PINEAPPLE ICE LOST MARY.

lines are always being drawn and crossed in lethe.    mentioning teddy—  a hard no,  but evidently necessary.    agreeing with sadie—  a petulant no.    a combination of both?    hana audibly groans,  massaging at her temples as if hearing nails on a chalkboard.    “ugh.    ew,  tommy.”    she complains.    selfishly hates that her party of the summer had been sullied by whatever warped reality they'd surely stumbled into between entering and exiting lethe club doors.    “why wait for the summer if they were just going to text about it?”    inquisitive and baiting.    eager to know how the party had ended for someone else.    “…  did you see anything weird?”

at the sound of a familiar groan, tommy throws his head back like a child not getting his way, plugging his ears with his fingers as he shakes his head, “noooooope, don’t wanna hear it.” despite knowing he couldn’t lend his eyes to hana so she could see sadie the way he sees her, he isn’t sure why they aren’t rushing to set their differences aside, after what happened last year. if tommy had one more summer with teddy, or even one more day, he’d do everything to make things right between them again. “ah, ah, ah,” he wags a finger at her. “you first: why are you the only one that didn’t get the text? the first one, i mean. they obviously waited until we were all together.” a beat. “don’t bullshit me, please? i just wanna understand.”

“OH, THAT'S GOOD,” she remarks, but it comes out flatter than she'd like. tinged not with envy or disappointment, but a reminder that unlike tommy, she felt she had nowhere else to go. lately she's been crafting her isolation with her own hands, and last night, the thought had pricked like a needle — they'll find out soon. if you leave first, it'll hurt less. sometimes, the worst parts of her bleed like an open wound and she has to remember to put pressure on it before someone else sees. “ that's good, ” she repeats with more genuity. “ um, i did. though i can assure you it was better than staying here. i'm sure freya has comfier bedding. ” a stilted beat, when juliette catches his gaze, and something in her softens, his presence an opposing reminder, one that pulls her back. she reaches down to grab the other sponge in the bucket. it's the barest grazing of fingers, one that years ago she would not have thought twice about, but this summer it's like it suddenly holds weight. stupid, she chides herself, like swatting a gnat. his joke is a graceful way out, and she takes it, breaking into a smile. something about the comfort, if even just for a second, of how things used to be. as she draws the other sponge out, she uses her free hand to smack him lightly on the shoulder. “ you're the one who offered to help, ” she says with a laugh, “ you sure that wasn't your plan all along ? ”

"oh yeah, her rock hard floor was--" twin 'okay' signs pop up from his hands, exaggerated to match his lips puckered in an overdone pout, "--tip top." the smack on his shoulder lands softer than it should, but he jerks forward like she'd swung a brick, if only to prove to himself that the feeling sitting in his stomach is not unmoving, like a newly unveiled statue that the breeze of his inhales won't knock over. "nailed it. this was my plan, yeah." an airy laugh escapes him, wringing out the sponge in long, distracted squeezes. "months of scheming just to maybe hold your hand in a bucket." in moments like this, as fragile and fleeting as they are, he feels a little stupid, for worrying about things being different between them, but there's a small part of him that wonders if they should. if he'd prefer them to be. "and you've deprived me of my glory!" but his voice dips a little as he turns back towards the scrawl smeared across the wall, grin slowly starting to fade. he presses the sponge to the wall, boards squeaking beneath the weight as he scrubs like effort alone could erase it all. if not for their own peace of mind, then hopefully to get their deposit back. "i've got something to tell you. it might not be anything but .. last night, when freya and i were leaving, we saw this .. weirdo, person. couldn't really make out their face or anything but i'm pretty sure -- okay, i know this sounds crazy -- but i'm pretty sure they were holding a sword. it was freaky as hell."

