’t allowed to go out of the state, mostly because the state—and your family, for that matter—did not want you to endanger yourself (more than you already had).

There was a bunch of legal jargon that went with it, but at the moment all those long words and fancy terms just seemed like mush to your brain—all you really needed to know was that they didn’t trust you on your own. (You didn’t really trust you on your own either).

To make a long story short, one too many trips to the hospital meant that you needed to be watched.

It wasn’t such a big deal though, you really weren’t planning on doing anything else but live in this small town by the infamous mountain and spend your days grooming animals. After all, with the lovely and comforting company of your service animal, what more could you have asked for?

Well, some friends might be nice, and the ability to travel and explore other cities and towns would be cool. (You'd always wanted to see more of the world). But it was your own fault you couldn’t leave, not that you really had the money to do so anyway. Traveling took money, and money was just something you didn’t have.

The door to your shop chimed, someone came in and peered at the supplies before ducking back out. You didn’t notice them, but Luna did.

You must have been standing there, looking dumb and lost for quite a while, because your service dog, Luna, whined before nudging your hand with her wet and cold nose. You glanced down, an apologetic smile on your face, as you absent-mindedly patted her head. She was too good to you, and you knew you were lucky to have such an attentive dog.

Part of you was still bitter about the fact that it had taken so long for you to get her.

It’d taken so long for this lifeline—this wonderful, loving, caring lifeline to be given to you.

At the risk of sounding too-angst filled and too-woebegone; it’d taken too long for someone to recognize that maybe the only thing you really needed was a reason—a reason to live, something (or someone) to live for, and something (or someone) to help you in your day-to-day life.

Maybe if you’d gotten her earlier you wouldn’t have had so many self-inflicted trips to the hospital—maybe if you’d been treated properly the first time, you wouldn’t have been struggling as hard as you had been—maybe if you’d never had been a victim of—

There were too many maybe’s, what was done was done, and what mattered now was the fact that you were here, and Luna was right here beside you.

She kept you safe and she kept you happy—or, she did her best, at least. (And her best was enough. It was more than enough.)

The door rang once more and a short child walked in, their hair cropped to land just above their shoulders and dreadfully, miserably tangled (you felt the strong urge to hand them a brush). They looked less than put together, their overly large sweater stained with what looked like ketchup, and their face covered with a myriad of scuffs and scratches. They looked almost familiar, but you couldn’t place it.

It took you a second to realize there was a squirming cat clutched in their arms. They wore a self-satisfied smile and seemed to be completely ignoring the cat scratches that littered their face—in fact, they seemed completely unconcerned by the cat’s violent attempts to escape.

You tried not to wince at the sight of them and their minor injuries, some of the cuts still oozing blood.

Taking a deep and calming breath, your dog’s comforting presence grounding you, you called out a hearty hello, introducing yourself and offering your assistance. After a second thought, you laid a small wash cloth on the counter, gesturing at the cuts on their face with a sympathetic look.

The kid, though now that they were up at the desk you realized they weren’t nearly as young as you had originally thought, they seemed to be around fourteen or so, shifted the cat in their arms in order to grab the damp cloth and dab at some of the cuts.

Something about their bright and shining face, that little self-satisfied grin, and the determination sparkling in their honey brown eyes still tickled at the back of your mind. You felt like you’d seen them before, but the reason why remained elusive.

The cat was visibly struggling in their arms when they spoke, and their voice was so soft and gentle.

For a moment you allowed that sweet tone wash over you—reminding you of happier memories: of the snow you used to love to play in as a child, your face red and warm despite the chill in the air and the scenery around you untainted, but instead pure and shimmering with the powdery white snow covering it. Their voice was soothing, and oddly mature sounding despite their childlike appearance.

They seemed so much more weathered than the average kid their age, and they seemed almost otherworldly, in a way you couldn’t quite explain. Either way, it was obvious they’d had experiences that most ambiguously aged children (teenagers? You still couldn’t tell) had ever even dreamed of having.

“Can you groom cats?”

You nodded, placing a business-like smile on your face before stepping forward to reach for the now hissing cat. It batted a paw at you as the messy haired teenager (child?) handed the struggling cat over.

Once you had it, him, in your arms, though, he seemed to calm down fairly quickly.

You’d always had a knack with animals, especially ones like this little guy who were angry and bitter and seemingly tired of existence—maybe they just sensed that you were of a like mind. Or maybe they could see you already had gone through too much; they clearly didn’t need to add to the ever growing list of issues in your life.

Whatever the talent was, or wherever it came from, you were plainly relieved, because it made your job immensely easier.

“I don’t suppose you brought money to pay for this grooming,” you paused, considering them, then asked, “Actually, is this even your cat?”

You snorted upon seeing their sheepish grin, which was an answer enough in itself, as they shrugged in response.

“Well, that’s okay, kiddo, since it’s your first time, I’ll do this on the house, okay?”

The kid nodded with a somewhat reverent expression on their face.

“My name is Frisk, by the way,” the small kid (teenager, you chided yourself. It was so hard to see them as anything but a child) said in a quiet voice, “He’s so calm with you…” they trailed off in wonder.

You smiled and nodded proudly, “I’ve always loved animals. I get on with them, you know? People are difficult… and well, people can be fake. But like, animals are real. They’re not hiding their intentions; they have no need to. Animals are cool, yeah?”

You realised you were rambling but didn’t feel as awkward about it. Something about the actual interest on Frisk’s face was making you feel like what you were saying was actually worth listening to. It felt nice to have someone make more than just polite small talk with you.

Frisk was nodding in agreement as the cat, having sensed he was being ignored, yowled for attention.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes at the cat’s antics before turning to Frisk and asking “Do you have some place you need to be, Frisk? Or do you want to hang out here while I finish this little monster up?”

The cat in question didn’t seem exactly pleased at being called a monster, but he stopped his indignant protest when you moved to scratch him lightly on the chin. You felt Frisk’s eyes on every interaction between you and the cat. It seemed they had something on their mind when it came to the grumpy feline. Or maybe, it was something you were doing?

Either way, they seemed almost confused, or calculating.

Frisk shrugged in response, and to you it didn’t seem like they were about to be going off anywhere, anytime soon, so with that question answered, you set the cat down on the table and began to work, slipping him into a harness that would—hopefully--make grooming less of a hassle, before you set up a small lukewarm bath and gathered the electric trimmer.

His fur was a dirty orange colour, darker spots dotting it along with a few stripes along his spine—he looked to be some sort of tabby cat colouring, though not like anything you’d seen before, his eyes shone a brilliant green and you tried not to question that knowing look he gave you as his narrowed eyes flicked between you and the bath.

It was almost unnerving how much intelligence you could see reflected behind those eyes.

You gingerly picked up the cat and he fell limp in your arms, as you carried him over to the waiting tub, you called over your shoulder “What’s this pretty kitty’s name?”

Frisk shrugged, though you didn’t see it, before calling back, “I don’t know, I want to name him Princess.”

You tried not to laugh at the name, though you couldn’t help but snort at the offended look that the cat was giving Frisk from his perch on the edge of the tub.

He looked at you, and you looked at him. His tail flicked in agitation. You blew the hair away from your face, “okay ol’ boy. I’m going to need you to work with me here. Tub. You. You’re gonna be pals. We’ll get you looking like fire again, okay?”

