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Chapter Text

"Can you remind me who's who again?"

Your brother looks at you through the rearview mirror, though it's a little hard to make out his whole face. "Well, there's Quinn and Jasper—"

"I already know them, smartass."

He keeps going, pointing to his left with a little grin. "This is Benjamin."

Benjamin sighs from the driver's seat. His voice is completely deadpan when he says, "Nice to meet you, Elliot."

You can't help but roll your eyes. "Don't encourage him."

"Oliver encourages himself."

"I do," Oliver confirms, kicking up his feet onto the dashboard. He is way too pleased with himself and his stupid joke. You're starting to regret accepting his invite.

"Seriously, if you're throwing me into this hangout with a bunch of old men I’ve never met, I'd at least like some context."

"Hey," Oliver protests, turning around to look at you fully. "We are not old. We are in our mid-twenties."

"Late twenties," you point out.

Your brother scoffs, deeply offended, while Benjamin just shakes his head. He sounds resigned as he takes a right turn. "Please don't remind me."

"I have to." You shrug from the backseat, your shoulder pressing against the seatbelt. "Your memory is gonna start to go soon."

Oliver snorts before covering his mouth and pointing at you accusingly. "No. Not old. We aren't retiring and playing bingo yet."

You raise an unimpressed eyebrow. "Isn't this literally board game night, or whatever? That's textbook old people shit."

"It's hanging out!" he insists, jabbing his finger up to your face. You smack it. "Cool, young people hang out!"

Benjamin snorts at that. "Doth protest too much, methinks."

Your brother holds a hand to his chest—the setting sun makes it look a lot more dramatic than it has any right to be. "Et tu, Benny?"

You throw your head back against the headrest with a muffled 'thump'. "Can you guys stop being gay for two seconds and tell me who the hell is showing up to this thing?"

The confusion in Benjamin's voice is almost comical. "Wait, quoting Shakespeare is gay?"

"Yeah," you and Oliver say in unison.

"Huh." Benjamin shrugs, taking it in stride. "Well, that explains William."

Oliver cackles at that, and you look between the two of them as you wait for any shred of context. They offer none. You don't know what else you expected. "As in William Shakespeare? The guy William Shakespeare?"

Oliver catches his breath, shaking his head. "No, no, William is one of the guys here tonight. He's the British one."

Finally. "Okay, who else?"

"Uhhh." Oliver holds up his hand and points at a finger for each person he lists off. "William the Brit, Robert the frat bro, and Peterson the... other one."

"The other one?" Benjamin asks, clearly a little amused. "That's all you can come up with for them?"

"I dunno, man! Into sci-fi?" He snaps his fingers in realization. "Oh, wait! They're colorblind!"

You pinch the bridge of your nose, painfully reminded of the fact that he's a child in another universe. "Dude. That doesn't help. How would I even be able to tell that by looking at them?"

"Oh, you'll be able to tell," he assures you. "But anyway, that's the gist."

Benjamin pulls over, carefully parking behind someone's grey Nissan Versa. "How would you even describe Ryan and Alex?"

Oliver's eyes widen in disbelief. "They're coming?"

That reaction has you perking up immediately—there's obviously a story there. "Who are Ryan and Alex?"

"You didn't see Peterson's last text?" Benjamin asks, completely missing your question. "They're probably gonna be late, but Jasper invited them."

Your brother lolls his head to the side and makes a face. "But why though?"

"They're not that bad," Benjamin argues. "And they're his..." He pauses, doing some kind of mental equation. "Half? No, step-brothers. Definitely step-brothers."

Oh, there's a family tree involved. Fascinating. "I didn't know Jasper had step-brothers."

Oliver lets out the most exaggerated sigh of all time, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Yeah, it's a whole thing. Jasper's dad remarried to their mom and then he founded Japple. Or maybe it was the other way around? The timeline is confusing."

Benjamin opens the car door with a scoff. "Tell me about it."

You look between the two of them as they exit the car, baffled. "Wait, what do you mean he founded Japple? Isn't that you? I thought that was one of your things?"

"Well yeah, but I just thought of it." The comment is nonchalant, as if that's a completely normal thing and not genuinely still insane. "I'm not the CEO or anything. It's like Gasball Currency."

You open the door after a couple tries, leaning on the side of the car for a moment once you stand up. "Great," you say dryly. "That isn't complicated at all."

Oliver's laugh rings out, bright and clear. The two of them wait on the sidewalk until you make your way around Benjamin's car and catch up with them. It still takes longer than you're used to. You regret sitting on the left side of the car.

"Ready to rock and roll?" Your brother ruffles your hair, even though you managed to grow another inch these past few months. Playfully, you shove his hand away and ignore how that makes you stumble for a moment. Oliver tries to ignore it, too.

"Careful, man." You keep your voice casual as you make your way towards the house. "You don't want to break any bones."

"Oh, screw you."

No amount of context could've prepared you for board game night.

There's different areas to sit at and play, with various games to choose from, as well as a snack table and music playing from a small speaker. Oliver grandly introduces you as his kid brother, and you have to correct him because you literally turned eighteen this year, but your correction goes generally ignored. Someone with the brightest, orangest puffer vest you've ever seen comes up to you—and okay, yeah, you can see what Oliver meant about the colorblindness being obvious—and says you're free to add songs to the queue, pointing to a phone plugged into a wall over on the counter. Someone else asks you if you want anything to drink—there's a British accent, so that must be gay William. You say that you're good, but thanks, and he gives you a polite smile.

You play Catan with Quinn, Oliver, and the colorblind one for a while. It takes almost an hour for someone to finally call them by name, and you still manage to forget it less than five minutes later. It's relatively chill, all things considered. You ask if they have any Monopoly and gay William just says "We had to ban that one after the recession incident." He offers no further clarification. You switch over to play Clue instead.

Jasper manages to beat you and Benjamin at yet another round (Mr. Green in the kitchen with the knife) when all hell breaks loose. The frat bro—Robert or Paul, you aren't exactly sure—pulls out an Uno: No Mercy with a mischievous grin. It takes less than three minutes for everyone to haphazardly abandon their games and sit in a large circle. You're between Jasper and the frat bro, who sticks out his pierced tongue in concentration as he shuffles the deck. Jasper leans over to whisper to you, soft and sincere, "I, uh, want to apologize in advance."

You match his volume, nodding your head towards Robert-or-Paul. "What, is he really brutal during Uno or something?"

"Oh, no," Jasper assures you, completely earnest. "I meant me."

Quinn brings him a glass of water and Jasper thanks him with the kindest smile you've ever seen. You take the chance to scoot your chair just a little bit away from him.

The game has a few additional rules that everyone argues about whenever they come up. Benjamin becomes the designated judge, holding the instruction booklet like a constitution as he clarifies what special cards do and settles any debates, because everyone is way too invested. You take every possible opportunity to use the reverse card so Jasper can inflict his competitive bullshit on Quinn instead. It's a little scary how easily Jasper drops a +10 card on him, because you're like 90% sure that they're dating, but Quinn just shakes his head with a fond, defeated smile.

It's fun. Chaotic, and a little insane, but fun. You almost forget that they're all old. You almost forget why you're here, and not with friends your own age, until Robert-or-Paul drops a +2 card on you with a "Boom! Eat 'em up, dude!"

You scoff but lean forward to draw a card anyway, because you have nothing to stack up on top of it (Jasper has a glint in his eyes that makes it obvious Quinn is about to meet your same fate). You pinch your fingers to grab the top card from the deck. You watch your fingertips twitch and fumble, the card sliding further away from you. You force yourself to take a deep breath and focus, trying to pick up the card by pressing your thumb and index against its sides. The card falls on the table halfway through, and you quickly slide it towards yourself, trying to ignore the warmth on your face. Robert-or-Paul hands you the second card before you can protest. You take it with pursed lips, grabbing it with your whole hand instead of just two fingers.

"Thanks," you mutter.

"No problem, man." He claps your shoulder with a good-natured grin. "'Sides, you can't get out of eating cards that easily."

Frat bro's attention quickly shifts after that—Benjamin just skipped over Oliver, leading to plenty of shouting and protesting across the table—and you brace yourself to put your two new cards in your hand. You manage to pass the card frat-bro gave you to your left hand, pressing it against the rest of your cards with your thumb. Your left hand is starting to get sore from holding all of your cards together. You ignore it. Your other card is still face-down on the table by the time it becomes your turn again, even though there's like eight people playing. You haphazardly throw out a yellow four, and Jasper has to place it on the deck for you before he plays his own card. With gritted teeth, you slide the card on the table closer to you and try to flip it over. You try to pinch it between your fingers. You try to pick it up. 

It's your turn again. There are no playable cards in your hand. You have to draw from the deck again.

Robert-or-Paul (you really wish you were better at remembering these guys’ names) wiggles his fingers playfully. "Time to eat 'em up?"

You don't know why you even bothered coming to this stupid board game night. This is old people shit, anyway. But it's still your turn, so all you can do is sigh in resignation and nod. "Hit me."

He plays it up, probably for your sake, and you really feel like you're just Oliver's kid brother instead of a grown-ass adult. Then again, maybe you’re not an adult at all. You're still in high school. You can't drink. You can't drive a rental car. You can't drive at all. You can't even play fucking Uno, apparently.

"I think he just hit twenty-five," the colorblind one points out. You blink and focus back on the table in front of you, looking down at the stack of cards Robert-or-Paul has been pulling out for you. You nonchalantly toss the rest of your cards to join them, throwing up your hands in defeat. You ignore how your left hand is trembling.

"Welp, I'm out."

There's a chorus of platitudes from around the table as Jasper collects your abandoned cards and the frat bro claps your shoulder again. "I need to use the bathroom anyway," you lie. "Where was it again?"

Quinn gives you quick directions. You would book it out of there if standing up didn't immediately throw you off-kilter. You don't look at your brother before you leave the room—you leave the house, technically, making your way to the back porch. There's some wooden stairs that are painted a pristine white and you carefully lower yourself to sit on them. You still lose balance halfway through and fall on your ass, which hurts like a bitch, and you finally let it show, swearing with a hiss of pain.

It's already dark out. You can see an airplane flying over you in the sky. It's impossible to make out anything else with the amount of light pollution, anyway. You close your eyes and breathe, flexing and bending your fingers methodically.

Physical therapy is only once a week now. Mondays after school, because why not make the worst day of the week even more insufferable? Still, you have some exercises you're supposed to do multiple times a week, if not daily. You spent your entire junior year doing homework: for school, for therapy, for your recovery. 

Well, that's not entirely accurate. You actually spent your entire junior year in a coma. All of your classmates are graduating in a couple weeks, and getting accepted into college, and you're failing at playing Uno with a bunch of thirty year olds because you had to be held back.

Well, at least you're gonna have great material for your college application essays, once that comes around. Recruiters eat this kind of shit up. Lucky you.

You're contemplating what you're going to title your eventual college essay, and wondering if being in a coma is going to help or hurt your search for a summer job, when someone walks into you.

"Ow." You twist your back and crane your head up, scowling. "Watch where you're going."

The guy that walked into you gives you a puzzled, unimpressed look—as if he didn't just nearly knock you down a flight of stairs. "I did. You're sitting on the floor when it's dark out. What exactly were you expecting?"

You scoff and shake your head, turning back. "Whatever, man. I'm just trying to get some peace and quiet."

He sighs behind you. "Yeah, I get that."

You offer a hum of acknowledgement and wait for the guy to leave. He doesn't. You can feel him awkwardly hovering behind you as you keep flexing and bending your fingers.

"Are you just gonna stand there, or?"

There's a pause. "I don't wanna go back yet."

You could mention that he's free to walk past you and go literally anywhere else. You could stand up and find another place to brood. You could just go back inside before your brother starts to worry.

"You realize that sitting down is an option, right?"

You turn your head back to look at him again. There's a soft breeze that isn't doing his wispy hair any favors. He gives you a scrutinizing look, his face otherwise impassive.

"So that someone can walk into me too?"

You shrug. "Better you than me."

"I'm pretty sure the physics of that would just mean we both get walked into."

"And then we can both fall down this precarious flight of stairs."

"Which would be painful."

"I've had worse."

You don't offer any context. He doesn't ask for it. Instead, he just goes: "Well, that makes two of us."

You pat the top of the stairwell. He hesitates for a moment before taking a tentative step, then another. He finally sits down next to you, holding himself stiffly. It's not a very wide staircase. You can feel his shoulder pressing up against yours.

"This isn't exactly comfortable," he points out. You nod, because he's right.

"You wanna stand up again?"

"No."

It's very matter of fact, the way that he talks. It makes him a little hard to read. You decide to take it at face value for now. "Cool."

There's a silence that settles over the porch. You stop stretching your fingers and run a hand through your hair instead, glancing at the guy next to you. He looks younger than the others, with a smooth tan and expressionless face. Not British. Doesn't seem colorblind. Probably not a frat bro. That only leaves the two interesting options.

"So," you start, breaking the silence. "Are you Ryan or Alex?"

He turns to look at you, his eyebrows furrowed. "Alex," he answers carefully. "Who are you, exactly? I know you weren't in the cult."

"I was kind of busy." You technically slept through most of it, you're pretty sure. "I'm Elliot. Oliver's brother."

Alex nods in recognition. "Oh, right. He wasn't in the cult, either."

You try not to think about the whole cult thing too hard. Your brother only barely explained it, and he also seemed confused by most of what he told you, so you don't put a lot of stock in it. It looks like the most dangerous thing they ever did was sing karaoke near a cliff. Benjamin was a member at one point, so it truly couldn't have been that crazy—you're pretty sure his favorite color is grey. "He likes to call himself an honorary member."

"Well, Ryan and I never got fully initiated, so." He shrugs, the motion pressing up against your shoulder. "We were technically kicked out, but the whole thing disbanded pretty immediately after that anyway."

You raise your eyebrows at that lore drop. That must be why Oliver was so surprised they were coming. "What do you even have to do to get kicked out of a cult?"

"Hold a Spartan trial."

He says it with such a straight face that you can't hold back your laugh, short as it is. Alex keeps looking at you. You look back at him, puzzled. "Wait, seriously?"

"It was Ryan's idea," he says, as if that explains anything. "Brothers, right?"

You're not sure you can relate to that specifically. Then again, you found out that your brother created half of the known and unknown multiverse a few months ago. You're not sure anyone can relate to that, either. "Gotta love 'em. Even when they're idiots."

The joke doesn't seem to land. Alex frowns. "Ryan isn't an idiot. He's really intelligent—more than most people, even. He can just be... passionate."

You snort at the word choice. "No, man, I get it. Oliver is passionate, too. He gets carried away way too easily."

"Yeah, exactly." There's a brief pause, like he isn't sure if he wants to keep talking, but he does. "It's like he gets an idea and he has to go with it. And it has to go exactly how he says, it always has to be his plan."

"Ugh, tell me about it." You lean your weight back onto your hands, even though it makes you dizzy for a moment. "Like, can you slow down for five seconds and think about this? Maybe your way isn't the only way."

Alex nods, a couple of flyaways bouncing along with the movement. It's silly enough to crack a smile out of you, but you bite it down. He shrugs again. "Still. Gotta love them, right?"

You think of Oliver ruffling your hair and inviting you to hang out with his friends because you don't have any. Not anymore, at least. "Yeah. We really do."

Your phone buzzes. You dig it out of your pocket and sigh at your brother's text. "Speak of the devil."

"Is he asking where you are in a vaguely accusing way?"

You glance at him, still trying to hold back your grin. "So that's universal too, huh?"

"Oh, yeah." He nods seriously. "Older brothers master that skill pretty immediately. It's a rite of passage."

"That's why we gotta annoy them, right?" You go to stand up, focusing on every part of your body as you do so. You refuse to trip in front of Alex and look like an absolute dumbass. "To balance it out."

Alex looks up at you, and you can swear that there's a hint of a smile on his face. Just barely. "Naturally."

Your efforts to contain your own smile end up failing, even though it quickly shifts into an eye roll when your phone buzzes again. "If you'll excuse me, I need to book it before my brother sends out an Amber Alert."

"Of course," he says easily, still dead serious. "If you're not back in two minutes, they may as well never find your body."

The joke is unexpected and morbid, and it gets a shocked laugh out of you. "Jeez, okay. Try to not walk into anyone else tonight."

"I'll try." There's a hint of a smile again, but maybe that's just the shadows playing tricks on you. "Nice meeting you, Elliot."

"Same, man. I'll catch you later."

Oliver gives you a look when you find him, and you almost wish that it was annoyed instead of concerned. You wave it off, say you needed fresh air, and he lets it go for now. Benjamin doesn't give you any looks, but he awkwardly pats your shoulder before unlocking the car. Once you're both inside, he turns his head to look at you. "Did you have fun?"

The question should be patronizing, considering he probably asks that exact same question to his three year old, but it isn't. You at least choose not to take it that way, considering he's consistently willing to drive you and your brother around. You can't imagine being the designated driver for someone that was in a car crash at one point, let alone two people, so you have to respect that a little bit.

You buckle your seatbelt, leaning your shoulder against the car door. You stretch your fingers some more as you look out the window. 

"Yeah," you say. "It was alright."

Chapter Text

Your junior year ends not with a bang, but with an anticlimactic bell ring. You suppose that’s better than starting it off with a crash, like you did last time.

You chill on your desk while everyone else rushes out, leisurely scrolling on your phone once you manage to prop up your legs on the seat in front of you. The halls are going to be hell to walk through right now, and you don't feel like pulling out your cane just yet. Well, what you really don't feel like is getting stared at like you're a walking sob story or cautionary tale. The cane barely helps, anyway. Not worth it.

Your phone buzzes.

[3:02PM] mama: Happy last day of school! 🥳♥️ Just one more year to go!! Benjamin and Oliver are picking you up today, so keep an eye out for his car 😋 Love you!! 

Oh, great. You get to third-wheel again today. Lucky you.

[3:02PM] you: ok, lov u

You turn your head towards the door once you hit send. It's propped open, and you catch a glimpse of your classmates walking past—your old classmates. You're not classmates anymore. They're graduating. You're still here, because you were in a coma you can't go out into the hallway until there's less people to bump into you.

"Hey, Elliot."

You turn your head back and push down whatever weird thing your chest is doing right now. Callie is standing next to your desk, her backpack strapped over only one shoulder. You used to be able to do that, too. "What?"

Callie ignores how dry your response is. She was your partner this last semester for some god awful research project that Mr. Rivers gave you. You both did your part and you both got a good grade on it, which is really all that you can ask for when you get paired up for a high school project. "Do you have any summer trips? Like, any big plans or something?"

Last summer, your "big plans" were eating hospital jello and figuring out how to shower again. "No."

"Okay, cool. I mean, bummer, but it works out for this." Her earrings dangle when she leans back on the desk and pulls out her phone, tapping the screen a few times before your phone buzzes. You check her message and read the attached image a couple of times, turning your eyes back up to her with as much suspicion as you can muster.

"You're inviting me to your birthday party."

She seems unbothered by your wry tone. "You sound like I just asked you to get into a Saw trap."

That would be equally as unexpected, with her eerily symmetrical eyeliner and glossy lipstick. Callie is nice and all, is the thing. She's cool and witty and can crack a good joke. You just truly have no idea why she would include the coma kid that got held back a year in her guest list. Pity, maybe. Or she just needs to pad the numbers for her seventeenth birthday and you're a filler invite. Neither of those reasons sound very appealing to you.

"I'm getting a job over the summer. I don't know what place will take me yet, but I might have work then."

"That's why I'm inviting you like a month in advance, genius." She taps her nails against your desk—light blue and beige, probably a beach theme. "One day off won't kill you."

You cling to your plausible deniability. "I'll let you know."

Callie gives you a hard look, like she can tell that you're basically saying no. You stare right back, keeping your face as collected and aloof as possible. Finally, she sighs. "Okay. Just text me, I guess."

Your phone buzzes, and your brother's clinginess saves the day. You get ready to leave, only shooting her a quick nod before you go for your backpack. "Have a good summer, Callie."

"You too, Elliot. Seriously, try to have fun."

You don't know what the hell that's supposed to mean. She walks out before you decide that you don't want to ask.

It takes you longer than you'd like to get to the parking lot, and you're clutching your cane in a vice grip by the time you do. Benjamin's black Kia Soul pulls up to the roundabout and it only takes you about one second after you open the door to realize that you've been played.

Benjamin and Oliver are picking you up, alright. Meanwhile, in the backseat, wearing the brightest purple swimsuit you've ever seen, is Benjamin's daughter.

"Ellie!" she cheers. It's her go-to nickname for you, which is mostly confusing because that happens to also be her own name. Apparently, she's a big fan of the two of you matching.

You shoot Benjamin with an unimpressed look. "Hey, Ellie," you say. "Is your dad making me babysit on my last day of school? 'Cause that would be really lame of him."

Benjamin rolls his eyes as Oliver turns around in his seat. "No, he isn't. We're all hanging out today."

You close the door and buckle your seatbelt, folding your cane before Ellie tries to play with it. "What exactly are you dragging me into here?"

"Water park!" Ellie announces cheerfully.

"Yup!" Your brother attempts to high five Ellie, who mainly giggles at him. He doesn't seem to mind. "Gotta celebrate you surviving another year of high school. And we gotta celebrate the momentous, wonderful new season that officially begins today! What time is it?"

Benjamin nods seriously, even though he's obviously trying not to smile. "Summertime."

You resist the urge to join in on them quoting High School Musical 2. "I'm not exactly dressed for the occasion."

"I have your stuff in the back," Oliver says, patting your knee energetically. "Now get hype and celebrate your youthful freedom! What time is it?"

You think about getting to sleep in somewhat and not having to see anyone from school for the next two months. The cane goes into your backpack with a dramatic zip and you sigh.

"Summertime."

Oliver whoops and turns up the music. You turn to Ellie and playfully whisper, "Oliver is silly."

She giggles and nods. "Ollie is silly!"

"He is," Benjamin agrees. Your brother sticks out his tongue at him before headbanging to Moana. It's so stupid that you have to laugh. You're pretty sure that's why he does it in the first place.

The drive to the park goes by quickly. Apparently your brother decided to pick out your most colorful swimsuit, and he looks completely unashamed as he hands you the orange swim trunks. He asks if you're bringing your cane, and you say something about not wanting to get it wet so that he drops it. You all set up on a lounge chair and you end up on sunscreen duty for Ellie, who squirms and says "Cold!" multiple times, giggling while she tries to jump up and down. This is somehow an easier task than Benjamin's, who is attempting to slather sunscreen on your brother's back while he impatiently taps his foot and loudly complains the whole time.

"Come on," he whines. "I don't need sunscreen, let's just go!"

Benjamin turns him around and smears sunscreen on Oliver's face, ignoring his protests. "No. Hold still."

He groans and you roll your eyes. "Ellie is more patient than you and she's literally three."

"Ollie is silly," she says wisely, tugging at the hem of her water shirt. You can tell she's going to use that sentence a lot. 

Oliver grimaces while Benjamin spreads SPF 50 on his forehead. "Maybe you're silly, Ellie. Have you thought about that?"

She giggles. "I'm not silly!"

"You know who is silly? Your dad! Why are you putting sunscreen on my ears, you weirdo?"

You do your own sunscreen while they bicker about burning versus tanning. So long as you don't try to close the cap in between, it's relatively easy. Ellie offers to help but thankfully Benjamin intervenes, picking her up with gusto and carrying her into the pool. Oliver quickly does your back and all but pulls you up from the chair, dragging you towards the water. At least you can chalk it up to his excitement and not to his protectiveness.

The wave pool is cold as hell, washing over your skin until it eventually becomes refreshing instead of freezing. It's moderately crowded, but not insane, so you have plenty of room to move around. Benjamin is holding onto Ellie's wrists by the shallow end, picking her up and placing her back down with every passing wave. She squeals every time he lifts her up, curling up her legs as much as possible and laughing. You glance over at your brother, half-lying down with you where it's slightly deeper. He's looking at them with a soft, bright smile. It's been a while since you've seen him this happy.

"Having a good time?" you ask.

He nods, squinting against the sun. "Yeah. This is good." With a dramatic sigh, he turns his head towards you, still smiling. "I guess you could say I'm living the dream."

You roll your eyes, because that's still such a stupid joke. "Dumbass."

"Language."

"She can't hear me from here."

"Other children exist," he points out, gesturing to the other families nearby. You shrug.

"Eh. I don't give a shit about them."

He laughs at that, cutting himself off when a whistle rings out. You both turn to look at the lifeguard, who points at some kids that are roughhousing in the deeper end of the pool. You're about to make a joke about how you thought the whistle was because of your swearing when Oliver goes, "No way."

He's still looking at the lifeguard. You frown. "What?"

"No way," he repeats, half-wading half-scrambling a bit closer to the lifeguard chair. Benjamin notices, looking puzzled until he follows Oliver's line of sight, squints, and also seems to have some kind of revelation. You don't get to ask for context before Oliver loudly goes, "Is that Ryan?"

Subtlety has never been your brother's strong suit. The lifeguard turns to look at you guys, the red visor and sunglasses blocking out most of his face. It looks like he's squinting before, ever so faintly, you hear him say, "You have got to be kidding me."

Oliver wades even closer. You follow him, because you don't have to fully understand what's going on to be curious. Benjamin comes over too, holding Ellie up to his hip and squinting against the sun. "Uh. Hey, Ryan. What are you doing here?"

Ryan gives him a long, unimpressed stare from the lifeguard chair. "Guess."

"Right." Benjamin nods awkwardly. "We, uh. Didn't know you worked here."

The sun glints against his white shirt and bright red swim trunks, vibrant and colorful. It's a pretty big contrast to his dead-serious expression. "What are the odds."

"Yup," Benjamin agrees, pressing his lips together awkwardly. "It's a big city."

"And yet."

"And yet."

Ellie quickly becomes bored with their tense conversation. "I wanna splash."

Benjamin turns to look at her, obviously relieved to have a distraction. "You wanna splash in the pool or go on a slide?"

"Slide!"

"You heard the lady." Benjamin nods his head at the two of you. "Come on, guys."

Oliver whips his head between the two, clearly still in shock. "Okay, yeah. Yeah yeah yeah. Just no running, Benny! Don't wanna get the whistle treatment."

You take one final look at Ryan as you guys start to wade out of the pool. You can see the resemblance—he has the same tan and wispy hair, though he looks more blond compared to Alex. Then again, that might just be the sun and the visor playing tricks on you. He turns away and fervently blows his red whistle at those same two kids, and you take that as your cue to leave before he turns it on you.

The three of them are already by the lounge chairs by the time you reach the shallow end, where one of the waves suddenly throws you off mid-step and you lose your footing. You manage to slow your fall with your arms, water splashing your face in the commotion, and some of it gets in your eyes. You're already holding up your hand dismissively, but Oliver takes it to pull you up instead, the concern radiating off of him in waves. "Are you okay?”

"Just slipped, I'm fine." Your knee hurts a little, sure, but you don't even have a scrape. You can tell he's biting his tongue as he looks you over, messing with the drawstrings of his yellow, patterned shorts.

"We can go get your cane from the car—"

"I'm good." You keep walking, finally out of the wave pool, but it still feels like you're wading through water, swaying and unsteady. You hold onto the back of the lounge chair for a moment, leaning against it as casually as you can manage. You think about having to stand in line for twenty minutes and tripping again in front of this many people. "I think I'm just gonna do the lazy river, actually."

Oliver nods, rolling his shoulders back with enthusiasm. "Yeah, sure thing! Come on, I'm pretty sure it's this way."

You shake your head, even though it makes the ground tilt beneath you. "Nah, Ellie wants the slides. You can go with them."

"I'm not ditching my brother, man!" He ruffles your hair, which makes you feel even more unbalanced. You grit your teeth. "We're celebrating—"

"Seriously, Oliver. I just want to chill for like two seconds. Is that allowed?"

He cuts himself off, taken aback, before pressing his lips together. You bite down on your cheek so that you don't snap again. After a tense pause, Benjamin speaks up from behind him. "We can find you there once we’ve done a few rides. I could use a few loops on the lazy river afterwards."

