#the polite gender particles are so cool

[c-rowlesdraws]

⭐️New Patreon Post!⭐️ Several of them, with all the sketches I found time to do on my trip with family to Singapore and Thailand over these past couple of weeks! My cousin got married in Singapore to his very nice Malaysian fiancee, and last year when the date was announced, a small group of us planned to extend our stay in SEAsia so that we wouldn't have traveled halfway around the world for basically a long weekend. I would never have been able to do such an amazing trip on my own and I'm very fortunate and grateful that I was invited to tag along.

I took lots of pictures-- and in between sightseeing and family time and travel and devouring fresh ripe mango like some kind of frugivorous mammal, I had time to do some drawing, from life and from my photos. I hope to do more drawings from my trip now that I'm back home!

[ichorai]

particles ; peter parker.

track eight of BROKEN MACHINE.

prequel to spiderling!

pairing ; peter parker x stark!reader (gender neutral), dad!tony x reader

synopsis ; tony gives peter the dreaded 'dad' talk.

words ; 2.8k

themes ; fluff, mild comedy

warnings / includes ; set right at the end of homecoming era & onwards, mild cursing, peter is so endearingly awkward, tony being a good dad :(

a/n ; another part is in the works to be set during the events of infinity war/endgame!

main masterlist.

The Avengers compound was all sleek edges, clean cool-tones, and large floor-to-ceiling windows with not a speck of dust to be seen. It was an intimidating environment, to say the least. What made things worse was Mr. Stark’s hand on his shoulder and the hopeful gleam to his eyes.

The team, he had said. Tony wanted him to join the Avengers.

And with the brand new suit displayed in front of him, too… it was nearly impossible to say no.

Nearly.

When Peter stammered out a polite decline, Tony had looked at him above his lowered sunglasses, incredulous.

“You’re turning me down?” he said, heavy with disbelief. “You better think about this, kid.”

There was a long pause.

“Last chance, yes or no?”

Of course he wanted to say yes—to be in the Avengers, work with Iron Man himself… that was his dream. But he couldn’t. Someone had to look out for the little guy, right? And who better than the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man?

“No,” Peter replied. 

Not at all used to being rejected, Tony struggled for words for a moment, before reluctantly accepting Peter’s decision, masking his disappointment fairly well. He liked the kid, and it wasn’t exactly fun to have him slip through his fingers like this. With a wave of his hand at Happy, he told him that he’d be driven home.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark. Truly,” Peter hastily said, certain that he’d made the right decision.

Preoccupied thinking about what he was going to tell the fifty reporters waiting behind the doors, Tony absentmindedly quipped, “Yes, uh, very well, Mr. Parker.”

Peter left with a proud grin and a skip to his step, nodding when Happy asked him to wait in the car. 

Before he could make his way out, however, a voice stopped him in his tracks.

“That was really ballsy, what you did back there,” you said, observing him with an amused expression, eyes narrowed with curiosity. Peter blinked, recognizing you almost immediately. “Not a lot of people would leave my dad hanging like that.”

With a widened stare, Peter found all the words stuck in his throat. You were much more breathtaking in person, with an intrigued air about you. Though your features took more after your mother, who’d passed away many years ago, Peter noticed that you shared Tony’s smile.

“Uh… yeah,” was all Peter could lamely say.

The subtle beam curving your lips seemed to grow wider. You hummed, soft and lilting, languidly stepping forward with a nod. “Hope to see you around then, Peter.” You took his hand, sliding a folded piece of paper into his palm. “Give me a call if you ever need anything. Or if you just need a friend to talk to, I’m all ears. It’s a private phone—my dad doesn’t know about it. He gets really uptight about me talking to strangers but… you’re not really a stranger, are you? At least, not for long.”

Shocked, Peter could only open and shut his mouth, as if he were a fish out of water. 

“I, uhm… thank you. I’ll definitely, uh, definitely take you up on that offer,” he choked out, nodding emphatically. 

You gave him a warm smile, accompanied by a two-fingered salute, and in turn, he waved goodbye, palms drenched with sweat as he hurriedly backed away to the car before Happy could yell at him. 

Cute, you thought with an amused shake of your head, before making your way back to your dad, who was still muttering under his breath about how he couldn’t believe a fifteen year old had just turned him down.

Your phone number stared at him every day for the next week. The numbers were hastily scribbled down in blue ink, smudged ever so slightly by the crease of the fold during your rush, but you’d taken the time to draw a smiley face right beneath the last digit. It never failed to make Peter smile every time he gave it a glance. 

It took him three days to psyche himself up to even considering calling you, and another three to actually add you to your contacts, his thumb hovering over the call button far too often than he’d like to admit. On the seventh day, Peter pressed with a sharp inhale.

Three rings trilled by.

Peter wondered if you were going to pick up. He wouldn’t really be surprised if you didn’t—you were a busy person, probably, and didn’t have the time to take calls from people like him. 

Another ring. And suddenly, your voice reverberated through. Peter sat up on his bed, spine straightening as if it were an iron rod.

“Hello?”

“Y/N! Hi!” he said, voice abnormally high-pitched. He cleared his throat and nervously added, “It’s Peter. Peter Parker?”

A laugh echoed in his ear. He could picture your humored smile. “Yeah, I remember. It’s nice to hear from you—thought you’d never call.”

“You were waiting?”

“Of course, I was. I wouldn’t have given you my number if I didn’t want you to call.”

Warm relief surged through his veins, accompanied by a flustered coil winding within his abdomen. “Cool, cool… so, uh, I don’t want to be too forward or anything but I think you’re… so cool and uhm—” A pause. Was Peter really asking you out on an impulsive date? “Would you wanna hang out?”

On the other end of the line, you blinked in surprise, not expecting his sudden forwardness. You shifted the phone in your palm. “Right now?” It was a good thing you weren’t busy, having caught up on all your assignments and projects. Besides—you couldn’t remember the last time you properly went out into the city with someone other than Happy, Pepper, or your dad. 

“Uh… if you’re not busy, that is.”

“You know what—sure. Why the hell not?” you replied, grinning.

Peter did a double-take. “Wait—really?”

“Yes, really. I’d love to spend some time with you, Peter.”

Now it was his turn to smile, pink dusting across his cheekbones. “Great. I’ll text you where to meet, then?”

“Sure, Peter.”

After the call ended, you were quick to change into appropriate attire, not wanting to draw too much attention to yourself. You donned a soft grey hoodie and baggy black jeans, slipping out of your room a few minutes later. The location Peter had sent you was a quaint little library not too far from where you lived, within a manageable walking distance. You were glad that you wouldn’t have to ask Happy to drive you, because knowing your godfather, he’d be hovering over Peter like a vulture.

Just as you were about to slip out, your tote bag slung over your shoulder, Tony popped his head out of the living room, quirking a brow.

“Hey, kid,” he cautiously greeted. “Where you goin’?”

You froze with one foot out of the door. “Library,” you answered, trying you best to appear nonchalant.

“Hm. Which library?”

With a frown marring your lips, you crossed your arms. “Jeez, dad, whichever library! I’m sure there’s, like, a dozen in a five-mile radius.”

Mirroring your attitude, Tony mimicked your squared jaw and rolled his eyes. “You know, if you wanted to hang out with that kid Peter, you could’ve just asked.”

A beat of silence. You narrowed your eyes at your dad. “How do you know about that?”

Tony let out a loud guffaw. “What? You don’t think I didn’t know you bought yourself your own phone? Are you forgetting that your pops is Tony Stark himself? God, kid, you were just like me when I was your age.” He paused at that, rethinking what he just said. “Well, actually, I was way worse.”

He strode forward, smoothing his hands down the sleeves of your hoodie and patting your shoulders. It wasn’t often that Tony was overly affectionate with you, but whenever he was, you always appreciated how genuine he would be.

After pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead, he gently nudged you out the door. “Go on. Get! Scat!” He made shooing motions with his hands. “If you don’t get back by sundown, I’ll have Happy hunt you down and kill the kid town executioner style.” At your scowl, Tony was quick to tack on, “Joking! I’m joking.”

“Bye, dad,” you said huffily, though the affection in your tone was unmistakable. With that, you turned to leave, fishing out your phone to text Peter that you were on your way.

“They grow up so fast,” a voice mused from over Tony’s shoulder, welling with emotion. 

He flinched at his friend’s sudden presence, slamming the door shut. “Jesus Christ, Happy, don’t scare me like that!”

The months flew by in a breeze. You and Peter were now exclusively dating—something that he had asked about early on in your relationship, worriedly gnawing at his bottom lip with the harrowing idea of you turning him down. But you’d been nothing but sweet with him, affectionately pressing your nose into his cheek and telling him that you’d love to be official.

You were lounging on his bed, sprawled over his dark blue comforter, which smelled of fresh laundry detergent and something else entirely Peter that you couldn’t get enough off. He was across the narrow room, hunched over his desk as he hurriedly did his physics homework due the very next day. Idly, you fiddled with the web shooters you had swiped from his bedside table, narrowing your eyes at the wrist fixings and the capsules that held his web fluid.

Only a genius could build something like this on his own, you thought fondly. I’m dating a genius.

It seemed that you had said the last bit out loud, because Peter snorted in amusement.

“Yeah, says you,” he scoffed. “You skipped, like, a dozen grades.”

“Half that, actually. Six grades.”

Peter turned to look at you over his shoulder, arching his brows. “Not to mention your dad is literally the Tony Stark.”

With a hum, you slunk off his bed and languidly draped your arms over his shoulder. “Just take the compliment, Peter,” you said as you pressed a fond kiss to a faint freckle on his cheek. Then, you glanced down at the problem he was solving. “Mmh, don’t forget the negative sign. It’s moving against gravity, no?”

“Right.” He hastily corrected the formula, glancing at you appreciatively. “Thanks.”

“No prob, I make the same mistake all the time,” you quipped. “I’ve been making my own suit with the help of my dad—had to study up a lot on rotational mechanics and material physics. It’s been a pain in the ass.”

Brows raising, Peter dropped his pencil and rotated his chair so he was facing you fully, his knees grazing yours. “What? You’re making your own suit?”

“Yeah,” you said with the beginnings of an excited smile tracing your lips. “I mean, I don’t know if I’ll ever become an Avenger like my dad is but… I don’t know. It’s certainly an option.”

A low groan fell from Peter’s throat, and he buried his face in his palms. “You’re telling me we could’ve been in the same team together? Ugh, stop, stop, don’t make me regret turning your dad down.” 

“Oh, no, Pete, I think you made the right choice,” you quickly reassured him, tugging his wrists away from his flushed features. “We’re still young. It’s not fair to put that responsibility on our shoulders as of now.”

The brown of his irises softened. “Yeah. We’re still young,” he echoed, ducking his head to kiss your hand clutching his. “You gotta show me that suit of yours one day, though.”

Both you and Peter were strolling around an art museum, arms linked and permanent smiles plastered over your expressions as you pointed at various paintings and sculptures. It was nearly an hour into the date when your phone began buzzing in your pocket, and you hastily let go of Peter’s arm to fish it out.

“Hello?”

“Hey, bugaroo,” Tony’s drawl came through your phone. “Where are you? I’m bored.”

A lopsided grin hung onto the corner of your lips at his words. “I’m with Peter right now.”

“Hm. You guys are behaving yourselves, I hope. You using protection?”

The grin melted off your face and you scowled. “Dad, what the fuck?”

“Hey, language!” he scolded, before chuckling dryly. “God, I’m turning into Cap. Anyways—what’re you thinking for dinner tonight? Does Chinese sound good? You wanna invite the Spider over, too?”

You glanced at Peter, who was ogling an abstract painting with a tilted head and a puzzled expression. He’d never really understood the point of this art style, but when you’d explained to him that art didn’t need to be understood to be considered art, he had grown much more lenient with his views of the chaotic splotches of paint. A small smile traced the corner of your lips as you watched his features contort with every one of his thoughts. Peter truly wore his heart on a sleeve, for everyone to see.

“Yeah, sounds great,” you said into the phone. “We’ll be home in an hour.”

Dinner consisted of warm soup dumplings and stir-fried noodles in flimsy paper boxes.

“Mm, Mr. Stark, these are delicious. I mean, I know you didn’t cook this or anything but it’s still really good,” Peter said around a mouthful of noodles. “Thanks for, uh, inviting me over. It’s an honor, really.”

“Stop sucking up to my dad, Peter,” you snorted, sipping on some iced tea. “He already likes you.”

One of Tony’s brows raised. “When did I ever say that?” At Peter’s slightly mortified expression, Tony rolled his eyes. “I’m kidding. Jokes, kiddo. Don’t piss yourself.”

“Speaking of piss—I’m goin’ to the powder room. Don’t fight while I’m gone,” you unabashedly said, pushing yourself away from the table. You really were your father’s child, Peter thought, mildly amused.

