Night couldn't help, but make a face when Juniper asked if Jay breached her threshold or was acquainted with her geography. It was an odd metaphor; one that felt a bit euphemistic. And hearing it caused Night's nose to scrunch.

Though, she chose not to make note of it yet. Night's face relaxed back as she observed Juniper's body language. Jay and Night hadn't been friends in years, but the same protective knee-jerk reaction kicked in.

An assumption of Night's feelings, of how the evening went down. One -- which was half-unexpected -- in which that casted Night entirely blameless. It would be Jay's blundering due to his masculine insensitivies, not their mutual failure to communicate, that eventually cause Night's outburst at the carnival.

That was the thing. Night was not blameless. There was a time where she would have done the mental gymnastics to place the other person as the only reason for any friction. It functioned as an excuse to be bitter and angry and didnt service Night's interal world any better. Why get close to someone who won't recognize her own flaws?

Yet, there was unintended consequences her matured line of thinking: why allow anyone to get close and see that side of you, knowing your capability of burning them; why would anyone willingly get that close to the flames again after they've been burnt? Those who managed to survive the blast and were still willing to get close again were those worth keeping, even if guilt ate Night from the inside out.

"A writer imagining a situation and rewriting it to where she would be better than some stupid man she knows nothing about," Night quoted Juniper. She raised her eyebrows, her head cocked to the side, once more echoing Juniper's haughty demeanor. "How beautifully... arrogant." Night allowed that word to linger. She watched with careful eyes as she laid her sentence out for Juniper to internalize. Night kept the seriousness of her expression and she continued her retorted, "He blundered because he kept making assumptions about what I want and what I think, similar to you. No offense, but maybe you should see yourself in the mirror before you judge him."

Night removed her gaze from the other woman and onto the filter in her hand. It was started to fall apart from the pressure she was putting on it.

Then Night brought her eyes back up to Juniper. Perhaps it was to signal that there was no harm done or just to ease Juniper's nerves. While Night would never ask, she was certain that Juniper did not get out much not did it seem like she knew how to make friends.

But, as with Jay, Night saw the effort Juniper was attempting to put it. It was just awkward and different. And Night understood that it might take time. Who was she to judge? It took her time to get used to others as well.

So, her smile returned to her lips but just not as high as it was before.

"But, you're getting better at it," Night mentioned. She moved into a kneel. Her fingers help her used cigarette filter tight. "Still assuming a lot with your question. No. He isn't and wasn't and will never be my boyfriend, if that's what you meant by geography."

From her knelt position, Night transferred to standing. The smile never left her face. "Up to you, since you seem comfortable against the tree," she offered. With the hand that held the filter, Night gestured over to the garden from where she came. "I don't want to litter in your yard so I just need to throw this in that teacup you gave me. Come with or not. But I'll be right back if you don't."

the distaste that pinched night's features at the architectural metaphor did not escape juniper’s notice. she watched her nose scrunch with an almost feral aversion to the subtext, a physical rejection of the poetic license juniper so naturally claimed. it was an intriguing display of resistance, particularly as night immediately pivoted, attempting to mirror juniper's own theatrical superiority back at her. labeling the writer’s speculation as beautifully arrogant, the comment struck the trunk of the oak like a small, blunt stone. juniper didn't flinch. she merely allowed her eyelids to droop halfway, absorbing night's lecture on self reflection and the comparison to the anonymous carnival blunderer. the accusation that juniper was simply looking into a mirror of her own presumptive flaws was a bold maneuver, a piece of psychological counter insurgency that made the writer’s chest swell with a dangerous, pleased amusement.

"arrogance, my dear wildflower, is merely the armor worn by those who happen to be correct more often than is socially convenient," juniper countered, her vocal texture smoothing out into a dry, aristocratic purr that completely bypassed the jab. "though i will grant you that drawing parallels between myself and a clumsy festival patron is a rather creative insult. offensive? hardly. it is almost...refreshing." she remained nestled against the rough bark, her dark eyes tracking night's transition from a kneel to a full, towering stance. the revelation that the unnamed boy was not, and had never been, a romantic fixture settled into the grass between them. night’s subsequent offer, a casual invitation to return to the porch and the discarded porcelain cups, hung in the air like a prompt at the end of a scene.

juniper looked down at the pale linen of her skirts, then back up at the shadow standing over her. the lingering paralysis of her earlier panic had fully retreated, replaced by that stubborn, elitist curiosity that always demanded she finish the chapter. she had no intention of being left behind at the base of a tree while the mystery walked back to her terrace. with a grand, unhurried sweep of her limbs, juniper gathered the volume of her dress into her hands. she rose from the dirt, avoiding the tree for support, and restored her spine to its habitual, statuesque height. she shook out the crumpled fabric with a flick of her wrists, her rings glinting in the dark before she gestured toward the path leading out of the foliage.

