((Myles Roux continued from Animal Magnetism))
Ivy drove a Porsche 718 Boxter S convertible. It had genuine leather seats and interior and a custom burgundy paint job, and Myles had never seen a scratch on it. It was sleek, comfortable, fast, flashy, the very definition of luxury. Myles had done some research after Ivy first got the car, and had found out that even before all of the extra custom crap was added on, it cost more on its own than both his parents made in a year.
Myles hated Ivy's car, and he wanted to one day own twelve exactly like it in a variety of colors.
He had climbed into the passenger seat as soon as the car was unlocked and dutifully waited while Ivy told Bret that the date was over early, made out with Bret anyway, and then finally assumed her usual position in the driver's seat. Ivy cranked the car, Lana Del Rey blasted from the speakers, and they were off. They were a few minutes up the road before Myles remembered to buckle his seatbelt.
He was... annoyed. That was a good word for it. Annoyed with Gaelan and Nick, mostly, but also with Ivy, Bret, and to a small degree, himself. There had been a moment, scarier now in hindsight than it had been at the time, where he had been dangerously close to letting something out that didn't need to ever see the light of day. Not in public, at least.
Myles had two great hates. Two people that he couldn't dismiss, ignore, or otherwise put himself above and be done with it. Gaelan was the one that didn't hurt to even think about, and the problem which that created was that it was still easy to engage with him, to a point. If everything stayed distant and surface level, if they were separated physically and socially, Myles could run circles around Gaelan and anybody who associated with him, and he'd feel fine. He always felt in control of himself. He knew exactly what he was feeling, which was about on the same level of whatever you would feel if faced with, say, a mosquito that wouldn't be shooed away. Brief irritation and maybe temporary discomfort if the mosquito got to its goal.
Then you squished it, and you moved on with your life.
When they had to get up close and personal, though, it was just too easy to get sucked into Gaelan's black hole of a personality. He drained Myles's energy and didn't contribute anything meaningful to the existence of anyone around him, aside from giving Ivy some entertainment. When Gaelan was actually right in front of him, Myles always said and did things that left him feeling angry and empty at the same time. The best he could ever hope for was that Gaelan ended up just as miserable as he did.
At least Nick had looked like a proper fool. To be completely fair, Tristan had told Myles that his weird thing with Nick and Beryl was an open relationship, and Myles hadn't questioned it because Tristan wasn't the type to lie about that. He was the type to possibly get the wrong idea about that kind of thing though, and whether that part was true or not wasn't really important. The important thing was that it was still a blow to Nick's pride and possibly to his and Tristan's relationship that Myles was in the picture at all.
Honestly, if they had some kind of fight over it and broke up, Myles would have done Tristan a favor. It was going to happen sooner or later anyway. The polyamory thing already seemed like it was asking for jealousy and an uneven relationship, so making it open on top of that was just trouble waiting to happen. Why even call it a relationship at all if you weren't going to be exclusive?
Whatever. None of it mattered all that much in the grand scheme of things. Myles closed his eyes and leaned his head against the window as the music pounded through the car, and by the time they reached the gated community's entrance, his emotions were close to comfortably muted again.
Those Moments Were Like Flowers to Me
Private
Those Moments Were Like Flowers to Me
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Ivy drove a Porsche 718 Boxter S convertible. It had genuine leather seats and interior and a custom burgundy paint job, and Ivy was beginning to get a bit sick of it. She'd gotten it as a gift for her 16th birthday, which meant it was more than two years old now, and it was a pretty car, true, but she could do better. Graduation was coming up quickly, just a few more months, and it wasn't unreasonable to ask for a new car as a gift, right? It was a major occasion, after all.
Would giving this one to Myles be tacky? He'd need something to visit her when college started. She'd have to have it repainted first. Burgundy was not his color.
>> Ivy Langley continued from Animal Magnetism
The car ride to her place wasn't quiet. She was playing Off To The Races probably way too loudly considering she had the top down, but not quite loudly enough to drown out her singing; she was very aware of the eyes that turned toward her as she drove, and equally unconcerned. But the ride was free of conversation. As far as she was concerned, unless you were driving for like an hour, or it was an absolute emergency, driving was for listening to music and chilling. Sure, she was bubbling over with things to say, but her sweater was still coffee-soaked and sticking to her skin and her lips were tragically devoid of a wine bottle to occupy them. She could basically feel the steam rising off of Myles next to her, which was another count against starting this particular vent session right now. No sense in getting him riled up when they were lacking in outlets.
They were up to Dark Paradise by the time Ivy pulled into her driveway, sighing with relief when she saw it was empty; her father wasn't scheduled to come home for another few days, but he had an unfortunate and probably intentionally disconcerting habit of turning up a few days early, and the absolute last thing she wanted to do right now was explain how her sweater had been ruined, least of all with Myles in tow. She checked her phone as she made her way toward her front door, idling there for a moment to send a few text, waving an airy hand at Myles by way of an explanation.
With that finished, she unlocked the door and stepped inside.
"I'm home!" she called out, to no immediate reaction. As she had figured, or at least hoped. If it turned out her father was home and had sent his car out for repairs or something, he'd lose no time making himself known. The maids stayed out of her way; she heard some footsteps from downstairs, so presumably they'd heard her. Adrienne was probably asleep, or near enough as to make no odds. The reaction she'd hoped for came a moment later, a muffled "mrrrow" and the padded thuds of a big orange ball of fluff making its way down a steep wooden staircase.
"Lion, baby, mommy's home," Ivy cooed, picking up the cat, who began purring immediately in her arms. "Look who's here! Be a good boy and say hi to Myley." Lion gave a grumpy "mrowf" in response, as though resenting being made to speak; she kissed the top of his head fondly before setting him back down. She set her sights on the wine rack set up in the living room, one of half a dozen set up around the house; they were ostensibly for Adrienne's use, though she hardly left the bedroom nowadays. The maids still dutifully replaced every missing bottle. Ivy grabbed one, paused for a moment, and grabbed a second. She turned on her heels and marched up the stairs toward her bedroom; the door was open. It looked like one of the maids had been in the middle of cleaning and evacuated in a hurry, which was good for her, because Ivy was absolutely in no mood to be interrupted.
Ivy handed the wine carefully to Myles before whipping off her sweater and throwing it across the room as she stormed toward her bed and collapsed onto the freshly-laundered comforter. The long-held noise of frustration she made was mostly muffled by the bed. It wasn't exactly dignified, but she was with the one person she could afford to be undignified around, so who cared?
