so I'm not sure if this is at all allowed in this event (if not just ignore this lol) but I really wanted to draw some of the awesome osemanverse allies! as much as I love the queer community and how hard they've fought for our rights, it's also important to acknowledge the impact allies can have in making us feel safe 🖤🤍🏳️🌈🖤🤍
so yeah here they are! the theatre kids are bonding, while Rowan is slaying in his lil cape :D
@osemanverse-events (tagging you in case Tumblr lets me down again lol)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
I didn't finish this in time for aspec week for Osemanverse Pride, so here it is now: an ace Tori oneshot!
Just Say It
Summary: Tori decides to tell Michael that she's asexual. Michael has an important question he wants to ask her.
Words: 5.7k
Rating: T
A/N: This follows comic canon, where Tori comes out to Charlie at the fête.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Tooooorriiiiii.” I hear my little brother Oliver whisper from beside me. “Tooorriiiiiiii. Wake up.”
“Why?” I groan, my eyes still closed.
“It’s fête day! The fête’s today! The fête’s tooo-daaaaayyy!”
“Go away, Oliver.”
“But you’re not up yet!”
“Is Charlie up?”
“I woke him up. He told me to wake you up, too.”
The traitor. “Okay. You’ve woken me up. Now go downstairs.”
“But are you really up?”
“Yes.” I open my eyes. Oliver is kneeling beside my bed, staring at me with his chin resting on the edge of my mattress. “See? Fully conscious.”
“Yay! Fête day! Fête day! Fête day!” Oliver chants, but he does leave my room.
I reach across my bed for my laptop like it’s my lover. I open it and find the internet browser open as I left it in the early hours of the morning before I finally fell asleep. Easy A is paused at about two thirds of the way through. I click over to the next tab—Tumblr, of course—where there’s a little 1 next to my inbox icon. I open it and read the message.
Thought for the day: Why do people clap at the end of a performance?
Michael still sends me these anonymously, even though I know it’s him and I’ve already found his Tumblr.
I ignore the message, but it reminds me that I forgot to reply to Michael’s text last night. He asked me if I wanted to meet up with him at the fête after I told him my family and I were going to watch Charlie perform with his band.
I haven’t been very communicative with Michael lately. Not that I am ever particularly communicative, but it’s generally easier with him than most people.
I really shouldn’t put it off any longer, so I text him back: do you still want to meet at the fête?
He replies immediately, which is unnerving.
Michael: yeah! does 2pm sound good?
Tori: sure
Michael: cool! I’ll text you when I’m there
I go back to Tumblr, where I’ve bookmarked the post I was reading last night. It’s advice about coming out as asexual.
It’s from a blog about asexuality that I started following a while ago. I scroll through the notes, where people have added their own experiences and tips. And there’s a lot of commiseration about how no one seems to get it.
It’s not like coming out as gay or bi or trans—most people have at least heard of those. I don’t know anyone in real life who has heard of asexuality.
I’ve had to explain it to every person I’ve come out to, but once I did, they were all supportive, even if they didn’t totally get it. Like, they’re a little confused, but they’ve got the spirit, ya know?
Multiple people have told me I need to get my hormones checked, lol most people absolutely DO NOT got the spirit.
I think introducing the concept of asexuality before coming out is helpful, to gauge the person’s reaction. Like, I started watching Sex Education with my roommate before I came out to her. She was very willing to learn and so when I did eventually come out to her it went well and she already knew the basics. I know this can be hard since there’s so little ace rep or even mention of asexuality in general. But it’s validating and legitimizing to have some outside source to confirm it’s not just you, it does actually exist.
I haven’t come out to my parents because I don’t think they’d believe me. I started collecting articles and essays by ace people to, like, prove that asexuality is real. But then I thought if I have to prepare a defense of my existence, then it’s probably better if I don’t come out yet :/
There have been several times in the past when I’ve wondered if I might be asexual. But I could never really answer definitively, and I figured it ultimately didn’t matter much, since I wasn’t trying to have sex with anyone and no one appeared to be trying to have sex with me. But now I guess it sort of does matter.
