#chatzy1

Phoebe ‘s pulse is pounding, absolutely trembling with excitement. It was so perfect. And Phoebe wants to throw up, and run into a wall, and explode, and die, and then come back to life, because– what the fuck? It was time? All the hours she spent arranging her hair, tucking her curls into a little braided up-do, all the hours she spent shopping– she’d even gotten the dress tailored, a sweet little sundress, softest blue in the world – the restless sleep she’d gotten. And now it was happening. Jack was here! The timing had been spectacular. Dad out of the house. Brother out of the house. Just Phoebe and her anxiously loud playlist. She jabs at the pause button, starts darting around the room, snatching her little white purse, her little blue heels, the blue sandals she would change into once they made it to the boat. She hopes– Phoebe could throw up, she wants this so bad – that Jack likes it. All of it. Her. She can’t remember a time she wanted to be liked– and more – so badly. And then the surprise for him. She can’t forget that. Phoebe decides to hide it behind her back, darts to the door, throwing it up, chest heaving as she grins. Oh. Should she have calmed down first? Before running outside to Jack, her awaiting escort, should she have taken a moment to compose herself? She was just … so excited to see him. “Hi,” she says breathless, grin so wide it hurt.

Jack was so unbelievably excited. Saturday had been its own perfect hell. Perfect because Jack was doing all of the things he loved to do — preparing the boat, checking and triple checking that it was good to go, monitoring the weather, the seas — hell because he was doing it without Phoebe. He’d called her last night, after the exhaustion of his day, to hear her voice, ask about the shopping, and settle on a time when he would pick her up. Henry didn’t drive this time — Jack did. He approached her front door, a modest bouquet of wildflowers in one hand. He was dressed casually — attire for sailing, but still handsome, his mother would say. Her home looked different in the day. Phoebe opened the front door rather quickly. She was beaming. Radiant. So beautiful. And she was holding something behind her. For him, maybe? Something for their date? “You look so gorgeous. Hi.” Jack immediately wrapped his arms around her, careful not to crush the flowers between them. Without the alcohol, he felt … nervous. Nervous to stick the landing. Nervous to earn a second and third and fourth date with her. Whenever he pulled away, he stared at her sundress. The perfect fit. “These are for you. Hand picked from my neighbor's garden. Don't worry – he said I could." Jack grinned.

Phoebe drinks in every inch– hair, that same rich shade of bistre, eyes, the flowers in front of his chest, a variety of blooms plucked with care, greenery cushioning the petals. Oh. What a sight to see. And the shorts. And the button-up. Oh. He looks– positively perfect. When he hugs her, Phoebe starts giggling, an action beyond her control. “You look gorgeous,” she titters. She accepts the flowers with a free hand, brings them to her nose in a deep sniff. “Thank you. And– thank your neighbor, oh gosh. They’re so perfect, Jack.” A beat. Phoebe hesitates, then reveals her own gift, like a sheepish magician. “You don’t have to wear this. But I was downtown, and I was shopping, and–” A hat. A captain’s hat, actually, and Phoebe thought it would be funny, and cute, and now she feels like her stomach is rioting, she’s so nervous. “I got my sundress tailored, and I asked if she could embroider this too, so…” Oh, God. She’s so lame! Phoebe is so lame! “Your name is on it. You can just store it on the ship, like by the helm, or something, but I just thought of you when I saw it. So.”

Jack felt so happy, genuinely, to be around Phoebe again. He’d been dying to see her again — to smell her perfume, see her smile in person. He tried imagining her outfit, what her make up and hair might look like, but it was even better in person. She complimented him, called him gorgeous, which made Jack feel like he might fall over. Then, Phoebe presented him with his gift. A hat. An embroidered captain’s hat, just for Jack. “I love this, Phoebe.” He reached for it, held it in his hands, turned it over so he could brush his thumb over the stitching. “You’re such an angel. This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten. And I’m definitely going to wear it.” Jack ran a hand through his wild hair, smoothing it out, before sliding the cap into place. He flashed Phoebe a grin. “How’s it look? Seems to fit just right. I was worried my head was too massive for it.”

Phoebe bites at her lip with a bit too much force, so happy she was to see Jack wearing her little gift. An angel. He'd called her an angel! “I think your head is a perfect size,” she says. “And— you can take it off whenever. But I do think this is the most handsome that any man has ever looked. You in your hat.” Oh, God. And the way he’d smoothed a hand through his hair before placing it atop his head? It makes her a little faint, in truth. He loves it! He loves it! With another wide smile she gives Jack another look over, feeling her pulse thud almost hysterically the longer she looked. Yeah. This was definitely the most handsome anyone had ever looked. It makes her heart clench, the way he always spoke to her with such sweetness. “You look very sea-worthy,” She nods. “I don’t think the sundress is, umm, if I’m being honest, but I brought a change of shoes for the boat. So you can see me in my heels.” Was that shallow of her? An outfit change, simply for the boat-deck? Ah, well. It was a very Phoebe thing to do. And she hopes Jack, already so good to her, won’t mind the odd little bits of her. She points her heel, sticks it out for his benefit. Delicate. Strappy. Certainly not suited for the ocean. But so fucking cute with the dress, and she wanted to look her best for him!

Jack grinned. All that mattered was that Phoebe didn’t think his head was too big! And she thought he looked very handsome in it, so Jack would never take it off. Maybe for dinner, to be a gentleman, or in the car, but he’d leave it on for the rest of their date. She’d spent time and money to gift him this, and he would treasure it forever. “The sundress is perfect. If you get uncomfortable, I’ve got some extra clothes you can borrow. Might be a little baggy on you, but don’t worry about that, alright? You look gorgeous. I’ll make sure you don’t fall in these heels.” Jack smiled, gently pressed his arm against her shoulder, before taking a small step back. “Do you have a bag, or anything I can help you get in the car?”

Phoebe thinks for a long moment. “Well, Jack.” A beat. Phoebe charges ahead anyway, brain whirring, heart thudding, too nervous to cling to much sense as she nods with mock solemnity. “My long-honed nautical senses tell me it’s going to be super gusty, apparently? Gale force ... so prepare yourself for that possibility.” All bullshit, of course. It was even likely that Jack had checked the weather, and new the forecast quite well. Oh well! Even if it’s not windy, Phoebe is going to find a way to be uncomfortable. Even if she’s perfectly content, balmy weather, Phoebe is going to be freezing cold! Shivering in that little dress! And then she giggles again, because he’s bumping her shoulder, promising to steady her in her heels, even asking if there’s a bag, anything else she needs help with. “Just my purse,” she says. She clutches the flowers closer to her chest, glances over at Jack’s car. No driver, Henry, this time? Just them. The open water. Excellent. It doesn’t even cross her mind at how both her father and her brother would be immediately raising issue if they knew. But it was fine. They didn’t know what Jack was like! Didn’t know how perfectly safe he was– Phoebe already felt the more at ease with him than any other man. She smiles appreciatively, a little in awe. “Thank you. You’re already scoring, sooo high on the gentleman checklist.”

Jack laughed a little quietly. Phoebe had a feeling that it was going to be very gusty today! An excuse to get into his clothing, but he didn’t mind, really. In fact, Jack prayed that it was gusty, too, and a little brisk at that. Any excuse to see Phoebe in the Yale crewneck that he’d packed. Phoebe only had her purse to bring along. Jack could carry that, even though it wasn’t large or heavy. With his free hand, he grabbed Phoebe’s, walking her over to the car. “I had to take some last minute gentleman courses and stuff. Make sure I haven’t forgotten how to do any of this.” A little insight for Phoebe. He hadn’t dated in a while, really. The campaign he ran had exhausted him and left little to no time for anything serious. With Phoebe, Jack got the feeling that it would be very serious, very fast. And he couldn’t wait. Jack opened the door to the passenger side, letting Phoebe in first, before walking around to the driver’s side. He slid into his seat. They weren’t very far from his sailboat at all. A quick drive to the docks. Jack steered the car away from Phoebe’s home. “Soooooo, I’m guessing I’m all you could think about when you went shopping?” Jack wondered as he neared a stop sign. He stopped, fully, no cars behind him, and stared at Phoebe with a wicked grin, waiting for her response.

Phoebe feels herself nodding along. Gentleman courses– how thoughtful of him, to book extra classes right before their date. Jack seems to think of everything, which makes sense to her when she’s dealing with a man who sails and cooks and got a haircut exactly every week. Exactly the kind of man who carried her purse too. And walks her to the car, opens the door, allows her to get situated before assuming his spot behind the wheel. “Yeah. But I’m guessing you’re just like this, and you don’t need classes.” Yeah. Jack was probably just like this, huh? He steers away from the curve, sleek and easy, and Phoebe shifts around in her seat, smoothing at her dress in nervous excitement before the car suddenly halts. Stop sign. Purple hydrangeas growing alongside the wooden post, worn by salt air and the coastal lichen growing atop it. So fucking pretty, even this random intersection. Too bad Jack and his wicked grin have every ounce of Phoebe’s attention. Oh, God. Oh, God. He had her pegged perfectly! “Wow,” she begins, scrabbling for composure, mock-offense in her voice. “You think I just sat walked around all day thinking of you?” A beat. Phoebe’s spine and composure is wet paper. “Well I did.” Why pretend otherwise? She exhales, the long-suffering sigh of someone how had missed Jack terribly. “I tried on fourteen dresses. All blue. There’s– so many shades, and I kept wondering which was your favorite? I tried robin’s egg. Columbia. Cobalt. And then I started googling the Connecticutt coast so I could try to compliment the water we would be on.” Her head shakes, lips pressing together hard at the ultimate truth, face burning. “And then I just. Well. Don’t laugh– I tried matching your eyes.”

Jack wouldn’t drive away until Phoebe responded. When she did, saying that she had indeed thought about him all day, Jack grinned. He refocused his attention back onto the road, driving through the empty intersection. “Fourteen?” He repeated, brows raised. Huh. She was very committed to this, and Jack loved it. He drove with his left hand, using his right to rest atop her knee. She was warm and soft, and the dress was the perfect blue. When Phoebe admitted to trying to match his eyes, he squeezed her knee. “My God. You are really an angel,” he said. “A really sweet one.” Jack meant it. Did she know how much he meant it? “I love the shade you chose. And I would’ve loved you in any shade of blue.” Jack swallowed. His word choice felt a little strange there — I would’ve loved you. He was painfully aware of it, and those big feelings, and how he’d only known her for such a short amount of time. “All I could think about yesterday was you, too. That’s why I asked.”

Phoebe nods. Fourteen indeed. And many more she’d pulled from the rack, deliberated over before setting them back amongst the other dresses. It felt– vitally important. She knew some men didn’t really care about colors at all, the silhouette of a dress beyond if it hugged curves, but Phoebe wouldn’t have cared. She wanted to do this. She wanted to put intention into her outfit, for Jack, she wanted to look her best for him. He wasn’t just some Sophomore at college, uninterested in doing anything than buying her fries on campus and trying to get her horizontal in his dorm. No. Jack deserves every effort, the manicure, the hair, the tailored dress. There was something about him that made Phoebe’s heart beat overtime– in recognition, almost, that he was special. And what’s more? He seemed impressed and appreciative, squeezing her knee — which made her giggle and shiver happily – and calling her an angel! Her! It makes her heart flip when he assures her that he would have liked any color that Phoebe wore for him. And what’s more? He thought about Phoebe all day too. It’s more than she can stand– she straightens in her seat, voice eager and all business at the same time. “Tell me,” she begs. “Tell me a time yesterday when you were thinking of me.” A beat. She sighs. Conneticut was so dreamy, the Colonial style buildings, the touch of coastal to it all, navy and robin’s eggs buildings, white shiplap, hanging glass bottles, but she’s so focused on this— Jack thought about her – to fully appreciate it. “Pleaseeee.”

Jack felt relieved that their time together had just started. It was odd, to think of it that way, but Jack was glad that they’d have hours of uninterrupted time together. Time to talk about each other and their lives and their likes and dislikes and everything in between. Right now, Phoebe begged to know about yesterday. “That’s difficult. I thought about you all day.” He turned to her quickly, smiling, before focusing on the road ahead. He came to a red light, tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “When I first woke up. All I could think about was seeing you again.” An honest admission. “I think I might’ve dreamed about you, too.” When could they start inventing technology to store dreams? “And then when I had my morning coffee, I thought about you. And when I was working on my boat, and when I had lunch, and ...” Jack trailed off very pointedly. Then the light turned green, and he steered toward the docks, only a few miles away now. “I kept thinking about what you were doing and what you might wear today.”

Phoebe feels a little shiver of pleasure race down her spine when Jack turns to face before his attention re-directs to the road. All the time– he thought about her all the time, and apparently, it was hard for him to think of just a single moment. He thought about her when waking. In his dreams too, probably. When he had coffee, worked carefully on his boat, breaked for lunch, he thought of Phoebe, what she might be up to, the outfit she might select for her date. Oh. It’s a bit humbling. She’d met him once, an hour, in the club, and he thought she was worth all the time she occupied in his mind? It makes something in her purr. It makes something in her feel relief, because all Phoebe had thought about, every hour and minute, was Jack. “I hoped I looked nice in your dreams,” she murmurs. Man. When the light turns green, Phoebe taps her foot against the floor of the car, half-anxious, half-consumed by the churning thoughts in her head. Well– if Jack thought that much about her, surely it was alright for her to share? “I thought about you all day too,” She says, fingers curling into her lap, tightening around the fabric of her dress. “I woke up and remembered your hand on my cheek. I made liege waffles at 10 am, and then I wondered if you were more a waffles man, or a pancake man, or if you were like … protein and fruit only. I thought about all my perfumes and wondered which you might like. And then I sort of looked up ship terms, so I wouldn’t look totally dumb if I needed to ask about something on the boat, but my mind is racing right now and then … I think I forgot them because I like you a lot and kept thinking about the date.” And then she’s feeling flushed, and shy, when only just seconds ago she was all but begging to hear Jack speak about when he thought of her.

Jack was going to die. He could feel it. He was going to combust from the inside, from all of the things that Phoebe was making him feel. “Of course you looked beautiful in my dreams,” he replied, so sure of himself, gently rubbing over her knee yet again. Phoebe thought about him, his breakfast choices, googled ship terms so she would be well prepared for their date. “I wish we would’ve just seen each other yesterday.” There. He had to say it. He hated that they waited a whole day. He didn’t want to wait another day ever again. Not whenever it came to Phoebe. “My God. You’re so sweet. I’ll teach you, baby. You could never look or sound dumb around me.” Jack hated that she felt that way. He wanted to cure her of that feeling, forever. Nothing could ever sound or be dumb around Jack. He wished he weren’t driving. He wished he could just reach over, pull her into his lap again, and fuss over her. He squeezed her knee again, thumb gently brushing over her skin. “I like you a lot, too, Phoebe. So much, so fast.”

Phoebe feels the wildest, most potent rush of emotions she’s ever experienced in her entire nineteen years of existence. If someone put a line in her arm– hooked her up to pure adrenaline, oxytocin, if that was even something that could be created and distilled, it still could not rival the dramatic thud of her heart in this moment. Of course she looked pretty in Jack’s dreams. He’d wished they had seen each other yesterday– he squeezed her knee, called her baby, swore she would never look or sound stupid around him. He likes her a lot. So much, so fast. Her leg starts bouncing, foot tapping, the product of too many emotions and too little space in her body to store them. Oh– it feels so good. And the stakes seem so much higher, because Jack is so sweet to her, so soothing, and the thought of her fucking up the date is terrifying? To lose him, already? He’s something that she needs to keep– she needs to find a way how to keep him. Keep him here, next to her, smiling and happy. But for now, she’s still basking in the sensation of being called baby . A beat, and she smiles, shaky and wide and real, the excitement in her eyes impossible to mask. “Well that’s good. Because– I kept worrying about that. You’re just– easily cool and handsome, and really kind to me, and I kept doing my make-up to be perfect for you.” She shivers, the way Phoebe often does when she’s overwhelmed with the sensation of happiness. “You’ll teach me about the boat?” she asks with a tiny, curious smile. Her face is warm. Her expression clearly a little bashful. A beat, and the tiny, greedy little part of Phoebe pokes out it its head, cautious and shy. “And .. you’ll keep calling me baby?”

Jack had called Phoebe baby so quickly that he hadn’t even really registered that it happened. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. So instinctual and easy to do. Phoebe thought that he was effortlessly cool. She was shivering beneath his touch, and Jack could only respond by squeezing her leg yet again. A lot of big emotions for the both of them. It was out of the norm for Jack, but he was so grateful for the change of pace — for someone like Phoebe. “I’ll teach you anything you want to know,” he promised. “And I will keep calling you baby. Sweetheart. Honey.” Most people would say that it was too soon for that, but it didn’t matter. As they got closer to the docks, Jack slowed down. It was a beautiful, hot summer day, but the ocean air made it feel a bit cooler. “We’re here, baby.” Jack pulled into a parking spot, turning his car off. There was already a cooler on board, waiting for them, with a few different foods and drinks, along with a bag of extra clothes that he'd promised Phoebe. "Stay there. Let me get your door."

Phoebe gives another happy little shiver. Another leg squeeze. His palm, warm and firm, a welcome touch that made her feel connected to him, made the churning gears of her head calm for a moment. He was going to tell her whatever she wanted to know, about the boat. And he’d call her baby– it doesn’t matter that they met yesterday. He’d call her baby, and sweetheart and honey, each word as sweet as the last. Phoebe glances down at her lap. Ears hot! “Okay. Thank you. I like all those.” she manages, the smile evident in her voice. “Can’t believe you’re so nice that you’re letting me ask for this stuff already.” That said something about Jack, huh? That she was able to even ask him for that, so soon? It makes her awfully shy, and extremely happy. She glances out the window, smile wide, shifting in her seat when she first sees the sun glinting off the water. Boats! So many boats! Salt-beaten fishing vessels, sleek yachts, sailboats with stretched canvas that looks like an albatross wing. Wow! Which boat was Jacks? She taps her foot again happily, nearly lunges for the door when Jack insists on getting it. “Okay,” she laughs. He’d called her baby again. And how sweet was that– sweeter than spun sugar, than the mille feuille she always requested on her birthday. “I’ll wait. captain .”

Jack smiled whenever Phoebe said that she’d wait. Jack stepped out of the car, Phoebe’s purse in hand, making his way to the passenger side. He opened the door for Phoebe, extending his free hand, grinning. They were now at one of Jack’s favorite places in the world — and definitely in Connecticut. He loved the ocean, he loved his boat, and he loved getting to show it off to people. People like … Phoebe. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you on this boat.” Jack shut the door behind Phoebe, locking his car, before leading the way to the docks. He went slow and careful, holding Phoebe’s hand the whole way to ensure that she didn’t fall on any of the uneven ground. When they reached Jack’s boat, perfectly docked and loaded with their supplies, he let go of her hand. “Let me get on first, and then I’ll help you get over. You trust me?”

Phoebe can hardly resist the urge to kick her feet in happiness – seeing Jack hustle round the car to get her door, carrying her bag… man. There was something so attractive about it. It made her glad she took all this time on her appearance. Jack’s effort deserved her effort. And more. She took his hand, slid from the car, still clutching the wildflowers close to her chest. It hits her like a wall– the smell of sea air, salty and crisp. Man. That was nice. It’s especially nice, seeing the breeze move through Jack’s clothes, his hair, movement that seems to suit his energy. And! And! He was calling her sweetheart now. “Aye-aye,” she says, grinning. It was very cool to look around– bright orange bumpers, coils of rope, clusters of barnacles clinging to the wood. No wonder Jack likes to sail. And how lucky was she, that he was willing to share it. When they approach what must be Jack’s boat– so cool – Phoebe lingers carefully at the edge of the dock. The boat was bobbing, and the waves only rocked it harder whenever another ship went past. And then that question– did she trust him? To help her over? And more? Did Phoebe trust the man she’d met in a club, just a day ago, only a phone call and an hour’s interaction between them? His job, his age – she didn’t even have that. But it didn’t matter. Phoebe had followed him to his boat, to the rest of their plans happily, and without even an inkling of hesitation. From infancy to middle school, Phoebe had to be extra discerning about trust. It was something she’d honed– no adults to look out for her, no one to shield her with better judgement. And with Jack? Something in her can just tell. Trustworthy. Phoebe nods, thoroughly, staring at Jack with quiet certainty. “I do trust you, Jack. I know you won’t let the tarpons eat me.”

Jack wasn’t goign to let anything eat Phoebe. He wasn’t going to let her fall overboard, either. He’d take the very best care of Phoebe, ensuring that she made it home in one piece. Jack carefully got onto the boat, setting Phoebe’s purse down nearby, before leaning over toward Phoebe. The boat was bobbing along the water, but it was secured by a few different ropes. Jack placed both hands on Phoebe’s waist, before counting down — “One, two, three.” On three, he lifted her up, very carefully, and placed her on the boat. Simple as that. Not very hard at all. “Welcome aboard, Miss Phoebe.” No, he didn’t know her last name yet. Didn’t know much about her, really, but that’s what this date was for! “You can have a seat, if you’d like. I’m going to work on getting us out of here.” Jack walked over to the cockpit. He pulled out a life vest, placing it near Phoebe. She didn’t have to wear it, but just in case she got a little nervous once they were further out from the dock. “If you need anything, just holler.”

Phoebe glances down at the water – she can’t see the bottom, can only see where the columns of the dock slowly disappear into the dark blue murk. Hmm. Yeah. Had to be crawling with sharks, and tarpons, big dock beasts that could gobble her up. But when Jack approaches the edge of the boat, puts two hands on her waist, his grip is firm. He counts down, and then she’s moving, lifted up over the gap and safely into the dip of the boat. “Oh. Woah,” she giggles. “You lifted my entire weight all on your own.” The smile she wears very much says impressed. The look in her eyes makes it very clear she’s all but snapping gum and twirling her hair. The boat rocks, but it’s manageable– not bad at all! She sits down, hands clasped atop her knees, watches eagerly as Jack moves to get the boat out of the harbor. And– God. He even places a life vest next to her. Phoebe begins to work her heels off, replacing them with the more sensible sandals from her bag. Well. The heels were cuter– vastly – but as much as she would like to see Jack soaking wet, the date will be waylaid if either of them go overboard. Miss Phoebe. Hmm. She likes that. Phoebe follows the lazy arc of a gull with her eyes, turns her attention back to Jack. Admiring him. There was an ease, to his movements, this couldn't have been a hobby he picked up four months ago. “Sooo … where did you learn how to do all your captain stuff?”

Jack had already prepped the boat, right before picking up Phoebe, so the sail covers had already been removed, and most of the lines were prepared. He wanted everything to be, literally, smooth sailing. Once the sails were ready to go, Jack walked back to the motor, flipped it on, before finally untying the lines to the dock. He walked over to the helm, helping to steer the sailboat away from the docks. All the while, he smiled, readying himself to answer Phoebe’s question. “Well. My family loves sailing. My grandfather, my father, my uncle and cousins. I think it’s some sort of symptom from being raised in New England, unfortunately. I started very young, and we are all very annoying about it.” He grinned at Phoebe. Once they were away from the deck, Jack let go of the steering and walked over to the deck to raise the first sail. “How often have you been coming to Connecticut? I keep wondering why I haven’t met you until now.”

Phoebe hums to herself. Yeah. There was something about the way he eases the ropes off so easily, guides the ship from the deck before hoisting up the sale. “You seem like you’ve been doing this forever…” Ugh. So hot! Phoebe plucks a pair of sunglasses from her bag, perches them atop her nose just so she can stare at Jack over them. Hello sailor! “That’s so sweet. Do you guys ever have like— boat outings, boat parties together?” She tries to imagine it, and the image comes easily. Family members, older, younger, with those same striking blue eyes, the same kind of confidence aboard the ship, perhaps squeezing lemon over oysters, a fresh catch, drinking fancy ciders and rye whiskeys. It’s a nice picture. A sweet one. Especially the idea of Jack sharing this family tradition with her? Phoebe giggles. God— she wishes she had met Jack earlier. But 18 might even be more … uh, notable, than 19, so it’s probably for the best she met Jack now. Her head tilts. “Well. I visited last summer, but only for like … two weeks before I went back to Chicago? So sadly our window to meet was very tiny. Sadly.” She pinches her fingers together as a visual aid. “My grandfather has a brownstone in New York, so I would always vacation there. It was my favorite place as a kid.”

Jack couldn’t wait to bring Phoebe around to all of the parties. “Yes, actually. We go crazy for the 4th of July. If you’re still around, you’re definitely coming with me.” Was that too soon? A month or so away? Inviting her to meet his crazy family after only knowing her for a weekend (not even)? Jack finally raised the first sail, untying it quickly, stepping onto the deck to help raise it all the way. There was a nice breeze. They’d have a calm, gentle sail that day. Perfect for a date. And then Phoebe mentioned visiting last summer. He couldn’t quite describe the searing devastation that he felt in his chest! He could’ve met Phoebe last summer. How disappointing. But they knew each other now, and that’s all that mattered. “I have a place in New York. I’ve got a ton of family there. Wish we’d crossed paths before now,” Jack admitted, smiling. He moved to the front of the boat, raising the second sail now. He moved quickly so he could return to the helm and be closer to Phoebe. “That’s great. I love New York. When’s the last time you visited your grandfather? Are you close with him? What about the rest of your family?” Well. Jack was just getting greedy now. Demanding to know anything, everything about her and her familial relationships. This was the time to figure it all out, right?

