Feel It All Around || Chenrich Fic (4/?)
Chapter Title: Thank You
Pairing: Alex Chen/Steph Gingrich
Rating: M
Fic Description:
Steph falls in love. To her amazement (despite an embarrassing number of successful roll-checks of the d20 in the studio)âŚso does Alex.
Chapter Description:
Thatâs the thing no one tells you about griefâitâs like an iced over-pond. At first, it breaks easilyâslivers and cracks the moment you shift feet along its surface. But as time goes on and the weather turns colder and colderâas snow falls and skin numbsâitâs a little firmer to step upon the ice. But if you look down, itâs always right there, clear as dayâalways there, right beneath you: water. Cold ice waiting to engulf you on a tripâa fallâa slipâand when it cracks open, it takes time to heal, again. Over and over for years and years and years.
In Stephâs experience, it will always be that way.
Chapter 1 | AO3 | Tumblr |
Chapter 2 | AO3 | Tumblr |
Chapter 3 | AO3 | Tumblr |
Chapter 4 (Current) | AO3 | Tumblr (below):
When Mom died, I didnât feel anything. Iâd felt all I had to feel a week before, fingers curled around the delicate etch of a necklace that IâŚbarely remember the weight of, now. I barely remember what it looks like. I barely remember much of anythingâ
The necklace. Mom.
Dad.
Gabe.
Itâs kind of funny how the mind sort of cherry-picks stuff out of a bin of memoriesâthe things you hold onto when it gets really bad mixed with the things you keep when it is really badâuntil all youâre left with are these blurry-faced âkinds-ofsâ. These âmust have beenâ approximations of what could have been, but youâre never really sure was .
One time I confessed to Dr. Lynn that I felt like my emotions werenât my own. I regretted it. She immediately asked me, tape recorder skipping on the edge of its monotonous hum, her voice that calm, steady note like someone whoâs held down an A on a piano too long:
âIf you feel like your emotions arenât your own, AlexâŚhow do you feel about your memories? Are those your own, too?â
âSoâŚwant me to put something else in?â
Alexâs hesitant, balmy voice skirts along the edge of Stephâs cold shoulders like sheâs dipping her toes into the icy waters around her friendâs far-away chest. A blink, turning away from the glaze of a shaking window to look over towards those searching eyes, face highlighted by the flickering lights of the credits of a movie Steph barely remembers paying to the start of quietly scrolling down the screen.
Shit. Get out of your head, Gingrich.
âIâm not reallyââ Tucked knees shift along the soft fabric of the couch, so well-worn beneath her that Steph could sink into it and disappear. It doesnât sound too bad, right now, but Alexâs eyes are tethered to her like a rope outside of a canyon and the sigh wells up so fully in her chest that it lifts Steph like an air balloon and twists her around to stare at her fully, smile thin and apologetic. âSorry, Alex. Iâm not really into anything right now. JustâŚdonât mind me, okay?â The wind howls and howls against the glassâa constantâand she wonders if thereâs ever been a storm this bad in Haven Springs, where the whole town swayed with wind.
There must have been, but where was she? In the soundproof walls of an isolated booth? Tucked in the darkness of a bathroom with the shower running, palms pushing soap out of eyes? Drunk on this very couch, too dull to hear it, at all? Does it matter? âIâm justâŚtired.â
Itâs a blatant lie and when Stephâs eyelashes flutter open, Alex is nice enough not to call her on it, even though she hasnât looked away from Steph for a second. Because there is Alex, searching her eyes before sheâŚshifts forward on the couch.
âOkay, so that didnât help.â Itâs a muttered sigh.
âHuh?â
âThe movie.â But Alex doesnât explain further. Brows furrow when Alex stretches out her hand, bracelet brushing along Stephâs up-tucked knee. She felt like they were sitting much further away than they apparently were. Guess thereâs only so many places to tuck inside a couch. âBut I think I know something that will.â
âUhâŚwhat are youââ
âCome on,â Is all Alex says, just her hand stretched out between them. An offering. A rare offering, like so many Stephâs gotten a glimpse of seeing, today. Like so many Stephâs gotten to see all month. The wind rattles outside and a drummerâs shaky hand hesitates in the air. âThese windows are, likeâŚthe worst windows Iâve ever seen. And thatâs? Coming from an intercity kid who lived in a group home for the majority of her life. Where state funding was non-existent. SoâŚyou know itâs a pretty bad review. They probably need to be re-sealed, or something.â
âDo they even seal windows?â Steph tries to joke but it doesnât hit quite right. Alex doesnât call her on that, either.
âI donât know. But the point is that the windâŚsounds a lot worse than it is. Let me show you.â
Alex says, like she knows exactly everything in the world Stephâs ever been afraid of, her palm stretched up towards that raining sky and Stephâs darting tongue and her short breath caught between the rock and hard place of her nose and her trembling, clenching jaw.
Hesitating for only a moment in the air, Steph reaches forward to take it.
I remember the hospitalâthe constraints of the wallsâthe heat that stuck my clothes to my skinâthe pitcher of water that always tasted dusty no matter how fresh it was. I remember the clean, pressed sheets of an empty bed Gabe and I werenât allowed to sleep on and the chair that Dad claimed as his own placeholder. A bookend to the white-lined etchings of momâs lips with thousands of words in-between never said. Dad was always in that chairâŚto the point where itâs difficult for me to remember the chair ever being empty without him in it, save for the only time Iâll never forget.
I remember Momâs keychain. I remember the way Gabeâs shoes would squeak along the freshly-mopped tiles of the hallway.
But I donâtâŚremember Gabe outside of those squeaking shoes and the scratch of his shirt against my arm. I donât remember Dad outside of the darkness of his sagging eyelids. I donât remember mom outside of the quiet way her chin would tremble even when her voice was always so steady. Like an earthquake beneath the crust of the earth.
