setting: modern, non-magical, getting back together au
It’s a series of baddecisions. Just. All around. Start to fucking finish.
It’s a bad decision when she stumbles through her parents’ front door at fuck o’clock in the morning–her parents’, god, she’s twenty-five years old–reeking of firmly middle-shelf vodka and the menthols she used to chain smoke in high school; and it’s a bad decision when she can’t quite twist the cap off a miniature bottle of Fiji water because her hands are sticky with sweat and lip gloss and grenadine and so she digs through her mom’s meticulously organized kitchen drawers to unearth the can opener and it doesn’t even fucking work; and it’s a bad decision when she trudges upstairs to her childhood bedroom, steeling herself for the onslaught of baby pink walls and leopard print bedding and a frankly morbid desk collection of expired designer perfume samples; and it’s a bad decision when she goes to brush the lingering metallic taste of canned pineapple slices out of her mouth and reaches unsteadily for the tube of Aquafresh and catches sight of the jagged fucking Robbins Brothers tan line she still has on her ring finger–
A sad, lonely little chirp echoes from the pocket of the hoodie she’d stolen from one of the wide-eyed, too-eager frat boys outside the bar, and she blearily fishes her phone out. She has one (1) unread message from ***DO NOT CALL*** Harry Potter ***DO NOT CALL***:
(2:11) u up
Pansy squints at her reflection in the obnoxiously sparkling bathroom mirror. It smells like Windex. Everything in this house smells like fucking Windex. She types out her response as she strips out of the dress she technically eats way too many carbs to ever properly fit into again and turns on the shower: