she wasn't sure what august would consider to be a good idea, but if the buggy ride down a hill was any indication, she knew that this could be a bad idea. still, she was intrigued with what he could have come up with. ❝ okay, i'm game. no cold feet. ❞ shelby nodded, moving a strand of hair out of her face as the wind picked up just a tad. she couldn't help but to ponder what it could be, swimming with sharks seemed likely or sneaking into the zoo and letting the animals loose. the latter could be fun, she thought, even though it was highly illegal.

shelby was mentally making the bucket list in her head already. the items they already agreed on, how she'd write it in hot pink glitter pen, the stickers she'd put on each item after completing them. august may not care for that much detail, but she did. though her room didn't reflect how organized she usually was right now, shelby was one of those that had lists for everything, color coded sock drawers, a calendar that had ever event written out perfectly with different symbols to indicate what the event was for-- a heart for personal events, star for birthdays, smiley face for work shifts, etc.

“Let’s get out of here then,” he demands immediately, making a face that screams why the hell are we wasting another second at this party. He’s over it anyway. The loud music, the stench of beer, and the constant chattering of too many people inside. Making an appearance and dipping is more his style. Plus, he accidentally got Shelby drunk and way too pliant because she’s agreeing to this with zero context. Should be worrisome. He would be if she was doing this with some random, but luckily they’re roommates with the same tragic backstory, so he can scold her later about her intoxicated judgment. 

Like the (occasional) gentleman he is, August gets the passenger car door for Shelby and makes sure she’s buckled in properly before daring to drive off. They say not to smoke and drive, but he’s become a pro at this over the years, especially with the late nights at the radio station. Sleep deprivation preps anyone for reckless driving. He doesn’t argue when Shelby blasts the radio, appreciative of the break in conversation as they make the twenty minute journey to their first bucket list.  They park outside the community pool. It’s eerily quiet, bathed in an ominous blue light that resembles a horror film. That would make August uneasy if he didn’t lack the will to live on a daily basis. There’s a chain lock on the gate. “Soooo,” he elongates the word, turning slowly to Shelby with a shrug of his shoulders, hands out in a gentle surrender. “We might be committing breaking and entering, but let’s not look at it that way, alright? Let’s think of it as borrowing pool time. A quick dip. How illegal is that really? Not much. A slap on the wrist, max, if we get caught."

we got snowed in together with only one bed and now i'm trying really hard not to fall for you over hot chocolate and bad christmas movies

you're my ex and somehow still got invited to the same new years eve party, and of course you kissed someone else at midnight

we promised to keep things casual but you showed up to the christmas party in matching sweaters with someone else and now i can't stop glaring

i came home for the holiday's and discovered you're my sibling's best friend, and now we have to act like last summer never happened

you're my grumpy co-worker, but we both got stuck organizing the office christmas party together and i'm realizing you're kind of sweet

i was supposed to introduce my partner to my family but we broke up, so now i've convinced you to pretend to be them for a week

we're strangers stuck together in an airport on christmas eve because our flights got delayed for twelve hours

you always go overboard with your decorations, so i started a rivalry, but now you keep flirting with me every time i try to sabotage your lights

(starters inspired by too many drinks, city lights, and the kind of honesty that only comes after midnight)

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐑 𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆

“You look like you could use another drink… or a bad decision.”

“Don’t tell me you came here alone.”

“I’m not drunk, I’m just—emotionally flexible right now.”

“One more round, and I might actually tell you what I’m thinking.”

“I didn’t plan on running into you here.”

“You’ve got that look—like you’re either about to confess something or start a fight.”

“You’re staring again. Should I take that as an invitation?”

“You ever think about how many bad ideas start with a shot glass?”

“You dance like you’re trying to forget something.”

“It’s way past decent hours—what are you still doing out?”

𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐘 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆, 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓

“You can stop pretending you’re fine. Nobody believes it after their third drink.”

“I thought you didn’t drink anymore.”

“It’s funny—liquor makes you honest, but you still can’t say what you really want, can you?”

“You shouldn’t walk home alone. I’ll come with you.”

“You always talk like this when you’ve had too much.”

“You smell like smoke and regret. It suits you.”

“Let’s make a pact—we don’t talk about this in the morning.”

“You shouldn’t have kissed me. But I’m not asking you to stop.”

