#lu fox

» note 2: for each Garrett char. (except Sam), their beloveds are specifically nicknamed (namely, in order of the story: Baby, Sunny/Sunshine, Hot Stuff, Starlight, Angel, Darlin’) to distinguish from Sam’s ‘You’, but besides the petnames, each of them are still ‘you’; thus, still a reader fic. physical appearance etc is left to your creativity! you are highly encouraged to imagine yourself or your OC as the MC, however you see fit!

» warnings: mentions of death/grieving (none of them are Garrett chars., except as a near-death exp.), a scene where one of the couples swam na-ked in a coastal area/pier at night, another scene where a random douchebag can’t take a loss and tries to fight [redacted] for it; also called one of your versions a 'b-itch' but he found out the consequences quickly. funnily, Sam feels like he’s a ‘creep’, even though he was literally brought to see the visions. the usual explicit language here and there, but overall, this is a feel-good fic for both sides, I promise you! 

“Between you and me, though, I like Light Cycles better.” ;

Sam could only party so much before the exhilaration dulled, before he knew his pranks were as good as nothing as time went on, and even then, he never gave up on his father’s name. Though gradually, he could count how many times he had caught himself hesitating for another drink or declining the attention of ladies looking for an adventurous night, when he knew they weren’t filling the ache in his heart.  

When he wanted to ensure the façade didn’t slip.

So, when the ordeal with being transferred to the Grid happened, ‘whiplash’ wasn’t a way to even describe the turn of events in his life. 

He found his father and was able to marvel at his achievements with him.

He saved Quorra and guided her through everything and anything there was to life, and in turn, she offered ENCOM her vast knowledge about the digital world to help with the betterment of the future.

And after a year of all that, he, Alan and Quorra became the ‘eyes’ of ENCOM.

To bring good.

To some, well, a huge degree, he knew he had achieved a whole lot, the kind that no one else could. So, when the question of what would come into life’s way, he wasn’t fearful as he was, where he’d force where time could fit with superficial thrills.

But, as the ‘big boss’ of his father’s company, albeit, he also usually left the technicalities to Alan, he did wonder about something else.

Sure, he had Alan and Quorra, to a future of accessibility, improvements, sustainability, and beyond, but when a man like him lessened down on the partying and finally sat down to wonder about his own future, he realized his own loneliness.

Loads of giving, undoubtedly, with his work and all, but he also wanted to do so in a manner that was for someone.

The one.

It was something that developed over time, when he matured, when he earned the closures he longed for, and when his perspectives changed. Something that only grew stronger in recent times, wondering about being able to share about his happiness, hardships, while being the one for the other to hear their stories, their goals and dreams, their stresses and more that wasn’t.

He wondered about love. True love, to give and to get.

He wondered if the beginning of the winter season was making him a little more ‘mushy’ than usual, yearning a little more, wondering a little more. 

But he couldn’t deny that, yes, it wasn’t a phase.

He knew he surprised Alan day by day when Sam’s idea of ‘distracting himself’ wasn’t the least bit related to pulling pranks on his least favourite subordinates or even throwing back a drink or three. Instead, chose to walk down the familiar roads near the office when he wasn’t due for making an appearance or meeting a big shot wannabe. 

Just grabbed his jacket and gloves, before giving Alan a heads-up with a thoughtful ‘be right back’ anytime during lunch or after work hours on days where he didn’t return home before 7, then come back to his office, sometimes with coffee or even a pressed sandwich from the bodega around the corner.

Granted, the walks he took since then didn’t exactly distract him from his own thoughts. No, in fact, they were stronger when he did, being ‘in his feels’ in the cool weather before coming back to the office and proceeding with outstanding work duties before returning home late at night.

Much like the one he was taking at that very moment, though, in all honesty, he couldn’t even remember when his legs carried him to the elevator, let alone leave the premises itself. 

And yet, he still didn’t question it.

The road was familiar—the one he usually went for—with parked cars, smells of restaurants that he recognized and…

… Since when did this walkway lead to an urban-looking neighbourhood?

When he finally looked up, and the gears in his head began to turn, processing the scene before him, he froze. 

Sam’s brows furrowed; he knew full well he didn’t walk off that far. 

He was even more perplexed when kids ran past him, one of them having the decency to squeak out a ‘sorry!’ before continuing playing hockey on the icy road he was walking next to. House after house, all of them decorated with bows, wreaths and garland, plus the mixture of colourful lights further lit up the neighbourhood as the sky indicated the coming of a sunset.

He would’ve very much appreciated the neighbourhood if he weren’t so confused, for this area didn’t even look like the uptown part of Center City.

And when Sam whirled around, expecting the familiar walkway back, he found himself at a loss for words, the other side just a continuous road of the unknown neighbourhood he was in. No tall, glassy buildings, none that were nearby, and the ones that were present, from where he was standing, were a drive away, not a walking distance, which he knew he took.

Okay… okay.

He survived the absurdity of a literal digital world and watched his father save him after what was undoubtedly the shortest but uplifting moment in his life.

He can definitely remain composed in this supposed neighbourhood. Maybe he was wrong, maybe this was just a dream. Or maybe, he did wander off too far, and just needed to check his phone to pinpoint the way back to ENCOM.

Done and done, right?

He let out a cool breath, then nodded to himself before turning around, heading back to the road that led to the city—wherever this was—and fishing his phone out of his jeans pocket. As he did, he glanced around once more, spotting the same group of kids playing, two different men at their cars who had just arrived and parked from work, and another man younger than him standing on the top of his home’s porch stairs.

A man who literally looked like the younger version of Sam.

Sam’s thumb froze and hovered over the phone screen, too busy gawking at the young man who, minus the messy hair, looked exactly like him.

But he couldn't care less about seeming like a man with a staring problem.

This… other version of Sam had a punkish look to him. Standing hunched, elbows perched on the porch rail and looking out in front of him, but not in Sam’s direction, before he hung his head, clearly deep in thought. 

Then came a sweet voice calling from inside the house.

“Jack?” 

Sam followed ‘Jack’s’ gaze as the latter looked over his shoulder, and man, oh man, Sam had never seen such a beautiful woman in his entire life until that very moment, standing and offering the other him a heart-stopping smile. 

A look he wondered if anyone had ever given him.

Hell, he didn’t think he had smiled as genuinely as Jack at that moment with the women he had met before, as if feeling the warmth she exuded.

“Hey,” She stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind her, “Bobby was looking for you.”

“Him, or you?” Jack grinned.

“Both?” She shrugged with a wry smile, sharing a soft laugh.

Jack wrapped one arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side before looking back at the neighbourhood, prompting her to do the same.

“Snow’s really coming down. Angel said we might get snowed in,” She noted, watching a group of kids playing in the snow in the other row of the neighbourhood, “I’m glad I was able to get here this morning, thanks to you.”

Upon Jack’s silence, she turned her head, only to smile at the sight of him looking back at her so lovingly, “What?”

“Nothing,” Jack responded, the corners of his lips quirking upwards as he continued to stare at her, “I just like looking at ya’.”

Sam rolled his eyes just as she did, though, hers were more affectionate, familiar with his dorky behaviour beneath the tough-guy façade.

To think she could’ve lost it all, to lose Jack in a face-off at this very home, in the yard right in front of them, just last year, and though his wound was completely healed, the sight of the scar never failed to send her mind into a spiral.

A lump formed in her throat just remembering the heart-dropping news from a phone call with Sofi, of how he was shot and arrived at the hospital just in time.

Jack knew what she was thinking about from the moment the corner of her lips slowly moved downwards. 

He was thinking of the same thing, too.

Fearing her thoughts would linger into something darker and more depressing, the what-ifs or what could’ve happened, he kissed her temple, rubbing her arm comfortingly. 

“Hey,” Jack began softly, “You with me?”

Jack was quick to reach for the tear that dripped down her cheek, wiping it off with his thumb as he watched her muster a smile. 

“Always.” She murmured, letting him pull her in to press his face against hers, peppering sweet kisses wherever his lips could reach. She could feel his smile of victory against her skin upon hearing her giggle, and Sam found himself wanting to hear more before shaking his head, surprised he would ever wish for such a thing over someone he had never even seen, let alone whether or not she existed in the first place.

Hell, what was he even thinking? He was literally walking down the sidewalk, only to realize he wasn’t in Center City in the first place, and now, he was watching what seemed to be a different version of himself peppering a pretty girl in kisses.

A dream. Undoubtedly.

In the midst of his turmoil, the two were sharing sweet smiles and sweeter touches.

“Hey,” She began, trying to offer Jack her warmth as she held his hand, “I bought Mrs Mercer’s favourite for tomorrow.”

Carnations, like she did last year, the first time she visited her grave with the Mercers, to be forever remembered and loved.

Jack huffed, his gaze dropping with a sad smile before looking back at her. Squeezing her hand in return, he corrected, “You bought mom’s favourite.”

She would’ve loved Baby.

… No.

He knows she does.

“She loves you,” Jack added, lips barely touching her as he leaned in once more, “I love you.”

Sam, at that moment, chose to panic at the circumstances he was in, and whether he had moved to pace around or rush off to find a way to return to Center City, wake up, or whatever, he never had the chance to do any of them, either way, as he lost his footing on the icy sidewalk, unable to reach out for that balance before he slipped on fell.

Sam’s panicked exclamation of ‘shit!’ followed by the impact of his fall and his groans pulled Jack and his girlfriend out of their wholesome moment. Without even looking at one another, the two of them descended the stairs together before rushing over to him.

“Hey, hey,” Jack crouched next to him, “You good?”

When their eyes met, however, Jack didn’t share the same shocked expression as Sam had, as if the former wasn’t looking in the mirror of some kind. His girl, too, only concern in her eyes, to know if he was alright or not.

But when the surprise came to Jack, it was because of an entirely different reason.

“Sam?” Jack asked, as if just recognizing him, and if such a reaction already left Sam flabbergasted, the major turn of the already odd event was further cemented when his partner shared the same look of familiarity. 

Directed at Sam.

“Oh, shit, Sam!” Jack laughed, greeting him with a tough handshake despite the disbelief in Sam’s face and stance, “We were waiting for you, dude!”

… Huh.

“We were so worried,” His girl—Baby—spoke this time, so soft and full of concern, “Saw the news about slippery roads and traffic already picking up from some accidents. But…”

She looked around, particularly at the road down the curb strip, “You didn’t take your bike?”

Despite the circumstances, Sam knew at that moment he couldn’t stay silent and thought of the first thing to say.

