#if you actually asked him to list his favorite holidays i think there's a decent chance he would include arbor day because. he's like that

[fandxmslxt69]

Writer Self-Rec Fics Ask Game

Rules: writers list your top 5 favorite fics of yours and then send this to 5 writers! :)

AH HI ROMANA <33333333333

okay this is hard cuz. cuz i dont know how I feel about most of them BUT OKAY. prepare for some rambling i guess lmao

Holidays With Them - This is a little Moon Knight drabble with all three boys. It's a sort of little list about how I envision they'd be like with a muslim!reader during holidays like Eid and Ramadan. Basically....horribly tooth-achingly sweet activities with our favourite boys during the Islamic holidays <3 I'm actually veryyy proud of this one cuz it took a lot of confidence to post it lmao. But yeah, for my muslim girlies out there who wanted a little cheer-me-up with the lack of muslim centered fanfics <3 and for. um. educational purposes.

Friendzoned - A little harmless prank on Jason ends up in a bit of angst and some mind blowing sex. AHAHAH so this was the first (and currently only) DC smut I've written. It's the first request I got and actually...I love it. I mean like, it's Jason Todd, it's possessive smut it's hot...how could you say no to hot sex with Jason Todd? Maybe I'll like. have time to write more for him cuz...cuz I love him a lot.

Royal Pleasures - After an awkward (and slightly upsetting) encounter with Loki at one of Tony's parties, he comes to make it up to you (he can;t communicate his feelings, he has a um sex dream and well. Yknow he's horny, he's Loki, you can't say no its LOKI.) OKAY this was the first um Loki smut I had ever written and it's special to me because its like a Royal AU and...it's special cuz..cuz I worked hard on it (Atlas did too yes) um...and it's got pretty decent amount of interactions (wish there were more) but yknow its LGG certified (its not, she simply reblogged it and I still think about it to this day feels like I got celebrity recognition omfg @lokisgoodgirl I love you dearly.) anyway yeah it's Loki sex. Loki. mmmm Loki...

Lesson Not Learnt - More Loki smut. Innocent flirting with your friend Matt puts Loki in a bit of a....teaching mood. AHHHHH THIS WAS SO. FUCKING self indulgent I went APESHIT with this thing like the idea ate at me for WEEKS and its. probably SO UNHINGED but like. idc. Its hot (in my opinion) like wow. MMMMMM.

5. Anything For You Here For You - Putting these two together cuz in my mind they're like. "in the same world" I guess. LITTLE COMFORT THINGS WITH JAKE <33 Purely fluffy cuz it's Jake and I LOOOOOVE him and I was feeling rather shitty around those times and they just <3 yeah. Jake <3333

ANYWAY THANKS ROMANA I ACTUALLY FORGOT HOW MUCH I ENJOYED SOME OF THESE LMAO

it also showed me that. I need to write a bit more other than. Loki smut. And...I need MK smut. I will ring my editor immediately about this problem lmao

MWAH MWAH <3

[commsroom]

i think eiffel likes halloween. we know he likes thanksgiving, mostly because he's food motivated and loves a good dinner (as long as someone else is cooking), but it's also the final line of defense staving off the full onslaught of the christmas season. and halloween should prevent christmas from encroaching into october, even though it DOESN'T, and every year christmas decorations show up even earlier, and you KNOW he's furious about it.

anyway. i think he has fond memories of being a kid at halloween, even if mostly he just got himself in trouble. i think he was very, VERY excited to dress up and take anne trick or treating. probably before she was old enough to even appreciate it.

halloween is arguably the Most Pop Culture Holiday for a certain brand of geek and i think eiffel falls in that category. i don't think horror is his favorite genre, but there's a certain brand of schlocky 80s/90s cult classic he's definitely familiar with.

he's the type of person who can laugh off a horror movie while he's watching it, but the instant he's in the dark alone he becomes convinced that movie monsters are real and waiting in his kitchen. it happens every time and he never learns. not that it needs justification, but i think you can take lights out as proof of this.

like overall it's a holiday dedicated to eating junk food, watching movies, and generally misbehaving. i think he's a fan.

[failedintsave]

Wait are you still doing the love headcanons and if so can you do one with Murderface??

Sorry this took a while, got wrapped up in kloktober and also I am a scatterbrain.

Murderface

When they discover they’ve got a crush:

Deny, deny, deny. He's way too Cool™ and too much of a self-described ladies man to admit that someone has taken up occupancy in his thoughts. But he absolutely stalks their social media in all his downtime and rehearses conversations ahead of time for maximum suaveness. Lots of daydreaming about them swooning over him a la Handsomeface.

How they confess/hint:

The worst pickup lines in the book followed by several agonizing moments of frustrated sputtering. After some floundering, he relies on his pals to (somewhat grudgingly, Toki's actually pretty enthusiastic) talk him up. He has a list of suggested topics they can name drop him into, emailed to each of them beforehand. Murderface will go to extreme lengths to seem more impressive than he believes himself to be, despite being 1/5 of a global powerhouse.

Big gestures of love:

Mans is one hundred percent getting their partner's name tattooed, somewhere visible too, not under the clothes. Murderface always wants his s/o at his side; red carpet events, backstage, studio, sitting in on interviews. Anywhere he can go they can go too, or else🔪

Little gestures of love:

Besides constantly swearing to bodily defend his partners honor/safety/beverage while they go to the restroom, he's excellent with remembering dates (history buff) and will celebrate minor anniversaries. Sends flowers and chocolates but doesn't stop at just acknowledging the day, he makes it into a personal holiday. Lets them drive any of his collectors cars whenever they want and loves going out on joyrides together.

How to win their heart:

Listen to him and take what he says seriously.

How to break their heart:

Any sign of disinterest will plant the seed, even if it's him misreading things. Without constant assurances that he's enough for his partner, things can quickly spiral into "are you mad at me?" territory as his confidence wanes. Beware the breakup, he's king of the smear campaign.

Tiny little turn-ons:

PDA. Scalp scratches, playful smacks on the butt, affirmations and encouragement; bonus when all are bundled together at once ("Go get em, tiger" with a slap on the ass is an all time favorite). He also really enjoys being asked for his thoughts or expertise on subjects he's passionate about, half because he gets to flaunt his specialized knowledge and half because sharing a common interest with someone he cares for makes him feel even closer to them.

Big turn-ons:

Being dominated...like seriously dominated. Also, being babied. He gets embarrassed over both, so it must be kept TOP SECRET, but despite any grumbling he does, he loves the focused attention whether it's gentle or rough. ROLEPLAY.

Things that make their heart flutter:

Physical contact. Poor fella has such body image hangups, being shown he's physically desirable will turn him to putty (once he gets past the cynical disbelief stage). Quick check in/thinking of you type calls and texts do the same, for similar reasoning. Honestly any sign that he's wanted 🥺 His partner choosing to sit on his lap when there's plenty of open seating, or fall asleep on his shoulder rather than going to bed.

Their type:

Leans a little shallow on physical appearances, but even if he's vocal about 'no fat chicks' etc. it's mostly for show, he's not nearly as picky as he makes it sound. Boobs. Absolutely loves boobs titsch. And thighs. He likes a partner with a mind for organization and meticulous details; Murderface is a schemer and needs an accomplice a companion with a decent head on their shoulders who isn't afraid to get their hands dirty. As much as he likes to get his way, he also respects someone who puts their foot down with him (see also Big Turn-Ons)

Ideal date:

So ideally, he's gonna want to show off. Murderface spares no expense, he loves to wield his clout for brownie points. He's booked a VIP box at a Formula One race with outlandishly expensive hors d'oeuvres and champagne, followed by a helicopter tour of historical sights in the host city that ends with a trip to the auction house for a one-of-a-kind souvenir. Then, a private rooftop dinner and over-indulgence on white wine. But once the classy stuff is out of the way (and he's completely busted his budget) it's time to pump up the adrenaline a little with a visit to the shooting range or gambling at the casino. When both parties' pulses are sufficiently elevated, a sloppy public make out is inevitable as well as rushing back to the hotel or home to get frisky. Passes out cold immediately after the deed.

If he's not showboating, it's a WWE match and chugging beers/sharing concession stand nachos, with hammered karaoke afterwards. The evening ends exactly the same way regardless.

Past relationships:

Before they were picked up by the label, Murderface tried dating with little success. More than once, he mistook a groupie for someone with serious interest, only to see them hanging all over another musician at another venue later, which colored his views on partnership for a long time.

How they might affect current relationships:

There's nobody with enough claim on his past to really stir up trouble. There is, however, a small but extremely dedicated portion of the fanbase who may or may not send threats to his official love interest, and a specialized security detail to prevent it.

‘Goals’ in a relationship (marriage, kids, a house, etc):

Being perfectly honest, his first goal is to get laid consistently *yes I know it's played for laughs that he doesn't get any attention from groupies and that there's NO WAY it's actually true, I just think his exterior attitude bends this direction* When it comes to actually being with someone long term, he's open to marriage, and is sure to describe engagement as finally finding someone who "could tame thisch wild schtallion!" WILL use the phrase 'ball and chain.' Murderface likes the idea of kids, but isn't that keen on babies. After his misguided foray into, uh, step-fathering (?) his bandmate, he knows he likes the idea of sharing experiences like those he had with his grandfather before the stroke (a whole different HC for another day) so adoption or bonus kids hold real appeal.

Bottom line, all he really wants is somebody to come home to and who understands his value, whether it's one person or a family.

[absurdthirst]

Can you do a headcanon of all the Pedro characters for which of them can cook/favorite things to cook like breakfast, grilling, etc.

Who Can Cook/Favorite Things to Cook:

Javier: Javi can cook, he just doesn’t want to. He’s the type that eggs and toast with steak is a meal 3 times a day if he has to cook. But rarely does he have time. This man lives off of cigarettes, whiskey and a bad mood. Will love you forever if you make him a fucking hotdog. (Was half in love with Connie for feeding him when he was working late with Steve)

Ezra: Unfortunately, Ezra is not much of a cook. There is no time to be one when you are prospecting, plus you have no clue what is edible on individual planets. He would rather leave that discovery to someone else.

Mando: Do you honestly think that this hardworking, always traveling Mandalorian has taken the time to learn how to cook anything out of a package? Nope. Broth or meal pouches are the only thing this man knows how to make and he can still fuck them up. 

Frankie: Frankie can cook. This man can throw down. He loves his grill and fryer and smoker and all of that stuff. His favorite thing was when he learned you could fry a turkey. Hello new Thanksgiving tradition!!!! (except for that one time that Benny slipped a frozen turkey into the fryer) He’s honestly in love with that first huge pot of fall chili. It gets made outside on the gas burner and everyone is invited. 

Tovar: He can make an edible stew. As in you can swallow it. But don’t complain about it, he’s not exactly carrying spices beyond salt in his provisions. Can roast whatever game is caught. Don’t ask about making bread, Tovar’s bread could be used as a weapon. 

Agent Whiskey: BRISKET. This man runs a smoker. And he does all the fancy things. Jalapeño poppers wrapped in bacon and brushed with Statesman BBQ sauce. Smoked Scotch Eggs. Have you ever had smoked Mac and cheese? No, you should. That tiny little belly Whiskey has is because of the damn food he makes when he’s home for a few days and able to fire up that smoker. 

Max Phillips: 😂😂😂😂😂 Cook? You are kidding, right? Actually this man will make you a four course meal because he saw something one the cooking channel at 3AM and he was bored. That not sleeping thing works out for you. It’s pretty much whatever strikes his fancy. 

Marcus Pike: Marcus honestly doesn’t cook. He’s kind of hopeless at it. HIs sister makes fun of him for burning ramen when they were teenagers. He is one that would love to cook but he gets firmly pushed out of the kitchen during the holidays. If you cook, this man will think you walk on water. 

Oberyn Martell: Oberyn doesn’t cook. He hasn’t had to. 

Dave York: Burgers. The girls love when daddy grills burgers. He adds all kinds of special things to them. Sometimes it’s bacon and cheddar cheese, other times it’s jalapeños and a little ball of cream cheese in the center. It drives you crazy how they will eat anything Dave puts in a burger and puts in front of them but won’t eat it when you make it. There’s just something about when daddy makes hamburgers. 

Marcus Moreno: Okay, so I know we all make fun of Marcus for cracking eggs into the sink but he was preoccupied, okay? The man is actually a pretty damn decent cook. Anita Moreno did NOT raise a man who couldn’t cook for his partner or himself. His favorite things to make is strange, either Menudo or lasagna. 

Max Lord: Max can cook out of a box. We are talking typical 1980′s shit. Kraft Mac and Cheese, spaghettio’s. He is HOPELESS. Honestly, this poor man needs forehead kisses and someone to make him a healthy breakfast and hide those fucking vitamins. 

Zach Wellison: Zach is a pretty damn good cook. Honestly, he loves making breakfast most of all. Pancakes and eggs and whatever else you want. The smell mixed with fresh brewed coffee? It’s his version of heaven and he loves when you walk into the kitchen sleep soft and heavy eyed to give him a kiss. 

MasterList

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[marky4l]

Step by Step / Mark Lee

step by step / mkl

pairing: Mark Lee x Reader

From an innocent childhood friendship to a juvenile high school rivalry to a forced pairing for a Psychology paper, it seems you and Mark just can’t avoid each other. But something’s a little different now.

genre: fluff, angst (a little bit), suggestive themes, childhood friends (barely mentioned!) to enemies to lovers, college!au

notes: lia yeonjun chan hyuck jeno all make tiny appearances 

word count: 17.2k 

hi!!! this is my first work nd I’m really excited to put this out I’d looove if you could give it a read :^) hound me on my inbox if u wanna i take anything

“Remember when we were best friends in fifth grade?”

His voice is a little quiet, and there’s a very obvious undertone of boredom, but you hum softly anyway, nodding, as if to question why you would ever forget. Fifth grade was a suburban brew of Star Wars marathons, figuring out the world, and Harry Potter merchandise littering your house. Fifth grade was lemonade and oatmeal, knitted sweaters, and sneaking into your mom’s vanity to swipe her makeup. And fifth grade was Mark—bright eyed, geeky Mark, with his Death Star replica and weird electronica music. 

Mark, who had an affinity with Troy from High School Musical and Spiderman, and wanted to be just like them. Mark, who would show up grinning to your front door everyday, pie dish in his nimble grip. He was the one who had opened a lemonade stand at the corner of your block so he could buy you the Gryffindor scarf you’d been nagging your mom about the entire holiday season. He was the one who learned the chords to your favorite Jonas Brothers song and sang it to you each time you requested it.

“Yes, I do,” you answer instead, clearing your throat. 

You attempt to push down all the memories that just ran through your head and adjust the grip you have on your pen. “Well,” Mark continues, “that was ages ago. Beats me why it ever happened.” 

The timidity is replaced with a tidal wave of teasing, and the annoyance that had disappeared is beginning to crawl all over you. Again. You roll your eyes and pull up the slides your professor had assigned. “Beats me why we even ended up in the same university, let alone the same class,” you jab, “if you thought I forgot about how you outright failed our Spanish classes in high school, I didn’t.”

Your friendship with Mark had reached its unfortunate demise to the hands of middle school, where you had branched out with your interests and began to stick to societal (as societal as school can get) norms. He had joined the geeky, cool kids; you hadn’t joined a specific social circle, but you had a best friend, Lia, and you were generally good with everybody. 

Somehow, despite you both being in good graces with everyone, you had a deep-seated dislike for one another that stemmed from an intense academic rivalry. Specifically, the competition to become school council president. That had ended now, seeing as though you were both in college, but the abrasiveness of your banter had never worn off.

“Oh, because you were so good at Physics?” he says, voice even. His brow is raised. “We all have our strong suits, you know. You’re one to talk.” You decide to pay him no mind, instead jotting down the criteria for your final project in Psychology 1—something about the stages of grief. You’re supposed to relate it to a different human process and show how they fit with one another. 

It’s absolute fucking bullshit, and the fact that Mark Lee became your partner among a hundred students is beyond you. Absolutely beyond you. 

He nears your screen, reading the content of your project, eyes squinted—you’d noticed his lack of decent eyesight years ago, but it seemingly hadn’t improved. “Relate the stages of grief…hold up, what? That’s difficult as hell. What are we supposed to do, lose a loved one?” You roll your eyes, turning to him. “No, Mark. The point is to find another process that happens gradually and relate it to this—denial, bargaining, anger. Get it?”

He stares back at you. “No.”

You groan audibly, turning back to your notebook. “This is impossible. Can we just switch partners so I won’t have to deal with you?” He smirks, kicking his feet up on the library table. Absently, you note how nice his sneakers look. Reclining onto the seat, he shuts his eyes as if to contemplate. 

“I heard through the birdvine our professor’s the type to pair up people she thinks would look good together for shits and giggles. Girls and boys, boys and boys, you name it. Johnny”—he’s referring to a guy who’s a year above yours, studying Biology—“tells me over five couples have been born out of this class. Isn’t that nice?” You scoff, scrolling mindlessly through the slides to keep yourself distracted. 

“It really is. A shame we won’t be adding to that list, because I can’t fucking stand you.” He laughs loudly, the vibration of it remaining in the deadly silent air. “I can stand fucking you, though,” he says, and then, before you can even blush, “All jokes. Don’t get your hopes up, ‘kay?” He’s quick to get up, just as flustered as you are at the uncharacteristic phrase that just left his mouth. He collects his jacket and jogs out of the library with a small, half-assed bye under his breath.

—

Lia’s eyes bore into yours. “He actually said that? I’m telling you, he’s some weird kinky guy under that whole cool geek persona. High school Mark would never have. Oh my god. He’s a furry—he’s a furry!” She flops back onto your bed, laughing. You poke at her waist in protest. 

“It’s because he’s surrounded by too many weird classy fuckboys. You know, those that think that they’re all that because they haven’t roofied a girl.” You’re half-joking, and you’re really only referring to maybe two guys you’ve happened to see Mark with. As if to read your mind, Lia continues. “Hey, I heard some of them are okay. They’re not, like…those ‘nice guys’, if you get me.”

“I do,” you quip. “But I guess I’m just trying to find a way to justify the whole 360 in Mark. I mean, in high school, he was still nerdy—well, you know. Shy. But jump to sophomore year of uni and he’s suddenly some…” You rack your head for a proper term. “Sex god?” your friend asks, holding in a laugh. “Oh, eat shit,” you fire back, “really, eat shit. And while you’re at it, feed me some, too, because I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to turn in at the end of the term. Like, Jes—”

There’s a faint knock at the door, and then. “Lia? It’s—uh, it’s me, Daniel? Er, Daniel Choi.” Your wide eyes can’t possibly match Lia’s as she tugs on a decent-looking pullover and puts it on. As she swings the door open, you manage to sufficiently hide yourself under your duvet and attempt to hear their conversation. 

“You know, it’s okay if you leave out the whole…saying your full name at the door part. Trust me…I know you,” she jokes, and you hear him laugh before you detect the crinkling of a plastic bag. “Chinese. Uh, I bought some extra for your best friend, because I’m not gonna pretend I don’t see the sentient blob on the bed.”

You pull the blanket off and smile sheepishly. “Hey, Daniel,” you say, “thanks for the food. I owe you an empty room next time, I swear by it. It’ll be easy, since I’m gonna be”—you heave yourself off the bed and onto the floor, where they’re both sitting—“holed up at the library for the next few weeks.” 

Lia nods, chewing her chow mein, and then when she’s done, she explains to Daniel your whole huge Psychology end-of-term paper about stages and grief and whatever, oh also she’s partnered with Mark Lee, this guy that we both know from high school, and she dislikes his guts, oh you know him? 

“Wait. You know him?” You repeat, and Daniel nods, ruffling his black mullet. “His room’s, like, three away from mine. He’s studying Theoretical Physics, right? Yeah, he’s always in his room doing school shit, but every weekend he’s out with the upperclassmen. He’s probably out now, ‘cause it’s Friday. How he even charmed them, though, is a mystery.”

Mid-dumpling, you roll your eyes. “Y’know, the hardest part is being partnered with him. But also, even finding what kind of gradual process to relate denial and anger too is weirdly hard. It feels like I could find something, but I haven’t gotten it…quite…” you trail off, your eyes landing on Lia and Daniel across you—they’re smiling softly at each other, and you distinguish their fingers interlocking quietly, as if you wouldn’t notice. 

“…yet. Except maybe I have. How would you want to participate in my end-of-term paper?” Their gazes turn to yours, and you nod frantically. “Oh my god, I’m a genius! Seriously! Falling in love! Yes! It’s denial—anger—whatever, whatever! It makes perfect sense. The end is acceptance, too! Oh god, Li, it’s perfect. I will owe you for life if you help me out.”

“Wait, what? You dove straight into it, what—recap, please,” Lia asks, and you compose yourself before explaining giddily. 

“Falling in love. It happens gradually, and we can compare it to the stages of grief. Seeing as you and Daniel are headed right there, we can use you as some test subjects. It’s not required to have respondents or subjects, really, it’s just an extensive paper, but it might help get the grade up. This is gonna be great, and if you ever wanna back out, you can, because it’s not mandatory.” Lia and Daniel meet eyes briefly, and then slowly, nod. “Okay, that’s pretty smart,” Daniel says, “I’m up for it. Are you?” Lia nods, slowly and hesitantly, and you smile widely. “You two just saved my Psych grade. I’ll be at Giselle’s tonight. Just…not on my bed.” You grab your keys and phone and bound out of your room, straight into the elevator at the end of the hall.

The elevator door nearly closes when a Converse-clad foot steps in, and your eyes rake up the figure, eventually landing on his face. 

“Jesus fuck,” you mumble, “you must be kidding me.” 

Mark enters the elevator with a small, teasing smile, hands tucked into his jacket’s pockets. “Hey, dude, what’s up? Was on your floor on my stop down to get some money Lucas owed me,” he says, “this is actually a godsend, because my genius brain found us a project idea. Relate grief to something else gradual? Easy as pie. Falling in lo—” 

You cut him off before he can finish, “Falling in love, right. I thought of it first, earlier,” you say profusely, absently noting the pettiness in your tone. He whistles. “No need to get all possessive over an idea the previous classes have used before, man.” You continue, ignoring him. “Whatever. Lucky for our grades, I went the extra mile to get us some test subjects. Do you know the two Chois? Lia and Daniel?” 

He nods once, “Yeah, their PDA on Instagram is fucking sickening, but I see your technique, and I like that—we get some extra data from their god awful PDA.” You nod once, and he continues. “It’s nearing 11 on a Friday night. Whose party are you headed to?”

“You’re welcome for the test subjects,” you gripe. “Anyway, I was so giddy about coming up with it, I just left them to…well, fornicate. As a compromise for being lab rats. I texted my…” you realize you’re starting to share too much to a guy you typically dislike talking to, and then there’s a silence in the air that’s painfully awkward. 

“You texted your…?” Mark asks. “My friend, but she’ll be home at 1AM, so I’m out to kill time. No parties, just…I dunno.” He nods again, and then the elevator lets out a blissful ding. You step out simultaneously, and then he faces you. “Look, it’s freezing out, you’re in shorts and a puffer coat, and it’s three hours to 1AM, so I doubt you’ll get far.” You scoff at his words despite feeling your legs shake from the breeze outside. “I’ll be fine, dumbass.”

“Just concerned,” he says, in a tone that sounds more blank than annoyed, but he turns and heads toward the door anyway. He swivels back around briefly. “It’s in Johnny’s apartment. Just a couple people, if you get bored freezing.” He jogs outside then, and you inwardly appreciate the small gesture, but again, annoyance returns just as quickly. You linger a bit before heading out yourself, walking briskly to a local Japanese restaurant. You consider this an opportunity to have some me time, some rest after a shitty week in university. Lasting ’til 1AM alone and entertained would not at all be a problem. 

You last one ramen bowl and head to Johnny’s apartment.

—

When Johnny Suh answers the door, he’s clad in a makeshift shower curtain gown of sorts, and is flushed and very buzzed all over. He hikes up the top to cover his chest and laughs profusely. “Did Mark invite you?” Behind him is a sizeable group of just about twenty people, which looks like forty in a cramped communal space. You’d been here before—Johnny likes to invite just about anyone to get stoned and listen to Kid Cudi on Fridays, and you had pushed Lia to accompany you before. 

You distantly spot the kitchenette, the small living room, and then the two bedroom doors opposing each other. “The rule was to show up wearing something not marketed as clothing, but Mark didn’t follow the rules, so. Anyway, you’re off scot-free, too…” he pauses, “…if you take off the puffer coat. We’ve got heating, anyway. Free booze and weed, too.” You figure being in a flimsy tank top isn’t so bad—you’re sure half the people here are already getting laid or trying to, and nobody would really pay attention to you.

You shrug off the coat as Johnny steps aside to let you in, hugging it close to your body and navigating your way to the kitchen. The granite counters are filled with various bottles of booze, and you also note the cigarettes and blunts lining the island. You peruse the brands before settling on a sealed can of decidedly not-so-cheap-looking beer, and crack it open to take a swig. It’s warm and fucking disgusting, but there’s not much glitz in an “anything but clothing” off-campus college party anyway. 

There are several people scattered among the living area, passing around a blunt—another group is playing suck and blow. You make your way over to the cheap couch on the far end of the room, taking a seat on the arm and stretching out your hand to claim the blunt. It’s Jae who passes it to you—Jaehyun Jung, an upperclassman whose infamy (for wearing nothing but toilet paper and running through campus) greatly surpasses him. “Who are you?” he asks, and you holler your name back over the Kanye West song playing in the background. “Mark invited me,” you tack onto the end as compensation.

He nods in understanding, watching you take a drag and pass it back to him. He only hands it back, saying, “It’s nearly done, just finish it,” and getting up to probably get some booze or another blunt. 

You scan the area for a better place to cherish your weed, because you’re definitely not going to do it on the arm of a couch housing three couples making out to the high heavens. You spot an open window and a fire escape just beside the kitchen and walk over, ducking into the cool night air. It’s not quiet, it never is, and you treasure the peace that comes with the noise, closing your eyes and trying to milk the last few drags. All that is flushed down the drain when somebody kicks you out of your reverie and your last two drags are falling down, through the grills of the fire escape. 

“What the fuck?” You look up to meet, of course, Mark’s gaze, teasing and mischievous. 

“That wasn’t fucking funny, asshat. Get away from me.” You get up instantly, ducking back into the house and searching for your coat. It’s (very unfortunately) buried under a couple who have escalated from making out to borderline public indecency.

“Fuck it,” you mumble, swinging the door open and mentally preparing yourself for the cold once you get to the sidewalk, floors down. Mark follows suit, a laugh gracing the atmosphere around the two of you. “You know, I forgot how fun it is to make you pissed off. I did it all the time in eighth grade when I told our teacher you knew the solution to the Physics problems.” You’re fucking pissed. However petty, you’re fucking annoyed that you couldn’t finish the blunt, and you pay no attention to him. 

He badgers on anyway. “Hey—it was a mistake, I wanted to say hi to you.” You scoff, finally turning—“Why? Because we’re friends? We’re not. We’re Psych partners, we came from the same high school, we share a couple mutual friends. But you and I are not friends, not objectively, anyway. Please, Mark. I only just re-acquainted myself with you today, but, like, you’re already so annoying!” You’re at the elevator now, and when the doors slide open, you step inside and let them close at once. You barely catch the unreadable look on his face in your annoyance, and you lean against the wall, shutting your eyes and breathing heavily. 

How you’d even get to Giselle’s, or how you would wait out the remaining half-hour before she got home, was just up to whichever higher power happened to be witnessing you that night.

—

The door of your professor’s office closes with a saddening click. You stare back at her name, embossed on the wood in bold, in defeat, accepting your fate with a heavy heart. Just fifteen minutes prior, you had entered with a whole spiel prepared on how you just had to swap with somebody from your class so you wouldn’t have to work with Mark. This speech had occurred twice now—with your TA, and then once with your professor. This was your second chance, your redemption: so you prepared notes, you prepared convincing words—you had a point. 

But your professor simply shooed you away, muttering how she didn’t have time for you because she was going to be receiving hundreds of papers in a few weeks’ time from a different class and she, quite honestly, couldn’t be bothered. You bite your lip, thinking back to the previous Friday—it was nearing two weeks since your small outburst at Mark. Since then, you’d expected to build a silent rapport of just working, observing Lia and Daniel, and then parting. And that was almost it. You would show up to your so-called “lab rat sessions”, cup of warm caramel latte in hand, and work. 

Except Mark would constantly make noise, jeer, swipe your pen, and do other things that got on your nerves.

“You’re going to have to stop trying sometime,” Lia says, backhugging you. She’d been waiting outside. You let your head loll back onto her shoulder and whine. “Do you know when you’re so frustrated you want to cry? Yeah? That’s exactly how it is, Li. I can’t keep up with this for another two, three months. It’s like he’s not even, like, fuck, like he’s not even trying, y’know? We’re building the foundation of a pages-long paper. This isn’t some finals essay he can bullshit in three hours.” 

You groan as Lia pulls away from you, whirling you around to face her. “It’ll be fine, I swear to you. I’ll help out, anytime you need it. I promise. If I start hating Daniel, I’ll even pretend like I’m in love with him. Head over heels.” You let yourself laugh and pull out your phone as you two begin to walk towards your dorm.

She tsks. “We’re gonna have a thing tonight, right? Like, a lab rat session?”

You nod, squinting over your calendar app. “Yeah, at around 5:30 to 6. It’ll be quick, but Mark and I are gonna have to stay behind to divide the work for the general paper and then start. Hopefully we can get some outlining done by tonight…so don’t wait up,” you sigh. She smiles apologetically, pinching your waist affectionately. 

“Daniel and I will totally help you. He’s a Mark anti now. I told him about the party outburst thing.” You had sent her a slew of texts that night, and like every other story you had told (save for the most private ones), Daniel had caught wind of it. You’re half sure he was capable of blackmailing you at that point. “Good,” you shoot back, “I’m going to need all the anti-Mark force I can get.”

“Why?” You both turn to see Mark standing idly behind you. There’s a beat, and then: “You look like an inane stalker,” you retort, turning to continue walking. Lia follows suit—with the two of you, the vibe of the atmosphere would always come easy. If one was mad, the other would act mad, too. 

“Hey,” Mark repeats, falling into step beside you, “why do you need an anti-Mark force? Tell me.” At this point, your nerves are on fire and your blood is boiling, and you’re beginning to envision beating him up on the quad. “Mark, it’s been great, but we’re going to our dorm, and in case you don’t want to catch a restraining order, I suggest you get off at your floor instead of following us like a creep,” you say sweetly, quickening your steps until he’s far behind you, smiling. Fucking asshole. 

“I’ll see ya this evening, then,” he teases, and you grumble under your breath.

—

It’s 5:45 when Lia and Daniel leave the library—fifteen minutes early. You and Mark leave ten minutes later, hours before you were supposed to complete your task. You’re fuming, and for once, Mark has the decency to read the room and feel remorse. 

The evening had started off well enough, though—Lia and Daniel had showed up, did their thing, described what was happening, and you and Mark had noted it down. And then, well. Mark spilled water all over your planner, which, in hindsight, was definitely unintentional, but in the spur of the moment, you could do nothing but your natural—everybody’s natural—response to getting something precious ruined. You began to cry. “What the fuck,” you sniffled, “is wrong with you?!” You had shaken the majority of water off your planner, but any and all dates had been smudged and bled, and you couldn’t bring yourself to forgive him. “I know I called you annoying, but this is too far,” you had said, watching his face go from teasing to genuinely sorry. “Dude, it was accidenta—” 

“I don’t give a fuck—!” You quickly cut yourself off and wipe your tears when you see a young library assistant heading towards your table. Everybody composes themselves—Lia and Daniel straighten out the things on the surface and Mark sits up straight. “Hey,” he says. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but two students already came in with a noise complaint. We’re gonna have to ask you to,” he makes a gesture, “leave for now and come back tomorrow. Also, the puddle on the table…yeah. I’m really sorry.” He leaves, as if to make sure you have no other choice but to just go, and you slump back onto your chair in exhaustion. 

“You two can go ahead,” you hear Mark say, “I’m really sorry about this. We’ll clean up and apologize.” Faintly, you hear them get up, and you feel Lia’s hand squeeze yours as she promises a text and food later. You let your eyes remain shut, drinking in the quiet, trying to calm your inner turmoil.

Ten minutes later, when you’re out in the cold November air, Mark finally speaks. You had cleaned up and collected your things in silence. “I’m really sorry,” he says, “it was an accident, for real. I know I tease a lot, but, uh, I’m being serious. I would never have done that on purpose. I see you write shit on that thing a lot, so…I know how much you like it. Treasure it…? I don’t—whatever it is, I’m really sorry. Like, really. T’was an accident. If you need me to pay for it…” You shake your head softly, hugging your damp planner closer to your sweater-clad chest. “It’s okay. Thanks, anyway. For helping. I’ll email you what you have to do. Bye,” you turn and begin walking in the direction of your dorm. The sun is beginning to set, golden orange hues casting a vast array of colors onto the landscape of the city. You sigh softly, heart heavy with annoyance and exhaustion, and speed up before you start having a mini-breakdown.

—

Stage 1: Denial|

Your cursor blinks back at you as you finish typing in your outline for the introduction. It’s early into November, but already, you’ve had to shut your window to shielf yourself from the biting breeze outside. Across you, Lia applies mascara and talks to you. “What are you up to?” she asks, face contorted. 

“This godforsaken paper,” you mumble back, “just finished the introduction outline. I’m trying to give a loose definition for each gradual ‘stage.’” Shoving your Macbook off your lap, you get up to stretch. “Which I’ll probably find on Google Scholar, honestly. If you had to give me a definition—what’s denial?” 

She hums contemplatively, wand on lash, and then pipes up. “I think it’s just a stage where you can’t face the fact that you’re interested in that person. Like, why them? With Daniel, he wasn’t really my type. So the whole denial was denying I liked him, because…well, yeah. But I think it differs. Some people deny it because they’re shy, or ashamed, or weirded out that they even like them.”

You’ve had your fair share of crushes before, and sure enough, you had denied them all. But that was high school—college, though, had only brought short-lived flings and one night stands; you were an overachiever, much too committed to your own prosperity to pay mind to anybody else for too long. (Except Lia.) So you hadn’t really experienced the whole boyfriend-in-university thing—not that you particularly wanted to, but you were just human; you were curious. Lia had gotten it, and it looked wonderful. 

Speaking of—“So, a week without meeting Mark in person, huh? How is that going for you?” You scoff lightly, shaking your head as you pull your hair into a bun. “It’s going just fine. Dandy, actually. We work from our dorms and you and Daniel just update us. It’s a fine arrangement that I regret was not formulated sooner.” Lia nods in understanding, and you watch her pull on a top, mutter I’m out and head outside. For the fifth time this week, you’re alone in the dorm, with nothing but your Alexa playing SZA and your laptop. You pull it onto your lap again, staring at the boldface letters you had typed minutes prior: denial. You had no firsthand experience of being mature and going through denial; not in that way, anyway. You found it stupid that people even denied when it would be less painful to just admit interest.

You blow a raspberry as you research studies related to the term, bored out of your mind.

—

Two days later, you meet Mark again. 

You’d also had the pleasure of, for a minute or two, meeting a friend of his, Donghyuck Lee from Economics. He’s loud and amusing and, from your viewpoint, undeserving of somebody as boring as Mark. (That’s from a minute-long intercation.) 

At Lia’s insistence (and likely Daniel’s, too), you two met up to properly work and collaborate. In fear of being kicked out again, the four of you had chosen to meet somewhere else—a cafe off-campus affectionately named something along the lines of Saltwater Coffee. Naturally, after Donghyuck leaves, you find yourself sitting idly (awkwardly) beside Mark. “They won’t be long,” he says suddenly, “er, Daniel just texted me. They’re near.” You nod, pursing your lips, eyes trained onto your laptop. “We’re almost done formulating the denial stage and we can start outlining anger and bargaining. This’ll take about a week more—maybe mid to late November? Uh, I know it seems justifiable to slack off with the holidays,” you say, “but I really want us to finish this early. The due date’s in mid-February, so we can pass this on the 14th.” You turn to face him. “Get it? ‘Cause it’s Valentine’s Day.”

He nods. “Okay. No slacking. I get it. The Valentine’s is smart, too.” You nod back in silent understanding, turning back to type frantically into your keyboard. 

You hear the door jingle and Lia’s small “hey, guys”, so you look up and offer a smile. “I’m gonna go order everyone some coffee,” Mark says beside you, getting up and shuffling over to the counter. Daniel joins him, and Lia takes a seat across you, her smile knowing and apologetic. “Everything okay?” You blow a raspberry, but smile, anyway. “It’s not so bad. It could be better, but no more banter, just very annoyed auras…? You get it. It’s just been tough trying to divert my focus to this and ignore all the annoyance I feel.”

“Totally, I get that,” she says, “but all the same, I’m glad he’s matured a little bit and lessened all the ribbing.” You smile at that, agreeing, and then the conversation spirals into one about both of your days—“Professor Callahan totally pops a stiffy over Professor Michaelson”, “Daniel tells me Joshua cheated. Yes, on Jess!”, “Mia dropped out the other day and nobody knows why, hope she’s okay”—before Daniel and Mark return, coffee cups in hand. Mark places one next to you, and profusely, you look up at him, who’s just about to sit. 

“Thanks, but I don’t drink brewed coff—”

“It’s a caramel latte, the only thing you drink. Heard you say that to Lia once.” He takes a seat and pulls his laptop open. 

You stare at him, taking the cup and bringing it to your lips. Sure enough, it’s caramel—thick, and foamy, and sweet. You look up at him again, but he’s busy on Google Scholar, perusing through journals and studies. You shake your head before turning to Lia, who’s already looking at you, expression mirroring yours. 

Sweet, she mouths, but you purse your lips and choose not to acknowledge it. “Thanks,” you say quietly, and he hums to say you’re welcome. 

Your eyes flicker to him. He’s wearing a knitted sweater, but he’s pulled it up to his elbows. He’s typing quickly, and he can use all his fingers, too (you fail miserably at that), and his brows are furrowed as if he’s stressed, or in a hurry. You’ve never really noticed this much of Mark before. It’s probably, you think absently, because you’re confused. Puzzled at the gesture that you didn’t expect—at all.

After an hour, he angles his laptop to yours. “Nailed the intro. High five?” You open the Google doc on your own browser, and sure enough, the word count has increased monumentally. You can’t deny his knack for writing. “There are a few discrepancies in grammar,” you say instead. “But…okay. This is good.” You ignore his hand, in mid-air, and continue researching. 

Lia holds in a giggle, but turns back to Daniel, who, after fifteen minutes, turns to you and Mark. “Lia and I are heading out, guys,” he says, and Lia quickly tacks on. “Hey, if you need me to stay, I can,” she says quickly, but you smile and shake your head. 

“This might take a while. Go ahead. See ya at the dorm, Li. Bye, Daniel.” Mark bids his farewells, too, and they leave you alone in the cafe. It’s nearing a three hour crunch when he abruptly gets up to stretch, a low grunt leaving his lips. “I’m exhausted,” he sighs, “but at least we’re nearly done with this whole denial thing.”

“We’re actually only just starting,” you state, “this is going to go through a lot of editing and proofreading.” 

He chuckles and walks back to the counter to order something, and you shut your laptop to rest your eyes. Your glasses rest uncomfortably on the bridge of your nose as you breathe deeply. You lose track of time, and you open your eyes ten minutes later, fumbling to get up properly. There’s a panini beside your laptop, wrapped neatly in a tissue and laid on a plate. Mark’s is empty, save for crumbs, and he says nothing. 

“Get up,” he remarks teasingly after a while, and you groan in exhaustion. “I am, I’m up,” you mutter, straightening your back and flexing your neck. Inwardly, you wonder if you should thank him for the panini that is obviously yours that you obviously did not buy for yourself. 

Then Mark’s hand stretches out to take the panini, and he takes a bite. “Sorry,” he says, “I had to put my second sandwich in your space. This table’s a little small.” You hum back in acknowledgement, nodding once. “It’s, uh…all good,” you respond, voice small as you type into your laptop. Internally, your body fills slowly with humiliation and confusion, but you stay quiet, and that’s how the rest of the night goes: a silent, steady beat of keyboard clicking and the occasional question. 

No banter, no nothing—it’s a godsend, yes, it is, but you can’t help but miss the abrasive, playful conversations the two of you had built up over the previous several weeks. But really—had you truly assumed he had bought you a panini? As if a coffee wasn’t enough? You felt at odds with yourself for even expecting such a gesture from the guy whose main habit was to annoy you to the ends of the Earth.

“It’s late,” he says, as if he’s reading your mind and knowing you’re absolutely mortified inside. “Let’s head home.” You nod, deeming the night’s work satisfactory—maybe even beyond, considering the amount of effort you both put into the output. You shove your laptop and charger into your bag and pocket your phone, lingering awkwardly and waiting for Mark to finish packing up. He’s particular with it—he has little sections in his backpack for the wires and chargers, and even his AirPods, and his laptop. 

“Very organized,” you find yourself commenting offhandedly, your tone taking on a teasing edge. He glares playfully back at you. 

“Sorry I don’t want my wires to break,” he shoots back, eyeing your flimsy tote bag, “unlike some people.” You roll your eyes and, against your strongest wills, a smile appears on your lips, albeit a small one. His eyes linger on your smile for a little bit before he clears his throat and zips up his knapsack. “Let’s, er, go. Thank Jesus we’re in the same building.” When you exit, the air bites at you despite the jacket covering your body, and you quicken your pace. “It’s cold as hell.”

“Ironic,” Mark says. You hide a smile.

—

That’s what November brings you—the next week and a half are composed of just slowly learning to get used to working with Mark again and going home late into the night, crunching to the max. 

Your paper begins to take on more and more structure, and two out of the six days you’ve met, Mark has set down a caramel latte for you to arrive to. The acoustic music slowly phases into holiday guitar, and the coat rack at the entrance is weighed down more and more as the days pass, preparing to welcome December. 

You and Mark work silently, save for the rare banter and eyeroll, and very gradually, the annoyance that had bubbled up within seconds before had sank down. You’re not friends, per se—it’s just that the frustration and exasperation had lessened considerably. 

You were civil. That’s it. You won’t try to deny that you’ve been thinking about this a little too much—about what your “friendship” had become with Mark. You hadn’t snapped at him in days, and he hadn’t tugged at your ballpen in even longer. It wasn’t that you had cowered him into silence by crying over your planner—it may have instigated it, but his behavior was…different. 

More calm, more sure. Less childish. He would still tease you, but not as much. It’s nearing mid-November now, and you’ve successfully done much of your introduction and denial, needing less and less of Lia and Daniel’s presence. (Which you’re sure they’re grateful for.) But being left alone with Mark isn’t as bad as you once thought—

“Hello. Earth to you,” you distantly hear, and you whip your head in the direction of the voice as you pace back to your dorm building. Mark stares blankly back at you. “What,” you mumble back. He quirks a brow before continuing. “I was saying, I think I need to take a rain check tomorrow. The, uh”—he clears his throat—“um, yeah.”

You eye him. “Okay…?”

He nods profusely, “Yeah, all good.” The walk continues in silence, the sun finally setting down behind the Manhattan skyline beyond you and the breeze taking on a chillier temperature. You sigh softly, fatigue overtaking you as you stare at the building nearing you. “If you take a rain check, just make sure you write it within the day or after,” you say, half-sternly and half-tiredly. He mumbles a “got it” and you both jog up the steps to the lobby, where you run into, by some weird twist of the day, a small group of anti-abortion protesters.

“Jesus Christ,” Mark mutters under his breath. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” You rub the bridge of your nose in your fingers, choosing to tune them out and instead maneuver your way through the door. Before you can even take a step, though, they’re all up in your face with pamphlets and brochures and a guitar. “Excuse me,” you grunt, trying to gently push them aside, but they only come on stronger. “A child is a child,” they say. “If you know anybody who’s—”

“Is this your new initiative? Preying on college students on school grounds, unaccounted for?” Mark asks from behind you. You turn to find he’s filming and stifle a laugh. “I’m surprised nobody’s kicked you out. Won’t be long, now,” he adds with a smile. 

You tune out nearly everything else—it’s really just them telling Mark to stop recording and him retorting with equally snarky phrases. It’s not until maybe after a solid two minutes of back and forth that one of them, a weird middle-aged woman, pulls out a burgundy gummy bear from a bag and pushes it into Mark’s camera. He takes it from her and examines it, puzzled. “That,” she says matter-of-factly, “is the approximate size of a fetus. It’s big. It’s sentient, alive. What, I beg of you, what would you do?”

Mark squints at it. Then he pops it into his mouth, takes your hand, and runs straight to the elevator across the floor. 

“There’s a bunch of anti-abortion people outside, it’s not cool!” He hollers to the receptionist before the doors close with a damning click. 

There’s a beat, and then.

Both of you are doubling over in laughter. “Why the hell would y—why would you do that?! You’re insane!” The response is: “Because they’re not cool! They’re fuckin’ annoying! So I ate their baby!” There are tears in your eyes, your laughter so hard it’s nearing silent—Mark’s, though, is loud and annoying sounding, though you seem to not mind so much. The laughter subsides when the ding of your floor sounds and you straighten yourself up. Getting into a different position reminds you of the very there, very obvious brushing of your hand against Mark’s, which he’d taken just moments earlier, post-baby eating.

You freeze and jerk your hand away. “I’ll, um, go now,” you say, “I’ll see you tomorr—no, the day after.” Against your wills, you meet his eyes, and you’re surprised to find that he’s already looking at you, an unreadable expression on his face. “Okay,” he says, his eyes not leaving yours. Your heart beats faster at a very small increment, but you head out and semi-run to your room, swinging it open and leaning against it. 

You look up to find Lia and Daniel engaged in a heated Monopoly match. You make no noise, mind (and heart, but you can’t tell why) racing fast. You watch them play for a second before they both look up slowly.

“You’re smiling like a goddamn idiot,” Daniel says. Your face falls immediately. “I’m, um, no I’m not,” you say casually, pacing over to your bed and flopping onto it. Lia laughs loudly. 

“That sounded so freaked. Like we’re your mom and you just brought weed home kind of freaked.” Pause. 

“Are you hiding something from me?” She rises from her spot to look at you, head in pillow and all, and you let out a muffled “no!”, probably too defensive for your own good. 

It’s Daniel’s turn to snort. You look up and glare at him, “You’re getting too comfortable for your own good. You need to humble yourself, Daniel. What’s it again? Oh yeah, Yeonjun, right?” He rolls his eyes at the use of his Korean name and turns back to the Monopoly board.

Lia flops atop you, eliciting a grunt from your lips. “Are you okay? Did somebody flirt with you? Did Mark finally fuck off and leave you alone properly?” 

At the mention of Mark, your heart races—you will it to stop, and audibly groan in the process. “What is it, you bitch?” Lia asks, tugging on a section of your hair. “It’s nothing, Li! Nothing, I promise.” She glares at you before walking to Daniel and covering his ears. Instantly, he begins to let out a chorus of Lalala, and deeming the environment safe enough, you let it slip.

“Mark and I held hands. But it—”

“You what?!”

“It really, really doesn’t mean anyth—”

“How can that not mean anything? It’s hand holdi—”

“If you would listen to the backstory you’d know!” She pauses, and then uncovers Daniel’s ears and knees him. 

“Okay, get out. Monopoly postponed, Jun,” she says, pushing him out insistently. He barely collects his phone and keys before he’s out, but you swoon silently when you catch him pressing a short goodbye kiss to her forehead before actually leaving. She turns immediately, fire and curiosity awfully evident in her face. 

She nears you. “Explain.” 