"leave you to navigate my terrace unsupervised with a piece of debris? absolutely not," juniper murmured, her delivery regaining its full, melodious pacing as she stepped into stride beside the woman. "you would undoubtedly find a way to incinerate the saucers out of some sudden, unprovoked principle. come along, then. since you have dismissed my cartography, you owe me an explanation of what this legendary offender actually managed to break, if it wasn't a heart."

Flora would never get tired of looking at Jax. By now, she'd memorized every inch of him ten times over. She was certain she could pick the man out of a lineup with only a glimpse of his elbow or some other equally mundane part of him. Jax could likely do the same, he stared just as much. Flora knew he did because each time she looked at him, she found him already looking back.

Flora reached out for the tomatoes and scoffed when he held them just out of her reach. She scrunched her nose in false indignation. "A sandwich..." She replied smoothly, matching his tilted head with her own. "Isn't that what you want? Something to eat?" Flora batted her lashes, her smile turning sweet again. When the refrigerator began to peep in protest of being left open for too long, she leaned around him at the appliance. The remaining ingredients were in her line of sight. "Le cipolle e il prosciutto... right there..." She mused, shrugging casually.

"What is that saying, hmm?" Flora genuinely couldn't remember the words she was looking for in English, something about gambling she believed. Putting everything down in hopes of winning the prize or risk walking away with nothing. "You get everything or you get nothing? Bring me rest of ingredients and you get double the prize... plus a sandwich!" Her limbs had wound around him again like they had a mind of their own, so she reluctantly released him.

Flora steered him around by the shoulders again, but pulled his back against her chest before she released him. Resting her chin against his shoulder, she pointed a finger in the direction of the fridge, right he needed to go. "Cipolla/onion..." Prosciutto was easy, the name was right there on the package. Kissing his cheek for good luck, she shoved him lightly towards the beeping open refrigerator.

jax yielded to her playful rejection, his boots executing a brief, sliding protest across the polished tile. he let out a mock groan, a sound utterly ruined by the wide, helpless grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. but he wasn't going to let her off that easily. before dedicating even a fraction of his focus back to the task at hand, he spun back into her orbit, determined to claim a tariff before executing her commands. closing the sparse distance, he hovered over her marble perch, capturing her lips in a firm, possessive theft that tasted of sweet, freshly surrendered laughter. he retreated a mere breath, pausing just long enough to drop a quick, tender press of his lips against the slope of her nose in hopes of coaxing a soft flutter from her lashes. "okay, okay, i'm on the clock," he chuckled, flashing a wicked grin before pivoting back to the frigid interior.

he raided the shelves with practiced speed, sweeping up the papery skin of a red onion and the sleek envelope of imported prosciutto, finally silencing the rising panic of the appliance's alarm. with a casual nudge of his hip, the heavy door swung shut, trapping the cold draft inside and bathing their corner of the kitchen in the rich, honeyed glow of the overhead pendant. "double or nothing, then," he murmured, his smile turning slow and conspiratorial. he tossed his trophies onto the counter right beside the smooth skin of her thighs, the package of cured meat settling with a soft, sliding thud against the stone.

he moved in again, his palms spanning the curve of her waist to draw her flush against him, closing the gap until they were fitted together in an unbroken, seamless line that bypassed the marble entirely. the easy teasing of their game was still there, but the dark depth in his eyes was turning heavy with a fierce, quiet intensity; a gravity born of a year spent learning a devotion so complete, the frigid world of the copelands could never hope to pierce it. he simply beheld her, memorizing the inky tresses framing her face and the embers of mischief dancing in her eyes. it still felt like a beautiful, stolen miracle that he had managed to slip the golden handcuffs of his old life to find absolute sanctuary in her touch.

"the kitchen is fully stocked, and the courier has delivered," jax whispered, his voice dropping to a intimate hum that vibrated in the small space between them. he leaned closer, his gaze drifting to the invite of her lips before locking back onto her stare. "so before a single slice of bread gets cut, i'm here to cash in. show me what double the bounty looks like, flo, because a starving man is running entirely on empty." and as he looked at her, he knew with absolute certainty that his appetite for the sandwich didn't hold a candle to the constant, consuming need he had for her.

the hand that wasn't holding his diner boxes dropped naturally to scratch cherry’s head, his rough fingers finding that sweet spot behind her ears until her tail thumped a lazy greeting against the floorboards. "yeah, yeah, old girl. at least someone in this building has some manners," he drawled, casting a pointed look at the counter. sachi’s glare was met with a skeptical lift of his brow. he took in the flimsy gray halter top she’d deemed appropriate for a mountain summer morning and let out a dry, exasperated huff. "right. it’s warm inside. that’s why your goosebumps have goosebumps, sachi. makes perfect sense. i don't care if it's july, you're freezing." the beep of the remote as she finally cranked up the heater was a minor victory, and he didn't bother hiding his smug satisfaction.

he watched her pinkie dive into the river of syrup, a flash of genuine amusement softening his features. "of course it’s the real stuff. you think i’d bring maple flavored corn starch into a tea house? i have some self respect." he shook his head, leaning his hip against the counter as she mounted her defense of the neon footwear. "if a bear drags her off because she looks like a giant, glowing lure, you're the one explaining it to the search and rescue team. best aunt doesn't get you out of a deputy's lecture."

