You're a scientist, so you're addicted to seeing everything explained in a totally rational and scientific way. You never quite believed in inexplicable anomalies or paradoxical contradictions, and Vriska Serket, with her full blue lips that smirk so naturally, may be a complex formula, but is in no way an exception.
She's the acid, sulfuric and volatile and burning to the touch. You're the water, cool and calm and ready to drown sorry fuckers when needed. It's common knowledge that when water is added to acid, a particularly violent reaction is unavoidable. Adding acid to water would nullify the blast, though, and you can't help but wonder if things would be different had she approached you first.
—
She walked into pre-calculus class like no one's business. Quite literally, she barged right in between people that were previously having conversations without any regards to their personal space. You're doing some catch up with a friend after the long summer, lounging lazily in the corner of the classroom, and you weren't anywhere close enough to tell her to stay the fuck out of your seat. So when the warning bell rings and you finish chatting with your pal, you come right up to her with a no nonsense tone.
"You're in my seat," you tell her simply.
"Oh, am I?" she asks, tone so sickly sweet and fake it almost makes you want to throw up. "And where is your name written on this desk?" Her eyes betray her quite well, and it is clear that she thinks you aren't worth the shit off her shoes. You've never met her before— she must be a new transfer for this junior year— so you find her hatred a bit unmerited. That being said, you decide to make damn sure it is merited.
"Did you not fucking pay attention the first time," you reply in a condescendingly slow fashion, "or is that jungle of shit you call hair screwing with your ability to hear?"
You slam your bag down on top of her pile of books, glaring down at her harshly. Her artificial smile disappears and her eyes narrow into a harsh glare. Her innocent facade is back in a flash, and she stands up to walk to the teacher. They share a few words that you can't hear, and soon the pair of them walk over to approach you.
"Mister Ampora, I'm afraid you're going to have to move," the teacher tells you with an apologetic smile. "Miss Serket won't be able to see the board anywhere else." The black haired girl stands behind him, and she's smirking triumphantly as you're forced to stand up and move one seat back. That bitch.
Over the course of the class, you make sure to pull violently at her hair and kick her chair as often as you can. She just effortlessly flips you off without even turning around to face you and flicks chewed gum right at your nose.
Energy cannot be created or destroyed, yet she constantly seems to exude it in the form of suavity and self confidence. The room is hotter when she's in it and her touch is charged with a shocking electricity. She releases more energy than the goddamn sun but you know for a fact that she can't be a star.
—
"Nice scarf, asshole. I wasn't aware the dork convention was in town."
You tense because you recognize the husky voice and the sharp disdain that rings with her every tauntingly rhytmic syllable. There's a slow click, click-a, click, and you register the new presence exuding heat behind you. When you turn around to face her, you first notice that she looks damn awkward in her strappy dark blue heels. Her dress is girly and ghost white and nothing you'd ever expect from her, but she's still the same old Serket with her infuriating, blue-lipped smirk.
"Yeah, and where'd you find your plain excuse for a dress— your grandma's closet?"
She doesn't reply, instead innocently picking up the end of your blue scarf, looking at it with an blatant mix of disgust and boredom.
"If I didn't know any better," she says, "I'd say you were fishing around my grandma's wardrobe, too."
The scarf tightens around your neck as she tugs at it, and you smack her hand away, loosening the strip of fabric around your throat. It's suddenly hotter and you want to take it off, but she'd probably take that as a sign of you giving up, so you digress, shooting her a glare instead.
"What the fuck are you even doing here, Serket? I thought homecomin' had a strict 'no hags' policy."
"In that case, I should call Mr. Andrews over and collect my reward for booting your ass out of this dance!"
"If anyone's leaving this dance, it's gonna be you, runnin' out the door crying when I hand your nonexistent ass right back to you."
"Staring at my ass now, are we, Ampora?" The grin she flashes at you is nothing short of pure evil, and you swear that her canines are actually glinting. "Well, it's not like you were ever familiar with tact to begin with."
You're about to snap back at her— something about tact and not being able to stare at what isn't there— but you're interrupted by the familiar head of messy brown hair that materializes right beside the silver tongued wench.
"I see you two idiots are acquainted, and I use that term in the loosest, fucking way possible."
"Karkat," you and Serket blurt out at the same time. The glare she shoots at you is electrifying and you stare right back.
"Wow, the actual fucking hatred in the air is so think I could cut it with a knife! In fact, someone should just hand me my goddammn sickle so I can slice this asshole to shreds before we all fucking asphyxiate over here."
