Cataclysm (Sequel to Wanderlust) (Kellic)

Chapter 8

hi hello i haven't updated this in forever bc i suck sorry. yes this fic will actually be finished. hopefully i can get on the ball again (i've got some more things planned to be posted soon) also i lov everyone who is reading this goodbye

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Chapter 8 - As You Lose the Argument in a Cable Car

Rebel against gender norms. Go get a hand job. Classic M-P. Take a selfie of your result.

This is the comment that Bree leaves on Kellin's video shortly after we get back to our hotel from Battery Spencer. It's definitely one of the weirder clues that she's given us, but it's not something that we can't decipher. We've got Google on our side.

"Do you really think we're gonna be able to Google this one?" Kellin asks as we're sitting down together on one of the beds, staring at his phone as if the answer is just going to come to us if we wait long enough.

"Sure," I say, pulling out my own phone and opening the Google app. "Hand jobs in San Francisco. We'll find something. It shouldn't be hard."

"Hard," Kellin mutters, and I snort. He looks at me with what might be an inkling of a smile on his lips.

When I type in the phrase "hand job san francisco," a result comes up immediately, and I'm not quite sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't this.

"Hand Job Nails and Spa," Kellin reads over my shoulder. After a short pause, he adds, "Well, the 'rebel against gender norms' thing makes sense now. 'Classic M-P' probably means a mani-pedi."

"What I wanna know is why anyone would call a place Hand Job," I say. Honestly, this seems exactly like something Bree would do. When it comes to her, nothing is too surprising.

Kellin shrugs. "People love dirty puns." He stands up and stretches a little. "We'll do that tomorrow morning, then?"

"Yep," I say, falling back into the bed and letting my head hit the pillow. It isn't even that late, but I'm tired.

"Cool," he replies. "I think I'm gonna, um, watch TV or something for a little bit. Maybe text Justin. I don't know."

I roll over on my side so that my back is facing away from him. "Suit yourself."

At that point, though, I remember something that Kellin used to do all the time on our last road trip, and I can't help but ask: "What about Matty? Are you gonna text him, too?"

Kellin is silent for a painfully long moment before he says, "He and I don't really, um...we don't talk anymore."

Almost immediately, I turn back around to look at him, propping myself up on my elbow. "You don't? Why not?" I realize after asking that, once again, that's probably too personal, but I can't help myself. I can't imagine a world where Kellin and Matty aren't best friends. Of all the things that changed in the past year, I never expected this to be one of them. I thought this would be the one aspect of Kellin's life to stay the same.

"We just don't," Kellin says dismissively, sitting down on the other bed and shrugging. "We just grew apart."

I want to ask him more, but it's clear that he doesn't want to talk about it, so I just lie back down and close my eyes, wondering what the hell we've just gotten ourselves into.

—

The next morning, as I'm lying half-awake in bed, something grabs my attention from the corner of my eye as my gaze drifts lazily across the room. The familiar-looking object is hanging just above Kellin's bed, and after a few bleary moments, it dawns on me: the dreamcatcher. He must have brought it with him.