Chapter Text
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September 1993
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KJ comes home from school to find a note from her parents: they’re driving to Indianapolis to spend the weekend with some of their friends from college, so KJ was alone for the weekend.
Great .
Her parents have always been erratic in this way: overbearing one minute, and the next gone . KJ doesn’t know which one is worse, honestly.
She remembers being a kid, constantly striving to meet their expectations, stretching herself thin to be the best . All her effort was never met with more than a simple “Well done, Karina.” Every time she met their expectations, the goalpost was moved once again out of her reach.
KJ isn’t quite sure that she isn’t still that little girl. She sees her in all the photos around her house. On nights like this, alone in a house that’s already too big for three people, there’s an itching feeling, like KJ is intruding in someone else’s home.
A perfect little family, with a daughter she’s never even met.
A carefully curated lie.
That’s all KJ is. Alone in every crowded room, yet never quite solitary. Haunted by the people she pretends to be.
Technically , KJ doesn’t need to be home alone. There’s plenty of people she could call that would be happy to see her. And maybe it was sad to spend her Friday night all alone, but KJ still likes that option much better than the alternative. If her field hockey “friends” found out her parents were gone for the weekend, they’d probably drag her to some party - or worse, make her throw one.
KJ fucking hates parties. She hates the alcohol, and the weed, and the way everyone acts like this was the best that life had to fucking offer.
So yeah, KJ eats a shitty frozen pizza and watches a movie on the couch even if it is kind of miserable. She lands on Dirty Dancing , a film she’s seen many times. Nora hates this movie. That’s probably why KJ watches it so much, pushed by some sort of misplaced sense of teenage rebellion.
After about an hour, the movie combined with the pouring rain outside starts to make her eyes droop. She tracks down the remote, pressing PAUSE. KJ looks for a moment at the screen - paused at a frame of Patrick Swayze’s face - and just turns of the TV entirely.
She doesn’t even like Dirty Dancing.
KJ cleans the remnants of her “dinner” off of the coffee table before padding up the carpeted stairs, only then does it strike her that she could’ve just left the dirty dishes there on the table. Who was here to care?
But KJ is just going through the motions; living life on autopilot, always moving towards an unknown - probably nonexistent - goal. But what else is there to do, really?
In her room, KJ scans her bookshelves, taking out a few books she could read or reread to pass the time. But something catches her eye: a dark green photo album. Someone must have been cleaning and found it in her closet because KJ specifically remembers shoving it in there so she wouldn’t have to keep seeing it.
Because every time she does, she can’t help looking back through.
KJ dazedly brings it to her bed and opens it up. The first page has Erin’s little personalized message from when she first gave them all the albums almost 3 years ago, on the anniversary of Hell Day. Tiff and Mac had thanked her, but it was clear they thought it was cheesy.
KJ, on the other hand, had secretly kept adding photos to hers. The album was now almost full. KJ had even bought another one for when space ran out, but it never did.
The book falls open to the most recent addition, from 10 months ago: a cutting from their very own Cleveland Preserver.
Mackenzie Coyle passed away peacefully in her sleep on December 5th, 1992 at the age of 16, following a 2-year fight with cerebral lymphoma. Mackenzie was born on July 5th, 1976 in Stony Stream, OH. She is survived by her loving father, David Coyle, stepmother Alice Coyle, and brother Dylan Coyle.
Mackenzie was a vibrant and cherished member of the Stony Stream community, and she will be sorely missed by all.
KJ hates this stupid obituary, doesn’t even know why she cut it out of the paper and saved it in the first place.
KJ hates the picture they chose of Mac: a school picture from freshman year. Taken before the cancer, and yet with none of the life that it sapped away from her. Mac’s smile shows her impatience at having to pose for a photo, but nothing else.
KJ hates the words loving father laughing up at her from the page.
KJ hates that said loving father couldn’t even be bothered to tell them that her name was Mac , not Mackenzie. She hated being called that. There was a weeklong stretch when they were 13 where KJ, tired of being called Karina by a teasing Mac, tried returning the favor. That week had ended with Mac and KJ giving each other twin bloody noses.
That’s how Mac deserved to be remembered. Well, maybe not that exactly, but for who she really was. A sarcastic, moody, little asshole. An asshole who protected her friends with all she had, who cut her own hair and smoked Marlboro Red cigarettes, who always ate the cherry from KJ’s milkshakes because she knew KJ didn’t like them.
KJ’s eyes are already blurred, tears falling and rolling off the plastic sleeve of the page. For months she would cry every time she opened up this album. It was exhausting. So it got banished to the closet. It hadn’t even been that long, but right now it felt like KJ was holding a ghost.
Breathing shakily, KJ turns back to the album’s first page. It contains a photo Tiff had taken on their paper route with her new fancy camera a few months after they all met. The sun was just rising, and Erin had a freshly skinned knee from falling off her bike. To her right was KJ, signature ponytail fallen a bit too far to the side. The stylist her mom used to take her to had no idea how to cut curly hair, and she hated how it fell when she had it down. But as her hair had grown out, KJ stopped wearing it up all the time. Now a few curls had slid off her back on each side, framing the book on her lap.
