#queue for u

Water beads on the edges of hair, cascading waterfalls down her cheeks to her neck to her chest, cool–-cold–-cold–-cold -–now that a rattling AC pricks at clammy skin. curving this reckless line before they fall, forgotten, onto the scratched wood of an upstairs apartment. The cool air has settled on Steph’s cheeks until the warmth no longer permeates them–-shields of ice masking the trembling, barely-contained water beneath–-a woman’s bones composed of a raging, ephemeral river. Although the heat of Alex’s breath is making a…surprisingly valid effort to break through, causing fissures of laughing lines where deep caverns have started to chisel into ivory, their skin pressed flush together as Alex helps hold up the curving spine of Haven’s second-most notorious but foremost drunk DJ.

Warm. Alex is warmer than the cold air, up here. If heat rises, it seems to have all risen up to Alex’s careful, curling fingers and gentle, closed-off smile.

Warm Alex. Easing Steph up against the wall as she helps unravel a sopping wet jacket off of shaking, laughing shoulders and–-okay, yeah. It’s kind of sad how long it’s been since someone helped Steph take off an item of clothing, let alone while she was drunk. There's a concerted effort to memorize this fact-–it will be her totally not mortifying excuse for almost smacking Alex in the nose while she wiggles out of denim in the morning–-

Wait, she doesn’t own any denim jackets. Not anymore.

Oh, right–-the jumbled memory of Alex’s fingertips sliding coarse fabric onto shivering shoulders once raindrops started to fall outside of the bar, the scent of alcohol and smoke and dew clinging to the air. That warm voice gently suggesting both of them come up before they drown in the puddle by the bar–

“It just really seems like a bad idea leaving you two alone.”

“Yeah,” Ryan’s sighs–-long-winded and resigned–-large lumbering shoulders soaking through with water in a way that will never bother him as much as it does Steph. Like a Paul Bunyan Elsa. “It usually is.”

The jacket smelled like nostalgia--smells like nostalgia--and it wraps all around her, now, bursting up through flaring nostrils as she laughs . This sort of scent that the DM in Steph has been going crazy all night trying to place–-to categorize-–this untouchable sort of unfamiliar familiarity that she’s just labeled into the box of ‘Alex’, for now, because it clings everywhere on the girl. It clings to Alex’s hair and her shuffling glasses and her closed-off fingertips and her cheeks…but Steph has time to figure it out, right? They’ve only known each other for a handful of days, now-–they’ve got time.

(Everyone thought they had time with Gabe, too).

The smile falls, stuttering a little as Steph desperately tries to pull at the thin strains of what the hell she was talking about.

“And I said–-”

The faint sound of snoring from inside the dimly-lit room accompanies their staccato, intermingled laughter as wet denim inelegantly smacks against the scuffed wood of the floor once Alex has finally managed to peel it off, Steph swaying from the effort.

“Heyyyy now, DJ. Stay against the wall. I’m too tired from helping carry both of you up the stairs to do any last minute rescues.” Alex catches her with wet fingertips that are somehow still so warm underneath the cool sheen of moisture covering them and helps peel Steph’s back off the wall, too.

Seriously, how is Alex so…she’s really warm. She’s like this kind of short space heater, calm, steady voice like simmering coals by a campfire (not Steph’s scene, but she’s sure Ryan would back her up on the analogy, if he wasn’t sinking into the couch like a black hole)--

Steph’s curling body slumps over a shoulder that seems to have no problem bearing the weight of people–-limbs made out of noodles and Jameson and way too much mysterious green devil shots–-and sighs. Seriously her cheeks are freezing and since Uven Rune shields don’t actually exist, Alex is like the next best thing to it. Is it too bad to drunkenly nuzzle into a girl who she only kind of knows for all of five minutes? Previous experiences say no. Nuzzling typically goes in Steph's favor.

An owlish blink as her world goes a little upside-down, the room spinning as she’s plopped down onto a bouncing mattress, eyes slowly taking in the room with an ache she doesn’t want to place–-not right now–-before she blinks up towards Alex, instead. It’s like a haze around her–-everything blended in the background in shadows of this apartment a faded memory–-but here’s Alex who looks so different than Gabe but still feels so familiar, being so…patient and–-

“So what did you tell him?” Alex cuts off any those creeping, spreading shadows of thoughts like she always somehow does, adjusting glasses that had been knocked a little askew (probably from trying to help Steph’s drunk, useless ass), eyes flicking over to Ryan, whose Ryan grumbling snore skips off beat, seeming to realize they’re both there. Waking up just enough to cough and actually breathe air before letting it out like a foghorn through his nose.

