Work Text:
Blake
Cella's apartment was cute, on the inside at least, I wanted to think it was just because it had more potential than our cookie cutter dorm room but, when I looked closely it was easy to see that wasn't the case. The rooms and their fixtures were just as plain, lacking any accent or color, yet it felt more like a place to live, rather than a place to sleep. When I had left my parent's house I just took it for granted that I'd be putting habitat enrichment on pause to suffer the cramped space that I found myself unable to call home. But this cheap landlord special had charm, I was a bit jealous and I tried to pinpoint the differences, circling them in my mind.
The things that stood out first were the plants. There were just a few, but their presence showed intentionality, care. If I got one of those I couldn't even think where it would go. There wasn't a surface to put it on besides just chucking it in to fend for itself amongst the menagerie of food packaging waste that lived and breathed on the generously titled 'kitchen counter'.
Here the plants had little shrines, hangers, stands, or coffee tables.
A coffee table, now that's doable.
There was other stuff, like twinkle lights and geometric RBG lights, a wooden shelf hung defiantly on the rental wall with books and a gargoyle sculpture on it, a fish tank, a couple of framed posters, some giant pastel stuffed animals. Peluches. I remembered with a smile the time I had pressured Cella to explain the word she had called me.
The only reason I was looking so closely at Marcella's home was because she wasn't in it, she'd left that morning despite my best attempt to persuade her to stay, saying she wasn't allowed to call in anymore until the new year. Mason had some extended family dinner thing that his family wouldn’t take no for an answer about, exactly why I'd recommended he not tell them he was coming in town at all for break, like I did. He hadn't taken the advice.
I wasn't sure why Kieran acted like he didn't want to go with him, but it was typical of him to selfishly refuse to attend social gatherings.
Now Kieran and I found ourselves with some unusual quality time during this visit. Not that it was unpleasant, just rare. He was one of the few people who didn't feel the need to fill silences, a self confident quality of his that I did appreciate.
"Someday, when I live with Marcella, then I'll get to have plants like these." I said, breaking the silence myself. He smirked without looking up from his sketchbook,
"I look forward to being your grounds keeper then." I waited for him to explain himself and after a moment he did,
"She has no idea how to keep them alive."
"So they're yours?"
"No!" He paused his sketching to gesture at the plants exasperatedly, "She won't quit buying them and she cries if they die. What else could I do?"
I smiled and thought about that for a minute, then just when he looked back to his book I said,
"I'm thinking about going out for coffee."
"Why? There's a coffee maker here."
I cast a glance of disdain at it,
"I don't like K cups." He nodded absentmindedly then stopped and looked up again.
"Mason and Cella's cars are gone."
"Well... You have a car." He narrowed his eyes at me and I had to grin,
"Are you protective of your beater?"
"Ok rich boy, insulting the car you're dependent on."
"Shut up, you're nothing but a rich boy too."
"Was." He corrected stubbornly. Then he got up and grabbed his keys from the counter, walking out the door and leaving it open. A very Kieran kind of invitation.
"Are you getting anything" I asked as we waited in the drive thru.
"No."
I frowned, I hadn't seen him eat breakfast.
"You don't care for coffee?"
"I haven't tried it, smells too sweet." I laughed.
"It's not if you don't ruin it."
When the speaker asked for our order Kieran knew it, large coffee- hot- no cream- no sugar. I leaned over and shouted,
"Make it two!" He looked at me with a frown. I shrugged,
"I don't care if you dump it out, just taste it."
"I could have just tasted yours though."
"Eh, no. I love Mason and all but, I don't want my cup to taste like him." He let out a loud surprised laugh I hadn't heard before.
"Fair enough."
"Alright, let's head home." I said carelessly.
"Home?"
I looked away, "Um. Your guys' home I mean."
We got back sooner than the drinks cooled. I took both cups inside, suspicious that he would pretend to forget it, a thing I'd seen him do plenty of times. I pulled out two mugs from the cabinet.
"What are you doing that for?"
"I don't like plastic and styrofoam."
"You're very serious about this."
"Yes."
"Almost a snob."
"Definitely a snob."
He took the cup with a sigh, resigning himself to my insistence and wrinkling his nose at the aroma.
He sipped it. His face went slack with surprise. I smiled.
"This doesn't taste like it smells."
"That's what I told you."
He was quiet for a long time, staring at the swirls of reflective oil whose twinkling beauty is reserved only for the bravest coffee drinker. Then he took a tentative second sip.
"I think I like this." He whispered. So dramatic he was, like it's a sin to let others know you enjoy things.
"Good. We can still be friends then." He raised his eyebrows,
"Friends?" I tsked my tongue at him,
"I guess you might not have noticed, we've been friends for awhile now."
"Alright. I'll allow it."