omf i haven't updated since like 2001 ily guys read on to witness the van and blair circle overlap in the venn diagram of life (that wasn't even deep dnajnfjkenkf michael jackson) and to the right is a trippy banana gif because bananas guest star in this chap
Upon my re-arrival into the Kyla-Blair apartment/ loft/ cardboard box that charges a considerably ridiculous rent, I collapsed onto the couch, made a sandwich, ate it on the couch, cleaned the crumbs from the couch, watched a movie, peed twice, and brushed my teeth.
Then Kyla came home. And smiled at me and said hi. Then threw up.
I helped her clean it up, with much reluctance, then offered to make her a cheese sandwich, which was apparently inappropriate, because she made a face that I could imagine meant ‘fuck off I am pregnant and I am now repulsed by cheese’.
Then she laid herself out on the couch and forced me to elaborate upon Van.
“He has blue eyes.” I say, because eyes are important to Kyla. “And they’re the kind of blue people mix paint for hours trying to get.” She props up on her elbows and looks at me. “The way he uses them, though, is strange. He looks suspicious a lot. Wary. Unsure. Like he wants to ask questions he knows will offend people.” I pause. “And he’s really offensive. It’s kind of a turn off, really.”
“But like, he’s tall.” She says, as if that is the universal key to love. She stares at me, and I nod. “Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“He’s tall.” She repeats.
“So?”
“ISN’T THAT ENOUGH? WHAT MORE CAN YOU ASK FOR IN A MALE?” I raise my eyebrows, thrown off. She rubs her temples, taking several breaths. “I love you.”
“I’m not impressed by your confessions of love anymore. You told me you loved cheese sandwiches just last week. Now you have betrayed your word.” She blinks at me, shrugging.
“Should I be laying on my stomach?” She asks. I shift, uncomfortable with the sudden realization that I am now an official caretaker of the pregnant Kyla. It is very concerning.
“I think you should…”
The next hour is composed of our researching baby 101 on google.
“So I am drawing the conclusion that pregnant sex is fun.” She says. “That’s literally all I learned.”
“We’re taking you to the clinic next week. Because I am extremely worried about that baby.” She sits up and looks down at her stomach. And there’s a look in her eyes I’ve never seen before. One that I can’t relate to, but one I can understand to some extent.
“Next week.” She says, more to herself than anyone. “I’ll see you next week.”
*****
"I'm assuming you're no longer homeless." Van takes a seat next to me on the bench. My arms are wrapped around my knees, and oh my god
I'm wearing different clothes.
Monumental.
"That's a sore subject." I tell him. We're both silent for a long while, and I feel my face twisting into a grimace from how uncomfrotable it is. He, however, seems unbothered, peeling a banana.
"So tell me, Blair. How would you feel about a job busting tables?"
"I would feel like busting you with a table." He laughs, a gleam of surprise in his eyes. He takes an unnervingly large bite of the banana and chews loudly. I scowl.
"You'll get wrinkles." He says through his full mouth, pushing my face around with his rough fingers.
"Your chewing habits are revolting."
"Love you too, babe." But he closes his mouth. Swallows and clears his throat. "I mean it. I play at this relatively shady and possibly illegal bar down 5th avenue, and I was having sex with this waitress who mentioned that she has back pains and I was like why because that's how you seduce females and she was like 'I have to take all the shifts because all my coworkers keep getting actual jobs or pregnant and leaving' and I was like 'so there are job openings because I have a homeless acquintence who is obsessed with me' and she was like 'OH MY GOD VAN HARDER--'"
"WHERE IS THIS STORY EVEN GOING." He grins.
"Oh yeah. Do you want to work there? Get a little cash to maybe move out from your crazed bitch of a roommate?"
"Who said I want to move out?" I scoff.
"You. Your face. Your lips. Your body language. Your tits."
"What?" He shrugs.
"Not that you have much to go off of, but hey."
"I don't want to be a waitress." I tell him. He shrugs.
"I didn't want to be a drug addict."
"You don't have to be."
"Yeah, you're right. I do want to be one." He gazes out onto the streets. Then he looks at me. Thoughtfully. For a long time. His hair pokes out from under his hat, and I focus on that instead. "Look at me."
"I am."
"Not my hair."
"Your hair is probably part of you. Unless it's a toupe. Or you're Hannah Montana."
"Clearly."
"..."
"Dammit, Blair, you can't just sit on my bench everyday and insult my banana chewing habits and look all hot and pissy and be a bitch and a conservative broccoli and not even look at me. Why do you come around here, anyways? If not for my looks.
"Well," I say. "At first I was homeless."
"Noted."
"And then," I say. "I liked you." He considers this for a moment.
"So you admit I'm attractive."
"I'm actually in a committed relationship to singledom."
"Wow I wonder why nobody's changing that." He says dryly. I glare at him, and he grins. "Kidding." He pauses. "Well..."
"I should get going." I say, picking up my bag. He looks up at me, and I realize how strange it is to be able to look down at someone who normally is submerged in the clouds.
"Are you coming back tomorrow?"
"Not if you're here." I snap, then storm off.
"You're back." Van looks at me, looking unsurprised yet dumbfounded. I let out a deep breath, wincing as the air cuts across the new pregnant-woman-induced nail wounds on my arm. I run my fingers through the chunk of hair that isn't dislodged from my head.
"So that job opening." I say, shuffling on my feet. "I'm guessing you can get me through?" I dare to look him in the eye, and he's grinning like the Cheshire cat. His lips part.
"You guessed correctly."
a/n
I HAVEN'T UPDATED IN SEVEN YEARS AND i really don't have an excuse like i don't even have chronic diarrhea anymore that was only in third grade guys and this chapter sucks ahhhh
ON ANOTHER NOTE, I RECENTLY DISCOVERED THAT ELTON JOHN FANFICS EXIST, SO LIKE IF YOU ARE ALSO AGAINST THIS PLEASE POST ON MY MESSAGE BOARD WITH THE HASHTAG #LEVONHIMALONE
that's the worst hashtag i've ever made i'm sorry but SHOW YOUR SUPPORT
i'm sorry for all the grammar mistakes in this chapter and the lack of van's guitar and wow he's an ass sometimes but like kyla is still prego and you know them hormones so yeah i love you guys i know my fanbase is shrinking like hazel grace's tumors (i'm a horrible person) but I appreciate you guys sososososososso much
I'M ALREADY WORKING ON THE NEXT UPDATE LOVE YOUSS
-sophie
YOU ARE READING
sixty seconds
Teen Fiction❝he wasn't looking for anything permanent, and she knew; but unlike everyone else, she didn't care.❞ timid but thriving, blair was anything but opposed to making friends with the tall, mysterious, blue-eyed boy playing guitar on a bench at one a...
