Every creator has had a block of some kind at some point. Staring at that black document or canvas and having no ideas or motivation is the worst. It happens to everyone and when there’s that breakthrough it’s an epiphany of sorts.
Eyyyyy, it’s super late, but still! I wrote this for Day 1 of @lardo-week. This is the first part of the Lardo x Ransom x Holster backstory that I alluded to in Seventh Time’s the Charm. Someday there will be a sequel to that story detailing Ransom and Holster’s increasingly desperate failed attempts to propose, but that day is...not today. ^^; Instead, have the Lardo x Ransom get-together, with Holster to be included in a later installment. ;D
Warnings for this chapter: canon-typical alcohol consumption, characters having sex off-screen while moderately drunk, and ridiculous, ridiculous amounts of obliviousness.
Okay, so, fun fact, Ransom has always, always thought Lardo was super fucking hot.
He’s known this since Samwell’s Class of 2016 freshman orientation, when she was Larissa Duan in Group 5 and he was Justin Oluransi in Group 3, way before either of them became Lardo, SMH team manager, or Ransom, one half of the best D-man duo to ever grace Faber Memorial Rink.
Ransom’s pretty sure Lardo doesn’t remember their first first meeting, but he does.
“Hey, can you pass the salt?” somebody asks him, and when he turns around, salt shaker in hand, he does a double-take at the girl next to him—sleek shoulder-length black hair, piercing dark brown eyes set in a sharp-boned face, and a way of taking up the space around her that just screams bad-ass: an arm spread along the back of the bench, a foot resting across her knee, the tilt of her chin nothing but cool confidence.
She has a name tag on her shirt, same as his, except for the fact that there’s a doodle of a dragon on it, breathing fire that underlines the letters of her name:
Larissa D.
Ransom stares for a second or five, mute with the sudden shock of intense attraction.
“Uh, salt, dude?” the girl repeats, lifting a brow.
“Oh! Right, here, sorry,” Ransom replies, passing her the salt.
“Thanks, man,” she says, smirking.
Ransom blinks. The girl turns back to her table. And, well—that’s that. Ransom has officially met the hottest person he’s ever known.
--
After that, Ransom sees her around campus plenty once they start their freshman year—they don’t have any classes together, don’t even live in the same dorm, but, well. Larissa’s hard to miss, despite her small stature.
And…okay, maybe Ransom’s keeping an eye out for her, but it isn’t in a creepy sort of way, just in an ‘oh, look, it’s that cool chick you wanna ask out once you figure out a way to introduce yourself naturally’ sort of way.
…which is proving unfortunately difficult since he seems to run in very, very different circles from her.
This dilemma lasts right up until November, when Shitty brings her by and suddenly she’s getting hired by the team.
“’Sup, brah,” she greets Ransom, extending a fist for him to bump.
“Hey,” he says, pasting a smile on his face even as his heart sinks to his feet. She’s their new manager? He doesn’t doubt her competence, not at all, but—
But, well. He knows better than to try and date somebody involved with his team. That would be stupid, and Ransom is a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them.
--
Lardo proves herself not only to be an efficient manager, but also the bro-iest and the coolest person ever. She organizes shit with artistic precision, hauls bags of gear like it’s nothing, trades chirps with Shitty and Johnson without ever missing a beat, and absolutely destroys Ransom and Holster at beer pong.
“Dude,” Ransom says at a party once, more honest than he wants to be, regretting all the keg-stands he did, “I think I’m in love with her.”
“Bro, who isn’t,” Holster says back, but Ransom sighs; he doesn’t understand.
(Or, well. He did, but Ransom only realized that way, way later.)
--
So, yeah. That’s freshman and sophomore and junior year, basically.
Ransom doesn’t ever do anything about his inconvenient crush on one of his closest friends—for one thing, it’s pretty clear that Shitty has a thing for her, and bros don’t poach other bros’ love interests. Objectively, Ransom knows it’s up to Lardo to choose, but it still doesn’t sit right with him to go after somebody, knowing that if he gets what he wants, it’ll end up hurting one of the guys who’s always had his back, on the ice and off.
