Archive of Our Own

He means it when he says she has a nice name, and he says it for no other reason than that it is a nice name and he thinks you should tell people when that's the case.

She thanks him but then turns away from him like she doesn't know how to take that, like she isn't sure if he's just bullshitting her or not, like she’s embarrassed he doesn’t seem to remember who she is. He wants to tell her a few things in that moment: that he’s not bullshitting her; that if he was stupid enough to forget who she is, that’s on him not her; that it’s not that he doesn’t know her name, it’s just that he wasn’t really sure how else to get the conversation going otherwise. 

He doesn’t say any of those things though, because he’s jittery in a way that he’s not used to, in a way that he hopes calms the longer he smokes the blunt in his hand. 

Instead, he just lets the quiet settle between them, trying to figure out another way to spark the conversation. He catches her glancing at him from the corner of her eye and meets her gaze with an open, honest look. She looks away again but not before he catches a creeping blush across her cheeks and the beginnings of a smile on her lips -- unsteady and uncertain, but real.  

"I'm Fezco," he finally says before taking another hit. He isn’t sure if she remembers his name, remembers meeting him, remembers hanging out at his house a time or two. He wouldn’t blame her if she doesn’t -- it was so many years ago, before Rue’s downward spiral and overdose and relapse (and relapse and relapse), so long ago it feels like another life. 

But there's something that churns in his stomach at the thought she has forgotten meeting him. 

"Fez s'cool too,” he continues, the same way he did all those years ago when he first met her. “If you want." 

She turns back towards him, surprised, like she wasn't expecting any more from him tonight, like he was just gonna tell her he liked her name and then disappear into the night or something (like he hasn't spent a significant amount of time over the course of the night thinking about a way to start a conversation with her). 

"Oh, yeah, I'm sorry," she says with a small shake of her head. 

He tilts his head at her. 

"What you sorry for?" 

"I, um, I should've asked you what your name was." She gives an awkward laugh, her fingers twisting together in her lap. 

He shakes his head. 

"No, you good."

"It's just, um, well." She glances over at him again, hair falling over her dark brown eyes. "I already know who you are." The pleasant, warm feeling that surges through his veins when she says that is as sudden as it is strong, and he’s somewhat grateful when she closes her eyes briefly, a pained expression crossing her face, if only so he can rearrange the expression on his face to something less eager. She opens her eyes again and tucks a strand of her hair back behind her ear. "I mean, we’ve met before, although if you don’t remember, I --." 

"I remember," he says, interrupting her gently, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth at the relieved look that crosses her face. "You always, like, insisted on paying for shit at the store even though I tol' you it was chill." 

She nods, a look of pleased surprise on her face. 

"I didn't want it to seem like I was taking advantage of your kindness."

He nods, then gestures between the two of them. 

"So you, like, really don't have nothing to apologize for then cuz, you know.” He shrugs. “Don't need to ask what you already know." 

She gives him another small smile -- this one less uncertain at the edges -- before she nods. 

"Yeah, I guess you're right." She turns to face him. "It's nice to see you again, Fez." 

The corner of his mouth lifts up in a grin. 

"Nice to see you, Lexi. Been a while." He waves a hand at the party around them. "You havin' a good time tonight?"

She purses her lips together, her nose scrunching in a way that he can only describe as cute. 

"Um." She chews her lip and looks away, tucking her head down and then glancing back over at him. "I can't find my sister." She shakes her head, then gives him an embarrassed look for some reason he can't figure out. "I mean, we were supposed to come here together -- we were coming here together -- but then we got into a fight and she got out of the car, and I normally wouldn't leave her but she was being so fucking unreasonable that I just --." She shakes her head again. "I just left her and now she's not answering her phone." She glances down at the phone in her hand, then looks at him, head still tilted down. "Um, so, that's just an unnecessarily long way of saying that I'm not really having a good time tonight, sorry." 

He waves away her apology.

"Don't gotta say nothin', it's not my party." He tilts his head down to meet her eyes. "Anything I can do to help?" 

