boywhoflew | [Darrow: Settling In

Entry tags:

darrow,
eric bittle

[Darrow: Settling In - Dated to 2/6/16]

Carson's time in Darrow so far had been a mess of frustration and confusion. After settling in to his apartment, he had raided the closest convenience store for necessities and shut and locked his door. He hadn't left since then.

He'd tried calling home. He rang his mom's cell four times and the house phone six. He had even tried calling Malerie, his Grandma's home, and in a fit of desperation the Clover community library. Every dial had ended fruitlessly, leaving him nothing but so frustrated and angry that he had nearly thrown his phone at the wall but settled for stuffing it between the cushions of the couch and going to bed for an anger nap. He hadn't actually expected it to work, but he had hoped.

What were you even going to say? He'd thought spitefully. 'Hi, Mom. I got struck by lightning and now I'm stuck in a new city that might be in an alternate dimension. Don't worry about setting me a plate for dinner! I'll see you never.' He couldn't imagine that would have gone particularly well.

By the time the present had rolled around, he had managed to shake off some of his funk. He had used the laptop in his apartment to look up the local school district, had called the high school to inquire about getting his GED only to find out his transcripts had been successfully transferred and he was ready to be enrolled (what? how?) and now he was set to finish out his senior year at a whole new school. As relieved as he was that he could finish what he'd started, he still found himself not particularly wanting to leave the apartment. The walls and quiet made it feel safe and normal, and walking the streets had so far just resulted in awkward confrontations. Only two days until Monday. I can just tough it out and then go start school.

He laid back on the couch and frowned at the ceiling. In two days, he had more or less memorized the pattern of the tiles.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Despite the obvious offer of Coke, I can feel myself getting defensive again already. It's hardly the first time someone's made a derisive comment or snort about my using Twitter -- heck, I used to get it all the time from my teammates -- but Carson's disapproval is so condescending that it grates right away and I don't even bother to hide a glare as I rambles on.

He changes his tone pretty quickly, but it's clear he's only thinking about the potential advertisement or monetary side of things when I definitely prefer Twitter as for actual social reasons. And for keeping up on celebrity gossip, of course.

Not that Darrow really has any celebrities. Celebrity faces, yes, but it's definitely not the same.

My heart leaps with a sudden burst of panic when Carson mentions transcripts and it takes me a few seconds to realize he means a vlog tie-in for his hypothetical magazine and not the one I have now. I slowly let out a breath. "Just about every publication has a website," I point out, more than a little eager to keep him distracted from applying to Barton right this second. Even if I maybe I am thinking about doing it, I'd still like to think a bit longer. I only came over to deliver a pie! Not decide my entire career path. "Or some kind of multimedia tie-in. So you could still have vlogs. A lot of them even for editorials or additions to particular sections or what have you. Maybe the editor-in-chief could even put one up occasionally to add a little bit of personalization to it."

Eric's glare was about as threatening as that of a kitten, and Carson suppressed a snort. He didn't go out of his way to piss people off, but when someone is willing to tell the truth there would always be people who took offense. It wasn't his fault that the majority of the youth population was in deep seated denial.

He popped the tab on his own soda and held the cold can thoughtfully, letting the chill soak into his palms. "Obviously I'll be the editor-in-chief," he mused aloud. "But I haven't tried doing any kind of vlog before. The written word is so much more respectable." He took a sip and thought. People as a general rule tended to dislike him once he started talking, and most days he honestly didn't give a shit. But if he was going to be in the public eye beyond social necessity, he might need to figure out how to engage the audience in a way that didn't make them throw trash at his face.

Or leave cow shit on his car.

Pulling a face he set down his soda and grabbed for the laptop. Opening a new tab he keyed in a search for 'vlog' and watched the results load. "I'll need to do some research on this," he said unnecessarily. "In addition to local business and cuisine there could be write ups for... I don't know, entertainment. Pop culture. Art. Local news and events. Maybe each section could have a vlog figurehead, someone who summarizes and represents the section, while the magazine is a bulk of individually written articles." He frowned. "I'll need people with charisma. For some reason my public speaking never ends well."

