something else,, quackity

viii

If it hasn't already been made clear, I have no idea how to act in the presence of a crush.

My tactic? Suppression.

I'm denying my way through the weirdness: the "we're just friends who have become very very close very very quickly" approach. Instead of the classic self-distancing technique, I've decided exposure is the way to go. Constantly texting him, compulsively checking all his social media (although I didn't hit the 'Follow' button on his Instagram until at least twelve hours had passed, because in Edie's words it looked "desperate") and wrapping myself in the memories of our short time we've spent together.

Fuck it, who am I kidding? I just have a weak level of self-control and want to indulge in the one thing bringing me happiness in my sad little life.

It's the reason that tonight — no, I couldn't even hold myself back for a day — I find myself outside his house.

Okay. That sounds creepy. I didn't hunt him down or anything. He'd already messaged me his address when he dropped me home last night. I'm currently running on boredom and the giddy adrenaline of realisation that Gem had provoked in me. So, when his line of our rapid-fire texting went quiet a while ago, my irrational anxiety-recovering brain couldn't get enough. And here I am.

Dressed in lemon-yellow sweatpants and a purple hoodie printed with a horde of dinosaurs (because he's seen me at my worst, so rationally there's no need to try anymore) and holding a Thermos flask of cereal at 10:30pm.

When we'd been talking, he'd mentioned being home alone, so I'm hoping it won't be one of his parents to open the door. But the look on Alex's face when he sees me crunching on some Cheerios on his front porch is worse than the one I can imagine his mom would've come up with.

"Nat? What are you- is- did I get the wrong day? I'm so-"

"Nope. Nothing wrong on your part. I'm bored and you have a cat. Can I come in?"

He makes a spluttering sound that I interpret to be his confused take on an agreement and pushes the door open slightly further.

I am let into a hallway, which stretches towards a kitchen and has a few doors off the side. The walls are smooth and white, but not hospital-room white — more kindergarten-lunch-hall white. It's a nice house. Nicer than mine. And it smells good. So good. What is that? Ginger? Clove?

Alex coughs, pausing in front of me and spinning on his heel. "I mean- are- are you okay? You sure nothing's wrong? I could- we could talk?"

I momentarily stop my subtle inhaling of his house. "Yeah, no. Sorry. Oh God. Is this not how people do it? Like, meeting up? Did I mess it up? How? What did I-"

"No, no, nothing," he interrupts, a smile breaking through the shellshock on his face. "I'm just... I'm kind of live on Twitch right now."

Shit. Shit shit shit. Why didn't I check his Twitch before coming? Rookie stalking mistake.

"What? Why are you still out here, then? Go back! Go go go! I can wait! I can figure out how to navigate your house on my own! I'm a big girl!"

He pulls his hands from his pockets. "Are you sure?"

"Yes! Very much so!"

"Okay. Well, uh, there're chips in the kitchen, and the living room is right there, and- ah! Cat!" He points to a slightly ajar door on my right, from which a cat has just slipped out of, glancing up at us with big, questioning eyes.

"Cat!" I crouch down, and the cat steps cautiously towards me, brushing its tiny nose against my hand before ducking its head beneath my fingers.

"Tiger, right?" I say, squeaking internally as the kitty rubs himself against my leg.

"Yeah, yeah, he's, uh, he's my cat."

"Yeah, I kind of-" I stop and look up at him. "Wait. You're- you're still live on Twitch right now. Why are you engaging in my small talk? Go!"

"Are you sure you'll be okay? I don't want you to-"

"Go. Just. Go."

"I'll be done in ten minutes!" he gabbles before sliding across the hardwood floor on his socks to one of the rooms on the left.

"Well." I look at Tiger, whose eyes are closed as he uses my bitten index fingernail as a head scratcher. "That took too long."

I screw my Thermos shut, having successfully emptied its contents with the useless fold-out spoon that sits on top of the lid. Alex mentioned chips in his kitchen. And okay, I'm not usually one of those irritations who eats everyone else's stuff, but I haven't had food in about eight hours. Why else would I be carrying portable cereal?

The cat and I proceed to the kitchen at the end of the hallway, hearing murmurs and laughter from the room I presume Alex is live in. His chuckling makes me smile, which immediately jolts me into slapping my own cheeks. Oh yeah. That's my other method of suppression: physical violence.

Which, as I survey the room around me, I'm clearly going to engage with in order to find these damn chips.

Trust a man's definition to be vague as fuck in the exact place I need it to be specific.

So. Many. Cupboards. They're everywhere. On the walls, under the sink... hell, they're even on his breakfast bar. What does he want from me? To use my high-school-graduating pea brain to telepathically track down the item of interest?

No. Nope. No thank you.

But doesn't look like I have any other choice.

Sighing, I head to the left side of the room and begin to open and shut doors.

A task that, after approximately three cupboards, reveals itself to be a losing game.

First one: pans and utensils. Second: spices (side note: so much cinnamon in there. Must be the unidentified house scent). Third: packets of various carbohydrate products, because one packet and one type of rice is just not enough.

I completely agree.

But it's not the chips. And it's been ten minutes. Eleven, actually. I sneak a look back at Alex's door. There aren't any sounds coming from beyond it, but he hasn't left yet. It should be a difficult decision, but my hunger always overrules in situations like this.

My cacti-patterned socks pad against the floor as I approach the room. Nope. Almost fully silent. All good so far. I'm taking the risk.

"Alex," I hiss.

Unsurprisingly, nothing.

I tap my fist gently against the smooth varnished wood. "Alex."

Still nothing, but I hear movement, and what's maybe him saying something or maybe his chair squeaking.

That's it. Patience: gone. I twist the doorknob, which cracks into submission, and nudge open the door.

"Okay, who budgeted your kitchen, because I'd like to alert them that there is no need whatsoever for such a multitude of storage facilities, I- what? What's that face mean?"

Alex is frozen, with the poise of a tense meerkat and the eyes of a startled deer, which dart towards his screen, then back at me, then at the screen, then at me.

"Sorry, was it you? Were you the one who designed that? Because sorry, but you have to admit that it's kind of inconvenient."

He laughs awkwardly and pulls his beanie hat down at the back. "Mm, yeah, no."

"Okay? So can you help then? Pretty please, magic word."

"I can in a sec, but, um..." His gaze trails back to his computer. "I'm still live."

Oh.

A/N — look what I pulled out of my ass aha 🙈🙈 sorry this one feels a bit shorter but that may be because the last chapter was like 2500 words sooo

Pls take care of yourselves ilysm <333 give urself a hug rn and listen to Maisie Peters to girlboss yourself into happiness :) from Shribble xxx