And that’s what sparks the story of the weird protesters, Mark’s power move, and the unintentional hand hold that lasted a few moments too long. She nods the entire time, laughing, and then her face straightens out again. You can almost hear the gears in her head turning as she analyzes the situation, and then she nods once. 

“Okay. Perfectly justifiable to freak out.” Another pause. “But why were you smiling?” You stare blankly back at her, head working impossibly quick to formulate a reply. You’ve taken too long now, judging by the way Lia is looking at you with the most shit-eating grin on her fucking face. You groan.

“You like him, you bitch!” 

You shake your head, facing her. “I don’t, dude. Trust me. I just…it was a fun experience, so naturally I’d be laughing. And smiling. But I’m just not interested in Mark! I’m not,” you fumble, being completely honest. 

You didn’t—not even if you looked in the mirror and asked yourself. But you couldn’t deny the feelings you felt in the ten seconds from the elevator to your room, your heart racing and your fist curling and uncurling. When you look at Lia again, she’s still smiling, flushed. “You like him,” she says into her palm, which she’s slapped over her mouth in disbelief. You stare back at her, your expression baffled. “If I did,” you begin, getting up to discard your shirt, “I’d have told you by now. It’s really not that big of a deal unless you make it out to be.”

After that, you and Mark spend nearly three weeks walking on eggshells around each other. While conversations are no longer avoided, and you could talk without getting exasperated or too embarrassed, finger brushes are frequent, and eye contact only makes you extremely nervous. You had worked until the second stage—anger—already, but you’d still been polishing the denial and introduction. Considering November wasn’t over and the paper was due February, you figured you were moving at an okay pace. Besides, a lot of your friends hadn’t even begun.

—

There are two instances where you rush home, mortified beyond belief.

The first when when you struck up a conversation with the cute, Australian barista. Scrawled in big penmanship on his name tag is Chan. You had brought up, in passing, how often you’re at the cafe and how you probably deserve a free drink. He replied with a low hum, and you dialed down your flirty tone, slightly embarrassed. But not really. You’ve rejected plenty of people before. It’s when you’re already paying for your drink that he replied, handing you your (for a change) iced matcha with a small grin. 

“I’d have flirted with you weeks ago if you didn’t have your boyfriend with you all the time. He’s always buying you your drinks.” You spluttered for a good second, staring at him incredulously. “He’s not my boyfriend,” you finally said. 

He had shrugged, nonchalant. “He sure as hell looks at you a lot for someone you’re not dating. And you do it just as much, if not more. I’m observant, by the way. Not a stalker.” You had taken your cup and paced over to the other end of the cafe, sat across Mark, cheeks heated.

He looked up, brow raised. You shook your head.

The second time was when Donghyuck graced you both with his presence. You quickly found out that he was a magnetic presence and you both shared similar interests. The energy you both created was both amusing and annoying to Mark. 

Although you kept quiet mostly, you enabled Donghyuck’s incessant teasing, which annoyed Mark to the ends of the Earth. “You’re a dork. Isn’t he?” You look up and nod with a smile. Mark rolls his eyes, sending Donghyuck into a laughing frenzy. Mark just grunts and continues typing.

Hyuck had made a joke about how two Physics textbooks discussed why the sad man named Mark owns two of them and didn’t have a life, and you laughed. 

You didn’t usually laugh, not around Mark, at least, since it was safe to say you didn’t have any source of entertainment in such a boring guy. But you laughed at the witty joke, and Donghyuck, without thinking much, had said in passing: “Mark, I guess you’re right about everything about her being pretty.”

Mark said nothing, typing. You said nothing. Nobody said anything, not even a sly Donghyuck or, from the counter, an even slyer Chan.

—

When you see Mark next, it’s three days later, and it’s, for the second time, in Johnny’s apartment. 

Lia had asked if you wanted to tag along, and you found no harm in going. (“You’re going because Mark is” becomes Lia’s favorite phrase of the night, so much it’s spread to Daniel, who you’d succumbed to and spilled everything to hours prior.) The walk there has something boiling low in your gut and you’re quiet, in fear you might end up vomiting in nerves or saying something stupid. Lia teases you, but her hand clasping yours reassures you, and you squeeze it tightly. 

You get there late—it’s past 1AM, and you have a sense of deja vu walking into the cramped space. It’s fuller this time—people are creeping into the bedrooms to smoke in private or do some other things, but suffice to say it’s crowded as fuck.

“Want a drink?” Lia hollers, and you nod over the music. Johnny’s neighbor is another upperclassman named Doyoung, though he’s mainly referred to as Doie by just about everybody around him.

You’ve seen his girlfriend call him bunny a few times, though you’ve long desired to repress that memory. 

Judging by the fact that you can faintly hear a different song from the next room, the party has probably extended to Doyoung’s. There’s quite a gathering this week—the rich freshman who you’d befriended once before, Chenle, and his horde of friends are here; from Lia, who hands you a drink, you learn that Kun and Sicheng, two incredibly attractive juniors, are here, too—in Doie’s, though. The party only intensifies, which is hard, because Johnny’s apartment is very tiny.

Eventually, you find yourself in the bathroom, smoking a joint you’d grabbed out of the clammy hands of a tipsy Chenle and kicking a couple out under the guise that you’re Johnny’s cousin. Chenle had protested but eventually given in, pulling a new one out of his pocket.

The bathroom light is white and harsh, but there’s a very funky lamp at the corner. From your place inside the dry (and thankfully clean…looking) bathtub, you eye it. It’s a tall one in the shape of a glass of margarita. 

You heave yourself up and find the switch, and then when it’s on, you giggle at the green light emitting from it. You have absolutely no idea why Johnny, Jaehyun, or their roommate Jungwoo (3J, as some call them) have a decorative, margarita-shaped green lamp, and in their bathroom nonetheless, but you shut off the main light and return to smoking your blunt. Deciding your ass aches far too much, you lean against the tile wall and cherish the smoke.

The door opens abruptly, and you curse, pushing it back closed. 

“I have explosive diarrhea,” you say robotically, using the same excuse you did for the previous three couples that showed up. 

From the other side, you hear a shrill laugh and sound of confusion. When you peer over the other side and see Mark, you groan and laugh. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I saw you come in. Like, twenty minutes ago.”

“I’m cherishing the party privately.”

Mark ushers himself into the dark space and shuts the door. He makes a show of locking it, as if to show you it’s possible to do so. The sound of it locking sends a wave of nerves up your spine. 

“I didn’t lock it in case a medical emergency happens and they have to rush inside.” 

Mark quirks his brow. “I doubt they would think to go inside the restroom and not panic and call 911, you know.” 

You shrug in indifference and take another drag, reluctantly offering it to him.

He takes it, and you pause for a second to observe him. His hair, dark, and which usually covers his entire forehead like a broom or at least parts in the middle slightly, is now styled differently. 

He’s in a fitting black shirt and blue jeans, and, upon your closer inspection, silver rings adorn his fingers. You will yourself to look down. It’s dark. “What’s that you’re holding?” You ask instead, trying not to extend your stare at his shoulders.

“Your puffer coat,” he says, tossing it to you. “Left it last time.”

“That time when you annoyed the shit out of me, right,” you retort.

“Yes, exactly that time. That was ages ago. Weeks ago. Look at us now.”

“Us now—what, still disliking each other?”

He laughs humorlessly, but doesn’t entertain you further. He turns to the lamp instead. “Do you know I was there when they moved this in,” he begins, gesturing to it, “Jae got it at some weird, awful flea market, and he had to buy some extra wiring to fix it or whatever. I was doing Physics homework. It was at the start of this school year. And I bet you didn’t know…” he bends down and reaches to the base of the lamp, pressing a button, “that it changes color.”

The room is bathed in red now, and you swallow. “Interesting,” you manage to say, despite the racing in your head. “Very,” he responds, taking a step closer to you. You gaze up at him. He’s tall. You breathe softly. You nod in agreement. You don’t know what to do. You want to punch him and kiss him and leave all at once. 

You want to kiss him, oh God, you want to kiss him.

“Oh God,” you say softly, out loud. Oh fuck. Too much weed?

He inches closer, leaving the blunt on the rim of the sink. “Why?” He smiles a little and you smile back, nervous. He’s so close now, and he smells so good—like cologne and laundry and weed. You shake your head. “Nothing,” you mumble back.

He’s even closer now, eyes boring into yours. You adjust your strap, a nervous habit. He takes your hand and does it for you. “I like this song,” he says casually, like he’s not playing with the strap of your dress. “Do you know what it’s called?” It’s vaguely familiar to you, but you shake your head. 

“It’s Jhene Aiko,” he replies, and you nod. You gravitate closer.

You stare at him. He stares back. “I’m high,” you say. You giggle. “I had a brownie and that blunt.”

“That’s a lot,” he says. “Don’t finish the blunt, ‘kay?” You nod back, and giggle again. In two seconds, your nervous mechanism has kicked in and you’re laughing like a psycho. “I’m high,” you repeat, and then he kisses you, effectively sobering you up.

Huh. He kisses you, effectively sobering you up. He kisses you.

You kiss back, shocked and relieved, deepening it, trying to get as much of him as possible. His hands are big and wide and warm, traveling all over you. You want him. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, lips molding against yours deliriously. 

“Want you,” you say when his hands play with the hem of your dress, teetering closer and closer to your core. “I said, I want you,” you whine, “now.” Mark only laughs, his hands under your dress and playing with the lace waistband of your underwear. 

“I like how this feels,” he mumbles. “Wanna take a look.” You whimper, hiking your leg up and nodding. “Please, just…touch me,” you say breathlessly. “Please.”

“I will,” he says, voice calm. “You’re being good.” You can’t deny the noise you make at the praise, breathy and loud. You pull him in again, drunk for more, your hands raking through his hair. It’s dark, the both of you basking in the small red light. Mark hikes your dress up, inching it higher, slowly, until he sees the hem of your white lace underwear. He grunts and pulls at it. “I love this,” he says. “So fuckin’, Jesus.” 

You giggle against the smile. He toys with your panties for a bit before finally pulling them down, watching them sink to your ankles. “Hot,” he jokes, and you laugh in disbelief. “Why would you even be joking abou—”

“Mark! Let’s go, it’s 2:30!” Donghyuck’s voice is just as loud and clear as it would be if you weren’t separated by a door. Jolted, you and Mark instinctively break apart and stare at the rattling door. “Maaaark,” he sing-songs, knocking to a beat. You stare at Mark, waiting for him to respond.

“I have explosive diarrhea,” he says. You stifle a guffaw, pulling your panties up.

He pouts, tapping your ass. “Bullshit,” Donghyuck says from outside. “I’m cooomin’ in!”

In the span of a minute, where you realize Donghyuck is not bluffing and in fact has a stolen bathroom key from Jungwoo’s bedside drawer, you manage to shove yourself into the bathtub and hide yourself with the curtain. Mark switches the light back on, much to both of your disappointment, and pretends to smoke the blunt you’d left on the sink fifteen minutes ago. Ergo: pre-kiss.

You find your phone on the bathtub floor and grip it, turning the brightness down. You have a plethora of messages and voicemails from Lia, five calls from Daniel, and an interesting iMessage of Donghyuck’s red, weed-induced eyes from an unknown number. It could be anybody, and that scares you.

The texts are all frantic, and they’re the last things that bring you out of your high and back to reality. Where are u, who u with?, u getting railed??!, Have you seen mark?

“Hyuck, if I actually did have a shitstorm coming out of my ass, you’d be so sorry for breaking in,” you hear Mark say. You sink lower into the bathtub, awaiting Donghyuck’s voice. “You were the one who suggested we go at 2:30, and you’ve been smoking weed for the longest time, dipshit,” he says, “now let’s go. I haven’t seen your Psych girl all night, so you can cry about it at home.” You faintly detect Mark protesting and then, “Let me just freshen up! Just go ahead.”

Reluctantly, you peek out and find Mark alone. You get up and fix your dress.

You’re sober now. The red lights are gone. It’s just you and Mark, plain and simple. Your feelings haven’t gone away, though. You’re fucking fucked. You want him to fuck you. Oh, fuck.

“Go,” you say instead, spluttering. “And I’ll see you. Tuesday.”

You leave first despite yourself, not turning around for even a split second, finding a worried (and then relieved) Lia and taking five consecutive tequila shots to down the nerves and denial bubbling in your system. She raises a brow, but you refuse to even meet her eyes, head and heart pounding impossibly fast. You want to kiss him again. So, so bad. But what the fuck did you just let happen?

—

Stage 2: Anger|

Lia hadn’t pressed, and you were nervous, but it was getting easy to diverge the details of what happened during Johnny’s party. You had instead opted to work alone, too much of a coward to even see Mark’s face. If you were being completely honest with yourself, you feared you might just kiss him if you ever saw him. So you spent days at class working, and then at your dorm working, adjusting your route to avoid, as much as possible, Mark or Hyuck’s buildings and that godforsaken cafe. You did text Mark, though, and the exchanges were brief, not even a “thank you” or “good morning” preceding them. It was awful.

Working alone forced you into a heavy load of retrospection. You would think deeply, like how you are now, spiraling into a series of questions where you studied the play-by-play of what happened in the bathroom, up against the wall. You liked it. A lot. But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t let yourself. Why it even happened…God. You mentally berated yourself for giving into it. Didn’t you hate him? Or at least dislike him? Didn’t you take pleasure in scolding him or fighting with him?

“You’re freaking me out,” Lia says from her bed. She’s been staring at you. “You’ve been lying on your bed staring at the ceiling for twenty straight minutes.” She walks over to you, flopping next to you, her arms winding around your body. “You can tell me anything.”

“I know,” you say, nervous. You gulp.

“Okay. If you’re n—”

“Mark and I kissed.”

She sits up and turns to look at you.

“Made out, more like. We were going to fuck if we didn’t get interrupted.” You’re mortified, refusing to meet her gaze. When you look up, her face is even, but you know she’s bubbling over with giddiness inside. “That is so fucking great, dude,” she replies. “Why are you so embarrassed?”

“Because it’s Mark,” you whine. “He’s not…I don’t know.”

She lies back down. “You’re overthinking this.” You laugh, poking her waist. “I know, but I just…I feel like he might not like me much anymore.” You recount the way you left him hanging, despite the lack of awkward air and the potential to talk and become something. She tsks but justifies it, because she’s so good at that, being a mediator, and you continue with your day quietly. 

Your mind is always on it, though, his hands and his lips, and you’ve scoured Spotify for the song playing that he had commented on.

It’s called Pussy Fairy. You cannot make it up. It’s a weird title, but the song is heavenly, and you can’t deny when it’s full blast on your AirPods and your hand is creeping closer and closer there, trying desperately to replicate what you felt in that moment. When you’re not sated, ashamed and sighing, you resort to working on your paper. There are moments where both you and Mark are working at the same time, and you hate yourself for getting all flustered when it happens. 

—

It’s a Tuesday, in the early afternoon, when you’re out of class and cleaning out the little litter in your dorm, repasting whatever decorations fell off, et cetera. You have the time, anyway, and it wouldn’t hurt to fix the place up a bit. You’re halfway into re-stringing Lia’s fairy lights when someone knocks on the door, jolting you. You curse under your breath, hopping off her bed to swing the door open and reveal—

“What is up?!” Donghyuck grins back at you. His hand is raised in a high-five invitation, which you hesitantly reciprocate. “Mark tells me you’re meeting today, and that I should come remind you, since it seems like you forgot. He says you haven’t texted all day. Since I was on this floor—do you know Jeno Lee? Do you know it’s so amusing how Mark, Jeno, and I all have the same surname? Anyway. I was here on your floor to remind Jeno about an Econ presentation, and Mark texts me and goes, if you’re with Jeno, then remind you—you as in you, you—to come meet me and work.” 

He talks so goddamn fast. “You talk so goddamn fast.”

He just guffaws, high-fiving you again. “Well, you get my point, right? Meet Mark at the cafe and work is all he said to do. If you wanna.” You nod slowly, absorbing his words. “Tell him I’ll be a little late,” you say simply, and as you’re about to shut the door, he talks again, his voice quieter this time. “I know you were hiding behind the curtain.”

You pull the door open again, so fast a minuscule gust of wind washes over both of your faces. “You’re kidding,” you say, “you’re kidding.” You stare at each other for a second before his solem features break into a smile. “I am. Mark spilled everything to me, so I decided to trick you.” Relief and annoyance break over your system as you swat Donghyuck’s shoulder. “You’re a dick,” you spit. “You’re bringing a bad image to Econ majors.”

He merely laughs and closes the door himself, light brown hair fluffing with the severity of his laugh (cackle.) Slightly annoyed, you drag yourself to get dressed, dread building up in your stomach at the prospect of seeing Mark again. Not when your mind conjures up what happened everytime you just see his name. Or the word mark. You’ve been out of it since it happened, not even responding to your usual heated debates with the conservative Trump supporter in class. You suppose the best way to confront it is to simply confront it.

When you get there, though, it’s clear that confrontation would not be an option. Immediately, when you sit, the air shifts into something oddly familiar—the atmosphere between the two of you when you first got partnered up. Except now, Mark won’t even give you a pinch of attention, or banter, instead typing his questions into the document to avoid verbal conversation. (He is a fucking petty bitch, you’ll give him that.)

You stroll over to the counter, pout set on your lips. “Hello,” Chan says politely, and you just smile half-heartedly. “Lover’s quarrel?” He teases, and you roll your eyes. “He’s ignoring me,” you respond, watching him make you a latte. “And we’re not dating. We never were.”

“Mm, right,” he says, finishing and setting your drink in front of you. You laugh a little, taking it. “No. We weren’t. But I’ll update you.”

When you return, Mark’s looking at you, quiet as ever. You break his gaze and continue working, working and working until the sun sets, nestled deep behind the horizon. When you look up again, the sky is already dark, city lights providing solace to the place. You look at Mark quizzically, as if to ask him what time you should both leave, but he just shrugs. “Any time,” he states plainly, and huffing, you get up.

“I’ll go right ahead then,” you say, trying your best to sound annoyed and get your message across. He says nothing, watching you pack up your stuff and sling your bag over your shoulder, and then eventually, leave.

Daniel is the first to see you in your raged, annoyed state—you meet him in the elevator of the lobby, your blood boiling and your fists balled. Knowing you’re headed to the same floor, he presses the button, ruffles his hair, and then lets the silence take over. And then, “What’s going on?” You breathe deeply, turning to him with a tired look on your face. “Mark’s going on,” you mumble, “he was ignoring me the entire time. And to think he was the one who requested my presence! It makes no sense. Why would he ignore me when we can just talk about it?”

“About what?”

It suddenly occurs to you that Daniel knows about your weird feelings for Mark, but not how they culminated. You splutter. “Um, about us. Everything.” Daniel looks amused, but the doors open, and you thank them for the temporary exit from the topic. He stops you right outside, though, and pulls out two ticket, card-looking things. “Wait, um. Listen, Lia and I are going to reach our seven-month…anniversary, I guess, of, y’know, being a thing. I know it seems really small, but I want to give her a little something out of appreciation, so I got us a room at this ski lodge outside the city.”

“That’s so sweet,” you say honestly, “but I must admit, it comes on sort of stalker-y. Like you’re whisking her off out of the city.”

He beams even louder. “That’s why you’re coming. With Mark!”

You gape back at him. “Did you miss the whole I-hate-him thing that happened in there?” You jab your finger towards the closed elevator doors, disbelief written across your face. He laughs. “Sometimes you can’t keep hiding behind”—he begins walking to your room, and you follow suit—“emotions, like anger. When I liked Lia, there was a point where I was just pretending to alienate her so I wouldn’t have to face that I was starting to love her. Like her. And you know, she did it right back.” 

“Oh, quit it,” you scoff, insistent. “You’re lecturing me like you’ve been married a decade.”

“That’s what I want,” he says, and you gag. “The first step to that would be ski lodge trip, so you’re coming!”

You’re in front of your room now, and you pinch his wrist as he reaches for the handle, gaining his full attention. “I’ll gladly go,” you whisper, “if Mark’s out.” Daniel just laughs, shaking his head. “No, no. An overnight trip would delay your paper severely. Plus, they have two beds per room.”

“We’ll be staying in the same roo—hey, Li,” you say, quickly cutting your angry rant off when she opens the door, her face confused (to say the least.) 

“Mm, hey,” she says, ushering the two of you in. “How long were you two out there?” Daniel shrugs, ruffling his hair and then pressing a kiss on Lia’s forehead. You boo from your place on your bed, buried under your duvet. “You both suck,” you holler, “always sexing it up in a sacred space. AKA my room.” Lia just grins and jumps on top of you, drawing grunts from you both. Daniel seats himself on the floor and busies himself with his phone. “How was Mark,” she whispers into your hair, and you groan.

“Bad,” you respond, “I’m so annoyed. We’re back to square one.” She makes an apologetic noise and gets up with a sigh, adjusting the strings of her pullover and then hugging Daniel. You watch them. You want to kiss Mark again. Life sucks that way.

—

Predictably, Mark turns down the offer of the ski lodge. He’s polite about it, too, especially since he and Daniel have grown a little bit closer since the start of your project. Daniel is, by no means, a “Mark anti”, but he would participate in the ribbing sometimes. Still, he’s insistent on the trip, saying it’s the best way to welcome December and that the forecast predicts a nice, thick layer of snow. It takes a week and two coffees everyday for Mark to give in, under the condition that he buy his own room when you get there.

Which, honestly, really, you have no problem with. Really, you think to yourself as you unceremoniously shove a knitted sweater into your bag. Really. Lia, who had graciously accepted the surprise, watches you abuse your bag, shoving sweater and scarf inside like they want to murder you. “Relax,” she says after a while. You laugh, playing it off (not so) casually.

The drive up there, courtesy of Daniel and a borrowed Prius, is fun, and cramped, but still decent, considering it was just an hour long. You’re in the back with Lia, and Mark is in charge of the AUX, which, of course, comes with its own bout of jokes. You even find the heart to participate and laugh in a few, not daring to meet his eyes. But all his songs are so fucking good. Frank Ocean, Jhene Aiko, SZA, and smaller indie artists flow from the speaker under his phone. The car ride has its share of epic karaoke moments—Mark plays ABBA, and Queen, solely to make sure everybody is belting out to the high heavens.

You get there when the sky’s purple and orange and there are some skiiers scattered around, though, since it’s not the proper holiday period, not too much. You trek over to the main lodge and that’s where Daniel pays for his reservations, and he and Lia retire to their room and promise to get up for dinner. You’re, again, alone with Mark in the lobby as you both stare at each other, willing the other to get up first. He does, to buy his own room like he said he would, and you can faintly hear the exchange from your seat on their nice, fluffy couch.

“I’m sorry, sir. We’re renovating a majority of the rooms for the holidays. That’s why reservations were a prerequisite for staying here.”

Mark sighs. “Okay, right. I’m so sorry. Um”—it’s at this point that you go up next to him, polite smile on your face, ready to take the room key and fuck off—“could we just get an extra blanket, please? For one of the beds.” The receptionist gives a curt smile, handing over the keycard and nodding. “That’ll be one queen-sized warm blanket, then,” she hums, typing away. The receptionist beside her goes to the back, presumably to get the blanket. Mark nods, smiling. “For two queen-sized beds, it must be a big room for both of them to fit comfortably,” he comments offhandedly, fiddling with the card.

The receptionist chuckles. “There is only one bed, sir.”

Oh, God. “Oh, God,” you whisper. “One bed?” She nods with an eye-crinkling smile, like her words have not just rained hell upon the two people across her. “One bed and a sofa,” she corrects herself, reading the information on the computer by the desk. Not wanting to risk your last shred of sanity, you smile profusely, walking quickly towards your room which, thankfully, is on the same floor, at the end of the hall. It’s a small, quaint place that would be honest-to-God perfect if not for the fact that—

“There’s one bed,” Mark sighs, the truth clicking into place. “Daniel is a fucking shithead.” You drop your bag onto the carpeted floor, surveying the room with a scrutinizing gaze. It’s sizable—a bed, a couch, a window. There’s a small wooden desk that looks like its legs can barely hold its weight, and then another door, leading to the bathroom. It’s not bad at all. But you’re exhausted, the sun’s long gone, and your resolve is shredding away as the seconds tick by. “Take the couch,” you say dismissively, “or the carpet.” You make a beeline for the bed, but Mark’s arm wraps around your waist, effectively stopping you.

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod “Shut up and let go of me, dick,” you stutter out. Mark loosens his grip and you shove him off, glaring at him. He gazes back down at you, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “We can’t just make up terms without negotiation,” he says matter-of-factly, and you blow a raspberry. “Fine. Let’s negotiate then. I’m a girl and that puts me above you because chivalry isn’t dead, thus, boom, I get the bed.”

“I was in the uncomfortable passenger seat all day and my lower back hurts,” he counters.

“My legs are wobbly.”

“Bullshit. My back aches.”

“You already said that, it’s invalid.”

The back and forth only intensifies, your arguments growing more and more bizarre, until finally, your volume is so high Lia says she can hear it faintly, four doors down. 

“The couch looks comfy,” you try, but Mark stands firm. 

“Do you know what? The bed is big. It’s a big bed. And we’re not going to take up much space. If we divide the bed with the sofa pillows…” you pick up the cushions and line them up neatly along the middle, “…then we can sleep beside each other without having to make contact with each other.” He seems convinced, stepping closer to the bed and nodding. “Okay. I get first dibs on the shower.”

“Asshole,” you mutter, but you let him anyway. You’ve unpacked nearly all your things and he isn’t done yet, so you’ve resorted to scrolling mindlessly through Tiktok and laughing at just about everyone that pops up on screen. Mark finally exits after what feels like forever, and you keep your eyes trained on your screen to avoid looking at him. From your peripheral vision, he is very much shirtless. There are no words exchanged, the thickness in the air only building bit by bit.

—

Three hours later, post-dinner, post-abandoning the thought of working on your paper, you’re stumbling into your room after helping the very tipsy couple of the night into theirs. You’re beyond tired now, and you can tell Mark is, too, despite the lack of eye contact or communication between you. You don’t even look at him, brushing your teeth and removing your makeup and clipping your hair up into a bun. It’s when he does the same, and you’re both in bed, using your phones, that he finally breaks the silence.

“I’m not mad,” he says. His voice is even and calm, and you quickly shut your phone off and sit up, peering over the pillow boundary you had created. You look at him expectantly before he sighs and continues. “Why did you leave?”

You stand up, getting out, trying to increase distance. You’ve never really liked confrontation. “I was weirded out,” you spill, “and scared…? I guess with the nearness of being caught, and with all the lights on, I was just shocked back to reality.”

He sits up. “What’s reality?”

“I don’t—know,” you splutter, getting back on the bed. “Not kissing you?”

He laughs, and then it becomes silent. “Right. Let’s sleep, then.” Without another word, he pulls his lamp off, and only the white moonlight is left illuminating the both of you. Shucking yourself under the covers, feeling your heart practically thump out of your chest. You honestly think he can hear it, or at least feel it. Suddenly the boundary doesn’t do much. You turn away from him, nervous, and you can faintly hear his breathing even out. You shut your eyes for a second. When you open them again, he’s looking right at you. “Just checking to see if you’re asleep,” he says quietly. You nod. And then you lean upwards, just a touch, so your lips nearly brush slightly. “Night,” you say, before turning to sleep for real.

You’re not sure when. And how. Sure, you faintly remember digging your legs sleepily through the sheets to find warmth and tangling Mark’s in your own. But still—when you’re up, the pillow fort is at your feet, hanging precariously off the four post bed, and your back is against Mark’s chest. His breath fans lightly over your hair and you blearily register what happened overnight. His arm is slung over your middle, it’s quiet, and oh Christ, he is hard.

It’s fairly late. He’s hard. The antique clock mounted up on the wall tells you it’s around nine, which essentially gave you seven hours of sleep. He’s hard. You bask in the warmth of Mark for a while before your resolve solidifies and you gently push his arm off from its position on your hips. He only comes on stronger, wrapping fully around your waist, mumbling incoherence into your hair. He’s hard. You squeeze your eyes shut, summoning sleep to overcome you quickly, but it never does. Dread overcomes you as you feel your underwear grow damp.

“Mm,” Mark grunts, his hand around your waist loosening. You move away but his head suddenly lolls into the crook of your neck, his lips touching the side of it. You whimper. He’s a fucking asshole, even when he’s asleep. You pinch his arm, jolting him to half-awakeness, and you roll away, despite your body’s protests.

He blinks his eyes open. “Sorry, shit,” he says, voice deep and ridden with sleep. You’re fucked.

“It’s okay,” you splutter instead. “Just go back to sleep.” You faintly register that you sound just as exhausted as he does, and you bury your head back into the covers. Everything, plus the sound of his voice, has you dripping, and you breathe in deeply to poorly disguise a whimper. He chuckles, already half-asleep, from where he is, and it’s quiet for a few minutes before you realize he’s fallen asleep. Knowing Lia and Daniel will be busy for a while, you pull a spare pillow over your head and chant to yourself before falling back asleep, too.

When you awaken, the bed is cold and empty, and the shower’s running. You check the time to find only an hour has passed, but you’re much more awake now, getting up and knocking incessantly on the bathroom door. “Hurry,” you demand hoarsely, “I want to go skiing.” You hear a muffled okay and scurry over to your bag to find the pair of leggings you had packed for this. You also find your parka, and you pull off your shirt to clasp on a bra.

“Not that I don’t mind,” Mark says, eliciting a yelp from you as you tug a sweater on at record speed, “but generally, that kind of thing only goes unnoticed in nudist colonies. I could research some for you, if you’d—ow! I was joking, God!” You bonk him twice over the head with the Bible on the bedside table, your brows furrowed angrily. “You looked, asshat,” you say, collecting your things and locking yourself in the bathroom.

When it becomes increasingly evident that Lia and Daniel have no plans of exiting their room, you grumble and resort to skiing alone. But as you’re shuffling out, bundled up, you spot Mark leaning against the exit waiting for you. He looks up and tsks. “About fucking time,” he says, holding the door open for you. It’s not that cold out—maybe you’re just used to having snow and chilly weather, and so is Mark—so you barely shiver, walking around and looking for a good place to ski.

“Forget skiing,” Mark says after a few rounds. “Let’s go sledding. I have a thing.”

“A toboggan, you mean.”

“A funny word. Really, just say sled.”

You let up, anyway, the bright sky and cold ground sending serotonin right into you. Sure enough, Mark does have a nice, blue sled that he lets you on, and then the two of you are bolting down the hill at breakneck speed, laughing all the way. It’s quite a long ride, and you’re smiling and yelping so much the cloth you’ve used to cover your neck has ridden down, the cold air hitting your face harshly.

You land very ungracefully—the toboggan hits a small tree and sends you and Mark catapulting in the same direction, your hands clawing at the air for expense. You find Mark’s arm and cling onto it in the split second you’re in the air, landing on a clearing of thick snow. The arm you’ve clung onto pulls you closer, Mark grunting “be careful,” and when the whole fiasco’s over, you’re smiling like an idiot, and you’re right on top of Mark.

You’re not straddling him or anything, but you’ve just happened to land with your face a little above his. You can’t stop laughing, your face flushed and red with the cold air hitting your face. So you laugh. Why wouldn’t you laugh? It was a good day. A good ride down the hill. So you keep laughing until they’re reduced to giggles, Mark laughing right along as you pull down the covering of his mouth and tug his beanie off, ruffling your hands in his hair and dipping down to kiss him.

He kisses you right back, his lips cold but quickly growing warm with the friction. You smile into the kiss, your hands roaming all over his pink face. The kiss is giggly and light, your hands all over each other as the sunlight filters in through the thick trees overhead.

You pull away after a while. “I hate you,” you whisper. He presses a kiss to your jawline and lets it linger there. “You think I don’t?”

—

Stage 3: Bargaining, Depression|

You’ve begun to type the structure out when Lia tugs on your pajamas, her tone insistent and curious. “What’s up with you and Mark?” she presses, her cheek pressed to your stomach. You fervently hope she doesnt notice how your breathing quickens, and, keeping your voice even, you answer. “We’re…thinking about things.”

Which—you were thinking about things, to be fair. There were things to be thought and you had to think about them. It was a broad half-truth. It had been two weeks since the ski lodge thing, and you and Mark had decided it was probably best to shut the fuck up about everything you had done. (Everything meaning a few kisses here and there, and maybe a little more under the covers.) You’d hated yourself for hiding it from Lia, but you and Mark were actually feeling hesitant about moving forward with whatever you were. There was a lot of ambiguity and questions, and until you could clear it up yourself, you knew you weren’t ready to tell anybody else. You had talked about it already—clearly, the two of you were beyond jumping straight into a relationship after not liking each other that much and then becoming hesitant friends.

But it was, if you had to admit it to yourself, nice having that little secret.

“I’d want to tell Lia soon,” you tease, walking steadily beside Mark. The afternoon sun is warm on your heads, the snow falling intermittently. He turns with a small smile. “I’d want to tell Hyuck, too.” You scoff, burying your head in his chest. You probably look fucking disgusting. Around you, Washington Square Park is full of natives and tourists, and college students like you, all scurrying around and giving you that very much holiday feel.

He buys you a hot cocoa and hands it to you. “Are you heading home soon?”

You take a sip, your tongue hot. “If my ratty dorm counts as home, then yes.”

“Home is a feeling, not a place. Does your ratty dorm feel like home?”

“Kind of. Lia’s there. And so is the rat infestation in the ceiling.”

Mark nearly chokes on his cocoa. “You’re gross as fuck.”

You let out a loud laugh, your beanie nearly falling off with the bounciness of it. Mark reaches behind you to catch it, pressing a kiss to your lips in the process, soft and light and God, you like it. A lot. “Clumsy,” he remarks, pulling it back on and dragging a generous amount of your hair in front of your eyes as he does it. “It’s gonna be Christmas soon, and thank God we’re nearly done with this paper.”

“It was my genius idea to combine bargaining and depression,” you quip. “That’s my gift to you. Merry Christmas, Mark Lee.” He laughs at that. His laugh, you’ve noticed, is goddamn loud, and it’s a literal cackle, but he always looks so happy when he laughs. And buoyant. “You look stupid,” you say, but the smile on your face is undeniable. He glares playfully at you, taking your hand and walking you both in the direction of your building.

“New York in the snow,” he hums. “Always a great place.”

“It’s full of tourists,” you counter. Always disagreeing.

He chuckles and then, like clockwork—like how you’ve done it for the past six dates—you separate when you’re just shy of a meter away from the lobby entrance. Your fingers curl in search of his, and you jog up the steps, eager to get into the warmth of the building. The lobby’s pretty empty, save for a couple of students. Mark’s ahead of you, already pressing the elevator button and waiting impatiently. 

“We’re alone,” he sing-songs, his eyebrows wiggling. The doors open right as you take Mark’s hand, and you look up to meet Daniel’s wide eyes. Then you look to the right to meet Lia’s.

Despite your inner turmoil, you remain nonchalant, pinching Mark’s wrist instead of holding it like you’d planned. “That’s why our professor fucking hates you,” you say, narrowing your eyes. Your heart is beating a mile a minute, but you muster a neutral expression, shoving your hands back into your pockets. Lia knows you, though, and her furrowed eyebrows and parted lips say everything—but you just shrug, playing off what they could have caught you doing. “Hey,” you say, walking into the elevator with Mark. It all blows over.

AKA: Daniel has to drag a curious Lia away from you, with a promise that you would converse later. You and Mark are alone again, in the elevator, your hands barely touching, laughs loud. It’s all blurry after that. You’re high on a laugh and the thought of a kiss—you drag him over to your room, hands in his hair, breathless, loose kisses. You’re both so exhausted, though, that all you manage to extend your energy to is taking your tops off and making out lazily to the songs you’d recommended to each other.

“Mm,” he says when one of your songs starts playing. “It’s a nice song.” You nod with a smile. “I know it is, it’s one of my recommendations. It’s called Softly.” He plays with the strap of your bra. “I’ll give it more of a listen, then. Also, a red bra to school? Whatever will the professors think,” he jokes lightly, pressing insistent, but soft kisses on your shoulder. You laugh, pinching the inner part of his arm and eliciting a swear from him. “I was joking! I know you wore this for me, stupid.” The wind whistles outside, barely audible from the half-open window across the room, overlapping with the music.

This all feels too real, now.

You pout lazily against his bare chest. “Get off before Lia gets in,” you mumble, your heart beginning to race. He does, for what it’s worth, rolling off your bed with a loud thump and tugging his shirt and sweater back on. You watch him (fondly) annoyedly, your hair draping over you as you get up to properly shove him out. “Out, out,” you chant, laughing, and he giggles, turning abruptly to poke at your waist.

“Shut up,” you groan, a smile on your face. There’s a beat, then he pulls you close and kisses you, running outside right after with a literal guffaw. You watch him, wrapping your fleece blanket around your frame as he runs to the elevator, sweater backwards and hair messy.

—

Doubts are normal. This you’re assured of, but your head pounds with the sheer amount of things you’re cramming into it. You squint impossibly harder, trying to get the nail polish into the crook of Lia’s nail. You’ve probably overdone it, judging by the way she jabs her knuckle in between your eyebrows, her face contorted in worry. “Are you…okay?”

You narrow your eyes, the inner debate of telling her raging on and on. The nail polish drips onto her fingernail, rolling onto her pant leg, and she yelps, but her eyes are still on you. “You can tell me anything,” she says, softer this time. You know she’s serious—you know you can. You always have. You told her about every fling, one night stand, pregnancy scare, bad grade, hot professor, and spoiled deli food you’d encountered since you ever became friends. She knew you. And you were so sure she knew what you were about to say.

Except you didn’t know what you wanted to say. Your feelings were a mess, and you wanted one thing as much as you wanted the other. You couldn’t place what you wanted, and if you had to narrow it down, you’d realize that you were scared of what you wanted. You were never really one for commitment, or a relationship, or really anything, for that matter. And the fact that you were so hung up on thinking about what you and Mark would become—Mark? It all seemed so dystopian, almost. Like you’d never expected it. Your friendship was a childhood bubble that popped in the span of your first high school semester, and that was that. But just two days ago you were being kissed all over by the same guy you’d had a cutthroat student council president competition with.

It seemed so absurd? Crazy? Those adjectives were a little over the top. Deep down, if you dug deep enough into the parts you didn’t even tell yourself, you knew what you were. And if anybody else were to know, it would be Lia.

“I’m scared,” you choke out, your voice shaky. “I’m scared and sad, and happy and angry, and I want this but I don’t.” You cover the nail polish, shaking your head. “This is all so new to me. I hate how much I feel, especially because it feels so wrong. You know me—relationships are just not cut out for me. They’re scary and new. And people in relationships turn all gooey. I’m scared that this won’t last, but I’m scared that it will, and I’ll be doomed to an eternity of bland, padlocked relationships. It’s weird. I could be feeling this way for anyone, but it had to be Mark? If only I didn’t hate him, then maybe we could’ve gone off on a better foot. If only this whole thing never fucking happened, right?”

“It’s okay,” Lia cuts in. “Being scared is okay. It’s part of the whole process. And nobody said you had to get along like conjoined twins in a relationship. They just go when they go and end when they end. Not every relationship starts as a high school sweetheart thing and ends with three kids and a picket fence. And I’m so sure Mark would be so understanding if you didn’t like him or if you chose not to continue.”

“You knew?”

She laughs. “Of course I knew. I know a post-sex glow when I see one, and I was blinded that morning at the ski lodge.” You groan, pinching her indignantly, hiding your face in your hands as she laughs out of view. “Okay. Take some time and think about it, but for now, I want to get my nails done, so.” 

—

It’ll be a week before you come up with what you want, and the whole time you generally avoid talking about solemn topics with him in person. 

It’ll be another few days before you finally talk to him personally—with your paper nearly finished, you suggest a meeting at the library. It’s just two days before Christmas Eve, and you know Mark’s going to be driving to Canada, so you want to snatch him away for your own personal time for just a second. The snow has all but thickened as you meet outside the building, the silence deafening.

“Hi,” he says, smiling. You know he’s probably picked up on your erratic, quieter behavior in the past several days, but you gulp and lead him inside anyways, to your favorite section. “It’s almost Christmas Eve,” he says, watching you stall, surrounded by Philosophy books from just about every century. “I know,” you say, hoping you don’t sound too nervous.

“You sound nervous,” he says.

“Do I?” you ask shakily, your voice taking on an unnaturally high pitch. “I mean, er. I guess I sort of am. I guess I’ve been thinking about everything lately—about you and me and everything that just happened so suddenly. Because—because it did happen so suddenly. I just…needed time? Yeah, time. To think about everything. Because it all happened so quickly, I…” you stutter. “I’m scared of these things. I’m not used to them. Relationships? Things that last longer than a couple weeks? I don’t like these. 

I have something bigger I want to focus on and anybody who gets in the way just isn’t worth it. And it’s so weird how it was you out of all people I started thinking about it with. Usually I just have the rare fling and then they’re gone, and I’m not even mad. But you’re different. And I like it. 

But I just needed time to find out if I really liked it. If I really wanted to try. I know it’s only been a few weeks, and I probably sound really fucking stupid, but you get me—you get me, right? And that’s how I realized—if it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t. I don’t know why I overthought it. I mean, it’s a good thing and a bad thing that I did. Like, on one hand, I got to really think about how this would play out, and on the other, I’d just end up spiraling. And it’s just weird. I hope you don’t know I hated you. Hate you? Hated you. I was just—it was all so juvenile. Everything just stemmed from that one awfully dumb high school rivalry. But other than that, you were always a cool…see what I mean? I’m kind of rambling—even if I thought I had planned this out. And. Yeah. I dunno. I fucking…I hate you, stop laughing.”

Mark smiles down at you—you’re busy pretending to read a Sartre book to look unfazed, but your flickering gaze says it all. 

“Okay, stupid,” he says, bordering onto a laugh. “If that’s your way of saying you’re willing to give this a try, then I graciously accept. Should I be saying something equally long? I—is that how this works?”

You roll your eyes and kiss him instead, pulling him close, Sartre’s postulates dropping to the floor alongside your tiptoes.

—

Stage 4: Acceptance|

“Acceptance is just that. Just accepting that you love that person after weeks or months of all the other stages. With her, it was. Like. It’s the whole sitting down after silence, having some time for the revelation to set in before you realize you love them. Or like them? Well, love them, I guess. But I don’t know why you would be asking me this.”

You bury your head further into Mark’s shoulder, your eyes strained from how long they’d been trained onto your screen. You smile up at Daniel, thanking him for the input and beginning to type it in, watching Lia doze off on his shoulder. “We’re asking because we’re not quite there yet,” Mark hums, “it’s just February. It’s barely been two months.” You nod, watching Mark type where you left off on the document. Daniel snorts from across you. “You’re just about, I guess.” Mark chuckles, shrugging so your head bounces off his shoulder unceremoniously.

“Like I’d ever fall in love with that shitstorm,” he says pointedly.

“Oh, and I’d fall in love with this dickwad?”

“You’re perfect for each other. Bullying, but we all know Mark brought back gifts from Canada and that you stitched an initial onto his sweater.”

“To practice my embroidery. Also, I stitched Mark’s initial. M. Asshole.”

“Okay,” whistles Daniel, his hand unconsciously coming up to make sure Lia doesn’t fall off his shoulder. “But hey, you’re just about to submit this paper and I’m fondly remembering all the times you despised each other. And when you”—he points at you, devilish grin on his face—“started gushing to Lia about how he”—he then turns to Mark—“kissed you at Johnny’s party.”

“God, it’s not the time for that yet, we’re still a fresh couple,” you groan, burying your head in your hands. “You have so much dirt on me, Choi.” Mark just laughs, though, loudly, bringing the other cafe-goers’ attention to yours. He bites your shoulder to stifle it, eliciting a laugh from you. “I agree, there should be a certain time requirement for pre-relationship embarrassing stories,” Mark says, closing his laptop. Lia gets up at that point, already half-awake from the ruckus (AKA Mark’s laugh), pulling on Daniel’s sleeve. “Alright, and that’s my cue to get this girl some more coffee and then go.”

“Mm, I’ll come with,” you say, “I need a refresher before we leave soon, anyway.”

You walk in between them, your fingers laced in Lia’s as she squeezes them sleepily. They order first and then they’re off with a smile and a polite goodbye, leaving you to order your drink. You gaze up at the menu, and then down at—

“Long time no see,” Chan says with a knowing beam. “How is your not boyfriend boyfriend?”

“Well, he’s my boyfriend now.”

“See, I always know. What do you want?”

“An iced ca—how did you know?” You ask, tempted.

“It’s just…the energy? It was a hit or miss, but I kinda got that feeling that something was going to happen.”

“Hmm,” you hum. “An iced caramel then.”

“And a black coffee for her best friend!” Hollers a new voice that you could never miss, turning slowly towards the entrance to meet Donghyuck’s crazy eyes. He’s in a suit, which isn’t unusual given the sheer amount of presentations he’s had to do since the new year started. You roll your eyes but put in the extra cash anyway, much to Chan’s amusement. Hyuck nears you with a sly grin. “I hear you’ll be submitting your paper soon. I just want my name in there so I’m in your professor’s good graces.”

“She’s not even going to be your professor, Hyuck,” you say, taking your drink and smiling at Chan. You and Donghyuck both walk back to where Mark’s sitting, you beside him and Hyuck across the both of you. “Yes, but it pays to be in somebody’s good graces, I swear. See what happened? I got you two together. I orchestrated your entire love st—”

“Okay, now you’re just lying, Hyuck,” Mark says with a laugh, finishing up the first few paragraphs and closing his laptop. “We’re not even in love.” But his friend lets out a teasing smile, his eyes narrowed, and he gets up with a loud farewell and alibi about “being needed by my better friends.” You assume he’s talking about Jeno.

—

You walk to Mark’s room alongside him, thanks to the promise of his roommate, Jaemin, sleeping at a friend’s. Your fingers are intertwined loosely. The sun’s setting and Mark’s room is sheathed in beautiful shades of orange and pink, a vast array of dusk settling over the space. It happens quietly, but full of laughs, which is how it happens when you’re both tired and/or shitfaced. You do this a lot—a routine of sharing new songs or books you’d picked up over the week and then making out while they play in the background or while one of you read. It’s awfully, horribly, terribly fucking intimate. 

“Your bra sucks,” he jokes.

You love it.

“Get better abs and we can talk about it,” you counter, poking his toned stomach. He really, fully guffaws at that, pulling you onto his lap and then tugging his guitar out from where it stands at the corner. You flop back onto his bed, watching him play—and then registering the familiar opening of the Jonas Brothers song you used to request nearly everyday. “Lovebug,” you muse with a smile, singing along to his voice, carried away. You’re sleepy and light, and you know deep down—in that space of yourself where you’re all but honest—that you were going to fall in love with him someday.

Later, when all you’re doing is hugging him as he reads your latest Philosophy requirement to you, he pauses.

“Is this the 21st century idea of love?” He asks idly, unclasping your bra and connecting the moles on your shoulder. You hum. 

“It’s the Gen Z idea,” you say, connecting the ones on his bare back. “And this isn’t love.”

“Corny.” he smiles against your collarbones. You kiss his neck. It’s all very gradual.

—

hope you liked it :) drop an ask! I absolutely love all types of feedback 

[writingssummit]

𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐲𝐮𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 !

dancing headcannons !

content: fluff, that’s really it lol 

characters: sugawara, terushima, tendou, yamaguchi, oikawa.

a/n: not me listening to a haikyuu playlist and getting inspo from it- totally didn’t stay up all night to finish season 3 either wha t ? idk what you’re talking about.

i noticed my bnha post didn’t do so well, so i’ll stick with the haikyuu guys (and girls maybe? ooo) for now <3 hope you enjoy some silly fluff with them !

sugawara !

