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As her oldest friend, Cat was privy to a lot of Elena's deepest difficulties and insecurities, and even now she still met the somber mood and persistent anxiety with a patience that Elena envied. Downplaying things when she was at her worst was a habit, a means of survival in order to ensure no one saw the cracks in the armor and exploited what she saw as a grave weakness. Her friend seemed to spot the gap in her protective shell and gently pried it open each time, and it always had the effect of putting her at ease. Elena smiled gently, gaze dropping as she bumped Cat's shoulder while they walked. "Thanks," she murmured.

At the mention of rain, Elena's gaze drifted skyward and she wrinkled her nose. As far as she could tell, LA looked as sunny as it ever, which in her mind was just fine. Sometimes locals got a little nutty about it. "As long as it gives me enough time to take some of my plants inside, then that's just fine. It'll give me a reason to work from home anyway," she said with a shrug. Though she'd returned to the office, sitting at home with her laptop and her cats still felt considerably safer than anything else. "How's work? I feel like there's always some nonsense happening there for you."

If Cat ever had to describe Elena, the answer would have been as simple as it would have been complex: a creature burdened by the weight of the world through a whirlwind that life seemed to have decided to throw her into. And she hated it, would have loved to reach out a hand and pull until everything was neatly solved. But that wasn’t how the world worked, was it? Any of it, really. Caterina nodded at the other’s words. The yacht party was a very fortunate thing to have been dodged simply because she’d been at a conference. A sigh escaped as she turned toward her friend. “Yeah, other people have it worse. Or better. Or neither.” Cat didn’t quite believe in the whole notion that one had to compare the suffering and struggles of people among and with each other. Elena had her moments, and the blonde wasn’t going to sit there and pretend it was nothing. It was never nothing.

“Well, if you do ever feel the world comes rushing in, or the weight crushes you, the hand is there.” It always would be. For now, she was going to let it go, in the way someone allowed a friend to feel the space they needed to breathe while keeping the things that haunted them very much in mind. “They said it’s meant to rain. Whatever that means in a place like Los Angeles.” Rain could mean many things. Dust, wind, a cloud that felt itself too important or a downpour. Part of her hoped the latter was the case. ❧ @lcststops

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A brief ripple of relief parted the fog when Emil didn't shy away from the spin of emotions that currently bled from her barely controlled. As her ears rang and her vision darkened at the edges, Elena's dark eyes flicked towards the ceiling as she tried to focus on the question and not the panic that tried to drag her under with each ragged breath. "It-- uh-- recently--" she said, then swallowed hard. Counting how many times it happened was a nearly impossible challenge. She squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath, hands balling into fists until her knuckles went white and her arms shook. "Um-- daily," she said finally, then blew out the breath she held. "Not always. Not since, uh-- maybe-- twenty-five," she continued. For the most part, she'd learned her triggers and what the severity of a reaction might be if it happened and managed herself well. After all, rarely did anything ever happen that might put her into this severe of a tailspin, but planning around something like this was not exactly possible.

Another couple of wheezing, rough breaths sent Elena to her feet as she laced her fingers together atop her head in some wayward attempt to do something that might allow her to breathe a little easier. She paced in front of Emil on the edge of fully-blown panic and tried to organize her thoughts even as they tumbled around in her head without direction or sense. "I've been like-- uh, since-- teenager, maybe?" she attempted to explain, "I don't r-remember um. Childhood. So it's--" She paused, watching him as she shifted nervously from foot to foot. "N-not the first time."

Emil considered himself very versatile. From a young age, he had been a natural with most things. The PhD that now hung in his office at home, all the degrees, all the random things that he was good at by simply reading instructions or copying others actions. He adapted easily, however, emotions, psychology, the human brain? Not his calling. It was a good thing he had chose a different type of science when he was choosing his career. This conversation was proof of that.

All he could do was stare at Elena as she tried (and failed) to explain her feelings or what she was going through to him. This wasn't something that he was familiar with. Emil knew loss. That was the part of himself and his life he rarely ever discussed, unless it was a dumb comment for people who also understood it, like his sister. But losing time? That was new. He could, however, recognize Elena's desperation; the way her eyes went everywhere, the she was trying to keep herself in check. This was something how saw at the hospital often. "Okay. Slow down." He muttered, watching her intently, never one to shy away from awkwardness or being uncomfortable. "How often does this happen?"

