"Shut my lips to speak, Stick to your strategy, I know you like 'em weak, Sold you a piece of me."
Parties weren’t really your scene, but Red could convince you to walk through fire for her.
Tw: Injury/ vulgar language
You were already regretting this. The moment Red told you about the party, you tried every excuse you could think of. You pretended to be busy, you claimed you had rehearsal, you even suggested a sudden “migraine.” But nothing worked. Red was relentless.
The sounds of music and laughter filtered down the street as you walked with Red, who was practically dragging you along toward Clyde’s house. You could already hear the bass from the speakers, and the faint echo of people shouting over the music. Red, as usual, was in high spirits, practically bouncing with excitement, while you… well, you weren’t exactly thrilled to be here.
“Come on, you’ll have fun!” Red said over her shoulder, her voice high and light with anticipation. She squeezed your hand tighter, pulling you along as she practically skipped up the driveway. She had recently gotten her car taken away for a reason she didn’t tell you, which resulted in your current position of walking the miles to Clyde’s house. You let out a soft sigh, resigning yourself to your fate.
You’d been dreading this. Parties weren’t really your thing. But Red had insisted, and once again, you had been dragged along. You weren’t exactly antisocial, but you had a preference for quieter, more predictable environments preferably your room with your cat, maybe some soft music playing in the background, definitely not a house full of screaming teenagers, loud music, and the general chaos of a party.
When you stepped through the front door, the first thing that hit you was the thick scent of cologne, cheap beer, and the faint smell of sweat. The music was too loud, the lights were too bright, and the voices were too high-pitched, bouncing off the walls and making everything feel overwhelming. You instinctively took a step back, standing just inside the door, your hands tucked into the pockets of your jacket, looking at all the couples who were eating each other's face and dry humping each other .
Red practically shoved you toward the kitchen. “Here’s the spot where the magic happens,” she said with a grin, pointing toward a table loaded with snacks and drinks. "I’m gonna find something to drink.”
You barely registered her words before she disappeared into the crowd, leaving you standing in front of a couple of spilt over cups, half eaten snacks that already looked cold and Wendy and Bebe, who were sitting on the counter, sipping from red cups.
“Hey, you actually showed up,” Wendy said, her eyes wide in mock surprise. “Red dragged you here huh?”
You gave her a small nod and almost imperceptible smile, but didn’t say anything. Bebe flashed you a bright smile, clearly trying to draw you into the conversation, but you weren’t feeling it. The noise was overwhelming, the lights too bright, and the buzz of too many voices made your head spin. You clung to your phone, contemplating whether or not to fake a call from your mother, saying something like ‘your grandma got hit by a truck’ and run out of here.
Red came back a while later, clutching two red solo cups filled with who knows what, you opted out of drinking it, not sure what concoction you were about to put into your body.
Red saw your hesitation and smiled softly. “Don’t worry it’s just Sprite.”
You took the cup in your hand inspecting the liquid carefully; trusting your friend you decided to take a small sip, retching a little at the room temperature soda. “Jesus Red this is not just Sprite.” you hand her back the cup and rolled your eyes.
Red smirked and took a swig from her own cup, clearly already a bit tipsy. "It's mostly Sprite." she shrugged
Kenny sat on the stairs, drink in his hand. He had long zoned out from Cartman’s bitching and Stan and Kyle’s conversation. His entire focus was on you, clearly out of place standing in the kitchen looking like you were in high alert. He smiled a little, without realizing it. You looked like you were on edge, but you still stood your ground, holding a warm Sprite like it was a lifeline. He found it… kinda cute, if he was being honest.
Cartman followed Kenny’s line of sight and groaned loudly. “Oh my God, again?” he waved a hand dramatically. “Stop eye-fucking her and listen to me, dude. I’m telling you, Clyde is hiding the good snacks.”
Kenny didn’t even flinch. “I wasn’t staring,” he said, but then ran a hand through his shaggy hair, trying to look casual. “I was just… looking. Like, general direction.”
