Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Right. Where did you wanna meet again?”

The shuffling on the other end of the phone continues. Joe waits patiently, trapping his phone between his ear and his shoulder as he fastens the hoodie around his waist.

“In the—” Sara lets out a small eep! just before he hears the phone thunk onto the floor. He hears more scrambling as his girlfriend picks it up and raises it to her ear again. “In the plaza! Around the area where the ice cream shop and that old karaoke place is.”

Joe finds himself holding back a laugh. Somehow, Sara sounds so disorganized, and it’s so oddly endearing to him. Of course, he understands how she must be feeling—if anything, it’s just strange how they’ve seemed to swap roles like this, with him standing there mostly collected, and her utterly frazzled on the other end of the phone.

“Are you okay?” he asks, just to check—judging by her energy, he assumes so, but it wouldn’t hurt to make sure.

“Yes!” she answers, quickly, “I’m just… looking for something.”

…Not ominous at all.

“Alright,” he responds, not bothering to push on what the mysterious something could be. “I’ll see you soon, then?”

Sara hums enthusiastically. “Mhm! I’ll see you soon, pup. I love you! Happy birthday!”

As she hangs up the phone, Joe mentally notes down her goodbye as the sixth birthday wish he’s received from her since he woke up—once within a lengthy, lovey-dovey message she sent him at midnight; again when she said she was finally going to bed; a third time this morning, when she woke up; a fourth time in a voice message she sent; a fifth time when she picked up the phone, and finally, this one.

He can’t help but smile, even though her persistence in giving her best wishes, every chance she got, sort of weakened the impact of it all. Sara, he’s learned over the years, is so much more than whatever people used to say about her back in school. Of course, he knew that then, but he especially understood it now—and now, he can acknowledge her weird little mannerisms in all its glory. Everything she did was so utterly fueled by love, especially when it came to him. He could never be more grateful.

If only he had a way to give back. A way to prove he loves her too.

Joe stares out the window of the small apartment. On a day like his birthday, the weather doesn’t look any different. The sun shines, like it does every year during July. Few clouds litter the sky, and of those clouds, none of them make any particularly interesting shapes. Just random puffs of white, pulled slightly at the edges.

It’s weird. On a day like today, he should be smiling. Still, there’s this sort of tug at his chest, and maybe it’s sort of tied to that fleeting moment of guilt he had just experienced. It makes him sad, really, how easy it is for Sara to pull all the stops for him at the drop of a hat—as much as he’s grateful, he doesn’t have the capacity to do the same for her. Sometimes, he fears she doesn’t feel as loved.

Oh, it’s fine, he remembers her telling him two months ago, on the day she turned twenty-five. I’m just happy I could spend time with you. And your sort of mediocre chicken adobo.

She laughed that night, as did he, but it still left him unsatisfied. He wonders if she’s thinking about it like he is, and although it wouldn’t make sense for her at all, an unreasonable part of his brain tells him she’s doing all this to rub it in his face. That same part of him tempts him to call Sara back right now, tell her he doesn’t want to go anywhere today, and then they could be even that way.

“Ugh,” he groans out loud, pressing his arm against his eyes, that old bone charm smacking the side of his head. The feeling of cold bracelet beads presses against his skin, too. “I’m so stupid. Of course she’s not doing this with ill-intentions—who do I think she is?”

Nothing answers him. Obviously.

It’s hard to remember what he fell in love with first. Maybe it was just the fact she was kind to him, at first. The day she lent him that pencil in freshman year, and her understanding when he apologized for not returning it until a week later. Maybe it was the way she listened, even when she didn’t fully understand—the day she asked for his name, and it didn’t match up to the one used for him in class came to mind. Maybe it was the way she could become engrossed in anything she even mildly adored, talking about it for hours upon hours at a time. Maybe it was that competitive spirit she was embarrassed to show, in fear she’d hurt someone she cared for. Maybe it was the way he saw her smile for the first time, heard her laugh for the first time.

Maybe, he thinks, he just fell in love with her slowly, carefully over time, and he never truly realized it until it crashed down on him like a wave and consumed him whole.

Joe takes a moment to breathe. He loves her. He loves her so, so much, and he wants her to know that more than anything else. As silly as it might sound, it makes his heart ache to think she’ll never truly feel as appreciated as he does.

“...It’ll be fine.” He says this out loud, and of course, to nobody but himself. “It’s whatever. It’s…”

His chest tightens. He can ignore the feeling of it, though.

In the small reflection of himself that he can see in the window, he practices the usual smile. He’s learned how to handle these thoughts, at this point. It’s become routine to think about the last dumb joke he laughed at, whether it was made by him or something he saw online. Often, Sara sent him a lot of funny things too, though she wasn’t as good at getting jokes to land in real life—still, he can’t help but laugh anyway, enamored by the way her brain worked.

…And before long, the grin on his face looks just right. If anybody was staring at his window in particular, there was a chance they might have just deemed him as sort of weird, but a quick glance at the building across from him indicates he was in the clear. (Good!)

Joe grasps his phone off the bed, checking the time. He’s still early. (Double good!) A quick skim through his notifications indicates the main group chat blowing up, where Anzu, who woke up minutes prior, is sending texts with increasingly worse spelling in her attempts to wish Joe a happy birthday, and apologize for being the last to do so. (Ryoko said hers at midnight alongside Sara; Ranmaru sent his in the dead hours of the night, or arguably very early morning; Kugie sent hers a few hours ago, having already mentioned Anzu was still asleep.)

Anzu: HAYBY BJRHDATY JJE

Anzu: HAPOY BHRHDAY

Anzu: THISIS THEWORST IBE EVRR DONE IT

Anzu: HAOY BRDAY

Joe: ur doing great, u got this!!

Anzu: IMSISRYYYY IDKWH Y KUGIE DIDNT WAKE NEUP

Anzu: HAPY BIRHTDAY.

Joe: so close! but thank uuu <3

And with that, all of his friends made an effort to remember his birthday today. Of course, not everyone got him something—Kugie regretfully confessed work had been “kicking her ass,” and she hadn’t been shopping recently as a result, and Ranmaru had been plenty busy as of late with moving out of his parents’ house, and though he didn’t mention anything to Joe specifically, he knew better than to ask. (Of course, he wasn’t expecting gifts at all—it came as a shock when Ryoko bought him a new video game last weekend, and when Anzu sent him a photo of a cute sweater she was making him, captioned “for when it gets cold!! Don’t wear this as soon as you get it!!!!”—so, in truth, he hadn’t really minded.)

Regardless, it’s the thought that counts. His friends love him. (And he loves them too. Triple good!)

With three good things to get him going this morning, he pockets his phone and grabs the headphones strewn over his desk from last night. Knowing Sara, even if they agreed to meet up at ten, she’d likely get there around thirty minutes before instead, and Joe’s feeling slightly competitive today.

And so, off he goes!

Sara used to hate summer.

Well, maybe that was an overstatement. She liked the sun, and she liked wearing less layers of clothes outside, and everything like that. It just seemed overrated before, especially when the school year kicked up significantly.

Of course, that was before Sara met Joe—sunshine incarnate, dare she say. He liked summer, made it very clear he couldn’t wait for spring to transition into summer during the first year she knew him, and when it inevitably did come around, she paid special attention to the sunny scene. She’d never forget how warm she was that day.

Sara inhales, bringing herself back down to Earth, enveloped in the warm July sun. The plaza looks so pretty at this time of year, she realizes. The sunlight blinds her, but there’s something for her to smile about yet. It was her favorite day of the summer season.

July 26th.

She finds him in the same spot they agreed on, between the old karaoke place and the ice cream shop they used to frequent back in high school. He sat on the corner of the bench, headphones over his ears and messing up his hair. He ran out of hairspray, Sara last recalled, which explained why his auburn hair was sprawled across his shoulders.

Ah, but she shouldn’t be standing around.

Quietly, she proceeds behind him, cyan sneakers hardly even squeaking on the ground. She was right behind him when the summer breeze blew past her, the wind gentle against the part of her leg where her cat socks didn’t cover. Sara wavers for a moment, hand hovering in the air where Joe stirs finally, pulling his phone out of his pocket. It’s only after he pauses his music that she realizes he’d been listening to the new SkullNutz album rather loudly in his ears. No wonder he didn’t hear her.

Before her cover can be blown completely, she leans in—“Boo!”

Joe startles, nearly dropping his phone onto the pavement. He turns around so quickly, and due to Sara not exactly accounting for personal space, his nose bumps right into hers.

“Ow!!” he exclaims, moving forward on the bench and rubbing his face. “Sara, you scared me!”

Sara ignores the throbbing pain on her face in favor of a small laugh. “Good afternoon to you too, pup. Pay attention, next time,” she teases, dragging his headphones off his ears with her pointer finger.

“Hey, I wasn’t the one who turned up late!” Joe pouts. “I was waiting for you, y’know. Somethin’ happen?”

She sighs, resting her arms on the back of the bench and leaning forward. “Nothing crazy. Ryoko woke up from all the noise and insisted she make me lunch before I left.”

“Woah, for real?” For some odd reason, Joe sounds intrigued. “What’d you have?”

“Just scrambled eggs. We ran out of rice, so it wasn’t particularly filling. We lost track of time talking, then I got stuck in traffic on the bus, and my phone died on the way. Sorry.” Despite her exhaustion, she offers a smile, “But I made it! That’s what counts, right? Happy birthday.”

She leans in, kissing his cheek. Before she can pull away, Joe returns the favor by placing his lips against hers, and holding still for a moment. Afterwards, he places his forehead against hers with his own smile. “Heehee. Thank ya. I’m happy you’re here.”

“I wouldn’t bail on my own plans, silly.”