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Elena huffed a laugh--as though she'd ever done the bare minimum. Despite the fight she'd had with herself for the better part of the weeks following the yacht party, to be treated as though she were made of glass rather than with par-for-the-course jabs and sarcasm would make things worse, and though Cami likely had no idea of such a thing, the attitude was appreciated all the same. "God, same," she agreed with a long, steady sigh.

The shift to actual work likewise turned her demeanor serious as Elena straightened slightly in her chair and began to take quick notes. "Didn't even bring me a bagel for the trouble," she murmured as she wrote, barely loud enough for the other to hear. "Do I get a reason or is this need-to-know?" she asked.

Cami just shrugged in response, yet her faint grin remained. "Just calling it like I see it." She said knowing damn well she was probably being too honest. But sugar coating wasn't in her nature and brutal honesty had always been one of her more prominent traits, for better or worse. "Glad to see we're back to the bare minimum." A jab that lacked any real bite. "No, I should be on an island getting shitfaced on the beach." With a sigh, she shifted to lean towards the desk. "But instead, I'm here to add to your already overflowing to do list." Cami stated. "The Macabre Series." She clarified, though it shouldn't have come as a surprise given the latest episode and the subsequent PR disaster that followed. "Need you to start tracking it's every move online. Engagement, interactions, social media." Anything linked to the podcast, she wanted to know. "Subscriber list. Endorsements. I want every single fucking detail."

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Deeply dramatic at heart and always willing to yes, and with her wife to the most ridiculous of places, Breslin placed a hand over her heart and gasped theatrically. "Heart: broken. Dreams: crushed. Love Island: spoiled for you if this line of heinous insults continues," she teased. Knowing more than Kelly about it was purely accidental--she'd managed to catch a marathon on a staff-mandated day off, which she'd spent moving between bed and the couch as the show in question sucked her in for a entire day.

The ease with which the pair of them slipped from teasing to soft never failed to make her heart dance in her chest even a decade later. She hummed softly into the kiss, then bumped her forehead gently with Kelly's as they parted, only to press a quick kiss to the corner of her mouth before she leaned back and slouched slightly in her seat. Kelly saw straight to the heart of things even wrapped in the layers of a joke, and that quick intuition stilled her momentarily. "It's... not good," she said after a beat. "I'm glad I'm not district attorney anymore or I'd be sleeping in my office. The fallout from that entire yacht party is ongoing--the gift that keeps on giving." Troy had, however, been true to his word--not a single article or picture surfaced about their attendance at the party itself, sheltering herself and more importantly Kelly from public ire. Small blessings. "The police commissioner is avoiding me too, I think."

A cackle rang out into their living room as Kelly squirmed, goading the brunette on with words alone. "She's awful actually," her smile wide, unrelenting and unwilling to admit defeat. "So bad they had to promote her to politician." A taunt without teeth when they both knew Kelly had never been anything except proud of Breslin for her accomplishments. Only when the playful assault let up did she slip a hand around the nape of her wife’s neck and draw her in close for a kiss. Long, lingering. This was her eternal safe place.

"Nothing better than mess when you're not involved." Or only involved tangentially, she also enjoyed hearing about acquaintances or strangers with a couple degrees of separation between them. Loading up the first episode, she turned away from last season’s recap to consider her wife fully. Work talk was usually tabled on date night, but something about her tone and word choice made Kelly push that line aside. "Guessing it's pretty bad right now after that Barone girl got off?"

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Breslin smiled gently and shrugged as though offering such a thing was the most natural thing in the world. "Even if help is a quiet dinner with Kelly and I, you're more than welcome to it," she said. After a beat, she turned towards the coffee maker and poured the freshly made batch into a pair of coffee cups, one of which she handed to Safiye before she set her own on the desk and dropped into the chair.

"I don't think so," she said after a moment's consideration. "It's hard some days--a lot of days, actually--but nothing worth fighting for is ever going to be easy. I know everything feels like it's on fire and what I'm about to say is certainly easier said than done, but it's one thing at a time. One day at a time. Pick your battles, decide what's a priority. Nobody's going to do it for us, you know?" The line of questioning about the vanishing murder weapon earned Safiye a dry laugh as Breslin reclined in her chair and looked at the ceiling in thought. "I'm going to be really honest with you, I'm not sure how you haven't killed everyone from the PD who has even breathed in the direction of that case," she said at length. "I'm not sure how it happens other than absolute incompetence or a well-placed set of dirty cops. Regardless, I'd want to raze that entire department."

