March Liu is a broke artist who wants love more than anything but can’t seem to hold onto a relationship because he’s trans and ace. Then a friend introduces him to Chayton, a free-spirited street artist, they get along like a house on fire, one thing leads to another, and suddenly March realizes he has a crush on someone absolutely unattainable. Again. But the closer March gets to Chayton, the less he seems to actually know. When Chayton’s biggest secret spills out in an argument, they have to take a break, and March isn’t sure they even have a friendship left anymore, much less potential for anything else.
aimee mann - deathly // lianne la havas - is your love big enough? //badly drawn boy - a minor incident // the ting tings - great dj // james london - ciggarette scars // teddybears feat. neenah - yours to keep // cake - perhaps, perhaps, perhaps // new order - bizarre love triangle // when in rome - the promise // michelle branch - everywhere // alex day - stay with me // she & him - why do you let me stay here? // cut copy - bright neon payphone // the mountain goats - broom people //frou frou - must be dreaming // the brilliant green - there will be love there // sleeping at last - in the embers // death cab for cutie - i will follow you into the dark // hank green - i guess it all makes sense in the end
OOH OOH OOH I’m going to do One More Time (With Feeling) because the scene before the opening of The Art of Losing Touch is a suicide attempt and. I don’t want to write that. It’s weird to write March in third person but it was fun, too!
Also, thank you thank you, I’ve always wanted to be sent ask for this one!!! <3
cw: transphobia, intentional hurtful misgendering, implied sex
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March sighed and wiped the sweat off his face. It hadn’t rained in weeks, which made the heat unrelenting. Thank god for air conditioning.
If the power hadn’t been shut off again.
He unlocked the door and headed straight for the bedroom, where he and Jesse had put the a/c in the window. Although he was sleeping on the floor more these days. At least that meant Jessie couldn’t grab at him. March didn’t hold her sex drive against her, almost everybody had one! But it made his skin crawl when she tried to touch him like that.
March pushed the bedroom door open and flipped on the lights. He sighed in relief when they turned on. Good. That meant a/c.
But Jessie’s voice cut through the silence with a sharp, “What are you doing home?”
March looked up with a sad half-smile. “Layoffs. Since I was the newest, I was the first to go. The company’s downsizing and –”
“You mean you lost your job!?” Jessie shrieked. March’s eyes dropped down to her knees.
Which, upon a closer look and a little bit of a squint, actually looked more like a pair of shoulders and a curved upper back. A sharp stab of horror shot through him and he pointed at the lump.
“Who is that?” he croaked.
Jessie flushed bright red. Crimson, even. Her knees tightened around the shoulders and a woman’s voice – decidedly not Jessie’s – grumbled.
“Pervert!” Jessie screamed. “I can’t believe you’d walk in on us like that!”
“I – what?” She’d turned it around on him so fast his head spun. But only for a moment. “I live here! I pay half the rent! You’re cheating on me and calling me the pervert!?” March’s voice raised into a squeak by the end of his sentence.
“You’re the one who walked in!”
“What is going on!?” March wailed. Jessie jumped up, wrapping the comforter around her body and uncovering the other also naked woman, who squealed and rolled over behind the bed in a panic.
“Get out!” Jessie screamed. She picked up a duffel bag March hadn’t noticed and shoved it into his chest. “I’m sick of you! I’m sick of your stupid art and I’m sick of the power always getting shut off and I’m sick of eating nothing but rice and peanut butter and I’m sick of this ‘I’m a man’ shit and your stupid testosterone shots and –!”
“I am a –”
“Out!” She threw another duffel at his head. March barely dodged it.
The relationship had started to sour long ago, but March had held on to the hope that he could fix it.
Apparently not.
He picked up his things and rearranged his backpack – still over his shoulder, never removed even during the fight – turned tail, and fled. Jessie followed behind, pushing him closer to the door, and when he opened the door, she gave a hard shove and knocked him down half the flight of stairs. March barely caught himself on the railing.
“If you come back I’m calling the police!” Jessie screamed, and she slammed the door behind him.