“It’s still insane that you’re the one who made plans for my birthday,” Joe jests. “It feels more like I just sat there on call and nodded.”

“What? All I did was decide a time and place! I was going to leave the actual activity stuff to you, obviously.”

At her words, Joe blinks, as if he were surprised. “Oh.”

“Oh? she parrots back. “What, did you not think of anything?”

Guiltily, he chuckles, moving away from her. “Psh, of course I thought of something! Who do ya take me for?”

…It’s painfully clear he didn’t plan much out. He hadn’t really been paying much attention to most of her questions these past few days, despite expressing an interest in wanting to spend time together on his birthday, only suddenly zoning back in whenever she got quiet or asked him if he was doing okay—to which, of course, she got a not-so-convincing reassurement that nothing was wrong.

So, asking him the same question now would only prove futile—hopefully, she’s either imagining things, or he’ll come around to sharing it with her soon. In the meantime, she’ll make sure to not make her worrying too obvious.

“Alright, then,” she replies, almost in that challenging sort of way, “What’s the plan then, pup?”

“Well, uh…” He offers a nervous grin—a plea for mercy, maybe—and drums his hands on his lap. “I mean, ya just got here! Don’t ya wanna sit for a second?”

At that, Sara snorts, though she didn’t mean to laugh at him. “How charming. Alright.”

Joe moves down on the bench, so that by the time she circles around to the front, there’s some space for her to sit. When she does, he moves again, if only to get closer to her. Her heart warms at the subtle affection.

“Did you eat anything this morning?” she inquires, a small check-in without making it a big deal. Judging by the timing on his messages earlier, he surely had ample time to at least have some cereal before leaving his apartment, but she’d rather be safe than sorry.

“Ah…”

And, lo and behold, it’s a good thing she asked.

“Joe…” She shakes her head. “Not even a snack? A granola bar, maybe?”

Surely embarrassed, her boyfriend looks away, covering his face with one hand. “Sorry,” he apologizes. “I got… distracted again, and then I didn’t wanna be late, and I wanted to turn up early instead, and it slipped my mind. You wouldn’t happen to have anything on hand, would ya…?”

Sara feels relieved, at least, that he told her flat out. Still, a quick pat of the bag she was carrying with her confirms she didn’t have anything that could be considered edible, much to both of their disappointments.

“I don’t,” she confesses with a sigh. An idea, however, quickly comes to mind, and she figures it’d be worth suggesting nonetheless. “Let’s do that first then, if you want? I’ll treat you to breakfast!”

Joe looks slightly nervous by the idea, much to her confusion. “All the places around here are pretty expensive, aren’t they? I can at least try and pay part of it.”

“Not a chance! Come on, love. It’s your birthday.” Sara offers her hand out, which catches his attention, so he isn’t staring at the ground instead. “Allow me to treat you, my superstar!”

The nickname seems to be what gets him, in the end. His cheeks are slightly tinted red, though he doesn’t make any effort to hide it from her. Instead, he slowly takes her hand in his, allowing a small smile to crawl up on his face. “Alright, if ya say so,” he says, “but buy something for yourself too, okay? You said you didn’t eat any rice, so… Don’t spend all your money on me.”

Sara squeezes his hand, laughing. “I know, I know! I don’t see a reason why I wouldn’t get something to eat if we’re going together, silly. I’ve got a good amount of money on hand!”

Joe seems to take this opportunity to tease her—as she should have expected, given his track record. “Always the rich girl, aren’t ya…”

“No!! Ryoko was saying the same thing!” she whines, pressing her forehead against his shoulder. “I just got paid! I can spend part of my paycheck for you, can’t I?”

“Do I have a choice?”

A weird question. It’s framed as a joke, of course, and Sara knows it probably is a joke, but something is… weird about it.

“Not really, no.” She laughs again, making sure she doesn’t let the silence last long at all, and lifts her head. “Let’s head to the nearest diner, okay? It’s like… two blocks away from here, right?”

Initially, Joe had planned to find some way to say he wasn’t hungry. There was just a part of him that felt too anxious to stomach anything, the very idea of food not truly sitting well with him. The whole walk allowed a pool of anxiety to stir in his stomach, leaving him unsure of whether or not he regretted agreeing to any of this.

Still, for Sara, even on a day like his birthday, he at least kept up the impression that his mind wasn’t weighing heavy on his shoulders like this. Whenever he got too nervous, he simply squeezed her hand a little, which of course prompted her to squeeze back—a reassurance that this was fine. That he was okay. In complete honesty, Joe lost track of what she was chatting about by the time they reached the block of the restaurant, but he at least knew it was something in relation to an update on Ranmaru’s moving situation. (Though he feels guilty for being unable to pay attention, he knows he can just ask him about it again later when they both have time.)

He doesn’t exactly zone back into his surroundings until Sara gently tugs his hand, leading him into the not-too-fancy establishment. Once the air and the smell of food hits his face, though, he doesn’t feel so nauseous anymore. Breathing became a little easier.

Now, he’s simply trying to get his brain back in order, eyes flicking over the menu again and again. One thing’s for certain, he definitely should have tried harder to remember breakfast this morning. Everything on the menu sounds good. Even though a small part of him craves Filipino food at this time—any silog meal, perhaps—he couldn’t possibly be picky.

Though, before he can make a proper decision, a small laugh sounds from Sara, who sits across from him. He realizes she’s been watching him this whole time, embarrassingly enough.

“I knew you were hungry,” she teases, though not without her signature affection in her voice. “Did you ever set those alarms we were talking about before? Post-it notes… anything?”

Nope! I forgot. It’d be funny for irony purposes, but otherwise, Joe figures it’d make him look like an idiot. Or, worse, she’d think he was brushing off her concerns. That wouldn’t be right.

“Not… yet,” he responds. A lie clearly wouldn’t pass Sara like this. “If I can be honest, I just dunno how to go about it. I wake up at different times, work with whatever shift I can get, rest whenever I have the opportunity to… It’d just be weird to wake up at three in the afternoon and go, oh, I missed my breakfast and lunch alarms!”

Sara gives him sympathetic eyes. Unlike him, she has a pretty stable schedule at the library, and it’s only ever draining if there’s trouble during an event. “I mean, at that point, you’d just get food after getting out of bed, right? They’re reminders, love. They’re still doing their job in that sense, I think.”

“...Yeah. That makes sense,” Joe replies with a hum, glancing down at the menu again. “It’s just embarrassing, I guess. I never forgot mealtime before. I mean, I skipped breakfast a lot, but… school.”

A vague gesture causes Sara to nod understandingly, despite how she used to scold him back then for skipping meals. He was late a lot.

“In fairness, you’re always cooking your own meals now, since you live by yourself.” Sara lifts up her menu, doing a pretty bad job of acting like she was reading hers, too. “You don’t have to ask your parents when you’re eating dinner, and you don’t have the concern of having to cook because they didn’t. It’s probably harder because it’s easier to lose track of the time.”

Joe groans at that, though he knows she must be right. “That sucks. Maybe I should have taken that offer from Ryoko’s dad, then.”

(He doesn’t mean it, of course. Though her father was the less scarier one of her parents, the idea of going to him didn’t make him feel good. At his age, it would have been expected to have at least some part of his life together—that was what was expected of a guy like him, wasn’t it?)

“The offer’s still open, you know.” Sara glances upwards, though he doesn’t meet her eyes. She looks back down. “I don’t sleep in Ryoko’s room unless I’m having a weird night. I could use a little company in the guest room.”

“You know I can’t.”

There’s a pause.

“I figured.”

Almost as if perfectly on cue, a waiter approaches their table, notepad in hand. Of course, it’s slightly jarring to go from a rather tense conversation to the waiter’s friendliness, but he’s at least able to get himself together to return the politeness. Regardless, the conversation flies by too quickly for Joe to really register anything notable about it; in fact, he’s certain Sara must have done most of the talking, with a practiced smile and a cool demeanor, while all he could do was hum and stumble out an order when prompted.

As the waiter walks away, jotting down the last tidbit of the drinks Sara chose for them, he glances back down at the menu. Miso soup. He doesn’t like it that much, to be honest, but it’ll do. He’s not sure what else stuck out to him on this menu, anyway.

“You could visit a little, at least,” Sara adds, finally. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like going out to places and all—but remember when I came over to your place on my birthday?”

Joe’s heart tinges with guilt. It prompts him to look up at her again, and this time, she’s staring at him with those pretty sunset eyes. This year, she stopped wearing her contacts as frequently. He’s glad she did. Of course, contacts or not, he wouldn’t complain—but there’s something about the blend of orange and violent that, when compared to the stagnant midnight purple contacts she wore throughout all of high school, made his heart spark with joy.

Still, it doesn’t quite change the sinking feeling as she mentions it. There’s still a part of him that wishes so, so badly that he could have done something more—but that month, he was falling behind on rent. He needed to work another shift. Sara understood, because of course she did, but…

At the lack of his reply, she continues; “I’m just saying that I don’t mind staying in, sometimes. I’ve been busy with babysitting and library events and all, you’ve been busy with work—and I know that’s draining—so… It’s fine with me if we don’t do anything grand.”

“I… know that,” he responds, fidgeting with a fold in the table cloth. It’s a weird texture, he’ll admit, but it does keep him grounded. “I’ll see what I can do. I don’t have the money for rent ready yet, but if I can get it done in time, we can make some plans. I miss Ryoko a lot, too.”

“She misses you too, silly.” Sara rests her cheek on her hand. “She’s kind of in a similar spot, I think. Not really with rent, but she has to help Ms. Hirose a lot with her new business. It’s a lot harder than it looks, that’s for sure.”