as she bypassed the counter and dug into the hotcakes with a muttered blessing, the tension in her shoulders finally began to melt. he watched her eat with a silent, protective watchfulness. he remembered when she'd left for culinary school, the bright eyed girl who wanted to conquer every kitchen in the city. he’d practically pushed her out of pinehaven himself, promising him and his grandfather would look after minori so she could chase the dream. he hadn't expected the brutal kitchen culture to hollow her out, sending her back to the valley with her bright, loud edges filed down and her trust kept under lock and key. but here, in the early hours before the town woke up, the walls came down. the girl who used to help him clean formula stains off his only decent flannel was still right there.

at her prompt, he pulled over a faded wooden chair that looked like it had been salvaged from an old schoolhouse. the legs scraped loudly against the floorboards as he sat opposite her. he reached into the small paper sack, pulling out one of the cinnamon twists and breaking it in half, letting the sugar dust his fingers. "i'm eating, i'm eating. quit your nagging," he grumbled, though there was zero heat in it. "i didn't drag myself out of bed before dawn just to watch you inhale breakfast. pass the napkin dispenser."

he let out a sudden, boisterous laugh that echoed right up to the exposed wooden rafters, his cheeks coloring with a faint, amused flush at her blunt honesty about the team's visual appeal. entirely oblivious to the fact that she was including him in that category, his brain automatically bypassed himself to assume she was talking about some of the flashier guys on the roster. "hey, no judgment here," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he followed her out from behind the counter. "whatever gets people through the doors, right? though i'll have to tell the guys that our rugged charm is apparently a major recruitment tool for the fanbase. we'll start putting extra effort into our post game hair flips."

learning about her stage history, and the scale of the crowds she'd performed for, elicited a low, respectful whistle from him. he watched her move with that unshakeable ease, completely unbothered by the empty tables or the open space. "over a hundred people and actual judges? yeah, okay, you're definitely operating on a different level than me," he admitted, his voice full of genuine admiration. "my normal crowd is just a bunch of rowdy locals covered in face paint, screaming their heads off and banging on the glass after too many stadium beers. you've got nerves of steel."

he felt an immediate wave of relief wash over him the moment they stepped out of the narrow workspace. he stretched his arms out wide, his knuckles barely missing a hanging light fixture as he tested the air of the dining room. "oh, hell yeah. my personal bubble was starting to get highly compressed back there. i was genuinely terrified i was going to turn around and hip check a blender into the next zip code." as she adjusted the furniture to accommodate his lanky proportions, he couldn't help but feel a swell of gratitude for her thoughtfulness. it was like she had completely read his mind about the impending danger of his wingspan. he watched her prop the device up, finding the sweet spot where the afternoon light streamed through the glass.

"i've got plenty of confidence. it's the actual execution that's usually the wildcard," he joked, stepping into the frame next to her and immediately striking a ridiculous, over the top pose; chest puffed out, chin tilted up like a vintage movie star. he shook out his legs one last time, bouncing on his sneakers to get the blood flowing. "alright, coach. the stage is set, the tables are cleared, and my elbows are officially licensed to roam. let's make some internet history."

"It'll look good either spot," Shay told her, settling his arm back down so she could continue working. "And I'll kick his ass if he doesn't think so." Julian would snap him in two, without even trying that hard, they both knew that, but the offer to try still stood. Shay wasn't that protective by nature, at least not to anyone outside of his immediate family, but he liked to think he'd do something tough if someone hurt one of his friends. He hoped he never had to test that theory, though.

As Orion got back to work, Shay watched her pen moved. It was a good piece. Designed well. It would fit either spot of Orion's body just fine, she just needed to decide which place she liked better. The odds of her getting something else just as cool in whichever spot she didn't choose were high. It was just a matter of what and when.

"Where is my brother in this scenario?" Shay asked lazily, looking back at his phone. Most of his tattoos had been done by Malachi. Apart from 2 or 3. There wasn't a hard and fast rule about having them done by his twin, but Shay preferred it. If there was anyone he could trust not to fuck shit up, it was Mal. Orion did good work, though, so if she presented him with a cool enough design he likely wouldn't say no. "I could be convinced," Shay mused, chuckling. "Maybe a spine piece... I could fuck with that."

a tiny, fleeting dip near the corner of her mouth betrayed her amusement. that empty threat was a familiar, comfortable currency between them, a shield shay threw up to declare her off limits to the world's friction. it was a wordless pact of alliance, one she accepted without the tedious need to dissect or overthink it. she paused, tilting her face just enough to catch the lazy, warm indifference in his gaze. there was no urgency here, no suffocating pressure to fill the empty spaces of the room with useless noise. with shay, she was permitted to simply exist, her fingers navigating his skin while her mind slipped into those shadowed, creative vaults she normally kept bolted shut.

the felt tip hovered a millimeter above his arm as she let the image of a massive, shadowed design tracing the ladder of his vertebrae blossom in her mind. it was a tempting canvas. long, elegant, tucked away from the sun unless he chose to bare it. the prospect of mapping that bone deep line with steel and dark pigment sent a slow, artistic hum through her fingers. she could already visualize the thorny vines coiling up his spine, clinging to the ridges of his bone like dead ivy choking a winter trellis.