"You know I had completely forgotten until this moment that I literally just bought this bra like for this date and now it's got coffee on it so I've probably got to toss it and Bret didn't even get to see it and the only one who has seen it is you and you don't even appreciate it." She sniffed melodramatically at the injustice of it all before sighing loudly and rolling onto her back. It occurred to her that she should probably put a shirt on, but that would involve leaving her sulk nest, so she grabbed a pillow and draped it over her chest instead.
"Grab me a shirt? And the wine key."
She got the sense that this was going to be a long night.
Would giving this one to Myles be tacky? He'd need something to visit her when college started. She'd have to have it repainted first. Burgundy was not his color.
>> Ivy Langley continued from Animal Magnetism
The car ride to her place wasn't quiet. She was playing Off To The Races probably way too loudly considering she had the top down, but not quite loudly enough to drown out her singing; she was very aware of the eyes that turned toward her as she drove, and equally unconcerned. But the ride was free of conversation. As far as she was concerned, unless you were driving for like an hour, or it was an absolute emergency, driving was for listening to music and chilling. Sure, she was bubbling over with things to say, but her sweater was still coffee-soaked and sticking to her skin and her lips were tragically devoid of a wine bottle to occupy them. She could basically feel the steam rising off of Myles next to her, which was another count against starting this particular vent session right now. No sense in getting him riled up when they were lacking in outlets.
They were up to Dark Paradise by the time Ivy pulled into her driveway, sighing with relief when she saw it was empty; her father wasn't scheduled to come home for another few days, but he had an unfortunate and probably intentionally disconcerting habit of turning up a few days early, and the absolute last thing she wanted to do right now was explain how her sweater had been ruined, least of all with Myles in tow. She checked her phone as she made her way toward her front door, idling there for a moment to send a few text, waving an airy hand at Myles by way of an explanation.
With that finished, she unlocked the door and stepped inside.
"I'm home!" she called out, to no immediate reaction. As she had figured, or at least hoped. If it turned out her father was home and had sent his car out for repairs or something, he'd lose no time making himself known. The maids stayed out of her way; she heard some footsteps from downstairs, so presumably they'd heard her. Adrienne was probably asleep, or near enough as to make no odds. The reaction she'd hoped for came a moment later, a muffled "mrrrow" and the padded thuds of a big orange ball of fluff making its way down a steep wooden staircase.
"Lion, baby, mommy's home," Ivy cooed, picking up the cat, who began purring immediately in her arms. "Look who's here! Be a good boy and say hi to Myley." Lion gave a grumpy "mrowf" in response, as though resenting being made to speak; she kissed the top of his head fondly before setting him back down. She set her sights on the wine rack set up in the living room, one of half a dozen set up around the house; they were ostensibly for Adrienne's use, though she hardly left the bedroom nowadays. The maids still dutifully replaced every missing bottle. Ivy grabbed one, paused for a moment, and grabbed a second. She turned on her heels and marched up the stairs toward her bedroom; the door was open. It looked like one of the maids had been in the middle of cleaning and evacuated in a hurry, which was good for her, because Ivy was absolutely in no mood to be interrupted.
Ivy handed the wine carefully to Myles before whipping off her sweater and throwing it across the room as she stormed toward her bed and collapsed onto the freshly-laundered comforter. The long-held noise of frustration she made was mostly muffled by the bed. It wasn't exactly dignified, but she was with the one person she could afford to be undignified around, so who cared?
"You know I had completely forgotten until this moment that I literally just bought this bra like for this date and now it's got coffee on it so I've probably got to toss it and Bret didn't even get to see it and the only one who has seen it is you and you don't even appreciate it." She sniffed melodramatically at the injustice of it all before sighing loudly and rolling onto her back. It occurred to her that she should probably put a shirt on, but that would involve leaving her sulk nest, so she grabbed a pillow and draped it over her chest instead.
"Grab me a shirt? And the wine key."
She got the sense that this was going to be a long night.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
Myles had been here before. To this place, yes, of course, hundreds of times. But he'd been in this situation before too, more or less. Ivy dramatic and imperious, the massive house suspiciously devoid of any signs of life as Myles followed her through it. The unattended wine. The borderline orders that coming from anyone else would be met with either flat refusal or malicious compliance that dragged everything out.
This was the establishing scene of a film, the real introduction after the cold open that ended with thrown coffee and promised violence. The camera would start on the exterior of the house and Ivy's car pulling into the driveway, then pan slowly over the stylish interior in their wake before coming to Ivy's room. No other room in the house was like it, with its bright colors and soft edges, the constant subtle scent of Ivy's perfume, the sunlight streaming in through her lace curtains.
Ivy's room was the only part of the Langley house that felt anything like a home. It was as good as Myles's home, anyway. He'd been a staple fixture ever since elementary school.
Myles didn't say anything during Ivy's initial slew of complaints. He shut the bedroom door behind them as she threw herself into bed, set the bottles of wine on the nightstand and retrieved the wine key from the top drawer. That done, he meandered his way to the closet (nearly as big on its own as Myles's bedroom at his own house), picking up Ivy's discarded sweater on the way to toss it through her bathroom door in the direction of her hamper. It missed and landed with a damp flop on the tiled bathroom floor instead, where he left it.
"I appreciate it aesthetically," he called over his shoulder in response as he rummaged through Ivy's closet. He settled on an oversized crochet sweater in pale blue, pink, and green, sporting a pattern of playful kittens. A significant portion of Ivy's wardrobe featured cats. Draping the sweater over one arm, he journeyed back out to the room, toeing his shoes off as he went. He tossed the sweater to Ivy so that he could shrug his jacket off and hang it on the nearest bedpost.
"Dunno what to do about coffee stains, though. Probably best to trash it." There was something about washing in cold water that he vaguely remembered and knew Ivy wouldn't want to hear. Myles flopped onto his back at the foot of the mattress, heaving a great sigh as he did so. "Or send Nick a copy of your dry-cleaning bill. I'm sure he'll be happy to help with that."
This was the establishing scene of a film, the real introduction after the cold open that ended with thrown coffee and promised violence. The camera would start on the exterior of the house and Ivy's car pulling into the driveway, then pan slowly over the stylish interior in their wake before coming to Ivy's room. No other room in the house was like it, with its bright colors and soft edges, the constant subtle scent of Ivy's perfume, the sunlight streaming in through her lace curtains.
Ivy's room was the only part of the Langley house that felt anything like a home. It was as good as Myles's home, anyway. He'd been a staple fixture ever since elementary school.
