Spring Cleaning
Title: Spring Cleaning
Rating: G
Pairing: Peter/Ivy
Summary: Peter does some spring cleaning. Ivy channels Virginia Woolf
Music: Ever After/In the Hallway
Peter stripped the bed and replaced it with fresh sheets. As he worked, the rain beat a steady drumming against the roof. Three days of continuous rain and St. Cecilia’s students were feeling antsy. It was unfortunate that the rains came immediately after mid-terms, when all of them were impatient to get out and shake off the stress of studying and exams. As it is, none of them had been able to leave the campus for more than a week.
“Laundry day is Friday. It's only Tuesday.” It was a flirty voice, the voice of a girl who was not at all worried at being caught in the boys' wing.
Peter looked up in alarm and saw Ivy peering in from the open door. She was in a wine colored silk dress, cut low in front. She looked like a tulip in bloom. In contrast, Peter was disheveled, sweaty, tired and dusty. He pushed his hair back and stumbled one step backwards. Ivy took that as an invitation to come in.
She crossed the threshold. Her hair was shiny and newly washed and dried. She smelled faintly of vanilla. She reminded him of Lucas’s mother’s kitchen. Unlike his mother, whose work didn’t allow her time to cook, Lucas’s mother stayed at home and baked. Peter had been to Lucas’s home once, a huge white house in the suburbs surrounded by white picket fences. Her kitchen was sunny and spacious, and the island counter was streaked with flour. Peter spent the visit cuddling Lucas’s Jack Russell terrier and playing with Lucas's baby sister and wondering how such a traditional home ended up producing someone as trippy as Lucas.
Peter willed himself from stealing a glance at the other bed in the narrow dorm room. It was no use. It would be clear to anyone that those sheets needed changing too.
"Spring cleaning?" she asked.
He shrugged, “What else can you do?”
“I can think of a lot of things we can do,” she said.
Peter picked up one of the blankets from the floor but Ivy was quick. She managed to find two of the corners and Peter had no choice but to take up the other two.
“Can you?” Peter asked.
Ivy stepped up to him, bringing the corners up to Peter. Their hands met briefly before Peter took the blanket ends from her and folded them together. Ivy was only a few feet away from him. and her eyes bore straight into his. He was afraid of what she would read there.
“No, not really.” She shook her head and looked away. She looked around the dorm room and took in the two single beds, the twin study tables with matching chairs and bookcases, Jason's laptop and Peter's laptop lying open beside each other, the boxes all over the room, the suitcase outside of the closet. She wanted to open the closets and rifle through the clothes, to feel the silk and cotton shirts in her hand, to breathe in them deeply. She had to bite her lip to keep herself from acting on the impulse. Jason's side of the room was messy, with discarded jeans and socks on the floor and shoes kicked off where they lay. Peter's side was more barren and orderly, with everything put away in their place. She could hardly tell that Peter lived there. It seemed the whole room was filled with Jason's possessions.
Peter noticed her studying the room. “Jason’s playing basketball in the gym with Zach, i think,” he stammered, and backed away from Ivy before she could offer any more help. There was no space in the small room and he bumped against Jason’s desk before he could take two steps back. He tightened his grip on the blanket, which was bunched up in his hands, then put it down.
Ivy wondered if she should tell Peter that he had dumped the blanket in Jason’s trashcan but decided against it. Instead, she kicked off her shoes and lay down on the freshly made bed and waited to see if Peter would also make up the other bed. Everything smelled damp and wet. Damn this rain, she thought.
Peter felt that the furniture had suddenly grown large or the room grown too small for the two of them. He wanted to get out of the room and get some air, even if it meant walking around the muddy grounds that was St. Cecilia’s excuse for a garden. However, that meant walking past Ivy to get to the door. That meant leaving Ivy alone inside the room. That meant coming back later and not knowing what he would find.
He cleared his throat. “Ivy, why are you here?”
“Nadia’s playing her cello in our room again. I needed to get away from her,” she replied.
“I know what you mean. There's so little space here,” Peter said. He itched to strip the other bed but he didn’t want Ivy to be there to see him do it. Never had housework made him feel so exposed.
“It’s worse with this rain. We can’t go anywhere. There’s nowhere to go.” Ivy said.
“No, there isn’t,” Peter agreed. “But I can’t stay here.” He looked at Ivy to see how she would react to what he said, but she was looking up the ceiling.
“It’s not like we can go off-campus, though,” Ivy replied.
"We can, if we wanted to," Peter said. He tried to remember how many days were left before he could be free of St. Cecilia's.
“Oh, to have a room of one's own," Ivy said. "But at least you’re roomies with Jason. He’s never here. You should try rooming with Nadia. She never leaves the room.”
