Chapter Text
The cheap fluorescent lights above Jeordie's head flicker and buzz in a staccato rhythm that grates on his nerves as he and the rest of his 12 classmates impatiently await the arrival of their semi-permanent substitute, or in other words: the replacement they hired for Mr. Hughes after he had an acute breakdown during class. The handle on the door jiggles, and there's an eerily simultaneous head swivel as the man rushes in, clearly flustered. He smiles sheepishly as he discards a clearly worn down leather jacket onto the back of the ugly green rollie chair situated behind the desk. He adjusts himself and tries to meet as many eyes as he can before speaking.
"Hello. Before I begin introductions, I'd like to formally apologize for my lack of punctuality, I was having car difficulty." He rubs the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. Hazel eyes are circled with dark rings that indicate lack of sleep, and inky black hair is slicked back against his skull. "I'm Mr. Warner, and I'll be substituting for Mr. Hughes for the remainder of the school year."
"D'you know what happened to him?" A girl three rows away asks softly.
"Uh, n-no, no, I don't, I'm sorry." Mr. Warner smiles sheepishly, visibly reddening at the tips of his ears. "Alright," He grabs the light green roster booklet from the desk, and begins to read off roll. "Korey Allen?"
"Here."
When Mr. Warner gets to his name, Jeordie
sighs
loudly
and annoyed, but
doesn't bother to correct him."Jeordie White?"
The adult
raises his brows at the teen, and waits until he responds with an indignant 'here,' before moving on.
There isn't a lesson that day, just an irritating kind of 'game' of getting to know everyone that Jeordie simply sloughs off with sarcastic responses. He doesn't feel the need to justify it. It was too far into his senior year for him to actually give a damn. And honestly, he didn't need this class to graduate anyway.
He settles happily into his computer chair after school, bag discarded just inside his bedroom door. He rolls his shoulders, bitching to himself about the weight of his goddamn piece of shit worth-less-than-the-paper-they-were-printed-on textbooks. Even his bass was lighter than that shit. When he's massaged the kinks out to the best of his ability, he signs into his computer and his messenger chirps happily at him.
3:15
MARILYN SAYS: Hey, doll. How was your day?
3:15
TWIGGY SAYS: Long as fuck.
TWIGGY SAYS: How'd the first day at that new job go?
3:16
MARILYN SAYS: First off, I was late, second off, it was bad.
MARILYN SAYS: I don't think they like me, Twigs.
Twiggy chuckles, and despite himself, begins to turn warm at Marilyn's nickname for him.
3:17
TWIGGY SAYS: Aw, Mar, don't be so hard on yourself. I'm sure you did great.
Marilyn and Twiggy had messaging back and forth for months, and the teen had kind of started to develop inklings of feelings for Marilyn. But it would never work. Online relationships just did not work. So he would settle for messaging, and light flirting. Hopefully his feelings would ebb with more time. He was much too scared to open up to Marilyn about it, afraid the older man would shun him and they would lose contact. He had poured himself dry to Marilyn, every thought, every dream, was all out there for him to know and Jeordie would be damned if he was going to lose the older man over a fleeting little teenage crush (caused by raging hormones, no doubt).
Marilyn sighs heavily as he leans back in his chair, messenger pinging once in a while as Twiggy enthusiastically divulged information about his new project. He responded when appropriate, with the right amount of enthusiasm so Twiggy would keep talking. It scared him when the younger man would get on a roll about something he clearly has passion about but would then suddenly suck it all right back in because he was convinced that no one gave a shit. Marilyn felt a sharp twinge in his heart when Twiggy says suddenly,
Mar, I'm sorry, you must be tired from working all day. I'm gonna go. Maybe finish some homework.
5:25
MARILYN SAYS: Twiggy
MARILYN SAYS: Wait
MARILYN SAYS: I'm sorry.
5:26
MARILYN SAYS: I am tired, but that doesn't mean you have to go.
MARILYN SAYS: I was painting and thinking too hard, I didn't mean to drop off like that.
MARILYN SAYS: Would you maybe wanna play me somethin'?
A few minutes stretch on for what seems like an eternity and then some until Twiggy finally responds with
Lemme set up.
Twiggy rustles around in his desk drawer for a pick, and adjusts his mic. He switches on his audio feed and begins to play softly, satisfied when his fingers glide easily along the frets to play the nameless tune he'd been humming throughout the day. He plays for a long time, letting himself be lost in the music, when his messenger pings at him. He stops playing, and hits mute, before reading in the incoming message.
8:25
MARILYN SAYS: Twigs? Where is it you said you were from again?
8:26
TWIGGY SAYS: Ft. Lauderdale
TWIGGY SAYS: why?
8:26
MARILYN SAYS: Just wondering..
MARILYN IS TYPING.....
MARILYN IS TYPING.....
8:29
MARILYN SAYS: I'm gonna go, Twigs. I love you. Im here if you need me okay?
8:30
TWIGGY SAYS: okay. I love you too, Mar.
Marilyn leans back in his chair, scrubbing a hand over his face. He and Twiggy had been in the same area for almost a month and neither of them had any idea. He could kick himself, really.
"You, Brian Warner, are a damn fool." He says to his reflection in the powered down laptop screen.
He fleetingly contemplates shooting Twiggy a text explaining that his job had brought them into the same area but his finger hesitated over the send button. He saves it as a draft and decides that tomorrow he was going to try his damndest to get these kids to like him.