|Under Any Circumstances
Author: sockruse PM
You do not, under any circumstances, fall in love with your best friend. This is what he had been telling himself, since those ridiculous thoughts had started stirring in his brain. So why, after everything he had put him through, did he "love" him?Rated: Fiction M - English - Romance/Drama - Sollux C. & Karkat V. - Chapters: 6 - Words: 9,303 - Reviews: 40 - Favs: 73 - Follows: 120 - Updated: 06-17-12 - Published: 01-07-12 - id: 7721101
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Author's note: I think I may have finally found my way out of my slump. But who knows. My style has changed a little and has probably gotten worse.
Eridan has a really irritating habit of slamming doors in an unnecessarily loud fashion, either to "make an entrance" or just out ignorance and disrespect for other people's property.
Probably both, you think to yourself.
You also think that thinking can't really be directed to anyone but yourself and that makes you feel lonely for all of one second.
If your shoddy lock on your front door wasn't completely broken already, it surely is now.
There's a shout from downstairs but you don't bother giving a reply, you know he'll just come bursting into your room in a few seconds anyways.
You look out the window instead.
It apparently started raining a few minutes ago - the rain hits against the glass weakly and pitifully and it makes you feel miserable and even more cliché and like a brokenhearted middle schooler in a stupid movie than you already did.
You prop your feet up on your desk and lean back in your computer chair picking at the hem of your shirt and your door slams open, the knob bouncing loudly off the wall.
Eridan's cologne smells like shit and there is a lot of it.
"Get yer lazy ass up off that chair."
"Make me," you grunt. "This lazy ass is practically fused to this chair."
"Alright, challenge accepted."
His smirk is audible.
You hear his feet scuff against the carpet as he lunges for you and you raise a hand before he makes contact.
You're not dealing with this tonight.
"Jesus, fine, cool the fuck down, fishbreath. If you say 'challenge accepted' one more fucking time I will end you."
You stand up as slowly as possible as you can just to mess with him.
And then throw yourself down on your bed, flipping him off.
"You're a sad fuckin' sight, McLispy."
He snorts and holds his arms out, backing away from you slightly with a bounce in his step and a shit eating grin on his face.
"Look at this, eh? Who got rejected this time an' who needs comfortin'? Could it be Sollux freakin' Captor? Never thought I'd see the day."
"Okay look, I didn't get rejected, he said he'd 'think about it', and I never said I needed comforting did I? You were the one who forced your way into my home. I'd say you are the one desperate for comforting."
"Yeah okay, let's shut up and watch a movie already."
"You're quick to change the subject when the subject turns to you."
This time he flips you off, though he laughs at the same time.
You guess you laugh a little too.
You hoist yourself up off the bed and you can feel your misery in your muscles and in your lungs but you ignore it because you know if you focus on it, it will hurt more.
Actually, you keep it in the back of your head because you're sort of a masochist.
You count that as ignoring it.
You give him a shove and walk past him and out into the living room that never really sees any use except for when Eridan comes over.
You don't consider it a living room really, it's more like room that only exists sometimes when you pay it attention which isn't often and is kind of sad too.
Getting sentimental over a room is stupid.
Eridan kicks his dumb hipster loafers up on the coffee table and shrugs his blazer off, throwing it over the shoulder of the couch as if he owns it.
"What do you have in mind, Captor?"
You never call each other your first names.
It's kind of an unwritten rule.
If you actually called him Eridan out loud you think the world would probably collapse into itself.
Or he would look at you weirdly and you would both go on with your lives.
"I'm feeling something Marvel-y. I'll wash away my sorrows with some butts in tight spandex."
"Nothing wrong with a little butt ogling to brighten your spirits."
You're surprised he even knows that Spider-Man is a Marvel character.
"Spider-Man," you confirm.
He cracks his knuckles and then what sounds like his entire body and you wince.
"I'm gonna go get somethin' to drink," and he's up before you can even offer to get it for him, not that you would.
"Yeah, make yourself at home…"
You spend a good minute looking for the DVD which had fallen behind the TV somehow, and pop it in the DVD player.
A "Hey, Sol?" comes from the kitchen and his tone makes you nervous.
You wait for the rest.
He was probably waiting for you to respond since he hesitates so long, but fuck that basically.
Eventually, he continues.
"Your dad's never around right?"
"Thanks for reminding me."
"I'm takin' a beer."
He's totally unremorseful, as always.
"Ampora, step away from the fridge."
"Come on, just one, I promise!"
"I will not indulge your stupid fucking habits, just grab a soda and get your ass in here."
He comes back with the entire six-pack.
"Are you shitting me, fish breath? Put it back, my dad will get pissed."