Michael and I had sex and it solidified some speculations I’ve had about myself for a while.
We didn’t really talk much afterwards—or at least I didn’t. I just told him I was tired and that I had to get home, and I left as soon as I could without blatantly hurting his feelings.
We didn’t talk about it when I next saw him, for which I was grateful. I didn’t want to talk about it, and I didn’t want it to change anything between us. I just wanted to carry on as we had been: hanging out, talking about random things, or not talking at all and just sharing a comfortable silence. And we did.
Part of me was waiting for Michael to bring it up, but he hasn’t yet. So maybe he feels the same way. Maybe he doesn’t want anything to change. Or maybe he’s waiting for me to bring it up.
I think I want to tell Michael that I am asexual. Today. At the fête. If I get the chance.
I’m not worried about Michael’s reaction. I know he’ll be fine and supportive. For one thing, he’s pansexual, so he knows what it’s like to be one of the sexualities that barely anyone has heard of. For another, he is literally the last person in the world to say that something is too weird. So he’s not going to make me feel defective or alien or anything like that.
I’m worried that this is going to change things between us. Maybe not right away, but eventually. If we have different expectations from each other, then I don’t know how we can carry on. And I don’t want to just…not see him.
I remember when Michael told me he was pansexual. It has been generally speculated amongst our peers that he isn’t straight, and he did nothing to dispel that, so it wasn’t a big reveal or anything. It wasn’t a dramatic coming out like it is in films. We were just talking, and he nonchalantly mentioned it as if it were any other mundane fact about him, like his favorite restaurant or his birthday. I’m not even sure if he realized it was the first time he’d told me. It was just something he knew about himself that he had long since accepted. Not a big deal.
I sort of wish it could be that way for me, but I know it can’t. I’ve never told anyone that I’m asexual, or even that I was questioning. So I don’t think I can just casually drop that in conversation and move on.
So much of the advice I read about coming out is, ‘just say it’. I’ve never been good at just saying anything. I usually just say nothing. Which, while unhelpful, does seem fitting. That’s what my sexuality is: nothing.
I stay in bed scrolling through Tumblr for as long as possible until I absolutely have to get up. Then I shuffle downstairs to eat a late breakfast before returning to my room to get dressed.
On my way back downstairs, I knock on Charlie’s door to make sure he’s ready. He’s performing in front of a crowd of people, and he gets stressed about that sort of thing. But when he comes out of his room, he looks genuinely happy. I notice he’s wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt. I can’t remember the last time he did that. I’m so proud of him.
On our way to the car, Charlie asks me, “No Michael today?”
“Meeting him there,” I say, and then immediately turn the question back to him. “What about Nick?”
“Same. Meeting us there.”
Every time Charlie has asked me, directly or indirectly, if Michael and I are dating, I’ve always brushed him off or changed the subject. The implications of that question make me vaguely uncomfortable, and I can’t really give him an answer.
I realize belatedly that asking Charlie about his boyfriend right after he asked me about Michael is sort of an answer. As if Michael is to me what Nick is to Charlie. Which he isn’t. Because Michael’s not my boyfriend. But he is the person who’s always there for me. So I guess, in that sense, he is.
When we arrive at the fête, Charlie immediately goes off to find his friends, so I trail after Mum and Dad and Oliver.
I pull out my phone.
Tori: are you here yet?
Michael: just got here. I’m walking toward the balloon stand now. meet you there?
Tori: omw
Oliver is pulling Mum toward one of the games, so I turn to Dad.
“I’m gonna go find Michael.”
“Okay. Meet us by the stage before four, though, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Have fun,” he tells me.
I just sort of nod noncommittally before heading off toward the balloon stand.
Michael is so tall that I spot him almost immediately through the crowd. When I get closer, he smiles when he sees me and waves.
I wave back before going up to him.
“Hello!” he trills with his usual enthusiasm.
“Hi,” I return. “Sorry I didn’t text you back last night. I’m just not a very good person.”
He furrows his brow. “That’s not true.”
“I mean…I’m not good at being a person,” I clarify, though I’m not sure if I am a good person. “I think I’d be a good cat.”