2nd most wholesome on this list.

Suga and you are just cleaning up the gym after practice one day.

You’re not exactly glad to be doing it, but you had offered to help your boyfriend out earlier,so there was no turning back now.

You had decided to play some music at some point, opting for an upbeat playlist to help you.

With motivation, of course! Upbeat music got you in that mood. Plus, the sound was cool inside the gym.

You hear Sugawara humming along every so often, the way you two moved around each other as you cleaned was almost like it’s own kind of dance, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Sugar, come here.”

He takes your hands in his, pulling you away from the task at hand all of a sudden

You protest a little, but you give in and just stay put.

He’s grinning at you, tugging you a little closer.

“What’s this?” You cock an eyebrow at him.

“Just a little dance, c’mon! The clean up can wait a bit longer. Your face will get wrinkles with how much you’ve been pouting.”

Okay backhanded remark aside, you couldn’t just say no

You laugh as he sways back an forth with you to the beat, occasionally stepping on each other.

“Guess we both have two left feet, Y/N.” He jokes, spinning you around as the song changed to a slower one.

Any dances with him are just lighthearted and fun, neither of you really minding the fact that it was so offbeat.

Get dance lessons smh 

He’d add in twirls here and there

Eventually you’d settle down from all the laughs and goofing off and just sway back and forth slowly, you head resting on his chest, his hands on your waist.

Please omg I want this :’)

You guys get so caught up in it that somebody ends up coming back and then catching you both (yes, it was daichi, and yes he left awkwardly).

terushima !

This mans tries to be suave when he dances

You aren’t fooling anybody okay

stick with the sprinkler or something -

If anything, his dancing can be described as chaotic and random.

Sure, he has some moves but sir you aren’t michael jackson or something- 

One night in particular though, it’s a bit different. 

He kept bugging you to check something out with him that night, and so you just agreed instead of arguing about it at 2am.

He shows up at your window and he climbs inside your room.

Yes, yes he did and I do not regret that 

“Y/N! Check it out!”

You have to shush him because wtf it’s 3AM SIR

He’s quick to apologize, and just shoves one of the earbuds to his phone at you, and you of course pop it into your ear

And then you’re being pulled close and away gently, and his tongue is sticking out in slight concentration. cute :’)

i honestly forgot what this was called so uh my bad but it’s really fun trust me

“Somebody’s been practicing.” Tease him, please LOL

“It’s fun, right??”

So he CAN dance, if he actually tries. B)

Yeah don’t forget that he literally snuck into your house, because I sure haven’t

Your parents woke up not soon after you both started to laugh and giggle, but you didn’t hear the footsteps because you both were to wrapped up in the music and each other

Let’s just say he was banned from the house for a month or so 

Worth it though

tendou !

At this point it’s common knowledge that he breaks out into little dances randomly 

He isn’t even confined to any actual type of dance, he just goes for whatever he feels like doing in the moment, whatever feels right

So whenever you dance with him, it’s always really entertaining to watch him

But

He’ll tug you into a dance literally anywhere without a care in the world.

Which is cute omg, but social anxiety could never

This time just happened to be on the sidewalk, because there was a musician, and in Tendou’s words; “We can’t just let their music go to waste~”

So yeah, he’s dancing with you on the sidewalk in front of literal strangers and you’re embarrassed to say the least dw i would be too T^T

Like sir please why here

He’s reassuring you over and over that you’re just fine, let the people stare, etc etc. After all, you’re just having fun together, and that’s no crime

True, y’all could be robbing the pet store of hamsters if you really wanted to. yes i imagine he would do that and I’ll say it again smh

You end up loosening up eventually, he was just too happy and c’mon, this is Tendou. :’)

Y’all may have started a public dance floor

And it’s awesome as hell when you think about it

He twirls you dramatically, waving his free hand around as he hummed along to the song.

“Y/N, see what happens when you have just a liiiittle bit of fun? Hm~?”

Okay fine you see his point there

Literally sounds so fun to do this, so he gets 100/10 

yamaguchi !

Here’s the most wholesome one imo. unless that was tendou, idk-

Yams is so sweet with you, to the way he holds your hand, how he talks to you, all of it.

Dancing with you is no exception here.

He and you were sitting in the living room, all snuggled up on the couch together because it was a rainy day. 

Rainy days were always so calm and nice with him, just watching tv or napping together.

Yams asked you if you wanted to dance this time, rather bashfully though

And then you had an amazing idea

“What if we did it outside? Like in the movies?”

“H-Huh?”

Baby is blushing :’)

But he’s totally up for the idea, he’s nodding and agreeing right away.

Which is how you guys ended up outside in the pouring rain. 

You both were not prepared for the feeling of wet clothes sticking to your skin, it was mildly uncomfortable to say the least-

But you guys were just barefoot on the driveway and you both were holding each other close, just enjoying being there together that it kind of outweighed the initial discomfort

You settled for gentle, slow swying as your head rested against him, his hand reaching up to stroke your cheek every once and awhile

Yes his head is resting on top of yours, or at least his chin is resting on your shoulder

He makes a joke about how it’s weird to dance with no music

And then you end up just humming together and making your own. :’)

By the time you guys are done, you both vow to do it again, it was actually really calming

But of course y’all are soaking wet so it’s dry off time

Expect many cuddles after :D

oikawa !

Okay as much as he’s not my favorite of all time

I can appreciate the idea that he’d be the most knowledgeable dancer on this list

Like mans can serve and set like nobody’s business

But he can also dance.

He’s honestly proud of his dance skills, and takes it upon himself to teach you.

He’s a a bad teacher tho -

You guys are at your house during a holiday with your family, and he of course said his present to you this year is to teach you how to dance

Your family finds it funny because they know you can’t dance for your life.

But they’re egging Oikawa on

“Please no, end my suffering”

“So dramatic, tsk tsk. C’mon, Y/N-chan, it’ll be fun! I’m a great teacher.”

No you aren’t but go off LMAO

The first 15 minutes is awkward because you literally don’t know where to put your feet or hands.

Oikawa is smirking at you, because he finds it adorable 

After a bit of teaching you have some of it down, so now it’s just you both waltzing around the living room, trying not to bump into furniture

Your family is clapping and hooting because that’s what parents do apparently

You smack his arm lightly when he leans down to peck at your jaw real quick

Sir please

He gets a A+ for actually knowing an actual dance dance, but a B because

I know he would suck at teaching.

thanks for reading this ! i hope these were decent, i had fun writing tendou’s and suga’s, it gave me serotonin LOL - 

asks/requests are open ! check yay’s and nay’s in basics for this blog !

[wisteriasxx]

Valentine’s Day HeadCanons!

A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day to everyone!! I made a headcanon list of how I think some of my favorite characters would treat you on Valentine’s Day, hope you enjoy❤️

Also I think most of this is gender neutral, I think the Thrawn one may be more dictated to a Fem! Reader but it’s whatever you make of it!!

Requests are still open <3

Warnings: lil nsfw

———————————————————————

Anakin

Anakin is going to just give you all his love all day. He’s going to set everything aside to spend time with you, no matter how busy he is or where he is, his only priority is going to be you.

He’ll probably show up with a gift of some kind, not you’re typical roses or chocolates though, he’ll probably give you something he made by hand or something he saw in a shop that reminded him of you.

He’ll offer you over and over again to make dinner for the two of you, but in my mind, I feel like Anakin would probably not be that good at cooking so you’ll want to make dinner.

After dinner, the two of you would sit outside, wherever you may be, and watch the sun set while sipping on spotchka and talking about your favorite memories with one another.

LOTS of kisses. I mean it might even get to the point of too much, but Anakin just wants you to feel loved, especially this day of the year.

Anakin is 100% the guy that’s gonna offer to “just give you a massage”, and then it ✨conveniently✨ turns to sex. But the sex is amazing obviously.

After all of the love making, the two of you will cuddle the night away. Anakin always wants to be the big spoon, he wants to feel you curled up against him, and in his mind, it’s a way of him knowing your protected. If Anakin isn’t the big spoon on some off chance, he always has you pulled close to him, with you cuddled up next to him, arm draped tiredly over his chest.

Obi-wan

We all know that Obi-wan is going to be the sweetest man to ever exist on Valentine’s Day. In fact, it wasn’t until this day of the year that you believed he could get any sweeter, since he’s always so nice and chivalrous all the time to you.

Obi-wan is definitely walking through the door with the most beautiful bouquet of flowers. The bouquet has all the workings in it, you’re favorite flowers and his, ribbons, jewels, maybe even some candy snuck in there.

He’s also a great cook some how. He makes the most delicious meals whenever he is able to cook. And for Valentine’s Day he’s going to make your favorite. He’s going to make breakfast, lunch, tea, dinner and dessert. Obi-wan is a man of quality, so only the finest for his love.

After dinner, he’ll take you outside, along with a bottle of fine champagne and the two of you will star gaze all night. It’s one of your favorite things to do.

The two of you will gaze at the stars and talk about anything that comes to mind for hours.

He’ll have you wrapped up in his arms, your head against his chest, holding you close, telling you how much he loves you and how he’s lucky to have you. He’ll tell you that he’s convinced you’re some kind of angel sent from the heavans.

Obi-wan isn’t the type to press for sex, but if you want it, he’ll give it to you in the most intimate and passionate way you can think of. Obi-wan may come off as a sweet and timid man at first, but in bed it’s a different story, and on the one day of the year dedicated to your relationship he’s going to completely let loose, a side of him you’ve never seen ;)

Ahsoka

Ahsoka is one of the most fun and most kind characters in Star Wars. Valentine’s Day is going to have a special meaning to her for you and everyone she cares about.

She’s going to take you on some crazy wild adventure to some planet she’s over heard you wanting to travel to.

Intially, she’ll have some plan for the two of you, but it will fall apart in a good way and the two of you will stray from your set path to do something spontaneous, creating more memories with one another.

Ahsoka likes to go out to eat, she doesn’t much care for cooking. She’ll take the two of you to you’re favorite restaurant and indulge.

Lots of hand holding with her, she’s always guiding you to your next destination on this day, and doesn’t want you anywhere away from her.

She’s going to do everything in her power to make you consistently smile throughout the day, she’s in love with your smile.

Her gift to you would be taking the two of you somewhere like a concert, a movie, or sight seeing on a new planet.

Plenty of cheek kisses and quick pecks to go around, she wants to be as affectionate as she can!!

Luke

For the sake of the headcanon, we’re going to talk about ROTJ Luke here.

Luke loves Valentine’s Day, because it means he gets to spend an entire, uninterrupted day with the love of his life. No Jedi business, no fights, nothing. Just you, and that’s the way he likes it.

Luke will bring you something special, and expensive, like jewelry. It’ll most likely be a necklace made of some kind of precious metal and small glimmering stones, nothing too flashy.

He’ll have 3P0 or someone else prepare dinner for the two of you for the sole fact that he wants to spend all his time with you, he doesn’t even want to be away from you to make dinner. And get ready for a lovely dinner outside on Endor.

The forest will be strung up with small, glimmering lights, with a low standing table and comfortable cushions to sit on. After the two of you are done eating, he’ll walk you through the forest to one of the waterfalls. And as the moon light and the stars reflect off the water, he’ll present the necklace to you. He’ll put it on for you, and when you turn to face him he can’t help but smile and kiss you.

After your little moment, the two of you will head back to your encampment and spend the rest of the night cuddling and drinking and laughing. The night will end with your head resting on his chest with him holding you close, fast asleep.

Han

Han usually was never one for the gushy stuff, which is why he would fail spectacularly at Valentine’s Day, but in the goofy, cute way.

He would definitely forget at first, and then when you present him with a gift or are being extra affectionate, thats when he realizes. he’ll of course talk his way out of your suspicions of him forgetting.

“Relaaaax, I’ve got a nice dinner waiting for us later don’t worry” *proceeds to find chewy to have him have a nice dinner waiting for the two of you later*

And then the gift, he realizes he doesn’t have anything. Han definitely consults with every woman he knows on what you’re supposed to get a woman on Valentine’s Day. And when he gets multiple answers, he thinks that there’s only one right answer, and that he has to figure it out somehow.

Shockingly, he’ll remember you talking about something that you love and conveniently the only place to get that something is guarded by imperials. But for you, Han would steal and smuggle anything.

He returns back to home base for you to see the falcon landing in a mass of smoke and damaged. Resulting with you quirking a brow in suspicion and question when he comes strutting down the ramp with whatever important thing he just stole for you.

Later the two of you will be sipping on spotchka waiting for your dinner, of course you’ll ask him over and over again where he got your gift but he tells you not to worry about it.

Dinner is surprisingly decent for being made by a Wookiee. Han cleaned up the falcon nice for the two of you to eat in as well.

After dinner Han is going to apologize for the horrible Valentine’s Day but you don’t care, you love him exactly the way he is, and you wouldn’t change anything about him.

Of course there will be make up sex ;) this is the most common way for Han to apologize, but you’re not complaining.

Boba Fett

With boba, you sit there and wonder if he even knows it’s Valentine’s Day. Just because it’s a holiday meant for couples, doesn’t mean he’s going to stop bounty hunting for the day, he takes his work seriously.

You don’t bring it up to him because you don’t want to add more to his already full plate

But he knows what today is, he just wants you to think that he doesn’t know. He just wants to work first, he’ll celebrate with you later.

When he’s away looking for his bounty, you’ll find a gift box on your bed saying it’s from him, opening it to find a luxurious, burning red set of lingerie. This of course puts a smile on your face, relieved that he didn’t forget about today.

After freezing his bounty in carbonite, he comes to your shared room on the slave 1 to find you lounging on the bed in your newly purchased lingerie, waiting for him.

Normally boba is the dominating one in the bedroom, but since it’s Valentine’s Day he’ll let you take the reigns and do whatever you please to him, all though your actions may have consequences in the future ;)

Din Djarin

Much like boba, you sit there and wonder if he even knows it’s Valentine’s Day, except with Din, he doesn’t. He’s completely clueless, but that’s okay.

He’ll act completely normal to you all day, doing daily routines, hunting bounties, or taking care of the child, doesn’t mean he loves you any less. You actually find it adorable that he’s clueless about today.

He doesn’t find out until later in the night when you present him with a small bracelet, forged from pure beskar. The bracelet has words in Mando’a engraved onto it. It reads “My protector, My light, My love, always”.

He’s so stunned by the gift he even takes off his helmet. Asking a bunch of questions like where you even got a pure beskar bracelet, or why you even got it in the first place, only for you to cut him off mid sentence with a kiss. And when you pull away, the phrase “Happy Valentine’s Day” slips gracefully from your mouth.

And that’s when he realizes he completely forgot. He would try apologizing a thousand times over but he would only get cut off again but the smooth feeling of your lips against his. He’ll promise you that he won’t ever forget again.

Grand Admiral Thrawn

Surprisingly, Thrawn is going to set aside his duties on the Chimera and spend the day and night with you. Being a grand admiral meant that he could go wherever he pleased whenever he wanted with no qiestions asked.

He’s going to take you to some huge Valentine’s soirée with Coruscants most elite political and military personal. He’ll buy you a whole new dress and jewelry for the occasion as well, this man has excellent taste.

He wants everyone to see you, he wants to show you off, he’s proud to have a gorgeous woman like you by his side.

After an evening filled with drinks and slow dancing, he’ll take you to the balcony of the venue. There you can see the Coruscant night skyline, filled with the gentle glow of all the buildings and the snow falling gracefully from the sky.

And here, Thrawn would definitely propose to you. The setting is perfect, you’re looking your best and he just can’t resist. He needs to make you his permanently, and what better day to do so then Valentine’s Day? The day committed to ones significant other and the love they share.

Thrawn is also definitely the type to ditch the party early to take you back to his place to have drinks and the best valentines sex of your life heheh

Kylo Ren

Kylo has a very strong and thick wall around his emotions, he doesn’t like showing them unless he’s alone with you. So for majority of the day, he’s going to act like Valentine’s Day doesn’t exist, he might even act like you don’t exist.

You can’t take it personally though, you know what he’s been through, besides, he’ll open up later when the two of you are alone.

And that’s exactly what he does. When the time comes for him to retire, he’ll find you waiting in his chambers for him. And you just stare at him, waiting. A more gentle side of him will come out and he’ll act like he’s totally not hiding a small gift box behind his back.

“What? Waiting for something are we?” He’ll ask, with a brow quirked.

You’ll flash him a small and bat your eyelashes at him. He’ll roll his eyes and with the smallest smile he’ll toss your gift to you. And yes, you can tell he wrapped it himself.

You’ll open the box to find a ring. Not a proposal ring, more of a promise ring, just a nice gift really. A small ring made of doonium, simple and elegant. And as you put it on, he can’t help his smile from growing a little bigger.

Plenty of hugs and kisses of thanks from you.

Kylo only wants one thing in return, which is you. You’re going to be taken for the ride of your life in the bed tonight ;)

Rey

Rey would give you the standard flowers and chocolate. She’s from Jakku and spent most of her life trying to survive and fighting to become a Jedi. She doesn’t know how to do anything beyond the bare minimum, you can’t blame her though.

You’ll take her somewhere she’s never been, which could be anywhere really. She’s surprised you’re going to such lengths to make this day more then sufficient for her.

You’re going to take her on some crazy adventure for her to enjoy as well. You’ll probably take her on a camping trip to multiple worlds, it’ll be more like a valentines weekend then just a day.

Something will happen along the way of course, whether it’s vicious creatures attacking you or first order stormtroopers, nothing the two of you can’t handle.

“Was this part of your plan to take me out?” She’ll ask as the two of you are fighting. “Is this not a fun Valentine’s Day festivity for you?” You’ll say to her, smiling. And Rey can’t help but smile back.

When the fighting is over and all is well again, a Valentine’s Day victory kiss is in store.

The two of you will spend your weekend nights watching the sunset over the ocean of wherever you may be. Since Rey is from jakku, you elected to take her to a few planets with beautiful oceans.

Since the two of you are camping, dinners consist of rations and a single bottle of fine wine you brought along for the journey. It’s nothing fancy but that doesn’t bother either of you, she’s just glad you thought of her, and took on this trip. She believes that she is truly lucky to have you, and is already planning something for you for next Valentine’s Day.

[honeypirate]

Karaoke Night with Hinawa, Obi, Viktor

Song for Hinawa - Song for Obi - Song for Viktor

I wrote this a while ago and found it in my drafts

Hinawa tag list: @soft-citrus-central also tagging @sabrinamidoriya01 who encouraged me to post it :)

Hinawa -

The crowd cheers when they call your name, the karaoke bar packed with your company as well as a few people from the seventh and fifth as well as Tamaki’s friend Juggernaut.

You take the microphone from the announcer and they queue up the lyrics on the screen before you and you feel your hands shake as you laugh a little before the music starts. You’ve been practicing this song because it’s your favorite jazzy song and you just know hinawa will like it.

You take a deep breath as the music starts and you close your eyes, tuning out the rest of the bar as the sounds of Billie Holiday’s orchestra reach every ear.

Hinawa was watching you this whole time, smiling when he heard the music, taking a drink from his glass as everything else in the room disappears in his eyes, there is only you.

“My days have grown so lonely, For you I cry, For you, dear, only Why haven't you seen it? I'm all for you body and soul” Your voice throughout the bar quiets down every conversation. Everyone turning to look up at you and listen to your soft voice singing this song like it was made for you to sing.

“I spend my days in longing, I'm wondering why, It's me you're wronging, Oh, I tell you I mean it, I'm all for you, body and soul” you’re swaying on stage, your eyes still closed as everyone hangs on your every word. Hinawa’s heart is racing as he watches you sing one of his favorite songs. He didn’t even know you liked jazz and you were fairly close friends.

You open your eyes and look around the room, your cheeks flushing when you realize that everyone is paying attention to you. Your eyes land on Hinawa at your table beside Obi, his eyes filled with stars and you can’t look away as you sing

“I can't believe it, It's hard to conceive it, That you'd throw away romance, Are you pretending? It looks like the ending, Unless I can have one more chance to prove, dear, My life a hell you're making, you know I'm yours for just the taking, I'd gladly surrender, Myself to you, Body and soul”

Obi is slack jawed and grinning the whole time, the whole house staring at you and quiet, but you were too busy looking into Hinawa’s eyes to notice anything else. You finish the song, singing it right to him, hoping somehow he will know it’s for him.

When the music ends, the bar erupts into applause and cheers, Hinawa stands with a smile on his lips and claps for you, bring his fingers to his lip to blow a loud whistle. You hear chants of your name and you laugh, feeling embarrassed and full of adrenaline. You can feel your face heat as you make your way off the stage.

You bring your fingers to your face, hoping to hide some of the blush. You make your way to the crowd to the bar and ask for a water bottle before making your way outside to get some air and cool down, feeling Hinawa behind you.

“That was.. wonderful” he says softly and you take a sip of your water, your heart fluttering. “Thank you Hinawa” you say and he smiles, taking a step towards you “I didn’t know you liked jazz music” he says and you chuckle “I’m full of surprises” you say and he chuckles “I believe that”

After a moment of silence he reaches out and tucks your hair behind your ear “did you sing that song for me?” He asks, bluntly. You feel your face heat as you look down to the ground with a shy smile “I .. I mean. If you liked it then yes” he takes your chin gently in his hand and tilts your face up “I loved it.” He admits and leans down, his lips beside your ear “I’m all for you, body and soul” he whispers before he presses his lips to yours.

Obi-

His cheers for you were louder than anyone in the whole bar. He only had one beer so far but he was so excited you were finally going up to sing. He heard your voice every once in a while when you would sing while you showered and it would echo out into the hall. He knows how wonderful you can sing so he’s been trying to convince you to go up there and show everyone what you can do.

The man announces your name and you stream quietly as you walk up the stairs, taking the microphone from the guy and standing in front of the screen with the lyrics.

You nod at the guy on the computer to your left and the music starts, most conversations in the crowd quieting down.

Your eyes are focused on the words even though you know every one to the rock ballad you take a breath and sing as the adrenaline builds in your body.

The music started and Obi’s breath catches in his throat. He once had a conversation with you about how he loved this song, he couldn’t help but feel like you were singing this to him.

“I should have known better, Than to let you go alone, It's times like these, I can't make it on my own, Wasted days, and sleepless nights, An' I can't wait to see you again. I find I spend my time, Waiting on your call, How can I tell you, babe, My back's against the wall I need you by my side To tell me it's alright Cause I don't think I can take anymore”

It’s a fairly popular karaoke song in the bar but you’re killing it like no other before you. The chorus starts and you look up to where Obi is sitting. Your heart skips and races along when you see how big his grin is! How his eyes are filled with admiration and awe! He’s standing up and making his way from his table in the middle of the room as you sing the chorus

The moment your eyes met his he knew, this song, you were singing it to him. And even if you weren’t he’s taking this as a sign to ask you out.

“Is this love that I'm feeling? Is this the love that I've been searching for? Is this love or am I dreaming This must be love 'Cause it's really got a hold on me, A hold on me”

he reaches the front of the stage and your eyes are locked as he smiles brightly, singing along to the song with you. Your smile grows as you feel like you’re singing the song together. When it ends you don’t even register the applause and cheers because you’re too focused on the man in front of you and the way your heart is racing.

He holds out his hands and you laugh before stepping forward and placing your hands on his shoulders as he grabs your hips. You go to hop to the ground, gasping when he just holds you against him like you weighed nothing.

“I’d love to kiss you” he whispers with a smile and you feel your cheeks warm as your hands move from his shoulders to his cheeks as you press your lips to his with a smile.

Viktor-

You grab his hand “let’s go. Do karaoke with me” you looked at him with such excitement he could not say no. His heart raced with your hand in his, as he nodded “yeah o-okay!” He says and stands tripping over his own feet as he follows behind you.

“We’re gonna sing “The Next Time I Fall” by Peter Cetera and Amy Grant” you say excitedly and squeeze his hand, like you were in a relationship with him and not his coworker that he was helplessly and unrequitedly in love with.

“You’re up next” they say and you grin up at him as they hand you microphones. You drop his hand then and he feels it like a loss to his soul but follows you up the stairs to the stage.

“So you’re the blue and I’m the yellow” you say and he nods, his eyes nervous but he really wanted to do this for you. The music stars and he takes a deep breath as he waits. He’s heard this song from you at the lab before so he’s pretty familiar already.

His voice sounds out, nervous but actually quite decent. “Love, like a road that never ends. How it leads me back again to heartache I don’t understand”

Your voice next and your heart races as you get goosebumps, smiling at how fun this was “Darling I put my heart upon the shelf till the moment was right and I tell myself”

He sings the words, feeling like he’s singing this song straight to you “Next time I fall in love

You reach out your pinky and hook his as you sing with him “I’ll know better what to do

You stop singing as he keeps singing, looking over at you and grasping your hand, lacing your fingers together. “Next time I fall in love

You join in for the ooos, your cheeks heating up as he keeps singing.

“The next time I fall in love it will be with you”

The music fills your ears as you wait for your next verse, he looks at you with a shy smile as he squeezes your hand, his pale cheeks flushed.

Your eyes are locked to his as you the sing the words, this was one of your favorite songs so you know the words already, didn’t need the screen. “Oh now as I look into your eyes, well I wonder if it’s wise to hold you like I’ve wanted to before”

his heart races, he could have sworn you said that just to him. You were telling him you wanted to hold him. His queue is up but he’s not paying attention, he’s looking at you earnestly as you smile softly up at him.

You chuckle and wink at him then pick up where he was supposed to, without looking away from him “-thinking that you might be the one who breaths life in this heart of mine” he laughs and pays attention then, knowing with only a small amount of doubt, that you were singing to him. His feelings weren’t unrequited. He sang with so much passion after that, really singing it to you.

You finish the song together, meeting all the cues as his hand holds yours and your cheeks are both warm.

They crowd cheers and you can hear laughs from your team and he leads you down the stairs and outside of the bar.

Once you’re out I the fresh air and quiet night, he pulls you into a hug “that was amazing” he says into your hair and you laugh, wrapping your arms around him and holding him tight “so you’ll let me hold you like I’ve been wanting to?” You whisper into his chest and he sighs “please” he says with a smile in his voice “anytime you want”

[ambitionsource]

AMBITION Season 3 ♫ “Jolly Holiday, Part 1” [ 3.13 ]

CREATED BY Esther (waterstribe) & Maggie (quincywillows) || Official Page || AO3

GOD SAVE THE DREAM – The A class embarks on their senior class trip. Charlie graduates high school. The lingering wait for college admissions has some on edge, and one person receives difficult news. Lucas’s UC interview is thrown into jeopardy.

73 Minutes (36K words) || No content warnings apply.

[ ← Dylan and Asher ] [ S3 Synopsis ] [ Jolly Holiday, Part 2 → ]

( Follow along with the music on Spotify here! )

INT. AAA - ATRIUM - NIGHT

The Adams lobby is packed for a typical evening, members of the A class gathered with a decent amount of luggage. Some chat with their parents and pass off last-minute things; RANDALL ORLANDO hands DYLAN ORLANDO his passport, which he accepts with a sheepish grin while ASHER GARCIA heaves a great sigh of relief.

HARPER BURGESS weaves her way around with a checklist, greeting each student and marking them present. We continue even deeper into the school, away from the hustle and bustle…

INT. AAA - ERIC’S OFFICE - NIGHT

To the comparatively quiet counselor’s office, though ERIC MATTHEWS does not seem peaceful. He’s harried as he digs through paperwork at his desk, muttering to himself and stuffing everything into a pretty dense binder labeled “SENIOR TRIP - A CLASS.”

JACK HUNTER appears in the doorway, watching for a few moments with an amused smile on his face. Then he knocks lightly on the open door, leaning in the doorframe. Eric jumps, only making Jack smile wider.

Jack: So B class left for their trip this morning, A class is gearing up now… and how are you doing? You seem good. Relaxed.

Eric: Don’t even. Don’t start with me.

Jack, innocently: [ unable to stop grinning ] What?

Eric: B class was simple. B class was easy -- they’re always easy. We let them choose where they wanted to go, and what did they pick? Disney World. Easy. Stuffed them onto a charter bus and shipped them down the coast with Norton and the chaperones this morning. Easy.

Jack: Should get some good exposure to the industry. They’re doing the backstage tour, right? I’ve heard it’s illuminating.

Eric: Then we let A class pick, and did they go simple? Did they go easy? No. Because they’re never simple. They are never easy. No, they wanted to go abroad. [ with a withering look ] This is all your fault.

Jack: [ with a scoff ] Me? Why me?

Eric: You’re the one who approved the trip! Sure, let them cross the Atlantic, you said. It’ll be fun, Eric, you said.

Jack: And I’m sure it will be.

Eric: Yes, and easy for you to say, since you’re not going. I’m the one who has to make sure none of them die, or go missing, or violate international law --

Jack laughs, sauntering further into the room and reassuring Eric that it’ll be fine. Once they get through the logistical nightmare that is travel, they’re going to have a swell time. Besides, at least he’s not doing it alone.

Jack: You’ll be fine. You’re a great leader, and the kids trust you. You won’t let one get set adrift across the pond.

Eric: We literally lost two students at prom last year.

Jack: And now one of them is your daughter. Doubt she’ll be nearly as much trouble. And you’ll have Harper with you, who you know is an excellent chaperone. I mean, count your blessings -- at least you’re not traveling with Shawn.

True, true… talk about a negligent chaperone. Eric shudders at the thought, shaking his head and finishing securing his travel binder. Jack observes him and contemplates the best way to change topics. He leans forward casually against the back of the chair opposite Eric’s desk, going for nonchalant.

Jack: Speaking of your impeccable leadership… I’ve been thinking. You should consider applying for my job.

Eric stops what he’s doing. He lifts his head, eyes wide.

Eric: What?

Jack, quickly: I just think it could be a good exercise, that’s all. Good practice.

Eric: Don’t be ridiculous. You know they’re going to hand that job back to you no contest -- no matter how hard Yancy and Jefferson campaign under the table.

Jack: Sure, sure. Absolutely. [ a beat ] But that’s all the more reason to use this opportunity. I mean, you’re an ideal candidate, given your history with the school. Evelyn likes you just as much as me --

Eric: Not true. You are by far her favorite.

Jack: And you’ve got all the credentials. I know you like being a counselor, and don’t get me wrong, you’re damn good at it. But why take all those masters courses to get the certification if you never considered using them?

Jack has a point there. Though their paths were quite different leading to where they are now, with different levels of study, Eric is technically (and definitely) qualified to apply if he wanted. As for if he wants to… Jack’s guidance certainly seems to have him thinking, if nothing else.

Jack: Anyway, it was just a suggestion. No pressure, you know. Just think about it. Filling out the application. Seeing what it’s like.

Eric: As if I don’t have enough to think about right now. How is yours going? Pretty easy to put together I’m guessing.

Ah, yes… Jack sidesteps the question, claiming he’s just putting on the finishing touches. Which he’ll have plenty of time to do while the school is quiet and the A class is out of his hair for a week. Eric says lucky him, which prompts a chuckle from both of them.

Once the laughter peters out, the moment becomes unexpectedly soft -- just shared smiles and momentary quiet. Eric clears his throat.

Eric: You’re sure you can’t come? Think now would be the time to have my authoritarian.

A little vacation abroad would sure be nice… but alas. Important business to handle here. Jack offers a bittersweet shrug, nodding to the rest of the school behind them.

Jack: Duty calls. Should enjoy it while it lasts.

While he’s still principal, may as well act like it. Eric sighs, but accepts that, hefting his colossal trip binder into his hiking backpack.

INT. AAA - ATRIUM - DAY

By the steps, MAYA HART finishes repacking her suitcase, trying to get it under the acceptable weight limit. ISADORA DE LA CRUZ is doing her the favor of sitting on top of it, while FARKLE MINKUS eyes the undertaking skeptically.

Farkle: It’s a class trip, Maya. How many pairs of shoes do you need?

Maya: It’s an affront that you even have to ask that question.

Isadora: It’s an affront that this thing weighs more than me.

Farkle: Probably more than both of us combined.

Isadora: You don’t add much.

Touché! Isadora is also going through Maya’s purse, making a face when she pulls out a folded up piece of paper. Maya’s acceptance letter to NYU Tisch.

Isadora: You carry this around in your purse?

Maya: Be careful with that!

She snatches it from her, smoothing out the corners.

Maya: You’ll crumple the edges. But yes, why wouldn’t I? It’s my greatest achievement to date -- sans your mom’s coat, of course. I like to think of it like a good luck charm. My aura cleanser even did a fortune ceremony on it, so it’s legit. [ marveling at it ] Look at it. Isn’t it lovely?

She gives it a little kiss, folding it back up and putting it back in the purse on Isadora’s lap. Isadora and Farkle exchange a look.

Farkle: At this rate, getting rejected might’ve been healthier for your sanity.

Maya flips her hair over her shoulder pointedly, shrugging. Too late now!

A few paces over, RILEY MATTHEWS double checks her backpack to make sure she has all her essential belongings. It’s her first time going overseas, and she’s clearly a bit nervous. But she’s got her ways to combat it, including a well-curated list -- one that LUCAS JAMES FRIAR walks through with her as she goes. He reads down the list, she confirms she’s got it.

Lucas, notably, doesn’t have a backpack or suitcase to fuss over. That’s because he isn’t going, a fact that Riley sympathetically remarks on once they’ve concluded her checklist. She takes his hands in hers.

Riley: I wish you were coming with us. It’s not going to feel right if you’re not there.

Lucas: Actually, I think it would feel wrong if I were there. Like some kind of weird, nonsensical blip in the universe.

Riley: Oh, please…

Lucas: I’m not cultured and I don’t have any money. Traveling out of state seems pretty out of character, let alone out of the country. Think I’d get sent to the embassy as an international prisoner just for existing.

Riley nudges him pointedly, earning a smirk in response. It’s too cute not to mirror with a smile of her own, but it doesn’t quite remove the melancholy from her tone.

Riley: I just… I feel bad. You should be there, you’re class president. And you know… with everything that’s happened in the last few weeks, I don’t wanna like… just leave --

Lucas: Riley. Seriously, it’s fine. I’m fine. And spending some time on my own is not going to be the thing that kills me. That’s how I used to prefer it.

Riley: I know, I know… before Comet Riley.

Lucas: And the world has never been the same. Look, I know it’s gonna sound insane when I say this, given my track record on… well, everything, but you don’t have to worry about me.

Easier said than done… but she knows in her heart he’s right. And even if she wanted to debate it, she runs out of time, as Jack and Eric march out from the hall and start rallying the troops to head out for the airport. Big journey ahead!

Harper: All right, everybody, grab your things -- all your things, double-check and make sure, yes I’m looking at you, Orlando --

Dylan: And I don’t blame you!

Asher: I’m triple-checking.

Harper: Then let’s move on out! It’s a brief bus ride to the airport and then a long eight hours to fly. Don’t want to be late!

Riley gears up to go, Lucas grabbing her backpack off the ground and helping her sling it on her shoulders. She reminds him not to forget about the favor she asked him to do while she’s gone, which he confirms. Then she remembers something else at the last second, quickly turning to face him again.

Riley: Oh, and tell me the moment you hear anything from Davis. I know the connection is gonna be spotty because we’ll only be able to talk on wi-fi, but seriously, if you hear anything, try to reach me. They have to say something any day now.

Oh, so Lucas hasn’t told her about the acceptance letter... or the potential scholarship… he pauses when the moment arises, then nods, assuring her he’ll do just that.

Riley: I’ll try to do the same for Tisch, if I hear from them, but you know, again, spotty connections --

Harper: Let’s go, Riley! Mister Friar will still be here when you get back!

Riley blushes, starting to back up towards the others as Lucas playfully urges her to go. But then she doubles back one more time, pulling him into a kiss goodbye. The moment lingers when they pull apart, Riley gently caressing his cheeks and holding his gaze.

Riley, softly but with intent: I love you.

Just in case he needs the reminder -- to tide him over for the week. Then she’s off, throwing him one last smile over her shoulder and blowing a kiss before she jogs to catch up with the rest of the class towards the back entrance where the bus awaits.

Jack comes to stand next to Lucas, the two of them watching the others head out. Jack smiles knowingly at the exchange he just witnessed, and clears his throat presumably to comment.

Lucas: Don’t say anything.

Jack: … all right.

His tickled smirk says plenty for him anyway.

INT. JFK INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - SECURITY CHECKPOINT - NIGHT

Before the fun can begin, though, they’ve got to get there -- and that might be the most stressful part. Eric waits on the other side of security and customs, counting off each student as they successfully make it through the process. He’s splitting his focus between that and making sure the ones who have already made it through don’t rush off.

Eric: Fourteen… fifteen -- techies, I said stay put until we’re all accounted for! Asher, will you please bring Nate back into formation? Sixteen -- Maya, do not argue with the customs agent!

Maya successfully makes it through, albeit in a huff, followed by SARAH CARLSON, DARBY WINTERS, and finally Harper to close out the group. She and Eric touch base.

Harper: Full count?

Eric: Full count. Thank God.

Harper: Well, at least the hard part’s over.

Eric: Yeah, keep telling yourself that. Just wait until we have to get them back in one piece.

They’re already exhausted. This should be international levels of fun.

Cue title sequence.

INT. JFK INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - TERMINAL - NIGHT

Eric and Harper have disbanded the group to explore the terminal, gathering rations and any necessary items for the journey. The techie boys are assembled just outside the entrance of Hudson News, eyeing some of the stuff on display.

Jeff: Y’all brought outlet adapters, right? You know their voltage is different than ours.

Dave, stunned: The Brits have their own electricity?! I am never gonna survive the culture shock.

Yogi: [ re: “shock” ] Literally.

Nate: Oh, bro, I know. And what if we don’t speak the language?

Dave: I know! I’m fucked!

NATE MARTINEZ cracks up, JEFF MONROE and NICK YOGI assuaging DAVE WILLIAMS’s concerns.

Moving past them, closer to the gate where their flight will be departing from, we shift focus to ZAY BABINEAUX. Next to him YINDRA AMINO is engaged in a seemingly riveting conversation with HALEY FISHER and CLARISSA CRUZ, but Zay isn’t paying attention. He’s zoned out, glued to his phone instead.

He’s logged into his application portal for Turner. His status still says “pending,” even weeks later when many people have already heard back. He keeps refreshing the page, willing it to change, yet of course it does not. He sighs, swiping the window up and away and landing back on the previous app he had open.

His messages app, and a specific contact at that. His text thread with Charlie, which had been steadily growing back to a healthy rapport but has essentially gone silent since his Turner audition. Since Zay kissed him, like an idiot, and then ran away like a coward.

It’s clear Zay wants that to be different. He wants there to be rapport, to break the ice he stupidly created, but he’s at a loss for how. Not to mention, he kind of figured Charlie would say something… maybe that’s stupid, given it’s Charlie, but it feels wrong to be the one to bother him when he’s the one who encroached on their lines in the sand.

Just another thing frozen in time, stuck “pending.” Zay frowns, slouching further in his seat.

Riley comes to join him with food for them to share, plopping down in the seat next to him. He quickly locks his phone, but it’s honestly not even worth the rush -- with his obsession lately, she already has her guess as to what he was looking at.

Riley: I hate to be the one to deliver this news, but you realize we’re not going to have much access to wi-fi on the trip? You’re not going to be able to check your email obsessively while we’re there. Such a tragedy... 

Zay: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Gimme my French fries.

Riley hands them over, eyeing his leg impatiently bouncing a mile a minute. She remarks he’s got plenty of energy stored up now clearly, so good thing he’s finally clear to dance again. He snorts, derisively eating a fry.

Zay: Yeah, just when I needed it -- oh, no, wait. That was weeks ago…

Riley: Still, you’re happy, aren��t you? I know I am. I can’t wait to see you dance again for real.

Zay: You’re unfailingly sweet, thanks. And yeah, of course I’m happy I got the all clear. It really just feels like… I mean, if it could’ve been a couple weeks sooner --

Riley: But there’s nothing you can do about it now. It’s done. And if it took Turner this long to contact you --

Zay: Reject me.

Riley: Then there’s nothing to say it’s going to happen any second we’re abroad on this trip. All this to say [ pretending to pull a cord from his forehead ] disconnect. I think you’ll have more fun if you do.

Zay: Maybe.

Riley: Besides, it’s not like you’re the only one who hasn’t heard back. It’s not totally out of the norm. I mean, Lucas hasn’t heard from Davis, I’m waiting on Tisch...

Yeah… interesting how Riley seems so calm and unbothered by that. Zay points out as much, that she is handling the whole uncertainty thing remarkably well. She shrugs. It’s hard to tell if she genuinely isn’t that invested, or if she’s just keeping her expectations low to avoid disappointment.

Point is, they’re about to go abroad for the first time, so they should focus on that rather than getting stuck on all the stuff here. Zay doesn’t argue with that perspective.

Zay: Believe me, I’m more than ready to get away from things in New York for a while.

Nonchalant as that statement is, Riley is smarter than that. She raises her eyebrows, immediately asking what’s going on aside from Turner that he’s trying to avoid. Zay focuses on his food instead, which only tips her off more. And she had noticed that conversation between him and Charlie seemed to have died down in the last couple weeks…

Riley: Oh my God. Did something happen? [ with dread ] You’re not fighting again, are you?

Zay: No. And we were never fighting.

Riley looks more than ready to disagree with that, but Zay cuts her off. Every time she tries to dig deeper, he dodges, nuh-uhing her until she gives up. If there is something going on, he’s clearly not going to talk about it.

And he’s not the only one. At the gate, Isadora sits on her own, headphones on as she watches something on her phone. Eric sits down next to her and greets her, but Isadora doesn’t notice. With a sigh, Eric taps Isadora on the shoulder. She jumps and looks up at Eric with wide eyes, pausing the video and moving her headphones to rest around her neck.

Eric: Enjoying yourself? [ a beat; Isadora shrugs ] How are you feeling about everything? The last time you flew or traveled a significant amount was for Valerie’s funeral. 

Isadora, dryly: I really appreciate the reminder.

When Eric doesn’t move on, but instead continues to wait for a proper response, Isadora shifts from her sarcastic defense system to allow a bit of vulnerability. 

Isadora: It’s difficult. I only used to fly between LA and New York, either because she wanted me back or had given up on me again. I feel like I did back then -- will this time work? Will I be accepted and loved? I know I’m not going to see her, but my anxiety isn’t really listening to that fact.

Eric nods in understanding and says that he expected as much. He suggests that she continue to challenge the thoughts, and keep herself distracted. 

Isadora: Kind of hard when all your friends are talking about where to go to college and your dad is asking you how you feel about your mom being dead. 

Eric: Fair enough. Should I just leave you alone, then? Or do you want to play an airport game? Guess Who, I Spy, that sort of thing.

Isadora considers this. 

Isadora: We could try to name as many of the periodic elements as we can. 

Eric: Maybe we should find Farkle for that one.

As Eric looks around, Isadora chuckles and tells him that it’s fine. She’s happy watching a documentary about whether we’re all living in a simulation or not. Seems like a great way to distract from anxiety…

Eric leaves Isadora alone, passing JADE BEAMON and NIGEL CHEY as he goes. They sit together at the gate, across from Isadora, sharing a bag of candy and excitedly discussing what they’re going to do on the trip. Nigel is particularly enthused about one location on their itinerary, his nerdom on full display.

Nigel: I mean, it’s Stratford-Upon-Avon. Birthplace of Shakespeare!

Jade, fondly: I know, I know.

Nigel: You don’t go to Shakespeare camp twelve years in a row only to not appreciate the chance to see the holy ground. It’s like… pilgrimage.

Jade: And don’t I feel blessed to witness it. Think seeing you see it is going to be more interesting than the place itself.

Nigel shrugs bashfully. Jade splits a piece of candy in two and hands half to him, which he happily accepts.

Nigel: Gotta say, yeah, it’s extra special considering I get to see such an important place with such an important person.

Jade’s turn to blush. She concurs, though, the two of them agreeing a lot of the excitement for the trip is just in that they get to be on it together. They’ve got it all planned out, how they’re going to spend as much time as possible taking in the sights together. Nothing but experiences to have, culture to absorb… just the two of them…

Well, not quite. Their quiet conversation is interrupted as the techie boys descend upon them, loudly and enthusiastically pouncing on Jade from behind as they crash into the row of seats backed against theirs. She jumps in surprise, then makes a deadpan expression as they all immediately start talking at once.

Jeff: All stocked up for the trip.

Nate: Check it, Pins N’ Needs! Got enough jelly beans in these pockets to last a lifetime, baby! And I’m packing major Double Bubble.

Dave: Jeff helped me pick out a travel adaptation --

Yogi: Aren’t your pockets going to get sticky?

Nate: You let me worry about that. You just wait ‘til I start blowing bubbs at 30,000 feet.

Dave: [ holding out the adapter to show Jade ] So I don’t get zapped by the British electricity.

Jeff: They’re going to throw you out the emergency exit.

Nate: Good thing I’ll have my Double Bubble to keep me airborne!

Jade, sharply: Boys. [ off their silence ] Don’t you remember what we talked about before we left? That little agreement we discussed about this trip?

Nate, Dave, Jeff, and Yogi exchange a look, thinking… then their glances shift to Nigel. He looks overwhelmed, not yet used to the usual techie tot rapid-fire, but he offers an awkward smile.

Ohhh, right. Jade is with Nigel. Simple agreement -- leave her alone.

Nate: Oh, riiiiight. Right, right.

Yogi: Quite right, luv.

Jeff: Don’t mind us. We’ll just be over here. Minding our own business.

Nate: Looking the other way.

Dave: Leaving you alone so you can be with your boyfriend.

Dave! Not so loud! Nate and Yogi tug Dave around so they’re facing the other direction, feigning disinterest and leaving Jade be. She releases a long breath through her nose, then offers Nigel a smile. He was saying?

Flight attendant, voiceover: Attention passengers. Flight 0103 to Heathrow begins boarding in just a few minutes…

INT. AIRPLANE - NIGHT

Passengers clog the aisles and rummage around their seats as boarding resumes, all the way towards the back of the plane where the A class basically has domain over the last few rows. Riley, Dylan, and Asher take up a row of three, avidly chatting as they buckle in. Harper is helping direct them to their proper seats, noting that they’re welcome to swap seats with each other if they wish only once they’re settled and within their share of the plane.

That’s news to Nigel -- and good news at that. He perks up from his seat in front of Yindra and Zay (paired by the window on the left side), then makes eye contact with Jade still hovering in the aisle making her way down to board. Yindra gasps.

Yindra: No way. Nigel Chey, are you ditching us?

Nigel: You’re sitting together. I’m not. I’m the third front wheel.

Zay: But you’re with us in our hearts. You’d really toss us aside so callously to sit with your girlfriend?

Nigel: You are the last person who should be making that accusation, or did you forget freshman year? [ off Yindra’s snort ] But to answer your question --

Jade catches his eye, nodding her head towards a couple of seats just two down in front of Zay and Yindra. Nigel spots an opportunity as Isadora starts to settle in, leaping for it.

Nigel: Yep. See you in London.

Zay and Yindra boo him as he jumps forward in the aisle, getting Isadora’s attention and asking if she’d be willing to swap seats. She hesitates, then sees Chai coming down the aisle behind Jade, and something compels her to agree. Nigel happily passes off his ticket and settles into her spot, waiting for Jade to make it next to him.

Only somehow there’s a mix-up, and things don’t go quite as planned. Just as Jade arrives at their row, Eric pops over. He’s surprised Nigel is seated there -- he was under the impression Isadora was supposed to be in this seat, but he digresses -- and he explains that somehow his ticket got mixed up and he’s ended up in the middle of one of the four-seat rows in the center. But he’s an older gentleman, as they know, and he isn’t sure a cramped flight sitting like that for seven hours will be very healthy… so would Jade be so kind as to be willing to swap with him so he can have the aisle?

