"Come in!" Kenny calls out.

"Wow," I snort as I walk into Kennedy's dorm room, my gaze bouncing towards the shit ton of pillows sprawled on the floor.

This is the first time she's let me see inside her girl cave and I must say, it's exactly how I pictured it. Neat, organized, and spotless. Predictability often irks me, but with her? I like it.

"What's with all the pillows, love?" I ask, setting the take-out bag of Thanksgiving food on her desk. "Do you plan on putting me into a turkey coma and then taking advantage of me?"

"No, I just figured we'd be more comfortable sitting on the floor and eating," she mutters, removing the hot containers of food from the bag. "Did they pack utensils?" She peeks into the bag. "Ah, yes they did."

"Since when is the floor more comfortable than a bed?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at her. She turns away from me. "Oh God, you're worried about crumbs, aren't you?"

She cranes her neck over her shoulder, a sheepish tight smile on her face. "Beds are for sleeping, not eating, okay?"

"Sometimes beds are for not sleeping too," I say, tossing her a wink as I plop down on the seven pillows and adjust my weight. "Well, this is uncomfortable. As your guest, I thought you'd be more hospitable."

Kennedy rolls her eyes, passing me a couple of containers. "Something tells me you're used to sleeping on floors," she says with a knowing smirk. "I'm just trying to make you feel right at home."

I scoff, propping myself against Maxine's bed. "You calling me a bum?"

"You said you crash in the basement of a bar and I assume there are no beds down there." Kennedy shrugs, sitting down across from me as she hands me a fork and knife. "Simple deduction."

"Well, aren't you just brilliant?" I muse, sticking my fork into a rather dry piece of meat. "Can I be honest with you?"

"If you must," she sighs, smiling as she takes a bite of pure cranberry sauce, her shoulders shimmying. "What is it?"

"I truly loathe turkey," I say, dunking the flavourless meat into a tub of gravy. "It tastes like paper. I don't know why it's such a popular dish."

"Well, you do strike as a person who would know what paper tastes like," she teases. "Maybe you should go on My Strange Addiction. Seek some help."

"Oh, toss off," I grin, giving her thigh a little kick. "Be nice or I'll take your precious cranberry sauce away."

"I'd like to see you try," Kennedy says, gripping her plate in a protective manner. "I'm much stronger than I look."

I blink. "You'd fight me over cranberry sauce? Really?"

"In the words of Dr. Ross Geller 'This cranberry sauce is the only good thing in my life'!" Kennedy exclaims, letting out a soft laugh. She frowns when I don't react. "Oh my God, no."

"What?" I ask, setting the plate down on the floor.

"You've seen Friends before right? Like the TV show?" she asks, distraught dancing in her eyes. "Please tell me you've seen it."

"Actually I haven't," I admit. "I mean obviously I know about the show but I've never watched it."

Her jaw drops. "You're kidding right? It's like one of the most iconic shows ever!" She shakes her head. "Well, I know what we're doing for the rest of the day."

"You gonna force me to watch Friends with you?" I ask as she reaches over her shoulder to grab her laptop off of the bed.

"Yes, you're my hostage," she says, opening the computer and placing it on the edge of the mattress. She pulls up Netflix and queues up the first episode. She grins at me, excitement oozing from her pores. "I can't believe I get to pop your Friends cherry. This is so cool."

"Your eyes are awfully wide, Carmichael. You're frightening me a tad," I tease as she sits beside me. "I take it this is one of your favorite shows?"

"Yeah," she smiles, expelling a sigh. "It was my mom's favorite show, we'd watch it together all the time. She used to joke that I'll grow up to be Monica."

"Is Monica neurotic or something?" I ask, cocking my head.

Kenny rolls her eyes. "Only like a little."

"Thought so," I laugh. "Your mum must be a very intuitive lady to predict that so early." I pause before asking, "Do you miss her? Your mum?" Kenny's face falls and I instantly regret my question. "Hey, sorry, if you don't want to talk about it, we don't have to."

"No, it's fine," she says in a low hum, picking at the food on her plate. "Umm...yeah I do miss her." She takes a small breath. "A lot actually. She was my best friend and she just left. I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye, I just got home from school one day and my dad said she was gone."

"You haven't talked to her at all?" I ask. "Not even a phone call?"

"Nope," Kenny sighs. "My dad said she didn't leave any contact information. She just vanished."

"That's really shitty, Ken," I say, meeting her cloudy eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah," she whispers. "Really shitty." She glances at me. "Do you talk to your mom? Is she as bad as your dad?"

"My parents are-" I pause, uneasy creeping into my gut. "They're just not my type of people."

"What does that mean?" she asks, turning her body towards me. "What kind of people are they?"

"They're just very uptight and pretentious and only care about themselves," I explain. "My mom acts like she gives a shit about me but she only cares about image and our family name."

Kenny nods, releasing a quiet scoff. "Sounds like my people."

I frown. "You're not like them."

"Are you sure?" she asks, her gaze distant. "I think I'm exactly like them. You've even said so yourself."

"When?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at her.

"Like the first day we met," she says. "You said 'I would never date a pretentious snob like you' or something like that."

Shit. I did say that. Idiot.

"Well, that was before I got to know you," I say. "Opinions can change."

"So you don't think I'm pretentious anymore?" she asks, her eyes flitting around my face. "Really?"

"I think that most people are products of their environment," I muse, choosing my words carefully. "And your environment kind of sucks-"

"Gee thanks," she scowls."

"But!" I hold up my fingers. "That doesn't mean you suck."