Original Fic Fest | Day 3: Non-Romantic Relationships
@originalficfest @pen-for-sword
March has three major non-romantic relationships in the story of One More Time (With Feeling): with Cricket, Lola, and, Kyle. I don’t have the focus to make moodboards or anything, but I can give you some excerpts of them interacting!
As you will see, March is very emotional.
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March and Cricket:
Cricket snorts out a chuckle and you turn to look at zir. Zir round face is upturned, button nose pointed toward the ceiling. Zir long black lashes rest quietly on zir cheek, bright brown eyes closed. If Kyle’s eyes are burnt sienna, warm like firewood and gingerbread, Cricket’s are autumn bronze, cool and crisp like falling leaves.
“So,” zie says, “what’s going on? Because I feel like this isn’t actually about my transition, or lack thereof. It feels like you’re looking for an excuse to talk.”
You roll your eyes back up toward the ceiling. “I guess,” you say.
“Is this about the breakup?” zie asks.
“I guess,” you repeat.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” zie says abruptly.
You sigh and close your eyes, letting your muscles go limp and sinking back into the bed, but not in relief. In defeat.
“Seriously,” zie says. “She was the one with the problem. Not you.”
The other two are under the readmore!
-
March and Lola:
Lola is in the kitchen, looking around in the dishwasher and cupboards.
“Morning,” you say. She turns around, her face distraught until she sees the coffeepot in your left hand.
“Really, March?” she says. You look down at it.
“I wasn’t expecting to be out as long as I was, I guess,” you chuckle. She smiles and shakes her head. You hand her the coffeepot and she dumps out the last bit of old coffee. She doesn’t rinse it before she starts a new pot. You only ever wash it when it gets dirty. Cricket insists the buildup makes it better. You put another spoonful of sugar in your cup and then put the bowl next to the coffeepot, placing your mug to the side until you need it again. A whole pot of coffee plus at least one more cup? Maybe that’s why you can’t sleep past four a.m.
“Your eyes are all bruised up,” Lola says. She pulls down her bottom left eyelid with a finger.
“I haven’t been sleeping well.”
“Have we been too loud? I know we’re up pretty late.”
“No,” you say. “You guys are fine. I think I’m still just hung up on my terrible relationship history.”
“She didn’t deserve you,” Lola says simply. You don’t correct her, because you haven’t thought about your ex-girlfriend since the night you went out wheatpasting with Chayton. The last thing you need is her trying to interfere in whatever the hell your feelings are turning into.
You need to change the subject, so you say, “I think I have a job, now.”
“You think?” Lola chuckles.
“Well, I’m helping Chay with his silk screening now, and he’s offered to pay me, so, kind of?”
“Chay?” she asks. The timer on the coffee maker goes off and she pours herself a cup. She offers it to you and you take it.
“What?”
“He just doesn’t like nicknames,” she says. “At least, that’s what he’s always said. Last time I called him that he glared at me like he could set me on fire with his eyes.”
You frown. “Really? I called him that yesterday and he said he liked it.”
“I think he just likes you,” she laughs.
-
March and Kyle:
Your door is open, but Kyle knocks anyway.
“Hey,” you mumble. He frowns, his brown eyes crinkling in the corners.
“What’s up?” he asks.
You shake your head.
“Can I come in?”
You nod. You wipe your face and slide your glasses back on.
“You have charcoal all over your face,” he chuckles. He pulls his sleeve over his hand and wipes it away. You can barely see the black smudges on the dark blue of his shirt. At least he’ll be able to get it to fade enough it won’t be noticeable. You push your shaggy hair out of your face and finally look up at him as it falls back into your eyes.
“What’s wrong, Rabbit?” His voice is soft now, gentle, like his words are rocks and you’re a cracked pane of glass and he’s afraid he’ll break you.
You open your mouth, but you don’t know what to say, so you close it again and sigh, looking down at your charcoal blackened fingers. You wipe them off on the newspaper beside you, stalling.
“I fucked everything up, like I always do,” you finally murmur.