Ivy looked around and wondered how Jason and Peter’s room felt so much bigger than hers, even though it was also a two-person dorm room. But Nadia took up so much space, what with her clothes and her cello. And she was always there. Every time Ivy wanted to be alone in her room, she would find Nadia lying in wait for her, sharpening her words like knives. It exhausted her, having to feel like she had to defend herself against Nadia all the time. She just wanted to breathe. Or be ignored. Like Peter was doing to her right now. He had turned away and was busy wiping away the dust from the suitcase. Dust had a way of getting into things rarely used, Ivy thought, and wondered when was the last time she had a chance to dust in her own room. Never was the answer, because Nadia was never not there. We’re living in filth because of her, she thought.
She turned away from him and pressed her nose against the clean smelling pillows. She wondered when was the last time her roommate Nadia changed her sheets. She could be such a slob sometimes, Ivy thought, and wondered what it would be like to have Peter as her roommate. Jason, she corrected herself, you meant Jason.
Peter finished his dusting and wondered what he could do next. His clothes were still hanging neatly in the closet, his toiletries were still lined up neatly on the bathroom counter. His books were supposed to be arranged alphabetically on the narrow ledge hanging over his table but a quick glance revealed that Jason had been cannibalizing his shelves again. Missing was his copy of Nick Hornby’s About a Boy and Connie Willis’ Impossible Things. His battered copy of Romeo and Juliet was on the floor, half-obscured by a pair of Jason’s socks. Never mind, he thought, he knew all the lines anyway.
“I know this picture. It was taken during my birthday. I didn’t know Jason had a copy. I don’t even have one,” said Ivy. She was now lying on her side and looking at Jason’s photo wall, where Jason had stuck various photos against the wall with blue tack. She was tracing the outlines of a photo where Jason was kissing her, the birthday girl. Matt could be seen on one side, hugging that ridiculous piñata. Peter was also in the shot, with a ridiculous happy grin pasted on his face.
“I think you should take it,” said Peter.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t!” Ivy said, but her finger continued to trace Jason’s profile, lingering long on his lips. “What would he say when he comes back and sees it gone?”
“I don’t think he’ll even notice,” Peter replied. He sat down heavily beside Ivy on the freshly made bed and looked closely at the photo wall. Pinned to it were pictures of Jason with his family, group shots of the basketball club, Jason and Peter at a party, Jason messing around with Zach and Lucas, Jason with his arms around Peter. The wall represented three years of Jason’s life at St. Cecilia’s. “That’s just one more thing to clean up around here,” Peter said aloud, and wondered how he could ever begin.
Rating: G
Pairing: Peter/Ivy
Summary: Peter does some spring cleaning. Ivy channels Virginia Woolf
Music: Ever After/In the Hallway
Peter stripped the bed and replaced it with fresh sheets. As he worked, the rain beat a steady drumming against the roof. Three days of continuous rain and St. Cecilia’s students were feeling antsy. It was unfortunate that the rains came immediately after mid-terms, when all of them were impatient to get out and shake off the stress of studying and exams. As it is, none of them had been able to leave the campus for more than a week.
“Laundry day is Friday. It's only Tuesday.” It was a flirty voice, the voice of a girl who was not at all worried at being caught in the boys' wing.
Peter looked up in alarm and saw Ivy peering in from the open door. She was in a wine colored silk dress, cut low in front. She looked like a tulip in bloom. In contrast, Peter was disheveled, sweaty, tired and dusty. He pushed his hair back and stumbled one step backwards. Ivy took that as an invitation to come in.
She crossed the threshold. Her hair was shiny and newly washed and dried. She smelled faintly of vanilla. She reminded him of Lucas’s mother’s kitchen. Unlike his mother, whose work didn’t allow her time to cook, Lucas’s mother stayed at home and baked. Peter had been to Lucas’s home once, a huge white house in the suburbs surrounded by white picket fences. Her kitchen was sunny and spacious, and the island counter was streaked with flour. Peter spent the visit cuddling Lucas’s Jack Russell terrier and playing with Lucas's baby sister and wondering how such a traditional home ended up producing someone as trippy as Lucas.
Peter willed himself from stealing a glance at the other bed in the narrow dorm room. It was no use. It would be clear to anyone that those sheets needed changing too.
"Spring cleaning?" she asked.
He shrugged, “What else can you do?”
“I can think of a lot of things we can do,” she said.
Peter picked up one of the blankets from the floor but Ivy was quick. She managed to find two of the corners and Peter had no choice but to take up the other two.
“Can you?” Peter asked.
Ivy stepped up to him, bringing the corners up to Peter. Their hands met briefly before Peter took the blanket ends from her and folded them together. Ivy was only a few feet away from him. and her eyes bore straight into his. He was afraid of what she would read there.
