#everyone is like.. 'oh just send short little messages through a stupid fucking chat client or text me or message me on a social media' and

[icewindandboringhorror]

one of the bad things about having such low social energy/social anhedonia/little interest in interacting with others in any capacity/ Hermit Disease™ is that like.. once every FIVE months here and there I’ll get fleeting bursts of social energy and will message one or two people to catch up with old friends or etc. and then it’s like... 

tfw you message someone and then wake up the next morning to see that they REPLIED to your message so now you’re actually supposed to message them back, which is an obligation you were somehow not expecting despite the fact that YOU sent them a message 

#I feel bad because it's like.. I know I WAS THE ONE who reached out to you but also I have depleted all of my energy stores and have like no #capacity to respond that this point.. Which usually I'll get to it in like 2-7 days and people who know me (people who I would actually #message) know this/are aware it doesn't mean anything/are okay with it so its not really a big deal but still lol #girls and squirrels i am so sorry i dont know what to tell you but I have Disorders gjhgbhj #oh same thing when someone messages me and then I respond and I'm like 'whew finally got that off the to do list! now I dont have to worry #about social interactions for the next few days' and they RESPOND to my RESPONSE within like 30 minutes of sending it #so now I'm back at the point where I owe them a response even though i JUST crossed that off my to do list ghbh #And there's some people out here who are like 'omg.. if people don't text me back in 30 minutes then they must hate me! i want to be texted #back immediately. true friends will drop everything theyre doing just to text you!! >:T' whereas I'm like #god if I reply to you and you reply back to me within less than 24 hours I'm going to scream... just give it a good 2 or 3 days.. let the #message sit PLEASE.. it's social buffer time.. let's recharge our energy... the the conov age like a fine wine #(unless it's urgent. obv if we're coordinating plans or scheduling something we both must reply promptly exactly) #AND ALS THIS IS just a caveat of text communication like I HATE text communication. another reason it's SO hard to find new friends is that #nobody wants to just talk on the phone/discord voice chat/Some Medium Of Real Time Audio Communication anymore #everyone is like.. 'oh just send short little messages through a stupid fucking chat client or text me or message me on a social media' and #it's like.................................... no........ i dont think I will #Real time communication is SO MUCH faster and more efficient like. It would take me 2 hours to type something that I could say in a 30 minut #e conversation. People who I have genuine conversations with (like 5 hour long talks) are the ones who are not afraid to just be like #'yeah i have somehting I want to talk to you about. can we schedule a phone call thursday at 10:30am?' #also like.. if you text me at 3pm I am not going to respond to the message (depending on the contents-obv will reply sooner if #urgent) probably until 3 or 4 days later. If you call me at 3pm then we're talking at 3pm for as long as you want (or as long as is practica #l - also assuming I'm not already in the middle of something etc. etc.) #Like phone calls/voice calls/whatever - are so good because it's immediate. no having to go through and spell check. I am also a rambling pe #rson with complicated thoughts and i AM INCAPABLE of having short conversations. no matter how hard I try #you send me a sentence of text and I will write back 3 paragraphs. this makes text-form communication THAT much more taxing and time consumi #ng - whereas I can explain even really complicated things in Real time in like 20 minutes MAX when it would take 1.5hr to type and proofrea #d and etc. in text. ALSO I love that it is a Structured ONE TIME interaction. I know eactly when a phone call will start and can plan for #when it will end. Text form communications are ongoing background interactions with no clear start or end. no structure. etc. #in person/phone/real time communication is just SO much easier for my brain to process and depletes my social energy slower #. it stinks that the entire earth is slowly moving away from the only form of social interaction that is convenient to me lol.. BUT ANYWAY

[steppedoffaflight]

Summer’s a Knife - Chapter 16

Catch up on Chapter 15 here

“So,” Danica is the first one to speak, “When are you supposed to see him again?”

Your shoulders slump at this. “He’s in town this weekend, but I don’t think we’re gonna see each other.”

Mary snaps to attention, her eyes locking with yours. “Why not?”

Everyone seems to be on the edge of their seat, waiting for more details with bated breath.

You shrug, but Mary only narrows her eyes. “I think I’m gonna end things,” You keep your voice light, stirring the ice in your now-empty glass.

or

Summer’s coming to an end.

Word count: ~8.2k

Chapter Sixteen October 2019

Those few rushed nights with Van are all you get in September. 

The band’s schedule is less jam-packed this month, and Van promises over text that he’ll be around soon. He responds to you more often, and is able to fit in some phone calls more often when he’s on smoke breaks, even if sometimes he accidentally calls you at three A.M. and has to go to voicemail. 

You know you should be excited to see him again, but you can’t stop remembering how awful you feel each time he leaves. With September under your belt you’re more adapted to his absence, feeling a little more steady on your feet. Wouldn’t seeing him again just fuck it all up? 

Maybe you could still be friends with Van, as long as you kept a little distance between you two. Maybe if you gave yourself some space this month you could accept that Van was just a best friend with a spotty visitation schedule, and not cling to him so tightly. You make a pact with yourself to take October off of seeing Van, with the exception of phone calls and texts. That way you could keep him at arm’s length while you get your head together.

Even making that promise to yourself gives you a rush of relief. Your September funk had been much more serious than you’d realized, and now that you were starting to shake it off you knew you couldn’t jeopardize it. You’d started having regular weekend brunch with Mary at the diner again, and had gone out with the girls at work for drinks after one of them secured a huge client for the company. Everything was starting to fall back into place in your world, returning to the way it had been before your birthday weekend in San Diego had tipped everything over.

