iivyconfessional

[iivyconfessional]

Masterlist

Hey there, I'm iivy and this is my Masterlist!

A few things about me: I'm iivy (the two lowercase i's are a nod to Sleep Token), I'm 22, she/her, and writing is my little hobby! I write solely based on vibes and what the Writing Gods demand of me, but I wouldn't mind taking requests either. Anyway, that's me! xoxo

Here is my AO3 account!

One Slip Closer- Wally Clark x OC longfic

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 7.5, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

One Shots

Employees Only- Steve Harrington x fem!reader

When You're Feeling Open, I'll Still Be Here- Rooster x Hangman

Asks Are Open. I'm open to any of the following:

Stranger Things

Top Gun/ Top Gun: Maverick

Scream 1 (Stu Macher and/or Billie Loomis specifically)

School Spirits

The Walking Dead

Supernatural

Outside of those, feel free to ask! Anything I write is purely dependent on vibes and my motivational levels, so I may or may not get to them, but I will try my absolute best!

xoxo iivy

banners by @dividers-are-us

[iivyconfessional]

One Slip Closer- Chapter 8

Chapter 8 is back to Belle's pov and starts after the end of Chapter 7. I hope you enjoy the fluff as we are getting closer to the end of this fic! I'm still debating on if I should write smut in the next chapter, so let me know if you want to see that. Enjoy!

xoxo iivy

<<<Chapter 7.5 /// Chapter 9>>>

Chapter 8- Talking About Ray

Monday morning, I get up early enough to beat the teachers to the coffee machine. Not like it matters since I can’t disturb anything in their world, but I still take a small bit of joy in being the one to wake the coffee maker. Grabbing my blue and white mug and a green one with a chip in the handle, I pour the steaming liquid in each one, pocketing a few creamer cups and sugar packets before making my way to the art room. 

The halls are quiet, and one of the clocks I pass tells me exactly why the sun still isn’t peaking through any windows. Even for a ghost with nothing better to do, 5:37 is still early in the morning. I get to the art room, but with a coffee cup in either hand, I have to resort to knocking with my foot. It only takes a minute for Yuri to pull the door open for me, and as I walk in, he takes the green mug I extend to him.

The room is dim from the lack of sunlight coming though the windows but Yuri has turned on the floor lamp in the corner as well as the two small table lamps on the shelf and desk; the dim yet warm yellow lighting has transformed the art room into a cozy den of sorts and I can only imagine it feels natural to someone alive in the era of conversation pits.

“Cream or sugar?” I pull both from my pocket and offer them out to Yuri. He nods and takes two of each, pouring them both into his mug and using his finger to stir the liquid around.

“I’ll let the coffee make up for the early visit.” He smiles softly, sipping the hot liquid, “What brings you by today?” 

I smile at Yuri, knowing he’ll be pleased by my next words. I take a few more sips from my own mug just to draw it out, then I say, “I thought, maybe, you could finally teach me some of your fancy pottery stuff.” Yuri smiles widely at that, and I let him have the moment before I add, “Then we can talk about yesterday.” 

He groans but makes his way to the pottery wheel regardless, and I follow. He pulls his apron from its hook on the wall and hands me one as well, and I pull up a stool to sit across the wheel from him. He readies his supplies, an action I’ve watched him do a few times over the month I’ve been visiting him. 

“I’m only agreeing to this because I like your company and I want to share my craft.” I can tell he’s joking about that last part, and I hope he isn't about the first. I nod while he explains the mechanics of the wheel, the petals, and what each tool is used for.

He demonstrates how to throw the clay and work it into various shapes, how to smooth it out or add divots and texture. He lets me try, and my attempt at a vase crumples in on itself. Yuri chuckles but then explains what I did wrong and how to correct it, telling me it’s happened to him many times. In the end, we wind up with a new ashtray, and I’m sad that the clay will just reset all of my hard work, but I had fun learning.

Once Yuri and I have washed the clay off our hands and hung our aprons back up, we sit back down on our stools. The lump of clay is now replaced with his red ashtray, and Yuri pulls a joint and his Zippo from his pocket. He sparks the lighter, lights the joint, flicks the lighter closed, and hands the joint to me. This part of being around Yuri is the most routine thing about being dead. It’s comfortable and familiar, like walking through my own house.

“Alright,” I breathe out the smoke in my lungs toward the window that’s cracked and letting a cool breeze in. “What made you decide to come last night?”

I hand the joint back as he huffs out a small laugh, “I wanted to watch the movie, I guess.” When he sighs, he looks like an ancient dragon, the way the smoke curls out of his mouth and around his face. “And I dunno… ever since I started talking to you, I realized how lonely I’ve been.”

“Did you like the movie at least? I know you said The Great Gatsby was one of your favorite books.” He nods, and I smile, “I’m glad.”

We sit in a comfortable silence for a while before I speak again, “So, Charley may or may not have grilled me about you after I went back to the library last night.”

Yuri straightens slightly, and I can see a faint blush creeping up his cheeks, “About me? What did he ask?” I can tell he’s trying to play it cool, but the way he’s picking at the hem of his shirt tells me he’s nervous about what I might say.

“Oh, nothing bad!” I reassure him. “He just wanted to know how long we’ve been friends and why I’d never said anything before.” He visibly relaxes, but his eyes are trained intensely on mine, waiting for anything else I might have to tell. 

“Oh,” Is all he says, but it comes out more as a sigh

“If you want, I could introduce you.” I shrug, “I don’t want to rush you out of here or anything, but our coffee is cold, and if that clock,” I gesture to the one hanging from the wall above the door, “is right, Charley and Rhonda should be making a fresh pot right about now.”

Yuri pauses for a moment, looking at the coffee mugs we’d abandoned before we started on the clay lessons. But then I see it; the exact moment determination hardens the set of his jaw and he squares his shoulders. When he looks back up to meet my eyes, his smile lines deepen, and he nods.

“Yeah. Let’s do it. I’m sick of being alone in here.”

“Yeah? You’re sure you’re ready?” I ask him.

“I am. I love the art room, but I think it’s time for a change in scenery.”

Yuri and I make our way to the teachers’ lounge, cold coffee mugs in hand. He points out all the things that have changed since the 70s, and it’s not a lot. I can hear Charley’s laughter from down the hall, and as we get closer to the open door, I see Dawn and Rhonda are in there too. When we walk through the door, Yuri behind me, they all look up. Charley immediately turns pink, and Dawn looks like a child passing a puppy on the street.

“Mornin’, guys!” I smile and wave, then gesture behind me, “You know Yuri, right?”

They nod, and I introduce each of them by name to Yuri, even though I had gone over who was who with him yesterday. I sit down next to Rhonda, Dawn hops off her usual perch on the counter to bring the coffee pot to the table, and I thank her. Yuri sits between me and Charley, and I fill both our mugs back up.

“Charley is the one who told me where to get the good creamer,” I tell Yuri. “He has all sorts of useful information, so if you ever need anything, I’d be happy to help, but he’s probably the better option.” I throw a wink Charley’s way when Yuri isn't looking, and he sends me a glare.

After that, we all fall into casual conversation. Yuri and Dawn talk about the 70s for a bit, Charlie and I talk about what we want to do for Christmas decor in the library, and Rhonda teasingly rolls her eyes at the idea of all that holly jolly crap before leaving the room altogether.

“We should go down to the storage room and look for the Christmas decorations. That way they’re ready to be pulled out!” Charley suggests, and I agree. “Wanna come with us, Yuri?” He turns his attention to the blonde, and I swear I see them flush matching shades of pink.

“Let’s do it!” I stand from my chair and turn toward the door. At that same moment, the door opens and Wally walks in, his eyes immediately meet mine, looking a little wild, and his chest rises quickly like he’s out of breath. 

“Belle,” He crosses the room in a few long strides, only stopping once he’s right in front of me. His shoulders are squared like he’s ready for a fight, jaw set with what can only be described as determination. I catch the way his fingers flex and clench at his sides like he’s trying not to scratch an itch. 

“I was looking for you.” He clears his throat softly, and I see his adams apple bob, the muscles in his neck working. He runs a hand through his hair and tilts his head toward the door, “Can we talk?”

I was hoping he wouldn’t say that, hoping I could avoid any more heartbreaking I don’t want to be around you talks from Wally. I’m finally learning to be content with my death, I’d finally given myself the space to grieve and mourn and forgive. Wally has looked like a kicked dog the last two weeks, but especially these last few days. I take pity on Wally and nod, following him when he walks out of the teachers' lounge, if only because those big brown puppy eyes could melt the Arctic if he turned his gaze on it. 

Once the door shuts behind us, I stop, and Wally turns to me, eyes pleading and soft when he says, “I was actually hoping to talk somewhere a little quieter. Maybe the roof or the greenhouse?” 

“The greenhouse is fine.” And that’s all we say, the rest of the walk across the school and outside to the greenhouse, completely silent. He opens the door for me and closes it behind us, and I take a seat on the bench while Wally leans against the door.

“So what’s up?” I cross my arms over my chest, partially to ward off the slight chill and partially to keep from nervously picking at my nails.

“I’m sorry. I just– um, I have a lot I want to say, but first I need you to know I’m sorry.” Wally runs his hand through his hair and meets my eyes, teeth tugging at his bottom lip.

“Sorry?” I can feel my eyebrows pinching together, and I send a silent prayer of gratitude that ghosts can’t get wrinkles. “What for?”

“A lot, if I’m being honest. But mainly for what I said to you on the roof.” I start to interrupt him to say he doesn’t need to apologize, but he keeps going, “I had no right to say that to you; you’d only been dead a few days, and you’d been through a lot already, and it was an asshole move on my end, so I’m sorry.” When he’s done, he huffs out a breath.

“Wally, you really don’t need to apologize. I needed to hear it, truly.” I offer him a tentative smile that he doesn’t return. Instead, he comes to sit next to me on the bench. 

“Belle, I, uh, I know I was totally a jerk, and explaining myself isn’t going to make what I said and how I treated you okay, but I feel like I owe you an explanation. If that’s okay with you.” He shifts so he’s still on the bench at my side, but he’s facing me, so I do the same, causing our knees to press together, and the skin beneath the denim starts to tingle. 

“Yeah, okay.” I nod, unable to deny him anything when those doe eyes are aimed my direction. I swear he does it on purpose, knowing how they affect me.

“Okay,” Wally nods back, and I can see his throat working nervously as he thinks. “So, I guess I should start with what happened in the greenhouse.” I nod, and he goes on, “When you ran out with your coffee, no one really knew what was going on. When you ran, you knocked your chair over and spilled almost all of your coffee. Charley cleaned it up, but I didn’t even think about any of that. Belle,” He takes a deep breath and rests a hand on one of my knees.

“All I could think about was you. If you were okay, what was wrong, doing whatever it took to make it better. I couldn’t figure out what direction you went, I tried calling your name but you didn’t answer, and that’s why it took me a minute to find you outside; you were shivering and crying, and I felt like my heart– like my chest was going to explode.” I don’t miss that way he corrected himself, but I choose not to press, instead focusing on the searing touch on my knee. 

“Anyway,” he keeps going, his eyes glued to where his hand rests on my knee, “when we got to the greenhouse and you started talking about James and your mom, about all the goals you had for your life, all the stuff you’d accomplished– I was barely able to keep from pulling you into my arms and never letting you go. But then you were talking about Ray, and that panic attack started.”

The reminder makes my chest squeeze uncomfortably, but Wally’s thumb begins to brush back and forth on my knee, and it’s comforting. It makes me think about his gentle fingers brushing my arm during movie night when we watched The Breakfast Club , and my stomach does a flip. I don’t know why he has such an effect on me, but the smallest of touches from Wally has me halfway to being putty in his hands.

“I know I’ll never be able to help you through those the way Ray or James would, but I pulled out all the stops, everything I know about anxiety and panic attacks that I’ve learned from Charley, anything to help. And when you fell asleep in my lap, I fell for you, Belle.”

His words don’t fully register, but the way he’s looking at me scrambles my brain, full-on TV static. His eyes flash from hopeful to sad in the same breath before he continues, “But you were so new to this world and you had a lot going on and I really didn’t want to push you into something you weren’t ready for.”

“Wally, hang on a second.” I set my hand on top of his, trying to stop his ramblings.

“Belle, I really need to explain all of this. I’ve been a total dipstick these last two weeks, avoiding you when all I’ve wanted was to be around you. If you’re willing to listen, I want to explain myself. Please?” He looks at me, sad puppy eyes turned up to a hundred, and all I can do is nod. 

“I guess the real turning point for me was when we were at your locker, watching James go through your stuff, and I saw that note. It was like a punch to the gut, and all I could think was that not only were you still trying to grieve your own death, but you also still had someone in the living world. I thought ‘there’s no way she’d ever feel the same way because she has a boyfriend who loves her and she talks about him like she loves him too, and I just felt sick, so I ran off to the roof.”

