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fluffyhare · 3 months

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Like Real People Do, Part 2! ♡ (Casper x Avery)

☁️ Summary: Casper waits for Avery to make good on his promise to visit, and gets more than they bargained for!

☁️ Warnings: Suggestive language, mild tickling (please do not interact with this if you're a minor!)

This is a series now!

Part 1

Part 2 *you are here

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

If you just got here and want to know more about my characters, you can read my comic starting right here!

Everything that hurt, always hurt more the second day.

I sat up in bed, pain wrapping around my middle like a boa constrictor, squeezing agony into my bones. It was four a.m. again, but now it was Monday; a workday.

I grabbed my phone and opened my company's intranet page, hastily navigating to the HR section of the site and putting in for a sick day, followed by an email to my boss and coworkers.

Good morning,

I am not feeling well and will not be in today. All incidents assigned to me are up-to-date with notes. In case of emergency, please text me.

Thank you,

[deadname]

I stared at my reflection in the dirty bathroom mirror. My teal hair looked like the aftermath of a fork stuck into an electrical outlet, and there were pale violet circles under my eyes. While they were genetic, they had become even more visible since my insomnia started. Lifting my shirt, I looked at my stomach, where a bruise like an arm of the Milky Way bloomed in shades of blue and purple, fading to yellowish green at the frayed border. I clattered three Excedrin into my palm and swallowed them dry.

My apartment didn't have a dining area, so I sat on my green-corduroy couch as I peeled an orange. Aside from the hum of the air conditioning unit, it was quiet.

What the hell happened yesterday?

Given the shape and location of the bruise, I felt pretty certain that I had, indeed, crashed my skateboard into the pier's guardrail.

"Oh, shit! My skateboard!" I remembered dismally. It was probably at the bottom of the ocean by now, waterlogged and unsalvageable. Unlike most other skaters I knew, who often had a quiver of five or six boards, I only had one; a drop-through longboard that wasn't too long, which meant it was perfect for my short stance. It was the first board I'd learned to ride, and I'd saved up for months to afford it. My heart sank as I remembered how much research I had done to find the perfect beginner skateboard, and the graphic I had so carefully selected -- a stylized depiction of a person surfing beneath a cloudy, pastel sunrise.

Sunrise. Clouds.

The rest of my memories from the previous day surged back.

"Avery!"

I nearly choked on an orange slice as I glimpsed the microwave's digital clock. It was five a.m. now.

"Sunset time Port Oleander," I googled frantically, the search engine responding with cruel indifference, "seven-thirty p.m."

My fingers counted the hours: fourteen and a half. I collapsed back into the couch as impatience like a cartoon anvil fell on me. How could I possibly wait that long?

Memories of the lighthouse assailed me as I slumped, stunlocked, on the couch; wet brick, old paper, bergamot, sea spray. An embarrassment of books. Sunlight glinting off bits of ice in Avery's swirling, translucent head. His huge, sincere, almost goofy smile. His laugh.

My stomach twisted with a swell of emotion so strong it was almost painful as I recalled the sensation of Avery's warm, boisterous laugh vibrating my ribcage. I wanted - no, I needed - to hear it again and again and again. My fingernails dug into the couch cushion as I fought to gather myself.

"This is just infatuation... right?"

I wasn't exactly a stranger to romance. I'd had partners here and there, but admittedly, the termination of my previous relationship over two years ago had left me unsure that falling in love was, well. For me.

The initial "spark" that seemed a crucial part of attraction for other people, for me, was apparently defunct; attraction did not happen often, and when it did, it was more a slow and methodical building of a home, less a match igniting an all-consuming fire. Love, intimacy and trust were all building bricks, predicated upon a wrought-iron foundation of knowing a person well, forming a bond as friends over time.

Physical intimacy, itself, was a whole 'nother ballgame. As a solitary person, most physical touch -- even mundane -- carried a weight of closeness that was not always comfortable or welcome, but was embarrassingly out of my control. I recalled my recent visit to the doctor, cringing a bit. Though I was loath to admit it, even brushing hands with the grocery store clerk as they handed me my change left a lingering sensation that I had to fight to ignore. I wasn't the type to hug a stranger; I wasn't the type to even hug my friends unless we'd spent significant time together. I certainly didn't think about ti...

My ears suddenly grew hot.

Was I already thinking about... that? With Avery?