I remember snapshotsâher eyes and the last promise I made to herâI remember her telling me I was strongâbutâŚeverything else? I donât remember conversations, orâŚthe hours I must have spent there, day after day. I donât remember school or the unimportant stuffâthe stuff I kind of would have liked to hold onto.
I remember my mom used to cook, but I canât remember what it tasted like. I remember she used to watch those cheesy rom-coms, but I canât remember us talking about them. And that patchiness has sort of taken over all of my memories.
I remember how Dad and Gabe used to fightâI remember the record player and the clothes by the couch and my never-fail recipe for rice. But I donât remember the silence that used to threaten to drown us wholeâmaybeâŚbecause I drowned it out before I could breathe it in?
No matter how hard Dr. Lynn tried to get me to remember, thereâs a lot of those details that Iâd rather forget.
The truth isâŚI donât even remember what they looked like. Even writing it now, I feelâŚ
I donât know.
Guilty.
I donât have any picturesâI didnât have any pictures of Mom or Dad or Gabe. I donât even have anything of Mom, since Dad took it. And now I barely have memories of Gabe because I feel like Dad took him, too.
At least when Mom died, I felt nothing.
With Isabelle, I feltâ
I only felt Isabelle. And I only felt her for so long, after.
With GabeâŚ
I wonder if Dr. Lynn was right. Are these memories even my own?
âSoâŚwhen was the last time you played the drums? For a show? Or justâŚâ A faint shrug, âPlayed them?â Alex asks her so unceremoniously, like itâs such a simple question to ask someone and Steph stretches bare feet, foot skirting dangerously along the edge of the rooftop awning.
Somehow, Alex made it sound like a not horrible idea to come up to the rooftop in the rain, its gentle, consistent splash wetting the roof in tinkering patters, rain cascading all around them, wind much quieter than itâd been in the apartment below. ItâsâŚrhythmic and it keeps Steph calm to gently tap her thumbs along with the beats on her stomachâthoughtless thumps lost in the fabric of a bunched up, dry t-shirt.
But like most things, it doesnât seem like itâs lost on Alexâs freakishly observant perception.
â...a while, I guess.â
ItâsâŚnot so bad up here, laying on the cement patio, shoulder warm from where sheâs pressed up against Alex. Both of their legs bent upwards, hanging over faded, rickety wooden chairs, and she leans up to watch Alexâs bare foot bounce beneath the rain.
Alex had told her they could go back in the moment she watched Stephâs shoulders ease, a little, at the sound of the soft wind outside, but somehow they wound up staying, anyways.
âI get that.â
âYou said itâs been a while since you played guitar? Like, until recently.â
âYeah. My last oneâŚâ Alex shifts a little on her back, chair scooting along cement as she does from her foothold against it, knees bumping against Stephâs bent, very dry pair. âWell, I lost my last guitar and I couldnât afford a new one. This oneâŚwas a gift from Gabe, so I guess I just never got around to buying another one. I donât know why, I justâŚâ A second shrug, like thereâs a world in Alexâs sigh before her shoulders fall back into the depth of the dark cement, the sound of the wind chime hung above gently tingling as the air sifts through both of their hair, rain pushing a little into the dry safety beneath the awning. But Alex settled them directly where the rain wouldnât touchâlike she must come up here often enough to know. More than just with Steph and Ryan and putt-putt and beers. âDidnât. Whyâd you stop?
âI justâŚâ Teeth tuck at lips, âDidnât feel like playing?â The sigh caught deep in her chest, beneath the putter of her thumbs along her chest, pushes out unnecessarily heavily, eyes closing as the rain consumes her voice. âOr maybe I felt guilty playing? ReallyâŚwho knows, dude? I donât. It was so weird. When I was younger, my fingers used toâŚtheyâd itch all the time. Like what they talk about with smokers? But with sticks. I used to want to play all the time. Iâd play in class at my desk or in the car on my steering wheel or in the showerâjustâŚeverywhere. It was like breathing for me. But then I traveled everywhere with IzzieâmyâŚwe used to be in the band together.â
Yeah, Steph. Thatâs way less complicated. Fingers wave at Alexâs always-unwavering, steady look, like she has all the time in the worldâ
Itâs funny, really. Alex does kind of make a great bartender.
âAndâŚwere more than just in the band together. Like, long-term, very serious dating. After we came here, I realized that there was something missingâthere was a different kind of itch. I started to realize that...every time I played itâŚjust wasnât what my hands wanted, anymore. At least, not then. Not like how I was playing. Not when I was wrapped all up in that head space, you know? We used to say that we were always playing for ourselvesânot the industry or for fans or any of itâbut I think as we started to get a little more popularâŚnot much, but a little, it justâŚchanged. Everything changed. We changed.â Steph wonders if she reaches up high enough from the ground, if she can run her fingertips beneath that dangling wind chime, âI looked at Izzie and I didnât want to play, anymore. I didnât know what I wanted, but it wasnât what I thought it was. We came here and played thisâŚtotally lame show for what felt like just Gabeâseriously, just Gabeâand I had more fun than Iâd had inâŚyears. It shouldâve been lame, but it wasnât. It was like I was finally doing something I wanted to do andâŚthis got really deep, didnât it?â A quiet, nervous laugh, but Alex is still just looking at her with those steady eyes, wet toes retreating as glasses shift and suddenly Alex is sitting up, looking down at Steph splayed haphazardly on the rooftop concrete.
âI think itâs okay to go a little deep. You should cut yourself a little slack." Alex volleys words right back at Steph with that gentle smile.
The real foosball champion.
Itâs so calmâso steadyâthat Stephâs knees bend, as well, sitting upwards and hooking arms around the mountains of them with a sigh.
It's way easier than it should be to talk to Alex.
