Chapter Text
You’ve been eating cold pizza for breakfast for a week now.
You’re not proud of this, but it is what it is.
And as you open the refrigerator door today, late-morning sunlight creeping in through the kitchen window beside you, you peer listlessly around the fridge’s cool compartment before your dreary eyes settle on that greasy, week-old pizza box yet again.
Your enemy.
Your savior.
Your friend.
Cold, stale pepperoni pizza from that little place across the street.
God, part of you wants to be sick just looking at it. Like you know you shouldn't partake in what basically equates to week-old sludge, yet even then your stomach’s growling.
“Could you at least warm it up first?” your best friend and roommate, Allie, asks you. She’s a pale, scrawny girl with short, plum-hued hair tied up in a knot atop her head, the loose fronds of which accentuate the disgust upon her features perfectly.
Watching you slip the cardboard box from out of the fridge, she eyes you narrowly as you lift its greasy lid just slightly, taking a tentative sniff. And though it doesn’t particularly smell good…
You shrug, nudging the fridge-door closed beside you with one hip.
Good enough.
“Too lazy,” you respond, plopping the box atop the island counter between Allie and yourself.
She pulls up a bar stool to sit opposite of where you’re standing, eying you with more and more subtly curbed disgust as you reach inside that box of fetid goodness and procure a slice of stale, cold pizza. Lifting it to your face, taking a giant bite.
“We have cereal, you know," she says above her repulsion. Unable to look away, like you’re some car crash her eyes are glued to.
“Cheerios don’t count as breakfast,” you return, “let alone garner the title of food item.”
“They’re more ‘food’ than week-old pizza is,” she shoots back, button-nose wrinkled with aversion.
It doesn’t deter you. In fact, you take another giant bite of week-old pizza just to further goad her on; relishing the way her mouth puckers as she watches.
“Are you going to eat the cardboard box when that shit is finally gone, too?” she asks you. “They’re basically the same thing at this point.”
“Debatable,” you muffle around a mouthful. Pondering, for just a moment. “But I’ll consider it.”
You can tell she’s trying not to, but her expression still cracks a grin. “Gross.”
To which you smile with your mouth full–cheeks bloated, all greasy teeth. “You love me.”
“I have no idea why,” she replies, staring at your grease-horrific smile.
You motion to yourself with the hand holding your pizza, showcasing the utter specimen of you with bed-messy hair and mismatched pajamas on; short-shorts and an oversized tee. “Because just look at me,” you say, with an unreserved note of awe. “I’m beautiful.”
Allie laughs, propping one elbow atop the counter as she scrutinizes you. “You’re something, that’s for sure.
“Beautiful.”
“If that’s what you want to call it.”
“Beautiful,” you insist again, your mouth so full of crust that flakes of it puff out onto the floor with the inflections of your overstuffed speech.
Which has Allie springing up in a mad-dash toward the kitchen cupboards lining the wall behind you. “Jesus, get a plate!”
She shoves a plate in your hands, which you accept even though the rest of your pizza’s already stuffed away, filling your chipmunked cheeks. “Thankyoouuu~”
“You’re an actual toddler, you know that?” she accuses, arms folding. Though instead of giving you that ‘grow up’ look you think she’s likely to, she instead leans back against the edge of the counter behind her. Massaging one elbow with a distracted hand as her gaze drifts absently along the tiles of the kitchen floor. “But speaking of me loving you…”
Apparently she’d rather memorize the pattern of the floor than meet your gaze while saying it, the proclamation of her love left open-ended…
Chewing the rest of your oversized bite, you struggle your best to swallow. Knowing that coy look of hers quite well.
Oh.
She wants something.
“Let’s skip the foreplay, shall we?” you announce, leaning back against the fridge. Exhaling exasperation as she lifts her gaze again whilst pulling that innocent little ‘what?’ face she does sometimes–as if it’ll actually fool you–like she hardly knows what you mean. “What do you want,” you press, flatly. “I know you want something.”
The fact you’ve so easily read her seems to deflate whatever her scheme. “You don’t know that.”
One brow is raised in slow objection. “You’re about as unsubtle as a shark attack on a school bus. Or however that saying goes. I dunno. You get the point.” Mirroring her stance, your arms fold stiffly across yourself. Your questioning brow arched even higher. “Go on. Spill. You already know I won’t say no.”
Even whilst playing dumb, Allie slowly, slyly grins. “That’s because you can’t. You owe me.”
“Yeah-yeah-yeah,” you ramble, waving her justifications aside like flurries on the breeze, regardless of how correct she is. Letting out a sigh, before admitting, “Honestly, whatever you're after, owing you’s still worth it. I couldn’t stand being left alone with wipes-his-snot-on-his-sleeve guy for even one more second, and he was clingy as fuck; he basically imprisoned me inside that restaurant.” Your gaze weighs with newfound gravity. “Teaches me to try dating again… Anyway, heaven opened and delivered me a miracle in the fact I didn’t openly start to gag before you finally rescued me.”
