Close (PG)
Title: Close
Author: mandasauraus
Rating: PG
Word count: 1241
Warnings: It's a HW assignment? Lol
Genre: HOMEWORK~
Summary: You're all close- duh, there's four of you crammed into the backseat of a Toyota Camry, for goodness sake -but it's more than that.
Notes: The assignment was to describe a scene that we want ourselves to remember in fifty years. We had to write it like the "you" is ourself in fifty years and the "I" is ourselves now, writing it. (I'll probably end up making several versions of this, because I'm not sure if he wants the scene to be in past tense, describe the scene where it's me and not the future me... It's all so very confusing, lol.) Long notes are long.
“O.M.G.” by Usher was playing over the radio for the eighth time that day. Ever since he picked you guys up from the lake behind the school that morning, it had played once every hour, on the hour. At first, it was fun- the six of you screamed it out the windows of the car at random passersby, only to duck down and snicker at the scandalized looks on their faces as you got caught at another stoplight. You realized that you always ended up stopped at a traffic light after something inappropriate was just shouted out the window.
At the time I’m talking about, however, the song is grossly out of place and there were no pedestrians to yell at then.
It was about three o’clock in the afternoon, the Friday before Easter break. It was humid that day, the impending threat of rain a constant above your heads since eight o’clock. Four of you are crammed into the backseat while George and Nichole take up the driver and passenger seats. All four windows are rolled down to let the air in, whipping your hair around haphazardly. The loose flap of the window jam is stuttering in the breeze, creating an insistent clackity-clackity-clack sound. There are Honey Bun wrappers scattered around the floor along with crumpled Burger King bags and fistfuls of assorted change.
Nichole sighs, pulling her sunglasses over her eyes and shifting in her seat, settling down for a nap. Pretty much all of you feel like a nap at this point; even George who was now slouched in his seat, hands at eight and five on the steering wheel instead of ten and two, like they almost always are. He’s nodding his head to the music, as much as one can nod to “baby, lemme love you down--”
The sky is relatively cloudless before you and the sun is beating a warm, tickling rhythm against the back of your neck. The clouds have been left behind in Flushing, along with half of the twenty you swore you’d make last the weekend and a good portion of your quarters on those stupid arcade games that George basically begged you to play. It’s cooler now than it was before, the perfect weather for that nap you’ve been thinking about-
But now Adam’s singing in your ear and you can hear the smile in his voice as he goes “shawty got a booty like- pow, pow, pow…”
You snort.
The four of you are sitting in a row, both Shawn and Rosie pressed firmly to the door on either side of them as you and Adam take up the middle. At the beginning you had been sitting in Rosie’s lap, but there was the whole issue of George’s shocks being on the fritz, so your head kept banging up against the hood of the car, and Rosie swore that your butt was all bone and that her legs were falling asleep and you’re pretty sure that your foot was being twisted into a very unappetizing pretzel, so you’d rather be squashed between them both than attached to the ceiling.
At Adam’s left, Shawn’s dozing off against the door, phone held reverently in her lap. Her head phones are slipping out of her ears, but she doesn’t seem to notice, so they just keep slipping until a particularly vicious bump dislodges them from her ears. Adam spares a glance at her before going back to studying his hands.
To your right, Rosie’s gazing out the window. Her hair is in your face, but you don’t mind; in fact, you’re used to it, because close quarters is all you’ll ever get when you’re stuck in George’s Car. (If you’re ever alone in the backseat you feel horribly alone and out of place, so you usually end up scrambling to the passenger seat and, if someone’s already in it, you take permanent residence at the center console, stretching the center seat belt impossibly far.) She looks sleepy and she glances at her phone every now and then, tilting it away from you and you know immediately who she’s texting.
You decide to call her out on it later, because you’re entirely too lazy to open your mouth right now.
Your thighs are pressed together and your arms are impossibly tangled- your right and her left -but you don’t mind. It’s better than pins-and-needles in your legs.
