under neon lights and a fizz of something I hadn't be readied for. The chairs were of the same leather, the table adorned with the very same patterns, and yet—the diner was nowhere near the simplicity it bathed in the last time I stepped into it, the wholeness of it suffused in luminescence. There were a billion things happening at the very entrance, and a portion of the diner was covered with a make-shift, bright-red tent people were lined outside of.

Evan grabbed me by the elbow so I could make it past the people at the crowd. My eyes ran all across, but before I could turn to face him and ask him if Maria had stopped working here, she stepped into my vision herself.

"Oh, my," she gaped, cheeks deflating as she heaved out my name. "Laura!"

One would think that she was my family with the way she ignored Evan. He had fallen extremely disinterested while I dragged him closer to the counter, my lips stretching into a grin. "How are you doing?"

"Better, now that I see you both here," she winked at me, and passed a discreet look to Evan. "What would you like to have? The same old?"

I turned to face him. "Order whatever. It's on me."

Only now did he give me a once-over, interest flickering back to his face. "I'll have to exploit that."

"What's all this hustle about?" I ignored him and asked her, "There seem to be more people than usual."

"Ah," she rubbed her hands, handing us a small menu card. She didn't need to—I had memorized all the nice dishes the first time I came here, and I had been here a total of four times—two of those times with evan, excluding this one. "We're having a couple's special week! You get a good discount, and all you need to do is take a couple pictures in the photo booth and put one on this wall with a nice message for your partner," she waved towards a bulletin board which was slowly starting to fill with happy-looking couples and their starry-eyed smiles.

"That's all? Just a couple pictures?"

She nodded, and I smiled a bright, big grin. "Can we. . .do it too?"

". . .Of course," her eyes widened at Evan who had completely zoned out, people-watching. "You're dating her, cariño?"

That question brought him back to the conversation. "What?" He opened his mouth to add something else, and then shut it quickly.

She looked so happy that it broke my heart to interject. Maybe we should play along—the thought was enough for heat to rise all over my body.

"You never told me," she half-cried. Maybe we weren't going to explain. I snuck a glance at Evan, and his gaze was obscure. Is he okay with this? "You look so good together. You remind me of my good old—"

"We're not together." Apparently not. His jaw was set, like he was uneasy, gaze ignoring mine—like he wanted to escape this situation altogether. A pretense with me was embarrassing enough for him?

I grimaced, regretting starting this conversation. "Can we. . .we can pretend, can we not?"

"You look more like a couple than half the people here," she shrugged, and dropped him a heated look. "Though. . .hacerlo major, Evan."

I did not know what that meant, so I ignored that along with the heat that swallowed my words. Evan had done the same, attention falling to me with a slight tilt of lips. "You want this discount that bad?"

"Not all of us have the bank balance to buy the whole damn city."

"I could pay, then," he said, and then immediately paused. Oh, I thought. He realized he just tethered really close to a landmine, and now he's sprinting the opposite way. Good for him.

Discomfort consorted his features, but I was too stubborn to let go. "Are you suggesting that I can't pay, Evan?"

"Never said that," he coughed.

I smiled, pulled him by the arm, and took a seat farthest from the booth. We sat there talking till the food arrived, and then munching on it as people deserted the booth bit by bit. The crowd was now gathering near the bulletin board. I observed Evan lift the glass of water to his lips, waiting for him to finish so we could head to the booth while it was still vacant.

He caught my gaze.

I dropped it.

"You're doing a good job," he spoke.

He was staring at me like that again. "At what?"

He took a sip, lips curling. "Pretending."

My stomach somersaulted, and I forgot what he even meant until it all clicked. Oh. I didn't know what to say. That was weird of him to say.

Silence was painful, so I followed up with: "You looked sort of uncomfortable back there, and I apologize if it's because I dragged you unwillingly into this."

He rose a brow. "Into getting a discount?"

That wasn't what I was hinting at, but didn't argue. He dropped the glass to the table. "Apology deemed unnecessary," he declared with bright eyes. "Like most times."

My mind didn't let me believe it, but I nodded regardless. The conversation during my shift at The Coffee Business still replayed in the back of my head, and I couldn't stop myself from saying, "That was an infuriating misunderstanding we held onto the past three days. Can we try and not repeat that in the future?"

He titled half his mouth. "Oh, you missed me."

"Oh, piss off."

Joy was eating up every damn corner of his face. "What is it that you wish I had done instead?"

"Talk to me the very next day, not ignore me," I rolled my eyes. "You're blunt when you least need to be."

"Ouch." He made a face. "So what you're getting at is. . ."

He really wanted me to spell it out. "Be upfront, idiot."

"Effective Communication 101," he laughed, and it felt like he was ridiculing me. He resumed his mean glare, then, and I didn't know how to act. "I'll try and be more straightforward from now on, then."