Words could not have captured how much she appreciated those words; from Breslin of all people. Safiye had spent days wondering what to make of things. How could one even fix something that was broken simply because the system in place wasn't working the way it should. "I appreciate it. More than you know." Breslin had been the one she looked up to, another reason why she was so desperately holding onto things. And she'd keep on fighting for as long as she could. "Are we fighting a losing battle? Be honest." Did the other thing what she at times felt?

The brunette hated the mere thought of giving up and truly, she wouldn't , but at times the way things seemed to work made her feel hopeless. "How on earth does something like that even happen? Everything was pointing that way and then, poof, just like that the damn murder weapon is gone." And to this day it hadn't be found. "Even if we find evidence beyond that, it's going to be near impossible to do anything with that." ❧ @lcststops

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Breslin nodded and hummed in agreement--Safiye was in many ways opposite Breslin. Not in competence, of course, but where Breslin might have bulldozed someone's office by now, her successor seemed to have a much more measured approach. "I'm quite sure I'd have scattered everyone working in that office by now if I were in her position," she mused as she reached for her cup of coffee and took a long pull from it.

As Troy spoke, Breslin's brow furrowed. Now that he mentioned it, Enzo's death did feel like an afterthought, more of a prop in a much larger set than anything. Her first impulse was that a case like this was akin to handling an armed bomb--nothing easy about it, and one wrong move meant everything blew up in your face--and the more he revealed, the more precarious it felt. "Odd, yes," she agreed with a short nod. "And frankly, having worked around him and his family for the better part of two decades, I'm finding it hard to believe they'd be so thoughtless about it. You don't become a generational institution in this city by sheer luck--they're all smarter than this, despite appearances and-- uh--" She waved her hand vaguely and sighed. "--occasional tabloid-level behavior."

Troy often did this and more for other people, his only incentive, for the most part, being the promise of more money in his bank account, or the simple fact that it gave him leverage for the future. Knowledge and connections were important for him, considering unlike most of the people that he worked with had the entire world at their fingertips. The thing was that Troy had always worked his official and unofficial job in the same way for the past five years: like he had nothing to lose. Outside of his friends, his family, the Attorney General had lost way more than just a wife and a son that night, something he'd yet to understand, he probably never would.

"Safiye is handling it better than I expected, if I'm honest." Not that he thought the current DA wasn't good at her job, but the pressure could be blinding. It could take a toll. "Where do I even start? There are too many pieces to this puzzle. I've thought about it a lot, but have you noticed that none of us have given the death of Enzo Barone a lot of thought? So much happened that he's a second though. The richest man in LA and we have not thought of him once. Don't you think that's strange?"

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Eyebrows lifted and beer bottle pressed to her lips, hummed a note as she looped an arm around her wife and allowed her fingertips to dance pointedly around a ticklish spot she'd discovered years ago. "I'll say it was a confession made under duress," she teased, the set her bottle aside and pressed a kiss to the side of her head as she continued to try to pry a reaction out of her by finding another sensitive spot along her ribs. "And California is a two-party consent state. Your lawyer-wife must be terrible." It was then she relented with a soft laugh, releasing Kelly to allow her to settle as she pleased. This was what she missed--the ease, the quiet--while trying to wrangle the circus of media and underworld that trailed her office to home every day.

"God, I love other people's drama," she sighed, pleased with the selection. Though she'd need to be waterboarded to admit it, sometimes the nonsense she found herself privy to as a public defender two decades ago was better than reality tv. She would, however, take reality television on her couch to occasionally catching strays over her assigned case in the court system any day, however. "Though admittedly, sometimes just going to work feels like an episode of Parks and Rec. I'm not sure which is messier."

"Mhm." On the contrary, she thought Breslin dared quite a lot, but that's precisely what drew her in like a moth to begin with. Kelly never denied the allure of messy things. Her life had long since been a smattering of questionable decisions and colorful outcomes, but sometimes it felt as though her marriage was the only semi-reasonable plan she'd ever laid. The only one that made sense from tip to toe. "Oh I should record this declaration for hard evidence, it's the only kind that counts according to my wife. She's a lawyer, did you know?" Former, whatever. She still looked damn good in a courtroom.

