go cry about it, why don’t you?

HE TRIES TO BE NONCHALANT about it, to not make it obvious that he's really vying for her friendship. his bright greetings have been met with scowls so often that a change of tactics had been unavoidable — it's why he slides a still warm croissant over to her now, smiling sheepishly. « they gave me extra, » he states in defense, when the truth is he'd wanted to treat her to breakfast as they sit in the garage, awaiting the day's first client. gray had almost grabbed an extra coffee too, and he would have if he wasn't worried the cup's content would end up in his face. « eat it, don't eat it ... it really is sublime though. »

from her very first day on the job, Dani felt she'd had Gray all figured out. admittedly, this had less to do with anything he'd actually done, and much more to do with the fact that he was, well, just a little... too good-looking, for her liking. she'd made her mind up about him almost immediately, no different from any other pretty-boy jock she'd begrudgingly suffered through 4 years of high school with. he certainly looked the part, after all. unfortunately (for them both), Gray seemed entirely unwilling to accept this fact. each shift, more often than not, brought some... other painstakingly transparent attempt at making nice. each one, met, with same, clipped indifference. and yet, he kept trying. if nothing else, she had to admire his commitment. "huh?" she queried, from beneath the hood of a customer's Civic, as Gray took shape, at her side. with visible reluctance, she pulled an earbud free. "sublime...?" she echoed, with a laugh, fighting smile that dared betray her. this guy. "who... even talks like that?" she shook her head, wiping hands on a nearby shop towel, before reaching for croissant. between grease-smudged fingers, she inspected it. "what's this for?"

“and who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” if all the good girls of the world are sprinkled with sugar and spice and everything nice, the cretins of las vegas are left to serve up entitlement and audacity in spades — much like the hand that’s likely fucked them over tonight. is she surprised to have some asshole knocking into her and wasting precious wine wants to play high and mighty? not particularly, and she’s always game to get down the muck with these freaks. but even before she’s got her eyes on him properly, full lips scowling and nose wrinkled, there’s something in his cadence that sparks recognition that wastes no time accelerating into a burning flame of resentment. “oh, this — this is precious. are you fucking kidding me?” same as ever, this fucking guy. dom. dumb dom as he was once listed in her contacts, still blocked and she’s certain that’s unlikely to change anytime soon. “well, now i just wish i had a better aim,” she quips, eyes narrowed and desperately fighting back a smirk. blue gaze shifts to the nearest muscle man, “can you spare a girl a little drink ticket so i get it right this time?”

for one, rare moment, Dom found he had absolutely nothing to say. upon recognition, irritation drained, slowly, from features, replaced, first, by disbelief, then, by something much harder to define. nostalgia, perhaps? regret? distinction hardly mattered. as gaze fell upon those green-blue eyes, of hers, for the first time, in what had to have been nearly a decade, something stirred, within him, that felt wholly unrecognizable. Sadie. she looked different, of course. older. but, god damnit, somehow, he swore, even better than she had, then. still, Dom recognized her with ease, as though he’d seen her only yesterday. was it always like that, when you’d loved someone? he hadn’t a clue. he’d only ever bothered with loving her. for a moment, it felt almost as though time had stopped. remnants of their past, shoved down, for self-preservation, as much as safekeeping, overtook him, instantly, in such a way, that corners of his mouth, almost, began to twitch upward. albeit, until venomous words served to rouse him from whatever, recognition-induced stupor, he’d fallen victim to, an immediate reminder of the... less fond memories, they shared, including just how poorly things had ended between them. not that this weren't his fault, entirely, regardless of how well-intentioned he'd believed himself to be, at the time. “well, shit,” he spat, through forced laughter, “if it isn’t Sadie fuckin’ Knox, in the flesh.” as though accepting some unspoken challenge, his own, dark gaze didn’t dare stray from hers, not once, until she, herself, broke eye contact, turning toward the casino’s nearest rent-a-cop. humorless scoff escaped parted lips, then, palm dragging across cheeks, rough with a few days’ worth of stubble. couldn’t afford a new razor, at the minute. “I don’t know, boss. feels, to me, like she’s had enough,” he said, gesturing toward his, now, wine-soaked button-down. “might be best that ya’ cut her off, don’t ya’ think?”

GREY'S ANATOMY | Shiny Happy People (6.22)

features scrunch at her distaste, thoughts flicking momentarily back through the people he's shown interest in. there's nothing too wrong with them. sure, a few were awful people, but a few he's also still friends with. he likes to think of himself as non-discriminant in that way, willing to give anyone a chance, even if a couple do turn out to be soul-destroying demons. “ don't ew, gross me. ” he scoffs softly, though amusement tugs far too easily over his features. “ there's nothing wrong with my type, some of them are actually quite cool, and all of them are way out of my league so — ” he has to be doing something not totally incorrect. even if dani seems pretty insistent on the opposite. “ besides, ” the thought falls with a soft hum. “ you do not want to bring up the topic of bad taste. ” he's not sure he's ever seen her with a guy who marcus didn't immediately despise, as if it's possible to identify red flags from a haircut and a handful of facial expressions. it's a painfully sobering thought, one he's quickly ready to drown in something stronger when he's more than aware that dani's type is who he'll lose people to every time. arms cross on the counter at the ease with which she ( of course ) gets the bartender's attention, head dropping to rest on them with a soft groan. “ get six tequilas. ” he grumbles. “ then as soon as they're done, get six more. on repeat, until i remember absolutely nothing. ”

