⟢ Sugar & Spice, Love & Hate
⋆˚࿔ Date Everything! Fanfiction
Your eyes are closed, your body entirely relaxed for the first time in a hot minute. Everything’s been piling up on your shoulders and the state of your hands has only gotten worse since you woke up that morning. Half of your palm is white now, the color having spread down from your fingers. You had spent all morning in your bed just staring at them, unsure of what to do with yourself. The most comforting fact is that nothing hurts and you can still feel everything you touch just fine, even on the white patches of your skin. Having calmed yourself away from having a panic attack, knowing the inevitable is that this color will eventually consume your whole body, you knew going to someone who specializes in comfort would help you relax. Or, more so, someone who has a gentle demeanor who can keep you distracted.
So, here you find yourself, wrapped up in a blanket on the couch, your head resting in the lap of said blanket’s connected presence.
Mateo’s fingers slowly drag along your scalp as he watches you rest, his eyebrows furrowing slightly in concern as they trail down to your gloved hands that rest on your stomach. You had shown him the issue, having tried to keep your shaky voice from breaking entirely as you explained to him that you were just at a loss for what to do. He had listened. Mateo sympathizes with your situation, he really does, but he has no idea how to help except for what he’s doing now.
You’ve already gotten a full night of rest and had just woken up an hour and a half ago, but there’s something different about this sort of relaxation. Mateo’s holding you, gently rubbing your head and keeping you swaddled in a warm, soft blanket. It’s peaceful and beats any sort of nap you could have tried to take instead.
“Thank you…” You finally breathe out and Mateo’s eyes meet yours. He pauses before offering you a warm smile, nodding.
“Anytime. It’s what I’m made for,” Mateo chuckles softly before quickly correcting himself, “that is to say, I do actually want to support you. I’m not just doing it because I have to.”
You chuckle softly and shake your head.
“Don’t worry. I wasn’t thinking that at all.”
There’s another small moment of silence, Mateo’s hand pausing over your head before he idly begins tapping his fingers gently.
“I think everything will be okay,” Mateo finally says and you let out a heavy sigh. You’ve heard that a million times before, but if anyone truly believed that, they wouldn’t be following it with a million questions about whether you’re okay in the first place. Still, you appreciate the sentiment and do feel a little better each time someone says that.
“I hope so,” you breathe out, “I just…feel like I’m stuck. I’ve never once been stuck in a situation where the possibilities are completely unknown. No one has ever experienced this before. I’ve searched all over the damn internet and there’s just…nothing.”
Mateo nods slowly, his eyes trained on his own fingers tapping idly on your head.
“No one else has had Dateviators before…and from what it sounds like, those are most likely the cause of this.”
You resist the urge to look at your hands again. They’re covered by your gloves, anyway. You’re lucky it's winter season, so long sleeves won’t make you too hot once the white starts spreading up your arms, as it most likely will.
“Still, the Dateviators aren’t deadly,” Mateo chuckles, “I’m sure if they were, Skylar would know about it.”
“I don’t think Skylar could have known…she’s never been put in this position, has she?”
Mateo hesitates and falls silent, wincing a bit. You feel guilt tug at your chest as soon as the words simmered and you look back up at the ceiling.
“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be a debby-downer. I’m just…freaked out.”
“No, no,” Mateo assures you, patting your head gently, “you have every right to be upset about it. I mean…none of us could possibly understand what you’re going through.”
You nod slowly and shift to sit up, unwrapping yourself from the blanket and turning your head to look back at him once propped up on your hands.
“Thanks for letting me rest here for a bit, Mateo. It means a lot.”
Mateo blinks a bit, taken aback by your sudden rise from comfort. He then gives you a warm smile and places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it a little.
“Anytime…and hey, next time if you want a little friend to play with while you’re upset, I’ve got plenty of inanimals who will love you.”
You chuckle softly at the thought. Playing with a bunch of “tassle-hounds” and cats made of wire does sound like a nice distraction. You consider asking him to see one now, it’s not like you have much else to do in the meantime, but the sound of arguing coming from a few rooms over cuts you off. You look towards the hall and sigh.