Michael smiles. “People love cats.”
“Some people do.”
“Lots of people do. Cats are great.”
We start walking along the main thoroughfare without discussing it, we just sort of do simultaneously.
“So, what do you wanna do first?” Michael asks me. “Get some food, play some games, go on some rides…?”
“I’m not really one for rides,” I say, and then grimace because it sounds like a euphemism, but Michael doesn’t seem to notice.
“What do you wanna do then?”
Honestly, fêtes aren’t really my thing. They’re full of annoying people and loud noise and rigged games and greasy food. But I don’t want Michael to think I don’t want to be here, so I say, “I dunno. What do you like to do at fêtes?”
“People watching,” he says.
“You can do that anywhere,” I point out.
“Yeah, but a fête is particularly good for it.”
I follow his gaze out across the crowd. A little boy runs past with a red balloon while his mum chases him. A lady drops popcorn and a pair of birds fight over the pieces. A guy shoots a basketball toward a hoop and misses spectacularly while the girl next to him laughs. Just people being people. The sort of things Michael pays attention to.
I wonder if I should just tell him now before too much time passes and I overthink it and lose my nerve. Michael, there’s something I want to tell you…
I’m just turning to face him when he clears his throat and says, “So, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
We stop walking and look at each other expectantly.
I don’t know what he wants to talk about. Maybe he’s decided he wants to talk about the sex thing. Which might be a good segue. I suddenly feel nervous.
He takes a breath. “Do you want to be my girlfriend?”
Panic shoots through me, like a lightning bolt straight through the pit of my stomach. All I can do is stare at him, and he’s staring back, waiting for an answer, but I can’t give him one because there’s a fire alarm going off in my brain telling me to get out now.
So I do. I turn on my heels and bolt. I run like a coward because it’s the only thing I can think to do. I bob and weave through the crowd and I don’t stop until I’m on the opposite end of the field. I duck into a narrow gap between tents and stop there. I put my hands on my knees and catch my breath. I hate running. I’m such an idiot.
Once my breathing has returned to normal, I peek out from my hiding place to see if Michael has followed me, but I don’t see him. Of course he wouldn’t run after me. Why would he? I just did the stupidest thing possible. He probably hates me now. He asked if I wanted to be his girlfriend and I ran as far away from him as I could get.
Something about the word girlfriend just feels…ew. What comes to mind are annoying couples giggling and smushing their faces together, oblivious to anyone around them. Or an infatuated girl gushing about some random guy who is either entirely mediocre or just plain awful, insisting that if you just got to know him you’d realize how great he really is.
My concept of girlfriend and my concept of Michael are worlds apart.
Why would Michael ask me to be his girlfriend? What does girlfriend even mean? More importantly, what does he mean by it?
Looking back, I probably should have anticipated this. Michael and I have been hanging out nearly every day for months, we’ve kissed, we’ve had sex, I steal his clothes on a semi-regular basis. It really shouldn’t surprise me that Michael would ask me to be his girlfriend. And yet it does.
Because that’s not what we are. That’s not what I am. I thought he understood that.
This changes things between us. It only seems to support the suspicion I’ve had that we have different expectations from each other, that we want different things. Although, we’ve never really talked about it. I suppose he was trying to. Shit. I’ve gone and ruined everything because I can’t talk about my feelings.
I should probably talk to him. This is going to be awful.
I debate whether I should go find Michael. And that’s when Charlie finds me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So it turns out telling Charlie was fairly easy. I just said it. Not that I was ever worried about telling him. Charlie is the nicest person on the planet, and he’s easy to talk to.
As we exit the Ferris wheel, I see Michael standing there awkwardly and he sort of holds his hand up at me tentatively.
I look at Charlie next to me, and he gives me an encouraging smile and a nod.
I look back at Michael. I ball my hands into fists and grit my teeth and make myself walk up to him, bracing for the most awkward conversation of my life.
I stop in front of him and he pulls his lips into a straight line that is not quite a smile, but definitely not a grimace either.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hi,” I mutter.
“I think you win that round of hide-and-seek.”