"Cool." You're grateful that your brother's boyfriend has the ability to read the room, sometimes. "See you later."

Ellie waves at you, smiling wide. "See you later, Ellie!"

You give her a small wave in return. Oliver finally nods and steps back, shooting you a quick grin. You can tell it's forced. "Okay, we'll catch you later. Lazy river?"

"Yup."

"Have fun." He goes to squeeze your shoulder, and you know he's going to shake it slightly, and it's going to make you stumble. You sidestep out of the way as nonchalantly as possible, forcing yourself to walk as steadily as your brain will let you. Once you're fairly certain that you're out of sight, you lean against a nearby railing and squeeze your eyes shut. It takes about five minutes before you can walk again without feeling like you're going to fall over. It's just enough to get you to the lazy river entrance, and you still have to pause multiple times. You find a single tube floating in the current, throw your arms over it, and press your face against the cheap plastic.

Your therapist would probably say this isn't healthy. You're not exactly looking forward to seeing her next Thursday. 

Eventually you pull yourself up to sit on the tube correctly, leaning your head back and closing your eyes. The sun warms your skin, and the water is cool beneath you, and it's easy to pretend that things are like they were before.

"Elliot?" 

You bite back a groan, because you know for a fact that you haven't even been here that long, and there's no way Oliver got through a single ride in that time. "What?"

"Watch where you're going."

You open your eyes, blinking against the sudden brightness and trying to pinpoint the source of the voice. Floating next to you, practically fully submerged in his tube, is Alex.

"Oh, shit." 

You don't mean to say that out loud. He doesn't seem to take it personally.

"Fancy seeing you here." You think the statement is supposed to be teasing or playful, but he says it about as straightforward as he says everything else.

"Definitely nicer than a staircase," you say. A turn comes up and Alex reaches out to grab onto a handle from your tube, keeping you from floating away. You feel the corners of your mouth tilt up. "I ran into your brother earlier."

Alex raises his eyebrows slightly but nods. "Yeah, he works here during the high season. Sorry if he was intense."

"He was mostly just..." You think back to the way he was vigorously pointing at those kids in the pool. "Well, he's good at his job."

Alex's knees tap against his chin, and you have no idea how that's supposed to be comfortable, considering he's basically folded in half. "He is. Besides, I get to come here for free, so. Can't really complain."

"That's pretty sick. Gotta admit, you did not strike me as a pool guy."

"What kind of guy did I strike you as?"

You hesitate, the question catching you off guard. It feels accusing, but it looks like he's genuinely curious. Probably. It's really hard to read him. "I dunno," you admit. "I don't really know anything about you. Well, except for the fact that you were in a cult. And got kicked out of it."

He hums. "Not exactly the best first impression, huh."

"Are you kidding?" You smirk at him, pushing your hair out of your face. "You're already more interesting than anyone at my school."

This time, in the bright afternoon sun, it's a lot easier to see the hint of a smile on his face. It's less on his lips and more in his eyes, brown with flecks of green. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen."

"I'm nineteen," he says. "You know, I can see why you're Oliver's brother."

You raise an eyebrow at the sudden change of topic, intrigued. People usually tell you the opposite. "How so?"

"Well, he's also extremely chill about the whole cult thing." You roll your eyes at that. "But mainly, you guys sound really similar. Well, he's louder, but still."

Your tube bounces against an edge, sending you both drifting towards the middle of the river. "I hate to break it to you," you say solemnly, "but I'm adopted."

"That doesn't really matter." Alex leans his head back. "How you talk—the speech patterns and mannerisms—you pick that up from the people around you, not from who you’re related to. You two clearly spent a lot of time together, you know?"

He's not wrong. Despite the age difference, Oliver hung out with you a lot, even when you stopped wanting him to. You never really thought about it making you similar, and you don't really know what to say in response. It looks like Alex doesn't mind, idly running his thumb up and down the cheap plastic handle that's keeping you together.

"So." You let your hand dip down into the water. "You're Alex, you're nineteen, and you're part of the oppressed younger brothers club."

He tilts his head to look at you again, damp hair plastered to his forehead. "Oppressed?"

"Oh, yeah." You nod very seriously. "We're the founding members."

"Y'know," he says, studying you carefully. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're roping me into a cult."

"But you do know better," you point out, holding up a finger for emphasis. "You know a lot better than I do, actually."

He thinks about it, squeezing an eye shut when a child kicks up water next to him. "Well, there isn't any chloroform involved, I'm guessing?"

That gets a laugh out of you. "Man, no. Where would we even get that?"

"I mean, it's pretty easy to make."

You stare at him for a couple moments. He stares back, unbothered. "Are you being for real right now?"

He shrugs, as if this is common knowledge and not the strangest possible conversation to have at a water park. “All the ingredient options are over the counter stuff. Chlorine bleach, acetone or isopropyl. Dosage is tricky, but totally doable, you just have to—”

“Sorry,” you interrupt, holding a hand out, “you know how to make chloroform?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

His eyebrows twitch, furrowing slightly. "I mean, we had to be prepared. In case we couldn't get Quinn to leave the cult willingly before he kidnapped Jasper."

"Uh huh." You nod slowly, as if this isn't all entirely new information. "Why was he kidnapping Jasper, again?"

"That's why he made the cult in the first place." Alex straightens—at least as much as he can on a tube in a lazy river. "He made it as a scheme to steal Jasper's identity, so Ryan and I joined to stop him. They'd already swapped by the time we pulled out the knives—those were plan A, just for show—so we used the chloroform as plan B until we could figure out who was who. Hence the Spartan trial."

You have the briefest flashback to sitting in a car, holding an apple in your hand, while your brother tries to explain that he dreamed up the universe. This explanation is about as easy to follow as that one. You have at least a thousand questions. Your brain settles on an insignificant one. "Wait, already swapped? What, did Jasper just go along with getting his identity stolen?"

"For some reason." Alex shrugs, equally at a loss. "I'm pretty sure Quinn chloroformed him, too, but he just rolled with it after that. And then Jasper wanted to protect Quinn, for some reason? William knocked out Ryan with a dictionary. It was a weird day."

Every new thing you're learning is somehow more surprising than the last. "This all happened in one day?"

"Well, Ryan and I were in the cult for longer than that," he clarifies. "But everything after Jasper showed up was in the span of like 24 hours, yeah.”

A beat passes. Alex purses his lips.

"You didn't know about any of that, did you."

"Nope."

"Well." He shrugs again, looking a little uncomfortable. "There you go."

"Any other highlights?" you ask weakly.

Alex thinks about it. "I nearly threw Quinn off a cliff and the cult all pinned me down while he ran away."

You'd been mostly kidding, when you asked. You should really know better by now. "You seem awfully chill about attempted murder."

His face hardens. "What would you do if someone tried to steal Oliver's identity just to get all of his Netflix money?"

You can see his point, kind of. Barely. You're still pretty sure attempted murder wouldn't be in your top five solutions. Then again, Alex said something about Plan A and B. You aren't sure how many plans there were between threatening Quinn at knife point and holding a Spartan trial.

"I don't know. Besides, that... doesn't sound like Quinn, honestly." You can see the charisma he has, obviously. He seems to be able to command the room, and when Oliver first explained the cult stuff (barely, considering how much he apparently left out), you could kind of see why Quinn was the leader. It makes sense that people would want to follow him, even if it was a roundabout way to worship Jasper, of all people.

Alex slumps slightly, squeezing the plastic handle. "Yeah, well. We were only guessing he did it to get Jasper's part of the will. We couldn't think of any other reason for him to steal his identity."

"Low self-esteem?" you joke.

Alex nods, entirely genuine. "Apparently."

Quinn having a low self-esteem was not on your bingo card of things to learn during this conversation. It explains a few of his Spotify playlists. "Apparently."

A few excited girls pass you with a big splash. You wipe at your face and run a hand through your hair again, processing this onslaught of new information. Alex squints half-apologetically. “I realize how weird it all sounds.”

You think about your brother creating two major brands by just thinking about them while he was asleep, dreaming as his seven year old self. “You know, I’ve heard weirder.”

The intrigue and skepticism is practically dripping from Alex’s voice. “I sincerely doubt that.”

“Oh, you do not want to take that bet, man.” You shake your head, patting his arm playfully. “I think it would make your brain explode.”

“Try me.”

He says it so earnestly that you genuinely consider breaking his sense of reality in the middle of the lazy river. Before you can decide if Alex can handle it, a small voice calls out for you.

“Ellie!”

You whip your head towards the upcoming staircase, where Ellie, Benjamin, and Oliver are all standing. You can pinpoint the exact moment Benjamin and Oliver notice Alex— they both catch sight of him simultaneously with a puzzled expression. You can't help but sigh.

“I should go find Ryan.” Alex lets go of the handle before somehow folding himself to sink down the hole of his tube. It’s not until he does this that you realize you’d left your hand on his arm that whole time. He emerges from the water right next to you, wiping water from his face and moving his hair out of his eyes. He’s a little bony, you realize, with pointed shoulders and a prominent collarbone. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah,” you say idly. You have no idea how big the park is, but running into him again doesn't sound bad at all. “Thanks for all the context.”

Alex wades through the water, following the current until he’s in front of you. “Of course.” He’s smiling with his eyes again. “Anything for a fellow club member.”

You bite your lip to keep from laughing. “Okay, when you say it like that, the oppressed younger brothers club does sound like a cult.”

“Second time’s the charm.”

“We’ll give Quinn a run for his money.”

You reach the staircase and he rushes out—at least as quickly as he can without slipping. Alex skirts around your brother, who just gives him a curious look as he books it out of there. Oliver turns to look at Benjamin, who has only just managed to wrangle Ellie into one of the smaller tubes. “Doesn't he know he's not supposed to run?”

“I think he's willing to bend the rules to get out of painful small talk.” Benjamin steps into the water and holds onto you while Oliver finds a spare tube.

“Still, his brother's apparently a lifeguard. You think he’d know better.”

You all finally float down the river, the current drifting you along. Ellie splashes her hands in the water happily while Oliver grabs onto the handle of your tube, like Alex had earlier.

“Was he holding you hostage?” Oliver teases. The tension from earlier has faded—you don't feel your unsteadiness clawing at you when the current moves you, the water washing away your frustration. You smirk at him, tapping your hand against his tube.

“No, no, that’s more up Quinn’s alley.” You raise a pointed eyebrow. “I had a very enlightening conversation with Alex.”

Oliver’s teasing grin shifts into a vaguely nervous thing. “Did you, now?”

“When exactly were you gonna tell me that your boyfriend threw hands with a nineteen year old?” You snap your fingers. “Actually, I’m pretty sure he would've been eighteen at the time. That's so much worse.”

Oliver purses his lips a little sheepishly. From behind you, Benjamin says, “In my defense, it was a really weird time for me.”

You tilt your body as much as you can to give him an incredulous look. “That's what you're going with?”

Benjamin considers it, holding his daughter's hand. “Everyone was doing it?”

You roll your eyes. “For f—yart’s sake.”

“Hey,” Oliver warns. You throw up your hands, because you didn't even swear.

“Actually, I don't know why I’m even surprised that you caved into peer pressure. You literally joined a cult.”

Ellie splashes her hands on the water again. “Daddy join a cult.”

Both Benjamin and Oliver give you a slow, hard look. You really wish they'd stop sharing a brain sometimes, because stuff like this makes it creepy. Still, you wince apologetically.

“Oops.”

“Daddy join a cult!”

“No, no,” Benjamin pleads, lowering himself down to her level. “Please don't say that, sweetie.”

“Daddy join a cult!” she cheers.

Benjamin picks her up, tube and all, and she giggles. “You cannot say that in front of mommy, okay?”

“I wanna join cult,” she announces. Benjamin looks like he’s losing years off of his lifespan.

Oliver smacks your arm. “Thanks, Elliot.”

You smack him back. “Hey, don't blame me for your boyfriend's weird ass life choices.”

“Language!” he hisses, smacking your arm again. “Shut the fuck up!”

Benjamin splashes you both with water. “We’re playing the silent game,” he begs. “We are all playing the silent game now, please.”

You roll your eyes and close them, letting your body relax while Benjamin coaxes his daughter into staying quiet. You wonder if people dream when they get chloroformed, and if lifeguarding is a full or part-time job, and if you’ll have to send out another round of applications for your summer job.

All in all, your last day of junior year isn't so bad. The fact that it's also a little weird is pretty standard for you these days.

Chapter Text

You end up working at a Gasball Currency, because your brother made half of the universe and it clearly has his same ridiculous sense of humor.

It’s not the one by your school—you’d rather get in another crash than take any coffee orders from your classmates—so it’s a bit more of a drive. Your mom drops you off early for work (always in the morning, because you don’t have a ride for afternoon shifts), and your “training” lasts a total of two days before your manager, Austin, figures you’re ready enough to start working the counter. He can be a pain, according to your co-workers, but he doesn’t care about you sitting down while taking orders, so it could be worse.

As far as Gasball Currency’s go, it’s pretty worn down. It’s located near another highschool, and apparently it doesn’t get much foot traffic over the summer. There are some regulars, and enough clients to get you your minimum wage, but otherwise there’s a lot of downtime. Too much, actually. You’re pretty sure the only reason you were hired is because three employees is the legal minimum required per location. You can’t really complain—it’s nice to be able to take a bathroom break whenever, despite how defaced all of the walls are in there.

“Someone drew more graffiti in the bathroom” you announce. Your current shift partner, Scott, glances up from the table he’s currently wiping down. You’re almost certain that it’s already clean. You think he just needs something to do so that he doesn’t die of boredom.

“Did you try Lysol?”

You shake your head, your cane clicking against the ground while you stagger back to the register. “Just soap. Still, I don’t think we’re getting that one out without repainting.”

He sighs heavily. Scott has apparently been working here for like four years, even though he’s barely older than you, and it shows. He puts the rag over his shoulder and wipes his hands on his Gasball-green apron. “What was it this time?”

“Balls,” you say, “right next to the Forever Pebbles carved on the stall door.”

“Oh, man.” Scott shakes his head and goes for the storage closet. “Classic Tyler.”

You wonder what kind of legacy you need to have for that to be something people recognize you by. You wonder if Tyler is a regular. Scott emerges with a small army of cleaning supplies, and it’s obvious that you’re not gonna see him for the next half hour. “Wish me luck.”

You salute him from the counter. “Godspeed.”

The bathroom door closes behind him with finality, and you pull out your phone to mindlessly pass the time. You had to delete Instagram to stop seeing people’s graduation posts, and your Twitter feed hasn’t been good since before you were in a coma, so you shoot Oliver a random text. You’re pretty sure it’s a shooting day though, so he’s probably not gonna see it until your shift is done. You almost text Benjamin, and the fact that you even consider it is proof that you seriously need to get friends.

You end up playing solitaire, which is only marginally less lame than texting your brother’s boyfriend. It distracts you enough that you barely hear the door open, and it’s not until you see someone in your peripheral vision that you put your phone down, automatically reciting your standard work greeting.

“Welcome to Gasball, what can I get for—you can not be serious right now.”

Alex looks up from his own phone, puzzled by your sudden deviation from the script until he locks eyes with you. He freezes for a moment, his fingers still pressed against his left temple, and stares. A beat passes.

“Hey,” he says, clearly bewildered. You're pretty sure your expression matches his.

“Hey.” You briefly remember that Alex has a history of objectively insane behavior and blurt out, “Are you stalking me?”

He frowns. “What?”

“You keep showing up, man. It’s a little uncanny.”

“No,” he shoots back defensively, pointing a finger at you, “you keep showing up. At the ex-cult I used to be in, at the water park my brother works at, and at the coffee shop where I’m a regular.”

“How was I supposed to know you’re a regular here?”

“How was I supposed to know you got a job here?”

You aren’t exactly sure what you’re accusing each other of anymore. You shake your head in disbelief. “We have got to stop meeting like this.”

His frown shifts, turning into something more neutral. “How exactly are we supposed to meet?”

You’re still not used to how straightforward Alex can be sometimes. It takes you a second to remember you should answer the question. “I mean…” You shrug, nodding your head at his phone. “Most people text.”

“I don’t have your number,” he points out. You raise an eyebrow. He stares back at you, oblivious. You force yourself to spell out what you mean, despite how unnatural that feels.

“Do you, like. Want it?”

“Oh.” He blinks. “Yeah, okay.”

He hands you his phone—a white jPhone with a clear case—and the New Contact screen taunts you. You take a deep breath, hoping the extra oxygen will somehow get your fingers to cooperate.

Your thumbs manage to type out elliot after a few tries. You don’t even bother with your last name. The phone number should be easier, because the keypad is larger than the keyboard, but you keep pressing numbers twice on accident.

“Just a sec,” you mumble, yet again going for the backspace. 

Out of the corner of your eye, Alex tilts his head. “Is the screen acting up?”

You kind of hate yourself for not handing him your phone instead. “No.”

Alex glances between you and his cellphone. You accidentally press 8 instead of 7. You backspace again. You finally hand it back to him without pressing Save. “There.”

He quickly types something and you see the screen of your phone light up

[1:14PM] Unknown Number: hi stalker

You snort. “Big talk from the guy that knows how to make chloroform.”

“In my defense,” Alex says, “it was for honorable reasons.”

“I don’t know, man.” You lean your elbows on the counter, smirking. “Honorable reasons are kind of lame, don't you think?”

Despite the challenging tone of Alex’s voice, there’s a smile in his eyes. “Oh, so you think I’m boring?”

“No.” You shake your head. “Not at all, man. I already told you that you're interesting.”

It’s meant to be a teasing jab, but it comes out more sincere than you intended. Something you can't place passes over Alex’s expression, like he only just remembered that fact. “You did.” 

“I did,” you echo. He turns his phone over in his hands.

“You’re interesting, too.” It almost sounds like an afterthought, though it's still genuine. “Just so you know.”

You bite down your lip to not smile. His awkward delivery makes you want to laugh a little bit. Not at him, just… in general. “I’m not sure you know enough about me to think that.”

“You're Elliot, you're eighteen, and you're part of the oppressed younger brothers club.”

You break out into a smile and bite it down again. “Ah, stealing my material. Not very honorable of you, Alex.”

“You have a sense of humor,” he adds. “And a tendency for accidental stalking.”

“Anything else?”

“You're bad at your job.” 

You frown playfully, sitting up straight. “Hello? I am great at my job.”

“You haven't even taken my order yet.”

You're lucky your eyes don't stick to the back of your skull with how hard you roll them. “It's called chatting up the customer, Alex. Have you ever heard of it?”

“Your customer that came here for coffee,” he retorts. Something about the way he says it makes you feel flustered for some reason—embarrassment, probably, because you did completely forget to take his order. Before you can think of a comeback, the bathroom door opens. You both turn to look at Scott, who wipes his forehead with a big sigh.

“Man, Tyler made sure that those would last for years to come—” He cuts himself off when he sees you two, his eyebrows moving up. “Oh, hey Alex! I see you’ve met our new barista.”

He pockets his phone and shoots you a quick nod. “Yup, we’ve met. Tyler still doing his signature move?”

“You know it,” Scott replies, heading for the storage closet. You can already see the beginnings of a bleach stain on the sleeve of his pink shirt. 

Alex sighs solemnly, shaking his head softly. “Man. Hope he’s doing alright.”

You look between the two of them throughout this vaguely puzzling conversation, eyebrows furrowed. “Do you two know each other?”

“Oh, we went to highschool together,” Alex says. Scott nods, closing the door and wiping his hands on his apron again.

“And he’s a regular, but yep. St. James High. Man, am I glad to be done with that.” Scott gets behind the counter and quickly pats your shoulder, sympathetic. “I weep for you.”

“He’s already out.” Alex puts his hands on the counter and leans his weight on it. You notice that his elbows are kind of bony, just like the rest of him. “Classes are done for the year at this point.”

Scott glances at you curiously from the espresso machine. “Yeah, but you’re only about to be a senior, right?”

You haven't mentioned how old you are to Scott, so he hasn't done the math. Alex is about to. You swallow and carefully lean back in your chair, trying to look as laid-back as possible. “Yup. Still one year to go.”

You can practically see Alex start the mental equation. He wasn't sure why you struggled to type your contact information. He hasn't seen your cane under the counter. For all that Alex seems to know about you, it looks like the accident isn't one of those things. That realization punches you in the chest and you find yourself blurting out, “I slept through a bunch of classes last year, so I got held back.”

You tell yourself you're not technically lying. It still feels like it.

“Wow, you two are birds of a feather.” Scott shakes his head, cleaning cups that are already spotless. “Alex oversleeps like crazy.”

“I sleep fine,” Alex argues, turning to glare at Scott. It sounds like this is a recurring discussion.

Scott squints at him. “Right. And you definitely didn't come in for coffee at one o'clock in the afternoon because of a sleep-induced headache.”

“I take it back.” Alex turns back to look at you. “You're a great employee. Scott is the one that sucks.”

“Hey!”

“I’m glad you've seen the light,” you say, relieved that the topic has fully changed. “Do you want some coffee for your nonexistent headache?”

He smiles with his eyes, but you can see his lips twitch as well. “Depends. Are you going to finally take my order?”

“Depends. Are you gonna be a dick about it?”

Alex considers it. “Probably.”

You bite your lip again, the corner of your mouth tilting up. “Well, at least you're honest.”

He still has his hands on the counter when he nods solemnly. “It's the honorable thing to do.”

That quip, paired with his dead serious delivery, breaks you out into a laugh. Alex looks quite proud of himself. You find yourself still smiling while you take his order. You find yourself still smiling once he leaves. You find yourself still smiling when you pick up your phone and go to Add New Contact.

As far as summer jobs go, it could be a lot worse.

Chapter Text

June 5

[1:14PM] alex: hi stalker

[2:33PM] you: if i dont even kno ur coffee order im a p bad stalker ngl

[2:34PM] alex: well a real stalker would know that i don't have a go-to coffee order 

[2:34PM] alex: i’m too indecisive 

[2:34PM] you: oh so i can finally beat the allegations?

[2:35PM] alex: maybe

[2:35PM] alex: it's a little funnier if you don’t

[2:35PM] you: lol

June 8

[5:22PM] alex: are you coming to the ex-cult hangout this friday?

[5:22PM] alex: i think it's supposed to be arts and crafts

[5:22PM] alex: i am very bad at arts and crafts

[5:28PM] you: i am not gonna be any help w/ that lmao

[5:28PM] you: i cant draw for shit

[5:29PM] you: and u def dont wanna give me scissors

[5:29PM] alex: we should embrace it

[5:29PM] alex: try and make the ugliest art and/or craft possible

[5:36PM] you: in an ironic way that satirizes any attempts at genuine creative expression

[5:36PM] alex: yes

[5:36PM] you: cool

[5:38PM] you: oliver hasnt invited me yet lmao but ill lyk

[5:38PM] alex: i’m inviting you

[5:39PM] you: oh damn

[5:40PM] you: well how can i refuse

[5:40PM] you: u ask so politely

[5:41PM] alex: i’m asking in an ironic, satirical way

[5:41PM] alex: that feels more up your alley

[5:43PM] you: is this the same alley where ppl get DIY chloroformed 

[5:43PM] alex: are you ever gonna let that go

[5:44PM] you: absolutely not

[5:44PM] alex: okay, just checking

June 10

[11:13PM] you: so if this is supposed to be ur go to coffee shop why arent u here daily

[11:14PM] you: u dont seem worthy of the title of a regular

[12:05PM] alex: that slow today, huh?

[12:06PM] you: weve had 1 customer man

[12:06PM] you: sunglasses guy

[12:07PM] you: who has an obnoxious complex go to order w/ oat milk

[12:07PM] you: like a REAL regular

[12:07PM] alex: you want me to have an obnoxious complex order??

[12:07PM] you: fuck no

[12:08PM] you: its abt the principle of the thing

[12:08PM] alex: right, the principle

[12:08PM] alex: not boredom

[12:08PM] you: exactly 

[12:08PM] you: u get it

[12:10PM] alex: i just woke up but i guess i could go for some caffeine

[12:10PM] you: cool

[12:11PM] you: damn u rlly do sleep in huh

[12:11PM] alex: what are you, the sleep police?

[12:12PM] you: i have p good qualifications

[12:12PM] alex: you’ll never catch me alive

[12:13PM] you: u would def outrun me so congrats u get to live another day

[12:13PM] you: sleep another day

[12:13PM] you: whatever the bit is rn

[12:13PM] alex: hahaha

June 11

[8:57PM] you: pls send our masterpiece

[9:09PM] alex: [20210611_52.jpeg]

[9:09PM] you: wow

[9:10PM] you: it somehow looks worse

[9:10PM] you: thats impressive

[9:10PM] alex: i dunno, i think the camera fails to capture this crime against humanity

[9:10PM] you: hm thats a good point

[9:11PM] alex: did you see quinn’s face when you grabbed the glitter

[9:11PM] you: no lol??

[9:11PM] alex: never seen more fear in a man's eyes

[9:11PM] alex: it was great

[9:12PM] you: didnt u almost throw him off a cliff once

[9:12PM] alex: yes

[9:12PM] alex: my statement still stands

[9:12PM] you: 💀

[9:19PM] you: can i say something about our wretched creation

[9:19PM] alex: yes

[9:19PM] you: can you promise not to get offended

[9:19PM] alex: no

[9:20PM] you: ill take those odds

[9:20PM] you: it kind of looks like ryan

[9:20PM] alex: STOP

[9:20PM] you: tell me im wrong

[9:21PM] alex: …

[9:22PM] alex: ryan would never be caught dead with that much glitter on him

[9:22PM] you: uh huh

[9:22PM] alex: …

[9:23PM] alex: However,

[9:23PM] you: DHFHGHJGJ

June 14

[12:24PM] alex: are you doing anything after your shift?

[12:24PM] you: why

[12:24PM] alex: i feel like we should have a day for club meetings

[12:25PM] alex: otherwise we might lose our credentials 

[12:25PM] you: oh no

[12:25PM] you: not our precious hard earned credentials

[12:25PM] alex: so are you busy?

[12:26PM] you: i cant do mondays

[12:26PM] you: is tmrw ok?

[12:26PM] alex: yeah that works

[12:26PM] you: cool

[12:26PM] alex: cool

[12:29PM] alex: you say cool a lot

[12:30PM] you: lol ig i do

[12:30PM] you: its a cool word

[12:31PM] you: ew that was such an oliver joke what is happening to me

[12:31PM] alex: that’s the oppression of older brothers at work

[12:33PM] you: good thing we have a club meeting tmrw 

[12:33PM] alex: just in the nick of time

[12:33PM] alex: on my way

[12:33PM] you: cool

[12:33PM] you: :P

[12:32PM] you: ur stupid jokes r rubbing off on me

[12:35PM] oliver: youre welcome :)

[12:36PM] you: wipe that smile off ur face

[12:36PM] oliver: :]

[12:36PM] you: cheater

[12:37PM] oliver: youre just mad because im HILARIOUS 

[12:37PM] you: ur rlly not

[12:40PM] you: btw alex is coming over tmrw

[12:40PM] oliver: oh??

[12:40PM] oliver: how come

[12:42PM] you: how come u hang out w/ any of ur friends tf kind of question is that

[12:42PM] oliver: friends!

[12:42PM] oliver: fascinating 

[12:43PM] you: dont be a dick abt it

[12:43PM] oliver: im not! jeez louise

[12:43PM] oliver: i wasnt aware you two had become friends, thats all

[12:44PM] you: who tf says jeez louise u sound like a grandma

[12:44PM] oliver: im just trying to be silly why must you wound me so

[12:44PM] you: cope

[12:44PM] oliver: YOU cope

[12:45PM] you: we r literally both in therapy why r we even arguing abt this

[12:45PM] oliver: for funsies :)

[12:45PM] you: ur bf is annoying

[1:02PM] benjamin: I don't know how you want me to respond to that

[1:02PM] you: he unironically says funsies

[1:05PM] benjamin: I’m pretty sure he says it ironically

[1:05PM] benjamin: He just says it often enough that it became unironic in a roundabout way

[1:06PM] you: he also says jeez louise

[1:13PM] benjamin: Yeah I don't have any defense for that

June 15

[7:16AM] you: r u ok w/ giving me a ride for the “club meeting”

[7:16AM] you: ?