“Always something in this house…” You mumble, moving to stand. Mateo raises an eyebrow before giving you a sheepish smile.
“You know, I’m sure someone else will handle cooling the argument down. You don’t have to step in.”
You shake your head and shrug, stretching your body upwards as you adjust to being back on your feet.
“Nope,” you grunt, “breaking up an argument sounds much more entertaining than layin’ around all day.”
Mateo relents with a soft chuckle and leans back on the couch, shrugging.
“If it gets too bad, just call for Dorian, I guess.”
With that, Mateo disappears as you head out of the living room and into the bathroom, where the shouting is coming from. You would think right off the bat that it would be Amir scolding the two singers who reside there. The man has a distaste for loud annoyances and disruptions to his peace and cleanliness, especially when it comes to fogging up the mirror’s surface. You seem to be incorrect this time as you move closer and make out two very distinct voices. It sounds like the artists themselves are arguing.
“Jean Loo cannot perfect his lyricism when you are moaning and groaning things that hardly sound like lyrics less than two feet from him!”
You peek your head into the bathroom and see Johnny Splash and Jean Loo nearly chest to chest with each other, Johnny’s arms crossed and his head held up as he glares down at Jean Loo, who’s puffing his chest out to try and look bigger. The two are quite pale in complexion, so their faces are quite red from all their yelling and arguing.
“If you don’t like it, ya got two bathrooms to choose from, Loo. Just go rap upstairs!” Johnny shoots back, but Jean Loo gets closer to his face and raises his voice.
“Non!” Jean Loo exclaims, making Johnny lean back with a cringe in his nose, “Jean Loo prefers to work here. Bathsheba and Rebel are being too noisy with their gossip and judgment in the upstairs restroom. While Jean Loo can usually use their very clever insults as lyrics, it distracts his work!”
You finally fully step through the door, but alas, your presence has not yet been noticed. You step a bit closer, but they still don’t seem to see you. The bathroom is a little steamy, presumably from Johnny’s anger as he gets berated by the Frenchman.
“Well, I only got here to work. I don’t have the privilege of two studios to practice in like you do,” Johnny says with a huff.
Studios? They’re your bathrooms.
“You don’t deserve any 'studio privilege'. You can’t even sing!” Jean Loo argues back. You wince at his insult, but Johnny seems to ignore it altogether. He clearly doesn’t value any insult thrown at him by Jean Loo since the two have very opposing views on rapping versus singing in terms of “good music.”
“I have tried to be nice and respect yer style of music, but yer so goddamn selfish and self-centered that you go and criticize others without even listenin’ to any of yer own criticism!” Johnny shoots back. You almost have to applaud his response.
“Oh, please, if you’re so high and mighty about taking criticism, your singing might actually sound better by now. Better yet, you’d quit altogether and realize your trash!” Jean Loo spats in response. You hate to say it, but there’s some truth to that statement, although Jean Loo was very mean about it.
You shake your head to clear your thoughts. What are you doing? You’re just sitting there observing their arguments without actually stopping them. The two don’t even know you’re standing there.
You clear your throat and catch their attention before either one of them can continue. Johnny meets your eyes and looks downright embarrassed, his face going more red as he loosens his stiff posture, realizing he’s been yelling at Jean Loo like a fool in front of you. Jean Loo, on the other hand, seems not to care that you’ve been watching him spit out some nasty things at Johnny, raising an eyebrow at you.
“Darlin’! I didn’t see you standing there. We were just–he–I didn’t–” Jean Loo cuts Johnny’s flustered rambling off as he crosses his arms and finishes his sentence for him.
“Jean Loo was just trying to give Johnny some good career advice. You agree, non? He’s hopeless as a popstar!” Jean Loo exclaims and Johnny clenches a fist at his side, shooting Jean Loo a hardened glare. You’ve never exactly seen Johnny this angry, but he certainly wears the emotion attractively.
“I don’t agree,” you defend Johnny. Sure, his singing needs a few, maybe many, refinements, but he’s a sweetheart and the man has got a dream. Besides, after the things you two have shared, is it really your place to shoot him down? He can handle that later on in his career, “I think Johnny’s got a very unique talent you don’t see a lot nowadays.”