“No, not really.” She shook her head and looked away. She looked around the dorm room and took in the two single beds, the twin study tables with matching chairs and bookcases, Jason's laptop and Peter's laptop lying open beside each other, the boxes all over the room, the suitcase outside of the closet. She wanted to open the closets and rifle through the clothes, to feel the silk and cotton shirts in her hand, to breathe in them deeply. She had to bite her lip to keep herself from acting on the impulse. Jason's side of the room was messy, with discarded jeans and socks on the floor and shoes kicked off where they lay. Peter's side was more barren and orderly, with everything put away in their place. She could hardly tell that Peter lived there. It seemed the whole room was filled with Jason's possessions.
Peter noticed her studying the room. “Jason’s playing basketball in the gym with Zach, i think,” he stammered, and backed away from Ivy before she could offer any more help. There was no space in the small room and he bumped against Jason’s desk before he could take two steps back. He tightened his grip on the blanket, which was bunched up in his hands, then put it down.
Ivy wondered if she should tell Peter that he had dumped the blanket in Jason’s trashcan but decided against it. Instead, she kicked off her shoes and lay down on the freshly made bed and waited to see if Peter would also make up the other bed. Everything smelled damp and wet. Damn this rain, she thought.
Peter felt that the furniture had suddenly grown large or the room grown too small for the two of them. He wanted to get out of the room and get some air, even if it meant walking around the muddy grounds that was St. Cecilia’s excuse for a garden. However, that meant walking past Ivy to get to the door. That meant leaving Ivy alone inside the room. That meant coming back later and not knowing what he would find.
He cleared his throat. “Ivy, why are you here?”
“Nadia’s playing her cello in our room again. I needed to get away from her,” she replied.
“I know what you mean. There's so little space here,” Peter said. He itched to strip the other bed but he didn’t want Ivy to be there to see him do it. Never had housework made him feel so exposed.
“It’s worse with this rain. We can’t go anywhere. There’s nowhere to go.” Ivy said.
“No, there isn’t,” Peter agreed. “But I can’t stay here.” He looked at Ivy to see how she would react to what he said, but she was looking up the ceiling.
“It’s not like we can go off-campus, though,” Ivy replied.
"We can, if we wanted to," Peter said. He tried to remember how many days were left before he could be free of St. Cecilia's.
“Oh, to have a room of one's own," Ivy said. "But at least you’re roomies with Jason. He’s never here. You should try rooming with Nadia. She never leaves the room.”
Ivy looked around and wondered how Jason and Peter’s room felt so much bigger than hers, even though it was also a two-person dorm room. But Nadia took up so much space, what with her clothes and her cello. And she was always there. Every time Ivy wanted to be alone in her room, she would find Nadia lying in wait for her, sharpening her words like knives. It exhausted her, having to feel like she had to defend herself against Nadia all the time. She just wanted to breathe. Or be ignored. Like Peter was doing to her right now. He had turned away and was busy wiping away the dust from the suitcase. Dust had a way of getting into things rarely used, Ivy thought, and wondered when was the last time she had a chance to dust in her own room. Never was the answer, because Nadia was never not there. We’re living in filth because of her, she thought.
She turned away from him and pressed her nose against the clean smelling pillows. She wondered when was the last time her roommate Nadia changed her sheets. She could be such a slob sometimes, Ivy thought, and wondered what it would be like to have Peter as her roommate. Jason, she corrected herself, you meant Jason.
Peter finished his dusting and wondered what he could do next. His clothes were still hanging neatly in the closet, his toiletries were still lined up neatly on the bathroom counter. His books were supposed to be arranged alphabetically on the narrow ledge hanging over his table but a quick glance revealed that Jason had been cannibalizing his shelves again. Missing was his copy of Nick Hornby’s About a Boy and Connie Willis’ Impossible Things. His battered copy of Romeo and Juliet was on the floor, half-obscured by a pair of Jason’s socks. Never mind, he thought, he knew all the lines anyway.
“I know this picture. It was taken during my birthday. I didn’t know Jason had a copy. I don’t even have one,” said Ivy. She was now lying on her side and looking at Jason’s photo wall, where Jason had stuck various photos against the wall with blue tack. She was tracing the outlines of a photo where Jason was kissing her, the birthday girl. Matt could be seen on one side, hugging that ridiculous piñata. Peter was also in the shot, with a ridiculous happy grin pasted on his face.
“I think you should take it,” said Peter.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t!” Ivy said, but her finger continued to trace Jason’s profile, lingering long on his lips. “What would he say when he comes back and sees it gone?”
“I don’t think he’ll even notice,” Peter replied. He sat down heavily beside Ivy on the freshly made bed and looked closely at the photo wall. Pinned to it were pictures of Jason with his family, group shots of the basketball club, Jason and Peter at a party, Jason messing around with Zach and Lucas, Jason with his arms around Peter. The wall represented three years of Jason’s life at St. Cecilia’s. “That’s just one more thing to clean up around here,” Peter said aloud, and wondered how he could ever begin.