#i just get so fed up of all the crap flung at me so often

[euargh]

vent post and general blogging

oh gawd, yesterday was stressful. Had to wake up early to go with parents to Hot Topic to pick up my mom’s shirt she wanted me to help her order. Which thankfully she gave me the exact amount to put into my bank because I’m drowning in bills and can’t afford a thirty dollar shirt. (I wear the same things every time I go out.) Anyways, mom is about to start conflict over nothing thinking a woman is trying to steal my dad’s cheese sticks. Dad snaps at her “STOP ALWAYS FUCKING FIGHTING!” which sadly is true because she makes everyone the enemy and randomly starts fights with people, but god, his constant anger all day caused me to want to vomit out bile. He is also a raging angry person. I forgot to take my fluoxetine to be able to handle all this crap a little better. (Speaking of which, I kind of hate my brother-in-law for saying I shouldn’t take that because it has “fluoride“ except if you actually google, it doesn’t have it. PLEASE SHUT UP, JAMES. GOD. I wish I could say that to his face, but I’d rather be on good terms with him. His side of the family are... “those” kind that self-diagnose and are anti-vax. and I hate when he picks on me for my personal problems thinking picking on me will magically make me not do that anymore, which no. All you do is make me uncomfortable.) Anyways, we went to Walmart, that was... a kind of decent okay trip. Except I learned my dad’s knee gave out and suddenly collapsed and he got irritated at me trying to help with offering to buy water. H-E-B next. The last stop. I had to go by myself into the store. Parents dropped me off and parked somewhere. I used the food budget to get last minute Thanksgiving food items. I’m really big on traditions that revolve around food (like Good Friday is fish day and I have fun looking forward to cooking/baking the usual foods we do every year for that day, every birthday I like making sure we have cake and ice cream, New Year’s Eve we get special champagne to drink around midnight, etc.) My year isn’t complete or okay unless there’s a big feast in November and I just love using that as an excuse to cook tons of food. Cooking is a good distraction and helps me forget I exist. PISSED I DIDN’T GET THE FRUIT COCKTAIL FOR THE FRUIT SALAD. but we have the tropical fruit cocktail. OH man, rambling. Oops. I obsess with food and cooking. Fast forward, I’m at H-E-B and it is ABSOLUTELY PACKED with people. I ended up trapped in aisles and kept internally sobbing lmaoooo Then my dad called me angrily on the phone when I was in line and shouted, “HURRY UP!! WE HAVE TO GO!! STOP FUCKING AROUND!!” unfortunately I snapped at him (something I rarely ever do because I always  swallow my rage whenever family members or in-laws are mean to me because nobody cares if they hurt me) I responded with “I CAN’T JUST MAGICALLY CUT TO THE FRONT OF THE LINE HERE TO PAY FOR MY ITEMS AND LEAVE.” Like?? I wasn’t even messing around, I was just trying my best to get around the crowds of people to get last minute items for Thanksgiving. Thankfully my mom told him off and to lay off me. That was nice of her. When we arrived home, she immediately began throwing items around. I had to defuse the situation and say “Look mom, I got you the butter you like.”  My dad went to the doctor. Then I spent two hours cooking dinner for them. Today, my stupid organs woke me up and I had to run to the bathroom where my insides hurt like hell. Heard my mom loudly throwing things around. I was just... why. Then remembered she had her neurologist appointment today. She gets surgery on her back and neck next year in January/February and now I’m nervous as hell. One, for her surgery because despite everything I care a lot for her. Two, because of all the freaking work I’ll have to do cleaning my sis’s former room when I just want to clean MY OWN room. I’m hoping she’ll agree to let me clean it later on since her surgery isn’t until January/February. but she makes groaning noises and gets pissed and starts throwing things. I hate how much of a control freak she is (my dad is also a huge control freak. They both retaliate in shitty ways if I don’t do what they want). Like with demanding I not donate books to this guy downtown that’s trying to bring a bookstore into this ghetto city. (There isn’t any bookstores all and all he’s trying to do is encourage reading. I support his cause.) She’s all “He’s just going to sell them” I’m like “That’s the point. Better than placed into a dumpster.” She said “Good Will accepts books.” I said “They toss out a ton of stuff. Clothes, books, toys. It gets thrown out.” and like they also freaking sell them? Jeez. Anyways, god, fuck you mom and dad for the shit you cause me that I have to put up with every day, I care about you both and will always look out for you guys, but god damn. Jeez. AND fuck everyone else in my family and my in-laws and just everyone else in my life that’s been awful to me. urgh. Anyways, vent post to scream out my angst into the void and to help warm up my typing... crap, and to work on a fanfiction today because I won’t have time tomorrow or the day after and so on. Please excuse how angry I sound. I am usually quiet when I’m pushed over by everybody, but today I’m making myself type.

