#i’m gonna try and blitz it out this week when i get better

[ayahimes]

merry christmas to all who celebrate , and to those who don’t i hope you’ve all had a beautiful day ❤️ i’m sick and have pretty much been in bed all afternoon so my activity will drop everywhere for the time being until i get better . sending you all some positive vibes . i’m glad to have become mutuals with all of you and befriended many of you as well ! you’ve made my experience here on ayaka truly great and i can’t thank you enough !

#˚ ༘ ❅ ⋆｡˚ ꕥ ━━ ❆ ( 綾華 / ooc ) #good news is that yesterday i finished the archon quest and got erinnyes to 100 #all that’s left is morte lol #i’m gonna try and blitz it out this week when i get better #anyways im thankful for you all #even the not so great experiences here have been overshadowed by the immense positivity ive been shown

[cambria-writes]

I haven’t been writing for over two years and I’ve been spending the most of the past 72 hours working on this and like two other fics so like. Please be nice. Also I only proofread this like, maybe twice, so if there are still any mistakes or typos, please let me know! I’m almost done with the next chapter, so if we’re all lucky I’ll be able to post it next week. I figure that a weekly upload schedule should probably be feasible for me. Guess we’ll see! pairing: eddie munsonx reader rating: PG13 for now, each chapter rated individually warnings: there will be hella spoilers for S4, lots of swearing, guns, minor injury and blood, drugs (just weed my dudes), alcohol, reader deserves her own warning actually, use of canadian english is also its own warning word count: 3,323

Previous Next Masterlist

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕺𝖓𝖊: ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯 ℭ𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫

March 20th, 1986

It’s annoying, having to wait like this.

Your leg is bouncing under the table and you can’t help but absently pick at the table’s flaking paint. You’d est up to meet after you were off work, which more or less coincided with when he got out of class. Which was apparently a bit earlier than you’d anticipated; you’ve been killing time at this stupid picnic table in the woods for almost half an hour now.

You’re about to cut your losses and prepare an apology call when something catches your eye, further off in the woods. It’s not like it’s eerily quiet; if you pay attention, you can hear squirrel scrambling up trees and birds flying around. But there’s something about that vague almost-shape you saw in the woods... You feel the hairs at the back of your neck rise. That’s probably a bad sign, right? You should probably leave. I should definitely leave.

“Sorry for keeping you wai–”

You shriek and clean fall off the bench with how fast you turn around.

“Fucking shit Ed! God damn warn a girl, holy shit!” You scream, catching your breath and brushing leaves off of you when you stand. “You scared the living hell out of me!”

Eddie raises his hands up in surrender and takes a few steps back. “Woah there, my bad. Didn’t mean to scare you. You alright?”

The genuine concern makes you groan and you drop yourself back onto the bench you’d fallen from. When asked, you were going to lie and say your shifts are work were just getting a bit aggravating, but it was a bit harder to justify being that jumpy.

“Dude, I don’t know. I’ve just been having these nightmares for a while and it’s been freaking me out,” you explain, putting your arms up on the table and resting your head on them. “I’ve been getting shit for sleep and it’s like I’m seeing things.”

“I’m pretty sure drugs are gonna make that worse, not better,” Eddie says slowly, leaning forward on the table after placing his box down. “You wanna, like... talk about it?”

You scoff and turn your head away. There was no way you were going to try and even begin to describe the fucked up shit that’s been playing in Technicolor in your brain the past few weeks. Nevermind the stuff you’re pretty sure was a dream but aren’t entirely convinced about.

Like that time you spotted Harrington and fucking Robin Buckley, of all people, in a movie theater together. Looking and acting absolutely blitzed out. That has to have been some kind of hallucination, because as soon as the movie was over you couldn’t see them anywhere.

Or that time a few years ago when Will Byers went missing and those kids–his friends, probably?–took to the streets like a band of thieves, looking for all the world like they were heading straight for the lab. No one else ever mentioned them or even gave any indication they’d seen a group of prepubescent boys taking up a whole street with their bikes and an ungodly time of night. So you just kind of assume you’d... dreamt it up, or something.

You’ve had weirder dreams.

“I appreciate the offer to be my impromptu therapist, Munson, but I think it’d just make me feel worse,” you eventually answer, sitting back up and running your hands down your face. “I just need whatever you’ve got that can knock me out. Shit you gave me last time barely got me to sleep like, an hour.”

Eddie audibly winces and crosses his arm.

“I hate to say it, but you might be better off with beer.”

You groan theatrically and let your head slam back down on the table. Slam it a few more times for good measure. Eddie hastily shoves his hand under your forehead.

“Hey there, woah, woah! Knock that out!”

“You’re shitting me right? I can’t do this anymore, Ed, I feel like I’ve actively gone insane,” you whine, bringing your hands up to the back of your neck. “You’re my best bet, no way I can see a doctor for this. I’ll get locked up or worse.”

There’s silence for a bit, before you hear the closure for Eddie’s box pop open. You sigh in relief and raise your head, pulling the hair out of your face. He’s not taking anything out, though; he’s putting something back in before closing the box again.

“Wait no, come on–” you start, but Eddie interrupts you with a hand help up.

“Ah, give me a second, I’m getting there,” he says, shoving his other hand in the inner pocket of his leather jacket. The small bag of weed he pulls out looks thoroughly and profoundly unremarkable.

“Dude I literally just said–”

“Have you always been this impatient, woman? Relax, this is from my,” Eddie pauses to clear his throat and leans forward with a grin. “Personal stash. Should be strong enough for you.”

“Are you saying you’ve been selling me baby’s first drugs until now?” You ask, crossing your arms. Eddie places a hand to his chest in mock offense and scoffs.

“I’m shocked and offended you would ever think so lowly of me. I thought we were cool!” You can’t help but at least chuckle at that and put your hands up in defeat.

“No, you’re totally right, my bad. I know you would only provide me with the finest wares. I had a moment of weakness, beg your forgiveness.”

Content with your playing along and the accompanying apology, Eddie pulls out a grinder from the box, rolling papers from a back pocket and gets to rolling. When he doesn’t immediately make a move to start a conversation, you decide to drown out the buzzing in your head yourself.

“How’s the Hellfire campaign going? Aren’t you having the party come up against a lich?” Eddie smirks and nods.

“Yeah, Vecna. They still have no idea though, they all still think he’s just a myth. I can’t wait to see their stupid faces when I tell ‘em he’s still alive when I tell them.”

“They’ll riot, I hope you know,” you laugh lightly, putting your chin in your hand on the table. You’d only sat in on one or two sessions, back when Eddie had been the youngest member of Hellfire. But if the theatrics and hysterics of those sessions were anything to go by, these guys got very emotionally attached to their games and characters.

“They can riot all they want, they’re gonna have to let the dice to the talking for them,” Eddie says, carefully rolling the ground bud into its paper. You open your mouth to say something, but stop yourself when you hear it.

The distant but unmistakable sound of a grandfather clock chiming.

“Ed,” you first say, apparently too quietly for him to hear. “Eddie. Hey, Munson,” you say, faster, tapping your hand on the table to catch his attention. Your eyes, meanwhile, are scanning the pathway you’d both come down for any movement. “Tell me you heard that.”

Eddie freezes and slowly brings his hands down to the table. When he doesn’t move or say anything, you turn back to him. His expression is... upsetting

“Dude no, don’t look at me like that,” you plead, leg bouncing under the table again.

“Depends what you heard,” he replies slowly, bringing the joint back up to his lips so he can seal it.

“I-I don’t know, like the chime of a grandfather clock? That thing they do every hour?”

Eddie shakes his head as he twists the end of the joint before putting it down on the table between you.

“I’m gonna be real with you, I don’t think this is gonna help you. You’re kind of starting to freak me out a bit, and that’s saying something.” Even the attempt at humour can’t really take the edge in his voice you refuse to acknowledge is a hint of fear.

“I’ll take my chances,” you mutter, reaching for the rolled joint with one hand and pulling a zippo lighter from your jacket pocket with the other. Thanks to Eddie’s rolling, it doesn’t take long to light up, and you can take your first actual drag almost right away. Your head already feels clearer by the time you take your second hit.

“Jesus slow down, you’re gonna suffocate,” Eddie cautions, reaching a hand out but not quite reaching you.

“If it knocks me out it knocks me out my guy,” you reply smoothly, blowing the smoke in his direction. You take a third, smaller hit before passing the joint over.

You can’t tell if it’s the weed that made it stop or if it stopped all on its own, but you’re relieved to find you can’t hear the stupid clock chiming anymore.

“...look,” you start, absently picking at the threads of a hole in your pants. “It’s not because I don’t trust you–”

“Hey, no, I get it,” Eddie says, cutting you off, passing you the joint back after a second hit. “No one wants to confide in the town freak, totally–”

It’s your turn to cut him off when you stand and reach over the table to slap him over the head.

“I told you to stop saying that shit, Munson!” You drop back down heavily onto the bench and take what’s maybe a bit too big of a hit from the joint before passing it back over. “I know I’m like, always the first person to say that if you think everyone else is the problem then you’re probably the problem but,” you take a second to cough lightly and clear your throat before continuing. “In this instance I think it’s perfectly justified to say that literally everyone’s an asshole to you for no damn reason.”

“It’s not for no reason,” Eddie replies lightly, and a bit too easily. “I run a cult, my dad’s in jail, I live in the bad part of town–”

“Yeah and none of that is your fault!” You frustratedly stomp at the ground under the table. “Come on! You don’t even actually run a cult. God forbid kids have fun doing shit, right? Jesus christ, don’t take that shit on for yourself!”

The joint burns between Eddie’s fingers and he just... sits there, staring at you like you’ve just confessed to murder.

“What. Why are you looking at me like that? You know I’m right!”

“Well, sure, I know that,” he replies, leaning back a little bit and taking another hit from the joint. “I’m just wondering what’s gotten into you that you’re this...” He gestures at you with both hands. “Whatever this is you are right now.”

“Whatever this is?“ you scoff, crossing your arms. ”Upset? Pissed off?“

“I was going for ‘slightly more unhinged than usual’ but that–yeah that works too.”

You twist your tongue against your teeth. You could probably talk... a little bit, right? You can probably spin it as just a weird run of the mill nightmare thing. Which just happens to involve people you happen to have seen around town when no one else did.

“It’s just...” you start, and when Eddie passes you the rest of the joint back, he leans his elbows on the table and rests his chin in his hands. “I’ve been having nightmares about people dying, man,” you whisper, taking the last hit from the joint before stubbing it out underneath the table.

“Like, people you know people? Or just random dream people?”

“People I know people,” you confirm, resting your head against the table gently, this time. “There’s–man, I really don’t know if I should be telling you this,” you groan, bringing your hands up over your head. “There’s like, your whole Hellfire club there dude. I saw Steve Harrington get like, half eaten alive once, that was fucking miserable.” You take a second to breathe. Thankfully, all Eddie does is fold his hands on the table and let his head rest on them.

“Are Harrington and that Henderson kid close at all?” The question is out of your mouth before you can think much about it. Eddie sits up straight and leave his palms face down on the table. When you look up, he’s got a brow raised at you.

“I guess? When I first picked him up, Henderson couldn’t shut up about him,” Eddie say, exhaling sharply like he’d found something funny. “Still doesn’t shut up about him actua... hey, are you good?”

No, you’re in fact very not good. There’s no way, right? There’s no way that what you saw was real, right? There’s no way there’s a weird blip in the spacetime continuum that let you see Dustin Henderson freaking out over a very bloodied and injured Steve Harrington?

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” You say weakly, turning around and away from the table to put your head between your legs.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Eddie mutters in a panic, and you can hear him trip over himself trying to get around the table do you. “You need a ride home? I can drop you off at the corner or something, you really don’t look too good.”

You wave him off to shut him up for a second, a hand over your mouth, desperately trying to control your breathing. Thinking about this kind of shit on an empty stomach and with a severe sleep deficiency wasn’t the greatest idea.

“I’ll be fine,” you eventually say, though a bit too quietly and not very convincingly. You try again. “I’m good. I just need to sleep.”

“Come on,” Eddie says, waving at you to get up. “I’ll take you home.”

You agree, with burning eyes and lungs that feel too small. You let Eddie help you into his van and close the door behind you. He does you the courtesy of keeping the volume low on whatever radio station he’d had one, and even if it’s not exactly warm out, lets you keep the passenger window down.

“You can drop me in front of my place,” you say, once you’re a few streets away. “My brother plays dungeons and dragons too, so they’re pretty acutely aware it’s not a satanic, baby-sacrificing cult.”

“You sure?” He asks, glancing over at you and gripping the steering wheel a bit tighter. Your attempt at humour clearly didn’t work. “I don’t want to–”

“Just shut up and take me home, damn.”

Eddie still stops three houses away. You notice that he doesn’t leave until you’ve unlocked the door and turned around to wave him off. You think you see him nod before he pulls a u-turn and drives off.

Blessedly, no one’s home yet; your parents are still both up in Canada for some business trip your father needed to do, and your brother likely skipped town to go see his girlfriend for the weekend. Which gives you free access to your dad’s beer stash, entirely obviously hidden in the mini fridge in the basement, behind the old couch your mom’s been promising to reupholster soon.

You still close and lock your bedroom door just in case, after making sure the back and front doors were both locked, chained and deadbolted.

You’re half asleep in bed, trying very hard not to think about the nightmares that have been showing up with undesirably increasing frequency, when you feel it happening. A weird kind of pull that makes you feel weightless for a second, makes your stomach feel like it just up in your throat.

When you open your eyes, everything is dark and thick vines are covering your bedroom window from the outside.

“Shit, no, no no no,” you mutter in a panic, jumping out of bed and running to the window. What you can see through the vines is exactly what you’ve come to expect from this place. Ash falling from the sky, ominous red lightning in the distance. And a damp, cloying cold that makes you feel like you’ll never feel warmth again.

Swearing under your breath, you run down the stairs, through the kitchen, down into the basement and in the far back of your dad’s workshop. Having turned eighteen over a month ago, you’re blessing your lucky stars your dad decided to give you the combination for the gun safe. Nervous fingers keep missing the right digits, but you manage to get the damn thing open after a few tries.

And there it is: the family’s prized Winchester model 23, with several boxes of ammo at the bottom of the safe. You’re clumsy when you loaded up and almost drop the entire open box of shells, but eventually you get the thing locked and loaded. You’re about to head upstairs with just that and the shotgun shells, but turn around and grab the handgun before bounding back up the stairs.

This isn’t entirely unusual by now; you’ve seen this place every time you’ve had nightmares. Being an active participant is new, though. You’ve never been able to move around or touch anything, always a passive observer of goings-on.

It doesn’t sit right with you.

You sit cross-legged in the corner of you room, wedged between a wall and the edge of your desk. You have a clear line of sight to your window–not that you think it matters much with how absolutely covered it is–and your bedroom door, which you’ve pushed your bookcase again. And you wait.

You’re counting your blessings with being able to check your watch for the time, having apparently fallen asleep with it. Ten minutes pass. Fifteen. Twenty. Thirty. You hear things outside, in the distance. Nothing close by. Somehow that puts you on edge even more. Check the time one more time: you’ve been holed up in your room for nearly fourty five minutes now with literally nothing happening.

You lean the shotgun against the wall next to you and get up to pace around your room. This isn’t normal. You screw your eyes shut as hard as you can and try to open them slowly, a trick that usually helps to wake you up. But it’s not good; you’re still in the twisted, decayed-looking version of your room.

Growling in frustration, you go back up to your window to see if you can spot anything out on the streets. But somehow, the vines have covered even more surface and you can barely make out the outside at all. You slam your fist against the window to–

Oh no. Did those vines just move?

Just as you wrap your hand about the Winchester, you feel something wrap around your ankle and pull. You’re winded as soon as you hit the floor, can feel your skull hit the hardwood. Whatever it is starts to drag you towards the door–and ultimately, you assume, down the stairs and out the door–you twist around to see what it is that has you.

And it’s a vine. A fucking vine.

You don’t really think too long or hard about it. Take a deep breath, bring the gun up, aim about two feet beyond the tip of your toes, and pull the trigger.

The gunfire makes your ears ring and feels like it blinds you for a second, but when you look down you can see you’ve successfully shot the vine off. What was around your ankle falls limp to the floor.

“Oh my fucking god, what the fucking hell,” you say to yourself, standing up and looking around. “Where are you? Show yourself!”

Stupid. God what a stupid thing to say.

You bring the shotgun back up and switch between aiming at the window and the door.

Strange, you hear, and it’s both like there’s a voice inside your head and like it’s resonating everywhere all at once. You don’t belong here.

“Fuck you, buddy!” you spit, spinning around wildly in your room. “I didn’t choose to be here!”

Then leave.

Text divider my natasharomanovf

#eddie munson x reader #stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson #fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #fanfic #fix-it fic #dungeons and dragons #fuck the season finale we're retconning the fuck out of shit #mention of drugs #mention of alcohol #guns #vecna #no y/n #second person pov #hey if anyone wants to beta read for me hmu #ravenloft

[janis-1987]

I Love Him (Stolas Angst)(One Shot)

Stolas swallows nervously as he reaches up and knocks on the prince of lust's door. He knew Asmodeus had ways to get demons of all kinds to fall for him. And right now, he needed his help to determine if Blitz truly loved him or if he was nothing to him. He already regrets his choice to come here, he truly didn't like Asmodeus and knew Asmodeus didn't think very highly of him.

Asmodeus sighs, getting up from his spot on the couch, "Wait here Fizzypop, I'll be right back."

Fizz whines in protest, "But Ozzziiieee this is our only night off this week." He pouts, crossing his arms and making puppy dog eyes at him, begging him to ignore whoever was at the door and stay with him.

Asmodeus chuckles softly, patting in-between his broken horns, "I know sweetheart, I know, but I promise, whatever this is will only take a few minutes."

"Fiiiiineee, should I go hide upstairs in case it's someone important?" Fizz asks, getting up from his spot, and grabbing his jester hat off the coffee table.

"No, no, you stay put, no one will think anything of it, I'm sure." He assures him, hearing the knocking again he makes his way to the front door and opens it, "What is so important that you think its okay to disturb me on my night off..." He trails off when he sees its Stolas, "Stolas? What are you doing here?"

"I need to ask you something, something important, I know we aren't on the best of terms after the other night, but I truly need your help." Stolas says, looking at the ground.

Asmodeus sighs, wrapping his robe a bit more tightly around himself, still confused as to why Stolas would come to him of all demons for help, "Fine, but make it quick. Fizzy and I are trying to enjoy our night off."

"Oh... I'm terribly sorry, I didn't mean to intrude." Stolas stutters out, "But it's about Blitz."

Asmodeus raises an eyebrow, "That little imp that you were with last night? What about him?"

"Well, I'm in love with him and I... well you see... I..." Stolas can't seem to find the words, tears welling in his red eyes, he looks up at Asmodeus, pleading for him to understand.

Asmodeus knows exactly what Stolas wants, understanding the pain and fear of not being loved in return far too well, "You want to know if he loves you back." He says with a sigh before speaking up again out of concern for his acquaintance,  "Look, I'm not sure you should be with him."

"If it's about my ranking in regards to his-" He starts in a small fit of rage only to be cut off.

"It's not that. It's just... if what Fizzarolli has said about him is even the slightest bit true, he isn't a good romantic partner at all. And you deserve someone better." Asmodeus responds, bringing him into the living room, he choses his words carefully, as much as he wants to use his normal pet names and call Fizz his, he can't risk their secret, and very much forbidden, relationship going public.

Fizz looks over, the bells on his jester hat jingling softly, and his eyes narrow , "What is he doing here? He didn't bring Blitzo with him did he?"

"No, Fizz, he didn't. But he's in love with him, so I thought, while I go prepare the spell to check if Blitzo has any feelings towards him, you could tell him about Blitzo." He says, pressing a kiss to the little imps forehead before walking out of the room.

Fizz looks at Stolas and with a heavy sigh, pats the spot next to him, "So, you're really in love with that screw up huh?"

"I um... yes." Stolas says, sitting down on the couch, watching Asmodues leave, seeing him be so soft towards someone was so foreign to Stolas and he wonders if there is something deeper between the prince of lust and the little imp he currently sits next to.

"Well, that's gonna suck for you. I don't think he can love anyone. Take it from someone whose known him his whole life, and dated him at one point. He's not all he seems. He's uncaring, thoughtless, and unimaginably cruel to the people closest to him. I lost all my limbs thanks to him. He will hurt you in more ways than you think are possible." Fizz says bitterly, crossing his arms. He doesn't dare hold back any of the truth, he could tell Stolas was being serious about his feelings towards Blitzo and he wants him to know what he's getting into.

"I can't say that I believe that Fizzarolli, he's so loyal and he's always doing his best to help his employees and his daughter." Stolas says, looking down at Fizz.

"Oh please, loyalty ain't all it's cracked up to be with him. Yeah sure, I'll give you that, he's loyal. But he doesn't look out for anyone but himself. Why was he out with you yesterday? Did he stay with you after you both left? Comfort you after we humiliated the both of you?" Fizz presses, trying to get Stolas to understand and take off the rose colored glasses he knew Stolas had to be wearing to be missing all of Blitzo's glaring red flags.

"Well... no, he left in a hurry, but that was only because he thinks I only want him for sex. But I want to tell him how I feel. How he makes my heart burn with love, but if he doesn't feel the same, I don't want to scare him off." Stolas replies sadly.

Fizz sighs, "Blitzo doesn't know how to show his emotions properly, he runs away from everyone and everything. Why does he keep coming to you for sex, does he stay over? Does he ever do normal domestic things with you?" Fizz questions.

"Well, no, he doesn't do anything domestic with me normally and he doesn't come over for sex unless its the full moon..." Stolas says, hesitating before adding, "Because that's our deal, he gets to use my grimoire for his business as long as we have sex on the full moon."