[11:29AM] alex: first of all, you never use quotes and i am offended that this what you have decided to use them on

[11:29AM] alex: second of all yeah sure thing

[11:31AM] you: cool

[11:32AM] you: ugh ever since u pointed it out i cant unsee it

[11:32AM] you: why is this apparently the only word i kno

[11:32AM] alex: get yartmapped

[11:33AM] alex: haha no but seriously, there’s nothing wrong with it

[11:33AM] alex: it suits you

[11:34AM] you: is this ur roundabout way of calling me cool

[11:34AM] alex: why would i do that in a roundabout way??

[11:34AM] alex: you’re cool

[11:36AM] you: thanks

[11:36AM] you: no wait

[11:36AM] you: thats a lame response

[11:36AM] alex: i think that’s a pretty standard response as far as compliments go

[11:37AM] you: ok

[11:37AM] you: cool

[11:37AM] you: jesus fucking christ i need a thesaurus

[11:38AM] alex: does a dictionary work?

[11:38AM] you: is this rhetorical

[11:38AM] alex: depends

[11:39AM] you: i will take that as a yes

[1:17PM] you: what car do u drive btw

[1:20PM] alex: subaru

[1:20PM] you: yeah u look like a subaru guy

[1:20PM] alex: wtf is that supposed to mean??

[1:21PM] you: u just look like a subaru guy lol

[1:21PM] you: its ur vibe

[1:21PM] alex: it was ryan’s car first

[1:21PM] you: still ur vibe

[1:26PM] you: what kind of subaru

[1:26PM] you: ?

[1:26PM] alex: dark green

[1:27PM] you: no but like the model

[1:27PM] alex: subaru??

[1:27PM] you: omggg ur hopeless

[1:27PM] alex: sorry??

[1:27PM] you: no ur fine lol

[2:01PM] you: oh i should do this disclaimer now huh

[2:06PM] alex: ??

[2:11PM] you: so i have a cane technically for mobility aid stuff. i dont rlly need it most of the time anyway lol which is why i havent brought it to ex cult stuff (plus we usually sit for those lmao). and at work i keep it behind the counter so customers dont rlly see it. anyway since ur picking me up from shift i have it w/ me and i just wanted to get this whole thing out of the way so that its not weird or awkward or whatever

[2:11PM] you: just btw

[2:12PM] you: srry my typing takes ages too btw my fingers also suck for related reasons

[2:12PM] alex: i don’t mind slow typing, i’m used to ryan

[2:12PM] you: lmao

[2:12PM] alex: also idk why it would be weird or awkward? my car should have more than enough room for it so you’re good

[2:13PM] you: idk

[2:13PM] you: most eighteen y/os dont have a cane

[2:13PM] alex: most nineteen year olds don’t know how to make chloroform what's your point

[2:13PM] you: shgdfhg??

[2:13PM] you: CRAZY comparison

[2:14PM] alex: i got you to keysmash and use caps lock in one go, i take that as a win

[2:14PM] you: whateverrr

[2:14PM] you: wait dude r u in the parking lot ?

[2:14PM] alex: oh yeah, i got here a bit ago

[2:15PM] alex: i don’t text and drive, that’s dangerous

[2:15PM] you: ok mr chloroform

[2:15PM] alex: shut uppp

[2:15PM] you: why didnt u say u were already here lmao?

[2:16PM] alex: i figured you wanted to not have that conversation in person so i just waited

[2:16PM] you: oh

[2:16PM] you: i mean

[2:16PM] you: yeah

[2:17PM] you: thanks

[2:17PM] you: nope, still feels like a lame response

[2:18PM] alex: i think you’re overthinking it

[2:18PM] you: prolly

[2:18PM] you: anyway be right there lol

[2:20PM] you: 2018 subaru forester btw

[2:20PM] alex: that is

[2:20PM] alex: impressive and intimidating at the same time

[2:21PM] you: thanks

[2:21PM] alex: hahaha

June 16

[Elliot started a JaceTime that lasted two seconds.]

[9:02PM] you: misclick srry lmao

[9:03PM] alex: you’re all good

[9:03PM] alex: i’m also literally about to go to sleep sorry

[9:03PM] you: wait fr?? feels early

[9:03PM] alex: i have a lot to get done tomorrow so

[9:04PM] you: ah so ur waking up early for once

[9:04PM] alex: not exactly

[9:04PM] alex: anyway i should really go to bed

[9:04PM] alex: i’ll see you tomorrow?

[9:05PM] you: yea no worries, i work a double so u can drop by whenever

[9:05PM] you: u can still give me a ride after right?

[9:05PM] alex: yeah

[9:05PM] you: thanks, gn man

[10:16PM] you: as a gift for u in the morning [tiktok link]

June 17

[8:04AM] you: oh god why r wednesday shifts literally always the worst

[8:05AM] you: its like all of LA suddenly decides this is the gasball where it is at

[8:05AM] you: ughhhh

[11:02AM] alex: [Reply to: as a gift for…] hahaha

[11:03AM] alex: yeah scott complains about wednesdays too

[11:03AM] alex: must be cursed

[11:04AM] you: no frrr

[11:04AM] you: just woke up?

[11:05AM] alex: yeah, probably gonna wait until later to drop by though

[11:05AM] alex: to not add to the hell shift

[11:05AM] you: cool srry did u just sleep 14 hrs??

[11:05AM] you: in a row??

[11:06AM] alex: i was tired

[11:06AM] you: i mean felt

[11:06AM] you: still, 14 is like

[11:06AM] you: a lot

[11:07AM] alex: isn’t it a busy shift right now?

[11:07AM] you: man and i thought oliver was bad at switching the subject

[11:07AM] you: also the rush is over

[11:09AM] alex: i sleep a lot man what else is there to say

[11:09AM] you: yea and u have like chronic headaches dont u think those 2 might be related??

[11:28AM] you: ok whatever, forget i said anything, ur right its ur business

[11:28AM] you: ur coffee’s on me today, man

[11:56AM] you: like i said hell shift is over so u can come over whenever

[12:15PM] you: hey dude r u alive

[1:03PM] you: ??

[Elliot started a JaceTime that lasted four seconds.]

[1:45PM] you: srry wrong button

[1:45PM] you: anyway, texting cause shift is almost over

[2:32PM] you: scott gave me a ride since u were a no show in case u give a shit

[2:32PM] you: fuck me for being worried abt u wont happen again

[6:02PM] alex: fuck what time is it??

[6:02PM] alex: oh my god

[6:02PM] alex: dude i am so so sorry

[6:02PM] alex: i wasn’t ignoring you on purpose

[6:03PM] alex: my stepdad is in town and he had to get a bunch of stuff done so me and ryan had to deal with that

[6:03PM] alex: ryan and i

[6:03PM] alex: not the point

[6:03PM] alex: i’m so sorry man it wasn’t supposed to take that long

[6:31PM] alex: elliot?

[6:31PM] you: u dont get to complain abt me not texting back immediately 

[6:31PM] alex: i wasn't complaining

[6:32PM] you: k

[6:32PM] alex: come on man

[6:48PM] you: i get being busy but did ur phone fucking die or smth?? would a heads up text have killed u?

[6:48PM] alex: when james is around it’s

[6:49PM] alex: hard to explain

[6:49PM] alex: but i really cannot do anything else at the same time

[6:50PM] alex: i really am sorry

[6:54PM] you: yeah

[6:56PM] you: tbf like. idk what its like to have a rich ceo stepdad

[6:56PM] you: doesn’t feel like the kind of guy u can say no to ig

[6:56PM] alex: he isn’t.

[6:56PM] alex: you got home okay right?

[6:57PM] you: yea just chilling in my room

[6:58PM] you: tbh i was mainly pissed abt the silent treatment

[6:58PM] you: but i get it, shit happens

[6:58PM] alex: still sorry

[6:59PM] you: its ok man

[6:59PM] you: how r u doing?

[6:59PM] you: after rich ceo stepdad errands

[6:59PM] alex: tired

[6:59PM] alex: ironically

[7:00PM] you: why is it ironic lol

[7:00PM] alex: idk

[7:00PM] you: u gonna get some rest then?

[7:00PM] alex: no, i shouldn’t

[7:01PM] alex: not yet at least

[7:01PM] alex: maybe i’ll just watch youtube or something

[7:01PM] you: cool

[7:01PM] alex: cool

[7:02PM] alex: are we cool?

[7:02PM] you: yeah man

[Elliot started a JaceTime that lasted one second.]

[7:02PM] you: jfc why did the new update put the button there

[7:03PM] you: anyway yea were cool

[7:03PM] alex: dhfhgh

[7:03PM] alex: yea that’s real bad design huh

[7:04PM] you: it is so easy to misclick and for what

[7:04PM] alex: no literally

[Alex started a JaceTime that lasted two seconds.]

[7:04PM] alex: like why is it like that

[7:05PM] you: lmaooo

[Elliot started a JaceTime that lasted one second.]

[7:05PM] you: tag ur it

[7:05PM] alex: HELP

[Alex started a JaceTime that lasted two seconds.]

[7:05PM] alex: this is so stupid

[Elliot started a JaceTime that lasted three seconds.]

[Alex started a JaceTime that lasted one second.]

[Elliot started a JaceTime that lasted two hours.]

June 18

[Alex started a JaceTime that lasted one second.]

[8:12AM] alex: morning

[8:13AM] you: dhfhgjh i am NOT doing all that again

[Alex started a JaceTime that lasted seventeen minutes.]

[Elliot started a JaceTime that lasted three hours.]

June 19

[Alex started a JaceTime that lasted two hours.]

[8:31PM] you: brb

[Elliot started a JaceTime that lasted four hours.]

[Alex started a JaceTime that lasted one hour.]

[12:04AM] oliver: elliot my darling brother i love u with my entire being

[12:04AM] oliver: but GO TO BED u are SO LOUD

[12:05AM] you: glass houses oliver

[12:05AM] oliver: yea what do u think it says about your current volume if IM calling u loud

[12:05AM] you: u got me there

[12:06AM] you: srry i woke u up

[12:06AM] oliver: hey at least u got me out of class

[12:07AM] you: dont talk abt lucid shit this late man my brain is not gonna get any of it

[12:07AM] oliver: hence my original point

[12:07AM] oliver: GO TO BED

[12:07AM] oliver: youve been on call for HOURS

[12:07AM] you: hence?????

[12:08AM] you: ok edgar allan poe wtf

[1:01AM] oliver: dude i can still hear u can u PLS just zzzzz

[1:01AM] you: fineee srry srry

[1:02AM] you: gn

June 20

[Alex started a JaceTime that lasted 42 minutes.]

[12:22PM] alex: on my way

[12:28PM] alex: here!

[12:29PM] you: where tf r u??

[12:29PM] alex: so much for your car superpowers

[12:30PM] you: i promise u there r no 2018 subaru foresters here

[Elliot started a JaceTime that lasted 3 minutes.]

[4:14PM] alex: you need to get your vision checked

[4:15PM] you: if nothing else i already have the cane

[4:15PM] you: (yes ur allowed to laugh)

[4:16PM] alex: OH MY GOD??

[4:17PM] you: i know ive made it when i get an alex caps lock

[4:18PM] alex: [Reply to: (yes ur allow…] thank you. ryan had to come into my room to ask me why i was dying

[4:19PM] you: DHFHJGJG

June 21

[5:02PM] alex: so i know you said you can’t do hangouts on mondays

[5:02PM] alex: but like

[Alex started a JaceTime that lasted one seconds.]

[5:03PM] you: sgdhfhj

[5:04PM] you: i have pt and then dinner but i should be good at like 7ish

[5:04PM] alex: pt??

[5:06PM] you: physical therapy

[5:06PM] alex: oh gotcha

[5:06PM] alex: yeah feel free to call whenever, no rush

[5:06PM] you: cool

[5:06PM] alex: cool :)

[5:07PM] you: why r u threatening me??

[5:07PM] alex: i’m not??

[5:07PM] alex: it’s a smiley face

[5:08PM] you: yeah and it looks like an omen

[5:08PM] alex: you’re overthinking it again

[5:08PM] you: im not overthinking it :) its ok :) dw about it :)

[5:09PM] alex: … okay i see your point

[5:09PM] you: does this smell like almonds to you? :)

[5:09PM] alex: for the last time

[5:09PM] alex: chloroform doesn’t smell like almonds

[Elliot started a JaceTime that lasted one hour.]

June 22

[4:38PM] alex: hey man i pulled over at a random mcdonalds to text this but you left your cane in my car, i’m driving back now

[4:38PM] you: dw u can just give it to me friday

[4:38PM] alex: no??

[4:38PM] alex: i’m not cool with holding your mobility aid hostage

[4:39PM] alex: especially not for two days??

[4:39PM] you: dude its literally fine lol i barely use it

[4:39PM] alex: i’m driving back now and i do not text and drive

[4:39PM] you: ok

[4:42PM] you: thanks

[4:44PM] alex: no problem, man. sorry it took me so many blocks to notice

[4:44PM] alex: also i’m outside

[4:44PM] you: ok gimme a sec

[4:46PM] alex: still here

[4:47PM] alex: hey

[4:47PM] alex: ok i can see you're reading these right now

[4:48PM] you: onesec

[4:48PM] alex: what's up?

[Alex started a JaceTime that lasted 6 seconds.]

[4:49PM] you: canwe text pls

[4:49PM] alex: i mean yeah dude but are you good??

[4:49PM] alex: don't rush typing take your time

[4:52PM] you: im fine so dont freakout im just chilling on the living room floor nothing hurts

[4:53PM] you: u can just leave the cane there and oliver will bring it in later srry

[Alex started a JaceTime that lasted 2 seconds.]

[4:53PM] alex: dude??

[4:53PM] alex: do you guys have any kind of key out here i can use

[4:54PM] you: u can leave it there its fine

[4:54PM] alex: no it is not??

[4:54PM] alex: elliot

[4:54PM] alex: don't make me text oliver and ask

[4:54PM] you: this js club betrayal

[4:54PM] alex: i have a knack for getting kicked out of those

[4:55PM] alex: come on man seriously

[4:55PM] you: theres a key under the ugly gardengnome u can just let urself in

[4:55PM] alex: that's what i thought

[4:55PM] alex: also

[4:55PM] alex: “chilling on the floor” is an interesting way to describe falling

[4:56PM] you: fuckoff ur the one that decided to drive back

[4:56PM] alex: yeah and this is exactly why??

[4:56PM] alex: all the garden gnomes are ugly can you be more specific 

[4:56PM] you: green cap

[4:56PM] you: it barely does shit

[4:57PM] alex: the garden gnome?

[4:57PM] you: the cane dumbass

[4:57PM] you: walking still sucks w it

[4:57PM] alex: i get that, but doesn't the cane make it suck a little less?

[4:57PM] alex: got the key, see you in a sec

[8:02PM] you: thx for not snitching abt the fall

[8:03PM] you: also srry my moms peer pressured u into dinner

[8:03PM] you: and the 3 person interrogation 

[8:03PM] you: they have all unfortunately always been like that

[8:04PM] alex: dhfhfjgj

[8:05PM] alex: i mean the food was great

[8:05PM] alex: i don't think i made a great impression though

[8:05PM] alex: nineteen with no job or college prospects

[8:05PM] you: oliver literally dropped out of college ur fine

[8:06PM] alex: he is also crazy successful with an award nominated series

[8:06PM] you: tbh theyre just happy im bringing anyone to the house lol

[8:06PM] you: w/ my old friends we mainly went out

[8:06PM] alex: ah so you're a party kid?

[8:08PM] you: not so much recently

[8:08PM] you: i used to, tho

[8:08PM] alex: well, that's more than me

[8:08PM] alex: my highschool experience was pretty tame

[8:09PM] alex: shockingly, i was not crazy popular

[8:09PM] you: see what u needed to do was pull out ur chloroform party trick

[8:10PM] you: then you wouldve been invited to all the ragers

[8:10PM] alex: Ha ha.

[8:10PM] alex: well i didn't learn how to do that until after i graduated so

[8:10PM] alex: window of opportunity missed

[8:10PM] you: there r other windows

[8:11PM] alex: i mean other than ex-cult hangouts, i’m not exactly on any guest lists

[8:11PM] alex: anyway, not the point

[8:11PM] alex: dinner was nice

[8:12PM] alex: hopefully your moms approve of me and my non-partying ways

[8:12PM] you: do u approve of alex and his non-partying ways

[8:15PM] mom: 😂 Tell Alex that he’s welcome to dinner anytime!

[8:15PM] you: [Screenshot_25817.jpeg]

[8:15PM] you: yea

[8:16PM] alex: OH my god

[8:20PM] alex: thank you mrs todaro

[8:20PM] you: do i ever get to meet mrs jasperson? lol

[8:20PM] alex: oh god

[8:20PM] alex: i like you too much to subject you to a dudepants/jasperson family dinner

[8:21PM] you: ok yea fair i cant say i envy ur telenovela of a family tree

[8:21PM] alex: yeah

[8:21PM] alex: man

[8:21PM] alex: i really need to get out more

[8:12PM] you: hey

[8:19PM] callie: Hey, whats up?

[8:19PM] you: is less than a week too close to rsvp?

[8:21PM] callie: What about ur mystery summer job?

[8:21PM] you: one day off wont kill me

[8:22PM] callie: Lmaooo

[8:22PM] callie: Yea i invited u for a reason im not revoking that!

[8:22PM] you: cool

[8:23PM] you: btw can i bring a plus one?

[8:23PM] callie: Oooooh

[8:23PM] callie: Whos the lucky person? 👀

[8:24PM] you: hes just my friend alex

[8:24PM] callie: Is he cool?

[8:25PM] you: define cool

[8:25PM] callie: Ok so thats a no

[8:25PM] callie: Is he normal?

[8:25PM] you: definitely not

[8:25PM] callie: Perfect

[8:25PM] callie: Sure, why not, the more the merrier ✨

[8:26PM] you: appreciate it lol

[8:26PM] you: he is cool, btw, just a lil awkward

[8:27PM] callie: Lol dw thats ok!

[8:27PM] callie: We can show him a good time 🎉

[8:23PM] you: ur so right

[8:23PM] alex: no wait you're supposed to disagree and say “nooo alex, don't say that, you’re perfect just the way you are”

[8:23PM] you: have u met me??

[8:24PM] alex: oh yeah

[8:24PM] alex: you're kind of an asshole

[8:24PM] alex: almost forgot

[8:24PM] you: smh how could u 

[8:24PM] alex: it's part of your charm

[8:25PM] alex: i mean like its part of yuor general personality and energy as a whole in a good way

[8:25PM] alex: *your

[8:26PM] alex: anyway

[8:26PM] you: anyway

[8:26PM] you: what r u doing saturday?

Chapter Text

You don't know what you're expecting Callie’s seventeenth birthday party to be like. You don't mean to be stereotypical and assume it’ll be a rager with red solo cups and deafening music, but you're still a little surprised when you find there's like twenty people here at most and a reasonably volumed Spotify playlist.

You also don't mean to lose sight of Alex so quickly. It hasn't even been thirty minutes and he's somehow disappeared into thin air. 

He shouldn't be that hard to find, is the thing: it's not that crowded, and he’s taller than you, which in theory makes him easier to spot. At the same time, you don't know the layout of Callie’s house at all, and it kind of feels like wandering a maze with Ariana Grande playing in the background. It's also tricky to walk around other people—who are you kidding, it’s tricky to walk, period—without accidentally hitting someone with your cane. You feel stupid for bringing it in the first place. Unfortunately, your therapist made that your homework for this week, and you’ve found that the only thing worse than doing therapy homework is showing up to therapy and admitting that you didn't do it.

Ariana Grande becomes Olivia Rodrigo when you enter what must be the kitchen. You spot a familiar face next to the fridge.

“Hey, Elliot.” Callie holds up a can of LaCroix with a raised eyebrow. “Want one?”

“I’m good,” you say. She shrugs, the motion making her earrings dangle. They're small, puffy, white flowers. You wonder if they tickle at all. “How does being seventeen feel?”

“I feel wise beyond my years, but that's kind of been a constant, so.” She opens the tab of the can—her nails now have a white and pink theme—and takes a sip. “Where's your friend?”

So she hasn't seen him either. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

That's not true, obviously. You have a few guesses. Most likely, Alex is standing in a corner as inconspicuously as possible or hiding out for a breather in the backyard. Wherever that is. Hell, maybe he just went to the bathroom. Either way, it might be better to stick to one place so that it's easier for him to find you, rather than the other way around. Wandering around aimlessly hasn’t gotten you anywhere so far. Besides, if you keep it up, you know you’re going to tire yourself out too quickly.

“I’m sure he’ll turn up,” she says. Callie gestures her well-manicured hand at you. “Do you wanna sit?”

You haven't even opened your mouth to reply when she walks over to a pantry door and pulls out a high stool, placing it right next to where she's standing. You don't bother saying no—that would be more effort than it's worth at this point—and you begrudgingly sit down. It’s a little easier to focus without having to multitask staying upright, you suppose. 

“It's a good party,” you tell her. She smiles.

“Thanks! Buying the decorations was, like, so stressful, but it really came together in the end, I think. I was kind of going for a watermelon vibe.”

You have no idea how a specific fruit would work as a party theme. Then again, a specific fruit worked as a cult theme. And another specific fruit worked as a theme for the fabric of reality. Maybe you're being too harsh on watermelon.

“I can see it,” you say, even though you can't. “It’s like summertime with age appropriate drinks.”

There's a playful squint in her eyes. “Did you only come because you thought you could get wasted?”

“No.” You shrug. “I came for the LaCroix, obviously.”

She shakes her head when she chuckles. “Okay, Elliot Todaro’s got jokes. Good to know.”

You find yourself picking at the handle of your cane as she takes another sip. For all that you two had to interact for that project, it’s not like either of you actually hung out. It was the kind of thing where you’d stay after school together some days, or text to figure out who was doing which part, but that was it. She would say hi to you in the hallway, and you’d say hey back. Callie is likeable enough that she probably has that kind of dynamic with most of her classmates. But there are only twenty-so people here and, for some reason, you're one of them. You two don't know each other. You're still not sure why you're here at all.

“What did you mean? On the last day of school?”

Callie gives you a curious look, and you immediately regret bringing it up. She obviously doesn't know what you’re talking about, because it was just a throwaway comment. Still, you can't back out halfway through, so you roll back your shoulders and ask anyway. “You told me to seriously try to have some fun. Why?”

The memory seems to click at that. “Oh, yeah. Not sure you wanna hear the answer to that.”

You can't help but bristle at that, a little. “Why not?”

“Because boys tend to be allergic to emotional intelligence.”

That statement is somehow less offensive than whatever you’d thought of. “I go to therapy, does that score me any points?”

She looks impressed. You don't even have a chance to panic about the fact that you just told someone you have a shrink. Unprompted and willingly, no less. “It does,” she says. “Good for you, man.”

It's a little hard to not flush at that. Lamely, you just mutter, “Thanks.”

Callie shoots you a smile before shifting to a more thoughtful expression. “Anyway… like, I’m just making a general observation, but obviously tell me to buzz off if I read the vibe wrong.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.“

She takes another sip of her can and mulls over her words. “So, like. I know we only got paired up this semester, but I saw you around before then. We had a couple classes together in the fall. Do you remember?”

You try to think back to your first semester back in school. Just the memory of it is overwhelming and you shake it off. Callie nods. “Fair. You obviously had a lot going on. But I know Nya asked you if you wanted to sit with her at lunch a few times, and Charlie always tried to talk with you between classes. I’m pretty sure Jackson said he invited you to his Super Bowl watch party or whatever with a few other guys. And like, to be fair, I would totally turn that down too, but that's not the point.”

Your nail catches on the ridge between the metal and the handle. “What is your point?”

“Why do you think I invited you to my birthday?”

It's not a mean question, even though it feels like one. In fact, it’s a perfectly reasonable question, because you've been asking it to yourself ever since she texted you the invite. You press your tongue against your teeth listlessly. She waits. “I don't know,” you admit.

Callie tilts her head, her earrings dangling. “You think I feel sorry for you.”

It's strange to hear it out loud instead of repeated like a mantra inside your head. You figure you might as well match her energy—hanging out with Alex so much makes it easier to be more direct nowadays. “Don't you?”

“I think what happened sucks, obviously. I don't think anyone can even imagine what that's like. But no. If anything, I thought you were kind of full of yourself.” The surprise must show on your face, because her serious expression cracks at that. “Like, not that you were a douchebag or anything, but I don't know. It was like you felt you were somehow better than us just because you used to be an upperclassman. I have friends that are sophomores. Nya’s boyfriend is a senior. It's really not that deep.”

You think about every time someone interacted with you this past year out of pity. You’re certain at least some of those were out of pity. For the first time, you wonder if you were maybe overgeneralizing. “So why would you invite someone that's full of himself to your birthday?’

“Because Mr. Rivers paired us up for that godawful project and it turns out you aren't full of yourself.” Callie sets down the can and leans back on her elbows. “I kinda figured out that you weren't turning stuff down because you wanted to. Self-isolation is, like, a pretty common coping mechanism.”

You give her a weirded out look. She shrugs again. “I took psychology as my elective this year.”

“I was about to say you sound like my therapist.”

Luckily, Callie takes it as a compliment. “So, anyway. I told you to seriously try to have fun because it felt like you weren't letting yourself do that. At least at that point. That's basically it.”

There's still faint music in the background. You don't recognize the artist. Their voice fills the silence between you as you squeeze your cane.

“What did you get in your psych class?” you ask eventually.

“I got an A minus.”

“Yeah.” You let out a weary sigh. “That tracks.” 

She gives you a small smile and nudges your foot. “Hey, you're talking to the girl who talked to her imaginary friend well into middle school. This is a judgement free zone.”

You huff out a laugh, even though you’re still kind of reeling. “I don't know about that. Maybe a little judgement.”

She considers this with a hum before nodding. “Yeah, you’re right. Judgement is also a part of life. We should embrace it.”

“Exactly,” you say. “Because seriously, Callie. Middle school?”

Her perfectly manicured middle finger flips you off. It makes you laugh again. “Don't forget I’m the birthday girl, Elliot.”

“How could I? You have a perfectly procured watermelon theme to remind everyone.”

Her lips quirk up into a grin as she takes another sip. It feels like it solidifies something between you, bridging the gap from classmate to friend. It's hard to really be sure, but for once, you feel like you should try to be a little optimistic.

You also figure this might be as good a time as any to look for Alex again. It's been a while, and whatever wall he’s attached himself to must be getting boring. You’re bracing yourself to stand up from the stool when you hear laughter from the entryway.

Entering the kitchen with a small smile is Alex, nodding along to the tail end of some story being shared by the guy next to him. The guy has an arm thrown over Alex’s shoulders and a kind of annoying laugh, gesturing pointedly with his free hand. He’s just as tall as Alex, it looks like, so you have no idea how holding his arm up there is even comfortable. Alex catches sight of you and something that you’re pretty sure is relief washes over him. It settles something inside you, though you’re not entirely sure what.

“There you are,” you say. “Were you being held hostage or something?”

The guy with the kind of annoying laugh notices you and pats Alex’s shoulder before finally pulling back. “Oh, sorry man. We were just looking for the kitchen.”

Callie tilts her head curiously. “You're Jonah’s cousin, right?”

The guy then notices Callie and hesitates. His ears unsubtly go pink. “Uh. Yeah. You're the birthday girl, I’m guessing?”

“That’s me,” she announces cheerily.

“Happy birthday, um…?”

She looks very amused. “Callie.”

“Callie.” He nods, a kind of dopey smile on his face. “Uh, Liam. I’m Liam.”

