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In the loud of the apartment, with lights dimmed and strobe lights going and music pumping through several speakers at once, the loveseat in the corner of the living room is Killjoy’s only solace. She made a beeline for it at the beginning. And no one is allowed to take it from her.
All things considered, it’s a rather nice sofa; it’s soft, and bouncy, and has two cute striped pillows on either ends, and the material itself is a deep velvet color, although what color exactly is hard to tell considering the horrid lighting in the room. More importantly, no one has bothered Killjoy yet, and amidst all the drunken laughing and dancing and jello shots, she is at peace.
But let’s not get it twisted here: if not for Cypher, Killjoy wouldn’t even be here in the first place. Killjoy would be at home, sitting in her pajamas, scrolling through her phone, and eating a midnight snack—whatever cool people do when they’re unbothered and flourishing. Instead, she’s in some upstate apartment—a rather big one, to be fair—sitting on the living room loveseat, drinking punch, and feeling sorry for herself, because Cypher was supposed to be here , but instead, he’s abandoned her for some random dude in the crowd and so Killjoy now has literally no reason to be here and no talking points with any of the people that might still be sober in the room.
It’s a problem. Honestly.
So she sips her punch, and scrolls through her phone sullenly. Company would be nice. Except, only some company—not drunken company, preferably, unless it’s Cypher, because he’s funny as shit when he’s drunk and Killjoy is in dire need of blackmail material to keep him on his toes. But the future is looking bleak for her; all of the people intermingling at the party are past the point of no return, and the people who are sober are all curled up in their respective corners. Which, is respectable. Because so is she. And she does not judge.
It’s of great surprise when someone throws themselves on the loveseat right next to Killjoy. A tangle of limbs and hair and orange glittery dress occupies her vision for a moment, before she scrambles to put a little distance between them. Then, quickly, she splutters, “H-Hi!”
The first thing Killjoy notices is the distinct scent of spiced orange and chestnut, just slightly blanketing the smell of alcohol on her lips. And her lips are beautifully lined in chiffon pink in a way so perfect to the highlighter at the corners of her eyes and the ridge of her nose. And the highlighter fades into glitter and sparkles past the point of her eyeliner, and the glitter and sparkles disappear past gorgeous, brown, frizzy curls. Whoever just crash landed next to Killjoy is beautiful. And just like astronomers give name to all things beautiful in the universe, Killjoy, too, must find out her name.
“I’m Raze,” she says, and grins. “Nice to meet ya!”
Her smile is cute. It’s wide, and bright, and Killjoy suddenly feels really flushed, even though she hasn’t drank anything. “Killjoy,” she replies, flustered, and pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose nervously. “A pleasure.”
“Killjoy,” Raze hums, and tilts her head with a smile. “I like it.” Without giving her a second to respond, she asks, “So, why are you sitting here tonight? What’s your story?”
It’s a funny way to ask Killjoy why she’s awkwardly staring at her phone with her knees to the wall, but Killjoy takes it anyway, because she’s been dying for company, and also Raze is really pretty, and also Raze is only, like, slightly tipsy.
“Ugh, it’s a long story,” Killjoy groans. “My friend brought me here, but he’s like, off somewhere with whoever caught his eye and I literally only came because he insisted. So basically, he’s abandoned me, and I’m just sitting here.” She rubs at her eyes, and sighs. “I wish I never came. I hate parties.”
“Awh, vida, that’s okay!” Raze laughs, and pats her on the back. “We all have those moments.”
Let it be known that Killjoy is extremely gay. Extremely, extremely gay for the woman she’s just met that’s beautiful in every regard and calls her vida and is just. Gorgeous. Killjoy is so gay.
“Yeah, well, you know,” Killjoy continues, “not really my thing. I mean these strobe lights are just so bright, and the music is really loud, and there are just so many people here. I think there are so many other things I could be doing right now. I get it though, they definitely seem fun. Just not my thing.”
“Of course, of course,” Raze agrees, surveying the scene around them. “I can see what you mean.” Her orange dress shimmers in the dim lighting there is. She is pretty.
Nervously, Killjoy clears her throat. “W-What about you, Raze? It definitely looks like you enjoy the parties. Which is really cool, by the way, I’m not trying to, like, you know, say that parties aren’t it, y’know, it’s just me that’s not that into it, y’know, like—”
“Life of the party,” Raze confirms, although she looks like she’s trying so hard not to laugh. Killjoy, mortified, weakly gestures for her to go on. The less she has the chance to speak, the less of a chance she’ll make an absolute fool of herself. It’s statistics, or something. She’s lost all her brain cells in the matter of minutes, and she’s trying to cope.
Raze swishes the cup she’s gotten from god-knows-where, and lets the ice cubs clatter around the rim. “Parties are just my thing. Dancing, music, everything! Sometimes you just lose yourself and go wild. It’s so fun.” She grabs Killjoy’s wrist, and exclaims, “Oh! I also do some street art. If I had my phone, I would show you, but god knows where I’ve lost it.”
“Oh, no,” Killjoy says concernedly. “I can help you find it! I’ve got Find My iPhone, if that helps. Or maybe when the music goes down I can call it?”
The woman waves her hand in dismissal. “Eh, it’ll turn up somewhere. No need to worry. I have plenty of time to look for it.”
Killjoy shakes her head. “Are you sure?”
Raze laughs, and slaps her on the shoulder. “Worry about yourself, vida . The ability to stay sober while being offered free alcohol is scary, and you need to get it checked out. Can’t believe others have the ability to not drink away their miseries on a fine Tuesday night.” Then she slaps a hand over her mouth. “This is why I have a therapist. I am so sorry.”
