E R O S I O N ;

“Rub it off on your shirt,” Sylv said easily, waltzing ahead of him with her long, confident strides. She was feeling incredibly flippant, her words were offered with a broad smile and the bag in her  hand fluttered behind her like a kite catching air. Perhaps it was the weather, or just the fresh air, but something about the sweetness of the whole package made her heart feel light. The brunette looked back at Peter, “An apple’s never killed anyone.”

She thought briefly of Victor’s apple, how it soared through the air with a wicked trajectory— how many freshmen had fallen victim to it’s blow? As if to prove her point, she reached into the tree, plucking one of the ruby fruits from the branches before taking a large bite from it. Sweet juice ran the length of her arm and she ignored it, picking more apples to put into her bag. If Peter was careful in his selections, she was haphazard, anything deserved to come home with them. Jamie would cut away the bruises and dents, make it into something perfect.

“Another date?” Her brows lifted and she offered him an apple to eat, the way that he was going it seemed that she’d be home and already tucked into bed by the time his bag was full. She side stepped a particularly rotten apple, the red skin had turned brown in the sun, cracking open to expose soft, pulpy flesh. Sylv laughed. Fake tan guy. “Emir? No, I dumped him like— a month ago.” She lifted a shoulder, “Long distance is hard, even harder when you don’t really know why you’re putting in the effort in the first place.”

An apple’s never killed anyone. “I’m sure- there’s gotta be something in history that disproves that,” Peter countered mildly, contemplating the fruit in his hand. It was russet red, freckled with gold; he pressed a thumb lightly against the skin to test for soft spots. Satisfied that it was up to his standards, he dropped it into his bag. “Like, people with unknown apple allergies, maybe.” 

The sound of Sylv biting into an apple caused him to lift his eyes, watching her with a muted surprise that he didn’t put to words. He’d never seen her eat something so... carelessly. At dinner, she always seemed to be cutting things into smaller and smaller pieces, as if the process of division would at some point equal zero. So- expression unchanged, only his eyebrows rising and falling akin to a shrug- Peter accepted the apple she offered him. He turned it over in his hands with brief skepticism, then took a bite, more of a nibble, so small it barely broke the skin. He didn’t talk about his own iffy relationship with food: how it was usually bland and tasteless, or bordered on the repulsive; how he had to motivate his appetite by smoking because otherwise, eating felt too much like force-feeding. But the taste of the apple wasn’t something he had to force himself past. It was a flood of sudden sweetness, a nip of tartness- the perfect harmony of a ripe October apple. Peter trailed quietly after Sylv, watching as she relieved the branches of half their fruit, watching as the gray clouds unspooled above their heads. He took another bite, a slightly larger one, and felt, just in this moment, briefly uncomplicated.  If this wasn’t what it felt like to be happy, it had to at least be close.

Jamie: You don't think I'm a big strong boy who can weather anything? ;)

Jamie: Oh? Where do you work again? I can't believe I've never visited you at work before

Jamie: Friday sounds awesome, but we have dinner during the evening and I'm afraid I won't be done with classes until 6

Jamie: I just.. wanted to ask before we went on this date

Jamie: Was the kiss too much?

Peter: Lol, no I'm sure you can

Peter: But unless you're secretly made of Teflon, you might need a few days post-task to at least like... take it easy?

Peter: I work at the secondhand book store in New Town. Not really worth a visit tbh, unless you like fad diet books from the 70s and breathing dust.

Peter: But my schedule has flex, maybe we can do something after the weekend.

Peter: Maybe in the moment it kinda was. Idk. Apparently whiskey & weed as a sedative only takes you so far.

“I won’t tell anyone if you try an apple when we’re in the field– apparently half of the experience is eating while you pick.” Sylv’s arm bent over her shoulder with her keys in hand; the shiny symbol for Mercedes glinted in the autumn sun– but the obnoxious double beep of the car door lock seemed to disrupt the calm. Sylv took a moment to adjust her clothing, smoothing down stirrup pants where they tucked into long leather boots. While horse back riding had turned out to not be one of her passions, it seemed that equestrian fashion definitely was; in the tinted window of her car she adjusted her ascot before nodding at Peter and following behind.

