𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘸: 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘤 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴, 𝘫𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘵
𝘢/𝘯: 𝘨𝘪𝘧𝘵 4 𝘦𝘻𝘳𝘢 --boofed, 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘳𝘰𝘵. 𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘹
𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘵 (𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘳) 𝘯 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘹 (𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘤𝘢) 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱. 𝘯𝘰𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺'𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪'𝘮 𝘴𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘷 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘺!! 𝘪𝘧 𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘶 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘢 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴, 𝘮𝘶𝘢𝘩 <3
𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨: 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘹 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳 (𝘣𝘤 𝘪𝘮 𝘭𝘢𝘻𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘷𝘦. 𝘪𝘮 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 2000 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵)
-
i. schlatt left her. he's gone.
not without a bang, of course. no, he's careful to shout and scream and tear down every bit of self esteem she's been clinging on to desperately in the past months. but, after the deed is done, he scarpers. coward.
he was kind enough to leave behind her heart, though. trampled and broken and cheated out of happiness more times than she can count. her parents always told her she'd never keep a man and as bitter as the ancient bastards are, minx is worried they just might be right.
after the door slammed for the final time, her knees finally gave and and she fell to the floor, shaking and crying and pleading to a forgotten god to take away her pain. her vision was spotty, her limbs cold and, for the first time, minx wondered what death felt like.
she lay there, beaten and decaying with a halo round her head, for eons. schrödinger in state, she is slowly phasing in and out of reality, dead and alive and nothing and everything all at once.
at some point, she becomes aware of a soft, fuzzy noise hovering at the edge of her consciousness. it gets gradually louder until the shouting is practically unbearable and she groans slightly as it assults her brain relentlessly. she just wants to sleep, goddamnit. just let her sleep.
"becca, if you don't let me in right now, I'm breaking down the fucking door."
somewhere in her sluggish brain, the deep voice registers and she chokes a little when she realises because shit, fate really isn't smiling on her today.
alastair is going to see her like this. lying in a puddle of her own spit and tears with melted mascara crusting her eyes to the point of blindness. she's lost everything that meant anything to her today, bar her dignity. and now she's not even allowed that.
she sobs, quietly, mourning. there's a sickening crunch as her best friend rams their shoulder into the door and a muffled curse at the bright burst of pain they must have endured. they're injuring themselves, all for her and it makes her want to slap them and kiss them and never talk to them again. she's not worth it.
the door swings open and bathes her in light and she winces at the shock in alastair's expression as he registers the state she's in. bronze curls and sea eyes swim in her dying vision and, before she passes out completely, she could've sworn she felt feather-light lips press gently to her forehead.
-
"and if schlatt comes anywhere near her again i swear to god- no, no, i know. she's sleeping. it's pretty cute, to be honest- wilbur, shut the fuck up."
the first thing she sees is alastair. and they would be the last thing she'd ever want to see: hair spun gold from the light through her window. they're curled up on her desk chair with their knees tucked between their chin, one hand clasped to their phone and the other idly tracing their bottom lip. when they notice her stir, they give her a soft smile that makes her heart flutter in a way that she's not willing to study just yet.
"she's waking up, i'm gonna go now. hope schlatt doesn't give you too much shit. see ya."
"was that-"
"wilbur, yeah." he reaches out a hand to card his fingers through her hair and if minx could purr, she would be falling apart under his fingers in ecstasy. "you gave me quite the fright."
"fuck al, i'm sorry-" she begins, but abruptly stops as alastair shoots a glare at her.
"you've got nothing to be sorry about, love. i'm just glad i got to you. you shouldn't- god, you shouldn't have to be alone."
they lie there, pleasant silence covering them like a blanket and the younger's fingers still tangled in the faded lilac. it's comforting beyond belief and she begins to idly contemplate the idea of kissing them. it's light, they're beautiful and it's not like it means anything, right? just a kiss.
it could never be 'just' with alastair, though. minx doesn't know how to love in halves, demonstrated with schlatt.
schlatt.
she was in love with schlatt. not al. she's just desperate, willing to fall for anyone who looks her way. stupid, stupid, stupid. and yet, she wonders, if things were different
would they kiss her back?
