FREYAAAAAA hi baby <33
made up fic title: tumbling down your street
ooh or for a challenge: you can't be a flat earther!
LOOPS omg. these are so much fun!! thank you for them :,,) I'M HERE FOR A CHALLENGE. LET'S GO YEARN.
you can't be a flat earther! has dieter bravo written ALL OVER IT. childhood friends, perhaps? someone who grew up with dee and knows all his quirks and has seen him through every crazy, cool, and horrible step of his unfathomable rise to fame. the kind of status that has hives of staff and super fans flocking at his heels wherever he goes. no more late night grocery store runs for snacks, just the two of you. no more sundays at the park smoking pot and watching the birds swing through the clouds overhead. no more living together, where he could crawl into your bed whenever he couldn't sleep and beside you pass out immediately.
but a female roommate was not good for his image, according to his publicist. dieter disagreed until the paparazzi snapped a photo of the two of you leaving your apartment, hand and hand, and the tabloids had a field day. your name was everywhere. your parents' too.
for dieter, the world went red. he'd never been so mad in his life. it was one thing for him to be followed, tailed, stalked, prodded - but you were untouchable. you were off limits. no one got to fuck with you. so he moved out, covered his portion of your rent for the rest of the year and moved into some giant, tasteless, empty penthouse downtown with security posted in the lobby. for weeks after the move he slept like shit - reaching across the mattress for you.
you still see each other, of course. but it's different. he's hardly ever in town and you've got your own life. these days all anyone does is placate him, say yes, mindless and boring. when he's working, sometimes all that gets him through a shitty day is knowing you always pick up his calls.
because you know him too well to paint on some plastic smile. you never tell him what he wants to hear unless you actually believe it. so you're the one he calls when he's fallen down some rabbit hole after one too many edibles and is freaking the fuck out. you'll tell him if the world is ending, right? you won't sugar-coat it. dieter insists he's discovered irrefutable evidence that the earth might not be as round as people like to believe? you, trapped in the pixelated screen of his phone, correct him hastily, firmly. tell him he is not allowed to be a flat-earther, that he's smarter than that, and all that tangled-up panic in his chest just... unwinds. like magic. his paranoia clears like fog burned away by the sun.
then it's just you and him on the phone. lying in beds continents apart while you tell him about your week. about your normal-person job and normal-person life and the normal-person date you had that he's privately relieved to hear went terribly. about the painting you can't get right that you know he'd see just how to fix. he promises he'll help you out when he gets home and neither of you acknowledge that his return will be months from now, at best.
sometimes he misses you so much it feels like someone's got a crowbar wedged between his ribs and is wrenching them apart. he tells you as much, and for a second the video freezes you to a single frame: eyes swung high to your ceiling, glassy with tears. by the time you stutter back to catch up with your voice, the glimpse of it is gone. maybe he imagined it. maybe you don't miss him in the same way.
"don't worry, dee," you coo to him - your voice sweet but not as sweet as it is for real, in person. still he clings to it, knuckles white around his phone, gripping too tight as he nods. you smile sadly and a rib splinters in his chest. "gonna see each other soon. then you'll be sick of me."
you're joking, smirking, but to dieter it isn't funny. he's never sick of you, never has been. never will be. and that's the problem, isn't it? that he's got everything and could have more. could snap his fingers and have just about anything delivered within the hour. but for all his having he'll never again get what he really wants - to spend all his days with you, never sleeping in separate beds.
send me a made-up fic title game