“You guys ‘kay?” It’s barely intelligible, one of those long, long legs of his swung over the edge of the couch, socked toes brushing along the pole in the middle of the apartment, other leg very uncomfortably swung to the side off of the other edge.

(At least it’s got to be uncomfortable for Ryan. She still remembers him hobbling after that one attempt at a yoga session Riley talked them into. He woodenly stomped around the bar for two days after like some kind of fascist Pinocchio, rigid and always at attention).

Alex must’ve thrown him on the couch as best as she could’ve the moment they got up. It's a pretty valiant effort. The last time Steph tried to carry him up her stairs, she barely made it to the bathtub, closer by far than the couch.

Steph snorts, “You’re totally about to fall off the couch.”

“Wha-–”

She apparently still has the gift of prophecy. Or Ryan is really bad at reality roll-checks.

A thud. And then a grunting, intoxicated note of surprise sounds from the floor--delayed by a good five seconds-–chortling laughter the only reply from the bed. Alex’s lips quirk up at the edges, sliding over dutifully towards the couch like way too good of a person, the one lone streelight outside of the window casting her bare, denim-jacket-less-shoulders in its warm, persistent glow. It bathes over her like a delicate spotlight on an outdoor set. It dances along Alex’s hair and her glinting glasses and her tired eyes and Steph can’t shake the image from her mind. Even as Paul-Bunyan-Elsa apologizes profusely while Alex inelegantly flops him back onto the couch. It's stuck.

She won't remember all that much from tonight (she'll remember more than she expects) but she'll definitely remember this.

“Sorry, Alex–-I’m normally…normally not like thi–-”

“He’s always like this.” Steph protests. It’s slurred, but it’s still true. Then again, Steph nearly falls off of the bed trying to untie her shoe, struggling to curl frayed laces with clumsy, normally completely deft (she swears) fingertips.

“Miraculously, I believe both of you exactly enough to get me out of picking a side.” Alex chirps from the couch now that Ryan’s fully on top of it, walking back over to–-

“Holy shit, are you actually helping me with my shoes, right now? Oh my God, I love you.”

“So what did you tell him?”

“Huh?”

“You were telling a story.” Alex reminds, fingers skimming through the loops like a brush through hair, totally effortless, smiling up at her with nothing short of amusement.

A story?

Right.

Wait…what was she talking about, again?

“The guy that wanted to be your manager.” Alex pipes in perfectly, like she always seems to do.

Right .

“And I said, look, it’s not about–-not about the chicks! Like, who even calls girls chicks?”

“Totally. Although...you.” That small little smile curves up further. It’s kind of nice. Steph hasn’t seen Alex smile all that much–-not since the first day they-– “You...definitely called me a chick literally in the first five seconds of meeting you.”

“This was not a poll question, Chen.”

“I think it’s disrespectful to call women chicks.” Ryan offers from the couch, muffled a little now that he’s seemingly flopped onto his stomach.

“Not. A poll.” Steph re-iterates (and resists tossing her shoe at him across the room because this is Gabe’s–-Alex’s, fuck Alex’s–-apartment and she might break something; she’d also have to lean down and grab her shoe and that seems like a lot ).

“No, I was agreeing with you.” It’s a whine into his bed for the night.

“Oh.” A quiet laugh, looking back towards Alex, bouncing her now-free foot. “Right. See? Ryan gets it. We can call us chicks but not-chicks cannot call us chicks unless they’re chicks. Not in the way he said chicks, like he was looking at us like we were actual livestock. So I told the guy to get lost and–-holy shit,” Steph leans forward a little too quickly, wobbling a little from the lack of equilibrium as she does to snatch up the shoe with a spreading, spreading smile-–a thing of awe and wonder–- “Did you just snort ?”

“Aaaalright, Steph, you’re gonna have to help me get you onto the bed.”

