Array
(
[text] =>
038. 𝗺𝗼𝗼𝗻𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲
𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗮𝗿𝗺𝘀.
𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍’𝐓 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 to explain just how Lori felt that night, sitting there on Steve’s lap in the warm light of his bathroom, in his big empty house after everything that happened. For a good moment she’d almost forgotten about everything that happened only hours ago, she’d almost let herself forget about the monsters and the roars and the tunnels and the crazy interdimensional shit. It was insane to think about how much had happened in the last fourty-eight hours, but it was even crazier to think about where she wound up— in none other than Steve’s bathroom. And how safe she felt now. How comfortable he made her with just his presence alone.
She couldn’t really forget about the interdimensional stuff completely, and she figured she never would. But it was over now. And it was still beating at the back of her mind as she stared at Steve’s bruised and bandaged face— a grave reminder of what they’d gone through. But his big brown eyes had a glimmer in them even though his under-eye was throbbing beaneath a bandage, and he could still smile despite the gashes on his chin and cheeks so she figured it wasn’t all that bad. Besides, he could take it, as he’d said. She thought about what she would do the next time she happened to see Billy Hargrove. In a negative way.
With his hands still wrapped tightly around her waist, she let out a light laugh, and finally tore her eyes away from his face to look at the sink. She reached over and grabbed the last small bandage lying on the counter, bringing it over to her. Slowly, she unwrapped it, and he watched her with close admiration as she brought it up to his jaw, placing it ever so delicately there. Over the very last open wound.
“There,” she placed her hands on his shoulders and smiled sweetly with a breath of fresh air. “You’re all done. All patched up.”
“How do I look?” he asked.
“Do I be completely honest?” she bit her bottom lip, squinting.
“Yes.” he nodded.
“Terrible.” she said, with a growing smile. “But don’t worry, everything’ll heal in no time— and you’ll be back to your pretty face again very soon,” she quoted him from earlier.
He let out a humorous scoff, and his eyes darted elsewhere. He looked around her face, landing on the bandaid still there on her forehead. An instant flashback of the bus flashes into his mind— an image of her sitting in the driver’s seat with blood dripping down her temple. How badly he’d wanted to help her. How it practically ached in his bones to just help her. How the only thing holding him back from wrapping her up in that bus was his sheer and utter denial. The bandaid was stained deep red now, completely absorbed with blood. And he wasn’t in denial anymore.
“What about you, Philbs?” his voice came out gentle.
Her eyebrows twitched a bit, “What about me,” she said, sort of laughing a bit in confusion.
Slowly, his hand rose from the curve of her waist and traveled up to her head. Carefully, he grazed his finger over the bandaid as he studied her face in depth.
“Oh, that,” she realized. She’d kind of forgotten about the cut on her forehead for a while, and she didn’t even recognize it in the mirror when she’d walked into the bathroom. Probably because she’d gotten used to the feeling of it plastered there, and the way it fit into the new version of her reflection made it difficult to notice.
“Does it still hurt?” His face got serious as he pushed a strand of hair away from the bandaid, moving so carefully. “What if you have a concussion, do you feel anything?”
With those words sinking it, she almost broke out into tears right then. Steve, sitting right there in front of her with open wounds bandaged up all over his face, a throbbing eye, a busted lip, and bruised bones was asking if one single cut on her forehead was still hurting. As if his entire face and body hadn’t gone through hell. For a second time. If he was half dead he would’ve still been asking if she was okay at the smallest inconvenience— and that was clear now more than ever.
She blinked as a glossy layer rose quickly to her eyes. “No, Steve, it doesn’t hurt.” she said through a breath, with a coarse voice. “I’m okay.”
“Lori,” he let out a comforting laugh when he noticed the glossy layer over her eyes, still stroking his hand over her hair. “Are you sure? It looks like you’re about to—”
“I’m not—” she sucked back the tears, sniffling, putting on a weak smile. “I’m not crying,” Her heart pattered against her chest. She had her palms on his chest, rhythmically moving there with the rise and fall of his breathing.