Johnny beams at your defense and snaps his fingers before pointing at you, giving Jean Loo a smug grin.
“Pretty girl over here doesn’t lie, frenchie,” Johnny chuckles and Jean Loo cocks an eyebrow, smirking.
“She said you had a unique talent. Not an impressive or good one,” Jean Loo snorts. Damn, he got you there. You don’t really like the idea of lying to Johnny and that was your best way around the truth. Lucky for you, Johnny doesn’t seem to acknowledge Jean Loo’s correction at all, saving you the awkwardness of trying to come up with a better defense.
“She’s stickin’ by my side no matter what my talent is, Jean Loo! I don’t see anyone backin’ up yer little ‘crapping’ talent.” Johnny snorts and Jean Loo seems to, for once in this whole argument, hesitate. He’s a bit stunned, clearly realizing he does, in fact, not have a defense backing him. He looks around and then glares at Johnny and motions to you.
“Jean Loo has not even had the chance to show off his talents to her. He’s sure once he does, she’ll love his serenading more than yours.”
Serenading? You can’t imagine Jean Loo using his rapping abilities to serenade you, but you suppose it's the thought that counts.
“You think you can serenade her with your witty lines an’ insults? What kinda serenadin’ is that!?” Johnny clearly understands where you’re coming from.
“The kind small-brained, talentless, lonely little fools like you do not understand!” Jean Loo shot back, poking Johnny’s chest, “Girls love to hear the rap songs made with the heart. You can rap about anything! Jean Loo can sweep her off her feet with just a few bars.”
Johnny snorts and crosses his arms, stepping back.
“Well then, Little Crapper. Sweep her off her pretty little feet.” Johnny says and earns a scoff from Jean Loo.
Jean Loo then turns and looks at you. He pauses before smirking and adjusting his hoodie. He’s been dying to show off his talents. Now seems as good a time as ever. The thing is, there’s nothing more disconcerting than realizing you’re going to be the center of a man’s freestyle.
“Fine…” Jean Loo chuckles as he straightens up, puffing his chest up and pulling the ballcock in his hands up to his lips, “You want to be swooned? Swept off your feet? Jean’s the charming and most fly suitor that you could ever meet!”
And he’s off. You immediately feel almost akin to standing naked in front of an entire audience. You just have to stand there while Jean Loo raps at you. While his lines are cheesy, you have to admit it’s impressive that he can think on his toes and rap line after line without even stuttering. Sure, there are a few toilet jokes thrown in that make you cringe and chuckle, but you suppose you can’t blame the man for representing himself in his art. Unlike Johnny, there is some form of talent in his work. He could definitely make it as a rapper if he put himself out there. Though you’d hate to compare. You have a liking for both of them.
“Face it, Johnny Trash, the cards’ already dealt. You’re alone, Loo’s got the throne, and made her heart melt!”
You snort out a laugh as he finishes and crosses his arms, a smug grin on his face. You can’t resist it. You begin to clap, an amused grin on your face. It’s even funnier that Johnny looks absolutely appalled. He seems to think Jean Loo just absolutely destroyed him, and while Jean Loo’s talent is impressive, you wouldn’t exactly call it “swoon-worthy.”
“Wow,” you chuckle, “that’s actually really fucking sick.”
Jean Loo’s smug grin seems to falter a bit, almost like Jean Loo didn’t actually expect such a genuine reaction. Sure, he may think highly of himself, but it’s not often he gets praised for his talents. Jean Loo quickly recovers and barks out a laugh, shrugging.
“Child’s play,” Jean Loo says nonchalantly and you roll your eyes at his response alone, “Jean Loo can do better than that, but he thought of being kind today to spare Johnny the humiliation of heartbreak.”
Jean Loo clears his throat and points at you, grinning triumphantly.
“Jean Loo has stolen your bitch!”
You pause mid-applause, blinking in shock.
“Now wait just a minute, frenchie!” Johnny interjects, leaving you stunned as you process Jean Loo’s sudden exclamation, “she ain’t no bitch and she certainly ain’t yours!”