"fitz can watch," she murmured, her voice a cool, drifting thread as she began to bleed a tiny, creeping root around his thumb. but there was another peek of an amused smirk impressed at the mention of her fellow tattooist. "i'll even let him hold the ink cups." she leaned in closer, the cold nib of the pen pressing into his skin as she dragged out a single, needle pointed thorn.

"a spine piece would suit you," she added, her tone carrying that slow, thoughtful cadence. "something heavy that hugs the bone. i have a design with wild, choking briers that would look like they're growing right out of your ribs. we could start it next week, before you change your mind and let malachi scribble over it instead."

"It's my favorite place on Earth," Flora replied, a genuine smile pulling across her face. She loved Siena. Before Jax, it was the only place she'd ever felt truly home. "Even before I met my husband there... any plans to return? I hope to soon." There weren't any plans set in stone as of now, but she and Jax both knew they'd find their way back one day. Flora wrote in her address on the form, writing as neatly as possible so she wouldn't get dinged for penmanship.

"They specifically don't like me," Flora told her, seeing no reason why she shouldn't. "I would not be surprised if they told the town to make my life harder whenever possible." She had to chuckle at just how silly that notion was. But after 6 months, Jax's parents hadn't warmed up in the slightest, so Flora wouldn't put it past them to tell the post office to hold her mail. They were hoping she'd simply give up and go back to where she came from. Clearly, they didn't know her at all if they thought she'd give up Jax so easily.

"Genie..." Flora repeated, the name tasting like honey on her tongue. It was fitting, short and spunky. She liked it, and she already liked the girl it belonged to. She took Genie's hand in hers and shook. "It's a few bottles of wine," She explained. "From the restaurant we had our first date... which was the day we met." A small, reminiscent smile tugged on her lips. "We had a bottle over dinner and then got one to go... got wine drunk on the floor of my bedroom... Praticamente ci siamo innamorati la prima notte/We practically fell in love the first night."

"Paris?" Flora repeated, interest sparking behind her eyes. "Is the reason you're here romantic? Or tragic?" A place like this seemed like it could go either way.

"oh, my heart is literally weeping," genie gasped, pressing her palm flat against her collarbone as if to manually contain a sudden geyser of sentiment. "wine drunk on a bedroom floor in tuscany? that's like a cinematic masterpiece. if those in laws of yours can't appreciate a love story that epic, they must have cold oatmeal running through their veins instead of blood." she watched with intense satisfaction as flora finished the remaining lines of the paperwork, her defensive instincts fully flared on behalf of her new companion. "let them try to freeze you out. monstrous in laws are practically a rite of passage in the grand theater of life, but they've clearly underestimated italian stubbornness. that wine is going to be poured tonight even if i have to scale the back window of this building myself to liberate it."

when flora asked about returning to siena, genie's eyes went instantly dreamy, staring up at the water stained ceiling tiles as if she could see the tuscan sun radiating right through the plaster. "i would have boarded a flight yesterday if my calendar wasn't already a hopelessly stuffed mosaic of filming schedules and flights. europe is my eternal siren song, honestly, even if i only go to run away from my feelings and eat my weight in pistachio gelato. i know we’re practically strangers, but i am swearing a sacred vow right now. one day, we are going to coordinate our orbits, meet in siena, and drown our troubles in endless carafes of chianti. deal?"

when flora poked at the mystery of her flight from paris, a soft, complicated curve touched genie’s lips. she propped her elbow on the high wooden table, nesting her chin in her palm to study her new friend with a rekindled glow. "paris to...well, this mossy, twilight zone outpost?" she chuckled, a bright sound that briefly swept the stale, cardboard scented air out of the lobby. "a highly volatile cocktail of both romance and tragedy, if we’re being entirely honest. there were plenty of layovers in between, of course. but a few years ago, my..." she faltered, the word fiancé rising like a bubble to the surface of her throat before she swallowed it down, the invisible weight of what they used to be momentarily pulling at the corners of her mouth. "...um, travel partner and i decided we needed a place to fold our wings between flights. a permanent nest to crash in when we grew tired of living out of dusty suitcases. so, we bought this sprawling, beautiful wreck of a house here to breathe some life into."

she waved a hand airily, though a tiny shadow flickered across her eyes before she instantly masked it with a dazzling smile. "the romance was supposed to be the grand, sweeping kind. it was grand. but the script got a little...messy along the way. now, the renovations are completely finished. the paint is dry, the dust has settled, but the relationship status is...we're in a bit of a waiting room, you could say. but the surrounding woods are magical, and a little unresolved suspense keeps a girl from getting bored." she winked, nudging the completed paper back toward flora. "and now, dai, forza! come on! let's go rescue some vintage love potion."