“Then, what?” he asked, softly.
She wanted to roll her eyes at his stupidly adorable obliviousness. “Stop doing that.”
“Doing what,” the corner of his mouth ticked up in a smile. He tilted his chin up.
“Sitting there, looking like that,” she paused, letting her fingers tangle in his hair at the nape of his neck. She referred to his beat up face, “Acting like a tiny cut on my forehead is the biggest concern,” she laughed lightly. “You were doing it in the tunnels. I know you’re in serious pain right now,”
“It is the biggest concern,” he corrected. “To me it is, Philbs. I don’t care if I can barely see out of my goddamn left eye right now, as long as you’re fine I’ll be fine. Do you feel faint or anything?”
“I’m just fine,” her heart ached with admiration, a certain poignant admiration as she smiled. “I promise.”
“And I know you don’t wanna hear this,” he said softly. “But at some point you’re gonna have to realize that there’s people out here that’ll put you, Lori Philbin, first even if you don’t do it yourself,” he stared at her with honest eyes.
Her heart tightened with an indescribable feeling. Her voice came out low, “Like you?”
The corner of his mouth tugged up in a soft, honest side smile. “Yeah, Philbs.” he nodded once. “Like me.”
She didn’t know what to say other than look at him the same way he was looking at her. Deeply. Sincerely.
“And that little wise-ass, of course,” he joked, referring to her cousin, “Dustin cares about you a lot. A lot, a lot.”
Lori traced her fingers along the neckline of his shirt, swallowing. “Thank you, Steve. I mean it.”
He didn’t have to ask what she was thanking him for, so all he did was tighten his grip on her waist and stare at her meaningfully. She was thanking him for always being so honest with her, telling her exactly what she needed to hear all the time. Even when she didn’t ask for it.
“You should change it, though,” he said, returning back to the bandaid. “It’s all bloody, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know,” she fake-gawked.
At that, he pressed his hand firmly to her waist and the other to her thigh, sort of picking her up as he began to rise from the toilet. She wrapped her arms tighter around his neck as he stood, and took a step towards the counter— carefully placing her down on the top. He let out a barely audible grunt of pain from his arm— sore from when he’d fell to the floor during the fight. She didn’t hear it, too consumed in the laugh falling past her mouth and the feeling of his hands on the back of her thighs, roaming their way to the front as he placed himself between her legs.
“May I?” he asked, pausing with his hands resting on her thighs.
She moved her hands down to rest on his shoulders. “What if I said no.”
He rolled his eyes and slowly reached up for the bandaid on her forehead. “You’re, like, seriously impossible, you know that?” he said with a sigh, placing a finger on the edge of it.
She let out a giggle. “You may.” Even though he was already going for it.
She focused her eyes on his face, just above hers, and the close proximity of his chest to her own. She could smell his scent, and his legs felt warm pressed to the inner parts of her own. She focused on his face to distract herself from the stinging the bandaid caused, as he began to peel it off.
He inhaled sharply when the bandaid fully peeled back. “Jesus, how can a tiny cut bleed so much,” he asked out loud, staring at the gash on her forehead with fascination.
She laughed to herself, and focused on the fleece weaving of his shirt as he tossed the bloody bandaid into the trash and reached for a new one. There was a tiny smile stuck to her lips at the sight of his slight, but still noticeable concentration face— eyebrows all tightly knit as if placing a bandaid was a surgical procedure. He placed the fresh one on her foread, patting ever so delicately to stick it in place.
“All better,” he said, crumpling the bandaid wrapper in his hand. He stared down at her, eyes glimmering.
She moved her hand up from his chest to run it through his hair once— pushing it back to see all of his face. She smiled at the sight and how he leaned into her touch. As she brought her hand back down, he caught it before she could do anything else, taking it lightly.