“But hey, pretty flowers, right?” He remembers hearing about the new flower shop. It’s closer to his old house than he would like, though, so he hasn’t gathered the courage to check it out yet.

“Definitely! If there were more space in the guest room, I’d love to buy a few for myself. I miss taking care of plants. Maybe when we get a new place, we’ll get a few.”

The idea of it makes his heart flutter. That emphasis of we, the two of them, at some point in the future. It’d be better than a lonely apartment. Even if wherever they lived wasn’t a big house, he’d at least have someone to talk to without the struggle of terrible WI-FI or limited phone battery between hem. And even better, that someone would be Sara.

You can hardly afford a one-person apartment. What more for two people? A house, even? You wouldn’t even be able to keep up with half of the payment.

…And there goes that joy.

“Maybe,” he replies, just before the silence drags on too long. “I can’t say I’m a big green thumb, but I’d wanna be part of that too.”

“Aww,” Sara coos. “Of course you’ll be a part of it. I don’t see a world where you won’t be.”

Joe smiles at that. Still, it doesn’t entirely quell his fears. He won’t admit it to her, but he doesn’t want to burden her with more responsibility. Not now, not ever.

“Good! ‘Cause you’re stuck with me,” he says with a wink. Sara’s face flushes slightly, but she disguises it with a small eye roll. The cute smile on her face gives away her facade easily, though.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, love.”

As Joe becomes overcome with embarrassment at the sentiment, the waiter returns. A bowl of miso soup for him, and tamagoyaki for Sara, with a small bowl of rice on the side. Along with that, two glasses of juice are placed between them.

This time, he finds himself able to not seem rude, bowing his head. “Thank ya!”

The waiter returns the gesture, bowing and humming right after. “Of course. Enjoy your meal!”

Once they turn and walk away, Joe turns his attention to the food. Sara hasn’t started eating yet. She’s still holding her smile, gently waving the waiter goodbye even though they’re no longer looking in the direction of their table. He finds it kind of endearing.

He glances at the cups on the table, filled with red liquid. “Fruit punch?” he asks, unable to contain his own glee at the realization. It made it slightly obvious he hadn’t been paying attention to the menu or the order, but if Sara noticed, she didn’t tell him.

“Yes!” she replies, happily, “I know it’s your favorite. I’m surprised they had it, too.”

She remembered. If they weren’t in public, he wouldn’t have even bothered suppressing the squeal that wants to escape his throat. Instead, he settles for letting his smile grow wider—though he doesn’t resist the urge to cover his face a little, burying that grin behind a sip of the juice.

“...It’s good,” he says, not pulling it away from his lips fully. “You should try it.”

Sara laughs. “Good! Don’t drink it all right away, though. I’m still holding you to it—you need to eat something.”

With that, Joe places the cup back down on the table. “Fine. Whatever you say, beautiful.”

As he looks down at his soup, he watches Sara take a swig of her own fruit punch in response, covering part of her face when she puts it back down on the table. He can’t help but laugh at this.

“So… what now?”

Joe seems to be in better spirits. Good. She noticed he seemed to be less solemn by the time they were ready to pay, and though it took a reminder of what day it was and what she promised earlier, in the end, he didn’t try too hard to pay for part of the meal. This was his day, and she’d do everything possible to make this one a good one.

She swings their interlocked hands, humming as she tries to come up with something else. Her attempt at prompting him for ideas didn’t work so well, unfortunately. They did, however, both decide that going back to either of their houses wasn’t exactly enticing at the moment, despite what they discussed in the restaurant, so that was off the table.

“I’m not really sure,” she responds, tapping her cheek with her finger. “The arcade around here closed down a few weeks ago, I think, so I’m sort of at a loss.”

“We can go all the way back and do karaoke,” Joe suggests, “y’know, maybe make fun of it and all.”

The year they both graduated, the shabby karaoke place they used to frequent went under construction. At first, it was sort of a shame—they couldn’t celebrate their graduation by doing something silly like they always did. Then, a year later, they reopened. Once Kugie and Ranmaru graduated, the plan was for their small friend group to see all the new changes, but it was overall a bust. Sara couldn’t stop thinking about how much she preferred the more rustic charm of the pre-remodeling. And the cheaper prices.

So, two years in a row, they got ice cream. That as a celebration was nice, even if it did a heated debate about mint chocolate chip ice cream both times. (Sara still can’t wrap her head around how it doesn’t taste like toothpaste. It totally does.)

“Tempting,” she replies with a thoughtful hum. In all truth, she’s not entirely sold on the idea, even if it was the only one Joe had suggested all morning. Really, she knows she isn’t much of a funny person; most of her good well-timed jokes occurred without her trying, and otherwise fell a little awkwardly.

Besides, nothing could really top Kugie cursing out the faulty karaoke machines before they all decided to head to the ice cream parlor instead. Imagining that, she remembers how hard Joe was laughing, so much so that he couldn’t help doubling over. She definitely doesn’t have the charisma to make anybody laugh that hard on her own, unfortunately.

“I’m kidding, by the way,” Joe suddenly clarifies, waving his free hand dismissively. “I don’t really wanna spend my birthday being so negative about somethin’, anyway. Plus, it’s not worth the money.” He nudges her with his shoulder, chuckling. “You didn’t think I was for real, were ya?”

“For a brief second, maybe,” Sara says, lightly shoving him in return. “You’ve barely suggested anything at all! Have you been thinking about anything you want to do?”

He pauses for a few moments, swinging their hands again as he thinks.

“...Still nothing. Sorry.”

Sara pouts. If that’s the case, then…

“Fine. How do you feel about ice cream?”

At that, Joe perks up. “Can we try the new place that opened up around here? The one near the park!”

Sara feels him squeeze her hand a little tighter in his excitement. It’s impossible for her to not smile the same. “I don’t see why not! It’s closer than the other parlor, anyway.”

“Yes!” he cheers, stomping on the ground a few times. It’s relieving for Sara to see him like this. She still can’t quite figure out what was bothering him earlier, but all she wants is to see him enjoy his birthday. As long as she’s able to help make that happen, she’s pleased. “What are we waiting for then? I’m pretty sure it’s this way!”

“Ah—!”

Before she knows it, she’s stumbling over her own feet, keeping up pace behind Joe as he drags her along. Quickly, though, she wiggles her hand free from his grasp, allowing her to spitefully surpass him in what she’s now declared as a race between them. She tucks her bang behind her ear as best as she can to prevent the wind from blowing it into her face, and she thanks her lucky stars she chose to wear the sneakers instead of something unfit for running, even if a part of her brain argued it looked out of place with her dress.

“I’ve been overtaken!” Joe exclaims from behind her, already sounding slightly out of breath by the time they reach the corner of the sidewalk.

Sara pulls to a stop, only because the ongoing traffic and the lack of a green light across the street indicates she can’t cross. Joe pulls up next to her, certainly stopping for the same reason.

“Lucky,” she jokes, pouting.

“You couldn’t leave me in the dust if ya tried,” is his reply, grinning widely. “Don’t forget, I totally made it before you to the plaza this morning. I like my odds for this race.”

The light turns green. She returns his smile, sympathetically pressing a hand to her chest—

“Right.”

—before immediately booking it across the street, resuming their race. At that, Joe breaks into a mad dash behind her as well, hurrying to keep up. Between the two of them, Sara knows they’re both pretty good at running, so truthfully, despite her own taunting, it’s entirely likely for him to take back his lead at any point—so even when her legs begin to burn, she sucks it up and secures the bag around her shoulder and pushes ahead. (Sara’s willing to do a lot for the sake of Joe’s birthday, but forfeit a win for something arbitrary on purpose? Not a chance!)

And yet, all of a sudden, as she’s crossing the last street before the block where the parlor is, fast, heavy footsteps approach her from behind. Her mistake, surely, must have been glancing to the side, as that’s the moment her brunette lover surpasses her, holding his green hoodie over his arm so he wouldn’t lose it.

“Hey—!”

“Just keep up, Sara!” he shouts with a laugh, refraining from making the same mistake as her by looking back.

But it’s no use. Though he’s not creating any more distance between the two of them, he’s surely ahead by just a few footsteps. She tries to push ahead, but the fatigue that sets in after holding onto the lead for the majority of the way here prevents her body from doing so.

So, it’s not particularly surprising that he touches the corner of the ice cream shop first, pressing himself against the wall to catch his breath. Triumphantly, he throws one arm into the air, but he’s too busy gasping for air to properly gloat by the time Sara makes it there. She nearly throws herself against the material to claim second—and last—place.

And they stand there for a few moments, heaving and leaning on the wall, desperately trying not to fall onto the concrete in the middle of public. It’s sort of odd that Sara worries about that now, now that she thinks about it—it was probably slightly bizarre to see two full-grown adults racing down three blocks for seemingly no reason, anyway.

Joe laughs again, though it surely doesn’t help him level out his breathing. He turns, leaning on his shoulder instead of his back, and meets her gaze. “You’re a mess,” he tells her, reaching his hand over to her. His fingers tangle in her orange hair, gently pulling her bangs back into place.

Sara feels her face warm, her eyes momentarily following his hand as it acts as a makeshift comb. “Your hair is everywhere, too,” she says, attempting to redirect the attention.

Initially, her plan is to return the gesture. Part of her wanted to see him embarrassed as well, his face flushing and his eyes looking elsewhere to disguise his reaction—the way he always did when he was flustered. Yet, much to her dismay, once Joe acknowledges the strands sticking to his forehead, he retracts his hand and lightly rubs off some of the shorter baby hairs on his skin, tucking it back into the rest of his hair.

“Does it look better now?” he asks.

“...Almost,” she replies, raising her hand a little. “Can I…?”