“Hey! No deflecting. A snort? That’s adorable-–”

“Steph,” Alex rolls her eyes and snatches back away the shoe to toss it towards the entryway, shoving the girl’s shoulder so that she flops back onto the bed, but she’s not easily deterred, leaning up onto one shoulder, hips slowly sliding down the edge of it as she does.

And amazingly…Alex laughs. She stands up fully over Steph, who’s certifiably Patrick-Starr’ed her bed, slowly falling off the edge of it, and smiles. Like a full smile, the kind that people write songs about–-write entire albums about–-write post-band-break-up albums about–-

And Steph pauses a beat.

“Wow, you have…the best smile I’ve ever seen.”

“Your endless charm? It’s not helping you get on the bed, right now.”

“Weird. Toootally where my charm gets me, usually. Into beds.” Steph’s smile spreads past a smirk into verifiable goofy territory as her ass hits the ground with a dull thud, “That was a good one. I mean my joke. It was good. Like, would’ve totally gotten viewers on air good.”

Alex’s laugh remains–-this breathy, rumbling thing, like a drum kit that’s been shoved in a closet for too long, dust bouncing along its surface when it sees good use for the first time in ages. Those warm, damp fingers curve into Steph’s side, shirt barely riding up over knuckles as she helps flop Steph back over the bed, a little practiced. How many people has Alex done this for, anyways?

Steph makes a mental note to let Alex be the drunk and not the drunk-sitter, sometime.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll give you that. Might’ve landed better if you weren’t,” A grunt and Steph shivers at the cold when Alex’s fingers leave, but doesn’t notice for long–-not when she’s already crawling forward towards bundled up sheets, nuzzling into them like Valkyrie does when no one’s looking. “Slurring, though.”

“Slurring is part of my charm–-oh my God, are you taking off my other shoe right now? You are just so nice. ” A frustrated groan that’s nothing but smile as she rolls almost a little too far off the bed, head thudding against the dresser. She barely catches Alex’s wince. “It didn’t hurt.”

“It will tomorrow.”

“Hmm…yeah, prob’ly. C’mere–-” Several pats on the bed next to her, other arm already thrown over eyes. “Can’t just take your bed that’s…so not cool.”

“I…don’t know, Steph–-”

“What are you gonna do, sleep downstairs?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve slept in a bar.”

“We can unpack that tomorrow. I’m not stealing your bed, Alex.” She might not be sober, but she’s certainly adamant, “ Ryan’s…already drooling into your couch and I’m not that drunk, I promise. There’s, like… no Ubers in Haven but I can totally–-and I mean totally--go home if you’re not cool with sharing–-” Steph’s head lolls upwards to see Alex hovering over her, shuffling, hands stuffing up those cute, fitting glasses. “Seriously, how are you so cute ?”

Another laugh from Alex and Steph really, really likes the sound of it, watching the light from the hall bathe her cheeks in soft, amber hues. It’s a different sort of light–-different than the streetlight. “Not really pleading your case for sobriety, Steph.”

“What, because I said you were hot?”

“You…actually said cute-–”

“Oh, well I was thinking hot,” Steph shrugs, rolling over on the pillow. It must smell like Alex. Maybe Steph still can’t really place what Alex smells like, but this definitely doesn’t smell like Gabe. Eventually, the bed dips and Steph cracks open an eye to a completely dark room and Alex’s silhouette, highlighted by only the street light outside, shifting underneath the covers Steph’s pinning down from on top, only a thin layer of fabric barrier between them. “Gabe used to do this for us all the time, y’know,” The slurring might be from near sleep, now, and she sighs at the suffocating feeling that’s not numbed nearly enough by alcohol for this thought-train. “Seems like the Chens are good people.”

Steph can’t see Alex’s face in the shadows–-she hopes there’s a smile there. But the truth is without that hope, all Steph knows is that there’s just...this. This comforter, shadows, and space. Just this.

“...A few of us Chens were okay. Gabe was definitely one of them.”

“Thanks for taking care of our drunk asses, ‘lex.” It’s slurred and sleepy and sighing, sinking into the bed, kicking away some of the covers to inelegantly try to roll underneath them. She’s surprised when a quiet chuckle greets her and warmth envelops her, Alex tucking the soft comforter around her just like she had that jacket. Freshly washed. Gabe’s blanket always smells like mildew–-like dust–-the kind of thing never used, tucked away in a closet and stained from friend’s beers and slobber (in Ryan’s case) from their drunken stays.

