pri

Does she have a boyfriend — or girlfriend? Obviously, she’s seeing someone. But…someone famous, or a civilian? Whoever it is, would we know who? Have they been photographed together? They must be spending a lot of time with each other, they have to be, for her to dedicate them a song by her favorite band. I can’t believe she did that. What if they break up? They can’t break up; she’s been known to be hard to lock down, so if she’s with anyone, they’re definitely endgame.

In less than a day, the conversation online had concluded that you were probably close to marrying whoever it was that you had been keeping on the down low, and even if not, you two were serious. What made you anxious was that none of them had given Warren’s face to your paramour. They had been throwing names at the wall, picking people from all over the place, but if some people had conjectured that Warren might be the secret man, it hadn’t been a suggestion popular enough to gain traction. It was too unlikely to consider that Warren Peace might be in a loving relationship with anyone. One wishing star had already been used on you, it seemed. There couldn’t be more miracles left, the public had decided.

From that single victory, expectations subconsciously formed in your head, and you began to anticipate more stages of the plan working just the way you were projecting them to, as well. However, and of course, as soon as you stepped foot in Maxville, that all went out the window. Perhaps it was Warren’s turf what spoiled your positive disposition; you wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that his very hometown was cursed to its roots — it had spitted him out, after all, his character could be a direct result of living in it. That was one theory. 

What was definitely certain was that Warren himself was messing you up. You didn’t have his number yet, even after almost a month from your first “professional” meeting, so you talked to your manager Sam about the park scene that you were supposed to perform for the paps — the typical romantic walk that was meant to portray the two of you in a new light. Upon your request, she was supposed to talk to Warren’s manager Carlos to solicit the rockstar’s presence at a strategically chosen spot downtown, so that you wouldn’t arrive alone at the Lincoln Lake park itself. Maybe it was the game of telephone that you had been playing that made Warren confused enough not to show at the time and place that you had communicated, or perhaps it was his contrarian nature that made it happen, but either way, you found yourself waiting for him to show up for a whole hour — with your dog in tow. It was one thing to disrespect you, but you sure as hell were not going to accept Warren making your dog upset. 

After being confined in your car for so long, he needed to relieve himself, and so you grabbed your bag and abandoned your vehicle in favor of finding a spot for him. That wasn’t the hard part; what got you in a pickle was the moments right after. Maxville didn’t go easy on you and your tendency to not be the best with directions and orienting yourself. In your mind, walking down a few blocks wouldn’t make you lose sense of where you were standing; reality wasn’t as idyllic.  

Maxville wasn’t exactly a maze, but it was confusing enough for an outsider to whom every block looked like the last one. Wandering the streets of downtown with your dog looking up at you every once in a while as if sensing that you were walking with no awareness of where you were leading him to, you began to panic. Of course, you had your phone with you, but you didn’t have Warren’s number. A few text messages to Sam were delivered, begging her to get Warren to look for you in the vicinity of where you were supposed to meet, but the anxiety of the situation persisted, and it was making you nauseous. 

For a while, the only comfort you found in your situation was that you were suffering it alone. No one to see you, no one to mock you about the absurd circumstance. Back at home, you were sure to be followed almost everywhere by your trustworthy, creepy guy with a camera. Exactly how valuable pictures of you at the supermarket were for the paparazzi was beyond you. Still, they never failed to send the same old baseball cap man to follow you around in public. In Maxville, that was supposed to be far from your concerns, and even though the specific and familiar red hat man was not there, you did cross paths with a person pointing a professional camera in your direction. Walking around in circles downtown was probably a bad idea, as a public figure. 

With a sigh, you focused on finding your way back to the agreed upon meeting spot; getting pictures taken of you would come in handy once you met with Warren, so you ignored the badly-disguised photographer woman for the time being. There were more pressing issues to focus on, anyway.

Part of you wished you could blame your predicament on your surroundings, but that wasn’t the case. The streets of Maxville weren’t even a bit suspicious. The only particularity about them was that there were a substantial amount of people roaming them. Maybe it was always a busy city, it was a Saturday at noon after all, but the flow and noise of the mass was becoming overwhelming. There were restaurants packed with people, shops of anything and everything, and even a few street musicians at every other corner. The storefronts were painted in bright colors and there were recurrent green spots where to loiter around in between errands. It would’ve been a nice site to be strolling through if it weren’t for your current overwhelmed, lost-girl predicament.

With the sun at its highest point, it was under the shade of one of the big trees outside of a mall that you stopped, both to let your dog rest and to try to contact Sam again. Being amongst so many people, you chose to pick up your dog for more security. You didn’t want him running off while you were distracted typing. He wasn’t a big dog by all means, but he wasn’t a skinny boy either — your fault, probably. Struggling with him on one arm, you held your phone on the other. 

The hand with which you held it up was already slightly shaky from the exertion and your nerves, so when a brusque shoulder nudge from a pedestrian hit you, it almost ejected the device from your grasp. Trying to mutter a brief complaint to the person, you turned your head towards them and felt a new hand reach for your phone. It was snatched out of your fingers in a second, though the quickness with which your stomach dropped felt even faster to you.

On top of getting lost in Maxville, you couldn’t get your phone stolen. Fuck digital maps and the means to contact your manager, you could live without that. Fuck the paparazzi catching you in humiliation, your career gave you moments like those often enough. What instantly crossed your mind was the text messages and emails exchanged between your team, your band, and yourself — they described -in detail- the whole fake dating scheme that was supposed to save your career. If it got out, that was it. You weren’t only gonna get fired from your label, you were also going to be a complete buffoon to the public and the music scene. “Look at the Grudges’ singer, everyone; she’s a liar and a joke!” You could already hear the endless mocking and commiserating, and you were having none of it.

With your fat dog in your arms and your little backpack on your shoulders -half-full of heavy shit you definitely didn’t need to bring-, you ran for it. One second, your phone had been snatched out of your hand, and the next, you were setting your eyes on who took it before following him through the crowd. Making a scene in order to get the help of any bystander that found some pity in their hearts, you yelled to the guy to stop. Of course, no one helped. A few people stopped to look at the pursuit you were putting on, though — and to your delight, they started filming it. Great, you thought, as you made a fool of yourself and trailed after the pickpocket with absolutely no grace in your chase, as if the paps weren’t already getting the scene immortalised. More cameras! Why not? It’s just another headline to deal with!

The guy was nimble, you had to give it to him. He swiftly swerved through the crowd, his legs quick and his body even disappearing from your watchful gaze, at times. Your own legs didn’t feel as agile; you had already been walking for a while before he made you play marathon, and your body reflected it. With a last few yells for help, you slowed down and held on to your dog, who was giving you an excited open-mouthed smile, surely thinking you had suddenly just decided to amuse him with a new dynamic.