"No?" she asks, the corners of lips quirking up into a small smile. "Interesting. Maybe you judged me a little too quickly, hmm?"

"Oh no, my initial impression of you is still dead on," I say with a cheeky smirk. "You are uptight, a little pretentious and you definitely care way too much about your image but that's not all you are, I've learnt that recently."

"You're really bad at giving compliments, you know that?" she notes scrunching up her nose. "I think I'm a little offended right now."

"Don't be," I say, my phone ringing. "It's unrealistic for people to only have positive qualities. We're all a little messed up, love." I flip my phone around. Why is he calling me? It's past his bedtime. "Freddie?" I say, answering the call, ignoring Kennedy's curious stare. "Fred? Are you there?"

"Ollie," Freddie sobs, his voice trembling. "Ollie, they're fighting again."

"Shit," I say, standing up, my jaw clenching. "Where are you right now, Freddie?"

"Under my bed," Freddie cries. "I'm scared, Ollie. I don't know what to do."

"Fuck," I mutter, running a hand through my hair. "Is he drunk?"

"I think so?" Freddie hiccups. "Do you want me to check?"

"Fuck no," I say, my blood boiling. "Stay in your room, okay? Don't go downstairs. Promise me, yeah?"

"I promise," he blubbers. "Can I sleep in your room tonight? Please, Ollie! I won't touch anything, I swear."

"Of course, mate," I say, sighing. "You can stay there whenever you want." I pause. "Listen, Fred, I think you should call Grant or Eleanor, maybe they can come and get you for the night."

"They didn't answer," Freddie says, the distant bickering of my parents booming through the speaker. "Ollie, when are you coming back? I miss you."

"I miss you too, Freddie." I close my eyes, guilt washing over me. "But I'm never moving back into that house. I can't."

"I don't want to be alone with them," Freddie sniffles. "Can I live with you? Can you take me, Ollie? Please?"

My heart seizes.

"Freddie, I'd take you if I could but I can't," I whisper. "I'm sorry, mate, I really am."

"But you can try, can't you? Maybe dad will say yes, maybe he'll say yes."

I swallow away the bitter taste in my mouth. "Dad loves you, Fred, he loves you too much to let you go," I lie. "He's not a bad person, he just has a very stressful job and sometimes he overreacts, but you're safe, Freddie. He won't hurt you, I promise."

And he won't. No way would Alton Knight risk his image by engaging in child abuse.

"I don't like him, Ollie," Freddie whispers. "He's mean to me. He told me I'm stupid. I'm not stupid, Ollie. I'm not stupid."

"Of course you're not stupid, he's stupid for even suggesting that." I ball my hand up into a fist, taking steadying breaths. "You're a bright kid, Freddie, you're just a little different, that's all."

"Dad says different is bad."

"Don't listen to him, Fred," I say, resting my forehead on Kenny's door. "He's an idiot. Different is just different, it's neither good or bad, it just is." I sigh, wishing for the first time, that I was in London, that I could be there for him. "Go to sleep, Fred, yeah? Just close your eyes and sleep."

"They're still yelling."

"Are you in my room right now?" I ask.

"Yeah."

"Okay, go to my closet and grab my old headphones, they're noise cancelling. Plug them into your phone and just blast some music until they stop fighting." I pause. "Did you find them?"

"Mhmm," Freddie hums. "Got them. Thanks, Ollie."

"No worries, mate," I sigh. "You're gonna be okay, Freddie. You are."

"I love you, Ollie," Fred says.

"Love you too," I say before hanging up. "Shit."

"Is everything okay?" Kennedy asks, startling me when she places her hand on my back. "Oliver? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I murmur, keeping my back turned to her. "It's all good."

"Liar," she whispers, her hand traveling down the length of my arm until her fingers curl around my fist. My muscles relax from her touch. "Were you talking to your brother? Did something happen?"

"My dad's a mean drunk," I reveal, my teeth clenching together. "He and my mum fight a lot. Freddie hates it. He gets scared." I shake my head. "I can't help him, Kennedy. I can't do anything for him." Kennedy wraps her arms around my waist, hugging me from behind. "What are you doing?" She doesn't say anything, simply tightens her grip. I don't ask again. I just stand there, in her arms, until the anger dissipates. "Kennedy?"

"Yeah?" she whispers as she drops her arms.

I turn around, peering down at her. "Thank you."

"No worries," she smiles timidly, fixing her hair. "I uh- I read that hugging produces oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin. Seemed like you needed a bit of each."

"You're such a nerd," I say, all those chemicals bouncing around my neurons. "It's sort of cute."

She blinks, a rosy tint on her cheeks. "We should um-" She clears her throat. "Wanna watch Friends now?" She turns around, plopping down on the far end of the floor. "Ollie?"

"Right," I mutter, sitting back down on the pillows, well aware of the distance between us.

"I hope you like it," Kennedy says, pressing play. "But don't tell me if you don't." She glances at me. "We wouldn't be able to hang out if you didn't."

"I'm sure I'll love it," I murmur, watching Kennedy lick the cranberry sauce off her fork. "You have sauce on your chin."

"Shit." She wipes a napkin across her face. "Is it gone?"

"Mhmm," I hum, turning my attention to the frantic woman in a wedding dress on the TV.

How long do chemical reactions last in a person's brain? Minutes? Hours? Days?

Weeks?

I hate science.

Bloody nuisance.

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I feel like this is slowest of burns that I've ever written but aren't they just sew cute?!

THOUGHTS?