For another, there’s still the manager thing, the pre-med-and-too-busy-to-date-thing, and—
—the Holster thing. Also known as his other inconvenient crush on his closest friend. Which Ransom is decidedly not thinking about, but not thinking about it unfortunately doesn’t make it less of a thing.
…yeah, in hindsight he probably should’ve seen that one coming.
--
The Holster thing is helped by the Holster-and-April thing, which is convenient for Ransom because 1) Holster’s pretty happy about it, and when Holster’s happy, Ransom’s happy for him, and 2) if his best bud hadn’t been so clearly taken by somebody else, Ransom probably would’ve done something stupid, like tell his super-straight best bud that he wanted to tap that ass, and that he was madly in love with him, or something.
Anyway—point is, by senior year, Ransom’s pretty much got his crush(es) under control.
Aaaaaaand then he and Holster dress up as Blue Beetle and Booster Gold for Halloween, which seemed like a good idea at the time, right up until Holster puts on the costume and Ransom’s eyes are immediately glued to his ass and thighs.
Bad idea bad idea bad idea, screams his brain.
I know that NOW, Ransom shrieks back.
“Yo, bro, you ready?” Holster says, smiling, completely unaware of what he’s doing to him.
“Yeah, man, of course,” Ransom answers weakly, summoning up an answering grin of his own and praying to God that this night ends early for him, because there’s no way he can hold out for long.
Turns out his predictions were correct, because he gets downstairs and Lardo’s dressed up in hockey pads, a backwards snapback on her head, a taped-up stick resting easily across her shoulders like it belongs there, like she’s captain of the women’s hockey team and regularly killing it on the ice, instead of an art major who doesn’t even know how to skate.
Ransom heads straight for the tub juice right after they take their group photo, because there’s no way he’s getting through this night sober.
--
Midnight finds him camped out in the attic room, the last half of a six-pack of beer to keep him company, Holster departed with April back to her apartment.
Ransom toasts himself for his supreme self-control and chugs it.
Then the door opens.
“Hey, Ransom,” Lardo says slightly too loudly, walking in and walking up to his and Holster’s bunkbed. “You still up?”
Ransom peers over the rail. “Uh, yeah, bro, what’s up?”
Lardo smirks up at him and climbs the ladder with a fluid sort of grace, drunkenness lending a smoothness to her movements that most people don’t possess even when they’re sober. Ransom watches her, transfixed, right up until she settles herself beside him and steals one of his beers.
“Hey!” Ransom protests.
“Mine now, dude,” Lardo says, nudging him with her shoulder, flashing that smirk again.
Ransom swallows heavily and lets her take what she wants without further protest. “What’re you doing here, Lards?” he asks instead.
Lardo frowns up at him. “Where else would I be, bro?”
Anywhere that isn’t my bedroom, in my bed, he thinks wildly, but he still has enough self-control not to say that out loud. “Right, makes sense,” he says instead, nonsensically.
Lardo frowns harder and looks away. “Knew you were avoiding me,” she mutters resentfully into her beer can.
Ransom’s heart leaps in his chest. “Lardo—”
“You have,” she says, sounding hurt, and, oh, no, oh, no, this is the last thing Ransom ever wanted to do to her. “I don’t get it, Rans—this is our senior year, and you’re spending it barely looking at me or Holtzy whenever you don’t have to—I hate it—”
Ransom makes either the best decision of his life, or the worst, and leans over and presses his mouth against hers in the sloppiest, most awkward first kiss of his entire life.
“Oh,” Lardo says when he pulls back a fraction and musters enough energy to look at her. Her face is unreadable in the darkness, shadows and stillness transforming the sharp angles of her features into something unfamiliar, into the face of a stranger. Ransom licks his lips, about to ask her to say something, but then she’s moving.
A small hand darts up and slides against the back of his neck, and then Lardo’s pulling him down into a kiss, hot and fierce and demanding. She tastes like beer, and tub juice, and chocolate, which makes sense because this is Halloween, so everybody ate candy for dinner, but all Ransom can think is that it’s perfectly natural for her to taste like intoxication mixed with unexpected sweetness. He moans against her, opening up and letting her in, letting her take everything she wants and then some.
