neil helps andrew tackle his fear of swimming on their weekend getaway. this takes place in andrew’s first year on pros.
1. it grips you, sudden and sharp, like a bullet lodged in a chest, wired
limbs hanging from chains. silence warring with fear, with stomach-churning
possibilities of a poor hand set in motion: you’re safe, you’re sinking; it’s
quick-sand, you’re not dreaming. the earth shaking and shattering, split
between the middle of life and death. he’s falling, he’s bleeding, and you try
to reach across the chasm, hand out-stretched and fingers splayed, and you
think just a little closer—but the
ties snap, and a scream tears through spoiled lungs, and he’s sinking,
shrinking with the distance; barely a speck on a telescope. just a little closer—you tell yourself;
there’s still time, still a way. a scratch and a shudder, stifled screams as
you break the chains.
the ground shakes, and you jump in after him.
stretched out into the water from the lake house, the wood panels damp and
discoloured from age. Beyond the strip of light, dusk was settling in like fog,
coating everything in hushed, muted tones. Andrew couldn’t see the pine trees
stabbing up at the sky, but he could see the silhouettes shimmering upside down
in the lake, the last fragments of light bathing the surface of the water in
hues of tawny orange and dusky twilight purple.
the blackness of the horizon more clearly than the curved shape of Neil’s
figure. He was nearly gone, fading into the black or the black fading into him,
like a magic trick.
picked his way through the path, over jutting stones and creeping vines, until
his bare feet carried him to the edge of the dock. He took one look at the
water, dropped the towels, and his knees bent mechanically.
have to do this,” said Neil quietly, moonlight catching his eyes.
forced into anything,” replied Andrew, and then, quieter, “I want to.”
Music prompt - memories by panic at the disco / maybe some blupjeans? Or wherever you wanna go w it
Blupjeans is such an excellent choice for this song, how can I refuse? I tried something a little different with this one - looking at their relationship and plans through a kind of unattached third party. I hope you like it!
They were young and independent / And they thought they had it planned. / Should have known right from the start / You can’t predict the end.
Oh memories / Where’d you go? / You were all I’ve ever known / How I miss yesterday / How’d I let it fade away?
Among the handful of remains of a previous life was a worn notebook. It was placed in a box, carefully set beneath a few other items, with a cover that had started to curl up a little at the edges and pages that were a little water damaged. It had a name written on it, but the marks were worn away almost completely. It was supposed to be for calculations; that much was obvious from the first few pages, the complicated calculations looking for answers that are overwhelmingly difficult, almost impossible. There was only one person left who knew where to find the important things, and he doesn’t know it now.
On one of the first pages was a sketch of the face of a woman. It wasn’t very large, created by a shaky hand, and it wasn’t very skilled. But there was a careful consideration in the lines, clearly the work of a whole afternoon and enough erase marks that the artist seemed unsure of his subject. The features were agonized over, and the sketch was left partially incomplete. It was drawn from memory, and not very well, but with sincere effort.
Underneath the sketch was a cartoonish drawing of a man’s face wearing glasses. “Nerd” was written out in block letters, and there was an arrow pointing at the face so there could be no doubt what the comment was about. It was drawn quickly, in low light, and left for discovery the next morning.
The pages with calculations, graphs, charts were not spared from the exchange. Correct answers, after pages and pages of incorrect attempts and frustrated, scratched lines over work, were rewarded with tiny images of smiling faces.
Several pages in the middle were dedicated to tiny pieces of musical notation. There was no completed song in the notebook, but instead little hints of a greater whole that existed somewhere else. No part of the music was scratched out, only expanded upon in two different hands. Successful passages were noted, this time, with hearts.
In the notebook, on a particularly worn page, was the layout of a house. It took the entire page, and the walls had clearly been changed a few times. Every room had a label. There was a living room, a large kitchen, and an entire second floor that was almost completely filled with bedrooms, names written out carefully. And for pages and pages after, there were the beginnings of plans - a list of prospective jobs under one name, a list of things to do under another. The layout of a lab, the layout of a restaurant, places to visit, goals to meet, things to have. Every plan tapered off into nothing; only the house seemed to be complete.
There was another plan outlined in a series of pages filled with new types of calculations. The magic symbols and diagrams for the defiance of death were written out alongside the practical and scientific application of magic. In the corner, almost an afterthought, is a drawing of two smiling skulls with a heart over their heads. On the back of one page, written in small letters in the corner, was a list of activities to fill a day. Interspersed throughout were jokes and puns about bones.
At the back of the notebook was one last plan. There was the image of a light breaking into seven parts. The sketch did not give any hint whether or not the plan worked.
The last significant thing in the notebook was a torn-out page. It might have been a note, once; it might have been hiding somewhere at the bottom of the same box. There is someone who knew what it said, but he doesn’t know it now.
I love the idea of secret sessions with all my heart, I love that Taylor is meeting so many people, and I love that Taylor trusts us enough to do this for us; however, you can’t deny the fact that it’s dividing this fandom and making us feel in competition with each other. We are supposed to build each other up and support one another.