Delicate
For @petalsandfishes Happy Birthday!
This took a a lot more time and work than I thought, but I’m really please with it.
College AU in NYC, James is English, Lily is American
Is it cool that I said all that? Is it cool that you’re in my head? ‘Cause I know that it’s delicate
Lily and James meet at the wrong time. He’s only in the country for the school year and she’s busy knocking elbows while fighting for causes she believes in. They can’t make each other any promises. They can’t promise they won’t fall for each other.
AO3
May, Spring Semester
9:38pm
The lights were off, the blackout curtains were pulled shut, and the fan was on. The light and sounds of the city, of the bustling night, were kept at bay by clever but subtle room arrangements made by a girl who had trouble sleeping. Lily was laying in bed, eyes closed, but she wasn’t sleep. She was waiting.
Buzz.
Her phone lit up, cutting through the black.
September, Fall Semester
“Fuck this,” she exclaimed, dramatically throwing her head back against the cupboards from where she was sitting on the floor.
Lily set the bottle of whiskey down with a loud thunk. From either lack of strength or the incompetence that so often comes with intense frustration, she hadn’t been able to open the damn thing. This left her with the option of finding someone else to open it, or settling for the shit beer that made her think of a dog drinking from the toilet bowl. While one was vastly preferable to the other, both options required that she emerge from the kitchen and rejoin the crowd in the living room, something she did not want to do. Their tinny voices and brassy laughter rang through to the kitchen and grated against her nerves. They were all fine with the piss-beer. She closed her eyes and tried to wish herself away. “Everyone hates me.”
“Do they?” A tall stranger walked into the small kitchen, catching her complaint. She startled, but quickly recovered.
“Yes.” She lifted her hands to offset her speech with quotations. “I’m ‘disagreeable’ and ‘flake out on plans.’” She let her arms fall to her sides again. “AND YET – here I am. In Brooklyn. Of all places.”
“Of all places,” he repeated. “So are you going to open that bottle? Or were you planning on hitting someone in the head with that?”
“Funny,” she said as she moved to stand. “Guns, no, but whiskey bottles? We should start handing them out to kindergarten teachers.”
“So you’re into direct action, then.”
“Ah, so you’ve heard of me.”
“Should I have?”
