#《 Anything that could vaguely be pulled from Dev's name is on the table 》

[tuesdayscanons]

Related to the previous post—Once Dale and Dev learn to communicate better, Dale would create a spreadsheet of terms of endearment based on "acceptability" (ie. can use in front of everyone, only in private, or not use at all) and ask Dev to update it with his preferences so Dale can just check the spreadsheet instead of dying inside whenever he defaults to something. There's certain nicknames Dale would be crushed to find in the "do not use at all" category (Bubs is the one that comes the most easily to him), but he will be willing to oblige if it means Dev is happy.

The sappier nicknames were ones Dale learned from his mother in the brief time she was around. She was more willing to show verbal affection than Doug. Not like Doug wouldn't have nicknames for Dale (basically stuff like champ, kid, sport, etc.), but Dale would only use those for Dev if he felt awkward/was purposely trying to keep himself at a distance from Dev.

Dale would also try to come up with nicknames based on Dev's full first name (Velly, Velcro, Mentos, etc.) but I highly doubt any of them would stick because it's hard to make "Development" sound cute.

Speaking of—I feel like Development was a placeholder name back when Dale was figuring out the cloning process, something discreet that doesn't scream "I'm making an heir to the Dimmadome family fortune", but he was so overwhelmed with responsibilities that he didn't have time or energy to give Dev a proper name and now he has a 10 year old son named Development Devin Dimmadome. Dev's middle name is what Dale probably would've went with anyway.

[plaidbooks]

Best Friends - an EDL Bonus

A/N: This is just a collection of Devon and Sonny bonding--I wanted them to be close, but there was nowhere to really put it in the main story. This chapter references “Sheltered Outcasts” and “Intersecting Lives/Heartfelt Passages” (yup, Mike dies in this one--I very briefly mention it). This takes place in the middle of chapter 15, but does not spoil anything for that chapter. Also hey! The dude who threatened Barba in the show is here!

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tags: normal SVU stuff, mentions of death

Words: 2497

Taglist: @the-baby-bookworm @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @stardust-fray @permanentlydizzy @glowingmess @ben-c-group-therapy @infiniteoddball @whimsicallymad @averyhotchner @mrsrafaelbarba @dianilaws @detective-giggles @evee87

SVU Department

Friday, March 18th. 12:05pm

Devon made it into the 16th precinct, looking for Detective Fin, maybe Detective Rollins or Sonny…anyone but Liv. She glanced around, trying to find any of the detectives when her eyes locked with the Lieutenant’s. Devon tried to hide behind a passing officer, but to no avail.

“Really, Dev?” Olivia asked, coming over to the agent.

Devon smiled sheepishly at her friend. “I’m sorry, Liv. But now that Rafael’s back to work, I’m just going crazy at home. Are you positive you don’t have anything I can help you with?”

“Can you lift your arm over your head yet?”

Devon nodded, then demonstrated, lifting her left arm gingerly upwards until it was as high as she could normally reach. The physical therapy was going well; she had her full range of motions back. The muscular strength, though….

Olivia, sensing this, commanded, “lift that stapler over your head.”

Devon turned to Sonny’s desk, staring at the stapler sitting innocently on the hard wood. Detectives Fin, Carisi and Rollins had come back from whatever they had been doing and were watching now. Not wanting to appear weak, Devon took the stapler in her left hand. She got it off the desk and made it until about chest height before she dropped it, hissing in pain.

Olivia sighed, stooping to pick up the stapler. “If you knew you couldn’t lift it, then don’t hurt yourself, Dev.” Her eyes softened as she replaced the stapler on the desk. “Go home. Relax. Take this time to reconnect with yourself.” Devon ducked her head, not making eye contact, and nodded. “Carisi, could you give Devon a ride home, please?”

“Sure thing, Lieu,” Sonny replied, coming over to Devon. Defeated, she followed the detective out to his squad car. But before they got in, Sonny gestured to her, getting her attention. “Hey Dev, can I talk to you about somethin’?”

Curious, Devon replied with, “of course, you can. What’s on your mind?”

Sonny seemed a little nervous, shifting on his feet before he started. “It’s just…I just did an undercover in a shelter, with sex offenders…posing as a sex offender. And, I don’t know, I just don’t think I’m cut out for the whole undercover thing.” He stopped there. Devon watched, waiting for him to continue. He took a deep breath, then continued, “ya know, I went in hating those guys, thinking that 20 years was them getting off easy. But now, after spending so much time with ‘em, it’s hard to not feel…to not think that they may have changed since they were arrested.”

Devon nodded. “You saw them as people, rather than the criminals you normally see them as.”

“Exactly! That’s exactly it. And I just…I don’t know how to…” he trailed off.

“Sonny, don’t feel guilty about it; they are still people. Sure, some of them are the worst of the worst. But a lot of them do go to therapy, go through rehabilitation. It’s just that loud, violent minority that overrides the ones that do make it.”

Sonny shifted again, looking at the ground. “I’m just…I’m scared that the next time I’m interrogating a sex offender, that I won’t be able to do it well.” There it was, his real fear.

Devon took her time thinking about her words before answering. “Hey,” she started softly, waiting until he looked up at her. “Like I said, there’s a loud, violent minority that doesn’t get better, that are horrible rapists. If you want to help the victim, then you have to treat your perps like they are that minority. It’s sad, and it may be unfair, but that’s just how it is.”

He nodded slowly, letting her words sink in. “God, I don’t know how you do undercover so much,” he grinned.

Devon smirked back. “Undercover is rough; it’s not for everyone. Plus, I get to go into sex trafficking rings and drug busts, not therapy sessions.” She tapped her hand on top of the car before going to open the door, but Sonny had frozen, his eyes locked on the spot her hand tapped. “Uh, you alright there, Sonny?”

Slowly, his bright blue eyes shifted to hers, and a grin broke across his face. “Did I just see a ring on your finger?”

Devon’s eyes widened and her face split into a matching smile. “Ah, did Rafael not tell anyone that he proposed?” She shook her head at her fiancé’s silence, but Sonny was already coming around the car, sweeping her into a huge hug, singing his congratulations and dragging her back into the precinct to show everyone else.

Apartment of Rafael Barba and Devon Motely

Friday April 8th. 1:35pm

Devon was lounging on the couch, watching the Mets game when she got a call. Looking at the ID, her brow furrowed, seeing Sonny’s name displayed there. They were already friends, but ever since their undercover talk, Devon and Sonny grew closer. They had an understanding of each other, and Sonny felt like he had someone to talk to about tough cases, someone that wasn’t on the force, or his priest. And talking to Sonny about SVU cases gave Devon something to do; she was still barred from going to the department, but she could at least give some advice. Consultations, as Barba called it.

