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New York is just as beautiful and horrific and homely and hellish as she remembers it. The city is filled with people she used to call family and places she used to call home, rows of shops she would visit and bars she would sneak into with friends and alleyways where she would do drug deals on behalf of her brother. LaGuardia was the last place of this state she'd seen, three years ago when Wymack came to ask her to join his team. The car they're in, a black SUV that Matt's mom sent, does nothing to hide the scenery they're passing with it's dark tinted windows.
Daisy's knees are bouncing in rhythm and she can't tear her eyes away from outside. Thankfully they avoided Brooklyn, instead taking the Queensboro Bridge to cross the river. Kevin sits at her side, thigh pressed hard against her own. She wants to shove him away, but can't bring herself to. She'd probably pitch herself out of the window if he moved. It doesn't take long to get from the airport to the Upper East Side (because of course that's where Matt's mom lives), and the car comes to a stop on the curb outside. Daisy is shaking so hard she can barely grab the handle of her case, so Kevin does it for her. She wants to punch him in the face.
"Oh my God, this is embarrassing to watch," Aaron says. Everybody looks to him, and he pulls a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket. "Here."
See, Daisy hasn't regularly smoked in a few years. Cigarettes aren't shit when you're literally doing heroin. But she takes one all the same, lights up the end of it, and burns through the stick in about twenty seconds. She smokes a second and third while the boys are unloading the van, and once her lungs are lined in tar, she looks around. "Where's Neil?"
"Did you just notice?" Matt laughs. "He had to go to his parents' place in Arizona last minute to see his uncle. Sucks, it seemed like he really didn't wanna go."
Daisy blinks. How the fuck did she miss that? PTSD does wonders for your spatial awareness, she muses. From her bag, a small pink and gold bottle of perfume to spritz on her body. She hates the smell of smoke on herself.
"What perfume is that?" Kevin asks, out of earshot of the others ferrying bags up to the front door of the large house before them.
She gives him an odd look. "Why do you care?"
"I'm making conversation to keep your mind off of all this shit," he replies. "Sue me for trying, I guess."
"It's, uh..." she trails off, turning the bottle around to find the label. "Jasmine Brown Sugar. Allison bought it for me last Christmas."
"It's nice," he says. Daisy looks at him, face curled up in a scowl.
"You're so fucking lame."
Kevin stares at her. "At least you're back to normal."
Daisy wants to knock him on his ass, but instead she tucks the packet of cigarettes into her back pocket and walks up the steps to the front door. Her hands start quivering again so she shoves them into the pocket of her coat and balls up her fists, bites down on the insides of her cheeks.
Jonathan Cohen is currently eight and a half miles away from this location, and that's eight and a half miles too close for comfort. So, like a gravitational pull, Daisy finds herself stuck to Kevin's side. It's so unintentional that she barely notices it, but when his hand comes up at her back as something solid for her to lean on, she frightens herself a little.
"Don't get the wrong idea, Two," she whispers to him as Matt knocks on the front door. Kevin rolls his eyes, looks down at her. Daisy meets his gaze. "I'm serious. I'm still majorly pissed with you."
"Whatever."
The door swings open. Whatever Daisy had expected Randy Boyd to look like, she was dead wrong. One of New York's elite, a retired championship-winning boxer with more belts than she could ever hope to wear at once, stands before them in the form of a five-foot-two woman, skin far darker than Matt's with kinky black-and-white braid trailing over her scalp and halfway to her ass. She wears sweatpants and a half-unzipped velour hoodie, fluffy pink slippers on her feet and a glass of white wine in her hand, despite it being just after midday.
"Matty!" she cries, throwing her arms up and around her son's neck. The wine spills violently, giving everybody standing behind him a nice spray of liquid. "Oh, my baby! I've missed you so much!"
"I missed you too, Mom," Matt laughs. Daisy can see Randy's muscles tense around his body even through her jacket, and she's not sure if she's intimidated or turned on. Or both."
"And these must be your guests!" Randy gasps, as if she hadn't already noticed the small crowd of athletes on her stoop. "Forgive me if I don't remember your names. One too many knocks to the head will do it to you."