Smelled. Past tense.

But now it smells like the pillow–like…what is this? What’s Alex smell like, anyways?

Is that a creepy thought? Is it creepy that she keeps coming back to it? It’s like when you can’t remember the name of a song and you just keep humming it all day and–-

Whatever.

She cuddles closer into the blanket–-

‘Sorry–-’ she might mumble or think or hum when she brushes up against Alex, knowing the other girl likes her space.

“No, it’s okay. No it’s…” Alex’s voice is practically wind it settles so softly between them and Steph fights so hard to open her eyes to see her–-to see a glimpse of her, now that she’s not blinded by darkness. And there’s Alex, glasses set somewhere other than her nose. Steph can barely see her, curled in on herself…so rigid in the bed, like she doesn’t know how to settle into it. Like maybe she never has. “It’s okay. It’s kind of nice, not being alone in here, I guess. It gets pretty quiet. Freakishly quiet.”

Sleepy, sagging eyes search Alex’s calm features.

And Steph imagines her.

Maybe Alex is used to the city-–to cars and trains and yelling, outside–-used to thin walls and something more than just the sound of breathing. It used to suffocate Steph when she got here–-all this fresh air; all this open sky; all this soft peace-–it reminded her too much of home. If she closed her eyes at night, she’d hear the ocean instead of the mountains–-she’d hear the faint whir of a lighthouse instead of the buzz of the singular streetlight outside of her apartment window, all the way down mainstreet, too far out of reach–-

“Know what you mean.” Steph sleepily searches and searches and searches those features, alcohol muting into exhaustion before she reaches forward to thoughtlessly wrap arms around Alex in the only comfort her brain thinks to provide. It’s probably not much, tangling cold, damp biceps around warm heater arms as she sags like bricks into the pillow, but it’s what Steph can give. “Don’t worry,” She mumbles. She won’t realize Alex tenses until the bleary hours of the morning, when horror and regret always set in after Jameson. Right now, all she thinks is to reassure her that it won’t be quiet, at all: “Ryan snores.”

She falls asleep to the quiet sound of Alex’s laughter and the feeling of tense muscles relaxing beneath Steph’s touch.

It’s a total cliche in the morning. Like, a total absolute fucking cliche .

It’s not Steph’s first rodeo at waking up from way too fucking many at the Lantern. It’s actually a very, very familiar feeling.

The birds are twittering out of the windows so loudly that Ryan is seemingly trying to identify them in a series of morse code snorts from the couch in his sleep. The sun is bright enough that it’s likely later than Ryan’s supposed to be awake…and it’s definitely bright enough to burn a hole through Steph’s skull-–which means it’s probably close to when Steph is supposed to slam down some form of caffeine and make her way towards the booth. But she’s not in a rush.

Because what’s not familiar is the warmth. Gabe’s scratchy, smelly-ass blanket and pillow and too-close dresser are replaced with a very throbbing (bruised? Fuck) head and a soft, clean scent, and–-

Fingers flex and the feeling of skin is unmistakable underneath them. The momentary drunken panic of waking up with someone (especially in a town where she literally knows way too much about everyone ) is immediately replaced by the soft hum of someone shifting…closer, that scent tickling the back of Steph’s nose as hair brushes her cheek and her chin and–-

It’s worth bracing the way-too-bright to realize Alex Chen is the warm weight, hot, sleep-pulled breath spun like fine silk gently skimming along Steph’s ticklish neck in a way that makes a hungover heart pick up, just a bit. Eyes barely widen, this… ache swelling up within her breathless chest, blinking and blinking and blinking away sleep before tense muscles relax into the clean, musk-free sheets. Guilt doesn’t last for long when Alex shifts closer a second time when Steph pulls back, and she takes full stock of the situation with as clear of a mind as she can aim for: bare ankles tangled; a bunched up shirt skimming below Steph’s knuckles where she’s held her close throughout the night; comforters bunched up by Steph’s hips from where she probably got too hot, but presumably (drunkenly–-stupidly) pulled Alex closer anyways.

It’s been a year since Steph held anyone like this, and even then that lasted for all of a weekend before…well, it was never going to work out, anyways.

And the last time she held Izzie like this, she–-

A quiet sigh.

