#and like hey i been auditioning this summer i might even do actual career shit soon

[quesoarts]

better post of the 'tude and chain smoker from my insta

[1dffchallenges]

I Hear A Rhapsody

Written By: @sunsetter96​

Characters: Anne/Niall

Summary: Anne is a struggling actress trying to advance her career in Los Angeles while making ends meet financially. When she meets Niall, he introduces her to his love and world of music, but they struggle to create a balance between their relationship and their desire for success.

Author’s Note: This is the first chapter to the first story I am writing. Please let me know what you think :)

Warnings: alcohol

2014 — 

It was June, and I'd never felt anything like it before.

Weeks before, I had been driving to an audition for a role in a movie my friend had told me about just a few days prior, and I was in my car, in the middle of possibly the worst Los Angeles traffic I'd ever experienced.

"Please don't tell me it's true," I said to my phone. "Please don't let this be real," I continued, practicing my lines over and over again into the receiver, speaking as if there really was someone else on the line, as if there really was someone there to connect with.

I hadn't had much time to practice in the past few days, only because I'd been so busy with moving into my new apartment. There was that, — and then there was having to start work at the new bookstore location. They had made me acting manager for the first few weeks. I had a long list of things that I had to do in order to help set up the new location, and I think the worst part of it was accounting and payroll. I'm just terrible with numbers.

"Fuck," I said, realizing I had come to a stop in the middle of traffic while rehearsing my lines. Cars were honking like crazy, as if that would somehow make the line move faster, and the man in the car behind me was going wild over the fact that I had come to a stop. I guess it was my fault for being distracted, but at the same time, those 20 feet that were between me and the next car really couldn't have saved us even a marginal length of time with the amount of traffic there was.

When there was enough of a gap to cut through the left lane, he merged and cut me off aggressively before pulling off at the next exit after a few minutes. I was so fucking late, and this guy was pissing me off. 

I got there just minutes before my audition time and almost ran to the door of the building. I think my audition was one of the last ones of the day, so I was lucky they'd even let me in to go through with it. But I went in and made my audition, albeit without enough time to mentally prepare beforehand.

It went well enough, but I could sense right away that I wouldn't be getting a call back from them. I guess it's true that I didn't fit the role as well as I could have. The listing had called for a girl between ages 18-24, for a supporting role in a movie about a group of girls that went to summer camp and did all of that teen stuff, like fall in love and drink and smoke. I did look like a teen, but I suppose I was already on the back end of that age range considering I was 23. I also didn't look like many of the girls that were there for the audition, too — blonde, tan, and skinny — and maybe that's what they were looking for. I was a thin person but not nearly as skinny and fit as some of the girls there, and I had brown hair and brown eyes.

I guess it didn't matter, because I'd find a role that would suit me eventually. At least I hoped so.

*

Later that day I came home feeling like shit, and I didn't even feel like eating or working out. Thankfully I had the day off the next day, so I just laid in bed looking at social media and watched Netflix until I fell asleep.

My roommate woke me up the next day with the sound of her using the blender. I turned around in bed and saw the time. 7:00 a.m. It was too early for this, but I figured it would be worse for me to be depressed and lay in bed all day.

"Cecilia?" I called out after coming out of the bathroom. "Why are you using the blender so early?"

"Sorry dude," she responded. "I'm going out for a run at 8:00, but I wanted to eat something light beforehand, so I made myself a smoothie."

"Oh, that sounds good," I told her. A run actually sounded good despite my tiredness. "Can I come with?"

"Sure," she said. "Let me make you a smoothie, too."

I went back to my room and washed my face and teeth before putting on some workout clothes. Cecilia had made me an icy blueberry smoothie with greek yogurt, and it was absolutely delicious. I think I've always been in love with liquid food (like smoothies or margaritas), because they're so easy. I have a sensitive stomach, but somehow her smoothies have always soothed me, physically and emotionally. 

Maybe I'm just a little bit intense, but I think that's also what drove me to want to act. All of the things that I feel — that emotion and the intensity I seek with others and in simple, everyday tasks — that's what engrosses each line that I act and every character I play. And I hoped in that moment that I could transfer that intense energy to my acting, and maybe one day be recognized for it.

Cecilia and I drank our smoothies and talked about our plans for next weekend. We had been invited to 70s themed party where there would be a live band and an open bar. It was pretty exciting, especially for her, because the guy she had been sort of dating invited her to come and bring a friend.

"His name is Louis," she smiled. "He's a producer, and his company has themed parties sometimes, kind of to help artists network and to celebrate a new release."

"Oh, I see," I said. "Well, I'm just happy that you're enjoying yourself with him. Let's see how this party goes. I'm so excited to get our outfits together and dress 70s style," I laughed.

"I knew you would love that idea! You've always loved 70s rock, so that's right up your alley," she says.

We left the house and ended up running to the park near our neighborhood. I'm actually glad she woke up early that morning, because it forced me to get out of the depressed mood I was in. 

We talked more about what outfits we would wear to the party as we ran, and she decided that she would dress disco themed, while I wanted to wear something more hippie style. My hair was long enough to do the hair style, but I thought it might look nice if I straightened it and wore a flower crown.

"Anne," she said. "I think we should use this opportunity, this party, this experience — to have a lot of fun. It's been so long since we've done something crazy. So yes, we will be drinking margaritas and we will be taking shots this time."

"Okay," I laughed with her. "I'll try to keep up, but it's been a while since I've drank."

We came to a stop at the end of the trail going around the park, and leaned against the rails, looking back at the playground, across the grassy field. In the distance, I could see a couple walking their dog together, holding hands and laughing together. I looked over at Cecilia and she was looking at them, too.

My mind took me back to our past relationships in that moment, and I remembered how it felt to hold someone else's hand like that couple. I remembered that feeling of warmth and security when you held the hand of someone you knew well but also that clamminess you felt when you would first hold hands with someone because you were nervous. I missed that feeling, and I could tell Cecilia felt the same.

We were like that when we were together sometimes. We thought so alike that I felt like she was my other half, and even my soulmate in some sense. I had never felt that for another man, but I did for her, even though I wasn't romantically attracted to her. 

Last year both of us had broken up with our boyfriends within months of each other, and we had decided to move in together after our leases ended. It was interesting how we had both started dating our exes at the same time, when we were just 19, and how we had both spent those three years spiraling in abusive relationships. 

It was sad to think, but somehow I felt that our respective heartbreaks had brought us closer together. We had drifted apart when we got into those relationships, the first long-term relationship we both had ever had, but their ending is what helped our friendship grow even more. She was always there for me when I was grieving, and perhaps it had been destiny that led us to this very moment in time.

You could argue that this moment wasn't anything special, but it was small moments like these that I would always remember.

"I'm so happy you're coming with me to this party," she smiled. "And maybe we'll be able to meet some cute guys there."

"That's true," I laughed at her comment.

We were both looking forward to the party, not just to have fun but to use it as an opportunity to let go of our past, including the pain we had felt for so many years. While Cecilia had dated on and off in the past few months, I couldn't bring myself to open up to anyone yet, especially not to any stranger at a party. It had been months since I had talked to a guy more than casually or as a friend.

"Honestly, I'm just ready to get drunk and forget everything, my inhibitions, all of it," I breathed out.

"Okay, Anne," she laughs. "I'll make sure to be the drink police for you all night. If I don't see a drink in your hand, you'll have to take a shot with me. It's the law — no fighting me and no questions asked!" she points at me.

We both started laughing and talked for a few more minutes, allowing our heartbeats to slow down as we relaxed from our run. When we got home, I spent the rest of the morning relaxing and cleaning up my room and around the house. Cecilia had left for work at 11, so I looked online for more auditions and recorded one video to send to a casting agent for review. 

While I was settling down that evening to eat my dinner, I got a notification from Cecilia on instagram — it was a picture of some guys standing together.

Hey dude, this is the band that's going to play at the party. Louis told me that they're really good.

Thank you <3 I'll check them out, I told her.

I looked up their profile, and they were called "The Breakers." From the picture, I could see that guy Louis had been tagged, and he was posing next to a couple of guys, one of which I guess was the main songwriter who had worked with him. The picture was of them at their studio, celebrating the completion of their debut album.

I ended up looking them up on Spotify and listened to a few of their songs — they were definitely my type of music. I could hear various elements of classic rock and psychedelic music in their melodies, mixed with a bit of pop and even jazz. 

That night, I went to bed listening to a few of their songs through my headphones, letting myself get lost in the melodies, just as I would do when in character sometimes. It was interesting how music informed a lot of my life, and I think if I hadn't gone into acting, I probably would have tried to be an artist.

If there was one thing I was sure about, it's that I needed to start taking my acting career seriously. I had already been in Los Angeles for four years, with nothing coming to fruition, and I just hoped that destiny would take me where I needed to be, soon.

[eeveedel]

You know what chubby!1D I’ve been thinking about? A Chris Pratt au (lol), Harry’s an actor who’s been thicc throughout his career, didn’t get that much attention (but still loved because of his charm and comedy improv). Married to another actor (louis) for years, and then he takes this role that requires him to be more “fit” and had to shed off his thiccness. The sudden spotlight on him and being labelled a heart throb starts off as a high for them but then we get some angst!!!

okay I loveeeee this is prompt so much, this was very fun to write. this unfortunately doesn’t contain a lot of chubby harry but hey, the day is young. 

note that this story focuses a lot on weight loss, so if that is triggering to you this might not be the story for you. mostly it’s cute established relationship fluff. I hope you all enjoy! 

–

It was a beautiful April afternoon, Louis was sitting by his sprawling pool next to his stupidly big house, and he was bored out of his mind.

He was flipping through one of the dozen scripts his agent had sent him, and he was falling asleep as he tried to push himself to finish the romantic comedy script that was in front of him. He knew he had to pick something to work on, but Wretched Manor was going to pick up shooting soon enough, and quite frankly he didn’t have the energy to focus on much else.

So he flipped the script closed and settled his head against the pool lounger, closing his eyes and sliding his sunglasses over his eyes as he enjoyed the Los Angeles sunshine. Everything was in place for him to fall asleep again when his husband’s voice broke through it all.

“Louis!”

Louis lifted his head at that. turning to squint to the sliding glass door a few feet away. Harry had opened it and was currently leaning against the door, his phone gripped in one hand as he grinned at Louis from inside. Louis sat up, sliding his sunglasses back up to his hair.

“Yeah, babe?”

“Babe, holy shit,” Harry said, his voice breathless, “I – I got that part.”

“Holy shit,” Louis repeated. He folded his legs, touching his feet to the concrete, “The part I think it is?”

“Yeah, that superhero thing. Sun Knight.”

“Fuck yeah the superhero thing!” Louis said, jumping up.

Sun Knight, which was a name had Louis had made fun of ever since he had first heard it, was nevertheless a role Harry had really been invested in. He auditioned on a whim and then got two different callbacks, and even then, he was unsure if he had a shot. It was different from his usual comedy roles, but the director was old friends with his agent, and it was enough for him to keep his fingers crossed. But neither of them had been expecting it to actually work out.

Louis bounded over to Harry and threw himself onto his husband, and Harry grunted and stumbled a step back as Louis launched himself at him.  

“We have to celebrate!” Louis said, “I think we should have some drinks in the fridge, right? Something that’s not beer?”

“We have Whiteclaw.”

“Oh hell yeah we do.”

Louis pulled himself off of Harry enough for them to stumble to the kitchen and get their drinks. Harry leaned against the counter, rambling about the part as Louis surveyed their collection of hard seltzers.

“We start shooting in October, so all summer it’s going to be preparation. They’re still casting everyone else so I have to go in for chemistry reads, and then meet everyone, and then we start table reads, and I have to read a shit ton of the comic books to understand everything, and then I have to train – “

Harry trailed off at that, and then groaned.

“God, shit, I’m going to have to go on a diet for this movie,” he sighed, laying a hand on his stomach, “And, like, start running a marathon every day.”

Louis looked at him and frowned. Harry had been heavy as long as he had known him, but that’s what he liked about his husband.

“That’s bullshit,” Louis scoffed, “Who says we can’t have chubby superheroes?”

“I don’t think that would sell.”

“Um, it would sell to me and I’m all that matters.”

“I know, baby,” Harry sighed and kissed his cheek, “I’ll get more information soon. We’ll see.”

Louis hummed and then reached out, poking Harry’s soft side.

“Well, that doesn’t matter now,” he said, “What matters is my very sexy, very talented husband got an incredible film role, and we’re going to drink Whiteclaws outside, and then maybe have sex in our pool afterwards.”

“Honey you know how badly things ended the last time we tried that.”

“Quitters never win, Styles,” Louis said. He grabbed two of the seltzers from the fridge and then held them to his chest and grabbed Harry’s hand, tugging him back towards the sliding glass door, “Come on, Sun Knight.”

–

Louis leaned his elbow on the nearest table in the VIP airport lounge, tapping out a text to Harry as he waited for his car to arrive at the front gate. He had a headache and a crick in his neck from the flight from London back to LA that wasn’t going away, and he needed to call his masseuse right away this to get in another session.

Should be home within the hour, we’ll see how traffic works out, he tapped out to Harry. A few seconds later Harry’s response popped up.

Sounds good. I’m at the gym but I’m about to leave anyways, I should still beat you home.

Louis rolled his eyes at the response. He had been busy shooting Wretched Manor back in the UK all summer, and meanwhile Harry had full on launched into prepping for his new role back home. Every time he had texted Harry for the last few months, he had been at the gym. The studio had hooked him up with some professional trainer who was an ex Navy Seal, and now it seemed all Harry did was train. Louis hadn’t gotten many updates since then, and Harry hadn’t sent him a lot of updates on his progress, which was weird enough.

“’I’m at the gym�� isn’t code for ‘I’m having an affair,’ is it?” Louis had asked one night over the phone. He was only half kidding.

“What?” Harry had responded, “Jesus, babe, no, of course not.”

“Okay,” Louis sighed, “Just like…that’s all you’re doing now. Do you still have hobbies? Do you read books, still?”

“I didn’t have time to read books even before this part, babe.”

“Oh, whatever,” Louis sighed, “Is the gym going well, at least?”

“Yeah, it’s going good,” Harry had said, “Adam told me I’m making great progress.”

“Is Adam straight?”

“Oh my god, Louis, I’m not having an affair,” Harry laughed, “I’m too fucking sore all the time to even have an affair.”

“Oh, good. Good for me,” Louis hummed, “You going to be in superhero shape soon?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Harry said, “I mean, I guess you’ll have to see when you get back, tell me what you think.”

“I mean, you know I’d always want to watch you in 3D IMAX, or whatever the hell they even show big movies in these days,” Louis said, “I’m biased.”

“I know,” Harry said, the smile clear in his voice, “I’m excited for you to see, though.”

Louis thought about his old conversations with Harry as he rolled his suitcase out of the airport terminal and got into his car. This wasn’t the longest he and Harry had ever been apart, but it was certainly the longest in awhile. He had kept busy with work and they had kept in touch, but he always missed physically getting to see his husband in person. He hoped Harry wasn’t too sore for a fuck on the living room rug, because that’s really want Louis was feeling, even if it would make his cramped neck worse.

Louis popped an extra Advil and took a short nap in the car, and then within the hour he was being dropped off at his gate. He thanked the driver and then got out, readjusting his backpack on his shoulders as he rolled his suitcase up the drive and to the front door. He texted Harry was he was there as he twisted his keys in the lock and then forced the door open.

The front hallway was empty, and the house was silent, making him frown. He had definitely seen Harry’s Telsa in the driveway, so he had to be home. And normally he was much faster getting to the door when Louis got home, even from a grocery room.

“Harry?” Louis called, tossing his keys into the front basket and shrugging his backpack onto the floor, “Harold, your beloved husband is home! You want to come give a shit?”

Finally, Louis heard some stirring from upstairs.

“Hey, babe!” Harry called, “I just got out of the bath, sorry!”

Louis rolled his eyes.

“That’s no excuse!”

“I know, I’ll be right down!”

Louis snorted and rubbed his still-aching temple. He wandered into the living room and then into the kitchen, going to the stainless steel fridge to get something to eat. The fridge was packed with produce and protein shakes, staples of Harry’s new superhero diet, and he sighed.

“Oh, you poor bastard,” he said to himself as he pulled out a Greek yogurt. He was rifling through one of the drawers when he heard Harry’s footsteps bound down the stairs, and then pad across the first level of the house. Louis pulled out a spoon and then promptly shut the drawer, already putting everything down so he could say hello to his husband.

“Hey, b – “ he started, lifting his head, but then Harry fully came into the kitchen. Louis blinked, his mouth popping open.

Because that was definitely not the Harry he had left. That was still his husband’s face and smile, but that was absolutely not his body. His shoulders were still broad, but they were toned and hard, and so were his arms, which curved with muscle and darkened with a fresh tan. And he had fucking abs. Like real, hard muscle, fully on display thanks to the fact he was only dressed in a pair of old sweatpants that looked like far looser now than they had before.

“Oh my god,” Louis choked out, “Oh, oh wow.”

“You like what you see?” Harry grinned. He held his arms out and did a little spin, lifting his brows when he was done.

“I – yes, wow, yes,” Louis said, “You look great, babe, wow.”

He blinked and stepped forward. Harry held out his hands, and Louis easily let himself be drawn into Harry’s embrace. Harry kissed the top of Louis’s head and he preened, enjoying his touch.

“Missed you, boo,” Harry murmured, and Louis gave him a hard squeeze back. Yeah, the body under his felt far different, but that was still his Harry.

It was still a bit of shock when he pulled back and looked at him again.

“Is this why you didn’t Skype me all summer, you bastard?” Louis said, and Harry laughed hard.

“I thought it would be a fun surprise.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Louis scoffed. He took a step back, bringing his hand up to the back of his neck, “I just – God!”

He held out his hands, flailing them around.

“You’ve got the fucking – “ he gestured weakly, miming a V shape with his hands, “You’ve got the fucking V-things, I mean, what the fuck!”

“Uh,” Harry smiled and looked down, touching his own stomach, “I guess, yeah!”

“Jesus,” Louis said. He reached out and ran a hand down Harry’s flat stomach, shaking his head as he looked back up.

“Where’d my husband go, huh?”

“Still right here,” Harry smiled, “Just about sixty pounds less of me.”

Louis nodded, his fingers weakening a bit. The initial shock was wearing off, and he was finally taking everything in. Harry had trained all summer and lost a shit ton of weight, and now he was smaller than he had ever been since they had been together. He was almost sure this was the smallest Harry had ever been in his adult life, actually. And he didn’t really know how to feel about that.

“Oh,” Louis said eventually, a weak smile coming with the word. But Harry frowned and reached out, putting his hands on Louis’s shoulders.

“Something wrong, love?”

“I just – “ Louis shook his head, “I’m so, so proud of you,  you know? For getting this part, and also working so damn hard. Like, so unspeakably proud of you.”

“But?” Harry said, lifting his brows. It had Louis huff.  

“I really liked you before, that’s all,” he admitted, glancing away.

“I know, baby,” Harry chuckled, “I know you have a chubby kink.”

“It is not a kink,” Louis groaned, “I just – yeah, I like you a little bigger, sue me! I have a type. Everyone has a type.”

Harry just smiled and pet his hair as Louis collapsed back into his chest.

“I get it, baby,” Harry said, “Honestly I kind of miss before, too.”

“Yeah?” Louis said, his voice pitching a bit.

“Yeah. I mean, I guess it’s cool to be in shape for once, but I wasn’t, like, out of shape before. I still worked out. And I could eat junk food. And drink beer. And not go the gym so much I have to wear a knee brace.”

“You wore a knee brace?” Louis half-screeched, “Who did that to you?”

“I got better,” Harry said, petting his hair again to get him to settle. Louis shoved his cheek into Harry’s hard chest and sighed.

“So how long do I have to live with this muscle-y stranger, huh?”

“Well, I have a three movie contract,” Harry said, “And then after that you can start baking again and make me as fat as you want.”

“I can’t bake anymore?” Louis said, pulling away again to look at Harry, “You’re not going to eat my baking?”

“Maybe if it’s sugar free,” Harry said, “Or plant based.”

Louis grimaced.

“I know. This pains me to think about as much as it pains you.”

“I’ll look on the Internet. We’ll figure something out.” Louis said.

He let his hands wander a bit more, and he touched Harry’s chest, his arms, his stomach again.

“I am so, so proud of you, you know that?” he told him.

“Yes, baby.”

“But god, I just want you chubby again,” Louis huffed, squeezing Harry’s newly tiny waist, “It’s so much bone. You’re boney.” 

“Okay, love – “

“Oh, God, middle aged women are going to thirst over you,” Louis said, “I’m the only one that’s allowed to do that.”

“I mean, you’re the only one who has a chance.”

“I know. I trapped you,” Louis said, poking at Harry’s ring-laden left hand, “Oh my God, even your hands are skinny. How could you do this to me?”

“God, I missed your dramatics,” Harry sighed, his smile stretching wide as he looked at Louis.

“I’m not dramatic, I’m devastated.”

Harry just shook his head, still smiling. He reached out, then, and grabbed Louis by the hips, lifting him off the ground and slinging him over his shoulder.

“Oh my God!” Louis shrieked, slapping Harry’s stupidly muscled back, “Put me down! You fucking gorilla man!”

Harry just laughed, spinning around with Louis still on his shoulder.

“I missed yooooou,” Harry crooned, and Louis just huffed.

“I missed you,” Louis returned, “Now is my weird, skinny husband going to carry me to the bedroom or what?”

Harry laughed and finally set Louis down, only to grab him around the waist and pull on him.

“That can be arranged.” 

[spooky-lilith]

Down and Out in the Summer(s) of Love

  Having dropped out from her prestigious university on the East Coast to escape both the draft and her controlling, overbearing parents, Pearl hitches a ride to the West Coast, hoping to forget about Rose by the end of the road.

  She might not have a plan, but it’s 1966 in Southern California, so anything can happen.

Basically a 60’s human au set in Socal where the Crystal Gems are poly, always traveling, usually homeless, hedonistic, and always looking for their next high.

CW: Use of homophobic slurs, transphobic terms. Smoking. Mentions of Marijuana use. Accidental outing. Vomit. Crime: Stealing, Theft, Squatting. Skip to the bottom for an explanation.