She breaks the kiss long enough to nab their beer cans and set them safely on an overhead shelf, and then she’s straddling his lap and grinning widely. “Ransom,” she says, sounding so goddamn happy that his heart could burst, “Ransom.”
And then she’s kissing him again, her hands on his face both confident and possessive; Ransom kisses her back, and lets her set them both on fire.
--
In the morning, Lardo wakes him up with a goodbye kiss before leaving. Her smile is smaller now, a quieter thing, but it’s no less blinding in his eyes.
“Go back to sleep. I’ll see you later,” she tells him, and Ransom nods, and does as she says.
He’s awake by the time Holster comes back; Holster doesn’t suspect a thing.
--
Ransom honestly isn’t expecting anything other than that one night, but, like, Lardo keeps showing up to his room, or taking him back to her place, and by the time January rolls around, they’ve been hooking up for two whole months.
He’s not stupid enough to think this is anything than a friends-with-benefits situation, of course. Lardo made that clear the day after the first time:
“Can we keep this quiet?” she said, dipping her fries in his shake and tossing them into her mouth. “Just for a bit. I don’t want people making it weird.” She gestures vaguely with her other hand, but Ransom nods. He gets that ‘people’ probably equals Shitty on her part, Holster on his, and Bitty for both of them.
“Yeah, bro,” he told her, “no problem.”
Lardo grinned at him, and trapped his foot between hers underneath the table.
So. Yeah. They’re friends with some really, really nice benefits. Ransom’s cool with that—he’s good. He’s great.
He’s totally fine.
--
“Okay, dude, what the hell is wrong with you?” Holster asks him in February.
Ransom makes a face. “Uh, nothing?”
Holster narrows his eyes at him. “Riiiiiiiiight,” he says doubtfully. “Of course. That’s why you’ve folded two shirts in thirty minutes.”
When Ransom looks down, he has indeed folded only two shirts out of the whole load of laundry. “Uh—”
“Bro, is this about your history class? You know you’re gonna be fine, even if you hate it,” Holster says.
“No, it’s—I’m not—”
“Oh,” Holster says, slamming his fist against his palm in realization, “this is about the girl!”
Ransom chokes. “What girl? There’s no girl! Who said anything about a girl?”
Holster just looks at him pityingly. “Bro. You were the one who had to resupply the glove stash. If you’re not seeing a girl, I’ll eat Nursey’s cap.”
Ransom makes a face. “I could be seeing a guy,” he points out. “Or an enby person.”
Holster shrugs. “Cool. Are you?”
“…no.”
Holster rolls his eyes. “Then are you seeing a girl?” he repeats pointedly.
Ransom grimaces. “It’s not—I’m not really seeing her, so to speak. It’s not really a…relationship.”
Holster frowns. “Dude, you’re not leading her on, are you?”
“What? No!” Ransom yells.
Holster shrugs, unfazed. “Yeah, I figured. So is she leading you on?”
“No! I mean—she was pretty clear from the start that she just wanted to be friends with benefits, but I don’t know, man, she’s so great, you know? Just—funny, and smart, and the coolest person ever, and I think I fucked up at some point and caught feelings, and now I’m screwed.” Ransom takes a deep breath and lets it out in a heavy sigh, scratching the back of his head.
Holster comes over and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Bro, if she doesn’t think you’re just as great, then—”
Dead silence fills the room. Holster stares at him with his mouth dropped open.
“Oh, shit,” Ransom says. “Oh, my God, oh, shit, please pretend you didn’t hear me say that, I wasn’t actually supposed to tell anyone—”
“WHAT THE HELL,” Holster shouts, finally recovering. “BRO, WHAT THE EVER-FUCKING HELL? YOU’RE DATING LAR—”
Ransom tackles him to shut him up.
--
Thirty minutes later, after a mini-whispered shouting match, copious apologies on Ransom’s part, and sworn oaths not to tell anyone on Holster’s, they settle back down and talk strategy.
