sure, i'm decent.

               a chime cuts through the silence of the otherwise empty café. taylor’s heart sinks. only twenty more minutes until she could lock the doors, kill the lights, call it a night. “we’re closed.” the lie is reflexive, clipped and uninviting. her eyes stay locked on the rag moving in slow circles across the counter, on anything but the figure in the doorway.

there’s no way. zero. fucking. way. and yet even through his exhausted haze — managing a bookshop just as all the nearby teens were diving into their summer reading lists last minute isn’t for the faint of heart — jesse would always know that face, the pouted contours of those lips, and though he’d only caught her in his peripherals as he shuffled past the diner, taylor’s dark gaze would always reel him in, even in a single flash. he had resigned himself to the fact that he’d likely never see her again, at least not in the flesh, perhaps as headshot of her mona lisa-smile was tucked beside the synopsis of her latest best seller that he’d always keep in stock, always recommend to an eager customer, always rally from the sidelines. but now she’s here, snapping without a single glance in his direction; it earns a soft smile that he knows he’ll have to remove before she properly sees him, but he allows it to hang for a beat before he chimes in, “fuck. really? i was kind of hoping for some sort of long lost ex discount. that’s gotta run me, like, what, at least twenty percent off, right?”

“ maybe this isn't as easy for me as it is for you! ” come out rushed, frantic and before he can even think about the words pushing from his lips, the intensity of the nights events flooding in his mind like a sick joke that he's the star of. “ this bullshit friends idea you've made in your head is just that — bullshit. and i'm done doin' it. ”

april’s always struggled when it came to matters of the heart and, god forbid, utmost vulnerability. content to veil any discomforts behind easy jokes and pained smiles, if not outright avoid them altogether, something as emboldened as this quickens her pulse, leaves her swallowing hard, eyes unable to meet his. “it’s not easy for me, adrian,” she stammers out, arms crossed defensively over her chest — or perhaps protectively, demanding some obstacle for her head lest it leap right into his hands, where it often belonged. “i just — i just — fuck, what do you want me to say? really, truly, tell me what to say.” she finally collects enough nerve to meet his gaze, stepping forward. “i never know what to say or what to do when it comes to you, because you make my head all fucking cloudy and insane. like i can’t breathe.”

never made it a habit to let people find their way between the brick walls she'd built up for so long, and could count on one hand the ones that she foolishly had. one standing opposite was victim number one, and it rang true with the way her eyes stung into theirs, “ what do you want from me? ” softly spoken as she crosses her arms over her chest, a shuttered breath leaving her lips, “ i waited for you. i — i thought it was as real for you as it was for me. ”

“i — i don’t want anything from you.” nothing short of the pitiful promise that they could run off into the sunset together, that is. jolene’s always inspired that breathless romantic in him, nurtured it to the point that his head was so far in the clouds, he hardly noticed when the uneasy ground beneath them inevitably collapsed. “you think it wasn’t real?” the idea — the absolutely insane, batshit idea — that he wasn’t all-consumingly devoted to her from the moment they met provokes a sting in his dark gaze, immediately looking away before he crumbles on the spot. “i didn’t know what you wanted from me, jo. it’s always been complicated, and i didn’t…” didn’t know if she’d grown tired of what they shared, grown tired of him, if she wanted a fresh start away from their complex web, “— you know it’s not as simple as that. you have to.” his voice grows soft, barely above a whisper, as he fixes his eyes upon the face he’d been dreaming about since the day they parted. “do you think i’ve been just fine this entire time? that i haven’t been able to get you out of my head for years?”