  Ships to be introduced: Amethyst x Everyone, Jasper x Everyone, Peridot x Everyone, Bismuth x Everyone.

   Read on AO3 here.

-Los Angeles, Mid-Wilshire, March 12th, 1966

Lapis

  It’s a scene eerily similar to how Lapis and Garnet first met. Lapis had just gotten over a bitter split-up with Peridot; the latter had long been exhausted of the former’s shit, the former proceeding to duck into the cheapest dive nearby and drink herself under the table of The 555. Segregated dingy deserted shithole by day, a disgusting party den by night frequented primarily by the dykes near 8th avenue who had enough money for a few drinks and a night out, and not much else.

  Same shit, different day; The Aphrodite was another dingy shithole in the middle of Mid-Wilshire, it’s population consisting exclusively of the dykes around white enough to avoid the attention of the establishment’s armed security guards hired and hauled in from who knew where. Lapis and Garnet could get through because Lapis could talk herself through anything Garnet couldn’t just stonewall through.

  Her cheap gin and tonic is tangy with metal, half their life budget blown on whatever drinks they could get their hands on. They’ve burned enough cigarettes between the two of them that she’s starting to feel sick from the nicotine. The floor is sticky, the leather is ripped and tattered beyond repair. Playing tonight is a band down on their luck, enough so that they’d play here; everyone’s got to start somewhere, but reputations are fickle things. The fact they’re playing at a dyke bar will stick with them for the rest of their terminally-ill careers.

  None of it’s as interesting as the lonely girl they’ve chosen to watch over for the night, slumped at the bar table with nothing to keep her company. Save for the murky pitcher she’s ordered and been drinking up, all by her lonesome.

  In her ear, Garnet whispers. “That one’s looking a bit lonely.”

  Lapis would’ve sputtered, back at her,  if she wasn’t feeling down from all the nicotine. “You think?”

  The sole girl at the bar tries her hand at pouring another glass, only to spill the clear concoction all over the table and onto her sundress. “She’s deadass drunk. Look at her. How do you think she got through security?” Lapis asks, dizzy from all the nicotine burned between the two of them.

  “Asian girls usually don’t come off as threatening to them. That, or one of them might’ve been hoping she’d drink herself in.”

  Lapis takes another drag from her cigarette. “So if she doesn’t come home with us, they’ll be the ones taking her out.”

  “I agree.”

  “We’re doing something?”

  Garnet scoffs. “How noble of you.”

  “She’s too drunk for me to ask for it tonight.” Lapis admits, downing the rest of her glass. “But it’d be wrong to just… leave her there.”

  “Well? Go to her then.”

  Lapis looks back at Garnet, then back at the girl, then back at Garnet. Garnet knows how to play on her conscience; that the scene playing out right before them is a mirror of how they first met doesn’t escape them. Lapis has half a mind to ask Garnet to ask what she’d first said to her on that fateful night back in autumn ‘65, but she’d figure she’d end up be left sleeping on the hotel couch-sofa tonight if Garnet ever realized she’s forgotten three-fourths of their first meeting together.

  “Kiss me luck?” Lapis asks instead.

  Not even acknowledgement shines through Garnet’s thick aviator sunglasses. “You’re a better flirt when you’re horny.”

  “Fuck you Garnet.” She smiles back at her as she stands.

  “Tomorrow morning���s going to be rough on her, the poor girl. You think someone flaked on her?”

  “She’s absolutely blitzed right now, no doubting that. We driving back to her place, or we taking her back to ours?”

  “Depends on how far away her address is. Didn’t you have a girl to save?”

  “Working on it.” She walks over to the bar, brushing off her leather jacket, slipping onto the seat right next to her without any trouble. The girl is absolutely inebriated, not even noticing that someone’s sitting right across from her, now pouring a drink of her own. A lemony rum punch, strong enough to give the girl slumped in front of her poisoning, if her thin frame is suggestive of anything in her oversized beige sundress.

  “You know, you’ll be poisoning yourself if you keep this up.” Lapis downs the drink, and pushing the pitcher out of the girl’s reach.

  The girl raises an eyebrow, looking up at her from her stupor. Eyes heavy, on the verge of tears. A breakup.

  Agitated by her questions, the girl scowls. “Can I help you?”

  At this, Lapis can’t help but smirk at her expense. “I think that’s the question I should be asking you.” Up close and personal, she realizes the girl’s taller than her, if only just. Her plain, cheap sundress shows off the most elegant legs Lapis has ever had the pleasure to set her eyes on. The girl tucks back her short-cut hair, an unpretentious strawberry-blonde. Her eyes, weary and close to tears, suddenly grow wide now that she has someone to talk to.

  “Hey, if you don’t want me bothering you, that’s fine. I’ll just head on back over to my friend-”

  “No! No.” Pearl grumbles, her fringe drooping over her wide eyes as her hand reaches over to grasp her arm. “Stay. Please. I’m scared.”

  At the sight of this, Lapis nearly melts. “Of me?”

  “Of… everything, really. I’m… I’m a fool really.”

  A smooth, serene voice fills the room; the shoddy audition rejects dash off-stage to presumably their next mediocre performance, and with them, go the chaotic acoustics of their bar. The new singer  announces they’ve taken the stage; it’s all in the back of her mind really, but she’s glad she can hear herself think again.

  -Blue Moon

  The girl’s eyes glimpse through and their eyes meet; they lock for an abnormally long amount of time. “I’m not from around here. I’m, I’m lost and I don’t know what I’m doing, I ran away from home and-”

  Her words fumble and crash into a blithering incoherence but underneath it all, Lapis catches a few words. Money. Spent. Parents. Runaway. Rose. Scared.

   Lapis looks back at Garnet, begging her for assistance; Garnet throws her back a thumbs up and Lapis wishes she could just chuck this damn pitcher of shitty lemon-rum back at her.

  “You’re not from around here?” Lapis asks, trying.

  “N-no.” The girl says, long fingers covering her mouth. The shoddy lighting doesn’t mask her luminescent blush, and it sets Lapis off wondering how new to everything she just is.

  “Maryland, actually.” The girl slurs. “Small town. Had to escape it all. Parents. The fact that I kept seeing her wherever I went-”

  At this, Lapis leans in, arms curling around the girl’s frail body to wrap her in as warm as a hug as she can manage. “I understand.”

  A lie that wasn’t a lie. In Lapis’s case, it was better to describe what she just said as an emotion, a jumble of sorts. But she isn’t the one half-way across the country, drunkenly embracing a biker dyke she barely even knows so she’ll have to put away those feelings for now.

  “T-thank you.” The girl slips her fingers around the back of Lapis’s neck, igniting a desire she hadn’t felt since-

  Like her building nausea, she shoves it all, her feelings, her emotions back down inside. Their embrace breaks; Lapis pushing the girl back to where she started, trying to figure out where she was now.

  Again, she puts away her thoughts when the girl reaches for another drink, discovering that she’s spilt most of the contents on the table, and on her lap. Pouts, so very unfitting of the stature this girl would radiate if she wasn’t so absolutely gassed right now, when she realizes her pitcher’s been taken away from her. But she doesn’t complain.

  “You… you need help.” Lapis flusters out. “Maybe we can get you a taxi and send you to a hotel or maybe we go with you to make sure-”

  “Why’d you take it away?” Pearl slurs, reaching for the pitcher, prompting Lapis to pour whatever’s left in a glass for herself.

  “Why’d you go all the way out here?” Lapis asks, trying to redirect the girl’s attention away from her lost alcohol. “We’re in southern Cali. Other side of the country. Empire City wasn’t exciting enough for you?”

  The girl frowns at her as if to mock her for the teasing question, and Lapis just knows she has to have her. “I needed to be far away. Far, far away. And it seemed nice here. Beaches. Sun. Surfing. My parents... used to live, here actually.”

  “Really?”

  Without warning, the girl spills onto the floor under their stools, upchucking what must be at least a fourth of her pitcher. Grimacing and yanking her feet away, Lapis squeaks out something about her prized jump boots, about how the leather’s a bitch to maintain, and about how she can’t afford cleaners or anything like that.

  “Nice.” Garnet earns herself another glare from Lapis, joining their impromptu party.

  “My fucking boots! You realize how much of a bitch these were to get my hands on!?”

  “Vent.” Garnet says, deadpan as always, as she carefully removes the girl’s body from her own slosh.

  “They’re fucking jump boots. Straight from the inventory we raided a couple months back! Military brats get all pissy about them if you’re not in the fucking air force or whatever.” Lapis glances at the mess to see how bad it is, considering it’s mostly regurgitated booze and stomach acids, the damage shouldn't be awful. “Forget it. Is she okay?”

  “She’ll be feeling like absolute shit tomorrow, but she’s sleeping like a bird right now.” Without missing a beat, Garnet’s hand slips into Pearl’s purse, quickly fishing out her wallet to procure an ID of any sort.

  “Wouldn’t bother with the address. She lives in Maryland, so unless you’re into road trips-”

  “Just confirming her information. Name, age, and address?”

  “Didn’t get it, probably too young for any joint, and all the way out in fucking Maryland.” Lapis grunts, wiping off her boots with the bar’s cloth napkin.

  Garnet adjusts her sunglasses, focusing in on the girl’s identification. In all other cases, they’d be done by now and take her to wherever she is, or wherever they’ve holed up for the night. That Garnet takes off her sunglasses, perpetually fused to her head whenever they’re out together, means something’s off.  “Pearl. Name’s Pearl.”

  “Anything wrong?” Lapis josses the napkin back into place, making sure to throw a few dimesin the pitcher before they leave.

  Garnet, sunglasses back in place, holds the girl’s ID up, asking her to look.

  The dim lighting of The Aphrodite makes it hard to see, but she finds what Garnet’s pointing her to instantly; it sticks out a sore thumb asides from the night unrecognizable photo, and the etched out name section. “Well.” Lapis one-notes.

  “Lapis.”

  “Fuzz’ll be all over her for crossdressing once they’ve thrown her in the jailhouse for something stupid.” Lapis admits, no longer interested in looking over the identification.

  Garnet takes Lapis’s glass, downing half of it before leaving the rest for her. “She have a hotel we can drive to?”

  “I think she said she burned all her money on the pitcher and the ride here actually.” Lapis holds out their keys, and shrugs disaffectedly.

  “So we’ll be taking her in then?” Garnet gently lifts Pearl from her stupor, carrying her bridal style.

  Lapis takes one end of Pearl’s body, helping Garnet carry her out of the bar whilst garnering only a strange look or two from the bar’s patrons. And two glares of disappointment from the white-shirted security. “Of course.” Lapis grumbles above the fading music. “Let her sleep tonight off, and throw up tomorrow morning. We should... probably forget we saw it.”

  That the streets of downtown LA hadn’t emptied by two in the morning was a testament to the city’s livability. Greeted with that cool summer night chill native to Southern California, the two stumble their way out of The Aphrodite.

  No raid tonight, meaning they could just dump her in the back seating of their miracle of a vehicle. The newest Shelby Model 66, almost criminal given they don’t have the money to cough up for the hotel keep tomorrow morning. In fact, it wasn’t even theirs; being a gift Lapis kept with her given by one of her rich ex’s during their ill-fated relationship.

  “Your thoughts?” Garnet asks, Lapis slumping against the window view, watching the city fly by, radio on full blast.

  You’re Going to Lose That Girl -The Beatles

  “On her?” Lapis darts her gaze over to her, still freshly knocked out.

  “Yeah. I think she’s plenty attractive.” Garnet continues, eyes on the road. She could never figure out how Garnet could still see through those damn sunglasses at night.

  Lapis’s eyes dart back to the passing cityscape, the lights and glows of the neon city streets fading as they left the main city. “She’s such a baby dyke.”

-Los Angeles County, Hawaiian Gardens, February 27th, 1966

  Garnet makes sure to drive extra slow for their passenger in the back. They don’t want to hurt her more any more than her drinking’s caused her, and they really don’t want to mess up the car interior any more than what a year of hard drinking and smoking’s done to it.

  After around a half-hour of pissing off drivers clocking 90 on The 605, they finally reach their destination: a motel Lapis somehow convinced the management to give them three more days to cough up their money. Making sure to park right outside their room window, they unceremoniously dump Pearl on the room’s sleeper sofa once they’re back in their room, making sure to wrap her in whatever blankets the room has on hand: two. Three glasses of tap water are set out for her, left on the bedside stand. Surrounding her front and back, two garbage bins, when she inevitably needs to hurl.

  “God damn it.” Lapis groans, throwing off her leather jacket and cleaning herself on the dresser. “I thought we were going to nail someone new tonight.”

  “We did.” Garnet says, stripping off her blazer. “In a different usage of the word, yes.”

  Lapis groans, earning a laugh on Garnet’s end. Soft fingers slip through, combing her mop of blue hair, faded into a sky blue. She’d need to bleach the roots and go ‘shopping’ for the hair supplies. Dying hair was expensive enough to actually bother spending on, as wishy-washy the two of them were between being ‘ethical,’ and lifting everything they could carry in their pockets from the nearest gas station.

  “We got any green left to smoke?” Lapis asks, as a soft thud lands on the bed.

  “We should probably sleep now. Wake up before she does.”

  “What if we don’t? What is she gonna do, hurl all over the hallway trying to leave?”

  “Mmm. I was thinking you’d be a bit more enthusiastic to jump into bed with me.”

  It takes a few seconds to many for it to connect. When she does eventually look over, she’s greeted by the sight of Garnet stretching, lying on their queen size bed. Waiting for her.

  The distance between them halves, is rendered nil. They laugh as Lapis struggles with her tattered jeans, wound a bit too tight for her. They lay into each other, teasing whispers, sharing pleasantries. Lapis’s arms slip her arms around Garnet’s waist, their fingers intertwining.

  “I figured you’d want.”

  “Am I really that predictable?”

  “It doesn’t take a mind reader to read you, Lapis Lazuli.”

  “This is fine though, isn’t it?” Lapis whispers. Their lips meet in a clash of lust and affection that sends them falling apart in the other’s arms. It’s a dance the two of them are familiar with, that it’s part muscle memory doesn’t take anything away. They’re there to catch each other, they’re happy to still be dancing this far long on their little stage.

  “It’s your move.”

  Lapis doesn’t say anything back, opting to slip her fingers underneath the the dress shirt Garnet was wearing, pulling it over her head, and off her body.

Pearl

  When Pearl finally comes to, her first thought back to sober reality is a wish that she hadn’t. Her skull is pulsing, splitting as if someone rearranged all the valves in her body to pump everything straight to the brain. Her throat is sore, and her mouth is so, very dry. In an attempt to reclaim control over her senses, she tries to toss her body over, only to knock her back onto some cold tin surface.

  Her body shivers, shakes uncontrollably with her teeth clattering against each other with enough force to knock the cavities out of her molars flat outright. Covering her shivering body is strangely nostalgic. Her lips are dry yet pasty, covered in some sheen that makes her just want to jump out of wherever she is and-

  Where is she? What was she doing-

  An excruciatingly long bus ride, a check-in to an extraordinarily sub-par motel, an absolutely filthy bar, a pitcher of the most disgusting liquid she’s ever had the pleasure of letting slide past her throat, and a mop of blue hair-

  “Rise and shine babe.” The blanket protecting her eyes from the blinding light out is gently lifted from her, still enough to make her panic. Whether from confusion or outright pain, she opens her mouth. A scream tries to escape her throat, but instead she just curls her body up, desperately clawing under the blanket for shade and protection. Escaping her lips instead is a wispy gasp.   Without thinking, she flips over the opposite direction, and hurtles herself off of the comforts of her dingy bed, and onto another tin object, tipping it over. As if to mock her, a generous amount of water is dumped onto her front, soaking her through.

  This time, Pearl manages to scream. Loud.

  “Jesus, you okay!?” Two hands peek through her covers, propping her up. The sopping wet blanket over her eyes is cruelly removed from her as she’s carefully set against the couch. Napkins wipe at her eyes so she can see; greeting her is a familiar face, and her messy blue hair.

  “W-where am I? What am I doing here!?” Pearl blithers erratically, wincing from the sound of her voice which she realizes now is too damn loud. The room is too damn loud, everything is too damn loud and now she wants to cry from it all. “D-did I-”

  “You drank yourself shit-faced last night so we decided to take you home with us.” Noticing Pearl’s state of mind, she panics. “H-Hey, don’t worry. We didn’t do anything to you. Promise.”

  A dumbfounded stare scans the blue-haired girl’s face, trying to recollect, pick up the pieces from last night, if there are any. “I’m Lapis.” Her eyes dart away, unwilling to look Pearl in the eye. “You… threw up all over my boots last night.”

  “Oh god…” Pearl squeaks, sinking in her blanket cocoon and bringing her knees up to her arms.

  It all dissolves into an emotional mess, Pearl blithering out more nothings, making Lapis both confused and flustered. “Hey, don’t-” Lapis pithers her words, instead placing her hands on Pearl’s shoulders as a comforting measure. Like last night. “I’ll... go get some towels okay?” She says awkwardly, disappearing off to the washroom.

  Pearl’s eyes instinctively dart around her surroundings, trying to figure out exactly where she is and see if their story checks out. With so little to reference though, she’ll have to take the girl’s word for it that this is a hotel room and-

  “Garnet, she’s up!” The girl screams from the washroom, making Pearl jump. “I swear…”

  Stumbling back in from the washroom, Lapis sits down in front of her, distance minimal. “I’m gonna wipe you off while you just relax. You’re in a hangover, and it’s not gonna go away soon.” The girl flusters, her gaze darting away from Pearl’s, with some undecipherable emotion. “If… you wanna do it yourself, or you don’t wanna be wiped down, just… say something.”

  Pearl nods, warily, and still shaking. “I’m… I’m fine. Go ahead.”

  Carefully, the girl begins kneading the towel over where Pearl’s soaked through, which feels nice on her end. They share eye contact for a brief moment before Lapis’s eyes dart away, as if she had suddenly remembered how awkward all of this is supposed to be.

  Spots and memories from last night are all she can remember, and what she does remember consists of her awkwardly wandering in, being convinced to purchase that drastically overcharged pitcher of rum, and deciding to down it all in one go, because sunk costs. What she does remember of the blue-haired girl confuses her, makes her want to learn more about her…

  “H-hey, you’re crying.” Lapis panics, dabbing at Pearl’s tears. “You alright?”

  “I-I,” she tries to breathe, finding her nostrils to be clogged with phlegm and junk, “you’re just being so nice to me.”

  The girl’s cheeks flush red, their eyes meeting again. For a brief moment, Pearl’s nausea seems to be infectious, Lapis shoving the towels in her face and promptly standing up. “This is wrong.” The girl says, disappearing out of the living room. “Garnet, this is so much!”

  Now left to her own thoughts and ruminations, Pearl instinctively comes to the conclusion that she’s went and ruined everything, and has to leave the city, if not the state. Her eyes dart around the room with both a mindless curiosity and an urgency to gather her things and get out of here. Stained wallpapers, a spartan assortment of amenities, and the faint smell caught in her sheets gives some credence to the girl’s claim she’s in some run-down motel in the middle of nowhere.

  Though surprisingly, the room does come with a beat-up radio, playing out the tune to some surf rock song she’s never heard before, but finds strangely comforting in this situation.

  Surfer Girl- The Beach Boys

 Standing next to what was her sorry excuse for a bed, a makeshift nightstand, appropriated from some trash bin that’s carried god knows what. Laid out for her, and thankfully untouched by her water spill, her wallet and purse.

 Her wallet and purse were laid out for her.

 Her wallet was laid out for her.

  Nausea. She realizes why those trash cans were set out for her, grabbing the nearest one and throwing another portion of last night’s drink down the drain. When she’s done sputtering out whatever stomach acid’s still left on her teeth, she rinses with whatever water’s still left for her, spitting in the bin.

  “Sorry about that.” Demanding her attention, the girl apparently named Garnet, another one of the bar’s patrons she’d caught a glimpse of from the privacy of her booth, yet never had the courage to approach. Partially because she found herself stunned by Garnet’s everything, and partially because she’d seen a black person precisely twice in her life beforehand. “Lapis is a bit caught up on you.”

  Oh god. She just gave Garnet a disgusting show-

  Staring straight into the enigma that was Garnet’s sunglasses, Pearl, flustering and trying to come up with a coherent jumble of words that wouldn’t make her look like an idiot right in front of her.

  “H-hi, I’m Pearl.” She grins, stupidly.

  A smirk from Garnet and she maybe hasn’t ruined everything yet with this one. “We knew.”

  She doesn’t remember introducing herself last night.

  At this, Pearl’s heart crumples, and she decides that if she can’t bring herself to run away, she’ll just curl up into a ball until it’s all over. “I, I see. Well, I suppose I’ve made myself too much of a burden here, which means-”

  “Pearl.”

  Garnet’s voice grabs her attention; their eyes meet, Garnet’s sunglasses off. “We didn't mean to see it on your driver’s. We just wanted to see if you had an address, and-

  “Whatever the fed says about you on that shitty card doesn’t matter.” The Lapis jumps in, watching them from the hallway leading into what must be the master bedroom.

  Pearl’s eyes dart over to where Lapis; she’s almost hiding from her, much like Pearl wants to, and as to why Pearl has someone like her scared confuses her.

  “We didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable and intrude on your privacy.” Garnet continues, kneeling down. “We’re sorry, and if you’d like to leave right now, we wouldn’t stop you. But we…” Garnet’s eyes briefly dart over to the blue-haired girl’s eyes, “we’d like to ask you something. A proposition, really.”

  Pearl’s eyes briefly dart over to where her wallet and purse are, and it briefly crosses her mind to take the two and dash out of there, leaving it all behind as some awkward experience she could laugh off once she’d eked out something resembling a stable life for herself.

  But like everything else in Pearl’s life, it wasn’t so simple. She had exactly in her wallet seven twenty-five; having blown most of her money on the booze, an unused motel room half-way across the city, and the excruciatingly painful bus ride here from Maryland. It was a moment decision really, one day she was living out her miserable life in the all-male Ocean University dorms, making sure to visit her parents on the weekends. Three years into her engineering degree, she’d gotten her notice in the mail; once university was done and over with, she’d be drafted. A final letter to Rose, who was off with her loser musician off in upstate New York, and she declared ‘fuck it,’ and bought herself a bus ticket, that nice sundress that’d caught her eye during last year’s Christmas shopping, and left for her birthplace, in sunny Southern California.