Shithouse (2020)

SEEING THE WORDS SCRAWLED ONTO THE FIVE had made her wish she could sink her nails into the house and never let go. when she had texted tommy “did you see this??" her message had hid a sudden fear: this could not be taken from her too. “ i just… i don't know who the hell would do this, ” she remarks, anger dampened from weariness. as she lets him take the bucket, juliette notices his shirt. “ you slept here, too ? ” she hadn't checked when she had awoken, half of it haste, half of it hesitation. she hated the times she let that one memory pervade their friendship. one of the memories that was meant to stay buried. jules lets herself be pulled away from thinking more about it as tommy mentions the writing, her gaze following his. “ if you have other ideas, i'm all ears, ” she replies with a dry laugh. even she cannot confirm it aloud, as if it was worse than what had already been used, already been written. and despite this denial, comes an admission, a weak spot, that she would allow herself around tommy. “ all i know is i don't wanna keep looking at it. ”

“um, no. i was at freya’s actually.” it spreads through him like a rash, the biting urge to declare that nothing happened, to defend himself in case she got the wrong idea. though, he doubted anyone in the group would believe it since freya was freya and tommy was, well, tommy. on the lonier nights when his mind wouldn't sit still, he’d drift down to mizu looking for company, and still end up in his bed alone. “did— you?” his tone tilts upwards, an attempt at casual that doesn't quite land, as his free hand scratches the side of his head, chasing an itch he can't pin down. “yeah, lets get rid of this damn thing.” a sideways glance, then, towards jules, as the sun edges higher, throwing a glare across her face, and her hair shifts with the wind. the look is enough to say the rest: we might have a long morning, maybe even a long summer, but i'll do it with you. sponge in hand, he dips down at the bucket just as jules does, fingers skimming too close, and the water lightly ripples from the near-contact. for a fleeting moment, he doesn't pull back. even with the wall glaring down at them in red, he finds the nerve to break the silence with a joke: “are you trying to hold my hand? right now?”

❛    i  just  dont  get  it    —    why  would  someone  want  us  to  think  that  teddy’s  still  alive  ?      obviously  .  .  .      you  and  i  both  know  that  he’s  not.    no  offense  to  theodore.    but  he’s  not.    obviously.    ❜      there’s  a  sheet  mask  stuck  to  blemish  -  free  skin,    head  tilted  back  against  the  couch,    a  picturesque  display  of  relaxation.    yet  inside,    a  sense  of  unease  digs  into  the  spaces  between  her  ribs,    settles  down  behind  her  heart    —    held  close  there,    just  like  teddy.      ❛    okay,    i  take  it  back  :    there’s  plenty  of  reasons  as  to  why  someone  would  want  us  to  think  he’s  still  alive.    so  let  me  rephrase    —    i  don’t  understand  why  any  of  our  friends  would  want  us  to  think  that.    or  why  they’d  even  joke  about  something  like  that.    ❜      it’s  a  typical  friday  night  for  them  :    face  masks,    pizza,    shitty  boxed  wine.    like  hell  is  she  letting  anyone  take  this  away  from  her.    ❛    what’s  your  theory  ?    you  have  to  have  one.    ❜

THE  SUN  CRAWLS  OUT  OF  ITS  SLUMBER  and  rests  its  lazy  gaze  on  juliette,  who  stares  back  into  its  embrace  with  equal  tiredness.  she  had  slept  at  the  five,  thinking  she  would  get  less  sleep  if  she  slept  at  her  grandmother's,  who  would  only  ask  questions  that  prodded  all  the  wrong  places.  but  the choice  was  meaningless.  she  had  woken  up  over  an  hour  ago,  memories  of  the  weekend  still  heavy  enough  to  drag  her  out  of  any  useful  sleep.  the  photograph  that  had  slipped  into  her  path.  coming  back  to  the  five  to  see  what  was  scrawled  onto  the  slats  of  the  boathouse.  and  then:  teddy's  face  before  her,  silent,  eyes  accusatory.  every  time  she  tried  to  go  back  to  sleep,  the  sequence  looped  itself.  the  fifth  time  she  saw  his  gaze,  boring  into  her  as  if  digging  for  the  truth,  she  tossed  her  sheets  aside,  splashed  her  face  with  cold  water,  and  headed  outside.  now,  she  turns  away  from  the  coast to  face  the  house. in  a  moment  of  sudden  sobriety,  or  perhaps  in  a  moment  inebriated  by  her  insomnia,  she  had  brought  out  a  sponge  and  a  bucket  to  scrub  away  the  red  that  still  stained  the  five,  like  getting  rid  of  it  could rid  the  accusation (  the  truth  )  .  as  she  steps  away  from  the  water  and  walks  back  towards  the  house,  she  spots  a  figure  approaching.  “  what  are  you  doing  up  so  early  ?  ”  she  asks,  as  if  dark  circles  don't  lay  under  her  eyes  as  evidence  of  anything.  “  i  didn't  think  anyone  else  was  awake.  ”