Well... what are they gonna do, say no to their counselor? Jade sheepishly agrees, spinning to look at where Eric says is his old seat. Naturally, it’s smack in the middle of the techie boys.

Jade: You’ve got to be kidding me…

She makes her walk of shame over to them, the boys greeting her enthusiastically. Jade! Pins N’ Needles, back at it again! Eric settles down into the spot next to Nigel, giving him a friendly smile. Nigel returns it weakly, then glances over his shoulder -- Yindra and Zay are silently laughing at him, giving him cheeky middle fingers. That’s what he gets!

And, despite her quick moves, somehow Isadora has ended up with Chai as her seat partner. Chai seems enthused about it, but Isadora less so. She kind of tunes out even as Chai tries to chat with her, curling closer towards the window. Chai can obviously tell this isn’t typical girlfriend behavior, and thinks about saying something, but Isadora pulls her headphones back on.

Not much to be done about that, then. Chai tries to brush it off as nothing -- just travel nerves, maybe -- pulling out her book.

In a pair of seats to the right behind Harper, Maya and Farkle are settling in. She’s being oddly snippy with him, putting on a thin air of aloof as she questions whether he’s accepted his admission to USC yet. Ever since she found out about the business card, she’s been prodding him about it every day.

Farkle: I haven’t made any decisions yet. For the thousandth time.

Maya isn’t satisfied with that answer. She curtly says -- not for the first time -- that if she had an opportunity flying into her lap like that, she certainly wouldn’t be hesitating to take it. It’s deranged, is what it is. Self-sabotaging, perhaps. Farkle rolls his eyes at her theatrics, leaning back into his seat and knocking his head back.

Farkle: This is going to be a long flight.

Maya: Farkle, darling, you’re my best friend -- it’s going to be a long life.

You got him there, Maya! And with that, we’re ready for take off --

EXT. AIRPLANE - NIGHT

Night passes and brightens to day as the airbus makes its way over the Atlantic, making a timely and early descent into the United Kingdom. As the pilot’s voice welcomes us to London over the intercom, we get our first sprawling, establishing shots of the commonwealth.

INT. HEATHROW INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - DAY

The A class emerges through customs and gathers their things at the luggage carousel, grateful to be able to stretch their legs and move freely. Dylan does some cartwheels to loosen up -- guess the American circus really has arrived! Yindra and Zay pick on Nigel when they reunite with their bags. Did he enjoy his flight with Eric, his best friend?

Nigel: I will have both of you know that Counselor Eric is a lovely conversationalist. You can stay mad.

Oh, ho ho! Big talk! Eric passes him and thanks him for the compliment, embarrassing Nigel and causing Zay and Yindra to crack up. Then he beckons them all out towards the bus -- it’s time to kick this trip off for real!

EXT. LONDON - VARIOUS LOCATIONS - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “London Calling” as performed by The Clash || Performed by AAA Seniors

The A class file onto a double decker BUS as the guitar and drums start, a friendly if bland tour guide called SIMON greeting them once they’ve all taken seats on the open top deck. He’ll stay with them for the entire trip, but the double decker bus is only for today. 

They set off around the streets of London, the unofficial British anthem the soundtrack for our montage of them enjoying -- and exploring -- the views. They drive past the electric billboards of Piccadilly, Cleopatra’s needle, a large statue of Queen Victoria -- all the while taking pictures and listening to Simon’s narration of the city (which, perhaps thankfully, we can’t hear).

As they drive past Trafalgar Square, we cut to them exploring that same location. They’re sped up to match the tempo of the song and the chaotic nature that is tourist sightseeing tours. The techie boys sit atop the iconic lion statues while Maya, Farkle, Riley, Isadora and Zay walk in a line in unison to the beat, heads bobbing and knees bent like Madness in the One Step Beyond music video and cover art.

Back in the bus, we see that while Jade and Nigel managed to sit together this time, they’re both peacefully snoozing. Yindra laughs and takes a picture of them.

They pass the Tower of London and the Tower Bridge, then we see them arrive at the British Museum. 

Simon, flatly: I’m very excited to show you all the many things that British colonists stole from people all around the world and that we still refuse to give back to the rightful owners.

We see members of the A class posing in front of various different statues and artifacts throughout the museum -- Maya and Yindra with the Pharaohs of Egypt; Dave and Nate with the Easter Island head; Nigel and Jade with the Rosetta Stone; Farkle, Isadora, Riley, Asher and Dylan mimicking the poses of the Elgin Marbles as best they can considered each figure is missing a significant amount of limbs; Sarah, Darby and Chai in front of the painting Dancers Practising at the Barre by Edgar Degas.

We return to Trafalgar Square to see Nate being chased by two BOBBIES, one of whom is missing his hat. Nate shouts gleefully as he runs past his classmates, police hat proudly on top of his head. He provides the “ow ow ow owww!”

Eric struggles to keep up with the bobbies and pauses to catch his breath. Riley hands him her water bottle. 

The bus drives past Buckingham Palace while Maya teaches everybody how to do the royal wave. Then the Science Museum, which Simon seems more much interested in. Farkle and Isadora are hot on his heels. We see the enormous dinosaur skeletons, the great whale, the wacky mirrors that distort your image, the escalator that takes you up into the centre of a volcano.

By the time the class are climbing back onto the bus after the science museum, they’re full of energy, excitedly chatting while Harper and Eric drudge behind them. Simon, on the other hand, shows no signs of either energy or lack thereof -- or any emotions at all, really.

The class groove on top of the bus, dancing around and laughing together while Nate provides more wolf calls. They shout-sing the lyrics together, having the time of their lives. 

With the very last clash of the drums, Nate tosses the police hat back to the bobbies and sprints away with the other techie boys, cracking up. 

We’re in for one exciting trip, folks!

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Back in the states, a perfectly normal school day at Adams is progressing as usual. Only the news that Lucas shares with Jack as they sit in their usual spots across from one another is far from it -- he informs him about his tentative admission to Davis, and that he’s up for a potential scholarship (something he sorely needs). Jack is stunned, then elated, nearly getting to his feet.

Jack: Lucas, that’s fantastic! Congratulations.

Lucas: Um, yeah. Thanks. I mean, doesn’t really matter if I don’t get the money, since I still haven’t made enough on my own and it’s going to take like, everything I’ve got either way, but --

Jack: But still. This is a major accomplishment. I know how hard you worked. You should be proud of yourself.

Lucas is obviously uncomfortable with the effusive praise, as nice as it is. So he brushes it off, shifting instead to the reason why he told Jack in the first place. He was hoping that he could give him a ride to his interview. It’s a ways upstate for some reason, and he’ll never be able to borrow the family car for that long.

Jack is, of course, more than willing to do so… until Lucas mentions the date.

Jack: Tomorrow? [ reluctant ] I’m sorry, I can’t. I already have a prior engagement.

Lucas: Oh… oh.

Well, shit. That’s what you get for hiding your small victories until the last minute. Jack frowns, obviously wishing he had a different answer.

Jack: I’m sorry. If I could shift around these plans, I would, believe me. But it’s not exactly within my control.

Lucas: No, it’s um -- it was my mistake waiting so long to -- no, yeah, it’s cool. Thanks anyway.

Jack: You’ll figure out something else, I’m sure. You’re nothing if not resourceful.

Lucas: Yeah… yeah, definitely.

But Lucas doesn’t seem very convinced. Jack can tell he’s deflated, but there’s not much he can say to improve the situation. Lucas escapes before he can even try, claiming he better get back to class -- he and Shawn have lots of work to do, sitting around doing nothing as the only two left.

EXT. LONDON EYE - DAY

The A class arrive at the final destination of their city tour: the London Eye. It looms above them, slowly going round against the London skyline. It’s a magnificent thing to behold, but the techie boys seem disappointed. 

Nate: Is this it? I thought it was meant to be the best ferris wheel in the world. 

Dylan: It’s barely even moving. Is it broken? 

Dave: Where’s the other eye? Is London a cyclops?

The tour guide listens to these complaints in horror. Eric can only mutter an apology, but Simon takes it in his stride and uses the opportunity to explain the history of the London Eye. Farkle listens keenly while Nate and Dylan ask as many ridiculous questions as they can. Leaving the class in safe hands, Eric and Harper go over to the ticket stand to collect their pre-booked tickets. 

Simon: Does anybody know how many capsules there are on the Eye? 

Chai: Thirty-three, right? 

Simon: Close, but not quite.

Isadora’s hand shoots up. Simon nods at her, allowing her to answer. 

Isadora: There are thirty-two capsules. When numbering them, they skipped thirteen for good luck, so they’re numbered one to twelve, then fourteen to thirty-three. There are thirty-two boroughs in London, so each capsule represents one of them. It’s a common misconception that there are thirty-three boroughs, but the City of London isn’t actually classed as a borough.

Simon: You’re exactly right, Miss De La Cruz! But I will kindly ask you not to take over my job in future. London is a very expensive place to live and I need rent money.

Isadora blushes but has a proud smile on her face. Next to her, Chai looks a little irritated at being shown up, given that she was the London transfer for a whole year. Rather than dwell on it, she returns her attention to Simon, who goes through the thirty-two boroughs that the capsules represent.

On their way back from the ticket stand, Eric and Harper pass a man with a basket full of roses.

Rose seller: What a lovely couple! Miss, wouldn’t you like your boyfriend to get you one of my roses?

He holds out a rose, smiling innocently. Harper and Eric meet eyes and struggle not to laugh.

Harper: We’re both gay.

The man falters, realising his mistake, and steps back to allow them on their way. He spots an actual couple walking towards the queue hand in hand, so skips over towards them. A smattering of the A class watches him go, having tuned out of the history lecture.

Yindra: What a guy. Wouldn’t want to have that job.

Zay: I wouldn’t spit on it. That might be you in Los Angeles in a few months.

Yindra elbows him pointedly. Asher shakes his head, watching the rose seller try to convince another group.

Asher: Could never be me. Walking up to strangers like that is a nightmare.

Dylan: Gotta respect the hustle. I love talking to random people. [ brightly ] Maybe I should do that.

Asher: Please don’t.

Dylan: I could sell my cookies. You’d buy food from a stranger on the street, right?

Zay: That’s what the hot dog vendors in Manhattan do every day and they’re considered a staple. Follow your heart, Orlando.

Jade: I don’t know about street food, but I would totally go for one of the flowers. Those roses are beautiful, look at them.

Nigel takes note of her reaction, but the moment passes pretty quickly. When Eric and Harper rejoin the group, focus drifts back to them. Simon finishes his list of boroughs and Eric takes over, announcing that they have to split up into two groups.

Eric: There would only be enough room for four more people if we were all in a capsule together, and since we didn’t specifically book to have one to ourselves, they’ve asked if we can split up so that we don’t prevent other, smaller groups from being together. 

Maya: That can’t be right. I remember specifically requesting we had a capsule to ourselves in my proposal for the trip schedule.

Eric: If you want to fork over the extra cash, then sure thing.

Maya admits defeat. Eric announces that he’ll take ten of them, and Harper will have nine. But aside from that, they’re all mature enough to sort out the groups themselves.

That’s giving them a lot of credit. Haley and Clarissa cling onto each other for dear life as everyone begins moving around. They stand in front of Harper and stay there, determined not to get split up. Jade and Chai both have the same idea, each trying to get a hold of Nigel and Isadora, respectively. Chai successfully ends up standing in front of Eric along with Isadora, Darby and Sarah, but Jade and Nigel are less fortunate. Yindra loops her arm through Nigel’s and moves him over to Eric’s side where Zay is waiting, while Dave rests his chin on top of Jade’s head, anchoring her to her place by Harper.

Riley, Dylan and Asher are chatting merrily in Eric’s group, while Maya and Farkle are still undecided. Farkle is happy wherever, but Maya is having a hard time picking between being stuck with Dylan and Asher -- but having Isadora, Riley and the plastics -- or being with the rest of the techie boys. She decides that she can just stay on the other side of the capsule as Dasher, and walks towards Isadora and the plastics.

While Maya moves towards them, Isadora realises that she will take them up to eleven, meaning somebody will have to move. Neither Eric nor Harper have realised that Eric’s group is already full. She looks between Chai, who has her back to Isadora while she chats with Darby and Sarah, and Farkle, who frowns as he realises the same thing about the numbers.

He’s about to speak up and call Maya back over to Harper’s side, but Isadora uses the opportunity to get away from a potentially uncomfortable situation and darts over towards him. She grabs Farkle’s wrist and pulls him properly into Harper’s group before he knows what’s happening.

When Maya joins Darby and Sarah, she realises that Isadora is no longer there and turns around. Chai notices the same, both of them frowning in confusion at Isadora. She avoids eye contact with both of them, turning and letting Harper know that the groups are done. 

Harper: Oh, thank you Isadora. Eric, I think we’re ready. 

There’s no chance for anybody to voice their displeasure at the arrangement, with Eric already setting off towards the queue. Farkle looks down at Isadora, confused and a little concerned. 

Farkle: What happened?

Isadora: Hm? Oh, I... noticed that Jade was the only techie girl on this side so I wanted to join her. Maya and I must have ended up swapping somehow.

Farkle doesn’t look convinced, but Jade mumbles a thank you while watching after Nigel.

As they join the queue, Simon waves the group goodbye. Once all of their backs are turned, his customer service smile drops. 

Simon, sighing: Americans…

Americans, indeed.

EXT. LONDON EYE - QUEUE - DAY

Now split up, the A class settles into distracting themselves while waiting in line. Yindra and Riley pass the time by playing I Spy, assuming incorrectly that Zay is paying attention and playing along. But he’s not, staring into space and lost in thought as the girls survey the scenery. It’s like they’re not even in another country -- Zay could just as easily be sitting in Cory’s history class, bored out of his mind, for all the energy he’s giving right now.

Yindra is quick to call him out on it, raising an unimpressed eyebrow when her gaze settles on him during her turn.

Yindra: I spy with my little eye something short, yellow, and boring.

She snaps in front of his face, snapping him out of it. He swats her hand away, Riley laughing along as they point out he is completely on another planet.

Zay: Also, don’t insult me -- this shirt is gold, not yellow. Get it right.

Riley: I thought we agreed at the airport that we were going to live in the moment. Seize the day. Enjoy the trip and not get lost in our own heads.

Yindra: Please, don’t even bother. He’s been like this for weeks. At this point, I’m begging for Turner to get back to him so I can be put out of my misery.

Zay: Look, it’s easy for you to say, all right? You can afford to be chill about it, you don’t have a dream school.

Yindra: That’s right. You know what I’ve got? The dream. And at least in chasing that into the uncertain future, I’m not totally dialing out of right now. Like, we’re in London, Zayby. Drink some tea. Take the tube. Kiss a dude with an accent. Carpe diem.

Yeah, okay, Zay will not be doing that. And he doesn’t need the reminders or reprimands. He gets it, they’re in London, they’re in London, they’re in London… but what does locale matter, really, when your heart, mind, and soul feel thousands of miles away? Always tantalisingly out of your reach?

Suffice to say, it’s not going to be so easy to pry Zay out of his own head -- so for now, well, we’ll just have to go into it with him.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “The Kiss of Venus” as performed by Dominic Fike (feat. Paul McCartney) || Performed by Zay Babineaux

As the music-box-like opening twinkles in, Yindra waves Zay off and gives up on him, letting him drift back into space. And he does, directing his gaze upward towards the giant ferris wheel and the skyline of London behind it.

Yep, they sure are in the UK… as he sings the first opening lines, somewhat detached, we slowly ease in closer to his face…

EXT. LONDON EYE - MIRROR WORLD - DAY

Until we’re close enough that it’s darkness and a blur, then we’re pulling back out, still with Zay as he continues to sing -- only everything’s flipped around. We’re occupying his mindscape, free from the conventions of reality, and with a lot of new ground to discover. He starts walking backwards on the beat, his trendy kicks stomping against the pavement, quickly reminding us that he finally, blissfully has full control of his limbs again.

And with that beautiful fact being the truth, it doesn’t take long for him to break into dance. He launches into movement as he breaks into the first chorus, the scenery of London taking more vivid shape around him.

From there, the performance acts as an artistic, groovy snapshot of this new city we’re suddenly inhabiting. Zay explores iconic landmarks and imagery of London as he goes -- dancing along the edge of the fountain in Trafalgar Square; grooving unapologetically in front of the stone-faced Queen’s Guardsmen stationed in the city; riding center in a crammed tube carriage and staring dead at the camera as he sings.

About a minute in, we’re close on his face again, and he seems to be laying down facing up at us… and as we ease out, we realize he’s not just laying in any old place. He’s on the clock face of Big Ben -- yes, the Big Ben -- his limbs mocking the movement a second hand. As the bridge continues, the screen slowly starts to tilt upright, Zay adjusting with it until he’s balancing sideways on the structure.

And this launches us into the electric second half of the number, where he really leans into the energy, fantasy, and freedom of the performance. Each of his sceneries becomes a little less restrictive and more bent to his creative will -- the tube carriage is empty now, allowing him to swing on the hand rails and climb along the seats; he’s splashing and spinning in the water in the Square; he’s now dancing amidst the whole brigade of the Queen’s Guard as they run through the changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace.

In case the message wasn’t loud and clear already -- we’re in London! We get it! More importantly, it’s so good to see Zay Babineaux moving again. Even as the song peters out and we return back to mundane, rules-of-physics-following reality, there’s a lingering energy from the mere sight of seeing him dance that sprinkles a little more magic into the scenery than before.

INT. LONDON EYE - CAPSULE 1 - DAY

Farkle is getting a good look at the view of the city from so high up, Isadora coming over to join him. She asks if it looks any different from the last time he was here, and he admits he honestly can’t remember. It was a long time ago that his family visited. He asks her a question in return, wondering aloud why she isn’t on the same capsule as Chai.

Farkle: You’d think you would’ve fought a little harder to stay together. You know, given that she’s your girlfriend.

Isadora: [ with a scoff ] It’s not my fault the class got split up. What would you have me do? Bully the tour guide into letting me jump groups?

Farkle: You have bullied less deserving people for less pressing things.

Isadora: No clue what you’re talking about. I’m a fucking delight.

Farkle snorts, earning a playful sneer from her. As charming as her deadpan delivery is, Farkle isn’t completely won over by it. Because what it really signals is that she’s avoiding answering the question, which isn’t like her at all. Farkle tries to dig deeper, asking if everything is okay between her and Chai.

Isadora: Yes. Yeah. Duh. [ defensive ] Why wouldn’t it be?

Farkle: Maybe the fact that you’re standing in this carriage arguing with me rather than enjoying time with her.

Isadora: As if bickering with you isn’t the joy of my existence.

Farkle: I’m not trying to like, judge, or whatever. I’m just asking if --

Isadora: What do you want me to say, Farkle? I said it was fine. I mean, what, do you want there to be a problem? Do you want me to tell you everything’s gone weird and I don’t know how to fix it?

Dangerous questions, Isadora! Don’t ask something like that! She’s asking it in a rhetorical way, totally unaware of the fact that Farkle doesn’t know how to honestly answer that question -- to her, or for himself.

Lucky him, he’s spared from addressing it when their conversation is interrupted. An ELDERLY WOMAN -- the kind who can’t help but share their opinion in an overly friendly way -- breaks away from her ELDERLY HUSBAND to tell them their back-and-forth is really quite loud.

Farkle: Oh, sorry about that. We’ll quiet down.

Woman: Oh, no no! Don’t mind me, loves. I find it a bit amusing to be frank -- reminds me of me and my husband here. We can bicker up a storm.

Husband: [ making her point ] No we don’t.

Woman: Married fifty-seven years, if you can believe it. [ cheerfully ] You two make an adorable couple.

Um? The two of them exchange a look, Isadora bewildered and amused whereas Farkle seems slightly panicked.

Isadora: We’re not --

Farkle: It’s not like that, we’re just --

Woman: [ ignoring their protests ] Do you want a picture? The backdrop of the city really can’t be beaten from this angle. It’s so gorgeous, isn’t it?

God, old people… really can’t keep up with them. Farkle stammers, searching for a polite way to reject the well-meant but misguided offer. But Isadora surprises him even more.

Isadora: Sure.

Farkle stares at her as the woman chirps happily, needling her husband to come take the photo because he has less shaky hands. Isadora passes over her phone, only noticing Farkle’s expression when she steps closer for the photo. She shrugs.

Isadora: What? A picture’s a picture. Might as well preserve the memory, right?

Well… yes… but… hard to argue with that. Farkle relents, still a bit stiff, but he’s not going to pass up the opportunity for a keepsake when Isadora is rare to photograph as it is. He manages to pull together a smile as they huddle together and he drapes an arm around her shoulders. His gaze lingers on Isadora as she steps forward to retrieve her phone, thanking the nosy tourist.

INT. LONDON EYE - CAPSULE 2 - DAY

Speaking of nosy women, Riley is taking some photos of her own. She’s capturing as much of the view as she can in her phone, but it obviously can’t replace the real thing. She seems dissatisfied by that fact, only pulled out of scrutinizing her work when Asher stumbles over to join her. He blindly finds the rail and holds onto it for dear life, eyes screwed shut.

Riley: [ with a chuckle ] What are you doing?

Asher: I’m such an idiot. I’m an idiot, Riley -- you are Riley, right?

Riley: Yes, rest assured. I’m actually surprised you’re on this. Aren’t you scared of heights?

Asher: Yes. Yes, I am. But I thought, why not, what better a time to conquer my fears. Gonna be doing a lot of it in the next few months, might as well start now. When in London, right? Wrong. So, so wrong.

Riley aws in sympathy, patting his back and then looping her arm through his to help brace him further. She focuses on distracting him, explaining that she’s trying to take as many photos as possible to show Lucas when they get back. She knows he said he didn’t care, but…

Asher: No, no, I think that’s nice. He’ll appreciate it. You know Lucas claims he doesn’t care about everything when he actually does like seventy percent of the time.

Riley: Yeah. I mean, he honestly probably won’t care much about the London stuff.

Asher: True. He barely tolerates Manhattan.

Riley: But later in the week when we go to like, the parks and the nature reserves and stuff… you know he’d love that. He’d act like he wasn’t into it, but he so would be. So I’ll just try to bring as much back to him as I can.

Asher: For sure. He’s lucky he has you.

Maybe it’s the crippling anxiety talking and blocking his usual filter, but Asher usually isn’t one for such casually stated declarations, so Riley takes the sentiment to heart. It’s nice to hear Lucas’s best friend say something so validating. She smiles to herself.

Riley: Anyway, I’m planning to show the pictures to Charlie, too. He loves travel and history and that sort of stuff, so I’m sure he’ll want to see all of it. So either way, won’t go to waste.

Asher: Oh, yeah. Sucks that he didn’t get to come after three years of sticking out of the worst of what Adams has to offer.

Yeah… a lot of things have felt that way with Charlie this year. But he’s got plenty of his own going on this week while they’re traipsing across the pond.

As the gentle, unassuming guitar floats in…

INT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S BEDROOM - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “New Start” as performed by Weary Friend || Performed by Charlie Gardner

CHARLIE GARDNER’s soft vocals drift in as we settle in his bedroom. A couple of boxes have cropped up in corners of the room, one of them labeled “donations.” Inside are discarded pieces of the Haverford uniform, the first willing sacrifice to the specter of college packing.

And I’m packing up and I’m moving out And I’m walking across the stage into a world that I’ve never seen

On the back of Charlie’s desk chair, a pale blue graduation gown is folded -- on the desk, his cap and high school diploma.

So it’s done. A graduation come and gone, just like that. When everyone else was halfway across the globe -- another important walk made alone.

EXT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S BALCONY - DAY

On his balcony, CHARLIE GARDNER is seated with his guitar, delicately strumming through the notes. He’s dressed plainly in a tee shirt and jeans, not dressing to impress or concealed behind a uniform, and his hair has grown back out long enough that pieces of it are falling in his face as he focuses on the strings. Despite the mixed emotions of the song, he appears at ease -- honestly the most relaxed he’s looked in months. No more selling himself for applications, no more blackmailing peers.

And they ask me where I’m going And they ask me what I see ahead But if I’m being completely honest…

The threats of the past are done now. All that’s left is the daunting uncertainty of the future. Charlie pauses for a moment, taking a breath… then he exhales into the final line of the verse.

I can’t see a thing

INT. HAVERFORD PREP - AUDITORIUM - FLASHBACK - DAY

As the performance continues, a flashback allows us to actually see Charlie graduate. He rises the steps to the stage and crosses with a bashful smile to accept the diploma from AARON JACKSON. In the audience, ELEANOR GARDNER watches with tears in her eyes, AMBROSE GARDNER applauding proudly next to her.

Charlie glances towards them as he begins his exit from the stage, smiling wider when he locks eyes with ROSIE GARDNER. She’s applauding too, trying to look unimpressed, but she can’t hold back her smile. AGATHA GARDNER and DAISY GARDNER are also present, cheering along.

As he disappears into the darkness of the wings --

INT. DANCE STUDIO - FLASHBACK - DAY

At about two minutes in, Charlie emerges into an empty dance studio at a local fitness center, flicking on the lights. Plain-clothed, free for the summer, left to his own devices.

No one else around to follow. No group choreography to adhere to, no brotherhood to obey, no expectations. But he wants to dance. He wants to reconnect, find that piece of his identity again.

So he does. Slowly, imperfectly, but it’s a new start. As the music swells into the orchestral middle, Charlie rediscovers dance, pursuing and practicing the art solely for himself.

INT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S BEDROOM - FLASHBACK - NIGHT

At the same time, intercut with the lyrical, improvised choreography in the studio, Charlie starts the strange process of going through his stuff in preparation for college packing that we see in progress in the present. He discards his Haverford stuff, tossing it haphazardly into the donations box.

It gets harder, though, when the decisions aren’t so surface-level. Like old photographs, books, notebooks from Adams with notes in the margins -- nervous notes to self, scribbled conversations with Clarissa and Haley, teasing doodles and messages in Zay’s chicken scratch from studying together.

It’s easy to discard the things you’re ready to let go of. The rest, not so much.

INT. DANCE STUDIO - FLASHBACK - DAY

As the orchestration winds down, Charlie finishes a fouette turn and lands without stumbling -- a promising sign if anything. He lowers himself into a sitting position, then exhales a breath and falls onto his back, laying in the center of the dance floor and staring up at the ceiling.

I used to think that when I was grown up I’d have my life figured out I’d know exactly who I was, I’d be set in my ways not needing to change

INT. OLD DANCE STUDIO - FLASHBACK - DAY

In a different studio, dated and decorated like the late 2000s, a YOUNG CHARLIE GARDNER lays at the center of the dance floor the exact same way, staring up at the ceiling. Smaller, geekier, yet doing the same cool down, centering routing. Finding solace in the quiet of the studio even so many years ago.

But now that I’m here, I feel more like a child Still learning my lessons and needing direction Still needing direction…

EXT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S BALCONY - DAY

As the piece swells into the final crescendo, Charlie leans into it, emotional and vulnerable. Many pieces come together in tandem with his simple vocals on the balcony, interweaving around one another. Photographs of him as a kid on the mantle in the living room, the same ones he scrutinized at the start of Season 2 during “I Hope I Get It,” now share space with his senior portrait. He continues to dance solo in the community center studio, while his younger, less polished self does the same.

He brings it all to a close back on the balcony, letting the final chords reverberate for a moment before he releases the strings. For a moment, he stays still and enjoys the quiet, the slow bleed of the familiar soundscape of the Upper East Side returning to focus around him. The distant echo of traffic. The coo of neighborhood birds. The chatter of neighbors down the street.

His home, for at least a little while longer -- before he ends up who knows where. Then he releases a sigh, taking his guitar and stepping back inside his bedroom.

EXT. LONDON EYE - DAY

The A class recongregates on the sidewalks, Riley’s group still trickling in from being released from the wheel. While Eric and Harper avidly attempt to head count and take attendance, Maya greets Farkle as he returns. She asks what he thought about the view.

Maya: Like, it was nice and all that, but eh. I’ve seen better.

Farkle: It was cool. Someone even took a picture of me and Isadora.

Maya: Oh? Paparazzi already.

Farkle: Yeah. She said we made “a cute couple.”

Maya cracks up, shaking her head. She takes his hand, patting it with her own.

Maya: Oh, Farkle, sweetie. No one would say that to you.

Farkle holds out his free arm in indignation. Well, it happened! Still, Maya remains unconvinced -- and thoroughly tickled.

INT. LONDON HOTEL - RILEY’S ROOM - NIGHT

The rooming arrangements for the trip are… unique to say the least, considering Eric had to balance gender, sexuality, and a handful of romantic entanglements that he’s trying not to enable. That explains how Riley, Isadora, and Dylan ended up as roommates, though they seem more than content with the grouping.

Well, at first Isadora does, until her chatty roommates shift onto topics she’d rather not discuss. It starts with college, a reality she’s trying to ignore, as Riley points out this whole exercise in travel is probably good for a lot of them in preparing for whatever journeys they’ll make for the future. She also notes it’s good practice being away from Lucas with this kind of time difference -- if he goes to Davis, like she’s hoping he will, they’ll be dealing with this distance all the time.

Dylan: Totally. But you guys are going to be fine. You’ve never been like super clingy or anything. And you’re already used to him being a terrible communicator even when he’s right in front of you. Won’t have to worry that distance is causing that when you know he’s like that all the time.

Isadora: That is actually so true.

Dylan: I think the much more pressing question is how are you ever going to survive being away from me? When I’m all the way in Rochester, a whole five hours away?

Riley: I know, you’re so right… well, I guess I just have to get my fix now!

Riley surges forward and tackles Dylan with a hug, the two of them collapsing into a giggly heap on their bed. Isadora eyes them, rolling her eyes affectionately. Once they’ve rearranged themselves into some semblance of a cuddle pile, Dylan conspiratorially continues the conversation.

Dylan, jokingly: Do you think Lucas would be jealous that I’m sharing a bed with you?

Riley: Considering you’re the gayest teen in Manhattan and are happily dating his best friend? No, I think he’ll live. [ coyly ] Besides, believe it or not, Lucas and I have shared a sleeping space… more than once already.

The statement itself is factual, nothing objectionable about it, but the message is all in Riley’s mischievous delivery. They may not have had sex yet, but the extracurricular implications are clear enough even Isadora catches on. Dylan gasps in faux shock, which Riley rolls her eyes at.

Dylan: OMG… Miss Riley...

Riley: Which you already knew.

Dylan: [ another gasp, then a beam ] I did. I did already know that actually.

As cute as Dylan and Riley’s friendship is, their comfort and casual intimacy in talking about sex is pretty much the last thing Isadora wants to hear. The context of Lucas and Riley is bad enough when she has to confront it, but on top of her own recent choices, she can’t stomach it.

Isadora: Are you going to be like this all trip? If I knew I was getting Elle Woods’ sorority sisters for roommates, I would’ve asked Eric to switch my room assignment.

Yikes. Dylan and Riley quiet down immediately, exchanging an uncertain look. To engage or not to engage… just as Riley opens her mouth to ask if everything is okay, there’s a knock at their door. Dylan climbs up to get it, pulling open the door where Chai is waiting on the other side.

Perfect timing… Isadora immediately gets to her feet, Dylan offering Chai a smile before stepping back to make room. He goes and rejoins Riley on their bed as Isadora approaches the doorway, the two eyeing the couple with interest and sharing another tacit exchange.

INT. LONDON HOTEL - CORRIDOR - NIGHT

Isadora steps out into the corridor, shutting the door gently behind her. Chai gives her a smile, but it’s tight and doesn’t reach her eyes. 

Chai: Thought I’d come by and say goodnight before lights out. 

Isadora: Oh, okay. Goodnight.

Isadora begins to turn, but Chai reaches out and places a hand on her arm to stop her. Isadora flinches at the unexpected contact, pulling her arm away and rubbing the spot where Chai’s hand was.

Upset, Chai crosses her arms. She tries to start a conversation, but her heart isn’t in it, and she can tell that Isadora would rather be talking to anybody else. 

Chai: Are you okay? You haven’t been like yourself. 

Isadora: Probably just jetlag. I’m super tired. 

Chai: Yeah, maybe. [ a beat ] But you haven’t really been yourself for a while now. Are you sure --

Isadora, snapping: You haven’t really known me that long, though, have you? You’re not my therapist or Eric, so please don’t pretend like you know what’s going on with me.

Ouch. Chai is taken aback, unable to hide the hurt on her face. Isadora realises what she said and exhales, trying to take a step back from her emotions.

Chai: I wasn’t trying to --

Isadora: I know, I’m sorry. Like I said, I’m really tired. I’ll be better once I sleep.

Chai nods, unsure, but figures it’s best to just leave it. She bids Isadora a quiet goodnight and leans forward to place a gentle kiss on her cheek, but Isadora doesn’t notice this and turns to open the door. Familiar feelings of being invisible and ignored cause Chai’s eyes to gloss over as she walks away.

INT. LONDON HOTEL - NIGEL’S ROOM - NIGHT

Nigel is getting his stuff ready for tomorrow, Nate and Jeff debating something from the bathroom nook. Jeff quickly asks Nigel if he needs to use the bathroom before he takes a shower, which he claims he’s all good, and Nate declares he’s going to go adventure around the halls until the last possible minute before lights out.

Jeff: I’m sure Eric and Harper will love that.

Nate: It’s only like six in the evening in my New York brain! What do they expect me to do, go to sleep? We’ve got hours before I hit that wall.

Oh, Nate, is the jetlag gonna come for you… but no stopping him for now. Jeff ducks into the bathroom and Nate disappears into the hall, leaving Nigel alone in the room. He settles onto his bed, absorbing the uncharacteristic quiet for a moment… then he gets an idea.

He leans over and pulls the hotel phone towards him, picking up the receiver and looking for how to find the right number...

INT. LONDON HOTEL - TECHIE ROOM - NIGHT

For as much as she planned to take a break from them this trip, Jade remains stuck with a majority of techie boys as her bunkmates. Dave and Yogi have claimed one bed while she’s planning to share the other with Asher, though at the moment she’s searching for a semblance of peace and quiet by brushing her teeth in the bathroom nook.

Dave pokes his head around the doorway, quietly asking if she’s okay. Jade spits out her toothpaste then raises her eyebrows.

Jade: Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?

Dave: Well, you said you wanted to spend less time with us this trip.

Jade: I didn’t say it like that.

Dave: But here you are… stuck spending time with us. [ sincerely ] Sorry if we’re annoying you.

Jade sighs, tilting her head at him.

Jade: You could never annoy me, Dave Williams.

Dave smiles, somewhat reassured. Jade continues with a shrug, reminding him that it’s not like she hasn’t spent the last four years with ample time getting used to them. And it’s not that anything has changed about that -- she still loves them, they’re her boys, even if the ones like Nate and Dylan sometimes drive her crazy.

Jade: I just… I was hoping for something a little different this time. That’s all.

Dave clearly isn’t sure what that means, but he doesn’t get the chance to ask. The hotel phone rings, making all of them jump.

Yogi: Oh my God, those work? I thought they were just decorative.

Asher stops journaling, tentatively reaching to pick up the receiver when it’s clear no one else is going to. He says hello, listening thoughtfully, until his expression shifts to recognition. Then he cracks a small smile, glancing towards Jade hovering by the bathroom.

Asher: Yeah, sure. I’ll see if she’s available. [ holding out the receiver ] It’s for you.

Dave and Yogi exchange intrigued looks, the latter making a point of ooh-ing. Jade shoots him a look but comes to take the phone from Asher, who gives her some space and takes his journal over to the desk.

Jade, uncertainly: Hello?

INT. LONDON HOTEL - NIGEL’S ROOM - NIGHT

Nigel exhales a sigh of relief, settling back against the headboard. He returns her greeting shyly.

Nigel: I’m glad this actually worked, I wasn’t sure it would. I sort of thought these phones were mainly decorative.

The conversation cuts back and forth between the two of them, both of them speaking more softly than they probably need to under the guise of pretending they have privacy. Nigel explains he just wanted to say goodnight, which Jade smiles at. She apologizes for the fact that today didn’t really go as planned, but Nigel shrugs. Always tomorrow.

Jade: Yeah. Yeah, definitely.

Nigel: So I’ll see you tomorrow. For real this time.

Jade: [ with a laugh ] Okay. Can’t wait.

Neither of them want to say goodbye, but they must. To delay it just a minute more, though, Nigel tells Jade to make sure to check outside her door before she goes to sleep. She frowns, confused, but he refuses to elaborate. He simply insists she do her due diligence, then with one more goodnight, hangs up.

Jade gets up and heads to the door, hesitant and feeling silly… but it’s Nigel, and she trusts him. He wouldn’t tell her to do something without a good reason. Glancing over her shoulders to make sure her roommates are preoccupied, she gently pulls open the door.

INT. LONDON HOTEL - CORRIDOR - NIGHT

At first, Jade doesn’t find anything to see… until her gaze drifts downward. She lowers herself to a crouch, picking up the small gift left just outside her door.

One of the roses from the street vendor, the ones she said were beautiful, with a delicate ribbon tied around the stem. Jade laughs quietly in disbelief, then turns her focus to the small note folded underneath it with her name on it. It’s a brief message, scrawled in Nigel’s handwriting, on a piece of hotel notepad paper:

For aught that I could ever read, Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run smooth.

A Shakespeare quote. Of course. How perfectly, quintessentially Nigel -- and the perfect antidote to their befuddled plans. Jade smiles, twirling the rose in her fingers and then smelling it.

Maya, pre-lap: I mean, it’s insulting, really. The complete disregard for my plans.

INT. LONDON HOTEL - DIVA ROOM - NIGHT

Maya is in the careful process of brushing her famous golden locks before bed, pacing the hotel room as she does. She’s ranting about the situation with the London Eye, remarking that with their little split she got separated from all the cool people and had to be stuck with Chai and like half of the techie gremlins -- including Asher of all people.

Maya: I really should file a complaint -- though I don’t know if it would be more effective to report Eric, or the tour company. I was very clear in my directions.

Zay: Yeah, yeah, it’s a travesty. While you’re at it, can you Karen the hotel and get them to improve their wi-fi? This service is shit.

At least, not good enough for him to compulsively check his application portal. Maya softens a bit, confirming that he still hasn’t heard from Turner. Zay tosses his phone onto the end of the bed, claiming that at this point he’d rather get a loud rejection than continue to be in suspense.

Farkle emerges from the bathroom, walking right into a trap for Maya’s ire. She comments on Zay’s predicament by pointing out that some people have confirmed opportunities right in front of them, and yet don’t appreciate it. Farkle rolls his eyes.

Zay: What, USC? Big whoop. You know Farkle was going to get in anywhere he applied considering his dad has a wealth reputation the size of Bezos.

Farkle: Um, well, I think we could give a little credit to my grades and applications.

Zay: Eh.

But no, that’s not what Maya was talking about. She loftily mentions the existence of the business card, getting the immediate attention of both boys. Zay sits upright.

Zay: Wait, what?

Farkle: Maya!

Maya: … oh, was I not supposed to mention it? [ flatly ] Oops…

Zay eyes Farkle, expecting further information. Reluctantly, Farkle gives him the short version -- that when they were in Los Angeles, he crossed paths with a talent agent who liked what he saw. So now he’s got this business card for if he’s ever back in the area. Zay blinks, shaking his head.

Zay: I’m sorry, let me see if I got this right. When we went to Los Angeles for Valerie De La Cruz’s funeral, you somehow managed to stumble into a situation to show a talent agent what you have to offer, and they liked it? Enough to give you their card?

Farkle: It was actually an audition. They wanted me to take the part, but I wanted to come back and finish senior year, so --

Zay scoffs, even more disbelieving. Maya holds out a hand, emphasizing her unspoken point. Farkle scrambles to explain himself, to validate his reasons for putting everything on hold and still not being sure he’s going to pursue it, but after a few moments Zay waves him down. He shuts down the conversation, claiming he can’t process this information right now.

Zay: Unbelievable. I can’t with this. I’m going to bed, and I’m going to sleep off this reveal and pretend I never learned it. Goodnight.

Farkle: Zay, it’s not like --

Maya: That’s all? I need you to give him one of your tough love bitch smackdowns --

Zay: I’M GOING TO SLEEP. GOODNIGHT.

Zay hits the light switch by his bed and sends the room into half-darkness, flopping onto his side and turning away from them. Maya and Farkle eye each other, the latter scowling at her. She smiles innocently.

Farkle marches over and hits the other light switch, throwing us into darkness --

INT. COACH - MOVING - DAY

But the sunlight is bright as the A class embarks on their second day, en route to the famous Westminster Abbey. It should be an exciting prospect, and it would be -- if the A class wasn’t thoroughly jetlagged and half-asleep on the bus. Dylan is asleep, leaning against a drowsy Asher.

Simon does his best to rouse them, trying to energise the bus with some riveting Westminster trivia. But it falls flat, especially on such a dead crowd. Their bus driver for the trip, a portly and blunt woman named FREYA, tells him to give it up. They’re second-day Americans, they’re gonna be pretty useless for much of the day.

Eric offers some optimism, though, patting Simon on the shoulder and assuring him they’ll put together. They’ll perk up soon… hopefully… Dave yawns loudly, not accenting Eric’s point well.

INT. GARDNER HOME - KITCHEN - DAY

Back in Manhattan, Eleanor has plenty of energy to spare. She’s in full-on planner mode as she pieces together final details for Charlie’s graduation reception, binders and notes spread out on the kitchen table and phone cradled between her shoulder and ear as she confirms some last-minute details.

Rosie and Daisy watch from the kitchen counter, since she’s taken over the dining table, having their breakfast. It’s quite the intimidating spectacle, watching their mom helicopter parent.

Daisy: Intense. Imagine what it’ll be like if he gets married.

Rosie: Think I might drop out to avoid this -- though I doubt she’d put in this much effort for me.

Daisy: I’d do that, but unfortunately, I need secondary education to get into a good college for environmental science. So.

Well, Daisy sure dropped that life plan nonchalantly. Seems she’s got it all figured out -- if only she would share some of that with Charlie! Rosie starts to ask follow up questions, but Daisy is done eating, walking away without comment.

Eleanor glances up from her things while she’s on hold with the caterers, asking Rosie if she’s heard from Charlie at all today. She feels like she hasn’t seen him since yesterday. He’s supposed to be picking up his suit, but if he doesn’t let her know, how is she supposed to know for sure… Rosie shrugs, claiming she doesn’t know. Then she pulls out her phone, crafting a quick text.

INT. THE GAP - DAY

Charlie is picking up his suit jacket as instructed, but there’s a reason he’s not keeping Eleanor updated. He glances at the text from Rosie, warning him that Mom is running just under nuclear and wondering where he is. How much longer is he going to be out?

Before he can type a response, that reason for secrecy returns to his side -- BRIDGETTE GARDNER, running the errand with him. She hands over the suit jacket put on hold for him, complete with a tie selection and suggested slack colors to match. Charlie informs her that they need to work fast because Mom is in blitz mode. Bridgette isn’t surprised, gesturing for him to try on the jacket then.

He does, pulling his arms through the sleeves. Once he’s straightened out the sleeves and adjusted the buttons, they both get a look at him in the standing mirror. It doesn’t look bad at all -- pretty classic and inoffensive in plain navy. The tie pulled to go with it is just a shade off from black, making the whole ensemble very unremarkable.

Bridgette: Looks nice. Just exactly like Mommy laid it out for you the night before.

She playfully pats his cheek, earning a scowl from him. She comments that she’s surprised Eleanor hasn’t made him cut his hair for the occasion, as it’s getting pretty long again.

Charlie: … she might have suggested it once or twice. I changed the subject.

Bridgette scoffs. Of course. But at least Charlie is resisting her influence. Bridgette thinks he could afford to do it more, given that this ensemble for the reception is so insanely boring he might as well be going to a funeral.

Bridgette: Hear me out. What about… glitter? Just a little on the lapels. Oh, or maybe like some leather -- walk into church in some actually well-fitting pants and I promise you about half the congregation will drop dead.

Charlie: Gee, thanks, but I’m not trying to commit mass murder. You may as well have me wear a bedazzled rainbow suit and tattoo a pride flag on my face.

Bridgette: Would be an improvement from what you’ve got now.

Be that as it may, Charlie just wants this reception to go smoothly. If that means wearing what mom thinks looks best, then whatever. Not like it matters.

Bridgette: See, I used to think like that, and then I discovered lace bralette tops. Never going back. [ a beat ] I’m just saying, it’s your party. I think you should be able to express a little bit of yourself while you’re there. At least consider a different tie?

Charlie: … fine. You get three chances to change my mind.

Bridgette accepts the challenge, settling into digging through the displays of neckties to find the strongest contenders. Charlie changes the subject, reflecting on the fact that Bridgette doesn’t even get to be at the reception to see him wear it if he does decide to shake it up. She states that the knowledge of her assistance will be enough, but he doesn’t agree.

Charlie: It’s not fair. I mean, you didn’t get to go to the ceremony, you don’t get to come to this…

Bridgette: Yes, such are the trials and tribulations of being the exile. Missing out on all the thrilling social engagements of blessed high society.

Charlie: I’m serious. Don’t you want to be there?

Bridgette pauses, taking in his sincere indignation. While confronting their mom isn’t exactly high on her agenda, it’s clear from the expression on his face that he wants her there. She shrugs, focusing on the ties.

Bridgette: I already accepted the fact that I was gonna miss out on this stuff. You know? I got over that when I got over everything else. You have to -- if you get stuck on shit like that, it just… makes it harder. And at that point, you can’t handle harder.

Bottom line, he shouldn’t get all worked up on her behalf. He can have his perfect, polished graduation reception without her, and then they’ll do something to celebrate on their own. She finishes pulling a third selection and double checks that she’s satisfied with her picks, then hands them to Charlie and swaps for his boring Eleanor-approved tie.

Bridgette: I’m taking this back to the personal shopper. He can put it back on the rack -- that or burn it, which will be my humble suggestion. You’re wearing one of those.

Charlie: Oh, so it’s bad when mom tells me what to wear, but when you do it, it’s fine.

Bridgette: Yes. Obviously. Just think of it as representation on my behalf, as the poor little exile.

The comment is said in jest, but it’s clear Charlie genuinely isn’t satisfied with how she’s being left out from all his celebrations. She may have made peace with it, but he’s struggling to do the same. He glances down at the neckties, sifting through the colorful and patterned selections.

EXT. WESTMINSTER ABBEY - CLOISTERS - DAY

With its high ceilings, ancient decor and dark lighting, Westminster Abbey very much gives Hogwarts vibes. Simon is in the midst of leading a walking tour around it, holding up a small but bright yellow flag to ensure the group doesn’t get lost. The class is still a little groggy, since Simon’s monotone voice doesn’t inspire much excitement. 

Simon: One of the many monarchs buried here at Westminster is the queen known as “Bloody Mary,” also known as Mary Tudor. She was the last Catholic monarch --

Dave: I wonder if Charlie knows her. 

Simon: And was responsible for 280 people being burned at the stake due to their protestantism. The myth of Bloody Mary is often combined with that of Mary, Queen of Scots, who’s also buried here. She was Queen of Scotland, and claimed that the English throne belonged to her, not her cousin Elizabeth I. Because of this, Elizabeth had her cousin beheaded. 

Nate: Sick. 

Simon: Rumour has it Bloody Mary haunts various sites across the UK, and that if you say her name three times in a row, she’ll make an appearance.

The techie boys all share excited looks while Darby and Haley both look outright disturbed. Simon continues on, unaware of the reactions behind him.

Eric steps through the crowd with his phone to his ear, nodding, then lowers it against his chest as he approaches Riley. He pulls her aside from where she’s listening with Dylan and Asher, speaking to her quietly so as to not interrupt. As the one with the unlimited international plan for this trip, he’s the point person for any important communication.