Fizz snaps, "And there it is, he's using you Stolas, I guarantee he doesn't love you back. He only comes by once a month because he doesn't want you on his ass and taking back your grimoire."

"But-" Just as Stolas was about to argue, Asmodeus comes back in with his own grimoire in his hands.

"Ugh, I haven't used this thing in ages, are you sure you want me to do this spell Stolas? you may not like what you find out." Asmodeus says, flipping to the page of the spell.

"Yes. I need to know," Stolas says, desperate to know the truth, he hopes that Fizz is wrong and secretly, deep down, Blitz does love him.

"Okay..." Asmodeus says hesitantly before taking a deep breath and performing the spell, as a mirror appears in a puff of blue smoke, Stolas looks at him confused.

"What is.." He starts only to be shushed by Fizz.

"Don't ask anything in front of it, it answers one question and one question only, and you don't want to make Asmodeus have to do it again." Fizz says, his tail swishing anxiously.

"Oh right, um, does Blitz really love me?" Stolas asks the floating mirror.

As blue mist fills the inside of it Stolas begins to think its a joke but then the smoke clears and clear as day, a single word sits in the middle, no.

Stolas stumbles backwards as the mirror shatters, and tears well in his red eyes.

Fizz tucks his tail in-between his legs, "I'm sorry Stolas, we tried to tell you."

Asmodeus frowns, feeling bad for Stolas, "I'm truly sorry, I was hoping you would get the answer you wanted."

Stolas sobs, collapsing to his knees, "I-it's not fair, I love him so much! How can he not love me!" He wails.

Fizz and Asmodeus exchange a glance, they couldn't possibly send him home like this, they pick him up and sit him on the couch in-between them. They don't know what to say, so they just sit with him as he sobs into his hands.

#helluva boss #helluva boss asmodeus #helluva boss stolas #helluva boss blitzo #helluva boss stolitz #helluva stolas #helluva stolitz #helluva boss ozzie #helluva ozzie #helluva asmodeus #helluva fizzarolli #helluva fizz #helluva boss fizzarolli #helluva boss fizz #helluva boss fic #helluva boss fanfiction #helluva boss fandom #helluva fanfiction #helluva fandom #gay #gay fanfiction #angst #stolitz angst #stolitz #stolas #stolas goetia #stolas helluva boss

[adeptiiii]

Day 14: Personaverse

Synopsis: Ouroboros goes out for gerocery shopping, and the others wait restlessly at home.

Word Count: 671

Cherry and Blitz lay back-to-back, both of them engrossed on their phone. By the sound of it, they’ve been watching cat videos for the past three hours with no sign of stopping. Mixer glances over their shoulders interchangeably trying to catch a glimpse of both their cat videos, continuously failing to catch the exact ‘cuteness’ moment. She grumbles at her own failure, deciding to whine to Cosmic instead, whom was on the couch.

“Cooosmic!” Mixer complains aloud, resting her head in between Cosmic’s legs. She looks up with puppy eyes, obviously trying her best to grab her older sister’s attention. All four of Cosmic’s ears go down at the same time as she shoves her nose further into her book. But it was quickly tossed aside when Mixer pinches her thigh.

“Agh! What the hell Mixer!?” Cosmic scolds, pushing Mixer off the couch. Mixer dramatically falls to the ground, crossing her arms.

“I’m hungry! When’s Ouroboros coming back!?” Mixer sulks, burying her face into the wooden tiles. Her tail swings restlessly, to which Cosmic quickly grabs. Better not hit Blitz or Scorn, it’ll only make the situation worse.

Scorn sits on a plush chair, lightly scratching her knee with a sour expression. Her boots click with every tap of her foot. They’ve tried to get her to remove the shoes whilst in the house, but she simply threatened violence and everyone simply backed off. She brushes her hair back for the 57th time, trying her best to keep it together, otherwise she might end up in cardboard jail. Again.

“Hey, Cosmic…When is Ouroboros coming back?” Cherry questions, putting down her phone. Cosmic shakes her head and sighs, taking out her own phone and checking the time. It was almost midnight, and it had been nearly 8 hours since Ouroboros had left.

“I don’t know…Maybe she’s stuck in traffic.” Cosmic replies, trying to think positively. They’ve been hungry since the morning, and had realized they’ve run out of groceries. They began pestering Ouroboros about it, who hadn’t restocked in weeks and had bought delivery or takeaway instead.

“Traffic? The fuck you mean? She uses public transport for fuck’s sake.” Scorn scoffs, leaning back in her chair, when the door swings open.

A disheveled Ouroboros stands in the doorway, clearly she had been crying from the tear stains left on her cheeks. Scorn rolls her eyes and walks up to her, wanting to take the groceries instead of comforting her.

“Seriously, you’re not gonna ask me what happened?” Ouroboros huffs, shoving the bags into Scorn’s waist.

“Oh hell no, you a sad bitch.” Scorn replies, grimacing. As Scorn is about to walk away into the kitchen, Ouroboros grabs the back of her leather jacket.

“Scorn! Come on, you shouldn’t say that!” Cosmic scolds. But she hadn’t realized what Ouroboros was about to do.

Ouroboros tugs firmly and Scorn is thrown off her feet and onto the floor. She yelps in pain and rubs her back in an attempt to soothe the pain. Both Cherry and Blitz nearly burst into laughter, they always loved it when Scorn had her own shit thrown back at her.

Scorn whips her head around at the duo, “The fuck you laughin’ at, twin freaks!?”

Cosmic snaps, stomping over to Scorn and grabbing her oddly shaped horn, the rings digging into her palm. “Stop being a prick!”

“I don’t know how to!”

“Why!?”

“Because I created her that way! Both of you shut up! Let me do my groceries!” Ouroboros finally shouts, and a knock is heard at her door. She drops her bags of groceries, good thing she didn’t buy anything fragile today.

She quickly opens the door, and the landlord greets her nervously.

“Is…everything alright?” The landlord asks, chuckling softly.

Ouroboros clears her throat, standing up straight, “Uh, yes! Yes, I’m doing quite fine. I’m just having a little argument with my roommates, that’s all.” She explains, excusing herself.

“Ah, okay then…Don’t hesitate to ask if you need something…!” The landlord quickly offers, walking away as fast as she could.

Ouroboros doesn’t have roommates…

[drades-lair]

Pregnant Stolas PT1

Fandom: helluvaboss

Pairing: Blitzo/Stolas/Striker

Rating: T for swearing mostly

Panic, panic was the only thing that described how Stolas was feeling currently. Three days ago, Stolas participated in the usual full moon activities with Blitz and Striker which was amazing like always unfortunately he’d forgotten about something very important. Nineteen years ago when he and Stella were trying to have Octavia, Stolas had consulted the grimoire where he found a spell that would allow him to potentially conceive the only problem was it wasn’t a single go spell...essentially after casting the spell Stolas would become fertile immediately then once again every 10 years for 2 weeks and of course this full moon had landed on the first day of those 2 weeks. Stolas had completely forgotten about the spell till today when he awoke feeling off, upon remembering the spells cycle Stolas started using his magic immediately to check to see if he was pregnant…he was. Luckily Striker and Blitz were off on a job currently leaving Stolas a bit of time to try to figure out how to tell them…especially Striker who on more then one occasion had expressed how he didn’t want to be a father. Stolas sat on the edge of his four-poster bed in the master bedroom of the palace with his head in his hands, heart racing at the thought he could potentially lose one of his mates or perhaps both if Blitz decided he didn’t want to have a child with him. Worst of all though was even if he told them there was no guarantee the egg, he lays is fertile making things even more complicated.

 The imps returned 3 days later from their relatively simple job instantly becoming aware of Stolas’ odd behavior. Stolas could get busy with his princely duties however since they got back Stolas seemed to be busier then usual to the point it was more like he was avoiding them. Stolas would wait till they’d gone to bed before joining them, he wore more clothing specifically baggier clothing, he often ate in his office with the door shut and got so he locked the bathroom door when bathing. Blitz was concerned from the jump about Stolas’ behavior however Striker had been a little more reasonable with his concern simply assuming Stolas was stressed about work or something to that effect until that is a 2-week period passed with the behavior getting worse instead of better at which point even Striker was growing a little worried. The imps decided that perhaps a night together might put Stolas back into proper sorts thus one night they stayed up unbeknownst to Stolas surprising him when the prince entered the bedroom to find both imp’s waiting for him.

“Oh! I didn’t know you two were still awake,” Stolas nervously stated.

“We thought tonight would be a good night to have a little fun,” Blitz seductively explained with a little eyebrow wiggle.

“Oh…um…I see…” Stolas stammered nervously as he tried to figure out how to get out of this.

“Yeah, gonna treat Ya right,” Striker seductively drawled coming around behind Stolas.

“That’s…very kind…truly but…” Stolas stammered again desperately trying to find some excuse to get out of this.

“Just relax babe,” Blitz cooed, grabbing the hem of Stolas’ baggy gray T-shirt to slide his hands under it. Stolas immediately became alarmed at this action however his response was too slow, Blitz managed to slide the shirt up before Stolas could stop him promptly revealing the prominent bump Stolas had developed over the last couple weeks.

“Blitz, Stop!” Stolas declared only to stare in horror as Blitz looked on in shock.

“What the?” Striker questioned also staring at what Blitz could see.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you!” Stolas was in a full-blown panic attack, hands pulling down his shirt as he curled in on himself trying desperately to not make any eye contact with either imp, breath coming in short heaving gasps.

“Hey, whoa! Easy Stolas, look at me. Take a couple deep breaths,” Blitz encouraged, cupping his hands around Stolas’ face to make the prince focus on him. Tears pricked the corners of Stolas’ eyes as his gasps turned in to partial sobbing hiccups.

“Easy Stolas, easy…try ta breath through it,” Striker encouraged next, rubbing a gentle hand along Stolas’ back as the prince sunk to the floor.

“I should…told you…” Stolas sobbed as he pulled his knees to his chest.

“Told us what?” Blitz wondered.

“I’m…pregnant…” Stolas hiccupped.

“What!?” Both imps simultaneously exclaimed in surprise.

“That can happen?” Blitz wondered arching an eyebrow.

“Mm-hm…it was a spell…19 years ago…I forgot about it and now…you’re both going to leave me,” Stolas uncontrollably sobbed burying his face in his arms, wrapping them around his knees.

“Whoa! Where’d Ya get that idea?” Striker asked a little taken back by Stolas’ out burst.

“Oh please…you’ve already told me you don’t want a child and…I’m sure…neither of you appreciate me…keeping this from you…trust was everything…between us…” Stolas rambled through tears.

“Stolas…that’s not true…we’re not going anywhere,” Blitz tried to reassure his distressed mate.

“Yeah, we’re still here aren’t we,” Striker added.

Blitz gently rubbed his hand up Stolas’ forearm while Striker continued rubbing the prince’s back, leaning in to nuzzle at Stolas’ temple. After a few moments Stolas lifted his head slightly prompting the imp’s to gingerly pull him to his feet, guiding him to the bed where they settled on either side of the Goetia. Stolas still pulled his knees to his chest while refusing to look at his mates, simply staring straight ahead with tears still rolling down his cheeks.

“So how did this happen? And have you been pregnant this whole time?” Blitz asked gently.

“Yes, when me and Stella were trying for Via, we were having trouble conceiving so I consulted my grimoire to see if there was something that would help…I located a spell that would allow me to conceive in Stella’s place. We were desperate so I cast the spell…it would make me instantly able to conceive…but…it was going to be a permanent spell. Once every 10 years I’d be able to potentially conceive again for 2 weeks.” Stolas began to explain.

“When did it happen?” Striker asked.

“On the full moon…I completely forgot it was coming up…I’m so sorry! I’ve not had anyone for so long…normally it’s not really a problem,” Stolas exclaimed starting to sob again.

“It’s okay…you don’t need to apologize,” Blitz assured Stolas rubbing his shoulder for comfort.

“Blitz is right, don’t stress yer self,” Striker agreed.

“Look, explain how this all works,” Blitz encouraged.

“Well, in about 2 more weeks I’ll be laying,” Stolas sniffled.

“Wait! You’re going to give birth in 2 weeks?” Blitz wondered once again taken off guard.

“Yes, in the Goetia family we’re only pregnant for 5 to 6 weeks then we lay either one or two eggs,” Stolas explained.

“So, in two more weeks we’re going to have a baby?” Blitz asked seeking confirmation.

“Um…not…necessarily…just because I lay doesn’t mean the egg or eggs will be fertile. We can have duds,” Stolas continued.

“Oh…there’s no way to tell before hand?” Blitz wondered curiously.

“No, we’ll find out once I lay…but…there’s already something strange…I’ve gained so much weight…more then what should be normal for even two eggs,” Stolas explained in a concerned tone, shifting slightly to pull his shirt up.

“Have Ya seen anyone about it?” Striker asked returning Stolas’ concerned look.

“No, I was afraid you two would find out if I tried to see a doctor,” Stolas sheepishly admitted.

“We’ll need ta fix that…Ya need to take care of yer self,” Striker insisted.

“I have a doctor I can call…she’s the royal physician…I just haven’t,” Stolas explained.

“Good, you’ll call her first thing tomorrow and get you looked at,” Blitz insisted.

Stolas gave a nod of agreement as the two imps settled by him, eventually all three of them falling asleep. The next day Stolas called the royal physician to have her come check on him as agreed however the out come of the exam was not what any of them were expecting, Stolas was fine luckily yet he was currently carrying 3 eggs instead of 1 or 2. In the history of the Goetia family there had never been 3 eggs laid at one time let alone all three being fertile now of course at this stage the physician couldn’t tell if they were fertile or not but the fact Stolas was carrying three was enough of a surprise. The physician agreed to keep a close eye on Stolas till he laid which she’d also help with in about 2 weeks time.

#Helluvaboss #Helluvabossfanfiction #HelluvabossBlitzo #HelluvabossStriker #HelluvabossStolas #Helluvabossfanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #Blitzo #Stolas #Striker #Romance #Angst #Drama #Mpreg #Humor #Cuteness #Comfort #Mates

[ambitionsource]

AMBITION Season 4 ♫ “Organic Chemistry” [ 4.03 ]

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

RISKY BUSINESS — Relationships are put under a microscope and to the test, resulting in some unexpected revelations. Auditions consume the performing majors at NYU and USC. Maya takes affairs into her own hands, roping an eclectic group into a grand scheme to break through obscurity.

106 Minutes (69K words) || No content warnings apply.

[ ← Growing Pains ] [ S4 Synopsis ] [ Masquerades → ]

CREATOR’S NOTE: Please don’t blitz at the minute count! Although not reflected in the title, this is split into two parts within the episode, marked clearly by an “END OF PART 1.” We’ve also brought back the popular “breaks” feature peppered in during the episode to provide convenient pausing points during reading. While the episode is posted in full here on Tumblr, it’s broken into 2 separate chapters on AO3, so read whichever way is best for you. Whether it takes you a month or a day to read, enjoy, and thanks for being an AAA warrior!

( Follow along with the music on Spotify here! )

RECAP

Over a shot of the “Candyman” performing diner performance and Charlie and Farkle’s silly enjoyment (to Yindra’s embarrassment):

Jade, voiceover: Previously, on AMBITION…

The fall semester at NYU and USC truly kicked off, pushing our cohort to face their first challenging assignments. While some found success, like Riley making a new friend in Evan Scott, others ran into friction -- like Isa versus the criticism of their stoic and unwavering film professor, David Bennet. But a bit of self-reflection and friendly fire made them realize their overreaction (in part due to estrangement from the friends who used to provide their most constructive criticism), and they stepped up to the plate to make it right.

Isa: I’m going to deliver better. I’m going to prove I deserve to be here. Don’t write me off just yet.

And that’s on top of moving forward with a DNA test with their potential mysterious missing father, and an unexpected voicemail hail Mary from Farkle… never a dull moment with this one.

Zay had an equally eventful episode, having to balance his rivalrous competition with Vanessa and Gia and desire to stay on top with an eerie reminder of his own fragility. When his injury flared up, warning him he might be pushing it too hard, he had to decide whether to risk it all or pull back and reasonably rest to dance another day. Although the decision was difficult, with counsel from his most trusted friends, he was able to come to the right decision -- sitting out the last of endurance week to ideally endure the long haul.

He and Isa weren’t the only ones facing friction, though. Maya and Josh’s fateful meeting on their converging industry paths ended in disaster, neither able to drop their own insecurity to authentically come to the table. Words escalated quickly due to dual strong personalities, souring any chance of them starting a creative partnership and leaving things on a decidedly bad foot.

Josh: And what are you gonna do, Blondie, huh? What exactly do you think is going to happen if you’re pushing through with no support and waiting for someone to give you everything you want without compromise? How far do you think you’re going to get if you won’t even listen to another perspective?

Maya, fiercely: Prove them wrong.

Farkle has also come up against potential sparks, being chosen by the notoriously intense student director Jordan Nelson to be his acting mentee for the semester. No clue why he’s decided to torment him, but Farkle is determined not to let him shake him down -- even as he continues to be his own worst enemy in terms of a newfound self-doubt.

This challenge is a bit easier with Charlie in his corner, who has returned from abroad for a spell on the west coast. He’s still trying to figure out what he wants to do next, getting closer and closer but not quite there. In the meantime, he’s having plenty of fun exploring college from a noncommittal distance with Farkle -- and taking surprising star turns in his dance course.

Farkle: How is it you’ve been here for like three days and you already have more friends than me?

Charlie: :)

He’s not the only one making unexpectedly shining impressions. Jade seems to have caught the interest of her famous designer boss, Anya Kelly, particularly after successfully running through some trial tasks to test her ability. As exciting as this is, it puts her in a weird position compared to her peers -- especially her boyfriend, as Nigel struggles to find his footing in the new NYU community and can’t seem to convey his old passion and skill. That’s even more true in the shadow of Riley, who seems to be doing nothing but thriving.

Yindra: Honey, this is the entertainment industry. You gotta get used to envy.

But of course, not everything in her life is peachy keen. Even if things are good between the two of them, Lucas’s health deteriorated under the stress of having to constantly be around Kenneth, now that he’s home more often due to his cancer. This ended up taking a physical toll, prompting him to pass out at Adams and terrifying the techie ducklings. Thankfully, all ended well for now, particularly with the return of Jack Hunter from his well-earned vacation there to help pick Lucas back up from his stumble.

Jack: You’re not trapped, Lucas. We just need to restrategize. Your path doesn’t have to be the dead end you think it is.

In terms of immediate solutions, Riley had the brightest of the bunch, inviting Lucas to move into the apartment officially with her and Isa as a reprieve from being surrounded by Kenneth and on otherwise unstable ground. At the same time, Jack proposed moving in together with Eric, which he happily and eagerly agreed to.

Jack: I want us to live together. I want us to find a place, and move in, and start our new life. [ sincere ] I want us to build a home, Eric. Together.

Eric: I… yes. Okay, cool, yes, let’s move in together.

So the ground is shifting under our feet, worlds are colliding, and relationships are certainly evolving in many ways… it’s a wonder what could possibly happen next. Lucky for us, we get to find out right now…

End of recap.

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

We watch the step-by-step process in quick cuts of how to prepare for a vlog update -- camera set up, ring light on. Mascara and make-up touched up to perfection; signature blonde locks blow-dried and brushed, then strategically mussed for a bit of spice.

Now looking from the perspective of her webcam, MAYA HART appears in front of the camera, squinting into the screen to make sure everything is all set and her angles look good. She has the shot framed so we get the best, glamorous shot of her L.A. bedroom, the most staged corner there is with her music set-up peeking just into frame from the side… and leaving out all the more unpolished sides of her space.

She scrutinizes her image, making final minor touch-ups and popping her lips to make sure they’re at their glossiest… she quickly picks at some lipstick on her teeth, scratching it away, then clears her throat and adjusts her hair one last time.

Maya: Okay, here we go. [ doing a couple of vocal warm-ups ] Perfect. Naturally. Okay…

She hits the spacebar on her laptop to start recording, then turns on her charm in an instant -- starlit smile suddenly on full brightness.

Maya: Good morning, my beautiful Hartbreakers. Just a quick message this morning to remind you not to waste the restorative, energizing possibilities of today -- and to share some exciting news.

Although Maya doesn’t give away too much -- she can’t, she assures us, though she wishes she could tell all -- she mysteriously promises that a very big event is hovering in the stratosphere and could drop any day now. If they’ve been feeling a tingle in the cosmos lately, then they’re tuned in well to the surprises the universe has in store… and a keen mind might keep their eyes peeled towards the end of the week. Even though she’s being vague as hell, the enthusiasm in her voice is palpable and infectious.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

That, and as she talks, we get glimpses of whatever this big plan is through a mini-montage of Maya accepting, receiving, and opening a handful of deliveries to the apartment. Some boxes are big, some small, all secluded from view just enough that we can’t really see what’s inside. But enough to draw major intrigue… and guarantee that Maya Hart has something up her sleeve.

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

Although that is crystal clear just from the expression on her face. Just from the sly, slightly smug smirk on her lips and the sparkle in her baby blues we can see that the fire is back burning at full flame -- and it’s any wonder what that might mean for the rest of us.

Maya: Mark my words, my darling followers, you’ll want to cement this moment in your mind and bring those eyes and ears ready to marvel. Because I can promise you one thing: after this? Everything changes.

Mischievous smile intact, she blows the camera a kiss -- then reaches forward to end the recording, sending us into black.

Cue title sequence.