  Twenty years of living for her family, hoping they’d one day see her the way she wanted them to see her, all thrown down the drain by her naivety. Ten years of pining after Rose, always standing by her side, her closest confidant from K-12, all tossed aside like she was nothing for some deadbeat drummer boy all the way from Beach City.

  And now she was here, Southern California. Surfing, sunshine, and whatever mythos the state could manufacture to make their image more alluring just so she might delude herself with the fantasy that she really would escape it all. And now she was here, stuck inside the hotel room of two strangers she’d gotten mixed up with after a night gone wrong.

  They’d… they’d been so nice to her.

  And she had nowhere else to go.

  She’s too lost in her beachside fantasy to consider otherwise.

  She had nothing else to lose.

  “I’m... listening.”

  Ticket to Ride -The Beatles

  “Just remember, you don’t have to accept. And you can back out at any time. That’s how we work.” Garnet affirms, eyes shining through her dark aviator sunglasses as if to get Pearl to confirm that yes, she does understand.

  “I understand.” Pearl affirms, pressing the towel against her soaked clothes. That she’s still sopping wet is irritating and sends her into a shivering fit, prompting the blue-haired girl to toss out two more towels from the bathroom, each of varying cleanliness, but at the very least, dry. She’s grateful nonetheless.

  “We’d like you to come along with us. We’ve been driving up and down Socal for the past few months or so, getting by. Taking whatever we need to live, spending whatever money we run into on girls and booze. We’d get it, if you think that sounds rough, or if you wouldn’t want to live with a couple total strangers you just met. But the thing is,”

  “I think you’re really cute.” The blue-haired girl jumps in, still from the safety of her hallway. “Garnet and I’ve been together for a couple months now, and we’ve been talking about finding another. Maybe two, maybe more.”

  “Maybe you’ll be the one.” Garnet finishes.

  Lapis fishes from her pocket a small carton of Lucky Stars, unfiltered and fresh. Producing a lighter from her skirt pockets, she takes a drag for herself, before walking over to hand the tobacco over to Pearl.

  “Symbolic.” Garnet deadpans.

  “Your fucking degree is rubbing off on me.” Lapis says back, to which Garnet shrugs.

  Unlike last night with her and alcohol, this isn’t a new experience. Pearl’s smoked with Rose before, smoking endemic in Beach City High. Her fingers nearly fumble the fragile tobacco but she manages to bring it to her lips and take her drag.

  She coughs. And hacks, her world is sent spinning. She’s still in a hangover after all, and her arms fumble for the nearest trash bin, her moment of relative peace shattered when the sends back up another portion last night’s drinks.

  “Shit, you need water. And coffee, but I’d rather not deal with the assholes up at the front desk…”

  “I’ll get you another glass.” Garnet affirms her, heading to the washroom. “Anything else you need?”

  Against all the ringing and vibrations in her fragile skull, Pearl whimpers out her answer. “A cold shower… sounds about right.”

Garnet

   Whether Pearl accepts their offer or not, it doesn’t change the fact that they’ll be charged with the bill for the extra week they’ve roomed the second they hit the front desk, and they’re just a couple everything short.  

  “We’re dipping?” Lapis asks, slothing around on the sofa-bed, arms curled to her body now that Pearl’s locked away behind her shower.

  The desk drawers are knocked open, inside some leftovers from the previous occupants, unnoticed by housekeeping; some goldish medallion, several unsmoked cigars, and a handful of dimes and nickels. “Unless you can get us another extension, that’s the plan. Grab anything not bolted down that you’ll be able to toss in the trunk.”

  At the base of the bed, Lapis stretches with lethargy. “Are we hitting the pawn shop first, or are we gonna look for one once we’re in SD?”

  “That one we found off of Garden Grove offered good prices.”

  “Yeah, but shopkeep was an ass.”

  Garnet gets to work pilfering sheets, mugs, lamps, whatever she can find and stuffing them down her suitcase for good measure. That Lapis hasn’t started helping her says everything Garnet needs to know about her current psyche.

  “You’re nervous.”

  Garnet isn’t in the mood to help Lapis sort out her own emotions; that Lapis hasn’t been able to make up her damn mind about their situation reminds her that she’s still hurt, enough to split into two.

  Lapis scoffs unconvincingly. “What have I got to be nervous about?”

  “She reminds you of Peridot. And-”

  Lapis’s eyes widen, casting a glare over at her. “Don’t you dare bring them up-”

  “I will bring them up when it is appropriate, Lapis Lazuli.” Garnet crosses her arms, telling Lapis to back down.

  Lapis wants to get better. Wants to feel better, wants to be better, without putting in any of the work and change that comes with it. And most of all, she wants someone to just feel sorry about everything she’d dug herself into, and as much as Garnet wants to understand, that Lapis won’t do the same for her or them hurts.

  “S-sorry.” Lapis gets out, gaze suspiciously avoidant.

  “I know.”

   The pitter-patter of waterdrops from Pearl’s shower dominates the acoustics of their room. Lapis’s nervousness is infectious, as very un-Garnet-like it was for her to be nervous.

  Or rather, to admit it.

  “Let’s not fight in front of her.” Lapis mutters.

  “Would it be right for us? Taking her in?” Garnet briskly asks, securing the locks on her suitcase. As much as she’d like to state otherwise, she and Lapis are messes; Lapis especially, but hell if she’ll ever admit it.

  “You heard her. She’s got nowhere to go.” Lapis responds, avoiding the damn question. “What are we supposed to do, dump her out on the streets like everyone else?”

  The squeaking of a shower lever cutting off the showerhead signals to the two of them time’s up; either they put away their petty squabbles, or they risk alienating the poor girl even more than they already have.

  “Shower’s mine.” Lapis jumps to the claim first, Garnet being too distracted by her own thoughts to contest.   “Fine with me.” Garnet grumbles, frustrated with the edges of her friend, lover.

  “And… tell Pearl about them for me. If she’s okay with it.”

  “Can do.”

  The bathroom lock clicks open, steam pouring through the widening crack in the door. Pearl stumbles through the thick mist, wearing the clothes set out for her by Lapis; an oversized flannel, a plain beige tee, with some tight jeans, mildly tattered at the edges. More surprising than Lapis’s body size matching with hers, is how much portions of Lapis’s usual wardrobe fits Pearl.

  Before Lapis can claim the shower for herself, Garnet makes sure to toss three pieces from Lapis’s wardrobe over; a cut up tank top, a denim jacket, and black leggings, all of which bounce off of Lapis’s thick head as she disappears into the shower. She’ll have to make sure Lapis doesn’t traumatize their guest once she’s finished.

  “How’re you feeling?” Garnet asks, having nabbed everything she could. “Come to a decision yet?”

  Pearl tepidly nods, setting her lithe body down on the now stripped-down sofa-bed. “I’d like to come with you. Learn more about living here. Functioning as an… independent adult, it’s… I suppose with company it would be so much less overwhelming.”

  “That’s a reasonable answer. Though I need you to understand. Don’t feel obligated to do anything you don’t want to do.”

  “But I want to!” Pearl’s outburst is unexpected for the both of them, Pearl’s fingers instinctively covering her mouth. “It used to be that life was so terribly simple.” Pearl continues calmer. “I would know how, and when and where everything would happen, just like my parents had told me; education, marriage, children! Now… I suppose some of that sense of childish wonder is back in me, though I could do without the overwhelming sense of uncertainty and fear. Am I… making sense?”

  From where she sat, Pearl looked so small, so fragile.

  Nervous fingers crawl over Pearl’s vision, in shame. “Oh, I’m terrible really, I may have shared too much information, and rambled on on unimportant matters, I-”

  “Pearl.”

  Pearl’s eyes dart up, desperately looking for any sign of reassurance.

  “You’re fine. And never tell yourself your story is unimportant. Because it is. Especially if you’re who we hope you are.”

  Pearl flusters, overcompensating for her inexperience with… everything, by nodding with enough vigor to snap her skull straight off.

  “And you do recognize that if we like you, it’d be a commitment to the both of us. Not just Lapis.”

  “Yes. I know what polyamory is, an… old friend taught me.”

  “Oh.” She hadn’t been expecting that answer, having expected Pearl’s silence on her and Lapis’s relationship being an indication of confusion, rather than understanding.

  “It’s just… I wouldn’t be intruding on the two of you, would I?”

  “Lapis is completely smitten with you. And we’ve only just met, we have plenty of time to get to know each other.”

  That Pearl doesn’t pick up any of the subtext beneath her words would be enough to make Garnet laugh at Pearl’s expense, if not for her large eyes softening. “I’m intruding on you, aren’t I? I-”

  “You’re plenty attractive.” Garnet reassures her, Pearl’s flushing red from the compliment. “It’s not you I’m worried about, it’s Lapis.”

  Pearl’s eyes naturally widen with worry. “What about her?”

  “Who she’s been with before.” Garnet admits, taking the spot right next to Pearl. “She’s hurt her girlfriends before.” Garnet’s words are laced with a worry for the delicate girl beside her, as much as strong as their bond was.

  “You?” Pearl asks, eyes wide with worry.

  Garnet scoffs. “I watch over her. She’s the one who told me all about it, and we’ve been working on it ever since we decided to become an item. But change takes work, and Lapis isn’t the dedicated sort.”

  Pearl’s eyes fall, though not in a fear, but in a sort of contemplation. Analytic, as if considering her options. Garnet isn’t sure which would have been more appropriate for her. “How did you and Lapis meet?” Pearl asks, in a near whisper.

  It was a question she never had the pleasure of answering, but the answer she could remember clear; all that was left was to organize her thoughts on the matter.

  A peaceable breath is sucked in before she starts. “It was several months after her last relationship had ended. I was short on money, but even more importantly, I had a landlord who kept raising the rent on me whenever he wanted. Lapis on the other hand, was homeless. Eventually I knew I was going to be out of a home by the end of the month, so I decided to go for a drink.  The 555 was the closest lesbian bar nearby, and I ended up finding Lapis underneath my table. Just as drunk as you were.”

  “Took her home like you. Ended up letting her sleep on my couch for a couple of days, and we started sleeping together. By the end of the month, we decided to we wanted to travel together, so we decided to dip out of LA, and straight up to Santa Barbara, where Lapis’s car was impounded. Rest is history.”

  Lapis’s affinity with water leads to her taking excruciatingly long showers, (that she’s confessed to spending most of the time inside having fun with the shower head,) the current of which was now ending, announced by the cutoff of water.

  Once Garnet’s finished with hers, they’ll be dipping out before hotel management comes up to personally knock at their doors.

  “Anyways.” Garnet shifts gears. “If you’re still with us, you’ll need to be caught up to snuff. Once I’m done showering, we’ll be driving down south, to San Diego. There’s a rich boy with a summer home down there who Lapis faked being in love with for a month or two before the whole liking girls thing clicked for her. She’s got a spare key, and he never visits this time of year so we should be fine.”

  “We’ll be squatting!?” Pearl sputters incredulously. Garnet throws her hands up in innocence.

  “Hey, rich people problems that he has the money to throw at. It isn’t even his actual home, if it makes you feel better.”

  “What if he has security? What if he checks on his property early-”

  “Then we’ll dip out like we’re going to do now.”

  “Excuse me!?” Pearl demands.

  “Uh, Pearl?” Lapis’s voice announces the end of her shower.

  Pearl jolts, turning around to meet Lapis, body half-obscured by the bathroom door.

  “You threw up all over the soap dude. Seriously?”

-San Diego North County, The 5, March 12th, 1966

  Chapel of Love -The Dixie Cups

  They had to leave the torn-up leather chair behind. Nothing to strap it onto the car, and contrary to Lapis’s protests, it didn’t fit in the backseat of their Shelby. In the end, they jossed the damn furniture into the hotel dumpster, before dipping as fast as they could before management noticed Lapis’s face.

   Garnet and Pearl ride the Shelby, Lapis riding right beside them in her 1964 Harley Davidson Sportster. In a stunning revelation for her when Garnet first learned, it was actually legitimately owned, bought up with Lapis’s and her mother’s savings. Back when she was still caught up with the Hell’s Angels, having long given up all efforts at living a legitimate life, before she’d met Garnet.

  It’s an awkward ride between her and Pearl. Besides the radio, only the sound of Pearl’s breakfast (Raisin-Bran, straight from the box, without milk,) fills in the distance between the two of them, now they don’t have anything to talk about.

  It’s not like they could converse like normal people; parents, childhood, and life before California being off-limits. Not at Pearl’s discretion, but at Garnet’s, and her respect for whatever similarities they have between each other.

  “Oh, that’s so pretty.” Pearl sleepily mumbles.

  San Onofre was an unspoilt stretch of land, rugged and untouched by humans, save for The 5 carving right through it, and the hundreds of seabathers playing in the sun-kissed sands, painted an unpretentious honey to match the rest of the earth around.

  Windswept bluffs carve the countryside around them. Breaking the sands, tidal wetlands carved out by the eternal California surf that’s always inviting, always calling.

  Well, Southern California surf. Anything north, and most of those shores were quite nasty.

  “Most of Southern California is. Unfortunately, it has some of the worst people in the entire world.” Garnet adds, without missing a beat.

  Pearl’s already lulled herself to sleep, resting a delicate cheek against the car window.

  “Stick with us, and you’ll love living here.”

You Really Got Me -The Kinks. Recorded July 1964, Released August 4th, 1964 in the UK.

  why did i write this i hate socal

  Do comment and kudos if you want to tell me what you thought of it, if i should keep writing more, or if i should remove my fic bc it’s problematic or it sucks

  I can’t promise y’all much, but i do promise this fic won’t end in a stupid love triangle ending with pearl and lapis breaking off leaving garnet or some bs.

  CW Explanations.

   The word ‘dyke’ is used by Lapis a lot, bc she swears like a sailor, and we’re about a few decades before political correctness.

  Lapis does mention something that can be taken as transphobia. “...Fuzz’ll be all over her for crossdressing…” Lapis is observing that if Pearl is ever arrested for something petty like theft or something minor, then her identification will lead to her petty crime being marked up to crossdressing.

  Pearl is accidentally outed as a trans woman when Garnet checks her wallet for any ID of any sort.

  Pearl vomits multiple times during the morning after due to mild alcohol poisoning.

[staystrange]

i love play rehearsal | spierfeld week day 6

“So I guess we’re dating now,” Bram said.

Simon’s breath caught in his throat. “Are - are we?”

“What? Oh, I was just reading from the script,” Bram said, smirking. “See, I can act, too.”

-or-

A not-so-typical (love song) fake-dating AU : )

Title: "I Love Play Rehearsal" from Be More Chill

Spierfeld Week Day 6: Fake Dating AUs

read on ao3

It was that time of year again. Simon was auditioning for Creekwood High’s spring musical, and for the first time in his theater career, he’d gotten a callback. A freaking callback. He actually had a chance at a lead this year and he couldn’t even believe it. The callback list had gone up that afternoon, and the callbacks were scheduled for the next afternoon. He’d picked up a copy of the scene that would be used for the callback from Ms. Albright’s office a few minutes earlier; she’d smiled at him as he left, and he’d smiled back. Now, all that was left to do was to find someone who would run lines with him.

Simon walked into his room, kicking the door shut with his foot and throwing his backpack onto his bed. He pulled out the makeshift script and scrolled through his very short list of contacts, hoping one of them would be able to help him rehearse.

The scene in question was between a boy and a girl whom the boy had a crush on. Simon definitely needed to practice acting like he was in love with girls (it had been quite a few years since Simon had even thought he might like a girl), so he figured he should try and see if either Abby or Leah was available first.

Abby would actually be perfect because she also had theater experience so she would be the most helpful to him. Unfortunately, she’d chosen not to audition that year because she wanted to get a job and focus on her grades in preparation for college applications. Simon also knew she was busy that day because she worked after school pretty much every day.

Leah was probably available, though, so he called her.

“Hey, Si, what’s up?” Leah said, answering the phone on the second ring.

“Hey, Leah, are you busy right now?”

“Yeah, I’m in line for a concert. Why?”

“Oh, I just needed someone to run lines with for my callback tomorrow, but I can ask someone else. It’s all good.”

“Okay. I’m sorry, Si, I wish I could help. You know I would, but I’ve had these tickets for months. I really hope you get the part!”

Simon smiled. “Thanks, Leah. I want to hear all about this concert tomorrow, okay?”

“Of course. Talk to you later.”

“Bye.”

Simon hung up the phone and looked back down at his contacts list again. He knew Nick was busy with soccer practice, and so was Garrett. Then his eyes fell on the last person whom he hadn’t considered yet.

Bram Greenfeld.

Bram, who’d sprained his ankle last week at practice so he couldn’t play for at least two or three weeks, at least according to Nick.

Bram, who Simon was secretly in love with.

They weren’t close or anything, but they sat together at lunch with all of their friends, and Simon didn’t have anyone else to call to rehearse with him.

Bram it was, then.

Dial tones had never sounded so ominous.

“Simon?” Bram asked softly, when he answered the phone.

“Hey, Bram,” he began slowly. “I, uh, can you come over?”

Shit.

“I mean, not like that. Um, I need help rehearsing for my callback tomorrow.”

“You got a callback? Congrats, man, that’s awesome!”

“Thank you. I have to know this scene well enough by tomorrow to be able to perform it with whoever they’re calling back for the female lead. Can you come over and rehearse with me? I know that’s kind of a weird request but everyone else is busy.”

“Sure. Give me a few minutes.”

“Thank you so much, Bram, you’re a lifesaver.”

A few minutes later, the doorbell rang. Simon ran downstairs and opened the door and saw Bram, looking adorable as ever. Simon tried so hard not to blush as he mumbled, “Come in” and gestured for Bram to follow him upstairs.

“So what kind of scene is this?” Bram asked, picking up the script lying on Simon’s bed.

“So the guy, the character I have a callback for, is in love with this girl.” Simon paused, expecting a reaction from Bram, but he just nodded, so Simon continued. “He’s in love with this girl and he wants to ask her out, but he’s too nervous.”

“I’m playing the girl, then?” Bram asked, smiling softly.

“Um, yeah, sorry about that. Leah and Abby were both busy and I just need someone to read the lines back to me and —”

“It’s okay, Simon, don’t worry. I like spending time with you, and I really do want you to get this role.”

“You do?”

“Of course. That’s what friends are for, isn’t it?” Simon smiled. “Let’s get to it, then.”

They began reading through the scene. Simon was a bit hesitant at first, but it felt even more natural as he imagined himself saying all of this to Bram instead of whatever female character this was.

And then his eyes reached the bottom of the page.

“So I guess I would, um, kiss you here. Your character, that is,” Simon said, stumbling over his words as his heart pounded in his chest.

“Yeah, it seems like it.” Bram and Simon looked at each other, neither of them daring to say anything out of fear of making the situation even more awkward.

Simon didn’t know what came over him, but before he knew what he was doing, he leaned in and pressed his lips gently against Bram’s.

He started freaking out and was about to pull his lips away when, to his complete and utter surprise, he felt Bram start to kiss back. Simon let his eyes slide shut as he leaned into it, wondering if he was dreaming. Bram’s hands slid into his hair and he pulled Simon closer.

Nope, definitely not dreaming.

Finally, they pulled away.

“So I guess we’re dating now,” Bram said.

Simon’s breath caught in his throat. “Are - are we?”

“What? Oh, I was just reading from the script,” Bram said, smirking. “See, I can act, too.”

“Bram Greenfeld, oh my freaking goodness you are such a tease.” He laughed. “But seriously, I really like you.”

“I like you, too, I always have.”

“Can we be boyfriends for real?”

“Yes, God, yes,” Bram replied, pulling Simon in for another kiss.

———

Real dating was so much better than fake dating.

1. As I mentioned, my theater nerd self has been reawakened, and holy heck I love Be More Chill. I might be going to see the Off-Broadway production this summer, and I'm so freaking excited!!!!! 2. This is definitely not the usual fake-dating AU, but I got the idea and just went with it. 3. Bram is secretly also good at acting. It's canon now : ) 4. Even though this fic and my last fic are both theater-related, they are in no way connected. Read them separately. 5. I apologize that this is late!!

You guys know the drill.

[realityisnoplacetolive]

Lost In Translation | Phandom Big Bang

Author: realityisnoplacetolive

Artist: @themessafterthemarty (the art is awesome omg)

Beta: @always-okay-katie (thank you so much for all your help!!)

Word count: 11k

Rating: PG

Warnings: None

Summary: In a world in which everyone is born with their soulmate’s first words to them tattooed somewhere on their body, it would seem that loneliness is finally cured. But Phil Lester has a problem. His tattoo is in a language he can’t speak.

A/N: Additional thanks to @awesomesockes, for being Danish and therefore occasionally helpful in the endeavor :p And to Gina, for giving me really awesome advice about pacing, which i was too stubborn to actually implement, but I appreciated nonetheless <3 (you tried)

His situation wasn’t exactly common, but it wasn’t unheard of either. Phil’s mum often tried to assure him of this - he wasn’t the first person on Earth to have a language barrier between him and his soulmate. But that was easy for her to say, when she was born with the words ‘Have you got a partner for the assignment yet?’ tattooed in neat script across her collarbone. Phil’s father had asked her this question at the start of year five, and despite the response she’d given him of ‘Sorry, Charlie’s just asked me’, the two had been fast friends ever since. Those five words covered his dad’s left calf, and he often teased his wife about how her first words to him were rejection.

But Phil Lester would’ve given anything for something as simple and direct as that. The twenty-two year old sighed at the foreign phrase printed across his right forearm for what felt like the millionth time.

“Yeah, well, beats mine anyway,” his older brother had assured him. Phil had to giggle, remembering the ‘Would you like to order drinks?’ tattoo on Martyn’s bicep.

As teens, a group of his brothers’ friends had started a sort of competition for who could find their soulmate fastest. Of course, it didn’t really work that way. The first meeting was something predetermined before birth; trying to rush fate was pointless. And while they believed that on some level, impatient young people were notorious for trying to manipulate their situations to make it happen a bit sooner.