Slowly, he nods, allowing Sara to fix his hair a little better. There’s not much to be done, seeing as the lack of hairspray has left it completely unstyled, but she combs her fingers through it so it seems less like he just rolled out of bed this morning. This time, he reacts the way she had been expecting him to, except instead of looking away like he always did, he holds her gaze. She swears that his expression is one of pure awe, his lips slightly parted in that adorable fashion she can’t get over.

Really, she messes with his hair much longer than necessary. Her eyes continuously dart between the dark caramel strands of his hair that splay over his shoulders and the chocolate brown eyes she found herself constantly getting lost in. These eyes are so much more different in person compared to the pixels of a video call. Today, these eyes become another year older, but they definitely haven’t lost their charm.

Suddenly, like a spell being broken, Joe blinks. “Sara…?”

Sara pulls her hand back down to her side, focusing her attention on readjusting her dress. She hums in reply, a bit too awkward and bashful to say a coherent word.

“Do ya… wanna get that ice cream now?”

She hums again, though she does force her voice to utter a small, quick “yes”. (In hindsight, it may have sounded closer to an odd squeak of sorts, which wasn’t typically expected for someone like her.)

At that, he grins, absentmindedly messing with a little part of his hair as he approaches the entrance of the parlor. Once he’s sure Sara’s following him, he opens the door, the sound of the door chiming.

The cool air that makes contact with Sara’s skin finally allows her to acknowledge just how hot it was under the sun today. Usually, she’d get teased for shivering, even in the middle of the summer, but she’s relieved to feel the breeze of the air conditioners inside this building.

“It’s so nice in here,” Joe remarks. “Sara, how do ya feel about staying here for the rest of the day?” he jokes, taking the moment to retie the garment around his waist.

“And what, blow all of my money on extra ice cream? You’ll be sick in an hour tops,” she shoots back, quietly snorting. “Especially after miso and tamagoyaki.”

“Oh! Was this your plan all along? Give me half of your food so I wouldn’t have more room for ice cream…!?” The accusation is so wildly outlandish that it’s impossible for her to miss it’s a joke, even when Joe performs the ever-so-convincing act of gasping dramatically and covering half his face with his hand. “How cruel, Sara! On my birthday, no less…”

“Be thankful you didn’t miss out on any eggs for breakfast,” she says, nudging Joe with her arm before walking up to the counter. “Come on, what flavors do you want?”

“Flavors? With an ’S’?” he asks, immediately dropping the performance. “Like, double scoops?”

Sara hums, already digging into her bag with one hand to locate her wallet. She’s careful, of course, not wanting to shake around the small plastic bag that holds the small stuffed lizard plush that’s meant to be his gift. Of course, she’ll give it to him later, when she can naturally bring up the fact she got him a gift at all. He never asked her if she got him anything, and she hadn’t been expecting him to, but she got him a gift all the same.

“Love, it’s your birthday. You can get triple scoops, if you want.”

With that, he looks extremely ecstatic, rushing up to the counter beside her like an overly hyper dog. “For real? You’re not lying, right?”

“If I were, that would be mean.” For a moment, her tone is more serious than she intends—but she means it in all of its entirety. “It’s my treat! Why would I lie about that?”

Joe’s eyes remain trained on the glass that separates them and the tubs of varying ice cream flavors. He goes quiet for a few moments at the question, and admittedly, it causes a small voice in the back of Sara’s mind to panic. Is there a reason she would lie about it?

Suddenly, he blinks a few times, but he’s still looking forward at the colorful ice creams. “I dunno! Maybe my girlfriend’s secretly super mean.” He breaks out into a stupid grin, one that immediately calms Sara’s heart; Oh, he’s joking. “You’re always keeping me on my toes, muffin! Just making sure ya aren’t messing around with me again.”

Though he laughs, it doesn’t fully settle the odd feeling in Sara’s chest. “Either way, I don’t see why I’d do that on your birthday, of all things. I did say I’d treat you.”

“No, actually—” He finally looks over, and for some reason, he’s still smiling. Is she missing the point of a joke or something? Should she be laughing? “You said you’d just treat me to breakfast, because I didn’t eat. For all I know, you could have told me something like it’s your turn to pay, pup!, and you wouldn’t be going against your word.”

“I mean, sure, but…” This conversation is making her feel a little uneasy. “I’m not sure why I’d do that. I wouldn’t do that.”

Sara awkwardly diverts her gaze elsewhere, her mind deciding to focus on looking for what flavor she wants instead of thinking too hard about this. It doesn’t make sense. In what world would she even do any of this? Maybe if she were able to make it clear she was making a really bad joke, but a weird backhanded move like that didn’t sound like her. Did it?

It takes him a moment, but he seems to pick up on it. In the corner of her eye, she watches Joe’s smile fall.

“I know that!” he clarifies, quickly. “But like, it’d be funny, I think.”

…No, it wouldn’t be. That didn’t sound funny at all.

“A-And I’m joking. I swear.” He looks away again, looking away one more time. “Sorry if I… made that weird. Um, do ya want strawberry?”

A prompt. Something to change the topic. Sara hums, accepting the request to move on from… whatever this was. (And beyond that, she finally notices the person behind the counter, seemingly acting as if they weren’t paying attention until now. They hastily shove their phone in their pocket, though Sara notices it was never on to begin with.)

“Just a single scoop for me,” she adds, clearing her throat and glancing back over at Joe. “What about you?”

He pauses for a sec, scanning the available flavors once more. “Double scoop for me! Chocolate and mint chip.”

At that, she raises an eyebrow.

“What? Since when were you a fan of mint chocolate chip?” Sara asks.

Last she checked, Ryoko and Anzu were the only mint chocolate chip “truthers” in their friend group, with an honorable mention to Kanna, the mint chocolate chip connoisseur—and Kugie’s younger sister—and Ranmaru, who stated he wasn’t the biggest fan of it, but insisted it definitely did not taste like toothpaste.

The server behind the counter immediately gets to work once they both finally order. Joe shrugs.

“Kanna and Kugie started arguing about it while we were on call once,” he explains casually. “It got so heated that Anzu came into the room, and then she got heated, drove all the way to my place just to drop off a tub of that flavor, and I caved.”

Sara scoffs, playing up her bewilderment—a small distraction from the way she had been feeling moments prior. “How am I only just hearing about this now? The utter betrayal…”

“It never came up! It’s been a while since we’ve gotten ice cream together.” He pouts. “Besides, it’s not bad! I really don’t get what the big deal is now. It’s less like toothpaste and… more just like mint candy, honestly? Which is like, fine on its own, but with the chocolate, Sara! It’s good!”

“Wait, wait, rewind a second.” Sara raises her hand, gesturing for him to stop. “You’re saying you never tried it before Anzu gave you some?”

“No? My mom mostly liked butter pecan, so… that’s what we always got.” The second Joe says it, he seemingly realizes what in particular she got hung up on. He chuckles nervously. “...Maybe I shouldn’t have made an assumption about it like that, then.”

“Lesson learned!” she chirps, smiling a little. “But it’s a bit funny, you have to admit. Especially considering how passionate you were about those debates.”

“Urgh… Now I’m embarrassed about it!” Joe shakes his head. “It is kinda funny though. Does that mean you’ve tried it before?”

“A few times,” Sara admits. Really, it was closer to a lot of times. “Ryoko used to try and convince me otherwise a ton back in junior high, so I kept trying some in front of her to prove I’d still feel the same way about it. It’s always too minty for me.”

The person behind the counter extends the cone with the double scoop to Joe, though withholds the second one until Sara scrambles through her wallet for the cash to pay the price. Once she gets her cone and they bow their head, she utters a quick “thank you!” before walking off.

Immediately, Joe seems overjoyed, digging into the ice cream as they exit the ice cream shop. Still, Sara can’t shake the weird feeling off, even after they’ve moved on. Without realizing it, she finds herself watching his movements while he’s preoccupied. For a moment, she wishes it were possible to to read his mind, even if just for a few second. Just once, she’d like to understand how the gears in his brain worked.

Thinking about it, her heart aches. How is she meant to give him a great birthday when she can’t tell if something’s wrong? Is she doing something wrong? (Will he tell her if she’s doing something wrong?)

Sara licks her ice cream, the strawberry flavor a temporary comfort to her racing mind. This day is not about her. No, this is Joe’s day. Earlier, she promised herself to make sure he’d have the best day today—she had to make sure she would fulfill that sentiment.

“I didn’t think you could eat ice cream so seriously,” Joe suddenly jokes, causing her to jolt. At that, his expression softens. “Are ya alright?”

I could ask you the same thing.

“Mhm,” she hums, blinking a few times to regain her composure. “I’m good! It’s just been a while since I’ve had time to eat ice cream. It’s really refreshing, isn’t it?”

Joe stares at her before slowly nodding. It’s unlikely he fully believes her. Nonetheless, he goes along with it, for a reason she can’t quite figure out. “It is, yeah. I didn’t realize it was so hot out here until now.”

He laughs. Awkwardly. It suddenly hits her—she probably shouldn’t let this linger.

She eyes the ice cream cone in her boyfriend’s hand. The mint chip flavor sits below the chocolate scoop, and he’s nowhere close to reaching it before it melts, especially at the rate he’s going. Maybe, in such hot weather, it was the smarter move to stick to one scoop of ice cream, rather than doubling or tripling up.

In a small attempt to liven the atmosphere between them again, she quickly leans in, brushing the tip of her finger against the cold substance, coating it with mint ice cream. Before Joe can properly ask, she sticks the finger in her mouth, tasting the supposedly-not-toothpaste flavor.

“...Eugh,” Sara shivers, sticking her tongue out. “Definitely too minty.”

At the absurdity of her actions, she hears Joe helplessly break out into a laugh. Her heart momentarily swells with pride—she made him laugh on purpose! That was always a nice feeling.