âI came here andâŚI donât know. I wound up staying. I found out that I really liked DJingâthat I was really good at it. That there were people here that mattered. I used toâI had this friend that I lost touch with that traveled all the time and I always thought that was what I wantedâand it was. It is. But itâsâŚI donât know, thereâs so much more to justâŚtraveling and music than what it looks like on the surface.â
âUnderstatement of the year. Real life isâŚkind of always more complicated than what we think we want.â Alex agrees, their knees brushing a second time as she scoots on the cement to look fully at Steph, knees tented down and open while Steph happily holds her own to her chest. Muscles ease, just a tad.
â...yeah.â A quiet laugh, âYeah, I guess life can get pretty complicated.â Arms finally fold outwards, leaning back against the patio as she looks around at the rain quietly falling down around them, breathâŚcalm and easy. Maybe itâs not the rain thatâs the problem. âAnd unpredictable.â
âTotally.â
âThatâs kind of what makes it good, too.â Her chin bounces, looking back towards Alex, âI guessâŚâ A dry tongue rolls on a drier lower lip, âI guess I started to realize that what I was doingâeven if I loved doing itâit didnât feel right, when it felt like I wasnât sharing it with people that mattered. I wasnâtâŚconnecting with people with my music, anymoreâor connecting with who I was playing with. I just havenât really picked up the drums, since. Itâs not that I didnât want to, I justâŚdonât think about it, as much, anymore.â
Itâs a heavy statement for Stephâthe kind of thing that had been so thick itâd taken up all of the air in her chestâand now that it floats between them, her shoulders feelâŚlighter, somehow. And instead of feeling nervous or awkward or like sheâs totally over-shared, Alex just looks at herâŚand smiles, and Steph feels nothing but relief.
âSoâŚdoes that mean Iâm not going to get to hear it?â
Somehow, itâs the last thing Steph expects.
âWhat?â Itâs said on the tail-end of a laugh, bent knees stretching back outwards over Alexâs rain-dampened leggings.
âCome on, itâs only fairâyouâve heard me play. You donât have to, I did actually hear what you just said,â That smile spreads and Alex shifts but doesnât drop Stephâs kneesâshe moves so that Steph can settle them comfortably, instead. The rain surrounds them like a curtain, outside, lightning so far away Steph can barely feel it crack beneath her fingertips as she stares at her, âBut Iâd be totally lying if I claimed I didnât want to hear the infamous Steph Gingrich wail on the drums.â
âYou want me to just do a really sweet drum solo with no accompaniment?â
âKaren Carpenter could do it.â
âNot the reference I expected, but I guess the one I deserved.â A second laughâthis time brighter, âYou knowâŚthat last show with Gabe?"
âLet me guess, Gabe told you it was going to be packed, didnât he?â Itâs an expert, on-the nose guess. Steph nods with a quiet, bobbing laugh. âThatâs Gabe.â
âBingo. He rocked the whole time, though. And he bought a t-shirt. And a hat. I mean, I didnât even know we had hats. Beanies, sure, but he bought a trucker hat.â
Alex laughsâquiet and gentleâglasses sliding a little down the bridge of her nose, rain framing that spreading smile in a background haze. âNothing could be more awkward than that, so what do you have to lose? I donât know if Iâll be as good of an audience, but Iâm definitely here for it.â
âTrueâŚâ Steph searches her eyes before standing back up, offering Alex her hand, this time. âBut I loved it, playing like that. IâŚâ Itâs a pause, tilting down to look at Alex as she helps her up, âDid actually play at the Spring Festival last year. I totally forgotâit didnât feel like a show. Itâs not that I feel nervous about playing,â Her chin tips a little, looking up towards that dancing wind chime, fingertips warm.
Warm, she realizes after a moment, because sheâs still holding Alexâs hand, and Alex doesnât ask her to let go.
âI just havenât really thought about playing. UntilâŚright now, I guess. Tell you what, I will give you one entirely exclusive show in the store tomorrow,â Steph holds up their joined hands, finger ticking off to wave in the air, âIf you give me one. Right here on this balcony.â
A long pause.
âRightâŚnow?â Alex blinks.
âDoesnât have to be. But those are my terms, Chen. Today, tomorrow, sometime? I want an exclusive show of my own.â
Alex laughs, just a littleâa dancing noise underneath that serene windchimeânose ducking before she nodsâŚand looks back up at Steph with a kind of freaky level of determination.
And then lets go of her hand just to reach up to offer to shake it, again.
Itâs the kind of thing Ryan would do that would make Alex, herself, call him a dork, and somehow that makes it even better.
âOkay, youâre on.â
Steph falls asleep downstairs on the couch a few hours later to the sound of rattling wind and Taxi Driver on in the backgroundâwhat? So theyâre on a DeNiro kick, sueâand blinks an owlish look towards Alex when she prods her shoulder and nods towards the bed.
âCome on,â Alex says again, that same gentle smile, voice an up-turned hand in the dim, flickering light of the credits behind them. âThe rain hasnât let up andâŚitâs not like itâs the first time youâve crashed here. And itâs definitely not like itâll be the last.â
âIâm only here for the pop-tarts.â
âWhatever you tell yourself, Steph. We both know youâre here for the sweet, eclectic jams.â
âOkay, maybe that too.â
And itâs the third time that Steph follows her, anyways, sleepily kicking off one of her damp shoes by the bed before she flops on top of it to Alexâs quiet laughter behind her, sure enoughâŚother girl slipping beneath a flopping, shoe-clung foot to sneak fingers beneath the rim, helping to take it off.
âAlex, seriously?â Stephâs muffled laughter sinks into the pillow that smells likeâ
Steph smiles, realization donning that she knows exactly what it smells like, now.