It’s been longer than a year that Steph woke up like this and didn’t grind her teeth into the bitter copper urge to run.

Everything else about the apartment is the same, isn’t it? Save for this small little corner of it. This small little bed with small little sheets and small little, fire-warm Alex Chen curling into her body in her heavy sleep. Everything else is the same. Steph’s hand gently smooths up the curve of Alex’s back to the rumbled fabric of a shirt spread across shoulders, pressing Alex a little closer in apology for pulling away while eyes once more flutter closed. This is the most relaxed she’s seen Alex all week–-and maybe Steph–-

Maybe Steph--

Maybe the station can wait a little while longer. It’s not quiet up here–-not with the birds and Ryan snoring and the gentle, soft sound of Alex’s breath brushing along her ear like the soft pulling tides of Arcadia Bay. The familiarity doesn’t unnerve her, even though maybe it should.

It’s a cliche, but it’s still a cliche she needs.

Sleeping a little longer doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.

– – – – – – – – – and that was e m p i r e a n t s wrapping up your afternoon delight – – tune into KRCT for more where that came from, your little haven away from haven springs – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

“How many did you take?” Steph muffles laughter behind her curving palm, teeth tucking into a lower lip.

“Uh…enough that I can’t tell whether or not my legs are actually on the ceiling and my head is really on the floor? Or maybe my head’s on the ceiling and my feet are on the–-” It’s curious-–a little disoriented. “Are my feet on the ceiling? I think my feet are on the ceiling.”

Steph can personally attest to Charlotte’s gummy-bear goods: Alex sounds…very, very chill, at least. Eyes flick upwards towards the light hanging above blinking a garish red hue across the soft sound-proofing of a booth.

“You do know that you called me at the radio station, right?”

“Yeah.” Very, very chill.

“No, Alex, like… at the station.”

“Yeah.” Too chill.

Both lips pull in this time to keep from laughing.

“As in, you’re on air right now.”

There’s a long, long pause. A very hilarious long, long pause, as the horror of reality likely makes it through Alex Chen’s blitzed as fuck mind. And okay, maybe Steph enjoys it just a little bit.

“You’re enjoying this waaaay too much, Chen.” Steph’s head falls harder than the beat in ‘Empire Ants’, thudding into a slackened, useless palm.

“Oh, yeah. Totally.” Alex blows the steam away from the curving edge of a mug, the logo of the nearby high school team emblazoned proudly on its chipped side. The steam curves warm fingertips beneath Steph’s chin, practically beckoning red eyes slowly upwards to slit at Alex’s now-familiar smile, endless sunlight sinking into dark hair. “Hey, you wouldn’t be so hungover if you just believed that I am absolutely better than you at the Jukebox game.”

“It’s witchcraft.”

“Unsanctioned witchcraft. I’m not in a coven.”

“I’m not convinced. But you are the nicest witch I’ve ever met, even if you keep laughing at my pain. I can’t believe you made me breakfast after taking care of my sloppy drunk ass last night.”

“They’re pop-tarts.” Alex argues, but there’s something soft in her eyes, “My only two specialties are this and rice from a rice cooker, so you’re just lucky these were even in the kitchen because Gabe does not have a rice cooker.”

“They’re better specialties than quick-dialing the only chinese place in Haven.”

“I don’t know, that’s a pretty useful specialty.”

“Maybe I can show you for lunch. Want to meet me at the booth? I’ve got to repay your endless kindness somehow.”

A denim jacket hangs from an open window nearby, its heavy weight now fluttering in the soft Colorado mid-morning breeze. Alex shuffles her glasses and looks out towards it and then towards the small, closed-off kitchen that’s been cleaned of all the clutter Gabe had left behind. Their eyes meet again and there’s something–-there’s something there-–but Alex just smiles.

It’s somehow the only thing that makes sense in the world, the fact that Steph doesn’t feel weird at all at offering-–at knowing Alex is welcome here, now, and has found a place in the cold spaces of Steph’s drunken arms anytime, if she needs them. They’re friends, now, from more than just shitty, thrown-together circumstance. They have denim and poptarts. That’s something, if Steph helps add onto the wager, isn’t it?

That’s something.

After a long moment, Alex smiles–-quiet and calm and slim, but there-–and just simply says:

“Okay.”

