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cherrygorilla · 3 months ago

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The Mixtape Mysteries: Chapter 1 (Part 4)

Wuthering Heights - Kate Bush - 4:29

Ok, I know the interest in these stories is literally in the toilet, but I couldn’t leave this sat unfinished in my google docs indefinitely when it means this much to me. So I had to at least wrap up this first day - just for me lol.

As usual, listen along with the gang here. And if you for some reason happen to be reading this, enjoy!

A yawn scrunched Miles' features as he swiped the grimy plastic bucket, and its two accompanying mops, from the store cupboard. His shoulders ached with exhaustion and it took an immense effort to pry his eyelids apart again - whether that was due to his fatigue, or the constant flashing of colourful neon for the last five hours was still up for debate though.

Suddenly, a hand fell on his shoulder, and a gruff voice mumbled in his ear, jolting him out of his sleepy stupor. "Wish me luck; I'm goin' in."

Miles chuckled as he turned to his friend, "I'm the one that needs the luck," jerking his head in the direction of his cleaning partner for the rest of the night, who was currently flipping through her extensive cassette collection.

"Oh please, she'll be feeding you french fries within the hour - guarantee it," Ethan grinned back mischievously, balancing a large, plastic tub of empty plates and glasses on his hip. "She looked pissed when she came back in after her break with the human brick."

Although Miles managed an eye roll, he didn't get the chance to retaliate before Mick breezed up to the pair with a sour frown. "Stop distracting each other - the quicker we clean down, the quicker we can leave," she snipped, then pointedly shoved a dish rag into Ethan's chest. "Get to work, busboy."

Despite Miles' amused chuckles, Ethan turned to him with a look of resignation. "You see what I have to put up with to try to get you some sweet ass?"

"If that's my goal then I think we're both gonna go home pretty fucking disappointed," Miles snorted, leaving his pint-sized pal with a slap on the back and a final, amused grin before grabbing the mops and bucket, and heading into the main hall again.

As he did, the rink's speakers crackled back to life with the opening notes of that one song from Flashdance - at least he thought it was from Flashdance. And although Miles first caught the DJ's eye with a questioning brow raise, her eager smile as she rolled out from behind her music booth had him grinning back at her before he could stop himself. Of course, that grin was helped along by the fact that, as the song's beat picked up, so did Carrie's dancing. It started with a pump of her shoulders, then she added in arm movements, and before Miles knew it, she was practically pulling a fully choreographed routine out of thin air. At first he knew she was just hamming it up to make him laugh, as she often did with her exaggerated dance breaks (to great success, usually). But the longer he took filling up the mop bucket, and collecting the rest of the cleaning supplies from the cubby underneath the serving counter, the less he noticed her shooting him playful winks, or holding back giggles at her own ridiculousness. She just seemed to be dancing…for herself. She spun, kicked and whipped her hair about with reckless abandon - any traces of that deflated scowl he'd caught her sporting for the last hour slipping away on the wind the speed of her very own skates created, replaced by a blissful smile. He always teased her about her mantra about how music can 'heal' people, but for the first time, he was starting to realise that she might not have been as crazy as he'd suspected after all.

Her singing and dancing continued as Miles laced up his own skates and carried the cleaning supplies over to a nearby table - and, by some miracle, midway through a particularly enthusiastic knee slide, she caught sight of him again. Scrambling to her feet, she skated over and greeted him with another overly enthusiastic whip of her hair before plopping into the closest silver chair. She flashed a particularly devilish smile in response to his second, questioning eyebrow raise, before arching her back, throwing her head towards the floor and sliding her skates out in front of her. The only thing missing from her oh-so-dramatic scene recreation was the torrent of water from the sky - which a chuckling Miles was all too pleased to provide, in the form of a squirt to the face with a spray bottle.

Carrie's eyes flew open as she recoiled in shock, spluttering and trying to spit the basic taste from her tongue. "What the hell?!"

But her overly dramatic reaction left Miles spluttering too, only his was with amused laughter instead of strings of lip gloss slicked saliva. "What's wrong, Alex Owens?" he teased. "You suddenly scared of a little water?"

"'A little water'?" Carrie shot back with horrified indignation. "You just sprayed fucking bleach in my face."

"Oh my god, would you relax?" Miles scoffed, fondly rolling his eyes at her histrionic exasperation. "It's not bleach," he continued with a laidback grin, pausing to read the well-worn label to offer her further reassurances. "It's 'all-purpose surface cleaner'."

"Like that's any better!"

"Well your face is a surface - consider it cleaned," Miles cheekily chuckled, reaching out and swiping a stray droplet of the cleaner from her cheek, and taking a smudge of her iridescent pink blush with it. But just when it looked like Carrie was about to erupt all over again, he cut her off with further, level headed defences. "Oh come on, you know Ralph's not gonna splash out on the good stuff," he said, lifting the spray bottle again and giving it a suspicious shake as he inspected the contents. "And it's probably been watered down like four separate times already - I'm pretty sure he's had this since he bought the building."

"That doesn't mean you can go 'round spraying it in people's eyes," Carrie retaliated, rising to her full height and squaring up to the brunet with an affronted scowl.

But Miles saw straight through her juvenile sulking, knowing it was all purely surface level, and just treated her to another teasingly smug grin. "Then it's a good job your eyes were closed."

Any worry about Carrie's eyes being damaged was tossed out because she seemed to be able to roll them just fine, and did so with tremendous exaggeration after that last comment. Having worked the initial shock and diva-ish frustration out of her system though, she cut her losses and retreated back onto the rink with a last, snipped attempt to get the last word in: "If I break out after this then it's all your fault."

"Don't try to pin all this on me," Miles retaliated with a further chuckle as he followed in her wheel tracks, hauling their mop bucket as he went. "You started it; dancing around like a wannabe Jennifer Beals."

Carrie spun around to face him, eyes as wide as the social gap between them. "Wannabe?!" she gasped so dramatically she almost choked on her own breath.

Not realising his comment was so scandalous, Miles was taken aback at first, especially by the outrage that flashed across the girl's face. But, knowing Carrie like he did, he knew her passion was almost always weaponised for comedic effect. And this time was no different judging by the fact that the second his mouth started to twitch into a smile, hers did exactly the same.

"That was a pretty good reference, actually," she acknowledged with a grin as she rolled past him - all traces of her murderous facade wiped from her face. "I'm impressed."

Although Miles could feel himself glowing with pride, he swallowed the compliment and clung to the comfortable familiarity of life in the shadows. "Well, when you hear about a film enough, you start to pick up a thing or two.” Before he could get too caught up in the temptation of that strangely coy smirk of hers though, he turned away - shaking the accompanying thoughts from his head as he rolled back over to the edge of the rink. "Now," he continued, missing the ever so slightly disappointed falter in her smile. "You wanna swap that invisible microphone for a mop?" he prepositioned, waiting to finish his point until he'd secured the cleaning device in her begrudging, manicured grasp. "Or do I have to go and grab some sweat bands to join you?"

The mischievous grin Miles fixed her with as he skated off to go and start wiping down his side of the rink, paired with that suggestion, had Carrie's mouth gaping like the tangerine goldfish residing in her room. Although, the amusement in her expression was undeniable; she almost couldn't keep her giggles at bay long enough to retaliate - biting back a laugh at the very thought as she dipped her own mop in the bucket of suds and sped off after him. "You can't tease me with a good time like that and then just walk away."

"Just did," he airily retorted, snorting out another laugh at her look of playful astonishment. Although it was quickly silenced by her, admittedly deserved, retaliation of shaking her mop to flick some of her soap suds across his cheeks, before she fled to the opposite side of the rink to start her own cleaning for the night.

The unspoken, lingering tension hung between them as they went about wiping down the once-glossy rink floor, blanketing them in an unusual silence, save for the tinny melodies of the remainder of Carrie's chosen cassette. Although Miles knew his reason for the more stand-offish approach to their nightly clean-down, and was still nursing his embarrassingly bruised ego their run-in at school had left him with, he was at a total loss as to why Carrie was being so quiet. Normally she'd be talking his ear off - whether he wanted her to or not - but that night the only sound he could hear from her side of the rink was the weary "splat" of her fraying mop head each time it came into contact with the floor. Pushing any curiosities about her strange behaviour to the back of his mind, determined to stick to his new approach of acting as indifferent towards her as she clearly was to him, praying that that would help extinguish the persistent, dying embers of his insane attachment to her, Miles returned his focus to smearing out the streaks of grey at his feet. Gently rolling back and forth, pushing faintly citrus-scented water around like some elaborate painting, a contented smile settled on his face as he severed the chain that tethered his mind to the ditsy DJ behind him, letting it wander as far away as it cared to.

Head filled with thoughts of his family, and his friends stuck in the kitchen - helped along by the distant clatter of pans, and the accompanying indignant bickering he briefly stopped his mopping to listen in on - Miles couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this relaxed at work. But as he rolled over to rinse the grimy water out of his mop head, that all changed when he clocked Carrie leaning on her own mop, staring at him through puzzled, furrowed brows.

"What?" he asked, almost defensively - feeling the beginnings of heat prickling beneath his cheeks.

"You keep watching the clock like a hawk," Carrie observed, her expression unchanged.

Miles' eyebrows furrowed this time. Did he keep checking the clock? He didn't feel as though he did… Not that much, anyway. And since when did Carrie keep such rigid tabs on what he was doing? He didn't even think she remembered he existed most of the time.

Before he got the chance to defend himself though, Carrie continued her probing. "What are you getting all antsy about? You got a hot date or something?" she asked, donning a teasing smirk to cover up the pointed edge in her tone.

Miles just scoffed, bristling at what he just perceived as a deliberately cruel dig at his love life - certain that the blonde couldn't possibly be concerned enough with his life to ask from a place of genuine interest. "Shockingly, no," he curtly replied, watching for the girl's reaction and, to his dismay, finding himself copying the way her shoulders relaxed once the words had left his mouth. The new softness in her frame, coupled with the persisting curiosity in her gaze, poked holes in his armour with each second that followed. And before he knew it, he'd kidded himself into thinking that she cared again - that, or he was just itching to tell someone new about the developments that had been made that evening. "It's my brother, actually."

"Oh, shit, is everything ok?"

"No, he's fine," Miles said, chuckling at her dopey misunderstanding before clarifying, mildly frustrated with himself for caving so easily. "I meant he's the one on the date."

Carrie's aegean irises glittered with intrigue. "Shut up."

"Alright, but you're the one who asked-" Miles bluntly teased, already starting to turn away before the frantic thudding of Carrie bouncing on her toe-stops dragged his attention back to her.

"No, no, no, come on, you know what I mean. Tell me everything!"

Chuckling yet again, this time at her (bizarrely) earnest excitement about the revelation, Miles relented. "There's not that much to say really - they're like 13. I'd be surprised if they even end up holding hands."

"But you do definitely think they like each other, right? Like, like each other?"

"Oh yeah," Miles said, laughing at the very thought of how the pair act around one another. "They're obsessed with each other - they just have no idea how to show it."

"Aww - young love. How cute," Carrie giggled with a dreamy, but almost wistful smile. "Where's he taking her then? Some fancy steak restaurant?”

"I don't think Royce has even seen a steak," Miles scoffed at her joke, starting to work away on the areas of the rink Carrie had abandoned for the sake of prying into his personal life. "They're going to the movies - some rerun they both wanted to see, apparently."

Carrie's ears pricked up. "Oh shit, was the girl's dad taking them?"

"Yeah…" came Miles' wary reply.

"No way! I totally saw them waiting for their ride!"

"Oh, nice," Miles acknowledged with a somewhat awkward chuckle.

"I didn't realise they were going on a date - but I guess the girl did look a little nervous," Carrie went on to muse, seemingly having given up on finishing her share of the mopping.

"Well she was the one to arrange it all - I don't think Royce would have been brave enough," Miles said, adding his own observations with a small, amused smile at his little brother's expense.

"She was?" Carrie questioned, quirking her eyebrow in disbelief until Miles nodded his confirmation. Smiling, mostly to herself, she added a quiet, and surprisingly genuine: "Hmm, good for her."

"I doubt they'd even consider it a date though, knowing those two; when they came over to let us know they were leaving they tried to pass it off as a reward for getting a good grade on their book report."

"They're rewarding themselves for getting good grades?" Carrie questioned with a completely baffled stare.

"So they say."

"That's so corny," she snorted, hardly able to believe what she was hearing. "Oh well, I guess nerds can find love after all."

"They're not nerds," Miles said, with a slightly defensive frown, jabbing Carrie's mop out from underneath her when she wasn't looking as punishment.

The blonde squealed as the loss of her perch sent her wheels spinning out from beneath her. Flailing arms and engaged quads quickly helped her regain her balance though. She made sure to fix the perpetrator with a disgruntled glare once she returned to leaning on her trusty mop, but Miles' steadfast defence soon sent a strange, new guilt seeping through the cracks in her bratty exterior.

"They're just kids being kids," he went on to say, fighting the pair's corner in their absence and providing a much-needed voice of reason. "I said a bunch of dumb stuff when I was thirteen - especially if I thought it was gonna get me out of an embarrassing situation."

"I've said a bunch of dumb stuff today," Carrie acknowledged with a giggle at her own expense, again softening in reaction to Miles' more prickly retaliations.

And yet again, it completely blindsided him. The flip-flopping of her attitude around him was going to give him whiplash at this rate. But the relieved warmth her openly self-deprecating silliness sent through him was welcomed with open arms. Part of him dared to believe this was the start of her attempt to apologise for how she'd acted at school too, but he soon realised that was just wishful thinking when her mindless babbling continued. After all, she wasn't a miracle worker.

"And I still don't think I'd be brave enough to ask out a guy myself, so they've got me on two counts there."

Miles just rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, I call bullshit on that," he retaliated with a smirk, clearly not believing a word of what she said. She was one of the most confident people he'd ever met - like she'd have any trouble with her love life.

Carrie didn't seem to have a worthy comeback for that comment either, because a silence soon fell over them once more - this time marginally more comfortable than the last as Carrie stared off into space and Miles rinsed his mop out again. Every night Miles doubted the magical healing powers of their evening cleaning sessions, and every night he was proven wrong; he could feel his resentment towards her slipping away with every word she spoke, lulling him into a glassy-eyed stupor with each dopey remark and silly little joke. Talking to her just felt so effortless, it was hard not to enjoy it. And judging by the fact that Carrie kept letting her mouth run on autopilot every time there was a break in the conversation, she didn't think talking to him was half-bad either.

"What was their book report on?" she lazily pondered with a half-hearted prod at a lingering streak of foam beside her skate. "Do you remember the one we had to do in middle school about those kids that started eating each other on a desert island?"

Miles couldn't help but laugh; as entertained by her mindless ramblings as ever. "I don't think they ever started eating people."

Carrie just brushed off the correction with a wave of her hand. "Whatever - you know the one I mean. I'd probably stopped listening by the end anyway," she admitted with a snort at the very memory. "No wonder I got a D."

"It was Wuthering Heights," Miles explained, surprised by the puzzled silence that followed…until Carrie's response came.

"...They're doing book reports on songs now?"

Miles' head snapped to hers - gazes matched in bewilderment, and yet for completely different reasons. Whilst Carrie's expression held a baffled jealousy, Miles' was grounded in sheer, incredulous amusement. "Does your brain only retain information about music or something?" he asked, having to bite back a laugh at the very idea.

No matter what happened between them, he'd never grow tired of the unusual way her mind worked. It was like abstract art: beautiful, divisive, and sometimes just plain ridiculous.

Carrie's expression started to shift to one of doubt the longer he held her gaze - but at this point the vacant confusion felt like a permanent fixture. "...So they didn't do it on a song?"

Miles couldn't hold back his laughter that time, instead letting the chuckles flow freely as he turned to face her properly. Wearing a fond grin, he went on to gently clarify: "No, they did it on a book; Wuthering Heights is a classic from the 1800s."

"Well if it's that old you can't blame me for never having heard of it," Carrie retaliated with a laidback scoff that just served as further entertainment to Miles.

"I don't know, you sound like a budding literary enthusiast to me," he teased. "Lord of the Flies? Wuthering Heights? What's next on your list, War and Peace?"

"Hmm, I think I'll stick to my Kate Bush, thanks," she retorted, showing just as much enthusiasm for the claim as Miles expected her to.

"Is that who wrote your song?" he went on to ask, dipping his mop head back into the greying water.

"Uh, yeah," Carrie said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "It was her debut single - it was huge."

"And you think the bestselling novel wasn't?" Miles teased.

"I've never read it," Carrie shot back with a playfully argumentative shrug. "Have you listened to the lyrical genius of Kate Bush?"

"You do realise it will all just have been taken from the book, right? Because, correct me if I'm wrong, I don't think Kate Bush was alive in the 1800s to collaborate."

"Have you listened to it?" Carrie pressed.

"Probably, but I don't exactly make a habit of it," Miles caved with a chuckle. "Why?"

"Your music taste disappoints me more and more every time I ask you about it," she said with a playful huff of disdain. "Kate Bush is an icon."

"I'm sure people would say the same about Emily Brontë," Miles countered, only to be stopped by a deadpan stare.

"I would ask you who the hell Emily Brontë is, but I think we both know my brain's already absorbed too much new information for one day," Carrie said, promptly setting Miles off to laugh before gliding off towards the side of the rink.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, calling out after her once his chuckles had died down, and adding a teasing: "You need a lie down after all that thinking? We're not done over here."

"I'm finding my Wuthering Heights tape," she replied as she stepped onto the carpeted floor, abandoning her mop on a nearby table. "We need to celebrate this momentous milestone for your little brother - Ross, right?"

"Royce," Miles corrected with a smirk.

"Right, Royce - and we need to make sure you can fully appreciate the brilliance of Kate Bush," she finished as she began shuffling through her extensive collection of cassettes.

"So that means you're gonna be reading the book too? You know, so you can appreciate the brilliance of that?" Miles teasingly proposed, knowing for a fact the suggestion would be rejected in an instant.

"Yeah right, like I have time to read," Carrie scoffed as she set up the tape.

Proven right, and relishing the smugly amused grin that settled on his face as a result, Miles asked, "Is this the one with the music video of her dancing around in the woods in a red dress?"

Carrie's eyes shot up to meet his, alight with impressed excitement. "Yes! Oh my god, you do have some culture after all," she playfully gushed.

"Like I said earlier: not just a pretty face," Miles replied, stopping his mopping, and steady chuckling, for a second to give her a knowing smile she gladly returned.

But before he could get too engrossed in his work, Carrie snapped the tape case into place. With her finger poised above the 'play' button, she found his gaze again, and proudly announced to the whole room: "To young love."

A grateful smirk tugged at Miles lips as he let go of the remaining shreds of his resentment towards her, savouring the tingly sweetness of the comical gesture. "To young love," he agreed.

Although Miles tried his best to stay focused on the remainder of the mopping, the moment those opening piano notes and chimes drifted through the air he knew he'd have to brace himself for the onslaught of ridiculous lip-syncing that was coming. And he was proven right yet again because the second Kate's airy vocals floated in, Carrie's theatrical recreation of the music video began. Exaggerated, lyrical dance moves twisted her body around like a leaf on the breeze, and she kicked and leapt with gusto to each crescendo in the music - mirroring the somehow fluid, yet jerky movements of the artist herself until Miles was almost crying with laughter. She flapped her arms around her head, waved them about like a snake, and swung her legs out like she was performing to a crowd of thousands - and yet her audience of one could offer her nothing more than impressed guffaws. For the fleeting moments of reckless abandon, where he temporarily forgot where he was (and who he was), Miles was even coaxed into giving his own renditions of the silly dance moves - much to Carrie's appreciation. But the goofy sing-along ended the same way almost all their other ones did: with Miles applauding, and Carrie begrudgingly picking up her old cleaning rag.

After all, some things never change.

"Alright, that's enough of that," Miles sighed, chuckling as he launched his dirty rag into the empty bucket as though it was a basketball.

Glad that he'd finally deemed their efforts satisfactory, Carrie, perched on the edge of the very table she was supposed to be wiping down, abandoned her lazy cleaning attempt in an instant. She uncrossed her legs and pushed off on her skates, rolling straight up to the bucket to ditch her own rag as she muttered a playfully grateful, "About time."

"Uh yeah, about time for food; I'm starving," he corrected, swiping the bucket to hide away back with the rest of the cleaning supplies. "What are you feeling tonight?" he went on to ask with an amused grin, leading the way to the kitchen. "I've been thinking about tater tots since 7:30."

"I don't know, I wasn't gonna get anything," Carrie explained, trailing behind him with the same level of enthusiasm he heard in her voice.

Turning to face her, his eyebrows furrowed in astonishment, Miles asked, "What? Why?"

They always snacked on leftovers after work. Why was she trying to break tradition now?

"I'm not hungry; I ate earlier," she said plainly.

'When?' was the first thought that jumped to the front of Miles' mind. He hadn't seen her leave her music booth since they'd arrived, apart from her break with Eric, which had been spent solely outside. But then again, who was he to question her?

"You sure?" he checked. "Not even just some fries or something?"

"I'm fine, seriously," Carrie promised, although her body language was more dismissive than reassuring. "I'll just steal a couple of your tater tots if my stomach starts making weird noises," she cheekily added. And although Miles looked ready to retaliate, and protect his culinary reward, Carrie jumped in to further cement her decision. "Just give my share of the scraps to Barney."

Doubt pooled in Miles' blue eyes as he searched her expression for any evidence of a lie, or anything that might explain the bizarre development. But he found nothing - just plain certainty, willing itself to be believed.

"Alright, if you're sure…" he trailed off as he disappeared through the kitchen doors, sparing her one last wary look before walking in on the one-man concert Ethan was giving Mick, by using the very kitchen utensils he was supposed to be drying as drum sticks.

Once a thoroughly amused Miles had eventually convinced Ethan to get back to helping Mick with washing the dishes, and once he'd placed his food order with her, he emerged back into the main hall. A plastic pet bowl held three hot dogs that had split out of their casing, and a chicken tender that had gotten a little too charred to be served - all of which had found a new role as a pensioner pooch's dinner. Grinning to himself about how successfully he'd scrounged together the meal, Miles searched for Carrie to show off his work.

With how bright her outfit was, he found her in an instant: waiting by the glass doors that led out into the mostly abandoned, overspill parking lot behind the building. As he approached he watched her twist from side to side, her eyes never leaving the reflection copying every move she made. She tugged at her leotard, tried smoothing it out, adjusted the t-shirt on top, sucked in a breath and tried repeating the process. If he hadn't knocked a chair leg on his way over to her, he wasn't sure she'd have ever stopped. She seemed transfixed…troubled, almost. Maybe just vain. But at the sound of clanking metal she snapped out of it in an instant, checking the hem of her t-shirt and plucking out a loose thread, as though that were the culprit all along.

"Anything good?" she asked, turning to him with a bright smile she hoped would distract them both from what they'd just seen.

Deciding he didn't want to tangle himself up in her life any more than he already was, Miles took the moment at face value (at least the one she was trying to sell to him anyway) and set it aside. It wasn't his place to get involved. "Yeah, I've got his favourites," he grinned, pushing open the door in front of her and proudly shaking the bowl under her nose as he led the way outside.

"Damn, three?" Carrie snorted after peering in to count the pieces. "What cheapass hot dog brand did we switch to now?”

"I don't know, but for Barney's sake, the crappier the better," Miles chuckled as he took up his usual spot on the back steps, amidst the cracked, weed-ridden concrete, and began calling out the dog's name.

After grabbing her jacket, Carrie joined him - taking up her perch on the steps beside the metal water bowl, and letting a silence fall over them once again.

The night air felt still and hushed, as though the trees beyond the wire fence were keeping secrets from them. The only things breaking through the thick silence were Miles’ whistles, and gentle calls of the dog’s given name.

A wind whipped around the corner of the building, making the hairs on Miles’ arms snap to attention, and prompting Carrie to hug the magenta nylon tighter around her shoulders. Her teeth chattered as she shuddered in a breath and shot her co-worker a despairing glance. “How are you just in a t-shirt?”

“I’m fine, we won't be out long. I just wanna make sure he’s ok,” Miles replied, holding the food bowl out before him and giving it another, enticing shake, followed by more whistles into the darkness. He frowned as he was met with the same, endless silence as before though. “He doesn’t normally take this long to find us.”

A quiet huff slipped past the faintly fuschia-tinted lips beside him. "He's ancient, Miles. He might not even hear you."

Ignoring the unusually crabby comment from his co-worked, Miles persisted. His calls did edge slightly louder though.

The bare skin of his arms stung in the cold as they waited, and Carrie's disinterested yawn from the corner of his eye did not go unnoticed. But just as he was starting to get worried, a familiar, steady patting of claws on concrete set his mind at rest.

Out from the shadows by the dumpsters lumbered a balding bulldog, panting after each laboured step as though he'd just ran a marathon. His teeth stuck out in awkward directions, his jowls were slick with foamy saliva, and the skin around his eyes bunched up so much it looked as though he could barely see. He was far from a prized show dog, but as soon as Miles caught sight of the old canine his face broke into a smile.

"There you are," he chuckled, beckoning the plodding pooch over and rewarding him with a loving scratch once he was within arms reach. "You had me scared, buddy. I thought you'd ditched us for that diner across the street."

"You really think he'd hang around that grody dumpster if he had some place better to go?" Carrie snorted. Although her blasé attitude remained, the fond smile Miles' affection for the dog prompted was unmistakable - tugging at her lips before she even realised it was there.

"They don't love you over there like we do, huh?" Miles said to the dog, setting the food bowl aside to pet him properly - ruckling Barney's folds of greying fur until his eyes slid closed and he let out a low growl of contentment. "You're such a good boy," he murmured, giving the stray one last pat before reaching for his food bowl again. "We've got your favourites tonight, Barnes. It's your lucky day," Miles went on to chuckle, holding a piece of hotdog out and watching him happily begin munching on it.

The exchange continued for another minute or so, with Miles offering soft praises to the dog as he hand-fed him. They'd tried the bowl, a few weeks ago, but he just wouldn't eat out of it - they suspected it was something to do with the fact he'd been a stray for so long, or maybe because of his age - so letting him nibble at the food scraps from their palms would just have to suffice. Miles had no qualms about the hound's lack of table manners, but as Barney snaffled the last section of the second hotdog, he turned to Carrie to offer: "You wanna give him the next one?"

She may have been smiling to herself as she watched Miles interact with the dog, but her hands didn't move from their place, propping her chin up on her elbows. "I'm good," she promised, cringing as she nudged her pristine silver skate aside in order to dodge a string of drool that dropped onto the asphalt.

"Suit yourself," Miles said, chuckling to himself at the girl's aversion to the mess as he reached his saliva splattered hand back into the dog's food bowl. "More fun for us, huh, Barney?" he added as the dog graciously snapped at the next offering, spraying sausage crumbs at the blonde's feet anyway.

Affectionately rolling her eyes, Carrie finally caved and moved at least one of her hands to give his back a stroke. She knew she hit that sweet spot for him too once he momentarily stopped his chomping to lean into the palm of her hand.

A grateful smile pulled at Miles' lips as he watched the pair interact, but his attention was soon snatched away as Barney started greedily licking at his fingers - clearly eager for him to get the next bite of food ready.

"You're really good with him, you know?" Carrie mused between the snap of Barney's jowls and the thudding of his tail against her shin.

The compliment, albeit small, and plainly said, made Miles' brain feel fuzzy. "I'm just feeding him old hotdogs," he countered, brushing the sentiment off before it could bury itself in his mind. "It's not exactly rocket science."

Ignoring his attempt at deflection, Carrie continued, letting her mind wander with remarkable ease. "Do you think you'll ever get a dog?"

Miles stopped to think about the question for a beat, staring into Barney's crusty, brown eyes as though they could change his mind. But his answer stayed the same. "Nah, Royce has wanted a cat for years. I think he'd disown me if I got a dog instead - not that we're in any sort of financial position to get a pet but…you know. We can dream," he trailed off with a snort, letting a small, fond smile tug at his lips as he thought of his little brother, his monthly pleading for a cat, and how his 'not a date' might be going. Realising a silence had fallen over them again though, he reached up to idly scratch behind Barney's ear, using the action as a way to appear nonchalant as he made his first effort to continue the conversation. "Has your family got a dog?"

Surprised, but grateful that Miles had taken the initiative to keep the dialogue going, Carrie replied with: "We used to - up until I was like 10."

"What happened?" Miles asked, only half-concentrating as he watched Barney scarf down the last of his food for the night.

Carrie snorted. "Same thing that happens to everyone eventually: she went to that big dog house in the sky."

Barney shuffled off over to the dumpster for a post-dinner stroll as Miles' breath hitched in his throat, only now realising what he'd said. "Shit… Sorry," he awkwardly mumbled, feverishly avoiding her gaze so that he didn't turn the colour of a fire hydrant.

"Don't worry, it's not like it's a fresh wound," Carrie said with a laidback chuckle. Stretching to reach Barney's half-empty water bowl, she took the initiative to unscrew the top of her water bottle and dump the rest of its contents into it as she continued to explain. "And she was pretty sick by the end, so we were all expecting it to happen sooner or later. I don't think it hit us as hard that way - well, apart from my brother; he cried for like a week."

It wasn't funny to think of a little boy crying, but the teasing smirk Carrie delivered the story with almost managed to draw a laugh out of Miles anyway. Catching it before it could escape, and swallowing it down, Miles cleared his throat with a cough. "You guys haven't got another dog since though?" he went on to ask, grateful to see Barney lumbering back into view with the perfect new distraction: his beloved rope chew toy.

"No, after that my mom and dad's work schedules started picking up a bit, and Tanner and I started getting into more extracurriculars and stuff - so because we wouldn't be at home as often, my parents didn't think it'd be fair to get another. I think they'd probably consider it once they retire though - when they don't have any kids pestering them 24/7 about laundry or food anymore."

"What kind do you think they'd get?" Miles asked, happy to keep the conversation plodding along despite the chill in the air thanks to the new tug-of-war game Barney had prompted, after dropping the fraying knot of rope - now more grey than the blue it had started out as - at his feet.

"I don't know - I think my mom would want something smaller and more manageable, but Shelly was a golden lab and my dad said at the time he could never love another dog as much as he loved her, so maybe they'll just have to get Shelly 2.0," she joked.

"Oh yeah? Keep the name and everything?" Miles added with a jokey chuckle of his own. Barney let out a grunt and tried, yet again, to wrench the rope out of Miles' grasp. But he just gave it another wiggle and went straight back into battle - not that the dog's elderly efforts provided much resistance though. "Golden retrievers are kind of similar, aren't they? I could see you guys with one of those," he went on to add; the picture-perfect, white picket fence family portrait forming in his head in an instant. Although between his game with Barney, and his wistful daydreaming, he didn't notice the smile slipping from Carrie's face.

Silence blanketed the pair yet again as Carrie's attention drifted to the horizon, her eyes glazing over as the bark and branches of the forest all merged into one. "Eric wants one of those," she mumbled. She'd intended the remark to be as light and cheery as the rest, but it dropped from her mouth with a thud, as though encased in lead.

Miles' spark of enthusiasm fizzled out just as quickly, the silence between them now suffocatingly awkward. He couldn't bring himself to look at her - instead focusing on Barney's chew toy like his life depended on it. Whilst part of him was desperate to know why the mere mention of her boyfriend's name had changed her mood so drastically, he had to remind himself that he shouldn't be thinking like that anymore. Carrie's personal life, and whatever state of disarray it was in, was none of his concern. Still, he couldn't bear to just leave her comment hanging in the air like that. "Well they are supposed to be a good dog for families," he cautiously offered.

Carrie's eyes just glazed over though, staring into space as though it could help her escape her thoughts if she tried hard enough. After all, the longer she dwelled on them, the more of her enjoyment they sapped. "Not for my parents, for us," she clarified, having to steel herself before she dared to put the next part out into the universe. "He's always said that as soon as we get married and have a place of our own, he's gonna buy a big Mercedes and a golden retriever…says it'll be the perfect start to our family…"

It may have been Eric's ideal future, but based on Carrie's delivery it sounded more like a prison sentence. She seemed almost despondent with her faraway gaze and dejected tone. If her intentions had been to sell the idea to Miles, he didn't even think she'd have managed to shift it from the clearance rack.

He couldn't blame her though; he wasn't exactly thrilled at the prospect either. That 'American Dream' family in his head from before slowly started to morph into the Hawkins High trophy couple, with their flashy car, a pristine dog, a gaggle of blonde-haired children all gathered around their-

Barney tugged the rope toy right out of his grasp, startling Miles back to reality as he felt the last few strands slip through his fingers. Barney barked victoriously and then began gnawing at the rope, shaking it back and forth all on his own and spraying saliva like a broken sprinkler - leaving Miles shifting uncomfortably on the concrete step. The last thing he wanted to think about was Carrie's future with another guy - but he didn't understand why she seemed so resigned to her fate after showering Eric with kisses the moment she'd laid eyes on him an hour earlier.

He didn't get the chance to ponder it any further though, because whilst neither one of them seemed prepared to cut through that stifling silence they'd been plunged into, Mick was none the wiser. She poked her head out the back door and hollered a playful scold into the evening air, "You'd better not have made me heat up that oven again just for you to let your tater tots get cold."

Miles turned to appease her with a chuckle, grateful beyond words for breaking them out of that dismal stupor. "I'm coming, I promise," he said, giving Barney one last loving pet before pushing himself to his feet. He said his goodbyes to the pooch as Mick disappeared back into the building, and was relieved to find that by the time he turned to Carrie that resigned look in her eyes had vanished. "Need a hand?" he offered, with an open palm and a lopsided, yet hopeful smile.

Carrie looked at the outstretched hand, glistening in the orange glow of the back porch light with both leftover bulldog slobber and the soggy residue of the rain sodden chew toy, and then back up to Miles. Her expression said it all. "You gonna wash it first?" she challenged with a snort, seemingly back in good spirits as she pushed herself up on her own, and scurried back inside to escape Miles' taunting. Her momentary falter may have been forgotten in the conversation already, replaced with childish laughter and slobber-centred teasing, but it would linger in their minds for much longer than either cared to admit.

"No way."

"Uh huh."

"You thought brown cows made chocolate milk?" Carrie asked, chuckles rippling throughout her chest as she laid out across a booth seat.

Miles just nodded, grinning fondly down at the table. "Now imagine having that explained to me by my literal 7-year-old brother."

"You were nearly in middle school," she went on to muse, finally dragging her gaze away from the speckled ceiling tiles to meet his with incredulous emphasis.

"Oh I'm well aware," Miles acknowledged, relishing her astounded grin before wiping it from her face with his next teasing dig. "At least I didn't think people lived in my TV."

Carrie frowned disapprovingly, but flicked her eyes back to the hazy glare of the overhead fluorescent lights the second her smile threatened to blow her cover. "Yeah well, at least my mom caught me before I smashed a hole in the back to investigate," she murmured. But her lips just twitched into a bigger grin the longer she let herself dwell on it. "God, we were weird kids."

"Kids?" Miles went on to snort. "Ethan still thought girls peed out of their butthole until like last month."

"Oh my god, of course he did," Carrie huffed over Miles' guffaws. And although she started out rolling her eyes up to the very ketchup stain on the roof the stoner in question had created, she was as helpless to resist the pull of Miles' laughter as ever. Giggling into the stuffy, low-light of the tail-end of their shift, Carrie felt as though she didn't have a single care in the world. It was like every last one had been tied to a tiny balloon, and were steadily floating their way towards the air conditioning vent. That's how she always ended up feeling with Miles: weightless - like she was levitating about an inch off the floor (or in this case, the freshly wiped down booth seat). She didn't exactly know if it was a rational thought that had entered her head, because she couldn't remember feeling this way around anyone else. But then again, maybe it was just the chemicals from the floor cleaner frying her brain even more than it already was.

Something crispy bouncing off her cheek stopped her from dwelling on the bizarre thought any longer though. Frowning in confusion, she blindly felt around on the leather beside her head, only to find the culprit nestled in the halo of curls fanned out around her. Lifting it up to examine, she discovered it was a tater tot. And after a slow turn of her head, she found a mischievous grin poorly hidden by the very hand that had thrown it.

She raised a meticulously plucked eyebrow at the brunet, and his windswept locks, tickling the nape of his neck with every chuckle he was trying to stifle. She took another look back at the tot, trapped between two fingers painted with glittery, raspberry polish, before a mischievous grin of her own spurred her hand into action - hurling the greasy little bullet back towards its owner.

With a quick jerk of Miles' head the tater tot found its rightful home, and bounced off his bottom teeth to nestle on his tongue.

Two sets of blue eyes, wide with the same delighted astonishment, found each other, before the bodies beneath them crumpled with incredulous giggles.

"Dude, I am so turned on right now," Carrie breathed - still looking at Miles, with his fists raised above his head in celebration, in complete awe.

And although he knew there wasn't an ounce of sincerity behind her words, his heart still leapt into his mouth beside the processed potato at the very idea. In the hopes of diffusing the moment with further humour, he fired back a chuckle and: "That makes two of us."

Another mirthful laugh slipped past Carrie's lips as she went on to smirk, "Damn, who knew you were such an athlete?"

"Really?" he asked with a playful, false earnestness. "You think I could bag myself a sports scholarship?"

Giggling to herself, Carrie returned her gaze to the ceiling and pretended to mull over her answer. But all the pause really did was allow her to get more comfortable, half-propping her head up with her own arm before delivering her verdict. "Maybe at clown college."

"Oh come on," Miles moped through a feigned frown. "It's gotta be worth more than that; that was like one of the most impressive things I've ever done," he went on to ramble, picking up crumbs from wax paper lining the near-empty basket with the grease coating the tip of his finger.

"That had better not be true, Miles," she teasingly warned. "Because that would be majorly depressing, and I think I'd have to cut all social ties with you and pretend you didn't exist."

'Oh great, so just like all the other times when we interact outside of work then?' Miles thought to himself. Jaw clenched through a wistful smile, he dropped his gaze to the table - amazed that such a light, passing remark could dampen his mood so quickly.

Oblivious to the reason for the lack of a response from her co-worker, and frankly too self-absorbed to even consider that it could be because of her, Carrie soon found something new to distract her mind with: the faint, acrid scent of lemon and vinegar. She lazily lifted a frizzy curl up to her nose and took a wary sniff, only to recoil in disgust.

Filling the silence that had fallen between them, and was steadily growing in awkwardness, with her infamous, senseless rambling, Carrie wasted no time in alerting Miles to the fact that: "My hair still smells like lemons, you know."

Taking a sort of morbid, vengeful delight in her very mild misfortune, Miles chuckled to himself. "Yeah, you'll thank me tomorrow when it's bleached your roots piss yellow."

Carrie's eyes darted to his: a stark weather warning for the thunder in her expression. "Don't even joke about that," she said, deadly serious despite the triviality. "I care about my hair more than I care about my own family."

"You don't mean that," Miles dead-panned, instantly seeing through her hyperbole, especially considering that his own family meant the earth to him.

"You're right, I don't…" Carrie acknowledged, settling back down now that the threat had been somewhat neutralised by Miles' small, simple smile. "But I do care about it a lot," she tacked on with that comical earnestness that charmed Miles to no end.

"I couldn't care less about mine - it's just a mess right now," he went on to ramble, distracting himself from the grin that had split his face by running a hand through his coffee brown locks: a recent habit he'd picked up once it had gotten long enough to start moving on its own. At least, that's what it felt like it did to him anyway.

"What?" Carrie squeaked, letting her head fall to the side to meet his gaze again. Although this time, her brows were furrowed in confusion rather than anger. "No it's not, I think it looks great."

"Stop it-"

"No, I'm serious - it suits your face shape like that," she continued, bypassing his deflections with a genuine grin that soon started to twitch with longing. "I've always thought guys look better with longer hair."

"Really?" Miles asked, eyebrow already raised before she'd finished speaking.

"Yes, really. Come on, don't act like I'm crazy. Patrick Swayze, Rob Lowe, George Clooney, Geroge Michael - everyone knows they're ten times hotter 'cause they've got awesome hair."

Miles couldn't help but chuckle to himself as he watched Carrie go back to staring up at the ceiling as she rattled off her list of heartthrobs, eyes glazed over with fanatic adoration as her mind began to wander. Yet somehow, he was still unconvinced.

"I think it's less the hair the girls go wild for, and more the man underneath," he said with a wistful smile. "Or so I've heard."

Giggling softly at Miles' little comment, Carrie continued fighting her corner. "No, it's definitely the hair - that does a lot of the heavy lifting anyway." But as she lay there, drooling over the roster of hunks she'd conjured, a certain someone wormed their way to the front of her mind - as they always seemed to. The more they started to consume her thoughts though, the more that giddy smile started to slip from her face, replacing itself with a tighter, almost melancholy one. "Last time I told Eric I liked him better with longer hair he got it cut a week later."

The remark sapped the levity out of the moment in an instant. Miles' jovial train of thought screeched to such a halt it practically derailed itself. And although Carrie maintained her smile, albeit a wishful one, the sigh that slipped through it gave away how she was really feeling.

Neither of them knew how to progress the conversation from that point, meaning they were soon plunged into another painfully awkward silence. Carrie's pupils found solace in the blotchy ceiling tiles once more, giving her mind the freedom to wander to her boyfriend and his valiant attempts at humour - which had been landing with less and less success as of late. Still, he always had the right intentions - sometimes they were just a little…skewed for his own benefit.

Yet Miles wanted nothing more than to rid his mind of that square-jawed jerk. He appreciated that Carrie had tried to deliver her latest anecdote with a sense of amusement, and that she had seemingly convinced herself it had been successful if the longing smile still pulling at her lips was anything to go by. But he was less easy to convince. The wounded pinch of her eyebrows wasn't lost on him, so whether it was a recent story or not, it had clearly left its mark.

Seeing her like this made his stomach twist. He was used to her rolling through life without a care in the world - it was a self-admitted rarity for her to think about anything in any detail at all. So to see her now, and at several different points throughout the evening, completely lose herself in her thoughts - and seemingly turbulent ones at that… something just didn’t feel right.

And with Miles being Miles - no matter how much he'd tried to kid himself into thinking he didn't care - and with the silence between them slowly growing more and more stifling, he couldn't not say something…

"Are you alright?"

Carrie's head fell to the side again with a puzzled frown. "...What do you mean?"

"I don't know, you just seem…" Miles trailed off, almost losing his nerve in the face of her hardened stare. But he pressed on regardless - he just made sure to choose his words…wisely. "Distracted, that's all."

Carrie's eyebrows scrunched even further, and her mouth twitched reflexively - ready to jump into defense mode. But it closed just as quickly as it had opened, as though something within her was holding her back. She held Miles' gaze for a beat, her guard melting like it was made of chocolate, before her resolve liquefied altogether and her head fell back against the booth seat.

"...When did it become a bad thing to want to be like Barbie?"

Miles had listened to a lot of random crap come out of her mouth over the past few months of their blossoming, unlikely friendship - so he thought he'd been prepared for whatever she could have thrown his way this time. And yet, somehow she still managed to floor him.

"…I'm sorry?"

If Carrie sensed the confusion in his voice she didn't let on, instead jumping at the opportunity to turn the leather booth seat into a therapist's couch and spill the jumbled contents of her head across the table - hoping that between them they could start to make sense of it all.

"When did it become a bad thing to want to be like Barbie?" she repeated. "She was everything I wanted to be when I was growing up; she had Ken, she had her dreamhouse, she had her friends, she had every outfit you could think of, she had any job she wanted, I'm pretty sure she had a horse at one point-"

Miles couldn't help but chuckle at that line, but he allowed her to continue regardless - and continue she did.

"And on top of all that she was super pretty, and she always stood up for herself. I wanted to be just like her when I grew up - and I always thought that was a pretty universal opinion. So at what point in the last ten years did everyone decide to change their minds?” she thought aloud. “Was there some bogus scandal I missed? Did she cheat on Ken or something?”

That amused smile kept tugging at Miles’ lips as she rambled. But as her words hung in the air, and he let himself think over them, a moment flashed through his head that aligned all too well with her sudden change in mood, and the very plastic role model in question.

“This isn't about that comment Butchy made earlier, is it?” he asked warily. “Because you know he didn’t mean it in a bad way, right? Well, not in a bad bad way, he was just trying to get a rise out of you-”

“What?” Carrie murmured, so thrown off by the suggestion she almost forgot her point entirely. She had to take a second to even remember what he’d said at all. “Oh no, that was…that was nothing.”

But all that admission did was send the memory of another conversation from that evening screeching to the forefront of Miles’ mind. “It’s not about what I said then, is it? ‘Cause I definitely didn’t mean that in a bad way, I just remember Lela having an actual Barbie Dreamhouse when she was little that had a Barbie who-"

"I know you didn't, you're fine," she reassured with a chuckle at the expense of his panic - charmed by it. "It's not about that."

After the only two potential causes for the bizarre admission Miles could logically come up with were ruled out though, he had to admit defeat. "Then what is it about?"

The question sat unanswered for far longer than he would have liked. He watched her eyebrows twitch as she contemplated her response, tapping his fingers on the sticky tabletop to provide an inadvertent, antsy drumroll.

Carrie's gaze stayed fixed on the ceiling but she felt Miles' on her all the same - watching from the sidelines like a ballboy as she volleyed the two potential ways she could take their conversation back and forth in her head. Her impulsive nature begged for the chance to just smash the bottle she'd been stuffing all her relationship problems into of late, and pour every last drop out to the unsuspecting brunet. Sure, it may have flooded the joint, but at least it would have stopped her from feeling like she was drowning every time a new issue worked its way down the neck. But, proving herself a coward beneath all the bravado yet again, she resigned herself to an early, watery grave. "Eric and I just had a dumb argument about our Halloween costumes."

The statement dropped from Carrie's lips with a dull thud, both parties having expected far more from the admission.

Carrie would have loved to lie there and comb through every insecurity she had about her relationship with her boyfriend. How she didn't feel as though he'd been taking her seriously lately. How he'd stopped acknowledging her feelings. How she never felt like he was actually listening to her. How he kept bringing up parts of their sex life to their friends for laughs - no matter how many times she told him it made her feel weird. How he'd push her into doing things that made her feel uncomfortable. How she felt like he sometimes looked at her as more of an object for his own gratification than a person. How, no matter how much she tried to show that she loved him, she was worried he was trying to pull away…

But she knew she couldn't subject Miles to that torture.

"That's all," she said - cementing her decision with a heavy sigh and trying to shake the plaguing thoughts from her mind.

Neither one of them believed that was all that had really prompted the blonde's rant; Miles saw through her weary frown in an instant. And yet, they shared a silent acknowledgement that they wouldn't push it further. After all, if she wasn't ready to talk about it then he wasn't going to force her. That didn't stop that small part of his heart that couldn't seem to let go of its affection for her from aching at the thought of her mind being in a state of turmoil though.

"I'm guessing you wanted to be Barbie then?" he offered with a tentative smile.

"Yeah," she scoffed. The very notion now ridiculous to her after all the discourse it had prompted. "It was stupid, really. I knew he'd never agree to something like that. But- I don't know. I guess I just…wanted to have a say in what we did for once, 'cause it feels like I never do anymore. But then I try bringing that up and it just sets off another dumb fucking argument and I can't-" She slammed on the breaks before she could let her mouth run off any more, sucking in a deep breath and letting her eyelids slide shut as she tried to compose herself.

Her mascara-clumped lashes pried themselves apart a few moments later, once her heart rate had evened out to a tamer, less vindictive thudding. And since her co-worker-turned-shrink had yet to interject, she found more words spilling from her lips. "I know it doesn't matter; I'll just wear something else - it's just… I hate how worthless it makes me feel - like nothing I say means anything to him."

Yet again, her words hung in the heavy silence that had wedged itself between them - so suffocatingly awkward neither had the space to breathe, let alone think about what to say next. And, in fact, it wasn’t a word at all that managed to break it - it was a laugh - quick, and harsh, and from the same blonde who was on the receiving end. “Jesus Christ,” she sighed through a self-loathing smirk - only now starting to second guess sharing so much. “Julie would be having a field day with this.”

“She doesn’t like him?” Miles hesitantly probed.

Carrie’s smile settled into a more genuine one as she thought over her answer, choosing her words carefully. “She likes him when he makes me happy,” she began. “…And, uh, not so much when he doesn’t.” For the sake of levity, she left out how often that had been of late.

“She sounds like she’s just looking out for you,” Miles said, finding his values oddly aligned with the blonde.

“She is,” Carrie agreed, her fondness for her best friend shining through in her voice. “I just don’t always think I’m ready to hear her good advice,” she added with a chuckle. “It makes the problems all feel a little too…real, you know?”

“Mm,” Miles mumbled through a small, amused grin. “The truth hurts sometimes, huh?”

“Like a bitch,” Carrie nodded up at the ceiling, pouting like a kicked puppy.

A soft snort of laughter escaped Miles’ nostrils as he watched her start to come to terms with everything. But that aching in his chest remained - that longing to tell her everything was going to be okay and mean it. He wanted to clean the wounds with brutal honesty, and bandage them with gentle reassurances - but he didn't even know where to begin. And regardless of how tactfully he put it, he didn't suspect his advice of dumping her sorry excuse of a boyfriend would go over particularly well - no matter how mad, or not-mad she was with him right now; even after all this time of knowing her, he could never quite be sure. Still, he couldn't leave her feeling like this - he had to do something, even if that meant crushing his own spirit in the process.

"Don’t worry about the Halloween costumes," he found himself blurting before he could second guess it.

Not having expected the outburst, Carrie took a second to register that he'd spoken at all, let alone what he'd said. And when she did, her confusion just deepened. "What?"

Miles sucked in a breath; there was no backing out now. "Don’t worry about them," he confirmed. "There’s far worse things you guys could be arguing about."

Somehow, by the look in those denim blue eyes, Carrie could tell that he understood there was more to this disagreement than what she'd revealed. And yet, his reassurances still sounded certain. "You think?" she murmured - wary, yet hopeful.

Miles started to smile at her, but as soon as their eyes met he had to drop it to the tabletop; a lump catching at the back of his throat that almost stopped him from pressing forwards. "I see how happy you guys make each other," he eventually managed to choke out - pained despite his grin. "I know it may not always seem like it to you, but it's clear to everyone else how much you love each other." And it really was; for the handful of times he'd caught them snapping at one another like rabid bulldogs, there were a million instances of them running into each other's arms like they were the leads in a romantic comedy. Those dopey, lovestruck grins of theirs barely ever left their faces, and when they did it was only because they were showering each other with kisses. He saw the way their faces would light up as soon as they set eyes on each other - he was envious, but he wasn't blind. "And it'd be really dumb to throw something like that away over a costume party… You'll find a way to work it out."

"You really think?"

"Yeah," Miles breathed, honest despite his heartache. "Like I said, you guys love each other - and love always finds a way. That's what they always say in movies, right?" The earnestness of Carrie's smile, and the faith she held in his words made the lump jump back to his throat. But he knew the emotional torment was worthwhile if it meant that he would make her happy again. It didn't make it any less painful though - which is why he jumped at the chance to deflect the enormity of the conversation with a little humour. "Plus, if it helps, you might not even have to worry about a costume at all, 'cause I'm pretty sure we're supposed to be working Halloween night."

Carrie snorted out a laugh - immediately snapped out of her spell of insecurity. "Yeah but, no offence, I was totally planning on ditching that night.”

"Ouch," Miles winced. Although his response was exaggerated for dramatic effect - her admission did sting, especially after everything he'd just said to comfort her.

Sensing that he may not have been entirely joking, Carrie found herself scrambling for an explanation before she could stop to think why. "Well, only because I knew it'd be a dead shift. I mean come on, who's gonna want to hang out here on Halloween?"

"Uh, me?" Miles retorted - only partly leaning into the sarcasm. "It's not like I've got anywhere else to go."

But that revelation just set her eyes alight with the spark of a new idea. "Come to the party!"

Now it was Miles' turn to scoff, both at her giddy expression and her invite. "Not my thing."

"It could be!" she tried, pushing herself up so that she could lean into her pleading with extra emphasis. But her wide eyes and encouraging grin were still met with a steadfast smirk. "Oh come on, Miles. Please!"

"I'm good, I swear," he promised. "Parties just…aren't my scene. I'm more than happy to take on your share of the work instead," he went on to bargain with a wry smile. "I think we'd both have plenty more fun that way."

Carrie shot him a doubtful quirk of her eyebrow between her attempts to tame her mane of wild curls. "You'd really rather hang out here?"

"Hell yeah!" he chuckled, too convincingly to have just been joking. "We've got everything here that party would have anyway: music, free food, that stash of booze in the break room - but, I get paid to be here. And I don't have to deal with any whiny, blackout drunk juniors. There's no downside."

"Don't go tempting me with a good time like that," Carrie teased through a soft smirk of her own. "I'll be trying to ditch the party to come back here.”

"Well you are on the rota, so that is where you're contracted to be," Miles fired back, before softening the blow a little. "But, uh, the invitation's there if you want it."

Miles couldn't tell if she was thinking about his offer, or how she'd weasel her way out of culpability the next time their boss questioned her clock-in times. But he could see her eyes starting to glaze over regardless - their glassy lack of focus, and her dopey little pensive smile were dead giveaways. When she finally opened her mouth though, his hunches were proven wrong.

"Are you gonna hold a costume contest?" she asked, amusing herself with the idea alone.

A soft chuckle tickled his nose. "If it's not a prize for the lowest budget costume then no, we're not."

"Have you even got a costume?" she went on question as a knowingly self-deprecating smirk tugged at her lips. "I could use the inspiration."

Miles snorted out a quiet laugh. "Ethan and I are gonna be Hall and Oates," he explained. "And I think the entirety of our costume is a pair of sunglasses for me and a fake moustache for him."

Despite it all, the sound of Carrie's laughter was still music to his ears. He'd wear any stupid costume she wanted if it meant he could get her to laugh like that - which just made it harder to comprehend how her boyfriend didn't seem to share that sentiment. And it just spurred him on to keep cheering her up. "So, you know, if Lover Boy is still being awkward on the big day, but you still wanna do a group costume, we could pick some musicians for you and Mick to be so you're not left out. What about Madonna? Or are you more of a Stevie Nicks?"

Miles had been tracing lazy circles on the tabletop, his fingertip following the water stained rings left by years upon years of condensation-covered glasses, as he rambled through his suggestions. But when he found Carrie's gaze again, expecting that same amused grin of hers, he was instead met with a grateful, yet wary look of concern.

"Why are you doing all this?" she quietly asked.

"Doing what?"

"Trying so hard to make me feel better."

Miles scoffed, attempting to keep the moment light. "I don't know. Why does anyone do anything?" But when her eyes kept pressing for an explanation, he knew he had to start being honest, both with her and himself. "Because…" he almost backed out before he'd even begun, unable to find any words that actually made sense of his thoughts. But a smile started to unfurl itself as he realised his answer was a lot simpler than he had expected. "That's what you do when you care about someone. And, although it has shocked me to my core to realise it… I do care about you, Carrie," he admitted - his smile only growing as he revealed more. "And I want you to be happy - you deserve to be happy."

Carrie stayed quiet for several seconds - stunned into silence. Until one of her eyebrows arched, and she repeated, "'Shocked you to your core'? Am I that insufferable?"

"No, not at all," Miles hurriedly rebutted through a laugh, her wounded confusion making him scramble for an explanation. "I just...never thought we'd cross paths. And then when we did, I never expected to… like you this much."

Her perplexion eased slightly, lips twitching into a smirk. "You've got a real funny way of complimenting people."

Miles laughed again, cheeks tinged pink. "No, it's just…" After trailing off, he managed to compose himself enough to continue. But his amusement made it far easier than he'd anticipated to be honest with her. "You're so different here, when it's just us, compared to how you are at school. And before you started working here, that was all I had to judge you on."

Carrie's smirk faltered and her eyebrows pinched. "I'm not that different, am I?" she asked, with an almost rhetorical chuckle.

But the scoff that slipped from Miles' lips as he dropped his gaze again said more than words ever could.

"Am I?" she pressed, her chest growing tight at the accusation that she had thought sounded preposterous until she saw how Miles had reacted.

"You do have a pretty big reputation," he admitted, trying to let her down gently so as not to bruise any more of her ego. "And your friends are…"

Now it was Carrie's turn to scoff. "Assholes?" she offered.

"...I was gonna say 'interesting', but 'assholes' works," Miles compromised with a chuckle. "And although I now know you're nothing like them, when they're the kind of people you surround yourself with, it makes it pretty easy to assume that-"

"-I'm an asshole too?" Carrie jumped in, finishing the rest of his sentence for him with a wry smile. And although Miles made no effort to correct her, his shoulders slumped in sheepish resignation. He even opened his mouth to try spinning the sentiment a little more tactfully, but once more, Carrie beat him to the punch. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna bite your head off; I'm the one that said it," she reassured, before continuing with a dry, self-pitying chuckle. "And I know I can be one sometimes, which is, just as shitty to say out loud as it is to think about…" she trailed off - the smirk slipping further from her face with every second of silence that followed, before she finally mused, "Maybe if I surrounded myself with nicer people I wouldn't be seen like such a bitch."

"Yeah, you could always do what I do: surround yourself with nobody and become a nobody."

"You're not a nobody," Carrie countered, frowning at Miles despite his jovial grin. "And you're a lot nicer to hang out with than any of my shitty friends," she added, slumping back against the leather booth in disgust at the very thought. The mind-numbing play-by-plays of recent games, the chauvinistic ogling, the bitchy rumour-fuelling - it was tedious at the best of times, but the more she thought about it now, the more her stomach turned. Was that really how everyone else saw her? As thick-headed and callous as the football players and cheerleaders she hung around with? Could who she surrounded herself with really influence her image that much? And was there anything that she could do about it?

Perhaps it was time to find out.

"...You know what?" she thought aloud, a smile starting to bloom beneath her furrowed brows as she cemented her idea. "Yeah, fuck 'em, I'm sitting with you at lunch tomorrow."

Miles almost thought he'd misheard her at first - especially after how poorly his run-in with her at school had gone earlier that day. But to his immense shock, her eyes shone with certainty. "Carrie, you don't have to-" he tried.

"No, I totally am," she confirmed. And before Miles could try to ask her why, she launched into an eager explanation. "I get to actually enjoy my lunch period, I get to talk about something other than dumb football drills, and I get to give Eric the cold shoulder? There's no downside!" she grinned gleefully - the very idea alone having lifted an unknown burden from her shoulders. "I am gonna have to make an exception for Julie though," she quickly added, much to Miles' amusement. "But otherwise, those fuckers can take a hike."

Miles laughed before he could stop himself, but he soon came back to his senses - and the feeling that this was all too good to be true hit him like a ton of bricks. "You don't have to do that," he gently tried.

But, again, to his surprise, Carrie's steadfast optimism remained. "I know, I want to," she said, idly twisting a curl between her fingers as a smirk worked its way back to her face. "I'm not just confined to hanging out with you under this roof, you know?"

And although everything in Miles was telling him that she was just saying all this for show - that he had concrete evidence in the form of his severely wounded pride after their suffocatingly awkward conversation during study hall - that he was over her at last, and was ready to put that ridiculous crush out to pasture…he still desperately wanted to believe her. His brain begged him to be rational, his heart pleaded to be spared from further pummelling, and yet his gut still trusted her; there was just something about the look in her eyes. The sincerity was real this time. And regardless of the motive for it, he wasn't going to let all this progress they'd made go to waste - even if that meant accepting they'd only ever be friends. After all, he'd much rather they stay 'just friends' than risk doing something stupid and losing her from his life altogether. And besides, being friends was a pretty sweet consolation prize, because they were already damn good at it. "Yeah, fuck 'em," Miles eventually snickered, once he'd finally made peace with his side of things. "And fuck their basic Halloween costumes," he rattled on through an easygoing grin. "If they don't want to have any fun you can join in with our group costume instead. We might have to pick a different band, but at least we have real senses of humour."

"You'd really let me join in?" Carrie giggled through her disbelief.

"Sure. You think we could pull off some Kiss make-up?" Miles teasingly suggested. "If we get Ethan some of their boots he might finally be able to see over the serving counter."

"I could handle the make-up," Carrie managed once her guffaws had subsided. Then, with a quirk of her eyebrow she asked, "You think Officer Funbags would lend us some of his leather?"

Now it was Miles' turn to try to compose himself before carrying the joke on. "Maybe - but he did say he was thinking of being Sandy from the end of Grease, so I don't know how much he'll be able to spare."

Carrie's giggles took a lot longer to subside after that line - her eyelids scrunched, and ribcage shaking in ways it hadn't for days. Any traces of the qualms she'd laid bare completely wiped from her brain after just a short time spent in the brunet's company. Its effect on her was profound, and although neither of them fully understood it, she didn't let it go unnoticed. Warmth radiated from the pair as they basked in one another's presence - enough to melt the last of the ice cubes in the bottom of Miles' empty soda cup. Well, that or they'd just been talking for far longer than they realised. But either way, as Carrie looked across at the boy opposite her, and sent him the most genuine smile she could muster, she realised just how much she appreciated him.

"...Thanks, Miles."

She didn't even need to say what for; he already knew - the change in her demeanour compared to when they first sat down was huge. And although his motives may have been questionable before - he was more certain than ever of their relationship and the part he was meant to play. And with a final, reassuring grin, he made peace with it. "What are friends for?"

Umber irises narrowed beneath feathery curtain bangs and a quiet groan slipped from Mick's lips as the final notes of one song bled into the next. Excitable ravings and squawked guffaws rang out across the main hall as Carrie and Miles rounded out their rink cleaning shift with one of their ridiculous dance sessions. They'd been at it for at least ten minutes now, and every one that passed was proving more painful than the last. And the rather apt musings of Kenny Loggins and Stevie Nicks, and how quickly Carrie latched onto them, made Mick's skin crawl. She dug her fingertips, wrinkled with the sudsy remnants of dish duty, into her skin as she leant her crossed arms further onto the prep counter beneath the serving hatch. If she thought hard enough maybe she could trick her mind into thinking her biceps were Carrie's neck. At least then Miles may finally stop fawning over her - and Mick's months-long tension headache may finally clear up.

