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poursomesunaonme · 2 years ago

Text

living room mural

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: what could be more innocent than a home reno with your partner gojo satoru?

word count: 12k of unadulterated filth

author’s note: rewrote my debut piece on this blog :') i will never recover lmao

content/warnings: minors dni, established relationship w/ satoru; about a gazillion pet names (love, sweets, baby/babe, princess, darling, sweetheart, pretty girl), oral (fem receiving), fingering, dacryphilia, choking, teasing, a microscopic speck of angst, praising (good girl), degradation (cumslut), lots of spit, body painting (with actual paint), does that count as exhibitionism if it’s plastered on the walls, reader is blindfolded, biting, breeding kink, daddy kink, multiple creampies, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, spanking, edging, squirting, v rough, a sprinkle of fluff, gojo antagonizing poor nanami

(we’re gonna pretend that this paint is non-toxic and won’t permanently damage skin pls ignore how down despicable i am for this concept🥺😭)

The pungent scent of fresh paint and sawdust flooded your nostrils as you rolled the first coat of paint over the primed walls. The first stroke of beautiful white paint against the shit brown left you nearly breathless. You wanted to sit down and marvel at this step of progress, but the satisfaction of even a single stroke had you craving the finished product.

Before you got back to work, you closed your eyes, listening to the sound of Satoru working outside. He was sanding down the wood to build a bookshelf in the living room. The drone of the sander starting and stopping would provide a good rhythm for your work. A smile rose to your face as you heard him talking to himself in the same animated manner that he would use in speaking to other people. You sighed, looking back to the wall you had to tackle.

In a frenzy, you went to work, the roller gliding over the wall with ease. The streaks of paint turned into even blotches of beautiful white, which after countless minutes of aching-inducing labor, was a finished work of a completely white wall. You stood back, setting down the roller. Your fingers nimbly massaged your shoulder as you swung it around a bit to get out the cramps.

You had two more walls of white to do before you started on the last wall that you and Satoru had agreed to paint an olive green. The accent wall also happened to have the fireplace on it, which you were going to leave for last with how tedious the work would be. You went to the kitchen to grab a drink, deciding to make one for Satoru as well. Admiring the wall once again, you passed through the living room and looked out the screen door, seeing him hard at work. The sweat glistened brightly on his forehead, accentuating his face that was contorted in focus on his task.

You kicked open the door, laughing at his face brightening when he saw you with his refreshment. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the bottom hem of his tank top, revealing his toned abs. You sighed, content, as he left his work to sit on the steps with you, groaning as his butt hit the cement. He lifted the goggles that he was wearing, setting them on his forehead. You handed him his drink wordlessly, watching his Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped down the water.

Together, you looked out into the yard, which was ablaze with the light of the afternoon sun. It was the point in the day where the sun seemed to shine the brightest before the hue changed with the golden hour. The stacks of supplies littering the grass were the only indications that the two of you were in the middle of a home renovation. Satoru’s work station was meticulously set up in his own specific way to make his tasks easier. You found the organized chaos endearing.

You set your cup down next to you after taking a sip, wiping the condensation of the glass off on your jeans. Flecks of paint littered them right down to the cuffs. Surprised, you pulled out the hem of your cami, seeing that you had also somehow gotten paint splattered on the front of it as well. You surmised that you had made the right decision to wear clothes you didn’t care too much about. Sighing, you picked up your glass once again, gulping down water to satiate your thirst.

“I have two more white walls to do, then it’s onto the fireplace wall,” you told him. You leaned into him and found that the dewiness of the sweat on your arms made them nearly stick together. He didn’t respond. His lips were locked onto the glass as he downed the water like it would be his last drop. You nudged him with your elbow. You wanted to know how his work was coming along. He finished his water with a dramatic “ahh,” setting down the empty cup next to him.

“I have a lot more wood to sand down,” he commented, gesturing to the stack he had next to his workbench. “I did not think this through. Do you still want a bookshelf? I think that maybe we could do without it.”

You chuckled and rested your head on his shoulder briefly. “Yes, ‘Toru, I want one. But we can always just buy one from Ikea.” You blinked innocently, yet a smirk toyed with the corners of your lips. “But I at least thought that the best would be able to finish a simple bookshelf. Guess I was wrong.”

You hoped that the mocking statement would injure his pride enough to spur him to finish the task.

The corners of his mouth turned into a frown, lost in thought for a moment. Then, he jolted upwards with a newfound fervor. You chuckled to yourself at how easily he played right along into your hands. “I’ll finish it!”

Planting a quick kiss on your lips, he sprinted back to his work, grunting as he picked up another board and set it on the table. The sander turned on, Satoru guiding its movements with ease, muscles rippling in the afternoon sun. You watched for a bit, sipping your water as you watched the sweat begin to seep through through his tank with his added effort. The sawdust that flew from the wood stuck to his skin.

After a few more minutes, your drink was finished. You set your hands on your knees, grunting as you stood up. You had hoped that the work wouldn’t make you too sore. The burning spots targeted by your repetitive motions said otherwise. Satoru noticed you taking your leave. You waved to him, which in response, he winked, gritting his teeth as he held the sander in place. You plucked the empty cups from the step and entered the house once again. You set them in the kitchen, then got back to work on the next wall.

The painting was easier as you got into a steady rhythm, even switching hands on occasion when your arm started to wear out. The work was repetitive and calming; letting out a gruff laugh, you considered switching jobs to become a painter. It was exponentially less stressful than teaching. With a sigh, you stood back, realizing that in your reverie, you had finished the last two walls, both of which didn’t have anything that you had to paint around, making them easy to finish without incident.

You smiled to yourself, wondering how Satoru was doing with his work. He had been so excited when he came up with the idea (it was more your putting the idea into his head and him taking the credit for it) of building a bookshelf for you, a light tone that contributed to the peaceful atmosphere of the living room. You knew it would be the perfect piece that you two had been looking for to complete the layout.

You sat down next to the can of green paint, prying it open and then dumping a healthy amount into the pan. You picked up the other roller, watching as it soaked up the pretty olive hue. Staring intently at the wall you had to tackle, the only thing you had to worry about was the fireplace, which you were still picking out a color for. Pieces of your hair tumbled into your eyes. You brushed them away, quickly deciding that you were going to worry about painting the wall directly next to the fireplace at the end of your work.

Halfway thorugh the wall, you thought that being a professional painter would definitely be a viable side job, seeing as you were now working efficiently and had ascertained easy tricks to make the work seamless. After you had finished the unblocked parts of the wall, you started at the bottom of the fireplace with a new, smaller brush, carefully tracing next to the painter’s tape. Both sides were finished quickly enough, only leaving the top of the mantle to tackle.

The fresh paint smell had attached itself to your body, your nose not even used to it after the seeming hours you had spent applying it to the walls. Standing on your tiptoes, you attempted to reach and stroke the paint blindly across the back edge of the mantle. No matter where you stood, you couldn’t see over the edge, and you certainly didn’t want to use a roller and get more on there than you needed. Sighing with frustration, you set down the brush on the pan. You straightened up, hands on your hips, trying to figure out another way to tackle the situation.

“Only you can make painting look this good,” Satoru commented from behind you. You whirled around, seeing him leaning against the doorframe, covered in sawdust, arms crossed over his chest. His goggles were up against his hairline, pushing the hair up at a funny angle. You smiled and sauntered over to him. He whistled at your sultry approach and planted a kiss on your lips when you reached him.

“‘Toru,” you started sweetly, trailing a finger down his chest, “now that you’re here, would you be a doll for me and paint the spots above the mantle? I can’t reach.”

He stooped down, pressing a kiss into your damp forehead. “Of course, love.”

You clapped your hands, spinning back around and beginning a trot back to the fireplace. Satoru kept pace with you easily with long strides. You squealed as one of his large hands collided with your ass. You cast a glance at him, seeing the devilish grin at the satisfying sound.

He plucked the brush from the pan, dabbling a bit to get more on the bristles. With ease, he stood at the mantle, not even having to stand on his tiptoes to see what he was doing. You watched with arms crossed as he set long strokes across the base. His back muscles pulled taut and released with grace with his movements, the sparkling of his sweat glistening with the setting sun filtering in through the windows.

The sawdust sprinkled across his body began to fall off as his sweat dried, adding a certain kind of magic that only he could embody. It was almost like special effects. It looked like a hazy dream with the glimmer of sweat and the perfectly orange light. He applied a few more strokes, then let his hand fall to his side, examining his work. Once he deemed it presentable, he turned back to you with an endearing smile gracing his lips.

You quietly padded over to him, feeling like you were floating on air in the approach. In turn, he glided over to you, eyes wandering up and down your body from under his snowy eyelashes. You bit your lip with a cheeky smile. His eyes narrowed reflexively like a hunter’s. Without warning, he lunged forward, brush extended. You squealed and tried to recoil, but your reflexes weren’t fast enough for the huge streak of paint he spread down your shirt.

You looked down at it, then back up at him. “Satoru!”

He let out a laugh, tossing the brush to the side, not bothering to look as it clattered over the covered floors. “Sorry, couldn’t say ‘no’ to those thoughts.”

You charged at him with your arms extended to swat playfully at him. He grabbed your biceps with an iron grip and pulled you close to subdue you. It worked, but not before you squirmed in his embrace, making sure his shirt was covered in paint as well.

After you had stopped moving, his grip loosened and he pulled back, examining your shirt with a mock concern. He tugged at the hem, seeing that what was once a stripe of paint had spread to cover the whole front of your shirt during the tussle.

“Hun, I think your shirt is ruined,” he commented, corners of his mouth turning up at the sight of your indignation. He stooped down so close that his lips were brushing your ear. “Think you should get rid of it now.”

You decided to take his comment literally (how he intended). You shoved him playfully, pulling it off over your head, revealing your bare chest. His jaw dropped as he tried to croak out a response to your actions, but you beat him to the punch.

“Guess I had no choice but to take it off,” you murmured. Your eyes flickered down to his shirt and back up to how his jaw tightened. He took the cue, slightly fumbling with the hem, but he didn’t any move to remove it. You took a step toward him, your heart beginning to race. The afternoon air wasn’t nearly cold enough to make your nipples hard, but the sight of Satoru sure was. The golden light shining through the windows made him look like an angel with the way it illuminated the dust around him and the sweat still shining on his skin.

“I think that would apply to you too, ‘Toru.” You closed the gap with another step as you reached for the bottom of his shirt. He continued a forward movement, pressing his whole front against you. The friction of your nipples rubbing against his shirt ignited a heat between your legs.

“‘Mkay.” He lifted a hand to gently stroke your cheek. His thumb rubbed roughly against the skin before he pulled it back to show you the paint on his finger. You swatted his hand away, forcing his attention onto you. “Take it off then.”

A smile rose to your lips as you obliged happily, nimbly tugging his shirt up to reveal his chiseled abdomen. The sight never failed to take your breath away. You let your fingers skim over his muscles as you pulled his shirt up over his body. His arms lifted gracefully to make your job easier, and after throwing it to the side, he was bare chested.

Before you could lift your eyes to meet his, his lips met yours gently. A tiny moan escaped you at the silky softness of his. Your hands found his arms and you gave them a satisfying squeeze. The muscles rippled in response to your touch. Your fingers skimmed up and down over his skin, eliciting heavy breaths from Satoru.

After just a few moments, your fingers felt raw. With a start, you realized that the bumps on Satoru’s skin were clumps of sawdust clumped together by sweat. It made things difficult, as it seemed to be everywhere and was rough on your fingertips. You started to dust him off, ignoring how the grainy flecks stuck between your fingers.

He pushed you backwards, hands beginning to wander as his tongue swiped over your bottom lip. You opened your mouth in response, letting out another moan – this one louder than the first – as his hands wound around to your backside, giving your ass a solid squeeze, a cheek in each hand.

You opened your eyes to see his reaction at the sound you had made - the looks of which you were not in the least disappointed by. Satoru’s eyes widened with surprise, then narrowed as his pupils blew out. Any sense of reservation with you was gone as soon as the vibrations left your throat. Half pushing, half carrying you, your bodies collided with the fireplace wall.

The wet paint stuck to your skin, the scent once again invading your nostrils after the sappy sweetness of Satoru’s had taken over your senses for those brief moments. You pulled away from the kiss, chest heaving. Satoru gave you a questioning glance before diving down to plant open mouthed kisses on your neck. Your hands met his hair, lightly pushing him away, but he didn’t pay much attention to your efforts.

“‘Toru, t-the paint’s still wet,” you squeaked as he sucked on the skin. He mumbled something against your neck before biting it lightly, tugging it between his teeth. The heat between your legs blazed even more intensely at Satoru’s tunnel vision. His passion was just too much to ignore. A feral groan left your lips as that one action sealed the wet walls’ fate for the night.

“Fuck it,” you sighed. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. Lips collided again as he took full advantage of your abandon, wrapping you up in his arms completely. He squeezed you tightly. Your chest flattened against his. His tongue was warm in your mouth. With a low moan, his fingers looped through the belt loops of your jeans, tugging you directly to where the tent in his pants was. A gasp passed between your mouths at the friction.

The moment seemed to spark something within him as he pulled back from your mouth. You pouted, trying to stand on your tiptoes to reach his again. Your fingers danced across his shoulders. He towered over you, eyes darkened with lust.

“Open your mouth,” he commanded, pulling on your loops to emphasize his words. Your response was immediate, obeying him fully, sticking out your tongue slightly. His hands untangled from your belt loops, ghosting over the skin of your chest up to your throat. One hand tightened around it while the other stroked your cheek lovingly. You blinked rapidly, waiting for him to do anything else.

It wasn’t much longer, as he had paused for a minute to gather spit in his mouth. Pursing his lips, he parted them slightly, letting a dribble of spit through them. Not faltering in your pose, you let it hit your tongue, watching intently as the rest of the warm liquid left his lips. Once he had finished, he gave your throat a light squeeze. A signal to swallow. You obliged, taking it in full and giving him a sultry smile afterwards.

“God, you’re so hot,” he growled, your lips meeting once again. His hands left their position and wrapped around your waist once again, pulling you closer to him. As he pried you off the wall, your nipples perked at the cold hitting your back. It was accompanied by the strange tightness of the paint beginning to dry on it.

It wasn’t long before he slammed you against the far wall. At least, you thought it was. You were so disoriented already from Satoru’s intense onslaught of passionate kisses, but you didn’t care. One wall was already ruined, what was the hurt in fucking up the others?

The kissing was fierce, passionate. You both fought for dominance, though it was always Satoru who won out in the end, even when you decided to take control and pin him against the wall instead (which, in any case, you knew he enjoyed). Over and over you turned, covering every inch of the wall with your bodies.

It seemed that Satoru shared the same mentality, as the process repeated itself again and again until you pulled back to catch your breath. You glanced around, and a laugh escaped your lips. Satoru sighed, following your eyeline until a guffaw left his lungs as well. The surveillance led us to the discovery that the initial makeout had left your entire backside (ass included) covered in green paint; this in turn, with Satoru’s slamming you against the far wall, had led to your ass displayed on every inch of it.

“Well, that was something I didn’t expect to ever see on the wall of a house,” you commented, bumping into your lover. He chuckled, planting a kiss on your temple. His arm wrapped around your waist, the warmth of his body sending a shiver through you.

“I personally love the view.” To emphasize his point, he grabbed your ass and squeezed it, leaving his hand covered in paint. “I think it’s missing something, though.”

“And what’s that?” You looked at him, seeing the usual devilish grin spread across his face. He didn’t even have to see your face to recognize the quizzical look that you would give him when he had one of his crazy ideas.

“Well, two things.” He held up two fingers to you like you didn’t know how to count. “First of all, I want your bare ass there, so take off your jeans. Second, mine isn’t there!”

You laughed, the sound echoing throughout the empty room. “What are we gonna do, slather paint all over your ass and have you stamp the walls?”

“Yeah? What else?” His nonchalant tone drew a giggle from you. Your eyes widened with glee, not expecting him to have been serious at all. He turned to you, face brightening at your enthusiasm.

“Oh, this is gonna be golden!” you smirked, getting the paint roller and the pans of paint. Together, you stripped down bare, throwing your pants in a pile where your shirts were. Because your prints were already there, Satoru was adamant about getting painted first. Indulging him, you knelt on the ground, prying open an extra can of paint that you had bought in the hopes of finding a use for it. The pretty lilac color poured out into your spare paint tray. Satoru giggled in delight as you soaked the roller and gestured for him to turn around.

“Okay, it’s gonna be cold,” you warned, not hesitating to start to roll the paint on the back of his thighs and over his ass. He squealed like a schoolgirl, wincing at the temperature on his sensitive skin. “Chill out! You’ve faced worse than this, you baby.”

He didn’t say anything, but stilled his body as you put more than was needed on his skin. After you covered him with a copious amount, you tapped on his calf. “I think you’re good to try.”

“Ooh, I can’t wait to see!” He ran over to the wall and leaned against it, making sure his legs were flat against it as well. He gave you a dramatic look, crossing his arms to emphasize his mock impatience. Lifting his arm to check his imaginary watch, he sighed.

A soft smile rose to your lips, watching his theatrics. The golden light filtering in through the window illuminated him beautifully. The sawdust was almost completely shaken from his skin, as was a result of your fierce kissing earlier; however, a few motes still unstuck themselves from him and drifted away, looking like little fireflies in the dazzling glow.

He sparkled like Christmas lights, standing there so nonchalantly, yet looking like a Renoir. The shadows cast by his handsome features cut so deep against his skin, the crests and valleys of his toned muscles like a landscape you felt like you had yet to explore. Eyes widening, you shook your head to bring yourself from your staring.

“I don’t think it would take that long for it to settle,” you told him with a knowing smile. “Hop off and let’s see it.”

His eyes widened at the odd sensation as he pulled away from the wall. You gasped, seeing the stamp of his ass. You knew it was going to be hilarious, but the imprint of his ass seeming to hover over the backs of his thighs in the middle of the wall sent you into a fit of laughter. His laughter soon followed when he saw the shapes.

Your stomach began to ache as you laid down on the ground, still in throes of giggles. Satoru came and sat down next to you, petting your head, watching you chuckle at the scene.

“Isn’t it just a work of art?” he commented. You rolled your eyes, sitting up and getting your own paint tray with the olive green still sitting inside of it. You stood up, turning and gesturing to the tools.

“My turn!” you sang, swiveling your hips. Without fail, Satoru’s hands cupped the bottom of your ass, lifting and shaking it. You craned your neck to see him watching it jiggle in wonder. With a sigh, you turned back around, waiting for him to roll paint onto it. Without warning, his teeth sunk into the fleshy skin.

“What the fuck!” you yelped, whirling around to flick him in the forehead. His teeth flashed into a grin as he narrowly avoided your fingers, picking up the roller instead. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“What? I just couldn’t help myself.” His sweet tone threatened to make your teeth rot. While it hurt at first, the pleasure of it was beginning to hit as the irritated skin began to heat up. You shifted uncomfortably, not exactly wanting to ask him to do it again, but wanting it all the same.

“Just paint my ass.”

“Now that’s a sentence I’d never thought I’d hear coming out of your mouth,” he snickered, not even warning you that he was going to start. You sucked in a breath at the cool feeling on your bare skin, not wanting to show your discomfort as much as he did. The coolness felt wonderful on the spot where he bit you. He finished in a few seconds, the foreign sensation ceasing as quickly as it began.

You ran over to where he stamped the wall and sat against it. The height difference made you giggle as you imagined the print of your ass barely level with his thighs. After a few seconds, you pulled back, grimacing at the sticky sensation. You turned around and slapped a hand over your mouth, seeing the plumpness of your ass on the wall.

“We should frame that and put it in the Louvre,” Satoru joked, coming up beside you and wrapping an arm around you. You turned to him, pulling closer, your chests pressed against each other. Your mouth was slightly ajar, not even wanting to say anything to him. You were both naked, and you wanted him.

When he looked down and saw your expression, he licked his lips hungrily before your lips collided. The kiss deepened without hesitation, with Satoru’s tongue slipping into your mouth. His arms enveloped you easily, pulling you closer, roaming all over your bare back. The gentle skim of his fingers sent shivers down your spine. He tilted his head down slightly, breaking the contact of your lips enough to leave your foreheads pressed together. Your eyes met as heavy pants passed between your lungs.

“Lay down, sweets,” he murmured, cupping your face in his hands. You nodded and obeyed without a word, the tarp crinkling underneath you. A low whistle escaped his lips as you spread your legs for him, the cool air hitting the heat gathered between your thighs. He crouched down, marveling at the view before moving in closer. As he crawled to settle between your legs, something other than the tarp crinkled.

Your eyes widened as you looked to the source of the sound, finding that Satoru had accidentally placed his hand into the lilac paint. You opened your mouth to protest as Satoru shrugged and proceeded to continue his approach, but he held his clean hand up to his lips.

“Let me paint you, baby,” he murmured. You swear he could’ve slid inside then and there because his statement nearly made you gush. His soft white hair tickled your inner thighs as he reached his journey’s end. He looped his arms around your thighs, his left hand smearing wet paint all over your leg.

The slippery sensation felt amazing as he squeezed and massaged them, planting kisses on the sensitive skin of your thighs that made your pussy flutter. He sighed, hot breath tickling the needy skin, before licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit. You moaned, arching your back at the contact. You reached down, tangling your fingers in his hair to hold on for dear life. He chuckled lowly, his painted hand untangling from your leg. He watched, beginning to suck on your clit, as his hand snaked up your body, leaving a trail of lilac paint.

Satoru’s huge hand kneaded your tit, leaving a handprint to mark his territory. You squirmed in his grasp, the chilly paint causing your nipples to pebble into peaks. He pinched one as he buried his face in your pussy, picking up the pace. Even in the haze his fervor cast upon you, the exaggerated movements of his hands smearing paint all over your torso grounded you in the moment.

You pulled him closer by the hair, moans spilling from your lips. Even with your eyes squeezed shut, you could imagine everything that he was doing with the heightened senses that your arousal gifted you with. His other arm unwound itself from your leg and trailed up your torso, arriving at your mouth.

“Open up, princess,” he cooed against your pussy, causing you to squirm against the vibration of his voice. You did as you were told and he didn’t hesitate to slip his pointer and middle finger inside. You hollowed out your cheeks, sucking obediently, swirling your tongue around his fingers to coat them with your saliva before he pulled them out.

“Good girl.” Your eyes widened as he spread his digits apart, watching the trails of spit that webbed his fingers with a lustful gaze. He briefly rubbed them on your clit, then swiftly plunged them into your cunt. You cried out as he curled them upwards, finding the spot he knew so well. He swirled them around a bit, finding a good rhythm and watching you wriggle before gracing your clit with his mouth once again.

The second he resumed his work, you could already feel yourself getting close. You couldn’t help that each exhale was an obnoxious moan; Satoru knew your body better than you did. The slurping sounds that came from between your legs could’ve made a nun blush as he worked his hardest to bring you to a climax.

The heat spread everywhere on your body as the complementarity of Satoru’s rhythmic fingering and incessant tonguing worked together to stimulate you. Your legs began to shake as your eyes rolled back into your head. Your fingers pulled harder on his hair, telling him to keep it up because you couldn’t form the words with your own mouth.

“You’re close, hm?” he purred, scissoring his fingers against your velvet walls. You squeezed your thighs together, trapping him.

“Mmhm,” you managed to squeak out. Without a word, he resumed his speed, your pussy throbbing against his mouth. Pulsing muscles constricted and loosened rapidly as they sucked his fingers deeper into your cunt. The intensifying loudness of your moans sung of the quick approach to your orgasm.

“Cum for me, darling,” he egged you on, watching in satisfaction as you unraveled before him. You cried out, legs seizing up as the orgasm hit you like a freight train. He continued his onslaught, mouth and hand working to keep the stimulation going, while his other hand was still massaging your breast.

The waves of pleasure began to ebb away, and the stars cleared from your vision. You sighed happily, massaging Satoru’s scalp as he slowed his pace. Your body jerked occasionally, still in the throes of the ebbing orgasm. He picked his head up, planting kisses up your abdomen, settling on the breast that he hadn’t covered in paint. His other hand remained in your cunt, still massaging your g-spot. His thumb roved your clit in lieu of his mouth. Your head spun as he tongued and sucked on your nipple, setting off fireworks all over your body.

“S’toru,” you whined, “kiss me… please?”

He released your nipple with a soft pop, teeth flashing in a luminous smile. “I love it when you beg for me,” he murmured, twisting his fingers deliciously. The buttery smoothness of his lips brushed against yours, fueling the flames in your belly. You melted into him, pliable as putty as he worked you into another climb up the mountain of pleasure.

“Ngh, fuck!” you choked out as your head rolled back, gripping his shoulders. Your moans were quickly muffled by his mouth on yours, enveloping the soft tissue and every sound that came from it. His lips were impossibly smooth, contradicting the roughness of his fingers that rolled within you. Satoru’s teeth bit and tugged on your bottom lip, before parting your lips with his tongue and gently sliding it inside your mouth. His face pulled away, watching your expression contort with neediness. The paint drying on his spare hand, he reached past your head, fumbling with his clothes.

You opened your mouth to ask what he was doing, but it quickly snapped shut when you saw his blindfold dangling from his hand. The grin on his face was telling of what he was going to say, and you were more than eager to agree. Before you knew it, Satoru was slipping the blindfold over your head, settling it gently over your eyes, surprisingly all while still keeping a steady rhythm massaging your g-spot.

“You doin’ okay, sweetheart?” Satoru’s voice showered down on you from his position above. You could hear the smile in his tone at the sight of you splayed out underneath him, completely at his mercy. The thought made you nearly gush.

“Uh-huh, ‘Toru,” you moaned sweetly, relishing in the warmth of his body on yours. The brush of his lips on your mouth nearly made you jump out of your skin, but you soon dissolved into the contact as his tongue slid inside of your mouth. He threatened to swallow you whole, your tongues intertwining like snakes, salia mixing sloppily.

“Can you take another, pretty girl?” Satoru’s lips left yours and whispered the question directly into your ear. The ghost of his breath brushed against sensitive skin, sending shivers down your spine. A whimper escaped you, but you nodded, clinging to his shoulders. He didn’t hesitate to plunge an extra finger into your cunt, letting your walls assimilate to the stretch. He spread his fingers wide within you, eliciting a cry from your lips.

“So much,” you mumbled, the familiar feeling of the tears prickling in the bridge of your nose as you struggled to take his three fingers. Despite your whimpering, he continued, relentlessly curling his long fingers to tickle the spot that ruined you every time. As he continued gently pumping his digits into you, your walls assimilated to the girth.

“Helpin’ you get ready for the main show.” The smile was evident in his voice as he planted a kiss on your open mouth, ignoring your eyebrows knitting together, ignoring the trembling of your entire body, but especially ignoring your knees weakly struggling to come together, blocked by his hips lodged between them.

The alien chill of paint covered the skin of your throat as his hand wrapped around it, gently squeezing. Your head began to pound with each beat of your heart. After a few more moments of his fingers dexterously massaging the soft skin of your neck, his hand traveled upwards, grabbing the sides of your face and squishing them together.

“Open up for me, darling,” he purred. You didn’t need to see to feel brilliant blue eyes, darkened with lust, as they pierced through you. Your mouth went dry as you forced it open. Your tongue protruded, waiting for what you knew was to come. His finger brushed against your cheek as he pushed the blindfold up slightly, allowing you to watch the scene that unfolded. Without fail, Satoru stuck out his own tongue, watching lazily as the spit he gathered dropped from one mouth to another.

The fire in your belly exploded at the feral gleam in his eyes, at the renewed ferocity that he plunged his fingers into your cunt, at the tantalizing movement of his thumb on your clit. A gurgle escaped your lips at a particularly potent movement within you that zapped like electricity throughout your veins. Your nails dug into his skin as you fought to keep your head from spinning off.

“Uh-uh,” Satoru tsked, shaking your head back and forth easily to emphasize his words. You hadn’t even realized that your mouth snapped shut. “Don’t swallow yet.”

A tear slipped from your bleary eyes, rolling down your cheek. His lips were on your face in an instant, kissing the wetness away. Your lips trembled, along with your whole body, as Satoru’s digits wreaked havoc within your velvet walls. The fire in your belly spread throughout your limbs, rendering you a shaking mess as your orgasm came barrelling at you.

“S’toru?” you mewled, drool spilling from the corner of your mouth. He fixed his attention on you without words, eyes gleaming at you as they watched you struggle to string sounds together. “Can I swallow now?”

The question must’ve sounded so silly with the amount of spit impeding your speech, but Satoru only gently kissed your forehead, his voice rumbling against you. “Of course, princess.”

As the warm, slightly sweet liquid descended down your throat, one of your hands ceased gripping his shoulder like a lifeline and fumbled around the tarp. You could feel his eyes looking inquisitively at you, but you ignored it as your hand found what you wanted. The gooey viscosity of the olive paint coated your hand. As you removed your hand from the tray, the excess paint dripped off, splattering onto the tarp. The foreign feeling of skin through the barrier of paint met your hand as you placed it on the back of Satoru’s neck, pulling him closer to you.

Your lips met his ear, the pungent scent of the fresh paint flooding your nose once again at the proximity. “Can I cum, ‘Toru? ‘M close, babe.”

With a kiss to your neck, he removed his dexterous digits. You cried out, surprised by the empty feeling, missing the stimulation both inside and out of you. Looking down, you saw that Satoru had simultaneously begun to line himself with your entrance. Your eyes widened as you saw what you had been hoping for, biting your lip in excitement. His body twisted slightly as he reached for something behind him.

“You ready?”

He already knew the answer. A cheeky smile lit up his face, telling you everything you needed to know. His ego needed to be stroked. You needed to be filled. Mutual interests.

You shoved those thoughts out of your head, filling them with your desire for Satoru and Satoru alone. You had chosen each other, claimed the other for yourselves. Passion filled the air around you - had already begun to seep through the walls of the house as you made it your own.

You nibbled on your lower lip, blinking your eyes like a doe. He softened seeing your expression, leaning down lower so that the hair that cascaded down tickled your forehead.

“Yes, baby.”

His thick cock plunged into your weeping cunt all while he wrapped his freshly painted hand around your throat. A struggling moan left your lips as your body attempted to become accustomed to both feelings, but the overwhelming intensity of being stretched by his cock and being painted as his property sent your head spinning.

The blindfold slipped down over your eyes once again at Satoru’s slow but powerful thrusts, leaving you dazed. The tarp beneath you crinkled loudly at your movements, but you paid it no mind. His pace halted for a second, then resumed as his other hand joined in on the Pollock that was your body. His other hand remained gripping your throat as the freshly coated member roamed your body, coating it in the beautiful lilac paint.

You fumbled blindly for your paint tray, your wandering hands finally finding purchase once you gripped the plastic. You pulled it closer to yourself and plunged your hands into the cool liquid, not caring that paint was dripping everywhere - down your arms, onto the tarp. They slunk over Satoru’s body, coating him in the beautiful olive hue. As much as you wanted to see the art you were making, you also loved that it would be a surprise when he let you take off the blindfold.

The tip of Satoru’s dick knocked against your cervix as he picked up his pace, his cock beginning to twitch within you. You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, holding him closer to you. He tweaked your nipples, face buried in the crook of your neck as your neediness brought him closer to his high. You wrapped your legs around his waist, hoisting yourself up off the ground for him to get a better angle.

“Ah, fuck,” he panted into the sensitive skin of your neck, “you’re killin’ me, babe.”

You only smiled, tilting your head back at the way his hips rutted against yours, at the way he rubbed against your clit so deliciously, at the way his balls slapped against the crease of your ass, dripping with the juices that flowed from you. His tip nuzzled so perfectly inside that it brought tears to your eyes. Your walls had stretched to accommodate his huge length, squeezing him so nicely.

The coil in your center needed to be unraveled. Moans poured from your lips as you used the leverage you had wrapped around him to feebly fuck him back, eliciting a string of curses falling from his mouth. Your tongues intertwined sloppily, ministrations pouring from mouth to mouth as you both approached your high.

“C-cum with me?” you panted against Satoru’s moist mouth. He only managed to get out a grunt as you felt him jump inside you once again. He fucked you hard and fast, breath nearly flaming in your mouth. Your wet hands roamed all over his body, quickly followed by your nails digging into his soft skin as fireworks exploded within you. Without warning, your orgasm hit harder than you expected, eliciting an obnoxious moan from your lungs as you held him impossibly close, squeezed him impossibly tighter.

That was all he needed as he came inside you, shuddering breath spewing against the soft skin of your chest as he planted open mouthed kisses against the unpainted inches of your breasts (at least, you hoped that he wasn’t ingesting paint). Your walls continued to contract, milking him dry as you felt him spilling in you, opting to paint your inner walls instead of the living room.

Your body convulsed with the power of the orgasm, your legs falling limp to the tarp, unable to hold themselves up anymore. His dick slipped out of you as your ass hit the ground, the empty feeling drawing a cry from your lips. You lay there, panting, feeling his cum leak out of you.

Satoru nestled into you, weighing on you like a security blanket, as you both recovered from your highs. Your fingers tangled in his hair, relishing in the movement of his chest against yours, nothing separating you as you lay tangled on the floor of your living room, in your house, in the new chapter of your lives beginning. You pressed a kiss into his hair, letting out a content sigh.

You wanted to stay like this forever. To remain in the arms of your lover, on the floor of the living room in your new home. To freeze this moment where he was all yours, when his mind was only on you, on you both, and nothing else. You knew that eventually you would both go back to work, he would go on amazing and dangerous missions, and you would be left alone in the empty house, waiting for him to come back. But, at least you would have this memory - you would know that you were his and he was yours.

“Let’s go on a field trip!” Satoru giggled, jolting you from your peaceful reverie. Your hands flew to coat themselves in paint, as you knew that he was moving you away from the tray - and you wanted to continue with your game. His arms wrapped you up and lifted you. Your nipples perked at the cool air on your back. Paint and cum dripped off your body as you wrapped your legs around his torso, squeaking at the slightest brush of his abs against your clit. In no time, you hit a wall. Satoru’s hands were on your ass in an instant, lowering you to sink down onto his dick.

A cry escaped your lips as you felt like being split in two all over again, your cum leaking all over him from your last orgasm. A shudder rocked through your body as a breath hissed out of you. Nails burrowed into skin feebly to counteract the pain of his girth stretching you.

His fingers dug into the supple flesh of your ass, painting it with his lilac liquid as he easily suspended you against the wall. You felt the damp paint begin to streak across the wall as he bounced you up and down on his cock, his face buried in your neck, gently kissing and biting the sensitive skin.

The prickly feeling of tears in your nose rose to a peak as your clit dragged against his front. Swollen from overstimulation, it throbbed weakly, your cunt weeping at the painful pleasure. Tears began to stain the blindfold as they fell from your eyes, just barely leaking out from underneath to streak down your cheeks. You sniffled, clinging to Satoru’s broad shoulders.

At the sound, a chill hit your neck as Satoru removed his face. His lips were pressing to your cheeks instantly, kissing the tears away once again. Warmth spread all over your body, being wrapped up in the arms of the sun itself.

“Oh, princess,” he muttered, still peppering kisses over your face even though the tears were gone. “Don’t cry! Look how well you’re taking my cock. You’re being so, so good for me.”

You mustered up a smile at his praises as his lips collided with yours once again. Pressing your back against the wall, you angled your body so that you were able to grind in circles on him. The overstimulation zapped within you every few strokes, but it was beginning to ebb away at the rising crest of pleasure.

“Fuck, just like that, baby,” Satoru groaned, beginning to rut into you faster. By now, all of his cum had leaked out of you, splattering distastefully onto the floor. He seemed to notice the sound at the same time you did, as it fueled him further.

“Maybe that attempt might not’ve gotten you pregnant,” he hissed into your ear, self control beginning to dissipate. “Maybe I should fuck another baby into you, hm?”

“Uh-huh,” was all you managed to force out at the ferocity in which he began railing into you. His energy never failed to amaze you, and never failed to pleasure you. One of your hands flew to the wall to steady yourself, smearing paint all over it in the process.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s see you pumped full of cum again, baby. Is that what you want? Want me to cum in you again?”

His actions were nothing short of animalistic as he pushed, pressed, pinched every inch of your body, beginning to nip at the skin of your neck as he began to lose control. Your feeble mind could barely keep up with his physical and spoken output. Your eyes squeezed shut under the blindfold, then opened, seeing nothing.

“Yes, please, ‘Toru.” Your breathing came in gasps as your high drew nearer. You could see stars in the corner of your vision as the coil in your belly threatened to unravel, spilling honey from your sex at every thrust.

“Please what?” The teasing tone of his voice was a poor cover up at the desire for you to satisfy him, to play into his fantasy that he wanted - no, needed - to make a reality.

“Please - ngh!” you couldn’t finish the sentence. Your mind was fogging up, halting all mental processes. All you could think about was his cock drilling into you, your walls weakly squeezing to keep up with his pace. His lips pressed against your chest, tasting the salt that covered your skin.

“Say it, baby.” The softness of his voice soothingly flowed over your ears, gently caressed you and carried you to the precipice of your orgasm. You drew a deep breath, forcing your brain to put together sounds.

“Please… let me make you a daddy!”

The words tumbled from your lips like prayers, falling on the ears of a sympathetic god, who showed mercy by pounding into your sopping pussy. Your lover, althought he was the one who physically dominated you, was easily emotionally bent to your will like a spring sapling. His pace faltered slightly, then picked up with a new vigor as he processed your request.

“Oh, that… that’s my girl!” he forced out, cock twitching uncontrollably within you. One of his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you up, while the other reached to grab your throat. At the stimulation of the sensitive skin, he pushed you over the edge of your orgasm. You came together for the second time, mixing his seed with your juices once again as they both ran down your thighs, spilling onto his cock.

The cries that came from your lips could’ve made the neighbors call the cops. You clung to each other, suspended in a mindblowing orgasm, his hips erratically slapping against yours. Hot breath mixed between your mouths as your lips collided, soft moans expelled between the both of them. You were so close - your breaths were mixing, you couldn’t tell where his body ended and yours began, you were truly one.

“I love dragging you around like my little braindead cumslut,” Satoru whispered into your ear. Your eyebrows furrowed at his unprovoked statement, but you couldn’t help that his words made your walls clench around him.

All of a sudden, his arms disappeared, and you were supported by nothing. Struggling to find your bearings, being blindfolded, you flailed wildly. Satoru’s laughter drew a smile from your own lips as he caught you again and set you down, letting you find your footing.

You wanted to slap at him for teasing you, but your brain was still recovering, still searching your other senses to make sense of your reality. Before you could string two thoughts together, his hand was on the small of your back, guiding you a few paces away. Without warning, he pushed you over, sending you slamming nearly face first into a wall.

“Fuck! ‘Toru, that hurt!” Your whines fell on deaf ears as he spread your ass, whistling at the sight of the cum dripping down between your thighs. Your hands flew to brace yourself on the wall as he began ramming into you once again, slipping in without incident. His hands slid down your arms, coating them in paint. They finally found purchase as they reached your hands, intertwining with your fingers and raising them far up over your head.

As much as you struggled against him, you were powerless to tear your hands from his grasp. His cock slid in and out of you seamlessly, coated with the results of… how many orgasms? Five? You didn’t know, you lost count. Satoru peppered your shoulders, the grooved blades of your back, the nape of your neck, with kisses, eliciting soft moans from your mouth in opposition to the jarring ones that occurred if he thrusted into you, hitting a certain point that made your body twitch.

His hands released yours and they fell to your eye level, resuming their position in holding you up against the wall. Right after you had righted yourself, had steady footing, was about to fuck him back, he surprised you with slaps to your ass. The paint dulled them, the wet slapping sound echoing throughout the living room.

You turned to look at him, sneakily pushing up the blindfold with a free hand, to take in the sight, watching as he, tongue sticking out of his lips in focus, reared back, hand dripping with paint. The cold sting of his palm met the sensitive skin of your ass as he cocked his arm back for another hit in quick succession, almost making a drumbeat of spanking your ass. The movement was carefree, as if he was swatting an annoying bug away from him.

Paint covered his front, the lilac and olive and white all mixing together to make a swirl of beauty. It mesmerized you, the way it clung to his body, emphasizing and complimenting his stunning figure, the valleys of his abdominals, the rugged landscape of his muscles.

You turned back to the wall, the blindfold slipping over your eyes once again. They squeezed shut as he ceased, obviously pleased with how the lilac paint melted in with the redness of the plowed skin. He grabbed your ass in his ginormous hands, gently massaging it, spreading and closing it, using the cheeks in ways that took both he and you to new heights of pleasure.

“Definitely think,” he panted, lips against your ear, “that we need to frame your ass.”

Before you could even open your mouth to answer, your hands were in his once again, but he twisted your arms around to your back. He looped an arm through yours, settling the lock at the crooks of your elbows, decommissioning your movements once again. Your hands opened and snapped shut, grasping as nothing as his thrusts intensified.

His other hand, still damp with paint, roamed over your breasts, massaging and pinching the bare skin. They had been previously coated, but knowing how meticulous Satoru could be, he made sure they were absolutely slathered in copious amounts of his paint.

He pressed you into the wall again, and you felt the paint stick to the surface in the shape of your breasts. Your cheeks flamed at the thought of your entire body painted across the living room walls. But you knew that Satoru loved it, that he would be drooling over it until you decided to paint over the walls and adjust the hues to match the aesthetic that you were aiming for.

With his free hand finished with creating art out of your breasts, it traveled north, finding purchase around your neck like a piece of jewelry you’d always worn. He squeezed lightly and tilted your head back, just barely restricting your airway enough for your breath to come in rasps.

“Open up, darling.”

Like a robot, your jaw dropped and your tongue shot out, waiting for the familiar feeling of his spit. He didn’t leave you waiting long, as almost as soon as you obeyed him, his saliva was dribbling down onto your taste buds. You smiled lightly at the feeling, loving the fact that you could share this moment and label it as intimate.

“Swallow.”

Your pussy fluttered around his length, eager to obey. A sigh escaped his lips as he watched your throat bob with the odd angle that it was working against. He planted a sweet kiss to your lips, his nose brushing against your chin. The contact was lost, then found again as he nuzzled his face against your neck for a moment, before pulling away again.

“Open.” His command seemed desperate, like it was the only thing keeping him from stepping off a ledge. As much as you wanted to make fun of his theatrics, your mouth snapped open, eager to have another part of him in you. He wasted no time, coating your tongue with his saliva.

“Now wait.”

The only thing you could do was whine as your jaw began to ache from holding your mouth open for so long. He released his hold on your throat, but in true Gojo fashion, wasted no time in executing his next movement. He swiftly looped an arm under your left leg, pulling it upwards until you felt like your hips would split in half. You squealed in discomfort, drool spilling from the corners of your lips, your body being bent a million different ways. For the first time in the afternoon, Satoru relented, releasing your arms.

Your hands tangled in his hair as he bit into the soft skin of your neck, of your shoulders, back pressed against his chest. His dick, at this new angle, hit your sweet spot more perfect than before, if that was even possible. He went deeper, you squeezed him tighter, you were closer.

He thrusted into you, the tempo threatening to cast you into nothingness. With each movement you were pressed harder and harder into the wall, the paint sticking to the surface. It ached to pull you in, to suck you into the wall, to the white paint that was still drying, now mixing with the two hues that Satoru and you decorated each other with.

“One more, baby,” he cooed against the flaming skin of your shoulder. “L-lemme cum… one more time… in you.”

“Anytime, ‘Toru,” you teased, but the playful lilt in your voice was lost as he didn’t hesitate to shoot inside of you. You squealed at the way his cock jumped in you, knocking against the spot that was your downfall. His balls slapped against your clit, shoving you over the edge of an orgasm you didn’t know you were approaching.

You toes curled and cracked at the force in which the crest of pleasure hit you. Your legs gave way and you lost control of yourself for a moment, the drool you had been holding in your mouth spilling like a waterfall over your bruised lips. Satoru was quick to catch you, laughing at your frailty, which for once, you didn’t mind.

His lips were on your face, kissing and licking away the spit that had escaped the trap of your mouth. He supported you in a way you didn’t think you’d ever need, but surprisingly, you didn’t mind relying on someone for help. A warmness spread in your chest at the affirmation that you truly loved him - you loved him enough to not complain at him holding your drool-soaked and cumstained body limp in his arms.

“God, you are just so full of cum, aren’t you, baby?” Satoru purred into your hair, stroking it gently. You could only muster a weak “mmhm,” your body still shaking from the overstimulation and the last orgasm he unleashed on you. “Well, are you gonna let me taste?”

You didn’t have time to answer before he scooped you up in his arms, giving you the vivid sensation of flying. A coolness met your ass as he set you down on what you could only assume was the mantle of the fireplace. He spread your legs apart, ignoring the fact that they attempted to squeeze together to protect your weeping cunt from being stimulated further.

“S-satoru,” you winced, “I’m sensitive!”

It was no matter to him, however. He pulled your bottom slightly forward, so that your ass was teetering on the edge of the tile, giving him better access to your aching center. A loud cry escaped your lips as he gave your swollen clit a few soft licks.

You whimpered, your thighs trembling around him as he sucked on your impossibly sensitive bud. Your hands tangled in his hair, the gummy paint clinging to it and clumping it together. After a few more moments of relentless stimulation, he seemed to ease up, giving way to softer movements against your weeping cunt.

��You should see yourself,” Satoru muttered against you. “Sitting like a queen.”

Perched like royalty on the furnishing that had given you enough trouble to start this whole session in the first place. You chuckled at the thought of it, at the sight of your past selves wrestling to coat each other in paint what seemed like days ago. It was fitting to end your love making where it began, fitting to christen your house to be yours.

“Hah,” you breathed, “I can only imagine the sight.”

A sigh escaped his lips, the hot breath on your sensitive center making your legs twinge. His hands gently squeezed your thighs, each press planting flowers across your skin. The soft tufts of his hair tickled the inside of your legs as he nuzzled impossibly closer to your cunt.

“Spit in my mouth.” His request couldn’t have been more foreign, but you tried your best anyway. You leaned over, assuming that your trajectory would be right, or that he would make it work. Gathering the saliva in your mouth, you let it fall from your lips. A chuckle came from beneath you, so you assumed your aim was okay.

Your mixed spit was spewed from Satoru’s mouth as he spit it onto your already dripping cunt, the liquid leaking down between your asscheeks. You gasped at the sensation, beginning to lose feeling in your toes as another orgasm approached. Your eyes shut tight, but even with the blindfold, fireworks still exploded in your vision.

You were definitely not going to be able to walk for a few days.

The thought drew a bitter laugh from your lips that was quickly cut short by Satoru’s dexterous tongue flicking across your clit. Your teeth sunk so deep into your bottom lip that the skin threatened to tear. At his relentless pace, your muscles pulled impossibly tense, taut, as you sat, rigid, teeth bared as ungodly sounds poured from your mouth.

And then, he would soften. Pull back and kiss and lick the inside of your thighs, place love bites, suckle on the warm skin to leave marks you would marvel at for days. He’d massage the tender skin, draw patterns with the remaining paint. He’d study you like a scholar, memorizing the view of your exposed throat as your head tilted back, mouth open as moans spilled forth.

It was a cycle that he continued, pressing you further to your orgasm, then relenting to give you a break. Over and over again, never stopping, like you were the shore and he was the tide, pressing in and pulling away, constant, always present.

After what seemed like hours of edging, you were finally on the precipice of what you actually hoped was your last orgasm. Your body couldn’t take much more, as you probably would stroke out or something else that was equally disastrous, but it would be something that would elicit an awkward urgent care visit.

“Satoru…” you whispered, not even needing to finish your sentence.

“One more time, love. Cum for me.”

The affirmation was all you needed before you gushed all over his face. His gasp of surprise was cut short as he dove right back in, ignoring the waterworks. Your entire body shook with the force of your orgasm, sending your hands flying everywhere - into his hair, gripping the mantle, smearing paint all over the wall behind you.

But nothing was enough to ground you as you cut the tether and drifted off into space. Your body floated, suspended at the force of this orgasm. You could barely feel Satoru’s warmth between your legs as the buzzing took over your entire body, your skin flaming with pleasure as you feebly grinded on his tongue.

Your pussy throbbed, achingly swollen at the multiple orgasms Satoru had guided you to. As this last one ebbed, he wrapped his arms tenderly around you, lifting you from the throne he had placed you on. He planted kisses on your head, on your forehead, on your cheeks as he carried you bridal style across the room, then gently plopped down on the ground.

You remained nestled between his legs, your fingers intertwined as you sat together, relishing in the closeness of each other. His mind-numbingly warm skin was pressed against yours, sending sparks firing off all across your body. After a few more moments of blissful silence, Satoru cleared his throat.

