#sorry this is much more earnest than my usual tumblr vibes it's just really important to me

[burstingsunrise]

If you managed to process it, I would love to hear a story about your experience at Luke's Fonda show🥰 No pressure though, only if you want😊

funny timing for this, i wrote up a little summary post a while ago and have been kind of working up to posting it.

it's hard, because how do you adequately summarize something that means so much to you? it feels like nothing i say will be enough, but i do want to share some things about it, because i think that will help it feel real. thank u for asking and providing the encouragement. <3 emo bullet points ahead! i tried to focus mainly on show-related things but this experience wasn't just important to me because of the shows, so some of the other stuff sneaks in.

that’s the first thing. it didn’t feel real, and it still kind of doesn’t. because i was only there for a few days, and i spent every morning getting coffee with meg and every night seeing luke perform my favorite album. like…that’s not real. that can’t be real. 

accidentally but unsurprisingly coordinating outfits with meg on night one. the scientology recruiter on the sidewalk recognizing us from the day before when we’d walked by.

stress buying armloads of merch from an incredibly patient and probably at least somewhat high guy who immediately forgot about me, but who i will probably forever remember fondly.

roy and the mustard having a chat in the balcony.

standing in the crowd waiting for the first show to start. all of the anticipation mixed with all these different emotions, and then finally luke appears on stage. sings the opening of a beautiful dream. the lights shine on him more brightly as it crescendos and we finally get a good look at him. i turn to meg and i say “he’s so sparkly.”

comedown on night one. hearing “let me see all the things that i was supposed to see” while i was there. seeing it.

being able to look over at meg meaningfully when certain things happened during the shows, including but not limited to luke’s gratuitous displays of ass. poetic, really.

leaving the venue night one, in a daze. one of the security guys saying “have a good night” on our way out the door. he had no idea. no fucking idea what we’d just been through. have a good night! now that your lives have been changed forever! sausages on the sidewalk.

collapsing in the hotel lobby, quietly reviewing photos and videos, actually being able to do it openly and to talk about it or not talk about it, and to finally start to have it sink in.

staying up way too late, and eventually falling asleep in my new luke shirt.

the woman with the intense boston accent who hopped on the elevator and immediately asked me if the hotel had a coffee shop with a level of desperation in her voice that spoke to me deeply.

finding sam and meghna in line for night two, and the strange euphoria of speaking openly about things I almost never can to people i just met, but also already knew. being annoying and posting the same palm trees. wishing it would have worked out for emie to be there too.

grabbing meg’s hand to pull her into the crowd on night two. the feeling of relief. somehow we did it. two nights, two shows, two opportunities for everything to go wrong, but actually everything (or at least the things that mattered most) went right.

every time luke gazed our direction, on night two, which felt like a lot, and how every time it was kind of unbearable in the best way. because it’s him and because he was singing songs that mean so much to me while it felt like he was staring into my soul, and because i could look over at meg and know she knew exactly what i was feeling.

the shows going by so fast. i tried so hard to be in the moment and appreciate every second, but it was such a strange, out of body experience. this was something i’d daydreamed about and pictured in my head, but i never thought it was a real possibility. and even in my daydreams, i couldn’t fathom being that close to luke and being there with meg while it happened. it felt surreal that these things were actually happening to me.

the way luke smiled during the breakdown in mum, but also looked like he was dying so beautifully during place in me. admiring his large mouth during slip away. (it really does some riveting things to hit those points of emphasis.)

all the times he ran his hands through his hair to push it back off his forehead. all the times it fell right back where it was. the way he started the shows with it styled, but by comedown it was already just a perfect mess.

his silver nails and his new necklaces and the way his eyes sparkled.

night two, when luke started singing the new bloodline verse. that moment of “what is this? i don’t know this?” it hits different when it’s a song you know so well it’s like it’s a part of you, and suddenly there’s something new to it. thinking about those new lyrics, where they came from, how long they’ve existed, when and why luke decided to add them in, but just for night two.

the talking breaks, ranging from “i’m fuckin’ terrified” early on night one to “can you see my nipples in this shirt” late on night two. octopuses hanging from the ceiling. he didn’t know if anyone would like the album. but he knows we like to scream. making the album was such a very him thing to do, and it’s friday, and he’s in love.

the confetti cannon going off during starting line on night two, being positioned so it rained confetti into my hair, into my purse, down my shirt. it was blue and white and silver because of course it was, because luke thinks about these things.

his smiles and waves and little bows at the end. the shuffle step off stage and the way i watched his back disappear into the darkness until i couldn’t see him at all.

spending both shows with my hands clasped over my heart. it wasn’t a conscious choice. it’s just where they landed.

being stuck in the crowd after the night two show ended, surrounded by groups of people taking pictures of each other’s mascara tears or lying facedown in the confetti. seeing myself in some of those photos a few days later on twitter. and not just those photos - photos from the stage too. the photo luke posted (and took down). and the photo where meg and i are looking up at him with lovestruck smiles.

