Jily oneshots

Delicate

by inakindofdaydream on fanfiction.net

May, Spring Semester

9:38pm

The lights were off, the blackout curtains were pulled shut, and the fan was on. The light and sounds of the city, of the bustling night, were kept at bay by clever but subtle room arrangements made by a girl who had trouble sleeping. Lily was laying in bed, eyes closed, but she wasn't sleep. She was waiting.

Buzz.

Her phone lit up, cutting through the black.

September, Fall Semester

"Fuck this," she exclaimed, dramatically throwing her head back against the cupboards from where she was sitting on the floor.

Lily set the bottle of whiskey down with a loud thunk. From either lack of strength or the incompetence that so often comes with intense frustration, she hadn't been able to open the damn thing. This left her with the option of finding someone else to open it, or settling for the shit beer that made her think of a dog drinking from the toilet bowl. While one was vastly preferable to the other, both options required that she emerge from the kitchen and rejoin the crowd in the living room, something she did not want to do. Their tinny voices and brassy laughter rang through to the kitchen and grated against her nerves. They were all fine with the piss-beer. She closed her eyes and tried to wish herself away. "Everyone hates me."

"Do they?" A tall stranger walked into the small kitchen, catching her complaint. She startled, but quickly recovered.

"Yes." She lifted her hands to offset her speech with quotations. "I'm 'disagreeable' and 'flake out on plans.'" She let her arms fall to her sides again. "AND YET - here I am. In Brooklyn. Of all places."

"Of all places," he repeated. "So are you going to open that bottle? Or were you planning on hitting someone in the head with that?"

"Funny," she said as she moved to stand. "Guns, no, but whiskey bottles? We should start handing them out to kindergarten teachers."

"So you're into direct action, then."

"Ah, so you've heard of me."

"Should I have?"

"I'm that bitch who 'won't shut up about the issues and have fun,'" she said, using air quotes again. "Though, if fun is hiding in the kitchen of some Brooklyn apartment, trying and failing to open a damn bottle of cheap whiskey, then maybe I'm not supposed to be a fun person."

"Oh, let me," he said, taking the bottle in his hands and twisting off the cap with a smooth turn of the wrist.

Her face lit up. "Thank you, Sir Lancelot." She took the bottle in one hand and fished a couple of solo cups out of the bag on the counter.

"Right, because I'm English."

"Um, because you're my knight in shining armor?" She gestured with the bottle. She handed him a cup before pouring herself a generous amount and returning it to the counter replacing the top.

"Neat?" he questioned when she neglected to add any soda or water.

"It's that kind of night." She took a long sip, then looked at him and cocked her head. "But you're right, you do talk funny."

"I talk funny?"

"Oh, don't get me with the whole 'we invented the language' nonsense, when we all know that English ransacked all the other languages, and now we're left with this weird gibberish." She took another drink.

"I think my gibberish makes a bit more sense."

"I'll bet it makes you a bit more of a hit at parties, but 'sense' went out of style a long time ago."