Tony watched you disappear behind a hallway, before fixing his gaze on Peter. The older man drummed his chopsticks by the edge of the table. 

“Listen, kid, I know we’re already way past the point of this but as a father—you gotta understand that I have to give you the talk.” It was jarring to see Tony genuinely serious for once. Peter straightened himself subconsciously. “If you ever, ever hurt Y/N, I will stick a rocket up your ass and launch you straight to the moon. Do you understand?”

Peter gulped. “Yes, sir. I got it. You can trust me. I, uh, I really do like Y/N.”

“Oh, you do, do you?”

“...Yes? I’m sorry, I’m confused, do you not want me to like them?”

An unsatisfied noise fell from Tony’s lips. “Eh. I mean, would I prefer Y/N never ever date anybody and stay locked in their room forever, wasting away in front of a screen? Absolutely. But if it just had to be someone… I’m glad it’s you.”

Peter blinked in surprise. “Wow, Mr. Stark. That’s… thank you. It’s a huge honor. I promise I’ll take good care of them.”

“Yeah, don’t push it, Pete. You guys are barely a decade old.”

“Am I coming off too strong?” he winced, recoiling into his chair slightly. 

The man across from him gestured to the small space between his pinched fingers. “Just a bit.”

“I’m actually fif—”

“Fifteen. I know. Y/N, too.”

There was another tense moment of silence as Tony scrutinized the young man. 

Finally satisfied, he leaned back in his chair and smiled roguishly. “Phew! Glad that’s over with. In all honesty, if one of you were to hurt the other, it probably wouldn’t be you. I mean, let’s face it, you’re dating my kid, kid.”

Before Peter could respond, you slipped back into the room, your hands propped up on your hips. “Really, dad? Are you trying to scare Peter off?”

Your father gave you a sheepish shrug. “It was worth a shot.”

“I can make my own decisions,” you sternly replied. “You don’t need to hover.”

As you sat back down into the chair beside Tony, he wound an arm over your shoulders. “You know, my dad did the exact opposite of hovering when I was your age. He was always too caught up with work and stuff—barely ever saw the guy. Most birthdays n’ holidays and whatnot, he was never around. I don’t know, I just… I don’t want to be like my dad.”

Your features softened with his admission, and you turned to rope him into a proper hug. 

When you pulled away, Peter nervously cleared his throat. “I, uh, for the record—I don’t think you can ever scare me off. Not even after going to the moon with a rocket up my ass.”

Tony glared at him, though there was a slight smile twitching at the corner of his lips. “Watch it, kid.”

“Sorry.”

[absolutebl]

Hi! I’m curious if you have any insight on the use of the particle “ja”?

My main association of it is as the particle older women use with young adult characters. For example, we see Dean’s grandmother use it with Dean and Pharm in UWMA, and Than’s mother, Kwan, uses it when she meets Praifah. (Praifah: “Sawatdee kha” Kwan: “Sawatdee ja”.)

The impression I’ve always gotten is that it’s a way to capture the “ladylike” charm of politeness without implying any actual formality, social equality, or social distance. But I have no idea if that’s accurate or not.

However, I feel like I’ve heard the actual male young-adult characters using it recently, and not in a way that seems to have any intended gender or sexuality implications like some of the other alternative particles. Instead it seems to be a campy flourish when one is being overdramatic or jokey. Main example is MSP/MSP Our Skyy 2, where I know I heard at least Tinn and Por use it (and I’ve seen Ford use it on social media), and I think Gun as well. For example, when Tinn serves the jumba shaved ice in Our Skyy 2 when he does the weird hip-thrusting joke (which I still don’t understand) and says “Jumba ma laaeo ja” (“Jumba is served”).

Have you noticed this as well? Any idea if this a new usage or one that always existed but just hadn’t made its way into BL previously or hadn’t been popular with “the youths” until recently?

The Ja Particle - Thai Linguistics & Polite Particles

Thai particles and pronouns are pretty unfixed and evolve FAST.

Ja is a bit like ha but much less household intimate, also less soft. It's informal but not rude. It implies a level of familial/friendship intimacy but not over-familiarity or necessary equality. (so not like guu/mueng or wa).

It's most often used by elders to youngsters or amongst peers. I would be super cautious, and liable to pay close attention, if it showed up used by a younger person to an elder. That would be... unusual, and likely impolite. Husbands may use with wives, or parents with a group of their kids, or kids group of friends.

Not something a tourist should use.

For example, we see Dean’s grandmother use it with Dean and Pharm in UWMA, and Than’s mother, Kwan, uses it when she meets Praifah. (Praifah: “Sawatdee kha” Kwan: “Sawatdee ja”.)

This a a softening and acknowledgment of the kid's polite behavior. It's being used to "bring down to earth" the adult character in a way. Implies that the adult is "cool" or less stiff than others of their age might be.

The impression I’ve always gotten is that it’s a way to capture the “ladylike” charm of politeness without implying any actual formality, social equality, or social distance. But I have no idea if that’s accurate or not.

I don't think it has a feminine association, maybe a little bit. You do hear men using it. And queer men all the time. So maybe a little bit. It's more of a code switch.

So if a man is using it with his wife he is softening himself to meet her on her linguistic level. Adult to child, older to younger. Social positioning-wize. It's not lowering, its cross pollinating.

However, I feel like I’ve heard the actual male young-adult characters using it recently, and not in a way that seems to have any intended gender or sexuality implications like some of the other alternative particles. Instead it seems to be a campy flourish when one is being overdramatic or jokey. Main example is MSP/MSP Our Skyy 2, where I know I heard at least Tinn and Por use it (and I’ve seen Ford use it on social media), and I think Gun as well. For example, when Tinn serves the jumba shaved ice in Our Skyy 2 when he does the weird hip-thrusting joke (which I still don’t understand) and says “Jumba ma laaeo ja” (“Jumba is served”).

Yes, notice its emphasis and intonation is much different when used in this context? That's sarcasm and mockery. The WAY THE WORD IS SAID is really important in Thai. They have 5 tonal intonations. 5.

In this instance the ja is a bit like:

A gay boy yelling to his gay boy friends: "Hey bitches!"

Or a dude bro yelling to the other dudes, "'Zup assholes?"

Perhaps not quite so rude but there is a campy insolence going on that's only to be deployed with peers and that's all in the intonation.

Ja is ALSO often used by kathoey, lesbians, and gay men (especially those who request/use the pronoun jay) within the queer community. It's mostly gender neutral so it can sub in for krap/kha if you don't want to ID your gender. As, indeed, can ha.

I have noticed a rise in its use in BL. Recently.

I don't know if this rise is due to:

A rise in its use in Thai common parlance as well.

The general queering up of the BL genre.

Confirmation bias, I am also listening for it more.

The general softening around pronouns and language allowed to appear on mainstream Thai TV.*

(* for those who don't know guu/mueng have only been allowed on TV recently)

My Stuff on Thai Particles

(source)

[russenoire]

a better way.

the first time i encountered 方がいい (hòu ga ìi) i was reading an exchange between a wonderstruck client of a phony psychic and her boyfriend. she is meeting with this particular psychic in hopes that he can help rid her dreams of a spirit who headbutts her every night; no one else will help her. so far his charm and bedside manner have won her over.

not her boyfriend, however. when he urges her to think again about working with him, the arrangement of his words to her struck me:

｢花子、考え直した方がいいぜ!｣ はなこ、かんがえなおしたほうがいいぜ！ hanáko, kangaenaósh'ta hòu ga ìi ze!

before i learned that 方が (hou ga, sometimes found in kana as ほうが) was an expression often used for giving advice -- an advisory imperative, as it were -- i interpreted this word-for-word. i wasn't far off: literally, this reads as 'hanako, the reconsidered way is better.'1

花子、考え直した方がいいぜ! hanáko, kangaenaósh'ta hòu ga ìi ze! hanako, the reconsidered way is better.

考える かんがえる kangáeru to consider, think logically.

考え直す かんがえなおす kangaenaósu to reconsider.

ぜ ze an emphatic particle used mostly by men to end sentences. think of it as a verbal exclamation point.2

方 ほう hòu 方 is a versatile word that can mean direction, or path, or one's own side in a debate, among other things. read as かた (katá) it can even be used to refer to a person in an honorific sense, or describe a way of doing something.

いい ii good, great, or best/better, depending on the context.

as a recovering blunt person born of a blunt culture, long schooled to avoid 'passive voice' and object-first sentences, i initially found this wording strangely indirect and evasive. but it is actually a careful and kind way to voice this sentiment. just a gentle nudge along a path favored by the speaker. even the avoidance of pronouns is kind here, as a 'you' might come across as accusatory or judgmental. who am i to tell you outright how you should live your life?

NOTE: i use apostrophes to compensate for some of the limitations of rōmaji, as it doesn’t reliably indicate which vowels are devoiced. if you see an ‘ in any of my transliterations, it stands in for an i or u sound that gets flattened in speech.

'hanako, you should really rethink this' is the official naturalized english translation of this line. ↩︎

for better or for worse, japanese is a heavily gendered tongue. there are whole classes of words intended for use specifically by men or women, and women's speech (女言葉, onna kotoba) is ideally supposed to be more polite and refined even in informal contexts. in practice, people play around some with this, and it offers some cool ways to express your gender verbally if you so choose. i favor mostly 'masculine' sentence-ending particles myself. more on this here. ↩︎

[gwendolynlerman]

I've been studying Spanish for about 10 years now & I'm proud of my progress. (I can listen to the news & follow along except for the words that are needed for the story. Basically I can tell words apart & hear all the particles etc. 4 years of high school classes in USA. 600 day streak on duolingo.) I'm also lgbtq+ & so knowing trends in the Spanish speaking community is important to me. I've heard that gender neutral endings for non-binary people are an emerging trend. (I'll label it from here as nb.) Let's say an ending or convention is finally agreed upon. For the purpose of what I'm about to ask. In Denis Baron's book "What's Your Pronoun?" he teaches that Latin had a gender system where the neuter would be absorbed into the feminine & the feminine/neuter gets absorbed into the masculine. What's the emerging trend regarding gender heirarchy with the nb accomodations? Is it like it was in latin? Is gender becoming non-absorbent? Is the nb absorbing the masculine/feminine? I know this is kind of niche, but I thought it was something cool to ask about even if it isn't as official yet. Thank you for any feedback you can give.

Hi! I hope I can accurately answer your questions as a native speaker with no formal linguistic or Spanish philology education 😅

I studied Latin for three years in high school, but I had never heard about the absorption of gender, so I’m afraid I can’t comment on that regarding Spanish, but I can write a bit about non-binary language in Spanish.

Traditionally, the masculine form has always been used as the gender neutral form, i.e., when you address a crowd, you might say chicos (guys), even if there are girls there and even if boys are the minority. There have some efforts to use a gender-neutral language in the form of an at sign (@), such as vuestr@ hij@ (your child), which I remember from school communications sent to parents.

More recently, several alternative gender-neutral forms have been proposed: using -x- (todxs, “all”) and -e- (todes, “all”), in place of either -o- (masculine ending) or -a- (feminine ending). Most of their usage takes place in social media, as I’ve never heard anyone use them when speaking in “real life”, but I know some people use them on a daily basis.

However, the problem with both tod@s and todxs is that there is no way to pronounce that, which I think is why people are leaning towards todes.

Another alternative, used mainly by politicians and people speaking in official settings, is to use both the masculine and the feminine forms: Bienvenidos y bienvenidas (Welcome), Todos los diputados y todas las diputadas (All the congressmen and congresswomen), etc., which is both redundant and not suitable for non-binary people. This has been the target of mockery, especially in politics, as the feminine form is sometimes used when there is none in an effort to seem inclusive: *miembras (members), *altas cargas (senior officials), and *portavozas (spokeswomen).

All in all, I do believe we are moving towards a more inclusive language, but I think there is still a long way to go, given that we can’t even agree on what form to use.

I hope I made sense! Don’t hesitate to ask if you have more questions :)

[rawliverandcigarettes]

Yet another Tag Time !

Tagged by @sexy-salmon ! Thanks, fellow space frog enthusiast :D

RULES: answer 30 questions and tag 10 blogs you are contractually obligated to know

I won't tag 10 blogs because I don't know that many people. But I still tag @natsora, @illusivesoul and @betacarotene-e160a ! As always, feel free to take it or leave it o/

Nicknames: Merween is my most common username across the internet since I'm like, 12. Otherwise I guess I have this friend who makes fun of my particle name and reverses name and last name, but I'm nnnnot sure it counts.

Gender/pronouns: She/Her

Star sign: Taurus

Height: 5′3 (I think, because as the mere european person I am, I don't get this metric system xD)

Time: 14.55 CET

Birthday: May 12th

Favorite bands: I am so bad with that type of questions. Favorite relative to what ? xD I kind of rediscovered Deftones recently and I really like their universe. I adore The National for one single song that wrecks me endlessly. None of them are actually favorites, I'm only buying time here.

