#school spirits au

[iivyconfessional]

One Slip Closer- Chapter 9

Hey guys! I'm so sorry for the 3-month absence. Life happened and kept happening, and I had to deal with it, but I'm back, Chapter 9 is finished, and 10 is in the works!

Minors Do Not Interact!!! Sexually Explicit Content Ahead!

Without further ado, Chapter 9! I hope you like it!

xoxo iivy

<<<Chapter8 /// Chapter 10>>>

Chapter 9- Maybe A Nudist

Hand in hand, Wally and I walk back toward the school. After this morning, after that kiss, we spent the rest of the day talking. I told him stories about Ray, about all the things we’d done together, and about how much I miss her. I told him about everything I’d done to learn to live my death. He apologized and listened and apologized some more.

“Wally,” I look up at him, at the way his tan skin glows in the late afternoon light, at the moles that dot his skin, at his fluffy chestnut hair and beautiful russet eyes.

“Belle,” he says, smiling down at me, stopping our leisurely walk across the grass between the school and the greenhouse.

“I, um,” He’s looking at me in that way that turns my brain to mush and makes my belly turn into an acrobatic act. “I promised Charley I’d help him look for the Christmas decorations in the theater storage.” He smirks, and it makes my cheeks heat up before I ask, “Do you want to come with us?”

The chuckle that leaves his lips is warm and bright, “I already pulled them to the front and organized them.” 

“You did what?” 

“I had to keep myself busy while I was miserable missing you.” The way he says it, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, has me pushing to my tiptoes to kiss him. The moment our lips brush, the live wire living in my bones zaps to life. He ducks his head, slotting his lips against mine in a way that just fits.

The tender moment is cut short when he pulls back, resting our foreheads together, the hand he had intertwined with mine comes up to push my glasses back up my nose. “Maybe after we pull the Christmas decorations out, we could find somewhere to hide away for the night. Just the two of us.”

I nod as best as I can with my forehead still connected with Wally’s, breathless as I whisper, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Wally pulls open the door to the closet in the computer lab, the one that’s set up to be a tiny movie room, and I duck under his arm and into the darkness. I flip on the projector, and the white light from it is just enough to see that the room is exactly the same as the last time I was in here, but it feels different somehow – like the room is alive with energy, despite it being well past the school’s operating hours.

“Me and Rhonda had a horror movie marathon in here last week,” I tell the back of Wally’s head as he begins to drag beanbags to the center of the room from their place in the corner. “She found a flash drive with a bunch of good ones some kid pirated.”

“Sounds like Rhonda. She’s like the human version of a bat.” That makes me chuckle because it’s not a bad comparison. 

Once the beanbags are arranged in a pile, Wally stalks over to me and wraps his long arms around my waist, tugging me flush against him. My hands meet behind his head, my fingers toying with the short hairs at the nape of his neck, but then, I feel him begin to chuckle; before I can ask why he’s laughing, his arms tighten and he throws himself backwards onto the makeshift bed of beanbags, dragging me down with him and causing a yelp to escape my lips.

I land on top of Wally, chest to chest; his arms still wrapped around my waist, my hands pressing into the material on either side of his head. His abdomen muscles contract, neck muscles straining as he leans up to press his lips to mine, arms tugging at my waist to pull me deeper into the kiss.

His lips are liquid sugar against mine, so sweet in the way he kisses me. Chases my lips with his own, like the way the first autumn leaf chases the breeze as it falls off the tree. His rough hands are exploring my back, calloused fingers occasionally skimming the sliver of exposed skin where the hem of my shirt doesn’t quite meet the top of my jeans.

I’m positively lost to his touch, drunk on the feel and taste of him. Wally fucking Clark is reverent in the way his hands and mouth learn every curve of me. His tongue sweeps across my lower lip before he pulls it between his teeth gently, causing a small sound to fall from my mouth, and he lets go of my lip to smirk up at me. 

His fingers are lightly dancing up and down my sides, leaving tingles behind everywhere he touches. Those big brown eyes of his are locked on my lips, where they’re probably bitten red and starting to swell slightly. And god his eyes– pupils so dilated they look wholly black.

“Wally,” I breathe out, his name like a prayer on my tongue. His chin tilts up like he wants to meet my eyes, but he can’t seem to drag his gaze away from my mouth. I repeat his name, this time more pleading, and all he does is hum in response, the hmm almost a moan. 

The sound turns the heat in my belly molten, and my teeth tug my lower lip between them. The action seems to snap something in Wally because he crashes his mouth into mine, his tongue immediately swiping at the seam of my lips and darting past them when I gasp. His tongue tangles with my own, one of his hands coming up to thread through the hair at the back of my head. 

Suddenly, the arm still around my back tightens, and my whole world spins as Wally rolls us so he’s hovering over me, pressing my body gently into the bean bags, mouth still fused to my own. When our lips finally pull apart, we’re both gasping for breath; technically an unnecessary action, but the electricity coursing between us makes me feel alive again– like my whole body is wound tighter than an 8-day clock, ready to crack at the smallest push. 

A large hand meets my left hip, pressing me ever so slightly into the beanbags, the action barely there, but every one of my nerve endings is on high alert. When the soft moan rings between us, I can feel every hard line of his back tense. 

“I want you,” Wally sighs, like a desperate plea, hot breath fanning across my face, “I  want you, but I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Every ounce of consciousness zeros in on his words, my whole world coming to a pinpoint. I want you. If I still had a pulse, it would have stopped at the uttered confession, the sheer need in his voice. 

“Anything.” My brain feels like alphabet soup, every thought focused on feeling: his hand on my hip and the slight pressure, the kiss-bruised thrum lingering on my lips, the arm he still has wrapped tightly around the small of my back. “I’ll tell you if I’m not okay, yeah?”

“Yeah,” He smirks, eyes dropping back to my lips, “Okay.”

This time, when our lips meet, it’s soft; not like before, all exploration and need. This is different, this is passionate in a way that sets my bones on fire, lights me up from the inside. There are so many unspoken things that I haven’t had the time to tell Wally, but right now, my body is speaking them for me in the way it is drawn to his, connecting at every possible point. 

His tender kisses turn downright worshipful as he presses soft lips to the corner of my mouth, my cheek, a line across my jaw. Then gentle teeth scrape at my earlobe, and I can’t help the whimper that falls past my lips, Wally melting into me like the sound physically weakened him. Open mouth kisses trail down my neck, teeth gently nipping the skin, occasionally pulling and sucking marks above my pulse points. 

My fingers find their way to the hem of his shirt, gently tugging on the material. He pulls his mouth from the skin where my neck and shoulder meet, and I groan at the loss, but then he’s dragging the fabric up and over his head, exposing a wide expanse of golden skin. I drink in the sight of him, all but drooling over the gorgeous man hovering above me. 

He’s sat back on his heels, shirt discarded, large hands rubbing up and down the denim on my thighs. His hands stop when they reach the hem of my own shirt, thumbs swiping slowly across the sliver of skin peeking between it and the top of my jeans.

“Can I?” Coffee brown eyes meet mine, pleading but patient. I nod, but a small crease forms between his brows. “Belle, I need you to use your words.”

“Yes.” And that’s all he needs, thumbs brushing underneath the fabric, long fingers pushing my shirt up, up, up, until all the cotton is bunched just beneath the band of my bra. I prop myself up on my elbows, allowing Wally the leverage he needs to scoop the fabric up and over my head, discarding my shirt on the floor with his own. 

The sigh he lets out is visible, like he’s been holding his breath, his face the perfect picture of ruin. It gives me a sudden rush of confidence to reach down and pop the button of my jeans open, drawing his eyes down to the motion. Wally groans, dropping back down to his hands above me, one hand coming to my face. He gently grabs my glasses frames and lifts them off, neatly folding them and setting them safely on the floor next to our makeshift beanbag bed. The action is so sweet and thoughtful that it nearly brings me to tears.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the first time I took you up to the roof.” He sighs, brushing the hair back from around my face. The light from the projector makes his eyes sparkle in a way I could get lost in. “You’re so beautiful.”

The honey-sweet way he says it has my cheeks rivaling the heat of the sun, and the way his hands are slowly tracing down my sides is only intensifying the ache in my belly. Then his fingers reach the waistband of my jeans, and his lips find the other side of my neck, and I’m torn between writhing in anticipation and being frozen in place. The way he tucks his fingers just barely underneath the fabric causes my thighs to involuntarily clamp together, craving the pressure. 

As his fingers slip further under the denim, I find myself grabbing his wrists, not hard but firm. Immediately, he pulls back from peppering my collarbone with soft kisses to look me in the eye, worry and a tinge of fear written across his expression.

“What’s wrong? Do you want to stop?” I shake my head, and confusion takes over his features.

“Wally,” his name falls from my lips, carrying all the weight from my shoulders with it. Everything I’d been holding onto suddenly feels inconsequential in comparison; the need for him to hear, to know how I feel, rushes over me like a wave, drowning out everything else in the moment but my next words. 

“I think I’m…” I squeeze my eyes shut for just a moment before continuing, “Wally, I’m in love with you.” My eyes meet his, searching for any sign that I’ve crossed a line or pushed too far, but all I find is a look that sends chills down my spine. He lifts one hand and cups my face with it before his lips crash into mine.

I meet his pace, reaching up to bury one hand in his hair and wrapping my other around his bicep. The hand he had on my face falls away, tracing lightly down the side of my neck, past my collarbone and between my breasts, over my bra, down toward my belly, then lower, lower, lower. When his fingers begin to pull on the zipper of my jeans, I gasp, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

In a quick and clumsy movement, Wally managed to push my jeans down past my hips, breaking the kiss to pull my jeans all the way down. He stops when the denim is wrapped around my ankles and looks up to my face, a shy smile at his lips.

“We never took our shoes off.” There’s a pause after he says it, both of us looking at each other, not sure what to do. Suddenly, laughter breaks the tension, the sound rumbling from his chest is easy and melodic, a comfortable embrace. After a moment, he begins to undo the knot and loosen the laces on my Chucks, pulling them off my feet before he finishes slipping my jeans off too.

I mourn the loss of contact, of his hot skin on mine, the second he stands up but then his hands are pushing the elastic band of his sweatpants down and off his body. He’s towering over me, a predatory hunger in his eyes as they rake over my body. I’ve never felt so thankful for wearing the wrong underwear the day I died; his gaze seems to jump back and forth from the black lace on my hips to the matching lace at my chest. 