"Goodness, I have no idea why," I reply with just enough sweetness that he might not see the sarcasm, though not nearly enough my mother wouldn't catch it. I can practically feel her glaring from another entire dimension so I quickly push on, reaching for the other Coke and quickly popping it open before taking a quick sip.

"I don't know if you've noticed yet, but this whole city is full of charismatic people with pretty faces," I tell him, holding the can between both hands, my arms rested on my knees. "I really doubt you'll have much trouble filling positions in the vlog area. I could help, even. My friend Kate would be great for fashion section and Blue could do help out with art. I'd suggest Jack for the sports section, but he honestly doesn't know much outside of hockey and he can seem a bit stiff and awkward if you don't know him very well. Oh, and you could have a section maybe for interesting happenings? Because there's always something strange going on here and, while the natives barely seem to notice, the people like like you and me always kinda get caught up in stuff. Not sure what sorta angle you'd want on that, but it's just an idea."

I can't actually believe I'm getting caught up in all this. Carson seems excited though and, at the very least, he's not still taking about Barton anymore. For the moment.

His eyes narrowed at the syrupy sweet tone, but despite his instinct to raise his hackles it quickly bled away into amusement. For the first time in days he was actually making progress, and whether he was willing to admit it aloud or not all this planning and scheming was fun. Excluding Malerie it was the first time anyone had ever taken any kind of interest in what he had to say, or about what he wanted to accomplish. Actually having someone to hash it out with instead of being told to fuck off and be ignored was refreshing.

"I haven't left the apartment since Thursday," he admitted with a shrug. He hadn't wanted to. Everything had been too new and overwhelming, his thoughts and anxiety leaving him a bundled mass of raw nerves. But as strange as it was to have someone in his apartment, it was almost nice. For a moment he could stop panicking over the perplexity and just enjoy getting caught up in dreams and plans. It almost felt like when he and Malerie had been planning Clovergate, but with less illegal activity involved.

"That's a good idea," he said thoughtfully, and genuinely surprised. "It could be an unbiased recollection of events. Or if we're feeling bold, first hand experiences and testimonials. Hell, as far as strange happenings go, maybe in the very back we could even have a page for new arrivals. That way if it's someone people know they have a better chance at reconnecting. Or just as a welcome or acknowledgment." He would need to put some more thought into that. He flashed the other boy a hesitant smile. "You're actually pretty good at this."

On some level, I know it's completely irrational, but the second he says he hasn't been out of his apartment in days, I want to know if he's at least gone to the grocery store for essentials. But then I remember the Coke in my hand and I can't imagine that's all he would've bought for himself.

Though I still can't quite shake the feeling that I should've brought something of more substance than a graham cracker pie.

I'm so distracted worrying over the state of Carson's refrigerator that I almost miss what he says, startling a little when I realize he actually means it. "Oh," I reply, feeling my cheeks warming again despite myself. It feels good in a way I can't quite describe, that I've managed to earn his approval in some way. Even if he is kind of a condescending jerk sometimes. "Am I? Honestly, I'm just tossin' out ideas; it's not like I really have a clue on any of this stuff. But I'm glad I'm helping!" Then, because I honestly just can't take it anymore, "Have you really not been out of here in nearly a week? Carson, I promise it's not scary out there. At least not right now. Do you need to get groceries? I've been meanin' to pop by the pet store to get Elvis some more food, but we can swing by the grocery store on the way if you wanna come with."

He shrugged. "Most people would have told me to fuck off by now," he said honestly. "Instead you're helping me spit-ball ideas. And you actually brought up some decent points." Malerie had been capable of unexpected insight and raw enthusiasm when he steered her the right direction, but her creative process had been lukewarm at best. Blackmail aside, she hadn't so much had ideas as just regurgitated existing information. Or blatantly plagiarized famous works of fiction.

He needed to stop thinking about her. It just made him miss her.