Adam’s taking up most of the seat. His legs are spread wide and your legs are touching just as much as yours and Rosie’s. His fitted is on the right way for once, brim straight and low over his brown face. He’s still humming along with the radio, but that song has long since changed. “You Belong With Me” by Taylor Swift is playing now and you almost laugh bitterly at how uncomfortably appropriate the song is at the very moment. Your arm is resting limply over his leg beside his own and you see his fingers twitch toward yours. Your own arm is going numb trying to keep your hand out of his.
“You’re taking up so much freakin’ room.” You mutter into his shoulder for lack of anything else to fill the silence. He grunts, but starts to shift around in his seat. Shawn snuffles at the disturbance but doesn’t stir and Rosie makes a small noise of discontent as Adam whacks her in the back of the head with his arm as he throws it over your shoulder.
After a moment, he’s angled towards you; your legs are swung over his and he’s resting his head on yours. Your hands are touching now, but you still don’t make a move toward it. His skin’s soft.
“Happy?” He grumbles, but you can still hear the pleasant mirth in his voice, soft and sleepy as his breath ghosts over your forehead.
All you do is nod and bury your head into the crook of his arm. He continues to hum along with the song; though it’s warm, the weight of his arm pressed against the back of your neck is reassuring and it tickles in a way the sun couldn’t.
You’ve just realized that he hasn’t looked at his phone in a while, though you know it’s been vibrating in his lap for a little while now. He spares it a cursory glance every time before he settles back into the cradle of your hair, flicking Rosie in the ear with his hand.
“-- thinking’ to myself ‘hey, isn’t this easy?’”
You want to remember this forever, but you think you probably won’t. As you twist your hand into the hem of his shirt, George changes lanes; you pray that you remember anyhow.
I’ve been thinking about this moment for a while. It happened in maybe the space of ten minutes, but it’s still something extra special that I hope you’ll be able to remember for a long time to come, self. It isn’t something great and it’s not particularly powerful by any standards, but it’s something pure and gorgeous that you can’t ever hope to replicate.
I haven’t had a lot of moments like this- sleepy, quiet, comfortable, pure -and I’m sure that you haven’t experienced that many either, self. So, I do hope that you remember this; you deserve something to prove that there was a time that he cared enough to hold you close and mean it when he said he missed you.
Author: mandasauraus
Rating: PG
Word count: 1241
Warnings: It's a HW assignment? Lol
Genre: HOMEWORK~
Summary: You're all close- duh, there's four of you crammed into the backseat of a Toyota Camry, for goodness sake -but it's more than that.
Notes: The assignment was to describe a scene that we want ourselves to remember in fifty years. We had to write it like the "you" is ourself in fifty years and the "I" is ourselves now, writing it. (I'll probably end up making several versions of this, because I'm not sure if he wants the scene to be in past tense, describe the scene where it's me and not the future me... It's all so very confusing, lol.) Long notes are long.
“O.M.G.” by Usher was playing over the radio for the eighth time that day. Ever since he picked you guys up from the lake behind the school that morning, it had played once every hour, on the hour. At first, it was fun- the six of you screamed it out the windows of the car at random passersby, only to duck down and snicker at the scandalized looks on their faces as you got caught at another stoplight. You realized that you always ended up stopped at a traffic light after something inappropriate was just shouted out the window.
At the time I’m talking about, however, the song is grossly out of place and there were no pedestrians to yell at then.
It was about three o’clock in the afternoon, the Friday before Easter break. It was humid that day, the impending threat of rain a constant above your heads since eight o’clock. Four of you are crammed into the backseat while George and Nichole take up the driver and passenger seats. All four windows are rolled down to let the air in, whipping your hair around haphazardly. The loose flap of the window jam is stuttering in the breeze, creating an insistent clackity-clackity-clack sound. There are Honey Bun wrappers scattered around the floor along with crumpled Burger King bags and fistfuls of assorted change.
Nichole sighs, pulling her sunglasses over her eyes and shifting in her seat, settling down for a nap. Pretty much all of you feel like a nap at this point; even George who was now slouched in his seat, hands at eight and five on the steering wheel instead of ten and two, like they almost always are. He’s nodding his head to the music, as much as one can nod to “baby, lemme love you down--”
The sky is relatively cloudless before you and the sun is beating a warm, tickling rhythm against the back of your neck. The clouds have been left behind in Flushing, along with half of the twenty you swore you’d make last the weekend and a good portion of your quarters on those stupid arcade games that George basically begged you to play. It’s cooler now than it was before, the perfect weather for that nap you’ve been thinking about-
But now Adam’s singing in your ear and you can hear the smile in his voice as he goes “shawty got a booty like- pow, pow, pow…”
You snort.
