after seeing the gears stop turning in his mind, she decided not to let it slip that the kind of sweaty, confused look was the exact reason why she enjoyed the calendars. it was interesting to watch him trip up a bit just to so confidently dance with everything he's got. even though he was a bit behind on the choreography, they both looked like they were having so much fun that she didn't really mind. "well, i can't argue with that. it was really fun. maybe i should make you dance with me in all my videos so i can remember that fact."
the tips of her fingers quickly dashed across her screen to edit the video's lighting and coloring, "look at that!" she giggled watching the video playback on her phone, "you look really good! you weren't even behind for most of it." she lifted her decorated phone up a bit for him to see it better. "and your smile is so big that i'm mostly focusing on the dimples in your cheeks." her lips reflexively twitch into a bright smile of their own.
there was a familiar feeling in her chest when she turned her head to find that his face was much closer to hers than she was expecting. "oh!" the exclamation left her subconsciously, heat rushing across her face. "anyways, uh..." suddenly, she felt like a teenage girl fumbling for what to say next. maybe it's because she had always harbored a small crush on the hockey player in front of her. nevertheless, it made her feel off-balanced. shaking her head, she snapped herself out of her flustered stupor. "thank you for making this video with me! i really appreciate it."
feeling a bit out of sorts she let her feet guide her back behind the bar. the tongs nearly fall out of her hand with how clumsily she picks them up. "i'll get you your free drink and food. i'm sure you're starving." she struggles to separate the wax paper bags from each other. "um, did you ever tell me what drink you'd like?"
a proud, puffed out chest was his immediate answer to her review of the footage. peering down at the glowing rectangle, his grin stretched so wide it practically met his ears, a bright flash of pure triumph lighting up his features. "see? total natural. jules is going to have to eat his words about the fridge logic," he declared, puffing out his cheeks in a playful strut as the playback looped. when she pointed out his dimples, and her sudden exclamation popped into the space between them, his proud posture instantly dissolved.
seeing the sudden crimson wash over her skin and the abrupt halt in her sentence, his brain immediately leaped to the wrong conclusion. his eyebrows pinched together with genuine concern, thinking maybe he’d accidentally stepped on her foot with his bulky sneakers or bumped her arm. without a second thought, he leaned in just a fraction closer, tilting his head to peer down into her face with focused inspection. "whoa, hey, you alright? did i hit you with an elbow during that last spin or something?"
then, the dots finally connected.
he caught the exact moment her eyes darted away, watching her mentally shake off the sudden spell of bashfulness. a slow, realization fueled warmth bloomed across his own cheekbones as the truth landed. the confident, effortless girl who had just commanded the floor was actually flustered by him. HIM! taking a quick, respectful half step backward, he raised his hands in a easygoing gesture, a sheepish, crooked smirk replacing his initial worry. "hey, anytime. if you ever need an overly enthusiastic background extra who moves like a newborn giraffe, you’ve got my number...well, actually, you don't," he corrected himself on the fly, a sudden spark of bold mischief glinting in his gaze as he reached into his pocket. "we should probably fix that, right? hand your phone over for two seconds, or i can drop mine right here on the notepad. you know, strictly for choreo emergencies."
he watched her retreat back toward the counter, resting his elbows against the laminated top and observing her battle the wax paper with a fond, highly amused gleam. seeing someone who was just moments ago an absolute force of theatrical poise suddenly fumble with bakery tongs was oddly charming. "hey, take it easy on the paper, it didn't do anything to you," he laughed softly, tapping his knuckles against the wood to get her attention. "and no, i didn't get to name my poison yet. let's go with a cold brew. splash of oat milk, two pumps of vanilla. gotta keep the engine running if i'm going to go home and practice my arm timing for our next viral hit."
Night matched Juniper's pout with her own. How tragic? Consequences for her actions and for deliberately ignoring Night's first warning to drop the subject because Juniper had done (and continued to a certain extent) to do the exact thing she judged Jay for. Of course, the mimicked pout was more dramatic, more transparent in its mockery of Juniper's self-pity.
"I know," Night added onto her mockery with a bit of teasing. "I'm just so cruel, aren't I? You're gonna have to get over it."
At first, Night did want to correct Juniper's assertion that Jay was the antagonist to Night's protagonist. Yet the softness of Juniper's voice forced Night to focus onto the writer's inquiry. An extremely personal inquiry at that. If it were any other person, or in any other conversation, Night would have shied away from answering something like this. But there was the assumption, which Night has learned such assumptions were accidental slips to Juniper's own psyche.
Even if Juniper had not intended a trade in vulnerability -- something the two women had become accustomed to doing -- Night recognized it as such. Even with Juniper leaning a bit into her personal space, Night sat down on one of the mismatched chairs. Her eyes looked out into the garden before settling back onto Juniper. The same soft smile that had visited her face when Juniper first leaned against the tree was come back.
"I'm going to answer this, but don't make any judgments or authorial comments. You do have a habit of assuming wrong for someone who claims to be more correct than is socially convenient. If you're curious about something, just ask."
It was an olive branch of sorts; or at least, it was a unspoken declaration of trust. Even if Juniper failed to adhere to Night's simply request -- one that Night had tried to explain -- Night took notice to Juniper's effort. And it was that effort that earned Night's patience.
"Loud. Not suffocating. Made worse by my head being louder," Night correct and explained. "It's not just your garden. I'll walk in a park or something if I get stressed. I like flowers or nature or whatever. Calming, if no one bothers me. Your walls helps keep people I don't want to talk to from talking to me. So, your garden gets that bonus point. But if you're trying to get at what else I do to calm down besides a garden or some flowers, cooking helps, though it's cliche because the chef cooking her troubles away is something probably overplayed -- or overwritten, in your case. And I'll make excuses to cook if my mind's a bit loud. Friends. Anyone. But any task that requires my full attention usually works to dampen the world a little. But it never goes completely quiet. My mind that is. I can drown out the world, but not everything else."