ii. one of the hardest things to remember when she's around alastair is that not everyone finds them beautiful. especially on days like today, when they're decorated in all their finery: a flowing sea-green dress that matches their eyes and spike heeled patent boots that look closer to a weapon than a fashion statement.
they defy the binary with ease, more handsome than any man and more beautiful than any woman and minx can only gawk across the cafe table as they chat animatedly to the waitress. she doesn't deserve this.
after schlatt left and didn't come back (did she even want him to come back?), alastair offered to move in with her like it was the most simple thing in the world. and for the most part it was, transforming the lounge into a habitable space and loading box after box of sentimental crap from their college dorm that they spent several hours talking her through. of course, it was easy for her to forget the first night they arrived without a bed, so they were forced to share. it's like it never happened!
she thinks about it every night. agonises over every detail like a lovesick idiot.
but at least she gets days like this, where their hair is just messy enough to border risqué and their smile is like a bullet through her heart. it's painful, but god is it worth it.
their voice snaps her stupor, bassy tones that she can feel in her soul, asking what she wants. she orders, addressing the waitress, but the girl only has eyes for alastair and jumps a little when they gently reprimand her for not listening to minx's order. she supposes she should feel jealous, but there's no envy. just understanding. how could you not want to look.
there's a couple across from them who are certainly drinking their fill. alastair seems oblivious, carelessly sipping their coffee when it arrives with steady hands accompanying whatever yarn they're spinning; unnoticing of the eyes boring into them as if willing them to burn. the woman definitely, her gaze is predatory and minx can feel her face redden at the blatant disrespect. she knows where this is going.
there's always one who condems them for simply existing. always one entitled prat who believes that they're allowed to comment on how alastair presents themselves, as if it's their business. it seems the mere idea of androgyny scares them and even though the younger seems unconcerned, she can't help but dig her fingers into her palms until they bead blood and silently wish whatever prick it is this time hell.
but as the woman snickers and whispers something snide to her partner, minx sees red. maybe it's because that's exactly what schlatt used to do to her, maybe because she's sick of alastair having to put up with this bullshit, simply because they're not welcome this lady's utopian 'normal'. whatever it is, it forces her to slam her coffee cup onto the table to create a discordant ring that snaps the lady right out of her gossip.
"it's rude to fuckin' stare, y'know." alastair is starting to catch on, expression slowly turning to shock but she plows on, defiant. "well?"
"well, i wouldn't stare if your... friend didn't look like- like that!" the woman quails as minx's eyes narrow.
"like what, exactly."
"like... like-" she spits out, viper tongue poised to strike. "like a goddamn freak, that's what!"
the lady claps a hand over her mouth, but the deed is already done. the cafe is silent as minx rises, forcefully calm bar her shaking hands and alastair is mumbling, pleading for her to stop but she's so done watching them get kicked down like a dog again and again. they brush it off every time if happens with her around but she knows it leaves scars deeper than she can see. it's only fair if she gives those who hurt them a few scars of their own, right? right.
"you cunt, you absolute fucking cunt. mark my words, you're gonna be meeting your maker today and i-"
arms chain her hips and suddenly she's weightless, mouth going dry with any callous damnations turning to dust in her throat. through the ringing in her ears she hears the melodic ring of alastair tipping extra and muttered yet sincere apologies that she wants to catch and shred. they've done nothing wrong, yet they're the one blushing bright in embarrassment at her actions as they lead her out into the street and it's then that minx realises how much she's fucked up.
their eyes are cloudy, their lips are bitten raw and bloody and, as their hands drop from her sides, she can see their fingers shaking. she's about to attempt to comfort them but they shoot her a glare so deadly that she stops in her tracks.
"you don't know when to fucking stop, do you." their breaths are laboured, remnants of coffee dregs tracing their lips. it would be endearing. it should be.
"i was just trying to-"
"help? i don't think you know what the goddamn word means."
