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renegadesfic · 1 year

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In The Afterglow - Chapter 1

Here we go again. This is ANOTHER original thing. As it says in the chapter notes, which you can find on AO3, this is not inspired by a D&D campaign - actually, it's inspired by a band AU inspired by a D&D campaign. Which is worse? Maybe? It's definitely funnier. Go check it out on AO3 if you'd rather read it there than here. And if you haven't read The Radiant Sun, go read that too. It's also very good.

Without further ado...

Dear future self, I hope that you’re well

I know right now I don’t really like myself

Dear future self, I hope you’re okay

I hope your tomorrow’s better than my today

I’m trapped and alone, but maybe someday

You’ll hear this and think that you made it okay

I hope you listen, and think of a past

Much brighter than this one, and one that will last

The light on the keyboard abruptly went out, the last notes cutting off just short of their natural end. The lights in the room went out too - the small lamp hanging over the keyboard went dark, the light in the closet flickered and faded. Even the light on the power strip turned off, leaving the already dimly lit room entirely dark save for the slivers of moonlight slipping through the window blinds.

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

The girl sitting at the keyboard picked up her phone, rising from her seat and moving to sit down on the edge of her bed. She stared at the screen, the audio waves from the recording of her voice having cut off abruptly when the lights went out.

Very quietly, she turned the recording back on and spoke again. “My parents turned the lights out… again… I thought maybe I was quiet enough that they couldn’t hear me. Sometimes I’m convinced they have cameras in here or something…” She sighed. “Anyway. I guess that’s all I’m getting for tonight. Not for lack of trying, I guess… but until I get out of here, I can’t sing when they’re home.”

She laid back on the bed, a sigh escaping her as she held the phone close to her chest.

“If somebody ever hears this… congrats on finding my diary?” She whispered into the phone, closing her eyes.

The last thing the recording picked up before she curled up to sleep was two more lines, barely audible.

Dear future self, I’m going to sleep

I hope that tomorrow will bring what I need

—

“Do you have all your things?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Laptop?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Lunch?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Homework?”

“I have everything, I promise. Have I ever messed up?”

The question hung in the air. Her father turned away from her, moving to open the door to the garage. There was no answer coming, that much she already knew - he did not deign to answer her questions, rhetorical or otherwise.

Early morning light streamed through the blinds as she zipped her backpack, slinging it over one shoulder with just a little bit less caution than her parents preached about. Her father motioned for her to hurry - as if she wasn’t moving fast enough - and the car door opened automatically as she stepped into the garage, sliding backward so she could get in.

“You were up late last night,” her father commented. Not said like a question, although this was his way of getting answers.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she muttered, staring out the window. “Sorry.”

“I understand that the transfer isn’t ideal, but you will need to keep your sleep schedule in check. The time you start school doesn’t change just because you relocate.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I won’t be up late again.”

“See to it that you’re not. We don’t need to be kept up, and you have plenty of time to practice your compositions during the day.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I will drop you off every morning,” he continued after a brief pause, “as I have always done. You know the rules, and they stay the same - do not call or text after you are dropped off. If there is an emergency, the school will let your mother or me know. Do try to make some decent connections - you don’t get anywhere in this world without them. Don’t hang with the bad crowd. This is a bigger school than you’re used to, and there will be people who don’t matter enough to someone like you to keep around. As I said. Connections.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Repeat what I said, Angela.”

“Don’t bother you at work. Make connections. Don’t hang out with bad people. I got it.”

“Good,” he said, and there was no further discussion. She pulled out her earbud case, pristinely white just like everything else her family owned, and put one in her right ear, leaving the side closer to her father open in case he decided he had something else to say.

He didn’t, and the car pulled up outside the main building. This was doubtlessly the biggest school she’d been to - she had been kept in private school for most of her life, but her mother had decided that it would be best if she learn to be in a more open environment for the last year of high school. Transferring as a senior was bad enough in its own right - transferring to a new school in a new state was worse. Her already low self-confidence threatened to drop out of her body entirely as she exited the car, the door sliding back again to let her step out.