It was mainly customary to expect Juniper to trade the vulnerability. Night wouldn't push the question further if Juniper chose to dodge it, but Night still wanted to offer. A friendship, if Juniper chose to continue the conversation with her own vulnerability, was a possibility, even if it didn't come natural to the writer. It was hard to get to know someone who kept their walls high and the fortitudes around the walls covered in syntax ladened vines.
"And you?" Night inquired. "What brings you peace when the world's suffocating?"
the mock pout night flashed back at her was a flagrant piece of theatrical insolence, a mirror held up to juniper’s own grand standing. juniper merely allowed a faint, haughty sniff to escape her nose, though the corners of her mouth twitched with the subtle gratification of having provoked such a lively retort. so cruel, aren't i? the girl had claimed, and juniper felt a strange, unspoken thrill at the bite behind the tease, a sensation that had very little to do with her literary appetite and everything to do with the specific, elusive creature occupying her patio.
she remained standing as night retreated to one of the mismatched chairs, watching with a keen focus as night settled into the woven frame. the return of that specific, soft curve to night's lips sent an unexpected, tiny jolt through juniper's chest; an unfamiliar, unwanted disturbance that she immediately filed away as simple intrigue. when night issued her gentle warning against premature editorializing, juniper tilted her chin, offering a silent, regal permission for the girl to proceed without interruption.
the response that followed was remarkably unvarnished. night dismantled the term suffocating, replacing it with the raw mechanics of an internal volume that simply refused to drop. she spoke of solitary strolls, of green sanctuaries, of the utility of juniper's high stone boundaries in repelling the unwanted masses. then came the confession of culinary therapy. a chef attempting to knead her internal noise into something digestible, an admission offered with a self aware nod to its own cliche. then night turned the inquiry directly back upon her, asking what brought peace when the world pressed too close, juniper felt her spine stiffen just a fraction. the exchange of vulnerability was happening again, shifting the terrain beneath her feet in a way that left her customary defenses feeling oddly brittle.
she stepped closer to the low table, her skirts sweeping softly over the stone patio. rather than taking the opposing seat, she leaned her hip against the edge of the iron table, her hands folding delicately over one another. she looked out into the shadowy expanse of the courtyard, where the pale blossoms shone like fallen stars, before letting her gaze slide back to night's face. "a bold assumption, wildflower, to presume that i ever allow the world to reach me in the first place," juniper began, her tone sliding into a low, decadent drawl that masked the slight tremor of her own exposure.
"i do not wander through public parks or subject myself to the culinary arts to drown out the noise. when the vastness outside these boundaries grows too overwhelming...when the horizon itself feels like an open throat waiting to swallow me whole...i retreat. I've built my world within these four corners, where the dialogue is immaculate, the motives are transparent, and the horizon stops where i demand it to."
she paused, her fingers tracing a small, delicate circle against the cold metal of her rings. a slight softness flickered in her expression, stripping away a layer of her usual armor as she glanced back toward the looming, terrifying openness of the distant street beyond her gate. "peace, for me...is absolute, unyielding control over my immediate geography," she confessed quietly, her eyes locking onto night's with an intensity that surprised even herself. "it is the moments when the ink behaves, the page obeys, and no terrifying expanse threatens to unravel my senses. it is knowing that everything i need is contained right here...though...i suppose i am currently allowing an exception for an intruder who insists on climbing over my boundary."
"Totally, man," Kekoa nodded enthusiastically. "She's so obsessed with you, it's insane." He hadn't even seen them interacting up close and personal but he didn't even need to. He didn't need to meet Flora to know she was obsessed with his boy. Somehow thinking about Jax being in love connected in Kick's head to something he loved and he got another idea. "Oh, shit, dude, maybe you could take some pics of the band? We haven't gotten anything professional done in forever. We're due for a refresh." He wasn't considering the fact that he couldn't pay Jax for his time and effort, but he still liked the idea.
"You were the star of the school," Kekoa laughed, slapping the back of his hand lightly against Jax's shoulder. "Like, the boasting was warranted, I'm sure." Life had been so much easier in high school. With his Papa Richie still alive and holding down the fort, Kick was allowed to be as crazy as he wanted to be. Early in school he'd still be reeling from the loss of his mom and rebelling against pretty much everything. But he'd had good friends keep him in line, so he hadn't gotten in too much trouble. For Kick, they were the glory days, but he wouldn't go back to them for anything. Life was better now, even if he had more responsibility.
The spark Jax was speaking of had burned out a few times. Kekoa had occupied some dark spaces over the years, but he had never set up camp in them. He didn't know if or when he'd burn out again, but he wasn't that worried about it. Kick had good people in his life to pull him up each time he stumbled. Plus, he had a reason to keep going. As long as his Granny was around, he would keep going.
"Damn, I'm sorry... I just don't get that," Kekoa said, shaking his head. His own parents hadn't had a traditional love story either. His dad had been on the island for spring break and one glimpse at his mom had RJ falling in love. And as sudden it was, Kekoa's grandparents had always been supportive. Even when their son had died, they'd continued to come to Hawaii twice a year to visit Kekoa and his mom. Then, when she got sick, they spent weeks on end on the island taking care of everything. Richard and Louise Campbell were one of a kind, and Kekoa was so proud to be their grandson. He genuinely hated that Jax didn't have supportive parents when he was so clearly in love and happy. It seemed like his friend wasn't letting it get to him too much, though.
"At least your sister is cool," Kekoa said. "And you've got your boys..." He put a hand to his chest, including himself in that statement. "Who needs parents, right?" Which he could only say, of course, because his were long dead.
a wide, appreciative smile broke across jax's face at kick’s declaration, the golden flecks in his hazel eyes catching the afternoon sun. hearing someone else validate the incredible bond he shared with his wife, knowing her devotion was so blatantly obvious even from afar, brought a brilliant flush of pride to his face, a rush of pure joy blooming in his chest. his gaze widened slightly in delighted surprise at kick's suggestion to photograph the band. for a split second, a tiny flicker of his earlier self doubt tried to creep back in, attempting to whisper that his technical skills weren't up to par, but he crushed the thought before it could take root.