"i couldn't watch her do that to you! how many times has that happened al, how many people have you let study you like some kind of-"
"you couldn't watch?" they chuckle, but it sounds hollow, eldritch in nature. "yeah, it's all about you, isn't it. i'm too much of a fucking circus attraction to look after myself, hm? or maybe it's a fucking saviour complex thing. you only friends with me for pity points, becca? 'cause it sure seems that way."
they take a couple of steps towards her and for a moment, only for a moment, they look like they're itching to strike.
"if i picked a fight with every person who looked at me like i was less than human, i would literally be dead. and i know, i know you were trying to help but god, becca, you really don't know how to shut up!"
"i- i just..." she takes a shuddering breath. "i'm sorry, al. i'm so fucking sorry."
"do you really think i'm a... a freak." their voice breaks and she swears she can hear her heart break with it. any bitterness she's harbouring against them is gone, replaced with the desperate need to wrap her arms around them and never let them go.
and that's exactly what she does, using the very tips of her toes to equal their heights as best she can so they bury their head in her neck. in any other instance the feeling of their lips anywhere near her neck would be euphoric but presently, all she wants to do is make them feel okay.
"god love, of course not. i'm the only freak here." she runs a steady hand through glossy curls and melts, just a little.
iii. alastair is all godly smiles and flailing limbs when they dance and minx does all but drown in their shadow.
maybe it was the alcohol talking, but they've never looked more debauched. hair mussed and lipstick smudged into a galaxy across their jaw and poet's blouse open just the right amount of buttons to make the star-spotted skin underneath look obscene.
and, god, is she far from the only person who's noticed them. across the packed room, eyes are staying a little too long on the younger's leather pants than necessary. it's like they can't tear their eyes away and although it makes minx incomprehensibly overprotective in a way she can't fathom a reason for, how could she blame them? she'd be lying if she said she wasn't looking too.
but she's not the doe-eyed ginger boy who catches their eye. she's not the one who strides over to them, all sheepish smiles and unspoken hope and she's certainly not the one who blushes violently at whatever sweet nothings were whispered into his ears as he's lead away by a laughing alastair. she's not him, but she'd give everything she owns and more to be.
instead, she's fading into the wallpaper and trying for forget she can exist. and she hates it and it hurts and there's nobody to blame but herself but that doesn't stop her from clutching her bottle so hard her hand goes numb.
that is, until a soft hand clasps hers and gently prises her fingers from the beer, one by one until it clatters to the floor. the noises shatters whatever daze she was lost in and minx curses as she tries to shake the feeling back into her leaden bones. there's somebody near her, rubbing soft spirals into her back and muttering hushed comforts but she can barely think as the cacophony of the room seeps into her brain.
"it's okay. you're okay!" the voice is dulcet and warm, like molasses, and has the rough lilt of accent that she can't quite place. but it's comforting, and feels safe so she allows this unknown presence to sit her down and drag her away from this stupid reality.
they sit there, a strange but not unwelcome sense of intimacy connecting them. occasionally, in the corner of minx's eye she catches a strand of ashy blonde or the newborn crow's-feet that crest the eyes of happy people and she has an overwhelming urge to hug this person in case they disappear and the older never gets to show her gratitude. instead, she settles for an apology. she's never been too savvy at words, but she figures she owes this person a try.
"you don't... have to do this."
"i know." the girl says, simply. she has the kindest brown eyes minx has witnessed and she's reminded painfully of alastair: in the soft curve of her jaw and the downy way her hair floats around her like a haze. she's pretty, but under the harsh lights of the party; she's mythical.
"well, thank fuck for people like you then, lass."
quiet settles over then for a couple of moments and the girl looks like she wants to say something but isn't quite sure how.
"sorry. i don't quiet know how to say this without being strange but you look... how do you say it... untröstlich- heartbroken." the girl turns away, embarrassed.
"how did you know?" minx is careful, and a little proud when she realises there's no pitiful waver to her voice.
"i'm familiar. i think most are." she smiles, pained yet fond, as if she's remembering something bittersweet. "you aren't alone. remember that. perhaps- perhaps what you're looking for just hasn't realised yet."
as she says it, she places a delicate hand onto minx's and she feels her heart soften.
"you understand?"
"i do."
