Aster’s phone never really ‘blew up’. The most texts they got on a day to day was from Solé, making plans, giving them updates about whatever went on when the two weren’t together.
It was, per se, blowing up now, the group chat Solé started between the two of them and Blake filled with mostly all caps and emojis as Solé proclaimed her excitement at Aster meeting someone, followed quickly with her anger that Aster and their dad didn’t invite her to go with, replaced again with more excitement.
Solé: WE CAN DOUBLE DATE
Aster: i just gave her my #
Aster: nothings happened
Solé: oh ye of little faith
Solé: who wouldn’t want to go out with you????
Solé: no srsly who point me in their direction im gonna fight them
Aster: not necessary
Solé: very necessary
Blake: oooooo aster’s got a dateeeeeeeee
Aster: no i dont we met two hours ago
Blake: oooooooooooo
Aster: you 2 are hopeless i regret introducing u
Solé: u love us dont even deny it
Aster: …
Aster: this is harassment
Solé: sure babe
Blake: wait double date with aster their partner and who????
Aster: ask solé
Aster pockets their phone as their dad pulls up to their house, leaving Solé to fend for herself. It’s what she gets for not telepathically knowing Aster was going to the watch party with their dad.
“Solé’s mad at you.” Aster says as they park.
“What? I haven’t done anything?” Anthony exclaims, mock outrage barely hiding the smile on his face.
“You didn’t invite her to the watch party.”
“You barely wanted to go, if I invited Solé, you both would’ve overridden me and we wouldn’t have gone at all.”
“Tell that to Solé.” Aster grumbles, knowing he’s right.
“So, do I get to know who you were speaking to while the screens were broken?”
Aster’s face flushes and they turn away, taking off their coat to avoid saying anything.
“It’s nobody, just someone working there.”
“Mhm. Have you told Solé?” Aster hates that their dad knows them so well. They should’ve become a rebellious teen who never talked to their father, maybe he wouldn’t be asking about their non-existent love life.
“So, if I invite Solé over for dinner tonight, she won’t tell me?” Anthony asks. Aster knows if they tell their dad to drop it he will, no questions.
They also really want to tell him about the whole day, about their new friends and their (mostly successful) flirting attempts.
“Her name is Savannah.” Aster admits. “Is it too soon to also invite her to dinner?”
mountport ttrpg fic time | feat. the teens!! | no warnings
Aster didn’t have friends. They had Solé, who didn’t count.
They didn’t have friends, but they somehow ended up eating lunch with ten-ish people (depending on the day), Solé on their right, chatting happily with Sonya, Blake on their left, headphones on and bopping his head slightly. Pip moved around the circle, squishing between people on the bench and hounding them with questions, only pausing to steal food off of Aster or Sonya’s plate.
Across from them, Dahlia keeps pace with Pip, answering with a handful of her own questions. She keeps Pip in once place the longest, giving him a rundown of her physics homework that she was trying to get Aster to work on. She did spend most of the lunch period explaining what basic equations are, but Pip took the lesson in stride, scribbling down, well, scribbles in his notebook.
Theo was often with Dahlia, laughing as she tried to explain aerodynamics to an illiterate 12 year old, and pushing food into her hand in an attempt to remind her to eat.
Erin joined them too, sometimes, hoodie pulled over her head more often than not, slipping onto the bench quietly and pulling out a bag of chips, seemingly content to just listen as the table chatters around her. Sometimes, if Aster was looking out of the corner of their eye, they’d see a faint trail of mist, like the world was smudged, and the twinkle of an eye, and the corner of Erin’s mouth would raise just a bit as she popped a gummy bear into her mouth. The distorting would be gone whenever Aster looked over, and they didn’t have the energy to investigate further. (Pip would be disappointed, but he’s deep in the mystery of the basement vending machines. “There’s something fishy about the way they always have your drink ready? How did they know I wanted that?”)
Sonya and Solé got on better than Aster expected, given they’re almost exact aesthetic opposites, but Solé did gymnastics for twelve years, only quitting when she started high school and didn’t have time. Aster did too, not nearly as long, and they moved to boxing in their first year of middle school. Their height never helped them much in gymnastics but it was an advantage in their boxing class. Aster remembered Solé wanting to try out for cheer, but it was either cheer or find a job, and Solé preferred having money saved for college. (She was going out of state, trying to get into USC for costume design. Aster didn’t doubt she could for a second.)
Their phone buzzes, a text from Dust, asking when they’ll be in for work. Another text follows a moment later, asking if the Museum gift shops sells sunglasses (yes) and if Dust gets a friend discount (no). Aster does let him know that there are no cameras in one area, nor are their alarms, but that’s for no reason. They pocket their phone, hearing Solé bring up a movie night, force some of their friends to watch some of Solé and Aster’s favorite movies, mostly classic horror films. Aster was appalled when they realized most of the table hadn’t seen Dawn of the Dead, and they were determined to remedy that.
That’s what friends do, right? They hang out at lunch, they go see movies together, they come see each other at work. Aster has never received so many texts in their life. An empty messenger app quickly fills with group chats, different combinations of people, planning outings and solving mysteries.
They had even made it into a group chat with Dust and Raffa, which, while they wouldn’t admit to anyone, made them feel cool.
Aster didn’t have friends. They didn’t need people who would just end up being cruel, making fun of Aster’s name or their clothes or their old apartment. They didn’t need friends, but there was something comforting about knowing that every day at lunch, there would be a group of people, sitting around a dingy lunchroom table, regaling each other with dramatized versions of their mysteries and horrors, sharing food around the table and passing notes in classes like they’re in a John Hughes movie.
It almost makes them wish they’d met these people easier, when they were still young, hope seeping through their bones and staining their teeth.
Solé would tell them they’re being ridiculous, “You found them now! Well, they kinda found you, but the point stands.”
Aster would crack a smile, a rare one, and press their shoulders together. “You’ll always be my favorite, you know.”
Solé smiles back, wide enough that you can see her cracked tooth, the one she got from a gymnastics routine when she was ten, that her parents didn’t bother to fill. “I know.”
