Some days she'll feel closer than others, like the moon easily pulling the tide in without any effort. They'll talk and she'll laugh and he'll be reminded of the fact that not everything sucks. There is just so much to love about her; she inadvertently makes him feel like it's acceptable to be alive and breathing on this earth.
But then there are other days when she is without reach, like Trent: her whole sun and stars has completely engulfed her. Far away, ghosted, unavailable in every essence of the word.
The week and days leading up to Gray's birthday are really what resemble the latter.
And it's a trash time in general.
They just feel worlds apart. Manna was right; she really is slipping.
It's that transition between the fall and the winter; when the time-zones change, when the world gets darker quickly, when the mood drops, and when the weather can't help but resemble his cold little heart. It's the lack of her talking to him before his nineteenth; distant responses and busy schedule making it very apparent that even though she will always be his number one choice, he doesn't possess that same label in her own mind. It's the fact that even though he knows he shouldn't have gotten so attached to her in their time together, he still freaking did anyway. He tells himself that not meeting her at all would be better than losing her; that he's always just been better off on his own.
Gray wishes that she wasn't the only good thing that's helped to remind him that he's sentient. He wishes that he had more excuses to help him channel his ability to feel, but he doesn't and that's why he clings to her so pathetically. He's a freaking idiot for allowing himself to show this vulnerability – Christ's sake.
The evening before his birthday, he's home alone, blasting old Green Day CD's when a knock hits the front door. He doesn't bother lowering the volume upon answering, even though his grandfather would likely kill him for not considering that it could be a customer at the door. But the old man's not even here, so whatever. Besides, it's not a customer: it's her, clothed in a thrifted winter jacket from some men's department that's clearly two sizes too big for her. Snow is falling down from the dark, clouded sky, coating the top of her beanie and the ends of her hair with white frosting. Her cheeks are pinched pink.
"Hi," Claire yells over the music.
He reaches behind him to turn the knob of his radio down. "What is it?"
She scoffs. "What do you mean, 'what is it?'"
"Sorry. Long time no see." Gray leans on the doorframe, the draft frigid against his skin. He should go throw on a clean long-sleeved shirt or a hoodie, instead of just wearing some old tank, but he hasn't gotten around to doing his laundry yet.
Claire just rolls her eyes at his dumb comment. "Whatever."
"You're gettin' me cold," he says gruffly. "Come in. It's friggin' freezing."
Her expression softens. "I can't… I'm in the middle of something-"
Big surprise there. "Shocker." It feels like he hasn't seen her in awhile; she's not training or running with him anymore outside, given the below zero weather. He's still doing it though… as an attempt to at least try and feel something.
Claire's face twists all annoyed-like, walking past him and kicking her snowy boots against the carpet defiantly, as if to prove a point. "Look, I have to go, but I just wanted to give you this." She reaches into her oversized coat pocket to produce a light purple envelope, jutting it toward his chest. His only assumption is that she's gifting him with some card for his birthday right now, given that she's probably busy and won't be able to see him tomorrow.
She actually hasn't even mentioned his birthday at all, not once. Not like he even cares to celebrate it anymore… but damn.
He glowers at the card, making no motion to take it. "What's this?"
"Payment for my tools, and a final payment for that maker shed I ordered from you guys."
Wow. Gray pushes it away back to her, trying to mask any kind of emotion from his voice. "Keep it."
Claire just tightens her mouth into a thin line, firmly clutching the envelope while marching right past him. She walks over to Saibara's workstation, sliding the card through a crack in his desk drawer; it glides in with ease. "There. It's done."
He scowls at her. "You're stupid."
"No, you're stupid. I'm not keeping a freaking tab with you guys."
"You think we need the money or something, Blondie?"
He knows her all too well, because she keeps her sapphire eyes very steady on his to avoid unintentionally glancing around the shop's tattered paint, worn-out drywall, or crumbling popcorn ceiling that quite figuratively scream: "YES, we need the money."
"I don't think that," she says, but her gaze accidentally finds its way over his shoulder, to a hole in the wall. She snaps it back forward like she's just committed a horrible transgression. "Look, I order something, I pay for it – bottom line."
"And how about when you bring us eggs or milk or dough, and then you refuse to take our cash?"
"My gosh, Gray. Don't offend me. I care about you guys; I do that stuff just 'cause."
"You care, eh?"
"... You're impossible."
"Whatever."
Claire seats herself against the edge of his own work desk. "So, for tomorrow…"
"Mhm."
"Can you bring that maker-thing over to my house? Like, in the evening? I'm busy throughout the day."
He stares at her, really stares at her. "You're serious."
"Why would I not be serious?"
Gray just nods. "Ah-huh."
"So, you'll do it?"
"Not like I got anything better to do." He turns from her, pretending to rifle through a drawer in order to keep himself busy right now. Why the hell is there a sharp pain in his chest all of the sudden? Like he said, it's not like he gives a damn about his birthday.
Not like she gives a damn about it, either.
Claire watches his movements blankly. "Are you going out tonight?"
"Out where?" he snaps.
"I dunno… to the inn or something?"
"Why the hell would I?"
"I'm making conversation, Gray."
"Yeah, no." He shuts the drawer loudly, hands gripping the wood. "I'm goin' to bed."
She nods slowly. "Alright, well, night then."
His mouth is dry and he'd love to be by himself right about now. He just wants her gone. He needs to be alone; everything's better when he's alone. And if he's ever thought differently to that fact, then he deserves a clean shot to the head.
Gray manages to gesture toward his grandfather's workstation, where her stupid payment-envelope now resides. "Don't go pulling that shit again."
"You're really mad at me, huh?" she states.
"Get lost. You got more important things to do and more important people to deal with."
Claire shakes her head at him. "You're making this whole thing so difficult."
