Chapter Text
She stays for dinner, which is… it’s not a bad experience. Not even slightly. In fact, it’s amazing. But it’s odd. Carrie hasn’t stayed over at someone’s house for dinner since she and Julie gave up on each other. Crowding in around the table with Nick on her left and June on her right, eating pasta that Xander made (10 out of 10) and salad that Ryan made (5 out of 10, but it’s salad, so she’ll give him full marks for effort), knocking elbows as they reach for the parmesan and laughing at Xan when he gets sauce on his shirt, gives her a strange sense of domesticity. It’s not that she doesn’t love her dad- she does, and they are a family of their own, a little tiny unit of love- but their house isn’t a home. He doesn’t like it there either, she knows.
“I might move,” she says. She and Nick are on the porch swing, watching June and Haley chase each other with toy lightsabers in the garden.
Nick startles. “Move?”
“Yeah.” She watches Haley whack her sister and snickers at June’s war cry. “Out East. Rhode Island.”
“That’s a long way from L.A.”
“Well, L.A. feels a long way from home.”
There’s a pause. He shifts, pulling one arm around her. “If you’ll be happy, I’ll be happy,” he says. “But I’ll miss you.”
She watches June pause to tuck a blossom behind her ear before charging Haley again. “I’ll miss you too,” she answers honestly. “But I want to be happy so badly. And that house… Dad and I can’t do it anymore. We can’t be ourselves in there.”
“You have to text me every day.”
“Of course, dork.” She elbows him in the ribs lightly. “I’m gonna text you so much you’ll get sick of me.”
He laughs. “Like I could ever.”
She’s never grinned so hard in her life.
.
.
That night, she and her dad curl up on the couch together and pull open a photo album. “Look at this,” she says, pulling one out. It’s her and Flynn at their seventh grade dance, hands clasped together, falling over in laughter. They’re wearing the same dress. Carrie still has it upstairs- it doesn’t fit anymore, but it makes her smile to see it.
Her dad nods. “That’s a good one,” he agrees. “And here.” He pulls out another one, where she and Flynn have Julie between them, arms tossed over her. Julie is leaning back, smiling wide at the camera, but Flynn and Carrie are looking at each other, all ten-year-old smiles and sparkling eyes. Carrie nods decisively and takes it from him, setting it aside. They work further through the book, pulling out memories. Each one tugs at her heart, tugs at the stretch marks in her fragile china chest, but it’s a welcome twinge. The sweetness of nostalgia is worth a little pain.
She pauses. “Hey, Dad?”
“Yeah, baby?” He’s flipping another page.
Carrie hesitates, but presses on. “Do you remember the fourth of July last year?”
There’s a heavy kind of silence. His hands have stopped moving.
“I just…” she stares down at the photo in her hands. Her and Flynn in the kitchen, covered with flour, smearing each other with the icing for their cupcakes. “You said it was your friend’s birthday. And I know it hurts to lose people, but doesn’t it hurt less to remember why you loved them?”
The silence persists for a moment longer.
His voice is quiet. “His name was Alex.” Carrie’s back straightens, and she scoots closer, curling into his side. The photo album is set aside for the moment. “He was… you remind me a lot of him, actually.” His voice is still low, still fragile, but it’s getting steadier. “I met him when I was little. We were eight or nine or something like that, and I’d just moved here from Santa Monica, and oh my God, everyone was so annoying.” Carrie snickers. “I mean it! Everyone was just loud and- you know eight year olds. We all hated each other. And I was even more of a weirdo when I was a kid, if you can believe it-”
“I cannot.”
“Thanks. But the kids were all assholes. And then there was Alex.” A fond little smile curved at the edge of his mouth. “He was always just a little anxious. His whole life, he was kind of panicking. But we were eight years old and at lunch, and he got up all his courage and came marching right up to me and asked me to be friends. And then he ran.”
Carrie bites back another laugh. “He ran?” she asks incredulously. “Just… turned and bolted?”
“Yeah. Exactly.” Dad squeezes her close to his side. “But I followed him,” he adds softly. “All the way to the edge of the soccer field, until he was ready to talk. It was easy to wait for him, you know? He was just one of those people. I had to wait for him a lot, because it was hard for him to make decisions or to do anything without overthinking first, but it wasn’t… it wasn’t hard to wait. He was worth waiting on.” He sighs in her hair. “He was so kind.” His voice is stronger. More sure. Still cracking, but he’s breathing through it, and Carrie has never felt the kind of pride that’s under her tongue right now. “Always. He never had many friends, you know, because the world is… it’s not a nice place, but Alex was such a nice person. The world didn’t deserve him.”
“You did,” she murmurs.