âHey, youâre the one that doesnât have the excuse of being drunk, this time.â
Steph pulls away and toes off the other shoe before offering a smile down the bed at Alex, the darkness of the apartment lit up by a flash outside. Wind rattling the thin glass as she watches Alex slip off her glasses and slide into the bed next to her, this time under the covers.
Itâs familiar.
âSleeping in bed with your shoes on isnât comfortable, Steph. Barefoot is the way to go.â Itâs murmured. Already sleepyâexhaustedâlike some weight of the day has taken its toll out of Alexâs bones.
Steph wonders what it isâwonders what's exhausted her.
"You okay?" Steph asks before she can think anything against it, watching her shift and ease and turn towards her. A hint of surprise basked in shadows beneath clear eyes, no glass between them.
"Yeah. Are you?"
Alex is warmâsheâs always so warmâand Steph listens to the wind and the sound of Alexâs laughter and knowsâŚ
"...right now? Yeah. I actually am."
Itâs a little easier facing storms with people you know just as good as the bad.
Enter Haven Springs.
I felt a lot that first day. From himâfrom everyone âbut it was the most I felt like myself, too, inâŚa really long time.
When I saw Gabe for the first time, I suddenly remembered what he looked like. The way his lips curled up in a smile was like an old, wrinkled piece of sheet music. I just needed to read it to remember how it went, again. It never really went awayâthe music was always out there in the world, and maybe part of me knew it; hummed it in the morning or the afternoon or at nightâbut I really needed to see it to make sense and find the tune, again.
I remembered teasing him about trying to grow a beard when he was thirteen (but missed all the nicks and scrapes and burns in-between the actual growing).
I remembered him talking about making it out of Seattleâbusking his way with his little sister all the way down to Reno so that we could make something of ourselves. (Thinking back on it, who knows why Reno? Maybe Gabe didnât know why, either).
I remembered the way he always hugged so tightly, without a hint of hesitation. Hesitation was just never in Gabeâs dictionary.
I remembered him and filled in all those gaps of what he used to be with who he was, the moment I met him again, in an instant.
He smiled andâŚI didnât feel as guilty, because I knew he remembered, too. Which means heâd forgotten. He looked at me and didnât recognize me but did at the same timeâandâŚI donât know.
Suddenly, I wasnât really alone, anymore. Suddenly a decade of guilt washed away like sand in the rain.
Suddenly, I wasnât the only person out there who filled their mind up with snapshots of things they could barely remember and who held onto too much of what they didnât want to hold onto, at allâ
I didnât do what Mom asked. Gabe was the one that chased Dad halfway across the country. Gabe was the one that held onto her more than I ever didâthat reached out and tried to patch me together. But I decided to do something a little selfish, in that moment.
I remembered Gabe for me.
I remember Gabe.
And when Gabe died, all I felt was him.
All I still feel is him.
All Iâll ever feel is him.
What if all I ever feel is him?
What if none of the memories I have of him are even mine to have, in the first place?
Dreams rarely make sense, especially for someone that avoids them. Itâs the feeling that remains.
Itâs a blur, the way the phone cracks in her palmâthe way the wind creaks and splinters and shatters, like tinsel-dried bones. Crumbling to dust beneath torrential rain and winds, the noise of it rattlingâquakingâthunderousâ
Iâve got to go , Stephâ
A familiar hand reaching outâa beam of wood; blood; screaming; eyes wideningâ
Eyes rolling, her hand reaching out, and then nothingânothingânothing, just thunder andâ
Thunder cracks like a roaring boom in the sky.
Mom. Fine. Dead. Gabe and Rachel and Momâ
And all Steph feels is the horror. The bone-deep horror that chills like ice from fingertips to creaking bones toâ
Her gasping lungs, bolting upright like a stiffened board, sheets bundled around hips, chest gasping for air. Panic creeps up her neck at the sound of the rumbling outside, hand snapping up to her chest toâ
Toâ
Someone's jolted up right with her. Sudden. Sharp. Panicked, and it takes Steph a moment to shake the fear. To shake the dream.
But she doesnât quite shake the memory of her motherâs eyes.
Eyes flick to the side, seeing Alex sitting up next to her, blinking through the flash of lightning nearby to see sweat dotting that normally-calm brow, blink owlish as Alexâs heavy breath pants in sync with hers beneath the flickering streetlight outside, obscured by pelting rain, thunder rumbling the windows. Shaking the trembling earth of Steph's bones. Loud. So loud.
And Steph triesâfuck, she desperately tries to get her breathing under controlâ
Tries to push the panic down andâ
And--
Lightning lights up the room and a sharp, hissing breath sucks through teeth, trying not to count the thunder that follows.
Steph sounds fine. Calm and measured and a little oddly urgent, but fine. Practiced and totally cool--
âIââ Fingers are clawingâclawingâclawing at her chest like sheâs trying to pull her heart out of its cage, but her voice is even. âI should goââ She manages to stumble but quivers as she tries to get out of the bed. The last thing Alex needs is Stephâs own graveyard baggage. And Steph canâtâcanâtâ
Hot, clammy fingers snap up to catch along Stephâs retreating wrist, gentle and careful, pausing Steph before she can stumble off of the bed, completely. Fingers that immediately snap backwards when flexing muscles tense beneath the knowing touch, raising up like Alex is trying to calm a bull, or something.
âSteph, wait. Itâs okay.â Her voice isâŚquiet. Gentle. Even as Steph can see her ragged breath, and something about it unravels the tight knots of Stephâs spine. Another flash lights up the apartment and she can see so clearly how Alex's brows knit in concern, no glasses in sight. âItâs okay. Iâm not going to make you talk about anything you donât want to. ButâŚIâm going to take a wild shot in the dark and guess nightmare, right?â
After a long moment, Steph quietly nods, looking away. Swallowing. But reaches out anyways to falsely assure her friend, fingers curving, because the last thing she wants after all of this progress is for Alex to stop feeling comfortable touching her just because of a stupid fucking nightmare. But when her hand trembles beneath Alexâs at the sound of the sky quivering in deep, close rumbles, she regrets not keeping her stoicism.