This whole thing. Like that's not her doing. He walks over to the front of the shop, opening the door while gesturing for her to leave. "Bye."
Her mouth goes to the inside of her cheek, chewing nervously. "Please don't be so angry."
Gray just releases the doorknob, walking away from Claire silently because he's tired of the cold. His back is to her as he blasts his radio once again, listening as she pulls on their old, creaky door that's in serious need of some WD40, seeing herself out. He doesn't know what expression she's wearing on her face when she leaves; he tells himself that he doesn't care.
Y'know what, no. She often helps him to forget about it, but Gray is well aware that everything freaking sucks; he just doesn't dare confront it. Because if he lays out on the table his dad's countless relapses, his mother's pulse taken too quickly from this earth, his unrequited feelings for a girl who's got no business in loving him back, then it'll consume him.
It's just that being alive is sometimes more hard than it isn't.
It's hard for him to actually comprehend how shit things have gotten; or, have they always been shitty, but the shittiness just cultivated more and more as the years went on? It's hard for him to go out and socialize; that's why he forces alcohol into his system to do so. It's hard for him to listen to his grandfather's criticism, because the take-home message is always "don't end up like your damn father." It's hard for him to face the fact that he and his mom share a birthday around the same time, and it would feel like a sin to even remotely try and celebrate when she's six feet under and gone and decaying – and he's sick of it, sick of it all. Sick of being unhappy, sick of the anxiety, sick of people telling him to lighten up – sick of people in general. He wants all of the doubt and the white noise to stop but it just won't and you're not supposed to have people be the reason that you even want to be breathing but Claire is that reason for him, she is the only thing who provides him with that reason, and he's screwed up royally because how goddamn sad is that? He just wants a valium, wants to fall into a dreamless sleep where he won't be required to wake-up and this part is not because of her, please don't get it fucking twisted; deep down he's always wanted this because the baggage that comes with life sometimes just gets heavier and heavier – too heavy, even for him.
His music is absolutely blaring and he can't see or think straight. They don't have any benzos, but they do have a brand-new bottle of Jack Daniels. He doesn't want a drink, he needs and requires a drink to stop himself from shaking or feeling queasy – and if that doesn't make sense to you then oh well. Gray fumbles through their cabinet with the image of his mother decaying still projected in his mind; it's causing him to shake and his breathing is shallowed and this feels familiar but what the hell is happening. He needs this goddamn drink.
Locates the bottle, hijacks the bottle, twists the cap of the bottle and downs it straight like that, like Gray is sixteen again and Kai has dragged him to a house party, and he's making do with it by drinking his mind away, which helps him let loose and inevitably gets him laid and the girl will say something like, "guess you're not so mean, huh?" and he'll probably never call her again which earns him a reputation as a heartbreaker at his high school but this really just means an asshole in camouflage and Jesus, what the hell is wrong with him?
Through his bottle-searching, he's managed to knock the family photo album off of its ledge. It falls from the top of the cabinet, sprawled open to that ancient picture his mother took, where his father and Uncle Kurt are holding the younger version of him by their Christmas tree, faces inscribed with happiness.
That can't really be the case, though.
He downs a quarter of the whiskey, throat burning and eyes searing.
Standing there in the dark, nursing a bottle in one hand and picking up this photo album in the other, he realizes that maybe he wasn't ever happy; maybe he just wasn't overtly sad at one point in time.
Gray slams the pictures away, head already pounding. Shutting his radio off, he strains himself to his room, precariously replaying a DVD of that action movie sequel that he could care less about on his T.V. Just watches the screen, thinks about her, contemplates everything regarding his shitty life, takes a swig.
Rinse and repeat.
Cheers, eh.
There's three things that you have to know about Gray: two of which you may have already picked up on, and one that his mother took to her grave. This fact is something that he doesn't know whether to be grateful of or not.
The first is that… well, listen, he's got to just come out and say it… get ready… he REALLY doesn't like people. Jeez, that felt good to finally get off of his chest. Sarcasm aside, Gray hates people. And not in the edgy sort of way that makes you sound deeper than you really are; no. He really does not fuck with people. It's a Holden Caufield kinda hate (hold the angst). Like, if Gray had to go the rest of his life without talking to a new person ever again… well that'd just be okay with him. And while he has met a group of alright people close to his age here in Mineral Town, he's just a lone wolf at heart. A few of the adults chalk up his blatant, deadpanned sarcasm as quick wit, while most of the others simply write him off as a troubled punk who found his dad OD'd days after his mom's funeral.
Doesn't help that he's also one cold-hearted, mean mofo, with a bitter attitude and a hatred toward the, "well, now you're stuck here" type of situation that he got dealt with.
The second thing is that Kai was his only real friend back in Chicago. And it's strange, because Gray was actually considered to be popular in high school, but that was just 'cause everyone loved Kai and he got associated by default. He has Ann and Claire now, but before them, even his hockey teammates or boxing trainees didn't count for shit; Kai was his first and only true friend. Looking like a huge asshole (and behaving like one) gained Gray the bad boy reputation in their group, and then he'd go to Kai's many parties and drink his way out of his shell. He got wasted, felt lax, and suddenly girls weren't so afraid to be near such a mean-looking guy; plus, sex was sex, so he was totally okay with that. Most of them were just hookups, one of them became a girlfriend, but none of them love. He didn't even share half of the shit with any of them that he did with Claire. But he was fine with screwing and smoking and drinking and replicating this routine over and over and when his only girlfriend got sick of him, well, yeah it hurt but it's not like he gave her much incentive to stay. He was just always so angry deep down, so emotionally detached, but go figure that he was able to open up to Claire like it was nothing, huh?