“You know,” she started, watching as he turned her hand so that her palm was facing his view. “I think you’re the most selfless person I’ve ever met. I don’t care if you don’t want to admit it.”
“I could say the same exact thing about you,” he said, concentrated on her hand. “But the difference is that I know you’ll never admit it.”
He wrapped his fingers around her own and brought her hand close to his face, eyes squinting. He seemed to be searching for something, and her heart sort of skipped when she realised what that something was. He turned her pointer finger to his view, bringing it close to his eyes. He stared at the tiny little thumbtack scar, as if it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He held her hand to his face like it was a precious jewel, so soft and delicate.
“What,” she said, through a tiny laugh.
“Nothin’,” he whispered back.
Slowly, he brought her finger up to his lips. She drew in a small breath as he pressed the pad of her finger, the scar, to his lips ever so softly. He let it linger there for a moment before pulling away, still staring down at it.
Her heart practically exploded with all sorts of things, feeling her heart tighten at the unsual, yet beautiful action. She wanted to ask what that was for, but didn’t.
“How’s your wrist,” he took his eyes from the scar and looked to her wrist, trailing his hand there as well. “And your knuckles.” he gave a chuckle at that.
Her wrist and knuckles had stopped throbbing, but still, her wrist stung when she twisted it the wrong way. And her knuckles didn’t hurt anymore, they were simply tinted with a light red color.
“That was one hell of a right hook you did, Philbs,” he chuckled again, looking at her knuckles.
“Son of a bitch deserved it,” she scoffed and watched him as he evaluated her hand. “And so much more. God— I should’ve done something when he was hitting you on the ground like that.”
He moved to place his hands on either side of her legs, on the counter, leaning so his face was almost level with hers. “Don’t worry about it. It’s over now,” he assured, honestly.
“Did you look at your face yet?” she asked, staring up at him.
He realised that he hadn’t seen her work, so he stood up straight and stared at himself in the mirror over her head. As he examined his cleaned, but still bruised face, she wrapped her arms around his torso and hugged him for a quick second, before hopping off the counter. She maneuvered herself in front of him for a moment, brushing against his frontside as she moved carefully.
He stared at his bandaged face, the blood stains gone. “Wow, you really are a doctor.”
“Don’t be sarcastic,” she slapped the side of his arm, stopping at his side to stare at their reflections in the mirror.
It was unlike their reflections in the water that time on the lake, and it was sort of paralyzing how different things turned out since that day. She smiled at the thought.
“Where’d you learn to do this kind of stuff,” he asked, running his finger over the bandage on his jaw.
“Well,” she stared at his face in the mirror, evaluating her job. “My dad got into a lot of accidents when I was younger, mostly fights, I think.” she said. She’d never told anyone this, but what did she have to lose now? “I’d sit in the living room and watch him clean up because he always left the goddamn bathroom door open.”
Steve was listening intently. He ran his hands through his hair.
“I guess business men get into a lot of disagreements.” she shrugged. “Kent Philbin was what you call a hothead.”
“I suppose that’s where you get the temper from,” Steve added, nudging the side of her arm playfully as he reached for the tap.
She couldn’t help but laugh lightly. “I’ll tell you about it another time.” she said honestly, leaning the side of her body on his as he washed his hands. “If you ask me at a good moment.” she chuckled.
“Got it.” He smiled to himself at that, at the possibility that she was going to open up some day. He didn’t know when, and quite frankly, he didn’t care if she did at all. But if she did, maybe he’d tell her about his parents in return.
She took a deep breath, “Are your parents out of town?”
He shrugged, and she watched his expression shift in the mirror reflection. “Dunno. Probably.”
She nodded, not wanting to press him any further. “I think it’s time for you to get some sleep.”
“Is that so.” He returned back to his lighthearted mood. He thought about how she wasn’t asking him any more questions about his parents— sensing his boundaries. “You know, I know I said this earlier but you’re not as selfish as you think you are, Lori.”