The whimsical, iconic opening of The Beach Boys hit takes us into the episode, starting over the titles… then when we hit that opening drum --

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” as performed by The Beach Boys || Performed by AMBITION Ensemble

In a neighborhood on the upper West Side, between Harlem and Triple A’s neck of the woods, we’re getting familiar with a brand new street. This one is populated with brownstones and townhomes up and down the block, modestly built but holding some of that classic Manhattan charm. It’s a mix of young families, older couples, and a cohort of young professionals here and there…

And now also two of our own. We zero in on one townhome in particular, a set of concrete steps leading up to an evergreen door.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - LIVING ROOM - DAY

True to their word, Jack and Eric have found somewhere to build a home. It’s a bit cramped and cluttered as most accommodations are in the city (though that might just be all the moving boxes), but it’s decidedly more domestic and home-y than any of the apartments they’ve occupied thus far. They seem to have gotten much of the initial moving woes done as well in the last couple of weeks, essential furniture already set in place and the remaining work down to figuring out where to put all the stuff.

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

ERIC MATTHEWS is in the midst of that in the kitchen, pulling dishes out of cardboard boxes and trying to decide what should go in each cabinet. Somewhat overwhelming, since this is more cabinet space than he’s ever had since he moved out of Philadelphia!

Jack, off-screen: Incoming!

Eric turns and clears the doorway so JACK HUNTER can enter, carrying another box of kitchen supplies from his apartment. He drops it on the countertop with a flourish, then places his hands on his hips and surveys the room.

Jack: Looks like we’re making progress. Some. A little.

Eric: Don’t know about that.

Jack: [ with a shrug ] Come on, come on. We’re getting there. Figure we’ll be able to eat in here… oh, by Christmas? Next year?

Eric gives him a look, closing the distance between them to playfully shove him. Jack laughs, turning the nudge into a hug by taking his arm and spinning him towards him. He traps him in an embrace from behind and sways them side to side until Eric cracks and laughs. Jack asks what exactly the problem is that’s causing the unpacking hold-up.

Eric: It speaks to the pitiful public education salary I’ve lived on for twenty years, but I’m woefully unprepared to have this much cabinet space.

At that, Jack has the vision to ameliorate the issue -- he may not have had much better experience on his principal’s salary, but he is meticulously organized by default. He offers a proposal for how they should store things based on very logical metrics: the amount of each item, how frequently they’ll be used, how often do they want to stretch to reach certain shelves. Eric listens along, but by the time Jack has finished his explanation, he doesn’t look any more prepared. He hands Jack the stack of plates on the counter.

Eric: You know what? I think you’re better suited for this challenge. Go with God, Jackie.

Jack tilts his head, shaking it in faux condescension, but he happily accepts the plates and a brisk kiss to go with it. He lets Eric pass him to head back out to the living room.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - LIVING ROOM - DAY

That’s where ISA DE LA CRUZ is located, hunched over a box and begrudgingly helping to unpack. Eric takes a stack of books from them and asks what they think of the place -- pretty sweet, yeah? Isa shrugs, acknowledging that it’s nice, but their brain can’t exactly get past the logistics.

Isa: How much more is this place per month than the one you were at before? Your principal’s raise can’t have been that good.

Eric: That’s the beauty of having a roommate to share it with. Why else do you think I’m shacking up with that guy?

Jack, off-screen: Thanks!

Eric: And the commute is better. From here, I can walk to Adams.

Isa: Okay, but you just moved into that other apartment. We already had to do all this moving shit this summer.

Eric: Sometimes life throws you unexpected curveballs.

Isa: How much did you have to pay to break your lease? And are you gonna be able to pay to break your lease again in such short order if this all doesn’t work out --

Eric: [ pointedly interrupting ] Change is good, Isa. Remember how we talked about that?

Isa, flatly: Just about every day of my life, yes.

Then they should have it well understood at this point. No, it wasn’t in Eric’s plan to move again, but life threw him a curveball and he was eager to meet the moment. Isa makes a face, not sold. Jack appears in the doorway to the kitchen, crossing his arms and leaning against the frame.

Jack: And you heard him. If he has to clear his pocketbook, he’s got his unemployed financial reserves right here.

Eric: Okay, that’s enough…

Isa: I guess if that doesn’t work, he could just sell some of this stuff. [ lifting one of the DVDs from the box ] How many copies of Dead Poets Society does one man need?

Eric takes the DVD from Isa protectively, causing Jack to snort before he retreats back into the kitchen. How about, Eric suggests, Isa goes and focuses on their own unpacking for a bit? As the only other person who gets a bedroom in this house, they better start making it feel like home away from home.

Isa sighs, getting the picture, grabbing their backpack and one of the boxes off the couch. Before they head up the stairs, they turn back to Eric, glancing quickly to the kitchen.

Isa: I’m just saying. Get a prenuptial on this place.

Eric: We’re not getting married. And I’m not concerned.

Isa: Well, if life throws another “curveball,” just know that I will provide some of mom’s money to bail you out.

Eric: How sweet. But I don’t think I’ll need it.

Okay… if you say so, Eric… Isa remains skeptical, but chooses not to debate further.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - ISA’S BEDROOM - DAY

Isa pushes into the bedroom that will now be theirs, adjacent to the guest room across the hall. They dump the box and their bag on the unmade bed with a declarative sigh, then spin to look around. It’s got potential, sure, but it’s odd… Isa has rarely ever had one room that felt stable enough to call home. Now suddenly, they’ve got two? Sounds fake.

They’ve got other things on their mind, anyway. After a moment and a glance towards the doorway, Isa instinctively reaches into their back pocket and retrieves their phone. As if by habit, they go to their phone app and end up at voicemails, thumb hovering over the latest one they received. The message from Farkle sits waiting to play, almost taunting them to fall into the trap of listening again just for the sake of hearing his voice.

Which is exactly what they don’t want to do. Eric doesn’t need to lecture them about curveballs -- they’re all too familiar with the universe’s knack for them.

That’s what distractions are for. Isa clears their throat and stuffs their phone back in their pocket without succumbing to the siren call, pushing some hair out of their face before refocusing to unpacking the box they brought upstairs.

INT. BEAMON HOME - JADE’S BEDROOM - DAY

Moving quietly, NIGEL CHEY finishes pulling on his sweatshirt as he gets ready to leave. It appears he may have stayed the night, or else came over very early, and so he’s operating with a bit of stealth.

Stealth that JADE BEAMON clearly thinks is unnecessary. She’s still in bed, comfortable in her pajamas and one of Nigel’s sweaters, idly flipping through his finished and printed out play he was working on for class last episode. It’s clear as she picks on him for being so dramatic about sneaking around that she did in fact read it at some point, joking that she should recite lines from it at the top of her lungs to prove to him that all his silent movement is highly unnecessary.

Nigel: Shh. And please don’t.

Jade: My parents literally aren’t even home. And if the twins are gonna get bold all the sudden “ratting out” their college-age sister, then they’ve got another thing coming. The score list I have against them is a thousand miles long. The only one stressed about this is you.

Nigel: Well, excuse me. Sorry if I don’t want to risk sacrificing the times I get to see my girlfriend when she’s not busy doing her very important and groundbreaking girlboss things by screwing it up and getting caught being promiscuous --

Jade cracks up, causing Nigel to jump over and cover her mouth to stifle the sound. That just makes her laugh harder, and she removes his hand from her mouth so she can cup his face and pull him into a kiss.

Jade: You and I must have very different definitions of promiscuous. Though if you’d like to be promiscuous, by all means, name the time and place.

Nigel lets out a bashful huff, but he’s also trying not to laugh.

Nigel: You’re not fair to me. [ off her mischievous smile ] But you and I just have different… environmental conditions. Rest assured, if you were at my place at this hour and my mom realized I was hiding you, I’d be grounded for disrespecting my family and my girlfriend for the rest of my natural life.

Jade: The horror. And what would your grandmother say?

Nigel: Oh, lola would find it hilarious. And once all of them got done burning me at the stake, they’d happily insist on making you breakfast. Make no mistake about that.

Jade smiles. As he retreats to finish gathering his things, the two of them briefly discuss what the week has in store -- Nigel mentions that there’s rumblings of a big announcement coming up for their major, and there’s been word here and there about the winter musical, but no definitive plans as of yet. Jade, naturally, has another week of work, but with how well things have been going since the Anya trials, that’s a positive.

She has Nigel promise that even so, he keep her updated on the big news of the week. He assures her he will, provided she doesn’t ever recite any of his play aloud.

Jade: Mm, I will try my best. But how can I help myself from pulling quotes from the best piece of literature written in the modern era?

Nigel: Okay, you’re awake enough to be in full cheeky mode, which means it’s time for me to go. So I’ll bid you adieu --

Nigel turns back to face her and leans in to give her a kiss goodbye -- only to be cockblocked by his play. Jade has held it up in front of her mouth between them, just as cheeky as he claimed… then she drops it, smiling fondly as she pulls him in for a soft kiss.

Whatever distance Nigel was feeling before, it seems to have assuaged itself for now.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - GARAGE - DAY

Based on how he’s dutifully finishing up his morning warm-up with some cool down stretches and no pain, it seems ZAY BABINEAUX has fully recovered from his injury flare up. He leans deeply into the last stretch, grasping his ankle and basically touching his nose to the floor, and takes a long, centering inhale…

Then he releases it, shifting back upright and then reclining onto his back. Hard work done for now, he reaches for his phone and scrolls through his notifications idly, then jumps to his messages. First up is a quick response to a thread with Riley and Nigel, confirming hangout plans for this week. Then he loves a message from Yindra, seemingly giving him a sneak preview of something she’s been working on.

Then, like a compulsion, he enters his messages with Charlie. He finds himself doing this all the time, like some kind of weird habit. Wandering in just for the sake of looking at their thread even when he doesn’t necessarily have anything to say. Suppose that’s how it used to be when they first became friends, when they texted almost more than they talked, and he hasn’t unlearned it even with every new shade their relationship has taken on.

Or maybe he just likes to have a glimpse of his silly, stupid smile in his contact photo. Who’s to say?

Thankfully, he’s never been bad at starting conversation, particularly when things are good and he knows it’ll be reciprocated eventually. So Zay pushes back into a sitting position and thinks for a moment, then types out a new message.

“after warm-up today (yes with stretches save the well-meaning nag saint charles) think i can for sure confirm that the tempest tendon as u so nerdily phrased it has receded for now -- and hopefully forever bc i’m DONE with that bastard”

He sends that, but the sentiment still feels incomplete. He contemplates what to add.

“can’t wait til ur back and u can nag me in person…”

Mm… no. Too forward, and not the right vibe. He deletes that, trying another go:

“once again, couldn’t have gotten thru this without you…”

No, no, no. Way too vulnerable -- what is he thinking? Zay sighs, shaking his head at himself. Texting never used to be this complicated… and it used to be Charlie who overthought everything he said. My how the tables have turned…

One more try. Zay aims for a middle ground.

“thanks again for sending the stretches and stuff. appreciate you looking out and being in my corner (even with the nags)”

Good enough. It’ll have to do. Zay hits send, then climbs to his feet to grab his things. By the time he’s ready to head back inside, Charlie’s already responded -- first with a characteristically nerdy celebratory reaction GIF from the search archive. At that, Zay rolls his eyes in amusement, but then his next text comes through.

“Always.”

There’s no thought required for the bashful smile that takes over Zay’s features.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - RILEY’S BEDROOM - DAY

We’re looking upwards from the depths of the drawer that RILEY MATTHEWS pulls open, watching as she calls over her shoulder for someone to pass her things. A moment later, she turns back to the dresser, arms full of folded dark clothes -- long sleeve tees, flannels, a sweatshirt or two. They’re reliably familiar…

The clothes drop on top of us, sending us into darkness for a moment.

Back in the light, and from a normal camera angle, we get the fuller picture. LUCAS JAMES FRIAR is seated on Riley’s bed, the limited supply of his closet in assorted piles in front of him. As he finishes folding items and layering them into the sorted groups, Riley reaches for them and places them in the appropriate drawer.

Once they’re all unpacked, Riley turns to confirm that that’s the last of it. Lucas remarks that there’s still a couple of things he left at the apartment he’ll need to pick up sometime this week, but for all intents and purposes, yes. He’s officially moved in! Riley bounces on her feet and claps her hands in celebration.

Lucas: Doesn’t take much to move me around. I kind of have three cents worth of property to my name.

Riley: Hush. I don’t care how much stuff you do or don’t have -- what I care about is that it’s here. And now that we’ve taken care of all that, there’s only one more order of business to attend to…

Lucas raises his eyebrows, not sure what she means. Riley hesitates for a moment, drawing out the suspense… then she breaks into a grin, climbing onto the bed and playfully tackling him. He lands on his back and she pins him with a kiss, bumping her nose against his when they pull apart.

Riley: Welcome home.

Even sweeter coming from the source of it herself. Lucas smiles and gives her another kiss, for once just enjoying the moment.

Now that he’s officially been welcomed, conversation shifts to the next thing. Riley asks what his week looks like as they adjust to a more casual position, both sitting up on their elbows. Lucas explains that per Jack’s direction, he’s scaling back his time at Adams considerably, and in the time that he’s not at Chubbies he’s supposed to be looking for more interesting and professional employment along with focusing on his deferment.

All the above sounds good to Riley, and she has a suggestion of her own.

Riley: Since you have more time without the Adams gig, and are between things… I was thinking you could come to school with me for the week.

Lucas is instinctively resistant, but Riley has prepared her case. She points out that it’ll be good for him to familiarize himself with the college campus vibes, both mentally and emotionally, and that’ll be an easier burden in a place like NYU where he’s got plenty of familiar faces. He has the time now, and he can consider it part of his prepping for Davis initiative. Not to mention she’s building part of her world there now, and she’d really like him to be a part of it. To at least meet her new peers and see what she’s up to all day. It’ll be fun -- kind of like old times, almost.

She sure is hard to say no to… and she makes solid points. Lucas still seems uncertain, but he promises he’ll think about it.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

Compared to Riley’s room, the apartment living room currently looks like a disaster area. There are papers all over the floor and on every visible surface.

CHARLIE GARDNER is at the center of it all, clad in a cozy-looking sweatshirt from Yosemite National Park. He’s seated on the floor and leaning against the base of the couch, currently flipping through his leather-bound journal and… taking additional notes on what he already wrote. He’s jotting down a line or two on a piece of lined paper as he flips through the pages -- there’s little doubt that the rest of the pulp around belongs to him.

FARKLE MINKUS emerges from his bedroom unprepared for the sight, freezing when he gets a look at the state of the living room and doing a double-take. He cautiously approaches the line of where the paper debris starts, like it might swallow him whole, and lets out a whistle.

Farkle: It looks like a philosophy major exploded in here.

Might not be too far off. Charlie glances over his shoulder when he realizes he’s there, offering a grin at his quip. Once he greets him with good morning, he justifies the mess, explaining that while he was on his travels, he did a lot of thinking and rationalizing and weighing the possibilities of what he should do next. That was both through writing and exploring, but also collating -- if he came across something that struck him or inspired a potential idea or lit a spark, he packed it away so he could look at it again when he came back and see if he still felt that way.

Charlie: Well, I’m back, so now it’s time to process all of that. Right now, I’m mainly sorting all the thoughts into similar groups, trying to find patterns or obvious areas of preference. Once it’s all been organized… then hopefully, I’ll be able to find a clearer path forward. Or paths, at least.

Sure, that makes sense… if Farkle ever had any doubt that Charlie is his own brand of unhinged, that’s been taken care of easily. But he’s not going to get in his way. He raises his hands in surrender.

Farkle: By all means, process all you want. I’m sure this is how all the great prophets got their start.

Charlie smirks, allowing the playful dig, before elaborating further.

Charlie: I know it’s a lot, but… I just want to do this right. I want to give myself every chance to get it right. Last time when I did this, the applications and stuff, it was so… it wasn’t about me. You know? This time, I want to be intentional about it -- both in where I’m applying, and why. I want to pursue something that I really care about, and if a school accepts me, I want it to be me represented in the application. Not the stuffy, polished version. Actual Charlie Gardner.

Now that does make sense, and is praise-worthy. Farkle does just that, commending Charlie for the effort. It’s no secret that this endeavor hasn’t been easy for Charlie in the past, so it’s nice to see him giving it his best shot. Charlie smiles, then asks what Farkle is up to this week.

Before he can respond, the door at the opposite end of the room opens and Maya enters, full of energy and enthusiastically interrupting their conversation.

Maya: Drop everything, boys. It’s time to make your gender proud and actually be useful -- and I’ve got just the cause for which to rally.

Farkle and Charlie exchange a look, the former shrugging lightly and gesturing to Maya.

Farkle, resigned: [ re: what he’s up to ] Guess we’re about to find out.

Charlie’s smile brightens, amused. Maya carries on undeterred, coming to join them in the center of the room -- and incidentally stepping on some of Charlie’s papers in the process. Charlie winces, inclined to reach for it, but it’s too late now.

She doesn’t notice anyway. She’s got that glint in her eyes, and when Maya gets an idea in her head, the diva blinders go on. Her voice is teeming with excitement as she vaguely explains that she has a big project slated for this week, and she’s going to need all hands on deck. Of course, this request is mainly towards Farkle, who she insists she’ll need as her right-hand man. His impeccable taste can always be counted on… and his flexible pocketbook doesn’t hurt either.

Farkle: Figures.

Maya: Primarily, though, what I’m most in need of at the moment is a director. Not that I couldn’t just as easily add a credit to my name and do it myself, but considering I’ll be running and starring in this venture I think it would be wiser to bring on someone else to deal in the logistics.

Charlie: Wow. That’s level-headed.

Maya: A true diva always knows when to delegate. [ to Farkle ] This is where I’ll need your illustrious eye and networking charms, darling. I don’t know any local creatives yet, and I can’t afford to risk picking up an amateur. Not on a gamble this big. But you are surrounded by other local creatives every day -- ones good enough to get into the best film school in the country.

Farkle: That isn’t necessarily a shining guarantee of quality…

Maya: So I need you to scour your ranks and find me a director. I believe in you. Make sure they have something to bring to the table, though -- I may have plenty of vision to go around, but it’s going to take a team effort to bring it to life.

Farkle’s tasks assigned, Maya slowly turns to Charlie. She looks down at him from on high -- given he’s still on the floor -- and offers her sweetest Charlie-brand smile.

Maya: Charlie Gardner. 

Charlie: No need to ask. I’ll be sure to stay out of the way of… whatever exactly this is.

Maya: Oh, no, no. You’re mistaken. Your instincts are keen, but in this case, your talents are actually precisely what I need.

Well, there’s a shock. As Maya goes on to explain, she’s in the same boat with choreography as she is with directing. Sure, she could choreograph it all on her own, and she does have some simple combinations she wants to incorporate and build on already mapped out in her head. But she’s spinning a lot of plates, and having another bona fide dancer on hand whose sole focus would be the moves is a smarter way to ensure everything is at the sharpest quality possible. With that in mind, how could she not ask for his assistance when she’s got a well-established dancer boy literally sleeping on her couch half the time?

Maya: It would please me greatly -- and perhaps make up for the amount of squatting you’ve done -- if you’d bring your choreographical tastes to the project.

Charlie: Oh. That’s… nice.

Maya: Yes.

Charlie: But… I don’t know. I mean, I’m probably not what -- although…

Farkle: [ with a cough ] Indecisive.

Maya: Though I suppose you could just continue to sit on our couch and clutter our living room…

Very subtle, Maya. Charlie contemplates it for a few moments more, then shrugs.

Charlie: Sure. Why not?

Maya: Fabulous. Your time and consideration is much appreciated. And of course, you’ll be generously compensated for your service -- Farkle here will take care of all billing inquiries.

Farkle, flatly: Again, thank you for asking in advance…

Maya: I’ll share concepts and plans with you both later today -- and we’ll need to move fast. The space I’ve booked is mine on Thursday, so all the pieces will need to be in place by then.

Charlie and Farkle both react to that. Thursday? As in, pull this entire… thing together in four days? Maya doesn’t even blink, clasping her hands together.

Maya: Welcome to the industry.

Besides, they both went to Adams, where they routinely turned assignments around in a week. This should be par for the course. But clearly there is much to do, and not a second to spare!

INT. JOSH’S APARTMENT - DAY

It’s clear that JOSH MATTHEWS is under a similar crunch, though his is driven more by desperation than motivation. He’s not inspired, but rather ensnared, feeling increasingly suffocated by the dead end corner he seems to have wandered into. He’s still searching for exits, but none promise to emerge -- even having spent all Saturday night crashed on the couch with his laptop, combing through the Global Beat slush pile and the depths of social media for a lead, he’s coming up empty. No new voice is leaping out to him, at least not one that isn’t already repped or looking for a producing partner.

Nothing as talented as what he’s already walked away from… Josh knows he dodged a diva bullet with Maya, but it’s frustrating that he can’t seem to find any better alternatives. Must the best talent in the world also be the most insolent and infuriating?

Or maybe it’s not about Maya at all. Maybe what’s truly eating at him, putting up his defenses and wearing down his resolve, is how he’s been at this game for almost four full years and he feels like he’s still standing where he started.

He’s pulled out of his slush haze when ANDREW HALL enters the room, greeting him cheerfully and plopping down on the couch next to him. He asks what he’s working on, taking one of his earbuds and sticking it into his own to steal a listen. Almost instantly, he makes a disapproving face.

Andrew: Oh, this shit is whack. She can’t sing at all.

Josh: I know.

Andrew: And she’s trying to be a singer? When she can’t sing? I swear, I don’t get y’all artistic types at all.

Andrew removes the bud, flicking it back at Josh. He pulls out his other one with a sigh, admitting that it feels like all the prospects have been like that lately. He’s been in a slump for weeks now.

Andrew: You know what the problem is, don’t you?

Josh: The Tik-Tok-ification of content creation and an unevenly distributed market of opportunity?

Andrew: No! Well, actually, yeah, probably, but no. [ shutting his laptop ] The problem is that you’re working on the fucking weekend again, bro!

Josh: This isn’t technically work. It’s not like, what I’m getting my paycheck for. It’s just… tangentially associated with work.

Andrew: Even worse. It’s karma is what it is, see. You keep working like a horse, Mr. Clean magic eraser-ing all your boundaries, and the universe has had e-fucking-nough. This is divine intervention. Listen to the universe, Josh -- it’s telling you to have a life outside that producing prison!