“What’d ya do that for?” he manages to ask, completely bewildered. “You knew how it tasted!”

“I got curious!” Sara claims, covering up her intentional bit with the claim of an impulsive move. “I thought that maybe my preferences could have changed in the last ten years, but I guess not. The mint’s just so… strong.”

“Isn’t that the point?” Joe responds. “Like, what if they made strawberry ice cream, but you could barely taste it? You’d be pretty upset, I imagine.”

She pauses, briefly considering the reasoning. “That… makes sense.”

“But!” He raises a finger, briefly pausing to eat some of his ice cream, as it’s already beginning to melt. “The real question—does it taste like toothpaste?”

“I don’t know… I’d have to think about it.”

“Sara!!”

She giggles, stalling further by consuming more of her treat. “Okay, okay! It doesn’t taste like toothpaste. It’s kind of… sweet, in comparison.”

“See? Ranmaru was right all along! Kanna and Anzu, too!” For some reason, Joe pumps his fist into the air, like this admission from Sara is one of the most life-changing things he’s ever heard. “I knew you’d come to the truth! Was this your birthday gift to me all along?”

“Surprise!” she jokes in return, using her free hand and gesturing dramatically. “One of many gifts to come!”

“Aw, jeez, man! That’s…” He pauses for a second, and she watches him mouth numbers, presumably counting something. “...three different gifts today!?”

Sara chuckles lightly, but before she can fully relish in the impact of his dramatics, the act falls apart completely. That smile disappears, yet again, and she can’t for the life of her figure out why.

“Four, if ya wanna count the extra food…?” Joe adds, biting into his ice cream.

“I-I mean,” Sara starts, unsure of what sort of realization he’s come to in order to suddenly bring about this kind of reaction. “I wouldn’t count that as two different things, firstly. And obviously, the whole mint ice cream thing is just a silly joke—so really, that’s two.”

He blinks rapidly again, shaking his head. “R-Right! Of course. Just two.”

There’s a small pause. Sara quietly stares at him, analyzing the sort of vague apprenhensiveness written across his face. At this point, they’ve stopped walking entirely. Again, she wishes she could figure out what was going on in his head.

He catches her gaze before she can look away again, chocolate brown eyes caught like a deer in headlights, or perhaps a scared puppy. “No, I mean— Not just two. I’m- I’m grateful for it! I don’t…”

Sara waits for him to continue. He doesn’t.

“...Joe?” She offers out her hand, indirectly checking to see if he wanted any physical comfort. “Are you okay?”

His lip trembles. He doesn’t take her hand, opting to cover his face for a moment. Sara listens to the soft sound of him breathing shakily, and she knows he’s trying not to cry.

“I’m sorry,” he says, quietly. “Really sorry. I, um…”

“Take your time,” she tells him, opting to fidget with the bag over her shoulder instead. “I just… want to make sure you’re alright. And I don’t think you are. Are you?”

Joe doesn’t nod. He doesn’t shake his head, either. The silence lasts a few moments longer, but the noise in her head has seemingly dispersed in favor of focusing on how to soothe her distressed partner—except she doesn’t quite know what to do, anyway.

With a sharp sniffle, he moves his hand away from his face, attempting to meet her eyes again.

“...Can we go to the park?”

For the first time all day, he suggests somewhere for them to go—and by his tone, she knows Joe means it seriously, this time.

“Yeah,” she nods, offering a small smile. “Do you want to buy grains, first?”

A duck quietly picks at the pile of seeds in Joe’s palm. The feeling of its feathers tickling against his skin coaxes a small smile out of him, despite the soft ache in his chest that slowly eats him alive. He’s always liked ducks. As a child, he definitely had a preference for canines and reptiles, but that didn’t stop him from lighting up at the mention or sight of any type of bird that he saw in person.

“They’re so cute,” he hears Sara coo from behind him. She’s feeding some ducks herself, though taking the approach of placing a small pile of seeds on the ground and attracting one or two to feed on it that way.

“For sure,” Joe responds with a nod, making sure to add a small chuckle at the end. Truthfully, even after the fifteen minutes it took to buy seeds (and two sodas; one orange, one strawberry) from the store and head to the park nearby, he hadn’t been able to shake off the terrible feeling sticking to him earlier.

It makes him feel bad. Really, really bad. Though he was meant to hold things together for the sake of keeping up the spirit of his birthday, he allowed it all to crumble without getting a grip on himself. Now, knowing Sara, she was certainly worrying about him now. The few concerned glances he could catch from her in the past hour alone was enough to prove that.

The duck bobs its head up and down, fluffing its feathers as it consumes the last few seeds in Joe’s palm. Once it’s all gone, he indulges himself with the last bit of his cone that remains, retracting his hand as a signal to the duck that he doesn’t have anymore food.

“Ready to keep walking?” Sara asks, dusting off any residue from the seeds from her hands.

Joe stands, waving the duck goodbye as it walks back to the rest of the ducks, still searching for food. If they had found such a large group earlier, they probably would have tossed a bigger batch of grains out for them to feast on, but with the way their luck turned out, they didn’t encounter this many ducks until they only had a handful and a half left. Not his best stroke of luck, clearly.

“Yeah! Sounds good.”

There’s a small pause, and he knows she’s trying to read him again. Those worried eyes, sparkling in the afternoon sunlight, reflecting the rays onto Joe like a spotlight of sorts. He expects it—she’s like this on all of their friends’ birthdays, and especially on his, even before they started dating—but it makes him feel so awkward. He’s not deserving of this concern.

Suddenly, Sara offers out her hand. She’s smiling again, but it doesn’t calm his nerves as easily as he would have liked. His heart still pounds in his chest, even after the temporary comfort feeding a few ducks provided. At this point, he’s plain embarrassed with the way he’s been feeling—and acting—all day, and the fact he can’t figure out why she’s doing this is far from helping.

Joe stares at her extended hand, studying as many of the lines on her palm as he can with the distance between the appendage and his eyes. The majority of the freckles on her hands are on the backside, as are his own, but in the sunlight, he can make out a few faint dots scattered across her skin.

He wants to hold it.

But maybe he took too long to register thought. Sara’s hand falters midair, nervously pressing her lips together.

But he wants to hold her hand.

Before she can drop her arm back at her side, he latches onto her hand with both of his—tightly, like his life depends on it. He meets her eyes, which are open and wide, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she holds this quizzical look on her face—almost like she’s trying to ask if he’s okay all over again.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, releasing his left hand and holding her hand normally.

Sara lightly chuckles. “It’s alright. You’re just enthusiastic about affection now, aren’t you?” she teases.

For the sake of this, he goes with it, wearing a grin on his face—he does want to keep holding her hand, after all. “Maybe.”

“That’s fine, then,” she responds, taking the opportunity to lean her head on his shoulder. “Is this okay?”

He hums in confirmation. Though he doesn’t let himself say it, a part of Joe really wants to stay as physically close to Sara as he can. He’s never been more relieved to have her offering this sort of comfort.

It doesn’t take them long to just start walking along the beige path, the sun beaming down on them with the intensity expected of late July. He focuses his attention on the scenery that surrounds them, hoping that somehow, it’d refresh his brain, and he’d stop feeling so terrible on a day that was meant to be his, a day he wasn’t supposed to ruin.

The trees in this park are so full of life. Not just of various birds chirping at each other, and squirrels rustling the leaves and the grass, but of people. Children chasing each other around the bigger trees, teenagers sitting in the shade next to each other or in a circle, other adults also taking a walk—and every now and then, he spotted a lone straggler, doing their own thing, and yet seemingly lost.

Joe should feel lucky, for he isn’t alone right now.

“...Hey, Joe?” Sara asks, breaking their silence. She squeezes his hand in hers, daring to ask her earlier question again. “Are you okay?”

Joe grips her hand a little tighter. “I…”

He doesn’t know how to say it yet.

“Can we keep walking for a little bit?” he asks, refraining from answering her question straight out. “I’ll… We can talk about it when we sit down. If that’s okay.”

She hums. “I don’t see why it wouldn’t be okay. That’s fine with me.”

Again, he’s making her wait. Even with the breeze blowing in his face, he can’t help but feel like he’s suffocating. This feels wrong. He doesn’t know why Sara’s being so understanding with him, so patient. Surely, it couldn’t be that she was putting up with this because it was his birthday today—she does this all the time for him.

She even did it on her birthday.

“We don’t have to go anywhere special. I can just come to your place after work?”

He remembers pacing around, biting his nails as he tried to get himself sorted.

“Are ya sure? I don’t think I have much to do here.” he said, holding his phone between his ear and his shoulder as he picked up a few discarded t-shirts off the floor. “And I wanna do something good for your birthday! We can get dinner after my shift? My treat!”

“But you’ll be tired,” Sara reasoned, the way she always did. She couldn’t be selfish. Not even on her birthday. “It’s fine, I promise. Just call me when you’re leaving work and I’ll head over.”

He wasn’t sure if that was what she really wanted. But, begrudgingly, he went with it—”Alright, then. Do ya want me to make ya anything, at least? You could run into traffic.”

“Umm…” she paused. “I don’t know! You can surprise me, love. I’ll leave it in your hands.”

“So scary,” he joked, not exactly thrilled by the indefinite answer. “What if my Lady Sara doesn’t like the food I choose? On her birthday, no less…”

“Oh, I’ll be fine. It’s made with love, isn’t it?”

That didn’t mean it’d taste good.

“All the love in the world.” He manages a grin, despite the fact she can’t see it. “The universe, even.”

“Aww,” she coos.

In the background, he hears a voice calling out Sara’s name—likely Ryoko.