And it seems like the bag of pot Steph had taped to Alex’s door in both gratitude and an intention to up that wager has had its successful conclusion.

“...shi–-”

Steph, being the phenomenally kind friend that she is, immediately presses the mute, “And that could be you, too, Havenites! Yes, the mystique–-the intrigue–-the idea that your head could actually be floating above you in an endless cycle of bliss and potential confusion if you don’t follow the very clear instructions on the packet. If you’re over 21, go down to the Silver Dragon and buy your premium, never-fail supply, today! However, all of your good friends here at the station-–which is just me-–remind you to always partake safely and preferably while sharing. Again, with me. Nervous or unsure of how to go about your first foray? Ask our favorite genus-genius and Silver Dragon owner Charlotte who will guide you through like a pro. Located across from your own favorite record store, the Silver Dragon has low prices, high quality, and a great time in store, just for you. Alright, everybody, we’ve got a life-changing line-up prepared for you for the next ad-free…” Her head bounces back and forth as she decides, looking down at her now-lit phone for the time before figuring– “...hour. Tonight and tonight only-–aren’t you lucky? Only here at KRCT, your own little Haven from Haven Springs.”

There’s no time wasted flicking up the mute switch on the mic and Alex’s snickering laughter is contagious through the line only a second later. Steph’s kind of bummed she missed her going through the five stages of high (paranoia; anxiety; abject horror; resignation; laughter at how funny the blinds look, probably) by the time the ancient landline is once more pressed against her ear, the laughter a little louder.

“Okay, so that means you took all of them.” It’s not exactly the craziest conclusion to jump to-–especially when Alex just keeps laughing.

“I’m sorry-–I–-” Alex clearly can’t seem to stop laughing, “I’m not used to real drugs! I’m used to the ones you get from sketchy neighbors named Billy…who’s a kind of hypocritical flat-earther drug dealer who lives next to a Lowes dumpster? And has a sign not to trust the government. Who’s willing to sell it to you for very, very cheap for your kind of friend’s birthday party.”

“Did you get that from a really lame after-school PSA?” Alex laughs harder and Steph can’t help but smile. Yeah, the laugh is really infectious, “Okay, I’m funny, but I’m not that funny. I’m officially concerned and coming over.”

“No! I’m okay, really. I just texted Charlotte–-”

“Did she say you took too many?”

“Definitely. I might have also called her pretty. But I’m fine!”

“Ok. Sure.” Steph shifts the landline on her ear, leaning up against the board, “Just stop laughing and I’ll stay right here.” There’s only two seconds before Alex starts cracking up, again, and Steph can’t help it–-the smile grows. “Yeah, no, I’m not missing this prime blackmail material. Me coming over? It’s actually very selfish.”

“The radio!”

“Is on auto-pilot. I just debuted commercial-free, music--only for the next hour. I’ll get Ryan to swing by and lock up.”

“Can’t someone break in and change the music? Do you want someone playing Miley Cyrus on your conscience? I don’t.” Alex sounds unnervingly serious, all of the sudden, and Steph pulls out the keys from her pocket. Locks to the studio. Locks to the store. Locks to an apartment that haven’t changed and Alex hasn’t asked for.

“If someone wants to break into the record store, leave all of the records, and then break into the booth, and only play a Miley Cyrus song, I think we have worse things to worry about. Although I guess it depends on the song.”

“ Start All Over is kind of nostalgic, I guess–-”

“Yeah, you’re high. Just stay put, Chen, I’ll be over in fifteen.”

“But–-”

Landlines are much better about hanging up with that really satisfying click. Ancient, but really serve a point.

A quick call to Ryan, a locked up studio, and a small handful of bar patrons giving her a knowing look as she rushes up the bar stairs later, Steph Gingrich opens up Gabe’s–-Alex’s-–door to the sight of the other girl laying on the floor…save for her feet that she seems extraordinarily concentrated on holding in exact, precise position.

Up in the air, perpendicular to the ceiling. Stock-still, firm as a board.

“What the fuck, Alex?” It’s Steph’s turn to double over with laughter, the abject terror in Alex’s eyes turning conflicted at the sight of the other girl materializing.

Alex’s arms throw out in frustration, anger, and confusion...and way, way, way too much pot gummies causing a mess of conflict that bubbles out in her frustrated voice. The struggle is visibly real:

“You told me to stay here!”

