"WHAT DO YOU mean?" I ask instantly, hands tightening around my upper arms.
He shrugs, not moving from his spot against the wall. "A long, depressing story about my childhood. Do you still want to hear it?"
My mouth opens, and no words come out. His hazel gaze sears into me, steady, focused.
"No?"
"Yes. Yes, I want to."
He's silent for a second, sucking his teeth before responding. "Fine. But this shit stays between us, alright?" Although it comes out like a question, his expression lets me know that he doesn't think I'd share it with anyone anyway.
This weird mutual distaste has bred a sort of trust.
"Pinky promise." I murmur.
A beat passes before he holds out his finger. I link my own pinky around it and we shake once before our hands return back to ourselves like it never happened at all.
"I collect them because I'm looking for something. A chain I lost a couple years ago."
"How did you lose it?" I can barely hear my own voice, but he still picks up on the words.
"I pawned it off for quick cash." He tilts his head, gaze shifting to the floor. "Probably the stupidest decision I've ever made in my life."
"I find that hard to believe."
His eyes snap back to mine at the comment. "Funny."
"Thanks. Go on."
"The chain was my dad's—well, my biological dad's. I've never actually met the guy." Then he adds, seemingly as an afterthought, "I was adopted."
My mouth forms an O, obviously not quite sure how to respond to that.
He seems to snap out of some trance at my lack of a response, breaking into a sudden chuckle that makes me jolt.
"What is it?"
"Nothing. It's just...it's ridiculous how good you are at making me talk. The one person that knows how to get on every last one of my nerves." He shakes his head. "And I'm the manipulative one?"
"You offered to answer the question," I argue, arms folding even tighter over my chest. "I'm not forcing you into anything."
"You are. With that fucking look."
"What look? I'm not giving any look."
"You are."
"I'm not."
"It's this sweet face. Like you're playing nice...or like you actually give a shit about what I'm saying."
I scoff. "Maybe I am nice."
"But don't actually care?"
"Just finish the story if you're going to," I snap, not liking where this conversation is going.
He breathes out a sigh. "Friends close and enemies closer, right?"
Our eyes level once more, and I raise my brows, teeth coming down hard on my tongue before I raise a hand to motion him on.
"My parents, my adoptive parents, I mean, they're...demanding, to say the least."
He pauses as my body stiffens, immediately giving me reassurance. "They didn't hurt me or anything if that's what you're thinking. They're just overbearing, I guess. Upper-middle class with membership to a country club—and pretty much all the family drama that comes along with it."
"Is that why you're a snot?"
"Hilarious, Cleodora."
"Sorry, couldn't help it."
"Sure." He clicks his tongue. "Anyway as I got older, it became clear to me that they expected me to become a lawyer in the family's firm."
"Kind of fitting," I shrug. "You'd be a pretty good lawyer."
"I know. I'd be pretty good at most things. It's more so a matter of what I want to do with the rest of my life rather than if I'd be successful or not."
I refrain from pointing out that arguing is one of his favorite pastimes on account of him being willing to share sensitive information with me.
"Dad made me start going to standardized test practice when I was eight, and I had to make sure I always held a spot in the top three for school rankings. Low rankings meant I was grounded. Not like it really meant much 'cause I already had no friends. Academia became my life etcetera, etcetera.
So the year I turn twelve, I randomly find out I have a grandma—my biological mom's mom—in the US, and she's apparently been dying to meet me for however many years until my parents finally agreed to it.
About six months after that, it's sprung upon me at the dinner table one night that my mother has also been hanging around the state. So I meet up with both of them, and for a few years, it felt like everything could actually be falling into place."
A grim smile floats over his face now, lingering on his lips for a second before souring into something that makes my stomach drop.
"My mom and grandma are able to talk my parents into slackening up on me and school a bit, we're going to their house for biweekly family gatherings, and I'm figuring out why my mother had to leave me in the first place. One day, she even gives me this chain that she said was my dad's."
Dane pauses for a second, looking a bit dizzy, and I unconsciously find myself reaching forward, fingers lacing through his again.
He jolts a little at the contact, relaxing just barely as my thumb traces over the back of his hand.
"If it makes you feel better, you can pretend we're on a date," I say in a tone barely above a whisper, swallowing hesitantly before meeting his eyes again.
His expression speeds up my heart rate. It's similar to the way he was looking at me in my hotel room, yet different enough to be read as something other than lust.
I clear my throat, letting my other hand cup his before averting my gaze back to our hands. "Then what happened?"
"Then...? Then when I turned sixteen, she disappeared."
My breath catches in my throat a bit, and I almost immediately regret asking the question. "Have you seen her since?"
"No, she, uh, she didn't come back. My grandma didn't know where she was either, still doesn't."
I suddenly have a horrible recollection of the day on the roof. The day when he'd gotten defensive after I'd taunted him.
"You would be one of those people."
"What do you mean, one of those people?"
"Hurt? Lonely and miserable? Daddy or mommy issues? I don't know, buddy, take your pick."
Shit.
He's oblivious to my realization, continuing on with his story. "I waited for a couple weeks then decided I should run away from home when she didn't turn back up. My parents were going crazy, and Dad was determined to blame Mom, saying it was her fault for letting me meet my biological family in the first place. It was all just a huge, fucking mess.