"God Belle," He says it low, the words like a quiet prayer, uttered into the space between us as he drops to his knees at my feet. My thighs get peppered with kisses first, Wally looking up at me through hooded eyelids and thick lashes. The gentle squeeze of his fingers into the flesh of my legs and his hot breath fanning over my skin has the pool of heat settling lower and lower in my belly.

"Can I?" He asks and when I open my eyes to find his, he has one hand hovering over the the waistband of my panties, the ghost of a touch. I nod, not trusting my voice not to shake with the way he's causing shivers to zap up and down my spine. "I'm gonna need verbal confirmation, sweetheart."

His tone is light and teasing, easing some of the anxiety from me so I say, "Yes. You can." The moment his fingers slip under the band of lace, a frenzy falls over us; my hands slip through his hair, he pulls the fabric off my legs in one quick motion then his mouth is finding mine once more.

My fingers fall away from his hair and trace down the defined muscles of his back until I find the band at the top of his boxers. I slip two fingers under the fabric and give a gentle push. Wally, also eager to rid the last remaining layer of fabric between us, slips his boxers off the rest of the way. With nothing but a few inches of space separating us, I pull my lips from his and take a moment to catch my breath.

I look down at our barely touching bodies, his toned thighs are covered in curly hair that connects to the dense mass of hair between his thighs and trails lightly up his lower stomach. I can see his hard length, the way it's almost pressing against my thigh, and I can feel the heat radiating off of him. I feel myself clench in anticipation and my back arches just slightly.

"Belle, talk to me." My eyes meet Wally's once more as he says, "Tell me what you're thinking." He sounds so sincere, like whatever I say next could shatter him or bring him back to life.

"I'm just really mad it took us so long to get here." I confess. "Had we just talked to each other sooner, we wouldn't have had to wait so long for this."

He chuckles softly, smirking as he says, "Yeah, you're right." But then he lowers his mouth to my ear, his voice deep as he whispers, "but maybe the wait makes it that much sweeter."

The low timber of his voice sends shivers through me and when his lips press a hot kiss to my neck, it pulls a moan from me. Suddenly, the need and want and desire that's been burning between us goes up in an inferno of passion.

All at once, he has one hand behind my back undoing the clasp of my bra and pulling it off, while his other hand pushes my thighs open. His mouth is carving a trail of soft kisses and sharp bites down my neck, across my collarbone and over the top of my breasts.

My hands find his back, one going up to tangle in his hair and pull him closer. I need him closer. When I tug his hair and dig my nails into the skin on his shoulder, I hear the low moan that he makes against my sternum. Encouraged, knowing he's just as eager as I am, I pull lightly on his hair again until his mouth connects with mine.

As our tongues tangle together, he palms one of my breasts in his big, calloused hand and the friction makes me writhe beneath him. He breaks the kiss to look down between our bodies, studying mine like a bug under a magnifying glass; the heat of his gaze raking over me only adds to the tension in the air.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" As his eyes meet mine, the question falling from his lips so delicately, I bring my hand from his back to cup his cheek.

"I've never wanted anything more than I want you right now, Wally Clark."

With his face still in my hand, he kisses me with reverence, winding my body tighter and tighter until I feel like the smallest push would break me apart. Then I feel his hand leave my side and the tip of his erection nudge against my slick center. The feeling is electric and I gasp as jolts of pleasure and surprise buzz through me.

"Shh, it's okay. I'll be gentle, baby girl." Wally mumbles against my lips, not quite breaking the kiss. I feel him line himself up with my entrance and nudge against it softly. "You can take it, I know you can." He pushes in, just until I feel the head of his cock fully inside me. "I don't want to hurt you. I'm going slow."

I'm a moaning mess beneath him, trying so hard to stay still but between the heat of him stretching me open and the sweet, seductive words he's whispering into my mouth, I'm nearly crying with pleasure.

He slides in another inch, pulls back, then goes in a little deeper than before. The shallow thrusts are pulling needy little noises from me that I didn't even know I could make. "Fuck Belle, you feel so good." A little deeper, then almost all the way back out. "You're taking me so well." Another shallow thrust and we both moan when he pulls back.

He's driving me crazy. The ball of need in me feels like it's going to explode if he keeps up this agonizing pace. His soft words and the kisses between them are heaven, driving up the desire into damn near ecstasy.

"Wally," I don't know if I'm begging him to keep going or pleading with him to end this madness he's thrown me into but he pulls his lips fully away from mine for the first time in what feels like hours and looks down at me with dark eyes.

"Oh kitten, you're gonna need to use your words and tell me what you want." His voice is so low with want that it causes my walls to involuntarily clench around his head and he growls with pleasure. "Tell me what you want." it's not a request, but a demand.

My brain feels like mush and all independent thoughts have vacated the premises; I am his to command and nothing more, so I close my eyes and answer him truthfully, "I want you all the way inside me." He slides in another inch, like he's rewarding my confession, a low hmm on his lips. "I need you Wally. Use me. Please." I'm downright begging him and when I open my eyes, I find him already meeting my gaze with a devious smile on his lips.

"Oh, doll, I plan to do just that. I just wanted to hear you beg for it." His smile is sinful as he leans down to press a kiss to my lips, soft and so at odds with the devious look in his eyes. He mutters against my lips, " I don't want to hurt you so—"

Before he can finish his sentence, I interrupt him, "I can take it."

That seems to be all the confirmation he needs because he presses one hand into my hip, holding me down against the beanbags firmly and using his other hand to tilt my head to the side. I feel his tongue, hot and wet, lick a long path from my collar bone to just behind my ear where he whispers, "Take a deep breath."

I obey, and as soon as I do, he slams into me. His cock filling me up fully, our hips meeting in a sharp slap, and a moan tears it's way out of me. Wally pauses for a moment, allowing my walls to adjust around him, and then he's pulling out and slamming back in. He sets a brutal pace, not fast but hard; he's dominating every one of my senses with his length filling me, his firm grasp on my hip, and his tender kisses covering my throat.

The sounds he's working out of me only encourage him further. As he speeds up his thrusts, my hands find purchase in his hair and on his shoulders. I'm holding onto him for dear life, unable to do anything else as he fucks into me, the knot in my belly rising to a fever pitch.

"You feel so fucking perfect." His voice rumbles into the hollow of my throat between kisses, and when I clench around him, he pulls me closer. His hand leaves my jaw, trailing down between my breasts, circling around my naval, then further down. His hand stops it's decent right above my pubic bone, where he flattens his palm against the skin and presses down.

I gasp at the sudden pinpoint of pressure, I can still feel his hard cock hitting deep inside me but now I can feel where it presses against his hand with every thrust. The sensation is otherworldly and I cling tighter to him, pulling my legs up to wrap around the small of his back. The hand that still hadn't left my hip travels around to palm my ass, squeezing and kneading at my cheek.

"Wally," his name might as well be a prayer on my lips for the way he is worshiping my body so thoroughly. With my ankles locked behind him and my hands clinging to his back and neck, every thrust feels deeper than the last and all of my nerve endings feel like a live wire.

"God baby, you're so tight." His lips find mine again and as his tongue works it's way into my mouth, his hand on my belly begins to move lower. Never slowing the pace of his thrusts, Wally's calloused fingers slip between my legs and ghost over my clit. The tiniest touch has my hips jerking up and my back arching even further than it had been. "That's it, kitten, let me fucking ruin you."

His finger meets my clit again, slowly circling around it and I all but cry out at the pleasure. Wally slows his thrusts to match the rhythm of his fingers, slowly speeding up with each pass until he's pounding into me furiously and his rough fingers are bringing me to the edge. My walls are clenching around him, my thighs are shaking where they rest against his hips, and I'm practically sobbing into his shoulder.

"Let go, Doll, I've got you." He kisses me like a man deprived of oxygen taking his first full breath, swallowing down my moans with fervor. With one deep thrust, I feel my walls spasm around his pulsing cock. He stays buried in my and continues to rub gentle circles around my clit, wringing out every last ounce of pleasure from my orgasm before his hand leaves my ruined cunt. He brings both hands up to cup my face and I open my eyes to find his.

No words could ever be enough to fill the space between us in this moment, and we don't need them to. Laying here, my legs still wrapped around his waist, him still fully inside me, nose to nose, I feel like everything is right in the world.

We stay wrapped up in each other, a pile of limbs on a pile of bean bags, for long after what is necessary. We end up watching some movie I don't care to remember the name of, talking about nothing in particular, peppering each other with honey-sweet kisses, until we both doze off.

For the first time since I died and maybe even the first time ever, I feel like I'm right where I need to be. I'm not worried about what comes next or what tomorrow might bring; I'm fully content to stay right here in Wally's arms. To hell with everything that isn't in this dark projector room— it can all wait. Right now, I have him and he has me and nothing else matters.

[iivyconfessional]

Fic Update!

Hey guys... Sorry it's been almost 3 months. A lot happened very quickly, and I needed time to sort everything out, but I'm back! Chapter 10 is up on AO3, and I'll be posting it here too when I get a chance. I also have the final chapter in the works, so ideally that'll be out soon!

One Slip Closer (44853 words) by iivyconfessional

Chapters: 10/11

It's a very long chapter, and it's spicy, so I hope that makes up for my absence! Again, I'm sorry for dropping off the face of the earth! Anyway, let me know what you think!

xoxo iivy

[iivyconfessional]

One Slip Closer- Chapter 8

Chapter 8 is back to Belle's pov and starts after the end of Chapter 7. I hope you enjoy the fluff as we are getting closer to the end of this fic! I'm still debating on if I should write smut in the next chapter, so let me know if you want to see that. Enjoy!

xoxo iivy

<<<Chapter 7.5 /// Chapter 9>>>

Chapter 8- Talking About Ray

Monday morning, I get up early enough to beat the teachers to the coffee machine. Not like it matters since I can’t disturb anything in their world, but I still take a small bit of joy in being the one to wake the coffee maker. Grabbing my blue and white mug and a green one with a chip in the handle, I pour the steaming liquid in each one, pocketing a few creamer cups and sugar packets before making my way to the art room. 