“Yeah,” Allie chuckles at the memory, “well maybe you should have. How’s he ever going to learn he’s disgusting?” Her lips are pursed, as if in thought. “You know, now that I think about it… you two might’ve been a perfect match.”
Now it’s your turn to look disgusted. “No.”
“Oh c’mon, ” Allie teases. “You could feed him cold pizza in bed~”
Even at such a romantic suggestion, your expression remains wholly unenthused. “If you want me to help you out with whatever it is you’re after right now, you better just get to the point.”
And she must really be desperate, too, because she actually does back down from narking you.
“Fine,” she says, her stance adjusted a touch more comfortably against the lip of the counter as she suppresses her childish grin. Reaching up to tuck the loose strands of her dark-plum hair away in adding, “I need a favor.”
Which was more or less obvious before, though whatever this favor is, it’s left an unspoken blur.
Your gaze slowly narrows for each and every second she continues dragging the silence onward, until eventually, with a mustered, sheepish smile, she blusters in a string of hopeful breath: “Will you pretty please take my photoshoot today?” And even her cherry sweet smile and hope-filled eyes can’t soften the wrecking-ball blow of asking a favor like that.
Of course she’s going to rope me into working on my only day off–
Even though the two of you own a small photography studio together, it often feels like you end up doing most of the work, with her constantly falling on excuses.
In her defense, they’re often good ones, but–still.
So even though you want to say no…
Allie must sense your hesitation, even in the face of the high-holy, never to be dishonored ‘you-owe-me’ card she’s presented.
“It’s just candid shots!” she blurtingly insists in the breadth of your vacillation. “Easy stuff–really. It’s a wedding–”
A wedding–
Another blow lobs you in the gut at her casual admittance of that, as there’s not many shoots more stressful nor demanding than a wedding .
“–but they hired another photographer for all the official stuff, you’re just doing candids, that’s it–and the guest list is insane, there’ll be so many people there no one would notice you slipping in and out, coming or going–no one will bother you, not even the bride–and she’s cool, too–super laid back–”
“There’s no such thing as a laid-back bride,” you cut her off warily, already feeling your insides shrink at the thought of spending the entirety of your day off dealing with this–’cause let’s be honest here, a wedding this big will take all day to deal with.
“You could even sneak out early,” she further attempts to sweeten the deal, sidetracking your immediate instinct to mutter 'no'. “It’ll be so crowded no one would even know. And if somehow they do, which they won't–you can blame it on me.” Unfolding her arms, she raises one hand in solemn oath. “I’ll take all the blame. Deal with whatever the fallout. Promise.”
In your hesitance to respond, swayed both by her utter desperation and your utter desire to crawl back in bed to avoid this, you eventually put forth the query, “How many shots would I have to take?”
Her eyes light up like squishy little Christmas lights brimming with hope. “Does that mean you’ll do it?!”
One corner of your lips quirks wryly at her reaction; the rest of your features remaining flat. “That means I’m wondering how many shots I’d have to take.”
Her guilty smile doesn’t exactly bode well in whatever her response is.
“Just, like… I dunno…" she mumbles, small words dragging. "Maybe about... fifteen-hundred...? Give or take?”
The inadvertent wrecking ball she keeps trying to take you out with might as well slam you into the wall.
It’s practically noon already, thanks to you thinking you finally had a chance to sleep in, which of course your luck’s now creeping forth to bite you for foolishly believing. And a wedding this big, with that many shots? You won't have time for anything else you'd planned on finally getting done today. Not if you take her up on this. Not beyond all the prep-work that’s required, the getting yourself ready–
Ugh, you despise photoshoots requiring formal attire…
And though declination holds your tongue…
After mentally writing up and tearing through a thousand imagined scenarios in which you say ‘no’ to your best friend Allie, you eventually lean more heavily back against the fridge. Heaving a sigh while a steady frown arrests you.
“Fine,” you mutter–as if at gunpoint. As though walking the goddamn plank. Resignation blunting your words to an unenthused, monotone scrawl in continuing, “But I get the ‘I-owe-you’ card back, and oooooh,” your pitch drops low; ominous, “I’m going to make full use of it.”
For a second, you think she actually balks at the foreboding prospect you present her, which by itself amuses you almost to the point of actually smiling again.
Almost.
“So you will, then?” she asks, voice wearing thin. “You definitely can?” So hopeful that, even un-coerced by her former heroism in saving you from your failed attempts at re-entering the world of dating, you wouldn’t want to let her down by saying ‘no’.
Again, you heave a sigh; casting your gaze away from her. “I said ‘fine’, didn’t I?”
Your roommate actually squeals as her cheerful hug assaults you without warning, throwing you off balance and causing you to shriek out something unintelligible as you’re barrelled against the door of the fridge.