walking down hollywood boulevard at night, almost silent. walking down the other side of hollywood boulevard the next night, dodging drunk people, talking about luke’s nipples.

making the most absurd pouty face and waving pathetically on the elevator as i left meg on the 9th floor for the last time, then trying not to sob stepping out onto the 16th.

the trip home. feeling physically awful from several days living on iced lattes, kind bars, and no sleep. emotionally drained, sad to be leaving luke and la and meg. sitting at the airport, wishing i could be with my friends at the beach instead.

getting home, unpacking, tucking away my confetti for safekeeping. so incredibly happy but also so devastated to know that it really is possible to have it all, but only for a few days. grateful i had the chance at all, and that it worked out as well as it did.

[enbyboiwonder]

Tagged by @frozenmemories1987

So I don’t really understand how this one works, so I’m just gonna answer all the questions and number them consecutively. Upfront I’m gonna say that I’m not tagging anyone, but as always, if you wish to do it, consider yourself tagged. Also, this is going under a read more. Save the thumbs of any mobile users

01. What was the last movie you watched in theaters?

It’s been months, so I can’t remember, sorry

02. What’s your favorite game to play?

Currently it’s Dragon Quest Monsters: Joker 2. I hadn’t played it since I got it (and beat it all in one go), and I forgot just how much I love this game. It’s like Pokémon meets Dragon Quest, and it’s amazing. On the one hand, making a team entirely of dragons might be a bad idea, but on the other hand, I freaking love dragons. I should probably synth one with a healing skillset if I’m gonna do that - possibly Cure-all since that’s got Multiheal. My current party is a Lv 20 great argon lizard named Rory, a Lv 24 slime stack with Cure-all named Sticker, and a Lv 19 aquestrian gladiator with Huntsman named Mizuno. When I leave them to their own devices, Mizuno really loves using Penny Pincher, which tbh I cannot fault him for - normal damage plus the chance to pinch a few gold coins? Heck yes. At least he’s got 44 MP, so I haven’t had to change his tactics to “Don’t Use Magic” yet (the skill costs 2 MP)

03. Chocolate or vanilla?

Chocolate

04. What’s the last show you binge-watched?

NUMB3RS (though I’m still working on that one)

05. Do you have any pets?

No

06. What’s your favorite fairy tale?

I dunno. I don’t actually read very many fairy tales

07. Who’s your favorite superhero?

Superhero stuff doesn’t normally appeal to me, but I do like Cisco Ramon/Vibe and Ray Palmer/The Atom from CW’s Arrowverse

08. Who’s your favorite Disney princess?

Erm, Rapunzel, I guess?

09. Where’s the first place you’re going to go after social distancing is over?

I know I’m gonna hang out with my friend like we were planning to before this started, but as for where... probably Barnes & Noble since that’s where we usually go, but who knows (I say, knowing full well that neither of us know where to go, and we go to HPB when we’re specifically looking for a book but default to B&N bc of the café and seating area)

10. Cookies or cake?

Cookies

11. What show could you watch over and over?

Monk, CSI, and Psych, to name a few

12. Favorite song lyric?

See, I have to believe that there’s more than this seems More than a soul in a boat in a sea of sinking dreams And I have to be sure that there’s gonna be a cure ‘Cause, somewhere down the line, I lost that part of me that’s pure

 - Where We Belong by Thriving Ivory

13. Favorite season of your favorite TV show?

S14 of CSI, probably

14. What never fails to make you smile/happy?

Seeing I’ve got a comment on AO3

15. How are you doing with all that’s going on in the world (coronavirus, having to do social distancing, etc.)?

My lifestyle hasn’t changed at all, though for some reason I’ve actually been getting way more crocheting and video-gaming done than usual (at the expense, of course, of less reading and writing and TV-watching. Unfortunately). But we have lost business at the doughnut shop so I haven’t been working as many days - usually I work Monday and Friday - which, on the one hand, less money, but on the other hand, I’ve gotten more rest so my bruised ribs (from coughing; I had strep about a month and a half ago, and that always leaves me with a cough for a while, though it’s never been this bad before) are mostly healed now

16. We all love new music to listen to. Name an artist that is underrated/you think people should check out:

Thriving Ivory/Midnight Cinema (same band, different songwriters; Thriving Ivory is more piano-driven and leans more toward alt/alt-rock, while Midnight Cinema is more pop)

17. TV shows or movies?

TV shows

18. Favorite holiday?

Halloween

19. A song that describes you:

I’ve always related to Some Kind of Home by Thriving Ivory

20. Describe your tumblr in three words:

“hella queer animal-lover” idk

21. What’s your favorite hobby?

It depends on my mood, but rn it’s crocheting!