"Yeah. It's...fine. I'm just not big on storms. I think I'll justâŚ" Calm. Calm. Calm. "Go home and watch a movie, or something."
âItâs pouring outside.â
âIâll be alright, my apartment is right down the street.â
Alex searches her features, eyes looking around the room like sheâs placing somethingâplacing everythingâand Steph wipes a free arm beneath her brow, sweat still slick and tracking beneath skin.
âHang on.â Alex squeezes before she lets go of her hand a second time, âSit on the bed for a second, okay?"
âIââ Stephâs heart is still hammering and, stupidly, she doesnât want to be alone right now, even though every single cell of her body is screaming to get outâ
"Trust me, Steph." Itâs an almost loving plea, lightning casting Alex's whole body in a soft blue glow as she stands sturdy and calm in front of her, the world rumbling like it's threatening to swallow them whole. But Alex is looking at her like she doesn't need glasses to see right through her--
Alex is looking at her without an ounce of that...that thing that everyone else does--that thing that curls nails into skin and turns veins to quivering rattlesnakes--
Alex is looking at her like she'd let her go, if she asked.
Steph's jaw barely trembles as she nods. Breathes through her nose, sinking back onto the bed like an anchor whose string was cut.
A crack of thunder stiffens her spine right before the familiar sound of a scratching needle cuts beneath it and Alex, in all of her infinite wisdom, puts a record on. Itâs loud enough to drown out the booms, but she can still feel the windowpanes rattle and shake nearby. Can still feelâ
Can still imagineâ
âMom? Momââ
Steph blinks open when she feels something warm slide onto her ears, a swimming, hazy vision of Alexâs face coming into view, all of the lights in the apartment suddenly on and blinds drawn, and she can see her clearly, now.
Headphones are now settled on Steph's ear, Dido of all things playing calmly, covering up the music skipping from the record player. The rain and the thunder and the lightning melts away to a calm, lilting voice and Alex's familiar eyes. Sweat plasters hair to Alexâs craning neckâher foreheadâa thin shirt clings to her frame, wet through like she'd ran through the rain, herself, and itâs in this moment that more than just panic laces beneath Stephâs thunderous heart, because it looks a hell of a lot like Alex had a nightmare, tooâ
âIâm okay.â Itâs mouthed through a smile the moment she sees Steph notice her and Steph thinks now is the literal worst time to think that Alex is literally the most beautiful woman she's ever met, every inch of her the least put together Stephâs ever seen. Hair disheveled and wetâglasses who the hell knows whereânot an ounce of self-preservation or care as Alex drops everything in the world to stoop in front of her with that soft, worried smile that somehow doesnât drive Steph up the wall.
Just fuckingâŚbeautiful and for a second Steph is overwhelmed by it. Clings to it.
Maybe it's just an easier distraction, fingers stiffening at the sound of thunder underlying the two conflicting melodies in the apartment the moment she starts to pull up one of the headphones to hear her.
The song starts over in one ear while the record keeps going in the other.
Alex reaches over to the nightstand to slide glasses up the bridge of her nose, turning back towards Steph with such open eyes. Such earnest sincerity. âIâm going to get behind you. Breathe with me, okay?â
âW-what?â Steph is holding one of the headphones askew on her head, the cacophony of songs only adding a bit to the chaos.
The sentence does not make senseânot right now.
"I...okay? I guess?"
Alex without another word slides behind Steph on the bed and guides her backwards, lifting up one of the headphones for just a breath to murmur in her ear. âIs this okay? You can kick me off. Iâm not trying toââ
Steph's whole body tenses, a faint tremble in her chest at the feeling of Alex's breath along her neck.
A dusty swallow.
âIâŚyeah, yeah itâsââ
Her heart is still hammering. Her chest is still raging. She can feel the storm in her fingertips. If she could justâjust calm down enough to stop freaking out, Alex wouldnât even have to know sheâs a totalâ
âBreathe with me.â
âAre you trying to zen me into compliance?â Steph tries to joke but it comes out strainedâthinâand against every single logical thought in her mind, she finds herself leaning back into Alexâs arms, anyways.
This is why she avoids people. Thereâs something in her that makes it so, so difficult to say no, when theyâre closeâsomething so difficult to pull away, when someoneâs already there. And then what self-restraint does she have? Itâs better to just shove the problem out the door and never have to test her will, than toâ
Alexâs chin is on her shoulder and her chest is against Stephâs back and she canâŚshe can feel her breathe. Can feel her chest inflate and collapseâcan feel the air, so warm, sink into her neck. Thoughtlessly, she breathes with her. Inâslowly, slowly, slowlyâoutâslowlyâŚslowlyâŚslowly. Repeated, over and over and over again until the shaking windows become the quiver of Alexâs breath and the lightning becomes muted with the soft apartment lights above. The thunder melts into music and after moments or lifetimes or maybe the fiftieth repeat of Thank You angelically humming in her ear, Steph slides off the headphones to listen to Alex, instead.
And then laughs, a little--this small little chuff of an exhausted puff--when she finally recognizes the album playing.
Sliding Doors.
Her heart has calmed, the panic gripping her before melted into something strained butâŚlivable.
Alex is quietly humming along to Thank You the moment it plays on the actual record player, headphones unknowingly settled on Steph's knees.
âYouâŚhave a really good voice.â It's murmured and exhausted, but fuck it--Alex does.
Alex pauses and the way she shiftsâSteph doesnât knowâit feels likeâŚmaybe she smiles.
âI was going to plug in my phone and play the actual album at the same time,â She sounds a little nervousâa little embarrassedâand when Steph turns her head, theyâre so close she can taste her breath. Itâs even warmer on her lips than it was on her neck. âBut I...couldn't find my glasses. I always have this up for emergencies, so..."