“Hey, Dev. I’m just calling to give you an update. Someone threatened Barba, so we have a protection detail—” Sonny started. Devon could vaguely hear Barba yelling something in the background, something that sounded like, “is that Devon? Are you insane??” But Devon had stopped listening, her stomach dropping.

“I’ll be right there,” she replied.

“No, no, it’s fine. See, I’m just calling to let you know that it’s all taken care of—” Sonny was backtracking hard; Barba’s voice could still be heard in the background, calling him an idiot.

“I’m on my way.” Devon had turned off the TV, grabbed her glock and badge, and was making her way to the door.

“Wait, Dev—” Sonny started but she hung up, already out the door, hurrying down the steps and waving down a cab.

Office of Rafael Barba

1 Hogan Place

Friday, April 8th. 1:52pm

Devon almost sprinted to Barba’s office, pushing past the crowd of attorneys. Two officers were stationed outside his office, set up by Carmen’s desk. The officers attempted to stop her, but she shot them a glare, showed her badge, and pushed past them. Sonny was still inside, as was Detective Rollins.  Barba, who was standing by his chair, hands on his table, groaned when he saw you.

“Dammit, Carisi; now my injured fiancée is here, in danger,” he glared at the detective, who put his hands up in surrender.

“I’m sorry, Barba. I didn’t think she’d come. I just wanted to let her know what was happenin’,” he explained.

Devon crossed the room quickly, wrapping her arms around Barba’s shoulders, kissing his cheek briefly. “What’s this about you being threatened?”

Barba placed his hands on the arm across his front, leaning his head against her chest for a moment before he broke away. “It’s nothing, mi amor. Nothing worse than before. Besides, I got a protection detail on me already. You should be home, resting.”

Devon clucked her tongue at him. “I’ve been resting, for months. I’m getting tired of it, honestly. Plus, I still got one good arm; if I recall, I was able to protect you before with only one arm.” She smiled faintly, remembering those early days, when their only worries were the Aces, and not the NYPD, or anyone that they felt like they could hire. “Does this have anything to do with that CO your prosecuting?”

“Probably,” he muttered. Right then, both detective’s phones went off. They glanced at the message, then at each other.

“Gotta go,” Rollins said as they both hurried out.

Devon watched them leave. “That sounded bad.” Barba nodded in agreement.

Apartment of Rafael Barba and Devon Motely

Friday, April 8th. 9:37pm

“I still don’t know why we need an unmarked outside. They realize that I live here, right?” Devon said, leaning against Barba’s frame. They were on the couch, the news on in the background, but neither of them really watching it. It was simply on for noise; the air was too tight in the silence.

“Just for protection, Cariño,” Barba replied, pulling her closer against him. They were both waiting, though neither mentioned it. Sergeant Mike Dodds, on his last day with SVU, was shot on the job. He was in the hospital right now, and they were waiting to hear from Olivia, or any of SVU, on his condition. They both wanted to be there, but Olivia barred them, saying it was safer for them to stay home. So, home they were. At least until tomorrow, then they’d visit, safe or not. If he was still alive, though neither one acknowledged that thought. He had to be alive…he had to be.

“I cannot believe I had to hear that you were threatened through fucking Sonny, again,” she huffed, though she wasn’t really mad. She knew why Barba didn’t say anything. And while she was incredibly grateful that Sonny did, she also knew that there wasn’t much she could do in her condition. Plus, if she was planning on retiring from the Feds, then she wouldn’t be able to do anything, anyways. And she was going to have to get used to that, as much as she didn’t want to.

“Remind me to strangle him next time I see him,” Barba muttered under his breath and Devon chuckled.

“I’d love to see you reach that high,” she smirked.

Barba shot her a glare. “I’m taller than you.”

“Yes, but I’ve been trained to take down people bigger than me. If I remember correctly, I’m the one that taught you how to throw a punch.”

“And you’re a good teacher. That’s why I know I could take Fordham down.”

This made Devon laugh out loud. Just then, Barba’s phone went off, and Devon’s laughter came to an abrupt end, waiting to hear the news.

“Barba.” He waited while he listened. “What?” He waited again, then sighed. “I’m so sorry, Liv…. Do you want us there?” He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. Devon sat up to look at him, concern blossoming in her chest. “Okay, we’ll be there first thing in the morning. Thanks for calling. Get some sleep, okay? Bye.” He sat there for a moment after he hung up. He took a deep breath, “Mike Dodds just died.”

Devon’s heart stopped. “What? How? I thought Liv said he woke up, was doing fine?”

“He had a massive stroke, couldn’t recover.” Barba couldn’t go on.

Devon felt the unspoken words. This could’ve been her, when she was shot just a few short months ago. This could’ve been her fate. Devon leaned back against him, head on his chest, and he wrapped his arms tightly around her, bringing her close to him.

“I love you, Dev. I love you so much,” he whispered into her hair, kissing the top of her head softly.

She stroked his arm with her fingers gently. “I love you, too, Rafael.”

Forlini’s

Saturday, April 9th. 3:35pm

The bar was packed with officers in their dress blues; everyone in there was celebrating the life of Sergeant Mike Dodds. He was a good man, and he had touched all of their lives in one way or another. Devon had only met the man once, maybe twice, but he was nothing but kind, professional. She had an instant like of him and was sad that she never got to work with him, really. She was more there for support of her friends at SVU, and for Barba, who knew the man more than she did. And while she listened and laughed with those who told stories of the Sergeant, she couldn’t help but feel an uneasiness…a guiltiness. She felt it the most when was gave her condolences to Chief Dodds, Mike’s father. He had been polite, cordial. But she could still feel the animosity…or was that in her mind? Was it survivor’s guilt, even if she wasn’t involved in the shooting? Even now, sitting at the bar with Barba and Sonny, she could feel the Chief’s eyes on her, questioning why she had lived while his son had not.

SVU Department

Sunday, April 10th. 9:30am

“He looks so much smaller in there,” Barba said as the men in the lineup were led away.

“Any chance I could get 10 minutes alone with the guy?” Devon asked, still glaring at the man who had threatened her fiancé. Ten minutes was a long time, and she’d make every minute count. Barba smirked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her from the window.