“Dude, if Lards has been hooking up with you for basically three months now, then that kinda implies a relationship status beyond fuck-buddies. Just saying,” Holster argues.
“I don’t know, Holtzy, I think it’s honestly just convenient and nice for her? I mean, I don’t wanna say anything and make it awkward,” Ransom mumbles, picking at Holster’s bedsheets.
Holster just levels him with a pointed look. “Rans, you’re hooking up with the person you’ve been carrying a torch for since freshman year, we’re way beyond the point of making it awkward.”
Ransom starts. “Wha—torch—freshman year—Holster, what the hell are you talking abou—”
Holster holds up a hand. “Dude. Dude. You know you used to make us take the long way to that public health seminar just because Lardo would be walking to her women’s lit class at the same time, right?”
Ransom can feel his face getting hot. “Uh.”
Holster nods sagely. “Bro, I know. You don’t gotta hide it. And, honestly, I’m happy for you guys. I always thought you’d make a great couple.”
Ransom makes a doubtful noise, looking down at his feet. “I’m not so sure about that,” he hedges.
“Ransom,” Holster says, going serious. “Do you like her or not? Because that’s what it comes down to. And if you do, then not saying anything is just—that’s the coward’s way out. You’re better than that, man.”
“Well, maybe I’m not,” Ransom says, petulantly crossing his arms.
“Even if you’re not—Ransom, I know you. You don’t want to get hurt, but more than that, you don’t want to hurt Lardo. You just won’t. And if you do this, you’re going to end up hurting her, because what Lardo values most in her friends is—”
“Honesty,” Ransom finishes.
“Honesty,” Holster repeats, because he knows her, too. He nods, satisfied. “You got it.”
Ransom sighs. “You’re right, you’re right. I just—God, this is so nerve-wracking. What if she says no?”
Holster comes over and slings an arm around his shoulders. “Then I hate to say this, but I guess my good friend Lardo is an idiot,” he says, straight-faced.
Ransom barks a laugh, and Holster grins at him, and, okay, yeah, that does make him feel better.
“Thanks, man,” he says, his heart feeling full.
(God, he loves Holster. He really, really does. But he’s already got one romantic crisis on his hands; he doesn’t need two. So he shoves that love to the back of his mind and shuts it up in the space marked ‘Things to Stress About at a Later Date.’
It’s worked relatively well so far, at least in regards to Holster. Lardo’s a different story, but then she’s always been different in general, so that’s not a surprise.)
Holster shakes Ransom’s shoulders gently, still smiling. “No problem, dude.”
They bump their fists together, and then hug it out, as per their Bro Code’s Rule #24: Always hug your bro after talking about personal shit, because that shit gets real.
--
His conversation with Holster lands him at a fancy restaurant a week and a half later, because it’s February 14th, and Holster had managed to convince him that with a DTR talk, it was either go big or go home.
(Ransom wrinkled his nose. “DTR?”
“Yeah, bro, it means define—”
“I know what it means, dude, I just can’t believe you’re still using it.”
Holster threw a mostly empty bag of potato chips at his head.)
Twenty minutes after 6 o’clock, Ransom is staring at the menu and trying not to fiddle with the cutlery when Lardo plops into the chair across from him.
“Hey,” she says, slightly out of breath, “sorry I’m late, dude. Fucking buses were packed.” She runs a hand through her hair and makes a face, but Ransom honestly can’t reply for a couple of seconds because he’s slightly out of breath from the way she looks right now, because, like, wow. He hasn’t seen her this dressed up since last year’s art show, and even then her dress was black and very professional-looking, not this royal blue number with a low-cut neckline that lets him see glimpses of his favorite bra, the lacy green one that just about kills him any time she wears it.
“Um, yeah, no, it’s no biggie,” Ransom babbles, then grabs his glass of water and takes a few gulps. “Anyway—is it just me or is it hot in here?”
Lardo gives him an odd look. “I think it’s fine, Ransom.”