“Jesus Christ,” Kyle muttered, exchanging a look with Stan, who just shook his head. Stan leaned back against the wall, sipping the watered-down remains of his drink. “So… are you actually gonna talk to her this time or just sit there like a weirdo?”
Kenny sighed, dragging a hand through his messy blonde hair. “I mean, yeah… I want to,” he muttered. “But she doesn’t talk much.”
Kyle gave a half-shrug. “So don’t make it weird.”
Cartman snorted. “Too late.” He watched as Kenny got up and walked towards your direction.
Kyle sipped from his cup, then made a face. “This drink tastes like ass.” Stan chuckled a little taking a sip from his own cup. “yeah welcome to every high school party.”
You look like you’re having the worst time of your life,” Kenny said as he took a spot by your side with that signature smirk as if he was use to this.
You blinked at him, clearly startled that he was talking to you so directly. You glanced at Red, who had wandered off, probably pulled into a conversation by Wendy or Bebe. You were on your own now.
“I’m fine,” you said, voice low but even.
Kenny tilted his head, still smiling. “That was a solid two words. Impressive. You always open up this fast, or is it just me?”
You gave a dry blink and looked away again, clearly not amused, though the corner of your mouth tugged ever so slightly. You didn’t answer right away, your fingers drumming against your cup. Then you shrugged.
“I just don’t like parties.”
Kenny stood there for a moment, letting the silence settle. Not awkwardly, not forcefully he just stood, sipping from a fresh drink, like he was content just being near you. Like your company was enough even if you weren’t saying much.
Eventually, you mumbled, “You don’t have to keep trying.”
He smiled again, softer this time. “Maybe I want to.”
You felt a quiet thump in your chest, and you turned back toward the counter, suddenly interested in the mess - toppled red cups, sticky puddles of mystery alcohol, and a broken bracelet left behind like some relic from earlier chaos. You began absentmindedly tracing shapes on the counter with your finger, trying to ground yourself, to focus on anything but the warmth blooming in your chest and the erratic rhythm of your heart.
Kenny leaned against the counter beside you, turning his head just slightly to look at you again.
“You look good, by the way,” he said casually, running his finger along the rim of his cup. He glanced down at you again, slow and unhurried, the corner of his mouth lifting in that almost-smirk. “Really good.”
Your cheeks warmed before the words even registered fully. “Uhm, thank you,” you said, glancing up at him, a small, shy smile forming on your lips. It wasn’t big enough for most people to notice, but Kenny did.
“You look good too,” you added, so quietly it nearly got lost under the sound of someone laughing too loudly in the next room.
Kenny’s face lit up like you’d handed him the winning ticket to something. That dumb, golden grin of his stretched across his face, eyes creasing at the corners like he was genuinely, ridiculously pleased.
He drummed his fingers once on the counter like he had to release some of the excitement buzzing through him, then exhaled a soft little breath like he was surprised at how happy your compliment made him. Kenny stood there a moment longer, like he wanted to say something else. His gaze dropped briefly to your hand resting on the counter, then back to your face.
He tapped his knuckles gently against the edge of the counter. “I’ll be around.”
Kenny didn’t press you, didn’t linger. He just turned and melted back into the crowd, his hoodie brushing your arm as he passed.
Red appeared at your side like she’d been watching the whole thing from around the corner, which, knowing her, she probably had.
“He likes you,” she said under her breath, leaning in with a smirk.
You stared at the fizz in your cup. “…He’s weird.”
You stood in the bathroom, hand gripping the side of the sink as you adjusted your hair in the mirror. The bass of the music still pulsed through the door, dull and distant now, and for the first time since you got to the party, you felt like you could breathe. Your lip gloss was still perfect, and your hair was behaving despite Red practically dragging you around. But what really made your cheeks warm was the dumb little flutter that hadn’t stopped since you talked to Kenny earlier. He had this way of looking at you; of watching you quietly,making your stomach churn in a way you hated, unable to control it. His advances towards you were crystal clear and honestly you weren’t against the idea.