While Sonny walked with them, he said, “Felipe was paid $250 each time he talked to you, counselor.”

“$250, that’s it? I should be offended,” Barba scoffed. “Who paid him?”

“Wouldn’t say, but we’re keeping the protection detail on ya.”

Devon perked up, “again, just 10 minutes with the guy. I can get it out of him.” Though, she shuddered when she remembered Barba’s face the last time he watched her interrogate someone.

Barba just squeezed her tighter before he turned to Sonny. “You still want to be an ADA?”

Sonny shifted. “I’ve been thinkin’ about it, yeah.”

“I’ve heard there’s an opening in Brooklyn. I can put in a good word for you.”

Sonny looked touched at the offer, but declined, saying, “I took an oath to serve and protect. ‘Sides, after what happened, it just doesn’t feel like the right time, ya know?”

Barba nodded. “I get it. In the end, we’re all just passing through…. How’s Benson doing?”

“She’s…taking it pretty hard,” Sonny mumbled. Weren’t they all? Barba used his free hand to pat Sonny’s shoulder before he led Devon out of the precinct.

Once they had made it into the back of a cab, Devon said, “let’s get married sooner rather than later.”

Barba raised an eyebrow. “Scared I’ll run off?”

She smiled at him, giving his chest a light smack. “No, I just—life’s too short, ya know?”

That sobered Barba’s mood as he nodded. “Think June is too close?”

It was early April now; that gave them about two months to plan everything. That seemed doable to Devon, but it still gave her pause; having a date in mind made everything real. She still had to leave the Bureau, figure out what the hell kind of wedding they were even going to have. Though, if there was one thing she knew about Barba, it was that he was an amazing planner. She didn’t know, however, how well his court planning’s would translate to wedding planning.

“June sounds perfect,” she replied, leaning in to give him a sweet kiss. He returned it, grinning against her mouth.

[make-it-mavis]

Homesick (Entry #26)

(cw: drugs/addiction, themes of depression, very brief reference to sex) ----------

01/13/88   12:40 AM

Hey.

The trip got more solid after that. Sort of. Also sort of the opposite. 

After that last flash, I found myself still sitting at the table, still across from Fix-it, still not quite eating the destroyed pie in front of me. My hand was completely intact.

My finger slipped in a slow, idle circle of cold red syrup. I had my knees pulled up to my chest and my heels on my seat. I’d draped the blanket over my head like a hood and cocooned the rest of it around myself, only exposing my arm to touch the plate. I was too hot, less from the blanket and more from what felt like a fever.

Fix-it’s voice was just finishing a sentence. “--can hear me, just nod your head. If you can hear me.”

I gave one small nod, more entranced with the feeling on the tip of my finger than anything else.

He asked tentatively, “What’s your name?”

My voice was muffled against my knees. “Mavis.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“Fix-it Felix Jr.”

He sighed in relief. “Mavy… I need you to listen to me. This might be hard to understand right now, but… a lot of things you’ve seen or experienced tonight… that you’re experiencing right now… are not real. You’re safe, okay? You’re very safe. But you’re not in your right mind. You’re on buffs,” he swallowed. “You’re on… on Game-- Game Changers.”

I blinked without looking up. “No, I’m not.” 

“Mav--” he paused to contain himself. “Mavy, honey, listen. Let me tell you what really happened tonight, okay?”

Pain in my head flared, scratching blue lines in my vision. I tried to listen, but buff-fueled stimuli did its best to drown him out. 

As the stripes on the wallpaper lifted and arched like a hissing cat, he said, “You broke through ---------- second floor. You ---------- bed frame and ---------- like you were being attacked. You even ----------- when I ---------- understand what I was saying…” his voice and eyes lowered. “You… didn’t even know who I was…”

The windows shattered into jagged teeth in yawning mouths that stretched so wide, the curtain rods crumbled off. Tiny, pink, hairless bats flowed from the holes in the walls and flew in circles above our heads. Niceland itself seemed to break from the earth and float on rolling waves like a pirate ship, and he continued, “You went on about ‘a dog in the hive’ and ---------- saw Gene and chased ---------- had him backed into a corner ---------- in time to stop you from -----------”

“Wait,” I said, watching the table leg divide itself into pieces, “Gene? No, it was a dog!”

“It was definitely Gene, Mavy. You scared the daylights out of him.”

“I almost bludgeoned Gene to death with a bat?”

I could hear resigned disapproval in his voice. “Leg of a bedframe, actually, but, yes.”

Pretty sure I laughed an unwholesome, violent, and spiteful laugh, but it played from my throat like a rolling xylophone. Fix-it was less amused.

“Mavis.”

Suddenly, I felt a bit pissed. “Why did you stop me? He would have respawned! That little sausage roll had it coming!”

“This isn’t funny, Mavis! This couldn’t be farther from funny!”

I forgot what we were talking about. “What happens next?”

He explained insistently, “I had to stop you, of course. I knew you wouldn’t like it when I touched you, but ---------- scratching holes in your arms ---------- blood all down your arm, but you wouldn’t let me ---------- out the window to the dump.”

While he spoke, I pushed my finger into a cold, mushy cherry and took way too long to pop it in my mouth. It tasted… in a word, obscene. My feet were yanked to the floor, my knees pried apart, and when I peeked down into the dark of the blanket, binary-blue glowing eyes leered up at me from between my legs. They winked.

It suddenly became way harder to listen, even as I stared intently at the speaker.

“Ralph actually brought you back up here when he found ---------- heal ---------- shouting about being a bird ---------- slow ---------- started to even out ---------- were very chatty, but still couldn’t understand me ---------- on my couch for two hours ---------- talking to me, but ----------- get through to you ---------- with that pie for an hour and a half…”

The wallpaper peeled down like banana skins, and suddenly, we were surrounded by an aquarium. Rather, we seemed to be in a glass box in the ocean, with a panorama view of the life around us. Rainbows of shimmering fish rippled over a coral reef blooming with funny, fingery flowers. Silhouettes of dolphins twirled in the distance. Pink jellyfish floated around like half-filled party balloons. I felt my little hood fall back as I took it all in, spellbound. Part of me wanted to break out and swim away. Would being a fish be so bad?

“Your eyes are still so blue…” he told me then.

I turned my head, and screamed as I felt a wall of icicles shoot through my body.

A dog was in the water. The one that got away. Looking like a deathly thin shark, it floated limply and stared at me with those dead, black eyes.

“THERE!”

