'cause we're all dudes

SUBWAY SLEEPER, pt. 12

pt. 1  |  pt. 2  |  pt. 3  |  pt. 4  |  pt. 5  |  pt. 6  |  pt. 7  |  pt. 8  |  pt. 9  |  pt. 10  |  pt. 11


“Sorry,” is the utterly unapologetic answer Stiles gets to his most recent inquiry.  Making this the fourth day in a row.

Stiles squints into her indifferent face.  “You know, Janet, I don’t think you are that sorry.”

She shrugs.  She’s not.  And she’s not even sorry about her lack of being sorry.  Stiles can officially say he does not like this girl.  In fact, he’s totally gonna fill out a comment card that sums up this whole conversation with a tried and true: ‘Damn it, Janet.’

“He really didn’t say anything?”  He’s maybe sounding a little desperate now and he drags his hand off the counter to look slightly less unstable.  “About a message to pass along for someone named ‘Stiles?’  Nothing, huh?”

“Oh you know what—” she starts thoughtfully, shuffling through a few papers on the desk below and Stiles lights up.  Her eyes dart up, hard, and she finishes blandly, “no.”

“That was mean,” Stiles says, deflating.  It’d been a week since he’d seen Derek.  They’d mentioned meeting up after Caffiend, Derek had told him to drop by Halesome Arts again, whenever, he’d be there, they could talk.  Everything had seemed fine, good even.  Only Stiles had come by, had even looked for him on the metro.  And Derek was always notably absent, in both places, and Janet was always notably unsympathetic, in one of them.

She sighs exasperatedly now, rolling her eyes.  Stands, puts her elbows up on the hutch above her receptionist’s desk and drops her chin into her open palm.  “You know, I felt bad for you the first time you came in here, Stiles, but there’s a reason people don’t go see the same play every night of the week, you get me?”

“Right.  Yeah.  I—”

“It doesn’t help that the play isn’t even that compelling to begin with,” she cuts him off, unnecessarily adding that little sac-punch in there.  Stiles can’t exactly deny it though.  It probably just gets sadder and sadder with each new mounting of it actually.

“Yeah, okay.  I’m being blown off,” he makes himself say it out loud, croaky and more broken down than he’s possibly ever been, “that’s what’s happening here.”

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