\\

On a Monday morning midway through the month, you’re dashing to your desk after running hopelessly late. You’d forgotten to plug your phone in last night, so it’d died in the middle of the night, and your body’s natural clock had woken you up on way too short notice. Thankfully nobody seems to notice as you slide into your cubicle, eagerly tapping the enter key on your keyboard to wake your computer up. 

Your phone is still dead in your bag, and you dig it out before rustling through a drawer for your work charger. As your phone starts to boot up you focus on your computer, using your credentials to log in. You take a moment to collect yourself as everything loads, smoothing your hair down and taking a sip of your coffee you’d poured into a travel mug before rushing out the door. 

You’ve caught your breath by the time you get your browser open and your email loaded. The subject line of the third email in your inbox immediately catches your eye: Y/N OPEN THIS NOW IT’S IMPORTANT

It’s from Danica, one of the girls in your coworker friend group.

The new martini bar on Melrose finally opened and we want to get drinks Friday after work!! Let me know if you’re in!

Getting drinks on Friday sounded fun, but you had no idea what she was talking about. Yeah I’m in, you send back, but what martini bar on Melrose?

You take a quick trip to the bathroom, and when you come back there’s a response at the top of your inbox. She’s linked the website for the bar, and it does look pretty cool. The decor is crisp and modern, and from their ‘about’ section it looks like they’re bordering the fine line of being a club without trying to attract the student crowd. 

Oh, cool! Do you care if I invite my friend Mary? From the photos it looks like the sort of place Mary would be right at home charming everyone at, so you can’t resist asking. 

Once Danica has given her approval to invite Mary, you finally unlock your phone, ready to send a text to her about Friday night. That’s when you see Van’s message.

Guess who’s gonna be flying in on Friday?

Your blood instantly runs cold. Oh shit.

\\

It only takes that simple text to throw you off kilter. How can some words on a screen do that? 

You swipe Van’s message away, hoping to forget about it. You couldn’t, of course, but you’d made a promise to yourself not to see him and now he was trying to mess that up! You’d have to say no. You knew you’d have to say no. Technically, you had plans. And, more importantly, you were not going to spend the weekend crying your eyes out over some stupid guy! It was a no. For sure. The only thing is that you’d have to figure out how to say it.

You proceed with texting Mary about the martini bar, and then decide to focus on work for the day. You were already behind from running late and time wasted emailing Danica, so you needed to get going. It would be good for Van not to have an immediate response. You needed some time to word things in a way that wouldn’t hurt his feelings. After all, it’s not him- it’s you. 

But after an hour of some market research you pick your phone up again. Omg I just made plans for Friday, You respond with an emoji of a facepalm. You get back to work, ridiculously proud of how you’d brushed him off. Take that, Van McCann. You would not be dropping everything to see him.

\\

Van doesn’t respond until the next afternoon. That’s alright! Saturday?

You bury your head in your hands where you’re sitting at your favorite cafe booth on your lunch. Lord, he was making this so fucking hard.

It isn’t until you’re home, fresh glass of wine in hand, that you reply. Idk. So swamped with work lately.

\\

To keep your guilt at bay, you actually do swamp yourself with work. Van has dropped the subject of meeting up for the moment being, but you know he’ll bring it back up with a vengeance. You don’t know if there’s been one time he’s been in L.A. this entire summer that you two haven’t hung out, and knowing he’s not the type to let subjects drop peacefully leaves a pit of dread in your stomach. 

You smother said dread with the market research you’re currently doing for some sort of waterless shampoo for dogs. It was a successful enough product, given that there were already a few brands on pet store shelves. The only issue is that you were at a loss when it came to what was supposed to make this particular brand special. The client couldn’t answer that question herself, either, so this was essentially a THC-water-rerun where you use up the research budget, don’t get anywhere, and the client eventually gives up. 

As you remember the THC water, your fingers reach across your desk for a pen, so you can jot down a reminder to send them a thank you note for the products they’d sent you. Van had informed you during one of your phone calls last month that he’d brought the bottles on tour, where one night the boys chugged the entire pack. According to him, they’d all actually gotten high. Plus, you’d like an update on how they were doing with their new marketing team. You’d managed to call in a favor from a different firm with more THC experience, who was genuinely interested in taking them on. Hopefully now their product was getting the attention it needed. 

\\

On Friday morning, you wake up sick to your stomach. You’d barely slept, your mind tossing Van’s impending visit back and forth the entire night. He hasn’t texted you about it since you’d brushed him off on Tuesday, and now you were filled with the sinking feeling that he was upset with you. Which, first of all, was a ridiculous thought. You hadn’t done anything wrong by not clearing your schedule for him! Certainly he understood that you had your own life and your own job, and not everything revolved around him. As much as you wanted it to.

And that was the real problem, wasn’t it? The more that Van was sweet and understanding, the harder it was to force yourself to reject him. You literally wanted nothing more than to come home from having drinks tonight and find him curled up in your bed. You were putting yourself through this torture, and it wasn’t even necessary!

But it is necessary, you remind yourself. Look at you! Losing sleep, stumbling around while your stomach does somersaults just because you were so hopelessly in love with Van your body couldn’t bear the concept of having to opt out of seeing him for one weekend. How were you ever supposed to create some distance between you two?