[renaerys]

PPG One-Shot: “Girlfriend Material.” (Brick/Blossom)

February Fic Prompt #21 - Author’s Choice

For the wonderful @carriedreamerx, a fellow Reds die-hard and all-around A+ lady. Also can be read as kind of a part 2 to an earlier one-shot called Shook.

Summary: Blossom is having a bad day. Brick accidentally makes her feel better.

xxx

The four most dreaded words in the English language haunted Blossom after Julie’s party on Friday. They’d ruined the night, causing her to leave at nine p.m. alone, she didn’t want to drag Bubbles home early just because of her. They’d ruined her weekend plans—movie night with her sisters and Robin, studying at her favorite table at the public library, and Sunday family brunch. Through it all, Blossom was quiet and morose, and no one could get her to talk about why.

Why.

Those four stupid, little words.

They were just words, sticks and stones, as she often would tell Bubbles whenever she got upset about teasing that went too far.

“You’re not girlfriend material.”

Just four words.

xxx

Monday’s alarm went off at six a.m. sharp, and Blossom rose on autopilot to brush her teeth and get ready for school. She was halfway through applying a bit of mascara when she realized Bubbles wasn’t awake, and the Professor hadn’t called up to announce breakfast. And then she remembered.

Fall Break.

Blossom slumped over the sink, heavy and lethargic, the tube of mascara limp in her hand. How could she forget they had a whole week off from classes? Where was her head?

Her reflection was washed out and pale in the morning gloom through the bathroom window, and she looked ridiculous with only one eye made up. Sighing, she hastily did the other one, put the mascara away, and went to get dressed. Bubbles slept like a rock on her stomach even through Blossom’s alarm. The girl could have slept through an earthquake, no doubt. Buttercup, however, shifted in her bed.

“Going somewhere?” she called in a raspy, sleep-addled voice.

Blossom smiled and smoothed her sister’s mussed bangs. Even though there was no longer any visible trace of the many injuries she had sustained fighting Butch on Friday, Buttercup would need a couple more days of rest to get back to her regular shape. The IV drip next to her bed held a bag of Chemical X, nearly drained as it fed her through the night little by little.

“I forgot we’re on break,” Blossom said softly so as not to wake Bubbles.

“You nerd.”

Buttercup’s eyes drooped, but a smile tugged at her chapped lips. Blossom grabbed her half empty glass from the nightstand and refilled it in the bathroom sink.

“Go back to sleep,” Blossom said, leaving the fresh glass of water on the nightstand.

Buttercup turned over in bed and pulled the covers over her head. “Way ahead of you.”

That was that. Blossom floated to the window and quietly unhooked the latch. The Professor was moving around downstairs, but she didn’t much feel like talking to him right now. No doubt he would press her about Friday again, as he’d tried several times this weekend. The sun was rising steadily in the distance, casting the suburbs in a strange, dewy glow.

“Hey,” Buttercup called.

Blossom paused.

“Whatever it is, it can’t hurt you. You’re a badass.”

Blossom bit her trembling lip. It was suddenly hard to breathe. She glanced back at Buttercup, but she was under the covers with her back to her. Even so, Blossom could not bring herself to speak. If she did, she might say too much.

She slipped out of the window, pulled it closed behind her, and flew towards Townsville.

xxx

Logically speaking, the sun rises in the east, days turn to weeks, and nothing lasts forever. Not thunderstorms, not youth, and not even pain.

“You’re not girlfriend material.”

Blossom flew over Townsville waking up. It had rained last night, and the fog was thick over the bay as it battled the encroaching sun. She’d read a short story once about monsters in the mist. Gruesome, Lovecraftian horror, the type she never sought out but couldn’t refuse when it was a recommendation from her English teacher. There were no monsters in the mists shrouding Townsville of course, but she imagined them all the same, lurking voyeurs.

One day, she wouldn’t even remember this morning, this feeling, the quiet so high up insulating her from the city sounds far below, tires screeching and jackhammers crunching and a thousand feet scuttling. Logically speaking, none of it mattered.

But it still hurt.

She wasn’t hungry, and she wasn’t cold. She was rarely cold, being a block of ice herself. The ice queen. An unoriginal and lazy moniker, but one that stuck among her peers. Smart, studious Blossom. Commander and the leader, it’s lonely at the top. Come down from your snowcapped throne now and again to walk among us poor plebeians, why don’t you?

They weren’t all like that. The ones who mattered, mattered. Usually it didn’t bother her anyway. Sticks and stones, as they said, but they also said the pen is mightier than the sword. So which is it?