Avery's hand holding mine over his kitchen table, his palm cool and soft, the mysterious and silent storm rushing beneath his skin. His gentle gaze that, despite his obvious years, held an innocent curiosity. His playful-yet-shy bravado as he introduced himself with a flourish of his hand, the way he so effortlessly scooped me off the ground. I wondered if his skin felt the same everywhere else... on his body, and on mine.

"Oh, no. We just met, we are NOT doing this," I argued, trying to appeal to my own sense of reason,"you're just gonna have to tough this out, Casper. Don't rush into things and scare him off, this is probably just a crush you're going to get over once you get to know him."

"But I've never even had a crush before, I don't know what to do!"

"Dude, just be regular! Just hang out with him like normal and see what he's like! I don't know, take him to the fair or something!"

"Is that a good way to get to know someone you're attracted to?!"

"I don't know, I'm you!"

I lowered my reeling head into my hands, suddenly regretting eating that orange as my stomach churned. Things were happening so fast. I looked at the clock again -- agonizingly, only an hour had passed.

A horrible thought occured to me, then:

What if Avery didn't feel the same?

"Don't go down that road," my internal monologue chided, "you have no idea how he feels. Don't spiral out of control."

"Why would he even be interested in me? I'm weird! I spend all my time by myself, I'm chubby, I barely have any talent, I don't even have any friends since I moved here! Not to mention how much trauma and baggage I have-"

"See, this is exactly what I'm talking about! Stop it! Everyone has baggage, even Avery probably does. You don't have to earn other people's love! You're good enough just for being who you are, and if he would only love you for what you can do for him, he wouldn't be loving you for the right reasons, anyway. Now get up and channel this nervous energy into something productive for god's sake, before you burn a hole in the couch."

I stood.

I cleaned up the coffee table.

I vacuumed my carpet. I washed every thread of clothing I owned, and my bedding. I did the dishes, cleaned every window and mirror and dusted every surface. Raiding the fridge and freezer, I threw out everything that was expired, then I alphabetized my spice cabinet. I mopped, scrubbed, wiped, and folded until my apartment looked like it was straight out of an IKEA catalogue.

Then I left, and ran every errand I had been putting off. I finally emptied my mailbox, bursting with junkmail (I was sure that our postal worker just loved me). I got my car inspected and put air in my tires. I went to the grocery store and restocked my fridge.

All the while, my mind reeled like a YouTube video set to loop:

Avery, Avery, Avery.

+++

By the time I was done, it was six forty-five p.m. I sat on the couch in my favorite pair of jeans and my coolest short-sleeve button-down: a navy blue number with tiny koi fish print. My hair was perfectly quaffed, and I radiated a shower-fresh clean. My apartment was silent, my palms sweating as my hands rested on my thighs. Despite all my arguing and resistance, I was the very definition of down bad.

My incessant thoughts piped up.

"You're trying too hard. You realize that Avery saw you yesterday, unconscious, in a ratty t-shirt and cargo shorts, nasty and sweaty from skateboarding, right? You probably looked like shit, and he probably thinks that's how you normally look. You probably smelled bad, too. He's gonna know."

"He's not gonna know. How would he know?"

A soft knock on my door interrupted my internal warfare and made me jump out of my skin.

I put my hand on the cold doorknob. My heart beat so furiously I could feel the fuzzy edge of my consciousness, and I silently bargained with my hypotension that if it just left me alone for now, just for tonight, I would pass out all it wanted tomorrow. I turned the knob and opened the door.

"Hi!"

It was my neighbor. I experienced an emotion that could only be described as crushing relief.

"I found this outside my door, I think it's yours, isn't it?"

She was holding my skateboard. It was wet, but it didn't look to be soaked through. I gasped, taking it from her.

"Yes! You said it was outside your door?"

"Yeah, I don't know how long it was there, though. Probably since this morning. This is the first time I've gotten out today, so..." she trailed off. We'd spoken in passing, but we didn't really know each other.

"Well, thank you, I lost it yesterday. I think my friend found it and probably just forgot which apartment was mine."

"Hey, no problem. Have a good one," she said, smiling politely as she left.

When she was out of sight, I hastily looked around. The sun was just beginning to sink below the horizon, and as I looked up, I could see hard chips of stars starting to appear. Over my shoulder, I checked the microwave clock again. It was seven o'clock on the dot. How much longer? What would I say when he arrived? What would I even do when he did? My hands grew cold as I realized that, in all of my stress-cleaning, I hadn't planned anything for Avery and I to do together. Maybe I still had time?

"Good evening," a familiar, airy voice spoke from mere inches in front of me.

