not an astronaut

This is based off a personal experience. Tw for fat-shaming, homophobia, and general assholery from an asshole kid.

The bell rings cheerfully as Bitty steps through the doorway. This was one of his favorite places when he was younger. The eclectic curios, every shape and size and color, packing the shelves were an endless source of fascination for young Eric Bittle, and the owners were friends of the family, so they knew Bitty well and didn’t freak out when he picked up a ceramic pepper shaker or glass figurine and held it in his hands like an ancient treasure.

He walks through the store with that same sense of wonder now, 30 years later, and brushes his hand reverently over the shelves. They’re not looking for anything in particular today, but Bitty has told Jack about this place so many times, he simply couldn’t help but visit. Besides, you never know when you might find the perfect accent piece for the new home.

Chicken-shaped serving bowls, a porcelain figurine of a girl dancing, a set of silverware in a dusty wooden case. Bitty is spoiled for choice. As he browses, there’s a movement at the back of the store, and he catches a glimpse of someone hauling boxes through a door. He wonders who runs the place now. The sign still says Thompson’s Antiques, but he knows Mrs. Thompson passed and Mr. Thompson is getting on in years. Could it be that…

A prickle of fear runs through him.

The figure in the back drags the box to a nearby aisle and starts unpacking it, placing items on a low shelf. Bitty’s curiosity overflows. He moseys into that aisle and begins to speak, but the man raises his head before he can get a word out. He has to catch his breath all over again.

The man’s face goes slack. “I know you,” he blurts.

Eric puts his hands on his hips and gives a bright smile. “Davey Thompson. So you’re here after all!”

~~~

“Davey, this is Eric. Eric, this is our little boy Davey.” Mrs. Thompson’s smile is bright as she urges her son forward. “Why don’t you two go play at the playground while Mommy and her friend talk?”

The kid is tough-looking, with ruddy cheeks and a thick build. Eric reaches out his hand to lead Davey along the way. The minute they’re out of earshot, Davey snatches his hand back like he’s just touched a hot stove. Eric turns, surprised.

“You’re fat,” Davey says.

Eric blinks.

“You look dumb,” Davey adds on. And thus a quote-unquote “friendship” was born.

~~~

Davey stands up. He still has the same tinted cheeks and stocky build that Bitty remembers, but his face is sunken somehow, and he’s built up muscle where baby fat used to linger on his arms and shoulders. He’s got a tattoo on one arm – a Japanese koi fish, mid-splash.

“Nice ink,” Bitty comments.

And Davey Thompson, for possibly the first time in his life, smiles at Bitty. “Thanks.”

“The shop looks nice,” Bitty says, surveying the shelf like it’s his domain. “Hasn’t changed much since I used to come here.”

“You’re – you’re Eric Bittle, right?” Davey says, sounding almost scared of the answer. “From school?”

“From way before school,” Bitty responds. “You’re looking good.”

“Uh. Thanks. Same to you.” Davey looks uncertain, almost sheepish. There’s a moment of awkward silence. Davey tries to break it. “Um. So. What are you –”

He doesn’t seem to have the strength, or the will, to come up with the rest of the sentence. Bitty picks it up. “I’m a pastry chef,” he says. “I have a bakery and I cater, and I’ve put out three cookbooks. Can you imagine that?”

Davey looks kind of stunned. “Wow,” he says slowly. “Good for you. Where’s the bakery?”

“Up in New England. Providence, Rhode Island, to be exact.”

Davey snaps his fingers. “That’s right, you went to college up there. For hockey, wasn’t it?”

~~~

Bitty takes a swing at the ball. He misses, and it goes tumbling behind him into the net.

“Hah, you’re the worst goalie,” Davey says.

Somehow, Bitty finds the courage to say, “Let me play forward.” But his words are swallowed by the passing of a car on the cross street.

“What?”

“You be goalie.” Bitty gives the phrase all the menace he’s got in an eight-year-old body.

Davey laughs, a cruel laugh that sounds like ripping paper in Bitty’s ears. “Why? I can score on you all I want. That’s why we made you goalie.”

Resentment simmers like a low sun in Bitty’s gut. He wants to challenge Davey to play him on actual ice. He knows Davey can’t skate. As bad as he is, Bitty can’t possibly lose to him there. But the words stay stuck inside, plastered to the inside of his stomach, making him feel sick.

“Worst goalie ever,” Kevin chimes in.

“The worst, the wooooorst,” all four of them sing to him.

Bitty crouches low and is glad they can’t see much through the oversized goalie mask. Someday, he thinks, someday I’m gonna get them.