A second pair of half-closed, brown eyes appeared behind the serving hatch. Although, this set was half-closed in perpetual stupor, rather than disgruntled hatred.

"We could have that too, you know," Ethan mused through a mischievous smirk.

The look on Mick's face said it all. "Un-fucking-likely, short stack."

"Oh come on, they can't be the only ones allowed to have any fun around here," he whined, matching Mick's stance as he crossed his arms and slumped onto the prep counter beside her. "Not even one little jam session to-?"

"Absolutely not," she cut him off, gently shaking her head as she squinted at Miles grabbing Carrie by the hand and twirling her.

"Ugh, oh my god, Mickey, you're killing me here," Ethan groaned dramatically. He stretched his upper body out like a cat waking up from a nap, drummed his fingers impatiently on the countertop, and cracked his neck (making Mick's eye twitch), before he finally settled on something to pester her with next. "What the fuck are you doing anyway?" he asked, following her laser-focused eyeline and still coming up short.

A groan slipped past Mick's lips the second she realised he was there to stay, and her eyes momentarily lifted to the kitchen spotlights before settling back on her other co-workers. "Making sure they don't do anything stupid," she tersely replied. Although, the very fact that they were in each other's company made her think she was already too late.

"Ok, so what happens if they do?" Ethan asked without skipping a beat. "The world gonna end or something?"

Mick let out another exasperated groan at his blasé earnestness. "Obviously not, moron."

"Then why do you care so much?"

The question was fired at such speed it should have been malicious, but his expression was one of genuine curiosity. And that made Mick stall.

She let out a small, irritated sigh and averted her gaze. She was getting sick of having to explain herself time and time again, especially over something that felt so obvious - and should have been obvious to Ethan if he cared about Miles like she did. "Why do you need to know?" she snipped - her protectiveness surging as she watched her friend almost lose his balance and heard his dance partner start cackling like the witch she was.

Ethan just snorted and flicked a stray crumb off the counter top. "I'm bored, why'd you think?" But even though Mick's expression showed no signs of changing, and she made no effort to reply; eyebrows still pinched in resentment and lips still set in a frown, Ethan didn't take the hint. "I seriously don't get why you're trying so hard to keep them apart," he continued, lifting his heavy-lidded eyes to the pair on the rink, both now steadily giggling at Miles' blunder. Through a soft chuckle of endearment at the pair, he went on to explain, "They seem like they're good for each other. Carrie's less of an asshole when he's around, Miles isn't so grumpy and stressed all the time-"

"Just because she's 'less' of an asshole doesn't mean she's not still an asshole," Mick rebutted.

There was a pause to her right, and for a moment she thought she was victorious. But alas…

"Was that a double negative?"

Mick bit back a smirk at the stoner's look of discombobulation, but remained steadfast in her frustration. "You're a double negative," she fired back with her usual disdain, which finally got him to sulk into submission thanks to the fact he barely understood what she'd said.

Part of her knew there was a lot of truth in what he'd said; Carrie and Miles did seem to be a lot more tolerable in each other's company. Well, Miles was always tolerable. How could he not be? He was one of her closest friends. But something had to happen to Carrie when she was with him; there's no way he'd be able to bear her if she acted the way she did with Mick when he wasn't around. The thought alone of the school parking lot, or Cyndi Lauper, was enough to make her wince; the wounds to her pride still raw and stinging fiercely. And then there was everything else she'd heard on top of her own opinion to consider…

"Butchy's always said she's bad news," she slowly went on to explain, calling back to the countless anecdotes from his football days he'd shared ever since she'd started working there. "She's in with all the other popular, rich kids, she's always shirking her responsibilities, and she's so damn spoiled she wouldn't know a hard day's work if it came and slapped her across her stupid, glossy face."

But, by the sounds of things, Mick's ranting just went through one ear and right out the other side. "'Shirking'?" Ethan snorted. "You got like a 'word a day' calendar or something?"

"No," she bluntly replied. "My brain just didn't stop developing after the third grade, unlike some people.”

A silence fell over the pair again, and for a moment Mick thought she'd finally succeeded in shutting him up. The clock hands inched their way closer to the hour, closer to her escape - both mental and physical. The hum of the fluorescent overhead lights filled her ears. The cool metal soaked through her skin, soothing her fried nerves. But, as usual, her peace didn't last long, and her cleaning partner proved just as relentless as he was tactless.

"So you're just going to take your boyfriend's word on it?"

Mick slowly turned to face him. Now it was her turn to look confused.

"You're not going to think about it yourself?" Ethan continued - again, nonchalant despite the pointed nature of the words.

Mick was left stunned, bristling with defensiveness at the accusation. She could form her own opinions. She had formed her own opinions. She didn’t need her boyfriend to tell her that Carrie was a bad person, she had three years of high school and countless work shifts worth of experience that proved it. But even if she did listen to her boyfriend’s views, what was so wrong with that? Surely it just showed that she valued his opinion, right?

“I have thought about it myself, actually. And my point stands,” she snipped.

“Yeah fucking right,” Ethan snickered, starting to play with a stray salt packet that had fallen out of its stock box.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Butch says one bad thing about her and you’ve not given her a chance since,” Ethan doubled down. “It’s like you’re his little parrot or something,” he added with a snort at the thought of the brunette covered in feathers. “I’m surprised he hasn’t started feeding you crackers.

Mick was astounded, so much so she almost couldn’t find her voice to respond. But she wasn’t about to let this go without a fight; Ethan tested her patience at the best of times, but this was a whole new level. “What makes you think you can talk to me like that?”

A jaded smile split Ethan’s lips as he let out another snort - eyes still fixed on the salt packet he felt all too kindred with. “Newsflash, Mickey: you’re not the only one who gets to be a dick.”

“When did I ever say that I was?” a startled Mick scoffed.

“Never, but it sure does feel like it sometimes,” Ethan chuckled, completely at ease despite the choppy waters he’d steered their conversation into. “Unlike you though, I’d actually like for us to get along. But that would require you taking me seriously for once, and we both know that’s never happening; Officer Killjoy hasn’t okayed it first.”

For the third time in a row, Ethan had completely floored her. Not only that - he'd sliced through her very core. Her chest burned from the wound, the warmth flaring up to her cheeks as she stared at him in total stupefaction. A mortified anger swelled in her stomach at the accusations, and yet not one retaliation came to mind. Perhaps because she realised, to her dismay, that there could have been an element of truth to what he'd said.

The nerve he'd struck with his blade-like tongue wavered with indignation, but her wall soon began to crumble under the weight of his words. "Ok, look, I know I can be a bit…uptight sometimes, especially when it comes to Miles," Mick slowly started to acknowledge, her voice tight and reluctant at first. Though once the dam was broken, it didn't take long for her explanation to come spilling out. “But it’s just because I’m worried about him. And I’m worried all this-” she gestured to Miles and Carrie, and their wide, easygoing grins. “- is too good to be true. He’s been through way too much as it is with his parents and I just… I don’t want to see him get hurt again,” she finished, feeling unnervingly vulnerable under Ethan’s steady gaze - her own eyes prickling with the threat of tears, whether out of frustration or anguish she couldn’t tell. Before they could tumble past her lashes though, the warmth of another arm met her skin, so jarring it stopped them in their tracks.

“I know, Mickey,” came Ethan’s reply, accompanied by a gentle chuckle after having inched himself closer to her. Flashing her, despite her bewilderment, a laidback smile, he continued. “I know you don’t do it on purpose. Don’t sweat it.” But his reassurances slowly started to shift as he went on. “And I know you only freak out ‘cause you care about him, but you can’t keep him from living his life. Everything comes with risks - a life without ‘em wouldn’t really be a life at all. Well, it would, but it’d be a pretty fucking boring one,” he finished with another snort. “You don’t learn anything without making bad decisions.”

Although Mick could feel her skin tingling with uncertainty, her chest was still tight with indignation. Like she needed advice from a guy with more lighters than brain cells. “Oh yeah?” she dryly challenged. “How come I’ve got a 4.0 grade point average then?”

“You made the decision to go to school to learn - sounds like a pretty bogus decision to me,” Ethan countered with a snicker.

Mick just rolled her eyes. She should have known better than to give him her attention in the first place, let alone try to have a real conversation with him.

Ethan could see her building that wall back up between them, and with remarkable speed at that. Not that he could blame her; he’d never prided himself on his eloquence. But before she could set those final bricks into place, he wanted to try one last time to lay out his perspective for her.

“Look, I know you’re probably not gonna listen to a word of this because I usually talk out my ass all the time. And that’s totally valid, because I do say a lot of useless shit,” he started. And although she made no effort to look at him, he could tell her ears had pricked up as he watched the corner of her mouth twitch with the threat of a smile. “But just try to loosen the reins on him a little; it’s not like he’s gonna run wild. Come on, he’s like a straight-up dictionary definition of a good guy,” he continued with an affectionate chuckle - remembering all the times he’d tried, and failed, to lead Miles ever so slightly off the straight and narrow. Sensing Mick might not be as intolerant to what he was saying as she appeared to be, given the fact she’d made no attempts at a rebuttal so far, he pushed a little further. “And try to give Carrie a chance; she might surprise you,” he acknowledged with a smile he was unsurprised to find that Mick did not reciprocate. Not one to be deterred, he nudged her arm with his bony elbow. “I might too,” he chuckled. But once again, Mick made no effort to respond beyond a flat, fleeting glance in his direction. Realising his initial statement may have been true after all, he heaved a sigh and shifted his gaze back to Miles with a weary despondency. The silence between them suffocating, until he couldn’t bear it any more. “…We’re all just trying to get by, Mickey,” he admitted with a wry smile. “He deserves a little excitement for once, and so do you.”

That got her attention - stealing her breath for a moment as her skin started to itch with unease.

“Even if it doesn’t last,” Ethan continued, oblivious to her change in demeanour. “It sure beats doing the same old shit everyday like we do now.”

“…And when it all goes wrong?” a tight-lipped Mick eventually asked, when, to her dismay, she’d stewed over what he’d said long enough to realise didn’t actually have anything to argue with him on.

Somewhat victorious, but still as mellow as ever, Ethan just laughed. “You use that massive brain of yours to pick up the pieces again and figure out a way to fix it.” He continued playing with the salt packet from before, shaking it until all the salt was compacted into one corner. “It’s better than anything I can bring to the table - I think I max out on pep talks and providing snacks.”

In that moment, Mick was horrified to find herself almost envying the stoner. Well, envying his effortless optimism and indifference, anyway. The conversation had been as easy for him as reading off a takeout menu, and yet she was standing there with her stomach clenched so hard she felt physically sick, and a lump in her throat the size of a softball.

As all-knowing as Ethan was proving himself to be, he must have sensed Mick’s inability to speak after all that, because before she could choke on her newfound insecurities, he offered up his grubby sneaker to help squash them. “You’re a really good friend to him, you know,” he reassured, steady in his words and his gaze. “He’s lucky to have you. And no amount of stupid decisions, or dumb flings, is gonna change that - so chill out.” Although his face split into a smile, Mick’s wary, wide-eyed expression remained - too stunned to move. That didn’t deter him though. “Stop living your life by the book all the time though - you gotta get out there and write some material of your own.”

The softball in Mick’s throat disappeared. And her ribcage relinquished its grasp on her lungs. The words settled like dust after a tornado, and, although still slightly windswept, she did find herself thinking them over.

She had never had a conversation like that with Ethan before; one with meaning, or genuine feeling. All he usually blabbed about was being hungry, or his piece of crap van. It was odd, but not in a bad way. Just…new.

Turning to him at last, and truly looking at him for the first time that evening - not to roll her eyes, or bark an order, but to make a real, honest connection - she was met with a pair of mahogany irises, not dissimilar to her own. Expecting their typical, bloodshot appearance, and flippant mirth, she was surprised to find that they held nothing but sincerity, and were as sober as she’d ever seen them. The realisation that he’d been completely candid with her this whole time, and hadn’t just been dicking around for the sake of trying to piss her off, like she’d initially suspected, stirred something within her. And all of a sudden she felt as though she was looking at a completely new person, with a completely new sensation unfurling in the pit of her stomach.

Before she could get too unnerved by the rocking of the foundations their entire relationship had been built on, a tinny beeping bounced off the red and white tiled walls, and their eyes flitted to the digital clock it echoed from.

Mick barely had the time to red what it said before a victorious cheer sounded from beside her.

“Quittin’ time!” Ethan hollered, cupping his hands around his mouth to project the news across to their oblivious co-workers.

Still caught up in her own thoughts, Mick didn’t register the noise at first. And after the gravity of her conversation with Ethan, she couldn’t believe he could switch all that sincerity off so suddenly. But as she felt him slap her on the back and offer a chuckled: “Adios, Mickey. It’s been a pleasure, as always, but my chariot awaits,” before making a beeline for the door, swinging the keys to his van from his finger as he went, she started to realise it wasn’t nearly as unnerving for him as it had been for her. Brutal honesty was practically second nature for him - it was a totally foreign language for her. And yet hearing him speak like that - without any influence from marajuana, or the inane, masculine urge to showboat in front of their friends - hearing what was truly on his mind was…refreshing.

That feeling in her stomach returned: unnamed and fleeting. But it disappeared the moment she saw a set of headlights appear outside the glass entrance doors, replaced with a familiar contentment that made all her worries melt away… Well, almost all of them.

After a brief stop in the break room to grab her jacket, Mick padded back out into the main hall just in time to catch the tail end of Ethan’s animated farewells. Sighing inwardly, she pulled out her hair from around the denim collar as she followed in the stoner’s footsteps - that tightness in her throat returning the closer she got to the rink and its two remaining occupants.

“In every moment there’s a reason to carry on!” Carrie sang out into her invisible microphone, over Miles’ chuckles and his mimed, yet heavily exaggerated, drumming.

They didn’t even notice Mick approaching, too wrapped up in their fictitious performance to remember they still had a real audience, until she let out a cough… And then another, terser one after her first attempt failed to snag their attention.

Finally, Miles’ dopey grin found her pinched brows, and ever so slightly faltered. “Oh, uh, hey Mick,” he bashfully greeted.

“You sure you guys aren’t sick of that song yet?” Mick asked, the joking tone coming out a little stiffer than she’d intended. But then again, she was sure that anyone’s eye would have started twitching by the fifth consecutive play.

Well, anyone other than Carrie, evidently. “Not yet!”

“I think it’s actually starting to sound better the more I hear it,” Miles added - a whisper of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as Carrie giggled away beside him.

Unfortunately, Mick didn’t feel the same way. And she made no effort to hide that from her face - not that either one of them paid her any notice as she hovered by the edge of the rink, toying with a frayed thread on her jacket’s sleeve. “Well I hate to cut you guys off,” she lied. “But Butch is here, Miles. So we’ve gotta go.”

“…Right now?”

Mick’s eyebrows furrowed even deeper as she looked at Miles in confusion. This wasn’t news to him. So why the resistance? Did he really care that much about hearing out the rest of the song he’d already listened to four other times that night? “Yeah, now,” she doubled down. “You know he doesn’t like waiting.”

A reluctant, yet understanding sigh slipped from Miles’ lips, along with the mirth in his smile, as he mentally set aside his drumsticks. Just as he was turning to his cleaning partner turned fake band mate though, she met him with a preposition.

“Or, I could give you a ride back, and we could leave whenever we want to,” she countered with a saccharine pointedness that made Mick’s stomach twist. “I know you guys always turn it down, but I’m still always gonna give you the option.”

“We’re good, thanks,” Mick quickly replied, already inching her way towards the exit, assuming Miles was on his way to follow her.

“…Uh, actually, Mick,” he said, swallowing the awkwardness and finding Carrie’s gaze again - spurred on further by the jolt of electricity it shot through him. “I think I might head back with Carrie tonight.”

”Really?” the girls asked in flabbergasted unison. For once, they were able to agree on something.

Although the expressions he was faced with sent a wave of doubt through him, the intoxicatingly warm pull of Carrie’s company twisted his arm. And with a few words, his decision was confirmed. “Yeah; I always feel bad leaving you to lock up on your own. I don’t mind sticking around to help out for once.”

Mick could read Miles like a book, and no matter how nonchalant he was trying to be, she knew he was lying through his teeth. Like he cared about helping her turn a bunch of lights off and set the security alarm. He just wanted to skip around playing happy families for five more minutes, and drool all over their stupid, matching shirts in her stupid, cushy car. This was their routine - Butchy always dropped them back home after work. What had happened between them tonight that had made him think it was okay to just-?

Ethan’s words echoed through her head. Her breath caught in her throat for a moment, then left her as a slow, steady sigh.

Loosen the reins, Mick. Trust him to make his own decisions for once - no matter how idiotic you may deem them to be.

Swallowing thickly, Mick decided to take the plunge and follow the stoner’s advice: a move she hoped she would not come to regret, and yet dreaded all the same. Still, it had resonated with her so deeply she at least owed him a chance - even that was enough to terrify her though.

“Alright,” she slowly replied through a tight-lipped smile. “As long as you’re sure.”

“…Yeah, I’m sure.” Despite the momentary hesitation, Miles stood by his choice. But shot the blonde a quick glance all the same. “And you’re definitely okay with it, right?”

Somewhat startled to be brought back into the conversation, Carrie blinked in surprise before jumping in with an earnest nod. “Oh yeah, for sure! I wouldn’t have offered it if I wasn’t,” she chuckled.

“…Alright then,” Mick eventually muttered, suddenly suffocated by the feeling that ‘three was a crowd’ as the pair almost expectantly turned to her, waiting for her to announce her departure. “I guess I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

She slowly turned on her heels and trudged towards the glass entrance doors, cheeks burning under what she told herself was the fierce glow of her boyfriend’s waiting headlamps, but knew deep down was a gut wrenching, awkward sense of unease. Everything about this felt wrong, but she wasn’t about to let Ethan and his assumptions about her be proven right. She could be cool and laidback, she could let fate take its course. Although, whilst Carrie’s flippant farewell drifted in one ear and out the other, the sound of Miles’ voice had her head snapping to his so fast she almost gave herself whiplash.

“See you tomorrow, Mickie,” he called out to her - his grin soft, and caught somewhere between grateful and apologetic.

The sharpness in her frustration dulled with one fell swoop of that grin. And whilst that twisting sense of apprehension remained, she tried her best to channel that pint-sized punk rocker’s optimism and push through it, and straight out into the inky twilight to her boyfriend’s waiting station wagon. No matter what came of all this, Miles would be fine, she’d make sure of it.

“Well…” Carrie began, eyes glittering with anticipation as Miles’ awkward smile found her satisfied smirk. “This is a first.”

“Yeah,” he breathed out, taking all the uneasiness festering in his stomach with it. And it really did feel like a first; something had definitely shifted between them that night, be it the acceptance of where their relationship stood, or what they thought about one another. It was like something had clicked into place - there was a sureness in their company now that had always wavered before. And as Miles’ grin settled comfortably into place, any qualms about his decision faded away alongside the warbled vocals of Stevie Nicks. “Well, it’s like you said: you always offer… Thought I might as well take you up on it for once.”

With a sense of victory shining through in her smirk, Carrie rolled herself over to the DJ booth to start shutting off the speakers. “Ok, but you’d better not make fun of my driving.”

“I don’t think I’m in any kind of position to judge anyone’s driving,” Miles chuckled.

“Oh come on, you can’t be that bad-”

“I’m not bad, I’ve just never done it; I don’t have a license,” he corrected, flipping the switches on the lights surrounding the rink whilst Carrie busied herself slotting stray cassettes into their plastic cases.

“You don’t have a license?” a bewildered Carrie echoed. “Why don’t you have a license?”

“Because all my money goes on bills and food,” Miles snorted, glad he was in a place where he was at peace with his situation enough to be able to joke about it. “I can’t even afford a haircut, you think I can afford to get a license?”

“…Fair point,” Carrie murmured, powering down her music station before gliding across the rink to catch Miles up on his way back to the break room. Reaching him just as he finished switching off the last free-standing lighting unit, she met him with a new, mischievous smirk and a matching proposal. “Well we can get you a head start in the parking lot if you wanna have a turn driving her around… Just watch out for the gravelled parts though; I don’t want her getting scratched.”

Miles just chuckled and met her with a smirk to rival her own. “I make no promises.” And although he had no intention of getting behind the wheel, the look of momentary horror the very idea flashed across Carrie’s face was wildly entertaining. Sparing her the distress of dragging out the scenario further though, he turned his attention to something he found just as amusing, pushing through the doors to the break room as he went on to ask, “You call your car a ‘she’?”

Carrie laughed, smiling to herself as she started gathering her belongings together. “You’ll get it once you see her, trust me.”

Tires rumbled over tarmac, radio hosts whispered through hidden plastic panels, and amber streetlights steadily, yet sparingly illuminated the worn, leather upholstery of a silver Chrysler. But as it rolled through the noiseless neighbourhoods of Hawkins, a babbling voice was all it’s driver could focus on - hiding his fond grin as he spied on his passengers in the rear view mirror.

“-I know, right?! Ugh, I’m so glad you finally got to see it,” Vivien gushed, tawny waves rippling as she let her head fall back against the headrest. “We should really try to go to the movies more often.”

”Totally,” Royce agreed - the issue of where he’d source the ticket money from temporarily forgotten thanks to Vivien’s addictive, beaming smile. “I think the last time I went was when we went to go see Gremlins.”

“See? That was months ago - it was before I went to visit my grandparents!” she went on to exclaim. “That’s way too long when there are this many good movies out,” she added, that same smile, albeit slightly more subdued, still tugging at her lips as she turned to toying with the seatbelt. As she was letting the edge of her nail glide over each ridge in the fabric though, a new thought flew to the forefront of her mind. “Ooh, speaking of Gremlins, we just got the game for our Atari. You’ve gotta come over and check it out; the graphics are so good-”

“They already turned it into a game?” Royce cut in with an incredulous chuckle.

“Yeah, and it’s awesome! You’ve gotta try it for yourself,” she raved, before leaning forward and grabbing onto the back of the driver’s seat with a pleading look in her eyes. “Dad, can Royce come over for dinner and to play on the-?”

“Don’t worry, Mr O’Brian. I don’t need to stay for dinner,” Royce said hurriedly, cheeks already starting to tinge pink, knowing how Miles always worried that people thought they were scrounging food.

“Nonsense,” Damien dismissed through a warm grin as he caught the young teen’s eye in the rear view mirror. “You’re always welcome in our house, Royce - whether that be for eating, or whatever post-dinner entertainment we happen to be offering.”

Although Royce chuckled at the remark, Vivien found herself cringing all the same. “Dad.”

“What? Would you rather I refer to it as pre-dinner entertainment?” he continued to tease, feigning ignorance.

“I’d rather you weren’t so embarrassing,” Vivien retorted.

“Hey, do you want this ride back home or not?” Damien fired back with a chortle. “Because I’ll happily drive Royce to his front door and leave you to walk the last three blocks yourself.”

“No you wouldn’t,” she said, calling his bluff with an amused eye roll. “What if some psycho drove by and kidnapped me in their van?”

“Vivien, sweetheart, I’ve seen you pick fights with other kids in the sandbox - I don’t think those hypothetical psychos would stand a chance,” he chuckled.

As variations of the same scenario played out in the passengers’ heads, laughter started to steadily drift from the back seat.

“He’s not wrong,” Royce acknowledged, nose crinkling with laughter and irises shining with shy admiration as heavy-lidded eyes found his fellow movie-goer.

“Yeah, I’d kick their ass,” Vivien confirmed, feigning earnestness with a serious nod and mimed kick to the assailant’s nuts. But the second her eyes found Royce, and the ridiculousness of the implied situation caught up with them, they both dissolved into fits of giggles.

Although their giggles, and the gasped wise cracks and teasing digs sprinkled throughout, could have lasted for hours with how at ease they felt around one another, they reached their end eventually. And that end was signalled by the Chrysler rolling to a halt at the curbside, and Damien announcing, “There we go - right to the front door, as promised.”

“Well, as close to the front door as we can get,” Vivien snorted, sparing the Murphys’ house, and its lack of a real driveway, a glance over Royce’s shoulder.

“Thanks for the ride, Mr O’Brian,” the brunet said, fingers antsily closing around his backpack straps as he unlatched his seatbelt.

“You’re very welcome, Royce.”

“And thanks for the invite,” he continued, turning to Vivien with an awkward, lopsided sort of smile as a bolt of nervousness flared through his chest. “I had a really great time.”

“Yeah, me too,” Vivien agreed - that same sort of skittish, breathlessness from earlier gripping her again. She began toying with her seatbelt once more, hoping that could help distract the neurotic side of her brain before it made her say something stupid.

Luckily for her though, Royce was the one who dared take the next plunge - spurred on by naïve optimism and the added pressure of the girl’s father, and his no-doubt mounting desire to head home for the night (or what was left of it). “We should, uh- we should try to do it again some time.”

“Really?” Vivien squeaked, her eyes practically becoming their own light source they shone so brightly.

“Yeah, it was nice hanging out with just the two of us for a change,” Royce shyly confirmed, praying the hammering of his heart wasn’t as audible to Vivien as it was to him.

“Yeah, it was,” she confirmed again. Her cheeks were tinged carnation, and her seatbelt was now slick with sweat from her palms, but none of that mattered; all she could focus on was the wave of relief crashing over her, sending out another breathless chuckle of gratitude as she added, “I’d like that.”

“Awesome,” Royce breathed, that same lopsided grin returning - although this time bolstered with a touch more assurance. He held Vivien’s forest green gaze for a beat, basking in the joy its presence alone flooded through him, before finally taking his cue to leave. He scrambled together his well-loved backpack and stepped out into the moonlight, wishing those in the car one last goodbye before digging his house key out of his pocket and starting to trudge up to his front door. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“See you tomorrow, Royce!” Vivien called out of the crack in the back passenger window as her dad’s car started to pull away, offering the boy one last wave before he disappeared out of view and she slumped back in her seat - heart still fluttering with leftover adrenaline.

As she worked on winching the passenger window closed again though, a voice from the front seat caught her attention. “More time for ‘just the two of you’, eh?” her dad chuckled teasingly. “Should I be worried? Is my little girl about to land herself a boyfriend?”

“Eww, Dad, gross!” Vivien groaned, catching his smirk in the reflection of the windshield and immediately rolling her eyes. Dating was the last thing she wanted to talk about with her dad; the thought alone made her want to crawl out of her skin. But thinking about it for herself, and trying to tame all the butterflies it released into her stomach - or that seemed to appear every time Royce so much as looked at her… Well, maybe that was something she could get used to.

A similar flock of butterflies had taken flight in Royce’s chest - flapping around so frantically he was surprised it hadn’t triggered his asthma. And evidently no distance from the girl that caused them seemed to be great enough to get them to dissipate, because as he kicked off his sneakers and traipsed down the hall to his room, that giddy grin of his stayed firmly fixed to his face. Whilst trying to figure out how to stifle it well enough to prevent his brother from ridiculing him the moment he saw it, Royce’s steps slowed as the darkness in the hall caught up to him. Did Bentley really not think to leave any lights on for him to come back to? He knew it was pretty late, but part of him had expected his little brother to be there, waiting up for him to get back and pester him about every detail of his evening. Alas, the house was silent.

Flicking the switch on the wall to light the entranceway until Miles got home, Royce then moved along to his room, where, from the lack of light seeping out into the hall, he realised he’d overestimated Bentley’s investment in his personal life after all. That, or the excitement of their D’n’D game had sapped all his energy, and he’d succumbed to sleep far sooner than he’d intended.

Deciding it had to be the latter, Royce gingerly nudged open their bedroom door and poked his head inside. His eyes immediately went to his brother’s bed, and the Bentley-sized duvet bundle huddled amongst his pillows and spare blankets, illuminated by the light in the hall. A fond smile replaced the lovesick one as Royce inwardly chuckled; only Bentley could manage to exhaust himself this much with his own enthusiasm. To try to avoid waking him, Royce quietly padded over to his bed to grab his pyjamas, using the hall light to navigate the room instead of the one on his nightstand.

Oh well, at least waiting until the morning to talk about his night with Vivien gave him more time to think of ways to combat the barrage of teasing remarks he’d no doubt be subjected to.

A set of pink fuzzy dice swung from the rear view mirror, dangling precariously over a centre console littered with tubes of lipgloss and half-opened packets of peppermint gum. The plastic flower plugged into the vent filtered air through cherry-scented wax, and every inch of available storage space was stacked to the brim with cassette tape cases.

Miles did get it now that he was in the car: despite the blue exterior, it really was a ‘she’. And yet, as polarising as the interior could have been, he found himself quite enamoured with how kitsch everything was. He suspected a large part of that was influenced by his company for the journey though, and how perfectly he felt her surroundings must have reflected the contents of her mind - as demonstrated by the conversation she’d steered them into.

“-That’s where all my money goes: clothes, shoes, and decorations for my fish tank.”

With his elbow resting on the passenger door panel, lazily propping his head up, he chuckled, “I bet her bowl’s nicer than my house.” A yawn stole his attention away from Carrie’s own laughter at the remark, but it gave him a moment of pause that led it back to his conversation with Butchy earlier. “I thought you were keeping your paycheck money for savings.”

Carrie took her time scanning the vacant streets ahead of the stop sign they’d reached - hiding her indecision behind the pretence of safety. “Well, I am…kinda,” she said, as cautious with her choice of words as her assessment of the junction.

“To go to LA, right?”

“I, uh…” she trailed off, eyes distant and dull, albeit steady on the road. Her voice sounded small and awkward, almost embarrassed: the antithesis of her usual bold, bravado. “Yeah, I guess.”

Miles frowned. “You ‘guess’? You were dead-set on it the last time you brought it up, what happened?”

Carrie sighed, her tone dejected and tinged with resentment. “I don’t know, it’s just…I don’t know how realistic it actually is. The more I talk about it the dumber it sounds, and the more it just feels like a crazy pipe dream.”

She didn’t need to say it, but the faraway look in her eyes told him someone else had placed those words in her mouth. He’d heard her talk countless times about how she used to do a bunch of theatre when she was younger, and how she’d always grown up wanting to be a movie star. Her planned move to LA had been her way of making sure that dream came true - or at least her way of giving it her best shot. And yet, of late, acting had become a distant memory for her. Miles had asked her if she was gonna audition for the school play, but ‘the rehearsals were gonna clash with the football games’, and ‘no one goes to watch the school plays anyway, so there’s no point’. For someone who dreamed of being an actress, he’d have thought the ‘point’ was fairly obvious, but evidently not.

And although the thought of Carrie letting her boyfriend dictate her life for her - obviously caring more about ensuring someone would be waiting at home to press his ties for him in the future, than ensuring the young woman he claimed to love was fulfilled in life - made his chest burn, he knew it wasn’t his place to say anything. He just glanced at the mini love letter in Eric’s brutish scrawl sticking out from Carrie’s visor and bit his tongue.

“Plus, plane tickets are actually a lot more expensive than I thought they’d be,” she tacked on with a chuckle - attempting a joke to cut through the stifling awkwardness that had blanketed them.

“Wouldn’t your parents help you out?” Miles questioned, glad he’d thought of something to take his mind off a certain broad-shouldered jock.

Carrie sighed again. “No. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love my parents, and they always support me in everything I do. But my dad doesn’t like the idea of me going all that way by myself, and no one wants to go with me so…”

“You’ve gotta fund it for yourself,” Miles finished for her, that sense of deflation seeping into his own voice now that they were back on the same page.

“Uh huh,” she confirmed. But her signature smile soon fought its way through the despondency, as she went on to chirp a quick, “So you might have to put up with me hanging around town a little longer.”

‘I could think of worse places to be,’ is what Miles wanted to say, and would have said if it hadn’t been for his better judgement snatching the reins from his subconscious - the looming presence of that love note in his periphery snapping him back to his senses.

Before he could risk shoving his foot any further into his mouth, Carrie’s gaze flitted to the houses lining the street, slowing her car down to a crawl as she distracted him by asking, “What colour did you say the door was again?”

“Oh, uh, it’s red - that one there,” he stammered, so thrown off by the conversation he’d almost forgotten where they’d been driving to in the first place.

“Alright,” she murmured to herself as she pulled up to the curbside of the house he’d pointed to. She set her car into park and turned to take in the view, a soft smile blossoming on her face as she did so. Glancing back at Miles, she giggled and said, “I don’t know, I think you’ve got Gloria beat - don’t tell her I said that though.”

Miles smiled to himself, certain the girl was only saying that to be nice, given the weed-addled path to the front door and the splintering window panes, but he appreciated the sentiment all the same. And he didn’t have it in him to start another debate, especially about a very pampered goldfish. So instead, he settled for a simple, honest: “Thanks, Carrie. And thanks for the ride too.”

“So the driving was ok then?” she asked with a teasingly expectant grin.

“Well we didn’t crash, so I’d say you did a good job, yeah,” he fired back with a playful chuckle of his own, before following up with a more earnest: “…I had fun.”

“Me too,” Carrie agreed, holding his gaze for a beat as her smile softened once more.

The air around them began to change in those few precious moments. Although still infused with artificial cherry, and the notes of bergamot from the extra perfume she’d sprayed before they left work for the night, it felt warmer and heavier - like they could reach out and touch it if they tried. It pressed in on them, creating this sort of magnetic pull-

Carrie’s eyes flitted to her steering wheel before the alien force could grow any stronger. Hoping another stab at humour could bring back some normalcy between them, she offered, “Same time tomorrow?”

A wistful smile brushed across Miles’ face. “Four o’clock can’t come soon enough.”

Taking the teasing tone at its surface value, not stopping for a moment to consider it could mean anything further, she ploughed ahead. “You don’t have to wait that long to think about me, you know?” she cheekily snorted, able to relax back in her seat again with the threat of a shift in their dynamic no longer looming.

But Miles wasn’t so lucky, and that wistful look in his eye remained. Because, try as he might, he wasn’t able to shut himself off from that bizarre, entrancing pull so easily. It hung over him constantly: a perpetual reminder of something that could never be. So yes, he did know he didn’t have to wait until they clocked into work to let her enter his mind - because in reality, she never left it.

But was he about to admit that to her? Of course not. He’d done some questionable things that night, but he wasn’t insane.

Instead, he let his mind wander elsewhere - in search of something that could bring him some comfort, and lessen that sense of unease. And somehow, he stumbled onto memory lane. He dropped his gaze to his lap as a longing smile tugged at his lips. “I know, but as my mom used to say: everything in moderation,” he eventually replied, emboldened by the warmth memories of his mother baking in the kitchen of his childhood home sent flooding through him - giggling with her sons as they snuck licks from her wooden spoon when she wasn’t looking, prompting her to say exactly that.

Although the change in Miles’ demeanour at the mention of his mom sent a similar ripple of warmth through Carrie’s chest, she was quick to swat it away before it could settle. “Oh yeah?” she playfully challenged. “Well my mom always says: you can never have too much of a good thing.”

Miles laughed. “I think your mom might be onto something.”

And just like that, their eyes met and that captivating, invisible force swarmed them once more. Miles swallowed thickly, finding it hard to breathe with the closeness of the air around them pressing into his chest. Every fibre of his being fought against it - he was grateful for the work the seatbelt was putting in to keep him in his seat, instead of succumbing to the universal force trying to drive him towards her. But try as he might to control his body, he lost the battle against his mind - and before he knew it, a nagging thought from earlier came tumbling out to fill the pregnant silence between them. “Keep saving your pay checks, Carrie.”

As startled by the outburst as Miles appeared to be, although significantly more confused, Carrie murmured, “Huh?”

Once he’d started, he couldn’t stop. The declaration of love on that stupid piece of note paper sticking out from her visor hadn’t left his vision since he’d noticed it, and everything it represented was just as constant a presence in his mind. He knew she cared deeply for Eric, and the last thing he wanted to do was change that, but he couldn’t stand by and watch her give up on her dreams just to please him. He knew his opinion wouldn’t matter to her, not really anyway. But even if it at least made her reconsider her decision, even just for a moment, then the crippling anxiety of having to say it out loud would be worth it.

“Keep your California fund going. I know you think you’re not gonna go, and that it’s a stupid idea, but don’t give up on it just…’cause. Even if you never use it, at least you’d still have the option if you ever changed your mind… I just, I don’t want you to regret it one day.”

The silence returned again, but this time it was frigid, and riddled with uncertainty. Miles didn’t dare attempt to read Carrie’s expression, but he couldn’t even if he’d wanted to; she didn’t understand it herself. He just watched her eyes shift through stages of confusion he’d never known to exist before. But as they halted on something new, the overwhelming urge to bolt crept up on Miles and swallowed him whole before he could figure out what that something was. His fingers blindly scrabbled for the door handle as he stammered, “I’ll uh, I’ll see you tomorrow-”

“Wait, Miles.”

Before he could crack the passenger door open, Carrie’s voice stopped him in his tracks - and momentarily stopped his heart too. But what surprised him even more than her call for him to stay, was that when he turned back to face her, he found her frantically rifling through her collection of cassette tapes.

Did she really have a song she wanted to listen to that urgently? Because he desperately wanted to escape before he shed any more of his dignity on her fancy seat covers.

“I’ve, uh, I’ve got something I’ve been meaning to give you for a while-”

“Carrie, no, please,” he began, partly because he didn’t want to be made to feel like a charity case by accepting more money or presents (no matter how trivial), but mostly because the nervous waver in her voice made his legs go numb. “You’ve already given me too much.”

Carrie frowned. “Some skate laces, a burger and some dog treats for a dog that isn’t even yours isn’t ‘too much’,” she retorted. But once she found what she’d been looking for, she settled back in her seat and continued, “And besides, it didn’t cost me anything apart from my time, so your conscience can stay clear, Mr ‘I Hate Generosity’.” Her teasing smirk eased as she turned the offering over in her fingertips though, her confidence appearing to flicker again before she went on to explain, “It’s just a mixtape.”

Miles must have looked as nonplussed as he felt - eyes transfixed on the plastic case she passed to him - because before he had the chance to question her, she continued with her explanation. “I make ‘em at work when the shifts are slow. It’s just a tape with a bunch of songs I picked out for you: ones I know you like, ones I think you’ll like… I keep forgetting to bring it into work with me though so I thought while you were here…”

Miles studied the piece of plastic, turning it over in his palm as though making sure it was real. ‘Miles’ Mix’ was plastered across the front in Sharpie - the letters girly and loopy, and exactly how he’d expected her handwriting to look. He started to read the tracklist on the back, his curiosity getting the better of him, but he stopped himself, favouring the idea of finding out the songs she’d picked as he listened to them.

The smile that stretched across his face was one of disbelief, but also overwhelming appreciation. He expected thoughtful gestures like this from his brothers, or Mick or Butchy or Lela. But from Carrie? Earlier that day he had thought she barely even knew he existed, and yet there he was holding physical evidence of hours of work she’d put into making a gift for him. He was floored. But with it feeling like his entire world had been turned on its head, he supposed he should be ‘ceilinged’.

“I, uh- thanks- thank you,” he finally managed, stumbling over his words since his legs hadn’t stopped feeling like they were made of jello yet. “That’s…that’s so nice of you.”

“No problem,” she smiled. “I just…wanted to give you something to say thanks for being such a great friend.”

Something tight, and raw bore through Miles’ chest. And no matter how grateful he was for everything she’d done, and everything she’d said, that disappointment still ached like a bitch. He felt the pull again: like they each had a magnet in their spine, drawing them towards one another any time their guards were down. Although they’d been good at resisting that tugging previously, the exhaustion of the day must have caught up with them, because as Miles sat there he could have sworn Carrie’s eyes were getting bigger. No, not bigger, closer - and so were her lips.

Miles sprung back to his senses, snapping out of his haze and realising, to his relief, he’d moved millimetres as most. Even that was too close for comfort though. And he knew that if he stuck around any longer he’d just end up getting himself more tangled up in this mess than he already was. Straightening up and giving that love letter one last glance, he wished her a final, “Night, Carrie,” before curling his fingers around the tape case and, at last, pushing open the passenger door.

She shared her own farewells, and reminders about their lunch plans, and he left her with a reminder to eat something when she got home, before giving her one last grateful smile and watching her speed off into the night. He exhaled, and then took in what felt like the first full lungful of air in hours - mind still reeling after everything that had happened. But despite it all, he couldn’t seem to shake the dopey grin that jumped to his face every time he looked down at the mixtape in his hand. As unpredictable as his relationship with Carrie was shaping up to be, he was glad he could be certain of one thing: no matter where they stood with one another, he could always rely on her ability to make him smile.

The house was as silent as ever when he shuffled through the front door and clicked the deadbolt into place. But the yellow glow from the hall reassured him that the other occupants had beat him home. He stuck his head around their door on the way to his own room though, just to check. And sure enough, he could hear soft snoring through the darkness, and could make out a head of dark chocolate curls poking neatly out the top of his comforter, and a Bentley-sized bundle of blankets on the opposite bed.

Chuckling to himself at the polarities in his younger brothers’ sleeping habits, Miles inched his way back out the room. But not before offering a quick, quiet: “Night, Royce. Night, Benny.”

Miles pulled the bedroom door to, inwardly cursing his luck over the chipping paint, but stopped when the light in the hall went off, plunging the house into darkness. He wasn’t anywhere near the switch, so it’s not like he’d caught it by mistake. And a quick glance out the window to the house across the street confirmed it wasn’t a power outage. But just as swiftly as it had gone out, the light bulb flickered back to life - sputtering for a few seconds, before returning to its usual, steady glow. Miles frowned up at it, rooted to the spot for a moment as a strange feeling of unease gnawed away in the pit of his stomach. But when the bulb showed no further signs of change, he chalked it up to more faulty wiring he’d have to muddle through trying to fix - or just plain exhaustion - and trudged down the remaining length of the hall to hopefully sleep it off. He’d had a rough time of things lately, but he finally felt like he was turning a corner - like things were starting to look up for him, and his brothers. The last thing he needed was something else to go wrong.

#i know this part probably seems really boring #but it’s just more setting up that needed to happen before we could get to the good stuff #IF we ever get to the good stuff lol

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cherrygorilla · 4 months ago

Text

Happy Birthday, Danelle!

It's unfortunately now the 6th of April when I'm posting this my time, but at least it's still the 5th for you - so hopefully you see this before it gets to midnight! But regardless of when you see it, I hope you've had a wonderful birthday and you've been made to feel as special as I know you are! 🥳💕

In keeping with recent tradition, I couldn't let this day pass without doing anything to celebrate. And whilst I'd initially tried to get the next part of TMM finished in time to post, I didn't know if that felt special/exciting enough - so I abandoned that idea. And then I almost started writing out the Back To The Future-esque one-shot I've been toying around with the idea of since New Years - but since I've literally never mentioned that, and it's a very self-indulgent idea, I didn't feel like that would be anything you'd be that interested in reading lol - especially for a birthday post. So instead, after flip-flopping on ideas for weeks, on Monday I decided to bite the bullet and write out one of the two measley ideas I had for the now-joint Playhouse Playoffs concept (well, mainly yours now since I feel like you have much more solid ideas for it, but you know what I mean lol) - since that's a story I'm pretty confident I know you like. I was also going to write out the other one too, but I simply ran out of time lol. But maybe I'll just save it for another time! Plus, this one featured Vivien more heavily, and I feel like she's a real fav of yours, so I went with this one.

Anyway, it's nothing particularly long, and it's by no means groundbreaking. But it's just a little something to let you know I've been thinking about you - and hopefully something else that can bring you some joy on your birthday. So I hope you like it! And I hope you're doing well! Enjoy! 🥰

Although the musty scent of old sheet music, and polished wood usually brought Vivien great comfort, that day, as she ploughed through the doors to the camp's music hall, her chest was tight with apprehension. The easygoing chatter of her companions, trailing behind her, did nothing to ease her fraying nerves - and her brain was filled with far too many thoughts to even consider listening to what they were saying. Something had to start going her way - something had to help convince her she wasn't as insane as she was starting to feel. And she needed it to be this.

She dumped her heavily thumbed-over score onto the music stand of the dust-laden piano off in the far corner of the room and let out a sigh, raking her fingers through her hair in some sort of bid to tame her unruly waves or massage away her tension headache. As she caught a glimpse of herself in the window's reflection though: pinched eyebrows, summer frizz and all, she quickly realised that was easier said than done.

"Relax, kiddo." A strong arm wrapped around her shoulders and a warm smile joined her reflection.

"You say that like it's easy," she scoffed, but managed a smile back all the same.

"Well it should be; I thought all this was supposed to be fun for you theatre nerds," Miles gently teased, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "And besides, you know this show inside out don't you?"

"Well yeah, but loving it and being in charge of directing it are two completely different things," Vivien countered.

"Ok, fine. I get that. But just try to take things one step at a time; you're not directing anything today, right? We're just looking at the music."

"I guess," she sighed through a reluctant smile - although she was starting to see some sense in what he was saying.

"Yeah, come on, Vivi," her second accomplice joined in. "All worrying gives you is a face full of frown lines, and you're far too pretty for that."

Soft giggles started to slip from Vivien's lips as Carrie cupped her face in her hands, eyes glittering with mischief despite the undertone of earnestness Vivien knew the sentiment held.

"I know, I know," she conceded once her laughter had subsided. "But I just… I need to hear how this is gonna sound first - so I can get rid of that voice in the back of my head that's telling me I'm insane."

"That's not a voice in your head, Viv; that's me - and I've been saying it since the day I met you."

Vivien turned to Miles and his impish smirk with a deadpan shake of her head. "Asshole," she retorted, but she was biting back a smile of her own all the same. "I thought you were supposed to be helping me anyway. What happened to that?"

"Alright, fine. What do you want me to play?" Miles caved with a chuckle, settling into position on the piano stool. "I'm warning you now though, I'm probably gonna miss half the notes, so don't expect it to sound good."

Vivien flipped through her score until she found the right page, then spread it out before him on the music stand with a hopeful grin. "I want you to do Pony and Cherry's duet."

"There's a guy called 'Pony'?" Carrie snorted from behind the pair, her nose wrinkling in confusion.

"'Ponyboy', yeah," Vivien corrected with a chuckle as Carrie stepped up to join them at the piano. "Have you not read The Outsiders?" she went on to ask in somewhat disbelief.

Carrie just scoffed. "Do I look like someone who reads?"

Vivien's chuckles spilled out into a full-blown guffaw at the blonde's bluntness. "Point taken," she noted. But her incredulity remained. "Have I not even shown you the movie though?" And when all Carrie did was blankly shake her head, an entirely new idea sprung into her mind. "Holy shit, have I got something for us to do tonight."

In a bid to tear Vivien's glittering irises from his girlfriend, and halt her excitable train of thought before it ran itself off the rails, Miles interjected with an amused: "Focus, ladies. Or do you want us to still be in here when they're handing out marshmallows at sunset?"

"Right, sorry," Vivien said, drawing her focus back to the piano, earnest despite the brunet's jovial tone. "The duet."

"Why'd you pick that one?" Miles went on to ask, eyes skimming over the notes in preparation.

"I just wanted to hear how it might sound," Vivien started to explain. "And I know I'm still way off from casting anyone, and you're out of Ponyboy's casting range-"

"You don't think I could pass for fourteen?"

Although Miles' surprise and abhorrence made Vivien stall for a moment, she quickly saw through the facade - and his impish smile soon resurfaced. He'd clearly been spending too much time with his girlfriend - that, or he suddenly fancied himself an actor.

"Keep dreaming, Grandpa," she fired back, luckily earning herself a hearty laugh from the senior citizen himself.

"These characters are fourteen?" Carrie cut in, wearing her own look of stupefaction. "Didn't you say they die and shit?"

"You'll find out later!" Vivien giggled. But before they could veer any further off track, she took a deep breath and tried to regain some order. "I just… I just wanted to hear you guys singing it, ok? I need to know that there's a chance we could pull this off."

Miles' wary glance travelled from his girlfriend, to the sheet music, before settling on his honorary little sister. "You really want me to sing?"

"Yes, goof," Vivien said with a teasing smack to his chest. "I certainly didn't bring you here for your piano-playing skills."

Miles rolled his eyes, but took the jab on the chin with a grin to match. Although, Vivien was worried he still wasn't entirely convinced. So she started to try appealing to his weakness for her, with big puppy dog eyes and a quiet desperation - but her explanations quickly devolved into senseless pleading the more worked up she became.

"Please, Miles. I've listened to the cast recording so many times I'm scared I'm not gonna like how anyone else does it. But you guys know how much I love your voices, and this song would just suit them so well. So I feel like this is the best chance I'm gonna get to see how it could work if we try to do it here, 'cause if it doesn't work then I'm officially screwed and I don't know what I'd-"

"Alright, alright. Come on, baby, let's give it a go."

To Vivien's surprise, it wasn't Miles that cut her off. Instead it was Carrie's optimistic grin that yanked her back from teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown at the ripe age of seventeen. And although her comment was aimed at her boyfriend - as light and airy as Butchy always claimed the contents of her head were - Vivien still felt a wave of relief wash through her upon hearing it.

By the look on Miles' face though, he didn't share that sentiment. "Hold on, she never said I'd have to-"

"It's just one little song," Carrie replied, steadfast in her blasé optimism. "Plus, the girl wants to hear you sing. You don't want to disappoint her, right?"

Even though his reluctance was evident, Carrie knew she'd hit him in that sweet spot when she nudged his gaze to meet Vivien's - juniper eyes gleaming with longing - and he immediately let out a sigh of defeat.

"...Do you want to take it from the top?"

Vivien's contrasting sigh of relief almost had a grin twitching at his lips. But the feeling of Carrie's pressing into his cheek quickly stole his attention away - sending a thrill of warmth bubbling up through his chest. "Good answer," she giggled into his skin.

Miles cleared his throat and sat up straight - hoping that warmth in his chest wasn't going to spread to the very spot his girlfriend has just branded with her lip gloss. But even if he was successful in keeping the blush at bay, he couldn't have held the smile back if he'd tried.

An almost apprehensive excitement washed over Vivien as she watched the lovestruck pair settle into position, with Carrie perching herself on the piano bench's edge and Miles testing out a few tentative chords. After all, this was a make-or-break moment for her; if this sounded like crap then she might as well just admit defeat there and then. But then again, if it sounded even half as good as she hoped it would, this could turn out to be one of her best endeavours yet.

"Oh look, the piano doesn't even come in 'til there," Carrie softly mused as she and Miles glanced over the score.

"Good; it'll give me some time to figure out what the hell I'm supposed to be playing," he snorted back.

As Miles found his first notes, and got his hands into position over the keys, Carrie then turned to Vivien expectantly. "You ready for me to start?"

"I think so," Vivien breathed - but the nervous look in her eyes betrayed her.

Carrie just met her with a reassuring grin though, knowing that the song would do all the comforting for her once she opened her mouth.

And holy shit did it work.

"I was under the impression," Carrie began - her voice as sweet and clear as Vivien had hoped it would be. Flashing Miles, and his quick piano chord, a smirk at the irony of the next line, she then continued, "You'd never read a book at all." The pair bit back their chuckles as they attempted to focus on the task at hand, and luckily, once Carrie took her eyes back to the sheet music, her composure returned. "Too wrapped up in your aggression, out on the street and fighting brawls. And now you're talking 'bout the sunset, and how the colours turn bright…" Carrie then turned to Miles again as she trailed off, with that soft, lovestruck smile of hers playing at her lips as she tried not to get lost in his eyes. "Suddenly it seems, that I could talk to you for hours… But these hours go like minutes. I could talk to you all night."

Vivien's heart started to flutter in her chest; even just the thought of hearing the rest of the song made her feel giddy. But the moment Carrie turned more to face Miles as she sang, and truly started to perform the piece, she knew she was onto a winner.

"I never talk like this with Socs," Carrie went on as the music started to pick up, only sparing glances at the score between lines. "We keep our feelings to ourselves. I tell my friends I like their parties,” she shared another soft chuckle with Miles - images of her co-stars flashing through their heads, knowing exactly what the other was thinking. “Wishing I was somewhere else."

Miles cleared his throat, and kept his gaze firmly on the sheet music; he knew if he made eye contact with either girl he'd completely lose his nerve. But somehow, despite his mild stage fright, he found himself singing through a grin, and his cheeks glowing pink under his girlfriend's look of adoration. "I know exactly what you're saying; you gotta fake it to belong. I'd rather read than fight a rumble, but Greasers have to go along," he finished, sharing a quick look of acknowledgement with Carrie - relating far too much to the song already.

"It's like you're always just pretending," the pair then sang in unison, starting to feel more and more connected with the song with each new line that came - and, for Miles anyway, more comfortable too now that he had Carrie's voice to make up for his own. "It's just a part you have to play. Feels like this pressure's never-ending, there's gotta be a better way. But with you it feels so simple, something about this feels right. Suddenly it seems, I could talk to you for hours. But these hours go like minutes. I could talk to you all night."

Miles finally dared a glance at Carrie, and the second he did his face split into a grin. His laser-focus on the sheet music abandoned, he allowed himself to fully relax into the song - so much so he almost forgot that they had an audience. Sure, he kept playing - but to Vivien, whether it was purely because she'd listened to the soundtrack so many times she was starting to hear the rest of the instrumental when it wasn't there, or simply due to some of their 'movie magic' seeping into her world, the rest of the music swelled around them regardless. And she was completely captivated by them - hanging on their every word as though she wasn't already singing along with every line in her head, because somehow they were still managing to make it sound authentic, like they really did mean everything they were saying. And maybe they did, at one point in time at least.

“I don't want this night to end, I bet our friends are wondering where we've been. Can you imagine what they'd say if any of them heard us talk this way?” Nostalgia flooded through them both, suddenly feeling as though they were transported back to the early days of their relationship, and even beforehand: when they’d sneak away from their friends and all the music at Big Momma’s to talk under the stars, or when they’d slip away from their colleagues to share stories over bagels on their lunch breaks. Escaping their usual social bubbles for even just moments of one another’s company, and that intoxicating feeling of complete authenticity the moment they were in each other’s presence. And whilst they much preferred how normal it was for them to be around one another now, there was something quite sweet about how exciting and novel it had once been.

“Now don’t get me wrong when I say I’m surprised,” Carrie then continued, as Miles took a break to check his place in the music. “But I never thought I’d see hope in your eyes. It makes me believe that there may be a chance-”

“For a world beyond the Greasers and the Socs,” they then joined in unison once more, their voices soaring throughout the entire music hall with a power that took Vivien’s breath away. She knew Carrie could sing well; it was one of the main things she was known for, and she’d heard itfor herself countless times on episodes of Find Your Voice, or when they were singing along to the radio in her car. But there was something about hearing her in person, truly singing with her full voice, that made her appreciate just how talented she really was. And Miles too - she really wished he wasn’t so reserved about who he sung around, because the way Carrie’s voice blended with his was genuinely mesmerising. They sounded beautiful together.

Maybe her dreams of putting this show together weren’t so insane after all.

“Could it ever be?” The pair shared a loving glance as the song wound down - so much so Miles thought it was over with all together.

“Sorry, Viv; I think I messed up like half of those chords,” he chuckled, turning to her with a sheepish, yet laid back grin.

“Hold on, we’re not done yet,” Carrie interrupted, grabbing onto his arm and flicking over the page of sheet music.

“Oh shit, sorry,” Miles guffawed, fumbling to get his hands back in position on the keys for the last few notes.

“Suddenly it seems," Carrie managed to croon between her giggles.

"I could talk to you for hours. But these hours go like minutes. I could talk to you all night…" Finishing up at last, they let their voices drift out with Miles' accompanying piano flourish, both still holding back laughter at their early-ending blunder, and the unbridled joy the chance to sing together had brought them.

"Still think I missed like half of those notes, but hopefully that was alright," Miles joked with a lopsided grin and a ham-handed final chord.

"I think it was recognisable enough," Carrie teased, before turning to their temporary music director. "What did you think, Viv? Was that ok?" But when her gaze found Vivien's, her eyes widened to the size of spotlights.

"...Guys, that was insane," Vivien choked out. Her eyes prickled with tears as an awestruck smile overtook her face. "I don't- I don't even know where to start."

"Aww, Vivi," Carrie cooed, jumping up from the piano stool to wrap the younger girl in a hug.

"That sounded amazing. You both sounded amazing," she gushed. And whilst Carrie glowed with a pride that came all too easily to her, the tops of Miles' ears tinged a bashful pink at the praise. "I don't even care how bad the piano was; you made it work," she impishly added, much to Miles' amusement. Her main focus soon turned to the blonde beside her though, untangling herself from her tanned, toned arms to look her dead in her Carolina blue eyes. "And Carrie, I know it might end up being super weird, because I obviously want Bentley to be Ponyboy, and Royce to be Soda, and Miles has to be Darry - but after hearing that you have to be Cherry. Your voice is just perfect for her! Charlie is gonna lose her mind when she hears you singing like that - I know we kinda get you to tone it down sometimes but we really need to use you more because holy shit. Oh my god, and Abby too; she'd love to hear- Wait, I've gotta hear you do Cherry's part in 'Justice for Tulsa'. And then we've gotta do 'Throwing In The Towel' with you, Miles. Actually, I don't know if I'm emotionally stable enough to tackle that one today-"

"Hey, hey, slow down, Viv," Miles chuckled over her excitable ranting. "One thing at a time."

"Right, right," she acknowledged, sucking in a deep breath and attempting to compose herself, which her temporary songbirds found incredibly amusing if their laughter was anything to go by. Once she'd somewhat steadied her breathing though, she spun back to her future sister-in-law with a hopeful, giddy smile. "Shall we give Cherry's part in 'Justice For Tulsa' a whirl?"

But before Carrie's sparkly lips could utter a word, a voice piped up from the doorway with startling authority.

"Sorry, Pip; no can do. Carrie's Starlight property."

Vivien's smile vanished in an instant as the room fell silent. Stunned, she slowly turned to her skating partner, her expression so thunderous it prompted a hurricane warning. "I'm sorry?" she hissed as Carrie and Miles shared a wary look behind her back.

"I already asked her to be in Starlight," Riven plainly responded, attempting to appear nonchalant as he leant against the doorframe. But his crossed arms and slumped posture weren't enough to fully mask the whisper of a smug grin. "I need her to be my Pearl."

She could hardly believe what she was hearing. He had to be messing with her. And yet, his freckled face showed no signs of teasing. "...What the fuck?" Vivien exploded. "I thought we were waiting to audition everyone together before casting people."

"Well you said it yourself: you already know who you're gonna use for your main three guys, and I've got a big cast to fill - I had to start recruiting everyone early or I wouldn't have enough people," Riven explained, steadfast despite the brunette's death glare. "Plus, there was no way I was gonna do this without Carrie - she's my star."

"Which is exactly why I said we had to let her choose which show she wanted to work on," a seething Vivien snapped. "So neither of us got an unfair advantage."

"Hey, I'm sure I can figure out a way to help both of you-" Carrie tried to mediate with an awkward smile.

But Vivien was too furious to acknowledge the offer - too consumed by the betrayal of someone she supposedly considered her brother. "I can't believe you went behind my back like that."

"You already have your stars, I've got mine - I don't see what the problem is," Riven rebutted, starting to slink back out onto the veranda before Vivien's glare could stop his heart. "All's fair in love and war, Pip."

But all that comment did was make Vivien's vision flash red - until she actually registered what he'd said though. "Hold on," she stuttered. "'Stars'? Plural?" And when all Riven did was smirk at her before disappearing back outside, she erupted all over again. "Wait, who else have you taken? …Riv?!"

As Vivien bolted out the music hall, grubby heather sneakers pounding the floorboards as she chased down her directing rival, no doubt preparing to rip him a new asshole for scuppering her casting plans, Carrie turned to her boyfriend with an uneasy laugh. "Sounds like this is gonna be a fun few weeks."

"They'll work it out, don't worry," Miles reassured, knowing Vivien well enough to know that she cares too deeply for Riven to hold a grudge like this too long.

"I know, I just don't wanna be caught in the middle until they do," Carrie replied as she settled back down onto the piano stool beside him.

"Well, I guess that's just the price you pay for being 'a star'," Miles teased with a chuckle.

"Oh stop," Carrie flippantly waved him off. But after a beat of silence, met his knowing gaze with a smirk, "Just kidding, please go on."

"Like your ego needs inflating any more," Miles scoffed over the laughter spilling from their lips. Carrie fell against his chest as her own rumbled with mirth. And despite the teasing, he still pressed a kiss to her temple before they finished composing themselves.

"She does know I'll still help her with her show even though I'm helping with Riven's too, right?" Carrie then went on to ask, looking after where the passionate brunette had disappeared out into the humid summer afternoon.

"I honestly don't know - I don't know what insane restrictions they're putting themselves under for this whole 'rival shows' thing. But if he bars you from speaking to her, I'll pass on the message," Miles answered through a wry grin.

"Thanks," Carrie said with a small giggle, eyes skimming over the sheet music before them again. "I'm looking forward to seeing more of this 'Outsiders' thing actually," she went on to muse. "I wanna hear what some of the other songs sound like; that one was really pretty."

"Yeah, it was... Kinda reminded me of the old days."

Carrie found Miles' sentimental grin and immediately melted into a giddy mess. "Yeah," she breathed, glancing up at the vaulted, wooden ceiling, and around at the faded band posters lining the walls. "Back before I even knew any of this existed."

A comfortable quietness blanketed the pair as a wave of nostalgia washed over them both, transporting them back to how unique and special their morning take-out coffees, and carpooling trips used to feel.

"...Do you ever miss it?"

Miles turned to her. "Miss what?"

"The old days," Carrie clarified. "You know, back when we'd just started dating - or even before that."

Miles thought about it for a moment - wavering for a moment before settling on an answer. "Yeah, in some ways, I guess."

"Really?"

"Yeah," he confirmed, appearing earnest, although his eyes glimmered with mischief. "At least back then I didn't know every word to Breakfast At Tiffanys and I didn't have to live in constant fear of you releasing a song about how much you want to sleep with me."

Guilty giggles slipped from Carrie's mouth as she rebutted with, "You love it really."

Miles' lack of comment told her everything she needed to know though. He did, however, eventually find something of his own to respond with. "Do you not miss it?"