Tilting the beer to her lips, she began scrolling through Hulu without even a pause. "Season two of those little Mormon bitches in Utah." They were all caught up on Below Deck and Kelly enjoyed the first season so thoroughly that it seemed a no-brainer to go for the latest. Would she inevitably end up finishing alone? Probably, but if Breslin couldn't at least somewhat understand her references then they were lost. "I heard it's a mess. Can MomTok survive it this time?"

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Old habits died hard, even decades after a life spent knowing money was tight enough to mean dinners were sometimes sparse and luxuries like coffee were not given even half a thought. Now, with no takers and something perfectly suitable about to go to waste? That old knee-jerk reaction took hold before Breslin could stop herself. "Shit, I'll take it," she said as she slipped out of line and to the apparently abandoned drink. She took a sip and tipped her head to the side, considering for a moment. "Not sure how I feel about the vanilla," she murmured, but drank again anyway. As a few other customers arrived to grab their drinks, she shifted to the side, but her attention remained on the barista. "So why'd he leave?" she asked as she leaned her hip against the counter, as out of the way as she could manage given the space.

open starter  ·   @bloodnglorystart location  · trendy mom and pop coffee shop that has no name yet

the thick paper coffee cup hit the front countertop with a clack : a gavel for her jury, consisting of a half dozen mid-day coffee drinkers. they varied in archetype compared to the jittery malcontent of the morning crowd. the brunette cleared her throat before announcing, " this is an extra if anyone wants it. flat white with a shot of vanilla. " her voice wavered in volume as she tacked on some less important information for whoever was still listening. " the guy who ordered left before i finished making it for some reason. "

there was a reason, though. griselda had berated him — a local former high school english teacher with a tortured poetic soul that bordered on creeper status. griselda had hacked him years ago, leading to the abrupt ending to his career, and still recognized that god-forsaken receding ponytail. one little off the cuff comment about his quarter three shakespeare assignment after he'd ordered, and he'd bounced from the vicinity with the pubescent energy of one of his favored students.

adrenaline was better than caffeine when it came from harassing a man. " if no one wants it i have to throw it away. "

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The title of mayor came with small tokens of privilege Breslin never experienced before, and in her mind, the greatest of these was the ability to occasionally work from home. This was apparently not one such instance--a donor from her campaign absolutely needed to meet with her in-person and they requested the Heritage Vault as the place for this. Fifteen minutes after her arrival with no sight of the man in question, Breslin pulled her phone from her pocket and opened her email to see the one-line cancellation, which earned a bitter huff of a laugh as she wandered directly into the path of someone headed towards the door. Buried in her phone, she came to a halt in front of a painting behind the glass counter and only looked up once she heard someone's voice.

"Oh, uh--" She followed his gaze to the painting and wrinkled her nose briefly. "Not a clue either, honestly." She paused, studying the man, blue eyes appraising before familiarity flickered behind them accompanied by a wry smile. "Don't suppose you're a Windsor?"

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Location: The Heritage Vault

His to-do list had grown longer as the day went on. His stop at the Heritage Vault was supposed to be quick. Long enough to grab a copy of the latest shipment invoice, because apparently everyone who worked there was incapable of sending an email. Just as he headed toward the front door, eyes locked on the screen of his phone typing a text, someone stepped abruptly into his path, nudging his attention toward a painting that hung on the wall behind the glass counter. He paused, eyes fixed blankly on the person for a brief moment, then reluctantly shifted his eyes to look at the artwork. He stood silently, brow furrowing slightly as he blew out an irritated sigh. "I'll be honest," He finally said after a long pause. "I've got no fucking clue what i'm looking at here."

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Breslin chuckled dryly and shook her head. "Ah yes, the business of existing in peace," she joked gently as she tipped her chair back slightly, fingers lacing as she rested her hands atop her head. "Expensive these days, I hear." For her part, Breslin's run as district attorney went relatively smoothly--things ran mostly as they should, though admittedly she didn't have to contend with rising tensions between the gangs and high-profile murders like that of Enzo Barone and his entire generation. Safiye now dealt with it as a leader, and while she and Troy could certainly help, so much of this depended on her now.

