your-asks

[your-asks]

I decided to go for You Worry Me. I apologize in advance for slight angst! This is set towards the beginning of season 2. I hope you enjoy!

-

-

“It smells like shit in here.”

Elliot didn’t notice it before, but Shayla was right. The neighbors must have been burning incense.

“Incense, probably.”

Shayla’s eyebrows flickered upward in a smooth motion, a quick movement that gave away how she felt about the smell, if not already obvious.

“Can we go outside?”

“You want me to pay you outside.”

Shayla smiled. “Relax, I meant afterward. Y’know, maybe we could hang out, go for a walk.”

Leisurely walks were a foreign concept to Elliot. He wasn’t sure the idea was appealing.

“I’ll give you 50 off.”

Elliot gave her a look, but Shayla expected that.

“I know you don’t want to cut me short, and you won’t be if you set aside the time. Besides, I want to catch up with you.”

Couldn’t they sit on the steps, or just . . . not? But Elliot thought better than to start an unecessary argument, and he reached for his cash tucked away in his pocket.

“Full price and we walk. But only around the block.”

Shayla smiled at him, her eyes free and relaxed, sharing her most valuable secret—her uncaringness. Elliot envied that in her.

“Deal.”

Elliot walked slowly, fighting the urge to quicken their pace, knowing doing so would mean leaving Shayla behind and eliminating the purpose of the walk. Beside him, Shayla walked with her hands resting in the pockets of her jacket. She glanced around the city as they walked, always observing. What else was there to see?

“How’s the job?”

Elliot didn’t know what to say. He shrugged.

“The same.”

It was quiet for a moment before he added,

“How are you?”

He didn’t normally find the question to be very useful or practical for that matter, as people never responded truthfully. But something compelled him to speak, to share the conversation. For Shayla.

Shayla sighed and looked thoughtful. “There’s not really much to complain about. Nothing new or exciting. Basically, completely neutral.”

Elliot nodded, and together they spent the next minute or so in silence. To their left, Elliot and Shayla passed a blooming cherry blossom tree, a shop’s proud display. It looked unnatural sprouting from a small square of grass, surrounded by concrete. And yet it moved in the wind, just as Shayla’s hair.

Elliot watched Shayla as she walked beside him, her eyes turned toward the street. What was she looking at?

Elliot followed her line of sight and found nothing of importance. Then he looked back to her. She was lost in thought, maybe scanning things silently under a hollow gaze, her true attention on something in her mind. Elliot looked back at the sidewalk, wondering. What could be on her mind?

-

I’m alright today.

Leon filled my supply, making this day three on Adderall. Sometimes I feel like I’m on fire on the inside. When I focus on that feeling, I can start to feel my body’s temperature climb. I don’t know if it’s reality or a delusion. But I feel like this fire is keeping me running. It keeps me active. It keeps the routine. And it’s been helping.

Elliot stared at his journal in front of him. Such simple words, but none of it was true. He knew it wasn’t.

Elliot took the pencil in his hand and scratched out the majority of the paragraph, save for the part about Leon. He leaned back in his chair.

Am I crazy, or is the wind gonna blow me down?

-

“You gonna hit that or . . . ?”

Elliot blinked.

He was in his apartment on the couch with Shayla, joint in hand. He silently shook his head and handed it over.

Shayla took a long drag. “Your place is boring. Want me to help decorate?”

“Nah.”

Shayla exhaled, smoke clearing out of her nose.

“Alright.”

They sat in quiet for a moment, nothing but the smell and taste of weed filling the air, until eventually Shayla put out the blunt and moved her hands behind her head, messing with her hair. She cocked her head to the side, glancing at Elliot as she did so.

“Can I ask you something?”

Elliot focused on her. “Yeah.”

She finally managed to get most of her hair in a ponytail, not caring enough for the rest. She faced him fully then, eyes red and smile soft.

“Do you remember kissing me?”

Elliot paused.

“I do. It was . . . Nice.”

Shayla seemed pleased by his answer. She reached out slowly, cautiously watching his reaction, and held his chin.

Elliot tensed, then relaxed, and Shayla cupped his cheek, her thumb swiping across his jaw.

For a moment, Elliot expected her to ask if she could kiss him, but then she leaned in.

Right. She doesn’t like asking.

Elliot’s eyes fell closed quicker than he intended them to, Shayla’s touch warm and inviting. He hesitated only briefly before softly kissing her back.

Her lips tasted sad, bittersweet.

She pulled away slowly. Elliot watched her expression, wondering if he should kiss her again. But Shayla only smiled, and he found his own lips turning up slightly in response.