He says it so nonchalantly that I smile in spite of myself. It feels so normal, like nothing at all has passed between us. So he probably doesn’t hate me at least.
Before I can think of what to say, he asks, “D’you want a slushie? I could go for a slushie.”
“Yeah,” I say, accepting the peace offering.
As we walk toward the slushie stand, I nudge him with my shoulder, just to close the gap between us. He nudges me back before he puts his arm around my shoulder unthinkingly, like he sometimes does, and I let him.
After we get our slushies—lemon for me, blue raspberry for him—we walk around the perimeter of the fête, behind all the tents, where you’re not really supposed to go, but no one pays any attention to us.
We talk about trivial things: slushie flavors and fête food and summer weather. But not what we really should talk about, and I feel the topic hanging in the air like a fog. Michael must feel it, too. We’re quiet for a bit and he slows his pace.
“So…” he begins, and ice shoots through my veins, which I choose to blame on the slushie. “About earlier.”
He turns and looks at me.
This is it. No running away. I have to remind myself that he doesn’t hate me. He doesn’t hate me. He doesn’t hate me yet.
I turn to face him.
“I’m sorry,” he says. There’s the little crease between his eyebrows that appears when he’s worried. “I didn’t mean to freak you out, or like, overstep. I just thought we should have a conversation about that because like…it seems like you’ve been kinda distant recently and I just wanted to know if it’s because your feelings about…whatever this is—” he gestures vaguely between us “—have changed. But now I think I might be overthinking it, and I shouldn’t have asked. Like, just to be clear, it doesn’t really matter to me if we’re boyfriend and girlfriend or not, or if we label it or if we don’t. I just like you, fundamentally, as a person. And I like spending time with you. And I want to keep spending time with you, in whatever capacity you want, if you want that too.”
He stops abruptly and looks at me expectantly like he’s just asked me a question.
His whole speech is rushed and unpolished and earnest, and I find it comforting. I feel relieved. “I want that too,” I tell him, and he smiles a little. “And I’m sorry, too. For running away from you. And you’re right, I have been distant, and we should probably talk about that.”
He looks at me patiently, waiting for me to continue. I don’t know how to do this. But I have to try.
“It’s not your fault. I’ve just been so in my head lately about a lot of things…” I exhale. “I don’t want this to be a big thing, so I’m just going to say it. I’m asexual.”
He stares at me, but not in a way that looks surprised or confused or pitying. He looks patient, nonjudgmental. He looks kind.
After a moment, he says, “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Cool.”
“Cool.”
“Are you copying me?”
“No.”
He chuckles.
I smile back, and then we both let our smiles drop.
“So…” I begin, “you know what that is?”
“Yeah, that’s when someone feels little to no sexual attraction,” he says. I’m glad I don’t need to explain it. “That’s you.”
“That’s me.”
“You are copying me,” he grins.
I roll my eyes, but I smile, too.
After a second, his smile drops and he furrowed his brow. “Is that why…my question freaked you out?”
“Sort of, I guess. Yeah.”
He nods. “So you don’t want to be boyfriend and girlfriend.”
I hesitate. That’s not it exactly. If it were, I would’ve just said no from the start and been done with it and probably not talked to him again. Maybe. I don’t know.
“You don’t have to,” Michael assures me when I don’t say anything. “Obviously. I just thought I’d ask. But it’s totally up to you. Obviously. I’m making this worse. I’m gonna shut up now.”
It’s not easy to explain, this vague repulsion that I feel. I’m not even sure what I want exactly. I just don’t want him to hate me. “I don’t want…the assumptions that come with ‘being a girlfriend,’” I say, but I don’t know if that makes sense. “There are certain expectations that come with the labels ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’, not just from the people in the relationship, but from everyone else as well, from society in general. And I don’t want to constrain myself to those expectations.”
“You don’t have to,” he tells me. “Labels or no labels, you don’t have to follow whatever script society gives you. I mean, I don’t want to. That would be really boring, wouldn’t it?”
I don’t really care about being boring. I am boring.
He looks at me discerningly for a moment. “This is something you’ve been thinking about for quite some time, isn’t it?”
