#chat chat chat this is so fire | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sk3tch404 · 1 year ago

Text

Yandere Donnie Darko Hcs

A/n: I finally came around to watching Donnie Darko while I was styling my hair this morning. It was so good and omgg HIS CHARACTER!!! Love it 💜 What he voices in where he rebels against authority resonates with me in the most honest and straight up sense, it's crazy.

CW: Characterizing of psychosis without research (I am in no way claiming this is how individuals who suffer some psychosis or with schizophrenic symptoms act or feel like. This is simply a work of fiction and how I see Donnie's mental state affect the scenario), Donnie is actually very tame here except for his obvious criminal record and acts of violence, and YALL HES A MENTALLY ILL TEENAGE BOY so he's a lowkey soft okay. Y'all see him with Gretchen? So caring and passionate ugh, love him sm. <33 I try to write as close to canon as possible, but sometimes that leads to really soft yans and I kind of doubt my writing. Despite that. I like to think that not all yanderes need to be possessive killing machines in order to fit into the troupe. Everyone's got their own way of dealing with obsession, and so I think I did decently with this one lol.

Proof read a few times, so sorry for wordy/run on sentences and possible wonky grammar.

I feel like Donnie is very observant and patient with his darling. He's quite analytical for a teenage boy which leads him to take time to consider the variables that weigh within your possible relationship.

Donnie is still an awkward kid, so dont be surprised when you accidentally find him staring at you for a considerable period of time in class. In school, he doesn't approach you, seeing as the setting is already suffocating enough. He'd try to catch you after school or when you two have a little bit of privacy.

He's kinda shy and clumsy at first glance--- too talkative in his speech and self-aware of his minor fuck ups. Over time, he'll be more open to what he wants with you. Donnie might not really understand how to handle love and all of its complexities, but hell try really hard to make it work.

Yeah, y'all saw how fast he dived in for that kiss in the film?... Embarrassing, but it's true that he's quite excited to show his affection for you. He'll be "so chill with it," and he is to an extent--- not too clingy at all--- but when he's around he gives you guard dog privileges. Stays at your side and defends you from any brain rotting comments made from the guys around the neighborhood. Donnie isn't much of a fighter, but he's damn well capable of planning and executing a crime if it calls for it. One count of arson, another unaccounted for, severe property damage, and murder? Don't doubt it for one second that he won't consider further acts in the future to come.

His psychosis affects him directly when it comes to you--- as it also does with most things. He already feels so shitty with how things are going in his life, Frank voicing the many thoughts he has about you day to day stresses him further. Sometimes Donnie is scared Frank will convince him to hurt you as the countdown progresses. Despite that fear, he can't keep away from you.

This distress causes Donnie to rebel more often. As he spirals down the rabbit hole Frank keeps digging for him, the anxiety that follows with what will happen to you once the world ends lingers late at night in his bed.

Donnie's main love language is quality time. He walks with you from school and chills with you pretty much wherever. He's pretty book-smart, so he'll pitch in with your projects and homework assignments. His parents don't really seem like they care what he does most of the time, so if he's given the chance, he'll crash at your place for a few before they think he's off sleepwalking or some shit.

Donnie already knows he's slipping off the rails, placebo medication or not, Frank stays to stir the pot. He's almost scared, scared to death that you'll think he's an insane lunatic and he'll scare you off. But at the same time, why be scared if it's the truth? He has evidence, the book, and his own visions. That anxiety doesn't go away when he rambles on about the six-foot-tall bunny rabbit and how that thing has led him to the method of time travel.

You're just left there dumb founded as he stares on at you with that deadpanned look. Too late to back out now. World's ending and you don't got a boyfriend. Well, you got Donnie... and Frank's there too sometimes, but either way, you're all each other's got. You don't want to be alone do you? Donnie knows he doesn't.

He trusts you more than anyone else. Yeah he's on meds, and sure he's loony, but everyone knows that already; not that they seemed to care too much anyway. He feels like he can just exist with you around. All that pent up frustration with the looming guilt of his actions festering inside can be washed out like waves on a cold shore. Of course, it's not a cure-all, but it's damn nice compared to the bone headed friends he got and the tense dinner table back at home.

He has scratch paper in his drawers that are just filled with messy sketches of you. Not sure if he'd be the type to use sketchbooks, but he is pretty organized in his own room. Donnie just finds you so easy and beautiful to draw. Art block has nothing on this boy. He hates it when his sisters barge into his room and see any unfinished piece of you lying around. They tease him so bad about it, he wishes they'd just leave him alone.

"Ooo, is this the girl you're always wasting your time with?"

"No, gimme it. It's none of your business, and get out of my room."

"Geez, fine. Not like that's the freakiest thing you got in here anyway."

Donnie wouldn't be the extreme stalking type, but if he caught a glance of you, he wouldn't be able to look away. He'd also take into account what your daily patterns are as well as your likes and dislikes. He notices your little habits like if you constantly apply too much pressure to your mechanical pencil, making your lead break. He's always have had a passive opinion on the school uniform, but you made it look good, great even. Donnie likes it even more seeing you in street wear. He takes note on your style and even thinks of taking some inspiration from it to feel closer to you.

He's sensitive in places a teenager would be in most. He's irritable and closed off much of the time, even to you if it gets bad enough. Of course, it's not your fault usually. It only makes sense to be defensive in the case of anything he may perceive as a threat, even if that means any possibility of you breaking his heart.