“No.” He kisses her head. “No, never. Alex was… it was admirable, you know? No matter what anyone threw at him, he kept being who he was. He got hurt and he got back up and just kept being kind, kept being sensitive. Kept being himself. His parents almost kicked him out when he told them he was gay, and he just… kept on going. He cried, and he stopped crying, and he let them go, because he knew it wasn’t worth losing himself over people that couldn’t be proud of it. He was… so strong.” Dad let out a shuddering breath. “I miss him,” he admits, his voice absolutely wrecked. “So, so much.”
Carrie curls into his side and says, “I bet, if it were the other way around, he would miss you just as much,” because there’s nothing else to say.
“I hope so.” Dad kisses her head. “You wanna hear about Reggie?” he asks, his voice a little brighter. “He’s the one that taught me how to swing dance.”
“You know how to swing dance?”
.
.
Carrie crashes into first period the next day and flings herself into Julie’s arms. Julie catches her, stumbling slightly, and laughs in her ear. “Hi!”
“Hi!” Julie replies. Her voice is equally as bright. “I think you missed me!”
“I did,” Carrie says, completely honest. “I was gonna call you yesterday, but then I was at Nick’s until, like, eight, and then I was doing stuff with my dad, and I didn’t wanna call you at midnight, so. You know.”
Julie pats her back. “Well, I missed you too,” she replies. “I had to skip band practice to do my math homework yesterday? Like, what the hell? And Flynn would not pick up the phone to help me-"
"Uh, I was busy," Flynn defends, glancing up from her phone. She's sitting to their left, sprawled out across several chairs.
Julie scoffs. "You were painting your nails."
"And they look amazing," Flynn replies smugly, wiggling said nails in the air. They do look amazing. Flynn just kind of always looks amazing, though.
Julie squeezes her tight for a moment longer before she lets go. "It took me three hours to do the worksheet," she whines. "She's mean. Tell her she's mean."
"Uh…" Carrie glances between the two of them. "Um. Actually…"
"Carrie!"
"Sorry!" she yelps. "But I need Flynn to do something for me, so…" Flynn snickers a little. "Strictly business. Her nails do look amazing, though."
Julie glances over sulkily. "Yeah, they do," she mutters. Flynn preens.
.
.
Flynn flops down next to her at lunch. “So.” She’s frowning.
Carrie straightens instantly. “Yes?” she asks. Her voice is a little quieter than normal- she can’t help it, Flynn’s stare is scary- but it’s not shaking, which is a score.
Flynn’s eyes narrow momentarily. “So,” she says again, “I heard you apologised to Julie.”
“I did, yes.”
“Why?”
Carrie looks back down at her sandwich. “Because she deserves it,” she answers after a moment. “And because I want to be her friend. I want to get better. Or at least grow,” she amends, remembering what Nick had told her. “I want to be happy. And making Julie happy would make me happy. So I apologised.”
There’s a pause. Flynn shifts slightly. “Well,” she starts, and then trails off. Carrie peers up at her through her lashes. She’s frowning. “She is happier. So thank you.” Carrie nods. There’s another pause. Flynn purses her lips.
“What is it?” Carrie asks, shifting a little closer.
Flynn’s jaw trembles for a moment, but she can’t hold it back for long, and the question comes bursting out. “What about me?”
Carrie blinks. “Huh?”
“What about-” Flynn looks down at her hands. “Why not me? If- if seeing Julie happy still makes you happy, then why-”
Carrie grabs her hand on impulse. “Flynn. Flynn. Breathe.” Flynn just glares at her. “Breathe.” She rubs her thumb over the back of Flynn’s knuckles, as softly as she can. Flynn deserves the softness. “Of course making you happy would make me happy. It will. It’s just… it’s not ready yet. The apology.”
Flynn pauses. “Oh.” Carrie rubs at her knuckles again. “Well. I don’t forgive you yet.”
“That’s fair.”
“When will my apology be ready?”
Carrie hums, thinking. “I don’t know. But soon.” She squeezes Flynn’s hand. “Promise.”
Flynn nibbles at her lip. “Okay,” she says quietly. “I forgive you soon, then.” There’s another pause between them. Neither lets go. “What do you need me to do?” she asks, scooting a little closer. “This morning you said you needed me to do something.”
Carrie blinks. “Oh, right. I meant to ask. Um…” she glances down at their entwined hands. “I was just wondering if you could meet me at the beach today. Just for a little bit. It’s for a personal project thing, I need to take pictures, and-”
“What time?”
“Seven.”
Flynn’s face breaks into a grin. “I’ll be there.” She squeezes Carrie’s hand before she drops it, jumping up to her feet. “Bike shack?”
“Of course.”
“Hella. Let me know when my apology is ready, mkay?” She sweeps away, but darts back a moment later, snatching the other half of Carrie’s sandwich and leaving her pretzels in return. “I love Nutella,” she explains.
Carrie hums, opening the pretzels. “I know.”
.
.
Nick drives her to the beach. “Ready?” he asks, pulling up in the parking lot of the bike shack.
Carrie takes a deep breath and pats her camera. “Not in the least.” She kicks the door open anyway. “I’ll text you when I’m done,” she says, and leans over into the back to give Haley a high five. “Have fun at ballet, kiddo.”
“Teach me the pretty spin!” Haley demands. It’s a very cute demand, though.
Carrie nods. “Yes, of course. I’ll ask your dad if we can use his studio sometime soon.” Haley cheers, clapping. Ryan had offered her use of his studio the minute she’d mentioned liking ballet, and Haley is absolutely determined to learn to fouette. Nick raises an eyebrow at her. “What?”
“I just can’t believe you like my little sister more than me,” he replies, then gives her a high five of his own. “Now go be a rocking photographer.”
Carrie takes a deep breath. “Okay. Gotta get me a girlfriend.”
“Gotta get you a girlfriend,” Nick agrees. “And I’ll also get you fries on the way home. Now go, Flynn’s gonna be wondering where you are.”
“Okay, okay!” She gives Haley one last thumbs up and then darts out of the car. She watches as they drive away, smiling. It’s funny, kind of- she’d felt so utterly, immediately at home in the Danforth-Evans house, but she hadn’t realised that it feels the same everywhere, just so long as they’re around. It really is a people and not a place, huh? Who knew.
Flynn is waiting for her on the sand. “There you are.”
Carrie means to reply. Really, she does. But Flynn is standing there with this half-smile, with her braids all caught up in the evening wind, and she’s wearing her pink QUEEN crop top with cutoffs, barefoot in the golden glow of late afternoon, and- “Fuck,” Carrie mumurs instead.
Flynn blinks. “Huh?”
“Uh-” Carrie jolts, clutching her camera to her chest. “I- uh- here I am!” She’s definitely blushing. Shit. Very smooth, Wilson.
“Yeah,” Flynn replies slowly. “Here we are. I didn’t know what to wear, so I hope-”
“It’s good,” Carrie says hastily. “It’s good. Really good. It’s great. You look… great.” Flynn blinks again. Carrie clears her throat. “So! Uh, the pictures. I was just thinking we’d try for something candid first?”
Flynn’s eyes are heavy, tracing over her face. “Mhm,” she says. She sounds amused. “We can do that. How do you want me, boss?”
Carrie glances down at the camera for a moment, and then back up. “Well, just…” She takes a small step closer. “Why don’t you just… tell me about your day?”
“My day?”
“Yeah. Just tell me how it went.”
Flynn stares at her for a moment longer, and then launches into the tale of her biology test, and how number 13 was totally rigged, and it didn’t even cover half the chapter, so why the fuck did she have to study it! Carrie nods along, snapping a picture every few moments. The sunlight is catching Flynn from behind, turning her into an angel. Turning her into a vibrant, golden thing, bursting full of like, like a firework, like a shooting star. She slams into Carrie’s senses like a sparkler. A little sun of just herself. There are entire galaxies dancing through the crinkles of laughter by her eyes.
She’s fucking beautiful.
Flynn turns on a playlist of upbeat songs, and they both sing along, Carrie laughing through the lyrics as she snaps picture after picture of Flynn, spinning wildly around in the sand.
The camera is set aside when Highlight of My Life comes on, and Flynn pulls her in by the hands, pulling them in a clumsy circle. “Darling, you’re the highlight of my life,” she sings, swinging Carrie out to the side and pulling her back in. “You’re the one that makes it all worthwhile-”
“You’re the one that taught me how to smile-”
“Darling, you’re the highlight of my life!”
They swing back together, Carrie’s arms slipping around Flynn’s waist as Flynn’s fingers tangle in her hair. “You’re the one I always think about,” Carrie sings, a bit softer. “And you’re the one I couldn’t live without- and you have always been my guiding light-”
“Darling, you’re the highlight of my life,” Flynn chimes in, her voice impossibly gentle, and Carrie can’t breathe. It’s like all the sunshine Flynn holds inside her has come flooding into Carrie’s chest, filling her up, lighting her on fire from the inside. “Darling, you’re the highlight of my life…” They both trail off, but they don’t pull apart, and then there they are, locked together and swaying gently on the L.A. beach. Flynn leans her forehead gently against Carrie’s. They’re breathing in tandem. She wonders distantly if Flynn can feel the rabbit in her heartbeat.
“Thank you,” Carrie whispers.
Flynn’s hand runs through her hair gently. “I forgive you soon,” she murmurs, and Carrie swallows hard, nodding. “Soon,” Flynn repeats, as if she’s reminding herself.
“It’ll be the best day of my life,” Carrie replies, her voice equally soft.
Dolly Parton fades out.
They keep swaying until it gets dark.
.