“I have to go now. Ryoko and her dad wanted to drive me to the library today. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Love ya, muffin,” he told her.

“I love you too!”

But he still felt bad that day, and even worse that night. Sara seemed to notice, because after dinner, she sat next to him on the couch and insisted this was one of her favorite birthdays yet, even though he doubted it. Her parents used to take her out to this fancy restaurant when she was still living with them, and the whole day would be about her, and her alone.

One time, she invited him, but he felt so out of place and it felt awful. His mother told him to come home early, anyway, because she didn’t see why he needed to spend hours at a restaurant with people he didn’t know. (He would’ve done it for Sara, but secrelty, he knew she had a point.)

Seeing that the reassurance alone wasn’t enough, she had cuddled up close to him, pressing her head against his shoulder and ran her hand along his arm.

“I’m just happy I could spend time with you.”

Joe feels a squeeze around his hand, dragging him out of that memory of May 18th earlier this year. A reassurance. Could she tell his mind was running wild again? He wouldn’t be surprised. Sara always had a knack for that, it seemed.

“The clouds are really pretty,” she says, providing a conversation topic—almost like she’s doing her best to ground him. “Have you seen them today?”

“I saw them this morning,” he replies, glancing up at the blue sky. The sun makes him squint. “They kind of look like candy.”

“Don’t look up at the sun, silly,” Sara lightly scolds, laughing.

Her laugh, unsurprisingly, gets to him as well. When he looks down from the sky, he finds the ends of his lips curling upwards, similar to the way that duck had made him smile. “It’s worth it! ‘Cause it’s pretty.”

“Well, don’t be reckless,” she warns, though her lighthearted tone remains nonetheless. “It’s hard to come by glasses that look cute. Speaking from experience. I might just have to go for a simple frame, once I get the chance…”

Right. Sara finally realized she needed glasses about two years ago, but even now, she’s been putting off scheduling that exam. Joe finds it almost amusing, especially considering how embarrassed she’d get over her “squinting face”.

“I don’t think you should stress it too much,” Joe assures, squeezing her hand again. “You’d look nice in any pair! You’d be pretty no matter what. Dare I say, you’re prettier than the clouds, good-looking.”

No matter how many times he tells her this, she still squeaks all the same in response. He’s always been good at timing that cute nickname right, solely to catch his girlfriend off guard.

“...You look good yourself,” she says quietly, her cheeks a rosy pink. “And you always do. You always wear super bright stuff, and it looks good on you.”

Joe takes a moment to glance between them. She’s wearing a light green dress, which flows in the same direction as the wind, and it makes her look oh so pretty. He, on the other hand, has bright purple pants paired with a t-shirt designed like a bunch of patches, more colorful than a full bowl of fruits, and of course, his green sweater tied around his waist. He can’t exactly figure out what’s so charming about the way he dresses.

But he’s not gonna turn down a compliment. “Aw, thank ya. I’m flattered that you think so.”

“As if it wasn’t obvious I like your taste,” she replies, looking over at him. “I still have so many of your shirts and sweaters from high school. If you want any of them back, say the word.”

Oh, Joe knows that. More than often, whenever they had the time and energy to video call before bed, he recognized the oversized, brightly colored shirts his girlfriend wore. These days, her style was sort of all over the place, and for such an organized person, her wardrobe definitely consisted of more clothes “borrowed” from friends than her own. Most notably, a lot of those borrowed clothes were his.

Not that he’d complain, of course. He likes the way she looks in his clothes. He likes the way she looks in any clothes.

“Nah, you can keep ‘em,” Joe declines, pushing away the images of her in his head. “You look cute in my stuff! Besides, you’ve kept them for so long that they’re basically yours.”

Sara giggles, not fighting back with a compliment of her own. Perhaps—and he won’t say it, so he doesn’t jinx it—he’s won this little battle of affection between the two of them. He’s swooped in when she least expected it, stealing the win from under her nose, and she was completely nonethewiser!

…And yet, as he thinks about his words, he still feels odd. It makes him feel stupid, almost. As it already stands, he doesn’t like how he looks that much; his freckles were a bit too noticeable, even as an adult now, and his hair was a bit too long, even though he was nervous to get it cut in fear of it being “too short”. His eyes opened a bit too wide sometimes, and it looked weird. His lips were always parted unless he made a conscious effort to keep his mouth shut. He almost looked like a poor excuse of a man.

You look good yourself—a cruel thought of his own internally scoffs at it, insisting the girl next to him couldn’t have possibly meant it, when he knows she did. Why some part of him so violently chooses to reject these words of endearment, he can’t be sure.

It’s not Sara’s job to handle his insecurities. Even though she loved him and made it so abundantly clear, he couldn’t bear shelling these meaningless concerns onto her shoulders. There were bigger problems than Joe feeling like he didn’t deserve any of this. Unlike him, Sara probably didn’t think about this sort of thing constantly, not like he did.

Unlike him, Sara was patient enough to deal with all of his shortcomings. It’s weird to be hardly able to handle himself in his own head, and yet, there’s somebody holding his hand so firmly as they walk, beaming because of him. It doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t understand it.

Once again, his legs feel pathetically weak under him. Joe doesn’t deserve somebody like her, but he’s so selfish. One day, he wants to wake up right next to her, holding her or being held by her, and he wants to smell the shampoo she used the night before. He wants to entangle his legs with hers in his sleep. He wants her to tell him what he sounds like when he’s asleep, even if it’s the most embarrassing snore.

He wants to make breakfast for her. He wants to cook her food that actually tastes good, because as much as he wants to share the salmon sinigang and the chicken adobo from his childhood, it never tastes the same by his hands. He wants to see her laugh and smile all the time, but he also wants to see her while she’s focusing on work-related stuff, her eyebrows furrowed and expression serious. And if she were to cry, he wants to be there to see that too—not that he likes to see her cry, but because he wants to be the one to make her feel better.

But he can’t do any of that right now. Joe’s brain feels like it’s been folded over itself multiple times, pulled inside and out and then crumpled into something vaguely brain-shaped, but not quite that. Maybe his brain always been messed up and screwed.

Joe’s footsteps feel heavy, the bottom of his shoes scraping against the pavement in a way that feels too loud in his ears. He’s not sure how much longer he can simmer in his own head, like a soup left on the stove to boil until there was no liquid left in the pot at all. How long have they been walking?

“Joe?”

He’s leaning on her, a little too desperately. He just realizes it.

“Sorry,” he pulls away, but Sara’s hold on him is a bit too tight for him to loosen it easily. It forces him to look up and meet his girlfriend’s eyes, the sunsets contained in them beautiful and haunting at the same time. He can’t make out what emotion lies behind those eyes, even though he’s become so good at reading her these past few years.

Some boyfriend you are.

Maybe Sara needed a minute to figure out what to do about Joe’s incapability to get out of his own head. It takes her a second to offer a small smile and squeeze his hand reassuringly, stopping in her tracks.

“Do you want to sit for a bit? I’m getting a little tired.”

In trying to save him from some embarrassment, he can’t help but feel a little stupider. Nonetheless, he nods, trying to focus on the sound of her voice rather than the static inside his head, the latter of which growing louder by the minute.

He doesn’t fight Sara nor himself as he’s almost led towards the nearest park bench, and then seated right beside her. For a brief second, he catches a glimpse of the small frown on her face, and it feels like his heart has been caught on a thorn. The afternoon breeze that blows past the two of them seems to have the opposite effect of what it usually does—he’s meant to feel serene, almost at ease, and yet all he feels is this inescapable dread. He doesn’t know what’s causing it anymore.

What he does know, however, is that this silence is killing him.

“Sara?”

She looks over at him, almost too quickly, like she’d been waiting all this time. “Yeah?”

“Did I ruin today?”

The question prompts a rather puzzled expression from Sara, who carefully adjusts the way she’s sitting on the bench so she’s facing him. Slowly, she pulls his hand onto her lap, holding it between both of her own. The world spins around him, and he almost feels genuinely dizzy, but he tries to focus his attention on Sara instead.

It takes her a bit to answer, which drives him mad, but eventually—“Not at all. What made you think that?”

The simple answer she gives feels hard to believe. Sara wouldn’t lie, not about something like this, but he instinctively wants to think that it’s not true. He wishes he could just accept this as it is, take his girlfriend at her word like he was supposed to, but there’s a sick voice in the back of his head that makes him want to question everything.

Joe’s eyes water. He hates crying in front of Sara. She was his strength to keep pushing forward, and yet, for whatever reason, he’s seconds away from falling apart in front of her.

“You’re shaking,” she points out, tightening her grip on his hand. “Take a breather, dear. I’m right here. You can talk to me about—”

“I don’t get why,” Joe blurts, his voice cracking. “God, this sounds stupid, but I— I just don’t get it, Sara. You’re too patient with me—a-and that used to be fine before, but I haven’t been able to return any of your kindness back these days.”

Without realizing, he raises his voice, pressing his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to stare at her.

“I don’t know why ya aren’t upset at me for it,” he adds. “Are ya upset? I mean, you have to have noticed. You’re Sara. You notice everything about me and it’s freaking terrifying.”

His words stun Sara into a silence. A very, very long silence.

The hold on his hand loosens, and he thinks that maybe he’s finally done it. He’s finally screwed up. Maybe, all this time, she’d been holding onto her patience for him by a string, and he’s finally found the right pair of scissors that snipped it. He never once tried to do that on purpose, but it was bound to happen eventually. Because he always finds a way to mess everything up.

“Should I be upset?” she asks. It’s a simple question.

“Yes,” he answers, the most confident he’s ever been about anything today. “I’m pissed off at myself, Sara. And I know I’ve seen you angry before, but I don’t get why you’re not getting angry now.”

“So, what? You want me to tell you I’m mad at you?”

