Chapter Text
Duncan wakes up on his couch with a crick in his neck and a half-dead cigarette balanced in the ashtray beside him.
The TV glows silently across the apartment, some late-night infomercial still playing with subtitles because he muted it three hours ago and never bothered turning it off. Toronto rain taps against the windows in uneven bursts, turning the whole place gray-blue in the early morning dark.
For a second, he just stares at the ceiling.
Another thrilling day in paradise.
He groans, drags a hand down his face, and sits up slowly. Empty beer bottles clutter the coffee table beside sketchbooks and tattoo design drafts.
His apartment isn’t terrible and he guesses that’s the annoying part.
It’s decent enough. Exposed brick. Big windows. Walking distance from the tattoo shop. Not much for a supposed ex-millionaire. Geoff called it “hipster murder loft chic,” which Duncan unfortunately couldn’t argue with.
He got out of prison three years ago.
Three.
Weird how it still feels temporary sometimes.
Like somebody’s eventually gonna tap him on the shoulder and go: Actually, sorry dude, administrative error. Back in the orange jumpsuit, you go.
He snorts to himself and gets up.
The kitchen light flickers when he switches it on.
“Cool,” he mutters. “Love that.”
Coffee first. Existential crisis second.
His phone buzzes against the counter while he waits for the machine to sputter itself awake.
Himbo: broooo kick back at my place tonight 🔥
Himbo: dj and gwen are coming
Himbo: bring ur grumpy ass
Himbo: and shower first this time
Duncan smirks despite himself.
Some things never changed.
Another notification slides down.
Gwen.
Which still occasionally throws him.
Not because they weren’t okay now. They were. Surprisingly okay, actually.
Which he was grateful for. They were better friends then they were ever lovers and he was glad he could keep her around. She for the most part kept him grounded. Through extreme judgement; but hey it worked.
Vampira: Geoff invited me over tonight
Vampira: You going or are you going to sulk in your man cave alone again?
Duncan types back one-handed.
Felon: depends
Typing bubbles appear.
Vampira: come over or don’t
Vampira: you’re an adult
He huffs out a laugh.
The coffee machine makes a noise like it’s dying.
He pours himself a cup and wanders toward the hallway mirror.
The guy staring back at him still catches him off guard sometimes.
The mohawk’s gone now. Hair no longer dyed neon green. More tattoos than skin on his arms. Permanently tired eyes.
People used to think he looked dangerous.
Now he just looks burnt out.
Like a washed up reality star.
His phone buzzes again.
Bridgette.
Interesting.
Too High to Function: hey
Too High to Function: random question
Too High to Function: would it be weird if Courtney came tonight?
Duncan stills.
Rain taps harder against the windows.
He reads the message twice.
Courtney.
He hasn’t seen Courtney in almost eight years.
Sure, technically they crossed paths once at some network anniversary thing two years ago, but she left before anybody could talk to her. He’d only caught a glimpse. Dark blazer, high heels, phone pressed to her ear like she was conducting international warfare.
Very Courtney. Except not.
She was older.
Colder.
Untouchable.
Still entirely too beautiful for her own good.
He heard things, obviously. Everybody did.
Law school. Top of her class. Corporate litigation. Living somewhere expensive downtown.
She got everything she dreamed of.
Courtney always did treat life like a competition she intended to win through sheer psychological violence. Guess she won.
Duncan looks down at Bridgette’s text again.
A strange feeling twists low in his chest.
Like touching an old bruise just to see if it still hurts.
Duncan: why would it be weird
The response comes immediately.
Too High to Function: because you guys haven't seen each other in forever
Too High to Function: and i dont want drama
Duncan snorts.
There it is.
The legacy of Duncan and Courtney.
Honestly? Fair.
He leans against the counter, staring out the rain-streaked window.
Their relationship had burned so hot for so long that people still talked about it like a natural disaster.
You surviving Hurricane Courtney?
Nah man, I barely made it out of Season Three.
The thing was; he doesn’t even know if he hates her anymore.
That should feel bigger than it does.
For years he needed to hate her. It made everything simpler. Easier to package. Easier to blame.
Courtney was controlling.
Courtney was manipulative.
Courtney made him crazy.
But to be fair; Duncan was selfish. Cruel. Explosive. Always halfway out the door.
Guess they both sucked. Or they were just two teenagers forced into the limelight. Still objectively suckass.
He types back:
Duncan: i wont start anything
Duncan: if she wants to come thats fine
The three dots appear.
Disappear.
Appear again.
Too High to Function: proud of u for acting 26
“Low blow,” Duncan mutters.
But he’s still smirking.
Across the city, Courtney is billing her ninth hour of the day when she realizes she hasn’t actually read the same paragraph in six minutes.
She stares at the contract on her laptop screen.
Words blur.
Liability.
Arbitration.
Indemnification.
God, she is so tired.
The townhouse is quiet except for the ticking kitchen clock and the distant sounds of traffic outside. Everything is pristine. Organized. Intentional.
Neutral colored furniture. Fresh flowers. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
A life assembled like a magazine spread.
She hates it a little.
Not the house itself. The performance of it.
Courtney spent her entire adolescence being told she was “too much.” Too intense. Too emotional. Too controlling.
So adulthood became about refinement.
Control with prettier packaging.
Now she wins cases. Owns expensive throw pillows. Wears tailored suits and gets blowouts once a week.
And somehow still feels like she’s waiting for her real life to start.
Her phone buzzes softly beside her laptop.
Courtney’s expression softens instantly.
Bridge: Kickback tonight at our place!!
Bridge: come be social <3
Courtney sighs quietly.
Social. Right.
She starts typing out an excuse automatically.
Court: I have work—
Then stops.
Deletes it.
Because Bridgette already knows. I don’t want to remember who I used to be and I don’t want to put on a performance.
Normally, Bridgette wouldn’t bother to invite her out. At least not to a kickback with what she is presuming to be her former co-stars. Usually, Courtney kept her circle small and her appearances little to none. She saw the people she wanted to see and avoided the others like the plague.
But due to a three hour long conversation (those others would call a ‘menty b’ at their favorite downtown wine bar; she knew Courtney was on her last straw and desperately looking for a change to her normal routine. Or maybe an out. Or maybe an excuse to blow up her life entirely. She was still deciding.
Another text arrives before she can answer.
Bridge: gwen’s coming too :)
Courtney leans back slowly.
Gwen.
That relationship had healed in the way broken bones healed. Functional, mostly, but sensitive when it rained.
They text occasionally now. Congratulate each other on life accomplishments. Share articles. Maintain careful civility around a crater neither of them fully discusses.
Adulthood was weird.
Another message.
Bridge: dj too!!
Bridge: geoff says if u dont come he’ll “take it personally babe”
Courtney laughs despite herself.
Her fingers hover over the keyboard.
The truth is she misses people.
Those weirdos to be exact.
Not the show. Not the chaos. Not who she was back then.
Just people who understood what being them was like.
Her eyes drift toward the dark window beside her desk.
For a brief second, another thought flickers through her mind.
A dangerous one.
Will Duncan be there?
She immediately shuts it down.
It doesn’t matter.
She and Duncan are ancient history.
A cautionary tale with matching mugshots.
Whatever existed between them burned out years ago.
Still her stomach twists anyway.
This would be a mistake.
But it’s been so long since and a part of her craved the adrenaline high. So against her better judgement, Courtney exhales slowly and types a response.
Court: Fine.