“I… walked?” He answered, already kicking at himself at how uncertain he sounded, and yet, it seemed enough for the two.

“You could’ve called, I would’ve borrowed Bobby’s car. Took Baby with it this morning.” Jack punched him in the arm a little too hard, but Sam couldn’t find it in him to say anything about it, too astounded by the fact that they were responding to him like they were close friends.

Baby nodded, “We got stuck in traffic for an hour, but we reached just fine.”

Sam could only respond with a slow nod, “I… Uh-huh. Sorry, I just… thought I’d walk here.”

For once, the two shared an odd look at his response, but somehow, chose not to address it, thinking he was just a little dazed from the fall.

“Whatever you say, man,” Jack responded with a shrug, “Glad you could make it.”

“Oh!” Sam heard the girlfriend exclaim, and looking back, he was stunned, once again, to see her holding a tall treat box with a grateful smile, unharmed from the snow or his fall, “You bought goodies!”

Jack examined the treats with her, momentarily forgetting about his friend and giving Sam another opportunity to wonder when and where the hell the box even came from. 

By the time he pulled himself together, at least, for as much as he could in such a situation, Jack and Baby were still talking about what treats ‘Sam brought’, something about croquembouche.

“Got the fancy stuff,” Jack hummed, lips pursing and nodding in approval, “Way to show off to my girl, CEO.”

So, he was the same Sam Flynn here, if he had to take a safe guess, at least. The question of whether or not it had anything to do with ENCOM, or Center City and more, well, maybe it was best to… go with their flow.

“C’mon,” Jack patted his arm twice, one hand carrying the box and the other helping Sam up, as Baby did on his other side, “Pretty sure we gotta get the food ready.”

Thus, Sam followed, quietly thanking them as he ascended the porch stairs. Immediately, he was met by two girls running by, both of them no more than middle schoolers, followed by a woman’s scolding from the kitchen. The foyer was welcoming, with tinsels and fairy lights on the wall, as well as festive music playing softly on the radio. 

From the corner of Sam’s eyes, he also spotted a twinkling Christmas tree in the corner of the living room, the main deep red ribbons and ornaments matching the gold ones. The tree, paired with the crackling of wood from the fireplace and the overall ambience, even eased Sam’s mind, even for a little bit.

“Sofi! Camille! Sam bought croquembouche!” Baby called as the three of them entered the dining room, the table already lined with an array of Christmas spread. The announcement received cheers from two women who popped their heads out from the kitchen, offering Sam the same, thankful smiles Baby gave him earlier. As Baby followed them to the kitchen, likely to take the tower of cream puffs and hardened caramel out, Jack turned to Sam.

“You good?” He asked, to which Sam just nodded, still a little slow, but less… in shock.

“Yeah…”

“Hey, c’mon, you’ve eaten with my family before,” Jack nudged his arm, glancing at Jeremiah’s daughters as Daniela helped with her sister’s hair, “The girls even asked if you were coming today since you brought that log cake last year.”

Sam chuckled, a bit awkward but getting with the flow, “They did, huh?”

“Ah, well, you’re here,” Jack stated with a small smile, “You go ahead and sit down. I’m just gonna help get the rest of the food.”

“You sure?” Sam asked, a little unsure about sitting around while Jack and Baby weren’t around, but the man looked insistent. After all, he did slip on ice, even if he was alright.

“I’m sure.” Jack shrugged, and so, Sam took a seat and prayed for the best, and only then did he notice the empty seat at the other end—the head—of the table, and on the plate was a framed photo of an elderly woman. 

For a few seconds, Sam could only look at it, as if trying to gain more answers out of a single picture. Just then, somebody slapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey, man,” Angel greeted him with a smile, walking past the table and to the kitchen, but not before adding, “Heard you got some good stuff.”

Then another man came by, Jeremiah, who greeted Sam with a curt nod before following Angel, and then another one, the final one, the oldest of the brothers.

“Hey,” Bobby addressed, taking a seat closest to the picture, “You ‘too cool’ to help the girls out?”

“I…” Sam began, brows furrowing before Baby called out from the kitchen.

“Bobby! You help with the turkey, not Sam.”

Bobby scoffed, but Sam noticed the fond exasperation in his eyes before the eldest Mercer stood up with an exaggerated groan.

So, with all the adults in the kitchen, Sam was instead left with the sisters, who cheered when he was asked what treat he brought today.

Before they had the chance to ask about anything else, and Sam would have to worry about how to answer them, Jack and Baby returned first with serving bowls of sides.

“You girls aren't asking Uncle Sam for anything fancy, are you?” She asked, her tone playful while raising a brow. 

“No!” Both Daniela and Amelia squeaked out before rushing off to their father, giggling away as Baby threatened to chase after them for a split second. 

During the sweet little moment, Sam couldn't help but stare, just until Jack turned to ask him if he wanted something sweet and/or alcoholic to drink.

Soon, the table was fully set, and Jeremiah made a quick walk to the radio in the foyer to turn the volume down a little. When he came back, everyone had found their seats.

The five girls on one side, the five guys on the other, and with Evelyn at the head, as it always was.

Jack and Baby were close by, the couple sitting opposite one another, while Sam was between Jack and Angel. 

Sam acknowledged he was nothing more than a creep, spotting the way Jack's thumb brushed along his partner's fingers when everyone held hands, with Bobby leading the saying of graces and gratitude.

But what was a man who stumbled upon a different version of himself and this beloved of his supposed to do?

However, everything did feel real. The jolly atmosphere, the bantering of a huge family, the incredible flavours of homemade food. 

Even the melt-in-your-mouth croquembouche ‘he’ brought tasted amazing.

The mood of a tight-knit family hanging out over the holidays, just like Sam had with his grandparents up until their passing, when he became an adult.

By the end of the meal, Sam was stuffed, joining Angel in the living room, who had dozed off on the armchair, and the sisters, who sat on the floor to watch a cartoon show on Cartoon Network. The rest, like Bobby, Jeremiah and his wife, were in the dining room talking. Sofi had excused herself to the bathroom, and finally, Jack and Baby were in the kitchen making hot cocoa, undoubtedly sharing another moment.

As Sam sat on the couch, he looked around once more.

It was a lot to take in.

But the one that occupied his mind the most… was Baby. All the things she and Jack shared, from touches to words, from anything as little as Jack spooning her sides without having to ask, to when she ensured she let him know she was present when he was deep in his own thoughts during the saying of grace, about his mother.

He… wanted such moments.

Sam groaned, covering his face with his hands. Whatever this dream was, it definitely wasn't a normal one. After all, dreams felt like seconds, no matter how long you slept.

Here? He literally learnt the dynamics of a couple's relationship and had Christmas lunch with them and their family, and he was still here.

“Here.” Sam quickly lifted his head upon hearing Baby's voice as she held two mugs of hot cocoa, taking in her beautiful smile, a silver of concern in her warm eyes.

“Thanks.” He thanked, scooting over to one end of the couch, despite her taking a seat further, likely for Jack to sit in the middle.

“Food was good?” She asked before taking a sip of her drink.

Sam nodded, dropping his gaze for a moment, “Yeah. Real good. Pretty sure I filled myself up on the potatoes.” 

Baby chuckled, “Camille taught me how to make it earlier this year, so she let me be on Potato Duty.” 

The corners of Sam's lips quirked at her giggle, “Well, I gotta say, you did… an amazing job at it.” 

Then came Jack, a laptop in one hand, pressed against his side, and the other holding a mug of his own, “Yo.”

He let himself fall back into the couch space between them, only to be caught by surprise as his hot cocoa sloshed, and tried to right himself. 

“Jack!” Baby squealed with a love tap on his arm. Jack grinned, not even an ounce of shame on his face, especially since the only mess was a drop over the rim and halfway down the mug. She shook her head, not surprised by his knucklehead behaviour, before leaning against his side, “Any calls from Lu yet?”

“Nope,” Jack replied, perching the laptop on his lap, “Probably just reached the lodge. Or…”

He wiggled his brow at her, “Making use of the place for the first time.” 

“Jack,” Baby warned, though, not surprised, before whispering, “You're saying it as if it isn't something you would do.”

Instead of shame, however, he just looked proud at the statement—a fact—as he beamed.

“You can't just go somewhere pretty with your pretty girlfriend and not do something.” He pouted, despite the deadpan on your face, comical in Sam’s eyes. Jack was lucky that he was keeping his language family-friendly since his nieces were in the room.

Baby turned to Sam, embarrassed, “Sorry. He's a little funny when he's full.”

“Hey!” Jack countered lamely.

Suddenly, Baby's phone chimed next to Jack on the side table, and upon reaching for the device, her smile grew.

“It's Sunny!” She chirped, “Open the laptop, Jack!” 

So, he did, but not before Baby took his mug to place it next to hers on the table. As soon as the laptop was flipped open, a Skype notification appeared on the screen. By now, Sam had leaned in, watching Jack accept the video call and oh…

Was that… another version of Baby?!

“Sunny!” Baby greeted with a smile and a wave. 

“Hi, Baby! Hi, Jack!” The caller—Sunshine or Sunny—waved back, her background seemingly a cedar-based interior, but Sam could barely focus on anything but the woman herself.

A few years older than Baby, but sharing almost the same style, and no less stunning, not with that bright smile on her face. 

“How's the lodge?” Baby asked, with her and Jack being none the wiser to the moment Sam needed to take this all in, to take her in.

Again.

“It's beautiful,” Sunny sighed dreamily, marvelling at the bedroom she sat in once more, and Sam barely caught himself watching her appreciate her surroundings with an adoring awe, “You guys have to come here one day.”

“I won't say no if she doesn't.” Jack shrugged, offering Baby a knowing look, as if reminding her of what he said mere moments ago. Baby snorted, prompting an exaggerated sound of pain at her love tap, “Where's Lu?” 

“Changing his clothes,” Sunny giggled, “He slipped on ice when he was bringing our bags up. His pants were soaked by the time we checked in.” 

“Kinda like you.” Jack joked at Sam, and only then did Sunny notice the third behind on the screen, just barely out of the camera.

“Oh, hi Sam!” She greeted with that same, warm familiarity, “Didn't see you there.”

What the fuck.

“Hey,” Sam forced out, waving in a manner where he didn’t even know if he should in the first place, “You uh, you doing okay?” “More than okay,” She nodded, recounting with a smile, “Had a safe drive, bought takeout for lunch and groceries for dinner before we got here. Front desk said there’d be a bit of heavy snowfall tonight, so we’re just gonna have a night in.”