~~~

“Something like that,” Bitty answers easily. “And you’ve been here running the store?”

“Pretty much.” He doesn’t look very proud of that fact.

“I remember you used to say you were going to be an astronaut.”

“Ah, well –” The rose tint on Davey’s cheeks grows a shade deeper. “We were kids. I figure I missed my shot to make something of myself.”

All of Bitty’s nurturing instincts come alive. “Don’t say that. You’re doing well. Doing good, honest work. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Nah, man. It was just the easiest thing to do, once Mom got sick. I had to be here for her, and I … just stayed.”

Bitty gazes at him. This isn’t the attitude he expected from Davey Thompson, not in the slightest. He seems so defeated, as though Bitty’s arrival has reminded him of everything he isn’t. Bitty doesn’t want to be that for him, but he doesn’t think he has a choice in the matter. He quashes the small, self-satisfied demon that’s cackling in the back of his head. He’s not that kid anymore, either.

Just then, the chimes jingle at the front of the store. The babbling voice of a young child brightens the room. “Ah,” Bitty says, “there they are. He had to keep them outside a while before they calmed down. Little kids just work themselves up into a dither sometimes.” He offers an apologetic smile to Davey and retreats down the aisle toward the front of the store.

Suze is quiet, but it’s clear she was crying her eyes out earlier. She hangs on to her Papa with a fierce fist. Robby’s eyes are bugging out at the sight of the store. “What’s that?” he keeps asking, tugging on Jack’s slacks. Jack himself looks a little the worse for wear, but happy. That kind of tired-happy that they see in each other’s faces every night once the kids are in bed.

“Come on, Rob,” Bitty says, holding out his hands. “Want to see Daddy’s favorite store?”

Robby holds out his hands to be picked up. Bitty obliges, despite the warning creak of his back. He turns to take Robby further into the store and sees Davey standing there, staring them down.

He points. “I know you, too.”

“Ah, here we go,” Bitty says with a laugh.

“Were you in school with us? I don’t think that’s right, but—”

Jack holds out his hand for a shake. “Jack Zimmermann,” he says. “And you are?”

“My old friend Davey,” Bitty fills in. He can’t help but put a pointed emphasis on the friendpart.

Davey clasps Jack’s hand but doesn’t seem to want to let go. “You’re Jack Zimmermann? The hockey player?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

Davey pumps Jack’s hand about four more times before finally letting go. “It’s – it’s good to meet you.” He looks at Suze, still curled up in Jack’s other arm. “And these are your kids? Or—” He turns to Bitty, face contorted in confusion. “Are they your kids?”

“Both,” Bitty answers cheerily. “Davey, meet my husband.”

Davey Thompson very nearly has a coronary right there.

~~~

“Hah, you’re just small all over, aren’t you?” Davey says with a pointed glance at Bitty’s crotch.

“You can’t help how you’re born,” Bitty retorts, but he pulls up his boxers right quick.

“Yeah, some people are just born stupid,” Davey agrees. Bitty instantly regrets replying at all.

Kyle whispers something in Davey’s ear. They both laugh.

“You’re right,” Davey says. He turns back to Bitty. “He’s right. They do say things about you.”

Bitty’s heart drops to his stomach. “W-what things?”

“You know! That you’re—” Davey flaps his wrist.

He doesn’t seem to have the nerve to say the word, but he doesn’t have to say it. The others in the locker room laugh.

For not the first time, Bitty is tempted to just ask, “So what if I am?” But he can’t. Not to these people. This isn’t how he wants his coming out to happen. So he just turns away and pulls on his sweatpants, ignoring the rills of laughter that echo against the lockers, and feels small. Small all over.

~~~

Davey recovers from his shock and nods his head rapidly. “Oh, I get it. Uh, congratulations. Uh, Bittle, could I talk to you a sec?”

He has that sheepish look again. Bitty watches as he retreats into one of the side aisles. “Gimme a sec,” he tells Jack, setting Robby down, and follows Davey.

When they’re isolated, Davey turns to him sorrowfully. “I, uh—” Davey looks at the floor. “I was pretty mean to you in school.”

It isn’t what Bitty expected, not at all. To be honest, demons in the back of his head aside, this sort of thing doesn’t bother him so much anymore. Why should it? He’s married with two kids and a brand new home. He doesn’t spare a lot of time thinking about the distant past. “Um,” he starts, suddenly terribly embarrassed.