You’re a zombie at work, jumping at your phone each time it buzzed. It was never Van, only the group chat of everyone going out tonight. You let them discuss their outfits and designated driver situation amongst themselves, trying to force yourself to focus on the paperwork you needed to get done to help a client apply for a patent today. 

\\

You startle when your phone vibrates on the bathroom counter, almost falling into the damp sink. You lurch for it with the hand not currently running the flat iron through your hair, sighing in irritation. The group chat has continued to go off incessantly all day, keeping a steady stream of anxiety and adrenaline running through you. What could everyone possibly need to fucking talk about when you guys were about to be face-to-face in less than an hour?

It’s a text from Van. Just got in. 

Although it solidifies the nerves in your stomach, there’s some sort of relief that what you’ve been anticipating has finally happened. Easy flight? You can’t resist responding.

Eh, He says, lots of turbulence.

With no mention of meeting up, your shoulders release the tension they’ve been carrying all day. Your phone buzzes again, but it’s the girls, and you hurry to order your Uber while you finish up your hair and put the final touches on your makeup.

\\

Martinis on Melrose is hard to see from the main road, and it takes your driver a minute to find his way into the parking lot. The name is glowing in a dark blue neon script across the smooth cement of the exterior, casting a glow on all of the sleek cars crammed into the lot. You’re glad you don’t have to worry about finding a spot as you shimmy out of the backseat, hoisting your bag over your shoulder and trying to find your footing on your heels.

Two of the girls are already here and have reserved a table for tonight, but Theo is still en route dropping Mary off. You pause just outside of the front door, eager to stall, and dig around in your purse for your pack of cigarettes.

It’s the quiet before the storm, that moment before you walk into a gathering where you like to mentally brace yourself for the night to come. No offense to the girls, as you enjoy their company a ton, but you’ll always be an introvert at heart. Having a quick cigarette is the perfect way to calm yourself down, get yourself ready to be social for an extended period of time. Your first puff sends relief rushing through your brain, a craving satisfied. 

As you watch your exhaled smoke glow blue from the fluorescent lighting, you feel a pang of disappointment in yourself. You can’t believe Van’s managed to get you hooked on nicotine. Oh, Van. The disappointment in your belly blooms larger, deeper. Disappointment that you won’t be ending your day wrapped in his arms, comforted by his company, his charisma that had weaseled around your introverted tendencies until you felt right at home with him in your space. Disappointed that you don’t have him by your side tonight, your hand in his, anchoring you to the moment. Disappointed that after the fiasco over this weekend, you had the feeling that you’d never be able to remain just friends with him.

“Since when do you smoke alone?” Mary’s voice has you crawling out of your skin, dropping your cigarette from the scare.

“Shit,” You hiss, further disappointed that you have to stomp your cigarette out when it was only halfway done. The cement is so fresh and clean you decide to lean over and pick the butt up, depositing it in the trash directly to your right by the door. “Just getting my head in the game,” You respond to Mary.

Ever the extrovert, she clearly doesn’t understand, blinking at you as she tosses her hair over her shoulder. “I fucking love that outfit,” She changes the topic.

You glance down at yourself. It’s actually the same one you’d worn to Lou’s birthday party, complete with the uncomfortable heels and the denim jacket to help dress it down. Looking down at your toes you remember trading shoes with Sam, arguing with Van in hushed tones on the deck stairs. You hadn’t known how deep your feelings were for him then, but you remember how his jealousy both pissed you off and pleased you at the same time, an indication that he might want your arrangement to go deeper than friends. That memory falls into the disappointment abyss when you realize in hindsight how that never happened. 

“Thanks, but look at you!” You beam at her, gesturing to her own dress. It’s a silk slip that looks like you might see a Kardashian posing in it on instagram. It makes her legs look a mile long, and she’s gone braless, always on trend. She’s got her right hand wrapped around a sleek clutch bag, and as you two head into the bar she holds it up.

“Don’t let me get drunk and forget this in the bathroom or at the table,” She warns in a low tone.

“I’ll try,” You mutter, as the hustle and bustle of the club surrounds you two. “But I’m in need of a few martinis myself.”

“Long week?” Mary eyes you after she scans the room. You’re doing the same, looking for the table Danica had texted you they were at. 

You spot the table, starting to head to it, Mary following along. “Oh yeah,” You nod enthusiastically, realizing how emotionally drained you’ve been since Van’s text on Monday.

You introduce everyone to Mary before sliding into the curved booth, exchanging greetings. One of the girls pass you a menu that you look over with curiosity. You need something strong enough to forget these last two months.

Your focus on the menu fades when your phone buzzes against the glossy tabletop. Just as you reach to check what notification has appeared the server comes around to get you and Mary’s drink order. While she opts for a cosmopolitan your eyes quickly flit over the page, your brain scrambling to read the different ingredients in your hurry.

“I’ll have an endless summer,” You recite to the waitress, smiling at her as she hurries away to relay the order. She leaves the menu so that the girls that haven’t arrived yet can look over it. 

As soon as she’s gone you grab for your phone again, unlocking it to see a text from Van: Wanna do lunch at that diner tomorrow? It’ll help with that hangover

You’d told him about your plans to go out for drinks, and his thoughtfulness makes your heart ache. Why does he have to be so fucking nice all of the time?