“And then when you found me up there, I had totally planned on talking to you about it and about my feelings, but I panicked and just pushed you away instead. It was bullshit, and I’m sorry. You deserved a real explanation, and I’m sorry I was too chickenshit to give you that.”

Wally is talking so fast I barely have time to understand what he’s referring to– or who he’s referring to. When he gets it all out and takes a deep breath, eyes downcast to where my hand still rests over the one he has on my knee, I can’t help the small chuckle that escapes me.

“Wally,” He looks up to meet my gaze, and his eyes are glossy, teeth worrying his bottom lip again. “Are you talking about Ray?” He nods, and the puzzle pieces slip into place.

He thinks Ray is my boyfriend.

“Wally, Ray isn’t my boyfriend.” I could end his suffering now and just tell him, but the way his brows knit together is cute.

“But you said you spent the weekend at the lake with Ray, and you would sneak out to see his band play. That's all boyfriend-girlfriend stuff.” God, his confused face is so cute. I take a deep breath to calm the laughter threatening to bubble out of my chest.

“Wally, Ray is a girl, and she’s been my best friend since we were 8. She lives a few towns over, and her dad has a lake house in Chicago.” I pull the blue beaded bracelet off my wrist and hold it out to Wally, “Me and Ray made these right before our freshman year started, right before she moved and had to change schools.”

Wally pulls the beads from my fingers to examine them as I continue to talk, “We’ve always been each other’s comfort person, and we wanted a way to still feel close after she moved. We spent hours going to craft stores to find the perfect beads– mine are blue to match her eyes, and her bracelet has green beads that match my eyes. We made them and agreed that if we ever needed the other’s support and couldn’t be there, we’d have the bracelets.”

“So, you don’t have a boyfriend?” I shake my head, a small smile pulling at my lips. “And Ray, who wrote I love you at the bottom of your birthday note, isn’t a boy? ” I shake my head and let out a soft chuckle. “Then hypothetically if I were to say that I have feelings for you…” Wally trails off, a soft blush spreading over his cheeks.

“Well, you did already tell me I’m the coolest person you know.” I smile at him brightly, hoping to ease away some of the nervous tension radiating through him. He smiles, chuckling softly as he slips my bracelet back over my hand. 

“You are the coolest person I know. But Belle,” He lifts his eyes to meet mine, and I feel molten from the inside out. The swarm of butterflies in my belly takes root, and if it weren’t for our hands still on my knee, I might float away. “Maybe I have other feelings for you. And maybe I feel like I’ve known you my whole life. Maybe your presence feels like home to me more than any place ever has. Maybe the second I laid eyes on you, I knew I wanted to get to know you. And maybe your eyes became my new favorite color the first time I saw them.” 

I feel the heat in my cheeks reach a boiling point when he pauses, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. He drops his gaze to our stacked hands and flips his over so they’re pressed palm to palm.

“But, Belle, I’ve treated you so terribly these last two weeks. I got jealous and scared, and I pushed you away, so if you want nothing to do with me, I’d get it.” I start to shake my head, truly baffled that he’d think that. “I really wouldn’t blame you for it, after the way I’ve been. You’re amazing, truly. You got Yuri to talk, to leave the art room ; I’ve been trying to get him to talk to me for 40 years! You’re incredible and I’ve been awful, so if you don't feel the same–”

I cut him off before he could finish that thought.

“Wally, shut up.” 

Before I can think better of it, I pull my hand from his, bringing it up to his face and pulling him to me. My lips crash against his, and oh god, this is way better than I’d imagined. He lets out a small, surprised gasp, but then his hand leaves my knee, coming up to cup my jaw. His hand is rough against the smooth skin of my cheek, and his lips are so so soft as they move against my own. 

I pull away, just barely a breath between us, “What if, hypothetically, I felt the same way?” When he chuckles, I can feel his breath fan across my face; it’s warm and makes my stomach do another flip.

“Well, theoretically , if that were the case, I’d kick myself for avoiding you for two weeks because I was a jealous dumbass who didn’t just ask about Ray.” It’s my turn to laugh softly. Wally Clark is anything but subtle, but it works for him.

“You can make it up to me,” I tell him, smiling and taking the advantage of how close our faces are to really study the shade of brown in his eyes. They’re a warm russet and a deep chocolate ring around the outside, but when the light catches them, there are a few flecks of yellow that stand out. Chocolate was never my favorite sweet, but damn, he makes it tempting.

“Mmm, and how would I do that?” I watch his eyes dip down to my lips like he can read my mind. There’s something about this man that makes me think he just might be able to.

“Well, you can tell me everything I missed out on while you were avoiding me, and you can listen when I tell you everything I did to, how did you put it? Oh yeah, learn to live my death,” I tease, poking him in the sternum for added effect. 

“Yeah, I can do that,” He goes to nod, but we’re still sitting almost nose to nose, so he ends up bumping his forehead into mine, and we both chuckle softly.

“But first,” I flatten my hand to his chest, and his hand comes away from my jaw only for his index finger and thumb to grasp my chin gently a moment after, like he knows my next words before I even say them. “First, you can kiss me again.”

[iivyconfessional]

Fic Update

Hey guys! Almost a week late, but Chapter 8 is up on AO3 now!

One Slip Closer (40534 words) by iivyconfessional Chapters: 9/11

I'm so, so, so sorry it took so long. I'm starting to get a little bit of burnout, and life is kind of a dumpster fire at the moment, but this chapter is super cute, and I'm gonna ride the little wave of motivation to hopefully get chapters 9 and 10 at least outlined. I really hope you like this chapter. Comments are always appreciated, and I'll be posting the full chapter on here soon!

Also, I'm hopefully going to be making a master list later this week to kind of clean up my page a little.

xoxo iivy

[iivyconfessional]

hihi! i just wanted to let you know that i absolutely love your wally clark story! it’s been so hard to find fics (especially angst, which is MY FAV) for him and i’m so glad i found your account! keep up the good work, i can’t wait for the next chapter!! 🩷

AH! Thank you so much!! I love writing angst, its the best outlet for all my feelings. The last two chapters are gonna be a lot of fluff (and maybe some smut? Im undecided as of right now) but writing the angsty wally pov was for sure my favorite part of this fic!

If all goes well, I should have the next chapter up tonight or tomorrow! Again, thank you so much for the love!

xoxo iivy

[iivyconfessional]

Hey guys! So sorry but this week's chapter of One Slip Closer is gonna be late. Ive had so much going on and haven't had the head space to sit down and write but I promise im working on it and hopefully it'll be up soon!

Thank you for your patience!

xoxo iivy

[iivyconfessional]

H_NGM_N & R00STER one-shot

When You're Feeling Open, I'll Still Be Here

by iivyconfessional

Summary: The mission is finished, Mav and Bradley survived by a literal hair (thanks Hangman), and The Daggers decide to ride that adrenaline high all the way to The Hard Deck. The only problem? Jake is a flirt when he's drunk and sets his sights on Bradley Bradshaw.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin X Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

Tropes: Fluff, flirting, hangman gets drunk, one bed, an almost love confession, and a kiss so heartbreakingly sweet Title from Run Round by Blues Traveler

The doors to The Hard Deck burst open, and immediately, everyone there could feel the energy radiating from the group coming through the door. They were all smiles and laughs, hanging off each other like the band of merry travelers they were. Penny smiled from her post behind the bar top and rested her forearms against it, mentally preparing for what she could only assume would be a rowdy night-- she would be right.

Hangman, Fanboy, and Coyote were the first to reach Penny, all smiling at her politely.

"Boys," she regarded them, "what brings you in this fine evenin'?"

"Mission was a success," Fanboy told her brightly, plastering a big smile across his face.

"Glad to hear that. First round's on the house as congratulations." Penny smiles back, secretly relieved to hear the news, though she'd never let them know she was worried; she would never hear the end of it from The Daggers.

"Aw shucks," Hangman sighs, pulling the toothpick from between his teeth to give Penny his best smirk, "You're too sweet to us, Penny, my dear." He throws in a wink for good measure, and Penny throws her bar rag at him, telling him to watch it, and the other men laugh.

As the night goes on, the drinks keep coming. Phoenix, who was just wrapping up her 4th win at pool, leaves the table for Hangman and Payback to take over, Bob moving to sit nearby. She finds Bradley at the bar ordering another round for everyone in the group except himself. Bradley almost died today and isn't about to test his luck driving home.

"I still can't believe you pulled that stunt, Bradshaw," Phoenix says, shaking her head while the two carry the drinks back toward the pool table. She and Bradley became fast friends when they all first got here, and though the whole group is close now, Bradley and Nat are especially inseparable.

"Yeah, well," Bradley gives her a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, and he doesn't finish his response, just shrugs. Nat understands, though, what's left hanging unsaid in the air is the long history of Maverick, Goose, and Rooster.

When they return to the pool table and everyone has taken their drinks, Nat joins the game being played, and Bradley disappears from the group. Hangman is the only one to notice.

Bradley slips away from the noisy group, eyes locked on the old wooden piano bench on the main floor. He falls onto the seat, letting his fingers hover over the ivory keys, taking a few deep breaths.

"Play me somethin' pretty, Roo." Jake "Hangman" Seresin is tipsy and leaning lazily on the top of the piano, head resting on his shoulder. Bradley stares at him, his pretty blue eyes are glossy, and though Bradley will never say it out loud, he likes it when Jake is this close and he can see the green in them.

"Hangman, when have I ever taken song requests from you?" Bradley levels a glare at him as best as he can manage, hoping his cheeks aren't as red as they feel. Hoping Jake's too drunk to notice the blush creeping along the sides of his neck.

Jake absolutely notices and is determined to find out just how red Bradley can get. "Dunno. Maybe since I saved your ass today," He smirks down at Rooster and, for added effect, he winks at him.

Bradley has gone from pink cheeks to full-blown tomato-faced, and Jake is beyond impressed with himself. He knows exactly what he'll be doing for the rest of his evening.

Bradley drops his eyes from Jake's, cracks his knuckles, and mumbles, "What d'ya wanna hear?" Jake is practically beaming at him now.

"Piano man," Jake says, barely containing the excitement in his chest. He knew that Bradley could play, but Nat had let it slip a few weeks ago that he's basically a piano prodigy and can play just about anything. After that, Jake started plotting. He told himself it was just to mess with Rooster, to show him he's not the only music man in the Navy. Told himself that it's because he misses Texas and nothing more. Told himself it wasn't to impress Bradley because that would be ridiculous.

Bradley takes a moment to think, fingers resting on the keys, tapping out a few small notes to get the melody in his head before he starts to play. As Bradley begins to tap out the beginning notes, fingers skidding across the keys, all of his focus on his hands, Jake takes the opportunity to slip a hand into his pocket and pull out the harmonica that's been burning a hole in him all evening. He's been waiting for this.

Just as Bradley starts to play the first chords, Jake brings his harmonica to his lips and begins to play too. Bradley's eyes shoot up to meet Jake's so fast that they both almost mess up the song. Bradley's eyes are wild, almost panicked, and Jake has to try very hard not to smile. Jake throws him another wink and turns around to look at the growing crowd of people around them.

Soon enough, everyone is singing along with Bradley, and Jake keeps up on the harmonica. The Daggers are the loudest, of course, both because it's a great song, but also because "when did Hangman get a harmonica? Did anyone know he could even play? Did him and Rooster plan this?"

When the song comes to an end, the whole bar is cheering and shouting. Drinks are thrust into the hands of Jake and Bradley, courtesy of someone at the bar who enjoyed their performance. Jake throws his back, and Bradley sneakily passes his off to Fanboy.

"Rooster, you hear that?" Jake slaps a hand on Bradley's shoulder, leaning maybe a little too far into his personal space, their hips brushing together. "They love us!" Jake throws his head back in a deep laugh that sends a shiver down Bradley's spine.

"Hangman," Bradley turns to him, putting his hand on Jake's other shoulder, pulling him ever so slightly closer, "When were you gonna tell me you played the harmonica?"

Jake, a little too drunk to care about all the people watching, leans closer to Bradley. They each have an arm wrapped around the other's shoulders, and their noses are only about 3 inches away from touching. "I'm from Texas, Roo, 'course I can play."

As much as Bradley hates to admit it, he's impressed with Jake. He also doesn't want to admit that the nickname Jake keeps calling him, Roo, has his stomach doing somersaults. He's going to assume it's the adrenaline from the day and from playing that has his heart hammering in his chest, and not the pretty man standing so close to him.

Rooster peels himself away from Jake's hold to sit back down on the piano bench. Nat hollers because she knows what's coming, and the rest of The Daggers join in. Jake moves to the front of the piano, standing right in Bradley's line of sight.

Bum bum bum bum, the piano rings out, and the whole bar erupts into a frenzy. You shake my nerves, and you rattle my brain.

Bum bum bum bum

Too much love drives a man insane

The whole bar is singing like their lives depend on it. Bradley is playing like his soul is on fire. He tells himself it's the music, the crowd, the energy in the room. He tells himself it's definitely not the way Jake is looking at him over the top of the piano. Definitely not the way he smiles as he sings. Absolutely not the way Jake's lips pull up at one corner or his teeth tugging at the bottom one when he's not singing.