Squirming under the sudden scrutiny, he frowned and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. "I'm not scared," he insisted. "I just wanted some time to process everything." And as a result had spent one day in an exhausted rage and the rest figuratively banging his head against the wall. "If I haven't left since then, it's because I was busy. Processing." Well, that didn't sound idiotic. He sighed and glanced back towards the kitchen. "I could probably go with more groceries though," he admitted. "I mostly bought apples and ramen noodles." And some off brand Lucky Charms, which he had already eaten through. Dry.

Another idea flashed through his mind and he suddenly stopped squirming. "Okay," he agreed, though his expression had switched from uncomfortable to smug. "I'll go get groceries with you if you go see Barton with me." There. They were negotiating.

"Strangely enough, keeping yourself adequately fed doesn't actually lower your ability to process," I tell him with an eyeroll. "I realize we've only just met for the most part and that there all kinds of interesting people here so you could actually be a robot for all I know, but I really sorta doubt it. Especially since I saw you take a sip of that Coke only a few seconds ago You need food. Preferably some fresh fruits and vegetables."

Goodness, it's going to be just like Thomas all over again, only worse.

He seems to consider for a moment and I can just see where his mind is going a second before he opens his mouth. And my stomach plummets.

Some part of me really thinks I should've seen this coming.

"Good Lord, Carson, do we really have to go today? I only came over to drop off a pie! I'm not ready for this!"

"I bought apples!" He insisted, suddenly indignant. It wasn't as though he had made a thorough grocery run. He had made his trip to the convenience store and quick as concise as he could, grabbing only what seemed necessary or appealing at the time. Ramen had seemed like a cost effective decision at the time; he could buy enough to feed a small army and have barely made a dent in his shiny new bank account.

He was fully capable of conducting himself as an independent adult. A fully stocked kitchen had just struck him as extravagant and unnecessary at the time being.

Although he probably should have bought milk to go with the cereal.

Turning a shrewd eye on the other boy he grabbed the laptop and clicked back onto the homepage for Barton. "Why not?" He demanded. "Do you have anything more pressing to attend to than your own future? I'm not suggesting we take a blood oath or offer a virgin sacrifice, just that we go and take quick peek at the campus to get a feel for it. Where's your sense of curiosity?"

Somehow I have the feeling he isn't going to rest until I give in. And, maybe he's right; there isn't any commitment involved in having a look at the campus. I suppose it couldn't hurt.

"Alright, fine," I finally grumble. "We'll do the campus first, but no more than an hour and then it's off to the pet store and groceries. I have to work today so I'm on a schedule. And I am not applying today so just get that notion right out of your head, mister."

With a sigh, I stand up, grabbing my oven mittens from the table and stuffing them into the pockets of my coat. They don't really fit, but I'm possibly being a little petulant right now.

Despite all of his pushing, Carson hadn't actually anticipated that Eric would cave so easily. He allowed himself a short second of genuine surprise before it bled into a sense of satisfaction so strong he was sure he would have purred were he physically capable of it. It was a small victory, and despite his insistence he wasn't even sure why he was so determined to get the other boy to that university. Maybe it was his sense of charity for someone who was clearly afraid to take the next step.

Maybe I just don't want to go alone.

"Awesome." He breathed, jumping from the couch and stuffing his glasses into his pocket. His shoes were tossed into a pile near the bedroom door and he scrambled to stuff his feet into them without bothering with the laces. "We'll make it quick," he assured the other boy. "Just a walk around the grounds, maybe take a peek at the student services center." Stop in to the academics and enrollment office. Running a quick hand through his hair to give it a sense of order he spun on heel to face the petulant boy and flashed him a lopsided grin.

"You can quit the pouting," he reprimanded. "Years from now when you're cutting the grand opening ribbon on the business of your choice, you'll look back at this moment and want to fall at my feet in gratitude." He promised.

"I'm not pouting," I argue, but it sounds terrible even to my own ears so I suck in a breath and force myself to stand up straighter. I can do this. It's just a college campus and there's nothing, not even Carson, that says I have to apply today.