“Is that Van?” Mary interrupts the wave of sadness welling up in your chest. Everyone has stopped talking, Mary commanding the attention of everyone per usual. 

“Um, yeah,” You respond politely, despite the urge to reach over and strangle her. Everyone’s eyes are on you, and your cheeks burn at the way Mary’s just exposed your Van situation to everyone. 

“Who?” Danica asks, tilting her head as she takes a sip of her drink. “I thought you were single!”

Realizing your coworkers had no idea about him, Mary’s face lights up in joy. You hate her for it, internally groaning. There’s no way she’s going to let you get away without telling everyone what was going on. 

“Y/N hasn’t told you about Van?” Mary asks, leaning in excitedly. Danica and your other coworker that had arrived early, Nicole, are suddenly at attention, waiting for you to explain.

“Hey, hey!” Olivia- forever the loudest coworker in the office- calls from behind your shoulder. She’s sauntering effortlessly on stilettos, Mia trailing behind.

Olivia makes a big scene of plopping down in the booth, Mia shuffling in next to you. Whereas you’re the quiet counterpart to Mary, Mia’s the same to Olivia. You’d always liked Mia, the way she never seemed stressed or worked up over office demands or drama; she tended to let them roll off of her with a quiet shrug. You tended to stay away from Olivia, however. While Mary radiated an outgoing, enjoyable charisma, Olivia radiated an air of lead-cheerleader bitchiness.

The commotion of Olivia and Mia’s arrival has successfully diverted the conversation to how hard the restaurant had been for Olivia to find, and everyone forgets about the Van topic. You sigh in relief when the waitress comes back around to collect the new drink orders, gingerly setting a glass full of sunset-colored alcohol in front of you. It starts deep red at the bottom with the cranberry juice, and somehow fades to a soft orange by the middle of the glass, a pale pink at the top. You suck at your straw eagerly, ready to have some alcohol in your system. It’s overly sweet and burns as it goes down, but Danica and Nicole are already one drink ahead of you, so you’re trying to catch up.

“He’s an annoying motherfucker,” Olivia is complaining about her husband, tossing her phone back into her bag with a scoff. Mia murmurs agreement next to you, and Danica is asking her some question about wedding venues. Danica’s not engaged just yet, but it’s clear she’s desperate for a proposal from her boyfriend. 

Oh, to be surrounded by friends in couples. Mary has chimed in about some pet peeve she has about Theo, and you let their conversation fade to the background of your mind as you pick your phone up again.

This weekend doesn’t really work for me at all, you text Van. It physically pains you to press send, but you know it’s what you’ve got to do. He’s not getting the hint!

“Oh! Y/N!” Danica suddenly exclaims, and when you look up from your screen she is gesturing excitedly, like the words are on the tip of her tongue.

“You were gonna tell us about that Victor guy!” She finally spits it out, and the spotlight is on you again. 

“Van,” You correct absentmindedly, before realizing you’d missed the point. You clear your throat, tucking your phone in the pocket of your jacket, deciding not to check it again. You couldn’t handle Van possibly becoming angry or hurt. “Um, there’s not much to say!” You laugh nervously, glancing at Mary as a call for help. “He’s my best friend.”

“Besides, you, of course,” You hurry to assure Mary. She rolls her eyes in amusement, unbothered.

“He’s her best friend with benefits,” Mary stirs the pot. Everyone’s interest in you had started to fade with your lackluster explanation, but at the mention of the benefits they all perk up again. 

“And get this,” Mary gestures excitedly, and you’re relieved she’s taking over the storytelling. “He’s the lead singer of this band that’s fucking huge in the U.K.”

“No way,” Danica’s eyes widen.

“Yeah,” Mary nods. “We met him after they played a show at the House of Blues in San Diego.” 

“When?” Nicole pipes up, scooting in closer. 

“In January, when I was there for my birthday,” You tell her. 

“You’ve been with him since January?” Danica asks, clearly shocked. “You haven’t said a word!”

You open your mouth to respond, but are interrupted by the waitress passing out another round of drinks. You take the last few sips of your first martini, then stick your straws into the next glass. 

“Girl, explain,” Nicole demands, earning a laugh from everyone at the table. 

“Hold on,” You laugh, feeling a bit more comfortable with their interest. This whole thing has been weighing on you, after all, and now you’ve got the chance to get some fresh opinions on what you should do. Without further ado you hold the straw of your drink between your thumb and forefinger, swallowing it down in a matter of a minute.

“I need to catch up!” Olivia shouts as you pull away, and starts to gulp down her own drink. She’s finished quicker than you, ever the show-off, and waves the waitress over again to request another round for you and her. 

The waitress is back pronto, another endless summer dripping condensation on the table in front of you, a bloody mary perched in front of Olivia. 

You take a sip to wet your throat before you sit back.

You’ve never told the story of you two out loud like this before. Mary’s been present every step of the way, and you’d managed to stay away from your family’s prying by telling them only the basics of your friendship. This is the first time you have to listen to yourself explain all of the time you’ve spent together, and it shocks you as you hear yourself. Like when you explain the story of Van catching strep throat, and Mia is confused as to why he decided to spend over a week crashing at your place. You recite Van’s excuse at the time about the lack of food at his house, but nobody at the booth seems convinced. 