“Are you ready for the grand reveal?” His smile broke through the phrase like a sunbeam. You nodded, not feeling like using your voice. His dexterous fingers hooked under the blindfold as you shut your eyes tight, not wanting to hurt your eyes by immediately exposing them to the light.

After a few more moments, your eyes creaked open, blinking to clear away the crusty remains of tears and to focus on the sight that presented itself to you. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the world cast into an eerie twilight that was simply magical. It was the perfect lighting to behold the mural that you created in your living room.

Streaks of paint covered the walls, most of them completely indiscernible as to what part of the body they were made by, except for a few, such as your ass prints and the plumpness of your breasts. Heat rose to your cheeks at the sight of such an abstract portrayal of art, and how breathtakingly beautiful it was. You sunk further into Satoru, insanely grateful at his stupid antics and what they spiraled into.

“I guess I have to restart my paint job, huh?” you nudged him with your elbow, the gooey, sweaty skin sticking together. You tilted your head up, observing his reaction. Satoru furrowed his brows, his hair falling into his face in green clumps.

“I don’t know…” he trailed off, flashing an award-winning smile. “I kinda like it!”

He was right. The messy pieces of your love were growing on you as you studied them further. It was pure art, pure passion, splayed across the walls of your home. The handprints, clinging to nothingness in the hopes of being steadied. The smears, results of loving and pleasurable thrusts. The asscheeks, of course, the lovers who facilitated the beautiful creation.

A calm settled on you like nothing you had ever felt before. A sense of security folded in around you as you lay in your lover’s arms, proudly surveying what you had made together. You closed your eyes in bliss, relishing in the warmth and peace.

Wait…

Your heart fell to your ass at an intrusive, yet irrevocably important fact. Eyes widening, you shot up, ignoring the chills that spread throughout your body in the absence of Satoru’s warm skin pressed against you.

“Shit!” you gasped, the detail that you had glossed over for the entire afternoon expanding to take up the entirety of your mind. “Kento’ll be here in an hour.”

Satoru laughed at your scrambling to pick up your clothes and throw them in a basket, trying your best to tidy up the living room. You put the paint together in a neat fashion; you smoothed the tarp, ignoring the imprints of your bodies and the paint smears that littered it; you also did your best to avert your gaze from the numerous pools of cum that were scattered across the floor. Your eyes widened in horror at the thing that you were just marveling at - the one thing you couldn’t hide from your best friend.

The living room walls, like a subdued pornographic mural, stared back at you. The tarp crackled as your lover stood. You looked at Satoru, your eyes big as saucers. He smiled gently, taking your hands in his and pulling you closer to him, placing them on his chest.

“There’s nothing we can do to fix it, so let’s just get cleaned up, alright?” His arms wrapped around you, snuggling you to his chest. You sighed, turning your head to the side to hear his heart thumping. He planted a kiss on the top of your head.

“Okay,” you murmured, then peered up at him with a devilish grin, “but only if you join me.”

“That was implied!”

Once you had gone for another round and managed to scrape the paint off of your bodies, you were ready for the dinner that Kento was bringing. Earlier that day, he had offered to bring you food to celebrate the end of the first day of home renovation - which you eagerly accepted. Pizza was easy to clean up, and a viable way to recharge, so that was an easy decision to make.

A knock on the door sounded as soon as you were making your way down the stairs. Satoru took off in a sprint, reaching the front door in just a few strides. He threw it open, spreading his arms wide for a hug. You hung back, trying to avert your gaze from your living room mural.

“Nanamin!” he yelled, embracing his friend despite the boxes of pizzas he was carrying. Kento’s eyes narrowed as he struggled to keep his balance at Satoru’s enthused greeting.

“Careful, Gojo!” the tall man growled, pushing Satoru away to keep the boxes from tumbling all across your porch. You laughed at their interaction, catching up to them and taking the boxes from Kento.

“How are you?” he asked, silently thanking you for taking his burden, but ignoring the fact that you left him with a bigger one instead. A playful smile toyed with your lips as a strand of wet hair fell into your face.

“Tired, but glad to have one day down,” you admitted, turning and leading the way to the kitchen. Satoru tsked as you set down the boxes of pizza on the kitchen table. You whirled around to face him, setting your hands on your hips.

“Now, darling,” he began, voice chiding, as if speaking to a child, “you know you aren’t supposed to eat in the kitchen until the renovations are finished.”

Your heart fell into your stomach when you saw the expression on Satoru’s face. He was an absolute menace, looking to antagonize you in any way he could; however, you thought this ploy was geared more towards Kento’s discomfort. You gritted your teeth and decided to do your best to gear the conversation in a way that you wouldn’t have to expose your deeds. Blinking innocently, you fixed your mouth into a smile, trying not to look pained.

“What?”

“Yeah,” Kento agreed, walking to the table to grab the boxes of pizza, not knowing that he was playing directly into Satoru’s sick idea of a joke, “I actually heard that’s bad luck.”

You wanted to slap your palm into your forehead. As smart as Nanami was, he was almost always stroking Gojo’s ego whether he knew it, liked it, or not. You fired a glance at Satoru, pleading for him to not go through with this antagonizing, but he ignored you.

“Bad luck!” Satoru gasped dramatically, eyes widening as he wiggled his brows at you. A sigh escaped your lips as you cast him a warning glare instead. This, also, was a fruitless effort. Satoru was dead set on torturing his best friend.

“So where the hell are we supposed to eat?” you shot at Satoru, not even bothering to look at him anymore as you shuffled towards the two towering men. Your grip had tightened, your nails digging into your palms.

“Uh, I dunno, the living room?”

“Satoru…” The tone in your voice would make a child cry. You trotted to the cabinet to scoop up paper plates and napkins to intercept him before he made another move to expose your afternoon.

“No, I wanna see it!” Nanami insisted, picking up the pizza boxes. The doors slammed shut behind you as you whirled around, seeing Satoru’s sly glance. You wanted to wipe the smile off his face. “Didn’t you say you were gonna paint it today?”

Satoru gently led him to the living room. You tried to catch up with them, but the tall men had long strides. Your head was screaming for him to stop, but you didn’t want to draw attention to yourself and make matters worse.

“Yes but-“

You were too late; Kento and Satoru had already entered the living room. The boxes of pizza clattered to the floor as Nanami ripped off his glasses, eyes widening in horror at the sight of your bodies sloppily painted on the wall.

“What in the fuck happened here?!”

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru x reader #satoru x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk gojo #jjk satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jjk #jjk smut #jjk gojo satoru #gojo satoru #gojo smut #🪐beanie writes!

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ambitionsource · 3 years ago

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AMBITION Season 4 ♫ “Organic Chemistry” [ 4.03 ]

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

RISKY BUSINESS — Relationships are put under a microscope and to the test, resulting in some unexpected revelations. Auditions consume the performing majors at NYU and USC. Maya takes affairs into her own hands, roping an eclectic group into a grand scheme to break through obscurity.

106 Minutes (69K words) || No content warnings apply.

[ ← Growing Pains ] [ S4 Synopsis ] [ Masquerades → ]

CREATOR’S NOTE: Please don’t blitz at the minute count! Although not reflected in the title, this is split into two parts within the episode, marked clearly by an “END OF PART 1.” We’ve also brought back the popular “breaks” feature peppered in during the episode to provide convenient pausing points during reading. While the episode is posted in full here on Tumblr, it’s broken into 2 separate chapters on AO3, so read whichever way is best for you. Whether it takes you a month or a day to read, enjoy, and thanks for being an AAA warrior!

( Follow along with the music on Spotify here! )

RECAP

Over a shot of the “Candyman” performing diner performance and Charlie and Farkle’s silly enjoyment (to Yindra’s embarrassment):

Jade, voiceover: Previously, on AMBITION…

The fall semester at NYU and USC truly kicked off, pushing our cohort to face their first challenging assignments. While some found success, like Riley making a new friend in Evan Scott, others ran into friction -- like Isa versus the criticism of their stoic and unwavering film professor, David Bennet. But a bit of self-reflection and friendly fire made them realize their overreaction (in part due to estrangement from the friends who used to provide their most constructive criticism), and they stepped up to the plate to make it right.

Isa: I’m going to deliver better. I’m going to prove I deserve to be here. Don’t write me off just yet.

And that’s on top of moving forward with a DNA test with their potential mysterious missing father, and an unexpected voicemail hail Mary from Farkle… never a dull moment with this one.

Zay had an equally eventful episode, having to balance his rivalrous competition with Vanessa and Gia and desire to stay on top with an eerie reminder of his own fragility. When his injury flared up, warning him he might be pushing it too hard, he had to decide whether to risk it all or pull back and reasonably rest to dance another day. Although the decision was difficult, with counsel from his most trusted friends, he was able to come to the right decision -- sitting out the last of endurance week to ideally endure the long haul.

He and Isa weren’t the only ones facing friction, though. Maya and Josh’s fateful meeting on their converging industry paths ended in disaster, neither able to drop their own insecurity to authentically come to the table. Words escalated quickly due to dual strong personalities, souring any chance of them starting a creative partnership and leaving things on a decidedly bad foot.

Josh: And what are you gonna do, Blondie, huh? What exactly do you think is going to happen if you’re pushing through with no support and waiting for someone to give you everything you want without compromise? How far do you think you’re going to get if you won’t even listen to another perspective?

Maya, fiercely: Prove them wrong.

Farkle has also come up against potential sparks, being chosen by the notoriously intense student director Jordan Nelson to be his acting mentee for the semester. No clue why he’s decided to torment him, but Farkle is determined not to let him shake him down -- even as he continues to be his own worst enemy in terms of a newfound self-doubt.

This challenge is a bit easier with Charlie in his corner, who has returned from abroad for a spell on the west coast. He’s still trying to figure out what he wants to do next, getting closer and closer but not quite there. In the meantime, he’s having plenty of fun exploring college from a noncommittal distance with Farkle -- and taking surprising star turns in his dance course.

Farkle: How is it you’ve been here for like three days and you already have more friends than me?

Charlie: :)

He’s not the only one making unexpectedly shining impressions. Jade seems to have caught the interest of her famous designer boss, Anya Kelly, particularly after successfully running through some trial tasks to test her ability. As exciting as this is, it puts her in a weird position compared to her peers -- especially her boyfriend, as Nigel struggles to find his footing in the new NYU community and can’t seem to convey his old passion and skill. That’s even more true in the shadow of Riley, who seems to be doing nothing but thriving.

Yindra: Honey, this is the entertainment industry. You gotta get used to envy.

But of course, not everything in her life is peachy keen. Even if things are good between the two of them, Lucas’s health deteriorated under the stress of having to constantly be around Kenneth, now that he’s home more often due to his cancer. This ended up taking a physical toll, prompting him to pass out at Adams and terrifying the techie ducklings. Thankfully, all ended well for now, particularly with the return of Jack Hunter from his well-earned vacation there to help pick Lucas back up from his stumble.

Jack: You’re not trapped, Lucas. We just need to restrategize. Your path doesn’t have to be the dead end you think it is.

In terms of immediate solutions, Riley had the brightest of the bunch, inviting Lucas to move into the apartment officially with her and Isa as a reprieve from being surrounded by Kenneth and on otherwise unstable ground. At the same time, Jack proposed moving in together with Eric, which he happily and eagerly agreed to.

Jack: I want us to live together. I want us to find a place, and move in, and start our new life. [ sincere ] I want us to build a home, Eric. Together.

Eric: I… yes. Okay, cool, yes, let’s move in together.

So the ground is shifting under our feet, worlds are colliding, and relationships are certainly evolving in many ways… it’s a wonder what could possibly happen next. Lucky for us, we get to find out right now…

End of recap.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - MAYA’S BEDROOM - DAY

We watch the step-by-step process in quick cuts of how to prepare for a vlog update -- camera set up, ring light on. Mascara and make-up touched up to perfection; signature blonde locks blow-dried and brushed, then strategically mussed for a bit of spice.

Now looking from the perspective of her webcam, MAYA HART appears in front of the camera, squinting into the screen to make sure everything is all set and her angles look good. She has the shot framed so we get the best, glamorous shot of her L.A. bedroom, the most staged corner there is with her music set-up peeking just into frame from the side… and leaving out all the more unpolished sides of her space.

She scrutinizes her image, making final minor touch-ups and popping her lips to make sure they’re at their glossiest… she quickly picks at some lipstick on her teeth, scratching it away, then clears her throat and adjusts her hair one last time.

Maya: Okay, here we go. [ doing a couple of vocal warm-ups ] Perfect. Naturally. Okay…

She hits the spacebar on her laptop to start recording, then turns on her charm in an instant -- starlit smile suddenly on full brightness.

Maya: Good morning, my beautiful Hartbreakers. Just a quick message this morning to remind you not to waste the restorative, energizing possibilities of today -- and to share some exciting news.

Although Maya doesn’t give away too much -- she can’t, she assures us, though she wishes she could tell all -- she mysteriously promises that a very big event is hovering in the stratosphere and could drop any day now. If they’ve been feeling a tingle in the cosmos lately, then they’re tuned in well to the surprises the universe has in store… and a keen mind might keep their eyes peeled towards the end of the week. Even though she’s being vague as hell, the enthusiasm in her voice is palpable and infectious.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

That, and as she talks, we get glimpses of whatever this big plan is through a mini-montage of Maya accepting, receiving, and opening a handful of deliveries to the apartment. Some boxes are big, some small, all secluded from view just enough that we can’t really see what’s inside. But enough to draw major intrigue… and guarantee that Maya Hart has something up her sleeve.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - MAYA’S BEDROOM - DAY

Although that is crystal clear just from the expression on her face. Just from the sly, slightly smug smirk on her lips and the sparkle in her baby blues we can see that the fire is back burning at full flame -- and it’s any wonder what that might mean for the rest of us.

Maya: Mark my words, my darling followers, you’ll want to cement this moment in your mind and bring those eyes and ears ready to marvel. Because I can promise you one thing: after this? Everything changes.

Mischievous smile intact, she blows the camera a kiss -- then reaches forward to end the recording, sending us into black.

Cue title sequence.

The whimsical, iconic opening of The Beach Boys hit takes us into the episode, starting over the titles… then when we hit that opening drum --

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” as performed by The Beach Boys || Performed by AMBITION Ensemble

In a neighborhood on the upper West Side, between Harlem and Triple A’s neck of the woods, we’re getting familiar with a brand new street. This one is populated with brownstones and townhomes up and down the block, modestly built but holding some of that classic Manhattan charm. It’s a mix of young families, older couples, and a cohort of young professionals here and there…

And now also two of our own. We zero in on one townhome in particular, a set of concrete steps leading up to an evergreen door.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - LIVING ROOM - DAY

True to their word, Jack and Eric have found somewhere to build a home. It’s a bit cramped and cluttered as most accommodations are in the city (though that might just be all the moving boxes), but it’s decidedly more domestic and home-y than any of the apartments they’ve occupied thus far. They seem to have gotten much of the initial moving woes done as well in the last couple of weeks, essential furniture already set in place and the remaining work down to figuring out where to put all the stuff.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - KITCHEN - DAY

ERIC MATTHEWS is in the midst of that in the kitchen, pulling dishes out of cardboard boxes and trying to decide what should go in each cabinet. Somewhat overwhelming, since this is more cabinet space than he’s ever had since he moved out of Philadelphia!

Jack, off-screen: Incoming!

Eric turns and clears the doorway so JACK HUNTER can enter, carrying another box of kitchen supplies from his apartment. He drops it on the countertop with a flourish, then places his hands on his hips and surveys the room.

Jack: Looks like we’re making progress. Some. A little.

Eric: Don’t know about that.

Jack: [ with a shrug ] Come on, come on. We’re getting there. Figure we’ll be able to eat in here… oh, by Christmas? Next year?

Eric gives him a look, closing the distance between them to playfully shove him. Jack laughs, turning the nudge into a hug by taking his arm and spinning him towards him. He traps him in an embrace from behind and sways them side to side until Eric cracks and laughs. Jack asks what exactly the problem is that’s causing the unpacking hold-up.

Eric: It speaks to the pitiful public education salary I’ve lived on for twenty years, but I’m woefully unprepared to have this much cabinet space.

At that, Jack has the vision to ameliorate the issue -- he may not have had much better experience on his principal’s salary, but he is meticulously organized by default. He offers a proposal for how they should store things based on very logical metrics: the amount of each item, how frequently they’ll be used, how often do they want to stretch to reach certain shelves. Eric listens along, but by the time Jack has finished his explanation, he doesn’t look any more prepared. He hands Jack the stack of plates on the counter.

Eric: You know what? I think you’re better suited for this challenge. Go with God, Jackie.

Jack tilts his head, shaking it in faux condescension, but he happily accepts the plates and a brisk kiss to go with it. He lets Eric pass him to head back out to the living room.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - LIVING ROOM - DAY

That’s where ISA DE LA CRUZ is located, hunched over a box and begrudgingly helping to unpack. Eric takes a stack of books from them and asks what they think of the place -- pretty sweet, yeah? Isa shrugs, acknowledging that it’s nice, but their brain can’t exactly get past the logistics.

Isa: How much more is this place per month than the one you were at before? Your principal’s raise can’t have been that good.

Eric: That’s the beauty of having a roommate to share it with. Why else do you think I’m shacking up with that guy?

Jack, off-screen: Thanks!

Eric: And the commute is better. From here, I can walk to Adams.

Isa: Okay, but you just moved into that other apartment. We already had to do all this moving shit this summer.

Eric: Sometimes life throws you unexpected curveballs.

Isa: How much did you have to pay to break your lease? And are you gonna be able to pay to break your lease again in such short order if this all doesn’t work out --

Eric: [ pointedly interrupting ] Change is good, Isa. Remember how we talked about that?

Isa, flatly: Just about every day of my life, yes.

Then they should have it well understood at this point. No, it wasn’t in Eric’s plan to move again, but life threw him a curveball and he was eager to meet the moment. Isa makes a face, not sold. Jack appears in the doorway to the kitchen, crossing his arms and leaning against the frame.

Jack: And you heard him. If he has to clear his pocketbook, he’s got his unemployed financial reserves right here.

Eric: Okay, that’s enough…

Isa: I guess if that doesn’t work, he could just sell some of this stuff. [ lifting one of the DVDs from the box ] How many copies of Dead Poets Society does one man need?

Eric takes the DVD from Isa protectively, causing Jack to snort before he retreats back into the kitchen. How about, Eric suggests, Isa goes and focuses on their own unpacking for a bit? As the only other person who gets a bedroom in this house, they better start making it feel like home away from home.

Isa sighs, getting the picture, grabbing their backpack and one of the boxes off the couch. Before they head up the stairs, they turn back to Eric, glancing quickly to the kitchen.

Isa: I’m just saying. Get a prenuptial on this place.

Eric: We’re not getting married. And I’m not concerned.

Isa: Well, if life throws another “curveball,” just know that I will provide some of mom’s money to bail you out.

Eric: How sweet. But I don’t think I’ll need it.

Okay… if you say so, Eric… Isa remains skeptical, but chooses not to debate further.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - ISA’S BEDROOM - DAY

Isa pushes into the bedroom that will now be theirs, adjacent to the guest room across the hall. They dump the box and their bag on the unmade bed with a declarative sigh, then spin to look around. It’s got potential, sure, but it’s odd… Isa has rarely ever had one room that felt stable enough to call home. Now suddenly, they’ve got two? Sounds fake.

They’ve got other things on their mind, anyway. After a moment and a glance towards the doorway, Isa instinctively reaches into their back pocket and retrieves their phone. As if by habit, they go to their phone app and end up at voicemails, thumb hovering over the latest one they received. The message from Farkle sits waiting to play, almost taunting them to fall into the trap of listening again just for the sake of hearing his voice.

Which is exactly what they don’t want to do. Eric doesn’t need to lecture them about curveballs -- they’re all too familiar with the universe’s knack for them.

That’s what distractions are for. Isa clears their throat and stuffs their phone back in their pocket without succumbing to the siren call, pushing some hair out of their face before refocusing to unpacking the box they brought upstairs.

INT. BEAMON HOME - JADE’S BEDROOM - DAY

Moving quietly, NIGEL CHEY finishes pulling on his sweatshirt as he gets ready to leave. It appears he may have stayed the night, or else came over very early, and so he’s operating with a bit of stealth.

Stealth that JADE BEAMON clearly thinks is unnecessary. She’s still in bed, comfortable in her pajamas and one of Nigel’s sweaters, idly flipping through his finished and printed out play he was working on for class last episode. It’s clear as she picks on him for being so dramatic about sneaking around that she did in fact read it at some point, joking that she should recite lines from it at the top of her lungs to prove to him that all his silent movement is highly unnecessary.

Nigel: Shh. And please don’t.

Jade: My parents literally aren’t even home. And if the twins are gonna get bold all the sudden “ratting out” their college-age sister, then they’ve got another thing coming. The score list I have against them is a thousand miles long. The only one stressed about this is you.

Nigel: Well, excuse me. Sorry if I don’t want to risk sacrificing the times I get to see my girlfriend when she’s not busy doing her very important and groundbreaking girlboss things by screwing it up and getting caught being promiscuous --

Jade cracks up, causing Nigel to jump over and cover her mouth to stifle the sound. That just makes her laugh harder, and she removes his hand from her mouth so she can cup his face and pull him into a kiss.

Jade: You and I must have very different definitions of promiscuous. Though if you’d like to be promiscuous, by all means, name the time and place.

Nigel lets out a bashful huff, but he’s also trying not to laugh.

Nigel: You’re not fair to me. [ off her mischievous smile ] But you and I just have different… environmental conditions. Rest assured, if you were at my place at this hour and my mom realized I was hiding you, I’d be grounded for disrespecting my family and my girlfriend for the rest of my natural life.

Jade: The horror. And what would your grandmother say?

Nigel: Oh, lola would find it hilarious. And once all of them got done burning me at the stake, they’d happily insist on making you breakfast. Make no mistake about that.

Jade smiles. As he retreats to finish gathering his things, the two of them briefly discuss what the week has in store -- Nigel mentions that there’s rumblings of a big announcement coming up for their major, and there’s been word here and there about the winter musical, but no definitive plans as of yet. Jade, naturally, has another week of work, but with how well things have been going since the Anya trials, that’s a positive.

She has Nigel promise that even so, he keep her updated on the big news of the week. He assures her he will, provided she doesn’t ever recite any of his play aloud.

Jade: Mm, I will try my best. But how can I help myself from pulling quotes from the best piece of literature written in the modern era?

Nigel: Okay, you’re awake enough to be in full cheeky mode, which means it’s time for me to go. So I’ll bid you adieu --

Nigel turns back to face her and leans in to give her a kiss goodbye -- only to be cockblocked by his play. Jade has held it up in front of her mouth between them, just as cheeky as he claimed… then she drops it, smiling fondly as she pulls him in for a soft kiss.

Whatever distance Nigel was feeling before, it seems to have assuaged itself for now.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - GARAGE - DAY

Based on how he’s dutifully finishing up his morning warm-up with some cool down stretches and no pain, it seems ZAY BABINEAUX has fully recovered from his injury flare up. He leans deeply into the last stretch, grasping his ankle and basically touching his nose to the floor, and takes a long, centering inhale…

Then he releases it, shifting back upright and then reclining onto his back. Hard work done for now, he reaches for his phone and scrolls through his notifications idly, then jumps to his messages. First up is a quick response to a thread with Riley and Nigel, confirming hangout plans for this week. Then he loves a message from Yindra, seemingly giving him a sneak preview of something she’s been working on.

Then, like a compulsion, he enters his messages with Charlie. He finds himself doing this all the time, like some kind of weird habit. Wandering in just for the sake of looking at their thread even when he doesn’t necessarily have anything to say. Suppose that’s how it used to be when they first became friends, when they texted almost more than they talked, and he hasn’t unlearned it even with every new shade their relationship has taken on.

Or maybe he just likes to have a glimpse of his silly, stupid smile in his contact photo. Who’s to say?

Thankfully, he’s never been bad at starting conversation, particularly when things are good and he knows it’ll be reciprocated eventually. So Zay pushes back into a sitting position and thinks for a moment, then types out a new message.

“after warm-up today (yes with stretches save the well-meaning nag saint charles) think i can for sure confirm that the tempest tendon as u so nerdily phrased it has receded for now -- and hopefully forever bc i’m DONE with that bastard”

He sends that, but the sentiment still feels incomplete. He contemplates what to add.

“can’t wait til ur back and u can nag me in person…”

Mm… no. Too forward, and not the right vibe. He deletes that, trying another go:

“once again, couldn’t have gotten thru this without you…”

No, no, no. Way too vulnerable -- what is he thinking? Zay sighs, shaking his head at himself. Texting never used to be this complicated… and it used to be Charlie who overthought everything he said. My how the tables have turned…

One more try. Zay aims for a middle ground.

“thanks again for sending the stretches and stuff. appreciate you looking out and being in my corner (even with the nags)”

Good enough. It’ll have to do. Zay hits send, then climbs to his feet to grab his things. By the time he’s ready to head back inside, Charlie’s already responded -- first with a characteristically nerdy celebratory reaction GIF from the search archive. At that, Zay rolls his eyes in amusement, but then his next text comes through.

“Always.”

There’s no thought required for the bashful smile that takes over Zay’s features.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - RILEY’S BEDROOM - DAY

We’re looking upwards from the depths of the drawer that RILEY MATTHEWS pulls open, watching as she calls over her shoulder for someone to pass her things. A moment later, she turns back to the dresser, arms full of folded dark clothes -- long sleeve tees, flannels, a sweatshirt or two. They’re reliably familiar…

The clothes drop on top of us, sending us into darkness for a moment.

Back in the light, and from a normal camera angle, we get the fuller picture. LUCAS JAMES FRIAR is seated on Riley’s bed, the limited supply of his closet in assorted piles in front of him. As he finishes folding items and layering them into the sorted groups, Riley reaches for them and places them in the appropriate drawer.

Once they’re all unpacked, Riley turns to confirm that that’s the last of it. Lucas remarks that there’s still a couple of things he left at the apartment he’ll need to pick up sometime this week, but for all intents and purposes, yes. He’s officially moved in! Riley bounces on her feet and claps her hands in celebration.

Lucas: Doesn’t take much to move me around. I kind of have three cents worth of property to my name.

Riley: Hush. I don’t care how much stuff you do or don’t have -- what I care about is that it’s here. And now that we’ve taken care of all that, there’s only one more order of business to attend to…

Lucas raises his eyebrows, not sure what she means. Riley hesitates for a moment, drawing out the suspense… then she breaks into a grin, climbing onto the bed and playfully tackling him. He lands on his back and she pins him with a kiss, bumping her nose against his when they pull apart.

Riley: Welcome home.

Even sweeter coming from the source of it herself. Lucas smiles and gives her another kiss, for once just enjoying the moment.

Now that he’s officially been welcomed, conversation shifts to the next thing. Riley asks what his week looks like as they adjust to a more casual position, both sitting up on their elbows. Lucas explains that per Jack’s direction, he’s scaling back his time at Adams considerably, and in the time that he’s not at Chubbies he’s supposed to be looking for more interesting and professional employment along with focusing on his deferment.

All the above sounds good to Riley, and she has a suggestion of her own.

Riley: Since you have more time without the Adams gig, and are between things… I was thinking you could come to school with me for the week.

Lucas is instinctively resistant, but Riley has prepared her case. She points out that it’ll be good for him to familiarize himself with the college campus vibes, both mentally and emotionally, and that’ll be an easier burden in a place like NYU where he’s got plenty of familiar faces. He has the time now, and he can consider it part of his prepping for Davis initiative. Not to mention she’s building part of her world there now, and she’d really like him to be a part of it. To at least meet her new peers and see what she’s up to all day. It’ll be fun -- kind of like old times, almost.

She sure is hard to say no to… and she makes solid points. Lucas still seems uncertain, but he promises he’ll think about it.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

Compared to Riley’s room, the apartment living room currently looks like a disaster area. There are papers all over the floor and on every visible surface.

CHARLIE GARDNER is at the center of it all, clad in a cozy-looking sweatshirt from Yosemite National Park. He’s seated on the floor and leaning against the base of the couch, currently flipping through his leather-bound journal and… taking additional notes on what he already wrote. He’s jotting down a line or two on a piece of lined paper as he flips through the pages -- there’s little doubt that the rest of the pulp around belongs to him.

FARKLE MINKUS emerges from his bedroom unprepared for the sight, freezing when he gets a look at the state of the living room and doing a double-take. He cautiously approaches the line of where the paper debris starts, like it might swallow him whole, and lets out a whistle.

Farkle: It looks like a philosophy major exploded in here.

Might not be too far off. Charlie glances over his shoulder when he realizes he’s there, offering a grin at his quip. Once he greets him with good morning, he justifies the mess, explaining that while he was on his travels, he did a lot of thinking and rationalizing and weighing the possibilities of what he should do next. That was both through writing and exploring, but also collating -- if he came across something that struck him or inspired a potential idea or lit a spark, he packed it away so he could look at it again when he came back and see if he still felt that way.

Charlie: Well, I’m back, so now it’s time to process all of that. Right now, I’m mainly sorting all the thoughts into similar groups, trying to find patterns or obvious areas of preference. Once it’s all been organized… then hopefully, I’ll be able to find a clearer path forward. Or paths, at least.

Sure, that makes sense… if Farkle ever had any doubt that Charlie is his own brand of unhinged, that’s been taken care of easily. But he’s not going to get in his way. He raises his hands in surrender.

Farkle: By all means, process all you want. I’m sure this is how all the great prophets got their start.

Charlie smirks, allowing the playful dig, before elaborating further.

Charlie: I know it’s a lot, but… I just want to do this right. I want to give myself every chance to get it right. Last time when I did this, the applications and stuff, it was so… it wasn’t about me. You know? This time, I want to be intentional about it -- both in where I’m applying, and why. I want to pursue something that I really care about, and if a school accepts me, I want it to be me represented in the application. Not the stuffy, polished version. Actual Charlie Gardner.

Now that does make sense, and is praise-worthy. Farkle does just that, commending Charlie for the effort. It’s no secret that this endeavor hasn’t been easy for Charlie in the past, so it’s nice to see him giving it his best shot. Charlie smiles, then asks what Farkle is up to this week.

Before he can respond, the door at the opposite end of the room opens and Maya enters, full of energy and enthusiastically interrupting their conversation.

Maya: Drop everything, boys. It’s time to make your gender proud and actually be useful -- and I’ve got just the cause for which to rally.

Farkle and Charlie exchange a look, the former shrugging lightly and gesturing to Maya.

Farkle, resigned: [ re: what he’s up to ] Guess we’re about to find out.

Charlie’s smile brightens, amused. Maya carries on undeterred, coming to join them in the center of the room -- and incidentally stepping on some of Charlie’s papers in the process. Charlie winces, inclined to reach for it, but it’s too late now.

She doesn’t notice anyway. She’s got that glint in her eyes, and when Maya gets an idea in her head, the diva blinders go on. Her voice is teeming with excitement as she vaguely explains that she has a big project slated for this week, and she’s going to need all hands on deck. Of course, this request is mainly towards Farkle, who she insists she’ll need as her right-hand man. His impeccable taste can always be counted on… and his flexible pocketbook doesn’t hurt either.

Farkle: Figures.

Maya: Primarily, though, what I’m most in need of at the moment is a director. Not that I couldn’t just as easily add a credit to my name and do it myself, but considering I’ll be running and starring in this venture I think it would be wiser to bring on someone else to deal in the logistics.

Charlie: Wow. That’s level-headed.

Maya: A true diva always knows when to delegate. [ to Farkle ] This is where I’ll need your illustrious eye and networking charms, darling. I don’t know any local creatives yet, and I can’t afford to risk picking up an amateur. Not on a gamble this big. But you are surrounded by other local creatives every day -- ones good enough to get into the best film school in the country.

Farkle: That isn’t necessarily a shining guarantee of quality…

Maya: So I need you to scour your ranks and find me a director. I believe in you. Make sure they have something to bring to the table, though -- I may have plenty of vision to go around, but it’s going to take a team effort to bring it to life.

Farkle’s tasks assigned, Maya slowly turns to Charlie. She looks down at him from on high -- given he’s still on the floor -- and offers her sweetest Charlie-brand smile.

Maya: Charlie Gardner.

Charlie: No need to ask. I’ll be sure to stay out of the way of… whatever exactly this is.

Maya: Oh, no, no. You’re mistaken. Your instincts are keen, but in this case, your talents are actually precisely what I need.

Well, there’s a shock. As Maya goes on to explain, she’s in the same boat with choreography as she is with directing. Sure, she could choreograph it all on her own, and she does have some simple combinations she wants to incorporate and build on already mapped out in her head. But she’s spinning a lot of plates, and having another bona fide dancer on hand whose sole focus would be the moves is a smarter way to ensure everything is at the sharpest quality possible. With that in mind, how could she not ask for his assistance when she’s got a well-established dancer boy literally sleeping on her couch half the time?

Maya: It would please me greatly -- and perhaps make up for the amount of squatting you’ve done -- if you’d bring your choreographical tastes to the project.

Charlie: Oh. That’s… nice.

Maya: Yes.

Charlie: But… I don’t know. I mean, I’m probably not what -- although…

Farkle: [ with a cough ] Indecisive.

Maya: Though I suppose you could just continue to sit on our couch and clutter our living room…

Very subtle, Maya. Charlie contemplates it for a few moments more, then shrugs.

Charlie: Sure. Why not?

Maya: Fabulous. Your time and consideration is much appreciated. And of course, you’ll be generously compensated for your service -- Farkle here will take care of all billing inquiries.

Farkle, flatly: Again, thank you for asking in advance…

Maya: I’ll share concepts and plans with you both later today -- and we’ll need to move fast. The space I’ve booked is mine on Thursday, so all the pieces will need to be in place by then.

Charlie and Farkle both react to that. Thursday? As in, pull this entire… thing together in four days? Maya doesn’t even blink, clasping her hands together.

Maya: Welcome to the industry.

Besides, they both went to Adams, where they routinely turned assignments around in a week. This should be par for the course. But clearly there is much to do, and not a second to spare!

INT. JOSH’S APARTMENT - DAY

It’s clear that JOSH MATTHEWS is under a similar crunch, though his is driven more by desperation than motivation. He’s not inspired, but rather ensnared, feeling increasingly suffocated by the dead end corner he seems to have wandered into. He’s still searching for exits, but none promise to emerge -- even having spent all Saturday night crashed on the couch with his laptop, combing through the Global Beat slush pile and the depths of social media for a lead, he’s coming up empty. No new voice is leaping out to him, at least not one that isn’t already repped or looking for a producing partner.

Nothing as talented as what he’s already walked away from… Josh knows he dodged a diva bullet with Maya, but it’s frustrating that he can’t seem to find any better alternatives. Must the best talent in the world also be the most insolent and infuriating?

Or maybe it’s not about Maya at all. Maybe what’s truly eating at him, putting up his defenses and wearing down his resolve, is how he’s been at this game for almost four full years and he feels like he’s still standing where he started.

He’s pulled out of his slush haze when ANDREW HALL enters the room, greeting him cheerfully and plopping down on the couch next to him. He asks what he’s working on, taking one of his earbuds and sticking it into his own to steal a listen. Almost instantly, he makes a disapproving face.

Andrew: Oh, this shit is whack. She can’t sing at all.

Josh: I know.

Andrew: And she’s trying to be a singer? When she can’t sing? I swear, I don’t get y’all artistic types at all.

Andrew removes the bud, flicking it back at Josh. He pulls out his other one with a sigh, admitting that it feels like all the prospects have been like that lately. He’s been in a slump for weeks now.

Andrew: You know what the problem is, don’t you?

Josh: The Tik-Tok-ification of content creation and an unevenly distributed market of opportunity?

Andrew: No! Well, actually, yeah, probably, but no. [ shutting his laptop ] The problem is that you’re working on the fucking weekend again, bro!

Josh: This isn’t technically work. It’s not like, what I’m getting my paycheck for. It’s just… tangentially associated with work.

Andrew: Even worse. It’s karma is what it is, see. You keep working like a horse, Mr. Clean magic eraser-ing all your boundaries, and the universe has had e-fucking-nough. This is divine intervention. Listen to the universe, Josh -- it’s telling you to have a life outside that producing prison!

Josh swats him away, having heard this all before… but to a degree, he has a point. A watched pot never boils -- perhaps Josh is looking so hard for the next big thing that it’s never going to appear. He needs to look away, check out for a bit, let the mechanizations of the great beyond do a little work without his scrutiny.

And thankfully, they’ve got just the excuse. Andrew reminds him that their mutual friend, Jasmine, is having her birthday outing this Thursday night. They’re having dinner and then bar-crawling, and Josh should actually leave the office for once and come along. Not only would it mean a lot to Jasmine, who clearly wants him there, but it’ll be good for his rapidly devolving mental stability. Josh rolls his eyes.

Josh: I’m fine.

Andrew: You drank two Red Bulls at one in the morning last night. Like hell you’re fine. Be honest, dude -- when was the last time you went out in the evening with the gang? For fun?

Josh opens his mouth to argue… and all too quickly realizes he can’t. He can’t, because truth be told, he can’t remember the last time he put socializing over work.

Check and mate. With a resigned sigh, Josh relents, agreeing he’ll go out with their friends on Thursday. This satisfies Andrew for now, who gives him a bracing pat on the shoulder followed by a playful smack on the back of the head before leaving him be. Josh reluctantly puts his earbuds back in, diving back into the dregs to search for the next big thing.

As Yindra’s a capella vocals float in…

INT. YINDRA’S APARTMENT - BEDROOM - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ Yindra’s Original Song, “Homegirl” || Similar to “California” as performed by Chappell Roan || Performed by Yindra Amino

Introducing a brand new feature to the AMBITION story world, YINDRA AMINO gives us a taste of what she’s been working on as she sings through a rough rendition of her new original song. Although she’s not the first original composition to grace the series (shoutout to Farkle’s Jewish winter showcase number, long live legend), this is the first time we’re offering an actual song to sonically compare it to -- and this is something we’ll be continuing to do throughout Seasons 4 and 5 as the ensemble dives deeper into building their own careers.

In this case, the seeds planted by her conversation with Charlie and the feelings she’s been pushing down since the summer have blossomed into something poignant and truly special. A clever play on slang to disguise an emotionally raw lyric, “Homegirl” covers the themes Yindra has been grappling with in a similar way as “California” -- struggling with independence, feeling betrayed by homesickness and the pride that comes with it which only seems to increase the desire to pack it up and flee back to where you came from, the constant struggle between the allure of the dream and the harsh reality of the industry and personal limitations. The sentiment from the chorus of the sample track sums it up well:

Thought I’d be cool in California, I’d make you proud To think I almost had it going, but I let you down…

As vulnerable as the song is, though, there’s a warmth to it as well. The things that Yindra sings about missing -- pieces and glimmers of people and places we know and love -- are vividly expressed, creating an authentic sense of nostalgia and yearning. But what really sells it are the vocals, the way she sings it reminding us why she was at Adams in the first place. She may have spent much of her time there in Maya’s shadow, but not for any good reason, and that’s very on display here.

The performance itself is simple, just Yindra at her electric keyboard and focused on her vocal delivery. The original song is the star of the moment, and when she sings the final notes there’s an indisputable pride in her eyes. She can’t help the light smile that sneaks onto her face.

The next big thing is out there. It’s right here. It just needs to be found.

INT. JOHNSON HOME - KITCHEN - NIGHT

VANESSA JOHNSON is having dinner with RAY JOHNSON and ALEXIS JOHNSON. As they eat, Ray reminds Vanessa that he and Alexis will be taking a weekend trip to Minnesota for an entrepreneurs conference. As a small business owner himself, one that is now well-established, he thinks it’s important to seek out and support newer businesses that are looking to plant their feet on solid ground. Not to mention, never know when a fruitful partnership could arise.

Blah, blah, blah. Okay. Since they’ll also be representing the family brand while they’re there, Ray subtly implies that it would be nice if Vanessa could come along for once. She hasn’t done anything related to the family business since she was in middle school -- back before she had the wherewithal (or nerve) to announce she wasn’t interested.

This time, though, she has an excuse. She not-so-gently reminds him that she can’t afford to jet off on the weekend. Just because dance isn’t like a more rigorous curriculum doesn’t mean she can just blow it off, and in some ways, it requires much more of her time.

Vanessa: Sorry. But this is a really important week for me. Trying not to waste your money.

Ray: All right, all right. [ pointedly ] Hope it’s worth it.

We already know he doesn’t think so. Alexis glances between them, offering a placating smile in both directions, but offering no opinion either way. Quietly complicit, passive. Vanessa directs her gaze down to her food, hating how every dinner ends up feeling like this.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S APARTMENT - KITCHEN - NIGHT

To break in the new kitchen, Jack and Eric are sharing dinner with Isa, Riley, and Lucas. The apartment is still a mess, with boxes half-unpacked and items sitting around, but they at least have dishes and a table with chairs, so meal time proceeds. You don’t have to stress appearances when it’s family.

As the conversation winds down, Eric picks up the slack, growing a bit more serious as he claims there’s something he wants to tell them. He glances to Isa, signaling for their go-ahead… they nod, and then take up the task instead.

Isa: I heard back from the man I wrote to last year. The one Val had that letter to in her box of things.

That is news. Riley and Lucas both stop eating, now listening with rapt attention. The former is especially surprised. When did this happen? How long have they been in contact? Is Isa excited?!

Eric: Breathe, Riley.

Isa: Mostly, yes. I’m excited. I feel… a lot of things, all kind of mixed together, so it’s not always easy to say. Or the same all the time. But over the past couple weeks, yeah, I’ve felt excited.

Riley: What did he say?

Jack: Are there next steps?

Lucas: Is he actually your father?

All fair questions -- some more to the point than others, but fair -- and with Eric’s help, they answer them. They give a brief version of what the letters so far have said and the decision to take the DNA test. That’s the part they’re still waiting on (too long a wait, in Isa’s antsy opinion), but they’re likely going to hear any day now. That’s why they thought it was best to say something now.

Isa: It’s not like I was trying to hide it from you or anything. I just needed to process it and stuff. But… yeah. I’m excited… even if I have no idea what the hell is going to happen regardless of how that test comes back.

Riley: Totally. You’re handling it really well, I think.

Jack: I agree. This kind of circumstance is complicated and challenging for anyone. I think you’re doing an excellent job working through it.

Riley: I’m excited for you. And you know we’ve got your back through it. Whatever happens.

Lucas: Always have.

Isa smiles bashfully, thanking them for the support but clearly ready to no longer be the center of attention. Jack throws them a life preserver, taking the opportunity to state that he has an announcement of his own he wants to share with them all. Seems as good a time as any…

Jack: I’m planning to make a run for school board.

This seems to be equally exciting news with this crowd. Riley nearly chokes on her food, humming in both surprise and enthusiasm mid-chew which makes Isa crack up. Eric smiles fondly, clearly proud even before the campaign has begun.

Lucas: Wow.

Jack: I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to be quite so concern-worthy --

Riley shakes her head, coughing and taking a big gulp of water as she waves off his apology. Absolutely no need to apologize about something so wonderful! Lucas reaches over and pats her back.

Jack: It’s not the highest profile race there is, but it feels like the right next step in my career and a place where I can really make a difference. Many of the issues I was most frustrated by as principal are ones I think I can tackle from a better perspective if I have the resources, breadth of access, and insight afforded by the position. Things I wish could’ve been in my hands long before now.

Jack locks eyes with Lucas briefly, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Then Jack continues, treading more cautiously.

Jack: Even so, I wanted to give you all plenty of warning before I kicked off. It’s not high profile, but it’s still a public run, and so there’s almost certain to be more scrutiny on me -- and all those associated with me -- than there is now. I wanted you all to be well prepared for that possibility.

Isa: Bring it on. I really don’t think it could get any worse than being Valerie De La Cruz’s child.

Lucas: Or the centerpiece of a political theater expulsion debated by the board.

Touché on both counts. With that glowing endorsement, it seems the game is ready to begin! Riley immediately probes for more information about what his next steps are, what his campaign plans are shaping out to be, before ultimately biting the bullet and asking upfront now that she’s no longer choking and has the power of speech.

Riley: Please, please, please let me be a part of your campaign!

Honestly, her enthusiasm is adorable and infectious. And it’s not like she doesn’t have credentials to bring to the table -- being the former organizer of protest to combat said political theater expulsion and already having helmed one successful presidential campaign. Lucas nods.

Lucas: She did bring a by-all-accounts grossly unelectable candidate to victory in Adams public office…

Riley gives him a look, playfully kicking at his foot under the table. But the accomplishments speak for themselves. How could Jack say no? He assures Riley she can be as involved as she likes, which earns an excited little dance in her seat.

Graham, Yancy, and Connelly better watch out. The Hunter-Matthews coalition is coming!

INT. YINDRA’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Yindra is catching up on TV in the living room when DARIUS AMINO comes home from work. His buzzing energy is palpable, and the huge beam he already has spread across his face catches Yindra’s attention the moment she looks up at him.

Darius: I’ve got some news.

She assumes yes from his grin, but Yindra instinctively asks if everything is okay. She starts to get out of her spot on the couch, but Darius holds up a hand to halt her.

Darius: You’re gonna wanna stay seated for this one, Yinnie. [ after a beat of suspense ] My friend at the studio was able to lock down a date for you.

Yindra: … wait. So you mean --

Darius: Get those pipes warmed up. You’re going in the studio this week!

As if Yindra could possibly stay seated after that? She gasps and immediately jumps to her feet, her grin now matching her father’s.

Yindra: Shut up. [ shaking her head ] Sorry, didn’t mean to say that. But -- are you serious?

Darius: As a heart attack. My girl, Yindra Amino, is making a demo!

Say that! Yindra lets out an excited yelp, then rushes to hug her dad. The two share a tight embrace, Darius kissing the top of her head. When they pull apart, he jokingly quips she better pull out her best song for the occasion. He hopes she’s been working on polishing some hits in the last few months, because the time has come to bring ‘em.

Lucky for her, she’s got a brand new one all teed up. Yindra smiles knowingly, not giving anything away but nodding in enthusiastic agreement. This is her moment, and she’s not going to mess it up.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - GUEST BEDROOM - NIGHT

The spare bedroom in the new apartment is pretty sparsely furnished, but it’s got all the essentials. Otherwise, it’s simply decorated, just waiting for Jack and Eric to add their finishing touches to it.

Jack, off-screen: Not much yet, but we’ll get there eventually. Bottom of the task list, at the moment, as you can imagine. You saw the rest of the house.

The camera pans to the doorway, where Jack and Lucas are peering in to look. Jack is just finishing up giving Lucas the tour of the new space.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - HALLWAY - NIGHT

Lucas shrugs, leaning lightly against the wall as he continues to take it all in.

Lucas: It looks fine. You all just moved in. [ crossing his arms ] Our apartment still looks like this half the time, and we’ve lived in the shithole for almost twenty years.

Jack: In any case, the necessities are there. All set for any time you want to come visit… or, you know, whenever you need it.

Lucas glances at him, getting the hint. Even though neither of them are experts at articulating sentiment, they’ve gotten pretty good at reading between the lines with one another. As if he’s just remembered, Jack reaches into his pocket and retrieves a spare key to the house, all shiny and new. He holds it out.

Jack: Got a couple extra made. One for you, one for Isa, etc.

Now that, Lucas is surprised by. He hesitates on instinct for a moment, then tentatively takes the key from Jack. He turns it over in his fingers, awkwardly letting out a small laugh.

Lucas: Master of keys these days. [ a beat ] Might have to get a fucking lanyard.

Jack laughs. He asks how that transition went, as Riley informed them during dinner that Lucas has for all intents and purposes made his move into the apartment with her and Isa. Is he feeling good about it? Lucas nods, not offering much by way of feelings but confirming he feels okay about it. He thinks Riley is right about his situation, about needing a setting separate and apart from his dad, and he does spend so much time there with her anyway. Since he was invited there by both of them, no sense in not giving it a shot -- at least until he screws it up or his aversion to accepting help reactivates again.

Lucas: How about you?

Jack: What about me?

Lucas: How are you feeling about your move? I’d say it’s a lot bigger than mine. [ stuffing his hands in his pockets ] If I fuck everything up and gotta split, I’m not locked into a lease.

Touché… Jack contemplates how to answer, taking a deep breath. It’s clear he’s still excited about it, but there’s a shade of uncertainty there in the hallway with Lucas that wasn’t so perceptible in the light of day.

Jack: It’s a change. There is… a lot of change right now.

Lucas: Tell me something I don’t know.

