A/N: Part 3 of a 3 chapter update. Just as a trigger warning, this chapter does contain the discussion of depression and suicide toward the end. I needed to put that disclaimer out there. There is also quite a bit of swearing that I feel like couldn't be censored for this part. Thank you ❤
His bad mood is gone the next day, and everything appears to be seemingly back to normal. Well, not quite; Claire feels that every time she finds something out about Gray, there's always more to uncover. He's like a Russian doll of secrets.
But the next time that he ever, ever... ever has the audacity to call her a ballbuster, she's going to plant video cameras all around her house as proof for the numerous amount of times that he's insufferably busting her balls. (Er, figuratively?)
She'll be sitting by her dresser and mirror, in attempt to put on her lip gloss, when he'll just come out of nowhere to taser her sides from behind. She, being ticklish as hell, will scream bloody murder, the sticky pink makeup smeared all over her skin as she runs after him.
"YOU ARE SO DEAD!"
Or she'll be baking, and of course, of course he offers to assist her in some way, shape, or form. But his helpfulness gets negated because he'll add too much of something, therefore ruining the entire recipe.
"Ohh, it didn't call for half a cup of baking powder, it was supposed to be half a teaspoon," says Gray, fiddling with his cap. "Ah, shit."
"You need to get your sorry-ass out of my kitchen now."
The final straw is the evening before the Starry Night Festival. Trent's returning home tomorrow, and after talking with him on the phone, did in fact indicate that he hoped they'd be spending their night together. He promises to cook for her, and says that he's planned a big surprise when he gets back. She misses him, and now, her head is swarmed with nervous possibilities as she struggles to focus on all of her farm work. A snowstorm already begins to come down hard once she's finished collecting her chicken eggs, Maggie in tow behind her.
Something cold hits the side of her head, needles of freezing snow searing around her bare ear. It didn't hurt, but the sudden shock of it is almost painful to her sensitive skin. She turns to see Gray, smiling smugly with another snowball balanced in his hands.
Yeah, he's dead.
Mouth agape, she places her basket down, frantically picking up some snow so that she can quickly shoot one back. "You're such an idiot!"
He dodges her throw, tossing another one at her shoulder. "Pfft, you looked like a-"
Claire just runs up to him with snow in her hands instead, screaming like she's having a real bitchfit. A Regina George tantrum style at its finest, but she's honestly ready to kill him. She manages to grab his hood, pulling on it to drop the snow onto his neck, inside of his jacket.
He freezes, recoiling from the exposure of his bare skin, swearing and chasing after her. She snickers as she runs, before tripping over her own boots into the white, blanketed ground. This effectively gives him the opportunity to catch up to her and snatch her in one of his arms.
"Gray, stop!" she exclaims through her laughter. "Ugh, let go!"
"I don't like the cold," he mutters, tossing snow onto her face. She shrieks, her cheeks all pinched and frigid as she laughs until her sides hurt.
"You're so… YOU ARE SO DEAD!"
He grins, releasing her and dropping her into a snowbank. "LET'S GO THEN."
Even though he is so royally cheesing her right now, it's good to see him having fun like this. She loves seeing him happy.
Maggie barks next to him, balancing on her hind legs and wanting in on the action.
"Hey!" cries a little voice. May is running toward the entrance of Claire's farm, her pigtailed hair coated with snow - a clear indicator that she's been outside for hours already, playing with Stu. "Take that, ice scum!" She whips a series of miniature snowballs, aiming for the top of Gray's rusted locks. "Don't worry, Claire. I got ya!"
"Agh," he complains. "Not my hair."
"Ice scum!" cries Stu behind her, chucking one very large snowball at the back of his head. Gray swears (despite Claire's instruction of not to do it in front of the kids), sporadically throwing a series of snowballs at them like he's in a game of dodgeball.
"You have to go easy on them," Claire tells him through her giggling, successfully jutting another one at his ears. "They're children."
He shudders, tossing a snowball at her chin and shaking his head. "No mercy."
She's so cold, covered in snow from her bra to her toes. The goosebumps on her skin feel like they're about to freeze off. She tries to tackle Gray, but he's way too strong, and he ends up squeezing her against himself, taking her down sideways with him, into the snowbank.
He hoists himself off, body hovering over hers. They stare at each other like it's just them two there, until May jumps onto his back.
"Ice scum!" she cries, rubbing snow all over his head. "Ginger alien ice scum dummy!"
"Not the hair," he grumbles. "Or the ears."
Claire just listens to the drum of her own heart pounding in her chest.
"I'm frozen," she says, wringing out her soaked scarf. Elli came to grab the kids because it had gotten so much darker outside, and the flurries were picking up at an alarming rate. Claire's just glad that Trent is returning home to safe, clear skies tomorrow, because there's an absolute blizzard right now. She even gave him the rosary that Manna made her for protection. "I need to take a hot shower."
Gray kicks off his boots, racing toward her bathroom. Maggie runs after him like she thinks that this is some kind of game.
"Gray, no!" Claire protests. "THAT'S NOT FAIR."
"Tough."
Worst roommate ever.
"Gray!"
And then her power cuts out.
"Ah, shit."
"Serves you right." Claire smiles smugly, blindly reaching for a few candles from her drawers that Popuri got her. It's pitch black in her home. "Now you're gonna have to eat cold pizza."
"I don't care, I'll eat anything," he tells her, grabbing a lighter from the pocket of his track pants to ignite a candle.
"You have a lighter?"
He doesn't bother responding to this; just lights a few more. "I've gotten fat living here this winter."
"Oh, please." Claire rolls her eyes, taking out her matchbox. The candles are only starting to produce a dim light around the room, so she grabs a couple more. "You could never get fat."
Gray lifts the hemline of his damp flannel that he's wearing to reveal his v-line obliques and chiseled abdominals. It's still pretty dark, and the minimal light only makes the contours of his muscles appear more prominent. He pinches virtually nothing. "See?"
Claire stays quiet and just lights another candle, setting them on her kitchen counter. "You're fine."
He reaches into his pockets to remove his wallet, dropping it onto the table, and frowning when he sees the wet corner of a piece of paper sticking out. Taking a seat in the chair, he unfolds it and smiles fondly.
"What's that?" she asks, suddenly curious. She takes a seat across from him.
He holds it out for her, careful not to catch it on the flame of the candles between them. It's a photo that's been folded up one too many times, creased and worn out. In it, Gray is leaning against the outside of an old, gold Toyota, looking away from the shot. Kai however, is grinning in the passenger seat.