Phoebe can feel her heart shoot up through her chest, bursting up into sky like a bright red firework. Oh, God. Oh, God. Fourth of July celebration? With Jack’s family. She begins nodding before he’s even finished his sentence, eyes wide as dinner plates. “I’m definitely coming,” she repeats. A beat. Her grin is almost maniacal in size. “Oh my God. That would be– so amazing. I’ll be here. And I’ll start shopping now, oh my God.” She almost fucking claps, she’s so excited. The fact that Jack was willing to bring her along already? Fuck. It makes Phoebe want to jump around, boat deck be damned. And Jack has family in New York too! That would have be ugh … perfect. Imagine them, both clutching coffees, wrapped in coat’s against the New York sleet, stumbling into each other on the pavement. Or– at a concert? Or at another bar, dark paneling, burnished sconces, the two of them admiring each other across the room. But at least they had met! Jack had brought her a drink, and Phoebe had followed him right onto this boat, and now it felt like she was floating over the sea and spray like an albatross. She can’t remember the last time she felt this fucking happy. “I wish we had met there too. I would have dragged you to my favorite deli. And my favorite bagel place. And we’d walk through Central Park together.” Oh, man. How perfect would that be? She could meet his family in New York. It makes her grin, at the thought of it, makes her even more impatient for the 4th of July. She shakes her head, grin still afixed. It feels … so easy, to share with Jack. “I visited him … right at the end of May. I love him. Adore him, honestly, he’s like the funniest man I met in my life? And his brownstone is so cool. He used to travel a lot, so he has like … a dinosaur knuckle displayed on the wall? And kites from Shandong China, and folk art from Hungary, stuff from my family history…” Her grin is wide. “It felt like a muesum in there, as a kid. I used to turn off all the lights and use a flashlight and make my brother pretend it was Night at the Museum.”

Jack grinned whenever Phoebe immediately accepted his invitation to the 4th of July. Was that risky? Maybe. Jack didn’t care. His family would deal with it! And he was certain that Phoebe would be around for much longer than just this summer. She had to be. She mentioned starting her shopping early, and Jack nodded in agreement. “Can I come with you? Help you pick something out?” Or maybe she’d want to surprise him again, which was fine, but the idea of following Phoebe around all day, carrying her shopping bags, buying all of her dresses — well, it somehow sounded like the perfect day to Jack. Once they were a decent ways away from the dock, he turned off the motor, letting the sails catch the wind and drift them out a little slower. It was a beautiful day — made even better by Phoebe’s presence. “We can still do that. One weekend, we can drive up there. Wlak around Central Park with my dog. She’d love all of the smells.” Jack grinned at Phoebe — but what really caught his attention was the mention of her grandfather — a history lover, it seemed, an art collector. And a brother. Older or younger? So many things that he wanted to know. “Your grandfather sounds like someone I’d get along with,” Jack said, a little boldly. “I love art, history, all of that stuff. Have you ever been able to travel with him? Also, I’m guessing you’re a little sister. I don’t know. Just a guess.”

Phoebe didn’t think she could feel happier — and then Jack is asking if he can accompany on her shopping trip. A man? A man asking, of his own volition, to accompany Phoebe while she shops? For his family’s celebration! Her hands clap together, grin spreading wide. “I would fucking love that. Are you kidding.” She giggles, shoots up from her seat and walks– with wobbling steps – towards Jack, beaming wide. “You’re honestly the first guy ever to say that.” Maybe they could make a day of it, if Jack as able to tolerate the intensity! Fitting rooms, Phoebe posing for his benefit, sticking out her ass, asking for his opinion, comparing shoes, accessories, maybe a coffee or two to fuel them! Ugh! There were just … so many things to look forward to. There’s no motor now, just the starched flapping of sails, the cry of gulls, the crash of waves, and Jack’s beautiful voice telling Phoebe they could still go to New York– and they could take his dog. “You have a dog? We have to take her.” Phoebe says, a near-shriek. Green flag, huh? Jack was littered with them. The fact he already thinks he’d get along with her grandfather too. Yeah. They’d get along like a house on fire. She nods. Giggles to herself, imagining her grandfather cornering him, that same spry humor, jokingly informing Jack that he and the Stegosaurus from his collection used to be old college buddies. She inhales the crisp air, tucks away the knowledge that Jack likes art, and history– she’ll have to ask more, she feels greedy for more. “I think he’d like you too. He loves anyone willing to let him talk about history. We went to central Europe together and I, uh, never had to consult a guidebook.” What history did Jack like? Nautical history? Could he list off a bunch of knowledge about doomed navel vessels? A beat. She cocks a hip. “–What makes you think I’m a little sister?“ Her eyes narrow, lips pursing. ”Are there like … stereotypes, about little sisters?“ And then her face brightens, sunny as a day in June. Phoebe knew. She knew how she could be, sometimes, the pouty little expressions that often plagued her– and plagued Teddy. ”I’m kidding, yeah. You’re right. I’m the little sister! Teddy is the older one.“

Jack was definitely pushing it, probably breaking a ton of unsaid spoken rules about dating, and how there should have been some mystery and build up before making all of these plans. Oh fucking well. Jack didn’t care. Jack didn’t give a shit, honestly, because it had Phoebe smiling, beaming at him, standing from her seat, approaching him at the helm. He selfishly rested a hand on her waist and told himself that it was only so that he could steady her. “The guys you’ve been around are fucking idiots,” Jack said coolly, with a simple shrug. Who wouldn’t want to follow Phoebe around and watch her try on clothes? Fucking assholes. “Yeah, I have a dog, Cora. She’s very bad.” Very bad, but very, very loved! Jack was relieved to hear that her grandfather would have liked Jack. A history buff. A collector. Jack hoped that he was worthy enough to meet the man one day. “Of course you’re the little sister,” Jack said. “There are stereotypes, baby, and you sorta fall into all of them, but in a really good way.” He stared up at her, grinning, still wearing the captain’s hat she gifted him. “I don’t think God put you on this earth to be anyone’s big sister. Same way he made the sun rise in the east and set in the west. There are things in this world that are true and right and how they should be.” Teddy was her brother’s name. Older. Were they close? “Is Teddy in town, too?”

Phoebe hums happily when Jack plants a hand on her waist. That was really fucking hot, right? Manning the helm with one hand, holding Phoebe steady against the rocking waves with the other? Ugh. Such competence. And so willing to put up with a day of shopping, even going as far as to call all the other men before idiots. Yeah. Yeah! They were, weren’t they? Phoebe thinks it’s practically unfair, how paltry and stupid and insignificant all these college ranked compared to Jack. And she’d only known him for a day! She snuggles against him as a coastal wave rips through them both, lifting her curls, the cuff of Jack’s sleeve. “Cora,” she repeats, smile forming. “I like Cora. I get along just great with troublemakers.” Maybe they’d give Jack some trouble in New York. Maybe they’d stop to stare at every squirrel, beg Jack to stop at every hot dog stand they encountered, dilly-dally and waste time and wander around the city for no reason at all. That would be a perfect day, Phoebe decides, and she hasn’t even met his dog yet! She lets the idea wash over her, raises a brow at Jack when he confirms the stereotypes. Though– he made it sound like a positive thing. That was something she was beginning to notice: his ability to craft words. He’d been a talker, by admittance, but there was just something smooth about his sentences, something that charmed and hooked your attention and mood. It made her smile. “True and right and as they should be?” Phoebe ponders that– turns it around in her head before nodding. “Well. I guess you’re right. I don’t want to be an older sister. I like holding family dinner hostage until they agree on the dessert I want.” That was something she should save for later, right, how spoiled of a terror she could be? But Phoebe can’t help it. Jack just seems … so indulgent with her. It makes her want to be her true self, wants to lean in to all the silly little flaws and mannerisms that was a part of her framework. Besides– Phoebe was sweet. Mostly! Most of the time, she could be very sweet! As if to prove it, she cuddles up more against Jack. “You’re very poetic. And yeah. Teddy has some friends here, he’s been trying to visit them for a while, I think. He's like me. Except way taller. And he doesn't talk as much, and he thinks before he speaks, and he doesn't wear as much pink.” Teddy. Teddy, Teddy, Teddy. The trouble with Teddy! Phoebe would throw herself on a landmine for her older brother, she’d give everything for his happiness and safety. But. But! There was simply no way he would be cool about this– her, an older guy on a boat. He probably wouldn’t even be cool with them on land! It makes her pulse thud a bit harder, whenever she thinks of him finding out. Which. He has to eventually, right? With all the dates planned? But Phoebe needs to show ... discretion. To make sure it’s smooth. He doesn't need to now for know! Not until she's formed her master plan, and then Teddy will love Jack, obviously, and he'll shower them with his blessing! Or something. If she's like- really, really lucky.

Jack was happy, but a little worried, to hear that Phoebe already approved of Cora! Cora was bad sometimes. She chewed on his pillows and chased away the neighborhood cat that Jack had been trying to rescue. He’d have be cautious. Phoebe and Cora together could be very deadly. As Phoebe remarked on being the youngest and how much she liked it, Jack laughed quietly, staring out at the ocean. “Mm. You and Cora share similar behaviors, I think. I’m really worried now. I think you both might enable each other.” How would that work out for him? Her brother’s name was Teddy — and he was very tall, apparently. A quiet guy, which Jack could appreciate. “I’d love to meet him,” Jack said, turning to face Phoebe once more. He rubbed at her side. “When the time is right,” he added. This was only their first date, technically, but he wanted Phoebe to know that he was open to all of it. Everything. Meeting her family, doing the hard work of earning their affection. Jack scooted back in his seat, tapping on his knee. “Wanna sit and help me steer for a little bit?"

Phoebe gives a hum that indicates anything but concern. “Well. I mean. It sounds like encourage, more than enable. Two free-spirited girls trying to make their way in the world.” What was the harm in that! Phoebe likes her already — and yeah, actually, she probably would enable her, but women were supposed to support women! There’s the gentle rub of his hand at her side, and Phoebe shifts her head, stares at Jack, nodding along when he mentions he wants to meet Teddy. Teddy. Yeah. Phoebe wants that too– she wants to show off a guy like that to her family. But it’s just. Well. The details, of the introduction, she will need to handle with finesse. Maybe she can get Teddy tipsy and drip-feed him info about Jack. Starting with all his gentlemanly qualities. His charm. Love of history, and sailing, She’ll sandwich his age in there, and it’ll be fine! It’ll be fine. She could fill a book, with all the wonderful things about Jack. Phoebe smiles. “Yeah. I’d like you to meet all my family.” Oh, fuck– too forward? Probably not, right, since he’d invited her to his family’s celebration. “I don’t think any of us are very nautical, so they’d probably think it was cool as fuck that you’re a sailor. And a captain.” And now Phoebe was too, apparently, because Jack is inviting her to steer! And more importantly– inviting her to his lap. “Best spot on the ship.” Phoebe giggles, cheeks warm, situates herself upon his thigh. She wraps a cautious hand around the helm. Was it … like driving? How hard would it be to accidentally tip the vessel. “Now, Jack.” she begins. “You don’t seem very younger brother to me. Am I wrong?”

Jack rolled his eyes playfully. He was in for a world of trouble. He’d just have to live with the fact. (And he was more than happy to. If Phoebe and Cora ran his life into the ground, he’d only thank them for it.) Phoebe wanted Jack to meet her whole family. And he was ready for it, honestly. Would they mind that she was dating someone a few years older? A U.S. Senator? Maybe they hated politicians. Maybe they all loved Phoebe so badly that anyone she brought home wouldn’t be good enough. Whatever it was, Jack was prepared. More than prepared. “I’d love to have them on my boat, anytime. I have a bigger boat, too, but I figured this one was cozier for us today.” Yeah. Cozy. Intimate. Speaking of — Phoebe sat on his lap, placing a hand carefully at the helm. Best spot on the ship indeed. He wrapped an arm around her abdomen, holding her close and secure. “You’re not wrong. I am an only child.” He paused, smiling. “You can’t tell?”

Phoebe can feel the raise of her eyebrows, and she shifts atop his lap, lips pursed as she gauges his face. “Woah. Bigger?” Big enough for her family? She thinks of that– her and Jack, glued to each other’s side, Teddy and her father looking almost identical in the golden light of a sinking sun. In that scenario, she imagines them happy. At ease with Jack, uncaring that he was older, happy for Phoebe, and the smile she was always wearing around him now. “That would be fun. My dad would probably do the dumb dad thing and tap the hull and ask about the construction of the boat, or whatever.” Phoebe shivers happily when Jack’s arm secures around her abdomen, taking a moment from her sailing– well, sort of sailing – to scoot further against him. It was a good spot. A very secure spot. At Jack’s reveal, she makes a noise. “Man. I should have guessed you were an only child. You don’t have younger brother vibes. Or older brother vibes, either.” She taps a nail against the helm. “Only children are very self-sufficient, I’ve heard. And confident, and all that.” Confident seems like a very good word for Jack. Even his posture radiated ease! “You also don’t have the vibe of someone who has ever had to beat someone for the last ice cream sandwich.”

Jack couldn’t wait. He couldn’t meet to shake her father’s hand, her brother’s, her grandfather’s. “I think your dad and I would get along, too.” Jack hoped, at least. Jack really wanted that — more than anything. “Self-sufficient. Spoiled. I don’t know. I always wanted a ton of siblings.” Jack gently rubbed at Phoebe’s side. He was getting used to that — having his hands on her. “But I do have a ton of cousins and family instead. My dad has a few brothers. And they each have a few kids. Except for one of my uncles, who is like … weird. I don’t want you around that guy.” Jack laughed. He was kidding. Mainly. Kendall was sort of insane. And offensive. And Phoebe was, unfortunately, his type. (Most good looking women were.) “Is that what you used to do to Teddy? Beat him for ice cream sandwiches?”

Phoebe nods. That’s what she wants too– more than anything. She wants her father to look at Jack, with his sharp wit, his gentleness, his ease on the boat, and think that Phoebe had picked well. That Phoebe had picked well, and she was able to land someone as lovely as Jack, and God, wasn’t she lucky? But reality was another matter, looming and obnoxious in the background of her fantasy. The truth? Christopher was overly-protective. Teddy was a German Shepherd, always alert, always noticing – she can’t imagine her brother will be tickled with the idea of Jack being older. But that was a problem for another time. It was their first date! They were soaking in the cool air, the sunlight glinting off the water, pure and bright. And Jack was talking! Phoebe is discovering just how much she likes that– listening to Jack talk. There was something melodic and easy about his voice, authentic, real, but with all the smoothness of people who spent their work day speaking. Like newscasters. Or attorneys, that same quick wit. Or people who spent their whole day interacting with the public. He’d wanted siblings– the fact makes her chest sink in something sympathetic – but he had a big family! Tons of cousins! “Well. I guess you can just … steer me clear of your uncle,” Phoebe laughs. That was a joke, wasn’t it? “But lots of cousins sound fun. Do you guys always get together for the 4th of July?” And that seemed like a very New England thing, didn’t it? Sparklers on the beach, clam bakes, Ralph Lauren shrugged on over swimsuits, big white houses. Phoebe chuckles at the mention of Teddy, takes the luxury – and holds her breath, for a millisecond – of leaning back against Jack’s chest. So bold! “He’s like a big athlete,” she grouses. “So I was not able to like … physically wrench them from his hands. But I tried really hard to barter. Not whine, of course.“ A beat. Phoebe nods primly. ”That’s not what I do."

Jack definitely would. Phoebe had no business being around Kendall. “Yeah. 4th of July is crazy. Bigger than Christmas. The family hires caterers and party planners and whatever. Maybe your family could come. Or your brother, at least. Could be a good time.” Jack smiled. But maybe it was too soon, too. “No pressure. I’d be happy to just have you around. I know my family would, too.” His family could be a bit much, but they’d behave. For the most part. When Phoebe mentioned her good behavior, Jack made a face. A face that didn’t quite believe her. “Hmm. I don’t know. I bet you whined just a little, no? Just a tiny bit?”

Phoebe feels her eyebrows raise. Bigger than Christmas. Caterers and planners– and he was even inviting Phoebe’s family! Her breath leaves her in a slow whoosh. Date one, and he was already willing to invite her family along? Phoebe bites her lip, works it between her front and bottom tooth to combat the massive smile spreading across her face. Jack – he must like her, already, right? Really like her. The details of it all – telling Christopher, Teddy, and then bringing them to the celebration – are going to have to be handled individually, and strategically. But. Phoebe really, really wants this. She grins. “Ah! That would be so fun Do you guys do fireworks too?” She’d sandwich that in. After the disclosure about the age, after she’s written out all of Jack’s loveliest traits, listed all the ways he’s already treated her so well. “I’ll talk to them.” She would. And she’d ask God to intervene. Just a bit. And if that fails, she’d involve her Grandfather. A man who has never once denied Phoebe anything. Another breeze lifts the hem of her dress– it’s beautiful out on the water. Further and further away from traffic, from other people, from the mundane grievances of full parking lots and emails and laundry. In fact– she’s so absorbed in her sailing she almost misses the face Jack makes. Almost. It’s a shame, he already has her pegged. “Not even a tiny bit!” she proclaims. “Not once, not ever. I’ve always been ... exceedingly sensible and mature.” And what a lie that was! But Phoebe has to hold her ground – has to stick to it! If Jack sticks around– and oh, God, please – he’ll probably see plenty firsthand. She makes a noise, reaches behind her as if to cover up Jack’s eyes. “In fact. Why don’t you rest your eyes and let me handle the voyage. I’m like, way too responsible to run us into any icebergs.”

Jack knew that his family was a little excessive, but he was confident that they’d all get along great with Phoebe. Even his mother, who was … special. Very special. “Of course we do fireworks and sparklers and burgers and hot dogs and it’s pretty American, actually. Kind of embarrassing.” Jack shrugged. It wasn’t really emabrrassing, but describing it felt a little silly at times. Phoebe assured Jack that she didn’t whine! Not even a little bit. She was insisting that he close his eyes so she could responsibly steer the boat. Jack grinned. “I want you to know that I have full faith in you to get us back to shore. Safely. With no scratches or dents on my sailboat.” Jack paused, leaned back in his seat, squeezing Phoebe’s side. “But.” There was always a but! “You look too beautiful for me to ever close my eyes around you. And why would I wanna make these pretty hands do work?” Jack wondered, finding her fingers and squeezing them. “Those ropes can be kinda rough. Don’t wanna do that to these delicate hands” Jack gently lifted Phoebe’s fingers, pressing his lips against the palm of her hand. “See? Very soft.”

Phoebe hums as she smiles. Sparklers and fireworks and hot dogs! The whole shabang! “It’s not embarrassing to through a good party,” Phoebe declares. “I’m not even Irish, but I try to do it up big for Saint Patrick’s day.” Like– making Irish apple cake. Making barmbrack. Decorating the entire kitchen green. Going to river, when they dyed it, stopping at every Irish pub on that side of the city. Phoebe took each and every excuse to party, to celebrate. She scrapes the inside of her brain for other holidays– in her head, she celebrates them all with Jack. In her head, she bakes him something special for each holiday. In her head, she’s tipsy, arms twined around him for the entirety of the celebration. But for the 4th? She’s going to be on her best behavior. Scout’s honor! Presumably, Jack’s parents would be there, and Phoebe can think of nothing more important, more intimidating than impressing them. What kind of people were they like? Surely they had to be nice, to raise such a wonderful person like Jack. Phoebe has to inhale, to steady herself, though that deep breath soon gusts out of her when Jack makes her giggle. He, apparently, had full faith Phoebe could navigate the ocean properly – guide the boat without leaving a single dent! There’s the prickling suspicion that he’s humoring her, but Phoebe gives it not a single thought more the second Jack squeezes a hand. Oh. Too pretty, and too delicate? She was too beautiful, for him to close his eyes around? That makes Phoebe melt, warm honey, something rounded and awed in her eyes before they go heavy-lidded. He’s kissing them, too. A warm kiss, a delicate kiss, as if he were putting lips to a flower. Phoebe, predictably, giggles. “Oh. Are the ropes all scratchy and rough when you handle them? Maybe that and the steering… should be your job. Since you know how to handle it.” A beat. Phoebe looks at him, brow raising, lips pursing thoughtfully. The thought that pops into her head makes her brighten– it seems silly and yet gravely important to her, somehow. “…Do you have a first mate? Maybe I could be that.”

Jack was happy to hear that Phoebe had the same mentality. She appreciated big parties and celebrations, despite not being Irish. “I love that attitude,” he said, smiling, staring out at the waves. Beautiful seas that day. Perfect for a first date. “Yes, the ropes are scratchy and rough, and a beautiful girl like you shouldn’t go anywhere near them.” He turned back to Phoebe. He meant it, too. Jack would do all of the hard stuff. And he’d be happy to. “No, I don’t have a first mate. I could really use one,” he admitted, pulling Phoebe close. “You can be the first mate that sits around looking gorgeous all day. The one that keeps me company and makes me smile. So far, I think you’re doing a really fantastic job.”

Phoebe adds it to the column, another victory– they both appear to enjoy a good celebration. There’s a list she’s tallying, all the ways she and Jack are well-suited, all their similarities and complimentary beliefs. It’s already filling up. She hopes it’s very long by the end of the date. But that shouldn’t be a problem. No– not at all. She raises the hand that Jack kissed, wiggles the fingers there delicately. “Yeah. And my hands can barely close around the rope. Yours are– much larger. It’s probably better that you handle it all.” And was she being ridiculous? Being an obnoxious flirt? Who cared! Sue her! There was nobody else to see, and Phoebe likely wouldn’t care regardless. Why should she, when she’s positioned to become Jack’s first mate! It’s balmy right now– not too cold, the breeze is neither cutting nor gusty – but Phoebe still makes a point to make herself shiver. Important, when Jack is pulling her close to cuddle! “I think that would be such a nice job,” she hums. “You have … a very handsome smile. I’d like to be the one to put it there one your face. And. Well. Sitting around and posing sounds nice too.” Her free hand drifts to his knee, her middle and index finger walking upon it like a set of little legs. Hmm. She likes that. Touching him. Everywhere. Idle and deliberate all at once. “Is it a trial position right now? Or did I already secure it?”

Jack made note of Phoebe’s shivering. Was it time for an extra set of clothes already? He’d address that momentarily. For now, she was asking about her position, and if she’d earned it already. “I think it’s pretty permanent, but I guess we should see how the rest of the date goes?” Jack sighed — he didn’t suspect Phoebe would like that very much. And with her hand resting on his knees, he felt … swayed to give her everything she wanted. “But I do think it’s pretty permanent. Right? I think you’d have to do something pretty catastrophic for it to be any other way.” Jack rested his hand on top of hers. “Especially if you keep complimenting me. My hands. My smile.” Jack grinned.

Phoebe gives a long, long hum. Hmmm. Pretty permanent. Pretty permanent, but dependent, technically, on how the rest of the date went. Jack places a warm palm atop her hand. It sounds like the position is rather secured– he likes the compliments about his hands and smile – but that’s not quite good enough for her. She needs her name engraved in brass! Phoebe Priutt – First Mate. “Pretty permanent isn’t assured,” Phoebe says, head shaking. And that’s no good! A moment, where she stares ahead, out at the water, eyes narrowed. The water is doing the most amazing things. Warm fractals of light glinting, foam breaking upon a clusters of rock, but Phoebe can’t even see that! She’s just too … caught up, in the wording of it all. “Do you want to hear about how I think you’re like … illegally smooth and charming? Do you want to hear about how I wanna tie you to a chair and play with your hair because it looks like something out of a Ralph Lauren shoot?” Phoebe makes a noise, the smallest thread of desperation leaking through to the surface. It's even more annoying because it's all true!“What else? To secure it?”

Jack was definitely right about Phoebe not being a fan of what he said. He could see it. And — was it kind of fucked up that he liked it? The desperation. Phoebe trying to earn him, in a way. Jack swallowed. The image of Phoebe tying him to a chair definitely didn’t help matters either. “I don’t know. You’re pretty close to earning it, I think.” Fuck! She was so hot and perfect. And Jack was trying to be respectful. This was their first fucking date, after all, but how could he resist her, either? When she looked at him like that? Big brown eyes? “Maybe just keep sitting in my lap like this. Looking at me the way you are. Maybe even putting your hands through my hair, if you like it so much. We could start there.” Jack was looking up at Phoebe with a great intensity. How fucking lucky was he?

Phoebe stares at that– Jack’s throat working, when he swallows. An automatic response, nothing behind it, or is it something else? Either way. Phoebe likes it. Makes his throat look very… inviting. One of her hands finds his collar, clenching the fabric till it bunches beneath her nails – a delicate powder blue. She was close to earning it, apparently. Her position. He likes the compliments. Likes her in his lap. Jack is even so approving that he invites Phoebe to touch his hair, play with it, like in her frustrated pleading. Oh. Yes. Phoebe could fucking do that. Especially since she feels even … more frustrated to be close, but not quite enough. Every inch of her feels like the hot end of a wire. Reactive. Warm. A conduit of focused energy. “Jack! I don’t want to be close,” she says slowly, lips pursing. “I said I want it.” And there it is again, leaking into her tone– desperation. The obvious need, of someone used to getting their way. Her hand raises. And, fulfilling both their wishes, sinks into the thick mass of hair. Oh. Thick, silken, perfect, as expected, a sensory experience that makes her shiver again. “Perfect like I thought,” she says with a sigh. “Way too soft. The kind of soft that makes you wanna go into a trance…” Maybe she does need to tie him down to the seat. Nice and tight. And then, because she wants to, because she wants to see Jack’s throat work again, wants to see that intensity in his eyes, her hand tilts upwards to another angle– now her nails are against his scalp, and begin to trace in lazy patterns, a fine point, a tingling little path. “…Unfortunately I think all of you might be this perfect.”