I jumped again, head snapping forward as my suddenly weak hands dropped my skateboard, which rolled lazily across my small patio.

Avery stood before me in the dying light. He wasn't completely transparent yet, and the fading sunlight behind him illuminated the delicate curves of his head, giving new meaning to the phrase "silver lining." He was grinning like a child who'd just had ice cream for the first time.

My words caught in my throat.

"I'm glad you found your skateboard! I fished it out of the water after I took you home, but I couldn't remember which apartment you lived in -- sorry about that. I hope it isn't ruined."

Across the courtyard, a man opened his door and stepped out, snapping me out of my besotted daze. My fight-or-flight engaged.

"Get in here!" I whispered urgently, grabbing his shirt sleeve, eliciting a surprised yelp as I pulled him into my apartment. He was lighter than I expected, and as the door swung closed, I tumbled backwards onto the floor.

"My goodness, Casper, are you okay?" He offered a hand to help me up. I scarcely had time to brace myself before taking it, and had no choice but to endure the overwhelming thrill of sensation as his cool palm pressed against mine, pulling me to my feet. He was light, but his strength was undeniable; he practically pulled me off my feet by my hand.

"Oh, yeah, fine... ah... I saw someone... out there, across the yard, and I was afraid they would see you," I hastily explained, avoiding his eyes as I tried to calm my palpitations.

"Well, that was kind of you! Believe it or not, though, humans do see me sometimes. Usually you just assume I am something else, like fog, or simply a trick of the light. Come to think of it, though... I suppose, technically, I am both of those things..." He put his fingers to his lips contemplatively. It was only then that I noticed a few things about him that were different from last time -- he was wearing square-framed glasses, and he seemed... shorter? The first time I saw him, he practically towered over me; now, though, he was only about a head taller.

"Did you get shorter?" I asked rudely, wincing before the words had even left my mouth. Mercifully, he didn't seem to mind.

"Oh, yes! It's a scorcher today, isn't it? I evaporate when I get too hot, or if I go too long without water, similar to how you run out of energy when you don't eat."

I realized that I hadn't offered him a seat or anything to drink since I abruptly yanked him into my apartment. I sensed my father rolling in his grave.

"I'm so sorry, can I get you something to drink? I have plain water, but I also have flavored sparkling water, you know, like La Croix? They aren't sweet, but, they're kinda fruit flavored. The kind I have is strawberry. I also have hot tea? I don't have any soda or anything, I don't really drink soda or alcohol, I also have m-"

Avery put his large hand on my shoulder, offering a reassuring smile. I flushed immediately, becoming aware that I had spoken in such a rush that I'd forgotten to breathe. I inhaled greedily, unable to meet Avery's eyes as I gestured to my small couch for him to sit.

"Sparkling water sounds lovely. I've never had that before, but I love strawberries!" he said, taking a seat.

I cracked open a can for each of us, then took a seat on a cushion across the coffee table from Avery. My couch was so small -- really more of a loveseat -- and I was afraid it was too soon to sit so close to him.

As Avery took a sip of the fizzy drink, his eyes lit up, like they did when he laughed. The liquid entered his mouth, and I watched the bubbles swirl like a hurricane just below the surface of his clear skin, before disappearing into the cloudy translucency of his body. Almost imperceptibly, such that I might not have noticed if I wasn't watching, he grew a bit taller.

"Hehe, that kinda tickles," he said, giggling, "it's not much of a flavor, is it? More like an idea of strawberries. Nonetheless, I like it! It reminds me of the flavor of tea."

"Oh, god. Oh, no."

My mind spun like a top flying off a ripcord. I felt my blush rise cartoonishly from my neck all the way to my hairline, like mercury in a glass thermometer being thrown through time, straight from winter into summer. Had I been a cartoon, I was sure that steam would be whistling out of my burning ears.

"The way that word sounds on his lips... oh, god, this is more than I can bear," I thought, watching him read the back of the La Croix can, his head tilted upward as he peered through his bifocals. There was no denying anything anymore; no bargaining, no holds barred. I was helplessly, hopelessly, powerlessly smitten. I had no choice but to admit it, now: all I could do was double-down.

"Hey Avery?"

"Yes?" He smiled again, and I realized with dizzying elation that he always smiled when he looked at me.

"Have you ever been to the fair?"

#tickle fic #tickle fluff #tickling community #casper and avery #like real people do #fluffylore #writing #my fic #romance #tickling #ocs #my ocs

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