You’d prefer the application of what’s “certain” to be the other way around, but you appreciate him correcting Jean Loo either way.
“Non? Y/N has already been charmed, Johnny Trash. She’s absolutely taken by Jean Loo’s impressive rap skills. Watch and weep as he sweeps her off her feet!”
You can’t even begin to protest as Jean Loo pulls you close. You brace to be picked up, but Johnny’s quicker than Jean Loo and he pulls you to his chest instead. He’s got a firm grip on your arm, but it’s not enough to hurt you.
“Get yer grubby hands off her! You got no right treatin’ her like a trophy you just won,” Johnny huffs and Jean Loo pulls your other arm to drag you right back to his chest.
“Jean Loo thinks she’s a very beautiful trophy. Is it not fair for a man to believe a woman’s heart can be won?” Jean Loo shoots back, but Johnny is quick to tug you right back over.
“You ain’t the one she was holdin’ in the shower a week ago! I’ve already stolen her heart, Jean Loo!”
Jean Loo scoffs and pulls you right back to his chest.
“Pah! That doesn’t make you a charmer; that makes you a creep! Why were you spying on her in the shower?” Jean Loo snorts and Johnny Splash goes red, tugging you back over to him.
“I am the shower, dumbass!”
You sigh as you endure a game of tug of war, you being the rope, of course. Your shoulders start to ache from the insistent tugging back and forth and you’re already getting a headache from their bickering. You can only pray that someone will eventually spare you from getting both your arms ripped off before the two start forgetting to be gentle with their grips on your arms.
Luck hasn’t been on your side recently, but it is now.
“What the hell is going on in here!?”
You look to see Amir standing at his post by the sink, his upper lip curled up and his nose scrunched with disgust as he looks between the two men who annoy him most in the entire household. His eyes then meet your and he immediately softens his expression. He steps closer and places his hands gently on your shoulders, walking you away from the two artists. You welcome the non-gripping touch with a sigh of relief.
“If you think any of this is charming, I can guess very well that the two of you will die alone,” Amir scoffs once he turns back to them, letting you stand behind him and avoid his wrath, which you appreciate. You tilt your head to look past him and watch as both boys get scolded. Johnny looks like a kicked puppy, his head ducked a bit from humiliation. Jean Loo has his arms crossed like a petulant child, a glare hardened on his face. What they both share is an embarrassed blush across their faces.
“Shoo! To your rooms! Both of you!” Johnny turns immediately and retreats to the shower, disappearing from your view. Jean Loo opens his mouth to argue, but Amir glares him down, “Ah, ah, ah! Go!”
Jean Loo scoffs and turns away, returning to his own object. Amir lets out a heavy breath and turns to face you, rubbing his temples.
“I apologize, joonam. I would have stepped in sooner, but I was busy elsewhere upstairs,” Amir says before gently caressing the sides of your arms, “are you hurt? They were pulling you quite a lot.”
You smile softly, relaxing at the gentle touch that brushes along your arms.
“I’m fine. Just a little dizzy,” you chuckle and Amir sighs, breathing out a laugh.
“Ignore those idiots. Neither of them has a right to you. No one does,” Amir says, “though I’m sure they were just getting caught up in their hatred for each other. You are as free as a bird…a very beautiful one at that.”
With that, Amir leans forward and presses a loving kiss to your forehead. You blink in surprise before melting. Feeling the melt and small lean forward, Amir raises an eyebrow and gently nudges your lean further towards him, letting you fall into his arms as he supports you up, pressing soft kisses to your head.
“Long day?” Amir asks with a teasing smile, one you hardly catch as you close your eyes and relax further into his embrace.
“It hasn’t even started and I’m already exhausted…” You sigh.
“Yes, well, you’ve been spending every day in bed, azizam. You need to reactivate your body,” Amir says, one hand gently rubbing along your back, “a body this beautiful should not be wasted away in bed.”
You smile a little against the tanned skin of his neck and gently wrap your arms around his body.
“Can I at least waste it away in your arms?”