I grabbed the nearest object and hurled it with all my strength. When the plate smashed against the wall, the illusion broke. All of them did. The apartment was just an apartment. I sat back in my chair and tried to steady my breathing, tried to level out my heart’s tantrum. Once I settled, I settled hard. I fell into an eerie sense of calm. A peaceful numbness.

When I saw the pie splattered over the wall and the plate shards on the floor, I said, “Aw. The pie.”

Then I heard a sniff.

I looked at Fix-it. He was crying. He covered his mouth and leaned on his elbows, quietly watching me through watery blinks. I waited for him to say something, but he didn’t.

“I can…” I said slowly, “cut another slice… or get another plate, you know… There’s no need to, uh…”

He didn’t answer.

Finally, I asked, “Why are you crying?”

For a moment, he only shook his head. Then he said, through his hand, “I just… I look at your face, and I just--” he shook, “-- I’m so afraid that this’ll be the last time I see it.”

I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t even sure what he was talking about. My knowledge of my high state was unsteady.

“Why? Are you sick?”

“Make-it Mavis,” he said forcefully, “you’re going to corrupt yourself.”

I took a moment to contemplate that, long enough for him to ask if I still understood him.

“I hear you,” I nodded.

“I-- I thought,” he shook so hard, he could barely speak. “I watched you lying there on-- on my couch, and-- and your eyes were so bright, they cast beams on the ceiling, and-- and you were twitching and kicking and your--” he choked on his words, “-- I thought I could see a blue tint over your sprite-- it might have been my imagination but-- but I didn’t know what to do, because I was so-- so scared that you were-- were gonna corrupt right then and there, right in my living room, right-- right before my eyes!”

I felt around inside my cheek with my tongue. “If that’s the case, why would you worry about never seeing my face again? You’d see my face every day,” I shrugged. “Y’know, just in pieces.”

“Mav--” he broke right into sobbing. I was hopelessly confused.

I asked, “What’s the matter?”

After a period of collecting himself, he said, “Mavy, this isn’t a joke. If you take enough GC, and you get addicted, it’s-- it’s all over. The--” he seemed to go green, “-- the other sprites that have been found corrupted, they-- they all--... None of them had a code deficiency, Mavis. Do you know how long it took for a GC addiction to kill them?”

“Two weeks.”

He fell silent. As if he were afraid to ask, he breathed, “How many have you taken?”

I answered, even though I felt like I didn’t know, “Just two.”

“...Over how long?”

“I… don’t know. A couple days?”

Tears poured from his eyes. “Mavy… Mavy, do you want to corrupt?”

“What? No. I don’t even want to die, much less… y’know, that.”

“Then why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you--...” he made vague, upset gestures. “You’re hurting so bad, Mavy. Why do you medicate with-- with this? None of this fixes anything. There are sprites who are able and willing to help you. Just let them. You don’t have to do this alone -- please, please realize that. None of us can undo… the past, but we can make the present and future better. Things can and will get better, Mavy, you just need to--”

“It can only get so much better, though, can’t it?”

He froze. I just blinked and sat in my chair comfortably, as if we were having a quaint conversation over tea. I didn’t even know where my words were coming from -- I just opened my mouth and let them flutter out like moths.

I continued, “It can only get so good. I think I almost found what ‘good’ really felt like to me, but… it’s over now. I don’t know if I have it in me to look for ‘good’ again, not when losing it hurts this much. I don’t know how to carry on, knowing what I do. I don’t want to die -- I just want to forget. I don’t want to corrupt, and I’m not trying to. I haven’t lost my will to live or anything, it’s just that… I’ve been looking for ways to be happy here my whole life, and… that search has never been more daunting than it is now. I’m tired. I want to rest my head for a while. I just want little vacations from life. That’s what GC is to me.”

We were both quiet for a moment. I spoke before I realized I’d opened my mouth.

“I’m too big for the life I was made for, Fix-it. I can only cut off so many pieces of myself to fit into it.”

He seemed stunned. With good reason, too. I’d never opened up to him quite like that before. He was lucky I was so high.

He muttered, “You… You mean being an Easter Egg?”

“Yeah. Everything that goes with it,” I thought for a second. “I probably have the smallest code out of any playable character in the arcade, and I’m still too big for this place. I don’t belong here. I’ve known that my whole life.”

I thought for a second. “I’m not sure I belong anywhere.”

“Mavis,” Fix-it said, suddenly firm, even with red eyes. “That is, if you’ll forgive my potty-mouth, a whole lotta hooey.”

“Hooey?”

“I know it’s hard for you to feel at home… anywhere, Mavy. I know the Devs served you the short end of the stick. And if I meet ‘em after I delete one day, you can bet I’ll give ‘em a good talkin’ to for treating my cousin like that -- but good golly, Mavis. You know this, you must know this,” he leaned on the table. “You are more than just an Easter Egg.”

I just looked at him, waiting. I expected him to tell me a bunch of stuff I already knew and that never helped me before. I was… mostly right.

“Mavis, I have not seen a single sprite less defined by their coded role than you. Most of the time, you don’t even show up for work! And, you know what? That’s okay! Because… I know these words hurt you real bad before, but…” he swallowed, determined. “This game… doesn’t need an Easter Egg.”

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I could hear a distant echo of Gene’s voice saying that, even after all these years. I didn’t have the emotional presence to be upset by Fix-it bringing it up. I just waited for him to finish his point.

“But this arcade,” he slapped the table, “needs a Make-it Mavis.”

I’ll admit it. That was a nice thing to hear.

I can’t tell if I was in a good or bad state to be receptive to it.

“Well…” I said, eyes wandering. “I’d like to believe you. Maybe it did. But it sure doesn’t want me right now.”

He considered that. “Times are really tough right now, but… they won’t always be. Someday soon, it’ll be okay. Once it’s all died down. And until then, you still have sprites who care about you.”

“Like who?”

“Me. Tapper. I-- I think Ralph… maybe? Uh…” he trailed off. I could see panic in his eyes.

I looked at him quietly. I could hear the effort in his voice, the genuine desire to help. More than that, I heard the fear. He was desperate to help me, but lost as to how, and afraid that he wouldn’t figure it out in time. I know I’m not easy to help. I know that. It’s kind of hard to put into words the reasons why. I just need to be able to know that I’m in charge of my own life, whether that lands me in good or bad places. I have a lot of reasons to fly solo. But as Fix-it threw himself so wholeheartedly into some kind of verbal rescue effort, I recognized that there was no way he could understand any of them. If the worst happened to me, I bet he would blame himself. 