"i'm definitely going to hold you to that," jax replied with a warm chuckle, nodding eagerly as they pushed past the thick brush toward the upper trail. "and as for band photos? man, count me in one hundred percent. it would be a total blast to capture you guys in your element. shoot me a text with your next rehearsal schedule or venue date, and i'll bring the whole set up."
jax bumped his shoulder lightheartedly against kick's in response to the quip about parents, letting the dark humor land softly in the open air without letting it drag down the easy camaraderie between them. he knew kick’s loyalty ran deep, and having a guy like him in his corner was a gift he didn't take for granted. as the years ticked by, and especially since flora had entered his life, it had become crystal clear that a small circle of authentic souls was all he needed to completely dissolve the suffocating weight of his parents' endless expectations and cold judgments. it truly made a man's chest swell with renewed bravado. "damn right," jax agreed warmly, an easy grin returning to his features as he gestured toward the final stretch of the trail.
as the forest canopy thinned just enough to let cascades of late afternoon sunlight spill over the ridge, jax's thoughts naturally drifted to kick's love life after spending so much time talking about his own. picturing kick on stage behind his drum kit brought the rest of the band to mind, specifically ginger. years ago, jax remembered having a fleeting suspicion that kick and ginger were secretly dating, given how inseparable they always seemed. but one only had to watch their dynamic for less than five seconds to see the unmistakable sibling energy between them, all teasing shoves and pure, chaotic camaraderie.
but that made him realize he'd never actually seen his friend step out with anyone else, jax glanced over at kick with an affectionate, curious tilt of his head. "...what about you, man? you're out here holding down the pulse on the drums for your crew and taking such incredible care of granny lou. but is there really no one special catching your eye these days?" he didn't want to overstep, but experiencing a love so transformative only made him want the exact same magic for the people he cared about most.
Flora pulled back an inch, her eyes questioning if she'd just heard what she thought she heard. When Jax's smile turned sheepish, she burst out laughing. "My poor baby," She cooed, putting her hands on his cheeks. She accepted the last few kisses before pushing him away again and sliding off the kitchen counter. The robe tie around Flora's waist had come undone completely, so she pulled the fabric around her frame again and retied a loose knot. "Sedere/sit down..." He told him, waving her hand towards the chair.
She set to work preparing the promised sandwich. Flora moved around the kitchen with ease, grabbing the bread and the ingredients she needed for the dressing. She cut the ciabatta in half and drizzled both sides with extra virgin olive oil and red wine vinegar. She sprinkled the bread with salt and pepper, then added the meat. Flora moved on to slicing the veggies and layering them on top, humming to herself all the while. When the sandwich was finished she closed it and pressed down gently. Before bringing the plate to Jax, she opened the fridge again and grabbed a bowl of fruit as a side.
"Here you are, my love," Flora said with a smile, putting the plate down in front of him. She leaned down for a kiss, then took the seat next to him. Pulling one leg up, she planted her heel on the chair and wrapped her arms around her leg, resting her chin on her knee. Watching Jax enjoy his sandwich, Flora remembered that there was something she wanted to talk to him about. His parents were going to look into her past, and they weren't going to like what they found.
"My parents aren't good people," She mused lightly. Jax knew that to an extent. Flora had told him stories, but they'd all been relatively tame in the grand scheme of things. They were bad people, but they hadn't been bad to her. Not to say they'd been good parents, but they could've been worse. "They have criminal records..." Flora added. "They... steal money from people... they used me to steal money from people." The lost kid schtick had been a classic. They'd send Flora in, the innocent woman (always a woman) would try and help, leaving her bag unattended, and they'd swoop in and steal it. That was the smallest of things they'd done, though, their schemes had gotten much larger than that.
"But I promise you, Jax, I haven't spoken to them..." Flora swore. "I haven't seen them in years, and they don't know how to contact me." She reached out to clasp Jax's arm. "I would never let them do anything to you ever." But that's not how his parents would spin it. They would make it seem like Flora was only with him for his money. Despite the fact she was already in love with him before she knew he came from money. "Your parents will spin it the worst way, but..." She trailed off, shrugging. What could she do at the end of the day? Besides promise there was nothing to worry about.
jax’s expansive grin dissolved into a expression of complete, helpless devotion as she yielded to the laughter, her palm leaving a trail of warmth against his skin before she descended from the counter and slipped out of his reach. he trailed every movement of her silhouette, observing the fluid elegance with which she adjusted the robe and navigated the space between the prep station and the shelves. after the frigid theater of the estate, this domestic scene felt almost surreal. he readily heeded her instruction, sinking into the chair and leaning his forearms onto the wooden surface, his gaze remaining fixed on her every movement. an unspoken pull tugged at him, his hands aching to close the short distance and draw her back into his arms even after moments apart.
the mouthwatering aroma of toasted ciabatta and sharp vinegar filled the air, and by the time she set the loaded plate and a bowl of fruit down, his appetite was practically howling. he caught her lips in a brief, tender press as she leaned over him, then watched her curl up in the adjacent seat, resting her chin on her knee like a sleepy cat. he didn't hesitate; he picked up the sandwich, took a massive, glorious bite, and let out a sound of pure contentment. the combination of savory prosciutto, crisp veggies, and tang of the dressing was nothing short of a masterpiece. he was halfway through a second bite, fully prepared to sing her praises, when the air in the room suddenly altered. her tone shifted, carrying a soft, vulnerable edge that made his movements stall. as the quiet confessions spilled into the space between them, his motion ceased entirely.
the childhood ploys, the stolen funds, the adults who had exploited her youth. it landed with devastating force, not out of disgust for her, but out of a surging, feral protective instinct for the little girl she had been. his throat constricted with emotion. he wasn't an oblivious man by any stretch of the imagination, he had long pieced together from her subtle hints over their time together that her history held painful shadows. but just as he had fervently proclaimed, the reality of it only ignited a protective fire within him, making him want to tear down anyone who had ever placed such a cruel burden upon her.
when her fingers reached out to clasp his forearm, pledging to shield him from her past, jax immediately set the rest of the sandwich down on the plate. he turned his arm over, wrapping his large hand tightly around hers, his thumb stroking the back of her knuckles. he's gaze set so intensely on hers to make sure every word he said was conveyed with the undercurrent of devotion that hadn't a chance of wavering. he didn't care about the schemes, and he certainly didn't care about his family's grand, inevitable outrage.
