Page 8 of Do You Ship It

I am in Jake’s bedroom, sat on his bed, alone with a boy.

I feel like the universe is laughing at me.

Max clears his throat and goes back to his textbook, and while I’m a little bit put-out that he thinks algebraic equations for projectiles are more interesting than talking to me, I’m also relieved. He clearly doesn’t like me very much either, which suits me just fine.

Still, as the silence stretches on and the only sounds in the room are the quiet indie-rock playlist on Jake’s speaker and the scratch of Max’s highlighter, I feel almost claustrophobic. His indifference grates on me, prickles along my skin, and my leg bounces agitatedly against the side of the bed.

How long can it possibly take to make a couple of toasties? Has Jake suddenly turned into Gordon Ramsay, attempting a full gourmet experience?

Unable to bear the silence any longer, I fumble for the only thread of conversation I can think of – which, somehow, is Of Wrath and Rune .

‘I started reading the books, you know.’

Max glances up, not quite lifting his head from the textbook. ‘Did you get very far?’

I flush, although I should’ve expected that question. ‘No.’

I’ve been carrying the first book around in my bag for the last week, waiting for the perfect moment when I’ll suddenly pick it back up and make it beyond the fifth page. I’ve studied the map a few times on the bus, though. It’s actually quite pretty.

Max laughs, a low, scoffing sort of sound that makes me bristle. ‘Many more intrepid adventurers before you have failed in this nigh impossible quest.’

I don’t know if it’s a quote from the series, or if he sincerely talks like that. I’m not really sure which is more cringey.

‘Well,’ I say, thinking about my chat with Jake in Discord, and hoping it’ll make me sound like I know what I’m talking about to show Max up a bit. ‘Once I’ve watched a few more episodes and really get to know the characters, the books will be a fun way to learn more about them.’

His mouth cracks in what I think might just be a smile, and I feel a flare of triumph.

Maybe this fandom isn’t really for me, and I’m only trying to get into it for Jake’s sake, but I refuse to let Max feel any kind of superiority just because he’s a ‘true’ fan and I’m not. He’s not smarter than me for having read these doorstopper novels, and he’s not better than me for liking this series.

Finally, then, there’s the tramping sound of Jake’s feet heavy on the stairs, and I let out a sigh of relief. My best friend enters the room carrying a tray laden down with steaming mugs of tea and plates of toasties, holding a giant bag of Doritos between his teeth.

‘Give us a hand!’ he mumbles. Laughing, I hop off the bed to help him out. Max sets aside his textbook and pens to come grab his portion of the snacks.

When he reaches for the green mug that says ‘JUST DANDY’ with a bright yellow dandelion painted beneath, I practically slap his hand out of the way.

‘That’s my mug.’

It’s technically Jake’s, but I got it for him one Christmas as part of some in-joke I barely even remember now and I’ve used it every time I’ve been over his house hanging out. Even his parents will use it for me if they make tea when I visit.

‘Oh,’ Max says awkwardly, looking at Jake. ‘My bad, I …’

I look at Jake, ready for our shared look and laugh about that forgotten joke, but he looks away from me quickly and cringes. ‘Sorry, Cer, that’s on me – I’ve been using it for Max, he’s sort of … commandeered it.’

Now, the two of them share a look, and chuckle.

Max explains, ‘I fell on my face at football the first time Jake played with us – I literally ate dirt, except I mostly got a mouthful of dandelion. One of the big ones you blow on, you know? I was spitting the fluff out for days, I swear.’

‘Any time he coughs, we’re all like, “Make a wish!”’ Jake adds, and the two of them crack up again. Jake pushes Max in the shoulder playfully, making a show of pretending to find some more dandelion fluff in his long hair and blowing it away.

It’s like a knife in the chest, carving a jagged space out where my friendship with Jake belongs. I cast about for our own story, but it dances at the edge of my memory. Something about Jake taking the mickey out of a teacher who used some outdated slang? Which teacher was that? Was it even Jake who started it?

‘Yours is this one,’ Jake tells me, now they’ve both stopped laughing. He prompts me to take one of Ginny’s mugs. It has a cartoon pug on it giving the middle finger, which is about how I feel right now. ‘Max doesn’t take sugar in his, so …’

So there’s no swapping, and I’ve been downgraded, ousted.

I pick the mug up and force a smile. ‘That’s okay! Thanks, Jake.’

‘You guys take your toasties the same, though. Ugh! Pickle! Grim.’ He fake-gags again, and I’d find it funny, except having something in common with Max stings a bit. Like it’s another thing he’s taken from me, and I know it’s ridiculous but I have the sudden urge to find a new favourite type of cheese toastie, just to separate us.