I knew all too well what that feels like.

I may not exactly be Fix-it’s biggest fan, but I don’t strive to be cruel. If I really was boarding a one-way train to corruption, attempting to dig up the seeds of guilt before they could take root would be the least I could do.

I wouldn’t have been good at that while sober. I don’t think being high made it any easier.

I asked, “Do you really love me?”

Fix-it froze as if I’d punched him in the chest. I just watched him.

“Of course,” he said quietly. “Of course I love you. Don’t you know that?”

“Sometimes. I think. There’s just something I need to tell you. I’ve been waiting for you to figure it out on your own, but, y’know...”

I looked at him. He was waiting on bated breath, already overflowing with tears. I’m sure he was expecting something better than what I said.

“You’re wasting your time.”

I genuinely took no joy in the stricken look that broke over his face. “What..? No, I’m not.”

“You’re wasting your time and your pain. You can’t keep wasting your love on me.”

“It’s not…” he shook. “I’m not wasting my love. How can you say that?”

“I…” I suddenly felt my shoulders getting heavy. “I… can’t... accept it.”

“Why, Mavy..?”

“I can’t,” I said a bit more forcefully. “No matter how much love you offer, I’m not built to receive it. You’re going through all the trouble of worrying about me all the time, and for what? Doesn’t it hurt you when you get nothing back? Loving me isn’t kind, it’s stupid.”

“Mav--”

“I have nothing to offer you. I can’t give you anything for your trouble. There’s no way for us to have…” I gestured, “a real, functioning relationship. I know it’s very hard to understand why, but trust me. The best thing you could possibly do for yourself is to stop caring so much about me. It’s just going to keep hurting you. Especially right now. If I really do get addicted to GC, and I corrupt myself, you’re going to feel like the entire Devs-forsaken world is ending. You’re going to think it was your fault for not doing more. You’re going to hate yourself every day for not protecting me, but you couldn’t have protected me. If I’m going to be corrupted, it’s going to have everything to do with me, and nothing to do with you. But if you love me so much, you won’t be able to understand that. You have so many reasons to hate me already. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll use them.”

He took a second to breathe, clearly dwarfed by the massive plate of emotions I was serving him. I could see in his eyes things that I didn’t quite understand, but they felt so invasive. I’d laid myself just open enough for him to peer inside, and even in my numb state, I felt horrendously naked. After a period of silence, my eyes fell, and my voice lowered.

“You can’t help me,” I said, and fell into barely a whisper. “I… don’t know how to let you.”

We were both quiet for a minute. I was hesitant to look up, but when I did, I was thrown for a loop.

He was smiling. Through tears, but still. There was a quivering, wavering smile on his face.

“Why…” I said cautiously, “...are you smiling?”

A short, single-note laugh burst wetly from his mouth, and he shook his head. “Mavy, don’t you see what you’re doing?”

“...No?”

“You’re giving back. You’re trying to protect me,” he nodded. “You do care about me.”

Yeah. Gross. But at the time, I was just stunned. I couldn’t fathom how I could have broken such hard truths over his head and still have him smiling. “You… wait, what?!”

“If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t even try. This is just one of the things that makes you so wonderful, Mavy -- you’re so full of surprises. You think you don’t know how to be loved, but you do. It just… might not be in the way everyone else does. You give back in ways you don’t see,” he said. “Like right now.”

I stared, agape.

“And, you know…” his smile weakened a bit, “I’m sorry that accepting help is so hard for you. And… yes, it is frustrating a lot of the time. It does hurt. But, no matter what you think you can or can’t accept…” he shrugged a bit, “I still love you. I don’t need your help with that. And you can’t protect me from it, either.”

“You…” I muttered, “ought to have higher standards for yourself. Don’t you want more?”

“Mavy…” he looked at me earnestly, tears flowing, “please listen to me. I don’t care about you just to get something in return. I care about you because I love you. I don’t care if you change or not. I just care that you’re safe.”

I said nothing. I don’t know what my face read.

He continued, “So please, please, Mavy. If I can’t protect you, please protect yourself for me. No more Game Changers, please. Please don’t take my cousin away.”

I blinked slowly and swallowed. “I’ll… try. I just don’t understand how you could care so much when I so clearly... don’t... want you to. Suppose I survive. Just how long do you think you could keep this up?”

Without a single thought, he answered, “Forever.”

The word was barely out of his mouth before I felt it quite physically slap me hard across the face. I reeled and pressed my palm into my cheek, sucking my teeth. I asked, “What in the eight bits was that..?” as pain in my head began to climb.

Fix-it straightened up. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I guess, but…” I pulled my hand from my cheek and saw a bright red streak over the palm of my glove. “What…”

Looking at it shot blinding pain through my head and tore holes in the oddly calm veil I’d been hiding behind. Clutching my head with my other hand, I asked, “Fix-it, am I bleeding?”

“No, Mavy. Not for a while, now.”

“Then what’s…” I stared at the stain, and my heart began to pound. I showed him my hand. “What is this?”

“That’s… your hand.”

“No,” I insisted. “The stain. On my glove.”

He put his hands up in a deescalating way. “Mavy…”

“I’ve seen it before. Why do I keep seeing it?!”

“Mavy, listen. You’re not wearing your gloves.”

It was still there when I turned my palm towards me. “Yes I am! It’s right here! What is it!?”

The sight of my hand became so sharp, so crisp and defined, the scarlet streak so vivid that it bore into my eyes, while the world around me began to wobble and distort at the edges. A hundred jackhammers in my head threatened to split my skull open. Wires of binary scratched, hissed, and sparked across my vision. I felt myself hit the floor.

Squinting through the stinging blue, I didn’t recognize the apartment anymore. I felt like I was looking at it through waves of warped glass. Patches of greyscale cut through the shifting colors. The lines on the wallpaper swelled and shrunk like a ribcage, and with each breath, the lights flared and dimmed. I heard a voice, far away and muffled as if underwater, and a mess of blurry pixels bent over me.

I was suddenly hit with an overwhelming panic. I was dropped into another mental timeline entirely. I was suddenly lost, unprepared -- I felt like I should have known what to do, but I didn’t. I had to act quickly, but I didn’t know on what. I had no idea where any of this was coming from.

I screamed almost involuntarily, and heard glass shatter.