Jack could appreciate Phoebe’s efforts. Sincerely. She didn’t shy away from what she wanted. She clutched at the collar of his shirt, insisting that she didn’t want to be close to earning it. She wanted it. All of it. Jack swallowed again, finding every ounce of self restraint in him to … settle down. Phoebe was gorgeous. And she was in his lap. And she was talking about tying him up in a chair, all while stroking his ego. Jack really liked this. When she finally ran a hand through his hair, he couldn’t help but sigh. Let his eyes roll closed momentarily. It felt really nice. He thought about other instances where Phoebe might have her hands in his hair like this. He cleared his throat. “No, definitely not all of me. I told you. I snore.” Jack tilted his head back, staring up at Phoebe. He felt … entirely at her mercy in that moment. “Maybe we could work out a compromise so that we don’t have to wait until the end of the date? How’s that sound? You’re going to have to trust me though. Put your whole faith in me. Can you do that?"

Phoebe finds it harder to keep composure. The way he swallowed again. The way he sighs, a heavy exhale, eyes fluttering shut as her hands work through his hair. This was. Yeah. This has Phoebe’s eyes fixed on Jack– she’s very certain she wouldn’t even notice a tsunami’s wave on the horizan, hundreds of feet and deadly water. And why would she? Jack looks so fucking … good like this. His head tilts. His eyes return to her. Phoebe feels covetous of them, wants to recite some low spell and keep his gaze on her, like this, for all eternity. Who even cares if he snores! Phoebe observes the angle of his neck, the smooth patch of skin, finds herself nodding along at the mention of compromise . And she typically wasn’t very keen on those– but it’s different with Jack. Sun-warmed, seated in his lap, Phoebe would nod along to anything. “Compromise,” she repeats, tasting the word in her mouth. Compromise. Her hand, still tangled in his hair, rich bistre silk, never once ceases it’s movements. The nail of her index finger circles around the base of his ear. “I think I can compromise, Jack.” Jack. Jack, Jack, Jack. It just has such a lovely feel in her mouth. The way it tilts up, the first two letters, energetic and trim. “You’ve been very good at keeping my trust safe so far.” Jack has been very good at everything, so far, and all of her feels buzzy. Her nail finds the shell of his ear, and her other hand releases from his collar, sinks in his hair to replace it. A nod. Silly and prim and obnoxious and curious and possessive, somehow. “I don’t typically do compromises, but I will specially for ... you.”

Jack could have rammed the boat into another vessel, and he wouldn’t have even noticed. Phoebe didn’t like compromise, but she’d do it for him. Jack hoped and prayed that she liked the idea that he came up with. It wasn’t really a compromise — he didn’t think so, anyway. “Well. I need you to sit very still because I need to show you something. It’s a surprise.” Jack rested a hand on her knee, squeezing. “So, you can’t move. You have to stay right here, in my lap. And you have to close your eyes until I say.” There was a pause — Jack really wanted to emphasize that last part. “I mean it, Phoebe. Everything is riding on this. You can’t open your eyes until I give you the go ahead, alright?” This was dire. Life or death. This was the difference maker between Phoebe being just another person versus being his first mate. Could she follow direction? He hoped so. “Close your eyes, sweetheart.”

Phoebe inhales, but even that action is carefully contained– Jack needs her to sit incredibly still. There’s a list of things he needs, actually. Sit still. Remain on his lap. Close her eyes. Keep them closed, tight as a drum, everything hinged on the fact she obeys . Well. Phoebe’s heart was thudding. Her pulse is shooting up in her head, blood rushing, and heat seems to spread and bloom across her breastbone and cheeks. He has something to show her. Could Phoebe listen? She tended to– and actively chose to – disobey. Often. But there’s something in Jack’s tone that has her falling into this burning … need … to listen. Like wading deeper into the most inviting waters, leaning back, allowing them to gently envelope her, swallow her whole. It’s– hypnotizing, him squeezing her knee, bidding her to shut her eyes. It was fucking serious. Close your eyes, sweetheart. Phoebe shivers. “I won’t move. I’ll stay right here in your lap.” Her eyes shut. Darkness, the light of the sun peeking through her lids and making them glow red. Curiosity burns, but the desire to listen to Jack, to earn the reward– that burns infinitely hotter. “I’ll honestly do anything you say…”

Jack already felt so incredibly special. Phoebe trusted him. She trusted him enough to be out in the ocean with him, away from from the public. She trusted him enough to do anything he’d say. It made Jack’s insides burn out of control. When Phoebe finally closed her eyes, Jack took a few moments to indulge in incredibly selfish behavior. He stared, examined her long lashes, her rosy cheeks, her mouth. God, her mouth, and all of the beautiful things that came out of it. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to be selfish. But the moment called for something else — tenderness and restraint. Jack steered the boat, leaning over to check the sails. All was good, so far, and they were nearing one of Jack’s favorite spots now. He rubbed Phoebe’s knee. The boat slowly drifted, ensuring they had the very best view. “Okay. If you trust me, you can go ahead and open your eyes now.” There wasn’t really a compromise to be had here because Jack just wanted to show Phoebe the dolphins and ensure she could follow instructions. That’s it. That’s all it took to be his first mate. It was late afternoon, and Jack was local enough to know that the dolphins loved this spot in particular. He rested a hand on Phoebe’s spine, fingers gently rubbing there. “Look. Right over there.” With his free hand, he pointed — one, two, three dolphins breaching the surface of the water. Jack smiled. “See that?”

Phoebe finds it impossible to keep her eyes closed — and also almost almost exquisitely easy. Of course she was burning with curiosity. There were sounds around her, the creaking of the ship, the flapping of the sail, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of the water. But wasn’t it infinitely more satisfying to listen to Jack? To sit there, in his lap, sweet as a lamb, ears pricked for whatever he tells her next, sinking into obedience– sinking into the knowledge she was listening perfectly . Phoebe could be perfect for him. And– God. It makes her shivery, when he tells her to open, and Phoebe does, lids parting, blinking against the influx of light, the dappled water, movement, something across the way, his hand his at her spine and the other is pointing and– “Dolphins!” Delight, actual fucking joy hits Phoebe like a freight train. “Oh my God, I totally see, there’s like–” One dorsal fin. The arc of a grey back, smooth, glistening, another dorsal fin, a wedge-shaped tail. Grace and movement, they’re all just dancing and soaring and gliding. “There’s like an actual pod of them. Oh my God!” She starts laughing then, enchanted, leaning forward, eyes flitting to follow their movements, the playful darting, the fins that would cut through the water every few seconds. Her hand finds his leg– she squeezes with so much excitement her knuckles almost pop. “I can’t believe you took me to see dolphins .” Phoebe turns her head from the precious sight to look at Jack, grin wider than the entire ocean, eyes accumulating a sheen. Oh, fuck. Jack– he took her to see this! Gratitude, wonder, the intense squeeze on her heart, something so magical. She thinks of her childhood— the movies she would watch, enchanted princess Barbie, how badly Phoebe wanted to be her, wanted to occupy that world of sparkling light and playful creatures. And now Jack had brought her to see it herself!“It’s like a fucking mermaid cove!”

Jack knew in that moment that he wanted to spend the rest of his days making someone as happy as he made Phoebe. Maybe, if he played his cards right, he could spend the rest of his days making Phoebe this happy. Was he overdoing it? Going too fast, even in his head? He thought the sound of her laughter was the greatest sound in existence, and her smile was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Prettier than the sky, the Connecticut sea, the dolphins breaching the surface of a wave. “I brought you to see dolphins,” Jack finally said, smiling. Her eyes looked watery. He wrapped his arms around her even tighter. “This spot is great for them.” Jack paused, watching as they danced around the boat. “They’re showing off for you, I think,” Jack smiled, carefully standing from his seat, walking Phoebe over to the edge of the boat. “They’re trying to outdo me. Steal your attention.” But Jack didn’t mind because the dolphins made Phoebe so happy. “Do you feel like a mermaid? I think you could lure me in with no problem at all.”

Phoebe thinks she won’t be able to swallow, for a while– her throat keeps tightening, a squeeze that only increases with each breath. It was just … so much. So beautiful. Jack’s arms tighten around her, and it feels like there’s a balloon expanding in her chest, gratitude, and something beneath that too, something deep and dizzying. There’s no way she could ever forget this– the image is engraved too clearly into her mind. She laughs, watching one of the dolphins smack the water with a grey tail, the resulting spray and droplets shining like crystal. Were they showing off? Aware of their audience? Phoebe knows he’s saying it to tease her, make her smile, but she feels a bit tickled at the idea the pod is doing this for her specifically, uncaring if it’s nonsense. The magic felt too real. Jack walks them closer to the edge of the boat, arms still fastened tight around Phoebe. One of them– probably a juvenile— darts right beneath the propeller. She laughs again. Tries, with questionable success, to make a high-pitched little noise, a poor attempt at a dolphin’s call. Embarrassing? Yeah. But Phoebe is too delighted, too overjoyed to care. And Jack had this thing about him– he just had a way of making her feel comfortable, always indulging Phoebe. “I mean. I don’t think you need to worry about them as competition.” Her cheeks are beginning to hurt– the consequence of smiling too hard. She turns to Jack. Something a shade more serious passes over her face. A beat- and Phoebe twists, leans upward, plants another kiss on his cheek, skin buzzing again. “I don’t think you have any competition at all.” God. Her throat’s aching now. Jack, and these dolphins, and the way he was already treating her. He must be– someone special, to share something like this with her already. She stares back at the water, cheeks warm. “I do feel like a mermaid. I’d love to sit on a rock and sing to you and call your ship over.”

Jack was feeling a lot, and very quickly, too. It’d been a while since he’d felt this euphoric in his personal life. It’d been a while since he had the chance, really. He ran a very successful (but grueling) campaign in his early thirties. For the last two years, that’s all that mattered to Jack. His political career. Everything else sort of fell to the wayside. Now that he’d been elected, he could focus on the part of his life he’d been neglecting. His personal life. He could indulge in dates like this. He could spend time wooing Phoebe. Dating her. Falling for her (but he was already sorta there, honestly). When Phoebe leaned upward, kissed him on the cheek, he felt his heart stop yet again. Breathless. Speechless. He simply stared at Phoebe, smiled, and tried to find the right thing to say. But he couldn’t. What could he say? What could he say that felt appropriate for a first date? Nothing. So, instead, he simply positioned himself behind Phoebe, wrapping both arms around her abdomen. He rested his chin on top of her head. “You are a mermaid. That’s why they’re trying to impress you.” Obviously, she was a princess. A real life one. “Anyway. I think this just proves that you’re first mate material, Phoebe. Congrats.” Jack smiled, staring out at the dolphins. “But I was never really worried.”

Phoebe feels it in her lips– a tingle that reverberates throughout her entire body, nerves alight. How good, it felt, his warm skin beneath her lips. How much better would it feel to feel his mouth too? Probably like nirvana. Probably the best thing Phoebe has ever experienced. It was such a handsome mouth too, one that called her pretty, and sweetheart, one that smiled just for her. She imagines all the way he could kiss her, and the heat at her face only flares. She nods, primly, to cover the eager little shiver that courses through her. “Thank you, Jack. I really–” A beat. She somehow manages to swallow. “—I don’t know how to tell you how special you’re making me feel. It feels crazy. Like magic.” Like she was somehow special enough to deserve a golden evening at sea, deserving of seeing dolphins. Secluded waters. Glinting sun. Jack making her cover her eyes, a magician’s reveal. Too beautiful to be believed. What did Jack see in her that he felt like he wanted to share in something so precious? Phoebe hopes, that somehow, she can inspire that same feeling of happiness inside him. Give him something back. Already there’s this burning sensation in her chest, a need to reciprocate. Jack rests his chin atop her head, a welcome weight, and there it is— the confirmation she’s been waiting for. Her! First Mate! Victory! A single fist punches the air. Now he has to sail with her forever! “You weren’t worried, but I was. This was like ... life or death.”

Jack wished that he could live on that boat forever. Really. Truly. With Phoebe right there, at his side, for the rest of time. Jack couldn’t think of a happier place or time, and that feeling only grew tenfold when Phoebe told Jack how special he made her feel. Magical, apparently. Jack wanted to give her more. He wished he could give her more. He wished the entire world was at his command so he could continue showing Phoebe things that made her feel this way forever. “I think you just bring it out in me, Miss Phoebe.” Jack smiled, rubbing her side gently. “It’s very easy with you. I want to keep making every day and every moment feel special for you. That’s what you deserve.” Yeah. It’s what she deserved, and more, and when Jack figured out how to give her more, he’d do it. “I wasn’t worried at all, actually. I made up my mind about you the second I met you.”

Phoebe doesn’t know what to do with all that. It’s humbling— and big. And nerve-wracking, in a good way. She brings it out in him. Phoebe works the plush of her bottom lip between her teeth, brows drawing together in some influx of emotion. She deserves this? “You’re really nice to me, Jack,” she manages, suddenly blinking hard, a wobbling smile. “I hope I can be— even half as nice as you are. I hope I can find a dolphin for you.” And not even literally– though Phoebe would be fucking delighted to show Jack magic porpoises on magic waters – but she hopes she can give him something back. Some magic. Some moment, that would be meaningful for him. Couldn’t they just stay out on the water? Forever? Phoebe was good at holding her breath– maybe she could dive down for Jack, find abalone, cowries, sand dollars, speckled shells, ones that shimmer like opal. Find some sort of special beauty, just for him. Jack deserves beauty. She makes another noise. Nods, fighting back a grin with great . “Oh. I see. You needed a first mate and saw me across the bar and knew I’d be just the right fit.”

Jack can hear the hint of emotion in Phoebe’s voice. He felt it, too. It was emotional — finding someone that felt like the perfect fit. An instant connection. And then Phoebe made it worse by saying she wanted to find Jack a dolphin, too. He knew what she meant. It was very sweet. “I think you are my dolphin, sweetheart.” Jack smiled — kissed the very top of her forehead, heart racing. Things were moving a little fast, but that was okay with Jack. He never wanted Phoebe to doubt or guess or worry about his intentions or feelings for her. Jack was old enough — secure enough — to be okay with wearing his heart on his sleeve for her. “Exactly. I knew you’d be the perfect fit.” Jack rubbed her abdomen one last time, before gently pulling away. “Come on. I have food for us, if you’re hungry.” Jack walked back over to the hull, pulling out a nice, big cooler nearby, along with a bag filled with groceries to make a sandwich. “I wanted to cook for you, but I thought it might be too much of a hassle, so — I’ll cook for you another time. Captain’s promise.” Jack opened the cooler. “I know it’s not cooking, but I picked up some fresh turkey, ham, pepperoni, salami, provolone. Sliced vegetables. Pickle spears, if you like them, and I did make fresh chips this morning. Lightly salted and homemade. And more stuff. To make the perfect sandwich, of course, and I’d be honored to make you a very wobbly sandwich, if you tell me what you want on it.”

Phoebe has to scrunch her face, shut her eyes very, very quickly when he kisses the top of her head. His dolphin. Jack believes that she’s his dolphin. His moment of sunlight and joy and wonder is … her. After only knowing her for such a short time. Despite her best efforts a tear, a second tear, manages to slip out from her eyelid, fat, hot little droplets that drip onto the boat’s deck. You can hardly see them where the dolphins have splashed water. What can Phoebe even say to that? She didn’t feel worthy– but maybe she can make herself be. Maybe she can be the best dolphin ever, for a man who already treats her with such startling care. They have the barbershop, breakfast, they have so many days ahead of them. Phoebe can find what Jack needs, what makes him happy, and she can give that to him, again and again and again, happily, for as long as he lets her stay by his side. Phoebe clears her throat. Sniffles, nods, following Jack over to the hull as she fights back another cresting wave of emotion. Oh– a massive cooler. Bags of groceries, bread, slices and slices of cold cuts, provolone rounds pale as the moon, pickle spears, ugh, Phoebe fucking loves those, and— “Hold up!” A noise escapes her. “Jack, did you make me fucking homemade chips?” Was he crazy? Was he crafted by the Lord, on a particularly good day of his? That’s the only explanation for such a perfect man, He’s even promising to cook for her too! Phoebe feels a clench of her stomach, sudden hunger, and eagerness seizing her like a strong pair of hands. “Can you make me one with turkey, please? And salami, and provolone, and I love pickles, and—” the grin she wears is the same one she sports at an ice cream shop, dictating the ingredients of her sundae. “Can you put chips on my sandwich? My cousins tell me it’s childish but I like the crunch.” A beat. Another demand, this time borne from curiosity and care. “Also. You have to let me make your sandwich.”

Jack could see the emotion there, in Phoebe’s face, and it worried him, but something told him that it was the result of good feelings. Nothing bad, nothing wrong, just… Phoebe processing this. It meant the date was going well, oddly enough, and he found her show of emotion very sweet. Very, very sweet. He reached forward, squeezed her knee to provide a little bit of comfort. “Yes. Homemade chips,” Jack said, nodding. He pulled out all of the ingredients, placed them in a bowl, and began assembling Phoebe’s sandwich just as she’d requested. Turkey, pickles, provolone, salami. And chips. She liked the crunch. “It’s not childish. It’s clearly the best part. And my chips are extra crunchy.” Jack didn’t think he’d ever enjoy a sandwich another way. Jack carefully assembled the sandwich with all of Phoebe’s toppings. He was slow and methodical, ensuring the very best, before wrapping it up in a napkin. Now, Phoebe wanted to make his. “I thought we agreed on these pretty hands not doing any work today?” But she clearly wanted to do this, so Jack had no issue with it. “I like turkey and ham. A little mayo. Provolone. Tomatoes. Lettuce. Chips, obviously, for the crunch. Very important.” It was kind of a big order, but … Jack liked to eat. And he loved food. And he’d earned it, with a big run earlier that morning. Jack re-opened the cooler, pulling out two bottles of sparkling water. “I have regular water, too, if you want, but I thought we deserved fancy water.”

Phoebe just gives another shake of her head. Homemade chips. Jack had found time– in between ensuring the boat was sea-worthy, and gathering flowers – to wash and scrub potatoes, thinly slice them, fry them, scoop them from the golden oil and sprinkle them with salt. All for this picnic. For her! God. She watches as Jack assembles the sandwich, hands careful and quick. Not only does he approve of the crunch, he even asserts that his chips were extra crunchy– excellent! Phoebe giggles, makes note of how nice everything looks. Thick cuts of turkey, edges rubbed in black peppercorn. Lovely bread, clearly shaped by hand, not machine. Cheese that wasn’t limp, instead firm and somehow … aesthetically pleasing, to look at. He’d gotten the good stuff. That doesn’t surprise Phoebe at all. She claps her hands happily when it’s assembled, quickly moves to the assembly station when Jack relinquish his order– thank God! “It’s good you told me,” Phoebe begins conversationally, applying a delicate layer of mayo. “Otherwise I would have like … tied you to a chair, gotten your order out of you somehow.” Somehow. Turkey is next. Phoebe giggles again, reaches for a slice of ham. Her fingers begin move, folding the slice, shaping it— a trick her father’s chef had taught her when she was little. He’d been very kind to her, at a time change had seemed pretty overwhelming. She extends her hand to show Jack– she’s made it into the shape of a rose. Silly, but fun. Something he did for charcuterie boards. “Ta-da. Now we both have flowers.” The ones she made for him were just … slightly less permanent. She takes her time with the other ingredients, layering the cheese, the vegetables, with uniform care. The ratio needed to be just right. No need to rush, when she was determined to make the perfect sandwich. At last the chips– the most important part, and Phoebe feels a strong rush of satisfaction, knowing her and Jack shared such superior taste. There. All done. She wraps it, careful, tender, glances up to watch the little bubbles of carbonation shoot up the bottles. “Sparkling! This is special, we have to have special water.”

Jack laughed, again. Phoebe seemed to really want to tie him to a chair, didn’t she? He wouldn’t mind. “You know, there’s plenty of rope around here. If you do want to tie me to this chair.” Jack grinned. Phoebe folded one of the slices into a precious little flower — God, she was beautiful, perfect, so unbelievably sweet. The smile on his face couldn’t disappear. Not when he was around Phoebe. Now they both had flowers, yes. He watched as Phoebe carefully put everything together, constructing the most perfect sandwich. He almost didn’t want to eat it. “We have to have special everything,” Jack said, handing Phoebe her carefully wrapped sandwich, along with the bottle of sparkling water. Jack took a seat near the helm, on a small bench, patting the empty space beside him so that Phoebe could join him. Their first meal together. Their first date. “I’m excited. Something about the way you built this sandwich… I don’t know. I think it’s perfect.”

Phoebe can feel her eyebrows climb a considerable height. There was an abundance of rope, Jack had said, in case she felt like tying him up. And that makes her cheeks heat— predictably. It’s not something she’s dared to think about before, but Jack’s teasing, her own words, well. She can’t help but imagine her and Jack and a chair and — woah! Woah! Phoebe wonders if there’s a flush to her face, accompanying her bashful grin. Special everything; that’s what they were going to have on this date. She accepts the sandwich and bottle with a grateful smile, follows along after Jack to the little bench. She sits. Pauses. And then, with a wicked little grin, she stands, sits back down again– this time so she’s pressed right up against Jack. On another first date, she’d probably be too shy. But her and Jack seem to be doing things on their own timeline, on their own accord. She could squish up against him, and it would be fine, right? Jack seems tactile. She grins to herself, peels back the wrapping of her sandwich and looks at Jack, silently basking in the warmth of his side. “I’m really excited too. I hope it’s as good as you’re hyping it up to be. I might just … throw myself off the side, if I made you a subpar sandwich.” Fuck! That would kill Phoebe. She tried, she really did, to apply the proper ratio and placement of the fixings. Jack– as with all things – deserved an excellent sandwich. And if this one isn’t perfect? Phoebe can make him another. And another. There was something about Jack, how easily he offered smiles, that stokes the urge to … make everything just right for him. Her outfit. Her hair. His sandwich. When she picks a birthday card for him (if she gets to do that, please, God), when she makes him something for breakfast, she wants to do it so perfectly she stuns him. But now it was time for her sandwich. She takes a bit. Hums in bliss, enjoying the delicate salt and savor. Chips were vital to this! “I can’t believe you like– made homemade chips for me!” Phoebe takes another bite, enjoys the delicate crunch. “You’re so cool.” He was– and it was clear that this, the chip-making, was real. Nothing put-upon about it. Just … of course, yeah, Jack would make his own chips on top of things. There’s the crack from the twist cap of the bottle. “So… was cooking a family thing too? Like sailing?“

Jack took a big bite of his sandwich, nodding in immediate approval. Perfect. It was literally the perfect sandwich. “Well, sweetheart, if you jumped overboard, I’d have to jump in and get you. And I don’t mind, but — not an ideal first date.” Jack swallowed, smiling. Yeah. He wouldn’t mind at all, jumping in to rescue her. He noticed the way Phoebe stood, then inched closer to him. The closer, the better. Jack pressed his leg against hers, enjoying the pressure of her sitting beside him. “I’m so cool? You might be the only person to ever say that sentence.” Already, he was a big fan of Phoebe! She was great for his ego. “Yeah, sorta. We had a chef growing up. My mom wasn’t much of a cook, but my grandmother — my dad’s mom — she made everything and was super insistent on Sunday dinner and roast and all of that. So I spent a lot of time with her, and then in high school, I got even more into it. Our family chef hated me, I think, because I always stole his ingredients. And now I like to cook a lot of my meals, but sometimes I’m too busy, so I … also have someone that helps. But I do like to do as much of it on my own as I can.” Another big bite of his sandwich — another satisfying crunch. Maybe it was placebo, but it really did taste better because of Phoebe. “What about you? Baking and sandwich making? Family thing? Do you like to cook?”

Phoebe makes a mild face, the smallest twitch of her mouth. Yeah. It wasn’t ideal, was it, Jack having to brave the ocean currents for her, possibly ruining the dye of his clothes with brine. But. On the other hand? Jack would be wet, for her. Shirt plastered to his chest. Hair plastered to his forehead. Skin all slippery and shining. Wow. She hums. “Okay. Yeah I won’t jump in, because that might like … interrupt our vibes.” A beat. “But I do think you would look … really, uh, gorgeous plunging into the water. Is all I’m saying.” What was in the sparkling water? There had to be a manufacturing error at the plant, it had to be laced with something, because she’s running her mouth, saying absolutely whatever she wants! Phoebe swallows. Crosses one ankle behind another, leaning against her free hand, eyes going all quiet and eager as Jack talks. Yeah. This is what she what she wanted– to know about Jack. To know him. She had Tuesday after this, plenty of days, but she’s impatient. He’s just … too perfect, not to interrogate. His grandmother cooked, apparently extensively, and insisted on a proper Sunday dinner. Jack learned from her. He also stole from the chef, which earned his ire, and laugh from Phoebe, who nearly snorts at the image of a high-school aged Jack pilfering onions, a rib-eye, a twine-tied bundle of aromatics. Fuck. That was cute. “Wait. I love that. What kind of stuff were you making in high school?” Presumably it was … not Bagel Bites? Gaze sharp as a hawk’s, she watches as Jack bites into his sandwich, quietly scanning his face– looking for a well-covered wince or grimace, and relieved to find none. Phew. Jack seems like the kind of man who would spare her feelings, if the sandwich she’d made was bad. Phoebe watches a gull circle above the boat– maybe hoping for a snack? “I … am a much better baker, than cook,” she admits. “But I’m not bad. My dad likes it too, but he’s in your boat, he’s really busy. So he doesn’t cook as much as he likes. My grandfather can make one kind of soup, but then one time, I was like– thirteen? He tried making my brother and I breakfast from scratch, and a kitchen towel caught fire, and he threw it into the pot he was using to make Hollandaise sauce.” Phoebe shrugs. “When you meet him, you and I can cook, or something.” Hmm. Yeah. That felt good to say. When you meet him, with all the certainty.