"baby, hey...look at me," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he leaned closer, expression fiercely tender. he drew her knuckles to his mouth, imprinting a firm kiss there before pressing her hand flat against his cheek. "i don't give a damn about a criminal record, and i don't give a damn about my parents' opinion. you are the bravest, purest person i have ever known. you survived them, and you made yourself into this." he tightened his grip on her hand, his eyes holding hers with total resolve. "they can dig all day long. they will never, ever alter what you are to me, or the truth that you are my home. let them try." his free hand reached across the table, his fingertips gently cupping her chin. "i love you."
" can you blame me ? i'm practically made of this stuff. " darcy snickered. since working at the drive-in, her diet regularly consisted of greasy popcorn and cheap nachos, the kind with the luminous yellow cheese. that, and cookie dough bites when they had them. sometimes she'd get lucky enough that woo-jin would bring her a burger from the diner. darcy subconsciously mirrored shreya, her chin landing softly against her palm as her elbow rested atop her knee. she cherished moments like this, able to enjoy the company of a long-time & well beloved friend; the rest of the town falling quiet as dusk rolled in. it was serene.
the girl hummed faintly as she attempted to recall the films' twist. it was a new flick, at least to the pinehaven population, and she only vaguely remembered the details. " I think woo-jin picked this one. I saw some guy on reddit say it was good. " darcy tilted her head in fascination at the twinkling motion pictures. " I can't decide if it's more of a david lynch or del toro vibe. " a brief silence fell over her as she considered shreya's question, " you know, I thought it was heading in an artsy direction -- but the idea that some guy in a rubber suit is just terrorizing some civilians is sorta fun. " she retorted, the end of her sentence being partially muffled by a chortle. her blue eyes sparkled with amusement when they rejoined shreya's.
shreya propped her chin in her palm, a low laugh snaking out as she watched the flickering silver light play across darcy’s amused face. through the small square glass pane, the massive screen projected towering black and white shadows over the gravel lot below, where the scattered pickup trucks and sedans looked like sleeping beetles nestled against the dark pine tree line.
"if woo-jin is letting anonymous internet strangers curate the drive in lineup, we are in grave danger," shreya quipped, her eyes darting back to the viewport where exaggerated lightning flashed across the cinematic skyline. "though i am strictly voting for the rubber suit. del toro requires emotional capacity, and my brain completely fried around three o'clock during the county budget hearing. if i have to dissect subtext tonight, i'm walking back down that ladder."
she stretched her legs out, nudging the tip of her boot against the rusty leg of darcy's metal chair before reaching over to hijack another small handful of the salty, butter drenched snack. the elevated concrete booth held onto the day's lingering heat, but up here above the noise, tucked away in this elevated roost of hot steel and hums, the valley felt surprisingly distant.
"a creature terrorizing civilians is at least straightforward," she added, leaning her head back against the painted wall, watching a stray speck of dust drift through the bright beam cutting across the room. "predictable. unlike the county board. if the monster turns out to be a giant pinecone, just let it destroy the town hall first."
though the night was eerie with the mist and the tense air surrounding the mystery of the moving statue, charlie slowly felt herself relax watching her sister in her element. at times, she could have sworn evie was more like a character in a superhero comic than a real person. a thought she's had since they were young as her energy has never felt quite tangible, as if it came from some unseen power source. "wait, that sounds like a great book idea even if it doesn't actually happen... i may have to steal that from you."
she reached into the oversized pocket of her jacket, pulling out her travel journal and quickly scribbled the idea down. "then maybe their youngest sister has to figure out above world how to get the other two out after struggling to believe it exists in the first place!" there was moment where she had thought maybe that would be too cliche, an author writing an alternate universe for them and their family to exist. but at the same time, her sisters were her biggest inspirations. it only made sense.
while evie snapped her pictures, charlie kept writing away in her journal expanding on this new idea her beautiful sister gifted to her. not long after she was forced to come out of her inspiration induced stupor to stare at the screen presented to her. okay, maybe her sister kept her comforted for a few moments. but not anymore. this was starting to unsettle her again.
"evieeeeee," the name coming out more like a whine than anything else. "i'm actually scared now. maybe we can investigate another time and maybe bring tae-yeol? or some other back up? i feel like if we actually get transported to a steampunk world with clockwork monsters, we may need someone with some muscle on our side." could tae-yeol fight? she didn't know, but the thought that someone else that she trusted would be there soothed her nerves.
evie’s face illuminated in the camera’s icy blue glow, her mouth curving into a victorious grin that practically outshone the screen. she slipped the digicam deep into her tote bag, setting off a noisy cascade of clattering acrylic charms and metal rings as she slung the strap back over her shoulder. "a three sister saga? brilliant. bestseller status guaranteed, charles," evie declared, her platform sole giving a jaunty, impatient tap against the wet stone step. "but offering up my boyfriend as meat armor against gear driven titans? dubious tactical plans." a sudden, giddy warmth bubbled up in her chest as the word boyfriend left her lips. even after a few weeks, saying it out loud still felt like a shiny new secret she got to show off, sending a electric little flutter straight to her ribs.
she threw a neon yellow sleeve over charlie's shoulders, yanking her pajama clad sister close against the biting draft creeping up from the valley. "though honestly, i should probably spare him the heart attack. the last time i dragged him into one of my conspiracy escapades, i managed to get completely turned around in the woods. by the time he finally tracked me down, he looked as pale as the actual ghost i was searching for." her gaze flicked back to the displaced bronze heel one last time, squinting through the shifting vapors. the air smelled heavily of wet soil, oxidized copper, and sodden cedar, the mist coiling tighter around the base of the plinth like a breathing monster.
"as much as i want to pry open whatever secret trapdoor is hiding under this brass old man right now, you're shivering. plus, if we disappear into the shadow realm without telling anyone, halmoni will literally cross dimensions just to haunt us both." she pivoted charlie on her heels, steering her back toward the sidewalk with all the dramatic flair of a parade marshal directing traffic.