I dodged the blurry figure with a roll, hit my already throbbing head on what I quickly recognized as a table leg. Almost on instinct, I dove for cover under said table, and folded myself up tight. I hid my face in my knees and pulled angrily at my hair, as if I could rip a hole in my scalp to vent out the pain. The crashing and smashing grew louder and more frequent. 

When I dared to peek up from my knees, I saw the walls beginning to push inward with a groan, but not in a comforting way, this time. The drywall began to split and crumble with the pressure, and the room’s light started to struggle and flicker frantically, each frame of darkness seeming to plunge me into a completely different room. The shattering glass rang out like deafening warfare. I couldn’t take it. It was ravaging my brain in ways I didn’t understand. I had so many phantom emotions running my thoughts in circles, it just left me reeling.

“Stop,” I said into my knees, “Stop, stop, stop --” and I screamed, “STOP, STOP IT, YOU’RE GONNA PASS OUT!”

A hand made of dense, metallic code touched my arm.

I shrieked and scrambled backwards. Fix-it knelt in front of me, perfectly tangible, his hand still lifted. When I saw his worried face, I noticed that the rest of the room had snapped back into place, too. My heart wanted to break out of my chest, my head was still killing, and my throat was parched, but everything seemed intact and steady again. My arm still tingled in a sharp and gross way where he touched me. Apparently, the shock of his code was enough to snap me out of it. I wanted to be pissed at him for touching me, but I was too stunned. I took in the sight of him completely, crouching there in full work clothes sans hat, looking ready to collapse from exhaustion, yet still going through all the effort of trying to help me.

I was floored by the fact that he succeeded. 

As I clutched my chest, trying to catch my breath, he sat down very gently. “Easy, easy,” he whispered, “it’s okay.”

I swallowed.

He asked carefully, “What’s your name?”

I breathed, “Mavy.”

His eyes widened a bit, and he held his breath for a second. He asked, “Do you know who I am?”

I stared at him. The bare bones of it, at that point, seemed obvious.

“My cousin.”

I swear I heard his heart thump. 

He slowly brought up his knee to rest his cheek on it, and he took deep breaths. That episode clearly stressed him out, too -- hardly a fair comparison, but still. A weak smile appeared on his face. “Your eyes are starting to dim.”

For a moment, I tried to remember how much time had passed. Then, a pressing thought occurred to me.

“Wait. What time is it?”

“Uh,” his eyes shifted. “Around 3:30?”

“AM?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, crit--” I hit my head on the underside of the table. “Ow-- Okay, I gotta go,” I said as I climbed out and stood. “I’m so cussin’ late. Even for me.”

Fix-it got to his feet, too, and looked more than a little confused. “You had to be somewhere?”

I pulled my gloves on. “Yeah, I was supposed to meet Turbo in Paperboy like, five hours ago,” I grabbed my conveniently materialized leather jacket from the chair and shrugged into it. “He’s probably gone home by now to anger-sleep. You’d never believe that’s possible ‘til you’ve seen it.”

Fix-it just turned white. 

I strode to the door in a place it hadn’t been before. “Toodles,” I said, before grabbing air and walking into the wall.

There was no door. There were no windows. 

I was very late, and there was no way out.

Flash.

My game’s screen loomed in front of me.

I sat cross-legged, wrapped in the blanket, on the grass in front of Niceland, staring up at our inverted title screen with dry eyes. My body felt hot and riddled with aches that would only get worse as my high continued to fade, and my brain felt fizzled to a crisp. I was so tired, I couldn’t even recognize that I wanted to sleep.

Someone next to me didn’t have the same problem. I heard the honks of Fix-it’s cartoonish snoring. He was just barely upright, his face smushed against his bent knee, a bit of drool staining his pants. I wondered how long he’d been there. I wondered how we came to be there at all, but not enough to wake him. Maybe if I had been sober, I would have painted an airhorn. But, being hazy and braindead and with a faulty brush, I just idly flicked colors onto different parts of his sprite. Red hat, orange shirt, yellow shoes. Red hair, orange skin, yellow pants. Red, orange, yellow.

Past my sleeping canvas, I saw movement. Wreck-it was climbing onto his kingdom of bricks, presumably coming home after a particularly long night at Tapper’s. He came to the little peak behind which sat his stump, and paused. His head turned, and he saw me.

I looked at him blankly.

He held my gaze for a minute. It was hard to tell just what expression he was making, but even from my distance, I could see him sigh. He shook his head slowly and stepped out of view.

I couldn’t manage any thoughts on that.

Red, orange, yellow. Red, orange, yellow.

[angelsfalling16]

The Thin Line Between Pretending and Actually Loving You - Chapter 2

Chapter 1 || Read on ao3

Summary: Baz and Simon run into each other, and Simon ends up offering to be Baz's fake date.

Word count: 3548

***

Baz

It is Thursday, and I still don’t have a date to take to dinner with Dev and Niall tomorrow night. It’s not exactly easy to find someone who is willing to pretend to be your boyfriend, let alone someone who would be convincing.

You can’t just search for someone like that on the internet. Sure, you can find a few decent guys that you won’t spend much time talking to, but it is difficult to find someone who will pretend to be your boyfriend.

Part of the problem may be that I was a little too specific when I told my friends about my “boyfriend”. I should not have told them that it was some they knew, however vaguely, but I had one person in mind when I was thinking about having a boyfriend.

Everything always comes back to one person. One guy who I cannot call.

Simon Snow.

You can’t just call up the guy you lived with for four years and ask him to be your fake boyfriend. Especially when you never got along with that guy. He is the exact opposite of who you should call.

But, he is my only option. A highly unrealistic one, but there’s no harm in trying, right?

As I scroll through my contacts and click on his number, wondering whether it will still work after all of this time, I conjure an image of my college roommate. Bronze hair, blue eyes…

“Hello?”

…voice like an angel.

I hang up.

It was a stupid idea to call him. Yes, perhaps I was in love with him once, but that was a long time ago. It’s been two years since we lived together, and it has been nearly five months since the last time I heard his voice.

I thought that I had moved on from him. I was in a relationship when I saw him that day, but the relationship ended a couple of weeks later. I won’t say it was because of him, but it’s hard to be in a relationship when you’re dreaming about someone else.

I ran into him at the store – quite literally - and it was like the past came rushing back. I could remember the way he smelled, the way he glared at me, the way my fist felt when it connected with his face. I remembered the way that I felt about him.

I hadn’t been watching where I was going, and I collided with him on my way out the door. I can’t remember why I was in such a rush that day, but it no longer mattered when my eyes met his.