Blue eyes followed his to the sign and she shook her head, painted lips cracking in a smile. “Nah, let’s do a bag each. Worse case, I’ll make a display at my apartment or something.” She marched over to the counter, putting down the deposit for the bags. They were plastic, flimsy and threatening to blow away, Sylv happily put one into Pete’s hands, tucking one for herself into her elbow. “They’re going to do it by weight, so if it gets too heavy to carry, we can stop.” Hubris was likely to follow, she could already hear Jamie’s annoyed grumble in the back of her head as they presented him with twenty pounds of apples. 

She canted her head in the direction of the fruit-laden trees, beginning their march towards them. “So,” she said finally, turning on her heel to walk backwards. It was hard to catch Peter’s gaze, you had to do it quickly– so as to find it off guard, his dark eyes were always shadowed, always looking away. “What’ve you been up to? Any new dates? If your love life is more vibrant than mine, I think I’m going to have to look into actual hibernation.”

I won’t tell anyone if you try an apple when we’re in the field. “What, like, unwashed? What about... pesticides?” Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember ever washing fruit from the grocery store either. Mostly he just entertained the delusion that the store kept it clean. Peter accepted the plastic bag thrust into his hands and trekked after her, towards the entrance of the grove, the grass flattened and muddy beneath their feet.

Now that they were out of the car, he could see that Sylv was dressed like she was about to saddle up for the Kentucky Derby, or whatever its more prestigious European equivalent was. Normally Peter would’ve noted this with bemused indifference, possibly a little disdain; her inability to dress casually for anything had never made sense to him. But the riding outfit suited the pastoral atmosphere of the farm and weirdly enough, he found himself appreciating that she’d made effort. The dedication she had to cultivating her appearance - it was still a kind of dedication, and it deserved to be acknowledged as one, didn’t it? Peter thought of how dismissive he’d been towards her, that one afternoon in the campus cafe. He felt his stomach curdle with a fresh dose of contrition, even though they’d long-since put that argument behind them.

Jamie: Yeah, that sounds good

Jamie: As you know, I'm doing the first part of my uncaged task this weekend

Jamie: We can meet any day before Saturday besides Thursday. Ironically, James wanted to watch Silent Hill together

Jamie: Or we can meet after Saturday, up to you

Jamie: But I want you to stop being so hard on yourself. It's not always because of you or your 'problems'; sometimes people just aren't compatible. Sometimes the other person could be a dick-- as per yours truly

Peter: Oh, cool. Are you guys on good terms now?

Peter: I mean... maybe it's a little premature to make plans for after Saturday, you might need to be on like, bedrest or something.

Peter: Friday? I'm off from work at 2?

Peter: Nah you're not a dick. You're opinionated and outspoken, and you seem to know what you want, but none of those are bad things.

Of course he picked something instrumental. Something struck her as familiar about the slow beginning to the song, the notes filled the car like loneliness does an empty room, she decided it best to let it be a mystery to place later. She wondered what he’d think of the fact that she now played the very songs she had overheard him busking in her apartment; the cello was a unique instrument, somehow it seemed to embody sorrow. It was no wonder she felt as though the apartment was haunted. “That was exactly what I was planning to do,” Sylv said with a grin, turning onto the gravel farm road that lead to the orchard. Bright signs indicated that they were going in the right direction, and their tracks left dust clouds to obscure her back mirror.