Frisk snickered at your little pep talk. The cat did not look amused, however, when you gently pushed him back until he slid into the tub and aside from a few hisses and a couple yowls that announced his displeasure, he didn’t fight you too much.

Frisk and you chatted back and forth as you ever so carefully washed and picked through the cat’s matted fur.

Normally on an animal with such terrible mats you’d just cut them off the best you could and give them a good bath, but after seeing how cold the weather outside was and knowing this little guy was a stray, you had been determined to save most of the fur you could. You couldn’t let the poor, angry, little man freeze to death.

Besides, he seemed to like the gentle massages you were giving him, the suds rolling off of his back and into the now murky water.

Frisk paused your conversation, after their phone rang once, then twice. They promptly excused themselves to go answer it. You just continued to work through the heavy tangles in his fur.

They came back in a second later though, seemingly hyped over something. Frisk asked excitedly and without any preamble, “So, you have a sign out there for help wanted! Right?”

It wasn’t as much of a question as their upward curving tone indicated it was, but you nodded in response anyways.

“Well, uhm, I don’t, uhm, have a lot of exper—” They stuttered out before you interrupted them with a hand up, the soap dripping off your fingers and onto the floor.

You didn’t normally hire strangers—you normally didn’t talk to strangers, but something was pushing you to do this. Something was telling you that it was of the highest importance to offer Frisk some work. You recognized this feeling, it was the same feeling that helped you find Luna, and helped you start this small business as a pet groomer. You’d trusted the feeling then, and you would trust it now.

“Frisk, you seem super sweet, and I could use some help, okay? How about we start you as an intern or volunteer of sorts and we can see where to go from there? I can’t offer you any payment yet, but if you like the work enough and are willing to get some certification or training, I’d be happy to take you on.”

You couldn’t help but smile brightly at their beaming face, their eyes wide with apparent happiness. In a flurry of motion, they seemed to be signing excitedly, and your eyes studied their hands for a moment trying to piece together the words.

It’d been so long since you’d seen signs—and even longer since you’d tried to sign. It was something from your mother’s time, something the two of you had done as you’d grown up.

After a second’s pause, they coughed awkwardly and were about to repeat the motions, this time attaching their meanings with words, but you waved the gesture away and instead signed back, your hands clumsy from lack of practice.

“I would love to have you stop by tomorrow. May I meet your parent, to talk over details with them?”

You didn’t think Frisk could look any happier as they quickly nodded before bounding out of the store, their (new) cat momentarily forgotten.

You merely shrugged before returning to the task at hand.

Once the fluffy little monster was washed and dried you placed him back on the cool metal table and clipped him into the little cat harness before grabbing some trimmers and a small pair of scissors—it may be cold outside, but you couldn’t risk the fur getting tangled and ruined like that again, a quick trim would ensure he stayed warm and his fur stayed healthy.

He shied away from the buzzing trimmer at first before you won him back with a well-placed treat (or two).

An hour later with a freshly cleaned and cut cat, you turned around with a large smile on your face to see… a skeleton? You’d seen various monsters before (and had even groomed a few of them) but you’d never seen a skeleton monster before…

He was really tall and surprisingly thin for such an impossibly tall being. Well, you supposed with a slight sigh, anyone would be considered impossibly tall compared to you.

You weren’t exactly… well, by any standard, you were far too short for your own good—for god’s sake, you even had a small stepping stool at your register just so you could use it comfortably.

People always thought you were cute and spunky (often belittling you, both physically and mentally)—or they just assumed you were a bratty, little child that spoke out of turn far too often. You weren’t really sure which idea you preferred.

The monster was bouncing back and forth, looking between the leashes hanging on the wall and the treats in a bowl on the counter. He was very clearly excited, and you couldn’t quite understand why. All his movement and activity was making you somewhat anxious.

Upon noticing that you’d finished with the orange and rather grumpy cat, the large skeleton bounded forward, closer to the counter, with a huge grin plastered on his face. For some reason, his presence gave off the feeling of warmth and kindness and boundless energy. However, his size screamed to your senses “DANGER”.

While he seemed sweet in his own way, Luna recognized your slight vestiges of fear and padded up to your side to sniff and lick at your hand.

You greeted the skeleton in a small and shy voice, which was completely drowned out by his boisterous and booming yell, “HELLO, SMALL HUMAN! You are nearly the SAME SIZE as my TINY HUMAN!”

You smiled weakly, unsure of what the correct response would be, that was, until you spotted a meek looking Frisk behind the tall skeleton, who continued to speak and announced that his name was the GREAT Papyrus, or something like that—you weren’t paying as much attention as you should have been, the noise and yelling was a little more frightening than you’d like to admit.

Frisk seemed to sense that and placed a gentle hand on Papyrus’ arm. He cut his monologue short and after receiving a stern look from what he called the “tiny human” he continued to speak in a much softer tone—it was more of a yell whisper, which you figured was good enough, at least he was trying.

You tried to breath in and out as slowly as possible, attempting to calm your rapidly beating heart, it was hard though, his yelling, his height, his stature and appearance in general—you tried not to over think it.

Now was not the time to panic, you were in your shop, there was a wriggling cat in your arms, a warm Luna at your feet, and the whining sound of a very lonely dog in a pen coming somewhere from the back area. You were in your twenties, you were with Luna, you were not alone, you were in your shop, there were noises, and they were okay. You were okay.

Running these words through your head again and again as you gently handed the cat over to Frisk, you began to calm down. Papyrus didn’t even seem to notice your momentary panic.

“WOWEE! That cat SURE is CLEAN!” You nodded and gave a soft smile while Frisk handed the angry cat to the large skeleton monster.

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter at the scene that unfolded before you—all tension leaving you at once.

Something about cats and their strange instinct to viciously and repeatedly attack anything they didn’t understand had always been a point of hilarity for you but this… Well, this was just too funny.

Claws do nothing on bones, and it didn’t matter how many time the cat slapped Papyrus’ face with his paws, the skeleton didn’t even seem to notice, or maybe he didn’t care about the cat’s obvious aggression, instead he just shoved his face closer and cooed loving words to the increasingly frustrated Princess. Thinking about the absurd name only made you laugh more.

It was hours later after the sun had finally set that you were home, cuddled up in the largest sweater you could find, your ridiculous fuzzy socks making you look more childlike than ever. You lay, draped over the couch in an almost dramatic fashion with your hand poised unintentionally dramatic over your face, covering your eyes from the burning light of the floor lamp. Luna laid on top of you, her heavy body crushing your legs, but you didn’t want to move.

You’d rather let your legs shrivel up and fall off than risk waking her up just because you were a little uncomfortable. She was too cute; you couldn’t do that to her.

Overall, your day at work had gone fairly well, aside from one angry customer who bitched you out about washing their dog with shampoo that smells of coconuts rather than one that smells like vanilla—you had tried your best to stand your ground, but folded fairly quickly, a laugh and a discount later and they left the store. Honestly though, who the fuck cares whether their dog smelled like vanilla or sunshine or some other shit? As long as they were clean, wasn’t that enough?

You really needed to work on the whole “sticking up” for yourself thing… or at least you needed to stop laughing when people got angry.

