Tw: self hatred

Racer & adrenaline junkie Indiana from Ani-One

IDC and Florida's dynamic in this one is entirely platonic, neither has any romantic feelings for the other.

He gets a text maybe halfway through the day from Indiana asking if he wants to go for a drive. He agrees because he wants to talk to someone and he hates feeling alone.

His chest gets a little tighter thinking about it.

Indiana comes in with a nervous smile and a routine Florida knows like the back of his hand. Indiana wants a distraction, that's what he's there for.

"How are you?" It's asked earlier than usual.

He shrugs, still lost in the chaos of his own head, and tries to pick specific shapes out of the blur of their surroundings.

"I'm alright," his chest constricts a little more and it is hard to breath past the way his mind is a desperate, angry chant of "liar!".

Indiana hums, "nothing new going on?"

"No," Florida says, then realizes he isn't being a very good distraction and asks, "Ohio and Alabama are alright?"

"Yeah," Indiana says, and his hands tighten on the wheel in a way that fills Florida's throat with fear, "I didn't ask for this to talk about them though," he says, "we haven't been hanging out as much, I missed you."

Florida isn't sure how to reply, watching the seconds climb up on the song playing instead.

"Are you sure you're alright?" He slows down, "You're quiet today."

"Yeah," he's only making it worse (he always makes things worse), "I'm alright."

Indiana acts weird after that but he knows better than to call it concern (Indiana was complaining about him, he had to be).

It's Cali's turn to ask for a distraction and he's more than happy to oblige. Even if it means hearing him (and New York, as he will learn later,) talk about whichever state he wants to ask to join the other five's relationship and reassuring him that, "of course they'll say yes, Cali, I mean, have you met yourself? Who wouldn't?"

He'll do it, because part of loving them is wanting them to be happy, even if that'll never be with him.

The ache in his chest worsens again and he has to take a big breath to ease it back to something manageable.

California comes in with a smile and a routine Florida knows by heart and the ache in his chest becomes suffocating.

He doesn't want to hear about the other guy, he can't take it, hearing Cali say he'll never be anything more than a distraction to him.

California plops down on the bed next to him with an exaggerated groan, then rolls over with a smile that makes Florida's heart give a little leap in his chest, right into the crushing weight of loneliness on his chest threatening to consume him.

He gives a small, anxious smile in return and waits. Then New York comes in with his laptop and snacks and Florida knows the interaction will be unbearable.

He makes himself comfortable the second he sits down, a wordless gesture of trust, propping his legs up over Florida's and leaning back against the wall.

"Have you guys asked him yet?"

New York glances at California out of the corner of his eye, "we're working on it."

Florida nods, tapping his fingers along the edge of the bed.

"How would you want us to ask? If it were you." New York asks.

Florida's hand goes still, his heart pounding frantically in his ears, drumming an anxious beat, "I'd want you to ask however you think is best," it's perfect as long as it's you, "if it were me and I loved you guys enough to say yes, I'd say it to however you thought to ask."

The two are quiet for a moment after that, then California breaks the silence, "even if it were lame?"

"It wouldn't matter if it were lame, it'd matter that it's you guys."

"If it were us," California starts, hesitantly, "would you say yes?"

They aren't asking you, they aren't asking you, they aren't asking you, "anyone would be lucky to have you guys, you're-"

"We aren't asking about anyone," New York says, "we're asking about you."

Florida goes silent, staring at the floor. It's disconcerting, even after growing used to his calmer moments.

"You guys wouldn't ask me." Florida says, staring at nothing in particular.

They have half a mind to argue, to escalate it into the argument they're always aching for, but the only other time they'd seen him like this had been followed by tears.

California and New York start to hover, talking to him more inside of meetings and out. It's cruel, he will acknowledge on quieter nights spent alone in his room (he was used to loneliness, even in the company of others), they were trying to get a reaction from him, see when he'd break and ask them out, when he'd give them the ego boost of being wanted.

They aren't like that, the more silent part of his mind reasons, often overshadowed by doubt and insecurity, they feel the same, just say it.

He turns it away every time, refusing to acknowledge how his heart and his mind line up (and how much it hurts to ignore both).

IDC drags him out. She's got a challenging grin that has exhaustion suffocating him.

He doesn't have the energy levels to distract her, he hasn't in a while.

She is aware of this, he can see it, she's being patient with him. He can't take it.

She gives him a small smile as they settle into the ever uncomfortable chairs of the porch. The heavy grey clouds overhead do not bother them.

