Chapter Text
Things are best addressed in easy to digest, bullet pointed lists. Laid out easily, in steps, so I can deal with things one at a time, so I don't get so overwhelmed I become catatonic.
So.
- My theater is gone. It's completely rubble and I barely own the rubble because I'm broke.
- I'm living with my best friend, which, I unfortunately have a crush on
- Said best friend is pushing me to get a job so I can move out and I don't know what to say about that. Is it to help me or is it to get rid of me?
This isn't helping.
Damnit.
I need a plan.
Ok ok. I don't have money. Who has money?
Well Nana does but that's obviously not an option anymore.
I grunt and throw my head into my hands, pressing down hard into my eyes.
"Look, I know this is hard for you, but this is becoming impossible to watch."
Eddie touches my shoulder, fingers feather-light against my polo, and my spine lights up, one vertebrae at a time. It makes me angry, the way my body reacts to simple input when it's him.
"What do you want me to do?" I snarl, teeth clacking at him, and he draws his hand back.
"First, I want you to chill the fuck out-"
"Easy for you to say–mph!" He, all limbs and elbows and knees, scrambles over the back of the couch to press his palm over my mouth. I immediately conflagrate.
"Chill."
He keeps it there, soft, all encompassing, and he doesn't even see how this is awkward. He never notices anything that I do. It's like I'm tuned into every single shift of his eyes and he barely notices me if I'm not having a panic attack or am talking at him.
I shakily raise my hands to get him off me. He doesn't go far, but at least I can breathe and speak.
"Fine. I'm 'chill'. Now what?" I have to place scathing air quotes around the word I shall never achieve. Maybe even in death, because if I have the ability to, I will haunt those brutes who flooded my theater.
"Honestly, I don't care. What will distract you? "
Traitorous thoughts of fingers in lamb-soft hair and hands up under my shirt start invading and I slap them away, back into the category of my brain marked 'no.'
Eddie likes to watch me (he's told me this, casually, over breakfast) when I'm far away in my own brain. He says I act things out, brushing away things that are bad and reaching out to grab new ideas that float in front of my eyes like lightning bugs.
I didn't know I did this until he told me.
"That was aggressive," He laughs, and I catch myself again, realizing he probably saw all of that play out on my features.
"I mean it was a stupid idea, I needed to get rid of it." I admit quietly and he sighs and reaches out to touch my face again. I subconsciously lean into it, him cradling my cheek. I know I know that this isn't completely normal, the amount of touching he initiates and that I allow, but I've started marking it as 'Our normal' because it isn't weird for us.
But for anyone else I'd probably think they were hitting on me or something.
"Nothing that comes out of your brain is stupid, maybe a little crazy , but never stupid." He says, eyes kinder than they ever are when they’re together in public. "And the you that I know doesn't believe that either."
No, he doesn't get it. I just lock them all up in 'no.' because I have good quality control.
Something he maybe needs to work on, but I don't say that out loud.
"What was it?" He pushes his fingers from my cheek into my hair, brushing it back from my face. How can he not see that this is -
"What?"
"The idea."
I shake my head, which makes him stop touching me, and I shoo away the thought that I miss the feeling of his thumbs on my cheekbones by shaking my head even more.
"That bad?" Eddie chuckles, falling back on his heels now, so far away.
"No. Just- just drop it."
Something comes over his features, as if he suddenly wants to know what it is . Actually and completely.
That's why he's silent for a full minute, trying to get me to elaborate. That's why when I don't, he squints at me and leans back into my personal space.
And while I do like him, al ot, I also don't lose. Except for when I do.
But I don't lose to him . I sit on my heels and let him get closer and closer until our noses touch, the most electric staring competition I’ve ever been in, especially because it doesn't even end when Eddie blinks.
I have to do something, to win, so I hit the side of my nose against his with a considerable amount of force, and he laughs and sits up again.
"Okay, okay fine" He giggles, falling away onto the opposite arm of the couch, sprawling out to stare at the ceiling "So what? Wanna play Mario Kart or- go swimming or something? Buy a jigsaw puzzle and binge watch Netflix?"
Notswimmingnotswimming. He wears tight little speedos so fuck no!
I express my aversion to swimming without talking about speedos, and Eddie hums in agreement. "It is a bit chilly."
It shows what he thinks of my mental state that he doesn't suggest getting drunk. That is often a solution to most things, but he's probably right on this one.
"Actually." I sigh, "The puzzle thing is probably a good idea. I can't- think about the theater until it's done. And then maybe I'll feel better."
"Put your theater in one of your brain lockboxes! And the key is us mounting a jigsaw puzzle--"
He glances around the small pool house with an artist's eye, attempting to find the best spot to put it. He points, finally, at a semi-bare patch of wall above their "dining room table".
"There."
I nod in agreement and he grins, pulling on my wrist so I collapse onto him, and he encases me in his stickbug-spindly legs.
This is 'our normal.'
And not very uncommon. He says I'm small and nice to hold and it's the most comfortable position on his shitty couch.