"Oh. It's… a car."
"A what?"
She frowns. "Your car?"
"My cah?"
Claire rolls her eyes at his cocky little smirk. If Gray thinks that he can make fun of her accent, she's got a lot more to say about his own rough one. "You're such a loser." There's a girl in the background of the photograph too, as though she's really trying to get in the shot. "Who's that?"
He shrugs. "Some broad Kai knew. Her friend took the picture. I kept it in case the thing ever got stolen."
"Nice."
"What, you don't like my car? Not up to the standards of whatever your boyfriend drives?"
Trent had told her once that he drove a Bentley back home, and because she doesn't know the value of virtually any automotive company, she won't bother sharing this information with Gray. "No, it's a wicked car."
She almost winces. Even she can hear the Boston in her own voice with that comment.
"It's a piece of shit," Gray laughs. "But thanks. It's really my dad's. Maybe I'll take you to see it someday."
"You want me to go to Chicago? What am I gonna do there?"
"It'll be like Ferris' day off, y'know? You go to Wrigley Field, you see the bean, you take a joyride around the city; all that good, touristy shit."
"I haven't been in a car in ten years," she says.
"You never got your license?" He smirks.
"No like, I literally haven't ridden in a car since the accident."
Gray stares at her. "Oh."
"Yeah."
"How'd you get around then?"
"Well, I have two feet that aren't broken," she says with a soft laugh. "Plus, I wasn't going anywhere really. Wasn't allowed."
"K, but what about work?"
"What do you mean? I took the subway or the bus. You're a real snob, eh?"
He smiles. "I'm about as snobby as you can get in a crappy old Camry."
Claire pauses before drumming her nails on the table. "I'm gonna ask you a question."
"Ah-huh."
"But you don't have to answer."
"Hmm."
"Did you lose your virginity in that car?"
He smiles sheepishly. "No actually."
"Wow, I'm surpr-"
"Not in that car."
"…"
"First time was in her car. Second time was in my car."
"Oh, God," Claire snickers. "I'm sorry I asked."
Gray stares at the photograph again, before folding it back up as though he never even took it out. "We let Kai's family take care of the car. Pretty sure it just sits in their restaurant parking lot. We told 'em they could use it, but they got a better ride than us, so they prob'ly wouldn't be caught dead in it. They just said… y'know, it's there if we ever come back."
"… But you're not going back, right?"
He smirks. "And what if I do?"
"Well, who else is gonna kill the spiders for me on my ceiling without having to grab a chair?"
"You'd manage," says Gray, before pausing. "We sold our place in Chicago, so I'm stuck here for awhile… Well, you're stuck with me."
"God," says Claire. "Can't think of anything worse."
"I got a question for you," he tells her, cocky demeanor taking flight. "What's the worst thing you've ever done?"
"Huh?"
"I remember I told you mine, but I never heard yours."
She arches a brow, getting up to retrieve the tupperware of pizza from her fridge. It's so nasty when it's cold; she doesn't understand how anybody could prefer eating it like this, but they've got no other way of heating it up without any power. "Why?"
"Maybe I'm tryna get your good girl image outta my head."
Claire grips the container tightly, turning red from his comment. This guy's got zero filter. She sets the pizza down carefully on the table, clearing her throat. "Okay, well, I got high and I swore, so there, that's two things-"
"Nah, I'm talking nitty gritty," says Gray, reaching for a slice. He tosses a piece of the cheese to Maggie on the floor, looking over at Claire expectantly.
She suddenly feels very suspicious of him. "Y'know, I get the feeling that you slashing your teacher's tires wasn't the worst thing you'd done."
He hides a silly smirk. "Not even close."
"So you lied to me! Why should I even tell you then?"
"I didn't lie, I just picked something else outta my bad bin."
"That's not fair, you have to tell me the worst thing now. And be honest!"
He chews thoughtfully. "Worst immoral… or worst illegal?"
Claire is extremely dubious of him now. "And you'll tell me? Really?"
Gray shrugs. "Dunno if you can handle it."
"Well, you admitted to lying and that breaks pinky promise code, so you gotta."
He pauses, before swallowing his bite. His matted hair clings to his forehead. "The worst illegal thing I did was impersonate a cop."
"Oh dear."
"… And steal the cop car."
She widens her eyes. "You're such a liar."
"I swear to God."
"You swear off your life?"
"I swear off your life, and I don't fuck around with that shit."
Claire considers this, and then her eyes go all big again. "A cop car?!"
"My mom was pissed."
"Well, yeah, I don't blame her! Why'd you do that?"
"'Cause I was fucked, Blondie."
"You couldn't talk your way outta that one?"
Gray frowns. "Well, I didn't get arrested… I got off on a warning 'cause the cop knew my mom. And she had to stop yelling at me that night 'cause she had such a bad headache. My dad was never the one to give me shit, so she had to drop it. And you know what I said?"
"What?"
Regret spreads over his words. "'Just take a Tylenol then.'"
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah, me too." He pauses again. "So, what'd you do?"
"I don't really have categories like you."
"'Cause you're boring."
"But the worst thing I ever did… like ever, was starve myself."
His face is all confused. "Huh?"
Claire slowly gets up, opening her luggage that she arrived in Mineral Town with to retrieve a brown-binded book. She hesitantly brings it over to the table, looking through its contents in order to flip to the correct school choir page. She really doesn't want to see those photographs right now, so she just turns it over to him.
"When I was growing up, people made a lot of comments about my body. Everyone, even the nuns at the convent. And they suggested a surgery for me, but I did not wanna go through anything like that ever again."
"Surgery for what?" Gray asks, frowning. His eyes are busy scanning the page, fixed on the skeleton she used to be.
"A breast reduction," she sighs.
He looks up at her, eyes nowhere on her chest. "Oh."
"Yeah. It was hard to shop for me, and they kept pushing the idea… I think they thought it would keep me out of trouble too — not that I was in any trouble regardless. But I just stopped eating in hopes that I'd lose weight everywhere so I didn't have to keep feeling pressured to go through with it. I literally just wanted to go down a bra size, and I did… but then I went down in everything else, and it just got way too out of control."
Gray stares at a picture of her as a junior, in her uniformed blue/black checkered skirt and white polo. Her thighs aren't even touching, and although she's forcing a smile, her eyes are sunken in. She remembers the creepy senior who took that picture too, the one who'd been held back about three years and who told her she'd be a lot prettier if she tried smiling with her teeth.