“You’re not girlfriend material.”

Logically speaking, people told themselves what they needed to hear to make themselves believe everything was fine.

“You’re not girlfriend material.”

Just four paper-thin words.

“You’re not girlfriend material.”

“You’re not girlfriend material.”

“You’re not girlfriend material.”

Just four soul-crushing, little words.

xxx

Logically speaking, there were no monsters in the mist.

xxx

Brick wasn’t sure why he went.

Up at the ass-crack of dawn because his alarm was set to repeat and he’d forgotten to turn it off for the Fall Break week, there was no going back to sleep now that the damage was done. Boomer flung his pillow at Brick’s bed to try to kill that screeching alarm, hit him in the face, and suffered a very hard, very warranted shove off the sofa.

“Dude, what the fuuuuuuck?” Boomer whined from the floor in his boxers.

“What the fuck do you mean, what the fuck?” Brick demanded. “Why are you sleeping on my couch?”

Boomer rubbed his tired eyes. “Butch’s snoring is so loud since he started that X drip and I can’t take it anymore!”

“Not my problem.” Brick went to his closet to pull on a fresh shirt. Fuck, it was cold this morning. He grabbed a hoodie from a hanger.

“Briiiiiick,” Boomer whined. “I’m so tired.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

“I’m going out. You better not be in here when I get back.”

Boomer was already crawling back onto his couch as he left his room to use the bathroom though. Whatever, it was too early to deal with Boomer’s crap. The two-bedroom apartment was claustrophobic this morning, like the walls were closing in on Brick, and he had the immediate urge to get out.

After he cleaned up, threw on his cap, and grabbed his keys, he took off into the early morning sky with no destination in mind as long as it wasn’t home.

Fall Break. What was he supposed to do for an entire week? At least Butch was out of commission paying for the consequences of his hormonal jack-assery. Boomer had his friends to hang with, but he could get clingy when the brothers were confined to home without a schedule. And Brick was pretty sure he remembered Wes saying he was going to be out of town with his folks, so that left Boomer best friend-less for the foreseeable future.

Hence, Brick wasn’t sure why he went to the ruined Shankaplex lot. Only, his head was full of all these useless thoughts and he wasn’t thinking straight and anyway it was hard to miss with that enormous fucking crane they’d brought in to help clear up the remains of the movie theater parking lot Butch and Blossom had completely demolished in their fight.

She was already there.

Her red hair cut through the grey of the broken asphalt and concrete like the sun through the rain-cold fog, but little about Blossom was warm. Brick frowned at the thought. He hadn’t seen her since Julie’s party, and even then only for a few minutes. She’d left really early.

She sat alone on the roof of the neighboring Cooper’s Market watching a team of construction workers in orange vests slowly working to clear the mess of tree trunks forcibly uprooted during the fight. They were scattered like dominoes on the asphalt. Brick’s eyes traveled from the back of Blossom’s head to a particularly deep crater where she’d stood towering over Butch, cowed like Brick had hardly ever seen him before, her eyes red with power as they lifted to meet his.

He barely touched down when she sensed him and turned. Her eyes were red, like before, but not with power.

Blossom hastily wiped her puffy eyes and the few tears wetting her cheeks. “What are you doing here?”

Brick froze where he stood. Every instinct in him told him to flee, get the fuck out of there, her tears were not for him to see. Heart pounding in his ears, he clenched his suddenly clammy fists because he couldn’t think of anything else to do with them. “Nothing,” he said, like a total idiot.

Fuck, she’s fucking crying, what the fuck?

“What are you doing here?” he asked, still in full-on idiot mode.

Oh thank god, she’d turned away. He couldn’t see her crying anymore, but that little sniffle sent a chilling pang down his spine that was almost painful. He suppressed a growl at the sensation.

“My alarm woke me up,” she said glumly. “I forgot to turn it off for the week.”

Brick stood petrified behind her, and it was a wonder that she couldn’t hear his heart hammering loud enough to give him a headache. Her banal words were a lifeline he clung to through the noise, and he swallowed hard.

“Me too,” he said. “Habit.”

She nodded, as if the effort to respond was too great, and it was the respite he needed to calm the fuck down. He considered just leaving, but she’d acknowledged him, and leaving now would look like running. Brick didn’t run, especially not from her.

Feet leaden, he shuffled to the edge of the roof and sank down a respectable arm’s length away from her. She said nothing, and their legs dangled over the edge overlooking the red and white striped awning. A big, neon sign advertising the grocery store buzzed and glowed yellow at the other end of the roof. Brick took off his hat, ran his fingers through his hair, and put it back on. Still, she said nothing, so he glanced at her.