"I've... heard some things," she said carefully, her face falling to a more serious expression before she straightened and stood again, heading towards the coffee machine perched on a side table. "If I can do anything for you, please let me know. I'm pretty sure the commissioner is dodging my calls--" She paused as she mechanically went about making a pot of coffee, then turned and rested against the table with her arms folded while it brewed. "He's either terrified of me or unwilling to have a conversation about mismanagement of his department." She knew about the weapon and Camilla's subsequent release without it--a huge loss for the district attorney, even if it wasn't her fault. "What's the title for if not bullying morons in power?"

There was plenty she could have said, but she only raised her eyebrow at the fact the secretary somehow seemed to assume the brunette was here entirely on business. It was not entirely wrong but also, to a degree, incredibly far away from the truth. “Well, what can I say? A few of those points are actually true! I am concerned about the state of the city, but I think we both know it isn’t my business I’d like to selfishly keep up and running, hm?” Safiye had many things riding on all of this.

“As for Camilla Barone, no. That train has sadly left the station. Surely, you’ve heard?” Safiye didn’t doubt that Breslin had her eyes and ears everywhere. In fact, given the way she’d admired the other when she’d still been the DA, a mentor before Troy had stepped into the world, the brunette was almost sure any other outcome would be too disappointing. Did the other hear about the gun going missing? “I just want to help this city.” ❧ @lcststops

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The way he so plainly assured her nothing would ever surface about Breslin and her wife at the yacht party left her stunned to silence, mouth working for words that wouldn't come despite the knee-jerk reaction to argue gently. For as much as she helped others and tried to ensure they knew difficult steps weren't taken alone, she'd never been good at asking for help even from those she knew would so easily give it. After a moment, she corralled her wildly self-sufficient impulses and offered him a quick nod. "Thank you," she said, then exhaled the breath she'd held for a few seconds too long.

As if on cue, while Troy gently teased her for support even without asking, she was midway through the motion of refilling both their cups of coffee, which she replaced with a shake of her head. That was who she made herself for everyone, and apparently it was high time she let other people do the same for her. "Actually uh-- I'd appreciate it. I'd planned to ask Safiye, but Christ alive I can't imagine what the DA's office looks like right now. If the two of us are already fielding calls, she probably hasn't slept yet."

For a long time, Troy felt as if he had nothing. Every step of the way, to be where he was now, one person had stood behind him; she was sitting across from him right now, with no idea of what he was going through, but always willing to listen. Always willing to wake up in the middle of the night to pick him up from the life he now embraced, but had once only searched and existed in out of necessity. Rarely ever did Troy ever get to pay her back -- fully aware that she never expected him to.

"There won't be photos of you or Kelly from that event, don't worry about it." I'll take care of it is conveyed in his tone. It barely scraped the surface of what he felt he owed her, a minimal effort to give her grace. After all, he sometimes was part of why her job had become a never-ending nightmare these days. His words didn't offer much room to ask questions, but he'd look after her.

As silence takes over for a moment, Troy takes a sip from his coffee. Support wasn't a problem for him, or asking for it. He could admit to himself that sometimes pain was the only thing he allowed himself to feel, even now. "I'm lucky. Most times you don't even let me ask for it." He mumbled teasingly, though he appreciated it. Between Breslin and his brother, Troy rarely ever felt alone when it truly mattered. "Do you want me to tell you everything I know? I have a copy of what little they have and read half of the testimonies that matter before driving here."

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Breslin watched as a heavy splash of amber filled the pair of tumblers, and she couldn't help but huff a soft laugh as she half-listened to Nolan's quip about her drinkware. The fancy lawyers on TV have them, so you should too. It was what her dad told her when she first became a public defender--truly the lowest rung of the ladder but her first real job as a lawyer--and she'd taken great care of them since then. They'd moved offices with her numerous time and now resided here relatively unused, though she had a feeling that might change if the yacht incident was any indication.