Josh swats him away, having heard this all before… but to a degree, he has a point. A watched pot never boils -- perhaps Josh is looking so hard for the next big thing that it’s never going to appear. He needs to look away, check out for a bit, let the mechanizations of the great beyond do a little work without his scrutiny.

And thankfully, they’ve got just the excuse. Andrew reminds him that their mutual friend, Jasmine, is having her birthday outing this Thursday night. They’re having dinner and then bar-crawling, and Josh should actually leave the office for once and come along. Not only would it mean a lot to Jasmine, who clearly wants him there, but it’ll be good for his rapidly devolving mental stability. Josh rolls his eyes.

Josh: I’m fine.

Andrew: You drank two Red Bulls at one in the morning last night. Like hell you’re fine. Be honest, dude -- when was the last time you went out in the evening with the gang? For fun?

Josh opens his mouth to argue… and all too quickly realizes he can’t. He can’t, because truth be told, he can’t remember the last time he put socializing over work.

Check and mate. With a resigned sigh, Josh relents, agreeing he’ll go out with their friends on Thursday. This satisfies Andrew for now, who gives him a bracing pat on the shoulder followed by a playful smack on the back of the head before leaving him be. Josh reluctantly puts his earbuds back in, diving back into the dregs to search for the next big thing.

As Yindra’s a capella vocals float in…

INT. YINDRA’S APARTMENT - BEDROOM - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ Yindra’s Original Song, “Homegirl” || Similar to “California” as performed by Chappell Roan || Performed by Yindra Amino

Introducing a brand new feature to the AMBITION story world, YINDRA AMINO gives us a taste of what she’s been working on as she sings through a rough rendition of her new original song. Although she’s not the first original composition to grace the series (shoutout to Farkle’s Jewish winter showcase number, long live legend), this is the first time we’re offering an actual song to sonically compare it to -- and this is something we’ll be continuing to do throughout Seasons 4 and 5 as the ensemble dives deeper into building their own careers.

In this case, the seeds planted by her conversation with Charlie and the feelings she’s been pushing down since the summer have blossomed into something poignant and truly special. A clever play on slang to disguise an emotionally raw lyric, “Homegirl” covers the themes Yindra has been grappling with in a similar way as “California” -- struggling with independence, feeling betrayed by homesickness and the pride that comes with it which only seems to increase the desire to pack it up and flee back to where you came from, the constant struggle between the allure of the dream and the harsh reality of the industry and personal limitations. The sentiment from the chorus of the sample track sums it up well:

Thought I’d be cool in California, I’d make you proud To think I almost had it going, but I let you down…

As vulnerable as the song is, though, there’s a warmth to it as well. The things that Yindra sings about missing -- pieces and glimmers of people and places we know and love -- are vividly expressed, creating an authentic sense of nostalgia and yearning. But what really sells it are the vocals, the way she sings it reminding us why she was at Adams in the first place. She may have spent much of her time there in Maya’s shadow, but not for any good reason, and that’s very on display here.

The performance itself is simple, just Yindra at her electric keyboard and focused on her vocal delivery. The original song is the star of the moment, and when she sings the final notes there’s an indisputable pride in her eyes. She can’t help the light smile that sneaks onto her face.

The next big thing is out there. It’s right here. It just needs to be found.

INT. JOHNSON HOME - KITCHEN - NIGHT

VANESSA JOHNSON is having dinner with RAY JOHNSON and ALEXIS JOHNSON. As they eat, Ray reminds Vanessa that he and Alexis will be taking a weekend trip to Minnesota for an entrepreneurs conference. As a small business owner himself, one that is now well-established, he thinks it’s important to seek out and support newer businesses that are looking to plant their feet on solid ground. Not to mention, never know when a fruitful partnership could arise.

Blah, blah, blah. Okay. Since they’ll also be representing the family brand while they’re there, Ray subtly implies that it would be nice if Vanessa could come along for once. She hasn’t done anything related to the family business since she was in middle school -- back before she had the wherewithal (or nerve) to announce she wasn’t interested.

This time, though, she has an excuse. She not-so-gently reminds him that she can’t afford to jet off on the weekend. Just because dance isn’t like a more rigorous curriculum doesn’t mean she can just blow it off, and in some ways, it requires much more of her time.

Vanessa: Sorry. But this is a really important week for me. Trying not to waste your money.

Ray: All right, all right. [ pointedly ] Hope it’s worth it.

We already know he doesn’t think so. Alexis glances between them, offering a placating smile in both directions, but offering no opinion either way. Quietly complicit, passive. Vanessa directs her gaze down to her food, hating how every dinner ends up feeling like this.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S APARTMENT - KITCHEN - NIGHT

To break in the new kitchen, Jack and Eric are sharing dinner with Isa, Riley, and Lucas. The apartment is still a mess, with boxes half-unpacked and items sitting around, but they at least have dishes and a table with chairs, so meal time proceeds. You don’t have to stress appearances when it’s family.

As the conversation winds down, Eric picks up the slack, growing a bit more serious as he claims there’s something he wants to tell them. He glances to Isa, signaling for their go-ahead… they nod, and then take up the task instead.

Isa: I heard back from the man I wrote to last year. The one Val had that letter to in her box of things.

That is news. Riley and Lucas both stop eating, now listening with rapt attention. The former is especially surprised. When did this happen? How long have they been in contact? Is Isa excited?!

Eric: Breathe, Riley.

Isa: Mostly, yes. I’m excited. I feel… a lot of things, all kind of mixed together, so it’s not always easy to say. Or the same all the time. But over the past couple weeks, yeah, I’ve felt excited.

Riley: What did he say?

Jack: Are there next steps?

Lucas: Is he actually your father?

All fair questions -- some more to the point than others, but fair -- and with Eric’s help, they answer them. They give a brief version of what the letters so far have said and the decision to take the DNA test. That’s the part they’re still waiting on (too long a wait, in Isa’s antsy opinion), but they’re likely going to hear any day now. That’s why they thought it was best to say something now.

Isa: It’s not like I was trying to hide it from you or anything. I just needed to process it and stuff. But… yeah. I’m excited… even if I have no idea what the hell is going to happen regardless of how that test comes back.

Riley: Totally. You’re handling it really well, I think.

Jack: I agree. This kind of circumstance is complicated and challenging for anyone. I think you’re doing an excellent job working through it.

Riley: I’m excited for you. And you know we’ve got your back through it. Whatever happens.

Lucas: Always have.

Isa smiles bashfully, thanking them for the support but clearly ready to no longer be the center of attention. Jack throws them a life preserver, taking the opportunity to state that he has an announcement of his own he wants to share with them all. Seems as good a time as any…

Jack: I’m planning to make a run for school board.

This seems to be equally exciting news with this crowd. Riley nearly chokes on her food, humming in both surprise and enthusiasm mid-chew which makes Isa crack up. Eric smiles fondly, clearly proud even before the campaign has begun.

Lucas: Wow.

Jack: I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to be quite so concern-worthy --

Riley shakes her head, coughing and taking a big gulp of water as she waves off his apology. Absolutely no need to apologize about something so wonderful! Lucas reaches over and pats her back.

Jack: It’s not the highest profile race there is, but it feels like the right next step in my career and a place where I can really make a difference. Many of the issues I was most frustrated by as principal are ones I think I can tackle from a better perspective if I have the resources, breadth of access, and insight afforded by the position. Things I wish could’ve been in my hands long before now.

Jack locks eyes with Lucas briefly, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Then Jack continues, treading more cautiously.

Jack: Even so, I wanted to give you all plenty of warning before I kicked off. It’s not high profile, but it’s still a public run, and so there’s almost certain to be more scrutiny on me -- and all those associated with me -- than there is now. I wanted you all to be well prepared for that possibility.

Isa: Bring it on. I really don’t think it could get any worse than being Valerie De La Cruz’s child.

Lucas: Or the centerpiece of a political theater expulsion debated by the board.

Touché on both counts. With that glowing endorsement, it seems the game is ready to begin! Riley immediately probes for more information about what his next steps are, what his campaign plans are shaping out to be, before ultimately biting the bullet and asking upfront now that she’s no longer choking and has the power of speech.

Riley: Please, please, please let me be a part of your campaign!

Honestly, her enthusiasm is adorable and infectious. And it’s not like she doesn’t have credentials to bring to the table -- being the former organizer of protest to combat said political theater expulsion and already having helmed one successful presidential campaign. Lucas nods.

Lucas: She did bring a by-all-accounts grossly unelectable candidate to victory in Adams public office…

Riley gives him a look, playfully kicking at his foot under the table. But the accomplishments speak for themselves. How could Jack say no? He assures Riley she can be as involved as she likes, which earns an excited little dance in her seat.

Graham, Yancy, and Connelly better watch out. The Hunter-Matthews coalition is coming!

INT. YINDRA’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Yindra is catching up on TV in the living room when DARIUS AMINO comes home from work. His buzzing energy is palpable, and the huge beam he already has spread across his face catches Yindra’s attention the moment she looks up at him.

Darius: I’ve got some news.

She assumes yes from his grin, but Yindra instinctively asks if everything is okay. She starts to get out of her spot on the couch, but Darius holds up a hand to halt her.

Darius: You’re gonna wanna stay seated for this one, Yinnie. [ after a beat of suspense ] My friend at the studio was able to lock down a date for you.

Yindra: … wait. So you mean --

Darius: Get those pipes warmed up. You’re going in the studio this week!

As if Yindra could possibly stay seated after that? She gasps and immediately jumps to her feet, her grin now matching her father’s.

Yindra: Shut up. [ shaking her head ] Sorry, didn’t mean to say that. But -- are you serious?

Darius: As a heart attack. My girl, Yindra Amino, is making a demo!

Say that! Yindra lets out an excited yelp, then rushes to hug her dad. The two share a tight embrace, Darius kissing the top of her head. When they pull apart, he jokingly quips she better pull out her best song for the occasion. He hopes she’s been working on polishing some hits in the last few months, because the time has come to bring ‘em.

Lucky for her, she’s got a brand new one all teed up. Yindra smiles knowingly, not giving anything away but nodding in enthusiastic agreement. This is her moment, and she’s not going to mess it up.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - GUEST BEDROOM - NIGHT

The spare bedroom in the new apartment is pretty sparsely furnished, but it’s got all the essentials. Otherwise, it’s simply decorated, just waiting for Jack and Eric to add their finishing touches to it.

Jack, off-screen: Not much yet, but we’ll get there eventually. Bottom of the task list, at the moment, as you can imagine. You saw the rest of the house.

The camera pans to the doorway, where Jack and Lucas are peering in to look. Jack is just finishing up giving Lucas the tour of the new space.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - HALLWAY - NIGHT

Lucas shrugs, leaning lightly against the wall as he continues to take it all in.

Lucas: It looks fine. You all just moved in. [ crossing his arms ] Our apartment still looks like this half the time, and we’ve lived in the shithole for almost twenty years.

Jack: In any case, the necessities are there. All set for any time you want to come visit… or, you know, whenever you need it.

Lucas glances at him, getting the hint. Even though neither of them are experts at articulating sentiment, they’ve gotten pretty good at reading between the lines with one another. As if he’s just remembered, Jack reaches into his pocket and retrieves a spare key to the house, all shiny and new. He holds it out.

Jack: Got a couple extra made. One for you, one for Isa, etc.

Now that, Lucas is surprised by. He hesitates on instinct for a moment, then tentatively takes the key from Jack. He turns it over in his fingers, awkwardly letting out a small laugh.

Lucas: Master of keys these days. [ a beat ] Might have to get a fucking lanyard.

Jack laughs. He asks how that transition went, as Riley informed them during dinner that Lucas has for all intents and purposes made his move into the apartment with her and Isa. Is he feeling good about it? Lucas nods, not offering much by way of feelings but confirming he feels okay about it. He thinks Riley is right about his situation, about needing a setting separate and apart from his dad, and he does spend so much time there with her anyway. Since he was invited there by both of them, no sense in not giving it a shot -- at least until he screws it up or his aversion to accepting help reactivates again.

Lucas: How about you?

Jack: What about me?

Lucas: How are you feeling about your move? I’d say it’s a lot bigger than mine. [ stuffing his hands in his pockets ] If I fuck everything up and gotta split, I’m not locked into a lease.

Touché… Jack contemplates how to answer, taking a deep breath. It’s clear he’s still excited about it, but there’s a shade of uncertainty there in the hallway with Lucas that wasn’t so perceptible in the light of day.

Jack: It’s a change. There is… a lot of change right now.

Lucas: Tell me something I don’t know.

Jack: And though I wasn’t born a thousand years ago like you all seem to think, I am… it’s been a long time since I had roommates.

Even so, any nerves he might be feeling, Jack waves it off as part of all that change. Overall, he believes he’s ready for this next step.

While Jack will be prepping for his school board candidacy all week, he asks what Lucas is up to. He hedges at first, then admits that Riley had the idea of him visiting NYU with her to see what it’s like. His reservations are much more obvious even with no outright verbalization, but Jack reiterates the power of change to make us pause. All things considered, he agrees with Riley -- getting to spend some time on a campus will help keep Lucas focused, remember what he’s working towards. Not to mention, it should be fun, and that school is full of friendly faces. He shouldn’t feel like an outsider.

Easier said than done… but if Jack is advising it, he must mean it. Lucas nods, accepting that -- trusting Jack to know what’s best. He hasn’t led him astray yet.

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - ELEVATOR - DAY

Bright and early on Monday, Jade is in the elevator to the offices and checking her phone when she sees a new email from Anya at the top of her work inbox. She clicks into it, finding a surprising amount of info packed into bullet-sized points -- apparently, an agenda of items she wants Jade included on this week.

It’s way more than anything she’s done so far, and seemingly actual fashion and design content versus just training exercises. This is exciting, but also intimidating. What does it all mean? And how much is she actually going to get to see?

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - MAIN FLOOR - DAY

And things are only about to get weirder. Jade makes her way over to the apprentice section of the floor as she does every day… only her space is empty. Her desk is completely gone, leaving a gaping hole where it once was adjacent to Jamal and Skylar’s.

Speaking of, JAMAL ALLEN and SKYLAR ALBRIGHT look as bewildered as Jade feels. She asks them what’s going on, and they offer no answers -- they thought she’d explain it to them, if she even showed up at all.

Jamal: Seriously, it’s a relief to see you. One time, a seamstress a few desks over quit and her desk just evaporated too. We only learned about the resignation two weeks later.

Skylar: So yeah, glad to see you didn’t quit. At least, as far as we know.

That’s reassuring… but yeah, Jade certainly didn’t quit. And given the email from Anya, it doesn’t seem like she’s suddenly been let go -- so where the hell is her desk?

Anya: Jade!

All of them jump, turning to look up at the upper offices. ANYA KELLY is at the railing, queen above her kingdom, and she’s looking straight down at them.

Anya: You’re up here now. Come on, let’s get moving. Burning daylight.

She doesn’t wait for a response, twirling and heading back towards her office. But her words are shockwaves down below -- all the apprentices are equally stunned. One of them, moved upstairs? Since when?

And Jade of all people, who has only been there three months… beneath their surprise, Jamal and Skylar are doing their best to hide their disappointment. They’ve been there for years, and not once has Anya given them the time of day like this. None of them know what to say, so Jade offers the only thing she can think of.

Jade: I’ll see you all at lunch?

Jamal: Totally. We’ll wanna hear all the intel from on high.

Skylar: You know where to find us.

Yeah… she sure does… Jade offers a timid smile, then awkwardly passes them by to head towards the spiral staircase. Jamal and Skylar watch her go, then exchange a look once she’s gone.

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - UPPER FLOOR - DAY

As promised, Jade’s desk has been relocated to the upper floor. It’s now parallel to Melanie’s on the right side of Anya’s doors as opposed to the left. MELANIE MURPHY herself is the one assisting with the move, begrudgingly putting the final items from Jade’s desk onto the surface. She haphazardly plops the Nigel photo down, not even bothering to fix it when it falls face down again.

Jade emerges from the stairs just in time, locking eyes with Melanie as she turns to head back to her desk. They don’t say anything, but the message is clear from her glare alone -- we have nothing to talk about.

Yikes… much less friendly company than below. Jade skirts her way past her and finds refuge at her desk, lifting the Nigel photo back upright and adjusting her things. She glances down to the main floor below, watching the world that used to be hers from a thousand miles away… Skylar and Jamal glance up at her, returning the half-hearted wave she gives them.

It might get lonely up here. But when Jade turns back around and looks at what’s in front of her -- those illustrious double-doors concealing the best young designer in the field today -- some of her excitement returns. Change is a lot, but it can be good.

This, surely, has to be good.

Bennet, pre-lap: For any project to have momentum, we have to be able to answer the question: why is this happening? What engine is driving this course of events?

INT. NYU - FILM CLASSROOM - DAY

Isa is in Bennet’s class again, listening to his opening lecture of the week. MOLLY SINGH is seated at the desk next to them, taking notes. DAVID BENNET is pacing the front of the room as he lectures.

Bennet: Nine times out of ten, unless you’re making something real avant-garde, your answer is going to stem from one thing -- character. It’s a person driving that narrative, an individual making choices that impact everything that happens following. And while sometimes story is a solo endeavor -- we can talk all we want about the hero’s journey and want versus need, all that stuff you all probably already know to the point of overkill -- a majority of the time what’s going to propel that engine and those character’s choices are other people. Characters don’t exist in a vacuum; they don’t operate in a liminal space where their actions don’t have consequences and don’t affect others. That is, good characters don’t.

Very important caveat there, Professor Bennet, sir.

Bennet: Much of social and moral psychology to date has told us that much of the way we operate is less out of self-interest, but out of how we perceive others to act or soon act. Whether in self-defense, or cooperation, or desire, the choices we make more often than not are stemming from what we want, or need, or anticipate from the people who populate our lives. Now, I’m a film professor, not a psychologist, so I’m not gonna keep lecturing you with bullshit you can read much more succinctly in a good psychology book. But all of this is to say that as much as story is about character, it’s equally -- and some might say more -- about relationships. It’s the interaction of two characters, two forces, regardless of their nature that drives a story… and draws us into it.

Couldn’t have said it better, chief. So, with all of that importance spelled out, Bennet parlays into what their focus of the week and this new unit is going to be: relationships. That is to say, the dynamic between a character and another force, whether that’s another character, an inner conflict, the environment around them, etc. (settings and circumstances can be a character all their own in some narratives). They’ll dig into all of the above, but for now, he wants them to focus on the most base definition -- two characters, in interaction with one another, for better or for worse.

For their first assignment, before they get their hands anywhere near a script, they’re going to do observational and analytical study. Bennet instructs that they’re to pick a set of relationships -- from any media, material, etc., and they can range as much or as little as they please -- and analyze the functions, tropes, conflicts, and strengths of those dynamics. Basically, dig deep into every little nuance you can find, and then write an essay highlighting and expounding upon the core themes of those dynamics. The ones they choose to examine will serve as the foundation for their next short film project.

For as cool and intriguing as the assignment sounds, with a lot of potential for creative experimentation, Isa does not look enthused about it. Honestly, the last thing they want to think about right now is relationships… and why anybody would is beyond them!

Unfortunately, Isa, you’re outnumbered this week. NYU isn’t the only one following the theme.

Rosario, pre-lap: In dance, collaboration is a core tenet.

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

ROSARIO GAO is setting up the assignment focus for the week here as well. As she goes on to lecture, the ability to dance in tandem with another is not only a bedrock cultural staple of civilization and history, but an essential skill for any dancer worth their salt to have. Talented as they may be, and even if they intend to be the star ballerina with the big solo, they’ll only get there if they can pas de deux, too. This is true for large groups, needing to be able to blend into the team and pull off choreography in sync, but it’s especially true for duets. 

Rosario: If you’re dancing with a partner, you need to be able to trust. You have to know that they’ll meet you at your level, that your steps will match when they need to match, that if you’re going to fall with grace your partner is more than ready to catch you. Not being able to work together isn’t just a dancer lacking skill -- it can be lethal.

With all that in mind, it’s no surprise that the assignment is going to be a pas de deux. Rosario explains that she has paired them up ahead of time, and she’s done so by accounting for their current standing in the class. She doesn’t say where they stand, of course, but suffice to say she doesn't want to put anyone at an advantage or disadvantage by pairing them with someone who is at a different level.

She doesn’t even have to say the pairs for Zay to be filled with dread. If they’re put together by rank, then he knows exactly who he’s going to be stuck with. He feels it like a chill down his spine, like an omen making the hair on his neck stand on end.

And based on how she side-eyes him the second he glances at her, Vanessa has realized the exact same thing. Oh, God…

Rosario: Babineaux? You’re with Johnson.

And there it is. Zay maintains his composure, but just barely, and the glare he sends at the floor encapsulates a silent scream near perfectly. Vanessa reluctantly comes to stand by him, dragging her feet the entire way and avoiding looking at him again. Even just standing too close feels dangerous. So they keep a safe few inches between them, an odd distance that Rosario eyes as she approaches them and holds up the mug from which they’ll be pulling their genre of dance for the project.

Vanessa moves before Zay can even twitch, reaching into the mug to pick for them. He resists the urge to roll his eyes. She retrieves a slip of paper and unfurls it, Zay leaning closer just to get a glimpse for himself.

Cha-cha.

Great. Perfect. Just what both of them want… Rosario examines their practiced non-reactions, then speaks wisely, and with just a hint of (perhaps needed) condescension.

Rosario: In this business, you rarely get to choose your partner. A good dancer won’t let that affect their performance either way. [ pointedly ] I hope you’ll be able to say the same.

Yeah, don’t we all… Zay and Vanessa exchange another quick side-eye.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Before he spends a magical week at NYU, Lucas is spending Monday at Adams. As he and SHAWN HUNTER explain to the techie ducklings, this is going to be the arrangement moving forward -- Lucas is scaling back his time as T.A., so he’ll only be around on Mondays.