"Mom, this is Aaron and Nicky --they're cousins, even if they don't look like it--, and this is Daisy, one of Dan's best friends, and Kevin, who you've definitely seen on TV before," Matt introduces. They all offer a smile or wave to the woman, who considers them all slowly.
"Hmm," she says. "Aaron is the one I bailed out of jail, right?"
"Yes," says Aaron, lips pressed in a thin smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "I'm very grateful, thank you so much."
"I hate a bootlicker," Randy snaps. "No more of that."
"Yes ma'am," Aaron mutters.
Daisy suddenly fears for her life when Randy turns her hard gaze upon the girl. At her spot a few steps below, they're equal in eyeline. Daisy almost wants to step onto her level to intimidate her, but she's almost sure the woman has stared down far worse. "Daisy. You're the one who used to do drugs with my son."
She blinks. This was absolutely not the reception she was prepared for, but she supposes it's the one she deserves. "Uh, yeah. But we're both clean now."
Randy narrows her eyes, looks down at Daisy's shaking hands, and narrows them more. "Mom," Matt urges, nudging his mother's shoulder. "It's chill. Can we go inside?"
The woman snaps out of her suspicion almost as soon as it arrived. "Oh, yes! It's freezing out here, and I need another glass of wine!"
And then she disappears into the depths of the small mansion before them, leaving their luggage and the Foxes outside.
"She's insane," Aaron mutters.
"I love her," Nicky sighs. "Man, if I only I wasn't born the way I am. I want to be Matt's new stepdad."
Daisy rolls her eyes. "Sorry Matt, your mom seems kinda fried."
"She is," Matt beams, turning to face the rest of them. "But she's the best."
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Randy takes them on an extended tour of the six floors of her expansive house. Daisy is sure she's got the important bits down: the ground floor has the dining room and larder, the second floor has a large lounge room and Matt's mom's bedroom, the third floor is Matt, Aaron, and Nicky's, the fourth floor is Kevin and the library (the library????!!!!!), the fifth floor is an open plan gym and entertaining space, and the top floor, practically an attic above a half-ladder-half-staircase entrance, is Daisy's room. She feels super Cinderella until the small staircase upward opens into possibly the most beautiful place she's ever been.
It's hardwood flooring, covered in rugs of varying colour and size, and walls painted a deep amber that reflects all of the late evening sunlight and sets the room ablaze. Three large arched windows cover one wall, and reveal a breathtaking view of Central Park that is only blocked by the small balcony with two plush armchairs and a metal table adorning it. The bed is enormous, plush enough to dive into and never resurface. There's a smell of oak and sweet tobacco that Daisy inhales, exhales, and breathes in again.
"I'm sorry, Matty only told me you were coming this morning," Randy says, gripping Daisy's hand in her own. "I would have made up the grand bedroom, but it's just become a junk room and it was so much easier to put you up here--"
"Randy, I used to live in a basement in Brownsville," Daisy says softly. "I feel like Annie when she left the orphanage right now."
"I thought I heard a bit of Brooklyn in you!" Randy exclaims. "A New York girl like me, how did I not realise!"
Daisy just smiles, takes in this room around her while Randy goes on about growing up in New York, has Daisy been here, eaten there, blah blah blah. Finally, the woman gets the message that Daisy's not listening, and slips out of the room. When her footsteps disappear down the stairwell, Daisy hiccups and tries very hard not to cry.
The last thing she'd seen of this city was the inside of a courtroom, staring down her brother from the witness stand while she told an uncaring crowd and indifferent jury just what the pretty boy in front of them had put her through. He'd been in jail a little while since then, and had bulked up a little. Being sober had done his skin wonders, and a good hair wash will change any man's appearance. Yes, her brother was always a looker, but in that courtroom, he was a shining light. Daisy hated every inch of him, and she still does.
The last place she'd slept in this city was a basement apartment, meant for storage or laundry but sub-let to the mismatched siblings who came in from the street shivering and frostbitten one December, crying because everything they'd ever known had been taken by the bank. Jack had taken the room closest to the boiler, and Daisy got the one with a 'view', or in other words, an three-inch unsealed, barred window at sidewalk level that flooded her room with rainwater when the snow melted, and kept the room at a frosty below-freezing until summer, when the scent of hot garbage would gas out the room and leave her swiftly throwing up what little food she could get into her body anyway.
