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jule1122 · 1 year

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Malex Fic - Thanks that was fun

I decided to try the 2023 Year of the OTP Event and of course I am late on the first month. In my defense this is the longest Malex fic I’ve written. For January, I choose the mission fic prompt.

This is canon divergent fic that takes place at the same time as S1. Alex and Michael were never together in high school. Michael didn't take the blame for the murders so while the cover up still happened, Isobel believes she killed Rosa, Kate and Jasmine. She isn't married to Noah and is just starting to date him. There are reference to canon genocide and past Miluca (although it happens before Malex in this universe).

The mission is a honeypot mission where Michael is sent in to find out what Alex knows about his father. Guess who falls in love?

Title is from the Barenaked Ladies song of the same name.

Thanks that was fun on AO3

“Alex Manes is back in town,” Isobel corners Michael between the bathrooms at the Wild Pony.

“I know,” he replies with a roll of his eyes. “It was kind of hard to miss with the whole parade and all.”

“I found out he’s looking for someone to do some maintenance around his house, and you need to get the job.”

“Why? I’m not that hard up for cash.” He kind of is, but he doesn’t want to admit that to Isobel. Also, seeing Alex for the first time since graduation brought back memories of the crush he’d had on him in high school. He tried flirting a few times back then, but Alex never responded. When Alex enlisted the spring before graduation, Michael had backed off. Then everything happened with Isobel, and staging an accident to cover up the murders and helping Isobel deal with what she had done had driven any thoughts of Alex right out of his head. It wasn’t a time he wanted to remember.

“Look, we all know his father’s up to something,” Isobel reminds him.

Michael nods because Jesse Manes is suspicious as hell-his career in the Air Force which somehow never takes him out of Roswell, the strange way he speaks about the rumors surrounding the 1947 crash and the way he throws his weight around raises a lot of red flags. He’s been worse the last few years, lurking around and asking questions.

“Well, he and Alex weren’t exactly buddy-buddy during the whole planning process and parade, but there was some weird tension between them. I think Alex knows what his father’s up to, and this is our best chance to find out. You,” Isobel points to him and smiles in a way that makes Michael very nervous, “are going to our honeypot.”

“Come on, Iz, you can’t be serious,” Michael groans.

“Well, it can’t be me,” Isobel waves a hand up and down her body. “I am definitely not his type. And Max is too uptight to explore his options so that leaves you, my ruggedly handsome, bisexual brother.”

“What makes you think Alex Manes is my type?” Michael protests, grasping at straws.

“Please,” Isobel snorts. “I saw the way you stared at his ass in high school, trust me it’s only gotten better with age.”

“It’s still a bad idea. Can’t you just see what he knows,” Michael gestures to Isobel’s head. Her face falls, and he immediately feels like an dick.

“You know I don’t do that anymore,” Isobel whispers, looking away from Michael.

“I know,” Michael takes her hand and squeezes it in reassurance. Isobel used to use her powers for silly, harmless things-getting an A on paper she never turned in, making her parents forget she was grounded. But as the years went on and Max still haunted the Crashdown, hoping Liz would come visit, the guilt of sending Liz away became a heavier and heavier burden.

And finding out someone’s secrets isn’t as easy as pushing them into doing something. Isobel wouldn’t be able to just persuade them to tell her what she wants to know, she’d have to take them into the mindscape. They might not be able to lie, but she would be just as vulnerable. It’s why they agreed she would never try it on Jesse Manes.

“Last resort, okay,” Isobel squeezes his hand back before dropping it. “Let’s try it the human way first.”

“Fine, but I am warning you ahead of time this plan is doomed to failure. Alex Manes is not going to fall for me and confess all his father’s deep dark secrets.”

“You're not a nerdy teenager who doesn’t know how to flirt anymore, Michael. Everyone wants a piece of the sexy handyman in the cowboy hat. Just wear your jeans low, bend over a lot and find excuses to take off your shirt. Like this,” Isobel plucks the beer bottles from Michael’s hand and slowly rolls it across her forehead and fans herself. “Sure is hot in here,” she says in a falsely deep voice. She tilts her head back and takes a slow sip from the bottle. She lets a little beer trickle from her mouth and chases it slowly with her tongue before winking at Michael.

“Never do that again. I’m scarred for life,” Michael grabs his beer back and immediately throws it away.

“Don’t pretend you haven’t seen those same pornos. Alex will be putty in your hands. Dammit,” Isobel looks at her watch, then quickly smooths her hair and straightens her clothes. “I’ve got to run, or I’ll be late for my date.”

“Be safe,” Michael calls out as she hurries away.

Isobel blows him a kiss, “Love you, too.”

Michael sighs and shakes his head. Isobel isn’t going to let this go so he might as well get started. He walks out of the hallway to the bar and catches Maria’s eye. It’s a quiet night so it’s not long before she comes over, his favorite beer already in her hand.

“Hey, DeLuca,” he stops her before she can walk away.

She eyes him warily, and he doesn’t blame her. They had a thing a few years ago and while it didn’t end badly, they never quite found their footing with each other-settling for less than friends but more than exes.

“Guerin,” she takes a step back in his direction.

“You’re still friends with Alex Manes, right,” he asks as casually as he can.

“Why,” Maria crosses her arms and stares at him.

“Stop trying to read me, it’s nothing bad,” he gives his best innocent smile. “I heard he was looking for someone to do some work around his house, and I was hoping you’d put in a good word for me.”

“Give me one good reason.”

He drops the innocent act, knowing he can be honest with Maria about this even if he wasn’t with Isobel. “Business has been slow at Sanders so I could really use the money. You know I’ll do a good job.”

“Fine,” she softens her stance slightly. “But,” she leans across the bar so they are face to face, “if you screw him over, I’ll mount your balls above the bar for everyone to see.”

“Fair,” Michael swallows audibly knowing it’s not an idle threat.

“He’ll be here tomorrow night so come early because he’ll leave before it gets crowded. I’ll let him know you’re interested.”

“Thanks, Maria, really,” Michael stands up to leave.

“Don’t make me regret this, Guerin,” Maria turns to another customer before he can respond.

Michael waits until he catches her eye, nodding and tipping his hat, before heading out, heart heavy. He hopes whatever he gets from Alex is worth it because if this goes the way he thinks it will, Maria will never speak to him again.

Michael shows up at the Pony the next night in his cleanest jeans and with his shirt buttoned most of the way up. He keeps the hat because this isn’t actually a job interview. Alex Manes is easy to spot-he’s sitting at a table not far from the bar, turning a beer bottle in his hands.

He’s alone, and Michael takes a deep breath before approaching him. “Manes,” he says, stopping to stand in front of the table.

Alex looks up from the bottle. “Guerin,” he replies, almost a question.

Michael hadn’t really thought this through. It’s not like they were friends, he doesn’t have a real reason to approach Alex. Not sure what to say, he just stands there awkwardly watching Alex.

Alex’s mouth twists in annoyance. “If you’re going to thank me for my service, don’t.”

“Fuck, no,” Michael can’t hold back a brief laugh. That’s the last thing he would ever do.

Instead of being offended, Alex seems to relax a bit at Michael’s reaction. “So what do you want?”

Alex’s eyes flick up and down as he looks Michael over, and maybe Isobel knew what she was talking about when she picked Michael to be the honeypot. He’s tempted to look back, flirt just enough to get Alex to follow him into the bathroom, but that won’t accomplish anything except scratching an itch.

Michael takes a step back and squares his shoulders. “Heard you were looking for a handyman. Thought I’d throw my hat in the ring, metaphorically of course.” Michael runs his hand along the rim of his hat and winks at Alex. A little flirting can’t hurt.

Alex looks toward the bar where Maria is watching them. “Maria told me you’ve done some of the repairs at the bar. Said you do good work.”

Michael shrugs and sends Maria a little wave. He wasn’t sure she would follow through on recommending him to Alex. Maria rolls her eyes at Michael and goes back to drying glasses.

“Give me your email,” Alex pulls Michael’s attention back. “I’ll send you the list of what I need done, and you can give me a quote.”

Michael gives Alex his information then excuses himself, figuring it’s best not to push just yet. He heads to the bar for his own drink. Maria’s in the back so he chats with the bartender for a while, and when he looks back Alex is gone.

The email is waiting in his inbox when he gets up the next morning. It looks like Alex sent it around 3 am so he’s either way more of a partier than Michael thought or an insomniac. He reads over the list between cars at Sanders. He can easily do everything on the list, and there is enough there to keep him busy for a good month. If Michael bid the way he wanted to, the job would be nice money, enough to carry him through the winter.

But the goal isn’t to make money, it’s to make sure Alex hires him so he sends it back with a ridiculously low price. It will cover materials, barely, but he won’t make any money and if anything goes wrong, he might end up in the red when it’s all done.

Michael waits until the end of the day to check his email. Alex’s response isn’t at all what he was expecting.

“I don’t need you pity. I can afford to pay for the work. Send me a real quote so you are paid fairly instead of losing money. If you can’t do that, I’m hiring Simmons and Sons.”

Michael makes a face. Simmons and Sons are complete assholes who overcharge for substandard work. But they’re big names in Roswell so they get all the city contracts and no one is willing to complain about them. Old man Simmons was good friends with Jim Valenti, is still close with the mayor, the Longs and probably Alex’s dad. He never hesitates to abuse those connections. His sons are a little older than Michael, and he remembers how Jim Valenti always looked the other way when they were caught speeding through town drunk or selling weed. Michelle’s not as soft, but the major still bails them out any trouble they find themselves in. Even if Michael didn’t have an ulterior motive, he wouldn’t want to subject Alex to them.

It doesn't take long to come up with a realistic bid, one that will give him some financial breathing room as well as getting him closer to Alex. Before he calls it a night Alex accepts his bid. He reluctantly texts Isobel to let her know their plan is in motion. He already feels guilty for taking advantage of Alex like this, but he knows their safety has to be his priority. They can’t protect themselves if they don’t know how much of a threat Jesse Mane-and possibly his son-are.

Michael and Alex spend the next few days emailing back and forth to work out the details. Alex will provide any materials related to the accessibility upgrades, and Michael will purchase everything else. Alex sends him several documents outlining exactly what needs to be done in terms of accessibility-primarily to the bathrooms and entryways. Alex also lets him know what tools he has at the house so Michael knows what he needs to bring with him. They also decide on a work schedule-Michael will work a few evenings a week once he’s done at the junkyard and Saturday afternoons. Although Alex assures him he can change that if needed since Alex works from home.

A few days before he is planning to start, the money needed for the initial supplies is deposited into his back account. Michael knows Iz would be pissed if she knew Alex had his bank account information, but it’s not like he uses an “extraterrestrials only” branch of Roswell’s First Federated Credit Union. He notices Alex also pays him the first half of his labor charges which is ahead of the schedule they set up.

Michael’s nervous when he finally knocks on Alex’s door. He lives in a quiet neighborhood, not as fancy as the Evans, but nicer than anywhere Michael can imagine ending up. Alex opens the door and waves him in. He doesn’t say much beyond an initial hello, and Michael finds himself standing awkwardly in the living room when Alex sits back down in front of a laptop.

“So I thought I’d start in the second bath, get that up and running before I start the demo on the master,” Michael says, hoping for some directions from Alex as to what he wants.

“That’s fine,” Alex looks up with a frown, like he’s surprised Michael is asking. “Whatever you think is best. The bars are in the bathroom if that’s what you want to do first.”

“Well since your new shower installation isn’t here yet, and it will probably take a few weeks to get the master bath done once I start on it, I thought you’d appreciate having a functionally accessible bathroom in the meantime.”

“Sure,” Alex shrugged before turning his attention to the computer. “Whatever you think.”

“Whatever I think,” Michael mumbles under his breath as he makes his way to the bathroom. He’s more used to people micromanaging him, and following him around to make sure he doesn’t steal anything rather than basically telling him to do what he wants. For some reason, he feels dismissed rather than trusted.

It takes a few hours to get the bars mounted. The ones for the toilet are easy, but since this is a small bathroom, the shower is a small corner unit and getting the grab bars in the recommended formation proves to be a bit of a challenge.

When he’s done, he finds Alex right where he left him. “Hey, you want to check out the bathroom before I go?”

“Is something wrong?” Alex doesn’t look up from what he’s typing.

“No,” Michael replies, bristling slightly. “I followed the schematics you gave me, but I want to make sure the height and spacing work for you before I go. That way I can adjust it now if you need me to.”

When Alex gets up, Michael notices he’s using a metal crutch that fits near his elbow. It’s the first physical reminder he’s seen that there’s a reason Alex needs grab bars in his bathroom. Alex walks away without a word. Michael doesn’t follow him, he thinks they would both be uncomfortable watching Alex check the placement of the bars.

Michael knows he made the right call when Alex comes back and thanks him without meeting his eyes. “Everything’s perfect, you did a good job.”

“I aim to please,” Michael tips his hat just to make Alex relax and smile. “See you tomorrow.” When Alex nods, he gives a quick wave and heads out.

He’s almost back to the airstream when Isobel calls.

“Wel, how did it go?” she asks impatiently.

“He hasn’t fired me yet”

“Michael be serious,” she scolds him. “Did you find anything out?”

“Iz, I was only there for a few hours. Did you think he would confess his father’s a serial killer because I unclogged his drain?”

“A girl can dream,” Isobel sighs. “Just be charming or at least sexy. Pants too tight, shirt unbuttoned or, even better, shirt off.”

“Goodbye, Isobel,” Michael hangs up the phone before she can say anything else.

Alex doesn’t exactly give him a chance to show off. He doesn’t even open the door for Michael the next day, just yells for him to come in. He never budges from his computer the whole time Michael is there, and gives him an absent minded thanks when Michael leaves.

Michael spends Saturday working in the kitchen replacing the oven and range top. It’s not difficult work, but it’s time consuming and awkward. Once he’s wrangled the oven into place and hooked it up, he heads to the garage to bring in the new range top.

“You want a beer?” Alex asks when he comes back into the kitchen.

“Uh, sure,” Michael tries not to act surprised. He opens the fridge, gets a beer for himself and hands Alex one as well.

“Thanks,” Alex accepts the bottle with a small smile. “Maria told me to be nice to you.”

Michael laughs because that sounds like Maria. “So you and Maria?” he asks, hoping to get Alex talking.

Alex raises a brow at him, “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“She told you about me?” Michael preens a little. “We had a good thing for a while, then we didn’t. No harm no foul, we just wanted different things.”

“What did you want?” Alex asks with a slight edge to his voice.

“Someone to come home to, a picket fence, maybe a dog or two,” Michael shrugs. “And Maria. . .”

“Maria’s too independent for that,” Alex fills in.

“Too independent, the bar and her mom need her too much for her to put that kind of energy into a relationship. Timing was off for us, but that happens.”

“And here I thought you were the love them and leave them type.”

Michael groans because some rumors insist on following him. “It’s all consensual and everyone knows the deal up front. There’s nothing wrong with two adults having a good time together. Just because I’m looking for my soulmate doesn’t mean I can’t have fun along the way.”

“Soulmate, seriously,” Alex snorts.

“Yeah,” Michael can’t help being a romantic at heart. “You know the person the cosmos designed for you, the perfect fit, the one destined to be in your life. I know it’s unlikely, but I can hope. I take it you don’t believe in soulmates?”

“I’d feel sorry for anyone stuck with me,” Alex looks down at his bottle and frowns.

Michael takes a drink and tries to decide how to redirect the conversation. “What about Liz Ortecho, you still talk to her much?”

Alex shakes his head. Michael names a few other classmates, but gets the same response.

“I pretty much cut off all ties with Roswell once I left for basic,” Alex explains. “I sent Maria a few postcards, but that was it. We hadn’t really talked in years until she found out I was hurt and showed up at the rehab center. Then she basically demanded I stay in touch,” Alex smiles at the memory.

“She’s a force of nature when she wants to be,” Michael says fondly. He tosses his empty beer bottle in the recycling and decides it best to end this on a good night. “Well, I should get back to it, thanks for the beer.”

Alex nods and turns back to his computer.

The next few times he’s there, Alex offers Michael a beer before he leaves. Michael keeps the conversations light and short so he doesn’t raise Alex’s suspicions. He finds he likes talking to Alex. Once he understands Alex’s sense of humor he realizes what a sarcastic asshole he is, and Michael loves that. He’s also smart-smart enough to keep up with Michael when he goes off on a tangent. But Isobel has been bugging him about making progress so he carefully broaches the topic of Jesse Manes.

“Kind of surprised I haven’t seen your family around now that you’re back in town,” Michael says casually, not looking directly at Alex,

“My brothers are all still active military. None of them are stationed nearby,” Alex explains.

“What about your dad? He still lives in Roswell.”

“My father’s the last person you’ll ever see here,” Alex snorts. “Taking a medical discharge confirmed once and for all that I’m a coward and not worth his time.”

“I’m sorry,” it comes out almost like a question because Alex doesn’t seem at all bothered.

“I’m not,” Alex dismissed his concern. “I would be happy to never see him again.”

Michael fiddles with his beer bottle, not sure where to go from there. He remembers Jesse acting like a proud father at the parade and what Isobel said about their being tension between him and Alex. Maybe all that pride was an act.

“Sorry,” Alex grimaces when the silence drags on. “Didn’t mean to be a downer.”

“Probably my fault,” Michael shrugs. “Isobel always says I’m terrible at conversation.”

“Isobel Evans?” Alex looks up sharply. “You’re still close with her, and Max too?”

“Yeah,” Michael rubs the back of his neck. Normally he’d make a crude joke, lean into the assumption that he’s slept with Isobel or Max or both of them. But if he wants Alex to open up to him, he’s going to have to show he trusts him. “They’re my family, or at least as close as I get to one. Not a lot of people know this, but we were found together in the desert as kids, lived in a group home together until they were adopted. Then we lost touch for a long time.”

“I’m sorry you were separated.”

“It sucked,” Michael admits. “But we found our way back to each other. And I’m glad they had a family growing up, that they had it easier than I did.”

Alex nods, and Michael decides he’s had enough honesty for one night. “Anyway, now I’m the one dragging us down. It’s late so I’m going to head out. See you tomorrow.”

The next day, Michael brings a six pack in with him. Alex gives him a puzzled look when he passes him on his way to the kitchen.

“Can’t mooch off you forever,” Michael explains as he puts the beer in the fridge. “Should be cold by the time I’m done.”

He spends the next few hours working on the master bath. The shower won’t be in for a few weeks, but he needs to update the plumping and replace the tile. When he reaches a good stopping point, he grabs two beers and joins Alex at the table. Michael rocks back in his chair while Alex shuts down his lap top.

“So if your not here for your family,”

“Definitely not,” Alex interjects.

“Why did you come back?”

“What do you mean?” Alex asks.

“No one comes back to Roswell voluntarily. There has to be a reason you're here.” When Alex doesn’t respond, Michael narrows his eyes and hums. “So the first choice is usually to repair a broken relationship with a parent or sibling, but you ruled that out. How about wealthy relative you never met left you a huge inheritance on the condition you live in Roswell for a year and marry.”

Alex just shakes his head.

Michael sighs dramatically. “Then it must be for love. You found out your ex is getting married and you want to win them back. You always regretted the breakup so you’ve come to sweep them off their feet.”

Alex looks at Michael like he’s lost his mind. “I was the gay, emo kid in a cowboy town. How many exes do you think I have?” Alex holds up his hand before Michael can respond. “And if you say Kyle Valenti, you’re fired.”

“God, no,” Michael laughs. “Not that douche. Can you believe he’s a doctor?”

“Kyle always wanted to be the best at everything,” Alex says, looking a little wistful.

Michael remembers that Alex and Valenti used to be friends before Valenti became a raging dick. His chest hurts remembering how Valenti had taunted Alex at Prom, how he pushed him around at school. “You weren’t the only one,” Michael says, hoping it will be some kind of comfort. “The only queer kid in Roswell, I mean. Bisexual,” he points to himself. “And Emily Rathburn fell in love with some girl in college. They got married last year.”

“That’s nice, I guess,” Alex frowns a little. “I still felt like the only one then, still felt alone.”

Michael nods, because he gets it. Even after he found Isobel and Max, he felt alone. All three of them were aliens, but they had a place here that Michael didn’t. He was the one who longed to go home, wherever that was. “Well,” he says, deciding to change the subject. “Since you shot down all my rom com reasons for you to be in Roswell, why did you come back?”

“Had some loose ends to tie up. There’s a company nearby that hires a lot of veterans with my skill set so being here is a way to get my foot in the door.”

There’s a weight to his words that makes Michael nervous, reminds of why he’s here. But he decides not to push tonight. “Hope it works out for you,” he says as he makes his way to the door.

The next time Michael walks into Alex’s, the house is quiet. Alex isn’t at the table, his lap is closed and most of the lights are off. “Alex?” he calls. The door was unlocked so he assumes Alex is home, but Michael has never had to look for him.

“In here,” Alex calls.

Michael follows his voice to the living room where he finds Alex slumped in the corner of the couch. He looks-Michael can’t actually say he looks bad, he’s too handsome for that-but he’s pale and drawn. It’s also the first time he’s seen Alex without his prosthetic. Alex always wears jeans when Michael is here so it’s easy to forget what happened to him. But now Michael can see where the sweatpants he’s wearing are tied off-highlighting the empty space where the remainder of his right leg used to be.

“Are you ok?” Michael asks as he comes to stand in front of the couch. Up close he can see lines of tension on Alex’s face.

“Rough PT session,” Alex waves away his concern. “I’ll be fine.”

“You want a beer?” Michael asks, already walking toward the kitchen.

“Thanks, but I can’t with the meds I took.”

Michael nods even though he’s out of Alex’s line of sight. He rummages through the cupboards and doesn’t find any tea, but he does find a crumpled packet of hot chocolate. He makes it with warm milk so it will hopefully taste better than the watery versions they used to serve at school functions. When he goes back to the living room, Alex has his head tipped back against the couch and his eyes closed. Michael sets the mug down gently on the table, not wanting to disturb Alex if he’s asleep.

But Alex cracks an eye open. When he spots Michael, he picks up the mug, smiling when he smells what’s in it. “Thanks, I haven’t had hot chocolate since I was a kid.”

“Thought you could use something warm.” Michael was going to say comforting, but that sounded too personal. “I better leave you to it and get to work.”

Michael planned to work on the patio, but he’s reluctant to leave Alex alone so he decides to paint the spare room instead. Painting is quiet work and it makes the silence in the house all the more noticeable. When Michael’s working inside, he’s usually close enough to Alex that he can usually hear him typing on his laptop or at least hear the quiet music Alex always has playing in the background. He barely manages to get the primer on before he gives in and goes out to check on Alex.

He finds Alex sprawled out on the couch, sleeping. He doesn’t look particularly comfortable,and there’s a part of him that wants to carry him to bed. Instead, Michael settles for gently moving his left leg which was dangling toward the floor back on to the couch. Alex doesn’t stir or react at all to Michael’s touch, just keeps sleeping.

Michael’s debating if he should get Alex a blanket when a text from Isobel comes in. Suddenly he remembers why he’s there. It’s not to fuss over Alex, but to find out what his father is up to and if Alex is involved. With Alex as deeply asleep as he is, it’s Michael's best chance to look for evidence. He forces himself to walk away, ignoring the pang of regret he feels when he sees the mug of hot chocolate is empty.

Two hours later, Michael’s had enough. He knows what brand of underwear Alex likes, that he has surprisingly expensive taste in shower gel and his homeowner’s insurance is due in two weeks. Michael also knows how many medals and commendations he has from the Air Force, he knows Alex has exactly one picture of his mother, and if he dies, Maria DeLuca gets his pension and the rest of his assets are to be sold or liquidated and divided between four different charities.

Michael shouldn’t know any of these things, and he wishes he could erase them from his memory. He stops on his way out to put Alex’s empty mug in the dishwasher. Even though it feels wrong after what he’s just done, he covers Alex with the blanket from the armchair, whispering “sorry” before he leaves.

Guilt sits heavy in his stomach as he drives to the Wild Pony to meet Max and Isobel. “So I searched Alex Manes house tonight,” he begins as soon as they sit down.

“Breaking and entering,” Max says in an angry whisper. “Are you kidding me.”

“I was there to work on his house so no breaking involved.” Michael throws his hands up, not sure why Max is questioning him.

He sees Max wince and knows Isobel probably kicked him under the table.

“Sorry,” Max says sheepishly. “I forgot about that.”

“Seriously?” Michael rolls his eyes. “No wonder Iz picked me.”

“Boys, enough,” Isobel scolds them before turning to Michael. “What did you find?”

“Not a damn thing,” Michael replied. He doesn’t tell them about the replica of Roswell’s gazebo packed away carefully in a box he found on the top shelf of Alex’s closet or the journals filled with song lyrics he couldn’t bring himself to read. “Alex keeps saying he and Jesse hate each other, and I guess it’s true. There isn’t a single thing in the house that mentions him or anything about aliens either.”

“He’s not going to leave that kind of stuff out in the open. Are you sure you looked hard enough?” Isobel questions.

“Personal lockpick, remember,” Michael points to his head. “I went through every drawer, every safe, the garage and his car. Nothing,” he repeats.

“So now what?” Isobel slumps back against the booth.

“I finish the job, make some money and you find some other way to figure out what Jesse Manes is up to.”

“So helpful, Michael,” Isobel complains.

“Hey, I did my part. It’s not my fault Alex doesn't know anything,” Michael protests. Part of him feels like the words are untrue, just because it looks like Alex isn’t involved, he could still know something. But everything he did tonight feels like a betrayal, and he’s ready to be done.

They argue a bit longer about the best way to spy on Jesse Manes without getting caught. By the time Michael leaves, they still haven’t come up with any real options.

A little before noon the next day, Michael yells to Sanders that he is taking a break. He swings by the Crashdown before making his way to Alex’s house. Michael knocks on the door, something he hasn’t done in weeks, but Alex isn’t expecting him.

When Alex opens the door, he thrusts the bag at him. “I brought you lunch,” he explains. “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Alex ducks his head. “Come in.”

Michael follows him into the house. Alex sets the bag on the table before turning back to Michael. “Thanks.” He steps closer, frames Michael’s face with his hands and kisses him softly. “Thank you for lunch and last night. It’s been a long time since someone took care of me.” When Michael doesn’t pull away, he kisses him again, deeper this time, tongue teasing Michael’s mouth open.

The look in Alex’s eyes when they pull apart fills Michael with equal parts hope and guilt so he does his best to deflect. “You thank all your friends,” he almost says ‘employees’ but he knows that wouldn’t be accurate when talking about what they are doing now, “this way?”

“Only the ones I want to fuck,” Alex says with a wicked smile.

“That what we’re doing here, Alex?” Michael asks.

“I’m not your soulmate, Michael. I know the deal. Just two adults having fun, right.”

It’s less than Michael wants, but more than he deserves so he’ll take it. Michael surges forward, taking control of the kiss and backing Alex up against the wall. Once he has Alex pinned, Michael drops to his knees. He makes quick work of Alex’s pants, pushing them down to mid thigh.

Alex is already starting to get hard, and Michael smiles, licking his lips in anticipation. He grabs Alex’s ass to pull him closer. “God, your ass,” he groans when his fingers dig into the muscles there. Michael is tempted to spin Alex around, worship his ass with his eyes and mouth, but Alex’s dick is right here.

Michael takes him in his mouth, loving the way Alex immediately starts to get harder. He doesn’t bother with finesse, just takes Alex as deep as he can. It’s sloppy and fast and Michael loves it, not bothering to wipe away the mix of spit and precome that slips out of his mouth. Alex buries his hands in Michael’s hair, tugging just hard enough to sting as he thrusts into Michael’s mouth.

When Michael strokes his fingers down the crease of Alex’s ass, he comes with a muffled shout. His fingers tighten even more in Michael’s hair, and Michael’s cock throbs in response. He lets Alex’s cock slide out of his mouth. Michael rocks back on his heels and licks Alex clean until Alex whimpers and pushes his head away. Before he stands, he pulls Alex’s pants back up, because no one likes to stand around with their pants down once they’re soft and spent, but doesn’t bother to fasten them.

Alex reaches for him, pressing his thumb against Michael’s swollen lips. When his cock brushes against Alex’s leg, he can’t help but whine.

“I can’t” Alex gestures between the floor and his leg.

“Don’t care,” Michael mumbles. “Your hand is more than enough.”

Alex looks at him for a moment before nodding. He licks his palm while holding Michael’s gaze then sucks each finger slowly into his mouth. It’s a little mean and a lot sexy, and Michael knows he’s screwed in more ways than one.

Michael has his pants down before Alex gets to his thumb. Alex’s hand is cool in contrast to the heated skin of his dick, and he moans loudly when Alex wraps his hand around him. He doesn’t tease, and Michael’s grateful as Alex jerks him off, strokes sure and steady. It’s over quicker than he’d like, but Alex doesn’t seem to mind, kissing him deeply before he’s even caught his breath.

Michael licks the come off Alex’s palm, repeating Alex’s earlier action. Alex’s eye’s darken, and Michael can’t help preening a little under the intensity of his attention. “I should probably get back before Sanders starts to miss me,’ Michael says reluctantly, cleaning himself up as best he can with his shirttails before refastening his pants.

Alex doesn’t respond, just slumps against the wall and watches him leave.

“See you tomorrow,” Michael calls on his way out, getting a lazy wave from Alex in response.

Michael’s not sure what to expect when he shows up the next day. Alex gives him a quiet “hey” when he walks by, but never looks up from his laptop screen. Michael tips his hat in acknowledgement and heads straight to the patio.

Maybe he wasn’t expecting Alex to greet him with a kiss, but he was hoping to get some indication from Alex as to where they stand. If that was it, if Alex just wants to pretend nothing happened, Michael won’t be the one to bring it up.

He spends the next few hours outside, taking his frustration and confusion out on the last of the concrete that needs torn out. The work is physical enough to keep him focused so can’t think about how Alex felt in his mouth and how much he wants to feel that again and again.

The sun has set by the time he’s done, and once he stops working the night air makes him shiver when it hits him. He heads into the house-sweaty, dirty and exhausted. He hopes to get out without attracting Alex’s attention. All Michael wants to do is go home, shower and sleep. He can’t face awkward small talk with Alex over beers tonight.

He’s washing his hands at the sink in the kitchen when Alex comes up behind him. Michael feels Alex breath on his neck before his lips find the spot beneath his ear. Michael shudders and tries to shrug Alex away. “I’m sweaty and gross,” he explains.

“Don’t care,” Alex says as he continues licks a line along the side of Michael’s neck. “I like the way you smell. Like the ground after it rains. It’s sexy.”

“You think so?” Michael turns in Alex’s arms, shaking his hands dry as best he can.

Alex takes his hat off and sets it on the counter. He twirls one of the curls he freed on his finger and tugs Michael closer. “Let me show you.”

He leads Michael into the living room, pushing him gently onto the couch. Alex shoves Michael’s shirt up to his armpits, leaving Michael to struggle out of it while he nuzzles and mouths at Michael’s chest. It’s all teeth and tongue, and Michael’s hips buck up when Alex bites one of his nipples.

“Pants,” Alex demands.

Michael kicks his shoes off and tries to concentrate, but Alex is licking and sucking along his collarbone and that’s all he can focus on. He gets as far as unbuckling his belt before Alex takes over, pulling his pants off and tossing them aside.

As Alex makes his way down his body, Michael spreads his legs as wide as he can, dropping one leg off the couch, to give Alex more room. Michael sighs in anticipation when Alex pushes him further up the couch and settles between his legs.

Alex rests his head on Michael’s thigh, pressing his face into the crease of his groin. For a moment he just stays there, breathing into Michael’s skin. Then he turns his attention to Michael’s balls, licking around them and sucking on them while one his hands plays with the wiry curls above Michael’s dick.

“Come on, man,” Michael pleads.

Alex looks up and smiles. “You want something?”

“Your mouth on my dick would be ideal right now.”

Alex shrugs like it’s no big deal then sucks Michael down almost to the root. Michael can’t help but thrust up, harder than he means to. But Alex doesn’t hold him still, just rides it out. Then he slides his hand under Michael’s ass, encouraging him to set the pace.

Michael likes to think he gives a good blowjob, but Alex is on another level. Once again it's over quicker than he’s like it to be. But once he’s done, he barely gets a hand on Alex’s dick before Alex is coming all over his stomach so Michael calls it even.

Alex watches from the couch while Michael gathers his clothes. His jeans are already pulled up and zipped although the button is undone, and Michael still hasn’t found his own pants. “I really need to get you naked,” he says without thinking.

“Next time,” Alex answers with a smirk.

His hand is on the door when Alex calls him back.

“Hey, you forgot this,” he walks out of the kitchen holding Michael’s hat. When he gets to Michael, he plops it on his head before kissing him. Before Michael can respond, he reaches around Michael to open the door and nudges him out.

They settle into a routine after that. Michael shows and does whatever work he has scheduled for the day, and then they fuck. It’s been a long time since Michael had sex with the same person more than once, and he forgot how fun it can be. They get off grinding against each other on the couch like teenagers one night, and the next day Michael jerks Alex off while fucking his thighs. There’s an enthusiastic, but perhaps ill advised round of sixty-nine in Alex’s bed. Somehow Michael almost gets hit in the head by Alex’s prosthetic, but when he comes seeing stars, it’s from Alex’s mouth not a concussion so he’s not complaining.

Michael knows they have an expiration date. There’s not much left to do at the house, and once he doesn’t have an excuse to be at Alex’s house, they’ll go their separate ways. Alex has given no indication he’d make an effort to see Michael and considering Michael, Max and Isobel are still trying to figure out what Alex’s father is up to, ending this before that happens is a good idea.

Still coming home, smiling and satisfied after Alex fucked him against the kitchen table, he’s unprepared for Isobel to blow the whole thing up. She’s pacing outside his airstream when he pulls up.

“Liz Ortecho is back in town,” she says as soon as he’s out of the truck and close enough to hear her.

It’s an eerily familiar way to start a conversion, but he’s pretty sure she isn’t going to ask him to honeypot Liz Ortecho. “So,” he replies.

“Max was with her at the Crashdown last week when Wyatt Long and his pals shot it up. They hit Liz, and Max saved her.”

“He what!” Michael shouts. “Last week? Why am I just finding out now?”

“He just told me.”

“I assume she knows.”

“Kind of hard to hide the sparkly, glowing handprint.” Isobel holds up her own hand as if Michael doesn’t know what she means.

“That’s just great,” Michael throws up his hands. “All these years of telling us to be careful, and as soon as Liz waltzes back into town, Max throws it all away.”

“It’s worse than that,” Isobel winces.

“He didn’t tell her about Rosa, did he?” Now Michael is pacing. “Wouldn’t that be the icing on the fucking cake. After everything we did to protect you, Max tells Liz not only did we kill her sister, we framed her for Kate and Jasmine’s deaths.”

“No, he didn’t tell her about that,” Isobel rushes to assure him. “But the reason he finally told me about Liz is that Jesse Manes showed up at the station today. He was asking the Sheriff about where Jim Valenti’s old files were stored. Said he needed them to clear up some Air Force case.”

“Shit,” Michael swears.

“I followed him from the station, and he met up with Kyle Valenti. I couldn’t hear everything they were saying, but I definitely heard ‘handprint’ and ‘Alex.’”

“You don’t know,” Michael starts.

“Alex knows something, Michael. Something big or at least more than we know. I have to find out what it is,” Isobel squares her shoulders.

“No,” Michael objects too fast. “I’ll get him to tell me. You don’t need to get into his head.”

Isobel narrows her eyes and stares at him. “Oh my god, you slept with him.”

“Wasn’t that kind of the point,” Michael says defensively.

“Not now, not after you said he was a dead end. If you’re sleeping with him now,” Isobel cocks her head. “Oh, Michael, you’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

Michael shuffles his feet and looks away. “Doesn’t matter. It’s over as soon as I finish his house so we might as well get something out of it.”

“It does matter,” Isobel looks at him with something too close to pity. “You don’t have to do this. If there’s a chance for you and Alex,”

“There isn’t,” he cuts her off. “And even if there were, this is more important. Protecting our secret, protecting our family is always going to be the first priority. I won’t risk that for Alex Manes, no matter how good the sex is.”

“So the sex is good, huh,” Isobel teases, willingly going along with his need to change the topic from his impending broken heart..

“It’s fucking epic,” Michael gloats just a bit.

“I’m sorry you have to do this, but you’re not alone.” Isobel stands up straighter. “I’m going to cozy up to Kyle Valenti, see if I can figure out what he knows.”

“Eww,” Michael makes a face. “What about the lawyer you’ve been seeing?”

“No real sparks there. I’ll just throw the lawyer over for a doctor. Mom will still be thrilled.”

“Just promise me you’ll be careful,” Michael says, resigned to Isobel doing what she wants.

“I will,” she promises, giving him a hug before leaving.

The next time Michael is at Alex’s he finishes the shower, the last of the renovations to the master bath.. It’s good work, something to be proud of. It’s also the last big project he has at the house. There’s a few days of work left in finishing up the patio, but that’s it. Time is ticking on both his time with Alex and his opportunity to get answers.

Once the bathroom’s clean, he heads to the kitchen to find Alex. “Shower’s done. You should try it out,” he suggests.

“You going to join me?” Alex asks as he stands up from the table.

“Thought you liked me all sweaty?” Michael asks.

“I do,” Alex looks him up and down, leering just a bit. “Just don’t leave, ok?” he reaches out and grips Michael’s wrist.

“I won’t,” Michael promises. Then to change the mood, he adds with a wink, “Want to see how much you enjoy all my hard work.”

Alex rolls his eyes, but lets go of Michael and disappears into the bedroom. Once he hears the water running, he strips and waits for Alex in his bed. When Alex comes out of the bathroom, he looks like one of Michael’s fantasies come to life. Steam billows around him, his skin is flushed and slightly damp, his hair slicked back from his forehead.

Once he makes his way to the bed, Alex sets his crutches aside and kisses Michael. “The shower head is a little fancier than I remember.”

“Thought you deserved an upgrade,” Michael shrugs. “You like it?”

“The massage setting was amazing,” Alex tells him, stretching out next to him and kissing his neck.

“I may have also adjusted your water pressure,” Michael admits.

“Thank you,” Alex whispers into his skin. “I think you deserve a reward.”

Michael’s not going to pass that up so he thinks about what he wants. “Turn over for me,” he finally tells Alex.

Alex looks up at Michael and studies his face, trying to determine how serious he is. When Michael holds his gaze, he smiles and turns over.

Once Alex is on his stomach, Michael moves to sit between his legs and pushes a pillow under his hips. He takes a moment to just look because Alex’s ass is as magnificent as he always thought it would be. He settles into a more comfortable position and parts Alex’s cheeks. “Can I?” he asks, making sure his breath hits Alex’s hole so Alex knows what he wants.

“Please,” Alex replies, already shifting to get closer to Michael.

Michael doesn’t hesitate, just presses his tongue against Alex’s hole. When Alex shudders and moans, he licks a stripe along the crease of his ass before returning to push inside him. They’ve never done this before, and Michael wishes they had, wishes they’d done this everyday because Alex loves it.

Alex is never still, he alternates between grinding against the pillow and pushing his ass closer to Michael’s face. And the noises he makes are indescribable.

“God, you were made for this,” Michael says in awe when he takes a break.

Alex whines at the loss of his tongue, and Michael gives his ass a playful smack before diving back in. Michael drags it out as long as he can, but sooner than he’d like Alex is coming into his own fist with Michael’s tongue buried as deep as he can get it in Alex’s hole.

It’s tempting when Alex’s is spent, sprawled face down on the mattress to fuck him right then while he’s still slick and open. But he wants to take his time, wants to make Alex come again so he eases the pillow from under Alex’s hips and tosses it on the floor before urging Alex to turn over.

Alex stretches and gives Michael a blissed out smile before reaching lazily towards Michael’s cock. “Want some help with that?”

“Not yet,” Michael swats his hand away because if Alex touches him it will be over before it starts. “Going to get you hard again first.”

“Ambitious,” Alex teases.

“Just watch me,” Michael promises, then proceeds to devote himself to Alex’s pleasure. He uses everything he’s learned about Alex’s body over the last few weeks-the places he likes to be kissed and stroked, the places he wants Michael to use his teeth and press deep into his skin. Michael knows how to make Alex bite his lip and shiver, how to make him arch his back and buck his hips. He makes him moan and curse, plead and demand, and that’s just the beginning.

When Alex is hard and weeping again, he uses his fingers to stretch him, getting him more open then he already was. He ignores Alex’s insistence that he’s ready as long as he can and when Michael finally pushes inside, it’s overwhelming.

Michael fucks him slowly, almost slower than he can stand. But it’s worth it to watch Alex come apart beneath him, to watch the sweat bead on his body, to watch him become more restless the closer he gets until he grabs his own dick and strokes himself to orgasm in time with Michael’s thrusts.

Watching Alex, feeling him tighten around him, pushes Michael over the edge. His own release washes over him, his rhythm stutters until he finally stills inside Alex. Michael collapses next to Alex on the bed, pulling out of him reluctantly. Alex gives him a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss before closing his eyes.

By the time Michael gets back from the bathroom with a washcloth, Alex is asleep. He cleans him gently before returning to bed. It’s tempting to fall asleep as well, but Michael doesn’t want to waste the time he has left with Alex. He settles close to him and watches him, pretending while he can that this is something he can have.

When Alex starts to stir, Michael watches the way his eyes flutter before finally opening. He turns toward Michael smiling when he sees him still there. “It’s nice waking up to you,” he says in a way that lets Michael know he isn’t quite awake enough to filter what he says.

Michael’s heart shatters because he knows this is the time to ask. He brushes the hair off Alex’s forehead and kisses him softly before going in for the kill. “If you hate your father so much, why did you follow in his footsteps?” Michael aims for casual and misses badly.

“Is that what you think I did?” Alex laughs harshly and pushes the heels of hands into his eyes. Then he turns to face Michael, all the softness, all the sleepy haziness is gone from his eyes. “My father has secrets, Michael, dangerous ones. Joining the Air Force was the best way to find out what they were.”

Michael makes a noise of inquiry, hoping Alex will keep talking.

“Being a legacy recruit in the Air Force, especially with a family like mine, opens doors. People talk, around you, to you, assuming you joined for the same reason they did, to carry on your family’s legacy. I took advantage of every opportunity the Air Force gave me, for the exact opposite reason, to destroy my family’s legacy.”

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Some of it, most of it. Got closer enough for this,” Alex gestures at his leg.

Michael stiffens at the insinuation. “You think your father,” he can’t even finish the thought.

“I can’t prove it. Yet,” Alex amends. “Friendly fire happens, more often than people think, but this wasn’t a normal accident. And he did a piss poor job at hiding how disappointed he was that I survived.”

“Jesus,” Michael swears under his breath. If Jesse Manes was willing to kill his own kid, he’s way more dangerous than they thought.

“When I left the Air Force, he wrote me off as a coward. He thinks he scared me off, that I came home to hide out and lick my wounds.”

“So why are you here,” Michael asks, echoing his question from weeks ago.

“To finish what I started,” Alex answers. He leans back, putting space between them that wasn’t there before. “Any other questions?”

Michael swallows hard because this isn’t his lover asking, this is the Air Force captain Michael likes to pretend Alex never was. He should push, find out just how much Alex is willing to tell him, but he sees the betrayal hiding behind the hardness in Alex’s eyes, and he can’t. “I should get going,” he says instead.

Alex nods and shifts so he is sitting against the headboard no longer touching Michael at all. He watches Micheal get dressed, watches as he walks out, without saying another word.

When Michael gets back to his truck, he pounds his fists against the steering wheel before taking a deep breath and driving away. He knows he hurt Alex, knows he ruined any slim chance they had at being something, and he still doesn’t have solid answers because he was too chicken shit twist the knife in Alex’s back. Michael’s tempted to drive straight to the Wild Pony and hand his balls over to Maria right then.

The next time he goes to Alex’s, the door is open, but Alex isn’t waiting for him. Instead he finds a note on the table explaining that Alex had some errands to run, and Michael should lock up when he’s done.

“Errands,” Michael snorts. He can’t blame Alex for wanting to avoid him.

After a few hours working on the patio, Michael’s ready to call it a night. There’s almost nothing left to do, and being here without Alex is uncomfortable.

Alex is missing again the next night, not even bothering to with a note this time. Michael drags out what little he has to finish, hoping Alex will show up before he’s done. He’s making some final adjustments to the gate when Isobel calls.

“Why is Alex Manes at the Wild Pony getting drunk and looking like he plans to stay that way?”

“Cause I fucked up Iz,” Michael sighs. “He knows I want something from him, something to do with his father.”

“Did he tell you?” Isobel asks, a hint of hope in her voice.

“No, and why would he? He doesn’t trust me, but he knows. He’s not involved.” Michael hastens to add. “I think he’s been investigating his father for a long time. So whatever Jesse’s up to, Alex knows what it is.”

“So I guess it’s my turn,” Isobel signs, hope turned to resignation.

“Not tonight,” Michael interjects. “Not when he’s been drinking.” He doesn’t want to think about what it means that he’s as worried about Alex as he is Isobel when he thinks about Isobel forcing him into a mindscape.

“Not tonight, but soon,” Isobel warns. “Now that Liz knows, we have to figure out who our enemies are before she turns on us.”

