#bitmoreratsorizzo

[caffeineandspite]

His shoulder yields to her, and he lets out a slight chuckle. He glances at her, all warmth. It's December in New York, fucking cold and dreary. But it's all sunshine when she smiles. "Got a bad back, ain't the sweeping kind." Wouldn't that be nice? Dinner, a show maybe. Tickets to her favourite band. Normal, easy. But they're neither; that's what makes them /them/. "Plan B is, you come to my hotel room and I'll make you the happiest angel on earth."

“Liar.” She arches her eyebrow, because maybe he’s not the flowers and romance kind of guy, but he swept her up anyway. Swept her away with tidal force--a hurricane. She rounds on him and catches him in a kiss, unexpected and soft. She doesn’t care they’re in the middle of the street, she doesn’t care who sees them, doesn’t care about the cold or the horns beeping or anything but him. 

“Hotel sounds good. We can order Thai, stay in bed all day. I’ve got some fun stuff I bought at the market.” She licks her lips unconsciously. God, she’s missed him. Craved him. Craved the way she can just be with him. No expectations, no performances. 

“Can we take a cab, though? These bags are heavy.” 

[caffeineandspite]

"Your heart sings to mine, didn't y'know that?" He purrs. That smile of hers, oh. Oh. "The song is 'Fuck this shit, where's Matty'." He gives a grin, bright and carefree, pleased with himself. But it's true, in a way. He's drawn to places she'd like and looks for her in crowds. She is an inevitability for him. "Huh. Angels have birthdays. Who knew."

She laughs, partly because it’s true, and partly because it’s him and he’s grinning at her and when they’re like this, she feels young again. Untainted. Whole. 

“Oh stop,” she says, nudging his shoulder with her own. “You know I’m no angel. And don’t pretend like you had to have Neal tell you my birthday either. I know you, buster.” She gives him a sly look, a challenging look, like she’s proud of knowing him as well as he knows her. “You always have a plan. And, y’know, if that plan happens to include sweeping me off my feet, I wouldn’t object. Purely out of politeness, of course.” 

[caffeineandspite]

"A little blue eyed birdy told me it's your birthday," he drawled, falling into step with her on the street. His silver lighter is in his hand, warm from being held so long. But he's got her gift tucked into his coat; legally obtained, too. "That true? Angel like you, you got a birthday?" (Keller)

She kind of senses him before he speaks; it’s always that way, like he’s striking a chord only her subconscious can hear. A brilliant smile lights her face, because she was hoping he’d be here–and that’s all it’d really been, a hope. In lives like theirs, there’s no taking anything for granted. 

“It must be, if you’re buttering me up this much,” she teases, and adjusts the bags in her hands so she can step closer to him, breathe in his scent. Tobacco and cologne and something bitter, but god, it’s like breathing in light. “How d’you always know where to find me? Is there a bug on me I don’t know about?” 

[rileymcdaniels]

|Text: Riley <3 | Maybe drinks? idek [sent] -- |Text: Riley <3 | Aww booo BOYS?? jkjk it'll be fun to hang out with him. As long as I'm not super awk omg [sent]

[text] I think there are some drinks around here and maaaaybe i’ve already started indulging :D [text] omg you’re not awkward you’re CUTE [text] and he’s the cutest boy ever so it’ll be fun WE CAN TOUCH HIS ABS

[rileymcdaniels]

(it started when we were younger)

Her phone buzzes from where it’s laying near her face. Riley blinks at it, watching the play of light across the screen as it wakes up briefly and then goes back to sleep. She draws her fingertips in nonsense patterns along the fitted sheet underneath her and wonders when it’ll be the last text.

Her excuse is that she’s not feeling well. It keeps her from the relentless pressure of school for a precious twenty-four hours. It keeps the hallway outside of her room deserted. It doesn’t stop the texts, though. It’s self-torture to keep her phone on. Each chirp shreds through her brain.

It’s -- David, right. He’s all sunlight and the freedom-infused smell of the lake in summer and calm page-turning after school. He’s impish pranks and a laugh that’s never cruel. And Matt, too. Matt is comfort, and he’s safe. He is all brilliance under a bad boy attitude. He’s not the kind of boy her mother wants her hanging out with but he’s perfect. Other people just don’t see that. They both are.

She thinks of the texts clogging her inbox and struggles to contain the terror that threatens to make good on her excuses of being ill. 

She does not deserve them. Not as friends. Much less as -- whatever. She doesn’t know why they don’t understand that but she can’t bear to see it when they do. So, this. Hurting before they can hurt. It’s a lot of things, but it’s not kind, and it’s not mature. She knows that.

The thought occurs that she should wash their sweatshirts and give them back. They don’t belong to her. It’s true enough that it slices her deep, and all of a sudden, against her will, she’s crying, pressing her mouth into her pillow so she won’t make a sound.

Riley has been selfish. She recognizes that. All of this messiness is her fault. She let herself return the kisses. She reached out for Matt’s hand, David’s elbow, when she should have ducked away. She’s got no business with two good guys like them. None at all.

(Amanda Calloway knows that, somehow, and treats her accordingly.)

She makes some awful little snivelling noises as she gathers the last threads of her courage and picks up her phone. She cringes as she checks her texts, curling up into a tighter ball under a small mountain of blankets.

[text: David] Riley, I have lost control of this situation

[text: David] Matt is thinking about 

[text: David] this is matt and david is a nasty liar who lies

She thinks she distantly hears the sound of her heart collapsing. She scrolls down to the newest messages.

[text: Matty] hey sweetheart

[text: Matty] thinking about you. you let me know if you want me to come pick you up, alright?