just in time to catch Marcus’ (admittedly, pitiful) request, bartender approached, stifling a laugh, gaze shifting, judgmentally, between the two of them, as though struggling to understand what Dani could possibly have to do with him. of course, Marcus, too busy sulking into folded arms, missed this, entirely. not that it mattered. “you sure about that?” he asked, amusement apparent. pig. Dani’s expression flattened, whatever trace of faux-flirtation she had offered, prior, vanishing, in an instant. “what, can you not count that high, or something?” she asked, brows lifting. “we’ll start with four, then.”

 he wouldn't exactly call it pouting, but then again he isn't about to argue semantics with the one woman who knows exactly how to drive him insane. slams the front door with a little more force than necessary, turning around to glare at the back of her head as she makes herself right at home in his space. "i'm not pouting," he points out, long legs following her into the living room. "and there's a massive difference between keeping things casual and you deliberately rubbing some second line defenseman from a rival team in my face."

“deliberately?” she echoes, with a sharp laugh. “please. you don’t own the West Village, Aiden. It’s not like I fucking planned to run into you,” she huffs, folding arms across chest, “but, y’know, even if I had, last time I checked, casual, by definition, means: I can go out with whoever I want, whenever I want, wherever I want. even if he rides the bench, for a team you hate.” takes one step, then another, in his direction, “so, what exactly has you so bothered, hm?”

Power Ballad (2026) Havana Rose Liu as Marcia

SPIKE FEARN as OWEN BROMPTON FINDING EMILY (2026) dir. Alicia MacDonald

esme leveled her gaze in the mirror as isaac spoke to her from the other side of the door, as if she would find the best reply in her own reflection. fragmented sentences pieced together to paint as much of a story as everything leading up to them — stolen glances, brief exchanges, a painfully long car ride. he was honest. it wasn't the worst thing in the world, everything else about this trip considered. "i was ?" she struggled to consider that she'd been invited as a deliberate participant and not some awkward afterthought, some obligation in the wake of a gruesome breakup that threatened to splinter their group down the center. she didn't exactly make for the best company anymore. she had, at one point, been someone different. maybe that was where isaac's hope was still nested — in the brilliantly charismatic, quick-witted esme that she'd been months ago. she was there somewhere. eyes narrowed at her doppleganger. his question, like an open hand, offers the opportunity. not fancy, but the sort of thing that old esme would've found charming ( even if she'd refuse to sit on any of the stools ). she was a responsible adult. they would walk back. anyone texted either of them, and they'd be welcome to join, but they were just as likely to revel in a two-person pity party. a slow drag of fingertips beneath her eyes to erase smudged mascara, and she tipped the door open. she considered a showy display of a return. ( "see ? she hasn't fallen apart yet !" ) the humor still evaded her, just out of reach, but she manages a polite smile, an acknowledgement of his best efforts. "if i die of botulism from the lime garnish on my vodka cran at a dive bar in the middle of the desert, maybe that's a sign that it's my time to go." she fished the essentials from her bag; ID, wallet, pepper spray; and gave a resolute nod. "you've got a deal."

“I was?” Isaac couldn't help but laugh, softly, at the question. for as long as he’d known Esme, he would’ve done just about... well, anything, for a mere minute of her time, even when such had required settling, quietly, into the friend zone. “obviously,” he said, with a playful roll of light eyes, albeit, his answer, itself, was sincere. especially, given everything that remained unsaid, between them. for instance: hey, remember when... the other night, I kissed you? and then, you, like, uh, kissed me back? what was that about, huh? then again, their mutual panic over what, perhaps, anyone else, might’ve seen as an ideal opportunity to clear the air, so to speak, seemed proof enough that neither of them was quite ready to do so. not yet, at least. why else would his proposition have sounded even remotely enticing, after the travel day they’d had? “now, that's the spirit!" says, with renewed enthusiasm, he, all but bouncing toward door. once free from close quarters of motel room, tension, between them, already began to loosen, the reality of their situation feeling (to him, at least) easier to ignore, with every step taken in opposite direction. even more so, as they naturally slipped back into some half-serious debate, from earlier car ride, one that had them laughing amongst themselves, as they strode into bar, even before they were met with the (admittedly amusing) sight, of some local, passed out drunk, across an otherwise empty booth. “botulism’s first victim?” Isaac joked, as he waved to older woman, behind counter. she turned toward them, eyes wide, smile (somehow) even wider. “hey, sugar,” she purred, looking from Isaac, to Esme. “what can I get you, and your pretty lil' lady?” question caught him off guard. “my – er, she’s not," deciding, perhaps, wisely, that distinction hardly mattered, he forced himself to laugh off awkwardness felt. “two of... whatever the... uh, pretty lady wants.”

Logan Lerman as Isaac OH, HI! 2025 — dir. Sophie Brooks