You shoot Alex a glance. He looks back at you, raising his eyebrows. You nod. “I’ll catch you later, Callie. We’re gonna make the rounds.”

“Yeah.” She's still a little distracted, and you decide that maybe this Liam guy isn't that annoying. She shoots you one last glance, smiling. “Try to have fun, alright?”

You scoff and roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. You too.”

As quickly as the two of you can manage, you exit the kitchen and make your way down the hallway. Alex leans down to whisper, “I can't believe you invited me to this party and then ditched me.”

“I didn't ditch you, you disappeared on me. I looked for you everywhere, man.”

He shakes his head in disbelief, but there's no heat behind it. “Can we just stick to the buddy system for the rest of the night, please?”

You go to smack his arm. It comes out more like a reassuring pat. “Yeah. Club members need to stick together.”

“Is that a new rule we’re establishing?”

“Do we even have rules?”

Alex thinks about it. “I don't think so. Should we?”

The question is earnest. He looks at you with his mostly brown, slightly green eyes. You don't bite down your smile this time.

“Nah,” you say. “I think we're good just like this.”

Alex smiles back. It's the kind of smile that mostly shows up in his eyes instead of his mouth, and you realize belatedly that the one he had in the kitchen was just polite. This one is genuine. The realization flutters in your chest, turning into something flighty and warm—right before Alex drops his voice down into a bad impression of you. “Cool.”

You do smack his arm, this time. He lets out a small laugh and the warmth spreads. “Yeah, cool, screw you.”

Chapter Text

It all comes out when you finally leave the party.

Alex is giving you a ride, because it's late, and your mama can't drive at night because of her eyesight, and your mom has to get up early tomorrow. Oliver can't—well, he can't. So you climb into Alex’s Subaru Forester with a huff, folding up your cane and placing it on your lap. You're not as dizzy as you could be, after being up and about so long, but you still feel generally unsteady. You buckle your seatbelt as Alex starts the car and lean your head back with a sigh. The drive is silent for the first couple minutes, your Spotify playing through the car speakers as Alex keeps his eyes on the road.

“That was fun,” he says finally. You shoot him a quick glance. “Thanks for inviting me. I, uh. I appreciate it.”

You smile softly before closing your eyes. “Thanks for coming, man. I wouldn't have gone otherwise.”

A beat passes.

“You said you used to go to a lot of these.” You open your eyes again, staring through the windshield while Alex speaks. “Do you ever miss it?”

You think about it. You think about hanging out with your friends at their houses, and then at other people's houses, surrounded by strangers and not having to worry about anything important. You think about feeling included and a part of a group—of multiple groups, even—because you knew how to play the game of saying the right thing. You think about staying out late and laughing along to whatever other people were laughing at.

“Kind of.” You think about scoffing at your parents and snapping at your brother. “I don't know.”

Alex slows to a stop at a red light and hums in acknowledgement. A beat passes. You find yourself speaking again, unprompted. “I think I just miss being normal.”

He glances at you and then turns his eyes back to the road, frowning softly. “No one is normal.”

“You spend way too much time with the cult,” you say back. “Other people are normal. Trust me, I know.”

“And you miss that? Normal people?”

It's a loaded question. You try to imagine a world where you could have both. You imagine introducing Alex to your old friends, his dry and awkward delivery clashing with their snickers and knowing looks. The mental image sinks down to your gut as the light goes green.

“It’s—”

“Fuck!”

Wheels screech as Alex swerves. The seat belt digs into your neck. There's a car horn blaring—Alex is digging his heel into the claxon. Your heart pounds, blood rushing in your ears until everything is muffled.

“Christ, they just fully ran that red!” Alex says. You’re in the car. He keeps driving. “I really hate LA sometimes. Are you okay?”

You're in the car. You clutch the apple—the cane in your hands. Not the apple. It's not raining. you were in a coma, but you woke up. you're awake and Alex is driving and you're still in the car.

“Elliot?”

you want to scream, but the last time you did that you were stuck in the car and the door wouldn't open and you can't wake up and you can't get out of the car but you need to—”pull over.”—and get out of the car. you need to get out of the car.

“I—yeah, are you—?”

“please fucking pull over.”

you can feel your voice shake. you can feel the car turn (it turns right it's turning right it doesn't turn left). Alex hasn't even fully stopped before you’re yanking the door open and stumbling out of the car. “Wh—Elliot!”

you stumble, walk, wobble, stumble again, anything to get away from the car. you're awake. you were in a coma but you woke up. you woke up. you're not in the car. you—

something grabs your shoulder and you try to shove it away, but you lose your balance (when don't you?) and fall backwards. the impact knocks the air out of you and you try to catch your breath. you try again. you try again. you're suffocating. you need someone to jam a tube down your throat. you need to fucking breathe. you need to wake up.

Alex is kneeling in front of you. he looks panicked. “Elliot? What–what’s happening? Do you need an inhaler? A hospital?”

your heart promptly tries to jump out of your throat. you shake your head so hard that it's a miracle you don't get whiplash. Alex nods. “Okay, okay, uh. Um. Do you—?”

“gimme—” you gasp, “—a sec.”

his eyebrows crease together, but he just nods again. “Okay.”

you press your hands to the ground. it tickles—you’re sitting on grass. you clench your hands into fists and feel the dirt dig under your fingernails. your hands are still shaking. “fuck.”

“It's okay.” Alex shifts so he’s sitting instead of kneeling. you stare at his boots and force your lungs to expand. “It's okay, just breathe.”

“i’m trying,” you snap back, still wheezing for air.

Alex folds up one knee, wrapping his arms around one leg. “Well, yeah, but it's clearly with mixed success.”

you manage to scoff before sharply drawing another breath. “fuck you.”

the air still feels shallow. you squeeze your eyes shut.

“If you want,” Alex offers, “I can whip up some chloroform for you to breathe in, instead.”

your next gasp for air is cut off by a shocked laugh. you try to inhale but break out into a breathless laughter instead. “Dude, what?”

“You heard me.”

“That doesn't even make sense.” You puff out another laugh into the humid night air. “How would that even help?”

“Oh, it wouldn't.” Alex shrugs. “But joking about it did.”

You’re awake. You're breathing. You’re sitting on the grass somewhere in southern Los Angeles. A bit shakily, you nod. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, man.” His eyes examine you carefully. Worried. You swallow. “Are you okay?”

You nod again. “Yeah, sorry. We can go back now.”

Alex doesn't move to stand up. You don't, either. You dig your fingers into the dirt again. 

You didn't lie, technically. You just didn't bring it up. It was easier to avoid it, to not acknowledge what happened and cling to your last shred of normalcy.

“I was in a car accident.”

You haven't felt normal for a long, long time.

Alex’s eyes soften in realization. “Oh. Shit.”

“Yeah.” You look up at the sky, an inky void save for a couple satellites. The orange street lamps glare in your periphery. “It was… really bad. Car totalled. It's why I can't walk normally or grab little things. Also how I got this.” You gesture to your right forearm, where there's a smattering of faint scars from all the glass. 

“Were you…?”

He doesn't finish the question, but you answer it anyway. “I wasn't driving. Hadn't taken the test yet. Oliver—” You swallow. “It was an accident.”

“That's awful.”

It's hard to think that it's pity when he’s just pointing out a fact. You exhale shakily. “Yeah.”

You see a plane flying overhead. Alex’s voice is tentative when he speaks again. “Is that why you were held back? Recovery?”

You laugh dryly. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Well, I was kind of in a coma, so. Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

You can practically feel Alex’s eyes widen before you look at him again. You answer his next question before he can ask it. “I was in a coma for a while. Long enough that they weren't sure I was gonna wake up.”

Alex’s eyes stay on you, unreadable in the dim light. This is around the time that most people would say that they're so sorry, then offer to help you up, and then naturally change the subject to anything else.

“Do you remember any of it?”

Alex is not most people.

“You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to,” he adds, when he sees you hesitate. “I’m just… wondering.”

You're not sure if you want to talk about it. You're pretty sure that you should.

“Yeah. Well, kind of.” You finally remove your hands from the ground and wipe off the dirt as much as possible. Something to do. “I remember the general gist. Time passed differently, so it didn't feel as long? I don't know. It was just kind of trippy.”

Alex nods, gears turning in his head. “So you had dreams.”

If only he knew. “Yeah.”

“Huh.” He shakes his head softly, giving you another careful look. “Are you good to get back in the car? We can wait here another while if you need.”

You don't want your family to worry. With a measured breath, you force yourself to nod. Alex pushes himself up to stand and offers you a hand. He’s holding your cane in the other; you must've dropped it when you ran out. Something catches in your throat that you have to swallow down. He pulls you up swiftly, the motion immediately leaving you unsteady on your feet. You both stand there for a moment while you try to center yourself—you try not to think about how close you are as you reach for your cane. The dirt below you is too soft for it, sinking in slightly, and you resolve to finally tell your therapist (the physical one, not the shrink) that this cane fucking sucks.

The two of you slowly make your way back to the car, the orange light catching in Alex’s hair. You carefully remind yourself to breathe again and start talking, desperate for a distraction from the last few minutes. “So, since you sleep enough to have mini-comas, are your dreams weird, too?”

It's a joke with a genuine question tied in. You don't know a lot about lucid stuff, but you know that this world is Benjamin’s dreamscape, and you're pretty sure that it is the way it is—with taxes and jobs and mundanity—because Benjamin is kind of boring. Oliver’s dream is apparently in elementary school, because your brother is kind of a child. So you're a little curious about what Alex’s dreams are like, and what they say about him.

Alex’s reaction is a lot more telling than his actual response. You can feel his shoulders stiffen next to you, hands finding their way into his pockets. “Well. All dreams are weird. So.”

Oddly evasive. Considering you just spilled your guts, it feels a little bit hypocritical. “I guess, but I’m asking about your dreams.”

“Right,” Alex says. There's a pause. “Yeah. I have weird dreams.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, y’know.” 

He doesn't elaborate. You pause, leaning your weight on your cane as you squint at him. He quickly notices and turns around warily. “I don't know. That's kind of why I’m asking.”

He shrugs a little helplessly. You squint harder.

If only he knew, you’d thought. You haven’t ever stopped to consider that maybe, just maybe, he already does.

“Do your dreams have, like… a common theme?”

His expression shifts, now more discerning. “Maybe.”

“What kind of theme?”

A beat passes as he looks you up and down. He squints back at you. “Why do you ask?”

“Alex.”

He keeps squinting. Finally, he says, “It’s… fruit themed.”

“That sounds gay.”

Alex goes a little red but throws up his hands. “It’s an apple, okay? Not—whatever.”

You point at him, as if you're accusing him of something in court. “You know!?”

He looks a little taken aback but points his finger right back at you. “You know!?”

“Yeah, I know! How do you know!?”

“It—” Alex cuts himself off with a slight grimace. “It’s a long story. What about you?”

You open and close your mouth a couple times. “Long story.”

You reach a standstill as you both stare at each other, standing only a few feet away from the car. Someone drives past. You both keep staring. Finally, Alex says:

“Okay, then.”

You just nod in slight disbelief. “Okay.”

“It's been a long night.”

It has. You lean your weight even further on your cane and nod again. “Yeah.”

“Do you wanna go home?”

There are about a million questions roaming in your mind with at least three follow-ups each. There is also a deep rooted exhaustion weighing you down to the bone. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” Alex unlocks the car and opens the door for you. “C’mon.”

It’s hard to tell if the rest of the drive back is tense, awkward, or both. You’re still picking at your cane by the time Alex pulls up in front of your house, your Spotify playing softly in the background.

“Uh,” Alex starts, a little unsure. You turn to look at him, unbuckling your seatbelt. “Usually this is the part where I tell you to sleep well, but.”

You smirk at him, teasing. “What, you don't want me to sleep well because I was in a coma?”

“What? No, I meant the lucid thing.”

“I know. I was kidding.”

“Oh.”

You sigh, your mouth still curled up slightly. “I work tomorrow afternoon. Maybe you can pick me up after and we can trade long stories.”

A car drives past, the headlights washing over Alex’s face for a moment. “Yeah,” he says. “We can do that.”

“Cool.”

Even in the dark, you can hear his smile. “Cool. Sleep well.”

“Yeah, you too.” The car door opens. It's not stuck. You glance at Alex, though you can’t quite manage to look at his face; your eyes linger on the neckline of his shirt instead. “Drive safe, okay?”

He nods. “I’ll text you when I get home.”

You need to get out of the car, so you do. Alex waits for you to open the front door and wave him off before driving out into the night. Once you can't see his car anymore, you try to quietly step inside and lock the door behind you. It's not until you fully turn around that you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Jesus fucking—Oliver!” 

He shushes you from where he’s sitting on the couch, the only light in the room coming from his laptop screen. “Shut up, you're gonna wake up our parents.”

You glare at him but lower your volume. “Why the hell are you still awake? Don't you have math class?”

“Ha ha,” he says dryly. Oliver stretches, a couple joints popping. “My autopilot can take care of that, it’s fine. How was the party?”

You go up to the closest armchair and lean on the back of it, giving him a wary look. There are dark circles under his eyes, highlighted by the laptop screen’s glow. “It was good. We had fun.”

“Good. Yeah, that's great.” Something about this conversation feels off. You can't quite put your finger on it. “What time did you guys head out?”

You check your phone and shrug. “Like half an hour ago, maybe?”

Oliver nods. “Okay.” He turns his eyes back down to his screen—probably script stuff. You almost prop yourself up to go to your room when he speaks up again. “I thought the party was fifteen minutes away, or something, so. I wasn't sure.”

The AC whirs softly in the background. You know you gave Callie’s address to your parents. You know you didn't give it to Oliver. You certainly didn't tell him the commute at any point. It's not like he needed it. The last time—

(“Wh—hello?”

“Hey, can you give me a ride?”

“Give you a—Elliot, it’s like two in the morning, why would you even need to go out this late?”

“I’m already out.”

“... what?”

“I’m at Mark’s place. Can you pick me up or what?”)

“So?”

You don't mean for your voice to bristle, but it does anyway. Oliver clenches his jaw and swallows, giving you a jerky shrug.

“Just wanted to know why you were late, Elliot. That's all.”

(“You snuck out!?”

“Shhh, you’re gonna wake up our parents!”

“They should be awake! Do you realize how long past your curfew it is!?”

“It’s not a big deal, just don't tell them.”

“‘Not a big deal’? I can't believe you!”)

“I don't exactly have a curfew anymore.”

Oliver clenches his jaw again. You grip your cane until your fingers shake (doesn't take much these days). The AC keeps whirring. Finally, Oliver just says: “I know.”

He sounds tired. He looks tired. You can't tell if tonight is the first night he's stayed up late or if it's been an ongoing trend. You haven't really talked with Oliver much this week. You haven't really seen him, actually. The last time you two really talked was on Wednesday, when you told him you were going out this weekend.

(“Are you gonna pick me up or not?”

“... Yeah. Yeah, just—send me the location. Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“I’m just—”

“Whatever. Sent you the pin.”

“... Fine. I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay.”

“This conversation isn't over.”

“Whatever.”

“Elliot—”)

You look at his eyebags again. You think about him sleeping at the hospital. You think about Alex swerving, and Oliver taking a left turn.

“We just drove around for a bit,” you lie. “Chatted and stuff.”

Oliver nods, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Yeah, okay. Good. I’m glad you had fun.”

He shoots you a quick smile. You can tell it's forced. 

“Yeah.” Your voice catches. You decide to blame that one on how tired you are. “You look like shit. Go to sleep.”

He huffs out a laugh at that, rubbing at his eyes. “Yeah, I should probably try to at least make it to recess. Benny’s been complaining.”

So he’s been doing this for a few days. The realization settles in your stomach weirdly. You ignore it. “Can't believe you're ditching your boyfriend in elementary school.”

“He’s not my boyfriend over there,” he points out. “At least not yet.”

You pretend to gag. Oliver rolls his eyes, smiling softly. “Get some rest, I’ll be right up.”

You aren't sure if he means it or not. You hope he does. “Alright. G’night, man.”

“Night, Elliot.”

Your phone buzzes when you're halfway to your room. Once you close the door behind you, you read the text.

[11:55PM] alex: made it home. how are you holding up?

You don't know if you want to talk about what just happened. You tap the side of your phone for a few seconds before responding.

[11:58PM] you: im ok. gonna pass tf out lol. see u tmrw?

[11:59PM] alex: same haha

[11:59PM] alex: just had to go kill the person that almost tboned us real quick

[11:59PM] alex: see you tomorrow!

[12:00AM] you: DHFHFJGJ

[12:00AM] you: they dont stand a chance against that cliff

[12:00AM] alex: exactly. so glad you understand

You think about how your brother doesn't sleep enough and how Alex sleeps too much. You go to bed wondering what Alex's dreams look like. Right before sleep fully pulls you under, you wonder if you can find out.

Chapter Text

“You go first.”

“Why do I have to go first?”

“Because,” you say, “I figured out you were a lucid before you figured out I was a lucid.”

Alex frowns at that, swiveling back and forth in your desk chair. “We figured it out at the same time.”

“Don't play games, man.” You point your phone at him, half-lying down on your bed. “I was the one that started asking.”

His frown doesn't go away, though there's no heat behind it. Alex finally relents with a deep sigh, tapping his fingers periodically on the armrests. “Okay. So. Ryan and I are lucids.”

“Ryan too?” you ask. Not that it's that surprising, when you think about it—from everything you’ve seen, the two of them are really close. Alex nods anyway.

“Yeah. We learned about it from James a few years ago—”

“Wait, your stepdad?” You push yourself up until you’re leaning your weight on your hands. “The super rich CEO asshole is a lucid?”

Alex’s eyebrows twitch up in surprise. “I—well, yeah. How do you think he pulled that off?”

You shrug. “I don't know, how does anyone become rich? I just assumed he has unethical business practices like every other CEO.”

His lips twitch upward and he presses them together before clearing his throat. “That, too. But the main reason he was able to do it is because he’s a lucid. A really good one.”

“This isn't his dream, though,” you point out. “How could he change stuff in his reality?”

“Well, it isn't his reality,” Alex says simply. “He just pops in once in a while, but he’s not from here.”

In your experience, lucid shit is always complicated. There are levels, though. This looks like it's less “generally confusing” and veering more into “mind-bendingly complicated” territory. Alex continues, tapping his foot on the ground as he speaks. “Dreamscapes are malleable whether you’re a lucid or not. Even though they each have their own set of rules, a good amount of them operate on ‘yes, and’ logic. I mean, before you became a lucid, you would just kind of go along with whatever was happening in your dreams, right? You didn't question anything until you woke up and thought back on it.”

You nod. Alex gestures at you and goes back to tapping the armrest. “Exactly. Same goes for any dreams you visit. Once you have a gist of how a dreamscape operates, so long as you follow its general rules, you can find ways to bend them. Going along with the person’s subconscious is going to yield much better results than fighting against it, and it becomes easier to shift things here and there.”

You mull over the concept for a few moments. Alex looks at you carefully. “Does that make sense?”

Barely. You decide to pick your battles. “Sort of. I mean, if you go with the flow, I guess it’s easier to have some control of where you’re heading, right?”

“Yeah, that’s the gist of it.”

“So… other people's dreamscapes are like a lazy river?”

His lips twitch again. “Never thought of it like that, but yeah, kind of.”

“Okay. So he taught you two about lucid stuff.”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

Alex straightens in your chair, his clavicle just peeking out of the edge of his shirt. “Well, he’s one of the wealthiest people in history here. What do you think he does in other dreamscapes?”

You look at him a little incredulously. “Did he seriously make Japple a fucking inter-dreamscape business?”

“No, not Japple. It's always something different. Renowned scientist, movie director, president, you name it. He saints himself in a bunch of them.”

You’ve officially entered “mind-bendingly complicated” territory, right on the border of “nearly incomprehensible.” “He saints himself? How does that even work?”

Alex’s expression is fully resigned. “Do you remember what high school I went to?”

“Yeah, St. James High, right?” 

He looks at you expectantly. There's a pause.

“Oh, what the fuck.”

“Yeah,” he says, defeated. “That was a wild one to find out.”

You might need some red string to even begin to comprehend this timeline, but you figure some context might be helpful. “And when did he marry your mom, in all of this?”

He shifts in his seat—your seat, whatever—and shrugs, the motion a little stilted. “It’s been a few years—he’d already founded Japple by then. I was fourteen when we met, but he didn't tell us about any lucid stuff until I was… sixteen-ish? Ryan was almost eighteen. Anyway, he sat us down and explained everything. He talked about how dreamscapes are always growing and evolving, and since they change forwards and backwards, that means any previous versions can practically disappear without a trace. He found that some of the dreamscapes he influenced would sometimes completely reverse his work while he was gone. I guess it got annoying enough that he decided to train us, so that we could go into those dreamscapes and basically do maintenance for him.”

Despite how insane all of this is, a lot of things are making sense in retrospect. “Those are your errands?”

“Yes. For the most part.”

You puff out your cheeks briefly and shake your head. “Wow. No wonder you couldn't text that one time. No wonder you sleep so much.”

Alex slowly nods, his knee still bouncing up and down. He’s staring a hole into your bedroom floor. “Yeah.”

There's a brief silence as your brain tries to process all of this.

“You know a lot about this lucid stuff,” you realize. “Like, I know about it, but I don't actually do any of it. I just remember my dreams a little bit more than most people, but that's pretty much it. You're like, traveling and stuff. That's really impressive.”

Alex looks up from the floor and stares at you, a little bewildered. “I mean, not really. I’m not great at jumping into a specific time of someone's dream, so I usually have to jump in a few times unless I’m with Ryan. And finding the dreamscape owner again to get back up takes me forever.” He shrugs sheepishly. “That’s why I sleep so much. The whole thing takes me way longer than it should.”

“I don't think you realize how insane it is to be able to jump into someone's mind.” You sit up fully, leaning your elbows on your legs. “Plus, you go full inception mode and jump down multiple times? That's crazy. Trust me, man. It's impressive.”

“Thanks.” It doesn’t sound like he fully buys it, but at least he isn’t staring at the floor anymore. “What do you usually do when you dream?”

“Like I said, not much.” You find the hem of your shirt and idly mess with it. “I look around and explore, sometimes? I don’t actually know how to do any lucid stuff. Not exactly formally trained.”

He nods, his hair bouncing softly with the motion. “That’s fair. Lucid dreaming is complicated—it can be kind of dangerous, if you’re not careful. It takes a while to get the hang of it.”

You study Alex carefully, taking in the way his fingers rhythmically tap on the armrest, the contemplative tilt of his eyebrows. You used to think he was hard to read—well, you still do, sometimes—but it’s easier to figure him out, nowadays. Other people might assume that he’s bored, but you know he’s just lost in thought. Still, Alex is naturally poker faced, and it makes it tricky to know the right thing to say to him. It usually forces you to say what you mean. You’re still not entirely used to it. 

“Do you think I could?” you ask. “Get the hang of it, I mean.”

He breaks out of his train of thought. “What, being a lucid?” You nod. “Yeah, I think so. You just have to practice it, like any skill.”

You think about it. You take a deep breath.

“Mom?” you call out. Alex frowns in confusion.

Somewhere downstairs, she shouts back, “Yeah?”

“Can Alex stay the night?”

The realization dawns on him at that, right as your mom shouts again. “Of course! Sleeping bag should be in the closet!”

“Thanks, mom!”

His eyes light up, practically beaming with excitement. You can't help but grin in response.

By the time the four of you finish dinner—Oliver is out on a date with Benjamin tonight—the anticipation is thrumming under your skin. You end up lending Alex some clothes, since he didn’t exactly pack for your impromptu sleepover. He comes back from the bathroom with the drawstring of your sweatpants pulled as tightly as possible. They sit low on his hips regardless, the waistband scrunched up right where it meets the hem of your shirt (which is also baggy on him). You mirror the position you were in earlier, sitting across from each other with you on the bed and Alex on your desk chair. The sleeping bag is spread out on the floor and fully ignored.

“Okay.” Alex sits up straight, his hands formally steepled on his knee. It’s a little ridiculous when paired with your faded band t-shirt. “Do you want to do my dreamscape or yours?”

“Yours,” you say, probably more quickly than you should. You don’t want to make it obvious that you’ve been thinking about this. Alex doesn’t seem to notice, simply giving a curt nod.

“Probably for the best, so we can go over dream jumping here. Get comfortable—once you go into my mind, your body is going to pass out here. I don’t want you hitting your head.”

You shift your position on the bed while Alex rolls the chair to still be in front of you. You give him a thumbs up. “No risk of a second concussion. Now what?”

There’s a little mirth in his eyes that he clearly tries to tap down, keeping his no-nonsense demeanor. He’s taking the whole thing very seriously. It makes you want to laugh a little, the urge sitting in your chest like a bubble. “You reach out your hand towards me and focus. Try to not think about it too hard.”

You frown. “How am I supposed to focus and not think at the same time?”

“I know it sounds complicated, but it’s just intuitive, I guess? It’s like falling asleep, you’re just… falling in another direction.” He seems to realize how vague that sounds and switches gears. “Just… focus on me and nothing else.”

Okay. Yeah. Think about Alex and enter the depths of his mind. That’s not weird at all. “Alright.”

You puff out your cheeks and roll your shoulders, stretching out your hand. Alex stares at you dead on. You press your lips together but the bubble in your chest pops—a snicker slips out, your shoulders shaking.

“Sorry.” You shake your head and try to center yourself with a quick breath. “Okay.”

You keep your arm up and look at Alex. You stare at him. You squint a little. Alex presses his lips together this time, trying to keep his expression neutral. “You’re thinking too hard.”

“You’re staring at me.”

“Where else am I supposed to look?”

“I don’t know, man! The eye contact is just, like, a lot.”

“Why?”

The question throws you for a loop. You put your arm down. “It–just–it makes me nervous, I guess.”

Alex furrows his eyebrows, casting a small shadow from your yellow bedside table lamp. “I make you nervous?”

“I didn’t say that.” Doesn’t mean it’s not true, but he doesn’t need to know that. “I just don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Try closing your eyes,” he says. You sigh and follow his advice, holding up your hand again. All the warning you get is a muttered, “One sec—” before he grabs your wrist and moves your arm slightly, presumably to point towards where he’s sitting. “Focus, envision where you want to jump, and then let go.”

You try again, concentrating on the phantom feeling of his hand on your wrist. You think about Alex, about his serious demeanor and wispy hair, the dull gold light from your lamp on his skin and your clothes. You reach out and

“Holy shit.”

You’re no longer in your bedroom. It looks like you’re somewhere coastal, with wide streets and a chilling breeze. Things aren’t black and white, but the colors seem more muted—though maybe that’s just because it’s cloudy. Alex squints against the wind, lifting his hand up into a quick wave. He’s no longer in your PJs.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you echo, a little breathless. “Your dreamscape just looks like the pacific northwest.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

You shake your head. “No, man. This is just… wow.” You turn around, craning your neck to fully take in your surroundings. It’s hard to keep the awe out of your voice, so you don’t really try to. “You made all of this.”

“Subconsciously,” he clarifies behind you. There’s a picturesque ice cream truck parked down the road. “I think my brain just kind of went with… second-hand California.”

You chuckle, turning to look out at the coast. You can barely make out the setting sun until Alex points at it in the horizon. “It’s like seven in the morning right now. Sun goes the other way around here.”

Rising sun, then. “Why?”

“I think it’s because I always confuse east and west.”

“Huh.” You shake your head in disbelief. “You can just… change the direction the planet rotates in. Okay.”

“Subconsciously.”

“Shut up.” You punch his arm lightly. “That is so awesome.”

Alex taps the apple in his hand, flecks of gold dulled by the overcast day. “It’s awesome that I have a mediocre sense of direction?”

“You know what I mean.” You glance up at him, his hair a tangled mess from the wind. “What else can you change?”

“Sky’s the limit, in theory. I can’t do anything crazy, though.” He wrinkles his nose. “Please don’t ask me to dream up a volcano or something.”