Martyn’s friend, Jack, for example, had been born with the tattoo ‘Try not to move - it might be broken’. He’d taken it as an open invitation to try all kinds of extreme sports, from BMX biking to water skiing. By the age of seventeen, Jack had already broken eleven bones with no luck on the soulmate front. In the end, he’d had to trip over a rolled up floor mat and sprain his knee while walking into Asda before finally meeting Emma.

Not one to be outdone, poor Martyn had taken nearly every penny he’d earned from his summer job at a bowling alley and spent it trying out various restaurants and sneaking into bars. He’d get his hopes up with each new server, only to have them dashed again every time the waitress remained unphased by his drink order. Eventually, he’d made peace with it. He’d meet her when he’d meet her, and that was that.

But with a line like ‘Er det dine briller?’ inked into his skin, it seemed foolish for Phil not to prepare a little.

The phrase was in Danish: are these your glasses? Translating it had been the easy part - his parents had done that for him with the help of a Danish-English dictionary they’d purchased about a week after he was born (after first spending a few afternoons in the library determining the tattoo wasn’t German or Dutch or Swedish). What to do with that information next, however, was a little less obvious.

When Phil was little, having such a mark was almost a relief. Much like a child taking their first steps or graduating school, meeting one’s soulmate for the first time was considered such an important milestone in someone’s life that it wasn’t uncommon for parents to hover over their children’s first interactions with strangers, hoping to hear those magic words. But with Phil’s odds of simply bumping into his soulmate on the playground at next to nil, much of the pressure involved in making new friends was off. In a way, it was nice.

For his thirteenth birthday, Phil’s parents had bought him a ‘Teach Yourself Danish’ book series, complete with audio tapes to practice with. But after a few weeks of struggling to wrap his mouth around the foreign words, Phil’s enthusiasm dwindled and the series took up residence in the corner of his book shelf where it collected dust for years to come.

xx

Phil was nineteen before things changed. He and one of his best friends, Amber, were spending the day at a funfair. She was eating candyfloss off a stick, while he was a very pale shade of green and trying his best to keep his lunch down after the Tilt-A-Whirl.

“Want a bite?” Amber said, offering the sugary pink substance to him. He grimaced and looked away. “Might help.”

“Doubt it.” He moved toward an empty bench a few feet away and sat down with a little groan, closing his eyes. Amber plopped down next to him, and they rested for a few minutes.

Phil had met Amber on the first day of sixth form. She was one of the very few girls Phil knew who didn’t place much stock in the soulmate system. Amber had a bit of a rebellious streak, and never shut up about how dumb she considered it that some unknown force in the universe was supposed to decide who she should spend her life with.

“When I do meet him, I bet I won’t even like him,” she often complained. “I feel sorry for the bloke, honestly.”

She’d gone out with several different guys throughout their school career, which had earned her a certain reputation with many of the other students in their year. She rarely ever did anything with these boys, she’d confided in Phil once, but she found everyone else’s assumptions about her fascinating. Plus, there was something so liberating about spending the evening sitting on the sofa, “wasting her time” - as her grandmother often chided - by getting to know someone who’d only leave her in the end.

“But that’s exactly the point,” Amber would argue back. “There’s no pressure this way - no promise of a future. Just right now.”

Honestly, Phil wished he could have such a flippant attitude about the whole matter. Amber was on a whole new level.

“You’re not gonna eat that?” a male voice interrupted Phil’s thoughts.

Phil’s eyes snapped open again, and he noticed a young man approaching them. Amber sat frozen with one arm reached out, just getting ready to drop the last bit of her candyfloss into the bin next to the bench. Phil’s heart leapt and he shot his friend a look of amazement.

“Why?” Amber replied to the stranger, a mixture of nervousness and excitement in her voice. “You starting a half-eaten candyfloss collection?”

“Holy fucking shit on a stick!” the stranger exclaimed, his eyes lighting up with the same excitement. “That’s my tattoo!”

Grinning, Amber lifted the leg of her jeans just enough to show the ‘You’re not gonna eat that?’ tattooed on her ankle. “And you?”

The stranger, with an even bigger smile, held out his forearm. “Half-eaten candyfloss collection! Who even says that?” He laughed. “I was worried I’d never find you! My name’s Matt by the way.”

As Phil walked along the rest of the day, listening to Amber and Matt chat excitedly several paces ahead, he began to understand the meaning of the term “third wheel”. He also resolved to sign up for Danish lessons as soon as he got home.

xx

It was another three years before Phil finally got his chance to visit Denmark. Amber and Matt - now recently engaged and sharing a flat - had booked him tickets to Copenhagen as a part belated birthday, part ‘sorry that we found true love and ran off together while you’re over there all alone’ present. But he wasn’t about to be one to turn down a free trip, even one born out of pity.

Phil greatly increased his language studies in preparation. He’d found an internet proxy that allowed him to stream the Danish national television channels, and was thoroughly enjoying Danish X Factor. It turned out horrible talent show auditions were universal.

“So are you like, fluent now?” Martyn asked him that evening when he came to visit, the night before Phil set off. He stood in the doorway to Phil’s room with his arms crossed, leaning against the frame, as he observed his younger brother. Phil was sprawled out in his bed with his laptop, watching Huset på Christianshavn - a sitcom from the late 70s featuring an odd bunch of Danes living in an apartment complex who did an appalling amount of drinking and not much else.

“Uh, no. Not quite there yet,” Phil answered without looking up. That was an understatement - his eyes were currently glued to the rapidly moving subtitles, which gave him his only hope of comprehension.

“Ah, well, I’m sure you’ll do fine,” his brother said. He moved from the doorway and sat down on Phil’s desk chair. “Cornelia says hi by the way - she wanted to come along and send you off properly, but she’s got some huge chemistry exam tomorrow morning. Says her professor is a nightmare.”

Even just mentioning Cornelia’s name, Martyn’s face seemed to light up. Phil had noticed this with most of his friends who’d found their soulmates and a familiar pang of bitterness hit him. He swallowed it down before he spoke.

“It’s alright,” Phil said dismissively. “It’s not like I’m gone a year. Just six days.”

“Who knows,” Martyn grinned, “you might just be so smitten after you meet them that you decide to stay.”

The words struck a nerve. “You know, I wish everyone would stop putting all this pressure on me,” Phil snapped. “There’s no guarantee that I’m meeting anyone on this trip - there never is.”  

“Hey man, it was just a joke…” Martyn tried.

“No, it’s not! It’s the one person that the universe has decided is compatible with my soul and I have to fly to bloody Denmark to even have a shot at meeting them!”

“That’s not true, you-”

But Phil cut him off. “All my friends are getting engaged or moving in together or just out having their own adventures because at least they know they have an equal chance of meeting their soulmate wherever they might end up, but here I am, preparing myself for my one chance to meet someone I won’t even be able to communicate with!”

He paused for a breath. It was as if a dam had been opened - now that all his worries were flooding out, he felt powerless to stop them. He went on, “And if this fails, then what? Wait to save up enough and try again? Move there? What if I don’t even like this stupid country?”

“They all speak English there,” his brother reminded. “They learn it from like, year one. They’ll probably be better than you.”

“But will they think English?” Phil asked, something akin to desperation in his voice. “Will they feel English? When we lay in bed and tell each other our deepest secrets, will their words come out effortlessly in English, or will it constantly be work for them to translate their every thought to a language not their own because I’m a piece of shit who was literally born with an assignment printed on his arm but put off studying for twenty-two years?!”

Hot tears were sliding down Phil’s face now. He slammed the laptop closed and pushed it aside before sitting up on the bed and pulling his knees up to his chest.

Martyn rose from the desk and moved over to sit next to Phil on the edge of the bed. He offered his shoulder, and his brother, grateful for the comfort, lay his head against it. “You are way overthinking this, mate,” Martyn said softly.

“I know…” Phil breathed back. And deep down, he did know. “It’s just…” He cut himself off with a sigh.

“Just what?” his brother prompted.

“Just… what if it all goes horribly wrong? You know, like Great Uncle Ronnie….”

Martyn rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Phil, your soulmate speaks Danish and you don’t. That man was born with the tattoo ‘Time of death: 7:46’ on his chest. Your situation is not even close to that level of depressing.”

“But what about-” Phil began.

“Enough,” Martyn cut in. “You have six days of free travel in a beautiful foreign country. For once in your life, let’s just forget about this whole soulmate business and focus on that. Can you manage that?”

Slowly, Phil nodded his head.

“Good.” Martyn ruffled his brother’s hair with his hand before turning to the empty suitcase lying on the floor. “Now let’s get you packed. And bring an umbrella - I just checked the weather and it looks like six solid days of rain.”

Phil let out a sigh. “Fantastic.”

xx

Keeping his word to Martyn ended up not being nearly as difficult as Phil had imagined. There was plenty to do and see in Copenhagen besides soulmate searching. In four days’ time, Phil had already seen The Little Mermaid statue (which was significantly smaller than he’d imagined), visited two castles, explored Tivoli Gardens, gone for a canal tour, a bus tour, and a bike tour, and posed for his mandatory selfie in front of the capital guards.

But even with all the activities to occupy his time, he’d be lying if he said choosing to wear his glasses rather than contact lenses that week was just a coincidence, or that the few instances where he’d left those glasses sitting on restaurant tables or park benches had been complete accidents.

It turned out, most Danes kept to themselves. He was rarely spoken to by anyone, though one man did give a small cough and incline his head in the glasses’ direction. Phil had acknowledged him with a nod and gave a slight smile before retrieving them. Non-verbal interactions seemed to be Denmark’s speciality.

But finally, after several of these such attempts, a stranger fell for his bait. Phil had taken off his glasses and set them on the cafe table where he’d been sipping a latte. He’d walked halfway to the door, and was just about to complete his routine of acting as though he’d suddenly realized they were missing and backtracking to the table, when he heard a phrase that sent a chill down his spine.

“Excuse me, are those your glasses?”

Phil spun around excitedly at the words, but his eyes met those of a woman in her mid-fifties. She wasn’t exactly his type, but then again, platonic soulmates, though rare, were still a possibility…

“Mine b-briller?” he stuttered back, the words sounding all thick and wrong in his hopeless accent.

The woman looked puzzled. “Nå! Er du dansker?” she asked.

“…What?” Phil replied.

“I guess not.” The corners of her mouth turned up a bit into a smile. “I asked if you were Danish,” she explained, a slight accent to her voice. “I think you left your glasses on the table.”

“Oh, right, thanks,” he mumbled. Phil picked them up and stuffed them into his bag. He didn’t even need them at the moment - he was wearing his contacts anyway.

The woman was already moving to join the queue at the counter, and Phil considered just letting it go. But no, he’d come all this way; he had to be sure.

He hurried back over to her. “Sorry, excuse me?” he said quickly. She turned to look at him. “I’m sorry, I just have to ask something. When you asked me about the glasses the first time, were you speaking Danish or English?” He’d been so startled by her question before that he hadn’t even noticed.

She frowned. “English, wasn’t it? I saw the book you were holding, so I just assumed. Something wrong?”

Phil could’ve kicked himself. Of course. When carrying a book titled “Tourist in Copenhagen”, he wouldn’t look exceptionally Danish.

“No, nothing’s wrong. I guess I just got my hopes up for a second.” Feeling he owed her an explanation, Phil gave a small sigh and pushed his right jacket sleeve up to reveal his tattoo.

The woman squinted to make out the words, and then her expression instantly changed to one of understanding. “Nåh. I’m afraid I’m taken.” With a kind smile that crinkled up the corners of her eyes, she tugged down the top hem of her shirt just enough to expose the writing on her collarbone: Mine underbukser har fået hjemve. Then she held up her left hand and wiggled the fingers. The sunlight glinted off her wedding ring.

If she hadn’t been so sweet, Phil thought he might have died of embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, really. I’ll go now.” He spun around quickly toward the door.

“It’s alright!” she laughed after him. “And count your blessings - at least your tattoo doesn’t declare to all the world that your soulmate’s first words to you were that he had a wedgie.”

Even with his cheeks burning as they were, Phil had to giggle as he ducked out of the cafe and back to the walking street.

xx

Despite his horrible luck on the soulmate front, Phil had managed to enjoy his time in Denmark for the most part.

Martyn had been wrong about the weather after all. Or, mostly right - it had been storming all morning, but the clouds above had parted in the last twenty minutes and the sun was shining brightly enough now that Phil stopped walking to shrug off his jacket and locate his sunglasses.

He’d just managed to free them from his bag when he felt some kind of strap hit the back of his knees, tripping him up. Three large, eager dogs had suddenly appeared on his right, accompanied by a woman on his left who was simultaneously riding a bike and struggling with one arm to hold on to three leather leashes, which were wrapping around the back of Phil’s legs. Two of the dogs crossed in front of Phil, twisting the leashes even further around his ankles and pulling both himself and the cyclist off balance. The bike toppled over, while Phil fell backwards, smacking the back of his head on the landing. Suddenly all five of them were lying on the pavement in a pile of tangled limbs and barking animals.

“Undskyld! Undskyld!” the woman apologized profusely, then proceeded to babble on. Context, plus the limited Danish he could comprehend, told him she was explaining something about how her dogs had gotten away from her, how she was terribly sorry about that, and then asking whether or not he was alright. Not wanting to cause a fuss, Phil simply nodded as they disentangled.

A headache was already building from the jolt. He slowly made his way up to standing and started brushing off his pant legs, which now had damp spots on the back where they’d touched the ground. His possessions were scattered over the street, and the woman, still rambling on in Danish, was hurriedly trying to help him gather everything again.

“Er det dine briller?”

But it hadn’t been the woman asking the question. A new voice had joined the mix. The words startled Phil and his heart leapt in his chest. He spun around to see another guy, late teens or early twenties, stooping down and holding out Phil’s sunglasses.

Are these your glasses? The words seemed to be sung in angel chorus. This was his moment. Phil Lester had had twenty-two years to come up with an answer to that question. He’d rehearsed in front of the mirror, night after night, what fluent Danish response he might say back. He had taught himself affirmative replies, negative replies, replies that were somewhere in the middle - hell, he’d even learned a pick up line or two.

Yet despite all that, when presented with the question that had been inked into his skin since the day he was born, Phil became a blubbering mess. “Ja!” he pointed to the glasses excitedly and then to himself. “Du er min!”

The stranger raised one eyebrow and cocked his head to the side curiously. “Snakker du til brillerne? Eller til mig?”

“…What?” Phil questioned. The stranger deposited the glasses into Phil’s open hand, looking amused. “Jeg snakker kun lidt dansk,” Phil admitted, using one of the first phrases he’d ever learned of this language: I don’t speak much Danish.

“Clearly,” the man snorted under his breath.

“Oh! Engelsk?” Phil squeaked hopefully. “You speak English?”

The man was grinning now. “I should hope so,” he replied. “Twelve years in the English public school system should have taught me that much.”

Phil’s world was spinning now. He brought a hand up to his head, which was throbbing. “Wait, does that mean… you’re not Danish?”

“God no,” the man snorted out a laugh. “I’m from Wokingham.”

“But you spoke…?” Phil trailed off, looking confused.

The stranger nodded, having grasped Phil’s not quite finished question. “My dad lives here, so I’ve been picking up the language. Plus there’s some online Danish program I do when I can be arsed to remember it.”

“Oh, me too I guess…” Phil mumbled. “Er, not the dad part. Just I’ve been trying to learn, I mean.” The cyclist had managed to gather the dogs and bike together again and was starting to limp away. He’d offer to help her, if he wasn’t also slowly dying himself.

“Cool,” the stranger remarked. His look changed to one of concern, as Phil had gone quite pale. “Hey, you alright?”

“Yeah, just… my head…” Phil slurred, bringing his hand up to prod at the rapidly swelling lump. “I-I should sit down.” He glanced around desperately for a chair.

“Oh. Um…” After a second of hesitation, the man took Phil’s arm and guided him back into the cafe, and then into a booth. He disappeared and then reappeared a minute later with a bottle of water, which he offered awkwardly.

Phil gave him a small smile of gratitude and took the bottle before letting out a tiny groan. “This wasn’t how I planned this day to go.”

The man smiled kindly at him. “That’s life, isn’t it?” He extended his right hand. “I’m Dan, by the way. Dan Howell.”

“Phil,” Phil replied, shaking it. Clumsily, he reached into his pocket, mumbling, “I can pay you back for the water…”

“Oh, no.” Dan waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not everyday something like… this happens.” The words seemed to trip him up at the end.

Phil changed the subject. “You said your dad lives in Denmark?”

“Yeah, he works for an international shipping company,” Dan explained, perking right up. “I live with my mum though, back in England. But I usually come visit a few weeks every summer and every other Christmas.”

“I see…” Phil nodded, then regretted that as the throbbing in his head increased. “But you’re fluent in Danish?”

“Oh no, not even close,” Dan snorted. “I don’t even think most Danes are fluent. Have you heard this language? You might as well just cram a large vegetable down your epiglottis - that seems to be what it would take to choke out half their vowel sounds.”

Phil was starting to feel a little foolish now. He brought the water to his lips, but pulled it away again before taking a sip. “I… I’m sorry. I’m just having a little trouble taking all of this in. I think I hit my head when I fell. But you’re saying you’re not Danish? Not at all? Not even like, half?”

“I mean, if you go back a few generations on my dad’s side, there was a bit of scandal that may or may not have involved the Crown Prince, but nothing was ever confirmed….”

Phil nodded, slower this time. Again, he tried to take a drink of water, but the questions were bursting inside of him to get out. He set the still full bottle back down on the table. “Right, sorry, still trying to get this straight. You’re telling me that the last twenty-two years of my life have been a lie? That all along you were just some English bloke I could have met at home?”

Dan seemed to take offense at this. “Hey, I’m not just some Engli-”

Phil cut him off. “I-I planned my life around this! I picked a course at uni that I could transfer internationally! I learned Denmark’s history! I studied this bloody language - do you know how hard is it to find Danish courses in England?!”

“Actually, I do,” Dan replied stiffly, “but what has any of that got to do with-”

But Phil pressed on. “All the nights I spent lying awake, worried I wouldn’t be able to communicate with my… my soulmate -” He spat out the last word in disgust, “And… And now…”

At the mention of that word, Dan’s gaze shifted away; suddenly he appeared very interested in the salt and pepper shakers.

Phil stopped abruptly, feeling ashamed. He could understand Dan’s response. Personally, Phil had known he was bisexual since he was fifteen, so the fact that the universe had paired him with another male didn’t come as a complete shock to him. But he had no way of knowing yet where Dan stood on the matter. Regardless, he definitely wasn’t making the best first impression.

“I’m sorry. I’m not normally like this.” Phil gestured an open hand vaguely around his head. “I - I hit my head,” he finished lamely.

“Yeah, you mentioned. Like three times now.” Most of the stiffness had gone from Dan’s tone. He watched as Phil rested his elbows on the table and brought his hands up to cover his face. This seemed to soften him even further. “Uh, how bad is it? Do you need to call someone?”

“No, no… It’s fine,” Phil muttered into his hands. “Just hurts.” He lowered his hands again and looked back up. “But… you did ask it, right? I mean…” For the second time that day, Phil held out his bare forearm to a stranger, revealing those four troublesome words: Er det dine briller. “These were your first words to me?”

Dan shifted in his seat. “Er… Well, yeah, but…”

Phil felt himself deflate at the response. “But you have a different tattoo,” he finished. Of course he did - how could Phil have been so stupid? “I’m so sorry, I should have known better. God, this day has been awful. I’m so sor-”

“Ja, du er min,” Dan whispered.

“Sorry?”

A little more confidently now, Dan spoke again, “Ja, du er min. That’s what you said back.”

“Wait.” Phil frowned, recalling the incident. “Didn’t I say det er min? As in, they - the sunglasses - are mine?”

“Nope.” Dan grinned and shook his head. “You definitely said du er min. As in, you are mine.”

“Aw damn it,” Phil muttered, “I’m always messing up the pronouns in this language.”

Dan snorted in amusement.

“Can… Can I see your tattoo then?” Phil asked tentatively.

Dan’s eyes darted down to his own lap. “Oh. Uh… Maybe another time.”  

Phil looked hurt. “If this is because of what I said before, I really am sorry. I never should have implied you weren’t who I thought you’d be. I was just so shocked and-”

“No, it’s not that,” Dan said quickly. “I just… don’t really feel comfortable showing you right now.”

Phil drew in a long, deep breath before biting his lower lip. This didn’t make any sense - nothing about this meeting had gone even remotely like he had pictured. His throat was tightening and he had to blink a few times to keep his tears in check. Crying in front of the man would really put the icing on the cake, wouldn’t it?

“You… You don’t want to show me your mark?” Phil questioned. He was fighting to keep the pleading tone out of his voice, but it slipped through anyway.

“Er, not right now, no,” Dan confirmed. Though he looked apologetic.

“But you’re sure we’re soulmates?” Phil pressed on. “Like, sure sure?”

“Du er min,” Dan said with a nod.

“Then, I just don’t understand.” He was thoroughly exasperated now. “Why can’t I see it? I mean, it’s not that I don’t trust you, but we just met, so-”

“Exactly! We just met. Which is why I’m not particularly comfortable showing you such a private thing.”

“But then how will I-”

“It’s on my bum, alright?!” Dan exclaimed in frustration.

Phil blinked at him. “Sorry, what?”

“On my arse, in huge fucking block letters, I have a tattoo that says ‘Ja du er min’,” Dan clarified. “I can assure you, you are the first person to ever greet me with those exact words.”

At that point, Phil realized his mouth had been hanging open and quickly shut it. Virtually all soulmate tattoos were on perfectly innocuous parts of the body: arms, wrists, ankles, collarbones, feet. He’d heard once of a German teenager who’d come out claiming his mark was on his penis and that was why he’d been harassing half the girls at his school with dick pics. The story had been on the news and everything. But the mark had turned out to be fake - his real soulmate tattoo was at the base of his neck, covered by his long hair, and simply said ‘Nein’.

With wide eyes, Phil leaned in closer and whispered “…For real?”

His soulmate nodded miserably. He seemed thoroughly embarrassed.

“But… But that’s so cool!” Phil grinned.

Now it was Dan’s turn to blink back. “How is being tramp-stamped from birth in any way cool? Do you know what they call tattoos like that in Denmark?” he demanded.