She lifts her head to fully meet his look, her eyes wide with surprise and gratitude. The worried crinkle between her eyes disappears as her lips turn up in a small, shaky smile. 

"No, but I appreciate it. I'm sure she'll turn up. There's no way she's gonna miss a New Year's Eve party." 

She says the last part to herself, quietly, almost like she's repeating something someone else has said. 

"She could already be here and you guys missed each other." He gestures to the party around them. "There's hella people here." 

She nods, then chews on the corner of her lip, like she's getting ready to say something else, so he takes another long drag and waits patiently for her to continue. 

"I shouldn't have left her, though. I should've just waited until she cooled off or --." She sighs heavily and shakes her head. "I don't know, turned back around and figured something out."  

He shakes his head. 

“If she --.” 

There's a loud crash in the kitchen, followed by yells and loud laughter and cries of party foul. Lexi moves slightly closer to him, leaning her arm against the back of the couch. He mirrors her movements, inching a little bit closer to her direction. 

"If she didn’t wanna get back in the car, the fuck were you supposed to do?" He continues once the noise in the background has dulled down to a distant roar. “Pick her up and throw her ass in?” 

Lexi laughs and he can’t help the grin he gives her in return. It’s a pretty laugh he thinks, which he’s very sure is not a thought he’s ever had before. 

It's also a particularly wild thought because he knows it isn't the first time he's heard it -- she and Rue had spent a decent amount of time on the roof of his store, eating ice cream and hot cheetos and sour gummies, and he can distinctly remember the sound of their laughter drifting into the store. 

But hearing the muffled sounds of laughter coming through a dirty window is different than hearing it next to him, seeing the way her face lights up, feeling the way the sound settles into his veins. 

“Maybe,” she says, her eyes bright and sparkling, her voice bringing him back to the present. “I’m stronger than I look.” 

“I believe that,” he says, nodding at her before he takes a long drag from the blunt in his hand. “Family does dumb shit sometimes, can’t do nothing about that. Just gotta be there when they realize they was on some dumb shit and do what we can then.”

“Sounds like you know from experience.” 

He shrugs, then takes another hit before answering. 

“Yeah, well, Rue’s my family.” 

She gives him a long look, then nods. 

“I think I might take a walk around the party and see if I run into my sister. Will you let me know if you see her?” 

He tilts his head at her. 

“I would, but ion know who your sister is.” 

Her mouth opens in a small o, a look of complete disbelief framing her features, as if she can’t imagine a world where he doesn’t know who her sister is. He’s not sure why that might be. He runs into a lot of people every single day, and there’s only so much space in his brain to remember names and faces. 

“I’m pretty sure she’s met you more than a few times.” 

He shrugs in reply. 

“Meet a lot of people. Don’t mean they stick in my brain.” 

“Just --.” She looks away, shy again for a moment. “You remembered me -- I figured you’d remember Cassie, too.” 

He looks at her, head tilted, a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips. 

“Of course I’d remember you.” 

He says it as a matter of fact because it is, casual in a way that he’d never say if he was a little more sober. When she blushes a deep red and smiles that little uncertain smile of hers, he’s grateful that he isn’t.  

“Plus,” he continues, not wanting her to feel uncomfortable with him, or think that he’s just spittin' lines. “Rue mentions you a lot.” 

“I’m a little surprised she does,” Lexi says quietly. “She's kind of gone in and out of my life these last few years.” 

She says it like it's something to be she should be sorry for, like it's somehow her fault that Rue is an addict on top of being flaky as fuck. 

He shakes his head.  

“She goes in and out of life, period -- that’s Rue.” 

Lexi gives a small huff that might be a laugh, might be a sigh before she nods. 

"That's Rue."

"So, you want a drink or somethin'?" He asks Lexi when she comes back from taking a walk around the party, her down turned lips letting him know she hasn’t run into her sister, her eyes glued to the phone in her hand. 

She looks up at him, startled, like she can't believe he's still talking to her even though he's stayed at the very same spot she'd left him so he could make sure to keep talking to her. 