Jack: And though I wasn’t born a thousand years ago like you all seem to think, I am… it’s been a long time since I had roommates.

Even so, any nerves he might be feeling, Jack waves it off as part of all that change. Overall, he believes he’s ready for this next step.

While Jack will be prepping for his school board candidacy all week, he asks what Lucas is up to. He hedges at first, then admits that Riley had the idea of him visiting NYU with her to see what it’s like. His reservations are much more obvious even with no outright verbalization, but Jack reiterates the power of change to make us pause. All things considered, he agrees with Riley -- getting to spend some time on a campus will help keep Lucas focused, remember what he’s working towards. Not to mention, it should be fun, and that school is full of friendly faces. He shouldn’t feel like an outsider.

Easier said than done… but if Jack is advising it, he must mean it. Lucas nods, accepting that -- trusting Jack to know what’s best. He hasn’t led him astray yet.

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - ELEVATOR - DAY

Bright and early on Monday, Jade is in the elevator to the offices and checking her phone when she sees a new email from Anya at the top of her work inbox. She clicks into it, finding a surprising amount of info packed into bullet-sized points -- apparently, an agenda of items she wants Jade included on this week.

It’s way more than anything she’s done so far, and seemingly actual fashion and design content versus just training exercises. This is exciting, but also intimidating. What does it all mean? And how much is she actually going to get to see?

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - MAIN FLOOR - DAY

And things are only about to get weirder. Jade makes her way over to the apprentice section of the floor as she does every day… only her space is empty. Her desk is completely gone, leaving a gaping hole where it once was adjacent to Jamal and Skylar’s.

Speaking of, JAMAL ALLEN and SKYLAR ALBRIGHT look as bewildered as Jade feels. She asks them what’s going on, and they offer no answers -- they thought she’d explain it to them, if she even showed up at all.

Jamal: Seriously, it’s a relief to see you. One time, a seamstress a few desks over quit and her desk just evaporated too. We only learned about the resignation two weeks later.

Skylar: So yeah, glad to see you didn’t quit. At least, as far as we know.

That’s reassuring… but yeah, Jade certainly didn’t quit. And given the email from Anya, it doesn’t seem like she’s suddenly been let go -- so where the hell is her desk?

Anya: Jade!

All of them jump, turning to look up at the upper offices. ANYA KELLY is at the railing, queen above her kingdom, and she’s looking straight down at them.

Anya: You’re up here now. Come on, let’s get moving. Burning daylight.

She doesn’t wait for a response, twirling and heading back towards her office. But her words are shockwaves down below -- all the apprentices are equally stunned. One of them, moved upstairs? Since when?

And Jade of all people, who has only been there three months… beneath their surprise, Jamal and Skylar are doing their best to hide their disappointment. They’ve been there for years, and not once has Anya given them the time of day like this. None of them know what to say, so Jade offers the only thing she can think of.

Jade: I’ll see you all at lunch?

Jamal: Totally. We’ll wanna hear all the intel from on high.

Skylar: You know where to find us.

Yeah… she sure does… Jade offers a timid smile, then awkwardly passes them by to head towards the spiral staircase. Jamal and Skylar watch her go, then exchange a look once she’s gone.

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - UPPER FLOOR - DAY

As promised, Jade’s desk has been relocated to the upper floor. It’s now parallel to Melanie’s on the right side of Anya’s doors as opposed to the left. MELANIE MURPHY herself is the one assisting with the move, begrudgingly putting the final items from Jade’s desk onto the surface. She haphazardly plops the Nigel photo down, not even bothering to fix it when it falls face down again.

Jade emerges from the stairs just in time, locking eyes with Melanie as she turns to head back to her desk. They don’t say anything, but the message is clear from her glare alone -- we have nothing to talk about.

Yikes… much less friendly company than below. Jade skirts her way past her and finds refuge at her desk, lifting the Nigel photo back upright and adjusting her things. She glances down to the main floor below, watching the world that used to be hers from a thousand miles away… Skylar and Jamal glance up at her, returning the half-hearted wave she gives them.

It might get lonely up here. But when Jade turns back around and looks at what’s in front of her -- those illustrious double-doors concealing the best young designer in the field today -- some of her excitement returns. Change is a lot, but it can be good.

This, surely, has to be good.

Bennet, pre-lap: For any project to have momentum, we have to be able to answer the question: why is this happening? What engine is driving this course of events?

INT. NYU - FILM CLASSROOM - DAY

Isa is in Bennet’s class again, listening to his opening lecture of the week. MOLLY SINGH is seated at the desk next to them, taking notes. DAVID BENNET is pacing the front of the room as he lectures.

Bennet: Nine times out of ten, unless you’re making something real avant-garde, your answer is going to stem from one thing -- character. It’s a person driving that narrative, an individual making choices that impact everything that happens following. And while sometimes story is a solo endeavor -- we can talk all we want about the hero’s journey and want versus need, all that stuff you all probably already know to the point of overkill -- a majority of the time what’s going to propel that engine and those character’s choices are other people. Characters don’t exist in a vacuum; they don’t operate in a liminal space where their actions don’t have consequences and don’t affect others. That is, good characters don’t.

Very important caveat there, Professor Bennet, sir.

Bennet: Much of social and moral psychology to date has told us that much of the way we operate is less out of self-interest, but out of how we perceive others to act or soon act. Whether in self-defense, or cooperation, or desire, the choices we make more often than not are stemming from what we want, or need, or anticipate from the people who populate our lives. Now, I’m a film professor, not a psychologist, so I’m not gonna keep lecturing you with bullshit you can read much more succinctly in a good psychology book. But all of this is to say that as much as story is about character, it’s equally -- and some might say more -- about relationships. It’s the interaction of two characters, two forces, regardless of their nature that drives a story… and draws us into it.

Couldn’t have said it better, chief. So, with all of that importance spelled out, Bennet parlays into what their focus of the week and this new unit is going to be: relationships. That is to say, the dynamic between a character and another force, whether that’s another character, an inner conflict, the environment around them, etc. (settings and circumstances can be a character all their own in some narratives). They’ll dig into all of the above, but for now, he wants them to focus on the most base definition -- two characters, in interaction with one another, for better or for worse.

For their first assignment, before they get their hands anywhere near a script, they’re going to do observational and analytical study. Bennet instructs that they’re to pick a set of relationships -- from any media, material, etc., and they can range as much or as little as they please -- and analyze the functions, tropes, conflicts, and strengths of those dynamics. Basically, dig deep into every little nuance you can find, and then write an essay highlighting and expounding upon the core themes of those dynamics. The ones they choose to examine will serve as the foundation for their next short film project.

For as cool and intriguing as the assignment sounds, with a lot of potential for creative experimentation, Isa does not look enthused about it. Honestly, the last thing they want to think about right now is relationships… and why anybody would is beyond them!

Unfortunately, Isa, you’re outnumbered this week. NYU isn’t the only one following the theme.

Rosario, pre-lap: In dance, collaboration is a core tenet.

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

ROSARIO GAO is setting up the assignment focus for the week here as well. As she goes on to lecture, the ability to dance in tandem with another is not only a bedrock cultural staple of civilization and history, but an essential skill for any dancer worth their salt to have. Talented as they may be, and even if they intend to be the star ballerina with the big solo, they’ll only get there if they can pas de deux, too. This is true for large groups, needing to be able to blend into the team and pull off choreography in sync, but it’s especially true for duets.

Rosario: If you’re dancing with a partner, you need to be able to trust. You have to know that they’ll meet you at your level, that your steps will match when they need to match, that if you’re going to fall with grace your partner is more than ready to catch you. Not being able to work together isn’t just a dancer lacking skill -- it can be lethal.

With all that in mind, it’s no surprise that the assignment is going to be a pas de deux. Rosario explains that she has paired them up ahead of time, and she’s done so by accounting for their current standing in the class. She doesn’t say where they stand, of course, but suffice to say she doesn't want to put anyone at an advantage or disadvantage by pairing them with someone who is at a different level.

She doesn’t even have to say the pairs for Zay to be filled with dread. If they’re put together by rank, then he knows exactly who he’s going to be stuck with. He feels it like a chill down his spine, like an omen making the hair on his neck stand on end.

And based on how she side-eyes him the second he glances at her, Vanessa has realized the exact same thing. Oh, God…

Rosario: Babineaux? You’re with Johnson.

And there it is. Zay maintains his composure, but just barely, and the glare he sends at the floor encapsulates a silent scream near perfectly. Vanessa reluctantly comes to stand by him, dragging her feet the entire way and avoiding looking at him again. Even just standing too close feels dangerous. So they keep a safe few inches between them, an odd distance that Rosario eyes as she approaches them and holds up the mug from which they’ll be pulling their genre of dance for the project.

Vanessa moves before Zay can even twitch, reaching into the mug to pick for them. He resists the urge to roll his eyes. She retrieves a slip of paper and unfurls it, Zay leaning closer just to get a glimpse for himself.

Cha-cha.

Great. Perfect. Just what both of them want… Rosario examines their practiced non-reactions, then speaks wisely, and with just a hint of (perhaps needed) condescension.

Rosario: In this business, you rarely get to choose your partner. A good dancer won’t let that affect their performance either way. [ pointedly ] I hope you’ll be able to say the same.

Yeah, don’t we all… Zay and Vanessa exchange another quick side-eye.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Before he spends a magical week at NYU, Lucas is spending Monday at Adams. As he and SHAWN HUNTER explain to the techie ducklings, this is going to be the arrangement moving forward -- Lucas is scaling back his time as T.A., so he’ll only be around on Mondays.

This should change basically nothing about their day-to-day lives, and yet for some reason, the freshman are devastated.

Jake: What? No way! What did we do?

Shawn: Nothing. This has absolutely zero to do with you. Your actions have little impact on the greater inner workings of this school.

Timmy: Are you for real gonna dip?

Jake: Was it because I dropped that crate off the prop loft? I swear, I swear on my life it was an accident!

Lucas: This literally is not that big a deal.

Jake: It’s a huge deal!

Timmy: If you’re allowed to just dip and scale to one day a week, why the fuck can’t I do that?

Greta: Please, do us all the favor.

Bean, morose: This is worse than when my step-dad left to join that traveling improv troupe.

Lucas stares at Bean, torn between wondering why the hell he’s so upset and what the hell is going on with his family. But Shawn cuts through all the overly emotional freshman bullshit, telling them this is how it is now and they’ll get over it. They’re fourteen, they’ll bounce back fast. Lucas was a shitty teacher -- they all know it. This arrangement will supposedly be better for him, and undoubtedly better for their education. And it’s not like he’s disappearing forever. They’ll still see him every week.

Greta: I think one day is just right.

Honestly? Touché. Lucas gives her a nod, acknowledging the dig and not intending to argue it.

INT. NYU - THEATER CLASSROOM - DAY

Meanwhile, an interesting new set of stakes are being introduced over at Tisch. PROFESSOR HILL is explaining to Riley and Nigel’s class that winter musical auditions are going to be throughout the week. Although it’s very uncommon for freshman to be given roles, she hopes they’ll all still put their best foot forward and audition. It’s excellent practice, and they won’t know unless they try.

INT. USC - BING THEATER - DAY

And Farkle is basically being given the same spiel from his theater professor, showing just how predictable and similar these college theater programs really are. Though his professor takes extra care to emphasize how unlikely it is for freshman to be cast, so they should manage their expectations accordingly. In fact, unlike Professor Hill, this one doesn’t seem to be indicating they even try at all.

Farkle doesn’t look likely to argue with that. He’s still grappling with his newfound confidence rollercoaster, and if even doing a monologue for class feels like an ordeal, he doesn’t see how he’d have a shot in hell of pulling off an audition like this as a freshman. Wherever his bombastic, unshakeable determination is from his manic high school days, it doesn’t seem to be making a return any time soon -- much as he might wish it would.

That said, even if he wanted to avoid it, he couldn’t -- it’s a requirement for all students in the elite acting program to audition for every show. So they need to pull something together, but they shouldn’t get it in their heads that it’ll go any further than that in their first semester. Better to just play something safe and get through the process, then prepare for bigger ambitions in their following years.

INT. NYU - THEATER CLASSROOM - DAY

Professor Hill finishes up saying the same thing, the two scenes interwoven seamlessly. The freshmen will be expected to audition as part of their major, but it’s not anticipated that they’ll progress much further than that. They should think of it as a learning opportunity.

Riley lightly elbows Nigel, giving him an eyebrow wiggle and sharing intrigued smiles.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - LIVING ROOM - DAY

With Eric off at Adams, Jack is now tackling the unpacking on his own. Strangely, though, he can’t seem to channel that same organizational streak he had over the weekend. He has thoughts about where things should go, how to arrange the books on the shelves, all that jazz… but it’s like he can’t commit to it. Something about it just doesn’t feel right. Even when he settles on something, placing a vase down with intention, he only lasts a couple of seconds before impatiently picking it up again. He seems incapable of deciding anything permanent.

These change nerves are really doing a number… Jack shakes it off, putting the vase down for now and deciding to leave it alone. He can consult Eric about it when he gets home. He walks away and checks his phone, finding a handful of new emails. They’re from various board members, including Evelyn, confirming meetings he’s set up with them for this week.

That bolsters him somewhat -- it’s probably just general restlessness. He’s a workaholic, and he needs something to do.

Only time and the public will tell whether his path is leading where he thinks it is.

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - ANYA’S OFFICE - DAY

Anya is having a meeting with a couple of external design contacts, effortlessly charming as they discuss a new potential collaboration. Things seem to be wrapping up, though, the three of them rising to their feet and starting to meander towards the office doors. Anya halts the conversation when she spots Jade passing by the door on the way back to her desk, calling for her.

Jade appears in the doorway a couple seconds later, uncertain. Anya is hosting company, so certainly she can’t have heard her correctly… but no, Anya gestures her into the office. She graciously introduces Jade to the design personnel, stating that she’s her new apprentice.

Designer: Wow, congratulations. You must have an eye to have gotten the AK slot.

Designer 2: I’m surprised she’s wandering around up here. Don’t you usually keep the babies on the first floor, Anya?

Anya: Jade has demonstrated more than enough proficiency to roam the top floor, rest assured. You know I only trust talent.

The designers concur -- Anya only ever takes the best, after all! Jade is silent, a bit starstruck surrounded by actual professionals and trying to process the fact that Anya took the time to compliment her and introduce her to other designers.

Once they’ve said their farewells and Anya directs Melanie to escort the others out, she waits a moment to confirm that they’re gone before turning back to Jade and asking her what she thought.

Jade: Um, I’ll let you know when my brain starts functioning again.

That kind of just slipped out, but it seems to amuse Anya. She shrugs her shoulders in a silent chuckle. Jade comments that she knows those designers are known for really trendy, avant-garde design choices -- what project are they potentially collaborating on?

Anya: Oh, nothing.

Jade: … weren’t they here to discuss a contract?

Anya: And discuss we did. But there’s no way I’ll be signing. Not that I want them to know that, but between you and me, those two? Absolute disaster. They have impeccable eyes, don’t get me wrong, but the reason their output is so unpredictable and “limited edition” is because they can’t get their acts together enough to follow through reliably. That’s mainly because they’re too busy screwing each other, but you didn’t hear that from me. [ waving it off ] Anyway, happy to chat, but I will not be hitching my reputation to that volcano.

That’s a lot of information to learn in so few seconds. Jade takes a second to process, but Anya is already past it, sauntering back to her desk and moving to the next topic. She asks how Jade likes her new desk locale, to which Jade has no complaints. She hesitates for a second, considering mentioning that it feels strange being removed from the other apprentices, but she doesn’t get the chance to express it.

Anya: Glad to hear it. Next order of business -- are you busy Thursday evening?

Jade: Uh… I don’t think so. No.

Anya: Great. Keep it that way. I want you to come to this fashion mixer with me at the Emerald City Rooftop Lounge. The only way to get places in this business is to make connections, so I want you to start networking early. This is a pretty low-stakes event, so it’s the perfect starter. Not to mention some of the people at these things are such a slog -- I’ll appreciate the favorable company to get through it all.

Okay, cool, Jade is definitely not freaking out about that invitation. Like, the Emerald City Rooftop Lounge? With… like, other fashion VIPs? She can’t decide if she wants to risk pinching herself. When Anya asks her if that sounds good, Jade can only formulate one thought.

Jade: I don’t have anything to wear.

At this, Anya laughs. Oh, Jade, Jade, Jade… what a quaint thing to say. Anya waves her off, settling into her chair as she assures her they can remedy that easily. They’ll go shopping during lunch sometime this week and find her something. Important to have a networking fit in your back pocket.

Shopping with world-famous fashion designer Anya Kelly. It’s casual. Jade doesn’t know what else to do but agree, doing an impressive job of maintaining her professional, cool demeanor.

INT. NYCA - LECTURE HALL - DAY

Zay is having less of a good time, and not doing as well hiding his frustration. He’s frowning hardcore as he stares at the screen where his professor is running through concepts in his science Gen Ed. It seems like it’s some version of hard science, like chemistry, but it could be Greek for all Zay knows or cares.

God, he hates academics. He’s here to dance, not do more schooling he’s never going to use in his real life. And considering that dance isn’t even going great right now, his patience for the book smart bullshit is even lower than usual.

When the professor arrives at some conclusion about the chemical equations they’ve been running through, Zay glances down at his worksheet, where he’s followed along… basically not at all. In irritation, he scratches a big “F” into the sheet to pay respects, then pulls out his phone and takes a picture of it. He sends it to his group chat with Nigel and Yindra, adding a caption:

“WHY AM I DOING THIS????????”

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - RECORDING STUDIO - DAY

That could also be the caption for the expression on Josh’s face as he continues to man the sound board for another session with ERNEST FLOYD. His patience bar is also on the floor, so he has trouble maintaining his usual positive encouraging demeanor as Floyd butchers his way through yet another song. It seems they’ve tabled “Very Best Day” for now, instead working on a few sample covers.

Out of tune as he might be, though, damn is this fella having a good time. It’s more than apparent as Floyd absolutely disgraces “Feelin’ Good” that he loves singing... regardless of how much singing doesn’t love him.

It’s a pure kind of love, and inspiring enough to get Josh thinking. He’s certainly nowhere near in the same state of reverence these days… and he knows he used to be. Music used to be the reason he got up in the morning -- he thinks it still is, he just isn’t sure where that’s gone. So as they wrap the session and Floyd gathers his things, Josh asks him about it.

Josh: Why do you… do music? You have to know it’s a long shot, and this industry is hell.

Floyd, sincere: Well, not all parts of it.

That’s sweet! Josh offers a light smile, accepting the compliment, then nudges further. Surely, Floyd has to know that his chances of getting everything he wants and finding success in music is a long shot -- no matter how good you are. What makes him still want to stick with it?

Floyd immediately launches into an impassioned and full-hearted monologue about how much he simply loves performing, how he loves every piece of the process from writing to singing to playing. It just ignites his soul, gives him purpose, brings him so much joy! Music is his reason for existing -- he knows in his gut it was what he was born to do. So yeah, it may not be the easiest path, but he knows it’s all going to work out. He believes, and if he believes, he can only achieve. If he does his best and offers his genuine passion for the craft, he knows the world will see it eventually. And even then, it’s not about the recognition or “making it,” anyway. He does it because he loves it. In the end, that’s enough.

That’s so beautiful… but Josh doesn’t seem moved. You know, great that he feels that way and all that, but it doesn’t bring Josh much comfort or any answers. He also wants to succeed. So while he manages a smile and thanks Floyd for his honesty, he isn’t going to get the insight he was searching for here.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - ISA’S BEDROOM - DAY

Isa is sitting on their bed, laptop in their lap while they video call with CHAI FRESCO. Admittedly, Chai seems a bit distracted as they talk, already dressed for bed with hair pulled back out of her face and multitasking on an assignment while she listens to Isa discuss the assignment from Bennet.

Chai: So do you know what dynamic you’re going to analyze?

Isa pauses. Is it better or worse to admit they haven’t even begun to think about it? That they’d rather think about anything else than this dumb project? They shrug.

Isa: I don’t know. I’ll probably pick, like… you know, Elizabeth and Darcy or something. Classic, to the point, have already analyzed them so many times I could do the assignment with my eyes closed. Whatever.

Chai: Really? That seems kind of flippant.

Isa: … okay then.

Chai realizes her comment came off a bit dismissive, assisted by her obvious distraction. She quickly refocuses, actually concentrating on Isa’s image on the screen.

Chai: Sorry, didn’t mean to sound judgy. I just mean like, if you’ve already had beef with this professor and had your whole thing about showing up and not letting him underestimate you, then phoning it in with this seems like the opposite of what you’d want to do.

Isa: No, yeah, you’re right. Thanks for saying so. I don’t know, it’s just like, this assignment…

Isa shakes their head, lost for words. They can’t explain why, but the assignment just does not vibe with them at the moment. A couple years ago, they might’ve loved a deep-dive psychoanalysis like this, but now they can’t think of a more repulsive subject matter.

If they don’t want to talk about it, though, they don’t have to. Chai asks if anything else is going on in class, to which Isa has nothing. Chai doesn’t have much to say either when the question is posed to her.

Chai: How about the dad thing? Any news there?

Isa: Nope. Still waiting on the DNA results.

Chai: Oh. Well… keep me updated. Dying to see how that one ends.

Isa nods. After a bout of quiet, Chai claims she better get ready for bed -- busy day tomorrow. Isa is slightly relieved, agreeing and wishing her a good night. Chai smiles, waving goodbye before hanging up.

They both must be leading pretty boring lives, because it’s like the conversation well runs dry all too easily these days. Either that, or Isa is truly losing their grip on just about everything from film assignments to basic social interaction. They sigh, putting their computer to the side and laying down, curling up on their side to rest from it all for a second.

They let their gaze shift to the photos they’ve pinned to the side of their desk shelf, within convenient view from the bed. There to keep them company when they drift off -- a photo with Riley; one of them with Lucas, Jack, and Eric; one with Lucas in the booth from sophomore year; more than a couple with Dylan; the techie crew both in freshman year and then all gathered before senior prom.

Farkle. That photo of the two of them at the London Eye, taken by that friendly stranger who thought they were a couple. Talk about perception of a dynamic not correctly analyzed… Isa lets their hand drift to their phone, contemplating unlocking it and perhaps accidentally listening to another voicemail…

Farkle, off-screen: Lizzie and Darcy, huh? Always knew you were a basic bitch.

Isa frowns, sitting up. Speak of losing your grip -- Farkle is suddenly sitting in the small armchair in Isa’s reading nook. Dressed like he is in the London Eye photo, hair styled as it was when Isa last saw him in person -- before the jump to L.A. when everything changed.

Isa: Oh, Christ.

Farkle: Since we’re friends, you can just call me Farkle.

Isa shakes their head. If their imagination is going to insist on doing this shit, at least its rendering is accurate -- he’s just as annoying as he would be in real life. Farkle actually has Pride & Prejudice, Isa’s copy, in his hands, idly flipping through it and pretending to read it.

Farkle: If you need any tips while you bullshit this assignment, feel free to reach out. And you might want your copy back -- although that would mean you’d have to call me to ask for it. [ meeting their eyes ] Fat chance of that, am I right?

Isa: What do you want from me? Can’t you just let things be?

Farkle: Characteristically speaking? No. But I think I could ask the same thing to you.

Isa: What? I am letting things be. I’m the master of letting it be.

Farkle: Not that. [ closing P&P to give his undivided attention to them ] What do you want from me?

Okay, bold line of questioning. Exactly the questions Isa doesn’t want to think about. They shake their head again.

Isa: I don’t have to answer to you. You’re not real.

Farkle: Oh, but isn’t that just the problem? I’m too real. And unfortunately for you, unlike your mom, you can’t just write me off as dead. I mean, you are, but dead to you and physically dead are two different definitions.

Isa: Don’t even -- you’re not dead. To me.

Farkle: Sure seems like it. You asked what I want from you? I think the voicemail you’ve listened to eighteen times but haven’t responded to answers that question concretely enough. You’re smart, Isa, I don’t have to spell it out.

Isa: I… [ defensive ] It has not been eighteen times.

But who’s counting? Farkle shrugs pithily, opening P&P and flipping another page. Isa wants to argue further, but nothing comes out, and it’s honestly hard to even think coherently when they’re looking at him. Confronting the memory of him, all the repressed thoughts and feelings finally fighting back.

Farkle: So why Pride & Prejudice? Seems like a pretty cop-out choice.

Isa: I don’t know. It was the first thing that came to my head. It would be an easy essay.

Farkle: Easy is rarely worthwhile.

Isa: Whatever. I just want to get this assignment over with.

Farkle: How come? You usually love analytical shit like this.

Isa: Yeah, well… relationships are dumb. I shouldn’t have to spend so much time on this. I spend enough time surrounded by couples in my normal life.

Farkle: That’s really all you’ve got? That’s your only explanation?

Isa: Yes.

Farkle: You sure that’s all there is to it?

Isa: Yes. We’re done talking about this.

Isa jumps off the bed, heading towards the door.

Farkle: You sure it’s not because it’s making you think about things you don’t want to think about? Things you might be neglecting?

Isa: I’m not getting into this with you. I’m fine, and I don’t want to deal with the assignment because it sucks. End of discussion.

Farkle: Rebuttal -- discussion not over.

Isa: Oh my fucking God --

Farkle: Counterpoint, have we considered the fact that it “sucks” because it’s making you face things that are right in front of you?

Isa groans, pulling open their door to escape their own thoughts -- and running slam into another idea.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - DAY

Riley and Lucas are cooking an early evening dinner together, occupying the kitchen and keeping up easy conversation as they work. Riley says something silly and teasing before launching into giggles, making Lucas roll his eyes, but a small smile graces his lips anyway.

So much about them shouldn’t work, speaking from the surface, yet there they are, sharing their apartment and going strong over a year since they changed their relationship status. A bona fide, real relationship, right there in front of Isa. And they’re far from the only one -- Isa is surrounded mercilessly by couples what feels like every waking second.

Why settle for analyzing a fictional couple, when real dynamics are right at their fingertips to unpack?

Farkle appears in the doorframe behind them, assessing the situation and reading the metaphorical lightbulb over Isa’s head -- easy to do, since he’s a figment of their mind. He makes a face.

Farkle: Not quite what I meant, but…

But perhaps what just might salvage this assignment. Isa breaks into a smile.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

The real Farkle is just getting home from class, finding two separate worlds concurrently existing in his living room. On the one hand, Charlie is sequestered to the couch, having narrowed down his tornado of priorities and thought-processing to a handful of journal entries, papers, and printed resources. He’s carefully arranging them visually on the coffee table, closer than ever to supposedly mapping out what course he wants to chart next.

On the other, no more than two feet away, Maya is doing her diva yoga, the Britney playing on her bluetooth boombox completely juxtaposed to the pensive, reflective work Charlie is trying to do. Yet somehow, they’re managing to coexist, mostly just pretending the other person isn’t there. It’s quite the spectacle to see side-by-side, almost like a real live split screen.

They both greet Farkle when he returns, though, asking him how his day was. Farkle tells them about the auditions news, mentioning the sort of “don’t get your hopes up, it’s just practice for freshmen” mentality that was paraded. Both Charlie and Maya question that approach.

Charlie: That seems like a weird thing for a teacher to say.

Maya: What a load of bullshit.

Charlie: I mean, I know Hollywood is different and everything, so maybe they’re just trying to toughen you up --

Maya: Anyone who doesn’t cast you is an idiot.

Charlie: Sure, there’s always the chance you won’t get what you want, but shouldn’t you still give it your all regardless?

Maya: If they have eyes and a shred of appreciation for talent, they won’t make that mistake.

It’s really impressive, truly, how they can be saying the same general sentiment in completely opposite ways. Farkle supposes he agrees -- he hasn’t given it much thought yet, but the dismissive nature of how they presented it did rub him the wrong way. He better figure out how he wants to approach it fast, however, because auditions are within the week. Charlie sighs, shaking his head.

Charlie: Gotta say, that is one thing about Adams I do not miss. Can happily do without the pressure of auditions.

Maya: You’re weak, Charlie Gardner, but that’s okay. It’s for the best -- you can save all that creative energy for the choreography you’re putting together for me.

Really smooth transition, Maya… but it gets the point across. They’ve both got missions for her that she hopes they’re attending to, and the clock is ticking fast! Thursday will be here before they know it.

Based on the sheepish eye contact Farkle and Charlie exchange, um… yeah, no, progress has been slow on both fronts. But they’re not stupid enough to tell her that, so they just flounder their way through reassurances. All coming together! Director and choreography imminent!

Zay, pre-lap: Well, best of luck to you both. Godspeed, glory.

INT. CHUBBIES - NIGHT

Zay is having dinner with Riley and Nigel, listening to them describe the audition prospects for NYU and wishing them both luck. He also doesn’t miss the audition circuit at the moment -- he’s basically living a perpetual, year-long audition, and to be frank it bites.

Zay: I’m going to be spending the week cha-cha-ing with a woman I’m not convinced isn’t going to plot my murder at the same time.

Okay, drama king, but his friends empathize. Both of them remember fitness week, and the weird instant rivalry between him and Vanessa, so surely this week will be a challenge.

On the subject of auditions, Riley suggests that she and Nigel could workshop their auditions together if he wants. It’s a cute idea, and she seems keen about it, but Nigel hesitates. Given his own lowkey bitter feelings the last few weeks that he’s trying not to encourage, he’s not sure spending more time with Riley in a technically competitive environment will help. So he makes something up about how he’s going to be pretty busy this week, and he doesn’t want her to wait up on practicing because of him.

Nigel: But obviously you know I’m cheering for you. Hundred percent.

Riley smiles, returning the sentiment. She’s positive they’ll both blow their auditions out of the water. Zay cheers to that, raising his glass.

Zay: And may we get through this week and come out the other side.

Nigel: Every week, man. Every damn week.

Okay, true! Riley laughs, then the three of them clink their glasses together.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Lucas is in the kitchen with GRACE FRIAR, quietly discussing any of the items he should take with him to the NYU apartment. He’s hesitant to take anything -- who knows what Kenneth will or won’t notice is missing -- but Grace insists he should. They’ll get more use out of most of the stuff than they do here.

Grace: You know he hardly comes in here anyway.

Mm… yeah. Helps having a housewife around to cook for him, doesn’t it… Lucas doesn’t love that reasoning, but accepts it, letting Grace take the small milk crate from him to fill with items from the cabinets. While she peruses, he asks if she’s sure it’s okay that he’s moving out. He knows it’s better for his health, or whatever, but if it makes things worse for her…

Grace: I think it’s a good idea. For everyone.

Harder to accept that than he wants… but if she says so, he has to. Grace reaches into the corner one and retrieves a plastic cup from the very back, laughing to herself when she recognizes it.

Lucas: What?

Grace: Nothing, I… I just didn’t realize we still had this.

She turns to face him, holding it out slightly so he can see. It’s a souvenir cup from a rodeo, lettering and colors so chipped and faded at this point it’s almost illegible.

Grace: We got this when you were about four, one year we went back to Texas to see Kenneth’s folks. Your grandpa had big stake in the rodeo, and we didn’t know what else to do with a kid your age, so we decided to check it out.

Lucas: [ with a frown ] Ugh. Sounds awful. How bad a tantrum did I throw about going?

Grace: Oh, no, you loved it!

Oop! No kidding! Lucas makes a face, shaking his head -- no fucking way that tracks. Grace actually laughs, assuring him it’s the truth. He was so into it, they went again the next day, and before they knew it they’d basically spent the whole week there. Even when Kenneth wasn’t with them (which was often), it was a place Grace could take him where he’d actually sit still.

Grace: No joke. You were mesmerized.

Lucas: I have a very, very hard time believing that.

Grace: [ with fondness ] It was because of the horses. You loved them. You said you wanted to move to a farm and raise “a bazillion” of them.

Okay, now he’s embarrassed, even if he can’t remember it. Lucas scrunches his face, rubbing it with his hand. Grace smiles at the cup, spinning it in her fingers.

Grace: We came in enough that they gave us this complimentary cup. Said it was for you, as their littlest rodeo fan. And I swear, for years after, you would not drink out of anything else. I think you only stopped when you got into trouble one time and Kenneth…

His name is like acid, instantly corroding the joy. Of course, Kenneth ruined it. Took something good away because he decided he has the right to decide.

Whatever. Lucas shrugs, crossing his arms.

Lucas: I can’t even believe I didn’t throw a fit the first time, so. Sure I deserved it.

He says that so casually, so simply. Like it’s foolish to imagine anything else. Grace examines him, melancholy in her features.

Grace, quietly: You weren’t a bad kid.

Lucas glances at her, then quickly looks to the floor. Hard to believe when his track record -- and expansive memory of punishment -- speaks for itself. Grace looks back to the cup again, then definitively places it in his crate to go to the apartment. She offers him a light smile, aiming for playful.

Grace: You can decide if you’ve been good enough to drink out of it again.

Now, the agency is his.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - KITCHEN - DAY

Jack enters the kitchen that morning while Eric is making a quick breakfast, greeting him cheerfully and exchanging a quick kiss. Eric asks if he’s got any board interviews today, to which Jack shakes his head and claims that’s tomorrow -- he’s mainly doing candidacy eligibility research and paperwork today.

The conversation halts a bit when Jack tries to make toast, asking if all they have is wheat bread. Eric confirms that’s all he got when he went to the store -- Jack didn’t put anything else on the list, and whenever he’d stay over before he always just ate the wheat. Jack is slightly disappointed, but plays it off breezily, telling him he’s certain they’ve talked about how he prefers rye before.

Isa, off-screen: And how does that make you feel?

Jack and Eric pause, turning to look at the kitchen table. It’s like they just realized Isa is there, eating a small breakfast of their own and jotting things down in a notebook.

Eric: What?

Isa: The bread thing. Jack, does it make you upset that Eric didn’t get you rye bread? Was he supposed to know that about you?

Jack: I mean… I wouldn’t say upset…

Isa: Kind of seems like the kind of thing partners living together should know, doesn’t it? Preferences, likes, dislikes. Is this something we should discuss?

Jack and Eric stare at her, totally bewildered. Jack leans closer to Eric, speaking in a softer tone.

Jack: What the hell is going on?

Eric: Not sure.

Jack: Should we be worried?

Eric: Still getting a read. Remains to be seen.

My how the tables have turned -- involuntarily, but nonetheless. Isa returns their stare, undeterred and ready to psychoanalyze. They crunch their piece of wheat toast without breaking eye contact.

Welcome, gays, to Couple Observation 101!

INT. NYU - CAMPUS - DAY

While Jack and Eric are under Isa’s microscope for the morning, that leaves Riley and Lucas to freely enjoy their first foray onto campus together. Riley is evidently very eager to show Lucas around, leading the way with a definitive spring in her step and walking backwards half the time so she can maintain eye contact with him even as she gives him the unofficial tour.

Lucas looks less comfortable, a stranger in a strange land, but the NYU sweatshirt Riley got him to “blend in” does help -- and looks very cute, just as a bonus.

When she’s not pointing out some campus feature, Riley gives Lucas the low-down about the audition process they’re going through that week. At the same time as she’s explaining the winter musical, they pass by advertisements for the fall show, causing Lucas to do a double-take.

Lucas: How many damn shows do they do at college? Wasn’t the two a year at Adams extra enough?

Riley: It varies by school, but typically there’s three in the academic year -- fall, winter, and spring. And there’s typically one or two shows going on per season, at least one straight play and a musical, but it just depends on what the department has the materials and resources to put up. And you don’t want to end up with competing productions on the calendar.

Lucas: Right…

Riley: You audition for the one in the previous season, so it’s the fall musical right now, but we’re doing auditions for the winter musical. And the fall musical cast was chosen at the end of last year, before school let out for summer. I don’t know if I could handle getting cast in the fall show -- I would be so impatient all summer just waiting for rehearsals to start when we got back.

Half an hour into the day and this is already too overwhelming for Lucas. Three shows… at the least… is this a school for torture? Anyway, Riley elaborates that the winter show is a semi-big deal for them, because it’s the first time freshmen get the chance to audition. Their first real chance to show their stuff. Of course, freshmen rarely if ever get cast, but it’s exciting all the same.

And even more so, since he’s going to be there to see her audition. Riley takes him in for a moment as they’re walking, fitting in her view so nicely, then she beams and takes his hand. So much more to see!

He lets her drag him along, disappearing further into the labyrinth of NYU.

The camera pans away from them and back down the path, catching up with Nigel. He’s on the phone with Jade, giving her the same short spiel about auditions as promised. He admits that he’s still debating what he wants to audition with, and he’s trying hard not to get in his head about it.

Jade can’t be much help in that regard, since her expertise is distinctly apart from performance, but she instead offers emotional support. She tells Nigel she can be there for his audition if he lets her know when it is.

Nigel: Wait, seriously? You’d do that?

Jade: Of course. You sound so surprised. And like I’d so easily pass up the chance to see the Nigel Chey perform.

Nigel: Okay, please… but I just figured with work, it would be a no go…

Jade: I’m not too far from campus. I could take my lunch at the same time, make a small trip out of it. And things have been going well, so I really don’t see Anya or anyone else taking issue with it if I take a slightly longer lunch one day.

Nigel can’t help but smile. He tells Jade that would mean a lot, and that he’ll have to pick something really good now if she’s going to be there to see it. Jade: You’re not capable of anything less, Nige.

The bashful smile grows. Jade claims she’s got to go back to the grind, but they’ll text later. Jade: Love you. Nigel: Yeah. Love you, too.

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

Their sweet exchange gets echoed by GIA VALDEZ, who is sharing a drawn-out and irritatingly silly goodbye with her boyfriend. She’s about to head into the adjacent studio next door, but at the moment she’s in the doorway, exchanging quick, playful kisses with her man and just being generally couple-y in the most subtly smug and loud way possible. Just in case anyone wondered, not only is she a kickass dancer, but she has a hot boyfriend and they’re sooo in love!

Whether it’s mind games or just plain annoying, it’s working. Zay is watching them with unabashed distaste from his spot by the mirrors, the Gia stank face already surpassing the strength of even Maya.

Vanessa makes a similar expression as she basically has to push past the couple to enter the studio, shooting a death glare back over her shoulder once she’s successfully broken through the love barricade. Gia launches into giggles and glances dismissively at the two of them, then actually tells her boyfriend goodbye, disappearing from the doorway as they go their separate ways.

It’s obvious both Zay and Vanessa were very disturbed by the canoodling they just had to witness -- and fairly so -- but it’s not crystal clear why they have such strong derision. You’d think the easy, smart thing to do would be to just tune it out… and yet there they are, letting it get under their skin. Perhaps, if you look close enough, you might just catch a trace of something like jealousy underneath the disgust.

In any case, that whole display puts both of them in an objectively negative headspace -- exactly what they need going into their first attempt at collaborating together for real. The two of them getting along was already a long shot, but they hit an explosive impressively fast. With their sour moods, they’re far too critical of one another, and can barely get a word out about choreography or tone before the other one snaps and claps back.

They can’t listen to each other, so they can’t cooperate.

Vanessa: This is impossible. You are impossible.

Zay: Why don’t you look in fucking mirror?

If Gia was playing tricks, they’ve paid off today. Vanessa gets frustrated enough that she storms out, claiming she doesn’t have time to be talked down to by an arrogant man like him. Zay doesn’t take kindly to that assessment, but makes no moves to stop her, simply growling in irritation and kicking at his duffle bag once she’s gone.

Their top standing is so, so screwed.

EXT. PERFORMING DINER - DAY

Yindra’s soulful voice sounds decent even through tinny earbuds, which is what YOLANDA is using to listen to the rough recording of her song. She’s listening on Yindra’s phone while they both take their break, Yindra doing her best to keep her cool and not obviously be waiting with bated breath for feedback from someone who knows her stuff.

Thankfully, the consensus is good. Yolanda loves the track.

Yolanda: Girl, you’ve got something real here!

Yindra grins, thanking her. She admits it still needs some tweaks, but for a demo track, it should be a strong sample. Yolanda completely agrees, asking how she plans to record the demo. When Yindra tells her that she’s got studio time booked, Yolanda grows more somber, emphasizing that she better make the most of it. Time with the legit set-up is rare -- if she’s got it, she does not want to waste it.

Not a problem here. Yindra is taking the opportunity seriously, and she is not going to squander it.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

Maya is heading out for the day, dressed for errands in pursuit of her grand mission. But she pauses on her march out the door long enough to double back and bother Charlie, snapping him out of his deep read of the common application essay prompts to check on how the choreography is going.

Charlie smiles, giving her a thumbs up and all good -- couldn’t be going more swell! Since she doesn’t really know him that well, it’s easy for Maya to take his well-practiced reassurance at face value, commending him for the effort and claiming she can’t wait to see what he whips up. The sooner the better, because she’ll probably need to pizazz it up, but miraculously she is excited all the same.

He keeps the tight smile on until she leaves, then it drops once she’s gone. He puts down his e-reader and turns back to his journal, flipping to a recent page he’s labeled “Maya Mysterious Video Choreography.”

A page that otherwise is damningly, pitifully blank. Sure, it’s been a short amount of time, but Charlie’s got nothing. Not a shred of inspiration. The fear of disappointing Maya Hart -- or earning her wrath -- is scary enough, but there’s a deeper insecurity behind his eyes as he looks at that blank page.

At this rate, he might not just be disconnected from art and music and dance -- his biggest fear is that somewhere along the way, he must’ve lost it for good.

INT. NYU - LECTURE HALL - DAY

Riley and Lucas arrive at her Gen Ed lecture, a good way to ease into things since it’s more approachable to Lucas than her performance-centric courses. She spots a cluster of other students she’s friendly with and gives them a wave, gesturing for Lucas to follow her. They make their way to the same couple of rows and settle in behind the friends, Riley eagerly introducing Lucas to them.

If others feel out of practice meeting new people, then Lucas is basically mummified when it comes to socializing. Still, he does his best, managing to come off polite and pleasant, if a bit shy. True to Riley’s usual type of peer, her classmates are friendly, and they ask plenty of curious questions -- how did the two of them meet? What is Lucas studying? Is he into performing like Riley?

Aside from the easy questions -- like the easy, resounding “no” to performing -- Lucas finds it hard to answer. Partially because he’s so rusty at conversing with new people, but mainly because he feels like he doesn’t have anything to say. All of them have such interesting things going on, have these whole intricate exciting collegiate lives going on that shape their questions of him, and he can’t relate. He can’t offer anything that will make him fit in or pass off like he should be there with them.

Lucky for him, he has Riley, an excellent socializer and enthusiastic chatterbox. When Lucas hesitates, she effortlessly swoops in and picks up the slack, answering all sorts of questions about him like it’s simple. She might know him better than she knows herself.

Nice as that is, Lucas is still left with a weird feeling when the conversation dies down and focus turns to the start of lecture. It feels like a spotlight is on him even though no one is paying him any attention. He slouches slightly, instinctively trying to make himself smaller, to hide from whatever this vibe is -- and he only relaxes a bit when Riley gets his attention, excitedly taking his hand and squeezing it. He’s here!

He sure is, for better or worse. Lucas lightly returns her smile, trying to hang onto the fleeting calm as they tune into the lecture.

EXT. CENTRAL PARK - DAY

Vanessa is lying on the grass, soaking up sun and letting out a heavy exhale. Then, declaratively:

Vanessa: I swear, I’m being cosmically tortured.

She launches into an impassioned diatribe against the woes of having to work with Zay Babineaux, still vexed about how their first meeting went. With so few days to pull things together, in this cutthroat program, she does not have time to be dealing with this shit. But of course, she has to get stuck with the most frustrating… the most arrogant… stubborn, know-it-all, over-the-top --

The person stuck listening to her rant is SUMMER LIONS, who is casually stretching where she’s sitting. Based on her unmoved expression and the way she’s nodding along, it’s pretty obvious this is far from the first time she’s heard Vanessa talk about Zay. And while that’s the slightest bit amusing -- like homegirl is obsessed -- she’s clearly run out of new things to say.

Summer: At risk of sounding like a br-br-broken record, I’ll bite -- why don’t you just forget about him?

Vanessa: Um, it’s not like I have a choice. I have to see him every other day. And now I really can’t avoid him, since I’ve been forced to dance the cha-cha of hell with his pretentious ass. [ mocking him ] “Why don’t you look in the fucking mirror?” Ugh. He is infuriating.

Summer: Okay, so then find some mechanism around him. That’s like your whole thing. Mapping your path to success, overcoming every obstacle. Use your kickass mind and outsmart his obstacle.

Vanessa: But that’s exactly it. That’s exactly fucking it, what’s so insanity-inducing about him. [ sitting up ] It’s like… my brain doesn’t function when I’m around him. It’s like I see him, and everything just goes red. Head empty, nothing but visceral feeling and the jackhammer pounding of my heart because getting too close raises my fucking blood pressure. Can’t outwit, outplay, outlast if my stupid head won’t even stay on straight. [ shaking her head ] I swear, bitch, hatred is a serious trip.

Summer: Right…

Unfortunately, she’s stuck with him, so she better figure out a way to cope. Summer recommends deep breathing exercises for one, but she also points out Vanessa should retrieve her next best weapon -- spite. If she can’t get along with him on normal terms, then she needs to remember the fact that if she gives him the power, he could tank her standing. He’s her biggest competition, and if she lets him get in her head like this, then they might both screw each other over by screwing up this assignment.

Does she really want to let Zay Babineaux screw her? Vanessa groans, flopping back onto the grass and covering her eyes.

EXT. THE HIGH LINE - DAY

To search for inspiration, Nigel has ventured to High Line Park, the elevated pedestrian walkway that runs along the west side of the city. It’s got some pretty greenery and awesome views, and Nigel has always found it a good place to think.

Its quiet introspection is admittedly a bit dimmed today, because he’s not alone with his thoughts. Zay is with him, usually not all that interested in stuff like this but so desperate to get away from Turner and Vanessa that he’ll take distraction anywhere he can get it. That said, he’s not exactly at “out of sight, out of mind” -- Zay is talking Nigel’s ear off, venting about the whole situation and how much he can’t stand his project partner.

Zay: It’s like, you’d think I’d be prepared for something like this. I’ve dealt with annoying people before. It’s like the universe blessed me with the privilege of training with Farkle and Maya for four years. I came out on the other side of that, you’d think I’d be an expert.

Nigel: Sure.

Zay: But no. Johnson… she’s something else entirely. [ with a huff ] And you know what the worst fucking part is? I can’t just write her off. That’s so infuriating. Like, if she were just obnoxious but talentless, that would be one thing. Or if she were talented, but absolutely unbearable like say, Sarah, that would be another thing. But she’s not. She’s not that.

Nigel: I thought you just said you can’t stand her?

Zay: I can’t. But that’s the thing! She drives me up the fucking wall, but she’s not… like that. Which makes it all stupid and complicated. I prefer my hatred to be straight-forward and justified, please and thanks.

Nigel rolls his eyes, shaking his head at his best friend’s theatricality. Anyway, it will do Zay good to think about literally anything else. He jogs to catch up to Nigel and throws his arm around his shoulders, asking him how things are going on his side of the grass. Surely better than him, given he has decent people as classmates like Riley and Isa rather than Johnson or Gia Valdez.

Well, no assurance about that, Zay… but Nigel pushes aside his social insecurities, focusing on things he can control instead. He brings Zay up to speed on auditions, and admits that he’s still trying to decide what to audition with. Zay claps his hands, rubbing them together.

Zay: Audition serves, dope. I can handle that. What are you thinking?

Nigel: I’m not really sure. Something that allows me to showcase my acting through the singing.

Zay: Naturally.

Nigel: But I don’t know what’s expected at a college audition. You know, Adams, we kind of all just did whatever the hell we wanted. I figure there’s likely a higher standard at play here.

Zay: I guess… in what way?

Nigel: I don’t know like… keeping it classic, you know? Or familiar. So I was thinking something like… I don’t know, “The Music of the Night” or something --

Zay: Oh, no! Ugh, Nigel, no, no, no…

Nigel throws his hands up, shrugging. What’s so wrong with that? Zay makes a gagging noise.

Zay: You have one chance to make a first audition impression, and you’re considering Phantom of the Opera? The most boring ass show in the history of musical theater?

Nigel: That’s your opinion. Coming from the same guy who thinks Shakespeare is dry.

Zay: And I’m right. He’s musty as hell and reading him makes me want to commit arson.

Nigel: Ignoring that for the sake of our friendship.

Zay: Whatever, man. Bardy is not the point.

Nigel: Then what is the point?

Zay: The point is that you are way too good to be sticking to the mud pit of Phantom. Nigel --

Zay halts their walking, taking Nigel’s shoulders and making him look at him. He shakes him slightly.