"You look better now. Like, healthier," Gray tells her, scanning the photos again. She's in quite a few, but looks miserable in every single one. "You do."
Claire sheepishly turns her face away. "Thanks. Wish I felt it." She still isn't totally happy with her body, but is grateful not to be afraid of food anymore, even if it did take a lot of healing to get to that point.
It helps to not have people chirping in your ear about what your body should and should not look like too, she thinks resentfully.
"Nah, you look fantastic now. You're too thin in here, you looked unhappy."
"I was, but I wanted to be skinny and flat like that. I thought it'd get everyone off my back. I got to cook most of the dinners at the convent, but for like, a solid year, I just didn't eat much of anything."
Gray frowns. "That's shit."
Claire gets up to put the yearbook away. Part of her wishes that she never took it out, but it's just Gray, and she's never been afraid to show herself to him. It's always so easy to be comfortable around him. "Your worst thing is more exciting than mine!"
He's still rifling through the pages, his thumb stopping on one slowly as his eyes immediately grow dark.
Claire looks over his shoulder to what he's staring at. Oh, Lord. She instantly knows exactly what it is: it's that signature page where one of the idiot jocks wrote: can't wait to shov my dick b/w those tits.
She scribbled it out with black pen, but the weight of these blue inked words remains all the same.
"I really don't know why he wrote that," Claire murmurs, embarrassed. She snatches the book into her own arms so Gray can't see it anymore. "Everyone was passing their yearbooks around in class, and he signed mine despite never even talking to me. But my uniform was still pretty tight on my chest, despite losing weight, and I guess he must have noticed... must have thought that made me easy or something."
"That's fucking sick," mutters Gray. "I would have punched his goddamn lights out."
"It's okay."
"It's not. Why didn't you rip it out?"
She turns the page, reluctantly placing the book back down in front of him. "'Cause on the back was my prom spread."
There's a picture of her at her junior prom, smiling next to three other girls from her convent. They stand outside of the church in colourful, candy-coloured dresses, clutching their knockoff purses and white corsages. She wonders what they're all up to now; they were only close by default because they lived together.
"Is that where you grew up?"
She forces a smile. "Yeah. That's the front of my convent. My school was super cheap, so the students had to be the ones to submit their pictures for yearbook 'cause they didn't take any. The head nun took this one."
God, this is such an embarrassing photo of her at the age of sixteen. She feels like an awkward, ugly duckling in it.
It's the end of 2004, and still no sign of any swan-age.
"Nice hair," Gray says sarcastically. He gestures to her twisted, wild updo, secured with those little butterfly clips that she still loves. She hasn't totally lost who she used to be.
"I did it myself," Claire points out, remembering how carefully they all had to walk in those five blocks to the venue, so the wind wouldn't perturb their overly-gelled curls. "But God, looking back now, I looked like a total spaz."
"Why the past tense?"
"Y'know, if you... effed off now, you'd have a head start."
He smirks. "Nice retainer too."
"Oh, my gosh, you are so annoying." She opens her mouth and points to the back of her top teeth. "I still have a permanent one."
He opens his own mouth and gestures toward the bottom of his. "So do I." He stares at her. "Thanks for telling me all that. You didn't have to."
"I tell you everything," Claire says, taking the yearbook to go and bury it back in her luggage.
This is about 95% true.
He's still staring at her when she resumes her seat across from him. "The other bad thing I did… like, the immoral thing is that I fucked some girl in the back of her Mormon church."
She rolls her eyes. "Good one."
He deadpans, taking a sip of his water. She widens her eyes and swats a napkin at him.
"You're being serious?!"
He shrugs, all cocky. "Whoops."
"You are so going to hell!"
"Eh, I'll live with that."
"What were you doing at a Mormon church anyway?"
"I dunno, me and this girl hooked up once before, and she asked if I could go pick her up at this address on a Saturday evening. I get to the building… and it looked like a bunch of mini Sears Towers. So I went in 'cause I was all confused."
"And…"
Gray arches his brow. "You want me to tell you how I did it?"
She blushes. "That's it, though? You went in and-"
"Well, yeah, she was waiting out back for me."
"… And you see nothing wrong with this."
"You wanna sue me?"
"That's terrible, Gray."
He shrugs, sipping his water again. "You see, that was a test."
"Oh, it didn't actually happen?"
"No, it happened alright. It was a test to see how you'd react, though. You failed."
She makes a face. "What do you mean?"
"You judge and judge." Gray looks over at her like he anticipated this very reaction. "And this is why I can't tell you everything."
She scoffs. "Yes, you can."
"No. Believe me, I can't."
Suddenly, Claire feels defensive of herself. "Well, sorry, it's just a little jarring-"
"I accept your apology."
And she figures there's really no reasoning with him.
"You know, I really can't with you, Gray. I do not judge," she tells him coldly. Maybe she does sometimes, but doesn't everybody? Everybody's got opinions, and she doesn't try to make anyone feel bad for what they do. Sometimes her reactions are blunt, but she wouldn't consider herself… overly judgmental. If Gray wants to see real judgment, he should try stepping foot in her convent. "Look, I just don't know anyone like you, and when you tell me stuff it's… I dunno. I'm so lame, I don't even ride in cars."
Gray gives her another smirk. "I told you I'll take you for a joyride."
"I don't think I wanna be in your car!" Claire exclaims with a laugh.
"You shoulda seen Kai's. Waaay worse. And his ma's religious, so she was like, inspectin' it all the time and-"
"Oh, jeez."
"'Oh, jeez' is right. She's just happy he found someone like Popuri, though. Like, beyond happy that he's settling down."
"Which is something you'll never do."
"What do you care what I do?" he asks.
"Just stating a fact." Her stomach growls like she's starving, so she grabs a slice of pizza for herself. "Tell me something no one else knows about you."
He takes a sip from his drink again, considering. Then: "no."
"Why?"
Gray's expression is unreadable. "'Cause you'd never look at me the same again."
"Did you kill someone?"
"No," he snorts.
"Then you're fine."
"Tell me yours."
"How's that fair if you don't tell me yours?"
"I'm banned from all Targets in the state of Illinois. There you go."
She rolls her eyes. That's not even a good lie. "Okay, well, here's something no one else knows about me: sometimes the way I look makes me sick."
It's so easy to open up to him; it's always been easy like this.
Gray outright scoffs at her. "That's the dumbest thing you've ever said."
Sigh, she takes it back.
