close ain't close enough

[Fenris]

This was an excellent idea. Of course it was. All of Ivy's ideas were excellent, and all evidence to the contrary was easy enough to ignore.

>> Ivy Langley continued from Those Moments Were Like Flowers to Me

It was rare for her to leave the house on foot, her Porsche left parked in the driveway. The gated community was quite isolated from the rest of the city, which was great when that was what you wanted—and for Ivy it was, most of the time—but it was near impossible to get anywhere on foot. The exception, naturally, was going from one part of the community to another. It was the perfect weather for a walk, and driving the two minutes it would take to pull into the Carter's place would feel like a bit of a waste.

A slight breeze blew through her hair. Her outfit was simple by her standards, but perfectly coordinated. Her stride was confident. She was... a little nervous, actually, but she told herself things would work out okay, and she was never, ever wrong.

It was a ten minute walk at a leisurely pace, which she maintained; the last thing she wanted to do was break a sweat. Her plan, despite her nerves, was quite simple and honestly foolproof: she'd turn up at the Carter house unannounced and, unless he had a damn good excuse for waving her off, she'd spend the afternoon with Bret whether he liked it or not. And he would like it, whether or not he knew it at first. She had her ways. They were not particularly subtle ways, necessarily, but they worked, and that was all that mattered.

She approached the front door, pausing for a moment. It was a nice place, by any normal standard; she was at least vaguely aware of what an "average house" looked like. She'd seen Myles's when they were children and she'd started crying and begged her father to let him move in with her. The Carter house was many magnitudes nicer than that particular memory, but it still seemed a bit quaint to her. She'd been here enough times now that she felt comfortable strolling up to the front door and ringing the doorbell unannounced, though, and that was exactly what she did.

Ivy plastered a sweet smile on her face, and waited.

[MK Kilmarnock]

Thunderous woofing and barking poured from the other side of the door, growing closer and braying to the beat of claws clacking against hardwood and stone floors with no grace or subtlety. Such things unmistakably came from the Carter family pet, a massive 250-pound St. Bernard named Hogan. As Hogan continued barking and somehow defied physics in hoisting enough of his body upright so he could stand on two legs, he blocked out the light in the frosted crystal glass window adorning the uppermost part of the front door, far above Ivy's eye level.

A male voice, either one of the twins or Mr. Carter as they all sounded rather similar, shouted out the dog's name. It was nearly impossible to hear anything else over the barking until the voice called out again, and the door's mechanisms clicked with the sounds of being unlocked.

Wyatt was the one who opened the door, rather awkwardly as he was standing over his dog who he'd forced into a seated position, his other hand occupied with holding onto the dog's collar. As anybody familiar with the Carter household knew, Hogan wasn't a vicious animal by any means, but he was a hyper one, loved to tackle people, and that was a problem when he was nearly triple Ivy's weight. "Hey, hold on a sec?" Wyatt asked in a mixture of befuddlement and pleasure, even firing off a lopsided smirk while holding back his dog. "He won't go nuts in the kitchen. I'll open a pack of bacon or somethin', that'll keep him busy and I'll come back to getcha." The door closed most of the way and Wyatt kicked it the rest shut.

"C'mon fatty! Second lunch!"


Maybe half a minute had passed before he sheepishly opened the door again, this time standing up straight. "'Sup Ives, looking for Bret? 'Cuz he's fucked off somewhere and probably won't be back for an hour or so."

[Fenris]

Ivy's smile barely wavered through the sudden clamorous barking echoing on the other side of the door; she was pretty used to it by now, though admittedly it was always a little disconcerting hearing an animal that could probably straight up kill her if it tackled her the wrong way. And she had been tackled. Several times, actually, and frankly it was a miracle she hadn't gotten a concussion out of the deal. She didn't dislike dogs, they were fine, she supposed, but she was very clearly a cat person, and Hogan's presence was more of a thing she needed to tolerate than a draw to the Carter house.