He reaches over me to grab the remote, fumbling with one hand to find a show to watch. I stay still, nearly playing possum. I'm always unsure what to do when we engage in certain "Our normal" activities.
It's not that I don't like it. I'm very vocal when I'm uncomfortable or upset. No, I'm just afraid that my movement might dissuade the small circles he rubs into my arms, goosebumps following in trails behind his fingers.
He puts on an inconsequential show that is probably less inconsequential to him than it is to me, and my glazed eyes stare at it as my lists fall apart in my mental grasp. My lists don't seem to matter in here, they don't keep their shape. They become foggy and vaporous and they dissipate when I try to hold on to them.
Even my firm categories start to have wavy edges, slotting into each other and blurring into one.
Because when Eddie kisses my hair I can't tell if it's crossing my carefully drawn lines. When he trails his thumb over the skin above my waistband, I so badly want to add it to 'no.' but if it was truly n o then what would be left? Only those certain things that lack nuance, and even that is subjective.
I liked my theater because I knew each crack and crevice and I knew what specific floorboards would squeak and how to move around the space like a ninja acrobat. No one would even have to see me. I had full control of it, I held the reins, and it would bend to my will at the slightest suggestion.
Now it's...gone.
Now, this is what is left. Something so blurry that I can't even define it. A pool house that squeaks unexpectedly, a friend who actively adds pine needles to the fire, smoking out all rational thoughts in my brain.
And it's frustrating because he doesn't even get it , he doesn't even know what it feels like to lose everything . He's chosen to be dependant on his family because it was an option. It was never an option to me. And even if it was, I didn't want that. Dad did his part, he was my everything, but if he were still alive I would never ask him to make that sacrifice for me ever again. It feels like I lost him a little bit more when everything fell apart. I’ve lost myself too, my optimism, and my stability. I fear that I’ve become another fuzzy and disjointed entity that is near unrecognizable from myself.
"What are you thinking about?" He asks softly against my scalp, and I sigh, deliberating.
"...you."
"Good things I hope?"
I absentmindedly shake my head. His grip slackens.
"Bad things?"
"No..no. no. I'm sorry- I-"
I have to get out of here. I thrash against his hold but he decides to be strong all of the sudden, pinning me against him as I struggle.
"Hey! Jesus, Buster!"
"Let me go please-" as my voice squeaks out, he immediately withdraws his grip around me as if I would burn him if he kept holding on.
I stumble up to my feet, leaving Eddie looking bewildered, halfway sitting up.
"What's wrong?"
"I need to- go-"
" Where ?"
"Anywhere!"
I try to find my jacket but I've forgotten where I've put it. Eddie quietly climbs to his feet, grabbing it off the back of a chair and handing it to me.
"Th-thank you-" I start to pull it on, but am already coming down from my panic high. They've been almost annoying short, because if they're too short, he feels stupid and small. Long panic attacks suck though so it’s hard to tell which is worse.
"I know you're having a rough time but it's so hard to watch you panic every few hours."
"Then don’t ." I hiss quietly, batting at my eyes, bullying the tears off of my face. "I know you want me out of here-"
"What?"
"I get it, it's such a small space to share-"
"I don’t want you to leave." He sounds a little hurt. That goes into the "Oh no" category and there is too much input and I don't know what to do with myself. I stand, gaping. "I mean...if I had my way we'd live together- for a long time. But- if I'm somehow making this all worse-"
"It's all me, it's my fault. You're- you're wonderful. I promise." I say halting, a confused Eddie standing like a broken scarecrow. I snatch a firefly out of the sky "I have an idea. Uhm. Can you do something for me? Sit down?"
Eddie nods mutely, I follow him, press him down into the cushions by his shoulders.
"What are you-"
"I'm showing you one of the reasons I keep freaking out. There are three rules."
"Rules?" Eddie furrows his eyebrow, starting to gain his skepticism back and shedding the softness.
"Please."
He nods again, but he seems unsure.
"1. Keep your eyes closed. 2. Do not try to talk to me. 3. Don't try to follow me."
He tilts his head, and I can almost see him thinking. He doesn’t like to think too hard, I know this, but it’s still a little frustrating when I see how he tries to coast through life with little to no effort.
“Where are you going to go?”
“I don’t know. Close your eyes.”
“This feels a little- kidnappy, Buster.”
With a small smile, I place my own palm over both of his eyes. He sighs, letting me.
“Keep them closed,” I whisper, getting a little caught up in the moment, unsure if I should actually do this or if this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever considered. When I draw my hand back, his eyes remain shut obediently. “Thank you.”
He grimaces, nodding.
Before I can overthink, before I can panic and go into a panic coma, I do it. I lean in and press my lips to his. It’s nice and sweet and short and Eddie chases me when I pulls away. He then immediately breaks rule one, so I have to cover his eyes again. He then attempts to break rule two.
“ Buster-”
“Shh.” I back away quietly, to the crack of the door.
To his credit, he bites his tongue, keeps his eyes screwed shut. I appreciate it.
“Goodbye, for now.”
“Buster.” He says again, finally opening his eyes.
But by then I’m already gone.