Jack was already thinking of more date activities with Phoebe. “Well, we’ll just have to go swimming sometime, I think, because I guarantee that you’re definitely out doing me in the looks department.” Yeah. Seeing Phoebe in a little bikini or swimsuit. God. He might die, actually, so that might need to be a date further on down the line. “I was making anything. Homemade pasta, casseroles, roast, whatever.” Jack shrugged. Another large bite of his sandwich. It was really, really good. Of course it was — because Phoebe had made it! He listened as Phoebe admitted that she wasn’t the best cook, but she was a better baker. That was totally fine, Jack thought. That only made them the perfect team. “Oh no. A fire?” Jack raised both brows. “If that runs in the family, I’m definitely going to have to keep a fire extinguisher around.” He nudged her gently, smiling. He unscrewed his sparkling water, taking a long sip. He was charmed by the idea of meeting Phoebe’s family. Cooking for them. “Man, I’d love that. Anytime. I’d love to cook for your family. I have a huge kitchen. I went all out with the appliances and stuff when I bought it. Remodeled the whole kitchen. But I’d also love to cook just for you, too.”

Phoebe is acting a fool again, giggling, biting down hard at her lip. Her? Beating Jack, in the looks department? “Woah,” she says, hiccuping through a sip of water. “Definitely not. But we still gotta go swimming, for sure.” It’s nice to imagine, it’s a warming picture in her head— Jack in swim trunks. She grins around the lip of the bottle, gives her head a little shake as if to refocus. She’d never had this happen before. Feeling so … distractable, about a man, first date. Ugh. She nudges back, when Jack does, nods along at his sage decision regarding a fire extinguisher. And then he’s offering to cook for her family, in his nice remodeled kitchen, massive, new appliances, and Phoebe’s grin gets so wide her cheeks hurt. “Wait. Do you think … you could do like a Sunday dinner? Like a roast and everything?” The Kennedy matriarch tradition. She’s so touched by the idea that her hand suddenly shoots out, covers Jack with her own, palm squeezing hard over his knuckles. Oh. It felt nice, touching his hand. “Oh, my God. You’re already so nice to me.” Her head shakes, brows knitting together. It was almost too good to be true, right? She sets her water down, shifts in her seat so she’s fully facing him. “We should cook, though. Just the two of us. Alone.” Her head tilts, the hand atop his tracing little patterns with her fingers. “And I can make your favorite sweet something.”

Jack ‘s calendar was full — between all of the date ideas. The cooking together, swimming, breakfast. What else would they come up with? Jack had to be back in D.C. on Thursday, and he was still trying to figure out how to break that news to Phoebe. He was a U.S. Senator, and his job required him to be in D.C. quite a bit. That would come later, he thought. After a few more dates, possibly. “We will go swimming.” Jack nodded, sure of it. The weather was perfect for swimming. “Yeah, I can do a big Sunday roast. With all the sides and everything. Of course. I’ll need your help though. It’s a pretty big task.” Jack smiled. He liked the idea of the two of them in the kitchen, in sync, making a mess, holding up spoons to Phoebe’s mouth to taste test everything he made. “We will cook alone. Just me and you. You can meet Cora.” Jack flipped his hand up, squeezing her fingers. It was impractical to eat a sandwich with one hand, but he didn’t care. He took another bite. “I’m pretty free this week, actually. I’d love to make you dinner. And I’d love to eat whatever dessert you make. We could go grocery shopping.”

Phoebe chews at a bit of provolone, still a bit dazed at all her good luck. They would go swimming. Jack would cook the roast, all the proper courses, and he’d need Phoebe by his side to assist. She grins. “I’m your First Mate. I can be your sous-chef too. And if you ever become a commercial airplane pilot…” Phoebe gives a pert nod. “I’ll get my license, and I’ll be be your co-pilot too.” And– woah. There was something in that, wasn’t there, this promise to be at Jack’s side with everything? Even if she’s just joking about the two of them in a cockpit, clutching coffees, navigating a Boeing, she finds that the sentiment behind it rings true. She wants to be at his side when he raises sails. Or deglazes a pan. Or just … does anything. Maybe that’s part of the reason why she’s so eager to fill her calendar with everything Jack. She knows its a lot– she hopes he doesn’t mind. Jack rotates their joined hands and Phoebe stares at their interlaced fingers with a pleased little smile. They’d have to keep setting down their sandwich and bottle, vice-versa, if they wanted to alternate sips and bites. But … Phoebe didn’t mind. And if Jack was okay with the inconvenience, then Phoebe is fine with letting their hands stay interlocked for the next billion years. “We could go grocery shopping,” she smiles. “I can be free whenever you need me this week! Like— I can race to your house whenever you want me, I can even be there at 5 in the morning. And we can make a list, and I can hand you spoons and spatulas and everything, and I can meet the most well behaved dog in the world.” Phoebe nods. “You’ll see how extra I get about dessert.”

Jack grinned. How did she know him so well already? “I actually do take flying lessons. It’s been a minute since I’ve had time to fully commit to that. Bet you’d look cute as my co-pilot. Or in a flight attendant outfit.” Yeah, she would. She’d look great. “I’m pretty free until like — Thursday or Friday. And then I open back up on the weekend.” Another bite of his delicious sandwich. He’d devoured nearly half of it already. It was the perfect ratio and combination of everything. “What if I decide I want to see you every day this week? As much as humanly possible? Is that too much?” Jack wondered, out loud, smiling around his sandwich. He wasn’t afraid to admit it. He was (lowkey) obsessed with Phoebe already! “I’d love to see how extra you are about dessert. What’s your favorite to make? What will you make me?”

Phoebe makes a noise around her sandwich, swallows hastily. “What the hell,” she manages. “You can— fly a plane?” Jesus. Sailing. Cooking. Flying. And he’d been a good dancer! All really cool hobbies– and attractive ones. There weren’t many people who could do something as specialized as flying lessons. She shakes her head, the image of Jack in her mind’s eye solidifying a few degrees more. Daredevil. Well– at least someone very adventurous, unafraid to tackle the heights of the atmosphere, or of crashing waves. And he seemed to find the dolphins very easily, which makes Phoebe think he’s got an affinity for nature too. That was good. Phoebe was the type of girl who sobbed whenever she saved a mole from her father’s garden. “Maybe I wanna be your flight attendant” she says with a nod. “I never see co-pilots in skirts, really. And I think it would be really chic to serve you coffee with a cute napkin.” Was that un-feminist? Phoebe doesn’t think it’s a crime to want to look cute! Or pour coffee for Jack! She sips again at her sparkling water, swings the hand where her and Jack were still connected. He’d be free until Thursday, possibly Friday— work, she assumes? Man. It’s not as if she can really tell Jack to quit his job… but it’s a fun little thought to turn over in her head. Besides— Jack’s next words are so sweet they soothe away any disappointment. “I want to see you every minute,” Phoebe gushes, her fingers clenching hard around his palm. “So it’s not weird at all.” She’s feeling all fizzy now, shook up and carbonated. Jack? Every day with Jack? It sounds tantalizingly nice– so much so that Phoebe’s mind is racing ahead, wondering if she can bake Jack enough sweets to offset how annoying she’s probably going to be. “I love mille feuille, so I’m gonna make you that first. And then … a summer fruit galette. And salted caramel brownies. And then I’m gonna make you … shortbread, dipped in dark chocolate, with candied orange. And then whatever else you want, I can come up with a recipe just for you.”

Jack was an amateur pilot, if there ever was such a thing. “Sorta. I guess it’s a hobby. I like taking the lessons. One day, I’ll get my license, hopefully.” The idea of Phoebe in a flight attendant outfit, though — that he liked. More than he could admit. “Wow. I bet you’d be really fucking cute in an outfit like that. I’d be very distracted.” He squeezed her hand. Gentle, yet firm. He was very sure of the things that he said. Very aware of the meaning. He never wanted Phoebe to doubt or question what his feelings for her were. As Phoebe listed off all of the different desserts that she could make, Jack shook his head. One final bite of his sandwich. He’d devoured it rather quickly. “Wow. Are you trying to fatten me up?” He wondered, brow raised. He could do that all by himself, honestly, with all of the food that he ate! “I’d love that. All of that. We should get started on this cooking date pretty soon, I think.”

Phoebe inhales, mouth rounded in awe. “You’re so cool.” Even if he didn’t have his license yet, the fact that Jack could even sit in a cock-pit, stare at panels and panels of controls and buttons and guide a behemoth of metal and wires was just ... fucking impressive. Phoebe preens, to be called a distraction, purses her lips and takes a moment to flip her hair in a (mostly) exaggerated fashion. “I’d put on perfume, too. And do a cute little wing with eyeliner, really retro. And then when I served you your beverage I’d ignore my handbook and like, touch your shoulder all sweetly, which is probably against regulation…” Phoebe sets her water bottle upon the bench, caresses Jack’s shoulder as if to demonstrate, thumb rubbing against the rounded muscle. Honestly? She hopes she’s distracting. She hopes Jack can barely keep her eyes looking out the dashboard of the fucking plane. She giggles, free hand returning to her lap. It was important that their intertwined hands remain that way. Jack would love that she was going to bake for him. He nearly– and Phoebe’s mouth drops in faux-offense — accuses her of trying to fatten him up! “I’m free all day Wednesday,” she says, chin dropping, giggling. Honestly? Phoebe can’t even remember the contents of her calendar. But it doesn’t matter, because she’d clear it for Jack regardless. Jack Jack Jack. That’s the only thing sounding in her head right now, in her heart. Every minute and second, she wants to cram with him! “I’ll bring my apron with the ruffles. Do you need one? An apron? I can bring my gingham one.” She’s so thrilled– so earnestly excited at the prospect of baking for him – that Phoebe doesn’t even realize that a thirty year old man might not want to wear a gingham-patterned apron.

Jack smiled, again, that permanent smile that seemed to be fixed to his features in Phoebe’s company. He was really cool, apparently. “Hmm. I bet I’d like your perfume. You smelled really nice the other night.” Jack went home thinking about her perfume. “You’d be really distracting. You already are. I mean, look at me right now. I’m not even paying attention to the sailing. I’m being a really, really bad captain right now.” She was free all of Wednesday, which Jack was relieved to hear. His last full day in Connecticut before likely having to go back to D.C. He was already trying to think of a way to get out of it. Desperately. “I actually do have an apron, but I’d probably love wearing the gingham one. Do you think I could pull it off?”

Phoebe feels something warm at her face, despite the intermittent gusts of ocean. “That one was apricot and amber. And vanilla.” Jack liked it? Phoebe vows to order it again, then– probably three bottles, just to be safe. Perhaps one of her more rational friends would say that was looking far, far into the future, thousands of spritz of perfume, she had no clue how it would even go with Jack, but Phoebe, very easily, can imagine enough dates with Jack where she uses that much of the scent. Maybe she’ll buy four bottles. Maybe, if she’s listening to her heart and gut, she’ll buy enough to fill shelves. It might have been crazy, objectively, but there was something about Jack, the ease of this date, of everything .. it made Phoebe want to leap ahead. It made her want to … fall. “I have something to say,” Phoebe begins, twisting her lips. A beat. Two. “I don’t care if you’re distracted. I don’t even care if you let the ship hit something, or like .… float into militarized waters.” She makes a face. “I would rather you look at me. Does that make me a bad first mate?” Or does it make her an exceptionally good one, the lengths she’s willing to go to impress her captain? “You could pull off anything,“ she says firmly. ”It’ll probably look really masculine and attractive on you. I wish it was blue, but it does at least have big pockets.“

Jack wondered if he could find the perfume. Apricot, amber, vanilla. Would it be strange if he asked Phoebe for it later on? So he could remember what she smelled like even when he was hours away in D.C.? Phoebe then declared that she had something to say. Jack nodded, prepared for whatever it was. He crumpled up the napkin of his sandwich, tossing it into the grocery bag, devoting his entire attention to her now. She didn’t care if he was distracted! Didn’t care if he caused a massive wreck, or nearly got them killed. She wanted to be looked at. “Okay.” Jack nodded. Heard. He understood. “I would rather look at you, too. I’m glad I have permission to stare at you as much as I want.” And, to make a point, Jack locked his eyes on Phoebe’s — kept them there, for longer than was necessary. “I’m excited to wear it. I think you have to bring it now. I’ll do a little fashion show for you.” Embarrassing, but if it put a smile on Phoebe’s face, he’d do anything.

Phoebe finds herself biting down hard, molars clenching, when Jack nods, fixes her with such an intent stare. He understood, then. Was glad to have permission to stare her, as much as he could. It’s such an intense look– such blazing focus – that Phoebe’s foot starts tapping again, too much energy to contain in her body, nerves and excitement and the notion of being stared at by Jack. She shivers. “I know you probably get this a lot, but your eyes.” It takes a second, remembering how to swallow. “They’re very intense. The way your brows are all dark in contrast…” It makes her feel as if the rest of the world has been erased, really, even the darkening sea and golden sun. "Really striking." So beautiful. Phoebe feels a little silly– he probably got compliments on his eyes all the time, didn’t he, it was probably cliche? But she can’t help point them out. Can’t help but blink shyly, mouth twitching as she stares back. She manages to swallow again. “I’ll bring it. I’d like a fashion show from you.” Fuck. And he’d wear a gingham apron for her too? She scrapes the inside of her head for a joke, something clever, but her brain feels stunned at slow after being hit by Jack’s stare. She giggles, breathless, smile lop-sided. “Whenever your birthday is, I’ll just– have to get us matching ones.” A beat. It’s hard to talk, fuck. “Aprons, I mean.”

Jack was complimenting his eyes now. They were intense, and Phoebe was making Jack really, really aware of it. He blinked. It was striking, apparently. Oh. That was nice to hear. Really nice to hear. Phoebe assumed people always complimented his eyes, and they did a great deal of the time, but it meant infinitely more coming from her, anyway. “My eyes? Look at yours.” Jack shook his head. Really. Phoebe had these big, brown eyes. He’d known her less than a few hours, collectively, and they already had him weak in the knees. “My birthday is July 8th,” he told Phoebe. Yeah, near the 4th of July, only a few weeks away. He was a U.S. Senator. It felt scripted. “I’d love matching aprons with you.” Jack grinned, leaned over, steering in a better direction to catch the wind. “Best birthday present.”

Phoebe ‘s head begins to shake. No way! Comparatively, her eyes are nothing next to Jack’s — though she thinks it’s sweet he would even say anything at all. Jack shifts to steer the boat, the motion natural, and reveals he would love a matching apron. And, apparently, his birthday was soon. Weeks away, even. July 8th. “Oh my God,” Phoebe breathes. “Your birthday is so soon.” She sits up then, a crazed sort of determination settling over her. There was a lot to be done, wasn’t there? Matching aprons. And the rest of his gifts, too, Phoebe wasn’t going to get him solely an apron– that just didn’t seem sufficient, she’d need to get him something else, something impressive, and maybe personal, could she get him something personal this early on, was she jumping too far ah– oh. Was she jumping too far ahead? Phoebe swallows, and smiles, applies whatever restraint she can muster in the moment. He liked celebrations, but what if Jack wasn’t the kind of man who didn’t like to be fussed over on his birthday? Or– at least by someone very new to his life. They had wanted to spend every day of the week together, but maybe a birthday would be different? Maybe he had dinner plans with family or friends. A beat. She’s absolutely twitching to coordinate the colors between his card, frosting, wrapping paper, and all the streamers she wants to hang from his dining room light fixture, but Phoebe forces herself to take a massive breath. Jack just — really made her happy, already. Made her feel special. The flowers, the chips, the fucking dolphins. It would kill Phoebe, if Jack, sweet and kind and generous, didn’t feel that same kind of special. “Can I make you a cake?” she asks. She inhales sharply, clutches his hand, trying to apply restraint– even as she imagines the handsome windbreaker she plans to buy for him, waterproof, perfect for a naval captain. “Like, for any day that week, it doesn’t have to be on your actual birthday if you’re busy. But I want to make your favorite flavor and give you your super special apron and everything else.”

Jack was so charmed by Phoebe. She seemed to be excited that his birthday was approaching. She’d even offered a cake, too. Or, rather, was asking him if she could make him a cake. “Phoebe, you never have to ask me if you can do anything. Of course you can make me a cake for my birthday. Or whenever.” He’d never turn it down. He’d be delighted. Happy to indulge in whatever cake Phoebe wanted to make him. “The older you get, the less exciting birthdays are. I’ll be 33, and I don’t think people normally do big birthday bashes for that milestone. Nothing planned.” Jack smiled, leaned over to steer yet again, then turned to smile at Phoebe. “I’d love to spend my birthday with you, but I’m a pretty boring guy. Maybe you can help me be fun again."

Phoebe can scarcely believe her ears. There’s the sudden rush of joy that smacks her, like a wave to the face, all the information that her brain struggles to process. She could make him a cake! He was turning 33– ugh, what a perfect age, Phoebe thinks, so hot – and he would love to spend his birthday with her. His birthday? The actual day? Phoebe doesn’t kick her legs in excitement, but it’s a near thing, foot bouncing along the deck of the ship. It was hard to believe that a guy like that had nothing planned– that birthdays, at that age, were a lot less exciting. Phoebe would just have to make sure it was. She gives him a mega-kilowatt smile. “That’s such an important age, Jack.” Phoebe twists where she sits, brings her other hand to squeeze over his knuckles desperately. “And– you already are way fun. You’re the least boring man on earth. But. Oh my God, there’s a lot we’re gonna have to do. Can I plan your birthday? Please let me plan your birthday.” This rush of words, right after he’d already told her she didn’t have to ask him to do anything. And what a sentence that was, for someone like her, who got carried away as easily as a river’s current. Phoebe smiles at him, something wild shining in her eyes. If this doesn’t scare Jack away, put him off, somehow, then that was a very good sign– it might the case that be nothing never will. “I’m gonna have to bring you a special breakfast, obviously. Whatever you want. I make really good cinnamon rolls. And then … you should let me decorate your dining room. If you’re cool with that. I’m a really big streamer and balloon girl, and I like tinsel, but I’ll do it all blue, obviously, and I can even put a bow on your dog, if she’d be chill, you can wait in another room and then walk back in, and I’ll be like ‘Surprise!’ and–” Phoebe pauses. Much to think about, and this was only for his birthday morning. What if they went dancing, at night? Phoebe could dress up, specially for him. And …he liked history, didn’t he? Maybe there was something during the day, some historical experience she could take him to. “Tell me if I’m being crazy, Jack. Will you tell me? But I feel like I could make you feel really special.”

Jack couldn’t believe how excited Phoebe was for this. It was cute. Very cute. And Jack was touched that she would want to do so much for him, so quickly. Cinnamon rolls and cake and balloons and streamers. As the years went by, Jack celebrated his birthday less and less. Just a casual dinner, with some friends, or whatever girl he was seeing at the time, but that was it. He had a feeling that this was going to be very different. Very special, because it was Phoebe, and Phoebe was such a sweetheart. “I love all of that. It sounds perfect. Cora would love to wear whatever you put her in. She’s a sucker for all the attention.” Jack smiled. Then Phoebe was asking if she was being crazy. He furrowed his brows, shaking his head immediately. “What? No. Absolutely not.” He unscrewed his drink, took a sip. “You could never be crazy. You make everything so special already.”

Phoebe smiles, wide, shining, brain whizzing, heart thudding. It sounded perfect– Jack thinks it sounds perfect, and he loves it, and he’s smiling, and he doesn’t think it’s too much at all. In fact? Cora, his dog, would be happy to wear a bow. “Okay. Yay. Yay!” Phoebe says, shaking Jack’s hand out of excitement “Cora can help me set everything up. And we’ll both dress up for you, we’ll be your birthday fairies.” Birthday fairies– appointed by Phoebe, whose sole task was to make his birthday perfect. Special. Incredible. He was already so gracious with her, allowing her to barrel in, plan his birthday and invade his life. According to him? She could never be crazy. She made things special already. Phoebe feels herself melt, something a little shy washing over her, how easily Jack accepted ... everything. The way she’d talk a lot, chipper and exaggerated and those plans that just kept spilling out of her. “Okay,” she says, grinning “But you can tell me if I’m being too much. Because in my head, I’m kind of like … monopolizing your entire day. I have ideas for the middle of the day too. And night.” A beat, and Phoebe gnaws at the inside of her cheek. “I just like you a lot.”

Jack almost couldn’t handle the sight of Phoebe smiling so widely. So bright and perfect. It was making his heart hurt. “Cora would love to,” Jack said. “She loves to be included. You and Cora are kindred spirits, I think, which is why things are going so well for us.” Jack found her hand again, squeezed, smiling. Phoebe reminded him yet again that he could always tell her if she was being too much. Jack shook his head. “Phoebe,” he said, turning his body toward her. “I would never tell you that, okay? I’m not that kind of person. I’d love to spend all day and night with you, anytime, but especially on my birthday.” Jack was being honest. There was nothing Phoebe could do that he’d consider offensive or offputting. “I like you a lot, too, and I don’t think anything is going to change that.”

Phoebe nods with blazing enthusiasm. “I think we’re kindred spirits too.” Attention– Jack mentioned that Cora liked that. It wasn’t something Phoebe would volunteer, or even admit, but. She likes attention too. Likes it especially coming from Jack. Her and Cora were likely two peas from the same pod, then, and Phoebe can imagine the two of them getting into mischief together, being incredibly extra, in order to secure Jack’s attention. Was it normal, imagining herself best friends with Jack’s dog, before they’d even met, just on their first date? Phoebe doesn’t care. She loves her already. That was her assistant birthday baker! Second-in-charge, when it comes to decorating! Phoebe watches as the breeze lifts a thick strand of Jack’s hair as he shifts to face her, something earnest in the way he looks at her, in the tone of his voice too. He likes Phoebe. A lot. And he didn’t think there was anything that was going to change that. Phoebe exhales, a tight fist releasing in her chest. “Okay, good,” she says softly, staring again at those sea-blue eyes. “Because now that you’ve given me permission, I’m gonna like— go totally crazy. All three of your birthday meals are gonna be eaten with me. I’m gonna take you out dancing and show you off.” She grins, raises a hand from Jack’s knuckles to tuck a strand of hair back into the rest of the silky tousle. “Girls are gonna be staring at you like crazy but then you’ll get to see me use the self defense classes my dad made me take.” Self-defense? Jack defense? Regardless, if any of them tried to steal Jack … well. Phoebe wouldn’t stand for it!

Jack was happy that Phoebe agreed. Phoebe and Cora were very, very similar, and Jack had a feeling that if things continued progressing between him and Phoebe, they’d be the two women who ruled his life. How lucky was he? “That sounds like a lot of fun,” Jack said, watching as Phoebe tucked away a lock of hair. The more time that went on, the more comfortable the pair seemed to get around each other (despite it only being day two of knowing her. He wondered what would happen on day three?) “Go crazy. Do whatever. Wrap my car. Throw a huge party. I don’t care, as long as you’re there.” Jack squeezed her hand. “I’m not interested in other girls. I can guarantee you that. I’m only gonna be looking at you.”

Phoebe , in fact, is very ready to ‘go crazy’. Her mind is buzzing with ideas, each more intense, more extravagant than the last. Wrap his car. Throw a party. It was fine with him, apparently, so long as Phoebe was present. She tilts her head, a curl slipping down the slope of her collarbone. “You may come to regret that, once you see how busy I’m gonna keep you. Maybe.” Maybe he’d regret it, or maybe he’d stare deep into Phoebe’s eyes, cup her face, thumbs rubbing against her cheek, and say how he’s never experienced a real birthday til’ she came along. She can hope! Her hand lingers at his forehead before retracting. “What kind of cake do you like best?” Phoebe could make anything! And if she couldn’t? She had weeks before Jack’s birthday. She’d happily try out half a dozen recipes, remain caked in flour until she’d nailed his favorite flavor and icing. Why wouldn’t she? For someone like Jack? Someone who squeezes her hand, tells her, so earnestly, that he would only be looking at her. Phoebe giggles, ducks her chin. “You’re the only person I’m going to look at too. Literally the thought of other guys is like … repulsive.” She raises her hand again to his hair– there’s no errant lock of hair, but she pretends there is, simply to feel the silk beneath her fingertips. “I’m still gonna ... remain alert, though. If anyone bothers you, just give me the signal and I’ll toss them out for you.”

Jack couldn’t ever see a world where he regretted letting Phoebe do whatever she wanted. He’d just have to prove that to her. Hmmm. Cakes. What did Jack like? “I think your chocolate cake is probably really delicious,” he said. He didn’t know why or how he thought that, but he did, and he was confident in his answer. “And it’s one of my favorites, so. I think I’d love a chocolate cake from you, Phoebe.” Any cake would do, actually. Even store bought. He wouldn’t complain. He’d enjoy it to the fullest because it was Phoebe who’d given it to him. “The thought of you looking at other guys makes me sweat.” Jack shook his head. “But I am very competitive, and I’m confident I could win you over.” Yeah. Jack was. If he really wanted to, he’d pull out all of the stops. He’d spend thousands and thousands of dollars on impressing Phoebe, spending time with her, whatever it took. “Thank you. I feel very safe knowing that a five-foot-something has my back.”

