“super rich kids” for omgcpoc week (a little late, but it’s early in the day yet! sorry @checkpleaseofcolor)
too many bottles of this wine we can’t pronounce
Nursey has a slight buzz going, and he’s laughing, and he feels warm all over. He can’t remember the last time he felt this happy– genuinely happy, without the false grin or the forced pleasantness he’s been made to perform all these years.
too many bowls of that green, no lucky charms
Sure, he’s a little crossfaded, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Besides, he isn’t going anywhere: Bitty won’t let them stick a foot outside without forty different layers on, and he’s too lazy for all that. Instead, he burrows down a little deeper into the blanket he’s sharing with Chowder and Dex, stretched out all over them; his feet shoved under Chris’ bony ass and his head in Dex’s lap, nuzzled up against his stomach. Dex huffs, but allows it with a little smile, running his fingers through his hair.
the maids come around too much / parents ain’t around enough
“Y’all! Get in here, the food’s ready!” Bitty yells, and there’s grumbling and complaints, but ultimately, they all prepare to shift into the kitchen– whatever Bitty made smells delicious. Dex and Chowder shove him off the couch in a rush to get into the kitchen, and Nursey, is, unfortunately, so wrapped in the blanket that he ends up last in the kitchen–
And there are his friends around the Haus kitchen table, lights dim with a sweet potato pie on the table, candles stuck into it.
“Haaaappy Birrrrthday to–”
too many joy rides in daddy’s jaguar
Nursey is thrown back somehow uncannily to senior year. The year he’d spent his birthday with his kind sperm donor; Yosef Bahmani had demanded his “parental rights” and had told Yamaha in no uncertain terms that he “wanted to see his boy”. Amal hadn’t liked it, but they’d agreed to at least one or two visits every few years, and he was allowed to ask for this before he graduated.
He’d shown up to the apartment with a few things– a suitcase full of clothes, his backpack, an attitude. Yosef hadn’t appreciated the last of these items, but Derek could honestly care less about what he appreciated. Chill Nursey was already in effect, and the fuck who’d accidentally knocked up his mom at a party didn’t mean shit to him.
too many white lines and, white lies
He’d spent his whole birthday coked up after a shitty, awkward brunch that had made his stomach ache for Miz Lou’s cooking, the sugar crusted blueberry scones with almond milk she made every year for his breakfast if he wasn’t out or gone for the year, a dismissal heavy in his heart when Yosef mentioned “a business meeting” or some other nonsense. Grant, Jeremy, and Mitchell had all barged into his apartment at three, a big bag of weed and a little coke on each of them, and he snorted four lines before Jeremy and Mitchell could
super rich kids with nothing but fake friends
Nursey thought someone had spiked his drink and he knew he would be throwing up all day tomorrow, but he was high as fuck, he was higher than a goddamn kite and his heart was pounding, his blood was rushing in his head, racing like a horse and he looped his arms around some dude who got handsy fast and he hoped didn’t give a fuck about him. He saw Grant’s flash go off, snapping a picture just as the dude pulled him flush with his hands over his ass He didn’t care. He didn’t care anymore, because after this year, he’d probably never see these fucking assholes again, and good goddamn riddance– he stuck his middle finger up at Grant and let the dude grind up against him and kiss him sloppily
real love (ain’t that somethin’ rare)
Nursey woke up naked in his bed, damned by his eastern-facing window, and ran to the bathroom, retching, clutching a sheet in his hands desperately. He’d almost missed the bowl– his whole body ached with the effort of not passing out.
“I think you should go home,” Yosef’s voice said from behind him, and Nursey wiped his mouth on his “father’s” white sheet.
“My fuckin’ pleasure, Daddy Warbucks,” he muttered.
i’m searchin’ for that real love (talkin’ bout real love)
Nursey could feel Yosef’s glare as he shooed Jacob out of the house. Good, he thought visciously. Let him see. It wasn’t as if he would see him after this year. Eighteen, and he was finally fucking free.
Before he left, Nursey flung the chair someone had left out on the curb at his father’s car– when he shouted from the window, Nursey ran for the L-train, not bothering to look back.
real love, yeah
Nursey’s not sure when he started crying, but he knows Chowder’s squeezing his shoulder and Dex is whispering “blow out the candles, Nurse,” and he does, he blows them hard, hiccupping, smiling, and when he’s done, he buries his face in Dex’s shoulder with shaking shoulders.
“Group hug!” Ransom shouts, and suddenly, he’s tumbling to the ground, laid out on the kitchen floor in hysterics. Everyone in the Haus is piled on top of him, even Jack, who he can hear chuckling quietly somewhere off to his right, and he feels warm in the best of ways. He peeks his head out and flash goes off– it’s Bitty, who somehow managed to escape from being wrestled into the pile. He’s crying too. It’s streaming down his face, but he’s laughing, a hand pressed to his mouth to hide his smile.
“The pie is gettin’ cold, y’all, and i’d bring sweet tea to the devil before lettin’ my frogs eat a lukewarm meal on a birthday.”
talkin’ bout real love
Nursey eats sweet potato pie sitting on the counter, squished between Dex and Chowder, his feet swinging. His head is leaned against Dex’s shoulder, ankles linked with Chowder’s, and he thinks this is the best birthday he’s ever had.