"Think of it this way," he slings it over his shoulder, and leans against the doorway with an eyebrow raised. No one has ever looked as punchable to you. "If we drink all of it, your dad will forget he even had beer in the fridge because he's your dad and we're off the hook."
"I'm going to murder you."
"I'm doin' it anyway," he throws himself down on the opposite side of the couch from you and cracks a can open.
This has probably been the most stressful day of your life.
"I hope your liver fails," you grumble as you open one too and take a sip because you're a teenager and you'd be a liar if you said you haven't done this before either.
You have no intention of getting drunk, or even finishing a single can because you're an emotional drunk and you're emotional enough as it is (you wonder if your current state is even considered 'emotional.')
You don't know why you decide to do it really.
Just because the opportunity is there, you suppose, just an impulse.
Eridan chuckles as he dribbles a little beer down his chin and tries to smooth it over.
You just press play on the DVD remote, not even gracing him with so much as an eye roll.
An hour later, you've sunk so far down on the couch that your entire lower half is no longer touching the cushions and you haven't paid any attention to the movie and Eridan has downed a total of 3 beers and is definitely drunk and is singing some shitty indie song you don't know under his breath.
You started thinking about Karkat while you just stared at your half empty can of teenage rebellion and now you want to go to sleep and never wake up unless you miraculously get everything you want when you do and you don't even know if you want that honestly.
You don't know what you want and you don't know what you expected of him.
The "I'll think about it" was a way of letting you down easy, and you see that now, and maybe you'll be able to accept that once it stops hurting.
Your lungs hurt.
Your head hurts.
Your everything huts.
Eridan falls off the couch and spills what little of his 4th beer is left on the couch.
You'll clean it up later when you're done loathing yourself.
He says, "Let's go outside," and you say, "Are you fucking kidding, it's pouring," and he says, "No trust me, come on," and then he's tearing through the hallway faster than you've ever seen a drunk person move before.
He's already standing out in the middle of your backyard when you catch up to him, his head tilted towards the sky, the water screwing up his blonde streaked hair in a way that would make him absolutely appalled if he was sober.
He left the sliding door hanging wide open and he's bound to catch a cold if he stays out there too long.
"Hey dipshit, get back in the house or I'm locking you out." You flick the lock back and forth for emphasis.
He refuses and makes desperate, clumsy hand motions that you think are his attempts to lure you out.
More frantic arm waving.
Then rushes towards you, almost slipping on the wet grass and mud, and grabs you by the arm with surprising strength and you're soaking wet.
Rain water gets in your eyes and your socks are drenched and cold and goose bumps are all over your body in places they shouldn't be.
You're glad you left your phone on the table.
It is way too cold to be outside right now.
Eridan is just staring at you through his water droplet coated glasses as if waiting for something.
He's shivering violently.
"Okay, play times over, we're going back inside."
You turn to leave but he takes a hold of your shoulders and gives you a shake.
"No!" He shouts much more loudly that is called for (intoxication at its finest.) He has a wild, almost furious look in his eyes. "You're supposed to be gettin' somethin' from this!"
"What am I supposed to be getting from this? Wet? Because I got that, let's go."
He makes a noise that sounds like a growl and a groan's love baby and it's perturbing.
His grip tightens.
"You're supposed to feel ALIVE, Sol! Alive! You're supposed to feel alive and like there's more to life than sittin' around and sulkin' like a wuss! Do you feel it? You can feel the rain, can't you? You feel cold? You feel awake? You feel irritated with me? You feel shit other than fuckin' sad?"
"Where are you going with this?"
"I'm saying there's more to life than bein' upset about being rejected, asshole! I mean look at me!" He points to himself and shakes his head and paces around and you really wonder just how drunk he is. "I've, I've been rejected more times than I can keep track of at this point, but I keep goin', for my own good! You know why? Because I have other shit to do. I have other people to meet. There's someone out there who will settle for me. Maybe Karkat isn't interested, so what? You've gotten girls before, you've probably gotten laid before who knows, you can do without. You don't need him."
You stare at him.
Just who does he think he is?
"This is not entirely about-"
"Just get on with your life already, and stop actin' like such a fuckin' loser all the time, god damn it. Grow a pair."
You remove his hands from your shoulders and walk back inside, kicking off your shoes on the mat, and then you go into your room and lock the door behind you.
You strip down to your boxers which are drenched too but you can't be bothered to change them and lay face down over the covers.
You tell yourself it's just the rain on your skin that makes your pillow case wet.
The sliding door slams shuts downstairs.
Yes Eridan, you think as the rain water falls from your eyes and down your cheeks, I am alive, but I don't want to be.
You hear him vomiting in the bathroom.