Myles didn't say anything during Ivy's initial slew of complaints. He shut the bedroom door behind them as she threw herself into bed, set the bottles of wine on the nightstand and retrieved the wine key from the top drawer. That done, he meandered his way to the closet (nearly as big on its own as Myles's bedroom at his own house), picking up Ivy's discarded sweater on the way to toss it through her bathroom door in the direction of her hamper. It missed and landed with a damp flop on the tiled bathroom floor instead, where he left it.
"I appreciate it aesthetically," he called over his shoulder in response as he rummaged through Ivy's closet. He settled on an oversized crochet sweater in pale blue, pink, and green, sporting a pattern of playful kittens. A significant portion of Ivy's wardrobe featured cats. Draping the sweater over one arm, he journeyed back out to the room, toeing his shoes off as he went. He tossed the sweater to Ivy so that he could shrug his jacket off and hang it on the nearest bedpost.
"Dunno what to do about coffee stains, though. Probably best to trash it." There was something about washing in cold water that he vaguely remembered and knew Ivy wouldn't want to hear. Myles flopped onto his back at the foot of the mattress, heaving a great sigh as he did so. "Or send Nick a copy of your dry-cleaning bill. I'm sure he'll be happy to help with that."
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
"And I appreciate your aesthetic appreciation, hon, but you're not gonna fuck me, so your opinion doesn't really matter."
Ivy made vague grabby hands in Myles's general direction as he returned with a sweater (which didn't match her skirt at all, but they probably weren't going out again, so she'd let it go) but made no actual attempt to catch it when he threw it toward her, resulting in it flopping over her face. She giggled as she sat up to put it on. Her skin underneath still felt slightly tacky where the coffee had seeped through her first sweater, and she supposed she really ought to shower, but now she was comfy and there was wine to be drunk and conversation to be had and it would be rude to her guest to leave him alone now and whatever, she'd deal with it later. She unclipped her bra under her sweater and slid it off, examining it. Calling it a bra felt charitable; it was basically two scraps of pink lace held together with ribbon. At least it had been pink. She wrinkled her nose at the pale brown color half the lace had turned and tossed the whole thing aimlessly across the room. She could buy another one. It wasn't worth worrying about.
Charging Nick for the dry-cleaning was still tempting, though. Throwing coffee on him was also tempting; dandy like him would probably get worked up over it. She wondered what she could tell Tristan that'd get him on her side against him, it shouldn't be too difficult, their relationship threesome thing seemed like it was being held together by duct tape and prayers already. Though Myles might have already set that particular fire more effectively than she ever could. She smiled. Good memories.
"The look on his face might be worth the ordeal. Though maybe I should try Gaelan instead? Friends should help each other and all." She smirked. "I think you ruined Nick's life thoroughly enough for the time being. Fight the real enemy, etcetera."
She took the wine key from Myles and expertly worked open her first bottle of Merlot. She kept a pair of wine glasses in her room—crystal, very pricey, very aesthetic—but they weren't in arm's reach and she'd broken like a dozen of them over the years when she was drinking while in a mood and it kind of felt like a drink-from-the-bottle kind of night, anyway. She set the cork on her end table and took a good long glug, probably half a glass worth, before holding the bottle out to Myles.
"Thanks for the backup, Myley. Think I haven't said that yet."
Ivy made vague grabby hands in Myles's general direction as he returned with a sweater (which didn't match her skirt at all, but they probably weren't going out again, so she'd let it go) but made no actual attempt to catch it when he threw it toward her, resulting in it flopping over her face. She giggled as she sat up to put it on. Her skin underneath still felt slightly tacky where the coffee had seeped through her first sweater, and she supposed she really ought to shower, but now she was comfy and there was wine to be drunk and conversation to be had and it would be rude to her guest to leave him alone now and whatever, she'd deal with it later. She unclipped her bra under her sweater and slid it off, examining it. Calling it a bra felt charitable; it was basically two scraps of pink lace held together with ribbon. At least it had been pink. She wrinkled her nose at the pale brown color half the lace had turned and tossed the whole thing aimlessly across the room. She could buy another one. It wasn't worth worrying about.
Charging Nick for the dry-cleaning was still tempting, though. Throwing coffee on him was also tempting; dandy like him would probably get worked up over it. She wondered what she could tell Tristan that'd get him on her side against him, it shouldn't be too difficult, their relationship threesome thing seemed like it was being held together by duct tape and prayers already. Though Myles might have already set that particular fire more effectively than she ever could. She smiled. Good memories.
"The look on his face might be worth the ordeal. Though maybe I should try Gaelan instead? Friends should help each other and all." She smirked. "I think you ruined Nick's life thoroughly enough for the time being. Fight the real enemy, etcetera."
She took the wine key from Myles and expertly worked open her first bottle of Merlot. She kept a pair of wine glasses in her room—crystal, very pricey, very aesthetic—but they weren't in arm's reach and she'd broken like a dozen of them over the years when she was drinking while in a mood and it kind of felt like a drink-from-the-bottle kind of night, anyway. She set the cork on her end table and took a good long glug, probably half a glass worth, before holding the bottle out to Myles.
"Thanks for the backup, Myley. Think I haven't said that yet."
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
Myley. Jeez, that was a double-edged sword. On one hand, Ivy had called him that from time to time ever since they met. On the other, the last person to call him Myley was Zen, and the two of them had definitely not just been sitting and talking in Zen's bedroom. That was a cognitive dissonance to sort out another time, though.
Myles sat up and accepted the wine bottle to take a gulp of his own. He didn't dislike the taste, but he made a face out of habit as the alcohol hit his tongue and warmed down his throat. "What am I here for, huh? I wasn't going to bother you and Bret when I saw you, but you know. Emergency."
He could have left Gaelan alone if he hadn't known that Ivy was there and that they were headed in the same direction, probably. He had wanted to see Gaelan taken down a peg as per routine, and Bret... well, he'd proven that he had Ivy's back for sure, but Bret just didn't have style.
"What do you think's going to happen with that, though? Obviously I'm not gonna be sad or surprised if they break up, but like... would that mean one of them has to break up with Beryl too, or what?" Myles adjusted his position as he talked, pulling his legs up onto the bed so he could cross them and shifting to face Ivy properly. He took another sip of the wine and then held the bottle back out to her.
Myles sat up and accepted the wine bottle to take a gulp of his own. He didn't dislike the taste, but he made a face out of habit as the alcohol hit his tongue and warmed down his throat. "What am I here for, huh? I wasn't going to bother you and Bret when I saw you, but you know. Emergency."
He could have left Gaelan alone if he hadn't known that Ivy was there and that they were headed in the same direction, probably. He had wanted to see Gaelan taken down a peg as per routine, and Bret... well, he'd proven that he had Ivy's back for sure, but Bret just didn't have style.