You break your glaring match so you can meet Karkat's gaze and pointedly roll your eyes at him.
"You are literally the most verbose doofus I've ever had the misfortune to meet," you tell him seriously. He shrugs in that sarcastic, Karkat-copyrighted way that conveys just how much of a fuck he doesn't give without actually flipping you a casual finger.
"Are you two going to make out now or what?"
Your blue eyes flit back to her and she's wearing her signature shit-eating smirk, eyes twinkling deviously. While Karkat opts to facepalm, staring up at the ceiling as if asking a higher being what the fuck he did to deserve all of this, you stick your tongue out at Serket in a very dignified and mature fashion. She replies similarly and soon enough, you two are flicked behind the ear by an irritated Karkat.
"I am surrounded by immature douchenozzles who couldn't grow up if they were drowned in instant grow fertilizer."
She scoffs, saying she's going to go get a drink, and walks off, leaving you and your friend alone. You can't help but notice how her feet wobble slightly as she walks, but she still holds her head high, sniffing at everyone who raises an amused eyebrow at her clumsy saunter. The well dressed students on the receiving end of her sharp gaze tonight all avert their eyes when she catches them whispering about her.
It's a situation reminiscent of the way she traipses down the hall in her beat-up red Converse; you've seen the underclassmen and even a few upperclassmen shrink back against their lockers.
It'd be almost funny to see the lanky, four-eyed girl get such a reaction from those wimps if the fact that she actually got the attention didn't irritate you so much.
Observation is the basis of science. You're not staring because scientists don't stare. Any stupid asshole who wasn't actually stupid or an asshole would know that you were merely observing. And fuck is she a sight to observe.
—
She joined swim team. Why the fuck did she have to join swim team? If you were team captain, you wouldn't have let her touch that uniform with a sixteen foot pole. Unfortunately, your cousin Fef was captain and she was glad to accept that stupid bitch. If you didn't love your cuz so much, you'd probably give her the silent treatment. Plus, you and Feferi carpool home everyday. Even if you're out with a twisted ankle (it wasn't your fault that fucking Karkat didn't know how to properly fix a fucking bike wheel), you're forced to stay until practice is over.
So you're sitting on the side of the pool, feet dipped in the water as you glare moodily at the swimmers that fly past. The aforementioned bitch is trying to race against your cousin and you find yourself watching her.
She isn't elegant in the water, moving like some fucking mermaid goddess or whatever shit the overrated romance novels liked to say. No way. If anything, she's scary. She moves quicker than you ever could have given her credit for, easily keeping up with Feferi. Cutting through the water with each practiced stroke, she is a bullet, racing with the intent to kill.
Where did she say she moved from— Newport Beach? It was some beach city close to the ocean. Judging by her dark tan, she was outside often, probably in the ocean. The way she swims, it's as if she expects tumultuous waves to try and push her back at any second. Of course, she's in a pool, so that doesn't happen. It doesn't change the fact that she's fighting the water and holy shit, she might even be winning.
A cheer echoes from across the pool, followed by the familar giggle of your cousin. Serket is grinning widely, breathing heavily as she high fives Fef. It was a close race and you're not entirely sure who won from your vantage point, but the two seem perfectly at ease with the results as they climb out of the pool. Fef heads off to the showers while the other girl stays behind, grabbing her towel and drying herself off.
Let it be known to all that you are not staring. Your blue eyes are not following the curve of her back as she bends down to reach her feet and they sure as fuck don't continue to stare as she runs a hand through her matted locks and wrings them out tantalizingly slow.
When she turns around and you feel her accusing gaze upon you, you're not looking at her, eyes planted firmly on your feet as you kick the water lazily. Only when you feel that she's not looking anywhere near you do you tilt your head up again, and by then she's fully changed and walking out the gates.
For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Even before you knew jack squat about physics, you've heard those words at least twice. You'd like to think that whatever shit she does doesn't effect you, but even you can't argue with the likes of Newton. The old scholar would be rolling in his grave if he ever had the chance to measure just now unbalanced your two forces were.
—
Her presence is now considered an everyday thing at your shaded grass patch during lunch. As if having her in five out of seven of your classes and four days a week at swimming practice isn't enough. Thank you, universe, for taking so much pleasure in fucking you over royally just for the hell of it.
She doesn't sit by you, which you are grateful for, but she's still plants herself within your eyesight. Looking up from your food cannot be achieved without the familar sight of her blue makeup-stained face taking up space in your field of vision.