"retreat time, author nim. let's hit up loulou's for late night hashbrowns and forum leaks," evie declared, her heavy soles crunching through the wet gravel as they left the town square behind. "we draft tae-yeol at dawn. if we're going down into the catacombs, my guy brings the muscle, you bring the plot, and i bring the snacks."
The imperfection that came with things that were broken was something that fascinated Connor. Though, in actuality, everything that she fished out was still nothing, but trash. Treasures that were salvageable were likely picked through already by another freegan diver or never made it into the dumpster in the first place. Instead, those pieces were brought to consignment shops or thrift shops to turn a small bit of profit. Even if those items were still in the dumpster, Connor doubt that they would end up in her little crate of discarded things. Anyone could have a mint condition item., but each damage render the item unique. One of a kind.
Connor had already been smiling by the time Saffron wiped away the supposed smudge on her cheek. Getting dirty wasn't an issue for Connor; though she is certain her mother felt some sort of disturbance every time she tossed herself into one of the trash piles to find one of her coveted discarded things. Connor's smile did become softer at Saffron's tough.
On the balls of her feet, Connor spun around in the same direction as Saffron. Despite the speed in which her friend scooted on their skateboard around her, Connor did her best not to lose focus on her friend and not break the eye contact. The dizziness, of course, was a pleasant sensation, even if it did make her feel a little nauseous and disoriented. "A funky little radio, but I dunno if it works. Locket I'm surpised it isn't taken, but it's probably costume and worthless. A rather old dictionary. Missing it's cover, so that's sad."
saffron’s lips curved into a subtle, lopsided smirk as they carved another wide, sweeping arc around her on the board, the polyurethane wheels humming a low song over the cracked asphalt. watching connor spin around on the balls of her feet just to track their movement, willingly inviting the vertigo just to keep that gaze locked on them, was practically a piece of performance art. she was like a topsy turvy compass constantly trying to point toward them, refusing to let the disorienting spin break her focus. they slowed the momentum of the board with a gentle drag of their sneaker, coasting to a idle stop just beside the crate of forgotten salvage. leave it to connor to see a tragedy in a coverless book and a hidden jewel in a piece of fake jewelry. anyone else would look at this pile and see a heap of useless debris, but in connor’s universe, every scratch and dent was an autograph from the past.
"a dictionary with no cover?" saffron drawled, their tone carrying that easy, off beat cadence as they leaned back on the tail of the board, lifting the front wheels slightly off the ground. "that’s cold. literally stripping the definition out of context. poor thing doesn't even get to introduce itself." they reached down, hooking two fingers through the tarnished chain of the costume locket to hoist it up into the sunlight. through the processors behind their ears, the tiny clink of the cheap alloy translated as a paper thin, metallic snap. a miniature, synthetic click that sounded like a dry audio sample snapped off a scratchy vinyl record. it was flimsy and valueless by high street standards, but the fake gold still held a strange, stubborn gleam.
"costume or not, someone probably had a minor meltdown when they dropped this into the void," saffron murmured, using the edge of their thumb to carefully pop open the tiny, tarnished latch. they peered at the empty paper frame inside, intrigued by the missing story left behind in the hollow metal. "you’re running a proper museum of lost causes here, connor. practically a rescue operation for orphaned history."
saffron let the locket drop back into the cardboard box with a soft thud, then nudged the corner of the faded plastic radio with the toe of their shoe. "what do you think the verdict is on the radio?" they asked, looking back up at her, their eyes lingering on her face to see if the dizziness was still playing with her balance. "we thinking completely dead circuit boards, or is there a chance it still catches a rogue broadcast if we knock it around a bit?"
pride swelled in his chest from the rare verbal affirmation from her. he couldn't help but let it show on his face how delighted he was with cocky smirk. "well i showed those blockheads the american way and the british way." they reenacted the switch from the singular finger to the good ol' two-finger salute.
without a second thought, they put away the sleeves and the 'to be sorted' pile underneath the counter to join its unsorted brethren at her silent instruction. they let their hands drag along the wood until they reached the aged cassette player. "you know, i've never thought that someone could be so genuine in their love of the kazoo." though nothing showed on saffy's face, riot couldn't help but let his pain shine through. eyes squinting in pain as they stuck a finger in their ear. "must be nice to be able to turn your ears off after a day listening to this shite while the rest of us 'ave to suffer."
their signature wicked grin made an appearance as they teased their friend -- grabbing the sharpie right before it rolled off the countertop. "i'll be 'appy to subject myself to whatever 'orrors lie within." he haphazardly stuck one of his ringed hands into the box, immediately overpowering the sound coming from the cassette player with the sweet music of a bunch of plastic colliding with a bunch of other plastic. once he finally felt the bottom, his fingers latched onto a handful of tapes like a claw from a claw machine and plopped them onto the counter.
"right so," they leaned over each tape as they read aloud, "here we have 'the quarrymen's quarry' by the long knight, one called 'downward spiral' by acid cheetah, 'to my one and only' from robbie miller, pool bloke, we can assume how that went, and finally..." he let his hand snatch up the last tape. "we have 'daryl and martha's 70's baby mix'. we HAVE to listen to this one next."
saffy’s mouth softened, a minute twitch of their jaw the sole acknowledgment of the plastic cascade clattering across the wood. with a fluid, unhurried sweep of an arm, they intercepted a stray shell a fraction of an inch before it plunged onto the floorboards below. "acid cheetah. wicked," saffy echoed, their low tenor dropping an octave as they scooped up the hand labeled tape and turned it over to inspect the smudged ballpoint pen on the spine. "it's either a disaster or the best synth pop demo to hit this county since nineteen eighty four. zero middle ground."
they sank against the edge of the counter, letting their eyes drift toward the glass front where the pale morning light roasted suspended specks of dust. through it all, the recorder kept churning out its surreal, screeching kazoo solo, but saffy remained entirely unbothered. years spent breathing the air inside spin cycle had trained them to treat auditory chaos like a gentle rain; simply part of the daily backdrop in a sanctuary dedicated to forgotten sound. saffy extended a hand toward the tape riot had highlighted, their fingers hovering over daryl and martha's 70's baby mix. a full body shudder passed through their shoulders at the label, instantly followed by a sudden snort of laughter that completely shattered their drowsy composure.
