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A loud bang on the door woke Sander up. He barely had time to blink the sleep out his eyes before two dark-clad figures moved into the room and toward Christmasβ bed. Startled and disoriented, he half-rolled, half-crawled out of his bed of blanket, swaying slightly as he climbed to his feet.
One of the guards noticed him, and almost immediately, a rifle was aimed his way. That gave Sander pause. The cold, dead memories of smothering smoke and searing pain ignited in a burst of flash fire, forcing stiffness into his limbs, but he forced it down with a clipped exhale. Thoughts began to rearrange, and he finally managed a few words, his throat thick from disuse.
ββ¦Heβs not okay.β
The two guards didnβt give any indication that they heard his words, but one of them did walk over to the blond boy on the floor and took a closer look. The man talked into a device mounted on his chest then, mumbled words far too soft for Sander to catch, but he picked up words that sounded like βclassβ and βpermissionβ. Meanwhile, the rifle barrel remained pointing at him, and Sander swallowed drily, his breaths suddenly coming too quick to his liking.
He shouldnβt be afraid. They wouldnβt let him die.
A voice answered the guard on his device, the words shrouded in static and almost unintelligible to untrained ears. Sander ended up just standing near his bed, trying not to look at the gun and looking at it anyway. Thankfully, the guard broke the silence shortly after his conversation with whoever on the other side was over.
βHe's excused from todayβs activities. But if he doesnβt wake up by the end of the day, bring him to the hospital.β
The room lapsed into silence as a crack of static sounded and the voice began to speak again. The guard leaned down to his device for a few seconds, before looking up at Sander.
βYou're excused as well.β
With that said, the guards took their leave soon after, leaving Sander with his roommate once more. He pressed a clammy hand to his forehead and let out a sigh of relief, ignoring the prickling sensation on the left side of his ribs. This wasnβt the time for that kind of thoughts, so he didnβt indulge them. Instead, he walked over to check on Christmas instead. The boy was still asleep, the bruises on his roommateβs face two shades darker than yesterday. Sander didnβt actually bruise anymore, but he remembered enough to know that they would have get worse before they could get better. Slowly, he lifted the edge of the blanket and pulled it to Christmasβ chin.
For most of the day, Sander remained in his suite, only left briefly at noon to gather some food for himself and Christmas. He wanted to go down to track again, but after one look at his roommate on the floor, he convinced himself to stay instead. He didnβt know what to do to help, so he figured he should wait around until Christmas woke up.
So he did. Evening rolled around quietly, and Sander found himself growing tired of looking at the screen of his laptop. He stood up then, closing the lid with a soft click before looking around his room. A basket of dirty clothes was nearby, piling a bit too high for his liking. He took his mind off that for now, and looked at his stuffed duffel bags instead. With all that happened yesterday, Sander didnβt have time to properly unpack all his things yet. He should probably get to it now.
Pain was the first sensation Christmas noticed on waking up. Plenty of it and scattered all across his face and body. Opening his eyes stung a bit in the swelling flesh around his cheeks and temples and the bruised cartilage of his nose. At least the scathing aches kept last night's memories about a shower and Sander away. He breathed out a quiet groan, still too sore and sleepy to sit up.
Sander dropped the bundle of clothes he was holding back onto his bag, head jerking toward the source of the pained noise. Was that Christmas? From where he was, Sander couldnβt notice any movement beneath the blanket. He quickly walked over, crouching down next to the blond boy to have a better look.
Christmas heard movement, but couldn't turn to look. He had only just noticed the pillow and blanket around him, certain he hadn't dragged them off the bed yesterday. More of Sander's kindness that he'd never be able to repay and yet still wanted. The roommate in question came into view soon afterwards and Christmas blinked at the blurry edges around Sander for several seconds.
"M-mornin--" He had shifted slightly, just a natural movement that was now shooting spikes of agony into his torso and he could only gasp helplessly until they passed.
βHey.β -Sander couldnβt help but grin, the weight on his guts had been lifted. Christmas woke up, so he must be fine, right? The laboured gasps that followed told him otherwise though, carving worried lines back onto his brows ββOhβ¦You are still hurt? Do you need anything?β
When most of the pain had settled back down, Christmas shook his head weakly--just once.
"I'm o-okay," he mumbled back, hoping Sander would flash that happy grin again. "Thank you."
His gaze wandered on its own in the slow fade of residual drowsiness, settling on a desk within view. A white, metallic box on the desk looked familiar and Christmas stared at it curiously, wondering where it had come from when the room had been quite empty the day before.
Sander followed Christmasβ gaze and he caught sight of the first aid kid on his desk. He had kept it in his room since that night after the arboretum, and the guards put it in his duffel bag for him. He wasnβt sure where to put it now, in this new room. There wouldnβt be another night at the arboretum. But Christmas was hurt, despite what the blond boy had insisted. Would that box help?
βDo you want that?β
"H-huh?"
βItβsβ¦uhβ -Sander began, but gave up when he couldnβt find the right words to say. Instead, he walked over to the desk and brought the box over ββItβs for when you are hurt.β
The iconic red cross on the box reminded Christmas that first-aid kits had painkillers in them, something he vaguely remembered from a high school PSA. There had been a long list of what a good first-aid kit was supposed to have, but he remembered most the word "painkillers," wondering if his home's first-aid kit needed to include his mother's medications, too, on top of painkillers. He blinked blankly at the box until the memories ran their course, fumbling to say two things to Sander at once.
"T-thank you," came first, followed by, "can--can you..." the words petered off when he realized he was doing exactly what Sander had trusted him not to do: taking his roommate for granted. So he tried sitting up instead to take the box, barely turning his body to the side before a sharp cry of pain immobilized him again.
Sander floundered at the sudden sound, panic and the barbed heat of frustration flared up again at his own helplessness. He didnβt quite sure what to do and Christmas still didnβt make his intentions clear, so he relied on the subtle cues instead. For now, the healer seemed to want the first aid kit.
βHere.β -Sander quickly pried the lid open and scooted closer, holding the box out so that Christmas could freely look at its content.
A good ten seconds passed before the consequences of moving finally pardoned Christmas. He whispered another "Thank you" eyes looking over the different types of gauze rolled up in the box, along with gloves, tweezers, tape, and more little things he couldn't quite make out behind packages of antiseptic cream and bottles of--painkillers, there they were: an opaque bottle clearly labeled "oxycodone" to distinguish from other similar bottles in a corner of the large box. Milligrams per tablet and other dosage instructions followed the large-print name, the lettering of the finer details like pinpricks of black against the white surface of the label.
He knew that name. His mother's list of medications on a black-speckled countertop pushed its way to the front of his thoughts, with a doctor's warning about usage only if she hurt herself extensively.
His hand fumbled for the bottle, nearly dropping it as he pulled it out. A lack of strength on waking up and his careful movements prevented him from applying enough pressure to open the press-twist cap, but he held on to the bottle uselessly, looking back up at Sander as if to assure him that now he was definitely fine, plastic bottle in hand for the next unknown duration of time.
"Thank you."
βYou want this?β -Sander reached out for the plastic bottle that Christmas had picked, fingers wrapping loosely around the blond boyβs grip ββI can help.β
"I-I can...." The words afterwards disappeared into Sander's warm hand and Christmas swallowed, pressing the bottle into Sander's palm. "I--sorry."
Sander took the bottle and gave it a twist at first, before he looked at the indentation and put more pressure on his twists. The cap came loose at last, revealing numerous small white pills. He poured some of them on his palm and offered them to Christmas ββHow many do you want?β
Christmas remembered the doctor's scrawled warning--the third messy line: "strong."
"One...?" he guessed, then thought to the blinding pain of simply moving and changed his mind. "T-two...maybe. Th-thank you."
βOkay.β -Sander agreed easily, pouring the remaining pills back into the bottle after taking out two of them. He kept them in his palm for a few moments, the cogs in his mind slowly turning before he realized that Christmas still need one more thing ββYou have to drink these with water, right?β
Christmas stared at the powdery tablets in Sander's hand, nodding, but he wondered if he could just swallow them dry and be done with aches for a while.
Without another word, Sander stood up and went to his desk, returning with a mug of water. He settled back into his old seat at Christmasβ side, before another thought flashed through his head ββUhβ¦But you canβt drink like that.β -He said, referring to the blond boyβs position. They always had those beds that could elevate his back, when he was still in the hospital and they made things so much easier. But there was no bed here.
Sander's hand around the mug and the fluttering blue of the ribbon on his wrist gave Christmas a nudge he hadn't realized he needed. Couldn't keep making Sander do everything. Couldn't keep relying on his roommate so easily he forgot the miniscule weight of his worth--at least when Sander was around he could pretend he was worth something. Didn't he want to call Sander a friend? (A part of him whispered something like "No," but that was the part that dared ask for more without regard and he tucked it back into the dark folds of his mind.)
He inhaled deeply and sat up as quickly as he could, nearly screaming from the quick, but heavy strain on every muscle in his torso.
The sudden movement marked by the blur of golden hair twisted a knot in Sanderβs stomach. His arm reached around the blond boyβs back in a reflex, the quick motion caused the mug on his other hand to splash some of its content onto the blanket.
βShi--β -Sander began, wide-eyed before he stopped himself with a clench of his jaws ββS-Sorry.β -He frowned slightly, looking at the darkened spot of wetness.
Christmas had felt his right arm buckle from the sudden movement it hadn't been ready for, and he had already expected to hit the ground again when Sander hooked an arm around him, the motion jarring some of the bruises on his back, but saving him from far worse. He took a moment to breathe through the bursts of pain spotting dark blotches on his vision, leaning carefully against Sander's chest, dimly aware he was muttering a series of "sorry"s broken up by pained groans in the aftershock of a coward's bravado. And in the end he was still useless. Ernie's words echoed in his ears and Christmas looked down at the ground, shamed. He was quiet for several long seconds.
"I'm sorry," he concluded, because he was, for a lot of things at once, all the time.
βItβs okay. I got it.β -Sander didnβt seem to mind Christmasβ constant apologies anymore. It felt like a reflex to him these days, and he rarely paid attention to the context around them ββWater?β -He offered mug to Christmas first, before relaxing the arm around the blond boy so it wouldnβt hurt the healer.
Green apple scents and that faint touch of cologne again, this time accompanied by the enveloping warmth of Sander's arm and body. He hoped Sander wouldn't notice the heat creeping to his shoulders and neck again. Christmas nodded at the proferred mug, taking it in both hands and curling himself slowly around it, staring into the water to stop himself from staring up at Sander.
With one hand now free, Sander reached over to the closed fist that was pressing against Christmasβ upper arm and retrieved the pills. Since both of his roommateβs hands appeared to be occupied, he held a tablet between his index finger and thumb, inching it closer to the blond boyβs lips.
Christmas turned his head at the movement, opening his mouth to say something like "it was okay" and maybe "I can hold them," but even that small motion sparked a bit of pain across his face--the nerves on edge after sitting up so abruptly--and he relented, reflexive apologies stamping through his mind as he took the first tablet with his mouth and caught it on his tongue, ducking his head down for a sip of water.
Sander watched the process carefully, choosing the right moment to offer up the second tablet, which Christmas took in the same way, the healer subdued and tiny in the aftermath, like he had found a method to tuck himself up so he occupied as little space as possible. With both the pills gone, Sander simply took the mug of water from the blond boyβs lax grip, offering a faint smile when Christmas looked up. He placed the cup on the floor next to the first aid kit, before resuming his watch on the healer, looking for any sign of distress. His arm remained where it was, just in case his roommate was feeling unsteady again.
Christmas sat in that half-hug silently, too many thoughts about things only he cared about--the proximity, the smell, the warmth--and too little thoughts about things he should have cared more about, but didn't--the classes, the time, the day. And behind it all a carefully guarded memory of Alvin's arm around him like this, that warmth marred with pain from different bruises on his chest. So different and yet eerily familiar, like the universe was trying to repeat the events again with its best efforts and certainly despite his.
"Sander," he finally murmured into the folds of clothes that weren't his, plucking at the loose sweatpants.
βHuh?β -Sander blinked, suddenly alerted ββDoes it hurt? You want more pills?β
Christmas raised a hand to tap on Sander's, the taller boy's hand lightly wrapped around his shoulders. The uncertain touch remained this time, his index finger barely resting on the middle knuckle. He shook his head to the question, all the words and thoughts that wouldn't fit and pieces he couldn't sift through in time parting just enough for him to pick out the sum of what he was trying to express--gratitude and something more, and Sander didn't need to understand the second part. Sander probably couldn't understand.
"I...I like your smell, too." A response two days late.
ββ¦You can use my shampoo. And other things too.β -Sander smiled at that, a tingle of something warm in his chest. But this wasnβt the fire that he was used to, and he wasnβt quite sure what to make of it ββI donβt mind.β
The blond boy's shoulders shook slightly, and he coughed away another soft laugh that crumbled into a low groan from the aches. After a while, he managed a "Thank you."
Christmas looked around the room without moving his head much, hunting for something to offer in return besides the equally useless Mr. Chair. His eyes fell on the wide basket heaped in laundry nearby and his nerves found a new foothold. Quite a bold one--for him.
"In, um, in a bit--for the pills," he clarified, "I can--i-if you want...the, um. The--the laundry?"
Sander leaned down to look at his roommate in the eyes, brows raised in confusion.
Christmas blinked back, unsure what to make of the look. Maybe that was too much? "S-sorry."
βLaundry?β -Sander echoed dumbly, looking for clarification.
"The--um--the laundry...? The school has--has rooms for, uh, doing the laundry...um...if you want."
βOh. Room for laundry?β -Sander looked at his basket of dirty clothes ββYou can go there?β
"...Y-yes? Later, um...I can cl-clean the clothes if you--if you don't mind?"
βYou clean the clothes? By yourself? B-but why?β
"To--to clean them?" Christmas was now staring at Sander, confusion mirroring his roommate's.
βBut why you? Donβt they do it for you?β
"I--n-no? I can--I can do the laundry...?"
βOh.β -Sander blinked into the gray of his own shirt, loose on Christmasβ much smaller frame, his mind slowly working through the new information. It must be because Christmas was more people than him. Nothing like him, really. And he was glad for that ββOkay.β
A small sigh of relief from the healer and Christmas sat in Sander's hold for a while longer, feeling the pains across his body lessen so gradually he barely noticed when they were mostly gone, reduced to minor inconveniences by the miracle of modern medicine. It would have been nice if his power could do that for him, he thought.
When he felt numb enough to move without much discomfort, he looked up at Sander, still patiently sitting near him even though he had never needed to worry about a speck of dust named Christmas Halvost to begin with. Had never needed to bring him a Vita in a lonely hospital.
"I'll go, um, I'll go get the laundry, then?" he asked after a while, not keen on moving from that warm place in Sander's arms, but he did want to do something for his roommate.
A moment of silence, then Sander finally spoke, his gaze tentatively and careful, almost like he was asking for permission βββ¦Can I come with?β
Christmas nodded, eyes trailing across the length of ribbon on Sander's wrist in front of him.
"I...um..." he reached for the ribbon, resting fingers on it like grasping for resolve, "I like when you're near."
Another sliver of that strange warmth settled in Sanderβs chest again. He shifted his shoulders slightly, unused to its feather-light presence. But it clung, so he let it be ββOkay. I will be near.β -He nodded, tapping a finger against Christmasβ arm ββUp?β
Another nod, the majority of his newfound bravery spent for the morn--oh, it was evening. The lack of light through the window finally registered for Christmas and his eyes darted to the digital clock on the wall. 1803. Training didn't end until 1830, if he remembered that right. Did he sleep until Saturday?
Sander took that nod as a permission, so he shifted a little, moving onto his knees beside Christmas. His hand on Christmasβ arm moved down to the blond boyβs waist, while he lifted the other arm and draped it over his shoulders ββDoes it hurt?β -A slight pressure against the healerβs ribs came after the question.
A mild, weakened sensation on movement and Christmas shook his head to the question, blinking away his eyes' fixation on the hand around his waist. "Th-thank you."
With a quick heave of breath, Sander rose to his feet, lifting the blond boy up with him. He lowered his shoulder then, letting Christmasβ arm down, but his hand hovered around the small of the blond boyβs back, waiting.
Christmas made a mental note to take more of the medication in a few hours, because moving without feeling the aches was blissful. He threw the strap of his duffel bag over a shoulder, then tested some small steps for significant pain before breathing out in relief and walking over to Sander's basket. His nerves were still processing something, but it was so muted he hardly cared that he probably shouldn't be moving much. The large basket piled high with Sander's clothes was almost too heavy and Christmas got a firm grip on it before lifting with both hands, glancing at the window again.
"...Was I...did I sleep long?"
βYeah.β -Sander threw on a jacket and went to grab his ID card from the desk as he spoke. He turned back to Christmas then, watching the blond boy carrying his basket. Something didnβt sit right, so he went over, tapping one finger on the basket ββCan I help?β -He had to ask, because Christmas seemed to know what he was doing and he didnβt want to interfere with an activity that was so people. But he wanted to help.
"Um..." Christmas blinked at the basket, then at Sander. He did need to check the maps again for the laundry rooms. It wasn't something he had paid too much attention to before. "D-do you want to carry it?" He looked at Sander's finger on the basket.
Sander nodded, and the blond boy handed over his basket easily. Its weight was negligible for him, so he just held it aloft, waiting for Christmas to lead the way.
A quick check of the creased papers in the duffel bag reminded him that the wide basement hallway connecting the dorm buildings to each other and to the registrar's office housed the many laundry rooms on campus, with easy access from both the office building and the dorms for convenience. He fished his ID card out of the dirty clothes in his bag and grabbed his phone from the desk for a timer, just in case he couldn't be around to wait on the clothes to finish. The phone's lock screen displayed time and day, and Christmas breathed a small sigh of relief that he had only slept until Friday and that some miracle had let him sleep until then. He decided not to question why, grateful enough for that. He held the papers in hand, heading out the door first and holding it open for Sander, the dynamic of leading disorienting for him, but it was just the laundry so he shoved the uncomfortable feeling aside for now.
The hallway was spacious and lined with neat rooms of washers and dryers, four of each machine per room, a tall wooden cabinet of laundry essentials, and some cushioned benches for those who preferred to wait on site. Several other students were heading to and fro with dirty or freshly clean loads of laundry, and most spared Christmas's swollen, bruised face and baggy clothes a curious glance, though the sight of injured mages was common enough around East that no one made any comments. He found an empty room and noted the number on the wall--014--before holding the door for Sander, who entered first.