"No," she insisted, sharing that same mischievous glint in her eyes though. "It was exhausting; I think I'd have had more luck flirting with a fucking plank of wood."

Miles' nose crinkled between his barks of laughter. "Probably."

"I do know what you mean though," she conceded as his chuckles started to die down. "There was something kind of…charming about how novel everything was back then. Like how every little thing felt so new and exciting." A beat of silence followed as they soaked in her words, but Carrie's head soon whipped to his, brows now furrowed in concern. "...You don't think things have gotten too boring now, do you? Between us, I mean."

The idea alone was enough to make Miles scoff, but the genuine distress in her expression really sealed the deal. "How could I ever find anything boring with you around?" Miles chuckled, brushing a curl away from her face and letting his fingers lovingly skim across her cheek on their way back to his side.

"You know, flattery wouldn't work for a lot of people in a moment like this, but it sure as hell does for me," she giddily giggled, leaning into his touch like a housecat getting stroked behind the ears.

"I'm well aware," Miles chuckled, before reaching back up to cup her head and press a tender kiss to her lips. They lingered in place after they surfaced for air, admiring the view as Miles breathed a gentle, "Chaque jour avec toi est une aventure, mon cœur."

Carrie's eyes lit up at that line - but whether that was out of understanding, or just because he knew she got horny every time he spoke French, he had no idea. But he found it thoroughly entertaining nonetheless.

"Ooh, hold on, I've been practising this one," she grinned, taking a moment to string together her sentence in her head before delivering it with a tentative emphasis. "Tu as un super âne."

Miles just stared at Carrie and her expectant, yet proud grin for a second, attempting to understand what she was trying to say, before bursting out into raucous laughter again.

"What?" Carrie squeaked through baffled chuckles of her own. "What did I say? Was that not right?"

"Did you get that from Google translate?" Miles spluttered.

"No," Carrie lamely denied.

"You fucking liar," Miles guffawed. "There's a reason Vivi's like fifty levels ahead of you on Duolingo - and this is just proving it."

"She's not that far ahead," Carrie refuted.

"Well she's not resorting to googling pick-up lines," Miles teased.

"Well it wasn't giving me anything good to learn - all it was teaching me to say was like 'apple'. or 'newspaper' and shit. I don't care about any of that stuff - I want the fun, sexy French like what you say, so I can tell you you've got a great-"

"Donkey?" Miles suggested with a smirk.

Carrie's face clouded with confusion for a moment, before dropping in understanding. "...Is that what I said?"

Miles just chuckled, letting his breath tickle the skin of her cheeks. "For future reference, I believe the word you were looking for is: cul."

But Carrie wasn't one to let herself be bested. "Ok, ok, let me try another one," she said, once again readying herself with a quick look to the ceiling to gather her words before turning back to him with a determined grin. "Tu as une belle bite aussi."

Again Miles took a moment to register what she'd said, but the moment he did, further helpless laughter started tumbling from his lips. And it was so infectious, before Carrie knew it she was giggling just as hard as he was, tears ploughing tracks through her albeit light makeup and leaving mascara puddled around her eyes until she pulled herself together enough to dab them away with the edge of her thumbs. Miles caught the last stray one rolling down her cheek with his lips though, pulling her into another embrace as he breathed out the rest of his laughter through a grin he pressed into her skin. "Never change," he chuckled, chest still shaking with amusement as he willed the sentiment into her body with every moment he held her in place to hear it.

"I wouldn't dream of it," she grinned, practically purring in contentment as she softened into his grasp. "...You really do though."

#i know this is so random #but it's the best i could manage in a week #so hopefully it's alright!#and hopefully it manages to bring a little smile to your face today!#sending all my love!! 💕

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cherrygorilla · 5 months ago

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You know how I always say that thinking about our stories is a great escape for me? Well my grandma was taken into hospital this week, which has been pretty stressful to say the least. But one good thing I've been able to take away from it all is a new headcanon about August growing up to be a paramedic. I genuinely have no idea where it came from, but I just feel like he has the perfect demeanour for it; he's sweet, and gentle, and caring, but he's great at staying calm in a crisis and taking charge when the situation calls for it. I also feel like he's a lot stronger both mentally and physically than he seems, which works in his favour. And I know he's an Anxious Boy™, but as an anxious person in a healthcare role - we're drawn like moths to a flame with these jobs lol - I think it's because we have such a strong drive to want to fix things lmao. Plus, it just gives him even more of a reason to lean into his de-stressing hobbies like his baking or running when he's not on call. BUT, in order for all this to work, he needs to have a lovely, supportive boyfriend to go home to for lots of cuddles after his harder shifts - because the poor guy's still a sensitive soul at the end of the day 🥹

Anyway - ramble over. I have random little thoughts like this all the time, but for some reason, I felt an overwhelming urge to share this one with you. So enjoy, I guess! I hope your weekend's going well and your head's feeling better! 💕

#now back to writing TMM lol #because I told myself I need to at least finish this section I'm working on before commenting on the first part of 'The End Is Near'#so i need to get my ass in gear lol

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cherrygorilla · 6 months ago

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the struggle is so real when you want to write but the motivation just ✨isn’t there✨

#I’m trying my best and I did make some progress tonight #but it is just feeling like such hard going at the moment #and I don’t know what I can do to helpppp #I think because I just get random little snippets of time here and there it’s hard to fully get into the story #but idk man I wish it would stop lol #I have stories to tell!!#and I miss you Danelle 😭#I know you’re busy with work but idk what to do left to my own devices out here lol #it’s too hard trying to do it on my own 🥲#and I know I’m only posting this because I’m over-tired and frustrated #and I’ll probably delete it in the morning #but it still feels nice to get it off my chest ahaha #and on the off chance you do see this Danelle - I hope you’re doing well!#and I do genuinely miss you ahaha 🥹💕

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cherrygorilla · 11 months ago

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girlie started her first ever big girl job today 😓 it's literally just a year-long training position and today was all just induction talks (and it'll probably just be the same for like the first week or two), so it's nothing major at all - but it still feels like a big deal! a big enough deal to commemorate with a post anyway 😂🥳

#feels very weird to think that i'll be getting paid in a few weeks #especially for the same work i'll have been doing for free for the past three years lmao #i'm both nervous and excited #but i think that's very normal haha #i can't wait to get settled into my routine so that i can figure out when to factor in writing time lol #priorities lmao #if you're reading this danelle - i hope you're doing well hehe #and sorry for clogging up your dashboard with useless info lol

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cherrygorilla · 11 months ago

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My first impressions of The Outsiders musical (plus my extra notes on your reaction to ✨Starlight Express✨)

As promised, I've compiled all the notes I made whilst I was watching the show you so graciously introduced me to into a neat little post for you to read. I know it's not nearly as exciting as a video, but hopefully you can still enjoy reading through them as much as I enjoyed watching it. It was so cool getting to watch it after knowing how important the story has been to you over the years, and how much it inspired your characters. It felt like I was unlocking new Danelle lore - I loved it 😂 But anyway, enough wasting time! I'll start with my reactions to The Outsiders (the overall show and each song), and then I'll tag on my comments about Starlight at the end. I did them as little bullet point-esque comments as I went along to try to stop myself from rambling too much, but I don't know how successful that was... 😅

The Outsiders:

Okay, first of all, I love that you can hear time period accurate music playing in the theatre before the show starts - I love when productions do that; it adds that extra layer of immersion and helps you get even more excited for the show to start - at least it does for me anyway.

The actor playing Ponyboy has a really unique voice - but I think it works well for the character. It feels really authentic.

The use of the screens in the set to show the movie scenes at the start was cool - for what sometimes felt like a more limited/sparse set with the sort of scaffolding backdrop, it added an extra element of interest.

The contrast between the Greasers and the Socs in that first number was shown in such a cool way too - with all the Greasers playing around and doing their own thing to reflect their imperfections, but good hearts nonetheless - and then with the Socs being more reserved and putting their jackets all in perfect synchronisation to show how much more 'put together' they are. That's such clever choreography!

The staging of everything is great too - it feels like such a big set but they use the space so effectively. And all the gravel on the stage is a great touch; it helps set the scene so well! I think I saw actual water in that tire too, which is another really cool feature.

Tulsa '67 - great song to set the scene - sets everything up really well - no notes - fantastic opening number 👏

The car pulling onto the stage was so cool - it reminded me of when I went to go and see the Back to the Future musical last month (which was amazing btw - gave me some very entertaining ideas for a one-shot 👀), because the way they used the delorean in that, and made it drive, was genuinely incredible haha.

Whilst I felt really sorry for poor Ponyboy when he had that run-in with the Socs, the way they did the fight scene (and all the ones that followed) was just brilliant. The way the lighting and the sound design and the way they did the choreography with the slow-motion sections - it was fantastic!! I've genuinely never seen anything like that in a show before - no wonder it won so many Tonys haha. It deserved to after seeing that!

Also - no matter how many fight scenes there were - I still couldn't work out how they got the fake blood all over themselves. Maybe it was just too late at night and I wasn't paying close enough attention - but that felt like genuine magic to me 😂

Grease Got a Hold - fun song to show the brotherhood of the Greasers - very time period accurate too - at least it sounds it to me lol - which works really well to help sell the story - it did a great job at introducing us to the way all the different main characters act too

Runs in the Family - really liked Darrel's character in the show - maybe it's because you made that connection with him being so similar to Miles, and you know how much of a sucker I am for that guy lol - but I also did just genuinely think he was a great character to add an extra layer of conflict - and the actor did a brilliant job of portraying it; I really believed him in the role, and I thought his voice was beautiful.

The scene with Ponyboy and Sodapop talking on the bed definitely gave me Bentley and Royce vibes - especially because they share a room. That moment about the book and how many pages it had got a laugh out of me too - the guy who plays Sodapop acted that bit really well. That whole exchange was just really sweet - they played out that super close brotherly bond so well - I can definitely see how their relationship could have influenced how you wrote the Murphys.

Great Expectations - really moving song that was great for showing off the guy who plays Ponyboy's voice - it was so powerful! I've got to admit I'm not always overly fussed about slower songs/ballads in shows, so I didn't necessarily love this at first - I thought it was a good song, but I don't think I fully appreciated it until I came back to listen to it again and could link it back to the rest of the show; I think it becomes more meaningful once you know the whole story - at least it worked that way for me

The exchange between Dally and Johnny Cade (I can definitely see why you thought August was a good match for him btw) was really sweet - they really sold that chosen family vibe between them. And it was clever how they incorporated the set-up with the switchblade knife too, what with it being so important later on.

Friday at the Drive-In - nothing really groundbreaking, but it was a fun, catchy song - and I liked the choreography!

I loved getting to meet Cherry for the first time - with her bravery standing up for herself I can definitely see Vivien selling that almost defiant confidence really well. And how she speaks to Ponyboy afterwards - I could so see Vivien acting that out with Bentley. I sometimes forget how close of a bond Vivien and Bentley have because I usually think of them as a trio, or just Vivien with Royce - but I'd love to see them tackle this scene together; I think they'd do a great job.

Going on from that - I Could Talk To You All Night - such a pretty song that is so enjoyable and easy to listen to - it works so well for the scene, and I think Vivien and Bentley would kill it - BUT, your idea of a one-shot with Miles and Carrie pre-relationship is absolute perfection for this song. It works amazingly - right down to their places in society and everything!! Aaah!!

I loved Cherry sticking up for herself when her boyfriend barged in and started being an asshole too - she's such a strong-willed girl, I'm obsessed with her. I could very much see elements of Carrie and Eric in her and Bob's relationship (unfortunately lol) - especially in TMM. If only Carrie had the same balls Cherry did to actually put herself first lmao.

Runs in the Family reprise - whilst I understand it was a little overkill for Darrel to fly off the handle like he did, I can appreciate his point of view and how he cracked under all the pressure he'd placed on himself. Like you said in your post, it's hard to imagine the Murphy brothers ever arguing like this - but it could be something interesting to play with just as a one off, to see how they would react - especially that element of Darrel talking about all the things he could do with his life if he wasn't tied down to providing for his brothers - I feel like Miles could share at least some of those struggles (I just don't ever think he'd express them lmao - especially not like that). Also - I feel like in this reprise, even more than with the song the first time around - part of the melody reminds me of What'd I Miss from Hamilton. Maybe it's just me though lol 😂

Far Away from Tulsa - what a pretty song! And what a sweet moment between Ponyboy and Johnny Cade - this was such a good way to show how close the characters are. And omg just imagining Bentley and August singing it 🥹 - I couldn't cope

Probably just me watching too much Starlight Express (as usual), but the "you're nobody" part of the following run-in with the Socs was very reminiscent of the "he said nobody, so he's nobody" bit in the show when the other trains are all picking on Rusty. Weird coincidence haha. But again, the staging of this fight was just brilliant - it was like I couldn't look away! And the underwater effects!! That was so cool!!

Run Run Brother - what an exciting end to the first act! Again, the staging of it was brilliant showing their escape - and I loved the song in this one too; I feel like it showed off Dallas' voice really well.

Justice for Tulsa - this was a really cool opening to the second act - I loved the way they staged it with the interrogation; that was so clever and it set the tone really well how everything is a little darker and more tense compared to the bright and cheery opening of the first act. I really liked the second part of the song too with Cherry sticking up for the Greasers even though everyone else was turning on her because of it - she's definitely feeling like one of my favourite characters at this point. The tone of her voice is so pretty and clear too - you can tell there's a lot of power behind it as well. She's great!

Also - I know it's not really a comical show - but that cut back to Ponyboy after they'd cut and bleached his hair… 😳 Girl. I gasped. That wig. I know the point is that it looks bad but I was still speechless 😂 The poor guy! Wanted as an accessory to murder AND looking like a clown?! He can't catch a break!

Death's At My Door - what a sweet duet - not the most exciting of songs - but it's really heartfelt and showed off the characters' close bond really well.

Throwing in the Towel - I already had a bit of an idea what this was like from the TV performance of it, but omg seeing it fully staged, and knowing about everything that led up to this point, made it so much better! What a beautiful song! Everyone put so much emotion into it - and then when Ponyboy started singing too to show how they were all thinking of and missing each other despite being apart - ugh, it was so good!! Definitely a stand out song of the show for me. Brilliant vocals, and amazing acting too from all three brothers. I can totally see the similarities to your Murphy brothers as well, which made it all the more enjoyable to watch. The actor who plays Darrell did a particularly great job here, and as an oldest sibling myself, I definitely felt the most connected to him - he's another favourite of mine from the show.

The comedic timing on that "Do I look like Julie Andrews?" line was impeccable - that whole section with them talking about Ponyboy's hair was so good - they delivered the lines so well; it felt so authentic. And Dally's reaction just made it even better.

Soda's Letter - another really pretty song - you could really feel the sentiment behind the lyrics - it felt (at least to me anyway) that even the music itself was showing that internal conflict in Ponyboy: the need to stay safe and loyal to his friends, but also that comforting pull of his family back home. It was really beautiful!

Dally's monologue that followed was really powerful too, with him trying to keep his 'found family' safe - definitely felt like his advice was driven by the fact that he didn't have a choice in his matter of just keeping moving on though, and that he was potentially a little jealous that Ponyboy did have a loving family he could go back to. There felt like there was an element of pride there too - where he felt like their new big brother who could look after them, especially after his talk with Darrell, so he didn't want them to go back and not have them solely relying on/looking up to him anymore. He wants to try to keep that control over them - maybe because there's nothing else he can control in his life? Idk, maybe I'm reading too much into it lmao.

Hoods Turned Heroes - that whole fire breaking out really took me by surprise, but it was so brave of Ponyboy and Johnny Cade to go save all those kids despite being so weak and tired themselves. No wonder they were deemed heroes! It was a fun song to show off the upswing in luck for the Greasers back home though - and it provided an even starker contrast to the next scene with Dally carrying Johnny Cade like that. That was a really powerful moment.

Hopeless War - another beautiful song showing off Cherry's actress' voice - I'm obsessed with it. She's really great. Definitely gives me turf war vibes that could be used in a throwback one-shot/au or something before the surfers and bikers made up.

The set-up for the rumble had me so nervous ngl - I really appreciated Darrell coming back and trying to help though, even offering to take Ponyboy's place and fight for him (not that Ponyboy was ever going to let that happen, but you know, the sentiment was there haha). Very good big brother energy - very Miles energy too. I liked it haha.

And then the rumble itself: genuinely unbelievable theatre. I know I've said it before, but the way they used the sound, and the lighting, and the choreography of everything - and the rain and the fake blood too - it quite literally took my breath away. Sooooo insanely brilliant. I can't believe how synchronised everything was - it was really, really impressive.

Little Brother - another seriously powerful song, made even more powerful by that amazing performance by Dally's actor. Omg he totally killed that - the pain and the emotion in his voice - he sounded totally broken, it was such a brilliant performance! And aptly heartbreaking after what happened to poor Johnny Cade - it's just a shame Dally felt so lost and angry that he ended up meeting the same fate.

That conversation between the three brothers centering around Ponyboy and his grief was so emotional and, again, really powerful. They acted it out so well - I could really feel their love and frustration with one another. Again, I could totally see the Murphy brothers acting in a similar way if they were ever in that situation, especially with the way they were talking about their parents and how they're all each other has left. May or may not have helped me a lot with later parts of TMM too hehe 👀

Also - the part with them saying Johnny Cade's mum never showed up to the hospital to collect his things: what the hell! That's so sad! Poor boy deserved so much better 😢

Stay Gold - I've always known about this phrase being linked to The Outsiders in some way because I think you've had it in your bio at some point, but I didn't know the full meaning behind it until I listened to this. And omg what a beautiful song - definitely one of my favourites from the whole show. It's so delicate and heartfelt and pretty - that melody is just so gorgeous. It really feels like Johnny's last way of comforting and reassuring Ponyboy, all wrapped up in a song. Sooooo pretty. I loved the touch of them getting Johnny to be the one to sing it too; it sounds so much more meaningful coming from him. I could totally picture August singing this as well - the lyrics all felt very 'him' with that soft, almost poetic edge and the link to nature. At least that's the vibe I have in my head of August anyway haha.

The way they brought Ponyboy's writing back to end the show with felt so satisfying - it was a great way to tie it all together as one big story and show how their lives had changed, but part of it would always stay the same. A great way to end it with some really nice harmonies!!

So yeah, in case you couldn't already tell, I really loved the show - thank you so much for introducing me to it! I'm so glad I'll finally have an idea of what you're talking about when you bring it up now lmaoooo. And I'm so excited to see your reaction to it, because I feel as though it'll just make me love it even more!

Anyway, speaking of reactions, here are all the things I had to comment on after watching your reaction to Starlight Express. They're in that same sort of bullet point-y style, and I didn't comment on everything because I'd have probably bored you for hours. But here were at least my main things I wanted to share with you! So yeah, thank you again for putting that video together for me; I had such a fun time watching it and seeing you experience the show for the first time. I can't wait to see what ideas it sparks for you in the future (even if they're just new, awesome nail designs 😉)

Starlight Express:

It was so cool hearing you say that you bet you'd have loved the show when you were a kid because that's when I fell in love with it - and how you hoped that there are kids in the audience that fall in love with musical theatre because of the show because that's exactly what happened with me, and is exactly what the musical set out to do. Andrew Lloyd Webber has said many times that Starlight was designed to get kids into theatre and get them excited about going so the fact you picked up on that so early on was so cool!

I LOOOOVE that you fell in love with Greaseball so early on - Greaseball's always been one of my faves, and this London version just cemented it for me. She's such an icon. I always used to love Dinah because she got to be WITH Greaseball - now I just want to BE Greaseball 🤣

That's so cool that you've seen stuff from the Bochum version (and that you've been learning German?! That's awesome!), and that you can appreciate the costume changes and everything. This video version of the London production might not be the best because the costumes aren't all finished off with the lights on their chest yet - since it was taken during the previews - but I agree that they all still look insanely cool.

Also - with Dinah being one of my all-time favourite characters in the show - those Dinah inspired nails you got (which I may or may not have clocked in the intro because I'm a freak like that 🤣) are AMAZING! They look so good!! I'd love to see what you get done for Greaseball/The Outsiders if you end up getting them.

I loved your interpretation of the coaches being like the Muses in Hercules - that's such a cool connection; I'd never thought of that before but you're so right! And I loved your comments/analyses on their costumes too - they were so fun to hear. And as someone who LOVES really reading into details - especially when it comes to colours and things - listening to you talk about everything you picked up on was soooo fun.

You giggling at that moment at the end of Whistle At Me was so cute 🥰

Also, I know you realised by the end of the show, but they definitely do sing AC/DC in Electra's main song - which is cool for both the music connotations, and because of the alternating current/direct current electrical terminology connotations hehe.

I LOVED your reactions to Pumping Iron because that's one of my favourite songs in the whole show - it's just so FUN - and I had a blast watching you experience it all. Also - the way that your homemade slushie exploding lined up perfectly with Control saying "uh oh" had me cracking up so hard 😂

You picking up on Pearl saying "lovers" in Make Up My Heart was so entertaining too - the characters used to be a lot more romantically motivated in other versions of the show, and carrying songs over without changing the lyrics much (this one in particular) doesn't always work so well 😂

Totally agree with your score for Momma's Blues too - I love Momma as a character, but I always skip that song because it's just so random and unnecessary - genuinely don't know why it was ever included other than to give the Poppa/Momma character something else to sing 😂

I'm OBSESSED with Rusty's voice in this production too - obviously all the other Rustys I've seen have done an amazing job too, but there's something about Jeevan's voice that is just sooo beautiful. It made me appreciate 'Starlight Express' and 'Starlight Sequence' so much more than I used to because of how gorgeous his voice is to listen to. Also, can you believe he was only 17 when he started the show?! Insane!!

Unfortunately Greaseball is always kind of a jerk to Dinah in the shows, which is such a shame because they are so cute together otherwise. I've seen a few different interpretations of it though, like where Greaseball's so hellbent on winning that they don't want any distractions from anyone (no matter who they're from), and their desire to win just completely takes over. But another interpretation I thought was quite cute was that Greaseball is so desperate to look tough in front of their competitors that they have to disregard Dinah so that they don't look weak, because every time they DO properly acknowledge Dinah (like at the end) they're just like putty in her hands haha.

I'm glad you still liked UNCOUPLED so much too, because as much as I also love it, I feel like it works much better with an American accent. Every other English-speaking version of the show has had Dinah being American, and since that number is so country music inspired, I just think it sounds better with an American accent. Eve's acting definitely helps to sell it though - and the more I listen to it, the more normal it's starting to sound. So maybe it's growing on me after all 😂

Your analysis on the 'money-driven' aspect of Slick's character was really cool too. That's a new aspect for this production too, because usually it's CB in that position just wrecking the trains for shits and giggles because he's a little psycho - but the link to the big oil rigging industry is a great one to make! I kind of wish they did more with Slick's character tbh - I feel like what they show of her is a very base level of her character - I wish we saw more of her desperation and intensity. And like I mentioned with how I imagine Abby would play her, I wish there was more of an element of Slick wanting to help Greaseball because she idolises her, what with their almost identical colour schemes and their joint reliance on oil. I think Wide Smile, High Style kind of falls a little flat because Slick's motives were never really shown up until that moment. But oh well, I suppose the show can only be so long haha.

That moment after Rusty wrecks in the first version of the final race being Royce and Vivien coded is so true!! I'm so pleased you saw elements of them in those roles like I did!

It was so cute seeing how excited you got about Hydra each time he came on stage too - everyone seems to be really loving him, which is great since he, and all the other fuel trucks, were new additions for this production. He just seems like such a cool, chill guy - he's great. And that musical hook of his is really catchy haha. I'm pleased you could see how I could link him to Ethan lmao.

I love that you enjoyed One Rock and Roll Too Many - that's such a fun number in the show. I wish they'd made it more obvious that the trains had wrecked though, because in other productions they roll out in tattered/falling-apart versions of their costumes, which I think sells it more. But I also understand that that might not have been possible this time around with the way that the costumes are so rigid/plasticy. Either way - it's still a really fun number.

In terms of their makeup too - I've seen some of the cast on tiktok doing videos about their makeup and they have to do it all themselves! I think they were taught how to do their specific looks initially, but they have to do it all themselves every night, which is super impressive.

Also - yes - I totally agree Hydra should have been up there on the podium with Rusty at the end. Pearl didn't even race with him once!! 😂

And your utter confusion with Greaseball's poor spelling 😂 I love Al's portrayal of Greaseball but I don't think she hams up the dopey/dumb and embarrassed aspect of that part where she struggles to spell 'sorry' nearly enough.

Overall, I absolutely loved your reactions though - getting to introduce people to stuff I love and seeing their reactions is one of my favourite things to do, so getting to watch you experience the show for the first time and fall in love with it was soooooo special. I can't wait to see your reaction to the Outsiders one if you choose to do one for that too!

And with that, I think I've got through everything. And to save you from reading through even more of my ramblings, I'll leave it here. Thank you so much for getting through it all if you made it to this point though - you're a real one haha. On a serious note though, the dedication you've put into editing together that video and watching the show purely because you know how much I enjoy it, and going to the trouble of helping me watch The Outsiders, is insane - you've gone above and beyond any of my irl friends with all that, so thank you soooo much. You truly are the best! 🥰

Now, back to TMM! 😂

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cherrygorilla · 1 year ago

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Ok, so you may or may not have inspired me with your Outsiders post to interrupt my usually sparse story post schedule and indulge in my own obsession with a certain musical. And as chaotic and random as it sounds, I promise it is good haha. But even if you disagree, please just let me vent and get all this out of my brain so that I can go back to writing the next part of TMM 😂

Alright, I've loved Starlight Express ever since I saw it when I was around... 7 or 8, maybe? It used to be my favourite show for years, and (fun fact) it was actually how I found out about fanfiction haha. I never wrote anything properly for the show, just like one or two pages in a random notebook when I was, idk 11 ? But it was around that time that TBM then came out, which I was obviously more drawn to writing-wise - I suppose because it gave me more freedom with stories and characters, since this show is just...you know...about trains lol.

And from the few times I've mentioned it before, I know it probably sounds insane, but if you just suspend your disbelief and accept it for what it is (a bunch of trains singing and falling in love), it is a lot of fun hahaha. I like to think of it like a mix between Cats and Cinderella, but the basic gist of the story, so you can have at least somewhat of an idea of what's going on lol, is that Control (a little kid - I don't think they have a name, they're literally just known as Control) sneaks out of bed one night to hold this big race between all his toy trains to find out who is the best - so the story essentially takes place within his imagination, as all the trains come to life to tell the story. It's like Cats in the regard that most of the first act is everyone kind of introducing themselves in turn. There's Greaseball, the champion diesel train, Rusty, the little steam engine who wants to race with the big trains, and Electra, the electric engine of the future - and a bunch of other trains and coaches, but I won't bore you with all that (just yet 😉). So, to cut a long story short, it's basically a big competition between those three main trains to see who's fastest, with Rusty being the obvious underdog, and hence the centre of the Cinderella story element.

The plot itself is nothing groundbreaking, and neither are the songs tbh, but it's just such a fun show that I can't help but love it anyway. I mean come on, the whole thing's done on roller skates - that's pretty damn cool! And although I've loved it for years, it had taken quite a backseat for a while, but the recent revival that has recently opened in London has really reignited my obsession with it all over again 😆 Because how do you make my favourite pairing in the whole show even more iconic? ...you turn them into lesbians 😎 Plus the costumes were all reimagined by Gabriella Slade, who did the costumes for Six, and they look SO cool!

Now, a big part of why I loved your Outsiders post so much was all the story ideas/similarities for characters you included, but I can't really do that here because (once again)... they're all trains, and none of them are really that deep or serious anyway. BUT, what I did think might be fun, would be going through who I think each of our characters would be good at playing if they were (for some bizarre reason) to ever put on the show - because I do have some strong opinions about that haha. And, as a little bonus, I have written some little random one-off story snippets that are Starlight Express adjacent that I'll throw in at the end lol - more as a reward for you wading through all my nonsense than anything tbh. But they were fun to write too haha.

So yeah, welcome to the insane workings of my brain - and pull up a chair; this could take a while 😅

Ok, I think the best place to start would be with going through the characters in the show and, like I said, matching them up with potential characters of ours I think would be good at playing them. I'll sort of elaborate on 'why' for each one too to help keep things entertaining from an outside perspective lol - and hopefully to help back up my arguments for each lmao. Because, let's face it, none of our characters have particularly...train-like characteristics. 😂

First up we've got Rusty, who's essentially the show's main character. Most of the conflict in the show centres around him; the 'better' trains all totally disregard him, a lot of the coaches tease him, and although he loves Pearl, she's more interested in the newer, more exciting trains than boring, quiet little Rusty. BUT, as with all Cinderella stories, he comes out on top in the end; he wins the race (I would say spoiler alert, but it's also like...duh 🙄😂) and gets his dream girl. He's a really likeable underdog character throughout the story though, and he does put up a good fight to come out victorious, which I appreciate - he doesn't just lay down and let everyone walk (well, roll 😉) all over him.

Now, who do I think would be good to play Rusty? Well, as I mention later on in the one-shots, and have potentially mentioned elsewhere too, I weirdly feel like Riven would really like the show. Maybe he has some childhood nostalgia linked to it like I do - maybe his dad took him to see it when he was younger since it involves skating? I don't know all the details, but something within me tells me Riven would like this show lmao. And so, in the spin-off scenario where our characters put on this show (which is the one I'll always lead with in these things), I think he'd want to take a leading role in the directing side of it - and probably spear-headed the campaign for putting it on in the first place tbh haha. BUT, I feel like a lot of people at Camp (because yes, I think they'd do this at Camp; I don't know when else they would all want to put on a show like this lmao) would think the whole thing was an insane idea, and wouldn't want anything to do with it (because it kind of is an insane idea). SO, I think that Riven would not only end up directing most of the show, I also think he'd have to step into Rusty's skates - which wouldn't be as daunting as he initially expected since he knows the show so well already. Plus, besides the backstory element, I just think he'd be a really cute Rusty; his auburn hair is perfect for it, he's a quietly determined guy, and he's an experienced skater, so he'd have no trouble taking on such a demanding role in terms of the skating.

So yeah, Riven would be my first pick. BUT, this new revival of the show that's being performed in London is playing Rusty and Pearl (his love interest, who we'll get to in a minute) in a much more innocent, shy way - and it's freaking adorable. And I think if we were leaning into more of that version of the show, Royce would make a brilliant Rusty if Vivien could be his Pearl. I don't know how likely he'd be to take on another leading role after being thrown into Hairspray like he was in your last Camp Wanamaker story, especially one that required him to be on roller skates the entire time, but I think he'd really nail it with that more innocent, down-trodden interpretation of the character.

But if everyone was willingly getting involved in the show, and they wanted to lean more into the old-school portrayal of Rusty and Pearl, that feels a little older, and more heavily romantically driven, then I feel like Miles and Carrie make SO much sense for those parts. The whole 'chasing after a girl you think is out of your league' thing has both Miles and Rusty written all over, and I think Miles would, again, play that fluctuating determination and defeat really well. Plus, I know this doesn't really mean anything, but his struggles for money do parallel Rusty being this rundown, tattered, but persistent little steam train pretty well... 😂

Ok, now we'll move onto Pearl. Pearl is the newest coach in the little kid's collection, and is therefore the most sought-after racing partner (since all the trains need to race with a coach - idk why, it's just part of the story I suppose lol). Sometimes she's a 'first class' coach, sometimes she's an 'observation car', it doesn't really matter - all that matters is that all the trains want to race with her, and although she has a soft spot for Rusty, who has loved her all along, she gets seduced by the flashiness of his competitors, and it takes her almost getting wrecked in the final race for her to see sense. She can be a little naive sometimes, or will sometimes just blatantly play the field (depending on how you play her), but her heart is always in the right place, which is what still makes her so likeable.

Again, for Pearl I've got multiple options for who could play her, but I'll start with Juliet. The new all-white version of Pearl's costume that they use in the current Bochum production just screams Juliet to me: that sleek sophistication and quiet confidence, but also a touch of flirty, girly charm is so her! And I think she'd make a great leading lady - which is why she's my pick for that spin-off scenario version of the show. Pearl has some great songs, which would be perfect for Juliet to show off more of her voice, with her wanting to be a singer eventually, and with you hinting at Riven and Juliet maybe having a little bit of a fling or something in your last STDP post, having them play the two leads here seems like a perfect fit for them! Rusty thinking Pearl's way out of his league, but Pearl falling for his kindness and good heart anyway - that just screams Riven and Juliet to me! Pearl also has a strong sisterhood-type friendship with the other coaches, which I think really works for Juliet too. And Pearl does try to stand up for what she thinks is right when the bigger trains start taking the competition a little too far - so I think Juliet could bring a great deal of her own strength to her portrayal of the character as well.

Now, my second choice for Pearl, links with the second choice for Rusty above, which is, obviously Vivien. I feel like the new London revival Pearl was MADE for Vivien to play; the whole space-y vibes of the show, the fact that they made her purple, and the fact that they made her this happy little ball of excitement, with a touch more innocence than previous Pearls - she's perfect for Vivien. And the awkwardly adorable, friends-to-lovers arc Rusty and Pearl have in this new revival was practically written for Royce and Vivien lmao - I just think they'd be able to play them brilliantly. And again, like with Juliet, I think Vivien's fiestiness would allow her to bring a lot of strength and determination to Pearl's character that isn't always there - she can sometimes be played quite airy and 'damsel-in-distress-like', but I think Vivien would really ground her.

And my last choice for the role is Carrie - she's not my favourite pick for the role, and I think she'd be better at other parts (as we'll see in a minute lol), but as I said earlier, if Miles is playing Rusty, I think Carrie would make an amazing Pearl opposite him. Their dynamic just fits them so well - Miles pining for her but not feeling like he's good enough, Carrie being blinded to her true feelings by other options (in this situation I feel like Eric would make a great Greaseball lol) but coming around in the end - it's just perfect! And, I truly believe that the song Pearl sings in the original London production, Only He, can only be bodied in the way it deserves to be bodied by my girl Carrie haha. I'm not a big fan of Next Time You Fall In Love, but I do quite like I Do (the replacement options for Only He), and I think Juliet and Vivien would do great renditions of them, but there's just something about the thought of Carrie singing that song that just makes so much sense. I've got an idea for her to sing it in a legitimate story too (that's how obsessed with that song I am lmao), probably linked to the heartache referenced in the little drabble I'll post below, but I feel like she needs to sing it for an actual audience too haha. It's just such a beautiful, powerful, swelling theatre ballad - she'd kill it!!

Alright, now we're getting to the good stuff. This is Greaseball: arguably the main antagonist of the show because, although most of the characters rag on Rusty, a lot of them do so to show their support for Greaseball. They're the reigning, undefeated champion when it comes to the races, so they have quite the ego on them. They're brash, and cocky, and a little brute-ish, but they're also incredibly competitive, which often gets in the way of their better judgement, resulting in a total disregard for everyone else (including their undeservingly loyal girl, Dinah). They're a total showboat and narcissist, but they do have a dopey, lovable side that Dinah helps to bring out towards the end of the show, which does help redeem them haha.

Now, there are two ways that Greaseball can be played: the traditional way, or the new way. For the traditional way (the sort of wannabe-Elvis, old school rockstar portrayal), Butchy feels like an obvious pick. And although I don't think he's anything like Greaseball's character, you know if he had to play him he'd take to the greaser caricature like a duck to water lmao. Plus, if Mick was playing Dinah (which, you'll see in a bit, I think works perfectly for her), they'd make an adorable duo in the show, and I think they'd have a lot of fun hamming up the roles to make them even more ridiculously cartoonish. And if Mick was his Dinah, I think Butchy would do the whole 'crawling back to her with his tail between his legs' schtick soooo well - he'd just melt into a puddle for her the second he apologised for being such a brute haha. The only thing that's holding me back with Butchy is that I don't know how good he'd be at being so mean to his friends - especially if someone like Miles or Royce was playing Rusty haha; he's just too nice! Plus, I don't know how well he could roller skate lmaoo.

OR, the other way Greaseball can be played is like how they've done it in the new London revival of the show: by making her into a fiesty little lesbian. And this is the role I feel like Carrie could really excel at. I just think she'd have sooo much fun with all the showboating and playing up the bravado. It's so different to anything else she's played before that I think she'd have a great time getting to try it out too - and I think she'd really enjoy getting to lean into playing a villain as well. I'm just obsessed with everything about the London revival Greaseball - her costume is so cool, her attitude is so iconic, the way she's adapted the character I just, uh- it's brilliant! And as cool as it could be to try out a male Dinah by getting Miles into some frilly gingham (lol), I think having either Juliet or Mick be her Dinah would work really well. I'll get into why I think Juliet would be a perfect Dinah later, but her dynamic with Carrie if they were to take on these roles would just be perfect; Juliet's mild scolding of Carrie's bruteish behaviour, but her unwavering loyalty regardless, Carrie's brushing off of her affection for the sake of winning, but then realising she didn't know how good she had it with Juliet by the end - aaaah, I love them. But for the spin-off scenario, where Juliet would be playing Pearl, my pick for Dinah would have been Mick - again, I'll elaborate more on why that works so well for her in a bit, but there's something about Mick and Carrie being paired up romantically like this that just entertains me so much, and low-key kind of intrigues me too haha. In my head, the way it would have played out was that they'd approached Butchy with the offer for the role first, hoping that if they also offered Mick to be his love interest, he'd be more likely to accept it. But after he dismissed it so blatantly, and they couldn't get anyone else to convincingly fit the role, Carrie was called upon to take his place - and to get back at Butchy for not even considering the part, Mick decides to take the Dinah role anyway, but doesn't tell him. Because imagine his face when he realises that this role they'd said couldn't be played by anyone but him was not only being played by Carrie, of all people, but that his wife was playing her love interest (and was practically throwing herself at Carrie the whole show)! They'd have so much fun torturing him with it, I just know it haha. And omg Carrie would have a whale of a time with Pumping Iron lmao. Plus, her skating skills can finally come in handy for something lol; she'd be throwing in all the tricks.

Alright, so here's where I started grouping people together because I realised I was rambling far too much about the rest lol. As cool of a character as Electra is concept-wise, I don't think I can talk about them in that much depth haha - they're just not one of my favourites! I don't feel like they have that big of an impact on the story tbh; it feels mostly Rusty/Greaseball centred to me, but it's nice to give Greaseball a bit of real competition in the races I guess haha. Their futuristic, diva-ish vibe is really interesting though, and the fact they have their own entourage is pretty iconic too. But with that all being said, I just don't think there's any of our characters that really fit their archetype, even just in terms of who'd be best at playing them - especially males, since that's what Electra has typically been played as (even though they're nonbinary in the new London revival). I thought it might have been fun to get Donny to play them in the spin-off scenario, because I like to think he's a good enough actor to pull off any role haha - and like with Carrie and Greaseball, I think he'd have a lot of fun with doing something totally different to any of his other roles. I don't quite know how it would come about that he'd ever get involved in an amateur production like this, but in my head I thought it would be cute if, besides Carrie's constant begging and pestering about how they don't have enough people to fill out the cast, he's swayed by the fact that his son's in his 'train' phase at the moment - and so he agrees purely for shits and giggles and getting to make his son excited hahaha. Plus, I think he and Carrie would have a lot of fun getting to play rivals for once instead of lovers lol. And I just know they'd really lean into the comedic side of One Rock 'N' Roll Too Many. But besides Donny, I really have no other good picks. I thought if it was maybe the situation where Butchy was playing Greaseball they could do a female Electra and cast Carrie - because she'd do a fabulous job at selling the glitzy, diva vibes and overall over-the-top dramaticness of the character, and a female Electra would be incredible - but like with Pearl, it's just not my favourite pick for her. More out of necessity than anything haha - although it would be perfect to have Butchy and Carrie playing enemies like that lol.

And then the second one on this list is Poppa/Momma McCoy, who's an old steam engine that takes part in one of the races to help encourage Rusty and prove that steam trains aren't outdated after all. The role has been played by both male and female actors, but it tends to lean more female lately. And whilst I'm sure Grandpa George would happily help the kids out with their show, I have much stronger feelings on different female characters taking on the role.

Firstly, how iconic could it be if Nonna Dawn surprised everyone who wasn't helping out with the show by rolling out to sing Momma's (Poppa's) Blues?? Because that's my main pick for the spin-off scenario and I feel like Viv's face would just be a picture lmaoo. She helped out quite a bit with the stuff in the playhouse in Camp Wanamaker too, so she obviously likes theatre, and she just has that kind of fun, mischievous charm about her, so I feel like when Riven and Carrie would approach her with the idea, she'd love it - especially with that added element of surprise for the audience. And the whole mentor/advice-giver role Momma takes on in the show would work perfectly for Dawn; she's like the embodiment of the voice of reason haha.

My second pick, if you wanted to play Momma a little younger, like the London revival has done (with her playing both Control's mum, and Momma), would be Charlie, because she took a big role in helping out at the playhouse in Camp Wanamaker, and obviously cares a lot about theatre. And she has a really close relationship to Carrie and Riven, so I feel like they'd be able to talk her around to taking part eventually. My only thing holding me back is that part of my feels as though she'd want nothing to do with the production because she'd be too scared someone was gonna get hurt since the whole thing's done on rollerskates - her pseudo-motherly instincts couldn't cope with the stress lmaooo. And if it's in the spin-off scenario, where in my head Vivien's organising a rival production (probably of The Outsiders since you're enjoying it so much atm haha), I feel like Vivien would have already snagged her to help with directing on her project.

And my last potential pick for Momma, in an AU version, and one where Royce or Miles was Rusty, would, of course, be Mrs Murphy. I don't know how she would have done with performing, but Momma obviously takes on a motherly role to Rusty, and the freight/fuel trucks too - so Mrs Murphy taking on that role opposite one of her actual sons, and helping to give them the confidence they need to succeed, just makes so much sense to me! Pretty unlikely scenario, but a fun one to consider nonetheless haha.

Ooh ok, more of my faves again haha. Dinah used to be my all-time favourite growing up, so I have lots of opinions about her. But basically, she's another of the 4 coaches (along with Pearl), and her main role in the show is that she's Greaseball's racing partner (and therefore, essentially also their romantic partner). They have a kind of strained relationship most of the show, because Dinah's totally head-over-wheels (😉) for Greaseball, but Greaseball's also being fawned over by pretty much every other coach, and is reluctant to give in to Dinah's affection for fear of showing any weakness to their opponents - so they can be pretty mean sometimes. BUT, they do have a really cute moment when Greaseball loses in the end and goes back to Dinah to apologise, realising that they still love each other without all the glory of being champions.

She's a pretty confident character though, and is good at standing up for herself when she doesn't think something's right - but she's still able to show her softer, more vulnerable side, which makes her a really well-rounded character imo. There are a few good options for who I'd want to play her though, and although I mention later that Carrie would be a good Dinah, I only think she'd really get cast in the role if she it was an externally produced show, since she only ever lands secondary parts haha. I think she'd be a great Dinah, don't get me wrong, but I just think that if all our characters were in the show, there are better choices for her.

My first one, as mentioned earlier, would be Mick. The brunette hairstyle she's been given lately, as opposed to the blonde, works for Mick so well, and with red being her favourite colour, taking the red from the new London costume but applying it to the more traditional gingham style - aaaah, she'd look adorable. Plus, like I said above, having her play this role opposite Butchy just makes so much sense - but, having her play it opposite Carrie (like she would in my spin-off scenario) would be brilliant. I just think they'd have so much fun with it, especially knowing how weird it would make Butchy feel watching them together, and oddly, I feel like it would help their friendship grow even stronger😂 It's just such an iconic pairing, and I really think they'd do it justice. I think she'd make a really strong-willed Dinah, and as unsteady as I think she'd be on roller skates at first, I think that'd make everyone all the more impressed when they saw her racing and dancing around with everyone else haha - Riven and Carrie would work their magic with teaching her.

And with Dinah being typically played as a sort of 'Southern Belle' type, the obvious pick for Dinah, and one that also makes a ton of sense to me, would, of course, be Juliet. And if she wasn't playing Pearl, this is definitely who I'd have her play. I think she'd be able to lean into the more sensitive, emotional side of Dinah, whilst also keeping a bit of the strength that Mick would bring to her - and you just know that if Carrie was her Greaseball they'd be in their element playing lesbain lovers 👀😂 They'd peak here, I feel. This and Maureen and Joanne in Rent - they'd be untouchable.

I didn't even know whether to include CB in this or not since he's been taken out and put back into the show so many times, but I reference him in one of the one-shots so I thought it was best to. Basically, he's a caboose coach that, in the second act, reveals that he's got a little evil streak behind his oh-so innocent appearance, and that he's actually notorious for wrecking the trains he races behind. So, (although I don't think it's ever actually explained why lol) he teams up with Greaseball and Electra to trick Rusty into racing with him, only to try wrecking him in the big final race. Naturally, it doesn't work, but hey, he acts as a zany little extra antagonist, which I'm never going to complain about haha.

Like I mention later on, I think Riven would feel kind of drawn to this role - especially because of the softer side we see with him when he comforts Dinah after Greaseball ditches her (for being too moral for their dirty racing tactics lol). Plus, there's that 'red' motif again that would work with his auburn hair - and I think he'd be able to play that coolly sly, kind of crazily sadistic twist well because of how chill he is normally. That switch would be so jarring! But, perhaps an even more jarring option, I think Bentley could also do this part really well. He'd be the perfect, innocent mask to begin with because he's so little and smiley - but then I think he'd have a lot of fun getting to flip that on its head and be the complete antithesis of his usual ball of sunshine personality to be a little crazy criminal instead. Obviously he's nothing like that normally, but acting-wise, if he felt confident enough with it, I think he could really do it justice! And it'd make an even cooler contrast if one of his brothers was playing Rusty; that betrayal would be even harsher!

Alright, now onto the coaches. Let's try to speed through these because I already know I've wasted far too much of your time lmao. If you're still reading at this point, I'm actually pretty impressed 😂 The coaches have changed a bunch over the years, mostly for things going out of fashion (*cough cough* Ashley the smoking car lol) - but the current ones in the London revival are Belle the sleeping car and Tassita the quiet coach. Since these are smaller, more generic parts, I don't really have as much to say about them. But, for Belle I thought that Jade might be a good pick, because I know she can sing since she's in Riven's band, and idk, maybe she naps a lot? 😂 Either way, even though she's said before that she can't act to save her life, I don't think she'd have to act a great deal in this role - but she can sing and skate, and that's enough to give her the confidence to agree to help out in my book haha. And for Tassita, who's the first coach to ever be played by a male performer, which is pretty cool, I thought August might be a fun pick - you know, because he's such a quiet guy himself lol. Besides that though, I've always thought he'd be a good performer (he was originally going to have a part on Find Your Voice after all), and although, like Jade, I don't think he'd have a great deal of confidence at first - especially in a role that still appears quite feminine when he's not totally secure about his sexuality - but I think they'd be able to tweak both the part and the costume until it was something he'd feel comfortable doing. And once he started working on it, I think it'd be really good at bringing him out of his shell! Plus, I like to think he's got a really good voice hidden behind all that shyness - so this is an excuse to finally bring it out into the open hehe.

Other coaches that could be worked in from other productions are Buffy the buffet car, Duvet the sleeper car (an alternate to Belle), Carrie the luggage car (what a coincidence lol), or, the original Belle the sleeping car, from the original London production way back in the 80s. Belle didn't really do a great deal plot-wise besides help motivate Rusty, and Dinah and the rest of the coaches in the second act when they're ditched by the trains they race with (please, Starlight Express producers, bring back the Rolling Stock reprise; it's iconic lmao) - but if for some reason they wanted to use her in the show, I think Charlie would be a great pick for her. She'd give her all the old-school glamour and girl-power she deserves haha. And I think she'd look iconic in that red costume.

Finally, my last category: the freight/fuel trucks. Well, actually just the fuel trucks. I thought about including the freight trucks too, but tbh, I don't really have any strong opinions on any of them, and this post is already far too long, so I just left them out lol. But, like the coaches, the fuel trucks are just more racing partner options for the trains. Some have bigger parts than others, but their main purpose is providing fuel (shocking, I know ha). They're new to the London revival though, and tbh I like them more than the freight trucks; they feel more central to the plot - even if it did make the song Freight significantly worse lmao.

And speaking of central to the plot, Hydra, the hydrogen fuel truck is the new reason why Rusty wins the final race (because before it didn't really make that much sense tbh lmao); he's now powered by hydrogen steam, which gives him the advantage over his opponents. And throughout the show, despite the other fuel trucks ragging on Hydra for being too new and dangerous in comparison to their more reliable fuel sources, he ignores them and stands by his belief in his fuel. The only pick in my mind for Hydra because of this though is Ethan - and although I have no idea if he'd ever have any remote interest in acting, especially in a musical theatre production, you know he's so loyal to his friends he'd do anything to help them out if they asked. And, I think he'd just think the idea was so weird he'd be down to participate just for the hell of it lol. But Hydra's way of not caring what anyone else thinks of him, and sticking to his own beliefs, is so Ethan to me - plus, they just have that same, chilled, laid back vibe. And, naturally, they both have that kind of green motif 😉🍃 So yeah, for me, Ethan has to be Hydra - and no matter who's playing Rusty, I feel like he'd vibe enough with all of them for him to jump at the chance to help them out like Hydra helps Rusty in the show. And it'd finally give him an excuse to use those roller skating skills I know he's hiding somewhere despite his usually terrible clumsiness ha.

For Porter (the red coal truck) I think Zack could maybe play him? Not completely sold on that idea because I don't think he'd really vibe with musicals, but if August roped him into helping out I think he'd begrudgingly agree - and Porter basically does nothing anyway, so he couldn't really complain lol. And for Lumber (the blue timber truck) I picked Erica - not only because her blue hair would look sick with an all-blue costume like that, but also because the thought of Jade and Erica flirting as their characters during the little bickering section between the coaches and the fuel trucks in the song Freight had me weak at the knees. So if they were both in it, their characters would 100% be in love, no questions asked - I need flirty trucks and coaches hahaha.

So then the final role I'm passionate about is Slick, the oil truck, which is the new London revival's answer to CB, since she not only takes on his main song, but also the whole concept of wanting to race with Rusty to wreck him and help out the competition. This revival also gives her a monetary aim though, which is good for giving her more of a motive, I suppose. I don't really know how trains are supposed to use money, but it's at least a reason, which is more than we had before lmao. I think Abby would be such a good pick for Slick though - I'd want to make her a little more girly, giving her some different hair (like my little reference picture, or maybe something like some fun bubble braids or something - like oil bubbles 👀) and a more feminine costume - but I think having a pretty important role like that would help bring out her confidence with performing a lot, without totally throwing her out of her comfort one with a big main role. I think she'd like the added challenge and fun that the villainous twist Slick has would bring though; it'd give her something a bit different to play with. And with Slick's colour palette mirroring Greaseball's, and her being an oil truck, makes me thing that Abby would really want to lean into making Slick a little Greaseball fangirl, who is constantly looking up to her and wanting to impress her (and hence giving her even more motivation to wreck Rusty and help Greaseball win the race) - which I think would also nicely mirror how much Abby would look up to Carrie (an established actress already) if they were to ever meet. I just think it works really well for her, and I love how the show's leaning more into mixing the genders of the coaches and the freight trucks - even if the costumes are still leaning more feminine and masculine respectively, I think our characters would have more fun tailoring them to each performer's preferences. Because come on, Abby being a pretty girly, but still menacing, little secondary villain would be so cool - she needs to let her rebellious side shine!

Excuse the TMM spacer lol, I'm too lazy to go make a new one lmao. Anyway, if you made it through all that, you really are a true friend haha - because that was soooo much insane rambling. But, I do feel better for dumping it out of my mind and onto a page. Maybe now I can finally stop obsessing over it and get back to writing the stories I should be working on. But hopefully this was a little fun post to switch things up a bit! And hopefully you at least liked it half as much as I enjoyed your Outsiders post haha. If, for some bizarre reason, you actually are interested in the show, then just let me know because I have a slime tutorial (*wink wink*) of the new revival I'd happily send you the link to, because I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. But even if not, like I said, this was just a bit of silly fun to give all these ideas a home. It's not a complex show, and it doesn't have particularly elevated songs or characters, but the orchestrations are clever, the costumes and theatrics are amazing, and it's all done on roller skates - so it'll always have a special, fun spot in my heart hehe. I've linked a video of the megamix at the end of the new London revival for you to get a bit of a vibe of what the show's like without having to watch the whole thing too if you want hehe - at least this way you can see some of the skating and costumes in action! And, as promised, as a reward for sitting through the insanity of this post, here are two little drabbles with our characters as a reward.

The first centres around the song There's Me, and a pairing I think works particularly well for it, that I'm dying to see/write more of - it's also plucked out of that Camp Wanamaker spin-off I wanted to do that I'm not sure will ever materialise. But consider this a sneak peek into what would have gone down lol. And the second is a litle bit of what the chaos the concept of Riven and Vivien putting on rivalling productions would have brought about haha. For context, I think although Riven would have bagged Carrie for his show straight away, Vivien would have furiously retaliated by claiming everyone else in their cabin for hers - hence the competitiveness that ensues. Enjoy! Hopefully they're not too weird to not still be enjoyable anyway 😅😂

The dusty deck creaked as a scuffed, black Converse nudged into her periphery. But her eyes never left the lake - as grey as the thick blanket of clouds overhead, and as bleak as her outlook.

"The laundry house, really?" the voice demanded, pausing to give the girl a chance to explain herself.

She did not.

Sighing, the guest realised this was going to be harder than he expected. After all, he wasn't used to her being this…subdued. "You know, I just think it's a testament to our friendship that I was the only one who knew to look for you here," he offered with a playful smile…that went completely unnoticed. Frowning as the girl continued to ignore his very existence, he let out another sigh, this one as he lowered himself down and took up the space beside her, nudging the sole of her now off-white sneaker with his knee to draw her out of her thoughts. "Come on, Carrie. I'm trying here," he said. But when he leant forwards to try to get a clearer look at her face, and found her cheeks marred with glistening tracks in her foundation, and her puffy eyes speckled with remnants of her mascara, his frustration waned. "You can't hide from them forever," he gently added.

"I want to," Carrie murmured.

"You don't mean that," he tried.

"I do; at least that way I wouldn't be able to fuck things up any more than I already have," she limply insisted.

"You didn't-"

"Don't give me that, Riven; I know I did," Carrie said, cutting him off with an exasperated huff. "I shouldn't have done it, I shouldn't have yelled at them like that. But I was just in such a bad mood after that class, and I was so fed up with everything, so then to come back to all that I just…"

"...Let all those years of bottled up frustration out?" Riven offered.

"Something like that," Carrie mumbled, dropping her gaze to her lap, knowing that if she actually made eye contact with the boy her resolve would start to crumble in an instant.

"Hmm," he began, murmuring his understanding as he took his turn to look out across the lake. "I heard it wasn't pretty."

Although Riven was no longer looking at her, he saw her dark blonde curls trembling out of the corner of his eye as she shook her head.

"I'm so embarrassed," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. A fresh tear plopped onto her thigh as she kept her watery gaze steady, praying she'd be able to get a handle on her waterworks for once. "They hate me for sure now."

"They never hated you, Carrie," Riven promised, turning back to her again as though it would persuade her to believe him.

But Carrie proved to be as stubborn as ever, completely bypassing the comment with a mournful smile she still couldn't bring herself to lift from the floor. "All that time I spent trying to win them over…down the drain, all because I had a shit day and lost my cool."

"I don't know, I'd still say you're pretty cool," Riven tried with a playful lopsided grin, bumping her shoulder until she turned to see it for herself.

When she did finally turn to face him though, it was with that flat, annoyed frown that always just egged him on more. "This isn't a joke," she grumbled, but Riven's little chuckle said otherwise.

"I'm not saying it is," he countered. "I'm just letting you know it's gonna take a hell of a lot more than one dumb argument for me to stop thinking you're cool. Come on, you're Caroline Cole: entertainer extraordinaire-"

"Why are you doing this?" Carrie stopped his playful bolstering in its tracks with a weary sigh.

"Because I want to," Riven said, standing firm in his optimism. "Come on, I hate seeing you like this," he pressed on fitfully, uneasy with her uncharacteristic despondency. She was usually the life and soul of the party in that playhouse, now she had all the energy of a wet paper towel. Hoping to distract her with a little healthy competition, he added, "We should be out there crushing Erica's cabin at volleyball right now."

"Well forgive me, but I'm not really in the mood," Carrie flatly retorted.

"What are you in the mood for?" he challenged, with a primarily jovial tone, but a hint of creeping frustration. "Moping about like a kicked puppy?"

"Yes, actually," she snipped. "Hate to be the bearer of bad news but I can't be the 'smiling showgirl' 24/7…" Her frown twitched into the faintest of wistful smiles as her voice trailed off, carrying her focus back into the turmoil unfolding within her own head. "I'm allowed to have emotions, I'm just not allowed to show them," she went on to explain with a quiet, self-loathing huff. "'Cause that's when things always turn to shit."

All Riven's teasing intent slipped away, seeping into the damp wood beneath them, as it began to dawn on him that there may have been more to her dramatic disappearance than what he'd initially thought. "...This is about more than just you yelling at the boys, isn't it?" he slowly asked, treading carefully, as though to not set off a bomb.

And yet, Carrie dropped one on him anyway.

"I think Miles and I are gonna break up, Riv."

The words hung in the muggy air between them, not daring to be believed.

Stunned, hazel eyes settled on Carrie's profile, unable to tear themselves away until she explained herself. So, she began to talk. Slowly but surely, she unravelled the tangle of thoughts in her head, laying them out before her friend, praying that his sensible, perceptive mind could help her make sense of them. "It's just…not felt right this summer. It's like he's…pulling away, or something," she started, still avoiding eye contact at all costs. At least that way she could keep a handle on her tears, even if her mouth did start to run away from her instead. "And the arguing with Royce never helps, but it's just been getting worse instead of better and I can tell he's getting frustrated with it, but I'm trying and nothing's working and I don't understand why and that's making me frustrated, which makes the bickering worse, I just-" She stopped to snatch a breath, only to blow out all her remaining self-confidence with it. "I feel like I've got no fight left anymore. I can't see it getting better. And when I know Miles would always side with his brothers, and everyone else would side with him if things went south… I don't know, it just kind of stings, I guess; one wrong move and I lose them all. No matter what I do, I'd still be left out on my own."

"Don't lump me in with that."

Startled, Carrie lost her focus and turned to the boy; she'd been so lost in her own thoughts she'd forgotten she wasn't alone anymore. But even when she searched his expression, his comment still made no sense. "What do you mean?"

"Well don't say I'd never speak to you again if things with you and Miles didn't work out," he explained as though it was the simplest thing in the world. "Which they totally will by the way, but that's beside the point," he tacked on as that playful chuckle of his started creeping back into his voice. "Of course I'd still speak to you; you can't get rid of me that easily."

"Really?" Carrie asked, wary despite the hopeful glint in her ocean eyes.

"Yes, really, idiot," he snorted. "I'm not just friends with you 'cause you're dating Miles, you're my drama buddy," he went on to explain with a grin holding nothing but fond sincerity. "You're the only one that keeps me sane in that playhouse, and even then you're so ridiculous I can only take you seriously like 60% of the time. Plus, I did see you naked that one time-"

"I was not- it was just my top."

The frustrated tone shining through in the way she had cut him off, and the way she had hurriedly returned to avoiding his gaze, struck Riven down. "Oh my god, you didn't even laugh at the bikini story. This really is bad," he said - again, half-joking, half-genuinely-concerned. Reaching behind him, his fingers closed around glossy wood as a teasing smile started to tug at his lips. "I didn't want it to have to come to this…"

Hearing fingers start plucking at guitar strings, Carrie's bewildered frown deepened as she turned back to him. "What are you doing?"

"I can't help it, you've left me no choice," he chuckled, cheesily grinning back at her and continuing to lazily pluck out a melody. "I'm not leaving until I've cheered you up - even if that means resorting to music."

"Come on, Riv," Carrie wearily groaned, not nearly as amused by the offer as he'd hoped she would be. "Stop, I'm not in the mood. Can't you just leave me alone?"

The plucking stopped and Riven sat the guitar fully back in his lap, his own brows now starting to furrow. "They really got you this time, huh?"

Carrie sighed as she dropped her gaze to her lap again. "I don't like to show it normally 'cause I know they don't always mean it, they just want to get a rise out of me," she slowly confessed. "But it was…different last night. It's felt different since we arrived."

"I really thought you guys were getting somewhere," Riven softly mused, just as perplexed by the sudden nosedive in amiability as the others in the cabin.

"So did I," Carrie agreed, smiling painfully down at a knot in the wood. A million things she wanted to say swirled in her head, but none of her thoughts were quite able to be fit into words - nothing that could make a coherent sentence anyway. She didn't know whether to get mad, and let the rest of her pent up anger spill across the deck until she'd rid herself of it completely. She didn't know whether to just push it to the back of her mind again, put on a brave face and swan back into camp as though nothing was wrong at all. She didn't know whether to stay hidden, avoiding everyone at the cabin and all her problems at the same time. At least that way she wouldn't have to face them again, or have to try to explain herself and her inexcusable temperament to Miles. God, he was probably so mad at her right now.

More and more thoughts flew through her mind, hitting the walls of her skull like rabid animals until her head pounded and her resolve broke down. Helpless tears started to slip from her eyes as the hopelessness of her position washed over her all over again. She felt a hand on her back that brought her back to her senses in an instant though - having forgotten, yet again, that she wasn't alone out here. She sniffed and hurriedly patted away the tears, trying to salvage what little of her makeup still remained. "Guess I'm not such a heartless bitch after all," she offered, managing a melancholy chuckle at her predicament that, although was an improvement, still did nothing to show Riven that she was feeling more like her usual self.

In fact, he just felt more concerned than ever. Carrie was strong-willed and stubborn, bold and exuberant - not the shying, insecure, tearful shell of a girl before him. He'd already suspected that her confidence had been knocked this summer thanks to the rather personal disruption at the playhouse, but this was worse than he thought. And he couldn't stand by in good conscience and watch her fire be extinguished.