Michael hopes that won’t happen, that somehow Max can keep Liz on their side, but he knows Isobel is right. “Just give me a day or two to say goodbye.”

“Michael,” Isobel says sadly. “I’m sorry I made you do this.”

Even though she can’t see him, Michael shrugs. What’s done is done. “So how’s it going with Valenti?” he asks, ready to change the subject.

“Pointless,” Isobel huffs out a frustrated breath. “He’s as hopelessly hung up on Liz Ortecho as Max. I don’t know what they see in her. She’s.”

“Brilliant and gorgeous,” Michael interrupts.

“A self-righteous know-it-all,” Isobel continues as if Michael hadn’t spoken. “Looks like my date is here. Talk to you later.”

“Bye Iz, be careful,” Michael reminds her before hanging up.

Now that he knows Alex won’t be coming home, Michael quickly finishes the rest of his work. When he’s done, he’s tempted to leave Alex a note. Instead he leaves a copy of the itemized job list Alex originally sent him-with every item checked off-on the table. He locks up when he leaves, the click of the lock audible in the silence around him.

When Michael wakes up the next morning, there is a notification of a deposit in his bank account-almost twice what they agreed on. Michael tosses his phone aside with a sigh, it’s not like Alex can’t afford it, which is something Michael shouldn’t know, but he’s seen Alex’s bank statements. He’ll deal with it later.

It’s dark by the time Michael works up the courage to go to Alex’s. He rings the doorbell for the first time since this all started. When Alex opens the door on crutches, prosthetic off, guilt twists in Michael’s stomach. He shouldn’t get to see Alex like this-relaxed and vulnerable-anymore.

“I have something for you. Can you meet me out back?” Michael asks.

Alex just nods and shuts the door. By the time Michael stops by the truck and makes it to the patio, Alex is waiting for him.

Michael sets the firepit in the middle of the brick he laid. “I made that for you,” he says awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thought it would look nice out here.”

“Thanks,” Alex sounds confused by the gesture. But he smiles as he studies the polished metal and the constellations Michael had punched out.

“You overpaid me,” Michael blurts out.

“You did good work, and it’s still less than I would have paid Simmons,” Alex explains.

“Yeah, well thanks.” Michael turns to go.

“Michael,” Alex’s voice stops him. “Did you get what you wanted out of this?”

“A paycheck and a good fuck? Yeah no complaints on either one.” Not prepared to be put on the spot, Michael reverts to sarcasm.

Alex looks frustrated, and for a moment Michael thinks he’s going to let him walk away.

“That’s not why you took this job.”

“What makes you say that?” Michael stays on the defensive.

“Maybe the third time you asked about my father. Or maybe it was when you searched my house.” Now Alex is the one relying on sarcasm.

Michael doesn’t say anything. He should have had an excuse ready, should have been prepared, but he never expected Alex to confront him.

“I know who you are Michael,” Alex continues. “Or should I say I know what you are.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Michael denies, but he knows his panic is showing.

“Come on,” Alex opens the french doors-the ones Michael installed-and gestures for Michael to follow. “We should have this conversation inside.”

Michael wants to run, wants to get in his truck and drive as far away from Roswell as he can. But if Alex really knows the truth, running won’t help. He needs to find out exactly what Alex knows.

“Can you grab a few beers from the fridge,” Alex calls out from the living room.

“Sure,” Michael says faintly. He takes it as a good sign. Alex wouldn’t offer him a beer if he was planning to ship him off somewhere to be experimented on.

Once they are both seated,-Alex on the couch, Michael on the chair closest to the door-Alex looks at him and sighs. “I know you and Max and Isobel Evans are aliens. I’ve known since high school.”

“How,” Michael breathes, too shocked to hear someone-Alex-say it out loud to deny it.

“It’s a long story,” Alex picks up his beer bottle, fiddles with it then sets it back down. “Before my mom left, she used to take us to the Reservation every weekend. She would go see this woman named Louise. She was old, seemed ancient to me, was in a wheelchair and didn’t speak. But she was a healer. My brothers were always running around, playing with the other kids, but I wanted to stay with my mom so I spent a lot of time with Louise. She used to tell me stories, in my head.”

“In your head?” Michael says skeptically.

“Like I said she didn’t talk. I asked my mom how she could do that and how she could help people because she wasn’t Native. My mother told me her powers were special, that they didn’t come from the earth.”

“You think she was an alien?” Michael tries to sound more skeptical than hopeful.

“Not then, but yes I believe she was an alien. The stories she told me were all about another planet, a war and people fleeing. I used to think she was just telling her own version of Star Wars, but now,” Alex shrugs.

Michael wants to ask for detail, wants to know everything she told Alex in hopes of finding himself in the stories. But he knows this isn’t the time so he remains silent.

“One day my mom was on the phone and she said ‘the children have come’ and then she told me Louise had died. One story Louise told me more than once was about the three sleeping children who were destined to save her world and how her job was to be their guardian until they woke up.”

Shivers run down Michael’s spine. It seems like too much to believe, but she had to have been talking about the three of them.

“My mom left soon after that, and I forgot about Louise and her stories. My main focus was avoiding my father. He was always cruel, but once he figured out I was gay he became more and more violent. I used to hide out in this shed behind the house that my grandfather built. When I was about fourteen or fifteen, I was looking for a place to hide stuff from my dad. I pulled up one of the floorboards and found a skeleton.”

“There was a body buried under your family shed?” Michael doesn’t understand what this has to do with him.

“It was my father’s uncle, Tripp. My father always talked about what a hero he was, how he died fighting for his country. But it turns out my grandfather killed him because he was in love with an alien.”

“Louise?”

“No, another woman named Nora. There was a journal buried with them. It said Tripp and my grandfather were at the original crash in 1947. Tripp helped Nora and Louise escape along with three children held in some sort of stasis pods. They hid in Roswell for a year, and Tripp and Nora fell in love. They were going to take the children and run, but my grandfather found out and raided the farm they were staying on. He captured Nora and shot Louise. Tripp got Louise to the Reservation, but he couldn’t save Nora.”

“What happened to her?” Michael was almost afraid to find out.

“There was a prison built by the military after the crash for the survivors. My grandfather ran it along with the Valentis. She was taken there. My grandfather suspected Tripp wasn’t loyal so he kept him away. Because he and my father were close, Tripp tried to get him on his side before my grandfather corrupted him. Tripp was trying to convince my father that the aliens weren’t a threat and get his help in freeing Nora and the other prisoners. My grandfather found out, and I assume that’s when he killed him.”

“I didn’t find the journal when I,” Michael gestures to the room. He’s not sure he believes Alex.

“I don’t keep it in Roswell. I have a safety deposit box my father can’t find.”

“Even if all that is true and great uncle Tripp wasn’t some sort of Grant Green crackpot, it doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

“Tripp said if they didn’t take the children out of the pods, they would open in fifty years. Louise died fifty years after the crash. It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together.”

“And the pieces led you to me?” Michael’s have a hard enough time connecting the dots in Alex’s story. He can’t see how Alex figured out the truth on his own.

“Not a first,” Alex shakes his head. “You know I don’t think I even knew Max and Isobel were adopted. But once I started investigating and found the article about the children found in the desert I recognized them.”

“So being adopted makes them aliens,” Michael snaps, crossing his arms. His instinct is always to protect Max and Isobel.

Alex gives him a look that lets him know he realizes Michael is deflecting. “Once I started paying attention, I saw how the lights flickered around Max, how Isobel always got her way. You were a bit harder. But I remembered you were in foster care, and I saw how close you were to Max and Isobel so I figured you might be the third child. I followed you around for a while and saw you moving things without touching them.”

Michael’s breath speeds up as he realizes how easy it was for Alex to discover their secret. The illusion of safety they’d clung to all these years was fading. “Did you, did you tell anyone?”

“No, never” Alex reaches across the distance between them and briefly touches his hand. “And once I figured out what my father was doing, I altered all the records on the three of you. It would be virtually impossible to connect any of you to the three kids found in the desert.”

“So why did you hire me? Why bring me into your house believing all this?” Maybe Michael wasn’t the only one with an agenda. What if Alex’s job was a trap all along?

“You may find this hard to believe, but you being an alien isn’t the first thing that comes to mind when I see you. Maybe I’ve known long enough to forget most of the time,” Alex seemed unconcerned. “Maria recommended you, and I figured if she trusted you, so could I.”

Michael shifts uncomfortably when Alex mentions trust.

“And like I said outside,” Alex continues, “I didn’t realize right away that you had other reasons for wanting this job.”

Michael realizes it’s his turn to explain. “We’ve thought your father might know about us for a while, but we didn’t know how to find out without tipping him off. When you came back to town, Isobel saw an opportunity. It seemed safer to try and get information from you rather than your father. Then she found out you needed someone to work on the house, and asked me to do it.”

“She asked you to seduce me,” Alex says flatly.

“Not like that,” Michael tells him hastily. He doesn’t want Alex to think sex was part of the plan, but he knows how it must look. “She just wanted me to get close to you, try and figure out what you knew.”

“And what did you find out,” Alex’s tone is cold. Michael can feel him pulling away, can feel the doubts about every interaction creeping in.

“Nothing more than you told me,” Michael admits.

He can see Alex running through their conversations in his head. He looks at Michael then sighs, “I wasn’t joking when I told you my father’s secrets were dangerous. But if anyone deserves to know them, it’s you.”

“Are you sure?” Michael shouldn’t ask, getting Alex to tell him the truth about Jesse has always been the goal, but he can’t help but want Alex to have a choice.

“The prison I mentioned earlier became a family project,” Alex continues, ignoring Michael’s question. “My father took it over from my grandfather. It was as horrible as you can imagine-experiments, torture, isolation. It’s a miracle any of the aliens survived at all let alone for as long as they did. Working there was its own kind of evil. It turned my father into the worst kind of zealot-one who truly believes what he’s doing is right, that he is standing between humanity and our destruction. That prison consumed him.”

“Is it still there?” Michael’s afraid of the answer. He longs to discover more of his species, but not if it means they’re still being imprisoned and tortured..

Alex shakes his head. “Several years ago, the Air Force pulled the funding and told my father to end the project. He didn’t, instead he funded it with his own money. But eventually he was caught. He should have been court martialed but the Air Force couldn’t risk a trial. Instead they destroyed the prison with all the remaining prisoners, all records and research inside of it.”

Michael can feel the blood drain from his face. It’s a horrible end to a horrible fate, and his last hopes of finding a family are destroyed with it. “Are you sure?” he can’t help but ask.

“I've seen the footage. When I got back to Roswell, I visited the site. There were no survivors. I’m sorry.”

Michael nods, lips pressed tightly together. There is nothing left to say.

“They made my father watch, but they should have left him in the prison to burn along with it. Let that be the legacy he always dreamed of,” Alex says bitterly.

Michael can’t help but laugh although it’s humorless.

“So that’s it?” Michael says. One stroke of a bureaucrats pen, and his whole species is gone. The secret they uncovered is nothing more than a story now, all the players dead. Michael wished he’d told Isobel no, that he’d never learned this truth.

“It should have been. I think my father would have given up after everything was destroyed, but he knows there are other aliens in Roswell.”

“You said,” Michael stands up, fear propelling him to his feet.

“Not you, not Max or Isobel,” Alex reassures him, holding up his hand to keep Michael there.

“How?” Michael asks, sitting back down. “If there was another alien, wouldn’t we know?”

“I don’t know,” Alex admits. “Nothing in all the records I’ve hacked indicated there were other survivors or how they could still be alive. But no one knew about Louise either. What I do know is over the last few years over a dozen people have been murdered-homeless people, vagrants, prostitutes. All the bodies have a glowing handprint on them.”

“Shit,” Michael buries his face in his hands. “If you know there is an alien murderer out there, why risk letting me get close to you?”

“The handprint is too big to be yours or Isobel’s, and it doesn’t match Max’s,” Alex says matter of factly. “My father and Jim Valenti covered up the murders for years. Now he has my brother Flint helping, insisting the murders are part of a military investigation and claiming the bodies. He won’t stop until he figures out who it is.”

“Liz Ortecho knows,” Michael blurts out. “At least about Max which means she knows about Isobel, I don’t know how much he’s actually told her. But she may have told Kyle Valenti who has been talking to your father.”

Alex’s face goes blank for a second. “Well, that changes things. My plan was to find out who this alien is before my father does and figure out how to stop them without resorting to genocidal prisons. But if he suspects any of you are aliens, he’ll assume you are involved in the murders, and I don’t know how quickly he will act.”

The theoretical danger of discovery Michael always feared was becoming very real. “I can’t let him hurt Max or Isobel.”

“He won’t,” Alex says with certainty. “I know what kind of monster my father is and exactly what he is capable of. I won’t let him hurt anyone else, including you.”

“You can’t promise that,” Michael shakes his head.

“This is what I’ve been working toward for years. It’s why I joined the Air Force. Not because I ever wanted to be in the military, but because I wanted to learn how to defeat him, how to take everything from him without him ever seeing me coming. I’ve kept your identity from him for years, that’s not going to change.”

“I can’t ask that of you.” Michael won’t trust his family’s safety to anyone else. He’s been alone his whole life, he doesn't know how to rely on someone else to watch out for him.

“You’re not asking. I’m doing this for me. I’m going to take my father down, and I’ll protect your secret while I do it. You don’t owe me anything. You don’t need to pretend,” Alex gestures between them.

“Alex,” Michael gets up and moves to sit next to him on the couch. Alex flinches, but waves Michael to the cushion next to him. “What happened between us wasn’t part of any plan. I wanted everything we did together, I wanted you.”

“And now?” Alex asks cautiously.

“I don’t know,” Michael looks down at his hands. “Even though what I felt was-is-real, it was built on a lie. I came here under false pretenses, I tried to manipulate you. I searched your house,” Michael forces himself to look back up. “And because of that, I know things about you-things that helped me fall in love with you-that aren’t mine to know. Maybe things you would never want me to know, but I do. How do we move past that?”

“I’ve been hiding my whole life,” Alex says quietly. “From my father, my brothers, my friends, everyone I ever served with. When enough of the people who are supposed to love and support you turn away, you have to believe the problem is you.”

“Alex,” Michael can’t help but interrupt, taking his hand. He knows that kind of pain and doubt. It had taken years of Max and Isobel refusing to be pushed away, and building relationships with people like Sanders and Maria for Michael to realize he could be loved. “It’s not you.”

“Maybe not, but that’s how I’ve lived my life. Keeping anything I valued, anything that made me different hidden. I’d like to think I would have learned to share those parts of me with you, but I don’t know how long it would have taken. It’s comforting to realize you know most of my secrets, and you haven’t run away. I’ve always been too afraid of letting someone know me to have a relationship. But I’m not afraid to be with you.”

Michael lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He was prepared for anger, for Alex to say the betrayal was too big to come back from. Alex’s acceptance feels unearned, but Michael is grateful they still have a chance.

Because Alex still looks nervous and uncertain, Michael squeezes his hand and leans forward for a kiss. Alex meets his lips eagerly, his free hand coming up to tangle in Michael’s hair. It’s easy to get lost in the kiss, to push forward for more. But Alex pulls back, stroking Michael’s hair a few times before dropping his hand.

“You’re not the only one with an advantage,” Alex says. When Michael just looks at him, he continues. “Have you ever told anyone that you are an alien?”

“No,” Michael’s blood runs cold just thinking about it. It’s the number one rule drilled into his head-by Max, by his own fear of the consequences-no one can know. No matter how much he’d cared about Maria, he never considered telling her, never wanted to.

“I didn’t think so. And you didn’t choose to tell me either. And I can tell you again and again that you can trust me with this secret, that I won’t use it against you, but you are the one who has to be willing to believe me.”

Michael should be scared, but he’s not. Alex has known for over a decade. If Alex wanted to turn him in or hurt him, he’d had years to do it. But that brings up other questions. “Is that why you’re with me?”

“I don’t have ‘fuck an alien’ on my bucket list if that is what you are asking.” They both laugh.

“I don’t know what I’m asking,” Michael admits. “I’ve never been with anyone who knows what I am so I guess I’m wondering how it affects your feelings for me.”

“I don’t think it does. I won’t say it doesn’t matter because it’s part of who you are, and you matter. You being an alien isn’t something we can just ignore, but it’s not what I think of first when I think of you. It matters in that it’s one of the things that makes you the man I’m attracted to, the man I’m falling in love with.”

“I like the sound of that,” Michael admits. “You falling in love with me.”

This time it’s Alex who makes the first move, pulling Michael into the circle of his arms. He kisses Michael’s forehead and wraps his arm around him. Michael turns to nuzzle into his neck then surprises them both by yawning.

“Sorry,” Michael apologizes and rubs his eyes. “Now what?”

Alex looks at the table where their untouched beers are sweating into the coasters beneath them. “How about we get some fresh beers and sit by the firepit you built me. We can forget all this serious stuff for the night and talk about normal things.”

“Normal things?” Michael asks with a laugh.

“I don’t know,” Alex shrugs. “Music, movies, work. I’m sure you have a million questions about what I told you, and I have questions to, but”

“We aren’t going to solve the problem of your father or how whatever Liz and Kyle might know complicates that in one night,” Michael finishes.

“And we deserve a night to be together without secrets or hidden agendas. To start figuring out who we are together,” Alex adds.

“That sounds nice,” Michael admits. “But I don’t know how much I have in me.” He yawns again.

“So we’ll talk for a bit then see if that fancy shower you built me really is big enough for two, and you can stay here if you want.”

Michael definitely wants, and the way he kisses Alex leaves no doubt to his interest. “And tomorrow?” he asks almost breathlessly once the kiss ends.

“Tomorrow, we figure out how to destroy my father,” Alex holds out his hand, “together.”

Michael laces their fingers together. “Together sounds perfect.”

#malex fic #rnm fic #my fic #yotp 2023 #honeypot mission #falling in love #happy ending #Michael and Alex will always fall in love #angst with a happy ending #secrets #maria deluca friendly

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ambitionsource · 1 year

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AMBITION Season 4 ♫ “Thank You, Next” [ 4.05 ]

CREATED BY Esther (waterstribe) & Maggie (quincywillows) || Official Page || AO3

HOME, LOVE, FAMILY… OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT — The first major holiday break of the school year makes for interesting gatherings. Some relationships plan important steps forward, while others threaten to fall apart. Contentious parties find themselves stuck together; another unexpected duo hits the road. From coast to coast, together or apart, Thanksgiving forces contemplation as to what it truly means to be home.

100 Minutes (63K words) || No content warnings apply.

[ ← Masquerades ] [ S4 Synopsis ] [ ‘Tis The Damn Season → ]

( Follow along with the music on Spotify here! )

RECAP

Over a series of shots from the glamorous gala portion of “Masquerade”:

Farkle, voiceover: Previously, on AMBITION…

Halloweekend brought many surprises, both good and bad. Over in Hollywood, Maya was lucky enough to score an invite to the mysterious and glamorous Hollywood Haunt, giving her one shot to show off to a myriad of elite producers (which she did, in excellent Britney-homage fashion). She also extended her plus-one ticket to Yindra, giving her the chance to shoot her shot as well.

Yindra: You and me, Whitney and Britney of Triple A.

Maya: Cheers to that.

Clink those glasses, ladies! Especially since they were both talented enough to nab bids by producers in attendance -- though not quite at the same speed. Yindra’s prospective manager seems promising, but he has to temper the excitement as he works out details with his agency, leaving her in continued limbo and quickly losing steam. On the flip side, Justin and Melissa of Global Beat are very eager to get started milking Maya’s star power for all its worth -- much to the chagrin of Josh, who is now likely guaranteed to see Blondie’s face more frequently than ever.

Back on the east coast, the festivities were more mundane yet somehow even higher stakes. Riley was forced to come to terms with her anxieties about her friendships, confiding in Evan and strengthening that friendship in the process. Lucas had an unexpectedly frightful night of his own manning the candy at Jack and Eric’s, but he managed to turn it around (even after being mistaken for a thirty-six year-old father of two). Isa had a decidedly less enjoyable time having their world flipped upside down at a party, where they overheard Nigel talking shit about Riley with Imogen and Abby. The shock of petty betrayal is hard enough, but it was compounded by the fact that there is so much more that continues to change around them. Seemingly, the older they get, the more things may never be the same again.

Eric: So nothing happened?

Isa: Not really. It’s more like… things have been happening, slowly, for a long time. And I don’t think there’s anything I can do to stop it.

A few major things did happen, though, particularly in the world of romance. Farkle finally made some bold moves and told Jordan he wanted to be exclusive, officially snagging himself his first boyfriend -- in some snazzy Bowie threads at that. At the same time, Zay and Vanessa confronted the reality that their casual fling was not-so-casual, and there may be more feelings there than originally anticipated. Open to seeing their thing through for what it could be, Zay made the decision to try and move on from the past; to stop waiting, and see what happens next.

And after so long, with a whole new world of experiences under his belt, Charlie finally, finally determined he’s ready to head back to the city. How things will go, or what will be waiting for him when he returns is anybody’s guess, but there’s no doubt the next episode of AMBITION holds plenty to unpack. As the swell of Charlie’s Frank Sinatra rendition takes us out again…

Charlie: New York!

End of recap.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Thanksgiving Theme” as performed by Vince Guaraldi Trio || Instrumental

The iconic, seasonal rhythms of Vince Guaraldi welcome us into the episode, setting the autumnal scene. New York is in crisp November, the grey concrete world awash in golden-brown hues. One of the most fascinating mysteries of the world on full, vivid display, how nature can make decay somehow look so undeniably gorgeous.

A cold snap is blowing in, rustling the leaves on the trees and speeding up their eventual descent. One in particular, a ruby red one, clings to the branch with everything it’s got, not ready to let go just yet…

But change happens whether we’re ready or not. Circle of life. A strong gust detaches the crimson leaf from the tree, sending it spiraling through Central Park and along the familiar streets.

EXT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - DAY

The leaf careens past Jack and Eric’s door just as ERIC MATTHEWS steps outside. He’s finally taking down their few Halloween decorations, bringing the small standing scarecrow into the house. In its place, he hangs an autumnal wreath on the door.

As he steps back inside…

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - DAY

He drops the scarecrow by the front door and makes his way back into the kitchen.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - KITCHEN - DAY

Which is where we find JACK HUNTER, sleeves rolled up and flipping through cookbooks. He and Eric are attempting to pull together their menu for Thanksgiving, getting preparation and organization done well in advance. It’s their first time hosting Thanksgiving, as a couple and as homemakers, and they don’t want to screw it up.

Jack gestures for Eric to bring him something from the fridge -- the calendar. Eric unpins it from the appliance and brings it over to the counter so they can use it to map out their plans better. As they get down to work, we focus in on the calendar, flipped open to the month of November.

Thanksgiving is circled, giving us a clue as to what we’re in for. But there’s plenty of days around that festive day of year, and in a good story, the flow of time isn’t always neat and linear…

Give thanks, everyone -- another packed episode of AMBITION is upon us.

Cue title sequence.

Yes, it’s that time of season again, folks -- not just the holidays, but our annual segmented story episode! There’s plenty of stories to tell as always, so without further delay… let’s all give thanks…

PART I For Your Consideration

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

On the west coast, the excitement for the holiday comes predominantly from MAYA HART. She’s enjoying the transition to cooler weather in her baby pink cashmere sweater and impatiently waiting for Farkle to come back from class. She’s carrying her laptop on her arm, putting the finishing touches on a list of restaurants she’s curated.

She perks up when the front door opens, and FARKLE MINKUS enters. She raises her eyebrows, and he gives her a beam and nod. Farkle: Monologue delivered. One more pre-finals final down.

Maya puts down her laptop to give him applause, which he meets with a cheeky curtsy and bow. Just a day or so more of classes, and then he’ll officially be free for the Thanksgiving break. Five whole days of not having to think about class or rehearsal -- the reprieve every college student laments is far too short before the stretch of finals.

For Maya, though, she’s more excited on his behalf. No class and no rehearsal means he’ll actually be around, and it seems they’ve already made plans to spend the holiday break together.

Maya: I’ve started mapping out our plans, and I have to say, I’m outdoing myself. This will be a Thanksgiving we shan’t forget.

Farkle: I don’t know if that makes me nervous or excited.

Maya: Both are allowed.

Farkle: So you talked to Katy? She’s cool with you staying?

Maya: Yes. Obviously, I miss her, but it’s not as though both of us won’t be back in Manhattan for some chunk of December. She agreed she could withstand my absence for a bit longer so we could build our own traditions out here. And believe me, we will be creating a tradition out of this.

As far as Maya sees it, their Friendsgiving endeavor need not be simple. The whole turkey, gravy, mashed potato bit is so passé -- particularly when your budget allows for so much more. And why must their celebration of best friendship be consigned to just one day?

Maya: No, no, we will be getting much more out of it than one lousy meal. [ with jazz hands ] We’ll be making it a marathon.

Farkle listens, fondly amused, as he settles onto the couch. Maya is too keen to sit, continuing to pace while she lays out her concept for him. They’ll be using the days off for the holiday to sample the cuisine from all around Los Angeles, venturing to the best eateries and tasting the finest food their new home has to offer. It’ll be a miniature cultural tour of sorts.

All of the above sounds good to Farkle. He’s looking forward to getting to hang out too, and he’s not going to pass up getting more acquainted with the cuisine around town… especially if Maya is going to do all the leg work of planning it. Which she seems more than content to do, already building up her preliminary listings on Yelp.

Maya: I’ll be narrowing it down over the next couple of days, so by the time the big day rolls around, not to worry. It will all be mapped out -- all you’ll have to do is bring your adorable, eccentric self in your best autumnal sweater, and your very flexible wallet.

Farkle: I’d expect nothing less.

Even so, Farkle reminds Maya not to overdo it. Not that he isn’t looking forward to the plans, but she shouldn’t let planning all this eat up all her time. He would be fine even if they did just eat cold turkey in the apartment, and she has other stuff to be focused on now. She’s got management now -- certainly that should be taking priority!

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - RECORDING STUDIO - DAY

Indeed, that she does. Maya takes one of her first trips to Global Beat that week, JUSTIN MILLER and MELISSA SUZUKI managing to squeeze her in just before most folks take off for the holiday. They’re planning to really dive deep once they all get back, but they wanted to make sure in all the chaos following the Hollywood Haunt that they got her properly acquainted with the place.

Maya is more than agreeable, at this point too excited about actually being on the move that she couldn’t find it in her to complain. She follows along with wide eyes and a bright smile as Justin and Melissa show her the recording studio.

Justin: Probably a bit better than whatever you used to home record “OMG.” Don’t get me wrong, though, sounded slammin’.

Maya: No offense taken. I’ll happily take the upgrade.

Melissa: We’ll make sure you’re no stranger to it, trust. We’re already eager to get you in here and start recording. Unfortunately, it’ll have to wait just a bit longer though. Holidays are a weird time around here.

Justin: Seriously. For an industry that acts like we’re all working 24/7, this town just about clears out from Thanksgiving to New Years. But we’ll find some time in the middle there, no worries.

Melissa: We know you’ve got stuff to show, so we’re not gonna sit on that.

All this sounds perfect to Maya. She’s waited this long, she’ll be able to stomach a few paces longer so long as she’s already on the path. She approaches the recording booth, her reflection looking back at us through the glass and mirroring the enthusiastic glimmer in her eyes.

Maya: I’ll be ready.

She has been basically since birth.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - OFFICES - DAY

JOSH MATTHEWS is at his desk, sifting through his inbox to get all loose ends tied up before the Thanksgiving holiday. He perks up when he hears Justin and Melissa coming back down the hall, but his interest doesn’t stay neutral for long.

Maya is with them. Maya Hart is here, in his domain -- will be often, now, since Justin and Melissa have taken her on. As if the sting of losing a bombshell client when he found her first isn’t grating enough, now he’s going to have to face the reminder of it every other day.

Which could be bad or very bad, depending on how Maya herself approaches it. She pauses as the trio rounds the corner into the box office, also suddenly remembering Josh exists in this space too. Justin and Melissa don’t notice, heading towards their office but halting to make an introduction.

Melissa: Oh, this is our junior producer, Josh. You may have run into him at the Haunt?

Justin: Yep, he’s the one who keeps the ship running around here -- or at least makes sure shit ends up on my calendar. You’d never see me otherwise.

Josh shifts his eyes from the producers to Maya, who has made her way towards his desk. They stare at each other for a long moment, silently debating how to play this. Do they reveal they already know each other, perhaps not for the better? Josh doesn’t really feel up to the task of having to defend his credibility in front of his bosses… but this is basically the golden opportunity for Maya to dig the knife in deeper. If she’s as much of a brat as her first impression forebode…

Maya offers a polite smile, extending a hand in greeting.

Maya: We haven’t had the pleasure. Maya Hart. You may have heard of me.

So she’s sparing him -- for now. It’s hard to tell if it’s a genuine kindness, or just biding her time in case she needs to take him down later. Doesn’t make Josh feel reassured, necessarily… but at this point, he’ll take it. He plays along, pointedly holding her eye contact as he returns the handshake.

Josh: May have. You’re making it hard to ignore you.

Maya’s smile sharpens just a bit at that. With introductions out of the way, Justin and Melissa conclude the tour by guiding Maya into their offices. Josh watches them go, expression tinted with only a little bit of resentment… and perhaps regret.

Josh, pre-lap: Okay, the disappointment I’m getting is not subtle. Just an FYI.

INT. JOSH’S APARTMENT - BEDROOM - NIGHT

Josh is on the phone with ALAN MATTHEWS and AMY MATTHEWS, but the conversation feels terse. It’s like they’re walking on eggshells, making small talk and dancing around the topic none of them seem to want to actually address. But after enough passive-aggressive comments, Josh cracks, prompting one of them to break the ice.

Amy: We’re not…

Josh: Mom, if you’re going to be upset with me, I’d rather you just be upfront about it rather than use your judgmental tone.

Amy: I do not have a judgmental tone.

Alan makes an “eh…” sound, which Amy clearly does not appreciate, but the dig works as intended. Amy comes right out with it, putting the frustration front and center.

Amy: I don’t understand why you’re not coming home for Thanksgiving!

Josh sighs, leaning back against his headboard and pressing his palm to his eyes. Amy takes off on her tangent, lamenting how Thanksgiving is supposed to be a time for family coming together yet Josh is never home. It’s like they haven’t had him home for the holiday since he scampered off to college. She thought they raised him better than that; they raised him to appreciate family.

Josh: This has nothing to do with that. This has nothing to do with how I feel about you, or about the family.

Alan: Might’ve fooled us.

Josh: I don’t get what the big deal is. I come home for Christmas. It’s not like you don’t see me. And I’ve never really come home for Thanksgiving --

Amy: And that’s my point, Joshua! You never come home for Thanksgiving. And the first few times, I thought okay, he’s busy. He’s building his new life, he’s making new friends. But that was six, seven Thanksgivings ago. Now, it just feels like you’re doing everything in your power to stay far away.

Josh scoffs, but he stumbles over how to respond. That’s definitely not what he’s trying to do, but he doesn’t know how to explain his thinking either. Because in some ways, there is truth to her accusation -- he does avoid home, them, to some degree. But that has less to do with them specifically, and more to do with Josh himself. For reasons he doesn’t quite understand, he just can’t stomach the idea of it.

And with each passing year, that dread gets worse.

So Josh sticks to his old playbook, deflecting instead. He reminds them both that they’ll see him in less than a month, so clearly he’s not purposefully avoiding them. If he really wanted to, he could make it so they never see him.

Alan, wounded: You don’t mean that.

Josh: You’re right, I don’t. And that’s my point. You see me, you hear from me. I’m not doing what you seem to think I’m doing.

Still, Amy isn’t convinced. But the harder she fights, the more Josh recoils, until he snaps back.

Josh: You know, mom, I know I’m the baby of the family and everything, but I’m not a kid anymore. I’m not your golden boy! Don’t you get that? I’m not whatever it is you want me to be; I’m not your little baby.

Bits and pieces of that came out stronger than he intended, but they leave their mark regardless. The line goes quiet on the other end for a long moment, until Alan suggests maybe it’s time to call it a night for them. This conversation isn’t exactly productive. Josh hesitates, shaking his head and searching for what to say to make it right -- to make his complex feelings make sense.

But Amy beats him to it. She’s gentle, but firm, with a hint of hurt… and that passive-aggression Josh accused her of earlier (typical lethal maternal combination).

Amy: You may be grown up, but you will always be my baby, Josh. I hope you know that.

Loving or limiting (or both), it’s hard to say, but its impact is effective. Josh seems properly humbled as they say goodbye, and the sigh he lets out when he tosses his phone to the end of the bed betrays some hurt of his own.

Katy, pre-lap: So you’re sure you’re good to stay out there?

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - MAYA’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Maya is having a parental check-in of her own, on the phone with KATY HART. She’s pacing the room in her cozy faux-silk pajamas, nodding along, much more confident in her Thanksgiving plans than Josh.

Maya: Never better. I’m excited, actually. Haven’t felt this jazzed about turkey day since we got to spend it with the one and only Valerie De La Cruz.

Katy: That was a fun one, yes. [ a beat ] Well, if you’re sure. I’m just worried about you, out there on your own -- maybe that’s silly of me, because you’ve never had an issue being independent…

But call it mother’s intuition. Or paranoia. Something along those lines. Maya smiles. She assures her that she will be fine, and it’s only a few short weeks until she’s back for the winter holidays. Besides…

Maya: I’m not on my own. I have Farkle.

He may be her only friend out here at the moment -- sans the ebb and flow of whatever her dynamic with Yindra is -- but that’s all she needs. She’s got her best friend and a burgeoning career, the rest is just noise. She says it with such certainty, it’s impossible not to believe it.

Speaking of, she needs to jump off, because she wants to chat with Farkle about their menu for the next few days. She promises to tell Katy all about the cuisine when the weekend is done. They exchange warm goodbyes, Maya blowing a kiss into the phone before she hangs up.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - NIGHT

Maya excitedly floats into the living room, a couple of print-outs in hand mapping out potential line-ups for their cuisine extravaganza.

Maya: I tried to shake it up day-to-day in terms of palette, so we’re not stuck too much on one flavor or culture for too long -- keep things fresh, you know -- but I’m torn on whether the Korean bit would go best on Friday or Saturday. And I will certainly need help with arranging the desserts, your rich boy taste buds probably have more expertise on that front than mine --

Farkle gently interrupts her from his spot on the couch, offering a timid smile. But it’s not the reassuring kind. Based on her experience, the slight pity traceable in his expression can’t be concealed with the smile.

Farkle: I need to talk to you about Thanksgiving, actually.

Bad news. Maya blinks at him, bracing for impact.

INT. JOSH’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Josh is eating a microwave dinner while chatting with ANDREW HALL, who is asking about his Thanksgiving plans. Andrew is going down to stay with his family in Inglewood, and Josh is more than welcome to tag along. Or if he’s going home, Andrew can drop him at LAX -- it’s basically right next door.

Josh shrugs, waving him off. It’s a nice offer, and everything, but he isn’t planning to do much. He isn’t really in a celebratory mood, and he definitely isn’t going back to Philly.

Andrew: So you’re seriously gonna just sit here alone and sulk for four days on your own.

Josh: No. I’m not just gonna sit here and sulk.

Andrew: [ with a knowing look ] Let me guess…

Josh: I figure if I’ve got the time, I should hit the studio.

Andrew: Why am I not surprised?

Josh, defensive: It’s the best use of my time. It’s not like I have more pressing matters to attend to. And I always work best when it’s less hectic. The studio is never more dead than Thanksgiving break. I’ll have it all to myself.

Andrew doesn’t look convinced. He respects Josh’s drive, and he loves him, but the one-note focus is truly getting old. Not just because it’s annoying, but because it totally consumes Josh’s life. He gets that the dream is a big deal, and he’s not doubting that. But more important than sleep? More important than friends? More important than family?

Josh bristles at the last one, crossing his arms.

Josh: It’s not like that. It’s just… stuff is complicated there. My mom and dad, they don’t get it, they don’t get this whole thing. I’m just gonna face a hundred more questions about what my plan is, why I’m doing this, is it worth it --

Andrew: And can you blame them? Look at what it’s doing to you, man!

Josh: You know, kind of exactly like this conversation right now. That’s what I don’t want to be dealing with right now. I don’t need someone asking me over turkey and biscuits why I think wasting my time with music is worth it --

Andrew: That’s not what I’m saying. What I’m asking is the questions I heard you asking just a few weeks ago. I was worried about you, dude, when we went out for Jasmine’s birthday. I haven’t ever seen you like that. And if you found answers to those questions, enough to dive back in deep, then cool, okay. I’m with you. But have you? ‘Cause if not, I think you’re just doing more dodging -- if you even know what it is you’re running from.

Oop… he might have a point or two. Josh isn’t at the low he was then, but it’s still a rollercoaster. And Andrew has him dead to rights on the purpose thing -- the initial spark Josh had for music, this industry, is still just out of his reach. Maybe isolating and digging himself deeper into the hole isn’t going to be what uncovers it.

But for now, that’s all Josh has to hold onto. He’s got his plan for Thanksgiving, alone in the studio, and he’s sticking with it. Andrew is disappointed, but not shocked.

Andrew: Well, if you change your mind and decide to return to the world of living, my invitation still stands.

He’s his brother, and he’ll always have his back -- even when Josh can’t seem to have his own. He leaves him to stew in their conversation.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - MAYA’S BEDROOM - DAY

Maya is looking equally broody come the next morning, so whatever Farkle told her obviously didn’t settle well with her. She looks over the menus she took the time to painstakingly map out… then she rips them in half, crumpling the cardstock and tossing it into the trash.

Clearly, there was a change of plans.

She can’t sit in it like this. Maya can’t just sit there, feeling out of control and like all her plans have been shot to hell. She can be productive, she can channel this. She just needs access. She pulls up her phone and dials a new number, impatiently tapping her feet as she waits for them to pick up.

EXT. MELISSA’S CONVERTIBLE - MOVING - DAY

Justin and Melissa are on the road, looking very classic Californian as they drive up the coast with the breeze in their hair and effortlessly cool music blasting. Justin’s phone lights up with a new call and he turns down the sound system, answering the phone and putting it on speaker.

Justin: Maya Penelope Hart. What’s up?

Melissa: Is that Maya? Hey, Maya!

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - MAYA’S BEDROOM - DAY

The conversation continues intercut between them. Maya seems pleased by their cheerful reception to her call -- sure feels nice to have someone eager to hear from her.

After getting the small talk out of the way, Maya cuts to the chase. She’s feeling inspired, and could really use the chance to lay down some tracks. Any chance they’re available to jump into the studio and make some magic happen?

As charmed as the producing duo is by her enthusiasm, they can’t give her the answer she wants to hear.

Melissa: Sorry, hon, but we’re not in town.

Justin: We’re driving up right now to Mel’s for Thanksgiving. Her parents make the best gyoza, you would not believe.

Maya: Oh. Oh, sorry to bother you --

Melissa: Oh, no bother at all. Seriously, we love the energy. That’s gonna be hella good when we’re back, so don’t lose that fire while we’re gone.

But for right now… they can’t give her the escape she wants. Maya hides her disappointment over the phone, but it’s clear on her face.

Justin senses her low spirit, so he offers an alternative.

Justin: Tell you what. If you want to drop some effort on new stuff, I’m certainly not gonna stop you. I’ll put in a word with security, get you a pass to drop in there. Whenever you want. Should have the place to yourself, since most people have gone AWOL for the holiday.

Melissa: Great idea.

Maya, hopeful: So I can still go?

Justin: Go nuts, Hart. The studio is your oyster. And if anyone gives you trouble, you can just direct them to us. Lay down a sick new track for us to love, okay, babe?

It’s still isolating, but it’s productive, so Maya will happily take it. She thanks them profusely, some of the light back in her eyes.

EXT. GLOBAL BEAT - DAY

Bright and early Wednesday morning, Maya rolls up to the studio basically the second it’s plausible for her to be there. She’s less polished than usual, considering she’s the only one around, hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail and sporting leggings and a sweatshirt.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - LOBBY - DAY

She steps inside the building through the glass doors and approaches the front desk, informing the security guard that she should have explicit permission to be there. Once he confirms that’s true -- to a restless Maya’s impatience -- he gives her a visitor’s pass and directs her towards the elevators. She doesn’t have to be told twice, thanking him with a starlit smile.

Just as the elevator doors slide closed on her, the glass doors swing open, Josh slouching into the building. He nods silently in greeting to the security guard, who is more than familiar with him. He heads for the elevator as well, stepping inside when the one on the opposite side opens up.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - DAY

We watch this humorous and slightly maddening pattern continue throughout the first half of the day, Maya and Josh just barely missing one another as they both wander Global Beat fully believing they’re the only one in the building. Josh enters the floor kitchen just as Maya walks out; Maya pokes her head into the box office to peek at the offices just as Josh bends over at his cube to pick up a dropped pen. Josh heads into a studio to grab a pair of headphones, veering into the studio opposite the one Maya has set up shop in.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - OFFICES - DAY

And it really seems like they could manage to do that all day… if it weren’t for the music.

They almost hack it -- when Josh has his noise-canceling headphones on like he does now, trying with immense concentration to make something palatable out of Floyd’s vocals, it’d be a miracle if he’d hear a car crash into the building. But working hard to salvage Floyd’s earnest charm from his tone-deaf pitch is draining, and he requires breaks for any of his remaining sanity to survive.

One of those times he takes off his headset with a flourish, dropping it on the desk. He groans in exhaustion and hides his head in his hands, then rubs his temples to massage the off-pitch damage out of them.

That’s when he hears the singing.

Josh freezes, tensing in his rolling chair. Either he’s not alone in the place like he thought, or he’s actually losing it and starting to hallucinate, and he’s not sure which possibility scares him more. He carefully focuses to listen to the sound, the gentle piano and soft female vocals coming from deeper in the building towards the studios.

He looks towards the hall, uncertain.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - HALLWAY - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ Maya’s Untitled Original Song || Similar to “intro” as performed by Sabrina Carpenter || Performed by Maya Hart

The voice grows louder and more familiar the closer Josh edges, moving cautiously but unable to fight his curiosity. And bizarrely, the more clearly he can hear it, it starts to sound eerily familiar. Not quite as obnoxious as usual, but not unknown.

But how… it couldn’t be…

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - RECORDING STUDIO - DAY

Oh, but it is. Maya is at the piano against the wall in the left studio, fiddling with some chords and hum-singing through sentiments on her own. The stripped, raw sound emulates the simplicity of the original “intro” snippet that became “emails i can’t send,” or Sabrina’s unreleased song “Alone Together,” unadorned accompaniment and soft rather than showy vocals. She’s more just workshopping and working through her emotions than actually penning something down for presentation, but in some ways, that makes it all the more intriguing.

Unlike the lyrics of the sample song, though, Maya’s lyrical focus right now is around her frustration with what happened with Farkle. She tries to hone in on her disappointment, the conflict she feels, a tiny glimmer of isolation and loneliness shining through that she usually keeps well under wraps. Perhaps jumping across the coast with only one friend to rely on is harder than she makes it seem, regardless of how dear that best friend is…

But there’s something else under the surface bleeding through, too. A hurt, confusion, and conflict that goes deeper than Farkle -- an echo of broken friendship that she isn’t sure if she’s to blame for or not. It’s not at the forefront, buried within the other more obvious, immediate feelings, but Maya clearly is far from done working through what happened with those she left behind in New York. In fact, she may not have even started to unpack it.

All this to say, it’s a very unfinished song, if it’s a song at all, but it’s got Josh’s attention. He quietly peers in the doorway, bewildered to see Maya occupying the studio without his bosses but equally stunned by the vulnerability in her delivery. That’s what really engrosses him, as it is a far cry from basically anything he’s seen or heard from her since they met. This Maya isn’t who gets seen on TikTok, or Youtube, or blustering through their first meeting. Now he truly isn’t sure whether he’s losing it or not.

But no, she’s real. Maya peters out without conclusion, as many an unfinished idea does, releasing a sigh… and then banging on the keys in pointed frustration.

The jarring shift is enough to spook Josh out of his trance, causing him to jump -- and knock into a display guitar set up by the door. It falls off the wall with a crash that elicits a yell from both of them, Josh backing into the doorframe as Maya scrambles up from her piano bench and reaches for the first defensive weapon she can find -- in this case, a microphone stand.

She swings around and brandishes it in front of her just as Josh raises his hands in surrender. After a moment, when the fear abates, they both frown.

Josh/Maya: What are you doing here?!

They both shut up, reacting in turn to the fact that the other even bothered to ask them that question. Josh drops his hands, straightening up and aiming for less deer-in-headlights in his own workplace.

Josh: Think I’m the one with the right to ask, considering I work here.

Maya: Technically, so do I now.

Well if you want to get technical… Josh points out he has access to the building with his employee pass, which she does not. How did she even get in here?

Josh: Am I gonna have to report you to security? Because with that mic stand grip I’m highly considering it.

Oh, right. Maya glances at her weapon and then daintily plops it back down by the piano. She flips her ponytail off her shoulder, shrugging and crossing her arms.

Maya: Justin and Melissa let me have access. They said I could spend the holiday in the studio, since I didn’t go home.

Josh: You didn’t? You mean your adoring fans in New York weren’t just dying to have you back?