You were trying not to smile when the bathroom door burst open. You jumped, blinking as a girl slipped in and locked the door behind her with a snap. Her eyes landed on you in the mirror, and her lips curled into something too close to a smirk. You recognized her immediately; the girl who was arguing with Kenny the other day in the art room. Her face was flushed, hair slightly disheveled and the sweet sugary scent of her perfume filled the air with a slight undertone of alcohol which looked like it was spilt on her from the faint stain on her dress.
She gave you a once-over, crossed her arms, and leaned back against the door like she had you cornered.
“Wow,” she said. “Of all people.”
You weren’t sure if she was talking to herself or to you, but her tone made your stomach tighten. “Sorry?” You kept your expression calm, hands slowly releasing the grip on the sink. You weren’t sure what this was, but you already didn’t like it.
She walked farther in and leaned against the counter beside you, like she owned the space. Like she’d done it before. “So, what’s your deal?” she asked. “You just, like… blink at him and suddenly Kenny McCormick goes celibate?”
Your brow twitched slightly, but you didn’t answer. Her eyes flicked to your reflection in the mirror.
“That’s wild,” she muttered. “He used to call me at, like, 2 a.m. Just to hook up. Sometimes I wouldn’t even get to take my coat off before he had his hands on me.” She leaned against the counter beside you, crossing her arms. “You know Kenny’s just a whore, right?”
The sentence hit the air like a punch. Your stomach did a weird little twist, not because the information was anything new, but because she said it so casually, like it was some public announcement.
“He’ll flirt with anything that has a pulse,” she added, inspecting her nails. “Used to be fun, I guess, until he got all weird.”
Your brows knit slightly, lips pressing together. You didn’t flinch, but you felt the words settle uncomfortably between your ribs. You said nothing, keeping your expression unreadable, but your silence didn’t stop her.
She let out a short laugh, “I’m not even mad. I just think it’s funny. He sleeps with half the school, but you? No, suddenly he’s all respectful. Gentle. Holding back.” She rolled her eyes. “He never did that with me. Not with anyone.”
You finally turned to face her, not because you were ready to say something back, but because it suddenly hit you: she wasn’t sad. She wasn’t even bitter about him being with you. She was bitter because she wasn’t the exception.
And for some reason… you were.
She smirked at your silence. “He’s still a whore, you know. Just a whore with a favorite now.”
And with that, she unlocked the door and slipped out, leaving behind the scent of her perfume and a strange swirl of tension that made your reflection feel unfamiliar.
You stepped out of the bathroom, heart still humming from what had just happened.
The hallway was crowded now, music loud, voices rising over one another, lights flashing in strobe-like patterns from the living room. You felt like you couldn’t breathe.
The party had become too much.
You moved fast and quiet through the hallway, not even bothering to look for Red at this point; slipping past a couple making out against a wall and a group of people yelling about something in the kitchen. You didn’t stop until you reached the sliding door to the backyard and stepped out.
The air was cold. It bit your skin in that refreshing, almost comforting way. You breathed it in and let it settle in your lungs. The sky was dark, stars barely visible above the glow of Clyde’s overpriced string lights draped across the fence and over the pool. Everything was gold and soft and quiet out here. Just the distant pulse of the bass from inside.
You walked slowly to the edge of the pool and sat on the cool stone. Your knees tucked against your chest, arms wrapped tight, head tilted slightly as you stared at the way the water shimmered.
Until you heard the door slide open again.
You didn’t turn around, but you heard the footsteps; lazy, uneven, like whoever it was hadn’t fully committed to walking over yet.
“I didn’t think she’d say anything to you.”
You didn’t answer, but your fingers tightened on the fabric of your pants.
Kenny came up slowly and stopped a few feet from you, his hands in his jacket pockets, breath coming out in soft, white clouds. You could tell from the tone of his voice that he wasn’t angry, more tired, maybe. Or annoyed.
“She’s been on some weird jealousy thing,” he added. “Trying to mess with stuff that isn’t even hers anymore.”