You trail off when you’re finished, deciding not to share anymore details with anyone. Mary had snorted more than once during your chronicles due to your decision to keep everything very surface and PG- although you’re sure none of these girls cared about Catfish, Van’s trust is sacred to you. You’re fiercely protective over the private moments you two have had together; even Mary doesn’t know about the way you’d tied him up during his birthday sex. 

There’s a silence that falls over everyone when you’re finished, punctuating the story of your summer with a long, burning sip of your drink. You’re expecting Olivia to launch into her own story- no doubt somehow more interesting than yours- but you’re surprised to see her stirring her bloody mary, looking lost in thought. Was this Van thing really that crazy?

“So,” Danica is the first one to speak, “When are you supposed to see him again?”

Your shoulders slump at this. “He’s in town this weekend, but I don’t think we’re gonna see each other.”

Mary snaps to attention, her eyes locking with yours. “Why not?”

Everyone seems to be on the edge of their seat, waiting for more details with bated breath. 

You shrug, but Mary only narrows her eyes. “I think I’m gonna end things,” You keep your voice light, stirring the ice in your now-empty glass. 

“What? Why?” Nicole shrieks. “He sounds great!”

“He is great,” You affirm. You’d sworn to yourself a long time ago that no matter how this thing plays out, you’d always maintain that Van had been the best man you’d ever been with. “But he’s just really busy now. He was gone for almost all of September.”

“So you’re gonna give him up?” Nicole scoffs in disbelief. “You’re insane, Y/N.”

“I mean, there’s nothing to give up!” You defend yourself weakly, your voice going higher in pitch. “We’re not together!”

Mary opens her mouth to speak, no doubt to derail you from your plan. You understand why she’s eager to dissuade you from something so drastic, but she also had no idea about the agony you’ve been in, how cutting ties with Van is the only way you know how to save your sanity. 

“Do you have a picture?” Olivia asks, successfully interrupting Mary. Despite your dislike for Olivia, you’re glad for her intervention.

“Um, lemme see,” You murmur, grabbing your phone back out of your pocket. But you forgot you’d been keeping your phone in there on purpose, and as you go to scroll through your photo gallery you’re accosted with Van’s reply to your previous message:

Everything alright?

You swipe it away, reaching your drink before realizing it’s empty. “Ugh, I need another one of these.” How many drinks have you had now? Three? You wish you remembered.

You deliberate over what photo to show them; you hardly take any when you two are together, and most of the ones you’ve taken seem too intimate to share with others. You laugh when you scroll past a photo of Van you’d taken in August, standing by the front door with his ribboned ficus in his arms. He’s got an exaggerated grin, no attempt to look poised for the camera. There’s tons of photos with his blurry hands or feet in them, attempts to obscure snapchats you were trying to take for Mary, and you hurry past the few nudes he’d sent you when you two had decided to exchange a few over text. You settle on one you feel comfortable sharing; it’s a photo of him at some bar, his eyes bloodshot from the alcohol. He’s flushed and beaming, leaning against Bob, who was the one taking the picture of the two of them. He’d forwarded it to you the next morning, complaining about his hangover. You present this photo to the others.

Immediately Olivia takes your phone from your hands, sending a shot of anxiety through you. You’ll never understand why some people insist on taking the phone out of your hands rather than just looking at the image on the screen. 

“He’s good looking!” She exclaims, almost like she didn’t expect it. Danica and Nicole nod their agreement. When Olivia hands the phone back you flash the photo at Mia, who seems more interested in Bob’s half of the picture.

“Isn’t he?” Mary agrees, playfully elbowing you. “If you’re finished with him then send him my way,” She jokes, but you can hear her ill-concealed frustration with you underneath. You know she’s dying to know what the fuck you’re doing, messing up the best not-relationship you’ve ever had. Maybe she’ll get lunch with you tomorrow, so you can properly explain. Of course you hadn’t shared your true feelings for Van with everyone, but it was probably time for Mary to know. 

“He sounds like a keeper,” Olivia agrees, and you’re surprised to hear she thinks so. You’re even more surprised at everyone’s enthusiastic nods.

“You’d be an idiot to let him go,” Danica tells you seriously, and Nicole murmurs her assent. “Like, seriously. Have you lost interest in him?”

Lost interest in him? You wish it could be true, but that wasn’t even a possibility you could fathom at the moment.

“Uh, no,” You answer her, trying to seem nonchalant. “It’s just the logistics.”

“Well, make it work,” Nicole urges you. 

There’s some murmurs about ‘the one that got away’ from the other girls, and the conversation about Van finally dies out. You’re relieved when Mia brings up a project she’s working on in the office, looking for some advice from everyone about how to respond to a client who tends to have an aggressive tone in his emails. From there things fade into hilarious client stories and email blunders, and you try to seem as engaged as possible, relieved to have the focus off of you.

You lose track of your drinks, absentmindedly sipping them while everyone’s voices flow and mingle around you. You’ve definitely hit your introvert limit, ready to head home and curl up in bed. Nobody seems to notice how quiet you’ve grown, or how you perk up in relief when Mia finally suggests you guys call it a night. Everyone takes her cue, the table lighting up with phone screens as everyone reaches out to their ride. 

“Theo can take you home,” Mary offers when you pull up the Uber app.

“Oh, it’s fine,” You politely decline. There’s a lot of Ubers doing rounds on a busy street like Melrose during this time, and you know a car will be here soon. More than anything you were craving the quiet, some time away from this loud club music and conversation.