A bit of panic hit when he remembered--finally after all the distracting moments of earlier--that they didn't have detergent or fabric softener, but a hopeful check of the cabinet provided relief. Generic detergents, softeners, and scented dryer sheets filled the shelves inside the cabinet and Christmas picked out several bottles and a box, placing them on the bench while he separated the white clothes from everything else. He loaded those into a different, windowed washer and provided the necessary amounts of laundry cleaning solutions to both machines before fiddling through some of the settings until he found the "heavy stains" indicator on the digital display, tapping that on each washer and hitting "Start."
Sander watched curiously from his spot on the nearby bench, his gaze flicking between the machines and Christmas, but he made no move to approach the blond boy. It felt foreign here; his presence almost intrusive in this place of mundane chores and people. So he sat still, focusing on the soft whirling of the machines rather than the turmoils of his thoughts.
Christmas sat down on the bench beside Sander to wait on the cycles to finish, trying not to feel too elated that Sander would be near. Like a promise. He fiddled with his phone instead, deliberately avoiding his messages and contacts list in favor of the internet. It occurred to him then that he had never seen Sander use a phone in the past few days, and he wondered if Sander either didn't have one or didn't use it enough to matter. Either way, he was vaguely disappointed and afraid to completely admit why in his mind.
One of the guards noticed him, and almost immediately, a rifle was aimed his way. That gave Sander pause. The cold, dead memories of smothering smoke and searing pain ignited in a burst of flash fire, forcing stiffness into his limbs, but he forced it down with a clipped exhale. Thoughts began to rearrange, and he finally managed a few words, his throat thick from disuse.
ββ¦Heβs not okay.β
The two guards didnβt give any indication that they heard his words, but one of them did walk over to the blond boy on the floor and took a closer look. The man talked into a device mounted on his chest then, mumbled words far too soft for Sander to catch, but he picked up words that sounded like βclassβ and βpermissionβ. Meanwhile, the rifle barrel remained pointing at him, and Sander swallowed drily, his breaths suddenly coming too quick to his liking.
He shouldnβt be afraid. They wouldnβt let him die.
A voice answered the guard on his device, the words shrouded in static and almost unintelligible to untrained ears. Sander ended up just standing near his bed, trying not to look at the gun and looking at it anyway. Thankfully, the guard broke the silence shortly after his conversation with whoever on the other side was over.
βHe's excused from todayβs activities. But if he doesnβt wake up by the end of the day, bring him to the hospital.β
The room lapsed into silence as a crack of static sounded and the voice began to speak again. The guard leaned down to his device for a few seconds, before looking up at Sander.
βYou're excused as well.β
With that said, the guards took their leave soon after, leaving Sander with his roommate once more. He pressed a clammy hand to his forehead and let out a sigh of relief, ignoring the prickling sensation on the left side of his ribs. This wasnβt the time for that kind of thoughts, so he didnβt indulge them. Instead, he walked over to check on Christmas instead. The boy was still asleep, the bruises on his roommateβs face two shades darker than yesterday. Sander didnβt actually bruise anymore, but he remembered enough to know that they would have get worse before they could get better. Slowly, he lifted the edge of the blanket and pulled it to Christmasβ chin.
For most of the day, Sander remained in his suite, only left briefly at noon to gather some food for himself and Christmas. He wanted to go down to track again, but after one look at his roommate on the floor, he convinced himself to stay instead. He didnβt know what to do to help, so he figured he should wait around until Christmas woke up.
So he did. Evening rolled around quietly, and Sander found himself growing tired of looking at the screen of his laptop. He stood up then, closing the lid with a soft click before looking around his room. A basket of dirty clothes was nearby, piling a bit too high for his liking. He took his mind off that for now, and looked at his stuffed duffel bags instead. With all that happened yesterday, Sander didnβt have time to properly unpack all his things yet. He should probably get to it now.
Pain was the first sensation Christmas noticed on waking up. Plenty of it and scattered all across his face and body. Opening his eyes stung a bit in the swelling flesh around his cheeks and temples and the bruised cartilage of his nose. At least the scathing aches kept last night's memories about a shower and Sander away. He breathed out a quiet groan, still too sore and sleepy to sit up.
Sander dropped the bundle of clothes he was holding back onto his bag, head jerking toward the source of the pained noise. Was that Christmas? From where he was, Sander couldnβt notice any movement beneath the blanket. He quickly walked over, crouching down next to the blond boy to have a better look.
Christmas heard movement, but couldn't turn to look. He had only just noticed the pillow and blanket around him, certain he hadn't dragged them off the bed yesterday. More of Sander's kindness that he'd never be able to repay and yet still wanted. The roommate in question came into view soon afterwards and Christmas blinked at the blurry edges around Sander for several seconds.
"M-mornin--" He had shifted slightly, just a natural movement that was now shooting spikes of agony into his torso and he could only gasp helplessly until they passed.
βHey.β -Sander couldnβt help but grin, the weight on his guts had been lifted. Christmas woke up, so he must be fine, right? The laboured gasps that followed told him otherwise though, carving worried lines back onto his brows ββOhβ¦You are still hurt? Do you need anything?β
When most of the pain had settled back down, Christmas shook his head weakly--just once.
"I'm o-okay," he mumbled back, hoping Sander would flash that happy grin again. "Thank you."
His gaze wandered on its own in the slow fade of residual drowsiness, settling on a desk within view. A white, metallic box on the desk looked familiar and Christmas stared at it curiously, wondering where it had come from when the room had been quite empty the day before.
Sander followed Christmasβ gaze and he caught sight of the first aid kid on his desk. He had kept it in his room since that night after the arboretum, and the guards put it in his duffel bag for him. He wasnβt sure where to put it now, in this new room. There wouldnβt be another night at the arboretum. But Christmas was hurt, despite what the blond boy had insisted. Would that box help?
βDo you want that?β
"H-huh?"
βItβsβ¦uhβ -Sander began, but gave up when he couldnβt find the right words to say. Instead, he walked over to the desk and brought the box over ββItβs for when you are hurt.β
The iconic red cross on the box reminded Christmas that first-aid kits had painkillers in them, something he vaguely remembered from a high school PSA. There had been a long list of what a good first-aid kit was supposed to have, but he remembered most the word "painkillers," wondering if his home's first-aid kit needed to include his mother's medications, too, on top of painkillers. He blinked blankly at the box until the memories ran their course, fumbling to say two things to Sander at once.
"T-thank you," came first, followed by, "can--can you..." the words petered off when he realized he was doing exactly what Sander had trusted him not to do: taking his roommate for granted. So he tried sitting up instead to take the box, barely turning his body to the side before a sharp cry of pain immobilized him again.
Sander floundered at the sudden sound, panic and the barbed heat of frustration flared up again at his own helplessness. He didnβt quite sure what to do and Christmas still didnβt make his intentions clear, so he relied on the subtle cues instead. For now, the healer seemed to want the first aid kit.
βHere.β -Sander quickly pried the lid open and scooted closer, holding the box out so that Christmas could freely look at its content.
A good ten seconds passed before the consequences of moving finally pardoned Christmas. He whispered another "Thank you" eyes looking over the different types of gauze rolled up in the box, along with gloves, tweezers, tape, and more little things he couldn't quite make out behind packages of antiseptic cream and bottles of--painkillers, there they were: an opaque bottle clearly labeled "oxycodone" to distinguish from other similar bottles in a corner of the large box. Milligrams per tablet and other dosage instructions followed the large-print name, the lettering of the finer details like pinpricks of black against the white surface of the label.
He knew that name. His mother's list of medications on a black-speckled countertop pushed its way to the front of his thoughts, with a doctor's warning about usage only if she hurt herself extensively.
His hand fumbled for the bottle, nearly dropping it as he pulled it out. A lack of strength on waking up and his careful movements prevented him from applying enough pressure to open the press-twist cap, but he held on to the bottle uselessly, looking back up at Sander as if to assure him that now he was definitely fine, plastic bottle in hand for the next unknown duration of time.
"Thank you."
βYou want this?β -Sander reached out for the plastic bottle that Christmas had picked, fingers wrapping loosely around the blond boyβs grip ββI can help.β
"I-I can...." The words afterwards disappeared into Sander's warm hand and Christmas swallowed, pressing the bottle into Sander's palm. "I--sorry."
Sander took the bottle and gave it a twist at first, before he looked at the indentation and put more pressure on his twists. The cap came loose at last, revealing numerous small white pills. He poured some of them on his palm and offered them to Christmas ββHow many do you want?β
Christmas remembered the doctor's scrawled warning--the third messy line: "strong."
"One...?" he guessed, then thought to the blinding pain of simply moving and changed his mind. "T-two...maybe. Th-thank you."
βOkay.β -Sander agreed easily, pouring the remaining pills back into the bottle after taking out two of them. He kept them in his palm for a few moments, the cogs in his mind slowly turning before he realized that Christmas still need one more thing ββYou have to drink these with water, right?β
Christmas stared at the powdery tablets in Sander's hand, nodding, but he wondered if he could just swallow them dry and be done with aches for a while.
Without another word, Sander stood up and went to his desk, returning with a mug of water. He settled back into his old seat at Christmasβ side, before another thought flashed through his head ββUhβ¦But you canβt drink like that.β -He said, referring to the blond boyβs position. They always had those beds that could elevate his back, when he was still in the hospital and they made things so much easier. But there was no bed here.
Sander's hand around the mug and the fluttering blue of the ribbon on his wrist gave Christmas a nudge he hadn't realized he needed. Couldn't keep making Sander do everything. Couldn't keep relying on his roommate so easily he forgot the miniscule weight of his worth--at least when Sander was around he could pretend he was worth something. Didn't he want to call Sander a friend? (A part of him whispered something like "No," but that was the part that dared ask for more without regard and he tucked it back into the dark folds of his mind.)
He inhaled deeply and sat up as quickly as he could, nearly screaming from the quick, but heavy strain on every muscle in his torso.
The sudden movement marked by the blur of golden hair twisted a knot in Sanderβs stomach. His arm reached around the blond boyβs back in a reflex, the quick motion caused the mug on his other hand to splash some of its content onto the blanket.
βShi--β -Sander began, wide-eyed before he stopped himself with a clench of his jaws ββS-Sorry.β -He frowned slightly, looking at the darkened spot of wetness.
Christmas had felt his right arm buckle from the sudden movement it hadn't been ready for, and he had already expected to hit the ground again when Sander hooked an arm around him, the motion jarring some of the bruises on his back, but saving him from far worse. He took a moment to breathe through the bursts of pain spotting dark blotches on his vision, leaning carefully against Sander's chest, dimly aware he was muttering a series of "sorry"s broken up by pained groans in the aftershock of a coward's bravado. And in the end he was still useless. Ernie's words echoed in his ears and Christmas looked down at the ground, shamed. He was quiet for several long seconds.
"I'm sorry," he concluded, because he was, for a lot of things at once, all the time.
βItβs okay. I got it.β -Sander didnβt seem to mind Christmasβ constant apologies anymore. It felt like a reflex to him these days, and he rarely paid attention to the context around them ββWater?β -He offered mug to Christmas first, before relaxing the arm around the blond boy so it wouldnβt hurt the healer.
Green apple scents and that faint touch of cologne again, this time accompanied by the enveloping warmth of Sander's arm and body. He hoped Sander wouldn't notice the heat creeping to his shoulders and neck again. Christmas nodded at the proferred mug, taking it in both hands and curling himself slowly around it, staring into the water to stop himself from staring up at Sander.
With one hand now free, Sander reached over to the closed fist that was pressing against Christmasβ upper arm and retrieved the pills. Since both of his roommateβs hands appeared to be occupied, he held a tablet between his index finger and thumb, inching it closer to the blond boyβs lips.
Christmas turned his head at the movement, opening his mouth to say something like "it was okay" and maybe "I can hold them," but even that small motion sparked a bit of pain across his face--the nerves on edge after sitting up so abruptly--and he relented, reflexive apologies stamping through his mind as he took the first tablet with his mouth and caught it on his tongue, ducking his head down for a sip of water.
Sander watched the process carefully, choosing the right moment to offer up the second tablet, which Christmas took in the same way, the healer subdued and tiny in the aftermath, like he had found a method to tuck himself up so he occupied as little space as possible. With both the pills gone, Sander simply took the mug of water from the blond boyβs lax grip, offering a faint smile when Christmas looked up. He placed the cup on the floor next to the first aid kit, before resuming his watch on the healer, looking for any sign of distress. His arm remained where it was, just in case his roommate was feeling unsteady again.
Christmas sat in that half-hug silently, too many thoughts about things only he cared about--the proximity, the smell, the warmth--and too little thoughts about things he should have cared more about, but didn't--the classes, the time, the day. And behind it all a carefully guarded memory of Alvin's arm around him like this, that warmth marred with pain from different bruises on his chest. So different and yet eerily familiar, like the universe was trying to repeat the events again with its best efforts and certainly despite his.
"Sander," he finally murmured into the folds of clothes that weren't his, plucking at the loose sweatpants.
βHuh?β -Sander blinked, suddenly alerted ββDoes it hurt? You want more pills?β
Christmas raised a hand to tap on Sander's, the taller boy's hand lightly wrapped around his shoulders. The uncertain touch remained this time, his index finger barely resting on the middle knuckle. He shook his head to the question, all the words and thoughts that wouldn't fit and pieces he couldn't sift through in time parting just enough for him to pick out the sum of what he was trying to express--gratitude and something more, and Sander didn't need to understand the second part. Sander probably couldn't understand.
"I...I like your smell, too." A response two days late.
ββ¦You can use my shampoo. And other things too.β -Sander smiled at that, a tingle of something warm in his chest. But this wasnβt the fire that he was used to, and he wasnβt quite sure what to make of it ββI donβt mind.β
The blond boy's shoulders shook slightly, and he coughed away another soft laugh that crumbled into a low groan from the aches. After a while, he managed a "Thank you."
Christmas looked around the room without moving his head much, hunting for something to offer in return besides the equally useless Mr. Chair. His eyes fell on the wide basket heaped in laundry nearby and his nerves found a new foothold. Quite a bold one--for him.
"In, um, in a bit--for the pills," he clarified, "I can--i-if you want...the, um. The--the laundry?"
Sander leaned down to look at his roommate in the eyes, brows raised in confusion.
Christmas blinked back, unsure what to make of the look. Maybe that was too much? "S-sorry."
βLaundry?β -Sander echoed dumbly, looking for clarification.
"The--um--the laundry...? The school has--has rooms for, uh, doing the laundry...um...if you want."
βOh. Room for laundry?β -Sander looked at his basket of dirty clothes ββYou can go there?β
"...Y-yes? Later, um...I can cl-clean the clothes if you--if you don't mind?"
βYou clean the clothes? By yourself? B-but why?β
"To--to clean them?" Christmas was now staring at Sander, confusion mirroring his roommate's.
βBut why you? Donβt they do it for you?β
"I--n-no? I can--I can do the laundry...?"
βOh.β -Sander blinked into the gray of his own shirt, loose on Christmasβ much smaller frame, his mind slowly working through the new information. It must be because Christmas was more people than him. Nothing like him, really. And he was glad for that ββOkay.β
A small sigh of relief from the healer and Christmas sat in Sander's hold for a while longer, feeling the pains across his body lessen so gradually he barely noticed when they were mostly gone, reduced to minor inconveniences by the miracle of modern medicine. It would have been nice if his power could do that for him, he thought.
When he felt numb enough to move without much discomfort, he looked up at Sander, still patiently sitting near him even though he had never needed to worry about a speck of dust named Christmas Halvost to begin with. Had never needed to bring him a Vita in a lonely hospital.
"I'll go, um, I'll go get the laundry, then?" he asked after a while, not keen on moving from that warm place in Sander's arms, but he did want to do something for his roommate.
A moment of silence, then Sander finally spoke, his gaze tentatively and careful, almost like he was asking for permission βββ¦Can I come with?β
Christmas nodded, eyes trailing across the length of ribbon on Sander's wrist in front of him.
"I...um..." he reached for the ribbon, resting fingers on it like grasping for resolve, "I like when you're near."
Another sliver of that strange warmth settled in Sanderβs chest again. He shifted his shoulders slightly, unused to its feather-light presence. But it clung, so he let it be ββOkay. I will be near.β -He nodded, tapping a finger against Christmasβ arm ββUp?β
Another nod, the majority of his newfound bravery spent for the morn--oh, it was evening. The lack of light through the window finally registered for Christmas and his eyes darted to the digital clock on the wall. 1803. Training didn't end until 1830, if he remembered that right. Did he sleep until Saturday?
Sander took that nod as a permission, so he shifted a little, moving onto his knees beside Christmas. His hand on Christmasβ arm moved down to the blond boyβs waist, while he lifted the other arm and draped it over his shoulders ββDoes it hurt?β -A slight pressure against the healerβs ribs came after the question.
A mild, weakened sensation on movement and Christmas shook his head to the question, blinking away his eyes' fixation on the hand around his waist. "Th-thank you."
With a quick heave of breath, Sander rose to his feet, lifting the blond boy up with him. He lowered his shoulder then, letting Christmasβ arm down, but his hand hovered around the small of the blond boyβs back, waiting.
Christmas made a mental note to take more of the medication in a few hours, because moving without feeling the aches was blissful. He threw the strap of his duffel bag over a shoulder, then tested some small steps for significant pain before breathing out in relief and walking over to Sander's basket. His nerves were still processing something, but it was so muted he hardly cared that he probably shouldn't be moving much. The large basket piled high with Sander's clothes was almost too heavy and Christmas got a firm grip on it before lifting with both hands, glancing at the window again.
"...Was I...did I sleep long?"
βYeah.β -Sander threw on a jacket and went to grab his ID card from the desk as he spoke. He turned back to Christmas then, watching the blond boy carrying his basket. Something didnβt sit right, so he went over, tapping one finger on the basket ββCan I help?β -He had to ask, because Christmas seemed to know what he was doing and he didnβt want to interfere with an activity that was so people. But he wanted to help.
"Um..." Christmas blinked at the basket, then at Sander. He did need to check the maps again for the laundry rooms. It wasn't something he had paid too much attention to before. "D-do you want to carry it?" He looked at Sander's finger on the basket.
Sander nodded, and the blond boy handed over his basket easily. Its weight was negligible for him, so he just held it aloft, waiting for Christmas to lead the way.