“Thankyouthankyouthankyou!” she beams, squeezing you like she’s trying to pop your head off and damn this bitch is stronger than she looks–!
You try to peel her off you. “Allie…” you wheeze. “Can’t… breathe…”
Giggling to herself, she finally releases you; oblivious to how you’re now gulping down air to keep from drowning on dry land.
“Seriously,” she says, her brown eyes catching onto yours more soberly. “Thank you, _____. I have to help my sister move out of her ex’s place today, and I just…” Her expression slightly fractures, though she does her best to tape it back together with a smile. “I can’t say no.”
Behind your resignations, your insides twinge with guilt. Because Allie’s told you enough about her sister’s torrential marriage for you to know it was on the rocks, but you didn’t know she was moving out, that it was over over…
Shit.
“Of course,” you return, no longer even close to giving her a hard time. “Help your sister. I’ll take care of everything else.”
Allie smiles up at you like you’re the bestest friend in the whole wide world and would always go to bat for her, even if her crimes should drag you down. The Hallmark vibes of moments passing only dispelled by you eventually clearing your throat.
“You probably should have led with that, just in hindsight,” you suggest, offhanded. “The whole ‘sister angle’ thing. Just for future reference. Would have gotten a ‘yes’ outta me a whole lot faster.”
As you press back a smile, Allie bites back her responding grin. “Insulting your choice in food distracted me."
"Hands off my pizza while I’m gone, by the way," you interject with a pointed look. "Don’t even think about touching my cheesy-pepperoni baby if you get back before me.”
“Cheesy-pepperoni baby? You’ve named it now?”
“There’s still three slices left, I’ve given my heart to all three, and I fully intend to eat them tonight after this wedding.”
Her nostrils flare with slight revulsion. “Just let me throw it out!”
“No.”
“You’re going to get sick from eating that shit! Gonna contract some kind of new, pizza-fueled disease that lays waste to all humanity!”
You shrug. “I’m willing to roll the dice.”
As she stews in vague disgruntlement, you blow her a little kiss; her sour mood prompting an extra pep in your step as you push out from off the fridge. Side-stepping your friend in heading off in the direction of the hall, seeing as how you now have a wedding to shower and primp and scrub for, which is great because who needs a day off, anyway?
You’re glad, at least, that without time to actually do your laundry, you still have enough clean clothes to throw something respectable and possibly semi-cute together.
“I’m gonna shower,” you call from the edge of the kitchen, padding barefoot down the pine-floored hall. “Can you text me everything I need to know for today? Names, times, address–the works.”
There’s a pause in which you hear a bowl of cheerios pouring, before you hear Allie dutifully calling after you, “Texting, aaaaand… sent!”
Slipping inside the bathroom, you lean back heavily against the door, using your weight to sink it closed behind you. Feeling inexplicably weighed by a thousand things you can't describe, now that you’re alone. And you’re happy to help Allie out–really, you are. But you’re also bombarded by how the rest of the only day off you’ve had in a while is now essentially ruined.
Oh, well…
It’s worth it to help Allie.
Plus you’ll get that ‘I-owe-you’ card back from her, which you could definitely make use of.
And, hey.
Maybe it won’t be so bad.
Maybe you’ll be so busy that the day will pass quickly.
Maybe you’ll meet some kinda cute guy–some groomsman or something–who’ll manage to keep your mind off working.
A bubble of unthought laughter chafes, unbidden, up your throat at even the idea of that.
Yeah. Okay. Except life’s not a stupid romance movie. And even if it were, the last thing you need right now is some guy showing up in your life, distracting you, complicating everything.
Business at your and Allie’s little photography studio has only just started reliably picking up, and you need to focus all your time on that–you have to, with how busy you’re getting, and with how often Allie finds excuses for why she can't. You don’t have time to waste on anything other than work, which is just one of the many reasons you're taking a break from men, even imagined ones you meet at some wedding. The other reasons including your most recent, nightmarish attempts at dating, not to mention your last long-term relationship, the storm of which ended months ago and yet its wounds still somehow feel fresh…
Nope.
You’re done with dating.
Like. Possibly forever, you’re done with dating.
And really, you’ve always been better off on your own, anyway.
So you’re not chasing after any hot, imaginary wedding-guest rebounds today, even if one should impossibly find you from the grips of wedding-fairytale hell.
Just…
No.
Reaching inside the shower to twist the faucet on, you wiggle out of your clothes before slipping inside its steam, hot water soon working to dispel all those knots of tension riddled through you even as you tell yourself you haven’t been stressed, haven’t been lonely, that your wounds have all healed and you’re totally and completely fine.
Just focus on work. Wrap things up early tonight, if that’s even possible. Get all the shots you need to take, before dragging yourself back home to your hot date with three slices of week-old pizza.
That’s it.
Period.
The end.
And maybe things might've been that simple, if only your luck allowed for things like that.