Donnie may be a bit shy in his advances, but what he isn't is hesitant. He's quite bold in his thoughts and feelings. While he is afraid of your judgement in particular, he doesn't mind doing many things in front of you. Your collar is crooked, so let him just fix it up real quick. Talk about something that's got him thinking? He's letting his thoughts pour out like it's happy hour. He sees no issue in doing what he wants to, so if you're feeling unsure or nervous about something, he'll be the one to do it for you. Not many questions asked unless it's got his serious attention.

Kisses are passionate and deep. (Tbh when I first watched the movie I was like, "DAMN dont eat her face- shit.") I dont know if Donnie has had previous experience or not, but he's definitely got the enthusiasm. He tries to match your rhythm if you seem to have trouble following. Not too much tongue, but best believe he's devouring your lips like it's the last 6 hours in the universe. His hands are roaming around your body, feeling the dips and curves so cautiously because Jesus, you're just rocking his fucking world. If you tell him to slow down, he will. Donnie never wants to force you to do anything you wouldn't want to.

Words of affirmation aren't really a thing for him. If he says something to you, it was probably on his mind anyway. If you say "I love you" to him, he'd be almost stunned but wouldn't have a problem reciprocating that energy. He just felt like that connection between you two was already clear enough. No need to say it so directly. Although, it's nice. He really loves and cares for you. Would take a bullet for you--- cross his heart till he dies, all that sappy shit.

If you reject him, let's just say Frank and Donnie will be speaking more often. It pushes him off the edge. Frank isn't in Donnie's head just to do evil shit, but it's not like his presence doesn't perpetuate Donnie's behavior further. He wouldn't go on a killing spree or anything excessively violent like that. He'd be hyper-focused on the time travel aspect of his situation and become more forceful in his methods. He'd demand answers to make sense of all of it. To cope with the fact you didn't want him like how he needed you. Why didn't you like him enough? What didn't he do? Actually, what did he do? His mind feels like its on the brink of breaking as he tries to rationalize all the negativity in his life. He's already done too much, his world feels like it's collapsing in on itself before the actual day could even come. You were a majority of that world, and now it's just broken.

Donnie is so distraught and confused about his adolescent experiences, he almost doesn't know what to do. The only thing to do from then on is to focus on the countdown. Time travel, and how to fix it all. Otherwise, not only would he be left alone, but you would be too. Donnie wouldn't want that for you, not ever. Even with all the pain and frustration stowed away inside his still beating heart, he would never wish to hurt you; one of the only people on Earth who didn't suck so much as everyone else did.

404 notes · View notes

satanghulu · 24 days ago

Text

STUCK BY THE GLUE

✦ PAIRING: thirteen x f! reader ✦ SUMMARY: Growing up with Thirteen and all the turns that come with it. ✦ WARNING: high school au, reader will have a personality, author doesn't know when she will finish this............... ✦ WC: 7.2K

PART ONE | PART TWO | MASTERLIST

“Are you sad?”

Thirteen stares at the outstretched hand with tears running down her cheeks. Her vision is blurry as she glances around the playground before locating you before her.

A bright light from your sneakers catches her attention, and she can’t tell if the ugly feeling within her is envy. The mysterious girl stomps her foot, and her snot-filled sobs subside for a second.

“Sad?” The girl asks again, continues to stare curiously at her, hands now dropped to her side. For some reason, she stomps her feet again.

“Are you sad?” She repeats.

Bewildered by the constant barrage of questions, Thirteen stops crying. She nods once, and then twice. Then she shakes her head.

She’s not sad, particularly. She just doesn’t know how to stop crying.

There is a silence that lasts a minute as the two of them engage in a stare-off. Finally, the girl sits beside her and holds out her hand again with a determined look.

“Don’t be sad anymore.”

This time, Thirteen gets a better look at the outstretched hands, now that her eyes weren’t filled with tears. They were small and splattered with gooey paint from the earlier activities.

“I know.” Thirteen manages to choke out, hands flying up to rub at her eyes. They’re now itchy and irritated, and she could feel the tell-tale leaking of saline water starting up again.

“Nooo.” The girl pushes her hands away and rubs at Thirteen’s cheek gently. She continues to fidget at her eyes, trying hard to hold back her tears when you let out a huge gasp.

“Paint.” You mutter, trying to pull back your hands, but Thirteen’s face follows with it.

“Huh?” Thirteen says, grabbing at you even while sniffling in your grasp. You desperately try to wiggle your fingers off, but it stays solid.

In retrospect, it certainly is a fascinating way to meet someone for the first time, being stuck together in the most physical of senses.

Thirteen scrunches her eyes as she tries to blink away the swollenness. Now that her stream of tears has stopped, her nose feels raw from the constant sniffling.

The nurse calls out your name in a disapproving voice, and she clings to the sound of it. Thirteen’s parents are in the room, dishevelled as they talk with the nurse while yours are nowhere to be found.

She knows she’s going to get an earful when she gets home, and her face drops into a pout. She might not even get dessert on the way home today.

Lost in thoughts, she hadn’t even noticed you sidling your way up to her. It seems like the nurse had cleared you, seeing as your hands are now clean and without blemishes.

“Hi.” You say, holding out your hand to grab hers again with bright, innocent eyes. “My mother always tells me I have to introduce myself.”