But it won't hurt to look, won't hurt to know what the options are in case I ever do want to try something besides baking in Derek's kitchen.

Carson's a whirlwind in seconds, slipping his classes into his pocket and shoving his shoes on. I try to remember to breathe, inhale and exhale slowly before the anxious feeling in my gut can wind too tightly. It's just a school campus, it's not a big deal. I already know it won't be anything like Samwell, I already know that, even if they do have a hockey team, I won't be attending on a scholarship and none of the boys on the team could ever match my Wellies.

It's okay, Bittle. It's okay.

"And I am not ever 'falling at your feet,' I don't care how grand an opening you're envisioning, so you just erase that little fantasy from your noggin' right now."

I realize, a half a second too late just how that statement came out and feel my face go warm instantly. Turning away immediately to hide it, I head for his door. "Let's just go and get this over with. Don't you dare try and trick me into stayin' longer, either. I'll leave you to carry your own groceries, don't think I won't!"

Intended or not, a double entendre of that caliber couldn't be ignored. Both the words themselves and the flustered face of the boy responsible had him nearly giddy from the hilarity of it, but he also had that moment of panic when the provoked mental image was provided. Oh god, ew. For a split second Carson was actually afraid he had choked on his own tongue, but instead of asphyxiation what he got was a startled wheezing laugh.

"Woah, easy tiger." He smirked, holding up his hands to placate the retreating boy. Who was clearly blushing, if the harsh red of the tips of his ears was any indication. Serves you right. "I promise I have no fantasies about your grand opening. Which I have to say, wow. Conceited much?"

Grabbing his keys before the other boy could reprimand him or run away with an indignant squawk, he double checked that he had the correct keys and began herding them out the door. "I promise it won't take long," he promised, knowing full well that might have been a lie. "And wow, can't you muster a little excitement? We're going to see a university. Yeah, okay, it might be the only one in the city, but it's a legit place with decent looking programs and hopefully instructors who have some sense of pride in what they're doing instead of huffing glue or having sex with freshmen. Exciting."

"That isn't what I meant," I argue quietly, my face so hot I'm sure I must be about the shade of a rip tomato. For a second, I'm right back in high school, the butt of just about every gay joke imaginable. This isn't quite the same, Carson isn't committing some sorta hate crime or giving me crap for liking boys (I'm honest enough with myself these days to know that even if I haven't told him I'm gay, he's probably made an assumption based on certain... qualities) but the feeling in my chest is the same. He's laughing at me. I brought it on myself, maybe, with a slip of the tongue, but he's laughing at me and calling me conceited about a thing I'm honestly so, so embarrassed about.

I'm upset enough I don't even respond to anything else, keeping my head down and eyes narrowed as we head out the door.

Maybe I should be excited, if just for the potential. Or maybe excited for Carson. If I were a better person, maybe I would be, but right now I just feel stupid and small and I just want to get outside where the cool air should at least help my cheeks not feel so warm.

"Well, if they don't, I guess you're stuck with them anyway," I point out after a long moment, still staring down at the floor. "So maybe you should lower your expectations."

For a split second, Carson was convinced he had actually pushed too hard, gone too far, and that they had finally reached the point where he was told in certain terms to go to hell before the other boy left. The swell of agitation is both unpleasant and unwelcome, and for a moment he fiddles with his keys as he waits for the inevitable.

If he walks away, then fuck him. Don't set up something like that and expect nothing to come of it. It's your own fault. He thought angrily.

But despite his mulish protest, he had to concede that so far Eric hadn't been an asshole to him. Like, at all. The other boy had been nothing but kind of friendly, going out of his way to be helpful. He had even brought him a pie just as a courtesy and to see how Carson was faring. And here he had made the kid look so embarrassed and ashamed that it was like he was waiting for a sinkhole to open up right under his feet. Had it been Scott, or Nicholas or Justin he would have laughed to his heart's content and basked in the glory of the ribbing. But instead he just felt like a jerk.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, he settled for locking his apartment door and tried to ignore the sting regarding his expectations. It was bitchy, but both true and a fair retaliation. He could respect that.

