TW: same as other parts, a very minor mention of weight, mentions of cheating
1 month later
Race lived on the 7th floor. At least that's what his brother Jack told me. Me and Jack had never gotten along but I suppose he felt sorry for me when I rang in tears saying ‘I have nowhere else to go’
I barely had any friends, and the ones near me lived in their dorms so I didn't really have anywhere else to go. Believe me when I say showing up at my ex-boyfriend's apartment was not something I wanted to do. But there I was with a pathetic backpack of my stuff, pretty damn near a panic attack, standing outside Racers door.
I rang the doorbell.
The first thing I was struck by were his eyes, wide, glinting in the garish lighting and still that same blue I could get lost in. Then his hair, which had grown since I saw him last. Now it was just long enough for his curls to fall perfectly and frame his face. I’ve never considered myself emotional by any means, but after all the time we’d spent apart, the mere sight of him made me want to cry.
“...Spot?” His voice was raw, startled, which was fair. I probably should've given him a warning of some sort but foresight isn't my strong suit.
I still regret how my voice cracked as I forced out an “I'm sorry.”
And then he was hugging me, tight, like he always used to. And I was crying into the shoulder of my ex boyfriend.
“Tell me what happened”
Soon I was on his couch, sipping a can of Pepsi and recalling everything that happened between me and Jasper. I was up to the painful last few days.
“I always had an inkling he was cheating,” I lied. It was much more than an inkling. “And…uh… yesterday I walked in on it.”
“Even if I knew it was coming it still hurt, he was saying the same things he said to me, in the bed I had slept in the night before so… I ended it. I uh…I don’t have it in me to keep trying with him”
Race smiled bittersweetly, “I’m sorry”
“No I’m sorry,” I held his gaze “I shouldn't've just shown up, considering we’re….”
He understood. I heard him whisper something to himself that sounded self deprecating but I didn't push it.
It was devastating. The space between us. He was just out of reach and I couldn't tell if the look he gave me was pity or longing. But I held onto hope that maybe he felt it too. Maybe he felt it, asleep on the couch while I lay in his bed. Maybe he felt it if he heard me crying into the pillow that smelled like him. Or maybe in the morning when he hugged me wordlessly and passed me coffee. He still remembered how I liked it.
My voice wasn’t hot or rugged in the morning, just hoarse “Thanks, for everything.”
“It’s the least I can do.” he took a sip of his own (overly sweetened) coffee “I’m sorry you went through all that…and im sorry for-”
“No, don't sweat it.”
“But I-”
“It’s really okay.”
Race looked even skinnier than he used to. The bags under his eyes looked deeper. I knew what it looked like when he wasn't taking care of himself and I wasn't about to make it worse by telling him how much the breakup had actually hurt. But even with the change in appearance, it felt like old times as we made small talk over breakfast. I found out he was working at a cafe and whilst living in New York by yourself, that's basically a death sentence. I wondered if I could help. My shitty retail job wasn't much better but at least I wouldn't be freeloading off my ex making barely anything above minimum wage.
I inhaled, I didn't want to make my situation sound more long term than it had to be. “I can help with rent….y’know until I get back on my feet,”
He smiled. I loved that smile.“You’d do that?”
“For sure.”
“Jesus, you still talk like a jock.” He quipped with a grin
I rolled my eyes. “You still like it.” I regretted that the second it left my mouth.
Race just shrugged. The fuck did that mean? I tried to hide my confusion at him by bringing my mug to my lips and taking a sip of my coffee. Race laughed. I had forgotten how confusing this man was.
TW: vaping and a joke about jorking it?? part one part two part three part four
As I lay awake in Race’s bed again I wondered how he slept with all the empty space that lay under the covers with you alone in there. I felt the emptiness writhe around me as I tried to get comfortable. How did Racer do this? It probably didn't even bother him. And here I was tossing and turning with no one but cold sheets for company. I hated myself lying there, taking up the space of a man who didn't want me in his life anymore, forcing him onto his cheap couch and still hoping maybe there was a chance he’d want me back. Maybe he’d realise all of a sudden how much he needed me. I was no better than Jasper. I shouldn't have left. I could handle a little cheating, it was only probably a few times. If I wasn't what Jasper needed, that was on me. But I knew one thing; I wasn't what Race deserved.