Zay: You are brilliant. You’re interesting, compelling. You’ve got flavor.

Nigel: Am I a cup of coffee…

Zay: That’s what I’m talking about. That wit is too spicy for Phantom. You need to do something that translates all that to the stage, that conveys all the awesomeness that is Nigel while also serving your talent. If you need to go off-beat to do that, then I say go for it. Adams was unhinged and it’s amazing we’re not all certifiable, but it did teach us that.

Nigel: Okay, hot shot. How exactly am I supposed to do that?

Mainly, Nigel has to get in touch with himself and figure out what he’s all about before he decides how to convey that to an audition panel. But he shouldn’t be keeping himself restricted to the “classics” that are guaranteed not to match up to the energy and swagger that he requires.

Maybe it would be easier to demonstrate…

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Meet Me At Our Spot” as performed by THE ANXIETY || Performed by Zay Babineaux & Nigel Chey

Zay decides to keep it lowkey and breezy, picking a tune they both like that reminds him of Nigel to kick them off. The casual groove of the baseline gives us momentum as Zay launches into the first verse, easing Nigel into it along the way as they continue to move along the High Line. The entire performance takes place on this walk, the city views from above providing the backdrop as the boys progress, dance, and jump around the walkway.

Nigel takes a bit to get into it, not as quick to turn on performance mode as Zay and definitely not as naturally confident. He’s still hesitant even as he picks up the lead on the second verse, letting Zay guide him in some simple dance grooves. But he finds his footing with time, particularly as Zay hypes him up and backs him with echos on the chorus, loosening him up. By the time we hit the bridge, building back to the final chorus, the mellow vibe is infectious, and the mood is good.

It’s a simple number for AMBITION standards, but it gets the job done, getting Nigel out of his head and back in touch with some of his personal sensibilities. When they wrap up, Zay wraps his arm around Nigel again, playfully knocking at his chin.

Zay: Show them a taste of Nigel Chey? You’ll be set.

Nigel is definitely more into the potential of shaking it up than before. He returns Zay’s smile, grateful for his diva wisdom.

INT. USC - MUSIC CLASSROOM - DAY

Farkle is getting similar encouragement from PROFESSOR WEBER, chatting with him briefly after class wraps up and he’s getting his things together. Weber seems thrilled that Farkle is auditioning -- with his penchant for music, he can only imagine he’s a wonderful performer.

Weber: I see plenty of talented students come through these classes, especially the freshman seminars. But so many of them, they blow it off, because they think there’s no chance in Hell of them landing a role so early. But I say, how do you know until you’ve given it your best go?

Nice point, Web! Farkle absorbs that, admitting that he may have been thinking similarly and isn’t necessarily the strongest at plucky optimism. Weber tells him he doesn’t need that -- he just needs faith in himself. Faith that if he delivers his best, every time, then the odds will be in his favor.

Weber: The only way to guarantee otherwise is to not try at all.

And if Farkle’s experience is any indication, with Turner and his last-minute surprise audition that ended up bringing him to where he is now, no words could be truer. Farkle thanks Weber for the support and insight, promising that if he does somehow land a role, he’ll get complimentary tickets. Weber laughs, assuring him he wouldn’t miss it.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - KITCHEN - NIGHT

Jack makes his way into the kitchen freshly showered after getting back from the gym, heading towards the sink to do the dishes he left there when he left. Only there aren’t any to clean -- the dishwasher is already running. Jack frowns, doubling back towards the living area and calling through the archway.

Jack: Eric?

Eric, off-screen: Jackie?

Jack: Did you start the dishes?

Eric, off-screen: Yeah, just put them in about thirty minutes ago.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

Jack pokes his head around the doorway, finding Eric on the couch.

Jack: I was going to do them when I got back from the gym. That’s when I usually do them.

Eric: Oh, it’s no problem. I didn’t mind. I was putting mine in the washer already, so easier to just do it all at once.

Jack: [ a beat ] Right. Absolutely. I just don’t want you… I don’t want you thinking I’m a lazy roommate or anything.

Eric: Jack, we’ve been living together for a week. You’ve gotta give me at least a month to start psychoanalyzing your behaviors.

Jack laughs, but it’s the slightest bit hollow. He assures Eric he’ll empty the dishwasher when it’s done, which is perfectly fine with him. If he insists!

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - KITCHEN - NIGHT

Now that the dishes are done for him, Jack doesn’t know what to do with himself. It’s part of his routine -- finish work, gym, dishes. It’s nice that Eric just jumped in, suppose that’s one of the benefits of having a partner… yet Jack can’t shake the sensation that he’s doing something wrong.

On instinct, he pauses the dishwasher and pulls the door open, steam rising out and hot water dripping inside. Jack glances in, and then realizes what he’s doing, stepping back. What exactly is he looking for? Proof that Eric knows how to run the washer; that he used the right detergent? All his dishes are accounted for in there -- it’s not like Eric is tossing them in the trash or siphoning them away.

He must be tired, because he’s acting weird. He shakes his head at himself and shuts the dishwasher, pressing the button to resume its cycle.

INT. JOSH’S APARTMENT - BEDROOM - NIGHT

Josh is having a video call with his parents, ALAN MATTHEWS (70s) and AMY MATTHEWS (70s). It’s about as typical a video call with Boomers as you’d expect, Amy keeping control of the phone but often putting it at a weird angle or only getting half of Alan in frame when she turns it to show him, but the words they’re exchanging are more important than the visual. This is supposed to be their weekly call where they catch up and hear about all the great things Josh is doing out there on his own, but realistically, it’s become more like a monthly call -- Josh goes to great lengths to accidentally find he’s double-booked and has to reschedule.

Unfortunately, the problem with this plan is that it only makes them have more questions when the call finally does roll around. They’ve exhausted all the small talk type updates -- how the neighborhood is, what gossip is going on with Cory, Eric, and Morgan, their steady health -- which just leaves the elephant in the room…

Amy: And how is Global Beat going?

Ah, yes. The inevitable work conversation. Josh hedges, giving his usual vague answer that it’s fine and he’s enjoying it and getting to explore some very cool music. Alan asks for more details, because he seems prone to skepticism about his industry and always has questions -- what exactly is he working on right now? Are his bosses treating him well? How many hours is he putting in?

Josh: I don’t know, just stuff, dad. You wouldn’t get it, you know, it’s stuff you don’t understand. It would take more time to explain it to you than actually do the job.

Amy: How about the benefits package? They talked about raising your insurance premiums after three years of service, right? Has that come through yet?

Josh hesitates. He can’t tell her that he lied, and there’s no such policy at Global Beat, and he’s fortunate in this industry to have any coverage at all.

Josh: No, yeah, I’m sure they’re working on it. You know how HR is, takes a little time, sometimes.

This prompts Alan to go into another one of his protective tirades. Having done manual labor and small business work for most of his life, where the hours were hard and no one was there to look out for him, he doesn’t understand Josh’s perspective on his job or the way the industry works at all, and is always giving Josh tips to watch out for. There’s no union for assistants and juniors, and Alan has naively more than once insisted Josh should try to start one.

The advice comes from a good place, but to Josh, it just feels as though they don’t trust him. They don’t see him as an adult with a brain who can make his own choices, or isn’t going to let himself get duped. He’s their perpetual baby -- not to mention their baby who went thousands of miles away and is pursuing a career neither of them really get or understand. Regardless of how many times his dad says...

Alan: I mean, you know I get it, Josh. When I was in my band --

The band who rarely played actual music and just took it up to look cool, back in the dark ages. Yeah. Josh resists the urge to roll his eyes. Amy swerves in with an actually important question, sincere and maternal as ever, but it’s the exact one Josh wants to hear the least:

Amy: Are you having fun?

Josh opens his mouth, but for a moment, nothing comes out. The answer should be yes -- that’s the only reason to be stuck in a career like this. He can remember when it was a yes, resounding and emphatic and sometimes defensive. When he was fresh out of school and had landed his first job in the mailroom; when he got picked by Justin and Melissa for the junior producer gig; when he first brought on Iris. It was worth it to have the arguments about his career with mom and dad when he was so surefire in his conviction that he was on the right path. It was exciting when it felt like things were going somewhere, when it felt like every day he was taking a step closer to what he cares about most -- the music.

Now, he’s hesitating. Because he’s stuck, and he’s lost the music, and he’s almost 25. He can’t help but wonder if he’s wasted the first half of his twenties, going down some path he was never going to see through, and if his entire vision for his life up to this point has been one big fever dream.

But he cannot have this emotional breakdown in front of his parents. Even if part of him wants to, to be able to confide in them and have them give him the solutions to fix his problems like they did when he was little, he can’t. He’s spent enough hours, flushed cheeks, and heated debates trying and failing to get them to see his point of view -- if he caves now, expresses things aren’t as perfect as he thought, he’s just walking into the biggest “I told you so” invented in the Matthews family history.

And there’s many of those. Matthews love to gloat.

Josh: Yeah. Yeah, as always. Everything going according to plan.

Before either of them can ask any more questions, Josh claims he should let them go -- it’s getting late there, and they’ve got work in the morning. They seem a bit reluctant, since they rarely get to talk to him as much as they’d like, but they accept and wish him farewell and a good week. Josh offhandedly returns the sentiment, keeping his tight smile plastered on until they end the call.

Can’t remember the last time a call with his parents didn’t end in this heavy feeling. Josh sighs, flopping back onto his bed and burying his face in his pillow.

Break 1.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - DAY

Isa groggily makes their way towards the bathroom, still in their PJs and trying to find the energy to get through the day. They let out a yawn, rubbing their eyes as they approach the bathroom.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - BATHROOM - DAY

And when they step into the bathroom and open their eyes, they get a big jolt of energy from being spooked. Riley is already in there getting ready -- Riley and Lucas, which Isa obviously wasn’t prepared for. They’re not doing anything nefarious, just in the midst of brushing their teeth and carrying quiet conversation, but the fact that they’re both there, that Lucas is actually there with Riley in the morning like that’s totally normal, is enough to startle Isa awake.

Riley turns after Isa lets out a gasp, cheerfully greeting them with good morning.

Isa: Uh… yeah. Yeah, morning.

Riley: Sorry, did we wake you up? I thought we were talking quietly, but --

Isa: No. No, I was… I was up. Anyway. You were definitely quiet.

Lucas: You good?

Riley: Do you need to use the space? We’re just about done, I think, or we can be --

Lucas: Almost. Still a bit… you’ve got toothpaste.

Lucas reaches forward and gently swipes his thumb over the corner of Riley’s mouth, wiping away stray toothpaste foam. She turns to him and offers a fond smile, silently thanking him. He nods, rinsing his hand under the faucet.

Isa just stares at them, seemingly unable to process their domesticity, and that it’s suddenly right in front of them. For whatever reason, the constant reality of your best friends’ intimacy is stranger to acknowledge than the concept.

Finally, they remember they were asked a question, managing to stumble through an answer.

Isa: Oh, no. Nah, no, I can wait. You guys, uh… you do your thing.

Lucas: You sure?

Isa: Yeah. Yep. Yeah, no rush.

Riley: Okay. Are you feeling okay? You seem a little…

Isa: Me? Uh, yeah. Just still waking up. And stuff. I’m good. I’m all good. You all do… whatever you’ve gotta do. Okay, cool.

Isa tosses them an awkward thumbs up, then turns to make their exit… and immediately trips over Lucas’s shoes in the hallway on the way out. Very smooth.

Riley watches after them with a confused frown, glancing over her shoulder to exchange a look with Lucas. Odd? He merely shrugs -- no more unusual than anything else anyone does in their circle.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - ISA’S BEDROOM - DAY

Isa breezes back into the safe haven of their room and shuts the door, taking a moment to shake off whatever weirdness just possessed them. What was that all about? Isa knew Lucas was going to be here -- they invited him to move in, after all.

It must have just caught them by surprise to see it in action, that’s all. Just a usual bout of unpreparedness. Like running into your teacher at the grocery store. Unexpected, but fine. No bother.

Farkle, off-screen: You seemed pretty bothered by that.

Isa releases a huff, scowling. They spin to face away from the door and lo and behold, mirage Farkle is back. This time, he’s dressed in the frumpy cardigan he wore in 206, though his hair is still the same as when we last saw his faux-presence. He’s slouched comfortably in Isa’s desk chair, long legs stretched out in front of him like he owns the place.

While he’s got an amused smirk on his face, all Isa has for him is an annoyed frown.

Isa: Did not. Do not. I’m not bothered.

Farkle: You sound bothered.

Isa: Why would I be bothered? Lucas lives here now -- makes sense he’d need to use the bathroom just like the rest of us. He’s a roommate.

Farkle: Sure.

Isa: It’s a good thing he’s here. Just because I wasn’t… and they were in there together… but I wasn’t… [ with a huff ] ugh, why am I even saying all this? I’m not bothered. It’s whatever. I just wasn’t ready for a surprise at eight in the morning.

Farkle: For sure. I completely agree.

Isa: I’m not bothered by them. The only thing bothering me right now is you.

Farkle: Hey, don’t look at me like that. You’re the one who won’t talk to me -- and the one talking to me now. [ sarcastically sweet ] You call, I answer.

As if it’s that easy… perhaps because Isa knows in their head it is. Rather than admitting that, though, they groan in annoyance instead, marching towards their bed. They stop in front of Farkle’s outstretched feet, glaring, but when he doesn’t budge, they start to lean forward as if they’re going to nudge them out of the way… and then they think better of it, begrudgingly stepping over his gangly limbs.

Isa: I don’t have time for you right now. It’s a busy week. I have things to do.

Farkle: It’s always a busy week. We always have things to do.

Isa: I’m supposed to be doing important research, and I can’t focus with you bothering me. Could you get out of my head?

Farkle: Again, why don’t you ask yourself that? And I don’t think your research is going to be effective if you can’t even stomach studying your subjects. [ crossing his ankles ] Why so weird about Riley and Lucas, Isa?

Isa: I’m not. I’m not weird about them. They can do whatever they want.

Farkle: Except share space. Except display affection or casual touch.

Isa: That’s their business, not mine. I don’t care. And they’ve displayed affection around me plenty of times before.

Farkle: Or is it weird now that it’s too close to home? Too constant a presence?

Isa: No --

Farkle: Too pointed a reminder?

Isa: God, could you just shut up?

As requested, when Isa turns around to look at the chair again, Farkle isn’t there. But his questions remain, lingering in the silence and on their mind. Isa sighs, pressing their palms to their eyes. It’s impressive, how much nothing can cause such a disturbance. That the absence, rather than presence, of something can make everything feel so weird.

Something missing.

Isa groans and flops back onto their bed, falling against the pillows and covering their eyes with their arm.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - FARKLE’S BEDROOM - DAY

The shot is matched with the next cut, Farkle also lying in bed. He’s actually asleep, though, given the early morning hour in L.A.

At least, he is for the moment. That all changes when the opening yodeling of “Wind It Up” by Gwen Stefani blares through the apartment, startling him awake. He curses under his breath and nearly falls out of bed.

Farkle: What the fuck?

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

Charlie is even less fortunate, caught in closer range. He bolts upright and then falls onto his side, barely able to orient himself in his panicked half-awake state. He grasps around him wildly, totally lost.

Charlie: [ voice slurred with sleep ] Washapning?

The answer should be obvious enough, but perhaps one can never be prepared for Maya Hart. She’s standing at the intersection between Farkle’s door and the living room where Charlie is crashed on the couch, already dressed for the day in her knock-off athleisure and ready for business. She’s holding the pink bluetooth boombox that’s blasting the music, and with her other hand she lifts her bullhorn from senior year.

Maya: Rise and shine, boys! We’re wasting daylight!

Farkle: Are you kidding me, Maya?

Maya: I would never joke about beauty sleep, but time is of the essence.

Charlie: Is this Hell?

Maya: Hell should be so lucky to have Stefani. [ pointing the bullhorn at him ] Let’s go, Charlie Gardner. God gave you another beautiful day, time to greet it!

Charlie looks like he’s still trying to remember where he is. Farkle pushes himself upright so he can see her from his doorway.

Farkle: This project is turning you into a menace!

Maya: Flattery will get us nowhere, darling. And let’s not kid ourselves -- I have always been like this. [ into the bullhorn ] I need choreo and a creative team by tonight, so let’s go! We are officially on 24-hour countdown, people!

Maya marches back towards her room, “Wind It Up” still going, doing a couple of dance combinations as she goes. Farkle collapses back into bed, while Charlie manages to push up onto his elbow with monumental effort. He scrunches his face, running a hand through his hair.

Charlie: I should’ve stayed in Bryce Canyon.

Maybe so, Chuck. There’s still time! Run while you can! Lay-od-lay-od-low!

EXT. NYU - LUNCH SPOT - DAY

Nigel and Isa are having a quick breakfast together, the latter asking him how he feels about his audition that afternoon. Thankfully, after the rallying with Zay and assurance that Jade will be there to see it, Nigel is feeling pretty good about it. He claims he’s just going to offer the most authentic perception of his range that he can, and then whatever happens, happens.

Isa: That’s cool. You’ll definitely stand out, breaking from unconventional musical theater.

Nigel: You think so? You don’t think it’s a risky move?

Isa: Oh, it is, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing. Risky moves are… well, risky, but sometimes they pay off. Conforming to expectations is one guaranteed way to fade into the background. Maya and Farkle used to always say that memorability is the most important thing -- stick in their mind, stick the landing.

Nigel: Yeah for Maya, that sounds about right. How are they doing? They’ve probably gone on a ton of auditions already.

Shoot. Isa keeps forgetting how things are, keeps failing at omitting them from their mind when it’s all too easy for them to resurface again. At this rate, it’s like an OCD thought -- the harder they push them away, the harder it gets to let them go.

You call, I answer…

But Isa has to. They’re doing this for a reason -- because Maya doesn’t deserve their time, and Farkle… it’s too much. The more they allow themself to think about him, who knows what stupid thing is going to slip out next. Talk about risky.

So Isa uses one of their oldest tricks: changing the subject. They brush off the query about the Los Angelenos and redirect, bringing it back around to Nigel’s audition. He mentioned Jade is going to be there. How is she managing to hack that?

Nigel: Yeah, I don’t know either. Apparently things are going really well at work, so she’s got a good rapport going with Anya. Since it’s important, she’s going to be able to take a slightly longer lunch so she can be there at the right time, and take it later.

Isa: Wow. That’s sweet.

Nigel: Yeah. [ with a light smile ] Yeah, I’m really excited she’s gonna get to see it.

Isa: Not like she hasn’t seen you audition a million times before, but yeah, still sweet. I guess it’s different now, since we don’t see each other do it all the time anymore.

Mhm… different sure is the buzzword these days. Isa continues to prod further, asking Nigel how things are going with Jade, generally speaking. Since they’re supposed to be analyzing relationships, taking the opportunity to examine another duo is one they can’t pass up. Nigel shrugs, stating everything is going great. Same old, same old.

Isa: Really?

Nigel: Yes. Why do you ask?

Isa: I don’t know, guess I just expected it would be different. Because you all are like, different.

Nigel: Why do you say that?

Isa: Well, you’re the only two who are operating in like, completely separate worlds. Riley and Lucas were going to be long distance, but then those plans obviously changed, and while he’s “working,” he’s basically in the same place. Dylan and Asher are still together, figuratively and literally. Jack and Eric are both adults or whatever. You and Jade have an actual shift in circumstance -- you going to school, her working.

Nigel: That’s true. [ a beat ] But it doesn’t like, change anything.

Isa: And I know Jade has been like totally sucked into the design stuff. I hardly ever see her, so seeing her a couple weeks ago was like a unicorn sighting.

Nigel: Yeah. Yeah, she… she’s busier.

Isa: So it’s really cool that you guys are able to keep that from changing stuff. That she can make time like that. Doesn’t make very good narrative conflict, but that’s probably what you want in a real relationship. I wouldn’t know.

Nigel: … so everything’s good with Chai?

Oh, right. Chai. Isa pauses, then nods emphatically.

Isa: Oh, yeah, completely. Nothing to report there. Honestly, I think having a long distance relationship is way easier than an in-person one sometimes. Isn’t that kind of bizarre?

Yes. Yes, it is. Nigel opens his mouth to comment, but has no idea what to say. So he opts for nothing, taking a bite of his blueberry muffin instead. He hates conflict as it is, and he certainly isn’t equipped to try to tackle an Isa-level problem. That’s a job for the big leagues of Riley and Eric cred.

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

We could use some of that conflict resolution cred over at Turner, too. Vanessa and Zay are back at it, trying to collaborate on the cha-cha assignment but getting nowhere. Any time one of them suggests a combination of choreography, the other runs rough-shot over it, either with too many critiques or with a conflicting vision or simply with distaste.

While some of it is petty, though, interestingly enough the back and forth isn’t necessarily volatile. Well, their disdain for each other might be, but the notes are not. It’s clear that when the two of them shoot down one another’s ideas, it’s not out of malice. On the contrary, it’s more a case of two strong heads than vengeful hearts -- they’re both good dancers, passionate and with vision, and both of them want to bring a strong showing. Particularly in light of the fact that they know Rosario is watching to see if they can stand the collaboration.

Even so, their rivalrous history only adds gasoline to the fire, so the work is painstaking. Vanessa tries to demonstrate another stretch of choreography, the two of them managing to come together and actually take dancer position so she can walk them through it… but it only takes about three steps for Zay to chime in with another criticism.

Zay: This transition is too flat. It’s too basic, it’s not giving anything.

Vanessa, frustrated: That’s what a fucking transition is, jackass. You have to start somewhere.

Zay: Maybe, but I think sticking a classic transition in every slot where we need one isn’t going to show that we’re top right now for a reason. I think it’s going to show that we’re lazy.

Vanessa growls, shoving away from him and putting more space between them.

Zay: And sorry, I don’t know what kind of reputation you like to keep, but I’m not giving lazy.

Vanessa: Oh, yeah, I know you can’t afford to do that. Can’t give any more evidence to Gao considering you literally didn’t even dance at your own audition.

Zay: Oh, fuck off.

Vanessa: I mean, seriously, did you think that was going to work? Just rolling up and being like “hey, I’m a bad bitch, let me in anyway?” I can’t believe you’re that stupid.

Zay: You don’t know me, all right? Think we’ve established that well enough.

Vanessa: No, seriously, I want to know. What absolutely unhinged voice in your head convinced you that showing up to an audition you had no chance in hell of doing was a king move?

Zay, defensive: Hey, I said fuck off. You don’t know shit.

Oop. Seems Vanessa might have accidentally hit a nerve there… and it causes her to back off. As deft as they both seem to be at repartee, she could sense the shift in his tone, and for whatever reason it prompts her to pull back.

Zay: I’m here. That’s all that fucking matters.

Silence permeates the studio for a long moment, Vanessa not arguing that point. Regardless of how they got there, they’re both there, and now they have to figure out how to stomach one another. Zay lowers himself into a crouch and takes a deep breath, hiding his head in his hands. Vanessa watches him, still from a safe distance, but the barbs retract somewhat when they aren’t looking at one another.

Vanessa: Yeah. And I don’t want to fuck this up. I know you don’t either.

After a beat, Zay nods, dropping his hands against his knees. That much, they can agree on. Vanessa releases a sigh, running her hands through her hair and pulling it back into a bundle behind her head.

Vanessa: Look, clearly we aren’t going to be able to work through this together. But we know we’re both good choreographers. What if… what if we just each take a chunk of the choreography, sketch it out on our own.

Zay: Are you serious? That’s kind of like the opposite of what we’re supposed to be doing with this assignment. That’s the antithesis of a duet.

Vanessa: No, the point of the assignment is to dance together. It doesn’t matter who does what in the pursuit to get there. You think Gia’s not going to bulldoze over her assignment partner and choreograph the whole thing so she can get bragging rights later? It’s her steps, but they’re both performing it. That’s what we’re doing. We each bring our own slate to the shop, and then we’ll… I don’t know, Frankenstein them together. If we’re as good as we believe we are, then we should be able to pull it off.

Zay looks unconvinced. He’s a believer in the magic of pas de deux collaboration -- he knows what kind of excellence can come out of building something with someone you respect and trust. Some of his best work has been created that way.

But he doesn’t trust Vanessa, and any respect they may have is begrudging at best. Maybe if there was more time, things could be different… but if it’s a question of split up or fail, he knows she’s right.

So it’s agreed. They’ll each take half of the dance, then spend all day tomorrow weaving it all together. It’ll be a painful 24 hours from now, but if they survive this, it’ll be worth it.

Zay: Fine. Honestly, if it’s an excuse to skip my science GE, all the better.

The unexpected authenticity of that actually manages to elicit a chuckle from Vanessa.

Vanessa: Guess that’s another thing we can agree on.

Even if being around each other is unpleasant, at least they’re doing what they love most. Zay and Vanessa lock eyes, just for a moment, holding in that shared sentiment. Then Vanessa breaks it, marching over to her duffle in front of the mirrors and slinging it over her shoulder.

Vanessa: Tomorrow. Come prepared, or I’m choreographing over you. I’m not waiting up.

Zay: Keep dreaming. You’ll be seeing me tomorrow.

She rolls her eyes, happy to make her exit and get out of the suffocating studio with him. Zay shakes his head, falling back onto the floor and then flopping onto his back.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - OFFICES - DAY

Josh isn’t in the studio today, instead stuck at his desk. Tormented with nothing to do but look at his inbox, devoid of any promises or creative juice… he leans back in his chair and surveys the rest of the office. The support staff desks, or the Box Office as they call it, are clustered in the center of the room and surrounded on three sides by offices of the higher-up producers -- i.e., their bosses. At the desks like Josh’s though, it’s folks just like him, junior producers and executive assistants, an intern or two, all young folks doing the grunt work for a chance to get their foot in the door.

Yet it feels like he’s the only one with palpable existential angst about it (at least, according to Justin). Everyone else seems in a relatively good mood, chatting softly with one another or comfortably meandering through their mundane, support staff tasks. Across desks from him, BRIAN HARRIS is grooving to himself while clicking through paperwork, headphones on. ROWAN PHELPS is characteristically stoic and unbothered at the desk to Josh’s right, seemingly not moved either way on the state of their lower-tier existence.

Josh can’t fathom how they do it. And at this rate, he thinks he might combust before he ever finds out what it’s like to make it to the other side. He elbows Phelps next to him and gestures for them to take their Airpods out, which catches the attention of Brian who immediately takes his headphones off as well. He’s never one to pass up eavesdropping on their conversations.

This time, though, Josh will take his input too. He poses the same question to them that he did Floyd -- why are they doing this job? Do they like it? Do they have any qualms about the state of their careers at this point?

Brian: Oh, Joshua. Don’t tell us you’re flaking out! Don’t be one of those wimps who drops out and goes to take a job in like, advertising. Or education.

Phelps: That’s not gonna happen. Josh would be a terrible teacher.

Brian: Or public media. Don’t go be one of those nerds. Oh, I can see it now -- Josh stuck behind a desk on the east coast, flipping switches for NPR.

Phelps: He has no patience, first of all, and he’s far too condescending when he really cares about it. Some poor kid would ask him why they’re learning the quadratic formula and he’d go on and on about how formulas are a foundation for all the life and technology we enjoy on planet Earth.

Josh: God, can either of you just answer a question? And that’s not true, I would not be a sucky -- I don’t even like math!

Phelps: Trust me, I know. Correcting your expense reports for the last year has shown me that well enough.

Once they’ve stopped picking on him, Brian prompts Josh to ask his question again -- he admittedly wasn’t paying attention the first time. Josh reiterates that he’s not planning to quit, he just wanted to know how they all felt in terms of job satisfaction. Why are they in this job anyway?

Phelps: Not for the benefits, that’s for sure.

Brian: Why else, bro? Money, money, money!

Phelps: Money is your answer when you’re working a barely above minimum wage junior producer role?

Brian: Fine, fine. Semantics. Eventual money. It takes time, but there is a bounty to be had in this business. Why do you think I’ve been studying TikTok so extensively? If you get a song to blow up there, you’ve got it made.

Phelps: Wasting two hours after lunch scrolling through that app is not studying, Harris.

Josh: Okay, but is it just for the money? I mean, what about the… you know, the music?

Sure, that’s nice and everything, but for Brian he recognizes that they likely won’t ever get their hands on the creative side of things. Yeah, it happens once in a while -- Justin and Melissa being prime examples -- but they’re rare gems. Brian isn’t pretending he’s gonna be one of those rare gems, it’s easier to sleep at night that way. Aim low and avoid disappointment, and as long as you’ve got a finger in the pie you’ll get the pay out and still get to participate in all of the perks and socialite things that are so cool about the job.

Phelps has a different approach, though no less realist-oriented. Phelps digs music, yeah, but it’s never been their core motivation. They could’ve gone into film, or fashion, or even publishing -- music was just the industry that had the right job at the right time and decent enough wages to survive in Los Angeles for now. It’s good enough to get a foot in the door this way, but Phelps is more of a tastemaker, interested in all elements of pop culture and chill just floating through it until they find a place to land. In their opinion, Josh is thinking too hard about it. He thinks too hard about everything.

That may be true, but it doesn’t make Josh feel better. In fact, if anything, he feels even more isolated. Is he the only idiot in this city who is trying to follow a dream solely in pursuit of a passion for music? Is that a completely delusional thing to do?

Is he completely wasting his life pursuing something that will never happen, and is going to crush him along the way when it doesn’t?

INT. NYU - THEATER CLASSROOM - DAY

In playwriting class, the students have broken into small groups to discuss the latest modern play they read to analyze. Nigel is with IMOGEN LEE and ABBY, but they’ve quickly wrapped up discussing the play and have moved onto more interesting topics. Imogen is still debating which of her prepared numbers to do for her musical audition, and they ask Nigel if he’s got his all prepared.

Nigel: Yep. I’m actually pretty excited about it.

Imogen: Nice. Wish that were me.

Abby: Yeah, I do not envy y’all. Nigel, you are so brave for auditioning when you’re predominantly a straight-play guy.

Nigel: Well, I mean, I did go to a musical theater high school…

Abby: The musical theater majors in Tisch are so intense about it. And it’s like, cutthroat for them, you know? Like even though they’ve made it clear freshman rarely get roles, everyone I know is acting like it’s the fucking apocalypse and this is their one shot at life.

Imogen: OMG, I know. And have you seen some of the stuff people have auditioned with? I heard one guy earlier this week auditioned by singing a Hozier song.

Abby: Hozier? [ with a laugh ] Oh, no way.

Nigel: … is something wrong with Hozier?

Imogen: Oh, God no.

Abby: No, we love him. Fae king. You know as a lesbian, I have to stan.

Imogen: It’s just that you don’t like… use Hozier for an audition. Like, how cringe is it to pick a pop song for a professional audition? Just do Wicked like the rest of us, or Hamilton if you really feel like you need to contempo it up.

Nigel: … don’t you think it’s kind of fun, though? You know, something different? Makes you stand out.

Imogen: Makes you stand out, absolutely -- everyone asking why the hell you thought it was a good idea.

Imogen and Abby both laugh, shaking their heads. Like, seriously, what’s next? Someone performing alt-pop unironically and expecting to get noticed? This is NYU, not Glee.

Nigel looks like he’s going to be sick, but he manages to cover it with a weak smile, chuckling along. Now he’s got two perspectives in his head -- those from his good friends, who encouraged him to do something unique, but that apparently might leave him as the laughing stock of his class. Maybe the Adams cohort really does live in a different universe, and now he’s wholly unprepared for the real world of trying to make it as an actor.

Either way, he’s running out of time to decide which route to take. The clock is ticking towards lunch, one second at a time…

INT. THRIFT SHOP - DAY

At one of dozens of the quirky thrift shops populating Los Angeles, Yindra is walking the racks. She’s on the hunt for the perfect outfit for her studio slot -- if she happens to run into anyone important, she wants to look her best. The next phase of her career is on the horizon, and she wants to look as epic as she feels when she lays down her track. The buzz of it has her in a good mood, lightly humming the chorus of her song to herself as she slides vintage tops along the racks.

She’s not the only one roaming the shops that afternoon. A couple of rows back, Maya is on a mission as well, searching for the final costume pieces for her music video. She pulls a sequined dress off one rack, wrinkles her nose, and puts it back. Where’s Jade Beamon and her magic at your beck and call when you need her…

Maya floats through the racks and makes it to the one opposite Yindra, concealed behind it due to her height -- she’s on such a mission this afternoon, she’s not even power-strutting in her usual heels and has settled for sneakers. But she halts when she catches wind of the humming, perking up and listening carefully. After a few seconds of narrowed eyes and hyperfocus, a smirk of recognition graces her lips.

Maya: Could it be…?

She trails her hand along the clothes on the rack, sensing for the right place… then shoves her arms between them and pushes them to the side, creating a hole in the middle that allows the girls to see each other. Yindra cusses loudly and jumps back, caught off guard, pressing a hand to her heart. Maya grins, blue eyes twinkling.

Maya: Yindra Amino.

Yindra focuses on slowing down her heart, taking a deep breath as Maya enthusiastically comes around the rack to join her.

Yindra: I don’t know how you always manage to find me. We’ve got to stop running into each other like this.

Literally. Maya doesn’t pick up on her reluctance, laughing and claiming it’s good to see her. Crazy how it’s been so long since that audition they both went to -- and look at them both! Here now, once again crossing paths in the jungle of Hollywood!

Yindra: Yep. Always when I don’t see it coming…

Maya: I do love the element of surprise. Keeps things interesting.

Maya asks what Yindra’s shopping for -- just a splurge or two? Yindra hedges, then admits she’s searching for a new wardrobe for this gig she has. She doesn’t specify exactly what or where, just that she’s managed to secure some studio time. Also surprisingly, Maya seems genuinely excited for her, congratulating her for the opportunity. She sure knows how hard it can be to find a window to climb in through.

Maya: That’s why, sometimes, you’ve got to pick up a sledgehammer and let yourself in. [ pulling a Sharpay-esque pink coat with feather accents from the rack, eyes brightening in delight ] Bang.

Not that Maya wouldn’t wear that jacket on any given day, but Yindra correctly assumes she’s shopping for something specific as well. Maya concurs, eagerly launching into her plans for tomorrow and her date with destiny to make some waves of her own. She can’t share too much, of course -- not when the world is listening -- but it’s going to be big. She wants to look unforgettable at the center of a spectacle sure to be unforgettable.

In fact, Maya extends an invitation to Yindra to join the party. She mentions how Farkle and Charlie have already been brought on, but there’s still plenty of room for other Adams cohort members. She’s scoured social media for back-up dancers and singers so far (especially college kids who just want the credit and won’t ask for money), but in her book, there’s always an open seat for Yindra. She’s missing one more back-up singer, and Yindra’s mezzo would sure add a richness to the mix.

As sincere as Maya’s offer is, it rubs Yindra the wrong way. That’s exactly what she needs -- to spend another minute playing back-up for Maya Hart. So she swiftly declines, reminding her that she has engagements of her own that she needs to focus on. Maya doesn’t take the rejection personally.

Maya: Well, if you change your mind or find the time, you know how to reach me. And I’ll be sure to link you the final product when it’s out there -- although if all goes as planned, you won’t be able to miss it.

Yindra: Amazing… when my single comes out, I’ll be sure to do the same.

Maya nods in approval, undeterred by Yindra’s slight smugness. It’s a bit frustrating, actually, how unshakeable Maya seems to be when Yindra always feels like she’s a second away from blowing over like a house of cards. Why is it that all of a sudden, she feels like the bitch?

Once the demo gets recorded, all of this insecurity will evaporate. She just has to get into that studio.

Maya wishes her luck finding the right look and blows a friendly kiss as she departs, taking the pink jacket with her.

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - KITCHEN - DAY

No such bold fashion in focus at the design studio this afternoon, as Jade enters the kitchen to chat with Skylar and Jamal on a coffee break. She mentions that she’s taking off for lunch to go see her boyfriend audition, which the other two find sweet.

Skylar: Tell him break a leg for us.

Jamal: Damn, Sky, we ain’t even met him yet and you’re asking for sacrificial violence?

Skylar: [ rolling her eyes at his teasing ] You are so annoying. And not even funny.

Jade beams. It’s nice to be back in their banter-filled, lowkey presence. When the subject comes back to the audition, Jade says she’s grateful she’s able to take the lunch to do it -- with the event Anya is taking her to tomorrow, she isn’t sure when she’s going to get the chance to debrief with Nigel otherwise.

Skylar: Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back up the train.

Jamal: You’re going with Anya to Thursday FashionFest?

Skylar: You can’t just breeze right past that.

Jade: … is that bad?

Skylar: Are you joking? No, it’s fucking amazing.

Jamal: It’s just… not gonna lie, it’s kind of wild that you’re going. As a junior apprentice.

Jade stares at them, unsure from their uncertainty. She was nervous about it before, but now she fears she shouldn’t even be going at all.

Jade: I didn’t think it was weird? I just assumed all apprentices went. You know, once.

Jamal: No.

Skylar: Definitely not.

Oh… Jade isn’t sure what to say, and neither are they. How do you respond to the realization that you’re getting treated differently than everyone else? And is that a good thing, or a sign of trouble? And why does Jade suddenly feel so guilty about it?

That gets pushed to the side real quick when Anya appears in the doorway, finding Jade and gesturing for her to come along. She offers a brisk hello and greeting to Jamal and Skylar, who awkwardly wave back, before Anya tells Jade to book it.

Jade: Where are we going?

Anya: Shopping. For tomorrow. Remember?

Jade: Now? Like, right now?

Anya: No time like the present. But none to waste -- I’ve got a shareholders meeting at 2.

With that, she’s off, and Jade better hustle if she doesn’t want to get left behind. Invited to FashionFest, and going shopping with the boss… there’s really no way to sugarcoat this for Jamal or Skylar. They give her tight smiles, encouraging her to go have fun on their little shopping spree.

Skylar: Her highness awaits.

Yeah, Jade does not like the feeling of being set apart from them… and she gets the sense they’re not keen on it either. But what is she supposed to do? Say no? Jade returns their smile to the best of her ability and heads out after Anya, swiftly grabbing her lunch on the way so she’s got it ready for audition time.

INT. USC - CLASSROOM - DAY

Farkle and JORDAN NELSON are back to work, continuing to work on their current scene assignment. While it’s technically a duet with another duo, right now they’re just focused on Farkle’s half, Farkle running through his lines as if he’s on stage and Jordan seated at the tables, feeding him the other role’s dialogue. Farkle is doing pretty good, having lost himself in the scene and emoting with his usual level of conviction…

Jordan: You’re doing it again.

That brings the scene train grinding to a halt. Farkle freezes, disconnecting from the moment, and lets out an impatient huff.

Farkle: What?

Jordan doesn’t say anything, waiting for Farkle to meet his eyes. Then he holds up his hand, flexing it pointedly in the air -- that thing Farkle apparently does. The thoughtless, subconscious acting tic. He sighs, rolling his eyes.

Farkle: I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Jordan: I know you don’t. That’s what a subconscious tic is. Subconscious. I’m pointing it out for you -- you’re welcome.

Farkle: I don’t get what the big deal is. So I move my hands, so what? Real people move their hands all sorts of ways. It’s expressive.

Jordan: It would be expressive if it was expressing something. This is meaningless. It’s second nature.

Farkle: Yeah, so --

Jordan: And it’s distracting. You’re meticulous and compelling in every other area of your performance, I’m honestly surprised you’d be so willingly flippant about this obvious weak spot. [ with a smirk ] Unless that’s the Minkus stubborn streak I’ve heard so much about.

So he’s done his research, huh… Farkle realizes he’s holding himself stiffly and adjusts, shaking out his arms and turning away from Jordan temporarily. It’s hard, sometimes, to be under his gaze.

Jordan: I’m not saying you’re not doing well. You are. One small critique is not a death sentence.

Farkle: … I know that.

Jordan: I’m just of the mindset that if we can fix something, we should. It may not be the worst detractor, but why keep a flaw when you could take steps to be rid of it and elevate the entire performance as a result? That’s my perspective -- I thought, when we partnered together, that you shared that passion.

Farkle: I do. I… I want to deliver the best.

Jordan: Great. Then we’re in agreement.

Farkle: Yes. I just… I don’t know how you expect me to change this. It’s just something I do. I can’t just change things about myself.

Jordan: Says who?

Well… there’s not really a way to respond to that, is there? Farkle shrugs. Jordan gets to his feet, striding over to join Farkle at the front and take a more hands-on approach again.

Jordan: It’s just about awareness. Being present in your own body even while you’re mentally present in the emotion of the scene. Good actors lose themselves in a role, but great actors strike a balance. They’re immersed, but they’re also in control of every move. You’re good, Farkle -- but you could be great.

Farkle: Fine. And how am I supposed to do that?

Jordan: Well, to start, you can listen to me when I tell you to do something. Rather than insisting from the get-go that it can’t be done.

As a director, that’s not really asking for much… maybe some of that Minkus stubbornness is at play, because Farkle is still reluctant. But he relents, asking how Jordan thinks they should go about tackling the tic. Jordan hums, examining him as he thinks through it… then he has an idea. He reiterates that it’s all about awareness, then instructs Farkle to start from the top of his monologue in the scene.

So Farkle does, taking a deep breath to recenter himself. He eases back into the monologue, avoiding Jordan’s eyes which isn’t so easy considering he’s right in front of him, focusing instead on losing himself into the scene work again. It doesn’t take him long, given he’s no amateur, and all seems to be going well…

Until everything really does grind to a halt. Because Farkle does his tic again, flexing his hands, and in an instant Jordan reaches forward and grabs both his hands, holding them captive in front of him and completely derailing the recitation.

Well, if Farkle wasn’t aware of his hands a second ago, he definitely is now. He stares down at their hands, Jordan’s fingers around his wrists and thumbs pressing Farkle’s palms out. Like he froze them in the moment of violation, flexed and caught.

Jordan: You paying attention? You notice it that time?

No duh, Jordan. How could he not… but Farkle doesn’t answer, mouth suddenly dry. It’s like all the words have escaped him, which is impressive, considering it’s Farkle. He lifts his eyes to meet Jordan’s, who is watching him curiously with that same intense, thoughtful shade. An intensity that, admittedly, mirrors one Farkle himself is known for.

The tension is broken by Jordan’s phone buzzing on the table -- an alarm to signal he has to head to his next class. Jordan lets go of Farkle’s hands and heads back to his stuff, claiming this is a good start and they’ll pick up on this thread next rehearsal. But Farkle should keep practicing self-awareness the next couple of days, taking a few moments here and there to meditate and check in with what each part of his body is doing at any given moment.

Jordan: You’ll get it, I’m sure. It’s just going to take some work.

Farkle manages a nod, still kind of stunned from the sudden close contact. He goes to his own bag and packs up, checking his phone absentmindedly. A string of texts from Maya is enough to rattle him back to Earth -- a couple photos showing off the haul she got from the thrift shop, a declaration that everything is coming together, and then one not-so-gentle reminder:

“You’ve got a director on lock, right?”

Shoot. No, he absolutely does not, and he’s running out of time. Farkle glances up and his gaze lands on Jordan, just finishing gathering his things together and slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder. There’s a director right there…

But no, that’s way too humiliating. He can’t just ask him that, especially after whatever mortification that whole hand-flex tic experiment was. Jordan thinks he’s not even capable of controlling his own body -- why would he want anything else to do with him beyond highlighting his every mistake for an hour during rehearsals? Not to mention he has a solid rep and resume. He’s not going to waste his time on some secret diva project that Farkle can’t even vouch for with details.

But Maya is counting on him. He can’t do anything else right -- the least he can do is deliver on this. So as Jordan is heading to the door, Farkle pushes himself to act, the words spilling out of him.

Farkle: I need a director.

Jordan pauses, glancing over his shoulder to look at him. But he manages to reel him back in, out of pure curiosity if nothing else.

Jordan: Sorry? I know that already, that’s kind of our whole deal here, Minkus.

Farkle: No, I didn’t mean -- not me. I don’t need one. [ a beat ] You know, beyond this assignment.

Jordan: Right…

Farkle: My friend. She’s working on a music video, a big one, and she needs a director. One with a good track record, who’s actually any good.

Okay, he’s got Jordan’s attention. It’s intriguing to say the least -- and his ineptitude at articulating himself is amusing -- but he hasn’t given him much to go off of…

Jordan: I don’t really pick up stray projects out of nowhere. Let alone with such short notice…

Farkle: That’s fair. I’d be the same way. But it’ll be compensated. And I think, if I were a director, I’d give recommendations from close associates more consideration. I know we’re not -- you may not call me an associate, but you think I have ability. That I’m passionate, and I’ve got an eye for stuff. I can assure you, my best friend is the real deal. You spend a minute on set with her, you’ll figure that out fast. And whatever she’s got up her sleeve, it’ll be something worth talking about. That much, I can guarantee.

Farkle can go to bat for Maya, there’s no doubt about that. Jordan is obviously contemplating it… then he offers a light nod.

Jordan: Send me some samples, and I’ll see.

Farkle: Okay. Okay, sure, I can get you that this afternoon.

Jordan: Cool. I’ll keep an eye out for it. Once I’ve gotten the chance to take a look, I’ll let you know my decision tonight.

Given the last-minute nature of the request, that’s about the best Farkle can ask for. Even if he crashes and burns yet again, he can at least tell Maya he tried -- and ruined any potential credit with his student director in the process.

INT. SCHOOL BOARD OFFICES - EVELYN’S OFFICE - DAY

Jack is having a relatively casual lunch meeting with EVELYN RAND in her office, the two of them chatting about his vacation and how his retirement from Adams has been treating him. But Evelyn doesn’t let him hedge for too long, deftly changing topics and guiding him towards why she’s fairly certain he’s there to chat with her.

Evelyn: I don’t think you came all this way just to share protein bowls with yours truly.

Maybe not… Jack acquiesces, admitting that he’s strongly considering a run for the open school board seat. Given Evelyn was the one who dropped the hint to him last season, she is exactly zero percent surprised, and she congratulates him for the initiative. She has to maintain neutrality, of course, but between the two of them, she doesn’t see a reason for him not to. She’s always thought he would be well-suited for the role.

That doesn’t mean it’ll be a cake walk, though. Connelly has a decent resume and a lot of funding -- he is a fundraising man, after all -- and the conservative pockets of the district are keen on him. But that shouldn’t deter Jack.

Evelyn: If I recall correctly, you’ve got a fair bit of fighting spirit in you.

Damn right! With that, the two of them start to wrap up their lunch, allowing the conversation to drift back to more casual things. One of these things is that Evelyn feels congratulations are in order -- she heard about him and Eric. Jack is surprised she knows, and though he covers it well, he seems a bit uncomfortable that that information is just floating around.

Jack: How’d you hear that tidbit?

Evelyn: Word travels fast in these circles, Jack, you know that. Besides, it’s hardly a stretch of imagination. Everyone already thinks of you and Eric as a tag-team; where one is, the other can’t be too far behind.

Jack: They do?

Evelyn: With all the work you two did at Adams all those years? Of course. I think most folks in the district are familiar with the duo who whipped Adams into shape.

Oh, right, right… makes total sense. They did work together for so long, sometimes at odds, eventually in tandem. They were basically co-running Adams together last year. There’s nothing weird about people thinking of them as a packaged deal. In fact, Jack thinks, he should be honored to be tied to Eric in people’s minds that way.

Even so, he can’t shake this strange feeling.

INT. SCHOOL BOARD OFFICES - DAY

As Evelyn walks out with Jack, she assures him that the next time they have lunch, she’ll be able to have an assistant walk him out. She’s been slacking on the hiring process to find a replacement for her last one who amicably quit last month to pursue her master’s degree.

Evelyn: I know it makes me sound like a wretched fool, but I swear, I do not know how people get by without an assistant. Suffice to say, if I had one, then I would’ve hired one already rather than forgetting in the mess of everything else I’m failing to keep track of because I don’t have one.

Jack: Guess I’m lucky I stayed on your calendar today, then.

Evelyn: We’re lucky I can even still see my calendar under the stacks of proposals on my desk. Anyway, if you know of any good recs, feel free to send them my way.

Interesting… noted, Evelyn. Noted.

INT. NYU - SMALL THEATER - DAY

Auditions are being held in one of the smaller theater venues on campus, giving students the bona fide experience of the process. Many of the students are gathered in the audience, chatting in between phases of the auditions.

Lucas sticks out like a sore thumb, clearly lost and knowing he’d be unable to hold a competent conversation with most of these people. This is like Adams on steroids, or vice versa, and it’s something he definitely didn’t miss. Without Riley there to guide him, he knows he doesn’t fit in.