Phil shook his head.

“Røvgevir. Ass antlers.”

But as Phil dissolved into giggles, Dan gave up trying to act annoyed. “Alright, it’s a little funny,” he admitted. “But realize that anytime I wanted to see my soulmate’s first words to me, I had to take down my pants and read them backwards in a mirror.”

“And it really says those exact words?” Phil giggled on.

“It really does. ‘Yes, you are mine’,” Dan recited back the translated version. He was snickering too now.

“God, you must have thought I’d be a serial killer!”

“Or perhaps a raging drunk,” Dan put in. “Speaking of…” His gaze traveled down to his backpack, then over to to the door. “Do you wanna get out of here?”

xx

After exiting the cafe, the two found a grocery store and stopped in to get some sandwiches and paper cups and plates to take with them. The rain had managed to stay away and, for the first day since Phil had arrived, the sun was actually shining. But even if they had walked directly into a hurricane, the day couldn’t have seemed anything but gorgeous to him.

Together, they crossed a few streets, and several minutes later arrived at the large square garden that surrounded Rosenborg Castle. Around them, there were people walking their dogs, riding bikes, or just relaxing in the rare bit of sunshine. Dan guided him over to a spot on the grass near a statue of Hans Christian Andersen and surprised Phil a bit by pulling a blanket from his backpack and spreading it out on the slightly damp grass.

But if the blanket had been unexpected, it only got stranger as Dan proceeded to pull an unopened bottle of champagne out of the bag. Phil looked at him curiously.

Dan shrugged at the reaction. “I always like to be prepared.” Noting Phil’s look of incredulousness, he laughed and explained, “Nah, I bought it when you went looking for the paper plates. It’s funny not getting asked for ID here - there’s no drinking age in Denmark, you know?”

Phil picked up the bottle and scanned the Danish label. “Looks fancy.”

“My dad told me this brand is the best.” Dan popped the cork off, seeming a little surprised as the fizz rushed out. Phil handed him two of the little paper cups and Dan poured them each one.

“Cheers,” Dan said. “Or I guess we should say skål.”

“Skål,” Phil repeated, tapping his paper cup to Dan’s. He took a sip of the liquid, but immediately had to fight to keep from scrunching up his face at the taste. Not wanting to offend his soulmate any more than he’d already done, he hummed, “Mmmm…”.

Dan, who had also sipped his, now frowned and peered into the cup. “Huh. Tastes like ass.”

“Yeah…” Phil agreed with a giggle. “I wasn’t gonna say anything, but…”

“Should’ve known Dad was taking the piss.” Dan scooted over to the edge of the blanket and poured his cupful out into the grass. “So much for that.”

“Still, it was a nice thought,” Phil said. “I should have thought to do something cool for you…”

Dan glanced down and his cheeks reddened again. “Oh no, it’s no big deal,” he mumbled quickly. He looked back up. “And you said you’d been learning Danish, didn’t you? That’s a huge something.”

Phil gave a humorless laugh. “Yeah, that was a great use of my time, wasn’t it?” With a sigh, he lay back on the blanket and brought his hands up over his face again. “This day has been so humiliating,” he moaned. “Why does this soulmate business have to be so complicated?”

Dan laughed and joined Phil in stretching out on the blanket. “Tell me about it.”

xx

Phil made it about thirty minutes into their picnic before an acute increase in pain and dizziness upon sitting up caused him to vomit his half-sandwich and ass-champagne over the side of the blanket. Mortified, he tried to stand up and move away, but his world was spinning so much that he would have toppled right over if not for Dan grabbing his arm to steady him.

“Whoa, hey, hold on,” Dan commanded as Phil tried to pull away from his grip. “You need to sit back down.”

“I-I need to g-go,” Phil slurred, not entirely sure where he was trying to get to. Besides away, that is. Preferably some place dark and quiet and far removed from other humans. His head was pounding.

“I know, we’re going, just hold on,” Dan assured, though he sounded nervous. Once he was convinced Phil could stand on his own, Dan ducked away to gather everything back into his bag. Phil let his eyes close as he swayed in place, just focusing on remaining upright.

Things were a blur from that point on, due mainly to the persistent ringing in Phil’s ears. Dan moved him to a park bench and then started asking him all kinds of questions. But Dan’s voice was hard to make out - almost like Phil was underwater - so Phil couldn’t give many answers. The questioning finally stopped when a concerned-looking Dan took out his phone and stepped a few paces away to make a call.

About ten minutes later, Dan was ushering Phil into a taxi. Phil had a vague sense that he really shouldn’t be getting into a cab with a man he’d just met an hour or two before, soulmate or not, but he was feeling too out of it to protest. Next thing Phil knew, he was being led into a reception area of a bright waiting room and nudged toward a chair.

“…This a hospital?” Phil mumbled as he sank into his seat. The change in location had made him feel a bit more coherent.

Dan scratched the top of his head, looking awkward. “Yeah… I think you need to get your head checked.”

“Rude.”

“What?” Dan frowned at first, but then his eyes widened in understanding. “Oh no, not like that! I just meant because of the…” He trailed off as he noticed Phil was smirking at him. “Oh. Got your sense of humor back, I see.”

Phil giggled a bit. Gingerly, he lifted his hand up to feel the lump on the back of his skull and winced. It had definitely gotten bigger.

“I should go sign you in,” Dan decided, glancing to the front desk. “Have you got an ID on you?”

Nodding slowly, Phil reached into his pocket and pulled a card from his wallet. “I hope they speak English here,” he mumbled, passing the card to Dan.

“I wouldn’t worry about it.” Dan dismissed him with a shrug. “Pretty much everyone here does.” Once again, Phil felt dumb for having spent so many years worrying about the potential language barrier.

Dan examined the card. “So it’s Lester, is it?” he mused. Phil gave a small grunt of confirmation. “Philip Michael Lester… I like it.” Nodding to himself, Dan turned and took the card up to the reception desk.

The waiting room was surprisingly quiet for a hospital, which Phil greatly appreciated. If only it wasn’t so damn bright. He let his eyes close to block the light out. He must have started drifting off because a few moments later he felt someone gently nudging him back awake. Phil opened his eyes to see Dan had returned and was poking his shoulder, holding a clipboard in the other hand.

“You really shouldn’t sleep with a head injury,” Dan said as he sat down in the chair beside Phil. “This happened to my cousin once and I remember my aunt had to keep waking her up.”

Phil gave a tired grunt in response, his gaze falling to the clipboard which Dan had balanced on his lap.

“Normally they’d just have you scan your ID and then all your info is in the system already, but it won’t work because you’re not from Denmark so we’ve got these forms instead,” Dan rambled in explanation. Phil really couldn’t have cared less how the Danish healthcare system worked at the moment, but he nodded anyway. Leaning forward in his seat, Phil rested his elbows on his knees, allowing him to support his forehead in his hands.

“Do you live with your parents?” Dan’s voice asked.

“Just right now,” Phil mumbled back into his hands. “I’m planning on moving out soon… just don’t have things quite…” he trailed off feeling slightly embarrassed.

Embarrassment was really the emotion of the day for Phil. In the past twelve hours, he had accused a random Danish lady of being his soulmate, then gotten knocked down by a pack of dogs and helped to his feet by a man who turned out to be his actual soulmate, spluttered at him in a foreign language only to discover he spoke English all along, offended the man, and finally made up with him only long enough to puke all over his picnic.

“It’s okay, I live with my family too, whenever I’m home from uni,” Dan said, cutting his thoughts off. “Do you know your mum’s phone number?”

“Er… seven, one…” He closed his eyes tighter and rubbed at them. “Or…Or maybe it ends in seven one?” Normally he knew the number, but his head felt fuzzy and he was tired - so tired.

“That’s alright. What’s her name?”

“Mum…” Phil answered sleepily. His eyes were closed, so he missed Dan’s eyeroll. The tiredness won out and Phil drifted back off again until Dan’s voice startled him back to reality. “Wha..?” Phil mumbled.

“I asked if you’re on any medications,” Dan repeated his question.

Phil frowned. Soulmates or not, surely that wasn’t appropriate to ask someone you’d just met. “No? Are you?”

“Huh?” Dan replied. “Why?”

“Well why did you ask me?” Phil tried to demand. But it came out more like a whine.

Dan giggled a little, tilting the clipboard Phil’s direction as he did so. “Because it’s line twelve on this form.”

“Oh.”

After having filled out as much as he could, Dan returned the forms to the desk and Phil’s name was soon called by a nurse. Dan helped him to his feet and followed him to the doorway, but the nurse stopped him there.

“Sorry, only family is allowed in the exam room,” she said gently.

“Oh okay, I’ll wait here,” Dan said, turning.

“No!” Phil protested, more forcefully than he’d intended. Both Dan and the nurse froze. “I just mean, can’t he stay?” Phil pleaded. “We’re… we’re soulmates.”

Dan looked uncomfortable. “It’s okay,” he assured, glancing down to his feet. “I can just wait.”

“Please?” Phil begged. He wasn’t scared of hospitals exactly, but they always made him nervous, especially now when he wasn’t thinking totally clearly. Plus, having finally met Dan, he had no desire to let the man out of his sight so soon.

The nurse cast him a sympathetic smile before giving a quick nod and leading both of them back to the room.

The exam was fairly straight forward. First Phil had recounted the story of how he’d injured himself after being tripped by a cycling dog-walker (which the doctor declared with a chuckle to be the most Danish accident he’d ever heard). Then he’d been given both a physical and neurological exam, the latter requiring Phil to repeat certain words and solve a few very simple puzzles. In the end, he was diagnosed with a mild to moderate concussion.

“For the next 24 to 48 hours, it’s important that someone monitors you,” the doctor went on to explain to his increasingly drowsy patient. “Since it doesn’t seem to be too serious, it’s not necessary that you stay here overnight, so long as you have a family member or friend who can check you regularly to ensure your condition doesn’t worsen.” He glanced over to Dan. “The two of you are traveling together?”

“Er, well, not exactly…” Dan began sheepishly. “We sorta met today.”

“…But we’re soulmates,” Phil added groggily. Dan’s cheeks reddened.

The doctor raised his eyebrows. “Congratulations are in order then. This is a big day for the two of you -  a shame it had to end in meeting me,” he chuckled. Turning back to Phil, he asked, “Do you have someone who can stay with you to monitor your condition? Otherwise I’ll have to admit you.”

“Uhh…” Though Phil’s head was feeling better than it had two hours ago, he still felt like he was in a fog. He recognized all the words being spoken to him but it was as if they were devoid of any meaning. “I… what?” he asked. He glanced over to Dan and gave him a confused look.

“He’s asking if you have friends in Copenhagen that you’re staying with,” Dan clarified. “Or if you need to sleep here.”

Phil latched onto the second part of that question and frowned. “No, I don’t wanna sleep here.”

“I understand,” the doctor said kindly, “but someone needs to look after you for the next day or two.”

Whether it was from the concussion affecting his emotions or the realization that he might have to spend the night alone in a foreign hospital, Phil suddenly felt like crying. He bit his lower lip to keep it from quivering.

“I can stay with him,” Dan piped up, then turned to address Phil. “I mean, if you’re okay with that of course.”

Quickly brushing the tear that was threatening to roll down his cheek away with his hand, Phil cast him a grateful smile.

Satisfied that his patient would be monitored, the doctor went on to explain to Dan exactly how to do the neurological checks and what to do if Phil’s condition changed. Phil used this opportunity to let his heavy eyelids drop, not exactly sleeping but not really listening either.

After a few more minutes, he heard the door click shut as the doctor left and was nudged back to alertness.

“Alright, time to go,” Dan said gently. He helped Phil to his feet and guided him through the door. “I’ll need to call my dad when we get outside to let him know I’ll be staying with a friend tonight.”

Phil looked confused as they entered the hallway. “I thought… I thought you were staying with me?”

Dan rolled his eyes and gave a half-laugh. “It’s you, Phil. You’re the friend.”

“Oh. That’s good.” Phil smiled sleepily. Dan was good company, he decided.

xx

“Phil? Phil, time to wake up.” Someone was gently shaking Phil’s shoulder.

“No…” Phil groaned back without opening his eyes. He tried to tug the duvet up higher around his neck, but the someone was sitting on it. “Tired.”

“This will only take a few minutes,” the voice continued on. Under his breath, he added, “Just like the last five times…”

Eventually, Phil managed to pry his eyes open. He was in a small room lying on a double bed, engulfed in a very white duvet. Next to him sat a man who looked exceedingly familiar, but whom Phil couldn’t quite place. His confusion turned to panic and he sat up quickly. At the sudden movement, his head rushed and then started pounding.

“Whoa careful there…” the man warned. He reached out a hand toward Phil’s shoulder, but Phil scooted himself back against the headboard.

“Who are you?” Phil demanded.

“That was actually my first question for you,” replied the other with a smirk. He held up a small notepad and waved it in Phil’s direction. That also was definitely familiar. “Go on then, who am I? You know this one - at least you did an hour ago.”

Phil’s face screwed up in concentration. It was on the tip of his tongue. “Er….”

“I’ll give you a hint. Starts with D.”

“D?” Phil’s face screwed up in thought. “D… Don? Dave? Dan!” It was all flooding back now. “You’re Dan. I met you today. We had a picnic and you made me drink champagne that tasted like ass.”

“Ooh you’re getting better at this,” Dan remarked. He jotted something down on the notepad. “Took you three more hints last time. And you are?”

“I’m Phil.”

“Good.” Dan made another note. “Know where we are?”

Phil looked around. There was a desk in the corner of the room containing a phone, a mini electric kettle, tiny coffee cups barely large enough to hold two gulps of liquid each, and a stack of what looked to be tourist information brochures in mainly red and white colors. “A hotel,” he deduced. “In Copenhagen. Because I’m on holiday.”

“Excellent,” Dan confirmed. “And that goose egg you’re currently sporting on your skull which necessitates this hourly game of twenty questions is because…?”

Phil screwed up his face in thought. “I think… I fell?”

Dan snorted. “Technically, yes, you fell. Multiple choice bonus question: a group of what species animal tripped you? A, pigeons, B, dogs, or C, squirrels?”

Phil grinned. “Did you know that a group of squirrels is called a scurry?”

“You’ve mentioned that a few times now.” Dan smiled and shook his head slowly as he made another note on the pad. “Funny how that detail sticks when I can’t for the life of me get you to remember the current prime minister…”

“…And a group of ferrets is called a business,” Phil added helpfully.

“Yes, yes, moving on…” Dan answered without looking up from his paper. “What’s the square root of sixteen?”

“Uh… eight?”

“Amazing,” Dan remarked, making a note on the sheet. “No matter what your level of coherency is, you consistently believe that to be eight.”

Phil frowned. “It’s not?”

Dan gave an exasperated sigh, indicating they’d gone over this a few times already. “It’s four, Phil. Four squared is sixteen. Ergo, the square root of sixteen is four.”

Phil gave a sheepish smile. “Yeah… I haven’t had maths for a few years…”

“I’m starting to gather that much,” Dan muttered. He ran his pen down the list one last time. “Alright, you passed. You’re cleared to sleep.”

Phil’s smile faded. “Oh.” He was feeling a lot more alert than he had in awhile and wasn’t quite ready to return to unconsciousness. He glanced around for a clock. “What time is it?”

“Around midnight,” Dan answered. He stood from the bed and transferred over to the desk chair, settling right down into it. “We got back to the hotel at half six and you’ve been out since then. Except for our little interrogations every hour.”

“What have you been doing in between?”

Dan gestured to the small TV on the wall. The sound was muted, so Phil hadn’t even noticed it was on until now. The camera was panning out to show a group of islanders participating in some kind of physical challenge involving paddling a raft full of coconuts.

“What show is that?” Phil asked.

“The Danish version of Survivor, I think. That or it’s a really weird porno - with this country you can never quite tell. I’ve seen four dicks so far. They don’t even blur them out.”

Phil giggled at this. “I saw a bunch of Danish films to help me practice before I came here. I understand.”

Dan raised his eyebrows. “You really went all in, didn’t you?”

“I guess I was just nervous,” Phil said with a shrug. “I wanted to be sure I could relate to you, you know?”

“But isn’t the whole point of a soulmate that you don’t have to worry about that? That you have a promise from the day you’re born that someone out there is going to be perfect for you?” There was something odd about the way Dan said it - an almost bitter undertone.

“Well, yeah, in theory,” Phil defended. “But can you honestly say you never worried about getting along with your soulmate?”

“Didn’t really have to,” Dan mumbled under his breath.

Phil was about to ask what he meant by that when his soulmate brought his hand up to his mouth to cover a massive yawn. “Haven’t you slept at all?” Phil asked.

Dan shook his head. “Not yet. I was going to see if maybe they have a rollaway mattress I can borrow.”

“Oh.” Phil felt a little twinge of guilt. He glanced to his side. “You can take the bed if you want. I’ve slept a lot already…” But even as he suggested this, he felt his own eyelids drooping. Stupid head injuries.

Dan gave a half-laugh and waved Phil off with his hand. “There is no way I’m kicking the guy who’s so concussed that he was unsure of his own name a few hours ago out of the only bed in the room. I’m fine here.”

“Or…” Phil glanced over to the space next to him. “We could just share?”

Dan looked skeptical. “Oh. I don’t know…”

“I mean, unless that’s weird for you,” Phil backpedaled. “I just thought, you know…”

“No, it’s not that,” Dan said quickly. “Just, I don’t want it to seem like, I don’t know, like… I’m taking advantage?” His intonation went up at the end of his sentence, making the words sound more like a question than a statement. “You know, moving too fast?”

Phil thought this was a bit of an odd thing to worry about, given that the universe had already quite literally granted them its stamp of approval. In fact, it wasn’t uncommon for newly discovered soulmates to actually sleep together on the eve of their first meeting (though each generation denied to their parents that this was the case). But he just shrugged. “You’ve already seen me fall on my head, throw up my lunch, and forget my own name. I don’t know how much more intimate we can get.”

“You’ve got a point there,” Dan admitted. He flicked off the TV and stood to his feet. “Alright, budge up.”

xx

Dan and Phil got up late the next morning, exhausted from the hourly coherency checks. Or, at least they started out hourly. By three am, Phil had declared himself (in a rather whiny voice) to be “completely healed” and Dan hadn’t been awake enough to argue, so they’d finally silenced the alarms for good and eventually woken to sunlight streaming in through the curtained window. Thankfully, the extra rest seemed to have done Phil a lot of good - his head felt much clearer.

“What exactly is this?” Phil questioned, indicating the very dark, dense bread his soulmate was currently spreading - no, spackling - with butter. The two were seated in the small dining area of the hotel, eating their complimentary breakfast.

“It’s called rugbrød,” Dan explained. He added a piece of cheese on top before passing it over to Phil. “It’s like pumpernickel on steroids.”

Phil took a small bite and chewed it slowly. He’d never been much of a fan of cheese, and this grainy brick-like bread wasn’t helping.

Dan smirked at him, before taking a bite out of his own piece. “Kinda gotta get used to the texture,” he explained with his mouth full, “but between this stuff and potatoes, that’s like 90% of the Danish diet right there.”

“I’m starting to think I might not be cut out for the Danish lifestyle,” Phil said. He wrinkled his nose up and carefully set the bread back on his plate. “First the bicycling dog walkers… now this.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Dan reassured. “Even my dad can’t stand rugbrød and he’s lived here seven years.” He passed Phil one of the plain white bread rolls they’d grabbed as back up.

Phil took the roll gratefully. “It’s funny, really.” He started spreading it with butter. “All my life, I just assumed that I’d end up living in Denmark. It’s weird suddenly feeling like… I dunno, like, I have a choice, I guess.”

Dan nodded thoughtfully. “Like you’re in control for once.”

“Exactly.” He added a piece of ham to his roll and took a bite. “It’s a weird feeling.” Privately, Phil wasn’t sure whether or not he liked this feeling. There was something comforting in the idea that the universe - God or whatever was up there - was looking out for him. That he was part of some greater plan.

They ate in silence for a few moments before Dan said quietly, “You know… sometimes I wonder if this whole soulmate mark business isn’t more trouble than it’s worth.”

“What do you mean?” Phil asked, looking puzzled. “If we didn’t have our marks, how could we ever be sure we’re with the right person?”

“But even with them we can’t be sure sometimes,” Dan countered. “Like my parents for instance. Both of them have ‘Hello’.”

Phil winced in sympathy. Greeting word marks were among the most common soulmate tattoos for sure - he’d had three classmates with ‘Hi’ in primary school alone.

“Nearly everyone they met was a potential candidate,” Dan went on. “They’d known each other four years before they finally decided they might be soulmates and went ahead and got married. Never really could be completely sure.” He paused and then added in a subdued tone, “I kind of think it was the uncertainty that made them split up in the end.”

Phil didn’t really know what to say to that, so he settled for making a small humming noise in his throat. Dan was looking as though he regretted adding that last part. It was understandable; due to most folk’s fervent belief in destiny, divorce was rare. The soulmate bond was something that was meant to be unbreakable.

Quietly, Dan began gathering their used plates and cups together. “It goes the other way too,” he went on after a moment. “One of my uncles… well, he and his wife were definitely soulmates. I can’t remember quite what their tattoos were but it was something completely random, to the point where there was no question they were meant to be. But after a few months, she started being really awful to him - verbally, mostly, but then sometimes she’d hit him too. And my uncle wouldn’t leave her. He said they were meant to be together and nothing should ever separate what fate had joined.” Dan paused and shook his head slowly.

Phil was floored. “But how could that happen? If they were really supposed to be soulmates, how could she treat him that way?”

There was distinct bitterness in Dan’s reply. “Yeah, well the Howell family has never had much luck with the soulmate business.”

Together, they rose from the table and started walking their dishes over to the cart in the corner. “I’m sorry,” Phil said softly. “About your family.”

“It’s not your fault,” Dan said with a shrug. “It’s not really anyone’s fault.” He inhaled deeply before adding on the exhale, so low that Phil just barely made it out, “And that’s the worst part.”

xx

Phil’s flight back to England would be at seven that evening, so after their meal, the two made their way back to the hotel room to prepare to check out. Though they’d been chatting easily earlier in the day, Dan had stayed fairly quiet since their conversation at breakfast. He sat on the floor next to Phil, seemingly lost in thought as the other stuffed his final dirty socks into his mess of a suitcase.