The halls are quiet, and one of the clocks I pass tells me exactly why the sun still isn’t peaking through any windows. Even for a ghost with nothing better to do, 5:37 is still early in the morning. I get to the art room, but with a coffee cup in either hand, I have to resort to knocking with my foot. It only takes a minute for Yuri to pull the door open for me, and as I walk in, he takes the green mug I extend to him.

The room is dim from the lack of sunlight coming though the windows but Yuri has turned on the floor lamp in the corner as well as the two small table lamps on the shelf and desk; the dim yet warm yellow lighting has transformed the art room into a cozy den of sorts and I can only imagine it feels natural to someone alive in the era of conversation pits.

“Cream or sugar?” I pull both from my pocket and offer them out to Yuri. He nods and takes two of each, pouring them both into his mug and using his finger to stir the liquid around.

“I’ll let the coffee make up for the early visit.” He smiles softly, sipping the hot liquid, “What brings you by today?” 

I smile at Yuri, knowing he’ll be pleased by my next words. I take a few more sips from my own mug just to draw it out, then I say, “I thought, maybe, you could finally teach me some of your fancy pottery stuff.” Yuri smiles widely at that, and I let him have the moment before I add, “Then we can talk about yesterday.” 

He groans but makes his way to the pottery wheel regardless, and I follow. He pulls his apron from its hook on the wall and hands me one as well, and I pull up a stool to sit across the wheel from him. He readies his supplies, an action I’ve watched him do a few times over the month I’ve been visiting him. 

“I’m only agreeing to this because I like your company and I want to share my craft.” I can tell he’s joking about that last part, and I hope he isn't about the first. I nod while he explains the mechanics of the wheel, the petals, and what each tool is used for.

He demonstrates how to throw the clay and work it into various shapes, how to smooth it out or add divots and texture. He lets me try, and my attempt at a vase crumples in on itself. Yuri chuckles but then explains what I did wrong and how to correct it, telling me it’s happened to him many times. In the end, we wind up with a new ashtray, and I’m sad that the clay will just reset all of my hard work, but I had fun learning.

Once Yuri and I have washed the clay off our hands and hung our aprons back up, we sit back down on our stools. The lump of clay is now replaced with his red ashtray, and Yuri pulls a joint and his Zippo from his pocket. He sparks the lighter, lights the joint, flicks the lighter closed, and hands the joint to me. This part of being around Yuri is the most routine thing about being dead. It’s comfortable and familiar, like walking through my own house.

“Alright,” I breathe out the smoke in my lungs toward the window that’s cracked and letting a cool breeze in. “What made you decide to come last night?”

I hand the joint back as he huffs out a small laugh, “I wanted to watch the movie, I guess.” When he sighs, he looks like an ancient dragon, the way the smoke curls out of his mouth and around his face. “And I dunno… ever since I started talking to you, I realized how lonely I’ve been.”

“Did you like the movie at least? I know you said The Great Gatsby was one of your favorite books.” He nods, and I smile, “I’m glad.”

We sit in a comfortable silence for a while before I speak again, “So, Charley may or may not have grilled me about you after I went back to the library last night.”

Yuri straightens slightly, and I can see a faint blush creeping up his cheeks, “About me? What did he ask?” I can tell he’s trying to play it cool, but the way he’s picking at the hem of his shirt tells me he’s nervous about what I might say.

“Oh, nothing bad!” I reassure him. “He just wanted to know how long we’ve been friends and why I’d never said anything before.” He visibly relaxes, but his eyes are trained intensely on mine, waiting for anything else I might have to tell. 

“Oh,” Is all he says, but it comes out more as a sigh

“If you want, I could introduce you.” I shrug, “I don’t want to rush you out of here or anything, but our coffee is cold, and if that clock,” I gesture to the one hanging from the wall above the door, “is right, Charley and Rhonda should be making a fresh pot right about now.”

Yuri pauses for a moment, looking at the coffee mugs we’d abandoned before we started on the clay lessons. But then I see it; the exact moment determination hardens the set of his jaw and he squares his shoulders. When he looks back up to meet my eyes, his smile lines deepen, and he nods.

“Yeah. Let’s do it. I’m sick of being alone in here.”

“Yeah? You’re sure you’re ready?” I ask him.

“I am. I love the art room, but I think it’s time for a change in scenery.”

Yuri and I make our way to the teachers’ lounge, cold coffee mugs in hand. He points out all the things that have changed since the 70s, and it’s not a lot. I can hear Charley’s laughter from down the hall, and as we get closer to the open door, I see Dawn and Rhonda are in there too. When we walk through the door, Yuri behind me, they all look up. Charley immediately turns pink, and Dawn looks like a child passing a puppy on the street.

“Mornin’, guys!” I smile and wave, then gesture behind me, “You know Yuri, right?”

They nod, and I introduce each of them by name to Yuri, even though I had gone over who was who with him yesterday. I sit down next to Rhonda, Dawn hops off her usual perch on the counter to bring the coffee pot to the table, and I thank her. Yuri sits between me and Charley, and I fill both our mugs back up.

“Charley is the one who told me where to get the good creamer,” I tell Yuri. “He has all sorts of useful information, so if you ever need anything, I’d be happy to help, but he’s probably the better option.” I throw a wink Charley’s way when Yuri isn't looking, and he sends me a glare.

After that, we all fall into casual conversation. Yuri and Dawn talk about the 70s for a bit, Charlie and I talk about what we want to do for Christmas decor in the library, and Rhonda teasingly rolls her eyes at the idea of all that holly jolly crap before leaving the room altogether.

“We should go down to the storage room and look for the Christmas decorations. That way they’re ready to be pulled out!” Charley suggests, and I agree. “Wanna come with us, Yuri?” He turns his attention to the blonde, and I swear I see them flush matching shades of pink.

“Let’s do it!” I stand from my chair and turn toward the door. At that same moment, the door opens and Wally walks in, his eyes immediately meet mine, looking a little wild, and his chest rises quickly like he’s out of breath. 

“Belle,” He crosses the room in a few long strides, only stopping once he’s right in front of me. His shoulders are squared like he’s ready for a fight, jaw set with what can only be described as determination. I catch the way his fingers flex and clench at his sides like he’s trying not to scratch an itch. 

“I was looking for you.” He clears his throat softly, and I see his adams apple bob, the muscles in his neck working. He runs a hand through his hair and tilts his head toward the door, “Can we talk?”

I was hoping he wouldn’t say that, hoping I could avoid any more heartbreaking I don’t want to be around you talks from Wally. I’m finally learning to be content with my death, I’d finally given myself the space to grieve and mourn and forgive. Wally has looked like a kicked dog the last two weeks, but especially these last few days. I take pity on Wally and nod, following him when he walks out of the teachers' lounge, if only because those big brown puppy eyes could melt the Arctic if he turned his gaze on it. 

Once the door shuts behind us, I stop, and Wally turns to me, eyes pleading and soft when he says, “I was actually hoping to talk somewhere a little quieter. Maybe the roof or the greenhouse?” 

“The greenhouse is fine.” And that’s all we say, the rest of the walk across the school and outside to the greenhouse, completely silent. He opens the door for me and closes it behind us, and I take a seat on the bench while Wally leans against the door.

“So what’s up?” I cross my arms over my chest, partially to ward off the slight chill and partially to keep from nervously picking at my nails.

“I’m sorry. I just– um, I have a lot I want to say, but first I need you to know I’m sorry.” Wally runs his hand through his hair and meets my eyes, teeth tugging at his bottom lip.

“Sorry?” I can feel my eyebrows pinching together, and I send a silent prayer of gratitude that ghosts can’t get wrinkles. “What for?”

“A lot, if I’m being honest. But mainly for what I said to you on the roof.” I start to interrupt him to say he doesn’t need to apologize, but he keeps going, “I had no right to say that to you; you’d only been dead a few days, and you’d been through a lot already, and it was an asshole move on my end, so I’m sorry.” When he’s done, he huffs out a breath.

“Wally, you really don’t need to apologize. I needed to hear it, truly.” I offer him a tentative smile that he doesn’t return. Instead, he comes to sit next to me on the bench. 

“Belle, I, uh, I know I was totally a jerk, and explaining myself isn’t going to make what I said and how I treated you okay, but I feel like I owe you an explanation. If that’s okay with you.” He shifts so he’s still on the bench at my side, but he’s facing me, so I do the same, causing our knees to press together, and the skin beneath the denim starts to tingle. 

“Yeah, okay.” I nod, unable to deny him anything when those doe eyes are aimed my direction. I swear he does it on purpose, knowing how they affect me.

“Okay,” Wally nods back, and I can see his throat working nervously as he thinks. “So, I guess I should start with what happened in the greenhouse.” I nod, and he goes on, “When you ran out with your coffee, no one really knew what was going on. When you ran, you knocked your chair over and spilled almost all of your coffee. Charley cleaned it up, but I didn’t even think about any of that. Belle,” He takes a deep breath and rests a hand on one of my knees.

“All I could think about was you. If you were okay, what was wrong, doing whatever it took to make it better. I couldn’t figure out what direction you went, I tried calling your name but you didn’t answer, and that’s why it took me a minute to find you outside; you were shivering and crying, and I felt like my heart– like my chest was going to explode.” I don’t miss that way he corrected himself, but I choose not to press, instead focusing on the searing touch on my knee. 

“Anyway,” he keeps going, his eyes glued to where his hand rests on my knee, “when we got to the greenhouse and you started talking about James and your mom, about all the goals you had for your life, all the stuff you’d accomplished– I was barely able to keep from pulling you into my arms and never letting you go. But then you were talking about Ray, and that panic attack started.”

The reminder makes my chest squeeze uncomfortably, but Wally’s thumb begins to brush back and forth on my knee, and it’s comforting. It makes me think about his gentle fingers brushing my arm during movie night when we watched The Breakfast Club , and my stomach does a flip. I don’t know why he has such an effect on me, but the smallest of touches from Wally has me halfway to being putty in his hands.

“I know I’ll never be able to help you through those the way Ray or James would, but I pulled out all the stops, everything I know about anxiety and panic attacks that I’ve learned from Charley, anything to help. And when you fell asleep in my lap, I fell for you, Belle.”

His words don’t fully register, but the way he’s looking at me scrambles my brain, full-on TV static. His eyes flash from hopeful to sad in the same breath before he continues, “But you were so new to this world and you had a lot going on and I really didn’t want to push you into something you weren’t ready for.”

“Wally, hang on a second.” I set my hand on top of his, trying to stop his ramblings.