“Just you and me.” Drawled another voice, and some parts of Sam anticipated who it was, even if they—he—sounded years older than Jack and even himself.

Then, he came.

No fucking way.

“Hey!” Lu greeted with a grin as soon as he sat on the bed, pulling her close with one arm and had opted for just sweatpants for the time being, for he already had his own bundle of warmth with his Sunshine. 

No pesky shirt was getting in his way with his beloved when he was already pretending his back and ego were alright after slipping on the damn ice.

Lu was undeniably much older than Sam, not unkempt but still rugged. A mess of beard Sam didn’t think he would see in himself, but he especially focused on the old, healed cuts and scars littered across his chest, possibly more elsewhere and from some type of animal or more.

The toneness in his body led Sam to think he was a man of nature, at least, more than himself and Jack. 

“Jack, Baby, Sam,” Lu greeted with a laidback nod at each of his friends before spotting the mug in Sam’s hand, “You guys look comfy. No extras for us?” 

“You would’ve preferred Sunny’s anyway.” Baby replied with a teasing lilt, when each of them knew her and Sunny’s recipe was pretty much the same.

“Ah, well, she does make the best of the best, doesn’t she?” Lu waggled his brow at Sunny, resembling the one Jack gave Baby earlier, and even Sunny reacted the same way Baby did. Fondness disguised as annoyance, followed by a love tap. Even the way she held back a smile too big, as if she did not want to give Lu the satisfaction of her amusement.

“Baby and I make the same ones, Lu.” Sunny reminded, even when she knew that he knew.

“Sunny makes the best ones.” Lu stated with a matter-of-fact nod, as if not hearing her.

Sam looked down at his hot cocoa, full of wonder, and was suddenly tempted to give it a try at that moment. Not that he was not planning to, he did not want to disrespect Baby’s hard work when she said she was going to make them, but just at that moment? 

It felt like the answer to something.

So, he took the chance, taking a careful sip and immediately struck by the sheer wave of comfort washing over him. 

Perfection didn’t do it justice. 

He has had plenty of not-so-great hot cocoa in his twenty-seven years of living, excluding the ones his grandmother made so long ago, which exuded solace, reassurances and care, much like Baby’s, and Sunny’s, as they stated. 

This? This was all that and more. 

This was the kind of taste you never forget.

When Sam opened his eyes, he found himself in his bed, in his room, in his house. He shot up, looking around the dim room before scrambling to the window next to it, drawing the curtains open. 

Center City.

His… reality? And just like that, he was disappointed that it was, just for a moment.

He stayed there, dumbfounded. Even as the dark sky slowly brightened, indicating the coming of dawn. 

Wondering if the vision—the dream was just the tiny form of yearning inside him, suppressed by his stress, or maybe his body was not cut out for even the littlest amount of alcohol anymore.

But he didn’t even touch his home bar last night at all. 

Soon, he took a seat on the edge of the bed, his hands on his knees tightened bit by bit. 

For a ‘dream’, he sure as hell remembered everything. The atmosphere that enveloped him like a blanket, the way it hurt when he slipped and fell on the icy sidewalk of Detroit, even the croquembouche!

… The hot cocoa.

Down to the very detail of everything he had seen, touched, heard, felt and tasted, it was all there, present in his mind, or the lingering feeling beneath his fingers, and at the tip of his tongue, like he had just experienced it all from head to toe, rather than mere images conjured up in his sleep.

Even Baby’s and Sunny’s. Voice, looks, demeanour and all. Both the same and distinct, as he recalled all the conversations exchanged with or without him from the moment he found himself on that unfamiliar sidewalk.

Despite his denial, no detail was amiss, no parts forgotten or unconfident like one would with a dream, and when he received a text from Alan, just one of his usual daily greetings and what to expect for the day, he didn’t answer until much later, and even then, his moves and mind were methodical, as if trying recall the sequences again, and again, and again.

And even hours later, hell, even when the day ended, later than usual, from some petty issue with a shitty stakeholder who pretended to care more about the healthcare industry than the revenue he was going to get out of the project, he didn’t forget a thing, and he knew it.

But even after multiple meetings, including an ordeal with, as Quorra learned to describe, ‘an old fart with terrible veneers’, even after a deserving meal in the late hours, he chose to write everything that happened in his dream, vision, whatever, on his laptop. Rereading the events, the conversations, the things he saw and did, and only then, he was able to sleep.

However, ‘disappointment’ didn’t even cut it when he woke up the next day; the dream he had was nothing more than a random event. Something he could barely even remember. Fuzzy, and none of the… versions of himself or Baby or Sunny in sight.

And as the days passed, where he wondered—wished—it happened again, for research purposes, the hope dwindled bit by bit when it never came.

Not until a week later.

“You sure you don’t wanna do it tomorrow? I just need it by Friday.” 

Alan stood in the middle of Sam’s office, watching the young man type away at his computer on the desk. It was one of those days when Sam was on a roll, this time, conjuring up a response for a potential venture in the healthcare industry after a prestigious university in Tokyo emailed him. It was to be done so Alan could take a look, share some thoughts or possible negotiations to include, then finally, submit the refined email to the institute.

While Alan could’ve waited for the draft until Wednesday, Sam seemed determined to have it ready today, even though office hours ended fifteen minutes ago. The past month had been busy, and Sam seemed more thoughtful for the past week. 

About something.

“Nah, I can send it to you by tonight.” Sam dismissed his worry without looking up from the computer screen.

Alan watched his late friend’s son for a few seconds more, his leather briefcase in one hand, and his winter coat draped over the other arm, “Text me when you get home.”

“Uh-huh.” Sam responded, but Alan didn’t take it to heart. He was on a roll on his own accord—God forbid Alan broke that concentration and was forced to beg him to do it at the very last minute.

After all, Sam was still a knucklehead from time to time.

“Alright,” Alan sighed as he walked to the door, head shaking despite his amusement. Before he closed the door, he nodded at Sam, “See ya.”

Thus, Sam was on his own, his office filled with clicks, but one glance at the door, and, finding that the coast was clear, he sighed. He stopped typing, but at this point, he had already made good progress. He wasn’t lying when he promised to get it done soon.

Truth was, he was tired, overthinking about the dream that felt so real, and the sudden wave of meetings for the past week. An entire seven days since the thing with Jack and Baby, and Lu and Sunny, and no new, similar dreams came then. Fatigue obviously wasn’t the main ‘trigger’ for such a dream, considering how tired he already was for the past few days, and nothing came up.

Maybe he was hoping too much for it, and thus, ‘jinxing’ himself.

Or maybe, the rational part of him was saying he really was tired, and his brain conjured up a sweet dream to escape the stress for a night.

He stared at the screen, the body written in bullet points for convenience in discussing later on. In fact, he could share the draft with Alan right now, but chose not to, not yet.

Instead, he minimized the email’s tab and proceeded to another window—the written events of his dream. 

Even now, he didn’t forget how everyone looked.

Not even Baby’s look of concern, or even Sunny’s bright smile upon greeting him.

Sam groaned, embarrassed by how haunted he was by one ‘puny’ dream. 

Albeit very realistic, where all his senses worked, and he remembered everything he experienced in a ‘dream’ that lasted much, much longer than most forgettable ones. It only happened once, though, he argued with himself, no need to share it with Alan or Quorra.

He turned to the ceiling-to-floor windows, and before long, he was standing before them. The sky was bluer and purpler than it was orange just before typical office hours ended. Neighbouring skyscrapers were decorated with Christmas-coloured lights, others with screens displaying winter wishes of their own. Shops sandwiched between the tall buildings, too, were already decked out. Sam could even spot a particularly lit road where the winter market was held. 

Many ENCOM workers had left work as early as 4:30 p.m., stemming from their determination to clock in earlier in hopes of avoiding the usual traffic, sudden snowfalls, or to spend more time outside office hours during such a season.

But Sam knew he was at risk of microsleeps.

What was the harm in a quick nap, then? It wouldn’t be his first time snoozing on his office couch on days when he was staying overtime.

So, he walked over to the sectional couch, taking his shoes off before lying down, facing the panoramic view. He had set his phone alarm for 6 p.m., the device placed aside and on silent before dozing off in minutes.

A dreamlike state, where his mind was at rest.

“Come back here!”

Sam, still asleep and in his head, whirled around, but around him was nothing but darkness, almost floating even, like being in outer space. Despite a vacuum-like atmosphere, the voice—the voice—was familiar, and echoed throughout where he levitated in. 

It sounded like Baby and Sunny.

“I yield, Hot Stuff! I yield!” 

When Sam spun around once again, suddenly, the space-like surroundings shifted.

Heavy snow all around, covering what seemed to be a campus, especially with the football field not far from where he stood. Not high school-small, but not NFL-level huge, either, but still pretty significant. Sam wasn’t alone, too, for the student centre he stood in was occupied by aan rray of people more or less his age, enjoying the winter break.

Taking pictures or a walk with drinks bought from the institute’s own little winter market, building snowmen, and, for one of the other few instances, having a snowball fight.

By none other than another version of himself and the mystery beloved.

No one present reacted in the way that they were surprised by the sheer resemblance between Sam and Don, but then again, the strangers around him could’ve assumed they were twins for all Sam knew.

Which would’ve made sense if not for the fact that nobody batted an eye when he was on the same call with Jack and Lu and their partners.

Don obviously could’ve run faster, more than enough to widen the distance between him and his Hot Stuff, who he had started a snowball war against out of the blue, and from behind, oh, the horror. But at least he got a beautiful picture of her on his phone out of it.

His new favourite, despite already having an endless number of pictures of his girl that he cherished. A singular photo of her, surprised, the scattered snow breaking at the soft hit frozen in time, and the fairy lights hanging from tree to tree, glinting in her eyes.

A one in a million, before he sprinted just as she threw her haphazardly-made snowball at him.

At the deserving hit of her snowball on his back, he purposely fell to his knees, amping up the grunt of pain despite the very softness of the packed-up snow and the bed of snow cushioning his fall. 

“Aha!” Hot Stuff cheered, her pace slowing down as she reached Don’s defeated frame. Dramatic, too, for he turned his body to fall flat on his back, his eyes half-lidded and breathing in a way that he was about to die. 

“Pretty girl, is that you..?” Cold breaths escaped his lips as he gasped in faux wonder, “Please, I got hit. I need you…”

His girlfriend fondly rolled her eyes but succumbed to his wish anyway, kneeling for him to stare up in admiration, as if an angel had descended before his very eyes.

