Logs:Of Dances and Distractions (Or, What We Take for Granted)

Of Dances and Distractions (Or, What We Take for Granted)
Dramatis Personae Harm, Kavalam	2024-05-23 "Don't make me queer-platonically ask you, too."
Location <XS> Harm's Dorm - Boys' Wing
This was once a double occupancy room but is now a cramped room for four. It's eclectically decorated, but one corner stands out with bright fabric tapestries and fiber art. Harm's desk is cluttered with half-finished knitting and crocheting projects as well as first aid supplies sorted into plastic zip bags. The hutch has been repurposed as an altar, covered with a colorful woven cloth with two white novena candles, a handful of stones, and a little bowl of sand. Elsewhere, the school is abuzz with the upcoming hastily relocated prom, probably in part to cope with the insanity of what forced the hasty relocation. Harm is wearing a sky blue linen tank top and brown linen wrap pants, and they are not buzzing, or shopping, or doing anything else even remotely connected to normal high school superseniority. They are sorting through their medic kit, replenishing it as they go with supplies they have at hand while jotting down a list on their phone of the ones they need to pick up from the supply drop. "There is something very wrong with you." Kavalam sounds kind of bland about this; there's not even much judgment in his voice... past the vaguely supercilious tone that is his default. "Stop doing that nonsense packing. People will still have sprained wrist and sore throat on Saturday, no? We need to get you some proper clothing for the prom." "Hey!" Harm is brightening before they've even looked up at Kavalam, and it isn't until that brightening that it's obvious how listless they had been before. They're just as quickly sagging again. "Oh. I'm not going. I mean, you know..." They frown. "It's not like I assume you still hang around for the sordid Xavier's gossip, but for all I know I might have already told you. Naomi broke up with me." Probably the bandages do not need to be ordered quite so meticulously. "It's not like I cared that much about prom, anyway." "Who are you talking to. Please. I hear every Xavier's gossip. I think you are looking at this all wrongly. To be dumped just before prom it's really a great boon." Kavalam is telling Harm this very seriously. "It means you are freed up to enjoy this last gasp of high school with people who are much more fun," his fingers are pressing in so-very-modest tent against his chest, indicatively, "and worry about very little when you are getting extremely trashed at the party Gaétan doesn't know yet that he's throwing." Harm manages half a smile. "I didn't mean to diss you like that. Which makes it kind of extra funny if it turns out I did tell you personally." They chew on their lower lip. "I think it was probably for the best. It was probably not going to work out even if it weren't for all the...mind control stuff. But I don't see how getting extremely trashed is going to make me feel better." It's only now they do a double-take and arch an eyebrow sideways at Kavalam. "What do you mean party he doesn't know he's throwing? Because I'm kind of getting the weird sense you're the one throwing the party." "Having no life except working yourself to death also won't make you feel better or it would by now have worked." Kavalam is riffling idly through a notebook on one of Harm's roommates' desk, frowning deeply critically at the work he finds in it. He's picking up a pencil, jotting notes down over their latest page of pre-calc. "Of course he will be throwing it. Does my brother own a fancy hotel? Probably not. But he doesn't know he's going to prom yet. Thankfully I know a good friend in need of a date." Only kind of casually as an afterthought: "And likely in double need of checking in on him. He's lost one whole brother and gotten him back quite insanely. Next week you will still have very many patients left. Maybe not so many friends, though, if you don't take time to remember them." "I am not working myself to death," Harm protests immediately, then just as quickly seems to realize maybe this sounds bad and adds, "I have other medics looking out for me, and the thing with the aliens doesn't count." Why doesn't it count? They're not getting into it, or any further with their sorting. "Oh no, you're right. I'm being really self-absorbed. I saw the news and I meant to text him, but with everything else that's been going on this week..." They flush pink, hastily stuffing the rest of the supplies back into their pack before pushing it aside. "I don't know if he'll want to go, but I'll queer-platonically ask him. Maybe he'll take pity on me, even if getting dumped is nowhere near as bad as...everything else that's been going on this week." Their shoulders slump again, but they're scooping up their phone anyway. "Actually I better do it right now, before I forget." Then they look up at Kavalam again, mid-message. "Thank you. You're a better friend to us than we are to -- well, than I am to you, anyway. But you will come, right? To the party Gaé doesn't know he's throwing." The half-smile they manage this time is just a little less forced. "Don't make me queer-platonically ask you, too." "Of course I am," Kavalam replies, though rather than cocky at his Friendship Prowess, it sounds just a little wistful. He is brightening soon enough, though. He closes the math notebook, his tone slipping more easily, comfortably, back into a mild disapproval. "You will be gay enough just asking him you don't need all the jargons. Now text --" He's nodding to Harm's phone, "and then we both find some clothes." He sighs, small, and adds, "You know your queerplatonic date already has his own tux."