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Roxy always gave the impression she wouldn’t mind being put in someone’s inventory. Just stashing Roxy overhead during a flight seems like a perfectly respectable move. It is faintly vindicating to see the principle confirmed in practice. You’re not entirely sure what its wider implications are.
Roxy is in a state that can only be described as “acquired”. Tucked under John’s right arm at the hip, parallel with the floor and entirely at peace with it. John has some obvious fatigue, but he doesn’t seem to mind. You suspect John has forgotten he is currently carrying a whole woman, in the same way one forgets the presence of a wallet in a deep pocket.
JOHN: i dunno, it just feels wrong.
JOHN: like its rude to the number one, or something.
ROXY: computers dont have feelings theyre my BITCHES
ROXY: i. HURT. them.
ROXY: other left
JOHN: but you said left.
ROXY: yeah but do the other left anyway
He pivots without complaint, adjusting his grip in a way that suggests he has done this many times and has stopped finding it notable. Roxy gestures with her one free arm, conducting an argument and a navigation simultaneously.
JOHN: see, that's exactly the problem.
JOHN: you put the first guy at zero, and now he's not even the first guy. he's the zeroth guy.
JOHN: nobody wants to be the zeroth guy, roxy.
ROXY: no no no there is no guy
ROXY: imagine me in the basket balls court
ROXY: in the CYBERSPACE
ROXY: gettin my straight up DUNK on
ROXY: && the index is like the guys in the sports lineup
ROXY: the FIRST guy. the guy who dunks his slams. hes player ZERO
ROXY: cuz hes already on the court. on the varsity team & such, always touching down
ROXY: like all the basket balls are shuffling around on the edge of a cliff and itd be floating off the edge like wyle e coyote getting his silly on
JOHN: uh huh...
John nods along, as if he’s following this logic perfectly fine.
ROXY: so he dont even need a number u see!!! hes already THE guy!!!!
JOHN: you hurt your best guy?
ROXY: noooo there is no guy!!!!!
ROXY: bc computers dont have persistence about problems, so they just forget everything thats not in front of em. thats the whole point of computeing. no persistence no problem
ROXY: so they cant be guys
ROXY: right at the door btw
John turns right at the door. You consider, as a matter of professional courtesy, pointing out that this is not what persistence means. You consider it the way one considers a second slice of cake. You say nothing.
ROXY: plus zero is the coolest number anyway
ROXY: its-
ROXY: ok wait where am i going
JOHN: kitchen.
ROXY: o rite
ROXY: set me down somewhere w/ structural integrity
John looks around the kitchen with the grave discernment of a gravedigger inspecting a graveyard. His eyes pass over the chairs, the counter, the table, and finally settle on the closed dishwasher.
JOHN: this seems pretty sturdy.
ROXY: egbert no
JOHN: what? you said structural integrity.
ROXY: i meant a chair!!!
JOHN: then why didn’t you say chair?
ROXY: bc i was being whimsical and enchanting!!!!
John stops in his tracks and briefly furrows his brow. Clearly, he’s found a hill he’s willing to die on.
ROXY: johnnyyyy
ROXY: are you holding me hostage
JOHN: ...
JOHN: well, a dishwasher is just as good, right?
ROXY: nuh uh
JOHN: plus, its more integritous, i think.
ROXY: no
ROXY: nonononono
ROXY: callie callie babe
ROXY: tell this man how WRONG he is that is NOT true
ROXY: ++ a major insult to chairs that i cant stand for
ROXY: *sit for
ROXY: dishwashers dont have more integrity than chairs theyre DECEITFUL
Calliope responds by...
Ah. That’s me.
You take a moment to register that you’re being spoken to. Whoops.
CALLIOPE: ah! qUite the splendid doUble entendre! i simply mUst applaUd it. ^u^
CALLIOPE: if yoU were to ask me, i sUppose the chair possesses a certain social integrity which the dishwasher lacks.
CALLIOPE: one is designed to receive the body in a manner both consensual and dignified.
CALLIOPE: whereas the dishwasher is a liminal appliance of concealment, transformation, and damp recrimination.
John blinks at you. Roxy gasps with the vindication of a defendant whose lawyer has just presented a corpse. John blows a raspberry at her.