Your red head cousin adores her, and the two often talk about swim team or the marine biology class that they share. You have that class, too, but you refuse to take part in their conversations on account of dangerously high bitch levels. Feferi says that you two have a lot more in common than you may think, and coaxes you to join in on their conversations. You politely decline because the only thing you two have in common is how you both scoff at the idea that you two may have a lot in common.
Terezi is fine with her, too. You could've sworn that they knew each other before this somehow, but neither females ever say a word regarding that. They talk about everything, pretty much. One particular conversation included the topic of that new alien sci-fi novel by some hotshot author whose name you couldn't remember. You remember that conversation because it ended up with you and Serket debating about how her favourite character— some 'badass' pirate chick— was actually a sissy bitch who never got her hands as dirty as one might think and how the affair between her and your own personal favourite character was not stupid and very intriguing. You two were also late for class that day.
It's also come to the point where it's almost weird if Karkat isn't sitting by her. He may be your best bro, but you're not above half-jokingly calling him a traitor for choosing to situate himself so close to that witch in disguise. He just rolls his eyes at you and says that, contrary to what you may believe, not everyone is ape shit bananas as you and that Vriska was actually pretty damn cool.
"If you can get over her chronic melodramaticness and cutesy bullshit, though," the grey eyed boy adds as an afterthought.
Serket scoffs, punching him on the arm and quipping about what an 'aaaaaaaabsolute charmer' he was. She's wearing this weird, amused half-smile-half-smirk and you can't help but notice how grey eyes dart over to watch her and the corners of his own mouth twitch up into something dangerously close to a smile. You also can't help but notice when her hand moves to rest on top of his and he doesn't recoil in disgust like any sane person would've.
You find yourself frowning as you watch them. Obviously you must be one shit scientist because you never noticed just how close they were sitting before now or how often their eyes would flit over to each other and holy fucking shit—
"Are you two dating?"
Karkat's face flushes a bright cherry-red and his expression is an odd mix of sheepishness and guilt while bloody Serket decides to smirk, shooting you a look that practically shouts, 'And why would you care?'
Your best bro opens his mouth to reply, "Well, um, kind of," but it barely registers because you're standing up with your backpack and the remains of your lunch and storming off in a way that you'd look back upon as artfully dramatic.
You hear Feferi shout, "Eridan, wait!" as she scrambles to grab her things and run after you and faintly, you can hear that stupid husky voice laughing as she asks, "What the fuck is his problem?"
You can't say you're a big fan of changing your hypothesis halfway through an experiment. It's not wrong or anything because whenever something new makes itself known, one must adapt. Not everything is cookie-cutter perfect, you learn, and all things are suspect to change.
—
You're standing in front of her quaint, suburban house, not sure if you should ring the doorbell or not. The large, cherry doors have small glass windows at the very top, so you couldn't tell if anyone was inside. How you ended up here was rather simple.
You had chosen not to comment when she missed a few days of swim practice. But when those few days turned into two whole weeks and the spring prelims were coming up fast, you started to get annoyed.
"Where the fuck is that no good bitch?" you grumbled heatedly as you and Fef walked to the changing rooms after school. She was frowning and her eyes were downcast as you waited for the reply that didn't come.
"Doesn't she know that prelims are coming up? It's is out last big competition before school ends!"
"Eridan," you heard your cousin whisper, and her voice was flat— not the perky, bright tone you were so used to. "Don't be so hard on her."
"What the fuck could be more important than this? We've been practicin' all goddamn year for this!"
"She's going through some stuff, you know. Haven't you noticed her being absent from school?"
"Well 'a course I fucking noticed! I also noticed Kar being extra moody, too, but I really don't think one stupid break up can be enough for her to miss this much practice."
Feferi sighed, shaking her head. She didn't say anything and you resisted the urge to snap at her for not telling you shit. Needless to say, swim practice and the carpool ride back home were pretty awkward between the two of you. That night, you were able to find out where she lived from Terezi, and that was how, on this pleasant Saturday afternoon, you found yourself here.
You take a deep breath and steel yourself, gingerly pressing the button and hearing the doorbell chime musically inside— a depressing tone that sounds kind of like church bells during a funeral. It makes you frown.
The door opens and you're met with a girl that looks a lot like Serket but definitely isn't her. Her hair is neater and shorter and she's wearing a dress that's a sad shade of blue. The way she regards you is nothing short of utterly and completely tired.