I shrug. “I suppose.”
“I didn’t know that. You could have told me.”
I nod. “I don’t know what I would have told you. I don’t think I knew enough myself. Like, I’ve only just started to think of myself as asexual. I think I needed to sort it all out in my head first.”
“I get that,” Michael nods thoughtfully and then his expression changes. After a bit, he says, “So, was…” But then he shuts his mouth tight, like he’s thought better of whatever he was going to say.
“What?”
It takes him a second to answer. “I promise this isn’t, like, an ego thing,” he qualifies cryptically. “I just want to understand. So like. When we had sex…was it really not a good time for you?”
Ah. So we’re doing this now. “It was fine,” I tell him. “It just made me feel weird, and not in a good way.”
He waits for me to elaborate, but I’m not quite sure how to explain it in a way he’ll understand.
“Like…you know when you try a new food and you expect it to taste a certain way, but it turns out completely different? And you’re not sure at first if you actually don’t like it or if it just isn’t what you were expecting. And you keep chewing it, hoping if you bite it into small enough pieces, it will get better and you can just swallow it? But it only gets worse, and it’s this mushy thing in your mouth that you can’t swallow. And you think, ‘Why am I doing this? I don’t like this.’ And you just want to spit it out? It’s kind of like that.”
Michael makes a face.
“Sorry.”
“No, don’t apologize,” he assures me. “It helps to understand. I feel that way about cottage cheese. I think it’s the texture.” He wrinkles his nose. “I don’t want to be your cottage cheese.”
I realize that it sounds like I’ve just told him he’s weird and gross and uncomfortable, which is not at all what I intended. “You’re not—!” I feel my face get hot. This is absolutely mortifying, but he needs to hear it. “That’s how I feel about sex, but that’s not how I feel about you. I thought if I’d want to do that with anyone, it would be you, because you’re the only person I’ve felt comfortable enough with. I thought maybe if I tried it, something would just click. But it didn’t. At least not in the way I thought it would. I realized that if I don’t feel that for you, then I probably won’t ever feel that for anyone, which I guess I sort of already knew, but that just confirmed it. But just because I don’t feel that for you doesn’t mean I don’t feel anything for you. You’re really important to me. I know I don’t tell you that as much as I probably should. But I need you to know that.”
“I know that,” he says and smiles. “It’s still nice to hear, though. I only meant that I don’t want you to do something that you really don’t want to do. Like, I would want to have sex with someone who wants to have sex with me, so if you don’t, then I don’t either.”
I hesitate, and then make myself say it. “Even if…I never want to?”
“Of course. That’s fine.”
“You’d be okay with that?”
“Yes.”
I swallow and look down. I know he means it. And I know that’s true now. But it might not always be.
“How do you know that…” I was going to say How do you know that you’ll always be okay with it? but that sounds like more commitment than I’m willing to admit right now. So instead, I say, “There won’t come a time when you’re not okay with it?”
“It’s not worth losing you over,” he answers matter-of-factly.
I love him for saying it, but that’s also what I’m afraid of. That he’ll carry on and put up with me just because he doesn’t want to lose me, but over time it’ll wear on him and he’ll regret it. I think it would hurt less in the long run if he just said it was a deal breaker and ended things now.
“I don’t want it to become this thing that you resent me for,” I admit in a small voice.
“Tori,” he says softly, in a way that sounds chastising and defeated, and I think if I look at him I might cry. “Do you really believe I could resent you over something like that?”
I take a breath. I try to make myself sound not so fragile, but I think I end up sounding sort of petulant. “It’s just that all you allos make it seem like it’s some big sacrifice that’s like, almost painful.” He doesn’t say anything right away so eventually I raise my head to meet his eye.
He doesn’t look resentful; he looks rather bemused. “‘All you allos’?”
“Allosexuals—people who experience sexual attraction.”
“Yeah, I know what it means.” He smiles a little. “You know the lingo. You’ve done your research.”
“So have you.”
