forthsofar: (109)
Rosie Wilson ([personal profile] forthsofar) wrote2020-01-20 09:11 am
Entry tags:

in days to come when your heart feels undone

At first, she'd given that late-night text from Caleb--a friend in trouble, Caleb okay but out of school for the week--a healthy amount of sympathy, but no real concern. She sought out Clint in the senior hallway and divvied up the task of collecting assignments and notes from Caleb's classes, ignoring to the best of her ability the vague sniggers about sex cults she overheard from a few of the other members of the team as she walked away.

It was all working rather smoothly, with very little room for worry--until she stopped by Caleb's apartment that night and actually saw him. Whatever had happened, it left him drawn and tired, something almost lost behind his eyes. Rosie hadn't pried, despite the flurry of questions that rose to her mind, just handed over the collected assignments and made the appropriate vague noises of sympathy before he pushed the front door slowly shut again. Still, the sight was enough to make her worry, to increase that faint concern from before to something far harder to ignore.

Clint had agreed to drop things off the next two days, leaving Rosie time to think--and to plan. By Thursday, she had at least the seed of an idea, something that might provide Caleb with a little more comfort after a situation that had so clearly rattled him. She got Clint's half of the assignments from him after school, then stopped by the small market a few blocks from Candlewood to pick up a few additional things before heading home.

That night, she loads everything into a few tote bags she and Neil had picked up from one Darrow event or another and heads downstairs. She knocks once, twice, then tries the knob, finding it unlocked and barging in before she can quite stop herself.

"It's just me," she calls, nudging the door shut with her foot.
greatamazingfeelingsboy: (in the ocean)

[personal profile] greatamazingfeelingsboy 2020-01-20 03:18 pm (UTC)(link)
He feels her even before she knocks, and there's a part of him that hopes she'll just go away. He's exhausted, his empathy drawn thin from spending time with Michael — mostly just curled up with him, talking to him softly, so he isn't alone while Alex does whatever he has to do.

For awhile, everything feels blue and deep, like Adam's ocean, and he'd love to just... sink into that, and stay there. And maybe that's cowardly, but he doesn't have it in him to care, right then.

But she doesn't go away, because she's a good friend. She comes inside, because he'd forgotten to lock the door (Michael would kill him if he knew), and she announces herself as she nudges the door shut again.

He's laying on the couch, sprawled down the length with his ankles up on the arm opposite his head. He's sort of blankly staring at the ceiling, hair still wet from the shower he's taken. On his chest is a plate with a half-eaten Hot Pocket, still in its microwave pouch, like he'd just... set it there and forgotten it.
greatamazingfeelingsboy: (in the ocean)

[personal profile] greatamazingfeelingsboy 2020-01-20 04:31 pm (UTC)(link)
Caleb listens to her putter around, and he doesn't even have the energy to be embarrassed at how bad he's let it get. By the time he's back home from Michael and Alex's, he's so exhausted, all he can do is lay on the couch and cry for awhile. He'd only showered today because he knows he's going back tomorrow, and he doesn't want Michael to think he isn't taking care of himself on his account.

Neither of them need that extra guilt.

He blinks, sort of resetting himself as he feels her concern poke and prod at him. He shifts in place, like it's a physical sensation. It makes the Hot Pocket slide on the plate, and he absently reaches up to grab it. It's cold.

"You don't have to do that. I already ate," he points out, even though the thing is half-eaten.
greatamazingfeelingsboy: (in the ocean)

[personal profile] greatamazingfeelingsboy 2020-01-20 05:38 pm (UTC)(link)
"I'm just tired," he says, which isn't entirely a lie, but isn't the whole truth, either. He doesn't really think about offering his hand over to her, resting his knuckles on her knee. Her concern is warm and orange, but it's pushing away the ocean, too, and he's not sure he wants that.

"It's... it's been a hard week," he adds, because that is true.
greatamazingfeelingsboy: (downcast)

[personal profile] greatamazingfeelingsboy 2020-01-20 06:21 pm (UTC)(link)
There's something like pity rising up where their fingers touch, and Caleb closes his eyes with a small frown, pulls his hand away even as she asks her question.

"He'll... I don't know. I hope so." Fuck, he hopes so, so much it almost hurts. "I don't... think I'm gonna be in school this week, either," he admits. "I'm sorry..." The idea of walking through those hallways, of sitting in those desks, surrounded by kids whose problems are nothing compared to what Michael's going through... It feels fucking laughable.
greatamazingfeelingsboy: (sob)

[personal profile] greatamazingfeelingsboy 2020-01-20 07:23 pm (UTC)(link)
"You guys are so great," he says. He looks at her again, and after a moment, reaches his hand back out to hers. "Seriously. I don't... think I'd be getting through this without you." He looks at her earnestly, but the feeling of being cared for, of being taken care of, washes over him, and he feels tears fill his eyes. He huffs out a weak sob, and he turns his face away, but his fingers tighten on Rosie's.
greatamazingfeelingsboy: (sob)

[personal profile] greatamazingfeelingsboy 2020-01-20 08:31 pm (UTC)(link)
He knows it's good, that he's crying. He needs to get this shit out of his system, and he can't if he just holds it there and floats on it. Rosie's sympathy is warm toffee in his joints, and it makes him want to curl up and get buried in it.