“A volcano is way cooler than a cliff. At least as far as locations for Spartan trials go.”

He nods, entirely serious. “Oh, absolutely. Still not within my current abilities.”

“Boo.” He punches you back, a soft nudge. “So what can you do?”

Alex thinks on it for a moment. “What’s your favorite color?”

Weird tangent, but okay. “Green. Why?”

With a shrug, he starts walking, heading somewhere behind you. You turn around to look at him, eyes catching on the motorcycle-vespa hybrid that just appeared in the middle of the street. It’s a glossy, dark green. “I can’t make a volcano,” he says, “but maybe we can find one.”

“In Great Value California?” you ask. You’re still staring at the green… thing that Alex just made by thinking about it.

“I suck at geography, so maybe. C’mon.” He swings his leg over the seat and places his apple on a little wire basket he included in the front. This is so ridiculous. He glances up at you, his voice genuine. “Nothing can happen to you here, I promise.”

If your parents ever found out that you got on a motorcycle, or anything motorcycle-adjacent, you’d get chewed out for at least two hours—let alone without a helmet. You figure dreaming about it doesn’t count. Besides, you trust Alex, and you figure his word is basically as good as the word of god in this place.

The seat is comfortable enough when you settle down on it, but you quickly realize that you have nothing to hold onto other than Alex. You swallow before reminding yourself that it’s not a big deal, wrapping your arms around his torso. He starts up the engine once you have a solid grip. The anticipation in your body swells up into a rush of adrenaline, and the two of you set off.

The roads quickly become more winding, the coastal town giving way to a sparse, breathtaking forest. Some sunlight breaks through and filters through the pine trees, catching in Alex’s hair with a coppery glint. The colors of the world are still muted, but it isn’t dull by any means—it’s soothing, as if the dreamscape itself is taking a deep breath, restful but alive. Alex’s shoulder is bony when you press your chin against it. The wind rushes past your burning ears. Something soft and full floods your chest as the trees pass by in a blur, and it feels like peace.

He eventually pulls over into a sort of park, turning off the engine and helping you stand up. There are some people milling about the clearing. All of this is in Alex’s mind. It’s still a bit much to wrap your head around, dizzying in a way that’s fascinating instead of overwhelming.

“Whose head do you usually hop into from here?” you ask. Alex glances at you, intrigued.

“You want to go deeper?”

You shrug. “Might as well go full inception, right?”

He considers it, still looking windswept. You resist the urge to smooth down his hair. “Okay. You know dreamscape owners have an apple, right?”

You tap the apple Alex is holding playfully. “Figured that one out, yeah.”

He pulls the apple out of reach and shoots you an equally playful glare. “The rule is when you bite into the apple, you go up to that person’s reality. You want to keep track of exactly whose dream you jump into, because some dreamscapes have more than one owner—no, I don’t know how that even happens, but it does.” The question dies in your mouth and you roll your eyes. “You have to make sure you go back up the way you came, or you might get lost. So, ground rules are we stick together the whole time. No wandering off.”

“I can’t exactly outrun you,” you point out. As soon as you say it, you feel yourself teetering and leaning against a tree. You frown. “Wait, that wasn’t—why did that not show up until right now?”

Alex taps his apple, leaning his shoulder on a nearby tree. “You know you’re breathing, right?”

“Yeah, obviously.”

“But now you’re aware that you’re breathing. It isn’t automatic anymore, because you remembered that you need oxygen.”

The inhale and exhale of your lungs is, in fact, now impossible to ignore. “So I’m only disabled when I remember I’m disabled?”

“That’s… an oversimplification.” Alex grimaces slightly before pushing himself up to stand again. “I don’t know, exactly. I don’t really have any personal experience with that. Still, that’d be my first guess.”

The implications of that settle in the back of your mind, nagging at you even once Alex hands you a cane (also dark green). Begrudgingly, you take it. “Whatever. Anyway, dream buddy system, got it. So, where should we go?”

Alex glances out at the park, pointing intermittently. “Well, I usually have to upkeep the businesses, which he has a bunch of in that kid’s dreamscape. He has a theme park, Jix Flags, somewhere around the ice cream truck driver’s dream, and James’ kingdom is a few hops away from that cyclist’s—”

“Do you go anywhere that isn’t for James?”

He cuts himself off, hesitating. “What do you mean?”

“It’s your dreamscape, man. You can do whatever you want and go wherever you want. Don’t you ever dream jump just for kicks?”

Alex still seems a little taken aback. He opens and closes his mouth a couple times. “Uh. Not really, I guess.”

“I don’t care about your weird stepdad’s errands, man. What do you wanna do?”

Based on how deep in thought he is currently, it doesn’t look like he’s used to being asked that question. The thought of that squeezes somewhere in your chest, and you think you understand where Callie was coming from. You try to lean into his line of sight. “What’s a dreamscape you’ve passed through before that looks fun?”

That looks like it’s easier for him to answer. Alex peers at the people surrounding you, studying each of them carefully. His eyes land on a lady reading a book on a bench. “How good are you with the cold?”

You give him a smirk. “Let’s find out.”

You both reach out your hands, and you hope that bench is comfortable enough to nap on, for that lady’s sake. You shoot one quick glance at Alex beforehand though, and there’s an excited glimmer in his eyes again. It’s hard to care about much else once you see that.

The cane in your hand disappears, and everything is blindingly white. You turn to see Alex with his arm still outstretched, shivering as a couple snowflakes settle in his hair. “My guess is that she’s a big snowboarder,” he says, rolling out his wrist. “Every time I jump in here, it’s almost always at a ski resort.”

You cross your arms to maintain at least some degree of warmth and nudge him. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s find the rentals.”

You get to see the lazy river effect in action: Alex just picks a random direction to walk in, ends up at the right building, and checks out gear without paying anything. You try to follow his lead, but the employee still asks you for ID. Alex gives you an encouraging nod and you take a deep breath. Dream logic. You reach into your pocket and pull out a membership for the ski resort, which the employee hands back to you with a customer service grin. Alex offers you a fistbump, which you have never seen him do, and you gladly take him up on it.

The mountain is a lot more manageable with the proper attire, and you both spend a good while attempting to master the magic carpet (although here they call it the “magic rug”) and falling plenty of times on the bunny slope (apparently the “rabbit tilt”). Alex has a particular talent for always falling directly on his face, and no matter how hard you try to steer, you usually end up going in the opposite direction. You crash into each other at one point, rolling down the hill for a comical amount of time, and it takes you at least five more minutes after that to stop laughing and go up the ski lift. You both drop off your stuff and head for the lobby, but not before you make a snowball and hit him square in the back with it. Alex turns around threateningly slowly, and you kind of instantly regret it—until he kneels down to scoop up his own snowball. The ensuing war is ruthless and ends with him tackling you to the ground after you slam dunk a snowball on the top of his head. You can’t stop laughing, even though you’re freezing your ass off and snow is getting under your shirt. Alex is laughing, too. All in all, you’re not that cold.

Unfortunately, the two of you do have to go inside at that point, because you’re pretty sure hypothermia still exists here. The heating and insulation inside is very welcome after all the snow and the wind. You get a hot chocolate while Alex gets a honey cappuccino—you’ve learned that he’s allergic to having the same coffee order twice in a row—and sit down, drinking in the warmth.

“Okay, pop quiz,” Alex says. “Whose dream is it?”

You scope out the lobby, eventually nodding towards the staircase. “The pink fluffy jacket, right? She has the apple on that little table there.”

“Good. That was fast.” His face is flushed red from the weather. You don’t even want to know how you look after that last tumble. “So, do you wanna head back?”

You think about it, taking a sip of your hot chocolate. It’s watery and it burns your tongue, like any overpriced hot chocolate should (not that you paid for it, but y’know, it's the principle of the thing). “How do you feel about doing one more?”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. This is fun.” You shoot him a quick smile that he matches, eyes bright. “Do you know any other cool spots?”

He sighs, leaning back on his chair. “Well, from here I always go to that waiter’s dreamscape, because James has a fashion line there. I haven’t tried anyone else.” Alex gestures at you with his cappuccino. “Why don’t you pick this time?”

“Such a gentleman,” you joke. He shakes his head and takes a sip to hide his smile, while you examine all your options. Someone with dyed cyan hair catches your eye, still wiping snow off of their black and silver jacket. “What do you think?”

Alex follows your line of sight and hums. “Yeah, we can do that. You ready?”

You take one last scalding sip of hot chocolate and rub your hands together. “Let's get this party started.”

It's literally a party. You didn't expect the stranger’s dreamscape to take you so literally.

The room is dark and crowded, with multicolored lights flashing and music you’ve never heard before blasting from the speakers. An arm clutches your shoulder pretty quickly, and you can just barely make out Alex’s face. Both your jackets are gone—no object permanence when dreamscape jumping, it looks like—which is a relief with how packed it is in here.

Alex says something that you can't make out. You lean forward to shout, “What!?”

“You okay!?” he shouts back.

You nod, glancing around to try and get your bearings. You’re pretty sure that this is actually a club. The two of you must've jumped right in the middle of the dance floor. You’ve never been clubbing before—none of your old friends had fake IDs, only a couple older siblings with access to alcohol—and you wouldn't even have to worry about money here, let alone a hangover.  

Someone bumps into you and you stumble forward, chest to chest with Alex. The music is still deafening and unfamiliar, making your heart pound, as the swirls of color sporadically light up his face. He’s holding himself awkwardly, his hand on your shoulder tight and grounding. Alex can be hard to read, but it's obvious that he's uncomfortable. You find his other hand with yours and link them together, leaning forward to shout again (not that there's a lot of room to lean—you’re already pretty close). “C’mon!”

Slowly but surely, you make it through the bustling crowd and find some breathing room. The glowing exit sign is your only point of reference—though it’s weird that it's purple and not the standard red or green—and you finally push open the door into a random alley. 

The night air is a cool relief after the stifling warmth of crammed people and not nearly enough AC. Alex sighs, already looking way more at ease. “That was… loud.”

You snort, because yeah, your ears are still ringing. You start making your way down the alley, the glow-in-the-dark graffiti catching your attention. “How often do you end up jumping in the middle of something crazy like that?”

“Oh, way too often.” Alex shakes his head. “My timing is almost comically bad—Ryan never shuts up about it. One time I ended up in the middle of a duel. Literally in the middle of it.”

You grimace sympathetically. “Oof. How did you handle the swords?”

“Oh no, not swords.” He leans in a little. “Guns.”

“Oh, shit.” You let out a shocked laugh. “Yeah, no, that's crazy alright.”

You reach the end of the alley, and your heart nearly skips a beat. It’s nighttime, but it's the opposite of dark—the sky is practically glowing. There are northern lights dancing over the horizon and endless upon endless stars twinkling in the sky. They vary in color, some sparkling blue and green while others glimmer a soft pinkish-red, like Christmas lights floating up in space.

“Wow.” You trace each light in the sky with your eyes, trying to commit it all to memory. You wonder what the constellations are like down here. “LA doesn't have shit on this.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Alex turning to look at you. “Yeah. Pretty cool.”

You huff out a laugh and go to nudge him playfully, realizing that you're still holding hands. Before you can think about it too hard, you pull him forward again, heading towards a picnic table across the road. Alex follows your lead, the two of you sitting on the table with your feet resting on the bench. You both look up at the twinkling sky. His fingers tap against your hand rhythmically, occasionally catching against your skin. Looks like he has callouses. You file that next to all of the new little things you've learned about him tonight, stored neatly into an overstuffed box in the back of your mind. You find that you still want to learn more.

“Have you gotten hurt before? From dreamscape jumping stuff?”

You glance at Alex right before he looks back at you. His nose scrunches up slightly as he shrugs. “A little. Nothing crazy.”

“What even happens if you get hurt in someone else’s dream?”

“Depends. It doesn't translate to real life or anything, it’s not Ready Player One, but the rules of that dreamscape still apply to you. If it's bad enough, you immediately get pulled out of that reality. Or you just fully wake up, which is risky, especially if you're several dreams away.”

You frown. “And your stepdad taught you guys about lucid shit despite all the risks?”

“Yup.” Alex shrugs again, looking back up at the sky. “That's not how Ryan sees it, though.”

“He doesn't see that James is kind of a dick?”

“No. Well, it’s… complicated.” He goes quiet for a moment, tapping his fingers against you restlessly. You squeeze his hand. He squeezes it back and sighs heavily. “Our parents got divorced when we were kids. And I mean, dad’s fine, but he’s not really a dad, y’know? So Ryan had to do a lot of heavy lifting when we were young. It's only a year difference, but it feels like a lot more when he had to work part-time to help out with groceries.

“And then mom met James, and I think she just wanted us to have some stability, and she thought marrying him would do that, which—to be fair, it did. Ryan and I were both on the fence at first, but I think Ryan started to see this… idea of him? Especially once he made us lucids. Because he trusts us enough to teach us about this stuff, that has to mean something, this is the least we can do for him.”

You can still hear the club in the background, a soft distant thing. Alex looks down at his feet, his voice barely louder than the music. “I don't know. We found out about Jasper pretty early on—about him existing, not the cult stuff—but it was easy for Ryan to explain that away. James isn't even from there and he obviously can't stay asleep forever. Ryan would google Jasper every once in a while, though. Try to check up on him—more than James, at least. That's how we found out about the cult. He came to me about it, and he’d made this whole plan and… I know it really doesn't seem like it to other people, but he cares so much, man. I’ve been in plenty of people’s heads, and I don't think there’s anyone that even holds a candle to how loyal he is. He always looks out for me, even though we argue over the smallest things and I constantly tell him that his taste in movies is awful. That's why I do all these errands—I don't really care about James, but I do care about Ryan, and this is the least I can do for him, even though I’m not that great at it. I have to look out for him, too. Or try to, at least.”

There's a pause. Alex swallows before he lets out a small scoff. It could almost be a laugh if it weren't so raw. “So. I guess that's why I learned how to make chloroform.”

The words settle between the two of you and the glimmering sky. “I think,” you say eventually, “that you're the best brother that Ryan could ask for. As far as oppressed younger brothers go, anyway. I’m not counting long-lost older stepbrothers for this.”

That gets a small laugh out of Alex. You bump your shoulder against his. “Seriously. I don't think you're giving yourself enough credit. I love Oliver to death, but I wouldn't do half of the shit that you’ve done for his sake.”

“Don't put yourself down like that,” he says, bumping his shoulder into yours. “Oliver cares about you so much, man. Everyone can see it.”

You look up at the sky and take a measured breath. “I know.”

“Everyone can see that you care about him, too.” He gives you a pointed look, like he can tell what you're thinking. “You may complain about him a lot, but it’s obvious you guys are close.”

You trace the outline of a couple stars, glittering orange and gold against the night. “You really think I sound like him?”

It's a reference to an old comment—the water park feels like a lifetime ago, even though it’s only been a month—but it looks like Alex remembers. “Yeah. You mostly sound like Elliot, though. Which is pretty great, in my opinion.”

You look at him again. The eye contact makes you nervous. You try to ignore the feeling, even as it expands in your chest like a helium balloon waiting to burst.

“Cool.”

His grasp on your hand tightens just slightly. You can make out the shimmering of the night sky reflected in his eyes.

“Yeah. Cool.”

The balloon in your chest doesn't pop. Instead, it shoots up to your head and suddenly presses against your skull, making you wince. Alex frowns, sitting up straight. “Are you okay?”

You hold a hand up to your forehead and squint, feeling like you're two degrees of separation from your body. Well, not that your body is here, technically—you’re passed out on your bed, your eyes closed and shoulder shaking. You hiss at the movement, torn between a distant voice and the club music still playing faintly.

“I think someone’s—ugh—trying to wake me up?”

Alex’s concern turns to instant, raw panic. He pulls you up and runs back towards the club, dragging you by the wrist. “No, no no no, fuck, fuck!”

Not a great reaction. You have a feeling that waking up right now would be really, really bad. “What's—?”

“We need to get you back, as close as possible—bite the apples and go back up, hurry!”

You’re back in the nightclub, an ocean of people surrounding you. You briefly remember Alex saying that he isn't very good at this part. The pressure in your head tightens, and you hiss, pressing your fingers into your scalp. Alex’s grip on your wrist is almost as tight.

Dream logic, you remind yourself. You stop thinking and walk through the crowd, pulling Alex with you. The music thrums in your bones, the unknown lyrics occasionally shrouded by a distorted “Elliot?” You walk faster.

Cyan blue hair. You point at the bar and Alex yanks your arm forward. He shoves something in your hand and you know you don't have time for questions. You bite down.

The snow has turned into a small blizzard. You can hear your name as a distorted echo in the wind. Each time, it’s a pang against your skull.

You run. You can barely feel your fingers. Your eyes scan the mountain frantically, trying to catch a single glimpse of pink. The ground tilts beneath you, because you’re lying down somewhere and you're standing up here, and your body should be used to feeling disoriented, but it's never been like this. Someone catches you by the underarms before you land face first in the snow. Alex’s green shirt is a relief, but it's not the pink that you need to find. Your head hurts. You can't walk and your head hurts.

“Elliot!?”

“Stay up, stay up— shit!”

“Can you hear me!? Elliot!”

You’re lying down on your bed and sitting in the snow at the same time. Alex runs a few feet ahead—pink, fuzzy, you were close—and runs back, shoving an apple in your numb hand. Your teeth are chattering. Your head fucking hurts. You bite down.

There's a park, everything is muted, you see the apple and you—

“Wake up!”

There are hands shaking you. Your head hurts. You lean over and throw up.

Chapter Text

A lot of things happen when you wake up.

First, you throw up on the sleeping bag that's still on the floor. Some of it gets on Oliver's shoes. You want to apologize, but you're currently too busy being stabbed in the skull. It's way too bright, and for a split second you think that you're back in the hospital, but it's just your bedroom window. The sun is peering in past the blinds; you two must’ve slept through the night.

Then, Oliver is hovering over you, clearly trying to pick you up from your bed. You shove him back once, then twice, trying to get your shit at least somewhat together before—

Alex wakes up with a start, shooting up from your desk chair—oh, his neck is probably gonna hurt like a bitch from sleeping like that. He looks you over, clearly still panicked.

“Elliot!? Are you okay?”

Your headache spikes at the noise, and you don't want to have to talk, but moving your head to nod sounds a thousand times worse. You settle on giving them both a thumbs up, your eyes half shut against the light. Alex seems to almost fall to the ground with relief. Oliver doesn't.

“You’re obviously not okay, we need to get you to the hospital! Help me get him up, Alex.”

Alex puts a hand on his shoulder and immediately retracts it, holding out his hands placatingly. “He just has a migraine.”

Oliver gives him a hard look. “Oh, I’m sorry, are you a doctor all of a sudden? How can you possibly know that?”

Alex hesitates, delaying his response despite your brother’s insistence. Your head hurts like a bitch, but you trust Alex, and you really, really don't want to go to the hospital. “He knows,” you croak out, gesturing at Oliver and hoping Alex gets what you mean. Thankfully, he does.

“We were lucid dreaming,” he explains. “He jumped into my dreamscape and we were two levels down when you tried to wake him up. He got back up to my dreamscape, but—well, migraines are a common side effect from being pulled out like that. He just needs some strong meds and low lighting for a while. He’s okay. I promise.”

You give another thumbs up for emphasis. Oliver doesn't even acknowledge it, still looking at Alex. “You took him dreamscape jumping?”

You lower your hand onto the bed, sinking slowly like the dread in your stomach. Oliver’s voice is colder than the blizzard you were just in. Alex swallows, keeping his voice even. “Yes. We stuck together the whole time—”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

You snap your head up towards him, even though your brain thuds in response. “Oliver.”

He doesn't even acknowledge you, still glaring at Alex. “You clearly know a lot about how dreamscapes work. Do you realize how dangerous that was?”

He’s not even yelling. His voice is sharp and measured, and it's wrong, and you hate that he's talking to Alex like this, as if Alex isn't the one that helped you when Oliver was the one that tried to wake you up.

Alex doesn't say any of that. He stands very, very still. His voice is quiet. “Yes.”

“So then what the hell is wrong with you?”

You yank at Oliver’s sleeve, frustrated. “Stop it! He was just—”

“You could have died just now. Did he tell you that?”

The rest of your sentence dies out in your mouth, the weight of that statement turning your tongue to lead. You glance at Alex. He doesn't look at you. Oliver nods, terse and stiff. “Yeah. Okay. Get out.”

You whip your head back at him in disbelief. “What!?”

Alex clenches his hands into fists. You can see they're shaking. “I tried—”

“I said,” Oliver grits out, his voice sharp, “get the hell out.”

The tension is as palpable as the blinding light from the window. Alex turns around, gathering his stuff in a hurry. You find your voice again, rough from the bile and the current lump in your throat. “No, Alex, don't—”

“It's okay.” You can't see his face as he shoves his shoes on, piling his wallet and keys on top of his clothes. His voice sounds tight. “Drink a lot of water and take it easy today. Um. You probably want to skip PT today. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

He stands up and rushes out of the room before you can say anything. The lump in your throat doubles in size when you hear the front door open and close.

The two of you stay deadly still in the strained silence that follows. Oliver clenches and unclenches his jaw as you squeeze your bedsheets in an iron grip. Your frustration spikes suddenly, going from upset to pissed off. “What the fuck was that?”

Oliver finally moves, walking out of your room. The anger punches you from the inside out, sharp and bitter. “Oliver!”

You go to stand up right as he comes back into the room, holding a crumpled water bottle and a couple pills. As soon as he sees you, he scowls. “Sit down.”

You try to stay up out of spite. Unfortunately, your body has other plans, and he hands you the medicine once you're sitting on the bed again. You scowl back at him before popping the pills in your mouth and washing them down, cringing at the aftertaste of everything. Once you're done, he holds out your cane. You consider taking it just to swing it at him, but you decide to stay put instead, glaring up at your brother and keeping your hands still. Oliver’s hard look is unchanging. “If you don't want to walk to my room, I’m going to carry you there kicking and screaming. Your call.”

You snatch the cane out of his hand. “Fuck you.”

It's been a while since you've said that to him and meant it. There's a slight twitch in his face, but he doesn't say anything back. You scoff and get up slowly, painstakingly making your way to his bedroom down the hall.

By the time you make it to Oliver’s bed, everything in your body is screaming at you. Your legs are trembling. Your hands can't even pull up the sheets. Your face is screwed tight from holding back tears. Your head hurts so bad that a second coma sounds better than this. 

Knowing it will only make your headache worse, you still shove your face into the pillow and scream.

You’re pretty sure you don't sleep. If you do, you don't remember any of it. At some point, Oliver came in to close the curtains and bring you a cold cloth for your forehead. Neither of you said a word. The cloth is still lying on his bedside table, leaving a random post-it damp in its wake.

It's sometime in the early afternoon when you get hungry enough that you can't ignore it anymore. You soldier down to the kitchen, your cane the only thing keeping you upright. You see Oliver making something across the counter. You have no idea what, because he can't cook for shit. If you're lucky, maybe he’ll burn the house down and get arrested for third degree arson or something. If you're even luckier, he’ll just start a fire big enough for your moms to finally kick him out, because he’s a grown ass man still living with his parents even though he has a full-time job. At least in that scenario, you get to keep your bedroom.

He notices you coming down, because having a cane means that you can never sneak up on people. “I’m making lunch. You can go back to bed.”

“I’m already here,” you point out, letting the annoyance drip from your voice. “Why would I try to hobble up the stairs after all that?”

“Lay down on the couch, then.”

He isn't even looking at you. You grit your teeth, making your way closer and sitting on a stool, glaring at him from across the counter. He’s making sandwiches. You hope the panini press blows up in his stupid face. It doesn't.

“So, what, you're just gonna stand there making grilled cheese and pretending that this morning didn't happen?”

Oliver keeps his eyes on the panini press, leaning back on the counter across from you. “I’m not gonna yell at you when you have a migraine.”

You laugh, dry and bitter. “Oh, right, because yelling at Alex wasn't enough? Are you gonna kick me out, too?”

He finally turns to look at you, and he must decide that you're cured enough, because he goes, “Why would I do that? It's not like that would stop you from making stupid decisions.”

There it is. “Yeah, sorry for doing lucid dreamscape shit. Go yell at your boyfriend while you're at it, unless he’s still awake in your dream that you spend half your time in.”

“That is not the same thing,” he snaps. “We stay in our dreamscape and our reality, we don't hop around to who-knows-where without any warning!”

“Oh, so this is about me not asking for permission ?” You scoff. “News flash, Oliver! I’m an adult! What I do or don't do is actually none of your fucking business.”

“It is my business when it nearly kills you!”

“Only because of you!” Blood rushes under your skin, hot and infuriating. “Because you still don't have a fucking life! It would've been fine if you didn't barge into my room for no reason! All you ever do is breathe over my neck, because you have nothing better to do than waiting up for me until midnight and googling commute times and scaring off my friends!”

He pushes himself up from the counter, stomping towards you with a red face. “You’re the one that keeps making dangerous, reckless mistakes! You keep whining about not being treated like an adult, but you don't act like one!”

“Big talk from the fucking fourth grader.”

He shakes his head. “You don't take things seriously, Elliot—you keep making bad choices and then get annoyed when they have consequences. You think I don't notice how much you avoid using your cane? You really think that's having no repercussions on your recovery?”

That's so unfair. That is so fucking unfair. Your anger boils until it's white hot, seething under your skin. You hit him where it hurts. “I wouldn't fucking need it in the first place if it wasn't for you!”

You can see the shock in his eyes before his face hardens. His voice still shakes. “Being a dick isn't proving the point you think it is, Elliot. It just makes you an asshole.”

He’s never called you that before. Not even when you were slamming doors in his face or fully ignoring him. Then again, you guys haven't fought like this in a while, because the last time—

“Fine! If I’m such an immature asshole, then why do you even give a shit!? Why were you so freaked out!?”

“Because you weren't waking up!”

His words hang in the air and choke you, tasting like copper and antiseptic. Oliver's voice breaks as he keeps shouting. “You weren't waking up and I thought you—I kept screaming and you weren't even flinching, Elliot!” His expression is pained, breathing heavily. “And it was just like in the hospital, just like in the car—” He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale. “You couldn't—I couldn't wake you up and—” He takes another breath, almost gasping. “And it—” Another gasp. “Fuck, not now—”

Panic quickly seeps into your voice. “Oliver?”

Your brother is hyperventilating. He clutches the edge of the counter, squeezing his eyes shut. “Wait—just—it’ll stop, it always stops—”

You can't tell if he’s talking to you or himself. His chest is falling and rising way too fast. “You're scaring me, man, just–just breathe, okay?”

“Trying,” he grits out, wheezing. “It’s—fine. Don't worry, I’m—I’m fine, it’s fine.”

Nothing about this is fine. You remember stumbling out of Alex’s car with tunnel vision and shallow breaths. “Okay, just—can you sit down before you pass out or something?”

It looks like that’s all the permission he needs before he’s sliding down onto the kitchen floor, out of sight. You make your way around the counter as quickly as possible, leaning your weight on the edges until you slide down next to him. He has his legs pulled up to his chest while his hands grip the strings of his jacket, tugging sharply. Even though he’s hyperventilating, Oliver is clearly trying to count through his inhales and exhales, muttering under his breath. You don’t know what to do. He mumbles something else, and you can’t make it out until he starts repeating it, the words tumbling out in between gasps. It takes a couple tries to swallow down the lump in your throat.

“Shut up,” you say softly. “Stop apologizing.”

He does. His eyes are shut tight, and he keeps squeezing his raincoat like a lifeline. You don’t know what to do. You’re pretty sure all you can do is wait.

Oliver’s breathing calms down after a bit, evening out into something shaky but stable. You don’t look at each other. He sniffs. You can smell something smoky.

“Your grilled cheese is burning.”

“Our grilled cheese,” he corrects, his voice weak. “Plural. And they aren’t burning. There’s a timer.”

