go to 4:00. you're welcome.
(A/N: To quote Chaz Wolcott, "I should get extra likes because Ben [Tyler Cook/Race] is in the picture." JK. I was watching RENT for the first time a few months ago and I was hit with not only a ridiculous amount of sadness (this musical is so fucking depressing it's not even funny. But its good. If you haven't seen it, go watch it. Now. Its on Netflix), but also inspiration. I couldn't help seeing a bit of our Racetrack in Maureen, and so this is what happened. Hope you enjoy! -M)
You sat at the kitchen table of your's and Race's shared apartment, watching him chat up a girl Romeo had brought along to your housewarming party. You were used to him checking out every girl (and boy, as a matter of fact) that you happened to pass, but at your own party? This housewarming thing was a relationship milestone, and your boyfriend had spent the first twenty minutes flirting with an invitee. As much as you loved your Race, this was what pissed you off.
Finally, anger bubbling over, you stood and stalked over to your boyfriend, grabbing him by the upper arm.
You send a forced smile at Romeo's girl and put on your Polite Host voice. "I'm sorry, could you excuse us a minute?"
"Hey, baby!" Race says happily, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. Fed up, you drag him off to one side of the room. He withdraws his arm, a little confused, if anything. "What's up?" You scowl.
"What the hell are you doing?"
He gives you a confused look. "What?"
We're not playing this game right now. You think angrily. He sees the look in your eye and catches on, shrugging it off.
"We were just talking."
"Right." You snap, crossing your arms over your chest.
"Pookie, we were just talking!" He repeats, like that would help. You continue to glare at him.
"Race, please don't do this. Not today."
A flash of annoyance passes over his face and he takes his cigarette out of his mouth and slams it unceremoniously on the table beside you.
"You know what, Y/n?" He says, turning to you again. "I can't take much more of this. This-" he gestures vaguely at you, trying to find a word- "obsessive-compulsive control-freak paranoia."
You raise your eyebrows at him. "Sorry, what?"
"You tried to get me to stop smoking because it grossed you out."
"It's unhealthy--"
"You didn't want to stay at Albert's birthday party because Spot was 'coming on to me.'"
"He was trying to make out with you!"
"Everyone wants to make out with me!" Race snarled back. "Give me a break!"
You glare at him, arms still crossed.
"See, here's the thing:" Race starts, "Every single day I walk down the street, I hear people say, 'Baby's so sweet'."
You shake your head at him, looking away.
"Ever since puberty, everybody stares at me!" Race gestures at Albert, who was obviously trying not to stare as you two fight it out, "Boys," he gestures at you, "Girls," he shifts closer, running his hands up and down your arms. "I just can't help it, baby!"
