Neil was serving dinner that evening as torrential rain hammered like ball bearings on the windows, the sky outside inky black and the air freezing cold. The three other housemates sat at their usual places at the table, and the mood was remarkably subdued. Rick had his chin in one hand and was staring at the tabletop, having been nearly silent all afternoon. Vyvyan smoked a cigarette slowly, his other hand toying distractedly with one of his favourite knives, gently gouging the tip into the wooden surface.
Mike lowered his magazine as Neil pottered about at the stove. His expression was difficult to ascertain behind the dark sunglasses. He noted the small, sore-looking wound on Rick's neck, then raised his voice over the sound of the downpour.
"Not that I'm complaining, but we've usually lost a few plates and teeth by this point of an evening."
Rick and Vyvyan appeared to completely ignore him. Even as the 'leftover surprise' was served up and placed in front of them by the long-suffering Neil, there was little reaction.
Mike calmly rolled up his magazine and lightly batted the punk over the head with it, and Vyvyan jolted to alertness, looking confused. Putting down his knife and stubbing out his cigarette, he began to eat mechanically.
"Vyv, give Rick a wake-up call," Mike ordered, gesturing at the daydreaming anarchist sitting at the far end of the table.
The punk froze, knife and fork in hand. Licking his lips and blushing faintly, he spoke quietly, eyes on his food.
"Rick. Dinner."
Even Neil's mouth fell open at the punk's passiveness, and Mike cocked his head quizzically.
Rick blinked and started eating, still looking like he was in another world.
After dinner, they settled to watch 'Bastard Squad'. While Neil cleared away the plates and cutlery, Mike and Vyvyan settled, while Rick poured himself a drink. Approaching the sofa and hesitating, he chose the rickety chair rather than the space beside Vyvyan.
Mike was slightly relieved when Vyvyan smacked Neil over the head for talking over the programme's narrator, but still couldn't fathom his bizarre behaviour. However, being the cool guy of the house, he didn't let it bother him unduly.
Rick was in his dimly lit bedroom, half-heartedly working on a sociology essay late that night, the freezing rain still battering the windows and making concentration difficult. His heavy-lidded blue eyes stared tiredly at his notes, and he tapped his biro on the paper, whilst his free hand fiddled with his greasy pigtails.
He heard somebody clearing their throat outside his door, the floorboards in the corridor creaking as the visitor shifted their weight.
Suddenly breathless, he raised his voice, still facing away from the door.
"…Vyvyan?"
There were a few seconds of silence, and the door opened slightly. Rick licked dry lips, listening to heavy footsteps approach him after closing the door. He felt his face burning, and looked back down at his notes, written in neat, loopy handwriting.
Turning his head slightly, he saw turn-up jeans, a Motorhead T-shirt, a studded belt.
Seconds passed, and neither moved or spoke.
Rick finally heaved out a nervous, impatient breath. "What is it?"
He flinched and turned around sharply as a hand cuffed him lightly on the back of the head.
"WHAT WAS THAT FOR?" He yelled, his temper flaring up in an instant.
"…Haven't hit you much today," Vyvyan shrugged, the chains on his denim jacket tinkling as he did so. His expression was blank, impossible to read.
"OH, MY HEART BLEEDS FOR YOU, VYVYAN!" The anarchist spat, before huffily turning back to his work, feeling his blushes scorching his face. He was so on edge he saw silver stars pulsing at the edge of his vision. The hand holding the biro was already damp.
A few seconds later, he felt fingers tug lightly on one of his pigtails, and he blinked, breathing hard, heart palpitating.
"Vyvyan…I'm not…you can't…" Rick groaned in frustration, rubbing his eyes tiredly.
The punk cuffed him again, harder this time. "WHY NOT?" He yelled, blue eyes cold with rage once more. "I'M TRYING HERE!"
Rick stood up, turned, and squared up to the punk in fury. "I'M NOT INTERESTED VYVYAN!"
"WHY NOT, POOF?" Vyvyan screamed back at him, face red with temper.
"JUST LOOK AT YOU, VYVYAN!" Rick retorted deafeningly, chest heaving with anger.
There was a painful moment of silence, and Rick lowered his eyes as the punk's face fell. The flame-haired medical student shifted his weight self-consciously, scratched his face, and turned, quickly making his way to the door, hauling it open, and exiting in tense silence.
Rick collapsed back onto his chair, heaving a huge sigh.
"…Bloody hell…"
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