22. What’s your favorite book and/or a really good book you’ve read recently?

CSI: Miami: Cut and Run by Donn Cortez is amazing. I read it back in January and then reread it this month. Probably will be rereading it again before long tbh

Another really good one I’ve read recently is How Rory Thorne Destroyed the Multiverse by K. Eason. It just came out like six months ago, so the second one won’t be out any time soon, but I am ready for it when it does (more than ready, actually; I can’t wait)

23. What’s your favorite ship that will never happen (or hasn’t happened yet)?

I really wish they had done something with Greg/Hodges. I mean, they had the perfect setup for it in 11.07 Bump and Grind, what with their “man-dates” (that never get mentioned again)!! Their man-dates become a regular thing that they do like every week or whatever, eventually they realize that they’re actual dates and have been for a while and they start consciously dating. Maybe Greg already knows he’s bi and is totally cool with it, maybe David’s been repressed and realizes that, oh, that’s why something’s always seemed like it was missing when he tried dating before: he’s gay.

Unsurprisingly, I have a few 11.07 fics in my WIPs

(But also, considering CSI’s track record with respecting queer people [poor], I’m kinda glad they didn’t. Woulda been nice, though, long as they'da done it right)

A ship that I’m really hoping will happen is Penelope and Schneider from One Day at a Time. I love them so much

24. If you could spend the day with any living celebrity, who would it be?

I would rather meet a celebrity in passing than spend a day with them. I am far too awkward and anxious, and I’m afraid it would not be an enjoyable experience for either of us

25. The best worst movie you’ve ever seen - a movie that you know objectively is trash but you can’t help but really enjoy it:

I don’t think I have any like this

26. When you read, do you prefer an eReader or an actual, physical book?

Paper books all the way, baby

27. Favorite movie?

Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, probably

28. What does a normal day look like for you?

I stay in bed reading or playing games on my phone (or, more recently, on my DS) for as long as possible, dick around on here for a while whilst also trying to get at least some SwagBucks in another window, try not to forget to eat lunch, play the free money apps I have on my phone while either listening to music on my laptop or watching shows either on my laptop or the TV, try not to forget to eat dinner, watch some more TV or get some reading or gaming in, try not to stay up too late, take over an hour to fall asleep, maybe if I’m lucky get some writing done at some point during any of this (and if I’m really lucky it won’t be while I’m trying to sleep, but usually it is, damn brain)

29. Have you ever watched a show/movie for one character? If so, who?

Normally when I watch something specifically for someone, it’s for an actor I like, but I started watching CW’s The Flash specifically for Cisco Ramon (well, and Harry Wells and their relationship, but mostly Cisco) and Legends of Tomorrow specifically for Ray Palmer, whom I fell in love with in his ep on The Flash lol

30. What is your ultimate concert (musicians/bands from any period, alive or dead)?

I don’t go to concerts (they seem like they’d be very overwhelming), so, none, I guess

31. Book that you were forced to read in school that you hated the most:

God, I fucking hated To Kill a Mockingbird. Actually, I think the only one I actually liked was The Importance of Being Earnest

[forestwater87]

Things have been . . . weird since David visited. Like a veil's fallen that really should've stayed up.

Like it's just a matter of time before things all go to hell.

So this happened! It wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t have @raenbowsofficial​ beta-ing and @hopefullypessimistic84​ and @ciphernetics​ keeping me, as usual, from completely ripping this story into pieces and sobbing on the fragments. You have them to blame for this. (It was going to be much longer but then things got weird so I’m splitting it up. But next chapter we’re returning to camp, so yay!)

The chapter is also below the cut, in case you prefer reading stuff in Tumblr instead of AO3.

Also the title is shamelessly ripping from the Gwenniest song that has ever existed. It’s amazing and everyone should listen to it.

April 2017

"It's your birthdayyyyyy! You can't say you're just gonna do nothing!"

Gwen glanced up at Claire with a frown. She'd sort of assumed the ripped tank top and oversized boxers — as well as the fact that she was curled up in bed surrounded by two family-sized bags of Cheetos — spoke for her. "Right, but I just did."

Claire maneuvered the chaotic bedroom, plopping down on the foot of the bed (nearly squashing Platypus, who'd taken shelter under a pile of blankets). "But you're twenty-seven!"

"That's not an important year, Claire-bear. No one gives a shit about 27. Besides, I have work tomorrow."

She dismissed the thought with a wave. "It's a Thursday night, work doesn't matter." Her face turned serious, the kind of doe-eyed earnestness that reminded her painfully of David. "You've been moping ever since he left, Gwen. I just got used to seeing you happy."

Gwen rolled her eyes, trying not to be touched by her roommate's concern. "He didn't die," she muttered, "he went back home. It's fine. We're talking tonight." For like five minutes, because he had work. And that was fine, they'd planned for that, she knew he had to work himself ragged to live on his camp counselor's salary.

It didn't bother her.