There was an ambiguous voice—she kept her smile neutral, polite, it would be real awkward if she'd put a flirtatious look on her face and their dad showed up—and then the door opened. Her eyes trained nervously onto Hogan first until she was reasonably satisfied that he was restrained. He was way too fucking big, even sitting. Only then did her eyes flicker to the face of the person behind him. Not Bret. Not their dad, either. Her head tilted slightly in unwarranted surprise. There was no reason not to expect Wyatt to be here, but for some reason the possibility hadn't occurred to her. Not that she was complaining, particularly.

"Yeah, sure," she said quickly as he closed the door again, and she tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for him to come back, immediately stopping as the door opened again.

"Naturally." Why else would I be here?, she didn't say. True, she'd never turned up at the Carter house for any other reason, but she didn't want to sound ungrateful for Wyatt's company. "Mind if I stay here, for the time being? Seems like a bit of a waste to walk back home and then walk back here in an hour."

The words that came to her mind were I'm sure you can keep me entertained. For a couple of reasons, she didn't say them.

[MK Kilmarnock]

"Well no shit, was just about to say y'all should come in," Wyatt chuckled, pushing the door the rest of the way open and getting most of his body out of the way to let Ivy past, though he kept his hand pressed against the opposite part of the frame which formed a little 'arch' for her to walk under. Not like that was hard for her to accomplish, she probably didn't even have to duck. He looked dressed for workout or for bed with little wiggle room for discerning which, wearing his infamous chartreuse wifebeater and a pair of basketball shorts, feet clad only in calf-length socks. The only other thing he wore was the square gauze bandage above his eye which was discolored with some swelling.

Seeing as how Ivy wasn't what one would call a stranger to the Carter household, Wyatt was content to let her head on in and shut the door behind her. "Don't mind the mess!" he called after her in almost reflexive politeness, something his mom always said when anybody came in. Figured it had probably rubbed off on the kids. "Mom n' Pops are out too. Some black-tie-and-stetson affair I'unno, they just tell us it's a business meeting and leave it at that."

Long strides let him catch up to her easily, but he took a detour through to the kitchen where Hogan could be heard loudly wolfing down some sort of food his master had distracted him with. When Wyatt returned to meet her in the primary living room, he was carrying a quarter-full gallon of milk in one hand and an overstuffed peanut butter and banana sandwich in the other. "You caught me in the middle of eating but lemme finish this off." He took a big bite of the sandwich and started chewing, stuffing the food to the side of his cheek and guarding his lips with his elbow: "You guys doin' alright? He ain't been tellin' me shit."

[Fenris]

As Ivy walked through the door (the top of her head not even brushing Wyatt's arm in the process) and she heard him call out behind her, she wondered idly if anyone had ever said "don't mind the mess" and been serious about it. It was an odd thing to have seemingly become common courtesy, but it was engrained enough that she said it herself on the occasion she had company despite her own home usually looking about as lived in as your average museum exhibit. The Carter household wasn't exactly spotless, but she supposed not everyone had maids. She kind of preferred it that way. It felt like a home. The Langley mansion felt more like a mausoleum, most of the time. Inhabited by herself and a mostly-rotating cast of ghosts.

She looked over her shoulder, watched as Wyatt walked toward her only to turn toward the kitchen, and paused just for a moment. It wasn't the first time she'd seen him since the fight, though they hadn't talked in person since; she'd only gotten to thank him over text. He looked... better than he had, at least. Not great, but better. She ignored the knot in the pit of her stomach. Tyrell had looked worse. That was what mattered.

Shaking herself out of her momentary reverie Ivy made the rest of the way to the living room, carefully removing her shoes before making herself comfortable sitting sidesaddle on the couch. Not particularly ladylike, perhaps, but that didn't seem like a major concern considering Wyatt's outfit and, when he returned from the kitchen, the way he was shoveling food into his mouth. It'd made her cringe when they first met, but she was very used to it by now.