Setting his guitar back into position, he began plucking at the strings again. Carrie shot him another questioning look, with a slightly annoyed huff, but he stuck to his guns and kept playing, offering her nothing but a cheesy, comforting grin in response. "Complain all you want," he chuckled. "But I'm not gonna stop playing."

Although Carrie just rolled her eyes, she did manage a small, resigned laugh as she gave up on the pushback. And soon, to her surprise, lyrics began to accompany his playing - as gentle and reassuring as his own intent.

All alone, you think you're on your own You think there's no one in the world who cares for you That isn't true, there's me May not be, the one you want to see But if you need someone who's kind then look behind And then you'll find, there's me

I'll be near, standing by Never fear, you can cry But in a while, you will smile And I'll be there to see

By yourself you have to cry yourself Nobody else can cry the tears you have to cry But I will try, there's me Until then, when you're okay again You'll look around, find I'm no longer there I'll still be near somewhere You're not alone, there's me There's always me

I'll still be near somewhere You're not alone; there's me There's always me...

The soft, yet cheeky smiles Riven kept shooting the girl as he sang, paired with the meaning behind the words, and the added special meaning to them both, meant that by the time his strumming faded to silence, Carrie was finally grinning back at him.

"You really came all the way out here to serenade me with a musical theatre song from the 80s?" she asked with a teasing chuckle, wiping away the last traces of any tears with the heel of her hand.

"It worked, didn't it?" he teasingly fired back with a satisfied smirk.

"Touché," she giggled, before hitting with a further pointed eyebrow raise. "But Starlight? Really?"

"Again: it worked, didn't it?" he retorted with a snort of laughter she was all too happy to reciprocate.

"You are way too attached to that show," she chuckled, teasingly bumping his arm.

"It's about roller skating trains - how can I not be attached to it?"

"I don't know, ask literally anyone else at camp," Carrie snorted back, referring to the many attempts the pair had made to try to get even just one of their friends to give the show a chance.

Knowing exactly what the blonde was talking about, Riven just shot her a grin. "They'll come around eventually, trust me."

Giving an equally confident, yet slightly more playful grin back, Carrie conceded with another giggle before continuing. "And when they do, I think you've proven you'd make an excellent CB."

Riven pressed a hand to his chest. "I think that might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me," he said with a comically dramatic earnestness that just had Carrie rolling her eyes again.

"Shut up, I compliment you all the time," she retorted, and her smile only broadened when Riven showed no signs of pushing back. "I'm serious though; if you ever manage to convince Nonna you don't need to be sectioned for suggesting we stage the show, I think you'd be great."

Biting back a laugh, Riven instead decided to lead with sincerity. "Only if you'd be my Dinah," he bargained with a fond, yet knowing grin she, again, gladly shared. But it wasn't long before he started rambling again. "But I'd sacrifice that if it meant you could be Pearl…"

With an affectionate shake of her head, Carrie playfully sighed, "I never play the lead - I can't break my streak now, you know that."

Taking his turn to roll his eyes, he retorted with. "Pearl is not the lead; the whole show's about Rusty."

"Ok well maybe you can play Rusty then, Mr Know-It-All," Carrie teasingly fired back as the pair fell back into their typical, theatre-based ramblings - idly chattering away without a care in the world as the wind pulled the clouds across the sky.

It wasn't until Carrie saw the sunlight skittering across the lake, and heard the distant chatter of counsellors start up again, that she realised her head had finally stopped pounding, and her chest no longer felt as though someone had carved a giant hole into it. Astonished, but grateful nonetheless, Carrie turned back to Riven with a smile. "Thanks for coming to find me, Riv."

Grinning contentedly back, he replied, "Well, I don't like thinking of you being sad. You're like my fun, crazy, big sister - I can't have you moping around like a sadsack."

"You really think of me like a sister?"

"Of course. We don't always understand each other, and I tease the shit out of you at every opportunity I get, but that doesn't mean I don't care about you. You always make me laugh, you're insanely talented, you give the best advice, but you're honest when you need to be - you're everything I'd want in a big sister. Plus, like I said, you're my drama buddy. The shit we put up with from those campers has bonded us for life, whether you like it or not."

Unable to hold back her laughter any longer, it spilled out from her grateful smile as she reached out and wrapped him in a big hug, nestling her face into the well-worn cotton of his hoodie.

"And you give great hugs," he playfully added, mumbling through her mane of frizzy, golden curls.

"Thanks, Riv," she murmured between giggles, letting herself melt into the comforting reassurance of his embrace.

"Any time, Care Bear."

Sitting back, scouring his half-finished painting with an acutely analytical gaze, Bentley didn't even hear the door to the art barn open, let alone the footsteps that followed. He squinted his eyes, tilted his head from side to side, screwed up his mouth in concentration… And then his vision went dark.

Blinking, eyelashes brushed against an old t-shirt masquerading as a blindfold. But before he could try to question the ambush, a quiet voice broke through his haze of confusion.

"Alright, listen to what I say, or this is not gonna be pretty."

A chuckle couldn't help but slip from Bentley's lips, immediately relaxing as he recognised the voice. "Is that your attempt at sounding threatening?"

"I was actually trying to be reassuring," August countered with a bashful chuckle of his own.

"Oh, well then consider me reassured," Bentley laughed, still idly toying with his paintbrush. "As reassured as anyone can be when they're randomly blindfolded on a Wednesday afternoon. What are you doing anyway?"

"I need to take you somewhere, so put the brush down and get up - but don't go too fast; I've gotta make sure you don't bump into anything," August ordered, tying the old t-shirt in place before clumsily helping the blonde stand, taking him by the shoulders and leading him towards the door.

"Where the hell are we going?" Bentley asked, after they had navigated the stairs in a (somewhat) successful manner - consisting of only one giggling fit, and one almost-total-collapse - as he felt them move from the wooden deck to the uneven grass.

"I'm not allowed to tell you, but it's nothing bad, trust me."

"Who's forcing you to kidnap me and parade me across camp like a prisoner?"

"You'll find out in a minute," August chuckled, steering him around a tree stump. "But just know that it's nothing bad."

"Well I'd hope not - I'd hate to think you'd willingly be involved in leading me to my demise," Bentley snorted, before continuing with his idle rambling. "Who's roped you into taking me captive anyway?"

"I don't know if I can say; they didn't give me much briefing, and I don't think they expected you to be this…chatty."

Bentley laughed. "Well then they should have sent a more intimidating kidnapper."

"They didn't want to scare you, they just needed you away from Vivien," August admitted, immediately falling silent for a few steps. "...I don't know if I was supposed to say that."

"Ohhh, ok then, so I'm being taken hostage by the competition?" Bentley chuckled through a smirk as he began to piece the puzzle together.

"...Maybe," August confirmed as he rounded the blonde and started to lead him up a new set of steps from the front to make sure he didn't lose his footing. "But if they ask then you figured it out on your own - you didn't hear it from me."

"Well it's not like I had many options; it was either that or some weird camp event I didn't pay attention to the announcement for," Bentley laughed to himself as he blindly stuck his foot out, almost completely missing the step until August repositioned him. "What do they need me for? Information about how our rehearsals are going? And how are you in cahoots with them anyway? Are you abandoning our show for theirs?"

"What? No, just… Hang on, gimme a second," August fumbled through his excuses, fighting to nudge the door open with his foot before carefully pulling his friend inside. "Alright, we're here. Just sit down and listen to what they've got to say, they'll explain everything," he continued, keeping his voice down as he offered the boy further reassurances he was sure he wasn't supposed to.

Once Bentley was situated on what felt like a metal fold-out chair, August gave his shoulder one last reassuring squeeze before untying the old t-shirt and lifting it away from his eyes. Oddly though, even with the blindfold removed, Bentley could hardly see a thing; whatever cabin they were in had black-out cloths draped across the windows, leaving the room in complete darkness. Well, at least that explained why it had taken August so long to navigate him across the room.

"Uhh… Hello?" Bentley tried, calling out into what felt like a completely empty room if the thick silence he was met with was anything to go by.

But before he could question his situation any further, a light sprang to life beside him, so bright he had to jerk his head back to save himself from temporary blindness.

Wincing, he tried to take in his now significantly more illuminated surroundings, only to find that he was sitting at a scuffed, fold-out table, occupying the very lamp that seemed to give off more light than the sun itself. Other than that, the rest of the room was swimming in darkness, creating a rather effective interrogation set-up, which he suspected the masterminds behind his kidnapping had hoped for.

And speaking of these masterminds, just as the afterimages were finally starting to fade from his vision, a figure rolled out of the darkness and up to the table. Yes, quite literally rolled.

They set their hands on the tabletop in front of him and presented the boy with a smug smile. "Hello, Bentley."

"What are you doing?" Bentley asked, snorting out a laugh at the surreal nature of the entire situation.

"We have a…preposition for you," Riven slowly explained, his smug smile only broadening.

"We?" Bentley questioned. "There are more weirdos than you tied up in this thing?"

Suddenly the lamp head was wrenched back, sending the beam of light directly at his face, once again making him jerk his head back. "And just who do you think you're calling a weirdo?"

Eyes watering from the visual assault, Bentley squinted through the brightness until he found a tanned hand clamped around the lamphead. Following it up, he found an all-too-familiar, shadowed face, framed by a mane of unruly golden curls. "Not you?" Bentley offered with a lopsided smile.

Thankfully, the gesture was enough to appease Carrie, who tilted the lamphead back into position - but not before she shot the boy a satisfied smirk in response.

"You got any other questions? Or can we get down to business?" Riven asked.

"Uh, yeah: what's with the kidnapping?" Bentley fired back, sporting an amused smirk of his own. "You so worried you'll lose the bet you're turning to torturing the competition?"

"What? No! We just needed you away from the boss," Riven laughed, his comically threatening act disappearing in seconds as he referenced his pint-sized figure skating partner. "Like I said, we've got a preposition for you."

"Couldn't you have just asked me in the dining hall? Or in my room or something?" Bentley went on to ask, still having to squint from the light.

"Well yeah, but where's the fun in that?" came Riven's snorted reply, to which Carrie just grinned and nodded in agreement.

Bentley shook his head at the pair, evidently equally matched in their passion for dramatising the most menial things. "This is so dumb," he breathed, fighting back a smile at the ridiculousness of their whole set-up. "What do you want then? What's this preposition thing?"

Carrie and Riven exchanged a glance, giving each other a confirmatory nod before turning back to the blonde. "…We need your help."

"With what?"

"With the show," Riven clarified.

"The show? Your show?" Bentley spluttered, eyes darting between the pair, looking for any evidence of jesting, yet finding nothing. "I don't understand," he slowly continued. "Why do you want my help? I've got no idea what I'm doing with all this theatre stuff. I'm out of my depth with Viv's show as it is. Plus, I already agreed to be in her's - I can't help out the competition."

"Why not? I am."

Bentley's ears pricked up as a new voice entered the conversation, and to his amazement, when he turned to follow it, he saw a grinning brunette emerging from the darkness on Carrie's right.

"Mick?! You jumped ship?" Bentley asked, gawping at the grinning girl as though she'd just grown a second nose. "Does Viv know?"

"No, I didn't jump ship," Mick chuckled as she perched on the edge of the fold-out table. "I'm helping out with both."

"What? Why?"

"'Cause I wanted to," she snorted simply. "It's not like there's rules against it. This whole thing's just for fun anyway."

"Yeah, it's not actually a competition - we just both wanted to put on different shows," Riven added.

"Well could you let Viv know that? She's treating this like we're at war - we've all been sworn to secrecy," Bentley said, chuckling at his friend's competitive spirit.

"Oh we know, we already tried to get Mick to squeal but she wouldn't budge," Carrie said, sharing a knowingly playful glance with the brunette.

"And luckily, they had a cool job for me besides just being their spy," Mick cheekily added. "Or else all the effort it took to brainwash me would have been for nothing."

"Which is…?" Bentley tried.

"I'm building the stage," Mick revealed with a proud grin.

Bentley's eyes went wide. "You guys need to build your own stage?"

Riven and Carrie shared another knowing smirk. "If we want the show to be as awesome as it deserves to be then yeah, it needs a custom stage," Riven confirmed.

"And since Butchy and Miles refused to even hear us out, Mickie stepped up to the plate to handle it all on her own," Carrie added, looping her arm through the brunette's with a fond grin. "And she's doing a way better job than either of those two bozos would have done anyway."

"Well, I don't know about that…" Mick said with a roguish chuckle. "But I am doing a pretty damn good job."

"Does this mean you're helping with both shows too?" Bentley then asked, turning behind him to look for the friend who'd brought him here, who could do nothing but offer him a sheepish smile.

"...Yeah," August slowly admitted, before adding a quieter: "You know I'm terrible at saying 'no' to things."

"So your solution is just doing twice the work?" Bentley asked incredulously, the information just serving more of a purpose to fuel his growing need to help August grow a backbone.

"Well they're not big parts-" he tried to reason.

"You're actually in both of them?" Bentley demanded, his eyes practically popping out of his head when he saw the knee and elbow pads the boy was sporting. "But you don't know how to roller skate."

"They're teaching me," August chuckled, shooting Carrie and Riven a grateful smile. And when Bentley's disbelieving gaze found theirs, they just offered him smug grins and little waves, showing off their own elbow pads as they did so.

Bentley's shock jumped to a whole new level when he spotted Mick's elbow pads though. "You're in it too, Mickie?!"

"Well I didn't like how quickly Butchy dismissed them when they asked him to take part," Mick began, smirking at the very thought. "So I thought I'd teach him a lesson about not judging things at face level."

"Well, we should have known not to expect his neanderthal brain to be able to comprehend such complex concepts as 'having fun'," Carrie retorted with a cheeky dig Mick luckily started to laugh at.

"I've gotta admit, it did sound really corny at first. But once you get past the fact it's all about trains, the show is pretty fun," Mick confessed.

"Duh, of course it's fun, we're directing it," Carrie added, gesturing to the auburn-haired giant behind her, who just laughed in his approval.

"The whole show's done on roller skates - I still don't understand how anyone could know that and not automatically think it's awesome," Riven said between his chuckles.

But at that revelation, Bentley's eyes started to grow wide again. "Hold on, you're not expecting me to have a part in your show too, are you?" he asked, horrified at the very idea. "I barely have a handle on what I'm doing in Viv's already, and that's just one show. Plus, I can't even roller skate so-"

"No, we don't need you to be in it," Riven cut in with a chuckle before the blonde's anxious ramblings could make him run out of breath.

"Unless you want to be in it, then we'd totally find you a part," Carrie tagged on with an encouraging grin.

"And teach you how to skate," Riven added with a mischievous smirk. "If we can teach Mick, we can teach anyone."

And although Mick's playful whack of Riven's arm did help him relax a touch, Bentley's stance on their offer was still firm: "No thanks, I'm good." But his curiosity was still running rampant as the others giggled at his reaction. "Well if you don't need me to have a part in the show, then what did you need my help for?"

"We wanted to see if you'd be willing to help us with designing and making the costumes," Riven explained.

Bentley thought he had to have misheard him. "The costumes?"

"Yeah," Riven chuckled at the boy's expression. "What's that face for?"

"I don't know the first thing about making costumes - I've never worked with fabric in my life."

Riven and Carrie exchanged another glance. "That's kind of why we need your help," Carrie started.

But when Bentley just looked more confused than ever, Riven went on to explain. "None of the stuff in the playhouse storage bins will work because, well, they're just regular people clothes, so we need to design our own stuff. Juliet's already said she can help construct any actual clothing garments we need, but our main problem is how to actually use the outfits to make us look like trains."

Bentley's thoughts came to a screeching halt. "Wait…you guys are the trains?"

"Yeah."

"You're acting as trains? Singing trains?" They had to be pranking him, right?

"Uh, yeah," Carrie said, sharing another quick glance with Riven.

"What did you think the show was about?" he snorted.

"I don't know, I thought you were just like people working on a railroad or something," Bentley retorted with an incredulous splutter.

"Well we're not, we're the trains," Riven chuckled.

"Yeah, why else would we need to do the whole thing on wheels?" Mick added with a playful wiggle of her skate-clad foot.

"So what? You want me to…make you look like trains?" Bentley warily asked. "Like with big chimneys coming out of your heads and stuff?"

Fondly rolling her eyes at Bentley's poor attempts at stifling his laughter, Carrie stepped in to try to explain the proposal a little more clearly. "No - we just need to capture the vibe of trains - you don't need to shove us all in cardboard box models. We can show you the costumes of the official productions so you can get an idea of the sort of things we're looking for, but we don't have a huge budget, so we're gonna have to get creative - hence why we came to you," she finished with a proud grin.

"All we want you to do is draw up some concepts that make us look enough like a train to sell the illusion to the audience. And as long as they're moveable enough for us to skate in, and can be constructed from stuff we've got access to, the rest of the design can be totally down to you," Riven added.

"So basically you've got free reign to make us look as ridiculous as you want," Mick tacked on with a chuckle.

"But try to be a little nice with it," August gently offered from behind, which just set Bentley off to laugh more.

He did have to admit that the offer sounded quite tempting. After all, he'd never worked on anything like costume designs before - and from the sounds of things, this concept would let him get pretty creative with it; these weren't just average costumes - in fact, they were probably more sculpture than costume anyway. But there was something still holding him back. "I don't know, guys. I don't know if I've got the brain space to work on two shows at once-"

"Oh please, Bentley - come on," Riven pleaded. "We'll look like complete morons out there if we don't have good costumes."

"We will," Mick earnestly confirmed. "Trust me, It's not pretty."

"Well if I'm on Vivien's side then don't I want you guys to look like complete morons?" he asked with a mischievous giggle.

"Maybe, but where's the fun in a landslide victory?" Riven countered with a smirk.

"Come on, Benny, please," came Carrie's attempt at begging. "I'll sit with you and help you learn all your lines whilst you work on the costumes."

Bentley's ears pricked up. "...Really?"

"Mhm," she confirmed with a kind nod. "And I can give you all my tips for breaking down the script into easier parts to manage; I know they can seem really daunting when you try to go through them all at once."

Now that sounded like an offer he could get behind. He'd already been toying with the idea of asking Carrie for help with the seemingly impossible task of learning his lines, but had chickened out every time. There were just so many - it was like they all blurred into one every time he'd even open a page. And he hated the thought of letting Vivien down because he couldn't get his brain to work how he wanted it to, so if Carrie could actually help him get through a scene without having to look at his script the entire time… Maybe it'd be worth giving up a few pages of his sketchbook to designing train-transformer-wannabes.

But he couldn't let them think he was that easy of a target… "I don't know guys, it just doesn't feel right going behind Viv's back like this-"

"Oh come on, Benny, please," Carrie tried again, with a touch more dramatic desperation.

"I'll do your dish duty for the rest of summer," Riven attempted to bribe.

But that just spurred on Bentley's reluctance even more. After all, he was rather curious about what else he could squeeze out of the pair to help sweeten the deal. "...I'm listening."

"You can have the rest of my pudding cups with dinner each night?" Riven offered. "And you don't have to go behind Viv's back," he added. "Don't go and tell her outright, but if she asks you about it then you're totally free to tell her. And if she's not happy about it, you can back out any time you want."

"Well, okay, but I still don't know if I'll have the time to-"

"If you say 'yes' we'll get you that rare Spiderman comic you want," Riven threw out in a moment of sheer desperation.

Bentley's heart skipped a beat. Damn, they really did want his help.. "...Seriously?" he breathed, eyes widening at the very prospect.

"Sure, Carrie'll cover it - won't you, Carrie?" Riven confirmed with a smirk as he gave the blonde's shoulder a squeeze.

Shooting him a sharp glance, she hissed a tight: "I will?"

"Of course you will," Riven verified, his mischievous smirk only broadening as Carrie's mildly murderous glare was replaced with Bentley's whole-hearted satisfaction.

"Alright, done. Pass me a pen and some paper," he said, sealing the deal with a barked laugh and a cheesy grin before either one of them could back down on their offers again.

"Welcome aboard, Bentley," Riven replied, shooting him a victorious smile as he reached across the table and shook the boy's hand.

But just as Riven and the others were starting to unload all their ideas for potential costume concepts onto Bentley, with what he found to be startling levels of enthusiasm, the room's main lights flickered to life, illuminating a seething head of green hair in the doorway. Before Bentley could question the girl's sudden appearance, or could let his eyes adjust to the drastic shift in brightness though, she called out to her band partner with thunderous urgency.

"Riv, you've got a hell of a lot of explaining to do; I just looked up this 'Belle' character you want me to play - care to tell me why she's described as 'ancient' and 'peeling'?" an outraged Jade demanded. "Or why you thought I'd be so perfect to play her?"

Rolling his eyes and just laughing off the girl's anger, Riven quickly tried to appease her with a teasing: "That's not the version of her we're using, dummy. And don't you dare try to tell me you're not perfect for her - you nap all the fucking time."

As Riven and Jade broke off into their own friendly spat, and Mick and Carrie started up their own conversation about what Mick had been practising last on her skates, Bentley found himself turning to August - this time taking his turn to wear the awkwardly sheepish smile. "Why do I get the feeling I've signed up for way more than I can handle?"

"Oh come on, don't worry, it'll be fun," August reassured before offering a joke to further set him at ease. "And hey, at least you're getting a backstage job and a comic book out of it - all I'm gonna get is on-stage embarrassment and massive quads."

The guffaws spilled from Bentley's lips before he could stop them - and after glancing around to watch Carrie clumsily catching Mick (who looked as if she'd just stepped on a banana peel in an old cartoon) before she could fall, and Riven playfully bickering with Jade in the doorway, he started to think that working with them on this project might not be so bad after all. Plus, a whole costume concept all to himself? He could definitely have some fun with that…

#again - i can only apologise for the sheer insanity that is this post #but hopefully it was at least a bit of fun to read through!#it was certainly a lot of fun for me to put together - that's for sure haha #and i hope you liked the little collages i put together too; i thought some visuals would help to sell the concept a bit more #anyway - i've rambled waaaaay too much for one night - and one post #i'll love you and leave you - at last #hope you're having/have had fun at camp!#sorry i couldn't be pestering you with a more exciting post lmao #hopefully the little drabbles made up for it though!#they're about 9 pages long each - which is probably longer than what drabbles are supposed to be #but i'm still quite impressed with myself for managing to keep them that short tbh - that's quite a feat for me hahaha

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cherrygorilla · 1 year ago

Text

The Mixtape Mysteries: Chapter 1 (Part 3)

Can't Fight This Feeling - REO Speedwagon - 4:54

The first 20 pages or so of this part have been sat, untouched in my Google Docs for literal months - so I felt like getting it finished would be a good way to help me get back into the swing of writing again. And I guess it kind of did if the fact that it's 71 pages long is anything to go by lol. It's definitely not perfect, and I'm still rather rusty, but at least it's something! There's still a bit more of this first day/chapter to go, but I felt like it'd be insane to make it go on even longer in this part, so we'll just have to wait for next time. And hopefully, now that I'm not tied to a hideous uni schedule anymore, that shouldn't be as long of a wait as it was to get this one out. Listen along with the gang here. Enjoy!

A myriad of fluorescent lights shone overhead, and pop music of every genre shook the old building's walls. But it was the gentle thudding of approaching sneakers that drew an admittedly grumpy brunette away from the mundane task of cleaning off the nozzle of her soda gun. "Zack, I already told you your guys' pizza was gonna be another ten minutes at least."

"First of all, I ordered a turkey melt," a voice matter-of-factly corrected. "And second of all, the fact that you thought I was an eleven-year-old boy is so not ok."

Glancing up from her now slightly sticky rag, Mick's eyes first met gaudy carpet and well-loved Converse, before sliding up to meet the mossy gaze and playful smirk of a favourite patron of hers. "In my defence, I wasn't actually looking at you," Mick replied, managing a smile and a soft chuckle as Vivien leant on the edge of the counter.

"So you mean to tell me that you don't know what my footsteps sound like by now?" Vivien accused with a horrified quirk of her eyebrow.

Rolling her eyes, Mick laughed. "I'll commit the sound to memory for next time, don't worry." As she set her trusty soda gun back in its slot though, she found that the brunette's mischievous grin was still reflecting in the scuffed silver of All Skate's food bar. Looking back up curiously, Mick continued. "Well if you're not coming over here to bug me about when your food's gonna be done then what do you want?"

"What? Can I not just come and talk to my pseudo big sister for fun?" she playfully scoffed.

"Not with that face," Mick chuckled with a nod at the younger girl's roguish smirk and incessant fidgeting. "What do you want?"

It took roughly two seconds for Vivien to cave under Mick's knowing gaze, collapsing onto the counter with a dramatic sigh. "Where's Miles?" she asked, referring to the currently empty spot beside Mick, where her faithful co-worker almost always resided.

"Ugh, don't ask," Mick groaned, tipping her head back as she let her eyes roll to the ceiling and back again. But Vivien's puzzled expression did all the probing for her, without having to utter a word. "I've banished him over there," she started, tilting her head in the direction of the archway that opened into the skate rentals booth. "He's sentenced to an hour of skate cleaning duty."

"Why?" Vivien asked with an amused snort.

"'Cause he was pissing me off," Mick bluntly put with a snort of her own.

Vivien's laughter wasn't so suppressed after that comment. "Why? What did he do?" she asked, chest rumbling with mirth at the prospect of her two older-sibling-like friends bickering.

"He wouldn't shut up about you know who," Mick sighed with a nettled glance in the brunet's direction.

"I thought you said he was getting over her," Vivien said. Keeping up with the high school kids' drama was a real guilty pleasure of hers, and gathering information from her venting sessions with Mick often felt like piecing a big jigsaw puzzle together - picking up names here, and backstories there. It was a rarity that the drama actually involved people she knew though, especially people she was so close with - so she was particularly invested this time. And even if she wasn't, she just enjoyed Mick's company so much she'd listen to her talk about anything.

"I thought he was," Mick admitted with a disappointed sigh. "But then Ethan started encouraging- you know what? I'm not even gonna get into it. It's not worth it."

Watching Mick catch her quickly tensing shoulders before her swelling anger could erupt, Vivien felt herself let out a deflated sigh along with her - heart aching to see the girl so emotionally invested in a battle she had fought so valiantly in, and yet still seemed to be losing. "You want me to try to talk to him about it?" Vivien gently offered.

Sighing again, this time in appreciation, Mick softened at the sight of the girl's optimistic smile. "It's alright, Viv," she reassured her. "I'll be fine once I've had a couple of minutes to cool off."

But as Vivien watched Mick catch sight of Miles grinning and mouthing something across the room to the bodacious blonde behind the music booth, she saw the brunette's jaw clench, which told a very different story. "You sure about that?" she asked with a knowingly dubious quirk of her eyebrow.

Now taking her turn to crumble over her almost-sister's knowing gaze, Mick huffed and relished the chance to vent to someone who actually understood her stance on the matter. "Do you know he almost got into a fight with her boyfriend at school today?"

Vivien's eyes almost shot straight out of her head. "Seriously?! Over what?"

"I don't know," Mick mumbled, trying to let her mind wander back to the events of the tail end of the school day. "He said it was nothing - and granted, all I saw besides them talking was Eric shoving him - but still." Letting out a sigh that pulled her shoulders, and the corners of her mouth, down to the floor, she divulged, "I just… I don't want him to get hurt."

"He'll be fine. Miles is a sensible guy, when he wants to be," Vivien chuckled with an upbeat outlook that Mick could only have dreamed of. After noting the girl's reluctance to accept her point though, she tried a softer approach. "He's not gonna do anything stupid, Mick; he knows he's got all of us relying on him to stick around."

"I guess," Mick said with a somewhat reluctant smile, which only grew as Vivien's words sunk in. As painful as it was to admit that a thirteen-year-old had a better perspective of the situation than she did, Mick couldn't help but give Vivien the win. After all, the carbon fibre-like bond Miles had with his little brothers, and their little extended family was far stronger than any phoney fling this bizarre infatuation with their ditzy co-worker could ever bring about. Miles' family was everything to him, he'd never do anything to jeopardise that. She just needed to get better at trusting him. "I just get like, weirdly protective over him, you know?" she went on to confess, chuckling at her sisterly possessiveness.

"Mhm, if that Eric guy lays a finger again I'll take his stupid long arms and wrap him up like a pretzel," Vivien steadfastly agreed, her resoluteness setting Mick's shoulders off shaking with laughter. "And if Carrie breaks his heart I'll personally drag her through the forest out back by her dumb little ponytail," she added, jerking her head in the direction of the girl behind her, whose half-up hairdo was idly bobbing along to the latest song she'd selected to play.

"I don't doubt that for a second," Mick grinned once her laughter had finally subsided. "Especially after I saw you two teaming up on air hockey last week," she added, prompting Vivien to join in with fondly recalling the instance where Miles had jumped to the thirteen-year-old's rescue after she had been unfairly condemned to face a game against his two younger brothers alone. After dutifullying ragging on Royce and Bentley for suggesting such a thing in the first place, Miles swooped in to grab the fourth, previously abandoned, pusher. And, through many laughter-filled rounds, complete with enough boisterous chanting to fill a small sports stadium, the hastily put-together duo came out victorious, celebrating with high-fives until their hands were raw and Miles hoisting Vivien over his head like a trophy until her giggles left her gasping for breath.

As a contented silence fell over the pair, with Vivien looking, almost longingly, across at the brunet, Mick remembered the reason the girl was over there in the first place, and smiled as she decided to ask, "What was it you wanted him for anyway?"

"I just wanted to ask him something," Vivien replied, being knowingly vague if the skittish bouncing on her heels and avoidance of Mick's gaze was anything to go by.

"And it's not something I can help with?" Mick tested, raising an eyebrow.

"Not this time," Vivien confirmed with a firm shake of her head.

"Hmm," Mick murmured, nodding back, at first in earnest understanding, before a teasing smirk began to blossom on her face. "...And does this 'something' happen to involve a certain someone's little brother?"

Vivien's gaze snapped to Mick's with a disapproving frown. "...Maybe," she mumbled, having to shove the word out with her tongue because it was so reluctant to be spoken into existence.

Smiling fondly as the younger girl's cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment, which was only enhanced by the flashing of the skating rink's colourful, neon lights overhead, Mick chuckled. "Knock yourself out. He's only over there re-organising skates, he could probably use the company."

"Thanks, Mick!" Vivien grinned, breathing a sigh of relief as she followed the direction of the brunette's nod and bounded down the entire length of the serving counter to the partially walled off skate rentals section. Once there though, she slowed down her pace just in time to witness an interaction that quite literally left her speechless.

After several, painful attempts to mouth and mime the name 'Rick Springfield', Carrie finally signalled her understanding with an exaggerated nod and thumbs up, before scribbling something down and starting to flip through her cases of cassettes, leaving Miles shaking his head and chuckling to himself as he grabbed the recently abandoned shoe deodoriser spray again. Giving the aerosol can a masterful spin, he unloaded a cloud of pine-scented chemicals into the sweaty opening of a roller skate, jerking his head away just in time to miss the brunt of the backsplash. With his nose now a safe distance from the stomach-turning scent combination, he took in a deep, anticipatory breath before turning his head to see if Carrie had caught his can wrangling finesse. To his disappointment, her eyes hadn't left her collection of tapes once, meaning his attempt to impress her had gone entirely unnoticed. Letting that breath out with a self-loathing huff, mind swarmed with questions of 'what the hell was that?' and 'what did you even want to happen anyway?', Miles moved to set the aerosol spray back down on the counter. He set his other hand down to help steady himself as he did so, but what he failed to remember was that there was a roller skate in that other hand. And roller skates had wheels. It wasn't until those wheels met the burnished metal surface that he remembered that though - and by then it was too late. The wheels spun on impact and the roller skate took off, dragging Miles' arm along with it. Too shocked to realise what had happened right away, Miles didn't stand a chance at bracing himself, and before he knew it, his nose was the next thing to make contact with the serving counter, followed by the rest of his face as it smacked against the surface with a dull thud.

Vivien's hand flew to her mouth upon the impact - partly out of disbelief, partly to muffle her laughter. Although her incredulity soon turned to fond amusement as she hung back and watched Miles peel his face away from the sticky steel, and drag himself back to his full height.

He winced and cursed under his breath as he slung the wretched skate back into its assigned cubby, before muttering more obscenities about his own stupidity and gingerly pinching along the bridge of his nose to check that it felt normal. Even he had to admit that he'd gone down with quite a remarkable bang - he wouldn't be surprised if it had left lasting damage. To his relief, all felt well. And after a dreaded glance in Carrie's direction, he let out a further sigh of relief upon finding that her attention was still anywhere other than him. At least his insignificance to her had actually come in use for once.

"Thank God no one saw that," he grumbled, once again shaking his head at his own idiocy as he turned to select a new pair of skates to freshen up. But, to his dismay, a familiar voice behind him jumped in to remind him that he could never be so lucky.

"Holy shit, I knew you could be an idiot sometimes, but I didn't realise it was this bad."

Mouth agape in horror, and skin somehow prickling with even further embarrassment than it already was, Miles turned to find a pint-sized brunette laughing like a hyena at his misfortune.

"Please don't tell me you just saw all that," Miles groaned in despair.

"Afraid so, big guy," she chuckled, lazily crossing her arms across the serving counter separating them. "And you had the perfect soundtrack to it too," she noted, nodding to the overhead speakers blaring out Sade before adding, "That trick with the spray can was pretty cool though, I'll give you that."

"Yeah, before I hit the deck," Miles snorted, finding it much easier to laugh at his own misfortune after seeing how much it entertained his honorary little sister.

"It was actually kind of impressive how hard you went down," she acknowledged.

"I know," Miles agreed with a chuckle. "I was scared for a second there that I'd messed up my nose; it hurts like a bitch," he added, grimacing again as he warily prodded the bridge. "It's not bleeding is it?"

"No, you're good," Vivien reassured. "You just made yourself look like a total moron instead."

Rolling his eyes at the thirteen-year-old's smirk, Miles continued. "I think I do most days, Viv. We're not exactly making groundbreaking discoveries here."

Vivien's smirk only broadened as she pushed the boundaries of sibling-like teasing a touch further. "It's too bad Carrie wasn't watching; you could have pretended to have been knocked out and she might have volunteered to give you mouth-to-mouth."

The amused smile pestering Miles' face was dropped like a lead balloon, replaced with a look of weary cynicism. "Did Mick put you up to this?" he sighed, one eyebrow raised in interest, the other furrowed in frustration.

"No, I'm just being a nosy little shit," Vivien grinned mischievously, which soon dragged Miles' smile back into position.

"Aren't you always?" he questioned.

"Pretty much," she confirmed. "What's going on with you and her then? I thought you were 'happy just being friends', but Mick said that you almost got into a fight with-"

"Oh my god, it was not a fight," Miles cut in with an exasperated scoff, shooting Mick a quick look of annoyance as a result of her protectiveness before going on to hastily explain. "He was just being an asshole - and so was Carrie, actually. It kind of pissed me off."

Green eyes glittering with intrigue as Miles' steadily flickered with anger, Vivien asked, "Why? What happened?"

Miles knew that he shouldn't be unloading his problems on his thirteen-year-old brother's best friend; it wasn't her place to act as his therapist. But her look of genuine interest, paired with the fact that Mick had quite literally walked away so that she didn't have to listen to them anymore, made his tongue start moving before his brain even told it to. "I was just trying to talk to her in study hall to…I don't know, prove to myself that she cared about me outside of work, I guess. I still don't really know what I was thinking, to be honest. But when I was talking to her it was like she was just trying to get rid of me. Everything I said, she shot down. I'm pretty sure I was one question away from her straight up telling me to fuck off," he recalled, practically spitting the words out by the end because of how bitter they tasted.

"Damn, what a ball of sunshine," Vivien noted, voice dripping with sarcasm as she spared the blonde behind her a withering glare. Now she understood why Mick was so protective. Turning back to Miles, she pressed on. "Well if she was being such an asshole to you earlier then why are you standing here doing fancy spray can flips to try to impress her?"

"I wasn't- …" Miles' first explanation came to him so quickly, and yet this time it felt like there was nothing to say. Nothing that he could rationally explain to a recent pre-teen graduate anyway. Sighing as his gaze wandered to that all too familiar head of golden curls, bringing the accompanying, longing ache in his chest with it, he slowly admitted, "We had a… a run-in in the break room."

Screwdriver handle clamped between his teeth, Miles squinted at the bulb fixing of the faulty break room light. Nothing looked glaringly wrong with any of the wires that poked out into the opening in the ceiling, but then again they all just looked the same to him anyway. He contemplated going back to his boss to suggest calling an actual handyman again, but since he'd already seemingly been deemed expendable enough to risk electrocution by the balding cheapskate, he decided to just keep trying his luck. Something had to work eventually, right? As he stuck his finger into the hole again, brushing away what he hoped was just a clump of dust, to bring down another wire to start experimenting with though, a voice cut through the jumble of thoughts filling his head.

"Well, this is embarrassing."

The voice startled Miles so much he almost forgot he was balanced atop a set of stepladders. If anything though, glancing down to put a face to the voice, set his heart racing even faster than the prospect of falling and twisting his ankle did.

Resentment still bubbling away in his stomach, he quickly averted his gaze back to the plastic-encased copper between his fingertips. "What is?" he asked, dispassionate despite the frantic thudding of his chest.

"The fact that we both have the same taste in work attire."

The first thing Miles noticed when he looked back over at Carrie was the amused grin settled comfortably on her face - evidently she was unphased by their interaction earlier. But the next was her outfit, or more specifically, the t-shirt that her comment had drawn his gaze to. Atop the headache-inducing leotard, covered in glittering swirls of hot pink, neon yellow and electric blue (complete with matching pink leggings and yellow leg warmers), was a bright, cobalt blue t-shirt, emblazoned with All-Skate's logo. The very same shirt Miles had selected for his own shift that evening.

A feeble breath of laughter escaped around the screwdriver still wedged in his mouth. "Oh yeah," he acknowledged, quickly returning his attention to the wiring in hope that the interaction would end there, and that he wouldn't have to live through yet another conversation that he'd then spend the next hour obsessively analysing.

Alas, Carrie's chatterbox tendencies soon trampled that idea into the grimy, ash-stained carpet. "I'm kind of surprised this hasn't happened sooner actually; there's only so many shirt colours back there to pick from," she airily chuckled as she leant against the doorframe to the stockroom. "And I'm even more surprised Ethan hasn't straight up suggested it for you two."

The laugh that she drew from him was a real one that time, and Miles mentally kicked himself as soon as he felt it slip out. "Don't give him any ideas," he warned as he started messing with the screwdriver again. "We'd be matching every shift if he got his way."

"We'll have to set up a 'who wore it best?' wall. You know? Like those spreads in magazines," Carrie went on to gleefully babble, eyes glittering with amiable mischief. "And then get everyone to vote on the outfits as they come in."

"...Yeah, no one's gonna care enough to participate in that," Miles countered, popping the girl's idea with one, sharp snort of amusement.

"I can dream, can't I?" Carrie shot back, sending the boy a withering stare atop a grin that took away any of its credibility. "And besides, we won't know until we try."

"You want me to go and get Mick to grab her camera then?" Miles smirked as he pinned a loose wire into place.

"Woah, woah, woah, I never said anything about starting tonight."

"Why not?" Miles asked, eyebrow quirked as incredulous laughter rattled his chest. "You were all about it ten seconds ago."

"Listen, I've got a fragile ego. I don't think it would survive if we started tonight," Carrie jokily admitted. "I'll need to plan out a killer outfit to secure a win before we even think about breaking out the camera."

"Yeah right," Miles scoffed, playfully rolling his eyes. "Like you wouldn't win every time."

"I don't think I would tonight," Carrie said with that same, readily confident grin. "You'd give me a run for my money anyway."

Miles scoffed again, so hard that it dislodged the weight responsible for keeping his true laughter at bay. "Fuck off," he chuckled, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the notion.

"I'm serious; you look great," she defended.

And to Miles' surprise, and somewhat terror, when he finally dared to search for that glimmer of teasing in her eyes, he found nothing but sincerity.

“Blue's your colour," Carrie went on to warmly explain as she approached Miles' set of step ladders. "It brings out your eyes." And as her lips curled into a mischievous grin, she added, "Plus, those jeans make your ass look fantastic."

It was a miracle Miles got any words out at all after that last comment - the very words making his brain short circuit. "In case you forgot," he said, as reluctant to accept the flattery as he was to believe that Carrie was actually being genuine. "You also have blue eyes," he finished, finally daring to rip his gaze away from the wire spaghetti to fire a teasing smirk at her.

"Hmm, not the right shade - not for this shirt anyway," she went on to muse, eyebrows furrowed, at first in deliberation, but then in confusion. "And what's with all the deflection? Would you just take the compliment for once?"

"No, because I think you're full of shit," Miles bluntly retorted with another hearty laugh. "As if anyone in their right mind would vote for my washed out jeans, and $10 sneakers over your…get-up. You look like you've just walked out of Barbie's Dreamhouse… Or a glow-in-the-dark sticker book."

Now it was Carrie's turn to snort in incredulity. "'Get-up'? Ok, Grandpa. I think it's time for your nap," she teased, flashing that infectious grin of hers that Miles fell victim to every damn time.

"I'm gonna fucking need one at this rate," he laughed, after trying to reseat the lightbulb in its casing, only for it to pop right back out yet again.

"What are you even doing up there?" Carrie asked, peering up at the electrical work with about as much understanding as she did with her last geography exam.

"Trying to fix this light that won't stop flickering," Miles wearily explained as he went back to tinkering. "Ralph thinks the wiring's gone, but I don't understand how because everything still seems to be connected normally up here."

“You actually know what you’re looking for?”

“…Sort of,” he sheepishly admitted with a bright, lopsided smile, trying his best to muster some conviction that would convince not only himself, but Carrie and her dubious frown too.

Apparently, the ditzy blonde didn’t need much persuading. “Hmm, alright,” she hummed, nodding earnestly despite the hint of an amused grin curling the corners of her lips. “You need me to hand you anything?” she then continued, scanning the table beside her, where Miles had spread out the contents of the roller rink’s hastily thrown together tool kit.

“I don’t think so,” Miles said, as he hooked a different wire into position and checked over the light bulb casing one more time. “Just let me try”-

As he popped the light fixture into position once again, to his amazement, it held in place. Trying not to let his excitement show too much, he gestured for Carrie to try the light switch by the door. And to their collective astonishment, as she flicked it, the bulb lit up with the rest of the fleet, shining brightly, and consistently, without so much as a stutter in sight.

“Let there be light,” Miles said, glancing down at Carrie with a rightfully smug, cheesy grin.

“Damn, I’m impressed,” she chuckled. “Looks like we really didn’t need that handyman after all.”

“Yeah, well,” Miles snickered as he climbed down the step ladders. “Not just a pretty face, am I?”

“I could have told you that,” Carrie replied with a teasing eye roll. “You do way too much for this place - way more than you get paid for anyway.”

“Hmm,” Miles acknowledged with a self-deprecating huff. “I’ve been told it’s because I'm a 'people-pleaser', but I think a more appropriate term is 'dumbass'.”

Carrie’s laughter bubbled up from beneath her bright blue t-shirt like a fountain, sprinkling Miles’ cheeks with further, infectious amusement that spread them into a smile he couldn’t have wiped from his face if he wanted to. And he definitely didn’t want to.

“Speaking of 'people-pleasing',” Carrie eventually sighed once she’d caught her breath again. “I'd better get out there before Mick starts giving me the stink eye. I still don't think I've managed to get back in her good books after skipping out on cleaning the big freezer last week.”

“It's fine, she won't hold a grudge forever.”

“Easy for you to say, she likes you,” Carrie snorted as she started making tracks for the door that led them out to the rink. Beckoning for Miles to follow her, she added, “Come on, you need to tell everyone about your mad handyman skills. Or am I gonna have to sing your praises for you, as usual?”

“Sounds good to me,” Miles laughed, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You need me to give you a beat or…?”

Stopping in her tracks, Carrie wearily shook her head with a withering gaze. "Come to think of it, 'dumbass' sounds like it'd be a pretty good name after all."

But Carrie's groaned complaints, a stark contrast to her amused smirk, only egged Miles on. "Oh come on, you teed that one up for me," he chuckled, bumping her arm with a roguish grin.

Carrie wasn't about to get caught admitting to such a heinous crime though. "Get to work, pretty boy," she retorted, jerking her head in the direction of the skate rental hatch as they finally emerged from the break room - fighting off the growing urge to laugh along with him by firing off a teasing quip of her own. "And work that blue shirt for some tips."

"You're delusional," Miles snorted in response to Carrie's wiggling eyebrows.

"I'm telling you," she pressed, giggling despite her sincerity. "One wink from you, in that shirt, with that hair, and the juniors will be weak at the knees. I know I am."

Thankfully, Miles' innate ease around Carrie allowed his mouth to run on autopilot - because if his brain had actually been allowed to process what she'd said, it wouldn't have been able to function for the rest of the night. Then again, perhaps it was so sure she was lying it had no trouble deflecting the comment with a sing-songed, reiterated: "Delusional.”

“Try me!”

For a moment Miles considered it, swept up in the challenging current of her glittering, oceanic eyes. But thankfully his feet found purchase on solid ground before he could totally lose his mind, and the rest of his dignity. “Yeah fucking right,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes and absent-mindededly running a hand through his hair - a recent habit of his due to its unseasonable length.

Without so much as a second thought about the action, Miles continued walking. It wasn’t until he heard a metal chair leg clashing against the wall that he realised what he’d just done though - turning his head just in time to watch Carrie dramatically collapsing against the painted brickwork, feigning a faint and almost taking out an entire table in the process. Sprawled out, with one hand bracing against the wall and the other pressed theatrically to her forehead, she momentarily broke out of character to check Miles’ reaction with a cheeky grin.

But Miles just watched her in open-mouthed disbelief, trying with everything in him to bite back the laugh that was just dying to escape. “You’re so stupid,” he eventually chucked, once more shaking his head at her as she peeled herself away from the wall.

“Ok, I was wrong, forget the wink - just go with the hair,” Carrie instructed, dramatically fanning herself as she jogged the few paces separating them - falling back into stride with the floppy-haired brunet with that same cheeky grin still plastered across her face. "And the shirt," she added earnestly. "Don't forget about the shirt."

"How can I when I'll be reminded every time I look at you?" Miles playfully retorted. If only she realised just how many times that would be though.

"Oh well," Carrie continued, breezing on through the rest of the conversation without giving Miles' comment so much as a second thought. "If you're not gonna celebrate your new role as resident electrician then I guess I'll just have to do it for you. You got any song requests?" she asked, turning to him, as they reached his work station for the evening, with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I think I can put in a good word with the DJ for you."

Warmth bubbling away in his stomach, Miles leant back against the doorframe of the skate rentals booth. "Fine, I'll have a think," he conceded with a shy chuckle. There was no way he'd have been able to give her any song names on the spot; his brain was far too preoccupied trying to pilot his body through the rest of the interaction without self-destructing.

To his immense relief, Carrie didn't press him for an answer. Instead, she just dazzled him with that infamous smile of hers and started a few tentative steps over to her music booth, gently pulling the weight of nervous dread that had settled on Miles' chest with her as she went. "Alright, well, you know where to find me."

And he absolutely did, because for every moment that his mind wasn't occupied with another thought, his eyes seemed to default to the human glow stick and the silly little way she bopped her head to the music from behind her kiosk. God, he hated how endearing he found it.

After stumbling his way through a hastily abridged version of events, Miles dared to bring his gaze back to the thirteen year old opposite him, feigning nonchalance as he leant back and awaited her take on the interaction.

“...So what I’m hearing is: she was nice to you once and now you’re suddenly all over her again?” Vivien asked, eyebrow quirked judgmentally and intonation teasing.

Miles crossed his arms as he scoffed out a defence. “I am not, and never was, ‘all over her’.”

“I’m paraphrasing,” Vivien dryly retorted.

“How do you even know what that means?” Miles asked in disgruntled incredulity, about to launch into a no-doubt heated debate with the smug brunette until his better judgement stepped in. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. None of this does. Nothing’s changed with Carrie, and it’s not going to. Mick’s just overreacting.”

Despite listening attentively to the boy’s crabby rationalisation, Vivien’s smirk didn’t budge. And neither did her opinion on the matter. “…If you say so, buddy,” she eventually offered.

Knowing he wouldn’t get anything better than that, Miles merely rolled his eyes and decided to cut his losses - opting to change the topic instead of trying to fight his corner any longer. “What are you even doing over here anyway? What do you want?”

“Damn, and there I was thinking you were enjoying my company,” Vivien laughed through her incredulous horror.

“I was. I am,” Miles corrected with a laugh of his own. “I just want to change the subject - and fast; you’ve already been distracting me too long.”

“Yeah ‘cause you’ve got some real important work to do,” Vivien sarcastically drawled.

“Would you want to wear skates that smell like a hot, sweaty asshole?” Miles challenged, arming himself with a fresh pair of skates and his trusty aerosol can. Finally, Vivien had no witty comeback, and he could unload a generous spritz of forest-y freshness into the boot with a smirk of his own playing at his lips. “Yeah, didn’t think so,” he chuckled. “Now what did you want?”

“I need you to do me a favour,” she admitted.

Her earnest authority, paired with Miles’ borderline familial love for the girl, almost had him agreeing out of pure instinct alone. But after taking a second to actually process the request, the responsible side of his brain kicked into gear; swarmed with suspicion that ground his train of thought to an abrupt halt. “…What kind of favour?”

Inwardly grumbling about Miles’ wariness, Vivien explained. “In the next,” she began, pausing to glance at the big clock on the wall to give herself a realistic time frame. Or rather, a realistic ultimatum. “…thirty minutes or so, Royce is going to come over here to ask you a question. I need you to say ‘yes’.”

“What kind of question?” Miles cagily probed.

With how big of a breath the girl took in, Miles braced himself for an onslaught of apology-laced begging. But as soon as the reality of having to divulge her plan to Miles hit her, her brain scrambled that breath away and hid it with the rest of her hormone-driven itinerary.

“…I can’t tell you.”

Miles’ demeanour changed in an instant. “Yeah, no, deal’s off,” he said flatly, crossing his arms across his chest again. If he’d been nudging the gate into position before, now he’d slammed it shut. And padlocked it for good measure.

"What the hell? Why?" Vivien squeaked in indignation - forest green irises ablaze with frustration.

"I'm not signing off on something without knowing what it is."

"Oh come on, Miles. Don't be a buzzkill," she groaned. "It's not even a big deal."

"Then why can't you tell me what it is?" he challenged.

"...Because."

The girl's reluctance to answer on her own accord, paired with her neurotic fidgeting, was not filling Miles with much confidence. Vivien had been known to sneak out without her parents' permission before - the last thing he needed was Royce to start doing the same. So, regardless of the likely outcome, he wanted to get as much information from the girl as he could before he dismissed her. Plus, there had to be a reason for her over-the-top secrecy; she'd revealed secret plans to him before. Why was this time so different? "Is it something illegal?"

"Seriously?" Vivien huffed with a further incredulous, yet somehow still playful, frown. "Is that all you think of me?"

"You're the one who keeps breaking into abandoned buildings," Miles teasingly chuckled. "You forged that opinion all on your own."

"We don't 'break in', we walk in - there's a difference," Vivien clarified. "And no, everything's perfectly legal. You can take Deputy Butt Chin off speed dial."

Miles couldn't help but laugh at the line. "Deputy Butt Chin, that's great," he chortled, glancing across at Mick as he grabbed another pair of skates, making a mental note to inform her of her boyfriend's new nickname as soon as he'd wormed his way out of de-stinking duty. "Well if you're not planning on sneaking off to commit arson or something then what's with all the secrecy?" he went on to ask Vivien, turning back to her with an amused smirk that was a welcome change to his wary frown. "What are you two up to?"

"Nothing!" Vivien insisted. But she could already feel the cracks in her resolve starting to splinter under Miles' gaze. She couldn't hold out much longer, not with those sky blue eyes boring holes into her skull. "It's just… Ugh, look, I'm just gonna ask him if he wants to go to the movies, ok?" she finally confessed, blurting the words out like they'd been fired from a gun. "But he's gonna need your permission first, so I need you to say 'yes'."

Miles' smirk unfurled like a sunflower in midday, sitting proudly beneath a pair of irises that glittered with mischief. "The movies, huh?" he checked, biting back a chuckle. "...And it's only Royce you're asking?"

Cheeks the colour of a Coke can, and with enough embarrassment bubbling beneath to rival the carbonation of its contents, Vivien grumbled out her answer. "...Yes."

"What's wrong with your other friends? They all busy or something?" Miles asked, relishing the opportunity to tease the usually overbearing brunette to death.

"Don't push it," Vivien warned through gritted teeth. But a heavy sigh was able to disperse some of her mortification, enough to bring the nervous desperation back to the surface anyway. "Look, are you gonna say 'yes' or not? I've not lost hours of sleep over this for you to dick around and ruin it at the last minute."

"As long as you've got a chaperone and an age-appropriate movie lined up, I'm but your humble servant," Miles replied with an entertained grin that told Vivien he was enjoying this far more than he was letting on - and even then it was as obvious as the nose on his face.

"My dad's dropping us off, and it's The NeverEnding Story."

A bark of laughter escaped Miles' lips before he was able to stop the rest from tumbling out. "Holy shit, that's so good," he murmured. He couldn't have come up with a more endearing outcome had he tried - or a more amusing one, come to think of it. This would be keeping him entertained for weeks.

Deciding that he'd put the poor girl through enough discomfort for one night though, Miles finally took her proposal seriously, and offered her a genuine smile. "Sure, knock yourself out, kiddo," he said, partly just relieved that the request hadn't been anything that would have landed him in a courtroom.

"Thank you," Vivien breathed, letting out a sigh so deep she felt herself starting to get light-headed. Gently shaking away the hazy relief, and trying desperately to subdue the giddy grin threatening to take over her face, Vivien finally felt herself starting to relax again. "That took a lot less blackmailing than I thought," she admitted with a mischievous chuckle. "Which is a shame, because I have such good material-"

"Alright, alright, you've made your point, you've got your 'yes' man, now get out of here. I've got like thirty more skates to de-stink," Miles cut in, fondly rolling his eyes and attempting to shoo the girl away before she could share any of the aforementioned material. After all, he'd felt enough embarrassment today to last him a lifetime. He didn't need Vivien to start contributing.

"Guess I'll just have to save them for a rainy day," she teasingly compromised as she wound down their conversation and started heading back over to her friends' table. Right before she could leave though, she tacked on a wicked: "And just so you know, that face plant incident is so making the list for next time."

"Yeah?" Miles challenged with a scoffed laugh to combat her cheeky grin. "Well, just so you know, I'm never letting Royce live down the fact that you had to make the first move," he smirked. "Vivien O'Brian: Balls of Steel."

Rather than accepting Miles' teasing congratulations for her bravery, or dwelling on what he'd said and what it implied about Royce's feelings (knowing that if she did, and the curly haired brunet turned her down, she'd have his older brother's head on a stick for getting her hopes up), Vivien decided to fire back a ribbing retort of her own. Because if he was allowed to poke fun at her love life, then what was to stop her from doing the same? "If you need to borrow them sometime then I might be able to get something arranged," she called out, backing away from the counter as she shot the blonde at the DJ booth a knowing look that soon found its way back to Miles. And that's how she left him, shaking his head in a mixture of disbelief and fond amusement, that was soon clouded by the heady aroma of more pine-scented deodoriser spray as he buried his feelings in more, mindless work.

Eraser rubbings, and pencil shavings decorated an already busy table top, where notepads dodged rings of condensation from steadily melting slushes, and plastic die roamed the crowded landscape like dragons seeking out a knight. And speaking of dragons…

"Thanks to Argus' stroke of genius, and Skylar's clever navigation, our band of unlikely heroes made it out of The Tinder Grove unscathed, save for some singed hair and minor burns-"

"Uh, I never agreed to being called 'Argus'," Royce piped up indignantly.

"Dude, stop interrupting the story!" Zack clamoured with an exasperated thump of his fist on their booth table.

"Why does it even matter what your guy's called anyway?" Kona asked with a weary roll of her eyes. Propped up on an elbow, and rocking a pencil back and forth between her fingers - she wasn't exactly a picture of great focus. But the constant stopping-and-starting of the campaign due to bathroom breaks, rule reiterations, and petty whining was certainly not stopping the rapid waning of her concentration.

"Well excuse me for wanting to actually have a say in my character design," Royce retorted with a huff.

"You picked out everything else!" Zack argued.

"Yeah and you took a fucking eternity - I thought we were gonna have graduated before you settled on your stat points," Kona groaned, taking to lazily doodling a flower on the corner of her paper.

"You guys were the ones saying to think carefully about it," Royce insisted with a disgruntled scowl.

"Yeah, it's important to get it right before you start, guys," August chimed in, offering the older boy a small, somewhat supportive smile.

"I didn't think we were gonna start at that point." Kona lazily fired back, shooting the pair another pointed look.

Then Bentley decided to give his two cents - partly gargled through a mouthful of green apple slushy. "I thought Argus was cool - didn't it mean like "guardian" or something?"

"Yeah, but it sounds like a gas company," Zack snickered, quickly earning himself a defeated glare from Royce.

"See? It sounds lame!" the thirteen-year-old exclaimed over his younger brother's raucous laughter, which only got louder as Zack backed his comment up by making fart noises with his hands. Kona, on the other hand, just looked at the boy beside her with a resigned disgust that could only have come from years of putting up with his shenanigans.

"You already are lame! What does it matter?" came Zack's next playful jab, punctuated with a hearty laugh of his own.

Before Royce could muster a further retaliation though, an unruly, chestnut ponytail plopped down into the booth beside him, eyeing the group with an amused, yet wary smile.

"What's going on?" Vivien asked, biting back a chuckle as Bentley tried his hardest to make his own hand-farts, although with significantly less successful results.

"Royce is whining about his character name again," Kona explained with another spiritless eye roll.

"I am not whining," he insisted.

Kona just snorted out a laugh of her own. "Could have fooled me."

Sensing the rising tensions amongst the ragtag group of friends, August attempted to placate them all with a timidly hopeful offer. "If you guys wanted, we could always revisit the characters and change them a bit after playing through the first campaign-"

"Yeah, go waste an hour of your own time," Zack told Royce. "My mom's pot roast is gonna be burnt as hell by the time I get home at this rate."

"You're having dinner at home?" Bentley asked, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

"Yeah."

"...Then why the hell did we order pizza here?" August asked as incredulous laughter already began tumbling from Bentley's lips.

"'Cause I'm hungry, man!" Zack insisted. "Two fish sticks for lunch is torture. I've gotta eat!"

As Zack and his friends found themselves caught up in another animated debate, this time about his appetite that could rival (as he told them) an American Pygmy Shrew, Vivien turned to the disgruntled boy at her side, immediately snatching his attention. "You could always go back to Royce the Robust," she offered with a teasing smile.

"Yeah!" Bentley agreed, already starting to giggle again about the stir the name had caused when it was first suggested.

"Absolutely not," Royce said flatly, shooting the idea down in an instant - hating it just as much the second time around.

"Just stick with Argus, man. It's not that deep," Zack borderline pleaded.

"Yeah, I like Argus," Vivien agreed, this time wearing a smile showing nothing but innocent sincerity.

Royce paused and blinked, thinking he must have misheard her. "You do?"

"Yeah, it's cool," she confirmed. "And it means 'watchful guardian', right? That's perfect for you; you're always watching out for us."

The genuine warmth in Vivien's words, and that infectious smile of hers, had Royce's heart hammering in his chest so hard he was scared it would splinter a rib. Averting his gaze before his face could turn the colour of his cherry slushy though, he coughed and prayed his voice would stay steady as his heart skipped a beat and changed direction all together. "...Ok, uh, yeah, I'll stick with Argus."

"Thank you," Zack huffed, collapsing backwards in his seat with a dramatic eye roll.

"Sappy idiots," Kona scoffed, smirking and shaking her head at the pair of thirteen-year-olds, who were ferociously avoiding eye contact for fear of their cheeks growing hot enough to set their paper straws alight.

"Ok, ok, Royce is sticking with his name, Viv's back at the table, Zack's about to be fed - let's get back to the story!" Bentley demanded with an eager grin that August gladly replicated once the blond's eyes landed on him.

As the rest of the group mumbled their agreements, with varying levels of enthusiasm, and settled back into their seats, August lifted his binder back into his eyeline and continued to read his scrawled handwriting aloud, setting the players up for the next stage in their journey…

"Leading the charge, brandishing one of the Northern Gravelback's mighty fangs around his neck, like the medal it was, Omar Scale Crusher is the first of the group to stumble upon a towering structure of crumbling brick, overgrown with a century's worth of ivy. Although the oak door is chained shut, he notices the ivy has grown over a long-shattered window, already overrun with moss. Omar, what do you do next?" he finished, lifting his gaze to send his friend an inquisitive grin.

Zack's eyes glittered with intrigue beneath a set of furrowed brows. "This has to be the cursed wizard's old hideout, right?" he thought aloud. And although he scanned the table's occupants for confirmation of his suspicions, he decided on his next move before they could utter a sound, fuelled by pure adrenaline and a hero's instinct. "I'm breaking through the chain and heading insi-"

"Woah, woah, woah, slow down," Royce cut in with an outraged frown. "What happened to consulting the group first?"

"Yeah," Kona piped up. "You've gotta check for booby traps first, idiot - or do you want to get us all killed before we even get out of the forest?"

"They're cursed - they fled the night the curse was placed on them - there's no way they had time to set booby traps," Zack attempted to dismiss.

"Who's to say they didn't set them before they were cursed?" Vivien theorised. But when four pairs of curious eyes fell on her, each looking as lost as the next, she went on to explain. "I mean, if they've got a bunch of rare ingredients and magical artefacts in there, they'd have wanted some sort of security system in place to keep them safe, right? Otherwise thieves would have gutted this place years ago."

"Well the window's broken, maybe they already have?" Bentley suggested.