ROXY: SEE??????
ROXY: DAMP RECIMINATIONS!!!!!!!
ROXY: u CANT put me on that
ROXY: THING
JOHN: hey, she never said she agrees with you. she just said its a less dignified gizmo.
JOHN: and i think it is pretty hypocritical for you to suddenly care a lot about dignity, with regards to damp concealment.
ROXY: she said the dishwasher is evil john
CALLIOPE: i did not say evil!
CALLIOPE: i said liminal.
ROXY: same diff from an appliance ethics standpoint
CALLIOPE: i sUppose?????
CALLIOPE: i was ingrained with a far too specific definition of what constitUtes “evil” N_N so i’ll just defer to yoU on that point.
ROXY: yesssssss
JOHN: okay! okay, fine. clearly i’m outvoted, so whatever.
John sets Roxy down with exaggerated care. Slowly, weightlessly, like fragile contraband. So automatic it almost evades notice. Almost.
His hands remain at her waist for one unnecessary second. A punctuation mark. Roxy accepts it with the total absence of alarm. Her knees fold beneath the table. Her shoulder bumps his stomach.
Roxy leans back against the chair just enough to look at him, grinning and unrepentant. Her shirt has ridden up slightly from the indignity of transport, exposing a narrow strip of soft stomach. John’s sleeve is creased where her hip had been tucked beneath his arm.
You feel your grin widening at the sight. There is something admirable about the simple utility of his hands. The gentle confidence of them. The way they just solve problems. The thoughtlessness of their care.
You look down at yourself for a moment. A small, ugly tenderness catches you. Like you're doing something dirty, or selfish. You shove it down. You decide now is as good a time as any to uncaptchalogue your sketchbook. Light strokes move across a page, not rendering anything in particular yet.
Roxy is still laughing. John is still pretending not to. Their bodies remain arranged around the joke even after the joke has technically concluded. Roxy looks at him with a reckless hint of pride, and possibly even disbelief.
And then, her eyes get caught on something. It's John’s eyes. A private smile slowly makes itself known. So delightfully satisfied at the catch she’s made, embodied in those eyes with the color and depth of the biggest ocean in the whole universe. You squirm in your seat. She just can’t stop looking at the handsome boy in front of her.
John knows what this means. He has to. But he—he struggles for half a second to process why this pretty lady is looking at him specifically. He’s temporarily left expressionless, his ears turning a bit red. Then it catches up with him. He knows this woman. He loves this woman. She’s Roxy.
You can’t help but let out a delighted chirp.
ROXY: aw ys
ROXY: hear that john
ROXY: positive review from the audience
ROXY: ur romance numbers are through the ROOF
JOHN: i don’t remember getting a romance number.
ROXY: everyones got romance numbers babe
ROXY: urs are just in a suspiciously high bracket
ROXY: makes u look like ur cooking the books tbh
JOHN: i can’t cook books, roxy.
JOHN: the pages would get everywhere.
ROXY: omg
John turns away from her, very pleased with himself. He opens a cabinet and retrieves a box of pancake mix with the grave ceremony of a holy relic.
JOHN: okay, who wants pancakes instead?
ROXY: john it is like
ROXY: 9 pm
JOHN: that is not an answer.
JOHN: and i will not take culinary advice from a woman who suggested i cook books.
ROXY: but its brainfood
CALLIOPE: i coUld be amenable to pancakes. :u
ROXY: traitor
ROXY: beautiful traitor
ROXY: angel of double breakfast
CALLIOPE: c_c
ROXY: too soon?
ROXY: sry
CALLIOPE: its ok! u_u
JOHN: well, then...
John points at you with the spatula. You straighten despite yourself.
JOHN: you are now pancake lieutenant.
CALLIOPE: oh!
There is no reason for a spatula to feel ceremonial. There is no reason for the approval of a very large friendly doofus to feel like being knighted, but it does anyway. You’d never ask to be pancake lieutenant, obviously. But to be granted the role? You feel this is a necessary and obvious step, yes. You must now embody the lieutenancy.
CALLIOPE: i accept this responsibility with the sobriety it deserves.