“Fuck.” You panted, on the edge of the sidewalk, looking at the thief quickly jaywalk to escape you. 

However, he did not escape the new figure who encountered him on the sidewalk opposite you. Extending his leg quickly in front of the thief, he made him trip and harshly fall on his face. 

“Warren?” You blurted out, bewildered, as you tried to make the man’s figure out from afar. You could be rather short-sighted, but there was no doubt, even from afar. Tall, red hair streak, worn down jacket, huge dog on a leash next to him — yes, your savior was none other that Warren Peace.

The people around were surprised too. They had been turning their heads at your near roars of outrage already, but now they ooh’d and aah’d as the scene came to a wrap. Some older ladies even clapped at the unexpected action from the new character — his “gallantry” getting through them easily. You, on the other hand, had your sights on your phone, which laid on the concrete, around where the thief was being confronted by a few more new guys — very helpful, you thought; men are eager to get involved and pretend to be useful once the job is already done. 

In record time and with renewed energy, you crossed the street in direction to your phone. When someone picked it up, you were ready to make another outrage, but it died down when you looked up to see that it was only Warren who had retrieved it first.

“What do you say?” He teased, outstretching the device towards you once you stopped in front of him. His smug little smirk made it evident that he was proud of his sudden involvement, and was expecting you to gush over it just like the other ladies had.

“Thanks so much!” You said loudly for the people around, who were finally dissipating and going back to their business. The thief-handlers were also busy, so you stepped closer to Warren. Then, in a more hushed tone, you covertly murmured at him. “Where were you? I waited an hour for you on Page Avenue.”

“I was busy.” He shrugged, glancing at your state of partial disarray. You would’ve glared at him with the power of a thousand suns if you weren’t aware of the fact that your joint performance had already begun. Paps and pedestrian cameras had already captured you together; you just had to walk to the Park and linger there a while with fake-flirty smiles on your faces for this step of the plan to be completed.

If only you could manage an easy-going smile at the moment. “Let’s go.” You demanded through gritted teeth, turning to walk down the street. “Let’s just get to this park already.”

“It’s the other way.” Warren called from behind you, amusement at your disorientation and badly covert annoyance clear in his voice. In truth, the direction didn’t matter substantially, but he did want to see you break character and seethe. 

Halting, you took a deep breath before turning and rerouting your steps. With a pain on your back, you made to place your dog on the ground again now that the ruckus was over, but you hesitated when your eyes landed on the huge black dog hovering near Warren’s legs. He was on a leash, just like your boy was, but still, due to his size, you doubted.

“He’s not gonna eat your little rat.” Warren mocked you, rolling his eyes. 

“He’s not a rat.” You scoffed, maintaining your Mona Lisa mask while putting him on the ground. The two dogs started smelling each other, their tails wagging as they learned each other’s scent. At least the two of them made friends. “He’s not small nor ugly enough to be a rat.” With your glance glued on the two animals, you internally recognised that your dog did look remarkably punier than his mastodon of a pet — not that you’d ever recognise that to him.

“But you do agree he is a degree of ugly.” Warren raised his brows with humor. You didn’t return his banter, his lateness still upset you. You only gave him a stony once-over.

“Your face is ugly.” Childish to say — yet satisfying. The contrast between the rapport that your dogs had instantly developed was stark to that of Warren and yourself; they didn’t growl at each other once, and instead had accepted the other’s presence during their walk.

Warren walked beside you once you started leading your dog down the block. “Do your little jokes make you feel better?” He poked, not looking as half as guilty about his earlier absence as you wished he did.

“I wasn’t joking.”

He glanced at you, observing the way you were clearly trying to keep a pleasant, unbothered look on your face, and the way that a frown was still slowly winning the fight against your best wishes. He didn’t know why, but it made him smirk. “Listen, I told Carlos to tell you manager to tell you that meeting at Page an hour before getting to the park was a dumb idea. I guess he made the executive decision to not tell your manager to tell you anything, in the hopes that after chastising me once, I’d change my mind.” He explained with playfulness. “It is all my fault, I guess, for believing that my own manager was going to be on my side.”

“Why didn’t you say so before instead of telling me you were busy?” You glared at him.

With a shrug, he smiled a little bit wider, enjoying your displeasure. “You seemed…fractious.”

“Would you not be, if you were in my place?”

“Probably. That still doesn’t take away from the fact that it was useless to meet that early somewhere else first.”

“It wasn’t. I was gonna have us strategise a bit before going out and acting the whole thing out at the park,” You sighed, exasperated. “so we didn’t look like messy idiots who are clearly still trying to get used to each other and our cities. We’re supposed to already look accustomed to one another.”

Warren hummed, fighting a chuckle. “Too late for that.”

You couldn’t glare at him with more passion. “And whose fault is that?”

“Yours.” He instigated. “I didn’t show up to the pre-party, sure, but why did you get lost and fall for a pickpocket?” Warren let himself give an airy laugh this time. “Out of all the inconvenient things to get yourself entangled in. What are you, a tourist?”

The heat from your anger mixed up with a fresh wave of embarrassment, successfully tainting your cheeks pink. “You were supposed to be there. If you had been, none of this would’ve happened.” You said, avoiding his eyes, as your shame took over your irritation.

“Hey… this can still work for us.” He shrugged, reeling his attitude back a little at the sight of your rosy face and reticent eyes. “In a way, this could be a nice coincidence. Some people might call me your knight in shining armor if they saw what transpired.”

“Oh, they’ll see it all online, I’m sure.” You shook your head. “Although they might have something to say about that “shining” part.” You glanced over at his clothes — dirty boots, ripped jeans, and a jacket that some would've let go of a while back, in life.

“Come on, a walk in the park hardly requires me to suit up.” Warren scoffed. “Besides, a more casual look says to people that we’re comfortable around each other.” He argued, glancing down at your own outfit. “I don’t see you dressing up, either.”

“Whatever. Anyway- where’s this Lincoln Lake and its famous park?” You changed the topic hypocritically.

“Not far.” He gestured vaguely ahead. 

A short pause in your exchange had you admiring the huge dog that was walking ahead of the two of you, flanked by your boy, who seemed pocket-sized in comparison, even though he wasn’t. The masses on the sidewalk had been parting for the dog instinctively, clearly as initially cautious as you had been at first sight of him. Warren caught you admiring him.

“His name is Cerberus.” He informed you, trying to also distract you from the last remnants of your thieving-inspired embarrassment.

“Of course it is.” You gave a soft, airy chuckle. “One of them, at least. Tell me you got another two beasts called the same, at your place.”

Warren smiled at that. “Regrettably, not. But you do propose a good idea.”

Rather surprised, you glanced his way. Was that praise? Recognition, at the least. That seemed worlds away from your first meeting. Perhaps it was that your fury had subsided as you walked it off, or only a current fleeting mood of levity from his part, but you took note of the occurrence either way.