"daryl and martha skip to the front of the line," saffy announced, driving a thumbnail into the tascam’s eject key. the plastic hatch sprang open with a crisp, mechanical pop, choking off the kazoo in mid note. saffy plucked the old tape from the deck, sent it sailing into the bargain bin, and retrieved the new artifact from riot.
"if martha loaded this with cheesy seventies yacht rock, we’re marking it up to ten bucks and putting it on the front display. the locals love a good divorce soundtrack." they slotted the tape inside, pressed the plastic door shut, and leaned their elbows on the glass, waiting for the magnetic tape to start spinning.
the tenderness this girl she had just met showed her in this moment was almost enough to move charlotte to tears. it shocked her how much she understood in such a small amount of time. she had to quickly avert her gaze to collect herself. "thank you for saying that. i currently feel like i have no idea what i'm doing."
her eyes settled on the way esme fidgeted with her hands. the telltale sign of anyone feeling a bit exposed. "i think planting roots can be a good idea. i think it's admirable your brother is trying." she tapped the tip of her boot onto the ground, pondering her next words carefully. "i wouldn't get so hung up on where you live. something that people tend to forget is that you can plant roots in people instead of places."
charlie cast a sidelong glance back at ellis before focusing back on the woman stalking her. "besides my sisters, he was really my biggest supporter. i fully believe if we had never met, i would have taken much longer getting into writing." she smiled fondly, "i don't think i've ever realized how firmly i've planted my feet on the ground."
the sudden drop in the writer’s voice pulled esme's gaze back. she saw the quick, deliberate dodge of charlie's eyes, the way she turned her chin away just enough to swallow down whatever lump had formed in her throat, dark strands of black hair slipping past her ear to frame her face. esme didn't push into that space. she knew how it felt to have your defenses stripped raw by an unexpected moment of softness, so she gave the woman room to catch her breath. instead, esme's focus snagged on charlie’s words about roots; not in dirt, not in cedar beams or timber frames, but in flesh and blood. in people. the thought bounced against the inside of her skull, strange and unfamiliar. for someone who measured her existence in zip codes and the temporary grip of hands on trapeze bars, the idea of tying herself to anyone other than her brother was a wild, dizzying concept. her fingers stilled on her silver ring, the metal cool against her knuckle.
"in people," esme echoed softly, the phrase rolling out like a strange currency. she watched charlie tap her boot against the dry turf. "that sounds a lot harder to pack up into a duffel bag when the season ends." she let out a quiet breath, a faint, lopsided grin tugging at her mouth as charlie admitted to finding her footing. esme took a step back toward the cedar tree, her boots brushing through the parched stalks, giving the writer her personal space back while keeping the air between them light.
"sounds to me like you know exactly what you're doing," esme said, tilting her head toward the laptop waiting on the grass. "you’ve got your supporters, you’ve got your town, and you’re standing tall. now you just have to finish telling the detective's story." she hooked her thumbs into the loops of her pants, the tension in her own shoulders finally loosening. "so, local. since you've got your feet planted so firmly in this soil...want to show me where a person get a decent meal around here?"
the sun bleached jeep gave a final, metallic sigh, its radiator pinging softly as the engine died in the driveway of the unfamiliar house. three hours in town, most spent knees deep in the back of the rig, wrestling salt crusted bins into place, and her denim was already steeped in the tang of highway grit and damp neoprene. her mouth twitched at the effort it had taken to pull this off. weeks in california for training, prepping for the trek north, had turned every call with kekoa into a comical tightrope walk. she’d mastered the quick thumb mute against roaring freeway noise, dodged time zone related questions with practiced ease, and spun paper thin excuses for the gravel in her voice when exhaustion caught up to her.
but the run up the coast had been magic. watching the scorched, golden ribbons of california dissolve into cool, looming timber felt like flipping chapters in a well loved paperback. and that first peek at pinehaven’s water; placid, glass smooth mirrors cradled by towering pines, so foreign compared to the wild, roaring swells of hawaii and the pacific. had sparked a sudden, eager flare in her ribs. different water, different rules, but ocean bred curiosity didn't care about salinity.
the screen door yielded with a faint whine, letting her slip onto a porch she’d only ever mapped out through receiver audio and factime. inside, the hallway exhaled a rich, welcoming blend of spices and warmth. ginger materialized from the shadows near the doorway, her mouth curving into a conspiratorial smirk before she tipped an invisible brim and ghosted out toward the driveway, her mission as decoy accomplished.
barefoot quiet, lenny drifted into the kitchen glow. kick was anchored against the counter, spinning some wild tale to granny lou, who was thumping a knife against a scarred cutting board. they locked eyes over kick's shoulder and lenny's grin was blinding. he was completely airborne in his delivery, hands carving wide, ridiculous arcs through the air to drive his point home. lenny closed the space between them, halting just behind him. "are you telling a story or swatting flies, keek?" she asked, her tone smooth and casual. as he whipped around, her fingers gave a tiny, cheekily wiggling wave, a slow grin taking over her face as the shock hit him square in the chest. "aloha."
elena montoya was born with salt on her skin and the ocean in her blood, raised where the pacific meets the shoreline in a blur of warm tides, loud family, and complete freedom. she grew up running wild through coastal air, her early years defined by bruised shins, the sharp tang of lime and chili, and an insatiable curiosity for everything living beneath the water. she was the kind of kid who didn't just look at the sea; she climbed into its hidden places, collecting tide pool treasures and filling notebook margins with loose sketches of marine life long before she ever knew what a career in oceanography actually was.
among those sunny years was kekoa, her constant counterpart and her first love in childhood chaos. together, they turned the coast into a kingdom of their making with endless adventures that usually ended in minor injuries and laughter. their bond was an easy balance of shared history, uncalculated loyalty, and an unspoken tenderness that made her heart ache in the gentlest way. even when he moved to pinehaven, distance and time did not diminish the bond; they always picked right back up where they left off whenever he came back to visit hawaii.