"No, thanks though." She sits down, closer to him this time, and sets her phone in her lap. "I'm supposed to be Cassie’s -- that’s my sister -- DD and since it's pretty much the only reason she invited me along, I figure I should still plan to be even if I don't know where the fuck she is right now." 

Before he can reply, Jewel sits down next to her and starts asking about Rue. 

He knows Jewel -- well, mostly knows of her -- and he knows about Jewel and Rue and how messy and fuckin' complicated all that shit is between the two of them right now. 

He wishes her a happy new year, then tells her the exact information she's tryna hear. 

"She came here with me," he clarifies after saying that Rue's around there somewhere. Jewel immediately starts looking around the party as if she's got some kind of Rue-radar or something, which, you know, maybe she does because those two are drawn to each other in a way he doesn't really get but admires all the same. "But I ain't seen her in a minute." 

Jewel glances over at him before standing up, her eyes still wandering around the party.  

"If you guys see her, can you, um, tell her that I'm looking for her?"

He nods and Lexi smiles, then Jewel is stumbling away, hand already reaching out for another drink. 

Lexi turns towards him. 

"So, do you know what's going on with those two?" 

He shakes his head. 

"Yo, no one knows what's going on with those two, not even those two."

She laughs, and he thinks about the way her face lights up as she does it, how it makes him want to move closer to her, makes him to want to hear it over and over again. He knows he's not exactly sober, but he also knows that sober him would have these exact same thoughts. 

He asks her about her Christmas then, and learns even more than he could've imagined. He learns about pagans stealing Christmas, and some dude named King James who isn't Lebron. He learns that Lexi's fuckin' fearless in addition to the prettiest girl in the room. That she doesn't believe in God and she doesn't believe in letting the McDonald's CEO into heaven. 

Mostly he learns that she's just as smart as Rue always says she was, and tells her exactly that. 

Well, he tells her what Rue has always said, anyway. 

"Rue always says you're the smartest fucking person she knows," he says, after asking just who the fuck King James was in the first place and if he had anything to do with stealing Christmas. 

Lexi looks away, a pretty blush creeping up her cheeks. 

"No, that's not --." She shakes her head. "I mean, I probably get the best grades of anyone she knows but grades, like, they don't mean everything." 

He shrugs. 

"Well, that's probably true in a way but, like, they do also mean something, you know?"

She purses her lips in an attempt not to smile, then just nods. 

"Yeah, I guess so."

He takes a hit, then gestures vaguely beyond them. 

"So where you wanna go?" She shoots him a look that's somewhere between confused and panicked, and he rushes to clarify. "I mean, like, for college and shit. Smart girl like you, bet you got options."  

She blinks twice, a look on her face like she can't quite believe he's asking. He furrows his brows when he sees it. Not because it's a weird look -- like everything about her, it makes him think about how pretty she is -- but because it's weird how often she makes it. He tries to remember if she’d worn that look so much when he first met her, if that constant surprise that someone is interested in her has always been part of her or if it’s something that’s she’s taken on in the last few years. 

He remembers her being uncertain and shy, but she’d also been just on the verge of starting high school, traveling down a new path with an old friend, not knowing where it’d end up. Looking at her now -- dark hair framing her pretty face, red lips he can’t look away from -- he can't imagine that he’s the only person that's ever asked her these questions, the only person ever interested enough to ask. 

"I'm not sure if I wanna be practical or fanciful when it comes to my major," she starts, ticking the options off on her fingertips. "So it really kind of depends." 

He tilts his head. 

"What you mean?" 

She shrugs. 

"I'm good with numbers and I like them enough, so going into accounting would make sense. If I go that route, there are plenty of schools here that I could go to. I could stay close to home and be nearby in case, like, my mom or Cassie needed anything." 

She says it like she's rehearsing a line in a script she doesn't believe in, playacting a role that she didn't try out for. He takes a hit and lets the smoke out slowly. 

"And if you want somethin' more, um, what'd you say? Fanciful?" 

She nods. 

