You’ve been pouting ever since I went out on that date, what’s up?”
"I don’t do pouting," Blair protested, her features doing a thing that admittedly did kind of look like a pout to the untrained eye. Her forehead furrowed and her lips jutted out defiantly, but she couldn’t help herself. Every time she was rudely reminded of whatever the fuck was happening between Sireena and Tavi, it pissed her off, and it read all over her face. "And anyway, I thought you and Tavi were just sticking things into each other’s holes. Since when does anyone count that as dating?"
It was kind of a harsh thing to say when Blair knew that they were exclusively sticking things into each other. The whole situation made her pissed though and she didn’t know how to hide it. Even Sireena bringing up the fact that Blair had been weird since the “date” made it worse, because most people wouldn’t notice that surly Blair was extra down, but leave it to Sireena to tell the difference. She just got Blair in a way that a lot of people didn’t, and she loved music just as much too, and she was tough and hot and smart and awesome, and ever since they’d started O.M.E.N. together, Blair had been hoping that maybe, just maybe, some kind of showmance would happen.
She should’ve known that she and Sireena would never happen though. She hadn’t ever seen any visions of them together except for in her daydreams, and those didn’t count. And now Siravi or Taveena or whatever the fuck they wanted to called themselves were an official thing and it was beyond weird. And it wasn’t just her reacting, or at least, she didn’t think it was. Ever since they’d gone public, Molly had seemed kind of down too, and Ana, well, she was going through her own shit. Blair was terriied that their band wouldn’t surivive it all, but Sireena didn’t seem to share said concern. As long as she had Tavi’s tentacles to wrap around her tight, she seemed just fine.
It was infuriating to be stuck yearning like this. Blair tried so hard not to like people but every time she did, it went sideways for her. It had happened in high school with Wolfgang, it happened when hanging with him had made her fall hard for his sister Morrighan instead, and it was happening now, with her hottest band mate. At least she could channel it into creativity. Since the rest of the band seemed to be stuck in a rut, Blair tried to contribute by writing her own song, but 1) she sucked at song writing and 2) anyone reading it would be able to tell it was about Sireena. And that was unacceptable.
She ripped up the paper she’d been writing on, erasing evidence of the emotional ballad wailing about liking someone who didn’t see her that way for good. “Not everything’s about you, Sireena,” Blair lied. “I’m pissed because O.M.E.N. is falling to shit and nobody seems to care but me. Maybe you can try using some of your precious ‘date’ time to write new shit with your baby cakes instead, because I’m tired of carrying us all on my shoulders.”