ROXY: dont let the power corrupt u lieutenant
CALLIOPE: i make no promises. u_u
Roxy reaches across the table and taps two fingers against the back of your hand. A little conspiratorial contact, warm and gone before you can decide what category to put it in.
John sets a mixing bowl on the counter and begins assembling ingredients with an enthusiasm only intermittently related to competence. Flour dusts his sleeve almost immediately. He hums some jaunty tune to himself as he works, shaking the box once as if it has personally disappointed him.
ROXY: that batter better not have lumps in it egbert
JOHN: the lumps are where the love is.
ROXY: no they aint thats where the flour is
JOHN: your soul is empty. no romance at all.
ROXY: my soul is plenty romantic
ROXY: its just anti-lump
He makes a wounded noise and looks to you for justice.
JOHN: pancake lieutenant?
CALLIOPE: i’m afraid i mUst side with roxy on the matter of lUmps.
CALLIOPE: love shoUld ideally be incorporated more evenly.
Roxy slaps the table.
ROXY: HA
JOHN: mutiny already?
JOHN: unbelievable.
He says this brightly. Like mutiny is exactly what he hoped for.
Eventually, the pancakes migrate to the couch.
This is not a formal decision. Just some odd, domestic inevitability. Roxy complains of being cold with enough theatrical anguish that John retrieves a blanket from somewhere. It is enormous, blue, and aggressively soft. He throws it over all three of you with a flourish.
JOHN: behold.
JOHN: the blanket of friendship.
ROXY: damn
ROXY: powerful artifact
ROXY: does it grant any stat bonuses
JOHN: warmth.
JOHN: and probably crumbs.
Roxy’s shoulder presses against yours. John is on her other side, warm enough that you can feel him through her, which seems physically implausible. Your hand drifts beside you. You almost forgot that you’re still carrying your sketchbook.
Roxy hooks one cold foot beneath his leg.
JOHN: argh!
JOHN: why are your stupid feet always like this!
ROXY: genetic curse
ROXY: lalonde women store all their body heat in their diabolical schemes + latent sexitude
CALLIOPE: that actually explains qUite a lot.
ROXY: see callie gets me
She bumps her head lightly against your shoulder. You nearly drop your pencil midstroke.
John reaches across Roxy for the plate, and Roxy catches his wrist.
ROXY: bitccchhh
JOHN: i made these.
ROXY: doesnt mean u got pancake immunity
JOHN: i think it literally does.
ROXY: callie
ROXY: legal ruling
CALLIOPE: i’m afraid pancake immUnity has no basis in common law.
JOHN: wow.
JOHN: i am being destroyed by the courts today.
Roxy kisses the back of his hand in mock consolation.
It is quick. Almost nothing.
Then she does it again, slower.
John’s protest dissolves into a noise too soft to properly qualify as a word. Roxy laughs against his knuckles, delighted by the discovery, and leans in like she’s following the bit to its natural conclusion.
John and Roxy start making silly noises that you just adore.
There comes a time when you are reminded just how beautiful this composition is, and your stomach does flips. They fit together beautifully.
Not perfectly. Humans don’t like perfect, and you think you’re starting to understand why. Perfectly would be a closed circle, sterile and self-satisfied. This is slightly lopsided, with loose screws and crumbs in the corners. Something lived-in. It's intoxicatingly bizarre. You feel your feet kicking with delight.
ROXY: awwwww yisss
Roxy’s smile goes soft and wicked against him. John’s shoulders, broad and warm beneath the blanket, curl inward like he is making shelter out of himself. Roxy takes little breaths as his hand settles more securely at her hip and his mouth goes snug into her neck.
And then, you notice the space. A third shape in the composition. The way the whole arrangement becomes smaller, warmer, more private, without ever quite excluding you.
Your heart flutters with joy.
How beautiful, this lopsided little tableau with its spare crescent of warmth, its unclaimed angle, its carefully maintained incompletion. You can see exactly where the line of your body would complete it. Where your hand might go. Where your shoulder might fit beneath the blanket.
Roxy looks back for a moment and lightly gestures for you to join.
They're so kind it's inconceivable. They know you so well, as to leave you a space where you might be inserted. You hold back squealing, or making whatever noise you were about to make, just to keep watching.
You admire it desperately.
