Work Text:
two minutes & forty five seconds.
her entire world came crashing down after one phone call.
the evening was going great, though the day was fairly hot and incredibly humid, the night is quite cold for the time of year. august has always been a month that she, layla, wouldn’t say she loved nor hated, but her feelings for it erred more on the side of hate. it’s always too crowded and everything is more expensive since everyone is outdoors and more prone to shopping with the hot weather. besides that, though, she was doing pretty okay.
sunlight is still peeking through the windows despite it being well into the pm, 6:10 pm to be exact, a far cry from how during autumn, the night falls around 3 pm, and by 6, it’s pitch black.
tonight she’s doing the same as always — tidying up her apartment because tonight, she has plans with her closest friends, the type of friends you meet in elementary and remain friends with decades later. first they were all going to watch a movie, baking a cake together comes second and third… no one is all that sure, yet.
layla has lived alone for the past two years, moving out at the age of 18 to a shabby one room apartment whilst working some shitty grocery store job, now living in a way nicer one — her kitchen isn’t in the same room as her bedroom, and her bathroom is spacious enough to fit two sinks and a decently sized shower that could hold at-least three of her.
all that to say, she keeps her sanity by having friends come over and sleep over, though, another friend, albeit, not her closest — lives in the same complex. he comes to visit sometimes, typically when he needs someone to watch his cat for the weekend, or when he’s out of milk but there’s none at the grocery store. they met about seven months ago, the night she moved into the apartment right next door from his; to make a noise complaint. his music is very, very, loud. despite that, he’s still a good neighbor and always returns any favors whenever he needs one. his name is benjamin. he’s some sort of rapper, or something.
she’s in the middle of placing her large rug back onto her living room’s floor, attempting to straighten it out to it’s prior state. it’s an antique rug that has been passed down in her family for centuries, and it’s just as pristine as an antique can get. suddenly, her phone, which is set on her tv stand, begins to ring. thinking it was her friends letting her know they’re on their way, she answers without looking at the caller id.
“hello?” she asks, before quickly realizing it’s definitely not one of her friends. she can hear the beeping of hospital monitors in the background and the shuffling of papers.
“is this layla?”
“speaking…”
“this is forest view hospital, do you have a moment?”
layla sits down, furrowing her brow, pulling a knee to her chest. “yeah, yeah of course. what’s going on?” she asks, the cold glass of her phone pressed against her ear feels as uncomfortable as ever.
“your grandmother has passed.”
layla immediately hangs up the call, throwing her phone onto the couch cushion beside her. her entire world has crashed down around her in this moment — and nothing has ever felt worse. not her first breakup, not even the time her dog ran away when she was 12, or the time she broke her arm; in-fact all of those experiences were incredibly dull pains compared to this. all she can do is stare blankly at her wall. nothing feels real, she doesn’t feel real, and everything feels so, incredibly cold. it doesn’t even feel like her heart is being stabbed with daggers, moreso like it was ripped from her chest and stomped on by the likes of god himself.
she can’t even cry, just scream.
blood curdling screams erupt from her throat as she drops her head into her hands, curling up with her knees to her chest, unable to do anything else. she screams and screams until her voice is near hoarse, and it’s clearly loud enough to draw attention from somebody, given the knocks at her door.
she takes a few minutes to pull herself together just a bit, enough to stand up without immediately buckling, and opens her door. it’s benjamin. of course it is.
“what the hell is going on in here?” he asks, looking her up and down before peering over her head. he could have sworn someone was being stabbed with how awful the sounds coming from the wall they shared was.
she can’t even respond, looking very woozy as she stares at him. she can’t see his face without looking up, so her eyes default to the center of his body.
“lets.. lets sit down and figure this out, yeah?” he says, grabbing her by the arm and guiding her to the leather couch in her living room.
“you look, rattled…” he observes, she wants to speak but something inside is preventing her from doing so.
kneeling infront of her, he grabs both of her hands.
“layla, whats the matter? talk to me, please?”
her head falls forward onto his shoulder, and he lets go of her hands and instead wraps his arms around her. even though he doesn’t know her much beyond her name and the formalities they’ve exchanged over the months — it wouldn’t feel right to not at least try to comfort her.
scanning the room with his eyes, his eyes land on various picture frames, photos of layla with other girls presumably when they were kids, and a few of her with her friends celebrating their high school graduation, and finally, two of layla with presumably her own family. one frame sticks out, though. it’s layla beside an elderly woman, who is adorned in hospital scrubs.
he understands, or atleast thinks he understands.
this is something he’s dealt with, too, but he’s unsure of how to exactly help someone going through the same thing, he was doing so many drugs at the time that how he got over it got memory-holed in a sense.
“oh, layla…” he coos, gently rubbing a hand up and down her back. and finally, layla begins to cry her first tears. nothing could compare to how hard and how loud she began to cry right then, the closest thing possible is maybe a whirlpool. she’s dizzy and can’t see anything as she loudly sobs, the sobs getting gradually louder and louder until it feels like she’s underwater. she’s a total blubbering mess, and benjamin has no clue what to do.
this goes on for the better part of thirty minutes, until she has no tears left to cry anymore. benjamin pulls back, taking a look at her face, her entire face is red and puffy, her lips particularly swollen and her eyes are bloodshot. he rustles through his jacket’s pockets, finding a freshly washed handkerchief in his left pocket. he keeps it folded as he gently wipes her eyes, before unfolding it and wiping her entire face. it’s a disgusting sight, and the amount of snot and drool on her face will need more than a light dabbing with a cloth, so he utters a simple “stay here,” before standing up and dampening the handkerchief using her kitchen sink. returning, he sits beside her on the couch, holding one side of her face with one hand, cleaning her face with the warm, damp, cloth with the other.
she sniffles, looking down, embarrassed of the scene she caused. her throat is sore and her head is throbbing.