                   “have you ever successfully told sarah no?” this was the one quality holly and sarah seemed to share. sarah got what she wanted through sheer force of will. holly seemed to get what she wanted because holden had never figured out how to tell her no. truthfully, when it came to holly, it didn't require her much effort. he opens his mouth to argue his assignment of mary bennet until his date belts out a shaky ‘blue jean baby’. light from the old-school color dome on the floor hits her eyeline at the perfect time, allowing holden to grimace without his date being able to bear witness. “god help me,” he muttered, watching his date for a moment longer before turning back to holly. “you’re definitely not lydia, by the way,” he argues, voice raised to be heard over the song. c“sure, you’re a troublesome little tart,” he mimicked, “but lydia would’ve lit the karaoke machine on fire by now.” a small shrug, “you…” holden stops, considering her with an exaggerated seriousness, “are probably elizabeth.” a small beat. “and don’t let that go to your head!  …  you just argue constantly, think you’re the smartest person in the room–,” he holds up a hand before holly can object, “which is annoyingly the often truth.” another sip, amusement softening his expression. “and at the end of it all, you’re still charming. don’t know how you keep getting away with that.” the last of his drink disappears. then—maybe next time. he ignores the way it settles in his chest, and tries to think of how many ‘count the headlights on the highway’s he had left before this was over. “oh,” a huff of a laugh, “your fiddle leaf is really dramatic. i think it knew you were gone.” he leaned back, another look at his date who had her eyes clamped closed as the song swelled. holden’s fingers traced a damp ring of condensation his glass had left behind. “i should probably get back to her soon.” a pause. then, a smirk plays at his face. “but if i happen to have a sweet tooth, maybe i’d be inclined to for a slice of midnight pie.” his eyes meet holly’s. holden was more of a gentleman than this. he knew that, and feels a little disappointed in himself. but, as previously established, holly had a way of making things feel inevitable. “you know, if you’re around.”

“don’t let that go to my head?” a peal of delighted laughter escapes her, eyes alight and utterly tickled; while the two of them ensconced in their own world at a party would hardly be out of the ordinary, he is on a date, forcing holly to quiet her laughter and maintain some semblance of composure. “you just likened me to one of the greatest literary heroines quite literally,” a pause as a pun occurs to her, god forbid it’s left unspoken, “literature-lly— of all time, and you want me to be humble?” of course he does. holden’s always had a gift for casually offering some life-changing remark or observation that wouldn’t seem like much on its surface, until a week’s gone by and holly’s still marinating on it, almost obsessively. with every grand high, there’s a swift blow, and holden, ever polite and thoughtful, wisely steps out of their bubble and, in turn, quietly deflates holly. “yeah, of course. if you don’t get swept up in a couple of duets up there, that is. i think you’d really give a knockout performance of ‘i will always love you.’” holly rises to her feet, figures it’s time she’s made her way around the usual faces anyway. “i’ll try and catch you before i leave, yeah?” she gives him a wink and an easy smile, stumbles off to chat up this person and that, give sarah and gary the rundown on her work trip, emphasize that no, she didn’t meet anyone and yes, holden’s date seems great, maybe there’s a real shot for them. and in every interaction, it’s their conversation that bounces around her psyche, and at the end of it, you’re still charming. as if holden isn’t clear darcy, her foil and her mirror, but that’s a thread she can’t dare to follow. just because he’s an obvious darcy — stoic and stern, honest, reliable, endearing through it all — doesn’t mean he’s her darcy. right? no, totally and obviously not. as the night draws to its inevitable end, everyone gathering to offer their goodbyes and promises of coffee tomorrow or lunch sometime next week, holly realizes that she simply can’t cut in on holden’s date to invite him out with her. you going to any afters? somebody asks, and when she’s ensured that holden’s within earshot, she answers, “nah, i think i’m gonna go for a sweet treat. solo pie, baby.” there’s a smile thrown his way, perhaps lingers a beat too long, before she’s heading off, gambles the chance that a) he might not have really heard, b) that he might’ve actually fallen under his date’s spell within the last hour or c) he simply just doesn’t want to go. worst case scenario is that holly actually does get some solo pie, how dreadful. she’s soon enough tucked away in their usual booth, two slices of apple pie already ordered with fresh coffee on the way. there’s a beat when holly considers she really might be on her own, but she glances up and a grin involuntarily spreads wide across dimpled cheeks. “salutations,” she greets, gesturing for him to sit, “we’ve already got goodies on the way. obviously both slices are for myself, so you’re sorely out of luck.” a scrunch of her nose, then a soft nod. “how’d your night end? good ol’ fashioned movie kiss?”