“Belle, I really need to explain all of this. I’ve been a total dipstick these last two weeks, avoiding you when all I’ve wanted was to be around you. If you’re willing to listen, I want to explain myself. Please?” He looks at me, sad puppy eyes turned up to a hundred, and all I can do is nod. 

“I guess the real turning point for me was when we were at your locker, watching James go through your stuff, and I saw that note. It was like a punch to the gut, and all I could think was that not only were you still trying to grieve your own death, but you also still had someone in the living world. I thought ‘there’s no way she’d ever feel the same way because she has a boyfriend who loves her and she talks about him like she loves him too, and I just felt sick, so I ran off to the roof.”

“And then when you found me up there, I had totally planned on talking to you about it and about my feelings, but I panicked and just pushed you away instead. It was bullshit, and I’m sorry. You deserved a real explanation, and I’m sorry I was too chickenshit to give you that.”

Wally is talking so fast I barely have time to understand what he’s referring to– or who he’s referring to. When he gets it all out and takes a deep breath, eyes downcast to where my hand still rests over the one he has on my knee, I can’t help the small chuckle that escapes me.

“Wally,” He looks up to meet my gaze, and his eyes are glossy, teeth worrying his bottom lip again. “Are you talking about Ray?” He nods, and the puzzle pieces slip into place.

He thinks Ray is my boyfriend.

“Wally, Ray isn’t my boyfriend.” I could end his suffering now and just tell him, but the way his brows knit together is cute.

“But you said you spent the weekend at the lake with Ray, and you would sneak out to see his band play. That's all boyfriend-girlfriend stuff.” God, his confused face is so cute. I take a deep breath to calm the laughter threatening to bubble out of my chest.

“Wally, Ray is a girl, and she’s been my best friend since we were 8. She lives a few towns over, and her dad has a lake house in Chicago.” I pull the blue beaded bracelet off my wrist and hold it out to Wally, “Me and Ray made these right before our freshman year started, right before she moved and had to change schools.”

Wally pulls the beads from my fingers to examine them as I continue to talk, “We’ve always been each other’s comfort person, and we wanted a way to still feel close after she moved. We spent hours going to craft stores to find the perfect beads– mine are blue to match her eyes, and her bracelet has green beads that match my eyes. We made them and agreed that if we ever needed the other’s support and couldn’t be there, we’d have the bracelets.”

“So, you don’t have a boyfriend?” I shake my head, a small smile pulling at my lips. “And Ray, who wrote I love you at the bottom of your birthday note, isn’t a boy? ” I shake my head and let out a soft chuckle. “Then hypothetically if I were to say that I have feelings for you…” Wally trails off, a soft blush spreading over his cheeks.

“Well, you did already tell me I’m the coolest person you know.” I smile at him brightly, hoping to ease away some of the nervous tension radiating through him. He smiles, chuckling softly as he slips my bracelet back over my hand. 

“You are the coolest person I know. But Belle,” He lifts his eyes to meet mine, and I feel molten from the inside out. The swarm of butterflies in my belly takes root, and if it weren’t for our hands still on my knee, I might float away. “Maybe I have other feelings for you. And maybe I feel like I’ve known you my whole life. Maybe your presence feels like home to me more than any place ever has. Maybe the second I laid eyes on you, I knew I wanted to get to know you. And maybe your eyes became my new favorite color the first time I saw them.” 

I feel the heat in my cheeks reach a boiling point when he pauses, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. He drops his gaze to our stacked hands and flips his over so they’re pressed palm to palm.

“But, Belle, I’ve treated you so terribly these last two weeks. I got jealous and scared, and I pushed you away, so if you want nothing to do with me, I’d get it.” I start to shake my head, truly baffled that he’d think that. “I really wouldn’t blame you for it, after the way I’ve been. You’re amazing, truly. You got Yuri to talk, to leave the art room ; I’ve been trying to get him to talk to me for 40 years! You’re incredible and I’ve been awful, so if you don't feel the same–”

I cut him off before he could finish that thought.

“Wally, shut up.” 

Before I can think better of it, I pull my hand from his, bringing it up to his face and pulling him to me. My lips crash against his, and oh god, this is way better than I’d imagined. He lets out a small, surprised gasp, but then his hand leaves my knee, coming up to cup my jaw. His hand is rough against the smooth skin of my cheek, and his lips are so so soft as they move against my own. 

I pull away, just barely a breath between us, “What if, hypothetically, I felt the same way?” When he chuckles, I can feel his breath fan across my face; it’s warm and makes my stomach do another flip.

“Well, theoretically , if that were the case, I’d kick myself for avoiding you for two weeks because I was a jealous dumbass who didn’t just ask about Ray.” It’s my turn to laugh softly. Wally Clark is anything but subtle, but it works for him.

“You can make it up to me,” I tell him, smiling and taking the advantage of how close our faces are to really study the shade of brown in his eyes. They’re a warm russet and a deep chocolate ring around the outside, but when the light catches them, there are a few flecks of yellow that stand out. Chocolate was never my favorite sweet, but damn, he makes it tempting.

“Mmm, and how would I do that?” I watch his eyes dip down to my lips like he can read my mind. There’s something about this man that makes me think he just might be able to.

“Well, you can tell me everything I missed out on while you were avoiding me, and you can listen when I tell you everything I did to, how did you put it? Oh yeah, learn to live my death,” I tease, poking him in the sternum for added effect. 

“Yeah, I can do that,” He goes to nod, but we’re still sitting almost nose to nose, so he ends up bumping his forehead into mine, and we both chuckle softly.

“But first,” I flatten my hand to his chest, and his hand comes away from my jaw only for his index finger and thumb to grasp my chin gently a moment after, like he knows my next words before I even say them. “First, you can kiss me again.”

[iivyconfessional]

Fic Update

Hey guys! Almost a week late, but Chapter 8 is up on AO3 now!

One Slip Closer (40534 words) by iivyconfessional Chapters: 9/11

I'm so, so, so sorry it took so long. I'm starting to get a little bit of burnout, and life is kind of a dumpster fire at the moment, but this chapter is super cute, and I'm gonna ride the little wave of motivation to hopefully get chapters 9 and 10 at least outlined. I really hope you like this chapter. Comments are always appreciated, and I'll be posting the full chapter on here soon!

Also, I'm hopefully going to be making a master list later this week to kind of clean up my page a little.

xoxo iivy

[iivyconfessional]

hihi! i just wanted to let you know that i absolutely love your wally clark story! it’s been so hard to find fics (especially angst, which is MY FAV) for him and i’m so glad i found your account! keep up the good work, i can’t wait for the next chapter!! 🩷

AH! Thank you so much!! I love writing angst, its the best outlet for all my feelings. The last two chapters are gonna be a lot of fluff (and maybe some smut? Im undecided as of right now) but writing the angsty wally pov was for sure my favorite part of this fic!

If all goes well, I should have the next chapter up tonight or tomorrow! Again, thank you so much for the love!

xoxo iivy

[iivyconfessional]

One Slip Closer- Chapter 7.5

A quick note: This bonus chapter is from Wally's POV and it covers the span of the last two chapters, starting at the end of chapter 5. This chapter also deals pretty heavily with self-hate and insecurity. There are some other potential triggers, so please read responsibly.

I really loved writing this chapter, and despite that it might seem like I hate Wally, I really don't. I just like to write angst and hurt. Again, thank you for reading! A special thank you to my best friend and proofreader, Trik for convincing me to write this chapter!

xoxo iivy

<<<Chapter 7 /// Chapter 8>>>

Chapter 7.5- Mistake With A Capital W

Two weeks ago, on the roof

I hold Belle’s gaze, hoping, wishing, praying to whatever entity might be listening, that she’ll stay. That she’ll walk back and sit next to me and ask the right questions so I can tell her what I'm too afraid to offer up first. She doesn’t. Why would she? She drops her eyes and ducks back through the door and down the stairs, each step taking her further and further from the roof. From me.

I don’t know why I couldn’t just say it. All I had to do was open my mouth and say the words, tell her how I feel. But I didn’t, and I can’t, and now I won’t have the chance. It’s too late for me to run after her, to chase her down and grab her shoulders and just ask.

I run my hands through my hair, tugging on it. Frustration settling in my chest, doing all the work to fight off the cold November night air. Frustration at myself, at that nagging little voice in my head telling me I’m not worth it, that I don’t deserve her time. 

I sleep on the roof and wake up on Tuesday morning in the light of early dawn, half frozen and somehow more tired than when I had passed out. I have a very fitful sleep to blame for the radiating pain in my neck, bones extra crunchy, my knee throbbing more than normal.

I decide it should go inside because while I technically can’t die a second time, the cold is making my miserable mood worse– that nagging little voice tells me this suffering is the least I deserve, and I almost listen to it.

I trudge my way to the teachers' lounge and make a cup of coffee, not to drink, just to warm my hands while I walk. I’ve never been able to sit still when something was bothering me, always pacing until I’d solved a problem, running before anxiety could catch me in its claws, doing pushups or other exercises until I found the right words to put myself at ease. 

That’s exactly what I do. Pace. I wander the halls in the true spirit of ghostliness. Haunting the school in the most literal sense that I am capable of, sour attitude and all.

And then I see her as I’m passing the open library doors. She’s splayed out across one of the couches– the same couch I laid her down on just yesterday morning after she had a panic attack and bared all her soft insecurities to me. She still has her glasses on, though they’re lopsided and pressing angry red marks into the skin on her nose.

I cross the hall and walk through the doors on featherlight feet, not making a single sound as I make my way closer. I set my coffee mug down on the closest table and, with gentle fingers, slip her frames off her face and laid them on the couch next to her arm. I tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and my heart pangs at the sight of the gold bits shining back at me.

Suddenly, Belle’s arm jerks, her torso twisting and legs straightening out, and I jump back as quietly as I can. She’s still sleeping when I grab my coffee cup and make my way to the other side of the library to hide away between the shelves.

Later on, when I have given up all hope of getting through this damn book, I peel myself off the carpet and wander toward the teachers' lounge for some water. I see Dawn on her perch and keep my eyes down when I pass, not wanting to explain the bags I’m sure are there or the rumpled hair from all the times my fingers have tried to yank the stress from my scalp.