Bradley tries his hardest to avoid Jake's gaze the rest of the night. Tries to keep out of reach of his touch. Jake spends the rest of the night all but eye fucking Bradley, standing just a hint too close, using every opportunity he can to touch Bradley. A hand on his back, a bump to his shoulder, a brush against his ass when he was lining up a pool shot, and Jake just had to squeeze past him. Bradley missed the shot despite having it perfectly lined up.

Jake also makes a handful of comments to Bradley throughout the night. He likes the way Bradley's face heats up when he calls him Roo. Jake learns that Bradley gets especially flustered when his accent thickens a little more after every drink. Calls him Sweetheart once, only a little on accident, and doesn't miss the sharp inhale that passes Bradley's lips.

"I need ta' close my tab, Darlin," Jake draws, leaning on the bartop and reaching for his wallet. Penny crosses her arms, chuckling at him.

"I got it, Miss Penny." Bradley reaches around Jake and hands his card off. Jake spins around, still leaning on the bar, putting himself practically chest to chest with Bradley. Bradley just chuckles at the absolute mess that is drunken Hangman, "C'mon, big boy, let's get you home. "

Jake's face was already warm from all the alcohol, but Bradley's words caused his face to heat even further until he feels like he was boiling alive. Bradley took his card back from Penny with a nod of thanks and a Night Pen as he helped a stumbling Jake out of the bar.

Bradley helps Jake into his car and begins the drive back to the house they've been staying in with the others. Phoenix and Bob left first, while Payback, Fanboy, and Coyote had only left an hour or two ago. Rooster had only stayed to keep Hangman out of trouble; at least, that was what he'd told everyone else. Definitely no other reasons.

The car ride back was nothing out of the ordinary, the radio softly playing in the background, until a particular song caught Jake's attention. He sat up fast, scaring Bradley with the sudden movement, and pulled his harmonica out of his pocket. He turned the radio up and began to play his harmonica along, not missing a single note and singing when he wasn't playing.

But you Why you wanna give me a run-around? Is it a sure-fire way to speed things up? When all it does is slow me down

Jake starts in on his harmonica again, and Bradley has to admit, he's incredibly impressed. He's smiling to himself and watching Jake out of the corner of his eye, driving slower than he needs to. When Jake drops the harmonica back in his lap and begins singing again, Bradley thinks he might recognise the song, but can't be sure as Jake's harmonica skills are much better than his singing voice.

Tra la la la la bombardier, this is the pilot speaking I've got some news for you It seems my ship still stands no matter what you drop And there ain't a whole lot that you can do

The song ends just as Bradley's car pulls up in front of the house they've called home for the past weeks while on the assignment.

"What song was that?" Bradley asks, putting the car in park and turning the engine off.

"Run Around by Blues Traveler." Jake takes off his seatbelt and pockets his harmonica. Bradley nods before getting out of the car and walking around the front of it.

Bradley helps Jake out of the car and up the front steps. Jake isn't that drunk, but he'll take any excuse to hang onto Bradley's broad shoulder, walk just a little too close to him, and bump into him when they walk. They make it into the house and to Jake's room as quietly as they can manage, Jake flopping down on his bed as the soft snick of the closing door sounds behind them.

"Alright, Hangman," Bradley starts, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, "You settled for the night? Not gonna yack all over the carpet?"

"Mmmm, Roo," Jake mumbles, kicking his boots off and tugging his shirt over his head. Bradley's brain goes TV-static-quiet at the sudden exposure of all that golden skin. "c'mere"

Bradley hesitates, but Jake just crosses his arms from where he's sitting on the bed, and Bradley caves. Once Bradley is standing in front of Jake, he takes the opportunity, standing and wrapping his arms around Bradley's waist, before he falls backward onto the bed.

Bradley is so surprised by the quick maneuver that he barely has time to throw his arms out to keep from squishing Jake into the mattress beneath him.

"Jake, what the hell?" Bradley asks, looking down at Jake, now pinned to the bed under him.

"Stay with me tonight?" Jake's hands are resting on Bradley's hips, their faces only inches apart as Bradley holds himself up, palms pressing into the comforter on either side of Jake's shoulders. "Please, Roo," Jake is not above resorting to begging.

Bradley's face flushes, his pulse skyrocketing when he feels Jake's fingers dig into his hipbones over his jeans. "Yeah, okay."

Jake smiles a self-satisfied smirk, very pleased with his persuasion skills. He reaches for Bradley's belt, calloused fingers against the cold metal, but Bradley grabs his wrist with one hand, stopping him.

"Hey now." Jake sees Bradley's throat work, looks up into his nervous gaze. "Hangman, you're drunk."

If Jake hadn't already respected the hell out of Bradley Bradshaw, he would now. "If you're stayin' in my bed, you ain't sleepin' in jeans, Bradsaw."

Bradley nods, hoping the movement will hide the blush creeping over his cheeks. After a too-long moment of eye contact between the two, Bradley finally stands back up to peel out of his clothes. The Hawaiian shirt and white tee first, followed by his boots and jeans. Jake doesn't move from his spot on the bed while he shimmies out of his jeans, too.

When both men are left in just their boxers, Jake scoots up to the top of the bed and peels back the covers. He pats the spot next to him, moving closer to the wall as Bradley climbs into the bed next to him. They both silently slip under the blankets, and Bradley switches off the lamp on the nightstand.

Lying side by side in the dark, Bradley is the first to move, rolling onto his side to face Jake, breaking the silence to ask, "How long have you played the harmonica?"

"My dad taught me when I was 12, but I haven't played since I was probably 17," Jake tells him, rolling to face Bradley. Even in the dark, he can see that they're almost nose to nose on the pillows.

"But you still carry one with you?"

"Nope. Got this one just for you." Bradley can hear the smirk in Jake's voice. Without thinking, his hand drifts forward and finds Jake's hip, resting on top of it. He feels Jake subtly lean into the touch.

They're quiet for a while after that, Bradley's hand on Jake's hip, one of Jake's hands snaking up to rest against Bradley's chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath his fingertips. Neither saying anything, both just slowly drifting closer to the other. Eventually, Bradley rolls onto his back, the arm he's been resting his head on sliding under Jake's shoulders and tugging him closer. Jake moves to lay his head on Bradley's chest while Bradley's other hand comes to draw lazy patterns up and down Jake's side.

Jake, barely awake, lifts his head just enough to mumble, "I thought I'd lost you today, Roo."

Those few soft words crack Bradley's chest wide open. He leans in, pressing his lips to Jake's in a kiss so tender it nearly makes Jake cry. Bradley puts every ounce of gratitude and emotion he can into the kiss. When he pulls back, barely a whisper of space between their lips, Bradley murmurs, "I'm not goin' anywhere."

[iivyconfessional]

I get so giddy over the Mutuals badge on my notifications... I love them all so much 🫶

when I comment on a fellow writer's fic and they, in turn, comment on one of mine

[iivyconfessional]

One Slip Closer- Chapter 7.5

A quick note: This bonus chapter is from Wally's POV and it covers the span of the last two chapters, starting at the end of chapter 5. This chapter also deals pretty heavily with self-hate and insecurity. There are some other potential triggers, so please read responsibly.

I really loved writing this chapter, and despite that it might seem like I hate Wally, I really don't. I just like to write angst and hurt. Again, thank you for reading! A special thank you to my best friend and proofreader, Trik for convincing me to write this chapter!

xoxo iivy

<<<Chapter 7 /// Chapter 8>>>

Chapter 7.5- Mistake With A Capital W

Two weeks ago, on the roof

I hold Belle’s gaze, hoping, wishing, praying to whatever entity might be listening, that she’ll stay. That she’ll walk back and sit next to me and ask the right questions so I can tell her what I'm too afraid to offer up first. She doesn’t. Why would she? She drops her eyes and ducks back through the door and down the stairs, each step taking her further and further from the roof. From me.

I don’t know why I couldn’t just say it. All I had to do was open my mouth and say the words, tell her how I feel. But I didn’t, and I can’t, and now I won’t have the chance. It’s too late for me to run after her, to chase her down and grab her shoulders and just ask.

I run my hands through my hair, tugging on it. Frustration settling in my chest, doing all the work to fight off the cold November night air. Frustration at myself, at that nagging little voice in my head telling me I’m not worth it, that I don’t deserve her time. 

I sleep on the roof and wake up on Tuesday morning in the light of early dawn, half frozen and somehow more tired than when I had passed out. I have a very fitful sleep to blame for the radiating pain in my neck, bones extra crunchy, my knee throbbing more than normal.

I decide it should go inside because while I technically can’t die a second time, the cold is making my miserable mood worse– that nagging little voice tells me this suffering is the least I deserve, and I almost listen to it.

I trudge my way to the teachers' lounge and make a cup of coffee, not to drink, just to warm my hands while I walk. I’ve never been able to sit still when something was bothering me, always pacing until I’d solved a problem, running before anxiety could catch me in its claws, doing pushups or other exercises until I found the right words to put myself at ease. 

That’s exactly what I do. Pace. I wander the halls in the true spirit of ghostliness. Haunting the school in the most literal sense that I am capable of, sour attitude and all.

And then I see her as I’m passing the open library doors. She’s splayed out across one of the couches– the same couch I laid her down on just yesterday morning after she had a panic attack and bared all her soft insecurities to me. She still has her glasses on, though they’re lopsided and pressing angry red marks into the skin on her nose.

I cross the hall and walk through the doors on featherlight feet, not making a single sound as I make my way closer. I set my coffee mug down on the closest table and, with gentle fingers, slip her frames off her face and laid them on the couch next to her arm. I tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and my heart pangs at the sight of the gold bits shining back at me.

Suddenly, Belle’s arm jerks, her torso twisting and legs straightening out, and I jump back as quietly as I can. She’s still sleeping when I grab my coffee cup and make my way to the other side of the library to hide away between the shelves.

Later on, when I have given up all hope of getting through this damn book, I peel myself off the carpet and wander toward the teachers' lounge for some water. I see Dawn on her perch and keep my eyes down when I pass, not wanting to explain the bags I’m sure are there or the rumpled hair from all the times my fingers have tried to yank the stress from my scalp.

Aimlessly wandering the halls, knowing I can’t go back to the library, I see Charley and Belle round the corner, headed straight for me. When my eyes meet hers, it feels like every star in the sky has plummeted to earth and landed smack in my chest. The weight is unbearable, so I do my best to act like I have a destination and duck into the closest classroom. 

I mentally beat myself into the dirt for how stupid I am and how horribly I’ve messed up. Why can’t you just talk to her, Wally? 

I don’t leave the English classroom until the next morning. When I do venture back out into the halls, I make the utterly stupid decision to walk past the library again, and I can feel the flutter in my chest when I see her sleeping on the same couch, in the same way, glasses and all.

Just like yesterday, footfalls as silent as I can manage, I walk over to Belle and slip her glasses off her face again. Tuck a lock of hair behind her ear again. She doesn’t move this time, and I selfishly allow myself just a moment to watch her. To admire how pink her cheeks are, the freckles and moles littered across her face. I map the constellation of them, memorizing their placements, and commit each prominent one to heart. 

I step back, finally breaking my eyes away from Belle and the way her lips are parted, rosy and slightly chapped, and that’s when I see Charley at the doors to the room. His arms are crossed, eyes narrowed behind his wire-frame glasses. Shit.

I meet Charley out in the hall and force myself to meet his eyes. I want to melt into the tile floor and cease to exist, knowing a very uncomfortable lecture and questions I don’t want to answer are about to be thrown at me. He doesn’t say anything, just nods his head to the side and starts walking down the hall. I follow him– What else am I supposed to do?

We make our way into the teachers' lounge, something we’ve done countless times over the decades but never with so much tension hanging in the air. I’ve known Charley for so long, and yet I honestly have no clue what awaits me once we sit down.

I sit at the table closest to the coffee machine, and Charley grabs two mugs and fills them before joining me. When he sits, he doesn’t slide the second coffee to me like he usually does, just sets it in front of himself and takes a sip from his own mug, one eyebrow raised in a challenge.

“Do you want to explain what I just saw, or do I have to force it out of you?” Charley’s voice is surprisingly free of judgment, but it’s also not his usual light tone either.

I sigh, still wanting to melt with mortification, but Charley is my best friend, and I know I can talk to him. I know he’ll listen. I reach across the table and pull the second coffee mug to me, taking a sip, letting it buy me a few more moments to think of the right words. Charley is patient and just sips his coffee, waiting for me to be ready.

“I–I just,” It’s hard to explain something to him that I don’t even understand. “I think I messed things up, Charley. I don’t know.” I take a deep breath, the right words are clawing at the surface, begging to be let out, but dying on my tongue.