He asked a question. Her gaze flicked from his face to her lap as she twirled a bit of hair around her finger, cursing herself for the nervous habit she knew he'd recognize. How much should she tell him?

"Things are... fine. Mostly. Just haven't seen him much. Thought I would surprise him." Her voice was more terse than she would have liked. It was fine. Things would be fixed as soon as Bret got home. She just had to be patient. And try to calm down.

[MK Kilmarnock]

Warning sign number one: Ivy was doing that swirly-finger-hair thing that she did whenever she wasn't feeling comfortable. Or when she was horny. Probably not that second one right now, no matter how much wishful thinking Wyatt put behind it.

Warning sign number two: She wasn't making eye contact. Or like, she WAS looking at him, but once he looked at her she did that 'oh let's dart my eyes away' thing. That only happened when she was nervous about coming across the right way to someone. Or maybe when she was horny? She wasn't really looking at him that night by the river, after all.

Warning sign number three, and definitely the most damning one: Ivy Langley, given the opportunity to talk at length about her current situation, was keeping her lips tighter than a bull's ass in fly season. Whatever was running across her mind was something she didn't want to get too deep into. So she and Bret were having a rough time about it, and after they'd gone out of their way and through so much trouble to make her feel better. Wyatt clenched his jaw and swallowed. Ty hadn't done something in retribution, had he? There were plenty of unbroken ribs left to smash in if that was the case.

Well, first thing's first. If he wanted to get anywhere with the blessed little thing half-strewn across the couch, he'd have to crack her open like a cold one. Incidentally, a cold one happened to be the go-to tool in the toolbox to do just that. "Well he'll be a little while so why don't you make yourself at home?" Wyatt offered, putting his hand on the back of the easy chair like he had intentions of sitting down, only to place his half-eaten sandwich precariously across the back of it. "I'll get us a beer. We still got like most a rack of PBR if you don't mind it. Br..."

Bret calls it pisswater and drinks craft shit mostly, Wyatt thought but didn't say. They didn't have to talk about Bret right now, did they? Ivy was clearly in a tough spot with him right now and she didn't need somebody playing guidance counselor, she needed to loosen up and have a little relaxation time. "Be right back," he said, winking with his good eye. Unfortunately, his other eye being swollen like it was, it just looked like he was blinking pointedly before he walked to the kitchen, returning with two cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon stuffed into each hand. He set two cans down on the coffee table and held the other two out for Ivy, waiting for her to take them before snatching up his sandwich and pulling the chair closer to where she sat with her legs up on the couch.

"You always had them socks?" Wyatt asked, looking to Ivy's bare feet before popping open his first beer and downing it.

[Fenris]

Pabst Blue Ribbon. Ivy didn't actually make a face, but she sure did cringe internally. Did every boy in her life have shitty taste? PBR was what Myles brought over half the time, too, and she drank it because it was alcoholic and it was there, but it didn't mean she had to like it. She might have mentioned that out loud had she not had an unspoken agreement with Myles to just never mention his existence around the Carters unless absolutely necessary. Those were two worlds best kept as separate as humanly possible. Well, she talked about them to Myles all the time, but what was a best friend for if not a sounding board for all of her feelings about the boys in her life? He didn't mind. Well, yes, he did, when she went into too much detail, but she tried not to do that. When she was sober. Which was not all that often. She was sounding worse and worse the more she thought about this, actually.

It wasn't every boy in her life, she supposed. Despite his attempt to cut himself off she knew what Wyatt was about to say. Ivy didn't really like any beer—if she couldn't have wine her only priority was getting drunk as quickly as possible, and that ideally meant shots—but she could still tell Bret had decent taste. She could drink the shit he brought her without wincing, at least. That was romance, right?

