madesomenoise | A Series of Unlikely Events

Entry tags:

carson,
ig

A Series of Unlikely Events - Boring Teenagers Date

The movie was...it was pretty okay. Mostly, Girl had spent it being very aware of her own boundaries, very aware of Carson's. She's never been in this situation before. Any connections she'd managed to make out in the Zones had been fleeting, a few hours at most, warm bodies in scavenged sheets. This is different. This is a boy who had wanted to spend time with her, who'd danced with her. At one point, she'd wanted to hold his hand so much her fingers had itched.

She'd held onto a fistful of her skirt instead.

After the movie, the Mall feels incredibly, intensely bright. Girl had spent what felt like hours getting ready while Poison had helped. He'd picked out the polka dot skirt flaring slightly just above Girl's knees. Her hair is up, held back with red cotton that matches her lipstick.

Why does she still want to hold his hand?

"So," she says. "What are we doing next?"

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That made infinitely more sense, he had to admit. He doubted any kid would be trusted to come up with something simple, and if he had to guess, the more distinct the name probably the better.

He was still pretty happy to have a simple name for himself, though.

"Sunny?" He questioned. Even if they hadn't known each other long, he had already grown so accustomed to the name Dee that it was difficult to imagine her as anything else. He had to admit though, there was a certain charm to it. Eyebrows pinching, something itched at his mind and he pondered for a moment. "Wait, Sunny Dee?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Like the juice?"

"Yeah, Poison thinks that's pretty funny too," she says, rolling her eyes a little and nudging him with her elbow without letting go of his hand. "It's short for Sunshine. Sunshine Detonator. Because they called me Sunshine Girl when I was little and, you know," she shrugs, feeling silly and hating it. "Bomb."

"Huh," Carson exhaled thoughtfully, purposefully ignoring the heat that rose to his cheeks when her small sharp elbow nudged his ribs. "I mean. I wouldn't have thought of that. But I've got to say? That's a lot cooler than strictly being named after a watered down orange juice."

He worried the inside of his bottom lip as he considered the name for a second, before nodding to himself. "You know what? That's a lot better than getting stuck with something like Ashley or Brittany. And you picked it yourself right? So you know it'll fit you." He glanced down at her. "Do you have a preference? I mean, do you like being called Dee or should I call you something else?"

"You're blushing," points out Girl and then, on impulse, pushes up onto her very tiptoes to press a kiss against his flushed cheek.

"You could call me Sunny, if you wanted? Pretty much only Poison calls me that."

He wasn't expected her to rear up on her toes and press a soft kiss to his cheek. That was probably the last thing he had expected and he was surprised enough that he almost misstepped but corrected just in time. He wouldn't have been surprised if there was a red smudge left behind by the stain of her lipstick, or if his face had managed to burn hotly enough to match the color.

Jesus he was in trouble.

"Maybe Dee then," he decided, thankful his voice was flat and steady instead of the squeak he half expected. "I'm not sure I want to call you the same thing your dad calls you. Kinda weird."

"Dee," she echoes, grateful that her lipstick is a relatively expensive one and stays put when she kisses his cheek. It does, if anything, make him blush even hotter though. Girl finds that she likes that she's having that effect on him. "Yeah, okay."

Carson nodded with a hum, intent on forcing whatever remaining heat lingered in his face to dissipate. They were most of the way through the mall and the foodcourt wasn't far off. He was oddly thankful that for an evening during summer vacation that it wasn't too crowded. There was still a fair number of families and other groups of teens and college students milling the area, but it was easy enough to ignore them when he had Dee's company and stories to focus on instead.

Glancing at the stores they were passing, he hesitated and glanced down at her. "You said you played guitar, right?" He asked, unsure if he was remembering the details correctly. "There's a music store up here. Do you want to take a look before we go eat?"

Girl lights up when he suggests it, a sudden smile spreading across her face. She had her guitar at home, but they always remind her of Ghoul and Jet and that's not something she's about to pass up.

"Absolutely."

She toss Carson in the direction of the store, stopping in front of the window.

"Jet had one just like that," she says, pointing with one finger of her free hand, leaning into him as she studies the window display.