"She's good. More patient with things than I deserve, I think," she said, unable to suppress a grin despite how hard she fought it. The do not disturb function had become of paramount importance where planned evenings were concerned, even if the occasional overzealous reporter decided they were important enough to press through it. "I think people expect me to know things about all of this, but aside from the... the sway the title holds, I don't have hard information like I did as DA," she said as she gestured vaguely with one hand while she brought her glass to her lips with the other. "About all I can do it hound people about what I want done and the direction I want taken by the police, but ultimately that sector is out of my hands. The police budget, however--I am sorely tempted to take it and light it on fire in the commissioner's front lawn." She downed another mouthful of the whiskey and replaced the glass on her desk. "Fuck that man."

For a moment, the mayor studied her former employee, blue eyes appraising before she straightened and pulled the partially shredded police report involving Camilla Barone's release. "I didn't like this from the jump," she said at length. "It's the sort of case that would have been a nightmare to prosecute. Very few actual witnesses, a lot of pointing fingers, a dead mafia head and his daughter both gravely injured and seemingly the perpetrator of the crime itself. Their organization is pretty old--you don't get that way by behaving foolishly. Those kids are fucked up but I'd like to think they're not stupid." She paused again, then offered Nolan a wry smile. "This is all speculation and also very much why I'd like to take the commissioner's head off."

Contrary to popular belief, Nolan didn’t hold any real contempt for his former boss. Even during those few grueling years when she rode his ass like a drill sergeant and he returned the favor by exploiting every loophole and bending every rule just short of breaking them—he couldn’t deny she’d made him sharper. Smarter. Meaner, maybe. But better. Whether the lessons she taught were intentional or not, he’d taken them to heart, and somewhere in the chaos of their push-pull dynamic, Nolan had carved out the kind of lawyer he was today. Now, of course, they found themselves on opposite sides of the courtroom—symbolically, these days, given her elevated position within the city—which only fueled the mutual disdain they wore like armor. Still, he’d be lying if he said Breslin hadn’t left a mark, and even if his motivations were typically pure, he wasn't outright out to get her. Not at the moment, at least.

"They rarely do." He rested his elbow on the arm of his chair, absently running his palm over the stubble on his cheek, trying to suppress the mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his lips when she broke out the tumblers. "Mum's the word. Funny — the office has changed, but the crystal sure hasn't." Old habits died hard, even when you were in charge of the wellbeing of an entire city. Nolan twisted the cap off the bottle with a soft pop, pouring the whiskey into each glass with an easy familiarity. He didn’t wait for a toast—just raised his glass halfway before leaning back into the chair, eyes flicking back to her. "How she doin' these days anyway, hm?" Her wife, he meant. "I beg to differ. My week has been great. Strays to you means money to me." He sipped, lazy in posture but sharp in tone, the usual glint of smugness just beneath it. "I know better than to ask what it is that you know, but — at least tell me you got somethin' good. 'Else I wager we'll be finishing this bottle within the hour and the smell of indignity on your breath will get you in hot water with the wife before I ever could."

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The spike in anxiety meant Elena's perception of events spiraled wildly out of control with a speed that left her grasping at smoke as it spun past her, each thought more disorienting than the last. The crux of it, however, was the pain of knowing someone while they insisted otherwise, a thought Elena herself tried to convince herself of in every minor interaction with this woman. No one. It may not have at all been what the woman meant, but the words hit like a gunshot. A brief, intense look of heartbreak twisted her features before she crushed it, schooling her expression to something perhaps indifferent-adjacent, a feat and a lie considering the way the beginnings of tears still tried to gather in her eyes.

"Yeah," she said, voice watery. "Okay." The urge to simply place it on the floor and leave as fast as she could nearly got the better of her, but instead she tightened her fingers around the plastic handle and nodded a few times. She wanted to argue, to demand some kind of explanation given the other apparently found it hard to believe Elena didn't know her, but she forced it down. "I'm sorry," she said after a beat. "It's uh-- been a rough couple of weeks. I didn't mean to--" She gestured vaguely and frowned, unable to meet her eyes. "--put words in your mouth or... whatever."

Peyton hadn't said anything to indicate that she was an idiot or anything in that regard so she didn't try to make a comment. Frankly, she was hating that she'd tried to be the bigger person given that she was now stuck having to decipher their entire history which she had felt was significant at a time or another. The itch for a drink was stronger now as she found herself trapped in the grocery aisle and no exit plan in sight. "It's actually not even a big deal." Peyton said when she indicated that she cared. All she wanted was to leave, go home, microwave her dinner and lie down for a few hours.