It’s just not fair . I’ve known Jake for five years. Max has barely known him for five minutes!

I take my plate with a mumbled, ‘Cheers,’ and return to my perch on the edge of Jake’s bed. He sets his stuff on the nightstand before flopping down, sat up against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him.

Should I go sit next to him? Does it even matter now, with Max-the-third-wheel here?

I stay put.

Jake puts the telly on, finding the streaming service with Of Wrath and Rune , calling up episode three. After his comment in Discord about not meeting some fan-favourite characters until around this point in the show, I’d kind of wanted to share that experience with him.

I hope we still get to have that. I hope Max doesn’t spoil it.

I also suddenly hope that Téiglin the stag-guy doesn’t die. I’m not sure I’m prepared for that, and I don’t need Max scorning me if I dare to sniffle about it.

As soon as the title sequence starts up, though, both boys are consumed by the show, and it’s like I’m not even there. The theme music is heavy on the strings – Jake sings that part, and Max joins in with the trumpets later, both of them bopping along in their seats to the bad graphics on the screen, rolling through different scenes and overlaid with the cast.

It’s hard to concentrate on the show when I’m so conscious of my every reaction and if Jake is watching. Worse, if Max is watching, and judging me for being too disinterested or too fake or not getting something.

My right leg starts to get pins and needles where I’ve tucked it underneath me, and I’m hyperaware of how every time I shift on the bed to try and get more comfortable, I am on Jake’s bed, and Jake is right there . I’ve also got Daphne’s voice in my head saying that I don’t want to do a Cher from Clueless , so I’m too scared to move much at all, terrified I’ll somehow slip and fall right on to the floor.

So I end up staying still, suffering through my numb leg and a plot-heavy show with cheaply-done CGI sets of fantasy cities and intense conversations full of subtext between characters whose names I can’t quite remember.

Every so often one of the boys will say something like, ‘Oh, man, remember this?’ or, ‘The costume department’s come so far, dude.’ And, sometimes, Jake will give me a gentle poke in the hip with his foot and say, ‘Watch this bit, Cer. This scene is so good . Did you notice the stag beetle in the background?’

My mind drifts as we watch. I’m paying more attention to the make-up and set design than what characters are saying, or thinking about the map in the front of the book and trying to pair it up with whatever land is on screen now.

Finally, though, something nabs my attention.

The scene is in a bedroom – a bed ‘chamber’, really, with a huge four-poster draped in velvet hangings, and a vanity with an ornate gold mirror – and a pointy-eared woman who just snuck in through her window sighs when she sees a (normal-eared) man in leather standing there, arms folded. He looks distinctly unimpressed.

I glance at Max, biting the inside of my cheek, wondering if he recognizes that kind of judgey look.

So far in the story, all I’ve learned is that she’s a noblewoman who sneaks off to … fight? Adventure? Quest ? Generally get in trouble, and do it with a righteous attitude, leading a double life as a demure lady by day.

The elvish woman hisses, ‘Devon, if you say a word –’

‘My lady, you cannot keep …’ He trails off as she steps into the lamplight, holding her arm awkwardly. There’s blood shining red on her fingers, and he moves closer. I’m leaning forward on Jake’s bed, the scene sucking me in.

‘You’re hurt.’

‘It’s nothing.’

‘Who –’

‘You told me once not to tell you anything that would risk your position in my father’s guard, that you owe him too much to betray his trust; I would advise you now – do not ask questions you don’t want the answer to, Devon.’

The man, the soldier, Devon, sighs heavily. He closes the distance between them and pushes her cloak aside to reveal a wound he helps her clean and bandage, all in total silence, and the tension is so palpable that when she catches her breath, I do, too. The way he’s looking at her is so intense, I feel almost like I’m intruding, even though it’s just a TV show.

‘This will be the final time,’ he says, his voice low.

‘You do not order me about in my own home, sir. Do you forget that I am the future Lady di Silver? The fate of these lands, these people, rests on my shoulders. I do not answer to a common soldier who –’

‘Who will saddle a horse, and leave with you at midnight.’ He straightens up, levels her with another weighted look. I think I gasp out loud at the turn in the story. ‘This cannot continue, my lady; they will find you out; and your quest will take you far beyond the towns surrounding your father’s keep. Honour compels me that I cannot let you go alone.’

‘You’ll … come with me?’

‘I will,’ he responds, and as grim as he makes the promise sound, he hasn’t taken his eyes off hers. ‘Until the end.’

The screen goes to black, credits rolling with the title music, and this time I really almost do fall off the bed in my haste to spin round, looking at Jake with wide eyes.