"Come onnnn, Santa. Please let us take you out?" She pouted, and it was irritatingly adorable; Claire was a porcelain doll, all delicate features and fragile vulnerability that made it almost impossible to say no to her. (She never had to pay for things. It was so unfair.)

But fuck, Gwen hated socializing. "Maybe," she finally said, pulling her computer into her lap and pointedly turning her attention to Tumblr. "I'll check with David."

"I think it's a great idea!"

Gwen sighed. Of course he did. Not that he was the kind of guy who'd forbid her to go even if he didn't want her to, but that'd been her last possible excuse. "Are you sure? New York's dangerous, and I'll be drinking." She paused meaningfully. "Could be risky."

There was just the briefest hesitation. "I'm sure you'll be fine!" Another tiny pause, then David added, "You have Claire and Ana going with you, right?"

"Yeah." Not that she expected her roommates to be much help in an attempted kidnapping scenario, but if this stupid celebration bullshit was inevitable, she didn't want him worrying all night. He might accidentally get distracted and kill one of the people at the retirement home or something. "It'll be fine, I just don't wanna."

She couldn't see him, of course, but she could piece together an image: it was a Thursday afternoon, so he was probably getting ready to start his shift at the diner. Which meant he was dressed in his uniform: an ugly yellow polo and pale-green apron over his usual shorts, with the camp bandanna tied around his neck. He liked to walk when the weather was nice, and since she could hear the sounds of traffic and voices in the background she assumed he was on his way there now, bopping along through his storybook town with his goofy bounding gait.

He was smiling, of course he was smiling. He was almost always smiling.

"Well, it is your birthday, so you can do whatever you want! But . . . I don't want you to be lonely." Some of the brightness dropped out of his voice. "I'm sorry I won't be there."

Gwen snorted. "That's fucking stupid. It's just a day. You visited like two weeks ago, and you didn't even have to do that. It's fine." It was as much a reminder to herself as to him, because as selfish and unreasonable as it was to be disappointed, she couldn't help but feel a small pang that the one person she really wanted to see wouldn't be around.

God, the one person you wanna see? Melodramatic much?

Besides, he'd gotten her a present, even though they hadn't been dating long enough to warrant it. Sure, she'd given him a dorky green plaid Snuggie for his birthday, but that was a joke more than a real gift, because it was December and fit the whole weird nature-hipster vibe he had going on. (Okay, so he'd teared up and as far as she knew wore it more than any reasonable person should, but that was just how David was; she could've gotten him a $1 keychain and he would've had the same reaction.) The highlighter-pink butterfly knife he'd given her in return, besides being the single most David gift she could imagine — because what the fuck was she supposed to do with a giant-ass knife in the middle of Brooklyn? Was it in case an impromptu camping trip broke out on the subway? — was way nicer than she deserved.

"I think you'll have a lot of fun, Gwen. You should think about it." And the way he said it was so sincere and eager that she knew she had to go, because she couldn't let him down.

"I'm not promising anything," she said with a groan, kicking herself free of the mass of rumpled sheets that buried her bed and stumbling over to the closet. "Christ, now I have to find something to wear." She started rummaging through her closet, putting her phone on speaker so she could hunt. "We're looking for something that says 'I'm hot enough to be tagged in Facebook photos' but also 'if you try to touch me I'll rip your face off and use it as a cocktail umbrella.'"

David laughed, and the sound was like a burst of sunlight. "Just make sure you're safe! You have that knife —"

"What d'you think I'm using to cut off their faces?" Gwen snagged one of her what seemed like thousands of variations on the little black dress (god, she had a lot of slutwear, didn't she? Amazing how half her closet had become irrelevant now that she'd had a steady boyfriend for more than 6 months), a high-waisted flared miniskirt and a lacy black crop top. Sleeveless, but it went up to her neck and there was only a thin strip of midriff to worry about, so while it was a little light for the weather, it wasn't like she'd be spending much time outside. "There we go. Nice and skanky." She snorted and rolled her eyes, setting it aside and diving back into the mess for shoes. "I better not have to buy a single drink tonight, because I'm gonna look awesome."

"You're always beautiful!" She didn't respond, focused on finding a pair of heels that wouldn't make her want to chop her feet off by the end of the night, and after a few moments he asked, "Um . . . if — if you don't mind . . ."

"Hmm?" Gwen leaned back, inclining her ear toward the phone. David's voice had dropped, and she could barely hear him inside the closet.

"Nothing! I was . . . just wondering . . ." He chuckled awkwardly, and she could practically see him fidgeting with his bandanna. The dork. "If, well, before you go out, if you wouldn't mind t-taking a picture . . . of you, uh, all dressed up?"

Her mind filled in the blanks easily; she'd had enough practice speaking David to be pretty good at translating. "You fucking perv," she said with a laugh, grinning at his despairing squeak.

