Boy, it was A LOT. Idk why I was reluctant to buy it in the first place.

I'm not of an physically expressive person but just know that I fucking bawled inside when Baxter wanted to be friends again after all that. And I really love all the moments and genuinely hanging out with Baxter again after that cause it really healed my ghosted ass. I think my mc has slight abandonment issues from that but it's gonna be okay cause Baxter is staying forever for real for real. That man is a yearner and he ain't slick with it.

Also shut out to Cove, my giant autistic man for being a true big back throughout the epilogue. Love that for you and I enjoyed being able to hang with you even in small moments throughout the whole thing.

Another funny thing I noticed, at least in my perspective of the whole playthrough, is that the people reaching out to Baxter wanting to be friends with him are...nonbinaries, my mc and Xavier.

Baxter got they/thems after him but then again, nonbinaries are kinda...monochrome with gender... Baxter Ward strikes again.

I get it, it doesn't feel right, but just walk with me for a moment.

So like probably around junior year, he's just done with it, right? The black and white thing, all of it, because have you ever gotten so depressed and thought so little of yourself that any attempt at trying to make yourself feel or look better felt like a joke? I think he did that. So like a big moment (internally) of him tossing the eyeball shirts and the strictly themed clothing, then the clippers, then the hair goes.

It only grows out a little before he can't stand it and starts dyeing it straight black, and that make him feel even worse somehow - he couldn't stomach the effort or the style that used to make him feel good, but he couldn't stomach himself natural either. It's that itchy, unsettling feeling of never being able to get comfortable in your own skin but amplified, because even the mask doesn't help anymore.

And that's why he had the little moment in Step 4, with the not-quite-black food coloring - because for a second he was taken back to that moment, to that feeling. A reminder that even though he's got a shiny new mask now, the old wounds never really healed.

But then, a few years later, I think he'd cut it short again. But it's easy this time, in the startling way that so many things have become - he's decided he's tired of the effort of all the dye jobs. He doesn't need it in the way he always did.

No because how come during the soiree he has his charming, polite smile on the entire time and he only breaks eye contact twice - once IF you turn him down, he has one quick moment where his smile falls before he puts it back in place, and the other is right after delivering this line. I haven't played the OLNF demo in a long time tbh but obviously something was on his little baby brain here. Maybe a rare moment of sincerity from all the practiced charm and politeness? Maybe his sentimental soulmate senses were tingling and he didn't know what to do with it? Maybe an awkward moment where he actually acted like a 14-year-old and this little unprompted comment slipped out before he had a chance to dress it up and make it something more unique, more snappy, more something, you know? And it made him falter. But also just truly thinking of how this could so easily be, regardless of what Baxter became to you, one of those fast, weird moments that stick with you for the rest of your life, that you think about sometimes when your mind wanders. And then, if he did become something to you, you bringing it up one day out of the blue. "Why'd you tell me I have nice legs?" you'd ask, and he'd pause, rolling over to face you in bed or turning to you in the shower or the kitchen or wherever else you are.

"At the soiree, when we were kids," you'd clarify. "That's the last thing you said to me before running off. 'You have nice legs.' Why?"

"You remember that?" he'd ask, no small amount of awe in his voice. Because he remembers that, he remembers everything, but he didn't expect you would.

"Of course I do."

And he'd laugh, warm and open and free, and wrap his arms around you, tucking you into him.

Like you date in Step 3 and all and you connect, but when he leaves at the end, it's sad, but it's not the end of the world. You always knew it wasn't serious, and you wish he would have wanted to keep in touch, but that's what he wanted and so that's what you got.

Five years go by, you date other people, life goes on. And then, when you see him again that first time in the office, some little primal thing in the back of his brain screams that it's fate. He stifles it and shuts it down, but it's there, and he doesn't care for it.

And when it turns out that you've already got some boyfriend, one it seems you're at least reasonably happy with, it's just salt in the wound. Fate was kind enough to put him in your path twice already, and third time is obviously not the charm.

Ok then everything else happens, the wedding, the confrontation etc, and it's not some magical thing. He doesn't win your heart over then and there, and when he watches you smile softly when you text your boyfriend in his kitchen the night before the wedding, he tells himself it doesn't sting.

He's never been anyone's first choice, why would that be different now?

Because it's a sloooooow burn this way. It's you bringing him coffee some mornings because his office is on your way to work. It's him having someone to text when he sees something he just can't keep to himself, and the soft, airy feeling he has when he realizes he doesn't have to anymore. It's you digging into his weird little brain because one summer five years ago wasn't nearly long enough to explore all its intricacies. It's him being ok with the holidays because he knows, before you even ask, that he has somewhere to go.

And then it's spring in Prism Vista, and you telling him over drinks that you and your boyfriend split. Nothing dramatic happened, you tell him, you just didn't really see it going much further.

"Is that what you're interested in then?" he asks. "Going further?"

You shrug and hum and sip your drink, and after months of you showing up, he lets that old hope show up too.

Time goes by, and you bring him coffee a little more often, and after some more time, he stops feeling like he's monopolizing your weekends when he asks to take you dancing. It feels like that summer, but also not at all. Because you connect all over again, and he still feels that pull to you, but there's no deadline now. He doesn't feel that restlessness he did before that always made him feel so impermanent. You anchor him, and he lets you, and it pulls him even harder.

And then it's one Friday night, and you're at his place, out on the balcony, and you tell him someone from work asked you out.

"Is that so?" he asks. His voice is carefully measured, and the funny thing is that that's the tell now -- over all these months, he's let himself get a little less careful with you.

"Tomorrow night," you tell him, looking out at the skyline. "I haven't answered him yet, he just said to text him."

Baxter opens his mouth to say something, then shuts it, because he's nothing if not polite.

"What was that?"

He gives a curt little shake of his head, looking out at the view himself but feeling your eyes on him anyway.

You could always read him though -- that's why he got into so much trouble with you in the first place. You can pick him apart so easily, strip him down and see through it all, which is exactly what you do now.

"Baxter," you tell him, your voice softer than before. "You know ... you're allowed to want something."

Logically, he knows that, but in practice, wanting has never got him much of anywhere. But you sound so earnest, and you're in his space, and he does -- he wants to want something.

"It was only that I'd planned to invite you out for the evening myself," he said.

It's like he feels the warmth of your smile before he sees it, then you tell him that that's just fine by you.

It's not fate in the loud, miraculous way, his reunion with you. It's a choice both of you make, over and over again.