And then --

[text: David] sunshine girl <3 you okay?

She wants to say, no, I’m not. She wants to ensconce herself in their warmth and safety. She wants to pretend, just for one more night, that they love her and they want her and it’s something she could, in some permutation of existence, deserve.

But she knows the truth. So she doesn’t. She pulls her covers up further. She lets her traitor of a mind twirl back to the last night she’d spent curled up with them. Matt had been in the middle, and his shoulder had been so solid under her cheek. David’s thumb had brushed endlessly up and down the inside of her wrist in a way she couldn’t forget. 

[text: David, Matt] I’m good <3 thanks

They never needed her in the first place. They’ll be happy together. She thinks about that, how they look together, holding hands or laughing at some shared joke. Matt was her first kiss, David the second, clean, untouched kisses. It’s just that maybe they’ll get bored of her trembling knees. 

And maybe they won’t want her to complicate stuff between them. She’s not their excuse for being together, a convenient intermediary to feign bisexuality or whatever people think of boys who like girls at the same time as liking boys. She’s not their phase. People will think that. It’s easier than the reality: that she is bad for them, that she will infect them, that she has no business being with good guys.

Riley chances a last look at these tiny kilobytes of evidence of love and deletes them and turns her phone off.

It’s a good thing, she tells herself. It’ll be fine. It’s better like this.

[rileymcdaniels]

second kiss.

David’s the first to leave the cuddle puddle. 

He has a math test in the morning and has to go home to study. 

Riley feels like she’s lost him. 

Her family’s away for the evening, so it was her and Matt and David piled onto her twin bed. Her pillow still smells like his hair, and she sadly nuzzles the spot where he’d been, idly. Not meaning to do it. She curls closer to Matt, noses brushing, legs neatly slotted together. Sure, it’s a little more comfortable without a third person on such a small bed, but it’s not right.

She kind of wants to cry. 

Matt reaches for both of her hands and holds them. 

“I never want him to leave,” she says in a whisper, sees her loss reflected in his eyes. “I want him to come back.”

Matt ducks his face, hides it in her neck. She wraps her arms securely around him and finds some comfort in his regular breath brushing her skin. She has him. She’ll always have him, and it’s enough, it’s more than enough, but it’s not everything she wants. They’ve changed her, is the thing. She sees past the horizon of the four walls of her childhood home and sees a future. They’ve taught her to be greedy and selfish, snatching joy and hope and solace when she finds it, with others and with them. And she wants more of that, and more of them. 

“It’s not fair,” he mumbles against her skin, like she is one of his two confessionals, quiet spaces to be free.

She kisses his soft hair and murmurs her agreement. He looks up at her and she kisses his mouth. She buries her face in his hair again, and he clutches her close. They’ve both had to let go of one of them. They’re not ready to let go of each other yet.

[caffeineandspite]

☤ @bitmoreratsorizzo ;;

Pride is a terrible thing. More kings have been dethroned, saints dirtied, hearts broken by pride than by anything else. There’s a reason it’s the original sin--before the Garden, before Eve, it was Lucifer’s pride that led to the fall. 

Shoulda paid attention to that one, Rache.

Pride leaves her here, in an Upper West Side hotel bar, wearing an expensive dress and more make-up that she ever normally bothered with. Pride leaves her stubbornly bludgeoning through on her own instead of asking for help. Pride, and its counterpoint, shame. If she asks for help she’ll have to explain, and explaining means pulling on a thread she’s not ready to unravel. She’s all duct tape and bandaids wrapped up in Versace and pride is the only thing that’s really holding her together.

She tells herself over and over that it’s just sex. She’s used people before, tricked them with a smile and an act. This is no different. Except that it is.

Her heart’s beating too fast and she checks her watch for the third time in five minutes. She’s early, but if he’s late she doesn’t think she can keep herself from bolting. Even pride has its limits. 

[rileymcdaniels]

first kiss.

Riley was ridiculously, deliriously happy.

Chest and stomach aching with laughter, she followed after Matt and David on their way to their respective cabins. Her cheeks hurt as she continued to smile, eyes looking from one boy to the other. She was still warm from the bonfire, her skin and clothes carrying the heat into the comforting darkness that fell around the lake at night time. She was warmer still for her proximity to the two of them.

"David, come here,” she says, when the subject turns to kissing, and people they’ve kissed. Her eyes spark with mischief, and David sees it.

“Why...?” he asks, laughing, though the sound has a characteristic questioning to it, an uncertainty.

The world’s only big enough for the three of them, and the darkness feels safe and secretive. She grabs two fistfuls of his shirt and pulls him close, and he goes without question. He’s taller than Matt but slighter, broad shoulders and whipcord muscles, and he smells like campfires and the woods. He laughs again at her boldness, and she draws herself up to kiss him on the mouth. 

His laughter tastes like starlight, like a clear day. His nose presses just next to hers, and she likes that. She likes the heat of his lips and the line of his body against hers and the weight of Matt’s warm eyes on them. His hands rest on her ribcage, balancing her. 

He draws away first, looking at her, and she doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but she hopes he finds it. He puts space between them until they’ve slotted back into place as friends, and she lets him go. Except now she knows what it’s like to have him in her hands. 

They fall back into step together, the three of them, and her hand finds Matt’s in the dark. He squeezes her fingers as she threads her arm through David’s. She can still taste him on her lips. She’s had him, and she already wants him back.

(Matt looks thoughtful as they part ways at her cabin. She wonders if he’s thinking what she is. She wonders if David has any idea.)