Yes.

The word doesn’t leave his throat as easily this time.

“Do you want me to scream at you?” she continues, the question rhetorical. “Do you want me to walk away from you? Scare you to death with dry replies over text? Do you want me to start leaving you on read or ignoring your calls to prove how upset I am? How do you want me to get angry at you?”

Her voice feels like a knife, repeatedly stabbing him over and over again with each question—but it’s not because of the words themselves. It’s her tone, the hurt entwined within it. He’s not looking at her, but he knows she’s holding back tears, too.

His nails dig into the palm of her hand hard, but she doesn’t react, even when he’s sure she must have started feeling the smallest bit of pain.

“Of course I’ve noticed you acting weird. You’re good at hiding it, sure, but I’ve also known you for ten years.”

For the first time, he hears her sound frustrated, and in an awful, twisted way, there’s a part of him that feels almost satisfied.

“Do you know what else I learned about you in the last ten years?” she adds, but she’s not waiting for an answer at all. “You don’t like being pushed about what’s going on. And as much as it’s always scared me, not knowing everything going on and all that, I’ve learned to accept it and wait for you to be ready because I care about you. Your comfort around me matters more because I love you.”

It’s only then she pauses. He hears the small sound of a sniffle, and he’s not sure if it’s from him or her.

“I’m not angry at you.” Sara states this clearly, and he knows he’s not going to be able to make her say otherwise. “But now, I just want to know. Joe, do you love me?”

At the question, his eyes shoot open, chocolate-colored eyes immediately catching Sara’s sunset eyes. There’s a sort of conviction in them, even despite the tears that had started rolling down her face. He wants to wipe them, but maybe he shouldn’t.

“Of course I do,” he answers, as quickly as he can. “But I just—”

“Okay. So there’s that.” She cuts him off, blinking to rid of the next wave of tears in her eyes. “Question two. Is there something you want to talk about?”

Joe can’t answer as quickly this time, pressing his lips together firmly to stop his trembling lip.

Silence won’t suffice. “If you don’t want to talk about it, you can tell me that too. I just… I need an answer, Joe, because I don’t get what’s happening here. I don’t know why you want me to be mad at you so badly. I don’t know why you’ve been so distant.”

He uses his free arm to wipe his face, but he knows he’s just stalling for more time. Even when he’s done, even when he looks at Sara after, she’s still looking at him, silently calming herself down, but staring at him nonetheless. She’s waiting. Patiently. Like she always does.

“Sara,” he finally manages. Her name feels familiar on his tongue. He’s said it so many times. “I think I’ve been a shitty boyfriend.”

It’s not a word he likes to use. Shitty.

His parents didn’t really swear a lot. His mother carried the feeling of grief tenfold, allowed it to infect every part of her life and consume her whole, and she said her fair share of awful things to her own son, but she never cursed him out like that, even when he would have reasonably deserved it.

His father was a good man. Even when he was frustrated with work, he held it together at home. In fact, the only time he could remember him curse was at night, when he was meant to be asleep, and he was lamenting about how awful his boss was. He used that word a few times night. Shitty. And corrupt.

His stepfather, who entered his life shortly after the passing of his father, used the word more frequently. Shitty house, shitty job, shitty alcohol. Really, Joe didn’t like the word much, but there wasn’t much he could do to control the adults in his life at the time.

It’s a fitting word for this, though. He hasn’t been a good boyfriend at all.

Sara’s gaze softens. She sucks in a breath, the way she does when she braces for the worst. He wonders what those possibilities are in her head, if any of them are as close to the truth, or if she’s dead center on the reality.

“How so?”

“I thought you said you noticed.”

“I want to hear it from you.”

Does she still not get it?

“Fine.” Joe glances downward, away from her face so he won’t get distracted. “For starters, we started dating a little before I moved out of my parents’ house. We couldn’t go on any dates back then because I was so stressed out with trying to convince my mom that I wasn’t leaving her. I couldn’t see you, or anybody else, really.”

He raises one finger. Somehow, this feels like the confessionals he’d see on the television, but he’s not so sure he’ll feel relieved like those people do. This vulnerability is terrifying to him, but he prefers this over mindlessly blubbering about not knowing how to phrase it. Because he does know. He just never had the guts to say any of it before—but if it proves his point, he can mention it.

“Secondly, when you were moving out of your parents’ house even before that, I was barely there to help ya out. I kept getting busy with work and I couldn’t help you move any of the boxes, much less get settled in at Ryoko’s place.” He raises a second finger. “Plus, you guys offered me to stay with you too, but I said no because I convinced myself I’d be bothering you both, that I wouldn’t be a man unless I could be independent. That’s why I turned it down. Doesn’t that sound stupid?”

Exasperated, Joe looks up as he raises his third finger, wondering if he’s finally made the point clear. He’s half-expecting a horrified look on her face at what he’s saying, maybe something betrayed or sad, or maybe something angry, even if she just said she wasn’t upset at him. Instead, however, Sara’s staring down at his hand, her eyes locked on the three fingers pointing outward.

It’s not enough.

“I can’t go to university yet, not until I get everything situated. I can’t even get on my feet to afford my own apartment, so I know tuition is totally out of the picture right now. I’m holding you back, though, because we always said we’d do all of that together.”

Four fingers.

“That being said, I’ve been buried under constant work shifts and pressure, just to make sure I have the apartment, that nothing’s changed in terms of how often I can hang out. I essentially tricked you all into thinking things would be better once I moved out, but it’s not.”

Five fingers.

“And speaking of work, it kept me from being there for you on your birthday. I found work so much more important and I didn’t get to spend time with you until that night. The most we did was watch old movies and eat not-very-good chicken adobo, and I know you’ve had better birthdays than that. I couldn’t even try to match up to that standard.”

With his other hand stuck between Sara’s palms, he can’t raise a sixth finger.

“And finally,” he pauses, unsure if this really is the last thing—there’s so much he can say about today alone, every little instance of Sara worrying because he couldn’t keep himself in check, he’s not sure if it’s fair to lump it all as one item in this list.

“There’s just everything that’s happened today. I couldn’t be grateful for a single thing that went right, and I screwed up everything in the process. We’re sitting here because I keep screwing up! I’m not a good boyfriend. I’ve always wanted ya to love me because I love you, but you don’t deserve any of this from me.”

And with that, he finally tries to catch his breath, having spoken for so long that his throat genuinely begins to hurt. It’s then he realizes that he had been crying, too, and embarrassing as it was, he doesn’t bother wiping it all away. It’s out here in the open. How Sara wants to respond and react, he doesn’t know, but she did ask.

He looks at her again. It’s his turn to be expectant, but he holds his breath so he can’t influence her response in any way.

“...Seven,” she says, having been counting all the reasons with him. She places one of her hands on his other palm, holding both of his hands in her own now, but there’s still something that irks him. Her tone. If anything, it sounds gentle now, which truly hadn’t been anywhere close to what he was expecting. Sure, Sara Chidouin was always full of surprises, but this was something else.

“Did any of that make you feel better?”

Joe thinks about it for a few moments. He can’t say for sure. His chest feels lighter, but there’s still something else. A weird guilt weighs heavy on his shoulders, but he doesn’t know why. He’s said everything already. Anything else he could potentially bring up right now would be entirely unrelated, and if there was anything of the sort, he couldn’t think of it.

So what in the world was this feeling now?

He grimaces. “I don’t think so.”

“Alright.” For some reason, Sara offers a small smile—a dim beacon of hope, her own way of begging him to hold on with her. “Can I talk for a bit now?”

There’s no reason for him to object. Even if there was, he’s not sure if he had the heart to turn her down at this point—so he nods.

“Okay.” She squeezes his hands again. (He realizes how sweaty both of their hands are at this point, but if Sara doesn’t mind it, then he won’t comment on it.)

“For starters, I don’t see how some of these things are even remotely your fault. You’re not your parents, and it’s not your fault you have to deal with work so often.”

As she states this, her tone shifts a little. She’s no longer super gentle with her words, that having changed as soon as she brought up his family. At this point, she’s known him long enough that even if he didn’t explain any of it to her, she’d still have some idea that he didn’t have the most stable parents in the world.

“You told me about your mother not wanting you to leave. I remember how much that was stressing you out, pup. You couldn’t even step outside the house without her thinking you were finally leaving, right?”

“Right,” Joe answers.

“I promise, everybody understands.” She leans in, pressing her forehead against his. After so long, he would have thought he’d stop getting flustered at this action, but he still feels warmth rush to his cheeks. “I know not everyone knows the specifics, and you don’t owe them that, but nobody thought you were bailing on us because you, I don’t know, liked work more? Doesn’t that sound a little silly?”

Sara’s pretty eyes are so close to his. When she laughs a little, he watches them close for a second, then reopen so she can look at him once more.

“It does sound silly,” he agrees. “Does that mean five and six don’t count either?”

“Oh, definitely. You didn’t trick me, and I can tell you the others don’t mind as well.” Sara rubs her thumbs over the sides of his wrists. “As for number six especially, I’ll get back to that, okay?”

“That leaves three more reasons,” he notes. Maybe he’s challenging her. Maybe he just wants to know what she’s going to refute his argument with. Maybe there’s a part of him that always hoped he was wrong in thinking all of this.

“I know. Give me a second here.”

Sara leans back, pulling away from his forehead. She looks him up and down, hardly mouthing her thought process out loud as she considers how to go about this.

“Okay, so—firstly, I don’t want to hear a word about how you’re not a man, especially if you’re just trying to survive with rent. Understand?”

Her words are suddenly firm again, and with the way she holds Joe’s hands so tightly, he knows she’s dead serious. Still, as soon as she begins to speak the words, he finds his eyes watering up again.

