paper rings | a songfic

the moon is high.

i like to chalk it up to the party, if i feel like lying to myself.

my first thought: i fucking hate parties. my second thought: why the hell am i here, anyway? my third thought, a response: because you asked if i would be here.

it was in the back of english class, maybe a week prior. a tap on my shoulder paired with your stupid, positively shit-eating grin, and suddenly shakespeare was the last thought in my mind. your dark curls were falling over the wiry rims of your glasses, pencil tapping on the edge because it was first period and you have trouble waking up early. but you were smiling, so i was paying attention.

"hey," the word was drawn out, stretched like taffy, and folded over itself in the silence between your smile and your eyes - and my answer.

"hi," short, staccato, cutting off after the proper amount of syllables, thank you very much. it sounded curt and unwelcoming falling from my lips, and how can someone make the word "hi" sound unwelcoming? i guess, when you toss autism and gender dysphoria into one person, the only really likely result is contradictory greetings.

you, however, weren't deterred by my stilting, early morning attempt at speech. "so, you're going to the party on friday, right?"

it's quite a feat i managed to stifle my laughs. though, perhaps i was aided by your glare and becca two seats over staring at us. "you're. . .serious?"

"i mean i guess i just figured-" and you looked like a puppy afraid of being kicked and in the past i would've laughed and maybe even smiled as your face fell. but i've grown since then, so maybe it's purely selfish and i want to prove my own moral development, or maybe it's equally selfish and i want to see you smile instead of frown because goddamn you have a pretty smile- either way, i cut you off (you smile as i do, but that doesn't provide either reason with merit, shut up).

"i'll go." and then it was silent because i didn't intend to elaborate and, honestly, i don't think you really expected me to. but you were smiling because usually it's a hard, even "no" without any second thoughts because parties really aren't my scene. but you were smiling.

it was only as i slipped out of the cafeteria with an apple in one hand and a lemonade in the other that i realized i was smiling, too.

but now i'm in a room that doesn't really feel much like a room - rooms shouldn't move and jostle and yell this much, but i digress - and i'm very far from smiling.

i don't do well with noise. i know this. i've never mentioned it explicitly; maybe you've picked up on it, maybe not (probably so). i agreed to this. it's loud.

it's loud and the ceiling lights are hazy, yellows blossoming from their fixtures into jagged, gauzy arrowheads across the ceilings and walls and people's faces and there are voices, voices, voices. and then a new thought, a repetition: why the hell did i agree to this?

my hands are flipping furiously, rapidly, madly at the colored paper clips linked and taut between them, one blue and the other green. i hated the colors at first because they made the clips feel like plastic instead of metal. but then you took one and kissed its edge in a big, dramatic, very you show of things, and asked if you'd kissed it better, with a fake pout to sell it all. the texture still isn't great, but now i have a reason to keep them around that's not just 'office depot didn't have any others.' it doesn't help all that much, the paper clips and flipping and twisting, but it's something grounding. put something over nothing and guess at which one wins.

there's noise, noise, noise and voices, voices, voices and, oh, fuck, alcohol, alcohol, alcohol. and, i still haven't seen you. maybe i'll just leave, slip out through the writhing, jolting mass of people, people, people. i'll tell you... tell you that i got sick, that i got tired, held up with an assignment, or, or, or- but, your voice has a certain note to it on normal days, and when you're drunk it only gets higher and softer, and then it's behind me somewhere, and i can't leave just yet.

and then your hand is on my arm, in a friendly, nothing-of-it way and my eyes are probably wide and the paper clip stills and, found you. or, i guess, you found me. wide-eyed and drunk and looking more than a little bit lost, but you found me. that's another something. two somethings over nothing, now.

"hey," and it's the same 'hey' from english class except it's not, there's a tilt to it now, an imbalance and your eyes are out of focus. the lights are still sharp, glaring, moving and i feel sure there's a porch or a yard somewhere and if not there's at least a road,so i shift to grip your hand and drag you outside with me.

you stay relatively silent, thank god, until we stumble outside onto a well-kept, neat driveway. you trip and catch yourself on my arms, fingers cold against my skin and the night air.

"hi," still staccato, equally short and uninviting, but maybe more breathless because i've just escaped the suffocation of a fucking party, or maybe because i've been wearing my binder for a bit too long.

"i wanted you to meet-" he freezes, glances around, looks laughably, comically confused. "-my friend! he was just here. . ." he looks genuinely puzzled. glances to the ground, then back up, and: "oh! where did you run off too?" he turns to face empty space, "this is the friend i- where-" and, oh my god, he wanted to introduce me to. . .me?

i take that as both of our cues to get home.