dollpocalypse (
dollpocalypse) wrote2011-11-14 08:04 pm
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Entry tags:
- contents of packaging: topher brink,
- external packaging: topher brink,
- fact: brink crushes are not your crushes,
- fact: caustic personality yields ouchies,
- issue: tony stark is my reason to live,
- issue: video games for the win!,
- mood: actively heartbroken,
- mood: emo,
- person: dave: prissy roommate,
- person: peter: evil overlord,
- place: 307,
- tech: phone
Room 307, Monday Evening
After an hour and twenty-five minutes spent trying to trace a text message that had just come in on his phone, Topher was forced to conclude two things: one, it was legit, and two, he sort of wanted to crawl under his bed and never come out ever again.
But there were bags of chips under his bed and he really didn't want to find out if the chips had rodent friends down there, so he had to settle for burrowing under the blankets instead, laptop open in front of him as he vengefully and imprecisely shot at zombies in a video game.
Like this weekend hadn't been bad enough. Like he hadn't gotten a stupid (albeit newly vanished) haircut and a hangover. Like he hadn't made a total moron out of himself in front of Ben and Jello Girl and Peter, then hurt his hand making the world's shittiest piece of technology. Now he'd done something to piss Tony off too, and -- here was the kicker -- he didn't even know what it was. Because Tony already knew about that stupid fanfiction story that that bitch Karla had told everyone about, and he hadn't been mad at him after the whole lap-sitting thing on Thursday night, and their encounter as kids on Saturday hadn't been too horrible, and nothing bad had happened in frat, so... what was it?
For a second, he wondered if maybe Kenzi had said something... but they weren't close, were they? He dismissed the idea and shot furiously at zombies. The volume was up ridiculously high, but he wasn't too bothered by the noise of the explosions right now. Or the gore. Even the stuff that normally squicked him out was fine.
[[Door closed, post wide open. This kid. So much emo.]]
But there were bags of chips under his bed and he really didn't want to find out if the chips had rodent friends down there, so he had to settle for burrowing under the blankets instead, laptop open in front of him as he vengefully and imprecisely shot at zombies in a video game.
Like this weekend hadn't been bad enough. Like he hadn't gotten a stupid (albeit newly vanished) haircut and a hangover. Like he hadn't made a total moron out of himself in front of Ben and Jello Girl and Peter, then hurt his hand making the world's shittiest piece of technology. Now he'd done something to piss Tony off too, and -- here was the kicker -- he didn't even know what it was. Because Tony already knew about that stupid fanfiction story that that bitch Karla had told everyone about, and he hadn't been mad at him after the whole lap-sitting thing on Thursday night, and their encounter as kids on Saturday hadn't been too horrible, and nothing bad had happened in frat, so... what was it?
For a second, he wondered if maybe Kenzi had said something... but they weren't close, were they? He dismissed the idea and shot furiously at zombies. The volume was up ridiculously high, but he wasn't too bothered by the noise of the explosions right now. Or the gore. Even the stuff that normally squicked him out was fine.
[[Door closed, post wide open. This kid. So much emo.]]
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Apparently.
"Hey, so, um, I could fix that lamp for you," he offered hesitantly. "I mean. It's kinda shitty. You know, now that I can... actually figure out how things work."
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"No problem."
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clutchingholding up to make some space on the bed. "Yeah, sure."And if clearing off the bed meant catching a glimpse of his phone and his face just falling, well. Nice friends wouldn't call him out on that, would they?
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Nice, Topher. Nice.
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"Well, if you don't want a hangover, don't get smashed with Ben and his gang," Peter suggested.
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"I won't," he mumbled.
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"Look, I said I'm sorry," Peter said, "If you're still pissed off--"
Yes, because everything was about you, Peter.
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He turned his phone over in his hands and fell silent.
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Peter stole one quick, longing glance at the door (and another, quicker one at the window-- dammit, third floor). "So what is it?"
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While that was accurate, Topher, it was also remarkably self-pitying and annoying. God.
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The only thing he had less patience with than feeeeeeeeelings was overt guilting. Ugh.
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Then he sighed and glanced down. Whatever. This day couldn't suck any worse, so... he passed Peter his phone.
"Told me so, right?" he asked dully.
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"Shut up," he mumbled reflexively, expecting some kind of rebuke. Then he processed what Peter had said and glanced up. "Wait, what?"
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Stupid, stupid, stupid...
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He thought about leaving it at that, but then realized: Peter was pretty much it for his friends right now. Kenzi was being a bitch and he couldn't exactly go to Ender and Ben anymore, so...
Quietly, he finished, "It's just, like. I've fucked up around him a lot, you know? So I figured he was okay. With me. Being around."
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Beat.
"Somebody like that, you could give them the world and they would still pull a fast one on you. Who needs that, right?"
NOT. PROJECTING. AT ALL.
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"Why do you care?" he had to ask. "I mean. You've been telling me to leave him alone forever. Right?"
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