Aimlessly wandering the halls, knowing I can’t go back to the library, I see Charley and Belle round the corner, headed straight for me. When my eyes meet hers, it feels like every star in the sky has plummeted to earth and landed smack in my chest. The weight is unbearable, so I do my best to act like I have a destination and duck into the closest classroom. 

I mentally beat myself into the dirt for how stupid I am and how horribly I’ve messed up. Why can’t you just talk to her, Wally? 

I don’t leave the English classroom until the next morning. When I do venture back out into the halls, I make the utterly stupid decision to walk past the library again, and I can feel the flutter in my chest when I see her sleeping on the same couch, in the same way, glasses and all.

Just like yesterday, footfalls as silent as I can manage, I walk over to Belle and slip her glasses off her face again. Tuck a lock of hair behind her ear again. She doesn’t move this time, and I selfishly allow myself just a moment to watch her. To admire how pink her cheeks are, the freckles and moles littered across her face. I map the constellation of them, memorizing their placements, and commit each prominent one to heart. 

I step back, finally breaking my eyes away from Belle and the way her lips are parted, rosy and slightly chapped, and that’s when I see Charley at the doors to the room. His arms are crossed, eyes narrowed behind his wire-frame glasses. Shit.

I meet Charley out in the hall and force myself to meet his eyes. I want to melt into the tile floor and cease to exist, knowing a very uncomfortable lecture and questions I don’t want to answer are about to be thrown at me. He doesn’t say anything, just nods his head to the side and starts walking down the hall. I follow him– What else am I supposed to do?

We make our way into the teachers' lounge, something we’ve done countless times over the decades but never with so much tension hanging in the air. I’ve known Charley for so long, and yet I honestly have no clue what awaits me once we sit down.

I sit at the table closest to the coffee machine, and Charley grabs two mugs and fills them before joining me. When he sits, he doesn’t slide the second coffee to me like he usually does, just sets it in front of himself and takes a sip from his own mug, one eyebrow raised in a challenge.

“Do you want to explain what I just saw, or do I have to force it out of you?” Charley’s voice is surprisingly free of judgment, but it’s also not his usual light tone either.

I sigh, still wanting to melt with mortification, but Charley is my best friend, and I know I can talk to him. I know he’ll listen. I reach across the table and pull the second coffee mug to me, taking a sip, letting it buy me a few more moments to think of the right words. Charley is patient and just sips his coffee, waiting for me to be ready.

“I–I just,” It’s hard to explain something to him that I don’t even understand. “I think I messed things up, Charley. I don’t know.” I take a deep breath, the right words are clawing at the surface, begging to be let out, but dying on my tongue.

“Wally, I don’t think you messed things up. She’s still pretty torn up over seeing her brother, you know?” Charley reaches across the table and pats me on the arm a few times before he continues, “You remember the first few times I saw Emelio and how I didn’t leave the library for almost a month? Belle is actually adjusting better than any of us expected. She said it herself, she's a Relentless Optimist .” He puts air quotes around the last two words.

“Yeah, I guess. But after everything on Monday, the panic attack, her telling me all that personal stuff, seeing her brother and that note,” I grimmace at the reminder of that note, at the name and the ‘I love you’ he wrote, “We had a talk up on the roof and I pushed her away, completely shut her out like a goddamn idiot and I dunno,” I shrug, feeling a weight settle on my chest and the sudden urge to run just to get the feeling to go away.

“What note?” is all Charley says.

“When James was going through her stuff, a note fell out. I read it over his shoulder– some kind of happy birthday note and an “I love you” signed by that Ray guy she mentions a lot.” My voice waivers a little, coming out small and sheepish, and I want to punch myself for it.

“Oh,” Charley nods, and I think he understands without me having to explain, but now that I’ve started talking, the floodgates are open.

“I really like her, Charley. She’s beautiful and funny and smart. She’s like a– Like someone bottled up an actual sunrise. I know it sounds stupid, but I feel like I know her. Like, on some deeper level, I feel like I’ve known her forever, and I got scared. I thought she wouldn’t like– and I pulled back.” My hands are in my hair again, threatening to rip until I’m bald.

“Wally,” Charley tries to stop the word vomit spilling from my lips, but it’s no use.

“It’s been like a day and a half, and I’m going crazy. I want to talk to her, but I know that after what I said on the roof, there’s no way she’d want to hear a word from me.” I puff out a heavy sigh, that weight inside me settling deeper. “I saw her sleeping yesterday morning, and her glasses were still on, so I took them off for her, and then again today, and I couldn’t help but just stare because I know it’s the only time I can.” 

Charley just nods, accepting my words, letting them spill out into the open. I remind myself to thank Charley later for being such a good friend. I truly don’t know what I’d do without his quiet reassurances and kind heart. 

I let out a final, heavy sigh and, in a voice much smaller than I’d intended, said, “I just don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know if I can. I told her she wasn’t ready to be dead yet and that I couldn’t be around her until she is. She probably hates me.”

Charley waits until he’s sure I’m done and when it’s clear I don’t have anything left to say, he puts a gentle, comforting hand on my arm and I meet his eyes. They’re serious but not cold or judging, “Do you want my help?”

I shake my head. I love Charley, and I know he would do it if I asked, but this is my mess, and I have to lie in it. He nods, understanding clear in his eyes.

Charley and I spend the rest of the day in the library, much to my dismay, but it’s a nice distraction. He reads and I listen to music, getting lost in the familiar sounds of Bowie.

Thursday morning comes, and I feel just as restless as I have for the last few days, so I decide to go to the roof to watch the sunrise. It's the first time I’ve been back up here since I talked to Belle, and when I sit at the edge, dangling my feet over the universe decides to punish me for my stupidity because Belle is there, lying out on one of the tables near where the marching band is looping.

I guess I’m a masochist because I watch her; I can just barely see the rise and fall of her chest, and I see when the sun gets high enough to shine through her closed eyelids because she moves her arm to rest over them. When she sits up, I scramble to my feet and retreat to where she can’t see me. I stay up there the rest of the day.

Enjoying the fresh air, I tell myself.

Avoiding Belle, the nagging little voice that hates me, says.

It’s early in the morning on Friday when I finally retreat inside, frozen to the bone. I head straight to the library to find Charley, but instead I find Belle– or rather, she finds me. She’s rubbing her eyes when she walks right into me, and the force of it knocks her glasses off the top of her head. 

The physical contact feels like an electrical shock to my whole body, and to keep from looking like a starstruck idiot, I make myself useful and pick up her glasses. I hand them back to her without a word, afraid of what I might say if I open my mouth, even to say sorry.

You don’t deserve to speak to her, says the voice, icy and venomous, not after you messed it all up. 

I hide away in the theatre for a while and listen to the faint thud of Mina’s boots up in the catwalk, back and forth. I’ve always loved the theatre, loved the atmosphere and the people it attracts. Had my mom not pushed me into football, I would have wanted to join the drama club. I’ve never missed a play or musical that this school has put on. I show up to every audition and casting call, and rehearsal, too. I love the arts, but specifically this one.

When it’s time for group, I lazily make my way toward the gym, not caring if I’m a few minutes late. When I walk in and see Belle in the seat between Charley and Rhonda, my chest tightens. She meets my eyes and immediately finds her shoes more interesting. She hasn’t been to group all week, and I ruined her first one back.

She hates you, the little voice says, no venom this time, just matter-of-factly. You’ll never be good enough for her, and she’s finally seeing it. Smart girl.

I’m the last to leave group, hanging back to help Mr. Martin and Charley put the chairs away. Charley pulls me aside after we’re done, sitting on the stage with me. Our feet dangle off the edge, and occasionally our sneakers bump into each other.

“Her favorite movie is Top Gun.” He says, “You know the one the history teacher likes to play after the unit on the Cold War. With the hot Navy plane guys.” 

I chuckle because, of course, Charley would say that. “I know the movie.”

“You should ask Mr. Martin if we can watch it for movie night on Sunday.” He offers me a small smile and bumps his shoulder into mine.

I just nod. “Thanks, Charley. You’re a good friend.”

I find Mr. Martin on Saturday morning and put in the movie request. He says if I can find the DVD, then we can watch it. I spend the rest of the day digging through the history teacher's desk. And the closet. And the library’s DVD collection. And the teacher’s lounge storage cabinets. I finally find it in the football coach’s desk, of all places. 

Sunday movie night rolls around, and Belle doesn’t show. I try not to let it bother me. I try to enjoy the movie. I try not to feel the shame settling in my belly.

She’ll never give you a second chance, the mean voice tells me, you aren’t worthy of her forgiveness anyway. You think a stupid movie will fix what you said to her?

I leave after the movie and book it straight to the football field. I run and run and run until I can’t anymore. I do pushups and crunches and burpees. And run some more. At some point, late at night, I swear I see Belle at the top of the stairs, but I’m running and exhausted, and I chalk it up to wishful thinking.

Monday morning, I wake up and it feels like there’s been a shift in the universe. I can’t place it and have no reasonable explanation for why, other than I can just feel something’s different. My body aches, but I go back to the field anyway, a glutton for punishment. When I get there, though, Belle is running down the stairs. I tuck myself away where I know she can’t see me, and I watch her. She runs lap after lap, up and down the stairs. 

When she’s headed back down and can’t see me, I make my escape. I sit in the greenhouse for a while just to be in a space that feels close to her. It’s a nice place to think, if I’m being honest. It’s quiet and warm, despite the end-of-November chill outside. I stay there for the rest of the morning and just think. About Belle. About everything she shared about her life. About what I would say if she ever gave me the chance to talk to her again. 

Sometime in the early afternoon, I leave the plant sanctuary and find Rhonda in the band room. We spend the rest of the day listening to music in the comfortable silence that comes with years of companionship. She’s not my best friend like Charley is, but more like the older sister I’d always wanted, but never had.

Tuesday, I get to the field nice and early, hoping Belle will come back again today, and I’ll run into her. I see her at the top of the stairs and have to fight the urge to run up the stairs to her. When she turns on her heels and jogs away, I pretend I don’t feel like I’ve been stabbed.

I told you, the nagging voice tells me, she wants nothing to do with you.

I’m starting to think… it might be right.

Wednesday morning, I wake up in the library, and Charley has already made coffee and set one on the table next to me. It’s cold today, more so than it has been, so when I finish my coffee, I decide to grab my jacket before I head to the field. Usually, I don’t bother bringing it and just run in the cold. I may be a glutton for punishment, but I don’t want to deal with frostbite.