This should change basically nothing about their day-to-day lives, and yet for some reason, the freshman are devastated.

Jake: What? No way! What did we do?

Shawn: Nothing. This has absolutely zero to do with you. Your actions have little impact on the greater inner workings of this school.

Timmy: Are you for real gonna dip?

Jake: Was it because I dropped that crate off the prop loft? I swear, I swear on my life it was an accident!

Lucas: This literally is not that big a deal.

Jake: It’s a huge deal!

Timmy: If you’re allowed to just dip and scale to one day a week, why the fuck can’t I do that?

Greta: Please, do us all the favor.

Bean, morose: This is worse than when my step-dad left to join that traveling improv troupe.

Lucas stares at Bean, torn between wondering why the hell he’s so upset and what the hell is going on with his family. But Shawn cuts through all the overly emotional freshman bullshit, telling them this is how it is now and they’ll get over it. They’re fourteen, they’ll bounce back fast. Lucas was a shitty teacher -- they all know it. This arrangement will supposedly be better for him, and undoubtedly better for their education. And it’s not like he’s disappearing forever. They’ll still see him every week.

Greta: I think one day is just right.

Honestly? Touché. Lucas gives her a nod, acknowledging the dig and not intending to argue it.

INT. NYU - THEATER CLASSROOM - DAY

Meanwhile, an interesting new set of stakes are being introduced over at Tisch. PROFESSOR HILL is explaining to Riley and Nigel’s class that winter musical auditions are going to be throughout the week. Although it’s very uncommon for freshman to be given roles, she hopes they’ll all still put their best foot forward and audition. It’s excellent practice, and they won’t know unless they try.

INT. USC - BING THEATER - DAY

And Farkle is basically being given the same spiel from his theater professor, showing just how predictable and similar these college theater programs really are. Though his professor takes extra care to emphasize how unlikely it is for freshman to be cast, so they should manage their expectations accordingly. In fact, unlike Professor Hill, this one doesn’t seem to be indicating they even try at all.

Farkle doesn’t look likely to argue with that. He’s still grappling with his newfound confidence rollercoaster, and if even doing a monologue for class feels like an ordeal, he doesn’t see how he’d have a shot in hell of pulling off an audition like this as a freshman. Wherever his bombastic, unshakeable determination is from his manic high school days, it doesn’t seem to be making a return any time soon -- much as he might wish it would.

That said, even if he wanted to avoid it, he couldn’t -- it’s a requirement for all students in the elite acting program to audition for every show. So they need to pull something together, but they shouldn’t get it in their heads that it’ll go any further than that in their first semester. Better to just play something safe and get through the process, then prepare for bigger ambitions in their following years.

INT. NYU - THEATER CLASSROOM - DAY

Professor Hill finishes up saying the same thing, the two scenes interwoven seamlessly. The freshmen will be expected to audition as part of their major, but it’s not anticipated that they’ll progress much further than that. They should think of it as a learning opportunity.

Riley lightly elbows Nigel, giving him an eyebrow wiggle and sharing intrigued smiles.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - LIVING ROOM - DAY

With Eric off at Adams, Jack is now tackling the unpacking on his own. Strangely, though, he can’t seem to channel that same organizational streak he had over the weekend. He has thoughts about where things should go, how to arrange the books on the shelves, all that jazz… but it’s like he can’t commit to it. Something about it just doesn’t feel right. Even when he settles on something, placing a vase down with intention, he only lasts a couple of seconds before impatiently picking it up again. He seems incapable of deciding anything permanent.

These change nerves are really doing a number… Jack shakes it off, putting the vase down for now and deciding to leave it alone. He can consult Eric about it when he gets home. He walks away and checks his phone, finding a handful of new emails. They’re from various board members, including Evelyn, confirming meetings he’s set up with them for this week.

That bolsters him somewhat -- it’s probably just general restlessness. He’s a workaholic, and he needs something to do.

Only time and the public will tell whether his path is leading where he thinks it is.

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - ANYA’S OFFICE - DAY

Anya is having a meeting with a couple of external design contacts, effortlessly charming as they discuss a new potential collaboration. Things seem to be wrapping up, though, the three of them rising to their feet and starting to meander towards the office doors. Anya halts the conversation when she spots Jade passing by the door on the way back to her desk, calling for her.

Jade appears in the doorway a couple seconds later, uncertain. Anya is hosting company, so certainly she can’t have heard her correctly… but no, Anya gestures her into the office. She graciously introduces Jade to the design personnel, stating that she’s her new apprentice.

Designer: Wow, congratulations. You must have an eye to have gotten the AK slot.

Designer 2: I’m surprised she’s wandering around up here. Don’t you usually keep the babies on the first floor, Anya?

Anya: Jade has demonstrated more than enough proficiency to roam the top floor, rest assured. You know I only trust talent.

The designers concur -- Anya only ever takes the best, after all! Jade is silent, a bit starstruck surrounded by actual professionals and trying to process the fact that Anya took the time to compliment her and introduce her to other designers.

Once they’ve said their farewells and Anya directs Melanie to escort the others out, she waits a moment to confirm that they’re gone before turning back to Jade and asking her what she thought.

Jade: Um, I’ll let you know when my brain starts functioning again.

That kind of just slipped out, but it seems to amuse Anya. She shrugs her shoulders in a silent chuckle. Jade comments that she knows those designers are known for really trendy, avant-garde design choices -- what project are they potentially collaborating on?

Anya: Oh, nothing.

Jade: … weren’t they here to discuss a contract?

Anya: And discuss we did. But there’s no way I’ll be signing. Not that I want them to know that, but between you and me, those two? Absolute disaster. They have impeccable eyes, don’t get me wrong, but the reason their output is so unpredictable and “limited edition” is because they can’t get their acts together enough to follow through reliably. That’s mainly because they’re too busy screwing each other, but you didn’t hear that from me. [ waving it off ] Anyway, happy to chat, but I will not be hitching my reputation to that volcano.

That’s a lot of information to learn in so few seconds. Jade takes a second to process, but Anya is already past it, sauntering back to her desk and moving to the next topic. She asks how Jade likes her new desk locale, to which Jade has no complaints. She hesitates for a second, considering mentioning that it feels strange being removed from the other apprentices, but she doesn’t get the chance to express it.

Anya: Glad to hear it. Next order of business -- are you busy Thursday evening?

Jade: Uh… I don’t think so. No.

Anya: Great. Keep it that way. I want you to come to this fashion mixer with me at the Emerald City Rooftop Lounge. The only way to get places in this business is to make connections, so I want you to start networking early. This is a pretty low-stakes event, so it’s the perfect starter. Not to mention some of the people at these things are such a slog -- I’ll appreciate the favorable company to get through it all.

Okay, cool, Jade is definitely not freaking out about that invitation. Like, the Emerald City Rooftop Lounge? With… like, other fashion VIPs? She can’t decide if she wants to risk pinching herself. When Anya asks her if that sounds good, Jade can only formulate one thought.

Jade: I don’t have anything to wear.

At this, Anya laughs. Oh, Jade, Jade, Jade… what a quaint thing to say. Anya waves her off, settling into her chair as she assures her they can remedy that easily. They’ll go shopping during lunch sometime this week and find her something. Important to have a networking fit in your back pocket.

Shopping with world-famous fashion designer Anya Kelly. It’s casual. Jade doesn’t know what else to do but agree, doing an impressive job of maintaining her professional, cool demeanor.

INT. NYCA - LECTURE HALL - DAY

Zay is having less of a good time, and not doing as well hiding his frustration. He’s frowning hardcore as he stares at the screen where his professor is running through concepts in his science Gen Ed. It seems like it’s some version of hard science, like chemistry, but it could be Greek for all Zay knows or cares.

God, he hates academics. He’s here to dance, not do more schooling he’s never going to use in his real life. And considering that dance isn’t even going great right now, his patience for the book smart bullshit is even lower than usual.

When the professor arrives at some conclusion about the chemical equations they’ve been running through, Zay glances down at his worksheet, where he’s followed along… basically not at all. In irritation, he scratches a big “F” into the sheet to pay respects, then pulls out his phone and takes a picture of it. He sends it to his group chat with Nigel and Yindra, adding a caption:

“WHY AM I DOING THIS????????”

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - RECORDING STUDIO - DAY

That could also be the caption for the expression on Josh’s face as he continues to man the sound board for another session with ERNEST FLOYD. His patience bar is also on the floor, so he has trouble maintaining his usual positive encouraging demeanor as Floyd butchers his way through yet another song. It seems they’ve tabled “Very Best Day” for now, instead working on a few sample covers.

Out of tune as he might be, though, damn is this fella having a good time. It’s more than apparent as Floyd absolutely disgraces “Feelin’ Good” that he loves singing... regardless of how much singing doesn’t love him.

It’s a pure kind of love, and inspiring enough to get Josh thinking. He’s certainly nowhere near in the same state of reverence these days… and he knows he used to be. Music used to be the reason he got up in the morning -- he thinks it still is, he just isn’t sure where that’s gone. So as they wrap the session and Floyd gathers his things, Josh asks him about it.

Josh: Why do you… do music? You have to know it’s a long shot, and this industry is hell.

Floyd, sincere: Well, not all parts of it.

That’s sweet! Josh offers a light smile, accepting the compliment, then nudges further. Surely, Floyd has to know that his chances of getting everything he wants and finding success in music is a long shot -- no matter how good you are. What makes him still want to stick with it?

Floyd immediately launches into an impassioned and full-hearted monologue about how much he simply loves performing, how he loves every piece of the process from writing to singing to playing. It just ignites his soul, gives him purpose, brings him so much joy! Music is his reason for existing -- he knows in his gut it was what he was born to do. So yeah, it may not be the easiest path, but he knows it’s all going to work out. He believes, and if he believes, he can only achieve. If he does his best and offers his genuine passion for the craft, he knows the world will see it eventually. And even then, it’s not about the recognition or “making it,” anyway. He does it because he loves it. In the end, that’s enough.

That’s so beautiful… but Josh doesn’t seem moved. You know, great that he feels that way and all that, but it doesn’t bring Josh much comfort or any answers. He also wants to succeed. So while he manages a smile and thanks Floyd for his honesty, he isn’t going to get the insight he was searching for here.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - ISA’S BEDROOM - DAY

Isa is sitting on their bed, laptop in their lap while they video call with CHAI FRESCO. Admittedly, Chai seems a bit distracted as they talk, already dressed for bed with hair pulled back out of her face and multitasking on an assignment while she listens to Isa discuss the assignment from Bennet.

Chai: So do you know what dynamic you’re going to analyze?

Isa pauses. Is it better or worse to admit they haven’t even begun to think about it? That they’d rather think about anything else than this dumb project? They shrug.

Isa: I don’t know. I’ll probably pick, like… you know, Elizabeth and Darcy or something. Classic, to the point, have already analyzed them so many times I could do the assignment with my eyes closed. Whatever.

Chai: Really? That seems kind of flippant.

Isa: … okay then.

Chai realizes her comment came off a bit dismissive, assisted by her obvious distraction. She quickly refocuses, actually concentrating on Isa’s image on the screen.

Chai: Sorry, didn’t mean to sound judgy. I just mean like, if you’ve already had beef with this professor and had your whole thing about showing up and not letting him underestimate you, then phoning it in with this seems like the opposite of what you’d want to do.

Isa: No, yeah, you’re right. Thanks for saying so. I don’t know, it’s just like, this assignment…

Isa shakes their head, lost for words. They can’t explain why, but the assignment just does not vibe with them at the moment. A couple years ago, they might’ve loved a deep-dive psychoanalysis like this, but now they can’t think of a more repulsive subject matter.

If they don’t want to talk about it, though, they don’t have to. Chai asks if anything else is going on in class, to which Isa has nothing. Chai doesn’t have much to say either when the question is posed to her.

Chai: How about the dad thing? Any news there?

Isa: Nope. Still waiting on the DNA results.

Chai: Oh. Well… keep me updated. Dying to see how that one ends.

Isa nods. After a bout of quiet, Chai claims she better get ready for bed -- busy day tomorrow. Isa is slightly relieved, agreeing and wishing her a good night. Chai smiles, waving goodbye before hanging up.

They both must be leading pretty boring lives, because it’s like the conversation well runs dry all too easily these days. Either that, or Isa is truly losing their grip on just about everything from film assignments to basic social interaction. They sigh, putting their computer to the side and laying down, curling up on their side to rest from it all for a second.

They let their gaze shift to the photos they’ve pinned to the side of their desk shelf, within convenient view from the bed. There to keep them company when they drift off -- a photo with Riley; one of them with Lucas, Jack, and Eric; one with Lucas in the booth from sophomore year; more than a couple with Dylan; the techie crew both in freshman year and then all gathered before senior prom.

Farkle. That photo of the two of them at the London Eye, taken by that friendly stranger who thought they were a couple. Talk about perception of a dynamic not correctly analyzed… Isa lets their hand drift to their phone, contemplating unlocking it and perhaps accidentally listening to another voicemail…

Farkle, off-screen: Lizzie and Darcy, huh? Always knew you were a basic bitch.

Isa frowns, sitting up. Speak of losing your grip -- Farkle is suddenly sitting in the small armchair in Isa’s reading nook. Dressed like he is in the London Eye photo, hair styled as it was when Isa last saw him in person -- before the jump to L.A. when everything changed.

Isa: Oh, Christ.

Farkle: Since we’re friends, you can just call me Farkle.

Isa shakes their head. If their imagination is going to insist on doing this shit, at least its rendering is accurate -- he’s just as annoying as he would be in real life. Farkle actually has Pride & Prejudice, Isa’s copy, in his hands, idly flipping through it and pretending to read it.

Farkle: If you need any tips while you bullshit this assignment, feel free to reach out. And you might want your copy back -- although that would mean you’d have to call me to ask for it. [ meeting their eyes ] Fat chance of that, am I right?

Isa: What do you want from me? Can’t you just let things be?

Farkle: Characteristically speaking? No. But I think I could ask the same thing to you.

Isa: What? I am letting things be. I’m the master of letting it be.

Farkle: Not that. [ closing P&P to give his undivided attention to them ] What do you want from me?

Okay, bold line of questioning. Exactly the questions Isa doesn’t want to think about. They shake their head again.

Isa: I don’t have to answer to you. You’re not real.

Farkle: Oh, but isn’t that just the problem? I’m too real. And unfortunately for you, unlike your mom, you can’t just write me off as dead. I mean, you are, but dead to you and physically dead are two different definitions.

Isa: Don’t even -- you’re not dead. To me.

Farkle: Sure seems like it. You asked what I want from you? I think the voicemail you’ve listened to eighteen times but haven’t responded to answers that question concretely enough. You’re smart, Isa, I don’t have to spell it out.

Isa: I… [ defensive ] It has not been eighteen times.

But who’s counting? Farkle shrugs pithily, opening P&P and flipping another page. Isa wants to argue further, but nothing comes out, and it’s honestly hard to even think coherently when they’re looking at him. Confronting the memory of him, all the repressed thoughts and feelings finally fighting back.

Farkle: So why Pride & Prejudice? Seems like a pretty cop-out choice.

Isa: I don’t know. It was the first thing that came to my head. It would be an easy essay.

Farkle: Easy is rarely worthwhile.

Isa: Whatever. I just want to get this assignment over with.

Farkle: How come? You usually love analytical shit like this.

Isa: Yeah, well… relationships are dumb. I shouldn’t have to spend so much time on this. I spend enough time surrounded by couples in my normal life. 

Farkle: That’s really all you’ve got? That’s your only explanation?

Isa: Yes.

Farkle: You sure that’s all there is to it?

Isa: Yes. We’re done talking about this.

Isa jumps off the bed, heading towards the door.

Farkle: You sure it’s not because it’s making you think about things you don’t want to think about? Things you might be neglecting?

Isa: I’m not getting into this with you. I’m fine, and I don’t want to deal with the assignment because it sucks. End of discussion.

Farkle: Rebuttal -- discussion not over.

Isa: Oh my fucking God --

Farkle: Counterpoint, have we considered the fact that it “sucks” because it’s making you face things that are right in front of you?

Isa groans, pulling open their door to escape their own thoughts -- and running slam into another idea.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - DAY

Riley and Lucas are cooking an early evening dinner together, occupying the kitchen and keeping up easy conversation as they work. Riley says something silly and teasing before launching into giggles, making Lucas roll his eyes, but a small smile graces his lips anyway.

So much about them shouldn’t work, speaking from the surface, yet there they are, sharing their apartment and going strong over a year since they changed their relationship status. A bona fide, real relationship, right there in front of Isa. And they’re far from the only one -- Isa is surrounded mercilessly by couples what feels like every waking second.

Why settle for analyzing a fictional couple, when real dynamics are right at their fingertips to unpack?

Farkle appears in the doorframe behind them, assessing the situation and reading the metaphorical lightbulb over Isa’s head -- easy to do, since he’s a figment of their mind. He makes a face.

Farkle: Not quite what I meant, but…

But perhaps what just might salvage this assignment. Isa breaks into a smile.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

The real Farkle is just getting home from class, finding two separate worlds concurrently existing in his living room. On the one hand, Charlie is sequestered to the couch, having narrowed down his tornado of priorities and thought-processing to a handful of journal entries, papers, and printed resources. He’s carefully arranging them visually on the coffee table, closer than ever to supposedly mapping out what course he wants to chart next.

On the other, no more than two feet away, Maya is doing her diva yoga, the Britney playing on her bluetooth boombox completely juxtaposed to the pensive, reflective work Charlie is trying to do. Yet somehow, they’re managing to coexist, mostly just pretending the other person isn’t there. It’s quite the spectacle to see side-by-side, almost like a real live split screen.

They both greet Farkle when he returns, though, asking him how his day was. Farkle tells them about the auditions news, mentioning the sort of “don’t get your hopes up, it’s just practice for freshmen” mentality that was paraded. Both Charlie and Maya question that approach.

Charlie: That seems like a weird thing for a teacher to say.

Maya: What a load of bullshit.

Charlie: I mean, I know Hollywood is different and everything, so maybe they’re just trying to toughen you up --

Maya: Anyone who doesn’t cast you is an idiot.

Charlie: Sure, there’s always the chance you won’t get what you want, but shouldn’t you still give it your all regardless?

Maya: If they have eyes and a shred of appreciation for talent, they won’t make that mistake.

It’s really impressive, truly, how they can be saying the same general sentiment in completely opposite ways. Farkle supposes he agrees -- he hasn’t given it much thought yet, but the dismissive nature of how they presented it did rub him the wrong way. He better figure out how he wants to approach it fast, however, because auditions are within the week. Charlie sighs, shaking his head.

Charlie: Gotta say, that is one thing about Adams I do not miss. Can happily do without the pressure of auditions.

Maya: You’re weak, Charlie Gardner, but that’s okay. It’s for the best -- you can save all that creative energy for the choreography you’re putting together for me.

Really smooth transition, Maya… but it gets the point across. They’ve both got missions for her that she hopes they’re attending to, and the clock is ticking fast! Thursday will be here before they know it.

Based on the sheepish eye contact Farkle and Charlie exchange, um… yeah, no, progress has been slow on both fronts. But they’re not stupid enough to tell her that, so they just flounder their way through reassurances. All coming together! Director and choreography imminent!

Zay, pre-lap: Well, best of luck to you both. Godspeed, glory.

INT. CHUBBIES - NIGHT

Zay is having dinner with Riley and Nigel, listening to them describe the audition prospects for NYU and wishing them both luck. He also doesn’t miss the audition circuit at the moment -- he’s basically living a perpetual, year-long audition, and to be frank it bites.

Zay: I’m going to be spending the week cha-cha-ing with a woman I’m not convinced isn’t going to plot my murder at the same time.

Okay, drama king, but his friends empathize. Both of them remember fitness week, and the weird instant rivalry between him and Vanessa, so surely this week will be a challenge.

On the subject of auditions, Riley suggests that she and Nigel could workshop their auditions together if he wants. It’s a cute idea, and she seems keen about it, but Nigel hesitates. Given his own lowkey bitter feelings the last few weeks that he’s trying not to encourage, he’s not sure spending more time with Riley in a technically competitive environment will help. So he makes something up about how he’s going to be pretty busy this week, and he doesn’t want her to wait up on practicing because of him.

Nigel: But obviously you know I’m cheering for you. Hundred percent.

Riley smiles, returning the sentiment. She’s positive they’ll both blow their auditions out of the water. Zay cheers to that, raising his glass.

Zay: And may we get through this week and come out the other side.

Nigel: Every week, man. Every damn week.

Okay, true! Riley laughs, then the three of them clink their glasses together.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Lucas is in the kitchen with GRACE FRIAR, quietly discussing any of the items he should take with him to the NYU apartment. He’s hesitant to take anything -- who knows what Kenneth will or won’t notice is missing -- but Grace insists he should. They’ll get more use out of most of the stuff than they do here.

Grace: You know he hardly comes in here anyway.

Mm… yeah. Helps having a housewife around to cook for him, doesn’t it… Lucas doesn’t love that reasoning, but accepts it, letting Grace take the small milk crate from him to fill with items from the cabinets. While she peruses, he asks if she’s sure it’s okay that he’s moving out. He knows it’s better for his health, or whatever, but if it makes things worse for her…

Grace: I think it’s a good idea. For everyone.

Harder to accept that than he wants… but if she says so, he has to. Grace reaches into the corner one and retrieves a plastic cup from the very back, laughing to herself when she recognizes it.

Lucas: What?

Grace: Nothing, I… I just didn’t realize we still had this.

She turns to face him, holding it out slightly so he can see. It’s a souvenir cup from a rodeo, lettering and colors so chipped and faded at this point it’s almost illegible.