People were definitely staring. It wasn’t like she could really blame them - the car was brand new, high-tech, and unreasonably flashy. Most people in public high schools in San Antonio weren’t driving cars like that - most people anywhere weren’t driving cars like that. She kept her head low and tugged on the straps of her backpack, instinctively drawing herself inward as if making herself look more nervous would make her less of a target somehow. As if showing up in a car like that, with clothing like hers, didn’t already have her marked as a pretentious rich kid at best and an easy target for what her father considered the wrong crowd at worst.

She liked to think she wasn’t pretentious.

Her first stop was the front office. She already had her schedule, but her mother had stressed how imperative it was that she check in to make sure everything had been solidified before she went to any of her classes. Pressing the buzzer on the door produced a much louder sound than she’d been expecting, a loud BZZZT that startled her enough to make her jump. The door opened, and she stepped in quickly - hopefully quickly enough that no one paid too much attention to how much she was shaking.

The secretary turned in her chair, looking her up and down. “How can I help you?” She asked, either distractedly or disinterestedly.

“I’m… Angela Novinger. I’m transferring… my mother said I should check in before I start classes?”

“Novinger, Novinger… hang on, let me look you up in our system.” She muttered, turning back to her computer screen. “You’re a senior?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Show me your schedule.” She already had it out of her bag, handing it across the desk to the woman as she continued to tap away at the keyboard. The secretary looked back and forth for a few moments before handing it back, a smile on her face that could have been meant to be reassuring but definitely wasn’t. “You’re all good. Good luck out there.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Luck was probably necessary, she thought as she started down the hall, doing her best to navigate the already crowded hallways to her homeroom. Looking at her schedule, which thankfully came with a map - albeit a small and barely legible one - she made her way toward the opposite end of the building, mentally crossing her fingers that nothing went horribly wrong.

Of course, anything that can go wrong will - which was proven rather quickly when she felt a hard impact on the front of her left side, immediately tumbling backward onto the floor. She braced for impact - this would not be the first time she’d landed hard on tile floors - but the impact did not come. She opened her eyes - had she squeezed them closed? - to see a boy standing over her, holding onto her arm. He pulled her up to her feet, handing her the schedule that had slipped out of her grip and flung itself unceremoniously several feet away from her.

“Sorry,” he said before she could get the word out herself. “Extra crowded today.”

“Is it not always this crowded?” She asked, not catching herself quickly enough to say the things she was supposed to, a little distracted by the fact that he was something like a foot taller than her.

“Not this early. You’re here early. Class doesn’t start until 8:30 - it’s barely 7:45.”

Oh, god, he was cute.

“Corran, by the way,” he continued, not seeming to need a response. “Sorry again. Everyone gets lost in the shuffle at some point. You didn’t land hard, did you?”

“I didn’t land at all,” she said. “You caught me.” She tugged her arm gently out of his grip, his hand immediately releasing her sleeve as he realized he was still holding onto her.

“So I did,” he laughed, and oh no, she liked his laugh. What was this, some kind of teen rom-com? A cute boy bumps into the new girl on the first day of school and catches her? Was this fucking scripted?

“Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah. Fine. Thank you… um… Corran?” She shook herself out of her thoughts, trying to collect herself and finally tucking her schedule back into her backpack pocket.

“Cor, if you want,” he said. “You’re welcome.”

“Thank you, Cor.”

“Can I ask you for a favor in return?” What could he possibly want from her?

“Sure?”

“Tell me your name too? I haven’t seen you before.”

“Oh. Right. I’m, uh… new. I’m new. I just transferred.”

“Welcome to hell.” She blanched for a minute. It couldn’t be that bad. Right? Surely not…

Right. It was a joke. People make jokes sometimes.

“Thanks,” she finally mustered.

“So… your name?”

Fuck.

“Angela.”

“That doesn’t suit you.”