She leaned back then, shifting to get comfortable on the couch. Without thinking, Elliot let her hand slip into his own, and he sat, content.

Until Shayla asked him another question.

“Why did you lie to them?”

She asked it as if it were a simple how are you, her tone steady and at ease.

Elliot froze, then looked at her.

“I’m sorry.” He searched her eyes but found . . . nothing. “What?”

Shayla turned toward him, her expression unreadable.

“You’re lying about where you are. How you are.”

Elliot didn’t know what to say. What was she talking about?

“I don’t know what you—“

“The adderall isn’t helping, Elliot. It’s not working.”

Elliot swallowed. Somewhere he remembered his mother’s house, the park, the diner. His room.

“You’re tired.”

Elliot blinked.

“I’m doing what I can. What I have to do.”

Shayla watched him, studying his eyes. Elliot refused to look away, but her gaze only softened.

She reached out, and for a moment Elliot saw her hand tucked over her chest, cramped inside the back of a blood stained car.

Elliot stood, the movement knocking over the pills on his table.

Shayla stood as well, but made no attempt to move closer. Regardless, Elliot put his hands out, overwhelmed.

“Don’t.”

Shayla smiled. It was soft, but warm. Like the taste of her lips.

“You worry me.”

Elliot woke with a start. His eyes opened wide, and immediately he sensed the sweat sticking his prison garb to his skin.

He remembered dreaming.

Elliot sat up promptly, moving his legs over off his bunk and getting up to move to his desk. His notebook was there, dirtied and covered in lead. He sat, picking up his pencil.

He had to remember. Shayla. He had to—

Shit.

He looked behind him, a voice calling his attention.

Quickly, he turned back to his notebook, writing.

Thursday. I just woke up.

He’s here.

[your-asks]

Thank you so much for sending this in! It was a ton of fun to write.

———

Chris felt overwhelmed. But that was becoming a regular thing for him.

He sat up in his bed, pushing his sheets down to his waist. He spent a lot of time in bed lately. He tried not to, to keep busy, but sometimes he felt like he just . . . couldn’t do it.

Mindlessly, he opened twitter to distract himself. His feed was full of twitch streams going live, small comments from his favorite celebrities, and of course, cat videos. Chris opened a video of a cat trying to jump on top of a car.

Just when Chris started to think maybe he would take a shower, a chime resounded throughout the house. The doorbell.

Chris furrowed his brows in confusion, and he couldn’t help how he tensed. He wasn’t expecting anybody, and his parents weren’t home. Was that a neighbor? Maybe the police?

Chris swallowed as he stood, contemplatively. An irrational part of him imagined a policeman, his hands on his belt, saying, “We found him.”

But that wasn’t who was at the door.

When Chris made his way downstairs and looked outside, he saw none other than Sam Giddings, standing in the cold with two Starbucks cups in either hand. Immediately he felt his heart rate quicken. He hadn’t talked to Sam in weeks—probably a month, even. Not that she hadn’t tried. He may have been ignoring her calls.

Ruefully, Chris opened the door before he could stop himself. Sam turned to face him from where she was glancing at his parents’ plants and smiled.

“Chris! Hey buddy.”

“Hey, uh . . . What’s up?”

Sam looked like she was searching for the words, until suddenly she seemed to remember the coffee in her hands and held one out for Chris.

“Vanilla raspberry latte. Just the way you like it.”

Chris would’ve blushed if he thought anyone could hear her. Luckily, the houses in the neighborhood were spread pretty decently apart.

“Well look at that. Thanks Sam.” Chris took the cup from her, noting the comforting warmth it emitted. “Is there a special occasion I should know about?”

“No. No, just figured I would stop by, make sure you’re alive. I decided after the third call I should make sure you’re okay.” Before Chris could respond, Sam added, “Man, it’s cold out here.”

Chris felt a small sense of dread. He was going to have to let her in. Although if he was being honest with himself, it made him happy just being around his friend again.

“It is way too cold, even with the coffee. Come on inside.”

Chris opened the door more, and in stepped Sam, scraping her shoes off and flashing him a grateful smile.

“Wooh. Thank you.”

“Of course. Can I get you anything? Besides coffee, I mean.”

“See that’s the purpose of me getting you coffee. I’m good.”

Chris shrugged. “Hey, I’m just trying to be nice. Although I’m already flawless at that.”

Sam chuckled. “Flawless, right.”

Chris led Sam further inside, stopping at the couch in the living room and plopping down.

“So how have you been, Samwise?”

Sam rolled her eyes at the nickname and took a sip of her drink.

“—Good. Well, I mean. Managing.” She looked at him. “What about you?”

Something in her tone meant she wanted an answer different than just “good.” Chris tried his best.