The last thing she'd felt in this city was grief, in the most whole and deep way a girl can feel it. When her brother was finally sentenced, Daisy had already been at a community college for two months. She'd only enrolled because they had a student Exy team, and she used the opportunity to film herself and submit tapes to any NCAA college in the country. She had to leave New York, everywhere she turned there were hateful eyes staring down on her or pitying looks from those who'd only seen her on TV. The only city she'd ever known had turned against her, and David Wymack was her path out. Flying over her home in November, on her way to a foreign state to play for a team she wasn't good enough for, Daisy had cried. The woman beside her on the plane requested to change seats to get away from the skinny girl who did nothing but sob the entire four hour flight, wondering if she'd just fucked up her life for good.
And now, three years later, Daisy is back in the town she swore she'd never return to. And she's in the most beautiful house she's ever seen, surrounded by people she calls her friends, overlooking a snowed-in Central Park with tears in her eyes.
"Oh my God!" shouts a voice behind her, making her flinch violently. Nicky strides into the room, arms thrown wide around him. "This is sexism manifested! Our rooms are tiny compared to this-- I mean, my room is still bigger than our entire suite, but still!"
"It's cool, huh?" Daisy laughs. "I've even got a Romeo and Juliet balcony."
Nicky sighs wistfully. "Don't make me imagine Leo Dicaprio in a knight costume, that's just cruel."
Daisy perches down on the end of the impossibly soft mattress, kicks off her sneakers. Nicky follows suit. "How are you feeling?" he asks. "Being back here must be hard."
She flops down onto the bed. The canopy overhead is embroidered with tiny white birds, she notices. "It's weird. Like... when we were driving here, it was like coming back into a dream. I can recognise places, I have so many memories of these streets. But it's not my home anymore. It didn't feel like home when we got here, and I don't think it will the longer I stay. I belong with you guys."
"Wow, don't get all sappy on me now," Nicky teases. "I know what you mean. My parents place doesn't feel like that either, anymore. Especially not after... well, it's the same thing. Super strange, huh?"
"Super strange," Daisy echoes. "Did Randy say we could use her gym? I'm stiff from the flight."
"It's three days until Christmas and all she wants to do is climb the Stairmaster," Nicky mutters under his breath. "Please tell me you brought more than hoodies and teeny tiny shorts in that case? Kevin might get a blood rush from it, but I certainly don't. And neither will most of your fingers and toes, in this weather."
Daisy snorts. "Of course I did." A moment of silence, and then, "I think I have another pair of jeans."
"God help me," Nicky cries. "I'm leaving before you can turn me into a sports zombie. Don't come find me if you need a spotter."
She smiles at the doorway until after he leaves, then kicks out of her sweatpants and steps into some not-so teeny tiny shorts. The t-shirt she's wearing will be fine, so she descends the ladder and another staircase and finds herself in the most elaborately decked-out home gym she could have possibly imagined. She flicks one of the many TVs on while she finds a seat on a rowing machine, and gets to work while a rerun of a Christmas movie she's never seen plays in the background. Something about negligent parents who forget about their son when they go on an international holiday?
Christmas is weird as fuck, Daisy decides. Being raised Jewish rules.
The light outside turns from blue to orange to black as the daytime quickly switches to darkness, even though her watch only reads four-thirty. These short days and long nights remind her of walking home from school in the dark, afraid of what might jump out even though it's technically still daytime. Reminds her of the pitch blackness of the alleyways she'd have to frequent before morning class, making deliveries to people she never wants to see again in her life.
She shakes her head. Obviously she's not running fast enough on this treadmill if the thoughts are still getting through, so she amps up the speed and closes her eyes and runs faster, faster, faster...
"I know Coach always threatens us with marathons, but I don't think he cares if you win or not."