It’s a relief when Nigel enters, spotting him and greeting him when he approaches. Lucas visibly relaxes a bit, grateful for the friendly face who knows what he’s doing. Nigel suggests they sit in one of the rows in the middle back, leading the way through the seats towards the center. As they go, Lucas questions if Nigel is performing today, and he explains he signed up for an audition slot later in the day to give him a little more time to figure things out.

When they settle, it’s not long before they’re joined by some peers from class, including Imogen and EVAN SCOTT. Nigel introduces Lucas to both of them as they file into the row in front of them, Evan exchanging a hand shake with him.

Imogen: Riley’s elusive, fabled boyfriend. What a pleasure.

Evan: Seriously. I’m sure we’ve crossed paths before with the arts school stuff, but it’s cool to actually meet you. Riley’s said so much about you. [ preemptively ] All good things.

Imogen: Any surprise there? It’s Riley…

Evan asks Lucas a bit more about him, like if he’s enjoying checking out NYU and whereabout in the city he dwells. Imogen asks the more pointed questions, like whether he goes to a school nearby or what he’s studying… forcing Lucas to give the short version of his collegiate pickle.

Lucas: So yeah, um, I deferred for now, but planning to get there next fall. Provided stuff works out.

Evan: Man, that sucks. Sorry. It’s great you’re being so chill about it, though. Have the plan and everything.

Oh, Evan, you have no idea. Imogen raises her eyebrows.

Imogen: California, huh? Bit far away.

Nigel: Just a little bit.

Imogen: [ examining him ] Well… good luck with that.

It’s said innocently enough, but it’s got that slight judgmental edge to it that crawls under your skin. Lucas tries not to take it personally -- he’s dealt with plenty of divas in his life, against his desires -- but Imogen manages to hit on all the insecurities he’s currently battling with like, zero effort at all. His plans are foolish; he’s expecting too much; he’s extremely out of place sitting there amongst the rest of them.

He’s forced to move past it when the audition circuit gets rolling again, the house lights dimming as PROFESSOR HILL calls Riley in for her audition. She makes her way towards center stage, looking cute but professional in her chosen dress for the day and hair braided intricately over her shoulders. She offers a smile.

Riley: Hi, I’m Riley Matthews. I’ll be performing “Maybe This Time” from Cabaret.

And so she goes… the swing bass line floats in…

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Maybe This Time” as performed by Cabaret Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Riley Matthews

Somewhat of a different shade for Riley, leaning less on her ingenue charm and more on a layered, nuanced portrayal of hope. It showcases her vocal ability well, the slow build into the famous crescendo giving her the chance to work up to the harder notes rather than just leaping straight into a belt like Maya might. But she demonstrates bravado and control, a solid showing for a freshman audition.

As she auditions, we intercut --

INT. HIGH-END STORE - DAY

With Jade on her shopping spree with Anya, the latter leading her into the mysterious allure of the luxury world. While Riley is building to her climactic notes, Jade is cycling through wardrobe options, sort of living the classic chick flick montage of a makeover. Although they aren’t changing much about her, her closet is definitely getting an upgrade -- Anya gives her advice and personal styling consultation, occasionally holding up things against her or adjusting her looks, showing her the proper way to carry herself to pull off certain pieces.

It’s impressive, the transformation a little change of wardrobe can cause. Just in changing out of her Old Navy pants and simple work blouse, trying on more of the sleek and sharp items, Jade looks stronger. Less effacing, more like she belongs on that top floor with Anya and Melanie. She probably won’t wear any of these looks, but even to try them on while getting feedback from one of the biggest names in fashion right now is like a drug hallucination.

INT. NYU - SMALL THEATER - DAY

We come back to Riley in the final stretch, singing her heart out center stage. She’s finally figured out how to channel that energy from “Rose’s Turn,” without needing adverse conditions to get it out of her.

Maybe this time, I’ll win!

INT. HIGH-END STORE - DAY

As the instrumental winds down through the end, Jade comes out of the fitting room with a final contender for her mixer outfit. It’s a sleek jade green silk blouse with lantern sleeves, paired with plain but trendy high-waisted black pants. It’s a definite serve -- Jade almost doesn’t recognize herself as she stands in front of the mirror. She’s never put this much effort into an outfit that wasn’t for a formal. Asher would probably collapse in disbelief.

Anya comes up behind her, taking a look at her through the reflection. Then, she smiles lightly, giving Jade a nod. That’s the one.

INT. NYU - SMALL THEATER - DAY

Riley finishes her audition and gives a slight bow, bright smile on her face as she thanks the audience for their time.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - DAY

Isa is sitting at the kitchen table by the window, on another video call with Chai. They’re running through the logistics of their Bennet assignment, and even as they’re talking, they can tell that their girlfriend is kind of zoned out. Chai is clearly scrolling on her phone while they talk, even if the device isn’t visible on the screen. They slow their roll a bit, pausing, wondering if they should say something. Maybe it’s just because they’ve been so focused on other relationships for class, or maybe Chai has always done this on calls and they just never noticed…

Isa: Is there something you’re supposed to be doing?

Chai: Hm? [ lifting her gaze ] What?

Isa: I just -- you seem distracted. If you like, have other stuff to do --

Chai: What? No, sorry, I’m good. I was listening.

Isa: … seriously, I mean, like don’t let me keep you.

Chai: Isa, it’s chill. I’m fine. Anyway, you were saying?

Isa: What was I saying? Do you know what I was talking about?

Chai: Yeah. You were… talking about an assignment for class.

Isa: Oh. Yeah.

Chai: Lucky guess…

Isa isn’t great about sarcasm, so they don’t quite get the hint, but it’s clear something might be up. The vibes just feel off, not as easygoing as they once were.

Isa: You’re sure it’s all good?

Chai: I guess… I just feel like we talk about your school stuff a lot. And that’s fine, you know, happy to listen, but we used to talk about other stuff too. Didn’t we? Maybe we should try to do more of that again.

Isa: Okay… sorry. I like hearing your opinion on stuff going on, that’s all.

Chai: And that’s sweet. But it kind of feels like we talk so much about the things going on, but we’re not really… you know what, nevermind. I don’t know what I’m talking about.

Isa: [ not sure what to say ] You know you can say whatever --

Chai: And like, to be honest, sometimes I don’t think you actually want to hear my opinion.

Isa: What? Since when? What do you mean?

Chai: Like, it’s easy when I agree with what you have to say. Like the Maya stuff, or whatever. But if I don’t, I feel like you don’t really want to hear that. For example, with this relationship thing -- I don’t think looking at your real-life friends is a good idea.

Isa: Why not? Better than trying to unpack something that isn’t real.

Chai: Um, for like a million reasons. One, it’s an invasion of privacy -- I wouldn’t want someone unpacking us without me knowing about it.

Isa: That seems a little strong. People people-watch all the time.

Chai: Two, you might see or learn things you didn’t want to know. When you start to put people under a microscope, you notice things you didn’t before. Part of the reason humans are able to coexist is because we spend so much time wrapped up in our own lives, we don’t fixate on the shit other people are doing most of the time. That’s how we stay sane. I just feel like, if you’re watching these relationships so closely, especially ones you’re close to, it’s playing a dangerous game.

Isa: Please. I mean, I get what you’re saying, but the ones I’m surrounded by are so like, damningly consistent --

Chai: And I don’t think you should necessarily be observing and casting judgment on other people’s relationships when you can’t even focus on --

Chai self-edits, cutting herself off before she gets too deep and says something she regrets. Isa stares at the screen, able to fill in that blank on their own… but they have no idea how to react. In their head, they know this is probably the moment they’re supposed to do something helpful, jump to patch up whatever hole is starting to tear at their foundations. They should feel compelled to act; they need to do something.

But instead, Isa freezes up. They wait in the silence, empty words on the tip of their tongue, paralyzed with the sudden conflict bubbling up in an area they thought they had quieted into a constant state of stable. Finally, Chai sighs, running a hand through her hair.

Chai: Sorry. I don’t know what I’m… I had an exam this morning, so I was up super late studying. I need more caffeine.

Isa: No, that’s okay. Like I said, don’t let me keep you up.

Chai: Yeah. Yeah, I should probably go. Get some rest.

The window to have a conversation is closing fast. If Isa doesn’t say something now, they know they’re missing an opportunity to patch things up. They can hear what Eric would tell them loud and clear in their head -- communication works!

But for whatever reason, they stall, and fumble the moment. Instead, Isa lets Chai go, wishing her good night and claiming they’ll talk in the morning. Chai offers a smile, but it’s tight. When the call ends, the silence in the room is deafening, the solitude total.

Almost. To their left, Farkle has reappeared in the desk chair, this time styled in his senior prom rose pink suit. He opens his mouth to comment but Isa cuts him off, holding up a hand. They refuse to look at him.

Isa: Don’t. Fucking. Speak.

Oop. Well… fair enough. Farkle raises his hands in innocent surrender, slouching back in the chair and resuming his role as the elephant in the room.

INT. NYU - SMALL THEATER - DAY

Nigel is backstage, on deck for his audition. He seems to be in decent spirits, running through the more upbeat, eclectic song he’s chosen under his breath. The student assistant tells him he’s going to be up in a minute.

As the one on stage is wrapping up, Nigel gets a text on his phone. It’s Jade, letting him know that something completely unexpected came up at work and she can’t make it out for lunch, but break a leg! She can’t wait to hear all about it, and is sure he’ll kill it.

Of course, Nigel understands that things happen. He gets that work is important, especially this opportunity and especially to Jade. But as understanding as he is, he can’t hide his disappointment. The air seems to have been let out of his tires -- and with it, some of the mild confidence he had going into this.

Hill, off-screen: Nigel?

Shoot. No time to dwell on it now. Nigel takes a deep breath, trying to steel himself and get back some of the energy he had moments earlier. He marches out from the wings and onto the stage, heading towards center.

All of a sudden, it’s like he forgets everything he’s ever learned about performing. Standing in the glare of the lights, unable to see the crowd but knowing they’re all out there staring at him, has him feeling paralyzed. He’s always had a little bit of stage fright due to his shyness, but it’s never felt like this.

Hill: Whenever you’re ready.

Nigel clears his throat, willing himself to act.

Nigel: Hello. I’m Nigel Chey, and I’m going to be… I’ll be performing “Music Of The Night” from Phantom Of The Opera.

In fight or flight, the safe option rises to the surface. Nigel nods to the pianist.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - GARAGE - NIGHT

Zay is feeling a bit off his game too. He’s been working on his half of the choreography all evening, but he’s struggling. The combinations don’t feel like they’re clicking together; it’s not flowing. It’s hard for him to figure out how to structure his moves when he has no sense of what the other half of the routine is going to be like. He can’t even begin to guess -- with past collaborators at Adams, he knew them well enough to have a sense of their taste, what they might come to the table with. Vanessa, on the other hand, is a very opaque blank slate.

He can’t seem to pull it together alone when it’s supposed to be a team effort. He groans in frustration and lowers himself to the cold floor of the garage, laying on his stomach and pressing his forehead to his crossed arms.

INT. USC - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

At the same time, Charlie releases a sigh, uncrossing his arms from over his eyes. He’s laying on his back, staring at the ceiling in the dance studio Farkle helped him reserve. He’s trying to work on the choreography for Maya’s project -- the clock is ticking down fast -- but he’s at a similar dead end. When he sits up and pulls his choreo sheet towards him and between his legs, it offers no brilliant answers.

It’s concerningly, hauntingly empty.

He can’t have lost it. He knows that’s not possible. He’s getting in his own head. He’s been here before, too, feeling lost and directionless and out of touch with himself. He got it back then; he can do it now. He just needs to recenter. He needs to loosen up and get back to that place, that core inside of him that lives to dance.

Loosening up used to be par for the course. After a moment of thought, Charlie gets an idea, climbing to his feet and reaching for his phone.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S GARAGE - NIGHT

Zay seems to have a similar thought. Sometimes, with dancer’s block, what you need is more dance. If he does a little freestyle to shake off the slog, get back into the groove, then he can power through. He just needs to remember why he loves it, why he’s doing this in the first place.

Thankfully, he’s got just the song. He opens music on his phone as well, queuing up the track just at the same time as Charlie presses play in California…

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Garden (Say It Like Dat)” as performed by SZA || Instrumental

In one of AMBITION’s finer editing moments, this dance performance weaves together choreography from three different settings into one seamless routine. As the song starts out, it’s just about Zay and Charlie each shaking it out and loosening up their movements, doing a few simple freestyle moves and stretches to get back into the right headspace. The first stretch of the verse simply cuts between the two of them, doing two seemingly unrelated (yet still complementary) sets of moves.

That is, until we hit the first chorus, Zay’s foot just about to hit the ground --

INT. AAA - DANCE STUDIO - FLASHBACK - DAY

And it does -- only an echo from another time. Junior year Zay is sticking the landing, just in time to spin and face Charlie and stick his tongue out at him. They’re hanging out in their studio, spending time the way they used to spend most of their afternoons in the fall of junior year -- playfully competing with mini dance-offs. The purest expression of dance there is.

And infused with plenty of joy. That’s the clearest thing about watching Season 2 era Zay and Charlie freestyle with and against each other, how happy and freeing it is for both of them. They’re loose, naturally a little flirty (of course, Zay has to sing some of the lyrics at Charlie as they go), full of laughter and smiles and teasing touches to throw the other off.

This SZA bop was one of their go-tos, so it’s no surprise both of them gravitated towards it now.

INT. USC - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

This is how two becomes three -- once the flashbacks have been introduced, then the performance seamlessly cuts between the past and the present, showing how the ghost of those freestyles still influences and lingers in both of their movements like muscle memory. Even in the segments when junior Zay and Charlie are dancing together, a playful pas de deux, their present choreography follows the same mold, just with small tweaks and twists to make it a solo.

I believe you when you say it like dat You must really love me…

INT. AAA - DANCE STUDIO - FLASHBACK - DAY

As the song eases into its instrumental outro (after plenty of groovy, engaging intercut dance moves), junior Zay and Charlie have drifted back together, no longer in competition so much as they’re half-slow dancing, half-mocking each other.

Zay leans in for a kiss and Charlie pulls away -- at first on instinct, a reminder for us of how things used to be -- but he manages to shift it into something playful, reframing it more as another tease than a signal of how doomed their romance is. Zay grins and reaches after him, missing his arm by an inch which causes Charlie to laugh in triumph. But Zay isn’t finished, instead swiping lower and grabbing his leg instead.

That catches Charlie off-guard, and a few moments later they’re both falling to the ground, descending into hysterical laughter and sprawling across the studio floor.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - GARAGE - NIGHT

Zay finishes out a drop into a split and rolls over onto his side, more relaxed than before and a smile on his face. He leans back --

INT. USC - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

And Charlie lands on his back, releasing a satisfied exhale. He’s smiling too, like an idiot, something in that song some kind of pure magic. Though not all of that can be credited to SZA (amazing as she is) -- most of it, he knows, is thanks to the memories tied so deeply into it.

But it did the trick. Suddenly inspired, Charlie sits upright, reaching for the choreography sheet. He picks up the pen and pulls off the cap with his teeth, starting to hurriedly jot down ideas.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

Farkle is at the kitchen table when Maya enters with another handful of shopping bags. She greets him by standing on her tippy-toes to kiss the top of his head -- helps that he’s sitting down -- then begins to debrief all of the remaining details for tomorrow. She speaks so fast, it’s hard to keep up, but the most important part he catches perfectly clear.

Maya: And you’ve got our director, right?

Farkle: I asked someone, yes. Haven’t heard back yet. But I wouldn’t get --

The next instant, his phone buzzes -- a new text from Jordan. Farkle frowns, then glances to Maya.

Farkle: How the hell do you do that?

Maya, proudly: My aura cleanser says I have a powerful cosmic energy.

Hard to deny that… she asks what he’s said. Do they have a director? Farkle skims the message, finding the most important information: Jordan has agreed to join the project.

Farkle, surprised: He’s in.

Maya claps excitedly, thanking Farkle profusely. She tells him to get his email, as Maya will want to make sure he has the pitch deck and the most up-to-date version of the song. Then she flurries back to her room, swinging her bags as she goes.

Maya: [ singing boldly ] Tomorrow! Tomorrow! I love ya, tomorrow…

Farkle focuses back on the messages, actually reading it in full before he crafts up the response asking for an email. Jordan’s included some feedback about the song as sent, and the samples Farkle sent him of old performances Maya has available online. All of it seems positive, but one line stands out, in reference to one of the videos that happened to be a duet between Farkle and Maya:

“You weren’t so bad yourself, Minkus. You certainly know how to captivate an audience.”

Wow. Well that’s… nice. Farkle rereads it to make sure it’s actually there amidst all the other stuff. He has no idea how to respond, so he ignores it, starting to type his request for his email address.

INT. CHEY APARTMENT - NIGHT

Nigel is in the living area with REYNA CHEY and PAOLO CHEY, helping his little brother with his spelling homework. He steps away into the hallway when Jade lights up his caller ID, though, taking the call away from the questioning ears of his family.

Jade immediately apologizes, saying she feels terrible for missing the audition. Nigel shrugs.

Nigel: It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. It’s not like you haven’t seen me audition dozens of times, right?

Jade: Still, I know this was a big deal. First college one and everything. And I wanted to be there, seriously, but things just happened so fast. One minute I’m getting my lunch from the staff kitchen, the next I��m in a car with Anya Kelly heading to 5th Avenue.

Nigel: Wow. That’s… wow.

Jade: Yeah. But I completely dropped the ball, and I’m so sorry about that.

Nigel: No, no worries. Seems like something you wouldn’t want to miss. I want you to be able to like, do all that, you know?

Jade: I know. Because you’re way too sweet. But I still want to hear all about it.

Jade suggests they have dinner tomorrow night, before her event with Anya. That way, they can catch up on everything… and he can preview the outfit she got for the mixer, exclusive first look. She thinks it looks pretty good, if she does say so herself.

Nigel doesn’t doubt it, and he isn’t going to say no to that. He reiterates that she doesn’t need to make it up to him, but agrees to dinner. Based on the small smile on his face, the promise of it is already enough to lift his mood.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - RILEY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Lucas is reclined on Riley’s bed, flipping through the admissions pamphlets he pilfered while on campus. They’re crinkled and creased from being folded in his pockets all day, but that does nothing to detract from the sheer joy radiating off all of the models in the photos. Supposedly regular college students, like Riley, Nigel, and Isa, going about their day bursting with zest for life and basking in the NYU glow. A natural piece of the puzzle.

One that Lucas doesn’t fit. He’s always felt this way, like college wasn’t a place he was meant to inhabit, but after visiting NYU with Riley the past couple of days it feels more stark than ever. He knows Davis would be different -- different school, different vibe -- but at this point it’s a wonder whether that will even matter. He doesn’t match the photo, he can’t mirror the models. Riley’s classmates could sense it from a mile away.

He doesn’t belong.

Riley announces her presence by releasing a pointed sigh, causing Lucas to lift his head. She’s leaning against the wall by the door, arms crossed and head tilted back, watching him idly with an absentminded smile on her face.

Lucas: [ quietly amused ] What are you doing?

Riley: Just… taking it all in. Painting a mental picture. [ holding her hands up to frame him ] Don’t make any sudden movements, you might ruin the rendering.

Lucas: Please…

Riley: Let me be. Let me savor it. [ a beat ] Okay, savoring done. Come here.

Lucas obliges, gladly putting the pamphlets to the side and sitting up as Riley comes to join him on the bed. She plops down in front of him and steals a kiss off him, beaming when they pull apart.

Riley: Hi, roomie.

Lucas: That’s never gonna get old to you, is it?

Riley: Nope. All part of the savoring.

Riley starts to undo one of her braids, Lucas reaching forward to help. She lets him take over, smiling as he scoots closer and gently runs his fingers through her hair to loosen it from the style. It’s clear from the familiarity of the routine that they’ve done this multiple times before.

While Lucas plays with her hair, Riley asks him what he thought of the audition circuit today. Totally different vibe from Adams, huh? Lucas can agree that’s probably true, although it’s not a fair comparison considering he’s only seen one round of auditions at Tisch and about five-hundred thousand at Adams against his will. And if he’s going to be candid, he wasn’t paying attention that often.

Riley: What did you think of the Tisch competition? Any standouts?

Lucas: You were incredible.

Riley rolls her eyes, bashful smile on her lips.

Riley: I meant other than me. You don’t have to flatter me.

Lucas: There were other people?

She crinkles her nose at him and playfully shoves his knee, but considering she steals another kiss when she leans closer, he’s not saying the wrong things. Lucas shifts to her other braid, gently detangling it, and reiterates that it’s not as if he’s the tastemaker of musical theater. Everyone else was kind of just a big blur.

Lucas: I liked the song you sang. No clue what it was, but --

Riley: It’s from Cabaret. One of the classics. You know, Liza Minelli?

Lucas: Please tell me you’re kidding and you don’t actually expect me to know who that is.

Riley: Yes, I know who I’m dealing with. I think I’d know my boyfriend well enough after three years. It’s great you liked the song, though. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.

Lucas: [ with a shrug ] You were the one singing it.

God… you know, it’s the unaffected, earnest way Lucas says stuff that really makes it hit home. He may not think he has any understanding of words, how to use them effectively, but it’s evident he always knows exactly what to say to Riley -- usually without even realizing it.

He finishes combing out her hair with his fingers and brushes it over her shoulder, lifting his hand to nudge some of it behind her ear and cupping her face in the process. She can’t help but smile, leaning into the touch and turning to place a kiss against his palm for good measure.

Then she shifts topics, asking about how he’s enjoyed his campus days with her. How has he liked NYU? Has it been fun meeting all her peers and seeing the day-to-day collegiate life?

Riley: Not the most glamorous thing to write home about, I’m sure, but I mean, are you having fun? Doesn’t it make you so excited for Davis next year?

Lucas hesitates, words caught in his throat. Fun is definitely not the word he’d use to describe it… being with her is fine, and she can manage to make any situation brighter, but his experiences at NYU so far haven’t exactly bolstered his enthusiasm. But he doesn’t want to tell her that -- he can’t look her in the eyes and kill her excitement, that sparkle in her eyes at how keen she is to have him tagging along.

So he does the next best thing -- distraction. Lucas shrugs coyly, as if the reason he doesn’t want to talk about it is more out of playful withholding rather than a desire to talk about literally anything else.

Lucas: It’s hard to say. I haven’t really been all that focused on NYU.

Riley: What do you mean?

Lucas: Well, I would be, but…

He licks his lips, letting the thumb he’s been caressing her cheek with stretch a bit to brush at the corner of her mouth. Riley glances down then meets his eyes again, cautiously intrigued smile ghosting over her features. Does he mean what she thinks he means… Lucas lets himself drift closer, speaking softly.

Lucas: I’ve got a pretty distracting tour guide.

Yeah, okay. He totally means what she thinks he means. And to that, in Riley’s opinion, God bless! Lucas closes the space between them to give her a soft kiss… then initiates another one, a little deeper. A little more pointed.

Riley giggles as he transitions to kissing her jaw, then dips down to her neck. He could not have picked a more effective route to get her mind promptly onto an entirely alternate track. But just to be sure…

Lucas: [ against her neck ] Sorry, were we talking about something?

Riley: Shh, shh. I’m savoring. As you were, or you’ll ruin the rendering.

Mission accomplished. Lucas obliges, dutifully returning to kissing her collarbone. Riley wraps her arms around his shoulders and pulls him closer, then laughs as she rolls onto her side and drags him down with her. Just as they’re getting comfortable, exchanging a drawn-out kiss, Riley’s phone vibrates in her pocket, startling her and causing both of them to burst into chuckles.

Riley: Sorry, sorry.

Lucas: I thought we were savoring.

Riley: Oh, we’re fucking savoring, I just need to put the rest of the world on silent first --

And she fully intends to do just that, digging her phone out of her pocket -- but the message lighting up her screen causes her to pause. It’s from Charlie, a link followed by one message:

“Have you seen this?”

Riley frowns, immediately drawing concern from Lucas. He asks what’s up, Riley shaking her head in confusion and unlocking her phone. He helps her sit upright and then leans closer to look with her, the link Charlie sent taking them to a Facebook post of a video that seems to be making the rounds on conservative social media.

It’s a recent interview with JEFFERSON DAVIS GRAHAM, one from a local news station taken just after a fundraising event of some kind. The newscaster asks if he’s heard the rumor that former principal of Adams, Jackson Hunter, might be considering a bid for the open school board seat. Graham maintains his calm, scoffing lightly with the perfect dose of condescension.

Graham: I don’t address rumors, and an intent to run is not the same thing as a formal candidate. But I’ll say this much -- what the school board needs right now, in Morris’s steadying absence, is not more chaos and instability. I’m sure that the good people of Manhattan would agree wholeheartedly. Now is the time for us to be focused on the issues folks care about, maintain discipline and order, and bring integrity and excellence back to the Manhattan school district.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - MASTER BEDROOM - DAY

By the time morning rolls around, Graham’s little commentary has made the rounds and is relevant enough to be playing on local news -- echoing behind Jack as he scrambles to get ready for an already stressful day.

Graham, voiceover: For those familiar with Jackson Hunter, and some of his antics as of late, I’m sure they’d find he’s not the steadying force we need in this period of transition. And I think, if Hunter cares about the district schools as much as he claims, he’ll recognize his own ability -- or lack thereof -- and make the right decision about whether to pursue such a position.

Graham can shut it, but if anyone saw Jack this morning, they might think he has a point. He’s more frazzled than usual, the interview having gotten under his skin and heightening all the other whirlwind of emotions he’s been battling with this week. And today is challenging enough -- he’s got his meet-and-greet with the other more conservative board members this afternoon, the folks already squarely in Graham and Yancy’s camp and likely not interested in giving him the time of the day. It’s a courtesy lunch they’ll have more than anything else, but still, Jack has to stick it out.

And he’d be able to face that head-on no problem… if he had his lucky suit jacket. He can’t seem to find it anywhere, as it’s not in the box he saw it in earlier this week. In fact, he can’t find the box at all. So much of their stuff seems to have been unpacked like magic, now hidden throughout the room.

Jack curses under his breath, throwing open the closet -- and finding an even bigger logistical nightmare. All of his and Eric’s things have been thrown together, put away nicely but all mixed up. He doesn’t even know where to begin to find the suit jacket.

And he’s going to be late. He doesn’t have time to dig through a bunch of crap that isn’t his. He lets out another “fuck” and forfeits, grabbing his bag and phone and heading out of the room.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - KITCHEN - DAY

Isa is over having breakfast with Eric before class, the two of them engaged in idle conversation. Eric is trying to explain to them why Dead Poets Society is an instant classic, but their debate is interrupted when Jack flurries into the room.

Eric: There he is. Jack, please help me explain to Isa why --

Jack, abruptly: Where’s my suit jacket?

Jack’s tone is harsher than usual, and it immediately sets the room on edge. It’s plain as day that he’s upset, even if it’s restrained in that way Jack has trained himself to be with his emotions. Eric pauses, then proceeds with caution.

Eric: Which suit jacket?

Jack: My favorite one. You know, the dark one with the -- it was in a box. I knew where it was, I had it in a box.

Eric: Okay. Well, I unpacked things --

Jack: [ with a scoff ] Oh, yeah, I noticed. You sure did!

Okay, the snark is certainly not warranted. Eric gets to his feet, asking what Jack is so worked up about. He brushes off the concern at first, but Eric doesn’t budge, holding his ground. Isa watches the whole exchange with rapt attention, eyes wide and dead silent.

Eric: Look, is this about the Graham interview? Because that’s really not that big a --

Jack: No, it’s not. I don’t want -- I don’t want to talk about them right now. That’s not the problem.

Eric: Then what is? Because unless you’re going to explain, I don’t see why I should accept you talking to me this way.

Jack: Because you moved all my shit, Eric! You just went and put it all away.

Eric: … um, yeah? Because we’re unpacking? In the house that we got together --

Jack: I didn’t ask you to touch my stuff. You didn’t ask me first. And now it’s all… mixed up, now it’s all thrown together and I can’t find anything!

Eric: And is that a problem? We’re moving in together. That’s what happens, you mix your stuff, you share --

Jack: Well maybe I don’t want it all mixed up, did you even think about that? Maybe I’m not ready for everything to become all… tangled up! Especially when you go and lose the things that I actually need!

Okay, wow. Eric stares at Jack for a long moment, not firing back, trying to figure out what the hell has gotten into him. Then he walks out of the room, seemingly ending the conversation.

Jack stands there, anger already receding now that the emotion isn’t so immediate… and when he glances at Isa, sitting there gaping at him, it evaporates entirely, leaving him sheepish and off-kilter in its wake. What is wrong with him? Why is it all of a sudden he’s lashing out like he’s trapped, when building a place like this was everything he always wanted?

Eric reenters the kitchen, carrying the lucky suit jacket in his hands. He comes to stand in front of Jack again, locking eyes with him. His tone is calm, but somehow that’s almost worse than if he raised his voice and fed into Jack’s fire with some of his own.

Eric: It was on the coat rack. I put it there, because I knew you were going to want to wear it today. [ bluntly ] Sorry I moved it without asking. I won’t touch your things again.

Jack holds his gaze, wilting under it. He wants to apologize, to explain himself, to make sense of why he reacted the way he did -- but he can’t right now, because he doesn’t know.

So he flees instead, taking the jacket in silence and stepping out of the kitchen. Eric lets him go without comment, but it’s harder to maintain his cool when he glances at Isa. They’re still shell-shocked, not sure how to process the argument they just witnessed. After making mountains out of molehills for them all week, seeing an actual disagreement up close and personal has really shaken them up.

If they were looking for conflict, boy, did they stumble upon it.

END OF PART 1.

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

As promised, Zay and Vanessa both roll up to the studio bright and early Thursday morning. It’s going to be a long day, and they’re both prepared for the worst, dressed to sweat and glares determined. They meet in the middle of the room once they’re situated, each with their choreography sheets prepped like a shield.

After sizing each other up for a moment, Vanessa reaches and smoothly snatches Zay’s sheets from his hands to assess them for herself. He swallows his petty irritation and holds his tongue, accepting her sheets when she loftily hands them over without looking at him.

The room stays quiet as they review the other’s work… with no immediate volcanic eruption. In fact, based on the subtle shifts in their expressions as they skim, they’re decently impressed. But they stay neutral as they turn their gazes on each other.

Vanessa: Well?

Zay: I can work with this. Surprisingly. [ off her eye roll ] You?

Vanessa: It’s not bad. Can work with it.

So all there is left to do is bring them together -- find a way to mesh. The two of them lock eyes, steeling their resolve. Our focus shifts to their dance shoes, standing at opposite ends of the frame with gaping distance between them…

Then Zay takes the first step.

INT. WAREHOUSE SHOOT - DAY

And Farkle takes the next, pushing open a pair of industrial doors and leading the way into the space, Jordan following behind him and taking in the scenery as they go.

Maya might be unhinged, but she sure knows how to pull a function together on short notice. They’ve picked a converted warehouse as the location for the video shoot, the whole place feeling very eclectic, grassroots Hollywood. The lighting is moody but bright at the center where the filming will take place, and old-school pop is playing over the speakers to keep the mood hype. There’s a staff of about 10 - 15 people (mostly students, by the looks of it), talent and technicians alike, all moving with purpose.

Jordan: Pretty decent set-up.

Farkle: Mhm. You can imagine who paid for it.

Jordan chuckles. Farkle continues to weave through the organized chaos, only glancing over his shoulder occasionally to make sure Jordan is keeping up.

Three cameras are set up at different angles towards the main soundstage, where the woman of the hour is currently. She’s dressed in one of her outfits for the shoot, a shimmery Britney-esque unitard, blonde hair blown out to glossy perfection. Right now, she’s running through choreography with Charlie, the two of them discussing a combination in the middle of the number. Miraculously, it seems like they’re actually conversing like equals, Maya taking his work seriously and aiming to perfect the final touches.

That being said, she still has to put her Maya flair on it. She references a series of moves that she thinks is a bit too bland, Charlie quickly running through the steps next to her to make sure they’re on the same page. Maya nods, confirming he’s understood her, then clarifies her point.

Maya: And that’s fine, like basic foundation, but what if we added a little, you know --

Maya does the same set of moves back to him, only she adds a very characteristic hip roll and sashay to add some spice and top it off.

Maya: A little sparkle, you know, like that.

Charlie blinks, trying to process her suggestion and how it fits into the greater choreography. He almost instinctively mimics the move again just to try it for himself -- and have faith, there’s no doubt Charlie could pull off a little hip shimmy of his own -- but he seems to think better of it when he remembers there’s a dozen strangers around potentially watching them. Instead, he offers a thumbs up, shrugging.

Charlie: By all means, flair away, Maya.

She beams at him, flipping her hair off her shoulder.

Her attention is drawn away when she spots Farkle making his way over, and she enthusiastically rushes over to greet him and their guest director. She welcomes Jordan to the set, shaking his hand with that charismatic charm and thanking him for taking on the project.

Maya: I assume Farkle forwarded you the song and pitch deck.

Jordan: He did. Nice track. A lot of energy, a good base for your concepts. The deck was helpful for getting a sense of the vision.

Maya: Excellent. I’m excited to hear what you’re thinking -- Farkle tells me you’re quite the perceptive director. He only recommends the best.

Jordan: Well, I don’t know if I’m the best so much as the only…

Jordan’s tone is teasing -- he’s well aware this is a slapdash, last-minute project being thrown together -- but Farkle is sheepish all the same. Why is it he always feels so… wah around him?

Maya brushes past the comment, assuring him she has no doubt he’ll be a boon to the project. And in the meantime, if at any point today he needs anything, he should feel free to call upon Farkle.

Jordan: Oh?

Farkle: Oh…

Maya: Consider him your assistant director of sorts. He’s at your beck and call. Anything we need to make the guest director feel welcome, just send it his way.

Jordan: How lovely.

Farkle: For the third time this week, thanks for the heads up, Maya.

She gives him a bright grin, then clasps her hands together. Now that they’re all there, it’s time to get cracking! There’s a lot to do before they can even begin moving through the shot list. As Maya flounces away and starts to gather the troops, Jordan exchanges a look with Farkle, giving him an intrigued eyebrow raise. Farkle manages a smile in response, not sure what to say.

How does one begin to explain Maya Hart?

INT. SCHOOL BOARD OFFICES - HALLWAY - DAY

Jack is trying to shake off his bad energy and nerves, pacing outside the offices of the conservative board member he’s meeting with that morning. He murmurs his rehearsed talking points under his breath, occasionally checking his watch restlessly.

Finally, a secretary pokes her head out and informs him that the board member will be ready in just a moment. Jack nods and thanks her, waiting until she’s gone to take a deep breath and center himself. He adjusts his stance so that he can check his reflection in the glass of the window, fixing his hair and straightening his tie…

Then he freezes, realizing a mistake. He glances down to confirm -- he’s put on one of Eric’s ties by accident. In his haste this morning, and with all their things mixed up, he must’ve grabbed from the wrong selection. And boy, did he really pick one: it’s one of Eric’s statement ties, the ones he cycles through on Fridays to add a little fun to the last day of the week. The one he’s got on right now is the one Jack always jokingly calls the “fruit salad” tie, dark evergreen embroidered with charming little fruits.

Shoot! What is he gonna do? Today of all days… does he take it off and risk looking like a slob, or keep it and have the board members think he isn’t taking this seriously? They already tend to lean on the side of believing he’s negligent, or reckless, or too freewheeling in leadership -- surely colorful thread strawberries and oranges aren’t going to help that case!

Secretary: Mister Hunter? Dr. Langley will see you now.

Jack pulls himself together in a snap, offering a smile to the secretary and following her into the offices. He takes care to straighten the tie on the way in -- no turning back now.

INT. WAREHOUSE SHOOT - DAY

The production is in full swing, Maya now donned in a sultry pink bikini top and shiny dance shorts underneath the coat we saw her pick out at the thrift store. She’s touching up her own make-up, chatting with a couple of the college technicians about the set-up of the new scene they’ve configured. Jordan is behind the cameras, musing with the operators about the best way to frame the current shot.

His part of the job basically finished, Charlie has found a place to perch apart from the commotion. He’s seated cross-legged on top of a tall stack of acting blocks and crates, allowing him to survey it all while staying out of the way. He’s got his journal open on his lap, and based on what we can glimpse, it seems like he’s writing about the shoot experience as it’s happening.

Jordan: Farkle? Farkle!

Charlie lifts his head, looking towards where Farkle is lurking in the shadows observing the whole thing go down. He’s forced back into the light when Jordan calls for him, though, spotting him amidst the others and waving him over.

Jordan: Farkle, come here for a sec.

Farkle cautiously approaches, not sure what he’s going to ask of him. Should he grab a water or coffee, just to be a proactive errand boy? But on the contrary, Jordan actually wants to pick his brain -- he gestures him closer, lightly pulling him towards the camera.

Jordan: What do you think of this angle? We’re torn between -- Maya, can you look over here for a second?

Maya looks up and turns on her high-wattage diva smile, in perfect view of the camera in question. Jordan continues to walk Farkle through what he’s thinking, not moving away a bit when Farkle inherently leans closer to peer through the camera’s point of view. In fact, while Farkle is examining the shot, Jordan is taking the time to examine him, searching his reaction…

Interesting. Charlie smirks to himself, popping a handful of almonds from the makeshift craft services table into his mouth.

Farkle offers his opinion -- the current shot is fine -- and then Jordan locks with that angle, directing everyone to set up for the next round of shots. While the rest of the crew flurries into action to prepare, Maya at the center of it all, Jordan sticks with Farkle and strikes up conversation as they saunter back into the shadows towards the food. He asks if Farkle has had his audition for the winter musical yet.

Farkle: Not yet. I got last of the lot, so I’m slated for this afternoon. I’m lucky Maya gifted me mercy to be able to dip out and show up for it.

Jordan laughs. So what is Farkle thinking for his audition? He shrugs, admitting he hasn’t given it that much thought. They say freshmen never make it, so he wasn’t sweating it too much. He’s going to do something classic, like Anything Goes or Company and call it a day.

Jordan: Oh no. No, no, no, Minkus.

Farkle: What? I’ll have you know, “Being Alive” has done me more than a few favors --

Jordan: No, not that. Company is fine. But you could do better than that. You should do better.

Farkle: … “Being Alive” is actually quite a challenging number --

Jordan: Forget Company. Let’s talk about you. That’s a great number, and I’m sure you perform it well. Hell knows you can emote well enough for it. But it doesn’t say anything about you. I mean, not that you can’t relate, I wouldn't know, but any chump freshman can do Company. And all the freshmen will do that -- pick a go-to musical theater, something traditional. Something safe.

Farkle: Right…

Jordan: But you’re not traditional, Minkus. Safe be damned. You’re weird, unconventional, unique -- you gotta lean into that. It might be a risk, but they’ll remember you. And the show they’re auditioning isn’t “traditional” anyway. Not to mention, the director this round, Mrs. Kaplan, she’s all about eccentric. She always takes the show and bends it into something new. She’ll jump at an audition that goes against the grain -- but you didn’t hear that from me.

Wow, look at this insider intel! Farkle processes this, a bit surprised that Jordan is even giving him tips at all. He hesitates.

Farkle: So I should throw it to the wind and do something completely different? The same day as the audition?

Jordan: You tell me. You’re the one who said you can’t change yourself. [ popping a cheese cube in his mouth, then shrugging ] I just think you should show them what they’re getting if they invest in you, give them something worth talking about. Of course, you should still do what you’re good at -- emoting, subtlety, all that jazz -- but you don’t need Rodgers & Hammerstein to do that. Use an audition to show them who you are… untraditional as that might be.

Jordan leaves him with that unsolicited sage wisdom, raising his eyebrows pointedly as he backs up towards the soundstage again. Farkle watches him go, the advice kind of itching at his brain. Like it reminds him of something…

He pulls his phone from his pocket, going to his calls. He looks at that outgoing call to Isa from last month -- one that, clearly, went unanswered.

He’s eccentric, all right. He’s a walking risk, with a knack for fucking things up… even worse when he doesn’t even know what he did wrong.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Mess It Up” as performed by Gracie Abrams || Performed by Farkle Minkus

Farkle starts the melancholy performance from where he stands, the camera slowly easing out from him until he’s just a frozen entity lost amidst the activity and action of the video shoot. For all the commotion around him, it’s like he’s not even there, lost in his own head.

Did I fall out of line when I called you? When I told you I’m fine, you were lied to

He continues to watch the action unfold from a distance, Maya preening and dancing feeling like a thousand miles away. His gaze always seems to drift back to Jordan, too, this intimidating but illustrious presence. But Farkle has to stay in the shadows, self-relegated to the safe zone of the background where he seems to have learned he belongs.

INT. WAREHOUSE SHOOT - BACKSTAGE - DAY

Farkle continues into the next verse traversing through the clutter and darkness of the space behind the soundstage where everyone is focused. He climbs over boxes, weaves through curtain wires and swings across the beams of scaffolding, moving towards nothing in particular. Thanks to the way light is leaking through from the soundstage, his shadows are thrown even larger against the wall behind him, looming over him as he goes.

When he gets to the end of the second chorus and almost emerges out of the shadows, he peers around the side and catches another glimpse of the ongoing production from the other side. He settles on Jordan again, in conversation with Maya and still with the ever-present intense look of concentration. As the camera pans around, the scene is blocked for a moment… and then when we can see again, it’s no longer Jordan there but Isa, theoretically having the directorial discussion with Maya and wearing a similar look of thoughtful concentration.

As the music cuts out and Farkle breathes out the final line of the chorus he ducks back in the shadows, hiding from the reminder. There’s a reason he can’t seem to connect with his new peers; why he stumbles around every interaction with Jordan like he’s incapable of interfacing. Whatever happened with Isa has made it clear enough:

Cause every time I get too close I just go mess it up!

EXT. LOS ANGELES STREETS - DAY

The warehouse must not be far from campus, because when the outro bridge kicks up, Farkle is biking through the neighborhoods around USC, heading back for his audition. The world passes him by in a blur, intercut with --

INT. WAREHOUSE SHOOT - DAY

The continued mirage of what could be, a version of reality where everything hasn’t fallen apart for reasons he can’t understand. Isa’s still directing Maya, the two of them having their usual banter and eagerly building off one another’s creative energy. And Farkle is right in the center of the action with them, grinning at their conversation and contributing his opinion even when Isa inevitably shoots it down.

EXT. LOS ANGELES STREETS - DAY

Farkle’s eyes are glossy as he sings through the final lines, pedaling harder as if that’ll burn the anxiety away.

INT. WAREHOUSE SHOOT - BACKSTAGE - DAY

In reality, Farkle still hangs in the darkness, willing himself to have the courage to step back into the light. He finally manages to, stepping around the corner and getting washed in the bright lights of the soundstage…

INT. USC - AUDITION ROOM - DAY

Which fades from white to him standing at the front of a small classroom in the theater building, wrapping up his audition in front of a small panel of USC faculty. This includes IRENE KAPLAN (40s), the aforementioned creative director of the winter musical.

Whatever Farkle gave them, it certainly wasn’t the usual fodder they get from the freshmen. Kaplan finishes jotting down notes then lifts her gaze to meet Farkle’s, giving him a nod.

Kaplan: Thank you, Farkle. The cast list will be posted tomorrow afternoon.

That’s all, then. Farkle offers a nod, thanking them for their time.

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

True to their word, Vanessa and Zay have put hours in today. Both of them are sweaty and tired, but it seems they’ve been able to loosen up significantly in that stretch of time. There’s less tension in their frames, their occasional back and forth is less strained. Zay’s currently on the floor, laying out their choreography sheets and checking that they’ve managed to thread everything together; Vanessa is rehydrating, pacing while she drinks but keeping one eye on Zay.

He determines they’ve done most of the hard work -- though they haven’t tried to run it through yet, which will be the true test -- except they need to nail the transition before the midpoint. It’s clear they’ve been putting it off, because Vanessa remains reluctant to discuss it now.

Zay: We need to put something here. It’s the biggest sweep of the track, if we just step through it, it’s gonna look sus.

Vanessa: The rest of the choreo is good. That’ll speak for itself.

Zay: It is, I’m not saying it’s not -- it’s half me, after all. [ off her eye roll ] But we’re going to look like amateurs if we pass over an obvious musical cue to up the ante. We need to weave in something -- a lift, a dip…

Vanessa: Okay, sure. That’s easy for you to say.

Zay: What’s that supposed to mean?

Vanessa: You’ve got the easy job.

Zay: The easy job? Carrying your ungrateful ass?

Vanessa: First of all, double meaning caught and rejected. Second, yes. Yeah, you need to have strength to lift or catch or whatever, but you’re not the one taking the leap. Doing a move like that requires…

Trust. Hm… yeah. Zay sighs, sitting back and leaning on his palms as he stares at the choreo sheets. He can’t fault her for her hesitation on that front, but he knows his instincts are right. They don’t just need to survive this routine, they need to bring it.

Zay: Well, you’re welcome to lift me if you’d rather.

Vanessa: Ha ha ha. Like you trust me not to drop your ass and take you out of the running either.

Zay: You’re right, I don’t. But we both want this to be good -- unfortunately, in this case, our fates are tied. If you can’t trust me on my merits, can you at least trust that I care enough about this not to purposefully harpoon it and take us both down? Can’t we grant each other that much self-serving credit?

Maybe so… but the question is bigger than that. They both know it. They’ve managed to collaborate this long, but taking the next step requires a lowering of defenses. True cooperation. Partnership.

Zay is asking her to trust him. Just this once, just for now. Vanessa stares at him, torn between sabotaging self-preservation and opening herself up to vulnerability to progress. All things considered, they feel like an even match, a deadlock stalemate… but there’s a curiosity in play, too. Perhaps a reckless kind, one she should run from one-hundred miles in the other direction, but there’s always been something crackling between them that runs underneath the disdain. The same force that makes her brain stop functioning. She knows damn well it’s dangerous, knows she’s destined to get burned…

But it’s that curiosity that tips the scales. Vanessa exhales, dropping her arms at her side in defeat.

Vanessa: Fine.

Zay lifts his head to look at her, surprised. But he’s going to take what he can get. He immediately jumps up and starts running through ideas, steps and next-level moves they can incorporate if they can figure out how to fit it together. Vanessa crosses her arms, still a bit on defense, but she doesn’t back away as Zay steps closer to show her the sheets and point through what he’s thinking.

INT. WAREHOUSE SHOOT - DAY

Back at the video shoot, things are getting serious as they ramp up to actually start shooting. Jordan finishes discussing with Maya, back in her glitter unitard, then claps and signals for everyone to get to their places. He takes his place behind the main camera, Charlie hovering a few paces behind him.

Here goes nothing. Jordan holds up a hand to signal quiet.

Jordan: Camera ready?

Camera: Ready.

Jordan: Roll sound. [ once the boom ops signal they’re ready ] Hart Music Video, Take 1.

Our camera passes Jordan and eases back towards Maya, standing center amidst her set. She takes a deep breath, centering herself…

Jordan, off-screen: Action!

A polished smirk takes over her lips… and she inhales --

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - OFFICES - DAY

Josh lets out air between his lips, slouched in his desk chair. He’s rolling a hacky sack between his palms like a stress ball, but there’s not much to be stressed about at the moment -- there’s basically nothing going on at the office that afternoon. In fact, he’s one of the only people left, everyone else either out on meetings, starting a long weekend, or having headed out early.

He glances at the clock on his computer. The seconds are ticking down until he’s supposed to go socialize… party and have a good time like a normal twenty-something… so why is he filled with unmistakable dread? He’s never exactly considered himself an introvert…

But right now, he’s dying for a reason not to go. He gets out of his chair and paces for a bit, burning off some of his restless energy. He keeps tossing the hacky sack, catching it, then tossing it a bit further away… and a bit further… just haphazardly making his way towards Justin and Melissa’s office…

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - JUSTIN’S OFFICE - DAY

JUSTIN MILLER notices Josh hanging around so inconspicuously outside their office door. Real smooth. He smirks, then leans back in his chair.

Justin: Josh?

Josh appears in the doorway again in an instant, eager to be called upon.

Josh: Yeah. Yes? What’s up?

Justin: Oh, nice toy. [ getting up ] Toss me the sack.

Josh steps in the doorway, tossing the hacky sack up and kicking it in his direction. Justin catches it and juggles it between his hands, then does a couple tricks before bopping it back to Josh. They manage to pass it back and forth for a bit before Josh fumbles, Justin managing to dive and catch it. He jumps up and raises his arms in triumph.

Justin: In for the save! We’re masters, really. We should take this on the road. Anyway. [ tossing it back to Josh ] What do you want?

Josh: Me? Nothing. Why do you ask?