It was like the rest of the world faded away.

I couldn’t even sneer at him to watch where he was going. All I could do was stare and wonder whether I was hallucinating. The last that I had heard, he was moving away after graduation to look for his birth mother. All he had was a picture of his mom, who he couldn’t even be sure was her, and the memory of a man who was supposedly his father. It wasn’t much, a lot of maybes, but he had hope.

Then, I ran into him at the grocery store of all places, and I wanted to ask if he found her. I wanted to pull him into my arms and make sure he was real, that he was still all in one piece. I wanted to do a thousand different things, but I couldn’t seem to do anything but stare.

Finally, he murmured a polite apology before ducking around me, and I haven’t seen him since.

I also haven’t heard from him since that day.

I’m not even sure if he’s back living here or if he just happened to be visiting that day.

The latter is more likely, which makes it even more ridiculous that I thought to call him today. In truth, I just wanted an excuse to hear his voice.

Setting my phone down, I try to think of an excuse for why my “boyfriend” can’t make it to dinner tomorrow. I go through a few possibilities, but none of them will work.

Dev and Niall are suspicious, and they will not believe any excuse that I come up with. They won’t let this go until they either meet a guy or I admit that he was never real.

It would be better if I just cancelled the dinner tomorrow. At least I won’t have to sit through a meal with them where they gloat about being right. I will have to call them and tell them the truth and hope that I can convince them not to set me up on a date with Niall’s friend. (I don’t have much hope.)

Before I make the call, which I know will be unpleasant, I decide to walk down to the café on the corner to get my favorite drink. At least I’ll have something pleasant in my hand when I’m forced to accept a date with some guy I’ve never met.

There aren’t too many people inside. Half the tables are empty, and there is only one person ahead of me in line. While I wait to order, I try to come up with a reason to tell my friends for why I lied about having a boyfriend.

I could have just put my foot down on the set up, but instead I chose to lie. Why?

It’s my turn to order, so I don’t have time to dwell on that question. Not that I think I would have come up with an answer. The barista recognizes me and punches in my order before I even say anything. I hand her the exact change and step to the side to wait for my drink.

As I do, my phone starts vibrating in my pocket. Assuming that it’s probably Dev, I don’t check to see who it is. I just answer.

“Hello?”

“Baz?”

Fuck. I’d recognize that voice anywhere, even if I hadn’t just heard it less than ten minutes ago.

“Snow.”

“Your name came up when you called earlier, and I was so shocked that I was sure I must have imagined it. Especially when you hung up.”

“Oh.” I’m not sure what else to say. I’m still stuck on the part where he still has my number saved in his phone, even though I’m certain that he never used my number when we were living together.

We mostly communicated through scathing comments and passive aggressive sticky notes left in odd places.

“Did you need something or did you just butt dial me?” He asks.

The barista calls my name, and switching my phone to my other hand, I take it from her, offering her a polite smile as I turn towards the door.

I’m not watching where I’m going, and I bump into someone. I move to step around them, about to offer and them an apology when Simon continues speaking.

“Or maybe you just wanted to see me.” His voice comes from both my phone and in front of me.

My drink nearly slips from my hand as I come face to face with Simon Snow himself.

 Simon

“How did you find me?” Baz demands.

It’s hard to believe that he’s actually sitting across from me right now. I’m not sure how exactly I managed to get him to come join me so that we could talk and catch up.

I haven’t seen him in months. Not since the day that I made a complete fool of myself by running into him and then barely managing to stutter out an apology before I practically ran away from him.

It’s nice to see him now. He hasn’t changed much, but there is something different about him.

It’s almost as though he’s softer around the edges. He hasn’t sneered at me yet, and I keep waiting for him to insult me. The way he’s looking at me, though, makes it seem like he actually thinks that I tracked him down or something.

I won’t lie and say that I haven’t been hoping that I would run into him since I got back in town just a couple of weeks. But I definitely didn’t go searching for him. We weren’t friends when we knew each other, so I didn’t think he would be happy to see me.

I am. Happy to see him, I mean. Seeing his stormy grey eyes and slicked-back hair got my heart racing as soon as he opened the door.

He is the most familiar thing in this town and seeing him felt like I had finally come home.

“You don’t actually think I followed you here, do you?” I ask, frowning at him. “I was seated at this table when you walked in, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. I mean, first you call me, presumably on accident, and then you walk into the same café I’ve been sitting in for the past half hour. What are the odds?”

“It’s purely a coincidence,” he says, his tone unaffected. If I hadn’t lived with him for four years, I would believe that he truly didn’t care, but I can see through the cracks of his exterior. He’s just as unsettled by all of this as I am.

I just wonder if he is even the least bit happy to see me or if he had hoped that he would never seem me again after we graduated.

He takes a sip of his drink and looks away from me, out towards the windows. He doesn’t seem unhappy to see me, so that’s something.

He stays quiet, so I try to come up with a way to keep him talking. To keep him near me.

“So, why did you call me?” I ask.

He turns back to me, his head tilted as he takes me in, his eyes roaming over my face before he responds.

“Like you said, it was just a butt dial.”

I don’t buy that. If it were true, he wouldn’t be fidgeting with his cup so much, and he would have been able to meet my eyes as he said it, rather than darting his gaze to the side.

Fine. He doesn’t have to tell me. I won’t push it, but I still don’t want him to go. I want to get to know him, find out how he’s been.

I never got the chance to know the real him before, but I’m hoping that now that we have gotten some distance from each other that maybe we can start over. Even if it is just for today.

I lean back in my seat and stretch my legs out under the table, getting comfortable. I accidentally bump one of his leg, and he starts at the touch. I raise my brows at him quietly.

If he is that repulsed by my touch, maybe this won’t work. But then he relaxes, picking his cup up again, and I smile to myself.

Baz isn’t leaving yet, and that’s what matters right now.

“How have you been since the last time I saw you?” I ask.

It takes him a moment to respond as he gathers his thoughts, probably trying to decide what he wants to tell me. I wait patiently, sipping on my coffee.

After a long moment, he starts to tell me a few things about himself. I tell him about how I’ve been travelling around since we graduated but that I’ve been thinking about settling down and going back to school.

It takes us a little while to warm up to each other, but then it’s like we’re old friends who got together to catch up. I find that I actually like talking to Baz. It’s nice when we aren’t at each other’s throats, saying the cruelest ting that we can think of.