She reached out and accepted the two cans Wyatt offered her as he returned. She must be doing a really shitty job of hiding her feelings if his first instinct was to give her a few drinks; he knew full well how little it was going to take her to crack, and he wasn't wrong. Or maybe this was just a super transparent ploy to get under her skirt. And yeah, looking at his expression she'd bump that "maybe" up to a "probably", and yeah, that should've made her think twice about cracking open a beer, but fuck if she didn't need a drink. At the very least she'd be less of a nervous wreck when Bret showed up. Distracted, she didn't quite grasp the words that came out of Wyatt's mouth at first, and she had to actually look at her feet before cracking a smile. He was just messing with her. "Evidentally you haven't been paying much attention." She stretched her legs, toes wiggling for emphasis.

Ivy popped her first one open and downed it, noting with a bit of pride that she finished just as quickly as Wyatt himself did. She leaned over to plunk the empty can down on the coffee table before cracking open the second one.

"These aren't so terrible. If you drink them fast enough."

She downed that one, too.

[MK Kilmarnock]

"Yeah well, maybe I wasn't paying attention to your feet," Wyatt shot back, tilting his chin back to gulp down the can as he was known to do.

He pulled the empty can away from his lips and was about to set it down when he halted with the can halfway down. He was expecting dinner-and-a-show of sorts with Ivy grimacing and making a remark about how beer wasn't her fancy, especially when she'd made that face when she took the cans. Instead, Ivy practically shotgunned hers, chugging it like a glass of water. He'd started watching just in time, looking on with morbid curiosity as she slammed the can down. His followed, and he went to pick up a second.

And so did she.

"Wow, I mean, they ain't that bad," Wyatt said in amused fascination. He cracked his, took a sip, but just... watched her. Ivy downed her second nearly as quickly as she had the first. "You're gonna give yourself a helluva stomach ache you keep doin' that," he warned playfully, throwing his beer back. Nobody would have suspected Ivy to be a stranger to drinking but he imagined her for a sipper of martinis and wine and whatever, not a fucking vacuum cleaner who'd be right at home among frat boys. "Or keep suckin', you're probably good at that," he cracked, finishing his second beer a few seconds after she finished hers.

"Just kidding. You want another?" He asked without thinking. Not that he put too much thought into his interactions with Ivy. They were comfortable with each other, right? He didn't have to watch every little thing he said like he did at school. Nobody's feelings were getting hurt today. Hell, sounds like Bret already took care of that little task.

[Fenris]

"Used to it." Ivy shrugged as she popped the second can down next to the first. She'd learned to drink fast pretty early in her drinking career; way back when she didn't have nearly as much of a taste for wine as she did now, had to gulp it down to keep it down. Now she savored the taste, when she wasn't in the mood to get shitfaced, which was admittedly a shrinking proportion of the time. Beer, though, and most liquor for that matter, she just couldn't get used to, and thus down the hatch it went. It was a good party trick. Bret was used to it by now, but she hadn't done a whole lot of drinking around Wyatt. Been drunk around him, yes. She remembered, faintly, sitting with him—or, well, on him, really—on the bench by the river. It hadn't been all that long since then, she didn't think. Admittedly she didn't remember the details all too well.

She stuck her tongue out at him as she stretched across the couch like a cat, arms stretching above her head. It hadn't hit her yet, obviously; the only new sensation besides the gross residual taste in her mouth was the familiar warmth in the pit of her stomach, but that was enough to make her significantly more at ease. He was being predictably... flirtatious felt like the wrong word, because it implied some degree of subtlety. He was being predictably Wyatt. But she wouldn't like him so much if that bothered her.

"Yeah, one or two." She should probably take it easy, but four beers would generally put her in the "comfortably drunk" category. Three might be better, if only to be cautious. She'd been a bit too nervous to eat lunch before she left the house. "Thanks."

Hic.

She clapped her hands over her mouth, but not quickly enough to disguise the fact that she'd hiccupped so loud her whole body jumped.

Hic.