Justin: Oh, yeah, sure, sure. You just always hover outside our office like a little lost puppy.

Josh: … don’t I?

Justin makes a face, then gestures for Josh to take the usual chair opposite his. Justin comes around the front of his desk and hops onto it, asking what’s going on. Josh keeps casual, simply wondering if there’s any work he and Melissa have that he might be able to take on. You know, just being a helpful, productive junior producer.

Justin: Nope. Not right now.

Josh: … nothing? Because really, I’m happy to do the grunt work --

Justin: And even if we do -- which I’m not saying we do -- I wouldn’t give it to you in the middle of the afternoon. That would be cruel and unusual punishment. I’m not trying to keep you here overtime any more than absolutely necessary… both because I’m a good boss, and because GB hates paying overtime.

But Justin, that’s what he wants! He senses that, asking what’s really up. Why is Josh so desperate to hang around? Josh sighs, then caves, wondering if Justin always sees through him because he’s perceptive or because Josh is just pathetically obvious about everything.

Josh: My friends want me to come out with them tonight.

Justin: Nice! Always like a Thirsty Thursday outing. It’s like the socially acceptable week edition of day-drinking.

Josh: We wouldn’t normally go out on a work night, but it’s a friend’s birthday, and she insisted. She really wants to do the classic night on the town celebration thing.

Justin: And good for her! Good to get at least one of those in. [ with a smirk ] She hot?

Josh: Jasmine? No -- I mean, yeah, no, I didn’t -- [ starting over ] She’s beautiful, but we’re not like that. We’ve been friends since college, that’s all it is.

Justin: Ah, gotcha, gotcha. Well, even without the potential to score if that’s not on the agenda, I still say play over work here. So I will not be enabling your avoidance. You’re in withdrawal, Josh. You need to have a night out to remember what’s worth living for again.

Josh: So everyone keeps saying…

Though if your actual boss is saying so, then maybe they have a point. Justin gives Josh his blessing to go let loose for the evening, and he better fucking enjoy it!

Justin: I expect a report tomorrow of all your adventures, escapades, and conquests. And if you even so much as mention work as part of your evening experiences, we’re going to have to sit down and have a big talk. [ wisely ] Life’s only as fun as you make it, Josh. It’s all out there for you to take -- whatever you want. The world is your oyster, you just have to go out there and claim it.

If only it felt that easy. Josh reluctantly takes his (somewhat forced) leave, thanking Justin for the advice.

INT. SCHOOL BOARD OFFICES - HALLWAY - DAY

Despite how stressed he was going into it, Jack seems in better spirits when he exits the office with board member DR. SHARON LANGLEY after their chat. Although they obviously don’t see eye to eye on a number of perspectives, she claims there’s much about Jack that she respects, and she sees no reason why he shouldn’t run. He’s put in many years to the school district, and he works hard. No guarantee that he’ll win, of course, and she’ll naturally be putting her support behind Connelly. But she would never deter him from trying.

Langley: And despite what my colleagues may think, I don’t begrudge some of the choices you’ve made while principal. I don’t envy many of the decisions you’ve had to make.

Jack: Thank you for that. It hasn’t always been easy.

Langley: I don’t doubt that. And the way you revolutionized Adams while you were there -- I mean, I remember what the test scores were like before you showed up and started raising standards. Turning over a new leaf like that for a whole school is no easy feat, let alone carrying it all on your shoulders.

Something about that bumps Jack, and he finds himself compelled to respond.

Jack: Well, I wasn’t totally on my own. I had a great staff with me, excellent team members. It was a group effort. [ a beat, with realization ] We share that victory.

Either way, Langley respects it -- and she certainly doesn’t pick up on whatever personal epiphany Jack is having. She congratulates him preemptively on his run and states she’ll wait for word of his official announcement. She starts to return to her office, then doubles back, a bit less professional but notably warmer.

Langley: By the way, meant to say -- I love that tie. So charming and fun.

Jack glances down at the mistaken fruit-laden tie that felt like such a big deal earlier. He touches the end of it and smiles lightly in spite of himself.

INT. BEAMON HOME - JADE’S BEDROOM - DAY

Jade is putting the finishing touches on her look for dinner with Nigel and the outing with Anya later, wearing the fashionable outfit she chose when shopping with her. To be frank, she looks fantastic -- though she’s still getting used to it, given she rarely dresses up like this. And she’s really struggling with the make-up thing, giving her best to the Herculean effort that is eyeliner. She accidentally pokes her eye, cursing to herself.

Jade: I’m gonna have to call Dylan and Asher for help. [ after a beat ] It’s truly so tragic that those words just came out of my mouth.

Hey, don’t knock ‘em! Everybody’s jealous of a master… Jade is distracted from her beauty industry battle when she hears the doorbell ring.

Nigel is early. Shoot! Jade frowns and quickly touches up the make-up, then darts out of the room. Thankfully, she knows Nigel can handle waiting around while she finishes getting ready.

INT. BEAMON HOME - DAY

Jade hurries into the entryway, passing all three of her brothers -- ETHAN BEAMON, TREVOR BEAMON, and ELLIOT BEAMON -- congregated in the kitchen around the snack bowl they’re sharing at the island counter. She shoots them all a disgruntled look.

Jade: Gee, Jade, do you need someone to answer the door like a decent, polite host since you seem pretty preoccupied? Why, yes, brothers, that would be lovely, thank you!

Elliot: Why are you getting on us? Usually you don’t want us anywhere near your precious Nigel.

Ethan: True. Can’t have it both ways, J.

Trevor: I guess this time it would be worth it so she can finish glamming up. You never dress this nice, even for him -- are you dying?

Elliot: Is he dying?

Jade tosses all of them a middle finger, earning a mocking ooh from them. Once she reaches the door, they amp up the teasing, all pretending to get nervous and excited to see Nigel. They do the classic obnoxious thing of making kissy faces, Jade rolling her eyes…

Which is enough to be sure that none of them are prepared for who they see when Jade pulls open the door. Her eyes widen, mouth hanging open slightly.

Jade: Anya.

Anya, indeed. Anya Kelly has arrived, looking subtly glamorous in her outfit for the mixer and sporting a pair of what must be one-thousand dollar sunglasses. Behind Jade, her brothers all drop their jaws, immediately clamming up from their ruthless teasing.

Anya: Hey, J. Bee. Ready to kick it?

Anya steps inside without waiting for an invitation, Jade instinctively shrinking back to let her pass. It takes her a minute to process that the Anya Kelly is actually in her house -- and she’s standing there in her bare feet and 3/4ths ready. Anya takes off her sunglasses and takes a look around, nodding slowly to herself as if she’s making some cosmic judgment.

Anya: Cute. Very quaint. [ pointing to the painting in the entryway ] Love this piece, super eclectic.

Ethan: Thanks. It was a really difficult one to acquire -- courtesy of Trevor, Age 10.

Trevor, Age 15, looks like he’s about to combust. If Jade’s a fan of Anya’s work, then Trevor is a super fan -- and it’s taking everything in him not to pass out right now. Jade manages to get her feet working again and steps in to introduce them.

Jade: Um, Anya, these are my brothers. Ethan, Elliot, and Trevor. Brothers, Anya Kelly.

Anya: Pleasure.

She extends her hand and shakes with each of them, Ethan the most put together given he’s the eldest and generally calmest in all respects. Elliot can’t believe someone with so many Instagram followers is standing in their kitchen right now.

Jade: Dylan’s been here before.

Ethan: True. He just hit 100K, no?

Elliot: Yeah, but that’s like, Dylan.

Anya: Dylan?

Jade, helpfully: Dylan Orlando. He’s --

Anya: Oh, DylVlogs? I love his videos. He’s a force. If you know him, we’ll talk -- I’ve been thinking it might be sweet to get him to do a promotion. Good market appeal.

Well, Jade was going to say “a friend and best friend’s boyfriend,” but suppose all the above works too. Introductions out of the way, Anya turns to Jade again, offering her a sly smile and asking if she’s all ready to go. The night is just getting started!

Anya: Though I hope you’ll be putting on shoes. No judgment if not. A statement’s a statement.

Jade: Um. No, yeah, I’m gonna wear shoes. I just -- I thought the event wasn’t until 9?

Anya: Correct. But we have to go for pre-event cocktails, it’s an absolute must. I booked dinner at one of my faves, you’ll love it.

Ethan: Uh, she can’t drink. She’s underage.

Anya: You have brotherly concern. That’s adorable. But not to worry -- a mocktail is double the fun. [ heading back towards the door ] Don’t wait up, the driver is waiting for us. [ from the entryway ] Can I pick your shoes?

Jade frantically rushes to grab her things, slinging her purse over her shoulder and scurrying after Anya. She waves goodbye to her brothers and follows her out, leaving the three of them to process what the hell just happened.

Trevor, dazed: Anya Kelly was in our kitchen.

Elliot: How whack is it that she knows about Dylan? He literally threw up in here once because he ate too many Pixy Stix.

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - DANCE STUDIO - NIGHT

Having threaded the remaining pieces together, Zay and Vanessa are stepping through the transition section they just finished choreographing. This requires them to actually touch, walking through the moves just at half-pace but with all the steps, hands, and support it requires.

They’re both obviously more stiff than they would be on their own, or with people they liked, but even at a slow speed the routine seems promising. And although they’re not as fluid together as tried and true partners are (some of that also being because the steps are so new), they dance well in tandem.

The two of them step into one of the riskier moves, stepping through a combination and then leaning Vanessa into a dip. She nearly touches the floor, and they have to move through it quickly -- hard to slow-motion a dip -- but it goes well. You wouldn’t even notice Vanessa’s hands trembling, if you didn’t know to look for it. She takes a deep breath and looks up at Zay, torn between uncertain faith and daring him to drop her.

He does not. He merely quirks his eyebrows -- see, easy -- then they move back into the remaining steps. Zay pulls her back upright and they move through a couple more complicated steps, culminating in a spin that’ll set them up for the next stretch of cha-cha box steps. Vanessa spins into him and Zay lifts her, holding her against him as they circle twice in slow rotation.

When Vanessa lands back on her feet and they face each other again, ready for the box combination, she glances up and realizes how close they are. His face is literally right there. Her heart is pounding again, but she doesn’t think it’s from the dance.

All of a sudden, she’s light-headed. Vanessa stumbles slightly and Zay steps forward to catch her, steadying her stance.

Vanessa: Whoa.

Zay: Jesus. You okay?

Vanessa: Yeah. Um, yeah. Sorry.

Zay: If you’re dizzy after that, I don’t feel good about our prospects at full speed.

Vanessa shoots him a look, but a weak laugh slips out too. She brushes off the concern, stepping away from him and searching for a logical explanation. They’ve been working like this all day, and haven’t taken many breaks. She hasn’t gotten to eat well today.

You know what, fair. Zay agrees, claiming they could probably afford a break since they’ve managed to at least get a full routine down. They can split for dinner, then come back this evening and do a full step-through. Vanessa takes that, very quickly making her exit.

Might seem like another rebuff, but Zay isn’t sure. And to be honest, he’s grateful for some space, too… but not necessarily for the reasons he’d expect. He watches her go, only realizing he’s let his gaze linger once she’s out of the room and he’s still standing there without gathering his things.

He’s just tired. Gets hard to think clearly when you’ve danced all day. He shakes his head and slings his duffle over his shoulder.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - ENTRYWAY - NIGHT

Grace comes to answer the door, surprised to find Riley on the other side. Riley gives her a smile.

Riley: Hi.

Grace, uncertain: Hi, Riley. What are you doing here?

Riley: Lucas left a bag of his things here that he still hasn’t picked up. He keeps saying he’s gonna do it, but then he forgets, and if I wait until he actually puts his needs first and takes time to do it we’re going to be like, thirty and probably won’t even live in the city anymore. So I thought I’d just come pick it up for him.

Grace: Oh, well. That’s sweet of you. [ glancing over her shoulder ] I guess… you can just wait here, I’ll go take a look.

Grace steps back to let her in, gently shutting the door. Riley smiles brighter, following her.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

They make their way into the apartment, Riley assuring Grace she doesn’t have to go get it.

Riley: That’s okay, I’m totally fine to…

She trails off when she passes through the archway, finding KENNETH FRIAR seated on the couch. The unexpected sight of him shocks her frozen, though realistically she should’ve known there was a chance he’d be here. He seems equally surprised to see her, lifting his gaze from his work.

Grace: Riley, this is Kenneth. I’m… not sure if you’ve met.

Kenneth: We have, in fact. Not one on one, but pleasantly enough.

Well… lovely. Grace tells Riley she’ll be right back with the bag, crossing to Lucas’s room and disappearing inside. That just leaves the two of them… Riley is suddenly uncharacteristically quiet, averting her gaze to the floor.

Kenneth: So you’re the girlfriend, huh? [ tightly ] Apologies it took this long for us to meet more formally. Lucas hasn’t mentioned you much.

To you. Riley maintains her composure, searching for her usual easygoing politeness. It’s basically evaporated.

Riley: I’m sure he’s just trying not to clutter up your time. He knows you’re very busy.

Kenneth: [ with a skeptical scoff ] Sure. I’m sure that’s why.

He should know damn well why. He should know why Lucas doesn’t tell him anything, why he avoids him as much as possible. Riley wants to say all of this, but she holds her tongue, clasping her hands together and twisting her fingers anxiously. The last thing she wants to do is say something she’ll regret, that’ll risk more trouble for Lucas.

Kenneth keeps it civil, though, simply asking about how Eric is doing since they’re related. He offers praise for his leadership, at least as far as he’s seen in his years doing the Quincy-Adams fitness week. Far as he can tell, he’ll make a strong principal.

It is impressive, Kenneth’s ability to charm and disarm. Even to those who know what he’s capable of, what he’s done. His positive talk about Eric is enough to nudge Riley away from the knife’s edge, to feel less like the room isn’t smoldering. Enough to survive the wait until Grace returns, Lucas’s navy backpack in hand. Riley takes it with a light smile, slinging it over her shoulder.

Riley: Thanks. Sorry to bother you.

Grace: No problem. Thanks for looking out for him.

Kenneth: Good someone can. He doesn’t seem to want to take it from us.

Oh, you’re really… he’s lucky Riley is a level-headed person. She offers a tight smile and thanks Grace again, the two of them heading back towards the entryway so Grace can see her out.

After she turns to go, Kenneth opens his mouth again.

Kenneth: You make sure Lucas treats you right -- Lord knows he’s got a knack for disrespecting everything else.

Okay. Level-headed out the window. Riley turns to stare at him over her shoulder, torn between stunned he had the gall to say that unironically and filled with fury.

Riley: Is that supposed to be a joke?

Grace: Riley --

Kenneth frowns, surprised she’s reacting so coldly. What did he do wrong, wish for her well-being? Riley whips around and steps back into the living area.

Riley: You really have the nerve to say that. To make comments about respect? About him?

Kenneth: Almighty, what’s gotten into you?

Riley: Don’t speak about him like that. I can’t believe you’re speaking about him like that to me.

Kenneth: [ getting irritated ] I won’t be told how to speak in my own house. What do you think gives you the right to tell me how to behave? A guest in my house?

Grace, nervously: Riley.

Kenneth: [ with a scoff ] I guess he’s already rubbed off on you, huh? I always heard you were a good kid. Well-mannered. Well --

Riley: Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The damage you’ve caused? And you’ve got the nerve to lecture me about respect? After you --

All right, now she’s just being insolent. Kenneth climbs to his feet, taking back control of his home. He may be a bit weaker, with the cancer eating away at him, but his stature is still imposing. The same frame that makes him a boon on the football field and a king among faculty feels all the more threatening in the tight confines of the apartment.

Kenneth: Whatever that boy told you, he’s full of it. And I won’t be spoken to that way in my own home, no matter who it is.

To her insane credit, Riley doesn’t back down. She holds her ground, glaring at him and ever so lightly shaking her head. The fucking gall of him to tell her to his face that Lucas is a liar; that he’s a bad influence; to imply that he could ever, ever stoop so low to the same disrespect that Kenneth inflicts on him and Grace.

Riley, resolute: Lucas would never disrespect me. [ a beat ] He doesn’t have to hurt me to make himself feel powerful.

Ouch. Mic drop, but extremely dangerous move, Riley! Kenneth immediately demands that Riley leave -- she got what she came for, so no more need for her bratty behavior in their apartment. Riley knows she should go, but now she’s so wrapped up in the unfairness and anger of it it’s like she can’t move. Grace also tries to nudge her along, more gentle than Kenneth and getting more antsy.

Grace: Riley, please --

Kenneth: You know, I see what he sees in you! Same entitlement, same lack of regard. I just hope, for your sake, he doesn’t turn that on you.

Riley, fuming: You’re such a hypocritical --

Grace: Riley!

Grace raising her voice cuts Riley off, getting her attention. Riley stares at her, wide-eyed -- are you really going to let him talk about Lucas like that? They hold eye contact for a long moment… then Grace steps back to stand in front of Kenneth, crossing her arms.

Grace: You need to leave. [ softer ] Please.

Riley continues to stare, dumbstruck. All of them in this room know the truth, know how things actually are… and yet, she’s going to stand by him. Riley might be sick, she’s so incensed.

But she backs down. Not because of Kenneth, but because if Grace is asking her, she realizes she should probably heed that warning. If not for her sake, then for Grace’s. She may have already made things worse for her by losing her temper -- the least she can do is quit while she’s ahead.

It’s a tough pill to swallow, though. Riley shakes her head in disgust as he turns and storms out, grip so tight on Lucas’s bag her knuckles are white.

Kenneth: Nice to finally meet you!

The door slams. Kenneth clicks his tongue, shaking his head as he settles back onto the couch.

Kenneth: Unbelievable…

Grace doesn’t move. She’s staring at where Riley left, expression heavy.

INT. JOHNSON HOME - NIGHT

Vanessa is working on actual homework while wolfing down her dinner -- that academic stuff she’s supposedly good at that her dad thinks she’s wasting to dance -- when her mom calls for her from the bedroom. Vanessa gets to her feet.

INT. JOHNSON HOME - MASTER BEDROOM - NIGHT

Alexis is trying on the dress she’s going to wear to the cocktail event Saturday evening, asking for Vanessa’s help to zip it up. She does so, Alexis adjusting her hair in the mirror in the meantime. She’s become very good at preening over the years… once Vanessa gives her the all-clear, Alexis does a once over in the mirror then turns to Vanessa holding out her arms.

Alexis: What do we think?

She looks fantastic. No one would believe she has a college-age daughter, that’s for sure -- so maybe there’s a benefit to Vanessa being MIA. It’s also more than clear where Vanessa gets her looks from. She smiles.

Vanessa: You look beautiful.

Alexis beams, giving Vanessa an affectionate touch on the cheek. She goes back to scrutinizing her appearance, smoothing her dress. Vanessa asks if she even likes going to these conference things. She doesn’t have much stake in the family business, beyond benefiting off the income.

Alexis: Lord, no. They’re sinfully boring. That’s why they’re so much more fun when you’re there.

Vanessa: Then why go? Surely dad can handle it on his own.

Alexis: … because it’s important to him. As his wife, it’s my job to be there for him. Besides, not as though I have much else to do.

By whose design… Alexis eyes Vanessa in the mirror, clocking her disgruntled expression. She spins to face her, giving her a knowing, if slightly condescending smile.

Alexis: I know right now, it doesn’t make sense to you. You’ve always been impressively independent. But you’ll understand, some day. When you have a husband of your own.

Mm, don’t know about that. If anything, Vanessa’s internal disgust only grows at the prospect. If she can help it, the last thing she wants to be is someone’s arm candy, throwing away her passions and interests to follow them around. That’s the trap, isn’t it?

If that’s love, she wants nothing to do with it.

INT. BEAMON HOME - NIGHT

The front door is pulled open, Nigel waiting on the other side. He looks adorable in his date night fit, and he gives Ethan a friendly smile as he greets him. He’s been over dozens of times before so they automatically let him in, even though he isn’t going to be there for long.

Nigel: Jade about ready? She didn’t answer my text.

Ethan and Trevor, who’s sitting in the living area, exchange a look. The kind of look you know means trouble, enough to make Nigel nervous.

Elliot, off-screen: Didn’t she tell you?

They all turn to face Elliot, who’s hanging over the banister of the stairs. He came back down just to see if his ears were deceiving him, or if Nigel actually still showed up.

Elliot: She’s already gone. Anya Kelly, in the flesh, came and swept her away like the tide.

Ethan: Riptide, more like…

Trevor: [ still in disbelief ] Anya Kelly was in our house…

Based on the look on his face, nope, this is all news to Nigel. We hang on him absorbing that…

INT. CHUBBIES - NIGHT

Zay is having his dinner break at Chubbies, though he’s passing on the fries since he still has to dance. He’s not that hungry, though, scrolling on his phone instead to distract himself. His expression is about as subtly sour as Nigel’s after the day’s events. He may have made minimal progress with Vanessa, at least enough to save their routine if they can pull it off, but only after hours of dragging their feet and taking shots at each other. As good as his snark game is -- and it’s excellent, thank you very much -- it gets more exhausting than the dancing.

That changes though when he flips to another part of his home screen, where he has the photo widget set up. It’s giving him a photo memory from this day two years ago, Charlie asleep in the passenger seat of his car. Zay hesitates, then clicks into the photo widget, which automatically gives him a full slate of the photos from this day in the past.

They’re basically all of Charlie.

The memory comes back like lightning -- it was the Saturday he convinced Charlie to take a day trip to Coney Island, a surprisingly chilly weekend in mid-October. He had to have taken dozens of pictures that day, like he just couldn’t help himself. A handful of selfies, a hilarious shot of Charlie’s face after Zay got him to eat one of Coney’s disgustingly greasy fair foods, one of Zay giving Charlie behind the camera the finger right after he lost one those carnival games no one ever wins (but Zay insisted he could, thanks to that Leo pride streak). There’s a series of shots that are favorites, from when they were walking along the boardwalk and Charlie got stupid excited because he thought he saw wildlife on the water (he didn’t). Zay must’ve been actively on his phone at the time, because he was able to catch the best moments -- Charlie leaning over the railing to point out what he claims he’s seen, his indignant smile when he turned to argue with Zay and realized he had the camera on him, then when he descends into embarrassed laughter.

It was October of junior year, peak honeymoon phase for their relationship. Two years ago… how the fuck does time fly so fast?

The warmth of it hasn’t waned at all, though, the smile on Zay’s face now as natural as it must’ve been then. Makes him wish he was here… he’s been feeling that ache a lot lately, actually. He knows he can’t ask him to come back like he has that power, but that doesn’t mean he can’t miss him. He switches to his messages and pulls up their message thread.

Zay Babineaux: hey, you busy? thinkin its been a min since we caught up

Charlie’s typing bubble pops up almost immediately. Man, does Zay prefer it when he sees that bubble…

catholic demon: Surprisingly, yes. There’s a lot going on here tonight.

Zay Babineaux: everything ok?

catholic demon: Oh yeah, I’m just along for the ride. Maya’s doing this secret project, and she -- brace yourself for this one, it’s an Agatha Christie worthy plot twist -- roped me into being a part of it. She asked me to help with dance.

Zay’s eyebrows rise at that. What crackpot idea has Maya dreamed up now? Is she finally acknowledging that Charlie is actually talented? And more than that, is Charlie at risk for destruction by being roped into whatever scheme she’s cooking? Suffice to say, he’s got many questions.

Zay Babineaux: i have no idea where to begin

Zay Babineaux: what project? how is it going?? is she actually listening to u? when you say “roped” is that figurative or literal? is she holding you hostage?? charlie, if you need help, send me a sign. say something you’d never say, like Josh Groban is boring and overrated

catholic demon: You keep joking about Groban, but you still haven’t listened to his self-titled have you? Come back when you’ve heard “You’re Still You,” then we’ll talk.

God, he’s such a dork… Zay can’t help his smile, chewing his lip to keep from grinning like an idiot and looking insane sitting alone in a booth at Chubbies.

catholic demon: But no, it’s actually been a fun experience. Still no clue if it’s going to turn out well, or how she wants it, but it’s been interesting without a doubt.

catholic demon: Talk tomorrow? I’ll tell you everything (provided it doesn’t violate Maya’s NDA)...

Now he is grinning. Zay agrees immediately, grateful for the fact that texts allow him to come off more casual and aloof than he feels.

Zay Babineaux: sounds good to me

When Zay clicks back to his home screen, his widget is showing a photo from the end of that Coney Island day -- when they went up to his room to hang out and Charlie dozed off, Zay having snuck a semi-selfie of Charlie asleep against him.

He can barely remember what that feels like, being that close with someone. When he gets hit with the nostalgia like this, he becomes all too aware of how lonely the last couple years have been at times…

Patience. Faith. They’re virtues Zay has never been good with, but he’s gotta keep trying. Doesn’t he?

He’s spared from the thought as Isa enters the diner, waving when they spot him. He returns it and welcomes them when they walk over to chat, asking how things are going. Is Turner… turning?

Zay: Oh, shitty and cutthroat as ever. The concerning part is the fact that I thrive on that. How about you, how’s NYU?

Isa: When I finally process the experience in twenty years, I’ll let you know.

Zay chuckles at that -- he’s always appreciated Isa’s blunt delivery. They slide into the booth opposite him, giving a taste of the bullshit they’re working with by vaguely describing the assignment for Bennet’s class. Zay is a good audience for the complaint, empathizing with the annoyingness of being asked to examine other people’s dynamics -- fictional or otherwise.

Zay: First of all, it’s like, mind your business. Secondly, why the fuck would I want to spend time overanalyzing fictional relationships? Dealing with them IRL is tired enough.

Isa: Dude, that’s what I’m saying! And not to be a bitch, but like -- do you ever feel like, with our friends, like… why is everyone fucking dating?

Zay barks out a laugh. Isa elaborates, pointing out their examples -- Riley and Lucas. Jade and Nigel. Even Eric and Jack, who are old and should be past all this romantic nonsense. At least Dylan and Asher aren’t still around to add to it. Like, great they’re happy and everything, but isn’t this shit relentless? Zay nods along.

Zay: You don’t have to tell me. It’s not just our friends, either. I had to start my day this morning watching my annoying classmate make out with her boyfriend outside the studio for like five minutes. And she was not shy about it -- it was basically intentional.

Isa looks genuinely disgusted. Thank God Riley and Lucas aren’t like that.

Isa: Ew. That’s deranged.

Zay: Correct. And also it’s like, fucking relax. We’re in class, you’ll see each other in an hour. I already am well aware I am single, you do not need to remind me.

Isa: So annoying. And you know what, it’s all pointless anyway. It’s never stable, love never lasts. Stupid shit always comes between people and blows everything up -- even the people you think are supposed to be untouchable. It’s great you’re single. Like, what’s the point?

Zay doesn’t seem to agree with that, necessarily… but he’s more so confused. He blinks, frowning.

Zay: … don’t you have a girlfriend?

Isa: [ after a beat ] Oh. Yeah.

Well, that shit’s also fucked, but whatever. It’s fine. Everything is fine. Zay widens his eyes slightly, silently judging, but he’s not going to say anything. Never a dull conversation with Isa De La Cruz…

INT. ANYA’S TOWN CAR - NIGHT

Jade and Anya are chatting in the backseat as the driver approaches Emerald City. Anya is finishing touching up her makeup with a vintage compact hand mirror as she runs Jade through all the personalities and celebrities they might meet while there. She glances at Jade and notes that her eyeliner is a bit messy -- she reaches forward and does a quick touch-up, Jade freezing and letting her since she’s the style expert. Like they’re friends, getting ready for girls night out, not boss and employee.

Anya: How’s the fit, by the way? It looks vicious.

Jade: Oh, it’s great. Still getting used to it, and the pockets are a little -- they’re kind of like those fake pockets they put on girl pants, so they don’t hold much --

Anya: God, those are so fucking annoying. It’s like oh, guess because we’re women, we don’t have anything to carry since men will do it for us. God forbid a woman have possessions. Don’t worry, I can have one of the seamstresses fix it for you next week.

Jade: Oh, that’s okay. I can do it, if I find the instructions --

Anya: J. Bee, never do work that someone else can do for you. Save your mental labor for the stuff that matters.

As the person who was the “someone else” for so long, Jade isn’t sure how to respond to that. But it hardly matters, as they arrive outside the club seconds later. Anya thanks her driver and leads the way out of the car, Jade sliding across the seat and rushing to keep up.

And true to her word, those fake pockets fail her. She steps out of the car and her phone falls out of her pocket and face down onto the car seat, left behind as they slam the door behind them.

As the thumping beats of Dua Lipa float in…

INT. EMERALD CITY LOUNGE - NIGHT

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Levitating” as performed by Dua Lipa || Instrumental

Anya leads the way into the club, greeting the wait staff with a smile as they’re quite familiar with her. Jade follows in after her, slower in stride, as she takes in the spectacle with wide eyes.

While some in our ensemble may have been to the Emerald City before, none have seen it at night like this yet. The mixer Maya and Zay attended was one thing, but when actual somebodys are around, they pull out all the stops. It feels a bit like being in the Capitol in Panem, or a circus, but in a trendy chic way (though equally as grandiose and extravagant). Beautiful outfits, good-looking people all around, alcohol flowing freely.

Suffice to say, this is a scene Jade never thought she would be living. Anya gestures for her to follow her through the crowd -- their crowd is upstairs.

As Jade ascends into the madness --

INT. L.A. DANCE CLUB - NIGHT

Josh and his friends are getting an early start on their night of fun, a horde of 20-somethings dressed for a night out and enjoying their dwindling youth. JASMINE (25), the birthday girl, raises her shot glass first and then they all clink them together in cheers, knocking back whatever liquor they’re drinking.

The sequence continues cutting back and forth between Jade’s world and Josh’s, both full of dancing, excess, and interesting characters. It’s kind of like expectation versus reality -- Jade and the high-fashion industry living the expectation of luxury and glamor, Josh and his average young adults doing the cheaper, realistic imitation but still making the most of it.

Well… everyone but Josh. It doesn’t help that he’s not a good dancer upfront (he kind of looks like that Jacob Tremblay gif), but mainly it’s just that his mind is not in the club. He’s still mentally in the studio, ruminating on his career troubles and trying to figure out what tricks he needs to pull off to break through. As he says to one of his friends:

Josh: [ with dread ] At this rate, I might have to turn to TikTok.

It goes without saying, but right now, no one cares, Josh. Jasmine tries to get him to change his tune, pulling him by the hand onto the dance floor with her about an hour into the night.

Jasmine: Your turn to dance with the birthday girl!

Josh: No, Jaz...

Jasmine: Oh, come on, Joshie. Don’t I get one wish?

Fine, fine… Josh relents, letting her pull him into dancing. They chat idly while they do, Jasmine giggling when Josh spins her under his arm.

Jasmine: I’m really glad you’re here. It feels like we haven’t seen each other in ages.

Josh: Yeah. I mean, you know, shit’s busy, and stuff.

Jasmine: Totally. Being an adult fucking sucks!

Josh: You’re telling me.

Jasmine: I’m trying to change that with 25. You know? I want this to be my year. Taking control, doing what I want, living my damn life. [ looking at him ] Being clear about what I want.

Josh: That’s great. I like the sound of that.

Jasmine: Yeah?

Josh: For sure. Doing our thing at 25. I could definitely use that mojo.

This is going better than Jasmine expected! She chews her lip.

Jasmine: And what does that mean to you? You know… doing your thing?

Josh: Well, mainly, I would hope it means I’ll finally find a way to fucking break out with a hit.

Oh. Of course. It’s Josh, so of course he means his career. Jasmine tries to hide her disappointment, but she does visibly deflate. Not that Josh notices -- she’s got him on a tangent again, trying to decide if it’s worth it for him to debase himself by searching for click-bait clients rather than actually focusing on what matters, aka the music.

Jasmine’s heard this spiel dozens of times, though maybe not as subtly frantic as Josh is these days. She interrupts him and claims she’s gonna go get a drink.

Josh: Oh, sure. Do you want me to get it for you?

Jasmine: No, that’s okay. I need the walk.

She pushes through the crowd away from him. Josh watches after her, certain something about that wasn’t quite right… when Andrew swoops in and pulls him to the side.

Andrew: Dude, what is your damage? Aside from the obvious.

Josh: What do you mean? I’m here. I’m dancing.

Andrew: You are bringing the mood down so low with your work talk, man. We’re partying, no one wants to think about work tomorrow.

Josh: Well, maybe that’s why you shouldn’t have a party on a Thursday…

Andrew gives him a look, which shuts him up. As if Josh’s obsession is based on any day of the week.

Andrew: The least you could do is shut it around Jaz. All she wants to do is spend time with you, but you’re making it painful.

Josh: What? Why? She’s got like ten other friends here.

Andrew: [ like it’s obvious ] Because she’s on your dick, Josh. She’s been in love with you for like three years.

Genuinely, honest to God, Josh had no idea. His jaw drops open.

Josh: What? Since when?

Andrew: I swear -- Lord, give me the strength -- you are my cross to bear, Josh Matthews. Look, if you can’t manage it on your own, let’s at least get you drunk enough that you can actually have some fun.

Well… worth a shot. Josh nods, letting Andrew go behind him and push him by the shoulders to the bar.

EXT. EMERALD CITY LOUNGE - ROOFTOP BAR - NIGHT

The fashion and fantasy are even more surreal on the roof, where the true stars of the night have gathered. There’s a celebrity spotting amongst the crowd here and there, but it’s mainly notable names in the design world, which to Jade is all the more exciting anyway. The style of dress ranges from elegant to eccentric -- anywhere you look, someone is making a statement.

Jade sticks close to Anya, mostly politely listening in on her conversations with others after being introduced and absorbing as much secondhand knowledge as she can.

More than once, Anya sings her praises of how competent she’s already proven herself. While Jade isn’t sure how she feels about all the extravagance, that was worth the night out alone.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - RILEY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Lucas is alone at the moment, on the phone catching up with Dylan and Asher. Based on the subtle smile on his face, it’s nice to talk to them.

Lucas: Haven’t seized control of the diner yet. I promise, Dylan, if that happens you’ll be the first to know.

Although we can’t hear them, based on Lucas’s expressions and responses, we get the gist of what they’re asking. His features soften a bit after a long pause.

Lucas: No, yeah, she’s doing good. Really good. I’m sure she’s told Dylan some of it. [ a beat ] Yeah, exactly. She’s really doing great. It’s been cool, getting to see her like, in her element and stuff. [ a beat ] It’s… interesting. I don’t know how it would compare to your schools, but… um, yeah, I mean. It’s a school.

Based on the fact that Riley was so excited to bring him along, things must be good on their front as well. Right? Everything is going swell in the camp of Riley and Lucas?

Lucas: Yeah. Yeah, for sure. Since I like, live here now and everything you’d at least hope so. But I guess we’ll see how long that lasts. [ off their reassurances ] No, no, I know. I’m just joking. She’s… yeah. It’s good. I’m just… we’re…

How are things? Sometimes, it’s hard to say. Objectively, they’re great, at least strictly within the context of the two of them. When nothing else matters, if it’s just her and him, it feels like they could take on the world. But then there’s… everything else. And when you factor in the everything else…

Lucas shrugs wordlessly, trying to find the words. And somehow, pigs must be flying, because the staccato string opening starts up --

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “A Part Of That” as performed by The Last Five Years Original Cast Recording || Performed by Lucas James Friar

That’s right, it’s our seasonal installment of “Lucas actually sings.” I trust it goes without saying at this point that it’s not amazing, the most brilliant vocal performance you’ll ever see, but that’s hardly the point. What matters are the sentiments -- and this song is full of them.

Lucas starts it from right where he is, on the phone with Dylan and Asher reclined on Riley’s bed. Then the screen quickly flips --

INT. NYU APARTMENT - DAY

To Lucas on the couch, reading that biology textbook again. He’s studying pretty effectively, but he gets distracted by Riley cursing under her breath. He looks up towards the bay window, where she’s sitting with a scene for class in her lap.

And then she’s off on a trip to Rileytown…

Riley’s got her eyes closed, mouthing to herself, a slight frown creasing her features. In fact, she almost looks like she might cry. Lucas silently debates if he should say something -- he’s not great about consoling, but he’ll try his best for her…

But then she exhales, opening her eyes and looking down at her script. She breezes over the words… and then breaks into a smile, proud of herself for remembering her lines.

And then she smiles Her eyes light up and deep within the ground Without a sound, a moment comes to life

Oh. Duh. She was acting. Lucas is relieved it’s not more serious, and a bit endeared by how deeply she throws herself into her performing. He doesn’t understand it at all, but with Riley, it’s charming. Just another thing that makes her so special. She glances towards him and realizes she’s distracted his studying, giving him an apologetic smile.

He shakes his head. No worries. Her smile brightens, then she goes back to her scene work, leaving him to look at her just a few moments longer.

I’m a part of that…

And then screen flips again, to another vignette --

INT. NYU APARTMENT - NIGHT

A different evening, another slice of life. Lucas, Riley, and Isa are making dinner together as the song describes, chatting animatedly as they do. Seems like a pretty chill, cozy night in store…

Then Riley gets a call on her phone -- something related to Jack’s campaign. She’s been trying to get a few grassroots New York organizations and publications to run his announcement when it comes out, and it seems like they’re withholding. She apologizes to Isa and Lucas and steps into the living area to take the call, shifting into organizer mode.

Then she gets on the mule train to Rileytown

Time passes as the camera rotates around, starting on Lucas and Isa shrugging and going back to cooking… then past Riley again, pacing the floor and speaking calmly but firmly as she negotiates on Jack’s behalf. She’s got her entire focus on this call, giving it her all.

The camera rotates back to Lucas and Isa, who are done cooking now and just watching Riley do her Riley thing. They’re leaned against the kitchen counter, observing the phone call like must-see TV, curious to see if Riley can pull it off or not. Isa chews idly on a green bean.

Then, Riley breaks into a grin. She nods enthusiastically and launches into chipper goodbyes, obviously having succeeded at her negotiation. When we shift back to Lucas, he’s watching her fondly, eyes shining with admiration.

Then she smiles Her eyes light up, and how can I complain? Yes, she’s insane But look what she can do

Riley hangs up and bounds back over to them cheerfully, plucking a green bean from the colander and biting off a piece. She wiggles her eyebrows at them, mission accomplished, then playfully nudges Lucas’s hands on the countertop.

He’s a part of that. If her word is true, then he’s a part of her world where all these things are possible -- and a big part of it.

EXT. NYU - CAMPUS - DAY

Then we cut to campus, Lucas walking along behind Riley as she eagerly leads the way and acts as his pseudo-tour guide. Following her lead, letting her pave the way and call the shots.

And it’s true, I tend to follow in her stride Instead of side-by-side I take her cues

INT. CHUBBIES - DAY

But Lucas is trying. He’s got dreams of his own… they’re just a little harder to reach. He reiterates this point to himself as he works on a deferment piece of paperwork behind the counter at Chubbies.

There’s no question, there’s no doubt I said I’d stick it out and follow through

Riley is seated at the booth opposite the counter with Isa, Nigel, and Zay, chatting away about something or other. In the midst of the conversation, she turns and steals a look at him, smiling bashfully when she realizes he’s already looking at her.

That smile… Lucas mirrors it.

And when I do…

INT. NYU APARTMENT - DAY

The rest of the song takes us through a quick montage as the music swells, capturing all these domestic, memorable moments in Lucas’s mind -- the ones where that Riley smile is his to behold.

When it’s just the two of them having dinner, cooking together in the small kitchen and not overthinking their behavior because it’s just the two of them. Lucas spins Riley towards him and hugs her from behind, causing her to laugh and sway them side to side.

EXT. CENTRAL PARK - DAY

The two of them hanging out at Central Park, a place they still escape to on the weekends when there’s time to spare. Riley gets playful and pulls him towards her but he slips out of her grasp, resulting in a very brief chase that ends with Riley jumping on his back.

INT. NYU - THEATER CLASSROOM - DAY

Riley is in the middle of a performance, working opposite another classmate. Lucas is in the back row, a guest rather than a fellow student, but he’s probably watching the scene more attentively than the rest of them. When they wrap and Riley beams, giving a bow to their applause, Lucas can’t help but smile himself.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - RILEY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

When it’s truly just the two of them, lights low and sharing an intimate moment together in the safe haven of her room. They exchange a deep kiss and then Riley pulls back to catch her breath, breaking into a smile even through the haze of desire.

And then she smiles And nothing else makes sense

She brushes her thumb against his cheek, pressing their foreheads together before leaning into another kiss. As they fall back onto the pillows --

EXT. CENTRAL PARK - DAY

Lucas stumbles and Riley slips off his back, both of them clumsily falling onto the grass. Riley cracks up and Lucas smiles through his wince, shifting onto his side. Riley climbs onto his side and asks if he’s all right, Lucas nodding and then breaking into chuckles at how ridiculous this is. They’re infectious, Riley descending into giggles.

He rolls onto his back and Riley rests against his chest, brushing some hair off his forehead. Then she gives him a soft kiss.

And I’m a part of that

INT. NYU - THEATER CLASSROOM - DAY

Riley finishes her bows and then turns to fist bump with her classmate, the two of them heading back to their seats. Lucas remains secluded in the back, not included in the mass of students, a literal afterthought. He continues to repeat the mantra to himself, but watching Riley glow in the midst of her fellow creatives, the sentiment seems less sure.

I’m a part of that… Aren’t I?

INT. NYU APARTMENT - NIGHT

Lucas is in the window seat now, looking out towards the city at night. His reflection is in the glass of the window, mirroring his uncertainty and insecurity back to him. Still, he tries to focus on reality, staring at the neighborhood he’s a stranger to and willing himself to believe it.

I’m a part of that I’m a part of that I’m a part of that…

His meditation is interrupted by Riley, poking her head out from the doorway of her bedroom. Is he coming to bed?

There she is. Always thinking of him, checking up on him, waiting to make sure he doesn’t get left behind. Lucas smiles lightly, getting up from the window. Riley smiles -- there it is again -- and holds out her hand, taking his as he approaches and leading him back into her room.

He gently shuts the door behind them, letting the music fade and the screen fade to black.

INT. L.A. DANCE CLUB - NIGHT

Back in the present, the night is still rolling. Unfortunately for Andrew, his gambit failed -- getting Josh drunker actually made him worse, as now he’s just one-note and overly emotional about how stuck his shit is at Global Beat. The group of his friends begrudgingly listen to him rant about the situation, only Jasmine and one of her girl friends managing to escape under the guise of going to the bathroom.

Josh: It just all feels so… hopeless. You know? What’s the point of doing anything, loving anything, if it’s destined to go nowhere? Some philosophy dude said doing the same thing and expecting different results is the definition of insanity, but what am I supposed to do when I’ve run out of other things to do? You know? The tunnel has narrowed at Global Beat. The clock is ticking down. I’m twenty-four, and what have I accomplished? Nothing. Why did I even want to do this in the first place?

Andrew: I think I’ll speak for everyone when I say this, but it’s like I’ve said a hundred times -- QUIT, MAN!

Josh whines, shaking his head. Nooo, that’s not the answer. He knows that, even if everything else feels so out of his control. In his gut, he knows music isn’t the problem. It’s not about walking away entirely… but he knows something about how things are right now isn’t working.

And that’s sweet that he knows how important it is to him, but it makes reasoning with him basically impossible -- especially when he’s drunk. Jasmine and her friend return, announcing that they’ve decided they’re club-hopping. They want to go halfway across town to this other rave-type joint.

The rest of the group is keen to roll out and really get the night started, but Josh doesn’t move. Getting out here was asking enough of him, and he just clearly isn’t in the headspace to be raving.

Josh: You guys go on without me. I’m harshing the mood. If I feel better, I’ll catch up.

Jasmine looks disappointed -- and a little bit frustrated -- but she doesn’t fight him on it. Can’t time your quarter-life crises, sorry! Andrew tells the rest of the group to go on, then hangs back with Josh for a second. He places a hand on his shoulder.

Andrew: I don’t want to leave you here. I feel like that would be socially irresponsible.

Josh: No, no. I’m fine. Fine, fine, fine. You go have fun.

Andrew: How am I supposed to know if you get home? [ a beat, then taking Josh’s face ] Hey, look at me. Make me a promise, all right?

Josh: Sure, bestie.

Andrew: You’re going to stay here. You’re not going anywhere. I’ll go to the rave thing for an hour, and then I’ll come back and pick you up and we’ll call a Lyft together. Okay? Do you understand?

Josh: [ with a wobbly salute ] Aye, aye, cap’n.

Andrew: You cause me so much stress. I love you, silly white boy. Text me if you need me. [ backing away ] Stay put. Got it?

Josh throws up a hang-ten sign like Justin, signaling he’s got it. Andrew heads out to catch up to the crew and Josh sighs, slumping down so low in the booth if he’s not careful he’s going to end up on the floor.

EXT. EMERALD CITY LOUNGE - ROOFTOP BAR - NIGHT

The night is growing quite late in New York, but the FashionFest mixer is still in full swing. These industry types know how to keep a party going. Jade has surprisingly had a great time, growing more involved in conversations as the night wore on. Time has flown by, she hasn’t even thought about it.

That grinds to a halt when a couple of models and a designer join their circle, Anya doing the usual routine of introducing Jade. The models treat her normally, but the designer is a bit weirder, his 40-something ass looking her over and grinning.

Designer: Nice! Fresh blood. Welcome to the jungle. [ with another once-over ] You got a boyfriend, Jade?

Oh. Well, that’s uncomfortable. Jade doesn’t even know how to react, the others in the circle doing it for her and chastising the designer. Like, damn, you just met her! She’s barely out of high school!

Anya: Could you not be such a fucking creep, Lorenz?

Lorenz shrugs, raising his hands in surrender. That’s the industry, babes, they all know it! That launches into a whole other discussion, but Jade finds a way to excuse herself, suddenly not as blissfully enamored with the setting as before. She slips away from the crowd and tries to find a corner to get some fresher air and a second to breathe.

She makes it to the far corner of the bar, pushing her hair behind her ear and looking out at the city lights. Looking around her, she realizes how out of place she is… aside from some of the models, she’s definitely the youngest person here, and Anya is the only familiar face. No friends or comforting presences to turn to. Guess that’s going out on your own… but she doesn’t like the feeling very much.

Jade reaches into her pocket to text someone -- one of the techie boys has to still be awake, and their silliness would be a welcome tension-breaker right now -- but she comes up empty. Patting her pockets reveals there’s nothing there. Her phone is gone.

Now she’s panicked. Jade spins in a circle, checking illogically as if it would have just dropped out of her pocket now.

Jade: Shit. Oh no --

Anya makes her way over, having found her. She apologizes immediately for Lorenz’s behavior.

Anya: He is like, the resident Manhattan sleaze in this circle, so don’t take it personally. But if you want to spit in his drink, I’ll absolutely help you in the mission. [ noticing her distress ] Seriously, he’s not a threat to you --

Jade: No, it’s not that. I can’t find my phone. I have no idea where it is.

Anya catches up quick, changing gears and telling her they’ll retrace her steps. She’ll look with her.

Anya: The party’s fizzling out anyway -- Lorenz is the king buzzkill.

So they can find it, and then roll out. Jade nods, trying to keep her cool as they begin to scan the rooftop for her phone.

INT. FARKLE’S TOWN CAR - NIGHT

Farkle’s driver pulls up outside the Nelson estate, a compound with a gated entrance on the outskirts of Beverly Hills. It’s the kind of place the Minkuses would likely have, if they were Hollywood moguls in L.A. rather than business legends in New York (where there’s markedly less sprawl for an estate).

The chauffeur gets out of the car and begins unloading Jordan’s film equipment from the trunk, one of the Nelson family employees coming out to help. Jordan and Farkle remain in the car, privileged rich boys that they are, able to have a proper goodbye rather than lugging their own stuff like normal people.

Farkle thanks Jordan for agreeing to work on the video, especially since it went so late into the night. Jordan shrugs, assuring him it was fun. An interesting experiment, if nothing else, to see what throwing a music video together so last-minute is like.

Jordan: I’d doubt its likelihood of success, but that Maya Hart seems to know what she’s doing. From my perspective, it seems like all the pieces are there to put together something noteworthy. [ a beat ] Of course, doesn’t hurt that she’s gorgeous.

Farkle: [ with a soft laugh ] Um... yeah. Yeah, that she is.

Jordan: Makes my job that much easier. It’s less work to make someone look good when they already fought half the fight on the battlefield of genetics.

Farkle: For sure. Couldn’t pull that trick with me.

Jordan looks at him, narrowing his eyes in thought.

Jordan: I wouldn’t say that.

Farkle gives him a cynical look. He can’t be serious.