“What are you thinking about?” Phil asked finally, in what he hoped was a casual voice.

“Nothing really,” Dan replied, without looking up. “Just… well it’s weird, isn’t it? To think we just met yesterday and now you’ll be leaving again.”

“Yeah, but we’ll see each other again,” Phil promised. “Once you’re back home, it’s only about a four hour train ride from my house in England to yours. And there’s always Skype.”

“I guess.” Dan sighed lightly. He noticed the corner of a t-shirt sticking out from under the bed, pulled it out, and tossed the shirt over to Phil.

Phil caught it with a grin. “Thanks.”

Dan hummed in acknowledgement, then let his gaze move back straight ahead of him. Phil started zipping the now overstuffed suitcase closed.

“I swear this all fit when I left home,” Phil grunted as he struggled.

“That’s how it always is, isn’t it?” Dan mused. He seemed to be mustering up the courage to say something. “Er… Phil?”

“Yeah?”

“Uh…” Dan began again. “Before you leave…”

Phil paused and looked over. Dan was tugging at his shirt sleeves absently now. “I meant to say it before,” Dan went on. “But I just didn’t know the right time and then you were hurt and all wonky so I didn’t want to do it then…”

“What is it?” Phil asked. His heart was beating faster now.

“I just…” He took a deep breath, which seemed to strengthen his resolve. “It’s about my tattoo,” he blurted. “It’s…” Another breath. “It’s not like it’s…” He started again, then paused. Two breaths this time. “I didn’t exactly… “ He trailed off.

But he couldn’t seem to get the words out.

Finally, Phil spoke instead, his voice low. “It’s alright. I know.”

Dan looked surprised. “What?”

“I know, Dan,” Phil repeated softly. Abandoning the suitcase and crawling across the floor to Dan’s side, he let out a half-laugh of irony. “God knows I’ve been trying to convince myself otherwise, but I’ve known.” Now it was his turn for a breath. “We’re not really soulmates.”

In a flat voice Dan asked, “When’d you figure it out?”

“I’ve had doubts the whole time,” Phil said. “You won’t show me the mark, you look uncomfortable every time I say the word…” He smiled sadly. “I just couldn’t figure out why you’d lie about something like this.”

“But I didn’t lie…” Dan started.

Phil rolled his eyes. “Dan, c’mon. In that cafe, I flat out asked you if we were soulmates.”

“No,” Dan said quickly, “You asked I had a different tattoo. Which I don’t.”

“Same thing.”

“No, it’s not. Look, I’m sorry - I wasn’t honest. I don’t have your mark.” At Phil’s frown, Dan’s words started tumbling out even faster, as though he was scared if he didn’t let them all out at once, Phil would cut in. “But I didn’t lie - not exactly! I was watching you, because… well, because I thought you were cute and I knew I could never have anyone like you for real, and I know that makes me sound like a stalker but I swear I’m not!”

He paused for a breath before diving right in again. “Then you tripped. So I came over because I just wanted to see if you were alright, and your sunglasses were just laying there so I picked them up, but your sleeve was rolled up and your tattoo was right there. And I read it and it just fit so perfectly - like it was meant for that exact moment! And so I asked it - er det dine briller? And your eyes just lit up, and for once in my life I felt like destiny was on my side.”

“But you don’t have my mark,” Phil countered. “We don’t match. You’re meant for someone else.”

“I’m not! I’ll prove it!” Before Phil had time to register what was happening, Dan had stood up and whipped off his own t-shirt. Next came the socks. But as Dan started unbuckling his belt, Phil regained his wits.

“Whoa! What are you doing?” Phil exclaimed, throwing Dan’s shirt back at him. “Put your clothes back on!”

Dan made no attempt to catch the shirt and it fell to the floor next to him. “But don’t you see?” he asked desperately, fingers still fumbling with the buckle. “I’m nobody’s! I have no mark! Nothing! No one!”

Tears were starting to run from Dan’s red eyes down his cheeks now. His words came out thick with emotion. “The universe - God, or whoever is up there - looked at me and decided there was no one compatible with my soul. My parents thought I’d die young - maybe that would have been better than growing up knowing from the start that no one would ever love me like that!”

Phil sat frozen in shock. When a baby was born unmarked, it was always a sobering occurrence. Usually, it meant that the child would die before ever speaking their first words. One of his cousins had been unmarked and died a mere six hours after birth. But to live to be Dan’s age without a tattoo at all was unheard of.

Phil’s attention was drawn to a long, jagged scar on Dan’s otherwise unmarked torso. It started just below his ribs and stretched several inches to the top of his belly button. Dan seemed to sense Phil’s gaze. “A doctor told my parents once he had a theory it might be on the inside,” Dan said in a whisper, running his fingers over the scar. “I was seven years old when I decided I had to find it.”

Phil felt faint. “You… You did that to yourself?”

Dan nodded. “Used the pocket knife Dad got me for my birthday that year. Mum had a fit when she walked into the bathroom and found me in the middle of my little surgery.” In a lower voice, he added, “It was one of the last fights they had before they split.”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” Phil stammered.

Dan laughed humorlessly. “No one ever does.” His tears had stopped just as abruptly as they’d started and he wiped them away roughly with the back of his hand.

It was a long moment before Phil spoke again, and the words came out cold. “You still lied to me.”

“And I’m not trying to get your sympathy - I swear,” Dan assured. “Just… trying to give you a reason.”

Phil let out a long exhale. Finally, he stood and moved back to the suitcase to finish zipping it. “I think I’m going to go now. I’ll get a cab to the airport. It was nice meeting you, Dan. I just… I need to think.”

“I know,” Dan whispered. “I’m really sorry.”

“Me too.”

With that, Phil turned and starting walking to the door, wheeling his luggage behind him. But upon reaching the doorway, he stopped and spun around again.

“One question,” Phil demanded. “Your mark - why’d you say it was on your bum?”

Dan looked sheepish. “I panicked,” he answered simply.

Phil waited a second for an explanation, but none came.

“Alright then,” Phil said finally, the faintest hint of a smirk visible on his features. “I’ll see you around, Dan.”

And then, Phil really did leave.

xx

It was a chilly morning in November. Dan paced the platform of the train station anxiously. The butterflies in his stomach had given up fluttering the moment the train had arrived and taken to dive-bombing his insides instead. His eyes scanned the crowd, taking in each arriving passenger as they stepped off.

It had taken Phil five days after he’d flown back to England before he’d even replied to a message, and another three after that before he’d agreed to a phone call. He’d said he needed time to think over everything, and Dan had thought that more than fair.

Now, four months and countless Skype calls later, the two were finally meeting up again. Dan spotted his friend in the crowd.

“Phil!” he cried. Dan waved an arm in the other man’s direction. Phil turned his head at the sound and broke into a grin. He pulled his backpack on and rushed over before throwing his arms around Dan and pulling him in tightly for a hug.

“Whoa,” Dan giggled, caught off guard. “What happened to ‘We’ll take it slow this time’?”

Phil shrugged. “Slow is a relative term. We’ve already slept together.”

“Platonically!” Dan argued, releasing himself. “And that was when you were convinced that fate had already given us its stamp of approval.”

“I mean, didn’t it though?” Phil asked seriously. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot the last four months. Your first words to me are tattooed on my skin. Isn’t that how this whole game works?”

“Yes but I cheated,” Dan pointed out. “I read your arm.”

Phil shrugged. “Who’s to say you weren’t destined to cheat?”

At this, Dan rolled his eyes. “Sure Phil, that’s totally how this works.”

Epilogue:

*Seven years later*

“Dan? You almost done in there? I need to shower!” Phil’s voice called from outside the bathroom door.

“I’ll be out in a minute!” Dan called back to his boyfriend. Reluctantly, he began pulling up his trousers, covering the still healing script of the freshly aquired tattoo that he’d been admiring in the full length mirror. He giggled at the recollection of himself and Phil, stumbling drunk into the parlor last week, declaring they’d had the most brilliant idea ever.

His ass now agreed. “Ja, Phil,” he giggled, “du er min.”

To read my other fics, click here!

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Love Has Everything to Do With It

This is for Kim (@iwannabewithyou-unsafe)! Merry Christmas! I hope you have a wonderful time over the holidays! I apologize if you are unfamiliar with theater, but it was something that I couldn’t get out of my head! Please enjoy!

~ Darlene (@nerdyandturdy)

****

Summary: When Oliver gets himself into too much trouble, he’s forced to join his school’s Drama program. He ends up being paired with Felicity Smoak, the genius of the school, who does not take an instant liking to him.

Note: There are some bits in the middle of different scenes in this fic. Some are scripts of scenes from the play, and some are lyrics from songs from the play. The first song is “What Do I Need With Love?”, the second is “Jimmy”, and the last is “Gimme Gimme”. There also may or may not be a recording of the original broadway performance on youtube. And some experiences I wrote in this (something about a laundry cart maybe) are from real experience from when I did this play in high school.

****

“Mr. Queen, until you’ve proven to us that you won’t be pulling any more of your antics… you’re off the hockey team.”

Oliver can’t believe it. He’s the star player of the Starling Academy hockey team. They can’t kick him off the team! He’s a senior! It’s his last year playing because his parents ship him off to whatever Ivy League school they throw their money at.

Oliver desperately looks at Coach Diggle, who is leaning against the wall of Principal Waller’s office, his massive arms crossed over his chest, but he just shakes his head in shame. So Oliver turns toward his mother next to him, but she just closes her eyes and lifts a hand to rub her temples from what he assumes is another Oliver-induced headache.

It was just a little harmless… late night drinking… on campus.

Well, okay. Maybe not his best idea, but Tommy had dared him! It’s not like they predicted that campus security would show up at their secret spot on campus, leaving Oliver’s drunken self to pee on the security golf cart.

Tommy had gotten off with a suspension earlier that morning, but Oliver gets kicked off the team just a few weeks from the start of the hockey season?

“This is so unfair! Come on, Amanda…” Oliver tries to charm his way out of this, but a perched eyebrow from the woman across the desk forces him to correct himself. “Principle Waller… Don’t you think suspension is good enough punishment? That’s what you gave Tommy!”

“No, actually. Mr. Merlyn hadn’t been caught as a minor well over the legal alcohol content,” Principal Waller says, almost smirking at Oliver’s rising desperation to salvage his hockey career. “You’re lucky the guards had recognized you and didn’t call the police. As a favor for the Queens making so many donations to Starling Academy, we thought it best to keep this quiet.

Oliver avoids his mother’s intensifying gaze as she says, “Yes. Oliver is very grateful for your discretion.”

Slouched in his chair, Oliver avoids meeting anyone’s gaze. But a punch from his mother has him rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, thanks…”

“Try not to sound too happy, Mr. Queen,” Principal Waller snarks. “We’re not done here yet.”

As if she’s been waiting at the door for her cue, another woman walks through the office door. It’s Lyla Diggle, the Starling Academy Drama Director and Coach Diggle’s wife.

“Good morning, Principal Waller, Johnny,” Lyla greets. She then turns to Oliver’s mother and nods. “Mrs. Queen, nice to see you again.”

His mom stands and shakes Lyla’s hand. “I wish it could be under different circumstances, Lyla.”

Lyla glances at Oliver with a look of disappointment, causing him to sink further into his chair. He always liked Lyla. Whenever the hockey team had barbeques in the Diggles’ backyard to celebrate a win, she would always be nice to the team, even joking around with them as she and Coach Diggle prepared the food. And when the boys would get a little too rowdy, she’d turn on the “Mom mode” and scare the shit out of them. Having both her and his mother side eye him like they are now might make him regret is night of fun more than whatever punishment they have in store for him next.

“Hey, Lyla… err, Mrs. Diggle.”

Despite the thick tension in the air, Lyla laughs softly. “Lyla is fine, Oliver.”

“So what’s Lyla doing here?”

For the first time since he entered Waller’s office and greeted Oliver with a frown, Coach Digg speaks up. “It’s time you learn some responsibility, Oliver. And you can’t do that sitting at home or in a class you don’t even pay attention to.”

“Yes,” Waller agrees. “So instead of just withholding your diploma from you at the end of the year, since you’re grades are also less than satisfactory, and forcing you to do better so that doesn’t happen, we’re giving you a chance.”

Despite his usual “doesn’t give a fuck” persona, there is a small part of him that cares about graduation. It’s his senior year. No way in hell is he being held back. “What ‘chance’ are we talking about?”

Waller smirks. “As per the Diggles’ suggestion, you will be joining the Starling Academy Dram program.”

Oliver scrunches his face in disdain. “Why the Drama program?”

Lyla answers. “Well, as much as it pains me to say, the Drama department is lacking in some ways, since many of our star powerhouses graduated last year.”

“So?”

Coach Diggle narrows his eyes at Oliver and clears his throat.”

“Um… so how can I help?” Oliver asks. “I mean, I guess I’m pretty good with tools, so if I need to help you build your stage or whatever, that doesn’t seem so bad.”

“Actually, we build sets, not stages, and no we don’t need you there,” Lyla explains.

“So where do you need me?”

Coach Diggle huffs a laugh, confusing Oliver. “Come on, kid. You’re popular.”

Oliver just shakes his head, still confused.

“You’ll be auditioning for a role, Oliver,” Lyla clarifies.

Oliver freezes in his chair, his eyes wide. He barely notices his mom going over the details of his punishment with Principal Waller and Lyla. Or Coach Digg stepping behind his chair and leaning down so he can quietly say to Oliver, “Hope you can sing, Queen.”

… Fuck.

Later that day, Oliver walks down the hall toward the Drama classroom with his best friend, Tommy Merlyn, whose suspension doesn’t start until tomorrow.

His best friend who can’t stop pulling his leg about this whole Drama audition thing. “I still can’t believe you have to become one of those ‘Drama Nerds’ to even come to hockey games!”

Oliver rolls his eyes and sighs for the millionth time. “I know. It fucking sucks.”

“Next thing you know, I’ll see you standing up on tables and breaking into song.”

“Shut up, man.” He shoves Tommy to the side, not noticing another person trying to walk past them.

“What the hell?” the girl yells as Tommy’s body rams into her side, pushing her against the lockers along the side of the wall.

“Oh, shit!” Tommy grunts.

The girl whirls around to them once she gains her balance, giving Oliver the chance to take in her pretty blonde hair and the glasses framing her angry blue eyes. She looks like she’s about to tell them off, but her eyes widen in recognition. Instead of yelling at them like Oliver initially expects, she just adjusts her glasses, which had been knocked slightly askew with the impact of Tommy’s body, and hardens her glare, which is solely focused on Oliver.

“Watch where you shover each other next time,” she warns before stalking off. After a few steps, she glances over her shoulder again, this time looking toward Tommy. “And don’t call them Drama Nerds, Tommy!”

“Sorry, Felicity!” Tommy calls out, causing Oliver to look curiously at him.

“You know her?”

“Huh?” Tommy tilts his head at him, confused. “Yeah. That’s Felicity Smoak, my chem lab partner from last semester. She really helped me pull through with my grades.”

Oliver looks back to where Felicity had walked off toward, but it looks like she’s already turned the corner. That can’t be her. He’d seen Tommy’s lab partner a couple times before summer break started and that can’t be her.

Felicity Smoak is a transfer. One year younger than them but on the verge of graduation because she’s some sort of genius. Oliver remembers her being a tiny dark-haired girl with goggles over her eyes in the chem lab and no way did she have the curves she’s sporting now. From what he remembers, she’d basically been swimming in her uniform. Now, Oliver can’t but notice how she’d filled out nicely.

“I don’t remember her looking…” Oliver tries not too sound to perverted. “… like that.”

“Oh yeah. The blonde hair?” Tommy doesn’t seem to realize Oliver is referring to more than just the blonde hair. “Yeah, she told me a couple weeks ago when I caught her in the hallway that she’d dyed it just before the school year started.It looks good on her”

Geez. Tommy doesn’t get it. Felicity Smoak doesn’t just look “good.” She’s fucking gorgeous. Oliver never thought that Tommy’s late-blooming lab partner would return to school later to mess with his head like that. Oliver is the hottest guy in school and can get basically any girl he wants. Girls don’t mess with his head. If anything, he messes with theirs. But that Felicity Smoak…

Oliver snaps out of his inappropriate thoughts when his best friend claps a hand on his shoulder. “We better get you to the drama room. Buddy. You’re already late for your transformation from king of the school to Drama Queen.”

Instead of pushing him, this time Oliver punches Tommy’s arm with no intent to hold back. “Shut it.”

Tommy winces, but still cackles the rest of the way to the Drama room. When they reach the door, he promptly ducks out with a “See ya, buddy!”

Fucking coward.

Oliver pushes the door open and the chatter in the room dims down when everyone recognizes him. He spots Felicity with a group of other students, sitting around a piano. Without hesitation, she glares at him.

He definitely hasn’t made the best impression on her.

“Ah, Mr. Queen,” Lyla greets from the front of the room. Oliver has the decency to wince at her amused but scrutinizing expression. “So glad you could finally join us.”

There’s a scoff from the general direction of the piano, so Oliver assumes it came from Felicity if the feeling of her glare on him is anything to go by.

It’s probably deserved. He doesn’t even have a legitimate excuse for his tardiness. He and Tommy had just taken their sweet time walking over. But Oliver would rather not admit that he’d just been messing around. “Sorry. I got… lost.”

Lyla raises an eyebrow and hum a “Mhm…”

She clearly doesn’t believe him. And neither do the rest of the Drama Nerds if their snickering is a clue of anything.

“Well, hopefully, your acting skills get a little bit better once we start rehearsing.” Lyla gestures toward an empty seat that, luckily for him, allows Oliver a view of the front of the room and of where Felicity is sitting. “Take a seat, Oliver.”

He nods and heads toward the chair, sneaking a quick glance at Felicity. She’s currently whispering to some scrawny kid next to her.

For some reason, that irks Oliver. Who the hell is that kid and exactly how close is he to Felicity?

Oliver can’t dwell on it for now because Lyla officially starts the meeting.

“Welcome, everyone, to our first meeting of the year!” She begins, prompting everyone, except Oliver, who’s slow on the uptake, to cheer and clap. “Alright, alright! Settle down or else you won’t hear what this year’s fall musical is.”

Immediately, the room quiets down and there’s an energy in the room that Oliver can’t quite connect with. He watches everyone else, including Felicity, basically lean forward in anticipation.

“We will be doing…” Lyla pauses for dramatic effect. “Thoroughly Modern Millie!”

Once again, the room erupts into loud cheers, almost starting Oliver. He sees Felicity adorably fist bump before shaking his head.

When did he start thinking of girls as adorable? The only girl that should qualify as adorable in his mind is his little sister Thea.

Oliver scoffs at himself, trying to make sense of why this girl he hasn’t even officially met yet has got him acting like some middle school boy with a crush.

Oliver Queen does not do crushes.

It takes him a few seconds to realize the room has gone quiet again.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Queen?” Lyla asks sternly.

It’s then that Oliver realizes that the whole room noticed him scoff and completely misunderstood why. He raises his hands in surrender. “No, I don’t! I wasn’t… that wasn’t…”

Why he’s acting so flustered, Oliver doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to credit it to a certain blonde that’s been messing with his head for roughly ten minutes. No. It’s definitely not Felicity, whose icy glare has just gotten even colder the more Oliver opens his mouth, intentionally or not.

“Well, let’s hope your audition doesn’t involve as much stuttering, Mr. Queen,” Lyla teases. Oliver refuses to admit he flushes when everyone starts snickering. “Auditions will begin next Monday. Please prepare a one minute song from a musical or a two minute memorized monologue.”

This time, Oliver manages to withhold his reaction, but he still lets out an overwhelmed breath. He either has to sing with his mediocre musical skills or memorize enough words for two minutes?

Fuck…

Oliver spaces out for the rest of the meeting, too caught up in the sudden anxiety over having to audition. Despite his grades, Oliver isn’t stupid. It was implied that if he didn’t try, he’d be banned forever from the hockey team and would have an even harder time trying to graduate with his class. He has reason to be nervous. Oliver Queen does not sing. And no way will he be able to memorize a whole monologue on top of actually trying in his classes.

Oliver sighs. He’s fucked.

He doesn’t know how it happened.

Somehow between actually managing a C on his history test and practicing for his audition, Oliver had gotten a callback for the male lead.

He probably has Thea to thank for that. At 12 years old, she’s pretty adept with musical theater. Oliver would never admit it, but she has, on occasion, gotten him interested in a couple musicals. She’d suggested he sing the song “You’ll Be Back” from Hamilton, the only musical Oliver has ever seen, and the only musical he will admit to seeing, since the musical has become pretty mainstream. Alongside studying for his classes, Thea had forced him to practice every day up until his audition.

Oliver didn’t think he did that well, but Lyla had apparently thought better.

So here he is, on a Thursday afternoon, reading lines with Felicity Smoak for the lead roles of Thoroughly Modern Millie.

Thea had known about this play already and is apparently a big fan of it. She’d said something about it being the birth of the Broadway goddess Sutton Foster, whoever the hell that is. Oliver listened to her explain that the play is about a small town girl named Millie Dillmount who moves to New York City, looking to marry her rich boss. Little does she know, she’s looking for love in the wrong places.

And that’s where the character Oliver is reading for, Jimmy Smith, comes in. Jimmy, Thea had explained, comes from initially comes off as a jerk who likes to mess around with women.

Now that Oliver thinks about it, this character may not be so far off from him after all.

Did Lyla set this up?

Oliver can’t dwell on this any longer, but he has more pressing matters to attend to. Like pretending to be in love with Felicity.

They have to read a scene that involves their two characters in the second act of the play, when a misunderstanding has driven them apart. They didn’t have to memorize the lines on the spot, thank God, but Oliver is still incredibly nervous. His palms are sweaty and his heart is pounding.

Lyla tells him and Felicity to start whenever they’re ready, but Oliver is far from ready.

It’s one thing to practice singing and saying lines with his little sister. It’s another thing to do it in front of other people and with another person he may or may not be harboring a crush for. During his audition, Oliver thought Lyla would just stick him with some minor role that people would still notice him for, since he had such a lack of experience with theater. So Oliver hadn’t thought much about being nervous. However, the prospect of having to act in front of an audience, no matter how small, has got Oliver bunched up in knots.