.
It’s Saturday morning when she finally goes to Flynn’s house. She has her apology clutched to her chest and her anxiety clutched to her heart, but she takes a deep breath and knocks before she can lose her nerve.
Flynn’s mom opens the door. “Oh, Carrie! Flynn mentioned you might come by.”
Carrie forces herself to smile, even though her stomach is flipping wildly. Holy shit. She’s really doing this. She’s actually doing this. “Yeah. I… I was wondering if I could talk to her.”
Mrs Pines steps aside. “Of course, honey.” Her voice and smile are just as warm as Carrie remembers. “She’s in her room.”
Carrie thanks her and ascends the stairs. She’s shaking a little bit. When she gets to Flynn’s bedroom door, she has to pause, staring at it. She closes her eyes and takes one last deep breath.
She’s got this.
She knocks. “Flynn?”
There’s exactly half a second before the door is flying open, and there she is, wearing a One Direction shirt and skinny jeans and the biggest smile Carrie has ever seen. “My apology!” Flynn exclaims, because of course she does, and tugs Carrie in by her elbow. “I have been waiting.”
“I texted you ten minutes ago.”
“Ten painful minutes,” Flynn retorts, and throws herself onto her bed. “Okay. I’m ready.”
Carrie rolls her eyes, but they both know she’s smiling, so she doesn’t bother holding it back. It’s nice to be happy for no reason. It’s easy to just be happy when Flynn is happy. God, it’s so easy. That smirk lights her up like she never knew. “Well, I’ve got to explain it a little first, so just…” She swallows, shifting her weight a little. “Okay, so, uh- I was going to write you a song,” she confesses. “But I couldn’t… I couldn’t find the words, you know? Because you know I’m sorry. Of course I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, but I need you… I need you to know why. And it’s… it’s so hard to explain that. So-” she takes another deep breath. “I made you this,” she says, holding out the photo album. “And I hope that… I hope it’ll explain why I want you to be happy.”
Flynn takes it and holds it in her lap for a few moments, staring down at the cover. Carrie shifts again, trying not to explode from the nerves jolting back and forth beneath her skin. Slowly, Flynn flips the book open. Her hand flies up to her mouth. “Oh-” It’s her and Carrie, the day after their first cheer competition, wearing matching uniforms and tangled in a hug. Both of them are pulled tight in Rose’s arms. “Oh, we’re so little-” she pats the covers next to her. “Come here. Come sit with me.”
And Carrie does.
Together, they flip through photo after photo, laughing and smiling and holding hands and leaning on each other, with Julie and with Rose and with Carrie’s dad, and with each other every time, and lit up like the sun. It’s obvious by the third page, Carrie thinks, that she’s been staring at Flynn like she hung the stars since they were ten years old. Flynn must see it too. But she doesn’t say anything. She just leans her head over onto Carrie’s shoulder and flips the page again.
It’s a photo from Thursday. Flynn, soaked in the golden sunlight, hands flung out to the sides as she laughed, halfway through spinning. She looks like a painting. Like a piece of art. She’s breathtaking and beautiful and so incredibly alive, a life and a love bursting up off the page like something tangible. Even seeing it for the thousandth time, Carrie can hardly breathe through the awe in her lungs, because God, Flynn is everything. Flynn is every star in the sky. Flynn is every sunset, every sunrise, that she has ever seen. She’s perfect pink roses and raging rainstorms and time well spent.
She’s Flynn, and that’s worth so much more than anything else.
“Oh,” Flynn breathes. Her finger gingerly traces over the picture. “Oh, Carrie- this is gorgeous.”
“It’s you.”
Flynn doesn’t look at her yet. She keeps staring at the photo. Keeps taking it in with wide, wide eyes. “This is how you see me?”
“Always,” Carrie replies, and- well, and she thinks Flynn gets it.
“Always,” Flynn echoes. She keeps staring for a moment longer, and then closes the album, carefully setting it aside. “Carrie-” she starts, and then shakes her head and meets Carrie’s eyes. Her fingers trail up under her chin, gripping it in place, and now it’s Carrie’s turn to stare, because her neurons are refusing to fire and all she can process is the warmth of Flynn’s touch. “I forgive you now,” Flynn says, and then she says, “You’re fucking gorgeous,” and leans in.
Carrie is certain the sun is inside her now. There’s no other explanation for the warmth that explodes through her chest when their lips meet.
.
.
It made sense, in hindsight. It wasn’t as sudden or impulsive or insane as it felt in the moment. It was an explosion of guilt, of desperation, of love, of a thousand lies that had built up and up and up until there was nothing left and no space left to fill and they could do nothing but burst out of her like the fireworks in Flynn’s eyes. It was a first step, and then another, and another, until she was walking again. It was okay. It was just stretch marks.
Carrie Wilson cut her hair.