In a quick ramble, you say your name and a list of things you like. Thirteen barely catches the whole slew of it before you end off, “And I like your hair, pink and blue like a butterfly.”

Thirteen subconsciously touches her hair, peering closely at the strand of it.

“Butterfly?”

You nod, letting go in favour of raising both arms to mimic what you thought was a butterfly. You toddle slightly, losing your balance, and she tampers down the urge to steady you.

“They’re very pretty like you!”

She doesn’t know what to do with your enthusiasm. Lost for words, she just stares at you, albeit for a second too long.

Seemingly deflated, you push your lower lip out while slouching before perking up again and sticking your hand in front of her, waiting for a handshake. “What’s your name?”

“Thirteen.” She replies, trailing off but making a move to grab your finger before you put it down. “Where are your parents?”

You shrug.

Instead, you hopped up on the table she was residing on, and Thirteen mutters your name softly under her breath. You smile at her and say your name again.

Both of your legs swing, and Thirteen’s eyes follow the motions before she musters up her bravery to start tracing stars into your thighs. She’s starting to get bored of waiting, but she likes being in your company.

“My sister’s there.” You point out in the silence, and her eyes flit over to a disgruntled girl crossing her arms. She studies the navy blue and white uniform, recognising it from the school her sister attends.

“I wanna be friends.” You abruptly say, pinning her with a determined look. Thirteen glances sideways, hesitantly, before shyly nodding.

No one has ever wanted to be her friend before.

A shout of her name catches her attention, and it’s her parents. She hesitates to go over, hands still clasped tightly in yours. Thirteen doesn’t want to leave you just yet.

Her mother comes over with a hushed voice, pulling her gently by the arm. She wrenches free and runs to hug you, rubbing her cheek against you.

She doesn’t know why she likes you so much — the girl with the light-up shoes but she knows that she never wants to go a day without you, her first friend.

With a girl like Thirteen, trouble was bound to follow her wherever she went.

“Shh..” You hold a finger up to her lips, tugging her down as both of you squat in the closet. Thundering footsteps boom outside of your hiding place, and Thirteen grabs onto your shirt in terror.

It had been an accident, but she knows your mother would never accept the reasoning.

“Come out!” The voice snaps, and your fingers wrap around her, shaking without a preamble. Thirteen scoots towards the back of the closet, dragging you with her.

That was the wrong move to make.

The closet let out a loud creak, and Thirteen couldn’t help but let out a loud gasp in shock, even as you shushed her frantically. It was too late for any regrets as the door to the closet swung wide open.

“Auntie–” Thirteen starts, scrambling to get up on her feet, but she couldn’t get another word in before your mother starts going on a rampage. With spit flying everywhere, she drags you out of the closet as she glares at Thirtee,n who tries to follow behind.

In all honesty, it was Thirteen’s fault for spilling the hot chocolate (that you wanted but didn’t dare to get in fear of getting scolded) and then tripping over the stupid carpet in the living room (she got distracted by the blinding smile you flashed her).

And, how would she have known that the piece of clothing she had picked up on the sofa to wipe the mess was worth thousands? It looked like a dog’s chew toy with how tattered it was but apparently, it was fashion.

(“It’s still ugly.” You had whispered to her after the scolding, forearms filled with red welts after getting your punishment.

Thirteen was holding back tears again, as she hurriedly grabbed a cloth, soaking it under the running tap, to cover your arms. It had been her fault, as usual. Yet, you had stepped forward to take responsibility for it.

You had managed to sneak out of the house, making your way over to hers. Your mother had shoved Thirteen out the front door before slamming it shut in her face. Behind the closed door, she could hear the crack of a belt and your silent whines.

She wishes she could have done something, but all she managed to do was wait outside the door for an hour and flinch whenever she heard shouting.

In the end, your mother came out to chase her away.

“I’ve always wanted to throw it away.” You go to ruffle her hair, brushing away her tears even as you wince at the movement. “You just managed to do it before me.”)

She’s ten when she comes to terms with the fact that you might just be her favourite person.

You had brandished her with a set of rocks after a weekend trip out of the country. Thirteen had missed you terribly, moping around the house to the point that her parents had brought her out to get ice cream.

It still didn’t lift her mood.

“They reminded me of you.” She thinks that’s what you had declared. With two of your front teeth missing, she couldn’t be too sure if that was what you meant.

She stares at your cupped hands, counting the rocks mentally before looking up at you in disbelief. “How many did you bring back?”

You shrug, smile still bright as you gently place them on the ground. On one hand, your fingers close, leaving only your index and middle fingers up. “About twenty?”

Excitedly pointing at the one in the middle, you kneel and present the stone to her. Your nose was still running from the allergies you had earlier, but it didn’t dampen your mood. “I got this from the gift shop!”

Her heart swells, and the words tumble out of her mouth before she can think twice. “I love you.”

Your nose scrunches up, and you press the rock into her palm. Arms wrapping around the back of her neck, you tiptoed to hug her. “I love you too.”

Or, at least that’s what she thinks you said. She still can’t be too sure with your lisp.

(That night, she lies in bed thinking of your words. She doesn’t understand the funny feeling in her chest.)

You had finally managed to convince your parents to let you go over to Thirteen’s house for a sleepover.

