CH. TWENTY - THREE
┗━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━┛

Fuck this shit, she thinks as she drops more wood beside the Bricknicks.

Yesterday, she and Camil kind of... blew a hole in the wall of the kitchen because they tried to make a midnight snack, and now the Bricknicks have to  fix it, yet she's got to help. Fair enough.

"We have slang for a reason," Gally says, which is probably like the millionth time he does.

She exhales. "I didn't even say that out loud."

"Yeah, you did."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"I did not. Talking about saying things out loud, why are you always grumbling on and on about the Builders?"

"I don't do that."

"You do."

"No. Not out loud, at least."

"Well, stop doing it in your head—" she stops, her eyes wide. "Oh, hell no."

"What?"

"Use your brain." The realization hits her so hard that she honestly wants to hit her head against the wall. "A week ago, I could hear you asking if I was alright, but you weren't there when I looked up. And I hear you grumbling about the Builders. Meaning, that if you hear me curse in my head, and I hear you grumble in your head..."

His face falls. "Ah, come on."

"That's not my fault!" She yelps. "Sharing dreams, hallucinations, feelings... thoughts won't add much. Wait, what if I..."

She focuses. Closes her eyes and forces herself to send the words toward him. "You hear it?"

"I hear you calling me an idiotic giant."

"Yes!" Joan nearly makes a jump. "I can send my freaking thoughts to you."

"You almost seem happy— hey, don't blow my head up with curses!"

She manages a few laughs. Honestly, if she takes control over this, she can let him know things from who knows how many feet away. But if she doesn't take control, he might be able to hear every single thought, and she doesn't want that either.

"This sucks," she eventually decides. "What do I not share with you? Exactly, nothing."

"I'm way more decent than you. We don't share our decency," he states. "Neither do we share looks—"

"I'm way hotter."

"—and gender and quite a lot."

"I am decent," she then defends. "I don't mistake brown for navy blue. I don't—"

"Alright, that's enough already," he groans. "Let's just continue carrying that wood, yeah?"

She plops down on the ground. "My arms hurt. You do it."

"No freeloaders."

"You can carry wood with one finger if you want to, and I need my whole freaking body because Alby decided to use the most heavy wood ever."

"Thank you for finding me so strong—"

"Didn't say that."

"—but you're being dramatic. Come on."

"Can you feel my anger?" She wonders. "How pissed I am getting because you always got to follow the rules? Can you feel it bubbling up with heat and then boom, it explodes with a ton of curses, which I can also send to you?"

"Dramatic," he repeats. Joan rolls her eyes, sighing. "But fine." And he walks back to the edge of the woods, where the wood is stacked. Come back with a few pieces in his hands.

She watches him—and his arms—put them down in front of her, then walk back and lift more up, his muscles tensing with each movement, and the veins in his arms pulsing once it gets too heavy.

A sharp inhale when he looks at her. Quickly, she turns away and ends up deciding to help him before her eyes are gonna find this attractive or something. Because it's not. At all.

There you go, he says, but in her head.

"For fuck's sake, Gally, don't randomly talk to me when I'm concentrating!"

He laughs, throwing his head back. "I can mess with your head if you're in serious situations now, though. It's not awful. Can distract you from listening, make you crazy—"

She waves him off. "You can't do that."

"But you can?"

"Yes. I think that's a great deal. You stay out of my mind and I go annoy you in your head."

A dramatic pout. "I'm not always on your mind?"

"Shut up." She shakes her head in disbelief, hiding a smile as she does so. "Deal?"

Definitely not, he says.

"Hey— also don't do that as we're talking in real life. You know what? I'll learn to shut it down! I'll learn to control what emotions I share, what thoughts, and what pain."

"Yeah, that's really going to work. Because we're also in a magic world where everything is possible, with all the wishes—"

"If this psychological thing is possible, then a lot is," she states. "Now come on. We've got wood to carry."

"Three seconds ago, you didn't feel like it and now you're saying we've got to hurry? Woman, I don't understand women."

"Boy, I don't understand boys."

He pulls a face. "I'm over here, calling you woman... what did I do to make you call me a boy?"

"Well, you basically are a boy. I'm really just a girl, too."

"Right. But I'm six feet two and what are you again...? Oh, yeah, four feet eleven. Who really is the kid?"

Joan nudges him in the side. Rolls her eyes. "We're both fifteen. Well, that's what that Greenie said. What do you think?"

"I'm like... seventeen. You're ten for sure."

Her face lights up. "Woah!" Cupping her hands around her mouth, she yells, "Did you hear that, Camil? GALLY FINDS ME A TEN!"

"I said ten. Not a ten." He turns his red face away. "No, but really. I think we're both sixteen."

Okay, sure. He got here two years ago and she remembers someone mentioning, or herself, that most boys must've been thirteen when they first came up in the Box.

"Meaning you won't grow much taller," he adds, grinning.

Joan jumps on top of a trunk. "Here. I'm... still not taller. But taller!"

"Remember when I said boys piss on the trunk you once sat on?"

Her gaze hardens. "Yes...? But that was a joke."

"True. But they do really piss on that one."

A yelp and she flies off the trunk as fast as she can, utterly disgusted. It happens so fast she has no time to land perfectly on her feet. Good for her, someone with fast instincts is standing next to her, and catches her in a way that must've looked smooth, according to how he scoops her up.

"You're a real idiot sometimes, you know that?"

She's so taken aback that her mouth opens, but no reply comes out. Did he always have freckles? And she thought his eyes were plain grayish, but they're honestly a brighter tint blue with tads of green in the middle—

"Was it a joke again?" She eventually peeps.

"No. But you're wearing shoes, so there was really no need to jump off it like that." Swallowing, he lets go of the girl. Clears his throat. "So. Where were we?"

"In our mom's bellies." She jumps on top of another trunk. One, jumping around will get rid of her energy. Two, their heights won't be as bad. So there she follows him, from trunk to trunk, since they've got quite a few stacked this close to the woods.

"Wow, so funny, woman." Yet the corners of his lips do move up. "You look like a three-year-old right now. Also know that?"

"I don't give a shit." Joan gets off the trunk when they walk past her hut. Takes a jar out of the closet. "Are we done with the wood?"

He doesn't answer. "Why?"

"Running out of flowers. Gotta pick some. And I'm planning to plant my own in case I pick every single one out of the woods. Right here." She points at the ground below her, next to her hut.

"No, we're not done with the wood. But I'll finish it off. You go pick those flowers like a real toddler."

She scoffs. "You go carry wood and act like you're a man, which you're not."

"You go—"

"Already going!" Joan takes a basket. "Bye, Gally. Hope to never see you again."

His pursed lips break into a smile. "See ya, woman."

"I mean it!"

"Sure you do."