"And another one's about to," Kona added with a smug grin and a quick glance down at her character sheet.

Choosing to just focus on Bentley's question, Vivien continued. "We had to carve a doorway through that giant silverwood tree to get in - there was no other way into the glade - if anyone else had been here before us, that tree wouldn't have been in one piece. So the broken window has to be a red herring - something to ward off any thieves that did ever make it this far by tricking them into thinking someone had already beaten them to it. I don't think either route is completely safe, but I'd take our chances checking the window first over the main door. That way we at least get a look inside before we try entering."

As satisfying as Zack, Kona and Bentley's stupefied expressions, and Royce's awestruck grin were, it was the proud twinkle in August's muddy, olive eyes that finally drew a smile to her lips.

"Omar," August continued, biting back a smirk as his gaze returned to Zack. "Your next move?"

Shrinking under the warning eyes of his friends, Zack sheepishly mumbled his reply. "I'll go and look through the window to check for any signs of danger," he said, reciting the words in a monotone voice as though they'd been fed to him by cue cards.

As his smirk broke free, August turned back to his binder. "Omar approaches the cracked pane of glass and peers through the cobwebs adorning the gap. He casts a 'detect magic' spell and finds the cobblestone floor and door handle have both been charmed, whilst the padlock's mechanism has been laced with combustionite - a material designed to explode at first contact with any living lifeform."

Kona snorted and elbowed the boy beside her. "Still think breaking the door down was a good idea?" she teased, earning herself a disgruntled huff from the boy.

"Alright, alright, I get it."

"What charms are they?" Royce went on to ask, quietly hoping to impress Vivien as much as her inquisitive nature had impressed him. "Maybe if we can find out what they do we'll have something to counteract them."

"It's called 'Membrat Torpestus', it's a charm that, again, only affects living life forms. But unlike the magic used on the lock that makes whatever it touches explode, this charm works on the atoms in your skeleton, essentially disintegrating them," August began to explain.

"What the hell?" Vivien muttered, eyebrows pulled together in a mix of horror and concentration.

"It's like when you get 'jelly legs' after sitting in a weird position for too long - but with this your legs would actually start turning to jelly," August finished, eyes glittering with morbid glee upon watching his friends' reactions to his story. But before any of them could question him further, a new voice entered the debate.

"Do I want to know the context?" Mick asked with a wary, lopsided grin, hearing the tail end of the conversation as she approached the table with a steaming tray of food lofted over her shoulder.

"Yes!" Bentley and Zack cried in unison - but Bentley's enthusiasm for the game was only matched by Zack's enthusiasm for the slab of greasy cheese and marinara the brunette was setting down on their table.

Chuckling at the pair as they shot one another incredulous looks, Mick said, "Alright, well let me set this food down before it gets cold, then knock yourselves out. I've got a large pizza - half pepperoni, half veggie; a basket of waffle fries; two portions of chicken tenders; and one turkey melt." After placing the food in its designated place, amongst the scattered array of papers, and ravenous youths, Mick stepped back and addressed the group again. "Is that everything or can I get you guys anythi-?"

"Could you please get me a-?"

Before Kona could even finish her question, Mick whipped a little tub of ranch sauce out of her apron pocket and tossed it to the blonde.

"Aww, you remembered," Kona giggled with a grateful grin. "Thanks, Mick!"

"No problem," Mick smiled, sending the girl a quick, knowing wink when she next caught her eye. "Anyone else need anything?" she tried again. But since the caddy on the table already had a plethora of other condiments for the group to choose from, and Zack had already inhaled one of his pizza slices in a matter of seconds, they all seemed to be satisfied. "Awesome, fire away then. I've been dying to know what you guys have been doing over here all this time. You've been so quiet Miles and I thought you were plotting some kind of middle school coup," she snorted, tucking her serving tray under her arm.

"We're playing Dungeons and Dragons," Bentley exclaimed, spraying crumbs all over his character sheet in his excitement.

"...Which is?"

"It's like a fantasy role-playing game," Vivien explained a little more coherently. "You get to design your own character and work your way through each level as a group, and each decision you make helps determine where the story ends up going - like a choose-your-own adventure book."

"Right…" Mick slowly trailed off. Behind the bemused smile and vacant nodding though, there was a glimmer of understanding in those dark brown irises. "So how exactly do the jello bones come into it?" she went on to ask, fighting the urge to burst out laughing through the energetic responses the table of kids immediately started firing back at her.

"Miles!"

A smirk curled at the brunet's lips. "I thought you weren't talking to me," he called back, not even bothering to turn around to address the owner of the voice. But when his can of air freshener was snatched from his grasp, he had no choice but to end up face-to-face with the skate rentals booth intruder.

"Have you learned your lesson?" Mick challenged with a smirk of her own.

"Yes," Miles insisted, voice laced with desperation.

"Good," she replied with a teasing grin, before setting the aerosol can neatly on the back counter. "Then your time out's done."

"Finally," he laughed through a heavy sigh of relief, slinging the sweaty roller skate he was working on into the nearest cubby. "What's got you in such a good mood? I didn't think you'd be showing me any mercy until at least 7:30."

"You won't believe what your army of children are doing over there," Mick gushed, eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Planning a heist of Family Video?" Miles suggested with a jovial, yet weary huff. "Or something else that will land them all in juvie."

"You wish those little dorks were that exciting," Mick snorted. "They're all sat around making up a big fairy story. August basically has a whole book written already but they were saying something about playing it out and choosing what happens themselves - I don't know, I still don't think I fully get it. But whatever it is, your brothers are hooked. I haven't seen Bentley that invested in something since his ET phase last year."

Recalling the memory with a fond grin, Miles asked. "So what? They've started a writing club or something?"

"No, they said it's like a game - I think," Mick tried to explain. Although it was clear that she'd been so entertained by the sheer concept alone that the details of the matter had been lost on her. "They've all made up their own characters though. Viv's has this cool purple sword, and Bentley's got a magic paintbrush, and I think Royce said he was like a priest or something-"

"What the fuck? Seriously?" Miles chuckled.

"Yeah, I know," Mick laughed back, glad that she wasn't the only one who found the idea so comical. "I would have stayed longer but I was told they had to get back to their 'quest'."

"They have their own quests?"

"Mhm, something about a cursed ogre, I think," she mused, before being cut off by a hearty laugh from one of her best friends.

"Holy shit," Miles finally sighed once his laughter had started to subside. "I don't think I'm gonna have to worry about them sneaking off to wild house parties any time soon, huh?"

"Don't worry, you can just stress about them getting paper cuts or carpal tunnel instead," Mick shot back with a matching, teasing grin. "Please tell me you're gonna go over there and ask them about it yourself," she then went on to plead.

"Why would I need to when you've explained it so articulately yourself?" he sarcastically retorted.

"Oh come on, it's the cutest thing - you love seeing them get excited over stuff," Mick tried, hoping she was pressing on his weak spot. "Especially when it's dorky stuff. And what's dorkier than a magic paintbrush and an ogre?" When Miles didn't make any attempt to move though, besides a twitching, curious smile, Mick decided to lay it on just a touch thicker. "You know, apparently Royce, Bentley, and Viv have matching weapons satchels." And a touch thicker still. "And Royce was so distracted by a certain someone he couldn't settle on a name until she picked one out for him." Until…"And I even think I heard Bentley saying that if he managed to befriend the magic goat he'd found he was going to name it after a certain big brother of his…"

"What's this I hear about you plotting to take down an ogre?"

Attention immediately snatched from August's maniacal laughter as he taunted Zack with a mushroom from his pizza, Bentley whirled around in his booth seat and threw his arms around his brother's neck. "Miley!"

"Why are you acting like you didn't just talk to me forty minutes ago?" Miles snorted. Although he accepted the hug all the same.

"Come check out our game!" Bentley enthused, beckoning Miles to lean in closer over the back of the booth so that he could see more of their game sheets.

As his eyes scanned the table though, they widened with each new page he found, and just how much detail they contained. "Wow, you guys have been real busy, huh?"

"Well, for the best part of this afternoon, yeah," Vivien grinned, before warily asking. "Mick didn't send you over here to tell us to stop playing, did she?"

"No, knock yourselves out," Miles laughed. "I'm just here to find out what on earth you guys are doing - I've never known you guys be so quiet."

"We're playing Dungeons and Dragons," Royce explained. "It's this fantasy roleplaying ga-"

A lightbulb flickered on in the back of Miles' mind - accompanied with a hazy newscast featuring a crotchety old woman in a salmon blazer - and the colour started to drain from his face. "Wait, Dungeons and Dragons? Isn't that like demon worshipping stuff? Where did you find-?"

"It's not demon worshipping," Vivien groaned with an exaggerated eye roll. "Didn't you listen to your brother? It's a fantasy game. It's all made up."

"And we're only on Level 1 anyway - so even if we did summon a demon, it'd be a tiny one," Zack mumbled, peeling all the pepperoni slices off his latest slice of pizza and stacking them atop one another.

When it looked as though Miles was still feeling a little nervy though, August decided to step in to offer his own reassurances. "It's all totally fictional, Miles. I promise - my mom wouldn't have let me go anywhere near it if she thought it was gonna be a bad influence. The evangelical psychos on the news just wanted a new target to blame the state of the world on," he finished with a small, cheeky smile.

"Yeah, basement-dwelling dweebs," Kona tacked on.

Unable to stop himself from smiling back at the pair, Miles soon let go of any further qualms and returned to his teasing ways. "I take it that's what you guys are now considered then?"

Clearly unhappy with their new nickname, Zack frowned. "Not cool, man."

"Yeah, does this look like a basement to you?" Vivien added with a knowing smirk that Miles soon found himself laughing at.

"Oh, so that's what you took issue with - noted," he grinned, before lazily crossing his arms over the back of the booth seat and pressing on with his inquiries. "So if we're not summoning evil spirits, what are we doing?"

"We're searching for a wizard who's gonna help us join the Guild of Astral Explorers, but he's been cursed by an ogre and driven into exile - so we need to kill the ogre and figure out a cure," Bentley babbled, the words practically running into one another with how eager they were to be uttered. "Which is proving to be a lot easier said than done."

"You're just gonna let them kill you like that, Kona?"

"What are you talking about?" she asked, looking up at the older brunet in utter confusion.

"What? There's an ogre in the story and it's not you?" he teased, feigning stupefaction at such a revelation.

Over her friends' raucous laughter, Kona just shot Miles a withering glare, and sucked up a chunk of ice with her straw, that she then aimed and fired at his forehead.

Wiping the splattered trails of coloured syrup from his cheeks with a chuckle of his own, Miles then admitted, "I deserved that."

To which Kona offered a satisfied smile - served atop a neatly prepared middle finger, naturally. Miles had always had a little-sister-esque fondness for the unruly blonde, and the older-sibling-less girl gladly accepted the challenge of wit his teasing always promised.

"Can you guys even play as the ogres? How does the game actually work?" Miles went on to ask. And from there the group of friends began rhapsodising about the game mechanics all over again. The premise, the stats system, the way the dice came into play - he was schooled on it all. And once the basics were laid down, then came the vivid descriptions of each party member - and the convoluted backstories that accompanied them. He sat through the tall tale of how Pablo Leonardo Atwood (named after two painters, since Bentley couldn't settle on just one) carved his paintbrush from an ancient, magical redwood tree; how Cyrus Fletcher fled the king's army with nothing but the arrows on his back and a guilty conscious, ready to start a new life far from the corrupt nobility (or so August said); how Skylar Renee Sanderson earned the amethyst crystals encrusting the hilt of her sword; and, of course, how Omar Scale Crusher slayed the fiery beast that gave him his name. If his innate nerdiness didn't already have him hooked, the kids' passion certainly would have done the trick by the end of their ramblings.

"Damn, you guys really have been busy," he mused with a fond grin. Although it didn't take long for his sensible suspicions to creep back into the forefront of his mind. "You did all this and your homework?"

Miles should have known it was too good to be true, and yet Bentley's sheepish laughter soon struck him back to reality with a disapproving frown.

"Oh come on, Miles. We were on top of everything yesterday, and nothing we were set today is due for tomorrow. Can't we push it back a day just this one time?" Royce begged.

"Yeah, come on, you wouldn't want to be the killjoy that ruined all our fun, would you?" Vivien added, with a challenging smirk that, paired with Bentley's killer puppy dog eyes, had Miles caving within seconds.

"Alright, fine. But just this once," he gently warned. "I don't want you guys to make a habit out of slacking off work. Even if the reasons are totally awesome," he added with a chuckle.

"You're one to talk," Vivien fired back through a snort. "You've been talking to us for the last twenty minutes instead of working."

"Has it really been twenty minutes?" Miles squeaked in surprise, quickly peeling himself off the sticky, painted wooden frame of the booth seat and standing to attention. But as he straightened out his shirt and ran a hand through his admittedly unkempt hair, he soon drew up an excuse. "It's fine, it's not like we're busy anyway."

"Oh yeah?" Kona challenged with a smirk. "Then what's that big line over there for?"

Following the direction Kona had jerked her head in, Miles' eyes grew to the size of plates as he saw a haphazard queue of teens had gathered around the vacant skate rentals booth, visibly grumbling to one another. And without a worker in sight, he could see why. "Oh what? Why didn't you say sooner?" he cried. But before he could scramble back over to his abandoned post, a rough hand slammed down on his shoulder, and a head of shaggy hair appeared beside him.

"Yo, what's the crowd for? Are we offering refunds or something?" Ethan guffawed, the chill from the October evening air still clinging to his reddened, acne-smattered cheeks.

"Goddammit," Miles huffed in frustrated despair. "Mick said she'd cover for me. Who the hell is she making food for now? No one ever eats here! The food sucks."

"Sucks enough for us to eat it though, right?" Bentley teased, waving his chicken tender at his older brother before happily taking a bite. Sure, the preservatives were off the charts, and the salt content could de-ice a highway in Alaska, but the taste was kind of comforting in a weird, overly greasy sort of way. And besides, it's not like the TV dinners stacked in their fridge back at home had significantly better nutritional value.

Stepping in before Miles could start lecturing his brothers on their eating habits though, Ethan grabbed his attention with another snorted laugh. "I don't know, man, but it's not for a delivery." Miles' brows started to draw together in confusion, but Ethan explained himself through a smirk before he could even open his mouth. "I took the phone off the hook before I left."

Rolling his eyes and laughing at his coworker's antics, he went on to ask, bumping his shoulder with his. "Oh yeah, and how long's it gonna stay like that for?"

"Rest of the night if I get my way," Ethan grinned, eyes already blissfully glazing over at the prospect of a few hours of peace.

Unable to share that luxury, Miles grabbed his shoulder and started steering him away from the booth of middle schoolers. "Yeah, well not until you've helped me with these customers," he said with a smirk of his own. Stopping before he completely left though, he turned back to his brothers and their friends with a warm, yet wistful smile. "As much as I'd love to stay and hear about more of your adventures, you'll have to give me a rundown later on. Have fun tracking down that ogre though, kiddos." Reaching over the back of the booth to fondly ruffle Royce and Bentley's mops of curly hair, he added a gentle: "You guys know where to find me if you need anything."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Royce sighed over Bentley's giggles.

"That goes for all of you, by the way," he added, extending his fond smile to the whole table. After all, he'd known his brothers' friends so long by now that he practically considered them family anyway.

"Yeah, we know," Vivien chuckled. "Now go before they start throwing their skates at you."

Cringing in agreement, Miles gave the girl a quick nod before turning and calling out to the teenagers across the room. "I'll be there in a second!" Hoping that a timeframe, and an apologetic smile, would help placate them a little.

But before he could set off into a jog, Ethan's head popped up in front of his with a particularly wicked grin. "Not if I get there first!" he said with a childlike glee that Miles always found to be incredibly contagious.

The scrawny brunet dashed towards the other side of the room at an alarming speed, his Nikes hammering against the garish carpet with practised ease and the rhythmic thudding drowning out Miles' cries of protest, until he felt the toe of a tattered Converse knock-off hit the sweet spot behind his knee. With a yelp he crumpled to the floor, knee buckling reflexively on impact. A victorious laugh flew from Miles' lips as he took his chance Ethan's head-start snatched from him, and strode the few paces needed to take the lead. But his triumph was short-lived, because Ethan quickly retaliated by swinging out his fist and making impeccable contact with Miles' groin just as he started to pass him. Miles crashed to the floor in an instant, groaning out a string of complaints to his cackling assailant, who just laid down beside him in shared, silent surrender - the line of customers long-forgotten between their raucous laughter and boyish rough-housing.

Watching the idiotic play-fighting continue between the older teens as they started hurling jokey insults back-and-forth, and started helping one another to their feet, Vivien fondly shook her head at the pair and turned back to the table with an eye roll. "And he calls us 'children'."

"I wish he could get more of a break," Bentley mused with a sigh, dejectedly pushing ketchup around on the wax paper lining his basket-bowl with a limp french fry. "I hate that he has to work all the time. I wanted him to stay and watch us play for a bit."

"Maybe he can sit and watch a whole game another time if we play at your house?" August suggested with a small, hopeful smile. "On one of his days off?"

"He probably could have gotten away with staying longer if his coworkers actually pitched in and pulled their weight," Royce grumbled.

Frowning at his grumpiness, Vivien swiftly jumped to her friend's defence. "Well Mick usually does but she must be busy in the…" As she followed Royce's gaze though, and settled on a head of bushy, golden curls, shoved into an All Skate staff t-shirt, yet gliding around the rink with the rest of the customers, seemingly without a care in the world, the meaning behind Royce's statement started to dawn on her. "Oh…yeah."

Letting out a disgusted huff as Carrie began giggling with the two friends she was skating with, throwing her head back and applauding as one of them started twirling along to the song she'd set to play, Royce muttered, "She's so selfish she wouldn't even help if he asked anyway."

Remembering Miles’ deep-seated affection for the blonde, and hating to see Royce so frustrated by her very existence, Vivien attempted to coax him into giving her the benefit of the doubt. "You don't know that," she gently tried. "She probably just didn't realise how swamped the rental counter was."

"Yeah," Royce scoffed. "'Cause her head's stuck so far up her own ass she could be considered legally blind."

Zack's bark of laughter was quickly silenced by Kona disapprovingly nudging his arm though. "Oh please, what's she ever done to you?"

"Uh, blasted out my ear drums with her god awful music taste every time we've set foot in here?" he retorted. Royce's vendetta may have been personal, but Zack's was just as valid in his eyes.

"I swear it gets louder every time we come," Royce complained, scowling at the twirling blonde beneath the flashing neon lights. "I can barely hear myself think."

Although he usually assumed the role of the pacifist amongst the group, even August dared a somewhat reluctant: "It is kind of making it hard to concentrate."

The prospect of delaying their campaign even further, paired with the way August was hesitantly toying with his binder of notes, and his older brother was prickling with frustration, had Bentley jumping to action without a second thought. After all, with his inherent, yet naive, optimism, the solution felt obvious. "Then let's just go ask her to turn it down."

Bentley was rising from his seat and shifting onto his knees within seconds, but Royce, horrified at the very idea of communicating with the she-devil, yanked him back down with frantic urgency. "What?! No, Benny, come on," he hissed, eyes wide and desperate. "She's not worth it. She won't listen."

But to Royce's immense surprise, Bentley's hopeful smile remained. "Oh please, she can't be that bad if Miles likes her so much," he said, rolling his eyes at his brother's caginess and pushing himself up on his knees to get a clear view of the blonde. Stretching to the fullest height he could, and cupping his hands around his mouth he called out a friendly: "Carrie!"

Utterly oblivious, the girl continued spinning at break-neck speeds and laughing along with her friends - any attempts at grabbing her attention drowned out by the Dead or Alive song blaring from the speakers encircling the rink.

Royce rolled his eyes yet again, and Vivien even tried a cautious: "It's fine, Benny, I'm sure we can manage."

But the blonde was nothing if not persistent. "Carrie!"

Even though the second yell of her name went completely unnoticed by the girl, her bucket-hatted skating buddy caught Bentley's eye and, just as she was slowing her latest spin to a stop, directed her attention over to the group of middle schoolers. Giggles freely tumbling from her lips, and a slightly puzzled expression clouding her eyes, Carrie rolled over to the side of the rink closest to their booth. Sliding to a gentle stop, she called out an indifferent: "You guys okay?"

"Can you turn down the music? We're trying to play a game over here," Bentley hollered back.

Regardless of the programmed light sequence illuminating the rink, Royce's vision flashed red at the scornful laugh that fell from her mouth.

"Yeah, and I'm trying to entertain our customers," she retorted with a sickeningly blasé chuckle. "So no, sorry, squirt."

"We're not saying 'turn it off', just turn it down a bit," Bentley tried again, catching her before she could turn her back. "Please," he added with a hopeful, lopsided grin.

"Look, I'm paid to provide a good atmosphere for the skaters, our paying customers," she emphasised, souring the entire group's mood with a few, short words. "It's a roller rink, not a library."

"Come on, just this one time. We won't be here all night," Vivien said, jumping to Bentley's defence and hoping to give the blonde the opportunity to redeem herself.

But Carrie wouldn't budge on the matter, still as baffled by the suggestion as when it was first proposed. "No, I'm not here to babysit, I'm here to play music. If you want somewhere quiet to play your…'board game', go look somewhere else."

Temper running at an all-time high, Royce protectively placed his arm in front of Vivien before she could respond, and took on the challenge himself - facing the volatile blonde with a deep-seated distaste that bore deeper and deeper with every passing second. "They're not asking for much, you don't have to be so difficult. Just turn the music down," he barked, each word sharp enough to slash Carrie's gaudy leotard to shreds. "It's ruining our game; we can barely hear ourselves think."

Part of Royce wanted to be proven wrong - wanted Miles' judgement to remain untarnished. If only Carrie's face would fall, eyebrows pinched in dismay, and profuse apologies would start to spill from her lip gloss-lacquered lips. At least then this bizarre infatuation of his brother's would start to make a little more sense. But when Carrie's gaze stayed as vacant as ever, the burning hatred in the pit of his stomach roared to an inferno.

"Ok?" she snorted with an unbothered stare, already starting to roll back over to her friends as she delivered her final, oblivious piece of advice: "Go find someone who cares."

Besides, since when did middle schoolers' problems have to be any of her concern?

If Royce possessed the same magical abilities as his cleric counterpart, Carrie would have burst into flames before the wheels of her skates had made a full rotation. Sitting back in his seat, unable to bear the sight of the girl any longer, he let out a heavy, defeated sigh, as Kona spoke the entire table's mind.

"Damn, what a bitch."

"I fucking hate her," Royce muttered, heart hammering with pent-up frustration, and then utter hormonal panic as Vivien laid a comforting hand over the back of his own.

"Ok, well, that didn't exactly go to plan," Bentley noted with an awkward laugh, and cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment.

"I can't believe she was so rude. Miles said she'd been a bit weird at school, but she was super nice to him earlier," Vivien said, thinking back to their prior conversation.

"Yeah, well, Miles needs a lobotomy if he thinks she's a nice person," Royce spat, daring a glance in the blonde's direction - only to immediately regret it once he saw she'd returned to dancing about with her friends without a care in the world.

"Well, if that was my first and last time ever talking to her, I don't think I'd have any complaints," Vivien said with a jovial smirk that, with a little coaxing, at least got the corner of Royce's mouth twitching into a smirk of his own.

"Look, can we forget about the fucking dancing poodle lady?" Zack demanded with a weary groan. "I don't care how much of a bitch she is, or how stupid her hair looks - that's old news as far as I'm concerned. But I do care about finishing this damn game!"

Laughter burbled throughout the group, thankfully raising their spirits once more as they confirmed their agreements and settled back into the story - greasy pizza and stuck-up DJs long-forgotten. The rest of the evening flew by as the wannabe adventurers traversed the sprawling Maldonado Grove. Whilst Cyrus kept their precious dryad bark and serpent oil safe: Skylar and Andromeda outsmarted a rival royal spy (and stole all their supplies), Argus and Pablo thwarted a giant centipede, and Omar single handedly took down a rather pesky, rabid badger.

With the ogre's hillside hideout so close, each move the party made was crucial. So when they stumbled across an overgrown swampland, inhabited by a rather unfriendly giant toad, Bentley's excitable franticness led to some rash decisions being made. And so tensions began to rise…

"What are you doing?!" an alarmed Zack cried, trying, and failing, to snatch up the die before the blond. "Those things have 18 hitpoints - and you've only done 11 damage!"

"So they've got…7 left?" Bentley said, silently confirming his calculations with the others around the table as he happily rolled the plastic, diamond-shaped die around in the palm of his hand. "That's nothing! It's an 8-sided die, I could do that with one roll."

"You've only got one roll, Ben," Kona somewhat painfully reminded him.

His cool blue eyes widened. "Oh wait, what?" he squeaked in dismay, his train of thought screeching to a halt as he tried to process what the girl had said.

"Giant frogs have 18 hit points, but it's limited to 4 rolls of an 8 die," August gently explained to him. "You've already used up 3 of them to get to 11."

"Oh…" Bentley trailed off, with a disheartened frown as the reality of his predicament dawned on him. It was quickly swapped for a look of optimistic determination though. "That's fine. It's still possible, right?"

"Well yeah, but the odds aren't exactly in your favour," Kona began.

Royce, never one to stand idle when he saw his younger brother struggling, soon interrupted her though. "It's ok, Benny. We can all pitch in and kill them together."

But as the brunet started offering what he thought were helpful strategies for making this mutant amphibian easier to destroy, Bentley just let out a frustrated huff. He loved his brothers more than anything (yes, even more than Super Pretzels), and he knew they wanted the best for him - but sometimes the way they jumped to his aid at the first sign of trouble made him feel utterly useless. Sure, he understood that he was the baby of the family, and that they were just looking out for him, but that didn't change how inadequate it made him feel. For once he wanted to prove to Royce that he could do something on his own - that he didn't need to rely on his brothers to get him out of trouble. He could handle this himself.

"No, come on, we're almost at the end. Let's not waste any more time," he insisted as a baffled Royce watched him start to roll the die around in his cupped fists. And above the shocked arguments and attempts to reason with him, Bentley silenced his friends with an assured: "I can do this."

At the mercy of Bentley's ink-stained fingers, the dice soared through the air, captivating the whole party with a collective gasp, before bouncing onto the sticky, varnished tabletop. It skittered across the playing field, scattering nearby crumbs like fleeing soldiers, until it rolled to a stop under August's nose.

No one dared to breathe; their eyes were all glued to the hunk of plastic like jocks to the SuperBowl. But as the die sealed Bentley's fate, the players' gazes slowly lifted from the number to meet his own - each one wearing the same, awkwardly apologetic expression.

Bentley almost couldn't believe it at first. He couldn't have been that unlucky with his rolls 3 times in a row, right? Maybe it was actually a 7 and he just couldn't read it properly. But when, for the first time that evening after a monster battle, nobody cheered, something clenched in the pit of his stomach. "Oh…" he murmured, heart sinking to his feet. "Damn."

Lifting his gaze to the nearest face for some sort of comfort, Bentley found the panic-stricken stare of August, masked with a layer of what seemed to be genuine sorrow at his friend's misfortune.

"Benny, we told you!" Kona cried, throwing down her pencil in frustration.

But Royce just looked concerned, rather than annoyed. "Why didn't you wait for the rest of us?" he asked, almost appearing hurt that his help had been so vehemently dismissed.

Avoiding his older brother's gaze, for fear of it making that faint, sick feeling in his belly even worse, Bentley pushed his fervent sense of remorse aside and clung to that faithful, yet naive optimism of his. "It's fine," he hurriedly insisted, fixing a lopsided, almost desperate smile to his face as he looked back up at August. "What happens now then if I didn't kill it? Does it just hop away and I don't get any XP?"

"No, doofus, it swallows you whole," Zack retorted.

"What?! How? It's a frog!"

"Yeah, a giant one," Kona reminded him.

Bewildered dismay streaking across his face as his gaze flew between his classmates, Bentley asked, "Is that bad then? How much damage does it do?"

"Once you're swallowed the acid attacks give 5 damage points," August slowly explained, hating every second of dismantling the boy's inherent, infectious optimism. "And I think you only have…"

Bentley's gaze fell to his character sheet, where the freshest pencil scratching marked a '3' where his current health allowance resided. Stunned into near silence, Bentley stared at his shoddy handwriting until he came to terms with the fact that it wasn't going to change. But even then, he could barely comprehend what that meant. "Hold on," he started, meeting August's olive, pitying eyes with utter stupefaction. "Does that mean I'm 'out'?"

The dungeon master's nod was reluctant, but there all the same.

"Are you serious? I lost the game because I got swallowed by a big frog?" he exclaimed in utter disbelief, as his party members just looked on helplessly.

"I did try to say we should have all healed up after fighting those mud mephits," Kona started, but after a swift kick to the shin under the table from August, she soon went quiet.

"So what? Am I really just dead now?" Bentley asked, still reeling from the whiplash his plummeting enjoyment of the game delivered him.

"Well, for the rest of this campaign…yeah," August awkwardly admitted. But as soon as he saw the distress clouding the boy's blue eyes, he scrambled to try to raise his spirit (in more ways than one) once more. "But I can work something into our next one where we avenge your death and resurrect you!"

"Yeah, we'll come back and cut you out of its big slimy stomach," Zack agreed with a guffaw. "And then we'll cook it over a big fire and eat its legs like they do in France."

"Do you only think about food?" a disgruntled Kona muttered.

"Or you could make a new character if you wanted," August added, hoping that his suggestions could bring the boy a little peace of mind. "It's up to you, really."

But Bentley's mind couldn't quite cope with thinking that far ahead yet. "What am I supposed to do for the rest of this campaign though? Just sit and watch you guys play?"

That dejected frown of Bentley's was almost too much for August to bear, especially after putting so much time and effort into creating a storyline he thought his friends would enjoy, which made his next proposal all too easy. "You can play as Cyrus for me if you want? It's kinda hard trying to play and be DM at the same time," he said with a shy smile, before tentatively offering, "Or you could come and help me DM?"

It may not have been the victorious end to the adventure he'd hoped for, but getting to help lead the mayhem as the campaign reached its climax was a pretty sweet consolation prize. And if his gasp of intrigue and excitable grin weren't clear enough responses on their own, his enthusiastic nodding definitely sealed the deal. "Ok, yeah!"

As the pre-teens all swapped places, laughing and teasing one another about the recent turn of events, Bentley’s jovial attitude quickly returned. And as August eagerly began pointing out the various sections of his DM binder, and brainstorming ideas for how to make Pablo's death far more heroic and spectacular than it actually was, some semblance of peace fell over the group of friends again.

Although Royce had remained quiet throughout the resolution of the frog debacle, a pensive stare masking the churning sea of bewildered concern flooding his mind, Vivien's silence could only be blamed on a head of auburn hair.

The faint call of "Pip!" as the die first bounced to the tabletop made her ears prick up, and as the roll descended to chaos, her mossy green eyes found its source in an instant. After all, that stupid, wannabe rockstar, spiky hairstyle of his made him stick out like a sore thumb.

At first she was just confused; Riven never came to All Skate. But when he started waving enthusiastically at her from the arcade section, and was briefly joined by his two classmates: one with the ends of her hair haphazardly streaked with blue raspberry Kool-Aid, and the other swinging a pair of rental skates by their laces - it all began to make sense. Erica did seem to have a mild obsession with Q*Bert if her pact to get a tattoo of the little orange guy for her 18th birthday was anything to go by.

Returning the wave with an inconspicuous one of her own - not wanting to draw the table's attention at such a high-stakes moment - she half-expected the interaction to end there. But when Riven started attempting to mouth things to her across the vast room, any understanding of the campaign crisis unfolding before her was completely lost.

"Have you kissed him yet?" came Riven's first question, paired with a mischievous grin.

With the flashing coloured lights and general low light levels though, it took several attempts and some incredibly cringeworthy miming for Vivien to finally understand what he'd asked. But when she caught on, a look of horror jumped to her face as she furiously started shaking her head.

Riven just tossed his head back and laughed at her response, and steadily reddening cheeks. "Have you at least asked him out?" he tried.

Squinting through the darkness, Vivien still struggled to make out what he was saying, even with his comically exaggerated lip movements. But when she did, she dared a quick glance at the brunet beside her before sheepishly shaking her head once more.

Riven's eye roll was so dramatic he practically did it with his whole body. "Come on!" he mouthed with an amused smirk, thoroughly entertained by her embarrassment. "Grow some balls!"

Vivien had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing out loud at the comical hand actions that accompanied Riven's latest comment. And so, for a third time, she ended up shaking her head at him - this time in a sort of fond, ribbing way though. "I'm working on it!" she dared to mouth back once she was sure the rest of the table's occupants were too enthralled in their own discussion to notice.

Glancing between the big clock on the wall and the bespectacled brunette, he raised his arm and gave a theatrical tap of his clunky, digital watch, that Vivien always teased he'd pulled out of a children's spy kit. "Tick tock!" he playfully taunted. "Or am I gonna have to come over there and ask him for you?"

Once more, Vivien shook her head, this time a little more desperately, as mortifying images of Riven having to speak to Royce on her behalf flooded her mind. "I've got it under control," she promised, daring another sideways glance at Royce to confirm it to both parties. But if the way her stomach lurched at the very sight of him told her anything, it was that she was a barefaced liar. Still, the red-haired asshole and his smug little smirk were not making the process of keeping her anxiety at bay any easier. So just as he started miming even more kissy faces at her, she sent him a flustered glare with a definite message: "Go away!"

Thoroughly satisfied with the teasing he'd subjected his makeshift little sister to for the moment, Riven obeyed with a final chortle and a silent: "Love you!"

Even though she wanted nothing more than to see the back of the sophomore's stupid head, the sentiment had her grinning like a fool all the same. She desperately needed to get this blistering blush under control before she attempted any sort of contact with Royce though; this situation was already going to be painfully embarrassing enough - she didn't need to be starting it out already on the back foot. But as she shot the clock a quick glance of her own, she realised she really was on a time crunch; her dad would be arriving to pick them up soon. And Royce still didn't even know about it.

Casually trying to splash some of the icy condensation from her slushy across her burning cheeks, Vivien took some long, steady breaths to calm the raging battlefield that her mind had become. And before she could talk herself into backing out again, she cleared her throat and croaked out a timid: "Uh, Royce?"

Broken out of his pensive stupor, Royce's umber eyes found hers - blinking a few times to rid the cloud of brotherly anxiety from his brain so that fresh, hormonal curiosity could replace it. "Yeah?"

"I, uh," Vivien shakily began, rubbing her sweaty hands along her jeans and immediately dropping her gaze. Dammit. How did she always crumble so quickly? She didn't have time for this. She couldn't afford to waste any more time worrying about the heat prickling her cheeks, or the way her stomach was twisting itself into knots. She just had to rip the band-aid off. And besides, if it all went horribly wrong, at least she had Riven nearby to pummel to a pulp and wipe her tears and snotty nose on for telling herself it would be ok. "I don't think I ever finished asking you about The NeverEnding Story earlier."

"...Ok, what about it?"

The blank, somewhat confused look Royce shot her made Vivien's throat feel drier than the croutons sat atop her untouched side salad. But she ploughed on anyway. "Well, you know how you missed out on going to see it over the summer?"

"Yeah…" Royce slowly replied, still completely oblivious, and a little wary, as to where Vivien was going with this.

"Well the theatre downtown is replaying some of the big movies of the summer, and there's a showing of it later tonight…" This was it. She couldn't back down now. And so, steeling her nerve and meeting Royce's gaze with a tentative smile, she took in a big breath and made her offer. "So I wondered if you'd maybe want to…go and see it together?"

Something caught between bewildered surprise and utter disbelief flashed in Royce's irises, and for a second Vivien wanted to bolt out the rink's door and keep running until she crossed the state line. And whilst the shock didn't quite dissipate, a smile managed to break through the endorphin-induced chaos. "Yeah! I- uh, yeah," he said, scrambling to downplay his borderline cringey eagerness. "That, uh, that sounds great."

"Really?" Vivien breathed through a Cheshire Cat smile of her own. It almost felt too good to be true, but when Royce confirmed her hopes with a nod, the sigh of relief that left her brought out all the remnants of her nervous ramblings along with it. "Awesome! You're gonna love it! I've been holding back on talking about it for months. I can't believe I can finally ask you about all the characters and everything. It starts at 8:30 but that's just the ads and trailers, so it doesn't matter if we're not there exactly on time. But my dad's coming to pick us up at 8:15 anyway and it's only like an 8 minute drive, so that'll give us plenty of time, but I guess it just depends on if we want to get any snacks or not-" And then her spiel ground to a halt as she realised she'd left out one crucial detail. "My dad's gonna have the twins in the car too though, so there's only enough space for us two… Is that ok?"

Although Royce felt a little strange leaving his brother out when the three of them were so used to doing everything together, he was pretty sure his heart would have stopped beating in protest if he'd turned down the opportunity to spend some time alone with Vivien. "Yeah, yeah, that's ok," he said, sparing Bentley a glance to find him completely enraptured with the fantastical, gruesome details of his DnD character's impromptu death. "Looks like Benny's got the rest of his night sorted anyway."

Ignoring the wistful edge to Royce's smile, Vivien pressed on with a further, relieved sigh. "Perfect. My dad's gonna drop them off at home first, but that shouldn't take long."

"So it's just gonna be the two of us at the movie theatre?" Royce checked.

Vivien's smile faltered a little at the question, worried that he may have suddenly changed his mind. "Yeah… Is that alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, no, that's perfect," Royce hurried to reassure her with a breathy chuckle. "It'll be great."

"Yeah, it will," Vivien agreed as a contented grin split her pink cheeks and a proud warmth spread out from her chest. Looks like Riven had been right: she'd had nothing to worry about after all. Well, that or the many hours of rehearsals with her Big Bird plush had been worthwhile.

Caught red-handed, and red-cheeked, the giddy grins and incredulous giggles of the thirteen year-olds were dropped in an instant as their blissful bubble of puppy love was popped by an impatient dinosaur enthusiast though.

"Hey, lovebirds, are you guys ready to finish this thing or not?" Zack barked across the table - pencil at the ready now that the rest of his friends had finally settled down enough to resume the campaign.

Stealing one last, shyly longing look at one another, elated grins fighting to remain under control, the pair conceded and returned their attention to the game - even if the only thing their brains could focus on was one another.

Besides, in around an hour they wouldn't have to think about anything else anyway…

Once the customer build-up had been dealt with, the rest of the evening was as pedestrian as every other Monday shift at All Skate, which meant plenty of downtime. And downtime for the trio behind the serving counter meant resorting to the most asinine tasks they could find in order to stay awake. Miles had (shockingly) volunteered himself to finish freshening up the skates, Ethan had taken to organising (in the loosest sense of the word) the bin of single-serving sauces, and Mick had started polishing the silverware…because the zit-faced teenagers that graced their establishment deeply cared about the quality of their hospitality.

After a good five minutes of begging, Ethan had finally managed to convince Mick to make him some nachos - feeling victorious even if she had only agreed so that she could get five minutes of peace from his whining as she left to heat them up. And so, as Miles leant against the archway into the skate rentals booth, wearing an amused grin, and Mick trudged through the silver swing doors, Ethan chuckled to himself and reached into the bucket at his knees to grab a new handful of sauce tubs. Hunched over on the stool he'd pulled up to the counter, he selected his latest victim (a pot of honey mustard) and delicately placed it onto the third layer of the 'condiment pyramid' he was constructing on the counter behind the bar.

"How many layers are we aiming for?" Miles asked, tossing the last skate he'd been working on back into its cubby before grabbing a sauce pot of his own from the pile to add to the stoner's masterpiece.

"As many as we can get," came Ethan's snorted reply. "We might need to extend the base though; I don't think this is gonna be wide enough if we wanna use them all."

Laughing at the very thought (since there were easily over 200 sauces in that bin) as he retreated to collect a fresh batch of size 8s, Miles spared the booth his younger brothers were sitting around a quick glance, checking to make sure that they were still ok. Finding them whooping and hollering with their friends, a contented grin settled on his face. He knew deep down that he had nothing to worry about, but he still felt the need to hover over them like a damn dragonfly at every opportunity possible…just to make sure.

When he returned to observe the rest of the savoury statue construction, he was rewarded with the sound of Ethan's dulcet, raspy tones singing along to the REO Speedwagon song Carrie was blasting through the rink's sound system. And when he swapped a pot of barbecue sauce for two, freshly cracked glow sticks from the arcade prize bucket, which he proceeded to use as drumsticks for his imaginary drum kit, Miles' amused grin just widened.

"And I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might," Ethan wailed along with Kevin Cronin, bashing out the beats to the song's chorus with his neon green drumsticks, and the same passion as the rockstar himself. His dedication to the authenticity of the performance plummeted when he decided to take some creative liberties with the second half of the chorus though. "'Cause Miles can't fight his feelings anymore."

Although mildly annoyed that he was about to be subjected to even further ribbing, Miles found himself biting back an entertained smirk all the same.

"He's forgotten Mick's advice so he'll ignore," Ethan continued, tucking one of the glow sticks behind his ear so that he could turn the other into a microphone. Shooting his best friend a mischievous grin, he carried on singing. "Every time Carrie walks on through that door, his dick won't face the floor-"

Springing into action, Miles attempted to silence him with a flustered: "Ok, ok, we get it."

But as Mick returned from placing the nachos in the oven, the thoroughly amused brunet turned to her to finish his rendition of the chorus. "Mickey, Miles can't fight his feelings anymore."

Rolling her eyes with an unimpressed frown after having heard the tail-end of the reimagined chorus on her way out of the kitchen, she huffed, "You guys are disgusting."

"What did I do?!" Miles asked with an incredulous laugh.

But Ethan just brushed her revulsion off with a baffled, yet blasé: "Really, Mick? Can a man not talk about his best friend's boners anymore?"

"No, no he cannot. Especially when they're triggered by…her," she affirmed, momentarily switching up her scolding to send the blonde a sharp, overly protective glare. And to punctuate her annoyance, both at the DJ and the stoner for bringing her up all over again, she sealed her disapproval with a swift flick of the latest sauce pot Ethan had balanced on his pyramid, sending it, and the row beneath it, tumbling to the countertop.

Deeply affronted by the destructive act, Ethan turned to her, mouth hanging open in stupefaction. "I know you didn't just do that on purpose."

"Of course not," Mick teasingly simpered. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Narrowing his eyes at the brunette, over Miles background chortles, Ethan returned his warning glare and the remainder of his concentration to rebuilding his masterpiece. Not letting his frenemy's prior comments go so easily though, he continued to rhapsodise about the most contentious topic of the night, much to his co-workers' dismay. "You can harp on about it all you want, Mick, but you can't get in the way of nature. Something's gonna happen sooner or later; he hasn't stopped looking at her all night."

The second Mick's challenging stare, and that spine-chilling quirked eyebrow of hers, settled on him, Miles snapped back into defence mode. "I've been stuck here cleaning skates with you all night, you idiot," he said, spraying the air from his now-empty can of air freshener right beside the stoner's ear as punishment. Continuing, despite Ethan flinching so hard he nearly knocked the rest of his elaborate tower over, Miles added, "Or did you conveniently forget that part?"

"No," Ethan retorted with a smirk. "How else do you think I know you've been staring at her every other thirty seconds?" And although Miles had tried to prepare a rebuttal that would maintain some shred of his dignity, Ethan's smug observations dug his grave. "He wipes the wheels, checks the toe-stops, sprays the inside, stops to look at her boobs, then swaps them for a new pair - like clockwork."

The judgemental frown that had settled on Mick's face was swapped for a dopey caricature of her long-time friend, complete with an exaggerated impression of his prior statements that evening. "'Mick, I don't know what I was thinking. You were right - everything about her spells bad news. I'm over it, trust me'," She rattled off before that judgemental frown and raised eyebrow came crashing back to the foreground. "Ring any bells?"

And although it evidently did, he did not appear impressed by her impersonation. "I don't sound like that."

"Sure you don't," Mick smirked sarcastically with an exaggerated, teasing eye roll.

"Sounded pretty good to me," Ethan piped up, earning himself a rare, genuinely appreciative grin from Mick that went unnoticed thanks to his preoccupation with the placement of another tub of honey mustard.

Rolling his eyes and volleying the empty aerosol can into the trash can with a defeated huff, Miles admitted defeat. "I don't know, guys. I don't know what I'm doing. It's like I know it's wrong, and that I shouldn't be thinking about her like that, but my brain just won't stop going back to her - it's like it's stuck on a loop or something. I feel like I'm going insane," he said before grabbing a new air freshener and popping the cap off. "That or the fumes from these cans are finally getting to my head."

Glad to see that he wasn't a total lost cause, Mick conceded with another teasing smirk. "Well, at least you're self-aware."

"I still don't see what's wrong with it," Ethan mused as he gently placed down two tubs of ranch. "It's just a little crush-"

"Little?" Mick snorted, sharing a playfully taunting grin with Miles over the stoner's head. "Really?"

"Well, little or not," Ethan revised, leaning back to speak more directly with his best friend. "You've said yourself that you're never gonna act on it. So what's so bad about just thinking she's hot from afar? It's super normal to have crushes like that. And besides, it's not like you're ever gonna tell her about it. She doesn't need to know you've got the number of freckles on her face committed to memory. Just crank a few out to her every night and move on with your life. It'll blow over eventually."

Stunned into spluttering silence by Ethan's latest pearls of wisdom, Miles couldn't even try to dispute the claims the guy had made - swiftly preoccupied with requesting: "Can we stop talking about my dick for like five minutes?"

"I second that," Mick said, raising her hand as further confirmation on her way to shut off the timer that had just started blaring from the kitchen.

"Whatever you say, baby,” Ethan purred with a teasing grin, turning her raised hand into an opportunity to high five her as she passed.

Although Mick slumped in annoyance at first, her instincts soon kicked in as she moved that hand to swat the back of his head in retaliation before disappearing through the kitchen doors once more.

By the time Miles' guffaws had died down to gentle chuckles, and a sulking Ethan had added four more barbecue pots to his pyramid, Mick returned with his food. "There, maybe that will shut you up," she said flatly, sliding the steaming dish in front of her personal nuisance, not having even bothered to decant the nachos from their plastic packaging. "Or do I need to make you a ball gag?"

"Woah, woah, woah, slow your roll, Mickey," Ethan spluttered as Miles' belly-rumbling laughter started up again behind them. "Does Officer Funbags know you're into kinky shit like that?" he continued, quickly turning Mick's slick jab back on her, much to her rising frustration.

"I don't know, let's ask him," Miles tagged on to the teasing, resulting in Mick smacking his arm with the end of the tea towel she was just about to tuck back into her apron belt as he turned to dump his latest set of clean skates back down.

When she saw a figure approaching the food counter out of the corner of her eye though, she realised Miles' ragging hadn't just been to push her buttons after all. And suddenly, as a head of hastily coiffed brown hair dropped onto the closest stool opposite her, the prospect of being subject to hours more of her co-workers' stupidity felt a lot more manageable.

"Evening," an exhausted Butchy huffed to the trio.

"You look chipper," Miles teasingly noted as he picked up a pot of mustard and balanced it atop one of barbecue.

"Oh I'm feeling chipper," the boy's older brother figure sarcastically fired back, with the expected level of conviction from someone who'd just worked a soul-destroying 9-5, and had then had to go on a solo grocery run.

"Rock on, sheriff," Ethan mumbled with a chuckle, more so to entertain himself than anything considering the fact that Butchy didn't acknowledge it in the slightest.

Crossing his arms on the silver bartop, Butchy's head was mere seconds from hitting the deck until an ice cold bottle of Coke was gently slid in front of him - right on time. Looking up, he was met with the gentle, loving smile of his girlfriend, with a mildly concerned glint in those addictive, syrupy irises of hers.

"You ok?" she murmured.

He nudged the bottle aside and reached across the counter, closing the gap between them as he took her hand in his with a tired smile. "I am now that I'm with you," he promised, lovingly squeezing her fingers.

"Rough shift?" she guessed as he started lazily rubbing circles into the back of her hand.

"Yeah, how was work?" Miles tacked on, as enthralled with the pyramid building as his best friend judging by the fact he had yet to lift his eyes from it since Butchy had arrived.

"Same as ever: bullshit," he wearily sighed. But he managed a hopeful, lopsided smile to Mick all the same, "How about you? Are they behaving?"

Chuckling as she and Butchy spared the pair of newly-qualified construction workers a glance, she retorted with a playfully coy: "They're keeping me entertained." But she soon switched her attention back to her boyfriend; her concern for him and his profession taking priority. "Was it really that bad?"

Not wanting to worry her, but not wanting to lie either, he softened and decided on, "It was just a bunch of mindless paperwork again. I feel like I'm losing brain cells by the hour being cooped up in that crappy office."

Pouting and leaning over the bar to press a tender kiss to his forehead, Mick quietly promised: "It'll be worth it one day, I promise."

"It had better be," Butchy chuckled.

Once Mick's sneakers met the tacky linoleum again, she was faced with a grateful, if not exhausted, smile that made her heart swell. After all, it was a definite improvement from when he'd first walked in. "What about your CPR training? Wasn't that today? How did that go?"

"Why? You volunteering to help me demonstrate?" he flirtily retorted, sending Mick's heart rate through the roof.

But the brunette never got the chance to respond, because an all too familiar voice trilled over the latest pop song she'd chosen to play, prompting the couple to sport matching grimaces.

"Buongiorno!"

"Jesus Christ," Butchy groaned, closing his eyes in despair at the pointed, yet botched, Italian accent. "Like I needed my day to get any worse."

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my least favourite police officer in town," Carrie greeted, rolling to a stop beside said police officer with an impish smirk.

He took one look over the girl and just scoffed. "Do you own any normal clothes or are you so desperate for attention you have to make a spectacle of yourself everywhere you go?"

The firm frown her frigid reception prompted didn't stick around for long though. And instead of attempting to defend her bold fashion choices, she stuck with her tried-and-true excessively sweet teasing. "Don't pretend you're not pleased to see me."

"I'm surprised," Butchy offered, having to avert his eyes from her headache-inducing leotard before his skull split in two. "Still not been fired yet?"

"Oh don't you worry, I'm not going anywhere," she promised.

"You’re really tellin’ me Ralph’s happy forking out the cash to cover a glorified Barbie doll pressing buttons every night?" Butchy challenged with a menacing scoff, as irritated as ever by the blonde's inane job.

"Yes, actually," Carrie said, prickling with anger at the (unknowingly) touchy diss.

"I've got no fucking clue why," Butchy deadpanned. "Might as well replace you with a monkey - which would probably have more employable skills anyway - or even a digital radio; it'd be a hell of a lot cheaper."

Although she couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes at his dismissal of her 'talents', she stuck it out to fight her corner regardless. "You do realise I'm here to do more than just play the music."

"Well you barely do that and I've yet to see you do anything else…" Butchy cheekily retaliated, leaving his statement there so that Carrie could fill the rest in herself.

Instead she fixed the smuggest grin she could muster to her face and embraced the claims. "And I can afford to do all that because I'm a 'personality hire'."

"A what?" Butchy almost choked on the word, disgusted by the very notion.

"You know, someone fun the boss hires to boost morale for the rest of the employees, make shifts less miserable…bring in more customers," she explained through a smirk, inflating her ego further with each addition to her list.

"You really think any of that's true?" Butchy scoffed incredulously, cutting her off before she could do any further damage.

"Of course it is," Carrie insisted. "I can understand how you wouldn't have ever heard of it though, you know, considering that you don't have a personality."

Butchy rolled his eyes so hard he almost triggered a migraine. He may not have had a personality, but he'd have rather that than have one as insufferable as her's. Finally turning back to Carrie with a look of resentful despair, aiming to make her leave as soon as possible, he asked, "Is there a reason as to why you're over here?"

"You're not enjoying this?" she questioned with a smirk.

"Not in the slightest," the police recruit fired back without skipping a beat.

Instead of retaliating, she bandaged her wounded exterior with a hopeful smile and turned to her co-worker behind the counter, holding out an empty, teal, metal water bottle. "Mick, could you please-?"

Also trying to end the interaction as quickly as possible, Mick took the bottle from the girl before she could even finish her question. "Sure," she tightly replied, turning to get her the refill before she could strike up another conversation.

But Carrie's talkative tendencies made that nigh on impossible.

"Your sister beat you here tonight," she pointed out to Butchy, much to the couple's shared dismay. Although they did have to admit that the smile she offered alongside the observation seemed innocent enough.

"Mhm," Butchy mumbled, praying that the girl would get the hint and stop trying to force an interaction.

"She's awesome, I can't believe you two are related," Carrie chuckled, this time with a touch more spite, yet a real, genuine fondness for the raven-haired sophomore. "We've been getting along great - she's like the little sister I never got but always wanted," she rambled on, as Butchy fought the urge to acknowledge the conversation and/or turn around to check on his little sister himself. "I took her shopping at the weekend and we were out for hours - it was a blast! Things seem to be going really well with her and Tanner too; it feels like she's over at our house more than yours lately. She's good for him though, they seem really happy." As frightening as it was for him to ponder the influence Carrie could be having over his perfect little sister, the topic of her new relationship struck an entirely different nerve with Butchy. And the second Carrie clocked his change in demeanour, she began plucking that nerve like a banjo string. "If he's brought her here after their little dinner date though then I give it like…ten more minutes until he slips me a 20 and gets me to play Careless Whisper."

He immediately kicked himself for taking the bait, but his protective instinct kicked into action to ask before he could stop it. "Why? What does Careless Whisper have to do with anything?"

"It's number one on his 'hookup' playlist," Carrie snorted, making Butchy's stomach lurch. "From my extensive experience as 'wingwoman'-"

Extensive: the very word made Butchy's hairs stand on end.

"-once he knows he likes a girl, he'll take her out for a nice dinner, bring her back here for a bit of fun, and then when he feels like the moment's right: I get the signal, George Michael comes on, he makes his move, and next thing you know, they're out through the doors before the song's even over, with a one-way ticket to pound town."

The giggles spilling from Carrie's lips were a stark contrast to the tense horror gripping Butchy's lungs, stopping him from taking in enough air to keep the room from spinning.

In a rare moment of mercy, Carrie saw the protective, panic-stricken look on his face and gently swatted his shoulder. "Oh please, at ease, sergeant," she teased. "It's not that serious. It's not like they're running off to elope." But when she saw that made no difference, she added, "Even if he does get me to play it, I wouldn't worry if I were you; he's said he wants to take it slow this time."

"Which means?" Butchy cagily questioned.

"I don't know," Carrie snorted, but attempted an answer for him all the same. "He just said that it feels different for him this time around - like he doesn't want to rush anything, he wants to make sure it's special and meaningful for her - and that she feels ready before they-"

"Don't say it," Butchy jumped in to cut her off; the very idea of his sister's name and that word being in the same sentence made his stomach turn.

"I don't have to; you get the picture," Carrie chuckled, as Mick loudly placed the girl's metal water bottle back on the counter after several attempts to hold it back out to her had gone completely unnoticed.

Despite thanking the girl and collecting her refilled bottle, Carrie didn't get the hint to leave, and turned back to Butchy with the entertained grin of a child tormenting their sleep-deprived parent. "You're being awfully chatty tonight."

"Believe me, it's not by choice," he shot back without even bothering to look at her, sharing his girlfriend's desperation for her to leave them in peace.

Blatantly ignoring their cues, Carrie broached a new topic entirely. "How's it going at work then, sheriff?" she asked, using the same, grating nickname as Ethan, that the pair found thoroughly entertaining. "You arrested anyone yet?"

"Oh my god, are we not done yet?" Butchy exclaimed with a dramatic huff that just fired Carrie's desire to continue.

Hitting him with a total deadpan, unphased expression, she paused a beat before trying again. "...Have you?"

"No," he grumbled. "Now can you please-?"

"Seriously? What the fuck? That's so bogus," Carrie scoffed, half-genuinely disappointed, and half-incredibly satisfied by the revelation. "What do you do all day? Answer phone calls? Sharpen pencils?"

"Nah, he's on that paperwork grind," Ethan piped up to the trio's surprise - the three of them almost having forgotten that he and Miles were even there, let alone listening in to the bickering.

Butchy understood Mick's frustration with the guy more with every minute he spent in his company; that moment in particular brought on a strong urge to reach across the bar and throttle him, especially when he clocked the smirk caked in Carrie's borderline clown-like makeup.

"They really haven't let you arrest anyone yet?" she went on to ask - eyes already sparkling with mischief.

Butchy didn't even have to move; she knew his answer already - and the way he was glaring at her made her next offer all the more entertaining to deliver. "That's so unfair… Tell you what: I'll go move my car out front so it's parked illegally just so you can practise. I'll let you bend me over the hood and everything - and you can put 'em on extra tight."

Carrie's devilish smirk was opposed by an unimpressed scowl that just soured once she started acting out the interaction herself.

As hard to miss as her fluorescent buttcheeks were, especially when she was practically waving them under his nose, Butchy had no trouble forcing them into his periphery as he looked her in the eye. "I'd rather sit here and scoop my eyes out of my skull with a plastic fork," he promised, almost retching at the thought…of the mock arrest, that is. And even if his mind was swimming with all the road traffic offences he'd read through that day, and all the potential charges her claim could receive, he didn't want to give her the satisfaction of playing along.

Stung by the vehement rejection of her advances, even if they had been totally provocational, Carrie just stood back to her full height and found that Butchy had swapped his glower with her sickly sweet smirk.

Taking advantage of the fact that the girl was on the backfoot in the conversation again, Mick dared to chime in with a dig of her own. "If you want to practise arresting people," she began, glancing between Butchy and her two most incompetent co-workers. "Just hang around here until you catch these two hotboxing the break room again."

Although Carrie appeared unphased by Mick's comment, maybe even a little impressed by the remark, Ethan had nothing but earnest defences to offer, momentarily leaving Miles (who was proving to be as good a listener as he was a builder) in charge of the pyramid construction so that he could inform his peers that: "Hey, listening to Tiny Dancer with a buzz is a spiritual experience."

"He's not wrong," Carrie noted with an amused scoff, both at the way the point had been phrased, and the memory tied along with it.

"So was the moment Mick and I found you," Miles finally piped up with a chuckle of his own, far more willing to joke along with the stoners than Butchy would have liked him to be. "I don't think I've ever seen you so high - it was hilarious," he added with a teasing glance at Ethan.

"No it wasn't, it was horrible," Mick argued, frowning at Miles' treachery. "You almost passed out when you opened that door. And the couch cushions still stink of weed now."

"Aww yeah, it was baby's first proper contact high," Ethan said, jokingly turning and squeezing a guffawing Miles' cheeks like he was a chubby toddler. Once Miles had finally managed to swat his best friend's hands away though, Ethan continued gushing about the momentous day he had succeeded in convincing one of the most popular girls in school to split a joint (or two) with him, finishing with: "That was so fun - we totally need to do it again."

"I'm down," Carrie chuckled, completely disregarding Mick's annoyance with the topic.

"Mmm, yeah, sounds interesting," Butchy piped up with a mockingly casual tone and a sensible smirk. "Just tell me when and where and I'll get something extra special arranged."

"Don't worry, sheriff; it's just a joke," Ethan tried, raising his arms in mock surrender with a poorly-executed, nonchalant laugh.

"Oh yeah, totally a joke," Carrie confirmed with an exaggerated nod. Although she made no effort to cover up her wicked smirk. "Unless you want to whip out those handcuffs after all?" she cheekily added, holding out her wrists to him once more with a wink.

Emboldened by Carrie's continued teasing, Ethan brought back an idea from a now-defunct smoke session that had Carrie and Miles laughing their heads off within seconds. "Yo, if actually you want to do a fake drugs bust I could totally try turning one of the old skates in the back into a bong."

As the three co-workers joked around, passing their three collective brain cells back and forth like a game of 'hot potato', Mick's frustration began to rise to a boiling point. Her protectiveness of her own moral integrity, and even moreso, her boyfriend and his career (which she was still immensely proud of), made her anger swell. And before Miles could finish quizzing Ethan on the logistics of the bong's construction, Mick found herself jumping in with an exasperated huff.

"Oh my god, can you give it a rest? This isn't something to joke about - you genuinely could get arrested."

Surprised by the girl's sudden outburst, Miles folded in an instant and tried to set her at ease. "They're not being serious, Mick. We were just messing around."

"Yeah, well, I don't find it funny," she mumbled, skin still burning with defensive aggression.

"...I kinda still do," Ethan reluctantly admitted, before sharing a quick glance with Carrie that immediately set them both off spluttering with laughter again.

Although Miles had settled her with an apologetic smile, Mick's glower was completely ignored by the dense dopeheads. Carrie finally managed to catch her breath enough to speak with her directly though. "Oh come on, Mick, lighten up a little," she taunted with a lax grin and playful eye roll. "You don't have to take everything so seriously all the time."

"Well if I don't, it doesn't look like any of you three would," she snapped back - the sentiment completely lost on Ethan and Carrie, yet filling Miles to the brim with guilt.

"Well maybe if you took that five-foot stick out your ass you might be able to loosen up enough to have some fun of your own for once," Carrie suggested, the sweetness of her tone a stark contrast to the sharpness of her words. "Makes a change to bitching about the rules all the time… You should try it!" she finished with an over-the-top, bright smile that had Mick fighting the urge to slap her. At last, she finally took the hint and decided to leave though, swiping her water bottle and rolling away from the serving counter - but not before she uttered a final warning to her favourite police-plaything: "Watch out for George Michael!"

By the time Butchy turned to retaliate, the girl, and her poisonous smirk had disappeared back onto the dancefloor, leaving a seething brunette in her wake.

"Fucking hell, that could be a military torture device," Butchy muttered, wearily turning his attention back to Mick and rubbing the frustrated exhaustion from his eyes.

Dropping her wounded gaze to the countertop before he could catch it, and blinking back hot, angry tears, she mumbled, "I thought she was never gonna leave." She didn't want anyone finding out how deeply the blonde's words had cut into her; she didn't want her friends to worry, and she didn't want to give Carrie the satisfaction.