Thirteen had ended up banned from your house after the last fiasco, where she had accidentally trekked mud into the house, and that ended up being the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Though that had been months ago. She wondered just how long they were going to hold a grudge against her.

Thirteen’s legs are tangled with yours as both of you giggle at whatever is playing on the screen. It doesn’t matter what they were doing as long as she gets to spend time with you.

The popcorn she had warmed up was nestled in the space between both of you. Before your arrival, she had pleaded with her parents to get the caramel flavour, and they had begrudgingly done so, even if no one in the house ate caramels.

Her hands were sticky with butter and residue as she tried to wrestle the remote from you.

“No, no!” You screeched, a high-pitched screech broken by the onset of puberty, but it was ever so endearing to Thirteen.

The house was empty since Thirteen had begged to stay home with you instead of heading out for dinner. She didn’t want to postpone the sleepover any longer, afraid that your mother might change her mind.

(Her parents were starting to worry about her relationship with you. Was it normal for a little girl to be so attached to another?)

Thirteen eventually lost the battle when you pulled out your winning move, The Pout. After finding out that she was weak to this, you had been using this against her on every occasion.

Thirteen could never resist you, so she settles into the couch, ready for a bore of a movie. She prefers something more… thrilling, but all you like is romance.

The movie finally starts playing, and she’s already bored, but a promise is a promise. So, she tries her hardest to keep her eyes glued to the screen.

The only comfort she had was you snuggling up beside her as you gave commentary on the scenes playing on the television. When the movie gets to the climax, you quiet down while tightening your grip on Thirteen’s sleeve.

She lets you do so, curious as to why you were so captivated. It was just a confession scene. She couldn’t find anything special about it except maybe the kissing part.

Your breath was hot on her neck as you stayed buried to her side. She turns and looks at you, eyes falling onto your lips.

She wonders what it would be like to kiss you.

A new boy joined the class today.

He had introduced himself as Mephistopheles. Thirteen doesn’t like him; he’s prudish and irritating, and she could tell that she wasn’t going to get along with him.

Or maybe it’s the fact that he tried to steal Thirteen’s seat next to you while she was in the toilet. She had shoved him out of her rightful place, and he had tumbled to the ground.

It wasn’t even a bad fall, but he had ended up sobbing with tears running down his cheeks and complaining to the teacher. She didn’t understand him; it wasn’t even her fault that he fell when she only gave a little push.

Yet, the teacher had sent her into timeout to repent for her behaviour. Being the dutiful friend you are, you got up to follow her to the side of the classroom before getting called back.

With her being gone, the idiot (she had learnt this word from her sister but got in trouble for it) had ended up sitting next to you. Thirteen could barely resist the flicker of jealousy within her, but you had ignored Mephistopheles, and it made her feel much better.

Her timeout lasted till lunch, and you had sneaked away from the rest of the class to come and find her, bringing your lunchboxes along.

“That idiot.”

“Yeah?” You responded while munching on the sandwich Thirteen’s mother had prepared, before frowning at the choice of words. “Isn’t that a bad word?”

(Sometimes, your parents forget to pack your lunch, so Thirteen always ends up sharing her food with you. But it’s never enough for two little girls.

Afraid that you wouldn’t have enough so she pleaded with her parents to get another portion.

It worked, but now she’s saddled with extra chores. She doesn’t mind, though, seeing your smile is enough for her.)

“Is it?” Thirteen feigns ignorance, bringing out a piece of tissue to wipe at the side of your mouth. “I don’t like him.”

Chewing on the mouthful of food slowly, you wait for her to elaborate. Instead, Thirteen just goes back to munching on her sandwich. You’re usually the voice of reason between the duo, but even this time, you had nothing good to say.

“He keeps pulling on my hair.” You pouted, crumbs littered around the corner of your mouth. Thirteen’s face immediately turned into an ugly expression. She knocks your knees against hers and grasps gently at your hair.

Seeing your crestfallen expression is Thirteen’s least favourite thing in the world.

Mephistopheles became Thirteen’s first enemy.

In retaliation for her behaviour, the teacher swapped their seats around so Thirteen was no longer sitting next to you. With some luck (or string), Mephistopheles ends up sitting next to you. He is the founder’s son, and thus, he gets away with many things, even if the teacher sees it.

Thirteen dislikes him, second to your parents.

You’re not someone who cries easily, but that idiot has achieved that feat when he smashed your artwork to the ground. He called it an accident, but Thirteen doubts so. There must be something evil residing in him.

With that, he had solidified himself as Thirteen’s mortal enemy, and so, she decided to take things into her own hands.

During the recess period, she sneaks away from the rest of the class (and you) to the boys’ lockers. Quietly, she opens the locker named Mephistopheles and grabs his shoes.

She fills them with glue.

She lines the side of both shoes with the glue she stole from the art room and then places them back where she found them. Her hands are sticky, so she stops by the washroom before heading back to the cafeteria.

“Thirteen?” A familiar voice calls out, and she freezes.

Instinctively, she hides her hands behind her back even if she knows they are clean.

“Where have you been?” You questioned with a small voice, stopping a couple of steps away. Your eyes fall on her hidden hands, and your eyebrows furrow. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” She puts on a wide smile, one that stretches too much and hurts her face as she pushes you ahead.

This was the first time Thirteen ever lied to you.

The teacher yells at the class the moment Mephistopheles comes crying to her. The whole class had gotten punished because no one had owned up.