“Is he your only pet, or do you have a bunch more big critters at home?” Despite the defensiveness that you wanted to keep up, you were curious, and it was good for your fake-date if you looked engrossed in his affairs, at least sporadically. You spared Warren a few attentive glances as he talked.

“He’s not the only one, but he is the biggest.”

“And you thought it best to bring your biggest today?”

“You wanted us to be the center of attention, didn’t you? There you go. With all due respect to Meowphistopheles and Abaddog, they wouldn’t have drawn these many looks.” 

A genuine laugh of amusement escaped you. “Those aren’t their real names, whoever these other creatures are.” You squinted at him with playful suspicion.

“What, you don’t like them? They’re some of my other progeny.” He joked back, the role of the laid-back and surreptitiously-enamoured boyfriend suiting him easily. You tried not to notice that too much as he replied to your comments. “I thought they were clever.”

“Corny, more like. I don’t know the poor animals, but I’m sure they don’t deserve a punchline as a name.”

“Really?” He pushed, your newfound teasing tone sounding more genuine this time around, inciting him to keep bantering. “Based on your album titles I thought you’d be more propense to giving out bad names.”

You initially gave him a dramatically scornful glare, which you shed quickly. “So you do agree that they’re bad pet names?”

Warren chuckled, peering at you while trying not to be rattled by your sporadically playful ways.

“I do think they’re clever.” You admitted after a silence from him, though you had to break eye contact to do so. “And…uh, attention hoarded.” You granted. Looking away from him had you noticing that the stares he mentioned were indeed there. 

Luckily, like this, you would be recognised by a few people, and photographed by a fraction of that. If you were even luckier, they’d post those pics online, leaving proof of your meeting on the internet just like you wanted. Paparazzi pictures sometimes looked staged, and you didn’t want people to think the date was -even if that was the case-; pictures from civilians added to the spontaneity and genuinity of the situation you were trying to act out, and that’s what you wanted.

“What’s your rat called?” Warren found himself staring at your pet this time, when you halted at a red light.

“He’s not a r-”

“Hey, Warren Peace!” Someone interrupted you. You turned, expecting to see one of his acquaintances, since it was his city. Crap, you thought. How do I act around people he actually knows? Will he tell them that our relationship is fake? Do I just assume he won’t ever tell them? How do I act around someone that thinks I’m genuinely in love with this guy?

A decision didn’t have to be made, however, because Warren didn’t actually know the person yelling at him from a few steps away. You could see it in his face when he locked eyes with the stranger. And he didn’t even have time to reply before the woman in question yelled another remark his way.

“One hit wonder!”

The light turned green, the woman walked away nonchalantly, and Warren was left standing in place with a theatrically offended expression that made you laugh. He would’ve been actually pissed at the situation if it weren’t for how genuine your giggles seemed. Were you actually having fun? It was at his expense, obviously, but as you clutched your stomach with your free hand, he didn’t know if he cared about that.

“Alright, pipe down.” He voiced, though he didn’t insist on it when you didn’t simmer down at all. The light went red again, and green once more when you finally stopped laughing. Still, even then you were beaming with delight. 

“One hit wonder, huh? What do you think about that?” You teased him cheerfully.

“They’re wrong.” Warren grumbled defensively, beginning to walk across the street with you in tow.

“Wow, braggart much?” He almost blushed at your bluntness.

“I’m not bragging, I’m just stating facts.” He doubled-down.

“Seriosuly buddy, get off that high horse.” You shook your head theatrically. “No one likes a windbag. You’re not famous enough to be acting like this.”

“You do realise she at least recognised me, right? She didn’t even know you were famous too.” His mocking had no bite, he was glancing at you with barely concealed amusement.

“I don’t mind that. I’m not Avril Lavigne and I know it. I embrace the niche label that’s on me and my band.”

“You guys aren’t niche either.” He argued. “You’re mainstream in the context of the scene, but a total zero to the left in the grand scheme of the complete music industry.”

“Ouch.” You deadpanned.

“Sorry.” He apologised with an eye-roll of acknowledgement. “But I’m the same, in any case.”

“Oh, yeah. Of that we can agree.” You fought a smirk.

“Seriously?” He took the bait and jeered.

“Yeah. Someone call Megadeth and tell them that Peace doesn’t sell at all.” You chuckled.

“You’re infuriating.”

“Alright, fine. You’re not a one-hit wonder.” You stated, and after sharing a look with him, you smirked. “For that I’d have to be able to name one song of yours.” You giggled.

Warren looked away to hide the smile on his face.

When you were done laughing, you gracefully granted, “Hey, now we both have something embarrassing happen to us today.”

“A random person yelling something at me is hardly embarrassing.”

“Oh, no. What’s embarrassing was the genuinely wounded look on your face after she did so.” You pointed at his face playfully. “Does it hurt to be less and less relevant everyday?” You mockingly pouted.

“I don’t care about that stuff.” Warren claimed, scoffing and looking ahead. “I do music for the love of the art, not the fame.”

“Your lies are getting mixed up.” You teased before poking even more. “Why were you offended?” 

“I wasn’t.”

“Come on, I’m your girlfriend, you can tell me anything.” You joked.

He leaned close to you to whisper in your ear with mock irritation. “We’re not really dating. And I’m not sharing my deep secrets with you.”

“So this does involve a secret concern.” You hummed theatrically. “I wonder what it is.”

“Stop thinking about me so much, you’ll start actually believing you’re in love with me.”

“Come on, tell me.” You ignored him and kept insisting. “Is it that you think your songs aren’t good enough?”

“What?” He snorted defensively. “Not even close.”

“Cause I get it.” You went on. “You don’t necessarily have to care about whether the general public likes your musical career to be concerned about the reception of your discography. Everyone wants to be heard and understood.”

“Yeah, but it’s not that I care whether or not people understand what I’m writing about. I just-” He hesitated for a split second before spilling out his thoughts. “When you’re in the position that I’m in, right?” He gestured at himself while facing you to talk, halting at the side of the sidewalk. You could see Lincoln Park only half a block away, but his sudden openness was weirdly interesting, so you stopped by his side to attentively nod for him to continue. “It wouldn’t matter if people liked me or not if they just ignored me and minded their own business. But they never do. They always have to go out of their way, literally-” He gestured at where the girl had been. “to rain on my parade. Which wouldn’t matter, if…I weren’t so…” Warren trailed off, frustrated, as he looked out into the horizon dramatically. You would’ve laughed at that too, except you understood exactly what his rambling was about — you were going through it too.

“Difficult?” You finished for him. “Unlikeable? Chaotic? Unstable? Mean?”

“Alright, alright, yeah, all of that.” He sighed.