You finally glanced at him. He wasn’t looking at you, just staring out at the water, jaw tight, face calm but unreadable in the light.
“She didn’t say anything I didn’t already know,” you said eventually, voice quiet but steady.
“You think I’m like that?” he asked. “A whore?”
The question was said like a joke, but only on the surface. He even smiled a little when he said it, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was testing the mood. But there was something under it, something that didn’t land quite as light.
You didn’t answer. Not because you meant to hurt him, but because you honestly didn’t know what to say.
Your silence hung in the space between you like smoke.
He blinked slowly, then looked back toward the pool. “Cool,” he muttered under his breath. “Guess I deserve that.”
You opened your mouth like you might say something, then shut it again. The air had shifted. The soft, peaceful distance was now threaded with something slightly heavier. Something careful.
“I don’t mess with her anymore,” he said, more to the water than to you. “Haven’t for a while. Not because of drama or anything. Just didn’t want to.”
You said nothing again, but you were listening now. Closer than before.
He pulled his hands from his jacket pockets and let them rest on his knees, looking like he was figuring out how honest to be.
“I’ve liked someone else for a while now,” he said. “Not in a…stupid way. Just like- ”
He trailed off, the words sticking.
You didn’t look at him, but you could feel him glancing at you. Waiting.
“I know,” you said after a beat.
He nodded, almost to himself.
“And you don’t want anything to do with that,” he said softly, not as a question. Just a fact he was trying to swallow.
You shifted a little, not pulling away, but not moving closer either. “I never said that.”
He looked at you, really looked this time. And you didn’t look away.
The distance between you was small, but not small enough to touch. The tension wasn’t romantic or intense, it was something quieter. Something cautious. Two people sitting at the edge of something they didn’t quite have the words for yet.
Kenny let out a slow breath, then glanced around at the backyard, his expression softening just a little before he smirked.
“You know,” he said, “I feel like I’ve seen this scene in Stranger Things before. The quiet one goes outside and then she gets taken into the Upside Down.”
You blinked, caught off guard by the shift in tone, and the very dumb image of that made your lip twitch into the smallest smile.
“There it is,” he said, eyes warming, voice just a bit gentler now. “Knew I could get something.”
You rolled your eyes, but somewhat enjoyed his presence, it didn't feel heavy or forced.
“I’M TOTALLY GONNA FUCKING DO IT!”
The words tore through the air like a chainsaw revving through silence, startling both of you into turning. It was the kind of voice that cracked with adrenaline and beer; shouted from the roof of Clyde’s house, of course.
You followed the direction of the chaos, and sure enough, there he was: a shirtless guy in swim trunks and socks standing on the sloped shingles of the roof like he was king of the world or about to snap an ankle. He wobbled forward a step, arms windmilling for balance, and you noticed he had a half-deflated flamingo pool float clutched around his waist like a safety vest.
You had no idea who he was, but he looked like the kind of kid teachers always paired you with in class, hoping your “maturity” would rub off on him. Clearly, it never took. He looked vaguely familiar in the way all boys with too much confidence and not enough brain cells did.
A small crowd had gathered below, spilling out from the back door, people still holding drinks and snacks as they pointed and laughed. Music still thumped inside, but no one paid it any attention anymore.
“BROOOOO, JUMP!” someone shouted from the grass, flashlight on and phone aimed. “WE’RE RECORDING, DO IT FOR THE SNAP!”
Another voice added, “Bet you five bucks he misses the pool and smashes his knee.”
“He doesn’t even go here,” someone muttered from behind a tree, sipping a Capri-Sun like it was wine.
The guy on the roof turned in a circle, milking the attention, arms stretched like he was summoning thunder from the sky. “THIS ONE’S FOR MY EX!” he roared.
Someone below screamed back, “SHE BROKE UP WITH YOU TWO MONTHS AGO AND SHE’S AT HER GRANDMA’S HOUSE, CHAD!”
He hesitated a moment, just long enough to let the doubt set in.