Thirteen doesn’t care about it. Doesn’t care that innocent students got dragged into this, or that she had to write a two-page reflection on the effects of bullying.

She doesn’t care about anything else because seeing your smile when Mephistopheles came running in made everything worth it.

(After school, you walked back home together, hand-in-hand as usual. But this time, it feels different. You seem more giggly than usual, and there’s a bounce in your step.

Thirteen isn’t good at observing people, but she seems to be better when it comes to you.

You grab her hand and interlace both of your pinkies together before suddenly stopping in your step to twirl Thirteen around. She lets you do it.

She thinks she would let you do anything if you asked her to.

When Thirteen sends you to your house’s doorstop, you thank her with a toothy smile, one she hasn’t seen in a while, ever since your mother made a comment about it. You let out a soft huff of laughter before tugging her down to place a kiss on her cheek.

“Thank you.” You say, eyes bright and glinting. She wants to keep this in her memories forever, and can see it imprinted on the back of her eyelids when she closes her eyes.

Thirteen feels like she’s been punched in the guts, her stomach churning with that funny feeling again.

(She stays up that night, replaying the memory in her head.)

(“Have you ever wanted to kiss someone?” You ask her randomly one day.

She grins down at the sight of you, legs kicking up in the air. You lie face down, resting on the thick of your arm as you doodle something. You never had a flair for the arts, and your work always turned out clumsy, with all the artistic prowess of a five-year-old.

She pauses at the question, shifting to stretch out on you. She hears a muffled whine, but you make no move to get her off.

“A little.” She admits, mind flitting back to the movie she had watched with you. If she were braver, she would have propositioned trying the action.

You make a cute noise of affirmation, and the room sinks into silence again. It almost lulls her to sleep, drool starting to collect on the side of her mouth. A moment later, you poke her in the side with the back of your colour pencil (It’s pink, your favourite).

“Mephistopheles tried to kiss me today.”

She scrambles to get off you at your revelation. Sour at the thought, she squishes your face in between the palms of her hands. Your eyes are still glued to your doodle, and your eyebrows are knitted together in confusion.

“Did he?” She demands. Thirteen is furious, swallowing past the fury stuck in the back of her throat.

The clock in the back chimes, and that breaks the haze that she was in. She coughs, clasping her hands with yours instead. You drop your pencil, peeking at her inquisitively.

You shake your head, and she breathes a sigh of relief.

“I kicked him, don’t worry about it.”

Thirteen’s jaw tightens again, and a flash of blinding anger makes her chest ache. She grumbles under her breath while you pick up your pencil to go back to doodling.

She can’t tell if she’s exaggerating the severity of the situation or if you’re just that unbothered by it.

“He tried to kiss you.” She repeats again, the words tasting acidic on her tongue. She hates it. “That asshole tried to steal your first kiss.”

This time, you shrug casually before stifling a yawn. She finds this perplexing, for someone who cares so much about romance yet doesn’t care about it at the same time.

She curls her fingers into fists, frustration bubbling up inside her. She doesn’t know how to get it in your head, doesn’t know how to get you to understand the seriousness of the situation.

“Your first kiss is special! You have to share it with someone you like and not some idiot like Mephisto–”

You shoot her a warning glare at her use of language before sitting up to face her. You use the back of your pencil to poke her forehead before you loom over her, reaching out to brush back Thirteen’s messy hair.

You run your fingers through the mess, gently closing the gap until there are only millimetres between both of your faces.

This close, she can almost trace the barely visible freckles splattered across your cheeks, and she can feel her words die in her throat. Thirteen glances down at your lips and feels her heart stutter (she can hardly believe it, this vision is something she has only seen in the midst of her dreams).

You raise an eyebrow curiously before leaning in to close the gap.

Her world stops spinning on its axis.

This hardly lasts a second: hot breath clashing against each other, and it should feel like nothing.

But Thirteen tastes the strawberry milk you had drunk earlier, and the hint of sweetness. She presumes it's the leftovers from the berries her mother had packed for you earlier.

”There.” You said happily as you pulled back. You tap her nose with the pencil before shifting back to your original position to continue doodling.

Thirteen takes a while longer to stare blankly at the wall, gulping loudly in the silence. A call from her mother breaks the stupor she’s in, and she takes this chance to escape, her heart thudding loudly in the cage of her chest.

You don’t mention this again, but Thirteen doesn’t forget about it.)

It’s the summer before they turn fourteen.

You have grown taller, and so has she. Puberty had done you good; your fuller cheeks are now shaven down, and your eyes are sharper than they used to be. She still thinks you’re pretty, even if your hair is now shorter than it used to be.

(The sound of your sobs over the phone had terrified her.

Somehow, you had managed to make your way to her house. She had swung open the door, one foot in her shoe, ready to run to where you were when she came face-to-face with you. She barely had a chance to catch you when you threw yourself at her, crying into her shoulder.

Only managing to make out pieces of information from your sobs, she found out that your mother had made you chop your hair off because “proper ladies do not have unkempt hair”.

Thirteen thinks otherwise. Your long, messy hair was her favourite, but she couldn’t bear to tell you that when you spent hours crying into her shoulders and the damage was already done.)

She spots you from afar.