As the awkward silence grew, as did his anxiety. Oh, fucking damn it. Playing with the keys in his hand he stared at a point ahead of them on the hallway floor. "Don't be mad." He said quietly. "I know it was a slip up, it happens. I," he waffled and suddenly he realized the perhaps pushing Eric to go somewhere with him was a massive mistake. Shrugging, he rubbed his neck. "Well, shit."

There's a part of me that wants to point out that the best way to make someone angry (or angrier) is to tell them not to be mad. But I feel like the glare I send his way is probably message enough.

And I can feel myself start to relax when I notice how awkward he suddenly looks, his own head ducked as he rubs at the back of his neck. I can't tell if he's trying to apologize or not and I'm not even sure I want one. It's stupid, but I feel guilty then and I look away to punch the button for the elevator before quickly shoving my hands back into my pockets as we wait for it to arrive.

"Are you like this with everyone?" I ask once we're inside, the tension downright stifling. "Or am I just an easy target?"

There was an odd sense of relief when Eric didn't storm away. This was strange for a multitude of reasons, many of which Carson would have had difficulty explaining even on his best days. He doesn't like people. People were just selfish, cruel, short-sighted herd animals hellbent on their own satisfaction on the best of days, giving no heed to anyone but their own small miserable lives.

And to be honest, he knew that most days he wasn't much better. Smarter, but not better.

But it was rare for him to want someone around him. Even Malerie, for all of her infallible and inexplicable loyalty, had been taken for granted until it had finally hit him that they were friends. That she was his only friend. And the fact that she hadn't been as certain in that fact as he had been had been both disappointing and heartbreaking. It was unsettling to think that he had already been taking Eric for granted, and hadn't even stopped to consider where the other boy was standing in their short-lived acquaintanceship.

Stepping into the elevator, the tension was palpable and he continued to play with his keys, running the pad of his thumb of the ridges of the apartment key. Shrugging, he stared at the wall. "Everyone." He said simply. "People don't like me. So I normally don't like them either." He frowned at the wall and pressed his thumb tightly into one of the ridges. "I wasn't trying to make you feel bad, though."

"They might like you more if you acted like less of a jerk," I tell him, but I'm careful to keep my voice quiet, going for more of a gentle suggestion than another snipe. I shrug then, glancing over to where he's fiddling with a crease in the wall awkwardly. He still hasn't apologized, but I think this might be his way. I know everyone does it differently.

I shrug then, looking back at the closed elevator doors. "And I'm probably a little more sensitive about some things than other people," I confess, afraid to meet his gaze right now, to face that scrutinizing look he's been giving me since practically the moment we met. "We've all got our baggage, right? Honestly, if I'd have made that slip with some friends back home, they'd have chirped the heck out of me. And maybe that's what you were trying for too, but it felt... well, it came off kind of mean."

The elevator shudders to a stop, the doors opening and I step out into the lobby, pausing just long enough to make sure he's following. "I know we're just gettin' to know each other so there's bound to be some missteps, and I know it's a lot harder for you having just gotten here. I'll try to be a little more understanding if you can try to be a little less judgmental. How's that?"

Carson had never worried about being mean. For years it had been his default setting, something to help him shut out all of the idiots and bastards he encountered every day. He often joked about being jaded, which he felt like was an overstatement, but pushing people away had stopped bothering him a long time ago. He had stopped giving a shit about what anyone else thought of him by the time he had hit middle school and had embraced the freedom of it. Being alone and being disliked was a safe bubble. It kept people away, kept him focused on what was important instead of fleeting things like emotions and relationships. And if he was honest, most days he enjoyed cutting into people with his words and dismissal. After years of rejections and barbed words, every sting had felt more like victory.