"What do you think's going to happen with that, though? Obviously I'm not gonna be sad or surprised if they break up, but like... would that mean one of them has to break up with Beryl too, or what?" Myles adjusted his position as he talked, pulling his legs up onto the bed so he could cross them and shifting to face Ivy properly. He took another sip of the wine and then held the bottle back out to her.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
"You picked a perfect moment to show, honestly. Couldn't have planned it better."
She smiled. It was the kind of sentence that she could only make sound genuine when talking to Myles. Complements weren't her forte.
"No clue, honestly. Like, have you ever just sat Tristan down and asked him what the fuck's up with the whole thing? Cause I'm tempted. Like, I can barely deal with dating one person? If I had to juggle two I'd drive myself up a fucking wall." Ivy took the proffered bottle eagerly, took another long gulp, paused, and took another. She was tempted to open the second bottle so they wouldn't have to keep passing back and forth, but she'd finish hers first and then she'd have to steal swigs from him anyway. "Beryl and Tristan both deserve better, really. If they need a third so badly they could at least get one that's less useless." She grinned at Myles. "You wanna volunteer?"
Ivy handed the bottle back to Myles and scooted closer to him, sitting at the edge of the bed. Her arm linked with his, her head rested on his shoulder. Their closeness was easy, familiar enough to require no thought. They'd spent what felt like their entire lives together in their room. They'd spent their childhoods jumping up and down on this bed, and Maria would chide them and tell them they'd hurt themselves, and one time Myles had fallen off and hit his head on the nightstand, and he'd cried, and she'd cried, too.
Gaelan didn't cry. Gaelan had thought it was funny, and Ivy had gotten red and puffy-faced and yelled at him for being mean and then hit him, and then he'd cried. Then Maria had come, and made them apologize to each other, and gotten an ice pack for Myles's head, and snacks. And they'd piled on the bed together and everything was forgiven.
She remembered, one day, when touching Gaelan became less easy. When her face flushed and her hand trembled when she'd reached to take his. When butterflies filled her stomach when he so much as brushed against her. When had things become so complicated? Why had they? It was probably inevitable. It was just what happened, when kids grew up. But it was why she could sit here resting on only Myles's shoulder, and why the Gaelan she remembered felt so far away as to be unreachable.
"Do you ever miss it?" Ivy barely realized she was speaking when the words came out of her mouth.
"Do you ever miss him?"
She smiled. It was the kind of sentence that she could only make sound genuine when talking to Myles. Complements weren't her forte.
"No clue, honestly. Like, have you ever just sat Tristan down and asked him what the fuck's up with the whole thing? Cause I'm tempted. Like, I can barely deal with dating one person? If I had to juggle two I'd drive myself up a fucking wall." Ivy took the proffered bottle eagerly, took another long gulp, paused, and took another. She was tempted to open the second bottle so they wouldn't have to keep passing back and forth, but she'd finish hers first and then she'd have to steal swigs from him anyway. "Beryl and Tristan both deserve better, really. If they need a third so badly they could at least get one that's less useless." She grinned at Myles. "You wanna volunteer?"
Ivy handed the bottle back to Myles and scooted closer to him, sitting at the edge of the bed. Her arm linked with his, her head rested on his shoulder. Their closeness was easy, familiar enough to require no thought. They'd spent what felt like their entire lives together in their room. They'd spent their childhoods jumping up and down on this bed, and Maria would chide them and tell them they'd hurt themselves, and one time Myles had fallen off and hit his head on the nightstand, and he'd cried, and she'd cried, too.
Gaelan didn't cry. Gaelan had thought it was funny, and Ivy had gotten red and puffy-faced and yelled at him for being mean and then hit him, and then he'd cried. Then Maria had come, and made them apologize to each other, and gotten an ice pack for Myles's head, and snacks. And they'd piled on the bed together and everything was forgiven.
She remembered, one day, when touching Gaelan became less easy. When her face flushed and her hand trembled when she'd reached to take his. When butterflies filled her stomach when he so much as brushed against her. When had things become so complicated? Why had they? It was probably inevitable. It was just what happened, when kids grew up. But it was why she could sit here resting on only Myles's shoulder, and why the Gaelan she remembered felt so far away as to be unreachable.
"Do you ever miss it?" Ivy barely realized she was speaking when the words came out of her mouth.
"Do you ever miss him?"
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
"No," Myles said almost as soon as Ivy asked. It close enough to the truth. Should have been the truth. Those two things combined made it as good as true, as far as Myles was concerned.
"If I could do anything different, I'd just make sure that neither of us bothered caring in the first place. We could have done better, honestly."
Ivy could have done better than to choose someone who would someday decide that he hated her for no reason, and then go on to act like Myles was the traitor for not up and deciding to hate Ivy too. If any of Gaelan's so-called friends knew what he was really like, how fast he would turn on them as soon as he found something to be all self-righteous and superior about, they'd drop him in a heartbeat. Gaelan was fake, shallow, and a hypocrite to boot, and they had both been so blindsided by it that Myles could only believe that he'd been like that all along. They had been Gaelan's best friends for so long. They would have to have known if some sort of change was coming over him.
"About like the thing with Tristan though- I never really asked? He said it was cool if he went outside the relationship and he's like... it's Tristan, you know?" Myles shrugged. "He's not gonna just lie about that."
A faint grin tugged at his mouth. "I mean, Beryl and I have never hooked up, but honestly like I dunno why not? She's cool." If there was a chance, he probably wouldn't say no. Imagine the look on Nick's face if that came up.
He wondered again how all of that would shake out between Nick and Tristan. Myles could have made things worse, if he really wanted to. His phone was just an arm's length away in his jacket pocket. He could easily come up with what to say:
>Hey bae I'm not looking to start trouble in ur relationship but
>Ivy & I ran into Nick w/ Gaelan today and he literally threw his coffee at us?
>I think Gaelan was egging him on to do it but
>Bret was gonna kick Nick's ass until she told him not to
>Could u talk to him about it or something? Ivy's kind of upset : (
Honestly, people didn't appreciate Myles's restraint. If he was really out to ruin lives like some accused him of, he would actually be doing it. When things got to that point, it wasn't fun anymore. He wasn't going to be sad at all if the house of cards making up Nick and Tristan's relationship crumbled, but he'd already leaned on it enough. Knocking it down just made him the bad guy when it was probably already coming down on its own.
It was like the thing with Tyrell. And god- had he been upset about that? If there was one thing an unexpected encounter with Gaelan was good for, it was putting things in perspective regarding just what Myles should be worrying about. Tyrell would be fine. He was a boxer, and the Carter twins were just thugs. They probably would have gone to rough him up even if Ivy hadn't said anything.