I couldn't stomach his stare this time, and the air had condensed and turned unbreathable. "Can you stop staring at me like that?"

The look in his eyes changed in a heartbeat, irises holding unexplainable softness. "Sorry," he shook his head, and debated if he wanted to say something more. He didn't. "Do we. . .go?"

"Yes," I slipped out of my seat. Together, we stood in front of the booth, and whilst I examined it from the outside first, Evan had walked right in. It was a tiny scarlet tent with white paper hearts stuck to it. Perhaps with a little too much glitter, but who was I too judge? Maybe there was no such thing as to much glitter. Stella would've agreed.

I spotted a guy right beside me—light brown hair and thinned lips. His eyes fixated on me for a second too long, but he was scurrying out when I met his gaze. Weird as that was, I shook my head and ducked to walk into the booth, and in an instant, was met with a scent all-too familiar.

"Hold on," Evan was muttering. "This is so. . .compact."

My face was pressed to his chest. I held out my hand to separate us, but there was no use. I'd be pressing onto the opening if I did that, and we would probably rip it apart. It wasn't even that small. The chairs must be taking a lot of space, I thought. That, and him.

"It looked small, but I didn't know it would be this tiny," Evan complained. He ducked his head low, hair brushing my neck and collarbones, and tingles danced over my skin.

I huffed. "It's not the booth. You're way too tall to be standing." I tugged at his sleeve. "Sit down."

He did, albeit uncomfortably. I guess comfort wasn't ever an option in a cubical where both of us surviving was an uncertainty. It was hot, too—the air was suffocating. I inserted money into the booth, pushed a button which said press me, and spun around.

Perhaps with too much aggression.

Just when I could squeeze my way past Evan's legs, I tripped on them instead. And I was going down, down, down. Probably on the matted floor where fifty-something shoes had waltzed around, and my first thought was disgust. Close second: death. Always.

I never hit the floor. Did not die. Landed firmly on a seat, somehow—all until I realized I wasn't on a damned seat, and I was the closest I had ever been to death.

I was sitting on his leg. I was sitting on his lap.

I had never panicked harder. He held me by the waist, but I wasn't even sure if I was blinking, breathing, or seeing things anymore. All I could feel was the heat of his body and his palm on my stomach. He was saying something, but that was lost to me. Utterly, wholly, gone.

"Laura," he jerked me a little. I twisted my head, eyes panic-stricken. "Hey, hey. . .you okay?"

"Why am I. . ." I looked between us. There couldn't even be an ounce of air separating us. Just a bunch of fabric. "Let me go."

"I can't," he said, and that's when I focused on him. Looked at him. His ears were going pink—or maybe I was dreaming entirely, and all of this was a figment of my imagination. "The other chair's broken."

I turned into stone. The booth was going to start taking pictures any second. Maybe it had already taken a few, but I didn't even want to spare it a glance. Disappearing sounded a way better option.

Evan grabbed me by the shoulders, but I didn't face him, his words getting lost in my hair. "It hasn't begun yet," he rationalized. "Just smile for one. We'll manage."

"We could ask—"

The shutter went off once.

Evan sighed, and then held my waist again. "Smile, Laura."

And he was grinning. Did this show he was a natural at being photographed, even if the circumstances screamed disaster?

I tried to curl my lips, but felt like I would be set to flames by the embarrassment engulfing me. The shutter went off twice after that, and I could imagine the horrendous ways my face could print itself on the pictures—pictures I would pay to be burned, not to be stuck to some bulletin board. And God, the heat on my cheeks, shoulders, ears, arms—it was going to turn me to ashes.

Evan noticed my unease. He said my name as a whisper, like it was a plea, but I refused to meet his gaze. I knew I would dematerialize if I did.

And since I didn't listen, he did it himself. Before the final shutter could chime in the air, he hooked a finger beneath my chin and made me look him in the eye. He was smiling softly at my shaken face, but it felt more sincere than when I had been trying to smile in all the previous poses.

I couldn't have bounced back on my feet quicker.

We fished out all the photos. The last one turned out to be the best. My heart didn't know how to slow down, because it was all I heard when Aunt Maria called us natural at God-knows-what. Evan chose to write a "nice" message for me on the condition that I waited outside until he was done. That was something I did not trust at all, but I knew that Aunt had my back. Fresh air was what I needed. That, and a couple seconds to cool off my face. So, I fled the scene in a flash.

I checked my phone to distract my mind. Stop replaying what happened in your head.

"Hey," a rough voice greeted me in the parking lot. It was the guy who'd stood beside me outside the booth, now waving.

Hi? I smiled rigidly. "Hello." Do I know you?

He walked two steps closer. "I saw you inside. I just wanted to tell you you're really pretty," he grinned, and it was then I noticed his pocketed hands. He was going to pull out his phone. Please don't. "If you're free, can we—"

"I suppose you know she's taken if you saw her inside."