“The last time I saw her, I think she told me that if I really wanted to look rich, I’d be fat.“ the brunette mentioned, laughing lowly. The exact words were sterner, delivered with an unintentional comedic timing that she’d never forget. The rich in my country, they are fat. Here, it is the opposite. “She’s not wrong, you know. You should see my doctor, she does this great vitamin booster session, you just sit with an IV for thirty minutes and then when you leave you feel like a new person.” It was an empty offer, he’d sooner bleed out in a snow bank than take her up on it. Sylv pulled the car crookedly into a space, killing the engine. “Alright, let’s get festive.” 

Even though it was Sylv speaking, Peter could hear Oksana’s words just as they would have sounded in her own deadpan voice, delivered with that vaguely-troubling Russian accent. She told me that if I really wanted to look rich, I’d be fat. “Did she really? Oh my god.” Amusement audibly lightened his voice, bringing it closer to a laugh. The flaxen-haired pianist had always been like that, ever since they’d met in freshman year - direct, to the point, always plain-spoken and unflinchingly truthful. Forced outside of her native language, Oksana seemed to consider words as tools of basic necessity, not something to frivolously fill space with. She, much like Peter himself, preferred music to speaking. And if music was not an option, then silence would do.

Tonight, like many nights before, the Caged had all gathered in the living room of the Manor. But there was little of the usual back-and-forth chatter; the silence was only occasionally interrupted by the crackling of the fireplace, while they sat, mute and solemn, eyes fixed on the television screen where Jamie’s task was being broadcasted live. If he’d been making bets about his own ability to endure the “viewing party”, Peter would’ve put money down on an early exit, but it came earlier than even he would have expected. The moment the scalpel was chosen- catching light with a malicious wink- he felt his stomach turn over. And once the cutting began, Peter had wordlessly excused himself to the kitchen. 

Tucked away, the sounds of the party were muffled at best. The music that had been so overwhelming inside was now tolerable, almost dreamier when working it’s way out from behind the panes of glass. “If you don’t mind,” Pearl repeated, grinning at the clarification. She didn’t want to be a burden, after all. The little one, clutching onto whichever coat sleeve she could wrap her hands around. She watched him intently, her focus sliding from her like something liquid. The cold was beginning to lap at her, her shoulders gave the slightest quake whenever the wind decided to pick up particularly viciously.

Pearl took the offered joint between her fingers, trying to hold it in a way that it didn’t look so foreign, so wrong. It was a make believe confidence, fuelled by sickly sweet punch watered down with vodka, but it was a confidence all the same, and she gave him a curt nod of her head as soon as it was clamped down between her lips. She was acutely aware of how close he was to her as he lit the joint, his tall frame almost concealing her own entirely. The first drag didn’t hurt. She followed the instructions carefully, counting down in her head— one Mississippi, two Mississippi, and then exhale. Smoke clouded around her like a dragon, there was no finesse yet and she hadn’t thought as far to blow it the other direction. They would both stink of smoke because of it, something she was sure Sylv would be absolutely delighted by. Her lips left a little imprint on the joint as she pulled it away, a red stained kiss. She coughed a little, but her throat had managed to endure the pull without scorching. “How’s that?” Pearl asked, almost proudly, handing it back to him. “If you had to rate that on a scale of one to professional, where would it land?”

She let the smoke escape all at once, directly into the small space between them. Peter leaned back and wrinkled his nose, eyes stinging, but it only took a second for the wind to disperse the fog. As he helped to wave off the remnants, there was something tugging at the corner of his lips- a smile fighting to be seen, despite how rarely he allowed it to be. “Perfect score. Honestly, I’m impressed.” He meant it. Whatever his expectations for Pearl had been up to this point, she’d already found small ways to be surprising. He thought coughing fits were supposed to be a rite-of-passage for first time smokers. Her cough had seemed more like a polite, lady-like afterthought rather than a real reaction- and though the pink flush in her cheeks persisted, she was now looking up at him with her bright eyes, lips parted into a smile, awaiting approval. Her gaze was surprisingly steady for someone not-quite-so steady on her feet.  