A quick check of the creased papers in the duffel bag reminded him that the wide basement hallway connecting the dorm buildings to each other and to the registrar's office housed the many laundry rooms on campus, with easy access from both the office building and the dorms for convenience. He fished his ID card out of the dirty clothes in his bag and grabbed his phone from the desk for a timer, just in case he couldn't be around to wait on the clothes to finish. The phone's lock screen displayed time and day, and Christmas breathed a small sigh of relief that he had only slept until Friday and that some miracle had let him sleep until then. He decided not to question why, grateful enough for that. He held the papers in hand, heading out the door first and holding it open for Sander, the dynamic of leading disorienting for him, but it was just the laundry so he shoved the uncomfortable feeling aside for now.
The hallway was spacious and lined with neat rooms of washers and dryers, four of each machine per room, a tall wooden cabinet of laundry essentials, and some cushioned benches for those who preferred to wait on site. Several other students were heading to and fro with dirty or freshly clean loads of laundry, and most spared Christmas's swollen, bruised face and baggy clothes a curious glance, though the sight of injured mages was common enough around East that no one made any comments. He found an empty room and noted the number on the wall--014--before holding the door for Sander, who entered first.
A bit of panic hit when he remembered--finally after all the distracting moments of earlier--that they didn't have detergent or fabric softener, but a hopeful check of the cabinet provided relief. Generic detergents, softeners, and scented dryer sheets filled the shelves inside the cabinet and Christmas picked out several bottles and a box, placing them on the bench while he separated the white clothes from everything else. He loaded those into a different, windowed washer and provided the necessary amounts of laundry cleaning solutions to both machines before fiddling through some of the settings until he found the "heavy stains" indicator on the digital display, tapping that on each washer and hitting "Start."
Sander watched curiously from his spot on the nearby bench, his gaze flicking between the machines and Christmas, but he made no move to approach the blond boy. It felt foreign here; his presence almost intrusive in this place of mundane chores and people. So he sat still, focusing on the soft whirling of the machines rather than the turmoils of his thoughts.
Christmas sat down on the bench beside Sander to wait on the cycles to finish, trying not to feel too elated that Sander would be near. Like a promise. He fiddled with his phone instead, deliberately avoiding his messages and contacts list in favor of the internet. It occurred to him then that he had never seen Sander use a phone in the past few days, and he wondered if Sander either didn't have one or didn't use it enough to matter. Either way, he was vaguely disappointed and afraid to completely admit why in his mind.
γππππππ£γ γπΌπ£πππ€π₯γ γβππ£ππ€π₯πππ€γ
πππ‘π₯. ππ, ππππ / / πππΈβππβ πΌππ€π₯ / / πππ¦πππ£πͺ βπ π π πππ / / ~ππ ππ
In one hand, a repurposed Brewski Box containing multiple plastic cylindrical containers, all of them plain white and cleanly labelled. In the other, a reusable shopping bag holding the clothing that was to be laundered, pre-sorted, of course. Ernie walked down the hallway with a slight spring in his step. Finally, something to look forward to after the emotional mess the week had been. The hours it took to clean his clothes would be a welcome mental break from everything, some well spent time with an empty mind as he plugged into his earphones and watched the machine cycles freshen his whites.
The jaunty tune he was whistling cut off abruptly as he entered Laundry Room 014. Sander the Berserker. Sitting right next to him was the kid he'd dragged through hell on Thursday, who was now staring at him in sheer, trembling fear. With the vicious bruising staining Christmas' face, it looked like he'd only just come back. Guilt flared in Ernie's expression, but the sentiment was largely overshadowed by the terror he felt from seeing them beside each other. Violent consequences and scenarios raced through his head before he was able to squash them down. Ernie breathed. He needed to play this cool. Play it right. He'd messed with wimps like Christmas before and if he'd learnt anything from that, it was that their fear would keep him from the harm's way of any strongarmed do-gooders who could find out about the ordeals. Ernie mustered a light smile to accompany a wave of his hand.
"Hey, it's Sander!" he called out. He didn't acknowledge Christmas' presence with much besides a polite nod and a "Hi there." Only a wide-eyed stare and shaking grip on a phone answered him, a brief flash of surprise across the bruised face when Ernie said Sander's name.
At the mention of his name, Sander tore his gaze from the spinning machines to look up at the familiar face ββOh. Hello.β -He offered a smile in greeting ββHow are you?β
The silence beside him prompted Sander to look though, and he found his roommate with a frozen expression, seemingly uncomfortable. He gave the boy a tentative tap on his upper arm, along with a question ββYouβre okay?β
Christmas nodded stiffly before looking away from Ernie, eyes on the ground instead while his hands clutched the phone meaninglessly, just something to hold instead of visibly shivering. Was Ernie a friend of Sander's...? He was immeasurably grateful for the medication now, because he could already feel his stomach trying to twist itself into knots at the sight of the black-haired mage.
"Feeling fine as ever!" Ernie eyed the beaten boy for a split second before turning to do his own laundry. The worst part was that it wasn't a lie. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so at ease. His nights, his quiet moments doing chores, all of them were so peaceful after that day in the alley. And he owed it all to Christmas. It was times like these, when he saw the aftermath of his weakness, that he wished the guilt was more torturous than the voices. But those wishes were always hushed by the relief of his sated mind.
"How 'bout you? Laundry's the best part of the week, right?"
βYouβre doing the laundry too?β -Sander blinked, looking at Ernieβs X mark briefly. He had seen Aberrations on his way here, too. So it was just...him? Something heavy tugged at his chest, but he shrugged it off.
"Every three days, buddy!" Ernie replied cheerily. His laundry load was considerably lighter than that of the other two because of the frequency of the routine. He uncapped a few of the bottles he had brought along with him, measuring doses with ease before loading his clothing into the machine. The whole process was done at an impressive speed, finished in under a minute. The long-haired boy did the same with the rest of his clothes in a second machine. He whirled around, realising his mistake too late.
Crud, why didn't he just take it slowly and stall for time? Now he had to spend an hour in the same room with Sander and Christmas. The suggestion to leave the room and come back later flickered in his mind before he shook it out. Would that be too unnatural? Could he afford to have his clothes stolen again? Were the kids at East like the depraved klepto asshats at West? Numerous possible courses of action popped up too, before Ernie realised something. Christmas was still a wimp. He wouldn't even dream of ratting Ernie out in front of Ernie. So the perpetrator smiled again, and sat by the pair. On Sander's side, for fear of spooking Christmas even more. Even through all the selfish relief, Ernie knew that he needed to draw the line in public situations. Despite that, Christmas still flinched as Ernie sat down nearby.
Should he act normal? Start conversation? Knowing Sander's track record with small talk, it seemed harmless enough.
"Are you gonna visit the bar again soon? I wanna practice some more drinks with my favourite customer!"
βDrink?β -The memories of sweet liquor and hazy conversation rushed back to meet Sander, and he couldnβt hold back a smile at the pleasant warmth. He talked too much though, that night. Thankfully, Christmas didnβt seem to mind, but he would prefer not to have a repeated episode ββOh yeah, I would love to. Maybe later? Iβm a bit busy this week.β
A blue ribbon and his trust in Sander were the only things holding Christmas in place at the moment, because Ernie was around and if Sander wanted to go back early, he'd be left alone with nothing to stop Ernie from repeating Thursday in a laundry room. He wanted to stay near Sander and he wanted to run far away from Ernie, the conflict between the two thoughts forcing him as still as possible, and the laundry couldn't be done fast enough.
A strange game of connect-the-dots played in his mind, pulling together absurd scenarios from a drunken Wednesday night to the sudden attack on Thursday, to their encounter now. But he trusted Sander, he did. So he just sat still and hoped Ernie would leave him alone.
" 'f course! Hit me up next time you come, yeah?" Ernie continued the conversation mindlessly, his thoughts too occupied on other matters. Christmas hadn't said a word since Ernie had arrived. Was that a good or bad thing? Was the kid going to burst the second it was just the two of them again? Ernie leant forward in his seat to peer past Sander.
"You should come too," he suggested gently. Perhaps he could pour his way onto Christmas' good side? It was a strategy worth playing out, hopefully.
The phone shook violently in Christmas's hands as he looked at Ernie, the voice like the invitation into the alley. He should have just gone to the bus stop, but it was too late to regret that now, and he didn't want to--he didn't want to, he repeated in his mind--be rude to someone who was Sander's friend. Just that it was getting a bit hard for him to breathe and he wasn't sure if he could answer Ernie between the blur in his ears and the uncomfortable coiling of his stomach.
His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, and he looked back down with a defeated nod. He thought he could smell the garbage from the alley again, but told himself it had to be from the lingering smell of the dirty clothes.
Sander followed Ernieβs gaze to Christmas, and he noticed the shaking hands. Worry nibbled at his thoughts, because he knew that Christmas always said he was okay, even when he was not. But he wasnβt sure what to do here. There was no pill. No blanket and no pillow. So he did the only logical thing he could think of: he threw an arm around the blond boyβs shoulders to steady him. Because that had worked before.
Christmas's gaze flicked to Sander for a second and then back to the ground. The arm around him again was a welcome surprise; warm and it meant Sander wasn't going to leave soon. His right hand reached for the ribbon on Sander's left wrist, hooked around his upper arm. He rested the palsied fingers there, trying to think about something that wasn't Ernie and a cold alleyway filled with trash and a rotting sandwich.
Ernie's eyes widened at the sudden PDA. Sander and Christmas were much closer than he'd hoped. The comforting arm draped over the shoulder, the ribbon. The ribbon. It was something important between them. Which meant they were important to each other. Whether or not their friendship went into... that area didn't matter. Unless they told him to his face, Ernie probably wouldn't have been able to tell anyway. If Sander ever found out about the alley, the consequences could be much worse than what Ernie was anticipating. Unease sunk to the bottom of the bully's stomach and he fell silent. There was no point in dragging out the conversation, not when it came to either Sander or Christmas. With a sigh, Ernie leant back into his seat and pulled up a podcast on his phone. The earphones and sounds of an eclectic title theme drowned the noises of machinery out. They were reassuring, once. But all things tended to get stale after too many years.
When Ernie seemed distracted by his phone, Christmas dared a glance at the mage, his own phone now set aside on the bench in favor of Sander's wrist. Remembering that he had reluctantly agreed--by way of inadvertent nod--to join Sander and Ernie at a bar later, Christmas bit his lower lip for a moment. He tugged Sander's wrist lightly, shivers quelled somewhat by the weight of the arm. As much as he didn't want to be anywhere with Ernie, if--if Sander was there...
"I--" he checked that Ernie seemed to be preoccupied with the phone before swallowing and mumbling into his legs (though he tried to direct it a little towards Sander's legs), "I...I've never had...a-alcohol. S-sorry."
βIt tastes good.β -Sander leaned down slightly, once again watching Christmasβ expression. The blond boy seemed to have calm down though, so whatever Sander was doing, it worked. A small smile stretched his lips at that realization ββTrust me.β
"I do."
Sander simply nodded, before turning his gaze back to the machines. He watched the cycles turn endlessly, until a final beep sounded and they came to halt. Sander frowned slightly then, seemingly surprised at he looked over to Christmas, as if waiting for an explanation.
"O-oh, um, the wash is...." He darted a glance at Ernie before slowly edging forward on the bench, preferring to just stay under Sander's arm, but knowing he had to get up and move things. "Th-the wash is done." His roommate nodded and the warm limb across his shoulders lifted, leaving Christmas with that subtle disappointment again, but he stood up and started carrying the heaps of clothes from the two washers to two dryers on the opposite wall, the loads composed mostly of Sander's clothes.
Ernie raised an eyebrow at the massive heaps the small boy was transporting to and fro on his own. He turned to Sander.
"You guys have a lotta clothes. Did you wear all of them during the week?"
βUh. Yeah.β -Sander shrugged, giving Ernie a look that almost asked You donβt?.
"Okay then." Ernie held back some remarks about waste but decided that it would be a better idea to avoid insulting the guy who beat down Supergirl.
Several scented dryer sheets and some tiny beeps later, two of the dryers were whirling as well and Christmas walked back to his seat, nerves settling a smidge more when it seemed Ernie wasn't making any moves to...shove him into a washing machine or something. He sat back down beside Sander, missing the arm around him more than he would admit.
Like a worker ant, Ernie thought blankly. There seemed to be no end to it. Christmas seemed to manage it fine on his own though, despite the extent of his injuries. Despite what Ernie had done. He cringed slightly. As Christmas rested on the bench again, Ernie decided he needed to do something, or whatever remained of his conscience would drive him fucking nuts.
"Do you guys need help taking all that back to your dorm? It seems like a lot for one trip between you guys."
βI can manage.β -Sander raised an eyebrow at Ernie, considered the offer briefly. He was fine by himself, but Christmas was still hurt. Maybe it was better this way ββBut if itβs no botherβ¦β
The panic rose up again for Christmas as Ernie offered to help them carry the clothes to the suite, but Sander had already accepted so he looked back at the ground, hands on the hem of the overly large shirt as he tried not to think too much about Ernie knowing where to find him.
"Sounds good to me! Lemme do my own stuff first and I'll help you guys out."
βOkay.β -Sander went back to watching the spinning dryer, though he occasionally snuck a glance in Christmasβ direction, just to make sure the shaking bouts had passed completely.
When the dryers signalled completion with an extended beep, Christmas hesitated before moving to retrieve the clothes, suddenly wishing the cycle had taken longer, or maybe the machine could have broken down. Anything to avoid bringing Ernie back to the suite. He piled the clothes into the large basket again, the small mountain of Sander's outfits nearly reaching midthigh now that the heat had fluffed the fabric. His own clothes he picked out in the process, shoving them carelessly into his duffel bag.
"You should probably take the lighter one," Ernie offered eagerly and taking the large basket before Christmas could try hauling all the clothes again. This was easy, right? Laundry was one of his specialties so he knew what he could do to be as useful as possible. His own machines started beeping and Ernie began loading his clothes into the dryers, leaving the large basket near him as he worked.
Sander chose that moment to walk over as well, tapping his roommateβs upper arm again ββCan I help?β -He gestured at the duffle bag this time, since Ernie had already taken his basket.
He wanted to say something to Ernie taking the basket of clothes, but Christmas tensed instead and looked at Sander, not sure what he wanted his roommate to do, and knowing he'd never ask it of Sander anyway. He just edged away from Ernie and nodded to Sander's question, slipping the bag off his shoulder and letting his roommate take it--something to do while he tried to avoid thinking about the alley. He fidgeted as he waited for Ernie, counting the panels of wood on the floor.
Sander slung the strap of the duffle bag over his shoulder, mirroring what the blond boy had done moments ago.
Ernie's dryers beeped a few minutes later. He tossed his clothes back into his canvas bag and hefted the whole lot.
"Alright, ready to go now!"
With that done, Sander turned and began the walk back to the suite, but not before sparing a glance at Christmas and Ernie to make sure they were both coming.
Christmas fumbled in the large pockets of his borrowed sweatpants for the ID card, swiping it across the suite door's card reader and pushing the door inward. He stood aside to let Sander and Ernie through first, keeping his eyes on the floor in the meantime.
A sharp inhale when he realized, groping around in the pockets of the sweatpants, that he had forgotten his phone in the laundry room. But it gave him an excuse to leave and maybe Ernie would be gone by the time he returned, so Christmas pulled at the loose shirt anxiously, waiting until Sander and Ernie had set everything on the ground before looking back down the hallway.
"F-forgot my, um, my phone," he announced feebly, stepping back from the door's threshold to leave.
Sander just finished dropping the duffle bag off at the foot of Christmasβ bed when the blond boy announced his intention to go back for the phone. It didnβt take much consideration on Sanderβs part for him to offer again, walking back toward the door before Christmas could leave ββCan I help with that too?β
Christmas hesitated, before answering, "Y-you don't have to..."
βItβs okay. I donβt mind.β -Sander smiled, hoping to reassure ββIβll be quick.β
It dawned on the small boy then--belatedly, considering the Thursday shower--that he had a hard time refusing Sander (even--especially--mentally). And he was aware it would only get worse.
But the smile caught him and he nodded anyway, staring down at the ground afterwards and remaining outside the door, having learned at least a little bit from the garbage in the alley.
Oh, he and Christmas were going to be left alone. This was Ernie's chance. The Aberration eased past Christmas to put the basket of laundry on one of the room's desks before waving Sander goodbye.
Take your time, he mentally urged the lanky boy.
"Christmas, come here," he said aloud. Baby steps. "Show me where to put your stuff."
Sander's long strides had already taken him down the hallway and Christmas was left with only Ernie calling him inside. He gripped his--Sander's--shirt tighter, afraid to step inside, but afraid to completely disobey and run. He knew how these things worked, even if Alvin had never been quite that violent. One way or another, between going in and staying away, it was a bad decision.
Ernie frowned at Christmas' obvious hesitance. This was going to be really hard. He needed to push some more.
"Hey, I'm not gonna... hurt you now. I just want to do laundry."
Scared eyes followed Sander's back as he turned the corner and Christmas thought he might still be able to catch up if he ran. But he couldn't be--couldn't be rude to Ernie because Sander might not like it. Because they drank together, right? So he had to--
Christmas swallowed and stared back at the other boy, trembling again.
He looked at his bag at the foot of the bed, then back to Ernie, hoping he could give Ernie as little to do as possible.
"F-fine--it's fine there..." he said, voice quavering. "Th-thank you."
"It's no problem. I know it doesn't even start to make up for..." Ernie clicked his tongue. Being genuinely remorseful shouldn't be such an impossible task. When did he let it get this far? "For everything that happened. I'm sorry. For real. I want to-- need to-- make it right."
He didn't know if he believed it, but the words were out of his mouth automatically, stumbling over themselves like usual.
"It-it's o-okay."
Yeah, right. Ernie began unloading the basket and separating the pile into pants and shirts. He noticed that all of the items were Sander's size. Jesus, this emo had a lot of clothing. He glanced at Christmas' own bag, seeing the significantly smaller volume of clothing there. So that was what he was shopping for on that day. Maybe Ernie shouldn't have used them as a dumpster blanket.
"It's not supposed to be okay! You know what happened. You're supposed to hate me, or get angry, or--"
Tell someone? Ernie didn't have that big of a death wish.
"--or just say no! Make me feel like shit. That's how I'm supposed to feel. Make me do all your chores for a month or something! How can you just say it's okay?"