Honestly, he's grateful for Kai, because if he'd moved to Mineral Town without him, he likely would have never spoken to another single soul ever again. He's always been grateful to have Kai around. When no one would talk to Gray in middle school because they were weary of how callous he looked, or afraid that he'd pick a fight – considering he got suspended for doing so previously – Kai (an isolated kid who got made fun of for being mixed) befriended him. And then he got popular, and Gray used his athleticism, quick sarcastic wit, and newfound Rebel-Without-A-Cause rep to stay at the top of the food chain with him. Not that Kai would have ever ditched him, but high school is a whole lot easier to exercise recreational drug use and alcohol overconsumption when you're invited to those kinds of parties for it. So, the bottom line is that while he does hate people, there's a small percentage of him that… doesn't, and he knows this makes him sound like a literal, hypocritical Holden Caufield… so, there's that for you. Gray's always felt like this, though: a walking contradiction. His good moods are sporadic, his anger and sadness annihilate him. If he overthinks it, it'll engulf him, so it's best to leave it lost in the literal grey area of himself.
The third is that his mom would be so disappointed in him. Disappointed in her husband obviously, but more disappointed in him. She always loved him, and it was only after she literally saved his life that he fully comprehended how truly lucky he was to have a mother that loved him so much. For someone as selfless as her to have felt such excruciating pain in the end… she didn't deserve that shit. If it were to happen to anyone, it should have happened to a sorry shit like him. And maybe that's why he tries to kill himself with substances a little more each time; but who knows anymore. It's just that if she saw the stack of letters in his room that his dad writes to him, the ones that go unread and unaddressed, or if she witnessed his self-destructive behaviour, she'd be Grade-A pissed. And Greek people are pretty scary when they're pissed, in case you weren't aware.
That's what there is to know about Gray. Maybe there's more.
But he honestly isn't sure.
Gray sleeps in the next day until apparently five on his birthday. He is hungover as hell, head smushed between pillows to try and block out any or all exposure to the atmosphere. There's a knock at his door, and his grandfather's voice pipes up.
He automatically groans.
"Hurry the hell up, kid. Now. Claire's waiting on that delivery."
"Wha friggin' delivery."
"The maker shed. Time's a wastin'."
Ah, man. How the hell is he going to function? How's he gonna carry that huge thing all inebriated like this? Coffee sure as hell won't suffice.
…
Well, he's still got some…
…
And he hasn't touched it since-
…
Not the first time he's done a line on his birthday.
Sure as hell won't be the last.
Okay, maybe not a line. Maybe he just needs a bump, that's it. He throws the pillows off of his head, cringing when the little crack of light from the window hits his eyes. With shaky hands, he fumbles through his sock drawer.
Produces a white bag.
Reaches for his house key on the dresser, sits up from his bed.
Dips the golden brassy shape into the powdered snow.
And brings it to his nose, miniscule particles of it falling onto his leg. He snorts it or inhales it or whatever the hell you wanna write it off as, he just does it.
Almost like instinct.
And Gray's feeling worlds better already.
Maybe not better; maybe just numb. The cocaine seeps its way into his nostrils, burning, travelling, and hitting his central nervous system immediately.
His grandfather scoffs outside his door impatiently. Panicked, Gray grabs the empty bottle of Jack Daniels from his floor and then places it, along with the blow, back in his sock drawer, shutting it with wired hands.
"Kid," Saibara says, pushing open the door with his elbow. "Hurry it the hell up."
Gray doesn't meet his eye, reluctantly rising, each of his movements careful and deliberate so that he doesn't let on a single goddamn thing.
"Hold the phone," Saibara starts.
"What?" he groans.
"You're not seriously goin' over there looking like something the cat dragged in, right?"
"It's just a delivery-"
"You're representin' Mineral Blacksmith wherever you go. Shower, nice clothes, now."
Gray makes a face. "I'll throw on some clean work clothes-"
"Now, Grayson. Don't make us look bad."
He's wired on coke, can't look any worse.
Why the hell's he gotta dress nice though. Can't he just live his life in track pants all day, every day?
"Besides," says his grandfather, lifting Claire's invoice order up to the light. He inspects it, before tapping the date at the top and flipping it over on display for him. "It's your birthday. Try to make the best outta today."
Gray just snorts. The room is fuzzy. "Yeah. Happy birthday to me."
Saibara stares at him like he's some kind of moron. The real moron is the old dude telling him to try and look presentable on a day just like any other day. "Shower. Nice clothes. Now."
Her door is left unlocked – how many times is it that he's told her to fix the goddamn thing? He pushes it open with his shoulder, the maker shed weightless in his arms. Though he's still hungover, the blood pumping in his veins tells him that he's fit enough to run a damn marathon right about now.
It's just that the shouting and screaming from Claire's dark house makes him wonder if he accidentally snorted a crushed-up acid pill instead.
"SURPRISE!"
It's a wonder he doesn't drop the freaking machinery on her floor. The lights flicker on, and a slew of familiar faces beam right back at him. There's helium-less, colourful balloons scattered across her floor, rainbow streamers hanging from the ceiling, and decretory party favours sprinkled everywhere.
He's dumbfounded.
Claire rushes over to him, taking the bottom of the maker contraption and lowering it slowly onto her floor. She wraps her arms around him tightly, grinning at him all bright and pretty and the room is spinning. "Happy birthday, Gray!"
So, she didn't forget.
… Well, shit.
"You remembered," he states, mouth agape. Does he look very high right now? He's wired and alert but... Jesus, can she tell he's loaded?
"You thought I'd actually forget?" Claire shakes her head at him with a smile. She's got on a grey long sleeve and some tattered 90's-style jeans that show off her curves. Her long hair is pulled back in a yellow braid. "I was trying so hard not to crack yesterday, I had to play it off so you wouldn't get suspicious! I felt really bad being such a jerk to you, but I've been planning this all week!"