She was in jeans and a plain, white tank top, no frills and not even her usual pearl studs she always wore. Her hair was long and loose, draping her shoulders. Brick shivered just looking at her. Wasn’t she cold?

“How’s Butch?” she asked.

It took Brick a moment to comprehend her question. She was looking right at him. Despite a little residual puffiness, her eyes were dry as a bone.

“Sleeping it off,” Brick said.

She nodded and went back to watching the construction workers.

Brick racked his brain for something to say to her. “It’s actually kind of nice having him out of commission. Everything’s quieter.”

She hugged one knee to her chest and shrank in on herself, and he bit his tongue.

Great.

He’d never had a problem talking to Blossom before. She was just Blossom, the uptight, annoying, micromanager he had to put up with in all his classes and at some social functions where their friend circles overlapped. She was just always there, always shrewd, always ready to shut him down if he so much as breathed at her funny. But this was like pulling teeth. What had changed?

Well, he knew exactly what had changed. Right there in that crater, in fact. He could picture it so clearly, could hear the pride in her voice as she exuded her total and absolute control like she’d been born to do it, and he’d never quite noticed before. How had he never noticed before? She was always right there.

“Can I ask you something?” She tugged on her hair. Nervous habit.

Why is she nervous?

Brick dug his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Am I girlfriend material?”

He stared, waiting for her to crack, but Blossom never cracked.

Oh.

She was serious.

“Girlfriend material?” he repeated. It took every ounce of his incredible self-control to keep his voice neutral as he studied her impassive face.

“Girlfriend material,” she confirmed.

And damn, could she be cold when she wanted to be. Not even her tears could shake her now as she watched him, waiting on his answer like they were at war and it was go or get out of the way.

“To a specific person?”

“Objectively speaking.”

“That’s not an objective question.”

“Sure it is.”

He frowned. “No, it’s not.”

“Western beauty standards would suggest otherwise.”

“So you want to know if you’re hot?”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“But it’s the standard you’re basing your question on.”

She wrung her fingers in her hair. “I guess it’s related. But that’s entirely my point. There are certain traits or standards that inform what makes someone girlfriend material.”

“Objectively speaking.”

She nodded. “Yes.”

Brick considered her. She was nervous, fucking crying when he’d found her. It didn’t take a genius to deduce what had probably happened, even though he was, in fact, a genius and she was completely transparent right now, besides.

Is she messing with me?

If she was, the crying was some Olympic level acting he’d never known her capable of. Blossom was many things, but she wasn’t duplicitous.

How was this nervous, self-conscious girl the same one who had completely dominated Butch in a fight and loved every minute of being seen doing it?

Brick cleared his very dry throat and sat cross-legged to face her. “You mentioned traits and standards. What are the others?”

“Others?”

“That make someone girlfriend material. We already established that number one, she has to be hot.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t say super model hot, but probably conventionally attractive.”

He waved her off. “Fine, whatever. Next?”

Blossom thought about that. “Well, I guess she should be nice.”

“Fine, but she can’t be boring.”

“Being nice doesn’t mean you’re boring.”

“It does if that’s all you are.”

“Of course that’s not all I am.”

Brick snorted. “No, you’re a hell of a lot more than that.”

Blossom narrowed her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. She should be smart.”

Blossom looked like she wanted to press him, but she refrained. “I agree. Intelligence is attractive.”

“But not too smart.”

“Excuse me?”

“And social, but not annoying about it. She should be able to keep up and complement you in any situation, but not overshadow or steal the spotlight.”

Blossom flushed in anger. “You realize how incredibly misogynistic that is, don’t you?”

Brick shrugged. “You said objectively speaking.”

“Oh, and you think all guys want is a party girl with above average looks and below average brains to stroke their egos?”

“No, I think your premise itself is flawed and I was proving my point. There’s no such thing as the objectively perfect girlfriend. That’s bullshit, and anyone who says otherwise is an idiot.” He watched her avert her gaze like a timid little bird. “Anyone who tries to meet such a bullshit standard is also an idiot.”

That got her attention, and she turned angry, pink eyes on him. “I’m the last person on the planet you should be calling an idiot.”

“I was speaking objectively,” he sneered.

Okay, that was petty, he could admit that to himself. But it was worth it to see the indignation on her pretty face. She got up in a blaze of pink. He was not far behind.

“This was a mistake. I don’t even know why I’m talking to you of all people.” She began to walk away.

He followed. “That makes two of us.”

The sun was up now, and more construction workers had shown up to operate the crane. Even up on the roof, it was beginning to get a little noisy for anyone with sensitive Super hearing.

