Work Text:
I took my love, I took it down / I climbed a mountain and I turned around / And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills / 'Till the landslide brought me down
Jan decides to move out the summer after she turns eighteen, fresh out of high school and desperate for something, anything, better than the life she’s grown up to know. She pulls out a map of the states and a dartboard, closes her eyes and spins around a few times like a kid at a birthday party, and almost laughs herself sick when she sees fate has driven her to the opposite coast. She finds an apartment and spends a week or two sinking in the San Francisco life like the most cliche of tourists - tries all the instagram-worthy desserts, takes photos on every beach she can find, goes on sunrise hikes to the Golden Gate Bridge, and relishes in how different it is to home.
She meets Jaida one night at some club about half a mile from her apartment when it’s late and she’s too drunk to remember her name, and drags her home with her through giggles and clouds of smoke. She doesn’t think much of it when she’s gone the next morning, or when she just so happens to go to the same bar the next evening and just so happens to see Jaida waiting in the corner, drink in hand, dark eyes inviting and terrifying and beautiful and everything she needs. She doesn’t allow herself to think anything at all of it when it keeps happening; kisses are shared far more frequently than words, and she’s read enough trashy romance novels to know things like this come and go too quickly to warrant anything too domestic or comfortable.
Despite this, she tries. She tries to make conversation through messed up white linen sheets and she tries not to be upset at the short answers she gets, if she gets them at all. She tries, above all else, to keep her head above water, because she’s learned fast that life here gets lonely, and an hour or two of feeling like she’s floating doesn’t neutralise the hurt in her stomach the morning after that weighs her down like rocks in her pockets.
‘Don’t you want to stay?’ She asks Jaida one morning as she’s slipping on her shoes, ready to leave again. She looks back at Jan, visibly confused.
‘Jan,’ she sighs, standing up and twisting the doorknob, ‘you know that isn’t going to happen.’
Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love? / Can the child within my heart rise above? / Can I sail through the changing ocean tides? / Can I handle the seasons of my life?
She learns, faster than anything else, that the key to surviving when you’ve dropped yourself somewhere brand new is to pick one of two options and stick with it: you can either establish yourself as someone that sticks out of the norms, someone that grabs attention, or you can try your best to blend in and adapt, and act as if you’ve been there the whole time. She’s always been good at living life in shades of grey, fading into the background when she wants to, and she decides that now, she wants to, so she does. She gets a job working at the reception desk of an office building just far enough from her apartment for her to be able to class the walk there and back as sufficient exercise and gains friends that she has over sometimes, but not too often, and never for too long.
She doesn’t frequent bars anymore - a girl her age moves in across the hall from her, and she doesn’t want to be the asshole that wanders in at two in the morning and wakes up her neighbours. They bump into each other in the halls, sometimes, and exchange a few words. One time, the girl - Jackie, apparently - invites her out for coffee, and she accepts. This isn’t blending in, insists the voice at the back of her head, but she’d look rude if she said no, so she allows herself this. Jackie’s from Iran, Jan learns, and she’s lived in California for the past year but only in San Francisco for a month, give or take. She works at a music store not too far from where they live, but can’t play any instruments (‘I just asked for the job, and they must have felt sorry for me!’), and her girlfriend is from Illinois but lives in LA, which is closer than they were originally but not close enough, and she’s a big fan of old TV dramas, and she talks a lot . It’s nice, Jan decides, to have to listen to a voice that isn’t her own. She thinks they’d be good friends, maybe, if they spoke more.
She falls into a routine more quickly than she’d like to admit. She wakes up at 7-ish, rolls reluctantly out of bed, fills her stomach with caffeine, and strides on into the office to greet one of the guys that works at the desk across her. He’s chipper as always, beaming through paperwork, somehow. He asks if Jan’s doing alright, she looks a bit pale, and Jan reflects his billion-dollar smile right back in his face and lies through gritted teeth. He doesn’t seem convinced, but doesn't push. Jan clocks out that evening and walks home, averts her eyes when she passes the shitty bar she knows too well. She walks past Jackie in the hallway and smiles half-heartedly but doesn’t stop to talk, and she hates the way Jackie glances at her, eyes are full of pity as she watches her walk into her apartment.
Well, I've been afraid of changing / 'Cause I've built my life around you / But time makes you bolder / Even children get older / And I'm getting older too
Jan’s phone rings at half past six in the morning every morning for a good week before she admits defeat and picks it up. The voice on the other end is too perky, too loud, to be heard that early, but it’s as comforting as it’s been her whole life, and she’s so glad to hear it she almost bursts into tears.
‘ Jaaaaaan,’ Lagoona greets her, and Jan can hear the smile in her voice, ‘where the fuck have you been? I haven’t spoken to you in weeks!’
‘Busy,’ Jan replies, tries to make herself sound as convincingly happy as she can manage. ‘I’ve had a lot to do out here.’