Amir is momentarily stunned by your clever flirt, blinking a little in surprise. He recovers and chuckles softly, shaking his head.
“Clever,” Amir muses before holding you a little tighter, “not all day, but for the time being…of course.”
You stay there for a moment, relishing in the feeling of his embrace. His hand gently rubs your back while the other stays hooked around your waist. He presses gentle kisses along the side of your face. He has quite the warm embrace.
It isn’t long before you finally get yourself to pull away with a small sigh, smiling gratefully up at Amir.
“No, thank you,” Amir says, reaching out and gently tracing his knuckles along the side of your face, “I didn’t think I’d get to hold you in my arms today, but I have been unexpectedly blessed.”
You chuckle softly, charmed at his words. Stepping out of his arms, you let your hands slide down to hold his, squeezing them gently.
“Thanks for coming to my rescue,” you muse and Amir hums, his eyes lidded as he admires you.
You turn to leave the bathroom before Amir speaks up, taking a small step forward.
“Take care of yourself today. Make sure you get up and get your body moving so you aren’t so exhausted all the time, joonam.”
You chuckle at his gentle nagging and turn to face him as you leave the bathroom.
“I’ll take care of myself,” you assure him before turning and leaving. Amir watches you go, huffing softly and rolling his eyes. He casts a glare towards the toilet and shower before disappearing into his own room.
“It’s disgusting. I can’t watch her do it,” Friar Errol sneers as he sits across from you at the dining table, watching you take a bite of bacon from yesterday’s breakfast that you reheated in the microwave. Two sins in one.
“You’re so dramatic,” Beverly snorts as she sets a glass down at your side, having grabbed you some juice to refresh yourself with. Non-alcoholic, of course. You don’t feel like drinking that early. It’s only midday.
It’s been a while since you’ve gotten to see Beverly doing alright. Easier to say, sober. She seemed a little on edge when you first approached her, a sense of humiliation in her eyes, knowing you’ve seen her at her worst. Even with such an elephant in the room between the two of you, you didn’t bring it up once. You appreciate when people don’t bring up your fingers when you don’t want to talk about it, so why would you put her in that position?
“I’m not dramatic,” Friar Errol says firmly, his eyes trained on the bacon as you take another bite, “I’m pure…something you will just never understand.”
You raise an eyebrow at his words, setting your bacon down.
“Those words don’t sound as manly as you think they do,” you muse and Beverly snorts as she slips into the seat beside you. Fiar Errol curls his upper lip up with distaste towards you, tilting his head away.
“I'd describe myself as pious and clean. As long as I am those things, I am content with any other word you wish to try and break me down with,” Friar Errol says in a matter-of-fact tone. Beverly raises an eyebrow, grinning.
“So, little bitch applies? Is that what you’re saying?”
You smirk and hold a fist up, which Beverly bumps against hers without hesitation. Errol looks unimpressed as his eyes dart between you two.
“Your little insults will do nothing to stray me from my path to righteousness,” Errol grumbles and you take another bite of bacon.
“I’m just saying. You’re missing out,” you muse.
“I’m very certain I’m not. Even if I am, I’m happy to ‘miss out’ on sinning.”
You had removed your gloves to eat, not wanting to get them sticky or filthy with the oils and grease Friar Errol so heavily despises. You don’t fail to notice the number of times Errol looks at your hands, but he says nothing. Really, he’s just glaring at your hands. You have yet to figure out if he’s upset at your body for doing such a frightening thing, which is admirable, or if he’s glaring at your hands because he thinks they’re disgusting and weird, which is less than admirable.
“How about alcohol?” Beverly asks, leaning in, “Do you drink? No grease in that.”
Friar Errol raises an eyebrow at her question and sighs, deciding to humor the two of you.
“I drink wine. I do not get drunk. That is simply it,” Errol says. You can’t imagine him drunk. Well, you’d like to. It’s a funny thought. You’re sure he’s either a joy or even more insufferable.
“You don’t wanna at least try?” Beverly asks and Friar Errol scoffs softly.
“I’ve seen you get drunk plenty. You drink enough for both of us and you hardly seem to enjoy it. Why would I?”