"I think -- I don't know, I mean, it'd be really cool -- to go to school for creative writing." Here, her voice dips down, like she's telling him a secret just meant for the two of them. He has to lean in closer to really hear her; he doesn't mind. She picks at the edges of her fingernails, looking down before glancing up to meet his gaze. "I know it's not, like, practical at all or anything -- and not even necessary to, you know, make it or whatever as a writer -- but I just think." She looks down again, her voice trailing off, her lashes dark against her pale skin, and for one wild moment his hand twitches with the desire to tip her chin back up. 

Instead he gestures between them, some random flickering of his fingers at nothing. 

"You just think?" He asks, slow and encouraging. 

She blinks, then looks back up at him, that slight look of surprise furrowing her features in a way that makes him want to smooth them all out with the tips of his fingertips.  

Shit. He must be higher than he thought. 

"I think I'd really like it." She clears her throat, settling back into the couch. "And, you know, there are a lot of different avenues I can pursue with a creative writing degree -- it’s not like I’m locked into just being a screenwriter.” 

He nods. 

“That what you wanna do? Be a screenwriter?” 

She looks at him, then nods, slow and steady, like she’s only just now admitting this to herself. 

“Yeah, that’s the dream.” She says it carefully, quietly -- like saying it too loud might make it break. She takes a deep breath, then lets out a wild half laugh and looks away. “Dreams don’t really pay the bills though.” 

“Sometimes they do though,” he says, the words as forceful as he can make them. Forceful for him, anyway, which means they’re only slightly faster than a drawl, slightly louder than a low rumble. 

She looks over at him, the uncertainty in her gaze disappearing into something that looks like gratitude. 

"Yeah, sometimes they do." She smiles at him, her expression so soft he'd almost call it tender. 

She moves closer to him, the lines of her body relaxing, her arm propped up against the back of the couch. She’s close enough now that he can smell a whiff of her perfume -- something floral and sweet that he has to fight with himself not to smile at the scent of it. 

“If I go that route, my dream schools are NYU or Columbia. They have good writing programs and there’s just --." She waves her hand between them, gesturing at some vision of the future he guesses. Her voice speeds up, excitement settling across her features. "I guess there's just something really appealing about being on the other side of the country, in New York City, trying to like, I guess, make it and make my dreams come true.” She gives him a half-embarrassed smile and covers her forehead with her hand. “I know that’s, like, incredibly cliched and kind of stupid.” 

He shakes his head. 

“It’s not. Like, at all. Sounds dope, really.” 

She bites the corner of her lip, nodding slowly. 

“It does, doesn’t it?” She’s smiling at him again, big and bright and, honestly, beautiful. It’s not a word he’s ever used to describe a smile, but it’s the only one his brain can come up with right now. 

After a moment, it strikes him as the first smile all night that doesn't have an apology chasing it. He's not sure why a girl like her would feel so uncertain about her own happiness or glee or excitement, but he's glad she's stopped feeling like every smile needs an explanation -- at least for the moment. 

“So what about you?” She asks, leaning closer to him and tilting her head like she’s trying to figure him out. It’s as funny as it is cute, because there really isn’t much to try and figure. 

He takes a hit instead, then aims a casual grin at her as he blows out the smoke. 

“What about me?” 

She gestures towards him. 

“I guess…what would you be doing if you weren’t doing…if you weren’t, like, here.” She finishes up the sentence with an awkward tilt of her head, the brightness in her expression dimming back to that look of uncertainty she’d had in her eyes when he first sat down. 

“I mean, ion really wanna think on that cuz then I wouldn’t be here talking to you right now.” He sees that same pretty blush creeping across her cheeks, but also that same awkward expression in her eyes, like she isn’t quite sure what she’s supposed to say, so he keeps going. “But if you mean what I wanted to be when I grew up…” He stops, because the truth is he can’t remember what he ever wanted to be when he still lived with his dad -- he only ever wanted to be invisible. And after he went to live with his grandma, there wasn’t ever really any other path but the one he’s on now, no room for dreams or hopes or future plans. Just the moment, then the next, then the next. 

But that’s some pretty heavy shit to talk about on a couch at a house party, so he just takes another hit, then gestures vaguely beyond them. 