"Plus, when are you not a jerk? Talk about a taste of your own medicine," says Ann lightheartedly, holding onto the end of a balloon. "Happy birthday, dude."
Claire smiles at him expectantly, but Gray just stares at her. His damp, nearly frozen hair clings to the nape of his neck, and he's suddenly not cold at all.
"What up, my guy?"
It's... Kai?
He emerges from the side of Claire's kitchen, Popuri glued to his waist with a smug grin written over his mouth.
"We're here for the holidays," Popuri sings, holding onto Kai a bit tighter. She's not sickly pale anymore; instead, tanned and beaming. His friend's ditched his signature bandana, and has his curls moussed all freely, accompanied with a happy twinkle in his eyes.
"We called Claire when we were in Cali and said we'd make it for your nineteenth."
"And we actually went up to Vancouver for a bit, sooo…" Popuri hands him a card with a Canadian flag on it, that literally just says, 'HAPPY 19TH! CAN I 'OFFICIALLY' OFFER YOU A BEVERAGE?'
"The drinking age there is nineteen," says Kai with a laugh. "That's… that's literally the joke."
"It's also the legal drinking age in South Korea," Karen chimes in. "Fun fact my dad told me."
"And yet here you are, in the United States, drinking two years underage," Elli adds. Gray is surprised that she's even here, given that she never allows herself to go out and do anything fun. But, she's been in a better mood for the last couple of weeks actually. "Though everyone knows that the unofficial official drinking age in Mineral Town is like, sixteen." She winks. The perks of being an unincorporated town in the middle of nowhere with a winery listed as its top business.
"Cheers," says Cliff, lifting his red solo cup. Claire holds two in her hands, handing him one and toasting her own up to the sky. Karen whoops, and although her husband next to her refuses to even look at Kai, he seems pretty okay now that his sister's back.
"This is why I didn't want you to go to the inn yesterday, either," Claire tells him, raising her voice over the music that Popuri has cranked up. "I didn't want you to know Kai was here!"
"Oh," is his brilliant reply. His head is rushing but he feels so numb right now, it isn't even funny.
Rick shuffles some cards in the corner next to a smiling Elli, as Cliff gets himself another mixed drink. "Wanna play?"
"Let's go, we're the best at 'President'," says Kai, grabbing his shoulder.
"Teach me that one!" Claire exclaims, tugging on Gray's arm. She bends down to hand him a whimpering Maggie, who immediately stops her whining upon him scratching her ears. Everything, literally everything is loopy.
But he just feels like he's on cloud nine.
"Oh," she adds, handing him a black album with a red heart hand grenade on it. "I ordered this from Jeff, it came out in the fall but it arrived in time for your birthday. Go Walmart!"
Gray takes it from her with his free hand, squinting. He's so hungover and high that he can barely make out the writing without getting all dizzy. "This is Green Day's new album?"
"Yup. American Idiot. Because I totally rock."
He gives her a smile. "You really do, Blondie. Thanks."
Claire looks over at him wildly, tilting her head like she's inspecting him under a microscope. She stops getting their Pornstar shot ready mid-pour. "Jeez, your pupils are huge right now!"
Gray is air guitaring with Kai, shrugging at her over the loud rock music. The album freaking slaps. "Really? Didn't notice."
He rises from his knees as she hands him the blue drink quizzically. But they cheers each other like tradition, and this is her first/ only shot of the night while it's his sixth. She makes a face at the taste like she always does, before sharing a smile with him. He's messed right now and it's just getting worse and worse. Or better and better… whatever.
Elli and Cliff go outside with Claire as she takes Maggie out. Ann stops cleaning up the playing cards for a moment, walking over to him with a squint in her eyes.
"How high are you right now?"
Gray tips his drink over at her sloppily. "It's hi… how are you-"
Kai straightens himself up next to him, lifting the lid of one of Gray's eyes. "Jeez, you're completely fried."
Gray just shrugs again, brushing his hand off. "Whatever."
"On what? Blow?"
He nods.
Kai swears under his breath. "Oy gevalt. We said we weren't gonna touch that shit after junior year."
"Half of us kept that promise."
"Junior year?!" Ann exclaims. She lowers her tone to a more hushed one, even though it's just Karen, Rick, and Popuri chatting on the couch right now. "The hell happens in Chicago?"
"Lots 'n lots," says Gray, downing back another drink. Clearly.
She scoffs, shaking her head at him, like she's forgetting her own patterns of self-destructive behaviour. "What were you thinking? You couldn't just like, smoke some weed or something?"
"I don't got any weed."
"Well, do not tell Claire this."
Gray just smiles dopily. "It's my birthday 'n I'll ruin my life if I wanna."
She wouldn't be mad at him over this.
… Right?
"You're dumb as hell," scoffs Ann, reading his mind. "She was like, part of her high school D.A.R.E. club that focused on eliminating teen crack-usage."
"It's not crack-"
"And she knows about your dad. She'll kill you!" Ann glares at him in annoyance. "Do not let on that you're stoned outta your mind." Annoyed, she saunters away to the couch, rolling her eyes back at him and rubbing them with her middle fingers.
"Yo," whispers Kai, slipping him a yellow-and-red Kodak envelope. "Here. My mom developed the pics for me. You might wanna look through 'em, though, before Claire sees." He leaves him to it, pulling Popuri away from the group, despite Rick's irritated sigh.