“I meant here like the apartment, not here like–-”

“Well I didn’t know! And besides, look, they look like they’re on the ceiling, right? I wanted you to see it.”

The wide gesture up towards her airborne feet really cinches it.

Steph will tell Alex half a year later that this is the exact moment she fell in love with her.

Right now, Steph tries to blink through the tears in eyes, laughter warming cheeks and chest and smile as she kicks the door closed and immediately moves to crawl onto the floor next to Alex’s flopped, strung out form. Watching Alex’s mess of over-emotions slowly morph over into the widest, most genuine smile, as she does.

(There’s a thought that stuck through her drunken haze the other night: the reality that Alex has the most beautiful smile Steph’s ever seen).

“Lucky for you I took a gift tax,” A small bag materializes from her pocket, a lone soldier gummy bear remaining. Without much thought, she pops it into her mouth and smirks. “We’ll go through this together, Chen.”

Alex looks so grateful that Steph doesn’t know what to do with it, so she just reaches down and clasps her hand, instead.

Alex doesn’t pull away.

But she does lower her feet to the ground, so…progress.

“Although I’m definitely not going to be a fourth as high as you are, right now.”

“Good.” Alex nods and squeezes her hand and…shifts to rest her head on Steph’s shoulder. A breath rattles and catches in her throat before she lets it out through her nose, the air fluttering Alex’s hair. “It sucks.”

“Yeah.” A long beat, “...wanna order a pizza and play Dinoracer 2?”

“Totally.” Alex immediately sits up, “Can we,” It’s drawled out, raising their joined hands up towards the door in gesture, “Get two pizzas?”

“What the hell, why not?”

Alex’s smile is totally worth it.

They spend the night on the floor listening to Plastic Beach, occasionally getting up to eat pizza or play air guitar or dance, together, talking about everything and nothing and trying (and failing) to get Ryan to sneak them a rice cooker from a very closed general store that he has no access to. Alex has re-iterated at least a dozen times (namely, every time Steph asks because rice sounds really good) that she makes the best rice, after all, and Steph wants in.

It's a bummer, but doesn't kill the mood. Next time, they say, like there will be a thousand of them.

They fall asleep on a mattress made of pizza boxes, both of them dedicating a slice to Gabe somewhere in-between.

“Do you like it?” Steph asks two days later, a carefully-wrapped gift now settled on Alex’s counter. It’s not the best rice maker in existence–-actually, it’s twenty bucks and all they sold in Haven Springs–-but it’s the best she can offer, for the time being.

Alex’s fingers curve around the edge of it so timidly--so carefully--like the fact that it’s likely the smallest one in existence don’t matter, at all.

“You know…” The sun’s settled fully on her back, now, fingertips nervously tucking hair behind ears as she turns around. Smiles. Slim and quiet and all Alex. “I’ve…never had my own.”

“Your own rice cooker?”

“Yeah.”

Steph looks around at an apartment that was someone else’s and is now Alex’s...looks to the bed to the sheets to the small little bag still tucked against it, packed. Like Alex doesn’t know how to unpack, at all.

Steph shifts on her feet and leans forward to carefully settle a hand on the other girl’s shoulder, tapping the edge of it far more delicately than a drum.

“Well, now you do. And I fully expect to get some of that rice you’ve been bragging about all week.”

“Um, have I really been bragging ?” A psh hidden behind that Alex smile, “It’s not really bragging when it’s fact and there’s no competition.”

“See? I’ve got to taste it. Put your rice where your mouth is, Chen. Or...something like that. The phrase was close.”

Alex lets out something that might be close to a happy sigh--barely heard and carefully contained--and Steph isn’t so sure why she’s…nervous. Like there’s this tangling mess of vines in her stomach. Like she really actually wants to be Alex's friend for more than just obligated memory.

“I love it, Steph. Thanks.”

In the quiet afternoon sun filled by nothing but mountain air from a cracked window and the rustling of now-dry denim that's still hanging near it, they both smile.

Yeah, there's something.

They have denim and poptarts. They have pot and rice cookers. They have Plastic Beach. They have the fact that both of them knows how much the quiet bothers the other--they have memories, now.

That’s something, right? Yeah, that's something.

That's a start.