“Oh, um, that’s good, then, glad it’s just me. Oh! Here, before I forget—” He reaches down and picks up the heart-shaped box of chocolates he got for her. He’d been debating on getting flowers, too, but they didn’t have the chrysanthemums that were Lardo’s favorite, and, besides, that would really make this a date-date, and he didn’t want to, like, make it weird. Just the chocolates are better; Lardo’s sweet-tooth is the stuff of legends, and he knows she’ll appreciate it.
And, right on cue, her eyes light up. “Dude, ‘swawesome,” she says, taking the box and flashing him a smile. “Let’s share ‘em later.”
Ransom nods, relieved, then watches as Lardo reaches for the menu and props it open, an eyebrow lifting up at whatever’s inside. “We’re getting fancy here, huh?” she says, smirking at him.
Ransom feels a bubble of panic rise up. “I’m paying for it,” he states quickly. “Don’t worry about it.”
Lardo makes a face. “Dude, we can split it like always, it’s fine. I was talking about the menu, bro—here, listen to this—” She then proceeds to read some truly atrocious meal descriptions, one that includes a salad that is apparently ‘fresh from the heartlands of local American farms, a force of nature unparalleled in uninhibited crispness.’ Ransom is biting his lip to keep from laughing by the end of it, Lardo reciting most of the entrées with a deadpan face, everything about her appearing completely serious and grave—
—except for her eyes, gleaming dark and sharp in the candlelight, dancing with amusement as she looks right at him.
God, I love you, Ransom thinks, helpless.
And then he registers the thought and panics, right in time for the waiter to arrive and take their orders. He manages to mumble his, the waiter asking him to repeat himself with a put-upon tone, but then Lardo places her order by also using the description in the menu, and Ransom just—loses it.
“You’re evil,” he tells her after the waiter departs with a final wrathful glance in their direction. Ransom presses his fist to his mouth, but a few snickers still escape every few seconds. “Oh, my God, Lards, what the fuck, the look on his face—”
“If he didn’t want to get slapped in the face with his own pretentiousness, then he shouldn’t have been such a condescending ass,” Lardo retorts, rolling her eyes, and, okay, he can give her that. He grins widely at her, and she smiles back, pleased.
“There we go,” she murmurs, nudging her foot against his beneath the table, and conversation proceeds normally from there. Ransom feels himself relaxing bit by bit, drinking in Lardo’s lively energy. She’s a little more animated than he’s used to her being, all loose gestures and fast talking, and she keeps reaching out and touching him, just ever so slightly more tactile in a way that makes him hot under the collar. By now, Ransom knows Lardo’s tells, and all signs point to them ending the night by fucking like bunnies.
Well, you know, as long as he doesn’t completely ruin things beyond repair tonight.
They’re lingering over dessert, and Ransom can’t put it off any longer and takes the plunge. “Uh, so—I was doing some thinking,” he starts.
Lardo pauses over her triple-chocolate fudge cake and glances up at him. “Yeah?” she prompts.
Ransom fiddles with his fork. “Yeah. And I kind of—well. I wanted to—talk. About, you know, where we’re going with this.”
Lardo stills, her face going strangely blank in a way that just magnifies Ransom’s nervousness a thousand times. “With what?” she asks, her tone neutral.
Lardo’s face goes even blanker, which Ransom didn’t know was a thing. “Gotcha. And? What did you want to talk about, specifically?”
Ransom’s sweating bullets at this point, his mind playing Kill Bill sirens like there’s no tomorrow, but he grasps onto his courage with shaking hands and persists. “I was thinking about maybe, you know, talking about what we are to each other. Defining—defining the terms, and stuff. Just so we’re on the same page, bro. Like, if I introduce you to people that you don’t know, but that I know, like, what should I call you? And—and what do you want to call me, of course! That's important, too! Just—that sort of thing, dude.”
Oluransi, Ransom tells himself, horrified, as all of this is spewing out of his mouth, you have absolutely zero game, I hope you know that.
But something about what he said must have been the right answer, because Lardo abruptly relaxes, her ice-cool façade cracking like it was never there. “Oh,” she says, “sure, yeah, that’s fine.” She wrinkles her nose at him. “I don’t really like the term significant other, but I’m okay with partner, as long as you fucking promise me that you won’t make any cowboy jokes while you’re at it.”