He didn't even stop Zara from walking into the employee only section of LG Beat & Tea. Zara was a force, and Joshua knew better than to try to stop her when she was on a mission.

He tottered after Zara. There was little he could say that would have effectively warned her the pink dough that was scattered about the back kitchen area. Joshua had lost his fight with the mixer and it made sure that the ruin was known.

"I can help!" Joshua insisted, though he knew it was a lost cause to argue with Zara. When it came to anything with mechanics he was completely useless. There wasn't any way he could swing it; especially since he had just lost with said mixer.

How was Joshua supposed to tell Zara that he had put batter that was a little too thick and when the mixer wasn't spinning properly, that he simply increased the speed. Once that mixer was able to move the batter, it sputtered out and Joshua lost control of the machine.

But he couldn't admit any of that. Joshua was a real business owner and he didn't need anyone's help.

Well, Joshua needed people's help, but he definitely didn't want anyone's help. It might not have been the brightest idea, but it was a bright idea that popped into Joshua's head.

Joshua put on his sweet smile and lied, "You know. It kinda just started freaking out. You know how machines can be? It just got out of control and I couldn't stop it once it started."

zara locked her arms across her chest, panning her gaze slowly around the sticky fallout zone. a sluggish, bubblegum pink magma crept from the undersides of the cabinetry, hugging the lip of the prep station before cascading down the front of the stainless steel fridge like a sugary, slow motion landslide. "oh, is that how it went down?" she drawled, her tone melting into a playful, honeyed tease. she tiptoed further into the epicenter, eyes squinting as they locked onto the mixer's dashboard. the speed dial was still pegged at its absolute redline. with the tip of a stray plastic pen she’d swiped from the counter, she poked a sticky wedge of pink sludge off the throttle notch.

"so the machine just...gained sentience and cranked its own throttle to overdrive? a total system hijack?" she pivoted to face him, resting a hip against a pristine patch of the steel table. her silver grill flashed under the lights as a highly satisfied, incredibly smug grin split her face. "jay, my guy. my brilliant, hardheaded barista wizard. you put a mixture in there that had the viscosity of quicksand, didn't you? and when the paddle struggled, your genius solution was to force it through?"

she clicked her tongue, shaking her head in mock disappointment while her eyes sparkled with amusement. "you can't bs a coder about system stress, bubs. i know a forced overclock when it's staring me in the face. you basically tried to run a high specs on integrated graphics and now we're looking at the blue screen of death in pastry form. you tried to flex on the dough, and the dough won."

It did not matter if the universe was conspiring against him. Harun felt as if the world was collapsing all around him just because the vibes felt... different than they usually did. And the correct calibration of vibes was needed. How else was he supposed to practice with Afterglow? How else was he supposed to compose his lyrics? How else was he supposed to look good while passing out posters?

The vibes had to be perfect.

"Are the tunes supposed to coax the vibes out of hiding or something?" Harun lamented. His steps were heavy as he dragged himself across the floor. It was a pathetic display; one often reserved for a histrionic teenager and not a grown man verging into the third decade of his life.

While his lament was focused upon his lack of good vibes, Harun was in another state of equal turmoil: he couldn't let Virginia be right. This is because Harun did not like whenever anyone, but him was right. Of course, he would tolerate it for his friend and bandmate. It still gave him permission to pout the entire time.

And pout was what Harun did. He walked his way over to where Virginia was standing. His arms were folded across his chest. His lower lip puffed outwards. "What if the vibes just don't get fixed?" Harun muttered. In order to maintain his pout, he barely moved his mouth. The sound came out of him in smothered vocalization.

ginger let out a sudden, rough snort at the absurdity of his expression, the sound cutting right through the warm crackle of the turntable. the front man’s features had contorted into such a grand temple of woe that she simply lost all restraint. shedding her lazy slouch, she invaded his perimeter with a swift glide, her palm launching forward to trap his jawline. her fingers clamped down on his cheekbones, compressing his face until his mouth ballooned into a ridiculous, puckered fish face. "behold the masterpiece," ginger crooned, her vocal cords vibrating with affectionate mockery as she wobbled his head back and forth, instantly dismantling his efforts to project a mysterious aura. "you're a walking gallery of sorrow, harun. if i squeezed any harder, you might actually start weeping poetry. truly, the local coffee shop open mic scene is trembling."

she released her grip with a low giggle, her arm swinging back down as she propped her pelvis against the timber of the stereo cabinet, drinking in his offended glower with a broad smirk. reaching across the short distance, she jabbed a single finger against his folded sleeve. "if the mood is busted, we just play filthy. if the atmosphere won't cooperate, we drag it down to our level. you think the legends sat around waiting for an immaculate vibe or flawless conditions before hitting the record button?"

she gave her head a slow shake, her messy fringe swaying across her forehead. she wasn't about to coddle his bruised ego, but she had no intention of leaving him stranded in his own internal swamp either. "stop fighting the slump, harun. let the irritation cook. maybe the friction is the vibe, use it, throw it at the microphone," she suggested, her thumb drifting up to nudge the little metal circle in her lip as her eyes gleamed with genuine anticipation.