Phoebe begins nodding. “I think our minds fused in the club the other day. I love making chocolate cake, I have this whole thing where I use boiling water in the batter because it blooms the cocoa? I’m going to make you the best chocolate cake in the world.” What about that– he just knew, somehow, that she could make a good chocolate cake. And it was a favorite! Phoebe couldn’t wait to banish every other person from the kitchen, decide on decorations, even the candles she was going to use. What shade of blue looked nicest against a rich chocolate frosting? Phoebe would find out. She watches Jack shake his head, shakes her head in turn at the notion of other men making Jack sweat– only to grin when he says that he’s competitive, feels very confident he could win Phoebe over. She smiles at that. Her finger traces along the top of his forehead. “It would be an automatic win.” Jack could just stand there, and he’d beat every man by virtue of existing. “But showing off is hot. If you ever wanna ... dip me, when we’re dancing, or something. Or order for me. Those are big point-earners.” Honestly? All Jack needed to do was look at her, and Phoebe was willing to jump when he said jump, raise a hand in the air and shake it if he said so. Sorry to her dad, her brother, but. It was hopeless since the bar. Her lips push into a minute pout. She could look out for him! “I’m 5’1. And I can be aggressive. You would be– super safe with me, Jack.”

Jack was already imagining what a homemade cake from Phoebe would taste like. Delicious, perfectly sweet. Phoebe was encouraging Jack to take possession if he ever felt like it. Dip her, if he wanted to. Well, of course he wanted to. Jack would’ve done all of those things without Phoebe’s direction anyway, even if they were the only two people in the room! “How can I dip you? You’re so close to the ground already. I don’t want you to hit your head.” He nudged her, gently, clearly teasing. “Anyway. I don’t doubt that. I would genuinely feel super safe around you.”

Phoebe fights the smile twitching at her face, the heavy huff that threatens to crack her composure. Yeah. That was a good one, unfortunately – so close that she might hit her head, while dipped? It makes Phoebe want to giggle, want to clutch his shoulder when he nudges her. She likes the tease from him. “You’re strong,” she says, smile peeking through her attempt at faux-sternness. “Somehow I have a feeling you would never let that happen.” No. Jack would never let her bump her head in his arms, would he? She relaxes on the bench, languid, nibbling at her lip with soft eyes trained on Jack. The perfectly sea-mussed hair. “Because I feel very safe with you too.” She did, didn’t she? Why else would she jump so quickly into every plan, come with Jack out to his boat, after only only one night of knowing him? Cooking together. His haircut, the sacred barbershop ritual. The 4th of July! His birthday! Phoebe felt no apprehension. Just bubbling excitement. The sensation– the knowledge, deep in her gut – that things with Jack were going to be very special. More special than she had ever known until now. Oh, gosh– she’d never fallen in love before. Is that what these rushing feelings were like? The sparks, the trembles, the wild heartbeats? She hopes she can give Jack that very same sense, with every look, caress, with every minute she was lucky enough to spend with him. “I won’t make you wear a birthday sash,” she says. “But I’ll make sure when we’re out dancing, we’re celebrating you.”

Jack was strong, Phoebe was right. He would never drop her, never let anything bring her harm. She felt safe with him, too, which was a really special thing to hear. Hopefully, Jack could continue making Phoebe feel that way — special, safe, all the time. “I would gladly wear a birthday sash, or whatever you think I should wear. Who cares? You only turn 33 once, right? May as well make it special.” Jack smiled.

Phoebe can delight bursting out of her like confetti from a party popper. “Will you really?” Another thing about Jack– the confidence in him extended to so many things. The way he carried himself. This ease, in everything. It was attractive. It made her smile, to know Jack would let her adorn him in birthday trappings. “Even a crown? Even if I parade you around the bar as Jack the birthday king?” His mindset was right. He would only turn 33 once. That day would never return again– shouldn’t it be special? The world had allowed their paths to intersect, and now Phoebe has the chance to celebrate him, make it the kind of day that was stuck to his memory. Her nails drum against the flat of the bench, lips curling upwards as she thinks. “When I was a girl, my dad always said birthdays were a day of ‘yes’.” Yes, cotton candy for breakfast. Yes, morning spent at the aviary, then at the zoo, then at the old fashioned ice cream shop, then to the other zoo at the other end of the city. Any and all. She wants Jack, generous, sweet, clever, exceptional Jack, to have a day of ‘yes’. “So if you wear the crown, you can make birthday edicts. I’ll make sure whatever you want is carried out. And obeyed.” His royal enforcer. He said birthdays were less exciting at that age– Phoebe wants him to feel that same elation, joy that she did when she was a girl. “You don’t even have to wear the crown, and I’ll make it happen.”

Jack nodded. Of course he would. He’d do anything that Phoebe asked, probably. “Yes. Even a crown. Even if I look silly, I’ll wear it.” The sun was starting to set, sadly, and docking in the evening would be a little trickier. “I’m a pretty simple guy. I think the most overindulgent thing I do on my birthday is the cake. I’m excited to go all out this year, with your help.” A day of yes. A day of having whatever he wanted. He might feel too powerful with Phoebe at his side. “What if all I want is to spend the day with you?” What if he didn’t want a party, or a celebratory cake, or anything else — just Phoebe. Would that be okay? He wasn’t saying no to going out, or the decorations, or any of that — but he just wanted to know. What if all he wanted was Phoebe? Jack stood from his seat, made his way back over to the helm. He readjusted, steering back in the direction of the docks.

Phoebe tilts her head gently, blinking soft, drinking how the evening light of the sun seem to paint his outlines gold. “You won’t look silly. You’re the kind of handsome where you don’t look silly in anything, Jack.” No. Jack could take a birthday crown and make it look worthy of a real coronation, perfect hair, eyes like ocean water. That was his gift. Being so special, that anything that touched him looked infinitely better, just by proximity. It makes all the muscles in her chest squeeze. He was normally just indulged with cake, on his birthday— with Phoebe’s help, he was excited to go all out. And then a question. A question that makes her still. That makes her blink, something passing over her, deep and resounding. What if all he wanted was to spend his day with Phoebe? What if that, in a day of yes, that was all Jack wanted. Something simple, simply her. She watches Jack, beautiful, graceful, walking across the ship as if no wave could shatter his stride. The ease of it all, the captivation of such beauty struck her. She would never forget that. How he looks, walking across the ship as if he’d been born on the waves. Phoebe stands. “Of course you can have that,” she says, eyes gentle, smile soft. “You can have just me. Whatever you want. Wherever. There’s …” a beat, and Phoebe’s smile intensifies, the pulse of emotion in her chest, something almost teary in her eyes. “There’s nothing I want to do more than give you what she want, Jack.” She walks over, careful, one hand touching the side of the ship as she navigates towards where he steers. Her eyes are soft, something gentle behind them, an emotion only seconds from spilling out her, something tender she must say. “...Do you wanna hear something?”

Jack kept a close eye on the water as they drifted back toward the docks. Phoebe had told him yes — he can have Phoebe whenever he wants. He could have whatever he wanted. Jack was lucky — unbelievably so, and he’d only just met Phoebe. Was he moving too quickly? Maybe. Would he regret it later? Absolutely not. Phoebe walked over to Jack, and he reached over, resting a hand on her waist to steady her. Her eyes were filled with emotion, and she was on the verge of confessing something, it seemed. “Of course. I always wanna hear,” he told her, smiling gently. “What is it?”

Phoebe feels — something, after only a first date, a chance encounter at a bar, that is somehow familiarity. When Jack reaches for her, she feels familiarity. Or. Something like familiarity– her pulse is thrumming with wild excitement, body still tingling and eager to learn his touch, how his palm fit against her. What it was, exactly? It was a sense of rightness. Jack reaching to her felt right. His hand, extended to her … Phoebe wants to see it every day for forever. The sailboat moves through the water under his expertise, and with Jack’s hand at her side, she doesn’t rock, doesn’t shift the slightest bit, no unsteady scrambling. He always wants to hear. Of course, he says, he wanted to hear. Phoebe’s eyes blink softly. “You can have me whenever. However. Not just on your birthday. If you just want me … you can always have that.” She bites at her bottom lip, hard. Searching Jack’s eyes, trying to see the emotions they contained. “I know … it’s our first date. I feel … really strongly about you. Stuff I didn’t know I could feel, this fast.” She inhales, head almost light, cells feeling oxygen-starved. Love… can you feel love, after one date? Can you feel love, at a bar, after just meeting someone, when they fix you with eyes with an unknown shade of blue? Wouldn’t that make her the luckiest girl in the world? She thinks of how her Grandfather had said love was the greatest blessing of all. She thinks of the Hebrew name her father had given her, the name supposed to be given soon after birth, but instead, the one he had finally gotten to gift her once the court and custody was through. Ahava. Love. Incredible to think she had not known the shape of romantic love yet— until it was a palm pressed to her side, steadying her.

Jack listened intently, hanging onto every word that left Phoebe’s mouth. Jack could have her. Phoebe was giving herself to him, completely, admitting that she had intense feelings for him. New feelings. Quickly developing feelings. And honestly, Jack felt the same exact way. Maybe even more intense, because he knew what it was. He was seasoned in it, but never at this intensity. Jack had been in a few serious relationships — women that he thought he loved with his whole heart — up until now. This was stronger. How was that possible? “I think I’m always going to want you,” he admitted. “All the time. And I feel it, too. It’s a world record, I think, how fast I felt it, and how strong I feel it now.” He tugged her toward him. She could sit in his lap while he steered their way back to the docks. He was careful not to say the word because — well — it was ludacris. To say it now, so soon. It was a special word, a special feeling, and he hadn’t even kissed Phoebe yet. There needed to be a moment. A right moment. Something that Phoebe deserved. Jack wanted to give that to her. “I’m really glad that I met you, Phoebe.”

It had been a good precaution. Adrian felt a few experimental tugs on his legs but had been held secured by the ropes holding him up right except when he told Niles he’d seen a Grindylow in reach of his net. “Okay, fair enough ...” He definitely did not want to be dragged along the slimy mud he felt between his toes

“It’s okay, you can say it. I’m a genius-- literally the most brilliant wizard you’ve met.” Niles smirked and filled the tank with a quick aquamenti when he saw bubbles to the left and behind Adrian’s knee. “You’ve got a new customer. Get ready.” He widened his stance and held the rope in hand, ready to pull Adrian up when the Grindylow started to pull.

“Fuck ...” Adrian complained and readied the net. He turned slowly, carefully. The bubbles moved closer, then further away before circling just out of reach of his net. “Give me a little slack, it moved out of reach.”

Niles frowned. “Be careful you don’t slip, it gets deeper down that way.”

“Aww, you sound worried about me Niles ...” Adrian laughed but hadn’t listened to Niles’ warning and slipped deeper into the water with quick shout and a hiss.

Niles glared and dragged Adrian’s body back up. “You don’t fucking listen!” He accused, voice a little strained. “Get your fucking feet under you, you’re heavy as hell!”

Adrian shivered and winced at the cold sensation seeping between his toes when he finally stands again. “Alright, alright ... do you still see the bubbles?”

After Adrian’s little stunt the water was even more murky, the water choppy. “I can’t see anything. You probably scared it away,” Niles grumbled. It was getting late and the Gryffindor actually had plans tomorrow that would require a good night’s sleep. “We only need to catch one more ... here, catch.” Niles threw a small can of sardines. “Bait the water.”

Adrian thought Niles was bossy and conceited. He hated it and hated even more that Niles was actually pretty brilliant. When he was assigned this detention, Adrian complained to his roommates and fooled around  in the time before he was supposed to show up. Niles on the other hand at least seemed to have set up a few precautions.

Niles, unlike Adrian, spent the afternoon before his detention bribing the house elves for sardine cans (bait) and canvased the lagoon for drop-offs and things surrounding the lagoon that might make their job harder or easier, hence the pulley system that prevented Adrian from dragged further into the lagoon. You could say he was a bit of a perfectionist.

Adrian sighed and opened the can of fish, scrunching up his nose at the smell and dumped the fish in the water around his feet. “This will work?”

“Don’t you remember the chapter we had on water demons in Care of Magical Creatures? They eat fish. It doesn’t matter that you scared them away, they will smell the fish and head back.” Niles scoffed and shook his head. “You seriously just dumped the fish right at your feet? Be prepared to get a little more wet idiota.”

Adrian frowned and looked down at the sardines sinking towards the his feet. A few floated around his knees. “Wha--”

Niles barely had enough time to widen his stance again and wrap the the ropes around his wrist as Adrian had his legs ripped out from under him and dragged him deeper.

Mase: Mason rolled her eyes as he described the girl, not even knowing who she was and already starting to hate her for having Anders so captivated. She clearly saw the nude photo plastered on his screen, and she was beginning to feel extremely self conscious. Mase looked nothing like that girl, and she probably never would. 'That's obviously his type.' She thought to herself. 'Why would he ever see me as hotter than her?' Mason slammed her bottle down on the coffee table and got up from the couch, knowing if she sat next to him any longer, she'd explode. "Fuck you, Anders." She said through clenched teeth, stomping into the kitchen and rummaging around until she found the bottle she was looking for, unscrewing the cap and taking a shot of vodka straight from the bottle. "Fuckin' asshole." She muttered to herself, fighting the stinging sensation in her eyes, knowing she couldn't cry over this with him over. "Why don't you go over to her place, huh? Let her suck you and the rest of your team off so you don't have to sit on my couch and watch The Office all goddamn night. Seriously. Go."

Anders: Anders jumped as Mason slammed her bottle on the table, completely taken aback as she began swearing at him for seemingly no reason at all. It was just a joke. Clearly she knew that, right? He’d teased her about liking girls before, why was this time any different? “Jesus Christ, Mase!” he yelled back, standing and following her to the kitchen. “It was a joke! What the hell is your problem?!” he added angrily, ripping the bottle of vodka out of her hand and holding it out of her reach. “Because I vastly prefer a human being that has a personality and a brain?” Anders replied, contorting his face in a way that implied her question was extremely stupid. Pausing for a moment, Anders shook his head and exhaled to let off a little steam. Yelling wasn’t helping anything and he wasn’t even completely sure why he was getting mad. “Why do you care so much?” he said quietly after a few moments. “You don’t want to see naked photos? Fine. You’ve never complained when I’ve sent you nudes, but whatever, I guess. No more nudes.”

Mase: "My problem is you're sitting here staring at this girl's tits like she's just a piece of fucking meat, dude! That shit's irritating!" Mason yelled, thankful that she was able to think of a reason fast enough to cover the real reason why it upset her. When he snatched the bottle out of her hands, she groaned. He had a clear height advantage over her, so she was done drinking straight out of the bottle for a while. "Or because I've been consistently giving you pussy for months without fawning over what's in your fucking bank account." Mase retorted, crossing her arms across her chest. She bit her tongue to hold back the scream of frustration in her throat, knowing that even now her neighbors were probably even more upset with her and the frequent noise these two made. "How fucking dense could you be, Anders? I'm not pissed about the nudes, I'm pissed at how many girls you have at your beck and call literally all the goddamn time. And you can't even throw the fact that I fuck other people in my face because I don't openly stare at their tits with you sitting right next to me. I have a little bit of fucking decency."

Anders: “Well fine, I’m fucking sorry!” Anders yelled back, letting out an irritated groan and throwing the bottle down in the sink in front of him, thankfully not breaking it. He still couldn’t really understand why Mason was so mad at him. They weren’t exclusive, and as far as he knew, neither of them wanted to be, so why did Mase care whether he was looking at other girls’ nudes? She could have pulled out dick pics and he wouldn't have remotely given a shit. “Oh, yeah, that’s the entire fucking reason I’ve kept you around! It’s the reason why I pretty much hang out with you at least once a day, take you out on dates and sit here with take out and watch the fucking Office with you. All because you don’t say anything about how much money I make!” Anders screamed sarcastically, his blood boiling particularly hot at that comment. How could she not understand how much she meant to him? She was nothing short of his best friend. He loved her deeply, in so many ways, for so many reasons and this was what she reduced their relationship to? “I can have as many girls talking to me as I want to,” he seethed, moving closer to Mason. “And you have absolutely no grounds for an opinion on them either way because it’s none of your concern,” Ders added, gritting his teeth as he stood over her. Feeling his emotions building up more and more each second since the beginning of their conversation, Anders wasn’t surprised when he took his own empty beer bottle off the counter when it had been situated and threw it across the room, shattering it into a million pieces as he pounded his own fist into the counter. “Fine, I’ll give you my phone every time I walk in your door just for safe keeping since I apparently can’t control myself,” he spat. “Fuck. You. Mase.”

Mase: "You always said I had a pretty pussy." Mason commented sarcastically, crossing her arms across her chest stubbornly. To him, she must've seemed upset for literally no reason, but she just couldn't tell him how she actually felt. This was Anders - her best friend and the person who happened to be holding onto her heart with a vice-like grip without even knowing it. She stood her ground as he approached her, not even bothering to crane her neck up to look at him, keeping her gaze on the bottle in the sink. "Yeah, I can't police every single girl that wants to throw it back for you. You're not an idiot, it's not like you're gonna turn 'em away." The brunette grumbled, finally looking up at him to raise a brow as a challenge. She jumped when he threw the bottle across the room, watching as it shattered against the wall and scattered across the floor. "You know what? Fuck you, Anders! You're such a goddamn asshole, I don't even know how I put up with you!" Mason yelled, giving him a shove. "You're the biggest fucking child I know, you need to grow the fuck up sometime."

Anders: Tears filled the corners of Anders’ eyes as Mason screamed back at him, his anger, hurt, sadness and loneliness all mixing together as one to form a toxic cocktail of emotions all fighting to spill out at once. All Anders wanted to do was hit something, break something else, go on a rampage. If he was at home he might have done it too, but the small remaining ounces of sense left in him reminded him that that it would not only be shitty to do so, but also might be something that scared Mason enough to completely end whatever fraying remains of a relationship they now had left. The shove came quickly, and though it did little to sway Anders’ large frame, it felt like a complete betrayal, the tears that were formerly fighting to stay away now spilling out of his eyes. Sadness, hurt and loneliness all pushed themselves out in the open at once, anger thankfully taking a backseat to them for a moment. “Mason,” Anders managed to squeak out between sobs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. You just mean so much to me...” he trailed off, unable to catch up his breathing with his tears causing him to gasp over and over like a child. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Mase: There was nothing that Mason wanted more than to just wrap Anders up in her arms as soon as he started crying, but she was holding her ground, letting him see how angry she actually was. She couldn't falter - he had to see that his actions always had definite reactions. Plus, she was already too caught up with the idea that Anders didn't see her the way that she saw him, and she had to keep her face stoic to mask her true emotions. She should've saw it coming, after all, she's her mother's daughter. Her mother is still the best person in the world in Mason's eyes, but even her loving and warm nature couldn't keep a marriage together. Why did Mason expect to be any different? "I accept your apology." She whispered, plucking a couple napkins from the holder and handing them to him with a sigh. "I shouldn't have said those things to you, that was fucked up. I'm sorry." Mase murmured, pushing her hands through her hair and pacing about the kitchen, tugging on the strands to keep her own emotions in check. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I don't know what's gotten into me."

Anders: “No, n-no. Don’t apologize. Y-you’re r-right,” Anders whimpered, accepting the napkins and wiping his eyes with them. His breath still ragged and his head still running a million miles a minutes, Ders steadied himself against the counter top, closed his eyes and tried his best to remember how to breathe normally. It took him a minute or so to return to a somewhat normal state again, but when he did, he tried his best to go on as if they hadn’t just blown up at each other in their first real fight. “W-where’s your dust p-pan?” he asked, avoiding making eye contact with Mason as he quickly searched the kitchen area, just trying to keep his hands busy so she wouldn’t see them shaking. “In here?” he asked, opening a closet door and easily finding what he was looking for. “Stay over t-there,” he said firmly, taking note of her bare feet. Anders worked quickly, manically, as he swept up the broken glass, completely ashamed and still unwilling to look his friend in the eye. When he had finished, he deposited the bottle remnants in the garbage and made his way back to Mason. “I’m a fucking idiot, Mase. I’m sorry,” he whispered, looking down at his feet. “I can understand if you don’t wanna hang out anymore after this.”

Mase: Mason sighed as Anders started gathering the stuff to sweep up the broken glass, listening to him and staying in her kitchen. Instead of standing, she hopped up on her counter and resting her face in her hands, digging the palms into her eyes to wipe away her tears as quickly as possible. She could tell he was purposely avoiding eye contact with her, and it was breaking her fucking heart to know that he couldn't bring himself to look at her. It was her fault, anyways. If she wasn't jealous over someone she wasn't dating, none of this would've ever happened, but nope. She always had to start shit. "No, don't even say that." Mason muttered, shaking her head and opening her arms for him and pulling him into her chest when he was finally in arms reach. "I was the biggest dick in the world, okay? This was my fault. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She tilted his chin up so they could finally look at each other. "Kiss me."

Anders: The tears came rushing out again as Mason pulled him into her chest. He couldn’t believe what he had just done. The yelling and name calling was one thing, breaking things was another. “It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault,” he murmured into her shoulder, now wailing. “You’re perfect. You’re absolutely perfect and I was so fucking stupid,” he weeped. As Mase lifted his chin to hers, Anders finally made eye contact for the first time in minutes, his eyes red, puffy and ashamed. He issued a small, quarter second peck to her lips, truly believing she was the absolute last thing in the universe he deserved right then. Sighing, he leaned his forehead on Mase’s an closed his eyes, taking in what he still assumed might be one of their last moments together, just enjoying being close to her for a few more seconds. It was then that his phone started to go off again. Multiple times. He pulled away and angrily charged over to it, hitting the answer but forcefully. “Don’t call or text me ever again,” he seethed into the receiver before hanging up, shutting it off and tossing it in an aimless direction. That was the first moment in the last 20 that he realized his fist was bleeding and swollen from slamming it into Mason’s counter top. “Um, do you have any ice?” he whimpered.

Mase: Mason wiped his tears away when they came, just shaking her head in response. "Not your fault." She whispered against his lips, resting her forehead against his, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her fingers carded through the hair on the nape of his neck as they enjoyed their small moment together, the anger she was feeling slowly melting away until his phone started vibrating once more. Her arms dropped to her sides when he stormed over to his phone, a little laugh escaping her lips as he told the blonde never to contact him again. "Of course." Mason replied, sliding off the counter to open her freezer, pulling out a small ice pack and getting a clean dish towel to wrap it in so it wouldn't be too cold on his hand. "Here, come ice for a bit. I'll clean it up in, like, twenty minutes." Mason opened one of the cabinets in her kitchen to retrieve her small first aid kit, pulling out an antibacterial wipe and some ointment.

Anders: Anders felt so unbelievably grateful for having a person like Mason with him in that moment. After all of the drama he had just caused, after acting like a dumbass, after smashing things and punching things, she still wanted broken, stupid, lonely him. He winced a little as Mason worked on his hand, the pain finally breaking through to the surface after 20 minutes of straight adrenaline had prevented it from doing so. “You’re so wonderful,” he whispered, watching her work. “I love you, Mason,” he added taking her free hand with his and giving it a kiss. “You’re the most beautiful, sweet, talented, smart, extraordinary woman I’ve ever met in my life. Don’t ever doubt that for a second.” When Mason finished tending to his hand, Anders lead her back to the couch and motioned for her to lay beside him so they could cuddle. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her neck, inhaling her scent as they lay there. “More Office or should we switch to Parks and Rec?” he smiled, massaging her back. This was perfect. This was what he wanted more than anything. 

Mason: Mason knew that despite everything they'd just gone through, there was no way she could stay mad at Anders for long. That was her person - she'd never be able to leave him behind. After he iced, she started cleaning and tending to his hand, being as gentle as possible through all of his wincing and clenching to get him all cleaned up. His words made her smile, but she didn't look up from her task until he took her free hand and kissed it. "I love you." Mason whispered, setting the ointment down once it was applied. "Through it all, I swear I do." She gladly followed him to the couch, tucking herself into his side and sighing softly at the feeling of his lips on her neck. "Let's switch it up." Mason murmured, picking up the remote to change shows, tossing it aside once the new one started. Mase had already forgotten about their stupid fight - she was too content to be laying in Anders' arms and pretending like he was all hers. 'Soon.' She thought to herself. 'He'll know soon.'

Joshua: Se não tivesse prometido a Emily que iria assistir a peça inteira, teria dormido. Josh não tinha paciência para musicais, e apesar de todos cantarem muito bem, não fora feito para aquilo. Então no decorrer do espetáculo, cochilou um pouco, tentando não perder nenhuma cena que tivesse a loira, para poder comentar se ela perguntasse algo. Quando tudo acabou, ele saiu apressado para poder comprar as rosas que viu na entrada, porém ao chegar lá, apenas haviam tulipas, então as comprou do mesmo jeito, indo procurar pela amiga. A sua relação com a novaiorquina estava muito melhor, e talvez pudesse agradecer aquilo aos beijos, de qualquer forma, gostava de como as coisas estavam indo. Viu a silhueta de Simons ao longe, se aproximando dela, falando ao ouvido da mesma quando chegou perto ao bastante. “Ótimo show, estrela da Broadway”, ficou de frente para ela, estendendo as flores com um sorriso galanteador na face.