Myles took the bottle from Ivy's hands when she took a break from drinking and downed another swig. "Honestly, I just want to forget about that whole thing for a while and let it sort itself out. It means I'm not going to be taking Tristan to prom, so that's what I'm probably going to start focusing on. What do you think?"
"If I could do anything different, I'd just make sure that neither of us bothered caring in the first place. We could have done better, honestly."
Ivy could have done better than to choose someone who would someday decide that he hated her for no reason, and then go on to act like Myles was the traitor for not up and deciding to hate Ivy too. If any of Gaelan's so-called friends knew what he was really like, how fast he would turn on them as soon as he found something to be all self-righteous and superior about, they'd drop him in a heartbeat. Gaelan was fake, shallow, and a hypocrite to boot, and they had both been so blindsided by it that Myles could only believe that he'd been like that all along. They had been Gaelan's best friends for so long. They would have to have known if some sort of change was coming over him.
"About like the thing with Tristan though- I never really asked? He said it was cool if he went outside the relationship and he's like... it's Tristan, you know?" Myles shrugged. "He's not gonna just lie about that."
A faint grin tugged at his mouth. "I mean, Beryl and I have never hooked up, but honestly like I dunno why not? She's cool." If there was a chance, he probably wouldn't say no. Imagine the look on Nick's face if that came up.
He wondered again how all of that would shake out between Nick and Tristan. Myles could have made things worse, if he really wanted to. His phone was just an arm's length away in his jacket pocket. He could easily come up with what to say:
>Hey bae I'm not looking to start trouble in ur relationship but
>Ivy & I ran into Nick w/ Gaelan today and he literally threw his coffee at us?
>I think Gaelan was egging him on to do it but
>Bret was gonna kick Nick's ass until she told him not to
>Could u talk to him about it or something? Ivy's kind of upset : (
Honestly, people didn't appreciate Myles's restraint. If he was really out to ruin lives like some accused him of, he would actually be doing it. When things got to that point, it wasn't fun anymore. He wasn't going to be sad at all if the house of cards making up Nick and Tristan's relationship crumbled, but he'd already leaned on it enough. Knocking it down just made him the bad guy when it was probably already coming down on its own.
It was like the thing with Tyrell. And god- had he been upset about that? If there was one thing an unexpected encounter with Gaelan was good for, it was putting things in perspective regarding just what Myles should be worrying about. Tyrell would be fine. He was a boxer, and the Carter twins were just thugs. They probably would have gone to rough him up even if Ivy hadn't said anything.
Myles took the bottle from Ivy's hands when she took a break from drinking and downed another swig. "Honestly, I just want to forget about that whole thing for a while and let it sort itself out. It means I'm not going to be taking Tristan to prom, so that's what I'm probably going to start focusing on. What do you think?"
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Ivy was quiet for a long moment after Myles spoke, filling the silence only with a long draught from the wine bottle. The first one was bordering on empty already. She wasn't feeling anything but warm and a bit drowsy yet, though the drowsiness could easily be attributable to how fucking exhausting this day had been. She squeezed Myles's arm. It was the only thing she had to say, because she knew no words would reach him on this one. He was right, of course. Gaelan had caused her and Myles nothing but grief for years. The memories weren't worth it. She had Myles, she only needed Myles, and if Gaelan had never existed she wouldn't be finding herself suddenly on the verge of tears.
God, she hated him. Why had she doubted that, even for a moment? Her past feelings didn't matter. Gaelan had torched that bridge, and she would live with the ashes.
"Yeah... yeah," Ivy said quietly, not looking up, trying to focus. If she allowed herself to dwell on her feelings she'd end up spending all night sobbing. This was supposed to be the fun, forget-about-the-bullshit sort of sleepover, and staying on relatively lighter topics was probably for the best for both of them. She shook her head slightly, letting go of Myles's arm and handing him the wine so she could stretch and discreetly wipe the tears from her eyes before they had a chance to fall. She was fine. She could be fine. She took a breath before she spoke, her voice slightly shaky but otherwise normal.
"Never underestimate what lengths Tristan will go to for dick." She raised an eyebrow. "He's told me stories. He's probably told you worse ones. I suppose you're right that he's not really the lying type per se, but like. If I was stuck with Nick? I'd go looking elsewhere." She shrugged. "Beryl's a sweetheart, though. Doubt he'd cheat on her. Maybe they have a deal worked out or something. Or maybe I'm just being uncharitable."
She took the bottle from him, drained the last of it, and moved to open the second. "Might be a three bottle kinda night," she muttered. She pulled the cork out and handed the full bottle to Myles.
"Guess it's just foreign to me. Like, being fine with your partners messing around? Why are they even dating, then? I don't see the point." It was an odd thing to consider. Bret was relatively relaxed with her flirting with other guys, but she couldn't imagine him tolerating her being alone with, let alone fucking them. His brother aside. On the alone thing, not the fucking thing. Probably.
"Prom..." She sighed. "Haven't thought about prom in a while. Are you gonna ask anyone?" She focused on him, head tilted, expecting a juicy answer. Aside from his very obvious denial-crush on Tristan, as far as Ivy knew there wasn't anyone Myles was particularly interested in. She prepared to be fake-annoyed with him if he'd been keeping something that important from her, though it seemed unlikely. Probably he had some fuckbuddies in line. Whatever worked for him. So long as they looked good in the prom photos.
She'd look good in her prom photos. Bret made for good arm candy, if nothing else.
God, she hated him. Why had she doubted that, even for a moment? Her past feelings didn't matter. Gaelan had torched that bridge, and she would live with the ashes.
"Yeah... yeah," Ivy said quietly, not looking up, trying to focus. If she allowed herself to dwell on her feelings she'd end up spending all night sobbing. This was supposed to be the fun, forget-about-the-bullshit sort of sleepover, and staying on relatively lighter topics was probably for the best for both of them. She shook her head slightly, letting go of Myles's arm and handing him the wine so she could stretch and discreetly wipe the tears from her eyes before they had a chance to fall. She was fine. She could be fine. She took a breath before she spoke, her voice slightly shaky but otherwise normal.
"Never underestimate what lengths Tristan will go to for dick." She raised an eyebrow. "He's told me stories. He's probably told you worse ones. I suppose you're right that he's not really the lying type per se, but like. If I was stuck with Nick? I'd go looking elsewhere." She shrugged. "Beryl's a sweetheart, though. Doubt he'd cheat on her. Maybe they have a deal worked out or something. Or maybe I'm just being uncharitable."