"No, it's not."
"You're good looking. Why'd you feel that way?"
Her cheeks flame. "Because I don't look a thing like my mother."
"At all?"
"Not even a little bit."
"Don't sweat it. I don't look a thing like my mother either. I take after my dad's side."
Claire looks down at her pizza and is suddenly very not hungry. It feels like high school all over again. "I think I do too."
It takes him a second to realize what she means. "Oh, fuck, Claire."
"Like… not a single person on my mom's side was blonde. Not a single person, Gray. No one was pale, or had my eye colour, or my nose, no one." She looks away, rubbing her knees. The room feels like it got colder. When the power comes back on, she is going to be the first one in that shower. "I feel like I'm a spitting image of… whoever… And growing up, I loved the way I looked. Like, I'd tell my mom about all the people who came up to me and complimented my hair colour, and she'd just nod and smile… I didn't even consider-"
"Jesus Christ."
"And then when I overheard those nuns talk about what happened to my her… like, I hate that I could be the duplicate of some sick rapist. Like, him and I are walking around with the same DNA, and he just shouldn't be. It's not fair. I wish I looked like my mom, so that every time I go to the mirror, I can get a glimpse of her again. But instead, I'm walking around, probably the spitting image of the wrong… parent."
She feels herself getting emotional, and she just balls her fists up tightly, nails digging into her skin as she wills herself not to cry. Thinking about this isn't easy; that's why she seldom allows herself to. She breathes, focusing on the simple flame of the candle in front of her. The wax is beginning to soften significantly as it drips.
"What would I call you if you weren't 'Blondie', though?"
Claire can't help but give Gray a small smile. At least he's trying. She rubs at her eyes. "What would you call me?"
"Pain in the ass," he decides with a smug grin. "No doubt."
She groans. "I think I like 'Blondie' better."
He gazes at her, shaking his head. "You look like you 'cause you look like you. That's how… that's just how it's supposed to be, and you shouldn't hate it. Believe me, most girls would kill to look like you… You're beautiful, Claire."
"Thank you." Claire feels something tug at her heart. She pushes it away, but can still feel it growing inside of her.
She decides to ignore it as usual.
"Sometimes, I wanna change up my look, just so that I'm still me, but I don't look like what everyone has always seen me as. Tyra Banks calls it 'editing yourself.' Like, maybe… I'll get a nose piercing."
Gray almost barks out a laugh. "A nose piercing?"
"Yeah… I dunno, I've always loved them. My mom had one. Like Christina Aguilera's, but smaller, maybe."
"You with a nose ring," he muses.
"Maybe a stud," she corrects.
"And what else?"
Claire fiddles with her long locks, bringing them over her shoulders. It runs way past her boobs now, almost farther than her bellybutton. "I think I wanna chop my hair."
"You do?"
"It's too long. Drives me nuts." She thinks for a moment. "I could donate it."
She doesn't know if she could actually go through this, though. Trent's always told her how much he adores her long hair, and that he'd be upset if she ever cut it.
But, if it's for a nice foundation...
"What do you mean?" Gray asks with a puzzled frown.
Claire tilts her head, running her fingers absently through her bangs. "They use hair donations to make wigs for people with cancer. As long as it's never been dyed and there's not too much damage to it, they can use it. Y'know, for the patients going through chemo who have…"
Gray nods. "I know."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Claire says with a wince. "I know you know."
"It's okay."
"No, really. I didn't-"
"It's fine, Blondie." He frowns again. "I know."
"What was your mom's cancer called again?"
"… It was glioblastoma. How come?"
"Well, if I donate it," she starts, carefully treading. "I can donate it to the glioblastoma foundation in her name. If you want."
Gray just stares at her. "But why?"
"Because you can specify which type of foundation you want to donate to, and you can do it in someone's memory… so if you want, if I do end up doing it, I could do it for hers."
"Yeah, but why?"
"If I'm going to, then wouldn't I want to help a foundation close to your heart?" she asks him, frowning. "Besides, I don't have any specific one in mind."
Gray remains staring at her. "You're too good for this world," he mumbles. He taps his fingers on the table, like he's stalling, before saying, "My dad writes me a letter every couple of weeks. No one else knows that but you now."
Claire is intrigued. "Really? What does he say?"
He looks away. "Probably not much."
The silence between them now makes the wind blistering outside sound even more apparent than ever. Her frosted window reveals a million fluffy snowflakes, coming down hard and blocking any sliver of the full moon that's supposed to be out tonight.
"What do you mean?" she asks, perplexed.
"I don't open them."
"What?"
"Fuck, I don't open 'em."
Claire squints, still not understanding. "Why… you mean, he writes to you, and you don't write back?"
"I don't even fuckin' open them, Blondie."
"What?! Why not? My gosh, what if he's trying to tell you something, Gray?"
He scowls. "Yeah? What the hell could he possibly have to say?"
She's suddenly so disappointed in him. This is cold, even by his standards. "You're his son-"
He gives her the side eye, shaking his head. "Here you go, all judgmental and shit."
"I told you this at Rod's funeral, but you're lucky you even have a father, Gray."
"I don't. As far as I'm concerned, he's fuckin' dead to me."
She feels exasperated. "He is reaching out to you, and you-"
"Y'know, Claire, this is why no one on the fucking planet can tell you jack shit. Because you have to insert your goddamn preachy two cents wherever you go."
Ouch. "You're mad at your dad, don't take it out on me," she snaps.
"You just act like everything's such a big deal when it ain't."
"You not responding to your dad is a big deal. Maybe it could help motivate him to staying clean."
She watches him wince at the very word. "You didn't find him OD'd, Blondie. I promise you, you'd never understand."
Yikes.
Maybe he is right about me.
"I didn't know he OD'd," Claire says, in a very small voice.
Gray nods, looking away from her again. The candlelight looms over his face, and he looks exhausted. She never realizes just how tired he usually is. "Doesn't take much. You think he willingly checked himself into rehab on his own? Yeah, right. And he can't seem to fuckin' stay in it for the life of him, either."
"But, maybe if you opened a letter, or responded to one, it would-"
"Look, drop it, alright?"
Claire just clamps her mouth shut.
He stares at her incredulously. "This is why I can't tell you shit," he says, tone indicating that he's got very little patience right now. "You say to be honest, and then you just sit there and judge in your own fucking glass house."
She scowls at his comment. "Gray, why don't you honestly go screw yourself. You're projecting 'cause you know deep down, you're more judgmental than me. Anything I do, you freakin' judge."