Emily: Virou animada achando que era o Garoto quando fora abraçada por atrás, mas era apenas uma das pessoas envolvidas no espetáculo. Soltou um muxoxo em frustração pela falsa esperança e andou já certa de que se ele não aparecesse ia embora sozinha. O cropped com saia alta a estava fazendo ter frio e quando finalmente conseguiu achar seu casaco pra ir embora arrepiou-se ao ouvir a voz de Josh tão perto. Prendeu um lábio no outro pra reprimir um sorriso porém deixou o queixo cair um pouco em surpresa pelas flores. “Como você sabia que tulipas eram minhas favoritas?” Estreitou os olhos como sempre fazia ao pegar o buquê e as admirou de perto antes de se inclinar pra dar um beijo no rosto de Jones. Por mais que eles houvessem se beijado bastante pra alguém que insistia em dizer que era só seu amigo, desde que começaram os ensaios mais pesados e a temporada da peça em si nada daquilo havia se repetido. O relacionamento dos dois havia melhorado, mas só. “Obrigada, eu tava tão nervosa que nem pude te achar na plateia. Você não me enrolou e chegou só agora não é mesmo?” Ergueu uma só sobrancelha, mas teve que interromper sua expressão ao ser abraçada de novo dessa vez pelo ator principal. “Ah, é, parabéns pra você também”.

Joshua: Deu os ombros, não querendo admitir que aquilo fora um erro, e na verdade era para ser rosas. “Eu sei mais sobre você do que você pensa”, piscou para ela, sendo surpreendido pelo beijo, mas querendo mesmo que ele fosse em outro lugar. “Eu nunca faria algo assim. Eu vi a peça, pelo menos boa parte dela. Ok, talvez eu só tenha realmente visto suas cenas. Mas já é algo, não é?”, levantou as mãos em dúvida. Afastou-se um passo quando Emily fora abraçada, observando a cena de longe. Ele não podia dizer que estava mesmo com ciúmes, mas não iria fazer mal algum a levar embora dali. Apenas quando se aproximou novamente para a guiar para fora do teatro, viu a roupa que ela usava. Sentiu as orelhas ficarem quentes, a fitando com o lábios entreabertos em surpresa. Definitivamente ele precisava levar ela para fora. “A gente pode ir indo? Queria te levar num restaurante que eu descobri esses dias”, colocou uma mão no meio das costas da loira, sutilmente a empurrando, tentando não tocar na pele exposta.

Emily: Soltou o colega quase o despachando com pressa, odiava ser agarrada quando estava conversando e até parecia que o garoto não ia a ver no dia seguinte. “Desculpa por isso” bufou com raiva. “Aé? Bom saber, enfim, obrigada de novo pelas tulipas. São lindas, até que você sabe escolher flores direitinho”. Sem saber como agradecer, falou aquilo olhando para as flores. Deixou ser guiada um pouco atrapalhada por causa do salto e ignorou os olhares do resto dos colegas sobre eles, sabia que amanhã ia ter que falar muito ‘só amigos’ pra convencer alguém. “Eu queria que você visse uma peça inteira, mas pra quem nunca viu nenhuma pelo menos algumas cenas já muito”. Disse um pouco triste pelo garoto não ter prestado atenção em uma de suas peças favoritas a qual estava participando e ao sentir o vento frio da rua vestiu o sobretudo com um pouco dificuldade por não querer soltar as flores. “Que restaurante? Ah, mas voltando ao assunto, você ao menos viu alguma cena minha?”

Joshua: Abanou o ar num sinal de que não se importava, mesmo não estando no seu estado mais confortável quanto a caras a abraçando. Não tinha sequer direito de ficar incomodado, mas não podia ignorar. “Não tem problema. Você foi incrível, merece toda essa atenção”. Umedeceu os lábios lábios, sorrindo de forma convencida. “Foi um prazer. Eu tenho um ótimo gosto mesmo, valeu”. Continuou andando com uma das mãos próxima ao corpo de Emily, sorrindo ocasionalmente quando precisava se espremer entre alguém. Com um pouco de esforço saíram, e ele começou a falar, um tanto arrependido. “Desculpa Ems. Eu to moído por causa do trabalho e da faculdade. Eu venho de novo, prometo que vou prestar atenção em tudo, e não vou sequer piscar mais do que o necessário”, falou num tom apaziguador. “É um, cof cof, italiano. Fica perto do nosso apartamento, e a comida de lá é incrível. Quando almocei pensei: ‘Preciso trazer a Ems aqui’. E eu vi, claro que vi, todas. Você brilhando lá, mas do que todo mundo. Sério, acho que vou ter que começar a enfrentar fila pra ter um tempo com você daqui a alguns meses”.

Emily: “Eu tenho a começar a me acostumar com tanta gente abraçando, antes de você chegar todo mundo começou a agarrar. Não que ligue, coisa de ator, mas quando eu to arrumada eu não gosto que me amassem”. Passou uma das mãos sobre o tecido pra desamassar algum ponto e revirou os olhos com a versão convencida de Josh a tona. “É, ótimo gosto, próxima vez que eu precisar comprar flores você vai ser o escolhido”. Cutucou o braço do moreno e chegou mais perto ao sair na rua, passando o braço livre sobre a cintura dele sem pretensão maior. Era aconchegante ficar assim com alguém com o frio do outono. “Eu não vou cobrar demais de você, tudo bem, eu sei que você não gosta e acho que as tulipas me amoleceram. Aproveita que hoje eu só vou gritar se a comida for muito ruim. Até agora você ‘tá sem ponto negativo algum”. Brincou e mesmo com a proximidade, não afastou o rosto pra falar, eles já haviam se falando muito mais de perto do que aquilo. “Italiano, huh? Por que será que você escolheu? Mais que coisa… Você prestou atenção? Minha personagem é apagadinha porque ela vive a sombra da morte do irmão, eu queria ser a mãe, mas eu era muito nova, mas que bom que você tá dizendo isso porque quem sabe não me chamam pra Wicked ou Moulin Rouge. Ser Satine é um sonho e todo aquele glamour… Enfim”. Respirou fundo pra controlar a empogação e acabou abraçando um pouco mais as flores. “Eu não duvido nada, vai ter que marcar horário”.

Joshua: “Wow, wow, espera. Tinha gente te agarrando? Que folga é essa? Quem disse que eu deixo ficarem agarrando aí minha companheira de quarto? Gente desaforada”, disse num falso ultraje. “Se eu te amassasse você iria gostar, aposto que ia”, disse sem perceber, mas não se arrependendo. “Vou comprar com muito gosto. E eu ia tentar uma cantada com flores, mas ia parecer patético, então vamos apenas observar o fato de eu ter sido atencioso e tudo mais”. Franziu o cenho ao ter o braço dela em sua cintura, mas não falou nada, apenas envolveu os ombros dela com seu braço, fazendo um carinho mesmo que sobre o sobretudo. “Obrigado pai, por essa glória alcançada”, brincou, rindo. “Mas tudo bem e você cobrar, eu não deveria ter dormido de qualquer forma. Até parece que eu como algo ruim. A não ser que eu mesmo cozinhe, aí eu não tenho escolha a não ser engolir. Um dia único na nossa história”. Sorriu de lado, querendo beijar o rosto da loira, mas se deteve, achando que seria intimo demais. “Você precisa estar familiarizada para quando meus pais virem aqui, ou sei lá”, não queria falar sobre a levar para conhecer aqueles que o criaram, com medo de assustar ela ou algo do tipo. “Claro que sim. Eu gostei dela, e eu meio que a entendo. Mas você ficou ótima no papel. Calma, você ainda vai chegar lá, e eu vou estar na primeira fileira te vendo”, acabou por beijar a testa dela, ainda sorrindo. “Não me importo se for pra te ver”.

Emily: “Sabe quando te puxam pra abraçar rápido sem você tá preparada? Eu considero isso agarrado, não to falando de agarrar… Agarrar e… ” ia se justificar mais, mas não tinha pra quer dar tanta satisfação assim pra Josh, mesmo que quisesse que ele não pensasse nada demais dela. “Enfim, não, eu não ia. Eu não quero chegar num restaurante amassada como se eu tivesse vindo de metrô. Eu ainda quero parecer uma estrela enquanto ando por aí mesmo que sem carro”. Completou e desviou do assunto sobre Josh e ela se amassando, não queria pedir pra ele parar já que o próprio havia dito que se incomodava, mas também não queria chegar a aquele assunto agora. “Eu observei, por isso estou neutra quanto a pontuação. Por enquanto você nem tá ‘ai meu deus senhor fantástico’ e nem ‘tira esse garoto daqui’. Não tá bom?” Riu com as sobrancelhas erguidas e riu mais ainda com oagradecimento do garoto aos céus. “Se você continuar insistido eu cobro mesmo. Ah é, esqueci que você é o louco da comida de rua. Que sai comendo em todo lugar. Eu não consigo sair do lugar comum e hey! Eu não cozinho tão mal assim, eu nunca fiz biscoitos pra você e eu acho que meu sanduíche é bem legal”. Mexeu os ombros quase tirando o braço dele de cima dos seus só pelo ultraje, mas se conteve. “Seus pais vão cozinhar se vierem te visitar? Bom, que legal, pelo menos você vai deixar alguma coisa pra mim. Bom saber”. Pensou que provavelmente se não ficaria pra comer com os familiares do moreno, se seria convidada ou se sentiria confortável. Nunca fora muito boa com apresentações principalmente a pais de namorados. Não que Josh fosse seu namorado ou algo do gênero, mas pensar naquilo lhe dava um frio na barriga. “Você entende? Bom eu espero que- “. Parou a frase no meio se distraindo com o beijo em sua testa e limpou a garganta de forma não muito sonora antes de continuar. “Eu espero que você esteja mesmo. E é? Eu ‘to tão importante assim?”

Joshua: “Ah, eu sei do que você está falando. Eu não considero isso ser agarrado, mas né, você sabe o que sabe”, o que o moreno havia falado não fez nenhum sentido, mas ainda assim não acrescentou mais nada. Sabia que Simons tinha suas manias, e agora, as respeitava, e sabia um quanto abraço vindo do nada poderia ser incômodo. “Ih, olha o preconceito com o metrô. E você não fica assim tão ruim amarrotada. É melhor do que toda certinha assim. New York é um dos melhores lugares para se andar a pé, não sei do que reclama. E ainda ajuda a tornear as pernas e toda essa frescura”. Riu um pouco, mas a fitou, resmungando. “Quero estar no ‘ai meu deus senhor fantástico’, como posso chegar a esse nível? Não, não está bom”, disse com sinceridade. “Sou louco mesmo. Amo comida de rua. É o melhor jeito de conhecer uma cidade. Eu gosto de variar. Calma, eu estava falando da minha comida”, revirou os olhos, bufando. “Com certeza, comida caseira, vai ser o meu presente. Como assim deixar alguma coisa para você?”, juntou as sobrancelhas, a fitando curioso. “Entendo sim. Viver na sombra de alguém, você sabe”, deu os ombros, sorrindo na direção dela. “Vou jogar rosas e tudo, espera. E alguma vez não esteve?”

Emily: “Eu sei, mas eu considero, você tá andando e aí fazem isso em você” sem aviso prévio agarrou o pescoço do garoto num abraço, o apertando em si, até o fazendo parar de andar antes de o soltar e continuar a falar provando seu ponto. “Isso não é agarrar? Pra mim é. E eu tenho sim, eu só ando de metrô em caso de extrema necessidade, eu tenho medo de toda aquela gente e de ficar presa na porta. Sabia que gente morre assim?” Olhou pra própria roupa procurando o que tinha errado antes de falar. “Eu não fico melhor amarrotada, minha roupa está ótima do jeito que tá e eu sei que faz, minha pernas são lindas, mas andar a noite com esses altos não é muito legal”. Apontou pros próprios pés e se aprumou se perguntando se iam chegar logo. Deu uma risada alta ao menino dizer que não estava bom e demorou um tempo até conseguir falar. “Ah e é mesmo? E o que você quer fazer quando chegar ao nível do ‘ai meu deus senhor fantástico’? Aposto que nem vai saber o que fazer com tanto poder”. Não tinha certeza do que tinha insinuado sobre isso então tapou a boca de leve com medo de ter dado a entender alguma coisa errada a Josh. “E melhor jeito de pegar doença também, ew. Ah sim, eu já estava ofendida…” Franziu o nariz ao completar a frase. “Sabe? Você comer com seus pais e eu comer depois ué”. Olhou pro mais alto como se falasse a coisa mais óbvia do mundo enquanto andava ao seu lado. “Você vive a sombra de alguém? Porque o que eu vejo é completamente diferente. Eu até esqueço que você tem um irmão retardado. Você pra mim ultrapassa”. Bateu bem de leve na barriga do garoto, como um apoio ou por não saber o que fazer depois de ter dito aquilo e depois fez de seus dedos perninhas e as fez ‘andar’ pelo dorso de Jones até seu rosto. “Ah então eu sempre fui importante pra você senhor Jones?”

Joshua: “Eu nunca pensei nisso co…”, não teve tempo de terminar a frase, rindo por Emily o abraçar do nada. Revirou os olhos, envolvendo a cintura dela com um dos braços, ainda rindo. “Você é meio maluca, já te disse isso, não?”, falou brincando. “E é, isso é agarrar, entendi seu ponto. Eu acho legal. Não quando está muito cheio, mas ver todas aquelas pessoas, acho legal. Sabia, mas gente também morre de soluço, e vendo TV, e fazendo um monte de outras coisas trivias. Se for ter medo de morrer por causa de algo, nunca vai viver, sabe?”, disse aquilo com convicção, mas se achando meio alternativo demais. “Já falei, me deixa te amarrotar e vou te mostrar que fica. E sim, suas pernas são lindas, maravilhosas, e esse sapato deixe sua bunda maravilhosa, e eu vou calar a boca agora”, riu, fazendo uma careta.

Joshua: “Eu nunca pensei nisso co…”, não teve tempo de terminar a frase, rindo por Emily o abraçar do nada. Revirou os olhos, envolvendo a cintura dela com um dos braços, ainda rindo. “Você é meio maluca, já te disse isso, não?”, falou brincando. “E é, isso é agarrar, entendi seu ponto. Eu acho legal. Não quando está muito cheio, mas ver todas aquelas pessoas, acho legal. Sabia, mas gente também morre de soluço, e vendo TV, e fazendo um monte de outras coisas trivias. Se for ter medo de morrer por causa de algo, nunca vai viver, sabe?”, disse aquilo com convicção, mas se achando meio alternativo demais. “Já falei, me deixa te amarrotar e vou te mostrar que fica. E sim, suas pernas são lindas, e esse sapato deixe sua bunda maravilhosa, e eu vou calar a boca agora”, riu, fazendo uma careta. “Eu quero fazer muitas coisas. Você não tem noção do que eu quero fazer”, disse com um sorriso malicioso brincando em seus lábios. “Que pegar doença Emily. Eu não como em qualquer lugar, e achar que comida de rua dá doença é preconceito, ok? Para de julgar o que você não conhece a fundo. Eu percebi pelo seu tom de voz”, fez um ‘ah’ mudo, assentindo. “E por que você não iria comer com a gente? Você tem algum problema me comer com meus pais?”, tentou não usar um tom acusatório, mantendo a pose. “Eu vivia, não falo do Newt. Meus pais construíram um modelo perfeito de filho, e eu, precisava seguir ele, tentar o ofuscar, não foi fácil. E você acha que eu ultrapasso?”, arqueou a sobrancelha esquerda, olhando o caminho que a mão da loira percorria. “Você gosta de me ouvir falando sobre eu como me sinto por você não é? Então vou presumir que você já sabe e deixar essa no ar”.

Emily: Já solta do moreno, mas não muito longe dele, deu uma risada e mexeu os ombros como quem pede desculpas. “Eu nem preciso que me digam, mas não é nada que me ofenda”. Arrumou os cabelos ainda satisfeita por ter provado seu ponto e riu. “Eu disse, agarrado. Nunca achei legal, gente demais, acho que nunca o peguei vazio. Mas a probabilidade é muito maior e eu não vou discutir sobre isso. É assustador, ok?” Olhou pra frente dando o assunto por encerrado tendo a certeza de que andar de metrô não era nada legal, das suas poucas experiências, detestava. “Sabe quando eu disse que ia ignorar esse tipo de comentário? Pois é, mas fico feliz que minha bunda fique legal quando eu uso esses saltos porque me disseram que eu era uma tábua”. Revirou os olhos com o resto da frase de Josh e mexeu a cabeça em desaprovação. “Não sei se esse nível te dar direito a isso”. Soltou a cintura do garoto pra se afastar um pouco e olha-lo melhor. “Não, não é. Você não acompanha os inúmeros casos de pessoas que pegam infecção com comida de rua? To falando isso porque me preocupo com você e é claro comigo. Doente eu não posso fazer peça nenhuma e se você adoece e vem me beijar de novo vai que passe pra mim?” Mexeu as mãos enquanto argumentava só então se dando conta do que falara. Ficou a ponto de estapear-se com o que havia dito depois de dizer pra si mesma que não falaria no assunto ainda. “Não, por que eu teria problema de conhecer seus pais? Eu só pensei que sei lá”. Pensou uns segundos pra formular uma resposta melhor. “Assim, são seus pais, vai querer te ver e o que eu faria lá? Eu fico nervosa e falo besteira e ah, não sei”. Abanou o ar querendo que Josh não insistisse no assunto e o escutou atenta. “Azar o deles se não te acham um filho perfeito, sabia?” Continuou levando os dedos pelo rosto de Jones até espalmar a mão em sua face e fazer um carinho de leve com o polegar, mas logo a tirando dali. “Ultrapassa”. Baixou a mão, andando com ela solta. “Eu não diria isso… Mas quem cala consente e eu me dou por satisfeita”.

Joshua: Fez uma careta, se apressando para se explicar. “Não foi uma ofensa, foi mais uma observação. Eu, particularmente, acho sua maluquice fofa”, admitiu assentindo, com um sorriso travesso no rosto. “Acho que entendo o que você quer dizer. Na primeira vez que peguei também achei assustador. Mas se andasse comigo, eu nunca deixaria que nenhum mal te acontecesse”, disse,na esperança de dar apoio, sabendo que uma discussão era perda de tempo. Ficou alguns passos atrás, para poder checar a garota. “Definitivamente, você não é uma tábua”, disse com um sorriso inocente no rosto. “Mas eu realmente quero fazer todas essas coisas”, disse num tom desejoso, umedecendo os lábios. “Não, eu não acompanho essas coisas. Valeu pela preocupação Ems, vou tomar cuidado para não aparecer doente em cada. E o quê? Você está preocupada achando que vou passar doença pra você por beijo? Você realmente planeja me beijar novamente?, sua boca estava meio aberta, ainda estava bastante surpreso com aquela declaração indireta. “Eles vão querer te conhecer. Você meio que me abrigou. E minha mãe vai querer ficar te agradecendo toda hora”, franziu o cenho, bufando. “Você não vai fazer essa desfeita, não é? Eles são legais”. Assentiu, coçando a nuca sem graça. “Não me importo, não mais. Eu já deixei de tentar superar as expectativas dos outros faz tempo”. Beijou a mão da colega, sorrindo de lado. “Ainda bem que ultrapasso”, revirou o olhos, se aproximando de Emily, para a envolver a cintura. “Você é quem está dizendo”.

Fomos para os comercias

Joshua: Virou o rosto para fitar a amiga, grato por aquela chance, pois não sabia quanto tempo levaria para os dois estarem tão confortáveis perto do outro, e não queria que aquele momento se dissipasse. Fez o que a loira disse, tentando esquecer aquilo, colocando para o fundo de sua mente, deixando que apenas o pensamento de ser ele ali com ela, e não o outro. "Se você diz, eu acredito. E eu também sou atento aos defeitos. Acho que saber e aceitar, ou não, eles, faz da relação algo melhor". Sorriu animado, assentindo. "Iria ser legal. Mas... Acho que você vai preferir descansar ao invés de bater perna comigo", disse sem muito entusiasmo, sem querer que ela se cansasse apenas para lhe mostrar a cidade. Riu das palavras da garota, balançando a cabeça. "Sabia que você ia falar isso. Sabia! E, eu acho sim, não tem como não achar". Riu baixo, encolhendo os ombros. Poderia admitir que não cantava muitas garotas desde que chegara em NYC, mas não iria compartilhar tal fato com Emily, não apenas por achar que ele deveria estar prestando mais atenção na variedade de mulheres, mas também não queria deixar tão claro que não ficava muito espaço depois que a mente dele era preenchida por ela. "Eu faço o que posso. Mas não tem como resistir a essa combinação que é Joshua Jones. Sou quase uma máquina mortífera de amor", piscou para ela, tentando parecer despreocupado. Umedeceu os lábios, afastando-se apenas um passo dela, mas ainda perto ao bastante para não deixar o frio a envolver novamente. "Minha mãe fazia isso comigo quando eu era pequeno. Ela achava que me aquecia, mas eu sempre estava quente. Eu deixava por gostar da sensação", disse, mesmo sabendo que ela não perguntara, ou sequer se importava. De repente percebeu que sentia falta de casa. Suspirou triste, se afastando mais um pouco dela, fitando o chão. "Se precisar é só falar".

Emily: "Os defeitos dos outros me fazem lembrar o quanto eu sou perfeita, por isso eu gosto" desviou o assunto com uma piada pra não ter que entrar no assunto relacionamento de novo e deu uma risada pra completar. Revirou os olhos e apertou o rosto do garoto entre as mãos. "Se eu to me oferecendo é porque eu quero, fora que qualquer coisa você me carrega pra casa, não carrega?" Mexeu a sobrancelha esquerda algumas vezes, esperando uma resposta e cutucando o garoto de leve pra ele parecer mais entusiasmado em sair com ela. "Tá vendo por que eu falo? Sempre tem alguém que concorda comigo". Puxou a gola do próprio casaco, convencia e logo rindo. "Máquina mortífera de amor?" O fato do garoto ter se afastado incomodou Emily mais do que ela gostava de admitir a si mesma, mas com o espaço ela acabou se inclinando pra frente de tanto rir com a expressão usada. Ergueu-se só quando terminou de rir e enxugou o canto dos olhos após a risada. "Maquina mortífera do amor, isso vai entrar pro meu vocabulário". Ainda deu uma risada fraca e suspirou ao se acalmar. Fitou-o lembrando do que ele dissera e só então resolveu comentar. "Eu sempre fui friorenta, mas nunca tive esse tratamento. Ah, mas bom saber que eu não vou precisar te aquecer porque eu não sou boa com isso". Passou a mão sobre o braço do garoto notando o jeito triste que ele assumiu e quase o puxando pra um abraço, odiava ver as pessoas tristes. Quase foi em casa buscar seu sorvete. "Você devia convidar seus pais pra virem te visitar agora que você decidiu ficar".

Joshua: "Você não falou isso. Nem eu seria capaz de falar isso. Céus, Emily", levou uma mão ao rosto, abafando o riso alto que viera após a frase da loira. Mordeu o lábio, dando os ombros. "Eu sei que está, e seria uma honra te carregar. Mas é que a Mel disse que podia me mostrar a cidade, então achei que seria melhor essa oferta a te cansar ainda mais. Não quero ouvir que você foi mal no pouco por minha causa. Não quero ser uma distração", riu ao ser cutucado, mas logo deixando o riso silenciar. "Eu vou sempre concordar com você, você vai sempre ter razão", disse de forma séria, mas rindo em seguida. Observou a garota rir alto, quase andando na frente e a deixando para trás por ela estar rindo do que ele falara. Bufou, a fitando emburrado. "Essa foi boa, ok? Eu pensei muito nessa expressão, não ri dela não", apontou para ela, virando a esquina, e vendo que estavam um pouco mais próximos do restaurante. "Não precisa se preocupar comigo. Mas você vai virar uma pedra de gelo se não tomar cuidado. Sério", falou num tom preocupado. Tentou um sorriso amarelo na direção da garota, suspirando. "Não, agora não. Eu sinto falta deles, de tudo, mas eu não quero os ver agora"

Emily: Jogou o cabelo pro lado, de forma convencida e deu de ombros. "Meu ego é maior que eu, fazer o que?". Cogitou a ideia de ser carregada agora seus saltos estavam incomodando, mas ao ouvir o nome de outra garota seu pensamento se desviou completamente. Sentiu-se um pouco ofendida por ele ter dito que a oferta era melhor, mas não ia deixar transparecer. Mesmo com raiva tentou ser o mais passional possível. "Você achou melhor a oferta dela? Ah então devia ir com ela mesmo, é, sem problemas. Divirtam-se, ela vai poder andar por tudo mesmo e eu não por causa da peça". Colocou as mãos dentro dos bolsos vendo a fachada do restaurante logo a frente e se forçou a parecer mais normal. "Eu sei que sempre tenho razão, verdade. E não se ofende, eu disse que gostei da expressão. Adotei". Mexeu os ombros de um lado pro outro e olhou pra frente evitando ao máximo encarar Joshua. "Digo o mesmo, não precisa se preocupar comigo". Quis completar com 'sobrevivi esse tempo todo' ou 'devia se preocupar com a sua amiga Melissa de propostas melhores', mas se conteve achando desaforado demais e afinal ele nem falara nada demais. "Hm, acho que entendo, mas saiba que pode e eles ficarem lá em casa também de qualquer forma".