âWhat, you can just find long lost relics for NPCS, not for yourself?â
âI donât know where to go without a glowing quest marker?â Alex jokes, still a little new at the whole genre experience, and Steph is proud of the fact that it totally lands, quietly laughing. Just a little. Feeling a little more of the tension melt from her spine.
Itâs still there, in the back of her mindâa thousand different images and a thousand different waysâa thousand different versions of her mother, lost to some angry vehement Godâbut itâs always there, underneath the surface. It never goes away.
Thatâs the thing no one tells you about griefâitâs like an iced over-pond. At first, it breaks easilyâslivers and cracks the moment you shift feet along its surface. But as time goes on and the weather turns colder and colderâas snow falls and skin numbsâitâs a little firmer to step upon the ice. But if you look down, itâs always right there, clear as dayâalways there, right beneath you: water. Cold ice waiting to engulf you on a tripâa fallâa slipâand when it cracks open, it takes time to heal, again. Over and over for years and years and years.
In Stephâs experience, it will always be that way.
"It was...really sweet." Steph finally murmurs and she can see that smile, now. "So...Dido is your comfort music, huh?"
"Guilty."
The thunder rumbles beneath them and Steph closes her eyes, tucking her head on Alex's shoulder.
Waiting for the world to be easy, again.
âI liked you singingâyou should totally keep doing that.â
Alexâs knees are tented around her hips on this tangled mess of sheets on the bed and Steph is nestled fully in the warmth of her arms, against her chest, so that every single breath of air from Alexâs lips might be another gust of snow brushing along the open fissures, promising that it will passâit will passâif she just keeps herself from falling in. Alex, gently singing in her ear until the storm turns to background noise beneath the music and the lights and their shared breaths. Her skin is cold and clammy, now, sweat sticking to it beneath the fan, and when she shifts, she feels Alexâs shirt do much of the same to herself.
They must get through the entire album before Steph's self preservation instinct turns into absolute embarrassment.
âThis is not my proudest moment in history.â Steph laughs, a little, strained, âIt doesn't even happen that often, anymore. It's just...so random. Normally my friends never find out about this, if I can help it. Iâm more of theâŚshut myself up in my apartment and ignore everyone for weeks trauma response type.â
âIâve been there.â Alex offers but it doesnât sound weakâit doesnât sound so thin and full of pity like it does on most peopleâs tongues. âIâŚâ Instead, when Steph turns around, Alex just shrugs. âOkay.â She sits a little taller behind Stephâs curved spine, offering in a swell of confession: âHyperventilate in hospitals? If that helps. Now weâre even. You know something about me thatâŚwell, no one does.â
âIt does help a little bit.â Stephâs smile is slim, the anxiety curling in her stomach like a wounded animal, still snarling and whimpering, but resigning itself to its fate as it fights, quieting down. Resting. âIâŚused to lock myself in the bathroom during storms and turned on the water. Especially⌠When they were bad. Just in case. I mean, freaking out is rare, but Izzie never knew. How could she have? I never told her. Totally healthy, right?" Alex is still holding her, the record softly skips to repeat Side A, both of their bodies settled on the bed. âI haven't had a nightmare in years, I guess it just...surprised me. Iâm sorry I freaked on you. I know you were just trying to help. I justâŚ"
âItâs okay.â
âThanks." Steph's hands thoughtlessly and boldly have raised up to Alex's knuckles, tracing along the ridges of a bandage. Tellingly, Alex lets her. "YouâveâŚalways been there for me when I needed it, Alex. SoâŚmaybe itâs hypocritical of me to ask, butâŚâ Steph shifts in her arms, fingertips itching to cup her cheeksâto push through that wet, sweat-soaked hair curving around Alexâs cheek even though thatâs probably the worst idea sheâs ever had. Instead, she just hesitantly cups her shoulderâsafe territoryâand meets her eyes, âWhy'd you wake up like this? And don't tell me it's because you were hot.â
Alex visibly hesitates and looks like she might say something else entirely before admitting, âIâŚhad a nightmare, too. But I was more worried about you.â
âYou always are.â Stephâs lips tug a little downwards, but she doesnât pull away, instead just sucking in a deep breath. âDidâŚdoing all this help, at least?â
âYeah.â Alex is smiling at her and Steph takes a deep breath, feeling a little of the panic sheâd felt chip away and away and away with each faithful breath rising Alexâs chest. She can feel it. Can feel her heartbeat if she focuses enoughâ âIt feels like itâs calming down a bit, now.â
âGood.â Steph turns back around, teeth tucking lips, âIâŚreally should probably go. I think Iâve embarrassed myself enough for a night, and now I feel like I definitely need a shower. I'm not freaking out, anymore. It was just...â
Steph doesn't want to remember the nightmare, so she doesn't. She doesn't say anything else, at all, and Alex doesn't ask.
â...you could stay.â Alexâs voice is barely a murmur in her earâgentle andâŚhopeful? No, Stephâs reading too much into it. StillâŚshe turns a little, once more, and feels Alexâs hands tense above her stomach, but only for a second. Those steady, calm eyes right thereâalways right there, it seems like. âItâs definitely not walk-friendly out there. AndâŚyou staying here would help me feel calm.â
âWhy do I feel like youâre just saying that to make me feel better?â
âThere is maybe a slim chance that I also think staying here will help you, too. You donât have to, Steph. Seriously. But by tomorrow morning, tonightâs going to be over, and I know you want the poptarts in the cabinet.â
Alex makes it sound so easy. Alex makes it feel so easy.