The final person in the photo was, of course, Mac. She always grumbled about pictures like this, but mini KJ had trapped her with an encircling arm. The wind blew Mac’s hair halfway over her face, with hands in her pockets and the signature stolen walkman and headphones in her ears. But Mac was smiling. The real kind of smile where her eyes would light up, that no amount of sarcasm or annoyance could hide.
It makes KJ laugh wetly. She loves that smile.
Loved .
The laugh turns into a sharp inhale, but she keeps going, looking through all the photos collected by Erin. Mostly group shots, posed intentionally. There was a noticeable lack of Mac, as it was difficult to rope her into these kinds of pictures.
It’s easy to see the point that KJ started adding her own pictures: no more cheesy posed photos, these were all candids. KJ had taken a photography class in Freshman year, so she was constantly snapping pictures. She took pictures of lots of things, but especially of her friends.
There were photos in color and black-and-white, some polaroids, you name it: and they were mainly of Mac. It had been KJ’s favorite pastime to catch Mac off guard by sticking a camera in her face. She adored the way Mac would roll her eyes and move her hand to cover the lens. She adored Mac .
She was in love with Mac, had known it long before her sickness. It took her a while to realize it, but the truth was unavoidable. What had been avoidable was telling Mac: and avoid it she did. She let Mac die without telling her.
For months KJ had wished on every star, every penny in a fountain these last that she had told Mac how she felt. Even if Mac had hated her for it, at least she’d know. Maybe if Mac had screamed at her and called her names, it wouldn’t have hurt so much when she left.
But there was no going back. There were no do-overs, not anymore. Now KJ is crying so hard she can’t see the album, sobs wracking her frame. Even so, she turns back to the obituary page, letting a few more tears collect on the protective sleeve before KJ sets it aside and just lays on top of the covers: curling in on herself.
She starts to dry up after a while, just laying there, numb.
The doorbell rings; it’s a welcome distraction. KJ grabs some tissues to dry her face and blows her nose a little before stepping into the hall. Whoever’s at the door is getting impatient, ringing it again and again as she goes down the stairs.
“Alright, alright,” she mumbles to herself as she reaches the front door and unlocks it. “It’s been like 3 secon–” the words die on her tongue.
Mac is standing on her doorstep, getting soaked by the downpour.
“Hey, so uh, can I come in?”
This doesn’t look quite like KJ’s Mac. KJ’s Mac never got to be this old, and even in her final months she looked frail, hair long gone from chemo. Her body was slowly killing her, rapidly aging as the process took its toll.
But this Mac. This Mac is vibrant with life, full of it, even while getting soaked by the rain. This is not her Mac, but it is.
KJ doesn’t even think, she just crosses the threshold and envelops Mac into a hug, sopping jacket and all. “God KJ, what the hell? You’re getting yourself soaked too.” Mac pulls away and brings them both inside.
“Mac, what are you doing here? How is this…” KJ can barely speak and trails off with her words just an exhale. She can’t do anything but stand there in shock while Mac looks around.
“Oh! I’m gonna get some towels from the bathroom. Then we can get some fresh clothes and shit.” Mac goes off in the direction of the guest bath, shoes on and trailing water in her wake.
KJ just stands there, still breathing shakily but any tears shocked out of her system. She’s so confused , more so by the second. But she’s given no time to process as Mac comes back a few moments later with 2 fresh towels.
“Kaje why do you keep looking at me like I’m a fuckin’ ghost or something? You’re freaking me out.” She hands KJ a towel and takes off her jacket to dry herself.
Why was she so upset? She can’t seem to remember…
“Uhm,” KJ exhales and blinks a few times. “I’m sorry. I-I’m not sure what that was about.” She shakes her head like clearing cobwebs before starting to dry herself off.
They go up to KJ’s room, and she gets out some dry clothes. KJ didn’t get super wet, but Mac is soaked to the bone and muddy.
“Why don’t you take a shower and I’ll make some hot chocolate? Leave your wet clothes outside the door, I’ll toss them in the wash with your jacket.” KJ says as she hands Mac the oversized army green t-shirt and black pajama shorts she picked out for her, along with some socks and a pair of underwear (unworn and straight from the pack).
“Ooh, make that fancy Belgian hot chocolate, that shit’s so fucking good.” Mac takes the clothes and heads across the hall. KJ hears the water turn on as she changes and finishes drying off. When she steps into the hall, Mac’s wet clothes are in a heap on the floor.
After putting the clothes in the washing machine and wiping the trail of muddy water off the floor, KJ makes the hot cocoa and goes back to her room. Mac is waiting for her, rubbing her hair dry with a new towel.
“Oh fuck yeah, I was worried you were joking about the hot cocoa.” She takes the desk chair and grabs one of the mugs, the whipped cream immediately getting on her nose even though a lot of it has already dissolved.
“Why would I have been joking?” KJ asks as she picks up her mug and takes a sip; it’s the perfect temperature.