But for some reason he suddenly remembered the day he saw the line of cuts on Vicki's pale wrist, and with a stomach churning sense of dread he frantically prayed that none of those marks had been because of him.

Wincing, he compartmentalized that thought and stored it as far away in the back of his mind as he could. Vicki was gone and he would never see her again. She gave as many shits about everyone as I did. It's not my fault.

It didn't ease his sudden nausea any.

"I'm not," he stopped to let that thought form properly before he continued. "I'm not very good at that. I mean, I guess I'm capable. I have a best friend back home, so not everyone runs screaming when they see me. But we were only officially best friends for a couple hours before... here." He sighed and followed along after Eric. "I'll try. Just know I wasn't trying to be a complete dick, okay? Up until just now, I thought we were doing pretty good. At least on my side. You hadn't left yet."

It's not honestly surprising to learn that Carson had a friend back home. Even if he has been a bit judgmental and condescending, I've met more unpleasant people before and they all seemed to have friends. It's just a matter of who you get along with, I've always assumed and the limits people have.

And maybe it really hadn't been Carson being mean so much as me not being prepared for what he'd said. Because he hasn't really struck me as a bully so much as someone who just genuinely feels a little superior to everyone else. But in all that time spent in his apartment, he wasn't trying to talk down to me at all; he seemed genuinely interested in getting me to consider Barton for my own reasons, not his. Then I made one little remark and wasn't expecting the backlash.

That's not really his fault, I guess.

"We were doing okay," I agree as we step out into the cold. I hunker down a little, burrowing into my coat as I glance over at him. "And I'm a little sore, I guess, but I'm not angry anymore. Still not sure how I feel about this little outing and I kind of feel like a hostage," I add with just a little bit of a grin so he knows I'm teasing, "but I'm not angry. I guess I can even see how this could be a good thing. For you definitely, but also maybe for me."

Even with what could have been a catastrophic misstep, he had to hand it to Eric for the other guy being resilient. Or perhaps he was just easily forgiving. In another person Carson might have seen that as a weakness, a crack in the armor he could have dug his fingers into to break it open wide and keep the other person open to any future attacks. There was always a chance that he was being played and that the other teenager was just as big of a dick as would have expected from another male teen, but even in their short time together he could guess that he most likely wasn't.

It was weird. Sure, nice guys weren't unheard of but it was so unusual for the surface layer to even remotely resemble the raging douchebag that was hidden underneath. Weird.

Zipping up his sweatshirt he stuffed his hands down into his pockets and tried to ignore the sudden cold. It wasn't freezing, but it was a hell of a lot colder than it had ever gotten out in sunny Clover. "I can promise that as my hostage you'll receive the best possible care," he said, glad that the sudden tension was passing. If he stayed anxious and emotional for too long he may actually break out into hives. "And possibly higher education if we play this right. Trust me, if you hate it, I won't push. But if you get even the smallest twinkle in your big Disney eyes? Sorry, it's open season." He offered the other boy a slight grin in return.

He had already managed to turn a pie delivery into a campus visit. If he played his cards right, he could have them both holding applications before they left.

"Are you offerin' to pay for my schooling?" I reply to that, fighting a smirk. "'Cause I might just let you."

To be honest, I don't even know how much it costs to go to Barton; I'd never gotten that far in my research. As expensive as Samwell is without the scholarship, I guess it's hard for me to imagine it being at all cheap, but I guess it could be free for all I know. Darrow does have some perks, I've found, and that could be one of them.

Though, I have to say, the idea makes me wonder if it's a bit of a trap. The good things in this place often come with some sort of price, it just sometimes takes awhile to figure out what that price might be.

Even though I've never been there, I know exactly where the campus and I hurry against the cold, shoulders hunched as I look over at Carson with a frown. "Why didn't you grab a coat? You look like you're freezing." At least we're not too far away. If we hurry, we might get there before the tips of his ears fall off from the cold.