You couldn’t help it though. When people were angry your first instinct was to cry, and ever since you were a young child, you’d been adamant on never crying…

You didn’t like the messy way tears were. The way they made your eyes sting afterward, and the way that your throat would hurt from your sobs or the sticky feeling of your face after crying for a particularly long time.

Screw the stress relief it supposedly provided, crying was too messy, too weakening to be considered useful.

Plus, people would worry, and that was the last thing you wanted to happen.

With that last tired thought, you roused Luna and the two of you waddled off to bed.

Morning came and Luna bounded out of your arms and off of the bed with such enthusiasm that you could only groan your jealousy. She was too much for you, honestly, how could anyone or anything be that god damn excited to wake up?

(She wasn’t normally this excited, either! Usually, she was just as grumpy in the morning as you were.)

Apparently, you hadn’t gotten up in time because soon the bed shifted from Luna’s added weight and before you could utter a protest her face was in yours and her nose snuffling all of your hair and face and neck and then god, that damn pink tongue was licking you until you finally sat up, pushing her away.

“I’m up, I’m up, god, can’t you let a girl sleep in a little?” She merely blinked at you with those puppy eyes of hers. “No? Figures.” With a sigh you reached over and pet her big blocky head.

She was way too cute. Her slightly bowed legs coupled with the slight chubbiness—probably your fault, you were too lenient when it came to treats—and her pretty little, short coat, she was a sweet looking dog, short floppy ears, long clumsy tail, warm brown eyes. She was too precious.

But the licking thing…

It was less than precious.

You sighed with resignation. It was time to get up, you only had an hour until you needed to be opening the store anyway.

“Okay, fine, you win, Lu, let’s go.” She snorted with satisfaction and you quickly got ready for work, making sure to grab a small snack to eat on the way there.

Today was going to be a good day, you hoped.

Author’s Note: I started this fanfiction in 2016, but due to personal circumstances I ended up leaving it for a while. Now, it is 2021 and I am starting to write again on the daily. I am several chapters ahead of what is posted on AO3 and hope to remain that way. I have no idea on an update schedule, but there will be continued updates.

#binf #but it's not funny #chapter 1 #chapter 1 but it's not funny #undertale fanfiction #sans/reader #sans undertale #sans/female reader #frisk is not the reader #undertale #fanfiction #ao3 #archive of our own #binf undertale

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hellrisen · 4 years

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@diabhales

TITLE: SOAKED FROM THE WAIST DOWN. SETTING: DUNK TANK. STARRING: LETHA NEWMAN & BEAU ROCHESTER.

LETHA: as if served on a silver platter, letha has to contain the giddiness rallying up inside her upon the view of beau rochester — sitting atop a $1 dollar dunk tank. not yet spotted, she rummages through her pants pocket for the needed change. perfect, brilliant, absolutely fucking amazing. a casual stroll, arms fold across her chest as she approaches. “ sup, beauregard. „

BEAU: Of course Letha has to roll up. If she'd have been the one in the tank — as he'd expressed to Kai earlier, Beau would stand there all day: ball in hand, dunking on repeat. But, naturally, the fact that she was doing it annoyed him endlessly. As she did all the time. "Letha Newman," he calls back from his position atop the tank. "Don't worry about paying to fail. I don't think anyone wants to lug around warm pennies if it'd leave you in such a tough financial spot."

LETHA: normally, heat would collect in cheeks and all the way up to her ears upon one of his comments. but there was no denying the power had shifted. and how it had. a smile forcing itself onto tanned features, letha hands the other person her hard earned money. “ wow … even as you’re about to be served a fat, greasy plate of karma you don’t shut up. „ beat. “ is that your talent for the show? your unsolicited commentary? „

BEAU: Regardless of the accuracy of her statement — if there was one thing Beau could do well, it was chime in where he didn't belong, especially when it came to anything Letha did — he wasn't going to sit there and take it lying down. He leans forward in his seat, water disrupted below him from rickety machine. "No, I'm not participating. I don't have that kind of desperation for 5k." Eyebrow quirked, smile appearing on his face full of smarm & sarcasm. "Or attention."

LETHA: beau was, unfortunately, right. while her own participation was a last minute decision, it had been one entirely based on escaping the monthly dependency on the rochesters. he always did have to hit below the belt. lips pressing together tight, fingers clench the ball just the same. a fierce throw his way, and she misses — the target at least. it manages to swirl upwards, colliding with the wall right above his shoulders instead. a fail in multiple regards. “ fuck … „ she murmurs. BEAU: Speaking of hitting and belts ... the ball sails easily above his, and above the target, landing against the plastic wall behind him, and falling into the water below. Classic — and something that couldn't have gone better for him. "Hey, Newman, you're supposed to hit the target. Not try and take my head off." A sarcastic tut, face miserable but eyes twinkling with the joy of getting one over her, at least for a minute. "That's very violent of you. There's families here, you know."

LETHA: there’s an urge — never ceasing in its tumorous growth — to strangle beauregard rochester. if only until he passes out for a minute or two. and if you were to ask anyone, anyone at all, letha newman was not the aggressive type. sometimes passive to a fault, practically running from confrontation when presented with it. yet … beau. beau fucking rochester. a cartoon iteration of the event would include steam erupting out of her ears and eyes going dark, dark, dark. “ i’m getting there. „ she snaps. “ it’s called building the tension. alright? „ another bill fished out and she hands it off. “ — … ready? „

BEAU: He rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed by both her aim and her attempts to justify it. "Born ready — It's a warm day out, I've been trying to get a little swim in." He complains, though tone of voice and the fact that it's even directed at Letha in the first place, shows that he isn't really interested in touching the water. He doesn't hate her — she's merely an annoyance, someone seemingly so set on making him ... well, annoyed. She's certainly digging herself a big hole that leads to more aggressive response through, and a bullseye might speed up the digging process. "We're all waiting on you." We're all including the inhabitant of the booth next to him, maybe, and the bored looking attendant. Not exactly a crowd.

LETHA: beau’s comment cut short, the ball is hurled his way. and to everyone’s surprise, letha’s included, she hit the bullseye. a SMACK, then … a splash. excitement bubbles through her whole being, overshadowing disbelief, and it comes pouring out. feet leaving gravel, the triumph is celebrated through a delighted squeak, and a victory dance ensuing. including hops of pure delight as she struggle to contain the poor sportsmanship. “ yes, yes, fuck yeah! „ childish, check. entirely justified … check, check, and check. “ sucks to suck, doesn’t it, beau? „ words less than cordial, wide grin presented waters down the hostility.

BEAU: with a satisfying whack against the target — satisfying for letha, at least, he's sure — he falls into the water the words you... trailing off as the seat below him collapses. head coming up out of the cold as he stands, he shakes out his hair in something reminiscent of a wet dog. "beginners luck," he calls out, already hoisting himself back up to the now uncollapsed seat. "or, i guess it'd be second time's the charm? batting 1-1 isn't really success ... though considering your lack of athleticism..." he settles in fully, relaxing back in the chair with eyebrows raised and cockiness entering his tone. bold, for someone now soaking wet. "you probably wouldn't get the baseball metaphor."

LETHA: with a win, beau’s grip on her had loosened, and the biting remarks became nibbles. still, eyes roll as they always would. “ i have other places to be, you know. „ she points out, though another dollar is fished out and handed off. douche. “ best out of three? „ a purely rhetorical question as a ball is immediately swung —— hitting the target for a second time; the same glee erupting in her chest, all whilst lips press into a fine line in forced composure.