Grace: We got this when you were about four, one year we went back to Texas to see Kenneth’s folks. Your grandpa had big stake in the rodeo, and we didn’t know what else to do with a kid your age, so we decided to check it out.

Lucas: [ with a frown ] Ugh. Sounds awful. How bad a tantrum did I throw about going?

Grace: Oh, no, you loved it!

Oop! No kidding! Lucas makes a face, shaking his head -- no fucking way that tracks. Grace actually laughs, assuring him it’s the truth. He was so into it, they went again the next day, and before they knew it they’d basically spent the whole week there. Even when Kenneth wasn’t with them (which was often), it was a place Grace could take him where he’d actually sit still.

Grace: No joke. You were mesmerized.

Lucas: I have a very, very hard time believing that.

Grace: [ with fondness ] It was because of the horses. You loved them. You said you wanted to move to a farm and raise “a bazillion” of them.

Okay, now he’s embarrassed, even if he can’t remember it. Lucas scrunches his face, rubbing it with his hand. Grace smiles at the cup, spinning it in her fingers.

Grace: We came in enough that they gave us this complimentary cup. Said it was for you, as their littlest rodeo fan. And I swear, for years after, you would not drink out of anything else. I think you only stopped when you got into trouble one time and Kenneth…

His name is like acid, instantly corroding the joy. Of course, Kenneth ruined it. Took something good away because he decided he has the right to decide.

Whatever. Lucas shrugs, crossing his arms.

Lucas: I can’t even believe I didn’t throw a fit the first time, so. Sure I deserved it.

He says that so casually, so simply. Like it’s foolish to imagine anything else. Grace examines him, melancholy in her features.

Grace, quietly: You weren’t a bad kid.

Lucas glances at her, then quickly looks to the floor. Hard to believe when his track record -- and expansive memory of punishment -- speaks for itself. Grace looks back to the cup again, then definitively places it in his crate to go to the apartment. She offers him a light smile, aiming for playful.

Grace: You can decide if you’ve been good enough to drink out of it again.

Now, the agency is his.

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

Jack enters the kitchen that morning while Eric is making a quick breakfast, greeting him cheerfully and exchanging a quick kiss. Eric asks if he’s got any board interviews today, to which Jack shakes his head and claims that’s tomorrow -- he’s mainly doing candidacy eligibility research and paperwork today.

The conversation halts a bit when Jack tries to make toast, asking if all they have is wheat bread. Eric confirms that’s all he got when he went to the store -- Jack didn’t put anything else on the list, and whenever he’d stay over before he always just ate the wheat. Jack is slightly disappointed, but plays it off breezily, telling him he’s certain they’ve talked about how he prefers rye before.

Isa, off-screen: And how does that make you feel?

Jack and Eric pause, turning to look at the kitchen table. It’s like they just realized Isa is there, eating a small breakfast of their own and jotting things down in a notebook.

Eric: What?

Isa: The bread thing. Jack, does it make you upset that Eric didn’t get you rye bread? Was he supposed to know that about you?

Jack: I mean… I wouldn’t say upset…

Isa: Kind of seems like the kind of thing partners living together should know, doesn’t it? Preferences, likes, dislikes. Is this something we should discuss?

Jack and Eric stare at her, totally bewildered. Jack leans closer to Eric, speaking in a softer tone.

Jack: What the hell is going on?

Eric: Not sure.

Jack: Should we be worried?

Eric: Still getting a read. Remains to be seen.

My how the tables have turned -- involuntarily, but nonetheless. Isa returns their stare, undeterred and ready to psychoanalyze. They crunch their piece of wheat toast without breaking eye contact.

Welcome, gays, to Couple Observation 101!

INT. NYU - CAMPUS - DAY

While Jack and Eric are under Isa’s microscope for the morning, that leaves Riley and Lucas to freely enjoy their first foray onto campus together. Riley is evidently very eager to show Lucas around, leading the way with a definitive spring in her step and walking backwards half the time so she can maintain eye contact with him even as she gives him the unofficial tour.

Lucas looks less comfortable, a stranger in a strange land, but the NYU sweatshirt Riley got him to “blend in” does help -- and looks very cute, just as a bonus.

When she’s not pointing out some campus feature, Riley gives Lucas the low-down about the audition process they’re going through that week. At the same time as she’s explaining the winter musical, they pass by advertisements for the fall show, causing Lucas to do a double-take.

Lucas: How many damn shows do they do at college? Wasn’t the two a year at Adams extra enough?

Riley: It varies by school, but typically there’s three in the academic year -- fall, winter, and spring. And there’s typically one or two shows going on per season, at least one straight play and a musical, but it just depends on what the department has the materials and resources to put up. And you don’t want to end up with competing productions on the calendar.

Lucas: Right…

Riley: You audition for the one in the previous season, so it’s the fall musical right now, but we’re doing auditions for the winter musical. And the fall musical cast was chosen at the end of last year, before school let out for summer. I don’t know if I could handle getting cast in the fall show -- I would be so impatient all summer just waiting for rehearsals to start when we got back.

Half an hour into the day and this is already too overwhelming for Lucas. Three shows… at the least… is this a school for torture? Anyway, Riley elaborates that the winter show is a semi-big deal for them, because it’s the first time freshmen get the chance to audition. Their first real chance to show their stuff. Of course, freshmen rarely if ever get cast, but it’s exciting all the same.

And even more so, since he’s going to be there to see her audition. Riley takes him in for a moment as they’re walking, fitting in her view so nicely, then she beams and takes his hand. So much more to see!

He lets her drag him along, disappearing further into the labyrinth of NYU.

The camera pans away from them and back down the path, catching up with Nigel. He’s on the phone with Jade, giving her the same short spiel about auditions as promised. He admits that he’s still debating what he wants to audition with, and he’s trying hard not to get in his head about it.

Jade can’t be much help in that regard, since her expertise is distinctly apart from performance, but she instead offers emotional support. She tells Nigel she can be there for his audition if he lets her know when it is.

Nigel: Wait, seriously? You’d do that?

Jade: Of course. You sound so surprised. And like I’d so easily pass up the chance to see the Nigel Chey perform.

Nigel: Okay, please… but I just figured with work, it would be a no go…

Jade: I’m not too far from campus. I could take my lunch at the same time, make a small trip out of it. And things have been going well, so I really don’t see Anya or anyone else taking issue with it if I take a slightly longer lunch one day.

Nigel can’t help but smile. He tells Jade that would mean a lot, and that he’ll have to pick something really good now if she’s going to be there to see it. Jade: You’re not capable of anything less, Nige.

The bashful smile grows. Jade claims she’s got to go back to the grind, but they’ll text later. Jade: Love you. Nigel: Yeah. Love you, too.

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

Their sweet exchange gets echoed by GIA VALDEZ, who is sharing a drawn-out and irritatingly silly goodbye with her boyfriend. She’s about to head into the adjacent studio next door, but at the moment she’s in the doorway, exchanging quick, playful kisses with her man and just being generally couple-y in the most subtly smug and loud way possible. Just in case anyone wondered, not only is she a kickass dancer, but she has a hot boyfriend and they’re sooo in love!

Whether it’s mind games or just plain annoying, it’s working. Zay is watching them with unabashed distaste from his spot by the mirrors, the Gia stank face already surpassing the strength of even Maya.

Vanessa makes a similar expression as she basically has to push past the couple to enter the studio, shooting a death glare back over her shoulder once she’s successfully broken through the love barricade. Gia launches into giggles and glances dismissively at the two of them, then actually tells her boyfriend goodbye, disappearing from the doorway as they go their separate ways.

It’s obvious both Zay and Vanessa were very disturbed by the canoodling they just had to witness -- and fairly so -- but it’s not crystal clear why they have such strong derision. You’d think the easy, smart thing to do would be to just tune it out… and yet there they are, letting it get under their skin. Perhaps, if you look close enough, you might just catch a trace of something like jealousy underneath the disgust.

In any case, that whole display puts both of them in an objectively negative headspace -- exactly what they need going into their first attempt at collaborating together for real. The two of them getting along was already a long shot, but they hit an explosive impressively fast. With their sour moods, they’re far too critical of one another, and can barely get a word out about choreography or tone before the other one snaps and claps back.

They can’t listen to each other, so they can’t cooperate.

Vanessa: This is impossible. You are impossible.

Zay: Why don’t you look in fucking mirror?

If Gia was playing tricks, they’ve paid off today. Vanessa gets frustrated enough that she storms out, claiming she doesn’t have time to be talked down to by an arrogant man like him. Zay doesn’t take kindly to that assessment, but makes no moves to stop her, simply growling in irritation and kicking at his duffle bag once she’s gone.

Their top standing is so, so screwed.

EXT. PERFORMING DINER - DAY

Yindra’s soulful voice sounds decent even through tinny earbuds, which is what YOLANDA is using to listen to the rough recording of her song. She’s listening on Yindra’s phone while they both take their break, Yindra doing her best to keep her cool and not obviously be waiting with bated breath for feedback from someone who knows her stuff.

Thankfully, the consensus is good. Yolanda loves the track.

Yolanda: Girl, you’ve got something real here!

Yindra grins, thanking her. She admits it still needs some tweaks, but for a demo track, it should be a strong sample. Yolanda completely agrees, asking how she plans to record the demo. When Yindra tells her that she’s got studio time booked, Yolanda grows more somber, emphasizing that she better make the most of it. Time with the legit set-up is rare -- if she’s got it, she does not want to waste it.

Not a problem here. Yindra is taking the opportunity seriously, and she is not going to squander it.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

Maya is heading out for the day, dressed for errands in pursuit of her grand mission. But she pauses on her march out the door long enough to double back and bother Charlie, snapping him out of his deep read of the common application essay prompts to check on how the choreography is going.

Charlie smiles, giving her a thumbs up and all good -- couldn’t be going more swell! Since she doesn’t really know him that well, it’s easy for Maya to take his well-practiced reassurance at face value, commending him for the effort and claiming she can’t wait to see what he whips up. The sooner the better, because she’ll probably need to pizazz it up, but miraculously she is excited all the same.

He keeps the tight smile on until she leaves, then it drops once she’s gone. He puts down his e-reader and turns back to his journal, flipping to a recent page he’s labeled “Maya Mysterious Video Choreography.”

A page that otherwise is damningly, pitifully blank. Sure, it’s been a short amount of time, but Charlie’s got nothing. Not a shred of inspiration. The fear of disappointing Maya Hart -- or earning her wrath -- is scary enough, but there’s a deeper insecurity behind his eyes as he looks at that blank page.

At this rate, he might not just be disconnected from art and music and dance -- his biggest fear is that somewhere along the way, he must’ve lost it for good.

INT. NYU - LECTURE HALL - DAY

Riley and Lucas arrive at her Gen Ed lecture, a good way to ease into things since it’s more approachable to Lucas than her performance-centric courses. She spots a cluster of other students she’s friendly with and gives them a wave, gesturing for Lucas to follow her. They make their way to the same couple of rows and settle in behind the friends, Riley eagerly introducing Lucas to them.

If others feel out of practice meeting new people, then Lucas is basically mummified when it comes to socializing. Still, he does his best, managing to come off polite and pleasant, if a bit shy. True to Riley’s usual type of peer, her classmates are friendly, and they ask plenty of curious questions -- how did the two of them meet? What is Lucas studying? Is he into performing like Riley?

Aside from the easy questions -- like the easy, resounding “no” to performing -- Lucas finds it hard to answer. Partially because he’s so rusty at conversing with new people, but mainly because he feels like he doesn’t have anything to say. All of them have such interesting things going on, have these whole intricate exciting collegiate lives going on that shape their questions of him, and he can’t relate. He can’t offer anything that will make him fit in or pass off like he should be there with them.

Lucky for him, he has Riley, an excellent socializer and enthusiastic chatterbox. When Lucas hesitates, she effortlessly swoops in and picks up the slack, answering all sorts of questions about him like it’s simple. She might know him better than she knows herself.

Nice as that is, Lucas is still left with a weird feeling when the conversation dies down and focus turns to the start of lecture. It feels like a spotlight is on him even though no one is paying him any attention. He slouches slightly, instinctively trying to make himself smaller, to hide from whatever this vibe is -- and he only relaxes a bit when Riley gets his attention, excitedly taking his hand and squeezing it. He’s here!

He sure is, for better or worse. Lucas lightly returns her smile, trying to hang onto the fleeting calm as they tune into the lecture.

EXT. CENTRAL PARK - DAY

Vanessa is lying on the grass, soaking up sun and letting out a heavy exhale. Then, declaratively:

Vanessa: I swear, I’m being cosmically tortured.

She launches into an impassioned diatribe against the woes of having to work with Zay Babineaux, still vexed about how their first meeting went. With so few days to pull things together, in this cutthroat program, she does not have time to be dealing with this shit. But of course, she has to get stuck with the most frustrating… the most arrogant… stubborn, know-it-all, over-the-top --

The person stuck listening to her rant is SUMMER LIONS, who is casually stretching where she’s sitting. Based on her unmoved expression and the way she’s nodding along, it’s pretty obvious this is far from the first time she’s heard Vanessa talk about Zay. And while that’s the slightest bit amusing -- like homegirl is obsessed -- she’s clearly run out of new things to say.

Summer: At risk of sounding like a br-br-broken record, I’ll bite -- why don’t you just forget about him?

Vanessa: Um, it’s not like I have a choice. I have to see him every other day. And now I really can’t avoid him, since I’ve been forced to dance the cha-cha of hell with his pretentious ass. [ mocking him ] “Why don’t you look in the fucking mirror?” Ugh. He is infuriating.

Summer: Okay, so then find some mechanism around him. That’s like your whole thing. Mapping your path to success, overcoming every obstacle. Use your kickass mind and outsmart his obstacle.

Vanessa: But that’s exactly it. That’s exactly fucking it, what’s so insanity-inducing about him. [ sitting up ] It’s like… my brain doesn’t function when I’m around him. It’s like I see him, and everything just goes red. Head empty, nothing but visceral feeling and the jackhammer pounding of my heart because getting too close raises my fucking blood pressure. Can’t outwit, outplay, outlast if my stupid head won’t even stay on straight. [ shaking her head ] I swear, bitch, hatred is a serious trip.

Summer: Right…

Unfortunately, she’s stuck with him, so she better figure out a way to cope. Summer recommends deep breathing exercises for one, but she also points out Vanessa should retrieve her next best weapon -- spite. If she can’t get along with him on normal terms, then she needs to remember the fact that if she gives him the power, he could tank her standing. He’s her biggest competition, and if she lets him get in her head like this, then they might both screw each other over by screwing up this assignment.

Does she really want to let Zay Babineaux screw her? Vanessa groans, flopping back onto the grass and covering her eyes.

EXT. THE HIGH LINE - DAY

To search for inspiration, Nigel has ventured to High Line Park, the elevated pedestrian walkway that runs along the west side of the city. It’s got some pretty greenery and awesome views, and Nigel has always found it a good place to think.

Its quiet introspection is admittedly a bit dimmed today, because he’s not alone with his thoughts. Zay is with him, usually not all that interested in stuff like this but so desperate to get away from Turner and Vanessa that he’ll take distraction anywhere he can get it. That said, he’s not exactly at “out of sight, out of mind” -- Zay is talking Nigel’s ear off, venting about the whole situation and how much he can’t stand his project partner.

Zay: It’s like, you’d think I’d be prepared for something like this. I’ve dealt with annoying people before. It’s like the universe blessed me with the privilege of training with Farkle and Maya for four years. I came out on the other side of that, you’d think I’d be an expert.

Nigel: Sure.

Zay: But no. Johnson… she’s something else entirely. [ with a huff ] And you know what the worst fucking part is? I can’t just write her off. That’s so infuriating. Like, if she were just obnoxious but talentless, that would be one thing. Or if she were talented, but absolutely unbearable like say, Sarah, that would be another thing. But she’s not. She’s not that.

Nigel: I thought you just said you can’t stand her?

Zay: I can’t. But that’s the thing! She drives me up the fucking wall, but she’s not… like that. Which makes it all stupid and complicated. I prefer my hatred to be straight-forward and justified, please and thanks.

Nigel rolls his eyes, shaking his head at his best friend’s theatricality. Anyway, it will do Zay good to think about literally anything else. He jogs to catch up to Nigel and throws his arm around his shoulders, asking him how things are going on his side of the grass. Surely better than him, given he has decent people as classmates like Riley and Isa rather than Johnson or Gia Valdez.

Well, no assurance about that, Zay… but Nigel pushes aside his social insecurities, focusing on things he can control instead. He brings Zay up to speed on auditions, and admits that he’s still trying to decide what to audition with. Zay claps his hands, rubbing them together.

Zay: Audition serves, dope. I can handle that. What are you thinking?

Nigel: I’m not really sure. Something that allows me to showcase my acting through the singing.

Zay: Naturally.

Nigel: But I don’t know what’s expected at a college audition. You know, Adams, we kind of all just did whatever the hell we wanted. I figure there’s likely a higher standard at play here.

Zay: I guess… in what way?

Nigel: I don’t know like… keeping it classic, you know? Or familiar. So I was thinking something like… I don’t know, “The Music of the Night” or something --

Zay: Oh, no! Ugh, Nigel, no, no, no…

Nigel throws his hands up, shrugging. What’s so wrong with that? Zay makes a gagging noise.

Zay: You have one chance to make a first audition impression, and you’re considering Phantom of the Opera? The most boring ass show in the history of musical theater?

Nigel: That’s your opinion. Coming from the same guy who thinks Shakespeare is dry.

Zay: And I’m right. He’s musty as hell and reading him makes me want to commit arson. 

Nigel: Ignoring that for the sake of our friendship.

Zay: Whatever, man. Bardy is not the point.

Nigel: Then what is the point?

Zay: The point is that you are way too good to be sticking to the mud pit of Phantom. Nigel --

Zay halts their walking, taking Nigel’s shoulders and making him look at him. He shakes him slightly.

Zay: You are brilliant. You’re interesting, compelling. You’ve got flavor.

Nigel: Am I a cup of coffee…

Zay: That’s what I’m talking about. That wit is too spicy for Phantom. You need to do something that translates all that to the stage, that conveys all the awesomeness that is Nigel while also serving your talent. If you need to go off-beat to do that, then I say go for it. Adams was unhinged and it’s amazing we’re not all certifiable, but it did teach us that.

Nigel: Okay, hot shot. How exactly am I supposed to do that?

Mainly, Nigel has to get in touch with himself and figure out what he’s all about before he decides how to convey that to an audition panel. But he shouldn’t be keeping himself restricted to the “classics” that are guaranteed not to match up to the energy and swagger that he requires.

Maybe it would be easier to demonstrate…

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Meet Me At Our Spot” as performed by THE ANXIETY || Performed by Zay Babineaux & Nigel Chey

Zay decides to keep it lowkey and breezy, picking a tune they both like that reminds him of Nigel to kick them off. The casual groove of the baseline gives us momentum as Zay launches into the first verse, easing Nigel into it along the way as they continue to move along the High Line. The entire performance takes place on this walk, the city views from above providing the backdrop as the boys progress, dance, and jump around the walkway.

Nigel takes a bit to get into it, not as quick to turn on performance mode as Zay and definitely not as naturally confident. He’s still hesitant even as he picks up the lead on the second verse, letting Zay guide him in some simple dance grooves. But he finds his footing with time, particularly as Zay hypes him up and backs him with echos on the chorus, loosening him up. By the time we hit the bridge, building back to the final chorus, the mellow vibe is infectious, and the mood is good.

It’s a simple number for AMBITION standards, but it gets the job done, getting Nigel out of his head and back in touch with some of his personal sensibilities. When they wrap up, Zay wraps his arm around Nigel again, playfully knocking at his chin.

Zay: Show them a taste of Nigel Chey? You’ll be set.

Nigel is definitely more into the potential of shaking it up than before. He returns Zay’s smile, grateful for his diva wisdom.

INT. USC - MUSIC CLASSROOM - DAY

Farkle is getting similar encouragement from PROFESSOR WEBER, chatting with him briefly after class wraps up and he’s getting his things together. Weber seems thrilled that Farkle is auditioning -- with his penchant for music, he can only imagine he’s a wonderful performer.

Weber: I see plenty of talented students come through these classes, especially the freshman seminars. But so many of them, they blow it off, because they think there’s no chance in Hell of them landing a role so early. But I say, how do you know until you’ve given it your best go?

Nice point, Web! Farkle absorbs that, admitting that he may have been thinking similarly and isn’t necessarily the strongest at plucky optimism. Weber tells him he doesn’t need that -- he just needs faith in himself. Faith that if he delivers his best, every time, then the odds will be in his favor.

Weber: The only way to guarantee otherwise is to not try at all.

And if Farkle’s experience is any indication, with Turner and his last-minute surprise audition that ended up bringing him to where he is now, no words could be truer. Farkle thanks Weber for the support and insight, promising that if he does somehow land a role, he’ll get complimentary tickets. Weber laughs, assuring him he wouldn’t miss it.

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

Jack makes his way into the kitchen freshly showered after getting back from the gym, heading towards the sink to do the dishes he left there when he left. Only there aren’t any to clean -- the dishwasher is already running. Jack frowns, doubling back towards the living area and calling through the archway.

Jack: Eric?

Eric, off-screen: Jackie?

Jack: Did you start the dishes?

Eric, off-screen: Yeah, just put them in about thirty minutes ago.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

Jack pokes his head around the doorway, finding Eric on the couch.

Jack: I was going to do them when I got back from the gym. That’s when I usually do them.

Eric: Oh, it’s no problem. I didn’t mind. I was putting mine in the washer already, so easier to just do it all at once.

Jack: [ a beat ] Right. Absolutely. I just don’t want you… I don’t want you thinking I’m a lazy roommate or anything.

Eric: Jack, we’ve been living together for a week. You’ve gotta give me at least a month to start psychoanalyzing your behaviors.