Maya bristles a bit, but mainly because she doesn’t want to admit the truth. That she thought she had better plans here, but she got dumped. So she plays his card back to him.

Maya: Think I could ask you the same question.

That she could… and he isn’t keen to get into his reasoning either. They’re both there seeking refuge, in one way or another, so far be it for them to judge the other for it.

So they’re at a stalemate. Maya questions if Josh is going to make good on his word and try to call the fuzz on her, to which Josh rolls his eyes. Much as he might like to get rid of her, if Justin and Melissa said it was okay…

Josh: Whatever. Just… you mind your business, and I’ll mind mine.

Maya: Gladly.

Josh: Don’t bother me, okay, I’ve got important work to do.

Maya: Wasn’t planning on it.

Josh: And don’t… touch anything. Don’t mess with stuff you don’t know how to use. Because you’re gonna end up breaking something, and then I’m gonna have to deal with it.

Maya: Um, Earth to Slosh Matthews, but you’re the one who’s tearing things off the walls.

Oh. Right. Well… hmph. Josh huffs and picks up the guitar, carefully putting it back on its pedestal and leaving the studio without further comment. Maya smirks to herself, watching him go, then she turns back towards the piano.

Somehow, sparring with him was more invigorating than banging her head against the emotional walls in her head alone.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - NIGHT

The rest of Thanksgiving eve passes without incident, Josh and Maya naturally running into each other in the common areas now that they’re making a point of trying to ignore each other. We watch this pattern unfold in inverse to what we witnessed in the earlier part of the day.

Josh and Maya both have moments of considering breaking the ice again for the sake of company and conversation, but they always decide against it. They’ve already had plenty of experience talking with one another to know how well that goes -- why bother?

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - OFFICES - NIGHT

And yet, it feels weird to leave without saying something. Maya is surprised to find Josh still there when she finally decides to roll out after sunset, well past traditional dinner time. She figured he would have left by then, since he has an actual community out here to be with. She hovers by the entrance to the box office, slinging her bag over her shoulder and crossing her arms.

Maya: So, are you planning to just sleep here, or? Is this actually your place of residence?

Josh lifts his head, not expecting to hear from her. He pulls out an Airpod.

Josh: Sorry, did you say something?

Maya resists her instinct to snap at that, knowing logically that his dismissal is from the fact that he had headphones in. She doesn’t need to create drama where there isn’t any -- they have plenty, and she already proved her point. She’s got the producer/agents.

Maya: I asked if you were ever planning to go home. Or if you just live here full-time.

Josh: [ with a hollow laugh ] You know, you wouldn’t be the first to wonder that.

Maya: So? What’s the hold up?

Josh: I was waiting until you left. Didn’t feel right to leave you here alone at night.

Oh… well, that’s thoughtful. Maya doesn’t know how to respond, hesitating before opting for a simple good night as she turns to go. Josh nods a response, not stopping her… but then a thought escapes him without thinking.

Josh: You gonna be in tomorrow?

Okay, where did that come from? Josh makes a face, silently cursing himself, when Maya appears back in view in the hallway.

Maya: What?

Josh: I just -- I asked if you were going to be here tomorrow. [ a beat ] You know, trying to prepare myself so I don’t have another heart attack.

Maya: Let’s not be dramatic.

Coming from her? Oh, that’s rich.

Josh: Ha!

Maya: [ with an eye roll ] Anyway, to answer your question, yes. As far as I’m concerned, Thanksgiving is canceled. And I’ve got killer songs to write.

Fair enough. Josh claims he’ll see her tomorrow, then, which she awkwardly acknowledges with a nod.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - ELEVATORS - NIGHT

Josh wanders over to the elevator lobby, acting casual but making a beeline towards the windows pretty quickly. This offers him a view of the sidewalk down below by the front doors… which allows him to make sure Maya makes it safely into the Minkus family car that arrives to pick her up.

With that responsibility taken care of, suppose he’s free to go too. Josh tries not to get too in his own head as he heads back to the box office.

EXT. GLOBAL BEAT - NIGHT/DAY

We watch Josh disappear from view from the other side of the window, easing out to get the full view of the building again. Then we pan back down to the entrance as time flies and the sun rises again, bringing us to Thanksgiving day. Traffic is relatively dead around this part of town since everyone is out for the holidays…

Except for two. Maya and Josh arrive by happenstance at the same time today, coming at the door from opposite directions. They pause outside the doors, sizing each other up for a moment -- neither of them have dressed for the holiday nor the occasion, even more casual and cozy than yesterday. And true to their word, there they both are.

After a beat, Josh steps forward and pulls open the door, holding it open for Maya. She pauses before accepting the common courtesy, giving him a nod and stepping into the building. He follows after her.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - OFFICES - DAY

Josh is dutifully sitting at his desk pretending he has important work to do, but he’s more distracted today. He taps his pencil rhythmically against his keyboard edge, doing anything but having to face Floyd’s helpless track again.

Maya: Coffee’s in there.

Josh jumps slightly, surprised to find Maya addressing him yet again. She’s cradling a coffee mug from the kitchen, raising an eyebrow at his startled reaction.

Josh: What?

Maya: There’s coffee in the kitchen. If you want some. I’m not familiar with this machine, so I made too much. Decaf, but -- [ eyeing him ] Maybe that’s for the best.

She takes a pointed sip of her coffee, then leaves him be. Josh contemplates, debating whether he wants to take her handout or not… she didn’t have to tell him about it, but she did, and that’s more than nothing. Not to mention, he’s Josh, and he’s never going to say no to coffee.

That, and he has another good reason to walk away from his desk. He gets a couple of texts around the same time -- one from Morgan clowning Alan for ruining the turkey again, and a less pleasant one of Cory complaining about how Amy and Alan are passive-aggressively on his case now since Josh didn’t go home for Thanksgiving.

“I go home for every holiday like every year. I’m the older brother, I’m supposed to get perks. U can’t even come for ONE Thanksgiving?”

Yeah, he doesn’t need this right now. Josh flips his phone over and gets to his feet.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - RECORDING STUDIO - DAY

Over the emotional waves from yesterday, Maya has shifted gears. She’s playing around with lighter chords and bouncier vibes today, aiming for a bubblegum pop tune that will do well on the charts and also make her forget about all the stuff she doesn’t want to dwell on. So Farkle’s got better plans now -- so what? She’s got pop excellence to craft.

Well, she would be if she could figure out how the mixing board works. She’s never worked with one this professional, and it’s overwhelming. She can’t get tracks to lay down properly the way she wants, and she keeps dropping in the wrong sound or instrument.

When she accidentally sets off a loud percussive line meant for like… death metal, she growls in frustration. Josh pipes up from the doorway.

Josh: Didn’t realize you were going for screamo.

Maya looks at him, not expecting him to be standing in the doorway. He’s watching her struggle with the board casually, leaning against the frame.

Maya: I could pull off screamo.

Josh shrugs. If that’s what you’re going for… his turn to take a pointed sip of his coffee.

Although it kills her to admit it, Maya reluctantly cops to her dilemma.

Maya: I’m trying to add a banjo line in. But I can’t seem to remember where that fits on this synthesizer of a thousand buttons.

Josh: Banjo? Wasn’t expecting country from you.

Maya: Not like, Taylor Swift “Mean” era banjo. Just a hint of it, a little flavor. An accent to the pop stew, not the focal point.

Josh: Ah. Well, I could show you where it is… but I know you don’t like unsolicited advice. So.

Oh, he is milking this for all its worth… Maya grits her teeth, then powers through it, offering her most sugary sweet smile.

Maya: Josh. Could you perhaps help me figure out how to add banjo on the mixing board?

Josh: Hm… well, I suppose since you asked so nicely and all…

Her blue eyes are like daggers, but she maintains her smile just the same. Josh approaches and sets his coffee down, focusing with expert familiarity on the board. He shows her the right button and then helps her set up the levels to where she wants them -- a sonic detail, but not overpowering.

When they get to talking about music, it’s suddenly easier to communicate. The tension dissipates between them as they shift to creative mode, all barbs and banter secondary to the mission of the music.

Josh: What is this for exactly, anyway?

Maya: Just a tune I’ve been workshopping.

Josh: What you were working on yesterday? Didn’t imagine banjo would pair with that…

Maya: God, no. No, I’m trying to make something actually worthwhile today. I told Justin and Melissa I’d give them something good to listen to when they came back, so I’m trying to figure out what that is. Fun, high energy, you know. A strong follow-up to “OMG.”

Josh doesn’t look like he necessarily agrees with her dismissive tone towards what he heard yesterday, but he doesn’t comment on it. Since he asked, and she’s more open to conversation wherever she can get it right now, Maya pulls the lyric sheets from the piano and hands them over, letting him take a look.

He flips through them as she describes the general energy she’s going for, even chuckling at a few of the lyrics. He pauses when he gets to one verse, thoughtful, then asks if she has a pencil.

Maya: You do.

Josh: Huh?

Maya: You… you’ve got one.

Maya points to his ear, where the pencil from earlier is absentmindedly tucked away. Josh suddenly remembers that, but he’s so interested in the song, he doesn’t have it in him to be embarrassed. He jots down a note next to the lyrics Maya has down -- earning a slight wince from her, just out of experience -- then hands it back to her.

Josh: What do you think of that?

Maya seems hesitant to read any of his feedback or suggestions, but she takes the risk. After a few seconds, a light smile graces her lips. Not bad. Shows he’s got the right idea, at least.

Maya: Might work. Maybe. [ a beat ] I think I’d need to hear it to know. Think you can work the board for a test run?

Josh eyes her uncertainly. Is she for real? But Maya doesn’t joke about the craft, and her request is one-hundred percent serious.

Now they’re cooking with gasoline. Josh hesitantly matches her smirk, as the backing track starts up --

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - RECORDING STUDIO BOOTH - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ Maya’s Original Song, “LolliPop” || Similar to “Nonsense” as performed by Sabrina Carpenter || Performed by Maya Hart

Maya is in the booth with headset on, now able to properly lay down vocals since she’s no longer trying to do everything on her own. That’s because Josh has slowly taken control of the producing side of things, both of them in full collaboration mode as the inspiration strikes in the form of Maya’s next hit, “LolliPop.”

Much like the comparable “Nonsense,” the song is pop fluff if there ever was any, but in this case that’s exactly what’s so good about it. It’s leaning fully into the tropes of the genre, yet still offering a sense of originality with how strongly it’s embracing it. It’s in the vein of Carly Rae Jepsen or Ariana -- not the most brilliant lyrics you’ve ever heard, but damn, do you wanna get up and dance along!

Which is exactly what they’re doing. The montage of watching them work on recording and mixing the track together seems like the most fun either of them has had with music in months -- if “OMG” was an exercise in spite, this is the opposite. The heaviness of the holiday is long forgotten, and much of their friction with each other is absent when they’re focused on the work.

Maya is loose and carefree as she belts out the words, star smile brighter and more genuine than anyone else in Hollywood has gotten to see. Josh is grooving as he operates the board and keeps her level, bobbing his head along and even half-singing along under his breath from time to time. His smile mirrors hers, totally immersed in the joy of creating.

Particularly, creating something good.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - MELISSA’S OFFICE - DAY

Which it clearly is, based on Justin and Melissa’s reactions as they get their first listen of the demo on Monday after the holiday weekend. The song transitions to diegetic as Maya plays it for them on her computer, demonstrating what she managed to put together in their absence. Both producers are all grins and excitement, also unable to fight the infectious rhythm that makes them wanna boogie.

Similar to Sabrina’s similar track, this version ends in laughter as Justin and Melissa crack up at some of the ending lyrics. They applaud eagerly when the demo wraps, Maya proudly hopping off the desk where she was seated and facing them for feedback.

Melissa: Maya, that’s fantastic. Gotta admit, when we set you loose to your own devices, we did not expect something this good.

Justin: Gold mine. You are a gold mine, baby!

Justin jumps to his feet and double high-fives Maya, then takes her head and plants a kiss on the top of her head. Maya isn’t even fazed by the overt friendliness -- she’s giddy too, and that’s Hollywood personalities for you. She’s busy soaking up the attention.

Justin: We’ll need to move on this pronto -- I want it out before the December holidays. We can get some radio play before the Christmas music season kicks off --

Melissa: Bro, we’re way past that. Christmas music starts before Thanksgiving these days.

Justin: Not on every station, but point taken. We’ll get it out there where we can, get it online with a sick music video -- you’re available for shooting next couple weeks, right? Once we develop a concept?

Maya: Absolutely. Just tell me where and when.

Justin: Brilliant. That’s what I like to hear. We get that out, then bam, we’re dominating the airwaves by the New Year.

All of the above sounds perfect to Maya. Everything going according to plan. Melissa takes the time to ask Maya how she even managed to pull this together on her own -- if she’s this good in the studio, she may not even need them!

Maya doesn’t hesitate.

Maya: Josh helped me. He did the mix. He gets some credit.

Well, how about that! Justin and Melissa are pleased to hear it, at least that she and their junior producer are getting along. Justin playfully touches a hand to his chest.

Justin: Aw. So sweet. I always knew that kid had talent. Didn’t we, Mel?

Melissa: There’s a reason he’s our junior. He’s got a sick ear.

Maya glances over her shoulder, looking out to the box office. Josh is back at his desk, getting picked on by ROWAN PHELPS and BRIAN HARRIS like always. A pretty unassuming, slightly pathetic picture all things considered…

But now Maya views it with a different perspective. She smiles lightly.

Maya: Yeah. I guess he does.

PART II For Having Me (Maybe)

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

Hollywood may clear out at the whiff of a holiday and time off -- those who aren’t support staff, that is -- but there’s no time for such games at Turner. The transfers are making no plans to run off and relax, still on the top of their game as Gao’s lecture kicks off at the start of Thanksgiving week.

Even though classes will be off at the end of the week, ROSARIO GAO warns them that they have important assignments to focus on during the break. That is, their finals are coming up for the first semester. The exam will be three-fold -- a written test (boo), an exercise run-through demonstrating competency of what they’ve learned so far…

And a pas de deux. The twist on this portion of the final is that much of how they fare is in their hands. She’s allowing them to pick their partners, rather than assigning them, and what kind of dance they choose to do is up to them. This is their chance to show a little more of themselves through their work, considering they’re still technically applicants, and much of their course work next semester will transition more to exploring the self and selling yourself through your craft. Not only that…

Rosario: This is your chance to show what kind of collaborator you’ll be when you have a little more control over the circumstances. That, and how you fare when the partner is someone you think you want to work with, rather than the one I’ve chosen for you.

In any case, the duet should showcase the tenets they’ve been building on all semester -- discipline, collaboration, comprehension of choreography, and of course, ability.

She continues to run through other requirements for the final product, but she lost most of the class’ attention the moment she mentioned choosing your own partners. They’re all calculating who they should approach, who they should risk their own hide to collaborate with, eyeing one another and sizing up their odds. ZAY BABINEAUX keeps his attention front and center on Rosario, both to signal that he’s serious and also to avoid the opportunistic gaze of GIA VALDEZ… but he may have tossed a glance towards VANESSA JOHNSON at the other end of the room when the concept was first introduced.

And boy, did she look at him, too. She can’t seem to stop glancing in his direction, despite her best efforts to mirror his tenacity and stay focused on Rosario.

Rosario informs them they have until next class to let her know their choices. After that, they’re locked in.

Rosario: Surely it goes without saying, but choose wisely.

With that, time for class. She gestures for them to get into formation for warm-ups, moving into staggered windows. Vanessa makes the strategic choice of stationing herself in the row in front of Zay so she won’t be compelled to look at him. But that doesn’t stop him -- he eyes her again from his post as Rosario’s pop music starts up.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “love language” as performed by Ariana Grande || Instrumental

Vanessa exhales and then starts the warm-up, raising her arm straight up into a stretch --

INT. ROCK-CLIMBING GYM - DAY

Which becomes her reaching for the nearest grip available on a rock-climbing wall, fingers ashen with chalk. The music from class becomes diegetic in the background, playing on the speakers of the gym. She’s dressed in her clothes from class, which might be wise considering bouldering isn’t sweat-free work. Her brow is furrowed in concentration, hair pulled back out of her face and movements careful and considered. No slip-ups…

Zay, off-screen: Beep, beep. Coming through.

Vanessa resists the urge to roll her eyes, but she’s less successful in concealing her smile. She turns her head and finds Zay scaling the wall beside her, also in his workout clothes. Appears like the two of them just rolled to this rock-climbing gym after classes wrapped for the afternoon. Although Zay has the same amount of focus, his movements are less calculated than hers -- more haphazard, quick reflexes and aiming for the sleekest ascent. Willing to take a risk or two along the way if it means reaching the top faster in the long run.

Zay: Look at me go. King of the ground and the walls.

Vanessa: Humble, too. And you doubted me that this would be fun.

Zay: That’s not true. I never doubted finding another route to best you would be satisfying. Please, keep taking your time, maybe I can lap you.

Vanessa: Asshole.

Zay: Seriously, I gave you like a minute head start here. And now look at me, speeding past you. Watch your hand there -- my foot’s gonna be there in a minute.

Vanessa: I can think of exactly where my foot’s gonna be next, and you’re not gonna like it. [ off his playful expression ] Climbing isn’t just about speed, you know. You have to think it through. It’s not just about who gets there first --

Zay: [ pulling himself up to another hold ] Sounds like something someone who is gonna get there second would say.

Vanessa narrows her eyes. Then she carefully watches Zay’s movements, waiting for him to make his next reach -- and she swipes her arm in front of him to break his stride. Zay loses his balance, then his grip, slipping off the wall and falling with a cuss.

Thankfully, bouldering doesn’t require a harness for a reason. It’s relatively low stakes, and the protective cushioned mat below is enough to break Zay’s fall. Vanessa smirks triumphantly, shaking her head and finishing the rest of her climb quickly but strategically. She taps the bell waiting up top and then starts to climb back down just as Zay sits himself upright, giving her a scowl as she jumps the rest of the way and lands on her feet beside him.

Vanessa: You were saying?

Zay: Oh, I can’t say what I want to say, because this establishment is child-friendly --

Vanessa cracks up. She offers him a hand but he brushes it off, swatting hers to the side and climbing back to his feet. Before they can comment further, an employee uncertainly approaches them, warning them that if they’re having a disagreement, they should consider taking it outside. They can’t have people getting into fights up on the walls…

Zay, casually: Oh, no. We’re fine. We’re on a date.

Oh… the employee doesn’t look like she believes them, given their earlier behavior, but what’s she going to do? Question them? She awkwardly tells them to be more careful then backs off, Vanessa doing her best to hide her laughter as they retreat.

But as it were, Zay is telling the truth. This is a date, and not the first one they’ve been on in the last couple of weeks. It seems that seeing how things go after Halloween has turned into a tentative courtship -- at least, whatever that means to the two of them. They’re taking a stab at it, seeing how it goes, but competitive tigers won’t change their stripes in the meantime.

Zay: See what you did? Got us in trouble.

Vanessa: No, no, I’m not taking the fall for this -- pun intended.

Zay: Oh, boo…

Vanessa: You were destined for trouble from the jump. I just helped you realize it sooner. You’re welcome. Don’t feel too bad, you never had a chance of beating me anyway.

Zay: Yeah, well, enjoy this victory while it lasts. Congratulations.

He gives her a condescending pat on the cheek, the kudos slightly mocking yet equally flirtatious. He smears chalk from his hand on her face at the same time and she huffs, shrugging away from his touch. But based on her bashful smile as she swipes her hand across her cheek to wipe at the chalk, she didn’t hate the touch.

The two of them head towards their bags to rehydrate, Vanessa grabbing her water bottle and taking a long drink. Zay asks how she even knew about this place in Brooklyn, and she admits this is one of her stress-relief exercises. When dancing loses its therapeutic charms in the challenging times, sometimes she needs to exert her energy in a less ambiguous form. Something with a clear path, like a puzzle to solve.

Zay: So your idea of relaxation is pulling yourself single-handedly up a wall with no supports. [ whistling ] You seriously need to meet my friends, they would not believe there’s someone more hard-assed and grind-obsessed than me.

Vanessa shoots him a look… but he ain’t wrong. At least he gets it. Anyway, Zay does cop to the fact that it wasn’t a bad suggestion for their evening out together. Vanessa agrees that it has been surprisingly fun having him there. In some ways, standing there taking their water break in the same clothes they danced in earlier, it kind of feels familiar.

Zay: Speaking of class… I was thinking. We should partner up for the final.

Vanessa pauses, raising her eyebrows. Not that she had thought about anyone else seriously since Gao made the announcement, but… they barely survived their duet assignment. They seem to have found some somewhat stable ground between them at the moment. Do they want to mess with that?

Vanessa: Are we sure that’s a good idea…

Zay: Is it a bad one?

Vanessa: Since we nearly killed each other last time? [ a beat ] You sure warm to people fast…

Zay: We were paired last time because we were top of the pack, and I doubt that’s changed in the last month or so. Why not keep the tradition of excellence going? Keeps the rest of them from using one of us to up their game too.

Vanessa: Yeah, I don’t know about you, but I felt like Gia was eyeing me like a vulture in the locker room after class. She’s definitely on the prowl…

Zay: Exactly my point. I say, let’s not give her the opportunity. [ eyeing her ] And, you know, we’re not at each other’s throats --

Vanessa: For now…

Zay: For now. So shouldn’t we take advantage of that?

Maybe… but isn’t that all the more risky? They’re at an okay place right now, wouldn’t trying to work together again put that in jeopardy? Just when Vanessa is starting to grow comfortable; just when things might be getting interesting? Although, on the other hand, it was being paired together that led to their hook-up in the first place…

After a long moment of looking at him, Vanessa caves. Somehow, with him, she’s always caving.

Vanessa: Okay.

Zay’s turn to raise his eyebrows. He was expecting more of a debate. But his smirk signals that he’s pleased by her answer.

Zay: Just like that?

Vanessa: Just like that. [ chalking her hands again ] Now come on, I want to beat you one more time before our session runs out.

Zay: You’re on. What’s the winner get when I reach the top before you?

Vanessa rolls her eyes at his faux arrogance, hating herself for how she’s starting to grow endeared by it. She plays it cool though, maintaining an aloof tone.

Vanessa: Top first here, top later. [ meeting his eyes ] With me, though, no losers during the latter.

Okay, dishing some arrogance right back! And she’s got him on the hook -- their expanding list of encounters with each other leaves no doubt in his mind that she’s not bullshitting. He grins and follows her towards the wall.

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

Next class, Vanessa and Zay tell Rosario that they’re planning to pair together for the midterm. She quirks an eyebrow, expression betraying nothing concrete, but clearly surprised by this decision.

Rosario: Are you sure?

Well, Vanessa had convinced herself yes… but now that Rosario is looking at them like that, she’s not sure anymore. Thanks, Gao! Zay answers for them, though, confirming that they’re set on it.

Vanessa doesn’t argue, but she seems a bit more uncertain as Rosario jots down their names next to each other on the assignment book.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - KITCHEN - NIGHT

Zay is having dinner with DONNA BABINEAUX and OMAR BABINEAUX, their usual familial rapport ongoing as the meal unfolds. When the conversation shifts to Thanksgiving plans, Donna outlining Jada’s travels plans and when she’ll be home, Zay clears his throat.

Zay: I was thinking about inviting someone to join us. If that’s cool.

Omar: [ with a shrug ] I don’t see why not.

Donna: You know your friends are always welcome to join us. Is it Riley? I know with her parents the last couple of years, it’s been --

Zay: Uh, no. [ a beat ] It’s someone I’ve been seeing for a little bit, actually. Dating.

Donna and Omar exchange a look, intrigued (the nosy former more than the latter). Certainly an interesting development! They want to know more, but Donna first lets slip a mistaken assumption.

Donna: Well, I figure it’s about time, if we already know him --

Zay, confused: What?

Oop. Not who you thought, huh, Donna? Omar widens his eyes slightly at his wife. Back it up. She clears her throat, waving the thought away like a fly and playing it off cool.

Donna: I just asked if we already know them. If you’ve been dating for a bit, like you said, then surely about time we got to hear about them.

Smooth. Zay definitely gets his quick-thinking confidence from someone.

Zay: It’s not like a long time. Just a couple of weeks. I mean, we’ve been… there’s been vibes since school started, but nothing real happened until the last month. So it’s not like I’m keeping it a big secret or anything.

He’s trying not to do that anymore if he can help it. In any case, they reiterate that they’re happy to have whoever this mystery person is over. Zay thanks them and goes back to eating, Donna and Omar sharing a longer, tacit exchange with their facial expressions alone.

Do we ask for more information? He’ll tell us what he wants when he wants. But you thought it was who I thought it was too, right? I don’t assume anything. Well, now I have a million questions. Donna, don’t be nosy.

Donna makes a face and releases a breath through her nose, then nudges the conversation onward.

INT. NYU - DORM ROOM - NIGHT

At the same time, Vanessa is hanging out with SUMMER LIONS in her cutely decorated dorm room. They’re sharing takeout and having a girls night in, chatting about how the semester has gone. On the thread of Thanksgiving, Vanessa mentions with reluctance that her plans are likely being stuck visiting extended family like usual.

Vanessa: Where I’m guaranteed to listen to my dad brag competitively with my aunts and uncles about the business and how it’s going. And I’ll be the perfect shining daughter as always, there to complement the brand but be sure not to say anything I actually care about or think. Like God forbid, I mention I’m majoring in dance.

Summer, good friend that she is, empathetically jeers at the prospect and reminds Vanessa they should feel so lucky to have such a cool family member pursuing such an interesting passion. Especially since it’s going so well -- she’s managed to maintain her top of the class standing for most of the semester, as far as they know. Nothing seems to be getting in the way of that straight shot to the top.

Well, mostly… Summer takes the convenient shift in conversation to ask about how things are going with Zay. She’s basically the only person in Vanessa’s life who knows there’s something going on there, considering she had to watch their weird behavior during Halloween and had full rights to grill V on it later. Now she’s fully invested, happy that Vanessa actually seems to be doing something fun for herself for once but also just fascinated to see how this dynamic could possibly turn out.

Summer: Considering you haven’t bitched about him in the last two hours, I assume things are actually going well. Either that or he’s dead.

Vanessa: [ with a snort ] No, not dead. It’s… things… things are fine.

Summer: Wow, glowing praise. Has the sex fizzled out already?

Vanessa: No. No, sex is still -- [ clearing her throat ] It’s adequate.

Based on how flustered she got there, yeah, chances are it’s more than adequate. Summer smirks.

Vanessa: But yeah. No. Things are… things are good.

Summer: What exactly are “things” at this point? You’ve been on a couple of dates. Like, no rush to put labels on anything obviously. But is he your boyfriend, or --

Vanessa: I don’t know. [ quickly ] I don’t think we need to -- labels are whatever. I’m just having fun. Figuring it out. I don’t think it needs to be that serious, given we both know whatever happens with Turner is basically destined to implode us one way or another.

Summer: You’re so optimistic. It’s adorable.

Vanessa: Blah, blah, blah. [ softer ] But… yeah. I don’t know. I mean… I like him, but…

Getting the words “I like him” out of her mouth and into the open was hard enough. It’s not that she’s opposed to the idea of something more serious, seeing where things might lead, especially since she is actually having fun with him. Who would’ve thought… it’s just that all of this is so new to her. The sex and desire is confusing enough -- contemplating a relationship feels like a whole other ball game.

But she doesn’t want to screw it up. Any of it. Her chances at Turner; whatever this thing is with Zay. She may be in a better mood now than she was at the start of the semester, but the mental work that comes with unpacking all of this is its own kind of clusterfuck.

Vanessa: What we’ve got right now works. It’s whatever. No need to mess with something that works.

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

Zay and Vanessa are working through their first rehearsal on their finals collaboration. The work proceeds with far less friction than their first encounter, the walls having gone down enough that they can actually workshop together without going at each other’s throats.

But that doesn’t mean it’s entirely smooth-sailing. They’re both strong personalities, leaders by nature, and so they stumble over a lot of moments where they need to find common ground. Even more so because while they’re both talented, their tastes and instincts around dance aren’t synonymous, leading to a creative clash here and there. To collaborate effectively, you need to be able to compromise, run with the other person, trust that they have the best insights in mind. Much like the rules of improv, you need to go in with a “yes, and,” supportive mentality to get good work done.

Vanessa and Zay are still kind of stuck on “no, here’s why,” defending their point of view and trying to convince the other why they’re wrong. Thankfully, they can have those debates at this point without killing each other, but it doesn’t make for speedy, effortless work.

But they’ve got some new tools of persuasion in their quivers now. When they get stuck about how they should transition between two steps, Zay makes his point by showcasing how the move he wants works seamlessly with the current combination -- walking Vanessa through it and ultimately spinning her so she ends up flush against him when they finish.

They just hang in that for a few moments, that usual attractive tension tingling between them when they’re so close like this. Vanessa tilts her head slightly to look at him, breath warm against her cheek and face so close… damn, he knows exactly what he’s doing…

Vanessa: All right, fine. We can use this one here. [ narrowing her eyes ] But I choose the next step.

She reverses the move and spins away from him, taking a moment to shake off the haze while Zay does a little dance to himself in victory. At least they’re making consistent progress -- they’ll certainly get this in great shape by finals, so long as they utilize the time around Thanksgiving. Zay asks what her current plans are, and she begrudgingly recounts the likelihood of extended family Thanksgiving.

Zay: Well, if you’re looking for alternatives… you could come have Thanksgiving at mine.

Vanessa frowns, turning to face him in disbelief. He can’t be serious… but no, he is. His expression is totally earnest. She stares at him, bewildered.

Vanessa: Are you for real?

Zay: [ after a beat ] I mean, if it sounds that terrible, then nevermind…

Vanessa: No. Shit, I didn’t mean --

She has no idea what she means. She’s still trying to process the fact that he even invited her. It’s not unwelcome… much like the chalk swipe on her cheek, it’s not that she doesn’t like it in theory… but she feels like she has whiplash. Weren’t they just seeing what this was, giving it all a try?

Vanessa: I just… it caught me by surprise. Like… already?

Zay: I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make things weird or whatever. I just thought, you know, you’re a recurring person in my life now, and since you didn’t seem thrilled about your plans otherwise… [ trying to play cool ] My parents like to meet my friends. And stuff. It’s not like, a huge deal. I wasn’t trying to trap you, or anything --

Vanessa: No, right. For sure. I wasn’t saying…

This is where they keep tripping up. They can do hatred; they can do easy-breezy banter. The challenge is drawing the lines, defining what easy-breezy actually means. The challenge is in truly being open to whatever “trying things out” might lead to… and knowing if they want the same thing.

But Vanessa does know that she doesn’t want to ruin this. She doesn’t want to disappoint him, and honestly, his offer does sound more interesting than another dull family Thanksgiving of having to be on display. Suppose this would be the same, just being shown off in a different way… but that’s better than playing dutiful daughter. And hey, won’t her parents be so pleased to hear the reason she can’t go is because she’s finally entertaining a real relationship… of sorts…

Vanessa: Um, okay. Sure.

Zay: You mean it? Seriously, I don’t want you to feel like you have to just because --

Vanessa: Nah. No, I’m… no. Yeah. Let’s plan for it. I have to talk to my parents, give them an update, obviously, but…

Zay smiles, genuinely glad she said yes. Vanessa mirrors it, though hers is more tentative. It’s a big mind-boggling, honestly, seeing how Zay can just seemingly be so ready to jump into things headfirst. To change his mind, make decisions, and then wholeheartedly commit. It’s not that Vanessa doesn’t want those things. Maybe. Someday. She’s just trying to decipher it, and see if it’s what she wants right now.

But God, when he smiles like that… as the sultry bass line kicks up…

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Can You Do It For Me?” as performed by Jai’Len Josey || Performed by Vanessa Johnson

This indecision and uncertainty is portrayed throughout this jazzy internal soliloquy, which Vanessa sings as she and Zay continue to rehearse and build their finals routine.

The lyrics do a lot of the work, with some pretty pointed sentiments, but the foggy, confused emotional state of mind is emphasized by watching the two of them work together. It really is hypnotic, seeing the way they fall into step with each other when they’re speaking through their shared passion. Even if the specifics are in doubt, in flux, scary to set in stone, the thing that does not remain in question is their palpable chemistry. That’s been there, constant since the start, whether shrouded by anger, competition, or lust.

When they’re not dancing, the focus stays with Vanessa, keeping things from her perspective. Allowing Zay to be viewed from an even more appealing, alluring light -- this desirable, dangerous subject. The thing prompting Vanessa to open more doors into her world than she ever has; the thing that just might kill her and all her dreams in the process.

But I need you boy to save my soul, cause I'm drowning If you know me baby, I don't like to wait

But fuck, if he isn’t charming. Hook, line, and sinker it seems.

Can you do it for me?

As the music descends into the jazzy brass outro, Vanessa and Zay finish running through their current choreography so far, ending on that same move Zay showed her to convince her to change the routine the first time. Back close together, fully lost in the illustrious haze of this thing they’ve got…

Vanessa turns to face him, taking his shoulders and pulling him into a kiss. Zay returns it, seemingly not carrying any of the same confusion as her.

INT. SVORSKI’S COFFEE - DAY

Zay is grabbing coffee with NIGEL CHEY, the two of them discussing the upcoming holiday as they adjust their beverages at the counter with the creamers and sugars. Nigel explains his nerves about Jade’s family joining them for the holiday, which Zay seems confused by.

Zay: It’s not like your families don’t know each other. You know they get along. What’s the worst that could happen?

Nigel: No, I know. Yeah. It’s just -- it’s kind of a big step. You know? I don’t wanna… I don’t want to do anything to fuck this up.

He’s had a complicated enough semester with Jade as it is… but Zay doesn’t know all of that, since Nigel hasn’t told him… well, anything. He’s been playing the easy-going “it’s all good” routine for so long, no one even thinks to question it when that’s what he repetitively assures everyone.

And anyway, Zay thinks he’s overthinking. He’s having Vanessa over for Thanksgiving, and he’s not obsessing over it like that. Given Jade and Nigel are way more stable than the two of them, surely he can use that to instill some confidence in the whole situation.

Maybe, but honestly, Nigel is more fixated on the fact that Zay is having Vanessa over for the holiday.

Nigel: Already?

Zay: [ giving him a look ] Is that a problem?

Nigel: No. No, obviously it’s not my business. [ a beat ] I just -- doesn’t that seem kind of fast? I mean, you’ve only been dating for like, what, three weeks? If that?

Zay: Okay? And?

Nigel pauses, opening his mouth and then closing it. He isn’t sure what his point was, so he lets it drop… but to be honest, his surprise wasn’t unfounded. Zay defends his thinking.

Zay: Way I see it, if we’re both into it, then there’s not an issue. Time is fake, and the “conventional” timeline for relationships is bullshit anyway. I’m ready to have a partner who I can bring around to my parents, who can mesh with my family. I’m at that place with what I want from my next relationship. If she is, too, then what’s the problem?

Nothing, I guess… Nigel shrugs, raising his hands in surrender. It just caught him by surprise, that’s all. It’s great that Zay feels sure enough that he’s ready for a commitment, and it’s great that he thinks he’s found someone who shares that. That’s what matters most, after all -- being with someone who is on the same page as you, who wants the same things.

INT. JOHNSON HOME - KITCHEN - NIGHT

Vanessa is giving it the old college try… she broaches the topic of Thanksgiving with her parents ALEXIS JOHNSON and RAY JOHNSON when they’re seated for dinner, explaining that she’s had something else come up. Both of them are initially disappointed, Ray immediately taking on defense.

Ray: I don’t see why I should be surprised. You’ve been trying to get out of family gatherings since you were about fifteen, though I can’t fathom why. If this has anything to do with your major, then I think --

Vanessa bristles, words barbs when she spits them out to cut him off.

Vanessa: Actually, it doesn’t have anything to do with school. I was invited to dinner with the guy I’ve been seeing.

That stops both her parents dead in their tracks. Did they hear that correctly… a boy? Vanessa confirms, reiterating that there is a person in her major she’s been dating, though she chooses not to elaborate on how long or how they came to be. Her mother seems to have questions in mind, but Ray suddenly is singing a very different tune. If she was just blowing off family for the hell of it, that’s one thing, but if she’s theoretically investing in some aspect of her future -- particularly, a stable and conventional relationship -- then by all means!

Vanessa wants to be more irritated at how all it takes for them to accept her outright is for a man to be in the picture, but she holds her tongue and takes what she can get. She’s not arguing with her father anymore for once, and that’s something she wants to enjoy. Suppose she’ll be going to the Babineaux home for the holiday after all…

INT. NYCA - LIBRARY - DAY

Zay is pleased when she tells him so at their next study session, now seated next to each other on the same side of the table rather than with a safe distance between them. They’re still not particularly affectionate or anything, but the choice to be closer isn’t by happenstance.

Zay: My mom will be so excited. She loves showing off for new people and making a big impression, as if she’s some all-star chef. Can’t resist being the life of the party.

Vanessa: Oh? How shocking… I’d never believe you were her child…

Zay gives her a look, nudging at her knee. She smiles and kicks him lightly on the ankle, initiating a small back-and-forth between them that only gets disrupted when Gia enters the library, spotting them in the back corner and striding over to greet them.

Gia: Look at you two, studying so hard back here. Aren’t we… cozy?

Vanessa and Zay stiffen a bit, putting a little more distance between them naturally as they focus on Gia instead. They match her banter with faux-friendly charm of their own, Zay’s especially effective after going to school with Maya for four years.

Gia: I heard you two decided to partner for the final.

Vanessa: Maybe. What’s it to you?

Gia: Me? Nothing. I’m not worried about my prospects. I’m in good shape, especially since I decided to partner with Genevieve. She’s in the bottom of the pack, so I think Gao will see my choice as highly collaborative. Giving back where I can, in the best team spirit. Some of our big semester tenets, and all that.

As for the two of them… well, she can’t fault them for picking one another. Real does see real… although, if her instincts are sharp, she thinks something else might be driving their strategy of picking each other.

Zay: Good news, I just ran a free diagnostic for you -- your instincts are shit.

Gia: Ha. Well…

Zay: We picked each other because we both want to transfer. Nothing more to it. You would’ve done the same, except… right, no one wants to deal with you.

Gia: If you say so. No need to get snippy. I take you both at your word… let’s just hope you don’t get too distracted by any… extracurriculars.

She gives them a sickly sweet smile and blows a kiss, wishing them well for the Thanksgiving break. Zay rolls his eyes once she turns away, muttering about how obnoxious she is. Vanessa clearly agrees… but there’s an edge to her expression underneath the disdain. Like for all the empty words Gia threw out, some of them may have managed to lodge under her skin.

INT. JOHNSON HOME - VANESSA’S BEDROOM - DAY

Vanessa is going through her closet, trying to pick what outfit she’ll wear to Thanksgiving dinner that afternoon. Her mom pokes her head in and lets her know she and her dad are about to head out for South Carolina, and they’ll see her when they get back on Monday. Vanessa tells them to drive safe, thinking that’s that, but Alexis hangs in the doorway a moment longer. A thought on the tip of her tongue…

Alexis: So… about this boy…

Vanessa looks at her, uncertain. She doesn’t think there’s much to discuss, given she’s barely mentioned Zay… but suppose that’s part of the problem. Alexis expresses surprise that she’d only heard about him in the last couple of days, and yet she’s going to his place? How long has this been going on, or is it just moving very quickly?

Vanessa: Mom. It’s like… it’s really not that big a deal.

Alexis: I don’t know about that. First time I went to visit your father’s parents for the holiday, we were engaged the next month.

Um, well… ew! Vanessa grimaces, but doesn’t comment. She doesn’t know what to say -- it’s not like she was expecting this change of plans either.

Alexis: I’m just wondering… I’m glad you seem to have found someone you enjoy being with. We always worried that… well, you’ve always been fiercely independent. I didn’t want you to end up lonely.

Vanessa: Okay…

Alexis: My thinking is… Nessie, is this the best time to be thinking about this? Getting serious about a man? Right in the middle of your transfer year, and everything…

Vanessa stares at her, dumbstruck. She can’t believe she’s hearing this. For years, all she’s heard from her mother is that she doesn’t want her to be alone, she could be doing so much better than being single, someday when she falls in love blah blah blah… not that love is even on the table right now, but now she’s suddenly flipping the script? Exactly when Vanessa is trying her best to give things a fair shake?

Vanessa: Are you kidding me? What are you talking about?

Alexis: Shh. You don’t need to get worked up.

Vanessa: You have been -- [ checking her volume ] You have been on my ass for years about finding a guy.

Alexis: Language.

Vanessa: And now I suddenly have one, and you have reservations about it? Sorry, what am I doing wrong?

Alexis: I’m not saying you’re doing anything wrong. And I am happy for you -- I hope this boy is everything you want and deserve. I just know that your dance dream is important to you. You’ve put so much work into it. I’d hate to see you stumble on that just because you allowed yourself to get distracted in the one moment it really mattered.

Vanessa doesn’t even know what to say. Not just because she feels so stuck, but because she’s scared her mom is right. She’s vocalizing all of the doubts that have been clouding her brain, that make any move she makes with Zay feel like the wrong one. If her own mother, the one constantly telling her to find a man and become a happy housewife, is suddenly saying this shit, then what?

Alexis assures her she’ll handle everything fine, unaware of the firestorm she just set off in her mind. She gives her a hug and kiss on the cheek and says she’ll text when they get to South Carolina. Vanessa stays put, frozen in place as her mom heads out and leaves her alone.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - DAY

Thanksgiving is in full swing at the Babineaux home, a handful of guests from all different buckets of family and friends assembled and making lively chatter throughout the first floor. Donna is in hostess mode as promised, laughing with her friends and sister and working to get the table set up with all the food. It’s a warm, energetic affair, exactly fitting as you’d imagine for a Babineaux.

Except for Zay. He’s hanging by the front door on the steps, leaning against the banister and tapping his feet. He nods and smiles at his guests as they file through and greet him, always asking when he’s going to come further in and mingle. He always assures them soon -- he’s just waiting for someone.

Someone who it seems is more than a little late. Zay impatiently checks his phone, going to his thread with Vanessa. He was the last one to send a text -- or two or three -- trying to get an ETA on her arrival. The last one was sent minutes ago, asking if she’s going to show up at all.

No answer.

JADA BABINEAUX hops up onto the steps next to him, looking effortlessly cool in her fashion-grad-student aesthetic. She playfully questions when his big date is supposed to get here, since everyone is so buzzy about meeting them. Her little brother and all his mysterious paramours…

Zay’s response is decidedly not buzzy, resignation settling in.

Zay: She’s not coming. Something must’ve come up.

Jada immediately softens, matching his tone. Sensing his disappointment, even if he’s acting aloof about it. She’s seen her brother get hurt too many times, even when she didn’t know all the details.

Jada: You wanna talk about it? Quick debrief in dad’s study?

Zay shakes his head, offering her a tight smile. The offer is nice, but he doesn’t want to talk about anything at the moment. He isn’t even really processing it. He claims he just wants to go get some air for a second, and Jada nods, claiming she’ll cover for him until he comes back.

EXT. BABINEAUX HOME - DAY

Zay steps out into the crisp November afternoon, the unusual chill leaving steam in the air from his breath. There’s even frost and a bit of lingering snow on the lawn, indicating they must’ve seen an unexpected snow shower at some point in the last couple days.

The cold air is good. It makes his skin tingle, keeps him on edge -- won’t let him soften enough to feel the sting of rejection. But he knows the feeling without having to sink under it. He knows it too well. He has to wonder how he keeps ending up in situations like this.

He keeps trying to do it right, to move forward with what seems right, and yet he’s always the one left out in the cold with his heart on his sleeve.

When is it ever going to be enough?

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Mean It - stripped” as performed by Lauv || Performed by Zay Babineaux

Zay delivers a delicate but impassioned rendition of the acoustic Lauv hit, perfectly encapsulating the frustration he feels. The production is simple, just him walking the stretch of sidewalk around his neighborhood alone, but the palpable ache in his voice is engrossing enough.

Don't run me 'round and 'round Don't build me up just to let me down

He’s growing weary of having to read his partner’s mind, feeling messed with and turned around and always more vulnerable than the other. Part of him likes a bit of surprise, someone who keeps him on his toes, but that can’t permeate everything. He can’t spend the rest of his life waiting for the floor to give way beneath him every time.

Suffice to say, the song encapsulates a history much longer than just Vanessa.

Zay ends the number where he started, back in front of his house. His eyes are a bit glassy, but he blinks it away, standing in the muted quiet of the fresh air.

He inhales a deep breath, pulling it together, then steps back inside his house.

Part III For A Lovely Evening

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

We’re back in Los Angeles, Maya seated on the couch with her laptop just like at the start of her segment. But she’s dressed differently, indicating this may be a bit earlier in time. She perks up just the same when Farkle returns from class, jumping up and informing him that she has officially decided to stay for the Thanksgiving holiday.

Farkle: Not going home to Katy, then?

Maya: Admittedly, that will take a bit of finessing. She’ll be disappointed, but I figure if I remind her that I now have very important business to attend to here with my very important management, then she won’t have complaints. But no, I’ve determined the holiday will be much better spent here with my other favorite person.