“Pretty…” Don sighed with a dreamy smile, one hand reaching up to cup her cheek. His rock, his anchor, his biggest supporter, though, he humbly believed the love he held for her was undefeated, “What I wouldn’t do for a kiss from you…”

“Don,” Hot Stuff chuckled, leaning into his touch, his drunken smile bringing warmth to her entire body, “Get up, the market’s gonna get busy.”

“I could,” He hummed before grinning shamelessly, “Can I have a kiss?”

Wow, Sam really was no different from his other selves with the shamelessness.

Don’s lack of embarrassment was evident when his huge smile didn’t falter, not even when she glared at him so cutely. 

Shameless was his middle name, and he wanted a kiss from his one and only, dammit.

“Please?” He added, eyes lighting up because he knew she couldn’t resist his playful neediness. 

Don knew he got her where he wanted when she sighed, an exaggerated one, matching his energy, before that gorgeous smile of hers graced her lips. His eyes fluttered closed, his head raised a tad as soon as she leaned in for a kiss.

Sam quickly looked elsewhere, suddenly drawn to a laminated poster taped to the lamppost, feeling like a bigger intruder than he already was when he watched them the entire time he was here.

But when he looked back at the couple, it was because of a squeak Hot Stuff let out, already on her feet and running away, seeing that Don, too, had stood up with a snowball in hand.

Sam didn’t think she would notice him, but when she glanced at him with that huge smile of hers as she passed by, his breath hitched.

“Heads up, Sam!” She warned between laughs, and by the time he turned his head to where Don was, the snowball was heading straight for his face. 

Then, his phone rang.

Sam was jolted awake by the alarm, back in his office and on the couch, the sky was between purple and deep blue than before. He blinked a few times, a bit dizzy, and upon checking his phone, he confirmed that he did, in fact, sleep for an hour, exactly six in the evening, just as he planned.

He let his head fall back into the pillow, disappointed by the interruption, but also in awe of the dream. Far shorter than last week’s, but vivid all the same, remembering from the very start when he heard their voices like a memory, like he was physically and mentally there with Don and Hot Stuff.

Much like the first time it happened, he lay there for a few minutes, recalling from start to finish: the winter breeze, the mouth-watering smells from the campus market, and the cold smack in the face by the snowball Don threw.

Man.

There really was no way to describe what he had experienced twice, and after today, he couldn’t chalk it up to just fatigue and longing. 

It felt like a sign.

When the sky became dark blue, and the surrounding buildings of ENCOM lit up the roads with varying colours, only then did he move, putting on his shoes and stretching as he walked over to the personal restroom to splash his face with cool running water. When he returned, he took a seat at his desk, turning his computer back on, and after a quick scan through his draft, he sent it to Alan.

Once that was settled, he opened a new tab under the same document about his first ‘dream’—used loosely from now on—typing away everything about what he had witnessed just minutes ago with ease.

By 6:40 p.m., he copied the entire thing to his drive, a copy for his phone and laptop for whenever later, before he turned the computer and lights off, ready to take his bike home.

A week and a half. 

That was how long it had been since his nap brought him to another ‘alternate universe’, if he was ever using that term correctly in such a context. Sam figured that not telling Quorra and especially Alan was best, for they were already reminding him of his well-being.

They meant well, but the last thing he needed was to be assumed he was so tired that he was hallucinating different versions of himself and their resembling lovers with no official name.

Right, he never even knew their, well, her name.

But as he figured out then, he just knew that ‘being tired’ wasn’t the only thing that triggered such visions, or at least, it wasn’t the main reason for them, and that fact was further cemented when November was ending.

Sunday, just a day before December 1st. Somewhere then, work wasn’t as heavy as it was before the second vision. He was well-rested, but his mind never stopped wondering and hoping for another of those visions. Whether they were truly just dreams made up by his lonely mind, or if they were signs that something, or someone, was not far from his own reality.

It had been a pretty chill weekend, too. He was able to squeeze in an hour of workout, and after a hot shower and a well-deserved Italian takeout dinner, he was ready to pass out before 11 p.m. Crisp sheets, warm surroundings and his stress managed, he briefly wondered if being in such a controlled and level-headed state would prompt yet another one of those visions.

And such a fleeting thought would be answered not long after when he’d find himself standing in a very, very old-looking area, and even then, ‘old’ felt too light to describe it. 

19th century, and even then, it was the best estimation he had. Besides the dark alley, lit by the full moonlight, old signs were visibly hanging, despite most of them being closed for the night. 

Taverns, warehouses, and more. Uneven ground with little pools of puddles, barrels, and crates. 

But what actually drew his attention was the single humongous ship, even as he stood from afar. 

A pirate ship, specifically, a refined vessel that demanded attention and respect. The contrasting teal and rust brown represent boldness and distinctness as opposed to the smaller, plain wood-brown ones—but no less amazing—docked nearby.

A pirate port. 

Even after seeing the Grid with his own two eyes, he could not have predicted such a setting whatsoever.

“James! It's not funny.” Hissed a woman, and Sam immediately navigated the voice, his pace quickening as much as he could without producing too much noise, nearing the shop closest to the port

“I never said it was.” A companion of hers whispered back, sounding all too entertained by whatever predicament they were in.

Sam definitely recognized that voice, too. At this point, he wasn't surprised.

“Hold still, Starlight,” Hook reminded with a soft laugh, holding her against him, “I just want to hold you.”

“How are you so confident that no one will catch us?” Starlight grumbled but had no problem holding onto him as they swam near the wooden steps of the pier, “We're literally not far from men and their jolly hours at ol’ Kit's tavern.” 

“How's a captain to lead men to fortune if he fears getting caught with his lady for just… cleaning up?” 

“Right,” Starlight deadpanned at his lie, chest to chest with the love of her life, “Just ‘cleaning up’, because you're so innocent.”

“Aw, but you’re no better.” Hook pointed out with a hum, his eyes half-lidded and full of adoration as he stared down at her, “You wish to tell me that I’m wrong?”

“James…”

“Star…” James mirrored, his tone dripping with worship rather than teasing, leaning in as he whispered against her lips. His hair almost curtained his eyes, though he knew she could sense his desire, “Dearest Star…”

While Sam’s hiding spot was far from the scene—good thing, too, for this vision in particular had him feeling like a true Peeping Tom—he couldn’t deny the connection they shared even from afar, the whispers and devotion, the clear attentiveness in Hook’s intention, despite the careless façade. 

What Sam wouldn’t do to see those eyes of hers staring up at him.

Though he did have an instinct to move, believing his luck was running out, and at that moment, a stray cat, who happened to pass by, jolted at Sam's sudden movements before scurrying away. The feline's yowl had snapped Hook and his beloved out of their moment, alerted by noise.

When Hook couldn't make out the footsteps of men from the tavern who may have decided to end their night of drinking and scared a stray in the process with their drunkenness, Hook's demeanour shifted, deducing an individual with ill intent.

His anger surged at their idea of the unknown, catching a glimpse of his lady and her vulnerability. 

Wordlessly moving in front of Starlight, he called out loudly and no-nonsense. After all, they both had their flintlocks, on their pier and hidden in their bundle of garments, “Who goes there!” 

Shit.

Sam didn't wait to find out if any of them would act further if he was a second later, and fled the scene, deeper into the alley for hiding spots, a way out, anything.

So, he took a left. Deeper, darker, as if locals on this side of the area were all asleep. And for whatever reason, Sam raced after the door at the far end.

Somehow, his guts were telling him it was the way out, or the way elsewhere.

Rather than checking if it was even unlocked or not, he quickened his pace—faster, faster—and when he was close enough, he turned his body, ramming the old oak door with his shoulder. 

The door was forced open, slamming against the wall, and Sam nearly face planted onto the ground if he hadn't caught his footing, and instead, was able to slow down.

His heavy breathing became more prominent by the time he was able to come to a stop. Hands on his knees, the rise and fall in his chest eased up after a minute and a few gulps of air.

In his attempt to calm down, he didn't notice the wide atmosphere shifting. With walls that one could almost sense were present, despite the sheer darkness. A tunnel of nothingness, leading to a bright light at the end.

When Sam straightened, lifting his head with a weary look, he immediately froze up, seeing the light that barely brightened the way.

He looked over his shoulder, the antique door he came through nowhere to be found.

Sam had a feeling the sequence wasn't over yet.

He turned to the enticing glow, then to where the door was once again, then to the light down the tunnel once more, and before he knew it, his legs carried him to the beckoning light. 

The bright light intensified as he got closer, but it was another thing entirely when he began to hear cheers. With woots and boos, the unintelligible screaming, akin to what one would hear when submerged in water, slowly became comprehensible. When Sam reached the very doorway, he blocked the glaring light with his hand over his eyes.

He was definitely in a closed space: the way the voices sounded echoed in a closed space and reverberated off the walls. 

The glare of the light stopped when he realized he had passed through a commercial double door, and as if he surfaced from a pool of water, the screams sharpened, and Sam winced for a split second. 

He barely had the time to look at the eight-sided cage before a man heckled right next to him, one of the many passionate watchers surrounding the ring.

Sam was still reeling back from the moment when he literally stood in some form of age of piracy not too long ago, and the constant yelling around him didn’t help either. 

“Benny!”

Sam’s head turned in an instant, his line of sight stopping exactly at his two o’clock.

There, front row seats, he recognized that silhouette from where he stood, her body in a position turned just a little to watch the fight, but he knew. 

He knew.

So, he walked. 

Towards the voice, a single word that was somehow louder than the continuous cheers and jeers. Even when a spectator became too rowdy and bumped into Sam, even scoffed at him as if it was his fault, he brushed it off, seeking her quickly, afraid she would disappear, and…

There.

A vision beyond words.

Everything around him slowed down as if the sequence knew he wanted to take her in her entirety for his memory. 

And when she turned her head, eyes meeting and her lips quirked up into a smile, the atmosphere changed, resuming its original speed.

“Sam!” She called in the midst of the craziness, and by now, he had learnt to just move rather than think and question first, taking a seat on the bench she was on, all while a bag occupied the space between them, “Just in time, been saving you a seat.”

“Thought you'd never make it, kid.” Chimed a gruff man sitting behind them, slapping his back in a greeting and drawing an ‘oof’ out of Sam. 

Why he thought Will was a biker of some kind, well, only God knew.