"Yeah? Like what?"
"My relationship."
"Pfft, let's not go there."
"The way I live my life. You make it seem like you're better than me for not going to church or-"
"No, that's just you bein' too sensitive."
"Yeah, well, that's you being a hypocrite."
"You're defensive right now 'cause you know I'm not wrong."
"No, you are wrong," Claire snaps, getting up from her seat. She suddenly doesn't want to be anywhere near this insensitive bastard. "And this is why people don't talk to you."
Gray reaches for her wrist, staring at her as she stares back. His hands are freezing and rough, but her own face still feels hot. "You don't know what it's like to want the world to stop. You're obsessed with living your life to the fullest and making the most out of everyday 'cause you never got to do anything. You want to cling to every moment and-"
"And that's a bad thing?" She scoffs at him, her gaze boring into his own. "You make it seem like I'm some-"
He releases her arm, but his grasp on her was so gentle in the first place, that it's like his touch has never even left at all. "No, Claire, fuck. That's the best part about you. That's the part everyone loves."
"Everyone does not love me," she mumbles.
"Believe me, they do."
"Oh, really. Everyone, huh?"
"Yeah," says Gray quietly. He looks despondent. "Everyone."
Her cheeks burn and her heart skips a beat and what is even happening here right now.
"You see the good in every single individual, even me, and I don't fuckin' understand how."
"You are good," Claire says quietly. "You're a real jackass sometimes, but you're not… why do you paint yourself out to be-"
"I'm all kinds of fucked up."
"Don't say that."
Gray doesn't meet her eye. "You don't know half the shit, Blondie. You don't have a goddamn clue." He stands up, ready to end this conversation, but she walks out in front of him.
"Stop," she says, feeling lightheaded. "Stop. Help me to understand then."
"I can't."
"You can't what?"
"I can't let you in like that," he whispers. He's right in front of her but he feels distant and far away. She's never seen him like this, so crestfallen and freaking sad. It feels like she's talking to the shell of him, and not actually him.
"Then tell me. Tell me what's wrong in your life and why you're here."
"Here what, here on this earth? 'Cause I don't-"
"Here as in here. Living with me."
"Blondie-"
"Gray, I've been with you this whole time. I've always been with you, there for you, and if you just let me in-"
For a split second, something flickers across his face, as if this is a real possibility, as if he's seriously considering it, but he quickly shoots this idea down. "No, you wouldn't be able to wrap your head around this shit."
"Gray."
"You don't… Jesus, Claire, I'm not tryna be an asshole, but you really don't know fuck all."
She retreats back like she's been slapped. "Oh, I don't know eff all, huh?"
"You fuckin' freaked when you accidentally got high off of goddamn pot brownie."
Claire narrows her eyes, piecing his words together. "Is this about drugs? Is… is that why you fought?"
And he's mad at her all over again. "I wish you could fuckin' hear yourself right now. You're a goddamn prude. You always have been and you always will be."
"You're mad at other people, or yourself, actually, so don't go taking this shit out on me."
He chuckles bitterly, but he speaks without a single trace of humour. "Maybe I am mad at you. 'Cause you're all perfect and untainted and I'm way past that."
"Untainted?! What do you even… you know what? Enough, Gray. Just enough. You-"
"You're ridiculous-"
"And you're an arrogant-"
"I can't fucking-"
"Loudmouthed sorry ba-"
His voice is loud and booming over her own, its vibration bleeding into her entire house. She almost feels the need to take a fearful step back from him. "My grandfather kicked me out 'cause he thinks I'm killing myself slowly every day." Gray stands across from her, unmoving. "You happy?"
The air is thick and unwelcoming around her, around the both of them. Her voice comes out, barely above a whisper. "What-?"
"He found blow in my room."
"I-I don't understand-"
"And a bottle of Jack Daniels I polished off by myself."
"I-"
"Blow is coke, Claire. It's fucking cocaine."
She widens her eyes. "Well, what the hell was cocaine doing in your room?!"
"Yeah, here we go. You know, sometimes I don't think you're different than everyone else, I know it. You're your own fuckin' breed of-"
"I am asking you-"
"'Cause I did it, alright? It was in my room 'cause I fucking did it."
"… Recently?!"
"Evening of my birthday. You noticed my pupils were big, well, that's why."
She laughs bitterly. "And you lied to me."
Her lights begin to dwindle, quivering on and off. The power returns, cutting out again. Returns-
Cutting out again.
"Oh well, Claire."
"No, no not 'oh well.' Why would you... why would you ever-"
"Relax, alright? 'Cause it's not that deep," he snaps, and is he shaking right now? "You pried and pried and you found out what you wanted to know, so I hope you're fuckin' happy."
He storms away from her but she darts after him, her voice pitchy and elevated.
"My God, it's not just… Gray, it's cocaine. It's freaking… cocaine, and you mixed it with booze. What if you-"
"Yeah, here we go."
"You could have freakin' overdosed like y-"
"Don't finish that sentence," he mutters, a fiery glare burning into her. "Don't."
"How could you just do something so irresponsible?!" Claire shrieks, in hysterics. She feels like there's a stranger right in front of her, a stranger in her house. She doesn't even understand who he is anymore, or if he's always been like this and it's just the greatest blindside of the year. She knew he did stupid shit in his past, but Lord, not that it carried on into his present.
"Why the hell do you care, huh? What does any of this matter to you? You think you can fix me with your fuckin' biblical love and forgiveness bullshit?" he yells back. "Well, you can't. You can't do shit for me because I'm permanently fuckin' like this."
"Stop making this about me! You shouldn't… God, you're gonna kill yourself with drugs and drinking... like the fact that you overdo it, that you abuse it, doesn't that make sense to you? Can't you see that?!"
Gray's face hardens, callous like he's been chiseled out of stone. "You don't know what killing yourself is."
"Yes, I do. Don't pretend like you're some cold-"
"I'm not pretending."
"You-"
"You don't know, Claire. You got no idea," he mutters. "So fuckin' stop, alright?"
"What are you so afraid of?!"
"Fuck off."
"'Cause you're not afraid to hurt other people - you thrive off being mean and that's why you hide-"
"You need to fucking stop. Don't go starting on that psychobabble bull-"
"And then what you're really afraid of is hurting yourself-"
This is the thing that fully sets him off; his voice sounds like a strained wild animal, an earsplitting shout which leads her to believe that underneath it all, it's not really Gray anymore. It's a stranger or a doppelgänger or something, but it's not Gray. "I HURT MYSELF AND IT AFFECTED MY MOTHER IN THE PROCESS. THAT WHAT YOU WANNA KNOW? HOW ALL FUCKED UP I AM?"