Joshua: "Eu posso ver isso claramente depois dessa aí. Nossa", riu novamente, mas voltando sua atenção para a rua a sua frente, a qual logo teria que atravessar. Virou-se para Emily quando a mesma falou, tentando esconder um sorriso satisfeito enquanto ela continuava a falar. Era ele sonhando ou aquilo era ciúmes? "Qual é. Eu estou pensando em você. E a gente sempre vai e voltar junto pra faculdade, então ela vai me mostrando as coisas dessa forma. Mas eu ainda quero ver com você? Posso ainda?", perguntou tentando não parecer que estava brincando, escondendo o sorriso. Finalmente atravessou a rua, quase na calçada do restaurante, já sentindo o cheiro da comida. "Você rindo desse jeito deixa difícil de acreditar, desculpa viu", fingiu mágoa, olhando para o lado oposto do dela. Acabou virando o rosto para a olhar, suspirando. "Eu não consigo", sussurrou. E era verdade. Não havia um momento que não estivesse pensando nela, ou em algo que pudesse a afetar. "Valeu, Ems. Vou pensar sobre isso".

Emily: Deu de ombros como se o fato dela ser superconvencida fosse algo normal. Atravessou a rua sem esperar por Josh ao perceber que aquele restaurante que vira ao longe era o certo por ser italiano e postou-se no meio da calçada até que ele chegasse até ela ainda sentindo-se irritada pelas palavras dele. "ÓTIMO" falou rápido. "Não, sério, ótimo, divirta-se voltando da faculdade ou sei lá o que você fazem. E não precisa, tenho certeza que a Mel vai adorar te mostrar tudo, você tem razão eu sempre fico muito cansada e preciso tá bem. Enfim, é aqui não é? Vamos comer logo, todo aquele estresse me deu fome". Colocou uma mexa do cabelo atrás da orelha pela décima vez e começou a se irritar com o fato daquela parte não permanecer onde ela deixava. Pra que tinha cortado essa droga mesmo? "Eu só achei engraçada a expressão, não quer dizer que não gostei da sua criatividade". Quis rir ao lembrar do que estava rindo antes, mas se segurou por estar prestes a entrar no restaurante. "Eu sei me cuidar e você deve ter coisas melhores com o que se preocupar. E não é nada demais, seria bom que eles ficassem lá em casa porque ao menos você fica mais tempo com eles".

Joshua: Viu ela se apressar, confuso por ela do nada ter se afastado, e não apenas fisicamente. Caminhou alguns passos atrás dela, tentando manter o sorriso leve, mesmo querendo a indagar o porquê daquilo. "Você tem algum problema com isso? A gente só faz companhia um para o outro. A Melissa é gente boa, você ia gostar dela. Talvez a gente possa marcar alguma coisa, nós três. Quando você quiser, puder, não sei", deu os ombros, falando na maior simplicidade que pode. Não podia imaginar Emily com ciúmes dele, quer dizer, naquela coisa toda, era ele quem estava quase que totalmente caído por ela, não o contrário, ele sabia disso pela forma como ela falava o nome de Edson, e como a expressão dela mudava. Com certeza aqui não era ciúmes. "É aqui sim, vamos entrar", estendeu o braço indicando a porta, andando assim que ela começou também. "Ok, vamos deixar isso pra lá", sorriu de forma contida, dando os ombros. Havia feito a reserva fazia mais ou menos uma semana, quando havia conhecido o local, e soube do dia da estreia da loira. "Joshua Jones", disse ao maître, que rapidamente procurou em seus registros, assentindo ao encontrar a reserva. "Desculpa então. Vou me ater as minhas coisas melhores e para de me preocupar com você", disse num sussurro, vendo que o cara alto os observava. Começou a seguir o atendente, sabendo que Emily o seguiria, no momento estava um pouco incomodado por ela ter falado aqui. "Vou falar com eles sobre isso. Mas depois". Dispensou o maître, e afastou uma das cadeiras para Emily sentar.

Emily: Quis jogar o incômodo pro lado, mas cada vez que Josh repetia o nome de Melissa mais queria dar um soco nele e ela nem era do tipo que batia nas pessoas. Estava muito satisfeita em saber que ele tinha ela como a amiga que o levava e apresentava pros lugares e sabia que isso era egoísmo, mas com os ensaios que a deixava muito ocupada o fato de saber que ele não estava sozinho a fez se sentir ameaçada. "Eu conheço a Mel, eu sei que ela é gente boa. Não somos amigas, mas já conversamos e tudo mais". Deu de ombros evitando encontrar o olhar de Joshua pra ele não perceber que ela estava se controlando. Andou atrás dele pra dentro do restaurante se sentindo melhor agora que saíra do frio e tirou o sobretudo logo sendo recebida pelo recepcionista. Olhou em volta e ficou feliz pelo lugar escolhido, afinal, Jones tinha bom gosto então? "Não era pra você se ofender, sabe?" Olhou pra ele já com a raiva controlada e o seguiu por entre as mesas agradecendo com a cabeça ao ter a cadeira puxada por ele, sentando-se arrumando a saia ao se aprumar. "O que eu estava dizendo era que você deve ter coisa melhor pra se preocupar do que se eu vou morrer congelada, só isso. Fora que eu sempre ando com um sobretudo porque qual a graça de morar em Nova Iorque e abusar dos sobretudos?" Ergueu as sobrancelha como se aquela pergunta fosse a coisa mais óbvia. "Certo, sem pressa".

Joshua: Assentiu, andando até a cadeira de frente a dela, sentando-se também. "Que bom então, assim a gente não vai precisar passar por aquela coisa estranha das apresentações", falou, arrumando o guardanapo no colo. Suspirou, falando num tom de desculpas. "Eu sei, foi mal. É que eu fiquei confuso com uma coisa, da acabei falando na defensiva demais". Sorriu de lado, tentando se explicar. A mudança da atitude de Emily, acabou por influenciar na linha de raciocínio de Joshua. "Tá bom, eu já saquei. Vou deixar de me preocupar com isso, e focar nas coisas importantes", disse num murmúrio, sem olhar diretamente para ela. Quando o garçom parou do lado da mesa, Josh fitou a loira, sorrindo de forma leve. "Você se importa de ser surpreendida pela culinária italiana?", não esperou a resposta dela, chamando o garçom e sussurrando seus pratos favoritos, o mesmo assentiu, e saiu. "Então, como você se sentiu quando estava em cima do palco? Eu nem reconheci você. E eu sei que isso vai aparecer meio idiota, mas eu não sabia que você era tão talentosa. Você foi ótima", disse, provavelmente não pela primeira vez na noite, mas realmente havia gostado da performance dela.

Emily: Emily estava procurando o banheiro mais próximo com o olhar porque já que estava com uma versão bem menor da bolsa que normalmente levava consigo não estava com seu álcool gel. Josh chamou sua atenção ao voltar a falar já sentado a sua frente. "Hm? Ah, é mesmo, mas eu dispenso. Podem ir sozinhos, eu tenho... Hã, enfim, coisas pra fazer acabei de lembrar, minhas folgas vão ser pra resolver essas coisas". A ultima coisa que Emily queria era servir de vela pra alguém e já que não podia o impedir de sair com a ruiva também não ia ficar olhando. Voltou a procurar o banheiro com o olhar, se demorando onde as pessoas estavam indo quando se levantavam e falou distraidamente olhando pra algo além do garoto. "Uhum, sem problemas, eu to meo rude mesmo. Deve ser o cansaço". Disfarçou, sabia que estava sendo rude por causa do incômodo causado pelo pensamento do moreno com Melissa. Ia perguntar onde era o toalete, mas Josh foi mais rápido e fez outra pergunta primeiro a forçando a balançar a cabeça em positivo mesmo com o cenho franzido. "Olha só, vou confiar em você já que você me trouxe pra um lugar limpinho, mas se eu não gostar quem paga meu prato é você". Falou aquilo num falso tom de desafio já um pouco esquecida da raiva que estava sentindo e resolveu não ia lavar as mãos ainda já que Josh puxou outro assunto. "Eu disse que era talentosa, eu não tava blefando. Infelizmente as pessoas não notam tanto assim os iniciantes, mas vai chegar o meu dia de ser uma Satine". Suspirou ao lembrar de seu grande sonho. "Obrigada pelo elogio de qualquer forma, não é a mesma coisa quando você sabe que é talentosa e quando alguém reconhece". Sorriu satisfeita consigo mesmo e juntou as mãos em empolgação enquanto olhava para Joshua como se não o visse, de fato não era ele que estava vendo, era todo o teatro de novo. Revivendo o momento. "Eu me senti a dona do mundo, eu sei que isso é estranho, mas quando eu subi no tablado e naquele prédio de ferro improvisado, andando de um lado pro outro é como se tudo aquilo me pertencesse sabe? Como eu tivesse nascido pra ta ali. Eu sei que já fiz milhares de peças na escola, mas nada como estar na Broadway e uma das minhas peças favoritas e... É mais que um sonho. É como uma droga, é uma sensação que me faz querer mais sabe? Olhar tudo e saber que estão todos olhando pra você... Eu me senti fantástica".

Joshua: "Você quem sabe. Essa semana a gente vai pro Central Park, então se você desistir dessas coisas importantes, pode se juntar a gente. Mas não acho que você queria perder tempo com isso", sussurrou meio ofendido, desviando logo o olhar da loira. Ficou distraído no cardápio, lendo os nomes do prato, e aproveitando as lembranças que vinham com eles. Não era de ficar estagnado em uma coisa, principalmente quando aquela coisa era o passado, mas não podia evitar. Ainda mais quando sua cabeça estava naquela confusão, e não tinha certeza de absolutamente nada. "Eu não falei que você estava rude, Ems", disse fitando a loira, sério. Não queria que a noite acabasse com um clima estranho como aquele, então decidiu ignorar o fato de ela não querer sair com ele, tentando não levar aquilo para o lado pessoal. "Aqui é limpinho mesmo, e você deveria confiar em mim sempre. Além do mais, eu já vou pagar o seu prato de qualquer maneira", deu os ombros. "Eu acreditava, mas ver com meus próprios olhos é diferente de ouvir você afirmar isso diariamente", assentiu, debruçado-se sobre a mesa. "Não precisa agradecer por isso", esticou a mão para afagar a dela, sorrindo carinhosamente. Prestou atenção na descrição da mesma, não podendo esconder o sorriso mediante as palavras dela "Uau, parece ter sido uma coisa realmente incrível. E ainda bem que você se sentiu tão bem. A primeira de muitas, você vai ver". O prato principal chegou, juntamente com o vinho que fora recomendação do chef, Jones era terrível com bebidas.

Emily: Depois de dizer a Josh que estava precisava ir lavar as mãos, mesmo com os pratos prontos quase correu até a pia mais próxima e esfregou as mãos com mais força que o necessário enquanto pensava no que ele havia dito. Ela não estava com ciúmes, aliais, podia até estar, mas não do jeito que passava a impressão. Ela só não queria perder o amigo, não era? Voltou pra mesa respirando fundo e já o respondendo como se as palavras saltassem de sua boca. "Você está sendo pretensioso" colocou a primeira garfada na boca e mastigando bem antes de continuar "mas não nego". Uniu as sobrancelhas e encarou o próprio prato, mexendo a comida de um lado pro outro antes de levar outra garfada para a boca e só depois voltar a falar. "Sou ciumenta com meus amigos, mas enfim. Ainda acho que você deve ir sozinho. Fazer outras amizades, vai ser ótimo e quem sabe não acontece algo, não é mesmo? E eu não precise te apresentar a ninguém. Hoje era pra eu ter te mostrado alguém, mas estava com a cabeça cheia, mas isso não vem ao caso, agora você tem a Melissa. Haha". Tagarelou sem nem pensar o que estava falando e colocou mais comida em sua boca pra ver se a calava. Bebeu um pouco do vinho, agora tendo seu veredito sobre a comida. "Só por ter me mostrado esse lugar já é um presente, isso aqui tá ótimo. Já sei onde vou vir quando tiver nos meus dias de querer engordar". Acabou dando uma risada enquanto limpava a boca com um guardanapo tentando não pensar se o tecido havia sido bem limpo. "Yep, teremos que divir a conta sempre a não ser que... Enfim, olha só, pessoas tocando acordeon ou sei lá como se chamam esses caras. Um alaúde!". Falou empolgada pra desviar o assunto. "Ah tirando sobre o Lois, sobre isso eu estava menos certa". Comprimiu um sorriso e acabou baixando o rosto sabendo que 'minha garota era só uma expressão', mas gostando de como aquilo soava a seus ouvidos.

Joshua: Viu ela sumir no banheiro, descansando os talheres e passando as mãos no cabelo, respirando fundo. Aquilo não era um encontro, Emily era sua amiga, no momento, sua melhor amiga, ele não podia arruinar aquilo, ele não podia. O moreno repetia em sua mente, tentando se acalmar e acalmar todos seus sentimentos. Precisava dizer a si mesmo que não podia imaginar Emily como mais nada fora uma amiga. Se a visse como uma irmã seria bem melhor. Mas ele nunca iria sentir vontade de beijar a irmã, e por Simons ele sentia, muita. Quase pulou quando ela voltou e falou com ele. "Não estou sendo não", disse de forma infantil, a fitando. Levantou as mãos como quem diz 'finalmente', esperando por mais alguma coisas vinda dela. "Ah claro, ciumenta com os amigos. Acontecer algo, eu tinha esquecido disso. Pois é, vai que acontece algo. E tudo bem, eu não estava pensando nisso mesmo, eu nem lembrei. E a Melissa não é... você sabe, pra eu ficar. Ela é linda e inteligente, mas é mais como uma irmã que eu nunca tive. Fora que os irmãos dela são gigantes, então eu prefiro apenas ficar na amizade do que arriscar ter os dentes quebrados", disse fazendo uma careta, ao lembrar quando fora apresentado aos irmãos da ruiva. "Eu te falei que ia valer a pena. Tenho um ótimo gosto para comida, na verdade, para tudo, tenho um bom gosto para tudo", disse sorrindo presunçoso em seguida. "Isso não é um encontro. Se fosse, você saberia. Nossa, que legal. Que romântico", disse, franzindo o cenho, tossindo sem graça. O universo tinha que dar essas coisas românticas bem no momento que o cara estava tentando não gostar da amiga de apartamento, ele tinha, é claro. "Menos certa? Não existe isso de menos certa", bufou, comendo um pouco mais.

Emily: Toda a irritação quanto a Melissa voltara o dobro com todos aqueles elogios mesmo que Josh tivesse usado a palavra irmã no meio. 'Mas que droga', pensou enquanto comia, ou melhor, entupia-se da massa pra não falar besteira e só depois de mastigar bem e ter certeza que ele calara a boca resolveu responder. "Ciúmes de amigo e já ta de bom tamanho e quer saber? Pra mim tanto faz se ela é sua irmã ou alma gêmea, esse assunto já deu pra mim e eu não quero escutar você elogiando ela ou sei lá o que. Quer ficar com ela fica, se não quer não fica e... E ótimo, perfeito. Assunto encerrado". Não encarou-o uma só vez bebendo de sua taça e se regulando pra não falar muito alto, Emily não era de beber, então qualquer coisa a fazia perder as estribeiras. "É, falou". Deu de ombros ai da um pouco irritada e terminou sua taça antes mesmo de terminar o jantar senso servida novamente por um garçom que passava. "Não disse que era e se fosse, bom, acho que encontros de verdade devem ter um pedido concreto". Sugeriu sem querer que aquilo parecesse uma indireta e limpou os lábios de novo ao mastigar. "Eu acho bonitinho e é bem romântico mesmo. Alaúdes me lembram Veneza". Notou algo que parecia incômodo em Josh, mas resolveu não perguntar ou pensar sobre isso, tomou a ideia de que ele não gostava daquele tipo de música. "Existe, eu sou a prova".

Joshua: Comia sem preocupações, achando que o tópico Melissa havia sido esquecido, porém não tinha tanta sorte assim. Fitou Emily sem acreditar no que ela falava. Ficou sério, esquecendo qualquer vestígio forçado de leveza que tinha na face. "Não, assunto encerrado coisa nenhuma. Sabe o que você precisa aprender Emily? Que as coisas não acabam quando você diz. O mundo não gira mediante sua vontade, e se você não quer me ouvir falar sobre as pessoas que conheci por que está com ciúmes, não tem a opção de não me ouvir. Você vai ter que engolir. Por que é isso que amigos fazem, entendeu? Não sei qual tipo de pessoas passou na sua vida antes de mim, mas não ando mediante a sua melodia. Escuto você falar sobre qualquer coisa por que me importo com você. E eu só queria que você fizesse isso por mim também. Não posso deixar minha vida rodando ao seu redor sem saber quando você vai se cansar de mim", levantou-se de uma vez, murmurando um 'com licença', indo na direção do banheiro. Lavou as mãos, molhando as mãos, fitando sua imagem no espelho, suspirando alto. Que merda ele tava fazendo com a vida? Secou as palmas antes de voltar a mesa, continuando a conversa como se nada tivesse acontecido. "Pode deixar, vou falar isso para aqueles interessados", foi mais grosso do que desejava, mas ainda estava incomodado com ela. Bebeu o vinho de uma vez, enchendo a boca com o comida. Revirou os olhos, falando após mastigar. "Alaúdes me lembram meu pai. Ele tocava nos encontros com amigos. Me faz ter saudades de casa, e eu fico todo sensível, então prefiro não ouvir", disse rapidamente, voltando a comer. "Aham", murmurou de boca cheia.

Emily: Por mais que Emily merecesse uma bronca por seu egoísmo e por ter estragado a comemoração com seus ciúmes, não conseguiu ficar calada e parada enquanto Josh falava. Baixou a cabeça, trincando os dentes e apertando tão forte suas mãos em punhos que viu seus nós dos dedos esbranquecerem. Viu o garoto ir ao banheiro e pensou em or embora, separou o dinheiro que achava que devia e quando o mesmo voltou ela soltou num tom de falsa calma, baixo pra não chamar atenção. "Eu posso não ser a melhor amiga pra você ou pra ninguém. Ninca fui e nunca vou ser porque eu sou midada, estragada, egoísta, o que for segundo todos que me cercam. Mas pode ter certeza de que nesse pouco tempo que eu passei com você naquele apartamento eu te tratei melhor que qualquer outro amigo. Pode não parecer muita coisa, mas eu me esforcei. Eu escutei você falar dos seus pais, do seu trabalho e mesmo quando eu não sabia o que fazer eu tentei e olha, foi difícil porque não é uma coisa que eu faça nem pelo meu irmão. Eu to com ciúmes sim e não quero falar da Melissa pra não estragar ainda mais essa noite, mas agora não tem mais jeito". Deixou o dinheiro sobre a mesa se levantando e saindo sem esperar por resposta. Uma típica saída triunfal de fim de ato dramático, mas não estava com o humor nem de se comparar a alguma estrela como sempre fazia. Pegou seu casaco com tanta rapidez que nem escutou o que o garçom tinha a dizer por já sair pela porta e dedcer

Emily: Por mais que Emily merecesse uma bronca por seu egoísmo e por ter estragado a comemoração com seus ciúmes, não conseguiu ficar calada e parada enquanto Josh falava. Baixou a cabeça, trincando os dentes e apertando tão forte suas mãos em punhos que viu seus nós dos dedos esbranquecerem. Viu o garoto ir ao banheiro e pensou em or embora, separou o dinheiro que achava que devia e quando o mesmo voltou ela soltou num tom de falsa calma, baixo pra não chamar atenção. "Eu posso não ser a melhor amiga pra você ou pra ninguém. Ninca fui e nunca vou ser porque eu sou midada, estragada, egoísta, o que for segundo todos que me cercam. Mas pode ter certeza de que nesse pouco tempo que eu passei com você naquele apartamento eu te tratei melhor que qualquer outro amigo. Pode não parecer muita coisa, mas eu me esforcei. Eu escutei você falar dos seus pais, do seu trabalho e mesmo quando eu não sabia o que fazer eu tentei e olha, foi difícil porque não é uma coisa que eu faça nem pelo meu irmão. Eu to com ciúmes sim e não quero falar da Melissa pra não estragar ainda mais essa noite, mas agora não tem mais jeito". Deixou o dinheiro sobre a mesa se levantando e saindo sem esperar por resposta. Uma típica saída triunfal de fim de ato dramático, mas não estava com o humor nem de se comparar a alguma estrela como sempre fazia. Pegou seu casaco com tanta rapidez que nem escutou o que o garçom tinha a dizer por já sair pela porta e descer a rua.

Sean: "Droga." Resmungou baixinho para si mesmo ao quebrar a ponta do lápis pela a milésima vez naqueles últimos 30 minutos. Sean não admitia, mas sua mente estava ocupada demais para se preocupar com futuros projetos da empresa. Ocupada demais pensando em Rachel, como sempre. A loira não saía de sua mente desde da última noite que passaram juntos, e por mais errado que estivesse agindo, Judd não sabia como aparecer para ela como se tudo estivesse bem depois de uma transa. O moreno passou os últimos dias pensando em uma forma de falar com Lozzano, falar de verdade. Tudo o que ele mais queria era ter a garota ao seu lado novamente, mas para isso ele precisava de tempo. Tempo para pensar na melhor forma de fazer isso. Fechou o caderno de rascunhos deixando de lado tudo que tinha haver com a empresa, se direcionou ao banheiro, não demorando muito para que terminasse seu banho. Era capaz de ver seu próprio nervosismo ao se olhar no espelho, mas ele estava decidido. Pegou seu celular e as chaves do carro, dando um último suspiro ao olhar para o espelho novamente. Por mais nervoso que estivesse, ele sabia que era aquilo que faltava em sua vida. Ele precisava daquilo. Ele precisava pedir Rachel em namoro mais uma vez.

Rachel: Eu olhava mais para o vazio do que para as pessoas ao meu redor. É claro que quando um casal passava captava o meu olhar, apenas para eu sentir meu peito apertar novamente. Quando vi um beijo cheio de sentimento, baixei o olhar para a pipoca, decidindo me concentrar em comer, e não pensar em nenhuma das coisas proibidas. Nada de faculdade, nada de família... Nada de Sean. Funguei, balançando a cabeça. Eu realmente precisava superar aquilo. Logo, bem rápido. Todos sabiam que eu estava fazendo papel de boba naquela história. Mesmo com alguns dizendo que nós ainda poderíamos ter algo, eu tinha certeza de que Sean se divertia com garotas a noite enquanto eu sentia a falta dele. Ao minha mão alcançar o fundo do pacote da pipoca, amassei a embalagem, limpando as mãos na lateral da calça, me levantando. Eu não queria cair na nostalgia de novo, então o melhor que eu podia fazer era sair dali e voltar pra minha bela realidade. Onde eu era uma estudante ainda afim do ex-namorado que nunca iria voltar a ser meu. Arrumei a mochila nas costas, começando a refazer o meu caminho. Mas uma figura que não deixava meus pensamentos me surpreendeu. Minha boca se abriu em choque ao eu ver Sean, e girei nos calcanhares, sem me dar o tempo de captar os detalhes dele para mais tarde. Ele não tinha me visto, e iria ficar daquela forma. Eu não estava pronta para o confrontar, e mesmo que estar com ele fosse o meu maior desejo, eu não iria até ele novamente. Rachel Lozzano não iria bancar a pobre garota de novo.

Sean: Passou correndo pelo o saguão do prédio de Rachel, na esperança de que a garota estivesse em seu apartamento, porém, fora surpreendido pelo o gerente quando disse que a mesma não se encontrava ali no momento. “Alguma ideia de onde ela esteja? Eu preciso muito falar com ela.” O homem demonstrava incerteza sobre dar tal resposta, mas ao ver o aflição no rosto de Judd, não hesitou em lhe contar a verdade. “Talvez pelo o Central Park..” Respondeu o gerente com um tom de voz duvidoso, mas Sean conseguiu ver de relance o sorriso que se formara no canto dos lábios do tal homem, antes de correr em direção ao seu carro e ir ao Central Park. O mundo estava conspirando ao favor daquilo, ele pensou. Judd perdeu as contas de quantas vezes passou por um sinal vermelho no caminho, mas não se importou. Naquele momento só uma coisa importava, e era Rachel. Ninguém mais. Estacionou em qualquer lugar próximo do local e saiu correndo até ao parque, na esperança de que a loira ainda estivesse por ali. Demorou apenas alguns minutos para avistar a menina, mas percebeu a mesma tentando se esconder. Sean soltou uma risada baixa e planejou segui-la de forma que ela não o visse, e funcionou. “Rachel.” Disse ao se meter no caminho da garota, que se encontrava distraída tentando não ser vista.

Rachel: Eu continuei andando em linha reta, olhando de forma desconfiada pelo ombro. Era óbvio que ele havia ido pra outro lado, já que eu estava indo na direção mais esquisita do parque. Voltei minha atenção para frente, colocando as mãos nas alças da bolsa. Depois de fazer a volta em todo o círculo de caminhadas, eu pegaria meu caminho usual, subiria na moto e voltaria para casa, onde eu iria estar segura para não encontrar ele novamente. O destino não gostava de mim, aquilo era certo. Logo no momento em que eu precisava não pensar nele, eu topava com ele. Passei a mão pelo cabelo nervosamente, pronta para sair do lado escuro (da força q) do parque, e voltar pro meu caminho quando ouvi meu nome, e o face de Sean. Pulei de susto, caindo no gramado sem nem ter ao menos chance de me segurar em algo. Engoli com dificuldade, me levantando rapidamente, balançando a cabeça. "S-Sean", minha voz como uma grande traidora, falhou, não apenas pela surpresa, mas por ser ele.