So he does. He doesn't let go of her hand, but he curls away from her on the couch, so his arm is stretched back behind himself, and he's this ball of emotion on his couch, anchored to this one sturdy point.

He either doesn't notice the Hot Pocket and its plate slide down between his torso and the back of the couch, or he doesn't care.
greatamazingfeelingsboy: (sob)

[personal profile] greatamazingfeelingsboy 2020-01-20 10:27 pm (UTC)(link)
He feels the sincerity in her words and it just makes him sob harder. He pulls her arm around, sort of hugging her hand to his chest. He doesn't speak for a long time, just stays there, crying quietly and accepting her sympathy, her comfort.

When he's finally cried himself out, he slowly rolls to face her, fingers still tangled, and gently arranging their hands so neither of them are twisting or awkwardly bending.

His face is wet, eyes red and drawn, but he doesn't look so lost. He traces her palm with his thumb, sniffles, and offers a weak, wet, "Thank you."
greatamazingfeelingsboy: (downcast)

[personal profile] greatamazingfeelingsboy 2020-01-20 11:32 pm (UTC)(link)
He sniffles again, and when he sees the blush, he bites his lip and releases her hand. "Don't cry," he says. "If you cry, I'll cry, and then we'll just be a mess." He manages a shaky smile and holds her shoulder carefully so he can sit up without knocking her off the couch.

He feels... better... he thinks. Like a pressure behind his breast bone has released, and he wonders if this is what people mean when they call crying 'cathartic.'

Sitting up jostles the plate away from the back of the couch and behind his back. The Hot Pocket flops after it, and he's really glad it's cold, otherwise he would've ruined this couch, he's pretty sure.

"Fuck, I'm such a pig," he mumbles, managing a huffed laugh.
greatamazingfeelingsboy: (upset)

[personal profile] greatamazingfeelingsboy 2020-01-21 07:54 am (UTC)(link)
He makes a face and looks over at her, and maybe it's because he's tired, or maybe it's because Rosie makes him feel safe, but before he can check in with his own brain, his mouth says, "You know I'll know if you're not honest."

Then he closes his eyes for a second, and turns to busy himself with the plate and the pastry and the small mess it'd left on the cushion, because he's too drained for panic, but not too drained for self-recrimination.

Maybe she won't get it. Maybe she'll assume it's that weird, perceptive thing he does at school.
greatamazingfeelingsboy: (grimace)

[personal profile] greatamazingfeelingsboy 2020-01-21 12:14 pm (UTC)(link)
"No," he says, and it's an honest answer, at least, even as the nervous laugh he follows it with sounds incriminating. "No way."

He places the plate and Hot Pocket on the coffee table, then rolls his shoulders a little. He can feel Rosie puzzling him out, feeling another certainty slot into place. Fuck, he's sloppy.

He wants to say 'mind readers aren't real,' but that'd be a lie, and a disservice to Chloe, besides. So he doesn't, just offers Rosie a lop-sided smile that's a little tight at the corners, then stands.

"What was that about pasta?" he deflects.
greatamazingfeelingsboy: (downcast)

[personal profile] greatamazingfeelingsboy 2020-01-21 02:27 pm (UTC)(link)
He feels exposed and vulnerable, standing in his borrowed apartment while his friend putters around, cleaning up the messes he'd been too exhausted to bother with beyond adding to it. He frowns a little, listening to her, and he has... no fucking idea what to do with any of this.

On the one hand, he should feel relieved that she's already got some precedence for this, right? But he's still so afraid of just telling people. But... she's not people. She's Rosie. He swallows, then sighs.

"I'm not a mind reader," he says again, and this time, there's no nervous laugh, no strained smile. Because that's the truth. "I'm an empath. I... can feel people's feelings."
greatamazingfeelingsboy: (distant)

[personal profile] greatamazingfeelingsboy 2020-01-21 04:56 pm (UTC)(link)
"That's what that was," he says, thinking back to the way she'd felt when they'd first met. "You were so comfortable talking about this place, I thought maybe it was just because you'd been here awhile. But it's because traveling to other worlds is something you're used to."

He drifts closer, hugging himself a little. "You believe me," he says. "Just... Like that."
greatamazingfeelingsboy: (eyebrows)

[personal profile] greatamazingfeelingsboy 2020-01-21 06:04 pm (UTC)(link)
"I mean, yeah," he says, nodding. "I'd feel it if you were lying. You're not."

It feels weirdly good, that she knows, now. He doesn't have to fight to keep that secret, to be careful and not do or say certain things.

And maybe she'll be a good ally, like Mr. Burgess.

"Oh. Do you know Mr. Burgess?" he asks.

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