thinking little at all about nothing in particular

“What?” Yes you have.”

‘“I think I’d remember,” she says, scowling.

“It’s no shave November. It’s a fundraising thing for cancer research. Lukka, Kotta, and I do it every year.” Well, every year since he could grow hair again after chemo. “You just weren’t paying attention,” he says teasingly, though there’s a kernel of hurt under the facade.

“No,” she punches his arm, a little harder than he thinks she intends. “You didn’t come back Freshman year, and I was out of town the past two. This is our first Thanksgiving home together since high school. Now who wasn’t paying attention?”

He throws a hand up in supplication, “okay, okay. You’re right, you’ve never seen me with a beard. So, what’s the verdict?”

“I like it.”

A small thrill sparks in his chest that is immediately dampened. He was fishing: what else was she supposed to say?

He can hear her readjust in her seat to look more fully at him. “I’ve been thinking about what it would be like to kiss you.”

Heat prickles up his neck. Just how drunk is she? He huffs a laugh, studiously keeping his eyes on the road. “You’ve never kissed someone with a beard before?”

“Nooooo, but I’ve never kissed you with a beard before.”

A fascinating distinction.

He tries not to let his mind linger on the other bearded and unbearded men she’s kissed that aren’t him. He throws a glance to the back seat where her college roommate who came home with her this year loudly saws logs. He likes Johanna well enough, but she’s a bit of a wildcard and he won’t discount her effect over his friend.

“You’ve never kissed me without a beard before either.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” she grumbles under her breath.

He hazards a quick glance to her then back to the road. This argument would be much more compelling if she weren’t hammered right now, he decides.

“I’m not that drunk.” She huffs as if reading his mind, finally slumping into her seat facing forward. They drive in silence for the rest of the ride before she speaks again.

“Can I at least touch it?”

“My beard?” He says. She’s lucky he’s just put the car into park in front of her house or who knows what he might have done. He turns to fully look at her and to his surprise, she doesn’t shy away from him.

Her hand extends and delicate fingers trail down his bearded cheek. His breath catches as her thumb caresses his bottom lip. She’s staring at him with a level of intense concentration— something akin to hunger in her eyes.

You have reached the voicemail box of ‘Annie Cresta’. This number is not available right now. When you hear the tone-

 And again and again. 

You have reached the voicemail box of ‘Annie Cresta’. This number is not available right now-

Her hands are shaking. The scent of the fire is wafting out, the flashing lights in alternating tones of red and blue wash over them all, shadows heavy when they aren’t stretched out with invasive light. 

You have reached the voicemail box of ‘Annie Cresta’. This number is not available right-

She knows some of the codes the officers are using. The reason for that black bag, the lingering scent of burnt flesh in the air.

You have reached the voicemail box-

Woof shifts awkwardly beside her. “Jo…”

She tries the number again. 

You have reached the voicemail box of ‘Annie Cresta’-

“Jo, we don’t even know if-“

“Shut up,” she snaps, phone to her ear.

You have reached the voicemail box of ‘Annie Cresta’. This number is not available right now. When you hear the tone, please leave a message.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She slips under the yellow 'caution' tape, Woof chastising her the whole while.

"Miss," an officer scolds, blocking her path as she tries to approach the investigators; "area's closed off-"

"My sister came out back, I'm sure she came out back here, I just-"

"This is a goddamn crime scene, you need to back off-"

"I need to know if that's her!"

A hand is on her upper arm, tugging her back in spite of her struggling and shouting in protest.