“No, let me—” Davey raises a hand. “Just let me. I said a lot of nasty things to you back then. I’m really sorry about it. I think about it a lot, and I’m just – I’m really sorry.”

There is a piece of Bitty that’s happy, even smug, at hearing this apology. But mostly he just pities Davey at this point. What a thing to carry around your whole life. “We were kids,” Bitty says. “Kids say dumb things. It’s all water under the bridge.”

“Still.” Davey says.

“I can’t say it didn’t hurt me,” Bitty goes on. “But I turned out okay, don’t you think?”

Davey laughs grimly “Yeah, look at you … and look at me.” He shrugs.

“You seem to be doing all right,” Bitty says charitably.

“I’m not an astronaut,” Davey says.

Bitty laughs. “Neither am I. We’re all good.” He pats Davey on the shoulder. A moment passes between them, silent, as they both listen to the sound of the past giving way to a new, kinder present.

After the moment passes, Bitty grins “Come on, I’m going to introduce you to my kids. Do you have kids?”

Davey flushes. “Yeah, I got a teenager. A real smartass. I wonder where he learned it.”

“Pictures!” Bitty declares. “Get that phone out, I demand pictures.”

Davey struggles to pull his phone out of his jeans pocket. This time, he flushes with pride. He narrates the story of each photo as they walk back toward the front.

@jaune-chat​ requested:

AU.

“You can go.”

The words are difficult for Lan Wangji to say. But they must be said, and more importantly, not saying them is even more unbearable.

“I … what?” Wei Ying is a few steps behind him, too close still. Lan Wangji wants to put an ocean between them.

“You can go,” he repeats, glad his voice is always cold, glad no one save his brother can read his emotions. “We’ve achieved the purpose of this arrangement. There is no need for you to pretend further.”

It’s the logical step. Their aim was to repel the advances of a certain persistent sect leader’s equally persistent daughter, and at last she has left Cloud Recesses in a storm of anger and informed her father that no, she very well will not be marrying that. Lan Wangji regrets not being able to reject her through more conventional means, but she really was quite persistent.

Thus, there is no reason why Wei Ying should stay. He’s complained often of staying in Cloud Recesses, so this release will be a great comfort to him. Lan Wangji focuses on that as much as he can manage. It keeps his mind off the painful twinge in his chest and the feeling that he’s sending the sunlight away.

“So what, just like that? It’s over?” Wei Ying’s voice is strained with incredulity. It must be the suddenness of it all that shocks him. “I’ve done you the favor, so now scram back to Yunmeng?”

So he’s decided to make this as difficult for Lan Wangji as possible. This is not entirely surprising. “I did not say ‘scram,’” he clarifies. “I thank you for your help, but it is no longer needed, so please feel free to return home.”

He can’t turn to face him. It takes restraint just to stand here and say the words. If he turns, he fears what he might do.

“Oh, I see.” Wei Ying’s voice is loud behind him, frustration behind the words. “I’m no longer needed, huh? Well, that’s just fine with me. I’ll head home then. See if I ever come back here again.”

“Why are you angry?” Lan Wangji asks.

“No reason! I have no reason to be angry! I’m going home like you told me to.” Wei Ying pauses. “Seriously, you are so sick of me that you can’t even look at me, Lan Zhan? I thought we were at least friends. Has it been that intolerable, then, standing close to me, putting your arms around me? Do I have terrible breath, that you can’t even look at me and say goodbye?”

It hasn’t been intolerable. Not in the slightest.

Lan Wangji shuts his eyes tight, mustering up the last of his courage. He turns.

Wei Ying’s face is illuminated by the faraway sunset. Dark shadows and golden edges. His hair dances in the mountain breeze. Lan Wangji wants him so badly it’s hard to breathe. “Is this better?” he manages to say.

Wei Ying frowns. “I suppose,” he says coldly. “Well, I’ll go get my things and head out, then.” He turns on his heel and stomps away several paces. Lan Wangji watches him go and feels the world grow cold.

No more, he thinks as Wei Ying retreats. No more of a lanky arm interlinked with his, no more of the sunny smile aimed at him. No more embracing Wei Ying and feeling all that warmth seep into him like a sunrise. And the kiss that Lan Wangji had to remind himself over and over was intended for one woman’s eyes, but that had felt real in every possible way – he will never have that again.

He lifts his hand. Wei Ying’s name starts to rise in his throat.

Wei Ying turns before he can say anything.