Jacket slung over one shoulder, I throw open the gym doors and freeze. Belle is sitting on the floor, her knees are red like she’d fallen, and her fingers are working to tie the laces. She looks up, and her eyes meet mine right away. I don’t have a heartbeat to skip, but it feels an awful lot like it. My knees go weak, and my vision tunnels in so all I can see is Belle.

I take a step. Just one.

“Hey, Belle.” That's all I can manage.

“Hey,” She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. Then she’s standing up, and I don’t miss the way she tenses the muscles in her legs, locking her knees like she’s trying to keep from swaying. I close the distance between us, far enough to not crowd her, but close enough to catch her if she falls.

I can feel the tension bouncing between us, like a live wire stripped clean and ready to start a flame. I don’t think, don’t give any time to reason or talk myself out of it before I say, “Belle, look. I think we need to talk.”

She flinches, takes a step back, and says, “Actually, I uh, I have to go. I’m supposed to be meeting Charley. For coffee.” She’s nodding her head, but it feels like she’s trying to convince herself more than me. And she is. Because I just had coffee with Charley, and he mentioned he hadn’t seen Belle or Rhonda since yesterday morning. 

She side steps me and all but runs for the exit doors, stopping just before them. Like it was an afterthought, like she didn’t care or didn’t want to say anything else, but decided at the last second, she says over her shoulder, “See you around, Wally.”

And then she’s gone. 

All thoughts of my run slip out the door behind her– the gaping hole in my chest is punishment enough for the day. Instead, I sulk off to the theatre again. I shout up my courtesy Hello to Mina before I slip into the storage room beneath the stage. December starts next week, and Charley will want to start decorating for Christmas soon, so I make myself busy organizing the decorations; I pull all of them towards the front of the room, sort the boxes and bins into groups, and shake out the tree for spiders before putting it back in its box. Anything to keep my hands and mind busy.

Thursday, I spend the whole day with Dawn. I’m still shaken after yesterday’s run-in with Belle, and the mean little voice has grown incessant with its nagging.

She hates you.

You’ve ruined the best thing that could have happened for you.

This is your punishment.

You’re stuck with this mistake for the rest of your afterlife.

She hates you.

You’re stupid for ever thinking you deserved love.

She hates you.

She wants nothing to do with you.

She hates you.

She hates you.

She hates you.

Dawn has never minded a silent companion, always content to talk and talk. Always happy to fill the silence, never expecting conversation in return. Dawn is a good friend, and I let her know that. I don’t talk much throughout the day, letting her update me on the lives of the living, recent gossip, the weather reports, all of it. 

By the end of the day, I retire to the computer room, sleeping on the pile of beanbags in the little projector closet.

I wake up on Friday morning and can’t find Charley or Belle, but I do find Rhonda in the library, reading. I join her on the couch and let her read her book aloud to me. I don’t really listen, letting my mind wander. Think of all the things that went wrong in the days since Belle got here. Wonder how it could have been different, had I not been an absolute fool. 

In the early hours of the evening, I leave my place next to Rhonda, thanking her for her lovely reading, and head to the theater once more. It’s my preferred quiet place, the acoustics and the way every small sound bounces around has always been soothing to me.

Saturday comes and goes in a blur. I go to the field at the break of dawn and run until I actually collapse on the turf, the fake grass digging into the back of my neck and sticking to my hands when I finally peel myself off and stand up. Wobbly legs carry me inside, to the library to grab a book, then up to the roof. At some point, Charley brings me a mug of hot chocolate. I wake up and it’s dark– my guess would be around 11 pm or so? 

I all but tumble down the stairs and into the gym locker room. I take a hot shower, hoping to ease some of the chill and ache out of me, but it hardly does anything. I pass out on the couch in the coach’s office and don’t wake up until early afternoon Sunday. 

The only thing that hauls me off the couch is the fact that it’s movie night and I have to get to group, so I haul myself up and make the short walk toward the gym. I’m the last one to show, and I don’t need a mirror to know I look like shit because Charley’s face says it all. Belle, unsurprisingly, doesn’t look my way.

I told you, the little voice says, hate hate hate hate

I do my best to shut its mantra out, focusing on my shoes instead. That is, until Belle speaks up. She tells everyone she’s finished her eulogy. Mr. M asks if she’d like to read it standing for the full effect, but she declines.

She starts reading from the paper in her hands, and I don’t miss the way her fingers shake, just a little bit. Or the way her left leg doesn’t stop bouncing, the first one of her anxious tells I’d learned. My fingers itch to squeeze her knee gently, to comfort her, to ease the panic I can hear creeping in at the edges of her voice.

She starts, and I find out her full name is Bella Donna Hawthorne. I listen to her words, to the story of her life being read as though it’s from someone else. About the love and happiness she had in life. Anecdotes about her Mom and Dad and James, my stomach twisting in an ugly knot when she mentions Ray, but I push it down. I listen to the things she wrote about herself, and I know she’s being modest because she is all those things and more.

I learn about her interests and her talents, and her accomplishments. I learn how she wants to be remembered, and I can feel myself falling–

Before I realize it, I’m crying. She’s folding her paper back up, and I’m wiping my eyes as discreetly as I can, schooling my expression in any way possible, and we are all clapping for her. She pushes her glasses to the top of her head, wiping her fingertips across her cheeks, and I wish I could be the one to kiss away her tears. Everyone begins clapping softly, and her face lights up with gratitude. She smiles and her eyes crinkle at the corners before she settles her lenses back on her nose. 

She looks my way for the first time since I got here, and my whole body goes rigid, like that live wire snuck into my bones and has zapped me to the core. I hunch my shoulders in, trying to contain all the emotions welling up behind my eyes and threatening to spill over.

She looks away first, and I let out an unsteady breath. I need air. I quickly get to my feet and leave the gym before anyone can see. The tears are falling before I’m even fully out of the doors, and my shoes feel like they’re made of lead. Every step from the gym to the roof is as hard as running through quicksand.

When I burst through the doors, cold November air icing the tears on my cheeks, I breathe in the first deep breath I have in what feels like days. With a bang, the door shuts behind me, and it’s like the floodgates have opened. I spend a long time crying on the roof. Crying for Belle and all she must be going through right now. Tears for how selfish it feels to want to be there for her. Sobs for how stupid I am for missing out on any time I could have spent with her over the last two weeks.

When my eyes are finally dry and I’m cold and shaking, I make my way back inside. It’s almost time for the movie, and when I get to the gym, everything is already set up. I flop down on one of the couches and do my best to avoid eye contact with everyone. 

We’re watching The Great Gatsby, and I’m not mad. It’s a good movie and will be an even better distraction from the hollow panging in my chest. That is, until the movie finally starts, and just as the opening credits finish, the gym door opens. Everyone who is usually here is accounted for, so I turn to see who has walked in.

It’s Yuri. The blonde boy from the art room. The boy who’s been here longer than I have, whom I’ve tried to talk to countless times to no avail.

Belle jumps up and jogs right up to him, talks with him softly, and he smiles at her. He follows her to the couch she’d been lying on, and when she says something to Charley, he leaves his seat to join Rhonda in the beanbag pile. 

Yuri replaces Charley on the couch next to Belle, and I feel like my blood is on fire. 

That should be me, sitting next to her. Whispering in her ear, listening to her commentary, making her smile, and trying to hide laughs. I wish I could be the one on the couch beside her right now; maybe she'd lay her legs across my lap, let me rest my hand on her knee. Maybe she'd lean her head on my shoulder, let my cheek rest against her forehead. If I hadn't blown any shot at something between us, I could be next to her right now, feeling the warmth of her presence, the electricity of her touch.

You don't deserve her, the nagging voice tells me, she would never want you like that anyway.

I try my best to watch the movie, focusing more on my inability to focus than on the movie itself. I can't stop looking at Belle, at the way she seems so comfortable with Yuri. I can't bother with Gatsby when the only person I care to watch is sitting on the other couch, sharing a bowl of stale popcorn with someone who isn't me. 

Get over yourself, Wally. That'll never be you because you let your insecurities ruin the one good thing you've ever had going for you, the voice starts again, you're jealous and needy, and pathetic. Belle would never want you. 

She would never willingly put up with such a poor excuse for a man.

You don't deserve her.

She hates you.

She's already forgotten you.

The rest of the movie plays, but I can’t focus on any of it. My mind is spinning in circles. Belle and Yuri are friends. How did that happen? When did that happen? I’ve been trying to get him to open up for the better part of four decades, and she does it in a matter of weeks? A healthy dose of self-hatred sprinkled throughout the few logical questions I come up with. 

When the movie is over, Belle leaves with Yuri. I can’t help myself; I follow them. Not closely, but just enough to observe. Call it curiosity, massocism, whatever, I just need to know. They walk to the art room, but Belle doesn’t go in with him, just bumps him with her elbow, says goodbye, and heads to the library for the night.

I knew she was an amazing person, relentless optimism and electric personality, but if she seriously got Yuri the hermit to leave the art room in less than a month, she has to be an angel. And all I can think is that I need to fix this mess I made. I have to talk to her.

[iivyconfessional]

One Slip Closer- Chapter 7

Summary: After last week spent down in the dumps, Belle is finally ready to stop sulking and learn to enjoy her afterlife. Charley, Rhonda, Dawn, and even Yuri help her realize it's not so bad to be dead.

<<<Chapter 6 /// Chapter 7.5>>>

Chapter 7- A Step Into The Sunshine

I wake up Monday morning still feeling dead and drained– emotionally, that is. After last night, that conversation with Charley really changed my perspective. When I put my glasses on, setting them in place, I decide that even if I feel like crap, I can pretend that I don’t. 

“Fake it till you make it, baby,” I tell myself, and though it is the ass crack of dawn, I go outside for a run. At first, I just planned to do a few laps around the yard and parking lot, but when I pass the football stadium and see that it’s empty, I take the opportunity.

I don’t count my laps, making the passes up and down the stairs until my legs feel like they’ll give out on the next step. The sun is fully over the horizon before I make my way back inside. I shower, and it feels nice to do something so normal in the literal place that I died.

I find Dawn in the bleachers of the gym when I’m leaving the locker room, and I spend the rest of the day with her. We follow students around, listening to gossip and making up our own. Dawn’s laughter is contagious, I find out; she’s a ray of sunshine and an incredible friend. She tells me how she died, and I cry with her when she shares, telling her she didn’t deserve the way those girls had treated her.