                   when she signals for another round, davis is simultaneously thankful and uneasy. she oozed a particular nervousness that, just by looking at her, you would never be able to anticipate. if he’d been asked to imagine the person placing a classifieds ad for a wedding date, he would’ve pictured a widow, or someone wearing an ear piece with a camera crew outside. not georgie, who looked like she could've found a date without much trouble. but as she speaks, the picture begins to sharpen. a tiny huff of laughter leaves his lips as she volleys the line of questioning to him. right on cue, the bartender slides their drinks across the counter and shoots him a knowing look. it dawns on davis, for the first time, that this looked like a first date from anywhere else in the room. “right. and where did names like 'clarice' and 'pablo' come from?” he finally asks, cherry picking the most harmless anecdote to diffuse.    “well,” he shifts in his seat. “i travel for work. keeps me pretty busy.” intentionally vague. after a beat he decides to relent, slightly, by offering a few more bullet points. “i’ve got three sisters, so if you’re family’s loud, i’ll survive. … grew up just outside of new orleans.” a crooked smile. “spent most of my adult life trying to lose the accent, but it doesn’t always take.” he takes a moment to study georgie over the rim of his glass. davis can’t stop himself from wondering what kind of man would accept being the best man at this wedding and what kind of family would allow it in the first place. “no pets, though.” the liquor burns his throat and the low hanging light fixture between them flickers. “but if your ex was some kind of big shot, i can be a bigger one.” a shrug. “it’s whatever you want.”

“lispector and neruda, my favorite author and poet respectively.” georgie offers this easily, a little duh wordlessly tacked on at the end, because they’re clearly such household names and not the byproduct of georgie burton inhaling literature since she was a child. “you can borrow from my library whenever you’d like — if you’re into that at all.” does that sound backhanded? it’s more of a judgement upon herself, distinctly aware that most adults she’s come across read a comfortable amount while balancing more fulfilling aspects of their lives, but georgie reads with a capital r, much to the detriment of her social life and, so it seems, overall socialization. “travel doing… ?” georgie asks before she considers that the transactional nature of their arrangement excludes any opportunity for personal excavations. “sorry, you don’t have to answer that. is there anywhere in particular you love traveling the most?” three sisters, noted with a slow nod. is there a reason why he hasn’t mentioned his parents? “got a favorite sister?” she aims for humor, a smirk easing itself over her mouth. “i’ve always wanted to visit new orleans, actually. you’ll have to give me tips whenever i manage to make that happen.” it’s too forward and too soon to assume he could ever be her guide. “it’s a charming accent,” she adds, perhaps flirting, but too in her head to acknowledge that it’s flirting. “depends on your definition of big shot, i guess, but he’s… got some notoriety. he’s an author, wrote a few bestsellers. the last one was kind of about me, at least when he found me charming and i was sort of a blank slate for him. he’s just about to publish another, so fingers crossed he’s got a new muse.” even with a new muse, she imagines that he wouldn’t waste an opportunity to publish her insecurities and eccentricities in a few chapters. “any major exes for you?” her steals another pull from her drink, gesturing airily. “this is, like, a human-to-human question, not necessarily part of, you know, everything else.”

"what do you say?" esma's lashes flutter innocently, hoping to convince them to agree to her request. it'd been an embarrassing amount of time since her last kiss and she needed to practice ( especially given how important this date was ). "help me practice kissing and i'll do anything you ask," pouts playfully as she gives them doe-eyes.

it feels like some sort of cruel, cosmic test, esma offering herself up on a platter, full lips puckered sweetly just for him and presumably with no strings attached… but with the caveat that she’ll soon be running off with some other asshole that’s surely unworthy of her. “you fuckin’ with me?” he asks after a beat of consideration, dark eyes locked on her, attention drifting between that inviting mouth and her promising gaze. his voice is low, gravelly, as he continues, large hand falling to the curve of her waist, “i’m happy to help, honey, but lookin’ like that, it’s gonna take a helluva lot of restraint to keep myself from needing more. think you can be strong enough for both of us in that case?”

"he seems…" cass trails off, choosing his words carefully. ever the pacifist - - he never wanted to stir the waters. but he'd never expected to return and see them hand in hand with another. "he seems nice." eyes don't meet theirs in fear that they'd see how heartbroken he was. "i thought…never mind, it doesn't matter anymore."