“If you’re sure…” Mary trails off. You remember your idea about lunch suddenly, ready to blurt it out to her, but the sober fraction of your brain shushes you. It would be incredibly rude to make lunch plans with someone right in front of everyone else.

Lunch tomorrow? You text her instead, and watch the notification ping on her phone screen.

YES. she sends back. YOU HAVE EXPLAINING TO DO. 

That would cause sober-you to dread these plans, but thankfully drunk-you is only preoccupied with going home. 

\\

You’re drunker than you’d thought by the end of the night. You’d managed to down all of your drinks without the need to use the restroom (miraculously), but when you had stood up to let Mary shuffle out of the booth it suddenly felt like your bladder was nothing but a bouncing water balloon, and all of the alcohol had rushed to your head. You had struggled to keep yourself walking in a straight line to the bathroom, not to mention staying balanced on your heels while you washed your hands. You get the notification your ride is here as soon as you’re pushing through the heavy swinging door, so you grab your bag back at the booth and exchange goodbyes and promises to do this again with Nicole, who is the last one waiting for a ride, and head out front.

There’s no silence quite as satisfying as the one that follows a night out after you’ve hopped into the car and closed the door. Besides the polite hello the driver offers he doesn’t seem interested in conversation, so you stare out the window at the night sky and try to make sense of the mess in your head.

Only as the car is pulling out onto Melrose do you remember you’d left a text from Van on read. You grab your phone off of the seat next to you, clicking your texts with Van open.

Everything alright? You read to yourself over and over. How the fuck were you supposed to answer that? Was he really that clueless? Were you that amazing at hiding how much this had been hurting you, or had he just not bothered to pay attention?

I’m fine, you decide to reply. Was it the truth? Not exactly. But you knew you would be, eventually. Ending things would hurt like hell at first, but you’d recover. You had from every other heartbreak you’ve experienced in your life, after all. 

You’re surprised when your phone vibrates in your palm, an instant reply from Van: Don’t seem fine. 

Shit. Maybe he’s been paying a bit more attention than you thought. You double down on your lie: It’s fine Van. 

The three dots pop up before you can even lock your phone: ??

You click your screen off, tossing your phone beside you on the bench. It bounces with a soft thud, and you rest your head in your hands, trying to take a deep breath.

Everyone’s advice starts to echo in your mind: He sounds like a keeper! You’d be an idiot to let him go! Make it work! Offered up so happily as if those were actually options, as if there was any fucking possibility Van felt the same way about you. 

It completely overwhelms you then, how in over your head you are. There had been moments where you’d felt a speck of hope, signs that maybe he wanted more than this casual thing, but now it’s been six months of spending time together, and exactly zero attempts by him to broach the subject. It all hits you then, all the emotions you’ve been keeping controlled while you tried to enjoy your night out, and before you know it you’re in tears.

It’s only a few tears at first, but letting go feels so good you give in to it, the car silent except for your loud sniffles and the occasional shaky breath. The Uber driver, to his credit, doesn’t react as you silently bawl your eyes out in the backseat.

Your phone goes off again from where it’s facedown, light seeping out of the sides. You leave it there, for once not pathetically controlled by Van’s moment-to-moment whim. A little laugh bubbles out of you at that thought, and you think absentmindedly that you must sound absolutely crazy, but you’re too drunk to care, the alcohol carrying that thought away as you continue your catharsis.

Time slips by in jumps and starts, your tears slowing eventually, and by the time the car turns onto your block you’re excited to get inside, make yourself a hot mug of tea, and continue your cry in private. Your house is the only one on your side of the street with the light on, and so you watch it slide into view as the car makes its way down the road.

“It’s that one,” You snuffle, “With the light on.”

As the car approaches, your blood goes cold.

Your first instinct is to assume it’s some sort of alcohol-induced hallucination. You wipe the tears from your eyes furiously, but when you look again there’s no mistaking it. The porch light is cascading down your front lawn, and Van’s silhouette is perched on your front steps, smoking a cigarette.

“Here you go, ma’am,” The driver stops the car and unlocks the door for you. As soon as the car pulls up Van tosses his cigarette onto the front path and stomps it out, standing up. You watch him through the car window in disbelief before you grab your things, give a numb thank you, and get out of the car.

There’s a stretch of silence as the Uber pulls away where you stand right outside of the front gate, unable to do anything except gape at Van. 

A car suddenly whizzes down your road, and you realize how close you are to being in the street. “What the fuck are you doing here?” You exclaim, the clatter of the gate clicking closed behind you echoing with your voice off of the silent houses around you.

“I came here to get some answers!” Van says, exasperated. “You won’t tell me nothin’!”

“There’s nothing to say!” You gesture with your arms as you reach the steps, face to face with him. “There’s no answers to get!”

“You’ve been cryin’!” Van gestures towards you, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” You wipe at your undereye self consciously and look down at your finger. There’s a smear of mascara. You sigh before moving past Van up the stairs, headed for the front door. He follows.

“Did I do something?” He asks, coming into your peripheral vision. “If I did, just tell me! Let me make this right.”

You look through your purse for your keys, ignoring him.

“Christ, I’m sorry. I didn’t do anything on purpose!”

You continue your search for your keys, keeping your head down.

“Fuck,” You say quietly to yourself as you sweep your bag for the third time and fail. You click your phone on, switching on the flashlight and lighting up your bag.