Sean: Judd não podia conter o sorriso no rosto ao ver o susto que a garota levara com aquilo, mas logo o desmanchou quando vira a mesma cair no gramado onde estavam. "Você está bem?" Perguntou com um olhar preocupado mas logo se manteve firme quando vira a loira levantar-se, aparentemente bem. "Eu não sabia que tinha ficado tão feio desde da última vez que a gente se viu." Comentou, tentando quebrar o clima tenso que se formara entre eles. "De qualquer forma," deu uma leve tossida antes de continuar "a gente precisa conversar." Falou por fim, enquanto a encarava.

Rachel: Tossi ainda envergonhada por ter caído, limpando as mãos arranhadas na blusa. "Ótima, obrigada", falei, enquanto examinando minhas palmas. Eu iria precisar limpar aquilo mais tarde. Bufei, rindo baixo, voltando meu olhar para Sean, o olhando de cima a baixo, antes de o responder, dando os ombros. "Você está mais pálido. Desse ter sido isso. Te confundi com um fantasma", disse num tom leve. Franzi o cenho, respirando devagar quando ele voltou a falar. Abri a boca em choque ao ouvir aquela frase, sentindo imediatamente as mãos suarem. "O q-quê a gente tem pra conversar? Eu nã-não acho que tenha nada pra conversarmos", disse num tom baixo, sentindo os olhos incomodarem graças ao rumo da nossa última conversa.

Sean: Soltou uma risada quando escutou o comentário da garota, ignorando-o. "Eu não sei..." Disse meio pensativo. "Talvez sobre a noite em que a gente transou?" Falou por vez, direcionando o olhar para a loira novamente. "Olha, antes que você fale alguma coisa ou fuja, eu só quero que você saiba o por quê de eu ta aqui. Antes da gente entrar no seu apartamento," engoliu a seco "eu te falei uma coisa. E eu to aqui pra mostrar que não menti sobre aquilo, sobre nada daquilo." Continuava fitando a menina, esperando que ela se recordasse do que ele estava falando.

Rachel: Meus olhos ficaram ainda mais abertos, enquanto eu dava um passo pra trás. Porque eu estava tentando fugir daquilo? Não era exatamente isso que eu queria? Conversar sobre tudo? Conversar sobre o que aconteceu? Soltei um suspiro longo, passando os dedos entre os meus cabelos, o fitando com um olhar meio desesperado. "Talvez nós devêssemos conversar sobre isso. Não tenho tanta certeza", senti minha garganta seca, e e deixei minhas mãos caírem do lado do meu corpo, o ouvindo. Eu não iria fugir, eu não podia fugir. Refleti por um momento, o fitando surpresa. Uni as sobrancelhas, tentando parecer mais calma do que eu estava. "Sabe, fica difícil eu acreditar naquilo depois de você ter sumido. E por mais que eu queria me agarrar as coisas boas, eu não consigo acreditar muito naquilo. Não com você fugindo de mim cada vez que se sente no direito. Eu já estou fodida demais pra você me dar esperanças e me largar de novo", falei com uma calma desconhecida, e de forma segura.

Sean: “Me desculpa.” Disse de uma vez, por mais que demonstrasse calma. "Me desculpa, Rachel. Por tudo. Por absolutamente tudo.” Iniciou. “Eu fui um babaca e eu reconheço isso, e sei que nada do que eu falar agora vai mudar o que aconteceu, mas eu preciso tentar, eu preciso sair dessa dizendo que pelo o menos, pela a primeira vez na vida, eu fui atrás do que realmente queria. Que é você.” Se aproximou da garota, meio receoso que ela se afastasse. “Todo esse tempo, fingindo não ter mais sentimentos por você, foi por medo e vergonha. Vergonha por ter me divertido pelo os lugares que eu mais gostava enquanto você tava em uma cama em coma, vergonha por ter transado com mil e uma garotas enquanto você, mesmo que inconsciente, pensava que eu tava lá te esperando. Quando eu voltei tive medo, medo de não saber o que falar, medo de te dar impressão errada e medo, principalmente, de te perder de vez com tudo isso.” Sentia sua garganta fechar a cada palavra que dizia, mas se aproximava novamente da loira, tentando diminuir aquela distância o máximo possível. “Eu te deixei livre porque eu queria que você aproveitasse tudo o que você não aproveitou enquanto ficava em coma, eu queria que você sentisse liberdade de fazer tudo o que queria, porque você merece isso. E me afastar de ti, por mais doloroso que tenha sido, foi a melhor coisa que eu fiz por você nesses dois últimos anos.” Começou a sentir seus olhos marejarem, engoliu a seco, controlando a vontade de chorar. “Mas eu não aguento mais te ver com outros caras, eu não aguento mais te ver me olhando com desprezo por tudo que eu te fiz, eu não aguento mais não te ter pra mim, Rachel. Porque no meio de todas essas coisas que me aconteceram, eu ainda continuei te amando, cada vez mais. No fim das contas, te amar era e continua sendo a única certeza que eu tenho na minha vida." Finalizou, sentindo já seu coração bater tão forte com a tensão de suas palavras que pensava que cedo ou tarde ele iria sair pela a boca. "Volta pra mim, Rachel." Pediu em sussurro devido a aproximação que já estava da garota, ainda olhando fixamente para os olhos da mesma.

Rachel: Comprimi os lábios ao o ouvir pedir desculpas. Eu as queria, e mais do qualquer outra coisa, porém eu havia aprendido a não me jogar de cara na primeira oportunidade, e foi Sean que havia me feito aprender aquela lição. Respirei devagar, começando a ouvir o monologo que estava para vir. Tentei não desviar meus olhos dos dele enquanto ele falava, mas fiz a escutar as últimas palavras da sentença. Elas me pegaram de surpresa, assim como todas as novas ações de Sean. Meu lábio inferior tremeu, e eu senti o suor frio das minhas mãos piorarem. Abracei meu corpo quando ele se aproximou, o encarando com uma expressão temerosa. A confissão dele foi como um tapa na cara, mesmo uma parte de mim já sabendo que aquilo tinha acontecido, ainda havia aquela parte iludida. Virei o rosto, encarando as árvores, sentindo o tremor no lábio novamente, juntamente com ardor dos olhos. Ao ouvir sobre liberdade, quase o interrompi, mas esperei ele acabar. O que ele sabia sobre liberdade? Eu nem sequer me deixava aproveitar dela, já que tudo o que eu podia pensar era nele. Balancei a cabeça, voltando a olhar, graças a proximidade. Limpei uma lágrima rápido, sabendo que outras viriam a seguir. Ele não via que o tempo que eu passei longe dele foram os piores meses da minha vida? Funguei, sentindo a face molhada. Eu não tinha porque esconder meus sentimentos. Eles estavam mais do que claros para ele. Minha respiração falhou, então eu escondi o rosto nas mãos começando a chorar com mais intensidade. Livrei a face das mãos, mesmo sem com vergonha. Eu precisa o olhar pra ter certeza de que ele não estava mentindo. Rachel você precisa se controlar, eu gritava na minha mente, mas eu simplesmente não conseguia. Não com ele falando que me amar era a única certeza da vida dele. Eu o amava, sempre o amei, e sempre iria o amar, e o tempo que nós passamos separados foi prova disso. Respirei fundo de maneira entrecortada, me aproximando dele. Colei minha testa na de Sean, sussurrando. "Você sabe o que eu sinto por você, não sabe? A decisão de você ter se afastado foi idiota, e sim, tudo o que você fez foi babaquice. Mas eu prefiro passar pouco tempo com você e sofrer, do que sorrir com qualquer outra pessoa. Você é a minha droga, e eu não quero ir pra reabilitação. A cada dia que passa, ao invés de eu te amar menos, amo mais, e eu me sentia patética por isso, já que você tem me tratado como algum tipo de doença. E mesmo te amando tanto, Sean. Doí, doí saber que você se esforçava tanto pra me manter longe quando poderia usar essa energia pra me manter perto", completei, com um suspiro. "Só que eu nunca vou encontrar alguém que faça eu me sentir como você faz, e nem quero. Então sim", aproximei meus lábios dos dele, falando ainda mais baixo. "Eu volto pra você".

Violet tentava andar silenciosamente, mas seus movimentos pareciam ser barulhentos demais devido à calmaria da casa. Céus, ela se sentia uma criança novamente enquanto saía de seu quarto, deixando a porta aberta para não fazer ainda mais ruído, e ia em direção ao quarto de Thomas. Mas assim como quando era criança, ela ainda era atormentada pelos mesmos pesadelos à noite. Ela só esperava que o primo não houvesse ficado com raiva dela ou algo assim. Sorrateiramente, adentrou o quarto do primo, andando nas pontas dos pés e indo até a cama dele. — Tommy? — Violet chamou num sussurro tão baixo que tinha até dificuldade se se escutar. A garota se ajoelhou ao lado da cama, torcendo para que o primo estivesse acordado? — Tommy? — Tentou novamente.

Thomas estava deitado em sua cama, ouvindo uma música que seu amigo havia o mandado. Ele sempre acostumara a ouvir músicas no ultimo volume, apesar de não ser certo e deixar o audição do rapaz cada vez pior, ouvir naquela altura era a melhor saída para se afastar do mundo real e esquecer dos problemas. Assim ele ficava no escuro, coberto e com um fome nos ouvidos. Logo que a música acabou e outra começou o rapaz sentiu a presença de alguém ao seu lado, ele ficara gélido, só poderia ser algum fantasma. Ele fechou forte os olhos, e rezou para que ele fosse embora, porém nada. Sendo assim, Thomas decidira abrir os olhos. Contou até três, e se deparou com a sombra de uma garota. — AHHHHHH! — Ele gritou o mais alto possível, pulando da cama e indo até onde fica o interruptor para acender a lâmpada do quarto.

Violet se assustou a ponto que caiu sentada no chão, levando alguns segundos para acalmar seu coração e sua respiração. Céus, por que seu primo havia gritado? Tá tudo bem que ela havia entrado sem bater e praticamente sussurrado no ouvido dele — o que de noite, não era algo muito natural. Mas precisava mesmo gritar? — Sou só eu, calma! — Ela disse, fechando os olhos pois não conseguia mantê-los abertos por conta da luz e levantando as mãos em sinal de rendição, para o caso de que Thomas achasse que era um ladrão e tentasse bater nela ou coisa assim. Ela então se levantou e ajeitou a camisola, em seguida passando os braços ao redor da cintura, de forma um tanto acanhada.

Thomas tirou os fones do ouvido, enquanto encarava a figura de sua prima caída no chão. — O que você tá fazendo aqui uma hora dessas? Não sabe bater na porta, hein?! — Ele perguntou, enquanto apagava a luz novamente. — Espero que ninguém, além de você, tenho ouvido meu grito, pois seria muito estranho minha mãe ver você no meu quarto a essa hora da noite. — O garoto estendeu a mão para que a prima pudesse se apoiar nele e levantar. Devido a claridade, a visão do rapaz ficara um tanto turva, mas em poucos minutos havia se acostumado com a luz.

Violet aceitou a ajuda do primo de bom grado, no entanto, não o encarava, afinal, estava um tanto quanto envergonhada, embora tenha sido ele quem gritara feito uma garota. — Não bati justamente para não acordar seus pais — ela murmurou e então suspirou — Seus pais nunca acordaram com meus gritos antes, então duvido que acordem agora, sinceramente. — Violet ficou então em silêncio por alguns segundos, ainda havia uma pergunta a responder, e era essa a que ela menos queria. — Eu, ahn.. Não estava conseguindo dormir — pesadelos.. como sempre era o que ela queria dizer, mas ficou calada.

Thomas encarava a prima com uma certa cara de sono, afinal ele estava com os olhos fechados fazia algum tempo. Ele passara as mãos pelos cabelos para dar um jeito neles, afinal estavam bagunçados. — Você deveria ser mais cuidadosa, sei lá, mande uma mensagem. — Ele revirou os olhos, em seguida, deitou-se novamente na cama. — Tá, e daí? O que eu tenha haver com isso? Pede um remédio para minha mãe, eu não entendo sobre esse negócio de insônia. — Ele suspirou, ainda fitando a prima.

Violet encarava os próprios pés, arrependendo-se por ter ido logo ao quarto de Thomas, mas era ele quem ela mais confiava, e parecia ser também o único que havia restado. — Não é insônia. — Sua voz era quase um sussurro, ela então encarou o rapaz. — Você sabe que não tenho insônia... E-eu.. — Violet parecia estar travada, não conseguia falar, por que era tão mais fácil quando tinha sete anos? — Desculpe.. Parte de mim ainda age como se tivéssemos sete anos. Não vou mais te acordar desse jeito.. Mas ahn, será que eu posso... Dormir com você, só esta noite?

Thomas percebera que estava com sono assim que seus olhos começavam a se fechar lentamente enquanto falava com a prima. — Dormir comigo? Hmmm, se você acordar antes dos meus pais e ir para sua cama sem sermos pegos, acho que pode dormir aqui sim. — Ela dera um breve sorriso, e logo dera espaço para que a prima se deitasse. — Vem cá, criançona. — Ele disse, chamando ela batendo no colchão. Aquilo parecia com a época em que eles eram criança, e sempre dormiam juntos, porém antes era tudo inocente, agora caso seus pais vissem uma cena daquelas, iriam achar que Thomas estava abusando da prima.

Alex: It would seem that somehow, Alex had a knack for getting girls that were all but strangers to him to come to his flat for drinks. The past three times this had happened, he had ended up sleeping with the opposing party, and while he wasn't going to complain in the slightest, it did seem a bit excessive even for him. He started to doubt himself and his own moral standing when he had invited the recently heart-broken Jenna over to his place, and he wasn't sure where this evening was going to go. Of course, he would definitely try to push the evening in that direction - he was Alex Turner after all. But she had just gotten out of an /engagement/ and probably wasn't looking for the kind of one night fling he could offer her. Laying out his display of drinks in the cabinet in his kitchen, Alex grabbed a few glasses and took his seat at the breakfast bar, pulling out his phone to text Jenna his address.

Jenna: To say that Jenna was sad was probably an understatement. She was heartbroken, a complete mess. She'd never felt like this in her whole life after all, she'd been planning to get married and now all that was gone. She was by herself and had no clue what to do. The only thing she knew is she didn't want to be alone. At all. So any chance for company she was going to jump at. After a brief conversation with Alex, she'd agreed to meet up at his for drinks. Mainly just to take her mind off things. She wasn't that much of a drinker but right now she didn't seem to care. Whatever was going to help her forget her feelings right now was fine with her. She made her way to Alex's, knocking on the door once she'd arrived. She had no expectations and really just aimed to drink to forget.

Alex: As much as Alex wasn't one for being particularly good with feelings, he knew all too well how it felt to be heart broken and so he was determined to at least try and be supportive of Jenna. He jumped to his feet as he heard the knock on his door, and he made his way through to the hallway to answer it. Opening the door, he smiled sheepishly at her, not entirely sure how to do the whole 'caring friend' thing. "Hey." He muttered, running a hand through his hair and stepping aside to let her in, shutting the door behind her. "You alright?" He asked, knowing full well it was a stupid question.

Jenna: She greeted him with a small smile, stepping inside. "Eh, I've seen better days but... I'll be fine," she shrugged, trying not to let herself get upset in front of someone she barely knew. She didn't want to make things awkward. "So, what've you got for us, buddy? I'm about ready to just drink until feelings go away, y'know?" It probably wasn't the best idea but it was better than crying and over thinking things by herself.

Alex: It was evident from the way she hesitated that Jenna really wasn't feeling too great, which in all honesty was fair enough given the circumstances. Somewhat daringly, Alex swung his arm around her shoulders and gave her a sideways hug, planting a soft kiss to her hair. "Believe me love, I've been there." He nodded slowly, leading her through to the kitchen, his arm still drooped around her shoulders. "I've got loads of stuff. A bit of everything. What do you fancy?" He asked, gesturing at his bottles. "I've got vodka, tequila, whiskey, beer..." He trailed off, looking at Jenna and waiting for a response.

Jenna: She glanced at him with a little smile as he gave her a hug. Besides Matt, Alex was the only person she'd been around and it was nice that he seemed pretty understanding of her situation. Following him through into the kitchen, Jenna looked at all the bottles in front of her. It didn't really bother her too much what she was drinking, anything would do. She nodded, pointing towards the vodka. "Let's go with the vodka. We can try a bit of everything. I don't really care, honestly."

Alex: Picking up the vodka and handing it to Jenna, Alex smiled at her and gestured for her to take a seat at the breakfast bar. He picked up a bottle of whiskey for himself before taking the seat beside her. "Do you need a glass, or is it the drinking from the bottle kind of night?" He asked her with a sort of smirk, taking the opportunity now that they were sat so close together to look at her properly. He'd seen her on Doctor Who once or twice when he'd remembered to catch it, and he knew how beautiful she was, but it was an entirely different thing seeing her in the flesh. She was as he'd imagined her to be, and Alex had to look away to bite his lip and shake his head free of the thoughts that were clouding his mind. "So," he began, unscrewing the cap of his bottle and taking a drink. "D'you wanna talk about it?"

Jenna: She took the bottle, thanking him with a small smile and sitting herself down. "Eh, drinking from the bottle sounds good to me," she shrugged, unscrewing the cap off the bottle and knocking back some of it. She pulled a face as it went down her throat, shaking her head. "Ugh, I always forget how strong this stuff is." At his next question, she shrugged not really knowing if she should talk about what happened or just try to forget for now. "I dunno. It's just weird. Feel kind of empty and stuff, y'know? Never thought I'd be on my own but life's funny like that."

Alex: Being the experienced drinker that Alex was, it took almost all his will power to not start laughing at the face Jenna pulled as the liquid hit her throat. The first drink of the night was always harsh, but watching someone who wasn't as accustomed to the taste as he was made him chuckle. "You're really not a drinker, are you?" Alex smiled, trying his hardest not to laugh as that probably wouldn't be appropriate given Jenna's current mood. He nodded slowly in response to her comments, knocking back more of his drink. "Believe me hun, I know /exactly/ how you feel." He frowned slightly and bit his lip. "Well actually, I more in Tom's position, but that doesn't mean it hurts any less."

Jenna: "I'm really not," Jenna laughed a little, before taking another drink. It really was rare she did have a drink. Not that she didn't necessarily like it, just because she liked to be the sensible one and she definitely knew that it tended to make things worse sometimes. Right now though, she didn't care. It seemed like her best option so she was taking it. She looked at Alex, frowning a little. "Yeah, it's just something... unexpected. I mean... we were planning a wedding and everything seemed great but eh. I just have to deal with the fact that none of that is happening anymore and I'm on my own."

Alex: Alex shifted awkwardly in his chair slightly as she talked about how she was meant to be married to this guy. He wasn't particularly good at being there for people in an emotional sense, and so the best he could do was lean across and place another kiss to her hair, looping his arm around her and rubbing her shoulder gently with his thumb. "I know it seems like shit now," he spoke quietly, pulling away from her to take a longer drink. "But at the end of the day, he's the one missing out." He smiled at her, hoping that in some capacity his words were helping.

Charity ouviu o 'corta' aliviada por a cena finalmente ter chegado ao fim. Infelizmente, naquela série ela ficava mais ensanguentada que se fizesse um seriado sobre algum hospital. Encarou-se de Christopher após alguns segundos, e deu um meio sorriso cínico. — Até que não foi tão ruim, Rodriguez — falou num tom baixo antes de se afastar e ir até os bastidores para pegar um pouco de água e se limpar, afinal toda aquela cena ensanguentada já havia chegado ao fim e aquela havia sido a última tomada do dia.

Chris: O dia havia sido completamente exaustivo. Chris havia participado de um ensaio fotográfico e uma entrevista pela manhã, e havia passado o resto da tarde gravando para a série que explodiu sua carreira. Ele adora atuar, ainda fazendo papel como um vampiro — todo aquele sangue o deixava fascinado, além disso, era divertido fingir estar mantando pessoas. A única coisa que sempre o importunava nas gravações era Charity, porém ele sempre achava alguma brecha para irritar a garota. — Minha querida, Clarisse. Volte. Vamos ter que regravar a cena do sangue, parece que você errou numa parte. — Ele gritou antes que ela pudesse sair do estúdio ou se quer o que iria fazer, deixando que um sorriso maldoso aparecesse em seu rosto.

Charity revirou os olhos, dando um longo suspiro antes de se voltar para o rapaz, que infelizmente, estava presente no seu cotidiano por conta da série. Christopher Rodriguez era a única razão pela qual a moça odiava ir trabalhar, embora algumas vezes ela tivesse a sorte de não precisar cruzar com ele no set até o momento das cenas, onde os dois praticamente se matavam — no entanto, na maior parte do tempo os dois acabavam numa cama, não que ela tivesse de fato alguma relação prazerosa com isso. — Você não é o diretor, e ele disse que acabamos por hoje! — Gritou em resposta, encarando o rapaz um tanto frustrada já, mesmo que fosse por tão pouco.

Chris: — Você é surda ou o quê? Ele quer refazer a cena , queridinha, nem venha discutir comigo, porque eu quero também quero ir logo para casa. — Chris disse revirando os olhos. Ele, de fato, não estava com paciência para brigar, afinal ainda tinha um evento para ir, porém ele conhecia o diretor mais do que qualquer pessoa, sendo assim, quando ele o olhava de um jeito esquisito era que a cena não havia ficado grande coisa. Além disso, Chris sempre fora um ator muito perfeccionista e se aquela cena tivesse que ser repetida mil vezes, ele iria repetir.

Charity respirou fundo, se controlando para não acabar matando Christopher nem o diretor. Já estava tarde e obviamente todos tinham planos para mais tarde, no entanto, aparentemente não poderiam deixar para o dia seguinte — quando todos estivessem descansados e com o humor mais favorável. A morena sorriu para Rodriguez com ódio e cinismo. — Então vamos lá, garotão — Dissera no tom de voz sarcástico de Annelise, enquanto caminhava até o rapaz. — Coloca a camiseta para podermos recomeçar. — Ela resmungou, se posicionando próxima a Christopher e a garota, que ela não se preocupara em saber o nome, que deitou-se no chão, coberta de sangue falso.

Chris: Por mais que o garoto odiasse ficar gravando fora do seu horário de trabalho, ver a expressão de raiva de Charity era algo completamente recompensador uma vez que um de seus maiores hobbys é irritar a garota. — Já disse que eu adoro quando você fala garotão? Parece que está realmente chamando um cachorro. — Ele sorriu cínico, vestindo rapidamente a camiseta e se posicionando.

Charity em parte adorara a cena, em parte na verdade — a parte em que ela quase matava Christopher, no entanto, o mundo não era perfeito e Annelise era apaixonada por aquele vampiro, e embora fosse completamente insano, ela e Sam estavam quase sempre se pegando, por mais que tentassem se matar. A garota desta vez esperou pelo sinal do diretor, e desta vez, ele parecia bem mais que satisfeito. — Quer pedir que façamos de novo, Christopher, ou cansou de apanhar? — Resmungou enquanto se afastava.

Chris nunca ficava tímido com todas cenas quentes que fazia com sua parceira de elenco, ao contrário, ele adorava deixá-la constrangida, apesar que naquela noite ele não estava com um bom humor para fazer qualquer brincadeira que fosse. — Pergunte ao seu chefe e não a mim, querida. — Ele respondeu, enquanto pegava uma maçã na mesa cheia de comidas que sempre era armada em qualquer lugar que ele vai gravar.

Charity revirou os olhos. — Não é ele quem sempre reclama e pede para refazermos quando já estamos todos de saída. — Respondeu um tanto cínica. Charity suspirou, pegando uma toalha e tirando o excesso de sangue em seus braços e corpo. — Você vai ao People's Choice Awards hoje, não vai? — Perguntou um tanto de mal grado, encarando seu colega de trabalho. Os dois provavelmente já estavam um pouco atrasados, mas óbvio, um evento como aquele nenhum deles poderia faltar, ainda mais estando na cidade.

Chris: — Ninguém manda você dar ouvidos a mim. — Ele disse dando um sorriso falso a ela, e continuou. — Enfim, eu sou obrigado comparecer nesse evento idiota, mas, enfim, você vai? — Chris perguntou, enquanto olhava para o relógio na parede do set para ver que horas eram e para sua surpresa ele estava complemente atrasado. — Droga! Vou ter que me arrumar correndo, pois tem tenho que divulgar meu filme logo... Merda, merda!

Charity bufou, cruzando os braços. — Melhor que começar o dia com uma sessão de pegação. — Disse retribuindo o sorriso falso do rapaz. — Vou sim. Ou seja, te vejo no tapete vermelho. — Não pudera evitar o suspiro que veio a seguir. Odiava o fato de que os dois, por serem protagonistas da série, terem sempre que aparecer juntos em tapetes vermelhos, entrevistas com o cast e tudo o mais. Parecia até que eles eram grudados e chegava a ser irritante. — Melhor ir logo. Mas tenho certeza de que as portas de lá estarão abertas para o grande Christopher Rodriguez. — Embora Charity tenha usado o tom de deboche, ela sabia que aquilo era verdade.

Chris: Todos aqueles eventos eram completamente irritantes, mesmo que ajudassem na divulgação de filmes e séries, não era nada confortável estar cercado de tantas câmeras capturando cada segundo que você respira. Chris já havia, parcialmente, se acostumado com a vida de famoso, porém existem horas que tudo o que ele menos queria era ser conhecido pelas pessoas. Trabalhar naquele ramo era esplêndido, contudo, as paparazzis e fãs enlouquecidas tiravam um pouco do prazer de atuar. — Tanto faz, tanto faz. Ah, mas, por favor, não se esqueça de dizer o quão eu sou sendo seu colega de trabalho! — Ele disse com um sorriso travesso.