He didn't know how to respond to all of that, and he understood it simply as messing up again, on something he didn't really know how to fix (or did he?). Ernie's tirade didn't fall on deaf ears, but something stirred like black silt disturbed--a shadow of a thought somewhere in the back of his mind and Christmas ducked his head, terrified.
"I'm--I'm s-sorry," he whispered.
"That's exactly the problem here," Ernie sighed, "You're not supposed to be sorry for things you didn't screw up. Whatever, do the Arbiter suites at East have ironing kits?" He held up a pair of wrinkled jeans, curling his lips in disdain. "Denim doesn't deserve to look like this."
Christmas blinked at the floor, waiting for the panic to settle as Ernie continued talking. He took long breaths, one hand running to his head where the ribbon usually was before he remembered and the hand returned to the hem of the borrowed shirt. He didn't understand. He had screwed up, and that was why the alley had happened and why Ernie was yelling at him now, but then he wasn't supposed to be sorry because he hadn't screwed up? He barely caught Ernie's question, and shook his head without looking up.
"Right. Gimme a sec, I'll be back soon."
Ernie ran off back to his room, leaving Christmas alone in the dorm. The blond boy didn't move from his spot at the door, uncertainty locking him in place while he stared at the piles of clothes Ernie had sorted. The Aberration returned with another canvas bag, this time containing a small mat and an iron. The piles of freshly dried clothes began shrinking within minutes, as they shifted from the ironing mat to another folded pile on the bed.
"Christmas, can I do yours when I'm done with these?" Ernie asked. He was grasping at straws now.
"I-It's oka--um. I can do--can iron them." He watched Ernie work quietly, still keeping his distance at the door, though the noise in his head had settled in the interim and he was able to take in the neat folds of pants and shirts. He had never folded clothes that neatly--like perfect rectangles, pressed flat with an extra swipe of the iron. His eyes followed Ernie's hands, all rapid movement and practiced ease and his mind thought back to backhands and punches with a rolling shudder down his spine.
He wasn't sure how to feel about Ernie ironing the clothes now, the large pile that would have taken him some 20 odd minutes to fold diminishing at record speed. More things he couldn't do right enough, so he stared at the floor in front of Ernie's seat.
"Th-thank you," he repeated.
"No problem, buddy."
A 'thank you'. Ernie's hands moved with more vigor as he sped through his own pile. That was progress, right? Anything besides the standard, stuttered apology must mean something. His lips curved upwards and he completed his ironing in a flash.
"Your turn?" Ernie shifted away from the mat to allow Christmas room to use the ironing kit, moving his latest pile to the side with him, "I'm just gonna order these a bit."
He stared at the empty seat for a moment, like it was a trap, but the color-sorted rectangles of fabric nearby weren't crumpled wax paper wrappers and dirty plastic bags in the alley, and the smell of fresh laundry was so far removed from the stench of garbage. He didn't iron his own clothes often--he didn't go anywhere or do anything that needed professionalism, after all--but he had learned to when Alvin told him to, and while he would never be as skilled at it as Ernie, he could manage at a slower pace.
"R-Really?" he asked, the question hooking back in his mind to Ernie's earlier promise about not hurting him--though he realized too late as he said it that it was coming out long after the right moment.
The Aberration nodded quickly. "I bet no one else has their own ironing kit here, so just use mine's. I need to put my stuff back but I'll be back soon. Shout if you need anything, yeah?"
Seeing as he wouldn't get much of a reply besides a silent nod, Ernie left for his dorm once more. Things were finally looking up. Just a bit more work and his safety would be secured!
That last thought made Ernie slow in his steps. Even after all this, he was only thinking of himself. Safety? For that brief period between the alley and Christmas' next beating? Because the existence of a next time was as solid as the concrete he was walking on. At least he could find the decency to feel a slight bit sorry about it while he was still lucid. Did he even care about the kid? No, Ernie was almost definitely doing it for himself. But what did it matter? Whatever his intentions were, the results would be the same. Christmas would feel a tiny bit better and Ernie's hide would be saved. That was all it came to.
He opened the door to his room, relieved that his mind still registered it as just a room rather than a haven from everything outside. Moments like these needed to be savoured. The items were quickly stashed into their assigned closet sections and Ernie made his way to the other boy's dorm once more.
The Arbiter was still working at his ironing when Ernie returned, looking up and freezing like Ernie had caught him doing something suspicious. The long-haired boy eyed him for a moment before looking around for the bathroom. When he emerged, a handtowel soaked in cold water and wrung free of drips was offered to Christmas.
"For your face," Ernie pointed to his own, "It helps."
Christmas looked at the towel for a while, eyes searching over every inch of it and body tensing like he expected Ernie to suddenly slap it into his face the moment he tried to take it. When that didn't happen, he reached for it slowly, taking it from Ernie's hands and looking back up with a careful gaze.
"...Thank you." The medication was still well in effect, but to him the small gesture was as kind as the alley had been cruel and Christmas pressed the towel to his face, balancing the moments on a scale he still hadn't realized was skewed and finding them even.
The towel's chill was pleasant on his face and it was easy to believe in that instead of a rotting sandwich, green and black with mold.
With a pleased smile, Ernie went and pulled a seat out from the other desk in the dorm. Christmas looked like he was going to take a while and he wasn't gonna wait around standing the entire time. After a moment's silence, Ernie spoke again.
"I knew a guy. Owen. Whenever he got back from a big fight, he'd just take whatever he found in the fridge and put it on his face to help with the bruising. One time, he ended up taking out the tub of Cookies and Cream and ate it while he rested it on the bruise. His friend, Anna, was so mad when she saw the empty tub that she throttled him and made him use a steak for his second bruise instead!"
Ernie laughed at the fond memory, hoping that Christmas would find it as funny as he did.
Christmas blinked at the sudden story, watching as Ernie gesticulated and enunciated the events with an excited smile. A laugh punctuated the story's end and Christmas's expression only transitioned from blank to puzzled, though his mouth mimicked a small, empty smile in response. It was hard to tell with the swelling, and some part of him was aware of that, so Christmas added a quick nod to the reaction, hoping Ernie's mood would stay there.
He didn't know what to make of the story--pain and violence casual on Ernie's tongue and bright in his eyes, a story told with words while Sander spoke in crimson irises shining against the darkness. The Death and Taxes thing he had found on the little invitation slip Tuesday after the flag football game--now a chatroom, apparently--had covered something about the X-marked mages, but he hadn't been reading very carefully in the haze of recovering from thoughts about Sander falling asleep on him the night prior.
The prominent cross on Ernie's neck drew his attention as the thought passed through (followed by the sudden question of why Sander was taking so long to return), and Christmas looked at it briefly before his eyes darted back to the ironing board.
The lack of a substantial reaction marked another failure on Ernie's end. He scratched his head, suddenly feeling awkward.
"Guess you needed to be there," he muttered.
Would all this be enough? Would his conscience be cleared by the end of this visit? The tension in his body whenever he saw Sander? There were still too many blank spots. He needed to be sure.
"Do you hate me, Christmas?" Ernie asked tentatively, before remembering what kind of person he was asking with that loaded question. Christmas was looking back up at him now, eyes wide. He backtracked quickly, adding, "I-It's totally okay if you do! I wouldn't like me too."
He ran a hand through his hair.
"I just want to make things right," he admitted, "Just want to be nicer-- better-- than what I was that day. If... if you don't wanna answer, I'll get it."
Something in the fear across Christmas's face broke at the admission of wanting "to be nicer" and he looked away for a moment, remembering punches to the face and kicks to the torso. Remembering red eyes on the battlefield and teeth against his wrist.
"...I don't...I don't hate you," he said quietly, the notion familiar and a stranger all at once. "I, um--it-it's okay." He couldn't define exactly what was "okay," but Christmas thought it was the bulk of it all, where he wasn't much of anything and so someone else's want to be superseded his, in whatever way defined them. The towel was growing warm now, losing much of its initial chill and he folded it over, finding a new cold spot.
"Here, lemme take that for you," Ernie held his hand out for the towel.
Christmas nearly flinched at the extended hand, but handed over his towel quietly.
The taller boy felt the warmth in the cloth as he took it. He walked over and opened the fridge, raising an eyebrow at the amount of red in the container before neatly placing the used towel at the back behind all the bottles of tomato juice. He took note of a strange canister in the midst of the more common drinks inhabiting the fridge but decided to pay it little mind. Medicine for one of them, probably. Ernie fetched another soaked handtowel from the bathroom and handed it to Christmas, who took some time taking this one from his hands, too, followed with that barely audible "Thank you."
"If it stops being cold again, just toss it into the fridge. I'd probably try to get some actual icepacks later too. Or ice cream, if you wanna snack while you rest," Ernie chuckled through the last comment.
Sander was taking a strange while to come back. The laundry room they used was only a few minutes walk, tops. Ah well, this alone time was good for the both of them. Ernie could feel another awkward silence settle in the room.
"What do you know about Stigmas?"
In his surprise at Ernie calmly invading Sander's personal belongings, Christmas nearly missed the question. He chalked it up to Ernie knowing Sander better, and tried to recall what he had read on the chatroom's information page. But he really couldn't remember anything because reading the page had been his failed attempt to stop thinking about a lot of things that were beyond his control.
"N-nothing--sor-sorry," he finally mumbled.
"Right, they don't have Subnatural Studies at East," Ernie laughed bitterly, "So stupid, right? How are we meant to handle ourselves if we don't even know what to handle?"
He pondered for a moment, searching for a concise way to sum up his point.
"We, Aberrations," he began, gesturing at his X-mark, "need 'destruction' to make our Stigmas behave. Otherwise we go nuts and do bad stuff, like when Zoe melted part of Gregory's face in the games. Or like... Thursday. Do you get it so far?"
Christmas swallowed, thinking back to a forest and starving eyes. Was that the same? He nodded anyway, the mention of a "Zoe" melting someone's face not ringing any bells--and he didn't think he minded that.
"But the thing is, 'destruction' is weird. Smashing windows and throwing bricks at people generally does the trick. But sometimes, for a few Abes, there are other things, little things, that can make it better. I knew someone who liked it when she started the fight then let it go on so she could beat the guy and sate her Stigma that way."
Ernie breathed. He knew he could say it. He knew Christmas wouldn't have the guts to tell anyone. Maybe he wouldn't even get it. That wouldn't be a tragedy. Ernie just needed to make sure that his motives were clear. Only then could he hope that Christmas would understand.
"My Stigma works best on people. I can smash all the windows I want, but if I ever want to be truly... clear, right even, I have to do stuff to people. Always bad stuff."
Bad stuff, and the two words were like "not nice" all over again. Two small words that meant far more than the sounds could hold. Far more than just an alley and a coward who was left behind in a dumpster. And "always" reminded him that Ernie had said something on Thursday. A "next time." He blanched at the realization.
"...N-next time...?" he repeated in a horrified whisper, the new towel against his face once again reaching the point of damp warmth. He didn't move it this time, staring at Ernie.
Alarm flashed through Ernie's eyes as he realised the implications of Christmas' words.
"I don't want to!" he snapped upright, rising from the chair to his feet. Christmas backed away, towel dropping to the ground and hands scraping the carpet as he cowered at the foot of the nearby bed. Strange, Ernie's cry had escaped before he had processed it, "There isn't supposed to be a 'next time'. Not like what happened..."
Ernie sat back down after seeing that he'd scared Christmas again.
"I want to be nicer than that. That's what I want."
'Than that'. Now that was fucking low bar he'd set. In the end, even through the weakness-induced violence that ran through his mind, Ernie knew himself too well. There was no way he could prevent a 'next time'. He was hopeless.
Several quiet seconds stretched into silent minutes as Christmas breathed slowly through the panic, the mounting terror thankfully not hitting a critical point. He wanted Sander to come back already, but there was no one here to help. He wasn't sure if he would have asked it of Sander, regardless.
His mind eventually took in the words, though they held little weight with the knowledge that Ernie would almost certainly repeat Thursday, no matter how much he claimed to want otherwise. The Aberration hadn't denied it.
Christmas shook his head, to a thought that wanted to settle like a disease and he didn't know how to fight it off on his own. What else could he do? What else was he worth? Doors locked from the outside and Alvin's harsh shoves against table edges and even his power was--everything kept wanting to collapse into pain. Even now, his face would be aching were it not for the medication.
He thought it was unfair, really. A lot of it. And he knew he didn't have any right when so many others were dead or worse off, but the feeling persisted. This was what he was worth. And since it was all he was, he'd have to take it. A revision to what he had told Sander before.
Thoughts like plagues and the bottle of oxycodone beside the first aid kit beckoned, its white, plastic lid loosely angled on its mouth. "For prolonged pain only" the doctor's messy letters looped on his mother's long prescription sheet, crumpled from when she had balled it up with an empty smile and thrown it away.
"...N-next time," he whispered, his voice hoarse and dry from the slow breaths and now muddled by quiet sobs, "c-can I bring...?" His trembling finger hovered in the bottle's direction.
Ernie wanted to laugh it all off. Exude confidence and give Christmas a comforting pat on the shoulder and reassure the boy that Ernie wouldn't harm him ever again. But how was he supposed to make Christmas believe that when Ernie didn't even believe it himself? The Aberration nodded in a choking silence.
"Anything you want," he managed to mumble. Ernie grabbed the bottle and placed it closer to the ironing mat, as if it was the only thing that could stop Christmas from crying before Sander returned. Then he picked the towel off the floor and opened the fridge door to swap the two. Yet another cool towel was held out for the Arbiter.
Christmas took this one after a much longer pause, and when he had it in hand, he only looked at it for some time before wiping his eyes and holding the towel there, burying his face in the white cloth. A broken "Thank you" muffled by towel and tears followed several seconds later, but he didn't move the cloth away.
At least Christmas was still talking to him. Ernie eyed the boy worriedly. He'd never learnt what to do with people crying. Anything he'd say would probably only make things worse.
"How 'bout you take a break?" Ernie suggested, pulling the ironing mat towards him to finish the remaining articles of clothing.
The towel slid down Christmas's face, the healer's eyes red with tears, but no more noticeable than the rest of the bruising on his face. He looked to Ernie already settled back behind the portable ironing board, wanting to explain he could do it himself and wanting to explain more that what he was worth? Wasn't worth the trouble. But now cold gripped his limbs and his fingers reached for the bottle of tablets nearby instead, clutching it with both hands. No prayers or hopes needed here.
The jaunty tune he was whistling cut off abruptly as he entered Laundry Room 014. Sander the Berserker. Sitting right next to him was the kid he'd dragged through hell on Thursday, who was now staring at him in sheer, trembling fear. With the vicious bruising staining Christmas' face, it looked like he'd only just come back. Guilt flared in Ernie's expression, but the sentiment was largely overshadowed by the terror he felt from seeing them beside each other. Violent consequences and scenarios raced through his head before he was able to squash them down. Ernie breathed. He needed to play this cool. Play it right. He'd messed with wimps like Christmas before and if he'd learnt anything from that, it was that their fear would keep him from the harm's way of any strongarmed do-gooders who could find out about the ordeals. Ernie mustered a light smile to accompany a wave of his hand.
"Hey, it's Sander!" he called out. He didn't acknowledge Christmas' presence with much besides a polite nod and a "Hi there." Only a wide-eyed stare and shaking grip on a phone answered him, a brief flash of surprise across the bruised face when Ernie said Sander's name.
At the mention of his name, Sander tore his gaze from the spinning machines to look up at the familiar face ββOh. Hello.β -He offered a smile in greeting ββHow are you?β
The silence beside him prompted Sander to look though, and he found his roommate with a frozen expression, seemingly uncomfortable. He gave the boy a tentative tap on his upper arm, along with a question ββYouβre okay?β
Christmas nodded stiffly before looking away from Ernie, eyes on the ground instead while his hands clutched the phone meaninglessly, just something to hold instead of visibly shivering. Was Ernie a friend of Sander's...? He was immeasurably grateful for the medication now, because he could already feel his stomach trying to twist itself into knots at the sight of the black-haired mage.
"Feeling fine as ever!" Ernie eyed the beaten boy for a split second before turning to do his own laundry. The worst part was that it wasn't a lie. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so at ease. His nights, his quiet moments doing chores, all of them were so peaceful after that day in the alley. And he owed it all to Christmas. It was times like these, when he saw the aftermath of his weakness, that he wished the guilt was more torturous than the voices. But those wishes were always hushed by the relief of his sated mind.
"How 'bout you? Laundry's the best part of the week, right?"
βYouβre doing the laundry too?β -Sander blinked, looking at Ernieβs X mark briefly. He had seen Aberrations on his way here, too. So it was just...him? Something heavy tugged at his chest, but he shrugged it off.
"Every three days, buddy!" Ernie replied cheerily. His laundry load was considerably lighter than that of the other two because of the frequency of the routine. He uncapped a few of the bottles he had brought along with him, measuring doses with ease before loading his clothing into the machine. The whole process was done at an impressive speed, finished in under a minute. The long-haired boy did the same with the rest of his clothes in a second machine. He whirled around, realising his mistake too late.
Crud, why didn't he just take it slowly and stall for time? Now he had to spend an hour in the same room with Sander and Christmas. The suggestion to leave the room and come back later flickered in his mind before he shook it out. Would that be too unnatural? Could he afford to have his clothes stolen again? Were the kids at East like the depraved klepto asshats at West? Numerous possible courses of action popped up too, before Ernie realised something. Christmas was still a wimp. He wouldn't even dream of ratting Ernie out in front of Ernie. So the perpetrator smiled again, and sat by the pair. On Sander's side, for fear of spooking Christmas even more. Even through all the selfish relief, Ernie knew that he needed to draw the line in public situations. Despite that, Christmas still flinched as Ernie sat down nearby.
Should he act normal? Start conversation? Knowing Sander's track record with small talk, it seemed harmless enough.
"Are you gonna visit the bar again soon? I wanna practice some more drinks with my favourite customer!"
βDrink?β -The memories of sweet liquor and hazy conversation rushed back to meet Sander, and he couldnβt hold back a smile at the pleasant warmth. He talked too much though, that night. Thankfully, Christmas didnβt seem to mind, but he would prefer not to have a repeated episode ββOh yeah, I would love to. Maybe later? Iβm a bit busy this week.β
A blue ribbon and his trust in Sander were the only things holding Christmas in place at the moment, because Ernie was around and if Sander wanted to go back early, he'd be left alone with nothing to stop Ernie from repeating Thursday in a laundry room. He wanted to stay near Sander and he wanted to run far away from Ernie, the conflict between the two thoughts forcing him as still as possible, and the laundry couldn't be done fast enough.