“Toasters have timers, too,” you point out. “You’ve still managed to set off the fire alarm making toast. Twice.”

Oliver nods slowly. “Fair point. I guess our grilled cheese is burning.”

“I’m pretty sure the plural would be grilled cheeses.”

“No one said I was good at grammar.”

“You’re literally a screenwriter.”

“We both know I scammed my way into that one.”

He’s wearing white socks. You remember that you kind threw up on his shoes earlier. Oliver's fingers are picking at the seams of his jeans restlessly. Finally, you look up at his face—his dark circles have somehow gotten worse since Saturday.

“Were you ever going to mention that you get panic attacks or were you just saving that as a fun surprise?”

He closes his eyes and leans his head back, thudding softly against the cabinet. “Not exactly a fun conversation starter.”

Your brother always avoids things he doesn’t want to deal with. You swallow before asking a question you’re pretty sure you already know the answer to. “Did they start after the accident?”

Oliver shakes his head, because apparently you didn’t know the answer. “No. Though that definitely didn’t help.”

You can imagine. “Man. Who knew trauma was bad for your mental health?”

“I know, right? What a rip-off.”

The panini press dings. At least your house won’t burn down. The lump in your throat comes back. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “That wasn’t your fault, they just kind of happen—”

“I know, that’s not—I didn’t mean it.” You sniff, the smell of over-toasted bread washing over you. “I was pissed off, but I don’t blame you. Never. You need to know that.”

He draws in a breath, careful and measured. “I know.”

“And you shouldn't blame Alex,” you say, swallowing down the flare of annoyance that comes up when you remember how Oliver treated him. “The second that he realized what was happening, he got me back as quickly as possible. We didn't think ahead about anyone waking us up, but it was my idea to dream jump further. If anything, it's on me. Not him.”

Oliver rubs at his face, sighing. “It’s just… Elliot, if you were curious about dreamscape stuff, you could've just asked me.”

“I don't wanna go to you for everything, dude.” Oliver winces, and you dial back the sharpness in your voice. “Look, I appreciate you inviting me to hang out with your friends… as weird as they are. I appreciate you getting me out of the house and buying me snacks and finding a game controller I can actually use. It means a lot. But I want to do things by myself, too. There's—” You bite down your cheek, trying to not let your frustration get the best of you. “There's so much I can't do anymore. I really, really need to be able to do some things on my own.”

“I know, I just—look, I get not wanting to ask for help. I get not wanting to even need help in the first place. Trust me, I do.” He looks at you earnestly, and you can tell he’s about to say something you really don’t want to hear. “That doesn’t change the fact that sometimes you need it, anyway. We all do. And refusing to accept that isn’t going to change anything. Usually, it makes things worse.”

You bite down your cheek again and close your eyes, pressing your head against the cabinet behind you. Your fingers are shaking. You try to squeeze them into fists.

“I really hate that cane,” you admit. 

“I know.”

“And I know it’s stupid to hate it, but I do. Because it’s supposed to help, but even when I use it, I’m still sore and off-balance and tired.” Your voice wobbles more than you’d like to admit. “I’m just so fucking tired, Oliver.”

His voice is gentle next to you. “I know.”

You try to relax your hands, methodically stretching them like you’re supposed to, and eventually open your eyes. “I know too, man. I already know everything you’re telling me. There's a middle ground for what I can and can’t do by myself, I’m just… still trying to find it. But I need you to let me figure it out.”

Oliver looks at you for a good while before nodding softly. “Yeah. Okay.” You don't miss the way he digs his nails into his knees. Quietly, barely above a whisper, he says, “You really scared me this morning.”

A pang of guilt shoots up your throat before it settles behind your eyes. “I didn't mean to.”

He throws an arm over your shoulder and pulls you closer. “I know.”

A few moments pass. The grilled cheese (cheeses, whatever) are probably cold by now. The pressure behind your eyes softens, replaced by something that thumps heavily against your ribs. 

“Alex is…” You find the hem of your shirt and rub the lining between your fingers, looking at your hands instead of Oliver. “I used to think that I had a lot of friends. Before the accident, I mean. But I didn't. Not really. Honestly, I don't think I’ve ever had a real friend, or someone that actually cared. Which like, whatever, it went both ways—I can't tell you a single thing about those guys that actually matters.” You swallow. “Alex… matters to me. And I really, really care about him. As a friend, I mean, not—not like that.”

A slight smile grows on Oliver’s face. “Dude. Our moms are lesbians. Are you seriously trying to pull a ‘no homo’ right now?”

You shove him with your shoulder, your face red. “Shut up, that's not the point.”

His voice is soft despite the teasing. “Elliot, you literally came out to us as straight in middle school—”

“Not the point,” you insist, the thudding in your chest quickening. “It's just—you two are, like, basically the most important people in my life. It would be nice if you didn't hate his guts.”

Oliver grimaces. “I don't hate his guts. I was just—freaked out.”

“Freaked out? Dude, you were so mad.” You shake your head in disbelief. “I’ve never seen you that pissed off. It was kind of scary.”

He shoves you back, grinning. “Oh, yeah. You’ve totally unleashed the monster, Elliot.”

He opens his mouth wide and makes some weird Godzilla-like noises, shimmying you from side to side. You roll your eyes. “I take it back.”

Oliver laughs, eventually biting his lip. “To be fair,” he says hesitantly, “I, uh, I wasn't doing too hot this morning, anyway.”

You raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate. “Well, Benjamin and I hung out last night.” It's very much like your brother to call a date ‘hanging out’, but you let it go for now. “And then this morning, we were talking and… things are kind of… weird right now.”

The frown on your face is automatic. “What did he do?”

Oliver shakes his head, smiling ruefully. “Calm down. He just… uh… asked if we could move in together.”

“What?” Your face softens immediately, pleasantly surprised. You thought you were gonna have to hunt down Benjamin with your cane. “Dude, that's great.”

Oliver purses his lips. You frown again and ask, “Why isn't that great?”

“It's not that, I just—y’know, it’s a big step. I told him I have to… think about it.”

You look at him, deeply unimpressed. “You have to think about it.”

He flounders for a moment, opening and closing his mouth. “I—yeah.”

“What, all of the sudden you have commitment issues? You're the clingiest person I’ve ever met. You guys literally share a brain.”

“I know!” He hunches up his shoulders defensively, which is uncomfortable considering he still has an arm around you. “I just—it’s a big change! Or something. I don't know.”

“You two practically spend every waking moment together—every sleeping moment. What difference does it make where you ship your Amazon packages to?”

He shrugs—again, uncomfortable with the way he’s half-hugging you. “I mean… last time I tried to move out, it didn't exactly go that well.”

You remember when you guys sent your brother off to college, back in the day. It was nearby, and he visited plenty, but your parents explained was going to stay in the dorms for the “full college experience”. A year or so later, your parents explained that Oliver was going to be coming home for a while, just to get back on his feet. You don't know exactly how much changed with your brother's weird dreamscape bullshit, but as far as either of you remember, he’s been living here ever since.

“So you don't want to move in with Benjamin because you dropped out of college?”

“I didn't just drop out, Elliot. I crashed and burned pretty spectacularly.” He shakes his head, staring at the kitchen tile. “I couldn't handle being an adult. I couldn't handle anything. And that was back when—” Oliver cuts himself off and swallows, wincing “—back when I could drive. What if I still can't handle it?”

You take a deep breath, channeling as much patience as possible for your idiotic brother. “Okay, so you're a passenger princess now. Big whoop. Me too, man. Besides, there are a bunch of other things that are different now. You have a very successful job—”

“We already established I scammed my way into that one,” he points out. You ignore him.

“You also have a healthy, disgustingly happy long-term relationship—”

“It’s only been a few months, technically—”

“—and a stable, supportive friend group—”

“I mean—”

“—and a brother you keep interrupting.”

He bites his lip, a little miffed. You shoot him a pointed look before kicking his leg softly. “You also go to therapy, and I think you know exactly what he’d say about this whole situation.”

There's a rolling of eyes and a dramatic sigh. “I do. Ugh. Why do you have to be right? It's really annoying.”

“It’s the price I pay for being emotionally intelligent,” you say wisely.

Oliver laughs at that, snickering against his knees. “I wouldn't go that far.”

“Hey, screw you.” You try to keep a straight face like Alex so often does, though you're not sure you really pull it off. “I have my sources.”

After a few seconds, Oliver catches his breath with a loud sigh, tilting his head to look up at the ceiling. He swallows nervously and his voice comes out small. “What if I mess it up?”

This time, you’re the one that shrugs, your shoulder digging into his torso.

“What if you don't?”

He nods, squeezing you closer with another loud sigh. You hug him back, your face smushed into his chest. The two of you stay like that for longer than you probably should, sitting on the cold kitchen floor. Eventually, he pats your back. “Really poetic, lil bro. Have you considered joining me in a career of screenwriting?”

“Absolutely not,” you say into his shirt. “Let me go before I pass out and go into a coma again.”

He barks out a shocked laugh, basically shoving you off. “Jasper Christ, have you always been this dramatic?”

“Yeah, dumbass.” You kick him in the thigh. “I got it from you. Also, sorry, did you say Jasper Christ?”

“It’s a cult thing!”

“You weren't even in the cult.”

“How dare you! I’m an honorary member, thank you very much.”

He grins as he stands up before offering you a hand. You take it. Soon after, the two of you are sitting at the counter while you eat your cold lunch.

“Sorry for yelling at Alex, by the way,” he says, taking a bite of his nearly-burnt, ketchup-slathered grilled cheese. Oliver has the decency to kinda cover his mouth when he speaks, even though he's still chewing. “Still, I think if anyone understands overbearing older bros, it's gotta be him.”

You think about what Alex said under that glimmering sky. You think about your older brother looking out for you for as long as you can remember, ever since he would push you on the swing and duck under your legs with a laugh. You don't always know how to, but you try to look out for him, too. 

“Oh yeah, we bond over that a lot.” You finish chewing your bite of grilled cheese and swallow. It tastes awful. “We’re the oppressed younger brothers club.”

Oliver snorts into his hand, kicking your leg. “Hey, at least I’m not forcing you to put on any Spartan trials.”

You kick him back, grinning widely, before taking another bite. It still tastes awful. You don't really mind.

Chapter Text

You’ve gotten used to your life as a barista, more or less. You don’t have to do much, with how dead it tends to be, and Scott is the kind of coworker that’s friendly enough to chat with, but chill enough that you don’t have to talk the entire time. You know how to make most drinks at this point. You even get an employee discount. Most days, your job is entirely fine.

"Large caramel frappe with ten pumps of hazelnut, three shots of espresso, caramel drizzle, and whip on top."

Today is not one of those days.

“Sure thing.” You input his order after only two tries, which is better than usual. “That’ll be $5.50.”

The guy huffs at that before digging for his wallet. You can already tell that he’s going to be the bane of your existence for the next five minutes. He taps his card and you shoot one longing glance at the door behind you. Scott is currently dealing with some delivery stuff in the back—whatever it is, it involves a lot of heavy lifting and moving around, so it was only natural that you’d end up manning the counter in the meantime. Still, usually Scott will take the tricky, complex orders because he has more experience. And, y’know, fine motor skills that aren’t fried. The card reader beeps successfully and you stand up, resigning yourself to making this complete atrocity.

Most of your effort is currently being expended on not tripping or knocking anything over, very conscious of how you hold the cup in your hands as you start up his drink.

“What’s taking so long?” he asks, impatience dripping from his voice. “It’s not like you have a line.”

He’s not wrong. There are only two other customers here: the sunglasses guy, sipping some crazy order with oat milk that Scott always takes care of, and the laptop girl, typing fiercely while ignoring her vanilla chai and her army of post-its. You bite down on your cheek and make something up. “Sorry, the machine acts up sometimes.”

You turn your attention back to the coffee and ignore his annoyed scoff, keeping your eyes on the task in front of you even when the front door opens. “I’ll be right with you,” you call out, mentally counting the pumps of hazelnut.

“Yeah, in about five years,” the guy grumbles. You’re on the seventh pump when he speaks up again. “Seriously kid, it’s not rocket science. Turn up the speed a little, will you? I’ve got things to do.”

Oh, sure, it’s “just coffee.” You’ve heard that one before. It's not like this guy could make his stupid frappuccino at home, ‘cause otherwise he wouldn’t even be here. And it's not like you can just choose to be faster at this, especially when you had shitty sleep last night—not to mention therapy and your re-scheduled PT session back to back yesterday. You remember your cane is still behind the counter, because you need both hands to make drinks, and everything about yesterday floods back into your mind at that thought.

You can see what’s going to happen before it does, but you can’t stop it—the cup slips from your hands and spills right next to the syrups. You swear under your breath and your lovely customer swears out loud behind you.

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” You reach for the nearest rag and try to sop up the mess, though you can’t hold the cloth properly with your fingers. “Have you never made coffee before!? This is unbelievable.”

“Sorry, sir,” you grit out, tossing the rag aside and wiping your shaking hands on your apron. You refuse to turn around. “I can offer you a Gasball Currency coupon once I get you your order.”

He scoffs again while you grab a new cup. “A coupon? I swear, customer service is a joke these days. How long is it gonna take you to grab me that? My mother moves faster than you, and she uses a walker.”

You bite down your cheek again and the skin breaks. It’s easier to focus on that and not the prickling pressure behind your eyes. You are not going to give this asshole the satisfaction of tearing up. You start up his order again without responding to his comment. Less than two seconds later, he’s shouting again.

“Oh, what the hell!?”

You open your mouth, praying for your already evaporating patience, when a familiar voice cuts in. “I didn’t see you.”

“How did you not see me!?” You turn around, greeted by the sight of the asshole customer drenched in coffee. Alex stands across from him, his expression as neutral as always even while being screamed at. “Are you blind?”

“Hey, it happens. They probably have a bathroom, right? Just wash up there.”

He scowls, his face red, and whips his head towards you. Still in slight shock, you wordlessly point towards the bathroom and watch him stomp off. Once he’s far away enough, you turn to Alex and whisper, “What just happened?”

Alex only shrugs, setting his now-empty coffee cup on the counter before holding up a singular index finger. You’re baffled until the man stomps back, absolutely fuming. “What do you mean your bathroom is out of order?”

Now you’re even more confused. The bathroom is perfectly fine—Scott used it less than ten minutes ago, right before he went out to the back. He would’ve mentioned if it wasn’t working. "What?"

"The sign," he emphasizes, like you're an idiot, "that's on the door! It says it's out of service. Does anything work in this goddamn place!?"

“That’s—”

Your eyes flit over to the other customers, who have all turned their attention to this spectacle. Sunglasses guy has lowered his shades to get a better view, and laptop girl is pretending to not eavesdrop, even though her typing has slowed considerably. You glance at the post-its littering her table, then at her open-capped pen, and then at Alex’s cool demeanor. You squint at him for a second. He didn't... did he?

His lips twitch up so briefly that you barely catch it. Son of a bitch. He did.

You school your expression immediately and activate your customer service voice. “Right, that’s been a recent issue. The plumber is going to come in the afternoon, I apologize for the inconvenience.”

He sputters, gearing up to yell at you again, and Alex interrupts. “I’m sure they have napkins, right?”

It almost feels like dreamscape travel, following his lead and just going with it. You click your tongue before lying through your teeth. “Oh, I’m afraid we’re all out of those. My coworker is out back sorting that delivery right now.”

“What kind of Gasball Currency doesn’t have—? Whatever, screw this, I am never coming back here again.”

Oh no, what a shame, you think. Outwardly, you give him the most sympathetic look that you can pull off. “Would you still like a coupon?

Alex looks very amused. The man does not. He storms out with a huff, swearing under his breath and slamming the door behind him. Sunglasses guy lets out a whistle from his table. You turn to Alex, who is standing innocently in a coffee puddle of his making. 

“So.” You squint playfully. “You didn’t watch where you were going, huh?”

“Oh, I did.” There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes before he seemingly snaps out of it, peering over the counter. “Do you have anything I can use to clean this up?”

“What? No—I mean yeah, but that’s my job.”

He waves you off. “I made the mess, it’s fine.”

“Still my job.”

“Seriously—”

The door from the back opens and Scott strolls in, wiping at his forehead. “What are you guys arguing about?”

Alex beats you to it. “Spilled some coffee, where do you keep the mop?”

“Oh, yeah. Here, you can help me dig through the supply closet.”

Scott waves him over and Alex follows, shooting you back a vaguely triumphant look. You roll your eyes and make your way back to the register, sitting with a sigh. After a minute or so, Scott makes his way behind the counter. “Dude, why are you letting him clean?”

“It’s fine, man. He insisted. Besides, Felix is about to order.” He gestures over to one of the tables, where you see the sunglasses guy—Felix, apparently—making his way over. “Another usual?”

“You know it!” He forks over a $20 bill and you count his change while he chats idly. “I didn’t exactly get to finish my last one, but it was totally worth the show.”

You shoot him a puzzled glance right as Alex walks by with a mop. Your eyes follow him until Felix props his sunglasses up on his hair and smirks, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. “That kid gave me this bill for my coffee earlier. And I figured hey, my order is, what, five-ish bucks? Six with tip and tax? I can just get another one with this and still have some cash leftover. Win-win. Had no idea what he was getting out of it until he removed the lid and ran into that guy ‘accidentally’.”

It is only now that it fully hits you: Alex wouldn’t have been able to order a coffee beforehand. He came in, borrowed a post-it from the girl to make it seem like the bathroom was out of order, and then he overpaid this guy to get access to a cup of hot coffee to spill. Alex saw someone be slightly snippy with you and immediately enacted a multi-step plan to entirely ruin their day.

You hand over the change, biting back a smile. “Sorry about your first coffee.”

“Are you kidding? That was free entertainment. Not even that, I got paid for it.” Felix holds up the change you gave him with a grin and puts it in his wallet. “And I know entertainment—I’m an actor, actually.”

This singular detail explains everything about him. No wonder his order is so complicated. Speaking of: Scott leans over to hand him his cup, and he sets off with a thank you and a wink. Scott beams. “Did you know that he’s actually in Lumbersweats? How crazy is that?”

Los Angeles might be shrinking by the minute. Oliver will probably get a kick out of this later. “Crazy.”

Over on the far end of the counter, Alex holds up the mop, apparently all done. Scott goes around to take it from him. “Thanks, man.”

“No problem.” Alex gives him one curt nod before making his way over to you. There’s a small coffee stain on his shirt from earlier. You feel the urge to wipe it off but clear your throat instead, gesturing at the stain. He just glances at it and shrugs. “I don’t care.”

You nod, flicking your eyes from the stain on his shirt to his face. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

“I know.”

He doesn’t say anything else. It’s been a few days since you’ve seen him in person, though you’ve been texting about as much as you guys usually do. The morning after your sleepover had been… a lot.

“It’s good to see you,” you say. 

“Yeah. You too. I, um.” He glances around furtively to make sure Scott isn’t listening in. “I’m… really sorry about—”

“No.” You shake your head. “Seriously, man. If it hadn’t been for you, I would’ve had a lot worse than a migraine.”

“If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have been in danger of anything worse.”

He has his hands on the counter, like usual. You nudge one of his hands with the back of yours. “Hey, you literally slept in until two PM once. I wouldn’t have thought about anyone waking us up in your shoes, either.”

“Still,” he insists. “I should’ve thought about it.”

You nudge him again. “Overthinking it now isn’t gonna help.”

He looks at you, studying your face carefully. Something about the way he does it makes you want to squirm. Still, when he glances away to stare at a random point of the wall instead, you can’t help but feel a little disappointed. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I tend to be,” you joke. He gives you a long, doubtful look. “Hey, fuck you, I do.”

“Right, of course.” His voice says the complete opposite. It’s a little wonky, but you still manage to flip him off. He’s trying not to smile. You are, too. 

I missed you. The thought is automatic and genuine, settling in your chest. It’s also kind of ridiculous, because you saw him on Monday, and it’s only been like four days since then. So you don’t say it, but you do say: “Do you wanna hang out tomorrow?”

His eyes immediately light up. Maybe the feeling is mutual. “Yeah. Got anything in mind?”

You hum, glancing down at your hands. You try to tap them on the counter and mostly succeed. You try not to think about it.

Suddenly, you remember that you’re breathing and become aware of every inhale. It gives you an idea. “How about your place?”

Alex looks surprised at your suggestion. “Really? Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’m guessing it’s a lot less likely to get interrupted in your room compared to mine, right?”

There’s a moment where he looks at you again, careful and attentive. It still makes you want to squirm. He swallows before nodding slowly. “Yes. You could say that.”

“Okay. Cool.” You nod before leaning on your elbows. “We definitely don’t want a repeat of last time.”

About five different emotions pass over Alex’s face in quick succession. He lands on disbelief. “You—wait, you want to dream jump again? After what almost happened?”

“We’ll be careful, do whatever you usually do when you sleep in. It’s safer together, right? You’re the professional.”

He furrows his eyebrows, trepidation all over his face. “I don’t know, Elliot. Are you sure about this?”

“Yeah. I mean, I could probably dream jump on my own at this point, but I’d rather do it with you.”

Alex’s face softens, chewing on his lip for a moment. Finally, he sighs. “Okay. Yeah.”

You grin. “Cool.”

“Besides, dream jumping is gonna be the least of your problems.” Your grin shifts to confusion. Alex leans in ominously. “It’s dinner you have to worry about.”

You make a face. “Is James in town?”

“No.”

“Then I really think you’re exaggerating.”

Alex raises an eyebrow. “Have you met Ryan?”

You have. You pause for a moment. “He’s not going to put me through a Spartan trial, is he?”

“I’d be more worried about mom.”

“That’s not a no,” you point out. He shrugs.

“I guess we’ll find out.”

It’s not exactly the most comforting response.

Chapter Text

The Jasperson house isn't a mansion, but it's definitely not small.

Alex drives you to a nice part of LA and pulls into a neatly paved driveway. You recognize Ryan’s car once you park next to it (black Volkswagen Polo), but the garage door is open, so you also spot the two other cars inside (white Mercedes-Benz E-Class and blue Lamborghini Huracan Evo). It's all you can do to keep your eyes from popping out of your skull—for all that you talk about Alex’s stepdad being rich, you usually forget that that means Alex is rich too, by extension. You try your best not to stare when you make your way inside, but your eyes still catch on the elegant decor and fancy artwork adorning the space.

Dinner isn't as bad as Alex made it seem, either, but it's definitely different. You're used to constant chatter, loud questions, and energetic responses. Instead, you find yourself biting back the urge to fill in the silence that you're not used to. Alex’s mom asks you a few questions throughout, kind and impassive in equal measure (you can see where Alex gets it from). You ask a few questions back to be polite—at least, you hope it comes off that way. She doesn’t seem to mind; from what she says, it sounds like Alex’s mom takes care of most of the business while James is away. You don't ask about dreams, because you have no idea if she knows about all of that, and it feels like a bad topic to bring up as far as first impressions go.

You also catch Ryan sneaking suspicious glances at you, as if you’re planning to sneak poison onto someone's meal. You make a point of ignoring that, looking at Alex instead, who’s sitting so stiffly that you’re shocked he hasn't snapped in half yet. With some calculated effort, you nudge his leg with your foot. He shoves a forkful of pasta in his mouth and chews, nudging you back. He’s a little less stiff after that, you think.

(No one says anything when you drop your fork about five times. It’s only partially because of nerves. You don't know if the silence is better or worse.)

Anyway, you get to actually finish your food before it goes cold, since you're not constantly getting sidetracked by your parents or your brother, so that’s pretty nice. Alex herds you up to his room pretty quickly after that, but you mention that you need to use the restroom. He points down the hallway and you make your way through, taking in the pictures neatly framed on the wall. Everyone is smiling in them. You can tell Alex’s smile is his polite, fake one.

You splash some water on your face and step out of the bathroom, but you stop in your tracks when you lock eyes with Ryan. He’s standing between you and Alex’s bedroom with crossed arms, essentially blocking the path. Ryan stares at you for a long, long moment.

“Uh,” you say intelligently. “I’m done now. You can… go ahead.”

“There'll be time for that.” He looks you up and down. You straighten, clutching the handle of your cane and schooling your expression. “Alex likes you.”

Okay. This conversation might as well happen. “And you don't?”

“I haven't decided yet.” Well, at least he’s honest. “He doesn't tend to do well in large groups; the ex-cult is barely an exception to that rule. You’re popular. You go to big parties. That's not exactly Alex’s environment.”

You frown. “How do you—?”

“The internet is free. Your Instagram isn't even private.”

Your cheek is still sore from biting down on it yesterday. That doesn't stop you from pressing it between your teeth. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but your information is outdated. I’m not friends with any of those people anymore.”

He shrugs. “You still go to parties, though. You took Alex to one.”

“I invited him and he said yes,” you tell him. “It was hardly a kidnapping.” 

“Alex wants to impress you,” he says, as if this is a known fact and not entirely news to you. “He’s going to go along with what you say, even if he’s not always comfortable with it.”

The interrogation is putting you on edge. You open your mouth before you can think. “Yeah, you’d know about that, right?”

“I’m his brother,” he says. “Of course I know.”

“Not what I meant. He wants to impress you too, you know. He goes along with your crazy plans and orders because he thinks the world of you, not necessarily because he agrees.”

Ryan’s jaw tightens. “Alex disagrees with me plenty. You don't know the half of it. We talk a lot more than you realize.”

“I think you talk to him plenty about what he has to do. Have you ever bothered asking him what he wants to do?”

He steps closer. You stare at him dead on, keeping your expression calm. If Alex can deal with Oliver shouting at him, you can definitely handle Ryan cornering you. “Like I said, Alex and I talk a lot. We talk about you—he doesn't shut up about you, in fact. Whether it's your uncanny ability to identify cars or the type of music you listen to. Even when he doesn't tell me something, I can see it. Like when he stays over at your place for a sleepover and comes back the next morning holding back tears.”

You taste blood in your mouth, your cheek stinging in protest. “That was—”

“Oliver, yeah, I know. He had a point, you know. Dreamscapes are dangerous. If you're not careful, who knows what’ll happen?”

You tilt your head at his barely disguised threat, raising an eyebrow. “Try that one on someone that hasn't already been in a coma.”

“All I’m saying,” he tells you, maintaining eerily intense eye contact the whole time, “is to be careful with Alex. He's not like your other friends.”

You swallow, pressing down your weight on your cane. “I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” you insist. “I care about him, man.”

“How?”

You furrow your eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“How do you—?”

A door opens down the hall. Alex leans out of it, a distrustful glare on his face. “Ryan.”

He doesn't turn around, still staring you down. “Alex.”

“What are you doing?”

“Ascertaining his intent and if he’s truly a man of honor,” he says simply. “What of it?”

Alex practically teleports next to the two of you and grabs your free hand, pulling you away from Ryan. “Don’t ambush my friends. What honor is there in such an action?”

You feel like the conversation has switched genres, somehow. As you're dragged to Alex’s room, Ryan calls out, “I wish only to protect you, brother.”

“Your protection is uncalled for and unasked for in equal measures! Do not disturb us.”

“If he pursues you in any way that lacks modesty—”

Alex slams the door shut and locks it before leaning back on it. He buries his head in his hands. “Sorry.”

“It's fine,” you say, still a little frazzled. “Why were you guys talking like Jane Austen?”

Alex runs a hand through his hair and grimaces slightly. “Uh, we kind of switch to Old English while arguing, sometimes.” He pauses. “It’s a new thing.”

“Okay,” you say, because it's not even the weirdest thing you've learned about Alex. “Oliver does random accents when he's caught off guard, so. To each their own.”

“Are they any good?”

“Oh, they’re terrible.”

You start to look around, taking in every detail of Alex’s bedroom. He has a double with grey sheets and a muted blue duvet, as opposed to your twin with Batman sheets (handed down from Oliver). His walls have a lot more going on than you expected, with various band and movie posters neatly lined up. He has blackout curtains, because of course he does, that match his duvet. There's a dresser and a low bookshelf that is almost exclusively stacked with DVDs. There are no clothes on the floor—or anything else, for that matter, it’s really clean—but some stuff is strewn on his desk, including a couple bottles of melatonin and a notebook that Alex very quickly throws into a drawer. You spot a guitar case in the corner and nod your head towards it. “You play?”