Van groans in frustration, wiping a hand through his hair. “Y/N!”

“What?” You snap at him, looking up. You’ve finally found your key and you jam it into the door, clicking it unlocked.

“Why are you ignorin’ me?” He pleads.

“Van,” You start, trying to keep your voice steady. You look up at him then, and you feel like your breath’s been punched out of you. The light is illuminating him from behind, a halo of golden light that catches each strand of frizz and accentuates the sharp line of his chin. His hair’s grown out since the spring, the light snagging the curls that are upturned at the nape of his neck. You swallow thickly. His eyes are wide in confusion.

“I think we need to end things,” You say quietly, struggling to see through a fresh batch of tears.

His jaw hangs slightly ajar. “What?” He asks in disbelief.

Your eyes are welling up again, and you wipe at them, a mess of mascara on your hands. “We’re done,” You tell him, voice wobbling, as you swing the door open and head inside.

He doesn’t give you a chance to shut the door in his face, heading in right behind you. “You’re fucking joking! What have I done?”

You head straight for the bathroom, examining yourself in the mirror. You cringe inwardly at yourself and grab for your makeup wipes, trying to make yourself look a little less pathetic.

Van is standing in the front room. “I’m not leaving until we talk about this,” He says loudly so you can hear him from behind the bathroom door.

You don’t respond, wiping away your eyeliner vigorously.

“I said I’m sorry!”

You sigh to yourself.

“Look, I-”

“Listen, Van!” You cut him off from the other room. You swing the door open, marching out. “It’s like you said in the hotel that one time, remember? We’re supposed to be simple, easy. And that was working great. You stop by at your convenience, and I throw everything else out of the fucking window to spend time with you. And then you just fucking… disappear! For two months! And it- I-” You struggle to find any words, your voice fading out as you feel yourself start to cry again. And I love you. I miss you. 

Van throws his arms up. “I didn’t mean it like that at all, c’mon! It’s not at my convenience! I was working! I wasn’t trying to ignore ya! I try my hardest to come around!” 

He sighs, running a hand through his hair again. When he speaks again, he’s quieter. “It wasn’t like that, honest.”

“I just can’t do this anymore,” You try desperately to explain. “This whole ‘simple’ thing is killing me. The long trips out to see you, and I’m lucky if I get to see you for two whole days…” Your words are interrupted by an embarrassingly pathetic sob, Van’s eyes widening at your outpouring of emotion.

“Please don’t tell me you think this whole thing was about having you around just for a fuck,” Van pleads. “You’re my best mate! I can’t help that I travel a lot!”

You bury your face in your hands.

Van sighs, moving towards you. “I didn’t mean to make you cry,” He says earnestly. “C’mon. I’m sorry. Get out of that dress and we can turn a film on, yeah? Or we can go grab some food. Whatever you wanna do.” 

You groan into your palms, the sound echoing in your ears. He just wasn’t getting it.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Van offers, his voice soft. “I didn’t… I’m sorry if it seemed like I was using you, or something.”

“But then we’ll go out to eat, and everything’ll be fine tonight, but it’s still gonna be the same! And you’re gonna be so busy with tour, and it’s not fair to me when you’re not around, and I can’t spend my whole life roadtripping with you!”

“The bulk of this leg is over!” Van argues, “And I don’t mind if you’re busy. It’ll be your turn to text me like I’ve been texting you, yeah?” The corner of his lips quirk up in a tired smile.

“Oh my God, Van,” You groan again. You take a long, frustrated inhale. It was now or never, you realize, because he might be the best man you’ve ever been with, but he’s still completely clueless. 

“I’m trying to tell you I fucking love you!” You yell, throwing your arms up. “I fucking love you! I don’t want simple and easy! I want you!”

You feel like you’re about to faint from the admission. For a terrifying moment all of the blood rushes to your head, and the only sound you can hear is your own heartbeat in your ears. You’ve put all your cards on the table, and there was no going back. Van might’ve been eager to fix things moments ago, but he could very well change his entire attitude now that the truth is out.

While you stand there, terrified, you notice his tired smile start to stretch into a grin.

“What?” He asks, grinning ear to ear.

“I love you,” You repeat, no longer yelling. Your throat hurts. It feels like the dust settling after an explosion, but your heart is skipping because Van isn’t running, not yet.

“Are you saying that I’m not simple? Or easy?” Van jokes, still beaming.

“No.” You feel a small laugh of relief bubble up. “I know it’s hard. With the traveling, and the label deadlines and stuff. But I’ve had the trial period. I wanna be able to text you and ask what you’re doing without seeming all clingy. And I don’t wanna go days without hearing from you!” Van groans at that. “And I want you to be able to tell everyone that I’m your girlfriend. Not your mate!” You say that part with a glare, remembering the conversation between him and Bondy you’d overhead by the ice machine in Detroit. 

“You heard that?” Van groans again, laughing. “I didn’t know what to say! He caught me by surprise!”

“And I want my family to be able to meet you!” You add on, “Not have to lie and pretend you’re busy with band stuff because you wouldn’t come in!”

Van’s jaw drops slightly at that. “I wanted to come in!” He confesses, “I thought you were asking as an afterthought! To be polite!” He runs his hands through his hair, shaking his head in disbelief. “You don’t know how bad I wanted to say yes.”

He wraps his arms around you now, pulling you in close.