He sat next to two other men, who, at that moment, quickly came to greet Sam. The one wearing the midnight blue cap came in for a tough handshake—shook his hand even before Sam could process it—and the other guy, a little more serious in his demeanour, slapped his back the way Will did, but both conveyed familiar smiles of their own all the same. But as quickly as they came, all three of them turned to the caged fight once more, politeness gone in favour of heckling the opposing party.

“No one gave you a hard time coming here, right? I know you had no problem when that guy picked a fight with you last week after the tournament, but… you know how some guys get when they lose,” Angel asked over the loudness, worry hinting in her eyes despite her relief, “You and Benny showed him, though. Giving him a black eye each, and him never pressing charges.”

… He gave someone a black eye?

“Don't see him today, too,” She did a quick scan around the room, despite the havoc. That, and having done so earlier, before the tournament, “Serves him right. At least he's smart not to. Especially since you guys saw how pushy he was around me prior to that knockout you guys gave him.” 

Oh, well, he deserved it, then.

“Well, sometimes, violence is the answer, huh?” Sam jested, his crooked smile widening at her giggle.

“That, or the idea that you could've called the best lawyers, had he decided to bring you and Benny to court,” She nodded, “Either way, you guys are hardcore, and… I never got to thank you for it.” 

Angel's smile, being no different from her other selves’, has yet to fail in bringing the warmth and fuzziness that spread through his body. 

“Of course.” Sam responded, reassuring her. It was good to know that this version of himself—Benny—was more than willing to keep his love safe, even if, from the sounds of it, he was a little careless, albeit for a very good reason.

But just as he thought about this ‘Benny’ further, the crowd beat him to it. The mood shifted a little, with screams that differed in the sense that something good was about to happen, especially to Angel and her friends, by the way their cheers grew.

And only then did Sam turn to the Octagon once more, the fighters no longer blurs, not especially the one in the red boxing shorts. The one who had the upper hand.

Sam was watching himself winning an MMA tournament.

Sam was silent where the people around him were losing their minds. Maybe over a decade older at most, Benny perfectly dodged his opponent’s jabs, downright mocking the other party with a condescending smile, and it didn't take long for him to swing his fist. 

Hard. 

The blow had his rival’s head whipping to the side, staggering before falling back against the cage. There was only a moment of silence, like something out of a movie scene, and then… the crowd went wild.

“He did it, Sam! He did it!” Angel cheered at him. Not that she ever doubted him, his determination was a force to be reckoned with. 

But Benny strived for excellence, for the best, or at least, to do his best, because the victory was much sweeter when he was able to share it all with his sweetheart. Every push, every frustration, every disappointment, they were nothing he couldn't handle when he could turn to her. 

Waiting with open arms, a reassuring smile, a joke to crack up, or simply a suggestion for dinner, to name a few. She never ran out of ways to make him feel better, and she just knew which he needed best, the same way he gave his all to her. 

Cheer her up, keep her safe, root for her from day one on whatever her goals were, so on and so forth.

And at times when she couldn’t, he stood by his side, held her, kissed her, making his presence known, just like she did for him. 

The referee roughly pulled Benny back when he continued to strike a few more blows at his rival’s face for good measure, but that didn’t deter him as he walked around in the ring, raising his fist and screaming at spectators, hyping his fans and wiping his victory into his haters’ faces.

As soon as he locked eyes with the group next to Sam, specifically looking at Angel, he sent her an air kiss, his lack of shame in expressing his love for his one and only eliciting another resounding cheer from the others. 

Soon, when the ring announcer officially declared the winner, standing between Benny, who couldn’t stop hopping and a sweaty towel draped over his shoulder—thanks to his brother for throwing it in right after the match—and his rival, Danny, face bloody and a stink-eye that indicated that the man didn’t take his loss well. The announcer was only able to raise Benny’s arm for a moment upon screaming his name into the microphone before the winner himself ran out of the cage, already making a beeline for his beloved with his arms open wide.

Sam took a step back, just in time for Benny to pull his dear lady into an embrace. He watched as the two of them shared a smile, a kiss, a moment, the greatest gift of all, as opposed to the endless congratulatory wishes from his brother, friends and spectators, or earning another win to his record.

“Thank you…” Benny whispered, his forehead resting against hers as he held her close. Eyes half-lidded and smile warm as he cupped her cheek, wiping away the tears of joy and watching the pride on her face that made him feel alive.

Even in the midst of the loudness and grittiness, it was still so beautiful.

So, Sam didn’t appreciate it when it was interrupted.

But for once, it wasn’t because he was waking up.

“The hell is your problem?!” Will barked at Danny, who had stomped out soon after Benny rushed out. Danny, the sore loser, wanting to keep what was left of his strong-guy image intact, had shoved Will aside in favour of wanting to start something with his baby brother. Will pushed him back, and when Danny put his hands on him again, Pope and Catfish were able to hold their friend back.

When Will was pushed too far, the man didn’t hold back.

Taking it as win with that stupid smirk of his on his bloodied face, he continued to march towards Benny, despite the warnings of his coach and team, and the boos of the spectators.

Benny had long pushed Angel behind him, and Sam had even stood alongside the boxer as Danny neared.

“Can’t handle being a sore loser, Dan?” Benny insulted, taking a verbal jab at him. After all, everyone clearly saw that Danny started all of this first when he purposely shoved Will.

“I only lost ‘cause you won,” Danny scoffed, and brother, the pathetic man truly did have a fragile ego as he gritted his jaw upon watching Sam and Benny roll their eyes at his attempt at defending himself. Enraged by the mere reactions, he stomped closer, “What, you think just ‘cause you got some bitch by your side, you think you’re lucky—”

“Don’t you call her that, you son of a bitch–!” Benny lashed out before shoving Danny back when he took a step too close. Danny was already crossing the absolute line of calling Angel a bitch, and at that point, Benny had every right to physically fight back, and he was about to unleash everything he had as soon as his rival tried to run at him when Danny was held off yet again, this time, by Sam.

“Back off, man!” Sam ordered.

“Oh, you wanna fight, too?” Danny taunted, and at this point, his coach had stopped trying to convince him to stop, watching with his fight team in disappointment, even hoping one of them knocked some sense into his underling.

Literally.

“Think you can fight, huh?” Danny sneered, fists still in gloves and raised in a stance, “Think you can get a hit on a pro? You? Playing hero now? Getting tired of your daddy’s money?”

Oh, he literally deserved what was coming to him.

Because, like Benny, Sam was already planning to teach him a lesson the moment he opened his mouth about Angel.

For in every possibility where different versions of Sam existed, they collectively knew they wanted to take care of their loved one all the same.

Sam’s fist swung even before Danny could, the cheers now on him. 

Angel’s, Benny’s, the Delta Force’s, and the rest of the people.

When his fist met Danny’s face, the cheers sounded far, and Sam woke up—bed, dim room, minutes before sunrise. 

Already, even without waiting for his first alarm, he reached for his phone and typed it all into his notes app. 

Because, for whatever reason, he felt as though some type of answer was coming sooner than he expected.

As soon as three days later. 

When that very night came, he was outside a saloon.

Bright, yellow neon lights brightening the snowy night—Bred 2 Buck, it displayed proudly, with a bucking horse above it, and even from where he stood, whatever was happening inside sounded jovial, with singing and music and cheers of customers, too.

So, by this point, he knew what to do.

“Pardon me!” A lady politely excused herself after almost bumping into him, her Midwestern accent strong despite rushing towards her friends occupying the large table in the corner of the saloon.

The saloon was lively, but not crowded, with many of them dancing and singing along with the band on stage, red lights setting the feel-good mood alongside unbeatable drinks and company.

Upon hanging his jacket on the coat hanger and wiping his boots on the welcome mat, he crossed the room in favour of a seat at the bar, with only one of the five stools occupied by an older gentleman at the very end of it.

“Here,” A voice grabbed his attention from the merry crowd, a plate of apple pie and a mug of the same hot cocoa Baby gave him, now offered once again by the mystery woman he was now familiar with—Darlin’—with a smile he had long stopped trying to stare at with adoration, “On the house. Pie's fresh and just got dropped off, and… you looked like you needed it.”

Sam returned the smile, “Thanks.”

“You don't wanna join the fun?” She asked, motioning to the stage, “Band's taking requests today. You might be able to catch a girl's eye if you pick your songs right.”

Sam huffed, amused by her lilt, her attempts to cheer him up without even knowing him or his problem.

“Nah,” He shrugged, “I like a good party, but I've been… slowing down? Yeah. Busy and all, and I didn't feel like hitting up clubs or stuff as often.”

“Well, you being here might've meant something?” She suggested, offering support of some kind, “So many joints in the States, and yet, here you are, in lil’ ol’ Tulsa, and in Mitch's bar.”

“Yeah?” Sam hummed in thought, unable to help but keep the conversation with her going, “What's so special about it?”

“Well…” Darlin’ began, her eyes dropped to the glass she was wiping, her tone faltering for a moment—it ached Sam's heart, “Humble beginnings, you know?” 

Her smile widened once more, the same wonder in her eyes that any of her versions had, “Plus, good entertainment, and I can assure you that the drinks don't cost an arm or a leg. The food, too!”

She then playfully whispered, “I suggest the buffalo wings, by the way. The dipping sauce's my favourite.” 

“You ain't spillin’ chef's secrets to a city boy, are ya’, Darlin’?” In came Mitch, appearing behind the bar with a drawl. Possibly the oldest out of all the other selves he had met, maybe wisest, too. Where Lu sported a scruff, Mitch had a thick beard, and the most cowboy-like one out of all.

Darlin’ grinned, "I'd never.”

Mitch playfully eyed her, eyes narrowing comically, then feigning an exasperation sigh before standing close, side by side with his hand on the small of her back.

“I'm watchin’ ya’.” He grumbled, amping up the gruffness, only to press a quick kiss on her cheek, the corners of his lips quirking at the sound of her giggle as his beard tickled her.

Just then, a group of three entered the saloon, colleagues who had just clocked out, holding their suit jackets.

Mitch turned to Darlin’, giving her a softened look just for her and her alone, “You sit here and look pretty while I go take their orders?”

Darlin' huffed in amusement, offering him a reassuring smile, “No, sir. I can handle it just fine.” 

So, she kissed his cheek for good measure, and because it delighted her so to see the way his shoulders became less tense at the smooch, before she stepped away from the bar, but not without addressing Mitch once more before he could utter a word to Sam.