but things eventually cracked when tragedy hit kekoa's family, leaving him anchored only by his grandmother. when he packed up and moved back to pinehaven for good to step up and take care of her, it left a quiet, hollow ache in lenny's chest; a sudden shift that made her hometown feel just a little bit emptier, and marked the official end of their carefree youth. as time stretched on, the simple rhythm of youth gave way to growth.
driven by a quiet, fiercer purpose, lenny pursued higher education, immersing herself in marine science and field research. graduate school was an era of late night lab sessions, dense papers, and learning how to navigate environments that often tried to polish away her stubborn, authentic nature. but no matter how deep she got into her studies, she never lost the warmth of her roots or her refusal to fit into rigid, formal boxes.
when life called for a shift, a new chapter away from the familiar heat of home in hawaii and the weight of old routines, pinehaven was the place that drew her in. moving to the small town wasn't an escape, but an evolution. it offered a grounded space to conduct her research, set up a life on her own terms, and be in the same zip code as kick for the first time in years, whose presence provided a comforting piece of home in a brand new landscape. now, a fresh face in pinehaven, lenny plans to exist completely in her element. a blend of scientific dedication, unpretentious warmth, and an unshakeable connection to the water.
the dual screens bled a voltage heavy neon magenta across her desk mat, carving out a buzzing electric sanctuary inside the pitch black loft. just a quarter of an hour prior, ziggy had been melted into the hollow of her bunny eared gaming throne, chin wedged into her palm as her finger drummed an erratic, caffeine fueled rhythm against her cold mug. her left monitor had been staring back at her with the depressing void of system-shatter’s roster selection screen; a flat, lifeless slab of gray concrete code practically begging for a spark. the right monitor, however, belonged entirely to woo-jin, the tablet canvas a playground for whatever wizardry his stylus was about to conjure.
"he’s giving zero aura right now, jinnie," she’d whined, pressing her face so close to the glass she could see the subpixels glowing. "he looks like he’s stuck at the dmv. this guy’s supposed to be an outlaw hacker who just hotwired a military drone. he needs more attitude in the silhouette." system-shatter was her brain turned inside out, her absolute line by line baby, and woo-jin was the single human being she’d granted root access to the build. because as much as she hated admitting anyone was necessary, his visual genius operated in a completely different dimension from her own.
and then the magic hit. as soon as woo-jin started creating, her eyes lit up. "yes. yes. right there. hold that." she slammed her hands onto her mechanical keyboard, keycaps clacking in a noisy outburst as her fingers flew across the shortcuts, mapping jinnie’s fresh sketch straight into the engine’s temporary sprite slot. she hit compile, triggering the hover animation. the 2d outline snapped to life. "look at that," she grinned, throwing a bag of freeze dried fruit at his shoulder. "we actually have a playable roster draft. your keyframes are ridiculous, dude. three hours ago he looked like a stick figure i drew in ms paint. we are cooking."
the brown paper wrapper rustled soft against jax’s palm as he knocked a quick three count on the front door. held in his left hand was a cloud of pink peonies and baby’s breath; a bright, sprawling contrast to the stiff, geometric white orchids that auto delivered to his mother’s estate on the first of every month. sending those orchids meant checking off his filial obligation from a safe distance, sparing him the usual thirty minute cross examination about his career choices or his sudden marriage. but for the women he actually adored; his wife, his sister, and his grandmother, the blooms were never an afterthought. he kept a trusted florist overseas on retainer to hand deliver fresh, fragrant lilies to his grandmother’s door every single week without fail. and for flora and verity, he browsed the stalls himself, picking out every stem by hand.
jax didn't bother waiting long; the knocks were purely a courtesy, a fair warning before he slid her spare key into the deadbolt and pushed his way inside. "vee?" he called out, his voice echoing into the foyer. the moment she stepped into view, looking every bit the poised copeland heiress, jax completely bypassed formal greetings. he closed the distance in two broad strides, looping his free arm around her shoulders to haul her flush against his chest. leaning down, he pressed a warm, lingering kiss right into the center of her parted hair, holding her there until he felt that familiar, telltale drop in her shoulders as the stiffness bled out of her frame.
"for you," jax murmured, extending the pink bundle into her hands. "freshly cut." it was their unspoken rhythm; flora got the deep, velvety red roses, and verity got the peonies. simple, consistent, and entirely theirs. he tossed his truck keys onto her sleek entryway table with a metallic clatter and kicked his boots off by the door, instantly making himself at home. "so," he said, turning back to her with an easy grin, "what are we thinking for lunch?"
the air inside mcnasty’s tasted like stale draft beer, fried grease, and the unmistakable musk of pinehaven on a wet friday night. sticky vinyl booths groaned under the crowd, but ginger stood center stage, completely in her own world under the buzzing sign. usually, her karaoke repertoire stayed strictly within the realm of spunky nineties pop punk or some chaotic duet with kick. tonight, though, a different kind of fever had taken hold. she gripped the scuffed cordless microphone with both hands as the sweeping synth strings swelled through the pub's rattled speakers. ginger leaned back, closed her eyes, and threw her arms open wide as she pitched her voice into the soaring opening line. "out on the winding, windy moors, we'd roll and fall in green..."
she didn't have a record label voice by any stretch of the imagination, and it was nowhere close to harun's soaring, flawless vocal range. but it was honest, modest, and distinctly local bar material. to ginger, though, karaoke wasn't ever really about being good; it was about being bold enough to stand up there and own every single second of it. what she lacked in technical perfection, she made up for with an unabashed stage presence that made it impossible to look away. when the iconic chorus arrived, she flipped expertly into a piercing falsetto, eyes wide and theatrical, wavering on the high notes just enough to keep it charmingly unhinged.
