Warning: Profanity and drug use.
A/N: This show deserves so much more fandom-wise. It especially deserves some good fanfics, given that Dear White People has some amazingly complex and rich characters.
Anyways, this short fic is inspired by the scene in 1x04 where Sam and Coco get high together. I love both of them, and I love the flashbacks to when they were friends.
Coco regretted talking shit about Goldie as soon as the words came out of her mouth. One second, she didn't feel a thing. The next, Goldie diminished the pain from the tracks and sent her floating.
"I feel everything," she drawled with her eyes shut and mind at ease. The dense carpet of her Armstrong-Parker dorm felt like the fluffiest of clouds at this moment.
Sam fell back onto the carpet beside her. A spacey grin graced her lips as she sighed. Goldie had her floating, too.
With Goldie between her fingers, Coco put this divine blunt between her lips, inhaling the smoke and letting it roll into the air as she exhaled. She felt the urge to pat her soothed scalp and let out a moan. "Oh yeah. This feels so good."
Sam chuckled. "Keep it down. People gonna think we're scissor sisters."
She sobered for a moment. "Wait, what have you heard?"
Both of them burst into stupid laughter, unable to take anything seriously at this moment. Weaves, Winchester, and white superiority complexes didn't mean a damn thing for the time being. All Coco cared about was this blunt and her bestie.
She took another hit. With each exhale, she tripped on paradise.
"Hey, stop hogging Goldie," Sam said, grabbing her attention.
"What?"
"It's supposed to be 'puff, puff, pass,' bitch. Not 'puff, puff, puff, no pass, kiss my ass.'"
She laughed so hard she almost snorted, mentally chiding herself for almost doing so. "Shit, my bad."
She passed Goldie to Sam once more, letting her take a hit.
"You know," Sam started, "for someone who was throwing mad shade at Goldie for being weak, you sure are having the time of your life."
"I made a snap judgement, okay? Goldie's that bitch… And you're a bitch for hiding her from me all this time."
Both her and Sam burst into a laughing fit again.
"Hey, I resent that," Sam said through her stupid giggles.
"As well you should," she replied with a laugh. "All tea, all shade."
"All offense."
Laughter again.
As time passed by and their goofiness subsided, Coco gazed at the ceiling in awe. She loved this moment, where she and Sam remained untouched by the heartless world outside of their dorm. Where she could exist as Colandrea Connors without condescent. In a languid tone, she confessed, "I wanna stay like this forever, Sam."
"Are you seriously tryna marry my blunt?"
"Oh, hell no. You know I'd rather marry the next Obama…" She sighed. "I'm just talking about staying in this moment. Existing between all the police brutality and respectability politics and other bullshit that comes with being black. I feel like I'm above all that right now. I just don't want to come down and face that kind of reality again—the reality that's out to get us, you know?"
"I know what you mean, Co. But we've got to come back down and face it eventually."
"I know. I know." She shut her eyes. "Can we pretend that it doesn't exist right now, though?" For a moment, she wanted to forget the society that wanted to forget her.
"Definitely."
Though Sam couldn't see it, Coco gave her a smile of gratitude. It was nice to get rid of being "woke" for an afternoon in favor of simply feeling alive… and also hungry.
Her stomach rumbled. "Okay, I seriously need some food."
"Same," Sam said. "Wanna check out what AP's serving for lunch?"
She got off the floor and said, "Oh, totally. I don't think I can go another minute without something in my mouth."
Sam gave her a suggestive look, to which Coco replied, "You know I meant food, bitch."
And there they were: breaking out in stupid giggling fits again.