Nonetheless, they remained on the roof.

xxx

Conceited jerk, Blossom fumed on the other side of the roof with her arms crossed. Why do I even bother?

The conceited jerk didn’t know how to take a hint.

“You’re not actually upset,” Brick said.

Blossom glared back at him. “You don’t get to tell me how I feel.”

“Why?”

“Why don’t you get to dictate my feelings?”

“No, obviously. I meant why are you upset?”

Her lip trembled, but she bit down on it hard enough to hurt. No way was she going to cry in front of him again. Bad enough that he’d surprised her. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend like you care.”

Red sparks crackled on his skin. Blossom felt the sudden push of his choleric power like a punch to the gut, but she held her ground. It was over so fast that it left her breathless.

He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. “This is so fucking stupid.”

For once, Blossom was inclined to agree with him.

“Who was it?” he asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“At Julie’s party. Whoever told you that you’re not girlfriend material. Who was it?”

Blossom shook her head, stunned. “That’s not… You weren’t even there—”

“You ran outta there like the place was on fire right after I got there,” he interrupted her. “So who was it?”

Blossom continued to stare at him. Angry Brick she could handle. Smarmy, arrogant, crass Brick she was used to brushing aside, loudly challenging, or ignoring completely depending on the mood. But this—no, not concerned, certainly not, more like curious Brick—was a subtle beast.

“Does it matter?” she asked.

“Just tell me.”

Without Blossom realizing how or when, something had shifted between them. She had never been afraid of Brick, not even when they were kids and literally trying to destroy each other to no avail, and she wasn’t afraid now. But something in his countenance, in the casual way he rested his hands in his hoodie pockets, the power to crush mountains kept at bay with frightening ease, gave her pause.

Logically speaking, there are no monsters in the mist.

None that could hurt her, anyway.

“Just…some girls,” Blossom said in a voice she hardly recognized. “Just some mean girls.”

Just four little words that hit like bullets.

“Uh-huh,” he said.

Blossom could not begin to understand why, but standing there on the roof with him as the construction workers hammered away below, she was struck with an overwhelming sadness as bleak as the fog that settled in the streets. If he were anyone else, his pity would have shamed her. But Brick had never once pitied her.

“I don’t get it,” she said. She was bullet proof. She’d faced monsters and demons and nightmares alike. Buttercup may be the toughest, and Bubbles may be light in the darkness, but Blossom was always in control, and control was power. It was everything. She could even face Brick’s chaotic brother on a Chemical X bender, and it felt good. She’d felt good. But this, these four damning words, hit her where she was weakest and most vulnerable, and she just couldn’t help it.

For all her power and control, she was just a seventeen-year-old girl who wanted to fit in.

She hugged herself close, wishing someone else would. “I don’t get it all.”

“I know.”

Blossom looked up. She’d forgotten Brick was even still there, but there he remained, stock still and staring off into the distance, his jaw set.

“You…”

“I mean, I get it,” he snapped. He scowled, but not at her.

Bewildered, Blossom could only stare as Brick became even more uncomfortable than she was. And then, it hit her.

“Are you trying to make me feel better?”

“I’m just saying.”

She stepped closer, unsure if she was hallucinating. “Why?”

He took off his cap and roughly carded his fingers through his short hair. “Because it’s fucking stupid. Not you, but you being so upset. Not like that—” he preempted her protest that never came, “—just that they could make you feel so shitty when you’re so…” He gestured to her.

“So what?”

His face flushed in anger. “You know, you.”

Blossom frowned. “I don’t understand—”

“You’re you. Class president, smart as fuck, you know, future Time Person of the Year type of shit—”

“That’s not—”

“—so beautiful and you know it. Hey, don’t make that innocent face. You’ve always known you’re gorgeous, you’re just too busy being nice to the morons in this city who couldn’t tie their goddamned shoes without whining for help to make a big deal out of it—”

Blossom matched his flush. “Just because people need my help sometimes doesn’t make them morons—”

“—and it just pisses me the fuck off because you’re this force of nature who can make my psychotic brother eat a dick one minute—”

“Oh my god—”

“—but then you fall apart because of what a bunch of obnoxious high school girls say to you drunk at a party? Jesus fucking Christ, Blossom.”

Blossom was so livid that she didn’t hesitate even a second to get in his face. “Don’t speak to me like that.”

Brick leaned down so close their noses nearly touched. “Like what?”

“Like you’re so above it all when you just admitted to me that you’re not.” Pink sparks materialized upon her skin as her temper flared to match his. How dare he try to play her for a fool? He of all people knew better.

Brick’s fingers on her cheek were the last thing she expected, and she recoiled with a gasp. Her power danced between his fingers, caught and mingling with his, and he made a slow fist one finger at a time. Blossom watched, mesmerized and unable to fathom why, but her eyes were blown wide and her lips parted.