We have fallen into a comfortable silence when Baz’s phone lights up with a text, and he leans back in his seat to unlock it. I hadn’t realized that we had leaned towards each other while we talked, our elbows resting on the table, until that moment.

I watch as he reads the text on his phone. He grimaces at it, a look I am very familiar with, before he places it back on the table, face down.

Then, he turns his full attention back on me, and it’s so weird that he’s being nice to me. He could have excused himself a long time ago, but instead, he’s choosing to sit with me.

Old feelings come rushing up in me, and I shove them away. It is stupid to think of Baz like that.

Just because he has chosen to sit with me for half an hour after we ran into each other, doesn’t mean that he suddenly wants to be friends with me. And definitely not anything more than that.

I’ll be lucky if we end this day without an argument starting up between us.

“Is something wrong?” I ask, gesturing at his abandoned phone.

“No.” He shakes his head, and a strand of hair falls loose from the rest. I have to tuck my hand beneath the table to keep myself from reaching out to fix it. “It’s just my cousin.”

“Family problems then?”

“No.”

“Romantic troubles.”

He screws up his face into another grimace before schooling his features.

“What would make you think that?”

“Your reaction just now. I was actually kidding.” I smile a little at the face he makes now. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with why you called me out of the blue, would it?”

“Unless you became a matchmaker in recent years, I don’t think that you will be of any help.”

“You seem like the kind of guy who could find his own dates, so it can’t be matchmaking services that you’re in need of.”

At least, I know that he’s single. Not that that really affects me. It does surprise me, though. People were falling all over themselves to be near him when we were in college, but he never went out with anyone that I knew of.

I hated him for that. For the way he always acted like he was above everyone else, and that it wouldn’t be worth his time to bother with him. It’s one of several reasons why I struggled to get along with him.

“Just tell me what you need, and I’ll try to help.” When he looks at me skeptically, I add, “Or if anything, I’ll be someone to rant to.”

I’m not sure why I’m offering to help him. I doubt that I would actually be of any use, but something like curiosity is getting the best of me.

Baz has always been a mystery to me, and for some reason, I seem to be determined to try to change that today.

He seems to be confused by it, too.

“Why are you being nice to me?” He asks. “We’re not friends.”

I shrug. Then, because I haven’t got anything to lose by telling him the truth, I say, “It’s been years, and now that we’re not being forced to be around each other, I might as well be nice. I don’t see the point in fighting anymore.”

I never really saw the point before, but it was like no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop. Fighting with him was better than him not even realizing that I existed, and I took what I could get back then.

For a moment, I’m certain that he’s going to say something insulting and tell me to mind my own business, but then he sighs and words start pouring out of him.

“My friends are trying to set me up with someone, but I didn’t want to go out with the guy they picked, so I told them I have a boyfriend. Of course, I’m not actually seeing anyone, but we’re all supposed to meet up for dinner tomorrow night.”

I’m a little stunned by all of this. Baz has always seemed so confident and like he doesn’t care what anyone thinks, so it’s surprising to hear that he had to lie to get out of doing something. Also, I meant what I said before. I’m sure that he could find a date if he wanted to, even if it was just one to full his friends.

“So, you need to find a guy to be your boyfriend by tomorrow night?” I ask, an idea forming in my head.

It’s a truly terrible idea, but when Baz nods, I find myself saying something that will be impossible to go back from.

“How about I do it?”

“What?”

I could take it back. I could say that I was joking. But the opportunity to go on a date with Baz is too good to pass up. Even if it isn’t a real one. Because the truth is, I fell in love with him.

Running into him today only brought those feelings back to the surface, dragging them up from where I buried them a long time ago.

I know that it’s foolish to pose as his fake boyfriend when I’m not even sure that we can get along for long periods of time, but it can’t hurt to try, right?

“I’ll be your fake boyfriend,” I hear myself saying. I definitely can’t take it back now. “It’s just one dinner, right?”

“Right,” he says slowly, like he can’t believe what I’m saying. I can’t either. “But why would you do that?”

I shrug. “Call it turning over a new leaf. Maybe you and I can start over.”

“Okay.” He nods once, and it takes me a moment to realize that he’s actually accepting my offer. “I’m meeting them at 5, so I can pick you up or we can meet there.”

“Pick me up. I already have your number, so I’ll just text you my address later.”

He nods, and I stand up, grabbing my empty coffee cup. Suddenly, I feel like I need to get out of here before I do something stupid. Or something more stupid than offering to fake date him.

“Well, I should get going,” I say awkwardly. “It was nice seeing you again, Baz.”

I force myself to walk at a normal pace to the door. I glance back at him as I toss my cup in the trash bin, and he turns to look at me at the same time. I offer him a small smile before turning away and hurrying out to my car.

I want to call Penny and tell her about what just happened, but she would go on about how I have once again allowed Baz to pull me in. She used to always complain about how much I talked about Baz, but she wasn’t the one with an awful roommate.

Of course, she would then say that I could always request a new roommate. But I couldn’t do that. Not when I wanted to be near him at the same time as wanting to get away from him.

I was torturing myself, and even though she could see that, she didn’t know the whole truth.

She never knew how I felt about him, but she could always tell that there was something strange about the way that I acted around Baz.

I decide not to call her, but that means I end up planning for the date alone.

Choosing to get ready the night before, rather than waiting until last minute, I go straight home from the café and start looking for an outfit to wear.

I’m not sure how fancy this dinner is going to be, and I’m still in the midst of moving into my new apartment, so I don’t know where any of my nice things are. Not that I’ve got any fancy suits or whatever it is that Baz may be expecting from me.

I’m not sure what he is expecting at all. Are we supposed to be in a serious relationship? Or is it something new? Are we into pda? Or are we more reserved?

The later it gets, the more I start to worry. I did not think through this at all.

I could text Baz and ask for the details, but he may decide that I won’t be any good at this and tell me to just forget about it all. So, after sending him my address, I put my phone away for the night.

Finally, I settle on my nicest pair of jeans and a pale blue button-down. I’m hoping to look casually nice, but I worry that it will look like I’m trying too hard.

It’s difficult when I’m trying to impress someone who won’t notice the effort that I have put into it. He probably won’t care what I wear, so long as I convince his friends that I’m his boyfriend.

It stings to think about how little this will all mean to Baz, but I put myself into this situation. I knew what I was getting into myself, so I’m going to have to deal with this.

Even if this fake date will be everything I’ve always wanted and the worst decision that I have ever made.