All about making this city their own! Farkle grins, endeared by her enthusiasm and also touched by her comment about him. He comes into the living room to join her and collapses into the armchair, unloading his school bag as she talks his ear off about all the ideas she’s been brewing about how they can spend the holiday. She doesn’t want them to take the boring approach here, no no. If they’re going to establish a tradition, do Thanksgiving Maya and Farkle style, then they’re going to do it right.

Maya: I’m thinking full-on banquet style. But I’m still iffy about the whole turkey thing -- like, honestly, who the fuck eats turkey anymore -- so I’ll need to keep refining. But obviously, dressing up will be part of the equation, so start scouring your closet now.

Farkle, playful: Okay, I’m loving the hype about redefining a holiday neither of us really care about, but girl, you need to relax a little.

Basically, slow your roll -- he’s still got a few days of classes, midterms, and a final or two to contend with before he can even think about how they’ll spend the break. Even so, he does confirm that he’s game for whatever Maya throws together.

Farkle: Just let me get through this next week, and then I’m all yours. Promise.

That prospect looks quite meaningful to Maya. She nods, holding out her pinkie for him to promise on it. He rolls his eyes but obliges, linking their fingers together.

INT. USC - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

One of those things Farkle has to keep up with is rehearsals, as production for The Last Five Years is off and running. This afternoon, while technicians continue to thread together the very simplistic set behind them, director IRENE KAPLAN reminds them all that they shouldn’t be planning on taking an early break to jet-set off before the holidays. They’ll be in rehearsals this week right up until the day before Thanksgiving, which they need, considering she’ll lose all of them for a huge chunk of December to the winter holidays.

Kaplan: Then once we’re back for the New Years, we’re going to be jumping right into the deep end. The show opens in February, and though it may not feel like it to your young, impressionable minds, that time flies by. So let’s not lose focus -- and everyone better be planning to rehearse during the winter break!

Yes, yes, they’re all planning on it. Farkle nods along with his peers, smiling to himself. It’s nice, feeling a part of something -- getting to be part of an ensemble again.

With that public service announcement out of the way, it’s back to work. Kaplan has a handful of the duets go off to work with her assistant directors in small groups, before turning her focus on Farkle and his cast partner, JUDE (20), a trendy and lowkey nonbinary acting major from the Bay area. Their duo is Kaplan’s pick of the day.

Kaplan: Let’s start from where picked off last week -- “Summer in Ohio” through to “Next Ten Minutes.” Minkus, you ready?

Farkle was born ready. He nods. As the jaunty guitar intro floats in…

INT. USC - REHEARSAL STUDIO - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “A Summer in Ohio” as performed by The Last Five Years Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Farkle Minkus

Farkle’s nimble fingers pick up the piano as the song gets going, showing him rehearsing it by himself as well as in between classes. Here, he’s acting as his own accompaniment on the piano --

INT. USC - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

Whereas back in rehearsal, the small student orchestra is handling the music. This is where the vocals actually start, giving us our first glimpse at Farkle embodying the role of Cathy. He’s smooth and charming in his delivery, lightly bouncing along to the music on the stage under the spotlight with his trademark wryness.

This works particularly well for this track from the musical, as it’s about the peak of Cathy’s sardonic era. She’s doing her best to convince herself that her career isn’t stalled, to find the silver lining in an otherwise pathetic summer, but slowly losing that commitment and warping into sarcastic truth about how much it sucks. A delicate balance of humor, snark, and authenticity that is near-tailored for Farkle Minkus.

The first half of the song progresses cut in between him alone on the piano and his rendition in rehearsal, the former offering more of a spotlight on his vocals whereas the latter gives us a dose of his theatricality and stage presence that we’ve been sorely missing. On the line “look like I was seventeen,” there’s a mischievous twinkle in his eye -- guess with things going as well as they are right now, he’s not so sick of seventeen anymore!

INT. USC - REHEARSAL STUDIO - DAY

The reason for that change in spirit is obvious. It’s because he’s finally got his teenage dream, or as Cathy sings, “my guiding light.” And that’s when we realize Farkle isn’t alone in the rehearsal studio -- JORDAN NELSON is there, seated in the small row of chairs opposite the piano. He’s watching Farkle rehearse, light, perpetually amused smile on his face. But he was right from the start -- when Farkle performs, he’s captivating, especially when his delivery is imbued with emotion like it is right now.

Farkle meets Jordan’s eyes over the piano, unable to hide his grin.

Look at me! Look at him! Son of a bitch, I guess I’m doing something right!

INT. USC - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

The euphoria in his voice is electric as he belts out the bridge. It’s like we can feel his relief, arms thrown out and head tilted back.

I finally got something right!

Then he’s in a musical sweep right through to the end, at his most effervescent and beguiling. Jude and Kaplan laugh along with his delivery, the latter looking especially pleased with her casting. She hit a freshman gold mine!

And Mrs. Jamie Wellerstein, that’s me!

INT. USC - REHEARSAL STUDIO - DAY

Farkle pounds out the last piano chords with a flourish, triumphant and energized from a good performance. Jordan descends from the seats and comes to join him, leaning over the back of the piano and giving Farkle a long look. Farkle holds his gaze, holding his breath…

Then Jordan smiles, raising his eyebrows. Good boy.

The tacit praise is enough to rival the thrill of a good performance. Farkle grins wider, eagerly accepting the kiss Jordan rewards him with.

INT. USC - CAMPUS - DAY

When rehearsal lets out that evening, Farkle emerges from the theater building with his peers. It seems like he’s finally losing his awkward edge, more comfortable with this crop of students who he’s stuck rehearsing with for hours each week than his classmates. Part of that may be because most of them are upperclassmen, and as the certified baby of the cast they feel like they need to take him under their wing, but also they know without a doubt he’s talented.

That, and he’s fun! He’s just finishing up recounting a story from his time at Adams with high-energy delivery, encouraged by their reactions and laughter.

Peer: Dude, that sounds insane. Your high school sounds legit cracked.

Farkle: My friend used to use the word “bananas,” but yep. Basically. Next time I’ll tell you about the time I broke the stage.

But it made him who he is! Jude asks if he’s planning to go back to New York for Thanksgiving -- bit of a hefty trip for just a weekend. When Farkle confirms he’s not going back until winter break, all of them quickly offer holiday alternatives for him. He can come to the Bay with Jude; he’s welcome at the Alpha Psi Omega Friendsgiving event for other theater majors not going home. They all want to make sure he feels like he’s got a place to crash, as your first major holiday away from home can be hard as a freshman.

Farkle is genuinely touched, but he assures them he’ll be okay. He’s got plans with his roommate lined up, so he’s guaranteed to be too busy to even feel an ounce of homesickness. His castmates take him at his word, but they reiterate that if anything changes, he’s welcome with them. And his roommate could come too! He just needs to reach out.

A best friend, a musical to lose himself in, a community… and a boyfriend he’s crazy about. Almost feels too good to be true. At this rate, he can’t even remember what about New York he’s supposed to be missing. Farkle beams.

INT. USC - COFFEE SHOP - NIGHT

And he gets to share his evening with said boyfriend, a perfect way to end his day on campus. They’re seated in the back of one of the campus coffee shops, sharing the cramped leather loveseat. A true feat, considering how gangly Farkle’s limbs are, but that’s all part of the experience of cozying up with your romantic interest… another thing Farkle never expected he’d actually get to do.

Jordan is listening plaintively as Farkle recounts his day of rehearsal, that tickled smile he reserves just for him gracing his lips. He has his arm draped on the back of the loveseat behind Farkle, a convenient position for him to absentmindedly play with his hair while they chat.

Farkle: So yeah, it went really well. I think Kaplan was pleased with my rendition of “Summer in Ohio,” which is good considering that’s kind of the opposite end of most of the shit I have to sing.

Jordan: Course she was. She’d be blind if she wasn’t.

Farkle: [ with a blush ] Like, she knows I can do heart-wrenchingly depressing, since that was kind of my whole brand for a while there so I’ve got that down pat. Nice to be able to show I can handle some comedy as well -- sarcastic as it might be.

He goes on to note that his peers invited him to Thanksgiving gatherings too, which he wasn’t expecting and thought was really nice. Since the beginning of the semester was so… well, he didn’t feel very socially tapped in. This was a nice change of pace.

Farkle: Honestly sucked a bit that I had to say no. Since I miraculously already have plans.

Jordan: Oh. You do?

Farkle: Yeah. Maya is staying for the break too, so we’re gonna do stuff together. It’ll be good, too -- even though we live together, sometimes with school and stuff I feel like I barely see her.

Jordan: Oh.

Oh. That’s it. Even without more, Farkle can tell from his tone that it’s not a good “oh.” The levity leaks from his expression.

Farkle: Is something wrong?

Jordan: Hm? Oh, no. No, of course not. [ a beat ] I just didn’t realize you’d already made plans for Thanksgiving. Suppose I played my hand too slow, but… I was hoping you’d consider coming to my place. For dinner.

Farkle: … oh.

Yeah, that might have been nice to know sooner. Farkle is still getting used to the idea of even having a boyfriend -- assuming he’d want to bring him around to his parents was low on the list of believability.

Jordan: I just figured things are going well… might be fun to have you meet the family. Thanksgiving is convenient too, since they’re all there -- knocks it out in one foul swoop.

Farkle: Right. Yeah, that totally makes sense.

Jordan: But if you don’t want to…

Farkle: No. No, I -- I definitely want to. I’d really, really love to. [ a beat ] I just… I made plans with Maya first. She stayed in the city for me.

Jordan: Right.

Farkle: I wouldn’t want to… I shouldn’t change plans on her like that.

Jordan: For sure. I get it.

He says, but his tone indicates otherwise. Farkle has been well trained to pick up on disappointment his entire life -- he can hear the displeasure in Jordan’s tone, can read the warning bells going off that saying no is a big mistake. He doesn’t want to let Maya down, but…

Farkle: Well, let me talk to her. Maybe I can get her to adjust our plans.

Jordan, hopeful: You’d do that?

Farkle: Yeah. Maya and I have been friends for years -- there will be other Thanksgivings.

And Maya is a guarantee in his life. Jordan is not -- and he really, really doesn’t want to fuck it up.

Jordan: Hey, if she’s cool with it, tell her thanks for me. I hope she gets how much this means to us.

Farkle: Of course. Will do. I mean, she likes you, so I bet it’ll be fine.

That’s nice to hear. Jordan leans closer and shifts to caress Farkle’s cheek, taking a moment to appreciate him up close. Farkle stops breathing -- is there any better feeling in the world than this?

Jordan: If it’s okay with you, too, I kind of want this to be a just the two of us thing. Not that I want Maya to spend the holiday alone, but… you know, given the circumstances, I’d rather this be you and me. I want the chance to show you off properly. You know?

Farkle is going to melt into the floor, no joke. He nods.

Farkle: Yeah. Yeah, you and me. I’m sure Maya will understand.

Jordan smiles, leaning in to give him a kiss. It tastes much, much better than disappointment.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

In a plot twist that should surprise absolutely no one, Maya actually does not understand. After Farkle breaks the change of plans to her, she’s decidedly not happy about it. She throws down her mock menus she’s spent all week working on, marching away from Farkle so she doesn’t have to look at him.

Farkle jumps up from the couch, hastily trying to soften the blow.

Farkle: I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to spring it on you like this. I was going to tell you yesterday --

Maya: And why the hell didn’t you? At least then I wouldn’t have spent all this time making those stupid menu layouts like an idiot!

Farkle: They’re not stupid. [ scrambling to pick them up ] And I just didn’t want to -- you were so pumped after your session with Justin and Melissa. You were so happy. I didn’t want to take that away from you.

Maya: Oh, okay. Thanks, Farkle. This is so much better!

Farkle: I’m sorry --

Maya: I’m just like -- fuck, why didn’t you tell me about this days ago? Why didn’t you give me the heads up before I passed on a plane ticket home if you were just going to leave me here?

Farkle: I’m sorry, I’m sorry! It wasn’t like that, I didn’t even know until a couple days ago --

Maya: So I’m that disposable?

Shoot, this is such a mess. Farkle stares at Maya, puffed up and lashing out but not able to hide the hurt in her eyes. He’d catch it anywhere -- he’s been the cause of it more times in the last four years than he wishes was the case.

Farkle: No. Maya, you’re not disposable to me.

Maya: [ crossing her arms ] Okay.

Farkle: This is just really important to me. You know how badly I’ve wanted -- I don’t want to screw this up.

Maya: Yeah, well, traditions with my best friend was important to me. So I guess we’re at a stalemate. [ snatching her menus back from him ] Have a nice dinner.

Well, that went splendidly. Farkle scrambles to find a compromise.

Farkle: We can still do the other nights on your plan. Wasn’t it supposed to start tonight?

Maya: I’m not hungry.

Farkle: Okay, well, Friday then, we can --

Maya: I’ll think about it. [ glaring at him over her shoulder ] Don’t want to make plans if they’re just going to fall through.

Damn… but got ‘em. Farkle backs off, wincing to himself when Maya’s bedroom door slams. He retreats to his room.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - FARKLE’S BEDROOM - DAY

Thanksgiving day arrives, and Farkle seems more than nervous about it. He’s trying to pick what outfit to wear -- he’s never had to fathom how one should dress for meeting the parents of a lover, considering that seemed downright impossible. He pulls the sweater he was planning to wear with Maya today out of his closet, one of his more flamboyant, fun pieces… but he quickly puts it back on the rack. Way too out there for a first impression. He wants to be exactly what the Nelsons will want to see.

If only he had a clue what that was.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

It seems he’s settled for a nice earth tones sweater, paired with a flannel to dress it down a bit. He looks appropriately autumnal, at least, though seasons barely exist in Los Angeles to begin with.

He awkwardly approaches Maya’s door, which is still closed from when she slammed it on him yesterday. He hasn’t seen her since, which feels wrong. He wants to apologize, and if he’s brave enough, ask for some advice, because his confidence feels particularly rocky this morning.

But there’s no point. The door may be closed, but Maya has left a message, a sticky note stuck on the door. As if she simply knew Farkle would come crawling back.

“went out. Happy Thanksgiving.”

That’s it. No further explanation, no warm wishes -- the festive greeting already feels cold as ice.

Farkle clearly fucked it up with her. But he made the choice, so now he has to deal with it. He sighs and heads back to his room to finish getting ready, having to hype himself up without her.

As the elegant doorbell rings --

INT. NELSON ESTATE - ENTRYWAY - DAY

The front door opens to find Farkle standing on the other side, looking cute with his hair brushed up and presenting his best smile. The Nelson wait staff has opened the door for him, but it doesn’t take long for LANA NELSON (50s) to rush out from deeper in the house to greet him. She’s strikingly beautiful, in that Hollywood dynasty way, with luscious white-blond hair that can’t be natural.

She seems genuinely glad to meet Farkle, though, thanking their help and ushering him into the house. Good thing he has experience with wealth, or this whole introduction would be overwhelming enough. The mansion of a house, the staff, the clearly high-powered parents… he meekly offers the items he brought along to contribute, a red velvet cake from a local bakery and a carefully selected bottle of wine.

Lana: Oh, you’re so sweet. Let me take those from you -- [ getting a look at the wine ] Oh, this is a fantastic blend.

Farkle: My mom says never to show up as a guest without the right cuvée. That’s one of her personal favorites.

Lana: Well, your mother sounds like an incredibly smart woman. [ letting the wait staff take the cake from Farkle ] I’ll go help them add this to the stock in the kitchen, but you go make your way into the lounge. That’s where all the guests are mingling.

Lana leaves him to it, chatting with the wait staff as they disappear to the kitchens. Farkle hesitates, not sure where he’s supposed to go -- he can hear the chatter and classical piano coming from the lounge, but he feels weird just waltzing in there on his own.

Jordan, off-screen: Minkus.

Farkle spins around, searching for his voice.

Jordan is standing at the top of the staircase, making the moment feel downright fairy-tale-esque. He’s looking quite sharp in his chosen button-down and slacks, curly hair just the perfect amount of windswept. He gives Farkle a smile, holding his eye contact as he descends the steps to come greet him.

He’s obviously pleased with Farkle’s gobsmacked reaction. At a total loss for words -- and for Farkle Minkus, that’s saying something! He meets him in the entryway.

Jordan: Boy, does it look good to see you standing in my entryway.

He greets him with a kiss, one that Farkle happily accepts after a second of wondering if he’s in a coma. Surely, this can’t be his actual life.

Farkle: You look amazing. Sorry, I feel like I underdressed --

Jordan: Don’t be silly. You look great. Besides, some of these Hollywood stiffs could afford the reminder that not every gathering is the fucking Oscars. Keep ‘em humble.

With that, is he ready to enter the lion’s den? Jordan holds out an arm and gestures towards the lounge, signaling for him to take the leap. Farkle gives him a smile, squaring his shoulders and taking the lead.

INT. NELSON ESTATE - LOUNGE - DAY

A quick montage of the mixing and mingling gives us a snapshot of how the afternoon starts out. Farkle sticks close to Jordan as they make the rounds with family, friends, and neighbors, many of whom are noteworthy members of the industry considering they live up in the Hollywood hills where all the wealthy folks have their compounds. Jordan seems more than pleased to bring Farkle into each circle, watching him with pride and intrigue as he makes his first impressions.

This is something Farkle excels at. He’s been doing this game since he was a child, attending mixers and fundraisers with his family, so charming new crowds isn’t something he’s a stranger to. Admittedly, he was much worse at it in his angsty adolescent phase, but he’s outgrown much of that now and has shorn much of his awkward gawkishness. He can muck it up with the best of the elite, and he’s doing a smashing job of playing brand new arm candy as Jordan parades him around.

Still, not everything is shiny and glossy. A couple of elderly guests don’t seem super pleased by his presence -- they eye him uncertainly and keep to themselves, sipping their chardonnay.

Farkle doesn’t catch it, though, because he’s so consumed with the glow of everything else. He feels gilded, like full-on Gatsby, immersed in the shimmering promise of young romance. After one particularly good conversation, Jordan beams at him and leans close to whisper something in his ear, then gifts him a peck on the cheek.

The first true test of the day dawns when Farkle’s studies come up in conversation, and he mentions that he’s an acting major. This is how he and Jordan met, naturally, although Jordan is quick to point out that’s not all the creative talent Farkle has.

Jordan: He’s a musical theater major, specifically, and his voice speaks well enough to that. Surely you all will have to plan to come see him in the winter production of The Last Five Years.

Guest: Oh, what a show! I should say we should.

Jordan: But what’s really remarkable is his ear for music. He’s such a gifted pianist -- in fact, Farkle, why don’t you show them?

Farkle blinks. Um, huh? He didn’t have anything prepared… he sheepishly laughs and waves off the request, claiming he couldn’t possibly.

Jordan: Oh, come on. You’re fantastic, you don’t need to be shy.

Farkle: I wouldn’t say shy --

Guest: Farkle, there’s no pressure at all. You’re in a room full of creatives, there’s no safer company.

Actually, that feels like even more pressure, but now they’re all excited by it. Yes, please, let’s hear something! Jordan gives him an encouraging squeeze on the shoulder, nodding towards the piano.

Jordan: Told you I wanted to show you off, didn’t I?

That he did… well, guess this is the time to dazzle. Farkle manages a smile and waves down everyone’s requests, signaling he’ll do it by stepping towards the piano. The wait staff currently playing vacates the bench for him, allowing him to take the reins.

All eyes on him. Farkle takes a deep breath, focusing for a moment… then he lays his hands on the keys.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Rachmaninov: 10 Preludes, Op. 23: No. 9 in E-Flat Minor” as arranged by Sergei Rachmaninoff || Performed by Farkle Minkus

Farkle chooses one of the short pieces from his mental playbook, a sample he learned years ago when he was still in lessons that has basically burned into his memory. It’s a bit turbulent, the minor key casting it in a sense of melancholy darkness, but more than that its quick notes require a certain skill level that allows him to demonstrate his ability.

It goes over well, the guests politely tuned in to his little performance. Some of them give Jordan playful nudges, like wow, what a fella you’ve picked out! He smiles proudly, definitely basking in the joy of getting to show off his little muse.

As he wraps up the piece, the assembled guests break into applause. Bravo, indeed!

But all Farkle cares about is Jordan. He’s earned a grin from him, and that feels like the only currency that matters.

INT. NELSON ESTATE - LOUNGE - LATER - DAY

After his performance, Farkle is fielding compliments from some of the other guests. They commend him on his ability, wonder how long he’s been practicing, etc. When he mentions that his mother and father put him in lessons as soon as he could carry a tune, this prompts a bigger conversation about his parents.

Guest: And just where do you hail from again?

Farkle: New York. My parents are Stuart and Jennifer Minkus -- might not know them as much out here, but --

Guest: Oh, are you kidding? Of course we know Stuart Minkus! Your excellence makes all the more sense now.

Guest 2: Fantastic businessman. It’s no wonder he’s been at the top for so many years. When he helped us secure financing for our first film, it was a God-send.

Farkle beams, glad to hear his father is well-respected here just like in New York. There’s plenty more to say about him too, about the family business and growing up his son, but the conversation doesn’t last much longer. Jordan seems to be growing a bit bored by this new topic, given he doesn’t have much to contribute to it. So he changes tracks, clearing his throat and claiming he wants to pull Farkle away for a moment if that’s okay.

Farkle eyes him curiously, raising his eyebrows, as the guests let Jordan pull him away. He wonders if he said something wrong, but Jordan doesn’t seem upset. He takes his hand.

Jordan: Come with me for a sec.

Well, he isn’t going to say no to that! Farkle nods, letting him lead the way.

INT. NELSON ESTATE - JORDAN’S BEDROOM - DAY

Seems Jordan just wanted Farkle all to himself for a bit before dinner, having given him a tour of the rest of the estate. They end up in Jordan’s bedroom, giving Farkle his first exclusive look at his boyfriend’s inner world.

It looks about how you’d expect a wealthy, wannabe director’s room to look. Nice, spacious bed low to the ground, movie posters in full-theater size all hung along the walls, stacks of film equipment scattered throughout. He’s got a whole corner of the room dedicated to his desktop Mac, which is obviously his main editing bay when he’s not at school.

To be fair, he could be living in a literal shoebox and Farkle would still be enamored by it. It’s his boyfriend’s personal space, and that’s what makes it worth everything. Jordan tries to read his reaction, nonchalantly claiming it’s not much. Probably about what he’s used to in New York.

Farkle: Totally. No, yeah, it just -- [ with a laugh ] It reminds me of my friend Isa.

Jordan: [ after a beat ] Oh?

Not what he was expecting. Farkle nods, going on to explain that they’re also at school for film. So all the movie stuff, it just feels like being shot back in time.

Farkle: They even have that exact copy of the Interstellar poster -- a movie I kind of think is overkill, personally, but we’d argue about that all the time. Rest assured, though, your room is way more aesthetically pleasing than theirs. They were so bad about keeping things neat, so it usually looked like a bomb went off.

He says the dig fondly, with nostalgia… but Jordan doesn’t seem charmed by the comparison. He doesn’t know who Isa is, never heard of them until now, but he doesn’t necessarily like them being Farkle’s first thought when he’s showing him something that’s supposed to be his.

So he doesn’t acknowledge it, changing the subject instead. He holds out his hand again.

Jordan: C’mere. Wanna show you something.

Farkle doesn’t need to be asked twice. He eagerly takes his hand, letting him lead him out to the balcony.

EXT. NELSON ESTATE - JORDAN’S BALCONY - DAY

There’s a reason Jordan saved this spectacle for last -- his balcony offers an absolutely stunning view of the valley, rolling green hills and spotless California blue sky. Farkle walks to the railing and takes it all in, mesmerized by the sight. Quite different from the concrete monochrome of Manhattan, that’s for sure.

Farkle: It’s like a fucking Monet.

Jordan grins at that take, coming to join him at the railing. He gazes at him for a moment, then elbows him lightly so he’ll shift his eyes from the scenery to him.

Jordan, softly: I’m so glad you’re here, Minkus. It means a lot that you changed your plans just for me.

Farkle: [ once he remembers how to breathe ] I’d do it any time.

Now that, Jordan likes to hear. He takes Farkle’s chin and pulls him in for a kiss, the two of them silhouetted against the picturesque backdrop of the valley.

INT. NELSON ESTATE - DINING ROOM - DAY

Dinner is unfolding swimmingly, lively chatter occupying each end of the long dining room table. It’s a crowded luncheon, but Farkle is given a relative seat of prominence, at the immediate family end of the table right next to Jordan. His father, LEONARD NELSON (50s), is holding court at the head, Lana faithfully at his right side. They’re both warm and welcoming to Farkle, engaging him in conversation about how he’s liking Los Angeles.

However, not everyone is so jolly. Those disgruntled ELDERLY FOLKS from before are also seated at this end of the table, as we’ve come to find out they’re Leonard’s parents. His side of the family, with a couple of aunts and uncles and a handful of cousins, stretch from that end to the middle of the table, and they’re pointedly less rosy in their reception of Farkle. They mainly keep to themselves, listening but not engaging with him either way.

Farkle tries not to overthink it. Some people are just shy, and if his knowledge of wealthy elites is any good, he also knows they sometimes are just stuffy and don’t like new faces intruding on their circles. He’s sure that has to be doubly true in Hollywood. Everyone else is more than welcoming anyway, so he opts to focus on that instead.

Once the main course has been devoured and they’re transitioning into the small plates before dessert, Leonard asks Farkle about how he’s enjoying USC’s program. He’s had a couple of friends send their kids there, and he has a few colleagues who attended themselves. Farkle keeps it positive and tries to reflect on the positive aspects, which is much easier now that he’s gotten to jump into The Last Five Years.

Lana: Oh, I love that show. Such an interesting concept, the way it plays with time.

Farkle: For sure. It’s an honor getting to play Cathy --

The man of the elderly couple speaks up, raising his eyebrows stiffly.

Grandpa Nelson: I’m sorry, you’re playing a woman?

Jordan: It wouldn’t be odd if he was, gramps. It’s 2022.

Farkle: [ aiming to ease the tension ] The school is doing multiple different productions and utilizing gender-neutral casting to put a new lens on the content, freshen it up from the early 2000s interpretation.

Jordan: Less heteronormative.

Grandpa Nelson absorbs that, but doesn’t comment -- next to him, Grandma Nelson sniffs haughtily and stabs at her food. Farkle eyes them, uncertain, but he’s pulled out of it by Leonard’s praise.

Leonard: That’s a grand idea. You know, that’s all the industry wants these days. Fresh spins on old ideas. Some might say that’s a dagger in the heart of creativity, but your professor is showing there’s real potential in it, huh?

Farkle: I suppose. I’m mainly just happy to be able to do a production again. A role like Cathy is cool, too, since she’s quite a layered character. She’s tragic, but there’s an equal amount of wit and humor to her as well. Feels nice to be able to portray a balance.

Leonard: I’m sure you do it well. We’ll have to come see the show.

Farkle: That would be great.

Jordan: You won’t be disappointed, that’s for sure. Farkle as a performer is one of a kind. It’s what made me notice him, after all. [ after a beat ] One of many reasons I’m lucky to call him my boyfriend.

Farkle blushes, even more so when Jordan pointedly takes his hand on the tabletop. Feels like the most perfect, picturesque moment --

Until Grandma Nelson slams her silverware down, causing Farkle to jump and turning all attention towards her.

Grandma Nelson: I’m sorry, but this has gone far enough!

Farkle stares, totally bewildered. Jordan, however, seems ready to fire back, narrowing his eyes and turning his intense glare in her direction.

Jordan: I’m sorry, granny, is there a problem?

Grandma Nelson: Don’t you speak to me that way. You know damn well there’s a problem. Parading him around like you’ve been all day, rubbing your… relationship in our faces --

Leonard: Mother --

Cousin: Simply rude.

Guest: I think we agreed no discussing politics at dinner --

There’s no stopping this storm though -- not when it’s finally been unleashed. In seconds, Jordan escalates to sparring verbally with his grandparents, calling them out for their reductive, oppressive, and backwards social views. There’s nothing wrong with the queer community, and it’s kind of incredible they’re still functioning in Hollywood with such views in the year 2022. To say nothing of the fact that they’re holding that against their own flesh and blood! Grandma and Grandpa Nelson get fired up and defensive, accusing Jordan of orchestrating this whole thing and not allowing them to have one decent family gathering without aggravating the peace with all of his hyper-progressive nonsense.

Slowly, hauntingly, Rachmaninov floats back in over the soundscape, underscoring the chaos.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Rachmaninov: 10 Preludes, Op. 23: No. 9 in E-Flat Minor” as arranged by Sergei Rachmaninoff || Instrumental

Leonard tries to intervene and get everyone to calm down, while Lana immediately tries to find a hostess way to get things back on track, but the train is off the track. It’s almost like a Hollywood film in reality -- flushed cheeks, raised voices, long-standing family feuds finally cracking. Other guests watch in both horror and amusement, and a few with strong opinions of their own attempt to jump into the argument for either side.

It’s all mute now though beneath the piano, representing Farkle’s absolutely paralyzed reaction. He’s frozen in his seat, caught amidst the familial bloodbath, no clue what to do or how to escape. Even with Jordan next to him, defending his honor, he feels distinctly alone, cast adrift with no lifeboat. It seems all he can manage is to sit there and watch the train wreck.

Even when the table starts to clear out, when Jordan gets up and storms away and his grandparents retreat to the lounge in a huff, Farkle stays put. He’s dissociated out of the moment, wondering how he managed to possibly ruin something so good without even trying.

Seems being the monster is something he’ll never outgrow.

EXT. NELSON ESTATE - PATIO - DAY

Leonard has retreated to the back patio once the dust has settled, taking a long drag on a cigarette. Farkle hesitantly approaches the back door and then steps out onto the patio to join him, catching Leonard by surprise. He coughs and quickly moves to conceal his cigarette, apologizing for the filthy habit. Farkle waves him off, assuring him it’s no big deal.

Leonard: I’m trying to quit, I swear, but this industry… well, don’t tell Lana, okay?

Farkle manages an awkward smile. Given what just happened, he can’t blame him for needing the hit… he protectively crosses his arms over his chest, trying to make himself smaller as he apologizes for what happened. He didn’t mean to set everything on fire. Leonard stares at him, bewildered.

Leonard: What are you talking about?

Farkle: What happened in there… I don’t know what I said or did, but I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make anyone upset.

Leonard: Oh, son, please. Don’t blame yourself. Our family… well, it’s got its complicated political history. Coming from old money, you know… you’ll find tigers of both stripes out here. Sometimes those perspectives just clash loudly, that’s all.

Farkle: Sure. Um… I just have a knack for that. Messing everything up.

Leonard: Farkle -- that’s your name, right?

Farkle: Yeah.

Leonard: Good. Just checking. Jordan usually calls you Minkus, so… [ with a sigh ] Believe me, you are not the catalyst of calamity in our family. It’s been wonderful having you join us. Jordan was so thrilled to have you here, as you could tell. Don’t let my mother and father’s behavior dissuade you of that.

Farkle tries his best to believe him, but he doesn’t look convinced. Given his life-long track record…

He timidly asks if Leonard thinks Jordan is okay. He seemed pretty worked up when he left the dinner table. Leonard nods, claiming that he has always had friction with the grandparents due to their rather… dated views on matters. It’s not uncommon for them to get into spats like this, although this one was admittedly fiery. Perhaps Farkle should go check on him -- he’ll likely be much more open to talking to him than any of the family at the moment.

Farkle doesn’t look sure that he’ll make things any better.

INT. NELSON ESTATE - DAY

On his way towards the staircase, Farkle pauses to catch his breath and calm his nerves in a small alcove. He feels totally out of his depth -- and he thought he knew complex family dynamics. In a bout of nerves, he pulls out his phone and calls Maya. Hearing the familiar voice should soothe his anxiety, if nothing else.

But she doesn’t pick up. Why would she, when he dumped her for this?

So he’ll have to go it alone. He takes a breath, making his way towards the stairs -- just in time to pass Grandma and Grandpa Nelson eyeing him disdainfully from the doorway to the lounge.

Cute. Farkle makes a beeline for the staircase.

INT. NELSON ESTATE - JORDAN’S BEDROOM - DAY

Jordan is reclined on his bed, flipping through a short film script. For how upset he looked during the argument at dinner, he seems pretty calm now… when there’s a light knock at the door, he warns the person on the other side that unless they’re anyone not related to him by blood, they can head back down the hall and leave him alone.

Lucky Farkle, he doesn’t fit that description. He cautiously cracks the door open, poking his head inside. Not sure what state he’ll find his boyfriend in on the other side… but Jordan is happy to see him. He smiles, setting the script aside and sliding to the end of the bed.

Jordan: There you are. I was wondering when you’d finally come find me.

Farkle: Here I am. [ uncertain ] Are you okay?

Farkle steps inside and shuts the door behind him, sensing that they may want privacy. If he’s still upset… but Jordan doesn’t seem upset. He gives Farkle a smirk, tilting his head.

Jordan: Do I not seem okay?

Okay, now Farkle is lost. He pauses, not sure how to answer.

Farkle: Uh… I mean, earlier when you left the table…

Jordan: Oh, yeah. That. I mean, if I didn’t walk away the fight was just going to go on forever. I hate my grandparents, but it’s not like I want to make them drop dead. Gotta give them a breather every now and then.

Jordan gets to his feet, taking the script and putting it back on his desk. Farkle watches him, still trying to get his brain to catch up. Nothing seems to be clicking right…

Farkle: But when you were arguing with them, you seemed --

Jordan: Well, duh, of course I was emotional. What am I gonna do, appeal to their cold hearts with dry reason? That’s not how you get people to listen. Had to play it up a little bit to get their brains even working on the right speed. [ with a playful wink ] Bet you didn’t know your boyfriend was a bit of an actor too, did you?

So then… he knew that was going to happen the entire time? Farkle questions that, not sure what to think but feeling a distinct ice in his limbs.

Jordan: I just wanted to make them face it. You know? They’re so smug and disgusting about it, their moral high ground bigotry. They think if they can just pretend queerness doesn’t exist, that my queerness doesn’t exist, then they win. Well, I wanted them to see it for themselves. No way to look the other way or hide their hate behind formality.

Farkle: … okay. [ blankly ] And you didn’t think to… uh… tell me about that?

Jordan: I didn’t want to psych you out. You were nervous enough about coming, making a good impression -- which you did, by the way. My parents love you. And the party guests couldn’t get enough of you. The only reason my dad’s side of the family didn’t is because of everything mentioned previously. Their fault, not yours.

Farkle: Okay, but… I mean, that was… I feel like if I had known…

It wouldn’t have been nearly so traumatizing? Maybe? Jordan gives him a look, frowning slightly.

Jordan: Minkus, come on. Are you upset? Again, you didn’t do anything wrong.

Farkle: I know. But --

Jordan: If I had told you, you would’ve gotten in your head about it. It wouldn’t have played off nearly so well -- as an actor, you know how it is. The most authentic performances are the one coming from real places, regardless of the emotion. That’s how they got such damningly good performances during The Sixth Sense, or Poltergeist.

Farkle: Pretty sure those films’ casts are cursed now…

Jordan: And you did a perfect, perfect job. Bet my grandparents will think twice about their bigotry now.

Farkle nods slowly, but his brain still feels trapped at the dinner table. He gets what Jordan is saying, he understands the words, but it still won’t process in his head. He wants to be okay with it, to play it off effortlessly cool like Jordan does and think of it as a win in the name of queer activism or whatever. But even as he nods along, the wariness lingers in his features, and the chill stays ice in his veins.

Farkle: Well, I, um -- I should probably go.

Jordan: No. Come on, don’t be like that.

Farkle: It’s not that I -- I feel like I’ve made everything really… it would probably be better if I just left. Gave you all some space to…

Jordan: Hey. Hey, hey, come on --

Jordan looks at him sympathetically, coming to meet him in the middle of the room. He delicately takes his hands, waiting for him to meet his eyes.

Jordan: Hey, I’m sorry if I caught you off-guard. I didn’t mean to put you in the middle like that. Unfortunately, that’s the kind of risk we run being who we are in the world. You know? Our love, Minkus, it’s radical. Some people aren’t ready for it yet. That’s why, through our art and our collaboration, we get to make them see it.

Sure… for sure… very revolutionary. Or whatever. Jordan can tell Farkle still seems shaken, so he does his best to sweeten the deal. He takes his face in his hands and looks him over, offering his most charming, swoon-worthy smirk.

Jordan: You were incredible. You are incredible. [ touching his lip ] Let me make it up to you?

Farkle hesitates, meeting his eyes. Not saying yes or no… but when Jordan closes the distance between them and kisses him, most of his questioning defenses are disarmed. After a moment’s hesitation, Farkle initiates the next kiss, letting Jordan pull him closer.

What’s the anxious ice in his veins compared to the unbeatable warmth of a kiss like that?

INT. NELSON ESTATE - ENTRYWAY - NIGHT

Whatever magic Jordan pulled to make it up to Farkle, it seems to have done its job. He seems less on edge when the two of them descend the staircase a couple hours later, most of the guests from earlier having already departed. Lana and Leonard come to greet Farkle before he goes, thanking him again for coming and for his grace and understanding when things got uncomfortable. Rest assured, they promise not every dinner party they host ends up that way.

Leonard: We try to have my folks at as few as humanly possible.

Lana: And we hope we’ll see you again much sooner than that.

Farkle, sincere: That would be great, thank you. Despite everything, I had a nice time.

They beam, wishing him a happy Thanksgiving. Jordan signals that he’s going to walk Farkle out.

EXT. NELSON ESTATE - NIGHT

The two of them step out onto the front stoop, the Los Angeles evening having settled into a chilly, hazy indigo. Jordan turns Farkle to face him again, giving him a fond pat on the cheek and pulling him in for another kiss. This one lingers, Farkle leaning into it and soaking up the affection for all its worth.

When they pull apart, Jordan keeps him close, bumping his nose against his.

Jordan: It’s you and me, Minkus. You and me against the world.

Farkle smiles, nodding. Warm and dreamy from the last couple of hours, ice long since thawed from his muscles.

Farkle: You and me.

Jordan nods proudly. Atta boy. He gives him one more kiss and then sets him free, heading back inside. Farkle stays on the doorstep for a moment longer, almost like he’s caught in a dream, then makes his way down the driveway towards the family car.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - NIGHT

Farkle treads quietly back into the apartment, the warmth of Jordan’s kiss having worn off on the car ride back to Larchmont. He’s left feeling lukewarm, torn between the highs of the night with the boy he can’t get enough of and the lingering discomfort from… well, everything else. He isn’t sure how to make sense of it -- maybe this is just how love is supposed to feel?

He’s surprised that Maya is already back, though, emerging from her bathroom in the midst of brushing her hair and getting ready for bed. They stare at each other for a long moment, not sure what to say. On a day that they were originally supposed to spend together, it’s strange to be facing one another and not have one clue how the other one spent the holiday.

Farkle does his best to bridge the divide, offering a smile. He doesn’t realize how tired it comes off.

Farkle: Hi. How was your day?

Maya: … fine. I made the most of it.

Farkle: Good. That’s good.

Maya: Have a new track I’ve been working on. [ a beat ] Maybe this week I can play it for you.

Farkle: I’d love that. Seriously, I can’t wait to hear it.

Maya nods, not betraying her emotions. Farkle knows he let her down, and to be honest, he was expecting even more diva behavior from her. But Maya’s torn between two minds too -- the part of her that is indignant, that knows he did a shitty thing, that resents him for choosing a boy over her. But it isn’t strong enough to overpower her other half, the one that loves Farkle and wants him to be happy. If doing the domestic thing, being a good boyfriend sharing dinner with the partner is how he wants to spend his days, she can’t resent him for that. No matter how badly she wants to. She could with anyone else, easily and without hesitation, but not Farkle.

So they’re at a stalemate. Maya heads towards her door, but then decides she should be polite and ask.

Maya: How was your dinner?

Farkle pauses. What can he possibly say? Mesmerizing? Traumatizing? The most confusing experience he’s ever had -- and that’s saying something?

He says none of the above. Instead, he flashes his most self-assured smile.

Farkle: Great. Really, really great. So glad I went.

Maya doesn’t question his answer. Why would she? So she lets his assurance go undisturbed, leaving nothing in the air between them but uncomfortable silence. Tension that has never existed between them before -- not like this.

Maya: Happy Thanksgiving.

Farkle: Thanks. You too.

Maya nods, stepping into her room and shutting the door. Farkle hangs in the empty apartment for a long moment, heavy in the silence, feeling the ice start to creep back in his veins…

Then he pushes it all away, heading towards his room and shutting the door.

Part IV For Knowing Me

INT. CHEY APARTMENT - KITCHEN - NIGHT

Spirits are much higher at the start of our next segment, LIEZEL CHEY hunched over a recipe binder in the kitchen. She has corralled LEONA CHEY into helping her curate the perfect menu for their Thanksgiving dinner, something which Leona clearly could not care less about.

Leona: Ma, we never go this hard for Thanksgiving. What’s the big deal?

The reason is more than obvious when Nigel and JADE BEAMON enter the apartment, stopping by the kitchen to say hello. They’ve just come back from a coffee date, lowkey but essential as they work on preserving their relationship after the highs and lows of the semester so far. Liezel pointedly gestures to Jade, answering the question -- they have important guests to impress!

Leona rolls her eyes, picking up one of the recipes and slapping it into Nigel’s hands as she passes him to exit the kitchen.

Leona: Sounds like your problem, then.

Nigel shoots her look, but he’s too relieved with how things went that evening to care. He and Jade had a good time, she looks comfortable and content standing in his kitchen with his mother. This is how things should be, the way he wants them to be.

And for once, they got one night in without talking about Anya Kelly.

Leona excitedly shows Jade a couple of the selections she’s picked, promising that her family is in for a fantastic feast. Jade smiles, assuring her that they’re all looking forward to it. When Leona carries on explaining how glad she was that they were able to arrange it and make the plans, Jade agrees, and makes eye contact with Nigel.

Jade: I’m glad it was able to work out.

Nigel returns her gaze, offering a light smile. Given how things have been going lately, yeah, both of them are grateful that so far, this seems to be holding.

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - MAIN FLOOR - DAY

But they still exist in their separate worlds, so they have to keep working overtime to find the balance. Jade figures one piece of maintaining that may be reconnecting with her actual peers, so she’s been spending a bit more time on the main floor near the apprentice desks in the mornings and during break. JAMAL ALLEN and SKYLAR ALBRIGHT are happy to see her, welcoming her back into the realm of the normal.

This morning, they’re discussing the upcoming holidays. Skylar complains about how her school isn’t letting out until the Wednesday before, which basically kills any starry-eyed notions of traveling or doing something cool. Jade admits that it’s weird not having to operate by such a strict, structured schedule the way school provides one -- as a community college student, her classes are less prescriptive and more flexible as a rule of thumb.

Jamal: What’s your Thanksgiving plan, then? Gonna go on the grand jetset adventure Skylar can’t have?

Skylar: If you are, please, I beg of you, pack me in your suitcase and take me with you.

Jade: [ with a laugh ] No, nothing like that. Staying in the city for sure, but should still be a good weekend. My family is going to Nigel’s for dinner.

Aw, how sweet! Jamal points out things must be in better shape than last they talked about him then, since holiday dinner sort of seems like a serious step. Jade nods, grateful to report that they were able to work the issues out. Seemingly, hopefully, all water under the bridge now.

Skylar notes that they should all be grateful they get any time off at all -- last year, when the spring fashion production was backed up, Anya coerced all of them into working so much of the time around Thanksgiving that doing anything for the holiday beyond eating turkey in your apartment was pointless.

Jamal: Well, like I said at the time, no one is making you do that, Sky.

Skylar: Yeah, I know that now, don’t I? But then I had the dream in my head that doing all that extra work would’ve helped me jump up the ladder. Like I’d magically be gifted seamstress in a day.

Jamal: And what did you get?

Skylar: A fifty-dollar thank you card to Starbucks. Oh, and carpal tunnel.

Nature of the exploitive beast… truthful as the two of them are being about their experience, Jade grows uncomfortable. Anya’s never made her feel like that, and she feels the strange impulse to defend her. Particularly with Anya’s critique of their work ethic ringing around in her head, she can’t help but think maybe they’re both just being a bit ungrateful.

When she tries to express this, though, delicately as she might try, it doesn’t go over well. Not that Jamal and Skylar are going to diss her for having her own opinion, but vouching for the boss in the middle of an expressly vent-like colleague chat is never a good move. It leaves her coming off a bit like a suck-up, and adds a layer of stiffness to the rapport that wasn’t there before.

Skylar: No need to get on the soapbox, by the way. We all work here, after all.

Jade: I’m -- I wasn’t. And I’m not being naive.

Jamal: Did we say you were?

Skylar: Jade, I’m just saying, like… I get that it’s dope you’re getting all this face time with Anya. You’re probably learning a lot, and that’s fucking sick. Take advantage of that. But remember that everyone in this building is a fucking human just like the rest. We all eat and shit at the end of the day, no matter what your title is.

Jamal: Charming word choice, thanks, Sky.

Well… okay. Sure. Jade knows that, logically, so she doesn’t get why they’re like talking down to her all of a sudden. Honestly just feels a bit like jealousy… Jade states she should probably get back to work, and doesn’t mention anything about coming back down for lunch later.

Jamal and Skylar watch her go, exchanging a look. Skylar shakes her head and goes back to her computer, Jamal tilting back in his chair and singing Halsey under his breath.