"I didn't — ! I mean, you don't ha-ave to, it's fine. Never mind." He sounded ridiculously bashful, and the image of him leaning against a streetlight or wall, bright red and stammering, was so vivid she felt a squeeze of something like homesickness constrict her chest, so intense it made her eyes sting.

"It's . . . hey, no problem, David." She cleared her throat, shaking her head to clear it. "If there's one thing I do well, it's take a hot selfie."

"You do lots of things well!"

For some reason the words, and the cheerful confidence with which he said them, made her wince. Which was obviously fucking stupid; she should just be happy someone was dumb enough to think that highly of her. "Go to work, you loser. You'll get in trouble if you're late, and I've got shit to do." She didn't, but she didn't want to be on the phone anymore either.

"Oh. Um, okay, of course!" He sounded just the tiniest bit off, just a pitch or two below his normal levels of happy, and she felt like a jackass for bumming him out like that. Why did she always have to bring the mood down with her whining? "Have a nice evening!"

"Y- . . ." Gwen paused, squeezing her eyes shut for a second and swallowing hard. "Yeah. You too. Bye."

She let the phone drop to the floor and returned to her bed.

An hour in and Gwen was convinced she should've stayed in bed. Three hours in, she started to wonder if she'd ever see her bed again.

It was around midnight, as she was considering abandoning her roommates to their own devices, that she felt a hand on her hip. It was large and warm, and for half a second she leaned into it before remembering that David was 6 hours away. "Hey." She kept her voice neutral because it was hard to tell who was just a normal creep and who was a "it puts the lotion on its skin" kinda creep, but she firmly took the stranger's wrist and plucked his hand off of her. "I have a boyfriend, but thanks."

As soon as she'd dropped his arm, shoving it toward him like pushing a boat away from the dock at camp, there was another on her shoulder, turning her to face him. He was cute, she supposed, in a very "my dad's a Republican" way, which wasn't her type: big and broad, dressed in artfully-distressed jeans, boat shoes, and a lilac button-down that matched his hair — hair that actually reminded her a little of David's, but that was where the similarities ended. This stranger was tan and muscled, with well-cared-for, uncalloused hands and thick square nails that weren't bitten short and ragged. There was none of David's nervous fluttery energy; she had a feeling this guy would never appear at the breakfast table with his shirt on inside-out because he was just too excited about starting the day to check his clothes.

He also might be an octopus. Gwen couldn't get far enough away to get a good look at his arms, but every time she moved one off of her another appeared — on her waist, in her hair, at her elbow, dangerously close to her ass. It seemed like way too many hands for one person.

"Wanna dance?" he asked, steamrollering over her. "Your boyfriend won't mind you dancing, right? We'll just dance as friends." Gwen opened her mouth to reply, but his hand planted on the small of her back in what seemed like a very unfriendly way. "You can't say no to making a new friend, right?"

"Hey." The voice came from behind her, deep enough to rumble in her chest, and the next thing she knew there was yet another hand on her, pulling her against his side. "Thought I'd lost you, babe." The stranger pecked her on top of the head, a quick kiss and a squeeze around her shoulders, then turned to the lavender bro and said, "See ya around" before dragging her toward the bar.

She wriggled free of the heavy arm constricting her neck. "The fuck're you doing?"

He smirked, leaning against the bar and ordering with just the lift of two fingers. "Saving you from that guy." He shrugged, gesturing to the stool next to him. "Never done the fake-boyfriend thing before, but I figured you'd appreciate being rescued."

Gwen paused. On the one hand, she'd most certainly wanted to get away, and there was something strangely romantic about someone swooping in and pretending to be her boyfriend like that. On the other hand, she was now with another total stranger, one who was showing no signs of helping her get a ride home, or find her friends, or . . . well, anything she'd expect from someone truly interested in aiding a drunk woman in distress. Things, she realized with a pang, David would do in a heartbeat. "Listen, that was . . . uh, nice of you, but I —"

"Have a boyfriend. I heard," he replied, sounding bored. As two beers were set in front of him, he pushed one of them in her direction without looking over. "They're craft, local. Only shit worth drinking." He glanced at her sideways, a dismissive flick of his eyes before returning to the dance floor. "Everywhere else serves cheap manufactured shit thinking the sorority girls buying it on their daddy's credit card are too dumb or wasted to know the difference. No offense."

She bristled, taking the drink. It tasted exactly like every other mediocre beer she'd had in a club, but she tried to look vaguely impressed, like she knew what he was talking about. "I'm twenty-seven," she muttered into the bottle. "I'm not a sorority girl. Not dumb either," she added belatedly, wincing at her own painful lack of cool. Not that it mattered if some douchebag with a bad haircut and thick-rimmed glasses thought she was cool, but it was . . . kind of a habit at this point, to try and prove herself.

"Huh. You seemed like the type, with that whole —" He gestured at her vaguely, "hot bimbo look. Trying to recapture the glory days?"