"Is Serk— um, Vriska here?" you ask lamely.
The girl nods silently and disappears for a few seconds, coming back with a familiar head of messy black hair in tow. The first things you notice are the dark circles under her eyes and the absence of blue splattered across her face. The look she shoots at you is harsh and questioning, and she steps out onto the porch, closing the door behind her.
"What the fuck are you doing here, Ampora?"
"You look like shit," is the only thing you can bring yourself to say. On any other day, you're positive that she might slap you. But today, she just glares at you past hardened brown eyes.
"Yeah, thanks for the memo, captain obvious. Now, care to tell me what the hell you're doing at my house?"
"You've been skippin' out on practice," you tell her simply. "In case you didn't fucking know, prelims are next week. I'm not going to let you screw this competition up for us, Serket."
She scoffs. "Looks like you're still the same, oblivious tool you were when I left," she says flippantly. "Has it ever occurred to you that I might be busy dealing with more pressing shit right now?"
"Oh please, so you broke up with Kar— boo fucking hoo. Cry me a goddamn pool and get your ass in it because you're part of this team, too, no matter how much I hate to say it."
"You really think this is about Karkat?" she exclaims incredulously. The laugh that follows is harsh and humorless. "I get that you boys have big egos that need to be stoked, but not everything concerns you."
She turns around to open the door, but you place a firm hand on her shoulder.
"Look, I'm just here to tell you to get your useless self back to practice before you royally fuck up the last competition of our year. Whatever 'personal shit' you have goin' on, I'm sure you can shove it to the side just as easily as you shoved school to the side."
She wrenches her shoulder out of your grip, flinging the door wide open and stepping in. She faces you one last time with blazing eyes and an impassive face.
"Why don't you come back and tell me to forget what's going on when your dad decides to start drinking again and fucking dies because of it, too!"
The heavy door is slammed gracefully in your face, and the ringing has long since left your ears when you register exactly what she had said. Walking back to the bus stop with your hands jammed in your pockets, you kind of feel like the world's biggest douche.
Vriska ends up coming back to school on Monday, and the look of genuine surprise on her face when a bouquet of white and blue flowers tumbles out of her locker is one you don't forget.
You've had no exposure to exposure therapy and you fail to see the benefit of shoving people deeper into their phobias, claiming it will help them. Maybe you're just a bit narrow minded— and rightly so— but getting used to a problem by constant interaction with the problem sounds kind of stupid.
—
It's summer, you want a car, and you don't have enough money.
So now, you have a job, too. Wow! Yeah! How exciting!
Not really.
In fact, the only somewhat exciting thing that has happened to you so far was the day you first walked into work and came face to face with a pair of familiar brown eyes. She asked you incredulously if you worked here, and when you replied positively, she snorted because oh my god you're the new employee she has to train. That experience wasn't really exciting, so much as not boring and monotonous like the waiter job you're assigned.
You're used to seeing her face every day now, save for weekends. It's not like you enjoy her presence or anything. Her presense is usually just followed by a fast paced repartee full of sharp insults and crude names. It wasn't even that mentally stimulating. In fact, it was about as enjoyable as getting bisected through the waist Texas chainsaw massacre style. Which is not enjoyable in the least.
She probably doesn't fondly reminisce about the silly pranks you pull on that lazy sophomore chick and the snide jabs you make at your grouchy boss behind his back, and neither do you. You don't stick around for an extra half hour after work to see her get picked up by her sister and you certainly don't accept way too quickly when she asks if you want to get lunch with her.
"I don't know how they manage it, but these fries are somehow shittier than ours."
A passing waiter shoots her a venomous glare, but the black haired girl completely ignores him, opting instead to idly poke at her food. When the waiter has disappeared into the kitchen, she laughs wickedly and you shake your head.
"Some queen of tact you are, Serket. Five bucks says the manager will kick us outta here before our lunch break is over."
She throws a greasy, overly-salted fry at your face and you swear loudly, earning glares from the adults that sit in the booth behind you.
"Lunch break ends in a few minutes, Eridan. You're just setting yourself up to lose."
You wipe the grease off your glasses and throw the offending fry back at her. It lodges itself in her hair, refusing to budge even when she tries to shake it free. She's meticulously picking the food out of her hair when a tall woman in a half-rimmed glasses approaches you.
"I've been receiving complaints about the two of you," she drawls, eyeing the logos on your work t-shirts with an obvious dislike.
"Okay," you state indifferently, and the scowl on her wrinkled face grows more pronounced.