ItâsâŚa choice. Itâs a choice, to let herself be hereâto open up andâŚactually let someone in. She already has, hasnât she? Whether she meant to, or not, hasnât the worst already passed? She thinks of Mikey and Gabe and Chloe, somewhere, and her tongue runs over her lower lip, nervously searching Alexâs eyes. The worst has already passedâAlex is already hereâwhat would running do? Keep Alex from seeing it, again?
Keep Steph from having to talk about it?
She remembers the way Alex had quietly tucked into her shoulder during Raging Bull and thinks, for just a moment, like sheâs thought so much with Alexâ
Would it be so bad?
Thereâs none of the pitying looksâno questionsânothing but music and gentle hands and someone who Steph thinksâŚmight know what all of it feels like. Might really, genuinely, know what it all feels like.
All Alex asks is for Steph to stay.
Is that something she's even built for?
âYouâre really not going to ask to talk about it? NoâŚprobing questions? No friend-break-up texts at me if I do leave orââ
âSteph,â Alex shakes her head, serious and gentle. âWe donât ever have to bring up any of what just happened for the rest of time, if you want. Itâs totally cool.â
âWow. Okay.â A breath. A nod. Shifting just a little, starting to untangle herself from Alexâs warm limbs. As much as she wants to be heldâas much as she feels safe and secure and warmâshe does not want to put Alex in the place of having toâ
Beyond bad idea. The line is already starting to get so thin.
No, sheâs not going to ask Alex to hold her through the night. Waking up like that is one thing. Actively seeking it out? That would just make her feel like sheâs taking advantage of Alexâsâ
âI donât want this to sound weird.â Alex sounds hesitantâlooks like sheâs trying to work out a word problem in the back of her mindâlike sheâs trying to figure out how to sayâ âBut do you think we couldâŚâ
âWhat?â
âIâm trying to think of a better way to say âcuddleâ without it sounding like Iâm...crossing a line. And not using the word âcuddleâ, which retrospectively is a horrible word.â Alex sighs, eyes flicking down to where Steph is pulling away, âIt's kind of not a good look when your best friend is freaking out."
The instant relief is dwarfed, for a moment.
Steph's gaze immediately softens. "Did you just call me your best friend?" There's no hint or tease--it's the first time she's heard Alex return the sentiment, at all.
"Yeah, Steph." Alex smiles, soft and sincere as lightning curves up her chin to her eyes, bathed in the warmth of the apartment and the cold of outside. Steph, for a moment, feels like the storm is hundreds of miles away as she smiles back, slim and...fuck, she's not going to be emotional or conflicted about it. âOf course I did.â
"I guess in that case I can allow your totally weak, thinly-veiled excuse to hold me for the night." Steph tries to joke, but her throat is dry and her stomach is clenching even as Alex smiles and tugs her back onto the bed. Brave and never backing down.
"Thinly-veiled excuses are under-rated, more people should try them.â A little more serious, âI donât think Iâve everâŚreally had a chance to do this with someone, before, anyways. Not without them expecting something else." Is all Alex says, arm wrapping around her shoulder so naturally that Steph doesn't even care that she feels like she woke up in a swamp--she probably smells like one, which is a totally not good look--dried sweat still sticking to her neck and her hips and her knees. It's like this doesn't matter, at all, as Alex shifts her closer in a loose, rare hug on the bed.
The fear slowly eases into her breathing and the room feels bright and clearer, the same side of that Dido album softly humming in the background.
Maybe Steph will ask her, sometime--ask her how Alex always know what Steph needs. Ask her how Alex always...is what Steph needs.
Maybe Steph will get the chance to ask her if sheâs the same for Alex, sometimeâmaybeâmaybeâ
Steph grows a little bolder, shifting in the bed to wrap Alexâs arms around her, settling back against her front.
Little spoon is a new look on her and sheâŚreally doesnât mind it. LikeâŚat all. Not with Alex holding her.
âWellâŚbeing the first sounds cool with me. Cuddle away, Chen.â
This time she does feel Alexâs smile, having pulled her close enough that she can feel lips curve in the air above her neck.
It should be awkward. It should be tense or weird or a thousand other cliches that it totally isn't. Instead...Steph just lets herself exist in it for a moment.
They fall asleep with the lights on and Sliding Doors blaring and a pair of headphones sandwiched between them repeating the same song over and over and Alexâs arms wrapped so warmly around Steph that she forgets what ice ever felt like on the tips of her fingertips.
She dreams nothing, at all, and when she wakes it's in the crook of Alex's neck, having turned around in her sleep, their limbs still tangled and sweaty from where they'd touchedâitâs to an obnoxiously bright apartment and Dido and Alex's phone at 2%, sandwiched between them, headphones digging into her side.
Steph shifts along the sheets and swallows at the sight of Alex uncomfortably shifted in the bed to accommodate Steph, her neck curved a little backwards at the worldâs weirdest angle. Her glasses are still on her face, askew, and Steph carefully--carefully--reaches forward to slide them off. Small, painful crescents pit skin where frames dug in throughout the night and Steph quietly folds them up and reaches over her to nestle them safely back where they'd been tugged from the night before, so careful not to dislodge Alex as she does.
The rain is barely a trickle outside, now, fully covered by Dido's voice.
(Hopefully the rain will stay away from the Larp, next week).
It would be easy to untangle and slip out--to disappear into the morning and claim she wanted to be at the station. It would be easy to steal a pop tart from the cabinet and start one up for Alex, maybe, and never talk about this, again. She knows Alex won't mention it.
But then who will tell Alex where her glasses are when she wakes up? That's what Steph tells herself--repeats like a hopeless idiot as she sags back into the pillow and gently traces the divot her best friend's care had left upon her skin before her hand retreats back to rest around the curve of Alex's hip.
Is staying such a bad thing?
Maybe not. MaybeâŚ
Just maybe not. Maybe staying is the opposite of a bad thing.
Maybe staying is something Steph really, really wants to do, right now.