“Wally, I don’t think you messed things up. She’s still pretty torn up over seeing her brother, you know?” Charley reaches across the table and pats me on the arm a few times before he continues, “You remember the first few times I saw Emelio and how I didn’t leave the library for almost a month? Belle is actually adjusting better than any of us expected. She said it herself, she's a Relentless Optimist .” He puts air quotes around the last two words.

“Yeah, I guess. But after everything on Monday, the panic attack, her telling me all that personal stuff, seeing her brother and that note,” I grimmace at the reminder of that note, at the name and the ‘I love you’ he wrote, “We had a talk up on the roof and I pushed her away, completely shut her out like a goddamn idiot and I dunno,” I shrug, feeling a weight settle on my chest and the sudden urge to run just to get the feeling to go away.

“What note?” is all Charley says.

“When James was going through her stuff, a note fell out. I read it over his shoulder– some kind of happy birthday note and an “I love you” signed by that Ray guy she mentions a lot.” My voice waivers a little, coming out small and sheepish, and I want to punch myself for it.

“Oh,” Charley nods, and I think he understands without me having to explain, but now that I’ve started talking, the floodgates are open.

“I really like her, Charley. She’s beautiful and funny and smart. She’s like a– Like someone bottled up an actual sunrise. I know it sounds stupid, but I feel like I know her. Like, on some deeper level, I feel like I’ve known her forever, and I got scared. I thought she wouldn’t like– and I pulled back.” My hands are in my hair again, threatening to rip until I’m bald.

“Wally,” Charley tries to stop the word vomit spilling from my lips, but it’s no use.

“It’s been like a day and a half, and I’m going crazy. I want to talk to her, but I know that after what I said on the roof, there’s no way she’d want to hear a word from me.” I puff out a heavy sigh, that weight inside me settling deeper. “I saw her sleeping yesterday morning, and her glasses were still on, so I took them off for her, and then again today, and I couldn’t help but just stare because I know it’s the only time I can.” 

Charley just nods, accepting my words, letting them spill out into the open. I remind myself to thank Charley later for being such a good friend. I truly don’t know what I’d do without his quiet reassurances and kind heart. 

I let out a final, heavy sigh and, in a voice much smaller than I’d intended, said, “I just don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know if I can. I told her she wasn’t ready to be dead yet and that I couldn’t be around her until she is. She probably hates me.”

Charley waits until he’s sure I’m done and when it’s clear I don’t have anything left to say, he puts a gentle, comforting hand on my arm and I meet his eyes. They’re serious but not cold or judging, “Do you want my help?”

I shake my head. I love Charley, and I know he would do it if I asked, but this is my mess, and I have to lie in it. He nods, understanding clear in his eyes.

Charley and I spend the rest of the day in the library, much to my dismay, but it’s a nice distraction. He reads and I listen to music, getting lost in the familiar sounds of Bowie.

Thursday morning comes, and I feel just as restless as I have for the last few days, so I decide to go to the roof to watch the sunrise. It's the first time I’ve been back up here since I talked to Belle, and when I sit at the edge, dangling my feet over the universe decides to punish me for my stupidity because Belle is there, lying out on one of the tables near where the marching band is looping.

I guess I’m a masochist because I watch her; I can just barely see the rise and fall of her chest, and I see when the sun gets high enough to shine through her closed eyelids because she moves her arm to rest over them. When she sits up, I scramble to my feet and retreat to where she can’t see me. I stay up there the rest of the day.

Enjoying the fresh air, I tell myself.

Avoiding Belle, the nagging little voice that hates me, says.

It’s early in the morning on Friday when I finally retreat inside, frozen to the bone. I head straight to the library to find Charley, but instead I find Belle– or rather, she finds me. She’s rubbing her eyes when she walks right into me, and the force of it knocks her glasses off the top of her head. 

The physical contact feels like an electrical shock to my whole body, and to keep from looking like a starstruck idiot, I make myself useful and pick up her glasses. I hand them back to her without a word, afraid of what I might say if I open my mouth, even to say sorry.

You don’t deserve to speak to her, says the voice, icy and venomous, not after you messed it all up. 

I hide away in the theatre for a while and listen to the faint thud of Mina’s boots up in the catwalk, back and forth. I’ve always loved the theatre, loved the atmosphere and the people it attracts. Had my mom not pushed me into football, I would have wanted to join the drama club. I’ve never missed a play or musical that this school has put on. I show up to every audition and casting call, and rehearsal, too. I love the arts, but specifically this one.

When it’s time for group, I lazily make my way toward the gym, not caring if I’m a few minutes late. When I walk in and see Belle in the seat between Charley and Rhonda, my chest tightens. She meets my eyes and immediately finds her shoes more interesting. She hasn’t been to group all week, and I ruined her first one back.

She hates you, the little voice says, no venom this time, just matter-of-factly. You’ll never be good enough for her, and she’s finally seeing it. Smart girl.

I’m the last to leave group, hanging back to help Mr. Martin and Charley put the chairs away. Charley pulls me aside after we’re done, sitting on the stage with me. Our feet dangle off the edge, and occasionally our sneakers bump into each other.

“Her favorite movie is Top Gun.” He says, “You know the one the history teacher likes to play after the unit on the Cold War. With the hot Navy plane guys.” 

I chuckle because, of course, Charley would say that. “I know the movie.”

“You should ask Mr. Martin if we can watch it for movie night on Sunday.” He offers me a small smile and bumps his shoulder into mine.

I just nod. “Thanks, Charley. You’re a good friend.”

I find Mr. Martin on Saturday morning and put in the movie request. He says if I can find the DVD, then we can watch it. I spend the rest of the day digging through the history teacher's desk. And the closet. And the library’s DVD collection. And the teacher’s lounge storage cabinets. I finally find it in the football coach’s desk, of all places. 

Sunday movie night rolls around, and Belle doesn’t show. I try not to let it bother me. I try to enjoy the movie. I try not to feel the shame settling in my belly.

She’ll never give you a second chance, the mean voice tells me, you aren’t worthy of her forgiveness anyway. You think a stupid movie will fix what you said to her?

I leave after the movie and book it straight to the football field. I run and run and run until I can’t anymore. I do pushups and crunches and burpees. And run some more. At some point, late at night, I swear I see Belle at the top of the stairs, but I’m running and exhausted, and I chalk it up to wishful thinking.

Monday morning, I wake up and it feels like there’s been a shift in the universe. I can’t place it and have no reasonable explanation for why, other than I can just feel something’s different. My body aches, but I go back to the field anyway, a glutton for punishment. When I get there, though, Belle is running down the stairs. I tuck myself away where I know she can’t see me, and I watch her. She runs lap after lap, up and down the stairs. 

When she’s headed back down and can’t see me, I make my escape. I sit in the greenhouse for a while just to be in a space that feels close to her. It’s a nice place to think, if I’m being honest. It’s quiet and warm, despite the end-of-November chill outside. I stay there for the rest of the morning and just think. About Belle. About everything she shared about her life. About what I would say if she ever gave me the chance to talk to her again. 

Sometime in the early afternoon, I leave the plant sanctuary and find Rhonda in the band room. We spend the rest of the day listening to music in the comfortable silence that comes with years of companionship. She’s not my best friend like Charley is, but more like the older sister I’d always wanted, but never had.

Tuesday, I get to the field nice and early, hoping Belle will come back again today, and I’ll run into her. I see her at the top of the stairs and have to fight the urge to run up the stairs to her. When she turns on her heels and jogs away, I pretend I don’t feel like I’ve been stabbed.

I told you, the nagging voice tells me, she wants nothing to do with you.

I’m starting to think… it might be right.

Wednesday morning, I wake up in the library, and Charley has already made coffee and set one on the table next to me. It’s cold today, more so than it has been, so when I finish my coffee, I decide to grab my jacket before I head to the field. Usually, I don’t bother bringing it and just run in the cold. I may be a glutton for punishment, but I don’t want to deal with frostbite.

Jacket slung over one shoulder, I throw open the gym doors and freeze. Belle is sitting on the floor, her knees are red like she’d fallen, and her fingers are working to tie the laces. She looks up, and her eyes meet mine right away. I don’t have a heartbeat to skip, but it feels an awful lot like it. My knees go weak, and my vision tunnels in so all I can see is Belle.

I take a step. Just one.

“Hey, Belle.” That's all I can manage.

“Hey,” She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. Then she’s standing up, and I don’t miss the way she tenses the muscles in her legs, locking her knees like she’s trying to keep from swaying. I close the distance between us, far enough to not crowd her, but close enough to catch her if she falls.

I can feel the tension bouncing between us, like a live wire stripped clean and ready to start a flame. I don’t think, don’t give any time to reason or talk myself out of it before I say, “Belle, look. I think we need to talk.”

She flinches, takes a step back, and says, “Actually, I uh, I have to go. I’m supposed to be meeting Charley. For coffee.” She’s nodding her head, but it feels like she’s trying to convince herself more than me. And she is. Because I just had coffee with Charley, and he mentioned he hadn’t seen Belle or Rhonda since yesterday morning. 

She side steps me and all but runs for the exit doors, stopping just before them. Like it was an afterthought, like she didn’t care or didn’t want to say anything else, but decided at the last second, she says over her shoulder, “See you around, Wally.”

And then she’s gone. 

All thoughts of my run slip out the door behind her– the gaping hole in my chest is punishment enough for the day. Instead, I sulk off to the theatre again. I shout up my courtesy Hello to Mina before I slip into the storage room beneath the stage. December starts next week, and Charley will want to start decorating for Christmas soon, so I make myself busy organizing the decorations; I pull all of them towards the front of the room, sort the boxes and bins into groups, and shake out the tree for spiders before putting it back in its box. Anything to keep my hands and mind busy.

Thursday, I spend the whole day with Dawn. I’m still shaken after yesterday’s run-in with Belle, and the mean little voice has grown incessant with its nagging.

She hates you.

You’ve ruined the best thing that could have happened for you.

This is your punishment.

You’re stuck with this mistake for the rest of your afterlife.

She hates you.

You’re stupid for ever thinking you deserved love.

She hates you.

She wants nothing to do with you.

She hates you.

She hates you.

She hates you.

Dawn has never minded a silent companion, always content to talk and talk. Always happy to fill the silence, never expecting conversation in return. Dawn is a good friend, and I let her know that. I don’t talk much throughout the day, letting her update me on the lives of the living, recent gossip, the weather reports, all of it. 

By the end of the day, I retire to the computer room, sleeping on the pile of beanbags in the little projector closet.

I wake up on Friday morning and can’t find Charley or Belle, but I do find Rhonda in the library, reading. I join her on the couch and let her read her book aloud to me. I don’t really listen, letting my mind wander. Think of all the things that went wrong in the days since Belle got here. Wonder how it could have been different, had I not been an absolute fool. 

In the early hours of the evening, I leave my place next to Rhonda, thanking her for her lovely reading, and head to the theater once more. It’s my preferred quiet place, the acoustics and the way every small sound bounces around has always been soothing to me.

Saturday comes and goes in a blur. I go to the field at the break of dawn and run until I actually collapse on the turf, the fake grass digging into the back of my neck and sticking to my hands when I finally peel myself off and stand up. Wobbly legs carry me inside, to the library to grab a book, then up to the roof. At some point, Charley brings me a mug of hot chocolate. I wake up and it’s dark– my guess would be around 11 pm or so? 

I all but tumble down the stairs and into the gym locker room. I take a hot shower, hoping to ease some of the chill and ache out of me, but it hardly does anything. I pass out on the couch in the coach’s office and don’t wake up until early afternoon Sunday. 

The only thing that hauls me off the couch is the fact that it’s movie night and I have to get to group, so I haul myself up and make the short walk toward the gym. I’m the last one to show, and I don’t need a mirror to know I look like shit because Charley’s face says it all. Belle, unsurprisingly, doesn’t look my way.

I told you, the little voice says, hate hate hate hate

I do my best to shut its mantra out, focusing on my shoes instead. That is, until Belle speaks up. She tells everyone she’s finished her eulogy. Mr. M asks if she’d like to read it standing for the full effect, but she declines.

She starts reading from the paper in her hands, and I don’t miss the way her fingers shake, just a little bit. Or the way her left leg doesn’t stop bouncing, the first one of her anxious tells I’d learned. My fingers itch to squeeze her knee gently, to comfort her, to ease the panic I can hear creeping in at the edges of her voice.

She starts, and I find out her full name is Bella Donna Hawthorne. I listen to her words, to the story of her life being read as though it’s from someone else. About the love and happiness she had in life. Anecdotes about her Mom and Dad and James, my stomach twisting in an ugly knot when she mentions Ray, but I push it down. I listen to the things she wrote about herself, and I know she’s being modest because she is all those things and more.

I learn about her interests and her talents, and her accomplishments. I learn how she wants to be remembered, and I can feel myself falling–

Before I realize it, I’m crying. She’s folding her paper back up, and I’m wiping my eyes as discreetly as I can, schooling my expression in any way possible, and we are all clapping for her. She pushes her glasses to the top of her head, wiping her fingertips across her cheeks, and I wish I could be the one to kiss away her tears. Everyone begins clapping softly, and her face lights up with gratitude. She smiles and her eyes crinkle at the corners before she settles her lenses back on her nose. 