"No. I was never into that kinda thing." And she didn't know why she felt compelled to keep talking, except that something about being underestimated by this guy felt strangely familiar, and it really, really bothered her. "My friends dragged me here."

"Some friends." He snorted. "But yeah, same. Roommate's bachelor party. I've been reading out of protest." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, worn paperback copy of Breakfast of Champions. "Vonnegut. Recommendation: read the book, don't watch the movie."

Swoon. There was a part of Gwen that was very susceptible to this, a guy reading in a bar, noticing she was in distress and sweeping her away, all condescending half-compliments and a weird inexplicable magnetism.

He was her type, definitely. And yet . . .

She glanced away, biting back a giggle. Because the first thing that entered her mind was David's voice, concerned and alarmed and unintentionally devastating: "He shouldn't read in a place like this! He'll strain his eyes!" And the image of David, walking up to this stranger and accidentally ruining his bad-boy-intellectual persona by offering the flashlight he always kept on his keyring . . . well, it was ridiculous.

Almost as ridiculous as trying to read in the middle of a club. "I wrote my thesis on American satire." (Okay, no she hadn't, but "I took a class on it once" didn't sound as good. And for whatever stupid reason, she wanted to sound good.) "So thanks, I'll take that under consideration."

Gwen wasn't sure if she'd said that to make him leave or prolong the conversation, so she didn't know how to feel when his eyebrows flicked up, impressed. "No kidding? Did you notice how the story's structure mirrors the emptiness of human existe —"

"Sure did," she grumbled, taking another sip of her syrupy beer and trying to figure out what she was still doing in this conversation. She wasn't enjoying herself, and wasn't that the entire fucking point of a birthday? "Listen, thanks for the beer and everything, but . . ."

"The boyfriend." He rolled his eyes, leaning against the bar with a dramatic sigh. "You know, you're really not my type. I haven't been flirting with you at all, in fact." He peered at her over his thick glasses, a shock of floppy black hair falling into his reddish eyes. "Maybe I'm not the one you keep reminding."

"I —" That wasn't fair, she'd only mentioned David once. And what kind of arrogant jerk assumed someone was into them mid-rejection? But something about his tone of voice, his indifferent confidence despite being completely wrong, was oddly attractive. Like she'd been here before.

Like she'd be here again.

He was familiar, that was the thing. Almost comforting, the way Camp Campbell was comforting in its predictable shittiness. It wasn't new, it wasn't scary. If she kept flirting with him she could more or less see where it'd go — plus or minus the random fluttering hope that this one would work out, that she could change him, that she could save him. That he could save her.

He leaned in, tucking a strand of hair behind her ears, a move she'd considered romantic up until this second. But if he was bothered by the way she jerked away he didn't show it, taking a sip from his beer with a bored shrug. "Just seems like you wouldn't be here talking to me if you were happy." He glanced at her sideways. "Let me guess, he's really nice."

The way he said that, sneered it like it was something to be embarrassed about, made her skin prickle. "Fuck off," she snarled, pushing away from the bar finally.

"Knew it." And he was so smug, in a way she would've melted for this time last year but now made her seriously tempted to deck him. "Some friendly advice, not-sorority girl: consider finding someone you deserve." He set his drink down, cupped her cheek with one hand. "Why waste a nice guy's time?"

And like he'd choreographed it his mouth was on hers before she could respond, and first she was just shocked but then she felt sick because he was right, he was an unwashed prick too stupid to know it was a bad idea to try and read in a dimly-lit bar but he'd nailed her relationship to the detail. He was wrong about the conclusion — he wanted her to think she was too good for David but it was the opposite, David was too good for her.

And . . . now he knew it.

David had visited her home, he'd met her family and seen her life and gotten front-row seats to what a disaster she was, so much of a mess she couldn't even make people related to her love her, and he knew how much work she'd be — and all of that was two weeks ago but for those two weeks she'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop, to pick up the phone and hear "maybe you shouldn't come back to camp this summer." Every time he had to work or call Julia or visit his mom it felt like an excuse to avoid her.

But that wasn't fair. If anything she was avoiding him: letting texts go unanswered, not picking up the phone immediately, looking for shifts when she knew he was free because if he couldn't talk to her he couldn't leave her. It was dumb, it was crazy and dumb and cruel but she was scared okay, guys like David scared her and guys who read in bars didn't. She wasn't afraid of guys who kissed her like they knew they were good at it, kissed her like they owned her instead of shaking from nerves or want or whatever it was that made David fall apart when she touched him. She wasn't afraid of guys who liked to watch her scramble to impress them because they were prepared to be disappointed, they looked forward to it because it proved them right, they didn't have expectations for her to fall short of they didn't put her on a pedestal they didn't have a look in their eyes, like she was special and beautiful and worthwhile, that she was so afraid to lose it kept her up at night. She didn't have to be afraid of guys who looked down on her because she knew what she was getting, and so did they: they expected an insecure defensive girl who sometimes cried for no reason and sometimes couldn't force herself out of bed, and so she didn't have to lie and pretend to keep it together, because if she did those things she wasn't letting them down, she was just doing what they expected and they'd respond the way she expected and nobody was unpleasantly surprised.