‘You didn’t tell me this was a romance ! Jake!’ I cast about for something to throw at him, but his pillows are too far out of reach, so I settle for taking a playful swipe at his shin instead while he laughs, his eyes glittering at my reaction. ‘I would’ve watched this with you ages ago if you’d told me that! I thought it was all boring sword fights and casting spells and stuff.’

‘The sword fights are the opposite of boring,’ he tells me. ‘Have you even been paying attention to any of the scenes with Daxys? He’s just … He’s amazing .’

Max says, ‘And the spells are pretty cool, too.’ Then he laughs, and gestures at me as he says to Jake, ‘I told you she’d be a Silversmith shipper in no time. Called it.’

‘A what?’

‘Lady Adanna di Silver, and Devon Smith, her … I guess you’d call him her bodyguard? A soldier sworn to protect her. They’re a really popular ship in the fandom,’ Max explains. ‘People rooting for them to be together, you know, romantically.’

I feel my cheeks warm. ‘I know what shipping is.’

He doesn’t acknowledge me, but carries on, ‘Especially because of the forbidden element – Devon tries to be really proper and not overstep when his duty is to watch her back, not, you know, fall for her. Although even half the Silversmith fans are convinced they’re not endgame, and he’ll die.’

‘He’ll what ? But –’

But that’s not how it works! Don’t they know? Haven’t they ever seen a romance movie? The way they looked at each other …

‘There’s tons of theories about how he’ll die protecting her,’ Jake tells me. ‘Especially with the foreshadowing in this episode. “ Until the end. ” People think he’ll go down defending her.’

‘Oh!’ I clasp a hand to my chest, already picturing it. ‘That’s so tragic and romantic.’

Is it weird if I ask Jake to rewind it so we can watch that scene again? It was just so good . How can Jake have neglected to mention this any time he’s waxed lyrical about his favourite series?

How is trekking through the forest and ragtag bands of rebels more worthwhile than an epic, maybe doomed, romance?

‘Okay, spoilers please ,’ I say, feeling the need to disclose after the constant jokes about it on Discord. I grab Jake’s shin, leaning towards him with wide eyes. ‘Tell me they have tons more screentime together.’

‘ So much screentime,’ he promises. ‘Four seasons’ worth, so far.’

‘Amazing. Perfect. Yes.’

He laughs, and I can’t even be embarrassed about my unashamed fangirling. Even in the fantasy setting, the romance storyline works. Maybe it even makes it better ?

‘She’ll be going home to find the fanfics, now,’ Max tells Jake – and why, why does he keep talking about me like I’m not here? Am I invisible? Am I worth so little of his energy that he can barely even acknowledge me, and will only talk to Jake?

But my curiosity gets the better of me, and my face falls a bit. ‘Fanfiction? What, like … like people writing stories about all of BTS falling in love with them on tour, or something?’

‘Kind of,’ Jake says, and then scoots down the bed to grasp my shoulders and stare into my eyes. It’s not as intense as Devon and Lady di Silver, but I stare back, willing it to be. We’re sat on Jake’s bed, my knees touching his thigh, his face only inches from mine … discussing OWAR fanfiction while his new bestie Max loiters nearby. This isn’t how I pictured it.

But Jake’s still talking, and I try hard to pay attention.

‘Cerys, when I tell you this is a very dedicated fanbase, I mean it. Word has it there is a fic from a couple of years ago that’s eight hundred thousand words , and two girls wrote it together in less than a year.’

‘That’s … a lot,’ I say carefully. I know Jake will think I mean the word count, but in reality, I’m thinking that’s a lot of time and effort to put into something that … doesn’t really matter.

Didn’t those girls have anything better to do? Didn’t they want to do something more productive, or fun? How did they write almost a million words of a story that hardly anybody will read anyway, in less than a year? They can’t have done anything else in that time. Isn’t that a bit sad, a bit weird? Isn’t it … well, a lot ?

I can’t imagine pouring that sort of time and effort into an art project. I think of the abandoned pieces stacked under my bed, unfinished and cast aside whenever my inspiration waned or life got in the way.

Did they really decide to put their whole heart and soul into creating something just … because?

It’s so bizarre I can’t even wrap my head around it, but there’s a burning sensation deep in my chest that feels a bit like … jealousy.

I can feel Max looking at me, judging me , and wonder if he can hear the things I’m not saying out loud the way Jake sometimes does. Am I really so easy to read?

He says, in another cryptic ‘is it a quote from the show or just Max being a dork’ phrase, ‘A daunting prospect indeed. The time to bow out is not yet past.’

I ignore him, and say to Jake, ‘Let’s watch the next one.’