You’re early today, bouncing on the tip of your feet impatiently as you glance at the time on your phone. She grinned at the sight of your fluorescent pink backpack (your mother had opposed it, but it had been a gift from Thirteen’s parent,s so she had begrudgingly accepted it), and she tugged on the strap upwards as you flinched in surprise.

“Thirteen!” You scowl, but nothing can spoil your excitement, and you’re swinging your hands, pounding on her arm. “It’s the first day of school!”

You grab her arms, pulling her along, and Thirteen just sighs, redirecting you in the correct direction. She watches as your skirt swishes behind you, and the sound of your chattering dims as she swallows.

Recently, her heart has been thumping more than usual. She has yet to find out the reason why.

Gripping your hand tightly, she swerves you out of the way of a pole as you continue to titter on. She doesn’t understand the appeal of the first day of school, but you’re excited, and so she is too.

Oh.

Thirteen comes to a realisation. She’s perfectly fine having just you in her entire universe. She doesn’t need anyone else.

In the first year of high school, they meet Raphael, a new addition to their duo.

He’s a boy their age, and he sits next to you in Mathematics. You think he’s the coolest person you have ever met, and you tell Thirteen so.

She sees nothing special in him. He’s just a lanky boy with a perpetual unhappy face, and he carries around a makeshift spear (she thinks it’s simultaneously the lamest thing yet also the coolest thing ever).

Raphael had fixed her with an unreadable gaze the first time you introduced him to her. It could merely be a flicker from her imagination, but she thinks he stares a second too long at her hands around your waist.

(Her hands tighten at his glance, and she pulls you in closer. It’s only natural to establish dominance at the first meeting. She doesn’t want Raphael to get any funny ideas about you.)

She doesn’t care. He’s harmless enough to be around you, and she sees the way he stares at that upperclassman sometimes. She would even go as far as to say he’s kind of cool because he lets her do anything she wants.

It’s rare for anyone to let her in their vicinity nowadays.

Raphael acts older than them even though they’re the same age. He scolds them at times, but he backs down when you pout at him. You’re especially persistent in getting to know the mellow boy better. He had broken out in a sweat at your constant questioning.

(Thirteen shifts his ranking up from ‘someone you like’ to ‘an okay person’. That’s a pretty high position for him to have, but he will never beat yours.)

They never leave Raphael out, not on purpose – they drag him everywhere, to the park, to Thirteen’s house, to the mall, anywhere they can think of. One day, Raphael brandishes a skateboard, and that just establishes Raphael as one of the coolest people she has ever known.

You had constantly pestered the silver-haired boy to teach you, but he refused, citing your clumsiness as a reason.

So, Raphael always skates beside them as they skip along. Sometimes, Thirteen carries you on her back (she knows you get sore when you walk for too long and she doesn’t like to see you in pain), even when you complain that you can walk.

Raphael offers to carry you sometimes, saying it’s his responsibility as a man (Thirteen looks at him and only sees a stick insect), but Thirteen refuses. Taking care of you is her responsibility, and even if Thirteen considers him a friend now, this is something she cannot give up.

(Adults have called her possessive, and Thirteen hasn’t fully grasped what the word means, but she doesn’t care. Why would someone else take care of you when she is right here?)

After a long argument, they settle on having you on the skateboard as Thirteen or Raphael pulls you along by the arm.

One day, Raphael accidentally let go of your arm, and you fell off the skateboard. Thirteen had run to help you, while Raphael left to find aid.

“Don’t cry.” You crowed at her, beckoning for her to come over. Thirteen had swiped a hand past her running nose, crouching down in front of you. She chews on her bottom lip, frantic hands looking for something to do.

Her vision was blurry, and she dabbed her shirt to the edge of your wound.

She winces at your scraped knee as if your pain were hers to bear. She can tell it was hurting you, but you put on a brave face, trembling in her grasp.

Thirteen sniffles, brain going into overload, thinking of ways to soften your pain. She takes a quick look at the surroundings before leaning in to peck at your cheek. It may be childish, but it’s the only way she could think to smooth your pain.

There’s a sudden twinkle in your eye, and you stifle a laugh.

“Again.” You requested, lifting a finger to poke at your cheek. Thirteen is nothing but a servant to your whims, so she leans in to press a light kiss on the skin again.

She continues to pepper kisses on your face until a shout in the background breaks them apart. Thirteen jumps back as if she was scalded, face burning hot in something akin to shame (she doesn’t understand how she can ever be ashamed of you).

She sees her parents in the distance, and they run over to support you, dismissing Thirteen from her temporary caretaker role.

“I’m sorry.” The silver-haired boy says stoically, skateboard clasped under his left arm. He sticks out a hand gingerly, leaving the ball in Thirteen’s court.

Her eyes follow the sight of your hobbling back view as you make your way down the road.

She couldn’t find it in herself to be mad when she thinks back to the kiss with you (a peck, really, but Thirteen is nothing but positive). So, she calms down and grabs Raphael’s hand, swinging it back and forth.

“You’re forgiven.” She says haughtily instead.

Thirteen furrows her eyebrow at the question.

She’s seated around a round table as part of a bonding session, with you on her right and a random girl (she presumes to be her classmate, but she doesn’t care enough to remember her name), who has started talking about boys.

“Do you have someone you are interested in?” The girl asks, lips cherry red from the lollipop she was licking. This makes Thirteen’s mind wonder about you; she thinks the colour would look good on you.

The image of your lips springs to mind, and she shakes her head to clear the thought.