The four of you are sitting in a row, both Shawn and Rosie pressed firmly to the door on either side of them as you and Adam take up the middle. At the beginning you had been sitting in Rosie’s lap, but there was the whole issue of George’s shocks being on the fritz, so your head kept banging up against the hood of the car, and Rosie swore that your butt was all bone and that her legs were falling asleep and you’re pretty sure that your foot was being twisted into a very unappetizing pretzel, so you’d rather be squashed between them both than attached to the ceiling.
At Adam’s left, Shawn’s dozing off against the door, phone held reverently in her lap. Her head phones are slipping out of her ears, but she doesn’t seem to notice, so they just keep slipping until a particularly vicious bump dislodges them from her ears. Adam spares a glance at her before going back to studying his hands.
To your right, Rosie’s gazing out the window. Her hair is in your face, but you don’t mind; in fact, you’re used to it, because close quarters is all you’ll ever get when you’re stuck in George’s Car. (If you’re ever alone in the backseat you feel horribly alone and out of place, so you usually end up scrambling to the passenger seat and, if someone’s already in it, you take permanent residence at the center console, stretching the center seat belt impossibly far.) She looks sleepy and she glances at her phone every now and then, tilting it away from you and you know immediately who she’s texting.
You decide to call her out on it later, because you’re entirely too lazy to open your mouth right now.
Your thighs are pressed together and your arms are impossibly tangled- your right and her left -but you don’t mind. It’s better than pins-and-needles in your legs.
Adam’s taking up most of the seat. His legs are spread wide and your legs are touching just as much as yours and Rosie’s. His fitted is on the right way for once, brim straight and low over his brown face. He’s still humming along with the radio, but that song has long since changed. “You Belong With Me” by Taylor Swift is playing now and you almost laugh bitterly at how uncomfortably appropriate the song is at the very moment. Your arm is resting limply over his leg beside his own and you see his fingers twitch toward yours. Your own arm is going numb trying to keep your hand out of his.
“You’re taking up so much freakin’ room.” You mutter into his shoulder for lack of anything else to fill the silence. He grunts, but starts to shift around in his seat. Shawn snuffles at the disturbance but doesn’t stir and Rosie makes a small noise of discontent as Adam whacks her in the back of the head with his arm as he throws it over your shoulder.
After a moment, he’s angled towards you; your legs are swung over his and he’s resting his head on yours. Your hands are touching now, but you still don’t make a move toward it. His skin’s soft.
“Happy?” He grumbles, but you can still hear the pleasant mirth in his voice, soft and sleepy as his breath ghosts over your forehead.
All you do is nod and bury your head into the crook of his arm. He continues to hum along with the song; though it’s warm, the weight of his arm pressed against the back of your neck is reassuring and it tickles in a way the sun couldn’t.
You’ve just realized that he hasn’t looked at his phone in a while, though you know it’s been vibrating in his lap for a little while now. He spares it a cursory glance every time before he settles back into the cradle of your hair, flicking Rosie in the ear with his hand.
“-- thinking’ to myself ‘hey, isn’t this easy?’”
You want to remember this forever, but you think you probably won’t. As you twist your hand into the hem of his shirt, George changes lanes; you pray that you remember anyhow.
I’ve been thinking about this moment for a while. It happened in maybe the space of ten minutes, but it’s still something extra special that I hope you’ll be able to remember for a long time to come, self. It isn’t something great and it’s not particularly powerful by any standards, but it’s something pure and gorgeous that you can’t ever hope to replicate.
I haven’t had a lot of moments like this- sleepy, quiet, comfortable, pure -and I’m sure that you haven’t experienced that many either, self. So, I do hope that you remember this; you deserve something to prove that there was a time that he cared enough to hold you close and mean it when he said he missed you.