The treadmill starts to slow down underneath her, and Daisy watches it come to a halt. Kevin is leaning against the rail, a towel over one shoulder and a loose tank top that leaves nothing to the imagination on his body.
"I'm trying to be faster than your mini-me," she replies. "So far, not so great."
Air leaves his mouth in some semblance of a laugh, but his face stays straight. "If you're in here working out to get away from your problems, I'm going to make Randy padlock the door."
Daisy glares at him, presses her hand to his face and pushes him away. "Fuck you."
But when she turns the treadmill back on, he's quick to power it off again. "I'm serious, D."
"What?!" It comes out meaner than she intended it to, but she doesn't apologise. She doesn't need to; he gets it.
"At least come to the court with me. Matt said there's one down the block."
Daisy's anger melts away in an instant. Kicking his ass on court would make her feel so much better. So she takes the towel from his shoulder, uses it to wipe her face and chest of beads of sweat, and tosses it back to him as she hops down from the treadmill and breezes past him. "Come on then, Two. Get ready to feel the power of my PTSD against you."
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It might have just been destiny that landed them here today. A string of good and bad luck that brought them both to South Carolina; a terrible meddling of the stars that made sure their lives would intersect at some point. Or, maybe they're bound to one another. Perhaps in every universe they are bound together, fated to find one another time and time again until whoever is watching over them is happy. Either way, Kevin Day and Daisy Cohen were made for each other.
On court, that is. It's hard to imagine them playing against anybody but each other when they're battling it out with racquets and plastic armour. Daisy was crafted from the opposite stuff to Kevin, and it works perfectly when they play against each other. He studies her every move, makes calculated decisions based on what she did three minutes ago and the length of the stride she just took and depth of breath she pulled into her body before her throw. In return, she makes split second decisions, sees the crooked angle of his elbow that will make twisting his racquet easy, finds his uneven footing to knock him out of her path, sees how hard he catches the rebound and decides she can pop the ball from his net with ease.
It's only a half court at the sports centre five blocks from the Boyd house, but it's enough. Daisy's a little more tired than he is, but her stamina is higher. They play for what feels like hours, and Daisy doesn't realise the calmness she feels within her until she comes to a stop on court, Kevin gone momentarily to find their water bottles. Nothing in this world clears her heart of pain like this stupid game, and nothing clears her head of thoughts like this man before her.
"Here." Kevin tosses her pink plastic bottle at her and she catches it, a goofy smile on her face. "What?" he asks, trying to stop his own lips curving upward.
"Nothing," she shrugs. "I feel better than I did before."
"The court fixes everything," he shrugs.
"I don't think it's just the court," she replies. He blinks at her, and she smiles again. "Come on, we should head back for dinner. Matt texted saying their chef is a half hour away from being done. I know, their chef," she reiterates. Kevin snorts.
"I grew up with private chefs, your jokes mean nothing to me," he says. "You forget I essentially had the same upbringing as Matt."
"No, you grew up in a cult," Daisy corrects. "You had rich people things, but you were vice-cult-leader."
The air has a chill outside of the sports centre, and the snow is starting up again. Daisy so desperately wants to smash a snowball into Kevin's face, but he's just starting to get back on her good side. And he looks so cute like this, the street lights illuminating his face just right, his pale cheeks flush pink from the cold, hair mussed and dirty with sweat.
"Stop staring at me."
"I'm not staring at you."
He frowns down at her. "I can feel you watching me."
Daisy shrugs, pouting to hide her smile. "Must be someone else. Famous people always have stalkers, what if there's a pretty girl following us waiting to get you undressed in her penthouse?"
He puffs out a laugh. "Pretty girl," he mutters under his breath.
"Oh my God!" Daisy cries suddenly, pointing out ahead of them. "No way!"
She takes his hand and dashes across the street before he can react, leaving a path of honking taxis and fuming cyclists in their wake. "What the fuck?" he shouts at her as they run along the street, dodging swathes of people on the sidewalk until they finally stop.
"This is where I had my first real job!" Daisy beams, pointing at the storefront before them. "Oh my God, I loved it here!"
Kevin stares at the sign above him. "And how old were you?"
"Oh, I don't know. Thirteen, maybe?"