Eric: Hey, your dad’s on the phone.

Riley: What? Is everything okay?

Eric: Yeah, yeah, it’s fine. He just… your Tisch letter came in the mail. He wants to know if he should open it or not.

Oh. Riley processes that, glancing towards Dylan and Asher. They nod her along, and she nods to Eric, taking the phone from him and stepping a bit away to talk to Cory. She gives him permission to open the letter, waiting on the other end of the line impatiently. She twists a thread on the end of her lavender silk blouse, the seconds ticking by impossibly slow…

Then the results are in. Riley absorbs what her dad tells her, blinking.

Riley: Waitlisted. [ a long beat ] Um, are you sure? What does it --

She’s cut off as Cory presumably reads from the letter, confirming the intel. She’s been waitlisted for Tisch.

For as unbothered as she acted about the whole thing, the news is still a bit overwhelming. She clears her throat, assuring Cory that she’s fine and really needs to catch up with the group. Once they say goodbye, she makes her way back over to Dylan and Asher, managing a smile. But they can tell she’s not herself, cautiously asking what the verdict is.

Riley: Um, waitlisted.

Dylan: No way.

Asher: Oh, well… look, that’s not bad. It could still turn around.

Riley: Yeah. Yeah, absolutely.

Asher: It’s not so much a rejection as it is, like… you know, just waiting to see if --

Riley: The better people say yes first.

Well, when you put it like that… Asher bites his tongue, deciding not to add anything since he’s clearly not helping. Dylan asks if she wants to take a minute, or if she wants them to wait with her, but she waves them off. She’ll be fine.

Riley: Think I just want to be alone for a second. If that’s okay.

Dylan and Asher nod, offering condolences one more time but also assuring her that Tisch doesn’t know what they’re holding out on. It’s their loss. She smiles, appreciative, but it’s faint.

Then she’s alone, left to absorb these new developments. She could hold out on the unlikely, pretending like she’s on the same level as Maya, Nigel, or any other of her incredibly talented friends… or she can let it go, start thinking more practically, and be able to start planning her future.

There’s just that lingering worry, the one creating the lump in her throat, that if she makes the wrong choice, she’s going to regret it forever.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Chasing Pavements” as performed by Adele || Performed by Riley Matthews

Rather than focusing on unrequited romance, Riley’s soulful rendition of the early Adele hit is concerned around her future. For as composed as she’s been able to appear about the whole thing while her friends spiral, the pressure of such major decisions has been weighing on her too -- and with a result like “waitlist,” she’s simultaneously let down yet still trapped in uncertainty. She was hoping for this admission decision to make the tough choices for her, to show her how she feels and what she wants from her future.

Does she want to risk it all and pursue a lofty goal like performing when it’s never been her core motivation, when it’s not her whole entire world like her friends -- but she might be just good enough to make something out of it? Is it worth chasing that elusive maybe, when that maybe might never materialize, waitlisting her forever… and when she could conceivably imagine herself doing something else, even if she doesn’t know what that something else is yet?

And maybe it hurts so much because it speaks to an even greater problem, which is that Riley herself feels stuck on an eternal waitlist. The blow just reiterates what she’s always known: that she’s second best, second choice, the belle of the ball only when all the other debutantes have passed. Maybe a single college acceptance shouldn’t feel that way, but it does, and the ache of it is loud and clear as Riley meanders her way through the corridors of Westminster Abbey and belts it out. It’s a rather poignantly beautiful performance with the historic, grand abbey as her stage.

As the song comes to an end, Riley slips down and settles onto one of the stone benches, tilting her head back against the glass window behind her. The empty feeling expands as we ease away, her solitude emphasized by how vast the corridors seem around her.

INT. CHUBBIES - DAY

Riley isn’t the only one feeling stranded in regards to their dreams. Lucas is in a low mood, spending his time moping behind the counter at Chubbies when he should be on his way to Albany for his interview. It would be easier to be angry, but the only person he can get mad at is himself, so muted frustration and disappointment will do.

He lifts his gaze from the register when Charlie walks through the door, one of the only customers who’s trailed in so far that morning. He makes a point of noting the emptiness himself as he approaches the counter.

Charlie: Quiet in here, huh? Guess when Adams heads out there’s really no one left to patronize this place.

Lucas: Would you judge me if I said I liked it?

Charlie laughs. He claims he wouldn’t judge, given that he’s out also looking for a little quiet and change of pace. He mentions his family and all of the hubbub around his reception, which it’s clearly nice to step away from for a bit.

Lucas: Oh, right. You graduated this week, right?

Charlie: Yeah. Basically the same day everybody else left.

Lucas: Great timing. But uh, congratulations, or whatever.

Not the most eloquent good tidings, but Charlie will take it. The conversation drifts to more general post-graduate discussion, ultimately prompting Lucas to admit when asked about his college prospects that he was accepted into UC Davis. In fact, he was even offered a potential scholarship. Charlie brightens, knowing from Riley how big a deal it is.

Charlie: Seriously? That’s amazing! Congratulations. You must be excited.

Lucas: You’d think I would be. Only it’s not happening. I can’t get the scholarship, so I can’t go.

Charlie: What? Why not?

Lucas isn’t one to just dump his personal baggage out for anyone to see, but there’s something so inexplicably disarming about Charlie that he finds himself saying it anyway. That, and all that frustration he’s been stifling all morning is desperate to slip out.

Lucas: Because for whatever reason the stupid thing is upstate in Albany, rather than like, a centralized logical location like downtown.

Charlie: They probably had more than one session for out-of-state applicants. At least it’s in New York.

Lucas: I guess. It’s my fault, anyway, because I could’ve planned accordingly, but I’m a fucking idiot who waited until the last second to ask for a ride, and my only resource can’t help. And I tried looking up ride shares but it’ll take like a million dollars to get there and back, which defeats the purpose anyway since I’m going to this interview to lick some boots for a scholarship because I don’t have any money.

Lucas concludes his mini-rant by pointedly shutting the cash register drawer, which dings in protest. Charlie processes his complaints, trying to keep up.

Charlie: Where’d you say it was again?

Lucas: Albany. [ irritably ] It’s only like a couple hours away, which honestly makes it worse, because it’s that damningly close and yet I still can’t get to it --

Charlie: Dude, I can drive you.

Oh. Wasn’t expecting that. Lucas pauses his irritable fidgeting, staring at him for a long moment before realizing he’s genuinely offering.

Lucas: … are you serious?

Charlie: Yeah! Like you said, Albany’s not even that far. I like a drive, and I don’t think you should have to miss out on the chance to see this through just because you don’t have the means to get there. Besides, I owe you one for helping me with Brandon.

Lucas: No, no. No, we’re already even. I evened it. Because that was for you doing the transfer thing --

Charlie: [ with humor ] Look, we could do this all day. Or, we can get going so you can make it to your interview on time -- though you’ll probably want to change first.

Perhaps. Lucas glances down at his Chubbies uniform.

INT. SCHOOL BOARD OFFICES - MORRIS’S OFFICE - DAY

Meanwhile, Jack is at his prior engagement, sitting down for coffee with GEORGE MORRIS (60s). He’s a member of the old guard for sure, conventional and establishment, but unlike Jefferson and Yancy he tends to formulate his opinions on each issue independently and votes accordingly. He’s not easily influenced... which makes his impending retirement of particular interest. Whoever rises to occupy his vacant spot may just tip the scales of the school board towards a progressive or conservative lean.

It’s a fact that is clearly on Jack’s mind as they chat, starting on the subject of Jack’s forced probation and reapplication for the leadership role at Adams. Morris voted during the Bradford debacle for Lucas to be able to stay at Adams -- he found the whole situation quite ridiculous and time-wasting, to be frank, more spectacle than anything worthwhile -- but he admits that he also voted for Jack to be put up for reapplication.

Morris: My thinking was that if you were still best suited for the position, then your reapplication should be swift and effortless. You have a strong track record despite Yancy’s observations, which are biased, and it wouldn’t take much to win the job back. Sure, it’s another symbolic, time-wasting gesture, but it would settle the matter.

That being said, he did note that Jack has yet to actually submit said reapplication… which provides a perfect segue into why he knows Jack is really here.

Morris: You don’t have to beat around the bush, Jackson. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors that I’ll be taking my leave at the end of this contract year.

Jack: That might be true, yes.

Morris: Evelyn mentioned you very well may eye my spot. In fact, she seemed to suspect such a thing before you even caught wind of the possibility. She’s keen, Evelyn, insightful. Knows her colleagues much better than most, sees potential that others don’t. That’s why she makes an excellent board member.

Jack admits it’s not out of the realm of possibility in his mind… in the time that he’s been an administrator, he’s learned a lot, but one thing that always frustrates him is when he loses the ability to tackle bigger issues once they elevate beyond his pay grade. There are bigger, more systemic issues affecting the students of Manhattan that he wishes would get more attention, that he could dedicate more concerted effort towards without sacrificing his attention to Adams or risking overstepping his bounds. And certainly becoming a school board member wouldn’t magically fix any of those problems, but it’s a new angle on it. A new starting point, a place where he can create initiatives and try to organize funding towards the things he believes matter above all else.

That’s true, and Morris commends his passion. The board can be a painfully bureaucratic institution, and it could benefit from some fresh spirit. But he has to advise him to seriously consider the process it would entail as well. The school board is an elected position. Jack would have to campaign, build a following, and garner enough support to win the spot. And like most elected positions, he wouldn’t be able to hold onto his current position in the meantime -- if Jack decides to throw his hat in the ring and run for the board, he will have to forfeit his role at Adams to do it. And if he doesn’t make the cut, he’ll be starting over.

Still, that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t consider it. It’s just important to examine all the angles before he makes a move as big as this -- and it’s evident that Jack seriously is.

INT. WESTMINSTER ABBEY - HENRY VII CHAPEL - DAY

At the same time, the A class has begun their free roam at the abbey, allowing them to break off into smaller groups. There’s a lot to explore, so they’ve got a decent chunk of time to do so.

Jade and Nigel have wandered off on their own and arrived at the chapel, Clarissa and Haley the only other two A class folks in the same chamber. Jade approaches the steps in awe, complimenting the architecture and talking about how she remembers watching Kate and William get married live on TV.

Jade: Wasn’t my idea though, for the record. My brother was weirdly obsessed with the royals for a time -- he’s one of those Americans that had a union jack hanging up in his room in middle school.

Nigel: Sure.

Jade: I was much more interested in the fashion. I remember being so amazed by Kate’s dress… I mean, the attention to detail on the lace sleeves, and the train…

Nigel’s turn to be fond of Jade nerding out. The two of them settle at the base of the altar, basically mirroring where the royals stood at said wedding with the beauty of the church towering behind them. He claims she’s already designed and created pieces equally as stunning, if not more impressive. Who knows? Maybe she’ll be designing for the royals one day.

Jade: Wouldn’t my brother love that... but I don’t know. To get that kind of gig I would have to actually have credentials first, which is not going to happen if I don’t get a really good apprenticeship.

Nigel: Still nothing from any of them?

Jade: No. And it’s not like that’s a bad thing, yet, most of them don’t start reaching out until like… mid-summer. But with everyone else figuring stuff out and starting to nail down all their plans, kind of just makes me feel… adrift.

There are certainly others who relate at the moment. Nigel steps closer and takes her hands, waiting for her to look at him.

Nigel: It’s all gonna shape out. Even if you don’t take the traditional path, I really don’t see how you couldn’t find your footing in the industry when your portfolio is literally spectacular. And if worse comes to worse, you’ll make your own way. You can like market your designs on social media and stuff -- Yindra’s good at the branding thing, she could probably help. Dylan, too, though I’m not exactly sure he has a method to his madness.

Jade: Well, he’s doing something right, with what, sixty-thousand followers and counting? Still can’t believe it.

Nigel: My point is, you’ll get there one way or another. And I’ll help, even if I have to go door-to-door at NYU singing your praises. I’m well-versed in the art of the monologue, you’d be impressed how much information I can eloquently cram into thirty seconds of time before they inevitably slam the door in my face.

Jade laughs, thanking him for his unabashed support -- and risking social pariah syndrome to do it. He nods, proud, and the moment grows soft between them. Nothing but fond smiles and the gentle beauty of the cathedral around them… they drift closer together, to share a regally romantic kiss of their own…

Only they’re startled out of the moment by Nate, who marches into the room and loudly comments on how great the acoustics are. The rest of the techie boys follow, officially disrupting the peaceful nature from moments earlier.

Nate: I swear, it’s like an amplifier in here. Echo game for days. [ quietly ] Nate’s the best. [ louder, playing with the echoes ] NATE’S THE BEST!

Yogi and Jeff shush him, but it’s not very effective when they’re laughing. Jade groans under her breath, lightly crossing her eyes in irritation before descending down from the altar. Nigel hesitates, then goes after her, the laughter of their peers echoing around the stone architecture.

EXT. WESTMINSTER ABBEY - DAY

Zay is fielding some annoyance of his own, meandering along with Farkle along the exterior grounds of the abbey. They’re near the perimeter of the burial grounds, Farkle rattling off an insane amount of trivia to fill the silence as Zay does his best to ignore him. How he got stuck with him, he doesn’t know, but Farkle seems more than content to trail behind him and bother him with facts he didn’t need to know.

Farkle: Did you know there are over three-thousand people buried at the abbey?

Zay: Why the hell would I know that?

Farkle: Well, I do.

As if that’s the marker for common knowledge. Zay shakes his head, stuffing his hands in his pockets, but Farkle isn’t thrown by his silence. He continues on unperturbed.

Farkle: That statistic includes many royals and all the Tudors -- save for Henry the VIII, that is, who opted to be buried with his favorite wife, Jane Seymour. Though there’s debate about that, too, considering many Tudor enthusiasts actually believe his true love was Catherine of Aragon, but Jane was the one who gave him a male heir. Which she then died for -- childbirth complications -- so guess maybe he felt a little sorry for her.

Zay: [ under his breath ] Think if he had a favorite wife it would be his only wife…

Farkle: Well, sure, maybe by our present-day standards. But monogamy and marriage for love rather than strategy and lineage is really much more modern a practice than most people realize. Anyway, definitely wouldn’t have been Henry the VIII’s game, since he literally created a new branch of Christianity so he could divorce his wife, which wasn’t allowed under Roman Catholicism. So he’s always been a bit of a I’m-Not-Like-Other-Monarchs guy.

They’re going to have to bury Zay at the abbey if Farkle keeps this up and bores him to death.

Farkle: But you think he’d be buried here, considering he’s the reason the church exists as an Anglican denomination like it does now. It used to be a monastery before he had England separate from the Catholic church. Charlie and I got into an argument about this once, actually, in Cory’s class -- well, I don’t know if I can say argument, since Charlie is really only capable of slightly lukewarm debate -- because he thought the date was before --

The relentless trivia is one thing, but a Charlie name-drop is just too much. Zay is trying to avoid thinking about all of the above. He stops walking, Farkle accidentally ramming into him.

Zay: No offense, Farkle, but I quite literally could not give less of a shit. I’m trying to enjoy the scenery, but I can’t even hear myself be unimpressed over your lecture.

Farkle: Some people find fun facts charming.

Zay: Well, you should go find those weirdos and flock with them then. Seriously, acres of ancient architecture for you to roam and somehow, you end up with me. Wouldn’t you rather be competing with Isadora for knowing how many stones make up the cathedral or some shit?

Farkle: Sorry! Maybe I would be, if things were normal. But at this point anything is better than having to trail around behind her and play third wheel with…

Oh, yeah. Right. Zay forgot about the little detail of Chai. He can empathise with that, wanting to avoid unpleasant circumstances that you have no power to change… he sighs.

Zay: Whatever. It’s fine. You can stay, but we’re going to walk quietly. Enjoy the posh, pretentious ambience. Quietly. Got it?

Farkle: Sure. Totally. I can do that.

Zay nods, beginning to saunter along again. Farkle does his best to follow the rule, biting his tongue as he dawdles behind him… but it doesn’t last long. It’s just not in his nature. It’s sweet of Zay to pretend it could be, but they both know that’s not reality.

Farkle: Bet you can’t guess what famous scientist is buried here.

Zay: Jesus Christ…

No, Zay, he wasn’t a scientist. Good try, though!

Charlie, pre-lap: And what unique eccentricities do you bring to the table that you think would make a meaningful addition to the UC community?

INT. CHARLIE’S CAR - DAY

Charlie and Lucas have made it to the interview venue with a few minutes to spare, so they’re maximizing their time. Charlie has his phone open to a list of typical scholarship interview questions and they’re essentially doing a mock interview. Lucas is now dressed in the nice button-down he wore to Topanga’s, looking much more put together than he did in his uniform.

And though they’re doing their usual thing of not making eye contact as they converse, it’s obvious that the practice is valuable to Lucas. He’s able to stumble through his thoughts, pausing and rethinking and starting over in the middle of a sentence, when he won’t be allowed such a luxury once he gets in there. Charlie listens attentively, tossing glances at him and nodding in approval if he says something particularly effective or well-spoken.

Once they’ve made it through the last question, Charlie compliments his efforts. It’s clear he has a lot to say once he finds the right words, and he can spin it all pretty well.

Charlie: These sort of things are more a formality anyway, honestly. They usually have their mind made up about who they want to give the scholarships to -- this is more about confirming that you’re not like, secretly deranged or a total recluse.

Lucas: Oh, really? Then I should skip it. Would hate to confirm their worst fears.

Charlie side-eyes him, smirking as he shakes his head.

Charlie: You’ll be fine. Deliver even a fraction of the confidence you usually have and you’ll win them over.

Lucas: [ with a snort ] Yeah, right. Sure.

That response surprises Charlie. He looks at him.

Charlie: I mean it.

Lucas: I don’t know what Kool-aid they had you drink at Haverford, but I think it fucked with your head. No one would call me the epitome of confidence.

Charlie: Oh, come on. That’s so not true. You’re like, one of the most unflappable people at Adams. Everyone thinks so.

Lucas: Did we go to the same school?

Charlie: I didn’t say it meant they liked you, but I bet if you asked anyone from our class they’d say you’ve got confidence. Maybe not the same brand as Maya, or Isadora, but you know who you are. You’re unapologetic about it. And you do your own thing, you’re not scared of anything. That gives you like… a quiet power. People notice that, it’s admirable. I wish I could be like that. I’m sure the interview panel will see it, too.

Charlie’s talent for saying the exact right thing in earnest strikes again, and at just the right moment. Lucas absorbs the sentiment. He’s so used to the narratives that are unflattering, all the ways he’s been villainized, it’s weird that in the midst of all that turbulence he may have had silent admirers for every disdainful naysayer.

Lucas quickly changes the subject, pointing out that Charlie was helpful at coaching him. He asks if he had to do a lot of interviews for his schools, which Charlie denies. He wasn’t up for scholarship in most cases considering his family is well-off, and he’s pretty sure his grades and community service did most of the selling for him. It’s all about the surface-level achievement anyway. No one is especially interested in getting to know him beyond the shiny stats, and he can’t blame them.

Lucas: Well, why do you want to go there?

Charlie: What?

Lucas: To Yale or whatever. I just mean like… you know, I’m only doing all this shit for Davis because it has something I really want. A way to get to something I think I want to do. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be worth the stress, and it definitely wouldn’t be worth the money. Why do you want to go there, beyond the… shiny stats?

Good question, Lucas. Very, very good question. One that Charlie can’t answer, even as he opens his mouth to do so. He feels invisible to their institutions, but maybe that’s equally as much about him as it is about them.

He’s spared for now. Lucas’s phone buzzes, warning him that he has ten minutes until his interview slot, so he better get going. Charlie wishes him luck as he climbs out of the car. Then it’s just him, stuck sitting with the huge hole in his future plans Lucas incidentally broke open.

INT. WESTMINSTER ABBEY - NAVE - DAY

Various students wander around the nave of the church -- the main area with pews, memorials and icons hung on columns. Amidst the students are Isadora and Chai, who walk in silence, awkward tension surrounding them following their not-so-pleasant goodnight the day before.

While Isadora focuses on the intricately decorated screen that leads to the quire, Chai takes a selfie with Isaac Newton. Well, his statue, anyway. Chai asks Isadora to be in a picture with her, so Isadora lightly smiles and poses. Chai snaps the pic, then puts away her phone. Things seem to be a little more comfortable between them, so Chai broaches the topic of last night.

Chai: Listen, about what happened yesterday --

From this side of the nave, Isadora has a better view of the pews and finds whatever it was she was searching for. Unaware of the fact that Chai is mid-sentence, Isadora rushes towards a particular row of pews. Chai takes a moment to swallow down her annoyance, then follows.

Isadora slowly makes her way down the pew, analysing the space and holding out her hands as a way to measure how much room would be needed for each person to sit. Curious, Chai watches as Isadora settles on one spot. Tension lifts from Isadora’s face and she lets out a breath of relief before turning and sitting down. Chai shuffles in to sit next to her and looks in the same direction, wondering if this particular spot allows for a better view, but doesn’t notice anything. 

Chai: Why are we sitting here? 

Isadora: This is where my mom sat at Will and Kate’s wedding.

Chai is surprised, and allows herself to take in the fact that she’s sitting next to where Valerie De La Cruz once sat. It’s impressive, honestly, that Isadora remembers exactly where Val sat a whole decade after. Despite how much Isadora once claimed she didn’t care about her mother, this goes to show that she always cared -- a lot. 

Chai: Wow. Were you her plus one or something?

Isadora: [ with a shake of her head ] I watched it on TV with my foster family. Her plus one was some race car driver.

Unsure what to say next, Chai lets quiet settle between them. The opportunity to discuss the night before is gone, but Chai reassures herself that things are better today, like Isadora said. Maybe it was just jetlag…

She tentatively slides her hand towards Isadora’s and brushes it with her fingers, but Isadora once again flinches at the contact and pulls her hand away. She slides down the pew a little to create distance between her and Chai, which only rubs salt into the wound.

Knowing where she isn’t wanted, Chai wordlessly gets up and leaves. Her absence doesn’t even register with Isadora, who continues to sit in silence.

A different collection of Adams students also wander around the nave, Yindra leading the charge. She’s on a mission, approaching the front pews and claiming she wants to get the chance to pray while they’re there. Maya raises her eyebrows, amused.

Maya: Really? I didn’t take you for that kind of religious zealot.

Yindra: Your dismissive attitude notwithstanding, I see it as less zealous and more seizing an opportunity. I’m not going to pass up the chance to send out a prayer for my future in one of the most famous places of Christian worship there is. I’ll take any moment to put good energy into the universe and give a little thanks to God for what I’ve already got -- especially given the odyssey I’m about to embark on.

Well said, Yindra. Touché… Maya takes this challenge, pointedly sauntering off to a kneeler of her own. She settles down with uncertainty, clearly unfamiliar with how any of this religious stuff works. She’s a bit subconscious about it, glancing around her to make sure no one can see her being so visibly out of her element.

Maya: Where’s Charlie Gardner when you need him…

But Charlie isn’t there, the one time Maya has probably ever thought he would be useful to have around, so she’s on her own. She takes a deep breath, blowing air out through her lips almost as if she’s doing vocal warm ups.

Maya: Dear God -- oh, no, wait --

She clasps her hands together, mimicking prayer as she’s seen in the movies. There, better. She nods, satisfied, then tries again.

Maya: So, like… hey there. God. Or, whoever you are. If you’re there. Look, I don’t really do this thing, but Amino made her point, and I can’t let her one-up me. She’s already my strongest competition in the world of up and coming female superstars. No special advantages for her. [ pausing ] Anyway, I know I don’t have the wherewithal to be asking you for anything, since I’m not exactly a “worshipper.” And I wouldn’t expect it anyway -- I’ll be making my own way, cosmic interference or not, so it’s no biggie.

If God is up there listening, he has to be laughing. No one can say Maya Hart isn’t one of his most entertaining creatures… then she grows more serious, clearing her throat.

Maya: I actually thought, if it’s like, allowed, that I’d put in a request for someone else. And don’t worry, he’s one of your precious children who actually practices religion and all that, so you’ll be more willing to help him I’m sure. But um… you should send some guidance to my friend, Farkle. If you do that sort of thing. He’s got… an amazing opportunity in front of him, and all of the talent in the world to see it through -- in a surprisingly frail package. And I know he wants to follow it, that in his heart he wants to break away and see where this takes him, but… something’s holding him back. I don’t know why. I guess he’s scared, maybe. But I think this hesitation is going to keep him stuck, and he’s going to regret it.

Maya pauses, glancing up at the elegant opulence of the church in front of her. Though she’s not a believer and probably never will be, she can appreciate why someone would be. There’s something to it, the feeling of kneeling there in humility and sensing just how small you are. Small, and yet, still worth listening to in even the quietest prayers. She has to love the drama of it, in any case.

Maya: He needs to take the leap and see how far he can go. He can’t pass this up. Please don’t let him pass this up. [ a beat ] Oh, and like, amen. Thanks.

Maya bounces back to her feet, stepping away from the kneeler. As we hang on the stained glass windows shimmering with sunlight…

Interviewer, pre-lap: And why, in your opinion, should we take a chance on you? All things considered.

INT. CONFERENCE ROOM - DAY

Lucas is seated opposite three representatives from UC Davis admissions, who we can only see from behind. We’re focused on Lucas instead, giving ample effort to put his best foot forward and make a strong impression. He’s not inauthentic -- no fake smiles or overt charm here -- but like Charlie said, he has a unique, quiet charisma. When he answers their question, speaking carefully and precisely to get every word right, there’s a soft intensity to it that is more compelling than any practiced grin could be.

Lucas: I want to study veterinary medicine, which has its roots in biology. And as far as I understand it, the core tenet to any living organism is growth. Being able to adapt, to evolve, become a better and more resilient version of what came before. And in many cases, organisms need support and the right environment to achieve that growth. The right nutrients, water, sunlight. There’s nothing in the randomness of the universe that says we have to support those things, to sustain life, but it happens anyway. [ a beat ] I know I’m not perfect. I’m not the ideal candidate on paper, and any look at my permanent record would warrant second thoughts. But I’m improving. I’m evolving. You can see it in my application -- it takes a lot of adaptation to go from expulsion at one school to being class president of another. It’s not easy, and it’s a lot of work, but… I’m putting in the effort to be better than I was before. You don’t have to take a chance on me, but… I believe with the proper environment -- Davis -- I can grow into something worth putting your support and money behind.

The interview panel considers this, one member nodding along while a couple others jot down notes. Lucas releases a breath, having endured the worst of it.

Behind his chair where his bookbag rests, his phone screen lights up with a silenced phone call. Eric’s contact name pops on the screen…

EXT. WESTMINSTER ABBEY - DAY

But the call goes unanswered, leaving Riley waiting on the other end even more disappointed. She leaves a quick message when it goes to voicemail.

Riley: Hi, it’s Riley. I’m calling from Eric’s phone because he has the international plan -- I hope everything is going okay. I just, um… I got some news and I wanted to share it with you, so give me a call back when you get the chance. No rush or anything. And try me on my cell first, because we’ll probably be at the hotel and should be able to at least try wi-fi… but um, yeah. Okay. I miss you. Hopefully talk to you soon. Love you, bye.

She reluctantly hangs up, Eric approaching cautiously. She hands the phone back to him, thanking him for letting her use it. He does his best to reassure her that getting waitlisted is not the end of the world by any means. In fact, there is a silver lining to it in that Riley is clearly good enough to keep under consideration rather than outright rejection.

Riley: Just not good enough to accept.

Eric: Hey, a delayed acceptance is still an acceptance. The destination is the destination, regardless of how long it takes to get there. And you’ve got some information now that you didn’t before, which should help you in figuring out what to do next.

Fair enough. Riley tries to accept that positive spin, allowing the hug Eric gives her. Then he braces her shoulders and waits for her to meet his eyes.

Eric: You get to decide what happens next. That’s the most important thing. Don’t forget that.

Hear, hear. Riley nods, offering a light smile. The two of them head back towards the rest of the group, off to their next stop.

EXT. REGENT’S PARK - CUMBERLAND GREEN - DAY

It’s the evening, but the bright sky and chirping birds don’t show it. Regent’s Park is somewhat busy with tourists and family walking around, and people in business suits on their way home from work. The A class arrive, Simon leading the way with his yellow flag. Eric and Harper carry two large ice box coolers, with a few of the students helping out by carrying foldable chairs, picnic blankets and shopping bags with paper plates and cups.

Once they find a spot big enough for them to spread out, Eric tells everyone to get a picnic blanket and sit in groups, then he and Harper will go around with the food. 

Simon: If anybody wants to learn more about Regent’s Park, or the history of England in general, you can sit on my picnic blanket with me. I’ll be sharing lots of fun facts and answering any questions you have for the duration of tea. 

Dylan: Oh no, are we having tea? Shit, Ash, what should I do? You said I shouldn’t have tea anymore after that time at The Lego Movie… I’m gonna fail London.

Zay overhears this, plainly informing Dylan that tea is just another word for dinner. 

Yindra: I’m dying to hear what happened at The Lego Movie, though. Please do share.

The four of them, along with Riley, get a picnic blanket to sit as a group. Meanwhile, Maya holds court with Darby, Sarah, Haley and Clarissa -- Riley and Zayby aren’t enough motivation to eat with Dylan and Asher.

Maya calls Isadora and Farkle over, but neither seem keen to join the group of girls. Farkle sits down in between Asher and Riley instead, Asher awkwardly shuffling closer to Dylan to make room for his long legs. With a pout, Maya beckons Isadora again. Elsewhere, Chai spots Darby and Sarah and heads towards them, passing Isadora on the way. 

Chai: Want to sit with me? I was going to go with Darby and Sarah but if you’d rather sit just the two of us I’m sure we can find a spare blanket.

Isadora looks around, noticing that everybody else has found a place and that Harper and Eric have started to hand out food.

Isadora: I actually was planning on sitting with Simon, but you go ahead. 

Chai: I mean, I’m happy to sit with Simon, too. 

Isadora: Honestly, it’s fine. I know you’re not into all the history stuff.

Way to tell somebody you don’t want to sit with them without actually telling them. Isadora walks over to Simon’s picnic blanket, where Jade and Nigel are already sitting. Nigel and Simon are in the midst of a debate over the meaning behind one of Shakespeare’s works, a conversation that Isadora easily slips into.

Rather than upset, Chai looks angry as she watches Isadora sit down. She has half a mind to follow Isadora and force her to spend time with her, but she realises that that would do more harm than good. Instead, she sets her jaw and marches towards Sarah and Darby. 

Maya, somewhat smug: Trouble in paradise? I knew you two would crash and burn. 

Sarah: Tell me about it.

Not exactly supportive, but Chai doesn’t care. It’s fuel to the fire that’s burning brighter with every new interaction with Isadora.

The mood isn’t too much better over in Riley’s group. Mainly that news about her waitlisting has spread, and they’re all fired up on her behalf. She tries to assure them that it’s no big deal, people get waitlisted all the time, but all of them are in agreement that if anyone deserves not to be, it’s her. Zay is especially adamant, though he might be projecting some of his own admissions frustration and impatience onto her.

It’s Dylan that finds the knack for truly cheering her though, adding a little melodrama to the rallying around Riley that makes it feel more fun and less heavy. He grows increasingly impassioned about all of the ways that Riley has changed environments for the better -- look at AAA for crying out loud! -- and Tisch simply won’t know what they’re missing. Fools, the lot of them. It’s so obvious, really, that Riley is a cut above the rest.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Jolly Holiday” as performed by Mary Poppins Original London Cast Recording || Performed by Dylan Orlando (feat. Riley Matthews, Asher Garcia, Zay Babineaux, and Ensemble) (starting at 00:15)

[ Lyrics specific to characters -- follow along here! ]

Perhaps the biggest number of the episode, so following along with the lyrics can be very helpful for this spectacle. In fact, I don’t even think I can do the performance justice trying to write it out, so I highly encourage a listen to the track and I will try my best! Dylan wastes no time in launching into the number, replacing every “Mary” fittingly with “Riley” as he showers her in compliments -- a trend that will continue throughout.

Dylan: Why, it’s a jolly holiday with Riley. Riley makes your heart so light.

Riley: Oh, really…

Dylan: When the day is grey and ordinary, Riley makes the sun shine bright!

Riley: You do talk nonsense, Dyl!

Dylan: Oh happiness is blooming all around her. The daffodils are smiling at the dove!

Riley: I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about --

Dylan leans even further into the melodrama, falling onto his back and stretching across Asher’s lap as he really milks it. Suffice to say, he matches Bert’s cheeky charm near perfectly.

Dylan: When Riley holds your hand --

Asher: Dyl!

Dylan: You feel so grand. Your heart starts beating like [ pounding his heart to the beat ] a big brass band!

Asher: [ patting his side ] You’ve got enough brass for all of us…

Then Dylan pushes himself back upright and to his feet, concluding the opening verse by approaching Riley and offering her his hands. She takes them and lets him pull her to her feet, kicking off a visual journey in song through the idyllic park.

But first we take a detour to the plastics, complaining about their stop at the park. Boring! It’s just statues, ducks, and grannies! From there, once they’re done complaining about how it has nothing to offer them, we jump straight into the next set of sung lyrics (01:55), where Dylan takes over again.

EXT. REGENT’S PARK - SPORTS GREENS - DAY

He and Asher are guiding Riley along on their walk, playfully flirting with her and bolstering her confidence as they go. They weave their way through football players and pull them into the singing -- the whole performance definitely has some “That’s How You Know” energy from Enchanted. It’s also a good time to mention what Dylan and Asher are wearing this afternoon, which are purposefully but subtly meant to emulate this famous fashion moment.

Then Dylan takes a detour, leaning fully into the Bert silliness by delivering statue pun after statue pun (to the techie boys’ great delight, especially Dave). At one point, he yoinks a straw boater hat off an OLD MAN and continues on his merry way, which the old man complains about in a… bizarrely strong Cockney accent. His adult SON tells him to relax, though, and just enjoy the performance -- how can you disdain a fella with such spirit like that? As they have their brief comedic interaction, there’s definitely the sensation that the men look oddly familiar (for film and West End fans alike).

EXT. REGENT’S PARK - BOATING LAKE - DAY

Zay takes over from there for a verse or two, arm linked with Riley as the two of them traipse along the path around the boating lake. The ensemble out on the boats sings along, only increasing their share of infectious performing energy. These American students have a contagion of joyful singing, and it’s incurable!

A few paces behind them, Asher takes the Mary verse, turning some of the appreciation towards Dylan. Because of course, Dylan was the one who managed to rally Riley out of her low mood -- and get the whole Park singing along. It’s a cute little exchange between the two of them, cementing their Mary and Bert energies, and building us right along towards the big finish…

EXT. REGENT’S PARK - QUEEN MARY’S GARDENS - DAY

Dylan links his arm with Asher’s and then they’re leading the brigade, the A class and all the parkgoers they’ve collected along the way arriving at the beautiful and scenic Queen’s Gardens for the big finish. They proceed amidst the flowers with a flourish, many of them paired up as they dance their way along together -- Zay and Riley, Jade and Nigel, Isadora and Farkle. By the time they make it to the center of the rose gardens, they’re spread out all across the greens, energetically performing the choreography together and spirits most definitely lifted.

Dylan and Dave heft Riley up onto their shoulders at the centre of the crowd, causing her to laugh, as everyone brings it home.

No wonder it’s Riley that we love!

INT. CHARLIE’S CAR - DAY

The sun is just starting to set as Charlie pulls up at Lucas’s requested drop off, the Orlando community center just across the street. Charlie squints at it, confused.

Charlie: Isn’t this Dylan’s place?

Lucas: Yeah. I crash here sometimes. And Randall’s making calzones tonight. Hard to pass up.

Charlie: Oh. Cool.

Lucas: And they’ve got a dog, so.

He lets that be the end of the sentence, like it explains everything. And to Charlie, whose most consistent best friend is Skippy, it basically does. Lucas gathers his stuff and unbuckles his seatbelt.

Lucas: Your reception thing is tomorrow, right? At your church.

Charlie: Yeah. Lots of extended relatives, old people... none of my friends since they’re all out of town. Should be a hoot.

Lucas: Well, good luck with that.

He starts to climb out of the car, then hesitates, managing to do the vulnerable but decent thing.

Lucas: Thanks for the ride.

Charlie smiles, nodding. Lucas opens the door and climbs out, starting to cross the street to the community center. Then he remembers something else, doubling back and stopping in the middle of the street.

Lucas: Hey, Charlie.

Charlie is surprised he’s still being addressed, but more concerned with how Lucas is standing in the road just waiting to get hit by a car. But it’s Lucas, after all -- no fear. Charlie rolls his window down.

Charlie: Yeah?

Lucas: You could do it, too, you know. Your own thing. [ a beat ] I mean it.

Well. That’s an unexpectedly sincere sentiment. And impactful coming from Lucas, who Charlie apparently thinks of as the master of unapologetic authenticity. A return gesture, maybe, for the favor of driving him all that way.

That’s all he’s going to get at the moment, though, because that’s about as much vulnerability as Lucas can stomach in one day before he starts going into organ failure. He doesn’t give Charlie the chance to respond, jogging the rest of the way across the street to the community center and disappearing inside.

But it’s enough. It clearly lands with Charlie, leaving a mark… and making him think. After a moment, he pulls out his phone, dialing a number.

Charlie: Hey. We need to talk.

INT. LONDON HOTEL - TECHIE ROOM - NIGHT

Westminster was a bad idea for the boys, as now they’re obsessed with the Bloody Mary myth. Nate and Jeff have come over to join Dave and Yogi and they’re all crowded around the bathroom mirror, actively working to summon the vengeful spirit.

Nate: No, no, shut up. Shut up. Everyone has to commit to this. She’s not gonna come if we half-ass it.

Jeff: She’s not gonna come period.

Nate: That’s exactly what I fucking mean, Jeff. If you’re not committed to the cause, you can show yourself out.

For the record, Jade wishes she could do the same. She’s trying to focus on a book, but the boys are so loud, and there’s nowhere for her to escape to for a break. It’s a relief when there’s a knock at the door, and she’s even more grateful when it’s Nigel on the other side.

Nigel: Wondering if you might wanna take a walk before curfew?

Jade opens her mouth to answer, just as the boys finish chanting “Bloody Mary” at increasing volume. After the third repetition, Jeff screams, causing Nate and Dave to scream in turn... until they realize Jeff was just fucking with them.

Nate: JEFF. WHAT DID I SAY?

Jade blinks, then gives Nigel a flat smile.

Jade: I thought you’d never ask.

INT. LONDON HOTEL - RILEY’S ROOM - NIGHT

Asher isn’t party to the antics in his room, having smartly escaped to hang out with Riley and Dylan before Nate took over. He’s crashed on the bed with Dylan going through pictures that they took over the course of the day. Asher frowns at one that Dylan swipes to, squinting to get a better look.

Asher: What is that supposed to be of?

Dylan: It’s not obvious? [ zooming in ] Look at that squirrel, Ash! They’re like up chilling on the abbey, welcoming us to their domain.

Asher: That’s your favorite picture you took today, isn’t it?

Dylan: Vicar squirrel. Squirrel vicar. I want her to bless our marriage.

They drop the conversation when Riley reenters the room, freshly showered and looking more at ease than she was most of the day. They ask if she’s feeling better, if the shower helped, and she confirms it did.

Riley: I really think it was just mainly the shock, you know? A lot of information to process at once that I wasn’t prepared for.

Asher: Totally. I get that.

Dylan: But it’s okay to be upset about it, too. Like, just because it’s not news you wanted to get. You’re allowed to be bummed about things not going the way you planned.

Maybe so, Dylan… though that’s obviously not easy for Riley to accept. She’s all about validating her friends’ emotions, encouraging them to feel whatever they need to feel, but it’s not so easy to practice what you preach.

Asher commiserates about unideal circumstances, though, as it’s his turn to complain about the wi-fi. He comments it’s like this place may not even have it at all… are they sure it’s not just a ruse? But his theory is disproved moments later when Riley’s phone starts buzzing, getting an incoming call.

Asher: Of course…

Dylan: You are so magical.

Riley’s expression lights up when she sees who it is, a picture of Lucas surrounded by kittens at the shelter appearing on her screen. She answers immediately.

Riley: Hello?

INT. ORLANDO HOME - DYLAN’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

The United Kingdom is intercut with Lucas back in Manhattan, changed out of his nicer clothes and back in a tee and comfortable sweats for the night. He smiles lightly when he hears her voice, realizing the call managed to go through. On the bed behind him, Dylan’s St. Bernard dog Mr. Puff is resting, idly watching Lucas move around the space.

Lucas: Hey. I got your message.

INT. LONDON HOTEL - RILEY’S ROOM - NIGHT

They’re connected, yes, but the service is spotty at best. Their voices get a little warped and Lucas cuts out for a moment, prompting Riley to start moving to find the best signal. She tells him to hold on, but to keep talking so she can see how he sounds. Dylan and Asher perk up.

Asher: Is it Lucas?

Dylan: It’s Lucas! HI, LUCAS!

Riley: Shh, I’m trying to listen!

Asher: Let’s go, Lucas James!

Dylan: LET’S GO, LUCAS JAMES!

Riley cracks up, shushing them as she continues to hover into different parts of the room. Finally, she seems to find a solution, heading towards the small balcony while the signal improves with every step. She grants Dylan and Asher a second to say hi and holds the phone out towards them, letting them shout at their best friend, then she hushes them as she steps out onto the balcony and closes the door behind her.

EXT. LONDON HOTEL - RILEY’S ROOM - BALCONY - NIGHT

With the signal clear and a quieter environment, the two of them can actually hear each other. Lucas admits he only heard about half of whatever just happened in the last minute, but she assures him it was just Dylan and Asher being silly.

Lucas: Sorry I missed your call earlier. I was, uh, preoccupied with something.

Riley: Oh, it’s okay. It wasn’t like a big thing. I just wanted… I guess I just wanted to hear your voice.

Lucas smiles to himself, bashful.

Riley: But we’re talking now, so, it’s all good. Got what I came for.

Lucas: Cool. Good. You said you had news?

Riley: Yeah. Um… [ making herself admit it ] I heard from Tisch. I got waitlisted.

Lucas: Shit.

Riley: Yeah.

Lucas shakes his head, trying to find the right thing to say. Riley fills the silence in the meantime, downplaying it.

Riley: I mean, it’s not a big deal. It’s one school. And you know, it’s like, I wasn’t even sure if I would’ve gone if I had gotten in. So it’s not like everything is ruined, or anything. It was just a surprise. That’s all.

Lucas: Still, that sucks. But they’re shitty anyway if they’re going to put you out like that. They obviously don’t realize what they’ve got in front of them -- especially if Maya got in and you didn’t.

Riley: I don’t know about that…

She’s disagreeing for the sake of cordiality, and she knows Lucas is one-hundred percent biased, but it’s still nice to hear him say it. And given how well they know each other, how close they are, Lucas hits on the true reason it stings so much effortlessly.

Lucas: You’re too good to be a second choice, Riley. If they can’t see that, then fuck them. You deserve to go somewhere that understands exactly how spectacular you are.

And though he acts like he never has the right words, he knew exactly what to say. Riley fiddles with the L charm on her necklace and chews her lip, unable to stop smiling.

Lucas: And anyway, you were stoked about Barnard, right? I feel like we talked a lot about them when you were applying. And they accepted you with a competitive offer, so clearly they know what they’re doing.

Riley: Yeah, they were my top choice otherwise.

Lucas: So you can start thinking about how you want to make the most of that now. You get to focus on all the possibilities, which I know you never get tired of.

Riley: [ with a laugh ] That’s true, I do enjoy possibilities. [ fondly ] Thanks, Lucas.

Lucas: Of course. Any time.

It almost aches, talking to him like this. Being so far apart, feeling so much that she can’t express the way she wants. It’s practically radiating off her, how much she loves him written all over her face.

Riley: I wish you were here. I know it’s kind of silly, because it’s only been a couple of days, but I miss you. A lot.

Lucas: [ after a moment ] Me too.

But he isn’t there, so they’ll have to make do. Riley isn’t ready to say goodbye yet, especially since there’s no telling when the next chance she’ll have decent wi-fi will be, so she keeps the conversation going.

Riley: I thought about you a lot today, actually. We went to Regent’s Park, and they’ve got a zoo...

Lucas climbs onto Dylan’s bed next to Mr. Puff, reclining back and settling in for a while.

Lucas: I hope you’re going to elaborate. [ softly ] Tell me about it.

So she does. Riley drops into a sitting position on the balcony, leaning back against the metal bars and launching into a thrilling recap. As the camera drifts downwards to the room a couple floors below...

Jack, pre-lap: Sounds like you’re handling it well, then.

INT. LONDON HOTEL - ERIC’S ROOM - NIGHT

Eric is on the phone as well, though he has the luxury of the international phone plan so he can comfortably sit at the desk in his room rather than cram onto the balcony. He’s just finished catching Jack up on the trip so far, and yes, the fact that no one has gotten injured or disappeared is a source of weary pride. Jack assures him that everything is running smoothly on the home front too when he asks.

Eric: Look at us, dividing and conquering. What’s that known as… could it be effective leadership? No idea what Yancy thinks he’s got on us.

Jack: To be fair, your leadership capacity was never in question.

Eric: No being fair to that man. He’s a hack, and he’s wrong. Moving on.

Jack laughs, Eric pleased with how he’s managing to keep him in lighter spirits.

Eric: You’ll be happy to know, actually, that I’ve been giving your proposition some thought.

Jack: [ tentatively hopeful ] Really? About filling out the principal application?

Eric: Don’t get too excited, I just said I’m thinking about it. But you may have made a few compelling points.

Jack: I often do.

Eric: What would be the harm in the practice of it, you know? Could be good to flex those muscles. And I know it wouldn’t go anywhere, since like I said, you’re the ideal candidate. So… I don’t know. Maybe it would be worth the time. I’m considering it, at least, so I hope you’re pleased.

Jack: Eric, I have no doubt in my mind that you would make an excellent principal. Especially at Adams.

Wow… Jack sounds pretty impassioned about that concept, especially for something only hypothetical. But it touches Eric all the same, his expression not looking all that different from how Riley’s looked while talking to Lucas.

Eric: Well, I should go. My night to do curfew rounds.

Jack: Best of luck, authoritarian-in-training. Make me proud.

Eric: Still stand by my stance that it would be better if you were here.

Jack doesn’t seem inclined to argue with that. But for now, nothing to be done. The two exchange goodnights and warm wishes, Eric smiling as he hangs up the phone.

INT. LONDON HOTEL - LOBBY - NIGHT

Jade and Nigel have lost track of time, situated in a couple of comfortable chairs in a small corner of the spacious lobby. They’re deep in conversation, the casual traipse around the hotel having shifted into a philosophical, meaningful chat that neither of them want to end.

Naturally, they’ve drifted to talking about the future, contrasting it against the minor vent session Jade already had in regards to the techie boys. She admits that she doesn’t really think it’s their fault, her irritation. It’s more about her.

Nigel: Why do you say that?

Jade: This is going to sound crazy, but I’m like… I feel like I’ve outgrown it. All of it. Does that make sense? Like, I love the techies. They’re like my brothers, they’re family. And I love being part of the A class. But the way everyone feels, this kind of drama around everything ending or whatever… I don’t feel that. If anything, I’m ready for something new. Sometimes it almost feels like it can’t get out of here fast enough. [ with an embarrassed laugh ] Does that make me a bitch? Am I way more soulless than I thought?

Nigel: I don’t think so. And I definitely don’t think you’re a bitch.

Jade: That’s impressive, considering the amount of Jade-specialty vent sessions you’ve had to listen to by now.