"What did I say about hand outs?" Carson countered, hunkering in on himself and tossing the other boy a small smirk. He had been turning the question of tuition over in his own mind, trying to decide how to approach that particular problem. While back home he had had a college fund, he was now flying blind and more or less broke. Yes, he had the mysterious stipend provided, but between rent and living cost he doubted he would have very much left to spare on something as costly as university. "We might want to check in with the financial aid office," he admitted. "There's probably scholarships and grants. Loans, too. If we're not too late for fall admissions." He really hoped that they weren't. He couldn't imagine having to spend an entire year slumming it out at some small job until he could start working towards his degree.

Yanking his hood up and over his head, he cast a baleful look at the other boy. "I don't have a coat," he sniped, without any true heat. "I was standing in a parking lot in California before I got here. I literally have the clothes on my back." And fifteen useless copies of the literary magazine, some of which were dirt smudged from their tumble across the sidewalk.

Which he had washed. Although he had washed his jeans and underwear in the sink because he had refused to hang out in the laundry room without any pants on.

The idea of applying for scholarships yet again sounds exhausting. I sorta feel like pouting, honestly; I just went through all this stuff not that long ago. I was supposed to just have to concentrate on my classes and hockey to get through the next four years and instead I'm having to start all over at a school I know won't be as great as Samwell.

Not for the first time, I'm a little overwhelmed by how unfair everything here is.

I refuse to let myself dwell in it, though, sucking in a quick breath instead and nodding. Even if I'm not applying today, even if looking and applying to scholarships is often exhausting and an exercise in failure, I know checking out the financial aid office for options is a smart thing to do. For both of us.

And I'm about to say as much when Carson mentions that he doesn't have a coat, or any clothes at all other than the ones he's wearing. "You're-- Carson! Oh my goodness. Barely any groceries, nothing but the clothes on your back, haven't left your apartment in nearly a week... I swear it's like Thomas all over again except at least Thomas has the excuse of not having his memory." I'm still shaking my head as a I let out a sigh, pausing before we cross the street and then looking over at him again, decisive. "We'll swing by a clothing store on the way to get groceries and skip the pet store if we have to. At least buy yourself some new underwear. Boys, I swear."

"Hey!" He protested, blustering at the implication that he was incapable of taking care of himself. Shoving his hands down further into the pockets of his hoodie he cast a petulant side-eye towards the other boy. "It's not like I knew what to expect! One minute I'm at school, the next I'm falling on my ass on a strange street with you almost tripping over me. By the time I had gotten settled in at the apartment I realized I needed food, so I bought food. Then when I realized I didn't have clothes, I washed what I had. It seemed like small potatoes compared to getting everything else squared away."

It had been a jarring realization that everything he owned was gone. In an odd way he felt like some kind of refugee, someone who had been swept away from everything he had and told to enjoy his new slot in life. His clothes, books, electronics... everything he had acquired in almost eighteen years were suddenly non-existent. He hadn't realized how much he had taken things like clean socks and his favorite soap for granted.

And after walking through the cold, he was definitely missing his car.

Scowling, he kept his pace at Eric's side. "C'mon, you can't tell me that you were perfectly adjusted less than a week in. It isn't like anyone stops and gives you a heads up on stuff like trans-dimensional abductions."

Carson's immediate indignation is amusing in a way it probably shouldn't be and I have to turn my head so he doesn't see me smirking at him. He does have a point, I guess. Not everyone can be expected to just jump into things when they here. I'd had to find clothes for Jack to borrow before he could even approach the thought of buying stuff for himself and I know tons of other people who'd taken awhile to really come to terms with being stuck here long enough to venture out.

"I actually showed up here in full hockey gear," I admit with a small smile. "So I was kinda forced to find something quick unless I wanted to wander around in Underarmour all day. Which I didn't," I make sure he knows.

"But it's been nearly a week and, as I'm sure you've figured out by now, you're not goin' anywhere for awhile. So we might as well get you a decent wardrobe." I pause for a second, glancing his way once more. "I am impressed that you managed to wash your own clothes though. Pretty sure my teammates back home would just be swimming in their own filth if they showed up here on their own."

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