Gray frowns as he leans up against the wall, jiggling his leg rapidly while thumbing through the pictures. They feel like they were taken decades ago, even though it's only been two seasons since. His hands are still tremoring all unsteady, but he just relishes in this weightless, buzzed feeling. It's like his seventeenth birthday and his prom afterparty all rolled into one, when he told himself that line after line was a good idea because it numbed and heightened everything all at the same time. Combine that with hard liquor, and he wouldn't have to even worry about trying to remember the night, because he'd be beyond the black-out point. He would just take whatever was offered to him to feel something and nothing simultaneously. Never anything intravenous, though, 'cause that shit messes with you. He'll just… do all the other stuff that… still messes with you.
The pictures aren't hard to focus in on at all: there's the one Kai "accidentally" snapped when he first told them to pose: him and Claire in disagreement about something (what else is new?). Next is her flashing a peace sign, with him grinning right back, and he never realized how much smiling just softens his features. Makes him appear more human. Then there's them two with Kai, camera pointed back at their faces, and-
Ah, Christ.
The blood is pounding in his ears, because here is candid after candid after candid after candid that Kai took, about a dozen to be exact, where Gray is just looking over at Claire longingly and she doesn't even realize it. There's them arguing over the Taboo buzzer, there's the two of them caught mid-blink, and then there's his personal favourite: Claire pulled onto Trent's lap, while he's caught in the corner, throwing some major cut-eye at the sonuvabitch.
"What's that?" Claire chirps, suddenly very close to him. She brushes the fallen snowflakes off of her arms, shivering from being outside with her dog.
Gray widens his eyes, retrieving a picture of her, Karen, Popuri, Ann, and Cliff from the stack. He hands it to her swiftly as she looks at it, and using this as a distraction, manages to pocket all of the candids in the back of his jeans. He tries to be as nonchalant as possible, even though the room is back to spinning.
"Pictures from your birthday," he explains, holding out the remaining ones.
"Aw, sweet!" Claire takes them from him, her cold hand brushing over his overheated skin. She rifles through them quickly, before chewing the inside of her cheek. "That's weird, I thought there'd be more"
"Kai's thumb… caught over a bunch of 'em," he lies.
"Pfft, love it," she laughs, before handing him the first one he saw, where they're arguing. "I'd say this describes us pretty well, wouldn't you say?"
"Yep," he replies with a short smile. His leg is jiggling like he needs to be medicated on Ritalin or something.
"You can take that one," Claire says, nodding in approval. "I'll take the bunny ears one, and the one we took with Kai. We look baller!"
"How was your birthday?"
Gray teeters on his heels, getting ready to leave. It's just them two in Claire's kitchen now, as she's picking the balloons up off of her floor, before Maggie can go to town and attack any more of them.
"Great. Best one I've had in awhile."
"It took so long to organize it with everyone. And you really thought I forgot!" Claire just shakes her head at him, chucking a balloon at his head. It misses due to her very, very poor hand-eye coordination, but he smiles anyway. "When I knew you were out running, I went to go and give the money to your grandfather since you kept refusing to take it, and I said that I was worried you were catching on to the party, since I wasn't seeing you, and he was all like, 'deliver it the night before his birthday and play it off so he doesn't suspect a thing.' But I'm such a bad liar! I thought for sure you caught on."
"I didn't suspect a goddamn thing," he tells her.
"Dummy. I can't believe you actually thought I forgot. I felt so terrible because of how mad you looked!"
"I'm never mad."
"Oh, please. You're like the poster-child for forever staying mad. Y'know, you can be such a..."
"A what?"
Claire pauses, before deciding to break her no-swearing code. "A dipshit." She laughs, throwing a balloon which surprisingly hits him in the face, but he just tosses it right back at her.
"That's me," Gray agrees. "Thanks... again for the party, Blondie. And for the Green Day album. I... I really appreciate it." He says it, but he wonders if she truly comprehends just how much he really appreciates her.
"Oh!" Claire exclaims. She grabs his hand, leading him toward her bed and Jesus Christ, what is happening. "How'd I almost forget? This's for you!"
She gets down on her knees, reaching under her bed and hoisting herself back up to hand him an unwrapped gift. Because she couldn't wrap this - duh.
He doesn't even know where to begin.
"You got me an acoustic bass."
She smiles. "I did. Jeff called the city and ordered it, along with your CD. Like I said, go Walmart."
The instrument is impossibly heavy in his hands. His heart seizes; he loves this girl. Amidst the post-cocaine drop and the hangover that's already setting in, he loves this girl. "Jesus, Blondie, I can't take this. It musta cost you a fortune."
"Don't be like that. I made sure to set aside some extra money from all of my prosperous yams in the fall."
Gray doesn't deserve this; doesn't deserve her. He was all pissy over nothing, over something he was mistaken about. He shouldn't be receiving her kindness, he won't let himself get close enough to taint her, he'll never give her enough that she deserves. He can't. "I'm not taking this."
"You are." Claire looks up at him and smiles, plucking a few strings. The sound elicits and echoes throughout her empty house. Maggie lies down on her bed, waiting, looking expectantly at the two of them. "You can take it anywhere and serenade anyone you want without needing an amp, and it's my gift to you."
"Your gift was this party."
"That was to have your closest friends here celebrating you. This is your gift."
Gray just swallows, placing the chestnut-streaked bass guitar on her bed next to them. Despite his internal protests, he wants to lift her and push her back on the bed, wants to kiss her, wants her and only her because he's near positive that she is all that he'll ever need.
Claire just hugs him, holds him; the world is wobbly but he clings to her and knows that he'll manage just fine.
"Your heart's pounding," she tells him worriedly. Her ear isn't even on his chest to know this, she just knows. "And your pupils are still so massive. Are you okay? Did you have… too much to drink, or-"
Too much of everything.
"Fine," he says, embracing her tightly like some kind of nut-case but hell, there are really no goddamn words right now. "I'm fine."
There's nothing in the world, nothing in his life that prepares him for her next words.