“I’ve been called all that too, buddy.” You reassured him.

“Just…don’t call me buddy anymore.” He dragged a hand down his face.

“You wouldn’t want them to like you in any other circumstance, but right now you really need people on your side so you can keep your job and your opportunities to keep making music.” You summarised his thoughts — or yours, you wouldn’t say.

“Yeah.” Warren looked at you, surprised at your specificity. “That’s it. I do.”

“That’s why we’re here.” You reminded him, gesturing to the two of you and towards the park. “To work on a complete image shift. To look lovable by being loving.” You said the last in an sardonically cutesy voice.

Warren laughed dryly. You could see how much the topic weighed on him, yet he put on his fake-boyfriend mask and smiled at you. “You’re right. We have a job to perform.” He offered you his open hand, which you hesitated to hold only for a second.

Hand in hand, you finally reached the famous Lincoln Lake on the East side of town, surrounded by the Park that made the location so frequented by people like you, who went to seek a calm evening in a pleasing environment. The trees were big and tall and the grass was rich, adorned with a plethora of flowers along the long path that crossed it. Birds chirped up high, and your dogs chased after butterflies on the ground. There were families having lunch on picnic tables, couples on paddle boats leaving water ripples on top of the lake, and many other pet owners playing fetch with their dogs. The scene made it easy to pretend to be involved. 

It was corny as hell to hold his hand for too long, though, so you dropped it as soon as your dog got the hyperactivity that came from being in an open green space. You gave Warren a mumble about going at things gradually for the sake of building a suspenseful narrative, which he replied to with an eye roll. Then, you spent a good while playing catch with the dogs with one of the toys you had packed for the trip. Warren made a show of taking off his jacket, calling the action a romantic device and telling you that you should make eyes at him for it so that people know you found him attractive when he undressed.

“I don’t find you attractive.” You denied before he was even finished with his comment.

“If you really didn’t, you wouldn’t be as defensive about it.” Warren countered with a smirk, throwing his jacket beside the spot in which you were knelt petting Cerberus. The fact that you were so resistive only made things more interesting for him. 

At the beginning of the day, if he had been asked about the fake relationship he was supposed to build with you, he would’ve said it was a drag and that he’d rather eat a never-ending centipede than to spend a whole day with you. Now, after seeing how easy to rile up you were, and the way that your cheeks would gain color every time you saw yourself forced to play the part of the doting girlfriend, Warren had to admit he started to find the whole thing amusing. Out of the prospect of bothering you, of course.

“I’m a naturally defensive person, it doesn’t mean anything.” Once more, your eyes avoided his. That didn’t stop him from poking at you; if anything, it made him want to get closer so that you couldn’t physically look at anything else.

“Sure.” Warren laughed cynically, with your dog at his feet. He knelt beside you after throwing your boy’s toy away so that he could go fetch it. “Either way, you’re letting it interfere with our little play-date, so put it aside and look at me with some passion, will you?”

“Passion?” You fought a gag. “Best I can do is tolerance.”

“That’s not good enough.” He shook his head, with the faint, warm breeze hitting his hair like it would a movie star. It made you want to shove him onto the grass. “Here, I’ll give you some material to feel inspired by.” He smirked before leaning even closer to you and cinematically reaching for your messy hair. Taking his time with it, he caught a strand and softly placed it behind your ear. It was revolting. All you wanted was to slap his hand away, but you knew he was right. It wasn’t going to do you any good to keep acting aloof. 

The necessity to act flirty with him had been crossing your mind forever, and you thought it was going to be easy to sporadically perform it when the time came. However, any given moment Warren would come close to you or touch you, the instinct to pull away and add space between you firmly tugged at your gut. What inspired that feeling, you didn’t know, but there was something about Warren that made it hard to be around. Even looking at him was strenuous. 

Now, with his warm knuckles caressing softly at your jaw, a shiver went through your entire body. It didn’t help that his gaze was glued to you, and that his deep irises felt like a heavy immobilising spell that he was silently casting upon you. You knew you had to smile or “make eyes”  at him in favor of the scheme, and you fought to move and do something like he had asked, but the way he was scrutinising every feature of your face made it impossible for you to do anything but freeze. The pure aversion -because that had to be what you were feeling- worsened further when you noticed him leaning towards you.

“Not yet.” You muttered quickly, blinking out of your trance and seeing his movements stop instantly. The feeling of his touch on your face was bad enough, you couldn’t begin to consider kissing him yet — or ever. Even for the sake of the scheme. 

At the loss of his warmth, you felt you could breathe again.

“Sorry.” Warren told you, looking away after being nudged in the arm by your dog’s paw. He threw his toy away again.

“It’s fine.” You resumed petting Cerberus, who was lying on his stomach with his heavy head atop your leg. “I just think that us showing up together in a public setting will be enough to spark the rumors that we want. Right now, at least.”

“No, you’re right. We should talk about these things before doing them in public.” He nodded. “You're right. One week we plant secret lover seeds, the next we're seen together on an alleged date. That's enough for now.” He echoed you, glancing at you apologetically. “I shouldn’t have-”

“It’s fine.” Looking at him again, you reassured him. “Really. Now we’re on the same page.”

“Right.” He held your gaze for a few loaded seconds before diverting his gaze towards his dog. “You know… he does tricks.” 

Thankful for the change of subject, you followed his gaze. “He does? He doesn’t seem like a very active boy.” You patted his head. Cerberus, unlike your dog, had run around the park only for a short while before lying down with a definitive thump on the grass. 

“They’re active dogs, Boerboels. He was unstoppable when he was a pup, sometimes I couldn’t keep up with him.” Warren reminisced, reaching to rub at his dog’s ear nostalgically. “But he is pretty old now, he’s tiring more easily every year. And that long walk from my apartment didn’t help.”

“No wonder he’s tired.” You hummed. “How old is he now?” 

“Twelve.”

“That’s a whole 7th grader.” You uttered with astonishment, the previous tension gone from your shoulders. “He’s old enough to be reaped in The Hunger Games.”

Warren chuckled before he feigned a groan of displeasure. “Don’t tell me that he’s also been to Hogwarts twice, too, at his age.” He teased back.

“You knew it by yourself.” You defended playfully. “You nerd.”

“I’m not a nerd.” He scoffed. “It doesn’t mean anything that I knew it. Everyone knows it. Doesn’t mean I like that stuff.”

“Sure, nerd.” You smirked. “So what tricks does he do?”

“The classics. Paw, spin, sit, roll.” Warren listed as he dug in the pocket of his discarded jacket for treats. The rustle from the bag made the big dog open his eyelids once again, if lazily.

“I’m not gonna make an elderly dog roll, though.” You stopped him from making Cerberus get up to do a trick, pushing his hand away. “Just give him the treat.”