"And I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you two to leave. Now."
Vriska shrugs, standing up.
"We were just leaving anyway," she says with a feigned nonchalance. "I can only stand so much grease in my fries before I need to throw up."
The look on the elder lady's face is nothing short of scandalized, and you hold back a snort. Vriska grabs you by the wrist because apparently you're too slow and drags you out, keeping a straight face the entire time. As soon as you're out the doors, you let loose the laugh you were holding back and she's snickering, too.
"You're fuckin' horrible," you tell her seriously and she grins, punching you on the arm.
"I'm honest," she she retorts as you head back to your workplace.
"Vriska Serket— honest? Man, Vris, where the fuck did you steal that sense of humor?"
She sticks her tongue out at you as you roll your eyes, holding the door open for you both.
"Oh, and you owe me five bucks."
Analyzation of data is just as important as collecting that data to begin with. You're plenty guilty of holing yourself up in your bedroom with a whole pack of Monster just to focus all your attention on that step. The last few hours of your energy rush are usually spent over thinking just about everything, but the psuedo-hangover and buzzing sense of creepy self-awareness are soon gone and everything's worth it in the end.
—
You're sprawled out on your bed, not wanting to move an inch as the fan circulates cool air a bit too slowly. It's the end of July and 98 degreees is twenty fucking degrees too hot for your spoiled, Californian expectations. Staring up at the ceiling and tracing moving patterns across the textured surface has kept you occupied for a good while. You see a sea-dragon, a pirate ship, a girl flying through the water with a power unparalleled.
She's not pretty, you think, closing your eyes.
She's certainly not the pretty that you're used to seeing in everywhere from magazines and tabloids to that jade-eyed clerk that smiled at you in the bookstore.
Her features are sharper than the soft visage you see in other girls and her chin is a bit more pointed, too. Her nose is angled and skinny and the way she always seems to hold it just high enough to be nonchalantly domineering annoys you to no end. It doesn't help that the same nose has been disdainfully turned up against you countless times before.
And when you looked closely, you could see that her eyes are different, too. Her right eye is a lighter, grey-flecked brown than her left in the most stupid, stupid, mesmerizing way. The silver glasses she sports are unnecessarily large, but she doesn't look hilariously bug-eyed in them, as one might expect. If anything, she's some harsh, unforgiving owl as she silently observes and mentally judges from behind her shiny spectacles.
You think the way her jet-black hair is horribly unruly and wild reflects her personality— uncontrollable and unrestricted. It wouldn't really come off as much of a surprise if, in fact, she didn't brush it. Her hair is a amalgamation of tangles and sparodic curls, countless frizzy strands sticking up here and there. She plays with it a lot, tugging at it and running her fingers through it in a way that always ends with it looking a bit more disheveled, and your fingers twitch with the desire to fix whatever she just fucked up. It's not as if you want to run your fingers through her undoubtedly coarse hair, though; the mess just really irritates you.
You'd expect someone with her face to have thin lips that always seemed to curl down into some disgusted leer because she often comes off as that kind of bitch, but she doesn't. Her lips are unfairly full compared to her face and when she smirks, she tends to flash the slightly crooked teeth of hers that were never quite as white as they could've been. A obnoxious shade of blue lipstick is always painted across her mouth, and some days you just want to wipe it off her face with your fist. Smearing it off with your own lips might be a close second, but you try not to think about doing that.
Oh, and not to mention her scars. Three, faded claw marks run uniformly across her right arm from the middle of her forearm to her wrist. Stupid girl and her stupid hero-sob story involving some stupid, albino dog. You don't hesitate to tell her that the story she regales about saving a little girl from a rabid, white haired demon-dog is utter bullshit and that her moronic face was what angered the dog into attacking her. She just laughs and shakes her head at you as if you're some kind of lost cause, but you think your theory is reasonable enough; she's proven multiple times just how irritating her presense can be and you can't stand it.
Even the way she talks somehow gets on your nerves. Her voice is husky and clear, sometimes scratchy, sometimes smooth, and always replying with the sharpest words in a way that you're never going to forget. A deviously teasing and condescendingly amused tone is one she loves to direct toward you. You think you do a bloody good job at throwing it back at her, with a little extra venom, but she just smirks back in that same indiscernible and breath catching way.
You open your eyes and everything is blinding.