So I wrote my ten-year-old sister a note explaining that I was going away for a little but would be back to visit her." He chuckles to himself, teeth coming down on his bottom lip. "At the time, I thought she was the only person I'd end up missing."
"You left?"
Now I get an outright laugh. "Yeah, like a fucking dumbass. I got all my stuff together, pawned off my dad's chain for some cash at this shop near my house, and booked a Greyhound to New York until the police found me living on the street two weeks later.
Which I guess brings us to now." He shrugs, sliding me a look. "So there's your long, complicated answer. I buy shit, hoping I'll one day stumble back onto my dad's chain because it's the only thing my real mom's ever given me. Pathetic, right?"
"It's not pathetic," my voice comes out thick and guilty. I realize I've carved crescents into his hand and immediately loosen my grip. "Don't say that."
He makes a noise. "Kind of is, Cleodora."
I can only stare at him until he meets my eyes, holds them, too stubborn to relent.
"It's not, okay? It makes perfect sense. You needed to get away, to get some space from everything." I shake my head. "The thing that's pathetic is me."
His eyebrow arches in confusion. "What?"
"The...stuff I said. On the roof. I'm, god, I'm sorry, Dane. I shouldn't have said any of that."
"Hey, cut it out. I don't want pity. And anyway, this is our thing." His lips quirk just barely. "We're both assholes."
I shake my head again, pressing my lips together. "No, you're an asshole. And you just bring out the worst in me." I start to feel a horrible build up in the back of my throat—tears. "Is this what you always do?"
Goddammit.
The smirk is gone instantly, alarm its replacement. A drop slips down my face, escaping my will to hold it back. I quickly raise my hands to cover my eyes, feeling like an absolute idiot as I swipe away the wetness.
"Are you crying?"
"No, shut up."
My response earns a surprised snort from Dane before I hear his sneakers, feel his body heat, other hand on my shoulder. "Come on, it's really not a big deal, Cleodora. If it matters that much then I forgive you."
"That's not...that's not the issue. Fuck, I hate this." I quickly paw at my face again, frustrated with myself for not being able to control my bodily functions. "I'm not upset about the shit I said. I'm just—I'm pissed."
"Pissed?"
"At you."
"At me?"
I nod, wrenching my hand from my face to stare him down again. He looks confused, dark, curly hair falling into his face, hazel eyes narrowed.
"Do you want people to hate you?"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Do you try to make people hate your guts so that they don't get close to you? Because if so that's really fucking annoying."
"I don't 'try to make people hate me'—"
"You're insufferable. And you know what? I think you're insufferable on purpose. Because sometimes you're decent. Sometimes you're even almost nice. So what is it?"
"What is what, Cleodora?"
"Why can't we just get along?"
Something that sounds like a laugh catches in his throat before he squeezes my shoulder, leans closer to speak. "What, you want to be my friend?"
"No, I don't—I just—"
"You want me to be nice to you? Tell you you're so talented, act like I'm part of your clown entourage?" The evil smile flits back over his lips as he moves his hand from my shoulder to wipe my eyes. "Yeah?"
"Don't call my friends a clown entourage."
"You said it yourself, we could never be friends."
I narrow my eyes, breath coming out harder at his proximity. "I didn't. I didn't say anything about friends in the first place."
"Bold of me to assume you and I would ever be anything but enemies, right?" I stay silent, face tilting up as he widens his eyes now. "But you know what? I like it better this way."
My response is a frown, narrowed eyes.
"Enemies notice things that friends don't."
"...Things like what?"
"Like my chain or my fucking tattoo, where my name is on the leaderboard everyday, the exact second my feelings are hurt, the way I write in my notebook—"
"You're a freak. Who numbers pages by hand?"
"Me, and the fact that you care means you're even more of a freak."
"Yeah well, when someone's writing stuff they notice about you on the daily, it's kind of hard not to take interest."
"Hm, something else you noticed because you cared too much to just follow the page numbers I gave you."
I purse my lips before shaking my head. "You're so...infuriating."
"Thanks." He moves his hand to pat me roughly on the cheek, letting it retreat back to his pocket soon after. "Now pull yourself together, Cleodora. You look awful."
"Fuck you," it's barely a murmur under my breath, but he still catches it, raising his eyebrows at me.
"Just telling the truth. I definitely made it worse."
"Ugh." I pull my sweatshirt sleeve over my hand and wipe at my eyes, probably managing to track even more mascara and eyeliner down my cheeks.
His lips twitch as he scans my face, confirming my fears, and I scowl. "Stop looking at me, Freak."
A jolt runs through my body as a full-blown smile flits over his face.
"Come on, Raccoon, let's go find you a bathroom."
***
dane backstory unlocked ✅
i wanted to upload this on valentine's day then that just never happened 🙂 but hello we are back kinda maybe, thanks so much for your patience if you're still reading!! ily v much u are my (late) valentine mwah
i think i'll probably start doing daily writing sprints sometime soon bc i have been really bad at keeping a schedule recently n this is something i love doing lmao
i will likely also be annoying u guys on my message board in the meantime tho rip