The boy raised his arms again, either for balance or dramatic effect, it was hard to tell. He was pacing like a nervous squirrel, peeking down at the pool, then back at the crowd. There was a solid five seconds where it really looked like he was gonna back out.
You deadpanned, “I hope he fucking hits the concrete.”
Kenny laughed, low and genuine beside you. “God, you’re mean.”
“FOR HONOR! FOR GLORY! FOR ASHLEY, YOU HEARTLESS WITCH!”
Except it wasn’t a launch.
It was a flailing, midair windmill of limbs and panic. The flamingo floatie flew off almost instantly and landed uselessly in the grass. His left sock slipped off mid-jump. He twisted sideways in the air like a drunk ballerina having a midlife crisis.
People screamed. Some with excitement. Some with very real fear.
There was a moment; split-second, freeze-frame stillness, where it looked like he was not going to make it.
“OH SH--” someone shrieked.
Then, a loud splash. He landed dead center in the pool. An explosion of water blasted upward like a geyser. A rogue wave slapped the nearby patio, soaking two girls and knocking over a folding chair. Someone’s vape flew into the bushes. You swore the pool itself sighed in pain.
For a beat, nobody moved.
Then his head popped up, soaked and gasping.
“You cracked your skull, Chad!”
Laughter erupted around you. Half the crowd cheered. The other half were too busy checking if they caught it on video. The flamingo lay forgotten in the grass like a discarded symbol of lost dreams.
The noise of the party carried on behind you, someone inside was shouting over music, another fight might’ve been breaking out by the kitchen, and someone else was clearly crying near the front lawn, but out here by the pool, everything felt a little quieter. Like you were just watching the circus from a safe distance.
Kenny leaned back against the railing beside you, not touching you but close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him in the chilly night air.
After a pause, he tilted his head toward you. “Wanna get outta here?”
You hesitated just a second. Then gave a small nod.
He didn’t say anything else. He just gently stepped down off the edge of the deck, glancing back once to make sure you followed. You did, casually tossing your empty cup into a trash bin on the way out.
Behind you, the party raged on, still echoing with laughter and chaos.
The studio was silent except for the rhythmic thuds of pointe shoes hitting the flooring and Anya’s sharp claps echoing against the mirrors.
You were already sweating, strands of hair escaping your bun and clinging to your temple as you stood in fifth position, arms en bas. The afternoon sun bled through the long studio windows, casting angular shadows over the rows of dancers stretching, adjusting tights, or waiting quietly for their turn.
Red was seated in the back, cross-legged on the floor with a to-go cup of iced coffee, watching the rehearsal like it was a drama series. She gave you a small thumbs-up when you glanced her way.
Anya stood with her arms folded, a tall, graceful figure dressed in all black, her scarf somehow dramatic and practical at once. She clapped once, then pointed toward the speakers.
“From the top. Pas de deux section. I want sharp, controlled lifts and commitment in your upper backs this time. Don’t melt into it. Sculpt the air.”
You exhaled deeply and nodded, stepping to center with Mason, your assigned partner. Mason was tall, lean, and perfectly competent, just not particularly focused. His dark curls were plastered to his forehead and he offered you a half-smile as the music began.
You began the sequence in adagio, moving into a développé à la seconde with your left leg, holding the extension high with your arms in third. Mason caught your waist, lifting you into a promenade in arabesque. Your breath was shallow, controlled.
Then came the transition; one you’d rehearsed a hundred times by now. Mason’s hand found your waist, steady and rehearsed, guiding you into an assisted pirouette. Your right foot snapped to retiré, spine tall, arms tight. One, two, three rotations, clean. Controlled. You felt your breath match the rhythm of the piano track, your focus narrowing to nothing but the count in your head.
But on the next phrase, the choreography shifted into the overhead lift.
Mason’s grip shifted, just a second too late.
You felt it before it happened. That sickening beat of imbalance. Your foot slid just slightly on the Marley floor. His hold faltered. There was nothing to brace yourself on.
It all happened too fast for your mind to register, but just slow enough for your body to brace.
