rollerskating: si & destiny
In the days since asking Destiny out for Valentine's Day, Si had been asking himself what the fuck almost hourly. What the fuck am I doing? What the fuck am I think? What the fuck is wrong with me? What the fuck? He hadn't been charming with his self-deprecation when he'd said he wasn't a great—or even good—person and that he'd probably make a miserable anything. Because who was he, when he wasn't stringing between nods? He hardly knew. And he wasn't sure if the person that he was, at that lowest lull, was actually worth anyone's time, let alone Destiny's. But, he'd done it. He'd asked. Whatever had possessed him, he'd done it, and he was determined to not fuck it up, top to bottom, from go.
He'd gone to the truckstop for a shower that didn't include the loose-jointed limbs of other junkies flopping in his face, which was what happened when he stopped by the trailer. It was a short shower, calculated in quarters, but now that he had a car, from Christmas, one that he hadn't even sold off yet, at least he didn't have to walk in the cold with his head wet. He'd peeled himself out of his hoodie and found something a little more decent. In fact, the jacket was brand-new, bought for the occasion, because everything else smelled too much like smoke and sweat. So, he wasn't much to look at it, and everything was baggy on him, but he did put in effort for it, which was a lot from someone like him.
I know I'm not selling him well, but Si thought being sold at all was probably bad. Destiny deserved better than anything he could give, even when it came to something as silly as rollerskating, but..., right, he was here. With his car idling, he made the walk from his trailer to Destiny's, his fingers playing with the ends of his sleeves as he tried to work out what he should say when he got to her. Had he ever even been on a date? One that he remembered? One that happened after, like, junior year of high school? He didn't think so. Nervous and with a pit in his stomach smack promised it could ease, he walked up, head down and counting steps. When he looked up, it was first at the eye-catch of Christmas lights, then at the woman on the porch, in tights and shorts and a flannel shirt. He was reminded of how beautiful she was, and he huffed a little into the cold air, as he lifted a hand. His voice was like sandpaper, caught on the core of his Adam's apple. "Hey." He rubbed at the back of his head. "Ready?"