“Fine.”

Sam tilted her head. “That so?”

“Yup.” He accented the “p.”

Sam turned away from him, thinking. Chris was about to break the silence when she turned back, her expression cautious.

“So . . . You know how the other day I asked if you wanted to go see that movie, and you said you were busy?”

That was three weeks ago.

“Oh, yeah. I was hanging out with Mike.”

“Right.” Sam paused. “See that’s . . . weird.”

Chris furrowed his brows. “What’s weird about it?”

“Since when did you hang out with Mike? I’m not trying to say you weren’t, I’m just curious. Did you learn about his secret love of Star Trek?”

Chris’s eyes widened slightly. “Mike likes Star Trek?”

“Not really. Well, I don’t know. Shot in the dark.”

Chris tried not to focus on the word “shot,” or the way it made him immediately think back to the last time he held a gun. The last thing he shot.

“Chris?”

Chris’s head snapped up, and he hummed a “hm?”

Sam looked worried. She knew something was off with him. Chris hated that he wanted her to ask.

“Are you okay?”

Chris paused. Was he okay? Was working all day and being on his phone all night and hanging out with Mike Munroe okay? Was it okay he hadn’t gotten actual sleep in weeks?

“I just . . . You’ve been acting kind of weird lately. And I’m not the only one to notice.”

Chris frowned. “Wait, who else has?”

“Ashley.”

Shit. Chris and Ashley had both kept to themselves lately, only occasionally hanging out or calling. He knew he wasn’t being who she needed him to be. The thought filled him with shame.

“Well . . . I’ve had some stuff on my mind, I guess. Nothing big.”

Sam nodded along. “Okay. What kind of stuff?”

Chris tensed and flexed his fingers nervously. “Like I said, nothing big. What about you? You doing alright?”

Sam frowned. “Let’s not change the subject just yet. Do you want to talk about what’s been going on? Why you’ve been acting different?”

Chris frowned. “No, no, really. It’s fine.”

Sam thought for a moment before patting his back.

“You know, Chris, you don’t have to keep everything locked up like that. I know . . . I know you’ve been through a lot. I was there, too. And that just means that I understand. So really, if you want help—just ask.”

She smiled slightly, sympathetically, and Chris took off his glasses and rubbed his face.

“See, that’s the thing. I do want help. I’m a twenty year old man living in my parents’ house, doing nothing but lie around, and that’s still not enough.”

“Chris . . .”

He raised his hands briefly, gesturing to nothing in particular. “I couldn’t do anything then, and I can’t do anything now.”

He didn’t need to specify which “then.” Sam seemed to have an epiphany, and she looked in his eyes as she spoke.

“Is that what this is about?”

Chris glanced at her. “What?”

“The mountain. Do you feel like you . . . weren’t good enough for something?”

Chris seemed taken aback.

“Well I don’t know, maybe the fact that I left my best friend to die and wasn’t even fast enough to get to him has something to do with ‘not being good enough.’”

Sam looked contemplative, and Chris felt bad for his outburst.

“Sorry.”

Sam looked at him again before drinking more of her drink, then setting it down on the coffee table.

“Chris, you do realize that you’re a human, right? You’re not a robot, or a superhero, or whatever else you might be watching. You can’t . . . You can’t just expect so much of yourself without understanding what you’re feeling.”

Chris looked down, quiet. It was easy for Sam to say. She had always been so . . . proactive. On the mountain, she’d tried to save Josh. Her and Mike had saved the rest of them all. She was different from him.

Sam sensed his thoughts straying and put a hand on his shoulder, turning him to look at her.

“Hey. I know I can’t fix anything for you, or change the way you see yourself. But just know that I’m here for you. I understand if you want space, but honestly, it might not be such a good idea to shut everyone out. And I know Mike isn’t asking you these questions.”

She was right. He’d only started hanging out with him because Mike had seemed so unbothered in the past couple of months. He was strong, and Chris wanted to emulate that.

“Just. Don’t forget that it’s okay to make mistakes, to not be perfect. It’s the same for us all.”

Chris glanced at her. “Right.” He paused before adding more genuinely, “Thank you.”

Sam smiled at him, and Chris felt himself smiling back.

“What are friends for?” She peeked down at his coffee.

“You going to drink that?”

Chris held his drink back, a feigned look of offense on his face.

“Uh, yes? Is that what friends are for too? Stealing your coffee?”

Sam shrugged. “It’s a beautiful duality.”

Chris rolled his eyes, but he had to admit, he was already feeling better just with Sam with him. He started to regret not answering her calls, but caught himself. People make mistakes. It’s alright.

Chris took a drink and sighed.

This was going to be hard.