“I was always good with numbers and shit, even before I went to live wit’ my grandma, so.” He grins, and there's a floating thought in his mind that he can't remember the last time he smiled this much talking to someone. “Maybe I would’ve met you in one of those accounting classes.” 

She smiles back at him, then purses her lips to the side. 

“But I mean, do you like numbers? Or would you just fall into accounting because you know you could do it?” 

He thinks about that question a lot longer than she’s probably expecting. There hasn’t ever really been time to sit and think about what he wants to do versus what he needs to do, and no one’s ever asked him to wonder about the difference.  

There's a warm, unfamiliar warmth in the center of his chest that she did. 

“I like the way numbers always make sense,” he finally says, “and how you know you can always figure out the problem and the answer." He smiles at her. "But ion know if they’d ever make me as excited as you were talking 'bout bein' a writer in New York City.”  

She nods slowly. 

"So what would make you that excited?" 

He wishes he had an answer for her, that they could sit and talk about the lives they could be leading, some universe of things other than this; instead, he just shakes his head and gives a half shrug. 

"See, that's another thing imma have to get back to you wit'. Cuz right now, iono the answer." 

She purses her lips and nods, giving him another glance before settling back into the couch cushions. 

He leans to the side of the couch and fills the ashtray that’s already half full of a mix of cigarette butts and roaches, then turns back to face her. 

"So, you don't believe in God. What else don't you believe in?" 

She taps her fingers on top of her phone, her eyes drifting away in a faraway look like she’s cataloging all the things she doesn’t believe in. 

Which, it turns out, is exactly what she’s doing. 

"I don't believe in ghosts or aliens or soulmates," she says after a long moment. "I don't believe in an afterlife or reincarnation or karma." She pauses, her nose wrinkling as she tilts her head back and forth. “Actually, I take that back. I do believe in aliens. Or I at least don’t completely discount the possibility that they exist.” 

He squints his eyes at her. 

“So, you don’t think there’s a guy up there.” He points up towards the ceiling. “Lookin’ out for us, or that anything happens to us after we die, but you do think there might be, like, little green men somewhere out there?” 

“I mean, I don’t know if they’re green, but I do think it’s a little self-centered to think that we’re the only sentient beings alive in the entire universe.” She leans closer to him, her hands moving in sync with her words. “Like, the universe is possibly infinite and likely infinitely expanding, so it seems highly probable that there’s life out there somewhere.” 

He isn’t sure what the fuck she means by the universe being possibly infinite or infinitely expanding -- makes a mental note to ask about that later -- so he grabs at the thing that makes the most sense to him as he shakes his head. 

“Hope they aren’t like the ones in Alien, that shit fucks me up.”   

“Oh my god, I absolutely love that movie,” she gushes, her eyes lighting up, a big smile flashing across her face as she says it. “But I completely agree.” 

“Ash -- my brother -- loves that shit, too.” He grabs another blunt from his pocket and lights it up. “I always liked the second one better.” 

She gives him an exaggerated (he hopes) look of disappointment as her hand flutters over her heart. 

“But the first one is so much better, Fezco.” 

He smiles at the sound of his name, decides that he likes the shape of it in her mouth. 

“You into horror movies, huh?” 

She nods, and he takes note of the way she’s all lit up, like she could just sit and talk about horror movies all night. 

He wants to tell her he’d like that, but he just takes another hit instead. 

“It’s my favorite genre, and Alien is definitely up there when it comes to sci-fi horror.” She puts her hands between them, palms forward, almost close enough for him to reach out and touch. “Not that I don’t like Aliens, I do like it, it’s just more action-adventure than it is horror the way the first one is, but I didn’t, like, mean to call you out for your movie taste or anything. To each their own.” 

He tilts his head and narrows his eyes playfully at her. 

“Nah, you think I got shit taste, I getchu.” 

Her eyes widen as she shakes her head emphatically. 

“Oh my god, no, not at all, I just meant --.” 

He laughs, head leaning back, his tongue pressing between the tips of his teeth. 

“Chill, Lexi, I’m just playin’ witchu.” He grins at her, open and honest, waits for her to relax before he continues. “Third one is, like, absolute dogshit though.” 