Felicity, despite her obvious disdain for having to work with him, even if it’s just for this callback, steps closer to him and lays a comforting hand on his arm.

“You good?”

Oliver takes in her soft gaze, accompanied by a delicate blush on her cheeks. It causes Oliver himself to blush, though he’s still unwilling to admit it’s anything other than a mild attraction to the blonde (and definitely not a crush). Standing there with her, he takes a stuttering breath and exhales through his nose, calming himself down. Then he nods.

“Good. Because you better not mess this up for me.”

That makes Oliver grin.

The next second, Oliver spots the exact moment Felicity steps into the shoes of Millie Dillmount. So Oliver tries his best, for her, to become Jimmy Smith.

MILLIE. I don’t know; you need a stenog? I’m quitting my job. Mr. Graydon isn’t available anymore. He’s lost his heart to—talk about your tangled web! He’s fallen for a friend of ours.

JIMMY. (A guess.)

Miss Dorothy?

(MILLIE nods “yes. “)

Well, I’ll be–

MILLIE. Bitter? No, Jimmy. Don’t blame her. I don’t, I really don’t. Mr. Graydon, either. Love swamped ‘em. We’re too young to live a life of hate.

JIMMY. I agree,

(Leans in for a kiss.)

So let’s kiss and makeup.

(MILLIE turns away.)

Or at least make-up. Maybe our kissing wasn’t such a good idea.

MILLIE. Or maybe you prefer kissing Miss Dorothy.

JIMMY. What are you talking about?

MILLIE. Don’t deny it, Jimmy. I was a little giddy from champagne, but I saw you leaving her room.

JIMMY. What did you think we were doing?!

MILLIE. Gee, I can’t imagine. Not that I need to. She told me everything.

JIMMY. Then you’ve got your wires crossed! Yes. I went to her room last night. I had to talk to somebody.

MILLIE. An intimate conversation, from the looks of it.

JIMMY. As a matter of fact, it was. I’ve been so confused, Millie, so mixed-up. Ever since you tripped me, life’s been topsy-turvy. Like now, for instance… what am I doing on a window ledge hundreds of feet in the air?

MILLIE. Good question. Can you answer it inside, Jimmy? You’re making me nervous.

JIMMY. No thanks. I like the view. The world looks different from up here, Millie.

MILLIE. Better or worse?

JIMMY. You tell me.

MILLIE. It’s just the same skyline I see everyday.

JIMMY. I’m talking twenty stories beneath us.

When they reach the end of the scene, just before the musical number is supposed to start, Lyla and the other judges are clapping their hands. Smiling down at Felicity, Oliver now wonders if Felicity had done any of the school musicals before. Her acting is incredible.

Oliver flushes when he realizes he’s just been staring down at Felicity, so he turns away from Felicity and towards Lyla.

They’d liked it. They’d actually liked it. Oliver lets out a small surprised laugh and turns his back toward Felicity, who sports a relieved smile.

Seeing the joy on her face, Oliver decides that maybe having to do this whole play thing, having to play the male lead, won’t be so bad. Especially if Felicity will be there right beside him.

Two weeks into rehearsal, and it’s painfully obvious to everyone that Oliver hasn’t done this before. He keeps stumbling over his lines, keeps forgetting lines he’s supposed to have memorized or at least familiarized himself with, and he can’t keep a tune if his life depends on it.

After practicing with Thea for his audition, Oliver thought he had some notion of musical talent. But no. He fucking sucks.

On top of that, his grades aren’t too hot either, and he needs to keep those up if he wants to get out of Waller’s radar. He’s got a pre-calc test in a couple days that could be detrimental to his grades if he doesn’t do somewhat well. It’s been on his mind lately, just adding to the stress he has over Millie.

After rehearsal that day, Oliver frustratingly stomps out of the room, too caught up in his thoughts to notice Felicity looking curiously at him. He barely notices her trying to catch up to him in the hallway.

“Oliver, hey!” Felicity calls out from behind him.

Oliver stops in his tracks, surprised. “Felicity?”

Felicity gestures for them to keep walking. They walk down the hall side by side.

Refraining from looking at her as they walk, Oliver focuses on the space in front of him. He sees Felicity lean forward and take a look at his face out of the corner of his eye.

“Rough day?”

“Uh, yeah, you could say,” is all Oliver offers. But the raised eyebrow and tilt of Felicity’s head suggests she wants him to elaborate.

Oliver scratches the back of his head. It’s incredibly embarrassing to admit to the smartest person in the school (who somehow as the ability to take all AP classes, go to rehearsal, and work after school) that he’s failing to do something she could probably do in her sleep. “I, uh… well, I have this pre-calc test on Thursday and I’m kind of struggling to keep up. With the play and everything, it’s hard to juggle learning lines and learning functions.”

Instead of pitying him like Oliver expects, Felicity has something else in mind. “Well, lucky for you, I’m free for the rest of the day.”

Oliver raises both his eyebrows. Looking down at the girl walking next to him, who would usually shoot him annoyed glances whenever they weren’t acting, Oliver makes sure she’s suggesting what he thinks she is. “Meaning…?”

She sigh, slightly annoyed that he’s not getting it right away. “Meaning you’re going to take me to Big Belly Burger in your fancy car, since my mom has the car today anyway, and I’m going to help you study for your test. Maybe even go over lines with you.”

Oliver stops walking, once again surprised. “Why are you helping me? I thought you didn’t like me.”

Now a few steps ahead, Felicity stops as well. She whirls around on her heels abruptly, causing her ponytail to swish in the air and the skirt of her uniform to twirl lightly.

“I don’t,” she denies with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. “I just don’t want you to keep rehearsing like you have been. If you humiliate yourself on stage, you humiliate me. And I won’t have that.”

Oliver still hasn’t moved from his spot, so Felicity walks up to him, grabs his arm, and pulls him toward the school parking lot. “Come on, Drama Queen.”

She ignores his indignant “Hey!” at the nickname. “I’m craving some burgers and fries,” she says. She looks back briefly, the blush still present on her cheeks. But a smirk graces her lips. “Your treat, of course.”

Oliver grins.

Three weeks before opening night, Oliver and Felicity have gotten pretty close.  Oliver no longer gets too flustered by her. Felicity no longer glares at him, save for when he steals some of her french fries at Big Belly.

Instead, they fall into easy conversation, talking about things outside of school and the show.

With every study session they have, every rehearsal, every hangout, Oliver falls in love with her just a little bit more. It had been a crush for her, he now admits, the first time Felicity had told him off. But those feelings had unexpectedly evolved.

Felicity is so passionate about school and this play that he wants to be just as passionate. And she cares so much. Despite that initial icy exterior she put on for him when they first met, Oliver had noticed that she actually cared about him doing better in his classes. She made sure that he didn’t leave a study session confused. She made sure that he practices a scene at least five times. But she also made sure they didn’t focus too much on business. She lightheartedly made fun of him and laughed at him a lot. It amused the hell out him, even when it was at his own expense. When she babbled, he made sure to take in every word.

God, he is so far gone with Felicity.

She really has helped him a lot. While not the best, his grades are slowly picking up to the point that his teachers have started praising him for his picking up his slack after years of not caring. Lyla has noticed how much he puts into rehearsal, having memorized his lines now, perfected his blocking, and having improved his singing abilities.

It earns him a pat on the back after rehearsal and an appreciative nod from Coach Digg whenever he shows up to pick up his wife.

He owes it all to Felicity.

Oliver just hopes it doesn’t end with the show, which is why he brings it up one day when they’re taking a break from rehearsing on the couch of his living room.

“So… have any plans once the show’s done?”

Felicity looks up from the lines she’s looking over. “You mean besides finals?”

Finals come a week and a half after the weekend of the show, so every student is bound to have their heads stuck in textbooks and notes.

“I meant before finals,” Oliver clarifies. “You know, before we all make a home in the library?”

“You’ve never been to the library.”

“Yes, I have!”

Felicity laughs. Then she purses her lips, as if thinking, but Oliver knows she’s only pretending by the smile threatening to break through on her lips. “Hmmmm… I don’t know. I might have plans… or I might not…:”

Oliver playfully stares her down.

Her smile widens and she relents. “Besides a few babysitting gigs and studying, no. Why?”

“Well… Oliver starts, suddenly shy. He begins tapping his knee with his finger nervously. “I was thinking about hosting a Christmas party for the cast. You know… celebrate the end of the show and Christmas before finals and everyone breaks off for vacation and stuff.”

“I’m Jewish…”

“Oh! Uh…” It’s been a few weeks since he’s felt flustered by Felicity. “Holiday party! I–I meant holiday… party…”

Oliver looks down at his lap, ashamed he’d just assumed something about Felicity that is probably important to her.

But then he hears muffled giggling. When Oliver looks back up, it’s to see Felicity attempting to hide her laugh behind her hands.

Now he’s slightly offended. “You’re laughing at me…”

“Stop brooding, Drama Queen,” Felicity tells him, still laughing.

“I wasn’t brooding and stop calling me that,” he grumbles, folding his arms and definitely not pouting.

“Sure you weren’t. And no way in hell am I going to stop calling you Drama Queen, because you are one,” Felicity teased.

Oliver is going to kill Tommy for introducing that nickname to Felicity.

“That’s it!” Oliver unfolds his arms and starts tickling Felicity’s sides.

“No!” she squeals, trying to escape his grasp. Oliver just devilishly grins. “Stop it, Oliver!”

She’s giggling hard and he’s too busy tickling her to notice Oliver’s mother and little sister walk in on the scene, coming from a shopping trip.

“When do you think they’ll get together, Mom?” Thea whispers into her mother’s ear.

“Thea!” Moira quietly scolds her.

What do I need with love?

I got it good

Got it good

But now I got it bad!

Oliver thought he was nervous when he and Felicity had their callback just a month and a half ago. But here he is, incredibly and unbelievably nervous to kiss a girl.

Oliver Queen does not get nervous when it comes to kissing girls. He’s a ladies’ man, just like his character Jimmy. If anything, girls are nervous when it comes to kissing him.

But Felicity Smoak is no regular girl. She’s the most amazing person Oliver has ever met. Even though their kiss won’t be real, that their kiss will be between Millie and Jimmy, and not Oliver and Felicity, Oliver just knows that it will mean something to him.

For sure, it will mean more to him that it will to Felicity.

There’s no way Felicity likes Oliver the way he likes her. She has so much ahead of her. She’s a super genius, looking to go to MIT. She’s passionate and kind. She has dreams she wants to accomplish. Dreams Oliver knows she’ll achieve.

But Oliver can’t be there with her. He’d only hold her back.

Oliver is stuck. He sucks at school. He’s a mediocre actor. He has no plans for his future. He has no idea of what to do with his life. He’s just some selfish rich kid.

What does he have to offer Felicity?

“Hey…” Felicity nudges him with her elbow. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Oliver says, wiping his clammy hands on his thighs. He looks out toward the seats of the theater, avoiding Felicity’s gaze. “Just a little nervous for today.”

“Ahhh… the kiss, you mean?” Felicity tries to act cool, but Oliver can tell by the blush on her cheeks and the way she’s rubbing her fingers together that she’s just as nervous.

The two of them have skirted around the two kiss scenes they have until now, the week before Tech week, the week leading up to opening night of the show. They made the excuse to Lyla that they didn’t need to rehearse that particular part of the first and second acts finales yet. The scene today, the Act 1 finale, involves Jimmy and Millie arguing before Jimmy, in the heat of the moment, kisses Millie.

But with the show so soon, just next week, Lyla insisted they at least try it once before Tech week, so they could be comfortable by the opening show.

So here they are.

“I mean, I’m nervous too. It’s not everyday that a girl like me gets to kiss the most popular guy in school. Not that girls like me can’t kiss guys like you,” Felicity babbles. “I mean, it’s just that typically people tend to shy away from smart people because they feel intimidated but–”

Oliver lays a hand on her shoulder to stop her nervous babbling. At the touch, she instantly calms down. He tilts his head to the stage, where the set pieces are still being built. “Ready?”

Felicity bites her bottom lip and nods.

(The terrace of MUZZY’s apartment on apron in front of main curtain, where JIMMY and MILLIE are in mid-conversation. JIMMY is trying to console MILLIE.)

JIMMY. Aw, c’mon, Millie, you can’t go back to Kansas. You’re an ex-con remember?

MILLIE. I can’t stay here! Not after pouring soy sauce all over Dorothy Parker’s dress.

JIMMY. Explain to me again why–

MILLIE. (For the umpteenth time) I thought it would clean it! That creepy Mrs. Meers swears by the stuff.

JIMMY. (The voice of gloom and doom) You’ll be the talk of the town tomorrow.

MILLIE. Don’t say that!

JIMMY. (A quick recovery)

In a good way. Think of all the people who’d kill to smother Dorothy Parker in soy sauce.

But they can’t, for fear of her poison pen.

MILLIE. That’s what I’m afraid of.

JIMMY. Relax. She’s so plastered, she’ll never remember your name.

MILLIE. You think?

(JIMMY nods yes.)

Really? What a relief!

(MILLIE throws her arms around JIMMY.)

A scandal could cost me my job.

(JIMMY is about to reciprocate MILLIE’s embrace)

Mr. Graydon–

JIMMY. (Recoiling from MILLIE, his mood souring on a dime.)

Is a stiff. Isn’t he?

MILLIE. (An observation, not an attack)

Another crack. Every time I mention Mr. Graydon–

JIMMY. (Very sarcastic)

Can I ask a favor–a really big one, ‘cause I know how hard it’ll be for you–can you not talk about your plan for once?

MILLIE. Why not?

JIMMY. ‘Cause I’m sick of hearing about it. You want to marry a man who thinks of you as a typewriter on legs, be my guest.

MILLIE. Thank you, I will. The new woman chooses reason over romance any day of the week.

(Proudly)

And I’m a new woman!

JIMMY. So why set your sights on the world’s oldest profession?

MILLIE. (A shocked gasp, then a counter-offensive.)

If I were you, I’d keep my trap shut about other people’s professions, Mister “I used to be in paper clips.”

JIMMY. Well maybe we shouldn’t speak at all. Maybe our nightly excursions are taking up too much room on my dance card.

MILLIE. (Rubbing GRAYDON in JIMMY’s face.)

What do I care? Any day now, my time will be consumed by my boss-slash-fiancé, Mr. Trevor Grayson, the Third!

JIMMY. I’m warning you, Millie. I’ve had it up to here with you and Graydon.

MILLIE. Then I don’t know what to tell you, ‘cause I’m going to be his wife. What will you be, butterfly boy? Flower to flower to flower!

JIMMY. You got a problem with that?

MILLIE. I’m merely suggesting that you grow up, skirt chaser!

JIMMY. Gold digger!

MILLIE. Womanizer!

JIMMY. Jezebel!

MILLIE. Casanova!

This is it. It’s time for their kiss. Their characters are caught up in the heat of an argument before Jimmy impulsively plants one on Millie.

So, Jimmy takes Millie’s face into his hands and kisses her.

For one moment, it’s just Jimmy and Millie, letting out that unspoken attraction they have for each other. But the next, as the kiss goes on, Jimmy slips away and it’s Oliver cradling Felicity’s face in his hands. They continue to kiss, deepening it, too wrapped up in the heat of it all to realize it’s time for them to separate.

A cough from the cast or crew, Oliver isn’t sure, splashes water on the two of them. They separate, both of their eyes wide in wonder of what just happened.

Oliver runs like Jimmy is supposed to. But at that moment, he’s not acting.

He can tell that Felicity is just as ruffled by the kiss. The song that follows the kiss is supposed to be one of her best performances, but she’s off her game.

Lyla doesn’t seem to notice, or she pretends not to notice. They finish the scene with Millie mistakenly believing Jimmy is seeing another girl, Millie’s friend Miss Dorothy, played by Kara Danvers, behind her back, but everyone can tell something is off.

They practice the scene a few more times, the kiss now less passionate and more awkward before calling it a day.

Even though Felicity usually walks out with Oliver to the school parking lot, a tradition they’ve developed since that fateful rehearsal, she rushes out of the theater before Oliver has his things packed up, so he has to run to catch up with her in the hallway.

“Felicity!” Instead of stopping, she speeds up. Luckily, Oliver has long legs. “Hey! Hey!”

Oliver sees her take a deep breath and stop.

“Are you okay? I thought we had a study session planned…”

“I–I’m not feeling too well so I think I’m going to head home.” She starts backing away from him and forces an apologetic smile that looks more like a grimace. “Sorry.”

Oliver watches her go with a heavy heart, knowing she’s lying to him.

Jimmy, oh Jimmy, don’t you know

What I can’t quite confess?

So coax me, implore me.

I promise you won’t bore me.

Jimmy, I might say yes…

With just days before opening night, in the thick of the chaos that is Tech Week, Oliver is stressed.

Luckily, there aren’t any exams until finals, and he passed all of his tests thanks to Felicity, so he can focus on the show.

Except he can’t.

Despite having rehearsal everyday now, Felicity’s been distant. They haven’t had one of their study sessions since before last week’s kiss scene rehearsal and hse’s avoided talking to him after.

They haven’t even practiced either of their kiss scenes, the one from last week and the one from the finale. Oliver has a hunch that Felicity somehow convinced Lyla they didn’t need to until dress rehearsals, starting on Wednesday.

From across the theater, as everyone makes preparations for a full run through of the show, Oliver makes eye contact with Felicity. She offers a sweet but awkward smile, not quite meeting his eyes, when he waves. He just barely works up the courage to confront her about what’s been going on between them, but then Lyla calls for places, prompting everyone to start scrambling up to the stage sidelines. They’re busy for the rest of the day.

It’s Wednesday night, and Oliver and Felicity get to kiss again. Twice.

The two of them keep their cool this time, because they’re fully dressed in character and it’s easy to ignore their real lives and fully become Mille and Jimmy.

Still, whenever they’re not on stage, Oliver can tell Felicity’s stuck in her head. But with everything going on, Oliver still doesn’t get the chance to talk to Felicity.

Even after Lyla’s called it a night, he doesn’t get the chance. In the middle of dress rehearsal, the sound and lighting team had run into some serious technical problems they couldn’t quite handle. Felicity, being the genius she is, had rushed toward the booth to help them.

Observing her now, she’s exhausted, not even trying to avoid him when he catches up with to walk with her to her car.

She gives him a tired smile before climbing into her car and pulling out of the parking lot.

Luckily, knowing he’d be exhausted tonight, Oliver had the foresight to arrange for Tommy to pick him up. When his best friend pulls up, he doesn’t hesitate to mess with Oliver

“Did you ask Felicity out yet?” Tommy asks with a teasing grin.

Oliver punches Tommy’s arm when he climbs into the passenger’s seat.

Here I am, St. Valentine.

My bags are packed, I’m first in line!

Aphrodite, don’t forget.

Romeo and Juliet me!

Fly, dove! Sing, sparrow!

Gimme fat boy’s famous arrow!

Gimme gimme that thing called love!

Oliver doesn’t get a chance to talk to Felicity until an hour before the opening show of the weekend. Yesterday, the day before opening, had been chaotic. The stage crew scrambling to finish up the rest of the set pieces. The costume and makeup department making sure everyone had their costumes set properly in their dressing rooms and quick change spots. The props teams lecturing the cast to stop messing around with all the different props. And the cast nervously rehearsing lines, dance numbers, and musical numbers.

There hadn’t been time for a heart to heart. But now, an hour before the curtains open, they have time. They’ve gotten their stage makeup on, which Tommy had relentlessly teased Oliver about when he’d popped in his dressing room for a quick visit, and their costumes set out, ready to put on closer to call time.

He should be nervous right now. Everyone’s been walking around with those pre-show jitters. And Oliver feels that flutter of nerves in his stomach too. But for some reason, he feels pretty calm right now. So it’s now or never, if he wants to talk to Felicity.

Oliver and Felicity have a moment of peace for now.

Except they don’t. Because when Oliver knocks on Felicity’s dressing room door, she answers with an uncharacteristic, high pitched, “Yes?”

Concerned, Oliver opens the door.

Despite the exaggerated stage makeup, the unnatural looking brunette wig she has on, which will be switched out in favor of a bobbed one, and the button down and sweatpants she’s wearing, Oliver thinks she looks beautiful. She always is. Yet, at the same time, right now she looks like a mess.

Her eyes are wide in panic and she’s on the verge of hyperventilating.

Oliver scrunches his eyebrows in concern and rushes to kneel by the chair she’s sitting in. “Are you okay?”

In a weak voice, she replies, “I think I’m going to throw up.”

Oliver starts rubbing her arms, trying to calm her down. “Are you sick? What’s going on?”

“I’m just… just a little nervous. Or a lot nervous. Definitely really, very nervous,” she sputters.

“Hey, hey, hey… You’re going to be. It’s going to be fine,” Oliver comforts.

“How are you so calm right?” she nearly sobs, tears forming in her eyes.

At the sound of her voice breaking, Oliver immediately stands up and pulls Felicity into a fierce, but soothing hug, careful not to mess up her makeup. Almost instantly, Felicity melts into his arms, suddenly not caring that she’s getting some of her makeup onto the white shirt Oliver had planned to wear under his costume. Oliver rocks them side to side as she calms down.

“Believe me, Felicity,” Oliver says. “I’m just as nervous as you are.”

Felicity scoffs, slightly muffled against his chest. “You don’t seem like it. You are way too calm right now, unlike the wreck that I am right now.”

“Okay,” Oliver relents teasingly, “ you are definitely in a worse off state than I’m in right now.”

He knows his tactic works when Felicity softly hits his chest. “You’re supposed to be making me feel better.”

Oliver chuckles. “I’m getting there.”

Well, hurry up already. I’ve got to fix my makeup.”

“Okay.” Oliver steps back a bit, just so he has room to sneak his hands up to cradle Felicity’s face. “You wanna know why I’m so calm right now?”

Felicity nods, pouting slightly as if she doesn’t want Oliver to let go from their embrace.

“I’m calm right now because I know that my partner… You,” Oliver leans forward slightly and looks straight into her wet blue eyes, “are going to kill it out there.”