"No one," she said given that the woman couldn't remember who she was so there was no point in making a fuss over it. "Honestly, this was a whole mistake so please don't worry about it." She tried to be sincere rather than rush this and have her freak out further. "Trust me— don't worry about it."

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At the admission, Elena brought her hand to her chest and gasped dramatically, pausing as she regarded her friend with a look of feigned, over-the-top shock. After a moment, she dropped it and grinned as she fell in step with her again. "I don't either," she said. "Or I don't really post often, anyway. I get sucked into reels about plants or kittens, though." Doomscrolling wasn't out of the question either, but lately she'd been able to catch herself doing it and put her phone down. Progress.

"I personally think the bushes would have tried their best to keep us safe from awkward interactions," she countered, grinning again. "They have good sense, I'd like to think." After a beat, she sobered slightly and heaved a sigh. Neither of them were particularly confrontational which was how this whole debacle began in the first place, but they did need to end it somehow. "You're right, of course. And we can talk to her together--despite the insane amount of bullshit that comes out of my mouth, I wouldn't actually leave you to deal with that on your own. We can both go down with this deeply unromantic ship. Just... perhaps not today? We're having a nice time and disappointing her would be a huge buzzkill."

"That might be more of a threat if I actually really used mine." The words were light, hiding the fact that even if the app did sit mostly dormant on her phone that the idea that she had been blocked would eat away at her. Any form of rejection, however small and however teasing, would always unsettle something inside of her. The fear was only stoked up more at the mention of the act having real life consequences. The rational in her knew that it was only teasing and so she managed to quell the emotions that threatened to tighten her throat.

"Oh well we can't have that." Dry words that betrayed nothing of her brief inner turmoil. They were nonetheless true, however, even the brief time they'd spent together enough to cement a desire in her that she wanted to maintain their friendship. And not just because she had difficulty letting anything go. "Maybe we need a plan on how to deal with it." Because she knew it would undoubtedly happen again. LA could be such a small world despite its size.

"I don't think jumping into the bushes or leaving each other to fend off the questions on their own would be our finest moments." She laughed slightly, amused by the lengths that the two of them had been prepared to go to just to avoid a simple conversation. But she knew her avoidance came from not wanting to disappoint someone after their good intentions hadn't panned out. "You want to tackle it together or do you want to flip for who has to break it to her?"

[lcststops]

Elena could not remember the last time she'd been this drunk. Usually bars meant flirting or hustling idiot college boys at billiards or darts, or even just a quick drink after work with her friends or coworkers, but tonight the goal was obliteration. When she arrived thirty minutes prior, she was already comfortably inebriated, enough so that she hadn't realized which bar she'd picked until some time later, and by that point she simply doubled down and hoped she'd forget by morning.

The sound of someone at her side drew her from her thoughts enough for her to turn, only to be met with someone just like the owner of this bar, familiar but whose face remained unmoored in her memory. Recognition, heartbreak, then fear crossed her features unguarded in quick succession and tears filled her eyes, but before they fell she smiled and turned back to her drink. "No, perfect day," she singsonged, voice wavering. "Perfect day, perfect bar, perfectly drunk. Did you have a good day?" She couldn't bear to look at him, not when she was sure seeing him again and being unable to place him might prompt her to scream at the top of her lungs in the middle of a full bar.

Sip Happens with Elena Cavallaro @lcststops

As someone who'd practised keeping a safe distance from others since childhood, never in one place long enough to form any kind of strong bond, it had been all too easy for him to continue this trend throughout the rest of his life. It almost came naturally at this point. The habit leant itself well to his role as leader, keeping himself apart from those around him, still able to view things through the clinical, cold lens that was necessary as someone who had to make the tough calls. He'd done it for years, easily, so why was he struggling with it so much now? Gaze kept drifting to the woman down the bar. The one who looked like she'd had to relive everything bad that'd ever happened to her. And he just couldn't bring himself to leave, for once unable to make the smart choice. There were too many feelings and emotions for him not to feel like he would be abandoning her, even if he had been the one who'd chosen to attempt to be a stranger to her. Throat cleared slightly to get her attention, a quick, subtle raise of his finger to indicate to the bartender he'd take another. "Bad day?"