He takes a big breath of petrichor in from his nose and lets it out in a heavy sigh from his mouth, he was starting over with the earth. As one chapter in the cycle ended, the next began, and it'd repeat (he'd keeping moving forward).

She says nothing, just slips off her heels and leans back with a laugh.

He finds the energy for a small smile at this.

"How've ya been, sunshine?" She asks, titling her head to the side.

He smiles, though the exhaustion is clear on his face, "I've been better."

"I can tell." She leans back in her chair, "did you ask yet?"

She's telling him to admit his feelings to the others, hand over his heart like he's wanted to for so long. He doesn't get why.

"They wouldn't say yes."

She turns her head and narrows her eyes, staring at him like he's missed something painfully obvious, then she sighs. She leans her head back and stares up at the porch's overhang.

"I said no." He tells her, New York and California had asked him and he'd said no.

"What?" She's up suddenly, turning her head to look at him with furrowed brows and a frown, "you said no?" Her voice is accusatory.

He sees no problem, "they could do better."

She glares for a moment longer before considering, "that's up to them, Will, the way they see it, no one's better for them." The way she says it makes it sound like she believes it too.

He almost does himself.

Yelling drowns out any normal conversations at the table, Florida is indifferent.

"That's enough!" Gov says, voice slightly strangled.

He's getting frustrated, reaching his breaking point but still a safe enough distance away that Florida is still planning his next stupid comment.

"Are you alright?" Alabama's got his arms crossed over his chest and one eyebrow raised in an expression he can recognize as concern from whenever Indiana does something a little too dangerous for comfort (try as they might, he and Ohio could never understand his proclivity towards adrenaline inducing activities).

Any and all coherent thoughts of chaos fly out of his mind at once and the only thing he can think to say is, "what?"

He can't quite pinpoint the issue until he processes his own reaction (or rather, his lack of a reaction).

His face is painfully neutral, eyelids heavy with a tiredness that is much more than physical and mouth in a thin line of apathy.

He does not have the energy to do much more.

"Yeah, I'm alright." He does not smile or give a thumbs up, just continues to stare.

New Jersey responds first, "do you want to leave for a minute?"

"Nah," his voice dips into something almost mellow and the corners of his mouth twitch with amusement, "I'm chilling." He manages a lazy smile that shows his teeth, raising his eyebrows to sell the look, and earns a snicker from a few states.

Indiana speaks next, "I'm sure Gov wouldn't mind calling the meeting off for a few minutes if you need."

"Or the rest of the day." New York says with a glare.

Gov sighs but he's smiling and says, "alright, meeting dismissed. Florida, see me in my office."

The meeting room is empty in seconds.

Gov blinks slowly, "that works too."

Florida smiles a little wider (and a little more genuine).

"Are you alright?" Gov asks seriously.

Florida shrugs, thrown off by the sincerity in his tone, "I'm doing my best."

"I get that," Gov says, eyebrows pulling together in an expression of concern, "but are you," Gov looks to the paperwork in front of him as though it'll tell him what to say.

He looks like Jerry asking why he's been sleeping less when they were younger.

"I'm tired." He says, "I'm tired of a lot," Florida can't take the eye contact, can't handle the fact that he's truly opening up to someone, so he stares down at his hands, drumming them anxiously on the table, "I'm tired of," he pauses, "being someone nobody really likes."

Gov takes in a sharp breath, nodding like the pieces of a puzzle just fell into place.

"Who here doesn't like you?" He asks earnestly.

Florida just blinks slowly at him.

"As far as I can tell, everyone likes you." Gov's expression changes, "did someone say something to you?" His brows are drawn together in a picture of protective fury that makes his chest hurt.

He shakes his head, "no, I just," he opens and closes his fists a few times, like he could catch the words he's looking for, "I don't like me enough to think anyone else does." Most, if not all, states liked him well enough to consider him a friend, but his insecurities overshadowed this and made every interaction seem one-sided. He takes in a big breath, "I'm so tired of myself," he takes another, "I can't believe you guys aren't too."

Gov shakes his head with the sadly amused smile his mother uses sometimes, when one of his bad habits ignores logic until it runs headfirst into it, "I can't believe we've made it this far and you still don't realize we aren't going to get tired of you."

Florida's eyes sting with the threat of sadness, but the grin taking over his face pushes his eyes until they are almost closed and any moisture has been blinked away. He knows Gov's smiling too.