“You ever get drunk enough to think the world might love you back?”

“We’re both going to regret this tomorrow, aren’t we?”

𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑, 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done? I’ll go first.”

“Tell me a truth—just one. The kind you’d never say sober.”

“You’re going to forget this conversation in the morning, right?”

“If I told you I missed you, would you blame the alcohol?”

“You keep drinking like you’re trying to forget something. Or someone.”

“I didn’t mean to call you. My hands just remembered your number.”

“Why are you crying? Don’t tell me it’s just the gin.”

“You said you don’t love me anymore, but you’re still here.”

“Do you ever wonder how we got this lost?”

“Sometimes, I think the night listens better than people do.”

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐖 — quiet streets, unspoken things

“I’ll walk you home. You can pretend you don’t need me to.”

“It’s too late for goodbyes, isn’t it?”

“We shouldn’t have let it get this far.”

“You can hold my hand. Just for tonight.”

“Do you ever wish you’d met me sober?”

“Don’t fall asleep yet. The world feels softer when it’s still spinning.”

“Stay until the city forgets our names.”

“You look different under the streetlights.”

“Promise me you won’t vanish when morning comes.”

“I don’t know what I’ll remember most — the taste of the drink, or you.”

❝ i guess. i just, ❞ a sigh left her lips as she looked down, ❝ sometimes i feel like i'm a phony. that i don't have my own personality because it was all curated by my mother. ❞ she didn't feel too interesting even though she had a lot of things she'd done in life. she didn't have fun stories like chili-ufo-parties. she didn't have fun drinking or smoking adventures. she was just what her mother wanted her to be.

❝ i don't know if i'm ready to commit to a piercin' like that, or deal with my mom gettin' upset that someone called her and said that, but a bucket list would be cool. we can both add items to it, maybe ? a roommate bucket list that we both complete together. ❞ it would be a way to bond, to really get to know one another better. shelby didn't want to be strangers after this. she didn't want to go back to feeling alone in the place that was now her home.

❝ surely there's somethin' you haven't done that you wanna. although i'm sure nothin' would top the chili-ufo thingy. that seems like a once in a lifetime experience where the feelin' could never be replicated. ❞ shelby giggled at the thought of it, unable to hide the wide smile on her face as she imagined him trying to find aliens. maybe she could take a note from his book and be more spontaneous. her mother would hate that.

That’s enough to snap August out of it, shaking his head with a playful smile. “A bucket list,” he repeats, testing out the idea on his tongue. He’s written one before, back when life was dark, recovering from the incident. A coping mechanism his therapist suggested describing the things he wouldn’t want to leave this life behind before doing, mostly to cope with his fear of an early and sudden death. It was intended to give August some direction, but he felt lost trying to come up with something.

“Yeah. We could do that,” August agrees after a beat of silence, hands digging into his pockets while shifting towards Shelby, facing her directly now. “Your nacho dilemma may seem tame. I’ve always wanted to crash a wedding or, ya know, those movies where they shove you down a hill in a shopping cart? That’s pretty cool. Oh!” He snaps his fingers a few times, as if trying to make the thought come to him. “I’ve got the best idea as long as you say you’re game for anything, Carrington. No cold feet.”

About a year ago, Jade took up kickboxing, partly for fun, partly to learn how to protect herself in some way. She felt fairly confident in it which was likely what led to her being here. She wasn't terribly banged up, but certainly needed some medical attention. She'd heard about an amateur underground fight not far from her - and there was prize money. Oh, the things she'd do to make some money. Opting to participate, the prize for females was only $300, but she needed it - as usual. It was more than she'd make picking pockets, and likely more than conning someone into playing pool with her. The bright side, she did win - barely - but she also had some injuries.

Shaking her head, "Nah, I can't afford that stuff. It's not so bad. Childbirth is worse," she half laughed. "I've got that generic Advil if I need it." She hoped none of the ones on her face, at least, were too deep. There was a gash on her arm she figured might need some stitching for sure. She'd wrapped it up before Hayes arrived. A row raised at his words, smirking, "Please, you love it when I call you," the brunette joked - or perhaps slightly flirted. "C- at Harvard is still probably better than at A+ from wherever the local clinic docs went to school -- not that I'd go. They're too damn nosy. Besides, I don't have to pay you which is a bonus. It lets me keep living this luxurious life I got," she glanced around at the run down apartment that certainly looked as if it'd seen better days. The wall unit was noisily running, sounding like it was half ready to give up on life - and like it was installed sometime in the early 90s.