“Without doing a trick?” He kept trying to reach Cerberus’ to make him alert.

“Of course. Doesn’t he deserve it for being cute?” You slapped his wrist repeatedly.

Warren scoffed out a laugh. “No, that’s not how it works. He has to work for it.” He lifted up a brow. “So you think he’s cute?”

“Of course I do, he’s a puppy.” You defended, now trying to get a treat from his grasp.

Warren held his hand farther from you. “You called him an old man a second ago.”

“All dogs are puppies and cute, regardless of age. Now, give him the treat.” With a palm up, you demanded.

“I’m not gonna give him a trick for laying down.” Warren didn’t move. “But I’m not surprised you think owning a dog works that way.” He glanced meaningfully at your dog, who was a few steps away, chewing at his toy with mirth.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You kept reaching for the treats, pulling at Warren’s shirt in an attempt to move his farthest arm closer to you.

Warren chuckled mockingly. “You gotta know what I mean.”

“Give me the- I don’t know what you mean.” You defended, though an idea did form behind your eyes.

“Your dog is fat.” Warren held his hand behind his back when you shifted from under Cerberus to grab it. “And now you’re forcing me to make my own dog overweight. He’s big enough as is, and you want him heavier?” He jested, enjoying the gasps of offense you were giving him.

“It’s one treat, Peace. He’ll hardly gain weight from it.” You glared down at him as you knelt beside where he was sitting, refusing to get your arms around his torso to grab his closed fist. “What’s happening is that you’re being an almond mom.”

“A what?”

“You got poor Cerby under a diet of air and mere thoughts of food.” You taunted him.

“That’s unfair and untrue.” Warren revealed his hand to point at you opposingly, giving you an opening. “I take care of him e-”

“Ha!” You grabbed his fist, and unmade it with both hands, retrieving the handful of little treats from his clutch.

Not surprised at all by your maneuver, Warren smiled to himself as he watched you call your dog over to feed him and Cerberus all the treats. No tricks were performed, but a sparke of delight was put in your eye by the mere sight of the pups.

“So have you ever taught your rat some tricks? Or do you really just give them out without him earning them?”

“Of course I’ve tried teaching him. Many times” You didn't meet his eyes.

“Did he learn anything from any of those occasions?”

“No.” You pet your rat dotingly, not at all affected by Warren’s judgemental chuckle.

“What’s his name, anyway?” He finally got to ask.

“Alice.”

Warren shifted slightly, taking a look at your dog’s anatomy. “He’s a boy.” He disputed.

“It’s gender neutral. Like Taylor or Charlie.” 

“No, it’s not.” He fought a smile. Maybe it was the pleasant warmth of the evening, or the sight of the happy dogs at their feet, but Warren was starting to find the date rather enjoyable. It was definitely not because of your absurd arguing.

“Yes, it is. Alice Cooper?” You exemplified with a scoff.

“Fine; but you named it after Cooper?” He grimaced. “Or are you a Carroll fan?”

“Don’t you get it?” You beamed at him, proud of your joke, as you reached to emphasise your dog’s collar — a chain.

The low-hanging fruit of a pun did get a genuine chuckle out of him.

That’s how the hour passed, between mocking and jesting, and after some more fetching and butterfly chasing, the dogs decided to nap under the soft rays of the sun that were permeating through the branches of the tall trees. Warren left you momentarily to get some fries and drinks from a nearby food truck, and after that, the two of you felt jovial enough to satiate your curiosity as well as your empty stomachs. 

“Did you pay that guy earlier to rob me?” You inquired thoughtfully.

“What? The pickpocket?” Warren recalled the earlier situation while trying hard not to laugh in your face as he did so. In truth, finding you running like a mad person after the random thief, with your hair all messy from the effort and your clothes all covered in dog hair was the funniest thing you could've done to help him get through the day. Before that, he had been unenthusiastic about meeting, and quite annoyed at you for making him roam Maxville with Cerby to find your lost ass. A little something to keep teasing you about was never unwelcome. 

“Yes. It just seems a little unlikely for something like that to happen to me.” You stated, recognising the absurdity of it.

“You don't seem to be very street-smart, that's why it happened to you. And why would I have hired a guy to do that?” He frowned with perplexity.

“To make yourself look like the hero when you stopped him.” You deduced conspiratorially. “Cause let me tell you, that shoe under his foot to make him trip looked really convenient.” You pointed at him with a fry. “Rehearsed, even.”

“He was just a really bad thief.” Warren countered, mildly entertained. “Which just makes it funnier, cause he still got you.”

“Shut up.” You grumbled, unconvinced. “I just wouldn’t put it past you to have stood me up on purpose so that you could then plan a whole savior act. I hope that guy got enough money for that broken face.”

“I didn’t pay him. You’re insane.” He looked at you thoughtfully for several seconds as he ate his fries. “You know what? Scratch that. You’re not as insane as I thought you’d be. Annoying and absurd, sure, but not insane.”

“Oh.” You blinked, taken aback. Then, softly, you nodded, “Thanks.”

“No, no. Don't get me wrong.” He sipped his can of soda. “I meant that derisively. I have a deep admiration for insane people. And you, sadly, don’t meet those standards.” He smirked. 

“Great.” You stole one of the little mustard sachets that he was hoarding by his fries. “I’m neither respectfully rational nor admirably insane.”

“Yeah, you finally got it.”

“Well, what about you? Solve me this one so I can finally make up my mind about you.” Using a particularly large fry as a microphone -for dramatic effect- you asked, “Did you or did you not light a pub on fire once? Or are you associating yourself to that incident for the publicity that it gives you?”

“First of all,” Warren laughed with disbelief and leaned into your raised hand. “That’s not a good thing to associate yourself to. It never brought me anything good.” With one quick bite, he made the fry disappear off your fingers.

“Really? ‘Cause from where I see it, it looks like a pretty cool thing to do.” You wiped your now empty hand on his shirt.

“You think so?” He smiled at you with narrowed eyes.

“Yeah, but, well…” You hesitated. “You didn't really do it.”

Warren’s smile only grew wider.

“Right?” You inquired, astonished.

Warren beamed.

“But-”

“Too late, you already called me cool.” He winked. 

“Why would you light a pub on fire?” You gasped. “You have no regard for local businesses. Should I be more careful when letting you into my store?”

“Very funny.” He rolled his eyes. “I do respect local businesses, I’ll have you know. What I don’t like are assholes who steal from the bands they host at their dingy venues.”

“Say more.” You ate your fries as if it was popcorn, listening with interest.

“Alright, we were…” He sighed as he remembered. “Just starting out, with the band. We were hopping from town to town on our own bucks, to play at small venues and bars. Anything that took us in. At one of the bars, we met an older guy who was super friendly at first — he personally helped us sell tickets at this small theater he worked at, and even let us sell merch at the bar he owned near the venue.”