Don's Adult Emporium and Peep Show.
"Ah, the memories," she sighs wistfully. "The girls who worked here were always so nice. I just did the front desk, put through sales and everything, but they treated me like I was one of them."
"Your life mesmerises me," Kevin says as they walk away. She's still holding onto his hand, but her freezing fingertips let him know it's mostly for self-preservation. At least, that's what he wants to think. There's a few moments of quiet, but it's peaceful quiet. The sounds of the city envelop them like a chorus of cicadas in late summer. "Did you know the average house value on the Upper East Side is seven million dollars?"
"Hmm," says Daisy. "I didn't know that."
Kevin continues, "Yeah, up until the mid-1800s it was mostly just privately-owned farmland. A lot of houses were designed for people on a moderate income, which is interested considering how only the ultra-rich elite live here now."
"That's New York for you," Daisy clucks, then raises their linked hands to point at a building ahead. "I had a friend who's grandma lived in that building. It used to be a hotel for women only, and his grandma just refused to leave. She died there, I think, and they had a bust made of her to put in the lobby because she was the longest resident. She always had the best stories about seeing movie stars there."
"That's the Barbizon," Kevin says. "People like Grace Kelly and Nancy Reagan stayed there. You had to have three references of good character to be able to stay there."
"Cool," Daisy echoes. "There's a load of museums around here you would like. The Guggenheim, the Frick-- oh, the Jewish Museum is near here. Dad always used to make us go on weekends, it's kinda boring but I think you'd enjoy it."
He pretends to look at something over his shoulder to hide his smile. "Yeah, I think I would."
The Boyd house looms ahead of them, as does the promise of warmth and food. Daisy's pace picks up the closer they get, and she breathes a sigh of relief when they get inside. "I actually thought I was going to lose toes out there," she laughs, breathing into her hands to warm them. "Fuck New York winters. I'm moving to California."
"I'm sure the Trojans would take you," Kevin replies. "Jeremy Knox is a great guy."
"Jeremy Knox is a great guy-- don't act like you wouldn't jump his bones if you saw him," Daisy snickers. "I've seen the way you look at him during games."
"He's a talented player!" Kevin argues, following her into the house. "We could all learn a lot from his skill and sportsmanship."
"You say 'we', you mean your monsters," she says. Their plans to head upstairs are thwarted by Matt's appearance.
"Guys, dinner's ready," he says. "You guys can shower after, Mom's getting mad because she had to wait for you."
The pair share a look. Fuck, it says. They follow Matt into the ridiculously expansive dining room, where a table for twelve has been set up with six places at one end. Daisy finds a spot furthest away from Randy, who sits at the head of the table.
"I thought we were going to have to send a search party for you two," she says, her wide grin off-putting with the tense of her jaw. "Where did you go?"
"I told you, they went to the court at the athletic centre," Matt says in a low voice. "They're sports junkies."
"Worse when they're together," Nicky adds around a mouthful of bread roll. "They egg each other one-- they'd never leave the court if it was up to them."
"You can only get better through practise," Kevin replies curtly. "Daisy agrees that time spent away from the court is time wasted for your future."
"Wise words, young man," Randy says, her smile getting warmer. "But you need to have a life outside of your sport. Take it from someone who's already retired, you need something to fall back on when you can't play anymore. I didn't know who I was or what I wanted when I stopped, and it took me a while to figure it out. You don't want to be lost like I was, don't make this thing the entire reason for your existence."
"We've never had the luxury of having much else to focus on," Daisy interjects. This woman, however kind her intentions might be, is starting to piss her off. "When everything else in your life for as long as you can remember is, excuse my language, fucking awful, it's hard to fit in another life goal than what's kept you alive so far."
"Look, dinner's here!" Matt cries out to end the conversation. Plates are served to each of them, and Daisy stares down at the food in front of her. It's a whole fish, head still attached and gazing at her with one glassy eye, on top of a bed of vegetables. She takes a measured breath inward, wonders if anything at the bottom of the plate hasn't been touched by the fish.