Sensing her bristled silence anyway, Butchy leaned across the counter to take her hand again, lifting her gaze to his just in time to send her another, comforting smile. "You really have to put up with her every shift?" he asked with a playfully incredulous tone.

A gentle snort of laughter escaped before she could stop it. "And those two bozos," Mick confirmed with a nod in Miles and Ethan's direction - the pair having returned to their condiment stacking within seconds.

"Damn, maybe I do have the easier job after all," Butchy said with a sympathetic grin that drew a smile to Mick's face as effortlessly as her taking a breath.

The way Butchy could piece Mick's world back together never failed to amaze her - and neither did Carrie's ability to smash it to pieces again.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, we're gonna liven things up a little bit with this next song," the wannabe 'Popstar Barbie' announced over the speaker system, snatching Mick's attention in an instant. And as the blonde's neon-illuminated smirk broadened with each word she purred into the microphone, Mick's stomach sunk closer and closer to her Nike Air Forces. "'Cause, believe it or not, it's good to let your hair down and have some fun every once in a while. If not, you too could end up frigid as a nun and dating a literal pig. So change it up! …Sound familiar? This one's for you."

Although Carrie had given her the grace of leaving out her name, Mick's face burned with embarrassment regardless. No one on the dance floor batted an eyelid at the intro to the song, but as the opening notes of Cyndi Lauper's 'Girls Just Wanna Have Fun' blared across the rink, Ethan and Miles' wide eyes were pulled from their tubs of sauce to her scarlet cheeks. Wanting the ground to swallow her whole, Mick's defeated glare tracked Carrie's every, smug move: the little giggle to herself as she shut off her microphone, the hop over the lip of the rink from the carpet, the stupid, effortless twirl she did as she skated up to her brother and his date to encourage them to dance with her - loathing every cell in her body. Why did she get away with everything? How could she be so cruel and still get people laughing? How could she be so irresponsible and still get paid the same as her? How could she spit in Mick's face like that and still have Miles drooling over her like a moron, and Lela ditching their weekend plans to go and fritter her savings away on tight skirts and gaudy hair accessories? And how could she still dislike Mick after all these months of working together when she'd managed to 'befriend' everyone else?

Mick tore her envious gaze from the blonde, dancing and miming along to the lyrics as though she was aiming them directly at her, as Butchy's firmly protective gaze found hers again. "Just ignore her," he insisted. "She doesn't know what she's talking about."

"She sure makes out that she does," Mick replied with a poorly disguised, defeated chuckle.

"Yeah, 'cause she's delusional," Butchy said. "And she's gonna have one hell of a reality check when she realises the whole world doesn't revolve around her and her huge, fucking bejewelled ego."

As Butchy's comment succeeded in finally pulling a genuine smile back to Mick's face, the night fell back into its usual rhythm. Mick left to go and whip up the most palatable dinner option she could find for her boyfriend, the skaters filtered on and off the rink as their call times came and went, and Miles even had the rare pleasure of exchanging 50 prize tokens from the arcade for a green, palm-sized polyester Care Bear for a blue-haired sophomore, which was swiftly handed off to her friend. The evening drew on, minutes dragging by at a snail's pace - the only indicator for time (besides the giant clock on the wall) being the systematic filling of soda cups each time a group of teens were cycled off the rink, how many different items Ethan had experimented with to help give his (actually quite impressive) condiment pyramid some stability, and how many conversation topics the quartet had managed to burn through. But just as Ethan was switching out the basically empty tip jar for a two-litre soda bottle, and Mick was finishing up teasing Miles (who had spent an obscenely long time checking she was ok after the run-in with Carrie) about the state of his hair, Butchy's night took a turn for the worst.

"Who are you trying to look like, Steve 'The Hair' Harrington?" Mick snorted as she stole one of her boyfriend's now stone-cold fries.

"Oh my god, no, for the fifth time, I just haven't had it cut for like two months," Miles retaliated with an exasperated groan, attempting to tame the bird's nest by combing his hand through it.

"Why's he gotta be influenced by that wannabe jock?" Ethan cut in with a frown. "Why can't he be inspired by an equally handsome, but even cooler trendsetter with awesome hair?"

Just ignoring and rolling her eyes at Ethan's not so subtle prompting, she laughed through the question she aimed back at Miles. "Why don't you just get it cut then? Gonna miss playing with it every thirty seconds?"

"When I can afford a haircut, Mick, I'll get a haircut," Miles replied. "But until then, we're stuck with this. And with the way things are going, I'll be looking like a member of Whitesnake by the time I graduate."

The sound of Mick's giggles, and Ethan's praises for such a niche rock music reference, were rivalled by the fade-out of The Safety Dance though, which steadily morphed into the opening synth notes of the next song. At first it went completely unnoticed - as irrelevant as most of the tunes Carrie selected for the skaters, even with Ethan's brainless singing overlying the vocals to the first verse. But when the beat kicked in and he threw in some admittedly very comical body rolls to match it, the other three started to take some more notice - Miles even attempted a few of his own, to Mick's thorough entertainment. The moment that famous saxophone solo kicked in though, Butchy's face dropped like a lead balloon.

Mick's eyes found his, mildly worried about how he would react, but the brunet was frozen, partly out of fear, and partly out of disbelief. It was like the instinctual part of his brain knew he had to react, to rip the input cables out of the speakers, drag his little sister into his station wagon, and drive her home, never to let her out of the house again. But the logical side of his brain knew he couldn't do anything; he just had to sit there and let it happen - if he wanted Lela to ever speak to him again anyway. Stiffly turning to the rink, he found the couple locked in a slow-dance embrace, lovestruck grins playing at their lips as they swayed along to the music and giggled about god-knows-what. As protectively concerned as he was for his little sister, a much more visceral reaction was triggered by a flash of neon pink in the corner of his eye; the sight of Carrie smirking and proudly displaying to him the twenty dollar bill she'd taken as a bribe made his blood boil - and the comically exaggerated, racy dance moves she progressed to, paired with her own miming of the lyrics turned his stomach so violently he had to avert his eyes before he barfed all over the carpet. The swinging hips and kissy faces he could potentially put up with, but the lewd hand gestures just infuriated him.

Saying that, when he turned back to the other trio, and found that Ethan had managed to get Miles to fully commit to swaying and clicking in time to the music as they flanked and serenaded a very amused Mick, he did have to admit that the act was rather comical. Although she was very reluctant at first, Miles finally managed to coax her into at least somewhat dancing along with them - stepping and snapping along to the beat, and occasionally being twirled by him. But as the final chorus approached, Ethan's passion overcame him, and his (now almost entirely glow-less) glow stick was snatched up from the countertop to act as his microphone once more - accompanying his grinding dance moves up against Mick and Miles that had Miles laughing so hard he couldn't breathe, and Mick shoving him away from her, almost sending him flying into his condiment masterpiece - which just contributed to Miles' state of hysteria.

The antics as the song wound to a close were lost on Butchy though, who had finally dared another, cautious look towards the roller rink, only to find an empty space where his sister and her date had been. Searching again, he saw her head of raven hair disappearing out the smudged glass doors, her roller skates swinging from Tanner's hand as he wrapped his free one around her shoulders. A lump formed in his throat that he desperately tried to push away. Reminding himself that he couldn't bubble-wrap the girl forever, he swallowed every protective instinct he had with one deep breath - praying that would be enough to keep his mind at ease. He spotted Carrie giving the retreating couple an exaggerated wave in his periphery, but he refused to make eye contact with her; he wasn't about to give her the satisfaction. So instead, he turned back around to find Miles relinquishing Mick's hand as the song came to an end, so that they could both applaud Ethan's performance - Mick's claps were significantly more reluctant, but her entertained grin was undeniable.

"Holy fuck, I love a saxophone solo," Ethan breathed, slinging his pretend microphone onto the back counter and shaking his head to regain some semblance of control over his unruly, ratty locks.

"I can tell," Miles chuckled.

"Hmm, I think that's enough excitement for one night," Mick said, immediately preoccupied by her boyfriend's change in demeanour.

Before she could question it though, Ethan gasped, blurting out a query of his own. "Oh my god, do you think she's got Baker Street?"

"I don't know, maybe," was all Miles could offer in response, smirking at the guy's dopey, childlike enthusiasm. "Go ask."

He needed no persuasion; scrambling out from behind the serving counter and dashing over to the DJ booth with all the grace of a spider on a freshly mopped floor.

"What's Baker Street?" Mick asked Miles, momentarily distracted by her confusion at the stoner's actions.

"Another song with a sax solo," he explained, but when she showed no sign of recollection, he added, "You'll know it once it starts, trust me."

Despite her scepticism, Mick took his word for it and returned her attention to checking her boyfriend was alright. Although she'd gotten the gist of the issue, she had no time for probing further by the time Carrie threw her head back in laughter at the stoner's request and happily flipped through her collection of cassettes until she found the right song to switch to. At first, Mick was none the wiser as to what the song was, completely perplexed by the dreamy flute notes and why on earth Ethan would request such a thing. But as soon as the infamous saxophone motif kicked in, and Ethan, despite being on the other side of the room from Mick and Miles, whipped around to face them, sporting a pair of novelty sunglasses he'd swiped from the prize bin, and with the fire extinguisher off the wall grasped like a mock-saxophone, she realised exactly what she was about to be subjected to.

The guffaws flying from Miles' lips were instant as his friend put his all into miming along to the saxophone line on his journey back over to them. And although Mick just shook her head at him, she couldn't clamp her lips together hard enough to stop her own giggles from spilling out, much to Ethan's delight - in fact, it just spurred him on to dance even more enthusiastically. He made sure to keep his miming of the lyrics much more subdued and serious though, providing an even starker contrast to the over-the-top gyrating and parading of the fire-extinguisher-turned-instrument.

"I didn't know this even had lyrics," Miles admitted to the brunet, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

"Well consider yourself educated, my friend," Ethan retorted, before tucking the fire extinguisher under his arm and lifting an invisible guitar from its invisible stand beside him. Thrusting it under an incredulous Miles' nose, he added, "Now come on, I'm on the sax so you've gotta take the guitar solo."

Playing along and taking the air guitar, despite laughing so hard he could barely stand upright, Miles did eventually regain enough composure to mime along with the solo. Even Carrie, stuck over in her little DJ booth, had slid her own giant sunglasses onto the bridge of her nose, and was using her water bottle to mime along to the chorus' saxophone line (although whether her hand and mouth gestures were imitating a brass instrument, or the lewd activities she'd implied her brother and his date had gone off to partake in, was still up for debate, much to Butchy's disgust).

Leaving her co-workers to their antics, Mick returned her attention to her boyfriend and cheered him up in their own way - far from the boisterous teasing and idiotic dancing surrounding them. Between the jokes about his own shitty coworkers, and the promises of future date plans, Butchy slowly felt the air being breathed into his lungs again. In fact, they had almost completely forgotten where they even were until a fourteen year-old waltzed up to the counter and demanded a chocolate milkshake.

By the time Mick had returned, and had gladly exchanged the shake for the cash she methodically counted into the register, the latest of Carrie's music selections was starting to play. And since Mick and Ethan had had songs dedicated to them in their own ways throughout the night, now it was Miles' turn.

He'd almost completely forgotten about his interaction with the blonde at the start of their shift, to his great surprise, but when Rick Springfield began telling him about his good friend, Jessie, over a familiar, plucked guitar riff, his ears pricked up. Knowing that he'd have hated the extra attention any sort of preamble she could have given for the request, Carrie had left it to drift in from the end of Don't You Want Me without uttering a word, only offering a hopeful smile and a questioning thumbs up once he caught her eye, to prompt him to show his reaction. Chuckling to himself, he gave her a thumbs up back, indicating the song had been a good choice. Trying to stop the interaction from progressing any further - his conscience still bruised by how the girl had acted around his friends earlier - Miles dropped his eyes back to the new box of barbecue sauce tubs he was unpacking, since he and Ethan had already burned through their existing supply (to their amazement). It was roughly thirty seconds before his instinctual curiosity got the better of him though, and his denim blue eyes were drawn straight back to his t-shirt twin with a reluctant smile - only for him to tear them away again a moment later, frustrated that his resolve was so weak. That game of chicken lasted for the majority of the song, but as the bridge, and its guitar riff, took centre stage, Carrie managed to grab his attention well and truly with her own attempt at an air-guitar solo, inspired by his prior work on Baker Street. At first, the plucking and miming was just for her own entertainment, but when she caught him watching her (much to Miles' horror), she turned up the energy for a full performance. Once his initial panic at being exposed for staring at her had passed, his dopey, longing stare was soon replaced by an amused smirk that, despite trying to hide behind his hand, Carrie soon clocked and demanded to know the reason for. As had become the norm for them recently, Miles started mouthing his reply across the room - explaining that her technique was terrible. Feigning horror, Carrie gasped and demanded that he show her how it was done then - and although he was reluctant at first, he did end up doing a much more reserved air-guitar riff of his own for a very impressed Carrie. After taking a moment to express how she'd forgotten how much she loved this song, she tried her best to replicate it, but soon gave up in favour of returning to her comically exaggerated playing and jumping around in a bid to keep the brunet laughing. And laugh he did, so enraptured by the silly performance and the warmth it filled him with that he completely forgot about all of the questionable things she'd done that day. He even forgot about anyone else watching, so caught up in the moment they shared that he was about to pick up his imaginary guitar to join in again, this time of his own accord, without any regard for what his friends would think, or if they would even see him. But as the final chorus started up, a head of tawny blonde hair lumbered into view, and the moment the hunk's arms were thrown around Carrie's shoulders from behind, their exchange was abandoned - seemingly as meaningless to Carrie as the rest of her interactions that evening, considering that her conscience had not taken part in a single one of them.

Having watched the entire interaction, from the coy smiles all the way up to the fake guitar lessons, the way Miles' shoulders slumped so quickly prompted a smirked question from Ethan: "Yo, when did Eric change his name to Jessie?" he teasingly asked, obviously referencing the song's lyrics and their meaning, as Miles just frowned in disapproval, and gently whacked him on the back of his head as he went back into the store room to find more boxes of condiments. After all, the longer he stayed out of the room, the less PDA he'd have to subject himself to.

"Guess who?"

The husky voice purring into Carrie's ear, paired with the weight of the arms that had been draped over her shoulders, made her legs go weak at the knees. And with wide, excitable eyes, she whipped around to face her boyfriend with a grin so brilliant it could have blinded him. "Oh my god, you scared me!" she laughed through her surprise, before throwing herself into an eager embrace, immediately basking in the familiar comfort of his Herculean grasp. "What are you doing here?"

"What, I've gotta have a reason to come see you now?" he asked with a teasing smirk as Carrie set her skates back fully on the ground and his arms snaked around her waist.

"I thought you said you had an extra practice tonight," Carrie said, idly raking her nails through the hair at the base of his head.

Although confusion appeared to cloud his eyes for a moment, that classic, glazed confidence quickly returned. "Oh, uh - it got cancelled," he explained, brushing off the slight falter in his voice with a gruff laugh. "Rescheduled again: back to normal time tomorrow now. And since I was giving someone special a ride, and Mom told me to pick up the little bro, I thought I'd come see you too."

"Who'd you bring?" Carrie snorted, before her eyes flew wide with delight. "Wait, is Julie here with you?"

Taken aback by the sudden spike in enthusiasm, and how it had increased tenfold compared to when he'd arrived, the jock's confusion returned. "What? No. Ed was meeting a girl here."

Carrie's excitement evaporated in the blink of an eye, her disappointment so great she couldn't even begin to mask it.

Shocked that his girlfriend's reaction was so drastic, and that her enthusiasm for his presence had also been significantly dulled, he continued. "Oh my god, what's that face for? You'd think she was the one you were dating."

Eyes darting up to meet his with a mildly scolding frown at his obviously mocking tone, Carrie rolled her shoulders back and pushed her grievances to the back of her mind. Hoping to distract him rather than try to explain herself, she fixed a loving smile to her face and leant in close. "Then who'd kiss your lucky socks before every game?"

"I don't know," he dopily chuckled as her minty breath tickled his cheek.

"Well let's hope we never have to find out," she mumbled against his lips before locking them between hers, and being further silenced by his tongue working its way down her throat - evidently his own way of showing his agreement.

Although their makeout session was as long, and sloppy, as ever, it was Eric that was the first to surface for air, mumbling an autopilot: "How's work?" as he did.

"Same as usual," Carrie sighed, once more toying with the hair at the back of his head. "I've played some good songs, messed with the others over there a bit…nothing that exciting."

"Oh yeah? Looked like you were having fun when I came in," Eric noted, a slight, tense pressure creeping into his tone. Sparing the counter where the brunet resided a glance, he added a warning, "How's Miles been?"

"Like I said: same as usual," Carrie slowly replied, with a slight frown of disapproval. "Just as quiet as ever - I was only playing him a request 'cause he fixed a light in the break room for us. That's about as interesting as it gets 'round here." Drawing Eric's decadent, chocolate eyes back to her with a gentle tilt of his chin, she let her lips melt into a smile, uttering a flirtatious, "My night just got a hell of a lot better though." As Eric's face split into a grin, revealing the dimple she adored on his right cheek, Carrie rocked back onto her toe-stops to reach up and kiss it - so head-over-heels for the guy she could hardly keep her hands off him. Letting her hand slide down the back of his head again as she pulled away though, something by her wrist caught her eye, and for a moment, her smile faltered.

"What?" Eric chuckled, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

Carrie plucked at the neckline of his football jersey, leaning in closer to inspect it herself before trying to hold up the fabric for him to see, despite the flashing coloured lights. "What's this?" she asked quietly, her eyes not once leaving the smudge of baby pink streaking across the white nylon, her mind already swirling with suspicions that made her feel nauseous.

Eric scoffed. "You tell me, you're the one who reapplies her lip gloss every five minutes."

The confidence in his voice, the speed of the reply, that dopey smile she fell in love with all over again every time she saw it… How could she have ever thought he'd stoop to-? No, she didn't even want to say the words. Pushing the doubts to the back of her mind, she conceded and giggled her way into a further kiss - relishing the assuredness of his hand on her hip, and the way he slipped his hand under her hair to cup the back of her head.

She may not have immediately recognised the shade, but she had to admit that she'd bought a lot of lipsticks over the years… And, she wasn't known for being the…neatest when things got heated. Maybe her hot pink lip gloss had just smudged a lighter shade…right?

Yet again, Eric was the first to pull away from the kiss. This time though, he straightened fully and stepped back a little, creating more of a gap between them as he cleared his throat to ask: "You taken your break yet?"

Sharking her head as that mildly disapproving frown crept back onto her face, Carrie replied, "No, not yet." And although she knew exactly where Eric was going with this, she still asked, "Why?"

"You wanna take it now?" he offered with a suggestive smirk. "...We could move this outside-"

Carrie let out an exasperated sigh. "I can't, I need to use it to grab some food; I've not eaten yet tonight."

"Oh my god, skip the food," Eric replied with a cocky chuckle. "Come on, what's gonna taste better?"

"I don't care about the taste," she said with a playful eye roll and a gentle swat of his chest. "I'm hungry - last time I ate was like 12:30."

"It's fine, you'll live. You've probably got a week of dinners sitting right here," he snorted, reaching around to slap her thigh and jiggle it around with his hand.

Mortified, Carrie's breath stilled in her throat. She wanted to slap that sweaty paw of his away, but she couldn't move; rooted to the spot as he poked at her like she was a piece of meat.

"Oh come on, Carrie. You know I'm only saying it 'cause I care about you," he tried, sensing her stiffen under his fingertips. But his cocksure smile and offhand tone showed no remorse. "We both know this place serves garbage, and if you keep eating it the pounds are gonna keep piling on. You even said yourself that your cheer skirt was starting to feel a little tight-"

"Alright, you don't have to keep bringing it up," Carrie defensively huffed, turning back to her table of cassette tapes so that she didn't have to look at his judgemental smirk any longer. Not one for taking hints, Eric soon snaked his arms around her waist again though - but whether or not he noticed her sucking in a breath to help flatten out her stomach, was still up for debate.

"Aww, come on, baby. Don't go all schizo on me now. I don't care what you eat," he promised. And for a moment, Carrie dared to believe that the sentiment was genuine. "As long as you look good." Yep, there it was. Nevermind.

Deciding it wasn't worth the fight her mind was rearing up for, Carrie compromised with a sigh, "It's fine, I'll just grab something when I get home."

"That's my girl," Eric smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead as Carrie's eyelids slid closed in a silent acceptance. Using her surrender to his advantage, Eric produced a pack of Marlboros from his back pocket and brought it in front of them both. "Now, about that break," he said, plucking out a new cigarette and tucking it behind his ear before returning the box to his jeans. "I'll let you split one with me if you come out now."

Carrie could hear the smirk in his voice, but his confidence was entirely misplaced. "You know I don't like them," she grumbled.

"You don't have to smoke the whole thing."

"I don't want to smoke any of it; I've got a singing lesson tomorrow and I've told you before, they mess with my throat," she explained, a little more tersely than she'd intended, but when her frustration began to rise, her control over it started to slip away. After all, Eric definitely did know all of this information already, he was just weaponising his masculine incompetence.

"Like that matters," he scoffed, hiding his eye roll behind Carrie's turned back. Convincing her to ditch the acting stuff after she booked a gum commercial at the start of their relationship was one of the best things he could have done for her; being in community theatre would have totally tanked her social life. "You're never gonna do anything with them - it's not like you're gonna sing the national anthem at a Red Sox game." Laughing over any attempts Carrie could have made to try to defend herself, and no doubt rub her bruised ego, Eric pressed on with his latest attempt to sell her on the idea. "Plus, I heard 'em say on the news that they can suppress your appetite," he proudly smirked, taking the cigarette back down from its perch to wave it in front of the blonde's cold, blue eyes. "So who knows? A couple of puffs on this and you might not even want dinner later."

"Gee, how nutritious," Carrie flatly shot back, self-consciously hugging her arms around herself as the jabs at her weight started to take their toll.

Oblivious to her discomfort with the topic, he continued, "They increase your metabolism too, you know. If you cut out the junk food and work through a couple of these bad boys a day, by the time it's prom you could look like the girls on the cover of Playboy."

"Oh yeah? And how'd you know what they look like?" Carrie challenged, but if Eric's dopey chuckle was anything to go by, he wasn't phased in the slightest.

"Lucky guess?" he offered with a snort of laughter that showed he'd clearly amused himself. But Carrie's flat stare told him she was harder to impress. Sighing, he finally dropped the frat-boy-esque behaviour and wrapped his arms around her in a hug again, as he promised a quiet, "I'm sorry, baby. I'm just messing around. I'm not gonna make you have any if you don't want to."

Finally, a genuine smile started to creep back onto Carrie's face as she melted into the embrace - relieved that the part of the jock she'd fallen in love with was still in there somewhere.

Alas, his moronic social blindness was never far behind. "I left my lighter in my gym locker though, so you're still gonna have to come out with me so I can borrow yours."

Rolling her eyes, both at his forgetfulness, and how insecure his masculinity was, Carrie just let out a heavy sigh that had Eric scrambling together any last minute persuasions he could think of.

"Come on, I'm gonna need company out there," he tried, scattering kisses across her temple with a knowing grin. "You can't let me be lonely."

"Says who?" she challenged with a teasing chuckle of her own, starting to feel as though she was able to muster at least a little bit of her usual mojo.

"The best boyfriend in the world," Eric offered, once again just prompting Carrie to roll her eyes.

"And people say I'm the one with the big ego," she grumbled, managing a reluctant smile as she swiped up the plastic pink lighter from her desk in the DJ booth, checked the current cassette would last the next fifteen minutes or so, and then let herself be dragged towards the glass doors by the victorious quarterback. She wasn't entirely convinced by Eric's prior statement after how rocky the majority of their recent interactions had been, but she didn't have a great deal to compare it to. Nothing long-term anyway. And every couple had their disagreements, right? It was totally normal. Not perfect, but normal - she could cope with normal.

She could love normal.

"Thank fucking god. At least they're moving the tonsil hockey outside," Butchy grumbled, returning his attention to tinkering with the clunky old radio from the break room, hoping to be able to fix it up for the two staff members he actually cared about.

"Oh my god, would you stop looking at them?" Mick asked with a fondly exasperated huff as she too watched Carrie and Eric disappear through the rink's exit - mentally clocking the time to make sure that the blonde's break time was actually adhered to, which, given her track record, was a rarity. "They won't bother you at all if you don't see them," she added, breezing past her boyfriend and Miles with a tray of empty plates and glasses on her way to the sink in the back.

"And I'm the one that gets ragged on for staring at her," Miles sarcastically teased, scooting around Ethan (slumped forwards on the staff counter, beside his now-complete condiment masterpiece, drooling into his elbow) to take up Mick's role of keeping the older boy company.

"I'm plotting her demise, you're planning how you're gonna propose," Butchy shot back with a monotone tone and a judgemental quirk of his eyebrow.

Miles just rolled his eyes, losing all motivation for the playful jabs. "When is everyone gonna let this go? Nothing's gonna happen," he wearily insisted.

"When are you gonna let it go? You're the one that keeps crawling back every time you say you're 'done' with her," Butchy replied with a pointed scoff.

"...She is nice if you get to know her," he weakly tried, but one look at Butchy's sceptical frown and his resolve came crashing down.

"No she's not, Miles," he deadpanned. "She's just using you to get out of doing any real work around here. When was the last time you saw her wiping down a table? Or unpacking a case of napkins?"

"She helps with the cleaning when we're closing down every night," he offered, but Butchy wasn't having any of it.

"Oh, she does the bare minimum? Well damn, let me give her a participation ribbon," he sarcastically scoffed, using a screwdriver to free a trapped wire inside the radio. Before a defeated Miles could try to come up with any sort of counter-argument though, he continued with his lecture. "Just face the facts, Miles: she doesn't pull her weight. She barely does half the shit you and Mickie do, and then she rides on your coattails to get away with it. And that's all she's ever going to do - Eric too. They're both as hopeless as each other: too fucking dense to amount to anything themselves. Eric'll get his dad to hand him a real estate job on a platter, Carrie will sit around at home, sponging off his bank account in exchange for him parading her around like a glorified sex doll to his meathead friends, and they'll be stuck in Hawkins forever - becoming the same stupid carbon-copies of their 'suburban dream' parents they always insisted were so lame. They're not worth getting involved with, trust me."

Although Miles could picture the pair's proposed future as clear as day, he wasn't ready to admit the truth he was faced with just yet. "Carrie's not gonna stay in Hawkins," he insisted, with a quiet, yet completely misplaced confidence that had Butchy's eyebrow twitching again.

"How would you know?" he asked.

"She told me," Miles simply replied, harkening back to one of the many conversations they had shared over a soapy mop bucket. "She's got dreams. She wants to move to California after school to become an actress, or something."

"...And you really think any of that's gonna happen?"

The almost painful disbelief streaked across Butchy's face wasn't enough to completely crush Miles' confidence though. "I don't know, maybe? Crazier things have happened around here."

"One news scandal a year ago does not count," Butchy deadpanned. "It's never gonna happen, Miles. She's gonna be stuck here, working her way through every colour at Stacy's nail salon, and bitching about the other moms at her pilates class, until she finally wakes up one day and realises she's wasted her entire life in a dead-end town, surrounded by people she just pretends to care about. And even if, by some insane miracle, she actually did break up with that braindead oaf and move to California… What then? Are you gonna go after her?"

Trodden into submission, Miles relinquished his optimistic defiance with a small shake of his head. Of course he wouldn't follow her; he was just as stuck in this town as her and Eric were. If he earned enough money to own his own house one day that'd be a goddamn miracle - and their town was in the middle of nowhere, it's not like the housing market was competitive. He'd never have the funds to move. He couldn't follow her even if he wanted to. And then he had his brothers to consider; they'd never up sticks and move without a damn good reason - and Carrie was definitely not a good reason.

"No, of course you're not. Your whole life is here, Miles. You wouldn't give that up for her, I know you wouldn't. So stop chasing after her, tricking yourself into thinking you would. You're just setting yourself up to get your heartbroken," Butchy said, combining his protective urgency with an almost apologetic smile that Miles had to admit did soften the blow a touch. "You're better off focusing on what really matters: your family," he added with a gentle emphasis that Miles was much happier to agree with.

The older brunet was right; his brothers were his whole world. Everything he'd done for as long as he could remember was for them, to give them the best life he could. Anything else was just a distraction - especially if they were clad in head-to-toe neon. Whilst part of him didn't understand why he had to pick between a girl and his family, since self-proclaimed family man, Butchy himself, was somehow allowed to have both, the rest knew that even if given both options, his brothers would take priority anyway. They had to; they were all he had.

"I know, I know," Miles sighed, handing his friend a different screwdriver from the junkpile of a toolbox the rink owned, and offering him a small smile of acknowledgement. "She's a friend, nothing more. No more distractions."

"Miles!"

The call of his name made him start, jumping to attention, but when he realised that the voice didn't belong to a glittery dress-up doll, and had in fact come from one of the very boys he'd just been thinking about, his grin widened.

"Speaking of family," Butchy chuckled, following Miles' gaze to find Royce scurrying over to the serving counter.

"Or distractions," Miles smirked, before turning his full attention to his brother. "You ok? What do you want?"

"Vivien's asked me to go see a movie with her tonight. I can go right?" he checked, breathless with anticipation and eyes glittering with excitement.

Suddenly Miles' conversation with his self-appointed little sister from earlier on in the night came flooding back to him, and he had to fight the urge to burst out laughing. "Oh, she did, did she?" he probed with an almost mocking eyebrow raise.

"Please, Miles, I already missed out on the movie once back in the summer," Royce started to plead.

"What's the movie?" Butchy asked, an amused fondness tugging his lips into a smirk to match Miles'.

"The NeverEnding Story," Royce hurriedly explained before turning back to his big brother, just missing the snort of laughter Butchy had to hide behind his fist and a forced cough. "I can go, right?"

Letting out a sigh, the mirth slipped from Miles' face. "I don't know, RJ," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck as his eyebrows furrowed in an almost pained expression. "I want you to go, trust me. But I also need you to make sure Benny gets home safe since I can't clock out until 10."

"Oh come on, Miley, please. Benny will be fine, we're always fine - he's even got his own key now!"

"The same key he lost within fifteen minutes of me giving it to him?" Miles questioned, having to suppress the smile the memory instantly triggered.

"Yeah, but we found it like three minutes later - and he's got it on that strap inside his backpack now so he's not gonna lose it again," Royce defended, before leaning heavily on the serving counter and going straight back to his begging. "Please, Miley. I'll do all the dishes for a week."

"A week? That's your best offer?" Miles snorted, leaning down to his little brother's eye level.

"You really wanna go see this movie, huh?" Butchy noted with a knowing smile. "You heard good things or something?"

"Viv said it was good," Royce shyly mumbled. "That's why she wanted us both to go see it."

"You 'both'? So it's just the two of you?" Butchy chuckled, that knowing smile of his just broadening.

"Yeah…" Royce slowly admitted, failing to see what the two older boys were finding so amusing.

"What? So you're going to a movie alone with a girl and I'm just finding this out now?" Miles asked, feigning surprise and playing up his protectiveness. "Who's the chaperone? What's the rating? How do I know you're not just gonna sneak off somewhere else instead?"

"I'm off-the-clock for the night, I don't mind chaperoning," Butchy offered with a smirk, deciding to join in with the ragging, much to Royce's dismay.

"Oh my god, we don't need a chaperone!" he insisted with an exasperated groan. "It's not a date we're just…"

As his brother trailed off, Miles propped his chin up with his elbow and teasingly probed further. "Just what?"

Embarrassed frustration spilling over, Royce finally found the courage to reply. "Just friends!"

Butchy and Miles shared another knowing grin, this one making Royce want to dissolve into a puddle at their feet. "Friends, huh?" Butchy went on to question, swapping his screwdriver for a pair of pliers.

At first Royce thought that they were going to let him get away with it, but he should have known Miles would never have let him off that easily whenever Vivien was concerned.

"So where exactly does the 'giant crush' part come into this 'just friends' thing then?"

Butchy's laughter was quickly drowned out by another exasperated groan from Royce though. "Oh my god, shut up, her dad's gonna be here any minute," he huffed in despair. In a final bid to bargain with his big brother, he straightened up, trying to come level with him once more, and rattled through the reasons to support his final plea. "He's dropping us off and picking us up as soon as the movie's done, so there's no chance of us sneaking off anywhere; I don't know the rating, but I'm pretty sure it's aimed at kids, so it's not like I'm gonna be scarred for life; and you don't need to worry about us doing anything, or telling me about the birds and the bees before I go, because we both know I'm way too lame to even think about doing anything close to 'making a move' on her… Happy now?"

Miles went quiet, mulling over the proposal with an expression that gave nothing away, and making Royce even more agitated until he finally went with: "...But you do want to 'make a move' on her?"

"Miley!" Royce exclaimed, cheek burning with embarrassment as he sent his brother a frustrated glare.

"Alright, alright," Miles laughed, deciding that he'd given the boy enough grief for one night as he affectionately bumped him on the arm. "I'm just messing with you, of course you can go."

Although still a little bristled by all the teasing, the relief on Royce's face was clear as day. "Thank you! I won't be back late, I promise," he grinned through an elated laugh. He wanted to run straight back over to Vivien to tell her the good news, but before he could, another matter jumped to the forefront of his mind. "Wait, have you got any money I can borrow for my ticket?"

Fondly rolling his eyes at Royce's nervously pleading smile, Miles chuckled, "Why did I know there'd be a catch?" But he straightened up and reached for his wallet anyway, even if it was light as a feather. "Let me see what change I can pull together-"

"Don't worry, little man," Butchy cut in, gently bumping Royce's arm and whipping out his own wallet, sparing Miles a reassuring smile as he did so. "Ticket's on me, tonight," he said, producing a crisp ten dollar bill and handing it over to the boy. "Treat yourselves to some snacks too."

"Really?" Royce gasped, eyes wide with gratitude. "Thanks, Butchy! I'll pay you back, I swear."

"It's fine, really," Butchy chuckled at his enthusiasm. "Just get me a mention in your guys' wedding speech and we'll call it even," he added, teasingly ruffling the boy's curls as he and Miles shared a laugh.

"Gross," Royce grumbled, but he took the time to fix his hair in the reflection of the serving counter before going back to face the girl anyway.

"You won't be saying that for long, trust me," Butchy snorted.

"Make sure you say 'thanks' to Vivi's dad for the ride," Miles started to lecture, but Royce was quick to cut him off.

"I will, Miley, I'm not an asshole."

"I never said you were," Miles chuckled. "I'm just giving you some pointers."

"Don't listen to a word he says, Royce. He's a lost cause when it comes to girls," Butchy said with a teasing grin that the thirteen-year-old happily replicated.

Miles just chuckled and nodded along. "He's not wrong." With his younger brother back smiling, and now adequately funded, he was satisfied to send him away. "Alright, come on, don't keep her waiting, Romeo. Go have fun."

"Yeah, have a good time," Butchy added with an equally fond smile.

"Thanks, guys. See you later, Miles!" Royce called out as he started making his way back over to his booth of friends, who were still finishing their drinks and starting to pack up their bags for the night.

"See you, kiddo," Miles called back, so pleased for his little brother his heart could have burst if he let himself dwell on it for too long. But the more he thought about it, something kept nagging away at the back of his mind. And with one look at his friend, Miles knew he shared the same sentiment. "We totally could have given him a harder time about that, huh?"

"Oh absolutely," Butchy laughed.

On one hand, Vivien was pleased that Bentley and his friends had enjoyed their game so much that they hadn't stopped talking about it all night. But since she had been watching the clock like a hawk, even more so after Royce had cemented their plans, how slow they were at packing away their stuff was making her want to scream.

She'd already been waiting by the door for them for several minutes, staring out into the inky black, starless sky, and the smattering of hand-me-down cars in the parking lot, waiting for a new set of headlights to roll into view. But as one song drifted into the next, and August dug his handbook out of his backpack again to point something else out to his friends, delaying their exit further despite the clock hands ploughing forward on their course, the nervous tightness in Vivien's chest reached an all time high. Desperate for some sort of respite, she spared her friends one last glance before pushing through the grimy glass doors. The night drenched her face in chilled, autumn air, and although an even colder wind whipped around her seconds later, forcing her to pull her violet fleece closer to her chest, the stark difference to the stuffy sauna of a roller rink was a welcome one.

At first she just enjoyed the stillness of the evening, save for the quiet rumbling of engines on the main road, and the muffled thumping of music from inside - relishing in the peace as she steadied her breathing and started to regain some control over the racing thoughts in her mind. But not before long, she heard some voices just out of sight - familiar voices at that - and her curiosity got the better of her.

Peering around the protruding entrance to the building, she spotted a mane of overly-hairsprayed curls that she recognised in an instant, huddled up beside a giant oaf that must have been her boyfriend. Although, from Vivien's perspective, he couldn't look any more disinterested in her if he tried. And as she sank back just out of view, from the sounds of their conversation, she found that her suspicions might have had some credibility.

"Can we not just talk about it?"

"Oh my god, Carrie, no. Can you give it a fucking rest?" The angry bark of Eric's voice made Vivien flinch. Her parents had had their fair share of arguments (and were steadily growing in frequency), but hearing that kind of tone out in public, from a couple that presented so overly loved-up just felt…wrong. "How many times do I have to say it before you get it through your head? We’re not doing a couples costume, especially not Barbie."

"But why not?" Carrie pressed, remaining defiant despite the push-back. "You picked my costume last year. Why can't I pick this year?"

"Because they’re lame as shit, Carrie. They’re dolls for little kids," he snapped, only pausing to take a drag on his cigarette. "I don’t care how much you like the costumes, I’m not dressing up like a fag and becoming the laughing stock of the school."

"Eric, I told you to stop using that-"

"I don’t give a fuck, Carrie. I’ll say what I want; it’s a free country, isn't it?" he said, silencing Carrie's scolding and blowing out his mouthful of smoke in one breath.

"Doesn’t always feel like it," Carrie muttered, dejectedly nudging a stray stone with the edge of her roller skate's toe stop.

"What was that?" Eric asked with a tight, warning tone.

Although she refused to meet his gaze, she also denied him the satisfaction of answering. Hugging her arms tighter around herself, trying to hide away from the whipping wind instead.

"That's what I thought," he continued, a hint of a smirk tickling his lips before he pursed them and took another drag on his cigarette.

As he let the smoke seep out the corner of his mouth, Eric held the glowing tube of tobacco out to Carrie - more of an order than an offer, but she refused it anyway, keeping her arms wrapped around herself and levelling him with a frown. "So what? I have to go as a sexy nurse and you get to go as whatever you want, yet again?"

"What are you talking about?" Eric asked with a frustrated sigh, barely even listening to her now.

"I'm talking about how I never get a say in what we do anymore."

"Oh my god, are you seriously gonna die on this hill over a fucking costume?"

"It's not just about the costume-" Carrie tried, but Eric cut her off before she could give her case any sort of credibility.

"Argue all you want, Carrie, but I'm not going in anything with you. It's bad enough the guys all think my brother's gonna turn out to be a big pansy - if I showed up in a pink shirt I'd never hear the end of it."

The dig at the quiet, sensitive eleven-year-old she'd just spent the better part of her evening with had Vivien seeing red. But, to her surprise, before she had even finished processing what the bigot had said about his own flesh and blood, Carrie jumped to the boy's defence, earning herself a shred of respect from the hidden, bespectacled observer.

"Stop saying that-"

"Then quit pushing my buttons" Ethan barked back, placing so much force behind his words it rooted Vivien to the spot in shock.

Despite the warning glare, Carrie stood her ground. "You're really so insecure you think a shirt colour's gonna make everyone-?"

But Carrie never got to finish her question, and Vivien never got to finish her breath; the explosive outburst from the jock stole it away.

"Carrie!" he yelled, burning brown burning brown irises leaving the blonde cowering beneath her stony exterior. Flecks of his spit decorated her cheeks and his venomous breath made her throat feel as though it was closing, yet she stood as stoic as ever. "Shut your fucking mouth before I make you-"

Acting before she really let herself think about it, driven by the sheer panic that she was about to witness the 'lovers spat' taking a nasty turn, Vivien stepped back closer to All Skate's entrance and took a deep breath. Even if she couldn't care less about either party, she couldn't have just stood by whilst things turned ugly. "Come on, guys, hurry up" she started, praying her voice wasn't trembling as much as it felt like it was as she called back to her friends inside - but hoping that it was loud enough for the older teens to hear. And given the fact that they both fell silent, it was. "My dad's gonna be here any minute now."

Luckily, the group of newly appointed party members finally got her message, and moved their animated discussion outside. As they did, Vivien stepped further back into the parking lot to give them some room to gather their bikes from the racks. But as she did, she also emerged from her hiding spot - exposing herself to the couple as the disturbance of their peace (if you could call it that). Whilst Eric didn't even bother to look at her, too preoccupied with the passing traffic and tapping the ash from the end of his cigarette, Carrie found the girl's gaze almost instantly. Arms still hugged around herself, huddling away from the cold in her magenta, violet and sapphire windbreaker, the once loud and proud girl couldn't have looked more unassuming had she tried. She offered Vivien a shy, yet grateful smile - so small the brunette almost didn't see it at first, or perhaps she just didn't believe it. But instinctively, Vivien found herself smiling back. Again, it was a little shy, almost cautious, but the sentiment remained unchanged. And for a moment, Vivien felt a connection to the girl. Before she could dwell on the moment any longer though, Bentley's enthusiastic chortles washed away any lingering discomfort hanging in the air.

"Seriously, Gus, it was awesome! I've never seen anything like it - how'd you come up with that final battle?" he gushed, excitedly clapping his friend on the back and then hanging from his arm as he delivered the rave review, his face alight like a firework show.

"Yeah, it was way better than any book I've read this year," Zack agreed.

"That's not hard; all you do is watch TV," Kona snorted, earning herself a swift punch to the arm from the subject in question.

Over their squabbling, and Kona's furious rubbing of the impact spot, Royce cut in with an appreciative, and genuine: "Well I do read a lot of books, and I must admit, it was really impressive. You've got a real talent, August." And with a fond bump of the younger boy's arm, he added. "I can't wait for the next one."

"Thanks," August said with a bashful smile, unused to such flattery, but relishing it all the same. Eager to continue pleasing his friends though, he went on to suggest, "If you guys are that excited I can start working on the next campaign tonight. I've got all our ideas written down already so I'll just have to see what I can-"

"August!"

The joy drained from the boy's face at the sound of his older brother's voice, as did any lingering excitement; replaced instead with a weary dread. "Yeah?" he called back, drowning out Eric's muttered apologies to his girlfriend as he turned to face him.

"You heading home?"

"Yeah?" August tentatively repeated, hating the added attention that having to project his voice across the parking lot like this brought.

"Not on your bike you're not, get in the car," Eric said, nodding his head in the direction of his red Audi Quattro.

"Why? It's not far," August tried, once tense shoulders slumping in dismay at the thought of being singled out from the rest of his friends, who all had their bikes at the ready, and were no doubt exchanging uncomfortable glances behind his back.

"I don't care, Mom said I had to pick you up if I saw you. You know how freaked she gets after the shit with the Byers last year. She's gonna be all up in my ass if she finds out I left you here," Eric grumbled through a mouthful of smoke.

"So don't tell her," August attempted to argue, grabbing his helmet from its spot hanging from his handlebars.

But Eric, still not one to accept any backtalk, just scoffed. "And risk taking the fall for you again? No chance." Using the remainder of his cigarette to point towards the Quattro again, he added, "Put your bike on the backseat and get in, we're leaving."

Rolling his eyes and letting out a despondent huff, August turned back to his friends. "Guess I'll see you guys tomorrow then."

"Hey, at least you get out of the cold quicker," Kona offered with a hopefully optimistic grin, which she promptly buried beneath the neckline of her coat, pulled up as close to her chin as she could physically manage.

"And it's better than getting grounded," Zack added, to which August managed a small, thankfully more cheerful smile. "Plus I'd have totally beat you home anyway."

"In your dreams," August chuckled with a playful shove before starting to walk his bike over to his older brother's car.

"See you, Gus!" Bentley called out, offering one last farewell to the boy, along with a cheesy grin that stopped the boy in his tracks.

Breath catching in his throat before he could reply, August shot the group a final smile with a sigh of acceptance. "Bye guys."

"Fucking buzzkill," Zack grumbled over Eric's gruff greeting to his younger brother before sliding into the driver's seat and slamming his door.

"One day I'm gonna give that guy a piece of my mind," Kona said, glaring at the spot where the six-foot-something quarterback had once stood, eyes filled with the same hatred for the unnecessarily callous attitude the guy had for their friend as the two boys beside her. "Sooner rather than later if he keeps talking to him like that."

"You could right now if you didn't have such spindly legs and noodle arms," Bentley chuckled, for once pipping (a thoroughly amused) Zack to the punch when it came to teasing the blonde.

"Oh yeah? Well let's see how you like it when these spindly legs beat you to the end of Hawthorne," Kona shot back with a challenging grin, readying her sneaker on the pedal for their traditional bike race home.

"You're so on," Bentley laughed, before turning and throwing a final glance over his shoulder at the pair of thirteen-year-olds hanging around at the entrance, waiting to load their own bikes into Vivien's dad's car whenever it arrived. "Have fun you two."

"Not too much fun!" Zack hollered mischievously, as he rode his bike in a preparatory circle.

"See you later, RJ!" Bentley added as he kicked off from the asphalt and started pedalling up to the unofficial starting line, leaving the duo huddled on the sidewalk with their breath fogging in front of them and the porch light above them attracting a swarm of tiny flies, obviously as desperate for warmth as they were. He watched it for a second as it flickered, inexplicably unable to tear his eyes away. But the pull was released the moment the bulb returned to casting the paving slabs beneath in a steady, butter yellow glow, taking the breath he didn't realise he'd been holding with it.

"See you, Benny!" Royce called back, gladly returning the boy's fond grin and tacking on a wave as the trio disappeared into the horizon.

Although Vivien offered up a smile and wave of her own, her attention was still rather preoccupied with the aftermath of the almost-altercation she'd broken up. She hadn't been able to make out most of the muttered apology Eric had provided, but Carrie's minute, resigned smile was hard to miss.

Once it had been decided he'd be driving his younger brother home, he simply handed the rest of his cigarette off to his girlfriend (instructing her to finish it) and mumbled a half-hearted: "See you tomorrow, baby," on his way over to his car.

Catching his arm before he could leave, Carrie gently pulled him back, her unnerved concern evident as she made him stop so she could properly look at him. After an initial pause, perhaps for her to decide what she actually wanted to do, Carrie rocked up on her toe stops and pressed a tender kiss to his cheek. Her face softened into an almost apologetic smile as she shared her own reply, "Bye, baby."

But her efforts just pinged off the jock's hardened exterior. He may have attempted a smile back, but it was as false as the 'prize every time' claim on the claw machine inside. And as a result, when he turned his back, any traces of Carrie's own slipped to the ground, beside the cigarette stub she dropped to the asphalt and promptly stubbed out with her toe stop the moment his Audi rumbled into the distance, muttering under her breath and rolling her eyes the entire time.

"Your dad definitely said he'd be here at 8:15, right?" Royce checked, interrupting Vivien's thoughts with a playfully doubtful grin after taking a glance at his old, scratched, plastic digital watch.

"Yeah, he'd better not be any later," Vivien chuckled, relieved to have her attention returned to something she actually cared about. "He's normally good with being on time, but I bet Ollie's held him up at his hockey practice," she added with a loving eye roll at her brother's expense. "He shouldn't be much longer."

"Good," Royce said with a small chuckle of his own as he crossed his arms and buried his red, raw hands under his armpits. "It's freezing out here."

Just as Vivien was hurriedly swallowing the urge to suggest huddling together to share their body heat reserves, a voice from behind them interrupted their assumed privacy, accompanied by the scraping of plastic wheels over crumbling concrete.

"You guys ok? You waiting for a ride or something?"

Both Vivien and Royce turned to look at Carrie as though she'd been dropped off by a spaceship, utterly baffled as to why she had chosen to talk to them after giving the impression that she'd rather do anything but that earlier on in the evening. And whilst Royce's chosen tactic was to just ignore the sparkly senior, Vivien tentatively replied - her recent interaction with the girl having thrown her opinion of her into disarray. "Uh, my dad's picking us up," she explained, quickly averting her eyes but feeling Royce staring horrified daggers into the side of her temple anyway.

"He couldn't give you all a ride?" Carrie questioned, seemingly genuinely confused as she gestured towards the direction the three eleven-year-olds had left in.

"We're going to the movie theatre," Vivien clarified. Whether the blonde's bewilderment was due to the group's lack of synergy, or due to the fact that she couldn't comprehend the simple self-sufficiency of having a bike being one's only mode of transport though was still up for debate. And if the angry steam Vivien could feel rising from the top of her best friend's head was anything to go by, it was a debate he wanted no part in.

"Stop talking to her," he hissed through the corner of his frown, still partly in disbelief that the girl had acknowledged Carrie's existence at all, let alone was engaging in a proper conversation with her. And although Vivien shot him an awkwardly apologetic, lopsided smile, she didn't get the chance to reply properly before Carrie cut in with a response of her own.

"Oh nice," she noted, appearing to hold back a chuckle of amusement before offering her next question. "You want me to stay out here with you until he gets here or-?"

"No," Royce asserted, not even giving her the chance to finish her proposal before making his stance abundantly clear.

Although Royce was furiously avoiding eye contact with the older girl, keeping his irritated glower aimed firmly on the horizon, Vivien turned back to her with a slightly more polite, but still strained confirmation. "We're fine, he shouldn't be long."

"So leave us alone," Royce barked, taking both Vivien and the desired target by surprise.

"Damn, ok. Whatever," Carrie mumbled with a bewildered, but vaguely affronted scoff. Matching Royce's defensive stance, she crossed her arms across her chest, doubling as protection from any further wounding the pair's caustic remarks may cause. Quickly returning to her 'couldn't care less' attitude, her attempt at a friendly smile vanished. And with an almost bored sigh, she uttered a resigned farewell before rolling back through the double doors. "I'll leave you to it."

Part of Vivien's mind had still latched onto the mystery surrounding Carrie though - how she could be so heartless one second, and then so amiable the next; how she could present so confidently, and yet let herself be pushed around like a microfibre mop; how she could have people falling at her feet at the same time as having people cursing the very ground she walked. And although her opinion still hung in the balance, the glimpse of humanity she'd caught had drawn her intrigue. So, although she was certain it went unnoticed, Vivien still gave the older blonde a cautiously gracious smile as she left the younger teens in peace.

Maybe Miles' hadn't overshot his estimations of her so drastically after all.

Although, Royce didn't appear quite as impressed. "Why did you talk to her again?" he asked, still as shell-shocked by the event as when it first happened.

Having to bite her lip to stop herself from giggling at the comically horrified look in the curly-haired boy's eyes, Vivien just shrugged, unable to fully understand it herself. "I don't know, she just seemed like she was being nice. I wanted to give her a chance."

Royce rolled his eyes, sensing the same optimism in Vivien that Miles had displayed when he'd first started working with the blonde, and was still desperately clinging onto to this day. "Don't tell me I'm losing you to the dark side too," he sighed, with a fond, but wary frown.

Her giggle wasn't so easily concealed this time. "Strong is the pull of the Force, Master Royce," Vivien chortled, doing her best to deliver the worst Yoda impression she could muster.

Royce's sceptical resolve came crashing down in an instant, totally at ease in the brunette's presence once more. But Vivien wasn't done yet; after glancing towards the roller rink's entrance she caught his gaze again and fixed a smirk to her face. "But not that strong."

"No fair! You guys got a head start!" Zack cried in retaliation to a victorious Bentley's whoops and Kona's airy laughter as the pair passed their invisible finish line, crossing the threshold onto the street just before the turn-off for his street.

"Sure we did," Kona laughed, slowing her pedalling so that Zack could close the gap between them.

"Whatever's gonna help you sleep tonight," Bentley added with a chuckle of his own once he clocked his friend's disgruntled expression.

"I can't believe you won again, Benny," Zack huffed, half-frustrated, half-impressed by the boy's biking prowess.

"I've just had extra practice lately with Miles' car waiting to go into the garage," he explained, graciously taking the victory in his stride as the trio leisurely rolled down the rest of the residential street, waiting for their rapid breaths to even out again.

"Yeah, well, it's only a matter of time before I smoke you again," Zack teased with a misplaced, but very entertaining confidence. "I've just been going easy on you both."

"Ok, bozo, if you say so," Kona snorted, rolling her eyes as they approached the boy's turn-off. And as he took his turning, she called out her latest farewell. "See you tomorrow."

"Bye guys," Zack hollered over his shoulder, maintaining a steady course down the cul-de-sac despite raising one of his arms to wave at the pair.

"Bye!" Bentley called back, before adding with a mischievous grin, "Don't forget you owe me a candy bar!"

"Whaddya want?" Zack shouted back.

"A Sky Bar," Bentley replied, just about catching Zack's thumbs up before he disappeared from view and their exclamations were swallowed up by the heavy silence of the frigid, night air.

"You freak," Kona had chuckled as she lazily cycled beside the boy, shaking her head at his pick.

"What? They're good," Bentley defended with a grin. "What other candy gives you that many different flavours?"

"Lifesavers," Kona offered, lifting her eyebrow before tagging her opinion on the end. "But that doesn't mean they're any good."

After continuing their playful bickering over various confectionary items for the next few blocks, Kona reached her stop and conceded her role in the debate. "I'll see you tomorrow, Ben," she finished with, so used to waiting to bid his older brother a farewell too (once his slower pace on their evening commutes allowed him to catch up with them) that she still found herself looking for him along the inky skyline over her shoulder. But, obviously, she came up short. "Try not to get lost on your way back," she added with a cheeky jab at the boy's reliance on his older brother.

"Yeah, 'cause I really don't know my way home by now," Bentley sarcastically shot back, prompting the pair to share a laugh before they went their separate ways. "Bye, Kona!" he hollered with an enthusiastic wave at the girl's retreating form, waiting until her blonde pigtails disappeared into her family house's garage before kicking off and resuming his journey.

The route back to the Murphy residence was relatively simple, but tedious if you stuck to the main roads. However, there was a well-known shortcut down a sidestreet that branched off just after Kona's house that cut out a good chunk of the richer neighbourhoods. With a dense patch of woodland flanking one side, and sporadic driveways lining the other, it made for a pretty idyllic journey. Sometimes, if the weather was nice enough, he and Royce had been known to stop and stargaze on one of the patches of grass at the curbside. But with the consistently dropping temperature, and his solidarity becoming more painfully obvious with each muffled dog bark, or owl hoot, all Bentley cared about was getting home.

A few minutes passed and the breeze started to die down, the wind no longer gauging lines out of his cheeks, and the pothole-ridden road evened out onto a recently relaid stretch of tarmac. For a moment, Bentley felt himself relax and started to fully enjoy the novelty of the solo ride. But the sentiment was lost in an instant when the headlamp at the front of his handlebars started to flicker, just like the bulb back at All Skate had done. Confused at first, he reached down and tried to adjust it - tapping it a few times as he tried to figure out where on earth the bike could have been hiding its battery supply, as that obviously had to be the reason for the display. Coming up short, he tried to push the steadily nagging sense of dread to the back of his mind, chalking it up to nerves as the light sputtered back to life and he continued on its way.

He only managed a few more feet before the flickering returned though, bringing a fresh wave of unease that crested as the bulb gave up all together, plunging the patch of road ahead of him into darkness, thanks to the distinct lack of street lamps on the rural stretch of street. Bentley froze, coming to an abrupt stop as he tried to settle the thudding in his chest and figure out what he should do next. He slowly dismounted from the bike and peered at the bulb, at a total loss as to why it had started acting up so suddenly, and why it felt so coincidentally linked to the faulty light back at the rink, when all of a sudden…

A twig snapped.

Bentley's heart stopped, and his breath caught in his throat. He told himself he'd just watched too many scary movies, that it was probably just a stray cat, or a rabbit or something. But still, the noise struck a fear in him that rooted him to the spot - eyes wide in the darkness that felt more consuming with every passing second.

Several moments crawled by in total silence. Only to be broken by the rustling of the dead leaves blanketing the forest floor.

This time Bentley's heart leapt into his throat, and before he could dwell on it a moment longer, he started pushing his bike in the opposite direction, back towards the main road. Sure, it would take him significantly longer to get home now, especially since he was already a decent way down this side street, but at least the main road was properly lit, and wouldn't let his imagination run rampant with the sounds of native wildlife. Once again, he tried to steady his breathing, his feet pounding the asphalt with the same urgency as his heart pounding against his ribcage. His mind was overrun with manic thoughts of every level of concern - total blasé apathy to anxiety-riddled terror - and all he could do was pray that at least one with some sort of logical solution would present itself. But instead he was left with a rising sense of dread and the inability to think straight.

Knowing his mind was just playing tricks on him, a product of the overblown anxiety spike, Bentley thought for a second that he heard footsteps behind him. But considering that the entire time he, Royce and Miles had travelled that route, they'd only stumbled across another person a handful of times, and not once after sunset, he knew that couldn't be the case. Part of him wanted to just keep walking, albeit slightly quicker just in case, but the other part just wanted to check… Just to make sure.

Hoping that it would help to set his mind at ease, Bentley dared a glance over his shoulder, eyes struggling to adjust in the twilight. At first he saw nothing, just the same beat-up cars and overgrown sidewalks as before. But then a shadow emerging from the treeline made his blood run cold.

The figure, nothing but a black blob at first, stalked further out from the thick foliage. And as it was backlit by more of the minimal light from the sky, it became the distinct shape of a man - a tall man at that.

Bentley's head whipped back around and, acting on pure instinct alone, too afraid to do anything else, he started to run. His aim was to gain as much distance from the man as he could - after all, maybe he hadn't even noticed Bentley was there. He could just be getting himself scared over nothing. But when he heard the footsteps quicken in reaction, over the frantic panting of his own breath, his heart rate doubled.

Bentley's mind raced at a million miles a minute, trying to understand what the man could possibly want with him, what he could have possibly done wrong, and, most importantly, how on earth he could get out of this living nightmare. But the more he thought, the less control of his thoughts he had. His adrenaline was running too high to think properly. And even if it was, he had no idea what to do in a crisis; he usually just ran to his older brothers for help. And whilst he was definitely running, his brothers were nowhere to be found this time.

Sensing the footsteps growing louder, ergo closer, Bentley's fight-or-flight instinct kicked into full gear. As much as he loved his bike, it was dead weight as far as this pursuit was concerned. So he dropped the handlebars and broke out into a sprint, listening to the framework topple to the ground and skitter down the road until it scraped to a stop. He didn't dare look over his shoulder to see where it had landed, but he knew he'd just have to come back and collect it the following day. After all, he'd sooner sacrifice his bike than himself, and he was sure Miles would agree once he explained the predicament to him later.

Whilst part of him had envisioned the bike hitting the assailant on its way back down the slight hill, the footsteps just picked up their pace to match his once more, filling him with an even deeper sense of dread. His chest grew tight, making it harder and harder to gasp in the breaths required to sustain his stamina. His calves started to smart with the force of his strides - his legs moving so wildly they almost didn't even feel like his anymore. Hot, terrified tears burned his eyes - blurring what limited vision he had in this suffocating darkness.

Something snagged his backpack and Bentley's heart rate hit an all time high.

He furiously wrenched himself free from the straps and threw himself back into a sprint, running faster than he ever had before. Fleeting thoughts of anything in that backpack were thrown out the window: his homework, his sketchbook, his house keys - no matter their importance, they paled in comparison to getting to safety. But with the shadowed stalker hot on his heels, even though the main road was getting closer by the second, that was starting to feel more and more hopeless. He thought about screaming for help, but none of the houses that were actually inhabited were close enough for anyone to hear him - plus, his throat was so dry he didn't even know if he'd be able to make a sound anyway. He just kept on running. Pound after pound after pound, attempting to plan out which house he could beg for sanctuary at once he broke out onto the main street. Thud after thud after thud, desperately trying to remember the countless lectures Miles had bored him with about what to do if he was ever in trouble, and yet every piece of advice alluding him. Sob after sob after sob, frantic tears streaking down his cheeks as he clung to whatever thoughts of his brothers he could muster to drive away the all-consuming terror that came from-

A cold hand clamped down on Bentley's shoulder and he felt his entire body turn to ice. His breath was stolen away as the nightmare swelled to its climax and the pounding blood in his skull grew so deafening he lost his sense of hearing too. The ringing of alarm bells filled his ears and his brain was replaced with cotton wool as every coherent thought besides 'oh my god, somebody help me' fell out of his head, along with the last shred of his sanity. Although he was petrified of what he'd find, Bentley found himself turning to face the shadow man - perhaps in a final attempt to try to shake him off, or wriggle out of his grasp. But as a bolt of fear surged through his body, crushing his organs with a pressure too great for him to even begin to comprehend - the attacker reached out a gnarled, pale hand.

Bentley's vision flashed white. And then there was darkness.

Nothing but darkness.

#if the majority of this just feels like the last part of the story set at All Skate - i'm sorry - BUT it is intentional haha #i think I've read through it so many times now that it feels really boring #but i had fun writing it so hopefully reading it with fresh eyes will help it out a bit haha #it was so weird trying to remember how to write everyone for this story - i really struggled getting back into it at first #and the bit i had to come back to was the dnd scene which was an absolute nightmare to write tbh #i had no idea what i was doing and i had a set plan that needed to happen but no idea how to make it feasibly happen #and my research was pretty hopeless so if it's inaccurate and cringey to read i can only apologise lmao #but i'll stop rambling now!#I hope you like it!#sorry it's been an eternity since I last posted any of this story #you might want to do a re-read of the last part but I don't feel like it's necessary - I feel like you'd get the gist of what happened...#just from reading this one #and i know lots of this has just felt like everyday boring set up - but hopefully you can tell it's starting to pick up a bit now 👀

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cherrygorilla · 1 year ago

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No better early birthday present than finding out today that I’ve passed my final exam and I get to graduate! I’m officially a dentist now! 🥹🥳🦷💕

#you’ve supported me through my whole degree #so I thought you might as well find out with everyone else that I’ve actually finished it at last 🥳#summer of writing - here I come! 👏

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cherrygorilla · 1 year ago

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Zack's Basic Info

As seems to be a recent theme with me, I really struggled coming up with faceclaims for Zack. I think Chosen Jacobs (first pic) is the one that feels the most right in my head, but I could see the others (Miles Brown, Noah Gray-Cabey and Jaden Smith) all working well in their own ways too. No one else seemed to be able to get that mischievous grin of his right lol.