spending their lunch breaks together had been their tradition since they were teenagers. sadie can still recall begging to switch shifts at saltbreak with one of her older brothers and the eye roll his teasing had earned when he questioned don't you two spend enough time together? nearly a decade later, the answer was still no, always a no when she knew too well how deceptively swift the summer was. in two months time they wouldn't have this; the ocean in front of them, the sandwiches they'll end up swapping because sadie always claims to like tommy's more. she motions for his other half, feet swinging as they dangle off the pier. the moment was almost too perfect to break. sadie wanted nothing more than to sit like this forever, the sun warming their faces, laughter warming her belly as he tells some ridiculously hilarious story about one of his whale watching tours. but the air is thick with more than salt this year and they both knew it. "so um, remember how i told you i found something at hana's party?" she brushes a hand against her napkin, fingers reaching into the pocket of her backpack and fishing the polaroid out to show him. "i don't really know what to do with it. i mean, i should probably talk to kieran first," she says before glancing up at him, craving the input of the person she knew best. "right?"

if  she  closes  her  eyes  and  pretends  the  thundering  beat  of  the  music  are  waves  crashing  against  the  rocks,  it’s  almost  like  they’re  down  by  the  shore.  he  throws  a  glance  behind  him,  where  the  party  is  still  in  full  swing  somewhere  inside.  he  snorts.  “what,  would  you  step  out  just  ‘cause  you  don’t  like  the  song?”  scratch  that.  if  anyone  would,  it’d  be  tommy.  wouldn’t  it  be  nice  to  live  like  that?  alena  blinks.  and  then,  with  a  shrug  of  faux  nonchalance,  “needed  air  —  stuffy  in  there  and  all.”  it  feels  so  .  .  .  distant.  clinical.  he  forces  himself  to  look  at  tommy’s  grin  again.  “why  are  you  out  here?  hana  too  much  of  a  host?”

"  y'know  .  .  .  call  it  divine  intuition  or  whatever  the  fuck  ,  but  something's  tellin'  me  y'already  burstin'  at  the  seams  to  ask  .  .  .  "  slender  fingers  dug  through  the  unruly  mess  of  dark  locks  ,  admittedly  unsuccessful  in  pursuing  a  more  tamed  state  .  he  should've  brought  his  hair  tie  .  .  .  unfiltered  thoughts  drift  towards  the  loose  rubber  band  hidden  somewhere  in  the  depths  of  his  pants  .  though  ,  last  time  proved  this  method  to  be  rather  fruitless  .  he's  not  actively  looking  for  a  balding  spot  ,  after  all  .  instead  ,  arms  drop  back  down  to  rei's  side  ,  hair  pooling  over  both  his  shoulders  along  with  it  .  if  one  was  to  look  close  ,  they  would  surely  find  the  analogy  for  rei's  life  somewhere  between  the  lines  ."  so  ,  spit  it  out  .  no  need  to  tail  around  it  like  this  "  whilst  anxiety  crawled  up  his  throat  ,  picking  apart  all  the  ways  this  could  go  horribly  wrong  .  .  .  the  underlying  trust  he  had  for  thomas  trampled  down  the  flame  just  enough  for  eyes  to  meet  .  "  ask  "  confident  in  the  way  that  nobody  would  question  if  rei's  hands  were  shaking  .

A  RECLUTANT  SMILE  tugs  on  his  lips,  and  kieran  has  to  drop  his  gaze  at  the  mention  of  his  ex.  there’s  no  version  of  the  universe  where  he  feels  ready  to  untangle  that  history  with  someone  who’s  known  her  far  longer  than  he  ever  did.  “what  gave  it  away?”  he  deflects.  “there's  only  one  whale-watcher  in  my  life.”  it's  only  then  he  notices  the  subtle  shift  in  his  posture,  his  shoulders  no  longer  tense.  it’s  the  effect  tommy  always  has  had,  and  this  time,  kieran's  smile  is  genuine.  “we  should  get  back  out  on  the  water together,”  he  says  quietly.  “it’s  been  too  long.”

the silence settles back between them, thick and familiar. rue stubs the cigarette out against the stone and lets her hand drop to her side. she’s unraveling slow and quiet, like an old record bleeding through a wall. and still — tired and strung out — she says, almost gently : ‘ good to see you, tommy. ’ because some things still matter, even if they don’t fix anything.