"but what if- what if i feel like this forever? it feels like forever." she curses every god in existence as a small sob escapes her cracked lips. "what if it never ends?"
one of the girl's presumed company arrives, a short brunette boy who's tugging on her sleeve while whimpering 'niki?' and she gives minx a gracious smile. their time is short.
"everything comes to an end." niki smiles, and presses a light kiss to minx's cheek before she's lost in the sea of people.
for a fleeting moment, minx feels love.
and it's destroyed, as yet another unidentifiable being grabs her arm, albeit gently, and drags her into the centre of the heaving mass of dancers. she's pushed and pulled violently and it feels like she's being torn apart until she finally stops at something warm and solid. the pressure on her wrist has released and she's suddenly concious of arms circling her waist. everything is so bright it hurts and, desperate for an escape from the spinning world around her, minx looks up.
there, in all their libertine glory, is alastair. it's their chest that she's pressed into, their arms pressing softly into the small of her back, their eyes locking on to her lips as they lick their own.
"rebecca." they breathe.
they're drunk. the alcohol is ripe on their breath and as much as minx would give anything for a taste, she knows deep down that it would all be artificial. and that would hurt more than whatever limbo she's currently trapped in.
so she runs until her legs hurt and the feeling of sybaritic hands holding her close is a distant memory.
iv. she sits, statuesque in the uncanny darkness of the witching hour with alastair's head resting on her lap, and dreams.
they're breathing, softly, lips parted. every so often they mumble something unintelligible, restless in their slumber and she tangles her fingers in the gossamer strands of their hair in an attempt to calm them. she'd like to imagine that they're calling out to her, but she's not stupid. just rather broken.
who knew love was so exhausting? dedicating your entire purpose in the hope of somebody understanding the scale of your thoughts. and yet, alastair is the one sleeping peacefully on her lap. untroubled. she's loyal until the very end. so, if alastair wants to watch the stars' zenith with her from the skylight of their apartment and sit a little too close to her than friends should, who is she to decline?
they fall asleep before dusk even begins to crest the sky, head dropping lightly onto her shoulder. she hadn't noticed the black holes orbiting their eyes and she curses herself. they haven't been sleeping. why haven't they been sleeping?
are they kept awake by the same restless fantasies that consume her whenever she tries to rest? minx doubts it. she doubts a lot of things nowadays.
nonetheless, the idea of waking them to avoid potential disaster tastes bitter and as much as she tries to convince herself that it's for their own good, something about the way their breaths into the crook chill her spine is less than selfless.
so, she sits. and contemplates the stars.
centuries pass, and alastair has slowly shifted until they're resting comfortably in her lap and although she knows it's going to cause a supernova later, she's not strong enough to leave. dreams come with a price.
hers, for example, usually involve soft smiles and calloused hands and lips that smudge red all over her body and-
she's going mad.
but the madness is kind. it gives her time, time that she's going to dedicate to alastair no matter the cost because their weight in her lap is just a little too hard to resist, so, when she finally looses her battle with wakefulness, she's confident that she's made the most of her time.
-
when she wakes, alastair's gone.
there's no trace of them and the warmth that they bring, just silence and blinding gold from the sun above. it's vexing, to say the least, but she wouldn't expect any less. schlatt ran, she'd ran, it was to be expected at this point.
it still stings though, itches the insides of her brain with a feeling more alike to exhaustion than fear.
she runs a hand through the dense lilac of her hair as she stands up, and sighs vehemently, slipping on glasses to aid sleep-crusted eyes and the world finally stops blurring reality. her vision seems harsher and assults her tired gaze as she pads softly downstairs, lumbering.
she's surprised to see alastair, lounging on their couch drinking coffee in a comforting guise of normality that made her heart ache more than seems necessary. they beckon to her, smile unfolding across the map of their face as they pat the space on the sofa next to them and, although their relationship is uncharted territory, she can't help but tentatively sit herself down so that their arms almost touch. almost.
"how'd you sleep?" as soon as she says it, she regrets it, jovial tone dying as silence clutters the open air. for once, minx really wishes she knew how to think before she spoke.