She took the bottle from him, drained the last of it, and moved to open the second. "Might be a three bottle kinda night," she muttered. She pulled the cork out and handed the full bottle to Myles.
"Guess it's just foreign to me. Like, being fine with your partners messing around? Why are they even dating, then? I don't see the point." It was an odd thing to consider. Bret was relatively relaxed with her flirting with other guys, but she couldn't imagine him tolerating her being alone with, let alone fucking them. His brother aside. On the alone thing, not the fucking thing. Probably.
"Prom..." She sighed. "Haven't thought about prom in a while. Are you gonna ask anyone?" She focused on him, head tilted, expecting a juicy answer. Aside from his very obvious denial-crush on Tristan, as far as Ivy knew there wasn't anyone Myles was particularly interested in. She prepared to be fake-annoyed with him if he'd been keeping something that important from her, though it seemed unlikely. Probably he had some fuckbuddies in line. Whatever worked for him. So long as they looked good in the prom photos.
She'd look good in her prom photos. Bret made for good arm candy, if nothing else.
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
"It sounded like there was some kind of deal, but I'm with you. Dunno why they even call it dating if it's not exclusive." Myles took the new bottle when it was offered and took another gulp. He was slowly starting to feel the effects; the alcohol took a little longer to hit him than Ivy just because he was bigger, but she had build up more of a tolerance. He'd be out before she would, most likely.
"I was thinking maybe Teresa if she's free? Maybe Zen. I haven't talked to either of them in a while so I don't really know what they're up to, but I think they're both unattached right now. I'm not going stag, obviously." It'd free him up if anyone got ditched because some drama decided to erupt -- it was almost a given that something would go down on prom night, that was just how things worked -- but there was always the chance that he couldn't snag someone in the aftermath. Better to plan ahead and have someone already available.
"I probably have to figure out who I'm going with before I figure out what to wear, anyway." It'd be easy if Tristan were available; there was no hope of coordinating anything with him that wasn't eye-searing, so Myles could wear whatever he wanted. But whatever.
Ivy's responses were distracted. She was good at acting like nothing was bothering her. Anyone else probably would have bought it. On a whim, Myles snaked his free arm around Ivy's waist and gave her a squeeze, briefly resting his cheek against the top of her head.
When he pulled away again, he continued speaking as though nothing had happened. "Do you have your dress picked out yet, or do you need opinions?"
"I was thinking maybe Teresa if she's free? Maybe Zen. I haven't talked to either of them in a while so I don't really know what they're up to, but I think they're both unattached right now. I'm not going stag, obviously." It'd free him up if anyone got ditched because some drama decided to erupt -- it was almost a given that something would go down on prom night, that was just how things worked -- but there was always the chance that he couldn't snag someone in the aftermath. Better to plan ahead and have someone already available.
"I probably have to figure out who I'm going with before I figure out what to wear, anyway." It'd be easy if Tristan were available; there was no hope of coordinating anything with him that wasn't eye-searing, so Myles could wear whatever he wanted. But whatever.
Ivy's responses were distracted. She was good at acting like nothing was bothering her. Anyone else probably would have bought it. On a whim, Myles snaked his free arm around Ivy's waist and gave her a squeeze, briefly resting his cheek against the top of her head.
When he pulled away again, he continued speaking as though nothing had happened. "Do you have your dress picked out yet, or do you need opinions?"
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Ivy's grimace was perhaps a touch melodramatic. "Anyone but Teresa." She didn't hate Teresa, she was quite useful in her way, but what kind of best friend would she be if she let Myles go to prom with someone so trashy? Perish the thought. He would thank her when he wasn't wincing at his prom photos in a couple of months.
"Zen's fine, I suppose." She didn't know them well, particularly, but they at least seemed to have their outfits in order. "No boys on your shortlist?" Ivy could name a few more names—Myles was prone to kissing and telling, at least once he had a few drinks in him—but she supposed she had his reasons for his choices. Confirmed her suspicions that it wasn't anyone he was actually, seriously interested in, though. Probably for the best. Easier to not have anything go horribly wrong on prom night if you minimize the feelings you have involved.
And then Myles's arm was around her waist. He squeezed her and she sighed, equal parts happy and irritated. She should have known better than to try to hide anything from him; he'd seen right through her since they were children, since the very first time she'd tried to keep a secret from him. He'd been the one to point out to her that she twirled her hair around her finger when she was nervous, a tic she still hadn't rid herself of. She relaxed against him, taking his arm again. Her head was starting to buzz, just a touch, and she got the sense that if she stood up now she might discover she was a bit more intoxicated than she'd thought.
"Did I never show it to you, darling? I picked it out ages ago. S'being kept in reserve until closer to prom. Need to make adjustments close to then as possible. Obviously." She was surprised by how her words had started to slur the tiniest bit. She'd drank more of that bottle than she'd thought. Her thoughts were still mostly clear, though; she wasn't done drinking, not by a long shot. "You better not clash with me either. I wanna take pictures with you, too." She smiled. "I'm gonna wanna remember you more than anyone."
"Zen's fine, I suppose." She didn't know them well, particularly, but they at least seemed to have their outfits in order. "No boys on your shortlist?" Ivy could name a few more names—Myles was prone to kissing and telling, at least once he had a few drinks in him—but she supposed she had his reasons for his choices. Confirmed her suspicions that it wasn't anyone he was actually, seriously interested in, though. Probably for the best. Easier to not have anything go horribly wrong on prom night if you minimize the feelings you have involved.
And then Myles's arm was around her waist. He squeezed her and she sighed, equal parts happy and irritated. She should have known better than to try to hide anything from him; he'd seen right through her since they were children, since the very first time she'd tried to keep a secret from him. He'd been the one to point out to her that she twirled her hair around her finger when she was nervous, a tic she still hadn't rid herself of. She relaxed against him, taking his arm again. Her head was starting to buzz, just a touch, and she got the sense that if she stood up now she might discover she was a bit more intoxicated than she'd thought.
"Did I never show it to you, darling? I picked it out ages ago. S'being kept in reserve until closer to prom. Need to make adjustments close to then as possible. Obviously." She was surprised by how her words had started to slur the tiniest bit. She'd drank more of that bottle than she'd thought. Her thoughts were still mostly clear, though; she wasn't done drinking, not by a long shot. "You better not clash with me either. I wanna take pictures with you, too." She smiled. "I'm gonna wanna remember you more than anyone."
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
"Maybe Declyn- d'you think he'd take prom as like, a commitment thing? I mean if he would, that'd be a no." Myles shrugged. "Maybe Axel, as like a last resort. I'd be surprised if he's going at all, actually, but it could be fun. I dunno, I could think of a lot of people, but do I actually want to spent all night with a lot of them? No."