A strange game of connect-the-dots played in his mind, pulling together absurd scenarios from a drunken Wednesday night to the sudden attack on Thursday, to their encounter now. But he trusted Sander, he did. So he just sat still and hoped Ernie would leave him alone.
" 'f course! Hit me up next time you come, yeah?" Ernie continued the conversation mindlessly, his thoughts too occupied on other matters. Christmas hadn't said a word since Ernie had arrived. Was that a good or bad thing? Was the kid going to burst the second it was just the two of them again? Ernie leant forward in his seat to peer past Sander.
"You should come too," he suggested gently. Perhaps he could pour his way onto Christmas' good side? It was a strategy worth playing out, hopefully.
The phone shook violently in Christmas's hands as he looked at Ernie, the voice like the invitation into the alley. He should have just gone to the bus stop, but it was too late to regret that now, and he didn't want to--he didn't want to, he repeated in his mind--be rude to someone who was Sander's friend. Just that it was getting a bit hard for him to breathe and he wasn't sure if he could answer Ernie between the blur in his ears and the uncomfortable coiling of his stomach.
His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, and he looked back down with a defeated nod. He thought he could smell the garbage from the alley again, but told himself it had to be from the lingering smell of the dirty clothes.
Sander followed Ernieβs gaze to Christmas, and he noticed the shaking hands. Worry nibbled at his thoughts, because he knew that Christmas always said he was okay, even when he was not. But he wasnβt sure what to do here. There was no pill. No blanket and no pillow. So he did the only logical thing he could think of: he threw an arm around the blond boyβs shoulders to steady him. Because that had worked before.
Christmas's gaze flicked to Sander for a second and then back to the ground. The arm around him again was a welcome surprise; warm and it meant Sander wasn't going to leave soon. His right hand reached for the ribbon on Sander's left wrist, hooked around his upper arm. He rested the palsied fingers there, trying to think about something that wasn't Ernie and a cold alleyway filled with trash and a rotting sandwich.
Ernie's eyes widened at the sudden PDA. Sander and Christmas were much closer than he'd hoped. The comforting arm draped over the shoulder, the ribbon. The ribbon. It was something important between them. Which meant they were important to each other. Whether or not their friendship went into... that area didn't matter. Unless they told him to his face, Ernie probably wouldn't have been able to tell anyway. If Sander ever found out about the alley, the consequences could be much worse than what Ernie was anticipating. Unease sunk to the bottom of the bully's stomach and he fell silent. There was no point in dragging out the conversation, not when it came to either Sander or Christmas. With a sigh, Ernie leant back into his seat and pulled up a podcast on his phone. The earphones and sounds of an eclectic title theme drowned the noises of machinery out. They were reassuring, once. But all things tended to get stale after too many years.
When Ernie seemed distracted by his phone, Christmas dared a glance at the mage, his own phone now set aside on the bench in favor of Sander's wrist. Remembering that he had reluctantly agreed--by way of inadvertent nod--to join Sander and Ernie at a bar later, Christmas bit his lower lip for a moment. He tugged Sander's wrist lightly, shivers quelled somewhat by the weight of the arm. As much as he didn't want to be anywhere with Ernie, if--if Sander was there...
"I--" he checked that Ernie seemed to be preoccupied with the phone before swallowing and mumbling into his legs (though he tried to direct it a little towards Sander's legs), "I...I've never had...a-alcohol. S-sorry."
βIt tastes good.β -Sander leaned down slightly, once again watching Christmasβ expression. The blond boy seemed to have calm down though, so whatever Sander was doing, it worked. A small smile stretched his lips at that realization ββTrust me.β
"I do."
Sander simply nodded, before turning his gaze back to the machines. He watched the cycles turn endlessly, until a final beep sounded and they came to halt. Sander frowned slightly then, seemingly surprised at he looked over to Christmas, as if waiting for an explanation.
"O-oh, um, the wash is...." He darted a glance at Ernie before slowly edging forward on the bench, preferring to just stay under Sander's arm, but knowing he had to get up and move things. "Th-the wash is done." His roommate nodded and the warm limb across his shoulders lifted, leaving Christmas with that subtle disappointment again, but he stood up and started carrying the heaps of clothes from the two washers to two dryers on the opposite wall, the loads composed mostly of Sander's clothes.
Ernie raised an eyebrow at the massive heaps the small boy was transporting to and fro on his own. He turned to Sander.
"You guys have a lotta clothes. Did you wear all of them during the week?"
βUh. Yeah.β -Sander shrugged, giving Ernie a look that almost asked You donβt?.
"Okay then." Ernie held back some remarks about waste but decided that it would be a better idea to avoid insulting the guy who beat down Supergirl.
Several scented dryer sheets and some tiny beeps later, two of the dryers were whirling as well and Christmas walked back to his seat, nerves settling a smidge more when it seemed Ernie wasn't making any moves to...shove him into a washing machine or something. He sat back down beside Sander, missing the arm around him more than he would admit.
Like a worker ant, Ernie thought blankly. There seemed to be no end to it. Christmas seemed to manage it fine on his own though, despite the extent of his injuries. Despite what Ernie had done. He cringed slightly. As Christmas rested on the bench again, Ernie decided he needed to do something, or whatever remained of his conscience would drive him fucking nuts.
"Do you guys need help taking all that back to your dorm? It seems like a lot for one trip between you guys."
βI can manage.β -Sander raised an eyebrow at Ernie, considered the offer briefly. He was fine by himself, but Christmas was still hurt. Maybe it was better this way ββBut if itβs no botherβ¦β
The panic rose up again for Christmas as Ernie offered to help them carry the clothes to the suite, but Sander had already accepted so he looked back at the ground, hands on the hem of the overly large shirt as he tried not to think too much about Ernie knowing where to find him.
"Sounds good to me! Lemme do my own stuff first and I'll help you guys out."
βOkay.β -Sander went back to watching the spinning dryer, though he occasionally snuck a glance in Christmasβ direction, just to make sure the shaking bouts had passed completely.
When the dryers signalled completion with an extended beep, Christmas hesitated before moving to retrieve the clothes, suddenly wishing the cycle had taken longer, or maybe the machine could have broken down. Anything to avoid bringing Ernie back to the suite. He piled the clothes into the large basket again, the small mountain of Sander's outfits nearly reaching midthigh now that the heat had fluffed the fabric. His own clothes he picked out in the process, shoving them carelessly into his duffel bag.
"You should probably take the lighter one," Ernie offered eagerly and taking the large basket before Christmas could try hauling all the clothes again. This was easy, right? Laundry was one of his specialties so he knew what he could do to be as useful as possible. His own machines started beeping and Ernie began loading his clothes into the dryers, leaving the large basket near him as he worked.
Sander chose that moment to walk over as well, tapping his roommateβs upper arm again ββCan I help?β -He gestured at the duffle bag this time, since Ernie had already taken his basket.
He wanted to say something to Ernie taking the basket of clothes, but Christmas tensed instead and looked at Sander, not sure what he wanted his roommate to do, and knowing he'd never ask it of Sander anyway. He just edged away from Ernie and nodded to Sander's question, slipping the bag off his shoulder and letting his roommate take it--something to do while he tried to avoid thinking about the alley. He fidgeted as he waited for Ernie, counting the panels of wood on the floor.
Sander slung the strap of the duffle bag over his shoulder, mirroring what the blond boy had done moments ago.
Ernie's dryers beeped a few minutes later. He tossed his clothes back into his canvas bag and hefted the whole lot.
"Alright, ready to go now!"
With that done, Sander turned and began the walk back to the suite, but not before sparing a glance at Christmas and Ernie to make sure they were both coming.
Christmas fumbled in the large pockets of his borrowed sweatpants for the ID card, swiping it across the suite door's card reader and pushing the door inward. He stood aside to let Sander and Ernie through first, keeping his eyes on the floor in the meantime.
A sharp inhale when he realized, groping around in the pockets of the sweatpants, that he had forgotten his phone in the laundry room. But it gave him an excuse to leave and maybe Ernie would be gone by the time he returned, so Christmas pulled at the loose shirt anxiously, waiting until Sander and Ernie had set everything on the ground before looking back down the hallway.
"F-forgot my, um, my phone," he announced feebly, stepping back from the door's threshold to leave.
Sander just finished dropping the duffle bag off at the foot of Christmasβ bed when the blond boy announced his intention to go back for the phone. It didnβt take much consideration on Sanderβs part for him to offer again, walking back toward the door before Christmas could leave ββCan I help with that too?β
Christmas hesitated, before answering, "Y-you don't have to..."
βItβs okay. I donβt mind.β -Sander smiled, hoping to reassure ββIβll be quick.β
It dawned on the small boy then--belatedly, considering the Thursday shower--that he had a hard time refusing Sander (even--especially--mentally). And he was aware it would only get worse.
But the smile caught him and he nodded anyway, staring down at the ground afterwards and remaining outside the door, having learned at least a little bit from the garbage in the alley.
Oh, he and Christmas were going to be left alone. This was Ernie's chance. The Aberration eased past Christmas to put the basket of laundry on one of the room's desks before waving Sander goodbye.
Take your time, he mentally urged the lanky boy.
"Christmas, come here," he said aloud. Baby steps. "Show me where to put your stuff."
Sander's long strides had already taken him down the hallway and Christmas was left with only Ernie calling him inside. He gripped his--Sander's--shirt tighter, afraid to step inside, but afraid to completely disobey and run. He knew how these things worked, even if Alvin had never been quite that violent. One way or another, between going in and staying away, it was a bad decision.
Ernie frowned at Christmas' obvious hesitance. This was going to be really hard. He needed to push some more.
"Hey, I'm not gonna... hurt you now. I just want to do laundry."
Scared eyes followed Sander's back as he turned the corner and Christmas thought he might still be able to catch up if he ran. But he couldn't be--couldn't be rude to Ernie because Sander might not like it. Because they drank together, right? So he had to--
Christmas swallowed and stared back at the other boy, trembling again.
He looked at his bag at the foot of the bed, then back to Ernie, hoping he could give Ernie as little to do as possible.
"F-fine--it's fine there..." he said, voice quavering. "Th-thank you."
"It's no problem. I know it doesn't even start to make up for..." Ernie clicked his tongue. Being genuinely remorseful shouldn't be such an impossible task. When did he let it get this far? "For everything that happened. I'm sorry. For real. I want to-- need to-- make it right."
He didn't know if he believed it, but the words were out of his mouth automatically, stumbling over themselves like usual.
"It-it's o-okay."
Yeah, right. Ernie began unloading the basket and separating the pile into pants and shirts. He noticed that all of the items were Sander's size. Jesus, this emo had a lot of clothing. He glanced at Christmas' own bag, seeing the significantly smaller volume of clothing there. So that was what he was shopping for on that day. Maybe Ernie shouldn't have used them as a dumpster blanket.
"It's not supposed to be okay! You know what happened. You're supposed to hate me, or get angry, or--"
Tell someone? Ernie didn't have that big of a death wish.
"--or just say no! Make me feel like shit. That's how I'm supposed to feel. Make me do all your chores for a month or something! How can you just say it's okay?"
He didn't know how to respond to all of that, and he understood it simply as messing up again, on something he didn't really know how to fix (or did he?). Ernie's tirade didn't fall on deaf ears, but something stirred like black silt disturbed--a shadow of a thought somewhere in the back of his mind and Christmas ducked his head, terrified.
"I'm--I'm s-sorry," he whispered.
"That's exactly the problem here," Ernie sighed, "You're not supposed to be sorry for things you didn't screw up. Whatever, do the Arbiter suites at East have ironing kits?" He held up a pair of wrinkled jeans, curling his lips in disdain. "Denim doesn't deserve to look like this."
Christmas blinked at the floor, waiting for the panic to settle as Ernie continued talking. He took long breaths, one hand running to his head where the ribbon usually was before he remembered and the hand returned to the hem of the borrowed shirt. He didn't understand. He had screwed up, and that was why the alley had happened and why Ernie was yelling at him now, but then he wasn't supposed to be sorry because he hadn't screwed up? He barely caught Ernie's question, and shook his head without looking up.
"Right. Gimme a sec, I'll be back soon."
Ernie ran off back to his room, leaving Christmas alone in the dorm. The blond boy didn't move from his spot at the door, uncertainty locking him in place while he stared at the piles of clothes Ernie had sorted. The Aberration returned with another canvas bag, this time containing a small mat and an iron. The piles of freshly dried clothes began shrinking within minutes, as they shifted from the ironing mat to another folded pile on the bed.
"Christmas, can I do yours when I'm done with these?" Ernie asked. He was grasping at straws now.
"I-It's oka--um. I can do--can iron them." He watched Ernie work quietly, still keeping his distance at the door, though the noise in his head had settled in the interim and he was able to take in the neat folds of pants and shirts. He had never folded clothes that neatly--like perfect rectangles, pressed flat with an extra swipe of the iron. His eyes followed Ernie's hands, all rapid movement and practiced ease and his mind thought back to backhands and punches with a rolling shudder down his spine.
He wasn't sure how to feel about Ernie ironing the clothes now, the large pile that would have taken him some 20 odd minutes to fold diminishing at record speed. More things he couldn't do right enough, so he stared at the floor in front of Ernie's seat.
"Th-thank you," he repeated.
"No problem, buddy."
A 'thank you'. Ernie's hands moved with more vigor as he sped through his own pile. That was progress, right? Anything besides the standard, stuttered apology must mean something. His lips curved upwards and he completed his ironing in a flash.
"Your turn?" Ernie shifted away from the mat to allow Christmas room to use the ironing kit, moving his latest pile to the side with him, "I'm just gonna order these a bit."
He stared at the empty seat for a moment, like it was a trap, but the color-sorted rectangles of fabric nearby weren't crumpled wax paper wrappers and dirty plastic bags in the alley, and the smell of fresh laundry was so far removed from the stench of garbage. He didn't iron his own clothes often--he didn't go anywhere or do anything that needed professionalism, after all--but he had learned to when Alvin told him to, and while he would never be as skilled at it as Ernie, he could manage at a slower pace.
"R-Really?" he asked, the question hooking back in his mind to Ernie's earlier promise about not hurting him--though he realized too late as he said it that it was coming out long after the right moment.
The Aberration nodded quickly. "I bet no one else has their own ironing kit here, so just use mine's. I need to put my stuff back but I'll be back soon. Shout if you need anything, yeah?"
Seeing as he wouldn't get much of a reply besides a silent nod, Ernie left for his dorm once more. Things were finally looking up. Just a bit more work and his safety would be secured!
That last thought made Ernie slow in his steps. Even after all this, he was only thinking of himself. Safety? For that brief period between the alley and Christmas' next beating? Because the existence of a next time was as solid as the concrete he was walking on. At least he could find the decency to feel a slight bit sorry about it while he was still lucid. Did he even care about the kid? No, Ernie was almost definitely doing it for himself. But what did it matter? Whatever his intentions were, the results would be the same. Christmas would feel a tiny bit better and Ernie's hide would be saved. That was all it came to.
He opened the door to his room, relieved that his mind still registered it as just a room rather than a haven from everything outside. Moments like these needed to be savoured. The items were quickly stashed into their assigned closet sections and Ernie made his way to the other boy's dorm once more.
The Arbiter was still working at his ironing when Ernie returned, looking up and freezing like Ernie had caught him doing something suspicious. The long-haired boy eyed him for a moment before looking around for the bathroom. When he emerged, a handtowel soaked in cold water and wrung free of drips was offered to Christmas.
"For your face," Ernie pointed to his own, "It helps."
Christmas looked at the towel for a while, eyes searching over every inch of it and body tensing like he expected Ernie to suddenly slap it into his face the moment he tried to take it. When that didn't happen, he reached for it slowly, taking it from Ernie's hands and looking back up with a careful gaze.
"...Thank you." The medication was still well in effect, but to him the small gesture was as kind as the alley had been cruel and Christmas pressed the towel to his face, balancing the moments on a scale he still hadn't realized was skewed and finding them even.
The towel's chill was pleasant on his face and it was easy to believe in that instead of a rotting sandwich, green and black with mold.
With a pleased smile, Ernie went and pulled a seat out from the other desk in the dorm. Christmas looked like he was going to take a while and he wasn't gonna wait around standing the entire time. After a moment's silence, Ernie spoke again.
"I knew a guy. Owen. Whenever he got back from a big fight, he'd just take whatever he found in the fridge and put it on his face to help with the bruising. One time, he ended up taking out the tub of Cookies and Cream and ate it while he rested it on the bruise. His friend, Anna, was so mad when she saw the empty tub that she throttled him and made him use a steak for his second bruise instead!"
Ernie laughed at the fond memory, hoping that Christmas would find it as funny as he did.
Christmas blinked at the sudden story, watching as Ernie gesticulated and enunciated the events with an excited smile. A laugh punctuated the story's end and Christmas's expression only transitioned from blank to puzzled, though his mouth mimicked a small, empty smile in response. It was hard to tell with the swelling, and some part of him was aware of that, so Christmas added a quick nod to the reaction, hoping Ernie's mood would stay there.
He didn't know what to make of the story--pain and violence casual on Ernie's tongue and bright in his eyes, a story told with words while Sander spoke in crimson irises shining against the darkness. The Death and Taxes thing he had found on the little invitation slip Tuesday after the flag football game--now a chatroom, apparently--had covered something about the X-marked mages, but he hadn't been reading very carefully in the haze of recovering from thoughts about Sander falling asleep on him the night prior.
The prominent cross on Ernie's neck drew his attention as the thought passed through (followed by the sudden question of why Sander was taking so long to return), and Christmas looked at it briefly before his eyes darted back to the ironing board.
The lack of a substantial reaction marked another failure on Ernie's end. He scratched his head, suddenly feeling awkward.
"Guess you needed to be there," he muttered.
Would all this be enough? Would his conscience be cleared by the end of this visit? The tension in his body whenever he saw Sander? There were still too many blank spots. He needed to be sure.
"Do you hate me, Christmas?" Ernie asked tentatively, before remembering what kind of person he was asking with that loaded question. Christmas was looking back up at him now, eyes wide. He backtracked quickly, adding, "I-It's totally okay if you do! I wouldn't like me too."