He's stolen the breath from her lungs. Her skin pales. "Gray-"
"Do you wanna know about the time I tried to make everything in my world stop? When I was eleven and I wanted to see what would happen to me if I did that? 'Cause I've clearly been fucked like this my whole life?"
Her heart feels like it's ceased beating; she doesn't understand what any of this means. Her words are caught in her throat.
"Is that what you want?! You wanna know about the time when my mind was goin' like fuckin' clockwork, when nobody knew how to help me or how to see where I fucking ticked, when I was alone and I felt like a goddamn burden? The first time I suffered but still managed to get high off the fuckin' adrenaline of it all?"
She keeps her mouth closed, staring at him, tears welling up in her eyes.
"You wanna know about the time I was a dumb kid and I made sure my Epi Pen wasn't within reach? How I forced a whole pack of Reese's down my goddamn throat? How I convinced myself that it was just 'cause I wanted to try 'em and see what would happen, but deep down, I knew it was really 'cause I just wanted it all to stop? Like, my head to just be fuckin' put on a goddamn pause? How I could not have possibly grasped the permanence in that situation? You wanna know what happened when I clearly didn't die fast enough, when my mom found me struggling to breathe on the floor of my room? How she was sobbing and screaming, demanding to know what I did before running to go and grab her backup Epi Pen? What fuckin' eleven-year-old kid thinks of their plan failing because of a goddamn backup technicality?!"
She's at a loss for words; her knees buckle and her throat feels like it's closing just hearing the suffering in his voice.
But she doesn't dare interrupt him; she physically can't.
"You wanna know how 911 came right on time, how my mom wouldn't let go of my hand, how I can remember all this shit because I'm fucked up, wired different? How my lungs ached, but I can still remember the hug she gave me when I woke up in the ICU, 'cause I felt her hands 'round my body like a blanket, like a goddamn ghost? You wanna know the first time I saw my dad cry?"
"Gray," Claire sobs, the warmth of her tears evident in her eyes. They spill down her cheeks, hot and burning against her face. She gets closer to him, reaching for him, but she doesn't even know what she's supposed to be doing next. She's numb right now; she can't even begin to imagine how he feels.
"And she passed it off like an accident, she never asked, but deep down, I could tell she thought there was more to it. She just never prodded. And I didn't wanna fuckin' die like… not be alive for the rest of ever, I just wanted the goddamn world to stop for a bit so I could see what happens when you get off. I wanted to sleep without any dreams and not have to worry about the light hitting my eyes when I woke up. That was just the easiest way for a kid like me to do it."
He's unmoving as though he's caught in a trance, but tremoring like someone is manually shaking his body.
"What I did then, and what my dad does now, how the fuck's it any different? Sometimes I think I'm still seeking that adrenaline, something to feel every time I go out or fuck up my body more and more with whatever I get my hands on. You wanted to know something that no one else knows about me? There it is; she took that one to her grave. You really wanna know the worst thing I've ever done? It's that. But not what I did to myself. What I did to her, 'cause I fucking broke her heart that night, and she saved mine."
"Gray," Claire whispers, voice cracking. Her head is swimming and her heart is sore and she doesn't even know where to begin. "I'm so sorry."
Her lights come back on, power fully returning to brighten up the house, and she can see his face fully, all splotchy and red. His expression is something that she's never seen before, not in her whole life.
Gray's voice comes out hoarse like he's not breathing. "You really wanted know about all that, Claire… well, there you fuckin' go."
He's unbuttoning the top part of his plaid shirt, like he's trying to get it off so that he can fucking breathe, and there's a strangled noise that escapes his throat, but he turns away from her, storms into her bathroom, slamming the door. She listens to the sound of the shower running over the hammering of her heart, until she hears something collapse.
Tears are blurring her vision as she runs over to the door, whipping it open in a panic with her own unsteady hands. She darts inside, only to find Gray slumped against the side of the tub as he struggles to unbutton his shirt with quivering fingers, as though it's suffocating him like anaphylaxis. He's trying to undo the last of his buttons, but he can't, and there's just bare parts of his stomach exposed while he's out of breath, burying his head in his hands in defeat. Claire frantically kneels in front of him, calling his name, telling him to breathe, telling him it's okay, he's okay, it will all be okay. She can't say stay calm because he never was calm, and he can't catch his breath, but when he looks up at her, her heart shatters because she realizes that his cheeks are streaked with tears.
"Gray." She grabs his shoulders, puts her face in front of his desperately. "Look at me, please. I'm right here, okay? Please, please, I'm begging you."
She wants to hold him because she never thought she'd ever see him cry or hear him sob like this, not in a million years, but he needs to find his space to breathe and she can't prevent that by getting too close, even if it's killing her on the inside. She wipes her tears away with the back of her hand, swallowing, focusing on him, telling him that she's sorry, that it's okay, that everything is going to be just fine.
And for a very split second, Gray's eyes dart up; they look like melting sheets of ice when they're filled with tears like this. To her surprise, he grabs her.
Pulls her body closer to his.
Buries his face in her shoulder.
And sobs.
He's hugging her so tightly, like he's afraid that if he doesn't do it firmly enough, she'll float away or leave his side. But she promises that she isn't going anywhere, that she's here, that she always will be, and he catches his breath by sobbing into her hair, shaking his head as he weeps. The sound is heart-wrenching, and the feeling is even worse, but Claire just holds him, squeezing him back so that he knows it's all going to be alright. She can't even fathom what happened to him in his past; what his mind must be going through right now and every day that he's alone with it.
The realization of everything that he said slowly begins to set in her mind. Everything he did... there aren't enough words in the English language that she can string together to effectively tell him how truly sorry she is, how much she cares for him, how frightened she is for his wellbeing. She needs to hear him say that he's okay... but feels as though those words exiting his mouth would just be a lie. Because he's not okay, neither of them are, and nothing about this whole thing is.
So she just holds him instead. And he merely clings to her in response. She thinks about throwing snowballs outside with him, how happy he looked just a few hours ago compared to now. Her tears begin to fall again as she tries to focus on that.