His gaze follows her, darting around the apartment. There’s no judgement or pity. Not from him. He’s lived in at least ten different foster care homes worse than this place, having aged out of the system at eighteen without adoption ever being on the table. In his books, she’s doing pretty damn good for herself and her kid. He’s met Amelia a few times. Holds the same level of confidence and grit Jade does. His respect for her is on a level most will never reach.

Two fingers brush a loose strand of hair off her forehead, showing off a minor gash where the blood is already drying up. Probably an excuse to touch her like this, more than concern about it. “Whatever you’re doing, hope you’re rolling in benjamins by Christmas,” Hayes tells her, diverting his attention to the gauze wrapped around her arm. “Get real fancy under the tree. Buy the kid an ipad or something.”

His hand grabs her wrist, firm but not rough, twisting her arm enough to unravel the bandage. He’s studying the wound like it’s an art piece, determining how bad this one will scar compared to the others he’s stitched up before. “Looks clean, at least. Should heal well.” Hayes grabs alcohol wipes to sterilize the area, not surprised when Jade doesn’t flinch from the sting. It makes him smirk to himself, grabbing the needle and thread to get to work. “And you’re lucky I don’t charge you. At this point, I might as well clean out my weekend calendar. I spend more time with you after hours than at home.”

Aspen's gaze dropped. He was right, they could've been happy... if it weren't for her. She was only 26 years old yet she felt like she came with so much baggage. All that she had been through, all the things she wanted to do still - despite that she lived with this nagging fear - well... it had her panicking. And now, two years had gone by, and, the fact of it was that she never forgot Beau, never stopped loving him. Maybe it was why she did this wild and crazy thing - showing up at his door. That, and her cousin Remy, her sisters - they all pushed her to do it, to see if she could fix it. She was half sure they were tired of seeing her mope over him, over her own stupidity.

He was talking, and she deserved it all, worse, even. It was hard to lift her head, to look at him. Damn if that accent didn't get to her, too. Taking a small step back, she tugged on the long sleeve of her shirt, something that was still a habit all these years later since the fire when she was only 18. It was habit - sometimes a nervous tick, other times an absent way to fidget, and still, even moments where it was purely self-consciousness. "I came to apologize," she exhaled, the words fell out so fast they almost ran together. "Beau... I never toyed with you. I - I left because of me. I know how that sounds, but it's true. I was afraid to tell you the truth," she admitted quietly. But now that she said that, she had to tell him, "Someone that worked my old case kept harassing me and he worked in law enforcement. I thought you were safer if I left. He was threatening you. I was scared he was working with my old stalker from the fire." There was a cast on her arm, "'bout a month ago, he - he was following me in his car. I tried to get away and we got into this big horrible crash and... he's been in a coma since." She gave a shrug, "You probably moved on, found someone great. Maybe I hoped for another chance, but I - I wouldn't blame you if you shut the door in my face. I had to come, to just see you even if it's the last time."

“Christ, Aspen,” Beau exhales the words sharply, rubbing his brow with his palm, hand on his hip. “ You coulda told me.” He’s trying to find something to hang on to. Anger? Heartbreak? Resentment? It’s hard now, knowing what really transpired. “You think I would have let someone threaten me? Or you for that matter? If you told me, I coulda helped. I coulda-” He pauses, swallowing rough. It feels like fire rolling down his throat, trying to hold back the burst of emotions that threaten to come out. “You didn’t have to handle it alone.” A hand rakes through his hair, exhaustion embedded deep in the bags under his eyes. “Two years. You let me believe I was the problem for two years, then you come rollin’ up here with a sob story you know I can’t hate you for. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t shut the door.”

a soft flick was given to august when he began to laugh at the fact that she was a bit drunk. ❝ shh don't laugh at me. i'm not innocent, it's more of a... mother thing. ❞ for a moment it seemed as if she'd leave it at that, but then she was taking a breath and continuing on. ❝ literally every aspect of my life was controlled by my mom for years. and she'd say this shit that-- well, i mean. she's my mom, she's supposed to be right, and i guess i believed it all and so there's a lot of things i haven't even done before. i've never seen an episode of spongebob before. i've never had a plate of nachos. never got a piercin' that ain't my earlobe. ❞

shelby would be the first to admit that her life was pretty fucked up. the list of don'ts in her house was longer than what she was allowed to do. her older brother could do whatever he wanted, but shelby was forced to fit into this mold created by her mother to make sure she was perfect in every way. ❝ anyway, it's whatever. i mean, i won miss teen alabama my senior year of high school. ❞ while yes, she was proud of winning that, she hated that she'd missed out on being normal.