He ran a hand through his hair.
"I just want to make things right," he admitted, "Just want to be nicer-- better-- than what I was that day. If... if you don't wanna answer, I'll get it."
Something in the fear across Christmas's face broke at the admission of wanting "to be nicer" and he looked away for a moment, remembering punches to the face and kicks to the torso. Remembering red eyes on the battlefield and teeth against his wrist.
"...I don't...I don't hate you," he said quietly, the notion familiar and a stranger all at once. "I, um--it-it's okay." He couldn't define exactly what was "okay," but Christmas thought it was the bulk of it all, where he wasn't much of anything and so someone else's want to be superseded his, in whatever way defined them. The towel was growing warm now, losing much of its initial chill and he folded it over, finding a new cold spot.
"Here, lemme take that for you," Ernie held his hand out for the towel.
Christmas nearly flinched at the extended hand, but handed over his towel quietly.
The taller boy felt the warmth in the cloth as he took it. He walked over and opened the fridge, raising an eyebrow at the amount of red in the container before neatly placing the used towel at the back behind all the bottles of tomato juice. He took note of a strange canister in the midst of the more common drinks inhabiting the fridge but decided to pay it little mind. Medicine for one of them, probably. Ernie fetched another soaked handtowel from the bathroom and handed it to Christmas, who took some time taking this one from his hands, too, followed with that barely audible "Thank you."
"If it stops being cold again, just toss it into the fridge. I'd probably try to get some actual icepacks later too. Or ice cream, if you wanna snack while you rest," Ernie chuckled through the last comment.
Sander was taking a strange while to come back. The laundry room they used was only a few minutes walk, tops. Ah well, this alone time was good for the both of them. Ernie could feel another awkward silence settle in the room.
"What do you know about Stigmas?"
In his surprise at Ernie calmly invading Sander's personal belongings, Christmas nearly missed the question. He chalked it up to Ernie knowing Sander better, and tried to recall what he had read on the chatroom's information page. But he really couldn't remember anything because reading the page had been his failed attempt to stop thinking about a lot of things that were beyond his control.
"N-nothing--sor-sorry," he finally mumbled.
"Right, they don't have Subnatural Studies at East," Ernie laughed bitterly, "So stupid, right? How are we meant to handle ourselves if we don't even know what to handle?"
He pondered for a moment, searching for a concise way to sum up his point.
"We, Aberrations," he began, gesturing at his X-mark, "need 'destruction' to make our Stigmas behave. Otherwise we go nuts and do bad stuff, like when Zoe melted part of Gregory's face in the games. Or like... Thursday. Do you get it so far?"
Christmas swallowed, thinking back to a forest and starving eyes. Was that the same? He nodded anyway, the mention of a "Zoe" melting someone's face not ringing any bells--and he didn't think he minded that.
"But the thing is, 'destruction' is weird. Smashing windows and throwing bricks at people generally does the trick. But sometimes, for a few Abes, there are other things, little things, that can make it better. I knew someone who liked it when she started the fight then let it go on so she could beat the guy and sate her Stigma that way."
Ernie breathed. He knew he could say it. He knew Christmas wouldn't have the guts to tell anyone. Maybe he wouldn't even get it. That wouldn't be a tragedy. Ernie just needed to make sure that his motives were clear. Only then could he hope that Christmas would understand.
"My Stigma works best on people. I can smash all the windows I want, but if I ever want to be truly... clear, right even, I have to do stuff to people. Always bad stuff."
Bad stuff, and the two words were like "not nice" all over again. Two small words that meant far more than the sounds could hold. Far more than just an alley and a coward who was left behind in a dumpster. And "always" reminded him that Ernie had said something on Thursday. A "next time." He blanched at the realization.
"...N-next time...?" he repeated in a horrified whisper, the new towel against his face once again reaching the point of damp warmth. He didn't move it this time, staring at Ernie.
Alarm flashed through Ernie's eyes as he realised the implications of Christmas' words.
"I don't want to!" he snapped upright, rising from the chair to his feet. Christmas backed away, towel dropping to the ground and hands scraping the carpet as he cowered at the foot of the nearby bed. Strange, Ernie's cry had escaped before he had processed it, "There isn't supposed to be a 'next time'. Not like what happened..."
Ernie sat back down after seeing that he'd scared Christmas again.
"I want to be nicer than that. That's what I want."
'Than that'. Now that was fucking low bar he'd set. In the end, even through the weakness-induced violence that ran through his mind, Ernie knew himself too well. There was no way he could prevent a 'next time'. He was hopeless.
Several quiet seconds stretched into silent minutes as Christmas breathed slowly through the panic, the mounting terror thankfully not hitting a critical point. He wanted Sander to come back already, but there was no one here to help. He wasn't sure if he would have asked it of Sander, regardless.
His mind eventually took in the words, though they held little weight with the knowledge that Ernie would almost certainly repeat Thursday, no matter how much he claimed to want otherwise. The Aberration hadn't denied it.
Christmas shook his head, to a thought that wanted to settle like a disease and he didn't know how to fight it off on his own. What else could he do? What else was he worth? Doors locked from the outside and Alvin's harsh shoves against table edges and even his power was--everything kept wanting to collapse into pain. Even now, his face would be aching were it not for the medication.
He thought it was unfair, really. A lot of it. And he knew he didn't have any right when so many others were dead or worse off, but the feeling persisted. This was what he was worth. And since it was all he was, he'd have to take it. A revision to what he had told Sander before.
Thoughts like plagues and the bottle of oxycodone beside the first aid kit beckoned, its white, plastic lid loosely angled on its mouth. "For prolonged pain only" the doctor's messy letters looped on his mother's long prescription sheet, crumpled from when she had balled it up with an empty smile and thrown it away.
"...N-next time," he whispered, his voice hoarse and dry from the slow breaths and now muddled by quiet sobs, "c-can I bring...?" His trembling finger hovered in the bottle's direction.
Ernie wanted to laugh it all off. Exude confidence and give Christmas a comforting pat on the shoulder and reassure the boy that Ernie wouldn't harm him ever again. But how was he supposed to make Christmas believe that when Ernie didn't even believe it himself? The Aberration nodded in a choking silence.
"Anything you want," he managed to mumble. Ernie grabbed the bottle and placed it closer to the ironing mat, as if it was the only thing that could stop Christmas from crying before Sander returned. Then he picked the towel off the floor and opened the fridge door to swap the two. Yet another cool towel was held out for the Arbiter.
Christmas took this one after a much longer pause, and when he had it in hand, he only looked at it for some time before wiping his eyes and holding the towel there, burying his face in the white cloth. A broken "Thank you" muffled by towel and tears followed several seconds later, but he didn't move the cloth away.
At least Christmas was still talking to him. Ernie eyed the boy worriedly. He'd never learnt what to do with people crying. Anything he'd say would probably only make things worse.
"How 'bout you take a break?" Ernie suggested, pulling the ironing mat towards him to finish the remaining articles of clothing.
The towel slid down Christmas's face, the healer's eyes red with tears, but no more noticeable than the rest of the bruising on his face. He looked to Ernie already settled back behind the portable ironing board, wanting to explain he could do it himself and wanting to explain more that what he was worth? Wasn't worth the trouble. But now cold gripped his limbs and his fingers reached for the bottle of tablets nearby instead, clutching it with both hands. No prayers or hopes needed here.
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30 minutes? Callan frowned, thinking as she took a step back from the washer, now filled with her clothes. That would be enough time, wouldn't it? Not too concerned about anyone stealing her soggy clothes, Callan turned to leave, reaching for the knob just as the door to Laundry Room 014 swung open. Her face lit up with recognition.
"Oh, hey Sander," she smiled, retracting her hand.
βHey.β -Sander was once again met by a familiar face in the laundry room. Unlike before, he recovered faster, pulling his lips into a smile ββCallan. Good evening. You are here to do the laundry too?β
As he spoke, his eyes swept around the room and quickly caught sight of the phone lying forgotten on the nearby bench. With a few short steps, Sander moved over to retrieve it.
"Yep," Callan sighed, glancing back at the machines as Sander walked by. Her mom used to do the laundry. She briefly considered cracking a joke about that, but wasn't sure if Sander would find it funny.
"Oh, is that your phone?" she asked with half a laugh.
βThis? No.β -Sander shook his head slightly, slipping the phone into the pocket of his jeans ββItβs Christmasβ.β
"Oh, ok," she nodded. Her expression suddenly changed, like a light bulb going off. "Hey-- do you have a pen or something? I need to get your number."
βMy number?β -Sander looked confused ββWhat number?β
Oh, god. "Your... phone number?" she asked, looking almost just as confused, "So I can text you when we wanna set up our next fight."
βOh.β -Sander said, realization set in ββI donβt have a phone, actually. You can just come over if youβ¦uhβ¦need to talk.β
She tilted her head and furrowed her brow. It almost sounded like he'd never had a phone before, but that couldn't be true, could it? "Didn't you request one?" she asked. Maybe he accidently broke it... unlikely as it seemed. She didn't want to walk all the way to his suite everytime she had a question.
βNo.β
"Wha?" her head tilted further to the side, lips curling into an incredulous smile, "Seriously? You need a phone, man...."
βI donβt need a phone.β -Sander shrugged, but he humored her -"Why?"
Callan folded her arms, thinking for a moment. "Well," she pointed at the phone in Sander's pocket, "What if Christmas needed to call you? For an emergency or something?"
βUhβ¦β -A brief moment of silence passed as Sander processed the scenario in his head ββHe canβ¦uhβ¦I will find him.β
She couldn't help but roll her eyes and chuckle. "I'm about to head over to the registrar's office and request a new phone. I accidently broke mine. Wanna come?"
βThanks, butβ¦β -Sander frowned slightly, glancing at the exit ββI should probably get back to Christmas soon.β
"We'll be quick-- it's just right upstairs," she smiled reassuringly. Really don't want to hunt him down every time I have a question, she thought again to herself. Maybe her reasons were selfish, but having a phone would benefit Sander, too. It was a win-win. "C'mon-- please?"
Sander looked torn, his eyes flickered between the door and Callanβs pleading face. On one hand, he didnβt want to make Christmas wait, but on the other, Callan was asking for such a small thing. Eventually, he caved, letting out a suppressed sigh ββAlright. Letβs go.β
Callan felt a pang of guilt, watching Sander ultimately cave in to her request. She smiled anyway as she led the way out into the hall. "It's over this way," she gestured towards the stairs, moving to walk next to him.
"Neither of you were in class today. Is everything alright?" she queried. It was the least she could do. Hopefully Christmas wouldn't mind her borrowing Sander for this-- ultimately he'd probably be happy she'd convinced his boyfriend to get a phone though, right? So they can keep in touch.
βYeah, Iβm fine.β -Sander answered, the words came out a hairbreadth faster than he would have liked. Because it might be a lie, but he would like to believe otherwise ββEverything is fine.β
She side-eyed him doubtfully. If everything was fine, why weren't they in class? But she wasn't quite comfortable enough with Sander to keep pressing for now. "Uh, how's your new dorm?" she asked, scrambling for a casual topic.
βItβs great. Veryβ¦quiet.β
"Oh, that's good," she nodded, slipping her hands into her pockets where she rediscovered the paper with Christmas's phone number-- scrawled in his teeny tiny handwriting. She tore at the fringe, amassing a small pile of tiny paper shreds in her pocket as they ascended the stairs.
A moment of silence followed.
"You guys gonna be in class on Monday?"
βItβs compulsory, isnβt it?β -Sander glanced at the piece of paper in Callanβs hand, but he didnβt ask after it ββDid we miss anything today?β
"Nothing important," she blinked up at him, still tearing away at the paper. Compulsory? What was he--
"Oh," her hands paused and she chuckled, slightly embarrassed and caught off guard by the sudden observation. "I dunno, I just-- like to-- hang on," she stopped walking and ripped the last three pieces off of the paper's fringe, pulling the bits from her pocket and grouping them into her cupped palm. She brought her hand up to her face and paused, glancing at Sander. This was stupid... oh, well. She blew into her palm and the tiny bits of paper scattered into the air in front of them, spinning and catching the light as they descended.
βThatβsβ¦β -That gave Sander a slight pause, the gears in his head came to a halt as he wasn't sure what to make of the display, but he forced a smile for Callan regardless βββ¦very nice.β
Girl, he thinks you're mentally challenged. Callan glanced off to the side somewhere and forced a short laugh, "Yeah... uh...." She cleared her throat, brushing a stray paper piece off of her finger. "I guess." She started walking again.
Sander followed suit, whatever comment he might have never reached his lips.
The two of them emerged from the door at the far end of a hallway leading towards the front lobby of the registrar's office, a stately affair reminiscent of high-end banks, where desk clerks sat behind bulletproof glass with sliding partitions for handing back paperwork and packages.
Callan led the way to the first booth she laid eyes on at a brisk pace, desperate to escape the awkward and looming silence she'd managed to create with her childish trick. It had been a little out of place. The girls on her team used to do it to annoy each other-- blowing flurries of paper bits into each other's hair. It was stupid.
"Hey," Callan offered the woman behind the booth a casual wave as they approached.
The matronly lady with graying, wavy hair nodded at the two of them.
"One at a time, please."
"You're going to ask for a new phone?" -Sander stepped back, motioning Callan to go first.
"Yeah," Cal glanced at Sander before stepping forward, "We both need phones actually. As soon as possible."
The woman looked between the two of them.
"ID?"
Sander frowned slightly, but he took out his ID and offered it to the woman regardless. It was just a phone, after all. A small thing. He would just stick it somewhere in his desk later, most likely. Callan followed suit.
The woman checked the IDs, eyebrows raising in surprise at something on the screen before she handed the cards back.
"If you need phones now..." she turned around, pulling a ring of keys from below her desk and opening one of the many lockers on the wall behind her, withdrawing several phones and bringing them back to the glass panel. "We have several from discarded or voided requests--if you're not worried about the personal effects."
The woman slid the glass panel's smaller partition aside, pushing the selection of phones through before closing the glass aperture. The phones were various brands--all latest models. Several had custom decals on the back: skulls, stars, fat cartoon cats, but particularly eye-catching was a baby blue phone studded with flawless diamonds in a floral pattern. A gaudy request, and somehow left behind.
"Heh," Callan surveyed the selection of phones, mentally kicking herself for not asking for a cooler phone when she had the chance. She would've just crushed it anyway, but still. She deftly picked up the blue phone, flashing its back at Sander and completely unaware of the diamond's authenticity. "Hey, how about this one?" she laughed, "It matches your eyes."
βUmβ¦Sure.β -Sander just offered up a half-smile, holding out his hand ββThanks.β
Callan blinked at him, slowly holding out the phone. "Oh," her smiled faded briefly, "I was kidding, but if you like it, sure." Her own choice was an easy one. She slid the phone with stars towards the lady behind the glass. "I'll take this one," she smiled.
The woman nodded, ignoring the phone Callan had pushed back to her and retrieving the rejected phones instead, typing rapidly into the computer. "The cellular plans have already been activated for those phones, by the way. They were recent requests, but their owners...well.... Anything else I can do for you?"
βThat will be all for me.β
"Nah, we're good. Thanks." She slid the phone off the counter and started fiddling with it as she turned away, stopping near the door to spare a look at Sander. "We should exchange numbers real quick," she said.
βOkay.β -Sander nodded and began to fiddle with his new phone. It had been years since he last used one, but he remembered the basics ββSo, your number?β
"919-453-3460," Callan read off. She quickly added Christmas's number to her contacts, before handing the paper over to Sander.
"Here's Christmas's number," she smiled knowingly.
Sander quickly entered the number and added it to his Contant list before the string of number faded from his mind. When Callan offered him the piece of paper, he gave her a puzzled look, but decided not to ask and repeated the same process with Christmasβ number.
βAlright. Done.β -He looked up from the phone, then flipped it around, as if looking for something ββSo whereβs my number?β
"Ha," Callan held her hand out, "Here."
Sander handed over his phone, watching curiously. Tilting the phone towards him as she worked, Callan gingerly tapped the screen, delving into the settings until his number was displayed. "There ya go. Just like that. Easy."
She copied his number into her phone, pausing once she'd finished. "You'll keep this on you, right?" she asked, still clutching his phone.
βYeah. I willβ¦try.β -Sander answered easily, though it was more to appease Callan than anything. He wasnβt making a promise here. Looking at the number on display, he furrowed his brows, trying to memorize it, just in case someone asked again ββSo can we go now? I really should get back to Christmas.β -He looked up after a brief moment, an apologetic smile on his lips.
"Yeah," she handed over his phone, a little sketpical about whether or not he would actually 'try' for some reason. But she'd done about as much as she could do at this point. Hopefully he'd use it. At least Christmas seemed to appreciate the idea of always keeping one's phone close by. Worse comes to worse, she could probably reach Sander that way-- what with them seeming to spend so much time together and all. Shoving her hands in her pockets, she let Sander lead the way out the door. "Sorry for bothering you with this," she shrugged, "You seem pretty worried about Christmas, though. Are you sure everything's fine?"
βItβs fine.β -Sander slipped the phone into his other pocket as he walked ββI just donβt want to make him wait.β
"Oh," she smiled. She thought she understood, but probably not. She was quiet for a moment, carefully choosing her next question amidst a sea of unrelated thoughts. "How's that going, by the way?" A small smile tugged at her lips. Marcus came to mind for some reason.
βWhatβsβ¦going?β
"You and Christmas!" Her aquamarine hair bounced as she descended the stairs before him. She glanced at Sander over her shoulder, her smiled widening, "Are you guys totally in love now or what?"
βUhβ¦?β -The question caught him completely off guard, leaving Sander wide-eyed and stunned. He stared at Callan, his feet froze mid step. Her words were suddenly foreign, and he had to ask for clarification, but all he could manage was a short ββWhat?β
"What?" Callan stared back, her smile shrinking as she noticed he'd stopped.
βI--What do you meanβ¦by that?β
She turned to face him, feeling her cheeks start to catch fire. Uh oh. "Uh... I just... I didn't mean-- I-- well, he-- I thought..," she was getting nowhere fast.
Callan took a quick breath to regain her footing, which preferably wouldn't be in her mouth this time.
"Aren't... aren't you guys dating?"