Favorite solo artist:  I don't know what to say I'm sorry. T_T

Song stuck in your head: Survivor, from Kung Fury. (Gonna need some gonna need some ACTION !!!!)

Last movie you watched?: Die Hard. I've never seen it before, and it was good fun !

Last show?: I vaguely started The Wire, but circunstances had kept me from watching the first episode in full lenght, so I really don't know if that counts. Else it would still be The Handmaid's Tale

Why did you create your blog?: Because I was tired of being the only Mass Effect nerd in my immediate entourage, I wanted to talk about my ongoing fanfiction project Halfway Home, I wanted to share drawings, and dang I wanted to finally dare saying something on tumblr because the platform is intriguing to me.

What do you post?: Mass Effect drawings mostly -specifically drawings related to Halfway Home, a lot of tags recently, and I reblog cool fanart -extra points if it features salarians. I really should post more things, but I'm not sure what would interest people ? Feel free to tell me !

Last thing you googled?: Rotta the Hutling. Because did you know that canonically, Jabba the Hutt had a weirdly cute son that look desperate to hug you ? LOOK AT HIM ! He became my profile pic pretty much everywhere, that dodgy slug baby thing.

Other blogs: I share a devblog on the indie game I'm working on with my team, and I plan to launch a less-specific blog for when I'll start seriously talking about narrative design and very probably launch a Youtube channel buuut-

AO3: MerweenTheWitch I think it is ?

Do you get asks?: I'm not sure I even received one ? Maybe one, at the very beginning of this blog's lifespan.xD I never actively encouraged it though, which is too bad because they look fun !

How did you get the idea for your URL?: halfwayhome was taken, halfway_home was taken, pretty much everything related to the fic's title was out of reach. So I decided to find something else to represent both salarians, an idea of confrontation and the edgy grungey tone of the story, so Raw Liver and Cigarettes was pretty much it.

Followers: 46 best persons in the entire world in my very humbled objectivity (no but really, you are all so precious to me)

I follow: 46 people also ! The odds of that !

Average hours of sleep: Anywhere between 0 to like, 16, because my sleep patterns are broken !! But I tend to orbit around 4 when I have life obligations.

Lucky number: 14 I'd say ?

Instruments: Keyboard -I suck, I mostly use it as a device to compose and arrange music-, I sing, I can blow into a flute and make sound somewhat ?? Also I used to play the accordion, which is desperately french.

What are you wearing?: A grey/black shirt with two many straps, a pair of torn jeans but not in a cool torn way, more like I have not bought a pair of pants since little less than a decade, and a peignoir. Yay for working from home.

Dream job: Narrative game designer. Even better if I work on my own games. Even better if I end up mAKING MONEY TO LIKE SURVIVE and not starve or be too cold to move. Right now I'm achieving two of those three goals, which to be fair is 2/3 of the whole package so I'm still reasonnably thrilled. (actually my dream job would be absolute unlimited possibilities to work on any support of project (mostly creative, but I enjoy science as well), of any scale, with any timeframe -it's highly implausible, but it's where my heart truly lies)

Dream trip: Somewhere north, where I can be alone and watch auroras. Or, to get really fancy, I guess space is both unattainable and very tempting as once.

Favorite food: I think mochis are way up -most of japanese cooking in general. But again, I really enjoy watermelon and gnocchis, and I'm so bad at making favorites, I don't get how that works.

Significant other?: Nope, which is hardly a big deal to my work-obsessed ace-ish butt.

Last book I read: « Drawing Blood » by Molly Crabapple. It's non-fiction autobiography dealing with politics between 2008 to 2013 in the US, arts and the author's journey with technique and meaning, the entertwinment between economical elite and artists, sex workers and performers... It's a baroque punch in the guts. As depressing as it is inspiring. I adored this book, and I truly needed to read it.

Top 3 fictional universes: Hard question, but. I'd say Mass Effect, The Elder Scrolls, and mh. I waver between a lot of them. But I think I'll go with Tolkien universe. This is not as much a top as a list of fictionnal universes I truly enjoyed. Again, me and faves xD

[finding--cat]

To read the previous instalment, click here.

To learn more about The Longest Sky, click here.

I post new instalments on 6pm EST on Fridays. Thanks in advance for reading - would love to hear from you :) 

Part I: The List 1.2 

Ari analyzes the image on her phone and squints her eyes to match it to the table of men across the bar. Unlike his clean-cut headshot, the man for whom she’s searching wanders around the table with his collar obnoxiously unfolded, beer sloshing from his mug, baseball cap featuring the logo of the WVU Mountaineers. In person, an untrimmed, auburn beard crawls down his neck. He doesn’t sit still and laughs like a rooster crowing at dawn: neck pushed forward, mouth agape, choked sound forced from his throat at unnatural volume. Head bobbing in discordance with the beat of the sound system, he lopes around the table like an animal looking for his next meal.

This, Ari decides, is definitively the first and last time she allows herself to go on nothing but a LinkedIn profile picture.

Of course there’s nothing to learn from a LinkedIn picture – that’s the point. Everyone’s in a suit and tie smiling their most trying smile. The photo is there for an employer to determine age, gender, race.

The reason Rosen directed her to nothing but a LinkedIn picture is now crystal clear.

His arm cuts across the table to grab a generous handful of salted nuts, which he crams in his mouth with only a slight tip of his head. He chews with his mouth open and when he laughs, nut particles soar through the air. Ari spies the particles from across the bar and promptly braces herself, straightening her back and jostling the wooden rail against which she leans.

“Shit!”

Ari startles at the voice in her left ear, instinctively shifting to the right as her head whips around with a gasp. Though her gin and tonic has just been righted on the rail, it wobbles and tips forward once again.

“Oh, fuck! Jesus.” The same voice is the one who places a hand on her glass for a second time, steadying it on the rail.

“Thanks,” she says.

“Sorry,” he says at the same time. He grins at Ari’s frown of confusion.

“Why would you—”

“You’re welcome.”

Ari’s words are lost on her lips as they talk over one another. She blinks, lips parted, neck tilted to the right as if blown over by this man’s invasion of her personal space.

He chuckles warmly and holds up his palms, humbly bowing his head as he steps back. Ari nods with a polite smile before returning to the LinkedIn photo and her blind date across the bar, now commanding attention by showing his friends a video on his phone and studying them in anticipation of approving laughter.

Breath dances along her hair.

“God!” she cries, skirting forward into the rail and smacking her hand to the back of her neck.

Without fail, the man catches her wobbling drink for a third time.

“Better hold onto this,” he suggests and offers it to her.

She takes it without comment and eyes him suspiciously. He smiles like he’s got no secrets – Ari immediately distrusts him. His lips are their own conversation, parted and awaiting her response – Ari has nothing to say, so she returns to her phone and inserts the straw of her beverage between her lips.

But her sixth sense kicks into gear. With the music dulling her hearing and the drink dulling everything else, Ari feels him behind her still. Senses his presence and glances over her shoulder with her nostrils flared and brows set in a deep frown. She shrugs her shoulders away from the predatory behaviour. She went to college in the hub of corporate America; she knows a creep when she sees one.

The man’s not looking at her. Instead, he examines the screen of her phone, alternating his stare between the image and the table straight ahead to match the image to its likeness in person.

At her hardening frown, his gaze adjusts to her face. Cool and composed, he brings his mug to his lips and asks, “Are you undercover?”

Bewildered, Ari says, “No.”

The man tilts the glass to his lips and takes a sip, bringing the back of his hand to his lips to wipe away excess moisture. Slowly, he nods, lips pursed. “That’s exactly what an undercover cop would say.”

Her chuckle escapes her in a breath, shoulders relaxing. “It’s also what any person would say who’s not an undercover cop.”

He squints at her, nodding in appreciation. He’s very close, seemingly comfortable with his shoulder pressed to hers. The sirens in Ari’s head would normally be sounding the alarm if it weren’t for the natural friendliness of his face. He owes it to his boyish cleft chin, she thinks. That and his clear blue eyes, bright as if there were stars shining behind them.

“What if that person’s a liar?” he counters.

She sucks what’s left of her drink through the straw and then lets it fall from her lips. “You might have to trust that I’m not.”

“Hmm. Sounds fishy.” His face betrays his words with a broad grin. He eyes her phone again, unbothered when she holds it closer to her chest. “That one, huh?”

He extends his arm to point across the bar to Luke, currently calling a server’s attention to order another pint.

Ari’s stomach clenches, and she grabs his arm and presses it down tight against his side. When she turns to glare at him, he’s laughing.

“Didn’t blow your cover. Guy’s too busy getting fresh with the server.”

Sure enough, one more glance at Luke proves that while the server writes down his order, he sneaks a peek down her blouse.

Still, Ari returns to glaring at the man beside her.

He holds up his palms in surrender. “Don’t shoot, sergeant.”

Because she’s alone in an unfamiliar place and because she’s just decided she doesn’t intend to stay much longer, Ari allows her defenses to fall. She leans against the rail and admits with a sigh, “I’m on a blind date.”

His brows perk as his eyes dart curiously around the room. “Am I interrupting, or…?”

“With him,” Ari clarifies, rolling her eyes to the right in a gesture to Luke. “With Pervy McLoud over there.”

Bewildered, he blinks, glancing from Ari to Luke and back again. He leans in with a furrowed brow, asking, “D’ya think he’s aware you’re on this date?”

Ari senses the teasing and relaxes into a smile. “He—yeah. My sister arranged it. He knows we’re meeting, I just didn’t realize he’d… I don’t know. Is it common? To bring a crowd with you on a blind date?”

He shrugs, finally stepping forward to stand next to Ari. He sets his beer mug next to her glass and folds his arms along the rail to bear his weight. “Not sure. Never been on one. Don’t think so, though.”

“Typical of my sister.” Ari rolls her eyes and picks at the faux nails Rosen brought home this afternoon, shaking her head across the bar at Luke toasting his friends before taking an enormous gulp from his mug. “She probably knew he’d show up with an army and knew I’d back out if she told me.”

“Wouldn’t anyone?” He pinches his lips together and eyes her with a shrug. “That’s intimidating as fuck.”

“Thank you. Yes, exactly.”

“He doesn’t need help appearing intimidating, either. Not if you ask me.” He and Ari turn their heads simultaneously to watch Luke pretend to punch his friend in the cheek, and then laugh while he takes a drink, misses his mouth and beer dribbles from his chin. Ari picks so aggressively at her pinky nail that it slides right off. She places it neatly next to her glass on the rail.

Beside her, the man scoffs in amusement. “Your sister hate you or somethin’?”

“Yeah.” Ari widens her eyes in bleak agreement. She fiddles with her thumbnail until she feels his eyes on her, prying for an explanation. She looks up almost surprised he’s still there. “No, she—my sister has good intentions. This would be fun for her if she were in my position, so she thinks she’s doing me a favour.”

“But it’s not fun for you.”

Ari shakes her head. “Not by a long shot.”

“You’ve told her this?”

Ari hesitates. An older group of Tillson City natives enters through the side door of the bar, elevating the noise almost instantly. They grab a booth near Luke and his friends, and the knot in Ari’s stomach twists. Her tongue darts across her lower lip, eyes shifting over his shoulder as she replies, “I think I’m doing her a favour by letting her think she’s doing me a favour.”

He laughs into his mug and downs another sip. “Got it. She thinks you need a boyfriend?”

Those weren’t her exact words, but Ari doesn’t much feel like repeating the ‘you need to have a rebound to get over Lou’ pep talk.

So she says, “Not specifically, no.”

He shrugs. “Girlfriend? Just a… romantic partner?”

“She just thinks…” Ari trails, words dancing carefully on her tongue, “She thinks it would be good for me. I guess.”

He nods slowly, tilting his head back to finish off the mug. “Trust me,” he says, nudging her with his elbow, “that guy over there’s not good for anybody.”

Ari raises her brows. “You know him?”

“Oh, yeah. Him and his gang are regulars here. Once a week visitors at least – more, during football season.”

“And?”

He rubs his lips, concealing an arising grin. He folds his arms across the rail and looks over his shoulder at her, dimple in his chin as he fights a smile.

“He sucks.”

She laughs. It’s the way he says it, like there are a thousand stories at the tip of his tongue, that propels her to slide closer to him. “How so?” she asks, convincing herself that this is research and nothing more. Nothing to do with the ease in his tone or the give of his grin or the red and blue plaid flannel stretched across his shoulder blades, rolled to the elbows to expose a vein or two protruding from his forearms. Nothing to do with familiar warmth in her fingers and toes that used to pool in her chest. It comes from making a connection with someone, having a conversation that doesn’t bore or threaten her. She knows it well, and yet she can’t remember the last time she experienced it.

“Oh, you know. Making passes at all the female servers, getting hammered and making a mess of the men’s on a few occasions, jeering at the live talent… that sort of stuff.”

“Really.”