And if she was going to fail David, if eventually he'd just come to see what her parents did and her brothers did and Campbell did and everyone who'd ever dated her did . . . then what was the point in wasting his time?

"See what I mean?" he whispered, pulling back just far enough to move his lips. His breath smelled like beer with an undertone of cigarette smoke, acrid and familiar. One hand traced up her thigh, stopping at the hem of her skirt.

She smiled, because she did.

"Gwen?" Audree's voice was bleary, sleep-sluggish; of course it was, Gwen was on her doorstep at one in the morning and Audree worked insane hours, she was a professional, she didn't have time for stupid childish relationship bullshit.

But here she was, shivering in the unseasonably cold weather with her numb lips nearly kissing a small black intercom. Because she didn't have any close friends and her roommates were too drunk and her mom would never understand and David — she couldn't talk to David.

Like always, Gwen needed her big sister.

"I . . ." She paused, trying to figure out how to explain herself. "Audree, I . . ."

That was as far as she got before she started crying.

"Fuck, Gwennie, hold on." There was a shrill, unpleasant buzzing at her ear, and she'd barely pushed open the door to the apartment building when Audree burst into view, careening around the stairs and nearly knocking Gwen down. "Are you okay?" Audree asked, taking her by the shoulders and looking her up and down. Her jaw tightened; Gwen didn't know what she looked like, but after 45 minutes of sobbing in the back of an Uber it probably wasn't pretty. "What happened? Who —"

"S'fine," she choked out, pushing Audree away and wiping at her face. "No one — it was me, I . . ."

Audree led her up to the apartment, settling her down on the couch before taking a seat in the chair opposite, putting her chin in her hands and watching Gwen with a laser-focused intensity that would've been unnerving if she wasn't used to it. (Her sister's resting expression went beyond "bitch face" into "American Psycho face," which made her a great lawyer and a terrible comforter.) She didn't say anything, just waited with those searching teal eyes cataloging everything about her, like she was already preparing her testimony against whoever'd hurt her baby sister. "Yes, Your Honor, she arrived at exactly 1:15 am. She didn't seem to have any visible bruises but she was crying . . ."

"Nobody hurt me," she finally muttered, staring down at her stupid slutty shoes, shoes she'd only worn because she'd once bullied David into admitting he had a thing for red heels. All that effort for a stupid fucking picture. "I'm just . . . shitty." Audree made a soft encouraging sound, a quiet noncommittal hum, a "I minored in social work and want you to open up at your own pace" noise that worked on witnesses and it worked on her. "I, uh, kissed this guy. I mean, he kissed me but I kinda knew he would and he was a dick and I probably could've, like, stopped him but I didn't." Her fingers were shaking. Why were her fingers shaking? "He, he w-wanted to — I mean he didn't ask but I could tell he was gonna and I was scared of what I'd say because what if I said yes? And I freaked out and left and I di- hhhidn't know where to go so I came here." She winced, realizing how selfish that was. "Sorry to wake you up."

For a minute Audree was quiet. "So do you like this guy or . . ."

Gwen made a sound that was somewhere between a scoff and a sob. "What? No."

"So you feel guilty because you didn't successfully fend off a creep before he assaulted you?" Almost immediately she added, "Fuck, sorry Gwennie, I promise I'm not lawyering you, I'm just a cunt sometimes. I didn't mean it like that, lemme try again." She took an exaggerated deep breath. "You were talking to a guy, and you think he was hitting on you and you . . . flirted back?"

"Not really." Sure, it was sometimes hard to tell where the line between "go fuck yourself tee hee" and "go fuck yourself before I stab you in the eye with this straw" was, but she had trouble imagining how (outside a bad romance novel) she could've been flirting. "I told him I had a boyfriend. But he said — he said I shouldn't be with a guy like David!"

"Riiiiiight, but this guy was an asshole. And he was wrong about you wanting him to kiss you."

"Well . . ." Audree was mostly right. What Gwen wanted was to be in David's ridiculously grandmotherly apartment, curled up under the bright pink blanket he'd knitted in high school and listening to him try to teach her Pokémon. Yet that didn't explain the strange attraction she'd had to the arrogant creep, the familiarity.

She hadn't wanted that stranger to kiss her, not exactly. But something about it had felt right.

"Listen, Gwen, there's nothing wrong with wanting to kiss someone, because, y'know, you're not dead." She leaned forward, fixing her with that iron stare that was half "trust me, I'm your sister and I love you" and half "eagle watching a mouse." (Great lawyer. Terrible comforter.) "Hell, there's nothing wrong with flirting either. What I don't get is why some douchebag's opinion matters so much."