BEAU: he falls again, same motions repeated — stand in the water, climb back up, make a snide comment towards letha. the third part was a daily occurrence, no need for a dunk tank to exacerbate feud. alright, now he'd gave to think a little to annoy her. "other places? " comment is interrupted as he climbs back into the chair. " i didn't realise the pool's snack stand was all that intriguing. " a beat, and her calls out to the dunk tank attendant, "hey, give her her money back. she needs it." back to letha. "you're welcome to keep getting your aggression out. my treat!"

LETHA: and there it is again, that beauregard induced agitation. it trickles back in : overcoming momentary bliss and triumph, urging her to ignore the attendant’s puzzled stare … and reach out for a new, unpaid for, ball. it doesn’t linger in her possession for long — instead catapulted out of her grasp, the way of beau. and it hits. just not what she’d aimed for. hands instinctively snap to her mouth, stifling a gasp as the ball tumbles into the water. although letha hadn’t aimed at his face, convincing him otherwise would be futile. “ oh my god! „ she exclaims, moving towards the dunk tank : coming to a full stop before she’s within an arm’s length. to be safe. “ are you okay? „

BEAU: taunts all in good fun — at least fun for him, perhaps a little cruel headed in her direction — are ended when the ball sails well over the target and way off from the target. at least his baseball metaphor had been inaccurate, but the bright green of the tennis ball had smacked squarely into his eye. hand flies up to it, and the seat shakes with sudden stunned movement, but luckily, does not fall as letha rushes up to him. yet. an attempt to beckon her closer with momentary sympathy he know's he'll lose, hand remains firm on eye. "does it look too bad?"

LETHA: he’s not yelling. though rather than luck, she considers it the calm before the storm. a grimace, letha takes another step to further investigate damage done. “ no. „ she lies. poorly at that, and her face is bound to give her away. “ … you’re bleeding. „ a fact which does not bode well for letha newman … or her financial reliance on the spoiled, albeit injured, brat ahead.

BEAU: mechanics of the dunk tank are mystifying, and beau assumes rather than rentals, someone in eden must have made them themselves. sides low enough to send water careening out if there's a particularly sudden fall, they're stationed by the hoses for constant refills. no cage surrounding them, a safety violation if he's ever seen one — and now he reaps the consequences of that part. lastly — falls not only triggered by the pushing of the target, but of sudden movement ... and a tiny lever under the seat. hand removed fully from eye as if to investigate, hand swings under him, sending an injured beau falling downwards suddenly ... and quite a bit of water over the sides of the tank and, at least partially, over letha. vague, weak revenge doesn't do as much to satiate frustration as he thinks it would, and once fall is over and shock from the sudden injury is placated, annoyance fills his tone. "there must seriously be something seriously fucking wrong with you if you lash out like that," he grumbles, voice raised. "we've got lawyers on retainer, you know." good ones, the rochester's wealth a secret to neither of them, even if threat is empty. he touches his eye gently. bleeding he is indeed, and the area around it is sure to bruise.

LETHA: despite a hurried step back, beau manages to soak her from the waist and down. fair enough. she would take this over a shiner any day. a truth kept to herself as she hurries to her own defence. voice whiny and childish —— sounding more like a little kid caught with its hand in the cookie jar than an apologetic adult. “ it was an accident!* „ she was starting to wish it hadn’t been. he deserved it. if not for today then for all the previous combined. “ and there’s nothing wrong with me. „ that was up for debate. luckily, he was unaware of the turmoil which possessed her life. aside for the financial portion. “ i mean, i’m not the one threatening to go crying to daddy. what are you, beau, five? „

BEAU: he scoffed, so enraptured with both his injury and taking out the blame for it on letha that it didn’t seem to matter that he was still standing waist deep in water. at least he was prepared enough to wear swim trunks — no matter what level of cockiness, someone was bound to hit him in multiple times throughout the day. he just didn’t anticipate it would be letha. twice. he recomposes, gone is what's gained from increased anger ... and he's returned to the usual level of annoyed back & forth for benefit of his own pride. “oh — i’m five? you’re the one hurling things at people because you got your feelings hurt. little playground etiquette for you, newman. you don’t get to kick sand because someone has more toys than you.” his eye hurt like a bitch, but he wasn't about to nurse it in front of her. as far as letha could be concerned, he was barely phased by her antics.

LETHA: jean sticks to her legs, chafing wet thighs and adding another layer of thick, impenetrable annoyance to the situation. “ i wish it’d been on purpose. „ a snap in her voice, letha grabs a bundle of — previously folded, now crumbled — singles. “ in fact, i wish i’d broken your big, stupid friggin’ nose. „ temptation is found in the act of tossing change onto the ground but manners keep a fist from unclenching where she stood. pacing back to baffled attendant, letha hands her the whole of the day’s budget. and then, like the five year old she was so insistent not to be, she spins back around. “ it’d probably look better. „ juvenile but satisfactory, she adds punctuation with a classic storm off.

BEAU: watching with raised eyebrows — or, raised eyebrow, considering that any movement near the other eye was painful enough. "my nose isn't big, it's strong, and it is considered attractive in many cultures!" beau called out, but letha had already turned on her heel and stormed away. typical: starting a fight, couldn't take the heat ... he climbs up back past the seat, and makes his way out of the tank, ice pack waiting for him as the attendant places letha's crumbled bills into the EDEN CHARITY FAIR fanny packs. man, is he glad he doesn't have to wear one of those. somewhat turned off by the fact that the dunk tank had been so prepared for injury, after a minute or two of standing around, he resumes his prior position, eye feeling only slightly better, still stewing at letha's purposeful attack.

#int. beau — ln.#archive — ln.#diabhales

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yaminerua · 6 years

Text

ok so

a universe alteration immediately following the events of season 1′s “The Karamatsu Incident”...

Chibita leaves kind of numbly after what he witnesses outside the Matsuno household and it’s not until he’s walked a fair bit away from the scene that his anger finally reaches him and he just freaking loses it with how pissed off he is. Like he’s mad at himself for thinking this would work and be a good idea at all and for causing this situation in the first place but he wouldn’t have had to do that if those shitty NEETs would just pay off their damn tab..

Eventually though the anger ebbs away into a gnawing feeling of guilt. Because as crummy as those brothers can be it wasn’t fair to just leave one of them injured outside. Would the others even bother coming out to get him?

He stops walking and sits on the little cart he’d brought with him and tries to think about what he should do. He’s more than halfway home by now but he’s pretty certain he’s not going to sleep with an easy conscience if he just leaves things as they are. At the very least he should make sure Karamatsu got taken in or something right?

So he goes back and his heart sinks into his stomach when he sees that Karamatsu’s still lying right where he was left. Rage flares up again at first, but Chibita forces it down and lies to convince himself that maybe, maybe those idjits didn’t know he’d left him out there.. Right...

So now he really isn’t sure what he’s going to do. Karamatsu’s pretty beat up and still in his pyjamas and it’s a little chilly out.

Partly out of guilt, partly out of pity and maybe something else as well, Chibita finds himself heaving Karamatsu’s unconscious body up onto the cart and carrying him off. He considers taking him to a hospital and honestly that was probably the best place for him.. but he doesn’t like the idea of having to explain how this situation came to be. So, reluctantly, he just takes him back to his own home.