Jamal: Don’t meet your heroes, they’re all fucking weirdos…

INT. NYU - LIBRARY - DAY

Nigel is currently working on his final project for playwriting class, but he doesn’t seem too enthused about it. All the excitement he had about the course at the start of the year has drained away, left with just a furrowed brow and determination to get the assignments over with.

Given who he’s spent all semester with, that’s not surprising. IMOGEN LEE and ABBY are also there with him, seated at the same table and pounding out their final projects -- in between complaints about how much work it is and how they can’t wait to be finished with the class. Nigel doesn’t bother to try to interject with a positive spin; it hasn’t gotten him anywhere so far.

Their negativity circle is mildly disrupted when ISA DE LA CRUZ runs into them with MOLLY SINGH, both of them stopping by to grab reference books for their final papers in introduction to cinema.

Molly: So what are you all working on? Are you like, writing actual plays?

Imogen: By the skin of our teeth.

Abby: Ooh, great reference.

Imogen: Thank you very much.

Molly: OMG, that sounds so fun. I wish that was our final instead of writing about how color and stage direction is used analytically in some film from the 1950s.

Isa: Nigel, you must be having a fucking field day. How Shakespearean are you going to get with the draft?

Nigel shies away from the direct address, despite how friendly he and Isa have been in the past. Things have been a bit weird between them since Halloween -- on both ends -- and he feels especially weird being talked to in front of Imogen and Abby. They eye him expectantly, wondering what he’s going to say. Is he excited about this project they’ve been bitching about for like two weeks?

He feels disjointed, like he’s split in half. Yet, at the same time, he mainly just feels like nothing at all.

Nigel: [ with a shrug ] It’s… you know. I’m getting it done.

Sounds like the definition of a fucking field day… Isa eyes him critically, but doesn’t comment. Once they walk away to find their books, Isa slows their roll a bit, disappearing behind the shelves nearby but keeping an eye on him as they go.

Bored with her writing, Imogen has swapped to scrolling through TikTok instead, where she sees on the account for productions at NYU that Riley and Evan have been featured this week as part of the promotion for Ghost. Imogen shakes her head, not even bothering to hide her laughter, as the mere existence of Riley has basically become a joke to her after such repeated bashing. She shows the video to Abby, who matches her laughter; Nigel keeps his eyes firmly on his laptop, trying not to get roped in.

But when the precedent has been set… Imogen starts imagining what she thinks a Riley Matthews play would be like, a derisive and mocking portrait of their infantilized and cutting perception of her bubbly personality. What is there to write about the girl who has everything… they try to get more out of Nigel, egging him into contributing. He’s the wannabe playwright and arbiter of Riley Matthews knowledge. Come on, add something to the pile!

Although it gave him safety at the start of the semester, hearing the constant barrage of petty cruelty has become tiresome -- particularly towards someone he thinks of as a friend. The compromise felt worth it when he felt so alone, as a temporary key through the gates of social acceptance, but he’s coming to realize he’s just locked himself in a cage instead. He doesn’t understand how they seem so constantly energized by it, when it feels like it’s chipping away at him every time.

Nigel strategically doesn’t speak further on any of it. But he doesn’t shut them down, offering a weak smile to humor their laughter. Complacent and complicit, descriptors he’s perhaps never been able to shake when he thinks too hard about it.

But this is the bargain he made. This is the empty world he’s built for himself, fitting for a man who doesn’t feel like much of anything.

As they go back to their work, Isa and Molly emerge from the shelves to check out their books. Molly is chattering about the assignment, oblivious, but based on Isa’s expression, they’ve got something much more challenging on their mind.

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - ANYA’S OFFICE - NIGHT

Before Jade heads out for the evening, she stops by Anya’s office to say goodbye. ANYA KELLY clearly isn’t planning to leave any time soon, reading glasses on and skimming the latest digests for market analysis, but she gives Jade a breezy smile at her courtesy. Then a reminder strikes her, and she quickly commends Jade for her leather idea from the last episode. The folks on the team loved it, and now they’re running with the concept full flame.

Jade is understandably elated by this, and definitely glows under Anya’s praise. As they ease into further conversation, Jade asks what Anya’s plans are for the holiday.

Anya: Nothing.

Jade: … nothing? Not even a quick… jet off to the Bahamas, or something?

Anya: J. Bee, you’re so cute. But no. No food, no family, no plans. In my book, Thanksgiving is just another day.

Well that’s… a take. Jade looks a bit sympathetic at this prospect, but Anya catches her pity preemptively, dissuading it.

Anya: Don’t take pity on me. I love Thanksgiving week.

Jade: You do?

Anya: Yes. Do you know how much work I can get done when this office is quiet and everyone in the industry is taking their multiple days off to do kumbaya or whatever? It’s like creative nirvana. Everyone’s always asking how I manage to stay ahead of the pack, well, you’ve got one of my secrets right there. Cherish it wisely.

This year is especially exciting, too, because she’s going to be working on a big design order. She’s doing a collaboration with a couple of Hollywood’s biggest names to design their looks for the next two years, along with a fashion line that is going to be debuting at the upcoming Winterfest showcase.

Anya: In fact, if you’re planning to stay in town, you should come by the office and help out. It’ll be a ton of work, but a vicious learning experience. Plus you’ll get to have your hands on the ensembles before they hit the stage, which is always a bit of a tingly sensation for me.

It’s definitely one for Jade too, and an alluring offer… but she’ll have to pass this time around. She has plans for Thanksgiving. Anya politely asks what they are, Jade smiling at the thought.

Jade: Nothing fancy, just dinner, but my family is going to my boyfriend’s place to share it with them. Kind of the first time we’re doing this sort of thing.

Anya: Aw. That’s precious. Best of luck. [ with a snort ] I remember what that felt like. Back when I thought I could have a relationship in this industry.

Jade’s smile dims somewhat. Anya goes on to give the brief history, about how her last serious relationship was in her early 20s and she really believed she was in love with the guy. Tall, gorgeous, incredibly smart… and ready to use her for the clout as soon as her name started picking up traction and his modeling career was stalling.

Anya: Just goes to show, you think you know someone. But no one is ever who they appear to be. Especially when you expect you’ve got them all figured out -- that’s always when it gets you by surprise.

Anywho. On that cheerful note! Anya tells Jade she’ll catch her tomorrow. Jade waves lightly again and heads for the stairs, but the muted look of uncertainty from that bit of mentor advice lingers long after she’s left the office.

INT. CHEY APARTMENT - NIGHT

Nigel is finishing up his play quietly on the couch, REYNA CHEY in her usual armchair by the television. After a disgruntled tsk at the screen and a complaint about how there’s nothing good on TV these days, she switches her attention to her grandson.

Reyna: Tell me about your play. I am sure it’s better than this stale wheat.

Nigel: [ with a dismissive shrug ] Not much to say.

Reyna frowns. That doesn’t sound like him -- last year, when he wrote a one-act play for a project in Harper’s class, he talked incessantly about it for weeks.

Reyna: Well, I have to know a bit about it so I know what I am getting into when I read it. When will copies be available? You know I want to be the first in line --

Nigel: You don’t want to read this. It’s just an assignment.

The way he talks about his work, so belittling, rubs Reyna the wrong way. She knows her memory isn’t what it used to be, but far as she can recall, it was just a couple months ago that he was raving excitedly about his make-believe Shakespeare script. She hasn’t heard anything like that from him in weeks.

When she thinks about it, actually, she hasn’t heard much of anything at all.

Reyna: How are classes going? Are things going well?

Nigel: They’re going. Semester is almost over, so.

Reyna: And is that good? Bad? I thought surely, you would be sad to see your playwright class end. Will you be able to take another one next semester?

Nigel: No. They map out most of our classes for us. And for my free spaces, I just went with what my friends are doing.

Reyna: Riley?

Nigel: No, not Riley.

Who else… Reyna furrows her brow. She’s not sure the best way to go about phrasing it, but…

Reyna: Are you okay, Nigel?

Nigel: [ lifting his gaze ] Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?

Reyna: I’m not sure. You just… you haven’t seemed much like… who I know. Lately.

He doesn’t seem much like anything, because he isn’t. But Nigel doesn’t want to talk about that, and he bristles at the idea that someone has actually noticed. He clears his throat and brushes off the concern, claiming he’s just tired from the end of the semester and that must be what she’s picking up on. He’s fine -- he’s Nigel. He’s always fine.

Right now, he really needs to focus on this assignment. So he excuses himself to his room, wishing Reyna good night. She watches him go, none of the concern alleviated from her features. For such a talented actor, his dismissals aren’t very compelling.

Jade, pre-lap: No, it’s fine. I mean, we’re fine. Objectively speaking.

INT. BEAMON HOME - JADE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Jade is on the phone with Asher, catching up with him before the holiday. Based on where we jump into the conversation, she’s expressing some of the same concerns as Reyna -- not with the same amount of observation under her belt given how busy she is, but she’s noticed some of the same things. How for even as they’re working through their own rough patches from the semester, many of which she can take blame for, something about him still doesn’t seem quite right.

Jade: He’s just not as… there’s something off. You remember how he used to get, when we’d talk about -- yes, Shakespeare is the obvious answer, but not just that -- and he’d get that… light in his eyes? And he’d nerd out in that totally Nigel way? I feel like I haven’t seen that in forever.

Maybe she just hasn’t seen enough of him to see it as consistently -- a fear Jade does hold in the back of her mind -- but she still feels like it’s something more than that. And now, a new worry has crept into her consciousness, the echo of Anya rattling around in her skull.

No one is ever who they appear to be. Especially when you expect you’ve got them all figured out.

Asher tries to assure her that he doubts there’s some secret dark side to Nigel that he’s been maliciously hiding from her for ages -- given he himself is prone to mood swings and anxiety-induced lows, he’s sure there’s a more logical, grounded explanation. But he points out that if Jade wants answers, the best place to get them is from Nigel himself.

Sure, though that would be easier if he wasn’t so adamant about insisting everything is fine… Asher promises they’ll talk through things more when he’s back for the winter break. For now, he has to deal with his awful extended family in Florida, for which Jade wishes him luck.

Honestly, this Thanksgiving, it seems like all of them could use a little.

Once they hang up, Jade is surprised to immediately get another incoming call. Based on her expression, it’s not any of the usual suspects -- not Anya, not Nigel, not a butt-dial from the techie tots. She answers, confused frown already coloring her features.

Jade: Hey. What’s up? Is everything -- um, I mean, I have a busy day, but… yeah, I guess I could do early breakfast. Okay, I’ll meet you at Chubbies. But is everything… okay, if you’re sure. See you tomorrow.

INT. CHUBBIES - DAY

The next morning, Jade arrives for said quick breakfast at the diner, finding Isa waiting for her at the back corner booth. They’ve looked better, and that’s saying something considering all the shit they’ve gone through. Something is obviously tearing them up.

Jade doesn’t even get to ask when she approaches the table, Isa jumping right into it before she’s even sat down. It’s practically spilling out of them, having been itching at their mind for way too long.

Isa: I have to tell you something about Nigel.

Off Jade’s apprehensive reaction --

INT. NYU - THEATER CLASSROOM - DAY

While RILEY MATTHEWS and EVAN SCOTT converse eagerly before class, Nigel sits next to them, zoned out. That changes when his phone buzzes though, lighting up with a text from Jade -- unheard of during the work hours these days.

“We need to talk”

That never signals something good, but Nigel doesn’t have time to panic over it. Their professor saunters in to start class, giving him just enough time to dash off a response confirming that he’ll meet up with her after work.

EXT. CENTRAL PARK - BOW BRIDGE - NIGHT

The lights have just turned on along the pathway of the Bow Bridge when Nigel arrives, walking towards the rail and looking over into the water. Crazy, how much time he spent around here this summer -- a time that feels like a million years ago. The days are shorter now; the air is colder. Things change so fast.

Jade appears on the other side of the bridge, Nigel offering a timid smile and a wave. She doesn’t return it as she marches in his direction, coming to meet him at the center.

Nigel: Hey. You wanted to --

Jade, abruptly: Do you have a problem with Riley?

The question feels like a slap to the face. Nigel’s stomach drops, matching his expression. He blinks.

Nigel: What?

Jade: Do you have a problem with Riley?

Nigel: No. No, why would you even ask me that --

Jade: Really? Because that’s not what Isa told me. Based on what they said, it sounds like you have a whole lot of shit to say about her.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. Nigel struggles for a way to respond, particularly hard since his mouth is suddenly dry as chalk.

Nigel: What, do you have like, spies out on me now, or?

Jade, fiercely: Don’t deflect. Don’t try to spin out of this.

Nigel: I’m --

Jade: Since when do you talk shit about people behind their backs, huh? Let alone people you call friends.

Nigel: I wasn’t. That wasn’t what I was trying to do.

Jade: Are you talking about Yindra, too? Or maybe Zay? [ shaky ] Are you talking shit about me?

Nigel: What? No! Jade, I would never --

Jade: I don’t know what to believe. Because I never thought you’d say terrible stuff about Riley -- I mean, Riley, of all people, who has been nothing but nice to everyone --

Nigel: That is not the kind of guy I am. I didn’t mean to --

Jade: Well, based on your actions, it sounds like you are! So make it make sense, Nigel. Explain it to me so that I don’t have to stand here wondering if my boyfriend has been somebody I don’t know this entire time and I’m only waking up to it now.

Nigel stammers, color drained from his face. He doesn’t know what to say; he doesn’t know what to do. It feels like the bridge has collapsed underneath him, and it’s all he can do to keep his head above water.

Nigel: I don’t -- I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t want to argue --

Jade: Oh my God, Nigel! For once, can you just face a problem head on and talk honestly?

Nigel recoils, bracing himself from the impact -- then he frowns, going on offensive.

Nigel: All right. You want me to be honest?

Jade: Is that not what I just said?

Nigel: I think it’s pretty hilarious that you’re coming to me about this, acting like the authority on me, when you’ve barely seen me all semester.

Jade: Not this again --

Nigel: Yeah, Jade, this again. Because this is all you are these days. You’re acting like I’m someone you don’t know, like I’ve made some big change? You should look in a damn mirror.

Jade shakes her head in disbelief. But Nigel’s not finished.

Nigel: And you know what, I can’t explain it to you. I can’t give you a reason why Isa overheard the things they did, because I don’t have a good answer. But it wouldn’t matter even if I did, because anything I tell you would mean nothing to you since you have absolutely zero idea what I’ve been up to this semester. Seriously, can you even say what classes I’m taking right now? Or name one of my classmates?

Jade: … that’s not… that’s so --

Nigel: No, you can’t. Because you’re on an entirely different planet, and you’ve made it pretty damn clear that’s where you prefer to be. Why should you care who or what I’m talking about -- it’s not like you ever have to deal with it since I’m just sitting in a jar on the shelf of your life!

Oof. Everything is really coming out now. These are the fears, the resentments, that have been building all semester -- this is the root of the argument they’ve been having since the semester started. They’ve done their best to dance around it, to treat the symptoms, but now the disease has presented itself loud and clear.

It’s hard to tell whether it’s going to be terminal.

Jade and Nigel stare at each other, breathless but fragile. On a knife’s edge, eyes glassy and cheeks flushed from more than just the cold. After a moment, Jade scoffs, doing her best to hide her emotion.

Jade: Anya was right.

About what, she doesn’t get to elaborate. That’s all Nigel needs to hear to know this conversation is done. Of course, Anya gets the last word -- she has since she crash-landed in their lives.

Nigel, curtly: Sounds like you’ve been talking about me, too.

Jade realizes how it sounded after he says that, starting to shake her head. But Nigel doesn’t want to hear it. Right now, he doesn’t want to hear anything. He just wants to be nothing.

Nigel: Text me when you get home.

With that, he turns on his heel and storms away, leaving Jade on the Bow Bridge alone.

INT. CHEY APARTMENT - NIGHT

Liezel is in a food prep frenzy, evidently jazzed about the dinner just a day or two away. She’s getting anything she can get done early so that there’s ample room for adjustment come Thanksgiving day, arms dusted with flour. Leona and ERNESTO CHEY watch from the living area, the former unimpressed while the latter is fondly amused.

Leona: I think we should take her to church. Think she’s been possessed.

Reyna: Shh. Don’t jinx it. It usually takes so much bribery to get your ma to cook!

Nigel returns without fanfare, doing everything in his power to hold it together and slip to his room unnoticed. But of course, that fails, and Liezel enthusiastically bombards him with an update about all of the delicious stuff she’s started prepping. How great it’s going to be when the Beamons are here and they get to enjoy all of this!

It’s too much. Nigel snaps, tossing his coat down on the arm of the couch.

Nigel: Don’t waste your time. They’re not coming.

This is news to all of them. Liezel frowns.

Liezel: What do you mean?

Nigel: What did I say, ma? Give it up! It’s over!

Ernesto: Hey, Nigel --

Liezel: Watch your tone --

Nigel: Jade isn’t coming. No one is coming for dinner! [ voice cracking ] Just fucking forget it.

Nigel storms to his room, leaving his family in shock behind him. For multiple reasons -- because he raised his voice, because he spoke so disrespectfully to his mother, because he cussed with zero hesitation and left so harshly. Leona’s jaw is dropped open, with no sense of irony or enjoyment; Ernesto looks to Liezel and exchanges a tacit look of bewilderment.

But mostly, it’s so stunning because it’s so not Nigel. Reyna gazes towards the hall where Nigel disappeared, that thoughtful concern from before still permeating her expression.

INT. BEAMON HOME - JADE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

For Jade, the predominant lingering emotion is anger. She can’t process the rest of it yet. In a fit of pique, she pulls out her phone and dials Anya, telling her that her plans have changed and she actually can come help during Thanksgiving break. Anya doesn’t even comment on the fact that it seems Jade’s domestic plans fell through, more than pleased to have her company. They can start tomorrow!

INT. TRENDY STORE - DAY

Nigel is still in a sour mood when he goes out with Imogen and Abby the next afternoon, muted and subdued as they continue on in their useless chatter like always. Today, the main victims of their venom are the passersby in the shop with them or on the street outside the store. Bitchy commentary is basically a sport for them, and they’re going for TikTok influencer level gold.

Somehow, though, they always manage to bring it back around to their favorite target. Imogen pulls a piece of clothing off the rack with a snort, a crocheted colorful vest with a 70’s flavor.

Imogen: God, this is hideous. Doesn’t it look like something straight out of Matthews’ wardrobe?

Abby: OMG, you’re so right. Like that cringe sweater she wore during monologues last week.

Imogen: Seriously. Nigel, look at this shit.

If there’s one net positive to Nigel’s world collapsing, it’s that it seems to have disabled his conflict avoidant mechanisms. So he’s not as inclined to just roll with their punches -- he stares at the vest, expressionless, then meets Imogen’s eyes.

Nigel: I like it.

Hm. Well… that’s less fun than blind agreement. Imogen makes a face and slides the clothing back on the rack, Abby finding a way to get the conversation rolling again over that awkward bump.

Abby: I wonder how they’re going to dress her for Ghost. I mean, they could put her in a paper bag and Evan would still look at her like he wants to fuck her, so that saves her half the work, but --

Imogen: God, seriously. If I were her, I’d jump on that rather than diner boy, but we know I don’t share her taste.

Nigel, suddenly: Why don’t you ask him out, then?

Imogen and Abby look at him, surprised.

Imogen: What?

Nigel: Evan. You just said you’d go for it, so why not go for it? Riley’s not stopping you.

Abby: Um…

Imogen: What’s your point, Nigel?

Nigel: My point is… [ with frustration ] Why do you always do this? Why do you always find a way to dunk on Riley? She hasn’t done anything to you. Honestly, she probably doesn’t even think about you, which must be embarrassing considering how much time you spend obsessing over her.

Oop. Abby looks back and forth between them, not sure what’s going to happen. Imogen is stunned for a moment, taken aback, but then she narrows her eyes.

Imogen: I’m sorry, am I supposed to believe you’re concerned about her? Considering you’ve said plenty to us already.

Nigel: No, I didn’t. I should’ve said less, and I feel bad about that. But I should’ve said more, too, like what I’m saying right now. Seriously, I’m asking -- why do you insist on bringing her down all the time?

Imogen: … I don’t have to --

Nigel: Because to me, it kind of just sounds like you’re jealous. And bitter. But your insecurity isn’t Riley’s fault -- why don’t you focus on yourself for a change?

Nigel’s making points left and right, even more effective since it’s so out of pocket for him in their eyes. Imogen turns the tables, throwing barbs to get the focus back off her.

Imogen: This is so fucking hilarious. You’re really gonna play good Samaritan, like you’re Riley’s golden bestie all of a sudden? As if you also haven’t been talking slam like us?

Nigel: You’re right. I shouldn’t have. I wish I didn’t.

Imogen: Insane. You were out here dropping tea about Riley being two-faced -- now we know it’s pot and kettle. You’re gonna act all shady one minute to roll with us and then preach at us the next like you’re the damn Pope. As if we aren’t your only fucking friends. It’s so -- [ vicious ] I mean like, who the fuck even are you, Nigel?

That’s the question, isn’t it? Nigel absorbs the blows, hating the fact that they’re true. That somehow he’s traveled so far off the path, he’s landed in a ditch he can’t see a way out of. He’s all those things they just said, he can’t deny he isn’t, but at the same time he’s still nothing. He’s completely lost, with no sign posts or road maps to get him back home.

He swallows, shaking his head lightly.

Nigel: I don’t know. [ shaky ] But I hope to God not this.

Nigel turns away from them and makes his way out the store without looking back. Imogen watches him go, scoffing. Next to her, Abby looks after him with sympathy -- at least until Imogen elbows her, knocking her back into order.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

Nigel steps out onto the streets like he’s escaping a burning building, having made it out within an inch of his life. His breath is shaky -- his hold on his emotions is tenuous at best. With that tie likely severed for good, he’s left standing on the corner on his own. Day before Thanksgiving, and he’s all alone.

There’s no one to blame but himself. He just doesn’t know how he ended up here -- how what was supposed to be the first semester of the rest of his life went so wrong.

It’s not fine. It’s decidedly not fine at all.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Alright” as performed by Gracie Abrams || Performed by Nigel Chey

The delicate acoustic underscores as Nigel launches into a fragile rendition of the Gracie Abrams track, highlighting his frayed emotions perfectly. We start close and slowly ease away from him as the first verse unfolds, making him smaller and smaller as the scenery of Manhattan around him seems to swallow him whole. He closes his eyes halfway through the verse, imagining that alternate reality where he’s in paradise and nothing has fallen apart. It’s the best he can do not to do the same.

Down a whole bottle of whiskey Counting the people who hate me

But at least, through the deceptively delicate confession, Nigel finally gets to the truth. The problem that underlies all his false pretenses, his fake personas, his ill-fitted attempts to fit in.

Because for tonight, I’m just not all right

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

As the song continues, Nigel makes his way aimlessly through the city streets, still hauntingly alone even in the bustling city. He’s invisible to everyone else, the nothing he’s felt himself becoming all semester. The lows he’s sunk to shine through in the second verse, delivered dryly but betraying an internal crisis that’s screaming to be confronted. Nigel’s never been good with confrontation.

I don’t know if I’ll be all right What will it take to make this good?

Maybe he can’t. Maybe this is what he’s destined to be -- double-edged, the snake in the grass, hollowed out just to fit in. NYU has laid everything out right in front of him, and he still can’t seem to get it right. He can’t turn it to gold like Riley. Maybe he’s always meant to be an anonymous extra.

But he can’t pretend anymore. He can’t keep pretending that he’s all right.

INT. ANYA KELLY STUDIO - MAIN FLOOR - DAY

Jade arrives at the office to find Anya well in the process of getting the pieces together, working at a more frantic pace than Jade has ever seen her. She perks up when she sees she’s arrived, thanking God and dragging her into the fray immediately. Apparently, something went wrong with the design delivery, and so they’re going to have to fix a whole bunch of elements on the fly.

Anya: It’s all hands on deck. So glad you’re here, J. Bee.

Boy, is it nice to feel valued. Jade smiles, dropping her bag and rolling up her sleeves to get to work. If Anya is as stressed as she seems, then clearly she’s needed now more than ever.

EXT. CHEY APARTMENT - ROOFTOP - DAY

On the top of the Chey’s apartment building, a rooftop garden has been set-up to bring a bit of greenery to the concrete jungle. This is where Nigel has retreated to, sitting on the cold concrete in front of the dying plants. Nothing to be done about it -- change of seasons demands they wilt. Right now, he fits right in.

Besides, he’s best sticking there. He doesn’t trust himself closer to the edge.

He jumps slightly when he hears the roof door open, dreading having to socialize with some rando from another floor. He wanted to hide and escape it all… but he’s simply shocked when he sees Reyna stiffly making her way towards him. He leaps to his feet, rushing to help her.

Nigel: Lola, what are you doing up here?! You shouldn’t be --

Reyna waves him off, shooing his attempts to guide her back towards the stairs.

Reyna: Aye, relax. How old do you think these bones are that I can’t handle a little walk up the stairs? Besides, this is my territory up here. Who do you think first put this chair here?

She points to an old wicker chair, one that seemingly has been up on the roof for ages even before the garden was added. She carefully lowers herself onto it and releases a sigh of contentment, looking out towards the view. If she really seems adamant to sit up here, suppose there’s nothing much Nigel can do… he makes his way back towards where he was sitting earlier, wrapping his arms around his knees on the ground next to her chair.

Reyna: Nothing like this view. Better than the garbage on TV these days, anyway. [ eyeing him ] Very good place to think. Open skies. Clean air.

Nigel: We’re in New York. There’s no clean air.

Reyna: Hmph, shows your privilege. I need to get you back to the Philippines more often, at least the village I came from. Then we’ll see if you still want to complain about your New York air.

Touché. Honestly, a visit somewhere far away sounds pretty good right now… Reyna eyes him thoughtfully, searching for the best way to articulate her perspective. In fact, she chooses to speak in Tagalog, because she knows this conversation is too important to risk losing in translation.

Reyna: [ in Tagalog, subtitled in English ] It wasn’t easy to make the decision to come here. All those years ago. I used to sit up here, just like you, looking out at this grimy city wondering why I ever thought I had to come here. To break from what I knew, from what seemed like the right place to be. I still have love for that country, the place that was my home. [ a beat ] But if I’m truthful with myself, I know the answer. I know that it was essential. Circumstances ebb and flow, but… to stay would have caused me harm. Harm to my soul. It can be hard, to admit, when all we want is for a thing to work out… that maybe it is just not what is meant to be.

Nigel doesn’t interrupt her, almost seems like he isn’t listening, but the way his eyes gloss over with tears signals that he is. He’s listening with his full attention.

Reyna: Sometimes, what we think is supposed to be right does not turn out so. And the longer we cling onto it, willing it to become what we need… the more we sacrifice who we are.

If she was concerned about getting the message across, she needn’t have worried. It hits as intended, Nigel swiping at a tear on his cheek and shaking his head.

Nigel: I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I always try to -- I’m trying to get it right. I’m trying not to mess it all up. I wanted to have my year, to be a good friend, to be a supportive partner. And it’s just like… every step was another slide down the slope.

Reyna: Transitions are hard.

Nigel: I don’t even know who I am. [ voice cracking ] I don’t like him. Whoever this is. But I don’t know how I got here -- how am I supposed to get back?

If it’s even possible to get back. In these challenging moments of growth, maybe you can never go back to the person you were before.

Reyna: You don’t have to. You don’t have to be someone old, or someone new. Admit you made a mistake, that you got it wrong. And then trust that good heart of yours and be my Nigel.

That’s all he can do. Can’t rewrite the past, but he can embrace the future. No more hiding, no more shadows. And if this setting isn’t what he needs… then perhaps he needs to open his mind to the potential that it isn’t where he is meant to be.

For now, though, he can find comfort in the familiar embrace of someone who knows him even when he doesn’t know himself. Nigel scoots closer to Reyna and leans against her leg, crying into the knee of her skirt. Reyna holds him gently and brushes his hair soothingly, like she used to when he was little and the shadows were so much easier to expose to the light.

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - MAIN FLOOR - NIGHT

Anya and Jade are hard at work, snippets of their process delivered to us in tight, quick snapshots threaded together into a disjointed montage of sorts. It feels hectic, high-stress, harried, perhaps just the eventual race to the finish line of any creative industry. Anya is in full creative mode, glasses on and doling out commands to Jade that she can barely keep up with.

But she does. Jade is professional, prompt, and passionate, and she’s making the most of this opportunity. She’s doing a great job of it, too -- not missing a beat, sometimes staying one step ahead. Anya doesn’t compliment her or laud her with praise, but she doesn’t criticize her either, and the occasional smile shot her way feels like approval enough.

She’s there, actually doing the thing. Sure, she’s going to have high blood pressure after this, but look at where she is. In one of the best fashion studios in the country, literally working side-by-side with the Anya Kelly!

Jade just finishes up tagging their latest piece, carefully securing it in a garment bag and placing it on the rack. Anya is about two pieces ahead, starting on the next detail job… but she stops in her tracks when something strikes her as not right. She’s missing something. She starts to look around her station, tone flat with concentration when she speaks and breaks the productive rhythm.

Anya: Where’s the satin?

Jade: [ caught off-beat ] What?

Anya: The satin. The midnight blue satin. I need it for the corset piece.

Jade blinks, confused. What is she talking about… as if they haven’t used about a dozen different kinds of material scattered throughout the office in the last few hours… Anya grows frustrated, pushing things to the side on the table as if it’ll magically appear.

Anya: It’s the blue satin from Giovanni, diamond-dusted. Literally worth hundreds of thousands of dollars.

Jade: Well, okay, um [ starting to search too ] Surely it’s here somewhere.

Anya: I do not have time for this. We’re already behind schedule. [ under her breath ] How do you lose a box of fabric?

A box… oh. Suddenly, a thought strikes Jade.

Jade: … was this the fabric in the black box?

Anya stops looking, directly her icy blue eyes at her.

Anya: Yes. The Giovanni box.

Jade, uncertain: … we already used that.

Anya: What?

Jade: We used it earlier tonight. On the hoop skirt.

Anya: No, that can’t be right. That was supposed to use the indigo chiffon.

Jade: I double-checked before I finished the stitching on it. Because I thought the design said… but I asked, and you confirmed…

Anya ignores her, going to the rack and pointedly shoving the items aside until she finds the skirt in question. She takes it out of the garment bag and takes a look for herself…

Jade is right. There’s the satin she needs.

Anya: Shit.

Jade: I’m sorry. You told me --

Anya: We’re going to have to rip this out and start over. This is going to set us back hours.

Jade: I’m sorry. I should’ve asked again. [ stepping forward ] I can undo it, it won’t take too --

Anya, exploding: Jesus fuck! Look what you’ve fucking done!

Jade flinches, stepping back as Anya throws the hoop skirt on the floor. In an instant, her cool, effortless chic is gone, a bubbling rage rising to the surface. And to her, it doesn’t matter if she was the one who ultimately approved the action for Jade to complete. It doesn’t matter that Jade tried to double-check her work. It doesn’t matter that she offered to fix it.

Anya: Do you realize what is on the fucking line here? Why I can’t afford for you to be making these stupid mistakes?

Jade, stunned: I… I didn’t mean to --

Anya: No, no, of course you didn’t. But you did! That’s what I get for trusting a fucking apprentice with any real work.

Jade: It was an honest mistake.

Anya: Yeah? Well this “mistake” is going to cost thousands of dollars. You want to pay for that? [ off her horror ] Your homegrown little high school costumer mind can’t even fathom the shit I’m going to have to do to fix this in the long haul. You have not one fucking iota of a clue. I’m the one who has everything on the line, not you. Who cares about you? You’re a fucking nobody. You’re a fucking nobody, and now I’m gonna have to pay for it!

Jade is frozen, speechless. She can’t move; she can’t breathe. Anya continues her tirade undeterred by her reaction, almost like Jade isn’t even standing there to be the victim of her ire.

Anya: Well, your little mistake is all my little mistake, in the end. It was my mistake to think you could handle this. It was my mistake to put my trust in you, to put my faith in you. That’s on me! Shouldn’t have trusted a fresh out of high school wannabe seamstress to get it right. [ with a scoff ] But seriously, I mean, satin versus chiffon? Are you fucking illiterate? I mean, for real, Jade, are you a fucking --

She throws out the r-slur without hesitation, causing Jade to wince for multiple reasons. When she manages to find her voice, it’s minuscule compared to Anya’s booming delivery.

Jade: [ quavering ] I’m sorry.

Anya looks at her, then gives her a disdainful head shake.

Anya: Oh, don’t do that. Don’t fucking cry. That’s the last thing we need right now.

Jade clenches her jaw, looking down at the floor to avoid her eyes. Anya takes a deep breath, taking off her glasses and pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose. After a long inhale and exhale, she stops pacing, releasing a declarative exhale.

Anya: Okay. Now that that’s over with, time to fix this. [ shaking off the anger ] We’ll have to work double-time to make up for this. Think you can keep up, J. Bee?

It’s whiplash. Straight-up whiplash, how quickly she went from tyrannical back to easy-breezy and eccentric. But now Jade has seen the other side, the dark underbelly of industry power that infects every creative realm, and she won’t ever be able to unsee it.

Right now, she has to get through tonight.

Jade: Yeah. Yeah, just, um… I need to use the restroom.

Anya nods, gesturing for her to get to it. Now they really don’t have time to waste.

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - BATHROOM - NIGHT

Jade is sobbing as quietly as possible into a mass of toilet paper, back pressed against the wall as far away from the locked door as she can get. She doesn’t want Anya to hear her tears -- she doesn’t want to portray any additional weakness.

Then it hits her. The fact that she’s sitting here on a holiday break, hiding in the bathroom of a studio that is working her with no overtime crying her eyes out. The day before Thanksgiving. Somehow, the realization is sobering enough to stymie her tears.

How the fuck did she get here?

As the screen fades to black…

Over black:

We hear the sound of an incoming text message.

When the phone receiving it comes up on screen, it’s not immediately apparent who is the one sending it or the one on the receiving end. It could be coming from either direction, it doesn’t really matter.

“We need to talk”

EXT. CENTRAL PARK - DAY

Thanksgiving morning arrives crisp and clear, the city crowded with paradegoers gunning to get the best spot on the route. The chatter and noise of the revelry is just a stone’s throw away…

But somehow, from the bench where Nigel is sitting, it feels isolatedly quiet. He has a nice view of Bow Bridge, watching plaintively as tourists who came for the parade cross it with wide-eyed wonder if they’re not already grumpy and exhausted from getting up so early.

Jade arrives from behind the bench, spotting Nigel and pausing for a moment. Contemplating whether she’s ready to have this conversation… then she steels herself, stuffing her hands in her pockets and coming to join him. He looks up at her as she stands in front of the bench, then faces the bridge again as she settles down next to him. A small gap between them, keeping a protective distance neither of them are used to, but one that feels like a necessity when they don’t know where this conversation is going to go.

For a long moment, they both sit in the silence, the late autumn wind blowing their hair. Jade pushes hers behind her ear, taking a deep breath.

Jade: You were right.

Nigel: [ in a murmur ] I was going to say the opposite.

Perhaps they’re both. They were both right; they were both wrong. Jade shakes her head, lip trembling, neither of them ready to look at each other yet.

Jade: I don’t know what happened. How things… it just feels like I woke up one day and everything was different. I so badly wanted this to work, the way things are. I thought I was doing everything I could; I thought I was doing everything right. But all I’ve done is end up somewhere where I don’t even know what I’m looking at. Or where I’m supposed to be.

Nigel can relate. Although neither of them reveal the contents of their recent hardships, their wake-up call weeks, somehow they’ve experienced parallel epiphanies. Something has gone terribly wrong, even if they wished otherwise.

Jade: Something has to change. I’m not sure I know what. Or if it can at all. But the way things are now… [ a beat ] I don’t want it. I don’t know what happened to me. Or if I can find my way back.

Nigel sniffles, swiping at his nose. Jade finally works up the courage to look at him, and in an instant, feels an ache unlike anything she’s ever felt before. To be near him, something that feels so familiar, that is so loved, and feels so far away hurts all the more now that she’s ripped off the band-aid of blissful delusion.

Jade, shaky: Can we just be us again?

The question is both a hopeful wish and an anxious plea. Can they be them again, a confident and comfortable pair, in each other’s corners rather than pulling at their insecure seams? Can they find their balance again, build themselves back into something that works? But even deeper than that, can they ever go back to who they were before? Before things got so complicated, before their worlds fractured into separate continents? Can they find their way back to solid ground, to people they want to be and want to be with, after stumbling through the dark so long?

Maybe. Maybe not. All they can do is try.

Nigel meets her eyes, holding her gaze. Not offering any words of wisdom or optimistic reassurances -- he doesn’t have any, and that’s never been his style. He can only do what he knows how to do, contemplate in his quiet, thoughtful way, and give her whatever he has to offer.

In this moment, that’s an extension of camaraderie. A signal that he understands, he agrees, and she isn’t alone. He holds out his arm and invites her into a hug, tentative at first but more needed than either of them realized. As Jade scoots closer and leans into his shoulder, allowing them to come back together, the warmth of forgiveness and acceptance is the best reassurance either of them can ask for right now.

Right now, it has to be enough.

PART V For The Ride

INT. YINDRA’S BEDROOM - DAY

Further back in November, a calendar on the wall places us somewhere in the second week of the month. Thanksgiving is still a couple of weeks away.

But the holiday is far from YINDRA AMINO’s mind anyway. She’s sitting on her bed, sifting through her songwriting notebook and the notes she jotted down inside it from her conversation at the Hollywood Haunt with the agent, Reese Dalton King. The promise of potential projects in her future, the reassurance that she has a voice worth hearing, the vague notion of a call in their future to work things out…

And yet, nothing. No calls on her phone, no new emails in her inbox. The business card felt so thrilling when it first passed into her hands; now it feels like a taunt. Yindra picks at it now, stuck in between the pages of her notebook like a bookmark to the Haunt page. The corners are crinkled and worn, indicating she’s spent plenty of time impatiently messing with it.

But prodding a piece of paper won’t produce results. Much like everything else since she moved to Los Angeles, it feels like a big, unending question mark, that only shouts one thing crystal clear.

Stuck.

Yindra puts her notebook on the desk and gets to her feet.

INT. YINDRA’S APARTMENT - DAY

As she’s stepping into the hall, she pauses when she hears her dad, DARIUS AMINO, speaking on the phone. Based on his tone -- still his usual amicable with just a hint of strain he’s working hard to keep cordial -- it doesn’t take her long to figure out who he’s talking to. Only one person in their lives gets that special tone reserved just for her.

Darius, off-screen: I know, I’m worried about her too. I’m not saying I’m not. But I still think she -- you should have seen her after the Halloween event. She was so excited. She wants this, I know, it’s just… no, Flor, you’re not listening to me.

Floriana. Her mother. And based on his words, it’s no mystery who they’re talking about.

Darius, off-screen: I am doing what I think is best for her. Maybe you’d see it the same way, if you were actually here. [ a beat ] No, of course I’m not saying that. You know damn well I’m not saying the welfare of others doesn’t matter. But I do think, at the risk of sounding biased, that our daughter means more to me. [ a beat ] Yeah, yeah, naturally, because you always know best. If I saw it your way, then we would’ve stopped encouraging her before she ever even got into Adams!

Yindra can’t listen to this. She can’t listen to them have the same argument about her -- she can’t do this.

She can’t be here, trapped with all the stuck.

Yindra sneaks to the doorway and grabs her jacket, heading out the door.

EXT. CHARLIE’S AIRBNB - DAY

It’s not long before Yindra finds herself at the end of her aimless wandering, having had a destination after all. CHARLIE GARDNER pulls open the door to the AirBnB he’s staying in for his last week or so in the city, discovering Yindra unexpectedly on his doorstep.

It’s clear he wasn’t expecting her, but her surprise visit isn’t unwelcome. Yindra gives him a charming shrug.

Yindra: I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d see your temporary digs. You free?

After a moment, Charlie smiles.

INT. CHARLIE’S AIRBNB - DAY

Charlie finishes giving Yindra the lay of the land, which doesn’t take long given there’s not much to show. It’s a studio apartment in the middle of Burbank, so basically everything is crammed into one room. Not that that matters much, since Charlie wasn’t planning to stay forever.

In fact, he seems to be in the middle of packing up. His duffle bag is open on the bed in the corner, and he’s just finished stowing away all his books and papers.

Yindra: I’m not interrupting you, am I? Sorry I didn’t text first.

Charlie: Oh, no, not at all. I’m just getting most of packing done now, so I don’t end up having to rush all of it tomorrow before I pick up the rental car. I made that mistake more than once in Europe, and it was decidedly a mistake.

Charlie continues to absentmindedly gather his things while they chat, mostly him filling the quiet as he explains his current plan for getting home. He’s doing one last road trip out of it, hitting some of the states and scenic routes he hasn’t gotten to see before on the way back to New York. Kind of one last hurrah of the whole thing, which is why he’s leaving now so he can get back before the holidays.

Charlie: If I’ve timed it right, God willing, then I should get back a couple days before Thanksgiving -- which is perfect, as I’ll get there just in time for my family to pile into the van and drive up to my extended family. So it’s not exactly a full homecoming, quite yet, but closer.

Yindra doesn’t interject his rambling, pensively looking around as he quickly packs up his life. So easy for him to just get up and go, all the choices in the world his to make… getting to hit the road knowing there’s something waiting for him on the other side. A place they know; a place they love. A place that has never, ever felt stuck.

Charlie delicately picks up his leather journal from the nightstand, closing it and sliding it into his backpack.

Charlie: So I figure, you know, if Riley can just go a few more days without murdering me --

Yindra, suddenly: I want to come with you.

That gets Charlie to stop for a second, considering she’d been so quiet up until then. He looks at her and then laughs, nodding along as if she’s joking. Very funny, Yindra… but based on how she doesn’t laugh back, and the awkward silence that follows…

Charlie straightens up, laughter fading.

Charlie: Oh, you were serious.

Yindra crosses her arms. The idea popped out of her without forethought, but it felt right, so now she’s going to stand by it.

Yindra: I mean, if you’d rather not have the company…

Charlie: Oh, no. No, no, it’s not that. It’s just… [ with an awkward laugh ] To be honest, I don’t really get why you’d want to.

He doesn’t think of himself as the most thrilling travel companion, and some of the stuff he wants to see she likely won’t care much for. Not that they couldn’t change the itinerary, or anything, but as far as he can tell she’s got lots more exciting things going on here. He would obviously be flattered if she chose to waste her time with him instead -- if she thinks she can stomach multiple days on end with him -- but it seems like she has much better things to do in the city of her dreams.

Maybe she would have agreed with that, once upon a time… but times have changed. And right now, all she knows is she wants to move. Be free. Get out of the rut she’s been trapped in for months. She plays off cool and casual well, shrugging pithily.

Yindra: If my career is taking off soon, I’m going to need a lot more material to write about. An artist needs adventure, you know, new sights and scenery. Sounds like as good a vessel as any, particularly since someone else is footing the bill.

And she’d be heading back to New York eventually anyway, since her grandmother would have a conniption if she wasn’t home for Christmas. So she’ll just be making the homecoming a bit earlier than expected -- and Nana will be more than happy to welcome her in for Thanksgiving. So the only logistic is getting there, and if Charlie’s got a spare seat…

With all that so convincingly laid out, Charlie can’t see any plausible reason to doubt her. If she’s really sure… then why not?

Charlie: The spiritual valet rides again, I guess.

Getaway car -- booked. Yindra smiles.

INT. YINDRA’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Yindra makes quick work of her own packing, throwing things together in a carry-on sized suitcase and shoulder bag. Normally, she’d take much more time to curate what to bring home, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

INT. YINDRA’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Yindra creeps her way back towards the door again, pausing when she passes by her dad’s bedroom. She can hear the TV on, but she knows he’s probably sleeping.

She wants to say goodbye. She wants to tell him the truth, the reasons she feels like she can’t stay right now… but she also never wants to speak of it. She doesn’t want to have to look him in the eyes and admit that she failed. Failed him. Failed herself.

So she scribbles a quick note to stick on the countertop, noting that she’ll be home for Thanksgiving and she’s got everything figured out. No need to worry. Much love, and see him soon.

Then she makes her exit, scampering to the door.

INT. RENTAL CAR - MOVING - DAY

Despite all the excitement, the reality of a road trip has to sink in soon enough. It’s all fun and games in the media, a cute cookie-cutter montage of photo ops and good vibes, but the truth of the matter is actual long drives include a lot of dead air.

Gaps of silence, made even more awkward when you’re not particularly close to the person you’re traveling with. Sure, Yindra and Charlie are friends, but they’ve never been especially close. Once the adventurous allure of disappearing onto the open road wears off, it’s just the two of them sitting together in a car with thousands of miles ahead of them and no one to talk to but each other.

Even so, they’re both well-raised and polite, so they do their best to power through the awkwardness. Charlie has the convenient excuse of having to keep his eyes on the road, but he tries to break the silence by pointing out that the car is her domain too.

Charlie: Fiddle with whatever. Air, windows, speakers. I don’t want you to feel like you have to just sit there since I’m behind the wheel.

Yindra: Oh, for sure. Yeah. Thanks.