“I wouldn’t lie. How does your sister know him, anyway?”

“She doesn’t. Well, not really. He’s one of her fiancé’s high school friends.”

“Oh.” His blue eyes are hooded in contemplation. “Is he here tonight? The fiancé?”

“No,” Ari snorts. “I wish. They’re in Charleston tonight. Besides, it’s not really my sister’s scene in here. And those guys?” She points to Luke’s crowd across the bar. “Can’t see her enjoying a night out with them. I get why she calls them Jackson’s high school friends – it’s pretty clear he went his separate way in college after they all bonded on the high school football team.”

“High school football, huh.” With a sniff, he tears his eyes away.

“I should meet people here.” So desperate not to be left alone, Ari continues to engage even with the man staring blankly across the bar. “I came here for a change, after all. There are just certain types of people I can’t involve myself with anymore – some people make me feel like I’m in a rut, trapped in one place and static. And maybe he’s one of those people. Or maybe… he’s not.”

Beside her, the man nods slowly. He gulps, staring ahead and cupping his mug as he speaks. “I hate to break it to you, but you came to the wrong place.” With a grim smile, he glances her way. “People ‘round here don’t really change.”

She returns the smile. His admission hasn’t made her feel any better, but his company has. “So. Your opinion of the squawking football players?”

His shoulders shake in a chuckle. “They’re good for business, bad for morale. The girls hate ‘em,” he says, gesturing to a female server scurrying by with a tray of mugs, “but management won’t do anything about it because it’s a guaranteed few bodies once or twice a week. Buys the venue a hundred bucks’ worth of drinks.”  

The fact that it didn’t take him more than a second to develop a complete analysis confuses her. Ari frowns. “How often do you—”

“Linds!”

He waves over the server. She comes to a halt at the sound of her name, ponytail swaying behind her as she changes course. She tucks her notepad into the apron of her skirt.

“Can we get another round here, Linds?” he asks. “On my tab. Guinness for me, and for…”

A moment of silence drifts past until Ari realizes he’s awaiting her response. Her eyes dart back and forth before she says sheepishly, “Oh. Um… Ari.”

“And for Ari here, another GNT?”

He looks to her for confirmation. It’s on the tip of her tongue to refuse the gesture – it’s not often she lets a man buy her a drink, let alone after knowing him for only a few minutes. But when her eyes stray to Luke, Ari knows with certainty that her evening will require more alcohol.

So she smiles at him and nods to Linds. “That’d be great.”

Linds gathers their empty glasses and repeats, “One Guinness, one gin and tonic.”

The man gives her a thumbs-up and thanks her by name before she departs. She wasn’t wearing a nametag – he’d known her from before.

“I take it you’re a regular here,” Ari remarks, angling her body toward his against the rail.

“In a way, yeah.”

She nods, surveying the scenery. It’s not much of a home turf – the mauve carpets carry at least twenty years of beer stains, the artwork and pinups on the walls are faded and dated, the ceilings are too low, the lighting too dim. It’s the sort of place you wouldn’t return to unless there were memories tied to the location, or unless someone you loved was meeting you there.

As far as Ari knows, the man is here alone. She asks, “You come by yourself often?”

He shrugs, cocking his head to the side. “Yeah.”

“Why is that?”

He laughs, nudging her again. “You’re here on your own.”

“I’m here to meet someone,” she corrects him. Of course he knows that. What he meant is that she arrived on her own, and at this point in the evening, she can’t fathom why. She would feel exponentially better with Rosen by her side, if only she weren’t Jackson’s date for the evening. Ari should have thought of that in advance and fought harder to re-book the date. But she never thinks of these things – she never considers bringing company along when it’s a self-serving task. She never considers inviting anyone anywhere with her until she’s already there and feels utterly, pathetically alone.

“Well, maybe I’ve got a date, too,” he suggests.

“You do?”

“Different sort of date,” he’s quick to add. The starlit gleam in his eyes makes her gulp, a lump forming in her throat. “Not with a person. More like an appointment.”

A line of questions queues on her lips, but she pauses to follow his eyes straying to her half-baked fake nails. From there, they travel down, taking in her white converse, distressed jeans and blouse. When he meets her eyes again, the cords in his throat shift and he grins.

“Niall, by the way.” He holds out his hand. “Good to meet you, Ari. Haven’t seen you ‘round before.”

“No,” she agrees, taking his hand and melting into his warm grip. “I just, y’know… I don’t really…”

“Don’t really like it here?” he finishes for her with a chuckle.

She grits her teeth and bares them, dramatically tugging on her collar with her free hand. “It’s not here, specifically,” she explains, “it’s bars in general. I try to avoid them.”

“Don’t like the vibe?”

“Too many people, not enough room to breathe.”

“Hmm.”

Her cheeks flush. They’re still shaking hands. Flustered, Ari lets her fingers go slack. Her hand slips through Niall’s, but not before her nails rake gently across his palm. He shakes his head in a shiver. It seems to remind him that a number of her nails are lined precisely along the rail in front of her. Embarrassed, she follows his gaze there.

“So…” he begins, huffing a laugh, “you shedding or something?”

Ari presses her lips together as she smiles, rolling her eyes though the apples of her cheeks and the back of her neck turn hot. “I was just trying them out. My sister did them for me this afternoon. As it turns out, they’re annoying and I don’t like having long nails.”

Niall shrugs – she likes that she can now put a name to his face – and leans closer to examine them. “You tried them for a couple hours? Didn’t give them much chance, did you?”

“I know what I like.”

Ari gratefully accepts the gin and tonic when Linds returns, clinking with Niall’s beer mug before sipping through her straw. Niall maintains eye contact with her even as he tips his head back for a drink, sighing in satisfaction as he settles the mug next to her nails on the rail.

“And I also know what I don’t like,” she adds matter-of-factly, smiling as Niall leans in with narrowed eyes to suss her out. “My theory is: why waste time on something you don’t like that does nothing for you?”

“S’a good theory,” Niall nods, “though you don’t seem to be applying it to practice.”

Ari gestures to her nails and raises her brows in offense. “What do you call this?”

“What do you call being at a bar you’ve already admitted you don’t like?”

Her shoulders deflate as she nods in defeat. Niall’s laugh, though previously somewhat of a cackle, is now warm and deep, slow like honey dripping into a bowl. It trickles through her ears and down her spine, sticking inside her walls.

“This is slightly different, though. I’m doing this for my sister.”

“You’re a goddamn saint, you know that?”

That earns him a light kick on the back of his shin. He shies out of the way and nearly spills his own mug of beer.

“Careful, or I’ll scratch you with my remaining claws.” She curls her fingers and swipes out at him like a cat.

“Terrifying.” He catches her wrist and examines the nails up close. With a contemplative tug at the corner of his lips, he shrugs. “They can’t be that annoying. Don’t look too crazy or sharp.”

“I’d like to see you try to deal with them.”

“Challenge accepted.” As if he was waiting for the opportunity, Niall reaches across to take the removed thumbnail from the rail. Ari barely has time to consider whether or not this is entirely sanitary before he sticks the tacky side on his thumb and wags it in front of her eyes, silver and glittery.

She snorts. “You look incredible.”

“I think so. Could use this, actually. Might come in handy.”

“For what?”

His gaze drifts just as he opens his mouth to reply. He does a double take toward the seating area before returning his eyes to hers. Then, as natural as breathing, he crosses one ankle over the other and leans his body weight against the rail, waving his mug of beer in a storytelling gesture.

“So, that stock market, eh? Bought forty shares of Google back in ’99 thinkin’ it was nothing but a funny word; now I’m a millionaire.”

Ari lowers her chin and scrunches her nose. “… what?”

“Yeah.” He nods, eyes blown wide, encouraging her to invest in his words. “Was told I should sell in ’04, they were convinced it was a passing fad. But I thought, nah, should stick it out just for kicks.”

A figure approaches in the corner of Ari’s eye. He’s not one of the servers carrying a tray with a utility belt around his waist, but another patron walking toward them with purpose. From Niall’s sudden change in behaviour, it must be Luke. Instinctively, she leans toward Niall.

“Really? Google? You were early to the bandwagon,” she says, confirming with her eyes that she understands the game they’re playing.

“Yep.” Niall takes a casual swig of beer. “Always had a keen sense for stocks.”

“And in what year were you born?”

“Uh, that’d be ’93.”

“So when you bought the Google shares, you were…”

“Six years old,” Niall confirms with a firm nod.

Ari purses her lips together to keep from belting out a laugh but can’t suppress her smile.

“Like I said,” Niall says, voice uneven with stifled laughter, “always had a keen sense.”

“Astonishing.” Ari gives him a slow clap. “Truly inspiring. Actually, I’d love the opportunity to talk to you more about stocks and business—”

“Sorry to interrupt,” comes a deep and intrusive voice. A hand is on Ari’s shoulder. Pretending to be shocked, she looks over with distrust in her eyes. “Are you Ari Pate?”

“Um…” Her eyes dart to Niall and back.

“Rosen’s sister?”

She stares.

“This is you, yeah?” Luke asks. He produces his cell and aims the screen at her: sure enough, there’s a photo of Ari and Rosen taken on Rosen’s phone last week in Charleston.

For a fleeting moment, she truly loathes her sister for sending a photo.

“Yeah—yes,” she stammers, nodding with the straw of her drink between her lips and hating herself for it. She spits it out and offers him a formal handshake. “Hi, nice to meet you.”

Luke hesitates, raising a brow at her extended hand but eventually taking it in his. “You look different in real life,” he muses. “Maybe ‘cause you’re not smiling.”

Rosen tells Ari she should smile more often. Ari tells Rosen to go jump in a lake, but perhaps Luke wouldn’t take to it as kindly.

The silence travels thickly through the air before Ari says, “How about now?” She places the back of her hand underneath her chin, tilts her head to the side and bares her teeth in a smile she hasn’t worn since second grade Picture Day.  

Beside her, Niall laughs, but Luke remains skeptical. He analyzes the photo on his phone and shrugs. “I dunno. You never know with online dating. Everyone puts on a front.”

“We’re not online dating,” Ari points out. “And I haven’t put on a front because we’re speaking for the first time just now.”

Luke finally rips his eyes from Ari to glance at Niall for assistance. When he takes in Niall’s face, his expression sinks instantly into a glare. After an uncomfortable moment, he turns his attention back to Ari with a charmingly fake grin.

“Glad you could make it, anyway. Been looking forward to this; Hawley told me about you.”

“Good things, I hope.”

“Yeah. Said you were prettier in person. Can’t argue with that.”

Ari exhales, trying to suppress repulsion on her face. Niall watches her over the lip of his beer mug, studying her reaction. In a split second exchange, she knows he’s just as turned off by Luke as she is.

“Look, my buddies are just over there,” Luke says, gesturing to the crowd behind him. “We got a table for the game. Join us. Saved a seat for you” –Luke looks to Niall—“but I think we’re pretty tight, bud, sorry.”

Ari looks to Niall almost pleadingly. She came to Sherman’s alone, but she’s desperate for company. She’s only known him a few minutes longer than her date, but Niall is practically a well-worn security blanket compared to Luke’s leathery exterior. Niall’s chest swells with air. Ari swears he’s about to offer an alternative and sags her shoulders in relief. He’s going to do it. He’s going to—

“Nialler! You’re up.” A man wearing a white waist apron emerges from behind the bar, a pen behind his ear and a tea towel thrown over his shoulder. He snaps his fingers for Niall’s attention.

For his part, Niall seems genuinely surprised to be called upon, head snapping up and eyes bugging as though he’s not done his homework but has been called to the blackboard.

Ari looks to the man – perhaps the manager – and to Niall, and back again. Niall finishes a sip of his beer and licks his lips, hissing through his teeth. “Yeah. So. I’d love to join, honest, but I’ve got a gig.”

Ari pushes out her lip in confusion. “A gig?”

“Ohhhh.” In a lightbulb moment of understanding, Luke smacks his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Knew you looked familiar. You’re the guy, right?”

Niall’s lips part to speak, but no words come out. He stares darkly at Luke and replies in monotone, “I’m the guy.”

“What guy?” asks Ari.

“Play something upbeat tonight, yeah? You take requests?”

Niall shrugs. “I’ll give it my best shot.”

“You play?”

Once again, Ari’s cut off before Niall can answer. “I know you from somewhere, don’t I?” Luke says. “Were you a linebacker at Somerset? Did we play you?”

Niall seems to consider this, nostrils flaring in annoyance. “Nah. Wasn’t me.”

“Oh.” Luke frowns. “You sure? You look like a football type of guy.”

Ari looks from Niall to Luke, both of them in a heated stare she’s not sure how to interrupt. Luke’s clearly offended Niall, but she can’t possibly piece together why except to remark to herself that Niall does not at all have the body of a football player. For one, at first glance, he’s well under two hundred pounds.