“How nice of him.” You quipped sarcastically.

“Yeah, well. We didn’t know. Our manager, at the time, was a friend of ours, around our age, so he didn’t think anything suspicious of it when he said yes to everything along with the rest of us.”

“No Carlos back then?” you asked. “Gosh, you needed him.”

“We hired him immediately after this.” Warren nodded. “Anyway- surprise, surprise. The guy ended up keeping all the money from our tickets and merch, and left town before we could face him. We didn’t even have enough gas money left with us to follow his trail nor finish the “tour”, so I just took matters into my own hands and lit up his bar as payback.”

“As one does.” You snorted.

“Of course.” He smirked. “I mean, I did do it after having a couple of drinks, but yeah, I can’t say sober me would’ve done much different.”

“And I suppose the lawsuit of the stolen money cancelled out the one from the scorched bar?” 

“Pretty much.”  

“So… you are as vengeful as they say.” You concluded you sipped your drink.

“Isn’t that a bit unfair now that you have perspective on my motivations?” Warren disputed.

“Nah. Verdict is…you’re still impulsive as hell.” You teased with a smile. “That was one story out of…hundreds, if not thousands, of your misconduct.”

“That’s rich, coming from the punching master.” He scoffed.

“The what now?” 

“Don’t you punch anyone in the face that says something you don’t like?” He raised his eyebrows. “Or is there a totally logical reason behind those instances that makes your motivations so much better than mine?”

“I didn’t say I was better than you. But, if you think so, I’ll accept it.” You smirked.

“Definitely more humble.” He deadpanned.

“Alright, listen, those punches I’ve thrown are definitely less than what people make it seem, and they’ve been totally justified.” You defended, taking some of his leftover fries now that yours were gone. “If anything, I’ve punched way less than I should’ve.”

“Go on, then. Explain yourself.” He prompted.

“Okay, one time…it was to scare off this one guy who kept following my band into the hotels we were staying at. Punching a creep shouldn’t make me look bad for it. No one ever talks about it from that angle.”

“Fine, I’ll give you a pass on that one.” Warren gestured.

“Why, thank you, your grace.” You mocked.

“What’s another one?” He demanded to know.

“Um…okay, I can remember another one, but this one- I probably shouldn’t have done it.” You recalled with a grimace. “This one random bassist kept tweeting that Grudges sucked, so when I saw him, I hit him.” You rolled your eyes. “Thinking back to it, I shouldn’t have reacted so… He wasn’t even misogynistic about it. He just said we were really bad.” 

Warren laughed derisively. “He got that right.” He muttered, and then held up his hands in mock surrender. “But, please, don’t make it two punched bassists.”

“You’re lucky we’re supposed to look in love right now.” You feigned contempt.

“Lucky me.” He scoffed as he drank the last of his soda. “Alright, any more questions?” 

Thinking for a moment, you then gasped. “Yeah, do you have Andy Biersack's number? I really want to be friends with him.”

Warren rolled his eyes at your enthusiasm. “Yeah, but I'm not giving you it.”

“Come on.” You groaned. “Give me this one thing.”

“Why would I? I don’t owe you. If anything, you owe me for saving you from that thief.” He mocked again. “And, If Andy finds out I'm giving away his contact info to any weirdo that asks for it, he's gonna block me, and neither of us will be friends with him then. So I'm choosing to keep his trust.”

You scoffed dramatically in response. “You're the worst.”

“What, like you'd give me Courtney LaPlante's number if I asked? I know you know her. I saw it on Google.”

“You googled me?” You blinked, too surprised by his admission to tease him for it.

“Of course I did. I dug up all your controversies.” 

“What? I have none of those.” You joked.

“Yes you do, and I have more questions.” He looked at you through his lashes, silently begging for the permission to ask.

“Fine. Shoot.” You chuckled at his expression.

“Is it true that you and your band have a blacklist?”

“Yeah.” You shrugged.

“Uh…elaborate on that?” he asked with amusement.

“Certain bands just suck.”

“Sonically?” He snorted.

“Well, it’s a bit deeper than that. Mostly.” You confessed. “But sometimes, yeah.”

“Like who?” Warren asked, and quickly anticipated your retort, so he added. “And don’t say my band.”

“What if you actually are in my list, though?” You teased. “We’ve never gone on tour together. Why do you think that is?”

“Cause we’re too different.” He rolled his eyes. “It wouldn’t work.”

“Fall Out Boy and Bring Me The Horizon toured together, differences and all. And our audiences sometimes overlap.” You pointed out, pointing between Warren and yourself.

“Rarely.” He glared. “Come on, who’s on the list?”

“Panic! at the Disco.” You blurted out. “Not that they’re touring, currently.”

“So you ban them from working with you because you don’t like their sound? Dramatic much?”

“Well, the talented members left and the guy left is also racist, so that just justifies the aversion even more. They used to be good musically, but not anymore, and we’re not touring with bands that sell out, on top of it all.”

“By those standards, you won’t be able to tour with yourselves one day.” Warren mocked.

“We’re not sellouts.” You defended. “That we’re more popular than you doesn’t make us sellouts.”

“Whatever, man. You’ll be writing a song with MGK in a year or two. Mark my words.” Warren laughed when you took leftover salt grains from your fries’ paper tray and threw them over your left shoulder in a dramatic ritual. “So…your blacklist.” He insisted. “I thought it would include all these people you’ve publicly butted heads with.”

“It does.” You nodded.

“Like who?”

“Jesus, you’re like an old lady, asking for this much gossip.” You jabbed.

“Fine, whatever.” Warren scoffed and looked away. Still, you could sense his curiosity, so you obliged.

“Falling In Reverse.”

“That’s not news. Everyone butts heads with that guy.” Warren faced you again.

“Five Finger Death Punch.” You offered instead.

“Is this your list of worst band names, instead?”

“What about…Astrophel?” You considered.

“Who?” Warren blinked.

“Exactly.” You said bitterly. “Anyway, he’s on two lists. My blacklist and my punching list — though I haven’t crossed him out of the latter, yet.”

“There’s the punch master again.” Warren teased. “Who isn’t in that second list?”

“I told you it’s not that bad. It’s just a few people. If I actually started throwing punches at everyone that has talked shit about me, we’d be out of frontmen.” You joked. “But… this Astrophel guy is gonna deserve it.”

“Why?”

“He’s been talking shit about me.” 

“What’s he been saying, then?” Warren asked curiously. “And what does he play? You can tell a lot about someone from their instrument.”

“He’s the guitarist. He’s called… Josh, I think? He was just spreading some rumors about me, not long ago. Said something about me…” you rolled your eyes as you recalled. “giving guys head so my band could go on tour with theirs.” You scoffed, looking ahead as a skater passed you by in the park, making your dog stir awake. 