Brick’s gaze flickered from his fist back to her, and she bit her lip. He had never looked at her like that before, except…

Except when she shoved Butch into the ground, exhausted and sore, and found Brick watching her like she was all that was worth looking at in this world. Shock and awe, she’d chalked it up to surprise at her actually beating Butch. Of course he’d underestimate her just like his brother, like everyone else. But no, that wasn’t right. This close to him, that heated look was unmistakable now.  

The moment passed like the sun dipping behind a cloud, and he pulled back. He slipped his hand back into his hoodie pocket and smiled in that subtle, diabolical way he’d perfected years ago. “Much better.”

Blossom swallowed hard. Had she… Had she imagined it?

She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but her stomach growled, excruciatingly loud to her Super hearing and his.

Brick burst out laughing.

Mortified, Blossom blanched and covered her mouth and wished she could just disappear. “Oh my god,” she groaned. “I’m leaving.”

And she would have flown right out of there if he hadn’t grabbed her wrist. Still grinning, he tugged her back. “No, don’t leave.”

Blossom squeezed her eyes shut and wondered why the universe hated her so much. “We’re really done here.”

“Then let’s go somewhere else.”

The initial embarrassment faded, and she was left to wonder at his very odd choice of words. “What?”

“There’s a 1950s style diner I like a few blocks from here. I skipped breakfast too.”

He wasn’t laughing at her anymore as he waited on her acquiescence.

His hand was fire around her wrist. For the first time that morning, she started to feel the chill.

“All right,” she said.

“All right.” He let her go and began to float. “This way.”

Logically speaking, the sun rises in the east, days turn to weeks, and nothing lasts forever. Not thunderstorms, not youth, and not even pain.

Especially not pain.

Blossom sipped on the best vanilla milkshake she’d ever tasted as Brick rattled off dish after dish to the flabbergasted waitress who could not be blamed for not knowing the curse of Chemical X-induced inhumanly high metabolism.

“Hey, Brick?”

Brick looked up from their feast of eggs and bacon and pancakes. “What?”

Logically speaking, he’d only called her gorgeous and smart and amazing because she was those things, objectively. But there was no such thing as the objectively perfect girlfriend.

She smiled. “Thank you.”

He flushed and played it off like it meant nothing. “Yeah, you’re welcome.”

Logically speaking, nothing lasts forever, but they took their time anyway. What was the rush?

[ghosthunthq]

What Are Men Good For?

Title: What Are Men Good For?

Author: @shesailsships

A/N: This was written for the 2020 Ghost Hunt Fanworks Weekend. I selected the prompt neighbors who only meet because “I can’t get this stupid jar open, can you help?��

What are men even good for?– Ayako Matsuzaki thought vehemently as her apartment key scratched in the lock and she flung open her front door– besides opening jars, moving furniture, and killing bugs?

Kicking off her heels and dropping her purse, Ayako immediately set to erasing the face of the man who had successfully ruined one of her very few Saturdays off. He had been the son of one of the nurses who worked the night shift with Ayako at The University Of Tokyo Hospital. Ayako had gone into the arrangement with more hope than she probably should have after two other failed dates just that month…

So much for that.

Looking to cool her temper a bit, Ayako began rummaging around her small kitchen. Locating a glass, she closed her cabinet with a bang. Opening the fridge, she closed it with a slam. Ayako stood at her kitchen counter taking angry swallows of cold Brita water. Then with a slight pang of guilt, it occurred to her she might have been a bit too loud for it being midnight.

But the sudden sound of a running shower put her mind at ease.

That’s right. Rocker Monk is always up at this time.

Ayako had never actually crossed paths with Rocker Monk. He had moved into the unit directly next to her about a month ago. What Ayako had learned about her neighbor had all come through the wall. That he was in fact a he was made certain after hearing him sing (loudly) in the shower (which was inconveniently located next to her kitchen), and…the chanting. When Ayako first heard it, frankly it had kind of weirded her out. She had considered calling apartment management…but after week, she (grudgingly) found it somewhat soothing. It wasn’t hurting anyone, so she let it be.

Ayako attributed her passing curiosity in him (after having never given a second though to her previous neighbors in that unit) to them keeping similar schedules. Ayako worked graveyard shifts at the hospital. She assumed she was the only person in her building sleeping until four in the afternoon, whose work day didn’t start until eleven-thirty at night. But then came Rocker Monk. Who was silent as a ghost all day, and only active at night. Between ten and eleven Ayako could always count on the shower kicking on, and then he was out the door…off to whatever his job was. After hearing him regularly practicing bass guitar, Ayako began the amusing idea that he was in a rock band.