“Spot?” His voice broke my out of my haze “I heard noise, I thought maybe you were jerking off at first bu- fuck….are you okay?”
“Couldnt sleep.” We both knew it was a weak dodge of his question, but i was too exhausted to come up with anything better. I felt the mattress dip as he sat a bit too close to me
He exhaled “Look, I know you. I know when something's going on.”
“Nothing’s-”
He cut me off “You’re not yourself Spot.”
“What is myself then?” We weren’t anything anymore. If I’d changed how would he know?
“It’s not this.” He put a slim hand on my shoulder. I felt myself tense “My Spot is- was loyal, cocky and stubborn.”
My Spot? That was new.
“I guess this Spot is just…Melancholy…?”
“Thanks a lot, Shakespeare” God, I sounded rude. But Race smiled like he’d found something lost to him.
“What?”
I could tell he was holding back a laugh as he spoke “Remember the production I did of ‘A midsummer nights dream’?”
“Don’t remind me.” I groaned “You were stained green for days.”
It had taken a week for the green tinge to leave his skin after that show. And if anyone pointed out the similar green that stained my neck and hips from kissing ‘Puck' in a bathroom stall at intermission I’d tell them a stupid lie about some made up illness or something. It was in no way believable of course, but no one argued. I missed being stupid and lovesick like that.
Races’s hand made its way across my back to my other shoulder. I let myself lean back.
“Those were the days,” he sighed “God, I never should’ve…”
He shook his head as if to clear the thought and looked down at me, offering a half smile.
“This isn't about me. Are you sure you're okay?”
He rubbed my shoulder. My throat suddenly felt tight. I looked away but it was no use seeing as Racer knew I did that to hide the emotions my face betrayed.
“Hey…” He sounded so sweet. But it just made me more stupidly emotional. “What's goin' on?”
Where should I start? There was so much going on. I had virtually no one in my life except my ex who I was mooching off of. My anger at Jasper lingered alongside self hatred I could never shake and the worst part of it all was how badly I missed Race.
My voice was shaky and I was too tired to put effort into feeling more numb. “It's…everything.” I still couldn't bring myself to look at him “Being here, taking advantage of how damn kind you are.”
“You're not ta-”
“I just don’t have anyone. If I did, I probably wouldn't be here, I- no offense.”
“None taken.” He squeezed my shoulder and tugged me closer “And you have me. Even if I fucked things up before”
Fucked things up? That almost sounded like he regretted it. I mulled over the thought as I watched him bring his sleeve to his mouth and exhale a cloud of vapor.
“Thought you quit.”
He grinned at me “I’ve never been good at letting things go”
He took another hit, his thin lips sitting perfectly around the mouthpiece and tightening ever so slightly as he exhaled a thin stream. I felt like such a creep, jealous of a fucking vape but I really couldnt help it. Sitting in bed with a pretty boy indulging his nicotine addiction was not where I thought I’d end up after college,but in the moment there was nowhere else I wanted to be.
“Can I try?”
“You vape?”
No. “Yes” I hadn't pretended to like nicotine to impress someone since high school. Maybe I just wanted to get as close as I could to tasting Racer’s lips one last time.
All I could taste when he handed it over was some shitty bubblegum flavor with that bite that reminds you you're basically sucking on a battery for leisure. I remembered why I didn’t vape. By the way he laughed I guess I didn't hide my distaste very well. I laughed back
“You said you can't let things go, guess I can’t force myself to like someo- something bad for me.”
Race rolled his eyes slightly, fighting a smile “I’ve known you since we were 8, Spot. You don't have to pretend.”
“You still probably know me better than anyone,” My voice shook. “I think maybe that’s why I’m here.”
He looked at me sympathetically, “I take it you didn't make many friends in college?”
“None that stuck around…..seems to be a consistent theme in my life.”
We sat in silence together for maybe 2 minutes or so. Race’s demeanour slowly shifted
“...I shouldn’t have ended it.”