She looks my way for the first time since I got here, and my whole body goes rigid, like that live wire snuck into my bones and has zapped me to the core. I hunch my shoulders in, trying to contain all the emotions welling up behind my eyes and threatening to spill over.

She looks away first, and I let out an unsteady breath. I need air. I quickly get to my feet and leave the gym before anyone can see. The tears are falling before I’m even fully out of the doors, and my shoes feel like they’re made of lead. Every step from the gym to the roof is as hard as running through quicksand.

When I burst through the doors, cold November air icing the tears on my cheeks, I breathe in the first deep breath I have in what feels like days. With a bang, the door shuts behind me, and it’s like the floodgates have opened. I spend a long time crying on the roof. Crying for Belle and all she must be going through right now. Tears for how selfish it feels to want to be there for her. Sobs for how stupid I am for missing out on any time I could have spent with her over the last two weeks.

When my eyes are finally dry and I’m cold and shaking, I make my way back inside. It’s almost time for the movie, and when I get to the gym, everything is already set up. I flop down on one of the couches and do my best to avoid eye contact with everyone. 

We’re watching The Great Gatsby, and I’m not mad. It’s a good movie and will be an even better distraction from the hollow panging in my chest. That is, until the movie finally starts, and just as the opening credits finish, the gym door opens. Everyone who is usually here is accounted for, so I turn to see who has walked in.

It’s Yuri. The blonde boy from the art room. The boy who’s been here longer than I have, whom I’ve tried to talk to countless times to no avail.

Belle jumps up and jogs right up to him, talks with him softly, and he smiles at her. He follows her to the couch she’d been lying on, and when she says something to Charley, he leaves his seat to join Rhonda in the beanbag pile. 

Yuri replaces Charley on the couch next to Belle, and I feel like my blood is on fire. 

That should be me, sitting next to her. Whispering in her ear, listening to her commentary, making her smile, and trying to hide laughs. I wish I could be the one on the couch beside her right now; maybe she'd lay her legs across my lap, let me rest my hand on her knee. Maybe she'd lean her head on my shoulder, let my cheek rest against her forehead. If I hadn't blown any shot at something between us, I could be next to her right now, feeling the warmth of her presence, the electricity of her touch.

You don't deserve her, the nagging voice tells me, she would never want you like that anyway.

I try my best to watch the movie, focusing more on my inability to focus than on the movie itself. I can't stop looking at Belle, at the way she seems so comfortable with Yuri. I can't bother with Gatsby when the only person I care to watch is sitting on the other couch, sharing a bowl of stale popcorn with someone who isn't me. 

Get over yourself, Wally. That'll never be you because you let your insecurities ruin the one good thing you've ever had going for you, the voice starts again, you're jealous and needy, and pathetic. Belle would never want you. 

She would never willingly put up with such a poor excuse for a man.

You don't deserve her.

She hates you.

She's already forgotten you.

The rest of the movie plays, but I can’t focus on any of it. My mind is spinning in circles. Belle and Yuri are friends. How did that happen? When did that happen? I’ve been trying to get him to open up for the better part of four decades, and she does it in a matter of weeks? A healthy dose of self-hatred sprinkled throughout the few logical questions I come up with. 

When the movie is over, Belle leaves with Yuri. I can’t help myself; I follow them. Not closely, but just enough to observe. Call it curiosity, massocism, whatever, I just need to know. They walk to the art room, but Belle doesn’t go in with him, just bumps him with her elbow, says goodbye, and heads to the library for the night.

I knew she was an amazing person, relentless optimism and electric personality, but if she seriously got Yuri the hermit to leave the art room in less than a month, she has to be an angel. And all I can think is that I need to fix this mess I made. I have to talk to her.

[iivyconfessional]

One Slip Closer- Chapter 7

Summary: After last week spent down in the dumps, Belle is finally ready to stop sulking and learn to enjoy her afterlife. Charley, Rhonda, Dawn, and even Yuri help her realize it's not so bad to be dead.

<<<Chapter 6 /// Chapter 7.5>>>

Chapter 7- A Step Into The Sunshine

I wake up Monday morning still feeling dead and drained– emotionally, that is. After last night, that conversation with Charley really changed my perspective. When I put my glasses on, setting them in place, I decide that even if I feel like crap, I can pretend that I don’t. 

“Fake it till you make it, baby,” I tell myself, and though it is the ass crack of dawn, I go outside for a run. At first, I just planned to do a few laps around the yard and parking lot, but when I pass the football stadium and see that it’s empty, I take the opportunity.

I don’t count my laps, making the passes up and down the stairs until my legs feel like they’ll give out on the next step. The sun is fully over the horizon before I make my way back inside. I shower, and it feels nice to do something so normal in the literal place that I died.

I find Dawn in the bleachers of the gym when I’m leaving the locker room, and I spend the rest of the day with her. We follow students around, listening to gossip and making up our own. Dawn’s laughter is contagious, I find out; she’s a ray of sunshine and an incredible friend. She tells me how she died, and I cry with her when she shares, telling her she didn’t deserve the way those girls had treated her.

Eventually, Dawn and I part ways. She goes off to find someone named Mina, and I meet up with Charley to go to the LGBTQ Club like last week. This week’s meeting is smaller, but I can see why Charley comes to them; they’re comforting. Afterwards, I go to the greenhouse where I journal for a while, still working on my eulogy; I’m on draft seven or eight now, but it still doesn’t feel done.

The Tuesday morning sun beams through the greenhouse panes and warms my face. When I sit up, I don’t feel as horrible as I did yesterday, and decide I hate myself just enough still to go for another run. I head toward the football stadium for more stair laps, but when I get there, a certain someone is on the field, so I promptly turn around. I run laps around the yard instead, listening to the marching band loop the same songs, following the same pattern, stepping in the same spots over and over again. 

When my legs start to tire and I feel a phantom burn in my lungs, I begin to cheer the band on. Something about encouraging the ghosts that can’t hear me pushes me to keep going, almost like the praise bonuses off them and beams back to me. There's a lot of “keep up the good work” and “you’re doing great” and even a sarcastic “man, you’d think you guys never stop practicing” thrown in there. 

They don’t react, of course, but it pushes me to keep going, so every few laps I throw out more inspirational bullshit. That is until I hear Rhonda behind me, laughing when I tell the band to “look alive! Put some pep in your step,” and I finally stop running to go sit on the bleachers with her. I hadn’t realized how hard I'd been pushing myself until I sit down and immediately feel the need to rub some of the soreness from my legs.

“So Cherry Pop, what’re you runnin’ from?” Rhonda asks, leaning back on her elbows on the seat behind her and crossing her ankles on the row below. 

“Well, I've been dead for two weeks, and I figured I should probably find a routine to keep my sanity intact,” I tell her, skipping the part about Wally and his opinions on my readiness to be dead. I know Rhonda wouldn’t judge, but I’m making this week about me, not Wally. 

“So you start with running? Sounds horrific. What’s next on the schedule?” This is why I like Rhonda. She’s no-nonsense, straight to the point, but in a supportive way.

“Well, I honestly haven’t thought that far. I spent yesterday with Dawn, and that was fun and all. I hadn’t really planned anything for today, though. Any ideas?” 

Rhonda is quiet for a moment, a contemplative scowl on her face, the occasional hum passing her lips before she sits up, nods, and turns to face me fully, “Follow me.” 

That’s all she says before she stands and walks towards the main entrance doors of the school. I stand and follow after her as quickly as my sore legs will allow. We walk into the school and through the halls in a comfortable silence until we reach the principal's office. I stop just inside the doorway, but Rhonda marches on, rounding the secretary’s desk before she drops down out of sight.

“Rhonda, what the hell are you doing?” I say through a laugh and follow after her. When I come around the desk, I see she’s dropped to her knees and is digging in the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet. 

“I am raiding the contraband drawer.” She says matter-of-factly, and I laugh again, but drop to my knees next to her and look into the drawer.  There’s all sorts of junk in there: A few pocket knives, a phone, various types of headphones, a pack of cigarettes, and a lighter, to name a few. Rhonda grabs something before shutting the drawer.

When she stands, she tilts her head to signal for me to follow, and I do, still oblivious to her plans, but my interest is piqued.

I follow Rhonda down the halls once more, into the computer lab classroom, and past a door I haven’t been through before. We walk into the dark room, and when she flips the light switch, it becomes clear what the room is.

There’s a white canvas stretched open on one wall, a projector on the other, and a pile of beanbags in the corner. Like a makeshift mini movie theatre. I am absolutely awestruck– how have I been going to this school for three and a half years and never known this room existed? 

“Rhonda, you sneaky bitch!” I tease, “You’ve been holding out on me this whole time? I could have been wallowing in self-pity all last week in a private theatre and you didn’t say anything?” I press a hand to my chest in mock outrage, and she laughs at me.

“Yeah, well, apparently you missed your favorite movie on Sunday, and I figured you’d want a redo. Plus, I watched one of the teachers confiscate this last week,” she holds up a small flash drive, “and I wanted to save it for a special occasion.” 

I take a step closer and pluck the flash drive from her fingers, flipping it over in my palm before looking to Rhonda for further explanation. She gives me the most devious smirk and snatches the flash drive back from me and turns to plug it into the projector. 

I grab two of the bean bags from the pile and drop them to the floor in the middle of the room in front of the projector screen before throwing my body down onto one. Rhonda gets everything else set up, and as the movie stars, she sits next to me.

“I was hanging around the detention room on Wednesday and watched this guy spend the whole time pirating horror movies. The teacher caught him in the last five minutes and took the drive before he left. There are both 13 Ghosts, the first three Scream movies, and Mirrors. I watched the first 13 Ghosts when it came out and have been keeping up with horror media as best as I can. I have never been so thrilled about contraband.”

We spend the rest of the day watching horror movies, laughing, and talking. I’m absolutely not surprised that Rhonda is a horror buff, but rather, she’s the one surprised to find out that I am . We fall asleep in the beanbags sometime after the last movie finishes. 

I wake up before Rhonda on Wednesday morning and head outside for another run, but almost immediately decide it is way too cold and head to the gym to run inside instead. I run for a long time, lap after lap around the painted lines on the wood floors. 

Shit

I slip, banging my knees on the floor with a loud THUD, and a groan slips past my lips. Maneuvering so I’m sitting on my butt, I realize one of my shoes came untied and caused me to trip. Just when things are finally looking up–

My train of thought is interrupted by the door to the gym opening, my fingers stilling between me loops of my shoelaces. Wally has stopped midstride through the doors, his letterman jacket thrown over one shoulder; our eyes are locked, and I can’t look away. 

He takes one tentative step forward, “Hey, Belle.”

“Hey.” I offer a weak smile and push to my feet. We’re standing a few feet apart, but it still feels like he’s crowding my space, the air between us too thick for comfort. He takes a few more steps toward me, and each one makes my throat feel a little tighter, until he’s standing right in front of me.

“Belle, look. I think we need to talk,” Wally’s brown eyes are slightly glossy, highlighting the flecks of gold in them that I’d never seen before.

I take a step back, reminding myself that he wants space and no matter how badly I want to talk to him, this week is supposed to be about me learning to live my death, and I can’t do that if I cave the second he gives me puppy eyes. 

“Actually, I uh, I have to go. I’m supposed to be meeting Charley. For coffee.” I nod, stepping around him and heading for the door. Just before I leave the gym, I toss over my shoulder, “See you around, Wally!” 

I feel bad about lying to Wally, but I don’t have it in me for another one of his ‘I can’t stand being around you’ talks. I know that’s not exactly what he said, but that’s what it feels like. 

I make my way to the teachers' lounge for coffee and run into Rhonda. We chat for a while about movies and decide that Sunday movie night will be The Great Gatsby. After a while, Charley joins us and we go to the library together. We spend the rest of the day reading.

Thursday, I decide to skip my run in favor of hanging out with Charley and Rhonda. We spend all morning going through old yearbooks and trying to find any living students who could be the reincarnations or relatives of past ones. We talk about who we could have been in past lives, who we’d want to be in future ones, too. It’s fun.

I feel up to it today, so when the time comes, I join the others for group. Hanging back by the doors, I take a moment to steel myself, knowing I’ll have to sit there and look at the prettiest sad face I’ve ever seen and pretend it doesn’t hurt me to not reach out and comfort him. But when I walk into the gym, there are two empty chairs: mine and Wally’s.

Huh. That’s weird. 

Group goes on as normal. Mr. Martin asks me about my eulogy, and I tell him it’s close to being done, that I’m still trying to find the right words, and he’s understanding. Rhonda tells everyone that the movie for Sunday has been decided, and Charley jokes that Wally isn’t here to argue why we should watch Rudy again. The mention of Wally causes a pang in my chest. 

After group, Charley and I go back to the library to plan some more things to do this week, including digging up the box of Christmas decorations from the storage below the theatre stage. He even mentions wanting to throw a little dance for either Christmas or New Year's. 