In the end, Niall doesn’t reply to Luke. Ari wants to ask him what he knows. How he knows Luke, though Luke’s memory of Niall seems hazy at best. Ari wants to know what music he plays, and for how long, and how often, and whether she’ll get to talk to him when it’s over. In a split second of honesty, she can admit to herself that she enjoyed talking to Niall, and for the first time in a long time, she also enjoyed talking a little bit about herself.

Luke presses his fingers into the small of her back and begins to lead her away. “C’mon, I’ll introduce you to the boys. Got a whole group here. See you, guy.”

Ari barely has time to gather her nails and gin and tonic and looks over her shoulder with a frown. For his part, Niall purses his lips until there are dimples in his cheeks, shrugging his shoulders in apology. “Sorry,” he mouths.

“Help me,” she mouths back.

He gives her a thumbs-up and a firm nod, mouthing, “You’ll be good.”

“Ready to meet ‘em?” Luke asks her. Ari opens her mouth to reply but Luke is already looking away. “Everyone, this is Ari. Hawley set us up so she’ll be hanging out tonight. Ari, this is everyone: Pike, Schafer, Figs, and Janowitz. Here, have a seat.”

Ari barely has time to look each member of the table in the eyes, let alone catch their strange names.

It wouldn’t matter even if she did. Despite each member of the table giving her a smile or a small wave, once the players rush the field on the screen above, no one gives her a second thought.

.

Ari once wished she’d brought along Rosen for reassurance, but not anymore. Were Rosen here, she’d be telling Ari to engage in conversation, to ask Luke questions about his home and upbringing, to give his arm light touches and skim his thigh to portray interest. For all his pomp and circumstance, Luke is about as fascinating as the slow flip of a traffic light, so Ari makes no fuss when she’s cut out of the conversation between the men.

Niall takes his place on the small wooden block of a stage in the corner of the room. The mic is already set up in front of a tall stool, and he uses the surface for his beer mug. Then he gets to work plugging his acoustic guitar into the amp and testing the volume. He spends a minute or two tuning the guitar and strumming a couple of chords to himself before he looks out into the modest crowd. When Ari catches his eye, he grins.

She can’t help it; she grins back.

With his guitar strap slung across his shoulder, Niall takes a generous sip of beer and then turns on the mic. He taps it a few times and clears his throat, though no one in the bar aside from Ari pays attention.

“Evenin’ everyone. Havin’ a good time, are ya?”

It’s a rhetorical question, and Niall is ignored aside from a couple of patrons who raise their glasses in the air and hoot.

Niall chuckles as he fiddles with the knobs on his guitar. “Yeah, glad to hear it. Friday, right? You survived the week; treat yourself to an ice cold bevy. Find Linds to place your orders, she’s around here somewhere with a tray in her hands. Tip her nicely, too; she’s paying her way through college.”

As he plucks a few strings with his fingers, Ari notices he’s still wearing her nail on his thumb. She bites down on her lower lip to hide her smile.

“I recognize the ol’ familiar faces, but for those of you who don’t know me, I’m Niall, and I’ve been stumblin’ ‘round these parts so long they finally handed me a guitar and told me to make myself useful. Got a few songs on the roster as usual, but I do take requests, so don’t be shy.”

Before turning his attention to his guitar, he offers Ari a wink. As she gulps and raises a hand to her cheek, she’s surprised to find it burning from the inside.

Luke and his friends loudly discuss their football draft picks, which eases Ari’s guilt as she shifts her attention to the bar’s entertainment. Niall uses his fingers to pluck the strings on his guitar in a soft and sweet melody, tongue sweeping over his bottom lip in concentration. Ari’s fingers tighten around her glass as she notices he uses her extra long and hardened thumbnail to his advantage on the strings. Niall said he comes here a lot – maybe he’s here every night. Maybe this is what he does for a living. Maybe everyone in Tillson City knows his face and recognizes his voice. Maybe Ari’s a little bit jealous of Tillson City for it.

“You used to call me on my cell phone, late night when you need my love…”

Ari’s attention snaps from Niall’s fingers to his face, watching him croon into the microphone to a lost cheer in the crowd. For some reason, Hotline Bling wasn’t her first guess as to what would be on a smalltown country boy’s setlist, but after a mellow intro, Niall turns it into a jazzy tune with a beat. By the time he circles back to the chorus, he’s moving his head along with the beat and swaying his hips.

A sharp nudge in the side is all she needs to call her back to earth. “Don’t listen to Figs, he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.”

“What?”

Luke’s staring at her with a glaze in his eyes, shaking his head with a sly grin. “You’re only encouraging him to keep being an ass.”

Ari frowns. “Who?”

“Figs.”

“What?”

Luke laughs. “That’s who you’re laughing at, right? Figs?”

Ari mentally congratulates herself on her idiocy as she touches the corner of her lips with her finger to confirm that yes, she is smiling. But not at one of Luke’s brash, overbearing friends talking about athletes she’s never heard of playing a sport she doesn’t follow.

“Yeah,” she lies. “Funny.”

Oddly pleased that his friend earned a laugh from her, Luke goes back to the group discussion.

Ari goes back to watching Niall.

.

Her eyes follow him as he leaves the stage. Niall carefully disassembles his equipment and carries it behind the bar, presumably to a secure storage area. After a five minute process, all that remains on the stage is the stool and the mic stand, and all that remains in Niall’s hands is his guitar in its case. He leaves his empty mug at the bar and stops to chat with a bartender.

Ari twists her body toward the table, angling herself away from him. The second she turns away, she burns to know where he is in the room and what he’s doing, but she blinks hard and forces herself to pay attention to the men’s conversation centered around their high school football team. To Ari, the conversation itself is about as entertaining as watching a game of high school football, and watching a game of high school football is about as entertaining as all those hours she spent during the Before laying face-down on the bed she shared with Louis watching the wind from the fan blow a stray feather from the pillow around the carpet. At twenty-six years old, she also can’t remember the last time she had a throwback-to-high-school hour with old friends.

Then again, she’d have to actually still have friends in order to make the comparison.

That’s a stinger.

Ari squeezes her eyes shut and uses sheer force to push the thought out of her mind. Here and now. Here and now. When she opens them again, she immediately searches for Niall.

Since the last time she spied on him, Niall’s left the bar and now sports a plain black baseball cap and a denim jacket. One of the servers bids him farewell and pats him on the back. Niall gives a wave and turns on his heels. Ari’s in the midst of inventing a reason to return to this godforsaken bar to watch him perform again when he catches her eye and grins.

She looks away on instinct, sensing she should feel embarrassed for her desperate ogling.

But that’s stupid. He already saw her gawking at him. Why bother pretending?

Ari gives him a second take. Her cheeks may be pink and her smile sheepish, but she grins back. And that does it – on that note, Niall weaves through bar tables towards her.

Her spine unfurls as the soles of her shoes skate across the carpet. He’s approaching her, not anyone else. And while it’s not the first time her stomach has fluttered from the untapped potential between herself and another, not the first time her heart has clenched with the realization that her interest and intrigue is returned, it’s certainly the first time in a while. And it’s more frightening than she recalls. Whatever first impression she gave him, it’s probably wrong. She should be upfront about it. She shouldn’t let herself be a disappointment to someone else, it’s irresponsible to let it get that far—

“Hey.” Niall’s soft greeting catches her breath in her throat. He leans down next to her, resting an elbow on the table. He ignores the five pairs of male eyes sharply focused on him and stays true to Ari’s gaze.

“Hey,” she replies, the word spilling from her lips as if she’s held it in for hours.

“How are ya?”

She gives an imperceptible shrug, chancing an eye roll in Luke’s direction. Niall grins.

“You were awesome though,” she says. “You do this a lot?”

He bites his lip, eyes bright. “Yeah. A bit.”

“How do you choose your covers? You’ve played around with all the arrangements. They sound amazing.”

“Thanks. Yeah, I just… I…” Niall’s eyes stray beyond Ari’s shoulders for only a second, distracted. Then his gaze returns to her and he gulps, brows tugging in. “Do you wanna get outta here?”

Her smile falters much later than it should. “What?”

“I can give you a ride home. Unless you drove yourself here?”

Ari chokes on words, unsure whether to be incensed or grateful. Niall knows she’s here with someone else. Rosen set her up with a man, a trusted friend of Jackson’s, with whom she’s barely exchanged more than a few sentences all evening. Not one of her better first dates. Then again, just because she clicks with Niall – and maybe clicks is too loose a term, but Ari doesn’t meet many people anymore, let alone converse naturally with them – doesn’t mean he’s not a serial killer preparing to bury her mangled remains in the West Virginia backwoods where they’ll never be found.

It’s a tough call. It requires serious thought.

“Okay,” Ari agrees. “If you don’t mind.”

Dumb.

By the time Niall shakes his head, Ari’s already finished her beverage and pushed her chair out from the table. She feels uncharacteristically good about her snap decision. Niall has a trustworthy face, which means literally nothing, but Ari’s got a gut feeling. It’s been a long time since her gut’s communicated with her at all. So long she forgot it had a rather convincing voice of its own.

Before standing, she turns to Luke and avoids the others’ burning stares. She offers a conciliatory smile. “Think I’m gonna head home. I’ve had a long day – feeling tired.”

Baffled, Luke arches a brow. He points to the screen above. “Game’s almost over. Once the results are in and I figure out how much Schafer owes me, I’ll take you back to Hawley’s myself.”

“It’s okay,” is Ari’s hasty reply. She nods her head to assure him she’s doing him a favour. “Niall’s leaving now and I don’t wanna make you cut out early, so…”

“She’s on my way, man. It’s no problem for me,” Niall adds from behind.

They leave it at that. Luke most likely realizes he can’t protest further without causing a scene and/or knowing Ari beyond a level of first date weirdness, and Ari’s had quite enough of the other men at the table staring at her like she’s got a third eye. So she waves a hasty farewell and gives a reserved smile before gathering her bag and following Niall through the labyrinth of tables. He stops at the bar to pick up his guitar case and wish a good night to Linds, and then he pats down the sides of his denim jacket before moving to his black jeans, finally identifying car keys in the front left pocket. He pulls them out with a nod of satisfaction, twirling his index finger around the key ring.

Ari wishes she wasn’t already watching in fascination when he looks up, but alas, subtlety isn’t one of her gifts. Niall doesn’t seem to notice and asks,“You ready?”

She nods.

“Then let’s rock and fuckin’ roll.” He urges her to follow him to the door of the pub, throwing it open and holding it ajar with his foot to allow her to pass through first. On her way out, Ari offhandedly glances over her shoulder for one last look at her would-be blind date, surprised to find him and his cronies staring curiously back at her even though the game is back from commercial on the screen above.

Niall coughs into his hand. Ari snaps up her head and thanks him for holding open the door as she scurries outside.

.

Niall drives a forest green Ford F-150 pickup that must have survived at least three apocalyptic episodes. The passenger door squeaks with rust as he holds it open for Ari. She climbs in tentatively, imagining the floor of the vehicle falling out from under her feet. When Niall hops into the driver’s seat, the vehicle lurches with his weight.

Ari’s eyes follow the guitar case as he funnels it into the backseat. The middle seat in the back is thrown forward for use of the cup holder, which contains a bottled drink and an open bag of pretzels.  Various wrappers, receipts, songbooks, and articles of clothing are strewn across the floor, but most noticeable of all is the carseat installed on the driver’s side. Niall doesn’t mention it, so Ari doesn’t ask.

The truck sputters to a perilous start, the engine struggling to find its breath. Niall chuckles shortly once it catches and leans back in the seat as it warms up.

“Get ready for the smoothest ride of your life,” he jokes. “Smoother than any ride Luke could’ve taken you on, anyhow.”

She chuckles nervously. “Thanks for that, by the way. Turned out not to be a love connection.”

��I noticed.”

“You noticed?”

He grins and shifts the car into gear. “Snuck a few glances during my set. You were never talking.”

“My sister neglected to mention that having inside-out knowledge of this year’s NFL season was required in order to converse with him.”

“She failed you big time. Even I could’ve told you about the NFL thing.”

Ari raises a brow. “You know Luke that well?”

“Not well.” Niall shrugs. “I mean, there’s one high school in town, so you get to know just about everyone.”

“How old are you?” Ari asks, quickly adding, “Sorry if that’s rude.”

“Not rude. I’m twenty-four.”

“Twenty-four…” she trails with a slow nod. One year younger than Jackson and, supposedly, Luke. “High school was sort of a long time ago.”

“It was,” he agrees, looking over his shoulder to maneuver out of the parking space. “But when you live in a small town with nothing going on, nobody really seems to change.”

Ari sits with that thought as Niall pulls out of the lot, winding the truck around a series of cars. When he gets to the stop sign leading to the road, he brakes.

“So… where am I going?”

“Hmm?”

He wets his lips. “I could give it a wild guess and see where we end up, but I don’t know where you live.”

