Chapter Text
The only reason why Anthony has TikTok downloaded on his phone is because of his eleven-year-old sister, Hyacinth. She had begged him to allow her to make an account (“All of my friends have one, Anthony!”) and he had agreed with the condition that he be able to monitor what she posted and viewed. One could not be too careful these days, after all.
He rarely uses it, so he’s not really sure why he decided to go on then. His For You page is full of strange videos with millions of likes and he immediately switches to the accounts he follows. He’s assaulted by dozens of videos, most of them from Colin. He gives the one with the view of the Mediterranean Sea a 'like', and scrolls to the next one. His finger freezes over the screen once it begins playing.
It’s Kate. It’s Kate and Colin dancing. Kate “Worst Dancer Ever” Sheffield is dancing with his brother and thousands of people decided to like it.
It’s not bad. They’re doing some routine he’s sure he’s seen Hyacinth practice, but unlike his kid sister, it is clear that Kate is… well, a woman. She’s in a pair of bright yellow shorts and a crop top, her irritatingly sniper-focused gaze covered by firetruck red heart-shaped sunglasses. She twists through the routine, during which there comes a point when her long, tan legs fold in a dazzling way, and Anthony holds his breath. He would never have expected her to do anything like this. She had told everyone at that dreadful party for his sister’s anniversary that she hated to dance, and she had proved it by stomping on his foot and fleeing the dance floor before the song was over. Clearly, Kate only opposed dancing with him. The fact that Colin stays a decent distance away and does the choreography in an overly exaggerated way soothes him a bit. He clicks on the comments and immediately closes them when he sees requests for Kate to appear more often or for someone to provide her username.
He scrolls.
Then scowls when one of Benedict’s videos appears and it also has Kate in it. This time Kate is in an oversized hoodie that Anthony recognizes from somewhere and a pair of worn green sweats. In this one, Benedict is teasing her over her newfound fame while she attempts to maintain herself hidden behind a tattered copy of one of Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s novels. Belatedly, he notes that it seems to be in Spanish. Benedict’s video turns out to be a coup once Anthony notices the clickable username in the description.
He clicks on it.
Anthony laughs at the dozens of videos featuring sleepy Kate and her irritating dog ironically named Newton (though he’s sure that she would argue otherwise). He watches all of them, and though he has not seen her since the day he toppled back into the Cowper’s pool fully clothed after Newton charged through the ill-fated pool party, he feels (absurdly) a little closer to her. Anthony feels as if she’s showing him a slice of her life and satisfying the insane need deep within him to know her.
That feeling evaporates when he realizes where he recognizes the hoodie from. It’s his. Or was, most accurately. It is an old hoodie from his days on the swim team back in high school that Benedict stole the second Anthony left for Yale.
All he has then is a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach and a blaring alarm in the back of his mind that just keeps going “Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!”
He swallows and pauses at the top of her page. His finger hovers over the ‘Follow’ button. Instead, his courage gives out and he clicks the Instagram logo beside it. The app leads to another app where he sees dozens of pictures.
It’s Kate’s art (and life). Her bio reads '24. LA. Art.' Her pictures are mostly of her pieces, some finished and some unfinished. They’re all complicated and messy, like her. They’re a mixture of reds, blues, and oranges. An older piece reminds him of a field of sunflowers. A more recent piece reminds him of the sea during a storm, a swirling of black and blue. The piece is dark and was posted over a week ago. He hovers over the ‘Like’ button before he continues down her other pictures. He itches to do more than that - he wants it. Anthony wants to study it. He wants to ask her questions, wants to burrow himself in her being, wants to understand her.
The pictures of her are candids, mostly, and when he taps the picture he sees Benedict’s username. That damned hoodie makes several appearances. Once on her, and a few times wrapped around her waist or resting somewhere near her. She seems to like it.
Anthony’s skin begins to prickle and itch. Anthony and his brother have never had this issue before. Benedict had only seriously dated once before - Henry Granville, an art student who had been a few years ahead of him, but Anthony did know he would normally not go for Kate.
Though, Ben had not mentioned anything about dating anyone. Anthony lets out a sigh at the memory of Ben shaking his head along to their mother’s incessant questioning over his love life. No, Ben would have told him if there was something with Kate.
Anthony resolves to do something about this obsession he seems to have developed over her. He needs her out of his system, and high exposure would surely help.
Anthony hits the ‘Follow’ button.
Hours later, his chest swells at the notification that reads “You have a new follower: @k_sheffield.”
He opens the app and clicks on her profile. There aren’t any new posts, and he hits ‘Send Message.’ Before he can think too much - before he can talk himself out of it, really, he types out:
Hey.