Alex cracks open an eye and slowly, slowly smiles at her like she's been awake the entire time, and Steph tries not to let her heart (skipping across this thin, wrinkled river of sheets between them like a stone) sink into it. She lets herself lean into it, instead--just for a moment--tugging Alex against her and making a show of going back to sleep.
"Does yesterday count as my private show?" Alex thoughtfully murmurs into her shoulder and Steph laughs into her hair, eyes fluttering closed as they relax into the bed.
She'll worry about how totally ambiguous and definitely not friendly this is later. Right now?
She agrees with Alex. It does feel calm.
The rain gently patters on the windowpane outside and Steph closes her eyes and recognizes that scent on the sheets, now, with ease and comfort and certainty:
Itâs Alex. It doesnât smell like anything else. It just smells like her.
"You wish."
Alex sighsâlong-winded and totally sufferingâbefore her nose tucks into Stephâs neck, the tension in her back melting away beneath Stephâs fingers. She feels it. She feels all of that heat in Alexâs body simmer lava and turn to steam beneath the cool ice of her hands.
And she knows they both fall asleep with a smile.
With IsabelleâŚI couldnât leave for a month.
With GabeâŚ
How am I supposed to ever leave when Iâm surrounded by him? At the wake, I heard everyone talking about itâabout how he died.
âMaybe it was quickâhe wouldnât have felt a thingââ
People keep saying this to Charlotte like it somehow makes it better. Like it somehow makes any of it better.
What am I going to do, tell them that it wasnât? That I crawled to the edge of that crumbling mountain and that all Gabe felt the whole way down was fear? Terror? For so long. It wasnât quick. It wasnât painless, it was injustice. It was fury. It was this hell of reality so strong that even when Ryan pulled me away, I felt it. I felt Ethan and I felt Ryan and I felt that monster in the bottom of an endless black holeâŚand I felt Gabe.
My big brother, whose face I barely remembered, lost down in the depths of the monster I thought Iâd helped quell.
Would it help if I could tell Charlotte that all he thought about, the whole way down, was them? Charlotte and Ethan. That he didnât want to go? That he still had so much more to give them?
At the wake, yesterdayâŚSteph told me that itâs not my job to keep it together but I
The writing stops abruptly, resumed down the page.
Maybe Iâm not the only empath in town.
Maybe it doesnât matter, now that Ryan knows.
Ryan and Steph actually showed up with beers and a surprisingly sincere invite to go watch a movie on their phones in the park. Ryan says itâs because they canât afford a projector and Steph is claiming that itâs because itâs just for the aesthetic (with that kind of half-smile she does). They held open the door and they bothâŚfelt so sad and hopeful that I went, anyways. Itâs kind of hard to turn them both downânot when I knew how much they wanted it to work.
Donât get me wrongâI hated every single second of it. All I wanted to do was crawl in bed and stop having to smile, or pretend, or do anything at all. But I also kind of loved it, too. ItâŚdidnât really feel like they wanted anything from me. It felt like I didnât really have to do anything but follow them outside. They let me into their world and IâŚ
I donât know.
When mom died, I was forced to leave.
With Isabelle, I couldnât leave, at all.
With GabeâŚI could have drowned in it. But I didnât.
I donât know what it means. Maybe Iâm not supposed to know what it means.
Maybe all I know is that now Iâm not feeling it alone.
Steph saluted when she left and Ryan walked me up to my door like a total gentleman and even now that Iâm sitting here, surrounded by pictures and memories of Gabe that I wasnât inâŚI donât feel alone, anymore.
I feel like these memories belong to me. Like they mean something. Like they canât be taken away.
The rain has settled on the pavement outside, turning into soft moisture in the airâso light it can barely sink into the lungs of the sparse tourists traipsing down Main Street.
Itâs barely a mist, now, drizzling against the pavement, rising steam up into the warm afternoon air.
The âbe back wheneverâ sign is flipped on the rain-dotted glass of Tradersâ closed door, a faint percussion beating beneath the gentle breeze and the rain outside behind chipped wood. Barely thereâonly found if looking in the right places.
Inside the closed-off store isnât the worldâs most intimate display, but it feels like it to a performerâa black box theatre show for two.
Stephâs hands curve around sticks and Alexâs back against the wall with a guitar sheâs been talked into grabbing, both of them jamming out like thereâs no tomorrow. Like the music was just there, waiting for hands on strings and feet on snares to show up. Like the music was always thereâlike a song that Steph got stuck in Alexâs head, waiting to break out into the soft store sun.
They rock out underneath a Girl Power poster, voices settling on top of each other in harmony, no audience.
She canât help but wonder if Gabeâs the only one watching this performance, too, rocking out somewhere up in that big old skyâŚ
But when Alex smiles at her, initial nerves bled out into ease and confidence and something thatâs justâŚso beautifully, wonderfully AlexâŚ
Steph realizes it doesnât matter, anyways.
This showâs just for them, and thatâs okay, too.
Maybe thatâs what was missing, all along.
Maybe itâs not that bad.
Maybe being here with AlexâŚitâs not that bad, at all.
I hopeâŚI can help Steph and Ryan like theyâve helped me.
I just need to work through my own shit while doing it, right?
And part of that is turning that fear of Gabeâs into something else, isnât it?
Part of that is turning that fearâŚinto finding who did this to him.
Part of that isâŚlearning how to let go.
Maybe Steph was right. Maybe my job isnât to keep it all together.
Maybe my job is finally learning how to let it all fall apart regardless of whoâs picking up the pieces.
I remember Dr. Lynn telling me that itâs not my fault that things are brokenâŚand maybe that includes me. But maybe everyoneâs a little brokenâjust as broken as meâso maybe Gabe wasnât omniscient and was wrong, just about this.
And maybe thatâs okay, too.














