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fandomweekly2022-08-28 01:05 pm
arknes) wrote in fandomweekly2022-08-28 01:05 pm
Entry tags:
[#149] Response (Euphoria)
Prompt: #149 – Glitch
Title: Response
Fandom: Euphoria (2019)
Rating/Warnings: PG, language
Bonus: Yes.
Word Count: 971
Summary: Rue shows up at his door for the fifteenth fucking time, and just like the past fifteen, she ain't supposed to be here.
Knock, knock—
The knocking on the door nearly sucks Fezco's soul away; it's fucking loud and drags him out of his relaxed, fuzzy haze to drown him in shock.
He isn't expecting it on a Sunday night. The gas station's closed, nobody's come along to deal, and nothing's happening, so who's at his damn door?
The knocks get louder and faster. They ain't police knocks, for sure, and it's disrespectful to be rapping on people's door like that, so Fezco stares, then shrugs. They can wait.
Knock, knock, knock, knock—
His gaze flickers towards the door, towards the windows, then back to the TV. Maybe whoever's there is going to go the fuck away.
"C'mon man, I know you're in there! It's cold out here." Rue. Fezco knows that voice anywhere, the details and tones, the intricacies and the ways it breaks— He can hear her voice waver.
Rue ain't supposed to be here. Fezco told her she couldn't be there, not with her high off her goddamn mind, not with her battling demons, and not with everything. He's more of a before rehab, friend, anyway.
But she's right. It is cold.
Had it been anyone else, he would've parked his ass on that big ol' comfy couch and stayed, but.. it's Rue.
Fezco notes that his legs have brought him up before his brain confirmed it was a good idea. And no, talking to her at his house isn't.
"You ain't welcome righ' now."
"I know." She says. "But it's fucking cold man."
"I told you not to come over here." Fezco answers her, but it's a dismissal more than anything. She doesn't seem to take that well with the rapid-fire, even louder and harder knocks that crackle after. Some things never change, like Rue hammering on his door at the asscrack of day when he's relaxing. Or her personality. Rue is fucking insistent to an annoying extent.
"I know, Fez, but just right now—"
"Well, there’s your problem!” Fezco yells back, holding his fucking head because he said her ass couldn't be over there. "That's your fuckin' problem. I told you not to come over here. "
It ain't good for her, being a druggie in a fucking den, and it isn't good for his fucking health to be worried sick about a drug addict. He loves her—he truly does—and he wants best for her. Here ain't it.
"I don't got no fuckin' drugs!" He adds.
"I'm not fucking asking." Rue moans. "Not here for it. You said you don't have shit here, dude. Not anymore."
Her voice doesn't sound needy-needy.
"It's raining." Rue bangs on the door louder. "Look, man, just let me in. I'm not asking for drugs— I promise, man. I fucking promise."
Her voice sounds weak, but there's a crackle of thunder roaring through the sky that drowns his own words out entirely. If he flips the channel, he's betting on seeing a weather report 'bout the worse storm East Highland's gotten in years. He can hear the wet splashes of rain and the crackle of sticks against the road.
But he told her not to come over here. Fezco ain't the one she should be depending on. Not with everything coming through here and the shit it brings, not with the weight of everything on his back entirely. Rue is precious, though. If she was sober, maybe, but that's not reliable. Life's told him through and through not to trust the words and actions of someone battling shit beyond his comprehension, shit like addiction.
He doesn't have anything, so she won't find anything, but she's an addict. They take what they can get, a lifeboat to keep afloat. Anything, no matter what.
"Please," Rue yells, "just an hour, man. 'Til this shit lets up, and I promise I'll go."
Fezco gazes at the door but isn't really staring at it, but beyond it.
He can imagine who's on the other side. Is it Rue, clean and struggling sober? Or is it the her who isn't? He cares for both, but one changes things.
Doing the right thing has the potential of backfiring; it's his intention to do what's best for her.
"Fine." Fezco mumbles as he reaches to open the door, swinging it open to be gusted with a cold front, wind biting at his face.
She's bundled up in that old ass hoodie of hers, drenched through and soaking with the storm. The sight upsets him, but he's sure plenty more things could upset him. Like the sight of her twitching or scratching her arms or staring despondently, which thankfully, she isn't. She could be using, but she ain't here for it.
He contemplates for a moment.
"Okay," Fezco nods slowly. She just needs shelter from the storm. "But I'm locking the bathroom door."
Her big ass bug-eyes blink.
Rue stares at him uncomfortably, just a beanpole standing there. She isn't sure what to make of it, he can see.
"Well, c'mon. Get yo ass in," Fezco steps aside, letting her slender figure pass him before he closes the door behind her.
Rue just slowly nods, standing in place awkwardly. She's being polite, isn't rummaging through his shit trying to find a fix, not desperately asking for the supply he don't got— she's just trying to avoid spilling rain on his carpet. She inhales the warm air of the cozy home, throwing her head a bit back.
His gaze flickers down. She kicked off her shoes and slipped off her socks. She got pale ass feet.
Fezco frowns.
"Make yourself comfy," He flicks his head the other way, "I'mma get you a towel."
Rue nods and her feet hit the tile floor a bit louder. Good, his mind supplies. Nothing's changed.