He tends to his injuries as best he can - he’d become fairly good at that after spending years getting into violent scrapes as a kid - and finds some spare blankets and pillows to make him comfortable and tries to think of what he’s going to do when morning rolls around. But exhaustion brought on from how stressful and terrible this entire day had been finally gets to him and he resigns himself to sleep.

Karamatsu is very quiet when he finally wakes up the next morning. He sits hunched over and withdrawn, frowning at the floor with his lips pressed tightly together in a tense thin line. He doesn’t even look up to eat when Chibita offers some breakfast to him.

He looks like an absolute wreck. His eyes are red and puffy and some of his injuries have manifested as dark bruises across his face and his hair is poking out messily from the bandages Chibita had wrapped round his head the night before. It’s a pitiful sight and Chibita can’t look directly at him without feeling bad for having caused this.

He tries to lighten up the situation but much like it did when he tried the same last night it was all in vain. Karamatsu didn’t feel up to smiling and who could blame him really?

So now what? When he’d asked him last night if he’d wanted to go home he’d received no definitive answer.. and now after everything else that had taken place Chibita thinks it’d probably be stupid to try and ask that again. But what else can he do? Karamatsu’s got to go home at some point... right?

A really awkward silence settles and Chibita scowls down at his half-eaten breakfast trying to figure out what the hell he’s going to do. Dammit this was frustrating. If he’d known trying to force those idjits to pay their tab would result in all this he wouldn’t have kidnapped Karamatsu in the first place. And come to think of it how did he expect them to pay the tab anyway? None of them work or had any kind of income...

Wait... Work??

He glances up briefly at Karamatsu - who has taken to staring miserably out the window - and the seeds of a new idea start to grow within his mind. It’s not perfect, but it’s probably the best he’s going to come up with right now and it might be better for everyone in the long run, who knows?

"Alright, idjit!” he yells, leaping to his feet and pointing directly at Karamatsu, a toothy grin spreading across his face. “Change of plan! If those idjits aren’t gonna pay their tab I’ll at least have you pay off your own while you’re here!”

Karamatsu looks confused and more than a little concerned by that announcement and then Chibita elaborates explaining that since Karamatsu’s technically still a ‘hostage’ he’s gonna have to stick with him for a while until he pays off his own ransom - or at least his own share of the ransom. How’s he gonna do that? He’s gonna work for it of course! If he wants to eat oden he’s gotta pay for it. Give as much as you take. And since he’s taken a fair bit without giving in return, he’s going to have to work damn hard to pay off the debt he owes to oden!

Karamatsu just looks more and more apprehensive and Chibita goes on, in that over-excitable way that Chibita does when he gets into something. And eventually Chibita catches on and stops himself, quieting down a bit and clearing his throat before finally clarifying where he was going with all this.

“Basically, Karaboy, you’re gonna stay here and work for me and pay stuff off with effort.”

And when Karamatsu remains terribly quiet and blank, Chibita realises he hasn’t explained exactly what kind of work he plans to have the man do. With a satisfied little snicker, he gestures towards the large boxes of oden ingredients he has piled up by the entrance to his home. “Preparing oden takes effort and there’s plenty to do and of course you’ll be learning from the best in the biz! You’ll have paid everything off in no time at all!”

He flashes Karamatsu a bright, wide smile and something about it eases the Matsuno a little. Maybe it’s the warmth he feels from it, the way he feels that maybe this is actually being done more for his benefit than Chibita’s own... but whatever it is it doesn’t feel bad. He’s not sure how he really feels about everything that’s happened lately yet... and maybe staying away from home for a bit would do him some good. Maybe it’d even open his brothers’ eyes a bit if he stayed gone for a bit. Who knows? He can’t stay miserable like this forever, it just... doesn’t suit him. And he’ll have faith that his brothers will come round to realising they miss him really. He’ll believe that and be content with that.

Letting out his trademark “heh~” a small smile finally graces Karamatsu’s features again and for reasons Chibita cannot yet fathom he feels his heart lift at the sight of it.

It’s gonna be a lot of work over the next while, teaching Karamatsu the ways of an oden master and having him live under the same roof.. but he can’t say he’s not in some way looking forward to it. Maybe, in the end, things’ll turn out alright.

#osomatsu san #karabita #karamatsu #chibita #karamatsu matsuno #this has been in my drafts for over a year why did i never post it?#i'm glad kara got treated better in S2 but i wish there'd been more karabita #long post #in case y'all forgot. i still love these two a lot

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toneelspeler · 6 years

Photo

At a certain point you don’t feel like you’re pretending anymore. This is who you are, a boy with girls, a boy who gets the girls, a boy who impresses his friends with girls. A boy who receives congratulatory pats on his back; a boy who turns to stone the minute he’s alone with her. A boy who doesn’t mind kissing, but a boy who can’t.

A boy who can’t go further; who puts his head against the cold tiles of a bathroom just to get a moment to compose himself again. Who needs to breathe, before he gets overwhelmed with anxiety and a heart that doesn’t stop beating. A boy who wants to silence his heart, keeping it quiet and contained, forcing it to feel nothing.

A boy who should have been better at this by now.

You’ve moved upstairs now. A new and cold room is left to you – and you stay because you have nowhere else to go, really. Your father never asked you to come back, diligently giving you money to keep you satisfied wherever you are. He doesn’t even know what your new place looks like. Your mother keeps sending you messages, but never asking where you are. You keep looking at them, hoping that one of them might be a message that asks about you.

It never is.

All of your old room is packed into a backpack; all that you feel you still want, anyway – your television and PlayStation are the only really valuable items you have; leaving behind an empty bedframe, an empty desk, an empty closet.

All for a room that is made your own by only adding a few things. For some reason, adding anything more is scary – it makes it feel too real; a seventeen year old living with roommates because his parents can’t take care of him.

You don’t want to get used to this.

It happens on a Monday.

A Monday not unlike the one before, with friends talking and screaming and joking about things you don’t concern yourself with. You can’t even imagine a world in which this would be different, in which you don’t have to force yourself to talk about girls, or to keep quiet when they do so. It’s just how it is.

But it happens. He’s there. And it starts with a laugh.

Him sitting there, with his feet propped up on table, smiling and nodding a little. You keep watching, keep staring a little – there’s a voice, a feeling telling you you’ve never felt such an attraction to someone before; to a guy, not like this. He’s magnetic, and just… beautiful, really.

And he’s looking back. Shit.

You don’t see the guy after that encounter in the cafeteria, not that day at least, and so you forget – just a little.

But there’s still that feeling, that feeling of maybe, of if. That has never been an option in your mind before. But you tell yourself that it’s just you, trying to make up things that aren’t real. You’re just wishing things that cannot be.

He shows up at the most unlikely places though – first, at a Kosegruppa meeting from which you disappear within five minutes, and then, in the bathroom; picking paper from the dispenser and giving you a dirty one to clean up. His eyes are intense, mysterious and so weirdly piercing – and you know that this should all creep you out a little, but you just become intrigued. And it’s not as if you know any better, maybe… this is just how boys flirt with each other.