Beverly’s smile fades at his words and her expression hardens. You grimace, knowing Friar Errol probably didn’t intend to really hurt Beverly with his words, but knowing that he’s a “tough love” kind of guy, he probably intended a little sting. You rest your hand on her shoulder as you speak.
“I think getting drunk wouldn’t go against any of your teachings of avoiding oils and grease. I’m sure you’ll ascend to the pearly gates no matter what,” you chuckle, trying to save the conversation, “besides, if all fails, just pray a bunch after. Confess your sins and whatnot. Live a little, Errol.”
Friar Errol stares at you, seemingly uninterested in anything you’re saying.
“Do you take me for a fool? Is my religion a game to you?”
“Of course not,” you say, rubbing gentle circles into Beverly’s back, who seems to have recovered well from his words, “I’m just saying you can afford to have fun every once in a while.”
“And burn myself into all of your memories as a fool? I know what you’re doing. You’re only trying to convince me it’s ‘no big deal’ to see me at my lowest and use it to downplay the power of my faith,” Errol says firmly before straightening himself up, “I will not stand for it. It won’t happen.”
“Don’t you not care what people think of you because you know your teachings and faith are true? Who cares what anyone else thinks? So what if you get drunk and act stupid? We all have. If anything, people will connect to you more. Similar life experiences and all.”
“Besides, you’ll enjoy yourself. And when the hangovers come to kill ya, I know some amazing hangover killers.”
Friar Errol falls silent. To your surprise, he seems to be considering it. His hands twitch a little where they rest, clasped on the dining table. He furrows his eyebrows, looks to your plate, and then meets your eyes. He then pushes to stand, looking away.
“I will ponder the idea,” he says simply before walking away.
You and Beverly watch him go before exchanging glances. Beverly snorts and you join in on her laughter.
“He’s the most ominous man I’ve ever met,” Beverly chuckles and you shake your head, your laughter slowly dying as you catch your breath.
“I’d love to see him drunk. Not only because I’m sure it’ll be fucking hilarious, but I know he’ll finally relax for once,” you muse and Beverly leans back in her chair, crossing her arms.
“I’d love to teach him how to have a great time. He desperately needs it,” Beverly chuckles and you nod in agreement.
You continue to eat your food, silence falling over the two of you. Beverly’s eyes occasionally flick to you here and there, but she seems to hold back what she wants to say. You finish the food on your plate and look towards Beverly, finally catching her eye. She stares at you for a moment before finally speaking.
“I’m sorry I’ve been…making an idiot out of myself recently. I just…” Beverly pauses before sighing to get the tension off her chest, “I make dumb decisions and…I’m not used to being able to face the people who saw those dumb decisions. I think you’re really cool and…I don’t want you to think I’m a total alcoholic.”
You smile reassuringly and you move your hand to rub her back gently. You lean a bit closer.
“Hey,” you say gently, helping her raise her head a bit with more confidence, “I went to college, alright? I was friends with a ton of people who were fucking party animals.”
Beverly scoffs out a soft laugh at your words, the tone for the conversation already feeling much less tense and more relaxed.
“I had a roommate who was a partyholic and…I guess you could say alcoholic. There wasn’t one weekend she wouldn’t spend hammered out of her mind and I had to hold her hair back when she was keeled over the toilet way more times than I can count,” you pause, “...and she was my friend…and I miss her every god damn day because she was dope as hell and I wasn’t going to let her bad habits define who she was to me.”
You trail off and soften your gaze, reaching up and gently brushing your fingers along her fluid hair. You admire the cool feeling against your whitened fingers, brushing along the orange strands.
“I think you’re cool as hell, too…even if you have a bad habit. We all have bad habits,” you assure her, your smile becoming warmer as your gaze focuses off of her hair and back onto her face, “and that’s okay. It doesn’t define who we are.”
Beverly hasn’t been able to wipe the smile off her face since you started talking. She slowly nods once you finish, seemingly biting the inside of her cheek to keep her emotions in check before she chuckles softly and looks away.
“Okay,” she breathes out, “now I think you’re really fucking cool.”