He looks up from the desk and follows your line of sight. “Yeah. I actually brought it with me when we infiltrated the cult.”

“For the karaoke?”

“We didn’t know about that at the time.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, Jasper reached out to us sometime after… everything. Pretty soon after that, Peterson messaged me about my guitar, because I’d left it at the house when everything happened, and I was finally able to get it back. I’d missed playing, so. That was nice.”

You sit on the bed, your legs sighing with relief. “Y’know, I don’t think I’ve ever asked: what’s it like having a stepbrother?”

Alex shrugs, leaning back against the desk. “It's hard to explain. I mean, it’s good, Jasper is really nice, but it's also kind of weird. I think it's weirder for Ryan though, because technically he's no longer the oldest.” He mulls it over, fingers tapping idly. “Anyway, it's weird and good at the same time, if that makes sense.”

It does. “And you guys get along? After everything?”

“I think so?” There’s a slight twitch of his eyebrows. “I hope so. I know I’m not exactly… personable.”

“I really don’t think you have to worry about that with Jasper,” you say, folding up your cane. “If he befriended his kidnapper, I’m pretty sure he can get along with anybody. Which is insane, by the way, but still.”

He presses his lips together and shrugs again. “I guess you’re right.”

“Like I said, I tend to be.”

Alex gives you another playfully doubtful look before it shifts into some kind of realization.

“Oh, before I forget—” He goes over to his dresser and pulls something out, handing you a neatly folded shirt and sweatpants. “From, uh, last time. They're washed.”

You take them and glance down at the faded print of your t-shirt. Alex has already turned back around by the time you look up.

“Think fast.”

Alex whirls around and flounders for a moment before catching the shirt you tossed, clearly caught off guard. He looks down at the shirt and then back at you. “Um?”

You shrug. “I have like a billion of those in my closet. You can keep it.”

He stays still for a moment, and you only have about two seconds to realize that this is probably weird—actually, if Alex is thrown off by it, then it’s definitely weird—before he just puts it back in his drawer with a nod. “Okay. Cool.”

“Cool.”

“It’s still early, do you wanna watch a movie or something?” He gestures to his bookshelf full of DVDs. “Whatever you want.”

You turn around and peer at it for a few seconds. You can’t exactly make out the titles from where you’re sitting on the bed, but you don’t want to get up again. “What’s your favorite?”

“13 Going On 30,” he says.

“Haven’t heard of it. What’s it about?”

Alex stops, holding his laptop in one hand as he stares you down. “You’ve never watched 13 Going On 30?”

“Uh. No?”

“2004 romcom?” He kneels down to grab the DVD case and holds it up to you, almost shoving into your face. “Jennifer Garner and Mark Ruffalo? Several nominations at the Teen Choice Awards?”

You grab the DVD and look at the box for a second before shrugging helplessly. “Still no.”

Alex shakes his head and gets on the bed, pressing his back to the wall and snatching the box from you. His voice is as deadpan as always when he speaks. “This is outrageous.”

“Sorry?”

“Forgiven.” He pops in the disc and turns to you, nodding towards his left. “Get comfortable so you can experience this masterpiece.”

You bite down a laugh and do as you’re told, shimmying up so that you’re next to him. You catch a glimpse of his desktop wallpaper, a picture of what you can only assume is Ryan’s graduation. It’s a little blurry and off to the side, so you figure that one of their parents must’ve taken it without them realizing at the time. Ryan’s graduation cap is tilted on Alex’s head while Ryan vehemently tries to steal it back. It’s probably the least serious you’ve ever seen Ryan, his graduation gown skewed from the struggle. The Alex in the picture has the same look in his eyes from yesterday, when he was holding an empty coffee cup, except he’s also laughing.

Alex pulls up the menu into a fullscreen, setting up everything. “What’s your favorite movie?” he asks.

“Breakfast Club.”

“Good choice. You have better taste than Ryan.”

“I thought you said Ryan has terrible taste in movies.”

“I didn’t say it was a high compliment.”

You shove him a little. “Says the guy whose favorite movie is a romcom.”

He shoves you back. “Excuse you, 13 Going On 30 is a film, and what’s wrong with romcoms?”

“They’re cheesy, they all have the same plot, they have ridiculous timelines,” you list off. “Seriously, who makes those big, sweeping love declarations to someone they’ve known for a few days? Insane people, that’s who.”

Alex shifts his body to look at you, raising a challenging eyebrow. “Okay then, since you're apparently such an expert: what’s the appropriate timeline for catching feelings?”

You scoff, wishing idly that Alex’s bed wasn’t so warm. “Definitely longer than a week.”

“So, what, a month?”

You consider it. “Sure. Depending on how much time you spend together.”

Alex turns back to the screen, shaking his head slightly. “Maybe you’re just allergic to fun, Elliot. Where’s your suspension of disbelief?”

Seriously, try to have fun. Callie’s voice needles in your mind and you let out a long suffering sigh. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s see what all the hype is about.”

“Your enthusiasm is infectious,” he says dryly.

“I mean, you obviously like it, so it’s gotta have something good going for it.” You bump your shoulder against his, though they’re already pressed together, and smirk at him. “You do have good taste.”

Alex glances at you before glueing his eyes to the screen, clearing his throat and pressing play.

You decide to focus on the movie instead of that non-reaction. Pretty early on, you find yourself cringing at any scene that gives you second-hand embarrassment. About halfway through, you have to pause the movie (film) to argue about whether the time skip means that Jennifer Garner’s character was on autopilot for seventeen years (you both take the opportunity to switch into PJs). Nearing the end of the movie (the point in every romcom where everything goes to shit), you’re both under the covers, with you practically laying on Alex’s shoulder while you frown at the screen. Honestly, you don’t even know who you’re supposed to be rooting for at this point. Jenna (Jennifer Garner) got screwed over by her friend Lucy, but Jenna was apparently just as awful when she was on autopilot, so they’re really on even ground. If you’re being honest, she kind of had it coming. That’s what Jenna gets for choosing to be friends with a bunch of shitty people and then being surprised it made her shitty, too.

Which, like, whatever. You're only moderately invested, anyway.

Jenna says that she’s not an awful person anymore and the guy (Mark Ruffalo, Matt, whatever) doesn’t even agree or disagree. They're doing this right before he’s going to get married, by the way—seriously, you don't know why all of these romcoms insist on adding time limits and deadlines to their love confessions. Maybe because if people could actually take their time, they’d realize that it's a stupid crush at most and that'd be pretty anticlimactic. Anyway, she confesses her feelings, but he just tells her that it’s too late and she cries about it. Except it’s not too late because, like in every other romcom, everything works out. She goes back in time, tells off her mean friends, and gets the guy. Happily ever after. 

“So they were childhood friends, and that shared history is pretty important to the plot, but even if you just look at the post-time jump stuff, the movie takes place over a few weeks. I think it makes a lot of sense for them to have gotten close over that time,” Alex says over the credits, Crazy For You by Madonna playing out of his laptop speakers. “Besides, I like that they acknowledge the significance of Matt’s pre-existing long-term relationship and don’t have him just throw it away, like others in the genre would. I think it gives it a real maturity for the 30s part of the film, but it still allows a happy ending by letting Jenna jump back to where the story started, to match the hope and idealism of 13.” He tilts his head towards you, his jaw brushing against your hair. “What did you think?”

You sniff. “It was alright.”

“Alr—wait, are you crying?”

“No.” You sniff again. “Shut up.”

You can hear him smiling, because Alex is the worst, actually. “Dude.”

“That doesn’t sound like shutting up.”

He closes the laptop and carefully sets it on his bedside table. “So much for cheesy, unoriginal plots, huh?”

“Whatever.” You don’t really have a reason to keep crushing his arm from lying down on it, but you’re too lazy to sit up. Alex doesn’t seem to mind, anyway. “Jenna was kind of annoying.”

“She’s a national treasure. How dare you.”

You exhale a little louder than usual into something that could be called a laugh. You wipe at your nose. “Nah, it was good. Even though it was a romcom.”

You can hear the smile in his voice again when he says, “I’m glad you liked it.”

You both chill there for a few minutes, just coexisting. Right when you start to worry about the circulation of Alex’s arm, he speaks up again. 

“Could we go into your dreamscape?”

With some effort, you sit up to look at him. “Can I ask why?”

“I’m curious.” He shrugs with one arm before stretching out the one you were laying your weight against. “And you got to look inside my head last time, so.”

“That’s true.” You find the edge of the sheets and rub them between your fingers. The material is soft. Something nicer than cotton for sure.

Alex tilts his head to look at you. “Is… that okay? We don't have to.”

“It's okay.” You take a deep breath. “My dreamscape is just kind of… weird.”

“I mean, all dreamscapes are weird.”

You shake your head. “You’ll get it once you see it.” 

Alex looks at you curiously but takes the permission for what it is. He stretches out his hand halfway.

“You ready?”

As ready as you'll ever be. You nod. He fully stretches out his hand, and you can't help but blurt out, “I’m ready to be thirty, flirty, and thriving.”

You manage to catch him mid-laugh, and then you’re asleep.

Chapter Text

You fall asleep and you are holding an apple.

Immediately, you’re hit with the smell of something sweet. Alex is sitting in front of you, rolling his wrist and looking around; the two of you are enveloped by cheery, pastel walls and a black-and-white checkered floor. There’s a banana split on the table between you, cherry on top included. 

“You a big ice cream fan?” He picks up a spoon and scoops the ice cream almost methodically. 

“Ice cream is hard to hate,” you say, not bothering to take a bite.

Alex just nods, looking around at the sunlit-streamed parlor. “Very 1950’s retro. Very… pastel.”

“Not exactly my vibe?”

“I can't say it's what I was expecting.” He manages to get some whipped cream on his carefully procured spoonful before he shrugs. “I mean, you said it was weird here, but this is pretty standard as far as dreamscapes go.”

You shrug and wait. Alex lifts up the spoon to his mouth. He bites into thin air.

He stares down at his now-empty hand and whips his head around, the lighting now cool and muted. You're in the middle of a city it looks like, sitting on a small, outside table of some little bistro. There are endless people bustling about the sidewalk, walking past you in a flurry of avid conversations and fancy clothes. Alex whips his head towards the bread basket on the table and then back up to you, confused.

“What just happened?”

“Pretty standard, right?”

“Did you do that?”

“Nope.” You pop the ‘p’ and rest your chin on your hand. “That's just how it goes.”

Alex looks at the bread, then at you, then at the bread again. “Okay. So your dreamscape has… involuntary teleportation?”

You sigh. “Not exactly. Look at the old people sitting over there.”

He turns around with no attempt to be discreet. An elderly couple sits at a table with a candle in between them and matching jewelry.

“Adorable,” he says simply.

You nod in agreement and set your apple on the table, next to the chessboard that you're now sitting at. It's a moderately cloudy day at this park, birds singing in the trees. Alex keeps looking around in shock until you gesture behind him again, where the old couple is now sitting at a bench feeding pigeons.

“They were at the ice cream parlor, too. The people are usually the same, I’m pretty sure. It's just the setting.”

Alex turns back to you, gears clearly turning. “Your dreamscape just… keeps changing? Perpetually?”

You move a piece on your side of the board, the tall spindly one. “Pretty much. It used to be faster, like fifteen seconds tops for each. Some of them stuck around for a bit longer over time, though. One minute, three minutes, it just depends.”

“What's the longest so far?”

“Ten minutes, last I counted, but those are rare. Some places are similar, but there's never any exact repeats. It just keeps switching until I wake up.”

Alex stares down at the board like he’s solving a very complicated math problem in his mind. You wait, watching a gust of wind lift up his hair.

“Was it always like this?”

Your eyes flick over to some kids playing frisbee, picking at the stem of your apple. “No. I mean, I don't really remember my dreams from before the accident, but I’m pretty sure they didn’t change this much.”

Out of the corner of your eye, Alex moves a piece. “And… during your coma? Was it like this then?”

you were in a coma and you were holding an apple.

You press the stem between your fingertips. They still tremble. “I don't wanna talk about it.”

“Okay,” Alex says easily. “So, is chess different here or do you just not know how to play?”

You turn back to look at him, frowning. He shrugs. “The bishop moves diagonally. You moved it straight.”

“Which one's the bishop?”

A mix of dismay and amusement settles on his face. “Well, that answers my question.” 

You both shiver when the temperature drops, now sitting on a wooden porch overlooking a dark forest. It looks like it’s just the two of you for now. “Well, it doesn't matter now, does it?”

Alex’s breath fogs in front of him, the only light coming from a lantern hanging behind you. “This is fascinating.”

“What, that my brain skips like a broken CD?”

“It's more like channel surfing, I think. I mean, I know you can't control it, but even skilled lucids spend ages learning how to change their dreamscape and their surroundings. Yours just does it automatically. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

There's something soft in his voice, an awe that takes you a second to name. You laugh a little nervously and shift in your chair.

“I don't know, man. I think it just means I’m indecisive.”

“Well, that makes two of us.” He turns his head towards you, a smile tugging at his lips, his eyes glinting gold with the light of the lantern. The glow switches to a deep purple and gravity suddenly suspends, the two of you idly floating like your heart in your chest.

“Oh, this is new,” you say, surprise tinging your voice. The color around you slowly shifts from purple to indigo, then blue. Alex looks around as the two of you float, equally bewildered, before he lets out a laugh of disbelief.

“I, uh. I think we’re in a lava lamp?” He laughs again, shaking his head. “Dude, what?”

You laugh too, because you're pretty sure he’s right, and this is so insane. “I—shit, yeah man. I guess we are. What the fuck.”

“There is nothing standard about your dreamscape. This is incredible.” He's beaming, floating just a little above you. He starts to drift and you grab his hand to keep him from floating away. Alex turns his smile towards you and the surrounding light shifts to a warm, vibrant orange. You panic for about two seconds because you don't know how oxygen factors into this, but you remind yourself that you're literally asleep and it doesn't matter. Still, something about the lack of gravity has your heart rate jumping all over the place. You find yourself smiling anyway. 

The realization hits you suddenly, washing over you like the ever-changing colors you're swimming in. There's absolutely nothing normal about your life anymore. There is no way to deny it anymore, no platitudes you can use to skirt around that simple, undeniable truth. Your life will never be like it was again. Neither will you.

Alex’s smile is puzzled for a moment before it drops, fully replaced by concern. “Are you okay?”

You don't know what he's talking about until little pink droplets float into your vision. In a futile attempt to stop crying, you tighten your face and swallow the lump in your throat, nodding. Alex’s concern only seems to grow. The lump in your throat stays put while you try to speak around it.

“I’m fine.” Your voice breaks, so you try again. “I’m just thinking about 13 Going On 30 again.”

“Elliot.”

“I said I’m fine,” you snap. The wobble in your voice undercuts any sharpness, and it just sounds kind of pathetic. “It's just—it’s stupid.”

“What is?”

You try to fold up your legs as much as you’re able to in this lack of gravity, wiping at your eyes as best as you can. The pink droplets turn red, and you squeeze your eyes shut so you don't think of breaking glass and unbuckled seatbelts.

“Fucking—all of this! My brain! Me!” Your chin trembles and you gesture wildly with your free hand. “It’s so stupid that I miss going to parties that I didn't care about and drinking alcohol that tastes like shit. And it's so stupid that I miss my friends sometimes, even though they were assholes who didn't even come see me at the hospital—” You laugh, though you choke on it a little. “But I was an asshole, too! So whatever! I’m stupid, and I’m crying in a fucking lava lamp because I miss not having to think about work accommodations and fine motor skill exercises and mobility aids!”

The light surrounding you both is now green. You don't even want to think about what an ugly crier you are, not when Alex is still looking at you with an expression that makes you want to cry even more.

“And it's so stupid because I know! I know there's no point in missing shit I’m never getting back! I just can’t stop. First I complain about how my cane sucks, but now that they want to change it I complain about that too, and I know I just need to suck it up and deal with it but—”

Gravity comes back with a vengeance and you slam downwards. You land on something hard and jagged, hissing at the impact. It's a rocky beach with rolling clouds and mighty waves crashing on the shore. Your cheeks are wet, along with your hair and shirt.

It's raining. You couldn't bite back your sob if you tried.

There's a crack of thunder as Alex moves closer, wrapping his arms around you. The angle is awkward and a little uncomfortable. You grasp onto his wrist and don't let go.

The scenery changes a few times while you cry, though you only catch blurry glimpses of different floors. By the time you pull it together, you’re staring down at rusting metal, sitting atop an abandoned playground. It's the middle of the night, it looks like. The slide in front of you looks precarious at best and like an active hazard at worst.

“That was a lot,” you say finally. Your voice sounds like shit, so you clear your throat. “Sorry.”

Alex’s chin is partially on your shoulder, and you can feel his words almost as much as you can hear them. “You’re good.”

“I’m not really a crier.”

“Well, the evidence would suggest otherwise—”

“I mean usually, you dick.” You sniff. “My therapist would probably call it cathartic, or whatever.”

“What would you call it?”

You shrug slightly, careful to not jostle Alex with the motion. “Embarrassing.”

He removes one of the arms that he has wrapped around you. Before you can mourn the loss, he flicks your forehead. “Now that is actually stupid.”

You scoff as he puts his arm back where it was. “I wanted to do dreamscape stuff to not think about this shit in the first place. Instead I cried about it in front of my best friend. That’s mortifying.”

Alex’s head tilts, his body going a little still. “I’m your best friend?”

“That's your takeaway?”

 “I—sorry.”

As much as you can, you nudge your shoulder against him. “And yeah, of course you are. Who else?”

“Cool.” Alex clears his throat. “You are, too.”

A smile tugs at you. You let it. “Cool.”

It’s still pitch black. You can only make out a chain link fence from the glow of a distant street lamp, its white bulb dim and flickering.

“You said something about them changing your cane,” Alex says eventually. It's a statement that's really a question, and you sigh, wiping at the mostly-dried tears in your cheeks. Alex pulls back to let you move freely and waits. You stare down at your hands while you talk, keeping your voice as even as possible.

“Yeah, um. I complained about it at my last PT session. How it's still a bunch of effort to stand and move with it… when I did use it, at least. I figured maybe… honestly, I don’t know what I thought. But, uh, it turns out that a cane might not be enough to keep me upright.” You shrug and look up at the inky sky, only a sliver of the moon visible. “So. Hopefully your car has enough room for forearm crutches.”

You blink and squint at the sudden brightness, the sky now a pale pink. There's a baby blue picnic blanket beneath the two of you, overlooking a nearby creek. It looks like a meadow of sorts, with an army of wildflowers surrounding you. Alex plucks one from the ground with orange petals, turning it over in his hand. “The backseat has more than enough space. The trunk should, too.” He turns to look at you, his eyes soft. “Do you think they'll help?”

You turn to look at the creek instead of him, catching sight of a fish jumping up the stream. You think about the lazy river effect, and how actively fighting against the current only leaves you more exhausted. You think about accepting the direction the water is flowing in, having at least some control of how you move, even if it's not the way what you once could.

Your life will never be like it was. There's still a grief attached to that thought, the finality of it an ache, but it's also a release. Maybe you can miss the way things were while still letting them go. Maybe you can make a new normal.

“Yeah,” you admit. “I hope so.”

Alex places the little orange flower on your knee. “I hope so, too.”

The flower disappears after a few seconds, replaced by a few stray snowflakes that immediately melt. It’s now early dawn, with random patches of moss and slushy snow around you. You’re both sitting on a boulder of sorts, fog pooling below you as you look out into a mountain range with snow-capped peaks. Alex shakes his head.

“Man, you don’t even need to jump into other people’s heads. Hard to get bored.”

“It’s not all perfect,” you point out, leaning back on your palms. “Can’t exactly ski here.”

Alex lets out a small chuckle before turning to you with a curious expression. “Hey, I’m just realizing: you never got around to telling me how you became a lucid.”

“Oh. Huh. Yeah, I guess I didn’t.” He gestures to you in a sort of “go on” motion. “Uh, well, in summary… Oliver jumped into my dreamscape to shut me up during an argument.”

“This is exactly why we have the oppressed younger brother’s club,” he reasons. You snort.

“Yeah, yeah, call it an inciting incident,” you joke. “Anyway, after he did that, he kind of explained how everything works. I’d noticed things that changed while I was in a coma, like Japple and Gasball Currency, and when I confronted him about it—”

Alex holds up a hand, confused. “Wait, what about Gasball Currency?”

“I—well, it wasn’t around before the accident. It was a dreamscape change thing. Yartmap is made up, too.” You frown. “I figured you already knew, since you’re a lucid.”

“It’s… really hard to pick up on changes in your own reality,” Alex explains. He shakes his head slightly. “Right, sorry, continue.”

“Well, I could tell Oliver knew something about it. I didn’t realize it was because he was the one that made them up, but still—”

Alex holds up a hand again. “It’s—sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt—but it’s Benjamin’s dreamscape, right? He’s the one that has the apple in our reality.”

“I mean yeah, but the changes were Oliver’s ideas. They didn’t really get how the lucid thing worked at the time, I don’t think, so it was pretty subconscious.”

“Okay… so, whatever Oliver came up with just… became true in Benjamin’s dreamscape? Because they’re so close?”

“Yeah,” you say, a little haltingly. “It’s also probably because they share a brain.”

Alex looks at you. You quickly add, “Or something like that. I’m not entirely sure how it works.”

Alex keeps looking at you. “Right. Okay. Sorry. You mean they’re both dreamscape owners of the same—?”

“No, like, they dreamed each other’s realities into existence. At the same time. And then every other dreamscape popped up as a result.”

He takes a deep breath. “Right.” He holds up his hand again, hesitates, then says, “Okay.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Here’s the thing, Elliot.” He sits up a bit straighter, crossing his legs and steepling his hands on his knees. It looks like that’s his go-to position for talking about lucid stuff. “I’ve known about dreamscapes for a while. Pretty quickly after you figure out that your dream is a fully functioning reality of its own, the natural question that always follows is whose dream you’re a part of. Then it only follows that every person had to have been dreamed by someone else, which really only leaves three possible theories for the beginning of everything.” Alex holds up a finger for each example. “One: it’s infinite, and there’s no singular origin point. Two: there is one true, ultimate reality that is not a dreamscape, and whoever is at the root of that tree is basically God. Three: somewhere in the endless world of dreamscapes, it loops around. James was pretty certain that it was number three, so Ryan and I are already pretty familiar with the concept of there being a pair of dreamscapes out there that circled around each other.”

You nod along, eventually gesturing out towards him. “Yeah, I mean, that sounds about right. Pretty dead on, actually.”

“However,” Alex continues, holding up a hand again, “I’m struggling a little to wrap my head around the fact that this closed circuit—which, for all intents and purposes, is the origin of all realities and time itself—was created by Benjamin and Oliver.”

You puff out your cheeks and nod slowly. “Yup. I felt that.”

“I saw Oliver almost choke last month because he tried to stuff an entire bag of gummy worms in his mouth.” Alex shakes his head, eyes a little wide. “Benjamin joined a cult that worships my stepbrother. What do you mean they invented the universe?”

“Don’t give them that much credit. It’s not like they did it on purpose.”

It doesn’t look like that really helps. He puts his head in his hands. “Elliot, what do you mean.”

“I tried to warn you, man.” You pat his shoulder sympathetically. “I told you I’d heard weirder.”

He looks up at you between his fingers, the air around you suddenly muggy instead of brisk. The two of you are now sitting on the balcony of some random  skyrise with a glass barrier. “Okay. Your brother who hates me invented the universe. This is fine.”

You roll your eyes. “He doesn’t hate you. Seriously, I checked. Besides, he only invented half of it.”

Alex lets out a single, muffled, “Not helping.” You decide to leave him be and just take in the view in the meantime. The balcony overlooks the rest of the city, endless lights glimmering from the egregiously tall buildings nearby. Eventually, Alex recovers and takes in the view with you. You sneak a glance at him. He still looks a little amazed by everything here. The sight fills you with a little pride.

Alex wants to impress you.

You’re not entirely sure why Ryan told you that, but there’s a part of you that wants to impress Alex, too. The thing is, you can’t pinpoint why—you’re already friends, best friends at that, so there should be no reason to.

Coma aside, you’ve always been a pretty light sleeper. You suddenly come to, lying sideways on Alex’s bed. Your train of thought continues despite the interruption. Maybe you’re still hardwired to try and say what people want to hear, like you used to at school. Maybe you just have a weird obsession with people thinking you’re cool, which might explain why you use that word so fucking often. Or maybe—

Blearily, Alex blinks in the darkness, his hair sticking up against the pillow. He keeps one eye squeezed shut as he tries to get his bearings, using a hand to cover up his yawn.

Maybe…

“Mm, what time is it?” he asks, still groggy. Your heart is floating like it was in the lava lamp, even though the gravity of reality is sinking in.

Huh. Maybe.

“I don't know.”

Alex leans over to check his phone. “Oh, shit. It’s only like, ten in the morning.”

You snort into the pillow. “Is this the earliest you've ever woken up?”

“In a while, yeah.” He lies back down on the bed, tilting his head towards you. There's a slight mirth in his eyes before he jokingly (see: with a completely straightforward tone) asks, “So, any fun dreams?”

He’s ridiculous. Something warm and fond fills your chest, and your heart rate goes from fluttering idly to a jittering disaster.

“You could say that,” you manage.

There's no maybe about it. This is a resounding, dooming definitely.

Chapter Text

A lot of things change for you in July.

Oliver packing up to move out is probably one of the biggest. There's a hurricane of boxes and an ungodly amount of tape in his room—the Marie Kondo method is useless on your brother, because even the most random crap will spark joy for him. Still, between you and Benjamin, he’s eventually able to sort through most of his stuff instead of procrastinating it like usual. He tries to hand you down about a million things, as if he's moving to another country even though he’s still in the same zip code. Sometimes he zones out while packing, his eyes clouded with lingering worry from your conversation on the kitchen floor, but you just hit him with your crutch and he pulls himself out of it, going back to messily labeling boxes while sticking out his tongue in concentration.

Your forearm crutches are another big change. It's an adjustment process—you aren’t used to having two hands occupied while you walk instead of just one—but you’re already feeling a difference. You aren’t as drained all the time, and even though it’s not like before, you haven’t felt this much stability while standing in a long, long time. Callie tells you that you should decorate them, but you don’t think you’re quite at that point yet, if ever.

Speaking of: you text Callie more frequently too, though that's more of an ongoing thing. It turns out she's very liberal with her usage of emojis and voice notes. The latter is honestly a little annoying at first, since you have to text back a response for every single topic she brings up, but it becomes a lot easier when she reminds you that you can also send her voice notes back. You end up using them almost exclusively after that.

Other than that, the rest of your time is pretty much all spent with Alex, so that much is still the same. You switch off whose place you hang out at depending on the day, but with all the chaos of Oliver’s move, you usually end up at Alex’s house. His bedroom, specifically, because the rest of the house is an open floor plan that has zero privacy, and Ryan still stares at you in a way that has you mildly concerned for your safety. Today you're chilling on your phone while Alex strums his guitar at the end of the bed, sitting cross-legged with a notebook and pencil in front of him. He plucks a few notes, twangy and whimsical, fucks up, and mutters under his breath while he squints at his handwriting.

“Wrong note?” you ask.

“Wrong everything.” Alex shakes his head and scratches something out. “I think I need the whole thing to be at a higher pitch.”

“You got a guitar clamp?”

He glances around and sighs. “Somewhere.”

You snort. “Shame you can’t just pop things into existence here, huh?”

It’s the one lucid skill you haven’t been able to get a hang of at all, even though Alex makes it look easy. He insists it isn’t, that even with all the intuition needed to change a dreamscape, there’s a technical side to it. You were walking through a botanical garden of sorts in his dreamscape when he explained it, talking about how he’d researched forearm crutches for hours in order to dream them up accurately.