βWeβ¦β -Sander began, but he cut himself off. He didnβt trust his churning mind to voice anything intelligent at this moment, especially when there were just so many thoughts swirling and clashing, many of which he had kept buried for years. So he asked. He had to, because he didnβt trust his own answers βββ¦Is that what we are doing?β
"Uh." What?? His answer was so confusing! He was asking her? Why didn't he know the answer to that? It wasn't her place to say, right? She thought she'd seen Christmas ask Sander to be his boyfriend. She thought she'd seen Sander agree to that. But... then again, she didn't have a whole lot of personal experience with this sort of thing. Just stuff her teammates used to rant about and stuff she's seen in movies and TV shows. With more questions than answers, she settled on another question, leaning up against the railing on the stairs as she spoke. Several students passed by with bags and hampers of clothes, but the wide stairwell gave them plenty of room to move around the two.
"Is that what you want to be doing?" she asked cautiously, her eyebrows knit together with concern while her face still burned with regret for ever having brought it up.
More thoughts and half-thoughts forming, fighting to stop and go. Sander diverted his gaze now, staring at a random spot on the wall, while his arm gripped the hand rail. He didnβt want to think about this, but he did, anyway. And if he remembered anything right, it was that βdatingβ meant something like βhappinessβ. Not the same thing, but close. It wasnβt a thing he was sure he could have. Not even sure he deserved it.
But what about Christmas? What about him?
βDo you thinkβ¦he would like it?β -He looked back at Callan, blue eyes suddenly solemn.
Whoa. Callan returned his gaze, eyes wide and attentive. His question was so sincere... and somehow sad. She thought she understood now. Or, at least, she hoped she did. She thought back to Tuesday night and the scene she accidently stumbled upon the first time she tried to get Sander's number. To her, the pair had seemed quite at peace together. Lying there next to each other on the little twin sized bed. But with how terribly wrong her observations about Christmas and Sander had been up until now, she didn't want to risk another assumption.
"I dunno," she replied with an apologetic smile, wishing she had a better answer for the poor guy, "Maybe? Maybe... you should ask him?"
Sander racked a hand through his hair, the gesture loose and thoughtless when he was far too occupied in another corner of his mind. He wanted to think more on this, whatever it was. But Christmas was waiting for the phone, so he latched onto that excuse eventually, eager to just shove that jumble of thoughts and feelings back somewhere deep in his head. He would think more on that. Later. Because it felt far too heavy right now, and he wasnβt sure. He couldnβt be sure.
βThanks.β -He forced out the word, then covered up the rest with a faint smile ββWe should head back.β
With an unsure smile and a nod, Callan continued down the steps into the hall, parting ways when they finally came to the laundry room. "See ya later," she waved.
"Good luck..," she muttered thoughtfully to his retreating back. She shattered her own musings with an incredulous laugh, shaking her head as she disappeared into the laundry room to wait out the rest of her spin cycle alone.
"Oh, hey Sander," she smiled, retracting her hand.
βHey.β -Sander was once again met by a familiar face in the laundry room. Unlike before, he recovered faster, pulling his lips into a smile ββCallan. Good evening. You are here to do the laundry too?β
As he spoke, his eyes swept around the room and quickly caught sight of the phone lying forgotten on the nearby bench. With a few short steps, Sander moved over to retrieve it.
"Yep," Callan sighed, glancing back at the machines as Sander walked by. Her mom used to do the laundry. She briefly considered cracking a joke about that, but wasn't sure if Sander would find it funny.
"Oh, is that your phone?" she asked with half a laugh.
βThis? No.β -Sander shook his head slightly, slipping the phone into the pocket of his jeans ββItβs Christmasβ.β
"Oh, ok," she nodded. Her expression suddenly changed, like a light bulb going off. "Hey-- do you have a pen or something? I need to get your number."
βMy number?β -Sander looked confused ββWhat number?β
Oh, god. "Your... phone number?" she asked, looking almost just as confused, "So I can text you when we wanna set up our next fight."
βOh.β -Sander said, realization set in ββI donβt have a phone, actually. You can just come over if youβ¦uhβ¦need to talk.β
She tilted her head and furrowed her brow. It almost sounded like he'd never had a phone before, but that couldn't be true, could it? "Didn't you request one?" she asked. Maybe he accidently broke it... unlikely as it seemed. She didn't want to walk all the way to his suite everytime she had a question.
βNo.β
"Wha?" her head tilted further to the side, lips curling into an incredulous smile, "Seriously? You need a phone, man...."
βI donβt need a phone.β -Sander shrugged, but he humored her -"Why?"
Callan folded her arms, thinking for a moment. "Well," she pointed at the phone in Sander's pocket, "What if Christmas needed to call you? For an emergency or something?"
βUhβ¦β -A brief moment of silence passed as Sander processed the scenario in his head ββHe canβ¦uhβ¦I will find him.β
She couldn't help but roll her eyes and chuckle. "I'm about to head over to the registrar's office and request a new phone. I accidently broke mine. Wanna come?"
βThanks, butβ¦β -Sander frowned slightly, glancing at the exit ββI should probably get back to Christmas soon.β
"We'll be quick-- it's just right upstairs," she smiled reassuringly. Really don't want to hunt him down every time I have a question, she thought again to herself. Maybe her reasons were selfish, but having a phone would benefit Sander, too. It was a win-win. "C'mon-- please?"
Sander looked torn, his eyes flickered between the door and Callanβs pleading face. On one hand, he didnβt want to make Christmas wait, but on the other, Callan was asking for such a small thing. Eventually, he caved, letting out a suppressed sigh ββAlright. Letβs go.β
Callan felt a pang of guilt, watching Sander ultimately cave in to her request. She smiled anyway as she led the way out into the hall. "It's over this way," she gestured towards the stairs, moving to walk next to him.
"Neither of you were in class today. Is everything alright?" she queried. It was the least she could do. Hopefully Christmas wouldn't mind her borrowing Sander for this-- ultimately he'd probably be happy she'd convinced his boyfriend to get a phone though, right? So they can keep in touch.
βYeah, Iβm fine.β -Sander answered, the words came out a hairbreadth faster than he would have liked. Because it might be a lie, but he would like to believe otherwise ββEverything is fine.β
She side-eyed him doubtfully. If everything was fine, why weren't they in class? But she wasn't quite comfortable enough with Sander to keep pressing for now. "Uh, how's your new dorm?" she asked, scrambling for a casual topic.
βItβs great. Veryβ¦quiet.β
"Oh, that's good," she nodded, slipping her hands into her pockets where she rediscovered the paper with Christmas's phone number-- scrawled in his teeny tiny handwriting. She tore at the fringe, amassing a small pile of tiny paper shreds in her pocket as they ascended the stairs.
A moment of silence followed.
"You guys gonna be in class on Monday?"
βItβs compulsory, isnβt it?β -Sander glanced at the piece of paper in Callanβs hand, but he didnβt ask after it ββDid we miss anything today?β
"Nothing important," she blinked up at him, still tearing away at the paper. Compulsory? What was he--
"Oh," her hands paused and she chuckled, slightly embarrassed and caught off guard by the sudden observation. "I dunno, I just-- like to-- hang on," she stopped walking and ripped the last three pieces off of the paper's fringe, pulling the bits from her pocket and grouping them into her cupped palm. She brought her hand up to her face and paused, glancing at Sander. This was stupid... oh, well. She blew into her palm and the tiny bits of paper scattered into the air in front of them, spinning and catching the light as they descended.
βThatβsβ¦β -That gave Sander a slight pause, the gears in his head came to a halt as he wasn't sure what to make of the display, but he forced a smile for Callan regardless βββ¦very nice.β
Girl, he thinks you're mentally challenged. Callan glanced off to the side somewhere and forced a short laugh, "Yeah... uh...." She cleared her throat, brushing a stray paper piece off of her finger. "I guess." She started walking again.
Sander followed suit, whatever comment he might have never reached his lips.
The two of them emerged from the door at the far end of a hallway leading towards the front lobby of the registrar's office, a stately affair reminiscent of high-end banks, where desk clerks sat behind bulletproof glass with sliding partitions for handing back paperwork and packages.
Callan led the way to the first booth she laid eyes on at a brisk pace, desperate to escape the awkward and looming silence she'd managed to create with her childish trick. It had been a little out of place. The girls on her team used to do it to annoy each other-- blowing flurries of paper bits into each other's hair. It was stupid.
"Hey," Callan offered the woman behind the booth a casual wave as they approached.
The matronly lady with graying, wavy hair nodded at the two of them.
"One at a time, please."
"You're going to ask for a new phone?" -Sander stepped back, motioning Callan to go first.
"Yeah," Cal glanced at Sander before stepping forward, "We both need phones actually. As soon as possible."
The woman looked between the two of them.
"ID?"
Sander frowned slightly, but he took out his ID and offered it to the woman regardless. It was just a phone, after all. A small thing. He would just stick it somewhere in his desk later, most likely. Callan followed suit.
The woman checked the IDs, eyebrows raising in surprise at something on the screen before she handed the cards back.
"If you need phones now..." she turned around, pulling a ring of keys from below her desk and opening one of the many lockers on the wall behind her, withdrawing several phones and bringing them back to the glass panel. "We have several from discarded or voided requests--if you're not worried about the personal effects."
The woman slid the glass panel's smaller partition aside, pushing the selection of phones through before closing the glass aperture. The phones were various brands--all latest models. Several had custom decals on the back: skulls, stars, fat cartoon cats, but particularly eye-catching was a baby blue phone studded with flawless diamonds in a floral pattern. A gaudy request, and somehow left behind.
"Heh," Callan surveyed the selection of phones, mentally kicking herself for not asking for a cooler phone when she had the chance. She would've just crushed it anyway, but still. She deftly picked up the blue phone, flashing its back at Sander and completely unaware of the diamond's authenticity. "Hey, how about this one?" she laughed, "It matches your eyes."
βUmβ¦Sure.β -Sander just offered up a half-smile, holding out his hand ββThanks.β
Callan blinked at him, slowly holding out the phone. "Oh," her smiled faded briefly, "I was kidding, but if you like it, sure." Her own choice was an easy one. She slid the phone with stars towards the lady behind the glass. "I'll take this one," she smiled.
The woman nodded, ignoring the phone Callan had pushed back to her and retrieving the rejected phones instead, typing rapidly into the computer. "The cellular plans have already been activated for those phones, by the way. They were recent requests, but their owners...well.... Anything else I can do for you?"
βThat will be all for me.β
"Nah, we're good. Thanks." She slid the phone off the counter and started fiddling with it as she turned away, stopping near the door to spare a look at Sander. "We should exchange numbers real quick," she said.
βOkay.β -Sander nodded and began to fiddle with his new phone. It had been years since he last used one, but he remembered the basics ββSo, your number?β
"919-453-3460," Callan read off. She quickly added Christmas's number to her contacts, before handing the paper over to Sander.
"Here's Christmas's number," she smiled knowingly.
Sander quickly entered the number and added it to his Contant list before the string of number faded from his mind. When Callan offered him the piece of paper, he gave her a puzzled look, but decided not to ask and repeated the same process with Christmasβ number.
βAlright. Done.β -He looked up from the phone, then flipped it around, as if looking for something ββSo whereβs my number?β
"Ha," Callan held her hand out, "Here."
Sander handed over his phone, watching curiously. Tilting the phone towards him as she worked, Callan gingerly tapped the screen, delving into the settings until his number was displayed. "There ya go. Just like that. Easy."
She copied his number into her phone, pausing once she'd finished. "You'll keep this on you, right?" she asked, still clutching his phone.
βYeah. I willβ¦try.β -Sander answered easily, though it was more to appease Callan than anything. He wasnβt making a promise here. Looking at the number on display, he furrowed his brows, trying to memorize it, just in case someone asked again ββSo can we go now? I really should get back to Christmas.β -He looked up after a brief moment, an apologetic smile on his lips.
"Yeah," she handed over his phone, a little sketpical about whether or not he would actually 'try' for some reason. But she'd done about as much as she could do at this point. Hopefully he'd use it. At least Christmas seemed to appreciate the idea of always keeping one's phone close by. Worse comes to worse, she could probably reach Sander that way-- what with them seeming to spend so much time together and all. Shoving her hands in her pockets, she let Sander lead the way out the door. "Sorry for bothering you with this," she shrugged, "You seem pretty worried about Christmas, though. Are you sure everything's fine?"
βItβs fine.β -Sander slipped the phone into his other pocket as he walked ββI just donβt want to make him wait.β
"Oh," she smiled. She thought she understood, but probably not. She was quiet for a moment, carefully choosing her next question amidst a sea of unrelated thoughts. "How's that going, by the way?" A small smile tugged at her lips. Marcus came to mind for some reason.
βWhatβsβ¦going?β
"You and Christmas!" Her aquamarine hair bounced as she descended the stairs before him. She glanced at Sander over her shoulder, her smiled widening, "Are you guys totally in love now or what?"
βUhβ¦?β -The question caught him completely off guard, leaving Sander wide-eyed and stunned. He stared at Callan, his feet froze mid step. Her words were suddenly foreign, and he had to ask for clarification, but all he could manage was a short ββWhat?β
"What?" Callan stared back, her smile shrinking as she noticed he'd stopped.
βI--What do you meanβ¦by that?β
She turned to face him, feeling her cheeks start to catch fire. Uh oh. "Uh... I just... I didn't mean-- I-- well, he-- I thought..," she was getting nowhere fast.
Callan took a quick breath to regain her footing, which preferably wouldn't be in her mouth this time.
"Aren't... aren't you guys dating?"
βWeβ¦β -Sander began, but he cut himself off. He didnβt trust his churning mind to voice anything intelligent at this moment, especially when there were just so many thoughts swirling and clashing, many of which he had kept buried for years. So he asked. He had to, because he didnβt trust his own answers βββ¦Is that what we are doing?β
"Uh." What?? His answer was so confusing! He was asking her? Why didn't he know the answer to that? It wasn't her place to say, right? She thought she'd seen Christmas ask Sander to be his boyfriend. She thought she'd seen Sander agree to that. But... then again, she didn't have a whole lot of personal experience with this sort of thing. Just stuff her teammates used to rant about and stuff she's seen in movies and TV shows. With more questions than answers, she settled on another question, leaning up against the railing on the stairs as she spoke. Several students passed by with bags and hampers of clothes, but the wide stairwell gave them plenty of room to move around the two.
"Is that what you want to be doing?" she asked cautiously, her eyebrows knit together with concern while her face still burned with regret for ever having brought it up.
More thoughts and half-thoughts forming, fighting to stop and go. Sander diverted his gaze now, staring at a random spot on the wall, while his arm gripped the hand rail. He didnβt want to think about this, but he did, anyway. And if he remembered anything right, it was that βdatingβ meant something like βhappinessβ. Not the same thing, but close. It wasnβt a thing he was sure he could have. Not even sure he deserved it.
But what about Christmas? What about him?
βDo you thinkβ¦he would like it?β -He looked back at Callan, blue eyes suddenly solemn.
Whoa. Callan returned his gaze, eyes wide and attentive. His question was so sincere... and somehow sad. She thought she understood now. Or, at least, she hoped she did. She thought back to Tuesday night and the scene she accidently stumbled upon the first time she tried to get Sander's number. To her, the pair had seemed quite at peace together. Lying there next to each other on the little twin sized bed. But with how terribly wrong her observations about Christmas and Sander had been up until now, she didn't want to risk another assumption.
"I dunno," she replied with an apologetic smile, wishing she had a better answer for the poor guy, "Maybe? Maybe... you should ask him?"
Sander racked a hand through his hair, the gesture loose and thoughtless when he was far too occupied in another corner of his mind. He wanted to think more on this, whatever it was. But Christmas was waiting for the phone, so he latched onto that excuse eventually, eager to just shove that jumble of thoughts and feelings back somewhere deep in his head. He would think more on that. Later. Because it felt far too heavy right now, and he wasnβt sure. He couldnβt be sure.
βThanks.β -He forced out the word, then covered up the rest with a faint smile ββWe should head back.β
With an unsure smile and a nod, Callan continued down the steps into the hall, parting ways when they finally came to the laundry room. "See ya later," she waved.
"Good luck..," she muttered thoughtfully to his retreating back. She shattered her own musings with an incredulous laugh, shaking her head as she disappeared into the laundry room to wait out the rest of her spin cycle alone.
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Sander was anxious to get back to the suite, despite the undercurrent of thoughts buzzing in the back of his mind. They all came back to a small boy with a head of blond hair and loops of cornflower blue though, so he couldnβt rightly call them βunpleasantβ. Still, those thoughts nagged, and he really could do without them. The strange sparks of heat flickered within the space of his chest, floating like embers, and if he had to make a comparison, he would say that they felt almost likeβ¦hope. But what was he hoping for? To ask Christmas the questions that Callan suggested? He would, if that could make the blond boy feel better.
But he wasnβt really sure what the questions were. He didnβt even know what he was asking for.
So he figured he would wait. Maybe someday he could bring himself to really think about it. Maybe then, he could figure it out. For now though, waiting sounded good.
βSorry about the wait.β -Sander walked inside his shared suite, letting the door click close behind. To his surprise, Ernie was still there, casually ironing clothes on one side of the room. He blinked at that sight, but didnβt follow up with a question. His gaze went to the blond boy instead.
βI got yourβ¦β -He moved closer, only to notice his roommateβs strange position at the foot of the bed, hands wrapped around the bottle of pills from before. The last word fell out of his mouth limply as he crouched down next to Christmas βββ¦phone?β
Christmas's relief spilled into a burst of quick inhales and exhales when the door opened and Sander was behind it. He nodded, eyes on the ribbon and being here when past and future pains tempted his mind elsewhere. He should have been more worried about why Sander had taken so long--what if something had happened?--but he was just focused on Sander being back.
"Thank--" A small sniffle interrupted. "Th-thank you."
βDoes it hurt?β -Sanderβs gaze dropped to the bottle of pills, and he touched Christmasβ hands tentatively ββDo you need more pills?β
Sander's hand was stable heat again and Christmas bit the side of his tongue with enough pressure to stop himself from speaking for several seconds. He didn't trust tears and bruises to say anything right. When the surge of relief had passed, leaving a trail of gratitude and hesitant, unnamed emotions in its wake, Christmas watched the loose-lidded bottle a moment more, the decision already made for him. He just held back out of habit.
The warm hand across his was a refuge, and he would hold to something just for now instead of something next time.
"Not...not yet," he finally answered, shifting one of his hands on the bottle so it rested on Sander's knuckles now. "...Thank you."
