fic: Temporary Crutch (Feel Again Verse)
Caaron, 1.5k, Feel Again Verse, takes place during early-mid Chapter 9.
robert's prompt for his birthday like forever ago better late than never yeah?
A/N: I’m a piece of shit, sorry. I’m working on that. Have this as a tiny apology.
Carson’s Wednesday takes a huge nosedive after he gets his Algebra II grade, and the forgotten two-page assignment for Brit Lit he has to frantically half-ass over lunch doesn’t help either.
He’d spent the entirety of his class period in the journalism classroom sitting right in front of Dwayne and Emilio and watching as their pencils moved back and forth across the page. He snapped his fingers every time Dwayne zoned out and fed Emilio the English words he needed until after an hour of teeth-pulling micromanagement, he had two handwritten pages from each of them. It wasn’t nearly enough to constitute a whole article, and probably wasn’t even salvageable, but Carson is still relieved that he had made something happen for the Chronicle. It’s gotten a little easier since Aaron joined the staff, though Carson refuses to admit that to him. He still wasn’t completely okay with Aaron falling into a leadership role he hadn’t asked him to take, but he couldn’t complain with the results of Vicki showing up for class every day, Malerie coming up with her own phrasing, and articles in the paper written by the actual assigned staff members. The final bell rings at 3:05 and Carson slams his notebook shut, already moving toward the door as he shoves everything back into his bag. It’s been a shit day and that farther he gets away from Clover High School, the better. He impatiently wades toward the bottleneck at the Government classroom door when a sharp tug at the leather strap of his shoulderbag makes him turn his head. There’s no mistaking the shrill laughter of Patty and Sarah, but Carson feels the presence of Aaron just behind his right shoulder in the heat creeping up the back of his neck. He pulls his bag tight around him and remembers-- fuck, it’s Wednesday. Writers’ Club. More than that, it’s the second week he’s been humoring Aaron for this memorial anthology idea he’s latched onto. Carson can’t say it’s any worse than his literary magazine, because that was a nightmare, but exploring the last four years of his life when he’s more than ready to forget them is a chore. He eventually makes it to his locker to exchange his books, and slams the metal door thinking it would be so easy to just walk straight out of the school and go home. And yet…. Carson sighs heavily, the noise lost in the chaos, and turns toward the journalism classroom. Despite Carson’s well-outlined list of why spending extra time with him would kill his reputation, Aaron had insisted that he didn’t care. Convincing himself that it was okay, however, was a different story. Being around Aaron so often had stung like paper-thin skin covering a wound, but now it’s not so sore anymore, just the itch of healing left behind. Carson’s not painfully exposed anymore, only a little vulnerable and still so wary of the unforgiving world outside the journalism classroom. Worried that he’s letting Aaron ruin whatever shred of social status he has left for purely personal, completely ridiculous reasons. Aaron’s there before him, which is a first. He’s already sitting at the front row center desk, bent over a notebook and writing steadily. Carson stops, one hand on the doorknob, before he remembers to shut it behind him. Aaron looks up at the sound. “What are you working on?” Carson asks, purposefully not commenting on anything else as he throws his bag onto his desk. “Actually, it’s something I was thinking about for the anthology,” Aaron says, tapping his pen against the half-filled page. “Since this is just as much to benefit me as it is you--” Carson rolls his eyes-- “I figured I should write about the science department.” “What have you got for me?” Carson takes out his reading glasses and his laptop. “Irresponsible chemical storage? Not enough safety goggles? Malfunctioning Bunsen burners?” “Do you remember dissecting that frog in Mr. Meisner’s freshman biology class?” Carson sits up to see over his screen. “Oh my god. I completely forgot about that.” Aaron smiles. “What did we name him? Kermit?” “Absolutely not,” Carson scoffs, “I would have shot down Kermit on originality basis alone. Was it Windsor? Something to do with royalty. Pendragon? No, I remember. Machiavelli.” “Machiavelli,” Aaron echoes, nodding. The frog had been squishy and limp, slick with formaldehyde that made Carson put his sleeve up to his nose to try and escape the medicinal stench. Everyone was sitting in pairs around the biology lab tables, but Carson was expecting to work alone as he always did, other students tripling up for mutual avoidance. But this time, someone pulled out the stool next to him and sat down right before Mr. Meisner started the pre-lab discussion so Carson didn’t even have time to protest. And Aaron had just turned to the metal pan in front of them, casual as anything as he picked up the preserved frog. “Guess there’s literally no chance of him turning into a prince now, huh?” he had joked, and Carson impatiently gave him a look even though he had wanted to smile. Instead he pulled the lab protocol closer, all business as he picked up the scalpel and eyed the dashed lines on the diagram. And Aaron had apologized to the frog as he placed the T-pins to hold it to their dissecting tray, talking to the long-dead animal like it could hear him. Carson was sure that the whole thing was a joke, something for Aaron to laugh about with his stupid friends over lunch, but faltered in his theory when Aaron winced horribly every time the scalpel was used. Carson had figured pointing out that these frogs were specifically raised, euthanized, and preserved for dissection wouldn’t help. Nor the fact that people donated their own bodies to science all the time in order to benefit students. “I don’t think this guy would be a prince,” Carson had said instead as they identified the many muscles in the strong frog thigh. “He’s better than that, smarter. He doesn’t have time to wait around for princesses, he’d be telling the princes what to do.” “Ah, Machiavelli,” Aaron had said sagely, lifting the head to look at the frog’s face. “I see that.” Carson hadn’t mentioned how begrudgingly impressed he was at Aaron’s literary prowess (even if it was assigned reading, it meant he had actually read the book) as they managed to get through the rest of the dissection, picking apart organs to be checked off by Mr. Meisner. Aaron was braver by the end, prying open the frog’s mouth to have it talk back to him and volunteering to clean up the tray. He knocked his shoulder into Carson’s before they had to go back to their desks, a little show of solidarity that they had faced the amphibian beast together. “I am so glad I never have to do that again,” Carson shudders. “It was worse for the frog than it was for us,” Aaron says. Carson laughs, ducking behind his screen to hide from Aaron’s bright grin. If he could only stop acting like an idiot every time Aaron was nice to him. Aaron was nice to everyone, Aaron made jokes for everyone’s benefit. “I can’t believe I forgot about that,” Carson says quietly, off-handed as he finds the Word document he had been working on. He puts his fingers at the home keys and glances up to see Aaron still looking at him. “How many words have you got?” he clips, raising his eyebrows to look over his reading glasses. Aaron looks down at his page. “Not enough.” “Remember, at least 1000 for a feature piece,” Carson reminds him, and this time when Aaron smiles, he takes a deep breath to steel his nerves and smiles right back. It was so easy to make Aaron happy, just going along with his idea for the memoire and letting him do half the work like he insisted. Listening to him talk and maybe offering a story in return. Laughing at his jokes. Carson wasn’t stupid enough to call this anything but an extension of their professional agreement-- just another exchange of mutual benefit, really. But a half-hour later, work forgotten as he nearly falls off his desk laughing at the elaborate joke Aaron is telling him, all Carson can think is how nice it is to be friends with Aaron.