Farkle: I’m no Maya Hart.

Jordan: No, that’s definitely true. No arguments there. But you have your own charms. You have… a unique look. That’s more of an asset than you realize.

Okay… so is he actually saying Farkle is hot? Farkle stares at him, absolutely zero clue what he’s trying to say or how he should react. But he sure is feeling decidedly wah…

Jordan’s staff knocks lightly on the window, letting him know the equipment is all ready to go. So that’s his cue. Jordan slings his bag over his shoulder and opens the door, meeting Farkle’s eyes one last time.

Jordan: You’re not like everybody else, Minkus. That’s a power, not a curse.

When you put it like that… Jordan bids him goodnight, climbing out of the car. Farkle watches him go, still processing his advice and trying not to overthink the flippy feeling in his stomach.

EXT. EMERALD CITY LOUNGE - NIGHT

Jade and Anya have emerged without luck, waiting for Anya’s car to arrive. Anya assures Jade that if it’s truly lost, she’ll pay to replace it.

Jade: Oh, no. You don’t have to do that. It was my fault --

Anya: J. Bee, it’s like, a penny out of my pocket. You were with me, therefore it’s on me. A boss has to look out for her team, or else it’s like, why bother, you know?

Jade absorbs that, still unsure about the favor but appreciative. They climb into the car when the driver arrives, Jade sliding in first and Anya following suit.

INT. ANYA’S TOWN CAR - NIGHT

Anya begins telling a story to try and make her feel less self-conscious about the time she lost her Prada bag at Paris Fashion Week -- not the most relatable anecdote, but there was an attempt -- but she stops mid-sentence when she suddenly sits on something. She reaches underneath her on the seat and voila, there’s Jade’s phone, exactly where she dropped it as she got out.

Jade’s eyes light up in relief, Anya holding it up like ta-dah.

Jade: Oh, thank God.

Anya: Magic of FashionFest. [ handing it over ] Cute case, by the way. So twee.

Jade cradles the phone in her hands, flipping it over. It’s long since died, but at least that can be fixed. At least she doesn’t have to buy an entirely new one.

Now that she can breathe again, the car gets going, heading back to her place. Anya informs Jade that she made quite the favorable impression tonight -- everyone thought she was so adorable, and Anya talked her up well. Not a bad way to start off on the right foot.

Anya: You’ve got mad potential, Jade. Stick with me, and we’ll take you to the top.

Who would pass that up? Jade smiles, feeling as though her career is already getting started.

INT. L.A. DANCE CLUB - BAR - NIGHT

Josh has faithfully remained at the dance club, though maybe that isn’t the best idea. It keeps him too conveniently close to the alcohol, and when he sidles up to the bar and clumsily orders another drink, he must be broke down enough to draw attention. A woman currently standing at the bar, a beautiful, plus-sized Black woman, turns to glance at him. This is RUBY (40s).

For a moment, she clearly debates whether or not she should say something… and then she decides to, gifting him a friendly, sympathetic laugh.

Ruby: Oh, honey. I hope I’m not overstepping here, but if I may so, I think it might be time to dial back on the drinks for the night.

Josh isn’t perturbed by her interference -- he’s far too tingly to care about such things -- but he does wave off her concern.

Josh: S’all right. Nothing matters anyway. My life’s over, down the toilet. [ imitating a toilet flushing ] Sunk at twenty-four.

Ruby: Twenty-four? Oh, lord, now you are way too young to be angsting about your life being over. You’ve got to wait until at least thirty for that.

You know what, maybe so. Ruby determines that this might be a true cry for help moment though, shifting her attention fully to him and asking if he wants to let anything out. Josh waves her off again at first, but she insists, promising him she’s a good listener. As a youth pastor at one of the local Los Angeles churches, she’s gotten pretty good at parsing through existential angst -- especially in this town.

Josh: What’s a youth passer doing at a dance club on Thursday night?

Ruby: All right, fair question, so you’ve still got your wits about you. [ nodding to the opposite end of the club ] Bachelorette party. My girl Sasha is finally making it official. And I love my gals, but sometimes, they get a little too silly. I come to the bar to get away from the drinks.

Josh: Wow. That’s profound.

Ruby: It’s the vodka, hon. Everything is profound.

Sasha, as it turns out, had a breakdown at twenty-four as well and thought her life was over too. That was over a man -- one that if she had stayed with, she never would’ve found the one. It’s a false misery, to convince yourself it’s all over at twenty-four… Josh releases a heavy sigh, melancholy gripping him again.

Josh: I think I may have wasted the first twenty years of my life.

He ends up spilling, confessing to Ruby all of the things that have been weighing on him since Iris. The dead end job moves, the catastrophic client pool, the way his soul feels like it’s being sucked out of his body a little every single day. It’s like being dropped by his most promising client has woken him up, and now he can’t help but see all of the terrible things about this industry. He came here for the music, but now he’s not sure he can hear it anymore underneath all the bullshit.

Ruby must be a good youth mentor, because she manages to hone in on exactly what Josh needs. She’s empathetic but firm in her advice, pointing out clearly, Josh is no stranger to struggling for the art. But he clearly also is very passionate about music, and that’s pushed him through this long. If something isn’t clicking anymore, it could very well be that his circumstances at the moment aren’t right -- not his passion or his choices. He can still prioritize music, he just needs to figure out what that means to him.

Ruby: I moved out here twenty years ago, around your age, because I thought I wanted the same thing. To jump into the industry, make a splash in the R&B scene, become the next Jennifer Hudson. That didn’t happen, but I’m happier now than I ever was back then.

Josh: [ captivated, wide-eyed in his tipsy state ] How did you do it?

Ruby: I figured out what was actually important to me. I love singing, yes, but I didn’t have to be a star to live up to that. Well, correction -- I am a star, but I didn’t have to make everyone else see that. I sing with the choir at church now, and that’s enough for me. Getting to share the music with people I care about, who all share the same excitement and passion, with none of the compromise. And I found other things to supplement that and make my life whole. My husband, my beautiful children. Just because something isn’t working out now, the way you have it now, doesn’t mean it’s broken forever. Life is full of changes, some you never see coming -- you might just have to let go of the plan and be open to whatever curveballs come your way. You’ll end up where you’re meant to be when the time is right.

Normally, Josh would be dismissive of this “there’s a higher plan” type comfort, but in his drunken state and low morale, it’s kind of blowing his mind right now. He thanks her for saying all that, even if it’s going to take him like twenty-four hours and some change to process it. It already has assuaged some of his existential dread, leaving room for some renewed hope. She gives him a beam, patting his forearm.

Ruby: Stay resilient, hon. This is a tough town, you’ve just got to find your own music to dance through it.

Josh: I’m trying. I’ll try.

Ruby: You will. Best of luck…?

Josh: Josh.

Ruby: Josh. [ offering her hand ] Ruby. Nice to meet you.

Josh: You too. Thanks for saving my life.

She laughs, giving him a wink before pushing away from the bar to head back to her friends. Definitely not how Josh expected to spend the night, talking to some 40-something stranger at the bar (and probably not a story Justin will find thrilling come Monday), but somehow exactly what he needed.

Sometimes, you just need to hear from someone who’s been there before that it’ll all be okay.

INT. BEAMON HOME - JADE’S BEDROOM - DAY

Jade’s phone is vibrating on her nightstand, ringing with her work alarm, but she doesn’t make any immediate moves to answer it. She’s exhausted after last night -- who thought having gatherings on a Thursday was a good idea? -- and she didn’t even drink. She manages to push herself up, running a hand through her hair and grabbing her phone to check the time now that it’s finally charged.

Jade: Oh, shit --

She must’ve hit snooze without realizing it, because she’s going to be late. Now she’s awake. She pushes herself upright, throwing the covers off and scrambling to get ready.

A few seconds later though, she’s back in frame, something about her phone registering only after the panic about being late. She scrolls through her notifications again, freezing when she sees a couple of texts from Nigel.

“On my way!”

“Here”

“Your brothers just told me you went out with Anya. They’re messing with me, right? Trying to figure out how long I should wait in the car here before the joke is up…”

And the last one, worst of all:

“If you had better plans, you could’ve at least told me.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit! In the whirlwind of Anya Kelly, she completely forgot, and then when she left her phone in the car… oh, shit. Jade murmurs a hollow “no” to herself, cussing under her breath and dials his number, keeping the phone to her ear while she gets moving again. It goes to voicemail, which Jade tries to convince herself is just because he’s in class. She thinks. She actually isn’t sure what his class schedule is…

Jade: Hi, it’s me. Nigel, I am so fucking sorry. Like, oh my God. Anya just showed up and then I lost my phone and… it was a whole spectacle. I’ll explain, just please answer. I’ll keep calling, but… okay, yeah. I’m sorry, I love you, give me a call back if you get this before I reach you. Okay… bye.

What a mess. But she can’t afford to harp on it much longer, she’s already late. Jade presses her palms to her eyes and takes a deep breath, then pulls herself together to get out the door.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - MASTER BEDROOM - DAY

Nigel isn’t the only one dealing with interpersonal conflict. Eric finishes tying his tie in the mirror, ready for another day at Adams… then turns to look at the bed. Jack’s side is perfectly made, untouched from the previous night. When he walked out in such a state Thursday morning, it seems he didn’t come back.

Eric is not happy about this, to say the least. That’s clear on his face… but he keeps his cool, willing himself to be patient. To have faith.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - KITCHEN - DAY

Just in case, though, he scribbles a note to leave on the fridge door. It signals that if -- when -- Jack sees it, he wants to talk ASAP. If Jack happens to come home when he’s at work, he hopes he’ll at least see that and get the sign that they aren’t just going to brush this under the rug.

Suddenly, for a moment, Isa’s suggestion about a prenuptial for cohabiting doesn’t sound so bad… Eric releases a sigh, securing the note to the door.

From the doorway, we watch him grab his bag and head out, Jack’s suit jacket conspicuously gone from the coat rack by the door.

INT. JOHNSON HOME - VANESSA’S BEDROOM - DAY

The clock is ticking down towards having to return to the studio, and Vanessa does not look happy about it. She looks a bit ill, actually, which is bizarre because nerves have never been a problem for her. She realizes she’s chewing her fingernails and stops, which only makes her notice how her hands are still trembling.

She can’t do this. She gets out her phone and pulls up her (sparse) conversation with Zay. Even texting him suddenly feels like a lot at the moment, but she powers through it anyway.

“Have to cancel. Something came up”

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - LOCKER ROOM - DAY

Zay is already at Turner when he gets the text, and he is predictably not happy to get it. He scowls, quickly typing back that he isn’t going to get a bad grade because of her. They have to rehearse the number in full at least a few times, and they haven’t even done it once. He taps his feet impatiently while he watches the bubbles on her side of the screen, until she responds.

“We can meet tonite. Later. I swear”

Zay doesn’t look convinced, but he has to take what he can get. He agrees to that, begrudgingly, but tries one more push for just holding their plans. Is whatever she has going on really more important than this?

The bubbles reappear, then disappear a couple seconds later. Then they pop up again, typing for a much longer handful of seconds… then nothing. Finally, her response comes through.

“I can’t”

Peachy. Zay shakes his head, lightly hitting the locker next to him as he heads out without rehearsing.

EXT. NYU - CAMPUS - DAY

Nigel emerges from his morning class, finding a flurry of missed calls from Jade. He slows his pace, contemplating whether or not to listen to the voicemails -- for the first time, he finds he doesn’t really want to hear her voice at the moment. But she solves that dilemma for him, conveniently calling another time and putting the impetus on him to decide now.

If there’s one thing about Nigel, it’s that he’s gonna avoid conflict. Ignoring her call seems like a bigger risk than having the awkward conversation, so he takes a deep breath and accepts the call.

Nigel: Hello?

Jade, emphatic: Thank God, you picked up. Nigel, I am so, so sorry about last night. I don’t know if you’ve gotten any of my voicemails but -- fuck -- I feel so terrible. I cannot believe I did that.

Nigel: Yeah, me either.

Jade: I was going to tell you all this stuff that happened that made it happen, but then I realized, that’s just making up a bunch of excuses. Like, they happened, but you don’t care about that part, and understandably. I completely understand if you’re upset or if you hate me or… I don’t know. I know I’d be mad. But I hope you believe me when I say I didn’t mean to put you in that position and I am so incredibly sorry.

It’s hard not to believe her, especially considering Jade isn’t usually so effusive. And despite what he thought moments ago, it’s actually very nice to hear her voice, even when he’s upset… he sighs, kicking at a rock on the pathway while he walks.

Nigel: You sure you’re not an actor? You’re very convincing. Your ethos is outstanding.

Jade: … is that an apology accepted?

Nigel: It’s an apology acknowledged and appreciated. Acceptance still pending.

Jade: I totally get that. And I’ll make it up to you, I swear.

Nigel: And while I appreciate your point, I would actually be interested in hearing the excuses. I just hope they’re really good…

Jade: You have no idea. And if you want them, I will happily tell you all about it. It’s a trip. How about you come over tomorrow, and we can talk about everything. And like I said, I’ll make it up to you.

Nigel: Well, I’m not sure how you plan to do that --

Jade: My parents are taking the twins to their soccer match, and Ethan is back at Vassar. Believe me, I can come up with something.

Okay, well, that’s compelling… what would Mama Chey say, Jade! But she’s won Nigel over for now -- more than anything, she makes him laugh, and he just really wants to actually spend time with her. He agrees to come over tomorrow. Weekends are their sacred time, after all.

Once he hangs up, he’s almost immediately accosted by Riley. Her eyes are bright with excitement as she takes his wrist.

Riley: Callbacks are up.

They waste no time out here, huh? Nigel feels a rush of panic but signals for Riley to lead the way, letting her drag him by the hand at a run towards the theater department.

INT. NYU - TISCH SCHOOL OF THE ARTS - DAY

Riley and Nigel skitter down the “Broadway Block” of hallways to arrive at the right place where the callbacks have been posted, unsurprised to find a crowd of hopefuls already craning to get a good look. She exchanges a look with him and squeezes his hand.

Riley: Good luck.

Nigel: [ with a nod ] Fair fortune.

She gives him a small smile, then the two of them weave through the crowd to get a look for themselves. Evan is already hanging towards the front, beaming when he spots Riley. She tries not to read into that grin, not letting anything preface her glimpse of the list before she sees it for herself…

But she should have. Because she made the cut. She’s being considered further for a role in the winter musical. A grin of her own takes over her features, genuine surprise mixed in as well.

Evan comes to join her, leaning closer to tell her congratulations over the din of the assembled students. She scans the name for his list and is pleased to find he’s also been granted a callback. She returns the sentiment, offering a playful elbow nudge.

She turns to eagerly chat with Nigel, but she goes quiet when she sees the look on his face. It’s blank, concealing any potential reaction, but his hands have gone cold.

He’s not on the list. No callback for Nigel Chey.

Riley eyes him sympathetically, searching for words to offer that will help. But he can’t even look at her. He looks like he wants to melt into the floor and disappear.

So much for new year, new Nigel.

Break 3.

INT. YINDRA’S APARTMENT - BEDROOM - DAY

Yindra is up and moving early, singing along to her favorite playlist and getting ready for her big day in the studio. She’s clearly excited, and the outfit she picked out from the thrift store looks killer on her. Finally, her moment is here, and she’s feeling good.

She grabs her purse and slings it over her shoulder, reaching for her songwriting notebook. Gold in hand, she heads out, still feeling the groove.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

Farkle is finishing up breakfast, greeting Maya when she emerges from her bedroom. Despite her jam-packed day yesterday she’s still on full energy mode, though at least she’s allowed to dress more comfortably. And smartly, apparently -- she’s sporting a trendy pair of fake eyeglasses today.

She returns his good morning and plops a wrapped gift basket on the table in front of him with a thud. He jumps slightly and then gets a better look, intrigued.

Farkle: For me? You shouldn’t have.

Maya: Don’t be silly. My friendship is the best gift I’ll ever give you. [ ignoring his eyebrow raise at that ] It’s for Jordan, obviously.

Farkle: [ looking at the tag ] Oh, my dad loves this company. He uses them all the time for business… [ shifting his gaze to her ] Have you been talking to my dad? Just for fun?

Maya: It’s not for fun, it’s for strategy. Your father is a master businessman, I’m simply trying to start my career business on the right foot. His recommendations are the highest caliber -- you had to get your taste from somewhere, surely.

Farkle: Think my mom would take great offense to that, but okay.

Maya: Anyway, I need you to give this to Jordan. I’m going to be at the library all day until this evening when he said he’d let me into the editing suites at ‘SC to show me the ropes. I can build the basic rough cut on the library computers, but Lord knows it’ll take me hours.

Um, hold on. She wants him to give his student director gifts now? How much more humiliation can he take? Farkle tries to argue, pointing out that Maya is literally going to see him later, but she won’t hear it. He’s guaranteed to see him first, and promptness is key to a successful partnership.

Farkle: But --

Maya: I’d love to chat more, but editing time is of the essence. Kisses --

She leans close and exchanges quick cheek kisses with him, sweeping past him without waiting for a reply. Farkle throws his hands up in defeat, letting his spoon clatter into his cereal bowl.

INT. NYU - SMALL THEATER - DAY

Riley’s turnaround time for the callback is fast -- a bit of a mental mind-game test all its own, perhaps -- but she came prepared. She had another potential audition song in her back pocket, which she’s planning to employ now on her short notice opportunity. In the audience, Nigel joins their other classmates in the seats to watch, far less keen than usual.

She paces backstage before her slot, taking a deep breath and keeping her nerves calm. Other students waiting for their imminent callbacks are roaming backstage as well, including Evan, who is hovering by the back curtain and observing the current audition. Riley brightens when Lucas sneaks his way into the wings, coming to wish her luck.

Riley: Feel good, being back behind the scenes?

Lucas: Honestly, think I might have PTSD. You should be glad I’m strong enough to be here.

Riley shakes her head at him, dismissing his silliness but also grateful for the laughter. It puts her at ease, as does taking his hand and holding it for a few seconds before the student assistant approaches and lets her know she’s on deck.

Lucas: Break a leg. You’re going to kill it.

Riley, sincere: I’m so glad you’re here. With me.

She’s loved it, having him be around all week. It feels better, right, when he’s there. Lucas offers a shy smile, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

Lucas, softly: With you.

From the theater where Professor Hill is sitting, Riley is called to the stage. She accepts one more hand squeeze from Lucas then turns to make her entrance, exhaling out her nerves as she walks onto the stage and into the stage lights. She hands the pianist her sheet music, then takes her place center stage.

Riley: Hi, I’m Riley Matthews, and I’ll be performing “Thinking Of Him” from a lesser-known gem, Curtains.

Hill makes an intrigued face as she jots down some notes, then signals for Riley to start whenever she’s ready. Riley takes another subtle breath, then nods to the pianist.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Thinking Of Him” as performed by Curtains Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Riley Matthews (feat. Evan Scott)

While the piano notes delicately guide us into the number, Riley closes her eyes and immerses herself in the music, settling into the right emotional headspace. A simple, uncomplicated but emotional number, this selection offers a great contrast to the first audition piece Riley did by showing off her capability at channeling emotional nuance.

It’s hardly difficult for her to find that mental place. It may be just a coincidence that she had this song in her back pocket… but it’s topical, if glimpsing the lyrics is any indication. It feels like a distant echo of 212’s “My Man,” quietly pensive yet equally compassionate. Riley sings it sweetly, with commitment, authentically affecting with just a hint of the conflicted insecurity central to the number.

And while her performance on its own would be strong, things really get interesting near the end. In the show, Curtains, the gaffe occurs when the composer and ex-husband of the singer, Aaron, attempts to sing along with the male lyrics and is interrupted by Bobby, her actual male co-star (the overlap that occurs at 1:25). Here, the transgression is less awkward but more unexpected -- it seems Evan knows his stuff and also agrees that Curtains is an underrated classic, because he knows the melody well.

He proves that well enough he steps past Lucas from where they were both watching in the wings and out onto the stage, picking up the Bobby lines and joining Riley in her audition.

It’s definitely a risky move. If we’ve been competing all episode for who can find the biggest one to take in an audition, Evan seems to have found it. Hill raises her eyebrows, watching with rapt attention but hard to read how it’s going over; the other students are stunned, some reacting in silent hysterics like Imogen and Abby trying hard not to laugh out loud or with secondhand mortification like Nigel. Lucas watches in confusion from the wings -- he’s pretty sure this isn’t how auditions are supposed to work. Right?

To her immense credit, Riley doesn’t falter. Shock flits across her face for half a second before she adapts to the sudden scene partner intruding on her audition. A good performer knows how to improvise, and she’s been well-trained at keeping her cool in unexpected situations -- and Evan is working with her rather than stealing the spotlight. It’s just now, all of a sudden, her solo is a duet.

So she does the only thing she can: roll with it. She holds his gaze as he comes to meet her at center stage, effortlessly singing back her remaining share of the lyrics. Say what you want about the stunt, but there’s no denying Riley and Evan have a palpable chemistry.

Isn’t it high time you were thinking of you Thinking of me, too?

The pianist brings the number to a close, leaving Riley and Evan holding eye contact at center stage, the rest of the world holding its breath to see how the hell such an unexpected move is going to go over.

‘Cause seriously, that’s not how auditions work, right?

INT. INDIE RECORDING STUDIO - DAY

Yindra makes her way into the recording studio lobby, doing her best to maintain an effortlessly cool and aloof facade… but kind of failing a little bit. Because how insanely dope is this? She’s there, she’s about to record an actual demo. She made it!

The receptionist at the front desk gets her attention, drawing her out of the fangirling going on in her head and asking if there’s something they can do for her. She pulls herself together and confidently approaches the desk, stating that she has an appointment. Yindra Amino? She should be on the calendar. The receptionist doesn’t seem to recognize her, but goes to check… then their face falls.

Receptionist: Oh, honey. Did nobody tell you?

Uh-oh. Yindra’s confidence dims somewhat, and she shakes her head. What was she supposed to have heard? The receptionist looks genuinely reluctant to tell her, but they gently inform her that she got bumped off the schedule. Another, bigger name needed to use the space, and they bought out the time. Bigger client, higher priority…

Receptionist: Your payment will be reimbursed in full though. Will probably take a few business days, but no worries, you’ll get it all back for the time not spent. Sorry about that.

Money is the last thing on Yindra’s mind. Right then, as the dream comes crumbling down around her yet again, she’s solely focused on trying not to cry in public. She manages to thank the receptionist and numbly exits the studio.

EXT. INDIE RECORDING STUDIO - DAY

Yindra steps back out into the mockingly cheerful L.A. sunshine, feeling about two inches tall. Who knows when another spot is going to open up again -- and even if it does, who’s to say this won’t all happen again? Why is it so easy to just brush her off? Is her whole career going to be like this?

More importantly, is she ever going to get a career at this rate?

Isa, pre-lap: How are you being so calm about this?

INT. AAA - PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE - DAY

Isa is back to bothering Eric in his office, but the mood is notably more muted today. Since they bore witness to the argument between him and Jack, it’s hard for Isa to continue on like everything is peachy keen and normal. They were mostly joking about the pre-nuptial thing -- they don’t want that to actually be true.

Isa: Are you seriously not concerned about what happened? I don’t get how you can be so level.

Isa feels shaken enough for the both of them. The couple observation thing was all fun and games until it wasn’t. Eric maintains said composure, but he does admit it’s not easy. Has he had anxious, worst-case scenario thoughts all afternoon? Certainly, but he can’t let that dominate his life or emotions. He has to get through the day. And wasting his energies on dreading the worst isn’t going to help anyone.

Eric: Some things just take time. But I trust Jack. He’s going to make mistakes -- he’s human -- but I have faith in him. I believe he’ll come back around, and then we can have a conversation about it. Once we’re able to talk things through, when I’ve had a chance to truly assess the situation, then I can panic if need be.

Isa: I don’t understand that. How you can do that. The faith or the conversation.

As the reigning royal of avoidance (tied maybe only with Lucas), no kidding, Isa. But Eric doesn’t pick on them, contemplating his approach instead.

Eric: Some of it comes with maturity. Some of it is experience -- you and I have had very different life experiences, which has led us to develop different response plans. Faith in others is hard for you, which isn’t shocking given the context of your family history.

Isa: Okay, you’re foraying a bit back into counselor mode.

Eric manages a sheepish smile, raising his hands in surrender. Guilty as charged. In any case, Eric doesn’t want Isa to be worrying about him and Jack. They’re going to be fine, and that’s his problem to figure out. Isa should be focused on their own issues -- aside from the assignment to examine everyone else.

Easier said than done, for the avoidant royalty.

INT. NYU - SMALL THEATER - DAY

In between callbacks, Imogen and Abby are debriefing their thoughts on what they’ve seen so far. Nigel makes his way over and comes to sit behind them, both girls greeting him cheerfully. Better than sitting alone.

They’re currently on Evan and Riley’s little stunt, laying down some pretty sharp judgment. Abby dismisses the whole thing as a cheap stunt tactic, but she does have sympathy for Riley. Evan was way bold for intruding on someone else’s audition like that -- she would’ve jumped his het male privilege ass. Imogen rolls her eyes.

Imogen: Oh, come on. As if Matthews wasn’t 100% in on it? They obviously planned the thing together. They’ve been inseparable since the school year started -- there’s no way Riley didn’t know it was coming. She handled it way too smoothly.

Abby: Really? I thought she seemed genuinely surprised.

Imogen: Girl. Hello? It’s called acting.

Touché. They turn to Nigel, asking what he thinks. He’s known Riley the longest out of all of them -- what are the odds she was in on it?

Nigel knows this is dangerous territory. The girls aren’t speaking favorably about her either way, and the smart move would be to do what he always does and keep his mouth shut. But honestly, he doesn’t know. Would Riley have even told him the plan if she did? He’s tired of feeling disconnected, silent, like he’s on the fringes of everyone’s life -- and frankly, he’s burned by how the auditions went and how yet again, Riley Matthews managed to defy the norm and come out on top.

Nigel: I don’t know… but to be honest, I wouldn’t put it past her.

Abby: Seriously?

Nigel: I love Riley, but she is a strategist through and through. There’s a reason she planned her boyfriend’s campaign senior year -- and he got elected against all odds. She’s smart. She knows how to play the game.

Imogen: [ with a theatrical gasp ] A schemer… I would have never suspected it.

Abby: She comes across so innocent.

Imogen: Now you’ve got to say more, Nigel. What other secret tricks does Riley Matthews have up her sleeve?

Gossip is a fickle friend… but damn, it feels nice to be eagerly included in the conversation. Nigel smiles, not planning to say anything more, but grateful to finally have people listening to him.

INT. NYU - HALLWAY - DAY

Evan is quietly running through the lines of his upcoming audition when Riley steps out of the theater and into the hall, catching his attention. He gives her a smile and commends her on a job well done -- and how about that surprise duet, huh? That’ll definitely get people talking, won’t it? Riley’s response is soft, but pointed.

Riley: I’m sure it will. Just kind of wish I’d been in on it considering it was my audition.

Evan blinks, surprised. Is she upset? Riley shrugs, not sure how to articulate what she’s feeling. She isn’t totally sure of that herself. Evan senses he may have overstepped, so he raises his hands in surrender.

Evan: Hey, if I messed up, I’m sorry. Genuinely. I would’ve let you in on it, believe me, but even I didn’t think about doing it until you were singing. It just hit me in the moment.

Riley: What?

Evan: That it would be pretty dang memorable. That’s what matters, isn’t it? Giving them an audition to remember. I thought it would give us both a leg-up. I already knew the words, so I thought… you’re right, though, I shouldn’t have done it without asking. I’m sorry.

He’s fully sincere in his apology, and his explanation actually makes sense. Still not necessarily okay, but reasonable from an impassioned performer perspective. Riley waves off his apology, shock of it starting to wear off a bit.

Riley: No, that’s okay. I wasn’t… I think I was just surprised. I wasn’t ready for it, that’s all.

Evan: Understandably. Again, I apologize.

Riley: Let’s just hope you’re right, and the gamble pays off.

Soon enough, they’ll find out… the student assistant pokes their head into the hallway and gives Evan the same warning about being on deck to audition. He nods and starts to follow her back inside the theater.

Riley: Break a leg.

Evan: Thanks. If you want payback and need to jump in on my time, be my guest.

She giggles, allowing that to break the remaining tension for now. Evan disappears back into the theater and leaves Riley alone, standing solitary in the quiet of the hall to process. Only time will tell if a risk is worth the pay off…

INT. USC - THEATER CLASSROOM - DAY

Unless you’re Farkle, in which case, the moment is right now. Farkle is stunned to discover he’s been selected as one of the principal actors of the upcoming production of The Last Five Years, one of four chosen duos that will be cycling through performances.

The only freshman on the list, at that. NATALIA and BUZZ congratulate Farkle as they pass, Director Kaplan emerging from her office to survey the current scene. She brightens when she spots Farkle, similarly congratulating him on his strong audition and subsequent casting. She was quite impressed with his audition -- particularly as a freshman contender.

Farkle: I have an uncanny knack for setting myself apart. For better or worse.

Kaplan: In this case, I would certainly say better. But you know, it wasn’t your age that set you apart. It was your unconventional approach. Almost ten years I’ve been doing productions at USC, and only thrice in my tenure has anyone been bold enough to break out of the box of musical theater for their audition. I’ll confess, I have no idea who Gracie Abrams is, but that hardly matters. The song you chose was informed, it fit the theme of the show without being from it, and you were authentic. I felt what you were conveying, it felt real -- an absolute essential for a show like The Last Five Years.

Suffice to say, she’s very excited to work with him and see what else they can get out of him. She has no doubt he’ll be well suited to the show. The next step isn’t callbacks, but rather she’ll be gathering the chosen actors to do chemistry reads so she can pair them off properly. He should be getting an email about that sometime next week.

Farkle is evidently excited for the opportunity -- and, honestly, just for the chance to get to dive into a production again. He thanks Kaplan, assuring her he’s very enthusiastic for things to get going.

Seems like Jordan’s advice was well given… and what if he had never pulled him into Maya’s scheme to get that advice?

Zay, pre-lap: You can tell Maya I said this, but it sounds like she is on crack.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

Charlie cracks up, phone pressed to his ear. He’s sitting on the couch with his knees up and feet propped on the coffee table. His journal is in his lap, having obviously been in the middle of writing an entry when Zay called.

Zay: Like, she’s been insane, but that’s next-level of her to think she could pull all this random shit together with like, zero connections and Farkle’s pocketbook. But she just really threw herself in full throttle, huh?

Charlie: She did. That’s an accurate descriptor.

Zay: Jesus fuck. Has anyone done a mental health check on her? I know she’s always off the shits, but this might be a new level of desperation. Cry for help vibes.

Charlie: I thought it was nuts too, but then, I find most of the stuff out here in Hollywood crazy. But she seemed to know what she was doing. I was impressed by how much it all came together.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Zay flops down onto his bed, laying on his stomach. The conversation continues intercut between the two of them.

Zay: So do you think it’s going to work? Like, is she gonna stick the landing? As my inside man, you have to give me the diagnostic report.

Charlie: Honestly, I have no idea. I wouldn’t pretend to be an expert on performing stunts like this anyway… but it was pretty good from what I could see. I don’t think Maya’s an editor, so that’ll be a hurdle, but she’s picked up weirder skills in less time before.

Zay: Dude, for real. Remember when she was dying for us to do Burlesque -- not even a certified Broadway musical that was never going to happen in a high school -- because she was in her Christina phase sophomore year, so she taught herself how to do acrobatic tricks? As if that would sell Angela on it?

Charlie laughs again, shaking his head. Zay smiles, mostly because it’s just nice to hear his laugh again…

Zay: Well, if it ends up even being a fraction worthy of the hype she’s throwing on it on social media, I’m sure most of that is going to be thanks to your choreography.

Charlie: I don’t know about that. But thanks.

Zay: I’m legit dying to see it. I can’t imagine how you could choreograph for Maya Hart when your tastes are as compatible as orange juice and toothpaste.

Charlie: Yeah, it was a bit… there were creative negotiations.

Zay: You’re so diplomatic.

Charlie: But it worked out. And yeah, it was a stretch for me, but it was fun. Really fun. You know, once I reminded my limbs how to move and what dance even is and all that.

Zay: Like you could ever forget how to dance. Drama king. [ a beat ] Was it really that hard to get back into it after traveling?

Charlie: Kind of. Obviously some of it was in my head, but… I just had to find it again. Get back in touch with that part of me, whatever’s at my core.

As he says it, he smiles to himself. He’s absentmindedly scribbling with his pen, darkening the “Z” of the “Dear Zay,” written at the top of the open page.

Zay pauses, deciding if he wants to ask the question on the tip of his tongue. Ignorance is bliss, and he thinks it’s easier not knowing… and yet…

Zay: Speaking of getting back in touch… what’s the travel schedule looking like now? Any idea when you’ll be back in the city?

Charlie’s smile falters. No matter how hard he tries to be aloof, Charlie can pick up on the hope in Zay’s voice. And he knows how impatient he is -- he knows he wants clarity, a concrete plan. If it were just as simple as making him happy, Charlie would say anything.

But it’s not. Charlie can’t tell him what he wants to hear, because he doesn’t have the answer. He’s still figuring things out -- homecoming is around the corner, but how far, he doesn’t know for sure.

Charlie: [ with a timid laugh ] You know, you’d think after so many months I’d have everything all mapped out. That’s what I’m supposed to do on this thing, right? Get the whole thing set in stone. But um… I’m not sure. Yet.

Zay shouldn’t have asked. He knew he shouldn’t have. He closes his eyes and tries not to feel his disappointment. He doesn’t know what game he’s playing with himself -- he knows how things are.

And yet, somehow, it seems to hit harder each time he gets his hopes up.

Charlie, quickly: I’ve still got some stuff I wanted to see, and then I’m trying to figure out how exactly I even want to make the trip back. So you know, lots of logistical things, but --

Zay: No, no, yeah. Totally. Makes sense.

Charlie can tell that isn’t what he wanted to hear. He wishes he had the right thing to say; that some of the things he wants to say were easier to articulate. That he wasn’t so certain they shouldn’t be said until he’s back and can look him in the eyes.

Charlie: I’m excited, though, to come back. I can’t wait to see you, tell you everything.

Zay: [ with a weak smile ] Yeah. Yeah, same.

The mood has effectively been dampened, so Zay says he should probably go. Unfortunately, he has to go torture himself dancing with a partner who can’t stand him and hope they don’t tank each other’s prospects.

Charlie: Well, if they’re mad about getting to dance with you, they don’t know what they’ve got.

It’s the stuff like this… nice as it is, it almost makes it all ache more. Zay manages a thanks and says he’ll tell him about it later, provided he survives it.

They say goodbye and hang up, Zay staring at his phone for a moment afterwards to process. He’s glad they talked -- it was so good to hear his voice -- but he honestly can’t say if he feels better than before. In some ways, it all feels worse. Like things are good, the two of them are good. It was so natural to talk… so why does it still feel wrong? When is it ever going to feel right? And can he stomach waiting for it to be?

What is he even waiting for, really… and is it even worth it?

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

Charlie is also looking at his phone after, seeming similarly conflicted. He isn’t sure he said the right things; he knows he should’ve said more. But if he can’t even handle casual conversations with the distance between them, how is he supposed to risk saying anything of substance?

He tilts his head back against the couch, letting his phone fall flat to rest on his torso.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

Eric returns back from Adams, late on a Friday like usual after a busy week… and immediately he notices changes. The living room has been tidied up; a set of flowers is decorating the coffee table. The coat rack is already occupied, Jack’s favorite suit jacket hanging where Eric put it before. There’s noise coming from the kitchen, and the lights are on in the dining room.

And it smells good. Eric cautiously heads towards the noise, curiosity piqued.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - DINING ROOM - NIGHT

The table has been set for two, a simple but clean place setting at both the head of the table and the seat catty-cornered to the left of it. More flowers are in here, too, placed in a vase at the center of the dining table. Eric knows he sure didn’t do all this before he left this morning… and he doesn’t recognize the dishware on the table. It’s not from his boxes.

When he turns to face the kitchen, Jack appears in the doorway at the same moment. The two of them lock eyes, not saying anything for a few seconds… then Jack offers a sheepish smile, holding up the spoon in his hand.

Jack: Dinner’s almost ready. Made your favorite.

Eric: … I could eat. [ a beat ] I hope you’re ready to talk. Because we need to talk.

Jack nods, holding up a finger. One second. He disappears back into the kitchen to put things on simmer, then reenters the dining room, gesturing for them to sit. He pulls out Eric’s chair for him at the head, then goes to sit in the left-hand chair, pulling it closer to the corner of the table so there’s less space between them.

He lightly holds up one of the plates.

Jack: What do you think of these?

Interesting opener. Not quite what Eric was hoping to discuss, but he’ll bite. He examines it -- faux-ceramic style with a pretty paint-like coloring along the outer edge -- and offers a shrug.

Eric: It’s nice. I like the green.

Jack: Good. Good, because I bought them for us. They’re plates for this house. They’re ours.

Ours, shared. Eric waits patiently for more, Jack delicately placing the plate back down. Then he meets Eric’s eyes, voice soft with sincerity.

Jack: I’m sorry for the way I acted yesterday. It was completely out of line, and I should not have spoken to you like that.

Eric: Agreed.

Jack: And listen, if it happens again, you have every right to walk right out. Don’t let me lash out. I’ve seen -- I know what a partnership like that looks like, okay? I watched my mom and dad for enough years before they divorced to know what we shouldn’t be. And I don’t think I am, or that we will be, but don’t ever think you have to settle for that.

Eric, gently: I’m not concerned about that, Jack.

Well… that’s reassuring. Jack offers a timid smile. What Eric is concerned about, though, is the why… Jack nods, pausing to collect his thoughts. He takes a deep breath, then after a moment, he scoffs a laugh.

Jack: You know… we spend so much time talking to the kids, telling them how to do things. How to process shit, handle their conflicts… I lecture Lucas all the time about his problems, but it’s like I forget I’ve got my own. Think I could do with a bit of taking my own advice sometime.

Eric: They think you turn 30 and have it all figured out. And since we’re absolutely ancient, we must know all.

Jack: I wish. But alas… [ shaking his head ] I know I’ve been acting weird about stuff. The mixing things together, our lives becoming so intertwined. And the thing is, I want that. I know it’s what comes with the territory, that’s why I wanted to share territory in the first place. I want that with you, Eric. I do.

Eric smiles, not interrupting. Jack searches for the right words.

Jack: So my logical brain, it gets all that. It’s ready for it. But emotionally… so much of my life has been independent. Fiercely independent. With my parents the way they were, dad gone all the time and mom a bit of an… eccentric, I had to figure all that shit out real quick. My rise or fall, anything I wanted or anything I accomplished, it all came down to me. And I did it, okay, I made it work. I got really damn good at being independent… maybe a little too good. I’m out of that situation, but sometimes, it’s like deep down I’m still that scruffy kid trying to claw my way out of the trailer park.

He’s had to go it alone for so long, entirely on his own, that the idea of melding his life with someone else’s spooked him in a way he wasn’t anticipating. It’s odd, redefining your own narrative, and he just had to reflect and remind himself that sharing himself that way, having other people see him as part of a set rather than a standalone figure, isn’t necessarily a dangerous thing.

So he just had to figure that out. But he’s sorry that Eric had to get caught in the middle in the process -- he hopes he didn’t feel like he had to take Isa up on their alimony support in the meantime. Eric laughs, shaking his head.

Eric: I had faith you’d come around. Know you too well not to. But thank you for apologizing, and for telling me that.

Jack nods, taking Eric’s hand on the tabletop.

Jack: Thank you for knowing me. [ a beat ] And I will always talk to you about things. Whenever something goes awry, or shit gets complicated, I want us to be able to sit down in our home and talk it out.

Eric agrees -- that’s what they’d tell the kids to do, anyway. But they’re right. They’re grown adults, and as any mature adult knows, the best way to confront an unideal situation is to talk things out. Open, honest, authentic. Better that than let it fester, doing nothing about it.

Jack: You ready for pasta, then?

Eric: Oh, I am always ready for pasta.

They laugh, Jack leaning forward to give Eric a kiss and then getting up eagerly to get dinner. The camera pans away from the dining room… to the staircase, where we find Isa is sitting, having overheard most of the conversation. The men likely don’t realize they’re there, but they are, and the things Jack and Eric said about communication and honesty seems to have hit them. Their eyes are glossy, but even so, there’s a subtle determination in their expression.

Suddenly, they know what they have to do.

INT. USC - EDITING SUITE - NIGHT

Amidst other USC film students, Maya sticks out like a theatrical, glamorous sore thumb. She only blends in because of the darkness of the editing room and because for now, Jordan is with her, having let her in to put together the basic building blocks of her music video and teach her how to use the software.

Now, though, he’s got to go, so the rest is on her. She asks if she’ll be able to stay here on her own, and he waves off the concern.

Jordan: Between us, the check-in and check-out system they have here is mainly for show -- so long as they can hang onto your ID while you’re here, it’s whatever. And I’m pals with the attendant right now, so I’ll slide her a bill or two. She’ll look the other way.

Works for Maya! Jordan lets her continue to borrow his production headset too, commenting that she can have Farkle pass them off on Monday. She thanks him profusely for all his help -- he’s been a lifesaver.

Jordan: My pleasure. It was fun. You’ve got talent, Maya. I look forward to seeing where it takes you. [ with a shrug ] As for the labor, we can just say Farkle owes me one.

He doesn’t sound displeased with that, either… the two of them exchange goodbyes and Jordan leaves Maya alone. Before she gets back to work, she takes a mental break to check her phone. Too eager to wait, she preps a text to mass send to a bunch of her close friends, giving them the heads up about the drop to come. She starts listing out all the obvious recipients -- her mother, of course; Zay; Riley; Yindra; Darby.

Isa. She writes the name instinctively, only second-guessing a moment later when her brain catches up to her fingers. She stares at it, uncertain. It could be a good way to break the ice… but as far as she can tell, Isa doesn’t want the ice broken. The wall has frozen solid between them, and there’s no desire from their end to thaw it out. There’s hardly a point in trying to cross a burnt bridge -- no matter how much you may miss what’s on the other side.

No doom and gloom. Not on the cusp of something as epic as this. Maya deletes Isa’s name and puts her phone back in her pocket, slipping on Jordan’s headset and getting back to work.

She wants it to be perfect, so she’s in for a long night.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - NIGHT

Farkle owes one to Charlie, too -- which he’s achieving not with a payout but seemingly by buying him dinner. They’re making a night in of it, both dressed in comfortable clothes and all pretensions of coolness lowered (not that there was much to begin with). Farkle must have chosen the music, because Glee is playing on his bluetooth speaker. They’re drinking wine coolers. It’s a bona fide queer theater kid sleepover in here.

Farkle accepts takeout from the delivery boy and then comes to join Charlie in the living area, placing the food on the coffee table. Charlie beams and sits up from his spot on the couch, helping him unload it all so they can dig in.

Farkle: Sorry there’s no big paycheck. This is the best I have to offer.

Charlie: [ with a laugh ] This is fine, seriously. You know I love a carb.

Farkle: Yeah… demon.

Charlie grins wider. As they start to divvy out food for themselves, they chat about the week, Charlie starting by congratulating Farkle for making the cast of the musical. That’s exciting! Farkle hums and nods, finishing chewing the food he just put in his mouth before speaking.

Farkle: Thanks. It’s gonna be interesting, since I’m pretty sure I was the only freshman cast, but it should be good. We’re doing like, a rotating cast of duos for The Last Five Years, and they’re doing a bunch of unconventional interpretations and twists on the combinations -- you know, like acknowledging gay people exist, for example.

Charlie: Whoa, whoa, whoa. They do?

Farkle: I know, I’m blowing your Catholic golden boy mind right now. But yeah, the rendition I’m a part of is about examining gender roles and turning certain tropes on their head, so I’m going to be taking on the Cathy role. I’m grateful for that, honestly -- Jamie has some incredible songs, and I relate to the Jewish disaster thing, but God he’s an asshole.

To think he could’ve turned out like that… frightening. But no, instead he became a more tolerable but unhinged little freak. Charlie raises his drink in mock cheers.

Charlie: Freaks flock.

Hear, hear! Both of them take a drink, then shift conversation to the spectacle that was Maya’s project. They’re definitely curious to see how that turns out as a final product… Farkle commends Charlie on his choreography. It elevated the performance for sure.

Charlie: Thanks. It was a bit out of my wheelhouse, but it was fun. Though to be candid, I don’t think I could ever be in Maya’s wheelhouse.

Farkle: Well, you made her look good, which is the most important bar to clear. I know she acts like she disdains you, but she doesn’t. And she definitely thinks highly of your dancing ability -- she wouldn’t have asked you in the first place if she didn’t.

Charlie: Yeah… yeah, it was nice to get back to it. Think I kind of needed the nudge.

Farkle: Or violent Maya shove, however you wanna phrase it.

Charlie points out that much of whether it’ll look good will come down to Jordan, so it’s a good thing he seemed to know his stuff. He was professional, and had a lot of great ideas. Not to mention he dealt with Maya impressively well for a newbie. Farkle nods along.

Farkle: I agree. I was worried about the… Maya of it all, but they seemed to mesh well. Miraculous, but so was him joining the project in the first place. When I asked him earlier in the week, I never thought he’d say yes. I was just desperate.

Charlie: It’s really nice that he decided to help.

Farkle: Yeah.

Charlie: Not surprising, though, since he’s obviously into you.

Charlie tosses off that observation so casually, like duh, but Farkle does not react casually. He nearly chokes on his food, staring at Charlie in bewilderment. He must’ve misheard him.

Farkle: I’m sorry, what?

Charlie meets his eyes, clocking his confusion… and then he breaks into a smile.

Charlie: Farkle. Come on.

Farkle: Don’t patronize me, Chuck. Don’t look at me like that.

Charlie: You’re joking. You had to have picked up on it. You had to have known.

Farkle, frazzled: Um, no, I absolutely did not have to know. I don’t know! You think that Jordan Nelson -- no, no. You’re wrong.

Charlie: I’d bet money I’m not.

Farkle: You’re unhinged. You want to take some of my mood stabilizers? Or are you still an easy drunk -- is half a wine cooler too much?

Charlie scoffs a laugh. He doesn’t get why Farkle is being so defensive about this -- why such strong denial? The signs are all there. Farkle remains doubtful, so Charlie begins to list them out, starting from when he first saw Jordan chase Farkle out of class a month ago to how he acted towards him at the shoot yesterday. Farkle is in disbelief to start, but the more Charlie lays out, the more uncertain he grows.

Charlie: He called you over to look at the camera angles like, ten times. He’s a sophomore production student and a reputable director -- you think he really needs your layman opinion on how the cameras are set up? [ leaning forward ] Or is it just a convenient way to put your faces really close? It’s the film student equivalent of teaching you how to bowl.

As a certified hopeless romantic, Charlie would know. The truth of his points sink in, Farkle finding no arguments to refute them. Jordan might actually be into him.

But rather than excitement, Farkle erupts into anguish.

Farkle: This is terrible!

Charlie frowns, totally lost. Not the reaction one would expect. Farkle restlessly gets out of the armchair and starts to pace, Charlie questioning what the heck is the matter. Someone has a crush on him. Shouldn’t that be good news?

Farkle: No. No it isn’t.

Charlie: … is it about Jordan? Do you not like him?

Farkle: No. No, it’s not him. He’s…

Farkle trails off, contemplating the question for the first time. Does he like him? He’s still getting to know him, and he’s intense, but intense has never turned him away before. Takes one to know one. That could explain the wah of it all… but God, now he has to contemplate it all!

Farkle: He’s not the problem. I’m the problem.

Charlie: Why?

Farkle: Um, because I’m an insane little freak? Did we not just cover that? I don’t know how to… have flirtations with people. I’ve never had a serious relationship. Hell, I’ve never had a relationship, period. I have enough of a trial maintaining my friendships, and even then, I end up ruining all of them eventually. It’s in my programming to blow it all up. And what would he want with me, anyway? Has he met me?

Charlie: Well, hey…

Farkle: I’m not cool. I’m not cute. I’m barely sane, and I have nothing to offer him. Like, what am I supposed to do if he like -- oh my God, what if he wanted to kiss me? I’ve never kissed anyone. That word doesn’t even sound real to me -- kiss -- like that’s a fake word!

Charlie: No credit to Riley then…

Farkle: That’s a stage kiss, it doesn’t count. Everything in my life is like that -- staged. I have nothing to go on otherwise. Never been kissed. Never had a partner. God, I’ve never even held hands with someone!

Charlie: Farkle.