You admire it dreadfully.
Your fingers curl against your knees.
Ah.
That’s me.
...
You...
You should be entering that space, right? They want you to, so...
JOHN: hey, uh...
JOHN: you OK?
JOHN: you look like if you had skin it would be pretty pale right now.
CALLIOPE: i—
ROXY: cmon callie
ROXY: i dont want you feelin left out
But...
You don't feel left out.
You want to say that. You really do. But...
CALLIOPE: ah, i...
CALLIOPE: sorry, i...
CALLIOPE: believe i might have forgotten something in my room...
JOHN: hey callie, its OK. you don't have to do anything you aren’t ready for.
JOHN: you seem shy, and there’s nothing bad about that or anything.
CALLIOPE: yes... shy... that mUst be it...
CALLIOPE: s- sorry UmU
You clasp your hands together. Slowly, you count each step to your room. The door closes behind you.
You flip through your sketchbook.
Plenty of drawings of yourself in various scenarios. A critical axis you’ve surgically inserted.
Plenty of drawings of John and Roxy in their relationship. None of them include you.
A jolt of panic pierces your heart. It’s like an accusation you’ve levied at them. An awful, unfair accusation.
You love them, and they clearly want you there.
So why? Why are you still just longing for something you’re being given?
It's so needy. So... gross.
All that angst. All that fear Roxy was going to leave you. All the sacrifices your friends made. For you.
A whole life of isolation. A whole life of desperately wanting to be in other people’s stories.
And you only want, shamefully, impossibly, to remain where you can see them both.
To keep them framed together.
Why is this still where love feels safest...?
You’re given the world, free of charge, and somehow you don’t want to take it. You find a way to want even more. You don’t understand it.
Guilt hits you with every tear that falls on the page.
There is a knock at your door.
Just two soft taps. Almost unnoticed in your self indulgent sorrow. A pause. One more tap, possibly added after a bit of internal debate. A muffled voice comes from the other side.
JOHN: hey, callie?
You clutch the sketchbook to your chest as if someone is about to take it from you. Embarrassed by your raw reaction, you lighten your grip.
CALLIOPE: yes...?
JOHN: can i come in?
CALLIOPE: i sUppose.
The door opens carefully. John pokes his head in first, like he is checking a room for bees.
JOHN: hey.
CALLIOPE: hello.
He steps inside, then shuts the door most of the way behind him. Not completely. The little strip of hallway light remains visible, thin and soft along the floor.
JOHN: roxy wanted to come too, but then she said she’d say like, fifteen things at once and not be helpful at all.
JOHN: i think that’s bogus, but there is probably some truth to that. she does get kinda scattershot sometimes.
JOHN: also she said one of them would be “emotional pancake threesome court,” so.
JOHN: we decided i should try first.
A laugh escapes you before you can stop it. It comes out wet and pitiful, but it is a laugh.
John looks relieved, then immediately seems embarrassed by his own relief.
CALLIOPE: i trUly am pathetic, am i not?
CALLIOPE: not five minUtes ago i was happy as a clam... u~u
JOHN: its, uh, actually been more like thirty minutes...
CALLIOPE: oh.
JOHN: sorry.
JOHN: that probably wasn’t the important part.
He sits on the floor next to you instead of the bed or chair, legs folding awkwardly beneath him. It makes him look very harmless.
JOHN: i don’t really know what happened.
JOHN: i mean, i know what happened from the outside.
JOHN: you got really quiet, and then you looked super freaked out, and then you left.
JOHN: but i don’t know the inside part.
JOHN: and i don’t want to pretend i do, because that would be pretty douchey.
You look down at the sketchbook.
CALLIOPE: i know, how it looks, Um—
CALLIOPE: i was not...
CALLIOPE: offended.
JOHN: yeah.
JOHN: i didn’t think you were.
CALLIOPE: i was not repUlsed either.
JOHN: i didn’t think that either.
CALLIOPE: i am not certain if i was jealoUs.
JOHN: okay.
He says it so simply that it almost makes you cry harder.
CALLIOPE: i don’t know what i was.
JOHN: yeah.
JOHN: that happens.
You wait for him to say something more profound than that.
He does not.
Somehow, this helps.