“the nicest,” juliette offers glibly, even somewhat coolly as she does her best to gauge cass’s true reaction. she allows a beat of silence to hang between them, unwilling to be the first to relent, but she can’t help it when he’s here again, tangible and yet somehow, as always, just out of reach. “is that all you have to say?” she finally asks, trying to keep an amiable facade for the sake of their public reunion and all the guests eager to gossip about, gasp, juliette and cass alone together again. there’s a smile and thinly-veiled resentment, eyes narrowed on the man who once felt like he’d give her the world. “i don’t hear from you for god knows how long, and when you’re back, all you’ve got to say is that my boyfriend is nice, and that it doesn’t matter anymore?” she’s heartbroken, yes, and angrier than she initially thought. “where did you get the idea that it wouldn’t matter to me? i wasn’t the one who went silent, cass.”

weddings are usually an uncomfortable affair for victor, most people paired off or well-meaning family or friends trying to set him up with someone pretty who's 'perfect for him' only for him to politely decline a million times before he's forced to make small talk and nod until he can make a quiet exit. sometimes he opts out of attendance altogether. but for the first time, he's at his friend's wedding with a date. his girlfriend, actually. he's smiling softly, arms wrapped around the back of her waist as he listens to her talk about a funny interaction she had in the bathroom earlier. victor's happy, content even, till he looks up and catches someone's gaze that makes guilt wash over him and his smile drop. / based on, closed for @floralege

it’s not my business, it’s not my business, it’s not my business. it’s the mantra that imogene’s been choking down throughout the evening, doing her best to avoid victor and his lovely date — girlfriend, as she’s been informed via mutual friends — while getting a little too acquainted at the open bar. and she’s mostly been successful in this evasion, counting down the seconds until she’s found an appropriate time to make an exit, but there’s a sea of couples on the dancefloor, and her wounded gaze anchors on them. her stomach immediately sinks, eyes darting sharply away. it’s all too much, she needs air. politely excusing herself from the table, she navigates her way through the back exit, toward the designated smoking area. she’s been trying to quit, but if there was ever any reason to succumb… well, seeing the man you’ve been pretending not to be in love with for the last several years just might do it. she figures she can probably head out after this, shuffling through her pockets for a lighter and coming up short, head bowed when she overhears footsteps approaching and immediately asks, “sorry, can i borrow a light?” when she’s looking back at victor, though, she halts, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. “question still stands,” she finally speaks, trying to find a smile, “but… shouldn’t you be inside?”

ivy reeves. twenty-five. bisexual. bottle girl who can't wait to be famous and doesn't care for what. fc: mika abdalla.

Hannah Dodd for Zimmermann

"i — i miss you, okay ?" lennox confesses pathetically, eyes lifting to gage their reaction. it doesn't come easily and feels unnatural on their tongue. when there's no immediate response, they barrel ahead. "and i was excited to see you, which ... is stupid. i realize that's stupid." she tosses her hands in the air, embarrassment filling her chest as she turns on her heel to escape the situation. "great. whatever. i'll fuck off. forget i said anything." / based on, closed for @floralege

“what?” the question is not only applicable to everything lennox has said — that anyone could ever miss someone as frustrating as josie, that such a sentiment could ever be stupid, and that she could ever want the other to ever stop talking. it escapes in a high, breathy pitch and comes coupled with the scrunch of her nose and flushed cheeks. “don’t — don’t say that, don’t… if you ever stopped talking, i’d be, like, miserable. and i’d be the one forced to talk, and i’m so bad at that.” which lennox knows and somehow isn’t entirely put off by. they’ve always been an anchor, a home, and even if josie is notoriously bad with expressing herself in any degree, it breaks her heart that they somehow could ever believe she wouldn’t move mountains for them. “do you really think i don’t miss you right back? like, it’s just… i’m not good with things like this.” feelings, especially expressing her feelings with any sort of clarity and vulnerability. “look, i’m still getting my bearings together, but don’t fuck off, okay? that’s my thing.”

PEOPLE WE MEET ON VACATION 2026 — dir. Brett Haley