You missed the frown of deep disgust that crossed Warren's face. He clenched his jaw and managed to reply somewhat calmly. “Tell me you at least told him to fuck off. You can’t sit on that revenge.”

“Oh, no. I said it was true, and that when I tried to do it to him, I couldn't find anything substantial to blow.” You then chuckled, and he shook his head at your joke. 

“How can he say stuff like that? Did you reject him at some point? Well, it’s low of him either way.” Warren remarked, seeming as delighted by the comment as you were. 

“I don’t even remember him before he said that of me, to be honest. I might’ve talked to him before, I can’t be sure.” You tried to remember. “But, it’s funny you ask, cause what I actually did, after he spoke out” you finally confessed. “was to say that he was lying, of course, and that he did so -and with that specific lie- because he himself offered to sleep with me in exchange for a spot on our last tour — begging which I turned down. I don’t give out spots on our tours to any dickheads with no talent. Anyway, he's such a lying, bad-at-guitar, vengeful dick that most people believed it.” you shrugged.

“Good. And now I know to steer clear of working with Astrophel.” Warren nodded, compartmentalising his anger for later, and suddenly reconsidering the usefulness of your punching list. “Well, my final verdict is that…you’re not as unjustified as I thought you were.”

“Thanks, pyro. And…I gotta admit you seem more sane than I thought you were gonna be.” You granted as well. “Though there’s still time to put you on my blacklist.”

Warren rolled his eyes. “We’ll see how this scheme goes, then.” Then, he noticed the dogs stretching over the grass of the park, and noted how Cerberus was yearning for his softer bed.

You did too. “Do you think it’s been long enough, or do we need to stretch out this fake date even more?”

Warren noted that the position of the sun had shifted substantially from when he picked you up earlier in the day. “I guess it’s been long enough.” He nodded, quickly grabbing the trash from your impromptu lunch and disposing of it while you leashed your dog again. “Even if nothing comes of it, at least little rat seems to have enjoyed his outing.” Warren teased you about your dog as he secured Cerberus’ leash as well.

“Seriously, don’t make that his nickname.” You rolled your eyes at him before you glanced around at the park. “But yeah, he did. It was a nice park; credit where credit’s due. And- this will work.” You were sure of it, Warren could see it in your eyes.

“You think it’ll look believable enough?” He straightened up. “‘Cause I’m pretty sure I saw one or two pedestrians taking pics of us, so there’s that.”

“Yeah. We don’t have to make out repeatedly over the grass for people to start conspiracies over this. It will be unusual enough that we met, to be honest. The fans were already scrutinising the list of people I hang out with to find the one I’m allegedly dating. They’ll fill in the blanks on their own.”

“Maybe.” Warren was about to joke that kissing would’ve still helped, but for your sake, he restrained. Instead, he held out his hand to you once you had put your backpack on again. “In case they need a bit more hints…”

Feigning your best smile, you intertwined your fingers with his. Your hands were still a bit oily from the fries you ate, and you made sure to silently let him know. The best you got out of Warren, though, was a sigh through his nose. Damn it, he was good.

“So you really did like the place?” He asked once the four of you started walking back through the park. Now that it was well into the afternoon, there were even more people around. Children and dogs played at the playgrounds, and couples kissed at benches. Every time that a pair of lovebirds passed you along the path, you subtly took note of their behavior and tried to select which mannerisms you could adopt when interacting with Warren.

“Yeah, I like how calm it is. Downtown was a bit crammed, this was a nice change.” You replied, and tried to hold onto his arm just like the girl from the last couple that passed you was doing to her boyfriend. The leash that connected your dog to your hand stopped you, however, and you were left doing an awkward movement with your hand as you spoke.

“It is pretty calm. They banned portable speakers recently, so people can’t even listen to loud music while they’re here.” He commented, not completely thrilled about the fact. “Whiny kids are still allowed, so I don’t know how the rule even makes sense.”

“Of course you hate kids.” You rolled your eyes.

“Oh, and you love them?” With the hand that was holding yours, he gestured to a nearby pair of kids, one of them who was eating grass blades by the fistful.

“Well, no, but I’m not completely bitter about them.” You defended, more to be contrarian than because you disagreed, especially with the sight presented to you. 

“Whatever. Point is, the park is practically designed to be pretty calm. Unlike downtown, like you said. No pickpockets on this part of town either, luckily for you.” He teased.

“Oh, come on. Give it up, buddy. That’s so an hour ago.” You lamented, though his teasing did bring a reluctant smile to your face this time, since the shock from the occurrence had worn off from your body. 

“Stop calling me buddy.” Warren muttered. “Oh- thanks for the songs, by the way.” He gave you a smirk when he remembered.

“What songs?” Your question was posed immediately before remembering the old plan you enacted a week before. “Oh. The songs.” You fought a groan of aversion.

“They were cute.” He mocked you by swinging your intertwined hands back and forth between the two of you.

“You’re not supposed to bring this up.” You fought, stiffing your arm to stop the swinging.

“Why not? You said you wanted us to talk about the scheme and plan things up. So I’m talking about the scheme and keeping up with our backstory.” He argued with an impudent smile. “Hey, I was wondering, what do you think our song is? I know you gave me a handful, but we ought to have one that’s supposed to encompass us, right?”

“Don’t.” You tried your best to not let your antipathy show on your face, for the sake of your performance. That seemed to only fuel Warren with more playfulness.

“I think it’s gotta be between Make Me Wanna Die and My Heart. Although Forever & Ever More does have a shade of frisky immorality that intrigues me.”

“Drop it. You do know I didn’t actually dedicate you anything, right? This is all going a little bit too much to your head.”

“I think it has to be My Heart.” He ignored you. “It’s by your favorite band, isn’t it?”

“How do you know that?” You snapped your head towards him.

“I told you, I looked you up on the internet.”

“Well- Pick anything but that one. I just put it in the list of songs to make things believable. Don’t actually meddle with that one.”

“What, am I supposed to pick the Staind one? You think that’s what I actually listen to? I may have a 12 year-old, but I’m not an actual sad dad yet.” He complained coolly. “Bush. That’s one band I like.”

“Good, cause I asked.” You mocked. Warren only rolled his eyes. “It’s a basic one.”

“Soundgarden are mainstream too, and you dedicated them to me. Either way, they’re the best. So that mocking isn’t landing, prickly. Now, where’d you park?” He asked, when the two of you were reaching the edge of the park.

You glanced around, disoriented. “Uh…”

“Don’t tell me-” 

“I don’t know.” You admitted.

Warren’s eyes were close to getting stuck in the back of his head from all the rolling he was putting them through.

“You don’t know?” He rubbed his temple, trying to be patient in the face of your adrift nature. “Did you not look at the street sign?”

