she's sober this time, maybe out of guilt-- possibly out of fear of developing a habit she wouldn't be able to shake. it's been 48 hours since she snuck out of blake's house, since she kissed him, and she can still feel the echo of it in her blood stream. blake always brought things to the surface, feelings she was ill equipped to deal with, feelings she was constantly running from, all flared to life at the sight of him.

she comes baring gifts, his laundered shirt and a box of pastries from a bakery down her street. It feels inadequate, but she owes him the attempt at the very least. and maybe, this time she'll stay long enough for them to get to the bottom of this thing, long enough for them to feel finished. or start again--

she rings the doorbell, and waits. each second makes her stomach churn with dread. and then the door opens--

and it's not blake at all--

it's a girl and she's beautiful.

"oh-- um-- Hi. I'm looking for Blake? Is he home?"

She hates to admit it, but she's glad Lilith convinced her to come. If there's one thing Gin loves to do, it's dance. After two shots she feels weightless as she dances underneath the lights. Her dress has a slit that goes to her hip, leaving her whole leg bare, except for the diamante holster catching the light. She feels invincible-- and dancing with Lilith always felt good. She can almost feel his eyes on her before she finally finds Morgan. He's posted up at the bar, watching her-- and where she'd usually feel self-conscious--she doesn't. She waits for him to come to her, instead.

in the end, she texts because the night is quiet, and all of the stars are out and it’s a long walk from the library back to her apartment-- one she’s done with him countless times. even before he kissed her--and blurred all the lines so spectacularly. she missed his warmth next to her in a quiet way-- that unnerves her.

she types the message before she can over think-- before she can attempt to strategize.

hi-- are you awake? leaving the library now. the stars are out-- and it’s pretty. and quiet. walk with me?

she hits send-- and regrets it. feels the beginnings of a panic attack sparking in her chest. why had she done that?

“oh bugger. bugger. crap. fiddlesticks.”

she’d blame her attitude on the champagne, blame her laughter on the bubbles-- but every time she’s around them she’s like this. high on something she can’t quantify-- transformed into this other version of herself. one with relaxed shoulders, who wears tiny--sparkly dresses-- who trades self consciousness for something easy, and warm. their arm’s wrapped around her waist and she likes how that feels enough to snuggle closer. they trade glances when no one is looking, in the midst of their friends-- but if anyone looked closer they’d see it. the two of them are on the verge of something, and now-- tonight--she’s feeling brave. she steals their glass, taking a sip of whatever they’re drinking and chokes on the amber liquid. “oh my god--are you drinking gasoline??”