My breath caught in my throat and I was suddenly too aware of my pulse fluttering in a way that couldn't be healthy. I felt the arm around my shoulders tremble slightly and I looked over to see emotions I almost never saw on Race’s face. Nerves mixed with regret mixed with something I couldn't quite place. Race had this persona of sorts built up so much that feelings like that barely ever got to the surface. Nothing can hurt you when you're the ‘funny one’ and feelings don’t have to be as large for the ‘happy-go-lucky friend’. This had always been Race’s defence mechanism. While people like me hid by being cold or blunt, he had a perfectly curated warmth that let almost nothing through. Only a few people saw the real Antonio ‘Racetrack’ Higgins and not just the stereotype of class clown. People saw him smiling through being called slurs, being harassed, or bullied, but they didn't see the boy sitting numb in his room asking if he really deserved it. That was the boy I saw that night, trying to blink his tears back after his confession.
That was it. He missed me. He missed me like I missed him. This hurt him as well.
“Race…”
“I mean-”
He looked away, eyes shining. I caught his chin and gently turned him to face me, wiping a tear with my thumb. We stayed like that, my hand resting softly on his face, looking into each other's eyes. It was strangely intimate, as if we were both in our rawest forms; completely exposed for each other to see. I dared to break the silence
“I miss you too.” It came out as a whisper, like a secret I couldn't trust the rest of the apartment with.
He attempted to smile, more tears rolling down his cheeks “But I’m right here.”
I could hear my heart in my ears now, the air around us seeming to grow thicker. I raised my eyebrows slightly, after all this time he knew what I was asking for and responded with a nod.
I want to say the world stopped as our lips met, but kissing Race again made me glad the world was still moving. For once I wasn't anticipating an end or wishing life would pause for me. I was right where we both needed me to be. For a moment, I felt like crying too.
Race choked out more tears as he pulled away “Fuck..”
He clung to me, resting his forehead against my chest as he cried
“Did you not want that?” I spoke softly into his hair
“No I-” he looked up at me, blue eyes shining. That was how he used to look at me. “I’m scared by how much I wanted it.”
I smiled at him and realized just how little I'd smiled in the past year. Race leaned in again delicately, not the way men at the club did with their tongues resting on their lips , but the way princes kissed their brides in movies. Needless to say, his enthusiasm was happily reciprocated. We pulled each other into a sweet kiss, deeper than the last, re-learning the feeling of our tongues intertwining as we easily slipped into familiar rhythm. It was perfect. It was exactly what we needed. I didn't get the pit in my stomach like I did with those men who saw me as an object. All I felt was Race’s warmth.
TW: same as other parts, smoking, one homophobic slur
Racetrack Higgins was perfection. The kind of face that makes you sure God has favourites. A slender freckled body toned from years of dance and running. His eyes crinkled whenever he smiled that crooked smile of his where his uneven canines peeked out from under pink lips. His eyes were a deep, true, blue and his light lashes made shadows dance across them when the sun hit just right. When he got upset those eyes would trail to the side and he’d just…shut down. But when he was happy it was like the world lit up, his light laugh would ring through the air, so carefree and joyful. His skin was fair and fragile, burning and bruising quickly and new freckles appeared every summer he spent bathing in sunshine. His long, smooth hands made even a poorly concealed nicotine addiction look good. I remember him always hiding a vape under his ratty jumper sleeve, getting a taste of blue raspberry on his lips after he swore he quit or those rare times where he'd get his hands on a pack of cigarettes and would twirl one between his pale fingers in thought. Despite his high cheekbones, his face retained a youthfulness which made him get away with more than he should've. In short, Racer was gorgeous. Much too gorgeous to be letting me into his bed. Still, every night at 18 he'd kiss me with a smile and sing my praises as if I was even half the man he was.
He knew I couldn't come out and while he denied it, I knew it was eating at him. We'd drive an hour just to go on a date and while I hated myself for it, I'd let my so called friends call him a ‘fag’ in the halls even as he caught my eye. His friends gave me dirty looks but they'd never know what we had. They'd never know who I was when Race was around. They wouldn't know I showed up to every ballet he danced in. I was so privately in love.