Name: Zackary Ghalen Davis - his mom named him Ghalen, meaning calm in Ghanaian, because he was such an easy, quiet baby. But then he learned how to speak and she's never had a moment of peace since.

Nicknames: He pretty much solely goes by Zack. He'll occasionally get a (very cringeworthy) 'Zacky boy' from his dad, and, in the very few interactions he's had with Ethan, he's had 'Zack-attack'. But 99.9% of the time it's just Zack.

Age: 14

Date of Birth: 30th of November

Zodiac: Sagittarius

Birthstone: Topaz

Nationality: American, Ghanaian and Greek

Sexuality: Straight

Birthplace: St Anthony's Hospital, St Petersburg, Florida

Current Residence: Pelican Drive South, St Petersburg, Florida

Occupation: Middle school student and a newspaper delivery boy

Talents/Skills: Karate, basketball, having insanely good aim (not used for many things thus far in life other than crushing at paper football games in class), never failing to make his friends (especially Bentley) laugh, packing away ungodly amounts of food (his portions are HUGE if he has any control over it), and knowing many, many random facts, mostly about dinosaurs

Birth Order: Middle of 3

Siblings: Jordin Nicole Davis (17) and Angelo Cameron Davis (9)

Parents: Jamal Dimitri Davis and Effia Morowa Davis

Signature:

Height: 5' 10'' when he's fully grown, but 5' 4'' for now.

Race: African American

Eye Colour: Dark brown

Hair Colour: Dark brown

Glasses or Contact Lenses: Neither

Distinguishing Features: He's almost always got some sort of pen ink on his hands where he's scribbled something down he needed to remember, a weird little squishy lump of skin from where his stitches didn't heal properly after he fell off a skate ramp and took a gnarly chunk out of his knee, and a slightly chipped front tooth from that very same incident.

Mannerisms: Compulsively needs to fill silences with senseless ramblings, unbelievably loud snoring, cracks his knuckles at every available opportunity, and almost always stands with his hands in his pockets.

Health: He’s lactose-intolerant but he does not give a fuckkkkkk lmao - if anything, it just encourages him to eat more dairy. But besides that, nothing really, he's pretty healthy. His mom wouldn't hesitate to (lovingly) diagnose him as a lazy-ass though - and she'd probably pull him up on his terrible posture whilst she’s at it.

Hobbies: Skateboarding, karate, picking arguments with Kona, binge watching horror movies, eating through entire family size bags of chips in one sitting, collecting random stickers (which he covers like 90% of his belongings with), and wasting all his allowance at the arcade.

Greatest Flaw (in their opinion): How argumentative he is. He has very strong opinions and is super strong-willed, which can be a good thing, but can also make things really difficult when he runs into someone who disagrees with him. He can take it really personally and get really fired up, even if it's not that big of a deal, just because it's hard to process other people's views. Sometimes he doesn't even care what it is he's arguing about; sometimes he just likes playing devil's advocate because he likes to debate with people. His mom always pulls him up on it though, because sometimes his enthusiasm for challenging others can come across as rude, which is never usually his intention.

Best Quality (in their opinion): His passion. Even though it can land him in trouble sometimes, and brings out his biggest flaw, he is proud of how much he dedicates himself to the things he believes in. He never half-asses things he cares about, he'll put his all into it no matter what. And that extends to his relationships too - he'll stick by his friends through anything, and will defend them until he's blue in the face if he has to. He can be perceived as lazy because of how laidback he seems, and can be lazy when he wants to, but if he wants to do something, whether that's for himself, or for someone he cares about, he won't be able to focus on anything else until it's done.

Biggest Fear: Dying. One of his cousins died in their teens and the shockwave of grief it sent through his whole family really freaked him out. He wasn't necessarily super close with the guy, but he'd spent a fair amount of time with him at family gatherings growing up, so the abruptness of his death really shook him up and changed his whole perspective on life. He very much adopted that 'needs to live life to the fullest' mindset, which is probably why he can come across as a little overbearing and intense sometimes. And he can act rather impulsively, but he'd rather that be the case than living with regrets if that looming cloud of grief were to come and swallow him whole again.

Hogwarts House: Gryffindor

Favourite Ice Cream Flavour: Rocky Road

Favourite Colour: Red

Favourite Number: 3 - one of the many reasons as to why the triceratops is his favourite dinosaur

Favourite Movies: Nightmare on Elm Street, The Karate Kid, or The War of The Worlds (yes, he and August geek out over it together, and yes, it's adorable)

Favourite Songs: You Should Be Dancing by the Bee Gees, School's Out by Alice Cooper, It's My Life by Bon Jovi, and One Love by Bob Marley

A place they want to visit: Egypt, he's got a real fascination with the Great Pyramids so he'd love to be able to see them in real life.

#ngl I felt a little apprehensive going into this #because i have ideas of zack and august as secondary characters #but i haven't thought about them in detail like i would with my more primary characters #but doing this for them was sooooo much fun!#and i feel like i have a much clearer idea of who they are in my head now - which is always a good thing lol #and - like with when i did ethan's - i feel like i've developed a whole new attachment to them too #my sweet dorky boys 🥲#hopefully this was able to give you a bit more of an insight into their characters though!

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cherrygorilla · 1 year ago

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August's Basic Info

Like I said for Zack's post, I really struggled with finding faceclaims for August - maybe even moreso, because I have such a clear idea of what he looks like in my head, and no one I've been able to find fully captures it. I think Kit Connor (first pic) is, again, the closest I'll get - he's the right amount of soft and friendly I need for little August haha - but the others are all at least along the same sort of lines (at least in these pictures I found anyway lol): Peyton Meyer, Connor Jessup and Dylan Sprouse.

Name: August Jude McNeeley

Nicknames: He mainly gets Auggie, but Bentley always calls him Gus - it used to just be Bentley, but since August grew so fond of it, Kona and Zack have started using it more now too. He still likes Auggie though - tbh he likes all variations of his name (I his mom picked well lol)

Age: 14

Date of Birth: September 28th

Zodiac: Libra

Birthstone: Sapphire

Nationality: American and Scottish

Sexuality: Gay - but very much still in the closet and totally not crushing on anyone

Birthplace: His family home in South Pasadena

Current Residence: Island Drive South in South Pasadena, Florida

Occupation: Middle school student and part-time grocery bagger

Talents/Skills: He's weirdly good at long-distance running, he can play the clarinet, he's really good at crosswords, he's a great baker, but he's an even greater listener

Birth Order: Youngest of three

Siblings: Francesca May McNeeley (23) and Hazel June McNeeley (19)

Parents: Jedediah Michael Whitaker (estranged) and Heidi April McNeeley

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Height: 6' 1'' when fully grown - but for now, probably like 5' 3''. He has a big growth spurt that literally no one saw coming, and becomes a real gentle giant haha.

Eye Colour: Like a muddy, brown-y green.

Hair Colour: Sandy blonde

Glasses or Contact Lenses: Some round wire-frame glasses he's supposed to wear all the time, but only wears when his eyes feel super strained, because he thinks he looks like a dork in them and actively tries to avoid anything that draws unnecessary attention to him

Distinguishing Features: A chickenpox scar on his forehead, just above his right eyebrow, and a prominent freckle on the corner of his mouth that always gets mistaken for a smear of chocolate.

Mannerisms: He's SO bad about clenching his jaw/grinding his teeth when he's stressed, he always looks down at his feet when he's walking, and he always does a little snort of air through his nose when he laughs

Health: Anxiety, peanut allergy, and, because of his jaw clenching habit, any time he's anxious (which is quite a lot, poor baby) he gets tension headaches. Also, not really a health thing, but he's a vegetarian.

Hobbies: Baking, creative writing, scrapbook journalling, mediating his friends' arguments, running, reading, watercolour painting (this was mostly thanks to Bentley's influence, but he is enjoying it more than he thought he would), practising the clarinet, and being the voice of reason.

Greatest Flaw (in their opinion): How sensitive he is. Bullies have blamed it on the fact that he was raised by a bunch of girls to become a big sissy - but August just knows he lets his mind hyperfixate on minute details and spiral out of control. Whether it was an embarrassing passing comment he made or a missed homework assignment, he'll work himself into a guilt-riddled state until the rational side of his mind can regain control. It's even worse with more meaningful things though. If anyone says anything bad about him it'll affect him for weeks, and if anyone takes anything he's said badly he'll beat himself up about it for just as long. With how deeply he takes everything to heart though, it often means he's more reluctant to open up about his feelings, and keeps himself pretty closed off as a result - all because he's scared about the reaction he might get.

Best Quality (in their opinion): His level-headedness. As much as his anxiety can get the better of him, he's gotten a lot better in recent years at keeping it under control. His calm reasoning often ends up benefiting his friends more than it does himself, but that's what makes it so rewarding. He loves getting to help them out in any way he can, and offering advice or talking through their troubles with them gives him a real sense of purpose. He may not be very brave, or very physically strong, but his quiet support from the sidelines is invaluable - especially when he can pick out things in a situation no one else would have thought to before.

Biggest Fear: Not being accepted. Again, he's really sensitive about what other people think of him, and he really takes their opinions to heart. So the thought of upsetting someone, or doing something that would give them a negative opinion of him is awful. He partly blames it on his dad never really being present in his life, and the fear that, because he knows nothing about him, if he were to come back into it, he wouldn't accept him as his son. But it extends to his peers and friends too - he often stays quiet and tries to do what he can to blend into the background so that he doesn't draw any unnecessary attention to himself that could lead to anyone developing any strong feelings towards him - positive or negative. He just wants to be seen as…normal. But as he's slowly coming to terms with his sexuality, in a time where society is not very accepting of anything but 'the norm', that fear is feeling more and more real every day.

Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff

Favourite Ice Cream Flavour: Birthday cake or Pistachio

Favourite Colour: Sage green

Favourite Number: 2 - 1's too lonely, but at least 2 means you've got a friend

Favourite Movies: Luca, The Muppet Movie, and The War of The Worlds

Favourite Songs: Blackbird by The Beatles, (unironically) Story of My Life by One Direction, Yellow by Coldplay, and God Only Knows by the Beach Boys - and, of course, he was inspired by the Taylor Swift song August, but I felt like that was way too on-the-nose to include as one of his favourite songs lmao

A place they want to visit: Edinburgh, Scotland - to visit his mom's side of the family who live there

#i know he's eric's little brother in TMM #but it just didn't make sense in the main storyline for it to be that way #and i wanted him to have a much nicer and more supportive home life in the main storyline #which i do not think living with someone like eric would have allowed for lmao #i played around for a little bit as well with having him be introduced to everyone through playing eric's younger brother on Find Your Voic #but i think it just work better as him being a standalone character and another of Bentley's school friends like Zack #i'm so attached to him though #my sweet sensitive little august 🥹#he needs to be protected at all costs 😤#even if he doesn't act on Find Your Voice though - I do think he's the most likely of Bentley's friend group to watch it #I like to think he watches it with his big sisters 🥲#and it totally started with him being forced to watch it because they were hogging the tv #but now they genuinely all enjoy tuning in to watch it together and all have their own favourite characters and everything #it's his guilty pleasure lmao

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cherrygorilla · 1 year ago

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Ethan's Basic Info

Name: Ethan Dombrowski

Ok, I both did and didn't struggle with coming up with potential faceclaims for Ethan. I had no idea where to even start with looking for faceclaims for him for specific decades - I just don't think that I have that broad of a knowledge of actors lol. So, instead, I've split it into actors who I think capture more of how I imagine his physical appearance to be (Heath Ledger & Johnny Depp - both mostly for the hair, let's be real haha), and actors who I think could really capture the lovably chaotic vibe he brings to the table (Matthew Lillard & Milo Manheim). Unconventional - but then again, so is he, so I think it works lmao.

Nicknames: As much as he loves to dish nicknames out to other people, he's never really been given one himself. I mean, his parents didn't even think to give him a middle name - expecting them to be creative enough to come up with a nickname was a bit of a stretch. He would get called his surname in school quite a bit (mostly if he was getting in trouble), but other than that he usually just gets 'Ethan'. If anything, I think his abundance of nicknames for others is just making up for the lack of his own. I like to think he's just waiting for the right person to come along and drop one on him though hehe.

Age: 20

Date of Birth: 4th of April (which is very helpful for him, because 4.4.44 is a ridiculously easy birthday for his pea-sized brain to remember)

Zodiac: Aries

Birthstone: Diamond

Nationality: American and Polish

Sexuality: He doesn't care about labels - he'll sleep with anyone that breathes in his direction...within reason lmao

Birthplace: A rusty trailer home in Tallahassee, Florida

Current Residence: A slightly less rusty trailer home in St Petersburg, Florida

Occupation: Production Assistant and Sound Engineer in the TV & film industry, and the entertainment coordinator for a local bar. He's also (according to Mick) a professional idiot.

Talents/Skills: Playing the guitar, flipping beer mats, putting together flat-pack furniture (because he's the monkey they apparently wrote the instructions for - Miles' words, not mine), doing god-awful impressions, giving inanimate objects personalities, and, despite his deep-rooted clumsiness, he's pretty good on a skateboard.

Birth Order: Youngest of two

Siblings: His older sister, Billie (27)

Parents: Dominik Alfred Dombrowski (deceased) & Nadia Ruth Dombrowski

New Family: Hendrix, his rescue dog, and the closest thing he thinks he'll ever get to a stable family unit. He says he's a black lab for ease, but he only looks like a black lab if you squint and tilt your head; in reality, he's a mutt that the rescue shelter couldn't even pin down to any particular breed - that's part of what made Ethan so drawn to him though: they're both as misunderstood in the world as each other. In terms of human family though, his aunt (Janis) and uncle (Ford) took him in after everything went to shit with his parents - and although he doesn't see much of them anymore, it's comforting to know that he does have some sort of a real support system to count on if he were to need it.

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Height: 5' 7'' (so many of the actors I picked as his faceclaims are tall, so I tried to make it work for a while, but I just couldn't - he's just got such chaotic little-shit/confident short-king energy in my mind lmao)

Eye Colour: Brown

Hair Colour: Brown

Glasses or contact lenses: He probably needs glasses, but he doesn't care enough to go get an eye test

Distinguishing features: Dimples, a burn scar on his right thumb from messing around with a lighter, a scar on his left wrist he usually hides with a bunch of bracelets/wrist bands, and a lot of really dumb tattoos.

Mannerisms: He's always fidgeting - like always. It doesn't matter if it's with a paper straw wrapper, the end of one of his many wristbands, or the piece of skin next to his nail - he'll even bounce his leg if it comes down to it; he just always needs to be moving in some capacity. He's pretty intense with holding eye contact in conversations too (despite them being half-closed 90% of the time) - and the concept of personal space is totally lost on him.

Health: Mild insomnia and depression. His drug habits also aren't the healthiest, but it's not like he's gonna go to get himself checked out; what he doesn't know can't hurt him.

Hobbies: Playing the guitar (what he spends the majority of his free time doing), walking Hendrix, making terrible decisions, dragging Miles into those terrible decisions (either to join in, or get him out of trouble), napping anywhere and everywhere, collecting cool lighters, smoking weed, getting spontaneous tattoos, thrifting bizarre items of clothing, eating Mexican food, and losing himself in an album for 45 minutes. and annoying the shit out of Mick

Greatest flaw (in their opinion): Probably his lack of drive. Whilst how laidback and carefree he is about life can be a great thing most of the time, it does make him feel kind of empty sometimes not having a goal to reach, or some kind of direction he wants to take his life in. Yeah, it makes life a lot less stressful just living it day to day - not having any responsibilities, or commitments to obsess over - but without any sense of ambition it can start to feel a little…pointless, I guess.

Best quality (in their opinion): His ability to find the fun in any situation. He was dealt a pretty shitty hand in life, but he's never let it get him down. Sure, he may not always cope with it in the healthiest way, but he is coping - thriving, in fact. He floats through life without a care in the world, and will happily toss a pool noodle to anyone that needs one so they can join him. He's optimistic, and authentic, and downright stupid sometimes, but it's those qualities that help people see the bright side in hopeless situations; he draws the fun to the surface, and helps you focus on the simple joys life has to offer, without letting the weight of your troubles drag you down.

Biggest fear: Clowns are his big one - and always the answer if anyone asks. But if he's being totally honest (which is almost never when it comes to serious stuff like this), then it's ending up like his parents. He has a handful of fond memories of his family growing up - his older sister probably has more since she was around for more of the good years - but his unplanned arrival stretched the family's already tight budget razor thin, and it didn't take long for things to go to shit as a result. His dad never had a particularly strong resolve (something he's paranoid about having inherited), and so when things got hard, his already established relationship with drugs became less casual, and more heavily reliant. When the tamer stuff didn't cut it anymore, he turned to the harder stuff, and when the harder stuff stopped helping him feel better - he stopped feeling anything at all. Ethan's mom took her husband's accidental overdose hard, but she found being a single mother even harder. And whilst Ethan knew she was struggling, he's still struggling to forgive her for shutting down on her kids in the way she did. Yeah, fine, lose your job and sleep on the couch all day, ignore your children for days on end - whatever you needed to do to get by - but go out to get your latest fix and go down for 15 years for manslaughter? …That's asking a lot. Like it was mentioned earlier, with his parents out of the picture, his aunt and uncle took him and his sister in, and whilst they might not be the greatest role models themselves in terms of addictive vices, they at least showed him how to open his mind in a safe, supervised environment. Yes, numbing his brain to keep out the bad thoughts is an unhealthy coping mechanism, but it's also beautifully freeing - and there's a lot of fun to be had if you know what's safe and what kind of high you're looking for (which, thanks to his aunt's guidance, he always does). He has a great set of friends keeping him on the straight and narrow now, and his lawyer sister clearly turned her equally shitty hand in life around, but that nagging paranoia about screwing his life up like his old folks did still haunts his thoughts in the wee hours of the morning when he can't get his brain to fall asleep… But that's way too deep and depressing, so he'll stick with clowns - or Miles telling him he's found a new best friend 😢

Hogwarts House: Gryffindor (it was between that or Hufflepuff, but I think he's too recklesss and overbearing to be a Hufflepuff haha)

Favourite Ice Cream Flavour: Cookies 'n Cream

Favourite Colour: Green - but he can be very easily swayed; he thinks they're all fun

Favourite Number: 420 babyyyyy 😎🍃🔥💨🤪💯

Favourite Movie: Wayne's World or the live action Scooby Doo - but his Wet Side Story universe pick would be A Bucket of Blood

Favourite Songs: Ok, this is a really tough category for him, because he has a very deep appreciation for a very broad spectrum of music genres. But, a (slightly) narrowed down list would probably look something like: Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen, Creep by Radiohead, Enter Sandman by Metallica, Hotel California by the Eagles, Vienna by Billy Joel, Does Your Mother Know by ABBA, Happy Together by The Turtles, Life Is A Highway by Rascal Flatts, Fight For Your Right by the Beastie Boys, The Muppet Show theme song & Hurricane by Bridgit Mendler

A place they want to visit: Niagara Falls - purely because he wants a souvenir t-shirt

#I finally did it!#it's probably wayyy too detailed #but I just had so much fun putting it together I couldn't help myself lol #I'm starting to get a real soft spot for him #he feels like a scrawny little baby bird I need to nurture and protect lmao #ok - i think that's my cue to get to bed hahaha #Ethan

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cherrygorilla · 1 year ago

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Ice Pop 🍃

Aaaah, Happy Birthday, Danelle! I hope you're having a wonderful day! I honestly didn't think I'd be able to get anything done to celebrate this year with how busy I've been, and I felt terrible, but luckily being at home for the last week has given me some time on a night to whip a little something up. It's not the best, or the most exciting, but hopefully it can somewhat make up for my months of radiosilence, and bring you a little joy today. 🥰

Now, this can pretty much be considered a standalone AU one-shot, but it was supposed to be a section in the third part of ASDO - yes, I know I haven't even finished the second part yet, I'm working on it lol - however, due to changes in timelines and things, it's not going to be able to work like this anymore. Still, I wanted my idea for two certain characters meeting for the first time to have some sort of a home, even if it is no longer canon. And who knows? Maybe it'll help for their appearances in other stories haha. But yeah, if you're wondering about the context of the rehearsal it's centred around - that's what it's for 😂

Anyway, enough of my rambling! I hope you enjoy it, and I hope you have a great day however you end up celebrating! You're the best internet friend a girl could ask for, so you deserve it! Happy birthday, Danelle!! 🥳

"Ugh, she just gets prettier every time I see her."

As rubber sneaker soles met blistering asphalt, Vivien couldn't help but giggle. Swinging the door of the sky blue convertible shut, she turned to face Carrie, affectionately rolling her eyes as she saw where her gaze, and flattery was aimed. Proudly plastered across the side of Sound Stage 4 was a colossal banner advertising the newest season of Find Your Voice, decorated with the gigantic heads of eight of its core cast members. And off to the left hand side, beaming down the camera lens over the top of an advanced geometry textbook, was the very same blonde as the one standing there admiring it.

"And Miles wonders why he can't get Royce to stop calling you vain," Vivien sarcastically teased.

Reluctantly tearing her gaze from the studio's prime position billboard, Carrie settled the younger brunette with a contented smirk. "I don't care; it's true," she said, holding back a giggle of her own as she swung her car door shut. "And besides, a little self-love's healthy."

"A little?" Vivien snorted with a raised eyebrow.

Carrie didn't have a comeback for that one, instead just laughing along with the teenager as she locked up her Mustang and rounded the car to join her. Bidding the oversized version of herself a final goodbye with a proud grin and a mock salute, as a way of thanking her for her contributions to their show's ever-growing ratings, Carrie began leading Vivien out of the studio parking lot.

Jogging a few paces to match the blonde's brisk walking pace, Vivien soon returned to scanning her surroundings like she'd just set foot in Munchkinland after a tornado. By now she had thought she was somewhat familiar with the movie world her extended family lived in, or at least the portion by the beach where they all resided. But exploring the downtown area brought that same giddy novelty of her first visit flooding back to her. It was like the whole city had a filter over it, turning up the saturation of the colours in the brickwork or shop signs, and bringing out their warmth to match the sunrays kissing the freckles up and down her arms.

Once she'd finally regained control of her childlike wonder, and had stopped gawping at the buildings lining the street they were strolling down as though they were exhibits at a science museum, her attention returned to the same question that had been plaguing her since Carrie had ushered her into the passenger seat of her car. "You know, you still haven't actually told me where we're going."

"I'm taking you to the venue."

Despite her nonchalant tone, Carrie's revelation made Vivien's breath catch in her throat. "Already?"

"Well yeah," Carrie replied, seemingly confused by the panicked squeak in the girl's voice. "I thought you'd want to get some practice in first."

Melting into a smile with a relieved sigh, Vivien let her shoulders relax and her feet be guided by the clunky, patterned platform boots parading her down Sycamore Close. Acting as a rather effective tour guide, Carrie gave her a walking tour of her and Miles' weekday stomping ground - she pointed out the mechanic shop where he worked, where their favourite sandwich shop was, which place did the best coffee, which place did the worst coffee - she even pointed out the laundrette Miles almost flooded after an unfortunate lunch-break run-in with a meatball sub, and threw in the anecdote that went along with it for good measure. There was the florist shop, the record store, the pharmacy - the whole street looked like it could have been plucked straight out of a movie set. And, in a way, Vivien supposed it had been. But as they rounded another corner, the pastel awnings and inviting smells disappeared.

It was far from a dump; palm trees still sporadically lined the road, and storefronts held haphazard displays of their products to entice the sparse crowds of customers. But the trashbags sitting at the curbside, and the uneven sidewalk slabs, made this part of town feel a little less polished than the rest. Just as Vivien finished reading the intricate chalkboard sign hanging outside a local bookstore though, and she turned back to follow Carrie's lead, a cloud of smoke obscured her view of the path ahead.

Thankfully, the haze had dispersed by the time the girls approached, but the stench of weed that replaced it made Vivien's nostrils itch. Scrunching up her nose, she slightly quickened her pace, hoping to get to a bakery down the street that could drown out the smell before her eyes started watering. But in the seconds that followed, she didn't know what surprised her more: the fact that Carrie was acknowledged by the stoner responsible for the smoke show, or the fact that she actually stopped to talk to him.

"Heyyyy, Carrie-oke! What the hell are you doing here so early?"

"We're down a drummer, so we need an emergency rehearsal with our stand-in," Carrie replied, a hint of amusement colouring her tone - whether that was due to the circumstances, or the fact that she sensed Vivien's utter confusion was a mystery to the brunette though.

"You lost another one? What happened? She didn't-"

"Yeah, Amber dumped him… Again."

"Fucking hell," the guy snorted, taking a quick drag on his joint and blowing the smoke out of the corner of his mouth, away from the girls, which Vivien appreciated. There was something about his entertained grin that drew her interest - or maybe it was that mischievous twinkle she spotted in his dark, albeit bleary chocolate brown eyes as he lifted his round sunglasses onto the top of his head. Either way, her intrigue towards the young man was making the weed smell more and more tolerable with each passing second. "Two drummers in four months? Is she trying to set a record or something?" he cheekily continued.

"I don't know," Carrie sighed with an eyeroll at her friend's expense. "But she definitely made the right call with that last guy; he was a total deadweight."

"Was that the coupon guy?" he checked. And once Carrie nodded her confirmation: "Oh yeah, he was a fucking moron. She can do so much better."

"Exactly," Carrie replied, throwing her head back with a hearty laugh at the brunet's earnest response. "But, yet again, her commendable level of self-respect has left us without a drummer less than eight hours before doors open. Hence the emergency rehearsal."

The deeply pensive expression, pulling the guy's eyebrows together, had Vivien biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from giggling, especially when he revealed what he'd been thinking so hard about.

"Hence…" he mumbled, through a mouthful of the BLT sandwich he'd picked up from the plate balancing precariously on the windowsill beside him. "Gnarly adverb... Respect."

Carrie just shook her head with another amused grin. "That stuff's hittin' good this morning, huh?"

"Oh yeah," he chuckled with a contented nod of approval. "You want a hit?"

Whilst the offer itself wasn't too much of a surprise to Vivien, the length of time Carrie appeared to consider it for certainly was. For a moment, she even thought she saw the blonde's arm twitch, as though instinctively moving to accept, before she caught herself and shook her head. "No, I can't-"

"Oh come on, just a little one."

Again, Carrie almost appeared convinced, before her better judgement won out. "No, I- Look, maybe later," she eventually compromised, taking a step towards the propped open, painted brown door beside them to prevent any attempts at further complaints from the stoner. "I already told you, I'm not here to just hang out. We've got to rehearse."

"We? What are you talking about? Who's-?" But as Vivien followed Carrie's lead, inching towards the doorway, she looked up to find that set of bleary brown eyes fixed on her for the first time that conversation - any traces of an end to his question completely falling out of his head the second he spotted her.

Now that she'd actually been acknowledged by the guy, Vivien took the opportunity to fully take in his appearance: fascinated by the fact that such a creature even knew Carrie, let alone spoke to her like a friend. His dark, taupe hair fell in half-hearted curls by his shoulders - more in limp waves than anything, which were pushed away from his face by the arms of the scratched, round sunglasses balanced atop his head. His scrawny frame was hidden by a baggy denim jacket that looked as though it was about four sizes too big for him, with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and a shirt beneath patterned so intensely she couldn't look at it for long without seeing spots in her vision. Old, flared, brown trousers; scuffed, but clearly well-loved, maroon boots; and a jumbled collection of leather bracelets, fabric wristbands, and peace sign pendants completed the look - a look she could only think to dub: dishevelled bohemian. If he'd have been on the cover of a history book about the hippie movement she wouldn't have batted an eyelid. And yet here he was, standing right in front of her, looking at her as though she'd just been beamed down from a spaceship.

Apparently her very existence was all it took to stun him into silence; his brain clearly needed all the energy it could get to process what he was seeing. She could practically hear its cogs spinning on overdrive as he searched her face for some recognisable quality. And just when they were starting to sound like her old laptop loading up The Sims, he tore his gaze from her and fixed it back on Carrie.

"…Who the fuck is that?"

The genuine confusion riddling his expression amused Vivien to no end, having to catch herself before a giggle escaped her lips as Carrie, evidently more familiar with his antics, simply replied: "It's Viv."

But the explanation made absolutely no difference in that empty, freckled head. The guy still looked as lost as ever.

"It's Vivien," Carrie tried again. But when she was met with a further, if not slightly more irritated, blank stare, she let out a frustrated scoff and turned so that she was fully facing the airheaded brunet again. "Vivien O'Brian-"

"You say that like you expect me to know who she is," he cut in with an incredulous scoff of his own.

"You do know."

"Then who the fuck is it?"

"Vivien," Carrie fired back with great exasperation - the kind that could only come from years of friendly, pent-up frustration. "She ice skates. She reads books. Miles talks about her like once a fucking week!"

Ethan's eyes lit up like a Roman candle. "Yoooo, where is Miles?" he asked, all inquiries about the brunette forgotten in an instant at the very mention of that all-important name.

But his eager grin was met with a look of disapproving disbelief. "I don't know," Carrie snapped, left floundering for an answer thanks to the stoner's inability to hold a properly structured conversation. "At work, I assume."

He looked about as satisfied with Carrie's answer as she had with his question though, tipping his head up to the sky and letting out a frustrated groan that would have given a sulking six-year-old a run for his money. "You seriously didn't bring him with you?" he checked, quirking an eyebrow at her out of the corner of his vision - clearly hoping this was just some dorky prank set-up.

"No, I don't think he gets off 'til 5," Carrie flatly fired back.

"Ughhhhh." There went that stroppy groan of frustration again. "That's fucking forever away. What am I supposed to do 'til then?"

"You could help us set up for our rehearsal," Carrie suggested with a smirk. "You know, like any respectable entertainment coordinator would."

He just rolled his eyes. "It's gonna be so boring without him though," he whined, scuffing his boot along the sidewalk as he dejectedly kicked a pebble against the side of the building.

Now it was Carrie's turn to roll her eyes as she let out an incredulous scoff. "Need I remind you, we were friends way before Miles came into the picture?"

The stoner levelled her gaze for a beat before a knowing smile tugged his lips into that same mischievous grin from before. "Yeah, but from that point on, nothing else really mattered, did it? Let's be real," he chuckled. Despite the ribbing, and obvious penchant for a certain mechanic, there was a glint in his blood-shot eyes that revealed his fondness for the blonde after all though.

And the feeling was clearly mutual since she was still willing to continue the conversation - she couldn't even successfully stifle her smile back as she shook her head and muttered a quick: "You're such an idiot."

The brunet made no attempt to argue - in fact he let out an amused snort of agreement as he reached for the rest of his half-eaten BLT.

Seizing the opportunity to take control of the conversation again, Carrie attempted to steer it back on track with an exaggerated, "Anyway." Tugging her guest closer, and dramatically gesturing to her, she continued, "That Vivien we talk about all the time: this is her."

The guy nodded thoughtfully. "Vivien…" he mumbled through a mouthful of bread - still playing that oh-so challenging game of connect-the-dots.

"Yes, Vivien," Carrie confirmed, as though encouraging a kindergartener. "She stayed with Miles and his brothers last April."

"Mmm," he nodded, finally showing some evidence of understanding. "She's dating that other mechanic guy - the one Miles lived with for-"

"No," Carrie cut in sharply over Vivien's incredulous laughter. "That's Mick and Butchy."

"Well how the fuck am I supposed to-?"

"Viv's dating Royce," Carrie explained, cutting off his complaint before he could derail the conversation any further.

"She's dating Royce?" he questioned, half-mumbling to himself as he fought through the disbelief the new information carried. His eyebrows scrunched in incredulity, his lips curled into a sort of confused grimace-

But then it finally clicked - the force almost popping his eyes out of his head in the process.

If the sudden change in the stoner's expression hadn't already set Vivien off to laugh harder, the sharp gasp that followed, and sent what remained of his mouthful of sandwich flying into the back of his throat, certainly did.

"Holy shit!" he eventually managed to choke out between the hacking coughs to help dislodge the piece of bread. "That was actually real?" he went on to ask once he'd caught his breath again, staring at Carrie with tear-stained eyes and a look of utter stupefaction. But she just nodded and chuckled as she handed him a bottle of water from her purse. "I thought Miles just made that up so I'd stop thinking his brother was a lame-ass," he continued, pausing to gulp down the offered water and rid himself of any remaining evidence of his mini choking fit. Holding the water bottle out to its original owner with a heavy, contemplative sigh, he levelled her gaze and lowered his voice to ask a dubious: "You're definitely sure it's real then?"

"You do know you can talk to her yourself, right?" Carrie checked, raising her eyebrow as she took back the bottle and gestured to Vivien yet again.

The guy paused, mouth slightly agape, as the realisation steadily dawned on him. Shifting his gaze to the brunette, he instead posed the question to her. "...You're actually dating Miles' brother?"

"I am indeed," she replied, smirking through poorly stifled giggles at the caricature of a guy's reactions.

"And they're definitely not paying you to say this?"

"I wish I was getting paid," Vivien snorted. "Easiest buck I'd ever make."

A thoughtful nod followed, as though impressed by the girl's honesty. And then came another bite of that BLT as he mulled over the revelation a little more. "Well, shit," he eventually settled on, with an amused smirk of his own. "Good for him… And you, I guess," he added, with a vague nod in Vivien's direction.

And then there was silence. It seemed as though he felt his role in the conversation was over now if the way he engrossed himself in inspecting the limp piece of lettuce sticking out the side of his sandwich was anything to go by. But Carrie had other ideas.

"Is that it?"

"Is what it?"

"That's all you have to say?" she raised an eyebrow and pressed.

"Well what else do you want me to do?"

But Carrie's disgruntled eye roll told Vivien she wasn't about to spell it out for him. "You have the social skills of a fucking garden snail," she muttered, before turning to the younger brunette with an almost apologetic shake of her head. "Well, since he's not gonna introduce himself - Viv, this Ethan. I had other, cooler friends I wanted you to meet first but, unfortunately fate had other plans."

Ethan still frowned despite her teasing tone. "I know you don't mean that, Cole," he protested, to which Carrie just smirked and rolled her eyes again.

Vivien felt like she was constantly on the brink of laughter watching the pair interact, caught between genuine amusement and utter disbelief. "So you two are like legitimately friends then?" she asked, feeling the need to check since her brain still didn't feel ready to process what her eyes were telling her.

Matching mischievous grins graced their faces as Ethan nodded and Carrie stifled another chuckle. "Don't look so surprised," she added after clocking the girl's reaction.

"No, I just-" Vivien floundered, struggling to articulate everything her brain was trying to process into a proper sentence. But after several failed attempts, she let her straight-to-the-point inner voice take over talking duties, with a spluttered laugh to join it. "How the hell did it happen?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well I just- I thought I had an idea of what your friends would be like…" Vivien trailed off, again at a loss for words.

"And this isn't it?" Carrie asked with mock-surprise as she jerked her thumb in Ethan's direction, just as he took another hit of his joint.

"...Well, we call you Barbie for a reason," Vivien teased. "I just didn't expect Little Miss Perfect to hang out with…"

"Someone who looks like they crawled out of Fraggle Rock?" Carrie offered with a smirk that quickly set the girl off to laugh.

Luckily, Ethan started laughing along with them - but not for the same reasons. "Yooo, they call you Barbie?"

"That's what you took from that?" Carrie checked in disgruntled disbelief.

"That's so fucking good," he mumbled as another amused grin settled on his lips.

But Carrie just rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to Vivien. "I swear you kids think I'm some sort of saint," she chuckled before teasingly adding, "You're not the only one who can have cool, weird friends, you know?"

"I never said I was," Vivien argued through a laugh. "I just don't know where you two could have ever crossed paths. Where did you guys meet?"

"He works on the sound for Find Your Voice and a couple of other shows on the lot. So I've known him ever since I booked the part," Carrie explained whilst Ethan worked on finishing what was left of his BLT. "He was just another part of the crew at first, but, because I talk to anyone and everyone all the time-"

"'Cause she loves the sound of her own voice," Ethan cut in through a mouthful of bacon, cheekily licking mayo off his thumb.

Carrie silenced him with a withering stare - but his lingering smirk told Vivien that he wasn't phased in the slightest. Still, Carrie was able to finish the rest of her explanation uninterrupted. "-I started to talk to him between takes, you know, since he was always there with the boom mic. And then one thing led to another, and before I knew it, he was sacking off lunch with the other tech guys to come and raid my dressing room for cookies."

"Oh come on," Ethan frowned at the light ribbing. "Don't pretend you wouldn't do the same for your mom's snickerdoodles."

"You ate crumbs out of a trash can."

"And I'd do it again," Ethan shot back with an earnestness that just made his and Carrie's sibling-like bickering even more entertaining. "You can't talk anyway; you ate that piece of pizza Miles spat out into a napkin the other week."

Ethan's accusatory frown, paired with Vivien's grimace just made Carrie's attempts at a justification even harder to come by. "Listen, I was not…" she began, eyes darting to the brunette on her left as she tried to phrase this in a way that wouldn't tarnish her reputation any further. "...of sound mind that evening. Plus, he's my boyfriend - I've tasted worse than saliva."

As if the first part of the confession hadn't shocked her enough, Vivien jerked her head back in reaction to that last line. "Eww, Carrie!"

Ethan's loud bark of laughter was a completely different response though. "Hey, I never said there was anything wrong with it," he eventually chuckled. "I'd have probably eaten it if you didn't."

"And I bet you'd have loved it too, you freak," Carrie fired back with a smirk despite her nose wrinkling in disgust.

Ethan's proud grin was all the evidence she needed to know she was right.

Once Vivien had recovered from her future sister-in-law's nausea-inducing revelation, she was able to continue with her inquiries about the scruffy stoner she'd become so fascinated with. "Wait so you know Miles too?"

"Know him?!" Ethan squawked.

His reaction sent Carrie's eyes to the heavens as she tipped her head back in despair. "Don't get him started, Viv," she wearily warned.

But Ethan didn't even give the brunette the chance to question any further, seizing the opportunity to talk about the mechanic with both hands, and a lovestruck smile. "Miles is my soulmate; my cosmic chaperone - we're spiritually bound by the very threads of our existence."

The edges of Vivien's smirk twitched, dying to let the guffaws it was holding back free as she raised an eyebrow. "That close, huh?"

Ethan gave the girl a solemn nod. "He's the ketchup to my mustard."

"Well shit," Vivien deadpanned, matching the guy's energy perfectly. "You can't get closer than that."

Shaking her head at the pair, and the situation in general, Carrie went on to explain: "The second I brought Miles on set it was game over. He asked Ethan some dumb question about a song on the radio and he's been following him around like a bad smell ever since."

Both physically and metaphorically.

"It was Money by the Rolling Stones, and we still say it's our song to this day, thank you very much," Ethan cagily retorted, as protective as ever over his friendship with Miles, before adding a slightly more in character: "That guitar line is gnarly."

"'Our song'?" Vivien questioned with a snort. "Are you guys gonna use it for your wedding or something?"

But the teasing remark bounced off Ethan like a rubber bullet as he mulled over the proposal with a mellow grin. "I could dig it."

Again Carrie just fondly shook her head, at both Ethan's response and Vivien's reaction. "Believe me, Viv," she went on to say. "They'd need no encouragement. I mean, you'll see it for yourself later, but they're inseparable when you get them together. Like, think of the biggest bromance you know, then times it by four…and you might be getting close."

"They're really that close?" Vivien chuckled in disbelief.

Carrie nodded intently. "They're like fucking limpets."

"I can't believe Miles has been hiding the fact he's got a best friend from me for all these years," Vivien said with cheeky incredulity. "I'm never letting him live this down. I didn't think losers like him were capable of having best friends."

"Well believe it, because he's not going anywhere," Carrie snorted. "Believe me; I've tried."

"Protest all you want, 'oke. You and I both know you'd be lost without me," Ethan said, slinging his now free arm around Carrie's shoulder and pulling her towards him, before affectionately squidging her cheeks together in a way that immediately had her trying to squirm out of his grip.

"I'd have one hell of a mopey boyfriend, that's for sure," Carrie compromised with an affectionate roll of her eyes as she finally somewhat relaxed into the awkward embrace. "And a pretty boring social life."

"Exactly!" Ethan said, that same mischievous grin from earlier making its fateful return. "Who else would you have to go and play midnight mini golf with? And who'd you get to play ice tag with you on set?"

"Isn't it called 'freeze' tag?" Vivien teasingly questioned. "And why are you adults playing freeze tag at work?"

"Uh, we're 22, we're not dinosaurs," Carrie retorted. "And it's not 'freeze tag', it's 'ice tag': a Carrie and Ethan original."

"Well if it's not freeze tag then what is it?" Vivien laughed.

"Duuude, it's so fun!" Ethan enthused. "You've gotta sneak to one of the craft services ice buckets, grab a couple cubes, then pick your victims. If you get one down the back of their shirt - or pants - without them noticing 'til it's already down there, and without it melting, you get a point - and they then have to be the next one to go get the ice."

"The camera guys hate it," Carrie laughed. "But it makes long filming days so much more fun. We've got like half the cast and crew playing now."

"Yeah, the scoreboard in her dressing room's insane," Ethan added.

"So you've built an entire friendship around a game about ice cubes?" Vivien questioned with an amused quirk of her eyebrow.

"Pfft, no, we hang out all the time!" Ethan said.

"Yeah, believe it or not, Miles and I do voluntarily hang out with him when we're not running around after you guys," Carrie chuckled.

"To do what?" Vivien snorted.

"All sorts. We've had a few good movie nights lately 'cause we found out Ethan's got like the weirdest taste in movies ever; he's seen shit like 'Attack of the Crab Monsters', but not The Wizard of Oz."

"Well I have now, but it was fucking weird, man," came Ethan's review. "The scarecrow guy's face looked like it was melting off." Directing his next point at Vivien in particular, he departed his first bout of wisdom on her. "Not one to watch high, dudette, trust me."

"Noted," Vivien acknowledged.

"So yeah, we've had a couple of rogue movie nights if Ethan's been in charge of securing the projector reels," Carrie continued. "But other than that it's just like general, everyday stuff. At least for us, anyway. We don't really get much chance to properly plan stuff out - it kind of just happens. Like the other day, after work, Amber started trying to teach us all how to do one of her crazy yoga routines - we'd never have suggested that until we did it, but it was some of the most fun I've had in weeks."

"Yooo, I was so fucking good at it. I might get her to show me some more stuff next week; I really felt like I was tapping into something powerful with it."

"Oh it was powerful alright," Carrie acknowledged with a giggle. "Miles couldn't believe it - I haven't seen him laugh that hard since he watched you take 20 minutes to make that packet ramen."

"Look, I just have other skill sets to most people," Ethan retorted with a resigned sigh. But a fleeting memory soon had his confidence racing back. "You've gotta admit I was a key player in helping you wreck Eric's car though."

Vivien's jaw dropped to her purple sneakers. "I'm sorry, you did what now?"

The guilt was written all over Carrie's pretty little face. Knowing she had no leg to stand on if she attempted to deny it, thanks to Ethan's unending honesty, she caved with a sigh. "Ok, yeah, so we may have totaled Eric's sports car-"

"Fuck, it was so fun!" Ethan exclaimed. "Me, Amber, and Carrie went to town on that thing. And Julie-"

"Anyway," Carried quickly cut in, trying to change the topic of conversation.

But the disbelief glittering in Vivien's emerald eyes wasn't about to let her get off the hook so easily. "Oh no, I'm not going anywhere until I hear this story," she grinned eagerly.

Letting out a defeated huff, Carrie compromised. "Alright, fine, I'll tell you later. But not a word of it gets back to Miles, ok? Because he has no idea we were the ones responsible for that - and we need to keep it that way."

"Oh come on, why can't I hear it now?" Vivien asked, sticking Carrie with her classic puppy dog eyes for extra, black-mail-y effect.

But unlike her other half, Carrie wasn't so easily won over by the pleading. "Because we need to go practice," she fired back. "We've wasted enough time talking to this bozo already."

"It's not been a waste," Ethan indignantly replied. "I've had a great time."

"So have I," Vivien agreed with a chuckle.

"And I'm very pleased for you both, but that doesn't change the fact that we need to rehearse. So hurry up and unlock the function room for us, tech boy," Carrie bossily snapped back despite her affectionate eye roll.

"You see how she speaks to me?" Ethan snarkily muttered to Vivien as though behind the blonde's back.

"I thought he was the sound guy for your TV show, what does that have to do with us rehearsing here?" Vivien asked, scanning the outside of the building for some sort of clue as to what the place even was.

"He is, but he's also the entertainment co-ordinator here, which means he's in charge of all the live music equipment, and the emcee for the night," Carrie explained as he stamped out the end of his joint with the toe of his boot. "So we're stuck with him all day, I'm afraid."

"I'm also your number one competition, so you'd better be fucking good," he retorted with another mischievous grin. "'Cause you've yet to beat us once."

"You've got a band too?" Vivien asked.

"Yeah - me, Miles, Donny, Rizzo and Desky. Don't let Carrie brainwash you about her bogus trio though, 'cause she can talk all she wants, but she knows she only put it together 'cause she was jealous of ours."

"You're so full of shit," Carrie retorted.

"Oh yeah? Then how come you've lost the crowd favourite vote to us every single time?" he cockily shot back. And when, for once, she didn't have a snapback at the ready: "That's what I thought. Fucking. Poser."

"Brag all you want, but we're gonna make you eat those words tonight now that we've got Viv on our side," Carrie coolly replied, sparing the brunette a smug smile.

"Oh shit, yeah," Ethan said, his competitiveness vanishing once he remembered the reason for his new friend's visit. "You're filling in as their drummer, right?"

"Yeah," Vivien confirmed, trying to hide the fact that her stomach did a backflip at the very thought. "At least that's the plan."

"Gnarly," he acknowledged with an impressed nod. "Where'd you learn to play?"

"My brother Riven taught me back when we were kids."

"Nice, you ever done any shows before or-?"

"Hello? What part of, 'we need to go practice', do you not understand?" Carrie cut in with a pointed glare in the stoner's direction.

"Uh, we're having a conversation here," Ethan countered, totally oblivious to her frustration.

"We actually have a band of our own with two of our friends that we've played a couple of shows for, yeah," Vivien carried on with a giggle at Carrie's expense.

"Oh really? No way!" Ethan exclaimed, seeming genuinely excited by the prospect.

"Yeah, and we write all our own songs."

"Seriously? That's so-"

"Guys!" Carrie tried again - one more stall away from stamping her platform go-go boot on the ground and throwing a toddler-style fit. "Come onnnn."

But yet again, Ethan wasn't bothered in the slightest by her rising irritation. In fact, he was rather irritated himself by her impatience. "Carrie - can't you see I'm talking to my new friend here? She has great knowledge to bestow, and I have much to learn - so quit interrupting; we're having bonding time. You're being rude."

"You can't pull the 'friend' card on me with Viv; she's like my little sister-" Carrie tried, but her indignant protests were drowned out by more of Ethan's senseless rambles.

"So, we'll circle back to the band thing later; I need to do some mental collage-work first, 'cause your canvas is feelin' a little blank, dudette," he began, leaning back against the brick wall and closing his eyes, as though to better visualise the 'memory version' of the brunette before him. Pressing a couple of fingers to his forehead, in an attempt to strengthen their cerebral connection, he continued, "We'll lay down some basics first. Quick-fire: name, birthday, last bone you broke."

Vivien had to bite back a laugh before responding: "Vivien O'Brian, August 22nd, and it was my wrist when I was 10."

Ethan's eyes peeled open, shining with intrigue. "No way, you've actually broken a bone?"

"Why are you so surprised? You asked," Vivien chuckled.

"'Cause most of these losers I ask don't do anything exciting enough to risk bodily harm," he snorted back, with a smug glance in Carrie's direction, relishing the steam that was practically rising from the top of her head. "How'd you break it then?"

"My skating partner dropped me," Vivien said, luckily able to look back on the memory with a more optimistic view than the other participant.

"'Skating partner'?" Ethan mused.

"Yeah, we're figure skaters - my friend Riven and I; the one who taught me to how to play the drums," she explained, catching on quickly that the more context clues she offered, the sooner they'd get to the point.

"What, like roller skating?"

"No, ice skating," Vivien clarified with a giggle.

Ethan's eyes glazed over in understanding. "Ohhh, right. Like ice hockey."

"No, not like ice hockey," Carrie cut in with an exasperated sigh, trying to break it down as simply as she could. "Figure skating. It's like ice dancing. Think the winter olympics - lots of twirling - little dresses-"

"Ohhh, no way! You do all those crazy jumps and shit?" Ethan exclaimed - finally catching on.

"Yeah," Vivien acknowledged. "At least three times a week, usually."

"At the olympics?" he asked, genuine amazement coating every word.

"No, we're not at olympic level," she chuckled, deciding to forgo the explanation that the olympics, at most, happen 3 times a decade. "Not yet, anyway. Our coach is working us towards it though, so who knows? Maybe one day."

"Holy fuck, we're talking to a future olympian, Carrie," Ethan enthused, bumping the blonde's arm in an attempt to share the excitement with her. But when she just rolled her eyes, yet failed to hold back her smile, he continued. "Do you do other competitions and stuff though? Or do you just like practising and doing it for fun?"

"No, we compete. I've got like a whole shelf of trophies in my room," Vivien said, poorly stifling a laugh as Ethan's eyes grew wider still. "We're the reigning national champs for our age bracket."

"Woahhhh, far out, man," he breathed. "That's awesome!" Thumping Carrie's arm again, this time a touch harder to coincide with his growing excitement, he gave her another aside, "Yo, Carrie, we're talking to like a legit celebrity here."

Vivien didn't know what she ended up laughing harder at, Ethan's genuine awe at her achievements, or Carrie's deadpan look of resignation. Those blue eyes of hers looked like they could have melted steel.

Snorting out a laugh of his own at the blonde's expression, he turned back to Vivien with a smirk. "That never gets old," he grinned, evidently well-versed in teasing Carrie about her level of fame. "Anyway, enough about her; she gets more than enough attention. What other cool, hidden talents are you hiding under those glasses?"

"I don't know, I don't think anything else really counts as a talent," Vivien downplayed. "I've taken a few archery lessons, I like going and exploring abandoned buildings-"

"Woah, woah, woah, 'abandoned buildings'?" Ethan questioned - bloodshot eyes once again sparking to life. "What the hell? You're so cool. She's so cool," he said, turning to see if Carrie was sharing in his bewilderment too. "How the fuck did you end up dating Miles' lame-ass little brother? No offence, but like-"

"Ethan," Carrie scolded.

"No, come on, not in like a mean way; he sounds great - I'd protect him with my life - but like, all I ever hear from Miles is that he fucking reads nerdy library books," he attempted to justify.

"Well I like reading too, you know," Vivien countered with a teasing smirk.

"Yeah, but you still seem to have a life," Ethan retorted, with all the social graces of an ox. The hearty laugh Vivien let out in response soon had him back to grinning like an idiot though. "Yo, why's Miles kept us apart for so long? You're awesome - we've got such a good energy going here," he chuckled.

"Yeah, why has Miles kept us apart?" Vivien agreed, looking to Carrie for some sort of explanation.

Begrudgingly rejoining the conversation, she explained with a teasing smirk at the stoner's expense. "Because you're a terrible influence - I speak from experience. He's gonna kill me when he finds out I've introduced you two without his supervision." But then she turned her attention to the younger brunette. "And because the second you see them both together, his cover as the somewhat responsible adult looking after you kids is gonna be blown out the water."

"Oh come on, how bad can he be?" Vivien laughed.

"It's not bad, necessarily - it's just that when they're together, and you're not around, all responsibilities go out the window, and the 22 years of pent-up stupidity are unleashed," Carrie explained with a laugh of her own.

Grinning mischievously, Vivien said, "In that case, I can't wait for his shift to end."

"Yeah, which is gonna be soon if we don't hurry up and get our asses inside," Carrie said, shooting Ethan with another pointed look.

"Huh? D'you hear something, Viv?" Ethan asked his new protege, intentionally blanking the steadily seething blonde.

"Ethan, come onnnn, please," Carrie pleaded, bouncing on the balls of her feet like an impatient child. "You can continue this while we're setting up."

"Weather's pretty nice this morning, huh? Not too humid, not-"

"Fine, I'll just have to kick the door down," Carrie resigned, hiding her smirk behind his back. "I hope no one's left their guitar lying around where it could get damaged if-"

Whirling around with a look of pure horror, Ethan muttered a sombre, almost warning, "Don't even joke about that; you know she's my baby."

"You play the guitar?" Vivien questioned.

"'Play's putting it lightly; I think I can noddle away on that thing better than I can talk," Ethan snorted.

"Like that's hard," Carrie teasingly retorted before continuing. "As much stick as I've given him this morning, he is really good on that guitar," she went on to acknowledge with a genuine smile. "Riven, Miles, and Butchy can talk all they want, but they're not a patch on this guy - I think if he wasn't so mentally stunted he'd be considered some sort of prodigy or something."

"You know, you can just give me a genuine compliment," he said, frowning slightly at her friendly jab.

"I know… I'll start when you start," she retorted with a smirk he soon reciprocated, before shaking his head and letting out another snort of laughter.

"Ok, we'll stick with this; we've got a nice thing going here, why ruin it?"

Grinning at the pair of old friends, and the way Carrie squeezed him into a hug from the side, Vivien's ever-active brain started formulating a new idea - one that would hopefully get her in the good books of both cartoon-cliches come-to-life. "Well, if you're this good on the guitar I've obviously gotta hear it for myself," she prompted, drawing the brunet's attention back to her.

"Shoot, of course, I'd love to play something with you - you know any-?" Ethan began to gush, shoving Carrie away from his side in favour of chattering away to the brunette again.

"Don't we need to get into the function room first though?" she asked, sparing a quick glance at a suddenly very excited Carrie.

"Oh shit, yeah. You shoulda just said, Viv. I'll go unlock it for us," Ethan chuckled as though the concept was entirely new - sending Carrie's eyes to the heavens again.

But the blonde's groan of frustration was drowned out by Vivien's optimistic giggle, as she teasingly mumbled under her breath, "See? That wasn't so hard."

"You two are really gonna make me regret introducing you both, huh?" she said with a weary chuckle of her own as Ethan disappeared into the building.

"On the contrary; I think we're gonna have more fun than ever," Vivien laughed back. "I need to see more of this 'wild' side he brings out of you. First I find out you're bi. Now I find out you smoke weed and could go down for criminal damages to your ex's car with that…thing. I feel like I barely even knew you before."

Carrie just chuckled to herself at the teenager's amazement. "I did try to tell you I was more than just Miles' girlfriend."

"What else are you hiding now? Surely there can't be more," Vivien demanded. "Are you gonna introduce me to your secret three-year-old or something?"

"Eww, no," she laughed. "Just be patient, you'll find out when you're ready," she smirked with a confident mystique Vivien could only have dreamed of. "I've gotta keep at least some of the mystery alive."

Before Vivien could press the older girl for any further clues though, a bedraggled head of shoulder-length brown hair appeared in the dark doorway. "Come on, Ice Pop. It's all unlocked."

Vivien looked from Ethan to Carrie and back again, perplexed. "Ice Pop?"

"Yeah, Ice Pop," Ethan simply confirmed, with a dopey grin.

"Nicknames are kind of his thing," Carrie explained, her voice barely above a whisper as she leaned in to inform the brunette. "It's just how his little pea-brain works. And once he's settled on one for you, you're kind of stuck with it - unfortunately," she added, thinking back to the months of convincing it took to get him to stop calling her 'Coleslaw'.

"Why 'Ice Pop'?" Vivien questioned - as amused, and fascinated, by the guy's thought process as ever.

"'Cause you ice skate," he explained as though it was obvious. "And you're wearing purple - you've actually just got like a purple vibe."

"What does purple have to do with ice pops though?" she asked.

"Well the purple ones are my favourite, and you're my favourite ice skater, so…" he replied, miming the fusion of ideas with his hands for added effect. "Ice Pop."

Poorly holding back her flattered, yet still slightly amused grin, Vivien tried to protest. "You've never even seen me skate."

"Minor details," he dismissed with a wave of his hand. "You're the only one I know by name though - so, you don't have a lot of competition. But that still makes you my favourite."

All the skating talk was lost on Carrie, but there was something about the conversation that caught her attention: "The purple one's are your favourite? They taste like ass."

"Probably why they're my favourite," he snorted as Carrie just wrinkled her nose. Not wanting to delay the imminent jam session any longer, he quickly turned back to Vivien though, managing to catch her attention between her hearty laughs. "What do you say then? You like it?"

"Yeah, I like it," she grinned, warmth spreading throughout her chest as she watched the stoner's eyes glow with appreciation.

"Sweet," he breathed, holding her gaze for a beat before beckoning her towards the wooden archway in the brickwork. "Come on then, Ice Pop. Welcome to The Grapefruit."

Following a nod of approval from Carrie, who promptly trailed behind her, Vivien let Ethan lead her through a bead curtain and into a dimly lit, oak-panelled hallway. The floor almost immediately dropped into a stairwell, lined with black and white photos of musicians, and prints of various fruits in the same assorted shades of orange, yellow, and green from the beads at the entrance.

As they descended, Vivien, as talkative as ever, especially now that she was more at ease around the guy, decided to start probing Ethan for more details. "So if I'm Ice Pop, and Carrie's Carrie-oke - does Miles have a nickname?"

"Nah, you can't improve upon perfection," Ethan sighed, grabbing the railings of the staircase and launching himself down the last four steps. "I do have a 'government name' I call him though when he needs me to talk some sense into him," he continued after landing with a thud in front of a two-way corridor.

"Which is?" Vivien prompted as they turned to the left and reached another door.

"Miles per Gallon, Miles per Hour, Miles from Anywhere - there's a couple variations," he replied as he pulled a bunch of keys from his back pocket and started working on the lock. "Just depends on my mood."

"Oh my god, I can't wait for him to get here," Vivien giggled. She didn't know what she was laughing harder at: Ethan's nicknames for her honorary big brother, or what she imagined his face would look like when he realised she now knew about them.

"Well, in the meantime, make yourself comfy. 'Cause it sounds like you're gonna be here a while," Ethan chuckled as he pushed the door open and stepped aside to let her enter first. "Behold: your performance space for the evening."

As Vivien stepped into the room, that same surreal feeling she got the first time she set foot in the Wet Side Story world flooded through her - it felt like a dream, like everything would disappear in a puff of smoke if she touched it. But as her sneakers met scuffed, wooden floorboards, she stayed very much in one piece - as did everything else around her. The wood-panelled walls continued into what she now understood was an underground bar - but, despite the lack of sunlight, it was far from dingy. The overhead lights bathed everything in a soft, golden light, which complimented the room's colour scheme perfectly. The same shades of rust orange, mustard yellow, and olive green from the beaded curtain at the entrance clung to the upholstery and decorations - and yet brighter pops of colour, in line with the bar's citrussy namesake, made the whole room come to life. The earthy tones, mismatched furniture and clashing patterns made it feel so quintessentially 60s, but that just made Vivien love it even more - even if it did smell vaguely like stale beer.

"Hold up, how old is she? D'you think I'm allowed to have let her in here if she's not 21?" Ethan asked Carrie as the pair followed Vivien into the function room.

"It's not like you're gonna serve her any alcohol, she's just here to perform," Carrie said, brushing off his concern with ease. "And besides, if she wants anything she can just sneak some of mine," she added with a mischievous grin the stoner quickly shared.

"Yeah, what am I even saying? Since when did I start giving a shit about following the rules?" he snorted, pocketing his keys and crashing onto the nearest, faded leather couch.

"Alright then, Viv," Carrie continued, stepping up behind the teenager, who was still gazing around the room in wonder. And yet it wasn't until the blonde put her hands on her shoulders and steered her towards the centre of the room that she even noticed the sprawling stage - complete with mic stands, a dusty piano, several guitar amps and that all-important drum-kit. "You ready to take her for a spin?"

Vivien's first instinct told her 'absolutely not', but there was something about the warmth in Carrie's hopeful smile, and Ethan's earnest encouragements, still fresh in her mind, that gave her pause. Maybe she could do this after all; they certainly seemed to think she could. And she wasn't going to get over this stage fright without trying, so she might as well give it a go with a supportive audience - a rather unconventional, supportive audience; but one that, given her newfound fondness of the pair, and their apparent abundance of love for her in return, one that she wouldn't have traded for anything.

#p.s. there might be another surprise later that coincides with this 👀#probably not as exciting - but definitely necessary by now lmao #Vivien #Carrie #Ethan

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cherrygorilla · 2 years ago

Text

Lover

10th Anniversary One-Shot

The 9th of October 2023 marked 10 years since I first started writing and posting stories with my girl Carrie, and whilst I know I'm almost an entire month late to this (courtesy of my exhausting uni schedule lol), it felt like too big of a milestone to just let pass by. Now, this might not be the most sophisticated, or interesting, story, but it's a lovely chunk of self-indulgent fluff to celebrate how far Carrie and I have come from where we started. Writing my silly little stories has been such a joyous, and needed escape over this past decade, and I can't thank you enough for sticking around to read them; it truly does mean the world to me. Still, as a way to try, here's a fun little slice-of-life one-shot with Miles and Carrie, because I always need more of their relationship lol. Plus, it felt like a cute way to show Carrie's character progression, and the journey Miles has taken her on, ever since I decided to write that little spin-off story with them all that time ago. Getting to write with Carrie and Miles, and all the rest of your characters, Danelle, has injected so much fun and excitement into my stories again, and I'm so grateful for you letting me use them to help indulge my funny little fantasies and disappear from my overwhelming day-to-day life. It's been an honour.