You hit the floor hard, tailbone first, a sharp slap of impact against the vinyl surface, then your elbow smacked down and a jolt of pain radiated from your spine to your shoulders.
The music didn’t even stop at first. You lay there, breath knocked clean from your lungs, blinking at the high studio lights above you.
Red was up in an instant. “Oh my god- ”
“Stop the music!” Anya’s sharp voice cut through the echo of footsteps and gasps, her heels clicking like gunshots across the floor. The music stuttered off a second later, replaced by that eerie silence that feels heavier than sound.
You sat up slowly, blinking hard, trying to gather your thoughts, but your body had already gone cold with adrenaline. A tremble worked its way through your arms, your heart thudding like it was trying to keep you awake.
“Are you okay?” Mason hovered beside you, his face a pale sheet of panic. “I- I thought I had you, I swear- ”
You didn’t answer. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Anya was beside you now, crouched low, her usually stern face lined with concern. “Shhh, don’t move too fast. Let me see.”
You winced as she gently pressed at your lower back. A breath hitched in your throat when her fingers grazed the edge of your spine. Pain radiated upward, slow and hot, like something unraveling beneath the surface.
“She needs ice,” Red said, her voice firm as she grabbed her bag and pulled out the small emergency kit she always carried.
“No more dancing today,” Anya said with finality, already kneeling beside you with a practiced calm. “Rebecca, help her to the back. I’ll get the first aid kit.”
You tried to nod, but the movement only made the ache in your lower back throb deeper. Your throat burned with the effort not to cry in front of everyone. You hated attention like this, especially the pity kind.
Red wrapped an arm around your waist as you slowly rose to your feet, leaning into her for balance when your knees buckled a little under your weight.
“I got you,” she whispered, her lips close to your ear. You clung to her with your good arm, letting her guide you slowly across the floor, everyone else respectfully avoiding your eyes.
Behind you, Mason hovered awkwardly, still apologizing under his breath. “I didn’t mean to- ”
Red helped you settle on the folded mats in the back corner of the room, where the spare yoga blocks and old floor fans collected dust. The moment you sat down, your body ached in protest. One side of your hip already felt hot and swollen beneath your tights.
Red handed you a cold compress, then crouched beside you again, cross-legged and quiet.
“You good?” she asked, her voice soft enough that it didn’t make you flinch.
“Yeah. Just sore.” You exhaled shakily, resting your head against the mirror behind you.
You reached for your hip and pressed the compress gently against it. The swelling was noticeable already.
“One side of my ass looks like JLo,” you muttered, deadpan.
Red stifled a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
Anya returned a moment later, her usual steel-edge softened. She handed you a gel ice pack and a stretchy wrap for your arm, her tone gentler than usual.
“We’ll modify for you next week,” she said. “Don’t be a hero. Don’t push through the pain. That’s how dancers end careers.”
You nodded, small and quiet, unable to meet her eyes. The phrase end careers echoed somewhere in your head, but you didn’t let it stick.
Outside the mat corner, the music started up again, new formation, new pairing, the same routine… just without you.
You leaned back, letting your sore shoulder rest on the mirror behind you, your gaze drifting toward the middle of the studio where Mason continued, noticeably shaken, trying to keep up with the next combination.
You just pressed the ice deeper into your hip, closed your eyes, and tried not to feel like you were falling all over again.
Red was curled up sideways on your bed, flipping through a playbill she got from school when they were handing it out, informing everyone of the upcoming play, Romeo and Juliet or whatever version the theater arts teacher was forcing the students who, some were there for only extra credits; to perform. You sat on the floor with your back against the nightstand, arms tucked into the sleeves of her hoodie like it had become a second skin.
The room was softly lit by the late afternoon glow filtering in through your window, casting a sleepy haze over the floor.
“You have to come see the next school musical,” Red said, her legs swinging off the edge of your bed. “I’m not saying I’m bribing you with Sour Patch Kids and gas station iced coffee, but I am.”