“Yeah.” She says distractedly. With her hands resting on the table, she stares at the edge of the table. Wondering how your strawberry lip gloss would taste (it’s a birthday present that Raphael and she had gotten for you), she almost misses the gasps from the rest.

The girl taps on her arm playfully, lashes fluttering to try and get Thirteen to spill her secret.

It irritates Thirteen badly, and she so wants to rip off her glasses and stomp them on the ground. But the disappointment from the imaginary you barely holds her back.

She feels disgusted, shifting in her seat to lean against you so that Glasses would get the hint and stop.

When she turns her head, you have a confused expression on your face. To her surprise, you mouth at her, “Who?”

Thirteen frowns.

Wasn’t it already obvious?

There was always only one person in her mind.

“Tell us!” Glasses asked, persistent, hands still pawing at her. In the midst of the chaos, Thirteen points a finger at you.

Silence falls on the table before a sharp burst of laughter breaks out, spiraling the whole table into a mess.

“Thirteen, if you didn’t want to tell us, you could have said so.” Glasses had laughed so hard that tears were leaking out. Bent over laughing, she clapped a hand on Thirteen’s back.

“You’re a girl, right? You’re supposed to like a boy.”

It somehow felt like she was being mocked.

“Why not?”

Glasses blundered for a second before straightening up. She could hear whispers in the back, but she stayed focused.

“Girls are supposed to marry boys. That’s what people say.” Even Glasses doesn’t look convinced by what she said.

Her face knits into another frown. Opening her mouth, she planned to argue more, but a squeeze on her thigh caught her attention.

Once. Twice. Thrice.

She flinches, and she barely resisted the urge to turn and look at you.

That was their secret code that you had come up with in situations where they were unable to talk. Thirteen doesn’t understand why you are using it now, but she stops obediently.

The awkwardness in the air fades, and the topic soon shifts naturally.

But Glasses continues to avoid her eyes for the rest of the year.

It’s Valentine’s Day.

Thirteen doesn’t see the appeal in the celebration, but you, a hopeless romantic, had been talking about it since the start of the month. With her minuscule allowance, she had only gotten discounted chocolate-covered strawberries for the past few years.

(You dislike chocolate but still insist on getting it every year. Apparently, it’s the principle of things.)

In lieu of her first year in high school, her parents had finally increased her allowance. She wants to make the day more special for you, so she has made up her mind.

The gaudy, bright pink and blue card she holds in her hand feels heavy.

After walking you home yesterday, and chasing Raphael away when he insisted on sending her home, she had run to the nearest craft store to get art supplies.

She had made the whole card from scratch, buying glitter and various knick-knacks and even enlisting the help of her sister to make the card look nicer. She douses the whole card in blue glitter because that’s her favourite colour, and pink is yours.

You spot her in the distance, hands shooting up immediately to wave her over. Her seat is next to yours for the first period, and so she makes her way over, keeping the card and box of handmade chocolate behind her back.

Her heart is in her throat. She doesn’t know why she’s nervous either, but she is. Her eyes stay glued to your smile until you pull out the chair, and she sees the stack of letters on your desk. A pit grows in her stomach, and it must show on her face because you stare at her.

“Why are you sad?” You questioned, only looking at her. You bring up both hands to squash Thirteen’s cheeks together, making silly faces in an attempt to cheer her up.

Her grip on her presents tightened, and she stared at the pile on your desk as if they had done something to personally wrong her.

“Did many people give you gifts?” Her voice comes out all wrong, warbled, and shaky.

You nod, still keeping your eyes on her.

“But I don’t care about those. I’m waiting for your chocolates!” You mentioned, swiping the letters and gifts onto the floor before moving your chair to face you. You make grabby hands at her, clearly expectant.

The bundle of nerves inside her loosened just a bit.

“Mine?” Thirteen says. Her arms are getting tired from hiding the items behind her back, so she presented them to you. Your smile lights up your face, and you grab the card to hug it against your chest.

“I love you!” You proudly declare, cheekily pinching Thirteen’s side. You gently set the box of chocolates and her letter on your desk before reaching into your bag to pull out a similar-looking card.

“Tada!” You hold out the card to her – it was slightly crumpled around the edges, but Thirteen notices that you had scribbled blue hearts all around the title.

“Blue hearts?” Thirteen asked, a similar lip-splitting smile on her face.

“You’re blue and I’m pink.” You explain it so simply, before brandishing a box of chocolates to her. Thirteen feels her throat get stuck at the admission. “I may have burnt some of them, so just eat one and throw away the rest.” You say sheepishly, eyes widening as Thirteen immediately unwraps the ribbon to open it.

Thirteen pops one into her mouth, chewing it, and even though she could taste the burnt tinge on the roof of her mouth, it was the best chocolate she had ever eaten in her life. She eats a few more and tells you so.

“You’re so silly.” You rolled your eyes and nudged her shoulder, but she could tell that you were pleased with her compliment, back straight and swinging your legs.

(She secretly hopes this tradition will continue to happen every year.)

They’re out at a party today. Candy, Thirteen’s sister, had extended an invitation to them. (You think it’s because Candy had accidentally broken one of Thirteen’s props for a prank and had felt apologetic, but Thirteen thinks otherwise.)

Giggling and all dressed up, you knock on Raphael’s door, waiting for the boy to come and open the door.