"Gray," Claire says quietly. "People in this world really care about you and love you... I really love you. You don't usually tell your friends that, like it's kinda supposed to be a given, but… but I feel like you don't hear it as often as you honestly should."
He says nothing. He cannot even recall the last time that someone told him these words.
"You know that I do… you know that we all do, right?"
Oh, Jesus what is he saying–? "You know that I love you, too… right?"
She pulls back to look at him, her expression indiscernible. "Despite everything?"
Yup... despite everything.
In short, Gray was wrong; Claire isn't slipping away from him at all.
Though, in her time re-spent with him, she is accidentally slipping away from a certain someone else.
Gray doesn't need the alcohol or the coke, because this warm, fuzzy feeling is fine enough.
Cheers.
"Is there anything the matter?" Trent asks tightly. He gives Claire's hand a very constricting squeeze, walking through this snowy, shitty town with her. "You've been so busy lately."
"Well, now you know how I feel!" Claire exclaims, flicking his shoulder. She's wearing a black coat that makes her look poor - can't have that.
He's grown irritated in a matter of mere milliseconds. "But you don't even have crops right now. What could you possibly be busy with?"
She makes a face at him. "Trent, I'm still busy."
Why does it feel like she's… slowly slipping out of his grasp?He always has things tightly in his palm, always been handed things tightly in his palm, and he does not like to feel his grip loosening one bit.
"Do you want something? Anything?" he finds himself asking desperately.
Claire looks over at him puzzled, before stopping in her tracks to reach up on the windowsill of old-man Barley's shop. She gathers some of the crystal-white snow in her hands, fluffing it in his raven hair.
His eye twitches.
"I wanted to do that." She gives him a playful smile. "Oh, would you lighten up?!"
He tries to force one back to camouflage the eye twitch.
"Just being with you is nice enough, Trent. I don't need anything," Claire explains, drawing herself in closer to him.
"Hmm," is all he mumbles. He can't have her slipping; he needs his plan executed.
Claire pauses, arching a brow at him. "But when I tell you to stop by for Gray's party and you don't, well… I guess what I do want is you with everybody."
…
… There is no way he is losing his property to that goddamn punk.
"Ah," is all that he manages to respond with. "Well, alright then."
Is this what– no, who is standing in the way of his plan? He'll just have to turn on his unnatural, romantic charm to get it all to work out, he supposes. And yeah, it'll be hard, but without work, nothing prospers.
Gray returns home from a night at the bar with Kai, well-past 1:00 A.M. He's hammered out of his mind, and effortlessly beat both Karen and Duke combined in a drinking contest tonight. Duke's going through a mid-life crisis, and Karen's just caught-up in a fight with Rick. Whatever. Claire was busy anyway with her shit head boyfriend, but it's fine; besides, Kai's not here for that much longer, and they may as well all hang.
Was there a desire in him to do a line before going out tonight?
Well, a little bit of yes, a little bit of no. He kind of wishes that he did, 'cause he's feeling beyond sleepy at the moment, but he won't be stupid enough to let himself get over-reliant on that shit.
Gray fumbles with his house key, shoving open the door, wincing at its loud, creaking sound. He hopes his grandfather hasn't been awoken, but he nearly has a heart attack when he sees the old man sitting at their kitchen table in the dark. The room is dimmed, but their small light above the oven provides a light glow.
An empty Jack Daniels bottle rests upright on the table, casting a looming, deep shadow.
He feels like he's a sophomore again, taking his family's beat-up old Camry out for the night and returning home three hours past curfew, with hickeys all over his neck and the stench of cigarettes or weed in his clothes. His dad would be fast asleep, but his mom would always stay up late waiting for him, seated at their kitchen island with angry, flashing green eyes and a face that was knotted into worry. After giving him shit and threatening to ground him, she'd just let out a sigh of relief, tousling his hair gratefully at the fact that he was alright.
Gray would give anything to get a curfew-breaking lecture from her again.
Not one from his grandfather, though.
"So, you took the bottle," Saibara says. It isn't a question. His voice is levelled and cool across the room. One hand is flattened in front of him, the other hidden under the table. "I was lookin' for it."
Gray drops his keys drunkenly on the floor, but makes no motion to pick them up. "Sorry. Shoulda told you. I'll… go out 'n get another one."
His grandfather still stares at him, face unreadable.
"Gramps, lay off, will ya? It was awhile ago… anyway. Like, beginnin' of wint-"
Ah fuck. How'd the old man even find the bottle?
His grandfather's other hand emerges from under the table, dropping a bag next to the Jack Daniels.
His bag.
Not 'ah fuck'. Oh fuck. The air suddenly feels suffocating and frigid.
Gray watches his jaw clench in fury. "I'm waitin' for an explanation, Grayson."
He's fuming. What friggin' right did this old bastard have to go through my shit?
Saibara gets up from his seat to stand in front of him, but he just pushes past to try and get to his room, muttering out an excuse or something that doesn't even quite register in his own head.
"And you're wasted now, too."
"Screw off, old man," Gray mutters, head down. He's goddamn teetering.
His grandfather swears and reaches out to hit him upside the head. The impending alcohol-induced good mood is gone and the migraine takes over.
"What the hell were you thinking, kid?"
Gray swats his hand away but stumbles into the wall.
His grandfather does it again as he tries to hit him back.
"The hell were you thinking?!"
He keeps doing it, smacking him silly. His head's already pounding. He shoves his grandfather away hard, but the old man quickly regains balance.
"WHY THE HELL DO YOU GOT THIS?" Saibara demands loudly.
"Don't fuckin' touch me-"
"You goddamn idiot."
And it's like he's lost control of his hand or something. His grandfather makes a strangled noise and shoves him, but he shoves back even more forcefully. Is Gray really going to hit an old man right now?
Saibara brings up his mother.