Ivy said her piece and smiled, and he smiled back, warm and genuine. The kind of smile that nobody else had earned the right to see from him. Myles sat forward and leaned his forehead against Ivy's. "Same, obvs- obviously." The word slurred as it tumbled from his lips, and he laughed at his own tipsiness.
Had he been mad earlier? What for? When the chips were down, nobody mattered but the two of them. In a few months, they'd be out of here and their classmates scattered to the winds. They'd say that they would keep in touch with the people who were their friends now, and maybe they would with some, but there was only one person Myles couldn't see himself living without. Today would be an anecdote to tell about their garbage ex-friend and his stupid crowd of hangers-on followed by a warm and hazy memory of the wine and the only real love that Myles thought he could feel.
Maybe, someday, there would be something and someone else. Right now, it didn't bother him.
"Where's the dress?" He hadn't thought so much about what he was going to be wearing to prom, but that was a simpler process.
Ivy said her piece and smiled, and he smiled back, warm and genuine. The kind of smile that nobody else had earned the right to see from him. Myles sat forward and leaned his forehead against Ivy's. "Same, obvs- obviously." The word slurred as it tumbled from his lips, and he laughed at his own tipsiness.
Had he been mad earlier? What for? When the chips were down, nobody mattered but the two of them. In a few months, they'd be out of here and their classmates scattered to the winds. They'd say that they would keep in touch with the people who were their friends now, and maybe they would with some, but there was only one person Myles couldn't see himself living without. Today would be an anecdote to tell about their garbage ex-friend and his stupid crowd of hangers-on followed by a warm and hazy memory of the wine and the only real love that Myles thought he could feel.
Maybe, someday, there would be something and someone else. Right now, it didn't bother him.
"Where's the dress?" He hadn't thought so much about what he was going to be wearing to prom, but that was a simpler process.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
"Oh no, not committment. The very thought of it!" There was mock horror in her voice, though she smiled still. There had a stretch of time where even she hadn't dared make that sort of joke around him, where his feelings on the matter of relationships were still too sore to poke fun at, but he had... it would be inaccurate to say he'd gotten over it, but at least they didn't come to mind every time the subject didn't come up, and that was good enough.
"Most people are—" She hiccuped, loudly, and burst into a fit of giggles. Okay, the wine was catching up with her. Thank god, honestly. "Most people are gonna hear 'go to prom with me' as like a serious thing, hon. Prom's kind of a serious thing. M'glad I timed the whole having a boyfriend thing well enough, if I was single for prom I'd just die."
She hiccuped again and grinned at him. "Lemme know when you land a date and I'll set up a limo or somethin'. Make a big impression an' all. I'd take you with me but I promised Wyatt." She wrinkled her nose; they both knew full well Ivy could fit another couple in the limo, but seething hatred wasn't a great pre-prom look for anyone.
Myles's forehead pressed to hers and her smile softened, though she burst into another fit of giggles in response to his slurring. Her hand found his easily and gave it a quick squeeze. At least for the moment, this was what mattered. This warmth. The way their laughter sounded when it mixed together. It sounded different, but the feeling hadn't changed in the ten or so years that had passed since they'd met. Safe and full of the only real love she cared to know.
When Ivy worried about the near future the only thing that ever gave her pause was having to be away from Myles, and it wasn't even that far, their colleges were only like five hours apart, they'd see each other all the time, but still, but still, it stung. Some moments more than others she found herself conscious of how little time they had left. High school was only a couple more months. Then summer, and then... uncertainty. In moments like this one it hit her all at once, and she never, ever wanted to let go.
She was roused by Myles's words and shook it off. If she let herself dwell she'd start crying and that would be the rest of their night.
"S'in the closet. I shouldn't, buuuut..." She trailed off with a grin as she slid off the bed and yep, she was definitely drunker than she'd anticipated as evidenced by the way the floor seemed to be moving. She stumbled forward, caught herself and shot Myles a goofy thumbs up before staggering to her closet. There was the dress, stored neatly in the back, out of sight and out of mind until this particular moment. She had the presence of mind to close the door before stripping out of the sweater Myles had fetched along with the remnants of her earlier outfit. Praying to any god that might potentially hear her that it hadn't suddenly become too small, she slid into her dress, sighing with relief as she pulled it over her hips without too much trouble. It was a bit long, and annoyingly a bit too large in the bust, but it fit, and it was gorgeous. Her hair was a mess, her makeup was probably smudged, but even so.
She kicked her other clothes to the corner of the closet. Things to deal with later. She waited a few moments for added suspense before slowly opening the door and doing her best drunken runway walk back to Myles.
"Tada!" Ivy did a little twirl to show off the back, managing to not fall in the process. "Perfect, right?"
"Most people are—" She hiccuped, loudly, and burst into a fit of giggles. Okay, the wine was catching up with her. Thank god, honestly. "Most people are gonna hear 'go to prom with me' as like a serious thing, hon. Prom's kind of a serious thing. M'glad I timed the whole having a boyfriend thing well enough, if I was single for prom I'd just die."
She hiccuped again and grinned at him. "Lemme know when you land a date and I'll set up a limo or somethin'. Make a big impression an' all. I'd take you with me but I promised Wyatt." She wrinkled her nose; they both knew full well Ivy could fit another couple in the limo, but seething hatred wasn't a great pre-prom look for anyone.
Myles's forehead pressed to hers and her smile softened, though she burst into another fit of giggles in response to his slurring. Her hand found his easily and gave it a quick squeeze. At least for the moment, this was what mattered. This warmth. The way their laughter sounded when it mixed together. It sounded different, but the feeling hadn't changed in the ten or so years that had passed since they'd met. Safe and full of the only real love she cared to know.
When Ivy worried about the near future the only thing that ever gave her pause was having to be away from Myles, and it wasn't even that far, their colleges were only like five hours apart, they'd see each other all the time, but still, but still, it stung. Some moments more than others she found herself conscious of how little time they had left. High school was only a couple more months. Then summer, and then... uncertainty. In moments like this one it hit her all at once, and she never, ever wanted to let go.
She was roused by Myles's words and shook it off. If she let herself dwell she'd start crying and that would be the rest of their night.