Harun slithered deeper into his blankets and pulled them over his head. His face popped out of the cotton cocoon and he pulled the fabric around his head so tight that all could be seen was just his face. The whole display was reminiscent of a perfect oval: an egg.

What an anticlimactic end to their love story? Any singer-songwriter would tell you that it was drama that drove lyrics. The confessional element of art was the very reason for it's creation and it's consumption. And Esme had denied him the very thing he needed to create.

She was even walking around his room as if they never had any spark to begin with. It was absolute dishonesty and it was all happening just a few feet away from Harun. There wasn't a fire that ignited inside of Harun, which made this entire situation even worse. Even if Esme felt absolutely nothing forwards their extinguished flame there was nothing that Harun felt. Absolutely no writing material. This was ridiculous.

And Harun would not stand for it.

So he did what every grown man does when he is in such situations: Harun rolled over. His blankets maintained their spherical shape and he placed his face down into the bed.

"You should just check it yourself since that seems to be what you're worried about, anyways." His voice was muffed and he refused to look over at Esme. Why would he dignify her with a reaction? Though, Harun was not considered and intelligent man.

watching the rotating cotton cocoon, esme had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing out loud. he had rolled himself into such a taut, seamless cylinder that he looked precisely like a highly offended, petulant egg nesting in the middle of the mattress. it was a classic retreat, the universal sign of a performer realizing his big finale had been utterly canceled. she knew his type too well; he wanted a tempest to feed his notebook, and she had given him a sunny afternoon instead. when a muffled grumble finally vibrated through the sheets, some sullen directive to hunt down her own stray garments, she didn't take the bait. instead, she drifted closer, sinking into a limber squat right beside his buried head. tilting her chin, she peered into the dark, tiny crevice where his nose was likely hiding, her eyes alive with sparkling mischief.

"oh, don't be like that, darling," she cooed, sliding her voice down into a husky stage whisper that she funneled straight into his defensive linen fortress. "look, if it’ll help the muse, i can easily fake a breakdown. do you want me to play devastated? i did a stint doing clown work for my troupe, you know. i can pull off a tragic, tear stained mime routine that would absolutely bring down the house. i can weep directly into your laundry basket if it'll give you a decent bridge."

she reached out, lightly tapping the top of his fabric dome with one finger. "i can even do the classic walking against the wind sob. just say the word, maestro, and i’ll paint a big blue teardrop on my cheek." to illustrate the point, she passed a flat palm slowly down over her features. in one smooth, sweeping motion. she wiped the bright amusement completely from her face, leaving her lips pulled downward into a drastically exaggerated, trembling frown; a flawless caricature of tragic, theatrical misery offered right to his fabric wrapped silhouette.

the cracking of the writer's vertebrae echoed softly in the still afternoon air, a popping release that made esme's own shoulders twitch in sympathetic understanding. she watched the newly christened charlie unfold like a long dormant paper crane, transitioning from a crumpled ball of anxiety into a living, breathing person. "charlie," esme repeated, testing the syllables on her tongue. the name was short, punchy, lacking the flowery pretense of charlotte. "a local. so you're part of the soil here, then. rooted deep." there was no judgment in her tone, only a mild, anthropological curiosity. to someone who lived out of battered duffel bags and the back of a packed vehicle, the concept of being born and raised in a single, rain soaked valley was as foreign as deep sea diving.

she let her gaze drift to the stone bench, then back to charlie's face. there was a softness to this girl, a kind of luminescent sincerity that usually made esme's instincts prickle, but here under the shadows of the old cemetery, it felt almost refreshing. when asked about her own business in town, esme let out a low laugh, those metal bands of hers clinking once more as she crossed her arms over her chest. "no great mystery, i'm afraid. i'm here visiting my brother," she said, though her expression shifted slightly, a flicker of something unsettled passing through her eyes before she masked it with a careless shrug. "and honestly, it looks like i might be sticking around this sleepy hollow for a while. which means i need to find some space where the air actually moves, preferably with high ceilings. i suspend myself from things for a living. silks, ropes, hoops. whatever keeps me from touching the floor."

she took another step closer, her stride fluid and loose limbed, stopping just on the edge of charlie's shadow. "and what about you, writer girl? do you always write your ghost stories in the presence of the departed, or is this particular resident your muse?"

"Someone's stealing those riches because I can think of others who have withstood the blast," Night retorted. Her brow raised as she looked over to Dante. "I do have friends outside of you." There was a limited number of people who had ever withstood the blast and there was less that Night allowed close enough to witness one. From her own experience, those who survived the blast -- or at least were willing to come crawling back after her outbursts -- were worth keeping around. Dante fell into that category, and (while she would never tell him) Night appreciated everything he did for her and everything he tolerated for her.

And Night knew that Dante wasn't afraid of her. How could she not know? He challenged her, knew the anger that could exist on the other side and accepted that it was just part of who she was.