“I try to have at least a passable knowledge of all the queer identities. And for the record: it’s not a big sacrifice to me.” I must not look convinced because then he says, “Tori, I don’t just hang out with you hoping for sex, I like being around you. Listen, even if, in some strange parallel universe, I somehow ended up resenting you, it wouldn’t be because of this. It would be for something much bigger, like…I don’t know. If you murdered my dog or something.”
My mouth twitches a little, not quite into a smile. “That’s a high bar.”
“It is. It’s too high for you to reach.”
“Is that a joke about my height?”
“I’m serious,” he insists, and then his words overflow emphatically. “I don’t think realistically there’s anything that could make me resent you. You’re really important to me, too. I mean, that’s why I asked if you wanted to be my girlfriend: not because I have certain expectations of you, but because I’m committed to you. I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page about what we are to each other. The label doesn’t matter to me, the relationship matters to me—you matter to me. So of course I’m not going to resent you for how you feel or for having boundaries because I love you and I want you to feel—” He stops abruptly.
I raise my eyebrows at him. He raises his eyebrows back at me.
This is the first time he’s said those words, in that order, to me. And apparently we’ve both just realized that.
“Shit! I didn’t mean— I mean…I did mean it, but it just slipped out. Shit. That doesn’t count. Pretend you didn’t hear that. I can do better than that, I swear. You don’t have to say anything. In fact, it’s probably better if you don’t. Let’s just—”
I don’t say anything. I reach out and wrap my arms around him and press my face against his chest.
“Oh,” he says softly.
I feel him put his arms around my shoulders and then lean his head against mine. We stay like that for a long moment.
“So are we just gonna—?” he starts to ask, but I interrupt him.
“Did you say something?”
“Nothing at all.” I can hear the smile in his voice.
“Didn’t think so.”
We pull apart when we hear the sound of distant cheering. I look at my phone and see that it’s two minutes to four.
“Charlie’s about to go on,” I say.
“Then we better get going,” Michael says, and we head off, his arm still slung around my shoulders.
Maybe I can’t know for certain that he’ll never resent me for it, but he seems to think he won’t, and I trust him. So I think that’s as close to certainty as I can get.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Charlie does great, of course. He usually does, no matter what it is.
As soon as he’s off stage, he runs into Nick’s arms and they hug each other for a long moment like they do. I can’t help smiling. There’s something about them that makes me not so pessimistic about people.
As I watch them, I realize something. Obviously Nick and Charlie are boyfriends, but that’s not what makes them Nick-and-Charlie. The label is incidental; it’s a convenient way to describe their relationship, but their relationship wouldn’t fundamentally change if the label did. I mean, they’ll probably be husbands one day, but they’ll still be Nick-and-Charlie. What’s important is what they are to each other.
They’re each other’s person—the one who’s always there. Something like what Michael and I are.
Once we all sing Charlie’s praises, he and Nick go off with their friends, and Mum and Dad leave to take Oliver home. I decide to stay with Michael a while longer.
We wander around, play games that neither of us is good at, ride the carousel, people watch. It’s actually kind of nice.
I reach out and take Michael’s hand to let him know I’m glad he’s here with me.
We get some food and sit beside each other at a picnic table away from everyone else.
The sun starts to set and a cool breeze blows in, making me shiver.
“Here,” Michael says. I look at him and he’s handing his hoodie to me. I didn’t see him take it off.
I know better than to ask if he’ll get cold; he never does. “Thanks,” I say, and take it from him. I put my arms through the sleeves and it’s so warm that I don’t zip it up.
I hear Michael let out a chuckle.
“What?” I say.
He grins at me and laughs harder. “It seems I’ve got an ace up my sleeve.” Michael does love a pun.
I stare at him blankly, not letting myself crack. “How long have you been holding on to that one?”
“I haven’t, I swear! I thought of that in the moment.”
“Sure,” I say, and take a sip of my drink.
Michael’s laugh dies down and then he looks at me seriously. “I’m glad you told me.”
“Me, too,” I say.
“Have you told anyone else that you’re asexual?” he asks.
“Just Charlie. Right before I told you, actually.”
He turns his whole body toward me and his eyes get wide. “You came out twice in one day?”