Guess so.
He swings but is so unsteady that he misses.
His grandfather pushes him away and Gray loses his footing, toppling. He gets up, eyes blazing, shunting the old man back hard. He thinks he sees Saibara flinch but the overall vision is so blurry and dark.
"Your friggin' father's in rehab for this kinda shit - you really wanna be like him? This is what you want? You... here I am tryna give you everything and you just go and throw it all away-"
"The hell do you care?"
"The hell do I care?! You stupid junkie-"
He's screaming right now in a frenzy, but Gray is hardly registering anything. Saibara grabs his shirt, voice angry and on the verge of sobs, desperate. Where did all of this apparent strength come from? Or, is it just that Gray's too weak? "I been working to support you, to friggin' keep you offa this kinda shit, and this is how you throw your life away? Following in your old man's footsteps?! And what would your mother say? She'd see you with this garbage, and-"
"Maybe I'm takin' after my grandmother."
This earns him a clean shot to the mouth.
Gray punches and gets him back all the same. His grandfather swears, clutching his chin.
"You're not to bring blow, or dope, or any goddamn speedball - you're not to friggin' bring that shit here. You got that?!"
Gray just chuckles low. Nothing hurts or everything hurts; he can't tell. He forces himself up on his feet, because this is what he does: puts on a front, manages just fine. "You ain't my father."
"No, but you're on his goddamn path."
He hates hearing that; how the hell does the old man figure? It's not true at all... despite his choices. He's nothing like him. He takes a swing at Saibara who does the same and then the old man makes another strangled noise and is he crying? Jesus Christ.
"I'm nineteen now. You don't get to tell me… what the hell to do."
"Yeah, you're well over age. So you can get outta my damn house."
Ah fuck vs. oh fuck.
Big difference.
Where the hell's he gonna go?
Gray had drunkenly slipped some random clothes into a rucksack as his grandfather muttered something about him still having to show up for his shifts and complete his orders and that he was gonna work separately in his room so he wouldn't have to see him for even a goddamn minute because the sight of him makes him sick and where the hell's he gonna go tonight?
He slams the door hard as he leaves. His mouth hurts and screw that old man to hell.
Basil, Mary's father, is outside their shop with a joint in his hand, looking around to make sure that no one's able to see him. His wife would murder him if she knew what kind of plant-business he runs on the side. He widens his eyes at Gray, clearly surprised to see someone else awake and out at this hour, offering him a few hits from his joint to keep this secret quiet. He doesn't bother asking about Gray's fat lip, but any and all pain quickly subsides from the MJ.
It would be a different scenario if he were Kai. Everyone likes Kai, everyone would gladly take Kai in. Or, even if he were Claire; the town would open their homes to those two in a heartbeat.
Not him.
He:
- Is not staying with Karen or Rick.
- Refuses to face Doug, or even bunk with Cliff. Besides, there's out of town assholes from the Sunshine Islands crammed into every room at the inn this time of year.
- Can't imagine Kai or Popuri having any space for him in that tiny box of a room that they're renting.
- Won't ask Elli, she's got enough on her plate as it is.
- Could live with Manna, 'cause she's always maternal and takes broken people under her wing like it's her second day job, but her mouth is huge and this shit would get out in a heartbeat.
Shit.
…
..
.
Would she let him stay?
Only one way to find out.
And apparently that's slamming himself into her door, wasted and high outta his mind.
So, Trent leaves her house and bids her adieu with a languid kiss over her mouth. And they've had an amazing night. Just enough swooning romance, cuddling, and making out for her liking. He tells her that although he'll have to travel out of town in the next few weeks to take care of some things in Dallas, he'll be back just in time for the Starry Night Festival. He pats Maggie's head, and despite her snarling, maintains a smile. He tells Claire that his love for her knows no ends, and by the end of it, she succumbs herself to a little heart-throbbing pile, where everything can only be described as perfectly perfect.
She just feels all tingly, and wonders if she's going to have her recurring hot and bothered dream again. She pretends she minds it, but nowhere near is she bothered. At all. Just hot. Sigh.
Everything is just so wonderful! It's all working out, she's in love, and is surprisingly nowhere near tired. She collects some CD's and turns on her shower, ready to give herself a self-care routine ala Claire on this late Saturday night. Or, early Sunday morning. Whatever. She grabs her boombox, pops in a beloved 80's Greatest Hits album, and blasts it. Maggie lays down on her floor, looking up at her as though she's irritated.
"Oh, c'mon, Maggie," Claire says, lifting her dog in her arms. "You must be my lucky star!" She's singing, holding her dog close and laughing. Maggie begrudgingly kisses her cheek as if to please her, then hops out of her arms and runs over to her food bowl, seeing if there's any leftover treats that she's missed.
Claire is just snapping her fingers and dancing, kicking off her slippers, shimmying out of her sweatpants and discarding her off-the-shoulder top. She doesn't even care that she's only wearing her intimates, or that her mirror has her scarred up physique on display. Because it's all going good, and Trent is perfect, and she's just so numb with happiness.
Deciding that she'll let a tea steep while she's in the shower, Claire quickly throws on a baby blue robe that she got from Sears, and readies an apple cinnamon packet. She's having fun jamming out before she washes her ridiculously long hair, listening to all of the Madonna, Cyndi Lauper, Bon Jovi, Prince and Whitney Houston that comes on.
"Whoaa, I wanna dance with somebodyyy!" She's got the hand motions and the side-stepping and rhythm down to a t, this is her thing. Dancing alone, jamming out when no one's watching. A Saturday night, er, early Sunday morning fantasy. Yes, she's stuck in a very different time zone. Yes, it bothers her that she's not helping her lame-ass case. No, she does not give a crap.
