#velmaphne

She takes off her glasses, again, wiping them with the hem of her shirt, a fond smile on her face. Daphne isn’t drunk - not really, not to the degree that she can be. Drunk Daphne is, put nicely, a mess. She has a bad habit of going out with her more party-oriented friends from class and coming to Velma’s immediately afterwards, eating all the food in her fridge, and then promptly puking the next morning and apologising until she can’t speak, no matter how many times she’s reassured that it’s not that big of a deal. It’s always uncomfortable, and a bit intimidating, but drunk Daphne is also funny, and clingy, and honest, and Velma kind of likes that. Not that she’s particularly reserved the rest of the time - she’s naturally friendly, and it’s just a universally known fact that everyone in their year has been in love with her smile at some point - but there’s always a certain level of unnatural shine to her. Daphne Blake was not one to show her weaknesses to the world; only to the gang, and whoever happens to be around when she throws back the right amount of shots. Velma’s tried to join in, a few times, but she’ll never understand the hype around those tiny glasses of liquid death. She’s told that it’s about drinking with the express purpose of getting drunk, but she’d rather just sip a cider and let herself get tipsy enough to have a good time. Once she even let herself get dragged into dancing, but she’s weak, and she’d do anything Daphne asked for as long as she smiles at her like that.

Resting her orange frames back on her nose, she peeks her head around the door and sees that Daphne is, indeed, lying with her face buried into the beanbag in the corner, her body weirdly sprawled out on the floor, her shirt riding up and showing a good portion of Stomach. From what Velma can see of her face, her brow is furrowed and her eyes are squeezed shut, and her frizzy hair is sprawled around in every direction, tickling her nose. It’s cute. Or something. “It’s not early. It’s past eleven, I think,” Velma says, while really it’s probably closer to ten, but she wants to make the corpse of a girl on the floor feel better about the fact that she got wasted mere hours after the school day had ended. Fridays, huh. “He could be going to Shaggy’s, actually. They haven’t seen each other in a few days. I think he missed him.”

Daphne giggles, turning her head a little as the seat shifts under Velma’s weight. “They could just tell us they’re dating and be done w’th’it.”

“Don’t be like that,” Velma tells her, but she’s smiling. “Fred only came out maybe a week ago.”

“It’s been, like, six months.”

“Close enough.”

Daphne groans and slowly props herself up on her elbow, using Velma’s arm to lift herself as she does, making her skin burn. She looks at her and it’s one of those moments where she’s so, massively aware of how hot she is. It’s weird. Her eyeliner, once thick and sharp, is now smudged and flaking across her nose and around her temple; her hair has lost all semblance of order; her nose ring is askew just enough to be irritating; her eyes are squinting as if she’s looking at the sun, and glazed over, unfocused. She looks so messy, and natural, and it’s great, and she’s great, and she opens her mouth and says, “I don’t understand why some people at school don’t like you.”

Velma frowns. Her posture, already slumped, curls up slightly. “Gee. Thanks. I love you too.”

“No, no, I just - I mean,” Daphne sits up fully, holding up a hand and using the other to steady herself. Her tone is so genuine that her words are almost not insulting, but only almost. “You’re so. So pretty? And you know how there’s that whole - super, fucking stupid way that people in school choose their friends because - of how pretty people are, so even if you, like, use their bullshit standards, which I don’t agree with by the way, everyone should still love you, but you still have to deal with so much shit. I don’t get it.”

The compliments make her smile - Daphne’s one of those girls that will just compliment everyone non-stop when she’s loopy or tipsy. It’s one of the things she loves about her.

To be honest, Velma doesn’t like to think about where she stands in the arbitrary social hierarchy of the student body - partially because it’s not even a real thing. No one looks at two people standing next to each other in the hall and takes time out of their precious day to decide if they fit together or not. That’s just not how teenage minds work. Everyone’s too busy being worried, tired, or distracted by their own friends to care. If it was really a thing, there would have been an uproar when the four of them - a cheerleader, a friendly jock type, president of the robotics club, and a stoner - had banded together, labelled themselves ‘the gang’ and started showing up to class every day in Fred’s bright blue van, but there wasn’t.

However. This doesn’t mean that her and Daphne weren’t on different… steps of the social ladder, so to speak.

She sighs and rolls her head back, hoping her annoyance isn’t too obvious. This is a stupid thing to be thinking about. “Why say this now, anyway? That’s how it always is, Daph. I live with it.”

Daphne just hums, not looking away.

She doesn’t answer, and Velma doesn’t pressure her, so the moment stays just like that - suspended in an atmosphere which neither of them want to break. They have a lot of moments like this together. They’re usually with the whole group, but when they’re not, it’s usually just the two of them, helping each other with homework or watching a movie or any other excuse to share each other’s space. It’s always days like this - sitting in Daphne’s beanbags on the floor of her impossibly large bedroom (it scares her how rich the Blakes are), dimly lit by the table lamp, that leave her drowsy and excited and her heart full. But also, Daphne’s been drinking since before five, and that gnaws on Velma the more time goes on. She turns her torso towards her, speaking quietly. “What’s wrong, Daph? You’re not usually like this.”

Daphne flinches a little, even though she obviously tries to hide it. “It’s not - nothing, it’s nothing. I’ve had,” she stops, flopping her head forward a bit like she wants to lie down. “I’ve had a hard few weeks. That’s - it. I promise.”

“Ok,” Velma says. Even if she wants to push it, she knows that that wouldn’t help at all. If she wanted to, Daphne would talk, but until she does she just needs her to curl up with her on some beanbags and listen to her ramble, and that’s fine. Velma can handle that. “Can I stay over tonight?”

“Yeah - god, yeah, of course you can, Velm. I’ll go grab an extra pillow.” Daphne shoots up to her feet, and immediately sways, probing with her hand to find something to balance on, before Velma grabs it and tugs her back down with a smile.

“You have a double bed, dorkus. We’ll just share like we always do.” She hesitates. “And it’ll make it easier for me to force you to drink water.”

Daphne, recovering from the trip, shakes her head. “I’ve barely drunk.”

“I know, but Fred wants us up early tomorrow. Something about an art thief in the next town over. We don’t want you hungover with all that going on.”

“Fine,” Daphne mumbles, leaning forward. Her forehead lands on Velma’s shoulder, and she seems to accept it, snuggling into the material of her jumper. “Can I just. Stay like this for a sec? Please?”