"And when you're not there?" Another layer of vulnerability cracked open; one that was reserved for those who managed to get past her dark and fiery aura.

Maybe a little dig could convince Dante otherwise. In her heart, Night knew better. Once Dante wanted to do something, there was nothing that could stop in. Stubborn. And it wasn't like she could even fault him. Night was just as stubborn as him. But, at least, she could try to convince him. Being in a club was bad enough. Having to talk to strangers was worse. And having to flirt with strangers was a nightmare Night didn't sign up for. "Unless you're wanting prime viewing. Wanting a chair if anyone takes me home? Not sure how helpful your coaching will be then..."

dante merely chuckled, a smooth vibration that slid effortlessly under the thumping baseline of the venue. he tilted his head, fingers casually tracing the heavy metal links of his collar as he looked down at her with a look of supreme amusement. "please. i am the executive producer of your social life, baby girl, everyone else is just a background actor," he shot back, his dimples cutting through the strobing neon as a lazy grin spread across his face. he didn't buy the bravado for a second, though a tiny spark of satisfaction warmed his chest at her unspoken acknowledgment. he knew his place in her circle was entirely secure; he was the only one crazy enough to match her stubbornness dollar for dollar, and he wore that endurance like a badge of honor.

but the playful mockery evaporated from his eyes when that deeper, fragile question slipped past her lips. and when you’re not there? the words hung in the space between them, a bare glimpse beneath the armor that dante caught instantly. he didn't tease her for it. instead, his posture softened, his gaze turning steady and fiercely protective despite the swirling madness of the dance floor around them. "then i'm a terrible manager," he murmured, in a gentle and steady tone that didn't need to compete with the thumping speakers to be felt. "but lucky for you, i don't miss a performance. you're stuck with me on the clock, pookie."

the moment of sincerity was brief, however, because her next little jab had his eyes rolling so hard he practically saw the back of his own skull. he crossed his arms, his necklaces jingling in protest as he leaned back against the metallic pillar, a wicked, absolutely delighted smirk returning to his lips. "as if I you would ever find me on the sidelines of anything. if someone actually manages to sweep you off your feet tonight, i'll be at the head of the bed taking notes and grading their performance on a curve," dante cackled, his shoulders shaking with genuine mirth as he leaned back in to prod at her defensive shell once more.

"my critique would be invaluable, and you know it. but fine, if you're too terrified to mingle, we compromise. you don't have to say a single word to a soul. just sit tight, let me handle the entire script, and watch the master set the stage. all you have to do is show up for the final act."

evie let out a breathless, wheezing giggle, instantly melting into the embrace despite the ridiculous tangle of denim, fleece, and oversized knit sleeves. she peered down at the teddy bear paws currently resting on the wet stone steps, then up at her sister's multi layered silhouette. it was an incredible look; like the midway point between a sleepy college student and a cryptid hunter.

"first of all, eonni, my shift isn't for hours, so stop apologizing," evie whispered, though her voice still bounced off the bronze monument with vibrant energy. she locked her elbow securely with charlotte’s, offering a burst of warmth against the creeping chill. "second of all...you totally broke our pact and went snooping on the forbidden boards! i knew it! the liminal plane theory is classic midnight forum brain rot, but honestly? seeing this gap in person, i kind of get the hype." she leaned their combined weight closer to the monument, her eyes narrowing on the strange, off center alignment of the metal boots. the fog seemed to thicken around them, turning the surrounding pine trees into towering, watchful giants.

"catacombs? oh, absolutely," evie eagerly agreed, her free hand coming up to tap her chin as her thoughts raced ahead. "think about it. the old logging families had to hide their bootleg moonshine somewhere during prohibition, right? or maybe the town founders built an entire inverted replica of the main street right beneath our feet just to mess with future generations. if the statue is moving, whatever is shifting underneath must be massive. like a giant brass gear turning in the dirt."

she nudged charlotte with her shoulder, a wide, mischievous grin splitting her face. "good thing you brought the supreme investigation outfit. if a trapdoor opens up right now, at least your feet will stay comfortable while we drop into the abyss."

"those transatlantic joints are an entirely separate affliction," saffy drawled, slumping a few degrees deeper against their stool as they watched riot’s dramatic migration around the partition. with a slow, effortless extension of their arm, they caught a leaning tower of vintage singles a millisecond before riot's sleeves could sweep them into the abyss. "you're trying to use two hands for an alphabet that only requires one, which means your extra limbs are just generating noise. you look like a magician who forgot how the trick ends."

there was a easy understanding in the way saffy watched them slump into the adjacent seat. they knew riot had landed in this mossy, rain slicked corner of the continent with a defensive shell, expecting nothing but a grim exile with some distant family line. but as was accustomed, the rat tag assembly of spins crew swallowed them whole, providing an island of dusty plastic and loud amplifiers that kept their eccentric edges intact. saffy had picked up on that burgeoning loyalty early on; the unspoken code of a city stray who finally found a porch that left a bowl out.

