Let Them Talk

(Nine)

Joss Hayes: do u wanna do something???

Joss Hayes: not trying to be weird, promise

Joss Hayes: im just really bored

Joss Hayes: blaze come on

Joss Hayes: please

Blaze Cayenne: SPAM MUCH???

Blaze Cayenne: I could show you around the Institute I guess? My dorm is #229

Joss Hayes: ill be there in fifteen minutes

***

(For the record, it took me five minutes, and then I lurked in the parking lot for twenty so he wouldn't think I was desperate)

(Unless he saw me)

(But we're not gonna consider that because I have enough stress about this in the first place)

"So this is the Vocal Arts building, which is obviously the center for our most annoying students— and that's pretending there are any tolerable members among us."

"Mmm."

Walking is really a magical thing isn't it? Amazing that anyone makes it off the ground whatsoever, and forget looking good in the process. Blaze's apparent mastery of this act (both of these acts), is making it a little hard to concentrate on what he's actually saying, though.

Facts That Make Me Anxious: institute students have private dorms, so he's basically alone.

All the time.

And if we ended up back there, some idiot wouldn't be making ramen in the coffeepot or watching Netflix on the couch.

It'd just be us.

Alone.

No one else.

(Am I making this clear enough??)

"So anyway that was in 1972, but since then they've remodeled the auditorium twice. It still amplifies sound really bad though so our most charming students like to go in there and scream in the middle of the night. Absolutely stellar way to wake up."

His residence building pokes above the treeline just a few hundred feet away and I'm trying hard not to stare too pointedly. (Here goes nothing) "Hey, Blaze? Uh, I'm really kind of freezing, so—"

He paws at his hair self consciously. "Oh, okay— I'm kind of dragging this out, I know, you can go if you want."

Goddamnit Blaze.

"I'm not freezing freezing, so maybe we could just go back to the dorm for a little bit?"

His eyes widen. "Ohhh."

We change directions, the wind in our faces now. He tugs at the scarf triple wrapped around his neck, "I mean, yeah, that's fine. It's not really that warm in there either but maybe a little bit more than out here I guess. Do you think it'd be weird to wear a coat inside? Sometimes I have to especially in the winter which you might expect although we do—"

He's rambling and barely looking at me which is adorable but also not really encouraging; I don't want to cause a breakdown.

"Maybe a blanket?"

His face goes darker than his hair. "Right, right."

We go inside, the warmth bubbling out and enshrouding us as soon as the door opens.

He's on the second floor.

I wasn't sure what to expect because the Institute is fucking expensive but you can't always count on that, which is evident here.

The whole thing is divided into two sections, a bathroom (door closed) and then The Rest. There's a canvas collapsing on its stand in the corner, a desk and his computer, and his bed, shoved into one corner.

He gestures. "Grand, isn't it?"

"It's yours."

"True. Although the floor monitors have master keys, which might be illegal but I've never checked."

"They ever walk in on you?"

He crooks an eyebrow. "Walk in on me how?" His eyes flicker towards the bathroom door.

"Like, any way. When you weren't expecting it."

"At the very start of summer," he says, nervously pacing the room and sliding things into some semblance of order. "But I switched out the lock on my own— I'll have to fix it when I go, but until then it's fine."

"Go?"

"Go home."

Right.

I sit down on the edge of the bed and he flits over to the computer, then back towards the door where there are boxes (clothes? books?).

I clear my throat. "So do you wanna watch something?"

He freezes. "Yeah, sorry. Yeah."

He grabs the computer and drops down next to me. "Orange Is The New Black?"

"I'm only on the second—"

"I can rewatch. It's the best one, anyway."

"Mm."

***

So I don't want to seem whiny but maybe he only liked me in the dark, where my face and everything else was concealed by the dark. No matter how many mildly-awkward times I try to move closer or lean in he moves away, and we're already through an episode.

(Don't the memes say it takes twenty minutes?)

I move over, he moves over. I lean, he's just barely out of reach.

(I'm trying to be polite, Blaze, jesus)

I basically slide into his lap— he springs up mumbling something about having class.

(My fault?)

The door opens, and closes, and I guess I'm alone.

(My fault.)

I didn't explicitly get kicked out, and I'm pretty wrapped up in the storyline at this point, so I finish a few episodes.

It's later— like dark outside, dinner's-over later— and he comes back in. I barely hear it, drifting in and out of consciousness, the computer whirring next to my head. Footsteps pad on the floor next to the bed and the heat of the laptop disappears, a door locks, water runs in the background.

Then there's a weight next to me, arms snaking under my neck and over my ribs. Breath fans behind my ears, minty with toothpaste.

His heartbeat overlaps with mine, and like a loser, I go back to sleep.

(It's bliss)

###

They're so lame, God, and most of it's because of my horrible pacing for their relationship, but also it just doesn't seem like a smut story?

(Well, it doesn't seem like one yet. People change, morals fail, authors get over their fear of criticism, etc.)

ANOTHER THING-- I'm done apologizing for not editing these before posting because let's be honest this won't be edited for a while (NANOWRIMO IS COMING UP AND I HAVE A BADASS IDEA ABOUT LESBIAN ARSONISTS, VERY CUTE VERY GAY STAY TUNED) so all I'm asking is that you keep an open mind about quality.

(I'm but a smol person handling tol responsibility, e.g. feeding the hunger of fifty or so lovely devoted readers <3)

-harper