“Sounds like your mom and my dad would get along. I was born with a detailed map. No detours. I was being paraded around at charity galas before I could even walk. Told to ‘act like a Foster’. Translation? Don’t screw up the family name.” August shrugs, making a face that expresses what can ya do? “God forbid I wanted to take a girl out that wasn’t on the guest list or wear sneakers instead of loafer. The absolute horror.”

“Winning Miss Teen Alabama?” August continues, eyes studying the curve of her cheeks and jaw, maybe a little too closely, “That’s not nothing. You walked away with proof you survived some bullshit. Don’t let the past take that away from you.”

He shifts again, eyebrows scrunching together while his gaze falls to his shoes, staring at the laces. Thinking about his family is better than thinking about Dana, but he would rather avoid both if he can help it. “But no nachos? Spongebob? Fuck, you’re talking about my Sunday morning. We gotta make you a bucket list.” August laughs, scratching the back of his head, making his hair stand up messily. “Say the word and we will be getting your belly button pierced in thirty minutes, easy. Even better, give me your mom's number and I'll tell her to fuck off." There isn't any weight to his words, only amusement.

❝ the stars are pretty out here, ❞ she mumbled after a moment or two, looking up at the sky. ❝ i used to wish on stars all the time as a kid. used to stare out my window for hours ‘til someone came in and told me i had to go to sleep. ❞ shelby didn’t mention the things she used to wish for, left out the parts where she used to beg for someone to come and save her from the life she found herself stuck in.

❝ if you could wish on a star and have anythin’ in the world, what would it be ? i think i’d wish for another drink right about now, ❞ shelby let out a soft chuckle, starting to feel looser and looser now. it was only one drink, but it was her first drink and honestly pretty strong. if she’d known better, she would have started off with a seltzer or wine cooler. it would have been better, but she’d let august make her drink and frankly had no regrets. she was already forgetting the way teagan had broken her heart and made her feel like she wasn’t good enough to hold his attention for too long. it also helped her forget how her mother had handled the news.

after the breakup, she’d tried to avoid telling her mom for as long as she could, but when the woman asked about planning and when the invitations would go out, shelby couldn’t hide it anymore. at first it was a silent treatment, then the annoyed questions that came through, asking shelby what she had done to cause teagan to cheat on her. then, finally, the way shelby’s mom yelled at her over the phone after she’d told her that she was moving in with august rather than returning home.

He’s ready to brush it off, let her know it should settle on its own if he chills a second, but she’s already rambling on to the next topic. Her eyes have that glossy haze. Definitely drunk. Should have asked how much she wanted to drink before pouring her the entire cabinet. 

August’s head falls back, staring at the clear night sky, trying to see what she sees. The stares are more visible out here in the middle of nowhere. Wishing always seemed pointless. His parents had made sure he had everything growing up, and somehow that left him no room for want at all. Only after his accident did it start to trickle in, when he discovered how short life is.

“Never tried,” August murmurs quietly, as if they will disturb the stars if they talk too loudly. “Always’ve liked the sky though. Got really into mythology and eventually astrology as a kid. Had a nanny who told me this phony story that stars were tears shed from a Goddess who lost her mortal lover. Not sure why I believed it. It felt cooler that way, I guess.” Probably where is underlying romanticism bloomed.

There’s a part of him that wants to give an honest answer to her question… until he hears hers. This causes a deep laughter to bellow out of him, grinning to the point his eyes crinkle. “Oh, you’re totally fucked, aren’t you? How old are you again? There’s no way you’re this innocent. I mean, just…” Look at you, he was about to say before he cut himself off. August knows better than to say that. She’s undeniably pretty and sweet; that doesn’t mean she deserves assumptions on where she’s been or what she’s done.