Neither did she, exactly. "He reminded me of . . ." Well jeez, she could start listing names but they'd be there all night, "of some of the guys I've dated."

Audree quirked one eyebrow. "Even more reason not to listen to him."

"I know, but —" Audree's apartment was warm, she could afford real heat. It was warm and comforting and she was safe, so why were her fingers still shaking? "He was my type."

She pressed her lips together. "You know what I think about your type, Gwennie." This was a conversation they'd had a few (hundred) times before. "You deserve better."

"Why?"

And there it was. Like something in her chest had snapped, words came spilling out in a rush. "I'm not a good person, Dree. I don't have anything going for me, so in what fucking universe do I deserve better? And okay, maybe I could find a nice guy, but not David. He . . . he deserves someone sweet and pretty and h-happy and not . . ."

Broken.

It sounded so melodramatic, but she was. Because whole people weren't paralyzed by their own self-loathing, they didn't try ruin things before they could even get started, they didn't kiss smoke-flavored strangers in bars because they loved their boyfriend too much and were terrified of that.

"He loves kids, and I don't. We don't — don't have anything in common, and sometimes . . . I don't know what we have going for us except, y'know, stuff he doesn't have to get from me."

Audree wrinkled her nose. "Not an image I needed, sis." She grimaced and said, "Fuck, I'm being an asshole again, sorry," moving so she was sitting on the couch next to her and pulling her into an awkward half-hug. (None of the Santos clan were very good at hugging, something Gwen hadn't really noticed until she'd gotten used to David's.) "You don't think you're right for him?"

Gwen didn't think she was right, period. "I just think he . . . if he knew better, he wouldn't waste his time on me."

"Isn't that kinda his decision?"

She shrugged, leaning her head into the soft black cloud of Audree's hair. "But he's new to all this. Isn't my terrible dating experience good for something?"

"Yes," Audree said firmly. "It means you know what not to do. You know how people can make each other feel like shit, and you can do the opposite."

Gwen made a face. "I'm not . . . good at that kinda thing. The being-nice thing."

"Look who you're fucking talking to. But don't you wanna try?" She pulled back, her expression expectant and pitying. "It seems like you think he deserves that."

She couldn't meet her sister's eyes, so she picked at the carpet's upholstery. "You sound like David's mom. She's all smart and has her shit together too."

"Oh?" Audree's eyes lit up, a sly grin spreading across her face. "Single mother, right? Bit of a cougar?"

Gwen picked up a pillow and hit her with a snort of disgust. "No, you don't get to hit on his mom! I mean, you're probably never gonna meet her, because shit'll go wrong way before then, but still. Leave her alone."

"Oh, Gwen." Her smile softened, and she snuggled closer to slip an arm around Gwen's shoulders. "Someday you're gonna believe you deserve the good things that happen to you. And I'm gonna be there to say I told you so."

She laughed, the sound weak and hollow even to her. "Well now it has to happen, because you're never wrong." She sighed, adjusting Audree's arm so it was less stiff and uncomfortable. "He should be with someone like you," she muttered finally. "Someone hotter and without all the, like, bitterness and failure."

"Nuh-uh. David's cute, but have you seen women?" Gwen tried to smile, but she was exhausted all of a sudden. "You need to talk to him, y'know, about all this shit. Because I mean, I don't know the guy, but he didn't look like he has a fucking clue you're thinking any of this."

Audree was probably right. She usually was. But the last thing Gwen wanted to do was explain to David in painstaking detail all the reasons he deserved so much better than her, especially when he was probably already beginning to put the pieces together himself. (How could he not, after seeing how she lived?) "Yeah, probably."

"That's the best I'm getting, huh?" Audree ruffled her hair and climbed to her feet, stretching. "It's way too late for you to go home. Your room's waiting for you."

"It's not my room," Gwen grumbled, following Audree into the guest room and accepting the pajamas her sister found for her.

She grinned. "It could be." When Gwen didn't respond, she frowned and leaned against the wall. "Come on, at least think about moving in."

"I told you, I can't afford this. I couldn't even pay a quarter of the rent, so I dunno why you're even bothering." She did, of course; her sister was a good person, and she worried.

"I pay full rent on this place anyway, I don't need you chipping in anything. And it's not charity," she added as Gwen opened her mouth, "I wanna live with you."

She knew better than to ask why (no one needed a middle-of-the-night lecture on self-esteem), but they both knew she was thinking it. "I have Platypus, though."

"I love that little fucker, so don't even try to use him against me." Giving up, she pecked Gwen on the temple. "Fine, go to sleep. Just . . . I want you to move in because I like spending time with you. I think David does, too. It's okay if you're all you have to offer, all right? It's good enough."

Gwen was going to make fun of her, ask her what stupid self-help book she'd found that in. But her throat was a little tight, so she just nodded. "Thanks, Dree. Night."

"Night, Gwennie. It's gonna be fine, okay?"

She wanted to believe that.