Friday morning, Charley practically has to drag me behind him. I let it slip that I don’t know how to swim, and he has insisted that he can teach me. I went my whole life never once getting into any kind of water I couldn’t stand up in, and was content to keep that streak going into my afterlife as well. 

“Charley, I really, really, really don’t want to get in that pool.” I am in a swimsuit taken from one of the swim team members’ lockers, and my arms are crossed so tightly across my chest, I think they’ve been fused to my sternum. Charley is in a pair of swim trunks that were taken from a student’s locker rather than taking one of the Speedos the male swim team members wear.

Charley comes to stand in front of me, resting his hands on either of my shoulders, “Belle, I promise I’m a good teacher. Plus, you can’t die twice!” When I don’t make any moves closer to the pool, he raises one brow at me. “Belle, this is supposed to be fun ! You’re living your death, remember? You’re gonna be okay!” He reassures me, then pulls his glasses off, setting them in the closest chair. He lifts his fingers to my frames next and takes them off my face, putting them on the chair with his.

“I know, I know, I am really trying to live my death and I think I’ve been doing a pretty good job all week– no major breakdowns!” I say, following Charley to the other side of the pool. It’s all one depth, but the other side has a ladder I can hang onto, so we agreed to start over there. My nervous ramblings continue, “But this is just, like– I died in the shower, so water is like my nemesis."

Charley barks a laugh and stops at the pool ladder, “Belle, it’s gonna be fine! I will be right there, and there’s a float to sit in if you want to do that first, just to get used to being in the water.” He puts a hand on one of his hips. It’s a gesture I’ve quickly learned means he’s going to get his way no matter the situation. “I don’t want to push you in, but I will if I have to.”

For the rest of the day, Charley and I are in the pool. He’s actually a really good teacher, and by the time we finally get out of the water and retire to the library, I’ve learned to float on my back, doggy paddle in a circle, and do something that resembles the way frogs swim. It was a really good workout and, as much as I hate to admit it, I'm glad I let Charley teach me to swim.

I don’t think about Wally all day. Or at least, I don’t think about him until I’m curled up on the couch in the library, my notebook open to the most recent rework of my eulogy, and I'm completely alone.

Saturday morning rolls around and I go to the gym for a run. I’m positively exhausted after swimming for nearly 6 hours, granted, Charley and I took frequent breaks from his teaching and my learning to lie in the floats and gossip. Regardless, my run is a short one before I head back to the library, where I spend the entire day tucked into a corner, my nose stuffed into my notebook.

Around 11 pm or so, I finally decide that my eulogy is finished. I accept that it’ll never be perfect and I’ll always be changing it and revising it, and adding to it. But for now, it’s as complete as it will ever be.

Gathered today, we celebrate the life of Bella Donna Hawthorn.

Belle was a loved daughter, sister, and friend, taken far too early in life.

While she kept her circle of loved ones small, her life wasn’t without an abundance of love and happiness and excitement, and passion. Whether she was scheming with her brother James, in the kitchen with Mom, playing music with Dad, or on an adventure with Ray, she did so with compassion and enthusiasm. She always made sure the people around her knew how much they meant to her.

Belle was strong and caring, and selfless. She stood up for what was right, for those she cared about, and those she didn’t know at all. She was always one to put others before herself, never one to care what others might think of her, one to make anyone and everyone feel welcome around her. She never knew a stranger.

If there were one single word to describe Bella, it’d be passionate. She never did anything half-heartedly. She once learned the entire guitar part to Hotel California in a single day to cheer up Dad– seeing as she was the bassist in their family, he was very impressed and still brags about it. She was a published photographer in the Chicago Music Magazine and had even been offered a spot in a photography contest. She learned to sew just so she could help tailor Ray’s favorite jeans. She made pasta from scratch every time Mom was sick; she knew how much Mom loved it. She was always there for those she loved and never shied away from showing it.

While the loss of Belle will weigh heavily, she will live on in the hearts and souls of those she touched in life. She will be remembered in every bass line, every patched up pair of jeans, every pasta dish and every pillow fort (even if James thinks he’s too old for them now), she’ll live on with them, always known and loved for the relentless optimism she carried around, not like a light in the dark but more like a disco ball at a black and white film.

Sunday morning, I wake up feeling oddly… weightless. Finishing my eulogy took a lot of thinking– thinking about what Mom and Dad would have said, thinking about stories James and Ray would have shared, crying when I thought about them crying. But I think when it was finally finished, it helped close off the last gaping hole in my heart. 

I feel ready to open new doors, learn more about myself in my afterlife, explore more hobbies, or even just be content with how things are. I think I’m ready to accept my death, live my death. 

I find Charley, Janet, and Rhonda at a table in the teacher’s lounge, coffee cups in all their hands, Dawn sitting on the counter, sipping out of a tiny creamer cup. I make my way to the coffee station, and when I open the cabinet to grab a mug, I see the blue and white one from two weeks ago on the second shelf. I grab that one and pour the coffee in. 

I join them all at the table, Dawn coming to sit next to me, and I tell them about the finished eulogy. I don’t let them read it just yet, saving it for group later. I do talk about it, though, about the struggle to find the words, about the grief of thinking about what my actual eulogy sounded like, about the sadness of never knowing. They all understand, offering comforting words, encouragement, and helpful sentiments.

When my coffee cup is empty, I leave them and head down the hall. I swear I see Wally in the library when I pass, but I’m in a good mood and assume it’s just hopeful hallucinations. I fling open the art room door and practically skip over to Yuri. At his wheel like always, but he looks up and smiles back when he reads my expression.

“What’s crackin’, Belle? You seem like totally in a good mood.” Yuri says, standing to wipe his hands off on an apron hanging from the wall.

I pull a stool over to sit next to his wheel, throwing a hand over my mouth for dramatics, “Me? Happy? Oh my god NO! I’m like totally bummed.” I do my best to deadpan at him, but the second he raises an eyebrow in my direction, I crack and burst out laughing. Laugh so hard I nearly tip myself off my stool. 

Yuri laughs too, sitting back at his wheel but making no moves to dirty his hands in the clay again. Instead, he moves the disk of clay to the shelf next to him, replacing it with his red ashtray. He pulls a joint and his silver Zippo from his pocket and places the joint between his lips. “So, what’s got you in a mood today?”

“I finally finished my eulogy last night. And I learned to swim, Charley’s ultimatum be damned, I fucking learned.” Yuri hands the now-lit joint to me, and I take it, nodding my head in thanks as I pull a deep hit into my lungs, savoring the burn. 

“Your eulogy? The thing you’ve been writing into that notebook since the second time you barged your way in here,” he teases me about barging in all the time, but I let it slide because Yuri’s particular brand of humor reminds me so much of Ray. It's so familiar and comfortable, the way Yuri jokes with me, that nothing he says could bother me. 

“Yes, my eulogy is as finished as it’ll ever be. Wanna read it?” I pull the folded paper from my jeans pocket and hand it over to Yuri. He grabs it with his right hand and hands the joint back to me with his left. We’ve only done this song and dance a few times, but we’ve gotten into a rhythm of passing the joint to and from so smoothly, it’s like we’ve been doing it for years. 

I take a few puffs of the joint before Yuri is done reading the paper, but when he is, he folds it back and I trade him the page for the joint. He smokes the rest of the joint and puts the filter out in the ashtray, stashing the red ceramic back where it belongs.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not particularly. I’m just glad it’s done.”

He nods, understanding. But then he remembers something because his eyes shoot up to mine, a wild look in them when he says, “Wait! You didn’t know how to swim?”

“No, I didn’t, but I do now,w and it’s enough to get Charley off my back. Now I can continue to avoid bodies of water deeper than my shins, thank you very much.” I cross my arms over my chest and let out a very showy huff that quickly turns into a coughing fit, and both of us spiral into laughter.

“Charley is the one with glasses, right? Died in like the 90s?” Yuri asks when our giggle fit dies down. I catch my breath and nod.

“The very one. Rhonda is the one with pinstriped pants and cute hat, curly hair. Mr. Martin is the teacher in the sweater vest who died at the same time as Janet, blouse, and mustard yellow cardigan. I also met Dawn recently, she died around the same time as you, you’d know her the second you saw her, she’s got bright red hair.” That earns me a chuckle from Yuri, who is paying a lot more attention to my ramblings about the other ghosts than I would expect, so I continue, “I’m sure you know Wally, he’s hard to miss with his stupid pretty face.”

“Oh yeah. Wally, the pretty boy in sweats. Not my type, but I have eyes.” Yuri drops that so casually I almost miss it, but I choose to let him open that conversation when he’s ready.

“Anyway, me and Rhonda decided on The Great Gatsby for the movie tonight, and I'm actually looking forward to it. I missed Top Gun last week, but I've seen it like 20 times, so I guess I'll live.” I wave my hand in the air dismissively, still a little sad I missed my favorite movie.

“You guys do movie night every week?” Yuri asks, sounding slightly hesitant.

“Yeah. Every Sunday night at 8.” He nods, and I can see a contemplative look on his face, but he seems to shake the thought off before he can voice it.

“The Great Gatsby was one of my favorite books when I was in school. I wasn’t much of a reader, but the way they talked ‘bout the parties they had was always so cool to me.” Yuri offers.

I leave a little while later, remembering I had to go to group to let Mr. Martin know my assignment was finally finished, hoping this eulogy would be the last piece of homework I would ever have to do. I get there first, helping set up the chairs. 

I’m surprised when Wally shows up, but I try not to let his glum expression dampen my mood. I’m determined to make today a good day. At the very end of group, I pull the paper from my pocket, and Mr. Martin asks if I’d like to stand to read it, but I opt for staying seated. 

When I finish the last words, I wipe the dampness from my cheeks, pushing my glasses to the top of my head to scrub at my eyes. Everyone claps politely, and I give them all the best sappy smile I can. But when I make eye contact with Wally, those coffee brown eyes are watery, and his posture is too closed off; he doesn’t look sad, but rather irritated, and I look away quickly. 

Wally leaves the gym first, his long strides carrying him away swiftly, and I swear I can hear his heavy footsteps all the way up to the roof. I don’t care. I remind myself. He wanted space. He’s the one with the problem. Not mine to worry about.

I stick around the gym, helping Rhonda, Charley, Janet, and Mr. Martin set up for movie night. We put the chairs away, pull the projector screen down, Janet rolls in the projector while Charley and Mr. Martin haul in the couches, and Rhonda and I bring in armfuls of blankets and beanbags, and pillows. 

Eventually, we get everything set up, and everyone is gathering with their snacks, finding their seats. Wally comes back but still looks like a kicked dog, taking his place on one of the couches. Janet claims the old recliner we stole from the theatre. Mr. Martin takes up post, manning the projector like always. Charley and I share the other couch, and Rhonda and Dawn take the pile of beanbags on the floor in front of us. 

Once everyone is settled and the lights are off, Mr. Martin starts the movie. It takes a moment for him to get the sound adjusted, but once he does, we all settle in as the beginning credits finish. 

Just as the opening line plays, there’s a sudden burst of brightness in the room. We all turn around in our seats towards the door that has been pushed open, letting the hallway lights spill into the room. Standing just inside the doors of the gym is Yuri.

Even from across the gym, I can see the anxiety all over his face, so I jump up from the couch and jog over to him. 

“Come to watch the movie or just give everyone a heart attack?” I hope the lighthearted jab will ease his nerves, and he takes a deep breath, offering me a soft smile and a nod. “Cool, you can sit next to me.” He follows me back to the couch I had been on, eyes jumping around the room like a trapped animal looking for threats.

“Charley, would you mind if Yuri took your spot on the couch?” I ask, and Charley responds with a quiet sure before joining Dawn and Rhonda in their beanbag pile, but I don’t miss the way his cheeks pink or his eyes locked on Yuri. “Thanks. You’re the best.”

Yuri settles on the couch beside me, and after a while, it seems like some of the anxiety eases out of him. The rest of the movie goes along smoothly, and by the end of it, Yuri has fully relaxed into the couch. I walk with him back to the art room after. I don’t mention how proud of him I am for making such a huge step outside of his comfort zone, but I make a mental note to visit him tomorrow to talk.

[iivyconfessional]

Fic Update

Sorry for the delay, I decided at the last minute I needed to change a few things, but as promised, Chapters 7 and 7.5 are up on AO3 now!

Here's the link!

One Slip Closer (36748 words) by iivyconfessional Chapters: 8/11 I'll make another post tomorrow when I'm not dead on my feet, but I wanted to make sure I got the link up as soon as the chapters were up. I really hope you like them!

xoxo iivy

[iivyconfessional]

One Slip Closer- Chapter 6

This week's chapter is short, and I apologize for that. I've been trying to fist fight the writer's block away and failing desperately. Next week I'll be posting chapters 7 and 7.5, so I hope that makes up for it.