No, she's not pretty, you decide finally. Her thin hips don't sway in a way that makes you stare and her sharp wit doesn't always keep you on your toes and excited for more. Her laugh, when it's heart felt and genuine, isn't the best damn thing you've ever heard and she sure as fuck doesn't mean more to you than you'd ever care to admit.
You're falling fast and hard into somewhere uncharted, with no net to catch you or air resistance to slow you down. Newton's first law dictates that you'll just keep falling forever, and, while the experience is thrilling, you're a bit scared about where exactly you're headed.
—
You were never fond of the L word. Obviously, you aren't some spineless tool from Karkat's romcoms that refuses to use the word love. You just don't really see the point of it.
Like— why not? Lust— sure. But love? What the actual fuck is that? 60% like and 40% lust? An even mixture between the two or a balanced cycle that regularly interchanges them both? Who the fuck knows?
Your brother throws the word around more often than not. He also has a new boyfriend and/or girlfriend almost every month or two, as well, so you're pretty damn sure he wouldn't know love if it bitch slapped him and mussed up his meticulously greaser-styled hair. Those cigarettes of his only served to make him more brain dead and insensitive than he already is, and you're devising an experiment just to prove it.
Your parents aren't the best models for the word love, either. Well, it's actually just your one parent. You don't know anything about your mom, save for the fact that your blue eyes and platinum hair came from her. She left when your brother was five and you were two. Cronus seems indifferent to the fact and isn't afraid to swear at her whenever the topic comes up. It doesn't come up often because your dad doesn't like to talk about her, and when he does, his voice is quick and curt and tinged with bitterness. Your family might be a bit messed up, but whatever.
In fact, the only things you might know about love are the things you inadvertently picked up when Kar would play his cliche romcoms and you would fail to tune them out as you tried to read your historical fiction novels. Even what you got from there is probably a bit of a stretch because, let's face it, those movies are as cheesy and predictable as the sun is bright. Which is to say, they are total crush fodder for stupid babies that can't grow a pair and kiss the damn girl. That being said, you probably don't know jack shit about love.
All you know is that the first thing that comes to mind when you hear that word isn't anyone or anything specific. You just hear a painfully familiar laugh— passionate and real and pure— and it fades away before you can place who it belongs to or why you want so badly to hear it again.
Potential energy is the energy an object has due to either the object's position or the arrangement of parts in the object's structure. A roller coaster cart at the very precipice of a hill would have a lot of potential energy. She and you teeter at the very top of your own hills, too, where everything is a potential but nothing is quite in motion just yet.
—
She knows she's doing it. She has to. Who the fuck pulls themselves out of a pool after a grueling practice, soaking and tired, to simply just sit there and regain their breath in the freezing cold? She does it all the time and you're thoroughly convinced that she's insane. Well, more insane than you had originally thought.
And apparently you're insane, too, because suddenly you're lifting yourself out of the heated waters to sit beside her, too, trying and failing not to shiver and chatter your teeth too much.
She looks at you curiously, knees drawn up to her chest in an attempt to stay warm. Water saturates her hair, making it look more matted than usual, and droplets are still beaded across her arms, eyelashes, cheeks, lips. You're determined not to stare, tearing your eyes away from her face in favor of gazing out across the empty pool and the calm, gleaming waters. In the distance, the sun is starting to dip beneath the tall city buildings.
You two are silent and you can feel her eyes flickering between you and the golden-pink sunset. She's shivering too, so you take a moment to clamber up, teeth chatting violently, to grab both your towels. You drape hers around her shoulders and wrap yourself up too, relishing in the way that— yeah, it's still cold as fuck. So much for pleasant California winters.
The silence quickly finds itself turning from comfortable to awkward, and any light and warmth is quickly fading with the sun.
"You're not that bad a swimmer," you tell her quietly, voice a bit too hoarse for your liking. You clear it and continue. "I remember at the beginning of last year, I was convinced that you were a bitch and that you'd be our team's weakest link." She's looking at you, but your gaze is still sun-ward.
"I was right about the bitch part," you joke with a small laugh and a smirk, "but fuck was I wrong about the other part. You're pretty damn good, Vris."
She scoffs lightly at your quip and you prepare yourself for her scathing reply. It doesn't come.
"You know," she starts, "I thought the only reason you were here was because Feferi was your cousin. She talks about you a lot. And while you were still healing up from that injury at the start, I was preparing to give you the worst shit for your lack of swimming skills come your recovery."
"You already did that," you interrupt, "unless you've already forgotten."
"Shut the fuck up, Eridork," she snaps, but there's surprisingly no venom. "To be honest, I guess you weren't that bad."