“What do you want?” His voice, curt as usual, holds a hint of curiosity this time as he peers at them in the small gap in the door that he had created.

Thirteen blows a raspberry at him, and you nod beside her, clinging onto her arm. “We’re going to a party!”

Raphael looks at you, and then he looks at Thirteen before shutting the door — but Thirteen sticks her leg into the gap before wincing at the impact as Raphael tries to push her leg out.

“You’re coming with us.” Thirteen declared, finally managing to manhandle the door and forcing it open.

Raphael only sighs as the door inches open.

Thirteen had gotten separated from you the moment she joined the fray. Candy had begrudgingly pulled her aside the moment she made her presence known in the room.

(“Hello bitches!” The door slams open, but it does nothing to mute the loud bass of the party booming above.

Raphael had slammed a hand over her mouth, and she had almost stumbled from the impact of it. You, on the other hand, let out such a huge laugh that it had you bent over, smacking your knee.

Candy spots the three of you from across the room and marches over to grab Thirteen by the ear. Next thing she knows, she’s being introduced to her sister’s friends, but she couldn’t be bothered.

She wants to find you.)

Thirteen is in the middle of the room, swaying her hips to the beat. It’s not something she would normally do alone, but the shots of alcohol had furthered her courage. She had lost you in the crowd, and Raphael had probably skulked away to the kitchen to keep up with his mysterious air.

The steady bass of the music pulses through her, and for once, she’s enjoying her time.

Thirteen finds it intriguing, too. Through all the blurs of faces, your face stands out as the only clear one in the sea.

You’re looking at her again with amusement, but Thirteen feels like her head is underwater; she can’t hear you, but all she can see are your soft pink lips. The smell of strawberry wraps around her, and she can’t help but think of your lip gloss, the one she gave you for your birthday.

Your eyes flutter down too. She saw it.

You get inside her head, worm your way in with your sticky glue hands, and it makes Thirteen so insane. She presses her forehead against yours, noses brushing past each other, and she’s about to close the gap–

“Thirteen!” You admonish her gently, pulling back to pinch your nose. “Your breath stinks of alcohol.”

Thirteen’s grasp tightens on your shirt, and when she looks up, she finds your eyes wandering, looking for someone else. Her throat closes up, and she takes a step back, the haze around her mind lifting up.

Right. She needs to bury this feeling.

A steady hand lands on her back, and she turns to see the disgruntled curl of Raphael’s mouth.

“Home.”

You squint slightly when you read, too focused on maintaining your image. The rooftop has become your usual hangout, though you had initially complained about it being too hot.

(“Thirteen.” You whined, tugging on the sleeves of her shirt as you backed away into the staircase. “Why here?”

Thirteen adamantly does not move, fingers curling around yours to tug you forward into the sunlight. School had been hell, with too many people and so much to do. She could tell you were overwhelmed too, your smile slipping out of place.

It might be selfish of her, but she would rather steal you away from your classmates in this short moment of break.

“Everywhere else is crowded, and this is the only place that we can have alone time.”

She silences your complaints with a glare. Adjusting the blanket on the ground, she pats it down and gestures for you to come over.

“Where did you get that?” Amused, you take your place on it before closing your eyes at the strong sunlight beating down on them. You scrunch up your nose adorably, folding your arms across your chest.

Thirteen brings up a hand to shield your eyes. “Home.”

“Come on, don’t be a big baby and stay here with me.” She goaded, but she quickly scanned the area to find another place for you.

“But I’ll tan!” She hears you mutter under her breath, but you quietly follow her around, still sighing even as you sit beside her.)

It becomes a routine, you slump down under the shelter and pull out a book to read. Thirteen, on the other hand, sprawls over your lap to take a nap. Sometimes, Raphael comes along with them when he ditches his other friends.

(Simeon, she had heard through the grapevines. It seemed like Raphael had found himself attached to an upperclassman.)

Thirteen’s heart thuds loudly, and she finds herself unable to sleep this time. Folding her jacket into a makeshift pillow, she lays it over your lap as she settles into her usual position.

She studies your expression, captured by the way your lips purse when you’re focused. “No contacts today?”

You startle, fingers taut on the page as you consider her question. “Forgot.”

Thirteen hums, turning on her side to get a better look at your face. You’re still squinting, but she couldn’t tell if it’s from the sun this time.

“Glasses?”

Biting your lips, you consider your words carefully before answering nonchalantly. Your posture straightens as you clear your throat. “Mum threw them away.”

She bristles, a scowl pulling at the sides of her lips. “Damn bitch.”

“Language.” She hears you sigh under your breath. A tap on the spine of the book. “She’s right, though.”

You flick open another page, even as you’re distractedly answering her. “I look better without glasses.”

Thirteen watches you for a second and then blurts out. “You’re still pretty with or without.”

You still before letting out an exhale, you didn’t know you were holding. “I see.”

Thirteen frowns. “I mean it.”

Turning over another page, you laugh, a gentle sound that burrows deep into Thirteen’s chest. It’s that funny feeling again.

“Thank you, Thirteen.”

(She stuffs this feeling down and locks it away, throwing the key away. She doesn’t need this emotion. She’s forgetting something important.)

a/n > yes this is an edited version that has been locked in my drafts for MONTHS.... i will actually try to finish this, this time.... ehhehehe sorry

91 notes · View notes