Visiting Hours
Acepilot
A/N - No.4 in the "Road" series. Set in the same timeframe as 'Cannibal's Hymn', ie. between Phil and Kimmi's breakup and their reuniting in 'Road Trip'. This is the first time I've tried to write from a female perspective - it's noticeably tougher, I think. This plotline - the CA - is going to continue into other stories.
Disclaimer - Chuckie and Angelica (and all other AGU characters mentioned) are property of Klasky Csupo.
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She's lying on my couch, and it's killing me.
If anyone had told me a year ago - six months ago, even - that the thought of Angelica Pickles lying on my couch would cause me any emotion other than possibly revulison, I'd have laughed loud and long. Or maybe quietly and subtly, depending on how close she was.
I yawn, streching in my inevitably-too-short bed, toes hitting the foot and fingers pressing against the wall behind the headboard. I'm not going to get any sleep tonight - I'll be useless in class tomorrow, and I know it.
And I can blame her, and that damn couch.
I could always blame her dormmate, who turfed her out so she could have sex with her boyfriend, but hey - she's easier. I'm used to blaming Angelica for things, it just comes so naturally after all these years.
Gee, I'm getting nasty in my old age.
I wonder if she's getting as little sleep as I am.
I consider writing for a while, but decide against it, as I'm in no frame of mind to construct a decent sentence. I could wake up Tommy and Lil and irritate them - I don't think I could bear to call either my sister or Phil at the moment, as I'm in no head to offer comfort, and I'm not talking to the younger DeVille, for obvious reasons.
I quickly dismiss that idea, as I think that waking those two up would lead to activities on their behalf that I'd rather not think about.
I could go get a glass of water.
Hmm. Tempting, but risky.
I glance at the alarm clock and immediately regret it. This isn't fair. I should be able to sleep peacefully in my own house, and not fantasise endlessly about the woman lying on my couch.
A woman who I have only barely managed to forge a friendship with, and that under circumstances that were ideal for neither of us. But - circumstances irrelevant - a friendship we have forged. It's something we both need, I think, given the distance between us and anyone resembling friend or family. Both starting college, both thrust into an unfriendly, foreign environment, we both seemed to cling to some last shred of familiarity. I keep expecting it to end, for her to find her groove and me to find mine, and we drift apart, seeing each other in classes but nothing more.
But that hasn't happened. We still find time to meet for coffee, or lunch, or even dinner, at least once a week. I talk to her more often than I talk to anyone else, by far. And it's a part of my life I've grown used to, but also a part I've grown to cherish, to love.
Love. Fuck.
I swear in my head. Makes up for not vocalising it all that much.
I glance at the clock again and sigh in resignation.
In the words of a fat cat, "Now that I'm up, I might as well have breakfast."
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Cereal?
I can hear plastic. Unrolling. Cereal?
The temptation is great to just remain asleep, but I can't seem to bring myself to do so. If I hear cereal, then it's probably morning. Morning means classes.
I crack an eye open and see the roof above me - the depressingly grey roof - and I remember where I am. Not at the dorm. At his apartment, because Jane damn well wanted to screw that idiot law student.
Why did I come here of all places?
Because he's a friend.
Because I'm falling for him, and spending the night at his place seemed like a logical way of trying to pick him up.
God, I'm pathetic. I really am.
I raise my head and immediately turn away from the glaring light coming from the kitchen, where he has indeed poured himself a bowl of something or other. But the window behind him still shows a night sky, and the clock shows an hour which I would not normally see it display.
"What are you doing?"
He looks over at me and smiles sheepishly, swallowing gingerly and saying in that impossible-to-hate voice of his, "Sorry, did I wake you?"
Impossible-to-hate. But at this hour of the morning, I'll give it a try.
"No, I always get up at three a.m. to eat cereal too."
He shrugged. "I couldn't sleep."
I raise an eyebrow. "How come?"
He certainly looks the part. His hair is in ridiculous disarray - even moreso than normal - and his pyjamas are rumpled, and he makes it all look somehow sexy.
"Uh...nothing in particular."
Well, isn't that interesting.
"Ah. You going to go back to bed?"
He shrugs. "Nah, probably not."
I smile fliratiously as I can. "Good. Then I'm taking your bed. Your couch is lumpy."
I kiss him on the cheek and skip off deliriously to his room.
God, that was satisfying...
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I think I'm going crazy.
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i've just posted the next one. have a look! and review, please! my life is dark, and my only light is the flame of happiness given to me by your beautiful reviews.
alright, so i ain't a poet. but please review anyway!
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