Outside he saved a seat for you, and a smoke, and the moments beyond are awkward, and so silent, and you’re scared shitless but you’d like to try – just for once, to try out being someone you’ve wanted to be. Just for once, and that’s all you need. He jokes about dicks, and touching them, and you start to wonder. But the conversation is brief and cut short by the girl you kissed a few days ago – because, apparently, the universe is still telling you to not be you, to be that one, that person who woos girls and keeps them hanging on.

But he’s still there, and he offers you help. And he gets a name.

He is called Even.

Your feeling you had the very first time you saw him, that feeling that you’re feeling attracted, that you could crush on this person very easily – it keeps you going, and it keeps you searching, for any evidence that might indicate whether this guy might be just what you’re looking for.

But there’s no evidence, not really – there’s no social media, so you can’t see whether he’s had boyfriends, or girlfriends, or anything else.

So you take your next best bet; Eskild, who for some reason keeps on asking you for advice on guys. But it feels odd to call a guy handsome; you just cannot call them hot, or attractive, or cute, for some reason – such an admission gets stuck inside your throat, and swells up anxious waves inside your stomach. There’s a voice telling you; that’s only for girls to say. You’re not a girl.

You’re still uncomfortable with Eskild, that much hasn’t changed – but he does know about boys, and sexualities, so you allow yourself just one question. That shouldn’t be too harmful.

Except for when his answer confirms that which your gut already told you was true, as if Eskild knew.

Talking about sucking dicks to strangers is really suspicious.

You manage to add two names to Even, making him more real – watching him on screen, knowing that he’s existed for longer than you’ve known him (or conjured him up to be). And hearing him, his laugh, and seeing his smile, and getting to know his interests and thoughts; seeing him on the courtyard slowly walking by and staring back at you; and watching that clip over and over, and searching for him online over and over, and watching movies you wouldn’t allow yourself to watch without knowing he – another guy – was into romances like this too -

You’re getting in way deeper with this guy than you bargained for.

Still, not much has happened between the two of you, so you try to keep telling yourself that it’s all in your head, that you’re just imagining things – but you fail miserably. For the first time in months, or maybe even years, you feel things; your heart racing, just for a few seconds, whenever you think of him – that unattainable being, who keeps appearing in your dreams and is always smiling at you in them.

But then he suddenly turns up at your side in a tram; it’s awkward at first but you’ve gained some confidence, and you see an opening – to keep him at your side just a little longer. And it’s so much easier after that to stay, to be around him, to talk and laugh and you think, maybe, just maybe – I’m allowed to be. You keep staring, and you know he sees you, and he doesn’t mind – he smiles back, too. The outside world tries to butt in, sending you messages that you should answer, but you don’t want to; you push them away, quickly answering and returning to him, the boy who stops the world around you when you’re with him. And you know that you’ve never felt this way with anyone; the ease, the laughter, the kindness he affords you with his jokes and his eyes and his voice. You can see yourself with him, holding his hand; brushing through his hair; looking deeply into his eyes and knowing you’re allowed.

This is the first time you could see yourself kissing someone – a boy – and not wanting to turn to stone afterwards. You want to be you with him, and you truly think - you hope - you can.

But this was all a fairytale, and you should’ve known. You’ve never hated yourself more for believing that maybe you could be yourself someday when he introduces his girlfriend to you.

Afterwards, you can’t sleep. It’s not a thing that’s entirely new – you’ve been unable to sleep for a few days now, and if you’re honest with yourself it’s been ever longer, certainly for weeks. There’s a feeling of anger in you; anger at him for letting you think it could even be anything, but also anger at yourself – frustration, really, that you let yourself think it could even be anything.

The situation with your mother also doesn’t help.

In your frustration, you decide to be petty and search for a test to see whether you’re actually gay. The questions you answer are not for you – they’re for someone like Eskild, someone who is actually gay, not like you. So you answer the questions, and sometimes you hesitate on an answer knowing the effect it would have on the result; and in the end, you’re barely there. You can’t even call yourself it, the test says – it’s only twenty percent.

So maybe you should try: you know you are, you are gay, but maybe there’s a way to not be. You search for ways to force yourself to like girls, because you’ve tried before and it didn’t work and this time it should.

You can’t afford yourself the same heartbreak again. You’d rather pretend, to take up that mask again, and be fake.

Fake. That’s all you can be.

You start with apologizing to her. The girl everyone sees you with, with whom the rumours already are around so it’s not weird to go for her. You know she’s into you, and while you know you will never reciprocate her feelings, she’s the easiest target – and she’s already into you.

It takes you two minutes to get into her good graces again.

You barely blink.

The boys decide to join in on a dance audition, lying that they’re there for moral support, and with an eye roll the dance director lets them sit there – probably already knowing it’d be useless to ask them to go away.

Internet told you that you should drink, and look at girls, and try to make them attractive to you – but you realise that it would never work without alcohol for you. You look at them and objectively know, yes – they are attractive, because that’s everyone and everything always told you they are. Their curves are in the right spot, their movements are slow and alluring, their smiles are fun and beautiful.

It’s just not working for you. It never has, and it angers you – that for some reason you had to be the one who falls in love with boys, instead of someone else. It would make the world so much easier for you; but clearly it’s still not willing to throw you a bone in any way.

Then he shows up, casually throwing a snapback in your lap asking you if it’s yours. This is getting too close for comfort – you want him to go, to not talk, to not respond at all and leave – but he doesn’t. He answers.

The universe threw you a bone.

You’ve dreaded this party ever since last Friday, knowing that Even would have to show up there and you’d have to be in proximity with each other. When Emma comes in, you pull her towards the couch and tangle her in conversation while trying to get as much beer in you as you can without completely getting drunk.

He arrives. You see him. With her.

His eyes are piercing, and you feel a faint flutter in your stomach; one that you wish you could stop – it angers you, that he still has that effect on you. So you take swig of beer and start kissing her, to punish him and to punish you; for letting him have that effect on you.

Of course, you should’ve known it was never meant to last, as he drops in and breaks you too up. He keeps on trying to find contact with you but you try to keep your distance – you can’t and won’t let yourself get hopeful again. But his response to Eskild surprises you, and it feels like it’s meant for you in some way. It feels like his response to the snapback question a few days ago – it’s as if he just instinctively knows what you need to hear.

When you’re dancing with her, you can’t stop staring; maybe his response earlier was a way to let you in, to let you know that he’s still a possibility. You imagine her lips to be his – and when his eyes open straight unto yours, you feel like he is a possibility.

And he edges closer, and he removes the walls you’ve tried to build, and he makes you smile and makes you tense, and he makes you unravel when he gets close; and he tries to kiss you, and it isn’t in your mind –

And you know he is a possibility.

He can’t see you that weekend but he does show up at your locker; inviting you for a party. He’s not implying that you’ll be with only you two, but you feel that he wants it to be. Ever since that almost-moment, you feel that he wants to create a finally-moment; sending weird memes that he must know make you laugh.

Finding out his girlfriend and your ‘girlfriend’ are supposed to be there too puts a damper on things. His demeanor is closed off, arguing with his girlfriend and wanting to run away after she leaves.

You follow.

Even.

Even –

You are intoxicated with him; being kissed by him underwater and kissing him return. You’d expected the world to change drastically when you would kiss him for the first time; maybe the world would collapse or maybe you’d wake up and realise it was a fever dream all along – but it isn’t and it doesn’t change.