She doesn't know how long they stay like this for. She doesn't know how long his bawling lasts, or how long she is stroking his back in an attempt to soothe him. The heat of his chest is so fervid against her own, but she hugs him, listens as he slowly regains his breathing and comes back down to earth. She's not scared for him; she's terrified. She needs him to be okay, so she tells him not to leave, not to do anything like that ever, ever again, and he just cries, holds her close, face hot against her skin.
And there's a flash in her memory; a reminder of the time that he did this for her, when Trent stood her up on what should have been their first date. When Gray found her sobbing outside the Goddess Pond.
Just a few days after she asked him to kiss her.
… Oh, God.
Here's something to know about Claire: she's mastered the art of blocking things out of her mind. This is her coping mechanism – she is fully capable of switching her brain on and off to certain events. Traumatic car accident? Pretends like it never happened. Her mother's death? She keeps her close to her heart, but the less that she thinks about it, the better.
That time in the coat check closet?
It's been in her mind, but she doesn't allow herself to ponder over it. Not ever, because it happened, and they fought the next day, and it's been over and done with – it meant absolutely nothing.
But if it meant nothing, why can't it just casually stay in her brain? Why does she push it away every time she recalls her mouth on his and his body on hers? Why does she block it out, why does she have such a hard time acknowledging the effect that it had, or the fact that it even happened. Why does thinking about it make her knees weak and her heart skip – oh, God, what is going on?!
Why does she remember his tongue pressed against hers, the taste of his lips, the groan that exited his mouth – why is the intimacy of it all running through her mind right now, at a time like this?!
She thinks about the way that he held her that evening she cried, how he told her she was beautiful, how all of the same is being replicated tonight. Oh, God, oh no. No, no, no. She is with Trent, they are together and she is happy. She misses him, she hasn't seen him in a few weeks and Dear Lord, he would kill her if he saw her calming Gray down like this; he would kill her if he knew that her mind harboured those kinds of memories.
But, is this what she hasn't been able to place?! Is this the feeling? Is this what happened inside of her when Gray brought up her scars, when Kai knocked on the window, when they were both outside in the snow? God, she's downright selfish for thinking about her own head right now, but for once she's at a loss for words – Gray is her friend, her very best friend. She is lucky to have a best friend like him in a world like this, but she just doesn't understand anything that's going on, that's been going on.
His crying has slowly ceased, and Claire's heart is thumping as she breaks away from him for a moment, stumbled on her bathroom floor, the tiling frigid against her heated skin. The shower is still running, having produced a thick steam to the room, but its noise feels like a distant sound in her ears. Gray's red-rimmed eyes bore into hers, and she can hear his heart pounding, accompanied with the relentless beat of her own.
"Are you okay?" Claire asks softly, because she cannot bring herself to say anything else.
He eventually nods solemnly. It looks like this mere action has taken the last of his energy away.
"Gray," she whispers. He's staring at her, at her whole face, at every part of her: her eyes, her nose, her mouth–
And she pushes back away from him with quivering hands, stands up straight with unsteady knees, tries her best to relax her heart but it's fucking pounding, pounding like it's been pounding in all the time that Gray has spent here in her home.
"I-I have to go," Claire stammers, backing away.
"Blondie," he says, but she won't look at him. She's freaking out and suddenly the room is too small for her, for the both of them.
Gray is her friend; he's always been her friend, and she loves him as her friend, and that's all there is to it.
"I-I-I'll leave y-you alone for a bit."
So then why does she feel the need to run away?
And her heart is hammering and why is her heart hammering and why is her heart hammering and WHY IS HER HEART HAMMERING AND WHY–
Claire exits, shutting the door and trying to control her breathing. Maggie watches her intently from her bed. She listens, hears him moving in there, and for a split second, thinks that Gray is going to follow after her. She prays that he doesn't; regardless, she isn't going to be bringing anything up because she won't and she can't. AND THERE'S NOTHING TO EVEN BRING UP. But she hears him step in the shower, pulling the curtains shut.
She quickly makes her way over to where her boots are at the front of the house, slips them on, grabs her jacket and runs outside, trekking through the snow that's now as high as her knees. She needs this fresh air, because her head is throbbing and her whole house feels like it doesn't have the air capacity for her lungs anymore. Stomping over to her barn, she checks in on her sleeping animals, unsure of what exactly she's trying to accomplish here. She stalls herself, shivering into her coat, until she diligently notes that the light in her bathroom has been turned off. Nervously, Claire makes her way back into her house without any plan in mind - just knowing that she has to make sure he's okay.
She walks in to him on her couch, completely passed out and exhausted, looking like he's already found himself in an instantaneous deep sleep.
Her heart still races all the same.
"Oh!" Claire says, surprised. She clutches the left side of her chest, toes dug a little tighter into her fuzzy slippers. "You scared me."
Gray looks up at her from his mug. His eyes hurt when he strains them to read the 4:00AM timing of the clock, but he's trying to appear nonchalant, as though nothing has happened between them at all. Even if that's the farthest thing from the truth. "Sorry."
"S'okay," she yawns, pulling out the chair across from him at her kitchen table. "What're you… doing up?"
"I boiled water."
She turns, staring at the kettle that's still steaming on her stove. "Oh."
"Yeah."
"… Cool."
He slides an empty mug her way, and she manages to catch it before it runs off the table. Gray's a heavy sleeper, but knows that she's a light one; he had really been banking on the fact that she would wake up alongside with him. They need to talk.
Claire slowly grabs the kettle off of its coaster, seating herself across from him and pouring the hot liquid into her cup. He's already taken out a cinnamon vanilla teabag for her.
"Thank you," she says softly, when he hands it over. The blizzard has completely stopped flailing outside, but it's cloudy out tonight - only the bulb atop her oven, and a few straggling candles provide them both with any form of light.
"See?" he says. "You can function within ten minutes of waking up."
She isn't able to manage a believable smile. "Whatever... I disagree."
"Wanna talk?"
Claire stares at him, unblinking, before nodding. "… Yeah. We can talk."
He doesn't know how to begin – where does one even start to unpack all of this? "You need to know that I'm not... on this earth right now, with a goal in mind to die. And I don't want you to go thinking... that you need to worry about me at all times, or that you can't leave me alone anymore. I'm... I'm fine. I'm not fuckin' suicidal."
She nods, careful not to interrupt him. Just grips her tea with boney white knuckles, listening and shaking. Is it too cold, or is she just afraid?