"You guess?"
"What do you want to hear— that you swim like a handicapped beluga on weed and I didn't want to shit on your feelings that may or may not exist?"
She exhales a breathy laugh and you know she didn't mean that, so you find yourself chuckling lowly at her words. After a while, you realize that she's quiet; you're the only one still laughing and you stop, turning your head to face her.
Her face is inches from yours; you can feel the warmth tickling your face whenever she breathes. You don't remember when or how you found yourself sitting that close to her, but you don't mind. She's warm and it's comforting and, even if you can barely see her brown eyes through the dark, you know they're fixed on you just like your eyes are stuck on her.
The sun has long since gone and it's too dark to see anymore, and that's when you hear her stand up, a quiet goodbye escaping her lips before she disappears. You feel like you're missing something important, and you're almost entirely sure it's because of the girl that just left.
Halogens are some of the most volatile materials on the periodic table. She's probably fluorine— free floating, toxic, and extremely reactive— and it's a miracle how, even after all this time, she's still as unbonded as a noble gas. You don't want to mess with any of her unique properties, but you're so impossibly attracted to her that staying away is hella difficult.
—
You were never so thankful for the unheated swimming pool before now. It's blazing hot outside and the cool water feels beyond amazing. Feferi's resting under the shade of the changing room's eaves, formulating the partners for tomorrow's meet— the last meet of your high school career.
"Hey, Fef!" you shout, and she looks up from her clipboard to see you clambering out of the pool. "Almost done yet?"
She laughs as you try to peer over her shoulder while only managing to drip water all over her.
"Eridan, you can wait!" she squeals, shoving you away. "And you got me all wet!"
"You're coming back in the pool soon, so too bad."
She sticks her tongue out at you, but returns to her scrawling instead of replying. You sit down beside her, careful not to drip any more water on her. Half of the paper is a mess of magenta scribbles and scratches and a few names are written together, some accompanied by way too many question marks.
"You gonna finish anytime this century, Fef?"
"Shh, I'm thinking."
With an exaggerated sigh, you close your mouth and the sound of gel pen against paper fills the air. You hear a loud splash and a series of wet footsteps, and suddenly Vriska is standing beside you, squeezing all the water out of her hair and onto your head.
"Fuckin'—!" You bolt up, spitting chlorine water out of your mouth.
She's laughing evilly at your theatrics and Fef is telling you guys to be quiet in the background, but right now you're too stuck in the heat of the moment to care. You pull her out to the edge of the pool and shove her into the water. The only thing you don't count on is her dragging you down with her.
You don't have your goggles and everything is blurry.
You feel a pair of hands on your head as she tries to push you down deeper. Batting her hands away, you kick a few times and launch yourself out of her reach. Past the blur of water in your eyes, you can still see something that looks unsurprisingly like a smirk plastered across her face. She waves at you cheerily and flashes a peace sigh before kicking her way back to the surface. You follow her example and resurface, moving back to the edge of the pool.
A torrent of water hits the side of your head, and you don't even have to look to see who the offender was.
"Dammit, Vris, isn't trying to drown me enough for your sadistic tendencies today?"
She splashes you again. "Shhh, Eridan, shut up. I think I hear the asshole that shoved me into a pool trying to speak!"
This time, you splash her back and she cackles, ducking under the water.
"Missed me," she taunts when she resurfaces.
"Hey, Eridan, Vriska!" Your cousin is skipping over to you guys, clipboard in hand. She calls over the rest of the team, as well, and when everyone is gathered, she speaks.
"Okay, I have some potential set-ups for tomorrow's meet," she says, and everyone cheers.
"Wait!"
Everyone stops cheering.
"Before I make anything official, I want to see everyone race really quickly. We're going to do two separate ones— butterfly and freestyle. Now line up and get ready for freestyle, to the other end of the pool and back."
You and Vriska choose two connected lanes.
"I'll race you," she says with a smirk. "Loser pays for ice cream after practice."
"I hope you brought money because I'm gonna win."
She scoffs and shakes her head, poising herself to dive as soon as Feferi sounds the call. You do the same and when the buzzer sounds, you jump into the pool, determined to hell and back to win.
That being said, it's a lot of a letdown when you have to use the rest of your week's allowance to pay for two scoops of ice cream. She ends up flicking whipped cream at your shirt, you smear that across her face, and you two burst into a raucous fit of laughter, so you guess the whole excursion was worth it in the end.