“You know what, Lan Zhan? I’m not done with you,” Wei Ying declares, stomping back to him with determination etched on his face. “I know the face you put on, you know. I know how you try to be ice-cold. But you don’t fool me one bit.”

He closes the gap between them, points a finger, and pokes Lan Wangji in the chest. “You had fun,” he declares. “You were having the time of your life, parading me around like your favorite trophy of war. Putting your arms around me. You liked that. Even if it was just because you were getting away with fooling someone, you had a good time.”

Lan Wangji’s reflex is to say, ridiculous. He can say no such thing now. He stares, holding himself stiffly to keep from doing something he’ll surely regret.

Wei Ying’s face is still shadowed from the backlight, but Lan Wangji can see the rose tint rise in his cheeks. “You at least owe me a drink. And an explanation.”

“Explanation of what?” He can barely spit out the words. His hands itch to clench into fists.

Wei Ying hesitates, just for a moment, and he averts his eyes. Lan Wangji watches the resolution build in his features. When he turns back, his glare is sharper than a blade.

“Explain,” he says in a low, measured voice, “why it didn’t feel like you were pretending.”

He might as well have impaled Lan Wangji on the point of a sword. He had prepared for every contingency, but it never occurred to him that Wei Ying would be able to read him so well. He takes in a sharp breath.

“You felt something,” Wei Ying goes on. “You felt something when you held me. When you kissed me, Lan Zhan! I was there. I know what I felt.” He searches Lan Wangji’s face. “You have feelings for me. I know you do.” The determination on his face fades, almost imperceptibly, but Lan Wangji is conscious of every minuscule movement of his face.  "You have to.“

His face, in the shifting shadows, is pleading. There’s uncertainty in his eyes. Lan Wangji watches them waver, still frozen to the spot. He doesn’t dare believe the implications of what he’s hearing.

Wei Ying averts his eyes. "Or maybe I just made a huge fool of myself,” he mumbles. “Lan Zhan, it’s getting late. Can I stay one more night before I set out? I won’t be a bother.”

The doubt on his face crushes Lan Wangji’s resolve. Even if Wei Ying isn’t saying what he hopes he’s saying, he can’t stand still a moment longer. His entire body rebels against him, and he’s leaning forward before he can think to stop it. His hands rise of their own accord. He has no control of them, watching like a voyeur as they reach out and settle firmly on Wei Ying’s jaw and the nape of his neck, cradling him, tilting his head upward.

Wei Ying blinks. Lan Wangji can see his own name forming on Wei Ying’s lips. A question, in Wei Ying’s eyes. Lan Wangji is powerless not to answer.

Hand tightening on the back of Wei Ying’s neck, he pulls sharply and crushes their mouths together.

A second of confusion, a moment of dread in Lan Wangji’s wildly spinning mind, and then he hears a groan in Wei Ying’s voice, registers the feel of his fingers clutching at Lan Wangji’s arms. Wei Ying is kissing back – oh, how well he’s kissing back – and if Lan Wangji is to believe his senses, he means it. Joy diffuses through him like mist, all at once in his every cell, in his blood and skin and everywhere.

Wei Ying’s lips leave his too quickly. Lan Wangji chases them, but Wei Ying is too fast, pulling away and staring up at him with an effervescent grin.

“I knew it,” he says.

“Wei Ying is very perceptive.” Lan Wangji recognizes a softness in his own voice. He’s used this tone for purposes of the ruse, but this time, it’s just for Wei Ying.

“I knew it!” Wei Ying repeats. He throws his arms around Lan Wangji, hugging him tight. He’s strong. Lan Wangji will feel a pain in his ribs tomorrow. He doesn’t mind in the slightest. “Lan Zhan, you’re a sly bastard. You pretend to be all cool and reserved, but I knew you felt something. Oh, I’m so damn glad I didn’t imagine it.” He sighs melodramatically and squeezes Lan Wangji again.

He steps back. “So I suppose I don’t have to go back to Yunmeng quite yet?”

“No.” Lan Wangji finds one of Wei Ying’s hands, clasps it in his own. “Stay.”

Wei Ying’s smile is incandescent.

They walk back through the walkways and gardens hand in hand, Wei Ying keeping up a constant litany of chatter as they go. Through the gate, past the garden, up the steps and inside, every step like a dream with Wei Ying next to him. When the doors are at last closed, Lan Wangji draws him close again, and this time he doesn’t let Wei Ying pull away. Wei Ying will stay with him, and nothing they do for each other will be a ruse anymore.