Claire's going to convert Trent into being silly and dancing with her like no one's watching – she tells herself that it's only a matter of time. To get him to let-loose and have fun with her like this, dropping his overly serious front would be wonderful.
"With somebody who-"
And her Saturday night/ early Sunday morning fantasy gets ruined because a lone figure stumbles into her door, and she really thinks that she's just about as good as murdered.
Claire screams loudly, grabbing a barking, wiggling Maggie in her arms. She reaches for some kind of a weapon but all that she has is her tea-steeper.
Her heart practically stops in fear. This is it: she dies dancing in her faux-silk bath robe to Whitney without her hair being washed and crap! Gray keeps telling her to fix the lock and she doesn't ever listen to him because what else is new, but ugh, shit!
She screams again as Maggie breaks free from her arms, growling and then… whimpering at the stumbled over intruder.
… Oh, dear Lord.
"Gray!" she screams, and of course, her dog goes from protective and angry to pleasant and kind, sniffing her friend on the floor. He's sprawled out lazily, snow trekked around him everywhere. She turns on a light.
"Gray! YOU GAVE ME A FREAKING HEART ATTACK LIKE WHAT THE ACTUAL HECK-"
Claire frantically gets down on her bare knees when he doesn't move, kneeling and tightening her robe against her skin. Her heart is racing - is this even happening right now? She worriedly brushes the hair out of his face. His lip is split and swollen.
Gray cracks one pale blue eye open.
He reeks.
Gives her a dopey smile.
"Hiya, Blondie," he says with a lazy grin. His hand hovers in front of her face, pushing her nose with his pointer finger.
She stares at him, eyes widened in a panic.
"Gray." She says his name deliberately slowly, like she's trying to make sense of what's going on in front of her. The clock on her stove reads 1:45 AM, and her music is still playing.
"Whatcha *hic* doin'?"
"Gray, you smell like a freaking package store."
"Haha… the hell's a pack…age store?"
She forgot that this is Boston slang which only a few other states use. "Like… straight liquor."
"'Licka.' That's… pfft, what you sounded like there... Claaaire."
How much did he have to drink?! "Gray… my gosh, it's like, almost two in the morning. What's going on?!"
He doesn't answer, just keeps trying to poke her nose. Claire moves back to stare at this image of him, and he's merely poking the air now. She gently pushes his hand away worriedly. "I'm calling your grandfather."
To her surprise, he reaches for her hand, squeezing it. "Please… please don't."
His skin is beyond freezing. She tries to get him to sit upright, against the back door, shutting it so that the cold breeze doesn't drift in. Her bare toes dig into the trekked snow that he's brought in, causing goosebumps to heighten and raise all over her body.
"You're friggin' warm," he tells her. She sure as heck doesn't feel like that right now.
Her face simply reddens. Why do things feel so different? "Gray, talk to me. Why can't I call your grandfather?"
"Kicked out."
"He kicked you out?"
"Nhmmhm." He slides down against the wall with a groan, falling over with his face pressed up against the wooden floors. She moves his head so that he's not lying on his swollen side.
"Did he hit you?" Claire asks, even though she's nearly certain that she already knows the answer to this question.
"Ahh huhhh. Don't give a damn. Shoulda seen my fackin' hit though, hmm." Gray smirks all smugly, but even that looks like it hurts his cheek. He's got a fat lip with a cut of blood on it.
"Gray, why? What happened?"
He doesn't answer. His eyes shut tightly like he's fallen asleep.
"Gray," Claire says again. She grabs his other hand, all frigid and full of snow. "You're freezing."
"You're so friggin' warm," he repeats, clearly not asleep. He peeks one eye open again, all bloodshot and red. Next comes the other eye, and together, they make up a glassy, pale mess.
"Can I… shit, I don't got nowhere else to go."
"Gray-"
"Could I stay here, Blondie?" he asks, no, pleads. He squeezes her hand again.
Her stomach flips.
"Yes," Claire tells him worriedly. "Yes, my gosh. Of course you can."
He gives another dopey smile, before glancing her up and down in her robe. Okay, now she feels heated. "You're so pretty, eh? You *hic* know that?"
He passes… the hell out.
And why is her heart pounding so unbelievably loud in her ears?
Gray awakens in a bed, head positively throbbing.
Ah fuck.
He grabs a fist full of blanket, hand squeezing some quilted material.
All colourful and checkered and hexagonal.
Oh fuck.
It's Claire's bed.
And she's seated at the lip of it, pissed.
Ohhhh, fuck.
What the hell did he do?
"Don't," she snaps, crossing her arms over her pajamas. "Go pulling that shit again."
A/N: Everyone: can we plz have a Gray-Trent fight
Me: ahahahahahahha ;) can I interest you in a... Gray-Saibara fight?
Everyone: ರ_ರ
Alternate title for this chapter is "One Big Yikes."
Here's a disclaimer: honestly, I think that Saibara is very triggered by drug usage, given that it's caused both his wife and son to leave. Regardless, I don't condone family violence at all... and I think I made him just about lose it when he saw his grandson not giving a shit about his life. It unfortunately got physical, sorry ya'll. I was inspired by Euphoria, when Rue's mom found her drugs. Her mom loves her but I remember it getting ugly and honestly it's just not a pretty topic in general.
Neither Saibara or Gray are bad people, like he honestly cares for his grandson and just has a really tough time showing it. And he's not a bad grandfather, like despite this I truly don't think that he is. He's just under immense pressure, snapped, and unfortunately families do get dysfunctional like this and can resort to fighting when it comes to people's substance abuse. Still not an excuse for hitting or punching, but I really wanted to write a realistic fight. Apology is hundossss in order, on both parts.
Would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter - thank you for reading :) And thank you all for your sweet and genuine comments on my last update. I really appreciate every single one of you 💕