Eventually, Dawn and I part ways. She goes off to find someone named Mina, and I meet up with Charley to go to the LGBTQ Club like last week. This week’s meeting is smaller, but I can see why Charley comes to them; they’re comforting. Afterwards, I go to the greenhouse where I journal for a while, still working on my eulogy; I’m on draft seven or eight now, but it still doesn’t feel done.

The Tuesday morning sun beams through the greenhouse panes and warms my face. When I sit up, I don’t feel as horrible as I did yesterday, and decide I hate myself just enough still to go for another run. I head toward the football stadium for more stair laps, but when I get there, a certain someone is on the field, so I promptly turn around. I run laps around the yard instead, listening to the marching band loop the same songs, following the same pattern, stepping in the same spots over and over again. 

When my legs start to tire and I feel a phantom burn in my lungs, I begin to cheer the band on. Something about encouraging the ghosts that can’t hear me pushes me to keep going, almost like the praise bonuses off them and beams back to me. There's a lot of “keep up the good work” and “you’re doing great” and even a sarcastic “man, you’d think you guys never stop practicing” thrown in there. 

They don’t react, of course, but it pushes me to keep going, so every few laps I throw out more inspirational bullshit. That is until I hear Rhonda behind me, laughing when I tell the band to “look alive! Put some pep in your step,” and I finally stop running to go sit on the bleachers with her. I hadn’t realized how hard I'd been pushing myself until I sit down and immediately feel the need to rub some of the soreness from my legs.

“So Cherry Pop, what’re you runnin’ from?” Rhonda asks, leaning back on her elbows on the seat behind her and crossing her ankles on the row below. 

“Well, I've been dead for two weeks, and I figured I should probably find a routine to keep my sanity intact,” I tell her, skipping the part about Wally and his opinions on my readiness to be dead. I know Rhonda wouldn’t judge, but I’m making this week about me, not Wally. 

“So you start with running? Sounds horrific. What’s next on the schedule?” This is why I like Rhonda. She’s no-nonsense, straight to the point, but in a supportive way.

“Well, I honestly haven’t thought that far. I spent yesterday with Dawn, and that was fun and all. I hadn’t really planned anything for today, though. Any ideas?” 

Rhonda is quiet for a moment, a contemplative scowl on her face, the occasional hum passing her lips before she sits up, nods, and turns to face me fully, “Follow me.” 

That’s all she says before she stands and walks towards the main entrance doors of the school. I stand and follow after her as quickly as my sore legs will allow. We walk into the school and through the halls in a comfortable silence until we reach the principal's office. I stop just inside the doorway, but Rhonda marches on, rounding the secretary’s desk before she drops down out of sight.

“Rhonda, what the hell are you doing?” I say through a laugh and follow after her. When I come around the desk, I see she’s dropped to her knees and is digging in the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet. 

“I am raiding the contraband drawer.” She says matter-of-factly, and I laugh again, but drop to my knees next to her and look into the drawer.  There’s all sorts of junk in there: A few pocket knives, a phone, various types of headphones, a pack of cigarettes, and a lighter, to name a few. Rhonda grabs something before shutting the drawer.

When she stands, she tilts her head to signal for me to follow, and I do, still oblivious to her plans, but my interest is piqued.

I follow Rhonda down the halls once more, into the computer lab classroom, and past a door I haven’t been through before. We walk into the dark room, and when she flips the light switch, it becomes clear what the room is.

There’s a white canvas stretched open on one wall, a projector on the other, and a pile of beanbags in the corner. Like a makeshift mini movie theatre. I am absolutely awestruck– how have I been going to this school for three and a half years and never known this room existed? 

“Rhonda, you sneaky bitch!” I tease, “You’ve been holding out on me this whole time? I could have been wallowing in self-pity all last week in a private theatre and you didn’t say anything?” I press a hand to my chest in mock outrage, and she laughs at me.

“Yeah, well, apparently you missed your favorite movie on Sunday, and I figured you’d want a redo. Plus, I watched one of the teachers confiscate this last week,” she holds up a small flash drive, “and I wanted to save it for a special occasion.” 

I take a step closer and pluck the flash drive from her fingers, flipping it over in my palm before looking to Rhonda for further explanation. She gives me the most devious smirk and snatches the flash drive back from me and turns to plug it into the projector. 

I grab two of the bean bags from the pile and drop them to the floor in the middle of the room in front of the projector screen before throwing my body down onto one. Rhonda gets everything else set up, and as the movie stars, she sits next to me.

“I was hanging around the detention room on Wednesday and watched this guy spend the whole time pirating horror movies. The teacher caught him in the last five minutes and took the drive before he left. There are both 13 Ghosts, the first three Scream movies, and Mirrors. I watched the first 13 Ghosts when it came out and have been keeping up with horror media as best as I can. I have never been so thrilled about contraband.”

We spend the rest of the day watching horror movies, laughing, and talking. I’m absolutely not surprised that Rhonda is a horror buff, but rather, she’s the one surprised to find out that I am . We fall asleep in the beanbags sometime after the last movie finishes. 

I wake up before Rhonda on Wednesday morning and head outside for another run, but almost immediately decide it is way too cold and head to the gym to run inside instead. I run for a long time, lap after lap around the painted lines on the wood floors. 

Shit

I slip, banging my knees on the floor with a loud THUD, and a groan slips past my lips. Maneuvering so I’m sitting on my butt, I realize one of my shoes came untied and caused me to trip. Just when things are finally looking up–

My train of thought is interrupted by the door to the gym opening, my fingers stilling between me loops of my shoelaces. Wally has stopped midstride through the doors, his letterman jacket thrown over one shoulder; our eyes are locked, and I can’t look away. 

He takes one tentative step forward, “Hey, Belle.”

“Hey.” I offer a weak smile and push to my feet. We’re standing a few feet apart, but it still feels like he’s crowding my space, the air between us too thick for comfort. He takes a few more steps toward me, and each one makes my throat feel a little tighter, until he’s standing right in front of me.

“Belle, look. I think we need to talk,” Wally’s brown eyes are slightly glossy, highlighting the flecks of gold in them that I’d never seen before.

I take a step back, reminding myself that he wants space and no matter how badly I want to talk to him, this week is supposed to be about me learning to live my death, and I can’t do that if I cave the second he gives me puppy eyes. 

“Actually, I uh, I have to go. I’m supposed to be meeting Charley. For coffee.” I nod, stepping around him and heading for the door. Just before I leave the gym, I toss over my shoulder, “See you around, Wally!” 

I feel bad about lying to Wally, but I don’t have it in me for another one of his ‘I can’t stand being around you’ talks. I know that’s not exactly what he said, but that’s what it feels like. 

I make my way to the teachers' lounge for coffee and run into Rhonda. We chat for a while about movies and decide that Sunday movie night will be The Great Gatsby. After a while, Charley joins us and we go to the library together. We spend the rest of the day reading.

Thursday, I decide to skip my run in favor of hanging out with Charley and Rhonda. We spend all morning going through old yearbooks and trying to find any living students who could be the reincarnations or relatives of past ones. We talk about who we could have been in past lives, who we’d want to be in future ones, too. It’s fun.

I feel up to it today, so when the time comes, I join the others for group. Hanging back by the doors, I take a moment to steel myself, knowing I’ll have to sit there and look at the prettiest sad face I’ve ever seen and pretend it doesn’t hurt me to not reach out and comfort him. But when I walk into the gym, there are two empty chairs: mine and Wally’s.

Huh. That’s weird. 

Group goes on as normal. Mr. Martin asks me about my eulogy, and I tell him it’s close to being done, that I’m still trying to find the right words, and he’s understanding. Rhonda tells everyone that the movie for Sunday has been decided, and Charley jokes that Wally isn’t here to argue why we should watch Rudy again. The mention of Wally causes a pang in my chest. 

After group, Charley and I go back to the library to plan some more things to do this week, including digging up the box of Christmas decorations from the storage below the theatre stage. He even mentions wanting to throw a little dance for either Christmas or New Year's. 

Friday morning, Charley practically has to drag me behind him. I let it slip that I don’t know how to swim, and he has insisted that he can teach me. I went my whole life never once getting into any kind of water I couldn’t stand up in, and was content to keep that streak going into my afterlife as well. 

“Charley, I really, really, really don’t want to get in that pool.” I am in a swimsuit taken from one of the swim team members’ lockers, and my arms are crossed so tightly across my chest, I think they’ve been fused to my sternum. Charley is in a pair of swim trunks that were taken from a student’s locker rather than taking one of the Speedos the male swim team members wear.

Charley comes to stand in front of me, resting his hands on either of my shoulders, “Belle, I promise I’m a good teacher. Plus, you can’t die twice!” When I don’t make any moves closer to the pool, he raises one brow at me. “Belle, this is supposed to be fun ! You’re living your death, remember? You’re gonna be okay!” He reassures me, then pulls his glasses off, setting them in the closest chair. He lifts his fingers to my frames next and takes them off my face, putting them on the chair with his.

“I know, I know, I am really trying to live my death and I think I’ve been doing a pretty good job all week– no major breakdowns!” I say, following Charley to the other side of the pool. It’s all one depth, but the other side has a ladder I can hang onto, so we agreed to start over there. My nervous ramblings continue, “But this is just, like– I died in the shower, so water is like my nemesis."

Charley barks a laugh and stops at the pool ladder, “Belle, it’s gonna be fine! I will be right there, and there’s a float to sit in if you want to do that first, just to get used to being in the water.” He puts a hand on one of his hips. It’s a gesture I’ve quickly learned means he’s going to get his way no matter the situation. “I don’t want to push you in, but I will if I have to.”

For the rest of the day, Charley and I are in the pool. He’s actually a really good teacher, and by the time we finally get out of the water and retire to the library, I’ve learned to float on my back, doggy paddle in a circle, and do something that resembles the way frogs swim. It was a really good workout and, as much as I hate to admit it, I'm glad I let Charley teach me to swim.

I don’t think about Wally all day. Or at least, I don’t think about him until I’m curled up on the couch in the library, my notebook open to the most recent rework of my eulogy, and I'm completely alone.