Nigel: You’re human. And remember, even your harshest mood is probably still leagues kinder than Maya Hart on any given day. Don’t forget context when you’re self-analyzing your own ugly emotions.

Good point. Jade runs a hand through her hair, tilting her head as she listens attentively to his perspective on it.

Nigel: But honest, it doesn’t make you a bitch. I get what you mean. Everyone is going to come around at different times, and deal with change in their own way, but I’m excited about what comes next. I think you said it right, the thing about outgrowing Adams. It’s not that you don’t appreciate it, and the people are always going to be family. But we’re ready to move onto the next thing. That’s okay. That’s a good thing, actually, most people would probably be jealous of how ready for it you are.

There is truly nothing so bonding and validating as a late-night conversation with someone you love. Jade smiles, grateful. She reaches out and takes his hand.

Jade: At least there’s one thing I know I’m never going to outgrow.

Aw… yeah, it’s kind of crazy to remember how long Jade has had feelings for Nigel. And it’s true that even as they’ve changed, she hasn’t outgrown them -- they’ve simply matured with them. Nigel beams, lifting their hands and planting a brisk kiss on her knuckles.

It would be nice if they could outgrow their rotten luck on this trip, though. They’re startled out of their quiet comfortability when Eric comes into the lobby on his rounds, spotting them sitting there. They blink at him, realizing they probably shouldn’t be hanging around in the lobby, and Nigel quickly checks his watch.

Jade: What time is it?

Nigel: Oh, shit --

From where he’s staring at them, dreading having to actually reprimand someone, Eric releases a pained sigh.

Eric: I really didn’t want to have to be an authoritarian…

EXT. LONDON HOTEL - ROOFTOP - NIGHT

The view from the top of the hotel isn’t the best, looking down on the streets of London and other hotels, but tonight is a little more interesting. There’s a night market going on, with vendors selling various cuisines and tourists who don’t have curfews wandering around. A SITARIST gently strums, creating a calm atmosphere.

Chai, who watches the scene from the rooftop, is anything but calm, though. She paces around, chewing on her nails as she waits.

When Isadora opens the door and creeps out, Chai drops her arms and halts. 

Isadora: I got your text. 

Chai: [ passive aggressive ] Nice of you to show up.

Confused and uncomfortable, Isadora asks what’s going on, to which Chai rolls her eyes. 

Chai: What do you think, Isa? [ off Isadora’s visible confusion ] You’ve been pushing me away this whole trip. No, even before the trip. I feel more like your annoying friend you secretly hate than your girlfriend. I’m fed up of it.

Oh. Isadora isn’t sure what to say to that. A STAFF MEMBER gets up from where they’re sat in a smoking area. They put out their cigarette and mutter a good luck to Isadora as they pass. She’s gonna need it. 

Chai: Why? I deserve to know. Did I do something wrong? Do you not want to be together anymore? What is it? 

Isadora: I… I don’t know. 

Chai: [ with a scoff ] You don’t know. Wonderful. That’s great, Isadora. Real great.

Isadora gets angry, not appreciating being shouted at. 

Isadora: What do you want me to say? Sorry? I’m sorry I offended you, Chai. There. 

Chai: I want you to tell me what’s going on with you! I may not be your therapist or Eric, but I’m your girlfriend and I deserve to know why you’re treating me like this. I deserve to be recognised.

Tell her, Chai. All of Chai’s frustration and anger over being ignored and feeling invisible yet again comes out as she vents. While this helps Chai feel somewhat better, as expressing your feelings always does, it overwhelms Isadora. She wraps her arms around herself and chews her lip. 

Chai: Relationships take work, Isa. If my parents divorce taught me anything, it’s that communication is key. But you don’t talk to me. You can’t even stand to be in my presence. It’s not fair. Either break up with me or act like my fucking girlfriend and COMMUNICATE!

Isadora opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Rather than give Isadora time to process everything she just said, Chai snaps that this just goes to prove her point. Her patience has worn too thin to be considerate. 

Isadora, quietly: Are you saying you want to break up? 

Chai: If that’s what you want, yes. I don’t want to be strung along when you want out.

Is that a yes or a no? Isadora isn’t sure. There’s no time to clarify, because Eric comes out of the rooftop door. Both girls turn to look at him. 

Eric: One of the staff told me two Americans were up here. You two okay? 

Chai, flat: Dandy. 

Eric: … great. It’s past lights out, so I’m going to have to punish you both I’m afraid. 

Chai: Fine. I don’t even care anymore.

Chai shoots one last glare towards Isadora before moving past Eric and heading downstairs. Yikes. Eric frowns, concerned. 

Eric: What’s going on there? Do you want to talk about it? 

Isadora, snapping: No. Leave me alone.

She marches through the door and into the lift, pressing the button for the lobby before the doors slide shut. 

Eric: Wait, where are you going? Your room is on the third floor. Isadora?

It’s too late. She’s gone. With a sigh, Eric pulls out his phone and enters the stairwell. 

Eric, into the phone: Harper? You’re gonna have to take over for me…

EXT. LONDON - NIGHT MARKET - NIGHT

Isadora steps out of the hotel into the colourful, lively night market. No longer in her clothes from the day, but a ‘60s punk inspired look complete with hair sticking up in spikes, heavy eye makeup and a leather jacket with chains on it. Despite the world around her being in colour, Isadora herself is in black and white.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Paint It, Black” as performed by The Rolling Stones || Performed by Isadora De La Cruz

The sitarist strums to start us off. Isadora gets a couple of coins out of her pocket and drops them into the sitarist’s open case. The gentle-looking Indian man gives her a nod in gratitude, and when Isadora nods in return, the drums kick in. In an instant, the sitarist transforms. He’s now dressed in punk clothes, and becomes monochrome like Isadora, who sets off down the street.

I see a red door And I want it painted black No colors anymore I want them to turn black

She sings in a flat voice, staring dead into the camera, unaffected by the jovial people around her.

A few feet behind her, Eric struggles to catch up as he moves through the crowd. While Isadora channels her inner Medusa and turns the people and scenery around her into a black and white 60s pink fever dream, Eric remains in colour and modern.

Isadora passes a flower stall and picks up a handful of colourful flowers.

With flowers and my love Both never to come back

She scrunches up the flowers in her fist, the now colourless petals fall to the floor. When Eric gets to the florist, he apologises and gives them some money for the ruined flowers.

Isadora arrives at the end of the street where she can look at the river Thames in the distance. The last of the sunset reflects on the water, the only remaining colour around her.

If I look hard enough Into the setting sun My love will laugh with me Before the morning comes

She finishes off the performance in the same spot, dancing like a punk rocker in a mosh pit. She slows to a standstill and looks across at the sunset.

I wanna see the sun Blotted out from the sky I wanna see it painted, painted, painted Painted black, yeah

A downpour of rain brings an end to the performance, melting away the monochrome and punk as it drenches everything. Isadora allows the rain to shower her, but Eric -- who’s finally reached her -- covers his head with his arms. 

Eric: Are you done being an angsty teenager now? 

Isadora: Yes. 

Eric: I’m going to have to add another punishment for this, you know that, right?

They walk back to the hotel as the vendors pack up their stalls and tourists run inside for cover. Isadora is certainly more colourful now with her green hair, but she still looks just as punk and angsty as before. 

Isadora: Whatever.

She quickens her pace so that Eric lags behind. He shakes his head. 

Eric: Adopt a teenager, they said. It’ll be so rewarding, they said.

EXT. LONDON HOTEL - DAY

 The A class is filing onto the bus the next morning, Freya standing by the doors and helping count as they board while Simon flatly delivers a rousing explanation of their itinerary for the day. They’re on their way to the National Theatre, so better get ready for some fantastic playacting.

As the techie boys board the bus, they each greet Freya cheerfully, mimicking tipping their hats at her. For her brusque demeanor, she seemed relatively charmed by their silliness.

Meanwhile, Harper and Eric have pulled aside Jade, Nigel, Chai, and Isadora. Harper has taken over the tough love authority role, informing them that due to their breach of curfew yesterday, it’s been decided that they will spend the remainder of the day separated. Nigel and Jade attempt to plead their case.

Nigel: We really weren’t trying to skirt curfew. We just lost track of time.

Jade: I’ve been a perfectly rule-abiding student my entire career at Adams.

Isadora, helpfully: You participated in the techie revolt.

Jade: [ without looking at her ] Thank you, didn’t ask for your input. Mister E, you know we weren’t doing anything wrong. Please.

Eric, reluctantly: Being out past curfew is doing something wrong, Jade. You and Nigel will have plenty of time to spend together on the rest of the trip. [ nodding towards the bus ] Let’s go.

Jade sighs, spinning and heading towards the bus in defeat. Nigel waits a moment and then uncertainly follows, not sure exactly how much distance he’s supposed to put between them. Harper and Eric turn to Chai and Isadora.

Eric: And Isadora, your extra punishment for leaving the hotel on your own --

Isadora: You were with me the entire time. 

Eric: Yes, but you left without me. I simply followed you. Regardless, your extra punishment is no spending money for two days. Every time you leave the hotel, or group, without supervision or permission, another two days will be added. 

Isadora: I’m eighteen, I can spend my money if I want to.

Eric gives her a warning look. Not one from the school trip supervisor, but one from a dad. Isadora sighs and nods.

Harper: Any other arguments from you, ladies?

They glance at each other, still fuming from their argument. Chai shrugs, projecting aloof.

Chai: A little space will be nice, actually.

She turns to go, marching towards the bus. Eric watches the exchange, eyeing Isadora curiously. Ready to talk about it yet? Isadora shakes her head defiantly, not in the mood. She stomps away, Harper offering Eric a supportive pat on the back. Being the authority ain’t no joke!

INT. NATIONAL THEATRE - LOBBY - DAY

Simon and Eric make sure each of the students has a ticket to the production they’re about to see of Oliver! Harper instructs them that although they can’t control which seat they get, they’re welcome to swap amongst themselves if they see fit like the plane.

INT. NATIONAL THEATRE - OLIVIER THEATRE - DAY

Farkle has settled into his seat, one of the first in the class. As fate would have it, who should have the seat next to him but Isadora. They exchange smiles when she drops down next to him, Isadora already more relaxed than she’s been on the rest of the trip so far.

Farkle: We’ve got to stop meeting like this.

Isadora: Why do you make everything weird? Stop.

Farkle: I’m just saying, there’s some kind of karma going on here that you and I somehow always end up stuck together. I’m just not sure which one of us is getting punished.

Isadora: Mutual destruction.

Oh, aye. Farkle nods, accepting that with an amused smirk. He does ask though if she didn’t bother to try and swap a seat so Chai can sit with them. Isadora shrugs.

Isadora: We can’t anyway. We got banned from interacting today.

Farkle frowns, bewildered. He starts to question further, but they’re interrupted by Maya arriving to join them. She plops into the seat on the other side of Farkle, greeting them brightly.

Farkle: You too, huh? Guess we really are tied by the red string.

Isadora: Strangled, maybe.

Maya: What? Oh, no, this wasn’t luck. I threatened Yogi into trading with me. [ with a beam ] Should be a jolly good show.

Another ominous statement that needs elaboration… but no time. The lights dim, signaling the start of the show as the orchestra tunes below. Farkle and Isadora exchange a look, the latter playfully bumping his elbow on the arm rest between them as they settle in for the first act.

INT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S BEDROOM - DAY

Charlie is nearly ready for his reception, looking cute and polished in his khakis and dress shirt. No tie yet though. He pulls on the navy suit jacket and adjusts the sleeves, touching up his hair in the closet mirror. It needs to look combed and styled just the right way so that most of his guests won’t even notice the length.

Rosie knocks on the door, stepping inside the room when Charlie nods her in. She’s dressed in a cute floral sundress.

Rosie: You look like a nerd.

Charlie: Wow, thank you, dear sister of mine. What a nice thing to say to me, on this, the day of my celebration.

Rosie: I didn’t say it was a bad thing. It’s just a fact. And you are a nerd, so it’s fitting.

Charlie: You look nice, though. Bit bold on the eye makeup. I mean, I don’t mind, but don’t you think mom is gonna say something?

Rosie: Who cares? And honestly, no. You are the sole recipient of her smothering attention today -- I’m just the errand girl. [ holding out her hand ] She wanted me to bring you this, so you didn’t forget it.

A Yale lapel pin. Just in case anybody forgets for five seconds that he got accepted. Charlie takes it, barely hiding his reluctance.

Charlie: Great. Thanks. I’ll be down in a second.

Rosie nods, then hesitates. It’s obvious there’s something on the tip of her tongue, something she wants to say… but she doesn’t really know how to say it, or maybe even really exactly what it is, so she doesn’t try. She retreats and leaves Charlie alone.

Charlie looks at his reflection again, really scrutinizing it. It’s going to be a long day of presenting… he needs to brace himself as much as he can. He goes to get some fresh air, stepping out onto his balcony as the orchestration kicks up…

EXT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S BALCONY - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Where Is Love?” as performed by Oliver! London Palladium Cast || Performed by Isadora De La Cruz, Farkle Minkus, Riley Matthews, Charlie Gardner, and Zay Babineaux

[ Lyrics specific to characters -- follow along here! ]

Charlie leans against the rail of his balcony, turning the Yale pin over in his fingers. A shiny accessory for all those shiny stats… he sighs, looking out to his neighborhood and closing his eyes. Absorbing the temporary calm.

INT. NATIONAL THEATRE - OLIVIER THEATRE - DAY

At the same time, the production of Oliver! is in full swing, teeing up the famous track. Our key A class players watch with varied levels of interest, the actual Oliver actor kicking off the song with the first verse.

Then, things get a little interesting. Smooth transitions and creative camera angles allow us to seamlessly move from one performer to the next, creating a tapestry of interpretations.

Isadora picks up the slack first, echoing the sentiments of the show as she takes over the next couple of lines from her spot in the audience next to Farkle. Her expression is pensive, heavy, speaking to any number of things -- her late mother, her fracturing romance, her friends going in any number of directions. She and Farkle harmonize on “that’s only meant for me,” cueing the first transition…

Only it seems at first glance like the actual performer is taking back over -- and that’s because Farkle is now occupying the stage. He’s inhabiting the role of Oliver (finally reaching his peak as sickly Victorian orphan), dressed in the costume and smeared with dirt, but fully immersed in the performance. It isn’t until his actual self chimes in, taking over halfway through and watching himself from the audience, that we understand his take -- is love the dream, the art, the opportunities he could chase to a stage in Los Angeles… or is it sitting right next to him, not wanting him to go anywhere? He glances at Isadora, contemplative.

‘Til I am beside the someone who…

Riley and Farkle’s vocals overlap next, and she takes his place on the stage. Only her set up is different -- stripped down, simplistic, and she’s plain-clothed -- and there’s only one member in the audience. She looks directly at an imaginary Lucas as she sings the famed title lines, eyes shining and the world just the two of them. The only audience she cares about; the one who has been elevating her to be more almost since they met.

Where is love?

EXT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S BALCONY - DAY

Charlie examines the Yale pin, growing more and more averse the longer he does. He knows for sure that it isn’t love -- that there’s nothing he’s more apathetic about -- but if Yale isn’t the answer, what is? If not there, then where? Where does he truly belong?

Who can say where she may hide Must I travel far and wide?

Zay’s vocals ease in and harmonize effortlessly with Charlie’s, the screen splitting in a fade to show both of them as they share the next line. Then focus is solely Zay’s for a moment, him standing alone on the empty stage.

INT. NATIONAL THEATRE - OLIVIER THEATRE - DAY

There’s no one watching his performance, his question more of a shout into the void. With everything so frozen in time, on every front, he has to wonder when things will resume -- when someone will start putting him first again, that he can mean something to.

Then he prompts the final crescendo, all of the vocalists joining back together for a strong harmonized finish.

EXT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S BALCONY - DAY

As the orchestration peters out, Charlie takes another look at the lapel pin… then pockets it, choosing not to put it on. He heads back into his room.

INT. NATIONAL THEATRE - OLIVIER THEATRE - DAY

The audience breaks into applause as the performer wraps up the rendition, the A class clapping along. The production rolls right along, oblivious to the projection the ensemble just imagined through the performance.

INT. CHARLIE’S CHURCH - BANQUET HALL - DAY

Charlie’s reception is off without a hitch, a pleasant and charming gathering set up in the lovely banquet hall of their church. It’s well-attended for a graduation party, though it’s anyone’s guess how many of those people are there for Eleanor versus the actual man of the hour. She’s clearly in her element, entertaining a gaggle of church ladies and getting ample opportunity to brag about her golden son and all his accomplishments.

Eleanor: That’s right, Yale. Oh, we’re so excited. And you know, I don’t want to jinx anything -- but he’s been quite friendly with one of his good friends these last few months. Riley?

Trina: Oh, of course. You’ve mentioned her plenty.

Danielle: And we saw the prom photos! Such a gorgeous duo.

Maitland: Eleanor… you’re not saying --

Eleanor, coyly: I’m only saying, ladies. Keep your ears to the ground -- there might be some big news on that front any day now.

Well, I wouldn’t bet your pass to Heaven on it, Eleanor. The ladies twitter enthusiastically anyway, though, all sold on the concept of dear, darling Charlie perhaps announcing a commitment to Riley Matthews.

As misrepresentative as that sentiment is, Charlie isn’t completely without peers of his own. EVAN SCOTT has shown up to offer his congratulations, chatting with Charlie comfortably by the gift table where he’s easily accessible for guests to come and pay him well wishes. It’s nice of Evan to show up, and Charlie clearly appreciates it -- perhaps an actual friend came out of the hell that was Haverford after all.

Evan: I’m sure the rest of the guys would’ve come too, but I guess there’s a lot going on right now. Lots of post-graduation travel, you know?

They’d have to be invited to even know to show up, Evan, and even if they were, Charlie knows damn well that would never happen. He offers a tight smile anyway, opting not to get into it.

Charlie: Totally. Ha ha.

He’s about to gain another unexpected ally. He nearly falls over when Rosie bolts over and rams into him, speaking so fast and in a hushed whisper that he can’t even understand her.

Charlie: You excuse me for a second, Evan? I think my sister’s been possessed.

Evan laughs, giving them space. Charlie gets Rosie to calm down, instructing her to speak slowly so he has even a chance of understanding what’s got her so energized. She’s breathless, and her eyes are wide.

Rosie: Bridgette. She’s -- did you know that she was -- Bridge, she’s --

Her name was all Charlie needed to hear. He stabilizes Rosie by steadying her shoulders and then glances around her, looking towards the doorway.

Lo and behold, the rumors are true -- and spreading quickly throughout the congregation. Bridgette Gardner has arrived, timid but decisively, making an unexpected and triumphant return to the fray. She’s at least spared Charlie the drama of wearing a lace bralette by showing up in a casual but classy black jumpsuit, but her mere presence is enough to get people talking no matter what she chose to wear.

She and Charlie lock eyes, the latter breaking into a smile. Yes, it’s clear he was actually expecting her. He ignores all the eyes on him as he makes his way across the room and goes to greet her at the entrance, then suspends any potential assumption that she isn’t welcome by pulling her into a hug.

Well, this is guaranteed to be the talk of the event when everyone heads home this afternoon -- forget all of Eleanor’s careful planning. The woman herself is shell-shocked, doing her best to maintain appearances and appear unflappable but obviously stunned by the surprise arrival. Ambrose stares from across the room where he’s chatting with other husbands, equally caught off guard but seemingly not affronted by his daughter’s sudden reappearance.

Bridgette and Charlie pull apart. She scans the room around them, the nosy partygoers eyeing them with rapt interest, then raises an eyebrow at him. She offers a brave smirk.

Bridgette: Nice tie.

She’s right, it is a nice tie -- and she’d know, since she picked it out. Charlie glances down at it, a tasteful but simple floral pattern in soft blues, greens, and purples. Fresh, understated, and far more like Charlie than anything else picked out for the reception.

He returns her smile, then invites her further into the party.

Grace, pre-lap: So you think it went well?

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - KITCHEN - DAY

Lucas and GRACE FRIAR are chatting at the kitchen table, Lucas helping her go through bills as they recap the gist of his interview. It’s hard for him to say, but all things considered, he didn’t think it went poorly. There’s a chance, at least, which is more than Lucas usually has to go off of.

It’s clear from the expression on her face that Grace is proud of him. She doesn’t know how to articulate that, and she’s only able to really show it in the moments when he’s not looking, but the glimmer in her eyes and small smile on her face leave little room for doubt.

She reiterates that she hopes it works out, because they really need the financial support. Going through the bills just makes that all the more clear… but she thinks he can do it. He can get the aid. And he’s been saving all that money to supplement it -- which he’ll need every cent of, to be sure -- but it could really happen. He might get out of here.

Lucas is obviously trying to keep his expectations subterranean levels of low, but even he has an excited edge to his voice when he talks about it. They transition to discussing the rest of the day, Grace asking if he’s got plans. With Riley and Dylan and Asher out of town, he must be bored stuck here with her.

Lucas: I’ve found bizarre ways to keep myself busy. But I have a quick thing to do in a few minutes, then I’m probably gonna go to the Orlandos again for dinner. I think Randall is making tacos.

Grace, wistfully: That sounds delicious. I can’t remember the last time I had a really good taco. I don’t know what I’m going to be doing for dinner… just pick-up, I suppose.

Lucas: Dad’s not eating with you?

Grace: He has a doctor’s appointment. Said he probably wouldn’t be hungry after.

Lucas: [ with a scoff ] Since when does anyone in this apartment go to the doctor…

He doesn’t bother to hide the bitterness in his voice. But Grace merely shrugs, claiming he just told her about it this morning. She thinks it’s just his annual physical -- something the two of them don’t get the privilege of having, of course -- but that’s all she knows.

Lucas gets up to get ready to go, claiming if she wants, he can ask Randall if she can come over for dinner. She waves him off, not wanting him to go to the trouble, but Lucas insists.

Lucas: Come on, mom. You deserve to have a really good taco sometimes.

Well, when you put it like that… Grace laughs to herself, then shrugs.

Grace: Why not. Better than anything I would throw together here, I’m sure.

That’s settled, then! Lucas tells her he’ll let her know when to head over tonight. First, though, he’s got business to take care of.

EXT. COVENT GARDEN - DAY

Covent Garden is bustling with people, tourists and locals alike. Boutiques line the streets, along with plenty of cafés and restaurants. The class is free to roam on their own (even Isadora), and they have a good couple of hours to do all the shopping they desire (except Isadora).

As the class sets off to explore, Eric thanks Freya for filling in for Harper. 

Freya: Don’t worry about it. Got nuffin’ else to do but sit in my bus, ‘ave I?

Eric is a little bewildered by Freya’s thick West Country accent, not having heard her talk this much before, but thanks her once again. He turns to Simon and asks him to show him where the best coffee is. If he’s going to survive any longer on this trip, he’s going to need a lot more caffeine.

Elsewhere, the techie boys arrive at the square where professional street performers work. There’s a STRING QUARTET playing music that matches the sunny weather and upbeat atmosphere, a CIRCUS PERFORMER walking around on super high stilts in stripy colourful trousers, and… a dog? A DOG MAN? A man’s head somehow stuck in a kennel? Whatever it is, their attention has been caught.

The dog man greets them as they run over to him, his accent northern and his tone depressed. It’s unclear whether the depression is part of the character or because of the fact that he’s playing this character. 

Nate: Dude! This is amazing! Quick, get a pic of me and this guy.

Jeff: Genuinely iconic. 

Dylan: Can I film you for my vlog? 

Dog Man: What the hell is a vlog?

Well, this’ll certainly keep them entertained for a while.

Jade and Isadora are wandering around the fruit market. Both separated from the other half of their couples, but one a lot more upset about it than the other. 

Jade: This whole thing is so insanely stupid. It’s totally cruel to ban us from interacting... we were literally just talking.

Isadora: Is it really that big a deal? It’s like one day. Why do you care?

Jade: ... because he’s my boyfriend? Because we were excited to hang out on this trip together? I don’t know. [ a beat ] You know, Dora, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’ve been a little sharp.

Isadora: No kidding?

Jade: Like I get it, I’m not in the best mood either. But... especially since you don’t even seem to care about your punishment, seems kind of weird.

Someone actually calling Isadora out on her behavior -- someone other than her father figure, that is -- kind of snaps her out of it. She blinks, twisting her fingers together.

Isadora: Sorry. Didn’t even realize.

Jade: It’s fine. I’m just saying. And like, you don’t even have to deal with it, really, since your girlfriend isn’t even here...

Isadora gets lost in thought, contemplating what Jade said. Has she been as barbed as everyone seems to think? Speaking of, where is Chai? And Harper, for that matter?

INT. GUILDHALL SCHOOL - CORRIDOR - DAY

The women sit in a makeshift waiting area along with other hopeful university students and their guardians at Guildhall University, a school dedicated to the musical and theatre arts. Chai seems nervous, but determined, tapping her foot lightly as they wait.

TRUDY, a short middle-aged woman with bright blue hair and a multi-patterned dress on, pushes open a door. 

Trudy: Rebecca Fresco?

Chai stands up and follows Trudy into her final audition. Harper gives her a thumbs up.

Harper: You got this.

Chai gives Harper a nervous smile. The door swings shut.

INT. GUILDHALL SCHOOL - REHEARSAL ROOM - DAY

Along a table sit the ADMISSIONS PANEL. There are six of them, including Trudy, who sits down in her chair while Chai takes position in the middle of the room. 

Chai: I actually go by my middle name -- Chai -- not Rebecca.

Trudy apologises and makes a note of her preferred name. She tells Chai that she’s the only American who’s gotten this far in the process. There are a couple of other foreign students, but they’re all from Europe. She goes on to explain that because this is the first year of their new, experimental arts degree, there’s a lot of things still in the air, and it will be shaped around what the students need and want. 

Trudy: Is there any particular part of theatre arts that you’re most interested in? I know you went to a performing arts high school, so I expect that’s your main focus? 

Chai: It is currently, yes. I’m very open to exploring other areas of the arts, though. My school has a way of bringing people together no matter what their focus is or where their talents lay, so I’ve gotten the opportunity to learn about the technical production side of theatre, too. 

Trudy: That’s great. What do you think you’d gravitate towards when studying here? 

Chai: Definitely dancing and vocal performance, but also stage makeup and costuming. I’m skilled in hair and makeup, and this past semester I’ve been learning the basics of designing and making clothes. 

Trudy: Brill. We can definitely cater to that. [ a beat as she and the others write things down ] Okay. You’ve prepared a performance for this audition, correct?

Chai nods. She has a vocal performance, then a dance performance. One of the admissions people gets the prepared music up on their phone and presses play.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “I Know I Have A Heart” as performed by Cinderella West End Original Cast || Performed by Chai Fresco & Isadora De La Cruz

[ Lyrics specific to characters -- follow along here! ]

Chai takes a breath, then sings. Her voice is bright and clear and she hits the notes with relative ease. She’s come a long way since the beginning of her journey at Adams and the days of being a backup singer for Maya. What makes this performance so impressive, though, is the passion behind it. The lyrics hit close to home at the moment, and the emotion she expresses packs a punch.

I was so not naïve With no heart on my sleeve Always walked out before I was rejected

When the orchestra comes in, Chai begins to move. She uses the space as if it’s a stage, treating the panel as an audience rather than the people deciding her fate. Her stage presence shines, the role of heartbroken princess a perfect fit.

I was so unaware That I could fall so hard But what good is a heart If you don't care?

EXT. COVENT GARDEN - NEAL’S YARD - DAY

We cut to the person in question, Isadora. She’s in a smaller part of Covent Garden full of colour. Some of the buildings have their walls painted, while others leave the bricks bare and instead paint the window frames and shutters.

Isadora looks through a shop window, then turns as she takes over the song.

Should have known all along That I need to be strong For a girl who's like me There's no happy ending

She walks towards a boutique, fancy dresses and glass slippers in the window. When the music swells into the chorus, she begins to waltz around the yard. We cut between her and Chai, who’s doing the same. A slow dance cut in two.

And it's shattered and bruised And now the laugh's on me Anyone want a heart that's barely used?

We continue to transition between the two as they both take on the final chorus together. They both put all of their anguish and frustration into the song, their vocals even more powerful and heart wrenching when harmonised.

INT. GUILDHALL SCHOOL - REHEARSAL ROOM - DAY

We end on Chai, breathing heavily after the final belt. For a moment the room remains silent, the emotional performance having suddenly made the atmosphere heavy, but then the panel burst into applause.

Chai allows herself a small smile, but knows that it isn’t over yet -- both for her audition, and relationship with Isadora.

INT. CHARLIE’S CHURCH - BANQUET HALL - DAY

Bridgette saunters over to Charlie by the food table, leaning close to speak in conspiratorial tones as she reaches for a carrot stick. Both of them are very aware that all eyes continue to drift towards them, but for once Charlie doesn’t seem afraid of the attention. In fact, in a weird way, he almost feels a sort of pride.

Bridgette: Am I correct in guessing you didn’t let mom in on your little plan to invite me to the party?

Charlie: I don’t know what you mean? Doesn’t she seem completely in the loop?

Bridgette: Mm mm mm mm mm. Blasphemous behavior, and on such a momentous day. What gave you such a dastardly idea, Charlie -- the devil himself?

All jokes aside, Bridgette admits that she’s glad he asked her to come. It’s nice to be with the sisters again, and the look on Eleanor’s face was worth it alone. But it was a pretty sharp change of pace from wanting everything to go “smoothly” -- what made him change his mind? Charlie smiles, shrugging nonchalantly.

Charlie: I can do my own thing now and then.

That doesn’t make much sense to Bridgette, but it’s Charlie. She’s not going to question it. She lightly pinches his side, enjoying the feeling of being co-conspirators again -- but she clams up when Ambrose approaches. He clears his throat, gently getting Charlie’s attention.

Ambrose: Think there might be a bit of a mix up with the guest list. Are you expecting someone else?

You mean, aside from resurrecting the long-lost sister? Charlie looks appropriately confused, following Ambrose’s nod towards the entrance where Eleanor seems to be debating with a wayward soul who she is desperately trying to gatekeep from the party. She’s already had enough trespassers for one reception, thank you very much!

When Charlie recognizes who she’s confronting, his jaw drops open slightly. Lucas?

He exchanges a look with Ambrose before making a beeline for the door, intercepting his mother before she tears a biblical new one into Lucas.

Charlie: Mom, mom, it’s cool. I know him. He’s -- he’s a friend from Adams.

Eleanor: Well, he isn’t on the guest list.

Lucas: I’m not much of a list person.

Charlie: Seriously, mom, it’s okay. I’ll take care of it.

Eleanor remains displeased, but she allows Charlie to take over. She flurries back over to her friends in a huff -- how many other ways could this go wrong? Charlie waits until she’s out of earshot, turning his gaze back to Lucas with a million questions.

Lucas, deadpan: She seems nice.

Charlie: What are you doing here? I mean, not that it’s a problem. Despite the indignation of my mom -- she’s having a rough day.

Lucas: Rest assured, I’m not here to gate crash. I’m in and out; I think if I hung around too long in this place I’d probably burst into flames.

You’re not the only one, Lucas. He continues, removing his hands from behind his back to reveal he’s holding an envelope.

Lucas: I’m just playing messenger.

Charlie raises his eyebrows, looking at Lucas in surprise as he takes the parcel. It’s decently-sized for an envelope, and his name is scrawled on the front in Riley’s familiar loopy handwriting.

When he opens it and pulls out the card inside, though, it’s much more than just a message from Riley. It’s a custom-made card -- with the artistic expertise of Dylan, Asher, and Jade behind the design -- and on the back and all along the inside, his A class peers have written him congratulations sentiments and signed it. Even the teachers contributed, a kind message from Jack, Eric, and Harper present on the inside flap.

And yes, even Zay. He’s found a way to keep it casual while still meaningful, depth behind the message concealed in plain sight amidst all the other well wishes and in spite of how weird things are between them at the moment.

Good job surviving. Wherever the hell you’re going after this, don’t forget where you belong… or whatever 1D would say.

Charlie laughs, a bit choked up. Sure, none of them could be there in person due to bad scheduling, but he was dead wrong if he thought they were going to let him celebrate alone -- least of all when Riley Matthews is involved. 

Charlie: This is great. Thanks for delivering. You can tell Riley it was well-received.

Lucas: My life’s work.

Charlie: Are you sure you don’t want to stay? I know my mom seems scary, but --

Lucas: Believe me, she is far from the scariest thing I’ve ever confronted. But I’ll pass. It’s taco night at the Orlandos, so I’ve got better places to be.

So with that, he’ll leave him be. Charlie thanks him again for bringing the card, letting his focus drift back to the gift once Lucas is gone. Then he lifts his gaze, something across the room catching his eye.

Ambrose has taken the spot he vacated, actually talking to Bridgette. It doesn’t look like the easiest conversation in the world, but it’s something, amicable communication for the first time in years. And if Ambrose is willing to open up the door for her, to give her a chance… well, who knows what he might hear out from Charlie, too.

Charlie can’t help but smile, hugging the card to his chest while he watches part of his family slowly rebuild.

INT. COVENT GARDEN - SHOPS - DAY

The A class are free to roam throughout the centre, Riley and Farkle taking some time to browse for souvenirs. Farkle hesitates when he spots something he’s sure Isadora would love -- an embroidered patch with something darkly silly, a perfect match for her aesthetic -- pointing it out to Riley. She agrees Isadora would like it, he should grab her and show her while they’re there.

Farkle: Well, I was thinking more like…

Farkle stops his own sentence. He was thinking what, that he’d get it for her? That he’d give her a gift for no reason, as if that’s something normal people do? As if he’s not continuing to kid himself, playing into these weird instincts with her when she has a girlfriend and only sees him as a friend?

Farkle: Never mind. I don’t know what I was thinking.

Riley commiserates, commenting that shopping for others can be tough no matter who it is. Like, she’s been keeping an eye out for something to get Lucas all trip so far, but nothing has jumped out to her.

Farkle: Is he that picky?

Riley: No, although that’s kind of the problem. He’s not really a gift person, because he never like… thinks he wants anything, so he’ll basically accept anything and be cool with it. But that makes him impossible to shop for, because there’s not really a clue as to where to begin.

Dylan and Asher chime in from the opposite side of a shelf.

Asher: Seriously, he’s awful.

Dylan: So true, bestie.

Riley: Besides, it’s not even necessarily him that’s the problem. It’s just like… there’s nothing good enough.

Farkle: I’m sure the artisans here will really appreciate that review on Yelp.

Riley: [ elbowing him ] Not like that. I just mean… nothing is going to convey what I want to say properly. [ softer ] No souvenir gift is going to capture how I feel about him. It’s too much.

Doesn’t help that her primary love language is physical touch, and he’s currently thousands of miles away. Sort of makes Farkle’s angst about Isadora feel trivial in comparison. He gives her an awkward pat on the shoulder, though he’s not going to be of any help to her gift dilemma.

Some jaunty, understated guitar floats in, echoing throughout the Garden…

EXT. COVENT GARDEN - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Step Inside Love” as performed by Cilla Black || Performed by Covent Street Performer

A new STREET PERFORMER has taken the limelight, gathering the attention of much of the wandering crowd. She’s blonde and spritely like Maya, only with a head of curls, but her vocals pack a serious punch. She’s animated and riveting, delivering a soulful rendition of the classic British tune and earning a decent chunk of change in tips in the meantime.

One of the people captivated by her performance is Maya, who stops wandering the stores to listen. Her eyes sparkle as she gets closer, sensing a kindred spirit in the brassy busker. And she’s impressed by how deftly she can hold a crowd -- the Garden breaks out into applause as she finishes her rendition, Maya an eager participant.

She makes a point of approaching when the crowd has mostly dispersed, launching into effusive praise. The street performer listens with mild interest as Maya… well, does her Maya thing, dramatically insisting upon their twin soul energies and lauding her ability to command a space with her stage presence. That, and she has such admiration for someone like her, out there busting her chops to follow the dream wherever it might take her. Starting from nothing, scrounging towards the goal. It’s inspiring, really.

At this, though, the street performer snorts, catching Maya by surprise.

Street Performer: Oh, fuck me. You think I’m some poor bastard, don’t you? Singing for pennies to earn my daily bread.

Maya: Oh, no. No, I just meant --

Street Performer: Love, I went to a conservatory. One of the top bleeding performing arts programs in the country, at that.

Maya, stunned: What?

Street Performer: That’s right. Class of 2015, in the flesh. Oh, and they promised us everything. Going to such an elite school, with such strong credentials, it was supposed to be a direct pipeline. That’s what they said, anyways. Straight to the West End! Well, look around us -- does this look like the West End to you?

Maya: … no. No, there must be a mistake. If you were to have graduated from a top program, then you wouldn’t be --

Street Performer: I did, and I am, love. Look right in front of you, see me with your eyes. And read my lips: it’s all a sham. I sing because it would kill my soul not to, but it’s a thankless time. Do yourself a favour, jump off this train before it runs off the tracks. Unless you want it to be you wiping your bum with your fancy university degree with nothing to show for it in five years time belting classics for spare change next to a little dog man!

Dog Man: Hey… woof. 

Street Performer: An absolute farce!

Whatever Maya was expecting from the networking moment, it sure as hell wasn’t that. She’s dumbstruck, completely bowled over by this unanticipated reality check -- and not even sure how to move past it. She’s rooted to the spot, the rest of the world continuing on around her as if she’s not even there.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Jack is working on the final details of his reapplication, all the pieces polished and ready to submit. Just a tweak here and there… but something about the process feels emptier now. Like he’s doing it, but somehow, his heart is no longer in it. It’s hard to see how that could’ve happened, when this place has been his whole entire world for so long.

But there are new paths stretching out in front of him now… if he chooses to follow them. He releases a sigh and leans back, surveying the office that he’s inhabited for so many years. It’s strange to think that he could be anywhere else… but it doesn’t feel impossible anymore.

At the moment, though, he’s sure of one thing -- there’s somewhere else he’d rather be right now. Struck with inspiration, Jack pulls his laptop closer, settling into new work.

EXT. GARDNER HOME - CHARLIE’S BALCONY - DAY

Rosie and Charlie deposit the last of the graduation gifts on his bed for him to go through -- mainly envelopes, lots of money. Rosie scoffs as she sifts through them.

Rosie: I can’t believe this. People are basically paying you for getting through high school. This is such a double standard.

Charlie: What? How?

Rosie: Male privilege. Everyone just loves to hand you cash. You know what they’re going to give me when I graduate? Flowers. And like, probably gift cards to Pottery Barn.

Charlie: Hey, you can find some pretty neat things at a Pottery Barn if you look hard enough. And flowers are nice. I could go for some flowers.

Rosie: Of course you could. Nature boy. But flowers die in like a week, and I can’t buy movie tickets or eye shadow with $15 to Pottery Barn.

Charlie shakes his head, amused. Speaking of nature… the two of them meander their way out onto the balcony, opting for the pseudo-privacy and fresh air. After a full day of church community socializing, it’s nice to take in some quiet for a minute… until Rosie breaks it, surveying his room through the sliding door.

Rosie: Do you think I could swap the blinds on the door for drapes? I’m trying to decide how I’ll decorate once you’re gone and I take over your room.

Um, she thought! Charlie refutes this, claiming there’s no way she’s getting his room. He’s going to college, not military school, so he’ll still need a house to come back to every few months. And sorry, he’s not giving up his sacred balcony that easily.

Rosie: … so you’re planning on coming home? Or like to visit. At least sometimes?

Seems Rosie found an indirect way to ask the questions she really wants to know… Charlie realizes from the subtle nerves in her voice that this is the first time she’s had a sibling leave home since Bridgette. And she might be back now, in a surprise twist, but when she left the first time she really just left.

Charlie remembers how that felt. It would scare him too. He quietly assures her that he’s not planning on going anywhere for too long, and he’s never going to disappear out of her life.

Charlie: No matter where I am, or how long I’m there, you can always talk to me. You know that, right?

Rosie: … yeah. Yeah, I do. [ a beat ] I guess like… maybe I might miss you. Or something. Whatever.

No kidding… Rosie takes the chance to reiterate that Charlie can talk to her, too. About anything. She knows she’s the younger sibling and he’s like weird about taking pride in being the “role model” or whatever, but she’s getting older too. So if he wanted, he could talk to her about stuff. Like with Bridgette. And with him going off to college, there will probably be lots of new things to discuss.

She’s doing her best to tee him up… Charlie exhales a laugh, scratching his ear.

Charlie: Honestly, think there’s still plenty of stuff for us to discuss here.

Rosie: Like what? Daisy’s sudden career in climate change --

Charlie, quickly: That I’m gay.

Oh. Well there it is. Charlie obviously didn’t mean to stumble through it like that, to just spring it on her so haphazardly, but the instant he realized he was actually going to say it, it’s like it just slipped out. And the silence that follows doesn’t make it any less clunky, Charlie keeping his gaze anywhere but at her as he braces for potential rejection from one of the people he cares about most.

But Rosie isn’t going to reject him. In fact, she smiles instead, clearly pleased he finally said it.

Rosie: That’s nice.

Charlie: … you don’t sound surprised.

Rosie: I had my guesses. [ off his expression ] Charlie, you went with me to 1D concerts. You’ve never had a girlfriend. We’ve watched probably forty Riverdale makeout scenes together, and not once did you ever react to Cami Mendes or Lili Reinhart. The only time you ever reacted at all aside from getting all awkward was when I said KJ Apa looked good during a shirtless scene, and you agreed.

Charlie: I don’t even remember that --

Rosie: Also you’re like, the nicest boy I know, and I’m not just saying that because you’re my brother. In fact, the fact that you’re my brother and I’m still saying that shows how ridiculously nice you are. No straight boy is that nice. That was my main reasoning.

Well, damn. You think you’re covering all your bases… anyway, Rosie is just really, really glad he finally told her. That means a lot to her. And she promises, sincerely, that his truth is safe with her. He keeps her secrets and always protects her -- now it’s her turn to do the same.

And that’s clearly a relief to Charlie. His greatest fear was always that he’d fall from grace, that if she knew she’d no longer look up to him, but it seems like the opposite is true. He steps forward and pulls her into a hug, one that she happily reciprocates.

When they pull apart, she throws an “ew” out there, just for the sake of bratty sibling consistency. Charlie laughs and messes with her hair, telling her to ew herself. After a moment of silence, now that they’ve cleared things up, Rosie has a new topic she wants to unpack.

Rosie: So you had a boyfriend, right? Like a secret one.

Charlie: Um, what --

Rosie: Who was it? Charlie, tell me. I have to know now.

Charlie: No. No, mm mm, we’re not doing that.

Rosie: I have theories. Wait, just listen to my theories and tell me if I’m hot or cold.

Charlie: [ heading back into his room ] Nope. Not doing it.

Rosie: You need to tell me! I put research into this! I’m only asking you to hear out my potential suspects --

Charlie: La la la la la --

Rosie eagerly follows after him.

EXT. LONDON STREET - NIGHT

Audition over, Harper and Chai are on their way back to the hotel as evening falls. Chai excitedly talks about the course that she auditioned for and how student-focussed it is. Harper nods along, having already heard all of these earlier in the year when Chai was working on her application. 

Chai: You just don’t get this sort of stuff in America. You have to take so many different classes, you don’t get to just focus on your major. But here, they do specific courses. Honestly, there are degrees for everything under the sun. While I was researching I saw one for stand-up comedy. 

Harper: Not sure how I’d feel if I knew John Mulaney had a degree in comedy. Gives a totally different spin on the college bit he does. 

They change topic to London, Chai reminiscing on her time here as an exchange student and mentioning how excited she’ll be to come back if they accept her. 

Harper: I hate to dampen the mood, and I know you have your heart set on this place, but have you seriously thought about what moving here would mean? 

Chai: What do you mean?

Harper: You wouldn’t be moving here as a high school student. You’d be an adult. That means finding your own housing after freshman year, getting a job, building an entire new network when you already have one in New York. It’s not all red buses and hot accents, Chai. You’re entering the real world, with nobody to help you out. It’ll be damn hard. That’s not to say you shouldn’t do it, I fully believe you can. But you should really think about what studying here will be like.

Chai hadn’t really thought about it from that perspective before. Everyone she knows is in New York. Her entire support system is in New York. Would she be able to hack it on her own on a whole other continent?

But then again, does she really want to stay in New York for people who can cast her aside so easily? Her parents barely noticed she was gone during the exchange programme, and the way things are with Isadora right now… there’s not much tying her to the states. 

Noticing Chai’s now uncertain mood, Harper tries to lift her spirits by asking her if she’s excited for the rest of the trip. This does perk her up, but the questions surrounding her future are still strong in the forefront of her mind.

EXT. LONDON HOTEL - PATIO - NIGHT

Zay has stationed himself on the patio of the hotel restaurant, offering him a decent view of the city as the evening descends into night. Farkle peers out from inside the building and spots him, coming over to join him.

Farkle: Rooming with me and Maya truly that bad? You don’t have to hide out, you know. You could just ask us to cool it.

Zay: You know that joke doesn’t land when you know damn well telling you two to chill would do fuck all. Since when have you ever listened to me?

Farkle: Touché.

Zay: But no, amazingly, not every choice I make is about you. I’m just getting my fix of the nightlife before curfew. Based on how Eric cracked down on Nigel and Jade, I’m not trying to incur his chillingly supportive wrath.

Farkle: Understandable. Especially Eric’s unique brand of scary. Mind if I join?

Zay gestures blasély to the chair next to him, Farkle taking it. He asks Zay, now that he’s observed it so much, how he’d rank London.

Zay: Well, it’s no New York City, but it has its charms.

Farkle: Loyalist, I see.

Zay: NYC is a hellish pit, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. What can I say, it’s home.

True enough. They settle into silence for a few moments longer, Farkle actually lasting an impressively long time for his usual standard, before he breaks it again.

Farkle: I was hoping to ask you something.

Zay: Just when I thought you might actually manage a peaceful moment.

Farkle: Hey, I was quiet. For like, thirty seconds. And you should know me better than that at this point.

Zay: Unfortunately, I do. [ with a sigh ] Go on.

Farkle: Now that Maya’s told you about the business card… what would you do? If you were in my position?

Zay: I hope you realize that you stumbling into this opportunity, having a bona fide connection to the industry fall into your lap based solely on your talent and potential, and then saying fuck it and throwing it all away would be the most privileged white people shit ever. You do realise that, right?

Farkle: Yes, I’m aware of the potential optics.

Zay: Okay, good. Just checking. Otherwise… I mean, I guess the bigger question is why wouldn’t you? Go after it?

Farkle: Why wouldn’t I?

Zay: Yeah. Like I said, this is the kind of thing basically everyone at Adams would kill to have in their pocket coming out of graduation. And you appreciate that, obviously, if you’re seriously considering it. So that just leaves the question of why not? What’s making you hesitate?

Farkle contemplates the question, not sure he wants to face it. Because it means being vulnerable, and he’s never been especially good at that.

Farkle: I suppose it’s just like… it’s kind of what you said. New York is home. You know? And I know that’s part of what college is all about, leaving the nest and all that, but… I like the way things are here. I like… [ searching for the words ] I know the city. I know the culture, I know the people. I love the people. Everybody I love is in New York.

Zay knows that feeling. He nods.

Farkle: And for a long time… the friends I have now are everything to me. I know what it’s like to have nothing, to have no one in your corner. I don’t ever want to go back to that. I’m just worried that… if I go away, if I put those aside to pursue this thing that might not even pan out… it’s not worth the trade. I know now that it’s not an even trade. And I’m so good at accidentally fucking everything up… [ timid ] I don’t want to risk chasing the dream somewhere unknown if it means losing my team.