“Don't bully him.” She warned, akin to a hissy feline, who nodded in satisfaction when Mitch raised his hands in mock surrender before greeting the newcomers and taking their orders.

Sam’s eyes were trained on Mitch as the older man watched his wife walk away to the table with a fond look. By now, it was familiar to Sam, seeing different versions of himself hold that very same look on their beloveds. 

He dropped his gaze; say this really was a sign that ‘the one’ was out there, how could he make this as natural as possible? He wasn’t trying to force anything on someone who looked like his different selves’ partners. 

Plus, who was to say, maybe, he and this mystery girl weren’t meant to be in his world?

None of his visions gave him any reason to believe so, but nothing solidified into telling him he’d be the same case as them either. A seventh case could be called a vision, an insight, but in the end, they were also dreams. Dreams conjured up in his mind when he let his mind wander about ‘the one’, more than usual. 

“Don’t think too much into it,” Sam jumped at the gruff voice, dragging him back to reality. At least, in this reality. He didn’t know how long he was deep in thought, but it was definitely enough to allow Mitch to watch him, understand him, relate to him as he stood before him.

“You just do what you’re doin’ now, and the rest’ll come on its own time.” Mitch continued even before Sam could utter a ‘huh’.

Sam’s mouth snapped shut in a thin line. At this point, he was smart enough to guess Mitch knew what he was thinking about. Hell, maybe his past selves knew—again, his own dreams and all. 

He turned his attention to the customers, the way they laughed a little too loudly, but no less content with the moment, or clinking their glasses before the first sip, or just cheering at the band playing a track that didn’t drown out the true festivities of the people. 

“What if…” Sam finally spoke up, “Or, I don’t know, what if I’m not for her?”

Mitch hummed in thought, arms crossed and scoping the bar with him. His arms flexed, but not tensed or in the way that he seemed he had his walls up, not in the way that he wasn’t letting anyone see the real him. 

To Sam? He just seemed like a guy who understood him just fine because somehow, some way, they were the same. 

“The guys gave you any reason to think so?” Mitch asked nonchalantly, as if he knew the answer to his own question.

Even with Sam’s guess earlier, he still blinked in surprise, knowing this was the confirmation he needed: that Mitch knew about his wonderment, his turmoil, the reason he was in this odd sequence of events in the first place.

Guess Sam shouldn’t be surprised if all of his variations knew one another, just like with Jack and Lu.

“No…” Sam sighed, shoulders slumped.

“Don’t slouch, kid,” Mitch clicked his tongue, more so in amusement than irritation, “I can’t help a man who don’t wanna help himself, and that includes you, ‘cause I ain’t subjectin’ anyone, let alone another version of my wife to that mess.”

“But how do you know there will be… this for me?” Sam pushed, his need to know hinting at his tone for a moment.

“Well, how d’you know there won’t be?” Mitch countered simply, and he took the opportunity to continue when Sam didn’t have an answer for it, “I can’t tell you when or where or what it’ll be like, but what I do know, and what the guys know, is that there will be. But you gotta give it time, let it come to you, just like you said in that head o’yours.”

“So, this whole time, they knew?” Sam huffed, eyes narrowing at the bar owner, who just chuckled. 

“Whole time,” Mitch confirmed with a curt nod, “Natural, remember? I’m the one talkin’ to you on it ‘cause you look like you needed it.” 

Sam sighed heavily, adjusting himself on the stool to lean against his side, one arm on the bar rail. 

“You actually surprised?” Mitch ribbed, “Ain’t you the one playin’ hero with fancy computers and all that shit?”

Sam scoffed, but a lighthearted one. The kind of jab that was appreciated, needed, even, to dispel, or at the very least, ease the doubts in his mind. 

“Mitch,” A voice—the voice—called, and Mitch had the audacity to turn to his wife with an almost cheeky look, “You’re not bullying the guy, are you?” “No, ma’am,” Mitch reassured with a lilt, “Just makin’ sure he mans up so he ain’t lonely for the rest o’his life.” “Mitch!” She hissed, shaking her head with a guilty smile as she turned to Sam, “Sorry. He’s usually more… mature than this.”

“Excuse you,” Mitch objected, almost pouting at her words, “I prefer ‘more grounded’.” “So, you’re self-aware?”

Now, that held Mitch back from any other quick-witted response, only able to scowl at Sam when he shot him an infuriatingly cheeky smile. The frown was no more when Mitch turned to his lady, hunching just a little to amp up the appearance of a kicked puppy. 

“I was just helpin’...” He huffed, despite fighting back the corners of his lips from twitching when she smiled, her head shaking again in fond exasperation.

“I know, you always are.” She responded lovingly. So profound even in the midst of the joyful bustle around them.

Then, she turned to Sam, who subconsciously straightened in his seat, as if anticipating some form of response, a guide from her, whether or not she was in on this like Mitch and his other selves were, “Hey, I… don’t wanna pry, but… whatever you’re going through, I know you can get through it.”

She turned to her husband, the smile on her face never wavering, like she believed in her reassurance, in Mitch, and even in Sam, “I’ve got your back. We’ve got your back.”

Sam liked to think she didn’t know, not to the extent that Mitch knew, but maybe what she did know was that the future waiting for him was bright, just like this, and that made him want to believe it, too.

Sam wanted to believe that somewhere, that very future will come, and he will know what to do. To keep it cherished, but also keep it natural, just like it was meant to be.

Finally, Sam nodded. Not mindlessly, not to just be respectful, but he believed her, believed them. He had dealt with an ordeal where he could’ve died in a setting beyond human comprehension, and yet, lived to tell another tale, or as he was working on himself now, ensuring the betterment of human lives and maybe other things even he couldn’t explain yet at the moment.

He knew he could handle the present just fine, and that there would be a moment when the time came, where he’d meet his own version of ‘darlin’’, ‘baby’, ‘angel’, and more, he trusted himself to know what to do.

“Yeah,” He acknowledged, like a weight lifting off his shoulders, “I know.”

Mitch and his wife shared a smile, as if they knew he was confident in the future he called his. 

“Good,” Mitch replied with a grunt, “Now, drink up, kid. Party ain’t the same without you.”

Sam huffed but relented nonetheless, finally getting a hold of his mug that had been sitting warm and untouched with the pie before him. 

Guess his phone alarm was ringing soon.

He glanced at the crowd, the band, and the two one last time. Taking in the knowing glint in their eyes before he raised his drink.

“Here’s to finding my sweetheart.” He joked, looking forward to how his story would come before finally taking a sip.

It tastes just like the first time he had it.

Then, at the familiar moment of being pulled out of a dreamlike state, came continuous rings.

And when he did, he smiled.

Three weeks since, a closure on its own.

Now, Christmas was just days away. 

His phone chimed, two messages from none other than Alan.

Al ☝🏻🤓 : snow’s coming down soon

Al ☝🏻🤓 : you need me to call dave?

It wasn’t often any of them called Dave, their driver, for anything besides onsite meetings outside of ENCOM or just Center City in general. After all, Sam usually preferred his motorbike rides to and from home, and besides the fact that he didn’t feel like bothering the man just for a quick pick-up, he figured a quick walk around downtown for some pretty lights, a hot drink and the vibes wouldn’t hurt.

Plus, he knew that by declining Alan’s offer, he was barred from riding his bike home until the snowfall settled a bit. 

Just worries of an old man.

And while Sam has defied his orders plenty, even till this day, he figured the family man would appreciate a lack of heart attack every once in a while. 

Well, today may as well be one of those days.

Sam 🏍️ : im good

Sam 🏍️ : gonna chill at a cafe or sumn

Sam 🏍️ : chill i wont take the bike yet

With that out of the way, he pocketed his phone and cleared up his desk lightly, checking the room one last time for anything he could’ve accidentally left behind before putting on his jacket and gloves. 

Carrying his bag, he took a final glance around before turning the lights off. Passing through the hallway and by the empty office desks, he took the elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor.

As he clocked out and tapped his ID at the screen of the optical turnstiles, he lazily waved at the security guard and the night-shift receptionist, who bade farewell with a “Merry Christmas, Mr Flynn”.

His bike wasn’t far, just parked on the right side of the entrance, but immediately, he took the other way, already looking around and appreciating his surroundings, the atmosphere of the streets and shops just before Christmas Eve.

Sam let his heart and legs carry him, snow crunching beneath his boots and the newly-formed ones decorating him from head to toe. 

Friends talking loudly over freshly-made chopped cheese at a bodega entrance, families taking their kids out for a night walk in town, tourists taking photos in front of heavily-decorated Christmas trees, Center City was bustling, but not in a manner that it was too loud or too crowded for Sam. After all, many had chosen to stay indoors, too.

The more he turned corners, the more low-rise buildings of shops than skyscrapers or anything fancy came into view. Family businesses, simple bars, convenience stores, even ‘aesthetic spots’ for pictures or for trendy treats at pricey cafés.

At some point, when it became a little too chilly, Sam did eye a few cafés, but none of them caught his interest yet. 

Not until he spotted one that did. Located between a laundromat and a Japanese restaurant that was closed for the holidays, the front of it wasn’t too busy, and it looked pretty chill, too. 

Something about it, maybe for more than one reason, drew him to it.

The bell over the door chimed sweetly when he entered, his body easing at the warmth of the store. He could tell effort was put into making the coffee shop beyond trying to make a quick, easy buck. The not-so-common Christmas song played ever so softly in their system, the warm light emphasizing the comfort of the furniture and decorations that filled the room beautifully, rather than an echoing, minimalistic one. 

Even the prices written on the board mounted behind the register, selling classic menu options rather than trendy ones, and charged more than reasonably, too.

He wasn’t surprised by the lack of customers. The handful of customers present did look like they weren’t in a rush to leave, though, given the snowfall and even the ambience of the place. A group of friends—college kids—in one corner, sharing a laugh and pies while playing Monopoly. Another table on the other end was occupied by a couple, and then at the window booth sat a woman, finishing up work on her laptop with a tall paper cup in hand.

It looked like a really good spot to pass the time.

So, unrushed, Sam walked over to the counter, giving himself the time to read through their options on the board, written in chalk of white and yellow for little doodles of the pastries offered. 

A tall cup of hot cocoa called out to him, and he didn't bother to lie to himself that his choice stemmed from a certain sequence of events rather than the festive season itself.

“Hello,” The cashier greeted, weary in her brown eyes from the day but respectful all the same, “What can I get you?”

“I’ll uh,” Sam scanned through the laminated menu card on the counter, “I’ll have the special hot cocoa, please. Large.”