You change – you kiss him and you feel you have control over something for the first time in ages. You control your feelings, and your thoughts, and you let them in; your heart has been silenced for too long, beating too softly for you to know it was still there. But it is, and so you decide it is okay.

You feel raw; bare, when you come to the surface – you feel seen, and you feel new.

This kiss has changed you irreversibly.

That night, he sleeps in your bed, in your clothes.

In your arms.

He smells like your shampoo.

You don’t feel scared, being in his arms. You dare – to touch, to hold, to brush your nose against his. You dare to ask for a kiss, and to kiss him in return. He makes you bold. There’s no one who you’ve told your story to before, that story of your parents; a rather nightmarish tale, one you wish was in a different universe.

He twirls his finger on your shoulder while you talk and all you can think is this:

Your heart keeps beating, steadily in rhythm. There’s no way you’d want to quiet it down after this; knowing this feeling.

You want to feel it all. Forever with him if you could.

Forever lasted a day or two.

He only shows up a few days later, even skipping school. You’ve been texting him, trying not to show your worry but also just wanting to know here he was.

But now, he’s here. He’s here and telling you that he’s broken up with his girlfriend and wonders how you feel about it all. You almost can’t fight the smile off your face; it just blooms there, and then his face lights up – he kisses you and he holds your hands, brushing his thumbs over your fingers. Your skin tingles a little where he touches you.

He asks you about your parents; whether they’d accept or deny you – and here’s the crux of the matter: you don’t know. You don’t know if your father will care because you don’t know if he even cares about you.

Your mother’s rejection would hurt you most of all. But you’re not ready to tell him that yet. You don’t particularly want to tell him about your mother, but he still pulls it out of you – asking you with a soft voice and eyes and you start; about why she scares you sometimes, and why you try to keep your distance - even though you’d give anything to get her back, and - in the deepest of your hearts - for her to be normal.

You know she’ll never be.

Other parents though, Even’s parents; they must be more open to their son dating another guy, since he’s so very comfortable and confident about you two. You don’t wonder about his sexuality all that much; you don’t care if he’s into girls too. You care if he is into you, and if his parents would accept you. He tells you, with his fingers stroking into your hair, that they would.

The warmth of his lips burns into yours afterwards.

By now you’ve confirmed for yourself: yes, I’m attracted to boys. Yes, I’m attracted to one in particular. But you can’t tell anyone. Not yet. It’s nice to keep it hidden from the world, to keep it to yourself so that no one can soil it. Not really a secret, no, more like a promise – I won’t tell if you won’t tell, not unless the other wants to tell.

There’s a certain roommate who has been suspicious for a while, however, and you knew this moment was coming the minute he told you he had seen him in the bathroom. All things considered, Eskild isn’t the worst option to come out to – he might even be the safest. So you see it as a test, when he gives you a lavender-scented gift and pushes you softly to tell him about Even.

Here you go. If I’m going to be honest, I’m going to be honest.

It backfires spectacularly. It’s all your fault too; you’re not trying to be offense or trying to put people down, really not. It wasn’t your intention. But maybe, you realise, you’re not trying to be fair to people who do go through the same process as you do. Before you get further along in the admission of guilt – like you’re only able to fuck up lately – you get a text.

It seems like God took it upon himself to punish you.

You –

You need to leave.

There are only survival instincts now.

Fight.

Fly -

Breathe.

You cannot breathe.

Whenever you try to get some rest, to close your eyes and breathe; there are sentences, thoughts, going round and round in your head.

Sleep is the cousin of death.

You look hot when you’re sleep-

Your body tenses when they do; fingers pull into fists, legs pull up to curl into a ball, breathing becomes laboured – difficult, like your lungs don’t want to work like they should.

No sleep for you today. Tomorrow. Yesterday.

Going back to school is worse than you imagined; there’s her, there’s him, there are no friends on your side. Sleep is still a long way away. Your grades, one of the things you used to be able to control, are slipping because you can’t focus, you can’t concentrate. It feels like a bomb is inside of you; a bundle of nerves filled with secrets and feelings you almost can’t hide anymore – it’s threatening to come out and you don’t know what exactly will come out when it does.

A bit of bitterness seeps out when you see him again; a bit of laughter too; and a bit of anger when you can’t deal with his mournful eyes anymore.

You make an appointment with the nurse the next day. You just need some sleep.

The next evening, you search through your message history with your best friend, reminding yourself of the way he’s always been there for you. How many times he had asked you to come over, or had offered to come, when you told him your parents were in a bad spot again. How he had even offered this week to listen when you were ready to tell him.

It’s like he knew. It’s like he’s always known.

And objectively, you know he probably won’t mind. After Eskild, he is your safest bet.

So you do – you don’t call yourself it just yet. You just want him to know that you’ve been in love with a boy for a while now, and pretending or faking is just isn’t an option anymore. It hasn’t been ever since you kissed that boy in a pool.

His acceptance happens without as much as a wink; only caring about the boy in question, and what your relationship with him is now – if there are any burdens he needs to help you with or needs to carry with you. Even if it’s just a small cartoon from the boy you still adore.

Jonas has always cared about your heart.

Although you are, in fact, yourself a boy, you have difficulties seeing a boy in a different light: that of a potential lover. There are clichés about women; that they never tell what they’re looking for, that they play hard to get, and always go for the bad guys – most of them, you assume, are horrendously wrong. That was never your experience dating them.

But this is the first time it’s a guy. Unfortunately, the only one who’s been an expert in that regard is the one who you hurt so deeply before. He has forgiven you but that’s only been through text messages, so you figure the only way to truly know how it’s all going between you two is by asking him for advice.

And you thought it would be weird, or uncomfortable, discussing boys with him, but it actually turns out quite alright. Except for the soul-crushing perspective he offers. But then that’s Eskild.

He’s never been anything but brutally honest.

Eskild offers you news guys to meet to get over him; it’s so very kind and thoughtful and you’re genuinely moved.

You’re just not ready yet.

Turns out it was never your choice to be ready or not. You just have to be.

Sana’s inquisitive face and silence scares you a little – the text is not even that questionable since it’s from Vilde; you panic a little, not knowing what Sana is going to do next. If she’s going to tell everyone, or just back off entirely. Your recent discussion of religion with her has been awkward, and deep down you know it’s all because of your desire to know. To get some insight into a religious’ person’s perspective on sexuality, because you’ve been lost as to how to approach this with your mother.

Sana leaves.

And your- your thing with Even is running through the rumour mill.

Maybe these moments are not something you can really prepare yourself for – it came naturally with Eskild, and it was a necessity with Jonas. But with your other two friends, whom you have only truly known for a few months now, it’s less predictable – you still hear them saying are you gay!. You had wanted to take this conversation to Friday, to tell them in the comfort of your apartment. But when they discuss the incident at Emma’s, it feels like it’s the most opportune moment yet, with Jonas at your side.

You tell them. You tell them you’ve had a thing, because that’s what people say – they have a thing, as if using that word makes it seem less heavy; we’ve just had a thing. What you had with Even wasn’t just a thing. But that’s what people say.

What people also say is that gay men like every man they see, that it is difficult for heterosexual men to be friends with a gay guy; who knows what they want from you. This is the fear you’ve had all along – that once you disclosed that one piece of information about yourself, that people or friends would see you as different, as someone to reject and keep your distance from. So once you tell them you’ve had a thing with a guy, you try to protect yourself – saying that you’re not gay (but maybe just a little), and that just because you’re attracted to guys it doesn’t mean you like every guy you see. Because you don’t. You just like one.

And their reaction is not bad; Mahdi – so very kind and knowledgeable – stirs the conversation into different sexualities and mentions one you think might apply to Even. You wince a little when you hear that word, but it’s Magnus; not the sharpest tool in the shed sometimes. You give it as good as he gives it.

The bomb, that bundle of nerves, inside your chest dissipates entirely when they clap your back with huge smiles on the way to your next class.

If it wasn’t for their help, you wouldn’t have had the courage. You know that for sure. And you had been scared they might have felt obligated, that they would stop talking about girls and overcompensate by asking about guys. But they don’t – they’re lovely, only talking about the guy in question and wanting to help. They take your problems seriously.

You wish you had told them sooner.

Then again, they could have been quicker in removing themselves from the apartment. There’s a million thoughts and feelings going through you when you walk up to the front door, scared of the possibilities of what lies beyond. You’re ready to make it work. You can only hope he will want to too.

With a low voice that turns all the thoughts in your head into mush, it turns out he does want it too. The moment you touch him, there’s no stopping you. You craved this, craved him for far too long.

You’ve never wanted to touch and be touched by anyone more.

The next weekend is a whirlwind of firsts; firsts seeing and touching each other intimately – firsts in admitting your feelings – firsts of agreeing to be boyfriends: you’ve never felt like this before. You seal it with kisses upon kisses, everywhere you can reach.

Even in the wildest of your dreams you never imagined that love could feel like this; how safe you could feel with a person, and how exciting it is to discover them, and how you can forget the world around you when he’s in your arms brushing his nose against yours.

How at home you can feel with a person who is singing and dancing in your kitchen.

It is a little vindictive, telling your father you have a boyfriend through a text, but, well, it’s not like he hasn’t deserved this. If he would have been there, at home with your mother and you, it might have been different. But this is your universe now. And this is the way you tell him.

He thinks it’s a joke, decides for you that you shouldn’t tell your mother. Of course.

First parent down – disaster. Maybe you should just skip the second one.

But then Sana comes in, and offers you a perspective that you’ve never heard before. She tells you she was wrong about homosexuality and evolution – that one you don’t blame her for, it’s not like you had different views about that. Asking the question that’s on the tip of your tongue, you see her eyes harden and you almost expect her not to answer at all.

She does, and she comforts, she supports and she’s sweet - and you grow so fond of her in that moment, whispering a soft thank you when you leave the classroom.

Maybe you should tell the second parent.

Your boyfriend meeting your best friends is surprisingly easy; something you should’ve known in hindsight. Even is nothing but a charmer to everyone he meets. He looks at you to gauge how you’re doing, if you’re really okay with it all – but even after just a few days of being official, he’s already capable in reading your face. Soft smiles; exaggerated winks.

How quickly the mood changes. The resulting phone call and conversation leave you with a bitter taste in your mouth.

You can’t tell her, through the phone or in person. You text your mother.

Isn’t this man beautiful? This is my boyfriend!

Don’t you think we will get married?

How many Isaks and Evens are lying like this right now?

Baby, come lie down with me, please.

Even? EVEN?

He’s going to get beat up! He’s walking around naked!

He’s manic.

DO YOU REALLY THINK HE’S IN LOVE WITH YOU? IT’S JUST A SICK IDEA HE HAS RIGHT NOW.

IN LOVE WITH YOU?

A SICK IDEA.

Darkness is crashing around you, swallowing you whole.

Your mother provides a light.

There’s no way you would ever hate him. You don’t. You won’t.

You miss him – him, the boy who made you feel like you were the only one; who made you believe in yourself, in your ability to be yourself after years of pretending – of being fake. He nudged you into being brave. And you keep on thinking, and remembering all the times you were together – talking, dancing, or kissing, or that time in the hotel when you became closer to him than you’ve ever been to other people.

Even is your person. Hate isn’t a word you associate with him.

Magnus turns out to be a bit less of an idiot than you thought he was. It almost seems like a running joke at this point; all the ideas you had of people, and what they turned out to be.

But he’s gentle and direct, telling you that your idea this time around is wrong again; that people with mental illness are just as normal as people without them. You’re ashamed, terribly so, since you haven’t afforded them the same kindness they – your mother, your… boyfriend – have shown you until now.

The least you can do is reach out and hope they’ll still want you too.

There’s no denying seeing your mother again isn’t strange, but even a small hug feels like a door has opened – open for communication, and for seeing each other again.

Even if it’s in a church.

O helga natt, du frälsning åt oss gav.

You feel renewed and bare, like you did in the pool, with him in your arms again, swaying lightly.

Warming him up, soothing him – and you. Making sure he’s feeling you, feeling that he’s not alone, and knowing you’re there for him.

Just as he has been there for you.

You and him, together. You feel holy.

Depression is insidious; it invades a mind and tells it stories and facts and feelings that aren’t true at all. You have no idea what you’re doing. Going on your instincts is the best you can do, texting his ex at intervals if it gets too heavy.

In the end, all you really do is be there, to remember him from time to time – it’s only one day, one hour, or a minute at a time.

On a Wednesday, he’s out of bed looking freshly showered and clothed in your softest hoodie and sweatpants and he smiles. Oh, that smile. Kissing him then feels so very sweet; eager to kiss your smile against his again. These are the moments you can enjoy enormously, laying at his side and just looking into his eyes; knowing he’s not judging you for being grumpy, but finding a way to make you marvel at him. It’s cliché to say, but it does feels like you both fell in love at the same time.

At first sight.

Although the word gay is still a little too big, too confirming, you haven’t had real confrontation with people regarding you being in a relationship with a guy. The boys don’t even mind you being attracted to guys at all, asking you to rate them in fuckability. A year ago, you would have not wanted to have been caught dead saying you’d fuck Jonas first, but now it’s a bittersweet memory and you can laugh about it. Any opportunity to make fun of Magnus’ love life, you take it.

Unfortunately, your relationship with girls have started to change too – there are some of them that just see you as an accessory now; now you’re interesting, now you’re dating a guy. And you know that they might think it comes from a good place, to show that hey, gay is okay!

Which it is. But you’ve never been so happy to have Kosegruppa party to attend as an excuse.

After all this time, the stone inside your stomach has been replaced with a slow flickering candle. You feel warm inside, knowing that you have your people, and that they have you. That there are people you want to spend Christmas with, without feeling obligated to.

You feel like you finally belong, in a myriad of best friends, old friends and new, and in the arms of a handsome boy who took your breath away and asked you –

Who do you want to be?

And while you didn’t know for the longest time, you know the answer now.

I want love; I want to give it wholeheartedly and without fear, and be worthy of receiving it.

I want to care, for people and for myself.

I want to be here, and not in the endless possibilities that I’ve dreaded and feared all my life.

I just want to be me.

Plain old, loving me.

chapter three of four.

#my words #mine #skam #isak x even #isak valtersen #even bech næsheim #sexuality fic #goodness this was a long chapter!! i hope you'll like it

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