Her eyes, which had been so filled with worry just moments before, look up at him with the most sincere hope. “You think so?”

“I know so. You’re going to be out there, giving it your all. And you’re going to make me want to give my all, too.”

Oliver looks up toward the ceiling and takes a deep breath, before looking back down at the girl in front of him. “You are remarkable, Felicity Smoak.”

Finally, that beautiful smile of hers graces her lips. “Thank you for remarking on it.”

“It’s never a problem, Felicity.” Oliver steps back. “I’ll let you do some touch-ups.”

He goes to leave the dressing room, but a delicate hand wraps around his wrist before he steps out of reach. “Hey, Oliver?”

He turns back. “Yeah?”

“I know that I’ve been pretty distant since last week…since we first rehearsed our kiss…”

Oliver swallows a lump in his throat. “I’ve noticed.”

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry for being so awkward about it.”

“Hey, you don’t have to–”

“No, I do,” Felicity interrupts. She lets go of his wrist so she can freely gesture. “I shouldn’t have avoided you. I knew you were trying to talk to me about it, and I knew we should talk about it, but I made every excuse to avoid you. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I wouldn’t say every excuse…”

Felicity tilts her head. “Oliver…”

He raises his hands in surrender.

“I did. And I shouldn’t have done it,” she repeats. Felicity looks away, almost ashamed. “It’s just… we’ve become great friends since this all started and… with that kiss, I didn’t ruin want to ruin that.”

Friends? That’s all she wants to be?

Oliver tries to contain his disappointment, not wanting to upset Felicity further. “Okay. Let’s not ruin our… friendship, then.”

Felicity blinks at him for a second before nodding. “Uh… yeah. Friends.”

Oliver nods and takes one last look at her. Then he heads toward the door.

“Umm…”

He looks back at her over his shoulder.

“You good?”

Despite his disappointment, Oliver smiles, reminiscing that moment before their callback eons ago.

“Good. Because you better not mess this up for me, Drama Queen.”

He shakes his head as he walks out the door.

Maybe Oliver can settle for being just friends with Felicity.

JIMMY. So where were we, before we were interrupted by kidnapping, white slave trading and the like? Oh, yeah…

(Kneels on one knee, then to MILLIE.)

Will you marry me?

MILLIE. Jimmy–?!

(A short beat. JIMMY holds his breath.)

JIMMY. Answer the question! Will you marry me?

MILLIE. I’ll marry you.

JIMMY. Poor as I am?

MILLIE. Poor as you are, because if it’s marriage I have in mind, love has everything to do with it. Right, Muzzy?

MUZZY. Hallelujah!

[…]

So you see, snookums. you can marry the boss after all.

MILLIE: Who cares?

I found myself a green glass love.

JIMMY. Funny, I found myself an emerald…

The show doesn’t go off without a hitch. There were a few mic issues and Kara and her counterpart Maseo nearly fly off the stage in a large laundry cart. But other than that, the show ends up being absolutely amazing.

After they’ve finished the finale musical number and the orchestra starts playing the curtain call music, the audience is already standing when the first of the ensemble cast step out to take their first bows. When his music cue starts a minute later and he steps back on the stage, Oliver hears his hockey buddies cheering and clapping for him. It makes him laugh as he bows. He can’t even hear his own family, who are sitting not too far from the stage, over the team’s loud roars.

However, nothing compares to the deafening ovation for Felicity. If they hadn’t all been standing already, the full audience definitely is now. And Oliver claps loudly with them, smiling so wide with the pride he hs for Felicity.

When it’s time for their final bows with the cast, Oliver doesn’t hesitate to grab Felicity’s hand and squeeze.

The smile she flashes him is blinding.

It’s weekend after the show ended and before finals start the following Wednesday. And by some miracle, Oliver somehow manages to host a cast and crew, save for a few other guest and Tommy, holiday party at the Queen mansion. Surprisingly, even though alcohol is what got him into the Starling Academy Drama program, Oliver’s parents had snuck them a bit of champagne, but warned Oliver not to let anything get too out of hand.

Despite the option, Oliver is completely sober. And apparently, his best friend won’t allow that.

“Buddy! What the hell are you drinking?” Tommy sniffs the red cup Oliver holds in his hand. “Is that plain old root beer? Lame!”

Tommy pulls out a bottle of whiskey from who knows where and shoves it in Oliver’s face. “Here! Take a swig.”

Oliver shakes his head, amused at Tommy’s inebriated state. “I’m good, Tommy. Where did you even get that?”

Tommy’s answer fades into the background when Oliver’s eyes catch a blonde ponytail across the room. Felicity sits with her group of friends, lightly sipping from her own red cup. She doesn’t look like she’s paying much attention to whatever her friends are talking about. In fact, she looks very deep in thought. But, as if sensing his gaze, Felicity perks her head up and spots him.

He waves, expecting her to do the same. Instead, she gestures toward the double doors of his living room and mouths, “Can we talk?”

At his nod, Felicity excuses herself and exits the room.

Oliver doesn’t notice Tommy wiggling his eyebrows at him until he places something green in his hand.

It’s a mistletoe.

“What the hell, Tommy?”

His best friend winks. “Go get her, Ollie.”

“You’re drunk, buddy. I told you she doesn’t want me like that.”

Tommy dramatically rolls his eyes. “Just bring it with you. It’s Christmas, after all.”

“She’s Jewish.” Wanting to get Tommy out of his hair, though, Oliver sighs and pockets the stupid Christmas tradition.

“Atta, boy,” Tommy says, pushing Oliver toward the doors.

Oliver rolls his eyes.

He meets Felicity in his room, where they often rehearsed and studied over the past couple months. Silently, Oliver watches her set down her cup and hop up on his desk.

“You wanted to talk?” Oliver asks shyly, shuffling on his feet and stuffing his hands in his pockets, trying to ignore the mistletoe in one of them.

Felicity nervously chews on her bottom lip before picking up her cup again, downing the rest of its contents. Oliver’s eyes widen, not expecting it.

“Oh!” Felicity realizes what that looked like to him. “It’s not–It’s just water. My uh… throat was dry.”

“You’re good, Felicity. I’ve done much worse than what you think I’ve probably drunk before,” he chuckles. “So… talk?”

“Right. Yes. Um.” She takes a deep breath, her anxiety picking up. “You know, when you first walked into the Drama room two months ago, I had really low expectations for you.”

He assumes she doesn’t want him to speak or else she’ll lose her nerve, so he simply nods.

“Back then, you were just the snobby, rich popular guy who thought he could do whatever he wanted.”

Until Principal Waller had threatened to ban him from hockey games and hold him back from graduation, Oliver had been that guy. He’s ashamed of who he used to be. But since meeting Felicity, Oliver has changed.

Felicity continues. “But then we got to know each other and I learned that you were more than that. That whole who rich guy act was just an act. You’re this caring guy who’s actually pretty smart and passionate when you put your mind into it.”

Oliver shrugs, a sheepish smile on his face.

“And somehow… eventually, “Felicity says with a fond smile, “we became friends.”

Even though Oliver is glad that they are friends, he feels a slight pang in his heart because he’d rather be more than friends.

“And then we kissed… and I couldn’t separate us from Millie and Jimmy. That first kiss felt more real than any kiss I’d ever had.”

Oliver’s heart starts pounding and his feet begin stepping closer to Felicity without him knowing it. He didn’t think Felicity felt the same way about that kiss because she’d run away from him.

“But then I got scared. So I avoided you.”

Oliver nods, understanding why. He hasn’t given much reason that he’d be a good boyfriend. He has a reputation after all. In that aspect, he’s much like Jimmy at the beginning of the play.

But like Jimmy, he’d changed. Like Jimmy learned from Millie, Oliver learned how to be more than just his money. He learned how to be a better person because of Felicity.

“It wasn’t because the kiss was awful. It was the complete opposite. It was amazing. And–and I know we said we would just be friends, but, well, we just kept kissing for the show and I thought, maybe we’d just get it out of our systems and once the show was over we’d get over. But I didn’t. And now that the show is over, I have no more excuses to kiss you anymore– what are you doing?”

Oliver interrupts her babble, digging out the mistletoe from his pocket. He hears Felicity gasp when he holds it up. “I know you’re Jewish and all… but, uh… this could be an excuse… if you want.”

Wincing at the lame attempt to kiss Felicity again, Oliver is just about ready to accept Felicity’s rejection. Instead, he feels her lips on his, and he reacts immediately. Felicity pulls him closer to the desk she’s sitting on, pulling him between her legs. He cups her right cheek, while his other hand buries itself in the blonde hair she’d left down for the night.

All the pent-up tension that’s been building up between the two of them is released into one amazing kiss.

Then Felicity pulls back. “This isn’t a one time thing, right? Because, if it wasn’t clear, I don’t wanna be just friends…”

Oliver strokes her cheek with his thumb. “No way.”

Felicity smiles before leaning back in for another kiss. It’s almost as good as the one they just had. Except he feels Felicity start laughing against his lips.

Pulling away slightly offended, Oliver asks, “Why are you laughing?”

Felicity winces. “Sorry. It’s just… don’t you see how similar we are to Jimmy and Millie?”

“That’s what you’re thinking about now?”

She raises her hands guiltily. “I couldn’t help it! I still have post-show depression!”

“That’s a thing?” Felicity nods, causing Oliver to shake his head at the ridiculousness of theater culture. Then a thought pops into his head, which prompts a grin on Oliver’s face. “Are you saying I’m your ‘green glass love’?”

Felicity leans closer, whispering into his lips, “Only if I’m your emerald.”

[ask-the-phan-site]

Phan Cam: The New Normal... For Dream FES

WARNING: This may not post in time as this is suppose to take place on the last week of August.

>The backstage dressing room at the Dream Festival. We, the Future Avengers, and KUROFUNE were online with our New York friends.

I can’t believe you guys ain’t comin’ after all.

It’s not your fault, Ryuji. No one could have seen this coming.

Max Modell was the best principal you guys ever had. I can’t believe he’s been fired. It’s so unfair.

Skull: And of all the people to get him fired...

Why’d it hafta be you?

I am merely doing my part as a concerned educator to expose a man guilty of crimes of inhumane experiments.

Really? From what I’ve heard, it was a completely different story. You were the one who went into Max’s lab and messed with his experiment. No one was really in any danger until you released the V-252.

Dr. Connors: Maybe I wouldn’t have needed to if he wasn’t doing the experiment in the first place.

Still, you should have trusted Max. He gave you job at Horizon High when everyone turned their backs on you after you were worked for Norman Osborn.

Dr. Connors: That was his mistake. He only saw what he wanted to see. That’s what made him a fool.

Skull: (angry) What you say!?

Now everyone, calm down. This day is suppose to be about Ryuji and KURNOFUNE... Which I’m surprised that you’re having what with what’s going on.

I couldn’t believe it, either.

Skull: Well, we thought we weren’t going to have it this year because of the Summer Olympics. But since it got canned, they decided to have Dream FES.

But for safety purposes, it’ll be a bit different. No one can be admitted without a mask and they have to stay some feet apart. Also, a lot of people are watching the live stream. The producers also said they’ve done some stuff to the System.

With Tony’s help.

Keigo: Now, people can chose a Dorika over the Net.

That sounds convenient. A way for the audience to participate no matter where you are.

I helped, too. It wasn’t easy, though. The Dream FES System is still a mystery.

Dr. Connors: Which makes me wonder about it. You choose to work with the System, yet you know nothing about it. I think that makes it just as dangerous as the V-252.

Yuto: We’ve used the System for many years and nothing’s gone wrong with it.

Dr. Connors: (a bit smug) Really? Then what’s this did I hear about the time someone tampered with it and Ryuji was turned into an alien.

Skull: I was changed back. I’m fine.

Dr. Connors: And what if you didn’t? Then what? What would become of your friends? ... What would become of your mother?

>Skull looked like he was about to explode.

Yuto: (trying to remain calm himself) Well, they did change him back. That’s all that really matters.

Exactly. I was there. So where Pete and Harry.

Dr. Connors: Still, it is unknown technology. Which makes it a danger. If not to the performers, then to the audience who chooses those cards. If it were in my power, I would also do something about it. But, show business is not my forte.

Queen: You technically can’t take action because Stark Enterprises is researching the System. Until we learn more, there’s not much anyone can do.

Dr. Connors: ... For now.

>I could tell Skull was getting steamed and goes up to the monitor.

Dr. Connors: You have something to say?

Skull: ... You know, Norman Osborn said that all I need to succeed in school is havin’ the right teacher. When I met you, I thought I found it... But now I see that was just another one of his famous lies. Now when I look at you...

All I see is that piece of shit, Kamoshida. Or maybe you’re still thinkin' like a reptile.

>Dr. Connors was silent for a while.

Dr. Connors: ... That’ll be all, Mr. Sakamoto.

>With that, he hangs up.

Well, that could have gone well.

It could have been worse. He could have actually been there and hit you with his mechanical arm.

Yeah, it would look like it would hurt.

I’d like to see him try. It doesn’t look that tough. Plus, I’d arrest him for assault with a weapon.

By the way, it’s good to finally meet you, Mary Jane chan.

Mary Jane: Hey, we’re fiends. Call me MJ.

It’s just a shame we couldn’t meet in person.

MJ: I know. I’ve always wanted to visit Japan. Especially Tokyo.

It can’t be helped. A lot of stuff has been happening. An alien invasion, Max getting fired, not to mention the coronavirus, and we still have to find out which colleges we’re applying to.

Peter: (looking down) Don’t remind me. I still haven’t searched yet... Although, I’m thinking of giving Empire State a try.

Crow: I think that’s a good choice.

Harry: I agree. It’s not that far from Oscorp, so we can still meet up.

Peter: I like the sound of that.

Kamala said she might be checking there herself. It’ll be hard to convince her parents, though. They wanted her to attend community college... Online.

I can understand them a little. They just want their daughter to be safe.

Chloe: I know. They wouldn’t even let her come here for Dream FES.

I know. I’m surprised my parents let me come here. Guess they just wanted a break from all of the kaiju.

Makoto: That and they probably knew we were missing each other.

Adi: Speaking of those not here, DearDream isn’t here.

Keigo: Neither is In-Show-Ha. It’s mainly because Mr. and Mrs. Sawamura are afraid their sons wouldn’t be safe. Although, Traffic Signal is here. Actually, Sankishi and ACE are not here either.

Yuto: So it’s just us and ANSwer.

Makoto: (a bit confused) Traffic Signal? Oh, you mean Kanade, Shin, and Junya.

Keigo: Yes. Since Traffic Signal is a subunit of DearDream, in a way, they are here.

Skull: (unhappy) Don’t remind me. I was hoping to debut my own idol unit, Skul5.

Panther: (unsure) You named a Unit after yourself?

Keigo: Well, he is the leader.

Skull: There’s also Oka along with Nobu and Ichiro. But Nobu and Ichiro’s gramps told them to stay with their family keep them safe from the virus and, because of the name, we’re one member short. I was gonna to hold auditions, but the virus made it impossible.

Noir: I’m sure you’ll have a chance. Don’t worry.

Skull: I hope so, too.

We’re all here for you.

That’s right.

Thanks, you guys.

Stagehand: You guys, it’s almost show time.

We better go. Akane’s waiting for us.

Wolf: Yeah, we should. Good luck, you guys.

Skull: Thanks, see ya.

Peter: We’ll see you on the live stream.

>Our friends end the call and we leave the room for our seats.

>Later in the stadium, we meet up with Akane who was talking to a boy about her age.

Well, your brother will still be on stage with some of his friends. That should still be good.

I know. I mean, he began his career with Traffic Signal.

Crow: Hi, Ritsu san.

Ritsu: Hi, Akechi san. You looking forward to this?

Crow: Well, I’m mainly looking forward to KUROFUNE performing. But I’m sure Traffic Signal will be good, too.

Ritsu: You better.

Oracle: Hey, it’s starting.

Hello, everyone! Well, everyone who could come. Welcome to Dream Festival! Even though COVID-19 may have changed the way things are, but what we like and love will still be around for a long time. We still have quite the show for you. We have some of your favorite Idol Units: KUROFUNE, ANSwer, and even the return of Traffic Signal.

>The Idol Units then come on stage.

We won’t back down after coming all this way. Not now.

It was your support and love that kept us going in these difficult times.

Even though there are only a few of us here, this promises to be a celebration no one will forget.

We will do what we can to make this night a night of dreams.

No doubt. This night will begin to shine... Little reference there.

But it does ring true. The light that we will bring will be seen.

Yuto: In these times, we must look to the future.

Keigo: The future is now really close.

Skull: Right. We’ll rush through all this and into tomorrow.

Idols: Get ready for Dream FES!

>The audience cheers. That was the best speech we heard.

MC: (clapping) Yes, yes. Now, due to these circumstances, each Unit will perform two song instead of the usual three. Now, Traffic Signal will go first. Then, ANSwer. Then, we end it off with KUROFUNE.

Junya: Let’s look to the heavens and see what it holds.

Shin: Now is the time to take flight to where are hearts lead.

Kanade: Let us spread our wings and go forward...

Traffic Signal: With Forward Skies ahead!

Dorika Time!

Catch Your Cheers!

Kanade: I’m going to enjoy the cheers you gave me. Thank you!

Catch Your Cheers!

Junya: I won’t let you all down. Here I come!

Catch Your Cheers!

Junya: The love you give will help us fly!

REMINDER: The following images are not in violation of the Tumblr policy as they do not actually contain sensitive or adult contain. They only show the upper half. Please do not flag.

(Picture of Junya in this Coord is unavailable.)

Sky Stage Series! Complete!

>With that, Traffic Signal begin their song, Forward Skies*.

NOTE: Song names with * are made up and are non canon to the Dream Festival series. But the Units and Idols can’t keep using the same songs over and over.

>After they finished their song.

Junya: Our next song will be the first one we ever performed as Traffic Signal. So I think we have an idea which Dorika you will all choose.

Ritsu: You bet.

Akane: Same here.

Traffic Signal: Let us tell our Glory Story!

Dorika Time!

Catch Your Cheers!

Traffic Signal: Thank your for your cheers!

Vampire Lord Series! Complete!

Cool Priest Series! Complete!

>With that, Traffic Signal performs Glory Story, their first song.

Akane: Wow, you sure know your stuff, Ritsu kun. Have you ever thought of becoming an Idol yourself?

Ritsu: Not really. But I was told I might have a career in managing DearDream. Or be a producer. I still have a year to decide.

Kei: I’m sure whatever you choose, you’ll be great.

Ritsu: Sure hope so. I’ve been reading up on merchandising. Though, it’s going to be difficult since Bandai doesn’t work with D-Four anymore.

Makoto: I’m sure I can put in a good word with Tony.

Ritsu: Really? Thanks, Makoto kun.

>After Traffic Signal finished their song, it was now ANSwer’s turn.

Akiomi: Tonight, we will do something a little different. A song you might already know.

Nanao: Though we’re in Ikebukuro, the sounds of Shibuya will be heard.

Souji: Let us show you that the world ends with you and that you can expand it.

ANSwer: Now here it is. Owari-Haijimari!

Dorika Time!

Catch Your Cheers!

Akiomi: Your cheers will expand our horizons!

Catch Your Cheers!

Nanao: Thank you for your cute cheers!

Catch Your Cheers!

Souji: Your support will see us through!

>With that, ANSwer changes clothes.

Soda Splash Series! Complete!

>With that, ANSwer performs Owari-Haijimari.

>After they finished their song...

Akiomi: For our next song, our number one hit!

ANSwer: Let’s show them Chivalric Romance isn’t dead!

Dorika Time!

Catch Your Cheers!

ANSwer: Thank you for breaking the ice!

(Yeah, we’re running out of good lines here.)

>ANSwer changes their clothes.

Ice Prince Series! Complete!

>With that, ANSwer performs their song, Chivalric Romance.

MC: (after the song) Fantastic! Guess in a way, you guys are the answer.

>The (small) audience didn’t find it very funny... There were cricket sounds in the background.

MC: Yeesh, tough crowd. Now, on to our final performance. KUROFUNE, ready to shine on stage?

Keigo: You bet!

Yuto: We have Ryuji to thank for our first song.

Skull: It’s just a song that’s real close to my family.

Keigo: Still, it’s a classic. I love Hyde. He’s actually a known inspiration for Yuto getting into music.

Yuto: Among other things. So now, the call has come.

Keigo: The year waits for no man. So we will go for it!

Skull: You won’t regret this. We will go on now. We will all go for the future!

KUROFUNE: Let’s answer Season’s Call!

Dorika Time!

Catch Your Cheers!

Skull: Now or never, right?

Catch Your Cheers!

Yuto and Keigo: Now we dance for you in your light!

>Skull changes clothes.

Sparkling Eyes Series! Complete!

Dream Meeting Series! Complete!

>With that, KUROFUNE performs Season’s Call.

>After their performance...

Keigo: Our last song for tonight was also thanks to Ryuji.

Skull: It the song I wrote for my official debut. So guys no what to do.

>They change into the Innocent Pirates Coord and perform Treasured Hearts.

Crow: Hard to believe that Ryuji’s come so far.

Panther: It was over a year ago when he started this. We really have Harry to thank for this.

Oracle: Makes us wonder what will become of him in the future.

Panther: Why do you ask?

Crow: What if he decides that he loves the idol life so much, that he decides...

Panther: That he decides he doesn’t want to be a Phantom Thief anymore?

Never gonna happen.

Oracle: Really?

Panther: I’ve known Ryuji since middle school. He’s not the kind of guy to back out from something like this.

Crow: You’re right. Ryuji loves being a Phantom Thief just as much as being an idol. To him, giving up one would be like giving up the other.

They’re both his dream.

Joker: They’re all our dreams. We love Ryuji. He’s more than just our friends.

He’s family. He loves us.

Crow: That’s right.

Joker: Actually, Akechi, I’ve noticed that out of all of us, other than his mother...

You love Ryuji more.

Crow: I don’t know. He still hopes to find a girlfriend who will be with him for a long time. But then again...

He still might change his mind and heart.

>I hope so, too.

>KUROFUNE finished their song.

MC: Well, that’s it for tonight. But we’ll be back again soon for Open Mike Nite. That’s right, we’re still having it. Though, a bit short. We’ll see you then!

>We applaud.

>To be continued...