“Oh! Right.” Ari laughs. “I guess that’s sort of important.”

“Only if you wanna get somewhere.”

She snorts. “I live at… um.” She cringes. “I don’t actually know how to get there.”

Niall nods thoughtfully. “Oooo…kay,” he begins. “That doesn’t really give us a running start.”

Ari apologizes as she thumbs through her phone. “West Elm Road,” she announces triumphantly, thanking her lucky stars she entered Rosen’s new address into her contact information. “Want me to Google the directions?”

Amused, Niall shakes his head. “I know where that is. Small town, remember? You’re over in Pine Corner.”

“Yes!” Ari should be embarrassed by her level of excitement, but relief quashes all other emotions. When she settles back into her seat, she asks, “Do you live nearby?”

“Nah. I don’t live too far, though – nothing’s far in T.C. I live in The Glades.”

Ari hasn’t yet heard of that neighbourhood, but she takes his word for it. “Everyone likes their nature names here, huh?”

“We sure do.”

“You grew up in town?”

“Yes ma’am. Matter of fact,” – Niall rolls down his window and points across the street to a red brick building – “that was my high school.”

Sure enough, a billboard along the curb reads TILLSON CITY HIGH SCHOOL: HOME OF THE MIGHTY BOBCATS.

“Mighty bobcats – the best kind of bobcat,” Ari remarks. She twists in her seat to reread the sign. “Sporty school?”

“Not so much anymore. Haven’t won a football title in years,” Niall says, prompting Ari to laugh. “Decent wrestlers, though, from what I’ve heard.”

“You wrestled?”

It’s his turn to laugh. “Ari, look at me.”

She does. He flexes his bicep and gestures to his flat, hunched-over torso in the seat. “This is me at my bulkiest, for reference. So trust me, I was the boniest-ass motherfucker to ever set foot in that school. I’m like what happens when Tiny Tim grows up.”

Shaking her head, Ari giggles.

“Spent most of my time doing music, anyway,” Niall adds. He keeps his foot light on the brakes as they crawl past the schoolgrounds. “There’s the smoker’s pit,” he notes. “Over there’s where the kids would dare each other to torment the commissioner as we waited for the bus. And right there,” he finishes, proudly pointing out a few garbage dumpsters next to a ratty chain-link fence, “is where my buddies and I got caught selling counterfeit tickets to a Katy Perry concert in Morgantown.”

“What?!”

“Yep.” He laughs without remorse. “We needed new equipment for our band and saw it as a loan from our peers. By the time the concert came around, we’d already have so much in return from our own local shows that we could return the money.”

“Sounds pretty optimistic. And also illegal.”

“Stupidly optimistic,” Niall agrees. “But hey, we were fifteen. Everyone thinks they’re going to succeed in their rock star endeavours at fifteen.”

“So what happened?”

Now past the high school and on the open road, Niall lifts his cap and runs a hand through his bronze-coloured hair. “Uh… we got arrested on school property, suspended by the principal. Taken down to the station, cops called our parents. It was a damn mess. We had to repay all the money and got twenty hours of community service each, which was nothing compared to the earful we got from my buddy’s dad – a Major General in the army. We could hear him yelling from the station parking lot.”

“Oh my God.”

“No regrets, though. Makes for a good story.” Niall glances over. “What about you?”

“Hmm?”

“You must have a crazy high school story. Something really stupid you and your friends got up to. Let’s hear it.”

Ari huffs a breath, exhaling a laugh as if there are hundreds of crazy stories on hundreds of crazy nights. High school is easier to remember than college, but that doesn’t mean the memories are pleasant. So many of her teen years were spent inside her own head, trapped like a monkey with arms stretched through the bars of its cage, begging for someone to pull her out even though the key to the lock was probably buried underneath her all along. So many lunch periods spent at her locker instead of the cafeteria. So many Friday nights watching Rosen apply makeup and meticulously select each outfit and accessory while Ari prepared to stay at home and watch Jeopardy with Dad. The truth is that Ari can think of a dozen wild stories, but none of them involve her. In every tale, she was on the outside looking in.

“My sister threw this party once when our parents were out of town,” she begins with a half-hearted shrug. “She persuaded them to celebrate their anniversary with more than just a Hallmark card and cheap supermarket flowers, so they spent the night in Manhattan. She told me she only invited ten or twelve friends, but…”

“I’m guessing there were a few more.”

“Try a hundred more.” Niall laughs while Ari rolls her eyes. “Kids were spilling out into the backyard, straddling the fence between properties, and drinking open beer bottles on the front lawn for everyone to see. Neighbours from up and down the block filed noise complaints and reported underage drinking, so obviously the cops made us a priority.”

“What happened when the cops showed up?”

Ari hisses through her teeth. “I don’t know. I was the girl who had one too many jell-o shots and puked in my parents’ bed.”

Niall laughs, smacking his hand on the wheel and causing the truck to swerve. He corrects it on the road and breathes, “Yikes.”

“Yeah. They weren’t too happy with either of us for a while. I actually think they bought a new bedset.”

It’s interesting how easy it is to turn an unpleasant memory into a funny story. Then again, Ari leaves out the part where she drank too much because Rosen tried to get her in front of Tom Hartlock, Ari’s crush since middle school, who ended up being more interested in Rosen after all. And the part where she overheard people in her own grade – her year, not Rosen’s – asking the identity of the girl Rosen was tending to in her parents’ room; poor Rosen, it’s her parents’ bed, if this were my house I’d kick that ungrateful drunk girl out. And she definitely leaves out the part where the following Monday, Rosen had to turn Tom down when he asked her out and he suggested they still fool around because “your sad sister never has to know.”

Without those additional details, the story really isn’t that bad. And maybe that’s what memories should be: extractions of the best things, the good things, or even the mediocre things. Like an archaeologist on a dig, brushing away the dirt and grime until only the bare bones remain, a shell of what once was.  

“Sounds like you had fun in high school,” Niall remarks.

And it would be so easy to agree, so easy to pretend like her teenage years were full of nights spent sneaking out, skinny dipping, driving through tunnels with the top down and staring at the city skyline with a summer fling by her side. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time she agreed to save face.

“No,” she admits, stunning herself with her reply. She doesn’t want to see his expression, so she stares at her hands in her lap. “High school sucked for me, actually. I always felt out of place.”

“Ah.” Niall rests his arm on the ledge of the open window. The warm night breeze ruffles the hair sticking out from under his hat. “Me too.”

Ari looks up.

“This town isn’t really suited for misfits. There’s nowhere for ‘em to hide,” he elaborates, eyeing her with a crooked grin. “Me and my friends, we knew we weren’t the cookie cutter kids everyone wanted. Not our classmates, not our teachers, not the people who run this place.”

“Why is that?”

“Race, creed, family history, economic class, etcetera… take your pick.”

“Oh. I see.”

“Sometimes small towns breed small minds.”

Ari nods slowly as Niall turns a corner and takes them down a narrow, hilly lane. Tillson City is dark, dead. No businesses are open, no cars on the road. Very few lights on in the houses they pass. Curfew of nine o’clock at night is an unspoken agreement.

“You must like it here, though,” Ari says.

“Why do you say that?”

“It’s your hometown. You’re still here, right? That means something.”

Niall twists his lips as he contemplates her statement. “Do you like your hometown?”

She almost snorts. What’s not to like about Massapequa? It’s icy in the winter, sticky in the summer, and Ari can’t step out the front door before anxiety kicks in and forces her back inside like a gust of wind. It’s the place that holds her darkest days, her longest nights, and almost every tear she’s ever shed.

“Uh… no,” she admits sheepishly.

Niall smirks. “Exactly.”

“All right, good point. But you’ve always lived here.”

“Almost always.”

“Where else did you live?”

“NYC.”

Ari whips her head around to see if he’s serious. Niall maintains a straight face and bites his thumbnail as he stares at the road ahead.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Went to school there.”

“Seriously?”

He scoffs. “What, you think it’s so crazy this country boy could find his way to the city?”

“No, not at all.” Ari shakes her head. “It’s just, I went to school there too.”

“Crazy we didn’t run into each other before now,” he says with light sarcasm.

“I know. You’d think you would’ve saved me from more blind dates at grimy dive bars in Upper Manhattan.”

“Guess you never frequented The Bleakroom.”

“That was your local hangout?”

“Yeah. Did a few shows there.”

She pauses. “You really performed there?”

“Hell yeah. Well, not just me. That was back when the band was together. Me and a buddy from home teamed up with a sound engineer from my music program who doubled as a drummer. He had some connections, so we booked a few gigs. We had a good run.”

Impressed, Ari pushes out her lower lip and nods to herself. “What happened to the band?”

“Our vocalist – Zayn – bailed at the end of freshman year.”

“Your friend from home?”

Niall nods. “He dropped out of school, moved back to West Virginia.”

“Touchy subject?”

“Nah. Not really. He needed to be here, so I couldn’t hold it against him. Still my best friend.”

Ari doesn’t pry further, but only because she’s beginning to recognize her surroundings in the dark and senses they’ll soon arrive at Rosen and Jackson’s place.

“Well, unless that was lip-synching tonight, I think you’ve proved you can carry a tune,” she says. “Why didn’t you keep the band going without him? Take the next right.”

He follows directions and sighs. “I don’t have his pipes, that’s for sure. Besides, it didn’t feel right without him. Music was always something we did together, and just knowing he was at home and under a lot of stress… I thought that if I was gonna carry on with music, I should at least dissolve the band and start from scratch.”

“It’s the house on the left. Gravel driveway.”

“This one?”

“Yeah.”

Niall parks across the street, his truck on an angle along the ditch. Ari sits still in her seat as he puts the truck into park and, after a moment’s hesitation, turns the key in the ignition. As the engine studders to a halt, a silence befitting strangers at night casts a shadow over them.

Ari looks at Niall. Key ring slipping through one of his fingers, he runs a hand through his hair before setting his ball cap back on his head and looking to Ari.

“So did you?” she asks softly.

Niall blinks. “Did I what?”

“Did you start from scratch without Zayn?”

“Oh.” The corner of his lips twitches into a half-smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. For a bit. Joined forces with a bassist and we went through a few percussionists. No huge successes, though.”

“Not enough to keep you there?”

“Eh?”

“In New York. I don’t know much about music, but something tells me there’s more opportunity for musicians in NYC than in Tillson City.”

Niall tugs at the collar of his shirt and then breaks into a short laugh. “You’re not wrong about that. No, it’s just… I never finished school, either. Dropped out end of my second year. Pulled a Zayn, came home early.”

She wets her lower lip and searches his face for signs of sadness, regret. Instead, there’s neutrality. Acceptance.

“You didn’t like it?”

“I loved it,” he corrects her. “Loved the city, loved being in school and following my passion. Loved being just one person in a sea of millions, able to live my life on my own terms. But things came up, and I had to come home.”

Ari hums quietly, clutching tight to her phone. “I’m sorry.”

“Nah. No need to be – it worked out how it was supposed to. I mean, who would’ve saved you on your blind date if I never left school, my career took off and I was busy playing Madison Square Garden tonight?”

Niall rolls his head to his shoulder and gives her a pandering stare. Ari laughs harder when he plays air guitar and makes accompanying screeching noises from the corner of his mouth.

“I like your laugh,” Niall says, dropping his hands to the wheel.

It’s the way he doesn’t break eye contact, unafraid to show honesty, that stirs something in her stomach. And a feeling – any feeling – doesn’t go unnoticed. To someone who rarely feels anything, any rush of excitement is like a cooling downpour following a scorching drought.

“Do you want to come in?” she asks, forgetting about Rosen, forgetting about Jackson, forgetting about yoga before bed and training first thing in the morning. To chase a tangible feeling is too exhilarating, and all other plans must be cancelled until the feeling has squeezed its last drop and left her desolate again.

Niall wets his lips, eyes darting to the illuminated front porch and back to Ari’s face. “Really?” he asks, less out of surprise and more out of absolute affirmation.

She nods.

He nods.

“Okay,” he agrees. He turns out the headlights. Together, they walk towards the porch with the only remaining exterior illumination on the block.

. Ari is acutely of Niall’s presence behind her as she unlocks the front door. She’s quick to flick on the light switch to the hall and stairway. A few papers fly off the coffee table and land on the floor, disturbed by the rustling air. Niall bends to pick them up and restores them to their rightful place.

“Are you hungry?” Ari asks, eager to fill the silence by hurrying to the kitchen. “We have snacks. Or a drink, if you want one.”

“S’okay,” Niall says, rooted in place. “Actually, water would be great.”

Ari’s temporarily glad he doesn’t follow her. It gives her a moment to catch her breath and figure out what the hell she thought was going to happen. Inviting someone inside sends a clear message, and it’s not one she’s sent or received often. Certainly not since Before. And maybe she’s not ready. Or maybe she’s long overdue. It’s too exhausting to reflect inwardly, and even if it wasn’t, she’s run out of time. Niall is here. He accompanied her inside thinking… what? That something would happen between them?