“I love you, too,” He admits. “And I have for a long fucking time! I’m sorry it didn’t seem like it. I thought you liked this whole ‘simple’ thing. I was playing it up for your sake!” He sways you back and forth while you bury your head in his chest, wrapping your arms around him. 

“I can’t believe you,” You shake your head against him in exasperation. You lift your head suddenly, your face inches from his. “When did you know?”

Van puffs his cheeks up with air, releasing it with a whoosh as you watch his eyes flit through the air while he considers. “On the couch on the tour bus,” He tells you. “I mean, I already did, but that was my moment of… yeah.” One side of his lips quirk up in a lopsided smile.

“Well, I win,” You tease. “Because I realized it backstage in Phoenix.”

Van’s eyes widen in shock. “You’re fucking joking!” He laughs, “And you’ve been keeping it a secret since?” 

“Yeah!” You exclaim, lifting your hands from where they’re resting on his sides to gesture at him. “You were making it pretty fucking clear you weren’t interested in dating!”

“Oh, yeah?” Van challenges, his playful grin reappearing. “More clear than you attempting to break things off with me?”

“Oh, stop,” You huff, pointing to your puffy eyes and splotchy face. “Clearly you can see it wasn’t an easy decision!”

“Fuck, I thought you had it out for me,” Van laughs, letting one of his hands fall from your back so that he can run it through his hair. “Whatever I did, I was ready to accept your wrath.”

“You don’t even know,” You start, burying your face in his shirt again. Your tears are back, overwhelmed with relief that the truth was finally out, that Van loved you the same way you loved him. “This has been tearing me apart for months now.”

“Me too,” Van sighs, his palm rubbing up and down your spine. “I even told you on accident that one time.”

You freeze, trying to understand what he meant. 

“Wait,” You lift your head, stepping back from him. “Are you talking about that phone call?”

“Yeah.”

At this your jaw drops. You’ve stepped out of Van’s arms, and he’s keeping his hands busy by rolling the sleeves of his button-up over his forearms. “You said you didn’t remember it!”

“I told you I loved you!” Van’s clearly embarrassed, his cheeks burning pink. “And I got all soppy about being apart on my birthday!”

“I said I loved you back!” You shout in complete disbelief. “We both admitted we loved each other and you didn’t think anything of it?”

“I was drunk! I thought you were taking pity on me! Give me a break!”

Oh God, he was impossible. You open your mouth to ridicule him further, but instead you step toward him again, cupping his jaw and bringing your lips together. There’s no sense in arguing about it anymore. Clearly you’d both been oblivious, but what did it matter now that everything had worked out?

Well, technically, you had no idea what the road ahead would bring for you two. But you’ve made it this far, right? Seven months of navigating these unspoken rules between you two, it feels like things can only get easier now that they’re dissolving right before your eyes. You kiss Van harder, and when your lips open for him it feels like all of the possibilities opening up before you: Van was your fucking boyfriend now.

In the thrill of your realization you reach for his belt buckle, struggling to undo it while you’re distracted by the kiss. 

After fussing with it for longer than normal you feel the warm press of Van’s lips being pulled away, his hands coming to wrap around yours.

“You’re shaking like a leaf,” He remarks in amusement, brushing your hands aside and undoing his own belt. 

“Because I love you,” You confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I love you too,” Van chuckles, giving you another quick kiss. “Whew, how much did you have? I feel like I took a shot just fucking kissing ya.”

“It doesn’t matter,” You tell him bluntly. “Help me out of this dress.”

Van knows you’re right because he obliges, tossing your jean jacket in the vicinity of the couch before helping you undo the zipper that runs down your back. Soon your dress has fallen around your ankles, tripping you up as you step out of the puddle of fabric on your heels.

Van’s hands reach out, steadying you. “Christ,” He laughs, guiding you to the couch. “Need help getting those heels off?”

“Please,” You sigh, flopping down on the couch in your bra and underwear, extending your legs out towards Van, who gets down on his knees to be of assistance. His fingers easily undo the straps around your ankles, releasing your feet from the hazard of your heels in no time. 

His fingers tuck into the waistband of your underwear next, tugging them down your thighs and depositing them on the ground before his head’s between your legs.

You sigh happily, slumping against the cushions as you pet his hair. You can’t remember the last time you were as content as you were right now; having drunk sex with your boyfriend, the person you loved and trusted most in the world. 

Your entire body feels like a warm puddle of endless summers and pleasure, but suddenly a thought pierces through the fog in your brain, and you shoot upright in your seat so fast that Van pulls away in concern.

“I have to text Mary!” You remember. Your eyes search around wildly for your bag, and you can feel the air passing between your legs without Van’s mouth keeping you warm.

Van wipes his chin, making to stand up. “Well, text her,” He says, gesturing towards the bedroom door. “Then come meet me in bed.”

You stumble up from the couch, crossing the living room naked and heading into the bathroom, where you’d left your purse.

Hello???? Mary’s sent. Did you get home safe????? Are you okay?!?

Home safe, You send back. Sorry, Van showed up unexpectedly and we talked. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow!

As soon as you’ve sent it you see the typing indicator pop up. You decide to respond to one last message before catching up to Van so you two can resume your first official romp as a couple.

If you tell me you two are done I’m gonna kill you.

At her words, you grin. 

Haha nope. We both realized we’re in love with each other and we’re official now. It’s a long story. 

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