Charlie: In fact, for music, you should be able to use the aux cord, I think it came with the car --

What a great excuse to not have to talk. Yindra jumps on it, claiming she can definitely find some good tunes from her Spotify. Charlie has no complaints, patiently waiting for her to figure it out and let something else artificial supplant the silence.

Only no dice. When Yindra plugs in the aux cord… nothing happens. It doesn’t read as connected. Charlie offers for her to try his phone, and it’s the same thing.

Charlie: Huh. Must be a faulty cord.

Yindra: Yeah…

Which leaves them back at square one. Yindra offers him a tight smile, which he returns at a glance. She reaches forward and tries for the old-fashioned approach instead, turning on the radio and opting to search for a station instead. There has to be something good out there, right?

Maybe, but it’s not so easy to find. Charlie and Yindra are children of the streamer generation, with no quick reflexes on the best way to find their preferred stations, particularly not in parts of the country they’ve never been to before. Yindra skips around haplessly, catching bits of punk metal, incoherent dance EDM, country, and talk radio -- and the unavoidable snippet of “On My Grind (OMG).”

By the time she lands on Christian rock, she forfeits, switching the radio off again and letting the quiet reign once again. She raises her hands in surrender and then clasps them together in her lap.

Yindra: Quiet is good sometimes, yeah? Quiet can be nice. Peaceful. Freeing.

Charlie: Totally. I completely agree.

Yindra: Fantastic.

Mhm… quiet can be great, but the suffocating awareness of the awkwardness really undercuts it. Charlie nervously taps his fingers on the steering wheel. Yindra pushes some hair behind her ear.

What, oh… three-thousand miles to go?

Charlie: The music will probably get better when we make it to Nevada. Out of the deserts of California, and stuff.

Yindra brightens, seizing on the conversation starter. Nevada is next, apparently, but what exactly is the trip itinerary? Charlie smiles, relieved for the easy topic, directing Yindra to pull out the map from the glove compartment and see for herself. He’s got more concrete plans in his journal, but he marked the general route on his hard copy.

Yindra: Didn’t realize they even still made legit maps anymore.

Indeed they do, and she retrieves his with a flourish. She unfolds it onto her lap and takes a look. Charlie starts to explain some of the things he’s looking forward to, including the Grand Canyon which they’re going to stop nearby tonight, but Yindra cuts him off almost immediately.

Yindra: Oh, no. Mm mm mm mm mm. [ shaking her head ] No, this needs a major overhaul.

Charlie frowns. Is something wrong with it? He put a lot of thought into it. Yindra has no judgments, she’s sure he did, but it’s not going to work anymore. Partially because some of the things he has on the list seem dreadfully boring and she cannot let him torture himself like that -- if he visits one more “frontier” landmark that’s literally just a patch of land she may need to give him psychiatric care -- but mainly because of one major shift in plans.

Yindra: Charlie, much love, but you’re white as snow. You’re now traveling with a Black girl, which means some of this? Not gonna fly.

Oh, yeah… the South certainly has its… problematic pockets. Charlie nods.

Charlie: Fair point. I trust your instincts.

As he should. Yindra gives him a beam, digging through the glove compartment again to retrieve a pen. She ties her hair back out of her face and then gets down to work, concentration taking over her features as she scans the map more critically.

Charlie glances out of the corner of his eye as she makes her first edit, pen scratching across the states --

INT. ARIZONA RESTAURANT - NIGHT

One edit becomes many before long, an entirely new route penned out on the map laid on the table between them. They’re basically done with their first day of driving, just an hour or so away from the Grand Canyon which they’ll tackle tomorrow. For now, they’re tucked away in a booth at a local restaurant, having polished off some decent-looking food and fully focused on the itinerary.

Thankfully, the shared project seems to have broken the ice. They’re a little more at ease with each other as they talk through the final logistics, trying to get a final timeline down of how long they expect the trip to take. And although it took a bit of negotiating, they seem to have landed on a balance of nature-loving nerdy fare and cooler, trendier attractions Yindra might enjoy.

Charlie finishes doing some calculations on his maps app and confirms the current arrangement should work out, provided they stay on track. Yindra offers her hand to shake on it, and Charlie smiles, accepting and sealing the deal.

When he goes back to his phone and clears his apps, Yindra notices his phone background.

Yindra: Who’s that?

Charlie: Huh?

Yindra: In your background.

Charlie: Oh. That’s my sister, Rosie. Well, the bigger one. Daisy’s there too, but you can barely see her in the back. She hates being photographed.

Yindra: Whoa, how many sisters do you have? I remember the older one, the one who got married when we were like freshmen --

Charlie: Yeah, that’s Agatha. These are my younger sisters.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Yindra must have known that fact, yet it still feels like brand new information. She asks if she can see another pic, and Charlie brightens, nodding and going to his photos to find a better one of the family. Yindra leans over the table closer to get a better look.

Charlie: So that’s Daisy, then the one on the right is Rosie.

Yindra: They’re so cute, OMG. Rosie is pretty.

Charlie: Uri Minkus thinks so too.

Yindra: [ with wide eyes ] Minkus? Like Farkle Minkus?

Charlie: Manhattan is the smallest town on Earth.

Yindra: No fucking kidding.

Charlie: [ after swiping to another photo ] And then this is Bridgette, my other older sister.

Yindra: Ooh. She’s hot. [ a beat ] Sorry. Not to hit on your sister.

Charlie shrugs, smiling at the photos before locking his phone. Yindra contemplates for a moment, processing how easy it was for them to talk just then and how Charlie lit up when he got the chance to talk about them. And also how even though they went to school together for four years, there’s so much they clearly don’t know about each other. Stuff that maybe should be obvious.

Yindra: I can’t believe I didn’t know you had that many sisters. You’d think with all the shows and stuff where our families come to see it, I would have seen the clan at least once.

Charlie: It’s fine. It’s not like we’re all paying attention to everyone else at all times. Honestly, we’re all just focused on our own little worlds. Which, to confirm, you don’t have sisters, right?

Yindra: Correct. Only child here -- I’m sure nothing about me would ever signal that. Since I’m so humble and level-headed and unassuming.

Charlie: Oh, yeah, without a doubt.

They exchange a smile, definitely enjoying this form of conversation much more than their stilted start. If they can just maintain this momentum for the next week or so… but that won’t be easy. There’s not always a map or a memento on hand to get the discussion going.

Or maybe there is. An idea comes to Yindra, the lightbulb basically visible over her head as she pulls up her phone to scroll and find something. Charlie raises his eyebrows, intrigued.

Yindra: If we don’t even know how many siblings the other person has after four years, there’s evidently a lot of ground to cover. It made me think -- a thousand years ago, Nigel told me about this weird thing he read in the New York Times. Because he reads the New York Times like a nerd.

Charlie: I usually split between that and WashPo, but I have to be careful about it. My mom is pretty disdainful about the “slanted” reporting. She prefers Wall Street Journal.

Yindra: Suppose that’s better than Breitbart -- oh, here we go.

Yindra successfully finds the link buried in her messages with Nigel: The 36 Questions that Lead to Love. The conceit of the article is simple, that the key to intimacy can be achieved by gradually walking through the included questions in phases. Each one peels back further layers of the partner you’re having the conversation with, letting you know more about them while they also learn more about you. Theoretically, if you participate in good faith, you’ll come out of the experience with a greater understanding and depth of relationship with the person you did it with.

Charlie: Are you trying to get me to fall in love with you? Did we lie to your dad?

Yindra: [ with an eye roll ] It applies platonically as well as romantically. But I understand, it’ll be hard not to fall in love with me. You will have to try to control yourself.

Charlie: I’ll do my best. But what are we supposed to do, exactly?

Basically, Yindra figures they can use the questions as conversation starters of sorts to guide them through the trip and bond along the way. It’s kind of ridiculous that they’ve been peers for this long and know so little about the other person -- being stuck together like this for ten days gives them a unique opportunity. Of course, it does require a willingness to open up…

Charlie: I don’t know. I’m not much of a talker. I wouldn’t have anything interesting to say.

Yindra: It doesn’t have to be poet laureate worthy. We’re just talking. And not all the questions are as intense as they make it sound. Here like, here’s one from the first set --

Charlie: So we’re doing this then…

Sure are. A test run, at least, and if it’s an absolute hell they can never do it again. Yindra clears her throat and Charlie sighs, bracing himself for whatever may come out of her mouth.

Yindra: “Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?”

Charlie: Oh, all the time. For everything.

Yindra: Seriously? Even for like, hey, I need to set up a doctor’s appointment?

Charlie: Oh yeah. Sometimes I even script it ahead of time. [ with a self-cringe ] I have this… mortifying fear of saying the wrong thing and sounding like an idiot. Which is great, given that I do that… basically all the time. There’s a reason improv games were my least favorite part of class.

Yindra: OMG, yeah. You know who was so good at those? Yogi. That man could come up with shit on the spot like nobody’s business.

Charlie: It was really great when the techies started joining last year and he and Dylan would get into rounds together.

Yindra: [ with a laugh ] Yes! Totally!

Charlie: They could really play off each other forever. No clue how they do it. My brain can’t even do a normal conversation.

Yindra: Do you think there’s a reason for it? Other than just like, being shy? Nigel is the same way, he’ll avoid phone calls at all costs if he can hack it. It’s so annoying when we order food and Zay or I have to answer when they call us to ask about the order.

Charlie: I don’t know. I mean, like… I guess part of it is probably because I was so aware of what I said for a long time. Like, with the… being in the closet thing, I was always checking what I said before I said it, in case I let something slip that gave it away. And even before the gay thing was like, at the forefront, I was doing that in my head. Like I always felt like I had something to hide. Still do, honestly, but I’m trying to work on it.

Yindra: This is good practice then.

Charlie thinks about that, then laughs, conceding with a nod.

Charlie: Ha, yeah. I guess it is. Thanks.

Yindra: You’re welcome.

Charlie: So do you? Rehearse your phone calls?

Yindra: I know I acted like I was so surprised by your answer, but uh, yeah. Not all of them, but I’ll usually talk through what exactly I’m intending to say before I dial.

Charlie: So you do get it.

Yindra: I don’t actually write it down, but yeah. It’s just something about the phone, man. Like I could have the same convo with someone in person and over the phone, and the phone would be one-hundred times harder.

Charlie: For real. I know exactly what you mean.

Yindra: So like, if you’re ever gonna call me -- which based on this conversation, I don’t suspect you will be much -- text me first. Else you will not be hearing from me. Sorry to say.

Charlie laughs harder, Yindra shrugging her shoulders cheekily. It’s the truth (and relatable truth at that). Once the chuckles die down, Charlie admits that wasn’t the worst thing in the world. And it is nice to get to know more about Yindra -- he probably wouldn’t have predicted that she also preps her phone calls, since she comes off so confident.

Yindra: See? Already learning something new about each other. Magic of the New York Times…

And there could be more where that came from… if they decide to take the dive. If they’re going to do it, too, they need to commit. They can’t just half-ass this and skip around only where they’re comfortable. They’re already pushing their comfort zone on this trip, together and individually, so this is just another realm of that challenge.

Charlie is hesitant, as is his nature, but he’s curious too. He spent all this time going off to find himself, to become more secure in who he is. What he thinks, what he feels, the things he might want to say. This is as good a test as any as to whether he can actually stomach carrying that home with him, especially considering Yindra is probably the least threatening trial run partner he could have.

Yindra: We can code of silence it too. Like -- we’re near Vegas, right?

Charlie: That was about 120 miles ago, but close enough.

Yindra: Whatever. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, and what happens on this trip stays on this trip. Anything we share with each other, that’s just between us. We can trust that the other person isn’t going to turn around and blab about it to the world.

Charlie: Okay… I can work with that. But are there any safe words?

Yindra: We’re so lucky my dad is not listening to this.

Charlie: Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that -- I just mean like, is this no holds barred? Do we have to answer every question? Even though we don’t know what they are?

Yindra: In the spirit of the exercise, I think yes. But we’re both on the hook here -- answer for answer. We won’t hedge or hem or haw. Just authentic, total honesty.

Talk about a leap of faith… it’s not that Charlie doesn’t trust her, but what she’s suggesting is basically what he spent nineteen years desperately avoiding. Yindra senses his apprehension, offering a consolation as to not ruin the whole trip prematurely.

Yindra: Okay, amendment. We won’t hem or haw -- with one exception. We get one get out of jail free card, where we can pass on any question once. No questions asked. You can use it whenever you want, but choose wisely, because you only get to do it once.

Okay, spicy… but reassuring. Fun, but with an escape hatch. And Charlie does want to try it, to bond with Yindra, and the high expectations of it are honestly part of the fun. He’s coming around, so Yindra puts it out there one more time.

Yindra: Do we have a deal? Are you ready to fall in love, Charlie Gardner?

She holds her hand out one more time, this one feeling much more loaded than the first. Charlie eyes it, standing on the precipice… then he meets her eyes, a slight smirk gracing his lips.

He clasps her hand in his definitively, just as the folksy guitar intro kicks up --

EXT. OPEN ROAD - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Two Of Us” as performed by The Beatles || Instrumental

Nothing sets the mood for a travel montage better than this Beatles classic, and it fits particularly well for our two wandering travelers. The acoustic, banjo-like tune lends itself well to the scenery of middle America, underscoring a pleasant sequence of snapshots from the first part of the journey.

This includes glimpses of Charlie and Yindra at some of the stops they planned for on the map -- the Grand Canyon, Capitol Reef National Park, art installations in Denver and nightlife peppered throughout the cities they pass through. Charlie takes plenty of pictures of Yindra looking cute and fashionable, and she manages to pull him into some with her (including a couple of adorable selfies). As they traverse their way along, the map superimposes over the screen, showing their progress acrossing the country.

In the meantime between stops, we also watch them continue to have conversations and make their way through the questions from the article. They talk as they walk along sights, on the road, over meals and as they’re getting ready for bed at hotels. Sometimes the discussion is lively, full of laughter and jokes and heated opinions (mainly from Yindra); other times it’s more muted, pensive and considerate and allowing room for thoughtful contemplation (mainly from Charlie).

Ultimately, though, they loosen up. Talking gets easier as the trip rolls along, some of that inexplicable enchantment of traveling together letting the walls fall down quicker than they might otherwise.

As the last chorus peters into the fading outro, Charlie and Yindra jog back to their car from the latest stop. Charlie pulls open the passenger side door for Yindra and she playfully thanks him, dropping into the passenger seat. Charlie closes the door and then heads back to the driver’s seat.

The car pulls away and back onto the road, driving into the horizon towards the east coast as Lennon’s whistling takes us into the sunset.

INT. MISSOURI DINER - DAY

Rain pelts the windows of a cozy local diner, crowded with patrons hoping to escape the downpour for a couple hours. That includes Yindra and Charlie, who are enjoying lunch and continuing their long, ongoing conversation while they wait for the rain to die down. Music plays from old-style 50’s jukeboxes. The diner seems mostly populated with diners of color, indicating that this a safe harbor of sorts in the uncertain zone that is the midwest.

Charlie is definitely enjoying the food, commenting on how good the fries are. Yindra watches him eat in amusement, remarking on his truly bizarre love of junk food considering how fit and health-conscious he is. He shrugs innocently, biting into another fry.

Charlie: The heart wants what it wants.

Yindra: The heart probably doesn’t want to die of clogged arteries. But I suppose all the dancing helps take care of that.

Charlie: You’ve cracked the code.

Yindra: Is that your plan for God, too? If he’s as vengeful as all the hardcore zealots think, when you get up there for judgment day and he asks you why you decided to be a gay little sinner, are you gonna shrug and tell him the heart wants what it wants?

Charlie: If God is really as vengeful as my mom believes he is, then I’m not even making it to the doorstep of Heaven to be asked that question.

Oof. But you got ‘em there. Yindra feigns swiping a tear from her eyes and then figures that’s as good a transition as any into more deep philosophical falling-in-love questions. She pulls up the article on her phone and clears her throat.

Yindra: Okay. Tell me this, Charlie darling -- “what do you most value in a friendship?”

Charlie: Wow. That’s a hard one.

Yindra: I don’t know, I don’t think so. I’ve got a pretty immediate answer in my head.

Charlie: Go on, then.

Yindra: For me, it’s authenticity. Or like, realness. I need to know that my friends are gonna take me as I am, no cap, and that we’re gonna be in it for the good and the bad.

Charlie: Hm. That’s true. That’s a good one.

Yindra: Like, take me and Zay for example. Best friends. Ride or die. I’d kill a man for him, and I know he’d do the same for me. But we also drive each other nuts and are ready at a hair trigger’s notice to call each other out if the other person is being a bitch. I need that kind of realness in my life. I feel like true friendship comes from knowing someone so well, you know when they need to hear something they maybe don’t wanna hear. Or that you know them well enough to build them back up, too. Me, Zay, and Nigel, that’s why we’re as tight as we are. We know we’ve got each other’s backs always, but we’re not afraid to call it like it is.

Charlie: I definitely could’ve used more of that in the past. I might’ve melted or evaporated, sure, but it probably would’ve been good for me.

Yindra: Sorry we weren’t better friends sooner, I could’ve helped you out.

Charlie: No doubt you would have.

Yindra: Oh, and they need to be able to be down for a good adventure. Doesn’t have to be wild and crazy, but I like fun in my life. Okay, your turn.

Charlie: I think mine is kind of similar to yours. But less… um, feisty.

Yindra: Fire and water, babe. But go on.

Charlie: Basically I think… the thing I need most in a friendship is trust. Or like… I guess, acceptance and trust, which kind of go hand-in-hand. I think that’s partially because of like… well, everything about my life --

Yindra: Understandable.

Charlie: But also just because I feel like you need space to grow in a friendship. I spent so much of my life having these hollow friendships because I felt like I couldn’t be myself, because if I was myself and that didn’t… track right, wasn’t what people wanted, then I would get dropped. And I still have those kind of doubts -- about like, being disposable and stuff, like everyone just forgetting about me when I’m not around --

Yindra: Not possible. Mostly because you’re one of the most delightfully weird people I’ve ever known.

Charlie: Gee, thank you so much. [ off her blown kiss ] But like… I think it was really important for me to realize that friendship could be unconditional. Like, not that people will let you get away with bullshit -- good friends call you out when needed, like you said -- but that I could be imperfect, or flawed, or fuck up, and that wouldn’t change how they saw me. And I could explore new thoughts, express complicated feelings, without immediate judgment. True friendship is… safety, I guess. A safe space.

Yindra: Right… yeah, I see that. Completely.

Charlie: Zay was kind of the first friend I really had who fit that description. Then Riley. They were also the first two who I came out to, so I guess that all kind of ties together, but… [ with a fond smile ] I don’t know who I’d be now if I hadn’t had the chance to have that realization. What friendship -- any relationship, really -- is supposed to be about. So yeah.

Whether the two of them are going to end up that way remains to be seen, but they seem to be on a good track considering all the open honesty they’re sharing on the road. Yindra figures the true test will be whenever one of them needs to have their bullshit checked, which makes Charlie laugh. Hopefully, that won’t be necessary for a while.

Yindra scrolls through the next couple of questions, starting to comment on one of the next ones -- “alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner” -- when a new song comes on over the jukebox. The opening guitar riff is instantly familiar, and Yindra excitedly turns it up at their table.

Yindra: Oh my God, I love this song.

Charlie: It is a classic.

Yindra: And isn’t it so fitting -- it’s gonna answer the next questions for me.

Charlie: What do you mean?

Yindra gives him a mischievous grin, wiggling her eyebrows as the music really kicks up. As he should very well know, she’s no stranger to grooving it up in a diner…

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “What I Like About You” as performed by The Romantics || Performed by Yindra Amino (feat. Charlie Gardner)

Yindra starts her little serenade playfully, singing along to the jukebox at their table. At first, Charlie is bashful, shushing her and looking around them to make sure they’re not disturbing anyone else. But that just revs Yindra up more, encouraging her theatrics.

Lucky for them, the magic of AMBITION is in play, so the other diner patrons and workers don’t mind the performance. In fact, they’re into it, smiling towards Yindra as she kicks things off. And how can you blame them, considering the classic rock tune is undeniably infectious and basically begs you to get up and dance along?

And lucky for Yindra, Charlie is a much more adventurous partner than he’s been in the past. He’s grooved in underground European clubs and climbed mountains -- what’s a bit of fun in a middle of nowhere diner? So when Yindra takes his hand on the chorus and pulls him up from the booth, he doesn’t fight her, letting her tug him to the center of the diner to take center stage. When she sings “you really know how to dance,” he cracks up, before the two of them launch into a handful of energetic synced dance moves perfectly in tune with the vibes.

As the song progresses to the bridge, they split up to get the other diner folks into it, spreading the AMBITION spell. It’s impossible not to be taken with Yindra’s sheer showmanship, and all the ladies young and old are charmed by Charlie’s endearing ingenuity. Before long, most everyone is grooving along, and the harmonica solo is played by the cook from behind the counter. It’s a straight-up good time all around -- and if you aren’t dancing yet, well, what are you waiting for?

Rolling back to the final verse, Yindra is helped onto the counter, where she points to Charlie who has jumped up on the other side. They make their way towards each other over the course of the lines, barreling towards the final round of choruses, keeping the energy going all the way to the end. They dance together at the center through to the end, their choreography playfully flirtatious and only convincing if you didn’t know they’re both gay as hell.

But it’s damningly adorable, and by far the most fun anyone seems to be having this Thanksgiving season so far. Charlie teasingly whispers the final “that’s what I like about yous,” making Yindra laugh, then he spins her under his arm. The two of them lead the rest of the diner through the final “heys,” finishing with a flourish with their arms around each other. Yindra tosses a hand in the air, true diva style, both their smiles effortlessly bright.

EXT. MISSOURI DINER - DAY

Yindra and Charlie have relocated outside now that the rain has cleared, sitting together on the roof of the rental car. They’re having milkshakes to-go, complimentary from the wait staff after their enjoyable little performance.

Yindra: What flavor did you get?

Charlie: Vanilla. [ a beat ] I can practically hear the joke forming in your head.

Yindra: No idea what you’re talking about. It’s not taking everything in me to not be predictable and make a joke.

Charlie: Anyway, it’s good. You can’t go wrong with vanilla. How about yours?

Yindra: “Baker’s Delight.” Kind of a cookie dough, cake batter, brownie type vibe.

Charlie: All in one? Sugar to the max.

Yindra: Just like me. Here, want to try a little?

Charlie: Hope you mean the milkshake.

Yindra rolls her eyes, but she can’t help but smile -- their banter is getting good! Charlie accepts the offer to try a little bit, humming in approval. Very sweet, no doubt about that, but still good.

Yindra: Okay. You ready for the next one?

Charlie: As I’ll ever be.

Yindra pulls out her phone, opening the screenshot of the article and going for the next question. She hesitates at first, signaling it’s not as easy-breezy as some of the ones before.

Yindra: They’re going for a heavy-hitter here. “What is your most terrible memory?”

Charlie: [ exhaling through his lips ] Gosh.

Yindra: Yeah. To be fair, we’re halfway there, so --

Charlie: Whoa, living on a prayer?

Yindra points to him in acknowledgement, appreciating the layered quip. That, and the longer they goof off, the longer they don’t have to touch the tough stuff…

Yindra: So are we doing this? Or is this where we chicken out and call it quits?

Charlie: No, no. We should try. We made it this far. You want to take the first stab?

It doesn’t really seem like she does… which is intriguing, considering she’s been a relatively open book thus far. After a moment of silence, she shrugs, focusing on stirring her milkshake with her straw.

Yindra: I don’t have one.

Charlie: What? [ shaking his head ] You’re kidding.

Yindra: Nope. Can’t think of one.

Charlie: You don’t have any bad memories? None at all.

Yindra: I mean, I’m sure I do, but not enough to stick in my mind. I try to be a positive person, you know, not dwell on the hard times. Usually, that does me many favors.

Charlie: I bet. Wish that were me.

No, unfortunately, Charlie has too many tough memories to spare. It’s almost hard to decide which one to go with… except it isn’t. Based on the way his expression grows clouded, brow furrowed slightly, it’s clear his mind had no trouble landing on the answer.

Yindra: Hard to remember?

Charlie: No. No, it’s just… um… [ clearing his throat, then chuckling ] I’m trying to figure out how to even…

Where to begin. Yindra waits patiently, curious but not planning to push. Even though they’re playing this game together, she knows their participation is optional. She’s not going to force him to say anything he doesn’t want to say, particularly considering he’s yet to question her.

Charlie: It’s kind of weird because… it’s a bit all -- it’s kind of twisted around in my head. The memories. Because this experience was bad. Really bad. But it was also -- it came on the heels of something good. Or maybe not good, necessarily, but not bad. Definitely not bad. Just… complicated. [ a beat ] It’s hard to explain how something can be right and so wrong at the same time.

Now he’s really got Yindra’s curiosity piqued. She has no clue what he could possibly be talking about, and that description doesn’t narrow it down any further.

Charlie doesn’t seem to be thinking about clarity, though -- he’s melancholic, lost in his own head even as he thinks out loud. It’s impressive how fast the mood of the day can turn, much of the energetic levity from earlier leeched away in an instant.

Yindra: What happened?

Charlie: It was -- a couple of years ago… [ with hesitation ] I hurt someone. Someone that I love. It wasn’t intentional, I didn’t want to, but… I made a bad choice. A selfish one. And it was doubly fucked up because I hurt them in a moment we were particularly vulnerable, in the exact time it would hurt the most.

Yindra: … well, if it was an accident…

Charlie: But I knew. I knew it wasn’t right. I tried to convince myself -- or, honestly, I don’t really know what I knew. If I knew then, or if I feel like I did because of what I know now. But when I think back to that moment, that time, it’s just too -- [ with difficulty ] I hurt someone I really care about because I was selfish. And the thing is, I don’t know if… I don’t know if I’m ever going to be able to fix it. Not really.

He has Yindra totally mesmerized. Although the emotion is coming from a heavy place, when Charlie is as authentic as he is now, he has a unique magnetism. The same spark that makes his performances so captivating -- when he actually expresses himself.

Yindra: [ quietly ] What did you do?

The moment is held in suspense… but Charlie shakes his head, closing his eyes. It doesn’t feel right to share the details -- because they’re not just his, because they’re so intimate… and because it’s simply too hard. Thinking back on it, realizing how much he dreads the reality that he may never be able to make up for his choice, is more painful than he expected.

Charlie: I can’t. [ swallowing ] I’m sorry, Yindra, I can’t talk about it.

She doesn’t see why he’s apologizing, when he already shared way more than she probably would have. She gently places a hand on his knee next to hers.

Yindra: All good. You do have a pass, too, you know.

Charlie: [ with a weak laugh ] Yeah, yeah that’s true. Guess I should use mine here.

Yindra: You don’t have to.

Charlie: No, I’m playing by the rules. I’m good at that. [ with a sigh ] But I can give you another terrible memory, if that’ll soften the blow.

Yindra: I mean, by all means, I’m an eager listener. Though not sure I should be pleased with the fact that you have more than one terrible memory on tap.

Charlie: Tip of the iceberg. [ after a beat ] So you remember my sister Agatha.

Yindra: The one who got married.

Charlie: Yeah. Well, that wedding is what I’m thinking of. Not the whole thing -- it was a great ceremony. And I knew that she would be happy. Her husband, John, is kind of a lot, but not in a bad way. He’s supportive, and adores her, and they make each other happy. It was a nice wedding. It should have been perfect.

Yindra: If you’re saying “should have” …

Charlie: [ after a beat ] Yeah. Given everything with my family, the way things were… or are, I guess -- Bridgette wasn’t there. Bridgette didn’t get to go to the wedding. To be honest, now that I think about it, I don’t even know if Agatha invited her. I don’t know if she thought she could. We didn’t talk about it. We’ve never talked about it. [ a beat ] That day, we didn’t talk about it. All of us were acting like it was normal, like it was fine. And I guess I probably would’ve just kept that feeling to myself, that it was wrong she wasn’t there… but I found Agatha crying during the reception. Figured out even if we weren’t saying it, she felt the same way.

Yindra: Jesus…

Charlie: So yeah, seeing my sister cry on her wedding day… ranks pretty high. Especially because I was already all over the place that day because watching them get married was a pretty solid reminder of how that was never gonna happen for me, so it was --

Charlie makes a frazzled noise, shaking his head to shake off the melancholy. Yindra doesn’t know what to say… but maybe the point isn’t to know what to say. Maybe the point is just to hear him, to listen, and let that color her understanding of him a little deeper.

So she offers him an exit ramp instead, gracefully changing the subject.

Yindra: Can I try some of the vanilla, actually? I’m curious.

Charlie laughs, tacitly grateful for the life vest out of heavy waters. He hands her his shake, allowing her to take a sip. She hums.

Yindra: OMG, that is good.

Charlie: Sometimes, simple is all you need.

INT. HOTEL ROOM - NIGHT

Yindra checks her phone at the hotel they’ve settled at for the night, having pulled it from her bag to charge it. She’s frozen staring at the lock screen, where two missed calls and a text from her dad are beckoning for her to address them. Based on the preview, he wants her to call him as soon as she gets the text, because they clearly need to talk -- which she received hours ago.

She feels bad having left him without warning like that, even with the note and assurance she wasn’t alone. But she can’t face him right now. She manages a text just to confirm she’s all right, but doesn’t guarantee a call back, although that just leaves her feeling all the more icky.

She snaps out of it though when Charlie returns to the room with the ice bucket and the couple of drinks he got from the vending machine. They didn’t have exactly what she wanted, but they had the next best equivalent, which Yindra promises him is fine. She takes them from him and sticks them in the mini-fridge, then turns around to find Charlie searching the small linen compartment.

Yindra: What are you doing?

Charlie: Looking for a blanket. I’ll set up on the floor, since there’s only one --

Only one bed. Yeah, wasn’t their ideal arrangement, but when you change plans so suddenly… but Yindra doesn’t see what the big deal is. It’s not like they’re the perfect match in a cheesy fanfiction.

Yindra: Don’t be ridiculous. We can share.

Charlie: No, seriously, I’m good. Like I said before, I’ve slept in weirder places the last few months.

Yindra: You’re the most annoyingly polite person I’ve ever met, my God. You do not have to sleep on the floor, please.

Charlie: I don’t mind. Genuinely. If it keeps things from being --

Yindra: Charlie. Read my lips: we’re gay. There is literally nothing nefarious about the two of us sharing a bed. You are probably honestly any parent’s dream candidate to be stuck in a one-bedroom hotel with their daughter. Particularly because I think even if for some bizarre reason you decided you had the urge to take advantage of me, the mere thought would make your good little heart burst into flames and kill you.

Okay, okay, he gets it. Not to mention, as Yindra points out, she’s had plenty of sleepovers with Zay and Nigel before. She knows he’s had some with Haley and Clarissa. Literally, there is absolutely nothing edgy about this. He still seems reluctant, just based on years of deeply ingrained societal standards, but he raises his hands in surrender.

Charlie: All right, fine. Fine. Let the record show I tried, though.

Yindra: And let the record also show that I kept both of us from a fiery death when you inevitably doze off behind the wheel from sleeping on the floor all night. You’re welcome.

The two of them get ready for bed, Yindra climbing under the covers while Charlie finishes settling in. Once he’s just about done, starting to pull his shirt off, he hesitates, causing Yindra to give him a playfully disdainful look. Does he truly second-guess everything he does?

Charlie: I usually don’t sleep with -- is that okay? If I’m --

Yindra: Charlie. I am physically and psychologically not attracted to you and your smoking dancer body. You being shirtless is not going to turn off the lesbian in me and make me suddenly want to bone you. The risk of kiss is below zero. [ pointedly ] Especially after the first one.

Charlie laughs sheepishly.

Charlie: I’m never going to live that down, am I?

Yindra: No. But in this case, Monsieur Marius, you should allow it to bring you peace. Now take your shirt off and get into bed with me.

Well, if she insists. Charlie pulls off his tee so he’s just in his necklace and sweatpants while Yindra reaches over to turn off the light. Charlie joins her on the bed, but maintains some level of boundaries between them by staying on top of the blankets rather than under them. Yindra side-eyes him but doesn’t comment -- at this point, it’s not worth the argument. Self-sacrificing is in his blood, it seems.

They exchange good nights and go quiet, Charlie turning on his side towards the wall while Yindra stays staring at the ceiling. For a few moments, silence reigns…

Yindra: Charlie?

Charlie: Yeah?

Yindra: Thanks for letting me come with you. Changing all your plans for me, and stuff.

Charlie rolls back onto his back, giving her a light smile next to him through the dark.

Charlie: Sure. It’s been fun. Well, mostly. I don’t know if I’d call the morose New York Times questions fun, per se, but I don’t mind a bit of introspection.

Yindra: Based on your compulsive journaling? I never would’ve guessed that… [ turning to face him ] And thanks for what you said today. Sharing all that stuff about your sisters and your hard memories with me. I’m sure… I know it wasn’t easy.

No, maybe not… but he isn’t upset he did. It feels nice, digging through these questions, getting to practice that muscle of verbalizing his thoughts. And to get to learn more about her -- for them to be able to work on the vulnerability together and ideally, form a more solid friendship at the same time.

Charlie: I’m glad you suggested it. I was wary at first but… I think it’s good. And it’s cool, knowing I can talk about these things with you.

Yindra, softly: Safe space.

Right. Exactly like he said… Charlie mirrors her gentle smile.

Charlie: Goodnight, Yindra.

Yindra: Night, Charlie.

Charlie lets his eyes drift closed. Yindra lays there for a beat longer, contemplative… then she sits up, adjusting the blankets so that the comforter is no longer over her. She folds it back in his direction, draping it over him and ensuring he gets some cover too. Charlie doesn’t open his eyes, but he smiles.

EXT. MAP - DAY

The map graphic from before returns, continuing to track the route back across the country. As they make it to the east coast, a handful of new Polaroids join the map, capturing glimpses of what those next legs of the travel were like. When it rolls to a stop in Virginia, just south of D.C….

INT. VIRGINIA DINER - DAY

Yindra and Charlie are finishing up breakfast, gearing up for the remainder of their trip northbound. They’re closing in on the final stretch, which means they’ve got unfinished business to attend to -- no time to waste! Charlie finishes chewing, then picks up Yindra’s phone with the list.

Charlie: Okay. Ready?

Yindra: Always ready, baby. Oh, wait -- [ stealing a breakfast potato off his plate with her fork and popping it in her mouth ] Mm. Okay, now I’m ready.

Charlie: “How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people’s?”

Yindra: Hm. I’d say yeah, obviously.

Charlie: Me too. At least, that’s my instinct, but maybe it’s not that simple.

Yindra: I guess… I mean, I don’t know if you noticed, but the people in our class? Fucked. There were so many fucked up family situations in the A class it was like impossible to keep track of.

Charlie: Yeah. Yeah, that’s true.

Yindra: Like Riley with her insane bitter parents, and Chai with her infidelity dad, to say nothing of the De La Cruz saga. And Friar… [ shuddering a bit ] It just feels like when that’s like right there in front of us, when I know that shit’s going on, I really don’t have anything to complain about.

Charlie: For sure. And I always felt that way, too, or it just never really occurred to me to wonder if… if it was supposed to be different. You know? I love my family. They’re the most important thing in my life, and I’ve always felt like I belonged to it. I definitely didn’t have the angst going on to stress over that our peers did.

Yindra: … but? I sense a but.

Charlie: But… recently that’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. Last couple years. Like -- how true is that warmth I feel? Is that actually love, or… or some specific version of it that I just never bothered to question because I didn’t know any better? And I don’t want to come off ungrateful, because like I said, I love my family. I know they love me. It’s not that I have that in question. It’s just… that idea of was my childhood happier? Yes, undoubtedly. I had shelter, I had support, we had means. But then sometimes… I don’t know. It’s hard to articulate.

Yindra: I think I get what you mean. Obviously, my situation is different than yours, but I kind of get it. Like… we’re fortunate, in the grand scheme of things. We’ve got parents that support us. Take care of us, don’t put us in harm’s way or neglect us. They love us unconditionally.

Charlie: … yeah. Right, yeah.

Yindra: But that doesn’t mean it’s perfect. Being better than somebody else’s childhood doesn’t necessarily mean… no, yeah, it’s complicated. But I get what you mean.

Charlie: Not exactly answering the question, but we’re trying our best.

Yindra: What do you think tipped you off to those feelings? Or the doubt? For me it was obviously my parents divorcing, but that doesn’t apply for you. So I’m just wondering.

Charlie: Um… honestly, I think it was just like, seeing other people.

Yindra: Other families?

Charlie: Yeah. Just other ways of -- you know, I spent most of my childhood in the relatively contained shelter of my church community. We did Catholic school, all the families had their kids do the same extracurriculars and hobbies. Like the friends that I did martial arts with for seven years are the same kids I was in bible study with and school for all that time. So my breadth of samples was pretty… and everyone there was the same. You know? Basically everyone had a family structure or dynamic just like mine. That’s how it felt, at least. I mean, we had poorer income brackets at our church, sometimes, and we were wonderful to them at service. But I never saw them outside church -- my mom wasn’t setting up playdates.

Yindra: Right.

Charlie: So then when I went to Adams -- I mean, it sounds insane, and probably explains why I sound like a martian from planet wah most of the time, but like, Triple A was the first time I was exposed to all these, just… different ways of being. As individuals, but the families, too. You know, when you’d see everyone’s family roll up or not roll up to performances, it would show you so much in just a few moments. Like Dylan with his family -- I remember the first time in freshman year when I realized Dylan’s mom was dead and he was being raised by a single dad, I thought like wow, I would hate to be in that situation. I thought I should pity him. But he is so happy --

Yindra: Well, I think part of that is just Dylan Orlando.

Charlie: Maybe, but when I saw him with his dad after shows, it was just like, they sure don’t look like I should pity them. They seem perfectly fine, content, with the way things are. And they looked warm -- you could just tell how much Dylan loved his dad, he wasn’t shy about it, and his dad was so proud of him. And that -- that just kind of -- it took me a long time to think about why that struck me so much. And I think it’s because when I really think about it, when I put it under the light, I don’t know if people would say the same about me and my dad. Even though I love my dad, and I know he loves me. We’re not warm like that, not in the same way. And I think that was the first time I kind of realized that maybe what I had with my family wasn’t the best you could ask for.

Given how much he just spilled out now, it’s evident Charlie has spent ample time ruminating on this. And he’s still chewing on it -- this conversation certainly doesn’t end the examination in his head. If he’s being honest, he knows being so close to home, it’s likely just getting started for real.

Yindra doesn’t have quite the same experience, since she never necessarily believed her family was the end-all-be-all of healthy dynamics. But she appreciates what he’s saying, and it’s weird to think that so many different factors go into determining what each individual determines is needed for an ideal relationship -- of any nature.

The next question doesn’t spare them, continuing on the same thread.

Yindra: “How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?” [ with a sigh ] Damn --

Charlie, in unison: Dang…

They chuckle at their unintentional jinx, then Yindra gestures for Charlie to go on.

Charlie: It’s… um, yeah. That’s a hefty one.

Yindra: Sure is.

In some ways, for how good he’s been doing so far, it may be the one question he can’t answer properly. Not for lack of trying, but it’s like his brain just stops functioning.

Charlie: It’s -- I mean -- no, it’s good. It’s always been a little -- my mom loves me. Like, a lot. At the risk of sounding presumptuous, I know I’m her favorite child. Like, she loves me.

Yindra: Wow. Sounds like a lot of pressure.

Charlie: Well… yeah, exactly. So it’s like… I know she loves me. And I love her. And she’s given me so much, you know, always made sure I had the best and was set up for success as much as she possibly could. She believes I’m capable of great things, and she wants that for me, and she spares no expense to make sure I get what I need. I know she goes to the end of the earth in that regard, and I’m grateful for it. [ a beat ] I’m just not sure if we are on the same page about what I need. Or if we ever were.

Yindra: Yeah. Damn.

Charlie: But like, most of that is on me. Because I haven’t… I’m not good at communicating that to her. I haven’t been honest with her, so she couldn’t -- I can’t expect her to know. You know? [ a beat, then quickly ] So, yeah, that’s how I’d answer. How about you?

Yindra: I would agree that my mom loves me. And I know she does. My mom is a really extraordinary, giving person, you know, doing the whole traveling aid thing. She is so passionate about her work, and it’s helping so many people. But, um… I think there’s a bit of disconnect there. Because of that. Because she’s always out there, doing the thing, and not here with me.

Charlie: Yeah. I totally get that. Even just being away for six months has felt kind of… yeah.

Yindra: It’s just a lot harder to keep the foundation in place, with all that distance. If that makes sense. And it’s not like I feel like she doesn’t care about me, because I know she does -- she is always on time with shared childcare payments. She’s never missed a birthday, always calls me at the exact same time to talk to me on holidays. She cares, in her way. And I know she’s… she’s a good person. I believe she’s a good person, a loving person. [ a beat ] Sometimes I just --

They’re interrupted when Yindra’s phone rings, vibrating loudly on the table. Both of them jump, ripped out of the moment. Yindra hesitates, dreading it might be from her dad again, but she’s confused when she sees Nigel’s name lighting up the screen.

Yindra: It’s Nigel. I should probably take this -- as we discussed, he rarely talks on the phone, so if he’s calling me…

Charlie: Oh, please. By all means. Do what you gotta do.

Yindra nods and picks up, immediately sensing something is not quite right with Nigel. She gives Charlie an apologetic smile and gets up from the table to hear better, Charlie waving her along as an assurance that it’s all right.

Yindra: [ as she’s walking away ] Whoa, whoa. Back up and say that again…

Once he’s alone, Charlie decides to make a call of his own. Something about the conversation struck a nerve, and considering he’s so close to home at this point, it feels like as good a time as any. He dials the contact for Eleanor, pressing the phone to his ear and tapping his fingers restlessly on the tabletop.

It goes to voicemail. Charlie frowns, glancing at his home screen -- he doesn’t think she should be particularly busy right now. Of course, life is life, and people have stuff going on beyond him. It’s not like he expects everyone from home to be at his beck and call.

Still, he can’t let it go. He dials another number instead, tapping fingers picking up in tempo…

INT. GARDNER HOME - LIVING ROOM - DAY

DAISY GARDNER is sitting in the armchair, doing homework with noise-canceling headset on. In the background, ELEANOR GARDNER is getting an early start on preparing dinner, scolding Skippy for begging at her feet but otherwise enjoying listening to Fox News playing on the TV in the living room.

Thankfully, Daisy sees her phone light up with the call since she can’t hear it. She makes a face and pauses her music, pulling down the headset and answering.

Daisy: Hello?

The scene intercuts with Charlie at the diner, who seems glad she picked up. She’s less cheerful, mildly irritable at being disrupted from her focus. Isn’t she going to see him in like two days anyway? Is a call really necessary?

Charlie: No, yeah, for sure. I just wanted to -- is mom okay? Is she busy with a church thing, or something?

Daisy frowns, like what a weird question, before glancing over her shoulder to confirm. No, mom is still there, doing what she usually does and pointedly not busy -- if mothering doesn’t count as busy.

Daisy: No? She’s fine. She’s right here. I think she’s making pot roast, so that’s a whole ordeal, but.

Charlie: Oh.

A sinking feeling settles in Charlie’s stomach. He doesn’t know why, but something about this information feels like it’s confirmation, but of what he couldn’t say. He can’t really grasp how he’s feeling about it -- the idea that his mom is right there by her phone, likely able to see that he called, and simply didn’t pick up.

Daisy: Do you need her? She’s right here, I can get her --

Charlie: No. No, I’m -- no worries. I was just curious. [ a beat ] Tell her I miss her, and that I can’t wait to see her. All of you.

Daisy: Okay? Sure. See you soon.

Charlie: Yeah. Yeah, see you soon. Bye.

Daisy hangs up without fanfare, leaving Charlie back in the silence on the other end. He places his phone down on the table, trying to understand what about that moment felt so wrong.

Eleanor loves him. He knows she does. Didn’t he just spend minutes explaining exactly how much?

Yindra, pre-lap: “When did you last cry in front of another person? By yourself?”

INT. RENTAL CAR - MOVING - DAY

Charlie and Yindra are back on the road, driving into the setting sun towards the Northeast. At this question, Charlie scoffs a laugh.

Charlie: I have no way of answering that. It’s way too often. Yesterday, probably.

Yindra: Yesterday? I was with you all day yesterday.

Charlie: Not all day. There were gaps. Five minutes is all you need. Anyway, I’m not saying I did, but the likelihood is 50/50.

Yindra: No way. You’re serious?

Charlie: Honestly, you’re lucky I’m not crying right now. I’m such a crybaby it’s unreal.

Yindra: I genuinely never would’ve guessed that. You always seemed so put together and easy-going in class.

Charlie: I mean this in the least offensive way possible, and past me would be thrilled to hear that, but you were clearly not really paying attention to me.

Touché. Yindra raises her hands in surrender.

Charlie: But it’s not always for bad reasons. Like when you all wrote that graduation card for me that Lucas brought to me when you were in the U.K.? That made me cry. Like I literally am just a crybaby. The worst part of it is when I start to get choked up when I really don’t want to -- particularly in front of other people.

Yindra: Oh, big same. Crying in front of other people is like, please skin me alive. It would be less painful. But I don’t usually have that problem.

Charlie: I take it you’re not a crier, then.