"It's not that I ever really wanted to die," says Gray, staring at the mug out in front of him. Its steam hits his face with thick vapour. "I told myself that a hundred times, and I mean it. I dunno what was goin' through my head as a kid… part of me wonders if I just wanted to see what'd happen, and the other part of me thinks I just didn't wanna exist for a bit. Like, I wanted to sleep awhile but… but not die. I just felt like I needed a break from living; my head was always racing. I don't think I understood the seriousness... or the graveness in what I was doing. Does that make any sense?"
"I-I think so," Claire murmurs.
"Sometimes bein' alive feels harder than to... not be alive. What with everything." He shrugs. "And that's it. I'm... I'm sorry you had to see me like that."
"I think you had a panic attack, Gray."
He doesn't know how to respond to this.
"And I never expected to ever see you cry," she quietly adds.
"Yeah, well, I think I was just channelling my inner you for a sec, there."
Claire doesn't laugh.
"I'm serious," he continues. "Don't go tellin' anybody, alright? You could seriously ruin my reputation."
She offers him a weak smile at this. "Yeah, yeah. You and your bad reputation." Her face returns all stoic. "Do you think that you're depressed?"
He can't help but give a bitter chuckle. "I don't know what the fuck that means."
"Me either, but... maybe we could get you to talk to someone?"
Gray stares at her, words firm. "I'm fine. And I really need you to not tell anyone about this, okay?"
"I... Okay."
She doesn't push it, even if deep down, she wants to. Her expression remains unreadable. He wants to know what she's thinking, especially after that moment in the bathroom.
"I'm serious, Blondie, it's fine. That was over eight years ago... I was a stupid kid, but I'm fine now. I haven't done shit since and I won't. I deal with it all in my own way. And you don't get it, and I don't think I do either, but I'm tryin' to."
"You weren't a stupid kid. You just... you were feeling a lot of things. You still are," she whispers. "Please... tell me something."
"Right now?"
"Yeah, right now, right at this very second."
"That no matter how much goddamn Splenda I add, I still don't like no fuckin' tea."
Claire smiles at him, a stray tear spilling down her cheek.
"Please don't cry."
"I'm so worried about you."
"I told you, I'm fine now. I wouldn't... what happened was stupid, and it was a long time ago. I met Kai after it, we became friends, and shit got better kinda. So don't worry, you still go and live your life – I'll be okay. I always am."
"Some things are bigger than you, Gray."
"Not this. 'Cause I'm fine now."
"Okay, but 'fine' to you means not suicidal," she says wearily. Her voice is breaking. "'Fine' to me means beating the sadness."
He doesn't bother explaining to her just how many parts there are of him that are still sad.
"Tell me something," Claire says softly.
"I just did."
"No, really. Tell me something that you feel."
He reaches across the table and squeezes her hand. He's not sure if he's saying this for her sake or for his own. "I'm okay right now. I'm happy to be here with you... alive and all."
Her voice breaks again, and she holds up her pinky. "You promise?"
He takes it, secures his own pinky around hers like she wants him to. "I promise."
"I'm happy you're alive, too." She squeezes his hand back, relief flooding her words. "I'm... I'm sorry for everything I said."
"I'm sorry too, Blondie."
"No... I was the reason you had your panic attack. I'm so sorry."
He almost snorts. "Believe me, you weren't."
"But-"
"There's just a lot on my plate. Don't go thinkin' I'm gonna start using it as a crutch now, or that I have a pass when I'm bein' an asshole. You still get to tell me off if I deserve it."
"That's like 95% of the time."
He rolls his eyes. "And this is coming from a world-class pain in the ass."
"Right, right." The corner of her lip raises. "Cause you're any better."
His gaze stays locked on hers, refusing to break away. She looks a mess right now, bedheaded and tired, but Jesus, is she beautiful. "Will you stay with me right now?"
Her face blooms red, but she still nods. "Okay. I think M.A.S.H is on T.V. We could... watch it if you want. I'm not sleepy anymore."
"Alright."
"You wanna have a bowl of cereal with me? You know, the one you hijacked?"
He gives her a small smile. "Okay, Blondie."
And they sit on the couch, Maggie sleeping over Claire's outstretched legs, Gray leaning into her whenever something funny happens on the show. It's not a night full of humour that they're normally used to; it's obviously toned down and stagnant. But the bright screen illuminates their profiles all the same, and they clutch their cereal bowls carefully in hand to avoid spilling milk anywhere while laughing.
"I think if I were any of the characters, I'd be Hawkeye," she tells him. Her tone hasn't returned to its playful one, but it sounds like she's trying to find it, trying to get back to normal. Whatever that means. "We're both very charming, quick-witted, funny."
"You wish you were Hawkeye," says Gray with a chuckle. He's fine though - he can turn that shit on and off at any time. "I'm more Hawkeye than you. I'm actually funny."
"You are not."
"You know who you'd be?"
"... Houlihan?"
"Radar."
"Radar?!" Claire scoffs, pushing him away from her with a soft laugh.
It feels like old, usual times, but different. There is something different about it all.
And this is their last good moment together. Maybe for a while.
Maybe forever.
A/N: Lordy, this was the hardest part to write. Reading it now, it makes me sad, but I think it was important to get through. It felt really difficult putting everything into words, and I just hope that the emotion was conveyed okay enough. I'd LOVE to hear all of your feedback on it 🙂💕
This one was sooo dialogue heavy. Lots to unpack about everything. I wanted it to feel as realistic as possible - I mean, I tried to insert descriptive sentences and paragraphs as much as I could, but I didn't want the flow to get disrupted too too much, y'know?
The part with the hair donation, I've been wanting to include that for awhile. I really tried to highlight how different these two are - how Claire's first initial thought is to do something nice in memory of someone Gray loves, not because she'll get attention for it or because she's a goody goody or whatever, but because she cares for him, and it would be nice for his mom's sake kind of for his sake too in a way - even though it doesn't do anything for her in return. And Gray being unable to wrap his head around the fact that she even thinks about doing this, or why it even crosses her mind to do this... idk, I wanted to show their different dynamic and the ways that they live out their lives. One always hopeful and the other always cynical, I guess. Hopefully it didn't just sound like my usual "HEHE TIME TO TRY 'N LOOK ON THA PAZATIVE SIDE OF LIFE AGAIN GRAY" and he's just all like "):(" Yeah, didn't want it to translate like that bc ik I have a tendency for abusing this 😂
Again just to reiterate, I updated three chapters at once today, and this is the third one. You can find the other two already up :) Thanks again ya'll, I appreciate every single one of you for sticking around and reading a fic that's so very close to my heart