"best night in a while." they say, coy grin teasing their lips. so that's how they're playing this one, huh. "what about you?"
the blush that unfurls across the valleys of her cheeks is instantaneous as she reaches for any rational response that won't betray her stupid infatuation, but the expanse of her mind is painfully empty so she settles on what she knows.
"pretty fuckin' shit, had some ugly fucking cunt using me as a pillow for the entire damn night!"
they bark a laugh, loud and melodic and easy, and it's reassuring beyond belief so, when she begins to fall asleep once again leaning slowly into alastair's warm frame, it's less scary than she thought it would be.
"becca, i don't know what i'd do without you." they mumble into her hair as they wrap their arms around her, pulling her closer. "you're like- the best friend."
ah, there it is. ignorance can only last so long. but it's something she can lament over later in the small hours of the morning when tears don't catch light the same as they do in day. for now, she's with alastair. and it's enough.
v. her stream is lovely, as usual. placing her on the highest pedestal, treating her like a goddess but it doesn't even matter because the accolades aren't coming from a certain person's strawberry lips and she hates it, she hates how much she relies on their praise, but what else can she do?
she mindlessly reads out another dono and her eyes latch on to the word 'eret' a little too late and she curses every damn deity in existence because of all the people in the world, she wants to talk about them least. i mean, what even is there to say? 'yeah, eret moved in with me and now i'm living in a poorly written romcom?'. right.
minx almost collapses with relief when she realises that the message on screen is something garbled about her recent love or host and not anything incriminating to be clipped for all to see. she gets enough bullshit from wilbur about her 'puppy love' as he so loveingly puts it and it's a pity that decking somebody is considered assult, because he could really use learning to live without his general mouth area. she's not the butt of his damn joke.
still, she's the perfect laughing stock as the latch on the door of her office pops open and in wanders alastair who yawns brazenly; extending pale arms to the sky. their shirt lifts slightly and reveals the most tantalising slither of skin she's ever witnessed and minx genuinely contemplates ending stream and taking them then and there. she would, without hesitation. they only had to ask.
they never would.
"ever heard of knocking?" she says, mock exasperation playing lightly on her tone as they jump slightly. they look spooked, hand shaking slightly as they run it through their hair and she desperately wants to talk to them properly and ask what's wrong but she's playing a character who isn't meant to give two shits about anyone. for the first time, she resents her role.
"god, bec- minx, sorry! hey there chat. alastair trails off, one hand rubbing the back of their neck in unease. "i just- shit, i..."
"spit it out, fucker." the words taste guilty, but she knows they understand.
she turns her chair to face them in all their clandestine glory, forehead glistening and gait jagged and she would give everything she has to remove the frown from their face. they take a hesitant step towards her and the sun gildes them in halcyon and, god, if looks could kill, minx would be six feet under.
"becca." her name sounds like a song when alastair says it. "i'm... fuck this."
the stream is forgotten. reputation is forgotten. gods are forgotten. everything fades into white noise until it's just alastair. their hands, framing her face. their thighs, straddling her and she can feel them; their body, willingly pressed against hers and there's nothing artificial about the way their fingers ghost her lips.
"al, i-"
"yes, or no. no hard feelings either way, promise." they're as nervous as she is, with good reason. there's a ten thousand odd people watching them at their most vulnerable and there's something beautiful in amongst the fear that minx can't quite decipher.
but she's done being scared. fear isn't a factor when all she can feel is them, their body, their voice and refusal doesn't even cross her clouded mind so when she nods briefly, breathing laboured, it's like catharsis.
"are you sure? i mean-" they're stumbling now, words falling to pieces in their usually steady tone, but she can speak for the both of them.
"shut up and kiss me, loverboy. it's rude to keep a girl waiting, y'know." and she tangles her fingers in their hair, relishing the coquettish shock that decorates their features, and wastes no time smashing their faces together. decorum is dead and it's like they're teens again, trying this out for the first time with all hands and lips and mouths and tongues and mistakes and it's so fucking perfectly shitty. they're perfectly shitty together.
and she honestly wouldn't have it any other way.