"heathcliff, it's me, i'm cathy, i've come home, i'm so cold, let me in your window..." she tiptoed across the small wooden platform, dramatic red lips moving in exaggerated sync with the melodramatic words, catching the flickering stage lights as she spun in a grand circle. by the time the final fade out instrumental echoed through the room, she was breathless, striking a final frozen pose like a tragic victorian ghost.
the applause erupted, a mix of genuine delight and affectionate laughter from the regulars. ginger dropped her pose, flashed a satisfied grin, and hopped off the edge of the stage, her boots hitting the floor with a thud. she strutted up to the nearest person leaning against the bar rail, fanning her face with a damp coaster as she gestured toward the empty microphone stand behind her. "alright, lay it on me," she panted, tossing her head back with a triumphant grin. "on a scale of tone deaf to nailed it, where are we landing?"
As soon as Ginger made contact with his shoulder, Harun allowed himself to stagger back. Harun wished he was hungry for something, anything that wasn't the sorrow burrowing into the pit of his stomach. He wished it was that easy, but it was impossible to compose lyrics without that special spark that made all the heartache worth while.
And it seemed that Ginger wasn't taking him seriously or as seriously as Harun believed he should be taken. His ego was bruised and it needed nurturing. How else would s siren sing his songs without the tender love and care of his band? Perhaps this was a wallowing conversation best left to Kekoa, but he often thought in mysterious ways. Harun was smart enough not to bring such nonsense to Davenia, but he should have thought about it a little harder before fishing for sympathy with Ginger.
"I'm not pouting!" Harun bemoaned. He was indeed pouting. In fact, he was pouting so much that one might think that his face would freeze in its lopsided, sad, pitiful position. Harun needed the songs in his heart to be heard, but if there were no songs there, what could he even sing? And it hurt more to think that Ginger might be right! That the people at McNasty's didn't care that much about the songs Harun needed to sing, but wanted something gritty. "I just... It's so hard, Ginger."
ginger watched him perform his little backward retreat, her hand slipping right back into the deep cavern of her coat pocket alongside a faint, dry snicker. the sheer magnitude of his internal catastrophe was almost magnificent; a grand travesty playing out inside the four cramped walls of a dusty rehearsal space. she didn't buy his adamant refusal of the pout for even a fraction of a second, not when his mouth was still drawn down toward his collarbone in that pitiful, sagging curve. yet, the muffled, fragile confession that leaked out at the very end didn't escape her notice.
"i know it is," ginger said, her tone shedding its mock cruelty to reveal a unfiltered empathy that cut right through the banter. she settled her spine back against the timber of the record cabinet, crossing her boots at the ankle as the vinyl kept spinning its warm, scratchy loop beside her shoulder. "nobody ever promised that pulling something honest out of your chest was going to feel clean or comfortable, harun. if it didn't leave a few bruises along the way, every single person on the street would be doing it."
she slanted her head, observing his miserable slump with an even balance of relentless patience and quiet solidarity. she had zero intention of feeding his towering vanity with cheap praise, his ego was already large enough to eclipse the sun on a good day, but leaving him paralyzed in his own head wasn't an option either. "dude, why are you treating this like you need to have a flawless sermon carved into stone before you even open your mouth?" she challenged, her chin pointing toward the silent microphone waiting on its chrome stand across the floor. "the spark isn't something that just sits around waiting for us to feel good. sometimes you've gotta scrape two ugly rocks together in the middle of a bad mood just to get a single ember."
as the vintage track on the platter hit a gritty, swinging tempo, ginger pushed off the cabinet and began to sway. she offered him a goofy, exaggerated shuffle, snapping her fingers in time with the fuzz laden melody and bobbing her head so hard her untidy fringe flipped wildly across her eyes. she sidestepped right into his line of sight, rolling her shoulders with a ridiculous, playful swagger to mock his stiff posture. "come on, move those limbs," she urged, breaking into a grin as she grabbed him by the sleeves of his jacket, giving him a firm, playful shake to rattle the funk right out of his skeleton. "bounce a little bit. let the noise knock the cobwebs loose, harun! you can't bleed art onto a page if you're standing there frozen like a statue in a graveyard."
jia breathed a gentle sigh of relief at temperance's reassurance. an element of understanding was precisely what the woman needed in the moment, and temperance exuded a warming sympathy. her mouth curled into a tight lipped smile that offered her friend thanks for not prying. she was happy to put her focus toward dressing the sinclairs', even if for a fleeting moment. the couple was certainly a vision, and olivia was no less brilliant -- a beautiful family that jia had come to adore.
" hm... let's see. " jia began, setting out from behind the counter to peruse the garments that the boutique currently had to offer. their newest collection was a sea of light summer; pastel tones like lavender, soft aqua and cool toned pinks. " i'd love to see penny in a pleated maxi -- but if a dress isn't desirable, perhaps some wide-legged trousers and an asymmetrical blouse. " her arms crossed over her chest, eyes narrowing as a focused expression took over her features, piecing together the proper apparel in her head. " as for olivia, she'd be a dream in a soft pink, maybe a boat neck with an open back & cape sleeves, or something of the satin floral variety. "
temperance fell into step beside jia, her motion resembling a slow leaf caught on a gentle summer draft. she observed the fashion buyer with a look of deep fondness, delighted to see the shadow on jia’s brow dissolve into the bright, sparkling waters of creation. when jia worked, it was as though a sculptor were coaxing form out of marble, and temperance took genuine joy in being present for the performance.
"oh, you envision them so brilliantly," temperance mused, her eyes following jia's hands as they navigated the colorful rack. she reached out, a single finger lightly tracing the sweeping hemline of a seafoam garment, imagining the way the movement would suit her wife. "penny in wide legged trousers would be nothing short of breathtaking. she possesses such a natural, effortless poise, like a statue brought to life. that asymmetrical line would echo her razor sharp mind quite nicely. she would feel entirely in her element, unburdened by unnecessary fluff."
she turned her gaze toward the pastel selections, a dreamy smile playing upon her lips as her mind conjured the image of their daughter. the thought of olivia in those tailored, soaring lines brought an incandescent glow to temperance’s face. "and a cape sleeve would be absolute magic on her. she walks into a room with such purpose these days, carrying the world on her shoulders with such grace, that a design like that would make her look as though she’s about to take flight. it gives her that grand presence without losing an ounce of her delicate elegance. lead on, my dear, show me where these masterpieces are hiding."