“There’s no need for you to prove being a man to anybody,” she continues. “If that’s the way you feel, you’re definitely a guy. And you’re a really handsome one at that. I mean, have you seen yourself in a mirror?”

The sentiment embarrasses Joe, his cheeks growing warmer. “I don’t look that good.”

“But I do.” Sara responds, casually. “I like the way your freckles look on your face. I like the way your hair looks, no matter what style you have it in, even if you start putting it up again as soon as you get new hairspray. I like your dimples when you smile, and your teeth, and—”

“Okay, okay! I get it, I’m sorry.” Joe laughs, wanting so badly to bury his face in his hands and look away—but of course, Sara knows him well enough to increase her grip on him before he can even try, allowing her to see whatever color his cheeks were right now. “Thank you, lovey.”

“Not yet, not yet!” she exclaims, dismissing his gratitude for the time being. “I’m not done!”

Joe slowly nods, allowing her to continue.

“Secondly, it’s up to you and what you want to do. If you don’t want to stay with Ryoko and I, I think that’s fine. The door is always open for you, though, and I just want you to know that. You can show up unprompted, if you really want.”

(Joe’s not sure if he could ever gather the courage to do that, but it’s comforting to know he’ll always have a safe spot with her.)

“That being said, you are not dragging me down. I don’t care what anybody says.”

It’s weird, hearing it from her. When her father found out she wasn’t going to college right after high school, he was beyond pissed. He didn’t lash out the way Joe assumed he would, judging by the story Sara relayed after the fact, but she did use the word disappointed a lot, and mentioned how he expected better of her. Considering the fact that Sara hated disappointing her father like that, he would have thought otherwise of her words.

“Anybody?” He couldn’t disguise the doubt in his voice, his voice cracking.

“Anybody,” she repeats. “I love you more than anything, Joe. I want to live my life with you, not several steps ahead of you. None of that has ever changed, and it never will.”

“Do you promise?” There’s a weakness in his voice that he’s not particularly happy with. He sounds like a child, scared and afraid like always—and maybe that’s what he was. A child that never grew up.

But for some reason, Sara smiles, radiating a warmth that touches his heart. “I promise. So please don’t think you’re a bad boyfriend. You’re far from that, and I know you know that.”

“What about your birthday?” It makes him feel terrible to ask, like he’s fishing for too much attention now—but he can’t get rid of the incessant feeling. She still hasn’t addressed it. “I ruined both of our birthdays, Sara.”

“I don’t see how you did, is the thing,” she says, “because I remember enjoying my birthday this year. I mean, in an ideal world, I got to wake up next to you that morning, but that would be the dream of every day for the rest of my life. Not just a birthday-specific thing.”

“But I had work,” Joe reminds her, like she could somehow forget. “Even if that specifically isn’t my fault, I couldn’t take you out anywhere after.” His voice gets louder again, the frustration directed at himself returning like a wave. “I couldn’t even make you a good dinner!”

He pulls his freckled hands out of her grasp, now that she’s not holding him as tightly. His brown hair hangs down as he rests his head in his hands, no longer able to maintain the eye contact with Sara.

“I still had fun, though,” Sara says, quieter than before. “Didn’t I say it before? I liked that I got to spend time with you, even if we were just at your place. I don’t mind not doing fancy things for my birthday. You didn’t ruin anything.”

There’s silence. Truthfully, Joe just didn’t know what to say, but he makes himself think that he’s waiting for Sara to continue. That maybe she has more to say beyond that simple explanation, which made all too much sense.

Suddenly, Sara turns away. He doesn’t dare look up, his mind racing with ideas what she could possibly be doing, but the sound of her bag unzipping quickly shuts down the idea of her getting up to leave. He’s not sure what’s making him think she’d do something like that, not when she’s spent the past fifteen minutes talking down all of his points like another round of debate club. He hears the sound of plastic crinkling and liquid sloshing, then the sound of her zipping the bag again.

“Here.” She places an unopened water bottle next to him, pushing it closer so he couldn’t possibly ignore it. “Drink something for now, okay?”

It takes him a few moments to gather himself, even though he’s sucessfully stopped himself from crying. His brain is loud, albeit mostly incoherent; at most, he just keeps thinking about everything Sara’s told him, trying to find ways to refute it back, but his mind comes up blank every time he thinks of the look of passion on her face. The way her glossy, sunset eyes stared at him, a silent begging for him to believe her. To see himself the way she somehow could.

It’s weird that he wants her to be wrong so badly. It’s weird that his brain works like this, swinging to such awful lows and expecting the worst out of everybody. As a teenager, it was easier to ignore patterns of extreme doubt unless he was absolutely certain it was reasonable—now, he’s doubting even the closest of people in his life. Sara’s never done anything wrong to him, and yet, there’s a sick part of him that thinks she’d turn her back immediately if he were to screw up. That had to be a new level of messed up.

Joe sucks in a breath, pushing his hair back over his shoulders as he sits up. He finds himself leaning on the bench instead, finally accepting Sara’s water bottle and taking a swig of it. Still, he can’t bring himself to fully look in Sara’s direction—and he doesn’t catch her looking at him, either.

Space. She’s giving him some space to breathe.

And so he does; his breaths are slow, mainly because he doesn’t want it to be obvious. In an effort to calm himself, he shakes his empty hand, allowing the old bone charm to lightly hit his skin, along with the small half-heart charm, which dangles from the bracelet of multicolored beads. He remembers feeling the other half of it pressing against his palms when Sara was holding his hands.

Joe turns back to her, feeling a little calmer than before. “Muffin?”

At the petname, she looks over immediately. It’s then that he registers the concern still on her face, that reassuring smile having faded. Guilt rises in his stomach again, like a disgusting substance he’d want to spit out, but Sara lightly hums in response, forcing him to not focus on the feeling.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry”—he clears his throat suddenly, running his thumb over the plastic water bottle—“for being so difficult.”

Sara’s quiet for a second.

“It’s okay. I’m not mad at you for it.” She’s not lying. Even if he doesn’t understand how that could be true, she wouldn’t lie to him about this. “You mean the world to me, though. I don’t like hearing you think of yourself so badly.”

“I know.”

There’s more silence. It’s less heavier than before. Joe watches her mess with the bracelet on her freckled wrist, rubbing half of a heart charm between her thumb and her pointer finger.

“I’m sorry we didn’t do anything crazy this year, as well,” he adds, notably sounding less distressed about it. “We probably could have, if I just planned it ahead of time, but I guess I got stuck in my head again.”

Sara stops fidgeting with the matching charm bracelet. “Okay, you don’t have to be sorry for that. It’s your birthday.”

“But…” he trails off, unsure of what to follow up with. He looks up at her, trying to study her face again. “I dunno. I was hoping we’d get to do something fun this year.”

“I mean, I know this isn’t like… exhilarating or anything, but wasn’t today a little fun?” Sara questions, wearing a small smile. “I liked keeping it simple for my birthday. When you didn’t come up with anything for what we should do today, I figured you just wanted to take it easy.” Then, her smile falls. “I thought we could do something both fun and simple, but I’m realizing that I… might’ve not hit that mark.”

Crap. Now he sounds ungrateful.

“And I do! Don’t get me wrong,” he assures, reaching over with one hand to cup her face. Immediately, she leans into his touch, turning her head further towards him. “This was great, lovey, and I mean it. I’m really happy we could spend time together today”—even if I kinda ruined it—“but I… wanted to make this memorable. I dunno if that makes sense.”

Sara’s eyebrows furrow, like she’s not entirely certain that she’s following, but she nods anyway. “I think it does?”

“I guess I’ve just been so worried about the time passing, lately.” It’s unusual for him to admit this sort of thing out loud—but he supposes, while they’re being vulnerable like this, that it’s okay this time. “I mean, again, we’re not in college. And we’re twenty-five, now. Most people our age have already graduated at this point, and we haven’t even started it yet.”

He watches her slowly nod, but it’s clear she’s not making the same connection that he is.

“This sounds stupid, but I… don’t want us to waste our lives,” he explains, “and I know we’re putting off college until we’re both ready—that’s fine, it makes sense—but in the meantime, I don’t want to just let life keep passing us by. I want things to be memorable. I want both of us to remember days like this for as long as we live, without it being ruined.”

She softly exhales. Now she understands.

Sara takes his free hand in hers, leaning further against his palm resting on her cheek. “Joe, listen to me. You’re not going to waste your life, much less your twenties. Have your parents been getting to your head again?”

Joe doesn’t respond. She chuckles, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

“Neither of us are wasting our lives. In fact, I’d say our lives have barely started, silly. I mean, if the expectation is for us to go to college still, do you want your life to start while we’re attending classes?”

At that, Joe can’t help but laugh. “Definitely not.”

“Exactly—so stop sounding so gloomy. None of this is a waste, I promise.” Sara releases his hand, reaching for his cheek and wiping his eye with her thumb. “I can also guarantee: I’m not forgetting any of these days. You better not, either.”

It’s only then he realizes he’s about to cry again.

He removes his hand from Sara’s face, aiming to use his arm to wipe off the rest—but his girlfriend gently grabs his arm.

“Don’t do that,” she tells him, pushing his arm back down. Her burst of confidence quickly dwindles, however, forcing her into a quieter stammer; “I-I want to do it… so I can keep looking at you. If that’s okay.”

Joe’s cheeks grow hot from immediate embarrassment. Crying in front of Sara was one thing, but her watching him cry? It makes him want to wipe his tears away sooner, the idea of it making his stomach burn with butterflies and the smallest amount of shame.

But this is Sara. And he wants to keep looking at her, too—for now, and for the rest of his life.

“Okay. Thank ya.”

So for her, he’ll oblige.