You've mixed the water into the acid, and man did you get one hell of a reaction. Now, you're given a second chance. So you did what you ought to, and added the acid to the water.
—
Dancing is stupid and ties are stupid and prom is stupid. Your cousin is also stupid for somehow convincing you to come along, dateless, but to a lesser extent because you still love her. Although, watching her and and that douchebag Captor unabashedly feel each other up in the middle of the dance floor doesn't quite help the steady annoyance you feel building up against her.
You tear your eyes away from them and moodily finish the rest of your shitty punch in one swig. The paper cup crumbles easily in your fist and you throw it into the flame of the candle, watching half-interestedly as it burns to black ashes.
"Looks like the loner club's first meeting is in session!" an amused voice quips from behind. You hear the telltale scrape of a chair against wood and a whoosh of fabric, and Vriska Serket is sitting beside you in all her dark blue chiffon and silk glory.
"So, when did your date abscond?" she asks with a toothy smirk. "When you gave her back her glasses and she found out what a hideous tool you actually were?"
"Oh, ha fuckin' ha," you reply, not even taking the energy to sarcastically fake an amused expression. "You're the queen of stand up, Vris. It is you."
Her smirk doesn't falter as she folds her hands behind her head. A pair of black heels dangle from her fingers and you glance down at her feet. They were bare and a bit chafed, just as you had expected.
"And I'm single by choice," you add curtly.
"Yeah, but whose choice would that be?"
You glare at her and all you get in reply that genuine, all-out laugh that makes your stomach flip.
"Lighten up, Eridan," she tells you with a roll of her eyes. "Your utterly depressing aura may attract a rain cloud big enough to drown the entire senior class. Plus, it stinks of dorkiness and dejection. And poop."
Your glare fades away and you scoff, if only to hide the smile threatening to fight its way onto your face. She's looking at you and your purple tie and your messy hair that came from running your fingers through it too many times. You honestly expect her to make a rude joke about your outfit.
Her outfit, on the other hand, is a bit harder to insult. It's daring and simple and one sleeved in that dark blue that she works so damn well. Her short dress makes her legs look criminally long and a silver spider dangles daintily from a chain around her neck.
"You look nice," you blurt out suddenly, and her smirk evens out into a smile.
"You're not too bad yourself, Eridan, crooked clip-on tie aside."
Your hands fly up to adjust the strip of fabric hanging from your neck, and she leans over to stop you.
"It adds a perfect touch of you never actually gave a fuck," she explains, and your hands fall back into your lap because that was actually true.
You find yourself looking past her to the dance floor where your cousin and a certain blue haired asshole are still a bit too close and personal. Vriska sees your scowl and follows your gaze. When she finds what you're looking at, she has the audacity to snicker. Your eyes are drawn back to her as she's grabbing your wrist with one hand and dragging you up.
"Feferi wouldn't be all too happy if you started a brawl with her technicolor boyfriend," Vriska comments flippantly as you weave through the crowds of students. Soon, you two break free of the suffocating masses and barge into the hallways like no one's business.
Well, it was actually the business of two very familiar faces that violently jumped apart when they heard you slam the doors open. Vriska winks at her black haired sis from another miss and smirk at your best bro as you and she sprint past. As soon as you're far enough from the pair, you both release the giggles you were holding back because the bright red and wide-eyed faces of Karkat and Terezi were nothing short of hysterical.
With a pin she pulls out of her hair, Vriska is able to unlock a locked door, and that's how you found yourself sitting on the roof of the school in the midst of a pouring, June rain.
You don't mind the rain and evidently, neither does she. She sits with her feet dangling precariously off the side of the admittedly short building, and you're right beside her, tilting your head back and enjoying the perfect summer air combined with the cool feeling of rain against your face.
She leans back, placing a warm hand on top of yours, and you fail to ignore the tingles her touch sends flying across your skin. You're facing her, eyes flicking curiously from your hands to her face and she regards you with a soft smirk. Her hand reaches up to cup your cheek and the moment her lips are pressing against yours, you couldn't give less of a shit about your stupid, soggy suit.
She smells all-consumingly like the ocean and tastes so wonderfully addictive, and you come to the conclusion that perhaps prom isn't so stupid after all.
You're a scientist, so you're addicted to seeing everything explained in a totally rational and scientific way. You never quite believed in inexplicable anomalies or paradoxical contradictions, and Vriska Serket, with her soft, soft hair that smells intoxicatingly like the ocean, is not quite a complex formula. She might just be an exception.