I didn’t really think about it like that. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Tori! That’s impressive.”
I shrug.
“Oh, come on! Be proud of yourself. You were vulnerable! You did a hard thing!”
“Yeah, I’m not really inclined to do hard things, as it turns out.”
“Don’t be cheeky. Go on—say it.”
I stare at him.
“Say it!”
“Vampire,” I deadpan.
He just looks at me unrelentingly.
I sigh. “Fine. I’m proud of myself. Happy?”
“Ecstatic.” He grins at me and then takes the last bite of his burger.
“So,” he says after a bit, “is there any term you wanna use to refer to each other? ‘Boyfriend’ is off the table, but maybe ‘partner’? There’s ambiguity there—like, are we partners in crime, are we cowboys, do we have a law firm?” He must tell from my expression that I’m not convinced, because he quickly pivots. “Okay, how about ‘friend’? ‘S.O.’? ‘Bestie’? ‘That weird guy who follows you around’?”
“That makes it sound like you’re my stalker.”
“Ooh, ‘stalker’! That could be fun. Although, it would probably prompt some follow-up questions, and I know you’d hate that.”
“Or I could just use your name.”
“Yes,” he says excitedly, and points at me like it’s the best idea he’s ever heard. “Simple, classic. I like it. I’ll be Michael, then.”
“You always were.” I take another sip of my drink, thinking. “I don’t think I wanna label it,” I tell him. “At least not now. Maybe not ever.”
“Okay,” he nods. “So you’re just Tori, and I’m just Michael. Tori and Michael against the world,” he says in a dramatic voice, waving his arm out toward the horizon like the words are floating in the air in front of us.
“That sounds like the title of a very mediocre teen movie.”
“Who’s to say we’re not in a mediocre teen movie right now?”
I roll my eyes. “This is what I get for watching The Matrix with you.”
“This could all be a simulation, Tori,” he says conspiratorially. “What if this conversation is just lines in a script?”
“Then some editor is going to delete all of this for being pointless and rambly.”
“Not everything has to serve the plot. Maybe this is one of those auteur slice-of-life films that is more about characters than plot. Maybe the rambly-ness is the point.”
“Maybe this movie will flop at the box office.”
“Maybe this movie will be a cult classic.”
“Maybe we’re both idiots.”
“We’re definitely both idiots.” He grins and I return it.
We’re both quiet for a moment. Not in an awkward way—just the mundane way we are sometimes when we’re both thinking, or don’t have anything to say.
Then, entirely unprompted, he asks, “So what’s like cottage cheese for you?”
“What?”
“What food do you really not like?”
I hesitate.
“Come on. There’s all sorts of things you don’t like, there has to be at least one food on that list.”
“You’re gonna laugh,” I groan.
“Spit it out, Spring.”
I let out a long sigh. “I really don’t like aubergines.”
And he does laugh. Like a full-on snort and a wheeze and a giggle. And I can’t help smirking because his laugh is so funny.
“That’s not a joke,” I say.
“It’s funny, though,” he chokes out.
“It’s funny because it’s true.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: Aubergines are eggplants, for anyone like me who had to look it up.
Happy Pride everyone! I love Tori and Michael's relationship so much, I want to put them under a microscope and study them.
If you enjoyed this, check out my other Sprolden oneshot, Ace of Hearts.
even though the themed weeks are technically over, you can still post any pride-themed creations with osemanverse characters, and we'll reblog them as long as they have the #osemanversepride2025 tag 🌈
It's the last week of Pride, and you know what? I wanna continue this kind of series with all of the characters to celebrate them! I have enjoyed having a project like this to use to motivate my creativity.
week 4 of the osemanverse pride event - genderqueer characters
feat. the icon herself elle argent :]
i imagine the context of this drawing to be elle going home from a pride parade (useless yapping below)
i made her look more comic-like (i like drawing looser curls more - sue me /hj)
please ignore the shoe situation - i don't like drawing shoes
and also please ignore the fact that there is someone below her (this was the reference pic, and i was too lazy to draw the background, and there weren't any other good subway seat pictures to use)