Farkle: I can’t even control my hands! Did you know that? They act with a mind of their own, they -- [ exaggeratedly demonstrating ] FLEX!

Charlie: Farkle!

Charlie gets to his feet, coming to stand in front of Farkle and stopping his frantic pacing. He grabs his shoulders, then his face, making him look at him. He holds eye contact for a second, giving him a nod of affirmation -- then pulls him in, giving him a brief but intentional kiss.

That’s certainly enough to get him to shut up. Farkle freezes and accepts it, sort of half returning it once his brain catches up and realizes Charlie Gardner is actually kissing him. When Charlie pulls back, Farkle stays still and quiet, blinking a couple of times like he has to mentally reboot.

Charlie holds out his arms, offering a smile.

Charlie: Now you’ve had a kiss. Was that so bad?

Farkle: … [ mumbling ] No, no, I guess not, no…

Charlie’s smile widens, amused. Farkle crosses his arms and scratches his ear, still processing.

Farkle: You’re, um, pretty good at that.

Charlie, proudly: [ with a nod and a smirk ] It’s not my first one.

Good for you, king. Look how far they’ve come… Charlie sighs, speaking more matter-of-factly.

Charlie: Look, if I’ve learned… anything in the last couple years, it’s that every experience is what you make of it. If you get in your head about things -- and trust me, I have plenty of skill with that -- then you’ll get trapped there. That’s not to say that you have to… go wild, but the fear isn’t worth holding yourself back. The unknown is scary, but the best stuff of your life might be what’s waiting on the other side. And even if it’s not, a little extra experience isn’t a bad thing either. Things are only a big deal if you want them to be, if you decide they’re important. Otherwise, it’s just… practice, fun, whatever you want to make of it. The only person who gets to decide what matters at the end of the day is you.

Wise words, and applicable to much more than just relationships. And a true display of growth for Charlie, who definitely could’ve afforded to hear that for himself just as recently as last year.

Farkle absorbs that, taking it seriously. He nods a thanks, still not sure what he’s going to do about Jordan but not feeling quite so panicked about it anymore. In fact, the kiss seems to have fried his brain from any and all fear responses for the time being -- and based on how he keeps glancing at Charlie’s lips, he’s stuck on a totally different mental train. He taps his fingers on his forearms, going for casual.

Farkle: So, um… if things are just… you know, casual or practice or what have you… [ clearing his throat ] Might be good to get a little more practice in. For preparedness, you know.

Charlie, tickled: … are you trying to kiss me again?

Farkle: I just think I really need the practice --

Farkle takes the initiative this time, stepping closer and pulling Charlie into another kiss. Charlie half-laughs through it, something inherently and undeniably ridiculous about the situation, but he doesn’t shy away from it.

It must be so nice for Farkle to get this out of his system after years of repression and bitingly calling Charlie a sexy Catholic. Enjoy practice, lads!

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

Finally having managed to come together to do a full run-through, Vanessa and Zay are just about ready to try it at full speed. Vanessa is putting on her character shoes while Zay paces, absentmindedly talking through the steps to himself as he reviews the choreo sheets. He’s half thinking out loud, reasoning about the prospects of their project and how it’s coming together. He figures so long as they pull it off seamlessly, and bring their usual level of stage presence, they’ll still come out on top.

Zay: Hopefully, enduring this test should save me a little face from sitting out during endurance.

Vanessa: [ after a beat ] I still can’t believe you did that.

Zay, defensive: I know, I know. Arrogant and entitled of me to sit out a class. You can save the usual rant.

Vanessa: That’s not what I meant. [ softer ] Sort of the opposite, actually.

Now that genuinely surprises Zay. He stops pacing, turning to look at her. She glances up at him, then averts her gaze back to the floor, intently focused on buckling her shoe.

Vanessa: It kind of impressed me. Choosing to sit out.

Zay: I wouldn’t have chosen to if I could’ve.

Vanessa: But you did. Even when you didn’t want to. [ a beat ] I know I don’t know you, and I don’t know what happened to you. The injury, or whatever. I just know that… if something like that happened to me, if I couldn’t dance… I think it’d break me. And if I had to make the same choice… [ swallowing her pride ] I don’t think I would do it. What you did. I don’t think I could.

Vanessa keeps her head down even though her shoes are ready to go. And good thing, because that gives Zay all the room in the world to gape at her. He’s at a loss for what to say, no snarky return or defensive comeback ready on his tongue because she didn’t do anything to invite it. For once, the walls are down, a strange, fragile authenticity resting between them. It’s like he’s actually seeing her for the first time -- just another dancer who lives for the art, terrified of messing it up or never reaching the heights she wants to reach. So dedicated that sometimes, she doesn’t know where to draw the line -- and willing to take down anything that gets in the way.

It’s surreal, seeing someone for their full humanity after so long of reducing them to a caricature… thankfully, they have a convenient escape from the heaviness. They’ve got a number to rehearse. Zay suggests they get going on it, as it’s already late and they want to be able to bounce back for another rehearsal this weekend before performing on Monday.

Vanessa nods, and Zay extends the temporary truce further by walking over and offering her a hand to pull her to her feet. After a moment of trained hesitation, she accepts it.

Nothing left to do but dance. Zay goes to cue up the music, Vanessa standing at the center of the room and waiting for Zay to come back and join her face-to-face.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Sway” as performed by The Pussycat Dolls || Instrumental

A classic cha-cha romp if there ever was one, Zay and Vanessa have chosen a great track for their assignment. Can always count on PCD to deliver. Their rendition is dynamic, dramatic, and sultry -- just like Zay and Vanessa’s choreography. As it turns out, their trick of breaking the number up and threading their pieces together works well, both of their sensibilities shining through.

That only works, though, because the other is competent enough to pull it off… and damn, are they competent. It was no secret they were some of the fiercest competition in the transfer cohort, but it’s bold, highlighted, and underlined when you pair them up. Their steps are sharp, their movements fluid, and it must be said, they look good together. Whatever sparks are always threatening to catch fire between them when they’re beefing, it brings the captivating factor up to eleven when they dance.

Even more so when they’re showing off their skill. When the transition build comes about a minute and a half in, they hit every single move perfectly… and then nail the dip. Vanessa trusts Zay and falls into it, making the transition seamless, and then they flow into the latter half with ease. They do the spin lift into the faster dance break without missing a beat -- Vanessa doesn’t get dizzy this time around.

In the second half, they inevitably drift closer, by virtue of the cha-cha choreography and a natural pull into the rhythm of the routine. Just before three minutes, when Nicole Scherzinger is singing those breathy “sway me” lines, they’re doing just that, slowing their tempo and flowing with the music. Zay’s flush up against her, breath warm against her neck…

And then they’re moving again, stepping through a couple more quick combos and poses as the number rounds out. They finish it off by Zay spinning Vanessa back towards him, this crash into each other much more elegant than their tumble in the first week of class. The song peters out and they stay in position, basically nose to nose, breathing hard after a strong performance. Time to break away…

Vanessa does the opposite. Without thinking, she leans in and kisses him.

It seems to catch both of them by surprise. Vanessa pulls away quickly, meeting his eyes only out of sheer embarrassment. Zay just stares at her, not giving anything away.

Of all the stupid things. Talk about making yourself vulnerable! Vanessa can’t even speak to apologize, backing off and starting to step away from him --

But Zay keeps his hold on her arm, stepping after her and pulling her back in his direction. She spins just in time, colliding with him and into another kiss. This one is much deeper than the last, inviting more, and Vanessa reciprocates, placing her hands on his hips and pulling him closer.

Hold me close, sway me more…

INT. BEAMON HOME - LIVING ROOM - DAY

The next morning, Jade is sitting on her couch and trying to act casual while she waits for her family to roll out for the soccer match. They’re taking their sweet time, Trevor and Elliot bickering about something inane while mom and dad usher them towards the car.

Jade: [ under her breath ] Come on, come on…

She has her phone ready, waiting to send the all-clear text to Nigel. She hasn’t heard from him since yesterday, and it’s starting to unnerve her. She can’t fix things if she’s not given the chance to…

She jumps slightly when her phone starts buzzing, but it’s not Nigel calling. It’s an unfamiliar number, but the phone’s memory based on texts and previous calls is able to offer a guess.

Maybe: Anya

Jade stares at the screen, not sure whether to believe it… then she accepts the call. It is in fact Anya, and she greets her brightly when she answers.

Anya: Sorry to call you on the weekend. I know you’re off the clock.

Jade: Oh, no, that’s… no problem. What’s up?

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - ANYA’S OFFICE - DAY

Anya has the phone pressed between her shoulder and ear as she goes through a rack of clothes that have just been delivered. They’re ballroom-style gowns, absolutely gorgeous even still in their protective wraps.

Anya: What are you doing this morning? We just got a delivery in of the dresses for the gala, and they are vicious. Thought you might want to come take a look at them before they get picked up tomorrow.

OMG, does she… but no. She can’t. Jade doesn’t want to let down Nigel again, no matter how exciting the prospect might be. She tentatively declines.

Jade: That sounds amazing, and I would definitely like opportunities like that in the future if possible. But I actually have plans today.

Which is valid, because it’s Saturday. Anya doesn’t necessarily seem pleased by the rejection, but not especially bothered either. She assures her no biggie, and that she’ll catch her on Monday.

Anya: By the way, was super great having you at the mixer. Made it infinitely more bearable.

Jade: That’s so nice. Thanks. I mean, thank you for even letting me come.

Anya: Course. It’s good to know I have an apprentice I can actually rely on.

Jade can’t believe how well things seem to be working out. She thanks Anya again.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - ISA’S BEDROOM - DAY

Isa is pacing the floor nervously, sweatshirt sleeves pulled over their hands so they can’t chew their fingernails. Their laptop is open on the desktop by the window, waiting for them. Their voice is uncharacteristically shaky.

Isa: Okay… here we go. [ with an exhale ] I can do this.

Isa marches to the desk and settles down into the chair. They hesitate for a moment longer, then steel their resolve, going to their video calling app and clicking on a certain name.

The time it takes to ring is excruciating. Isa almost chickens out, mouse hovering over the end call button… but Chai answers soon enough, more put together than Isa since her day is already well into the afternoon.

Chai: Hi.

Isa: Hey. [ a beat ] Thanks for letting me call on short notice. Especially after… how we ended things last time.

Chai: Sure. That’s kind of how couples are supposed to be, I think.

Right. Chai settles onto her bed, asking what’s up, though her attention seems pretty non-committal. That changes when Isa braves speaking again, though.

Isa: I, um… I wanted to talk about stuff. Between you and me.

Now they’ve got Chai’s attention. Her expression grows more serious.

Chai: Yeah? Is something wrong?

Isa: I… don’t really know. Exactly. I kind of was hoping to ask you that.

Chai, uncertain: … but you never want to talk about stuff.

Isa: [ with a nod ] I know. And I know that’s frustrating, so I’m sorry about that. But I think… I don’t think not talking about it is doing what I think it is. If you’re not happy, or something isn’t working, then it’s only fair we should discuss it. That’s what mature adults would do.

Chai: You’ve met better adults than me, I guess.

Isa scoffs a laugh, allowing that to pierce the tension just a bit.

Isa: So… are you? Happy? With us.

Chai: Are you?

Huh. Wasn’t expecting that self-reflection required so fast. Isa pauses to seriously contemplate the question, wanting to give Chai an honest conversation to the best of their ability.

Isa: I’m not… not happy. I like talking to you.

Chai: But is that happy? Is that a relationship?

It’s certainly a relationship of some sort… but maybe not a couple. Not the kind of relationship Chai maybe wants. Still, she’s patient, letting Isa think through it for themself.

Isa: I don’t know. I guess that depends on what you want from it. [ timid ] I think… what we have is comfortable. It’s safe. It’s easy. I like that it doesn’t have to change everything… but maybe easy isn’t always right.

Chai offers a weak smile, not disagreeing. Isa turns it back to her, inviting her the chance to reflect too. They may not be the most perceptive partner, but they definitely noticed she’d been distant lately. Their conversations have been a bit one-sided, but Isa doesn’t think that’s just their fault for talking about the same old things. Chai grows more shy, but nods.

Isa: Are you mad at me?

Chai: No. No, Isa, I’m not. Part of it is just… [ shaking her head ] I mean, there’s distance, obviously, like physically, but also…

She’s obviously nervous. Isa tries to be the steady one, waiting for her to look at the camera again.

Isa: Listen. You can tell me whatever it is. I promise, I can take it -- I’ve been through worse shit than a difficult convo.

Okay, true. Chai laughs a bit at that, still anxious, but she takes a deep breath and tries to find the words.

Chai: It’s the stupidest thing but… ever since… [ with a sigh ] this is going to sound so, so shitty. Like, I hate how it sounds. I don’t mean anything bad by it, or towards you, I swear --

Isa: Trust me, I could believe I’ve warranted some bad commentary. I know I’m not the best partner, like I said…

Chai: No, it’s not that. You’re fine. It’s… [ clearing her throat ] Ever since you told me you’re nonbinary, it’s felt… different. I feel different.

Isa: Oh.

Chai: And I don’t mean that in a bad way. Like, you’re still you. And all the things I really like about spending time with you, and talking with you, all of that is still true. Nothing about that has changed. But it’s just like, I don’t know, with that knowledge it’s like my brain is like…

She shakes her head, getting a little choked up. For a moment, they’re quiet.

Isa: It’s okay.

Chai: No, it isn’t. It doesn’t feel like it. I don’t want you to think things changed because you’re not a girl, or --

Isa: Chai, seriously. That’s okay. I do not pretend to understand a fucking thing about sexuality, since I barely get my own, but like… [ with a shrug ] You’re a lesbian. You like women. I no longer identify as a woman. I know that doesn’t change things for some people, but… sometimes it does.

Besides, that was far from the only thing creating distance in their relationship. Both of them know that. Isa sucks at communicating; it’s hard to feel connected when they’re so far apart. And now there’s nothing to talk about without the common world of Adams. Isa claims it sucks, but Chai questions if it really feels like such a loss. Aside from the friendly aspects of their dynamic…

Chai: My stuff was somewhat related to gender politics, but I mean… be honest, Isa. Have you really felt anything towards me since I left? You know, in that way, beyond friendly affection. Have you sat up for hours thinking about me, felt your heart race at my voice, daydreamed about the next time you’d see me?

Asking the tough questions now… and Isa knows the answer. They know the answer is no, but even more chilling, they realize that there’s a twist underneath it. They haven’t felt that way about Chai in weeks, no… but they have felt that way about someone else. Someone they’ve spent an inordinate amount of time pushing away and avoiding because of those very things.

Isa’s silence speaks for them. Chai nods, as she already figured, but she doesn’t seem angry. The tears in her eyes -- in both of their eyes, actually -- are more bittersweet than hurt. It’s a relief to have this conversation, to face the truth as it is and get these things off their chest, but it’s sad. It’s always sad when the winds of change blow, and you know things will never be the same after.

Chai takes a deep breath, letting it out in a huff.

Chai: So. I guess that’s kind of that, then.

Isa: Yeah… [ a beat ] Just to clarify, we’re… breaking up, right? That’s what this is?

Chai laughs, fond smile on her face. She nods.

Chai: Yeah. It’s a break up.

Isa: Cool. Got it.

Chai: And if anyone asks, it was mutual. So you don’t have to tell people you were dumped by Confessions Page Chai.

Isa manages a smile, shaking their head. They just look at each other for a moment longer.

Chai: Love you, Isa. Thanks for starting this conversation.

Isa: [ with a nod ] Love you, too. And I hope you’ll save another convo for me when you’re back for the holidays.

Chai: It’s a date. Just… not.

Ha ha, jokes… Chai exhales a laugh and then swipes at her eyes, claiming she has to get ready for her evening class. Isa lets her go, the two of them exchanging thanks again for being brave enough to talk things out. It feels lighter now. Better.

EXT. USC - CAMPUS - DAY

Charlie has chosen a new venue for a change of scenery, using his basic boy camouflage to spend the early morning at University Park. He’s enjoying getting to savor the beautiful L.A. weather, but his true upbeat mood comes from the fact that he’s in the midst of video-calling his family.

ROSIE GARDNER is on the other end of the line, walking him around the house as they chat. She’s upstairs at the moment -- presumably having been in her room -- and she stops by another room to yell at DAISY GARDNER.

Rosie: Charlie’s calling. Do you want to talk to him?

Daisy: [ with a shrug ] What do I have to say to him?

Charlie: Wow, okay. I’m so missed, I see.

Rosie: That’s just Daisy. She’s gotten even more teenager-glib in your absence.

Charlie: As a wee teen yourself, I’m not sure you can be the judge of that…

Rosie: Oh my gosh, I’m literally fifteen.

Yeah, exactly his point… Charlie grins. Despite her dismissal, Daisy gets up to follow Rosie as she continues their journey through the house. They find AMBROSE GARDNER in the living area, in his usual armchair reading on the iPad. He smiles when Rosie leans over the back of the chair to let him say hi.

Rosie: We’re saying hi to Charlie, because Daisy wouldn’t even do that.

Daisy, off-screen: Shu -- stop. That’s not even what I meant.

Ambrose: [ fondly amused, playing along ] Hi, Charlie.

Charlie smiles wider.

Charlie: Hi, dad.

Rosie pulls away and is on the move again, entering the kitchen and grabbing an apple from the bowl on the counter. She takes a big bite even as she continues to talk to him.

Rosie: I mean, I think that’s basically it. I don’t know what else you want me to show you. Your bookshelves? The balcony? [ lowering her voice mischievously ] Your liquor cabinet?

Charlie: Okay, that’s…

Rosie: Shh… do you hear that? That tiny, helpless voice… [ mockingly ] “We miss you, Charlie! Come back to me!” Is that the books, or the vodka?

Charlie shushes her on instinct even though she’s already whispering, shaking his head. He truly is never gonna live that down. He aims to shift topics, thinking she’s left out a pretty obvious visit.

Charlie: Is mom there?

Rosie pauses.

Rosie: Um, no. She had a thing with the church ladies, so she’s there right now.

Charlie: Oh.

Rosie: I told her that you were gonna call, but I guess the church stuff was just really important. I’m sure she’ll be here next time.

Charlie: Yeah. Of course. [ a beat ] Um, well, tell her I miss her. I miss all of you.

Rosie: I will. But you know what the solution to that is, don’t you? [ putting the camera super close to her face ] Come home!

Charlie laughs. From off-screen, Daisy scrambles back into the room, instructing Rosie that there’s still one more person to say goodbye. Rosie’s eyes brighten, and then the camera is rotating out of selfie mode -- to show Daisy cradling Skippy in her arms like a baby.

Charlie lets out a pathetic little noise -- you know, the “I miss my pet” whine -- while Rosie gets closer so the camera is right in Skippy’s face.

Charlie: Hi, boy! Hi, Skip.

Daisy: He’s like, “who is that?”

Charlie: No!

Daisy: Yeah.

Rosie: Skippy and I are best friends now. You’ve been usurped. The era of Charlie is over; it’s Rosie’s turn.

Charlie: Skippy would never betray me like that. You’ll see. He’s loyal. Right, Skip?

Rosie: Guess there’s only one way to prove it…

The camera flips back to selfie mode, showing Rosie and Daisy together.

Rosie/Daisy: COME HOME!

It’s like a Greek chorus around here. Charlie waves them off and promises he’ll see them soon. Still vague, but time will fly by. So it’s goodbye for now, Rosie and Daisy saying adieu and Daisy making Skippy wave his paw.

As good as it was to see them again, the fact that Eleanor wasn’t there lingers with Charlie after he hangs up. He shouldn’t overthink it -- his mom has always put the church first, and she’ll see him before they know it -- but something about it still sets him on edge in a way he can’t articulate.

Time to distract himself. He pulls up his messages and clicks into his thread with Zay, searching for something to say just to get the conversation going again. Even if it’s imperfect right now, talking to him is always a salve.

“Morning! Hope your rehearsal went okay -- you’re still alive, right?”

INT. JOHNSON HOME - DAY

The text goes unread for now, Zay’s phone buried in his duffle somewhere. He’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday, quietly stepping around Vanessa’s home. Even more caution required, since it’s so unfamiliar.

He doesn’t get away with his smooth escape, though. Just as he’s slinging his bag over his shoulder, Vanessa speaks.

Vanessa: Sneaking out without saying goodbye?

Zay hesitates, then turns to look at her. She’s leaning in her doorframe, hair tangled and wearing an oversized sweatshirt. She crosses her arms.

Vanessa: Kind of arrogant. Though I admit, I didn’t take you for a walk of shame type…

The barbs are still up and tension remains well intact between them… but it’s different now. It carries a different edge -- a little less serrated, a little more familiar. Whether they prefer it that way remains to be seen. A long way off.

Zay: I don’t do shame. I’d say don’t project on me, but I know if you’ve been with me, shame isn’t what you’ve been feeling. [ a beat ] See, now that was arrogant.

Vanessa’s ice cracks slightly, the faintest of smiles piercing her armor. Then she shifts to aloof, shrugging.

Vanessa: It wasn’t bad. Surprisingly.

Zay: Same to you. Could work with it.

Vanessa: But this was a one-time thing. It’s not… this isn’t a thing. I want that clear.

Zay: Agreed. It’s cute that you even thought you needed to say so.

Well… the way you keep looking at each other, with the loaded eye contact, think she’s got reason, Zay! But that’s it. They got that out of their system, whatever it was, so now it’s back to the grind. Zay is competition; nothing more. Vanessa is enemy number one; it was nice to be close to someone like that with all of the… things he’s been feeling lately, but that’s all it is.

So come Monday, the dance better be flawless.

Vanessa: Be there an hour before so we can run through it again. [ holding his gaze ] Don’t chicken out.

For multiple reasons. Zay doesn’t flinch.

Zay: Keep dreaming. [ just a hint softer ] See you Monday.

It’s certain they will, yes. A welcome predictably, concrete plans he can rely on… Zay makes his exit, Vanessa watching him go.

INT. CHUBBIES - DAY

Lucas is back behind the counter in his Chubbies uniform, and weirdly, there’s a strange kind of solace to being back. It might be a schlubby shack of a diner, but the people are familiar and the vibes are good. At least here, he knows he belongs.

JOE reminds him as much with his blunt welcome back, slinging a washcloth over Lucas’s shoulder and telling him table eight needs bussing before he finishes up his shift. Get to it! He does ask how the time at NYU went, feigning curiosity, and Lucas shrugs.

Lucas: Collegiate. [ off Joe’s scoff ] Nah, it was all right. Riley fits in great. I just don’t know if…

He doesn’t finish the sentiment. It feels dangerous to say it -- he doesn’t know if he belongs there? He doesn’t know if he can share the same world as his girlfriend, the most important person in his life? He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to hack it at college at all?

All the above stays unspoken, yet somehow, Joe gets the gist. In a rare moment of softness, he gives Lucas a bracing pat on the shoulder, waiting for him to meet his eyes.

Joe: You’ll be gold, kid.

Lucas absorbs that. Unspecific as it might be, it hits as intended, especially coming from gruff manager Joe. Lucas smiles lightly, nodding.

And with that, back to work. Lucas heads over to table eight and clears it, focused on that as Riley pushes her way through the door. She scans the diner for him and finds him soon enough, a natural grin blossoming on her face. It’s obvious, from the way she looks at him -- even when he’s not paying any attention -- that all of the insecurities Lucas may have don’t even register in her mind. Whether walking the intellectual grounds of campus or cleaning up grease, she sees him the same.

There’s no world she can envision where he doesn’t fit in, where he doesn’t shine. No possible world where he doesn’t belong with her.

Once she’s gotten her fill of the view, she approaches and greets him, exchanging a quick kiss. She asks if he’s ready to go, because apparently they’ve got an important place to be this afternoon. Lucas nods, finishing up with the table and jogging to the back room to remove his apron.

Then they head out together, Lucas accepting her held out hand and letting her lead the way.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

Farkle and Maya are seated at the table having breakfast, finally enjoying a restful morning now that the hardest tasks have been completed. Charlie returns from USC and they both greet him -- well, Farkle greets him, while Maya merely sagely nods her head in acknowledgement of his presence.

Farkle: Please help yourself. Maya overdid it on the thank you gifts, so we’re overflowing with fruit.

Charlie: Oh, sweet. Thanks.

Charlie grabs a bowl and puts together some of the cut fruit from the arrangement at the center of the table, sitting opposite Farkle with Maya on the side between them. Charlie comments that Maya didn’t come home until super late last night -- was she at the editing suite that late?

Maya: One has to work until the job is done. But I can safely assure you both that the job is done, and it looks absolutely fabulous. Prepare for a big, big drop tomorrow, boys.

Farkle: Can’t wait to see it. Mainly just to see proof that it actually did come together and I didn’t fever dream this whole thing.

Charlie chuckles down at his fruit. Maya eyes them both, sharing a chortle at her expense… and decides not to spare them, flipping her ponytail off her shoulder.

Maya: Well, I wasn’t in the suite the entire night. Unfortunately, the USC facilities are only open until a certain hour, so I had to make other arrangements. [ a beat ] When I stopped by to grab some things, I couldn’t help but notice you weren’t on the couch, Charlie.

Oh. Farkle looks to Charlie, expression dropping slightly. Charlie also hesitates but does a better job of holding his cards -- he’s had a lot of practice, after all.

Charlie: Was I not? Weird. I can’t remember when I went to sleep…

Maya: Sounded like you two were chatting, actually. At least, that’s what I assumed… must’ve been discussing some pretty funny things.

Farkle: We’re friends. We talk. Friends talk.

Maya: Of course.

Charlie: Yeah, uh, must’ve just been laughing about something. We talk about a lot of stuff, so.

Maya: Mhm… pretty fun conversations, then.

Maya smiles at Charlie, who glances at Farkle, who is staring at his food. Be cool… be cool… Maya then slowly turns her knowing smile to Farkle, propping her chin on her laced fingers and batting her eyelashes.

She doesn’t say a word, but her relentless gaze does plenty for her. Within seconds, Farkle cracks, blurting out a self-defense.

Farkle: [ at the speed of light ] We just did hand stuff!

Charlie chokes on his fruit and drops his fork. Maya’s eyes widen, smile still on her face, though at this point it’s more an amused stage of surrealist rather than genuine. She looks back and forth between them, then delicately clasps her hands on the table in front of her, continuing to let her silence speak volumes.

Chaos sprite… Charlie decides to just emergency exit the conversation, because he still can’t quite believe Farkle is that incapable of holding under pressure. And he thought he was bad…

Charlie: Well. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go… pray.

Farkle hides his head in his hands, embarrassed, while Charlie surreptitiously makes his exit. Don’t see why he needs to leave the entire apartment to pray… Maya watches him go and then turns her gaze back to Farkle, mischievous smile still on her face.

Farkle: It wasn’t like… we’re not serious. Or a thing. Or anything. Really, it was just a --

Maya: I don’t know why you’re explaining yourself to me. I just wanted to see Charlie Gardner squirm a little, but your business is your business. [ a beat ] I mean, I do not get the appeal at all, but you know, Babs was all over him too. I don’t know what kind of gay pixie dust Saint Charles has in his GAP jeans pocket, but apparently it’s like catnip.

Farkle pauses, frowning slightly -- he didn’t realize Maya knew about Zay and Charlie… and since when? -- but he chooses not to dig further. Maya doesn’t wait up anyway, moving on past the hook-up silliness to get back to the things that matter. She tells Farkle her vision came together for the video exactly as she imagined and then some.

Maya: Most of which I know was only possible because of you, on a number of fronts. I am extremely lucky to have you in my corner. So thank you.

Farkle: You’re welcome. You know I’m there for you any time -- at least until you bankrupt my family.

Maya giggles, though honestly, wouldn’t put it past her. She smiles fondly at him for a long moment, then elbows him on the tabletop.

Maya: I was glad you were there. It felt good to collaborate like that again. Almost like old times.

Farkle: Yeah. It was nice.

Her smile widens, mirroring his. Since they’ve already blown through any potential awkwardness this morning, Farkle broaches a new subject.

Farkle: So, what did you think of Jordan?

Maya: Oh, he was great. A bit derivative, and falls a little too naturally into intellectual white boy condescension, but his skill was sufficient enough that I let it slide. He took my creative control seriously, which I appreciated. I can see why he chose you for his mentee.

Farkle: … yeah?

Maya: Yes. Aside from the obvious -- that you’re the most talented person in that school -- you share an intensity. Sometimes he reminded me of you, the way you approach things. That wouldn’t work for everyone, but it did for me. Only thing better would’ve been working with you.

Aw… that’s so sweet. Farkle isn’t a director, so no chance of that, but the sentiment is touching all the same. Farkle smiles, taking that in… then he continues.

Farkle: Cool. [ a beat ] I’m thinking about asking him out.

This earns an eyebrow raise from Maya. She seems genuinely surprised. Not because he couldn’t hack it -- anyone would be lucky to have the chance to be courted by him -- but she just didn’t realize there was interest there. But what’s she gonna do, tell him no? If Farkle wants to date, that’s his prerogative… though the topic does ding her upbeat mood somewhat.

But he seems pleased about it, so for now, that’s enough.

INT. AAA - COUNSELOR’S OFFICE - DAY

A makeshift announcement set-up has been put together in the vacant counselor’s office, offering a blank slate to act as the backdrop for Jack’s campaign announcement video. He’s looking sharp as ever, Eric helping him slip on the lucky suit jacket and then smoothing the shoulders for him. Jack smiles at him and gives him a brief kiss.

Then it’s off to the races. Jack goes and settles into the chair behind the desk, and as we rotate around, we see that Riley, Lucas, and Isa are all here, too. Riley’s operating the camera, keeping it simple and filming it on her phone, but set up on a tripod and with the best technology possible to assist. Isa has configured the lighting with their film expertise, so Jack is as well lit as he could be.

Eric goes to join the three of them behind the camera as Riley cues it up, holding up a finger. Almost ready… and… she nods eagerly to Jack, signaling for him to go. Jack takes a deep breath, then smiles his signature administrator smile. Poised, eloquent, direct -- an echo of our first introduction to him all those years ago in the Adams recruitment video, only now imbued with a warmth that maturity, experience, and a strengthened community has given him.

Jack: Hi there. Some of you might know me as the former principal of Adams Academy for the Arts, or simply as that one principal who got into a tussle with the school board. Others of you might know me as your former history teacher, in which case, long time no see, and I hope you’re doing well. I’m also a citizen of Manhattan, a school advocate, a brother, partner, and son -- and an impassioned civil servant. Today, as I address you all, I’m all of those things… and I hope to be something more. It’s my mission to join the school board here in Manhattan, and I’d like to tell you a little bit about why.

He’s a natural. Riley glances at Lucas and grins, abuzz with the excitement of a new campaign. Lucas returns it, already smiling from watching Jack.

All of them listen enthusiastically as Jack walks through the rest of his campaign announcement, that strengthened community right there by his side.

INT. BEAMON HOME - JADE’S BEDROOM - DAY

Jade is relieved when Nigel finally does arrive, leading him into her room. Since they’re home alone, she’s not shy about greeting him with a kiss, which he returns. When they pull apart, Jade apologizes for the untidy state of her room -- she’s barely had a second to think, let alone clean up.

Nigel: Yeah, I’m familiar…

As she starts to pick up a couple of things off the floor anyway, Nigel asks how her big night went. He side-steps the fact that she stood him up incidentally to go, but it does hang over them like a shadow. Jade also decides not to address it, claiming the night went fine. Kind of wild, and she lost her phone which was panic stations, but it all worked out. And it should be really good for her career, based on what Anya said people thought about her.

Nigel: Wow. That’s great.

Jade: But whatever, whatever. We’re not talking about that. I want to hear about you. [ settling onto her bed ] Tell me all about this week. How was your audition? What did you end up going with? And how did it turn out?

Nigel: I mean… it was fine. Can’t really be the judge of it myself… but apparently, not good enough. [ awkwardly ] I didn’t get a callback.

Jade’s face falls.

Jade: Oh. Shoot. I’m sorry, Nige.

Nigel: [ with a shrug ] It’s… you know, it’s okay. Most freshman don’t get them, so.

Jade: Still. They don’t know what they’re missing out on.

Nigel: Anyway, don’t be too sad. Sure, I didn’t get one… but Riley did.

Based on his tone, he’s not fully pleased about that. Some of that industry bitterness leaking through again… Jade misses this, though, thinking about it more objectively instead.

Jade: Hm. Well, I guess that makes sense.

Nigel blinks at her.

Nigel: It makes sense?

Jade: I don’t mean like -- not because of your talent, or anything. I’m thinking logistically. Riley’s a musical theater major, so this is kind of her area of focus. When straight play season rolls around, then you’ll surely have a leg up in that regard.

Nigel: … [ with a scoff ] sure. Okay.

He crosses his arms, making himself smaller and leaning against the dresser. Jade frowns, sensing something is up.

Jade: Is everything okay? Are we good?

Nigel: Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?

Jade: I don’t know. You’ve just seemed… kind of off lately. Like not yourself.

Nigel: How would you even know that? You hardly see me.

Oop. Jade shifts uncomfortably, shaking her head as if to dismiss the thought.

Jade: That’s not true.

Nigel: It’s not true? Coming from the girl who stood me up twice in the last week?

Jade: Okay, you know I didn’t want to do that. But stuff with work --

Nigel: I know, Jade. I know you’ve got stuff with work. You’ve always got stuff with work.

Jade: And you told me it was fine. You said you were cool with it.

Nigel: Would it have made any difference if I said I wasn’t?

Jade opens her mouth… then closes it. Because she doesn’t know. Nigel has always been so laid back about things, so supportive about her ambitions. In some ways, the concept of him pushing back had never occurred to her.

Nigel: And what would you even have me say? “No, screw your passions, put me first instead?” As if I’m auditioning for misogynistic 50’s man of the household?

Jade: No. And I’m not saying I think you feel that way. But if you just tell me everything is fucking fine, then what do you expect me to do? Read your mind? Because clearly, that is not the case!

Nigel: I’d expect you to not keep making promises if you’re just going to break them. I’d expect you to have the decency to tell me if there’s no time left for me in your life, rather than shoving me to the wings so I can walk on whenever you happen to have a free moment.

Jade: That is not how I feel. Where is this even coming --

Nigel: I’d expect, at least from my partner, that I wouldn’t be the perpetual second choice. And you could, God forbid, spare at least a second to text me so I’m not standing on your doorstep like an idiot!

Yeah… that’s a fair point. Not that it was totally Jade’s fault, but this has really just spun spectacularly out of hand. In the heat of the moment, Jade scoffs, shaking her head in disbelief. She hides her head in her hands.

Jade: This is so… I can’t believe I blew off an opportunity to see actual Armani gowns just so we could have this stupid argument.

Oh… wrong thing to say, Jade. Nigel clams up, clenching his jaw.

Nigel: I didn’t realize I was impeding so much on your opportunities. My apologies.

Jade: Shit. That isn’t what I meant.

Nigel: If that’s how you feel, then please, let me get out of your way.

Nigel pulls open the door, stepping out into the hallway. Jade cusses and jumps up, going after him.

Jade: Nigel, wait -- !

INT. BEAMON HOME - DAY

Jade makes it to the stairs, stumbling down them just as Nigel pulls open the front door.

Jade: Nigel!

He doesn’t wait up, slamming the door behind him. Jade stares at the door in disbelief -- what the hell just happened? What the fuck has gotten into him? And did she really just screw up her relationship? She drops down onto the steps and runs her hands through her hair, hiding behind them again.

When the hell did everything get so complicated?

INT. NYU APARTMENT - ISA’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Isa returns back to their room, releasing a sigh as they drop their travel bag and shut the door behind them. They lean against it for a moment, closing their eyes and letting the events of the week sink in.

Lucas moved in. Jack and Eric almost moved out, or so it seemed to them, because they always assume the worst-case scenario. Still no word from Zachary. They and Chai broke up.

They’re single. They’re on their own.

Farkle, off-screen: So what did you learn this week?

Isa, eyes still closed, makes a face. Of course. They release a sigh and then push away from the door, heading towards their bed. They step over Farkle’s legs in the process again, though we don’t get a glimpse of him in full that time.

Isa: What is this, the fucking Disney Channel?

They flop on the bed, facing the ceiling. What did they learn this week? It feels like their brain is still processing Monday.

Isa: Relationships are a lot more complicated than do you like me, check yes or no.

On every front. Romantic, platonic, familial, rivalrous -- it’s all too complicated, too complex. You can like someone, but not enough. You can love someone, until you don’t. You can hate someone with every fiber in you, only to realize you didn’t know enough to really know.

Isa: It’s such a headache. So much effort, so much communication. You can try and try and still get messed up. You hurt someone even if you don’t want to. You can say the wrong thing and mess it all up -- you can wait to say the right thing, to get it right, and that fucks it up too. But say nothing at all, and that’s its own sin. Two people in any sort of interaction is a conflict in it of itself, to say nothing of a… stupid romance. It’s so damn convoluted. I don’t get why anyone even bothers, it makes absolutely zero sense.

Isa opens their eyes, letting their gaze drift to the side of their desk. Back to the photo of the London Eye, the one that’s been so difficult to look at lately.

Isa: But we do it anyway.

Farkle: We do.

The voice is coming from beside them now. Isa slowly looks to the ceiling again, peering out of the corner of their eye in the other direction.

Farkle is laying next to them on the bed, also looking up at the ceiling. This time, he’s dressed like the last time they saw him, when they said goodbye before his move. His expression is contemplative, muscles relaxed -- they’ve laid like this multiple times before, at sleepovers and during late night rehearsals and philosophical afternoon hangouts. Their shoulders are centimeters from touching, but not quite -- Isa still hasn’t dropped that defense.

Isa tilts their head to look at him, while he’s still faced towards the ceiling, taking him in. Remembering the freckles on his nose, the curve of his angular jaw, the way their heart pounds when they hear his voice. How they feel when it comes to him -- and it always comes back to him.

They feel everything.

They face the ceiling again, shaking their head in disbelief.

Isa: [ with an incredulous scoff ] We fucking do it anyway.

Farkle’s turn to gaze. He tilts his head to look at them, letting the silence linger for a heavy moment.

Farkle, softly: Do you?

What a question. Does Isa? They haven’t let themself authentically feel things in so long… and half the time, they don’t even know what it is they feel. They’ve never been the best communicator, and all the times they’ve been burned -- past and present, as recent as this summer -- have left their scars. They thought they were doing it right with Chai, but that wasn’t a relationship; it was a shield. A convenient armor to keep on and act as though they were doing something, doing things the way everyone else does, but in the end they were wrong about that, too. It’s not enough to have the label and call it a day. You can’t phone it in. It’s so much effort, so much emotion, so much everything. Can dropping your guard for all of that ever be worth the risk?

Isa doesn’t turn to look at him, and doesn’t answer the question. It seems like they’re not going to acknowledge it at all… and then, ever so cautiously, Isa moves their hand. They let it inch away from the safe proximity to their own body and drift towards where Farkle’s is laying on the blanket, timidly lessening the distance between them.

Finally, their pinky grazes his. The first touch they’ve allowed, trepidatious as it might be, gentle and fragile. Like if they breathe, it’ll shatter it. Slowly, their pinkies link… and the rest of their fingers follow suit, developing into a delicate hand hold.

Isa’s eyes are glossy again, this time from sheer overwhelming emotion. When they turn on their side and curl into the blanket, Farkle obviously is nowhere to be seen, but that hardly matters. The line has been breached; the dam has broken. There’s no more running from the truth.

They like Farkle. They like Farkle Minkus.

INT. USC - THEATER CLASSROOM - DAY

On Monday, Farkle has another one-on-one rehearsal with Jordan. It’s not as awkward as it was prior to their Maya-Hart-spurred adventure, but now, Farkle is nervous for a different reason. He finds himself continually looking at Jordan’s eyes, noting where they’re looking -- how often they’re looking at him.

It’s a different kind of torture, so it’s almost a relief when their meet-up ends. As Jordan packs up, Farkle asks how he liked the complimentary fruit bouquet from Maya.

Jordan: It was nice, thanks. The cantaloupe was superb.

Farkle: Oh. Perfect.

Farkle reaches into his bag and retrieves a sizable Tupperware filled with leftover fruit. Jordan laughs as he drops it onto the table in front of him.

Farkle: Maya went overkill.

Jordan: I’m getting the sense she has a knack for that.

Farkle: So we have plenty, which means more for you. Congratulations.

Jordan: Lovely. My mother is obsessed with healthy living and aesthetic Instagram food blogs, so I’m sure she’ll revel in the opportunity to play around with these.

Jordan takes the fruit and searches for a place to put it in his bag. Farkle takes the opportunity to thank him again, for taking a chance on Maya and hearing out his request for help. He had no reason to go out on a limb for him, and he knows he probably had better things to do with his time. And it made Maya really happy, so it means a lot.

Jordan: No time with you could be wasted, Minkus.

It totally disarms Farkle, the way he says stuff like that with such easygoing confidence. And with his cool, plain tone, it’s impossible to tell whether he should read into it or not -- like, was that a flirtation, or was he just being polite? In any case, Jordan points out the whole situation will look great on his resume, not to mention he’ll have the directing credit if this blows up the way Maya seems to be manifesting. Win-win, in his book.

If Farkle wants any clarity, he’s going to have to buck up and get it for himself. Jordan’s halfway towards the door when Farkle stops him, calling after him and waiting for him to turn and face him. Jordan quirks an eyebrow, inviting him to go on.

Now or never.

Farkle: I was wondering if you’d maybe want to get dinner or something sometime.

Jordan: Sure. We could always do a late rehearsal and eat beforehand, if you’re hungry…

Okay, that might be an embarrassing rejection for the books… or maybe Jordan is teasing him. Testing him, seeing if he’ll really go through with it. Farkle clears his throat.

Farkle: I mean… not because of class. Like… non-platonically. [ a beat ] Am I hot or cold?

That earns a smirk from Jordan. He pauses, holding Farkle in suspense a bit longer… then he nods.

Jordan: I could be into that. Just name the time and place.

He lets his gaze linger, smile still intact, then heads out. Farkle watches him go, smiling to himself and then doing a small little jig when it hits him that that actually happened. He actually asked someone out, and they said yes.

Now it’s starting to feel like the rest of his life.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - OFFICES - DAY

Josh is in better spirits, too, coming back from the studio that morning feeling refreshed. He had a decent session with Floyd, for once, and it feels like the creative juices are flowing again. He may not have a plan figured out to restart his career, but at least his musical heart seems to be beating again. He just has to keep the dream in focus. He has to remember what matters.

Like most 20-something emotions, that conviction and optimism lasts about, oh, the three minute walk down the hall into the Box Office. When he gets there there’s quite a stir, the assistants and junior producers buzzing as they gather around Brian’s laptop. Brian eagerly gestures Josh over.

Brian: Dude, come here, you’ve got to come see this!

Josh rushes to come join them, squeezing in between Brian and Phelps. When he asks what’s going on, Phelps clues him in.

Phelps: Apparently this video has been blowing up on social media. It started gaining traction on Youtube, but then it exploded on TikTok.

Brian: This girl came out of fucking nowhere, too! Like, where has she been this whole time?

Josh: Who?

Brian: She uploaded this yesterday, and now we’re at 2 million views. In under 24-hours! What did she put in this, crack?

Josh: Can we fucking see it already?

The excitement is killing all of them! No more suspense. Brian tells them all to simmer down, promising he’s going to queue it up. He goes to the right Youtube link, letting it buffer and hitting full screen.

Josh’s expression drops before the video even gets rolling. All he needs to see is the name on the account that’s posted it.

Maya Hart.

We ease in to the screen as the video queues up, immersing us in the music video…

INT. WAREHOUSE SET - DIVA STAGE - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ Maya’s Original Song, “On My Grind (OMG)” || Similar to “Pushing 20” as performed by Sabrina Carpenter || Performed by Maya Hart

Imagine your favorite pop diva music video. We’re talking Ariana. Britney. Taylor, Selena, perhaps even Sabrina Carpenter herself. Absorb the vibes of those projects, the aesthetics, the unequivocal intersection of talent, creativity, and confidence. Take all of that, and channel it into one production, perhaps clearly produced on a dime yet still stylistically appealing.

That is how it feels to watch Maya’s debut music video for her debut self-made single, “On My Grind (OMG).”

The reason the comparable here is “Pushing 20,” rather than any other similar pop anthem, is due to the directly applicable lyrical message. Maya wrote this song in the fury of her confrontation with Josh, grappling with her frustration at feeling shut out of the industry. No one could see her brilliance, so now she’s forcing them to see it -- saying loudly and proudly here I am, and if you’re not on my level -- in this case, on my grind -- then boy, bye.

I’m pushing 20 ain’t got time for others Who aren’t on the same wave, yeah, on the same page

The concept for the video is split into three different aesthetics, all references and glorifying characterizations of the things she’s been criticized for in the past. The first set is the “diva” set, very Sharpay vibes in its execution and design. This is probably the Maya we see most in real life, and where we start. She’s wearing the pink coat she got at the thrift store here, but aesthetically, you could look to this for some similarity. She mainly sits at her fake vanity and glams up in this set, doing a lot of glossy singing to the camera (until the third act after the bridge, when she throws a “diva tantrum” and destroys everything on the set in a “Blank Space” type meltdown).

On the wall behind her, in big, neon cursive pink letters, reads the word “BRAT.”

INT. WAREHOUSE SET - GRIND STAGE - DAY

The second stage is dedicated to Maya’s “grind” persona -- how everyone is always saying she takes things too far, is relentless, never takes a fucking rest. This is a stylish workout aesthetic in the vein of “Baby One More Time,” or the pink-top section of “Fast Times.”

This is also where we get to see Charlie’s choreography most effectively, in long, well-paced stretches of precise grooving. He truly does undersell himself, because the moves are sharp, exciting, and fun -- and quite sexy, it must be said. Some of that could just be the flair Maya adds, but the foundation speaks for itself. More than that, it makes one fact crystal clear: Maya Hart can fucking dance, make no mistake.

INT. WAREHOUSE SET - GLAMOR STAGE - DAY

The final stage incorporated is the most elaborate, dedicated to her love of glamor. It’s all white gold, diamond in the rough vibes, showing where the shimmery unitard comes into play (sort of like this, but sparkle instead of lace). This is definitely in the realm of “Toxic,” playing with mirrors, reflections, and light the way “no tears left to cry” might. This is where Maya is certainly at her most damningly gorgeous, but she’s also the most obscured -- you can appreciate her beauty, but you can’t really see her. Not head on, not in a way that isn’t filtered by the camera, lights, or mirrors.

All three of these versions of Maya’s personalities interplay and flow seamlessly between each other as the banger song progresses, making for a visually entrancing viewing experience. The song is a total earworm, too -- you can easily see why it blew up on TikTok, since Maya has an ear for catchy and knows how to exploit trends -- and it helps that the song is so confident. Everyone loves an unapologetic, empowering bop! And while she certainly draws allusions and inspiration from the pop divas that have inspired her before, what’s remarkable about her video is how it still feels unique. She’s not just carbon-copying these ideas, she’s building on them and making them her own.

Above all, though, what the project proves is that Maya has the goods. Her voice is incredible, at peak performance, and she’s carefully crafted the song to show off her range at the best parts. This is especially true on the bridge, when her glam persona hits the high note with a killer run and the mirrors around her shatter, exploding in a spectacular shimmering mirage.

INT. WAREHOUSE SET - DIVA STAGE - DAY

After a stunning ride, the video rolls to an end, closing out with Maya stealing Dyl Pickle’s “Bad Blood” trick and letting her diva rampage conclude by bashing the camera. She turns to face it and offers her most charming, slightly unsettling diva grin -- then she clocks the camera with her chunky heel, sending it crashing to the floor and the video smashing to black.

Then the credits roll, ending the experience.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - OFFICES - DAY

So there are three takeaways here.

In case there was any doubt, Maya Hart is a triple threat -- and the threat is alive and well.

Never assume Maya can’t do something, even with the odds stacked against her. She’s relentless, just like her reputation precedes -- and if she wants it, she will deliver.

Maya Penelope Hart is here to stay.

This is exciting for the Global Beat folks, who haven’t witnessed an indie smash onto the scene like this in… well, basically the entire time most of them have been in the industry. Talk about making buzz!

That is, except for Josh. He’s at the center of the chatter, but he’s silent, staring at the computer screen in dumbfounded disbelief. This is what he’s going to be known for. That he, Josh Matthews, was the one who said no to Maya Hart.

And to her word, Blondie wasn’t kidding. After this?

Everything changes.

END OF EPISODE.

#OH HERE WE GO y'AAL...... ITS REAL NOW #s4 #403 #episodes

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