Chapter Text
You accept, of course.
And it’s not (seriously, it’s NOT) because his dad’s house is literally the nicest place you’ve been in, but, because, well, it’s Theo.
You can’t say no to him. He’s too good to you for you to reject. And annoying.
(“I’ll do your essay outline, your course work—, I’ll even do your laundry—“
”Oh my god. Fine. Do not go through my laundry.”)
So. You find yourself in the old, suburban hell called Madre Linda. Sure, the house is actually gorgeous, but that doesn’t mean you like the neighborhood.
You’d grown up in one exactly like it, and you’ve spent too many years enduring dry talk and not-so subtle bragging at brunches you didn’t want to be at.
(At least you were a kid back then, god forsake you ever have to attend one as an adult.)
Your stay isn’t the first, but you’re still awed. Theo’s stepdad’s house is still super fucking huge, looming over you like the superintendent at the dorm—
(who, took away your outing privileges after finding you passed out on the front lawn, which, was all Theo’s fault, having set you down before launching himself head first into the bushes on the side of the building,)
—two stories high with rooms too many to count. Matthew left the two of you to your own devices, working in his office and barking out grievances over the phone. Natalie was even more absent, either in the backyard pool or practically living in the town, going out early and returning far later.
The first time you came over, the couple thought you and Theo were, well, dating, which was a whole… Thing™.
(“Theo — you, you don’t even call during the semester, and once all of a sudden you run away from your mom’s — which, god, Theo, don’t even get me started — and you show up dating someone?!”
“Uh,” You scratched at your cheek, face flushing uncomfortably.
Theo just watched his father unload on him, hands expressing animatedly, (and almost hitting Natalie, but she looked so used to it, expertly dodging his every threatening movement with little energy) words coming out in exasperated bouts of air.
“So, you two going to run away together? That’s what… this, is?” Natalie said, in a sort of scandalous whisper, looking at her husband continuing to ramble on in a heated frenzy, (“When you left,” His father breathed in, “you scared your mother half to death when your clothes were strewn across the floor, window barged open and bed practically destroyed to hell— she thought you’d been kidnapped, Theo!”)
“Uh,” You repeated, looking desperately at your bestfriend (who was looking completely entertained, watching the scene play out like a movie.)
And Matthew took one last inhale, spouted out a string of curses, another “god, Theo,” and “your mother—“ before spitting out his last word and standing still, arms falling into a crossed position.
“We aren’t dating, dad. This is [Name], y’know. Their sister used to tutor me? In SC?” Theo let it sink in, watching the older man’s face return to a normal colour.
“Oh. Well.” Matthew said after a dry moment.
Natalie, long since yawning, disappeared into the house.)
But it’s been past that. You’re basically routine to the Engler’s. Pass Theo from school to house to house 2, and at some point he’ll bring [Name] along with him.
The two of you enter the cold house, slipping off your shoes and walking up the stairs, luggage in hand. The hallways seem even longer this spring, twisting and turning around the walls and practically disobeying physics.
He drags you down a hallway on your right, down something on the left, through a door, then turning past another left, stopping infront of two doors.
It’s your room, designated, and sitting right beside Theo’s own. It’s comforting, just a little, to know he remembers.
When you enter, it’s bare, spare for a poster or two Theo hung up in your memory, messy post-it notes scrawled and sticked onto the bedframe, saying things like “[name]??? i miss you..” when the boy in question had been painfully drunk, spilling words on the phone (to you, of course.)
The fan above you spins quietly, generating air throughout the room. Peaceful, the room is. So very peaceful. The house is peaceful too, but it radiates a permeated frost throughout it, no matter the season, be it scorching dry or humid wet, the house still keeps itself in tune with its aesthetics.
(“It’s something in the perfume Natalie wears, probably.” Theo says offhandedly when you ask.
You roll your eyes.)
Before you can possibly lay on the bed and zone out, zone asleep and then wake up at four the next day, Theo bursts in from the shared bathroom. It’s the only thing you absolutely hate about the house, because, god.
You’ve spent too many nights with him knocking on your door. It’s so goddamn funny, but you end up falling asleep against the bathroom door where you’d been listening to his rants about something stupid, like chocolate or the economy, and then you’re neck feels like someone socked you in the jaw.
(You won’t ever admit it, but it’s worth it.
Theo’s just… he’s worth it.)
“We need to go…” He pauses, counting things you can’t make out on his fingers and mouthed on his lips, “Grocery shopping.”
”Grocery… shopping?” You repeat slowly, sounding out the words incredulously. He just wants to drag you somewhere, you know, but a grocery store?
”Yes. Please? I’ve never been. With you, I mean.” He says, before he gets a kind of light bulb look about him, “Actually, I’ve never been at all. I want my dearest bestest most awesome bestfriend to show me how human grocery stores work, please, my incredible, adoring, amazing, beautiful—“
You place a finger to his lips, “Okay, okay. Shush.” You roll your eyes, and you can feel his the smile underneath your touch. His face is warm, and you pull away.
After the two of you spend ten minutes running around the house, and another total of twenty (20) long minutes debating about the best grocery store — (“Sobey’s is the best in Madre Linda.” He insisted.
“No. Trader Joe’s is.”
He gave you a look. “Are you serious? Trader Joe’s? What are you, tasteless?”
”No, my taste is just so good you’re incredibly appalled, eyes rolling to the back of your head, can’t differentiate tasteless to best taste ever.”)
—you both compromise on the Whole Food’s Market, and the two of you fool around behind security cameras and away from prying eyes. It’s natural, the way you two slip together like magnetic puzzle pieces.
Sure, you both go to Stanford, but you barely see the boy. Weekends are always either: party, cram study, or go home. You barely fit into two of those, and it’s just so… nice to be with him like this, making stupid jokes and pushing eachother through aisles.
He’s dumping everything he finds intriguing, funny, gross or just good into the cart, reading names off cans and boxes.
“You like spaghetti-o’s?” He asks, holding the weird can in his pale grip.
“Jesus. No.” You shiver, hands gracing the items on the shelves.
Theo snorts, dropping the red and metallic tin into the cart, before reaching up for something you can’t see and dropping it in too.
The two of you aren’t looking for anything, just walking by and waving at how life watches you go by slowly, simple and in tune with one another. The air you have is magnetic and homely, so comfortable in any space.
(And, you realize, you want to spend lifetimes in it.)
When you’re done, holding several bags of groceries filled with things that’ll be eaten, burned or just plain disappear, you’re practically running to his car, key in hand.
(Honestly, you’re just worried you’ll get arrested, or something, after Theo haphazardly swiped items across the self check-out, not bothering at all to check if it’d been properly scanned, dropping things with stuff it shouldn’t be— you shake your head, too tired to rescan and correct the brunette.
Well. Police do scare you, and you’re kind of reminded of how laws exist when a police siren goes off in the distance, speeding down the main road. So. Yeah.)
You reach rhe car, clicking the lock and pushing everything in. When you finally load everything in, heaving and wiping beads of sweat with the back of your hand, you look around for Theo.
You give a confused face when he isn’t in the car, nor behind you of any sort.
Suddenly, he appears, jogging up to the car with a splitting smile across his lips. Hair mussed and fingers twitching impatiently.
“What’re you smiling about?” You ask with a raised brow.
He looks to his feet quietly, cheeks colouring, “Oh, nothing.” he says, pulling his own load of bags into the trunk and pushing the lid on it.
Yeah. Nothing your ass.