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16h30
Reading Room
Lardo
for you, a little expansion of Shitty's Dibs. Thank you and enjoy!
catch up on the rest of Ficlet Fest 3 here
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reading room, 4:30pm
Lardo flings open the door and makes a beeline for Shitty’s bed so she can crawl out onto the Reading Room. She doesn’t even make it all the way onto the roof before she’s continuing her rant from their text chain.
“And like, I’m sort of shocked they waited till now to ask me, like, it’s almost finals? Did they think I just didn’t have my shit figured out already?” she asks, dumping her bag to one side and settling into her customary spot.
“Well—”
“Leaving aside the fact that I don’t have a living situation figured out yet, it just feels like a desperate move. Doesn’t bode well, you feel me?”
“For sure. Bear?” he asks, holding out the biggest bag of gummy bears she’s seen in a while toward her.
She raises a single eyebrow. “Did you accidentally buy a bag with the pink ones again?”
“...Maybe.”
“Bear me.” He passes over the bag and they take a moment to just watch the street, soaking up the breeze rustling through the leaves and the sounds of Beyoncé from the kitchen below them. The first taste of grapefruit makes her wrinkle her nose – she’s not the biggest fan of the flavor – but she’s not about to let Shitty absently snack on something that he’s mildly allergic to, so she keeps eating.
“So did you give them an answer already?” Shitty asks eventually, a weird expression on his face. Lardo squints at him, but lets it go in favor of answering.
“I told them I had to think about it,” she says, picking out the last few pink bears. “It’d be like, fine, but – ‘kay, I ate all the gross pink ones for you—”
“Brah,” he says, fake tearing up in gratitude. She punches him in the side of the arm and Shitty falls to the side with a dramatic groan. Lardo just rolls her eyes and continues her thought.
“—But, it's on the other side of campus. Plus, Claire's gonna sexile Lara weekly, and I don't wanna Judge Judy all senior year.” She leans back on her hands, more glad than ever she doesn’t have to use her brain any more today. “Man. Why the printmaking kids gotta be so damn horn a bajillion percent of the time?”
There’s a beat of silence where Shitty would normally make fun of her (admittedly strange) art friends, and then—
“So, Lards, ‘bout housing…I’m thinking you should have my dibs.” Lardo freezes at the words. Surely she didn’t hear correctly. He can’t have offered her his room in The Haus. He can’t have.
“I mean it makes a whole lotta sense, right? I mean, first, you practically fuckin’ love here anyway,” he says, ticking the items off on his fingers. “Second, it should be your right as manager. And third—” he meets her gaze squarely, more sincere and earnest about this than he ever was for hockey or any of his classes. This is important to him, maybe the most important. Suddenly, she’s fighting down a lump in her throat.
“You’re one of the best teammates I’ve ever had. So like. You know what to do to seal the deal…if you want ‘em, that is.”
Apparently he can have been offering his room – offering her a chance to live with some of her favorite people in the whole damn world – as though it was a given, a right, a done deal. He holds out his hand for the customary Dibs Shake, but to her horror, Lardo sniffs, and there’s a tear dripping down her cheek that she has to hide in her elbow.
“Shitty…”
The wobble in her voice sets him off, and now they’re both halfway to ugly crying on the roof of the Haus like dumbasses. “Oh no-no-no, dude,” he says, furiously blinking to ward off tears. “If you waterworks, I’ll w-waterworks…”
She launches herself at him with a strangled AGGGHH!! – throwing her arms around him and squeezing as tightly as she can, hoping that her message gets across without actual words.
Shitty squeezes her back, and his words sound a little relieved (did he think she’d say no???) and a lot wet when he manages to speak. “Hugs count too.”
Fuck right they do.
When they finally break apart, Shitty’s beaming at her and she can feel her own smile widening in response.
“I guess I better tell Claire and Lara I’m already set for next year then,” she teases, striving for her normal dry tone.
“Brah, you’re gonna eat a million pies next year.”