And so, without further ado, here's to 10 years of cherrygorilla! 💕

P.S. Now that I've got this posted, I can finally go and enjoy the final part of Camp Wanamaker, because I've been dying to read that ever since it was posted - I just told myself I had to get this done first! 😆

Heaven had been depicted in many ways, but none quite compared to the atmosphere inside an apartment, on the fifth floor of a grand building off the corner of Palm Way Boulevard. An eclectic array of lamps bathed the walls in soft, warm light, as the lilting voices of glamorous housewives crackled through the Zenith's speakers, lulling the room's occupants into a slumber. With bellies full of hearty rigatoni, and eyelids drooping in the near twilight, the pair were the picture of contentment. Their bodies sunk so deep into plush, muted teal velvet, they feared they'd need a rope to haul themselves out again. And as fingers idly wove between locks of toffee brown hair, Carrie couldn't have kept her blissful grin at bay if she'd tried.

Notes of raspberry slid across her tongue as she set her glass of rosé down with her free hand, just in time for the show they were watching to cut to commercial. Fondly smiling down at the head of subtle waves in her lap, she scratched her nails ever so slightly deeper into their scalp, prompting what could only have been described as a purr to drift from the bundle of wool, cotton and freckled skin. Other than that though, the figure made no attempt to move beyond the rhythmic rise and fall of their back. And if the steadily lengthening breaths were anything to go by, Carrie knew sleep would be coming to claim her guest all too soon.

"You still with me, baby?" she teasingly asked.

"Mhm," Miles mumbled, snaking his arms tighter around her waist as he readjusted his head in her lap. At first Carrie just thought he wanted to get into a more comfy position, but when he craned his neck almost out of her lap altogether, she should have known he had other motives. "...Mrs Lancaster's definitely having an affair."

"How'd you know?" Carrie chuckled at the abrupt shift of focus. "Did you see her leaving in that purple dress again?"

"No, but I saw her bringing a guy back."

Sitting up to get a clearer look herself, Carrie peered out of the large window to her right, straining her eyes to spy on one of the many, staple characters in the not-so-fictional soap opera she and Miles had been dreaming up, which centred entirely on the outlandish residents of her neighbouring apartment block. Sure enough, the portly brunette, nearing middle age, could be seen parading a young man who was far too tall, and far too handsome, to be the balding real estate mogul who shared her last name, through her front door. Clearly her husband's excessive business trips had finally taken their toll.

"Damn, get some, Angela," Carrie tittered.

"He's gotta be at least half her age," Miles mused in morbid bewilderment, watching the pair like a hawk until the door swung shut behind them. And even then, he just graduated to looking out for movement behind the lace curtains. "I know we joked about her being a cougar for like 3 months, but I didn't think we were actually right. How the hell did she pull that off?"

"Well, love works in mysterious ways," Carrie smirked, as amused as ever by her boyfriend's investment in her neighbours' social lives.

"I think love's a pretty generous way to phrase it," Miles snorted. "Desperation might work better."

"Hey, they could be soulmates for all we know," Carrie playfully retaliated.

"Well in that case, I'm very happy for them," Miles conceded with a laugh at the very thought. "...And very glad that those curtains were installed last week."

"Amen," Carrie chuckled as she took another sip of her wine. The previous conversation soon triggered another thought to spring to the front of her mind though. "Speaking of love working in mysterious ways, you'll never guess who came into work today sporting a rock the size of a peanut M&M on her left hand."

Miles bolted upright, any remnants of sleep gone from his eyes in a single blink. "Shut the fuck up, he did not propose to her."

"No, he didn't, sadly - wrong finger," Carrie explained to her wide-eyed boyfriend, who was hanging on her every word. "Apparently it's a 'moving in present'."

"They're moving in together?" Miles asked - morbid bewilderment once again distorting his usual, laidback grin, as it almost always did in the face of his guilty pleasure: gossip about Carrie's insane coworkers. In this case, it was Find Your Voice semi-star, Emmalynn Rae, who, when she wasn't trying to become more plastic than person, was in the process of stealing her ex-best friend's fiancé for herself. He wasn't exactly proud of his fascination with the mindless drama of others, but when he was this deep in the bizarre lore of the inner workings of Carrie's coworkers' relationships, he couldn't help but get invested.

"So she says. And apparently they finalised everything on that big vacation to Palm Beach they kicked April out of."

"I thought that was a 'girls trip'?"

"So did I, but clearly posing for 'candid' paparazzi shots with April's sister and her new boyfriend trumps whatever the original plans were."

"Her sister was there?" Miles exclaimed in disbelief before his mind started to process everything he was hearing. "Dude, what the hell? As if the whole boyfriend thing isn't bad enough, she kicks April off the trip that she wasn't even invited to, that was planned to help April feel better about all the shit that she started, just to invite April's sister and deliberately drive a wedge between them? That is such dirty, mean girl shit. Oh my god. Why would her sister even-?" But Miles' better judgement soon caught up with him, as did a fresh wave of exhaustion. "You know what? I can't get into this tonight. There's too much to unpack."

Carrie couldn't help but giggle as he wearily rubbed his eyes. "Good idea. You wanna wait until you can talk about it with your co-conspirator too?"

"Does he already know?"

"I don't think so, he wasn't there when she was mouthing off about it anyway," Carrie chuckled. "So don't worry, you can do the honours of breaking the news to him."

Grinning at the very thought of informing his lank-haired accomplice, Miles finally felt the burst of adrenaline the story had shot through him start to dissipate as his shoulders slumped and he tugged the recently discarded woollen blanket back around him. "I was gonna say, if he knew when he stopped by the garage earlier and didn't say anything I'd have been very surprised."

"He stopped by the garage?"

"Just on his lunch break, it wasn't for long. He spent most of it getting Nino to play stupid games with him anyway," Miles explained with a chuckle at the comical, yet endearing, mechanic's expense, before flopping backwards on Carrie's huge, cloud-like sofa so that he was facing her, rather than curling up in her lap again like an overgrown tabby cat. As his head hit a decorative, satin-y throw cushion though, a new commercial plastered itself across Carrie's TV screen, alerting the pair to the fact that they'd talked through a quarter of the mind-numbing sitcom they'd been too lazy to change the channel on.

The restaurant advertisement worked a charm on Carrie though, grabbing her attention in an instant. "Hey, Crimson Sun! I've heard some really good things about that place. You want me to try to get us reservations for next week?" she suggested, eyes twinkling with excitement before playfully adding. "It might be nice to eat our Chinese food off a plate for once instead of out of a cardboard box."

"You're big-timing takeout boxes?" Miles teased. "What's next? You gonna tell me you'd rather eat at a table than off the paint tarp on the floor?" He pressed with a sideways glance at the folded up cloth in the corner of the room, serving as a reminder of the many weeks they had already spent renovating Carrie's apartment.

"I'm not totally giving up on the takeout boxes, I'm just saying it might be nice to start taking date night out of the apartment again; I feel like we haven't been out in months. Plus, I still haven't seen you wear your cool new shirt from the thrift store."

"We have been cooking a lot," Miles agreed, mind wandering back across the many weeks of stay-ins, and the various home cooked recipes that accompanied them. "I could go for a sit-down meal. I'm starting to get sick of my own cooking anyway," he added jokingly.

"I'm not," Carrie retorted with a protective scoff. "I literally had a dream the other night about those steaks you made - with those creamy potatoes and caramelised shallots…"

"They were pretty good, weren't they?" Miles conceded with a proud, yet grateful smile.

"Mhm," Carrie confirmed as a wicked twinkle flashed in her ocean blue eyes. "One of two things in that dream that made me wake up with drool all over my pillow."

Carrie's suggestive smirk was just met with a bark of laughter and a teasing shake of his head as Miles tried to mask his flustered embarrassment behind a loving eye roll though.

Having rendered her boyfriend speechless, Carrie decided she had to be the one to fill the comfortable silence that had settled over them in the minutes that followed. Fighting the on-screen drama queens for Miles' attention, she glanced at the clock and took one last sip of her wine before announcing, "Come on, it's getting late, I'd better start clearing stuff up in there."

The second she made an attempt to move from the sofa though, a whine of protest met her ears, and a hand gracelessly grabbed for hers.

"Let go, I've got leftovers to clean up," Carrie giggled, weakly attempting to wrench her arm free.

"It can wait 'til morning," Miles protested, entwining his fingers with hers to further delay her escape.

"No it can't, my whole place is gonna stink of meat sauce if I leave that pot out overnight."

"I like the smell of your meat sauce," Miles tried.

"Not at 7:30 in the morning, you won't," Carrie chuckled, once again attempting to stand, only to be dragged back down again.

"Just light one of your fancy candles to block it out," Miles said, pulling Carrie towards him with a chuckle despite his pouty frown. "I need cuddles."

"You're so clingy tonight," Carrie giggled, melting under his big puppy dog eyes as she let herself fall against his chest, and right into his waiting arms.

"I’ve been surrounded by nothing but cars all day, I’m touch starved," Miles lied as Carrie rolled onto her stomach on top of him.

"Is that so?" she quizzed, with a quirk of her eyebrow.

"Mhm," Miles mumbled earnestly, reaching up to push her golden curls away from her face before snaking his arms around her back and pulling her closer.

Turning to putty between his hands, Carrie just chuckled and dreamily grinned down at him. "Well we can't have that, can we?" she breathed against his cheek. Surrendering to his magnetic pull, she nibbled at his bottom lip until she felt his hands skim the base of her spine and the nape of her neck, which is when she crumbled altogether and pressed her plump, peachy lips to his. Each kiss she tasted more oregano, and parmesan, felt more muscle and faded cotton, smelt more cedarwood and citrus, fighting to drown out the lingering motor oil stuck in his pores - leaving her far more intoxicated than any of the rosé in her pretty, iridescent wine glass ever could.

Even when they broke apart, Carrie couldn't stop drinking in her view, studying her boyfriend's face like it was mounted on the walls of the Louvre. The bump on the bridge of his nose, the scar peeking out from between his eyebrow hairs, the way the left side of his mouth curled up ever so slightly more than his right when he smiled. She could stare for hours, eyes glazed over in adoration as a mindless, giddy grin splayed her own lips, getting lost in swirling pools of baby blue, streaked with steel blue like they were a Claude Moet. It was perfection.

She knew Miles had fallen first, but she'd fallen harder - completely helpless to resist.

Finishing off with one last gentle peck, Carrie smirked as she asked, "Better?"

"Mhm," Miles chuckled, lazily skimming her cheek with the pad of his thumb. "That doesn't mean you can go and clean up though."

"Oh I wouldn't dream of it," she dramatically replied, drawing a chuckle from the lips still tasting the last whispers of her lip gloss as Miles wrapped his arms tighter around her back, effectively trapping her in his embrace for the foreseeable future. Not that she minded, of course. And with an even closer front row view of the charming mechanic, love-drunk into a stupor, the barrier between her brain and her mouth was steadily deconstructed. "You're so handsome," she murmured.

Miles just bashfully chuckled, momentarily breaking eye contact to try to recover some of his composure. "You'd think that with how many times I hear that from you I'd start believing it," he said, stealing a kiss to stop Carrie from pressing the topic further.

When they broke for air, Miles tugged at the crocheted blanket around his shoulders, cocooning the pair in swathes of pink, blue and yellow wool. Hoping it would prove as a sufficient distraction from his appearance, Miles asked, "Do you think if I ask Julie nicely enough she'll make me one of these?"

"I think you need to have reached 'best friend' status for at least five years before you get that kind of privilege," Carrie replied with an amused snort as she proudly let her fingers trace the meticulous rows of stitches.

"Do I not get bonus points for being the best friend's boyfriend? Or for the fact I piggybacked her ass for half a mile last week when she broke a heel?"

"Why do you care?" Carrie laughed.

"Because I want a cool blanket," he retorted. "…And I spilled coffee all over the big fleece one back at my place."

Deciding to save her breath rather than chastise the brunet for his clumsiness, Carrie just fondly shook her head and said, "I mean, by all means, knock yourself out, but I wouldn't count on it. You'd probably have better luck asking Mick; she might find the time to make you one if you bribe her with snacks."

As Miles conceded with a chuckle, Carrie laid her head on his chest, smiling to herself as she felt it rumble with laughter beneath her cheek. Between the melodic cadence of ageing TV stars, and the steady thudding of Miles' heart, muffled by freshly washed cotton, and paired with the comforting weight of his arm across her back, Carrie felt so at peace with the world that every passing second nudged her closer and closer towards a deep, blissful sleep. Everything was just perfect; she couldn't have felt happier. But as her subconscious started to wander, drifting and further and further from dreamland, that thought begged the question…

"What do you think you'd be doing right now if we never met?"

"I thought you were asleep," Miles mumbled through her mane of hair, chuckling at the very notion.

"I've not had that much wine," Carrie groggily giggled. But as silence once again fell over the pair, she realised she wasn't going to get an answer to her question. So she asked again. "Come on, I'm serious. What do you think you'd be doing?"

Favouring the prospect of any conversation, no matter how bizarre, over the asinine plot of the graveyard slot soap opera still droning throughout the living room, Miles decided to play along. "I don't know. My Thursday nights'd be a hell of a lot more boring, that's for sure."

"You think?"

"Well yeah; I'd just be sat around at home with Benny and RJ like any other night of the week."

Despite Miles' nonchalance, Carrie's brows furrowed. "You don’t think you’d be dating someone else?"

The suggestion took him by surprise. "...I don't think so. I mean, I only landed this relationship by chance - or, dumb luck, I suppose. It's not like I was actively looking for a girlfriend or anything at the time, it just kind of…happened."

"You could make it sound a little more romantic than that," Carrie jokingly chastised, following her giggles up with, "You really don't think you'd have found anyone else?"

"I already told you, I don't know," Miles chuckled. "It's not something I've ever thought about. I can't even really picture myself dating anyone else anyway."

"You're so full of shit," Carrie snorted. "What happened to your type being artsy brunettes?"

"I do not have a 'type'," Miles retorted with an incredulous guffaw.

"Really?" Carrie teasingly challenged.

"Really. That was just… the kind of girl I used to think I'd end up with one day," Miles tried to explain, which was hard considering the fact that he didn't fully understand it himself. "Or at least the kind of girl everyone expected I'd end up with anyway. It's not like I ever went seeking anyone like that out though."

"Come on then, enlighten me. What's this dream girl of yours like?" Carrie prompted.

"Ok, well, she's super loud and obnoxious, and she's got this crazy blonde hair that keeps getting caught in my mouth-"

Carrie dug her elbow in his rib. "Would you just play along? You're not worming out of this with flattery."

"How am I supposed to describe a girl I've never thought about?" Miles asked.

"Oh come on, you've got a better imagination than I do. I'm sure you can come up with something," she said, pausing for exactly one second before saying: "Here, I'll start you off-"

"Oh, so you've thought about your hypothetical competition before then?" Miles taunted, biting back a laugh at his girlfriend's steadfast protectiveness.

"Shh. Well she's definitely got to be brunette, we've already established that. And I think she'd have brown eyes too, those pretty ones that look like they're speckled with green. And she'd be super artistic like you, so you could do all the fun creative date ideas we try, but you'd both end up with masterpieces every time instead of-"

"I don't know, I think our cereal bowls are masterpieces," Miles cut in with an impish grin.

"Stop interrupting me, I'm on a roll here," Carrie playfully scolded. "She'd either be a total free-spirit, always wearing long flowy dresses, or old shirts covered in paint splatters, and those fun headscarves in like a million different patterns. Or, she'd be a preppy girl, in those cute sweaters and corduroy skirts - you know, really leaning into that whole 'girl next door' vibe?"

"She doesn't sound loud or obnoxious at all," Miles jokingly noted.

"Definitely not," Carrie giggled.

"She sounds shy, or at least quiet. Maybe she'd open up a bit after she gets to know you more, but at the start there'd be this whole 'closed book', mysterious vibe about her. And she'd read weird, cryptic poetry I'd pretend to understand to impress her."

"So you'd be the 'me' in the relationship," Carrie pointed out with another playful giggle.

"Yeah, I guess," Miles laughed. "She'd probably outsmart me all the time too. And have a hidden tattoo of some really deep, really random philosophy reference I'm too dumb to understand."

"Mmm, yeah, that's a good one," Carrie mused, before summing up, "So your dream girl's a mysterious brunette, who's both super booksmart and creative, has a cool sense of style, and - and I'm just spitballing here - I can only assume gets on incredibly well with your brothers because she's just so effortlessly likeable?"

"Yeah, and look what I ended up with," Miles snorted, prompting Carrie's jaw to drop in indignation.

"I'd choose your next words very carefully if you want to avoid spending the night out in the lobby."

"Oh come on, you know I wouldn't trade you for anything," Miles chuckled, hugging her closer still to his chest as he pressed a loving kiss to the top of her curls. "And whilst I'll be the first to admit you look great in green, I don't think you can really be jealous of a girl that doesn't even exist."

"I know," Carrie reluctantly mumbled, drawing another laugh from Miles' lips. “I still don’t like the sound of her though.”

“Don’t worry, I think you could take her in a fight,” he said with an amused smile. “And she may have a cool sense of style, but it’s still nowhere near as cool as yours.”

“Thank you, baby,” Carrie happily murmured as she snuggled deeper into Miles’ chest, ego sufficiently massaged.

“Any time,” Miles smirked, before teasingly adding. “I don’t exactly think you have a leg to stand on here though, Mrs 'I only go for blondes with brown eyes'," he teasingly added. “I’m straight up batting zero in both departments.”

“And yet somehow, here we are,” she teasingly mumbled back.

“Alright then, we’ve established my imaginary girlfriend, now it’s your turn; which blonde supermodel do I need to take down to defend my honour?” Miles asked with a smirk, more entertained by the idea than defensive about it. “And why do I feel like I already know her?”

Rolling her eyes at Miles’ playful jab, and pulling the crocheted blanket a little tighter around her shoulders, Carrie let out a sigh as she pondered her answer. “…I don’t know, I feel like if I never met you I’d probably just still be with Eric,” she eventually admitted, even disappointing herself with the lacklustre response.

Miles stalled at that revelation, and the change in her tone. “Really? You wouldn’t be dating someone else?” he checked, genuinely shocked by what he was hearing, especially given everything he knew about Eric Brennan and his girlfriend’s opinions on him.

"…Probably not, no," Carrie replied. "Unfortunately."

"You’d have taken him back after he cheated on you?"

"I mean…if I hadn’t met you…then yeah, probably," she confessed, uneasy as the admittedly embarrassing realisation dawned on her. Hoping to lighten the moment a little, she tagged on, "Don't tell Viv I said that though; that's not very 'girl boss/men ain't shit' of me."

"Yeah, it's not. It doesn't sound like you at all," Miles noted, quiet concern riddling his tone.

"Yeah well, we can't all be badass feminists all the time," Carrie chuckled with a woeful sigh. "But - and I can't believe I'm saying this - in Eric's defence-"

"Woah, woah, woah, where the fuck is this going?"

"Let me cook, let me cook," Carrie laughed over Miles' comically indignant scoff, grinning to herself at the incorporation of the lingo her 21st century campmates had enlightened her with, before settling down and beginning her explanation. "In Eric's defence, he was my best relationship really until it all went to shit. So if that was the only thing I had to factor into my decision, and I didn't know everything that I was missing," she said, sparing the boy acting as her mattress a loving grin. "Then yeah, I probably would have just taken him back. I know it maybe didn't seem that serious from an outside perspective, but it felt serious to us. When we were in it, we were fully in it. It's kinda silly looking back, but we really did think we'd go all the way, even in the early stages - shows how naïve we were, I guess. We’d even talked about getting married and stuff - kinda stupid for two 19 year olds, I know, but we were just so sure it’d work out…" Carrie trailed off, suddenly realising she'd let her mind aimlessly wander to a place she hadn't visited in over two years. A cold knot settled in her stomach as she took in the cobwebs and thick layer of dust. Perhaps it would have been best to leave it untouched… "Maybe he just felt too comfortable, I don’t know," she went on to ponder, trying her best to be nonchalant despite the shame gnawing away at the back of her brain. "Or maybe he just felt insecure… Either way, I think I’d probably just have forgiven him…or accepted that was just the way things were for us, I guess."

The silence that followed Carrie's admission spoke volumes. But, deciding that she'd tormented herself enough with idiotic 'what if's, she let out a weary chuckle and broke it before Miles had the chance to. "Pretty crappy answer, I know, but hey, we can't all have fairytale endings." Lifting her head to meet Miles' gaze, she shot him a tired, dreamy smile and added, "I'm just glad I managed to find mine."

Noting the almost apologetic look in her eyes, Miles managed a small chuckle to set her mind at ease. Playing with a loose curl of hers in a further attempt to distract her, he dared to break the underlying tension. "Nice save, that was starting to get way too deep and depressing for date night."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me," she replied with that playful dramaticness she captured so effortlessly, relaxing in an instant as soon as Miles started playing with her hair. Although, the same couldn't quite be said for her mind, which was still aimlessly wandering off down path after path of her subconscious. "It doesn't have to be depressing; it's all imaginary anyway. Maybe we did get a happy ending in some parallel universe. Maybe we just amicably moved past it and carried on like nothing ever happened."

Miles' nose crinkled in disgust. "Or maybe you dumped his sorry ass and were rescued by your super hot, blonde, knight-in-shining-armour girlfriend."

Carrie couldn't help but giggle at the suggestion. "Ok, ok, I'm liking the sound of that one," she admitted, resting her head back on Miles' chest again. "Not super realistic, but I like it."

"Since when were we factoring realism into these?"

"Good point. Well, in that case, maybe there's a universe out there where he never cheated at all then. Maybe we're just still together, living in our weird little celebrity bubble where real-world problems, and genuine human emotions, don't exist…" Carrie trailed off once again as another realisation dawned on her, prompted by the almost plastic nature of her last relationship. "Maybe we're not that far from living out our lives in Barbieland after all."

"Please, god, do not open that can of worms again," Miles jumped in before she could explore the thought any further - immediately getting flashbacks to their last trip to the modern world. What had started as a fun, entirely innocent and well-intentioned movie night suggestion, tailored to the very girl in question, had ended in Carrie having a full-blown, earth-shattering identity crisis. No one could have predicted the blonde's uncontrollable sobbing once the credits started to roll, after having seen a few too many similarities between herself and the film's protagonist for her own comfort, but that didn't stop Vivien feeling riddled with guilt for days afterwards - long after Carrie was brought back to her senses by her loved ones. Miles, Mick and Vivien spent hours trying to get Carrie to stop hyperventilating long enough to talk her around, treading through the same points for what felt like an eternity before her self-worth started to be restored. To say the ordeal was exhausting was an understatement. And still, to this day, the doll's name sends a shiver down their spines.

"I won't, I won't. I'm very secure about my emotions and my life as a whole," she tediously sing-songed, chuckling her way through the same reassurances that had been drilled into her head that fateful evening. "Even if it is all happening in a completely fictional world," she added with a snort. "I'm fine, don't give yourself another stress headache."

"Don't worry, you're not the only one that brings them on; I think they're inevitable any time my brothers are around Vivien," Miles sleepily teased. "That girl's gonna put me in an early grave."

"She'd better not," Carrie said, protectively hugging him closer. "I don't know what I'd do with myself if I didn't have you around."

"You'd manage, I'm sure," Miles chuckled, rolling his eyes despite gladly welcoming the extra cuddles.

"I wouldn't, I'd be a total mess" she earnestly protested. "And don't try to argue with me; you're not the one inside my head, you don't know what's going on in here."

"You're right there," Miles conceded with an amused laugh. "Sometimes I get lucky, but most of the time I don't have a clue - especially tonight; what's with all this talk about other universes?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well first it was the one where we had never met, then it was all the different outcomes with you and Eric, now it's one where you're living like the doll who shall not be named," he explained, drawing a giggle from Carrie's lips. "Where did it all come from? I thought we were supposed to be following Gladys' conspiracy against Francine."

"I don't know, I guess I was so bored by their lives I got thinking about ours," Carrie joked, sparing the wrinkled actresses a smirk before she continued. "I mean, we live in a completely different universe to Viv and Mick, right?"

"Mhm," Miles mumbled.

"Well that's proof that there's at least two universes out there, who's to say there aren't more? A bunch more."

"And you think there's versions of us out there in all of them?" Miles asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I mean, maybe. Who knows?" Carrie giggled. "I'd like to think there are - ones where we're doing really cool things, in really cool places - stuff we'd never dream of doing in this one… We always find each other though, and end up falling in love - at least in my head we do anyway."

"Of course, of course,” Miles acknowledged with a serious nod despite the amused grin that kept creeping back into place. “What kinds of things are these other versions of us doing then? And what makes them so cool?"

"I don't know, it could be anything. We could be anything. We could be world-famous musicians, we could secret agents, we could be doctors-"

"Yeah I'm not letting you anywhere near me with any kind of medical equipment," Miles snorted.

"I think that's probably wise," Carrie said, letting out her own snort of laughter before continuing. "But that's this universe's version of me. What if there's a 'me' out there that's like a super professional surgeon or something?"

Biting his cheek to stop himself from laughing out loud at the thought, Miles went on to ask, "So there's a bunch of different worlds out there where we're all just running around doing different jobs?"

"Well it doesn't have to just be different jobs; we could be living out whole different lives. I mean, we're from a movie to Viv and Mick, right? What if there's versions of us where we're in other movies?"

"Oh ok, now we're talking," Miles breathed through an entertained grin and a glance across at the TV. "You really think there's another world somewhere out there where we're living out the lives of Gladys and Francine?"

"There could be! We can't rule anything out here."

"So…there could be one where we have superpowers?" Miles proposed.

"Why did I know that was going to be the first thing you'd suggest?" Carrie asked rhetorically with a fond roll of her eyes.

"'Cause you know how insanely cool I am," Miles chuckled. "Am I at least playing along properly now?"

"Yes, yes, this is great," Carrie reassured through her laughter. "Your crazy imagination's perfect for this kind of thing. Now, tell me all about what kind of superpowers we'd have."

"I can't pick for you."

"Sure you can, I don't know anything about that superhero crap-"

Miles cut in with a reproachful gasp. "You take that back right now."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, 'crap' was harsh," she acknowledged with an apologetic chuckle. "Don't make me a bad guy; I don't want to have to fight you."

"You wouldn't be a bad guy," Miles reassured with a chuckle of his own. "...I don't know what kind of superpowers you'd have though - that's a tough one. I don't even know what I'd want, actually."

"Oh come on, Miles. You sounded like you had answers ready to go," Carrie groaned as she tried to come up with suggestions. "...What's that comic book series you like? The one with the boy made out of metal…"

"The Adventures of Metalex and Ultraviolet?"

"Yeah, that one! Couldn't we just be those two?"

"If we can let anything slide then sure, but I don't think we're much like them as characters, really. We could still probably do a great Halloween costume for them though," Miles said, his passion for the subject giving him pause as he considered a better answer. "But, there's a character from the X-Men in Mick's world who's a crime fighting disco diva…"

"...I'm listening," Carrie smirked, ears pricking up at that revelation. "What does she do?"

"I don't remember fully - something to do with singing and absorbing sound though. Maybe stuff to do with manipulating light too, 'cause I think she's called Dazzler," Miles explained. "I think you'd be a good fit for her."

"I could see that," she smiled. "Now what about you?"

"Like I said, I don't really know. There's too many cool superpowers to pick just one… It might be fun to be able to shapeshift though, or just make things appear out of thin air. Oh, and being able to freeze time; that would be awesome," he gushed, like a child reeling off his Christmas list.

"Mick's kind of already got that one down with her crazy transport machine," Carrie noted with a chortle.

"Yeah, I guess she does," Miles acknowledged, grinning as he allowed his imagination to begin running away with itself. "Come on, give me another one, this is fun."

"Another universe for us to live in? Ok, uh… Well, what movies did we watch with everyone over summer?"

"Oh, fuck yeah. We're gonna end up doing this all night; we watched tons," Miles laughed, before pausing to cast his mind back. "We never got around to watching the movies with you, but, keeping up with the whole supernatural powers theme, do you remember when Viv got you to take that quiz to find out your Harry Potter house?”

“My what?”

“Harry Potter - the books about that magic school in England.”

“Ohhh right, I got the one with the snake, I think.”

“Same!” Miles grinned excitedly, lazily high-fiving Carrie back as she chuckled and raised her arm for him.

“Aww, that’s nice,” Carrie sleepily mumbled. “What do they do in Harry Potter then? I remember Viv and Riven trying to explain it to me but I don’t think a word of it went in. It sounded like they just ran around with their wands, casting spells at each other though.”

“Pretty much,” Miles snorted. “I think that’s all I’d want to do if I had magic anyway - besides cuddle up with you in the Slytherin common room, obviously. I don't think I'd care about solving any of the big mysteries or anything. I like hearing about the drama, I don't like being involved in it… Knowing me and what I was like in high school, I’d probably just end up learning a bunch of spells to try to impress you. Maybe I’d try to ride a broomstick too if the spells didn't work, but who knows? Maybe the wizard version of me can’t balance for shit... What do you think? Would you be impressed if I picked you up for a date on a broomstick?”

“I thought only witches ride brooms,” Carrie yawned.

"Nah, I’m pretty sure it’s a free-for-all in those movies," Miles chuckled. "What would you use magic for? You think you could ride a broom?"

"Hell no, that sounds like a nightmare!" Carrie scoffed.

"I don't know, I think you'd be fine; you've got good balance," Miles reassured once his cackling laughter had died down. "Viv said you'd make a good witch anyway, so you can't let her down."

"Oh, she did, did she?"

Miles could tell from her tone that her eyebrow was arched with judgement, and he couldn't help but smirk. "Yeah, but I think to her that's a compliment."

"Oh…well, that's nice of her then," Carrie grinned, happily snuggling back into Miles' chest.

"I don't know if I necessarily agree with her though," Miles chuckled.

"I know; I'd be such a shit witch," Carrie laughed. "I let my emotions get the better of me way too much to be able to be trusted with any kind of magic."

"You said it, not me," Miles said with a mischievous grin. "I don't think I'd be much better, to be honest. I feel like it'd just be one more thing to stress me out."

"And that's the last thing I want," Carrie said, protectively pressing a kiss to the back of one of their entwined hands.

"Here's to a life of being total normies then," Miles chuckled.

"I'll drink to that," Carrie sleepily grinned.

"Yeah, I think we should probably leave the magic stuff to Royce, Viv and Benny," Miles said with a fond smile at the thought of his brothers. "I feel like they'd deal with that whole thing much better than we would."

"Sounds like a plan," Carrie mumbled, stretching like a cat in a sunbeam before continuing the conversation. "Come on, give me a movie I've actually seen. I'm feeling so helpless out here."

"Well we spent a week of our lives we'll never get back watching Twilight-"

"Fuck off, I'm not being a vampire or a werewolf," Carrie snorted out her reproach. "And neither are you; those movies are dogshit. I'd rather die than be that pale or hairy."

"It's fine, I don't think we were supposed to take them seriously," Miles laughed. "At least I hope we weren't."

"Come on, give me a better one."

"Ok, what about The Hunger Games ones? We spent ages talking to Viv and Royce about what Districts we'd be from - how far do you think we'd get in the arena?"

"Eww, no, I don't want to think about us dying," Carrie pouted.

"Who said anything about us dying?" Miles teasingly scoffed, feigning horrified disgust.

"That's a great point actually; I could totally see you winning it," she earnestly acknowledged.

"Seriously?" Miles asked.

Carrie could tell how shocked he was from his voice - a vivid contrast to her effortless confidence. "Sure; you're so Peeta-Mellark-coded it's insane." After hearing Miles snort out a laugh, she lifted her head slightly to ask, "Did I use that right, do you think?"

"You're asking the wrong person, baby," Miles laughed.

"Ugh, anyway. You could definitely pull a Peeta in the Games and come out the winner. I'm sure you'd have done something really noble to get there in the first place, like step in for one of your brothers or something - you know, get the crowd rooting for you right from the start? And then you're really strong, and quick, so you'd do great in the training. Plus, you've got the artsy side like he does with his baking, so you could do all that camouflage shit he did in the first movie too. And then you'd really seal the deal with a killer interview that cements you all the sponsors you could ever wish for, thanks to yours truly, and you'd breeze through that arena like a pack of ice pops in July. It'd be a walk in the park; I'd make sure you got so many sponsor gifts you wouldn't even have to get stressed once - I could just stare at your pretty face from the training centre all day, waiting for you to get back out."

"I'm in there fighting for my life and you just get to sit and watch it on TV?" Miles asked indignantly.

"I already told you, you wouldn't even need to fight; you'd get so many sponsor gifts they'd just carry you through to the end. It'd just be like a little vacation," Carrie airily replied. "Plus, no one would want to hurt you anyway, you're too handsome for that," she earnestly added, shooting Miles a disapproving look for even thinking about correcting her.

Luckily, that wasn't what he was hung up on. "I don't care about that - how come I have to be a tribute and you don't?"

"I thought Viv said I'd be a stylist," Carrie said. "And I'd make a damn good one too, especially for you. You'd be the best dressed guy out there, for starters. And, with a little coaching, and clever strategizing, I think we'd be able to cook up an interview moment so explosive it'd make that baby bombshell Peeta dropped look like childsplay."

"You really think so?" Miles asked with an amused smirk.

"Absolutely. This kind of thing is my bread and butter - I'd make you a star," Carrie nodded, brimming with confidence Miles was about to put to the test.

"Ok, and what if you weren't a stylist?" he proposed. "What if you were a tribute too?"

"Well we couldn't both be tributes," Carrie started to argue.

"Why not?"

"Because there's no way I could ever hurt you, let alone kill you," Carrie matter-of-factly stated, horrified by the fact that the notion had even been brought to her attention. "I'd just sacrifice myself; you've got more to live for."

"What the- ok, scrap that. I don't want this to take a depressing turn. You're the tribute this time, I'm the lovesick boyfriend waiting for your return - far away from any danger. How's that playing out?" Miles asked.

"Oh, well that's easy," Carrie said with a smug smile. "I’d give them the greatest show they’ve ever seen."

"What are you talking about?" Miles snorted.

"The whole thing's like one big reality show, right?" Miles murmured his understanding, prompting Carrie to continue. "So the people watching want to be entertained - and if I've got a captive audience of the entire country, for what could be the one and only time, you'd best believe it'd be the best damn performance of my life."

"Oh yeah? And how are you pulling that off?" Miles chuckled with a quirked eyebrow.

"Are you doubting me?"

"Not at all," he promised through a laugh. "I'm just curious."

Taking his word, Carrie started to explain. "Well it wouldn't be that much different to my plans for you, I guess. I mean, I don't think I'd do anything noble to end up there in the first place like you would - we both know I'm too vain for that. But if what Viv said can slide, and I can be from one of the rich districts, then I think I'd be able to hold my own pretty well. I think a lot of it's got to do with mind games anyway, both with the other tributes and with all the Capitol people who'd be looking to sponsor you too, and I feel like I'd have a lot of fun messing with people like that. Like I said, if the people want to be entertained, I'll entertain them. Even if I thought I was gonna die, I'd want to go out with a bang - you know, give them something to remember me by; if I can't be around, my memory might as well be."

"After seeing the way you handled that media frenzy your breakup with Eric caused, I have no trouble believing you'd have that entire competition in the palm of your very soft, very capable hands," Miles chuckled.

"I do love messing with the press," Carrie sleepily giggled.

"I wonder why," Miles rhetorically mused with a fond roll of his eyes. "You'd be a real Capitol favourite, huh? You'd be from one of the rich districts, which automatically gives you an advantage with a bunch of sponsors, plus you'd be considered a career, so you'd have an alliance from the start if you wanted it. You'd scare all the other tributes shitless because you'd be so good in training, and you're super pretty and charismatic on top of all that? You're the one that'd breeze through that place, not me."

"Well, I don't know how good I'd be in training," Carrie mumbled. But the smug smile Miles could hear in her voice told him that she wouldn't be questioning any of his other claims.

Smirking to himself, as amused as ever by her well-intended narcissism, he scoffed. "Pfft, yeah right. I've seen you doing your stage fighting and stunt practice, and all I'll say is: there's no way I'd want to be up against you in that arena, 'cause I don't think I'd be making it out in one piece."

Carrie lifted her head with a firm frown. "Like I could ever hurt you."

"I don't know, if we didn't know each other beforehand you might," he mused with a laugh. But when he saw how unimpressed Carrie looked by his hypothesising, he conceded. "Alright fine, if we ran into each other I'd beg for my life, you'd take pity on me, I'd spend the rest of my time in there trying to make it up to you as you take out every opponent we come across-"

"-And I'd use my womanly charm to persuade you that the only way you could possibly do that is by ripping my clothes off and having your way with me right then and there."

Miles' bark of laughter almost shook the walls. "In front of all the cameras?!"

"We could die at any moment in there, Miles - are you really going to deny yourself a good time because of a few cameras?"

"Yes! Because I'm not fucking insane!"

"...I don't care, I'd still shoot my shot," Carrie chuckled, still unchanged in her opinion after taking a few moments to reconsider. "And besides, the element of maybe getting caught, or killed at any minute, makes it hot. Think of the tension - the passion!"

"...You're a freak," Miles teased with a shake of his head.

"Hey, I said I'd give them entertainment," Carrie smirked.

"Yeah, not that kind of entertainment."

After several further minutes of laughter-fuelled teasing, where ribcages shook and tears leaked from scrunched up eyes, Miles finally started to get their conversation back on track. "Ok, ok, so we're teaming up and taking the Capitol by storm - sexual exploits and all, apparently… Now, what other movies can I take advantage of your crazy good combat skills in?"

"...I've never had to train with a sword before, but I think I could hold my own with a lightsaber pretty well," Carrie sleepily smirked. "I mean, how hard can it be?"

"How many Star Wars movies have you even seen?" Miles chuckled.

"Like half of one, but I got the gist," she replied.

"Oh yeah? And what were your takeaways from it?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"The accents made no sense, the lightsabers were cool…and you'd look hot in one of those jedi outfits."

"...Likewise," Miles smirked, exchanging the laughter he'd been biting back for the giggles that his comment began pulling from Carrie's lips. "I just hope our midi-chlorian counts are high enough."

"Yeah, no, you've already lost me," she yawned, as Miles took over laughing duties with hearty chuckles of his own. "We wouldn't have to be aliens, would we?"

"No, why would we have to be aliens?" Miles asked.

"I thought they were all aliens in Star Wars," Carrie mumbled.

"Well, it is set in space, so yeah, I guess they are all aliens, technically."

"See? I do know what I'm talking about," she proudly grinned.

But Miles wasn't so easily convinced. "Yeah, I think I'd still sooner take my chances with you on Earth."

"Ok then, what other things are set on Earth?"

"...There's that zombie show Vivien and Royce were obsessed with over summer,” he offered.

“That was set on Earth?”

“Yeah.”

“The one with those things that had mushrooms growing out their heads?” Carrie demanded. “That was happening on Earth?”

“Well not our version of Earth, but some distant, future one, I’m sure,” Miles chuckled. "Well a future one to us, anyway."

“If all the future has to offer is freaky touch screens and a virus that makes fungus eat your face then I’m glad we were born in the 40s,” Carrie mumbled.

“Honestly, me too,” Miles laughed. “I don’t think you’d need to worry though; I think you could hold your own."

"Oh yeah? What makes you think that?"

"I've seen how protective you get over the people you love. If I'm getting attacked by zombies and you're around there's no way you're letting them lay a finger on me."

As horrifying as the prospect was, Carrie couldn't help but smile. "True," she agreed. "You're just as protective though, especially over your brothers. They wouldn't have to worry about anything with you around to protect them."

"Those fuckers don't stand a chance with us around," Miles sleepily chuckled, entwining his fingers with Carrie's before she gave them a confirmatory squeeze.

Another yawn escaped the blonde's lips as her mind wandered, prompting her to ask, "So what? Do we just fight monsters in every universe? …Or each other?"

"Well if we're going to be so good at it, we might as well," Miles teased. "...You think we could take on a demogorgon?"

"Sure, yeah, bring it on," Carrie sarcastically fired back before furrowing her eyebrows. "Who would we even be? Aren't they all kids in that show?"

"No, there's a bunch of other characters beside the kids. You need to stop doing facemasks when we watch shows you have to pay attention to; you end up missing half the plot."

"I don't care, I'd rather be clueless than look like a raisin," Carrie grumbled back.

"You're decades away from looking like a raisin," Miles chuckled.

"Yeah, well, if I keep up with my facemasks then I won't ever look like one," she retorted. "At least I hope I won't." Over Miles' gentle laughter, Carrie's eyes glazed over in thought as a stream of consciousness began to trickle from her lips. "This obsession with my skin is all your fault anyway. Do you know I never even thought about getting old until I started dating you?"

"What?"

"Is that weird?" she asked, assuming by his tone that it likely was.

"Well what did you think was gonna happen?" Miles asked, biting back a chuckle.

"I don't know, I just could never picture myself as an old lady. Or I never wanted to… I don't know. I used to think it was some weird bad omen that I'd die young and just never find out…" she trailed off, shaking the thought from her head as she felt Miles' hand still between her curls. Fixing a smile to her face she turned to look at him and said, "But now I'm practically counting down the days until you admit you need your glasses all the time and I can push you around in a wheelchair. It's like I've got a reason to stick around now: someone I want to experience everything life has to offer with - even the bits where we start looking more like prunes than people."

Softening into a relieved grin, Miles let the morbid thought flutter into the back of his mind, along with the touching gravity of her following point - he wasn't ready to process all of that in one night. "Let's face it, if anyone's pushing the other around in a wheelchair, it'd be me pushing your dramatic ass," he snorted.

"Well, you have always been a wonderful chauffeur for me," Carrie acknowledged with a knowing smirk.

"So I hear," Miles smirked back.

"And it'd be a real shame to stop that just because we're old and decrepit," she joked, chuckling away with Miles as images of them with greying hair and weathered faces flashed through her head. "Alright, alright," she eventually continued, once the couple's chatter about their golden years had petered out. "Enough talk about us as senior citizens. Just because I can picture them now doesn't mean I enjoy thinking about myself as senile old lady. Who would we be in Stranger Things then? Cops running around trying to keep Royce, Benny and Viv under control?"

"I don't know, maybe," Miles chuckled at the very thought, pleased to be drawn back to the realms of fantasy. "Or maybe we could work together somewhere else, like Steve and Robin in that ice cream place."

"You'd look so good in that little sailor outfit," Carrie happily mumbled to herself before the rational part of her brain took over again. "We couldn't be Steve and Robin though; we're nothing like them."

"I don't know, I think it could kind of work. I mean, they share a ride to work-"

"You can't base all this off one scene of carpooling," Carrie argued. "And besides, you're nothing like Steve: some air-headed jock who has an identity crisis and starts crushing on a lesbian?"

"I don't know, it sounds pretty accurate to me. I've got the identity crisis down, I've crushed on a lesbian, I've got a group of kids who are unreasonably attached to me-"

"Who's the lesbian you've crushed on?" Carrie asked, ears pricked in interest.

"Well…you half-count, right?" Miles attempted with a lopsided smirk.

"...Jesus Christ," Carrie said, shaking her head with a heavy sigh as she fought away the laughter that was already rippling through Miles' chest. One look at those crinkled blue eyes and beaming face and she soon caved though - as defenceless as ever against her boyfriend's infectious grin.

Eventually, she came back to her senses, bringing a joking, yet still disgruntled, question along with her. "Why do all these scenarios have to involve scary things?" she whined as Miles finished letting the last of his chuckles die down. "Can't we live in a fun alternate universe?"

"Well what makes something 'fun' for you?" he questioned.

"Something without the threat of us dying, preferably."

Pausing to consider a suggestion, and to stop further, amused chuckles spilling from his lips, Miles let his fingers lazily weave through Carrie's curls. It wasn't until his eyes drifted across his hand-painted handiwork, to the collection of mismatched picture frames on his girlfriend's wall that a fresh idea sprung to mind. "Well I was talking about Friends with Mick last week and who she thought was most like each of the characters-"

"Yes! This is so much better, oh my god," Carrie gushed, perking up as soon as the words left Miles' mouth. After all, this was much more fun to think about than the bleak, dystopian alternatives they'd already considered. "Well, I have to be Rachel, obviously."

"Obviously," Miles agreed, hiding his smirk and matching her ardour with practised ease.

"And Mick would make a perfect fit for Monica - just less obsessed with tidying," Carrie babbled, rattling through even more reasonings about their friend's kindness, level-headedness, and 'mom friend' energy, until she ran into a brick wall. "That creates a big problem though."

"What?"

"Well if I'm Rachel, and she's Monica, then you'd need to be Ross. But there is NO way I'm letting you be compared to him. No one we know deserves that kind of slander," Carrie explained with a disgust that entertained Miles to no end. His laughter didn't halt her train of thought though. "You're much more of a Chandler anyway, but then you can't be him either because that'd mean you'd have to date Mick and you already know how insecure-"

"Ok, ok, yeah, we don't need to go down that road," Miles jumped in, laughter dying the second that notion was brought up. Luckily for him, she didn't dwell on the thought any longer than she already had.

"What about the others then?" she continued through a yawn. "I think Amber could be a pretty good Phoebe."

"Yeah, she's definitely got that whole free-spirit vibe down," Miles said, although it didn't take long for a smirk to start tugging at his lips again. "And I think we both know there's only one person that can be Joey…"

As she lifted her head from Miles' chest, Carrie met his gaze with an identical expression - eyes glittering with mischief as a smirk held back a barrage of childish giggles, which spilled out as soon as they uttered the same, all too familiar name.

"…Ethan!"

The couple giggled their way through several other hypotheticals as the night drew on, leading one another down every path of their imagination possible. Despite Miles’ insistence otherwise, Carrie was convinced he’d make a wonderful fairytale prince for her to fall in love with. Although, Miles suspected that had a lot to do with her childhood obsession (well, she claims it was just a childhood one) with a rather charming 1950 Disney cartoon, and the hopeless romantic side of her brain playing tricks on her logical one. The compromise they eventually settled on was that Carrie had to be the one with any sort of royal bloodline, with Miles being the unwitting commoner who, through some grand adventure, ends up falling into her arms just in time for a happy ending. That line of conversation soon brought about Carrie's suspicions that Miles' younger brothers would no doubt sooner compare her to a fairytale villain though. And whilst Miles tried to persuade her otherwise, despite knowing for a fact it was true, to his amusement she found an appreciation for the role after considering how much more exciting it is to play a 'bad guy'. Even though Miles confirmed that she'd nail the whole 'evil queen' narrative, he still found himself relieved when she reassured him she'd never choose that path by choice; she'd pick living out her childhood dreams of singing and dancing around in pretty ballgowns and tiaras over black cloaks and bubbling cauldrons any day.

All that talk of fancy dresses took their imaginations - or rather, took Carrie's, and dragged Miles' along with it - to the prospect of living in that regency era drama Viv's aunt, Charlie, was obsessed with. And since Carrie had heard plenty about the steamy escapades the members of high society in that show had embarked on over this past summer, she had a wealth of, admittedly comical, ideas about how their time in 19th century England would have panned out - reckless, impassioned romps and all.

Taking on another of their extended family's special interests, Miles fondly brought up his pseudo-little-sister and her obsession with a certain ship, which, thanks to her insistence on watching the 1997 movie every single time they visited her world, he had a pretty good knowledge of now. His comparison of themselves to the film's protagonists had Carrie hooked from the start with its accuracy - after all, it wouldn't be the first time she had prepositioned him to 'draw her like one of his French girls' - but neither of them were overly fond of the untimely demise the whole door debate brought about, so their version of events for the night ended long before an iceberg ever entered the picture.

Story after story, more tales were spun from threads of twilight. If Carrie wasn't lounging around in ostentatious dresses atop the waves, she'd be splashing around beneath them, with a tail of shimmering scales and a siren song powerful enough to lead sailors to a watery grave after hearing just one note. Luckily, Miles didn't plan on manning a ship any time soon. Or, of course, there was the inevitable mention of Carrie's resemblance to a good witch from Oz, whose blue bubble costume Carrie had been dying to don ever since she'd set eyes on it. With Mick as her emerald counterpart, Vivien stepping into the darker role of Nessarose, and Butchy being a no-brainer choice as Fiyero (even if she would have had to swallow her pride long enough to feign infatuation with him), Carrie found herself almost willing a twister to lift her entire apartment block from its foundations. They planned to start an entirely new Mystery Gang with themselves stepping into Freds's ascot and Daphne's go-go boots, Mick using her boundless intelligence to don Velma's glasses, and Ethan using his bumbling enthusiasm to take on Shaggy's, well, everything really. And since Ethan's van was a perfect double for the Mystery Machine anyway, all they needed to do was find a willing mutt to stand in as their Scooby. Then it was time for Miles' intelligence to step into the foreground as he acted as the tutor for lawyer-wannabe Elle Woods - or, in their version - Carrie Cole, who'd enrolled at Harvard law school in a bid to get her asshole ex-boyfriend back, only to end up with a whole new career - and a whole new boyfriend. With the concept of whole new boyfriends on the table, a Mamma Mia-themed storyline was quick to be suggested after Carrie fell in love with the movie over her summer in Mick and Viv's world. Admittedly, the concept was purely rooted in the blonde's desire to run around a Greek island singing Abba songs with her friends, and not at all in the actual plot, so it was no surprise when the whole pregnancy/paternity storyline slammed the brakes on that suggestion.

It did get her thinking though…

"Do you think there's a universe out there where we have kids?"

The question had been mumbled innocently enough, but it still made Miles' heart still. He was just relieved Carrie was no longer draped across his chest, or else he feared she'd think he was dead.

Throughout their endless scheming, the restless pair had taken up several other positions sprawled across Carrie's doughy couch, but as the pull of sleep drew ever-closer, they had defaulted to an old favourite of theirs. Miles, once again, had his head in Carrie's lap, purring in contentment as she delicately combed her fingers through his hair. And although he couldn't see Carrie's face from here, he could tell from her voice alone that her eyes were glazed with tiredness - practically glueing themselves together with every blink despite the fact that her used makeup remover pads were decorating her coffee table.

Letting out a yawn to help feign his nonchalance, Miles hoped he could keep his voice steady as he replied, "Sure, there's gotta be at least one. If you think there's versions of us out there with magic powers I don't think it's that crazy to assume that we could be parents in at least one of these alternate realities."

"I suppose," Carrie murmured, pausing for a beat to consider the prospect. The longer she let the idea sit in her head though, the more sure of her next point she became. "I'm just glad it's not this one."

The chuckle in response to her snort of laughter was reflexive, but the sigh of relief that followed felt instinctual. "Amen," he sleepily grinned. "I've done enough parenting already to last me a lifetime."

"I'll say," Carrie agreed, before jokingly adding, "At least you've got a valid reason, I just think I'm too self-centred to ruin my body for a baby I wouldn't even be good at looking after… As much as I love my mom, I don't think she passed down a single maternal instinct to me."

As light-hearted as Carrie's banter always was on this topic, Miles knew that there was an element of truth behind every joke. With a reassuring squeeze of her thigh, he said, "Don't say that, you're always looking out for my brothers and Vivien - and look how you were with all the other kids at camp."

"Yeah, but I wasn’t looking out for them in like a 'mom' way," she protested with a chuckle. And whilst it only felt natural to want to sing her boyfriend's praises in return, knowing he'd already proved himself everything a father needed to be and more, she held her tongue. After all, the last thing she wanted to do was unearth any of the long-buried trauma Miles' dad had saddled him with; besides this was all just supposed to be for fun. "Anyway," she eventually continued, hoping to lead the conversation back to more fantastical roots. "In this very distant, bizarre universe where we decided we wanted to procreate, how many unfortunate children am I exposing to by sub-par parenting?"

"It would not be 'sub-par'," Miles tried with another laugh.

"There's a reason the only pet I've ever had is a goldfish, baby. Don't push it," she fondly scolded to the sound of more bubbling laughter. "Now come on, use your awesome imagination to make me unreasonably attached to our fictional family. I want it to be like that time I dreamt we had a four-year-old called Beau and then went through a two-day depression when I woke up and realised he wasn’t real.”

Miles’ laughter continued, grateful she was making light of a situation that very well could have led his mind down a dark path if left unaccompanied on the journey. “You should have known he wasn’t real the second he was called ‘Beau’; there’s no way I’d let that slide,” Miles teased as he began toying with the hem of Carrie’s organza nightgown. Her offer to further the conversation still hung in the air though and, deciding to take the reins and drive out the torturous ‘what ifs’ from his mind, Miles cautiously picked it up, examining the prospect in great detail before starting to sculpt his version of events.

“Ok, well… I think if we were going to have these hypothetical kids, we’d end up having three,” he slowly began.

“How’d you come up with three?” Carrie asked, tired eyes sparkling with interest and amusement - grateful her gentle coaxing had ended up working in her favour. “Or is there some weird Murphy family ‘rule of three’ I don’t know about.”

“No, I don’t know really,” Miles snorted, before going on to explain. “I guess I just thought that we’d have the first one - by accident, ‘cause even in this weird scenario I still don’t think we’d volunteer ourselves for it. But then we’d probably want to give them a sibling, so we would try for a second. And then, just when we think we’re getting the hang of having two kids, and we’re getting pretty comfortable with things, we’d get pregnant with a third by complete surprise. Because nothing ever goes smoothly for us, so I can’t imagine having kids would be any different.”

“Ok, ok, I can see that,” Carrie happily chuckled, watching the faceless blobs Miles had conjured dance about in her mind, waiting patiently to be assigned the rest of their features. “Not super pumped about having to push out three watermelons, but I’m sure alternate-universe-me will manage.”

“Mhm, us Murphys are known for our big heads,” Miles teased.

“Great, even more reason to never get pregnant,” Carrie groaned with a playful roll of her eyes. “If this other version of me is having to waddle around like a whale for 27 months of her life, she’d better get some cute babies out of it.”

“Well yeah, they’re a mix of our DNA, of course they’re gonna be cute,” Miles laughed, catching sight of Carrie’s smug smile in the reflection of a glass picture frame. “They’re all gonna be boys though, so we’ll have our work cut out for us.”

“All of them?” Carrie squawked. “I don’t even get one girl to play princesses with?”

“There’s nothing to stop you playing princesses with our boys,” Miles chuckled.

“I know, but if I was gonna have kids I always wanted a girl. I don’t think I’m particularly cut out to parent any child, but I always thought I’d do better with a girl than a boy.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, baby, but based on what your mom’s been saying for the last year, I think we’re destined to only have boys.” Over the sound of Carrie’s disgruntled grumbles, Miles carried on. “My dad only had brothers, my mom had a brother, I’ve got my two brothers, your dad has a brother, your mom has three brothers, you’ve got Tanner - according to your mom, it was kind of a miracle you came out a girl if your family tree is anything to go by. So matching those two sets of genes together-”

“I’m destined to always be surrounded by testosterone,” Carrie finished with a disgruntled sigh. “Yippee.”

“Don’t sound so excited,” Miles teasingly chuckled. “My mom had three boys and we didn’t turn out so bad, did we?”

“No, that’s the only thing that gives me some hope about alternate-universe-me,” she acknowledged with a fond smile. “I may be biased, but I’d take Murphy boys over regular boys any day.”

“Hell yeah you would,” Miles playfully agreed with a sleepy, smug grin. “And as the one who basically raised all three of us, I’m taking full credit for that.”

Watching Miles practically glow with pride as he nestled deeper into her embrace, Carrie couldn’t help but smile to herself. “Watch it, Mary Poppins,” she warned with a teasing smirk, affectionately scratching his scalp like he was a slumbering labrador. “Your praise kink is showing.”

Miles’ head whipped to face hers in a split second, mouth agape in indignation. “I do not have a praise-” But the smirk he was met with, and the giggles escaping through its cracks, made it increasingly difficult to stand by his point - as did that knowing sparkle in her eye. Realising all too quickly he was fighting a losing battle, a point only reinforced by the lingering warmth in his stomach his girlfriend’s latest compliment had placed there, Miles caved with a roll of his eyes and flopped back down in Carrie’s lap. “Whatever. You should just be grateful; there’s far worse kinks I could have.”

“I know, and I thank my lucky stars every day that I landed such a perfect man,” she teasingly replied, earning herself a light dig in her rib cage that soon led on to increasingly flirtatious play fighting.

It took the end credits of whatever brainless soap opera rerun they’d been watching crackling through Carrie’s television speakers for the pair to finally surface for air. A tangle of limbs, flushed skin and tousled hair as breathless grins grazed past one another.

“Come on, it’s getting late,” Carrie began, prompting a childish frown to grace Miles’ expression.

“Aw man-”

“Quit your whining,” Carrie teasingly scolded, wriggling out of Miles’ grip and heaving herself off the sofa before he could pull her back down again. “I’ve still got leftovers to clean up.”

“I already said to just leave them,” Miles protested, reaching out to wrap his arms around her leg to hold her in place.

Rolling her eyes, she bent down to his eye level and propositioned him with a smoulder, “The sooner you let me go, the sooner we can move this to my room.”

Miles’ hands were dropped in an instant.

Smirking to herself, Carrie grabbed her now empty wine glass and retreated to the kitchen, chuckling under her breath as she set about rinsing off their dirty dishes and decanting the now-cold pasta sauce into a brightly coloured tupperware container. Offering her beloved goldfish, sat in its palatial bowl atop her kitchen island, a nod of acknowledgement as she cleaned the soap suds from her serving spoon, she couldn’t help but notice her cheeks aching from the hours upon hours of grinning into her boyfriend’s blue eyes. Trying to shake the giddiness from her head, she cursed the charming mechanic under her breath for reducing her to girly giggles and a stomach full of butterflies. But try as she might, she couldn’t bring herself to be anything other than grateful. After all, she couldn’t remember a time she’d felt this happy before.

She hadn't even realised she'd been humming to herself until another song interrupted her own little tune - smooth, crooning vocals drifting throughout her apartment, accompanied by the occasional sputter of her record player, spouting romanticised lyrics that soon fixed her aching smile back in place. It wasn't long before pattering footsteps joined the chorus of plucked strings though, prompting Carrie to glance over her shoulder and find her boyfriend groggily rubbing his eye with one hand, and snatching up a half-eaten piece of garlic bread with the other.

"What do you think you're doing?" she chuckled with an eyebrow arched in judgement.

"I was hungry," Miles chuckled through a mouthful of crumbs as Carrie lovingly shook her head and turned back to her basin of bubbles.

Before she could start lecturing him about how he shouldn't be snacking right before he goes to bed though, she found a strong pair of arms snaking around her middle and a grinning face perching on her shoulder. Soap suds coating her forearms, her breath hitched in her throat as a tender kiss was pressed to her cheek - sending ripples of warmth across her skin. The sponge stilled in her hand as she felt her body melt into his, lips spread in a contented smile.

"I put all your skincare stuff away in your room," Miles mumbled against her cheek.

Carrie's smile only grew. "Thank you, baby. You didn't have to do that."

"I know," Miles beamed, starting to lead her away from the sink, not sparing the splatters of foam they were trailing across the floor a second glance. "I just wanted to."

Grinning like the idiots they were, and spurred on by the distant record Miles had set in motion after being left to his own devices, the couple swayed and spun around Carrie's apartment kitchen like it was the dancefloor of a highschool prom. Giggles tumbled from their lips, bathed in warm, low light and, in Miles' case, traces of garlic butter, until they were left gasping for air.

"You need to stop distracting me," Carrie gently scolded as one song started to fade out and bleed into another.

"Then stop being so easy to distract," Miles playfully retorted as she reluctantly disentangled herself from his embrace and set about tidying away their leftovers once more.

As Miles fell into stride beside her, and joined in the clean-up efforts, after sending him a grateful smile, she found herself saying: "You know, you don't have to help. You are, technically, my guest, after all. If you just came in here to eat old garlic bread then knock yourself out."

Chuckling, Miles carried a stack of plastic containers over to the refrigerator. "Actually, I came in here looking for more pecan pie," he said, drawing a laugh from Carrie's lips as he combed through the fridge's contents. "But, uh," he continued, grabbing her attention as he swung the door shut and turned back to face her with a smirk. "I think I know something that's gonna taste a lot better."

A rush of heat flooded through her as she met his smouldering gaze. She wished she could say that her hands were the only part of her body thoroughly soaked, but she'd have been lying through her teeth. After wringing out her flowery kitchen towel with practised ease, holding Miles' stare the entire time, she threw it aside and fixed a seductive smirk of her own to her lips. "Likewise."

They met in the middle of the kitchen with a kiss, steadily-building passion bubbling beneath the surface and fuelling their increasingly frantic roaming hands. Before either one could get carried away though, Miles hooked his arms around Carrie's thighs and hoisted her around his middle, before promptly seating her down on the nearest kitchen counter. "I know tonight was supposed to be your night for cooking, but there's this new recipe I wanna try out," he prepositioned, voice smooth and husky as it skimmed her burning cheeks and bounced around her hormone-riddled brain. Standing between her open legs, Miles pulled her body closer still before letting his hands roam south - lips so close to hers they were practically sharing the same air as he added, voice barely above a gravelly whisper. "Now, are you gonna let me try it…or are you gonna make me beg?"

A shiver ran up Carrie's spine as a blissful grin split her face. "I'm all yours, chef," she teasingly responded, before being whisked back up in her boyfriend's arms and paraded across her apartment. A trail of joyous laughter and soap suds followed the young couple until Carrie's bedroom door clicked into place and they disappeared into their own world of smitten euphoria. Garments were shed and bodily fluids were exchanged, but even through the haze of pheromones clouding her every move, the lingering notion of their evening's discussion remained. Sure, it had been fun to consider all the different universes her and Miles could have been living in, but nothing quite compared to the one she'd wound up in. It may not have been perfect, but when she was with Miles it might as well have been, because lying there in his embrace, sweaty skin and cold feet and all, there was truly nowhere else she'd rather be.

After a lifetime of searching, she finally felt as though she'd found her happy place. And his name was Miles Murphy.

#Carrie #Miles

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