Anyway, here's the chapter! Hope you like it.

xoxo iivy

<<<Chapter 5 /// Chapter 7>>>

Chapter 6- Into Stormy Waters

I sleep through most of Tuesday. When I do finally wake up, numb and weepy, Charley offers to take me with him to the after-school LGBTQ Club that he attends every week. I agree, if only to keep from crying alone in the library. Charley tells me about Mr. Figueroa– Emilio, the love of his life. I listen quietly as Charley talks about the fight they had, about the note, about his regrets around the whole situation. We listen to the living students share their coming out stories, offer advice to each other, and ask questions about Emilio’s life. 

Charley gets teary-eyed when Emelio tells the students about “the first boy he loved” and how impactful he had been on his early adolescence. We leave shortly after that, walking down the hall, chatting about nothing; we round one of the corners and see Wally heading in our direction. He visibly flinches, scratches his head in a preformative way, and walks into the closest classroom. Charley asks what that was about, and all I can do is shrug. 

Wednesday, I wake up around lunch and make my way toward the teacher’s lounge in search of a cup of coffee. I find Dawn on top of the library return bins, and she asks to join me. I listen to her ramble about drama going on between some of the living, an affair one of the teachers may or may not be having, and the steroid-allegation scandal one of the basketball players got involved in. 

I didn’t have any real friends at this school, so when she asks if there’s anyone specific I want her to keep tabs on for me, I just shake my head. When I finish my coffee, Dawn shows me some of her favorite places in the school to listen for gossip. I follow her around, listening more than contributing to the conversation, but Dawn doesn’t seem to mind. 

Eventually, we find ourselves in the auditorium, Dawn sitting on the edge of the stage while I lie spread out on the carpeted floor. I fall asleep there, despite it barely being last period, but Dawn is kind enough to wake me just long enough to hand me a blanket and get me into the closest chair. I decide that I like Dawn; she’s a good friend.

Thursday morning, I wake up before the sun and make my way outside, avoiding the roof and the greenhouse. And the stadium. I make my way to the front lawn, where I sit on one of the picnic tables and watch the looping band march. I know that, as ghosts, we don’t need to sleep or eat, but I feel bad that these guys don’t get to do anything that resembles normalcy; they’re just stuck. I feel stuck, too, but in an entirely different way.

I lay back on top of the table and listen to the band for a long time. Long enough that the sun comes up and gets high enough to make my eyes hurt. When I sit up, I swear I see grey sweatpants disappear onto the roof, but I can’t be certain, and I write it off as wishful thinking. 

I spend some time with Yuri after that. We smoke, and I think he knows I’m not in a talking mood. He just sits at his wheel and offers to teach me, but I decline. I think about picking up a sketchbook, but I immediately change my mind. I destroy a few paintings and clay pots instead. It feels good to break things, but then I regret it; after a while, they reset, and the guilt fades away.

I need to be alone for a while and don’t want to be found; that’s how I wind up in the locker room for the first time since the night of my death. I strip out of all of my clothes, leaving only my glasses and bracelet on, and step into the shower. I turn the nob, icy water jolting my nervous system, but it slowly heats up. I spend a long time in the shower, crying, getting angry, wondering what the hell went wrong, trying to figure out how to ‘live my death’, but when I finally turn the water off, nothing is clearer, and I’m no less sad or pissed off.

Certainly not ready to be dead yet, either. 

The next time I run into Wally, it’s Friday morning. I’m walking out of the library when I run into him. I was rubbing my eyes while walking out into the halls, and I smack straight into his chest, my glasses falling from the top of my head and to the floor. Wally picks them up for me, hands them back, and walks away before I can even apologize or thank him.

I find Charley and cry into his shoulder because I don’t know what else to do. Charley pats my back while I cry, and when I finish, he takes me to the cafeteria for snacks. We talk for most of the day. I tell him that my favorite movie of all time is Top Gun, that I miss watching Ray’s band play and taking photos at the concerts, and how badly I miss shots of fireball. He tells me how badly he misses campfire s'mores and tequila. 

Charley laughs at my stupid jokes, tells me some of his own. Rhonda joins us at some point, and the three of us share stories, talk about some of the living students when lunchtime rolls around. We walk together to group, it’s the first one I’ve attended all week and when Wally walks in, I drop my gaze to the floor, not looking up the rest of the time. I’m thankful I have Charley, because when Mr. Martin asks where I’ve been all week, Charley explains that James had been at the school on Monday, and it had hit me pretty hard. 

I leave group alone and go to the greenhouse after swinging through the library to grab my notebook and a few novels. I stay in the greenhouse that night. Rhonda brings me a blanket and pillow, and I force her into a hug. I don’t leave my little plant sanctuary until Sunday night.

When I do, I see Wally running on the field, and I’m tempted to try to talk to him. Until I remember that he’s the one who wanted space. I retreat to the library once more and apologize to Charley for skipping movie night. He tells me they watched Top Gun; it was Wally’s idea.

“He doesn’t want anything to do with me,” I say quietly from my seat on the floor, Charley sitting on the couch behind me, braiding my hair– a skill he learned from a girl he did theater with while he was still alive.

“I highly doubt that, Belle,” Charley tells me, running his fingers through my hair to get a tangle out. “He seemed pretty upset that you weren’t at movie night.”

“Yeah, well,” I sigh. This is the first time I’m talking about the conversation I had with Wally on the roof, and it still feels like I’m jabbing at an open wound. “Apparently, I’m not ready to be dead yet, and he told me to keep my distance until I am.” I roll my eyes so hard the room spins; the permanent headache I can usually ignore pangs, and makes my ears ring.

“What happened between you two?” Charley secures the braid with a hair tie and slips off the couch to sit on the floor next to me. “I thought you liked him.”

I look at Charley, and he looks back at me; the sadness blooming in my chest is reflecting in his eyes. It’s a look I don’t like to see on my friend. I sigh, rub my eyes to ward off the tears threatening to surface, and say, “I did– I do like him. Wally is funny and kind and pretty, but when we’re alone, he’s a softer version of himself, he’s gentle, and sweet. He made me feel like I could be open with him, like I’d never be able to say the wrong thing. Last week, before James came to get my stuff,” I pause, silently asking Charley for the space to confide in him. He nods, placing a reassuring hand on my knee, so I go on, “The coffee mug I was using that morning triggered an old memory with my dad; it sent me into a spiral, and I ended up having a panic attack in the greenhouse.”

“I know,” Charley says softly, “When Wally carried you inside, he told us what happened. He didn’t go into any details, but he let us know that it was anxiety and that you were okay, just worn out.”

“I used to get them a lot, but they were usually something I could handle myself. Not that one, though,” I take a deep breath, calming the burn that’s started to spread in my chest. “Anyway, I told Wally a lot of things that I hadn’t told anyone except Ray, and then everything with James happened…” I trail off, trying to figure out how to explain the next part.

“I found Wally on the roof after you told me to check up there. He was pretty upset about something, and I asked him what was going on, hoping I could be there for him through whatever was bothering him, the same way he had been there for me, but all he said was that I’m not ready to be dead yet, and until I am, he thinks it’s best to keep our distance.” I huff out yet another frustrated sigh, still not understanding what happened in the time between the greenhouse and the roof.

“Belle, Wally has been my best friend for three decades. I won’t claim to know what’s going on with him or between you two, but I can say that I’ve never seen him upset like this.” Charley squeezes my knee, and I look at him with teary eyes, picking my glasses up off the floor and putting them on, clearing my vision only slightly. “I think you should try talking to him again.”

“How can I do that when he’s actively avoiding me?” My voice breaks and I know the tears are close to making an appearance.

“You’ve got a point. I love Wally, but he can be a stubborn asshole.” This earns a weak chuckle from me, and Charley beams, “How about this?”

“Hmm?” 

“This week, we’re going to teach you what it really means to live your death. I’ll show you all the best parts of being dead, we can work on your eulogy, and do whatever you want to do. Plus, the week after is December, and then we can start setting up Christmas decorations.” Charley is practically buzzing with excitement, and while I think he’s making it sound easier than it will be, it does sound like a nice distraction. “Fuck it. Let’s learn how to Live My Death.” I smile at my friend, my first genuine smile all week. Wally may be a stubborn asshole, but I grew up with an older brother, and one thing's for damn sure. I know how to do anything out of spite.

[iivyconfessional]

Fic Update!!

Happy happy wednesday! Chapter 6 of One Slip Closer is up on AO3 now! it's a short chapter this week but i'm making up for it next week! i'll post the chapter here as well tomorrow. Love Ya

heres the link

One Slip Closer - A Wally Clark x OC School Spirits AU (26752 words) by iivyconfessional

xoxo iivy

[iivyconfessional]

I LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH 🫶🫶🫶

Seriously, thank you all for the love over on ao3 for this fic!! If I could personally thank each and every person, I'd do it from the very bottom of my heart! This feels so surreal and as a little celebration, im working on writing a bonus Wally POV for chaper 7.5 that will be out next week!

I seriously love you all so damn much!

xoxo iivy

[iivyconfessional]

Me and Grammarly have BEEF. If a Chapter is late its because I was avoiding fixing all 127 spelling mistakes grammarly tries to tell me I made

"you can use ai to improve spelling and grammar"

[iivyconfessional]

One Slip Closer- Chapter 5

This chapter has been the hardest one for me to write so far, and I made myself cry a few times throughout, so please check your triggers as this deals heavily in the effects of grief and loss and all-around heartache.

Anyway, I hope you like it! xoxo iivy

<<<Chapter 4 /// Chapter 6>>>

Chapter 5- Ashes In The Wind

I open my eyes to find I am definitely not in the greenhouse anymore. Blinking rapidly, trying to batter my vision into submission, it becomes clear my glasses are not on; I rub my eyes before sitting up to look for them and survey my blurry surroundings. 

I can tell I’m in the library, lying across one of the couches, but I don’t see my glasses, and the only other people here are living– aka no help to me. I lean down until the table in front of me is slightly clearer to check for my frames there, but they aren’t there. As a last-ditch effort, I start to shove my hands between the cushions of the couch, hoping to find them. Nothing.

“Whatever, I’ll just be blind today.” I sigh and stand, pushing my hands through my hair, gathering it at the back of my head, and securing it all into a ponytail. 

“Charley has them. He’ll be right back.” I hear someone say from behind me.

Turning to look at the table behind the couch, I see a girl sitting on top of it, legs folded beneath her. She has long red hair, a red bandana, and her clothes could have come from a “70s Hippie” Halloween costume. She’s smiling at me, so she must be a ghost, but I haven’t met her before, nor have I seen her around.

“Um…You said Charley has my glasses?” I ask her, stepping around the couch so I can get a better look at her up close.

“Yeah! He didn’t think you’d wake up yet. He’s out in the hall with Rhonda and Wally.” She smiles at me, her tone is friendly and light, like this girl wouldn’t know a negative thought if it smacked her in the forehead.

“Thank you, um, sorry I didn’t catch your name?” I suddenly feel bad, like I should already know who she is since she seems to be well acquainted with everyone else.

“I’m Dawn. And you’re Belle. Don’t feel bad. I know everything about everyone here, dead and alive. It’s my thing.” She talks so fast, I barely have time to take in all her words before she hops down off the table. Waving as she walks off, she throws over her shoulder, “Gotta skitty!” before she literally skips away and out of the library. 

“Well, that was something,” I mumble to myself as I make my way toward the doors to the hallway. They’re propped open like they always are during the school day, but as I get closer, I can hear hushed voices, low conversation that becomes clearer the closer I get. 

“We shouldn’t tell her. I think it would make everything worse.” That’s Charley’s voice, and I hear a quiet ‘yeah’ that sounds like Rhonda.

“No. No, that’s a bad idea. I agree, it wouldn’t help, but keeping it from her? Lying to her?” Wally’s voice is strained, and he lets out a sharp huff, “At the very least, she should know and decide for herself.” 

Obviously, they’re talking about me, and I take a step through the doors before I can think better of it. When I emerge into the hallway, I lock eyes with Wally, then Charley and Rhonda as they turn to me. 

“First, Charley,” I hold my hand out to him, “Can I please have my glasses?” He pulls them from the pocket of his jacket and places them in my palm. I put them on and nod my thanks to him. Now that their faces are clear, I can see the concerned look all three of them share. “Okay, will someone please tell me what’s going on? Wally?” 

He looks devastated, his big brown eyes pleading with me. For what? I’m not sure. 

“Okay, we’ll tell you everything, but I think you should sit down first.” It’s Rhonda who breaks the tension, looking from me to Charley and Wally like we might explode.

I nod and turn to walk back into the library, Wally walking next to me, Charley and Rhonda behind us. I head straight to the table Dawn had been sitting on and I take a seat; Wally sits next to me, Charley across from me, and Rhonda next to him.

“Alright, someone spill,” I say, looking at each of them, hoping someone just gets it over with because the anxiety and their somber expressions are putting me on edge.

Wally rests one of his hands on my knee under the table and squeezes it lightly before saying, “Belle, your brother is here.” All three of them are holding their breaths, looking at me like I’m a ticking time bomb.