"don't pop a blood vessel over a simple greeting," saffy muttered, the dry delivery carrying a faint, unspoken fondness. they’d never actually admit aloud how much they respected the hustle, or how cool it was that riot had spent their off hours staring at a glowing screen just to untangle a foreign dialect to greet them. a lazy pivot of their stool sent their dark dreadlocks drifting over their shoulder like heavy rope as they swept a clean square on the dusty timber. they hoisted their right hand, letting it float loose but steady in the pale morning light filtering through the front window.

"look here," they commanded with an easy, low energy patience, forming a clean, single handed pattern near their chest before dropping it into an open, inviting motion. "that's the introduction. none of that double handed gymnastics you were trying to pull off. just easy, simple lines." then, keeping their expression entirely vacant and deadpan, saffy seamlessly extended their middle finger skywards for a beat of perfect, comedic timing. "and that," saffy concluded, a tiny, barely there smirk finally twitching at the corner of their mouth as they let their hand drop back onto the counter, "is the local punctuation mark for when some middle aged vinyl purist tries to explain post punk to us. try it again, slow mo."

Kekoa had assumed that the wedding had been kept under wraps considering the shock that rippled through the town when Jax showed back up with a wife in tow. Kick didn't know the Copeland's well, or interact with them that much, but his Granny saw Jax's mother a few times a month at one of her many get togethers, and an engagement would've been something Mrs. Copeland talked about. "Hey, good for you, guy," Kekoa said, smiling broadly. "You've got to do what best for you and the missus." He let out a low whistle of appreciation as Jax explained how well his trip went. He'd never been to Italy, but it was top of the list for sure. "That's how I'm trying to be... exploring the world and shit with my person." Kick didn't know who his person was yet but one day. "What the hell are you doing back here? See everything Italy has to offer?"

"Oh, yeah, you know it," Kekoa beamed. "Just had this killer show at the bar a few weeks ago... packed house... people were coming in all the way from Seattle. We've got a few gigs scheduled for the rest of the summer... you've gotta bring the wife to one, I want to meet her!" At the mention of his grandmother, Kick's whole face lit up. He loved no one more than his Granny Lou and it legitimately thrilled him that Jax was asking about her. "She's so good, man, we just had her annual a few weeks ago and everything checked out perfectly. Healthy as a horse." Kick had been so anxious in the days leading up to the appointment, and so incredibly relieved when everything came back normal. He knew he couldn't get her to live forever, but he needed at least another 10 years. "Makes me feel good, you know? Like I'm doing something right."

the leather strap slid against his jacket as jax laughed, he nodded along in total agreement; a solitary existence tucked away in the shadows sounded like a miserable drag for anyone, let alone someone as vibrant as kick. when a stray finger nudged the camera body resting against his ribs, jax ducked his head, his hand traveling up to rub the back of his neck with a slight, self conscious shrug. there was a trace of vulnerability in the gesture, the lingering hesitation of a guy still finding his footing in a brand new passion. "yeah, it's pretty fresh," jax admitted, his gaze dropping to the dark metal housing of the lens. "picked it up while i was away. there were just so many incredible sights to see out there, a phone screen didn't do it justice." his mind drifted back momentarily to those first dizzying weeks abroad, before he’d even set foot in italy or crossed paths with flora, when he had simply wandered across europe, letting the sweeping landscapes slow his racing thoughts.

hearing kick's casual take on the pinehaven gossip mill brought a faint smirk to jax's lips, well aware of the shockwaves his sudden reappearance with a wedding band had sent through his mother's pristine social circles. he deeply respected how quickly kick brushed past the scandal, offering his genuine support instead of the usual prying questions the country club crowd loved to dish out. as the talk shifted to italy, a wave of nostalgia washed over him, painting his thoughts in the golden, sun drenched hues of the mediterranean coast.

"i definitely didn't see it all. i probably could have spent a lifetime exploring every nook and cranny with her" jax admitted, his tone dropping into an unmistakable affection that always softened his features whenever he spoke of his new life. yet, the invisible tether of the family business had rendered that beautiful reality finite, a heavy corporate weight he couldn't completely outrun across an ocean. he shook off the fleeting somberness, looking back up with a supportive smile. "you'll get there, man. and when you find your person, the whole world opens up."

the news of packed bars for the band and the fans traveling down from seattle had jax grinning widely, reaching out to punch kick's shoulder in congratulations. "count us in for a summer show, absolutely. flora loves live music, and i'll make sure she gets to witness the legend firsthand." but it was the update on granny lou that truly dissolved the remaining tension in his shoulders, his expression melting into something entirely gentle. "you're doing an incredible job with her, kick. seriously, she’s lucky to have you looking out for her, and you should feel damn proud of that."

he hitched the camera a bit higher on his shoulder, gesturing with a subtle tilt of his chin toward the steeper, winding trail that cut upward through the dense evergreens. "i'm actually going to hike up toward the ridge to catch the last of the afternoon light before i head back down. you should tag along if you're looking to waste some more time out here. i promise to keep the camera pointed away from you unless you want to practice your best bigfoot poses."