Ransom stares at her. “Oh,” he says, stunned. Is it supposed to be that easy? “I was—I was thinking I’d just be fine with boyfriend-girlfriend.”
Lardo stops mid-bite to give him a puzzled look. “But isn’t that what we already are?” she says slowly.
Ransom chokes on thin air.
--
Fifteen minutes, a vigorous back-patting session, and a hasty paying of their bill later, they’re sitting at the bus stop, and Lardo is staring at him in consternation. “Bro, what the fuck, are you telling me that you’ve been thinking of me like a fuck-buddy this entire time?” There’s a note of hurt in her voice, and Ransom wants to crawl into a hole and die for putting it there. “It was just hooking up to you?”
“No!” Ransom shouts. “No, of course not, Lards, it meant more to me than that. I just—I didn’t know if it meant the same to you.”
Lardo frowns, processing his words. “So, what, you thought I was just thinking of you like a fuck-buddy?”
Ransom waves his arms around. “But, like, nothing changed except for the fact that, you know, we were hooking up all the time now! A dude can get very, very confused. Like, what if it was just bro-boning? I didn’t wanna make it weird by bringing up the stupid fucking crush I’ve had on you since freshman, year! God!”
Lardo stares at him, her mouth slightly open in surprise. “You’ve had a crush on me since freshman year?”
Ransom stops, registers what he said, and proceeds to put his head in his hands. “Oh, my God, please shoot me now,” he groans. “Can we please ignore that?”
Lardo doesn’t ignore it; instead, she reaches over and touches his wrist. “Dude,” she tells him, something uncharacteristically shy about her voice, “I’ve liked you since sophomore year, you know.”
Now it’s Ransom’s turn to stare at her. “You—you have?” he says blankly.
She nods, a definite flush to her face that Ransom cannot believe is there. Is this really happening to him? He’s not hallucinating, is he? He pinches his bicep hard, just to make sure he’s not dreaming.
Lardo sees the movement and laughs, loud and open-mouthed, throwing her head back so her neck is one long, elegant line. Ransom stares, captivated by her joy.
(God, Ransom loves her so damn much, and that is a fact.)
“Rans, I cannot believe you never noticed my huge-ass fucking crush on you,” Lardo says, giggling. “Dude, I thought I was so obvious!”
“You thought you were obvious? I thought I was obvious!” Ransom replies, incredulous.
“Dude, believe me, you weren’t,” Lardo says, making a face at him.
Ransom shakes his head, still shocked. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks.
Lardo looks away, blushing again, and shrugs. “I thought you liked Holster,” she says, quiet.
“Oh.” She’s not exactly wrong about that. But it doesn’t seem like the kind of thing to tell your girlfriend—girlfriend! Lardo’s my girlfriend! goes Ransom’s inner voice gleefully—right after you established that you are, indeed, dating, and have been for quite some time now. So Ransom shrugs and says, “I did, but you know—I didn’t want to make it weird. I mean, he’s with April.”
“Yeah, that makes sense,” Lardo replies, nodding, a pensive look on her face.
Ransom clears his throat. “I liked you first, though,” he confesses.
At that, Lardo bites down on her lip, but it’s no use—Ransom can see the grin peeking through. “Cool,” she says, trying hard not to show how pleased she is, but Ransom can tell anyway.
Ransom looks up at the bus stop awning, deciding to put all his cards on the table and explain everything. “I, uh, didn’t want to make it weird between us, either. That’s why I didn’t say anything. Plus, there was the whole Shitty thing—”
“Ah,” Lardo says, wincing. “Yeah, I get that.” She looks down at her feet, and confesses, “I turned him down last summer. I love Shitty, you know I do, just—not that way.”
Ransom squeezes her hand in solidarity. “Makes sense,” he says gently.
Lardo nods, settling back into herself. “Anyway, he’s seeing this guy in Harvard’s anthropology doctorate program now, and he’s pretty happy, so.” She shrugs. “Turned out for the best.”
“That’s good,” Ransom murmurs.