Rather than put up a fight, Carson allowed himself to be tugged in the direction of the store window. What had been a mild suggestion was met with a rush of surprise at how brightly her face lit up under her smile, and it was enough to startle an awkward grin from him in response. He still felt like he had no idea what he was doing, but somehow he was managing to fake his way through successfully.

"Yeah?" He questioned, glancing at the guitar in the window and away from the pretty profile of her face as she leaned in against him. There was still that itch under his skin, the one that said having someone so close should be unpleasant and abhorrent, but she was soft and warm and smelled nice so it was easier to ignore.

"C'mon," he decided, tugging lightly on her hand and towards the open door of the shop. "Maybe they have a model we can look at while you tell me about him."

"About Jet?" She lets him tug her through the door of the shop. "I don't talk about him as much as I talk about Ghoul. I don't know. Just easier to talk about Ghoul. Closer to the surface." She shrugs, suddenly self conscious. "Something." She wanders through the shop slightly ahead of him, her fingers loosely linked with his, still. "I remember them playing a lot."

For a second he kind of feels like an ass for making assumptions, but their hands are still linked and he lets himself trail after her. With her polka dot skirt and the flash of red in her hair he's certain she looks more like she belongs there than he does. He only has a vague notion of the different kinds of instruments crowded into the shop, and his knowledge of the accompanying tech was worse, but it was bright and colorful and somehow it framed her nicely.

"So they kind of raised you around music, huh?" He hazarded, careful to not push into the later part of the story, the sadder one. "Is Ghoul the one that taught you to play? Or did you figure that out on your own?"

"They both taught me," says Girl, glancing at him, smiling. She doesn't want to give him the impression that she doesn't want to talk about these things; she loves being able to talk about them when she kept it all bottled up for so long. "I remember, like, sitting in their laps and them showing me how to move my fingers on the strings? I play more like Ghoul though. It's more..." She makes a vague gesture with her free hand. "Chaotic? You should come the next time we do a gig."

She blushes darkly when she realises that she's essentially asked him out again.

He could picture it. Probably a little too easily, but it simple enough to imagine a small slip of a girl with rampant curls sitting on some teenager's lap, plucking at strings and learning chords. In comparison to the darker things she had told him, the things that were dark and intriguing and tragic, it was just sweet enough to give him some relief. To explain how she could be so genuinely warm when she had no reason to be.

It took him a second to realize she was basically asking him out for a second date, and he was flummoxed enough that he had to clear his throat before he could answer. "I could give that a try," he answered dryly, squeezing her hand in contrast to his tone. Honestly concerts weren't his scene. Too loud, too many people, too little sensibility. But maybe joining the crowd would be worth it if he got to see her on stage.

Or earn another one of those stupidly pretty smiles.

"It's not chaotic, but I could show you some of my articles," he offered, it suddenly occurring to him that this wild girl might find him dull. "I have some from home, and ones I've written here. Most of its from school, but I'm hoping once I'm in college it'll be more hard hitting material."

"Yeah," she says, smiling. "I'd...really like that, actually. I never went to school, so that might be really nice." She tugs her hand out of his, but only so she can reach for a guitar that looks exactly like Jet's. She lifts it carefully, almost reverently, sitting down in one of the available chairs and settling it across her lap.

"This is nice, right?" she says, looking doubtful for a moment. "You're having a good time?"

The guitar she picks up seems almost as big as she is, and Carson watches with a sort of muffled amusement as she sits and balances the instrument across her lap. But even more appealing than the image of her sitting like that was the idea she might actually be interested in his writing, that she wouldn't roll her eyes and just barely humor it. He cracked a grin in response before he could help it and made a mental note to pull his best pieces, the ones he was most proud of, so he could show her.

"This is really nice, actually." He agreed, his grin crooked but stuck in place. He shrugged, hooking his thumbs in his pockets. "What about you? I mean. I promised you boring stereotypical and I delivered, right?"

"Stereotypical, maybe, but I'm not bored," she says, running through a series of muffled chords. She bites her lip, practicing a particularly fiddly bit of fingering, one of the solos from Sing. She catches herself staring at him a little too long, the lines of his body, and blushes, looking down at her hands in feigned concentration.

"Nobody's ever done anything like this for me before."