“It… doesn’t?” She looked at him quizzically.

“You dress like a rich kid, and you have the name for it, but you don’t seem like most of the rich kids around here. And I’m pretty good at spotting outliers.” He grinned at her, a lopsided expression that she thought she might combust from looking at much longer.

“I… don’t really like my name.”

“I’ll call you something else then, if you want.” He pulled her schedule out of her pocket again. She did not move to stop him - why wasn’t she moving to stop him? - as he unfolded it and looked it over. “Room 103 for homeroom? I can walk you. That’s where I’m going.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure.”

He put the schedule back in its pocket. His hand brushed her shoulder by a millimeter. It was all she needed.

“So, not-Angela. What am I calling you, if not that?”

“Angel,” she said abruptly. “My name is Angel.”

“That fits better,” he answered, smiling at her again. “Much better. Okay, Angel. So you’re new here? What brought the transfer on?”

“My… parents moved here. For work. My father moved for work.”

“Is that a rich kid thing too?”

There was a pause, and then: “Yeah. Yeah, it pretty much is. He’s an oil company executive. Basically in line to take over the whole thing whenever the current CEO retires, which he’s convinced won’t be very long… so he came here to network. We… probably won’t be here more than a couple of years.”

“But you’re finishing high school here. Aren’t there a bunch of private schools or something? San Antonio’s gotta be big enough for you to have options.”

“My mother said it would… be good for me to broaden my horizons?”

“Well, I’m not quite the place to start with that. I’m not a networking kinda guy - I’m good at spotting outliers for a reason. But I wish you luck with that. I’m sure there are all kinds of rich white boys you could… what did you say, broaden your horizons with?”

“I don’t want to spend all my time with rich white boys,” she returned - and startled herself with the power behind the phrase. “I mean… um…”

“Well, I wouldn’t either. But I’m not sure any of them would want to spend time with me either. That might be different for you.”

“It might be. But I don’t want it to be.” She frowned. “My father gave me a lecture this morning… and every other morning since we moved… about making connections, not hanging with the ‘wrong crowd’, whatever else.”

“I have a feeling I know what he means by the wrong crowd.” He grimaced.

“You probably do. You’re probably part of it.” Her eyes went wide. “I mean- not that I’m- I don’t-”

“I know what you meant,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. The contact was somehow comforting and terrifying. Was exhilarating the word? “Don’t worry about it. At least you’re trying to make a good impression. Most people here don’t give a shit whether they sound like an asshole when they say stuff like that. You’re not wrong, anyway - I’m definitely not the kind of person your dad would want you to spend time around.”

She looked down at the floor. Whether that was a rejection or not, she prepared herself to take it as one - not that she would be allowed to hang out with him even if it wasn’t. Her dad might settle for some kinds of people - he wouldn’t settle for a six-foot-something Black guy who, from how he made it sound, was not exactly popular.

“But,” he followed up, snapping her out of her thoughts, “you’re always welcome to sit with me and my friends. We’ve always got room at our table - that happens when you don’t like people and people don’t like you.”

“Your friends?”

“I’m in a band,” he said. “We practice after school, at my house. Well, my bandmate’s house. I just kinda crash there.”

“Are you homeless?” She asked before she could stop herself.

“Well, I live there, so… not really? I had foster parents. They didn’t really care when I left. Better with my friend anyway. I’m not the only person their family took in.”

“You ran away?”

“I guess you could call it that.”

“I wish I could do that.”

There was a long pause, after that. Angel covered her mouth with her hands.

“If you ever need a place to crash, Angel… I’m sure we could find room.” He gave her that fucking smile again. God, this really was fucking picturesque.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

They stopped at the door to room 103. Cor held the door open for her.

Oh no.

#original work #original writing #original character #writing #creative writing #i fucking named myself after angel you should all know this #shes my favorite ever #romance...#everyone is gay #lesbians everywhere #trans lesbians even #transbians? in my original work?#its more likely than you think #chaotic fucking tags today

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