“i’m… sorry.” layla mutters, he’s still cleaning off her face but she’s averting her eyes from his gaze. “i tried to hold it all in bu—“ she’s cut off with a hushing noise and him removing his jacket to dab her face with, ensuring it’s completely dry, before rolling it up and handing it to her. “hold this,” he commands, standing up to grab a throw blanket from the loveseat sitting diagonally from her settee, spreading it evenly onto the leather settee before gently nudging her to lay down.
“you really don’t have to stay, i can handle myself,” layla sniffles, her head hurts so damn bad.
“no, you can’t.” he replies quickly, this being the one time that he won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. “my head hurts…” layla complains, closing her eyes, hoping it’ll make it go away.
“i bet,” benjamin replies, already in her kitchen, pouring her a tall glass of ice cold water. her apartment is far too hot, especially for someone who just cried themselves sick. he brings her the glass, placing it in her hands, sitting on the floor besides her.
“thanks.”
“no need, that’s what neighbors are for.” he replies, “where are your keys? i’m gonna grab you something for your head, but i don’t want you having to get up to let me in.”
“extra key is in the cabinet next to the sink,” layla replies, not caring that giving your apartment key to as far as you know, a total stranger, is a huge risk — but she could care less, if she died tonight, she would definitely feel bliss.
benjamin gets up, finds the key, and heads to his apartment to find some medicine.
meanwhile, layla’s friends are blowing up her phone, wondering if they’re still on for tonight. she grabs her phone, head aching as the light blasts into her face, inside the otherwise dimly lit living room. she sends a quick text to the group chat; a “sorry, something came up. lets reschedule.” before half-tossing her phone onto the floor. the last thing she wants is standards put onto her during the worst night, week, month, and as far as she’s aware, worst year of her life.
her apartment door clicks open, before closing, as benjamin approaches her with an orange bottle of pills. he looks a bit sheepish. “these are prescription, so uh… lets get something on your stomach first,” he begins thinking over something quick and easy to stomach, no one would be hungry in this situation, and rightfully so.
rummaging through her cupboards he finds some instant oatmeal, it’s plain with no mix-ins, so easy to stomach and easy to sweeten up just a little bit.
the instructions say to boil the water and stir into the bowl, but with the urgency of the situation, he just adds some water and tosses it in the microwave for a few seconds and crosses his fingers, hoping for the best.
once it’s out, he adds a spoonful of sugar, stirring it before bringing it back to layla.
“right, so you need to have atleast one spoonful of this—“
“i’m not hungry…” layla interrupts.
“yeah, but just a little bit, alright? just a tiny bit so you can take this and make the aching go away, yeah?” he reasons with her, feeling as if he’s haggling a shopkeeper for a lower price.
she obliges. “okay, fine,” she says, sitting up slightly.
“you, um… able to do it on your own?” benjamin asks, it’s a stupid question but it’s better safe than sorry. the last thing he needs to do is accidentally offend her.
“i think so,” she replies, but her hand is far too shaky to steadily hold the bowl or even the spoon.
“let me do it.” he says, lifting the spoon to her mouth as she takes a bite. once she swallows, he shakes out one pill from the container, placing it into her mouth before instructing her to drink some water.
“you should feel better in about 10 minutes,” he says, clasping his hands together. “in the meantime, let’s talk about what happened?” he suggests, but she isn’t ready yet.
“no,” she shakes her head, once again averting her gaze from his.
“we’ve gotta talk about this, i mean, you sounded like you were dying with those screams.” he says, voice soft and low.
“it’s nothing.” she replies, but it clearly isn’t just ‘nothing’ and she has the feeling he’s gonna continue to push her.
instead of being prodded, she lets up just a little bit.
“my grandmother was my very best friend,” layla begins. “more of a friend than even the girl i grew up with. of course my mom was there, but my grandma was also around just as much as she was.” layla pauses, trying to contain a dramatic sigh.
“it feels like i lost my mother in a sense. i’ll never get over this. never ever, and no matter how much people say i will, i won’t.”
everything feels so alone and cold, despite her being in her warm apartment, besides a warmhearted man who came to lend a shoulder and an ear.
benjamin has no clue what to even say, offering the typical “it does get better” feels disingenuous and any other advice seems like it’d be insensitive. “see a counselor.” sounds too harsh and a small “i’m here for you.” sounds too dismissive. instead he opts to run a comforting hand through her hair, praying that he’ll find the words to say eventually.
“can you stay over for a while?” layla asks him, not too long after they finish talking everything through. “i don’t want to have to handle being alone.” her headache isn’t as bad, albeit, still there, but not so bad that she can barely see, or barely stand.
“yeah, yeah, of course. i’ll stay as long as you need me to, layla.”
layla quickly stands up, rushing to her bedroom. “where are you going?” she hears him ask from behind her.
“to find you a blanket,” she replies, rummaging through her messy closet for the blanket she typically uses for when her friends accidentally fall asleep at her place. she finds it, and drags it into the living room.
“couch?” she asks, wondering where she should put it, making him sleep on the floor seems quite rude.
“no, uh, floor is fine.” she seems confused until she realizes how tall he is — he definitely wouldn’t fit on the loveseat, and his body would be bent uncomfortably on the settee, so she spreads the large blanket onto the floor, atop the huge antique rug her mother gave to her.
of course, layla will never get over this, and she’ll feel so cold for years to come, but atleast she can feel some warmth tonight.