“Hush now,” she moved behind him and began pushing him towards the door, flicking the light off with her finger as she passed.
Not a long distance from the bathroom, he flopped onto his bed, turning around to look at her. He propped himself up on his elbows. She sort of stood there, staring at him in admiration as he took in the comfort of his bed. All bandaged up. She walked to the edge of the bed, arms crossed at her stomach, a small smile on her face.
He stared up at her, propped on his elbows. And then his voice came out soft, and quiet.
“Stay with me.” he said.
Her heart nearly fell right out her chest. “Do you snore?” she joked.
“Oh my god, whatever, Philbs,” he rolled his eyes jokingly with a laugh, and pulled the covers back, leaving them open as he crawled under.
She stood for a moment as he got comfortable, letting her eyes trail around his room. In the dim lamplight, she stared at the wallpaper on his walls and the stupid teenage boy posters, the mirror, the window with the ladder outside. His jacket draped over the chair in front of his sleek wooden desk. The pair of pants lazily draped over his hamper in the corner of the room, and the half-empty schoolbag by the door. His dresser, with the cologne and other guy -things resting on top. She took it all in. She looked back at the bathroom for a moment longer.
When she looked back down to him on the bed, she didn’t really think twice before stepping climbing in beside him, sliding her legs under the covers. She knew she couldn’t sleep alone— it was too dark, too lonely, and too scary in her bedroom. She couldn’t get through the night without him. The bed was warm, and comforting. And after the bathroom, she knew she’d be comfortable there.
As she adjusted her bottom on the mattress, she turned her head to see him lie into place on his pillow with a soft grunt. He extended his arm then, to her spot of the bed, inviting her to lie down. He reached to turn the lamp off beside him as she lied down, taking a chance by placing her head on the space between his shoulder and his chest— somehow fitting right there in the groove. Her heart was beating so hard that she could feel it in her throat, and she thought that he just might hear it too. But her breath was slow despite the racing of her heart.
This inexplicable feeling of comfort washed over her when he lied into place, fingertips grazing her forearm, head leaning on hers atop the pillows. She’d never lied in bed with a boy before, but somehow it was all coming so naturally. Like they were just meant to be like this, together in each other’s arms. She folded her arm and placed it on his abdomen, feeling his chest rise and fall slowly. It all just felt right.
As she room got quiet except for their breathing, she began to think with her eyes open, staring at the ceiling. She thought about how not long ago, she was lying on a mattress on the floor of her new bedroom— a bedroom in that house right next to this one— staring up at that ceiling and wondering if she was cursed. Cursed with a terrible life. Not long ago. And now she was staring at the ceiling of King Steve’s bedroom, in King Steve’s bed, with her head on his chest and his arm holding her close.
She didn’t know how much time had passed, but neither of them had said anything for a while. Just basked in the comfort and safety of that moment.
“Steve?” she whispered after a moment, “Are you awake?”
“No,” he whispered back.
“Okay… so whatever I say now won’t be remembered in the morning, then?” she turned her head slightly, so that she could stare at his side profile in the dark.
God, was he ever beautiful.
“Shoot,” he invited her to continue, voice hushed.
“I was just thinking, you know, about everything,” she started, swallowing. “And it dawned on me that I never really explained why I was so obsessed with that stupid cassette tape— I know this is random, I ramble when I’m tired,”
He narrowed his sleepy eyebrows. “Yeah you did, on top of the bus,”
“No, I mean the specific tape itself,” she whispered, exhaling a long breath of air.
He moved his fingertips up and down the length of her upper arm slowly, letting her know she could go on.
“Well, uh, it was from my dad,” she admitted, speaking slowly. “He never really gave good gifts, shitty ones really, let alone gifts at all. But this one— it was for my birthday a few years ago— this one was just wow. Just perfect. I remember he gave it to me, with the red ribbon and all, and I just fell in love with it.”
