calivia (bc i'm self indulgent trash and what about it) for the music writing challenge
HAPPY BIRTHDAY CUTIE HAVE THIS LIL DRABBLE
send me a ship for a song fic
calivia + seventeen by troye sivan
Olivia stumbles a little on her feet. She’s kind of woozy--woozy? Is that the right word? She thinks it is. It’s all a little hazy right now.
She can’t hear Caitlin anymore, and turns to see if she can find her only to find a masse of sweaty strangers. At this point in the night, she can’t even remember how she got dragged out here, but her fake I.D. is burning a hole in her pocket and the glass she got when she got here is long since emptied, as are the two that followed in its wake.
As she tries to push past the guy on her right, a wiry thing with a beard and a cross around his neck, her heel breaks underneath her. She can feel the fall coming before it actually happens; it feels a lot like when you fall in a dream. Like you can’t help it, but you’re painfully aware of it.
Just as she’s about to go down, a hand pulls gently on her wrist until she’s standing now on the side of the dance floor. The world is still spinning from her near fall, and she looks up to see-- “Caleb,” she blurts, blinking the spots out of her eyes. He looks pissed. Not more than she’s ever seen him, because he’s always kind of pissed, but definitely annoyed. “What are you doing here?” Just because she can’t help herself, she adds, “This doesn’t seem like your scene.”
His glare turns into an eye roll almost instantly, and Olivia kind of relishes it. “I came to come pick you up.”
She raises an eyebrow. “You following me now?” As she says it, she’s kind of impressed with herself that she can keep up with the banter seeing as how, well, fucked up she is. She also realizes, abruptly and dauntingly, that this feels dangerously comfortable. The club and the people and the alcohol have been banging on the walls she put up around herself for hours now, but Caleb, as always, walks right in.
“Caitlin told me where you were,” he says, frowning. His forehead lines peak out from beneath his hair. They always do when he frowns. Just as she’s about to quip back at him again, he adds, “And I was worried about you.”
Her stomach flips. “You were?”
He looks confused. Like he doesn’t understand why she’s asking. “Of course I was. I always am.” He shakes his head, and holds out his arm. “Caitlin’s already in the car. Come on.”
She allows him to put his arm around her waist and slings her own arm over his shoulder, supporting her as she slowly limps out of the club.
Just like that, she knows she’s falling again. She wonders, idly, if Caleb will catch her this time.