That was what she got for drinking so fast, she supposed.

"And maybe—hic—a glass of water?"

[MK Kilmarnock]

"HAAA!"

Wyatt's laugh came in the form of a short blast accompanied by the snare-like beat of his hand clapping down onto his knee, bare skin on bare skin as the cloth of his shorts rode up when he sat down. "Havin' a bit of a hiccup? Beer's got water in it, just drink it slowly." He thought to add the offer of making her come get it herself, but Ivy had adopted a position on the couch that he rather liked; stretched out, arms up, legs... not really open but maybe a tiny bit and fuck she was hot in that skirt. En route back to the kitchen, he adjusted himself so his underwear held everything in place. Might be a bit counter-productive to come back with beer and poke an eye out in the process, though in a best case scenario, maybe Ivy would make a few Pinocchio jokes.

He'd left the old empty cans where they were and came back with four more, again with two in each hand. "Two it is," Wyatt said, making the decision for her. "So," Wyatt sat back in the chair and inched it forward a little bit more. "You wanna tell me what he's been up to? Or we could just drink some more, your choice."

[Fenris]

Ivy pouted at Wyatt's laugh, feeling heat blossom on her cheeks, though whether that was entirely from embarrassment or also from the beginnings of intoxication she had no idea. Sipping the beer sounded... not ideal, though she supposed she did need to slow down, and given a little time and a touch of tipsiness she'd be a lot less unwilling. The hiccuping was very annoying, though. Part of her hoped Wyatt would make some attempt to scare her on his way back in, but the instant she thought about that she realized it would no longer work, anyway. Instead she held her breath, cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk's, until he got back. Worth a shot.

"Little of both, I suppose. If I have to drink this slowly it's going to be awfully awkward to sit here in silence until I'm done." She winced dramatically at the word slowly as she took the two cans, popping one open and holding the other between her legs in lieu of putting it back on the table. She took a sip, made a determined face, and took a second.

Hic. Goddammit.

"... It's not a big deal. Honestly. I'm probably—hic—making more of a thing of it than I should." Ivy shrugged, still unsure of how much was wise to spill. She trusted Wyatt, sure, but he was sure to prioritize Bret over her, and as far as she knew there was every chance he'd tell him whatever he said. At the same time... this was one of very few subjects she couldn't get much help out of Myles for. He'd listen, of course, he was an angel that way, but he made no secret of the fact that if he could press a button that would kill both Carters he would do so with aplomb, which didn't make him a great source of advice.

"It's been the same for a while now. I... hic think I told you. Some of it," she finished cautiously. The topic came up last time at the river, she remembered, though not the specifics.

[MK Kilmarnock]

"Yeeeeah, well. Never can read that guy. I'm no better than you, believe me," Wyatt said. "Believe me," he repeated, this time putting a little bit of spin on the words to sound like President Canon, complete with an assuring wave of the hand. A supporter of the country's president he may have been, but it couldn't be denied the guy was a real character with a microphone. Laughing at his own impression, Wyatt guzzled down some more PBR and wiped his chin when he was finished, more out of a physical tic than a true need to clear any liquid from his chin.

Ivy talking about the time they'd met up at the river brought him back to that night and, not to get up his own ass with sentimentality, but it had all just felt so damn right and hell, it might be the beer talking, but he kinda wanted to feel that again. At this rate it would probably be for Ivy's own good as well, because if she kept going and got trashed, there's a good chance she'd fall off the couch if left unattended. Couldn't well have that, now could they?

"But that was a while ago. It's not like I remember everything. I wish all the memory was you but fucking bondage kid being a creeper takes up a lot of it," he joked while not entirely telling a lie. And getting Ivy to loosen up and talk more was good for them both. That and beer. Beer was also good for them both. "Like he still cares about ya or he wouldn't have helped me murder Ty for ya."