She laughs. 

“Oh my god, it’s so bad.” She crosses a leg under her as she turns to face him more fully. “Did you know that David Fincher was so mad about how much the studio stepped in and changed things that he completely disowned the film and to this day talks about how no one hates it more than he does.”  

He lifts a shoulder as he nods. 

“Shit, I’d say the same fuckin’ thing.” 

Before she can say anything else, she turns her head sharply towards the hallway across from him, rising from the couch with her eyebrows drawn. 

“You good?” He asks, twisting in his seat to follow her gaze. 

She sighs. 

“I’ll be right back -- I think I saw Cassie.” 

He nods at her. 

“I’ll be here.” 

He watches her walk away, her mouth turned down, a furrow between her brows. He hopes everything is cool between her and her sister -- he knows how one bad interaction can ruin a whole night. 

Selfishly, too, he wants to talk to her more. He wants to know what other horror movies she loves, which ones she wants to watch, which ones she thinks are a disappointment. He wants to know why she doesn’t believe in karma or soulmates, and if she believes in love at first sight or any of the urban legends. 

Secretly, deep down, in a place he hardly lets himself investigate, he wants to sit and forget, just for a moment, that he has product to move and a message to give and suppliers to pay. He wants to talk to someone who doesn’t need anything from him, who doesn’t treat every conversation as transactional, who asks him questions that have nothing to do with what he can provide. 

That puts her in the very rare company of, basically, just Ash and now (for the most part) Rue. 

He remembers Rue telling him that Lexi hadn’t liked weed, the expression on her face so disbelieving and confused that it had made him laugh out loud. Rue had her come around a lot less after that, and he’d been disappointed because Lexi had been sweet and smart and she’d clearly cared a lot about Rue, and even if he hadn’t had a lot in common with her, that bond could have -- would have -- been enough to build a friendship on. 

For a moment, he thinks about some other universe out there where Rue had continued to drag Lexi along with her whenever she came to see him. Wonders if they would’ve had conversations like tonight -- if she would’ve told him about wanting to be a writer, if she would’ve asked him about believing in God. 

He thinks about that other universe until he’s halfway through his blunt, his mind pleasantly foggy, his limbs loose and relaxed. He looks around, wondering where she might be, if she’s left with her sister. He’s imagining Lexi throwing Cassie over her shoulder and forcibly carrying her to the car when he sees her walk back towards him, and clocks the fact that she doesn’t look at all happy. 

On the plus side, she looks more somewhat annoyed than totally upset, which is easier to tackle. 

He isn’t quite sure he’s going to say until she drops down right next to him, the irritation sliding off her expression and easing into something that looks like contentment as she says hey. 

Thing is, he’s really not smooth and he doesn’t have lines ready to go for any occasion. 

All he has is honesty and a tongue loosened by weed and the presence of the prettiest girl in the room, so he tells her exactly what he’s thinking. 

Of course she doesn’t believe him when he says he was starting to miss her and tells him as much, but she has nothing to say when he follows it up by telling her that she’s the coolest person at the party. 

She doesn’t say anything to that, just blushes and looks away, her hand coming up to cover the smile that she can’t keep off her face. It’s almost unbearably adorable, and he’s grateful that his hands are otherwise occupied so that he has an excuse to look away and smile to himself rather than doing something truly reckless. 

After a long moment of comfortable silence, he turns to her. 

“Everything cool wit’ your sister?” 

She rolls her eyes. 

“She’s acting fuckin’ weird, but otherwise she’s fine.” 

He nods.

“Glad you found her at least.” 

She sighs, then smiles at him. 

“Yeah, at least now I can stop worrying about her and just like, enjoy the moment.” She chews on the corner of her lip, then looks around the party. “I probably don’t even need to be her DD any more.” 

“Oh,” he says, and he can hear the way his voice falls without meaning to. “You thinking of leaving?” 

She shakes her head. 

“No, not at all. I --.” She gives him a small smile. “I like talking to you.” 

The smile he gives her in reply is probably (definitely) ten kids of cheesy right now, but he doesn’t give a single fuck. 