Maybe he did think that. And maybe Ari wants that, too. Because the water ripples in the glass she holds, and she hasn’t had an excited tremor since Before. And because this is a new day, a fresh start, and she should explore an opportunity. It’s not on her list, but it could be.

With hands stuffed in his pockets, Niall rocks back and forth on his heels and examines photos hung above the couch. Ari re-enters the living room and pauses to compose herself. It’s strange, having him here. Having anyone here. Even after living here for only a short time as a guest, she’s strangely protective of the house, these rooms. The photos on the wall have nothing to do with her, but still she wonders what Niall sees – whether he finds Jackson’s smile a little too forced, his clothing a little too GQ, or whether he sees Rosen as a metropolitan go-getter student or a country homemaker.

She places the glass of water in front of Niall. He accepts it with a weak smile.

“Thanks,” he says. With the glass, he gestures to the framed photo on the hearth: a couple in love on the windy beaches of Cape Cod after Jackson’s proposal last fall. “This your sister?”

“That’s Rosen,” Ari says with a nod. “And that’s her fiancé—”

“Jackson Hawley.”

Her eyes flick to his face to find him examining the photo. His stare is intense, yet reserved – a capped bottle of shaken soda.

“You know him.”

Niall’s nod is slow and deliberate.

“Right. There’s only one school. You were friends?”

He lets out a puff of air – whether he’s amused or offended, Ari can’t tell. “No. Nah. We, uh… different crowds.”

Ari gives him a playful nudge. “You mean he wasn’t one of the misfits?”

Niall manages a meek chuckle. “The opposite, actually. No one fit in quite as well as Jackson Hawley. Footballer, student council president, and one of the only kids who comes from money ‘round here because of his dad’s legal firm in Charleston… he was in. He was so far in, he’d have to board a rocket ship to Mars to get out.”

She laughs, but it’s a husk of a laugh, vacant and dull on the inside. Because all of a sudden, Jackson sounds a lot like Rosen. So far down the hole, the laws of physics would have to change in order for reverse gravity to pull her out.

“He’s well suited to Rosen, then. I don’t think she ever spent a Friday night at home until the two of them moved to Tillson City to be domestic.”

Niall takes a gulp of water and sighs in satisfaction. He glances at Ari. “I always thought Friday nights at home were underrated.”

“They definitely are.” Ari meets his gaze with calm, clear eyes.

“You’re not in any of these pictures,” he says quietly, sweeping over them again just in case.

“No.” Pictures are for happy people.

“All this stuff is theirs,” he says, waving to his side and behind him. There are Jackson’s trophies in an open cabinet, Rosen’s high fashion coffee table books, their diplomas framed and hung side-by-side on the wall.

Ari needs neither to confirm nor deny.

“You live here, too. Where’s your stuff?”

“In my room.”

Niall loses eye contact only for a moment as he glances above her head and licks his lips. Then, with an innocent blink and a dazed look, he asks, “Can we go there?”

This is it – this is The Move. Niall is funny and kind and puts her at ease. He’s down to earth and smells like salt mixed with fresh laundry and his smile tightens a knot in her stomach. He talks to her like the two of them are in on a secret nobody else knows. And maybe that’s enough. Maybe that’s the best way to start over. Maybe this is the first of a twelve-step program to becoming Okay again, and all Ari has to do is put one foot forward and take it.

“Yeah.” She clears her throat and gestures over her shoulder. “It’s upstairs. Come on.”

Before she spins on her heel, Niall sets his nearly empty glass on the mantle and moves to follow her. The quiet walk up the stair gives Ari plenty of time to worry about the state of her bedroom. This part, while nerve-wracking, is routine. It’s never a comfortable experience, welcoming someone new into one’s bedroom. The same old questions she’s asked herself dozens of times provide just as much familiarity as they do nervous anticipation: exactly how many pairs of underwear will be strewn across the floor? How quickly can she knock Lamby the stuffed sheep off the bed? Is the nightstand cluttered enough that he may not notice the Zoloft?

She knocks the questions off easily. As an item on the list, she’s kept her room neat to mimic a tidy mind. Lamby, sad as it is, is in a dumpster somewhere in Massapequa. There’s no Zoloft – not after she and Dr. Sodhi decided to take her off of it because she was ready.

“This is it in here.” Ari holds open the door for Niall, turns on the light and steps in behind him. He may very well go straight for the bed, as so many others do, and that’s for the best. Ari likes talking to him, but not talking could be nice, too.

Unexpectedly, Niall stops in the center of the room, hat in his hands. His eyes barely graze the bed before the walls capture his attention, the shelves, the items stacked neatly on the floor in the corner.

“You work out a lot?” he asks, pointing to the purple exercise ball next to a pair of running shoes and two 5-pound weights.

“Trying to…” Ari stands awkwardly at the door and wonders whether or not to close it behind her. “It’s sort of a new thing for me.”

Niall’s already moving toward the books in a pile on the nightstand. “The Tao of Pooh,” he remarks, picking up the top book and examining the back cover. His hat drops to the bed. “What do you think of it so far?”

She bows her head in a sheepish smile. “Haven’t started.”

“It’s a good read.” He adds for context, “I had to read it in college. You’re interested in Taoism?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

He glances up, twisting his lips in confusion.

“I want to learn about different religions,” she explains. “Different schools of thought. I feel like it can offer some insight on… I don’t know. Living peacefully.”

“Living peacefully?”

“Well, living at peace with yourself.” With a burst of bravado, Ari finally closes the door behind her. She takes a step into the room and avoids his gaze, asking, “Does that make sense?”

“Sure, yeah.” Niall puts the book down. “Don’t know that any religion has the definitive answer, but exploring different paths is never a bad thing.”

“That’s what I thought. Or what I’m hoping. Like I said, I haven’t exactly started yet.”

Niall opens his mouth to respond when the flora catches his eye. He spies the potted succulents along the window ledge and wanders over to examine them.

“I like this little flower here.”

“Well, he’s not a flower.” Ari joins him at the ledge, where Niall studies her foxtail agave. “He doesn’t bloom, see?”

Niall smiles wryly. “He?”

Unfazed, Ari says evenly, “I named him Dewey.”

He blinks.

“It’s an ironic name,” she elaborates. “Cruel of me, maybe. He doesn’t take a lot of water.”

“Mm. Someone went to college.”

Ari chuckles, continuing, “He’s a succulent. They’re low maintenance. They don’t grow very much or very fast, but they also don’t require a lot of water or care. I’ve been working with Kalene down at her greenery and she said—”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah – do you know her?”

“’Course. Great lady.”

“Yeah.” Ari’s shocked smile betrays her bewilderment – it continues to amaze her that everyone in Tillson City is within one degree of separation of everyone else. “She’s been kind to me. And I love working there – it’s therapeutic, in a way.”

“Sorry. She said what to you?”

“Hmm? Oh. She helped me pick him out,” Ari says, running the tips of her fingers over the fuzz of Dewey’s leaves. “And she said it’s damn near impossible to kill them, rain or shine, famine or feast. She said you should start with baby steps and succulents are the best possible baby step because you can never go backwards. No matter what you do, they’ll still be there, living. Reminding you of your success.”

Niall chuckles. “That’s not terrible logic.”

“I didn’t think so, either.”

“So you’re on a program, then?” He reaches out to graze the leaves with the tip of his finger.

“Not really. Not an official one.” She watches as he rearranges the tiny pots to be equidistant along the windowsill. “Just one I designed myself.”

Satisfied with his arrangement, Niall decides to continue his self-conducted tour. Ari’s smile falters as she follows his gaze – it’s fixed on the wall across the room, just above the light switch. It’s the list.

“What’s this?”

He moves toward it before she can divert his attention. Ari stands frozen in place, helpless to his curiosity.

“Make bed… drink water… go for a run… shower… ten minutes of yoga…” He reads a few items on the list under his breath and then looks up, confused. “Is this your morning routine?”

Ari takes her lower lip between her teeth and chews, bobbing her head. She shrugs. “On a good day.”

“Herbal tea… plenty of sunlight… take care of a plant… wouldn’t this take all day?”

She exhales and sinks to sit on the edge of her bed. “It’s not a routine. Not really. It’s just stuff to remember to do. Stuff that makes other people think I’m a normal, functioning human being.”

Rather than reproach, Niall’s brows knit together in genuine bewilderment. “Why do you need to convince other people you’re a functioning human being?”

“Because.” Ari hunches over her knees. “Sometimes I’m not.”

He flattens the dog-eared corner of the list against the wall. “In what way?”

She moves her toes through the carpet, pretending to be fascinated by the grains. “Sometimes I can’t find the motivation to get out of bed,” she says, hardly able to believe she’s admitting it aloud to someone other than a licensed therapist. “I don’t eat or shower. I don’t sleep, but I’m not really awake, either. I’m just… there.”

Her mouth goes dry as she remembers the white couch, the one that drew her in because it was so blank, so devoid of life. She’d sit there for hours until Louis walked through the door, and when he’d ask what she’d done all day, she didn’t have an answer. She just sat. She just stared. She just wrestled with the emptiness in her chest that echoed in the barren caverns of her mind. She felt no pain; yet it hurt, somehow. Not the stabbing pain of a paper cut or a side-splitting cramp, but the dull, throbbing ache of sore muscles pulsing from somewhere deep within her.

Swallowing, she finishes, “On those days, I have to consciously remind myself to smile in the presence of other people. I have to mentally force myself to ask people how they’re doing, even though I don’t…” She stops herself, shaking her head. “I have to reward myself for doing something as simple as walking across the room to pick up last night’s socks from the floor.”

When Ari chances a look, Niall is studying the list on the wall. He massages the back of his neck as he rereads her words, memorizing Ari’s basic short-term goals and expectations that see her through the day.

“Why do you do those things?” he asks her. “Smile for other people, talk to them in the ways they expect?”

“If I don’t, they worry about me.”

“Do you worry about you?”

She hesitates, tongue darting across her lower lip. “I worry that I can’t go back,” she confesses. “That I’m changing, and I can’t crawl back into the shell of the girl who used to be… Okay, at least in some sense of the word.”

His hand trails to his chin as he grapples with her rationale. “So this list is your idea of what it means to be normal?”

“Not exactly.” With a huff, she sits up straight and scoots backward to lean against the wall. “I made that list in case things get bad again. I don’t need my sister and Jackson to worry about me; I’m not their problem. And all this stuff – the running shoes, the books, Dewey and my other plants – they’re all to keep me from falling down a hole. I need activities – or hobbies, whatever – to keep myself from darkness. Because if I give into it, no amount of greenery or strength training or fake smiles can get me out.”

“And these are the things that help?”

Twirling a section of hair around her index finger, Ari nods. “I think they do. Better than medication, at this point.” Brazen enough to meet his gaze, she adds, “I don’t want to go back on meds.”

He takes one last look at the list on the wall before shrugging his shoulders and crossing the room. Ari shifts on the bed to make room for him, though he chooses to perch rather delicately on the edge and looks at her over his shoulder, hands gripping the edges.

“Yeah. I know about that kinda stuff.”

She arches a brow. “You’re on prescription?”

“Nah, but I know someone who is. And it’s a burden to bear. It pacifies, but it doesn’t correct. Never gets to the root of the problem, never really takes away the suffering. The pain, yes, but the suffering? No. Half the time it’s a struggle to get him to take his pills at all.”

“Does anything work for him?”

Niall shrugs again. “Weed.”

Ari blinks. “Really?”

“Mm hmm.” More at ease, Niall shifts on the bed, easing back until his shoulders are level with hers. He crosses one ankle over the other. “He’d never so much as touched a cigarette in his whole life, but as soon as I convinced him to smoke a doobie, he was floating on cloud nine. If you find the right strand, it can be really calming. It can take you away while still keeping you here.”

Ari watches him speak, admiring his soft lashes and the stubble along his jaw and the way he’s always fidgeting, always moving his hands as if they’re codependent with his mouth. She nods thoughtfully when he looks her way.

“You ever tried it?”

“What? Weed?”

He nods.

“Not really,” she admits, deciding a brownie or two isn’t worth mentioning. “I didn’t get involved with it in high school, and then from my sophomore year of college onward, I was on meds. I had to steer clear of drugs and alcohol.”

“And now?”

“Now…” she trails, collecting air on one side of her cheek and blowing it out in a puff. “Nothing holding me back at the moment. I’d give it a try, I guess. Could add it to my list.”

“Might even help.”

His eyes are too blue and his stare too enticing, so she averts her eyes to her hands. She bites her lip. “Please don’t think I’m crazy. I’m not.”

Niall sinks further into the mattress. “I don’t.”

She nods, unconvinced.

“We’re all crazy, right? Crazy in our own way.”

“Most people don’t have to go to counseling for it, though.”