Given Farkle’s history, Zay can see how this concern is particularly gripping for him. And the root of his fear is something all of them are feeling -- everything is about to change in a few weeks, they’re all going to go their separate ways, and there’s no way to know that these friendships will hold. Especially if they go in such different directions.

Still, can’t put your life on hold to cling to the way things are.

Zay: I get what you mean. I had my diva phase this year, you saw it, so you know I know what I’m talking about. I get how chasing after one thing can feel like you’re neglecting the other, that this stupid art kind of makes us so crazy that we push everyone else away in the pursuit of it. I think it’s a valid worry.

Farkle: Yeah?

Zay: Yes. But I don’t think that means you shouldn’t do it. I think you just have to find your balance -- which you should be good at now, considering how much damage control you’ve already had to do.

Farkle: Fair point.

Zay: As for the distance… look, I’m not gonna act like I’m some kind of expert. I’ve been in the same place my whole life. I’m not planning to go far if everything goes as planned, least for now. And being away from people you care about sucks, no matter how big or small the space between you. But… sometimes it’s necessary. Sometimes it’s for the better, getting some separation from the way things are.

Farkle: Really? You think so?

Zay: Yeah. I didn’t always, trust me, but it’s like… sometimes I guess it’s like you get stuck, and the only way to get past it and continue to grow is to step back. Branch out on your own, see who you are without that crutch. And the thing is, man, if someone is really your friend, they’d want you to do that. If we’re all just trying to find the best version of ourselves, and someone cares about you, then they’d want that for you too.

Farkle: Huh...

Zay: I don’t know what I’m saying, okay, I’m just talking out of my ass here. I’m not Riley, I don’t have the perfect advice. But I just think that… there’s no guarantee that going somewhere different, leaving the life you have right now, is going to irreparably damage everything. Especially if you’re doing it for a good reason, like pursuing your passion. And if your friends are true friends, they’ll push you towards that goal rather than pulling you back. If someone really loves you, they’ll want to see you at your best. They’ll set you free… and if it all works out, and you come back stronger for it, then even better.

Took Zay a lot of struggle on his own to reach that conclusion, but it seems like he’s pretty sure of it. And Farkle evidently appreciates the honesty, absorbing the sentiments and trying to figure out what that means for him.

Zay: I don’t know if that helps. Like I said, I’m just talking.

Farkle: No, no, you’re -- it does. Thanks, Zay. [ off his nod ] You know, you’re part of it. That team I don’t want to fuck up.

That’s sweet. A little weird, since they don’t really do the whole sentimental thing with each other, but it’s clear it means something to Zay. He clears his throat.

Zay: Well, don’t worry about hopping to LA, then. Your fun facts and trivia are going to kill this thing way before long distance ever would.

It’s true, distance makes no difference on whether he’s annoying or not. Farkle laughs, raising his hands in surrender. Then he grants Zay what he’s been asking for this whole time -- some actual quiet, leaving him be after thanking him again for the help.

Zay settles back in his chair, leisurely rotating his left ankle to keep it loose. Although he’s finally starting to wean off the habit, given how useless reception has been, he pulls his phone from his pocket and nonchalantly checks it anyway. Not expecting much.

So it’s a major shock to discover he has a notification in his email -- from Turner Academy. Even just from the message preview on his lock screen, he can see what it says.

Your portal status has been updated.

Zay jolts upright, cursing to himself. Heart suddenly pounding, his hands shake as he unlocks his phone and pulls up his web browser to log into the portal. He needs the wi-fi to hold together just long enough for him to look… but then he hesitates. Does he want to know? Is he ready to know? Is he prepared to face the consequences of whatever he finds out?

The hesitation only lasts a second. Yes, he’s ready -- he’s been ready. He’s ready for the torture to be over, to have closure either way. He clicks into the portal and selects the dropdown menu for application status, which has a notification bubble indicating it’s been updated.

It takes eons to load with the shitty internet. Zay holds his breath, watching the wheel in the center of the screen spin.

Then it loads. Zay takes a couple of seconds to read… and his expression shifts not to elation or devastation, but confusion. He reads the message again, then over again, even refreshing the page to make sure he’s not getting an error.

But the status displayed remains the same.

Additional Action Required. Please call the admissions office to learn about your admission status.

It takes a few more moments for that to properly sink in. Then Zay frowns.

Zay: What the everloving fuck --

EXT. LONDON HOTEL - DIVA ROOM - BALCONY - NIGHT

Maya is taking in the same scenery on the tiny balcony outside their room, though her expression is far more melancholy. She’s lost in thought, not even noticing when Farkle returns to the room.

He pokes his head out and greets her, leaning back against the doorframe. He asks if she’s okay, as she’s been uncharacteristically demure since they left Covent Garden. She brushes off his concern, claiming she’s just absorbing the spirit of the city before they go waste the next few days out in the middle of nowhere.

Farkle: I wouldn’t call Stratford or Liverpool the middle of nowhere.

Maya: To each their own.

She delivers it with her usual melodramatic snark, but Farkle is right that there’s a muted quality to it. The easy confidence isn’t quite as sharp as it usually is, and a seasoned veteran of Maya Hart can tell the difference.

Still, she assures him that she’s fine, so he lets it be. He suggests she not stay out photosynthesizing too long -- they’ve got an early start tomorrow as they head out of the city. She nods him along, waving off his concerns.

Farkle: By the way, I am seriously considering my choices. I’m going to give the LA opportunity all the thought it deserves. I promise.

Maya, delicately: I know. I know you are.

Farkle steps back inside, gently cracking the balcony door behind him. Maya watches him disappear into the bathroom nook, waiting until she’s alone again to let the facade crumble. She turns to face the city twinkling around her, confidence zapped entirely. It’s clear the words of the Garden performer really hit her, that they’re taking a toll she didn’t anticipate anything could.

Even with the best performing education money -- or scholarship -- can buy, could it still all be for nothing? Is it even worth it? And even more terrifying, is the dream even accessible at all, or is she destined to discover that she’s wasted the best years of her life chasing a passion that she’ll never be able to catch -- even with all the talent, drive, and preparation she can muster?

Could everything she believes in actually be totally, utterly empty?

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Where Is Love?” as performed by Oliver! London Palladium Cast || Performed by Maya Hart (starting at 2:25)

Acting as a reprise of sorts, Maya eases into her own rendition of the West End classic by singing through the final verse and chorus. But it’s a meek performance, timid in a way Maya never is, real fear and uncertainty cracking the notes in her delivery.

Becoming a star has been her driving force for as long as she can remember. If the dream isn’t real, then where is love?

INT. CHUBBIES - DAY

It seems a day trip to Albany and gate-crashing a graduation party are the fires that forge friendship, because Charlie and Lucas are hanging out again. They’re not doing much, Charlie writing thank you notes at the counter while Lucas goofs off during another slow shift, but they’re choosing to occupy the same space while they do, which is certainly not nothing.

That, and they seem remarkably at ease around one another for having only just really started talking. At least enough to do silly, dumb shit that boys find entertaining -- Lucas has built a catapult out of silverware, assuring Charlie that he’s got many hours of food-flinging expertise under his belt and he’s about to see a champion in action. This is very important, complicated Chubbies work at play. Then he picks a fry off Charlie’s half-finished plate and loads the catapult spoon with it, pausing for dramatic effect.

Lucas: Ready… ready… 3, 2 --

He hits the base of the spoon and sends the fry flying into the air, easily managing to catch it in his mouth. An expert champion indeed, clearly of very important matters. Charlie gives him a round of applause, Lucas holding his arms out in victory and giving a pseudo-bow.

Charlie: Wow. I see why they pay you the big bucks.

Lucas: Damn straight.

Lucas just starts to load the catapult up again when Jack pushes into the diner, spotting him and marching over. He seems a bit frazzled, a man on a mission, but there’s an excitement charging his movements. An almost youthful glow about him, eyes twinkling with a mischief you’d never see when he’s in the halls of Adams.

Lucas: Jack? What are you doing --

Jack: Good, you’re here. I was hoping you would be. [ noticing Charlie ] Oh, hi, Mister Gardner. You’re here too. That’s nice.

Charlie: Um, hi, Principal Hunter.

Lucas: Everything okay? You seem a little --

Jack: You want to go to London?

That stops Lucas in his tracks. His eyebrows shoot up, completely caught off guard.

Lucas: What?

Jack: I’m going to London. You want to come to London? Because if you want to go, we can go. I’m going.

Charlie, uncertain: Maybe I should go...

Jack: Oh, Charlie, you can come too. I’ve got an extra ticket. I was going to invite Shawn, but… you know, you’d actually probably appreciate it more.

Charlie: I -- um -- ?

Lucas, bluntly: Are you on crack?

He sure seems high on something all right. But no, Jack Hunter is one-hundred percent sober, and one-hundred percent serious. He’s cruising on the freedom of new beginnings, and he just might take the two of them along for the ride. 

Charlie: Principal Hunter, sir, I’m --

Jack: You can call me Jack, you know. You’re not my student anymore.

Charlie: … right. Well, Princi -- Jack -- you just said it. I don’t go to Adams anymore.

Jack: Yeah, well, you don’t go to Haverford anymore either, do you? So you’re not really anything, technically. And you know we had you for three years, which is more than enough in my book.

Lucas: I can’t go on the trip. I don’t have the money, remember?

Jack: As if most of your peers aren’t on the trip on their parents’ dime. And I’m here with a spare ticket -- it’s not a matter of “can” you, it’s a matter of “will” you. Obviously, no one has to go if they don’t want to, but that’s exactly my question.

A question that completely turned their worlds upside down. It’s truly crazy, how things can change in the blink of an eye -- one moment you’re wandering Los Angeles, you’re participating in a student protest, you’re signing thank-you cards and catapulting French fries, and in the next an opportunity comes knocking that could change everything.

The question is, do you answer the door? Do you take the leap?

Jack: So? Are we going, or what?

Charlie stares at Jack, dumbstruck, then shifts his gaze to Lucas. Are they? Lucas contemplates the offer… then he locks eyes with Jack.

The subtlest of smiles sneaks onto his face.

TO BE CONTINUED.

END OF EPISODE.

[mashiraostail]

IT'S SPOOKY SEASON! How would Aizawa, Vlad King, Midnight and Present Mic feel about a small Seamstress S/O who LOVES Halloween, like the MOMENT August moves to September and the weather starts getting cooler they bring out the pumpkin spice candles, big comfy sweaters, pumpkin spice lattes and Halloween decor, bonus points if they bake pumpkin treats :3

HALLOWEEN TIME!! Halloween oreos Halloween oreos Halloween oreos Halloween oreos Halloween oreos >:3 

Aizawa: He’s pretty indifferent to seasonal stuff, his wardrobe is usually ever unchanging and his favorite foods are mostly year-round things, though all the black cat decorations are enjoyable and he likes seeing his kids get excited about the season so he’s no scrooge about it.  He’s more than happy to let you decorate your living space if you share it, and if you don’t he’ll even let you decorate his too, he’ll probably even ask you to come with him to get things for his students to decorate as well.  He’s probably a disastrous baker but he’ll linger around you if you’re baking, especially if you ask him to keep you company while you do.  Put him to work on the easy stuff, melting butter, chopping nuts, oiling pans etc.. measuring isn’t really his forte. Despite your initial disbelief, he’d do a couple costume is you asked him incredibly nicely (you’ll probably owe him a favor...or five) despite how he may act though he probably enjoys it. Not a huge fan of sweet drinks himself but he’ll surprise you with them if he has the extra time, out on patrol, if he knows you’re working late, etc.. if you work together you can expect one on your desk once or twice a week, exactly how you like it even if you don’t remember ever telling him your order.  Scary movies don’t bother him so feel free to drag him into a marathon of them, he’ll lay back on the couch and watch with you when you’ve got the downtime. Be wary though, if you get scared he’s probably gonna make fun of you just a little. His favorite thing about the season is for sure the smells, nutmegs, gingers, pumpkin etc...he likes the sharp scent of fall and the neutral colors are also pretty enjoyable for him. But on top of that, he just likes seeing other people be excited about it, even if he acts like a stick in the mud sometimes but you know just like everyone else he’s pretty soft where it matters. He always gives himself away by coming to you and talking about how Mina scares Denki every morning without fail for the ‘spirit of the season’ or the running list of what to dress Bakugou up as for the holiday (top contender is currently: q-tip). get a sexy cat costume Sekijiro: Come on his hero name is a vampire joke  He probably likes it much more than he lets on, and like Aizawa, he loves watching his kids get excited about it. He probably lets them pick a costume for him every year (it’s usually some type of vampire) He’d be overjoyed to decorate with you, and will definitely leave up the decorations until it’s time to change for the winter season.  He loves seeing all the foliage change color too, go on a few walks with him before it gets too cold (even after, he’ll just wrap an arm around you, but he’ll say he feels bad keeping you outside in the cold).  I feel like he really loves fall seasonal drinks and stuff, maybe not the signature pumpkin spice but something akin to it may be slightly less sweet. But he’ll try anything you offer him and pretend to like it even if he doesn’t for the sake of not killing your excitement.  He always makes a mental note of the things you like to surprise you every so often. He likes baking with you even if he’s not always great at it, but he’s a pro at kneading dough, for obvious reasons, he’s also good for hand-mixing, and eating batter (”You’re setting such a bad example for your students! Stop you’ll get sick!” “They can’t even see me!”) Also totally down for a couples costume, he’ll think it’s funny and cute of you to want to match with him so he’ll definitely do it, and if his students don’t already know about you and suggest one he’ll even let them know he’s got to be able to match with someone this year.  Super loves scary movies, classic monster stuff Dracula, The Blob, anything Junji Ito, he doesn't mind newer stuff but sometimes its a hair too gorey/sexual to be tasteful for him. They don’t scare him, for the most part, there’s just one very specific thing that bothers him (It’s Teke Teke, even just mentioning it is enough to send a shiver up his spine, seriously don’t even joke about it he’ll cry and be mad at you for at least two days or until you give him a heartfelt apology without laughing because it’s “seriously not funny babe come on”) If you have made the mistake of making a Teke Teke joke at him in the past and he discovers even a single thing you are afraid of he will hold it over your head, don’t think he’s not that petty. But he’ll only do it as payback. If you're nice about Teke Teke he will promise to protect you from whatever awful movie monster scares you. If you aren’t well then you’ll just have to face Tomie yourself, unfortunately, “sorry babe but it’s about time to shape up, looks like it’s just you and Tomie now, alright well, goodnight” *clicks off lamp* (of course, he will cave in mere minutes and promise to protect you especially if you actually look scared and his joke didn’t calm you down at all) Don’t worry no evil movie monsters will get to you with Vlad around. get a sexy vampire costume 

Nemuri: Loves Halloween, please fall is this woman’s bread and butter, the fashion is impeccable it smells great and Halloween costumes are so much fun. She’ll 1000% try to rope you into some overtly sexy costume for her own enjoyment even if that sort of thing isn’t your speed, she’s gonna beg, just for one night. Loves decorating probably has the 12-foot skeleton from home depot. Her and Hizashi probably scare the crap out of their students at least once a year, some insane grand scheme that Aizawa and Vlad both know in and out but won't bother tell tell their students if they are unlucky enough to be the targets of it. If you work at UA with her and even think about ratting her out she’ll sniff it out from a mile away and then you’ll be at the top of the duo’s hit list.  Put simply...there is no option but a couple's costume. You will be matching if its the last thing she does.  Loves the seasonal drinks, pumpkin spice is her jam, whenever you pick one up get her one too she’ll thank you generously, and she’ll always have one for you too.  She’s pretty good at baking but not nearly patient enough for it, she’ll distract you halfway through and by the end of the night, all you’ll have is a half made batter, a preheated oven, and some hickeys.  Serial candle lighter and buyer. It’s an addiction, honestly, the smell of nutmeg may be so overpowering that you have to blow one out. At least the mood lighting is nice.  Also loves scary movies and will watch as many as you want, she may jump during them but they’re quick to leave her mind after so if you’re a scaredy-cat she’ll tease you but in the end she’s got a few pretty good methods for distracting you. She loves the season herself but she loves watching you get excited about it, seeing you hobble in the door with arms full of decorations and baking goods just brings her so much joy. The first time you break out a classic fall sweater she’ll compliment you for hours and steal it to wear the next day. get a sexy devil costume

Hizashi: Also loves the season and Halloween, hates all the spiders though, eugh. Not so bad if they’re all fake which normally they are. Aizawa is on his shit list for leaving a huge fake one on his desk chair one day, he tied a string to it and when Hizashi pulled his chair out started tugging the string, seriously he screamed so loud Nemuri thought someone was being abducted.  Though he’s usually good at getting people back on those sorts of things, but Aizawa is notoriously hard to scare so it’s just been festering for years.  As mentioned for Nemuri, they definitely pair up and come up with some huge scheme to scare like at least 10 kids at once, ideally a whole class. It takes weeks of planning, usually happens somewhere around the middle of the month, anyone who has had the misfortune of being part of the target group before always gets tense around that time of year as they are very effective (Tamaki and Mirio have been scared three years in a row, Mirio handles it very well but Tamaki does not come to school for two days after). He loves to bake, he’s probably decent at it too but he makes a huge mess, and he gets distracted too easily if you kiss him or touch him at all you will (similar to with Nemuri) just be left with a half-finished recipe and slightly sore thighs. It’s not his fault. it is Couple costume or Halloween simply does not happen. That's the law! The cheesier and sillier the better, please.  He can either love pumpkin spice or hate it depending on the cafe, but he’s addicted to surprising you with little fall treats so expect plenty.  Big apple cider guy though.  He’ll watch a horror movie with you sure. he’s not afraid of most, but the really good ones will get him, slashers don’t bother him, ghosts are fine, home invasions are nothing, but demons? Eugh. Also bugs of course. An over the top gore makes him squirm. If it’s one of those maybe invite Eraser to deal with his quirk because of the screaming. Your neighbors will think you’re trying to murder the poor man, though you’re probably no better. He likes getting scared with you though so don’t worry about it, and like Nemuri he usually forgets about it afterward.  if he finds it to be a slow, boring movie expect to get sidetracked, especially if you’re jumpy, he’ll put an arm around you and pull out all the classic cheesy moves and lines until he can coax you over. Loves carving pumpkins, seriously loves it so much probably dedicates a class period to it. Will carve a matching set with you if you ask (in his eyes it’s something akin to a marriage proposal so be mindful when you do ask). get a sexy maid costume

[honey-dewey]

Random Dewey Finn headcanons (?) I came up with while eating my breakfast

Before Dewey wanted to be a big rock star, he wanted to be an astronaut. 

His aunt gave him his first guitar for his 10th birthday, thus sparking his love of rock music. 

One of the major reasons he never quit music was because of that aunt. She passed away early, and was constantly the only member of his family that truly believed in him. 

Dewey’s mum was kind of absent, so he was raised primarily by his dad. 

Dewey and Ned met on the first day of high school, and were inseparable for all four years. 

Despite both of them liking both, Dewey likes Star Wars more, while New prefers Star Trek. They have debates of epic proportion over which of these preferences is better. Dewey somehow always wins. 

One of the reasons Ned let Dewey live with him is because Dewey is an amazing cook. He never eats what he makes though. 

His specialty is breakfast foods

While he may be an amazing home cook, he’s an even better baker. 

Dewey is highly sensitive to textures, especially food and fabrics. 

Because of this, he rarely tries new foods, sticking to a decently firm schedule. (He really likes hard boiled eggs) 

It’s also why he likes sweater vests. The actual sweater doesn’t touch his skin, but he can rub his hands up and down the knit when he gets overwhelmed. 

He’s also sensitive to criticism. Along with that, he cries easily. 

After the whole School of Rock incident, Dewey did some quick online classes on teaching. When a music teacher position at Horace Green opened up, he was the first one contacted to fill it. 

During SoR shows, Dewey has a tendency to get very hyped, and this eventually leads to a collapse, usually on the bus ride home. It happened once on stage, where he just went still and quiet all of a sudden and then began to panic. 

All of his kids know exactly what to do during his collapses. 

They made him (yes made him) a stress doll. It weighs about twenty pounds and looks like a panda. They lay it across Dewey’s chest and let him lie down on a blanket. The kids then surround him to make a protective barrier. It’s a very effective method. 

It took almost thirty years for Dewey to get diagnosed with mild autism, anxiety, ADD, and seasonal depression. His mother was a firm believer that mental illness was a hoax. 

He did try and take medication for it, right when he started teaching full-time. It made him nauseous and tired and so unlike himself that he quit after three months, a decision that was fully backed by his students. 

He eventually did go back and get a new prescription for his ADD. It works surprisingly well and doesn’t make him act any less like himself. 

This isn’t even a Headcanon. It’s straight up actual canon from the Broadway.com Stick it to the Man video! Dewey stims! He knocks his wrists together and does the raptor hands! (I don’t think his hands were truly by his side at any point during the entire show) He taps his feet and shakes his hands! His facial expressions are always on 10 and he scronches his face when he’s excited! His head go bop! He’s a stimming Boi!

Also have you ever seen a neurotypical person dress like that? Ever? Nope. Sweater vests and jeans and sneakers (that look like heelys) is not a neurotypical outfit. 

Dewey doesn’t like rainy weather, nor does he like the cold bite of winter. He has a heater and a happy light in his classroom for rainy and/or cold days. 

His favorite season is fall. He really really likes to step on leaves and hear that satisfying crunch. 

Dewey also has a weakened immune system, and is pretty vigilant about his health. He takes vitamins and vitamin D supplements, and yet always ends up with some kind of illness in winter. Despite this, he refuses to get any kind of flu shot. 

Dewey’s list of phobias includes: needles, heights, clowns, and the dark. 

He’s dead terrified of the dentist. Ned has to practically drag him every time. It’s not even that he has poor dental hygiene or has actual odontophobia, he just hates the experience. The combination of strong smells and uncomfortable touches and horrible noises overwhelms him so much. 

For much of the same reasons as his hatred of the dentist, Dewey dreads getting his hair cut. Social interaction mixed with weird feelings on his surprisingly sensitive head and the constant background noise and the hair spray-y smell make it an experience Dewey’s hated since childhood. Now, Ned usually cuts Dewey’s hair because he’s really not picky about how it looks, and Ned knows exactly how to go about the job without causing Dewey to hyperventilate and cry. 

He uses a night light! It’s the fun kind that projects stars on the ceiling. 

Dewey is the king of field trips. He’s always just as eager as the kids to go, and he loves to learn niche facts. His favorite field trip location is the aquarium. 

Dewey quit drinking after his 23rd birthday, when he blacked out and woke up in some random girl’s bed. She promised they didn’t do it, but ever since then, he’s terrified it’ll happen again. 

Speaking of which, Dewey’s a virgin. 

Once, one of Dewey’s female students came to him and said an older man was following her to and from school every day. Dewey was later suspended from work for a week for punching a man and putting him in the hospital. Once they knew why, the school board unanimously decided not to punish him. 

Dewey absolutely insists all of his kids call him Dewey and not Mr. Finn. 

He’s the most supportive teacher in the entire school. He’s got name tags on every desk with each kid’s preferred name and pronouns. When Billy comes out as non-binary, he makes the pronoun switch immediately and puts a beautiful stained glass-esque progress pride flag in one of his windows. 

Someone hatefully vandalized said pride art project and Dewey actually cried. His kids all banded together to make a new one. 

Sometimes, the kids purposefully ask Dewey to sing certain things because his voice gets so damn tender and beautiful, as opposed to the usual bombastic singing they’re used to. (Think like. Some of the 35MM songs) 

Dewey has a routine with his drinks throughout the day. Two cups of coffee in the morning, one at home and one at work. One water bottle before lunch and one after lunch. A Gatorade or some other fitness drink after school, usually during band practice to make up for how sweaty he gets. And one cup of lavender citrus tea with extra honey after dinner. 

He broke his only water bottle about four months into teaching full-time and started to use a plastic one every day. Ned decided that wouldn’t do, and got him a Mandalorian water bottle. Dewey loves it to bits. 

Dewey doesn’t celebrate any one version of a holiday. He’s equal opportunity for any and all holidays, but he grew up Jewish. That doesn’t stop him from helping Ned put up his Christmas tree every year. Nor does it stop him from celebrating Yule with his online friends. 

Despite being Jewish and mainly celebrating their holidays, Dewey loves Christmas music and starts playing it as soon as he can. The kids dare him to hit those ridiculous Mariah Carey high notes in All I Want For Christmas. He does it. 

He also once sang ‘Little Drummer Boy’ to his kids the day before holiday break. He only played his guitar softly and by the time he was done, each and every kid was fast asleep. (He played Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer as well) 

Dewey absolutely collects soft blankets. He has four halloween ones, two Tim Burton ones (a Beetlejuice and a Corpse Bride), eight winter holiday blankets, and three miscellaneous. He brought them all into class once and built a blanket fort to teach his kids about ancient civilization. 

Speaking of which, his teaching methods are unorthodox at best, and at worst downright crazy. But he always teaches and he always makes it memorable. His class has the highest test scores in the school. 

Dewey usually teaches using music or hands on activities. He plays soft background music during every class no matter the circumstances, and said screw the building’s lights and uses primarily lamps and strings of Christmas lights. 

He also kind of forgets that he teaches essentially middle school, and he swears every so often when he’s super passionate. Like when he taught the kids about the US Presidents and called Andrew Jackson a racist bitch and Richard Nixon a lying bastard. 

After getting bullied throughout all of high school, Dewey came to terms with what his body looked like, and now he really doesn’t care. (He did have a lot of fun smashing the scale his mother got him for his birthday once) 

Dewey was supposed to teach his kids about mental illness for a suicide prevention thing the school did, but got about halfway through before he had a breakdown and the kids declared the rest of the day a bust. They watched cute animated movies instead of learning for the rest of the school day. 

Speaking of animated movies, Dewey really loves Studio Ghibli. 

The first time one of his kids called him ‘Dad’ he cried. Then they kept doing it and now he’s had to accept that he’s basically a father to about 30 11-year-olds. 

If you ask any kid in the school who their favorite teacher is, they will not hesitate to answer ‘Mr. Finn.’ Even if they aren’t in his class, he’s their favorite. 

Dewey’s classroom is always open for lunch. It’s quiet and calm, usually with a movie going in the background. 

He also stays after school for about an hour every day, helping kids with homework. He hates math with a passion but that didn’t stop him from trying to figure out Katie’s math homework with her. 

Even at home, Dewey cannot stand the quiet. He either has his headphones on or the radio going. Silence just isn’t an option. 

Dewey once got pneumonia and tried to come in to work anyway. The kids made him go home. He didn’t really put up much of a fight. 

The first instrument Dewey ever learned to play was the piano. He started to learn when he was super young, and that was how he learned how to read music. His kids didn’t even know he knew how to play until they walked in on him practicing one day. 

Dewey says ‘fuck gender roles’ and wears the girl’s skirts to a few SoR concerts. He likes the way it makes his legs look. 

Some jerk parents constantly tried to get Dewey in trouble for months because they didn’t like him and thought he wasn’t ‘high class’ enough for their kid’s education. Dewey was so stunned when they showed up during one of his classes that he couldn’t speak and just started to cry. Said student stood up and called their parents out. Two days later, those parents were off the school board. 

Meanwhile, on the other end of the spectrum, Dewey found out a new kid he’d received was being abused at home because they weren’t getting high enough grades and he yelled at the kid’s parents in front of all the other staff members. 

Essentially, Dewey can’t defend himself at all, but will not hesitate to protect his kids. 

Dewey has said multiple times he would die for his kids. He’s always 100% serious, especially during lockdown drills. 

Once, the school had a lockdown that wasn’t a drill, and Dewey managed to keep his entire class silent and calm while mentally preparing himself to lay his life down for his kids. Thankfully, it didn’t come to that. 

Dewey’s also said he’d seriously consider adopting any of the kids if their at-home situation was that bad. 

When he finally could, Dewey moved out of Ned’s house and into his own cramped loft apartment. He’s in love with the apartment, even though it’s tiny and kinda smells. 

Dewey has almost no concept of volume control. He’s slightly deaf from constantly doing very loud shows and sometimes shouts because he thinks that’s a normal speaking volume. 

As one of, if not the actual, youngest teachers at the school, Dewey is universally adored by the rest of the staff. It took a while for all of them to get on board with him, but now they all really like him. 

Dewey’s favorite fruit is pomegranate. There’s just something super cathartic about cutting into a pomegranate and slowly de-seeding it. Plus, it tastes super good. But he only likes them if he can de-seed them himself. 

One of the ways Dewey grounds himself is by pressing things to his mouth. He usually just puts his hand up on his face or the end of a pen in his mouth, but whenever he has a blanket, one corner is up against his lips. The same goes for stuffed animals. They’re always against his face. Most of the time, he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. 

[soramel]

Chained to you (Part 2)

genre: angst, romance, unconventional relationship warning: eventual smut A/N: cross-posted from wattpad; updates are uploaded there first

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Part 2 words: 5.7k

The car rolled off to a much narrower street an hour later. The place he's driving into is in the middle of the woods. You wondered if you actually led yourself into his bear trap. "You're not going to kill me here, are you?" you asked in a serious tone although you intended it to sound like a joke.

You became a bit nervous when Taehyung didn't respond.

A decent modern cabin appeared in your line of sight. Its façade is adorned with huge thick glass panes. The car turned to a halt. "We're here," he announced.

Still unsure of the situation, you shook your head then headed out of the car anyway.

An old couple welcomed you to the place. They were wearing warm smiles as they greeted Taehyung and you.

"It's been a long time, Taehyung. You've grown so much." the older woman gushed. Taehyung politely chuckled as he gave them brief hugs, "I missed you and uncle a lot. Sorry for coming in a short notice."

The older man laughed, "It's alright, we regularly clean the cabin so it's not much of a preparation. Let's head inside first. I'll take your luggage, Ma'am."

You shyly gripped your bag, not wanting the old man to carry a light luggage for you. He reminds you so much of your grandfather, "It's not heavy. I can carry it myself, sir."

He waved his hand off and said, "I insist. You're a special guest here, allow me."

But really, you couldn't.

Taehyung held you by your waist and said, "Let uncle take your bag, we still have to show you around the house."

That was just an excuse for you to let go, but there's something in his tone saying that you should follow what he's saying. So, you conceded, giving your bag to the man.

As you walk inside, the lady briefly briefs Taehyung as to how the cabin has been. You saw paintings and some interesting ornaments. The place looks like an ideal vacation house for holidays.

"I cooked your favorite. It's not much because I just brought some stocks from our quarters instead of buying from the market. We'll head out later to shop," the lady told Taehyung. Then he politely said his thanks.

The old couple climbed up the wooden staircase while you and Taehyung followed behind. They led you to a room. He then turned to them and took your bag from the man. "I'll take it from here, auntie, uncle. We'll go to the dining room after."

The lady replied, "Ah, we'll be leaving now for the market. We'll leave you by yourselves."

You bowed at them as they turned on their way.

He then closed the door and headed to the office table and set your bag there. "They're our caretakers here. If you need something, you can ask them."

You nodded as you looked around the room. It's minimally decorated that you guessed it's a guestroom. It has its own little walk-in closet and bathroom. You walked back and saw Taehyung sitting by the couch at the foot of the bed, watching you. "Is there wifi here?" you asked. He nodded, "You can ask auntie later for the password."

You sat on the bed, deep in your thoughts. Now what? you wondered. Maybe you can book a flight to somewhere. Doesn't matter where that is. Running away from all of this is still the most appealing thing to your mind right now. But what about your responsibilities?

You were pulled out of your reverie when Taehyung spoke.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

Raising a brow at him you retorted, "You're still here?"

"You intrigue me, princess."

You scoffed at that. "A lot of people are interested in my life. You're welcome for having the front seat."

"Hmm... I don't think I'm a mere audience. Am I not your knight?" he asked with that teasing smile on his face that you badly want to wipe off.

"I'll be downstairs. I'm sure you're hungry. Don't take too long," he said before heading towards the door, leaving you alone.

#

"You can stay here as long as you want, Y/n. It's safer," he told you after the meal. He was watching you the whole time as if you're a puzzle that he's trying to figure out. You're used to being watched but having this kind of attention from him is bothersome.

You sighed, torn between freeing yourself from this and your responsibilities to your employees. Back in the room, that was the only time when you think about the post you left today. A one day off won't hurt, but how long can you go on like this? It's such a waste that your professional life is too tied with your personal one. Running away from all of this will also give your opponents a reason to kick you out. Not everyone is in favor of having a young single woman in a high position.

"That night..." you started. He then waited for you to continue. He had a hint on what you wanna talk about. "Did you know that it was me?" you finally asked. It felt like you just dropped a bomb in the silent dining hall. He didn't reply right away, weighing your expression. So you told him, "Tell me the truth."

Without hesitation he then admitted, "Yes, I knew it was you."

You were dumbfounded at his revelation. You were suspicious but it feels different coming straight from him. He then said, "But I wasn't planning on sleeping with you that night," for a second, uneasiness flashed his eyes, different from his usual calculated yet playful persona. "But I guess, I'm just a man with needs. You were smoking hot in that skimpy dress," he added further, throwing you a smirk. Then he's back again to the man you knew.

That afternoon, you opened your phone and started making calls. Instructing your secretary to send you urgent matters through email.

"But ma'am, what about your scheduled meetings?" he asked after noting down your instructions.

Sighing, "Who are the ones for this week?" you asked. He cited a long list in a timeline order, telling you that he already had the meetings for this day on hold until further notice. Most of them were for internal purposes and some were proposals from other companies.

"Meeting with finance and marketing will be done online. Same time. For the others, have them send their written reports. I'll expect those in my inbox on the day of the scheduled meeting. For the proposals, send me their pitch but if they insist on meeting me personally, have it on hold."

You felt sorry for him, the work sounded a lot but you needed to prioritize. "I'm sorry, Jae. I have personal matters to settle and I'll come back as soon as I can. Just give me a week."

"It's okay, Ms. Y/n. You've been working hard for the past months. Don't worry too much. I hope everything will be fine soon," he said though he's wondering what kind of problem you're having to not go to work given that news about your engagement just got released. He assumed you're spending more time with your fiancé now that he just got back from America.

"That's all, I'll be waiting for your emails by the end of the day," you told him before ending the call.

Now all you have to do is wait. You sighed, slumping yourself back on the bed. However, peace didn't last that long as your phone rang again. Your friend Sunmi's calling.

Annoyed, you still picked up the call to make her stop, "Sunmi," you greeted, your voice cold. "The news of your engagement was like wildfire online. They're saying it's the same man that you were with that night. How can that happen?" she asked frantically. Then followed up, "Are you okay? I'm worried."

"I had no idea they're the same. I don't remember his face, that's why. And I'm okay. Don't worry."

Still, that didn't send her comfort. "Where are you? I'll visit you," she said, her voice laced with concern.

You shook your head, "Don't. I'm with Taehyung. We went outside town," you told her wishing that this would make her stop.

"Look, Sunmi, I'm really busy and I'm still working remotely. Again, I'm doing fine and don't worry too much. It's burdening. I'm an adult," you added. You sounded harsh over the line and it made you feel a bit sorry, but you didn't take back what you said.

She then said, "Okay. Just take care of yourself," before the line went off.

#

So, for the next few days, you sulked inside the room, working. Taehyung did the same. He stayed true to his words when he told you that evening that he'll be keeping his eyes on you. You just bump into each other when you go to the dining room for lunch or dinner. Neither of your parents disturbed you knowing that you guys are together. Taehyung assured them that you're doing fine.

Feeling stuffy for burrowing in your own hole for the past two days, you went out to work in the living room. You were on the sofa when the door to your right opened, revealing Taehyung. He's wearing black shirt and shorts. That room was his office, you took a glimpse of it yesterday when you were taking a coffee break. His brow raised up when he saw you dressed up.

"I have an online meeting at 10," you simply said even though he didn't ask. Today's meeting is with the marketing department.

He simply nodded, then said, "I thought you'll be thinking over things, Y/n. But you only drowned yourself with work."

"Just keep on being a good boy, alright? I might reconsider being married to you," you retorted. That earned a smirk from him then followed by an incredulous chuckle. You didn't mean what you said though. You still wanted out of the arrangement. You were thinking of alternatives that you can present to your parents and the Kims. Those thoughts have been keeping you up at night.

Taehyung finally left you alone, heading towards the kitchen. You set up your things on the table and waited for the call.

When he came back to your area, you were already discussing with the marketing team, asking them questions about the powerpoint they sent you. He sat on the single-seater couch, watching you while sipping his coffee. You couldn't help but raise a brow at him.

He did nothing to disturb you, but his stares made you uncomfortable for some reason. Then after a few minutes, his phone rang. This halted your discussion with the team. You threw him a warning glance. Taehyung stood up and went to his office to answer the call. When the door fell shut, you turned to the camera. "I'm sorry, you may continue," you muttered.

After a minute, Taehyung stormed out of his room and called you, "Y/n"

You looked at him with irritation, "I'm in a meeting, Taehyung. Can you please go away?"

He just ignored you and went upstairs. You sighed at his attitude. Then your phone rang. Seeing that it's your father, you declined the call.

Irritated with the interruptions, you then turned to the marketing team, "Have this project approved by the finance department as soon as possible. Then prompt the booking department so we won't get overwhelmed once the promo's been released."

At that, the marketing manager wrapped things up by giving synthesis and informing you that the minutes would be forwarded to your secretary.

You were skimming through your emails when Taehyung rushed down the stairs. He's now dressed up with shirt and trousers, looking troubled. His keys were in his hands as he told you, "Your mom's in the hospital."

Your heart dropped at the news. "What? What happened to her?" you asked him, frantic. Your mother has a healthier lifestyle. She had these planned meals prepared by her dietician, she wouldn't sleep later than 10 pm, she regularly goes to her yoga sessions, she's more careful than you.

Tears sprang up in your eyes as you asked, "Is she fine?"

Taehyung sighed, "She was being rushed to the hospital when I talked to the security team."

"It was a car crash. The driver's dead, her head of security too."

The information made your knees wobble. Taehyung had to assist you to go in his car while you couldn't stop the tears from falling, blurring your vision. Questions flooded through you but you were too shocked to sort out your thoughts to speak them out.

The whole car ride was silent contrary to the beating of your heart. You're nervous, afraid, shocked, you were feeling all things at once for your mom that you failed to notice when Taehyung's phone kept ringing.

He declined every call that showed up on the dashboard. He just focused on bringing you there safely. Broken out of your own thoughts, you texted your father with shaking hands. Telling him that you heard the news and that you're on your way now.

When Taehyung's phone rang again, you disconnected it from the dashboard and answered his phone yourself.

It's Mrs. Kim calling.

"Yes, Mrs. Kim. We've heard of the news. Taehyung is driving me to the hospital," you told her in the calmest manner you can muster but a hiccup escaped your mouth. You've been crying the whole time, devastated by all the bad things that could happen to your mom.

"Darling, stay strong. We're also on our way. Tell my son not to rush, okay?" she sweetly said, her voice laced with worry.

When you ended the call, Taehyung told you to turn his phone off. You didn't protest and followed his command.

By the time you arrived in the hospital, press people were already there, all of them are held up outside, being guarded. When they saw Taehyung opening the door for you, they immediately ambushed you with questions. It angered you when you heard them asking about your upcoming wedding and whether your mom's accident would affect the plans.

You gritted your teeth in anger as you did your best to ignore them. It's insulting how those people would take every opportunity they could to butt in at such private matter. Your mother's in the hospital, fighting for her life, for god's sake.

The guards cleared a path for both of you while Taehyung protectively held you by his side as you walked in.

You found your father standing outside the operating room, he was pacing back and forth. Upon seeing you, he went up and gave you a pat as if saying everything will be alright. It was a weak convincing on his part when he himself didn't even look collected.

The waiting was excruciating. You didn't notice that you've been holding Taehyung's hand tightly. You let go immediately upon realizing this.

"I'm sorry," you muttered, gulping.

"It's okay," he simply replied.

#

The doctors ran more tests on your mother when she failed to wake up after 24 hours. The accident caused her a brain injury and she was diagnosed with hypoxia. She's now in a coma and it could take a few days or few weeks for her to recover. The doctor told you to prepare for the worse, but you couldn't fathom a worse scenario than this.

Your feud with your father was put on hold as you almost spend every night with your mom. You would go to the office in the morning then to the hospital late in the afternoon, continuing your work in her room. The time you'll only go home is when you're reminded by your bodyguard which was assigned by Taehyung himself.

It may be deemed unnecessary but as investigation is being conducted, the Kims cannot compromise your safety. Their security company, among of their others, was the one in charge with your family ever since, including your businesses. The accident happened under their watch, but as of now, no one is to blame. Yet.

For your peace of mind, you even hired a private investigator on your own, meeting him discreetly as much as possible.

It was already six in the evening when Mr. and Mrs. Kim knocked on your mom's suite. You gathered your energy to come up with a smile, but it only crossed your face halfway.

"Darling, are you taking care of yourself?" she greeted worriedly, pulling you into a hug. You were surprised when you saw Taehyung.

After the operation, his parents left first but he stayed. Feeling burdened about it, you thanked him and told him to go ahead.

Sitting at the receiving area, 2 meters away from your mother's bed, you gathered the unkempt papers laying on the coffee table.

"Sorry for the mess," you uttered.

Then opening the topic, you asked, "Is there any update on the investigation?" turning to Mr. Kim.

The latter exchanged a look with his son before saying, "The truck was hi-jacked and we couldn't trace the driver yet. We looked into CCTVs but the team couldn't find anything."

You let out a sigh. It was the same report you got from your hired investigator this morning.

"There has to be someone behind this," you muttered, looking over your mother. The tubes attached to her body pains you. Sorrow crossed your eyes as you wished you could take her place.

Clearing his throat, Mr. Kim added, "I talked to your father about this. It could take a lot of time before we figure things out because, if ever, he himself has a number of opponents up his sleeve."

This is the first time someone actually attacked your family. Threats were a common thing, but no one dared to lay a finger on you, your mom, and your dad. Though your security is always prepared for this kind of scenario.

Chuckling bitterly at the thought, it looked like they weren't.

The question that's been bugging your mind is why now?

Is it because he's running for the next presidential election?

If that is so, why was your mom the target?

Aside from the situation at hand, the vacancy in the board left by your mom as the chairwoman is stirring ruckus. You haven't issued any announcement yet, but others are asking about her condition.

The stocks surprisingly didn't take a hit at the news of the accident. If there is something that bothers you more that you think will be harder to handle, that would be the board of directors of your holding company.

Simply put, they're still doubtful of you.

You glanced at Taehyung, who is sitting to your right across his mother. The second he met your eyes, you immediately averted his gaze, clearing your throat.

"Thank you for taking care of my mom's case personally. It makes me feel more at ease," you told them in a nonchalant manner.

"Don't mention it," Mr. Kim said.

With fidgeting fingers, you started the question you've been meaning to know about, "I would want to visit the family of her driver and head security-"

"You can't," Taehyung interrupted, making you snap your head back to him.

"It's not safe," he added when he saw your furrowing brows.

"There's no need, Y/n. Your father sent something for them. They understand the situation," Mr. Kim followed.

You didn't utter a reply, if they wouldn't want to divulge that information, you can have your secretary look for it. You could go there yourself, it's not as if they need to give permission.

Besides, who would think of attacking you in a simple funeral? They won't think you would have the heart to pay attention to those who worked for your family.

Still, you feel bad about the loved ones they left. They could have a daughter like you.

They protected your mom, they've done their duty, and you're sure if your mother is only conscious and well right now, she would've done the same or maybe more.

Taehyung let out a loud sigh, "I'll come with you,"

The man quite knows your stubbornness. He witnessed it first-hand and your loaded gaze somewhere which signals that you're deep in your thoughts made him agree to have it your way, but under his watch.

#

You glanced at your car through Taehyung's side mirror. Turning back your attention to the man beside you, you wonder why you're letting him have his way. Based on your interactions, it's as if you embraced the idea of him being your husband. So far, he's been reliable and respectful of your own space. That's what you thought of him. And the night you spent together.

You cleared your throat at the inappropriate images that flashed your mind. Digging your nails to your palm, you reprimanded yourself.

The silence was cut off when a phone call went through his dashboard.

Lana calling...

Taehyung declined the call right away only for it to pop up again. He seemed irritated this time.

"It might be important," you muttered. He didn't reply and just dropped it, giving you a cold shoulder.

The phone dinged. You unintentionally gazed on his phone between the two of you because of the noise.

Call me. I miss you.

You then immediately turned your attention to the passing streetlights. You felt guilty that you've seen something you shouldn't have. At the same time, there's an underlying feeling that started to simmer within you.

The whole car ride was spent in silence until you reached your family's mansion.

Taehyung waited downstairs as you changed into something more appropriate for a funeral. Frankly, he could have just met you at the memorial but he insisted on going with you all the way back to your house. That's why you offered to ride with him while your driver and bodyguard followed behind. It was out of courtesy, which he didn't decline.

After changing your clothes, you went down right away, not bothering to check your appearance. However, as you trailed down the stairs, Taehyung was nowhere to be seen.

When a staff member passed by, you asked about the man you came home with. She then led you to your father's study.

The doors were closed and only faint mutters of two men in conversation can only be heard. It piqued your curiosity so instead of barging in like you did before, you slowly walked close to the door.

"... so I'm not marrying her," you heard him say, his voice dark and cold. The pain that wretched your heart upon hearing those words shocked you. Your eyes welled up inevitably despite willing yourself to control your dam of emotions.

A dead silence followed his statement.

You should have been thankful of him giving up on you. And by him talking to your father directly like this, the old man might even consider cancelling the marriage you dreaded. You should be grateful, but all the more, Taehyung's sudden change of mind on the matter confused you.

You wondered if there's something wrong with you. Did you do anything that turned him off during the time you spent together in his family's cabin?

Does he have someone else?

That thought fired up jealousy you did not think you could harbor.

"I can make her change her mind, Taehyung. Just let her warm up to you more. That would help," your father sternly told him. Your brows knitted in further confusion.

"She thinks she will be marrying me for the wrong reason. Y/n's not ready."

Your tongue tastes vile in his reasoning. He even had the guts to use you as an excuse. If you only know, it might have been because of your family losing control of your company due to your mom's condition. He might think that being married to you will only be an unnecessary responsibility when he can take over by himself. Maybe he's using this opportunity to run off and be with his lover.

Lana

The name flashed in your memory.

You felt bitter. No one dared to reject you in your years of existence. If not, you were the one who used to run away from men who expressed their interest in you.

How dare he?

Before you knew it, pride took over your being as you carefully opened the door.

With a smirk on your face, you asked Taehyung, "Who says I'm not ready?"

"Tae?" you said in a sweet voice. You feigned your innocence and soft demeanor, but only vile venom coursed through your system. No one rejects you. No one will take over the empire your mother built alongside with your father. You will secure your power. You will make sure everything will fall into its place.

#

Two nights after, he fetched you from your house to have your first public date. He booked a table in a grand hotel downtown for the whole thing and told you beforehand to dress casually. So for this night, you opted for a white broderie long sleeve minidress.

"We just have to put up a show, right?" Taehyung asked, his tone bored, while cruising down the road. You nodded, then you realized his eyes are on the winding road, he can't see you. "Yeah," you muttered.

The white outfit is ironically in contrast with his. He's in a black suit, looking elegantly casual. Thanks to the turtleneck sweater. This guy has some good fashion sense, you noted. With his perfectly parted hair, he looked exquisite.

You didn't dare to ask him why he thought of backing out from your marriage. He didn't care to ask for a reason on your sudden change of mind.

"We can continue with the prior arrangement. Let's get married," you followed through after sweetly calling his name that night. The statement sounded like a challenge as it rolled off your tongue.