“I dunno, maybe because I showed up at your house at ten o’clock at night and tracked mud everywhere?” Mac replies.
KJ’s expression goes from amused to perplexed as she peeks at Mac, studying her like she’s a puzzling riddle. “Mac, I don’t care if you had decided to make mud-angels in my mom’s new white carpet, you can always come over here. You know that.” Mac meets her gaze, and the silence practically crackles between them. They’re both ignoring the question lingering above their heads: the question of why Mac came here so late in the pouring rain. Did something happen? But Mac doesn’t want to answer that, and KJ knows better than to ask.
She shakes herself out of her stupor and continues: “Besides, you picked the perfect night to crash here, my parents out of town. No nagging questions.”
They drink in silence for a bit. Mac gets about halfway through her mug before putting it down and in favor of the open photo album on the bed.
“Is this that photo album that Erin gave us? Wow, I haven’t looked at mine in forever. Were you doing some reminiscing?” Mac picks it up, flipping the pages slowly. “Wow, who would’ve guessed that Miss Karina Brandman would be such a fuckin’ cheesy sentimental.” KJ’s cheeks flame as she remembers how many pictures of Mac are in there. She snatches the book from Mac and puts it back on the shelf.
“Um, yeah I guess. I was bored as hell tonight. I started watching a movie but it was putting me to sleep so…” Her brain starts to get strangely fuzzy again.
Why had she gotten out the album?
“I think I was about to look through it when you rang the doorbell? Or…something.” She heads to the desk and sits on top of it.
“Well, why don’t we take a new photo? You know, immortalize the night, or whatever.” Mac suggests. KJ looks at her with a raised eyebrow.
“...Mac, are you okay? Did you get some sort of head injury recently? You hate it when I take pictures of you. Like… HATE it.” KJ laughs as Mac gets the Polaroid from where it sits on the desk beside KJ.
“Sacrifices must be made. It would be a tragedy not to document me right now in all my soggy glory.”
She hands the camera to KJ and laughs, striking a pose. KJ snaps the photo before Mac can change her mind. The film pops out of the camera and they both sit in strange silence, finishing their hot cocoa while they wait for the picture to develop.
It turns out perfect, at least to KJ. Mac looks radiant; despite her self-deprecating comments, Mac looks so good in that snapshot of time. And she’s smiling that sparkling smile, not even trying to hide it the way she normally does.
Mac guffaws and says, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me I had whipped cream on my nose. That is why I hate when you take my picture. I always look like a fucking idiot!” She starts swiping at the wrong side of her nose trying to wipe it off. KJ laughs and grasps her shoulders.
“You’re not getting it at all. Here, I’ll do it.” She grabs Mac’s arm and gets the cream off her nose, licking it off her finger before she can second-guess herself.
She looks back at Mac, and it’s as if they both realize at the same time how close they are. KJ is sitting on the desk and Mac is right up against it, standing between her legs. KJ’s breath hitches.
She’s spent so much time looking at Mac, memorizing her face and each expression it makes, but this is a look she’s never seen before. It’s a look that mirrors all of KJ’s desires in a way she never thought possible.
Like water so hot it’s cold, the sudden wanton desire makes KJ shiver. And Mac is leaning in slowly, giving KJ room to pull away if she wants to. She doesn’t.
And then Mac’s lips are on hers, tentative and soft. KJ is frozen, not daring to move and ruin whatever miracle is happening. Mac notices and pulls away, but KJ doesn’t want her to stop. She’s spurred into motion, meeting Mac’s lips again and moving her hands to Mac’s neck and jaw, fingertips brushing through Mac’s prickly undercut.
And then they’re both kissing each other, the floodgates of unspoken yearning finally open. Mac tastes like cigarettes and hot chocolate, and KJ never wants to taste anything else ever again. Mac’s hands find their way to KJ’s hips and pulls them closer until KJ slides off the desk to make them closer in height.
KJ breaks the kiss, out of breath and dizzy with euphoria. She admires Mac’s flushed lips and face, hair messed up a bit by KJ’s hands.
“Are you real?” she breathes, “Is this a dream?” Mac laughs and kisses her again.
They kiss forever, and not nearly long enough. They kiss until the world flashes white-hot pink and then fades to black.
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KJ wakes up on her couch, the end credits of Dirty Dancing starting to play.
It wasn’t real. Of course it wasn’t real.
She’s dreamed of Mac before but never like that . Most dreams felt fake once you woke up, memory fading as you desperately try to grasp at them. But this dream felt so real . KJ could still see and feel and taste everything in perfect detail.
The tears run down her face, but she can barely feel them. She can barely feel anything anymore. As she trudges up to her room, the smell of cigarettes greets her like it always used to when Mac was around. Her mind playing more tricks on her.
She gets into bed and lets the scent wash over her. She welcomes the grief that comes with it because at least it’s something . The knife twisting in her heart is a reminder that she can still feel . KJ is so tired of being numb.
The abandoned polaroid goes unnoticed on the floor below the desk.