[SKINS] Hamlet, literature and other kind of words
Title: Hamlet, literature and other kind of words
Characters/Pairings: Naomi, Freddie. Effy/Freddie.
Rating: PG
Warnings: drug use
Summary: Freddie needs some advice and Naomi's home.
Spoilers: up to 3x06.
Disclaimer: don't own Skins, though it would be nice to.
Author's note: my first fic entirely in English (I'm Spanish), so any criticism is really appreciated! :D
x-posted to
skinsfic
The ringing of her mobile phone wakes her up. The hangover is a ghastly ghost gliding slowly over her, but taking her body completely. (She shouldn't have taken that last vodka with lime last night). Anyway, she finds it quite irritating when someone wakes her up, specially wanting to talk about serious stuff. That's what Freddie sounds like to her, at least, "serious stuff". Well, actually, he says something that sounds like:
"Hey, Naomi, uhm. I was wondering if... y'know, I need some help with my Literature essay and..."
She blinks, still half asleep, then her brain starts working when she detects that hint of hidden intention in his voice.
"Yeah, sure. You can come round whenever you want."
He turns up on her doormat half an hour later. He must be really desperate, she thinks as she lets him in. He sits down on the bedroom's floor, right by the bed. Naomi starts pulling a couple of books out of some shelf, when Freddie, who had been silent up until that point, starts his rambling.
"Do you remember what you said that day, in class, about Hamlet?" he asks. Naomi arches an eyebrow.
"Yeah, I do."
"Well, you were looking at me, weren't you? And, I thought, you know. Maybe I am similar to Hamlet or something." He stammers. He twists his hands and lets out a sigh. "Okay, fucking hell. I am here for advice. You seemed pretty... y'know. Confident about what you were saying. Like you really knew."
A laugh slips out of Naomi's lips by mistake. It is really funny that a guy that's so screwed and fucked up comes to her saying she's, what? Confident? Shit, no.
"Okay, Freds" she stops him and heads towards him, sitting by his side on the floor. "It is much simpler than what you imagine. She loves you, you know that?"
"Yeah. No. I don't know. Fuck, she is supposed to show some emotion if she's in love, isn't she?" He scratches the back of his head, confused. Naomi can see a sparkle of despair in his eyes. Poor boy. "Do you mind if I...?"
He slides two fingers into one of his jeans' pockets and pulls out some spliff. She sort of appreciates it, if they're going to talk about serious shit, let it be entertaining. Or at least not so depressing.
"No, sure."
"Well, as I was saying, she is supposed to show some fucking emotion. And then she goes telling me that she doesn't want to get her heart broken or anything and..."
Freddie goes on and on all afternoon. They start talking about Effy, followed by Cook and JJ and then some Emily. The Emily part is difficult and the weed has already wreaked havoc by then, so she can't help but say the truth. She tells him about the kissing and about the lake-ing. She omits the part of the Leaving-Emily-alone-the-next-day, just not to feel that bad.
Freddie listens to her carefully, giving his opinion when he feels like it, taking great drags of the spliff that burns between his fingers. He passes it over, though. He is not one of these selfish spliff-smokers that hoard the drug for themselves. He is a good guy, she thinks.
When they sort of finish, their limbs are numb. Freddie gets up and helps her up too. They both stagger because of the impulse, but they make the effort to stand on their feet. Naomi leads him to the door.
"Well, it was a real pleasure," Freddie puts his hat on again and smiles at her. She smiles back.
"You better do something and stop being a fucking little twat," she says. She doesn't think it much, but she leans forward and clutters his hair, feeling a little bit like his older sister. (She used to want to have a little brother or sister. Then she realized being alone totally suited her).
"I'll try," he answers as he starts walking away.
She stays a brief moment on the hinge of the door, thinking about Freds and how lost he is. Then, she closes the door and heads back to her room.
There's a Literature essay to be done.
Characters/Pairings: Naomi, Freddie. Effy/Freddie.
Rating: PG
Warnings: drug use
Summary: Freddie needs some advice and Naomi's home.
Spoilers: up to 3x06.
Disclaimer: don't own Skins, though it would be nice to.
Author's note: my first fic entirely in English (I'm Spanish), so any criticism is really appreciated! :D
x-posted to
skinsfic
The ringing of her mobile phone wakes her up. The hangover is a ghastly ghost gliding slowly over her, but taking her body completely. (She shouldn't have taken that last vodka with lime last night). Anyway, she finds it quite irritating when someone wakes her up, specially wanting to talk about serious stuff. That's what Freddie sounds like to her, at least, "serious stuff". Well, actually, he says something that sounds like:
"Hey, Naomi, uhm. I was wondering if... y'know, I need some help with my Literature essay and..."
She blinks, still half asleep, then her brain starts working when she detects that hint of hidden intention in his voice.
"Yeah, sure. You can come round whenever you want."
He turns up on her doormat half an hour later. He must be really desperate, she thinks as she lets him in. He sits down on the bedroom's floor, right by the bed. Naomi starts pulling a couple of books out of some shelf, when Freddie, who had been silent up until that point, starts his rambling.
"Do you remember what you said that day, in class, about Hamlet?" he asks. Naomi arches an eyebrow.
"Yeah, I do."
"Well, you were looking at me, weren't you? And, I thought, you know. Maybe I am similar to Hamlet or something." He stammers. He twists his hands and lets out a sigh. "Okay, fucking hell. I am here for advice. You seemed pretty... y'know. Confident about what you were saying. Like you really knew."
A laugh slips out of Naomi's lips by mistake. It is really funny that a guy that's so screwed and fucked up comes to her saying she's, what? Confident? Shit, no.
"Okay, Freds" she stops him and heads towards him, sitting by his side on the floor. "It is much simpler than what you imagine. She loves you, you know that?"
"Yeah. No. I don't know. Fuck, she is supposed to show some emotion if she's in love, isn't she?" He scratches the back of his head, confused. Naomi can see a sparkle of despair in his eyes. Poor boy. "Do you mind if I...?"
He slides two fingers into one of his jeans' pockets and pulls out some spliff. She sort of appreciates it, if they're going to talk about serious shit, let it be entertaining. Or at least not so depressing.
"No, sure."
"Well, as I was saying, she is supposed to show some fucking emotion. And then she goes telling me that she doesn't want to get her heart broken or anything and..."
Freddie goes on and on all afternoon. They start talking about Effy, followed by Cook and JJ and then some Emily. The Emily part is difficult and the weed has already wreaked havoc by then, so she can't help but say the truth. She tells him about the kissing and about the lake-ing. She omits the part of the Leaving-Emily-alone-the-next-day, just not to feel that bad.
Freddie listens to her carefully, giving his opinion when he feels like it, taking great drags of the spliff that burns between his fingers. He passes it over, though. He is not one of these selfish spliff-smokers that hoard the drug for themselves. He is a good guy, she thinks.
When they sort of finish, their limbs are numb. Freddie gets up and helps her up too. They both stagger because of the impulse, but they make the effort to stand on their feet. Naomi leads him to the door.
"Well, it was a real pleasure," Freddie puts his hat on again and smiles at her. She smiles back.
"You better do something and stop being a fucking little twat," she says. She doesn't think it much, but she leans forward and clutters his hair, feeling a little bit like his older sister. (She used to want to have a little brother or sister. Then she realized being alone totally suited her).
"I'll try," he answers as he starts walking away.
She stays a brief moment on the hinge of the door, thinking about Freds and how lost he is. Then, she closes the door and heads back to her room.
There's a Literature essay to be done.