"Oh." Fezco pauses, and she turns around. "Dinner's on the stove."
Title: Response
Fandom: Euphoria (2019)
Rating/Warnings: PG, language
Bonus: Yes.
Word Count: 971
Summary: Rue shows up at his door for the fifteenth fucking time, and just like the past fifteen, she ain't supposed to be here.
Knock, knock—
The knocking on the door nearly sucks Fezco's soul away; it's fucking loud and drags him out of his relaxed, fuzzy haze to drown him in shock.
He isn't expecting it on a Sunday night. The gas station's closed, nobody's come along to deal, and nothing's happening, so who's at his damn door?
The knocks get louder and faster. They ain't police knocks, for sure, and it's disrespectful to be rapping on people's door like that, so Fezco stares, then shrugs. They can wait.
Knock, knock, knock, knock—
His gaze flickers towards the door, towards the windows, then back to the TV. Maybe whoever's there is going to go the fuck away.
"C'mon man, I know you're in there! It's cold out here." Rue. Fezco knows that voice anywhere, the details and tones, the intricacies and the ways it breaks— He can hear her voice waver.
Rue ain't supposed to be here. Fezco told her she couldn't be there, not with her high off her goddamn mind, not with her battling demons, and not with everything. He's more of a before rehab, friend, anyway.
But she's right. It is cold.
Had it been anyone else, he would've parked his ass on that big ol' comfy couch and stayed, but.. it's Rue.
Fezco notes that his legs have brought him up before his brain confirmed it was a good idea. And no, talking to her at his house isn't.
"You ain't welcome righ' now."
"I know." She says. "But it's fucking cold man."
"I told you not to come over here." Fezco answers her, but it's a dismissal more than anything. She doesn't seem to take that well with the rapid-fire, even louder and harder knocks that crackle after. Some things never change, like Rue hammering on his door at the asscrack of day when he's relaxing. Or her personality. Rue is fucking insistent to an annoying extent.
"I know, Fez, but just right now—"
"Well, there’s your problem!” Fezco yells back, holding his fucking head because he said her ass couldn't be over there. "That's your fuckin' problem. I told you not to come over here. "
It ain't good for her, being a druggie in a fucking den, and it isn't good for his fucking health to be worried sick about a drug addict. He loves her—he truly does—and he wants best for her. Here ain't it.
"I don't got no fuckin' drugs!" He adds.
"I'm not fucking asking." Rue moans. "Not here for it. You said you don't have shit here, dude. Not anymore."
Her voice doesn't sound needy-needy.
"It's raining." Rue bangs on the door louder. "Look, man, just let me in. I'm not asking for drugs— I promise, man. I fucking promise."
Her voice sounds weak, but there's a crackle of thunder roaring through the sky that drowns his own words out entirely. If he flips the channel, he's betting on seeing a weather report 'bout the worse storm East Highland's gotten in years. He can hear the wet splashes of rain and the crackle of sticks against the road.
But he told her not to come over here. Fezco ain't the one she should be depending on. Not with everything coming through here and the shit it brings, not with the weight of everything on his back entirely. Rue is precious, though. If she was sober, maybe, but that's not reliable. Life's told him through and through not to trust the words and actions of someone battling shit beyond his comprehension, shit like addiction.
He doesn't have anything, so she won't find anything, but she's an addict. They take what they can get, a lifeboat to keep afloat. Anything, no matter what.
"Please," Rue yells, "just an hour, man. 'Til this shit lets up, and I promise I'll go."
Fezco gazes at the door but isn't really staring at it, but beyond it.
He can imagine who's on the other side. Is it Rue, clean and struggling sober? Or is it the her who isn't? He cares for both, but one changes things.
Doing the right thing has the potential of backfiring; it's his intention to do what's best for her.
"Fine." Fezco mumbles as he reaches to open the door, swinging it open to be gusted with a cold front, wind biting at his face.
She's bundled up in that old ass hoodie of hers, drenched through and soaking with the storm. The sight upsets him, but he's sure plenty more things could upset him. Like the sight of her twitching or scratching her arms or staring despondently, which thankfully, she isn't. She could be using, but she ain't here for it.
He contemplates for a moment.
"Okay," Fezco nods slowly. She just needs shelter from the storm. "But I'm locking the bathroom door."
Her big ass bug-eyes blink.
Rue stares at him uncomfortably, just a beanpole standing there. She isn't sure what to make of it, he can see.
"Well, c'mon. Get yo ass in," Fezco steps aside, letting her slender figure pass him before he closes the door behind her.
Rue just slowly nods, standing in place awkwardly. She's being polite, isn't rummaging through his shit trying to find a fix, not desperately asking for the supply he don't got— she's just trying to avoid spilling rain on his carpet. She inhales the warm air of the cozy home, throwing her head a bit back.
His gaze flickers down. She kicked off her shoes and slipped off her socks. She got pale ass feet.
Fezco frowns.
"Make yourself comfy," He flicks his head the other way, "I'mma get you a towel."
Rue nods and her feet hit the tile floor a bit louder. Good, his mind supplies. Nothing's changed.
"Oh." Fezco pauses, and she turns around. "Dinner's on the stove."