It took every inch of self-control in your body to not kiss him on the spot when he told you that. Not the kind of thing that you wanna do before you talk to him about your feelings or whatever.

Which… yeah, you haven’t quite gotten around to that yet.

Here's the thing: you've waited it out long enough to confirm that your whole… crush (ugh) wasn't just a spur of the moment isolated incident from that morning. Whether you like it or not, it’s stuck. And you've pretty quickly come to terms with the fact that your sexuality wasn't as straightforward (ha) as you'd originally thought—even though your brother was an absolute pain about it when you came out. Again.

(“I knew that being straight was just a phase,” he’d said dramatically, putting a hand to his chest as if he was holding back tears. “It just wasn't natural, you know? I’m so glad you've finally seen the light.”

You threw a sharpie at him in response. Unfortunately, he wasn’t fazed in the slightest.)

Anyway, with all that sorted, it really all came down to just… doing it. Be up front, be direct, and tell Alex that you like him as more than a friend. The problem is that it’s been weeks and you obviously haven’t done it yet.

It should be easy to explain why. No one likes the possibility of ruining a good friendship by confessing feelings, having no idea if those feelings are requited or not—it's why Oliver took ages to do anything about Benjamin. But this isn't exactly true in your case. You have a pretty good read on Alex as a person at this point; you're confident that, if he doesn't feel the same way as you, he's going to take the whole thing in stride and not make you feel weird or bad about it. It’d be pretty awkward for a bit, sure, but definitely not the end of the world.

More than that, even though you obviously can't say for certain, you're pretty sure that he might feel the same way, too. Or a similar way, at least. You’re fairly certain that’s what Ryan actually meant when he cornered you; “Alex likes you.” has been echoing in your mind daily ever since you heard it. It would explain why he kind of threatened you and his weird comment about modesty (which you absolutely refuse to think about in detail, for your own peace of mind and general sanity). It would definitely explain some of the looks that Alex gives you and some of the pauses in your conversations, if nothing else.

Which is another thing: the two of you keep having these little moments, brief silences where the air tenses, tentative and humming with anticipation. When it happens in dreams, like at the garden, you always hold back. You know you want to have this conversation wide awake. You've slept through enough important moments—including a birthday—and even though you know all dreams are technically real, you want this to happen in your reality, the one that you both share. When it does happen in reality, however, you get overwhelmed by a weird flipping behind your ribs that makes you feel like you might need an ambulance—again.

Safe to say, it’s been hard to make progress.

You don’t have a good explanation for why you get so nervous when you’re pretty sure you’re both on the same page. Callie said you were being a little bitch about it (no offense). Oliver was no help, because he thought his literal soulmate didn’t like him “like that” despite all evidence to the contrary. Benjamin, because you were desperate enough to ask him, said that knowing the feelings are mutual doesn’t always help. If your worst fear is being rejected, then sure, but there are plenty of other things that can worry you. Commitment, the relationship failing, being truly open and vulnerable about your emotions for the first time in your goddamn life.

Or, you know, you’re just being a little bitch about it. It feels like Callie hit that nail on the head.

Another sour note pierces through the air, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Why don’t you work on something else in the meantime?” you suggest. “Cleanse your palate, or whatever.”

He heaves a heavy sigh but nods. “You’re right. This one always annoys me when I play it for too long.”

“Oh, is it the James one?”

His face goes a little pink while he glares at you. “Why do you always call it that?”

“Because you haven’t given it a title yet and it’s literally about James?”

“It’s not literally about him, it’s just… vaguely inspired.”

You snort. “Right, sorry, how did that chorus about being obsessed with money go again?”

He shakes his head and keeps his eyes glued to the notebook in front of him. You try to nudge his knee with your foot. “Hey, I like it. It’s catchy. Has a real saloon vibe.”

Alex doesn’t quite look up, but he does shrug in acknowledgement, flipping through the pages a little sheepishly.

It's only been a few days since he stopped hiding that notebook from you—you guys were watching Whiplash when he mentioned that he composes his own stuff once in a while, and you needled him about it even once you guys were asleep, sitting in your perpetually changing scenery. He finally gave in by the time you two were looking out at a waterfall, and ever since then, he'll work on his own music while you guys hang out. You’ve noticed that he’s kind of self-conscious about it, though; you have to keep reminding yourself to not joke too much when it comes to his original stuff. You keep scrolling down your feed—you aren’t paying any attention to your screen, but you need something to do so Alex doesn’t feel like you’re only paying attention to him, even though you are. It's hard not to pay attention to him these days, especially when he plays or hums or sings under his breath, his voice soft and airy.

God, why did you have to get a crush on a guy that can play guitar? This is so fucking unfair.

“I don't know what to play,” Alex says finally, looking down at his notebook like it personally slighted him. You pretend to keep your eyes on your phone and shrug.

“Just play your newest thing.”

That seems to give him pause. His fingers go still on the page. “It’s, uh. It's not finished yet.”

You do look up at that, raising an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah? Most of them aren't. The whole point is that you're still writing them.”

“Right.” He hasn't moved yet. You think about nudging him again but decide against it.

“You don't have to, man. No one's holding you at gunpoint. Just a suggestion.”

You scroll on your phone for a moment. Eventually, Alex flips a page and readjusts, taking a deep breath. “Again, it's not done yet, so. Just keep that in mind.”

Something about the hesitation in his voice makes you put your phone down, looking at how his fingers press against the strings. It's a melody with no lyrics and no accompanying chords, mostly low notes that ring out warmly. Alex’s fingers dance up and down as he plays, eyebrows furrowed slightly in concentration.

It stops a little abruptly—still unfinished, after all—and Alex keeps his eyes on the guitar strings. This is usually the point where he asks you what you think, but he just waits quietly instead.

“It’s good so far,” you offer finally. “It was, like… soft but sincere. I think once you get the hang of the note progression, it’ll play out very smoothly.”

Alex keeps his guitar close to his chest, holding it carefully. “Thanks. Though, uh, that part’s on purpose. It's supposed to sound uncertain; like there's a sense of doubt just hovering over the whole song.”

You nod. “Huh. Yeah, I can see that. So the vibe is more like… yearning, or something?”

He drops his eyes back down to his notebook, grabbing the pencil and scribbling something on the paper. “Yeah.”

You turn your eyes to the page. He's not actually writing anything down, from what you can tell. “What's the song about?” you ask.

Alex goes still again, but only for a split second, before he goes back to writing nothing. “I just made something up.”

There’s something familiar pulling at you, tentative and restless. “Really.”

“Yes.”

You have a pretty good read on Alex as a person at this point. The fact is, when he’s put on the spot, he’s not a particularly good liar.

“Well, it's good. I really liked it.”

Alex nods, still not looking at you. “Cool. I mean, that's good. I’m glad.”

“Yeah,” you say, wondering if you’ll take the plunge. Your eyes catch on the way his Adam’s apple moves when he swallows. Fuck it. “It feels like wanting something you can't have.”

Alex whips his head up, holding the pencil tighter than strictly necessary. He doesn't say anything. You swallow and shrug. “That's my interpretation, at least.”

Very carefully, Alex sets down the pencil, resting his hand on top of the guitar. “Right.”

He doesn't say anything else. He's still looking at you. 

Your heart starts doing flips. You could do what you usually do and retreat: make some witty and/or sarcastic comment to pull you both out of this tension. The same way you could’ve ignored the stranger that walked into you on the stairs two months ago.

But you didn't. So you don't.

“Why do you think you can't have what you want?”

For once, it’s Alex who’s taken aback by you being direct. He stumbles over his words, holding his guitar as tightly as a shield. “I told you, that's not—it’s not based on anything. It's made up.”

“You know, for someone that infiltrated a cult, you’re not exactly a great liar.”

He looks a little offended by that, still trying to catch his footing. “It's—” he cuts himself off, clearly biting his tongue. “It doesn't matter.”

“Of course it matters,” you say. “Why wouldn't it?”

He doesn't seem to have an answer for that, his eyes flitting uneasily over anything that isn't your face. Something fierce tugs at your chest, a complete opposite of the nonchalance that you once cared so much about. “What you want is important. It's always important.” You sit up a bit straighter and lean closer, putting emphasis on your words in hopes that he’ll feel them like you do. “I care about what you want, Alex.”

He’s looking straight at you now, his eyes catching the warm light of his desk lamp. His voice is hesitant and soft. “What if we don't want the same thing?”

“Then we’d figure it out,” you say. “But I really, really don't think you have to worry about that.”

That was practically a confession already, but you wait patiently anyway, your pulse racing under your skin. The air between you two feels like a rubber band pulled taut, the anticipation thick enough to choke.

“You.” Alex sits very, very still, like he’s forcing himself to not look away. “The song is about you. And I… I want…”

He drops his eyes down to the duvet. He’s too flustered to handle, it looks like. Your ears are burning so hot that you're certain you aren't doing any better. You swallow and quickly nod to yourself.

“Alex,” you say as calmly as possible, “can you please put away your guitar?”

He glances up at you, face still flushed. The sight makes your heart flip again, though you're good without the ambulance at this point. “Um. Yeah. Why?”

“It's gonna be pretty hard to kiss you with it in the way.”

His wary, puzzled expression immediately shifts to realization, practically falling over himself to lean his guitar against the wall. You try not to laugh at the eagerness, biting down your lip, but a chuckle breaks past despite your efforts. Alex gets on the bed again and hesitates on what position to be in, eventually sitting on his heels next to you.

“So, I haven’t done this before. Yet. So I’m not exactly experienced,” Alex rambles, “but I did try to research the basics, and… oh my god, I cannot believe I just told you that.”

You take his hand in yours and he squeezes it without a second thought, even though he still looks a little mortified. “Hey, look on the bright side: at least your first kiss isn’t gonna be in some stranger’s house after splitting a bottle of Everclear with four people.”

He grimaces a little at that, more curious than anything. “That was your first kiss?”

You shrug. “Spin the bottle doesn’t really lend itself to being romantic. Though, well, this is my first time with a guy. So. There’s that.”

Alex’s eyes light up at that. “It’s kind of a first for both of us, then.”

The way he says it is so fond and genuine that you kind of feel like you’re going to explode. “Aw man, why’d you have to put it like that? Now I’m nervous.”

“You’re nervous? I’ve been taking all the big steps here so far.” He leans in slightly, his voice serious as always despite the teasing challenge in his words. “Show some initiative, Elliot.”

You lean in too, raising an eyebrow. “Hm, are we forgetting who suggested kissing in the first place?”

“There’s a difference between saying and doing,” he points out. You can feel his breath against your lips, and you go a little lightheaded. With a quick breath to steel yourself, you trail a hand upwards and rest it on the nape of his neck. Alex shivers. You lean in.

It’s simple, just a pressing of lips that makes your heartbeat skyrocket. You pull back after just a few seconds, not wanting to overwhelm Alex, but he seems to have other ideas. He puts his mouth on yours again, humming into the feeling. His free hand lands on the side of your neck and your pulse is flighty under the pad of his thumb. His skin catches slightly, the callouses warm on your skin, and you feel your hold on him tighten, pressing Alex close. He pulls back only because you both need air. The ends of Alex’s hair tickle your hand and you run your hand upwards, shakily carding your fingers through his hair while he catches his breath.

“How the hell is your hair so soft?” you ask, your voice a lot lower than you expected. Alex swallows, his eyes a little dazed.

“I just, um. Hairdry it.”

“That’s it?”

“Mhm.”

You shake your head slightly, bringing your hand down to rest on his jawline. There’s the slightest peach fuzz pressing against your palm. You wonder how often he has to shave. “So. How’s that for initiative?”

Alex nods, his cheeks flushed a deep pink. “Pretty good.”

“Cool.”

Maybe you’ve actually gone a little insane, because you swear that Alex’s eyes are practically sparkling when he huffs out a laugh. “Yeah. Cool.”

He traces his fingers along the side of your neck. You shiver right before he speaks up again.

“Okay, question: how often can we do the kissing thing? Also, can we do more of it right now?”

You try to bite down your grin. “Well, according to the law—”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Hey, no complaints here. Glad to see the enthusiasm.”

“Can you blame me? I’ve been thinking about this for weeks.”

That sends a rush of warmth to your face. “When, uh. When did you figure it out?”

Alex shrugs, squeezing your hand again. “I don’t know, exactly. I think it was gradual. I definitely knew by the time Callie’s birthday came around.”

You whistle. “Wow, you were way ahead of me. I figured it out after you went into my dreamscape for the first time.” Alex hums in acknowledgement and you drop your eyes for a moment. “But, uh, if I’m being honest… I was feeling it a while before then.”

“How long?” he asks, to the point as always. You swallow down the urge to play it off and play it cool, forcing the sincerity out of your mouth.

“The whole time, I think.”

His eyes soften, tapping his fingertips against the side of your neck. After a moment, he goes: “And you have the audacity to call romcoms unrealistic.”

“They are unrealistic,” you insist, though it doesn’t sound very convincing.

“And yet, you just said the most romantic thing I have ever heard in my life—which yes, okay, I realize that’s not a high bar, but still.”

“Guess I just have to keep raising it, then.”

He smiles with his eyes again. You kind of have to kiss him about it. When you pull back, his eyes are somehow even brighter than before. “This means we’re dating now, right?” he asks, as if the answer isn’t obviously yes, and it’s so endearing that you press another quick kiss to his lips. He keeps talking while you pepper kisses around his face. “Boyfriend and boyfriend? The whole couple thing? I mean, just to clarify.”

“Yeah, Alex, obviously.” You snort, pressing your forehead against his shoulder. “Man. My parents are gonna get a kick out of this.”

“I have a gut feeling that your moms aren’t really going to mind you having a boyfriend.”

“Oh, they won’t mind at all—they’ll be thrilled, actually. They both love you.” You pull your head back to look at him. “They’re also going to laugh their asses off because I came out as straight years ago.”

Alex tries to not laugh. He’s mostly successful. “Huh. I guess it didn’t quite work out like that, huh?”

“Nope.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. Besides, maybe we don’t have to tell them right away.” You raise an eyebrow, curious, and he shrugs. “I mean… it'll be easier to keep having sleepovers if they don’t know yet.”

“Hm.” That’s all you can really manage to say at first, the implications almost making you dizzy. You manage to recover with a quick nod. “That’s a very good point. I think you’re onto something here.”

“I think so, too.” He starts tracing his fingers up and down your neck again, looking at you like you’re the only other person in the world. “So, about my earlier question.”

You hum, heart still pounding in your chest. “Which one? You ask a lot of questions.”

“About how often we can kiss.”

“Oh yeah, that one.” You tilt your head innocently. “What about it?”

Alex frowns and you can’t help but laugh, keeping your hand in his hair to pull him into another kiss. He only barely pulls back to say, “That’s not an answer.”

It’s so pedantic. It’s so stupid. You’re the luckiest guy in the world.

“As much as you want,” you whisper. “Whatever you want.”

His eyes soften again, pupils so dilated that you can barely make out the green. Still a bit hesitant, he asks, “Is that what you want?”

You look at Alex, who doesn’t read between the lines or sound like most people do. Alex, who is hypermobile and writes music and is obsessed with movies from the early 2000s. Alex, who gets endless headaches and always drinks a different coffee order to try and cure them. Alex, who can travel through people’s dreams and argues in Old English with his brother. Alex, who joined a cult, got kicked out of it, and then still hangs out with all the former members. Alex, who knows how to make chloroform. He’s probably the strangest person that you’ve ever met.

You don’t bite down your smile.

“Yeah. It is.”

He smiles back, more in his eyes than his mouth. It all settles in your chest, warm and fond and the opposite of what was once normal for you. “Cool.”

“Cool.”

You’re both still smiling when he kisses you again. You close your eyes into it, and you’re wide awake.

Chapter Text

“Remind me who’s who again.”

You see yourself sigh in the mirror, messing with your hair to try and make it somewhat presentable. “There’s, like, three other people there. It’s not gonna be that hard to keep track.”

Alex’s reflection raises an eyebrow at you. “Okay, name three ex-cult members, then. Other than Ryan and I.”

“Benjamin, Quinn, and Paul.”

“Who the fuck is Paul?”

“The frat guy.”

He squints at you. “You mean Robert?”

You pause. “Okay, I guess you have a point.”

“Thank you.”

You spin your chair until you’re looking at Alex. He’s sitting on your bed with the same kind of expression you have when you've got a test coming up. “There’s Callie, Liam, and Nya—”

“And Liam is dating Callie,” he says. You shake your head.

“Nope, not yet. Also, if you bring that up, Callie is gonna kill you.”

He presses his lips together, eyebrows furrowed. “Okay, and they’re all your classmates?”

“I’m pretty sure Liam goes to your old school, actually.” Alex deflates and you roll your chair closer. “Dude, you memorized, like, a million facts about Jasper. You're gonna be fine.”

“1028," he corrects. "Besides, I had weeks to learn those, not days.”

“Well, hey, you already know Scott.”

“Exactly. That doesn’t count.”

You kick his leg softly. “I’m gonna tell him you said that.”

Alex waves it off. “He knows.”

He’s wringing his fingers nervously. You reach a hand out and he takes it, pulling your chair even closer. With a tilt of your head, you squeeze his hand.

“Talk to me.”

Alex sighs, tapping his fingers against your hand. “What if they think I’m weird?”

“You are weird,” you point out, quickly elaborating when he frowns at you, “and they’re going to like you. Callie and Liam already do. Scott, too.”

It seems to help when you put it like that. He sighs again, though it’s less natural, which you know means he’s gearing up to make a joke. “I don’t know about that. Scott and I have a bit of a love-hate relationship. It’s very tempestuous”

You put a hand to your chest, faux wounded. “Wow. Is this how I find out that you have a side-piece?”

He wrinkles his nose and you bark out a laugh. “Ew. No.”

“I’m gonna tell him you said that,” you tease. Alex leans in. 

“I don’t care.”

Still smiling, you close the gap and press your lips to his, feeling him hum softly. His other hand rests on your forearm, callouses gently tracing the faint marks on your skin. You deepen the kiss, his hand tightening in yours, and—

“Hey, where’s the—? O-kay, nevermind! Wow!”

Alex jumps back, your chair rolling across the floor and spinning to look at your stupid brother, covering his eyes with one hand from where he stands at the doorway. He only moves his hand when you speak up, deeply annoyed. “What do you want?”

“Well I was looking for the last box, the one with my comic books in it, but I’m gonna look for some bleach while I’m at it so I can use it on my eyes, thanks for asking!”

Still sitting on your bed, Alex’s face is about as red as Benjamin’s apple. “Hey Elliot wow look at the time, I’m going to wait in the car see you there soon, bye.”

He rambles that out in one monotonous breath and rushes out of the room, skirting around Oliver like he’s radioactive. Oliver watches him go, clearly amused. “He does know I’m not gonna kill him or anything, right?”

“Debatable.” You push yourself away from the wall, rolling over to the dresser your crutches are leaning against. “Also, are you just allergic to knocking?”

“Hard to knock when you leave the door wide open,” he points out, tapping the doorframe snarkily. You hoist yourself up and adjust your grip on your crutches before turning around. Oliver stays put, still tapping the doorframe as he waits for you. It's restless, and while someone else could read it as impatience, you know your brother more than you like to admit. You know he always needs to be moving—as a kid, he would always joke about being a shark while chasing you around the house and trying to eat you. You also know that he's purposely not going up to you when you haven’t asked him to. You know that, if you did ask him to, he would be at your side in an instant. Right now, you don't need him to be. It looks like he's starting to accept that. He’s trying to, at least. You walk up to him, unsure of how to put any of it into words.

“Shut up,” is all that you say. He smiles at you, as easily as he breathes, and you playfully stomp his foot with your crutch.

(Well, you try to do it playfully. The way he hisses after has you wincing slightly. But also, he totally had it coming. Call it retribution for all of the shark chasing.)

“If it’s not in your room, it's in the attic. Otherwise, I have no clue where you left your shit.”

“Thank you!” He taps your shoulder gratefully and runs past you, humming the Mission Impossible theme as he goes.

You shake your head, because your brother is ridiculous, and make your way towards the stairs. Halfway down, you hear a muffled, victorious, “Aha!” By the time you reach the landing, Oliver’s footsteps are thudding on the steps as he catches up to you, looking somewhat winded. “Dude, your army of Hot Wheels is taking up at least half of our storage. I was swimming in boxes of those little plastic cars.”

“Fuck off, you cannot judge me for that when you haven't even gone through puberty yet,” you shoot back. “Besides, it’s not exactly ‘our’ storage anymore.”

You know that there's some stuff that Oliver is leaving here—childhood memorabilia that your parents still want to hold onto, more than anything. You know that if he ever needs to, he'll always be able to drop off stuff here. You know that he’ll probably visit an obnoxious amount and that he's not even changing zip codes. He seems to see that entire thought process go through your mind clear as day, because he smiles a little ruefully.

“Aw, come on Elliot.” He ruffles your hair, even though you just spent about ten minutes trying to make it look good. You don't stumble, your grip steady as you shove back his arm with a roll of your eyes. “You know you're not getting rid of me that easily.”

You do. You also know you’re gonna miss him anyway. “I don't think a restraining order would get rid of you, man. But hey, a guy can dream.”

He laughs at your stupid joke, and you pretend that you're not smiling, too. With some effort, you manage to open the door and the two of you come to a pause, watching the sight before you in abject fascination.

“Okay.” It feels like as good a place as any to start. “What on Earth do Benjamin and Alex even have in common to talk about?”

“I mean, they were in the same cult together.” Oliver shrugs, the cardboard box shifting up and down. “Maybe they're reminiscing.”

“Ah, yeah, so many good memories. Do you think they're having a good throwback to when your boyfriend beat the shit out of mine?”

“He did not beat the shit out of him,” Oliver retorts. You raise an eyebrow at him. He shrugs again. “And, y’know. It was a group effort.”

“You're both idiots.”

“Hey, okay, you can basically argue for self-defense here! They were up against the Chloroform Brothers!“

“I—okay, they weren't chloroforming anyone at the time.”

“Not the great defense you think it is.”

“Okay fine, if we’re judging people for chloroform, then add Quinn to the list! Don't be a hypocrite.”

“Well, you see Elliot, Quinn was far too busy nearly being thrown off a cliff by your boyfriend. For Sparta.”

You don't have a good comeback for that, so you stomp his foot with your crutch again. The comic books in the box rattle as he jumps around on one foot. “Okay, ow!?”

“Get yartmapped.”

He shoves you, box and all. “You get yartmapped,” he mutters.

With that, you both head down the walkway and promptly interrupt whatever Benjamin and Alex were talking about. When Alex catches sight of Oliver, he nods curtly and immediately books it again, going to open the car door for you.

(You don't remember what movie you were watching—it was old, maybe from the 60’s—where the guy was trying to win over the girl, doing all the classic chivalry shit you’d expect from an old-timey romcom. Halfway through and halfway asleep, Alex muttered that he always wanted to have someone he could do that kind of stuff for. So you figure you can take one for the team and let him do things that make him feel like a gentleman or whatever, even though it's a little embarrassing. Mainly because being on the receiving end is a lot nicer than you want to admit, but nobody needs to know that.)

As Alex puts your crutches in the back, you catch a glimpse of Benjamin taking the box out of Oliver’s hands and the beaming grin he gets in response. Hopefully your brother is too busy being sappy to worry about all the stupid shit he was having doubts over. The way Benjamin smiles back at him, with heart eyes straight out of Alex’s romcoms, has you thinking they'll be fine either way. Oliver waves at you as energetically and lively as he does everything else. You roll your eyes at him one more time for good measure, but wave back anyway.

You connect your phone and pick a playlist while Alex goes around and gets in the driver's seat. He buckles his seatbelt, pleasantly surprised when he recognizes the song.

“Oh, I love this one.”

“Yeah, I’ve been listening to more of their stuff recently. ‘Concentrate’ has probably been my favorite album so far.”

“I like that one too.” Alex’s eyebrows twitch together curiously as he drives out, keeping his eyes on the road. “How come you're going through all their music?”

You shrug, adding random songs to the queue. “You showed me a song and it was a banger. You have good taste, man.”

“Oh.” His cheeks are dusted with pink, bright in the sunlight. Eventually, he manages to say, “Thanks.”

He’s smiling with his eyes when he says it. It looks like maybe he believes your compliment, at least a little bit. Still, he clears his throat kind of forcefully and gears himself up for another joke. “I mean, I obviously have good taste. You're Exhibit A.”

Your ears burn as you turn to look at the windshield with a flustered laugh. “Oh, shut up. That is so cheesy.”

“Doesn't mean it's not true.”

You make some kind of noise that isn't quite as dignified as you’d like. Alex has some mercy and changes the subject. “So. Ready for your senior year?”

“As I’ll ever be,” you say, still warm from Alex’s flirting. “Not ready for summer to be over, though.”

“At least you'll be free from your job.”

“Yeah, trading in lattes for college admission essays. What a deal.”

The music fills the car for a moment, upbeat and bass heavy. Alex’s fingers tap on the steering wheel.

“Well, I’ve been thinking.” You turn to look at him fully, his hair glinting in the sun. “Maybe… you don't have to do them alone.”

You frown. “What, my essays? Are you offering to be my proofreader or something?”

“No—I mean, yeah, I can also do that, but—” The red light is very convenient, even though he doesn't quite look at you yet. “I’ve been thinking about writing some of my own. Maybe.”

Your frown of mild confusion melts into soft realization. “You're considering college?”

“Yeah. I mean, I should probably get around to doing it soon. To doing anything, really. I’ve thought about it before, I’ve just… kept putting it off, I guess.”

You nod. “So… what changed?”

The light goes green. There's a pause as Alex eases forward carefully. Eventually, without looking at you, he answers.

“You reminded me that there's more to life than just sleeping. That it's worth it to be awake.” 

The sincerity of that sits in your chest and knocks the air out of you. Before you can catch your breath and try to soften it, Alex says, “And before you make a joke about it, no, not because you were in a coma.”

Well, shit. He beat you to it. You try to think of something else to say.

“Well, shit. You beat me to it.”

He shakes his head, exasperated but not annoyed, a hint of a smile on his lips. The next song starts up, a softer beat with low notes and strings. You remember Alex’s song while you look at him, his eyes practically glowing in the early August sun. The feeling in your chest only grows. 

“I’m proud of you. Just so you know.”

He shoots one quick glance at you, so bewildered that it's endearing. You smile, genuine and fond, before nodding your head towards the windshield. “Watch where you're going.”

Alex glues his eyes to the road again, his smile just as bright as yours. “I am.”

The song washes over the moment, unintelligible lyrics filling the comfortable silence between you.

“Do you know what you’ll major in?” you ask eventually.

“Nope.” You snort at how straight-faced he answers. “What about you?”

You shake your head. “No idea.”

Alex shrugs slightly, so soft that you almost miss it, as he pulls over to the sidewalk. “I guess we’ll figure it out, right?”

It feels like multiple questions rolled into one. Figuring anything out sounds like a lot, right now. It makes you nervous, thinking too far ahead. You know better than most just how quickly plans can fall apart—all it takes is one left turn for your life to never be the same. There’s already so much time that you’re never getting back. The truth is, you have no idea what you want to do with the rest of your life. That’s just too big to wrap your head around. All you know is that you want to make the most of it.

You reach out a hand and Alex obliges, holding your hand softly in his. His fingers are warm when you kiss the back of his hand. Your heart is, too. 

“Yeah. We will.”

It’s easier to wrap your head around the smaller things, weird and normal and everything in between. Like the way Alex is already waiting for you by the time you stand up, crutches in hand. Like the way you can actually kiss him about it this time. Like the way you can get out of the car and walk away, because you’re going to hang out with your friends.

Alex is still nervously wringing his fingers when you knock on the door. You nudge his foot with your crutch and he looks at you. He lights up when you smile at him, and he seems to breathe more easily. You breathe a little easier, too.

Yeah, you think to yourself. It’s worth it to be awake.