JOHN: roxy is probably better with this type of thing than i am.
JOHN: but...
JOHN: a few months ago, i asked her what the heck we were to each other.
JOHN: because it felt like we were a thing.
JOHN: but also not a thing in the way people usually mean thing?
JOHN: and i kept thinking maybe i had to figure out the right word before i was allowed to know what to do about all the weird feelings i had.
JOHN: its like, um, there was some relationship bouncer who would kick me out if i didn’t have the right stamp on my hand.
CALLIOPE: relationship boUncer?
JOHN: yeah.
JOHN: like a big guy at a club.
JOHN: except instead of checking IDs he checks whether you know what “situationship” means.
JOHN: which i still kind of don’t.
Despite yourself, you smile.
You’re not entirely sure what this speech has to do with you.
Perhaps, that is the point. Or perhaps, you’re so far gone that you simply can’t recognize yourself.
JOHN: anyway.
JOHN: roxy said, “i don’t know, does it matter?”
JOHN: and i was like, “uh, probably?”
JOHN: but then i tried to think of what it would actually change.
JOHN: but i couldn’t.
JOHN: i could still play videogames with her and carry her around like fancy airport luggage, and do whatever other stuff seemed nice as long as she wanted to do it too.
JOHN: so the word was less important than i thought.
He scratches the back of his neck.
JOHN: it still makes me kind of anxious sometimes, because there’s just this pretty lady who is just kind of there who loves me.
JOHN: and sometimes its like, “what the hell is going on? why am i here?”
JOHN: but thank god we didn’t decide the solution is to build a bunch of walls just because we don’t know the right floor plan, or the room is weird.
You look more intensely at the cover of your sketchbook.
You begin lightly scraping at it with a claw.
JOHN: then i probably wouldn’t know you as well, and you’re pretty cool.
JOHN: you just doing your thing and being there makes it feel more...
JOHN: i dunno, real.
JOHN: i don’t really know how to describe it.
JOHN: without you there, i think it would feel really weird.
JOHN: to use a very silly metaphor...
JOHN: you’re like...
JOHN: our zeroth guy.
JOHN: you’re already on the court, so you don’t need a number.
JOHN: you’re already in the shape of the team, and taking away the zeroth guy would take away the shapeliness of everything.
JOHN: because you’re already the guy.
JOHN: does that make sense?
You sniff.
There is still a strip of light under the door.
CALLIOPE: tee hee...
CALLIOPE: not really, bUt...
CALLIOPE: i think i Understand what yoU mean.
JOHN: heh. i’ll take what i can get.
You look at him. His expression is unnaturally soft. His teeth stick out just a touch.
CALLIOPE: its jUst...
CALLIOPE: yoU two are so kind, and all i do is...
CALLIOPE: watch.
JOHN: hey, doesn’t cost me anything to be kind.
JOHN: so if it doesn’t cost you anything to watch, i guess it doesn’t cost anybody anything.
CALLIOPE: yes...
CALLIOPE: it just...
CALLIOPE: soUnds a bit too easy, i sUppose.
JOHN: yeah, i get it.
JOHN: sometimes stuff is easy and it feels fake because you spent forever preparing for it to suck.
That one hits you somewhere unfair. A wave of discomfort washes over you.
John looks briefly alarmed, as if he can tell he hit something.
JOHN: was that too much?
CALLIOPE: ah, no...
CALLIOPE: jUst...
You clutch your sketchbook tight to your chest again.
CALLIOPE: yoU’re right.
CALLIOPE: Um, i jUst...
CALLIOPE: think i shoUld go to sleep, right aboUt now.
JOHN: okay.
John hesitates, then taps two fingers lightly against your shoulder before he leaves.
JOHN: good night, callie.
Later that night, you continue drawing them.
John and Roxy in the kitchen. Roxy in the chair. John standing beside her with one hand braced on the back of it, still laughing at something stupid.
At first, you almost forget to draw yourself.
Then you stop.
You almost insert yourself directly in the center.
You draw yourself at the table instead. Not between them. Not outside them. Just there, exactly where you were.
It looks strange for a moment. Indulgent. Almost presumptuous.
Then the composition settles.
There.
The zeroth guy.