“Sure thing,” She nodded, pressing at the cashier screen and verbally passing the order to her coworker. Sam turned around, looking around and deciding on a seating spot when the worker asked politely, motioning to the glass display, “Boss is selling baked goods at half price, if you wanna add anything? All of them were baked today.”

Tempting.

Sam checked out the displays with a hum—pastries, cakes and pies sold at already great prices, and only a handful left for each.

Huh, that apple pie looked just like the one Darlin’ gave.

He subtly shook his head. Nonsense. Any pie baker could have the same lattice pattern, even if he could’ve sworn this looked exactly like the slice he was presented.

Ah, what the hell.

“Yeah, apple pie sounds nice.” He pointed at the treat, and by the time the cashier punched in his orders, the tall paper cup of warm hot cocoa was up and ready on the counter.

“I’ll pass you the box in a bit.” She reassured him after passing him his receipt, referring to the pie that was to be packaged. 

So, Sam took his cup and headed to one of the small tables, taking a seat that faced the window, watching the winter wonderland and the people passing by. Even nodded in a greeting to the father of a family of three when they entered.

What a weird life, he thought with a sigh, but amused, despite it all.

He didn't mind the oddness, though. Be it the Grid thing or the visions he had.

Reaching for the cup, he lifted the rim—the little opening—to his lips. 

But even before he could take note of the familiar, familiar aroma, the taste came first.

No.

He coughed a little, a portion of what he swallowed going down the wrong pipe, but nothing that would've concerned anyone in the coffee shop.

… All but one.

“Hey, hey,” Called a voice—not the cashier's voice. No, not when she was just about to pass them a beautifully packaged log cake, an order they made days ago, “Are you okay?”

You know, as in, still behind the counter.

No, this was another voice.

It was the voice.

When Sam's coughing eased, or at least, for as much as he could despite another fit of coughs itching at his throat, he slowly turned around, eyes widening even before they landed on the woman—the other worker behind the counter earlier—and stared at her in the same way she was at him.

You.

Your lips parted, then closed when his own lips did the same.

“I–” You began, pausing before continuing when you realized he was letting you speak first, fiddling with the paper bag you were holding, the other hand holding a mug of coffee, “I'm so sorry. I—Did I make the drink too hot? Do you want me to get you some water?” 

“No, no,” He blurted out just as you were about to turn around, “No, I’m… I’m good, I’m good…”

Sam cleared his throat, thanking the heavens that the itch for another coughing fit had disappeared.

“This,” He reiterated, mustering a smile, “This is… really, really good.”

“Oh,” You blinked. Relieved, and in all honesty, warming up in the cheeks at his sudden compliment, even though you knew he was struggling a bit, “Thank you. I’m glad.”

You returned the wry smile, “Relieved.”

Because it wouldn’t be every day for anyone to say their hot cocoa caught the Sam Flynn off guard, and thankfully, yours didn’t end badly. 

God forbid ENCOM, out of anyone and anything, sued you and your coffee shop, and after all the dreams—visions—you had with different versions of yourself and of Sam together?

You shuddered at the implication, let alone the what-ifs. 

“You… sure you don’t want me to get you some water?” You insisted gently, continuing with a jest, “I promise it’s free of charge.”

Sam huffed, appreciating your attempts to lighten up the mood, despite it never dropping in the first place. 

No, it just… heightened. A feeling of discovery, of an unknown found, of a future he long wondered about taking place. 

“I'm good,” He reassured—promise. In fact, he was more than okay. But you didn't need to know that right away. Instead, he lifted his cup, “I, uh, you said you made this?” 

“Mm,” You nodded, “Sold a whole lot of it since fall than the rest, so I rushed over, thinking somehow, some way, I failed a batch.”

Sam huffed, a thoughtful look in his eyes. If only you knew.

“I also came to give you this,” You added, holding out the paper bag with the pastry box, the folded hem already a bit crumpled from your nerves, “Can’t forget your pie.”

Even though you didn’t want him to go.

And neither did he.

“Thanks,” Sam thanked, reaching for the bag, clearing his throat when you both felt the shared jolt at the slightest touch, his fingers accidentally brushing against yours, “Sorry.”

You shook your head, for in all honesty, you weren’t mad at it, “No worries.”

But none of you moved, and when you forced yourself to take the first step away, he spoke up, his eyes now on the window, “Snow’s really coming down, huh?”

You followed his line of sight, gaze softening at the snow, the lights, the people rushing by, and for a moment, you could watch the scene forever. 

The same way he could look at you doing so with equal appreciation.

“Yeah. Said there’s gonna be a bit heavier later on. Nothing serious from what I heard, but…” You shrugged with a wry smile, turning back to him, “I can only hope for the best.”

He frowned at that, unsure if your optimism was real or just muscle memory with customers.

“And you?” You asked soon after, and with as casual as you could muster, hoping to convey respect (and disbelief) in your acknowledgement, you continued, “Flynn, right? My dad always bragged about how lucky he was to visit your dad’s arcade every week. Vice Squad was his favourite, Light Cycles being second.”

Your smile grew, “Then… I kinda got into it when it was re-released months ago.”

Then, you pretended to whisper, “Between you and me, though, I like Light Cycles better.”

How could you not? ENCOM did a stellar job at bringing back the games your father loved and remaking them to a whole new level. But Light Cycles had a special place in your heart, too, because, well…

Cool bikes.

“But, of course, bunch of other cool stuff you do, too. You know, healthcare, agriculture, whatever.” You jested, feigning nonchalance despite the admiration in your tease. The re-release of his father’s beloved video games was one, but the determination to fight back for his company was another. 

Sam fought, and won, a well-known news, and was actually able to develop ENCOM into something of his father’s long-held goal, and still did so.

“Would it be disrespectful of me to say… how cool that is?” You continued, a little more careful this time. After all, it was either that or saying something along the lines of ‘how proud his father would’ve been’. 

If only you knew.

Sam’s heart fluttered, taking in all your words, your admiration and sincerity. It wasn’t anything new; the praises he heard plenty over his ‘inspirational’ story, but a lot of the time? Like any other huge and inspiring news, to the press, he was nothing more than their next big break or buck. Suddenly knowing about his journey from quick, sometimes shallow searches on the internet and masking them with interest.

Of course, he’d be an asshole to say it collectively.

As low-key as he tried to be, knowing he was an inspiration to somebody, let alone many, filled him with awe. Be it the growing popularity and appreciation for not only bringing back Kevin’s video games but also encouraging their improvement among true fans or inspired creators, much like those working with or under ENCOM. It was the same way he was also able to push the growth of other industries.

He saw you as no different from him, regardless of the scale of the impact.

“Thanks. I really, really appreciate that.” Sam finally responded, your heartfelt tone grounding him, like a soothing balm, like a boost to his determination and doubts about the future.

You let the melody of the song in the background fill the serene silence between the two of you, warming up your free hand as you cupped the bottom of the mug and speaking up again, a bit embarrassed, “Hey, I didn’t mean to hold you back. I’m sure you’re already in a rush to head back before the snowfall.” 

It was fun while it lasted, not letting your heart speak for this one.

Sam glanced at the road once more, thinking deeply but not long, before he looked back at you, a relaxed smile playing on his lips as he leaned back in his seat, “Nah. I’m pretty much free until next week.”

Oh.

For a moment, you weren’t sure what to say, but Sam did, with a question you least expected.

“Do you guys make… croquembouche, by any chance?” He asked slowly, his eyes lighting up at the way your eyes widened. 

You might've been a little surprised he knew such a dessert. Not that you thought his sweet treat knowledge was anything less, but a croquembouche? 

Let alone asking if you make them, which you do?

Well, you'd be lying if you said you weren't a little taken aback.

“We do,” You nodded after getting over the surprise, giving him a quick ‘hang on’ as you walked over to the counter and asked Tilly for something—a sign holder. Before she passed it to you, however, she shot you a grin, a knowing look. Something you could only hush at her for, a bit of payback after bombarding her with stories of your visions.

Soon, you returned to Sam’s table to show him the little poster in the holder. Promoting the very same tower of choux pastry puffs Sam supposedly bought for the Mercers, “Took our last order today for Wednesday’s delivery.”

“You…” He began after a moment, “You think I could order one, too…?”

He straightened, “If you’re okay, of course. I’d feel like shit if you already bought your stuff, and I’m just here, thinking I can order from you still, and, you know, I just kinda promised a friend of mine. Bring in something nice for the company’s little party and stuff like that, and… yeah.”

Good job, Flynn.

But hell, you couldn’t believe your luck.

“No, no,” It was your turn to reassure him, “We bought enough for extras on purpose. Final push and all before we close for the holidays. Make a few family or friends’ days with some puffs, and… you just never know, you know?”

The corners of your lips quirked when his did, sharing a moment where awkwardness was welcomed. Nothing was being pushed, and what you said, what you believed, clearly came from the heart. Just someone with a big heart, overlooked be damned.

But he hoped you’d share about what made you you more.

“You on your break?” He nodded at the mug you were holding.

“Uh, yeah,” You confirmed, lifting your drink a tad, “Just needed a quick boost from lunch rush.”

The group of students laughed as one of the friends landed in Monopoly jail yet again.

“Would it be disrespectful to ask if I could… tag along?” He continued, careful with his wording, purposely mirroring your approach from earlier. He raised his cup, a gesture of reassurance, of ‘no pressure’ because he knew he was taking a huge leap with the very same face that connected with him deeply, without having met her—you, until now, “If I’m not being too weird already, of course. The last thing you probably want is some guy wondering if he could get to know you and your shop on your already-delayed break.”

He couldn’t help with the self-deprecation. After all, he didn’t want to rush this, but something about this very meeting told him it had to be what Mitch was talking about, and that when the time came, he’d know what to do.

So, this felt right.

“You…” You began, “You want me to join you?

At that very moment, you were half-expecting the same pull you’d get each time you woke up from the visions.

“If you’re game?” Sam smiled. Oh, that boyish smile.

Maybe this was meant to be.

“I’m game,” You finally nodded, sharing the same warmth he was offering you, “Only because you ordered the croquembouche.”

Sam snorted, hands raised in a placating gesture, all while keeping his elation in check as you went around to take the seat opposite him, your chair rotated with the backrest against the wall—a little bit of him and a little bit of the view. Be chill, be you, but not a douchebag, Flynn, “Oh, I’m honoured. Believe me.”

He paused.

“Wait, sorry,” He chuckled with a guilty smile, “Can I get your name…?”