Saturday morning rolls around and I go to the gym for a run. I’m positively exhausted after swimming for nearly 6 hours, granted, Charley and I took frequent breaks from his teaching and my learning to lie in the floats and gossip. Regardless, my run is a short one before I head back to the library, where I spend the entire day tucked into a corner, my nose stuffed into my notebook.

Around 11 pm or so, I finally decide that my eulogy is finished. I accept that it’ll never be perfect and I’ll always be changing it and revising it, and adding to it. But for now, it’s as complete as it will ever be.

Gathered today, we celebrate the life of Bella Donna Hawthorn.

Belle was a loved daughter, sister, and friend, taken far too early in life.

While she kept her circle of loved ones small, her life wasn’t without an abundance of love and happiness and excitement, and passion. Whether she was scheming with her brother James, in the kitchen with Mom, playing music with Dad, or on an adventure with Ray, she did so with compassion and enthusiasm. She always made sure the people around her knew how much they meant to her.

Belle was strong and caring, and selfless. She stood up for what was right, for those she cared about, and those she didn’t know at all. She was always one to put others before herself, never one to care what others might think of her, one to make anyone and everyone feel welcome around her. She never knew a stranger.

If there were one single word to describe Bella, it’d be passionate. She never did anything half-heartedly. She once learned the entire guitar part to Hotel California in a single day to cheer up Dad– seeing as she was the bassist in their family, he was very impressed and still brags about it. She was a published photographer in the Chicago Music Magazine and had even been offered a spot in a photography contest. She learned to sew just so she could help tailor Ray’s favorite jeans. She made pasta from scratch every time Mom was sick; she knew how much Mom loved it. She was always there for those she loved and never shied away from showing it.

While the loss of Belle will weigh heavily, she will live on in the hearts and souls of those she touched in life. She will be remembered in every bass line, every patched up pair of jeans, every pasta dish and every pillow fort (even if James thinks he’s too old for them now), she’ll live on with them, always known and loved for the relentless optimism she carried around, not like a light in the dark but more like a disco ball at a black and white film.

Sunday morning, I wake up feeling oddly… weightless. Finishing my eulogy took a lot of thinking– thinking about what Mom and Dad would have said, thinking about stories James and Ray would have shared, crying when I thought about them crying. But I think when it was finally finished, it helped close off the last gaping hole in my heart. 

I feel ready to open new doors, learn more about myself in my afterlife, explore more hobbies, or even just be content with how things are. I think I’m ready to accept my death, live my death. 

I find Charley, Janet, and Rhonda at a table in the teacher’s lounge, coffee cups in all their hands, Dawn sitting on the counter, sipping out of a tiny creamer cup. I make my way to the coffee station, and when I open the cabinet to grab a mug, I see the blue and white one from two weeks ago on the second shelf. I grab that one and pour the coffee in. 

I join them all at the table, Dawn coming to sit next to me, and I tell them about the finished eulogy. I don’t let them read it just yet, saving it for group later. I do talk about it, though, about the struggle to find the words, about the grief of thinking about what my actual eulogy sounded like, about the sadness of never knowing. They all understand, offering comforting words, encouragement, and helpful sentiments.

When my coffee cup is empty, I leave them and head down the hall. I swear I see Wally in the library when I pass, but I’m in a good mood and assume it’s just hopeful hallucinations. I fling open the art room door and practically skip over to Yuri. At his wheel like always, but he looks up and smiles back when he reads my expression.

“What’s crackin’, Belle? You seem like totally in a good mood.” Yuri says, standing to wipe his hands off on an apron hanging from the wall.

I pull a stool over to sit next to his wheel, throwing a hand over my mouth for dramatics, “Me? Happy? Oh my god NO! I’m like totally bummed.” I do my best to deadpan at him, but the second he raises an eyebrow in my direction, I crack and burst out laughing. Laugh so hard I nearly tip myself off my stool. 

Yuri laughs too, sitting back at his wheel but making no moves to dirty his hands in the clay again. Instead, he moves the disk of clay to the shelf next to him, replacing it with his red ashtray. He pulls a joint and his silver Zippo from his pocket and places the joint between his lips. “So, what’s got you in a mood today?”

“I finally finished my eulogy last night. And I learned to swim, Charley’s ultimatum be damned, I fucking learned.” Yuri hands the now-lit joint to me, and I take it, nodding my head in thanks as I pull a deep hit into my lungs, savoring the burn. 

“Your eulogy? The thing you’ve been writing into that notebook since the second time you barged your way in here,” he teases me about barging in all the time, but I let it slide because Yuri’s particular brand of humor reminds me so much of Ray. It's so familiar and comfortable, the way Yuri jokes with me, that nothing he says could bother me. 

“Yes, my eulogy is as finished as it’ll ever be. Wanna read it?” I pull the folded paper from my jeans pocket and hand it over to Yuri. He grabs it with his right hand and hands the joint back to me with his left. We’ve only done this song and dance a few times, but we’ve gotten into a rhythm of passing the joint to and from so smoothly, it’s like we’ve been doing it for years. 

I take a few puffs of the joint before Yuri is done reading the paper, but when he is, he folds it back and I trade him the page for the joint. He smokes the rest of the joint and puts the filter out in the ashtray, stashing the red ceramic back where it belongs.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not particularly. I’m just glad it’s done.”

He nods, understanding. But then he remembers something because his eyes shoot up to mine, a wild look in them when he says, “Wait! You didn’t know how to swim?”

“No, I didn’t, but I do now,w and it’s enough to get Charley off my back. Now I can continue to avoid bodies of water deeper than my shins, thank you very much.” I cross my arms over my chest and let out a very showy huff that quickly turns into a coughing fit, and both of us spiral into laughter.

“Charley is the one with glasses, right? Died in like the 90s?” Yuri asks when our giggle fit dies down. I catch my breath and nod.

“The very one. Rhonda is the one with pinstriped pants and cute hat, curly hair. Mr. Martin is the teacher in the sweater vest who died at the same time as Janet, blouse, and mustard yellow cardigan. I also met Dawn recently, she died around the same time as you, you’d know her the second you saw her, she’s got bright red hair.” That earns me a chuckle from Yuri, who is paying a lot more attention to my ramblings about the other ghosts than I would expect, so I continue, “I’m sure you know Wally, he’s hard to miss with his stupid pretty face.”

“Oh yeah. Wally, the pretty boy in sweats. Not my type, but I have eyes.” Yuri drops that so casually I almost miss it, but I choose to let him open that conversation when he’s ready.

“Anyway, me and Rhonda decided on The Great Gatsby for the movie tonight, and I'm actually looking forward to it. I missed Top Gun last week, but I've seen it like 20 times, so I guess I'll live.” I wave my hand in the air dismissively, still a little sad I missed my favorite movie.

“You guys do movie night every week?” Yuri asks, sounding slightly hesitant.

“Yeah. Every Sunday night at 8.” He nods, and I can see a contemplative look on his face, but he seems to shake the thought off before he can voice it.

“The Great Gatsby was one of my favorite books when I was in school. I wasn’t much of a reader, but the way they talked ‘bout the parties they had was always so cool to me.” Yuri offers.

I leave a little while later, remembering I had to go to group to let Mr. Martin know my assignment was finally finished, hoping this eulogy would be the last piece of homework I would ever have to do. I get there first, helping set up the chairs. 

I’m surprised when Wally shows up, but I try not to let his glum expression dampen my mood. I’m determined to make today a good day. At the very end of group, I pull the paper from my pocket, and Mr. Martin asks if I’d like to stand to read it, but I opt for staying seated. 

When I finish the last words, I wipe the dampness from my cheeks, pushing my glasses to the top of my head to scrub at my eyes. Everyone claps politely, and I give them all the best sappy smile I can. But when I make eye contact with Wally, those coffee brown eyes are watery, and his posture is too closed off; he doesn’t look sad, but rather irritated, and I look away quickly. 

Wally leaves the gym first, his long strides carrying him away swiftly, and I swear I can hear his heavy footsteps all the way up to the roof. I don’t care. I remind myself. He wanted space. He’s the one with the problem. Not mine to worry about.

I stick around the gym, helping Rhonda, Charley, Janet, and Mr. Martin set up for movie night. We put the chairs away, pull the projector screen down, Janet rolls in the projector while Charley and Mr. Martin haul in the couches, and Rhonda and I bring in armfuls of blankets and beanbags, and pillows. 

Eventually, we get everything set up, and everyone is gathering with their snacks, finding their seats. Wally comes back but still looks like a kicked dog, taking his place on one of the couches. Janet claims the old recliner we stole from the theatre. Mr. Martin takes up post, manning the projector like always. Charley and I share the other couch, and Rhonda and Dawn take the pile of beanbags on the floor in front of us. 

Once everyone is settled and the lights are off, Mr. Martin starts the movie. It takes a moment for him to get the sound adjusted, but once he does, we all settle in as the beginning credits finish. 

Just as the opening line plays, there’s a sudden burst of brightness in the room. We all turn around in our seats towards the door that has been pushed open, letting the hallway lights spill into the room. Standing just inside the doors of the gym is Yuri.

Even from across the gym, I can see the anxiety all over his face, so I jump up from the couch and jog over to him. 

“Come to watch the movie or just give everyone a heart attack?” I hope the lighthearted jab will ease his nerves, and he takes a deep breath, offering me a soft smile and a nod. “Cool, you can sit next to me.” He follows me back to the couch I had been on, eyes jumping around the room like a trapped animal looking for threats.

“Charley, would you mind if Yuri took your spot on the couch?” I ask, and Charley responds with a quiet sure before joining Dawn and Rhonda in their beanbag pile, but I don’t miss the way his cheeks pink or his eyes locked on Yuri. “Thanks. You’re the best.”

Yuri settles on the couch beside me, and after a while, it seems like some of the anxiety eases out of him. The rest of the movie goes along smoothly, and by the end of it, Yuri has fully relaxed into the couch. I walk with him back to the art room after. I don’t mention how proud of him I am for making such a huge step outside of his comfort zone, but I make a mental note to visit him tomorrow to talk.

[iivyconfessional]

Fic Update

Sorry for the delay, I decided at the last minute I needed to change a few things, but as promised, Chapters 7 and 7.5 are up on AO3 now!

Here's the link!

One Slip Closer (36748 words) by iivyconfessional Chapters: 8/11 I'll make another post tomorrow when I'm not dead on my feet, but I wanted to make sure I got the link up as soon as the chapters were up. I really hope you like them!

xoxo iivy