“Well, yeah, but…I forgot.” You admitted. “I only read it out, I didn’t write it down. But, there was a cinema near the block of the parking lot.” You remembered. “Or a theatre…well, a venue, of sorts. There was definitely a venue in its vicinity.” You nodded.

“Jesus Christ, how have you survived on your own all this time?”

“By not leaving town much.”

“You tour.” Warren fought his exasperation. 

“It’s not the same. I have a whole team with me on tour that tells me where to go.” You shrugged.

“You’re a cartoon character.”

“Hey, I’m very capable, I just…stick to the places I know, and- well, I was nervous this morning. I didn’t exactly-”

“Give me your parking ticket, I’ll figure it out from there.” He decided.

“Oh, right. I have one of those.” You chuckled before rummaging in your bag until you found it. In no time, Warren had looked up the name of the place online, mocked you for choosing the most fishy parking place in the city, and started walking you back to where your car was parked. “Thanks, Sherlock.” You deadpanned, though you were thankful for his help. You weren’t gonna take your phone out of your backpack in public ever again, so his vivacity was appreciated.

A few more blocks walked and another few pictures of you two no-so-furtively taken by pedestrians, and you were arriving at the parking lot you had left your car at.

“What’d you think of the city, then?” Warren asked you monotonously after you paid for your ticket. He leaned against your car as you put your dog safely on the backseat.

“Maxville?” you scoffed light-heartedly. “Nothing but thieves. It’s a shame I’m gonna have to be driving back here periodically now. Are you sure you didn’t like the trip to my city?” You attempted to plead.

“Not one bit.” He sustained, stone faced. “Get used to the road. You’ll be travelling it habitually.” He mocked, opening the driver’s door for you.

Now that it was only the two of you in the empty, shady parking lot, you could recognise that his expression had fallen from what he had been expressing earlier in public. He wasn’t exactly frowning or sullen, but the sparkle of curious emotive absorption was gone from his eyes. It was in the absence of his engrossment that you remembered that most of his behavior with you was supposed to be a performance, just like what you had given him. You didn’t know why, but that irked you intensely. With a shake of your head, you compartmentalised that feeling for later.

“Very funny.” You deadpanned, closing the passenger door. “You’re a real gentleman.”

“It has been my pleasure. Until next time…” He gave you a stiff sarcastic smile before turning away to leave, big dog in tow. “Oh, here.” After only three steps, he faced you again and walked back to your car. He handed you Cerberus’ leash. You held it, perplexed. 

With a glance around the empty parking lot, Warren draped his jacket on top of the open driver’s door of your car. Then, seeing that you two were alone, he removed his black shirt in one quick motion.

“Woah, um…” You began to question him, which was interrupted by his shirt being thrown in your face.

“Material for the scheme.” He explained, putting on his jacket and zipping it up high enough not to look like a creep. “Wear it somewhere public. Now that people will have seen me wearing it before, they’ll connect the dots for sure.” Taking his dog’s leash off your hand, he left you with a final brush of his skin against yours before walking away permanently. “Don't sell it on ebay, I want it back eventually.”

“You could’ve handed it to me.” You called after him in annoyance, crumpling up the fabric and throwing the t-shirt into the passenger seat of your car before sitting behind the steering wheel. Then, mumbled to yourself. “Goodbye, slut.”

When you drove your car out of the parking lot, you saw him again on the sidewalk. Quickly lowering your window, you whistled at him degradingly. When he turned towards the sound with a frown -presumptuous fuck-, you locked eyes with him one last time. You blew him a mocking kiss and then turned your outstretched hand into a middle finger. Your car was gone before he could react to it. 

With that last bit of mischief and the form of your sleeping dog in the back of your car, you drove the whole way back to your home and record store. If you played one or two Bush albums, that’s between you and the road.

“So, how'd it go? Is he as deranged as you thought he was?” Sam asked you once you got her on the phone at the end of the day. You were finally lounging on your couch after having given your dog a good bath and some tasty dinner.

“Not as much, no. Just a little.” You replied, lazily holding your phone in front of you to give her a shot of your nose and eyes through the video call.

“That's progress. In no time, you'll be on good terms. You'll see.” 

“I don't know about that, but I have to admit there's not that big a gap between him and I.”

“You got to know him a little?”

“Yeah. His kid is 12, he only lights stuff on fire when tipsy, he likes Bush.” You recapped for her.

“Wow. You really got to cover a lot of bases. You didn't have to tell me that last one, though-”

“The band Bush, Samantha.” You snorted. “Believe me, we're not having that conversation. Ever. This is all for show, remember? He'll be lucky if he gets a kiss on the cheek from me.”

“Oh, thank god.” Sam chuckled. “I don't know how to handle the HR side of this whole scheme. It's not like fake-dating is covered in normal working spaces. We would have to get, like…an intimacy coordinator. Would you like that? What do you think about something of that sort?”

“Unnecessary. Believe me. We got it covered. And by that I mean I basically told him he has to tell me things before he does them so I can evaluate them.”

“Alright, well, if you change your mind…”

“No, the less people know about this, the better.” You reminded her.

“Okay. Anyway, are you sure you're okay? I saw the video of you chasing that pickpocket and you looked…distressed.”

“I'm fine.” You rolled your eyes, remembering Warren's mocking about it. 

“Right. Warren saved the day! I saw that too.” She swooned.

“Ugh. I'm glad my humbling experience served as a tool for the plan.” You grumbled. “He didn't even do much…”

“He did just what we needed him to do. Don't you see? The scheme can work.”

“Fine. Maybe.” You granted. “But…I’m still not friends with the guy, or anything. We’re only…trauma bonding.”

“That’s not the right usage of that term.”

“Whatever, you get what I mean. We’re not gonna end up besties or anything.”

“Why not, though? You guys started hitting it off, didn’t you?”

“W- How do you even know that?”

“There are pictures of that online too. You were laughing together. It looked quite romantic.”

“Staged, remember?” You denied, unwilling to admit there was part of Warren you weren’t opposed to.

“Come on, you’re still bitter?”

“Of course I am. Remember our first meeting? He was so rude…” You grumbled, forcing yourself to let the pettiness in you prevail over the newfound peace you had found with him. Peace that was only for the cameras, you noted, remembering the way his act partly fell once you two were alone again.

“Come on, give it up. I bet he’ll apologise about the rocky start at some point.”

“10 bucks he doesn’t. He's too proud.”

“Deal.” Sam rolled her eyes.

She could be right about him, but you weren't certain of Warren's true standing yet. He didn't yet show whether or not he was predisposed to being cool with you outside of the scheme. Even so, that would have to do for the moment. As long as he kept contributing to the plan, whatever your relationship was outside of it didn't matter. It's not like you truly wanted to be friends with the guy in your real personal life, anyway.