And when you did, ah, like a puzzle piece fitting in place. He knew there were other ways to describe it, though. He wasn’t good with poetics, but he would try, given the warmth, the fuzziness, the comfort he already shared with you.

When you sat down and shared another look, there was no denying the connection growing between the two of you. It was a little cute, a little careful and shy, a little stupid, but earnest and blooming all the same. With no rush in the world, and even if it wasn’t for the quick heavy snowfall, he would’ve stayed just like he was at that moment. 

He would’ve still braved himself to offer you a share of his pie after retrieving two forks from the counter instead of one.

He would’ve still extended his help in closing up shop, if not for Tilly quickly reassuring him and you that she could handle it herself, and chose to spare you the embarrassment by not asking you about your colleague’s obvious grin.

Even if the snowfall hadn’t happened, he would’ve still asked for your phone number when Tilly was long gone, picked up by her boyfriend, with the playful reassurance that it was ‘only’ to keep track of his croquembouche order.

Leaving the two of you in front of your closed coffee shop, in the midst of thick snow that covered the area, just a little while longer. Friends and families have their own heartfelt moments, and the universe bestowed upon you the same, and more, too.

The beginning of you and Sam, beginning in this odd and beautiful winter wonderland. 

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

» a/n i: wanna tag some of my Garrett beloveds for being awesome and sweet and creative and :,( but it's late af HAHAHA will do it later tho! ;; gorgeous snowflake divider by @firefly-graphics ♡

» a/n ii: when I first planned this fic last year (and up until I came back to it recently), it only had 1.3k words of random parts.

» a/n iii: Hook was the hardest character to write for, searching up about docks and ships, and if you could swim at the beach + other glossary, etc. One of the main reasons why I kept his short but still wanted to include him for this fic :,)

» a/n iv: originally, the ending was going to be more ‘open’, where I let the readers play around with whether they wanted MC to have had the same visions as Sam did, or someone who is a fan/knows Sam, or both, but then I had no idea how to progress and end the story with that (felt like a terrible cliffhanger lol) 💀

Lu also changed once we started to grow up. He spent less time with me, saying he was working on his music. But I think my parents spoke to him and told him to keep his distance. And Lu being Lu, he listened so as to protect me. As if I gave a shit about my reputation in this town. 

Thing is, when Lu started to distance himself, it really hurt me. I figured it was from losing my best friend, but it wasn't until years later that I realized the fluttering feeling in my stomach that all of a sudden appeared one day when I was talking to him didn't mean I was sick. 

I was in love. 

Which made his loss of friendship more difficult on me. I mean I did fine in school, went out to college, got some sort of degree that is virtually useless only to move back to the small town I had found so oppressive. 

I was back about a month, thankfully finding a small studio to rent in town over the grocery store, when I decided to head into the local bar. After the shit that happened at school and having to move back here, I could definitely use a drink. 

Sitting at the bar, I place my order, scanning the room while I wait. A small group of girls, well women my age, were sitting at a booth. One of them spotted me and I recognized Stacy, one of the queen bitches from high school. She smiles large at me and scoots out of her booth, making her way around the small crowd of people. 

"Mouse? Is that really you?"

Mouse was the nickname they had given me in school when I turned into myself and stopped talking so much. 

No way to escape her so I give in, ready to get this interaction over with.

"It's me."

She laughs and claps her hands together. "I knew it! I told them it was you but they didn't believe me!"

"Good for you."

She sneers at me and I just want to slap her. "Listen, it's not my fault you flopped at school and came back here-"

My head snaps up at that. Is that the rumor going around? "I didn't flop. I have the degree. I just…" I taper off. I don't have to explain shit to her. 

She smirks. "Whatever you need to say, Mouse. I'll see you around I'm sure."

I don't like her tone but she promptly turns on her heel and nearly runs back to her table, no doubt informing her friends of how far I've fallen.

I turn back to the bar, my drink being set in front of me and I take a sip, the liquid warming me as I swallow, fanning out into my muscles and relaxing me. Slightly. 

I hear a guitar tuning from the tiny stage I had made note of when I came in. Live music can go one of two ways, and I'm hoping it's the good one. 

A woman's voice comes on the microphone, saying the band name but I'm not paying attention, too interested in the drink in front of me. 

And then, I hear him. A background vocal in the band that had started playing, he's singing. 

Lu. 

I whip around, nearly falling off the barstool, eyes scanning the room for the stage and looking for him.

There he is, arm muscles nearly bulging out from under the button up shirt he has on. He's tan, his blonde hair brushing down against his eyes and he jerks his head back a few times to move it from his face. 

He's still beautiful after all these years.

The crush I had on him comes roaring back to life, making me feel warm and bashful like a damn school girl all over again. I never thought I'd see him, assuming he'd skipped town the moment he could. I never dreamed he was still here. 

I watch him from my seat at the bar for a bit, getting lost in his voice as I had so many years ago. 

After a few songs, some people at a table in front of the stage get up and leave so I decide to move closer, temporarily emboldened by the alcohol that's making me feel warm. He doesn't see me as they get set for the next song, but about halfway through, his bright blue eyes land on mine, recognition and shock fanning across his face and he stumbles on his part before regaining his composure. 

He's beautiful. I really hope he knows that. I hope he has someone to tell him, although I'd be a big liar if I said that thought didn't make me a little jealous too.

The set ends and they start packing up. I recognize the other man in the band as Lu's brother. The woman must be his wife or girlfriend, something close judging by the way they touch each other. 

Lu is trying to pack up his guitar but he keeps fumbling with the case, the latches not opening as he pulls at them. 

"Shit," he whispers as he starts to yank on them. 

"Need some help?" I ask, quietly walking up beside him. 

The case latches pop open and Lu lets out a nervous chuckle. "Hey Mouse! Haven't seen you in a while."

I don't mind when he calls me Mouse. It's endearing and the way he says it makes me melt. 

"A really long while."

He starts to put his guitar away, closing the latches. "I figured you'd be in Sydney with some fancy job by now."

I shrug. "Not in the cards for me I guess."

He grabs his case off the table and turns to me. "What happened?"

"Well… I got the degree but didn't want to use it, so-" I gesture around "- I'm back here."

"Slumming with us locals, huh?"

"Not if I stick with the right people."

"Like those girls?" He nods his head in the direction of the table of girls I knew in high school. 

"Oh yeah. We're great friends."

Lu chuckles and a silence falls between us. It had been years since I really saw him and even then, our last official conversation was him saying he couldn't hang out with me anymore because of my reputation. Or whatever my parents told him to say. 

"Well…I don't want to hold you up, Mouse. It's good to see you."

"Yeah you too."

He gives me a small smile and walks out the back door, guitar case in hand, leaving me standing there, a sadness dropping over me at his loss. I turn to head back to the bar and make it about halfway before I say "fuck it" and head out the back door that Lu had taken. 

He's by a truck, just closing the passenger door when I get close enough. 

"Hey, Lu! Wait up!"

He slams the door and drops his keys, blush creeping up his cheeks as he rights himself, keys dangling from his fingers. 

"What's up, Mouse?" 

I glance down at the keys in his hand. "You ok with those keys?"

He mumbles something about tired fingers from playing but I don't buy it. 

"Did…did you…" now that I'm standing in front of him, I can't say it. I can't ask him if he wants to be friends again, or more. I get so nervous just being around him, like I was in high school before our split. 

We both stand there, Lu dropping his keys one more time while the tension between us builds. It was there all those years ago and it apparently hasn't changed despite our time apart. Lu drops the keys again, swearing under his breath. I take another step towards him, stomach in nervous knots as he looks at me. 

We both move at the same time, closing the last bit of distance between us, lips meeting and kiss deepening, his tongue sliding into my mouth as he cradles my head in his hands, keys dropping to the ground once more. I pause the kiss to giggle at the keys.

"You really can't hold onto those keys, can you?"

Lu pulls back just enough to look at me, tucking hair behind my ear. "What can I say? You give me butterflies. I can't help it. You always have."

"Then why leave me?"

He's silent a moment. "Your parents said I'd ruin your life and I was young and stupid. I wanted to keep you safe."

I kiss him this time, fingers winding into his hair before he spins me, pushing my back into the truck door. 

"Why did you come back?"

I'd be lying if I said it was because I didn't know what yo do with my life. It was for him. To see if anything could be rekindled. I never got over him and I knew I never would unless I tried. 

"For you, Lu."

He smiles against my lips as he kisses me gently, fingers brushing my cheeks as we held onto each other and made up for lost time. 

-------

General Taglist:

Straight off the bat - there was no reason to kill Lou's (Garrett's) dog. There's no real reason to include the dog at all. The point could have been made another way (like burning his truck for instance).

Anyway...

Garrett does a great attempt at an Australian accent, but I think his natural deep-south accent is so strong it forces it's way through on several occasions lol. I was really impressed by Kelly Macdonald's Australian accent though, she's got a lovely Scottish accent in real life!

Garrett also does some amazing emotional work throughout, balancing "closed-off" with "utterly-grief-stricken". If I'm honest, my two favourite scenes of his are his love scene with Georgie and the scene where he tells Georgie about having to agree to turn off his niece's life support. Why? Because these are the only times we see his character completely unmasked. In the love scene he lets himself forget for just a few minutes, lets himself be vulnerable and have something good. In the "confession" scene, he allows himself to be utterly emotionally vulnerable and open, to share his "crime", to hear Georgie's point of view.

It was also great to watch Georgie's struggle to allow herself to even consider leaving a situation that makes her miserable [and a relationship that she essentially got tricked into], and be with someone who could make her feel properly loved. Both Georgie and Lou have trauma they need to deal with, and luckily the traumas fit together in such a way that they could help each other heal.

But I was annoyed when Georgie made a bonfire with Lou's [deceased] family's possessions - their records, his niece's bedroom furniture and toys. She may have thought it would help Lou, and maybe it will, but she had no right to do that!

All in all I found the film quite slow moving and felt that not a lot happened until near the end. I personally prefer a satisfying ending, and although it's kind of conclusive, it doesn't wrap things up with a definite conclusion, so I felt kind of frustrated by the ending. But at least it wasn't a cliffhanger, which is what it seemed to be until about 1 minute before the credits rolled!

Anyway... Some lovely work from baby-blue-eyes-Garrett, definitely not a comfort film, but good for some Garrett-centric-emotional whumpage. I will be watching again sporadically, if only for Garrett's sustained emotional distress and Kelly's awesome Australian accent!