He’s late tonight, Ayako thought as Rocker Monk began singing.

He wasn’t half bad and Ayako decided listen in while finishing the dishes left in her sink. Afterward, she found herself going to bed in a relatively good mood.

The next night, Ayako was back to slamming cabinets again. She was in a flustered mood, running behind. She had taken the world’s quickest shower, and with her hair still wet, she was attempting to cobble together a decent breakfast. She was about to work a double and she wanted something decent in her stomach. But the damn jam just wouldn’t open.

Cursing in frustration, Ayako was considering just chucking the thing…when she heard the shower turn on next door. She stared down at the offending jar in her hand.

What are men even good for?

Ayako gave it fifteen minutes. She busied herself blow drying her hair, touching up her makeup, throwing on her scrubs. Then, putting two pieces of bread in the toaster, she grabbed the jar of jam, and left her apartment.

A moment later, Ayako was standing in front of Rocker Monk’s door, knocking firmly. It took a good bit of knocking (clearly he didn’t have guests over often), but then the lock slid over and there stood a tall man in the doorway. Ayako took him in in a blink– his long blonde hair pulled back in a low ponytail, his broad shoulders, the black long sleeve v-neck sweater he was wearing– and then she was thrusting the jar of jam into his hands.

“Can you open this?”

As not to drop it, Rocker Monk accepted the jar, but was looking between it and her with an expression that was partly interested, partly confused.

“Do we…know each other?”

Ayako, arms crossed, impatiently nodded.

“Of course. You’re–” Ayako hesitated here, almost calling him by his nickname, “Bou…Bou-san. And I’m your neighbor who needs help opening this jar.”

Rocker Monk blinked at her, taking in her answer. Something like an impressed spark lit his eyes,

“Bou-san? What makes you call me that?”

“I heard you chanting.”

“Oh?”

“What happened? You run away from the temple?”

The monk was smiling by this time, a bit self consciously he rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Actually…yeah. I couldn’t make music there.”

“Ha, I knew it.”

“You could hear that too?”

“Sorry but, I’m running short on time. Can you open that thing or not?”

His attention returned to the jar in his hands, Bou-san gave the lid a deft twist and with a satisfying pop, it opened. The monk held it out to her.

“There you go.”

Ayako flashed a smile and took back the jam. With a wave she was already backing down the hall, towards her apartment.

“Thanks, neighbor.”

He waved back, and peering out of his door frame, he called back to her, “It’s Takigawa, Houshou.”

“Nice to meet you, Rocker Monk.”

Still smiling, Ayako closed her apartment door and set about making a reasonable breakfast, having just enough time to stuff toast in her mouth.

That’s what men are good for.

Weeks passed by. Ayako worked a blur of twelve and sixteen hours shifts. She listened in on countless songs sung by the monk in the shower. She swore he was even louder than before. On purpose. More often than not, she found herself wanting toast with jam on her days off. Visits next door became a somewhat regular thing.

Ayako learned that Rocker Monk– or as she now called him– Bou-san, was in fact in a band. A small indie one, that played mostly night gigs. He learned she was a nurse at a major hospital. She offered her services if he was ever choking to death. Or had a heart attack. She was well trained in the Heimlich Maneuver and CPR.

That spring Ayako was granted a much deserved vacation. After being lavishly lazy the first two days, she decided spring cleaning was in due order. On a bright Sunday morning she drug herself out of bed, threw open her blinds and windows and decided to rearrange her living room.

An hour later Ayako was sweating and cursing over her stubborn couch that just wouldn’t move. About to give the whole thing up– she had a dawning realization.

Exchanging the sweats she was cleaning in for a pair of jeans and a tank top, Ayako walked the familiar path to her neighbor’s door. Knowing it was hours before he would even be conscious, she hesitated in her plan, but then knocked anyways.

What are men even good for?

It took more pounding than usual, but eventually the monk answered the door. Ayako raised her eyebrows at the sight of the still half asleep man before her.

Hair loose at his shoulders, was wearing boxer shorts…and no shirt.

“Ah, crap. I thought it was an emergency–” he started to explain, attempting to cover his bare chest.

“It is an emergency. I need you to move my couch.”

Bou-san put on a shirt and the couch got moved.

That’s what men are good for.

The next day decided Ayako decided she wanted to move her bed. And then her computer desk. Rocker Monk got very little sleep the whole of Ayako’s vacation. But occasionally she fed him. They had dinner twice. Lunch once. Coffee several times.

After vacation Ayako gained the nickname Miko. Having been in her apartment, Bou-san noticed the number of plants that filled the space. He appreciated her green thumb and told her she reminded him of a shrine maiden. Ayako snorted at that, but the name stuck.