He was confused at why she was talking about her dad now, when minutes ago she’d said that she’d talk about him a different time if asked. But this wasn’t a different time, and she wasn’t asked.
“It’s pretty much the only thing I have of him,” she said, voice going quieter at that. “So, um, I guess that’s why I was so beyond angry when I thought you stole it. That and wanting and reason to dislike you.” she let out a tiny chuckle. “Thought I should clear that up.”
His chest pattered in a small laugh at those words. He still grazed his thumb rhythmically on her arm, and she took that as a sign of gratitude that she’d shared something so personal with him.
“You don’t have to keep talking about him if you don’t want to,” he spoke out against the silence. “I like the little anecdotes.”
“Oh, thank god,” She wanted to hug him and kiss him for those words, because she didn’t really want to continue about her father. She just wanted to clear up that aspect, because it’d been racking her brain. “Thank you.”
“Is that what got you into Bowie?” Steve questioned, softly.
She nodded against his chest.
“My dad got me into Bowie too,” he said with a small laugh. “I remember I was looking through his records and shit one day when they were gone, and I just kinda took all of em’. He never noticed, or I guess he never cared to ask for them back.”
She let out a small hum, letting him know that she was listening. On the topic of Bowie, she got to thinking of the car ride back from Evansville— the singing in the car. And it seemed like he had the same thought.
“You know that lake day was probably the most fun I’ve had in years,” he admitted, and his voice sort of changed, like he was thinking back on it with admiration. “Driving home to Bowie.”
Her smile creased against his chest. “Yeah?”
“The Prettiest Star reminds me of you,” he admitted, voice so honest. “Been thinking that ever since it played in the car and I saw you strum that stupid air guitar.”
She didn’t know what to say for a second as her heart exploded. “Don’t make me blush,” she said, as heat rose to her cheeks and caused her to smile even harder. She scunched her face into his neck and tapped his chest.
“We’re in the dark,” he laughed, referring to the blushing, squeezing her arm. “Blush all you want. I promise I won’t let it get to my head.”
“You’re a terrible singer, you know that?” she laughed out loud, not even caring about the volume. She threw her head back and he clutched her tighter. “I’ve been meaning to yell you,” she was only kidding, just to get a rise out of him.
“Oh-kay, at least I’m not completely off key,” he scrunched his chin, tangling their legs together.
“When you gave me the cassette back,” she said, after letting her laughter die down. “In your driveway, you said you had more Bowie tapes if I wanted them,”
She could feel him smile at the memory. “I recall.”
Softly, she began tracing absent patterns on the material of his shirt. “I know this isn’t shouting from my window or anything…” she trailed off.
He sighed, happily. “You wanna take a look tomorrow? When it’s light out and I can walk again,”
He turned his head slightly to look at her, catching her eyes. From the moonlight streaming through his thin curtains, he took in every feature of her face and smiled. She was so beyond beautiful.
“Yeah,” she said in a breath, smile stretching from ear to ear. With a glint in her eyes.
“Alright.” he couldn’t help but smile too.
Carefully, she closed the inches between them and pressed her lips to his. They were in the dark, but the feeling of his lips seemed to light up the whole room and every vessel in her body along with it.
She pulled away, smiling, and returned to leaning her head on the crook between his chest and shoulder. He went back to leaning his cheek on the side of her head, arm stopping to rest along her elbow. And she felt now, that even with the room swallowed in darkness— she didn’t feel that fear or that ache in her chest like she did in her own bedroom. She felt safe. So unbelievably safe. Right there in his arms as he drifted off to sleep and she listened to the sound of his calm, peaceful breathing.
𝙅𝙐𝙇𝙄
i simply. am in love with them.
i love full circle-ness!!!!!! that’s not a word but i don’t care!!!!
🫶🫶🫶
[text_hash] => 7090d660
)