[Fenris]

Wyatt wasn't the most capable impressionist, but between the beer and the fact he was clearly trying to cheer her up, Ivy still had to crack a smile. And in a weird way it was comforting, knowing that he found Bret just as inscrutable as she did. This whole mess could be cleared up in a moment if Bret would just trust her with whatever the hell was wrong, but apparently Wyatt didn't know either. And she didn't doubt for a moment that Wyatt would tell her if he knew. He wouldn't lie to her. She wasn't actually sure Wyatt was capable of lying. That was comforting, too.

She took a long draught of beer—she dreaded the prospect of sipping her way through an entire PBR, two sips had been enough to make her long for a nice glass of Merlot—and resumed twirling a long strand of hair around her finger. "I don't remember much either. Though I suppose that isn't much of a surprise." Her smile widened slightly. "Have I ever thanked you properly for that? I dread to consider having had Latex Lukas found me alone." She had vague recollections of her wanting Wyatt to dump him in the river, which would have been funny, but also probably manslaughter considering how cold it has been that night. That memory was washed away with a stronger one, one of warmth, of being pressed close to Wyatt's chest, and redness bloomed in her cheeks. It would probably have been better had she forgotten that. It left her looking longingly at the few feet that separated them now. She wanted to reach out.

She wouldn't. If nothing else, she wasn't drunk enough. She was on her way, though, and that probably should have stopped her from taking another drink.

She drained the can, and placed it with the others.

"Yeah... yeah. I know. I don't think he's... don't think he doesn't care, or anything. Or I wouldn't be here. Y'know?" That was probably only vaguely comprehensible, but whatever. Her words were starting to slip, though that was nerves as much as it was the beer. "I don't know what I was... expecting. Just thought, like, if I spent some time with him things would get better, I guess." She looked back up at him. "I didn't thank you properly for that, either."

The bandage above his eye still pulled at her.

[MK Kilmarnock]

Wyatt's grin grew wider and he opened his last can, taking two loud gulps. When he slammed it down, the noise it made was too light and tinny; he'd downed the whole thing.

"Well I'd do it all over again, for free!" he boasted, standing up from his chair and stretching. With four cans making a neat little pyramid on his side of the coffee table, there was nothing keeping him from sitting down, and he felt like letting his blood circulate anyway. "You should've seen it. I thought he was gonna start crying, and then the fucker thinks he's gonna pull a KNIFE like, sit down, spaz kid!"

Wyatt chuckled and had it dawn on him in the midst of his laughter that he hadn't mentioned a knife to her before now, and this was probably the first she was hearing it. Ivy seemed almost... regretful?

"Hey, y'all don't feel bad about Ty, do you?" he asked, testing the waters and stepping over to the arm of the couch closer to Ivy's toes. "Or more like this?" he pointed to the bandage. "It's nothin' after all. We knew what we were doing, not the first punch-happy faggot we've had to drag out back."

[Fenris]

"Knife?"

Her voice was quiet, maybe even inaudible beneath Wyatt's laughter, but the word echoed loudly in her mind. Bret had never mentioned. Of course he hadn't, he hadn't talked about the fight at all since it had happened, and he wouldn't have mentioned that even if he had. Jesus, was Tyrell that much of a fucking psycho? She'd wanted to send both twins after him for the sake of keeping things nice and unfair; usually one Carter was more than enough to present an overwhelming threat, but this was a special case. But they'd both gotten hurt. That had never happened before. And thank god Tyrell hadn't actually used the knife or one of them might have been dead now and it would have been entirely, inarguably her fault.

It was a miracle they didn't hate her. Wyatt didn't exactly seem bothered. Bret, though?

Wyatt came closer. She probably should have moved away. She cracked open her fourth beer instead, promising herself to actually take it slow with this one before taking a small sip.

"Don't feel bad about him," she said. "But yeah." She pointed at his eye with her foot. "Do feel bad. 'Bout that. Should've been easy with... with two of you. I thought."