At the start of summer, Ayako was having trouble sleeping. It was incredibly muggy in Tokyo. On her night off, after tossing and turning for hours, Ayako stared at the ceiling in defeat. Sitting up in bed, she decided she would read, hoping that would make her tired enough to fall asleep. Reaching for her lamp, Ayako saw the clock read two in the morning.

Great.

Clicking the light on, Ayako reached for the book she had started six months ago– and then froze.

A spider. Hairy and the size of her hand, was crawling across the foot of her bed.

With a cry, Ayako jumped up– scrambling to stand at the top of her bed. Back pressed against the wall, Ayako’s mind raced, but every solution seemed to involve getting off the bed and facing indeterminate danger. She just couldn’t kill it.

And then, a flash of genius through her blind panic. A question that solved the problem.

What are men even good for?

Heart pounding, Ayako reached down, fumbling for her phone sitting on the nightstand nearest her. Her finger hit speed dial. Three rings later, a gruff voice answered.

“Wha– Ayako, what is–”

“Bou-san you have get over here right now there’s a huge spider it’s going to devour me and then you’ll have nobody to listen to you sing in the shower–”

It felt like a century, but Bou-san was over in an instant. Having exchanged keys a month ago (what if there was a medical emergency?), he came barreling into Ayako’s apartment, a broom in hand.

“Where?” he demanded as he entered the bedroom, waving the broom around.

“On my bed!”

But it wasn’t. In all of Ayako’s commotion, she had kicked her blankets off. The spider was no longer anywhere to be seen.

Ten minutes of turning on all the lights, sorting through all the blankets, doing a sweep of the whole apartment…and there was still, nothing.

“Those are nice,” Bou-san spoke, leaning against Ayako’s door frame where they had taken up post to watch for the spider.

“What’s nice? None of this is nice–”

“Your pajamas.”

Ayako tore her gaze away from the floor to glance down at herself. They were her lacy ones.

Oh well.

“Keep your eyes on the prize, monk. It’s almost three in morning, where the hell is this demon spider?”

“Wait, what’s that brown thing…?”

“What?!”

Ayako launched at Bou-san, and was clinging to him (practically climbing him…), before he could even finish his sentence, hitting him in the arm, demanding that he kill it.

But upon further inspection, there was nothing to kill. The brown thing turned out to be just one of Ayako’s slippers. Exhausted and flustered, Ayako finally released the monk, head in her hands.

“I’m just not going to sleep tonight. I’ll just call the office as soon as they open and have them bomb his place.”

Bou-san chewed at his lip, thoughtful.

“You have to sleep.”

Ayako sent him a sharp look,

“Not with that thing in here.”

“No…I don’t blame you there, but you could sleep…you know– at my place, if you wanted.”

There was a beat as Ayako’s foggy mind processed this offer.

“Sleep. At your apartment?”

“Yeah, like on my couch. I haven’t seen a spider for weeks, I think it’s probably safe.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure.”

That’s what men are good for.

Trading her apartment for his, Ayako did finally manage to get some sleep that night, comfortably tucked into the monk’s bed, while the monk (somehow) ended up on the couch.

The summer’s humidity brought mosquitoes. And mosquitoes brought Bou-san over several times a week. The monk teased her that her love of nature didn’t seem to embrace all of it and the little spirits of the bugs she was having him squash would haunt her. Ayako balked at this, but that was how they got started on the topic of the paranormal. Apparently they shared a mutual interest in it, and more than one night was spent with them exchanging chilling real life experiences.

Ayako didn’t want to admit it, but the more she got to know Bou-san, the longer her list of what men were even good for seemed to grow.

Cooking.

Like when Bou-san surprised her with a real breakfast after she slogged home from a particularly harsh double shift at the hospital.

That’s what men are good for.

Handy work.

Like when her washing machine broke and apartment maintenance said it was back ordered and would take a month to be installed. One YouTube tutorial later and Bou-san had it fixed.

That’s what men are good for.

Company.

Like when Bou-san stayed up with her all night, taking her mind off the head cold she caught, watching ridiculous horror films, and telling bad jokes.

Standing on her deck, the season’s first snowflakes falling through the dark, Ayako studied the monk beside her, and found she was a bit afraid that she had come to like her list a little too much. Especially the part she just added…

“I can’t believe it’s really snowing.”

“You’re cheeks are red. Pretty cold, huh?”

“Hm.”

“Want me to come a little closer, share some warmth? Oh look at that, it’s really coming down now.”

What are men even good for?

Love.

And she kissed him.

That’s what men are good for.