“Mmhm.” They’re quiet for a bit before Lardo grins again, a flash of even white teeth. “Dude,” she says, “I was so happy when you kissed me on Halloween. You don’t even know. I never thought—” She laughs, giddy with happiness. “I always thought you’d be the one who got away.”
“Bro, I thought you’d be the one who got away,” Ransom says, bumping her shoulder with his. “You’re totally stealing my line here.”
“Oh, my God, I’m telling you, it’s my line,” Lardo shoots back.
Ransom strokes his chin. “Hmmm. I thought we established that I liked you for longer, though.”
“Doesn’t count,” Lardo retorts. “I angsted way more over my unrequited crush on you.”
“You did not,” Ransom says, delighted.
“Did, too!”
“Did not!”
“Di—oh my God,” Lardo says, chuckling, “oh, my God, we’re a pair of total idiots, aren’t we?”
“Dude, I don’t know how you expect me to argue when I’m the one who didn’t know that we’ve apparently been dating for three and a half months,” Ransom says dryly.
Lardo snorts. “True that.” She places her head on his shoulder and, after a moment, sighs contentedly. “I’m glad we cleared that up, though.”
Ransom nods, then pauses as a thought occurs to him. “Wait,” he says, mildly horrified, “does that mean Halloween is gonna be our anniversary?”
Lardo looks up at him quizzically. “Uh, yeah? I thought it was pretty cool. Means it’ll be easy to remember.”
“No way,” Ransom says. “Nuh-uh, I’m not having a day that celebrates ghosts and cryptids be our fucking anniversary, Lards.”
Lardo rolls her eyes. “Then you should’ve picked a different day to kiss me, bro.”
“I was drunk! You were right there! You were sad! What else was I supposed to do?” Ransom replies, affronted. Then he brightens. “Wait, I know—since we had the DTR talk today, let’s make Valentine’s our anniversary.”
“Oh, my God, don’t you dare,” Lardo says, as horrified as he was a few seconds ago. “I refuse.”
“Oh, come on, it’ll be romantic and just as easy to remember and way less weird than fucking Halloween,” Ransom argues.
“It’s clichéd,” Lardo hisses.
Ransom looks her dead in the eye. “Valentine’s,” he enunciates clearly.
She looks right back at him, not giving an inch. “Halloween.”
“Valentine’s.”
“Halloween.”
“Valentine’s.”
“Hallowee—oh, for fuck’s sake, bro, didn’t we just agree that we’ve been dating since then?” Lardo complains. “That definitely makes it our anniversary.”
“Bro, can it really count if one of us was unaware that that’s what we were doing?” Ransom shoots back, then pauses. “By the way, should I stop calling you bro? That’s, like, a little weird, isn’t it?”
Lardo frowns. “It’s weirder if you don’t, I think.”
Ransom thinks about it. “Point,” he concedes.
“Anyway,” Lardo says, swinging their hands together as they stand to prepare for the coming bus, “Halloween is totally our anniversary, dude.”
Ransom makes a face. “I still think the argument can be made for Valentine’s—”
“Dude, do you wanna get laid tonight or not?” Lardo interrupts.
Ransom abruptly shuts his mouth with a click, and then mimes zipping it shut.
Lardo smirks up at him. “Knew you’d see it my way.”
“You know what? I can live with that,” he answers, grinning back at her.
For a pair of oblivious idiots, it’s a good beginning.
It’s midnight so it’s technically Sunday and therefore it’s @lardo-week! I chose to write one fic with each prompt being a new chapter. I’ll also be updating daily on ao3.
The Bro Next Door, Chapter 1: Beginnings
Larissa was proud of the apartment she’d found, but currently, she was regretting signing a lease on a walk up.
“It’s only two floors,” she’d reasoned. “It won’t be that bad.”
And it might not be another day. But on moving day it sucked.
“Hey, you alright?” A voice said from the other side of the box she was hauling.
“Fine,” she gritted out, saving her breath for hauling up the steps.
“You want some help? Not to imply that you can’t haul all these boxes by yourself, but…”
Her foot found the landing and she dropped the box down. The man on the landing (presumably her neighbor since there were only two units on this landing and they were the top floor) had a mop of brown hair, a large mustache, and was wearing a crop top.