“So if you don’t believe in ghosts,” he starts, picking up on the thread of their conversation from earlier. “Does that mean you don’t think shit is haunted? Like, at all?”  

It’s five minutes to midnight when he sees that asshole Nate lingering in the kitchen, and he knows it’s time to cut. 

If he’s being honest with himself, it was probably time half an hour ago, but Lexi had been in the middle of explaining just what the fuck it means that the universe is infinite and infinitely expanding and he had just wanted to sit back and let her words wash over him as she started comparing the universe to a giant checkerboard and galaxies to checkers. 

And since he has so few opportunities to just sit back and do what he wants, he’d simply…done it. 

He’s glad he did, even if now he’s faced with the decision of what to say as a goodbye before he goes right to knocking playboy right the fuck out. 

So he tells her he has to go, then pauses. 

He doesn’t say he’s never stopped thinking about her since meeting her all those years ago, which isn’t true. 
He doesn’t say he’s never forgotten meeting her, which is. 

Instead, he goes for what’s real and what’s simple and what he hopes will make her smile. 

“I just wanna tell you that talkin’ to you was one of the best parts of my whole year.” 

She doubts it, of course, because they’ve talked long enough now that he can see that that’s the only way she knows how to react to a compliment. And he feels comfortable enough now to kind of gently call her out for it. 

She looks away as she takes that in, and before he can let his own doubt overwhelm him, he asks for her phone number. 

He’s surprised and more than a little grateful that he doesn’t stumble over his words because this isn’t something he really does all that often, and never from someone he’s enjoyed talking to this much. 

So he’s grateful and more than a little relieved when she hands over her phone for him to put his number into. He briefly considers calling his phone from hers just so they both have one another’s numbers, but then decides just to leave the ball in her court. Given what he’s about to in the next few minutes, it’s better for her to have the decision about whether or not she wants to keep talking to him after tonight. 

He really, really hopes she does. 

After 

“Good night for business?” Rue asks him as he’s driving them all home, but he just shrugs in reply. 

“Probably. You’ll need to ask Ash though, I didn’t really do no business.” 

Ash gives him an irritated look. His baseline emotion towards Rue is generally impatience and Rue knows it, so she doesn’t even bother asking Ash. 

“So what’d you do other than beat Nate Jacobs’ ass tonight?” 

“I talked to your friend,” he says after a long moment, because there’s really no reason to keep it to himself even if he feels like he wants to. “Lexi.” 

“Howard?” She asks, looking at him from out under the curtain of her hair. 

He glances at her in the rearview mirror and stores the last name in his mind, running over the syllables silently in his mouth, decides he really, really likes the sound of Lexi Howard. 

Out loud he says:  

“You got more than one friend named Lexi?” 

Rue stares at him a moment, their eyes meeting briefly in the rearview mirror before she leans forward, her chin resting on the top of the front seat. 

"No, I just can't picture the two of you having, like, a fucking conversation." 

He shrugs. 

"Just a conversation, Rue." 

Rue’s response to that is just to hum softly, her head lolling against the seat. 

“You two have met before, you remember? Long fuckin’ time ago.” 

He nods, though her head is turned and she can’t see it. 

“Yeah, I remember.” 

He tries to keep the tenderness out of his tone when he says it, but given the way Ash’s head snaps up from his phone screen to stare at him, he doesn’t think he quite gets there. 

“So, you have a good night -- other than the whole beating Nate’s ass thing?” Rue asks, her chin digging into the back of the seat. 

He doesn’t point out that beating Nate’s ass was the whole reason he was there in the first place, and that getting that shit done would qualify as a good night. 

And truthfully, that isn’t why his night was good anyway, but that’s not something he needs to share in the quiet of this car ride.  

“Yeah,” he says without offering any details. “You?” 

She catches his gaze in the rearview mirror and gives him a thumbs up. 

“Think this year’s gonna be my year, Fez.”

He nods slowly, forgets the pain in his knuckles, thinks about Lexi’s smile and her laugh and the way he wasn’t lying at all when he said talking to her was one of the best parts of his year. 

“Me too, kid. Me too.”