“You don’t know that,” Niall says airily. “I reckon everyone needs a bit of counseling. Never trust someone who’s not in therapy – that’s what my Gram always says. ‘Course, she considers baking to be therapy, so to each his own.”

She can’t help herself from giggling. “I think she’d agree I’m very trustworthy, then.”

Niall’s laughter has a ripple effect of calmness and ease. It’s warm and smooth between them, with clear skies instead of the foggy mist that clouds her relationships with the people who knew her through her worst. Ari doesn’t feel the need to hold herself back from lifting her chin and meeting his stare, her breath hitching in her throat to find him studying her.

His smile fades just moments after his gentle laughter. “You’re cool, you know?” he says. “I like you.”

Ari gives a close-lipped smile. “You don’t know me.”

Unbothered, Niall shrugs. “No, but… you’re easy to talk to, you’ve got a good sense of humour, and you’re ballsy enough to go in blind on a date with a random guy for your sister’s sake. You’re a little Type A with your list and your flower and all that—”

“Plant.”

“—sorry, your plant. But you’re interesting to me.”

It’s been so long since her ribcage tightened from the pulse of her heart that Ari nearly has to hold her hand over her chest. She can’t tear her eyes from his lips as she grins.

Niall hisses through his teeth. “And I’m kinda crazy about your smile.”

That does it. It’s one too many genuine compliments – sometimes, praise is more difficult to swallow than criticism – and Ari’s gaze strays back to her thumbs in her lap, chin tucked to her chest to hide her smile.

“Thanks.”

“You don’t hear that often?”

She shakes her head. “Don’t smile often, I guess.”

“Well, you’ve got a good one.” His thigh flattens against hers.

After an intake of breath, Ari steels her nerve and looks up, chin tucked to her shoulder. Niall’s face is mere inches away, his eyes travelling from her hairline to her jaw to her neck and back to her eyes. Slowly, he leans closer. The weight of his warmth is heavy enough to make her feel like she’s sinking, and she draws in, tilting her head. He exhaled through parted lips, breath hot on her cheek.

Ari’s eyes close when his fingers are at her temple, gently sweeping hair away from her face to tuck it behind her ear. Her cheek curves against his palm, his touch soft but sure.

She whispers, “I, um… I haven’t… it’s been awhile since—”

Since a touch. Since a kiss. Since she’s shared any kind of physical affection with anyone, because sadness – penetrating, lingering, inexplicable sadness – doesn’t lend itself well to intimacy.

“Okay,” Niall murmurs. “We don’t have to, I just…”

Ari takes a gentle hold of his wrist near her cheek, because it feels nice and she wants it there. She wants this – whatever this is – for a minute or an hour or a night, because it’s both familiar and new and it warms her straight through to her toes.

“Does this happen to you a lot?” she asks.

“What?”

“This. You drive a lot of girls home from the pub?”

Without a trace of a smile, he shakes his head.

“Are you just saying that?” Ari smiles, releasing her hold on his hand. “I won’t be offended.”

“I’m not just saying that.”

She purses her lips, accepting his statement as a challenge. “Why me, then?”

Still lost in a daze, Niall says dreamily, “You were standing alone.”

An instant frown crosses her features. “So I was easy to prey upon?”

“No,” he chuckles. “But you know what it’s like growing up in a small town? Everyone knows everyone. You can’t walk into town without five people waving at you and asking how the family’s doing. You can’t go to a local establishment without running into the kid who sat behind you in tenth grade English. So to find someone you haven’t seen before standing alone, looking around with fresh eyes, it’s like… I was intrigued. That’s all.”

Niall watches intently as Ari narrows her eyes. After a long pause, she brightens. “Okay. I accept your reasoning.”

“Thank you.” Niall smiles and leans back. “Why are you in town, anyway? What’s the draw besides your sister? It’s no New York City.”

“Exactly.” Ari raises and lowers her brows. “I had to get away. The city is too big sometimes. It’s too easy to get lost there.”

“You felt swallowed up?”

“No, more like… everyone else was.” When Niall hums in interest, she continues, “Rosen’s getting married in December. I’m her Maid of Honour. She’s all on her own out here and I thought I’d stay a while, give her some company and help her plan the wedding and get settled. She warned me the town would be a culture shock.”

“She’s not wrong.”

“No, she’s not.”

Niall fiddles with the comforter, running the material through his fingers. “Your parents must be happy she has support now, what with her being young and so far away from home on her own. Right?”

“Not really,” Ari says with a shrug. “If anything, they’re glad she’s supporting me.”

“In what way?”

She stiffens. She doesn’t talk about this, not with anyone except Dr. Sodhi. It doesn’t make sense to burden loved ones with the thought process behind her recklessness.

But Niall is not a loved one. He’s not anyone. So maybe it’s okay to be honest, for once, because what’s shared between them doesn’t have the boomerang effect – it won’t come back again and again, haunting her family and tainting her relationships.

“I had an accident two months ago,” she admits with a sigh. “I’d just gotten off my meds, and I was feeling… overwhelmed, and useless, and bitterly hating myself because I could finally see how unhappy I’d made everyone else around me. After not feeling anything for so long, it was too much for me – it was like everything I hadn’t been able to feel for the past year hit me all at once like a freight train. I wanted to not feel anymore, just for a little while, and that’s what meds do to me – they make the feelings stop. I was desperate and I took too many at once. I don’t remember how I got from Point A to Point B, but I was found in my mom’s car, crashed into the lamppost three blocks away from my parents’ house, with a gash on my head and passed out on the steering wheel.”

Niall listens with a slight frown, pensive.

“I got thirteen stitches, just here.” She lifts her side-parted bangs – a new style for her, as of last month – to reveal scarring along the crown of her head. Niall leans in with squinted eyes. “And my chest was bruised for about six weeks from the impact of the seatbelt. Other than being out of it for a few days because of the meds, I was fine. And nobody else got hurt, which was nothing short of a miracle.”

Niall nods.

Ari plasters a small smile on her face and looks down. “It scared my parents, obviously. They didn’t know what to do with me; they thought I was regressing. They felt like they couldn’t leave me alone, but they have jobs and their own lives to live – they can’t always be watching over their fully-grown daughter. And Rosen… well, she’s always thought she had the answer to everything. She begged my parents, and then begged me, to have me out here. She thought it would be good for both of us. I think she thinks she can fix me.”

Niall crinkles his nose. “You’re not broken.”

Ari shrugs. “To some people, I am. And that’s fine. It’s easier than explaining. At the end of the day, I’m an adult and I’m responsible for myself. And I’m taking care of it on my own, as you’ve seen with my list and my… Dewey.”

“And weed?” he suggests.

Ari sniffs. “I don’t know. Either way, it works for both of us. I let her believe she’s taking care of me, and she has the secret comfort of having a family member here she can trust.”

“And like you said, you’re very trustworthy.”

She gives his calf a playful kick. “I am.”

Niall leans the back of his head against the wall and watches the ceiling fan whirl. “There’s a lot going on with you, huh?”

Ari follows his stare to the fan, rickety but on course. “A lot and nothing all at once.”

“Well,” – he pats her on the knee too briefly, just once – “for what it’s worth, I think it’s good you’re here. Tillson City may be small and backwoods, but it has its perks – even compared to Manhattan.”

“Such as?”

“Beautiful trails, especially in the fall. Hometown feel – easier to meet new people, even though there are fewer people to choose from. Fresh air, wide open spaces. And from what I’ve heard, a pretty adorable guitarist who performs six nights a week at the bar.”

Ari grins to herself. “You might be right.”

“You agree?”

Niall tears his gaze from the ceiling fan to meet her eyes. Ari shifts on the mattress, angled toward him, her chin hovering over his shoulder. Eyes straying to his lips, she nods.

It’s as Niall leans toward her and Ari’s eyes drift shut that she hears the faint sound of a car door closing and voices approaching the front door. Niall pauses, their faces centimetres apart. His eyes open last.

“Is that…?” Ari begins, eyes darting to her bedroom door.

Before she can finish her thought, the front door opens and promptly slams shut. Jackson’s voice travels up the stairs, frustrated and tense. “I don’t get why you would tell them we’re free on Saturday if you didn’t want to go.”

“Because what was I supposed to say? How could I invent an excuse when they would immediately go to you and you’d accept the invite?” comes Rosen’s voice, high-pitched and exasperated.

“If you don’t wanna go, just say you don’t wanna go.”

“Shit,” Ari whispers, pulling back from Niall with a groan. “That’s Rosen. I didn’t think they’d be back so soon.”

Amused, Niall shakes himself from a haze and checks his watch. “Soon? It’s after midnight.”

“It is?!”

He winks. “Time flies.”

“Guess so.” With a ghost of a smile, she tilts her ear to the door.

“If you go and I don’t show up, what does that say about me?” Rosen asks, nearly hysterical.

“I’ll say you weren’t feeling well. What’s the big deal? Don’t go if you don’t wanna go.”

“But then you’ll go and I’m stuck here on my own. What am I supposed to do on a Saturday if you’re not around?”

“Isn’t this why your sister’s here?” Jackson asks, his voice fading as the two of them walk across the main floor.

Ari turns to Niall and rolls her eyes with a smirk.

“Charming couple,” he remarks.

She licks her lips and swallows, chewing impatiently on the inside of her cheek. The air in the room has gone stagnant. Something’s shifted – it feels less like a midnight paradise and more of a box, shutting her in with a stranger who may or may not want to be there anymore. She sucks in a breath and steels herself. “Look, I don’t want to make you feel like you have to—”

He holds up his palms as a sign of peace, begging her not to continue. “It’s okay. I should be on my way.” He pushes himself up from the bed and pats himself down from stomach to hips, digging a hand into the left pocket of his jeans once he hears his keys jingle.

“I’m sorry.”

He lends her a hand and pulls her to a standing position beside him. “For what?”

She sighs, unable to conceal her disappointment. “I didn’t know they’d be home right away, and you drove all the way here…”

Niall shrugs. “I offered. No big deal. Don’t be sorry – still had a good night.”

“I did, too,” she says. And she means it.

She takes the lead then, opening the door to her bedroom and leading him down the stairs. It’s lucky his truck was too big to fit in the drive and is parked across the street – Ari doubts Rosen and Jackson suspect she brought someone home with her. She checks over the railing as they descend the stairs – the betrothed couple argues loudly in the kitchen, oblivious to the creaks and groans of the aging hardwood steps.

Even so, Ari wastes no time hopping soundlessly to the landing and slipping out the front door, ushering Niall in front of her. She takes pains to close it without noise, glad the porch light is on above their heads.

“Thanks again for—” Ari begins, but Niall interrupts her by spinning around with a mischievous grin.

“The weed thing,” he interjects, “you wanna try it?”

Ari blinks, glancing down at his flattened pockets. “You have some on you?!”

“No,” he laughs, “but I know a guy who can hook you up.”

“What?”

He twirls his key ring around his index finger. “You said you’d be willing to give it a try. If it’s something you’re interested in trying, why not now? Why not here? Why not through my recommendation of someone you can trust rather than going into it blind? Right?”

“I—I…” Ari stutters, all reasonable arguments lost in a cloud above her head.

“You don’t have to,” Niall chuckles. “This isn’t peer pressure, I swear. Look, gimme your phone and I’ll enter his number. You can decide whether or not you want to reach out, be it a day or two months from now.”

Robotically, Ari hands Niall her phone. It’s only as he’s using the keypad to enter a series of numbers that she bursts out, “Wait – I don’t want your dealer in my contacts!”

“He’s not a dealer,” he assures her with a frown. “He’s just got access to hemp. He’d be happy to let you give it a try.” Ari opens her mouth to argue, but Niall gets there first. “He’s real discreet, I promise, and he’ll get back to you as soon as you text him with whatever you want. Look, it’s not as shady as it sounds. And you don’t have to use the number, like I said. It’s just there in case you want to give it a shot. A different item to add to your list.”

When Niall gives the phone back, Ari sees that all he’s entered is a number. No name, no context.

“Text him if you want. Delete the contact if you want. No hard feelings.” Niall offers one last grin and points over his shoulder to his truck. “Should get home.”

“Okay,” she breathes. “I, um…”

He holds out his hand. “Pleasure, Ari.”

She nods, accepting the handshake with a resigned smile.

Niall mimics her nod and backs away, eyes on hers as she stands on the porch with her phone in her hand. “Hope to see you around. And I hope you find peace here in Tillson City.” He pauses, giving her a curt nod as he concludes, “You deserve it.”

Ari waves him off and steps back inside, turning out the porch light and going straight up the stairs. Rosen and Jackson continue their argument in the kitchen, but Ari pays them no mind. She stares at the contact in her phone and saves the number under Weed Guy, because it’s harmless enough even though she’ll never use it. Whatever she came to Tillson City to find, weed isn’t it.

She tucks herself into bed that night and watches the ceiling fan spin in the dark, wondering what would be on Niall’s list if he ever had to keep one.