Taehyung just gazed deep into your eyes. His face was void of any emotion. In a flicker, you saw his jaw tensed in irritation. He glanced down the floor before a faint smirk appeared on his face.

"If that's what you want then."

You were taken aback at his acceptance. You expected him to protest, but he surprisingly went on. Taehyung turned to you father then gave the man a curt bow.

"It's getting late. Y/n and I should go so we can come back as soon as possible," he said to your dad. "Have a good night, sir."

The old man slowly nodded, "Take care of her."

"I will."

You never dreamed of being a slave to this powerplay. You thought you have enough guts to not go down that path, but here you are.

Going back to the present, you threw Taehyung a glance, observing his side profile. The passing lights casted shadows on his face, illuminating his eyes, highlighting the point of his cheekbones down to his nose. Your eyes traced the line of his jaw when he turned away as he navigated the car to a left turn.

You wondered whether you'll learn to love this man. Yet again, you're afraid of him not reciprocating if that happens.

Taehyung handed you a jewelry box when you reached the foot of the hill.

"Wear it," he simply said when you opened the box.

It's a tiffany ring adorned with a diamond stone. The halo setting framed the center diamond, making it look bigger. It's beautiful, but too 'in-your-face' for your liking.

With a sigh, you wore it unceremoniously on your left ring finger. You glanced at his hand that was on the steering wheel, looking for a ring. It was hard to see in the dark but you quite glimpsed a glint of a metal.

You swallowed the bile you felt in your throat. The whole ride was silent after that. Only the smooth running of his car's engine can be heard.

Arriving at the hotel's driveway, you didn't wait for him to open the door. The action earned an irritated look from him. Taehyung gave his car key to the valet attendant before holding your waist, startling you.

He leaned towards your ear and whispered, "This better not look like our first date,"

"Alright?" he asked through his teeth.

From an outsider's perspective the picture looks sweet, but if they can only hear the threat in his voice...

You noticed few people were staring, recognizing the both of you. Feigning a smile, you touched his arm. Despite the high heels you're wearing, he still stood taller that you needed to look up.

"Of course, Tae," you said to him, your voice dripping like honey. He replied with a half-smile before leading you inside.

The two of you graced the foyer like a power couple. Curious glances were thrown and few whispers flew around. All the while, Taehyung didn't care and just walked straight.

You smirked to yourself when the receptionist led you to the middle table in the restaurant. The stage for tonight. However, the table is set for four.

Taehyung pulled you a chair then sat beside you.

"Are we expecting somebody else?" you asked him.

"My friends will join us. I haven't seen them since I arrived home and they're insisting to meet you. I didn't notice your dress is too short," he said all the while scrutinizing you. You glanced down but you were fine with it. So, you shrugged him off. You're more bothered that he invited his friends over on your date. Not that you want to be left alone with him.

Taehyung turned to the waiter who stood by your side. Putting an arm at the small of your back and casually placing one hand over your lap, he ordered the waiter to come back later once the others had arrived.

His closeness made it hard for you to breathe. You muttered silently, "Don't you think you're touching too much?"

He smirked at your question. "I touched more than this, princess. Want a reminder?"

The boldness in his voice made you blush.

"Don't look. A board director of yours is here," he said in a low voice before fakely fixing a strand of your hair.

His ring band gleamed under the chandelier lights. A simple intricate design carved into the metal.

He looked you in the eyes and said, "I guess that's a good audience, right? One credible person to confirm the news around."

You can't help but chuckle, "You and my mom would make a good publicist," you silently uttered as you placed your left hand on his shoulder, smoothing down the fabric.

"That's fair. I admire your mother for handling your family's image. Works so much in favor of your father, don't you think?"

You smiled bitterly at that. He's right. Your mom's a good homemaker too while maintaining a respectable figure in the business world.

"You should've told me your friends will be coming," you muttered, changing the topic. You're more nervous now that others will witness this whole fiasco at a much closer distance. Then you asked, "Do they know that this is all pretend?"

His jaw tensed as he answered a firm no. "So, you better act whipped for me," he added. Scoffing at his command, you retorted, "I can't be easily whipped, Taehyung."

A low chuckle escaped his mouth. "Right. But you're my wife, so..."

You glared him down. You're not yet his wife.

He just raised a brow at you before staring back. His eyes piercing through. He's too close like this. You're already blushing at the distance, but you didn't want to back down.

"Kim Taehyung!"

Turning to the sound of the voice, two men were making their way to your table. One of them is familiar. You didn't know Taehyung is friends with Park Jimin, a famous celebrity. After side-hugging Taehyung, he offered you his hand.

"Y/n, nice to see you again," his voice teasing. You reciprocated him with a friendly chuckle and acknowledged him, "Park Jimin, it's been a long time."

"I hope your mother gets well soon," he told you with a gentle smile. It tugged warmth in your heart, the guy is charming as always. "Thank you," you replied.

Taehyung watched the friendly exchange with a careful gaze. You turned to him lovingly, starting your act for the night, "We see each other in some function events. You haven't told me you're friends with him, Tae."

His other friend then stepped forward. He has an ebony hair, his doe eyes crinkled as he smiled at you, "I'm Jeon Jungkook, it's nice to meet you, Ms. Y/n."

You shook his hand and repeated his name for you to remember, "Pleasure's mine."

The dinner looks pleasant. Although you were uncomfortable with the lies that have been spewing out of your mouth. You let Taehyung take care of you though you can very much well slice your own steak. It was a challenge not to roll your eyes out of absurdity.

"When's your wedding, Y/n?" Jimin asked in the middle of the meal.

You were caught in surprise. You haven't talked about it yet, you just handed the task to your secretary yesterday.

"The soonest," Taehyung chirped in.

Jungkook's eyes widened a fraction while Jimin just grinned at Taehyung's answer. The younger then asked, "Before the elections?"

That subject was an open secret that no one talks about. Instead, you replied, "Soon as we settle things, we'll send out invitations."

"So, you started preparations already. It's sad that you'll go through this alone, given your mother's condition," Jimin stated. You sent him a reassuring smile.

"It will be fine. I have people to do stuff for me," you told them.

"As long as we'll get married. I'm pretty chill with the details," you added. For it is true. If you could skip the wedding ceremony, you would. Those moments are reserved for a true special someone, but the situation is different for a woman like you.

You thought you should give your secretary a raise. The morning you asked him to contact a wedding planner, he gladly accepted the task. He knows your taste so you let him fix most of the things.

You did not even ask Taehyung for opinion since he left the details to your care. He only had one condition: the soonest, the better. You remember him telling you when he was driving back to your house that night. That night when you started this million dollar show.

[everybodyscupoftea]

something out of a disney movie

sigma chi jj x reader

leading up to winter formal and a glimpse at the weekend ahead

finished school today :) kinda drunk at the moment so there’s that

(warnings: cursing, same editing as usual)

You worked on the cooler for so long after JJ asked you to his frat’s Winter Formal. From YouTube videos to Google searches to social media groups, you’d looked through it all trying to come up with ideas. 

Sarah, who was working on John B’s at the same time, offered to do it with you. The two of you holed up in her apartment working together when you finally decided a proper theme. “What about the Outer Banks?” you asked Sarah.

She hummed, “Like what do you mean?”

“Stuff he likes to do that we’ve done together, surfing and fishing, some of his favorite restaurants. That kind of vibe.”

“That’s pretty personal, but I like it since you guys are actually dating.”

You smiled, excited, “Me too. Okay, let’s do this.”

-

After the cooler was solved, you realized you needed a dress. Sarah stepped in yet again to take you to a boutique she really liked. The two of you were browsing happily, a glass of champagne handed to you at the door.

Maybe that should’ve been a sign of how expensive everything in the store was going to be, but you didn’t process that until you’d pulled a few to try on and accidentally flipped a price tag over.

Choking on your sip, you exclaimed, “$250 holy fuck!”

Sarah wandered over, “What’s up?”

“This is so expensive. Dude, I’m not sure I can justify this.”

She waved your concerns away, “Don’t worry, I’ll sugar daddy you.”

Part of you, a big part of you, wanted to say no, you didn’t need charity. But you figured eventually, through coffee and food, you could pay her back.

“I-” you paused, “are you absolutely sure? I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“I get discounts here, no worries! Pick out the dress that you love, no looking at price.”

So you did. It was really cute, and both Sarah and the lady working really hyped you up about it, of course you had to get it after that. Sarah sent JJ a picture of the color so he could match, but told him he couldn’t see it until the day of.

When he begged, she sent back its so pretty maybank. be patient

-

“Okay,” you told JJ stepping into his room, “I have the cooler outside the door with the alcohol if you want to look now.”

JJ stood up from where he was laying on the bed excitedly, “I wanna see it.”

You held your hand out and he took it, walking outside the door with him. He looked down at it and smiled. Crossing your arms in front of you after he dropped your hand to turn it around, you asked, “What do you think?”

“It’s fantastic.”

“Yeah? You like it?”

“Of course! I mean I’d like anything because it was from you and I’m a fan of everything you do.” 

Your cheeks heated up, “Sap.”

“Only for you.”

“I wasn’t sure what alcohol you wanted so I grabbed some vodka and tequila. Plus some White Claw for either mixing or pre-game. Figured we could pick up some mixers on the way out.”

“Sounds great to me,” he bent down to press a kiss to your forehead, “I’m so excited for this.”

“I am too,” you told him honestly, “when do we leave?”

“Few hours. Figure it won’t be too long a drive, and we won’t have to leave super early. You got your bag in the car?”

“I do.”

“Sweet. Do you want to watch a movie?”

“Absolutely.”

JJ laid back down on the bed, giving you room to crawl in next to him and started the Grinch movie. About 30 minutes after it started, his head snapped over to face you, “How’d you get the alcohol Miss Underaged?”

“Sarah helped with that. Not sure how she did it, but I got her a list and Venmoed her my share.”

“The two of you did a lot together for this, huh?”

“Well it is a first for both of us, so of course we did.”

JJ shook his head, “Should’ve known y’all would end up decent friends.”

-

The drive to Charleston was short, and JJ led the two of you to check into your hotel room. It was a fairly basic room, and he immediately disappeared to the bathroom to start getting ready. All you had left to do was put on your dress.

“Let’s try to not be late, yeah J?”

“Too late at least. You’re never on time, hon.”

You scoffed, “Maybe this is me turning over a new leaf.”

He stuck his head out the room to give you an incredulous look, “No.”

“I’ll prove you wrong for sure.”

“Bet I’ll finish getting ready before you do even though you’re already mostly ready.”

Your jaw tightened, but you weren’t one to back down from a challenge, “Bet.”

You weren’t entirely sure how ready JJ was, only that if you wanted to be first, you needed to start getting your dress on. The one thing you had going for you was that he struggled tying a tie and he’d have to figure that out before he could be finished.

JJ stepped out of the bathroom a few minutes later, tightening his belt, and you stood up, already in your dress with a smirk on your face, “I win.”

He rolled his eyes, “Win what?”

“We bet but since we don’t normally bet money, you have to bring me drinks all night.”

“It’s my formal.”

“Yeah, it’s still your formal, but you have the added responsibility of keeping my cup full. I’d do the same for you if you were better at getting dressed.”

“Dude,” JJ shook his head, “I’ll give you this one, but I’ll get you next year.”

“Sure,” you smirked.

And then it was like JJ processed that you were in the dress because his jaw dropped and he let out a low whistle, “Damn.”

“What do you think?”

“You look,” he paused, “incredible, beautiful, stunning, all the good adjectives.”

Shaking your head, you smiled, “Thanks, J.”

“I’m gonna have the prettiest date there tonight.”

“Now that’s an exaggeration,” you told him, ears warming under the attention.

“I never exaggerate.”

-

You were both late. The party was in full swing when the two of you finally got downstairs, and JJ kept his arm around your waist tightly the whole time the two of you walked around. There was a small buffet set up that the two of you ate a little bit from, but JJ took you straight to the alcohol for your first cups.

It was loud and dark in the hotel ballroom, barely lit by candles scattered all over the room like out of some sort of Disney movie, and you couldn’t see much, but JJ found Pope and John B fairly quickly. Sarah and Pope’s date were both there, and you felt relieved, finally being with someone you knew.

“Wow,” Sarah called out when she saw you, “worth every penny.”

You did a little twirl, “Looks pretty good,” you admitted.

“Pretty,” JJ scoffed, “try very or incredibly.”

Sarah snorted, “Hype man JJ. I’m glad your tie is the right color to match.”

“Hype man?” John B interrupted, “more like simp.”

“I paid attention,” he defended, “and you fuck off.”

“This time,” you muttered. JJ playfully poked your nose, “Slandering my name there sweetheart.”

“I’d never,” you told him, placing a hand over your heart.

In lieu of an answer, JJ pulled you out on the dance floor. You smiled, recognizing his deflection tactic, but let it happen.

He twirled you around twice, and you laughed when he almost stepped on your toes. 

“Careful bud,” you told him, “Trying to knock me out?”

“By stepping on your toes? No.”

“Trying to get out of dancing then?”

He smiled softly, “With you? Never.”

You couldn’t help but kiss him at his sappy words, excited for the long weekend ahead.

~

for day 15 of @obxmermaid​‘s holiday challenge: winter formal

[come-on-shitty-boys]

// season’s greetings. iwaizumi hajime //

Warnings: minor swearing

Word Count: 1.9K

Notes:  Happy l a t e holidays, Chloe (@ch4jime​ i hope it’s okay that i tag you here 😖 i couldn’t find the account you originally had listed)!! I hope you had a great holiday and here is one more present to wrap up your holidays 🥰

Want to read more wonderful holiday fics by other talented writers?  Find the holiday exchange masterlist here!

You really didn’t think that the mall would be this packed the day before Christmas Eve, but apparently everyone in the city decided to procrastinate on their holiday shopping too.  And, listen, you really did plan on doing your shopping earlier this year.  You didn’t want to wait until the last possible minute, but two weeks ago you got caught binging Grey’s Anatomy for the fifth time and you can’t just take a break to go shopping when there are lives to save.  And last week you were trying to decide what you would wear to the office holiday party, something that shouldn’t have taken all of your time, but it was a big deliberation!  The red dress with the white shoes? Or maybe the white sweater with some cute boots?  It was a constant back and forth and shopping for gifts was the last thing on your mind (You chose neither, instead opting for a nice black turtleneck with some statement jewelry).  Monday it was scouring Pinterest for recipes that would maybe impress your family at Christmas dinner.  Tuesday was set aside for watching Hallmark Christmas movies, as it should be.  And when Wednesday came, the December 23 on your phone screen became all too real.  It had you out of bed, dressed and ready faster than you could say Happy Holidays.  

But, barely two hours into your shopping trip, you realized that you were fresh out of ideas and that’s what brought you here: sniffing every single candle in the Yankee candle store in hopes that something would spark some sort of inspiration in you or that you might just leave to make your home smell like peppermint mochas or freshly fallen snow.  

You twisted the lid off of a new candle from the stack, something called ‘Holiday Hearth,’ only to twist your nose up and lower the candle back down without a second sniff.  The man across from you let out a short snort, eyeing you over his own candle. 

You almost opened your mouth to make some kind of smart remark, but you couldn’t help but stop yourself as you saw his face contort into a smile as you met his eyes.  “I made that same mistake too,” he says.  “Here, this one’s really good.”  The man reaches over the stack of candles on the table, holding out a jar for you to smell.  “The label says it’s sugar cookies, but it really just smells like vanilla and cinnamon, if you ask me.”

“That does smell really good.”

“Right?  Too bad I know my mom will hate it.  She’s the pickiest when it comes to candles, but she loves these things, so what kind of son would I be if I just didn’t get her one?  Hey, what do you think about this one?  Does it smell- I don’t know . . . Mom-ish to you?”

Before you have a second to respond, he’s thrusting a green candle towards your nose, waiting for you to give him feedback on his candle picking skills.  The scent takes you aback at first.  The strong scent of evergreens and cranberries would be enough to make anyone wish this season was over.  “It smells like an old man.”

He snapped his fingers, bringing the candle back towards him.  “I knew it smelled familiar!  It smells like my grandpa!”

“I got my mom this one last year and she really liked it- had it burning every time I was over,” you say, holding a new candle towards him.

He just gave you a polite smile.  “I think she was just lighting that when you were over to make sure you didn’t feel bad about giving her a candle that absolutely reeks.”

“Hey!  It’s not that bad!”

“Sure, if you like the smell of sadness and despair, this really isn’t bad, but it doesn’t really scream holiday cheer, you know what I mean?”

“Well, you aren’t exactly the best at picking candles either, mister.”

“It’s Iwaizumi.”

“Fine, but you still suck at picking out candles.”

Iwaizumi shakes his head, tutting his tongue at you, an index finger waggling teasingly in your direction.  “Now, hold on.  You’re not going to stand there and tell me that I can’t pick out candles when you just made me sniff the actual manifestation of the plague and then not even bother to tell me your name after I tell you mine.”

“Y/N.”

“Well, okay, Y/N.  What about this one?”

One whiff and it’s like you’re instantly transported back into your youth and baking alongside your mother, smells of cinnamon, of home.  Like freshly fallen pine needles onto a blanket of thick snow.  There was nothing that smelled more like the holidays.  “It’s perfect.”

“Really?  Shit.”  Iwaizumi puts the candle back down the table and goes back to looking over the other selections.

“What was wrong with that one?  It was easily the best one we’ve smelled yet!”

“After that last one, I don’t know how much I trust your nose.”  He turns and stops one of the workers.  “Excuse me.  Could you give me your honest opinion on this one?  Does it smell like something your mom would have?  Like, it’s not too ‘my son doesn’t know shit about candles’, is it?  I would ask my friend, but she, as I have just recently discovered, doesn’t know shit about candles.”

“Hey!”

“I think it’s an excellent choice, sir.  Do you want me to take that up to the counter for you while you continue browsing?”

“Oh, no.  I think I’m done, but thank you!”  He turns back to you and gives you a teasing smile.  “Turns out you were right on this one, ace.  You want me to wait back for you or can you handle these three-wick candles on your own?”

“I think I need to find somewhere else to shop for awhile.  All of these candles fumes are starting to get to my head.”

He laughed and nodded.  “I hope I’ll see you around then.”  You could only nod in agreement as he turned away to weave through the crowds of middle-aged moms sniffing various candles on his way to the register.

You never really thought that a trip Yankee candles would have you leaving with a small smile on your face, but you just couldn’t wipe it away, that giddy feeling creeping up into your chest as you just kept replaying his smile and his warm laugh over and over in your head.  How were you supposed to focus on the rest of your shopping when all you could think about was Iwaizumi and the brief moment the two of you shared in some random Yankee candle store that seemed like something straight from one of those cheesy Hallmark Christmas movies?

But you had to shake your head, try to move those thoughts from your head as you walked into the little bookstore to try to find something for the few family members left on your list.  The shelves were stacked to the brim with every genre imaginable: sci-fi, fantasy, romance, non-fiction, cookbooks, books on philosophy, biographies.  Now, to just find a place to start-

It was a cookbook for your aunt.  Nothing special really, just the first one from the shelf that seemed decently interesting.  A book on the history of Japan for your grandfather and the newest installment of your sister’s favorite book series were added to your basket before you were inevitably pulled over towards the young adult books in search of something for your youngest cousin.  

You felt like you had picked up and read over the cover of every single book on the shelf and yet nothing seemed like something that they would enjoy.  “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I would think you were following me.”

You turned towards the sound of a voice that sounded all too familiar and you couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling at the man who stood at the end of the aisle, turning a book over in his hands to read the back cover.  “I’m pretty sure that I was here first, so I think you’re the one who’s following me, Iwaizumi.”

He just laughed, placing the book back on your shelf.  “Alright, so maybe I did look out the store window to see where you went, but it was only to return the favor!  You helped me find something for my mom, so the least I could do was help you find something for-?” he trailed off, waiting for you to fill in the blank.

“My cousin.  They’re fourteen, obsessed with books, but I have no idea what kids are reading these days.”

“You say that like you’re thirty-five.”  He turns back towards the shelf, taking a step back to get a wider view.  He gives a little, ‘ah-ha’ when he finds what he had been searching for.  Iwaizumi reaches up onto the top shelf and pulls a book down.  “This is a really great series.  My best friend and I have been reading them since we were in high school.  Luckily for your cousin, they won’t have to wait for them all to come out like we did.  I’ve been waiting for the last book for about two years now,” he says, handing you a copy of the first book.

“Are you not going to get the last one for yourself?”

Iwaizumi shook his head.  “I’m expecting to get it from my best friend for Christmas, but who knows.  I may be kicking his ass back to Argentina if I open up another goddamned Godzilla plushie.  You’d think that after thirteen years, the joke would get old, but apparently not.”

“He’s from Argentina?”

“Originally from Miyagi, but he moved over there to play volleyball right after high school,” he explains.

“That must be hard, having your best friend all the way on the other side of the world.”

He just shrugged.  “He’s snapchatting me non-stop.  It’s like he never even left.”

“You know, I seem to know more about your best friend than I do about you and you’re the one following me around the mall.”

He laughed again, that low sound that reverberated so nicely through the store.  He stuck out his hand towards you.  “Iwaizumi Hajime (27).  Athletic trainer.”

“Did you just verbally say parenthesis?”

“It’s for effect.”

You nod, trying to suppress your own giggles that threatened to escape you.  You took the book from his hands, looking it over before adding it to your basket.  “Well, Iwaizumi Hajime, thank you for the book recommendation.  I’m sure that they’ll love it.”

You were just about to walk off to finish your purchase, but he grabs you by the elbow, giving you that same act that he did in the candle store.  “Really?  You’re going to walk away and not tell me about yourself?”

“I’m-”

“Nope.  You owe me coffee for trying to blow me off not once, but twice now.  So, what do you say, ace?  You going to let me take you out for coffee or is this just going to be a one-time thing?”

“I think I could go for a peppermint mocha.”

He gives you that wide smile that had been stuck in your head since the candle store and reaches out to take your basket from you.  “A peppermint mocha sounds pretty damn good, ace.”

{taglist: @nicka-nell​ @moncymonce​ @lovinnoya​ @celosiiaa​ @ush7jima​ @deephasoceanmagic​}

[thiswasinevitableid]

Return (OT4)

Prompt for the 28th was: Costume

He might be showing off a little bit, carrying all the suitcases in at once, but Duck likes the appreciative look Indrid gives him as he does. The Sylph is already settled on the shoved together king beds, sketchbook in hand, eyeing the ranger conspicuously when he bends to set Joe’s bag down first, just as the agent finishes checking something off his to-do list

“Oh, thank you, um, honey.” The last word still comes out quiet. Really, the only time Joe says it loudly is when Duck has him pinned to one surface or another. 

He smiles to show he heard him, but if he’s being honest his attention has been mainly on Indrid this whole day, watching for signs of discomfort or unhappiness. The Sylph has insisted over and over again that he wanted to come on this trip, that he would be alright, and that they could all stop fussing about this please and thank you. 

But that doesn’t change the fact they’re in Point Pleasant.

They’re here for the Mothman Festival, Duck making good on his promise to Joe to go with him. He’s excited, and he likes seeing the agent happy. Indrid seems happy too, and Duck is trying to walk the line between letting him be and making sure he’s as alright as he claims to be. In spite of his experiences in Kepler, Indrid still sometimes takes unhappiness as inevitable, even when it’s his own. 

“Okay” Barclay tucks his phone into his back pocket, “my vote is for that cafe a few blocks over; if we go early, we can beat the dinner rush. Plus, even though it wasn’t a huge trip, being on the road tires me out, so I wanna crash soon as I can.”

“That is your only reason for wanting to get into bed sooner?” Indrid sends a suggestive smirk his way, making the bearded man blush. 

“Maybe. Depends on what everyone else is up for.”

The answer turns out to be a decent dinner followed by collapsing into bed in rapid succession. It doesn’t escape Ducks’ notice that Indrid stays in his human form and opts to nestle down between the ranger and the agent, holding Barclay’s hand where it’s draped over Joe’s waist. 

He wakes up once during the night, the dim light of the alarm clock enough to sting his eyes. In his arms, Indrid takes several deep breaths, rolls to burrow his face into Duck’s chest. He waits to see if Indrid will say anything, but the next sound he hears is a gentle chirp-snore. So he kisses his forehead, and goes back to dreaming.

-----------------

“Having been to the TNT plant plenty of times, I do not feel the need to go on the hayride there.”

“Yeah, think we can skip that.” Duck sips his coffee as they wander through the first few blocks of the festival. Joe’s early rising has them beating much of the crowd, though runners from the 5K jog by now and then. 

“Why were you there, anyway? It doesn’t seem suitable for you.” Stern turns them towards the museum.

“The Winnebago’s previous incarnation wasn’t all that far away. Frightened humans are not known  for their powers of observation.”

“True.” Joe and Barclay say as one. 

They split up soon after, Joe and Duck into the museum while Barclay and Indrid scope out the food booths (“Being in a space with a great deal of inaccurate information about me is not my favorite). Wandering the exhibits, the agent’s fingers slip between his own, and Duck smiles when he sneaks a peek at him. He’s so relaxed, his dark hair out of it’s usual slicked-back state since he wanted to get out of the door quickly, looks utterly at home in his mothman patterned button up shirt, animatedly talking about the displays. Indrid is usually the one of them most likely to dump information out in one big flow, but Joe has his moments. 

The building is warm enough that Duck unbuttons his overshirt, revealing the t-shirt beneath. Joe turns to tell him something, and stops, eyebrows zipping up his forehead. 

“A little on the nose, isn’t it?”

Duck grins, looking down at the bright red letters reading “mothman is my boyfriend.”

“Juno bought it for me once she found out. Usually just wear it when I wanna make Indrid laugh. Plus, seen three people with similar ones, so it ain’t like anyone is gonna take it as confession.”

Joe nods, gracefully weaving through a small clump of visitors on their way to the gift shop. When Duck falls in next to him, the agent murmurs, “you’re worried about him too.”

“Kinda hard not to be.”

“I know. I’m trying to take him at his word but it’s, well, it’s difficult. It wouldn’t be the first time my interests turned people off. I’d hate for him to get overwhelmed by all this and try to hide it for my sake.”

“He ain’t bad at hidin things, but he’s also real fuckin blunt.” He puts his arm around Joe’s shoulder, “it’ll be okay, city mouse.”

After spending slightly more money than necessary (look, he promised lots of people souvenirs and also he needed to buy a few things for Joe for the holidays), they make their way back into the festival. On a bench near an outer edge, Barclay and Indrid are sitting thigh to thigh, Barclay feeding Indrid funnel cake. He says something and Indrid laughs.

“You know, even though it was fleeting, I’m glad they found each other all those years ago. One of the things I love most about Barclay is how he takes care of people, and I think Indrid needed that.”

“Not gonna lie, never expected the biggest softy in Kepler to also be Bigfoot.”

“You didn’t expect it? Think about how I feel.”

He laughs, “yeah, you got me there.”

They move through the festival as a quartet after that, Barclay delighted with his “Mothman Blend” coffee and Indrid with the sweater bearing his likeness and the words “live, laugh, lurk.” As noon approaches, more and more mothman appear, all in varying degrees of impressive or lackluster cosplays and costumes. Stern keeps muttering about scale, Indrid about wing placement, and Duck can’t help but think none of them get the color right. 

“I have an, ah, an idea.” Indrid says, turning a mug reading “I Heart Mothman” over in his hands, “So many people are excited to meet those who look like me. I want to see what happens if they see the real thing.”

“Uh, that seems real-”

“Risky yes, but I’ve checked the futures and there is not one where I am identified as what I actually am.”

Duck and Barclay trade a skeptical look, but Joe has an uncharacteristically scheming glint in his eye. 

“I know exactly how we can insure that. Duck, Barclay, wait here please. Indrid, come with me, we need to run back to the hotel.” He grabs the Sylphs hand. 

“What are you--oh, oh yes, that is rather clever” is the last Duck hears before losing them in the crowd. 

“....you wanna help me pick out a present for Jake?” Barclay still looks worried, so Duck nods and they set off towards a t-shirt booth.

Barclay is mid-anecdote about his run in with a cougar out in California when every visitor in sight starts whispering and taking pictures.

The cooks mutters “If this goes wrong, Mama’s going to lock all four of us in the safehouse for the rest of our lives.”

In his Sylph form, Indrid towers above the crowd. His arms are resolutely set by his sides and head held high, Duck gets a rare glimpse of how his boyfriend must have looked in the halls of Sylvain. All the same, his eyes are drawn to the  antenna twitching with nerves as the onlookers get closer.

“If you could just step back from the specimen a bit, thank you.” Joe steps directly in front of Indrid, and Barclay lets out a soft, appreciative growl to Duck’s right. The agent is in a full suit, complete with sunglasses, a picture of handsome, aloof calm. 

People in the crowd laugh,take more pictures as Indrid’s “handler” guides him over to Duck and Barclay.

“Do you just pack a suit no matter what, babe?”

“No. I, um, I know how much certain people like it when I wear one. I planned to bring it out this evening but this seemed like the better use.”

“It’s working splendidly. So far. Just keep people away from my wings; I only like it when you three touch them.”

“Roger that. Lunch?”

“Sounds good to me. Lead the way, mister man-in-black.” Duck steps aside so Joe can go first, clearing a path for them, Indrid staying close to the agent’s back. They opt for a waffle stand selling, among other things, waffle sandwiches and something called the “Mothman Delight” that consists of strawberry jam, chocolate sauce, and whipped cream. Indrid orders one, only to ask Barclay to feed it to him to keep up the ruse of this being a costume. The cook doesn’t object in the slightest, though at one point he whispers something in high sylph that makes Indrid poof up with a chirp. 

The longer they wander the festival, the more relaxed Indrid becomes, fielding questions about costume construction and wing mechanics with the ease of someone who spent a century constructing alibis for his very existence. Lots of people take pictures with him, Joe shepherding them into poses that won’t make the Sylph uncomfortable. Several inquire as to why he didn’t enter the cosplay contest. 

“It wouldn’t have been fair.” 

It’s when they’re debating when and how to get dinner that a family approaches. Sandwiched between her parents, a girl of about seven stares up at Indrid with wide eyes, clutching her stuffed mothman to her chest. 

“Can, um, can” she looks back to her parents for help.

“She wants to know if she can hug you.” The woman says, as a child wanting to hug a massive monster is utterly unremarkable. 

Joe glances at Indrid, who nods, “Yes, if she would like to.”

The girl hands her small mothman to her dad, takes four steps forward, and throws her arms around the much larger one. Indrid does his best to hug her back, settling for putting his hands on her shoulders. 

“She’s just obsessed with cryptids.”

“You’re my favorite” she smiles up at Indrid.

“Mine too.” Duck chimes in, resting his hand on the smell of Indrid’s back. 

“We’re out here because it’s all she wants for her birthday.”

Joe makes a high-pitched noise at the same time Barclay lets out an “awww.”

Indrid smiles, pats the child’s head, “In that case, would you like to take a picture with me?”

“Yes!”

“May I pick you up?”

She nods hard enough to send her alien-patterned headband down her forehead. Indrid picks her up, holding her while she beams at her mom’s camera. 

“Are you liking the festival?” He asks as they pose.

“Uh huh. ‘Cept for the parts where people say mothman does bad things. He doesn’t, he stops them, everyone knows that.” 

“She’s gotten in at least three arguments with classmates over that.” Her father adds, holding out his arms as Indrid passes the girl back to him. 

“I, ah, I am glad to know the mothman has such determined defenders. Happy birthday, my dear.”

As they turn, the little girl calls out, “bye mothman! I love you!”

Indrid looks back, red eyes a bit watery, and waves as Duck murmurs, “Me too.”

----------------------------------------

Stern doesn’t regret how much he ate at dinner. He;s just glad he packed those antacids. 

When he sits up, two bodies are missing from the bed, and it’s only the sight of a note on the nightstand that keeps him from bolting out of bed to look for them. 

Indrid and I are out for a late-night walk. Back soon.

-Duck.

“Everything okay?” Barclay rolls over, brown eyes reflective in the dark. 

“Yes” he pops the antacid into his mouth, “they just stepped out.”

“O-” the sylph yawns “kay.” Blinking sleepily, he smiles, “anyone ever tell you you’re the hottest thing on two legs?”

“You did, this morning.”

“Good, gotta meet my quota.” He opens his arms and Stern snuggles in net to him, “sleep tight, special agent.”

-------------------------

Duck didn’t see Indrid leave, but he’s got a hunch as to where he went. Still, he almost misses him, spots the silver hair in the moonlight right before a hedge obscures it. 

Indrid sits in the middle of the embankment, the Ohio reflecting the night sky in motion. To a passerby, he looks to be studying the opposite shore. Duck knows that his gaze is closer than that, sweeping over air that wasn’t always empty. 

“Huh, there was only one future where you followed me.”

“You want me to go back?”

“No.” 

Duck picks his way down to Indrid’s side, finding a flat stone to sit on. 

“It’s funny, the ways stories change. What they say about me grows further and further from what I say about myself.”

“‘Drid, you know this wasn’t your fault. No more than the Cottonwood or anythin else was.”

“That is the story I try to tell in my mind. That there are things that cannot be stopped or altered, that must only be endured. That was why I gave up for years. Then you and the others showed me that even the worst, seemingly inevitable futures can be changed. And that is good, so very good, but all the same it....it sometimes serves as proof of what I fear; that I could not stop these” he gestures to river, “disasters not because they were unstoppable, but because I was incapable.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Sometimes. Just as you sometimes worry you could have done much more good in the world had you neglected your powers. I wonder how much of my failure was out of my hands.”

“Drid” Duck cups his cheek, turning his head and gingerly tilting his glasses up his forehead, “You’re forgettin somethin; the cottonwood, the funicular, the end of the goddamn world, none of that was stopped by one person. It took a whole bunch of us, every damn time. You were alone. There’s only so much one fella can do on his own.”

Indrid closes his eyes, inhales and looks out over the river one last time. Then all his attention is on Duck. 

“You’re right. I may not always believe that, but I know it’s true.”

“You know what else?”

The smile suggests he does. Indrid leans the few inches in to kiss him, the action dreamlike in its softness. Duck catches a hint of two different scents; a pine tr sop and a cologne. The Sylph is sheltered from the chill by a sweatshirt that started off as Barclays, but is routinely claimed by his boyfriends. 

“You ain’t alone anymore.”

For the first time in decades, the mothman smiles while within sight of the rebuilt silver bridge. 

“You’re right, my love. I’m not.”

[shes-an-oddbird]

Sunflowers, Snapdragons, Roses and Daisies

Dousy Week Day 2 - Prompt : AU - A Flower Shop and Fake Dating AU in one

Actually a little Multichapter AU fic I’ve been working on for awhile. Enjoy :)

Summary: While covering a shift at Jemma’s flowers shop, Daisy must help a customer with an unusual request. When they discover flowers may not be the right thing to solve Daniel’s problem, they work out a new solution.

AO3

The custom of bringing flowers to a date, while once a staple, has become an outdated practice and is regarded as an old-fashion tradition, now considered unnecessary outside of special occasions. To avoid social faux pas these occasions should be limited to anniversaries, holidays and birthdays; never first dates where the gesture may come off as creepy or overstepping.

Seriously, Daisy thought. Of all the creepy things men do, bringing flowers to their date hardly qualified. Why did Jemma even have her reading this book? That was that kind of mentality that was going to put her little flower shop out of business.

“Excuse me miss, I could use some help, when you have a chance.”

Daisy nearly falls off her stool. She looks up to see a handsome man standing on the other side of the counter looking around uncertainly. How long had he been standing there? She hadn’t even heard the door open. She wants to swear, mostly because she’s already messed up but also because she really doesn’t want to help anyone. Despite what her name might imply, she knows next to nothing about flowers. She was only supposed to cover the desk and phones while Bobbi was out today.

She falters, trying to assess the situation quickly. She could do this, it was just flowers. She looks the customer over, thinks again that he’s a good-looking guy, wearing a nice, if a little stuffy, suit. He probably just needs flowers for his wife or girlfriend. She glances at his hand. Girlfriend then.

“Of course, I’m sorry, I was just caught up in my book.” She closes the book, giving the impression of her full attention. “What’s the occasion, anniversary?” She hopes it is. You give roses on an anniversary, even she knew that. It’s funny, she thinks in the back of her mind, at another time, when she wasn’t trying to save Jemma’s shop from a horrible review, she might realize it was odd to wish for the good-looking guy with the polite smile to be taken but Bobbi has already warned her about that. All the decent guys who come in are already spoken for.

“I’m afraid it’s not quite so simple.” He answers sheepishly.

“Ok, well, let’s hear it, I’m sure we can find the right thing.” Her fingers curl around the edge of the book. Where was Jemma? She was supposed to be back from the greenhouse by now.

He seems to consider his answer carefully before replying. “It’s more of a congratulations.”

“That’s not so bad,” she flips the book back open, prepared to check the index. “What are we celebrating?”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s probably not in your book.”

Daisy shakes her head. “This book comes with the Dr. Jemma Simmons stamp of approval, if it can be said with flowers, it’s in this book.” Or so she’s been told.

“My ex-girlfriend is getting married.”

Oh.

“That’s – well that’s, kind of passive aggressive, but some of these flowers do have pretty cruel meanings, I’m sure we can get the point across.” It makes him laugh which is great because that’s what she’d been going for. He was right, that wasn’t an easy one and she didn’t have a clue where to start. “OH! We have some great discount bouquets!”

“No, no, um, I’m happy for her, for them, really.” His shoulders are still shaking from laughing and she notices his eyes crinkle a bit at the corners, but after a moment of quiet he does let out a heavy sigh. He still needed something.

She gives him back a sympathetic smile. “My friend, she’s the owner, she should be back soon, if anyone can figure it out, she can.”

“No more faith in your book?”

“Umm.” Daisy flips the book to the list of flowers and their meanings. It was an insane amount of information, most of which was irrelevant according to Jemma. Customers who didn’t have much to spend asked for something pretty and simple. Customers with money to spare asked for something different. Nine times out of ten they didn’t care what the flowers meant, they either wanted a deal or to make a statement. She assumed in this guy’s case it was less about saying the right thing and more about not saying the wrong thing. He certainly couldn’t send roses to his ex to congratulate her on her wedding. But maybe some flowers with no romantic connotations. She could probably manage that. “You know what, I think we can put something together.”

He smiles back at her gratefully and follows her to the worktable set up in the middle of shop. Strewn across the table are rolls of red and blue ribbon from where she and Jemma had been finishing up some wedding flowers earlier that morning. She pushes it all aside into a messy pile and can hear her friend’s scolding tone about a neat workspace being a happy workspace.

“Does she have a favorite flower?” Daisy asks as lays out some paper the same way she has seen Jemma do.

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay, no problem.” Daisy looks around the shop. “Okay, what about – yellow!”

“I’m sorry?” He asks, not understanding her outburst.

“Yellow flowers, there are usually no romantic undertones associated with them.” She recalls as she grabs bins of yellow sunflowers, carnations, and daffodils, deposits them on the table and goes back around for the daisies, roses, and tulips. Eventually the table is full and Daisy returns her attention to the book.

By this point the customer has taken a seat at one of the stools by the worktable. He’s watched her shuffle around the store with amusement written across his face and now as she settles down to sort out his request he finally speaks again.

“Have you ever done this before?”

She looks up.

“Even once?”

“No.” She answers truthfully. She’s been caught, no point in lying about it. “But I’ve watched Jemma do this a million times, it’s not that hard.”

She expects him to stand and leave. Find a flower shop with a competent salesperson and a shelf dedicated to flowers for awkward occasions. Instead he remains seated. “Alright, where do we start?” With a surge of confidence, she continues.

She looks at the flowers. “Which do you like?”

 “Damn.”

“Still no good.”

“Disappointment and rejection, probably not going to work.” Daisy sets aside the yellow carnations. “I thought for sure, I mean we sell a ton of these.” So far, they have had to discard the marigolds, the roses, the chrysanthemums and nearly everything else she’s familiar with. The sole survivors are the daisies, the tulips and the sunflowers, and even those were on the fence.

They’d been at this for nearly an hour now. Daniel, he had eventually introduced himself, had made himself comfortable, removing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. He was happy to fetch and return whatever she requested. Daisy, twice, had to stop to help other customers and each time he apologized for taking up too much of her time and insisted he could come back later.

She refused. They would figure it out even if it took all day.

“Who even decides these things,” Daisy groans as she rearranges the flowers in front of her. “Dark thoughts, false riches, who looks at bright yellow flowers and thinks that?”

“Sounds like someone with a broken heart.” Daniel replies.

“Maybe.” It was the best explanation she could think of. She scoops up the flowers and drops them into a vase so she can see them standing up. They flop lifelessly. She grabs up some of the filler greens to support them, but it still looks a mess. “This would be so much easier if you just hated your ex like a normal person.”

“She’s not the problem, if I could just go to the wedding I wouldn’t need the flowers at all, I could just bring a toaster oven or a blender or booze, like they registered for.”

Daisy sighs and shoves the vase away. “Why can’t you go to the wedding?” He must have been invited it he has the gift registry.

“I can, I want to,” he pauses, “you don’t think it’s weird, to go to your ex’s wedding.”

She shrugs. “Not if you were invited and as long as your happy for them, and you know, you’re not still in love her with her or anything like that.” Now she takes a moment to pause. “You’re not still in love with her, are you?”

Daniel’s expression turns soft and his tone is nothing but genuine when he answers. “No, I care about her, truly, she’s one of my closest friends, but I am happy for them.”

“So go, I see no reason why not.” She encourages. “Please go, because this is a disaster.” She gestures to the flowers.

“I don’t know, its growing on me.” He pulls the vase towards him and adjusts some of the flowers. Daisy immediately realizes he’s avoiding the ‘why not’ and while its not her place to pry, she’s curious now.

“What is the real reason you don’t want to go?”

“It’s that obvious?” She nods. “It’s really not them, it’s everyone else who will be there, we all work together and they know that when things ended between me and her it was really more on her and I was the one left with a broken heart, if I go, I just know I’m going to get that look, that poor pitiful Daniel look, all night long and I already get that enough of that as it is.”

“Why is that?”

“Hmm, oh.” Daniel stops fussing with the flowers. He turns on the stool and tugs up his pant leg to reveal a metal prosthetic.

“Oh well that will do it.” Her surprise gets the better of her and she doesn’t realize till after the words are out how they may have sounded. “Sorry, that was rude.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, “No, it’s okay, I rather people didn’t make a big deal of it.”

She understands. Not what it was like to have a prosthetic leg of course but to have attention for something connected with less than pleasant memories.

The bell above the door jingles, pulling Daisy out of her thoughts. She looks up to greet the customer and instead see Jemma entering the store, a slight squishing sound following her as she trudges to the counter and dumps her bag and keys across it.

“You will not believe – “

“It rained?” Daisy interrupts.

“No, it did not rain,” Jemma runs her fingers through her damp hair trying to make it presentable. “The sprinkler system in the greenhouse went berserk, drenched my phone so I couldn’t call out, I had to run to get Fitz and drag him back there to fix it, I’ll be lucky if everything isn’t ruined.”

“That’s sounds terrible.” Daniel’s sympathetic reply catches Jemma off guard. She spins around with a look of horror on her face that fades just a bit when she sees them.

“Oh! I didn’t realize, Daniel Sousa – ” She surges forward, hand outstretched and a wide grin on her face. Daniel jumps up from his seat to meet her halfway and shake her hand in hello.

Daisy looks back and forth between them. “You two know each other?”

“Daniel is a regular customer.”

“Flower shops have regulars?”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “It’s so lovely to see you again, its been a bit since you’ve been in – “ She trails off, her eyes going wide as she spots her pristine workspace in perfect disarray. Daisy stands and attempts to position herself in front of the table to hide the mess. “What brings you in today?” She asks distractedly.

“It’s a long story.” Daisy is forced to move aside as Jemma steps forward to examine the bouquet Daisy had only moments ago deemed a disaster.

“Oh, I think I’d like to hear it if it somehow ends with this.”

“It’s my fault really, I wanted to send flowers to Peggy and her fiancé, as a sort of apology for not attending their wedding, Daisy was trying to help me put together something that would properly express that without sending the wrong message.”

“I see.” Jemma collects the last bins of flowers and returns them to their homes.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Daisy whispers to him.

“I feel like I just got you in trouble with the principal.”

Jemma returns to the table and inspects the bouquet again. “Well I can see where you were coming from here Daisy, but I told you, most people don’t read much into the meanings behind the flowers.”

“You’re the one that gave me the book!”

“Yes, and in that book, it also tells you that it’s not customary to send flowers for a wedding.” Daisy frowned. She hadn’t gotten to that part. “That said, I’m afraid flowers aren’t going to solve your problem Daniel.”

“That’s okay, it’s probably a sign that I just need to suck it up and go, let everyone whisper over their cake about poor single heartbroken Daniel a little bit longer.”

“That does sound truly awful.” Jemma says gently.

It does, but in that moment Daisy is struck by an idea. “Hey wait, why don’t you just bring a date?”

Daniel looks sheepishly at the ground. “I, I haven’t got anyone to bring.”

“Perhaps you could go out and meet someone new.” Jemma suggests.

“I don’t usually connect with people that fast and the wedding is this weekend.”

“Well it’s not like she has to be the love of your life or anything.”

“Daisy makes a very good point, you could always invite a friend.” Jemma suggests but Daisy already knows that won’t work either, a friend won’t eliminate the look of pity from his colleagues faces. She has only known Daniel for an hour but she’s already on his side. She wants him to have it all, to attend the wedding for his friends and to give a proper screw you to his coworkers. “What you need is a fake date, someone who you can pretend to be invested in just enough that they know you’re over your ex but not enough that the next time they see you they think to ask about her.”

“OH! You should take Daisy!” Jemma looks absolutely giddy, as if her sudden exclamation is a stroke of genius and hasn’t caught her best friend completely off guard.

“Wait what?”

“Well why not, she’d be the perfect fake date, no one will know her, you two clearly don’t mind spending a bit of time together, unless you made this mess all in five minutes,” she gestures again at her worktable. “And I promise under this apron she’s a total babe, no one would look at you and feel sorry for you, I promise.”

Daisy does notice that she is not the only one embarrassed by this proposition; Daniel looks flustered and unsure how to handle having a date just tossed at him. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“She wouldn’t mind, she really needs to get out more anyways.” Daisy slaps Jemma’s arm.

“I get out.”

Daniel shifts uncertainly. “Still, this wedding is kind of a high profile event.”

“She cleans up really well.”

Daniel’s eyes go wide. “Oh no, that’s not what I meant,” He looks frantically back and forth between them, “I’m sure you do, it’s just there is going to be a lot of people there and possibly media.” He shakes his head as if he can’t believe how ridiculous the notion is and again Daisy finds herself wondering who exactly this woman is. In fact, it has gotten to the point where she kind of wants to meet these people.

“Actually, it might be kind of cool.”

“What?”

Daisy considers for a moment longer before confirming her answer. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind, besides I feel like I’ve got to see this through to the end now, since the flowers were kind of a bust.”

It takes him a full minute to catch up. “Um, the wedding is Saturday, if you’re free?”

She nods.

“Okay.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “You’re really sure?”

“Yeah, it’ll be great, we can give those gossipy coworkers of your something to really talk about.”

“Alright, great.” He looks at their flower project and turns to Jemma “Can I still buy these?”

“You don’t have to – “

Daisy cuts Jemma off. “Oh my god no, this is, it’s really my problem, you can take the cost out of my pay Jemma.”

“No really, I actually kind of like it.” Daisy doesn’t believe that for a moment, but she also can’t think of any other reason why he’d want to keep the sad little bouquet.

Maybe Jemma does though? She smiles happily and scoops up the vase, “let me wrap them for you.”