“No, no,” Killjoy cries, and dissolves in a fit of giggles. “You’re fine. Really, no, you’re fine. Honestly, you’re the best thing that’s happened to me this party. I thought everything would suck, but I think things are sucking less now.”
“I’m glad,” Raze beams, and pats both of Killjoy’s hands. “Hey, do you want me to get you a drink? Nonalcoholic, if you want. I noticed you finished your punch.”
Killjoy looks down to find that her cup is, in fact, empty, although she’s not too sure when or how she finished it. If her deductions are correct, she probably threw it down her throat somewhere along the line to somehow lessen the embarrassment she felt. Which, considering the amount of times she’s been embarrassed in the past minutes, is not narrowing it down much if at all.
“Um,” she says eloquently. “What do you think?” she meekly asks.
“No, what do you think?” Raze insists. “I need to make sure you are well accommodated for. So go wild. Maybe you want some food? There’s some chips and salsa left on the counter, I think. Probably no more pizza, but maybe I could dig up something in the fridge for you?”
Raze wants to accommodate her. In other words, (take care of her). Killjoy feels the tips of her ears grow hotter as she flushes. “Um, well,” she says very smartly. So very smartly. “I don’t think it’s too practical to go digging in other people’s foods, so I think, uh, do you have water? I could use a little water, probably.”
The self-proclaimed life of the party—although Killjoy can definitely believe her, so less self-proclaimed and more so ordained—springs up off the loveseat, two fingers glancing off the side of her forehead in a small salute.
“One water, coming up,” she says with a grin. “Sorry in advance if I get sidetracked. Lots of people to attend to, y’know?”
“Oh, no worries,” Killjoy smiles. “Take your time.”
And then, once again, it is her, on the loveseat, knees to the wall, on her phone, with the strobe lights flashing throughout the room, the music blaring at unholy levels, and the people jumping around in fits of energy that Killjoy could never hope to achieve.
01100110 01110101 01100011 01101011
By the time Raze is back, around half the people have left. Killjoy has to give it to her, she’s a lovely human. She’s greeted every single person leaving the house, which is really cool, because that means that Raze is not only pretty, and nice, and funny, and beautiful, but also likeable, and fun-spirited, and gorgeous, and beautiful, and pretty, and…
Anyways. Raze is back on the loveseat with her, which, Killjoy realizes, is a very interesting place to be sitting considering the sudden crush she’s already developed on the woman, but in her defense, she claimed the seat right at the start of the party, and it’d be too awkward to ask to switch sofas now.
“So, you have any pets?” Raze asks, handing her a small bottle of water. Killjoy graciously accepts.
Oddly nonspecific choice of topic, but to be talking with her at all is a blessing.
“No, unfortunately,” Killjoy sighs. “It’s rather tragic, but my apartment—”
“Ah, my good friend Raze,” someone says in a loud voice, the kind of loud voice where they’re obviously drunk and can’t hear anything past the buzzing in their ears, the kind of loud that Cypher always is when he’s drunk. Which, would make sense, because when Killjoy looks up, she finds that it is indeed Cypher. Terribly drunk. As predicted.
“Cypher!” Raze greets cheerfully.
“Your new apartment is gorgeous, my friend,” Cypher shouts. “I love these lights, they’re like— hic —they’re like, really cool. I feel like I’m spinning just looking at them.”
He hits the floor.
Normally, Killjoy would be more than concerned for the wellbeing of her friend passed out on the floor, but she’s pretty sure that she’s just fucked up royally with Raze, and that’s a much, much more concerning problem. Cypher’s passed out enough that he probably wouldn’t object to waking up on the floor. It’s been many, many occasions.
“I’m sorry,” Killjoy says faintly. “This is your apartment?”
Raze chuckles. “I thought you knew, vida . It was fairly obvious, no?”
“So you hosted this party?” Killjoy asks meekly, thinking back on everything she’s said in the past minutes.
Raze nods rapidly, and Killjoy is suddenly hit with the urge to fling herself into outer space.
She sticks with burying her face into her hands. “So you’re telling me that you’re the host of this party and you’ve just been graciously listening to me complain about how much I don’t want to be here for the past twenty minutes?”
Raze laughs softly, and pats her on the shoulder. “Don’t sweat it, binha . I didn’t mind.”
“No, I am so sorry,” Killjoy groans through her fingers still melded to her face. “I am so, so sorry. You didn’t deserve that, your house is gorgeous, and you’re amazing. I am so sorry. Oh my god. I will literally just see myself out. Like I will just drag Cypher out of here and leave, oh my god.”
“No, no,” Raze insists, grabbing Killjoy’s hands. “No, look at me, okay? It’s really okay. Since you’ve been so honest with me, I’ll be honest with you too. I don’t remember much of what you said. So literally don’t even worry about it. I was more, uh, concerned with whether or not you like girls?”
For a moment, Killjoy thinks she’s short-circuited. Wires have been fried. Software has malfunctioned. Her brain is empty.
She stares, and stares, and stares at the pretty woman.
Raze tries to be a little more helpful. “You know, like, bendy? Spaghetti in water? Pipecleaner?”
She gesticulates awkwardly. “Pliable? Malleable? Four gauge copper wire? It’s okay if you’re not, I just—”
“I’m all of them,” Killjoy blurts. “I am, yes, I am so into girls. Specifically one girl right now, and I think you know her. Really well, I hope, because what I mean is that I’m into you.”
“Okay, great, because you’re really cute and I needed you to know, like, really badly,” Raze blurts back in return, flapping her arms, and Killjoy, once again, thinks that she’s short-circuited. A bug, maybe, an infinite loop. She has quite a good idea of what it might be.
while (Raze = here):
panic()
scream_internally()
have_homosexual_thoughts()
panic()
panic()
Fin.