"S'in the closet. I shouldn't, buuuut..." She trailed off with a grin as she slid off the bed and yep, she was definitely drunker than she'd anticipated as evidenced by the way the floor seemed to be moving. She stumbled forward, caught herself and shot Myles a goofy thumbs up before staggering to her closet. There was the dress, stored neatly in the back, out of sight and out of mind until this particular moment. She had the presence of mind to close the door before stripping out of the sweater Myles had fetched along with the remnants of her earlier outfit. Praying to any god that might potentially hear her that it hadn't suddenly become too small, she slid into her dress, sighing with relief as she pulled it over her hips without too much trouble. It was a bit long, and annoyingly a bit too large in the bust, but it fit, and it was gorgeous. Her hair was a mess, her makeup was probably smudged, but even so.
She kicked her other clothes to the corner of the closet. Things to deal with later. She waited a few moments for added suspense before slowly opening the door and doing her best drunken runway walk back to Myles.
"Tada!" Ivy did a little twirl to show off the back, managing to not fall in the process. "Perfect, right?"
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
Her face looked more like the morning after prom than the night of right now, but Myles wasn't drunk or dumb enough to say so. The dress wasn't what he would have expected; it was surprisingly understated and sleek, and green wouldn't have been his first guess. It did look good, though. Elegant might have been the word.
"Yeah," he said, laughing a little as Ivy did her catwalk spin. She wobbled, but didn't fall, which was good. "It's perfect."
He could see her in it, a picture in a frame on the wall. He was there too, of course. He always was.
Myles slid off the bed, closing his eyes momentarily against the first wave of lightheadedness as he stood. Once he was steady, he reached out to provide the same to Ivy. "I was thinkin'... maybe red? For me, I mean. We'd, uh... compliment? Coordinate." Balance was tricky, but his words were always the first to go when the drink started to hit him.
It was fine, though. He didn't need his weapons, not here and now. It was a relief that Myles rarely stopped to think about, not having to be alert and at the ready with information to file away, something to fire back. "We gotta take the day off from school for like, hair 'n makeup 'n shit."
"Yeah," he said, laughing a little as Ivy did her catwalk spin. She wobbled, but didn't fall, which was good. "It's perfect."
He could see her in it, a picture in a frame on the wall. He was there too, of course. He always was.
Myles slid off the bed, closing his eyes momentarily against the first wave of lightheadedness as he stood. Once he was steady, he reached out to provide the same to Ivy. "I was thinkin'... maybe red? For me, I mean. We'd, uh... compliment? Coordinate." Balance was tricky, but his words were always the first to go when the drink started to hit him.
It was fine, though. He didn't need his weapons, not here and now. It was a relief that Myles rarely stopped to think about, not having to be alert and at the ready with information to file away, something to fire back. "We gotta take the day off from school for like, hair 'n makeup 'n shit."
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
"Course. Who goes to prom on school night? School. School on prom night." Ivy giggled, reaching out to Myles, putting her arms around him, ostensibly for stability even though the action very clearly put them both in immediate danger of toppling to the floor. "Wouldn't go t'school all week if I could. Get a few days a'beauty rest."
She let go of him, took a dangerously wobbly step backwards, gave him an unnecessary once-over given how entirely aware she was of what she looked like purely for dramatic effect. "Red works. Cause it's summer. I'd kill you if you wore red to a winter dance. With me. With the green. It'd be like. Seasonal? Bad seasonal. Gaudy." She punctuated that statement with a bunch of meaningless hand gestures before bursting into another fit of giggles that threatened to knock her over yet again.
"Prom. Proooom. We're seniors. Going to prom. We're gonna... gonna look so great? S'gonna be just like... the best? The best. Best ever."
She was already daydreaming wildly, dancing and yelling and too much to drink, queen of the universe (if she wasn't prom queen she was going to snatch a crown directly off some bitch's head), and there Myles would be beside her, as always, because that's where he belonged, and worrying for one second about their future was pointless.
"Oh- wait. Wait wait. Best idea. Hold on."
Ivy stumbled a couple of steps before pausing, holding steady for a silent ten seconds with a furrowed brow, and then recalling something and stumbling a few more steps over to the bed, securing her discarded phone. In it went to an overpriced pair of iPhone speakers that sat on top of her dresser, several more precarious steps away from bed, and she clumsily flipped through her music library, accidentally stabbing at the wrong song a solid four times before eventually playing the right one.
Steadying herself by holding onto the dresser, she reached out to Myles with her other hand, grinning.
"Dance?"
She let go of him, took a dangerously wobbly step backwards, gave him an unnecessary once-over given how entirely aware she was of what she looked like purely for dramatic effect. "Red works. Cause it's summer. I'd kill you if you wore red to a winter dance. With me. With the green. It'd be like. Seasonal? Bad seasonal. Gaudy." She punctuated that statement with a bunch of meaningless hand gestures before bursting into another fit of giggles that threatened to knock her over yet again.
"Prom. Proooom. We're seniors. Going to prom. We're gonna... gonna look so great? S'gonna be just like... the best? The best. Best ever."
She was already daydreaming wildly, dancing and yelling and too much to drink, queen of the universe (if she wasn't prom queen she was going to snatch a crown directly off some bitch's head), and there Myles would be beside her, as always, because that's where he belonged, and worrying for one second about their future was pointless.
"Oh- wait. Wait wait. Best idea. Hold on."
Ivy stumbled a couple of steps before pausing, holding steady for a silent ten seconds with a furrowed brow, and then recalling something and stumbling a few more steps over to the bed, securing her discarded phone. In it went to an overpriced pair of iPhone speakers that sat on top of her dresser, several more precarious steps away from bed, and she clumsily flipped through her music library, accidentally stabbing at the wrong song a solid four times before eventually playing the right one.
Steadying herself by holding onto the dresser, she reached out to Myles with her other hand, grinning.
"Dance?"
"Well, Fenris, the King of Gossip. We meet again."
Dance? Seemed dangerous right now.
Myles grinned and reached out in turn, meeting Ivy halfway and lacing his fingers into hers. The music was already playing, so why not? If they ended up on the floor, laughing drunk, it wouldn't be the first time or the last.
"Sure."
They were both already swaying, so why not to the beat of the music? Myles pulled Ivy a step closer and settled his free hand around her waist. Lana Del Rey wasn't his first choice, but he wouldn't argue with it. He wasn't in the mood for arguing with anything that Ivy wanted.
Myles grinned and reached out in turn, meeting Ivy halfway and lacing his fingers into hers. The music was already playing, so why not? If they ended up on the floor, laughing drunk, it wouldn't be the first time or the last.
"Sure."
They were both already swaying, so why not to the beat of the music? Myles pulled Ivy a step closer and settled his free hand around her waist. Lana Del Rey wasn't his first choice, but he wouldn't argue with it. He wasn't in the mood for arguing with anything that Ivy wanted.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."