It figured that her blush would be as attractive as everything else she did, and Carson had to bite down on the inside of his cheek as he watched her slim fingers pluck out chords. There was something almost familiar about the tune she played, but for the life of him he couldn't place it, and it was difficult enough to pay attention when she had that nice color darkening her cheeks.

"They should have," he blurted out before he could help himself. "Well. I mean, I get why they wouldn't have had the chance. But this is something that gets taken for granted, right? At least for people like me. There's no reason you shouldn't get to just... go out. Do normal things. Learn to take it for granted yourself." He considered for a moment. "I'm-- uh. I'm glad you let me, though."

Something in her chest goes warm and liquid when he says that and, if anything, she feels herself start to blush even darker. She bites her lip for a moment.

"You're making it really hard to be casual about this, man."

For all intents she could have meant that as a bad thing, but the creeping color to her cheeks was enough to tell him that it wasn't. In response he feels that same nervous flutter of nerves start off in his belly, a jitteriness that expands and rises up into his chest and threatens to make his palms sweat.

"Well, I kind of only have one setting." He admitted wryly, digging his hands deeper into his pockets and attempting to command his body into not reciprocating the blush. Hormonal idiocy and a pretty girl was no excuse to let himself get sloppy. "All or nothing. So, you know, fair warning. Just so you know what you're dealing with."

"All or nothing, huh?" asks Girl. She stands up, setting down the guitar carefully and then she moves closer. He's so much taller than her that she has to go all the way up on tiptoes to press a kiss against the corner of his mouth.

"Okay."

As far as a first kiss went, it borderline barely counted. Just a warm press to the corner of his lips and then it was over. Fleeting and soft as it was, Carson could only blink down at her in surprise, the nervous jumble in his stomach and chest churning double time, and all at once it hit him that this was real. He really was on a date with a beautiful girl who for whatever insane reason seemed to like him, he really was hopelessly charmed by her, and somehow she seemed as into it as he was.

It was boggling.

"All or nothing," he agreed, a tad stupidly with a glance down at the red swell of her mouth. He was hit with the sudden desire to not let it go easily, to not just sit back and be complacent, and that if anything, he wanted a real kiss. That he could have a real kiss. Fuck it, he thought. I made it this far without fucking up.

Dipping down he pressed a soft firm press to her lips, lingering only a moment before standing back upright and clearing his throat. His heartbeat seemed intent on performing some sort of drum solo, but he maintained a collected demeanor. "So. More guitars or time for greasy foodcourt pizza?"

It's brief but it's a kiss, a proper kiss, and Girl just stares at him for a moment, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. She's intensely aware of her edges, then, of all the warm and liquid parts of her. She bites her lip for a moment.

"Food?"

"Food it is," he agreed, and he had the notion that the grin tugging at his mouth was probably borderline idiotic, but he honestly couldn't give a shit. His mouth still felt the ghosting warmth of hers and he resisted the temptation to touch his mouth by reaching out and catching her hand instead. Threading their fingers together, not for the first time he marveled at how everything had come together. Everything had seemed so hopeless when he had arrived to Darrow, but here he was a high school graduate, with university in the fall, and an incredible girl's hand in his. Maybe the girl part hadn't always factored into his grand plans for his future, but even if this only lasted a minute, it fit in like a missing puzzle piece.

"C'mon, before the hipster at the counter tries to sell us something." He said, giving her hand a small tug.

Girl hadn't been planning for this at all but then he takes her hand again and she thinks about Poison and Jack, how neither of them had been planning for that and then...boom! There it was. This isn't that, isn't love, but Girl can't help but be distracted by the warmth that threads its way through her ribcage.

"I've already got a guitar at home," she says, letting him lead her out of the shop. "And I'm used to not buying things. He ain't getting me."

"That's right," Carson grinned with a nod. "Fuck him and his half-assed sales pitch." On the way out of the store his attention wandered just long enough to flash a sardonic grin in the hipster's direction, his grin only widening when he caught the glare the guy was shooting him over the top of his magazine. Half tempted as he was to say something, he was briefly distracted by a flash of yellow in the case of the counter, and with a hum he filed that thought away for another time.

"Okay, important question." He proposed as they wandered closer to the foodcourt. "Are we getting slices or should I go all out and get a whole pizza? I'm not gonna lie, I could probably eat at least half on my own."

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