Jack laughs, but it’s the slightest bit hollow. He assures Eric he’ll empty the dishwasher when it’s done, which is perfectly fine with him. If he insists!

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

Now that the dishes are done for him, Jack doesn’t know what to do with himself. It’s part of his routine -- finish work, gym, dishes. It’s nice that Eric just jumped in, suppose that’s one of the benefits of having a partner… yet Jack can’t shake the sensation that he’s doing something wrong.

On instinct, he pauses the dishwasher and pulls the door open, steam rising out and hot water dripping inside. Jack glances in, and then realizes what he’s doing, stepping back. What exactly is he looking for? Proof that Eric knows how to run the washer; that he used the right detergent? All his dishes are accounted for in there -- it’s not like Eric is tossing them in the trash or siphoning them away.

He must be tired, because he’s acting weird. He shakes his head at himself and shuts the dishwasher, pressing the button to resume its cycle.

INT. JOSH’S APARTMENT - BEDROOM - NIGHT

Josh is having a video call with his parents, ALAN MATTHEWS (70s) and AMY MATTHEWS (70s). It’s about as typical a video call with Boomers as you’d expect, Amy keeping control of the phone but often putting it at a weird angle or only getting half of Alan in frame when she turns it to show him, but the words they’re exchanging are more important than the visual. This is supposed to be their weekly call where they catch up and hear about all the great things Josh is doing out there on his own, but realistically, it’s become more like a monthly call -- Josh goes to great lengths to accidentally find he’s double-booked and has to reschedule.

Unfortunately, the problem with this plan is that it only makes them have more questions when the call finally does roll around. They’ve exhausted all the small talk type updates -- how the neighborhood is, what gossip is going on with Cory, Eric, and Morgan, their steady health -- which just leaves the elephant in the room…

Amy: And how is Global Beat going?

Ah, yes. The inevitable work conversation. Josh hedges, giving his usual vague answer that it’s fine and he’s enjoying it and getting to explore some very cool music. Alan asks for more details, because he seems prone to skepticism about his industry and always has questions -- what exactly is he working on right now? Are his bosses treating him well? How many hours is he putting in?

Josh: I don’t know, just stuff, dad. You wouldn’t get it, you know, it’s stuff you don’t understand. It would take more time to explain it to you than actually do the job.

Amy: How about the benefits package? They talked about raising your insurance premiums after three years of service, right? Has that come through yet?

Josh hesitates. He can’t tell her that he lied, and there’s no such policy at Global Beat, and he’s fortunate in this industry to have any coverage at all.

Josh: No, yeah, I’m sure they’re working on it. You know how HR is, takes a little time, sometimes.

This prompts Alan to go into another one of his protective tirades. Having done manual labor and small business work for most of his life, where the hours were hard and no one was there to look out for him, he doesn’t understand Josh’s perspective on his job or the way the industry works at all, and is always giving Josh tips to watch out for. There’s no union for assistants and juniors, and Alan has naively more than once insisted Josh should try to start one.

The advice comes from a good place, but to Josh, it just feels as though they don’t trust him. They don’t see him as an adult with a brain who can make his own choices, or isn’t going to let himself get duped. He’s their perpetual baby -- not to mention their baby who went thousands of miles away and is pursuing a career neither of them really get or understand. Regardless of how many times his dad says...

Alan: I mean, you know I get it, Josh. When I was in my band --

The band who rarely played actual music and just took it up to look cool, back in the dark ages. Yeah. Josh resists the urge to roll his eyes. Amy swerves in with an actually important question, sincere and maternal as ever, but it’s the exact one Josh wants to hear the least:

Amy: Are you having fun?

Josh opens his mouth, but for a moment, nothing comes out. The answer should be yes -- that’s the only reason to be stuck in a career like this. He can remember when it was a yes, resounding and emphatic and sometimes defensive. When he was fresh out of school and had landed his first job in the mailroom; when he got picked by Justin and Melissa for the junior producer gig; when he first brought on Iris. It was worth it to have the arguments about his career with mom and dad when he was so surefire in his conviction that he was on the right path. It was exciting when it felt like things were going somewhere, when it felt like every day he was taking a step closer to what he cares about most -- the music.

Now, he’s hesitating. Because he’s stuck, and he’s lost the music, and he’s almost 25. He can’t help but wonder if he’s wasted the first half of his twenties, going down some path he was never going to see through, and if his entire vision for his life up to this point has been one big fever dream.

But he cannot have this emotional breakdown in front of his parents. Even if part of him wants to, to be able to confide in them and have them give him the solutions to fix his problems like they did when he was little, he can’t. He’s spent enough hours, flushed cheeks, and heated debates trying and failing to get them to see his point of view -- if he caves now, expresses things aren’t as perfect as he thought, he’s just walking into the biggest “I told you so” invented in the Matthews family history.

And there’s many of those. Matthews love to gloat.

Josh: Yeah. Yeah, as always. Everything going according to plan.

Before either of them can ask any more questions, Josh claims he should let them go -- it’s getting late there, and they’ve got work in the morning. They seem a bit reluctant, since they rarely get to talk to him as much as they’d like, but they accept and wish him farewell and a good week. Josh offhandedly returns the sentiment, keeping his tight smile plastered on until they end the call.

Can’t remember the last time a call with his parents didn’t end in this heavy feeling. Josh sighs, flopping back onto his bed and burying his face in his pillow.

Break 1.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - DAY

Isa groggily makes their way towards the bathroom, still in their PJs and trying to find the energy to get through the day. They let out a yawn, rubbing their eyes as they approach the bathroom.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - BATHROOM - DAY

And when they step into the bathroom and open their eyes, they get a big jolt of energy from being spooked. Riley is already in there getting ready -- Riley and Lucas, which Isa obviously wasn’t prepared for. They’re not doing anything nefarious, just in the midst of brushing their teeth and carrying quiet conversation, but the fact that they’re both there, that Lucas is actually there with Riley in the morning like that’s totally normal, is enough to startle Isa awake.

Riley turns after Isa lets out a gasp, cheerfully greeting them with good morning.

Isa: Uh… yeah. Yeah, morning.

Riley: Sorry, did we wake you up? I thought we were talking quietly, but --

Isa: No. No, I was… I was up. Anyway. You were definitely quiet.

Lucas: You good?

Riley: Do you need to use the space? We’re just about done, I think, or we can be --

Lucas: Almost. Still a bit… you’ve got toothpaste.

Lucas reaches forward and gently swipes his thumb over the corner of Riley’s mouth, wiping away stray toothpaste foam. She turns to him and offers a fond smile, silently thanking him. He nods, rinsing his hand under the faucet.

Isa just stares at them, seemingly unable to process their domesticity, and that it’s suddenly right in front of them. For whatever reason, the constant reality of your best friends’ intimacy is stranger to acknowledge than the concept.

Finally, they remember they were asked a question, managing to stumble through an answer.

Isa: Oh, no. Nah, no, I can wait. You guys, uh… you do your thing.

Lucas: You sure?

Isa: Yeah. Yep. Yeah, no rush.

Riley: Okay. Are you feeling okay? You seem a little…

Isa: Me? Uh, yeah. Just still waking up. And stuff. I’m good. I’m all good. You all do… whatever you’ve gotta do. Okay, cool.

Isa tosses them an awkward thumbs up, then turns to make their exit… and immediately trips over Lucas’s shoes in the hallway on the way out. Very smooth.

Riley watches after them with a confused frown, glancing over her shoulder to exchange a look with Lucas. Odd? He merely shrugs -- no more unusual than anything else anyone does in their circle.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - ISA’S BEDROOM - DAY

Isa breezes back into the safe haven of their room and shuts the door, taking a moment to shake off whatever weirdness just possessed them. What was that all about? Isa knew Lucas was going to be here -- they invited him to move in, after all.

It must have just caught them by surprise to see it in action, that’s all. Just a usual bout of unpreparedness. Like running into your teacher at the grocery store. Unexpected, but fine. No bother.

Farkle, off-screen: You seemed pretty bothered by that.

Isa releases a huff, scowling. They spin to face away from the door and lo and behold, mirage Farkle is back. This time, he’s dressed in the frumpy cardigan he wore in 206, though his hair is still the same as when we last saw his faux-presence. He’s slouched comfortably in Isa’s desk chair, long legs stretched out in front of him like he owns the place.

While he’s got an amused smirk on his face, all Isa has for him is an annoyed frown. 

Isa: Did not. Do not. I’m not bothered.

Farkle: You sound bothered.

Isa: Why would I be bothered? Lucas lives here now -- makes sense he’d need to use the bathroom just like the rest of us. He’s a roommate. 

Farkle: Sure.

Isa: It’s a good thing he’s here. Just because I wasn’t… and they were in there together… but I wasn’t… [ with a huff ] ugh, why am I even saying all this? I’m not bothered. It’s whatever. I just wasn’t ready for a surprise at eight in the morning.

Farkle: For sure. I completely agree.

Isa: I’m not bothered by them. The only thing bothering me right now is you.

Farkle: Hey, don’t look at me like that. You’re the one who won’t talk to me -- and the one talking to me now. [ sarcastically sweet ] You call, I answer.

As if it’s that easy… perhaps because Isa knows in their head it is. Rather than admitting that, though, they groan in annoyance instead, marching towards their bed. They stop in front of Farkle’s outstretched feet, glaring, but when he doesn’t budge, they start to lean forward as if they’re going to nudge them out of the way… and then they think better of it, begrudgingly stepping over his gangly limbs.

Isa: I don’t have time for you right now. It’s a busy week. I have things to do.

Farkle: It’s always a busy week. We always have things to do.

Isa: I’m supposed to be doing important research, and I can’t focus with you bothering me. Could you get out of my head?

Farkle: Again, why don’t you ask yourself that? And I don’t think your research is going to be effective if you can’t even stomach studying your subjects. [ crossing his ankles ] Why so weird about Riley and Lucas, Isa?

Isa: I’m not. I’m not weird about them. They can do whatever they want.

Farkle: Except share space. Except display affection or casual touch.

Isa: That’s their business, not mine. I don’t care. And they’ve displayed affection around me plenty of times before.

Farkle: Or is it weird now that it’s too close to home? Too constant a presence?

Isa: No --

Farkle: Too pointed a reminder?

Isa: God, could you just shut up?

As requested, when Isa turns around to look at the chair again, Farkle isn’t there. But his questions remain, lingering in the silence and on their mind. Isa sighs, pressing their palms to their eyes. It’s impressive, how much nothing can cause such a disturbance. That the absence, rather than presence, of something can make everything feel so weird.

Something missing.

Isa groans and flops back onto their bed, falling against the pillows and covering their eyes with their arm.

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

The shot is matched with the next cut, Farkle also lying in bed. He’s actually asleep, though, given the early morning hour in L.A.

At least, he is for the moment. That all changes when the opening yodeling of “Wind It Up” by Gwen Stefani blares through the apartment, startling him awake. He curses under his breath and nearly falls out of bed.

Farkle: What the fuck?

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

Charlie is even less fortunate, caught in closer range. He bolts upright and then falls onto his side, barely able to orient himself in his panicked half-awake state. He grasps around him wildly, totally lost.

Charlie: [ voice slurred with sleep ] Washapning?

The answer should be obvious enough, but perhaps one can never be prepared for Maya Hart. She’s standing at the intersection between Farkle’s door and the living room where Charlie is crashed on the couch, already dressed for the day in her knock-off athleisure and ready for business. She’s holding the pink bluetooth boombox that’s blasting the music, and with her other hand she lifts her bullhorn from senior year.

Maya: Rise and shine, boys! We’re wasting daylight! 

Farkle: Are you kidding me, Maya?

Maya: I would never joke about beauty sleep, but time is of the essence.

Charlie: Is this Hell?

Maya: Hell should be so lucky to have Stefani. [ pointing the bullhorn at him ] Let’s go, Charlie Gardner. God gave you another beautiful day, time to greet it!

Charlie looks like he’s still trying to remember where he is. Farkle pushes himself upright so he can see her from his doorway.

Farkle: This project is turning you into a menace!

Maya: Flattery will get us nowhere, darling. And let’s not kid ourselves -- I have always been like this. [ into the bullhorn ] I need choreo and a creative team by tonight, so let’s go! We are officially on 24-hour countdown, people!

Maya marches back towards her room, “Wind It Up” still going, doing a couple of dance combinations as she goes. Farkle collapses back into bed, while Charlie manages to push up onto his elbow with monumental effort. He scrunches his face, running a hand through his hair.

Charlie: I should’ve stayed in Bryce Canyon.

Maybe so, Chuck. There’s still time! Run while you can! Lay-od-lay-od-low!

EXT. NYU - LUNCH SPOT - DAY

Nigel and Isa are having a quick breakfast together, the latter asking him how he feels about his audition that afternoon. Thankfully, after the rallying with Zay and assurance that Jade will be there to see it, Nigel is feeling pretty good about it. He claims he’s just going to offer the most authentic perception of his range that he can, and then whatever happens, happens.

Isa: That’s cool. You’ll definitely stand out, breaking from unconventional musical theater.

Nigel: You think so? You don’t think it’s a risky move?

Isa: Oh, it is, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing. Risky moves are… well, risky, but sometimes they pay off. Conforming to expectations is one guaranteed way to fade into the background. Maya and Farkle used to always say that memorability is the most important thing -- stick in their mind, stick the landing.

Nigel: Yeah for Maya, that sounds about right. How are they doing? They’ve probably gone on a ton of auditions already.

Shoot. Isa keeps forgetting how things are, keeps failing at omitting them from their mind when it’s all too easy for them to resurface again. At this rate, it’s like an OCD thought -- the harder they push them away, the harder it gets to let them go.

You call, I answer…

But Isa has to. They’re doing this for a reason -- because Maya doesn’t deserve their time, and Farkle… it’s too much. The more they allow themself to think about him, who knows what stupid thing is going to slip out next. Talk about risky.

So Isa uses one of their oldest tricks: changing the subject. They brush off the query about the Los Angelenos and redirect, bringing it back around to Nigel’s audition. He mentioned Jade is going to be there. How is she managing to hack that?

Nigel: Yeah, I don’t know either. Apparently things are going really well at work, so she’s got a good rapport going with Anya. Since it’s important, she’s going to be able to take a slightly longer lunch so she can be there at the right time, and take it later.

Isa: Wow. That’s sweet.

Nigel: Yeah. [ with a light smile ] Yeah, I’m really excited she’s gonna get to see it.

Isa: Not like she hasn’t seen you audition a million times before, but yeah, still sweet. I guess it’s different now, since we don’t see each other do it all the time anymore.

Mhm… different sure is the buzzword these days. Isa continues to prod further, asking Nigel how things are going with Jade, generally speaking. Since they’re supposed to be analyzing relationships, taking the opportunity to examine another duo is one they can’t pass up. Nigel shrugs, stating everything is going great. Same old, same old.

Isa: Really? 

Nigel: Yes. Why do you ask?

Isa: I don’t know, guess I just expected it would be different. Because you all are like, different.

Nigel: Why do you say that?

Isa: Well, you’re the only two who are operating in like, completely separate worlds. Riley and Lucas were going to be long distance, but then those plans obviously changed, and while he’s “working,” he’s basically in the same place. Dylan and Asher are still together, figuratively and literally. Jack and Eric are both adults or whatever. You and Jade have an actual shift in circumstance -- you going to school, her working.

Nigel: That’s true. [ a beat ] But it doesn’t like, change anything.

Isa: And I know Jade has been like totally sucked into the design stuff. I hardly ever see her, so seeing her a couple weeks ago was like a unicorn sighting.

Nigel: Yeah. Yeah, she… she’s busier.

Isa: So it’s really cool that you guys are able to keep that from changing stuff. That she can make time like that. Doesn’t make very good narrative conflict, but that’s probably what you want in a real relationship. I wouldn’t know.

Nigel: … so everything’s good with Chai?

Oh, right. Chai. Isa pauses, then nods emphatically.

Isa: Oh, yeah, completely. Nothing to report there. Honestly, I think having a long distance relationship is way easier than an in-person one sometimes. Isn’t that kind of bizarre?

Yes. Yes, it is. Nigel opens his mouth to comment, but has no idea what to say. So he opts for nothing, taking a bite of his blueberry muffin instead. He hates conflict as it is, and he certainly isn’t equipped to try to tackle an Isa-level problem. That’s a job for the big leagues of Riley and Eric cred.

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

We could use some of that conflict resolution cred over at Turner, too. Vanessa and Zay are back at it, trying to collaborate on the cha-cha assignment but getting nowhere. Any time one of them suggests a combination of choreography, the other runs rough-shot over it, either with too many critiques or with a conflicting vision or simply with distaste.

While some of it is petty, though, interestingly enough the back and forth isn’t necessarily volatile. Well, their disdain for each other might be, but the notes are not. It’s clear that when the two of them shoot down one another’s ideas, it’s not out of malice. On the contrary, it’s more a case of two strong heads than vengeful hearts -- they’re both good dancers, passionate and with vision, and both of them want to bring a strong showing. Particularly in light of the fact that they know Rosario is watching to see if they can stand the collaboration.

Even so, their rivalrous history only adds gasoline to the fire, so the work is painstaking. Vanessa tries to demonstrate another stretch of choreography, the two of them managing to come together and actually take dancer position so she can walk them through it… but it only takes about three steps for Zay to chime in with another criticism.

Zay: This transition is too flat. It’s too basic, it’s not giving anything.

Vanessa, frustrated: That’s what a fucking transition is, jackass. You have to start somewhere.

Zay: Maybe, but I think sticking a classic transition in every slot where we need one isn’t going to show that we’re top right now for a reason. I think it’s going to show that we’re lazy.

Vanessa growls, shoving away from him and putting more space between them.

Zay: And sorry, I don’t know what kind of reputation you like to keep, but I’m not giving lazy.

Vanessa: Oh, yeah, I know you can’t afford to do that. Can’t give any more evidence to Gao considering you literally didn’t even dance at your own audition.

Zay: Oh, fuck off.

Vanessa: I mean, seriously, did you think that was going to work? Just rolling up and being like “hey, I’m a bad bitch, let me in anyway?” I can’t believe you’re that stupid.��

Zay: You don’t know me, all right? Think we’ve established that well enough.

Vanessa: No, seriously, I want to know. What absolutely unhinged voice in your head convinced you that showing up to an audition you had no chance in hell of doing was a king move?

Zay, defensive: Hey, I said fuck off. You don’t know shit.

Oop. Seems Vanessa might have accidentally hit a nerve there… and it causes her to back off. As deft as they both seem to be at repartee, she could sense the shift in his tone, and for whatever reason it prompts her to pull back.

Zay: I’m here. That’s all that fucking matters.

Silence permeates the studio for a long moment, Vanessa not arguing that point. Regardless of how they got there, they’re both there, and now they have to figure out how to stomach one another. Zay lowers himself into a crouch and takes a deep breath, hiding his head in his hands. Vanessa watches him, still from a safe distance, but the barbs retract somewhat when they aren’t looking at one another.

Vanessa: Yeah. And I don’t want to fuck this up. I know you don’t either.

After a beat, Zay nods, dropping his hands against his knees. That much, they can agree on. Vanessa releases a sigh, running her hands through her hair and pulling it back into a bundle behind her head.

Vanessa: Look, clearly we aren’t going to be able to work through this together. But we know we’re both good choreographers. What if… what if we just each take a chunk of the choreography, sketch it out on our own. 

Zay: Are you serious? That’s kind of like the opposite of what we’re supposed to be doing with this assignment. That’s the antithesis of a duet.

Vanessa: No, the point of the assignment is to dance together. It doesn’t matter who does what in the pursuit to get there. You think Gia’s not going to bulldoze over her assignment partner and choreograph the whole thing so she can get bragging rights later? It’s her steps, but they’re both performing it. That’s what we’re doing. We each bring our own slate to the shop, and then we’ll… I don’t know, Frankenstein them together. If we’re as good as we believe we are, then we should be able to pull it off.

Zay looks unconvinced. He’s a believer in the magic of pas de deux collaboration -- he knows what kind of excellence can come out of building something with someone you respect and trust. Some of his best work has been created that way.

But he doesn’t trust Vanessa, and any respect they may have is begrudging at best. Maybe if there was more time, things could be different… but if it’s a question of split up or fail, he knows she’s right.

So it’s agreed. They’ll each take half of the dance, then spend all day tomorrow weaving it all together. It’ll be a painful 24 hours from now, but if they survive this, it’ll be worth it.

Zay: Fine. Honestly, if it’s an excuse to skip my science GE, all the better.

The unexpected authenticity of that actually manages to elicit a chuckle from Vanessa.

Vanessa: Guess that’s another thing we can agree on.

Even if being around each other is unpleasant, at least they’re doing what they love most. Zay and Vanessa lock eyes, just for a moment, holding in that shared sentiment. Then Vanessa breaks it, marching over to her duffle in front of the mirrors and slinging it over her shoulder.

Vanessa: Tomorrow. Come prepared, or I’m choreographing over you. I’m not waiting up.

Zay: Keep dreaming. You’ll be seeing me tomorrow.

She rolls her eyes, happy to make her exit and get out of the suffocating studio with him. Zay shakes his head, falling back onto the floor and then flopping onto his back.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - OFFICES - DAY

Josh isn’t in the studio today, instead stuck at his desk. Tormented with nothing to do but look at his inbox, devoid of any promises or creative juice… he leans back in his chair and surveys the rest of the office. The support staff desks, or the Box Office as they call it, are clustered in the center of the room and surrounded on three sides by offices of the higher-up producers -- i.e., their bosses. At the desks like Josh’s though, it’s folks just like him, junior producers and executive assistants, an intern or two, all young folks doing the grunt work for a chance to get their foot in the door.