An arm circled around my waist. Evan stood beside me, words a biting chill. My body leaned into the known touch like it was second-nature, breathing getting relieved. It was jarring how welcoming his presence was.

At that, the guy deflated. "Most were faking, and you don't look too different."

"Seems to me you know more about our relationship than we do," Evan's hold tightened. "Now, if you'll stop hitting on my fucking girlfriend; we've got places to go to."

Dear Lord. He didn't even give me a second to catch my breath as he walked us to the car with his hand on my back, touch making me lose all coherence. Once we had walked a decent distance and that guy was nowhere to be seen, he let me go so quick that the cold that replaced his place dashed across my bare skin.

"Sorry about that," he muttered. I had no clue what he was apologizing for. "I. . . hated that guy's guts."

Me too. I grinned instead, desperate to make the air between us lighter. "What if I was interested in him?"

"You haven't hit that kind of rock bottom yet."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"But if you were," he seemed to think, on his face unfolding a million-dollar smile. "I'd tell you: you can do way better."

▂

UNEASE TOOK THE BACKSEAT in the car, and I couldn't be happier. He kept his eyes on the road for the most part, but took me by surprise when he asked: "Twenty-questions?"

I said, "Sure," because what better was there to do? The drive was a little over twenty minutes, and the scenery didn't intrigue me enough. Evan Parker, though—with his antics and his perfect little smile—intrigued me more than I found sane.

I was afraid, so very afraid for what I had tossed my heart in search of.

Pretense was what we had managed to pull back then. And solely for me. It made my heart thrum with joy one second, and yearn the next.

"How do you like a little rock influence in your music?"

His question cut through my thoughts like a sharpened knife, faux relationships and yearnings launching themselves into faraway lands which did not involve us. For a second, I held my tongue, wondering if I had heard him correctly. Sorry?

He didn't seem to be fazed, not in the slightest. I shifted in my seat, hands falling to my lap. "Where is this coming from?"

I never knew a single devilish grin could arise so many questions, but it did. And I made a face, thinking and thinking and—it connected. The snippet of a guitar riff he'd played last time I was in his car, and brushed it off when I started inquiring.

It was his music. He was willing to share more now. To me.

He didn't utter a word, but I was reeling out of my seat. I said his name in an apprehensive tone, not finding the need to pronounce what was on my mind. He understood; of course he did. But instead of my ears being met with what it had been anticipating, a chuckle droned out beside me.

His eyes were bright. "Tonight," he said. I eased ever-so-slightly, counting down the hours until I would be able to listen to something he had put his wholehearted determination and mind to. "Your turn."

Right, twenty questions. Alternatively called: the bane of my existence.

"Fine." I huffed at the immediate change of topic, but knew he wouldn't elaborate. Asking a question was the way to know everything that involved him. Generics didn't intrigue me half as much as stories I was yet to know about him did, and my questions reflected that.

"What's a favourite memory of yours?"

He hummed, perhaps in approval. I liked the question myself. "One? I seem to have had a lot of those in these past months," he spared me a glance, warm like sunlight. "Picking one is hard."

"Your answer is awful," I rolled my eyes. "Like a dodge."

He shook his head, as if saying, because it is. I kept my gaze on him, stern, waiting for him to break.

He did.

"Every memory I share with you," his words lingered, "is something I treasure."

It felt as if the axis of the world had rolled to oblivion.

I hadn't expected for his response to break me—leave me unmoving, shaken, astray. Freezing heaven and hell alike. Not a nerve-ending knew its job, and no organ could keep me from sitting wordless, possibly breathless.

My heart sat liquefied. Golden.

He dropped me no glance. "And yours?"

Nonchalant as ever. There were moments I could've sworn to mistaken the look in his eyes to be something that would fulfill my desires, but the indifference broke the fantasy all-too well. I was bending actualities with him in swift seconds before the sky came breaking down with all its might, because we couldn't be what I ached for us to be.

"I. . .would have to think," I tried to sound unfazed. "There are a couple from my childhood."

He smiled at my lie, wanted to hear me elaborate, but nothing even came to mind. There were pleasant memories of childhood I held onto, but nothing could ever parallel any of his and mine. Any of ours. And perhaps we were mere planets spinning around the same sun with no intentions of colliding—being alongside him was still the greatest fortune I had found.

this one's probably another favourite of mine ngl, thoughts?

i know my updates are all over the place. to think that i've been meaning to finish this novel since may (??????),, its a whole joke. i've been crazy busy so i hope y'all understand, but trust me when i say i want this novel done more than anyone else lol

Q. are there any songs that come to mind when you think of them?? i would love some song recs from you guys for their playlist :)

thank you for reading! you're golden,

abrial