"Well, tuck in everybody!" Randy announces. Silverware starts to clatter, and Daisy's fish watches her with a pretty bitchy look, if she's being honest. "Daisy, honey, aren't you hungry?"
"Oh, not really," she says with a smile. She can sneak out and get late-night falafel for dinner later. If there's one reason she's glad she came back to New York, it's late-night falafel. That shit kept her alive for years. Kevin looks down at her plate at the same time Matt does.
"Mom, I told you Daisy is vegetarian," Matt whines, placing down his cutlery and putting his head in his hands. "I texted you this morning."
"--It's honestly fine, I'm not that hungry anyway--"
"You know I never read my texts, you should have called if it was this important," Randy snaps at her son, tone impatient. "I'm sorry Daisy, honey, I can get the chef to serve some more vegetables for you. Are you okay with fish sauce on them, it's what they were cooked in."
"Daisy's vegan," Kevin corrects. Daisy glares at him before turning back to Randy.
"It's okay," Daisy says, "I ate a big lunch. If I'm hungry later, I can grab something to eat then."
"The kitchen is all yours," Randy says with a smile. Obviously assuming the situation is resolved, she goes back to eating. Kevin, beside her, puts down his knife and fork.
"Get them to make you something," he says under his breath once the others start up a conversation.
She kicks him under the table and hisses, "No."
So Daisy observes the people around her eating dead fish and vegetables cooked in it's remains, starts feeling a little sick to her stomach. It's not like she has a superiority complex or anything, because she totally doesn't. It's just that seeing people eating meat makes her feel a whole lot better about her dietary choices, just like how seeing people be bad at Exy makes her feel a lot better about being good at it. Not a superiority complex.
"I think I'm going to head up to bed early, I'm beat," Daisy says, emphasising her words with a yawn. "Sorry, Randy. I'm sure the dinner was beautiful."
Randy waves her hand and smiles, bids goodnight to the girl. It's all Daisy can do to contain herself as she strides slowly from the room, but as soon as she's away from their eyes she races up the five sets of stairs until she's at her bedroom door, panting as she lets herself into her room for the next week and a half. It's probably because she's never had a maternal figure in her life, but Daisy absolutely cannot stick up for herself to this woman. It's the same with Abby, the same with Betsy, the same with any fucking older woman who tells her what to do.
Daisy definitely needs more therapy than she previously thought.
She thinks about her mother as she washes, using all the fancy scrubs and body washes she can find. Daisy tries her best to keep the woman from her mind, because thinking about her never does anything except send her into a spiral. But now, back in her home town with nothing really left to fear except her own mind, Daisy lets it wander. Because, of course she has a mother. Isaac Cohen hadn't just materialised a Korean baby out of thin air. Daisy had always wondered about looking through birth records in Brooklyn on her birthday, but then again, does she even really know her birthday? Had she been left on her father's doorstep the day she came into this world, or did her mother keep her for a while before letting go. July 17th was when Isaac found her, but that's not to say it's anywhere close to when she was born. What made her mother give her up? Was it to give Daisy a better life? Was it because she couldn't physically care for her? Is the woman even still alive?
The water starts to run colder, so Daisy steps out. There are an assortment of scented body butters, and she uses them all. In the cupboards under the sink, an abundance of face washes and serums and lotions and anything a girl could dream of putting on her face, so Daisy uses all of those too. She feels refreshed when she finally crawls under the sheets of this enormous bed, rubbing her freshly-shaven legs against the cotton sheets just because she can. The lamp beside her bed illuminates the gossip magazine she picked up at the airport and was too anxious to read, and it's only when she folds it up and lies down in bed she realises two things.
She hasn't slept in a room alone since she left Brooklyn. There have been nights where she was so high or so depressed she didn't realise the magnitude of sleeping in complete silence, no other bodies breathing for you to use as white noise. She folds herself a little smaller in the bed, pulls the sheets up to her chin.
The second thing she realises is that, now that the fireplace is empty and the only illumination comes from the bright reading lamp beside her... she forgot her nightlight. And she absolutely can't sleep in the dark. She'll spend all night having panic attacks instead of sleeping.
Fuck.