βOkay.β -Sander wasnβt very convinced, given how puffy Christmasβ eyes looked. But that could just be the bruises ββDo you want rest then? On the bed this time?β
Christmas glanced at Ernie, now done with the last of the clothes, everything folded into perfect rectangles again. His fingers on Sander's knuckles trembled.
"Here--here's fine. Th-thank you."
"Looks like my work here is done," Ernie announced as he shuffled the most recently ironed articles into a pile. Sander didn't seem to suspect anything thankfully, but Ernie was eager to get out of Dodge as quickly as he could. He stood from his seat, intending to make a polite exit, "I should probably go. Plenty of other chores to do back at Building B! Do you guys need anything else before I go?"
A jerking shake of the head from Christmas was the only response on that end.
βUh. I donβt think so.β -Sander glanced at Christmas, then over his shoulder at Ernie ββThanks forβ¦that.β -His gaze dropped to the neatly folded pile of clothes, wondering why Ernie would go so far to help. He didnβt really follow up on that line of thoughts though.
Oh, thank god. Ernie did a mental sigh of relief as he got the "a-okay" to leave this deathtrap of a room. Perhaps 'deathtrap' was a bit of an exaggeration. It didn't seem like Christmas was going to rat him out anytime soon, considering how weirdly okay he was with a 'next time'. A pang of guilt slapped him over the head as he recalled what happened moments earlier. Urgh, what else could he do to ease the situation? Ernie ran through a mental list.
"Uh, ice packs. Make sure you get some from the hospital. They're a lot more reliable than ice cream tubs or cold towels. If you guys need help with laundry again just hit me up and..."
He hadn't gotten their numbers yet. Ernie whipped his phone out, the standard USARILN Samsung model with a sticker of a cartoonish cowboy on the back.
"Can I get your numbers?"
The floor seemed to hold Christmas's attention vividly before he finally turned to Sander with a questioning, fearful stare.
Sander took out his newly acquired phone then, and did what Callan had shown him so that his number was on display again ββYours, too?β -He asked, holding up Christmasβ phone.
Question answered, Christmas just nodded, returning his gaze to the ground.
"Ooh, stylish," Ernie whistled as he saw Sander's phone. The two numbers were entered as Ernie continued, "If you guys are heading to the bar or if you just have another major load like today, text me, yeah? Actually," he took another look at the pile of Sander's clothes, then at Christmas. One more piece of goodwill for the road, "how about you guys keep that kit? The idiots at East forgot to include free irons for whatever reason and going to town just for nicely pressed clothes is a total pain. That's actually one of my spares and, seeing as this is gonna be a regular thing, you'll probably need it more than me."
Bruised and battered, now helped--both by the same person--Christmas was having a hard time comprehending the extent to which Ernie was being kind. And the promise of a "next time" loomed over the moment like a pitch-black monster, one that felt familiar and strange at the same time. And it handed him a thought that was bolder than he could have managed on his own. The bottle of tablets was warm between his hands now and Christmas bit his lower lip, realization forming on the aftertrail of a feeling that terrified him and loaned him a bit of jagged strength all the same. A speck of that monster's dust.
"It's for you." He blinked as he said it, surprise followed by the recognition that he had been played for a fool yet again, in a different way than the idiot he had been in the alley. He told himself he deserved it, because it was true. And yet. And yet. A hand clapped over his mouth quietly and Christmas shook his head, other hand tightening on the bottle. "S-sorry. I'm sorry." His eyes looked towards the ironing set instead and saw the finality of "next time" in every line. He left his thoughts there, a choking heat blocking out the "Thank you" he knew he was supposed to voice.
Sander looked between Ernie and his roommate, brows slightly furrowed in confusion ββThank you.β -He decided to give Ernie a smile instead, giving up on chasing pointless trains of thoughts ββFeel free to ask whenever you need anything.β
Another 'sorry'. Mission failed. Ernie struggled to keep his smile up despite the indicator of his lack of progress. With a casual wave, Ernie stepped out.
"See you guys in class!"
He didn't bother sticking around for a response.
When Ernie's footsteps had faded into the distance, Christmas put the pills down and crawled to the ironing set, packing it carefully into Ernie's canvas bag and setting that aside at the foot of a nearby desk. Small tremors ran through his hands as he moved his folded clothes to his closet and by the time he turned back around for Sander's clothes, he was visibly shaking. It felt like the furnace of hornets again, but he didn't want this. He also didn't want another Thursday in the alley. The conflict was dizzying and he braced an arm against Sander's bed, a tall pile of folded jeans in his arms tipping as he reeled.
Sander watched as the blond boy moved around the room. Once again, he wanted to help, but he wasnβt quite sure what to do. So he just moved over to Christmasβ desk and left the phone he had just retrieved there. Then he noticed the healerβs shaky movement. Frowning, he moved toward his roommate with brisk steps, approaching just in time to throw an arm around Christmasβ shoulders, pulling the shorter boy flush against his body.
βHow about some rest?β -He offered again, voice thick with worry ββYou are not okay.β
The arm was warm against his shoulders again and Christmas thought back--for a split second--to disapproving tones and mannequin smiles, before the heat of Sander's body banished the memories again and chased away the murky, lurking feeling he was so afraid of. He leaned into that safety, mindlessly stacking the pants back up.
"S-sorry," he mumbled, eyes on the jeans that had lost Ernie's folded precision. Of course it was his fault.
βWhat for?β -Sander sighed, once again at a loss.
For nothing in the moment and everything in-between. Sander and his warm kindness, above and beyond what Christmas felt he deserved, but he welcomed the affectionate mannerisms all the same, like taking advantage of something Sander wasn't even aware of. Sorry for that. Sorry for the pants that were now a little lopsided, and the stack that was no longer straight. Sorry for not having the words to explain and not having the nerve to find them. He turned his face into Sander's torso, taking that comfort in and letting the trembling lessen slowly.
"A lot of things," he finally whispered, eyes on the bands of blue around Sander's wrist.
βDonβt have to be.β -Sander nudged at Christmas, hand pressing slightly against the blond boyβs upper arm. He still had no idea what Christmas was referring to, but he figured it wouldnβt matter. Not to him, at least ββI donβt mind.β
Christmas believed it, even if he was sure Sander didn't quite understand. Sander didn't need to. New pains loomed on the horizon, a promise of "next time" as real as his belief in Sander. But the medication would fix that. So it was okay.
There was no medication, however, for the heat on his shoulders and neck that came with every one of Sander's tactile gestures. Christmas lifted the stack of jeans again, looking at the closet space closest to Sander's bed. He stayed where he was, though, under that gentle arm.
He was cheating, he knew this. Because Sander wouldn't understand. It was because Sander wouldn't understand that he had the nerve. And before "next time" came and crashed down around him once more (and again and again until his words had all been taken away), he wanted to say something selfish while the stormy emotions hadn't yet settled--while he could still steal some of that brazen strength that had stirred ever so slightly. This time--unlike his thoughts about Kusari, unlike his realization of Ernie--he wasn't surprised.
"Sander," he mumbled into the gray shirt, closing his eyes briefly and remembering the indiscernible figure in his dream of fields and swings. The ribbon on that vaporous wrist that he hadn't realized was his.
Enough "next time"s and Christmas wasn't sure his "okay" lies would keep working. Wasn't sure he'd be able to find this place again. So he would swindle Sander a bit here. And he would've been lying if he apologized for this. Sander wouldn't mind, right? He believed it.
"Yeah?"
"I like you." Wednesday's words, and he had no doubt Sander would just recognize them with Wednesday's perception. And that was okay.
A huff of laughter escaped Sanderβs lips, rustling a few strands of Christmasβ hair ββI like you too.β -He nudged at his roommateβs arm again, while his other hand reached up to tap at Christmasβ fingers on the stack of jeans ββRest now? Please. I can take that.β
A small nod, and Christmas handed the clothes over without protest. He didn't feel that greedy disappointment, though. It was enough to say those words skewed. Slanted, and it meant too little for the gratitude and the something else trailing behind it, but he just needed this much. Sander's laugh echoed in his ears and he let it.
Sander accepted the jeans easily and left to sort them into his wardrobe, leaving the blond boy to crawl into the bed on his own. He watched though, until Christmas finished collecting the blanket and pillow at the foot of his bed and settled down on the mattress. As the healerβs form finally grew lax, Sander went back to his desk and turned on his laptop, fingers scratching idly at the fabric of his shirt, where a curious heat grew.
But he wasnβt really sure what the questions were. He didnβt even know what he was asking for.
So he figured he would wait. Maybe someday he could bring himself to really think about it. Maybe then, he could figure it out. For now though, waiting sounded good.
βSorry about the wait.β -Sander walked inside his shared suite, letting the door click close behind. To his surprise, Ernie was still there, casually ironing clothes on one side of the room. He blinked at that sight, but didnβt follow up with a question. His gaze went to the blond boy instead.
βI got yourβ¦β -He moved closer, only to notice his roommateβs strange position at the foot of the bed, hands wrapped around the bottle of pills from before. The last word fell out of his mouth limply as he crouched down next to Christmas βββ¦phone?β
Christmas's relief spilled into a burst of quick inhales and exhales when the door opened and Sander was behind it. He nodded, eyes on the ribbon and being here when past and future pains tempted his mind elsewhere. He should have been more worried about why Sander had taken so long--what if something had happened?--but he was just focused on Sander being back.
"Thank--" A small sniffle interrupted. "Th-thank you."
βDoes it hurt?β -Sanderβs gaze dropped to the bottle of pills, and he touched Christmasβ hands tentatively ββDo you need more pills?β
Sander's hand was stable heat again and Christmas bit the side of his tongue with enough pressure to stop himself from speaking for several seconds. He didn't trust tears and bruises to say anything right. When the surge of relief had passed, leaving a trail of gratitude and hesitant, unnamed emotions in its wake, Christmas watched the loose-lidded bottle a moment more, the decision already made for him. He just held back out of habit.
The warm hand across his was a refuge, and he would hold to something just for now instead of something next time.
"Not...not yet," he finally answered, shifting one of his hands on the bottle so it rested on Sander's knuckles now. "...Thank you."
βOkay.β -Sander wasnβt very convinced, given how puffy Christmasβ eyes looked. But that could just be the bruises ββDo you want rest then? On the bed this time?β
Christmas glanced at Ernie, now done with the last of the clothes, everything folded into perfect rectangles again. His fingers on Sander's knuckles trembled.
"Here--here's fine. Th-thank you."
"Looks like my work here is done," Ernie announced as he shuffled the most recently ironed articles into a pile. Sander didn't seem to suspect anything thankfully, but Ernie was eager to get out of Dodge as quickly as he could. He stood from his seat, intending to make a polite exit, "I should probably go. Plenty of other chores to do back at Building B! Do you guys need anything else before I go?"
A jerking shake of the head from Christmas was the only response on that end.
βUh. I donβt think so.β -Sander glanced at Christmas, then over his shoulder at Ernie ββThanks forβ¦that.β -His gaze dropped to the neatly folded pile of clothes, wondering why Ernie would go so far to help. He didnβt really follow up on that line of thoughts though.
Oh, thank god. Ernie did a mental sigh of relief as he got the "a-okay" to leave this deathtrap of a room. Perhaps 'deathtrap' was a bit of an exaggeration. It didn't seem like Christmas was going to rat him out anytime soon, considering how weirdly okay he was with a 'next time'. A pang of guilt slapped him over the head as he recalled what happened moments earlier. Urgh, what else could he do to ease the situation? Ernie ran through a mental list.
"Uh, ice packs. Make sure you get some from the hospital. They're a lot more reliable than ice cream tubs or cold towels. If you guys need help with laundry again just hit me up and..."
He hadn't gotten their numbers yet. Ernie whipped his phone out, the standard USARILN Samsung model with a sticker of a cartoonish cowboy on the back.
"Can I get your numbers?"
The floor seemed to hold Christmas's attention vividly before he finally turned to Sander with a questioning, fearful stare.
Sander took out his newly acquired phone then, and did what Callan had shown him so that his number was on display again ββYours, too?β -He asked, holding up Christmasβ phone.
Question answered, Christmas just nodded, returning his gaze to the ground.
"Ooh, stylish," Ernie whistled as he saw Sander's phone. The two numbers were entered as Ernie continued, "If you guys are heading to the bar or if you just have another major load like today, text me, yeah? Actually," he took another look at the pile of Sander's clothes, then at Christmas. One more piece of goodwill for the road, "how about you guys keep that kit? The idiots at East forgot to include free irons for whatever reason and going to town just for nicely pressed clothes is a total pain. That's actually one of my spares and, seeing as this is gonna be a regular thing, you'll probably need it more than me."
Bruised and battered, now helped--both by the same person--Christmas was having a hard time comprehending the extent to which Ernie was being kind. And the promise of a "next time" loomed over the moment like a pitch-black monster, one that felt familiar and strange at the same time. And it handed him a thought that was bolder than he could have managed on his own. The bottle of tablets was warm between his hands now and Christmas bit his lower lip, realization forming on the aftertrail of a feeling that terrified him and loaned him a bit of jagged strength all the same. A speck of that monster's dust.
"It's for you." He blinked as he said it, surprise followed by the recognition that he had been played for a fool yet again, in a different way than the idiot he had been in the alley. He told himself he deserved it, because it was true. And yet. And yet. A hand clapped over his mouth quietly and Christmas shook his head, other hand tightening on the bottle. "S-sorry. I'm sorry." His eyes looked towards the ironing set instead and saw the finality of "next time" in every line. He left his thoughts there, a choking heat blocking out the "Thank you" he knew he was supposed to voice.
Sander looked between Ernie and his roommate, brows slightly furrowed in confusion ββThank you.β -He decided to give Ernie a smile instead, giving up on chasing pointless trains of thoughts ββFeel free to ask whenever you need anything.β
Another 'sorry'. Mission failed. Ernie struggled to keep his smile up despite the indicator of his lack of progress. With a casual wave, Ernie stepped out.
"See you guys in class!"
He didn't bother sticking around for a response.
When Ernie's footsteps had faded into the distance, Christmas put the pills down and crawled to the ironing set, packing it carefully into Ernie's canvas bag and setting that aside at the foot of a nearby desk. Small tremors ran through his hands as he moved his folded clothes to his closet and by the time he turned back around for Sander's clothes, he was visibly shaking. It felt like the furnace of hornets again, but he didn't want this. He also didn't want another Thursday in the alley. The conflict was dizzying and he braced an arm against Sander's bed, a tall pile of folded jeans in his arms tipping as he reeled.
Sander watched as the blond boy moved around the room. Once again, he wanted to help, but he wasnβt quite sure what to do. So he just moved over to Christmasβ desk and left the phone he had just retrieved there. Then he noticed the healerβs shaky movement. Frowning, he moved toward his roommate with brisk steps, approaching just in time to throw an arm around Christmasβ shoulders, pulling the shorter boy flush against his body.
βHow about some rest?β -He offered again, voice thick with worry ββYou are not okay.β
The arm was warm against his shoulders again and Christmas thought back--for a split second--to disapproving tones and mannequin smiles, before the heat of Sander's body banished the memories again and chased away the murky, lurking feeling he was so afraid of. He leaned into that safety, mindlessly stacking the pants back up.
"S-sorry," he mumbled, eyes on the jeans that had lost Ernie's folded precision. Of course it was his fault.
βWhat for?β -Sander sighed, once again at a loss.
For nothing in the moment and everything in-between. Sander and his warm kindness, above and beyond what Christmas felt he deserved, but he welcomed the affectionate mannerisms all the same, like taking advantage of something Sander wasn't even aware of. Sorry for that. Sorry for the pants that were now a little lopsided, and the stack that was no longer straight. Sorry for not having the words to explain and not having the nerve to find them. He turned his face into Sander's torso, taking that comfort in and letting the trembling lessen slowly.
"A lot of things," he finally whispered, eyes on the bands of blue around Sander's wrist.
βDonβt have to be.β -Sander nudged at Christmas, hand pressing slightly against the blond boyβs upper arm. He still had no idea what Christmas was referring to, but he figured it wouldnβt matter. Not to him, at least ββI donβt mind.β
Christmas believed it, even if he was sure Sander didn't quite understand. Sander didn't need to. New pains loomed on the horizon, a promise of "next time" as real as his belief in Sander. But the medication would fix that. So it was okay.
There was no medication, however, for the heat on his shoulders and neck that came with every one of Sander's tactile gestures. Christmas lifted the stack of jeans again, looking at the closet space closest to Sander's bed. He stayed where he was, though, under that gentle arm.
He was cheating, he knew this. Because Sander wouldn't understand. It was because Sander wouldn't understand that he had the nerve. And before "next time" came and crashed down around him once more (and again and again until his words had all been taken away), he wanted to say something selfish while the stormy emotions hadn't yet settled--while he could still steal some of that brazen strength that had stirred ever so slightly. This time--unlike his thoughts about Kusari, unlike his realization of Ernie--he wasn't surprised.
"Sander," he mumbled into the gray shirt, closing his eyes briefly and remembering the indiscernible figure in his dream of fields and swings. The ribbon on that vaporous wrist that he hadn't realized was his.
Enough "next time"s and Christmas wasn't sure his "okay" lies would keep working. Wasn't sure he'd be able to find this place again. So he would swindle Sander a bit here. And he would've been lying if he apologized for this. Sander wouldn't mind, right? He believed it.
"Yeah?"
"I like you." Wednesday's words, and he had no doubt Sander would just recognize them with Wednesday's perception. And that was okay.
A huff of laughter escaped Sanderβs lips, rustling a few strands of Christmasβ hair ββI like you too.β -He nudged at his roommateβs arm again, while his other hand reached up to tap at Christmasβ fingers on the stack of jeans ββRest now? Please. I can take that.β
A small nod, and Christmas handed the clothes over without protest. He didn't feel that greedy disappointment, though. It was enough to say those words skewed. Slanted, and it meant too little for the gratitude and the something else trailing behind it, but he just needed this much. Sander's laugh echoed in his ears and he let it.
Sander accepted the jeans easily and left to sort them into his wardrobe, leaving the blond boy to crawl into the bed on his own. He watched though, until Christmas finished collecting the blanket and pillow at the foot of his bed and settled down on the mattress. As the healerβs form finally grew lax, Sander went back to his desk and turned on his laptop, fingers scratching idly at the fabric of his shirt, where a curious heat grew.
Siena Santana | 
Sander Lorraine | 