Being around homophobes 24/7 really messes you up. Because how could I believe the intensity with which I loved this man was wrong? And he loved me back. That was the crazy part. He had every reason not to, I’m not going to sit here and pretend I’m anything other than a traumatized kid who's barely come to terms with being gay. He celebrated with me when I finally got out of foster care or when I secured my scholarship and then left me a few weeks later. He told me he needed to find himself after high school and he didn't want to become codependent. I told him I understood. I told him it was okay. It wasn't. I couldn't eat for 5 days. Even almost a year later I was imagining it was him I was kissing in some club, him whose body melded with mine as if we were wax under cheap cotton sheets. But it wasn't him. I wondered sometimes if he’d found someone new, someone who wouldn't interfere with his adult life, someone who wasn't me.
Racetrack Higgins was perfection. And I lost perfection.
house characters and what fears from the magnus archives they would serve
house - the hunt. he loses parts of his humanity in the desperate pursuit of answers. he seeks puzzle after puzzle because the thrill of the chase sustains him, keeping at bay everything he doesn't want to think about. 'you don't like yourself, but you do admire yourself' - like daisy, house can view himself only in the context of his role as the diagnostician, the Hunter, because anything else is too painful.
wilson - the stranger. the facade of a friendly, well adjusted shoulder to cry on conceals his inner damage like someone else's skin. he becomes who his partners need him to be, and each relationship inevitably falls apart when they realise that he's an impostor.
cameron - the corruption. unhealthy, all-consuming love toward those she sees as diseased or broken, because she sees these qualities reflected in herself. 'you dont love, you need.'
chase - the lonely. 'i dont hate my dad. i loved him until i realised it hurt a lot less to just not care.' losing himself in meaningless relationships in order to shed the losses, the abandonments, that still brand him. following in the footsteps of a man who many consider to be incapable of loving and of being loved completely of his own accord.
foreman - the buried. being crushed by the weight of expectation: to escape house's influence, to remain objective, to lead. not only his own but that of thousands of voices in chorus, urging him to not forget where he came from and to succeed despite the prejudice stacked against him.
cuddy - the web. the need to prove herself and stake her claim to power even if that means evading and manipulating her way into that security, shedding her humanity in order to make tough decisions. her tendrils that reach across the faculty like web, being unable to shed the crushing responsibility, the compulsion for control, toward everything that happens within her domain.
the concept of jonathan 'i was neglected as a child' sims being terrified of throwing up because he associates it with abandonment and being treated like he was unclean or an inconvenience only for martin 'i cared for my chronically ill mother as a teenager and have seen All The Shit' being entirely unbothered and holding him/tying his hair back and telling him over and over again 'it's okay, you're okay'
Detective Gregory House is a man of many faces. He is brilliant. He is infamous. He is at once exalted and denounced within his field for his uncommon intellect and abrasive nature, and not always in the combination one might expect. His line of work is unusual, and himself more so… he seems to make an impression on almost everyone he meets. The leads unravel almost faster than I can follow them…
So writes Lieutenant Arwyn, the faceless officer assigned to the disappearance of the head of the criminal investigation department of the CSCR (Center for Supernatural Control and Rehabilitation). Despite its small role within the sprawling organisation, which is responsible for all affairs of the occult from monster registration to care for those with sensitive supernatural conditions, House's department is highly influential - it's role being to investigate crimes that have been identified to have supernatural perpetrators, and apprehend them. Over the course of several weeks following House’s disappearance, Lt. Arwyn interviews people from within and outside of this department about their relationships with House and the circumstances surrounding his disappearance. Sometimes he gets a little too personal.
it’s heavily implied that Nicole, the patient from s5 e4 ‘birthmarks’, was dating kutner at the time of his death,, the obituary that Fox News created for him following his suicide mentions his girlfriend as one ‘Nicole Brewster’ who recalls that kutner felt like an outsider due to his Indian heritage and adoption into a white family (something they bonded over in the episode itself)
FOX Broadcasting Company: House: Lawrence Kutner 1975 - 2009
saw someone on here say that since autism is a spectrum everyone should have a personal autism creature n I thought that was really silly so here’s mine :3