“I’ve got some friends coming for the heavy stuff later,” Larissa clarified, reaching for the door handle.
“Cool, bro,” her neighbor said. “If you want more hands, I’m happy to help, though.”
“I’m good.” Why was he so insistent? They may be neighbors but she had no intention of letting strange men into her apartment while she was home alone.
“Kay, well, see you around. I’m Shitty by the way.”
“Larissa,” she offered a sweaty hand.
Shitty (was that really his name?) nodded and shook her hand, then jogged down the stairs with a wave.
Larissa opened the door at last and shoved the box inside, collapsing on the floor. She’d managed several loads but the truck was still very full and her apartment still very empty. Her friends would be here soon but trying to organize art school kids often felt like herding cats, so Larissa wasn’t sure how much help they’d be. Maybe she should take Shitty up on his offer after all.
When her art school friends did arrive, she gave them directions and led the way up to her new apartment. They all marched up the stairs and dumped the first load in the apartment and turned to go back only to run into the neighbor again.
“Sup,” he waved.
“Hi,” Larissa greeted cautiously.
“Heard you all in the stairs and wanted to apologize.”
Larissa raised an eyebrow at him.
“I realized I came on really strong earlier and that may have scared you as a woman alone in a new place. So, I apologize. But I really was offering to help.”
“Yeah, alright,” Larissa conceded, too tired already and they were so far from done. “We’re getting pizza later, too,” Larissa offered.
He hadn’t really given off a creepy vibe but she did feel safer accepting his help now that she was with friends.
“Sweet,” he held out a fist and Larissa bumped it incredulously. “Lead the way,” he gestured grandly.
Larissa started down the stairs, raising her eyebrows to Maggie as if to say “Is he serious?” Maggie hid a laugh in her fist.
The move in went faster than Larissa had expected it to and Shitty did turn out to be a big help. Now they were all collapsed onto the various pieces of furniture she’d dumped into the front room, leaving arranging for another day and digging into several large pizzas and beer.
“I’ve got some green back in my apartment if anyone is interested,” Shitty said between bites of pepperoni.
“You don’t even know us,” Larissa said, narrowing her eyes.
Shitty just shrugged and took a swig of beer. “You seem cool.”
Larissa looked around. She and her friends did enjoy a bit of pot now again, they were art school kids after all, but she wasn’t feeling it tonight.
“Maybe another time,” she said.
“Cool, bro.”
They all chatted for a while after that, still. Shitty had gone to school up at Samwell and regaled them with slightly unbelievable stories of his time on the hockey team there (there’s absolutely no way he’s best friends with Jack Zimmermann), trading off with Larissa, Maggie, and the others sharing stories of the shenanigans of MassArt.
“You need a nickname!” Shitty declared at one point.
“Larissa doesn’t really have any good nicknames,” she shrugged.
“What’s your last name? More traditional anyway.”
“Duan.”
Shitty stroked his mustache and after a moment declared, “Lardo!”
“What?” she laughed.
“Combo of your first and last names. Plus it’s funny because you’re so small.”
“Hey!” she protested, but she was still grinning so it fell a bit short on intimidation.
“Well, I should get out of your hair, I’m sure you wanna crash. See ya later, Lardo. Thanks for the ‘za.”
“Thanks for the help. See ya, Shitty,” she bumped her new neighbor’s fist.
He grinned back then left.
Maggie raised her eyebrows meaningfully but Larissa just flicked her off before cracking another beer.
July 14 - Beginnings
July 15 - Accident
July 16 - Date
July 17 - Memories
July 18 - Epiphany
July 19 - Friends & Lovers
July 20 - Free Day
We’ll be tracking the tags “lardo week” and “omglardoweek” throughout that week as well as reblogging any posts that tag us @lardo-week. As we get closer, we’ll be reblogging some of our favorite works from as year as well as inspiration for content creators.
Once again, please remember that we will have mini-prompts distributed throughout the week. So if you’re pressed for time and/or want more prompts to play with, keep your eyes peeled for those!