“How do you know?” I can feel my throat tightening, but I need more information.

“We saw him check in at the front office. He said he was here to clear out your locker.” Charley says, then adds, “Principal Williams is walking him there now.”

I nod, not really sure what I’m supposed to say. I have so many questions and feelings swirling in my mind, but the first one that spills out is, “I need to see him.” 

Before I’m even able to stand, Charley is grabbing my hand from across the table, and Wally’s hand on my knee squeezes lightly again. Rhonda crosses her arms across her chest and says, “Are you sure that’s the best idea, Cherry Pop? Seeing him might hurt more than help.” She has a point, but I need to see James, see how he’s doing, even if I can’t ask him directly. 

“I appreciate the concern, guys, but this could be the last chance I have to see any of my family. I need to see James, even if it’ll hurt me. I have to, ya know?” Thankfully, no one puts up a fight this time, and when I stand, they do as well. 

“You think we would let you do this alone?” Wally says, putting a hand on my shoulder.

“Yeah! Think of us as moral support.” Charley offers, smiling brightly.

“I’m just coming because I’m bored.” Rhonda shrugs and sticks a lollipop into her mouth.

I smile, but I can feel the tears already starting to gloss over my eyes. These guys are better friends than I’d had in my life and more than I could have hoped for in death. I don’t have the words to thank them for their kindness, so I reach out and grab Charley’s shoulder and Rhonda by the fabric of her shirt and pull them into my arms, leaning back against Wally so he wraps himself into the hug too. 

“Alright, let's go,” Charley says, and we all pull away. He and Rhonda head for the door with me and Wally a step behind them. We walk through the hallways in a tense silence. It’s the last period, so there aren’t many students in the halls to provide any background noise either.

As we round the corner to the hallway my locker is in, I see him already there. The metal door is open, and a bag on the ground at James’s feet. His tall frame looks crumpled in on itself as he reaches down to place more of my belongings into the half-filled duffle bag. When he stands to his full height, a whole head taller than the locker, I can see him wipe the sleeve of his hoodie across his cheek and under his nose; I hear his sniffle and see the slight tremble in his shoulders when he takes a deep breath.

I look at Wally, Charley, and Rhonda, a silent assurance that I’m okay, and Wally rests a hand on my shoulder for reassurance. I take one step in James’ direction, Wally beside me, Charley and Rhonda hanging back a few paces. Then, on unsteady legs, I cross the next 6 or so feet until I’m standing right next to my big brother. This close, it’s clear he’s been doing more crying than sleeping; his eyes are red and puffy, dark purple moons under them, and the bottom of his nose is chapped. His lip is split from chewing on it, an old nervous habit he's had since we were kids. One look at his hands and I can tell he’s been picking at his hangnails, and there are bruises on his knuckles, I can only hope from punching his steering wheel or a wall, and not a person.

James has never looked this rough, and I don’t want to imagine how Mom and Dad are doing if they sent James to do this rather than coming themselves. James grabs another stack of books and papers to put into his bag when a small folded paper falls to the floor. He puts the books in his bag, then crouches down to pick up the paper, unfolding it. I look over his shoulder, and as soon as the paper is fully open, I immediately recognize Ray’s swirling handwriting. 

Belle, 

Happiest of happy birthdays. Put this stereo to good use, I know how much you love vinyls, so… anyway, I love you!

Ray.

I can’t remember when I put that note in my locker, but I remember the day I got it. It was my 16th birthday, and Ray got me a stereo that had a record player on top, with the note taped to the front of it. I used it so much that year, I had to replace the vinyl needle twice.

“God, Belle, Ray is a mess right now. I mean, we all are, but Ray misses you the most.” James mumbles to himself before shoving the note into the pocket of his jeans. I’m losing the fight to hold back tears now, and I take a step back from my brother. 

I can see tears beginning to drip off his nose as he continues to pack the contents of my locker away, mumbling to himself about the books and the mess of papers. 

“James, I’m here. I love you.” I know he can’t hear me, but we’re both crying softly, and it feels right to at least try. “I’m here, Jamie, I’m here. I’m so sorry I didn’t come to visit last weekend. I know I should have, but Ray…” My own sobs cut me off, my throat constricting and causing a hiccup to break through me. 

I feel a hand on my shoulder, rubbing soothing circles, but when I turn, it’s Charley, not Wally, like I was expecting. He offers me a sad smile, and I lean into his touch. We watch as James finishes clearing out my locker, no words passing between us, just Charley’s arm wrapped around my shoulder while I cry. 

Just when I think James is done, hand on my locker door, about to shut it, he drops his head and in a voice so quiet I almost miss it, he says, “Mom and Dad had you cremated.” He reaches up to the collar of his hoodie slowly and pulls a silver chain from beneath the fabric, “So you’re always with us. Mom even made one for Ray. You’ll always be with us, Bella. Always. I love you, little sis.” 

Hanging from the chain in his fingers is a small silver tube with flowers engraved into the surface. My ashes. James closes the locker, puts his necklace back inside his hoodie, and bends to pick up his duffle bag. With the duffle slung over his shoulder, he presses a kiss to his fingers and gently lays them on the closed locker door before walking off. 

I stay standing by my locker long after James leaves, Charley remaining by my side, arm wrapped around me. Eventually, the bells ring and living students flood the halls, so Charley and I make our way back to the library.

“Hey, Cherry Pop, how ya feeling?” Rhonda pats the space next to her on the couch, and I drop down next to her and pull my knees to my chest.

“Honestly? I’m glad I got to see James. We were always close, ya know?” I take a deep breath. I will not cry anymore, at least not in front of them. “He’s 4 years older than me, but we shared a room until he was 13, when he decided he was too cool for bunkbeds.” The memory makes me chuckle, a little lightness filling some of the cracks in my chest.

“To be fair, I wouldn’t want to share a room with a 13-year-old boy, so I’d say you dodged a bullet there,” Rhonda notes, and I nod because she has a point, and Charley laughs.

“Yeah, no kidding. But even after we quit sharing a room, Jamie and I were more like best friends than siblings. We pulled panks on Dad, covered for each other to Mom, and we were even going to live together off campus next year when I got to Northwestern.” 

The air starts to feel thick with sadness again, but Charely decides to change the subject: “So Jamie is a nickname for James.” I nod, confused at how that wasn’t obvious when he asks, “Is that why he calls you Bella instead of Belle?” 

“Kinda sorta.” I tilt my head side to side. I’m so used to James and Dad using the two interchangeably that I barely notice, so I explain, “My mom is a big fan of plants. When she got pregnant with James, she was working on her master's in Horticulture and a minor in Botany. James’s middle name is Hemlock, and my full name is Bella Donna.” I smile at the look of absolute horror on Charley’s face and Rhonda’s smirk. “Mom calls me Donna, Dad and James use both Belle and Bella, I prefer Belle, but all three work, and I’ll answer to any of them.”

Weirdly, it feels good to talk about my family in such a mundane way. Sharing Mom’s love of plants, James and Dad’s nicknames for me, and stories about James and my childhood all make me feel a little closer to them, like death didn’t steal them from me the way it stole me from them. 

“That’s actually pretty cool. Like you’re literally named after a poison.” Rhonda, unsurprisingly, is pointing out the morbid undertones of my namesake. 

“First, a pyromaniac, and now a connection to a deadly plant. Wow, Belle, if I weren’t already dead, I’d be watching my back around you.” Charley teases, and I swat a hand at him playfully. We all laugh, and it feels good, slowly letting some of the weight off my shoulders.

“Hey, where did Wally go?” I ask when our laughter dies down. Rhonda shakes her head, and Charley shrugs. 

“He didn’t say where he was going, just left while you were reading that note your brother put in his pocket.” Charley explains, “I’m not sure what’s gotten into him.”

“I’ll go find him,” I offer, pulling my legs away from my chest and putting my feet on the floor in front of the couch.

Charley shares a look with Rhonda before turning back to me, “Check the roof.” 

After a few minutes, I find myself standing in the dark stairwell, just inside the doorway to the roof. Pausing, I take a moment to catch my breath, whether from the walk here or the sudden onslaught of nerves, I’m not sure. One deep inhale, then another, I find trembling fingers on cold metal, and I think for a second that I should just go back to the library. 

No. I can do this; It's just Wally and I have no reason to be nervous around him. Before I can talk myself out of it, I push the door open. Chilly November air brushes my cheeks, the light breeze blowing the fine hair back from my face. 

I take a few steps out onto the roof, letting the door swing shut behind me. My shoulders fall when I don’t see Wally, but when the door bangs closed, I hear a surprised shit from my right. I spin toward the noise and find Wally sitting with his back pressed to the stairhouse wall, his arms draped over bent knees.

I walk around him to sit on his right, mimicking his position against the wall. “You can tell me to leave if you’re up here to be alone,” I say by way of greeting, hoping he won’t, but knowing I’d respect his solitude if he asks.

“You’re fine. I’d never ask you to leave me alone,” his voice is quiet, but there's a ring of sadness to it I would never expect from this happy-go-lucky person I’ve gotten to know.

“Is everything okay?” I turn to face him fully, “You can talk to me, Wally. You saw me at my absolute worst this morning, so I’m the last person who would judge.” I lift a hand from my lap and squeeze his forearm, reassuring him that I mean the words I said.

Wally looks at me, his chocolate brown eyes boring into mine. There is so much emotion in the way he’s staring into me; pleading and sad, hopeful and scared, a mix of feelings I can’t fully decipher, but his hesitation is clear, like he’s choosing his next words with the care of handling a bomb.

“Belle, it's not- I,” he lets out a heavy sigh, his brows furrowing and a frown tugging his full lips down, “I care very deeply about the people I let get close to me.” I nod, waiting for him to go on, and he drops his forehead to rest on his arm next to where I’m still gently holding. 

A few moments pass, the wind whispering through his fluffy brown hair and over the skin of my arms. The sun is beginning to duck behind the horizon, and the chill in the air grows sharper. When Wally finally lifts his head, his eyes are watery and his bottom lip is between his teeth. I can practically see the gears in his head turning, working over everything he wants to say, so I look away, watching the sun slowly drop in the sky.

“I don’t think you’re ready to be dead yet.” I find Wally’s eyes again, the anxiety in them unmistakable. He’s chewing on his bottom lip harder now, and I have half a mind to swipe my thumb over it and soothe the skin.

“Wally,” It's my turn for my brows to pinch together. I’m not sure what he means or why he thinks that, but he can read my expression well enough.

“It’s fine that you aren’t, I mean, you’ve only been dead a few days, but,” He runs a hand through his hair, and I feel a pang of envy vibrate off my sternum. “Belle, it’s going to take some time before you’re ready to live your death, and until then, I think it’s best if I keep my distance.”

Even though my heart is no longer beating, I can feel it stop as his words register. That gut-twisting feeling of loss, like the floor falling out from under your feet or realizing a second too late that a door is about to slam on your fingers. There’s a knot in my throat, but I have no tears left. This man in front of me, who has a sparkling laugh, whose touch feels like lava, whose presence is a magnet to mine, has managed to trade his north for south. 

I nod, unable to stop the motion; I don’t have the words to convince him he’s wrong, so the only choice I have is to agree, even if that’s the last thing I want. When I stand, shock flashes in Wally’s eyes like he wasn’t expecting compliance, but I keep moving. Just before I pull open the door to leave the roof, I glance back one more time, and the hurt in his gaze almost buckles my knees. He wanted this, I remind myself, fighting it will only push him farther away. 

I pull the door open, my eyes still locked with the sad russet ones that had slowly been becoming my favorite shade of brown. I linger for a beat too long, hoping he’ll stop me, but he doesn’t. I tear my gaze away from him and take off down the stairs. 

The rest of the night passes in a blur. I book it straight for the art room, now that Wally knows about my affinity for the greenhouse, I can’t risk going there. I find Yuri at his pottery wheel, and my appearance must say enough because without a word, he sparks up a joint and offers it to me; we smoke in silence until there’s nothing left but a filter and a pile of ash. 

I tell Yuri about my panic attack this morning, and he tells me that he had died having a panic attack in the greenhouse– we laughed about it, if only because what a fucking coincidence. I tell Yuri about James coming to retrieve my stuff and Ray’s note. He tells me about his asthma and how he used to read medical books and convince himself he had all sorts of shit.

The night turns into early morning, and we finally part ways. I trudge back to the library, too high to bother reading but not enough to lift this weight off my chest. I fall into a fitful sleep, luckily before any of the living students arrive for the day, and I don't wake up until last period. 

[iivyconfessional]

One Slip Closer Update!

Morning guys! It's Wednesday, and that means Chapter 5 is up on AO3 now! This one is a doozy, it's sad, and I made myself cry with one of the lines (let me know if you can find it)

The next two chapters are a little shorter than the previous ones. Would you guys want me to maybe release 6 and 7 next week, or keep doing one a week?

Anyway, here's the link!

One Slip Closer - A Wally Clark x OC School Spirits AU (24859 words) by iivyconfessional

xoxo iivy