Yindra: Not really? I mean, obviously, everyone has their moments. But yeah, I don’t do it much, for good or for bad. I guess I’m more hot-tempered, so I tend to get angry rather than sad like that, but it’s like… no yeah, I can’t even remember the last time. Not off the top of my head. I feel like if I’m crying, then I know something is seriously messed up.

Everybody copes differently. But bottom line, both of them agree, crying in front of someone is torture. Either they are truly at their wits end, or they have a serious amount of trust with that person to be willing to do that in front of them.

EXT. PICNIC TABLE - DAY

The sunset is gorgeous as Charlie and Yindra settle down for an early dinner, opting for the scenery of changing leaves at an outdoor park somewhere in lower Pennsylvania. Charlie is seated cross-legged on the tabletop, raising his head from the map when Yindra approaches with their food.

Charlie beams, thanking her for going to grab it while she settles down on the bench in front of him. He points towards the horizon behind her, causing her to turn and follow his gaze.

Charlie: See right there? Through the trees? There’s Manhattan.

Yindra: Ohh. Wow. How about that. [ a beat ] Am I supposed to be seeing anything right now?

Charlie laughs, shaking his head.

Charlie: Not literally. Like, you can’t see the Empire State Building or anything. But that’s where we’re headed. The horizon holds it all -- the horizon is home.

Yindra tilts her head, unable to hold back a smile.

Yindra: I love the way your mind works, Charlie Gardner.

He mirrors her smile. As they start to dig into their food, Yindra pulls up the questions, commenting that they’re nearing the end. End of the road, end of the questions -- out of thirty-six, they’ve made it to the bottom five. Time to get real.

Charlie: It wasn’t real before?

Yindra: Ahem. “If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? Why haven’t you told them yet?”

Jesus… the New York Times is not fucking around. Both of them go quiet, processing the heft of the question and contemplating what to say. For Charlie, it sort of feels like he once again has too many answers to fit the bill… but his fingers automatically drift to fiddle with the ring on the end of the chain around his neck. Yindra notices the subconscious move, getting a better look at the chain, but doesn’t comment on it.

Yindra: Any thoughts?

Charlie: Many. Too many.

Yindra: Classic, as I understand it.

Charlie: Yeah. [ a beat ] I guess I’d say… [ after a moment ] My mom. I think I should’ve told her. The truth about me.

Somehow, that doesn’t necessarily seem like what Charlie originally had in mind, but Yindra doesn’t push.

Yindra: Why haven’t you?

Charlie: You mean, aside from the obvious?

Yindra: [ with a light laugh ] Sorry. Yeah.

Charlie: I mean, it was fear for a long time. Like I said, the obvious. But… I don’t know. I guess it still feels weird, because… I mean, this is gonna be big. Earth-shattering. And it’s not that I don’t think we could weather that, I know she loves me. But it kind of already feels like the ground has shifted, and that was just from me going away for six months. I don’t know if… I want to stop feeling like I’m always going to be one step away from letting her down.

Oof. Yeah… Yindra takes a deep breath, nodding along.

Yindra: Well. This probably isn’t the most optimistic take, but there is a silver lining to that. [ off his hopeful look ] Whether or not it goes well or not -- should you choose to tell her -- that limbo will end. It has to end, one way or another. Maybe you disappoint her; maybe you don’t, and everything works out. But once the sword falls, that’s it. You’ll be free of the potential energy hanging over your head. That’ll be a relief, if nothing else.

Charlie: I guess that’s true. Thanks.

Yindra: So do you think you’re going to? Tell her?

Charlie thinks about it, ultimately landing on a shrug. He wants to -- he wants to find that closure. How, and when, remains a mystery. Unlike other words he’s left unspoken this long, he doesn’t have it all mapped out in his head as to how it should go.

Charlie: What about you?

Oh, now the spotlight is directed at her… Yindra hesitates, also clearly with an immediate answer in mind. But she merely shrugs, fiddling with a piece of her food container.

Yindra: Don’t have an answer.

Charlie: Seriously? Okay, now I know you’re lying to me. What happened to good faith playing the game?

Yindra: I’m not -- I don’t have anything to say. But you know what, if it makes you feel better, I’ll use my pass. We’re this close to the end, might as well utilize it anyway.

Charlie doesn’t look convinced by her excuse, but he’s not the pushy type either. If she’s not going to talk, he can’t make her.

INT. NEW JERSEY HOTEL - ROOM - NIGHT

It’ll catch up to her eventually anyway. While Charlie is in the shower, Yindra gets another call from her father. After ten days of ghosting him with no answer, the weight of her avoidance is starting to feel like the world on her shoulders.

So after a deep breath, she picks up.

Yindra: Hello?

Darius: Yindra? Jesus Christ, baby girl, where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling you non-stop all week.

Yindra: I know. Sorry, I know.

Well? What does she have to say for herself? Does she want to elaborate on her little goodbye note, that offered little to no explanation as to what’s going on? Yindra closes her eyes, chewing her lip while her dad rightfully chews her out on the other end of the line.

Darius: So not only was I worried out of my damn mind, thinking about calling the fucking cops -- really, the L.A. fucking cops -- but now you’re telling me you’re all the way in New Jersey? I mean, talk to me, Yindra, what the hell are you doing?

Yindra: I’m sorry. I don’t know, I’m sorry. I just -- I couldn’t be there. I had to get away for a minute. And Charlie, he was coming home --

There’s the freudian slip. Home. Both of them go silent for a long moment, letting that settle… Darius’s protective anger has abated, leaving concerned resignation in its place.

Darius: I don’t know what to say. Why didn’t you talk to me about this? How you were feeling?

Yindra: I don’t know. I… I couldn’t. I didn’t know how.

Darius: I mean, you know I believe you can do this. We packed up everything, came out here to make your dream a reality. I thought with the masked thing you went to --

Yindra, teary: I know. I’m sorry. I’m just -- I’m not sure.

About anything. That’s been the prevailing feeling all semester, when nothing seemed to go the way she wanted it. It’s not that she ever thought things would be easy, but…

But now she’s left Darius stranded, keeping him out of the loop. If she had talked to him, let him know her mixed feelings, they could’ve worked through it. They could have problem-solved it together. Now, she’s three-thousand miles away running from reality, and he’s stuck there paying the bills.

Darius: … look, your grandma knows you’re coming, so at least we’ve got that figured out. I’ll be there for Christmas, so we can talk about this then. But… we need to talk about this. We need to seriously talk about this.

Yindra: I understand.

Darius: And while I’m glad you’re okay… [ heavy ] I’m disappointed in you, Yindra. I don’t know what else to say.

Yindra’s eyes grow glossy, so she screws them shut. That’s exactly what she was running from this whole time, the thing she didn’t want to hear. Her father set aside everything, put all he had on the line to help her succeed. To help her achieve the dreams he never got to pursue in his own life, of creativity and passion and adventure.

And she let him down. This whole time, she’s done nothing but disappoint.

INT. NEW JERSEY HOTEL ROOM - LATER - NIGHT

Charlie emerges from the bathroom freshly showered, comfy sweatpants and plain white tee on.

Charlie: Okay, I’ve been giving it a lot of thought, and I have to ask -- who in their right mind would play this 36 questions game with someone they just met? Like, we’re different because we’re friends, former classmates and stuff, so we’ve got some foundational trust. Some context. And I know I’m like, a hyper-protective basket case, but I just can’t fathom anyone who would --

Charlie finally realizes no one is listening -- the room is empty. He looks around, confused and a bit concerned.

Charlie: Yindra?

EXT. NEW JERSEY HOTEL - CORRIDOR - NIGHT

Charlie quietly makes his way through the corridors, politely smiling at the few other guests he passes this late in the evening. But no familiar faces… not the one person he’s looking for…

Until he finds her.

EXT. NEW JERSEY HOTEL - POOL - NIGHT

Charlie approaches the pool side, vacant and somber this late into autumn in the dark of the night. Only not quite -- a familiar silhouette is seated on the edge, hunched over and softly sniffling to herself.

For a second, he hangs back, not sure if he should approach.

Yindra’s tears glisten on her face, shiny blue from the reflection of the pool lights. She tries her best to stifle her tears, but it’s not doing her a lot of good -- powerful emotion demands to be heard, demands to be felt. It feels particularly stifling, sitting there all alone…

She jumps slightly when she senses someone approaching, relieved to find it’s only Charlie. But the relief is fleeting -- she does her best to piece back together her confident persona, immediately stumbling through excuses to justify why he’s finding her like that and swiping at the tears on her face. This isn’t what it looks like. She just wanted some air. She was going to come back in a few minutes. He doesn’t have to wait around for her.

None of it makes much sense, but Charlie doesn’t need it to. He doesn’t need her excuses. He doesn’t say anything, simply sitting down on the pool’s edge next to her. Yindra holds it together as best as she can, lip trembling and breathing shaky but acting with all her might as if she doesn’t look one second from breaking down…

Then Charlie looks at her, natural empathy in his green eyes, and she crumbles.

Yindra: [ choking up and shaking her head ] I’m sorry. I’m sorry…

Charlie mirrors her head shake. No apologies necessary.

With that, Yindra fully breaks, descending into tears. Tears for the dad she left behind in disappointment; tears for the dreams still out of her reach that may die before she gets there. Tears for the frustration, the inadequacy, the loneliness and fear and all the secrets she held close to her vest even in a game of exposing their personal truths.

But she’s not alone. Not this time. Charlie gently places a hand on her knee, which becomes half a hug when Yindra scoots closer and leans into him to cry into his shoulder. He lets her sob without comment, without hesitation, draping an arm around her shoulders.

They stay that way for who knows how long, a vignette of safe familiarity in the dark, unfamiliar territory of the unknown.

EXT. NEW JERSEY HOTEL - BALCONY - DAY

The balcony outside their hotel room is pretty pathetic -- if you can call a tiny slab of concrete a balcony -- but damn it all if Charlie isn’t going to make the most out of it regardless. He’s seated on the wide railing and leaned back against the wall, watching the sunrise in the peaceful stillness of morning.

The screen door creaks open a few moments later, Yindra poking her head out. She gives him a sheepish smile, which he returns in earnest. It looks like sleep did her some good, though her eyes are puffy from the crying.

She comes to lean against the railing on the opposite side of the balcony, towel wrapped around her shoulders like a blanket for warmth… and maybe a bit of defense. She clears her throat.

Yindra: So… I lied.

Charlie raises his eyebrows. That so?

Yindra: When I said I didn’t have a most terrible memory… that wasn’t true. You were playing the game so honestly, good little Catholic that you are, and I couldn’t even meet you halfway. Ironic, considering I’m supposed to be the confident, no-bullshit diva.

Charlie: There’s a lot of things we’re supposed to be. Rarely if ever are we all of them all the time. [ with a shrug ] It’s okay, Yindra. I wasn’t going to make you talk.

Yindra: I know you weren’t. Sweet jackass.

Charlie smiles. That’s a new one… Yindra takes a deep breath, steeling herself for vulnerability.

Yindra: When my parents were divorcing… I’m lucky, all things considered. I was younger at the time, like, twelve or so, so most of it went over my head. My parents tried, too, to make it easy on me. They put a lot of effort into keeping things amicable when I was around. Nothing like the nightmare Riley went through, far as I can tell. They did a good job of it. [ a beat ] Mostly.

It’s harder to talk about than Yindra expected. She takes another breath, hugging the towel closer to herself. Charlie waits patiently.

Yindra: My mom is a pragmatist. Through and through. I get some of that from her, and I think that’s what makes me as strong as I am. My dad is a badass, but he’s got a soft heart. My mom isn’t like that, and neither am I. We’re both warriors, fighters, in our own way. It’s a good thing, for me to have, I think… at least in this industry. Kind of weird for my mom, though, considering her work is so altruistic. But I guess that’s what makes her so good at it. She can stomach the hardships, realist with a heart of steel. [ a beat ] But she doesn’t get the artistic soul thing. Never did. For as kind and selfless as she can be, that never made sense to her. And she encouraged me, because I was her daughter and she wanted me to be happy, but she never would’ve let me pursue this if it were her choice. Logically, it just doesn’t make sense. On paper, there’s no good reason for someone to try and pursue this blistering, draining, thankless career. Sometimes, lately, I’ve been wondering if she was right.

Charlie frowns, shaking his head lightly. But he doesn’t interrupt, letting her work through the thought.

Yindra: I never saw those traits in my mom as a bad thing. If it weren’t for this one time, I don’t think I would now. I wanted to be like her so bad -- a badass. A life-changer. I didn’t see the other edge of the sword. [ a beat ] One night, my parents came home after a long meeting with the divorce lawyers. I was supposed to be asleep, but Lemonade had just dropped, and you know I stayed up all night looking for ways to stream it despite having no money to buy it on iTunes. I was not going to miss that. [ off his amused smile ] I was excited to tell them all about it, even if it meant a scolding for staying up late. Bey was one of those artists all of us could dig -- I figured we could all listen to it and share it. I was twelve, so like a dumbass, I figured… I don’t know, maybe it could fix things. As if it were as easy as music fixing things. I didn’t make that mistake again after that night.

As she timidly goes on to explain, her parents proceeded to get into an argument, and a vicious one at that. All of the vitriol they worked so hard to keep under wraps when she was around was on full display that night, albeit in hushed tones, but that somehow made it feel even more sharp. Barbs were exchanged; true colors came out. But what really struck Yindra was when her mother, cold and unforgiving as ever, tore Darius down for wasting all this time in his life chasing his artistic dreams that never went anywhere. She just eviscerated him in a second, taking him down with calculated words designed and curated to hurt.

Yindra: It wasn’t the worst thing a person could say. She didn’t cuss him out. She didn’t hit him. But she said exactly what she knew would take him down from the inside out -- she went for his passion. His heart. And I could feel the air go out from my dad’s lungs, even on the other side of the door. It felt that viscerally… I guess because in some ways, it felt like she was saying the same thing to me. Our dreams, our creative passions, so trivial, such a waste of time… [ closing her eyes for a beat ] That totally changed the way I saw my mom. She’s still a powerhouse; she’s a life-changer; she’s one of the kindest people I know. She’s admired by and inspired so many people. She’s an incredible woman. But I’ve also heard her… she broke my dad down, in one night. With one shot. She broke something in him, parts of his soul, and he’s still trying to piece them back together. I think that’s why… [ exhaling ] I think that’s why I have such a weird thing about commitment. Because I don’t… I don’t ever want to be in the position to be able to hurt someone like that. [ scrunching her face ] Except I kind of did, since I let my dad down too. So.

Charlie: Not like that. He’ll forgive you.

Yindra: I hope so. I hope you’re right. But I was supposed to be the one who did it, you know? The one who proved it was worth it. That passion is worth it. Just hard to accept that I just… may not be good enough. [ a beat ] But that’s the other question, too, the one I wouldn’t answer. About things I wish I’d said. I’ve never told my mom about that night, that I heard what she said. And to be honest, I don’t think I ever will. But sometimes I wonder… I don’t know what it would do if I did, but maybe I’d feel better. Maybe that rock would finally get out of my chest where I’ve been carrying it for all these years. I don’t know.

Anyway, that’s her big secret. Sorry she made him wait so long to get the full picture. Charlie thanks her for telling him, even though she didn’t have to. He doesn’t have any advice, or brilliant words of wisdom, but he hears her and he empathizes. If she ever wants to talk about it again, or anything else, he’ll always be a willing ear.

Yindra: Thank you. [ with less strain ] So, how about you?

Charlie: What about me?

Yindra: How are you going to handle your unspoken words? Now that we’re almost at the end of the road?

Charlie: [ with a shrug ] I told you, I’m not sure. I don’t know if I’m going to --

Yindra: I’m not talking about your mom. I’m talking about your other answer; the one you chose not to tell me.

Charlie fumbles through playing dumb. What? What does she mean? But Yindra sees right through him, especially since he’s a terrible liar. She glances down at his chain, then tilts her head, quirking an eyebrow.

Yindra: How long have you had a thing for Zay?

Damn. Clocked with zero mercy. Charlie pauses, a million thoughts running through his head at once -- some old habits going into panic mode -- but they ebb remarkably fast. Safe space, after all…

Charlie: How did you know?

Yindra: [ nodding to the ring ] Recognized that little trinket, once I actually got a good look at it. Only noticed because you seem to fiddle with it a lot. Only knew it because Zay was so fucking annoying about that thing senior year, showing it off like King Solomon’s Seal or something.

Charlie cracks up, tilting his head back. Yeah, that sounds like Zay… and like she needed any further evidence, the fond smile on his face puts the writing in bold print on the wall.

Yindra: It’s the way you talk about him, too. We talked about Zay so much on this trip, mutual friend and all that, and it was just like… you can hear it. It’s in your voice, every time he comes up. [ with a smile ] He’s all over you.

A couple of years ago, that knowledge would’ve sent Charlie into a full-blown panic. All the work that went into concealing it, all the sweat and tears and sleepless nights torn into pieces in his mind… but now, it just makes him smile.

It’s infectious. Yindra mimics his smile, inexplicably fond of his fondness… and dying to know what happens next.

Yindra: So? What are you going to do?

Charlie: Get home. Then… [ with a shrug ] tell the truth.

His nonchalant delivery doesn’t do any justice to how the mere prospect of it makes him buzz. Yindra obviously doesn’t know the full saga, but just based on what she knows now, she’s in full support. After all the practice they’ve done on this trip, hopefully it should be easy!

God willing.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

New York is seasonably chilly a couple of days before Thanksgiving, a surprisingly early snow falling over the streets of Manhattan. This is no bother to Charlie and Yindra, who are glad to be back in the cold concrete embrace of the city even with the objectively frigid weather. They’ve both got warm coats on, a sharp contrast from the ever-mild L.A. weather they left behind, Charlie in a soft baby blue peacoat while Yindra is rocking a fluffy faux fur.

They’ve dropped off the rental car and made it back to Yindra’s neighborhood by train, Charlie insisting on walking Yindra to the doorstep. He’s planning on walking back to the east side from here, which Yindra finds silly given the weather. But this is waltzing-in-the-rain boy she’s talking to -- she shouldn’t waste her breath.

Before they say goodbye, Yindra hums and pulls out her phone, remembering there’s one last item they need to complete from the article. It’s at the end, after all the questions have been covered… staring into each other’s eyes for four minutes.

Yindra: Game on, Gardner. Let’s do this.

Charlie plays along, blinking to get the snow out of his eyes and make sure they’re all ready for a stare off. They start off strong, holding each other’s gaze… and then the ridiculousness of it takes over, sending them bursting into laughter. There’s a reason that part of the study is less well-documented…

It’s hardly necessary anyway. They’ve bonded plenty on this cross-country adventure, and dare they say it, maybe fallen a little bit in love, too. Yindra leans forward to give Charlie a kiss on the cheek, thanking him for letting her hijack his journey again and for making sure she made it here in one piece. He returns the gesture with a hug of his own, which she tightly accepts.

With that, it’s time to go. She starts to head up the steps to her building, then turns around, questioning if he’s sure he wants to walk in this weather. They can call him a car… but Charlie shakes his head, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Charlie: I’m good. Want to spend a little time with my city.

His strange, pretty little mind… Yindra shakes her head, giving him one more blown kiss goodbye before stepping into her apartment building.

Charlie releases an exhale, spinning from her building towards the rest of Manhattan. It feels surreal, standing there amidst the wash of grey… like it almost can’t be real. He’s been gone for so long, will it even still feel the same? Could it still be his city, like it was before?

Only one way to find out.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Journey to the Past” as performed by Liz Callaway || Performed by Charlie Gardner

The delicate piano floats in as Charlie continues to take in the city around him, still rooted to the spot. Not quite sure if he’s ready to take the plunge, to take the leap of faith back into the old world when so much about him feels so new. Can he bridge the divide? Can his worlds mesh into something he can live with -- can this place still feel like home?

People always say life is full of choices, no one ever mentions fear Or how the world can seem so vast…

But no. He’s ready. He’s been waiting for this moment for weeks -- in some ways, it feels like he’s been waiting his whole life.

As he kicks into the first rendition of the titular line, he scoops his duffle bag off the ground and moves forward, taking off down the street.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

Now we’re on the move, the wonder of New York City coming back to life around him as Charlie makes his way back into familiar territory. His excitement grows as he goes, any of his nerves and reservations melting away the more he immerses back in his hometown. Familiar sights feel warmer than ever after so much time away -- breezing past the dance lot, the angular structures of Haverford through the trees in the distance, the unassuming but iconic exterior of Chubbies.

Charlie unburdens himself as he goes, dropping his duffle by Chubbies’ shop window. He picks up pace, smile brightening as he breezes past the camera --

EXT. AAA - DAY

We’re close on Charlie as he sings the delicate wish of the bridge, letting his eyes flutter closed. As we ease out and reveal his backdrop, the steps and familiar exterior of Adams behind him, the wistful lyrics become all the more powerful.

Home, love, family I will never be complete until I find you!

As the music swells triumphantly into the final verse --

EXT. CENTRAL PARK - DAY

Charlie’s boots -- the Lucas suggested ones, yes -- crunch against the fresh snow as he joyfully bounds through Central Park, crossing the all too familiar path from west to east. His vocals are full of energy now, bursting with emotion, shaky only from the excitement of how it feels to be back. This park, this city, this community, finally back in his reach.

Back to who I was, on to find my future Things my heart still needs to know!

He’s fully free now, coat unbuttoned and hair windswept and dotted with snow. His cheeks are flushed pink, but from the cold or excitement it’s impossible to say. Perhaps both; definitely both. He swings around the trunk of a tree and then bounds through the snow, hopping onto a familiar park bench at the intersection of the east and west side. He spins in a circle and takes it all in, the sweeping, unbeatable scenery of his city.

Let this road be mine! Let it lead me to my past…

Beautiful, stunning, breathtaking New York City. He almost doesn’t remember why he felt he had to go; he doesn’t ever, ever want to leave it again.

He throws his arms out and tilts his head back, basking in the moment and smile impossibly bright as he belts out the final, rhapsodic notes.

And bring me home at last!

Welcome home, Charlie.

Part VI For Nothing

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - DAY

All set up for the autumnal season, Jack and Eric convene in the living room and map out their plan for Thanksgiving. It doesn’t have to be a whole to-do, or anything, but Eric does seem a bit frazzled about it considering it’s the first one they’ll be hosting.

Eric: The stakes are high in my head, since my mom was kind of like the queen of Thanksgiving. Matthews know how to do Thanksgiving, and I want us to be able to carry that forward.

Jack: Well, given that Thanksgiving in my childhood was store-bought cold rotisserie chicken and a can of gravy -- if that -- I think you’re going to clear the bar no matter what.

Jack suggests they can invite his family if they want, unless that would make it more stressful. Eric nods, as yes that would definitely be more stressful, but also no way is that happening. His parents are big on being the hosts -- even his dad, though Alan would never cop to it -- so they’d never switch it around and come into the city. They’re already bummed enough that they aren’t going and chose to stay here.

Jack: I didn’t realize it was that big a deal.

Eric: Oh, there will be drama about it. Rest assured. I’m sure Morgan will give me live texts of how many times we get invoked at the dinner table for not showing up. [ raising his hands in surrender ] But we at least have the good courtesy card of already being on the guest list for early Christmas. That’ll soften the blow.

Anyway, enough of the family drama. They’ve got a Thanksgiving to plan, and their own pseudo-family to watch out for. Lots to do in preparation!

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - DAY

The same can’t be said for the Friar apartment. Holidays have never been top of the agenda in this household, if they celebrate at all, so this week feels like just another week. LUCAS JAMES FRIAR is focused on his Davis scholarship applications again, penning out essay drafts in his banged up composition notebook he’s had since freshman year. GRACE FRIAR is equally zoned in, sifting through bills and financial records and trying to make sense of it all. Based on her light frown, it may not be going so well.

A hacking cough comes from the bedroom, and a few moments later KENNETH FRIAR emerges with his suitcase. He’s dressed for travel, though he looks a bit under the weather. Suppose these days, he’s always going to look less than stellar… he clears his throat to get their attention, announcing that he’s headed off to the airport. As they know, he’s going to spend the Thanksgiving holiday with his parents down in Texas -- given their old age and the state of things, they’re aware this may very well be the last Thanksgiving they get together.

Grace manages a smile and wishes him safe travels, telling him to give the elder Friars her love. Kenneth pauses, glancing to Lucas at the back table, then meets her eyes again.

Kenneth: You know, you’re still welcome to come. Sure my folks would love to see you…

Even as he extends the invitation, there’s something stiff in it. Like sure, her going along with him might be the socially expected thing to do, what everyone wants of the ailing husband and his devoted wife… but it’s perhaps not what either of them want. In fact, having all been cramped in this tiny apartment together for much more time than usual, some distance might do all of them some good. Before… whatever comes next.

Lucas, on the other hand, is given no invitation. He’s not extended any acknowledgement, Kenneth doing his best to avoid his eyes. Lucas doesn’t ask for any, but the absence of it speaks loud enough.

Grace: I’ll be okay here. You deserve some quality time with them.

Kenneth nods, then awkwardly leans down to give her a peck on the cheek. Grace offers him a light smile, wishing him a safe flight as he heads towards the door.

Lucas says nothing. Kenneth doesn’t wait for him to. He’s gone without a goodbye, the door closing a few moments later. Grace watches him go, then glances over her shoulder towards her son sitting quietly.

His expression is so hard to read. It’s always been that way -- a puzzle to decipher -- one Grace has always wondered if she’d be better at decoding if she were any good at being a mother. She knows everything about that interaction was wrong, but there doesn’t seem to be any way to fix it at this point. How can she expect it to be different when they’ve never been right?

Lucas swallows his hurt, well hidden as it is, and goes back to his notebook. He scratches out a sentence, starting over again.

Molly, pre-lap: I’ve just never imagined it, you know? The holidays without a home.

INT. NYU - FILM CORRIDOR - DAY

Isa and Molly are heading out of lecture, discussing the upcoming holiday break. The halls have already thinned out somewhat, those without big tests or midterms this coming week already having jetted home for a longer reprieve. Molly is processing the strange reality of no longer being close to home for all these familiar holidays, how weird it is to contemplate not being back in Minnesota with her family.

Isa points out that if she’s looking for a place to shelter, she is more than welcome to come have Thanksgiving with their clan.

Molly: Are you sure? That would be great, but I don’t want to like, crash.

Isa: No worries. My family is about as unconventional and weird as it gets, so we’re more than open to friendly additions. I have zero doubt in my mind Eric would be thrilled to host you.

Molly: Okay, cool. That’s really sweet, tell them thanks for me.

The Jack and Eric clan is a melting pot of misfits, that’s for sure. But hey, the more the merrier…

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

That’s the mentality Lucas has in mind later that night, after he and Grace have finished tidying up the kitchen from a small dinner. He invites her along to the Jack and Eric Thanksgiving as well, since Kenneth won’t be here. She shies away from the kindness, grimacing a smile.

Grace: That’s okay. I wouldn’t want to intrude.

Lucas: You wouldn’t be. Jack and Eric don’t even know what they’re doing anyway, it’s not like you’re disrupting a grand production.

Even so… Grace holds her ground, stating she thinks she should sit this one out. It’s a nice offer, and she appreciates it, but that’s his community. His world. Not hers. He doesn’t have to make room to share it with her.

Grace: You’ve had to share enough.

Lucas isn’t happy with her answer, but he isn’t sure how to convince her otherwise. Both because he’s shit with words, but also because part of her point isn’t wrong. He spent so much of his youth pulling away from her, trying to build his own space to breathe, equating her and Kenneth as one in the same. It took him time to learn otherwise, to identify the nuances in their situation, but the message has already been received. The damage has been done, and even though they’re in much better shape now, he doesn’t know how to remove the scars from the past.

That’s all the two of them are. A patchwork of scars that can’t seem to heal right.

Lucas drops it, knowing he won’t be able to change her mind. If she’s decided she needs to stay in the sidelines, off in the shadows, then it’ll be near impossible to pry her into the light.

He would know -- where do they think he got it from?

INT. NYU APARTMENT - ISA’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Isa is having another video call with ZACHARY MACNAMARA, catching up before the holiday break. It’s clear they’ve been working on communication over the last month -- things are still a bit awkward, the two of them finding their footing, but slowly but surely conversation is getting easier. They’re getting to know one another, helping each other fill in the gaps in their histories Valerie left behind, and building a dynamic of their own along the way.

Zachary asks how the semester is wrapping up, seeing as it’s just about over. Isa confirms that’s the case, but honestly… when they try to think about how it went, it all feels like a blur. They’ve been so consumed with other stuff mentally, it feels like they’ve just been keeping their head above water. Maybe not totally the way college should be done, but…

Isa: No, yeah, it’s fine. I’ve got a couple of performance reviews with my professors this week before the break, so might be able to get a sense of how my grades will look.

Zachary wishes them luck, but reminds them not to stress too much about grades. Art is subjective, even if they believe they can teach it. As long as Isa is giving their work their all, then that’s all they can do. Isa nods, trying to keep that in perspective, but with Valerie still on the brain, they admit they have their wonders about that too. Like, now that everyone knows about their late famous mother… how much is that going to impact their reception?

Their call is interrupted by someone coming home on Zachary’s end of the line, a new face joining the screen. In an unexpected twist, it’s a face familiar to us -- RUBY is there behind Zachary, leaning over his shoulders to wave hello to Isa and give him a kiss on the cheek. Yes, the mystery woman who comforted drunk Josh at the bar is none other than Ruby MacNamara, wife to one of the most acclaimed actors in Hollywood.

Although they have zero clue about her encounter with Josh, Isa is obviously somewhat familiar with Ruby, indicating Zachary has already introduced them. Ruby enthusiastically asks how things are going, then wishes Isa a happy Thanksgiving.

Ruby: It’s such a shame you’re all the way on the other coast. We would love to have you here with us for the day. You have to promise us you’ll come visit us at some point, one way or another.

Pleasantly, that idea doesn’t fill Isa with dread. They smile.

Isa: That would be cool. I’ll have to think about it.

Ruby gives her a wink and a thumbs up, then states she’s gonna start on dinner. She sings cheerfully to herself as she disappears from screen, Zachary watching her go and smiling sheepishly at his wife’s unapologetic vivaciousness. Isa does their best not to laugh.

Isa: You, uh… definitely have a thing for big personalities, I guess.

Zachary makes a face, raising a hand in surrender. What can he say?

Dr. Cook, pre-lap: So Valerie is still leaving a mark.

INT. THERAPIST’S OFFICE - DAY

Isa holds up their hands, as if to say duh. Understatement of a lifetime.

Isa: Considering how much time Zachary and I spend just talking about her, yeah, she’s done a real good job of maintaining relevancy even in death. I’m sure her publicist would be so thrilled.

Dr. Cook smiles, allowing Isa the dig. For how much work having Isa is as a client -- and boy, are they a piece of work to unpack -- it’s obvious that Dr. Cook has grown fond of them in the last couple of years.

Dr. Cook: And did you talk much more about that? What you said about school?

Isa: Not really. Once his wife came back, he kind of had to get going, so we didn’t get to get into much.

Dr. Cook: What would you have wanted him to say? Do you think?

Isa shrugs aimlessly, slouching a bit further on the couch.

Isa: That my life isn’t going to be overshadowed by Valerie for the rest of my days? That my accomplishments can be my own? It’s like… I get why he made the choices he did. About hiding his relationship with her. Because Valerie -- she’s like Maya. She’s fun to be around, but she’s a black hole. She eats up everything in the room. The solar system revolves around her. Zachary may not have ever gotten to have his own career if his main claim to fame was screwing Valerie De La Cruz -- and I don’t know if I’m ever going to outshine being the product of that.

The way things are at school is already concerning enough. Professor Wright has basically stopped giving them the time of day in film lecture, which is all the more infuriating considering how much he favors the white film boy hacks. And Bennet continues to be a hard-ass, but Isa wonders if he’s now being even more hard on them because he knows about their famous upbringing.

Isa: It feels like the only professor who actually gets me is Chelsea, but she’s always been nice to me. She’s nice to everyone.

Dr. Cook points out that could be a nice relationship to build on, then, if they feel supported there. But she also cautions Isa not to judge the importance of a relationship just based on the surface qualities. Some of the most challenging dynamics in your life can turn out to be the most rewarding.

Isa: Given that basically every relationship I’ve ever had has been challenging, figures.

Yeah, speaking of… Dr. Cook shifts gears, asking how the apartment living is going. Last they had talked, Isa reflected on how things feel fine with Lucas when they’re not there, like being at Eric’s is all good, but having to be in the same apartment together continues to create friction. Has that improved at all?

Isa makes a face, throwing us into another quick montage --

INT. NYU APARTMENT - DAY

In short… improvement is not a word one would use to describe the situation. Lucas and Isa seem to have backed off the outright bickering for now, which is a relief to Riley, but that’s just because the jabs have become pointed and petty. Now, they’re just doing stuff purposefully to get back at each other and get under each other’s skin, in near perfect sibling-like fashion.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - RILEY’S BEDROOM - DAY

Lucas was so concerned about his apples? Well, Isa has the solution for that -- next time he opens his drawer in Riley’s room, he finds two dozen apples stuffed in the dresser along with his clothes.

Lucas: What the everloving --

INT. NYU APARTMENT - DAY

Isa makes their way towards the door, late for class, only to trip over something in the middle of the floor.

Isa: Fuck!

When they upright themselves, they spin to find the source of the problem -- Lucas’s sneakers. Left in the middle of the floor, because he’s a feral cat who was raised in a barn. They growl in irritation and kick his shoes out of the way, storming off to class.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - ISA’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

On. Off. On. Off. The lights battle between Lucas and Isa continues unabated. One night, Isa wakes up from a particularly bright light glowing through the crack under their door. With a huff, they throw the blankets off and go to tell Lucas off --

INT. NYU APARTMENT - NIGHT

Only jokes on them! Lucas isn’t even there. No, he just took petty to the next level and left a flashlight on right outside their door.

Isa: Bitch.

They pick up the flashlight and turn it off, shaking their head as they retreat back into their room.

Isa: Fucking waste of batteries…

INT. NYU APARTMENT - RILEY’S BEDROOM - DAY

Riley and Lucas are enjoying a leisurely afternoon together, one where she doesn’t have class until later and he’s not working a shift at the diner. Even better, Isa does have class, so they’re free to do as they please… they’re just settling into that freedom, exchanging long, drawn out kisses and murmuring softly to one another. Riley descends into giggles as Lucas kisses down her neck, sliding the strap of her camisole off her shoulder and kissing her collarbone…

Both of them jump when the front door slams open from beyond their closed door, alerting them to Isa’s presence. They’re taking care to make sure there’s no chance they could miss it otherwise.

Isa, off-screen: Hello! It’s me, back from class which ended early unexpectedly! Hope I’m not interrupting anything! But just in case I am, please be aware that I am home!

Thank you, Isa, for the major buzzkill. Riley screws her eyes shut and bites back her frustration while Lucas is less shy about his own, rolling his eyes and falling onto his back with a groan.

But Isa isn’t done. There’s a loud, pointed knock on the door, which earns a shared look of apprehension between Riley and Lucas. Moments later, a note slides under the door, just begging to be investigated.

Riley takes the bait, climbing off of Lucas and approaching the door. She picks up the envelope, addressed to her, and pulls out a piece of lined paper from within.

Riley: “Dear Riley, as you may have heard, I am home early from class. I’d like to request an audience with you at your earliest convenience -- whenever Lucas is done defiling you, I suspect. Sorry to interrupt. Thanks, Isa.”

They really know exactly how to get Lucas in his head about being slutty. He cringes and grabs a pillow, pulling it over his face and hoping he’ll suffocate.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - DAY

It continues like this in increasingly rapid succession, all these tiny moments and ticks and petty tricks that put Lucas and Isa more and more on edge with one another. Sure, they may not be arguing anymore, but to say this is better would be a fallacy -- they’re now just simmering, the apartment a ticking time bomb all of them are doing their best to pretend they can’t hear.

INT. THERAPIST’S OFFICE - DAY

Isa shrugs, expression sour from the memories of it.

Isa: It’s been better.

Dr. Cook once again warns about the dangers of letting this go unaddressed -- things may be uncomfortable now, but it could get much worse. Isa claims that’s likely not the case. Even if they’re being petty, all the stuff they’re doing is at the end of the day not a big deal. It’s just… small things, petty grievances. Everyone’s got those.

Dr. Cook: Not necessarily in their safe space, 24/7.

Isa: It’s not 24/7. It’s more like… 12/4. Or something.

Still, more than it should be. Dr. Cook asks Isa to be more specific. Like, when she asks about the things that are bothering them, what’s the first thing that comes to mind about Lucas in the apartment?

It’s actually not the weirdness about food, or the implied intimacy with Riley.

Isa: It’s his stupid boots.

Dr. Cook raises her eyebrows. Go on? Isa sighs, shifting in their seat as they struggle to articulate it. It’s hard to explain, particularly to someone not as sensitive about sound, but it’s like… something about the way he walks around the apartment in his boots drives them fucking nuts. It’s never bothered them before, at Adams or Chubbies or anything, and it’s not like anyone else walking around the apartment sets them off. It’s something about the unique combination of his gait, in those clunky ass boots, on that floor that just sets all their nerves on edge.

Likely a hypersensitivity tied to their autism, no doubt, but obviously not a good sign. If him even walking around their shared home is causing problems, this is in worse shape than Dr. Cook expected.

Dr. Cook: To me, it sounds like you’ve trained yourself to dread that sound, because it means he’s there, and that means you’ll have to deal with it. You’re developing adverse behaviors towards something occupying a space that is supposed to be your space.

Yeah, well, that’s not good, is it! Isa groans, running a hand through their hair in frustration. They claim that doesn’t make any sense -- they literally don’t have a problem with Lucas. They love him, and they want him to be able to have a safe place to stay. They just feel selfish and shitty for being so weird about it.

Dr. Cook: And is it fair to you to have to give up your definition of home so that he can have one? Particularly if neither of you seem to be enjoying it?

Hm… fair point. But one that Isa isn’t prepared to hear. They don’t want to be the thing that puts Lucas out again, and hell knows Riley would never let it happen. The balance of the three of them is so delicate. Isa already fucked things up with their other best friends -- they can’t do anything to ruin Lucas and Riley too.

Dr. Cook tries to emphasize that doing nothing might just be the thing that creates an implosion, but Isa won’t hear it. They can deal -- they can handle the petty annoyances. They’ll muddle through, like they do with everything else. Having Lucas and Riley there, happy, in their life, is more important.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - NIGHT

Isa is intensely focused on a Scrabble board, set up on a card table in the back of the apartment by the window. Although they appear to be playing alone, there’s another row of letters set up. After a bit of deliberation, Isa puts down their word of choice and draws new letters from the bag.

As if on cue, the front door opens, Riley and Lucas coming home together and in the midst of conversation. Isa perks up when they see them, greeting them both. They inform Riley that they’ve officially taken their turn, and they better watch out, because it’s a good one.

Riley’s eyes brighten, twinkling with intrigue as she drops her bag on the couch and goes to look at the board. Lucas follows, curiously looking over her shoulder and asking what exactly they’re looking at. Isa proudly explains that they’ve had this Scrabble game going for months now -- they don’t play it with any rush, but they essentially let it keep going and going through the weeks until the letters run out. This is their fourth iteration of it since they moved in.

Lucas: Who wins?

Riley: It’s not about winning. It’s about the love of the game, a continued tradition.

Isa: I do. Usually.

Riley doesn’t seem at all fazed by that fact, eagerly looking to see what word Isa added. Lucas clearly doesn’t get the excitement, but whatever, it’s their thing -- he instead moves to take Riley’s coat off for her and hang it up, which she happily allows and thanks him for with a beam and nose scrunch.

As the group of them reassemble by the kitchen counter, the conversation shifts to Thanksgiving. Despite any friction that may or may not exist between them, Isa is genuinely disappointed to hear that Riley and Lucas apparently aren’t going to be at Jack and Eric’s for Thanksgiving.

Isa: Why the fuck not?

Riley: My mom invited me to her place. Last-minute, of course, but I really should go. I haven’t seen her since graduation. Been so busy with school and stuff.

Lucas: And considering she was remotely thoughtful enough to invite me, think it would be unwise not to accept. That, and someone has to keep Riley from combusting.

Riley nods gravely, touching her hands to her chest and giving him a grateful look. That’s sweet, and all well and good, but still not what Isa wanted to hear.

Isa: So, what, it’s just gonna be me and Eric and Jack?

Riley: Well, you said your friend from class might come too, right? That’ll be fun.

Isa: I mean… yeah, maybe. But that’s not the same. It’s not…

Family. It was supposed to be something for family. That meant more to Isa than they realized, no matter how much Lucas and his stupid boots are driving them batty.

Riley: I’m going to try my best to see if we can split the day, so we’ll still be there, I just can’t make any promises. With my mom, you never know what she has planned. But we’ll try, Isa, I promise.

Lucas: Fuck knows we’d rather be there anyway.

Ain’t that the truth. But for now, this is what they’ve got. Lucas claims he’s going to go work on his scholarship app, heading to Riley’s room. She assures him she’ll come join him in a moment, then sets about unloading her bag from the day. Isa swallows their disappointment and goes for the fridge.

When they pull it open, they discover the next round fired in the petty game of roommate grievance. It seems Lucas and Isa did adopt Riley’s earlier suggestion of color-coding items they don’t want the other to touch -- only Lucas has purposefully taken it way too far. He’s basically covered half the fridge in little blue stickers, staking out territory like only a feral cat can.

Isa scowls, pulling a stick of butter off the shelf with a blue sticker on it. Seriously, even butter?

Isa: You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

INT. NYU - BENNET’S OFFICE - DAY

In the same realm of frustrating strikes, Isa’s faculty check-in with PROFESSOR BENNET doesn’t go as hoped. Although they had managed to skate through much of the rest of the semester without note -- negative note, anyway, compared to the start of the year -- he yet again throws them a curveball.

It doesn’t start that way, though. As Isa sits in the chair opposite his desk and watches him flip through his gradebook to discuss their marks, both of them approach the conversation with a cool, nonchalant tone. Bennet because that’s simply the way he is; Isa because they want to come off unbothered and avoid conveying how frazzled they are on the inside.

Bennet: All in all, your standing in the class is fine. Your portfolio has been solid this semester, a fair start for a freshman. And your creativity has been more focused since your… clash at the start.

Isa, calmly: Thank you. I appreciate the feedback.

Bennet: Do you?

Isa: Yes. Thank you.

Bennet: That’s good. What a nice attitude. That’ll be helpful in our next topic.

Bennet closes the gradebook, settling back in his chair. He folds his hands together on his abdomen and eyes Isa, thoughtful yet enigmatic as always. Then, something Isa never expected to hear:

Bennet: I’m not sure you want to be here.

Isa stares at him. They can’t even process what he just said. They must’ve misheard.

Isa: What?

Bennet: That’s my main observation. I don’t believe you want to be here right now.

Isa: I -- what do you -- what are you -- [ stammering ] Film is my whole thing. Film is my passion.

Bennet: I didn’t say it wasn’t. I believe you.

Isa: [ absolutely bewildered ] You literally just said --

Bennet: I said I don’t think you want to be here. Right now. I didn’t doubt your desire to be a filmmaker, or your interest in storytelling. I don’t doubt that you want this in the long-term. I saw that clearly enough in your application.

Isa: … you read my application?

Bennet: Your passion was clear there. Focused. Determined. What I am conveying now is that I haven’t seen that reflected here yet.

Isa might be shutting down a bit. They just can’t process what he’s saying, even as Bennet goes on to carefully, albeit dryly, explain his thinking. He knows Isa has a lot going on in their personal life -- unfortunately, being in the industry means he can’t avoid the tabloid press updates. Grief is complicated. Readjusting to new family is complicated.

Isa, bristling: I can handle it. I can handle college.

Bennet: That’s not at all what I was implying. What I am saying is that you have talent and ambition, but you aren’t focused. You aren’t channeling it properly.

He simply thinks Isa should consider whether they’re in the right place, right now, to be pursuing something they care so much about when their mind is on other things. It’s actually not a bad thought to consider…

But to Isa, it just feels like another suckerpunch, and another strike of proof that Bennet is out to get them. They sit silently through the rest of the check-in, mentally zoning out and into denial.

Lucas, pre-lap: I’m not going to sit here and act like I’m the ideal candidate. I don’t think anyone would kid themselves about that.

INT. SCHOOL BOARD OFFICES - EVELYN’S OFFICE - DAY

Lucas is also in an important meeting, having his interview with Evelyn for the executive assistant position. He’s in his nicest sweater and jeans, but always with the trustworthy boots. Evelyn listens attentively and quietly while he makes his case for why he should be considered for the role, making notes in a small journal. Despite how she’s expressed friendliness towards him in the past, she keeps it cool and professional here, treating him as she would any other candidate.

He makes an honorable effort to twist his prior work experience at the school and diner into the assistant mold -- and honestly, it works pretty well. The stage manager experience is especially applicable, as it requires managing many different people and things and making sure things stay organized and on track. For someone who so constantly drags himself for his articulation, he really does make a favorable impression when it counts.

Evelyn asks one more question of him.

Evelyn: You have a rather close-knit relationship with Jack Hunter, who you’re aware is running for the open board seat.

Lucas: Yes.