What do I do what do I do what do I do what do I do what do I do what do I do --- Daisy finds herself at the bedroom door, an old jersey her pyjamas with her hand on the door handle. Where she's going, she doesn't know. Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here.
She swings the door open, and a fist collides with her face. "What the fuck?" she cries, cradling the front of her head and stumbling backwards.
"Oh my God, what the fuck," a voice hisses, stepping forward to steady her. "I was knocking, you opened the door right when I was going to knock!"
"You didn't have to punch me in the fucking face!" she cries, staring at the boy before her. "Dick move, Two."
Kevin huffs. "I didn't punch you in the face on purpose. I came up to see if you were okay!"
"I was fine before you punched me in the fucking face!"
"Jesus," he mutters. She crosses the room to sit on her bed, and he lingers in the doorway. "What were you coming out for?"
"I couldn't sleep," she replies. "I forgot my light and it's too quiet in here."
He hums. "Me too. I've never slept in a room by myself in my whole life. I don't know how to... exist, on my own."
"Cult," Daisy says. There's a moment of silence, both analysing the other. He's wearing a thin t-shirt and loose sweatpants, hair slightly damp from the shower and arms folded over his chest. It makes his arms look incredible, Daisy notes to herself. "Fuck," she mutters, then says to him, "You can sleep in here if you want. I won't be able to sleep by myself, and I guess you won't either, because you were raised in a--"
"Cult, got it," Kevin replies shortly. He looks down at the floor, then grabs a throw blanket from the end of the bed.
"What are you doing?"
"Sleeping on the floor?" he suggests, gesturing at the rug near the end of the bed. "I don't want it to be weird."
Daisy could punch him right back in the face. "You're actually the dumbest fucking person alive, Kevin. We've literally had sex so many times, I think we can share a bed."
"I don't want to make things--"
"Grow up," she whines, reaching out to tug his wrist towards the bed. "This is fucking, like, a California king bed. We can both fit just fine."
So this is how they end up, three nights before Christmas, lying on opposite sides of a bed in Randy Boyd's attic. It's easy to fall asleep with another weight on the mattress and another set of lungs breathing deeply beside you, and it's even easier to drift towards the only other heat source in the room on a winter night.
The next morning Kevin's alarm goes off before dawn, and he finds himself wrapped tightly around Daisy Cohen's body, their limbs a tangled mess. For a moment he lets himself enjoy it, presses his face into the back of her hair and inhales deeply. He doesn't want to leave. He never ever ever wants to leave this room, leave this bed. It's where he belongs.
But he pulls himself away all the same, making slow, delicate movements as not to disturb her. When she eventually rolls over and notices, she whimpers, "No... so cold..."
"Do you want everyone to know I was up here?" he whispers back at her. She cracks an eye open, glossy black hair a cobweb over her face. "Do you want them to make fun of us literally for ever?"
She frowns, scoots over to lie in the mattress dip he previously occupied. "Cold is fine," she replies, then falls back to sleep.
He watches her for another moment, lets himself bask in the vision before him, before stomping his feet back into his slippers and gently closing the bedroom door behind him.
When his footsteps have disappeared down the stairs and deep into the house, Daisy rolls over and presses her face into the mattress, unable to hide the wide smile that spreads warmth through her entire soul.
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raise your hand if you always start writing a new chapter with the intention of it being a couple thousand words long, and it always ends up over 5.5k. just me?? anyway enjoy the cute fluff, the next few chapters very much make up for the trauma i've put you guys through so ENJOY IT WHILE IT LASTS BITCHES BECAUSE IT WILL END SOON ENOUGH. lots of important exposition in this chapter too, let me know what u think is gonna go down in new york and how much trauma i'm going to resurface for daisy while she's there >:)
p.s. i format these chapters so they look best on mobile because that's how i mostly consume content on here, but if you guys are mostly web then i'm happy to change my formatting of it will be easier to read!! lmk xo
p.p.s. these photos hoyeon posted on insta are so daisy-just-brought-some-new-activewear-and-kevin-thinks-shes-sexy-so-he-takes-photos-of-her-for-when-she's-not-there-core hello im clo and im obsessed with my two fictional loves