Jamie: James came to me and was being sort of passive aggressive and saying that 'Oh so you dont want to hear about how I want other guys but you and Peter get to act all cute' or whatever

Jamie: And then he asked if we're dating. I mean, we went on ONE date but that doesn't mean we're officially.. dating? So I wanted to ask you

Jamie: I'm not dating you for the sake of just taking ANYBODY out so I can try to avoid my feelings for James

Jamie: That may be a motive, but I also wanted to choose someone I get along with, who I find attractive and who I think would vibe with. I want to move on

Jamie: Now, that doesn't mean you're obligated to want a second date or want me, even. I don't want to force you into anything. This sounds like a rant, but you don't HAVE to be romantically interested in me

Jamie: Which is why I sort of.. would like to know how you feel, but if you don't know either, that's okay. We can figure that out together.

Jamie: I'm not looking for a single answer. It's not right or wrong, I promise. What do you think is the answer I'm "looking for"?

Peter: I understand that, I know I don't... have to. And I do want to y'know, give it a try. I just don't want you to end up thinking that it's anything you're doing wrong, or that it's something about you, when it's really just me & all my fucking issues making everything ten times harder than it has to be.

Peter: And I don't want our friendship to be the thing that gets ruined if this doesn't work. I really don't want that.

Peter: I just meant like... if you were looking for a 'yes', because thats what you wanted James to see. But in the moment, I didn't have much context to go off of, so I didn't know what to read into it.

Peter arrived looking like a generously costumed snowman, but when he slid into the cab she found herself smiling at the sheer stupidness of his woolen hat, shoved down to crush what might have been curls flat to his skull. They weren’t friends, but now they were linked by the terribleness of their crime: together they shouldered the burden of their sins. She handed him the aux cord silently, waiting for him to close the door and to seal them back off from the cruel bite of the autumn winds. Finally, she geared the vehicle back into action, bringing them back onto the main road.

“Apple picking,” she confirmed, her voice rising above the click of the turn indicator. “I really want to change up the content on my instagram feed, but also,” She glanced at Pete, “It would be nice to show up to dinner one night with something that Jamie can make into pie.” Another thing she wouldn’t touch, but the others would enjoy. The comment about her shoes made her lift a shoulder, “These are last season anyways.” Sylv squinted down the road, struggling now for conversation, “How’s Oksana?”

When she passed him the aux cord, Peter accepted it with raised eyebrows, but he looked quietly pleased- at the very least, there was an absence of a frown on his face, which meant about the same as the presence of a smile. His hand went digging in his pocket for his phone. Begrudgingly, he’d finally retired the battered old iPod Classic that he’d cribbed for cheap off of eBay- it was surprisingly resilient for the state it was in, with a screen so badly cracked that it looked like mosaic tiles, but still, the ease of Sylv’s gift had proved addictive. It was getting harder for him to justify his grudge against the sim, sleek device that seemed able to do everything.  

A P P L E   O R C H A R D;

@callme-pidge

         Of all of her friends to take to a festival, Peter was certainly not Sylv’s first choice, but when her question (first posed rhetorical) wasn’t met with a swift refusal; she decided to take it as a clear sign that such opportunities weren’t to be wasted. Her car idled outside of Peter’s apartment– stepping outside of the vehicle felt a little bit like traipsing straight into a minefield. Instead, she shot off a text to Pete before glancing at the time. She’d give him two minutes, then she’d start leaning on the horn.

The days were shortening, the nights were lengthening, and it was that point in the late, short-lived autumn where even the sun was beginning to shine cold. He’d begun accumulating layers of clothing like a coat rack; long-sleeved shirts worn underneath insulated fleeces, a winter coat already dug out from the back of the closet and piled on top, an itchy scarf wound around his neck. When he stepped outside, squinting against the bright daylight, Peter tugged on a pair of gloves and made his way towards Sylv’s G-Wagon, head ducked down, woolen hat and pulled-up hood obscuring his usual, tangled mess of hair. He pulled open the door and slid inside.