Evelyn: As a current board member and presiding head of the committee, it’s my responsibility not to interfere with the electoral process or seem to favor any candidate to skew the vote. How would you handle that conflict of interest if hired for the position?

Lucas: Obviously, I support Jack for the position. Given you’ve been around to witness the last four years, it should be no mystery as to why. [ off her nod of acknowledgement ] But I understand the boundaries at play here. If someone asked my opinion, since I don’t like to dodge, I’d tell them the truth -- frankness, essentially -- but I wouldn’t go around tossing out my thoughts. And as any of my friends and colleagues can assure you, I don’t like the spotlight. You won’t see me featured in any campaign materials or efforts. I won’t give up my beliefs, but I respect when and where the times to express them are. That’s all I can promise.

Evelyn absorbs that, making another note. Then she claims she’s heard enough, standing up to signal the meeting is over. Lucas hastily follows her lead, jumping to his feet and accepting her polite handshake. She explains that she’s hoping for the new hire to start training in December, so they’ll be in touch shortly with their decision.

With that, he’s free to go… but Evelyn calls after him just before he disappears through the doors.

Evelyn: Happy Thanksgiving.

There’s a hint of her usual warmth, like a little wink. Lucas smiles lightly, returning the sentiment.

INT. SCHOOL BOARD OFFICES - HALLWAY - DAY

As Lucas exits the offices, he incidentally runs into JEFFERSON DAVIS GRAHAM. Graham expresses surprise at seeing him there, though it’s not a friendly comment.

Graham: This isn’t a handout center, you know. That’s on the other side of town.

Lucas, sharply: I’m aware. I’m well aware half of the board isn’t in the habit of caring for its constituents.

Graham: Then why else would you be here? Hunter hasn’t misled you to believe he’s already snatched up a seat, has he?

He shouldn’t be so smug… but no. Lucas flatly states he was here to interview for a position. Graham scoffs at that, looking him over once in his nice-but-not-that-nice professional ensemble. He lingers on the boots, the nicest shoes Lucas owns (not that there’s a lot to choose from), and lightly smirks.

Graham: Well, best of luck.

The sentiment is dripping with false kindness. The confrontation is brought to an end when Evelyn clears her throat from her doorway, catching their attention -- and indicating she’s caught much of the interaction.

Evelyn: Jefferson. You wanted to discuss the lunch budget?

Graham nods, passing Lucas by without further acknowledgement. Like he was never even there, a fly he’s just flicked away with his windshield wiper. Lucas watches them disappear into Evelyn’s office, feeling much smaller than when he walked in… and pretty schlubby in his sweater and boots.

INT. NYU - FILM CLASSROOM - DAY

Isa is still in a grumpy mood when class wraps up with CHELSEA SCHWARTZ, which the professor keenly notes. She says goodbye to the other students as they file out of the room but flags Isa to hang back a moment, before tactfully asking how everything is going.

Isa: Fine. I’m fine. It’s all fine. Do I not seem fine?

Well… Chelsea shrugs, raising her hands in surrender. She claims she knows this time of year can be weird for folks, particularly those who don’t have a traditional sense of “family.” In her own experience, these kind of holidays can be the weirdest when your family is wonky.

Chelsea: That’s why I always host a casual gathering of sorts for my students who can’t make it home for the holiday, or rather don’t want to go home. Which you’re more than welcome to attend, by the way -- I’ll be sending an email out this afternoon. It’s a bit of a mixer thing too, a great networking opportunity.

Isa might be a hot ticket at such an event, too, given their theoretical connections already… haha… although Chelsea is being cheeky about it, something about the comment hits a nerve. It reinflames that sore spot from Bennet insinuating they don’t care enough about the work, casting a shadow of doubt on the idea of their career.

Isa: Can I just… vent about something? Really quick?

Chelsea nods -- by all means. She goes and jogs to crack the door and then gestures for Isa to let whatever out. And they do. They quickly spit through all of their frustration about Bennet’s performance review, the things he said, the way they feel like they haven’t been able to make headway with the male professors all semester. And that’s on top of stress at home they don’t want to get into, but it’s just like, what else do they want from them?

For better or worse, Chelsea is the perfect person to vent this out to. She supports Isa’s grievances fully, commiserating about how the men around here don’t take anyone who isn’t also a man seriously. She essentially totally disregards Bennet’s commentary without asking for any additional context -- which definitely is a winning quality in Isa’s irritated mind.

Chelsea: De La Cruz, you are more than deserving to be here doing your thing. Don’t let any of the old male professors in this dusty bin tell you otherwise. You’ve probably got more talent than them in your pinky finger anyway.

And if they ever need a safe space to vent, they are always welcome to find her office. No doubt. Isa releases a sigh, nodding in gratitude. It felt good, to get it off their chest, and for someone else to validate their purpose without challenge.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - DAY

The reprieve only lasts so long, though. When Isa arrives back at the apartment, Riley cheerfully informs them that they’ve got mail on the counter. When Isa goes to look, they discover a letter from Zachary -- an unexpected but not unwelcome surprise. Riley watches them keenly from the couch.

Isa: … you’re dying to know what’s in here, aren’t you?

Riley: It took literally every ounce of my willpower not to open it without you.

Isa cracks a smile. With Riley egging her on in curiosity, Isa tears open the envelope, finding a nice handwritten letter from Zachary to keep up their varied correspondence. But more than that, there’s a little gift included in the pages -- a professionally printed photograph of Zachary and his family on Halloween, all dressed up and looking adorable. Him, Ruby…

And children. Two sons, probably aged between six and ten, dressed to match their thematic family costume. A perfect, picturesque nuclear family.

Riley “aws” from reading over their shoulder, but Isa’s reaction veers in the opposite direction.

Isa: Oh, shit.

Definitely not the outburst you’d expect. Riley looks at them quizzically, wondering what’s wrong. Isa waves the photo pointedly, as if it should be obvious.

Riley: They have relatively basic taste in costumes?

Isa: No! Look at those kids. Look at this photo. [ looking at it ] He has the cutest fucking family. They’re perfect. He has everything.

Riley: Yeah. So?

Isa: So where the fuck do I fit into that? He’s got a beautiful wife and two adorable kids that probably have little to no idea I exist -- I’ve got a dead mom and a smattering of freaky foster siblings and a non-blood brother who kind of makes me want to strangle him because he keeps putting blue stickers on the milk carton.

Riley: Well, we could have more than one milk carton…

That’s not the point, Riley! The point is that Zachary has everything, just wonderfully so, and now Isa is going to step in and muck it all up. The way they muck up everything, since they truly cannot seem to do anything right. They can’t even deal with their brother-who-isn’t-actually-a-brother without extensive therapy -- how the hell are they supposed to prepare for merging with this?

Just another thing about them that isn’t how it should be. That, and since all the aforementioned pressures are still in play, they’re just more sensitive than normal. They take the envelope and photo and storm to their room in a frenzied huff. As the door slams, Riley makes a face, then reaches for the notepad on the countertop and jots something down.

Riley: [ as she writes ] Get… second… milk…

INT. NYU APARTMENT - ISA’S BEDROOM - DAY

Isa retreats to their room to process, putting Zachary’s letter down on the desk with a huff. They get a text moments later, pulling out their phone. It’s from Molly.

“so unexpected good news -- my parents surprised me with a ticket home for thanksgiving!! i’m going to the airport now. sorry for the last minute change but please give your fam a big big BIG thank you from me for considering hosting me”

This stings. Not because Molly isn’t coming -- Isa is happy they get to see their family, and sends a reply to tell them so -- but it just feels like yet another reminder of how not that their own family experience is. Another press on the sensitive wound they pretend isn’t there, that still hasn’t healed after nineteen years.

Their aggravation only grows when they hear the front door open from beyond their room, Riley greeting Lucas as he comes back from his interview. But it’s not Lucas himself that’s the problem, what seems to trigger their anger.

It’s those stupid fucking boots.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - DAY

A quick intercut between Lucas’s boots walking on the floor and Isa reacting to it, practically wincing at the sound, emphasizes the point. Their therapist was right -- leaving the friction unaddressed only makes for a bigger explosion when the pressure becomes too much. The support beams of their fragile roommate existence only continue to bend, creaking dangerously with each argument and stomp of those boots on the floor.

Something snaps.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - NIGHT

In the dark of the night, Isa finally takes action. They lash out and do something, finding a way to grasp for control in all the situations that continually seem to be sliding further and further away from their influence.

In the quiet of the twilight hours, Isa pokes their head out of their room, checking that the coast is clear. Then they scamper into the living area, scoping out their prey.

Isa finds Lucas’s boots by Riley’s door, snatching them and stealing away with them back to their room. Putting an end to the torture once and for all. The evil is defeated!

INT. NYU APARTMENT - DAY

Only the relief barely lasts the morning. When Thanksgiving day rolls around, Lucas is panicked about the fact that he can’t find his boots. He’s practically turned the apartment upside down looking for them, unsettled and anxious in a way Isa has never seen him before. They’re surprised by how visceral his reaction is as they watch him pace the living room, crossing their arms and aiming for nonchalant.

Isa: Is it really that big a deal? They’re just a pair of shoes.

Maybe so, Isa, but value is subjective. Lucas sighs and stumbles through explaining that they’re not just another pair of shoes to him -- pointedly, considering he only owns like two pairs. They’re something he can rely on, and more importantly, they’re shoes that can work for basically any occasion. They can be dressed down or dressed up, and right now, he needs the latter given he’s about to head into the lion’s den that is Topanga Lawrence’s house.

Lucas: I can’t show up to Riley’s mom’s house wearing my trash heap Skechers that I haven’t replaced since 2018.

He can’t afford to risk a ding in his reputation with her, given his acceptance from Topanga is conditional at best. So now he’s screwed just because he can’t find his damn boots!

Isa wriggles with discomfort, guilt creeping up their spine. They didn't expect the stakes to be this high about such a minor thing, but what are they supposed to do now? Confess that they hid them away?

Riley comes to the rescue, stepping back into the apartment in a flurry. She’s already dressed for the holiday in a cute mauve sweater dress. She claims she’s got a solution, presenting a pair of nice but semi-casual mens dress shoes. Apparently, she put out an SOS to all her in-town guy friends and Zay pulled through, allowing her to borrow one of his pairs for the event.

Riley: They might be a little bit tight, but they’ll do for the day.

Lucas doesn’t seem pleased with the idea, but he’ll have to deal. He approaches to take them but Riley hesitates, pulling them back and sighing pointedly.

Riley: There was one condition, which is that I had to deliver a message on his behalf. [ after a reluctant beat ] “Ha ha.”

Oh, Zay… Lucas growls and takes the shoes, allowing the smug dig in their ongoing frenemies dynamic because he has no other choice.

Lucas retreats to Riley’s room to finish getting ready, Riley confirming with Isa that they’re headed to Jack and Eric’s. They nod, and Riley gives a thumbs up on her way to her room.

Riley: Have fun -- I’m sure we’ll wish we were there. Oh, and if you could, keep an eye out for the boots?

Isa manages a tight smile. The boots will be on their mind for days to come, don’t you worry about that, Riles… they watch her disappear into her room, expression growing heavy with the unintended consequences of their strike back against Lucas.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - KITCHEN - DAY

That grim expression stays on their face even at Jack and Eric’s, their movements harsh as they help finish mashing the potatoes in a big bowl. Jack raises his eyebrows as he comes to join them, settling down in the chair opposite and starting to put napkins in napkin rings.

Jack: Give those tots hell, Isa. Make ‘em pay.

Isa gives him a look, but the message is clear. He can sense something is up. And even though Chelsea fed their ego, all of it is still heavy on their shoulders. All tangled together, creating this big knot of anxiety in their chest. They smash pointedly with the potato masher, then crack.

Isa: Lucas is driving me crazy.

Jack: Oh? Story of my life about three years ago. He has a knack for it.

Isa: It’s like he doesn’t know how to live properly. When it’s just us, you know, doing whatever it’s fine. But when we have to share that damn space together… [ smash, smash, smash ] he puts ownership stickers on butter. Butter. Like, butter is for everyone! Who uses an entire stick of butter just for themselves?

Jack whistles. Big problems… Isa sighs, shaking their head.

Isa: But it’s… I mean, I just feel like it’s perfect proof. I’m not cut out for this whole… family thing.

Jack: C’mon, don’t say that. You know if Eric hears that he’ll be on your case with counselor-like concern in seconds.

Isa: Well good thing you’re not him then. [ with a shrug ] But I don’t know. I know family is like in the eye of the beholder or whatever, but… how am I supposed to be a good sibling to half-bros I don’t even know when I can’t even handle the one I do have?

Ah… yeah, it really is all tied together. Jack thinks on it for a moment.

Jack: Maybe you just need a change in perspective. [ off their eyebrow raise ] I mean, look, it’s not always fun having siblings. You’ve met Shawn, you can imagine this. He’s an ass half the time, and we’ve had more than our fair share of arguments, fights, disagreements, you name it.

Isa: I guess. He does have the techie-brand quality of civil disagreeability.

Jack: But I still love the guy. Even when he makes it tough. And we’re still family, even when it’s messy. That’s kind of the thing about it, for better or worse -- family is family whether you like it or not. But you give each other grace for that. You don’t have to expect yourself to be the perfect shining sibling all the time. I don’t think such a thing even exists.

Jack may have been the best person to ask, actually, considering how unconventional and at times rocky his and Shawn’s brotherhood can be. Isa absorbs his point, attacking the mashed potatoes a bit less forcefully. And he’s right -- family, blood or not, is no guarantee of domestic bliss…

INT. TOPANGA’S HOME - DAY

The gathering at Topanga’s is in full swing, the usual amount of pretentious hostessing on display as TOPANGA LAWRENCE holds court with her wealthy, privileged, upstate community.

Riley and Lucas do their best to endure the company as usual, but admittedly, this time is harder than others. That’s because even with their best efforts, they have way too many conversational road blocks to stumble over every time they make small talk -- like how Lucas had to defer UC Davis, or that he’s technically a drop out in some folks eyes, or that Riley has to split her time up on holidays (though at least she chose the superior parent this time around… ha ha ha). We see this in a quick-cut montage of all the ways they seem to inadvertently kill the conversation.

And truly, just when you think it can’t get any worse…

Guest: Ah, well, deferment is just one year. My father did the same before he went off to school due to unrelated circumstances, and now he’s a big-time banker.

Guest 2: Yes, surely your parents must at least be proud you’re giving it your best shot. Is your dad looking forward to having a veterinarian for a son?

Riley: They don’t really --

Lucas: Maybe, but he’s dying. [ a beat ] So…

Oh… well. Everyone take a sip of your drinks as you process that tidbit… Lucas wouldn’t have said anything, honestly, but when he gets cornered like this by stuffy Topanga colleagues stuff just slips out! Riley gives him an affectionate touch on the arm, silently assuring him they’ll make it through.

Happy Thanksgiving indeed…

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - DAY

Folks are starting to arrive at the true superior gathering, SHAWN HUNTER and ANGELA MOORE rolling up and following Jack to the dining room to finish setting up. Eric comes to join Isa by the door, checking on how they’re feeling. Jack mentioned they weren’t too cheerful earlier… Isa shrugs.

Isa: He talked me through some stuff. I’ll live. [ offhandedly ] I guess your boyfriend is pretty cool, or whatever.

Eric grins. He reassures Isa that anything they’re stressed about right now, they will find a way around -- they always do. But for now, they should take an evening off and enjoy being with loved ones. That’s what Eric always values most, even as it shifts and changes with the seasons.

Maybe so… and once they’re alone again with their thoughts, Isa suddenly realizes there’s a loved one they can’t be with right now. That they’ve pushed out completely of their own action -- or inaction, rather -- and if they’re honest, they aren’t happy about that. They have a good enough knack of messing things up and losing people through no choice of their own. They can’t afford to do that with someone they care about most, that they specifically made choices to avoid losing.

Bennet might have one point. Isa’s focus hasn’t been where it should be. Perhaps it’s the time to remedy that.

Isa pulls out their phone, heading towards the kitchen. After a moment, they dial a number, not surprised when it goes to voicemail. Given the holiday, that’s to be expected… but once the beep signals for them to speak, they don’t chicken out this time.

Isa: Hey. It’s Isa. Showing up two months late with Starbucks… heh… [ clearing their throat ] Look, I’m sorry I’ve been so like… off-the-grid lately. It’s shitty. I’m just… there’s a lot going on. As always. And you don’t have to call me back here, or anything, ‘cause I’m sure you’re busy. So no worries. But… [ a beat ] I miss you. Too. I know how I’ve been acting probably doesn’t make it seem that way, but I do. I’m looking forward to seeing you soon.

Isa starts to head into the kitchen, continuing to leave their voicemail and provide some brief updates…

INT. TOPANGA’S HOME - KITCHEN - DAY

Visible through the pass-through to the living room, Lucas seems to have been pulled into a riveting conversation with AUGGIE MATTHEWS about whatever it is he’s showing him on his iPad. At least, it’s riveting to Auggie, but honestly Lucas looks content with the change of pace. Auggie is talking plenty for the both of them, and it’s nice to not be dodging questions about his career or his school plans or explaining the long, tragic tale of his dying father.

Never would he have thought he’d be grateful to be stuck talking to a tween, but hey, there’s a first time for everything.

Riley watches them interact from the kitchen, light smile on her face. In what has been a surprisingly stressful Thanksgiving week, it’s a nice moment of serenity, getting to see two people she loves naturally together. No friction between them to mediate, no wrangling of social calendars.

The peace can’t last long -- least of all at Topanga’s. She enters the kitchen carrying a couple of platters from the meal, thanking Riley for helping with the clean-up and transition to the dessert portion. She gushes about the custom-made cakes and pies she had whipped up from this local bakery, pulling them out of the fridge and asking Riley if she’ll help plate them.

Riley obeys, though she seems to find the notion a bit silly. Some of the pies come in perfectly fine containers convenient for serving. Wouldn’t it be easier to just keep them in there, rather than dirtying a whole set of nice dishware to plop them onto for ten minutes before people devour them? Topanga gives her a fond, condescending look.

Topanga: That is such a Matthews thing to say. Cory was never big on presentation -- he just wanted to get to the eating part.

Riley: It is the best part.

Topanga: Agreed. But presentation matters. Appearance matters, whether or not we wish and dream that wasn’t the case.

Dreamers can wish for a world without judgment all they want, but Topanga is a pragmatist. And in reality, where they all live, the bit of extra effort to make the right impression is worth it. Riley shrugs, dutifully plating the pecan pie as instructed, though not outright agreeing.

Topanga: I’m not going to change your mind, I know. You can’t help yourself -- a dreamer is a dreamer.

Riley, jokingly: Well, I’m dating just about the biggest realist there is, and I’m pretty confident he would say a paper plate is just as good as fine china. So long as you’re not eating off the floor.

That does sound like something Lucas “stale Oreos in the booth” Friar would say, yeah. Topanga humors her, mirroring her smile… but it dims somewhat as she glances out through the pass-through to where Lucas and Auggie are talking.

Topanga: Speaking of… how are things going? With you two?

Riley: Good. Things are great.

Topanga: I see. That’s nice. I heard through the grape vine he had… taken up residence in the apartment. Bit of a big transition.

Riley pauses. Her learning about his moving in isn’t a surprise -- it’s not like they’re keeping it a secret -- but something about her tone hits at a nerve. Why should Topanga be questioning it, when Riley is doing everything in her power to make the situation work? How could Topanga possibly know the rooming situation might not be peachy keen when Riley makes every possible effort to make it otherwise, and no effort to tell Topanga anything?

Riley: Yeah. It’s going well, though. Great.

Topanga: Great. Glad to hear it. Nothing more stressful than a bad roommate -- don’t get me started on the years Shawn lived with us during college.

Riley manages a smile, but it’s thin. Even so, her protective defensiveness is off-base. Topanga isn’t onto the drama between Lucas and Isa -- like she could care less about either of them. However…

Topanga: It’s just quite a big move, that’s all. Living together.

Riley: I know. But it’s one we made together. And it’s going great, like I said.

Topanga: Surely, surely. [ a beat ] Just, one big decision can lead to another. When your dad and I first moved in together, it wasn’t the bed of roses we thought it was going to be. Of course, we got married first, but --

Okay, now she’s lost her. Where did marriage come into this? Riley shakes her head.

Riley: What are you getting at, mom?

Topanga: Nothing. I’m not “getting at” anything. There’s no need to get defensive. [ a beat ] I think it’s cute, the relationship you two have. You know I’ve always liked Lucas -- never had a problem with him the way Cory did. It’s sweet, the way you care for each other.

The impending “but” lingering in her tone has never been louder. Riley can hear it coming a mile away, and she already can’t help her frown.

Topanga: But living together is more serious than sweet. You’re getting older, there’s a lot of things to think about now. I’ve been getting a lot of questions today, you know, about Lucas. About his situation.

Riley: That’s weird, considering no one has brought him up with me…

Topanga: People are just curious, that’s all. Concerned. Missing his college chance --

Riley: That wasn’t his choice. And he hasn’t missed it. It’s just been delayed.

Topanga: And the unstable employment --

Riley: He hasn’t been unstable. He left the Adams job for good reason, and he actually already interviewed for another position. Not to mention he’s held his role at Chubbies for two years and gotten promoted --

Topanga: [ with a laugh ] Oh yes, diner management, the height of achievement.

Oh, so it’s like that. It’s not just snobby college classmates and the cruel wealthy upper crust of Manhattan that have their minds made up about Lucas -- that prejudice is lurking closer than you think. Riley stares at her mother, at a loss for words.

Topanga is wise enough to clock her offense, switching effortlessly into placating mode. The kind of sympathy she puts on for witnesses on the stand, before she eviscerates them with the holes in their own testimony.

Topanga: I don’t mean anything by it, Riley, sweetie. You know I like Lucas; he’s a good guy. He’s good to you, as far as I know. All that matters. I just… [ taking her arms ] You have so much potential. You’re already doing so many amazing things, at NYU, in your program.

Not that Topanga could probably name any of said things. Riley grits her teeth.

Topanga: I would hate to see that fade because you hitch yourself to the wrong wagon. Take the train going off the tracks rather than the one going full speed ahead. That’s all.

After all, presentation matters… Topanga really thinks she did something. She gives Riley a smile, patting her cheek lightly before taking the first pie plate and going to set up dessert.

Riley doesn’t follow. She’s too angry to move -- she’s practically fuming, hands aching from how she’s clenching her fists to keep them from shaking.

She’s so sick of this. The reading into her relationship, the misconception of her boyfriend, the relentless push from the universe to define him -- both of them -- as something they’re not.

She’s used to Topanga. She can take the little digs at her. But she isn’t going to take her talking about Lucas like that.

INT. TOPANGA’S HOME - LIVING AREA - DAY

You’d never guess her fury, though, as Riley weaves her way back into the midst of Topanga’s holiday crowd. She appears pleasant as always, offering tight smiles to guests who greet her as she passes.

With perfect timing, she reaches Lucas at the other end of the room, as Auggie seems to have freed him at the first glance of dessert. Riley comes to join him, instinctively taking his hand.

Riley: You doing okay?

Lucas: Honestly, that was the least painful conversation I’ve had today. Though I’m not sure I could tell you what we talked about --

Riley: Let’s get out of here.

The words tumble out of her before she can stop them, soft but insistent. Lucas looks at her, surprised.

Lucas: What?

Riley: I’ve had enough. Let’s go.

Lucas: Are you serious? [ uncertainly ] I don’t think that would go over very well with…

This. This right here is what everyone seems to overlook; that Topanga can’t see. The fact that her boyfriend -- who hates petty social gatherings, who struggles with formality, who rarely gives a damn what most people think about him because who has the energy to care -- is nervous to bend expectations because of what someone might think. Because who that someone is, Topanga, is important to Riley, and therefore important to him. That this man who owns about two variations of his wardrobe stressed for days over having the right kind of shoes for today, and is hesitant about walking out in the middle when he’s never been shy about staging walkouts, because he cares about her.

No one sees that part of him, the part that cares so much, but Riley does. She does, and it matters far, far more than diplomas or diner jobs.

Riley: I don’t care. I thought I did, but the truth is, my mother’s opinion has never been that almighty. And I know… [ keeping her cool ] I know damn well how wrong she can be.

Point is, she’s done placating, and she’s done with this scene. They’ll have many more moments in their lives to be judged, picked apart, and stressed out over good impressions -- she doesn’t want to waste the rest of today like that. They deserve to be having the holiday in a place that’s warm and welcoming, with people who love them.

Riley: We should be with family.

Although he’s still hesitant, she doesn’t have to tell him twice. Anything sounds better than today has been.

Still holding his hand, Riley leads the way, the two of them inconspicuously making their exit.

INT. RILEY’S CAR - DAY

Having safely escaped, the two of them exhale sighs of relief. Lucas admits, now that they’ve made the decision, that he’s glad they decided to bail. Not just because of the socializing, but…

Lucas: Babineaux’s shoes are fucking killing me.

Riley cracks up, tilting her head back against the seat. He mirrors her smile, and when she turns to look at him, she feels more certain in herself than ever. She reaches up and presses a hand to his cheek, caressing his face. Although she doesn’t verbalize it, her gratitude goes without saying.

He tries. He tries for her, every day, and that’s more than enough.

And for now, she can gift him a break. Lucas claims they should stop by the apartment so he can change back into his shoes -- they aren’t going to care if he’s in ratty sneakers -- but then direct to Jack and Eric’s? Riley starts to nod, but then pauses, another thought coming to her.

Riley: Almost. There’s one more stop we should make first.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - DAY

Grace exits her bedroom and pads her way into the living area, the apartment still and lifeless. No husband to cater to, no son to puzzle out -- no one to celebrate with either. For a moment, as she stands there in the quiet and wraps her cardigan tighter around her frame, she’s struck with the fact that soon enough, this is likely how it will feel all the time.

What’s more daunting -- living with a slight edge of fear, or living alone?

She’s startled out of her fugue when she’s spooked by a knock at the door.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - ENTRYWAY - DAY

When she pulls open the front door, confused, she finds Riley and Lucas waiting on the other side. They exchange eye contact for a long moment, a million questions unspoken.

Then Riley offers a bright smile.

Part VII For Everything

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - DAY

Although they’re the last to arrive, dinner hasn’t even begun when Riley, Lucas, and Grace roll up to the townhome (Lucas back in his ratty sneakers). They’re warmly welcomed by the assembled community, Jack and Eric both coming over to usher them in and expressing delight that they’re here.

No one, though, is more grateful than Isa. All current friction seems forgotten when they rush over to greet Riley and Lucas.

Isa: Thank God you’re here. I don’t think I could’ve handled talking to Shawn alone much longer.

Riley tries to hold back her laughter.

Meanwhile, Grace sheepishly apologizes for the unexpected drop-in and hopes she isn’t intruding. She wasn’t prepared, so she didn’t come well-stocked, but she does have a few cookies from the flower shop to offer. Not quite a custom-made dessert pie, but…

Jack: Don’t worry, no worries at all. It’s great you all are here.

Eric: And we’ve got plenty of food. [ taking the cookies ] Oh, I think I’ve had one of these before! Harper brought them into the teacher’s lounge one time -- she raves about them, here, I’ll have to introduce you.

Eric lets Jack handle adding the cookies to the kitchen stockpile as he guides Grace over to meet HARPER BURGESS, who is in attendance with her girlfriend STELLA CASTILLO. It’s a bit overwhelming, but it seems like Grace is truly thankful for the nonchalant reception.

INT. CHEY APARTMENT - DAY

In a pleasant turn of events, the Chey and Beamon families have managed to come together for the holiday after all. They’re all gathered around the admittedly cramped Chey dining table, but that hardly matters. The atmosphere is welcoming, comfortable, full of laughter, chatter, and good food.

Liezel awkwardly clears her throat to get the table’s attention, only fully succeeding when ELLIOT BEAMON clinks his silverware against his glass. Liezel laughs sheepishly but thanks him, then speaks.

Liezel: I will keep this short, because unlike my children, I am not one for big sweeping monologues or soaking up the spotlight.

Even so, she wanted to express her gratitude towards the Beamons for being gracious enough to spend their holiday with them. It has been a great joy getting to know them through their children this last year, and although this is the first gathering of the sort between them, she hopes they are in for a long friendship and many more dinners.

Ernesto, playfully: [ to Jade and Nigel ] No pressure.

The table laughs, even Jade and Nigel in spite of the irony of the comment. If only any of them had a sense of the uphill climb it took to make it to this dinner table…

But they did. And it’s clear they share the same sentiments, doubly so about each other. The two of them exchange soft smiles. Jade places her hand on top of his under the table, linking their fingers together.

INT. CHUBBIES - DAY

Vanessa’s fingers are twisted in her own as she sits alone at a booth, restlessly looking out the window. The streets have mostly cleared out in the post-parade glow. Chubbies has a handful of customers as it is one of the only shops open on the holiday in this corner of the city, a haven for folks with nowhere else to go and no other hot meals to enjoy on Thanksgiving.

Today, Vanessa looks like one of those wayward souls, forgoing the holiday to spend time with her loneliness.

That is, until Zay walks through the doors.

She immediately straightens up when she spots him, waiting for him to meet her eyes. He does after scanning the diner, watching her from a distance for a long moment. Expression hard to read, guard up again after her no-show earlier this afternoon. Then he makes his way towards her, sliding into the booth across from her.

Vanessa: You came.

Zay: Against my better judgment. So whatever you’ve got to say, if you’re going to gloat, make it quick because my patience is subbasement.

Vanessa: That’s not why I wanted to see you.

Zay: No, go ahead. Tell me how easy it was to pull one over on me. To make me look like an idiot. Another push off the climbing wall, right? You win.

Vanessa: No.

Zay: [ growing heated ] I’m sorry, but -- actually I’m not -- like, was it worth it? Did you get a nice big kick out of standing me up? Did it finally satisfy the vindictive urge? Because you know, I could’ve done without it. If you wanted to fuck me over, you could’ve just said so. We could’ve worked out easier arrangements.

Vanessa: I wasn’t --

Zay: Instead of humiliating me in front of my family, making me go through the same shit I’ve already -- [ shaking his head ] No, you know what, I can’t do this. I don’t have time for this.

Zay starts to get up, but Vanessa reaches across the table and places her hand on his. Her eyes are pleading, a rare shade of vulnerability.

Vanessa: Zay, please. Please. Let me explain. Then if you want to go… I get it. Just… please.

Feels like déjà vu… how does Zay always find himself sitting in this position? But yet, it’s like he’s learned nothing, because he finds himself settling back and gesturing for her to go on. One shot to make her case.

Would be great if that were easy. Vanessa takes a deep breath, searching for what she wants to say… particularly difficult, since words aren’t her thing.

Vanessa: I did not mean to embarrass you. Hard to believe, I know, considering… well, our whole history. But I didn’t. I was going to come today. I wanted to.

Zay: But?

Vanessa: … I don’t know how to explain. I just… things with my… and expectations…

God, what is she saying? Vanessa takes another breath and presses her palms to her eyes, centering herself for a moment. She doesn’t want to mess this up. Zay waits, allowing her the chance, but her obvious vulnerability is softening his resolve.

Vanessa: It’s great, that you know what you want. That you have everything figured out. If you want the truth, I envy that. I wish I could be so sure about things, just jump in feet first like that. But that’s not me. That’s not where I’m at. And I’m not saying that I don’t want it, this… whatever we have. Or might have. But I’m not where you are. If you can just… if you can give me the chance to figure it out, to catch up, then… I don’t know. Maybe this will be whatever it’s supposed to be.

The point is she doesn’t know -- but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to try. She understands, though, if Zay doesn’t want to waste the time. What she did today was shitty, and she knows that. She’s not going to pretend otherwise. But if he has it in his heart to give her one more shot…

Vanessa: I just really don’t want to fuck this up.

God, Zay wonders how it is that he always finds himself making these decisions. He doesn’t know if his heart has any more left to give, if he can go through this rollercoaster all over again after all the times he’s been burned. Especially the latest wound…

But he’s given that forgiveness before. He’s allowed others the chance to prove him wrong, and they didn’t disappoint. Why shouldn’t he extend that same kindness to her? He likes her. They have something interesting, something with chemistry. And she’s right that he does know what he wants.

He wants stability. A relationship, something to invest himself in and build into the future.

Zay gets to his feet. Vanessa inhales, thinking he’s going to walk away… but then he comes to join her on her side of the table, sliding into the booth next to her. After a moment, he places his hands on top of hers on the tabletop. Reassuring. Forgiving.

Vanessa meets his eyes. Then, she leans in, initiating a soft, delicate kiss.

Sure, she doesn’t know for sure if this is what she wants -- but they could be something. It could be everything. If she could become whatever he thinks he wants, shouldn’t they give it a fair chance and try?

Guess they’ll find out.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - DINING ROOM - DAY

Dinner is just about to start, all of the guests gathered around the table at Jack and Eric’s. Along with Lucas, Riley, Isa, and Grace, they’re joined by Harper, Stella, Shawn, and Angela, baby NAOMI HUNTER-MOORE also in attendance.

It’s Jack’s turn to give a rousing little speech. He gets to his feet from his spot next to Eric at the head of the table and proposes a toast.

Jack: This was a big day for Eric, seeing as his family are the reigning experts on Thanksgiving, which made it a big deal for me. And dare I say it, I think we pulled it off pretty swimmingly.

Angela: Amen, lads.

The table agrees cheerfully, giving them cheeky applause. Eric bows his head and clasps his hands together in silent gratitude.

Jack: I didn’t get it, to be honest, because Thanksgiving has never been special to me. Shawn can attest to this, but holidays in our childhood were anything but conventional.

Shawn: If we celebrated at all.

Jack: But being here, getting to go through all this with Eric and seeing you all gathered at this table… I understand why it could be so important. I think it’s fair to say that many of us have complicated relationships with the idea of family. What it means, what it requires, who it includes. That was something I struggled with for a long time, something I had resigned myself to accepting was never going to be mine. But I’m old now, and I’ve come to look at it in a different way. I think the thing I love most about family, the idea of it, is that it’s malleable. It has no set definition. It can mean anything we want it to mean. And with that power, it’s never too late to build one of your own.

If he’s not careful, he’s gonna make Riley cry. She’s glassy-eyed, but her smile is wide. Angela swipes a few tears of her own. From their spot next to him, Isa playfully elbows Lucas.

Jack, fondly: This is the image I will always think about when I think about this holiday from now on. Even with all the prep and any stress that comes as the years go by… [ taking Eric’s hand ] this is worth it. This is worth being thankful for.

Eric: [ choked up, raising his glass ] To family.

The table echoes the sentiment, raising their glasses. As the iconic guitar intro kicks up…

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Home” as performed by Phillip Phillips || Performed by AMBITION Ensemble Cast

Riley’s vocal is what musically leads us in, the rest of the ensemble layering in and adding harmonies throughout the course of the number. But as thematically resonant as the performance is, it’s really only effective when paired with the visuals that accompany the montage.

Mixed in with various shots of each of the warm, loving Thanksgiving dinners, we get a few key shots.

At the Jack and Eric gathering, joy is omnipresent. Lucas and Isa are cracking each other up, showing that their familial bond is forged in steel even as the corrosive friction of roommate drama threatens its foundations. Harper and Jack are even managing to get shy laughs out of Grace, out of practice as she may be. Riley and Eric can’t get enough of baby Hunter-Moore, Shawn and Angela watching on with tickled endearment.

INT. CHEY APARTMENT - DAY

Similar energy is being shared at the Chey-Beamon dinner, even if their connections are newer. Despite what uncertainties lie around the corner, the potential of lifelong camaraderie seems more than possible.

INT. DUFFY HOME - DINING ROOM - DAY

Dressed in one of his best evergreen sweaters, Charlie makes his way from the shadows of the hall and into the bright light of Agatha’s dining room. His smile is unbeatable and natural as it’s ever been as he rejoins his family at the Thanksgiving dinner table. Eleanor and AGATHA GARDNER are still up and about, fussing with last-minute details even as the others urge them to settle and join the merriment.

Charlie slides back into place in his seat next to ROSIE GARDNER. He murmurs an aside to her and she rolls her eyes, but the playful elbow nudge she gives him in return indicates how happy she is that he’s home.

JOHN DUFFY then eagerly engages Charlie in conversation about his travels, Daisy passing the salad bowl across the table to him. AMBROSE GARDNER listens on proudly.

It feels as if, for a beautiful and miraculous moment, that nothing has changed.

INT. YINDRA’S BEDROOM - DAY

The sentiment is not quite the same with Yindra as she settles onto her bed in her room at her grandmother’s place in Harlem. Much of the decor we saw from last season that didn’t make it to the west coast has been relocated here, familiar and known.

And yet, it doesn’t act as the perfect salve. It’s known, but it’s outdated, too. A reflection of who she once was, not who she is now or who she’s going to be. Maybe that’s impossible to capture, since she doesn’t know.

She reaches for her fuzzy pillow and delicately hugs it to her chest, mired in the strange melancholy of being back in a place she loves so much. The camera pans away from her, into the darkness of an adjacent wall…

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - KITCHEN - DAY

And reemerges in another home, placing us in the Babineaux entryway. Through the doorway to the kitchen, we can glimpse Zay introducing his parents to Vanessa, the latter shaking hands politely with Donna. She apologizes for missing the dinner, but they wave her off -- better late than never. Less pressure now after all the meal fuss anyway.

She made it eventually. In some ways, that’s all that matters. Zay gives her a smile and she returns it, albeit shyly.

It’s a start.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - RECORDING STUDIO - DAY

Much like whatever Maya and Josh developed over the last few days. We get another snapshot of their Thanksgiving day mix process, both of them grooving and bouncing around either side of the recording booth as they create the track she’ll show to Melissa and Justin later. They’re both flashing the cheesiest, most authentic grins, electric and alive with the love of the music.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - FARKLE’S BEDROOM - DAY

Meanwhile, Farkle finishes adjusting his flannel over his sweater and nitpicks his appearance in the mirror, gearing up to head out for dinner at the Nelson estate. Nervous but hopeful, not sure what to expect -- and never anticipating what he’s about to experience.

As he walks out his bedroom door…

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - DINING ROOM - DAY

Naturally, the event isn’t going to pass without Riley getting a photo to commemorate it. She corrals everyone into gathering on one side of the table and sets up the automatic timer on her phone, scampering at full speed to make it back into the photo in time. She pops back front and center on Lucas’s lap, squished between him and Isa, just in time.

The camera flashes --

INT. MACNAMARA HOME - DAY

And then we’re looking at a printed copy of it, stuck in the fold of a greeting card. While the back of the photo has some scribbled notes about who the hell is who in the image, the message on the card is simple.

Thanks for the card and pic. Thought I’d return the favor and send you one of my family too.

See you soon (maybe?),

Isa

Zachary smiles, thoroughly charmed by the card and the picture when he receives it later. It sure does paint a more colorful picture of the world Isa inhabits on the other side of the country -- important features of their life that any knowledge of it would be incomplete without.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - ISA’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Back in the present as the song comes to an end, Isa makes their way to their room looking exhausted. But tired in a good way. The socializing was draining, but like Jack said, worth it. It doesn’t feel quite as taxing when it’s family -- a sentiment Isa never thought they’d have the privilege to get to believe.

They get a text on their phone as they flop onto their bed, Riley sending the photos taken from earlier to a group chat with everyone. Isa looks at it thoughtfully, comparing it in their mind to the one Zachary sent. How different is it, really? Same endearing goofy energy; same amount of love.

Maybe they should give him a glimpse of their existing family too.

Another text comes in, causing their heart to race when they see the contact name. Farkle Minkus. For a second, they dread clicking on it -- what if he’s understandably telling them off? Or pulling a Maya, and requesting they never contact him again?

It’s none of the above.

“Just listened to your voicemail. It was really, really good to hear your voice. No worries about the delay -- I know stuff is crazy right now”

“Looking forward to seeing you soon too”

Somehow, that prospect is both exhilarating and terrifying all at once. Isa hugs their phone to their chest, staring up at the ceiling but unable to hold back a light smile.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - RECORDING STUDIO - NIGHT

Preliminary mix of the soon-to-be hit single done, Maya and Josh have rewarded themselves with a dinner break. Maya is getting some version of her idealized Thanksgiving plans, as Josh has ordered take-out from a couple of the best places on the strip the GB folks like to eat. They’re picking at the food and loading up their plates, Josh giving Maya advice about which items to try. She’s not reluctant to take it this time.

Once they’ve settled in -- Josh in the rolling chair, Maya in the cozy armchair in the corner -- and spent a bit of quiet happily digging in, conversation slowly resumes. Josh dares to ask why Maya didn’t go home for the holiday again, though he’s (amazingly) not complaining. After Maya rolls her eyes, she decides to bite.

Maya: I made other plans. Originally. But those fell through, and then I was stuck here. So… at least I could make something out of it. If this helps boost my visibility, then I guess the rejection was worth it.

Josh: Yikes. Sorry about that.

Maya: Thanks. I’m sure you’re very used to rejection, so.

Josh: [ smirking at the dig ] Actually, truth is, I’m usually the one flaking. Which I know makes me a shitty friend.

Maya: You said it, not me.

Josh: My roommate could tell you all about it -- to say nothing of my parents. But… I don’t know. I know I can count on this place. It makes sense to me. Even if everything else gets fucked up --

Maya: You’ve got your music.

She fills in the sentiment almost automatically. Instinctively. The two of them lock eyes, and for a moment, it’s like they’re actually seeing each other for the first time. Underneath the bravado, the pride, there’s something real to discover.

And just maybe, it’s damningly familiar.

INT. BEAMON HOME - JADE’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Jade enters her room, in a good mood after dinner. Now that she and Nigel have come together, truly confronted their friction, things feel manageable again. They’re not perfect, and there’s work to be done, but there are paths forward. She can see the potential of the future again. She can work with this.

However, as she should very well know, the universe loves to throw curveballs.

She crashes onto her bed and opens up her phone, ending up on the Instagram app. She sees she has a DM and expects it to be one of the techie boys, clicking open the thread.

It’s not one of her friends. It’s an unfamiliar account, Pinhead Threads.

“Hi Jade!

I’m Luz, one of the co-founders of Pinhead Threads. We’re a spunky and spirited design workshop based in Los Angeles, specializing in unique and memorable pieces for film, television, events, and more. We’re small but mighty, growing every day, and we’re proud to boast that we’re an entirely women-run and eco-friendly company. We want to revolutionize the industry from the inside out, without sacrificing style!

We saw the work you did on the Halloween costumes for @dylanporlando, and we were blown away. First of all -- bravo! Secondly, after doing some research and seeing some of your other work, we could not ignore how perfect of a fit you seemed for our team. We understand if you’re already engaged or simply can’t consider the offer, but if you’re at all interested, we’d love to schedule some time to get on Zoom or Teams and chat.

Let us know whenever you have the chance. Thanks, and once again, incredible work!”

Jade stares at the screen, sitting back up and rereading the message again. Then a third time, to confirm it’s real. Clicking into the account’s profile, it doesn’t seem like a scam -- their page is full of samples from their design studio, as well as snapshots of the team doing promotion and seemingly having a great time working at their small Koreatown office together.

To be honest, it seems like the kind of place Jade would have fun -- the employees featured on the page seem authentic, quirky, similar vibes to her former techie crew. What would be the harm in an interview… but it’s in Los Angeles. And she’s already committed to her apprenticeship with Anya Kelly. Even if that is losing its rosy hue by the day, and the shudder of Anya shouting at her is still fresh in her muscle memory, she can’t just back out to jump ship. It would make her look flighty, and risk Anya’s retribution. Not to mention she would be letting everyone there down. It would be foolish. And unrealistic. It’s just too much to contemplate. She can’t possibly consider an offer like this.

…or could she?

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Lucas comes to join Grace on the couch with a couple of plates of leftover pie, insisting she take one of them as he sits down next to her. She tries to wave him off, but he’s not letting her refuse, so she accepts it with a chuckle.

Grace: Thank you. For coming to get me. It was fun to be there tonight. I’m glad I went.

Lucas: Thanks for coming. [ a beat ] I’m glad you were there.

Yeah… it’s nice, isn’t it? To feel warm, safe, supported -- to come home without having to hold your breath. Grace gives him a gentle smile, the moment of quiet camaraderie speaking to a thousand sentiments that words can’t articulate.

They’re interrupted by Grace’s phone ringing, which she reluctantly breaks the peace to answer when she sees it’s Kenneth.

Grace: Hello? [ expression shifting ] I’m sorry, who is -- oh, Caroline. How are -- oh. [ heavy ] Oh.

Lucas stares at her, sensing her panic even though it’s subdued. She continues to respond to the person on the other end of the line, holding him in suspense.

Grace: Okay. Okay, um… yeah, I’ll book a flight. Keep us updated. We’ll look out for your call. Okay. Thanks.

She hangs up, emotion stymied mainly from shock. She meets Lucas’s eyes, not sure what to say.

Grace: Kenneth… he collapsed. At Thanksgiving. He’s in stable condition now, but --

But the decline has truly started. No treatment is going to magically save the day; there’s no more aces to play. Kenneth Friar is dying -- no longer a matter of if, but simply when.

Lucas lets that sink in, expression impossible to read as the shock settles over him too. The quiet in the apartment no longer feels cozy, but foreboding.

Count your blessings, and in all things, give thanks.

END OF EPISODE.

#S4 #405 #episodes

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