‘Well, clear your calendar,’ comes the reply, and Jan has to stop herself from laughing - as if she’s seen anyone, or left the house for more than an hour at a time, for the past month. ‘We’re coming to see you.’
‘ We? ’ Jan questions. ‘As in, you and-’
‘Your whole family,’ Lagoona quips, ‘and your cat. No, duh, me and Rosé.’
Their flight lands at 10:40 on Friday night, and Jan runs herself ragged trying to make herself and her apartment presentable enough for them to take her seriously. When she leaves to catch an Uber to the airport, Jackie’s walking up the stairs.
‘Hey, you,’ she smiles, waving with one arm. ‘Nice to see you.’ The ‘going out for once’ is unspoken but obviously implied, but Jan doesn’t have the energy to get offended. She smiles, waves back, shoots back a ‘You, too,’ and runs down the stairs so she doesn’t miss the car. She greets Lagoona and Rosé at their gate with a bag of donuts and laughs at their excitement, accepts their running hugs with open arms. It’s 1am by the time they’re settled into Jan’s apartment and she’s thrown together a makeshift bed on the floor out of blankets and pillows she has lying around. It feels like a sixth-grade sleepover and it’s refreshing and comforting in a way nothing has been for months.
Their three-day stay passes faster than any of them would like, and they’re lying in the dark on their final night talking absentmindedly about everything and nothing when Rosé sighs loudly and flicks on a lamp, sitting up and turning to Jan’s bed.
‘Jan, baby, we’re really worried about you,’ she sighs, genuine concern in her eyes. ‘I know you say you have it all together here, but you don’t seem happy.’
‘Of course I’m happy,’ Jan replies, smiling. ‘You guys are here. I’m having a great time.’
‘You know what I mean.’ Rosé looks at her, and she knows there’s no point lying. ‘I know you wanted a new start and I won’t push it, but if you’re not doing well, come home. We miss you.’
They spend the Uber drive to the airport talking about things Jan can do to make the most of west coast life, and Lagoona pulls a notepad and pen out of her purse, scribbling something down when she thinks Jan’s not looking. She hands it to her before she heads through security with Rosé, squeezing Jan’s hands and pulling her in for another hug. ‘If you don’t get all of this shit done in the next month, I’m flying you back to New York myself,’ she laughs. ‘Consider it a to-do list.’ Jan watches them walk off, waves at them through tears, and pulls the piece of notebook paper out of her pocket, unfolding it. Make a damn friend!!! is the first point. She laughs to herself, shoves the list back into her coat, and makes a beeline for the Starbucks in the arrivals lounge when someone bumps into her and knocks her phone out of her hand, sending it skidding to the floor.
‘Oh, fuck, I’m really sorry,’ says the person, bending down to grab her phone. Jan looks at her and smiles, shaking her head.
‘It’s no problem, don’t worry about it,’ she replies. The stranger holds out a hand for her to shake, and she obliges, despite how foreign it feels.
‘I’m Roxanne,’ the girl smiles, and then her face scrunches up. ‘But nobody calls me that, ever, so I don’t know why I introduced myself that way at all. Rock. I’m Rock. And you?’
‘Jan,’ she says, slightly taken aback. She shoves her hand back into her pocket, and it closes around Lagoona’s list. ‘Hey, would you wanna go get some coffee, maybe?’
Oh, take my love, take it down / Oh, climb a mountain and turn around / And if you see my reflection in the snow-covered hills / Well, the landslide will bring it down
Come October, Jan’s decided to scrap the routine, but there are bits she likes to keep. She calls Lagoona and Rosé every Friday night at seven, for one, and they update each other on how their weeks went. She sees Jackie every day, obviously; now they’re working at the same store, they commute together and talk a lot more. Jackie’s girlfriend’s coming to stay for a week soon, she tells Jan when they’re walking home one evening, and she thinks it’d be a good idea if they all went out to get drinks or something - or coffee, she suggests, if that’s easier.
‘It depends when,’ Jan smiles, but nods. ‘I’d love to, but you won’t be able to get me out of the house on Friday nights.’
Rock knocks on her apartment door later that night, a bag of Chinese takeout in one hand and a Legally Blonde DVD in the other.
‘You said you didn’t know what we could do,’ she grins, ‘so I thought this was pretty reliable.’ She strides inside, throwing the food onto the kitchen counter and pulling Jan into a hug. ‘I’m proud of you, you know.’
Jan laughs, hugs her back, pushes the door closed behind her with her foot. ‘For what?’
‘Just in general,’ Rock replies. ‘I think it’s nice to hear that sometimes. You wanna watch Reese Witherspoon go to law school while we eat, or after?’
Jan smiles a lot more now. Rock says it’s one of her favourite things about her, but Jan’s convinced she’d say that about anything, providing it’d make her blush. It makes a change, though she’s not sure it’s a bad one - she’s still not wholly used to seeing herself in brighter clothes and happier expressions in mirrors, but she’ll do what she can to stand out.