You looked up from your sketchpad where you had half-heartedly doodled a pointe shoe and a slice of cake, side by side. “You’re literally always bribing me.”
Red opened her mouth for a dramatic rebuttal just as your mom’s voice floated up the stairs.
“Girls! I made toasted bagels, cream cheese and strawberry jam! Come down if you’re hungry!”
You met Red’s gaze and shrugged. “She means you specifically.”
“Obviously,” she grinned. “I’m the favorite child.”
Downstairs, the kitchen smelled warm and buttery, the kind of cozy that only happened when your dad had jazz playing faintly in the background and your mom was humming while slicing fruit she wasn’t even going to eat.
Red practically skipped to the kitchen island, grabbing a plate like she lived there which, in some ways, she did. Your mom looked up with a bright smile. “There you are, sweet girl.”
“Heyy,” Red grinned, already biting into a warm bagel.
Your dad leaned against the sink, flipping through a recipe book like he was pretending to help but mostly just supervising the vibe.
You took the plate your mom handed you without a word but gave her a soft smile of appreciation, and she gave your arm a little squeeze in return.
“You feeling okay today?” she asked gently. “How’s your back?”
“Still sore,” you said quietly. “But it’s fine.”
“Did that boy drop you on purpose?” your dad asked with mock suspicion. “Should I call your ballet teacher and threaten her?”
“She’d probably threaten you back,” Red mumbled through a mouthful of jam.
You smirked. “I think she has a black belt.”
After a few more minutes of low chatter and the comforting clink of mugs and butter knives, you and Red retreated back upstairs, bagels in hand, socks sliding across the hardwood like kids.
You collapsed back onto your bed, your head on her shoulder this time. She didn’t say anything, just let you rest, scrolling through her phone and occasionally showing you a cursed meme.
Red peeked over at you, her voice quieter now. “Does it still hurt?”
You nodded faintly. “A little.”
She shifted to lie more sideways, her head propped on a throw pillow. “I’ll break Mason’s legs.”
“That’s excessive,” you replied dryly.
“I’m just saying, I’m not above violence for you.”
You smiled at that. The real kind. The one that tugged at the corner of your lips like you weren’t trying to hide it.
Red noticed. She didn’t say anything.
Instead, she reached toward the bedside table and grabbed the remote. “Wanna watch something trashy and dramatic? Like… reality show levels of dumb?”
You tilted your head. “Do we have Oreos?”
Red stood up like she was on a mission. “Let me check your pantry.”
Red returned ten seconds later with exactly one broken Oreo in her hand and a look of pure betrayal on her face. “We’re out. Your house is lawless.”
You groaned. “We have Nutter Butters.”
“I guess we suffer then.”
The two of you spent the rest of the evening switching between making fun of bad TV, scrolling through memes, and you slowly, gradually relaxing in a way you hadn’t been able to in days. The pain in your back dulled. The noise in your head faded. And even though you didn’t say much, because you never did, Red knew exactly how to fill the silence in a way that didn’t feel heavy.
“Soooo,” Red turned to you and smiled before continuing “What's up with you and Kenny?.”
"There's no me and Kenny," you said, your voice flat but not harsh.
You weren’t lying, technically. You hadn’t kissed. You hadn’t even exchanged phone numbers. But still, something lingered in the air between you lately, quiet and curious and unsaid.
“Mmhmm.” Red didn’t press. She just raised an eyebrow and took another bite.
You looked back at the TV, suddenly more aware of the warm weight of your blanket and the soft throb in your back.
“You’re not doing that thing again where you pretend not to care about someone just so you don’t get hurt, right?” Red asked, not unkindly.
You let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh. “I don’t even know him.”
Red leaned her head back against your pillow and said, “That’s the thing. He wants you to.”
Another long beat of silence stretched across the room, soft and slow, because she was somewhat right.
guys im so sorry for the long wait but anyways tomorrow is my birthday and i was shopping most of the time for it and my last exam is tmr also before i go into my last year of high school (im gonna kms)
so i thought i would put this out before.
tags: @asillysimp, @senhoritaapple