Yet it feels like he’s the only one with palpable existential angst about it (at least, according to Justin). Everyone else seems in a relatively good mood, chatting softly with one another or comfortably meandering through their mundane, support staff tasks. Across desks from him, BRIAN HARRIS is grooving to himself while clicking through paperwork, headphones on. ROWAN PHELPS is characteristically stoic and unbothered at the desk to Josh’s right, seemingly not moved either way on the state of their lower-tier existence.

Josh can’t fathom how they do it. And at this rate, he thinks he might combust before he ever finds out what it’s like to make it to the other side. He elbows Phelps next to him and gestures for them to take their Airpods out, which catches the attention of Brian who immediately takes his headphones off as well. He’s never one to pass up eavesdropping on their conversations.

This time, though, Josh will take his input too. He poses the same question to them that he did Floyd -- why are they doing this job? Do they like it? Do they have any qualms about the state of their careers at this point?

Brian: Oh, Joshua. Don’t tell us you’re flaking out! Don’t be one of those wimps who drops out and goes to take a job in like, advertising. Or education.

Phelps: That’s not gonna happen. Josh would be a terrible teacher.

Brian: Or public media. Don’t go be one of those nerds. Oh, I can see it now -- Josh stuck behind a desk on the east coast, flipping switches for NPR.

Phelps: He has no patience, first of all, and he’s far too condescending when he really cares about it. Some poor kid would ask him why they’re learning the quadratic formula and he’d go on and on about how formulas are a foundation for all the life and technology we enjoy on planet Earth.

Josh: God, can either of you just answer a question? And that’s not true, I would not be a sucky -- I don’t even like math!

Phelps: Trust me, I know. Correcting your expense reports for the last year has shown me that well enough.

Once they’ve stopped picking on him, Brian prompts Josh to ask his question again -- he admittedly wasn’t paying attention the first time. Josh reiterates that he’s not planning to quit, he just wanted to know how they all felt in terms of job satisfaction. Why are they in this job anyway?

Phelps: Not for the benefits, that’s for sure.

Brian: Why else, bro? Money, money, money!

Phelps: Money is your answer when you’re working a barely above minimum wage junior producer role?

Brian: Fine, fine. Semantics. Eventual money. It takes time, but there is a bounty to be had in this business. Why do you think I’ve been studying TikTok so extensively? If you get a song to blow up there, you’ve got it made.

Phelps: Wasting two hours after lunch scrolling through that app is not studying, Harris.

Josh: Okay, but is it just for the money? I mean, what about the… you know, the music?

Sure, that’s nice and everything, but for Brian he recognizes that they likely won’t ever get their hands on the creative side of things. Yeah, it happens once in a while -- Justin and Melissa being prime examples -- but they’re rare gems. Brian isn’t pretending he’s gonna be one of those rare gems, it’s easier to sleep at night that way. Aim low and avoid disappointment, and as long as you’ve got a finger in the pie you’ll get the pay out and still get to participate in all of the perks and socialite things that are so cool about the job.

Phelps has a different approach, though no less realist-oriented. Phelps digs music, yeah, but it’s never been their core motivation. They could’ve gone into film, or fashion, or even publishing -- music was just the industry that had the right job at the right time and decent enough wages to survive in Los Angeles for now. It’s good enough to get a foot in the door this way, but Phelps is more of a tastemaker, interested in all elements of pop culture and chill just floating through it until they find a place to land. In their opinion, Josh is thinking too hard about it. He thinks too hard about everything.

That may be true, but it doesn’t make Josh feel better. In fact, if anything, he feels even more isolated. Is he the only idiot in this city who is trying to follow a dream solely in pursuit of a passion for music? Is that a completely delusional thing to do?

Is he completely wasting his life pursuing something that will never happen, and is going to crush him along the way when it doesn’t?

INT. NYU - THEATER CLASSROOM - DAY

In playwriting class, the students have broken into small groups to discuss the latest modern play they read to analyze. Nigel is with IMOGEN LEE and ABBY, but they’ve quickly wrapped up discussing the play and have moved onto more interesting topics. Imogen is still debating which of her prepared numbers to do for her musical audition, and they ask Nigel if he’s got his all prepared.

Nigel: Yep. I’m actually pretty excited about it.

Imogen: Nice. Wish that were me.

Abby: Yeah, I do not envy y’all. Nigel, you are so brave for auditioning when you’re predominantly a straight-play guy.

Nigel: Well, I mean, I did go to a musical theater high school…

Abby: The musical theater majors in Tisch are so intense about it. And it’s like, cutthroat for them, you know? Like even though they’ve made it clear freshman rarely get roles, everyone I know is acting like it’s the fucking apocalypse and this is their one shot at life.

Imogen: OMG, I know. And have you seen some of the stuff people have auditioned with? I heard one guy earlier this week auditioned by singing a Hozier song.

Abby: Hozier? [ with a laugh ] Oh, no way.

Nigel: … is something wrong with Hozier?

Imogen: Oh, God no.

Abby: No, we love him. Fae king. You know as a lesbian, I have to stan.

Imogen: It’s just that you don’t like… use Hozier for an audition. Like, how cringe is it to pick a pop song for a professional audition? Just do Wicked like the rest of us, or Hamilton if you really feel like you need to contempo it up.

Nigel: … don’t you think it’s kind of fun, though? You know, something different? Makes you stand out.

Imogen: Makes you stand out, absolutely -- everyone asking why the hell you thought it was a good idea.

Imogen and Abby both laugh, shaking their heads. Like, seriously, what’s next? Someone performing alt-pop unironically and expecting to get noticed? This is NYU, not Glee.

Nigel looks like he’s going to be sick, but he manages to cover it with a weak smile, chuckling along. Now he’s got two perspectives in his head -- those from his good friends, who encouraged him to do something unique, but that apparently might leave him as the laughing stock of his class. Maybe the Adams cohort really does live in a different universe, and now he’s wholly unprepared for the real world of trying to make it as an actor.

Either way, he’s running out of time to decide which route to take. The clock is ticking towards lunch, one second at a time…

INT. THRIFT SHOP - DAY

At one of dozens of the quirky thrift shops populating Los Angeles, Yindra is walking the racks. She’s on the hunt for the perfect outfit for her studio slot -- if she happens to run into anyone important, she wants to look her best. The next phase of her career is on the horizon, and she wants to look as epic as she feels when she lays down her track. The buzz of it has her in a good mood, lightly humming the chorus of her song to herself as she slides vintage tops along the racks.

She’s not the only one roaming the shops that afternoon. A couple of rows back, Maya is on a mission as well, searching for the final costume pieces for her music video. She pulls a sequined dress off one rack, wrinkles her nose, and puts it back. Where’s Jade Beamon and her magic at your beck and call when you need her…

Maya floats through the racks and makes it to the one opposite Yindra, concealed behind it due to her height -- she’s on such a mission this afternoon, she’s not even power-strutting in her usual heels and has settled for sneakers. But she halts when she catches wind of the humming, perking up and listening carefully. After a few seconds of narrowed eyes and hyperfocus, a smirk of recognition graces her lips.

Maya: Could it be…?

She trails her hand along the clothes on the rack, sensing for the right place… then shoves her arms between them and pushes them to the side, creating a hole in the middle that allows the girls to see each other. Yindra cusses loudly and jumps back, caught off guard, pressing a hand to her heart. Maya grins, blue eyes twinkling.

Maya: Yindra Amino.

Yindra focuses on slowing down her heart, taking a deep breath as Maya enthusiastically comes around the rack to join her.

Yindra: I don’t know how you always manage to find me. We’ve got to stop running into each other like this.

Literally. Maya doesn’t pick up on her reluctance, laughing and claiming it’s good to see her. Crazy how it’s been so long since that audition they both went to -- and look at them both! Here now, once again crossing paths in the jungle of Hollywood!

Yindra: Yep. Always when I don’t see it coming…

Maya: I do love the element of surprise. Keeps things interesting.

Maya asks what Yindra’s shopping for -- just a splurge or two? Yindra hedges, then admits she’s searching for a new wardrobe for this gig she has. She doesn’t specify exactly what or where, just that she’s managed to secure some studio time. Also surprisingly, Maya seems genuinely excited for her, congratulating her for the opportunity. She sure knows how hard it can be to find a window to climb in through.

Maya: That’s why, sometimes, you’ve got to pick up a sledgehammer and let yourself in. [ pulling a Sharpay-esque pink coat with feather accents from the rack, eyes brightening in delight ] Bang.

Not that Maya wouldn’t wear that jacket on any given day, but Yindra correctly assumes she’s shopping for something specific as well. Maya concurs, eagerly launching into her plans for tomorrow and her date with destiny to make some waves of her own. She can’t share too much, of course -- not when the world is listening -- but it’s going to be big. She wants to look unforgettable at the center of a spectacle sure to be unforgettable.

In fact, Maya extends an invitation to Yindra to join the party. She mentions how Farkle and Charlie have already been brought on, but there’s still plenty of room for other Adams cohort members. She’s scoured social media for back-up dancers and singers so far (especially college kids who just want the credit and won’t ask for money), but in her book, there’s always an open seat for Yindra. She’s missing one more back-up singer, and Yindra’s mezzo would sure add a richness to the mix.

As sincere as Maya’s offer is, it rubs Yindra the wrong way. That’s exactly what she needs -- to spend another minute playing back-up for Maya Hart. So she swiftly declines, reminding her that she has engagements of her own that she needs to focus on. Maya doesn’t take the rejection personally.

Maya: Well, if you change your mind or find the time, you know how to reach me. And I’ll be sure to link you the final product when it’s out there -- although if all goes as planned, you won’t be able to miss it. 

Yindra: Amazing… when my single comes out, I’ll be sure to do the same.

Maya nods in approval, undeterred by Yindra’s slight smugness. It’s a bit frustrating, actually, how unshakeable Maya seems to be when Yindra always feels like she’s a second away from blowing over like a house of cards. Why is it that all of a sudden, she feels like the bitch?

Once the demo gets recorded, all of this insecurity will evaporate. She just has to get into that studio.

Maya wishes her luck finding the right look and blows a friendly kiss as she departs, taking the pink jacket with her.

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - KITCHEN - DAY

No such bold fashion in focus at the design studio this afternoon, as Jade enters the kitchen to chat with Skylar and Jamal on a coffee break. She mentions that she’s taking off for lunch to go see her boyfriend audition, which the other two find sweet.

Skylar: Tell him break a leg for us.

Jamal: Damn, Sky, we ain’t even met him yet and you’re asking for sacrificial violence?

Skylar: [ rolling her eyes at his teasing ] You are so annoying. And not even funny.

Jade beams. It’s nice to be back in their banter-filled, lowkey presence. When the subject comes back to the audition, Jade says she’s grateful she’s able to take the lunch to do it -- with the event Anya is taking her to tomorrow, she isn’t sure when she’s going to get the chance to debrief with Nigel otherwise.

Skylar: Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back up the train.

Jamal: You’re going with Anya to Thursday FashionFest?

Skylar: You can’t just breeze right past that.

Jade: … is that bad?

Skylar: Are you joking? No, it’s fucking amazing.

Jamal: It’s just… not gonna lie, it’s kind of wild that you’re going. As a junior apprentice.

Jade stares at them, unsure from their uncertainty. She was nervous about it before, but now she fears she shouldn’t even be going at all.

Jade: I didn’t think it was weird? I just assumed all apprentices went. You know, once.

Jamal: No.

Skylar: Definitely not.

Oh… Jade isn’t sure what to say, and neither are they. How do you respond to the realization that you’re getting treated differently than everyone else? And is that a good thing, or a sign of trouble? And why does Jade suddenly feel so guilty about it?

That gets pushed to the side real quick when Anya appears in the doorway, finding Jade and gesturing for her to come along. She offers a brisk hello and greeting to Jamal and Skylar, who awkwardly wave back, before Anya tells Jade to book it.

Jade: Where are we going?

Anya: Shopping. For tomorrow. Remember?

Jade: Now? Like, right now?

Anya: No time like the present. But none to waste -- I’ve got a shareholders meeting at 2.

With that, she’s off, and Jade better hustle if she doesn’t want to get left behind. Invited to FashionFest, and going shopping with the boss… there’s really no way to sugarcoat this for Jamal or Skylar. They give her tight smiles, encouraging her to go have fun on their little shopping spree.

Skylar: Her highness awaits.

Yeah, Jade does not like the feeling of being set apart from them… and she gets the sense they’re not keen on it either. But what is she supposed to do? Say no? Jade returns their smile to the best of her ability and heads out after Anya, swiftly grabbing her lunch on the way so she’s got it ready for audition time.

INT. USC - CLASSROOM - DAY

Farkle and JORDAN NELSON are back to work, continuing to work on their current scene assignment. While it’s technically a duet with another duo, right now they’re just focused on Farkle’s half, Farkle running through his lines as if he’s on stage and Jordan seated at the tables, feeding him the other role’s dialogue. Farkle is doing pretty good, having lost himself in the scene and emoting with his usual level of conviction…

Jordan: You’re doing it again.

That brings the scene train grinding to a halt. Farkle freezes, disconnecting from the moment, and lets out an impatient huff.

Farkle: What?

Jordan doesn’t say anything, waiting for Farkle to meet his eyes. Then he holds up his hand, flexing it pointedly in the air -- that thing Farkle apparently does. The thoughtless, subconscious acting tic. He sighs, rolling his eyes.

Farkle: I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Jordan: I know you don’t. That’s what a subconscious tic is. Subconscious. I’m pointing it out for you -- you’re welcome.

Farkle: I don’t get what the big deal is. So I move my hands, so what? Real people move their hands all sorts of ways. It’s expressive.

Jordan: It would be expressive if it was expressing something. This is meaningless. It’s second nature.

Farkle: Yeah, so --

Jordan: And it’s distracting. You’re meticulous and compelling in every other area of your performance, I’m honestly surprised you’d be so willingly flippant about this obvious weak spot. [ with a smirk ] Unless that’s the Minkus stubborn streak I’ve heard so much about.

So he’s done his research, huh… Farkle realizes he’s holding himself stiffly and adjusts, shaking out his arms and turning away from Jordan temporarily. It’s hard, sometimes, to be under his gaze.

Jordan: I’m not saying you’re not doing well. You are. One small critique is not a death sentence.

Farkle: … I know that.

Jordan: I’m just of the mindset that if we can fix something, we should. It may not be the worst detractor, but why keep a flaw when you could take steps to be rid of it and elevate the entire performance as a result? That’s my perspective -- I thought, when we partnered together, that you shared that passion.

Farkle: I do. I… I want to deliver the best.

Jordan: Great. Then we’re in agreement.

Farkle: Yes. I just… I don’t know how you expect me to change this. It’s just something I do. I can’t just change things about myself.

Jordan: Says who?

Well… there’s not really a way to respond to that, is there? Farkle shrugs. Jordan gets to his feet, striding over to join Farkle at the front and take a more hands-on approach again.

Jordan: It’s just about awareness. Being present in your own body even while you’re mentally present in the emotion of the scene. Good actors lose themselves in a role, but great actors strike a balance. They’re immersed, but they’re also in control of every move. You’re good, Farkle -- but you could be great.

Farkle: Fine. And how am I supposed to do that?

Jordan: Well, to start, you can listen to me when I tell you to do something. Rather than insisting from the get-go that it can’t be done.

As a director, that’s not really asking for much… maybe some of that Minkus stubbornness is at play, because Farkle is still reluctant. But he relents, asking how Jordan thinks they should go about tackling the tic. Jordan hums, examining him as he thinks through it… then he has an idea. He reiterates that it’s all about awareness, then instructs Farkle to start from the top of his monologue in the scene.

So Farkle does, taking a deep breath to recenter himself. He eases back into the monologue, avoiding Jordan’s eyes which isn’t so easy considering he’s right in front of him, focusing instead on losing himself into the scene work again. It doesn’t take him long, given he’s no amateur, and all seems to be going well…

Until everything really does grind to a halt. Because Farkle does his tic again, flexing his hands, and in an instant Jordan reaches forward and grabs both his hands, holding them captive in front of him and completely derailing the recitation.

Well, if Farkle wasn’t aware of his hands a second ago, he definitely is now. He stares down at their hands, Jordan’s fingers around his wrists and thumbs pressing Farkle’s palms out. Like he froze them in the moment of violation, flexed and caught.

Jordan: You paying attention? You notice it that time?

No duh, Jordan. How could he not… but Farkle doesn’t answer, mouth suddenly dry. It’s like all the words have escaped him, which is impressive, considering it’s Farkle. He lifts his eyes to meet Jordan’s, who is watching him curiously with that same intense, thoughtful shade. An intensity that, admittedly, mirrors one Farkle himself is known for.

The tension is broken by Jordan’s phone buzzing on the table -- an alarm to signal he has to head to his next class. Jordan lets go of Farkle’s hands and heads back to his stuff, claiming this is a good start and they’ll pick up on this thread next rehearsal. But Farkle should keep practicing self-awareness the next couple of days, taking a few moments here and there to meditate and check in with what each part of his body is doing at any given moment.

Jordan: You’ll get it, I’m sure. It’s just going to take some work.

Farkle manages a nod, still kind of stunned from the sudden close contact. He goes to his own bag and packs up, checking his phone absentmindedly. A string of texts from Maya is enough to rattle him back to Earth -- a couple photos showing off the haul she got from the thrift shop, a declaration that everything is coming together, and then one not-so-gentle reminder:

“You’ve got a director on lock, right?”

Shoot. No, he absolutely does not, and he’s running out of time. Farkle glances up and his gaze lands on Jordan, just finishing gathering his things together and slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder. There’s a director right there…

But no, that’s way too humiliating. He can’t just ask him that, especially after whatever mortification that whole hand-flex tic experiment was. Jordan thinks he’s not even capable of controlling his own body -- why would he want anything else to do with him beyond highlighting his every mistake for an hour during rehearsals? Not to mention he has a solid rep and resume. He’s not going to waste his time on some secret diva project that Farkle can’t even vouch for with details.

But Maya is counting on him. He can’t do anything else right -- the least he can do is deliver on this. So as Jordan is heading to the door, Farkle pushes himself to act, the words spilling out of him.

Farkle: I need a director.

Jordan pauses, glancing over his shoulder to look at him. But he manages to reel him back in, out of pure curiosity if nothing else.

Jordan: Sorry? I know that already, that’s kind of our whole deal here, Minkus.

Farkle: No, I didn’t mean -- not me. I don’t need one. [ a beat ] You know, beyond this assignment.

Jordan: Right…

Farkle: My friend. She’s working on a music video, a big one, and she needs a director. One with a good track record, who’s actually any good.

Okay, he’s got Jordan’s attention. It’s intriguing to say the least -- and his ineptitude at articulating himself is amusing -- but he hasn’t given him much to go off of…

Jordan: I don’t really pick up stray projects out of nowhere. Let alone with such short notice…

Farkle: That’s fair. I’d be the same way. But it’ll be compensated. And I think, if I were a director, I’d give recommendations from close associates more consideration. I know we’re not -- you may not call me an associate, but you think I have ability. That I’m passionate, and I’ve got an eye for stuff. I can assure you, my best friend is the real deal. You spend a minute on set with her, you’ll figure that out fast. And whatever she’s got up her sleeve, it’ll be something worth talking about. That much, I can guarantee.

Farkle can go to bat for Maya, there’s no doubt about that. Jordan is obviously contemplating it… then he offers a light nod.

Jordan: Send me some samples, and I’ll see.

Farkle: Okay. Okay, sure, I can get you that this afternoon.

Jordan: Cool. I’ll keep an eye out for it. Once I’ve gotten the chance to take a look, I’ll let you know my decision tonight.

Given the last-minute nature of the request, that’s about the best Farkle can ask for. Even if he crashes and burns yet again, he can at least tell Maya he tried -- and ruined any potential credit with his student director in the process.

INT. SCHOOL BOARD OFFICES - EVELYN’S OFFICE - DAY

Jack is having a relatively casual lunch meeting with EVELYN RAND in her office, the two of them chatting about his vacation and how his retirement from Adams has been treating him. But Evelyn doesn’t let him hedge for too long, deftly changing topics and guiding him towards why she’s fairly certain he’s there to chat with her.

Evelyn: I don’t think you came all this way just to share protein bowls with yours truly.

Maybe not… Jack acquiesces, admitting that he’s strongly considering a run for the open school board seat. Given Evelyn was the one who dropped the hint to him last season, she is exactly zero percent surprised, and she congratulates him for the initiative. She has to maintain neutrality, of course, but between the two of them, she doesn’t see a reason for him not to. She’s always thought he would be well-suited for the role.

That doesn’t mean it’ll be a cake walk, though. Connelly has a decent resume and a lot of funding -- he is a fundraising man, after all -- and the conservative pockets of the district are keen on him. But that shouldn’t deter Jack.

Evelyn: If I recall correctly, you’ve got a fair bit of fighting spirit in you.

Damn right! With that, the two of them start to wrap up their lunch, allowing the conversation to drift back to more casual things. One of these things is that Evelyn feels congratulations are in order -- she heard about him and Eric. Jack is surprised she knows, and though he covers it well, he seems a bit uncomfortable that that information is just floating around.

Jack: How’d you hear that tidbit?

Evelyn: Word travels fast in these circles, Jack, you know that. Besides, it’s hardly a stretch of imagination. Everyone already thinks of you and Eric as a tag-team; where one is, the other can’t be too far behind.

Jack: They do?

Evelyn: With all the work you two did at Adams all those years? Of course. I think most folks in the district are familiar with the duo who whipped Adams into shape.

Oh, right, right… makes total sense. They did work together for so long, sometimes at odds, eventually in tandem. They were basically co-running Adams together last year. There’s nothing weird about people thinking of them as a packaged deal. In fact, Jack thinks, he should be honored to be tied to Eric in people’s minds that way.

Even so, he can’t shake this strange feeling.

INT. SCHOOL BOARD OFFICES - DAY

As Evelyn walks out with Jack, she assures him that the next time they have lunch, she’ll be able to have an assistant walk him out. She’s been slacking on the hiring process to find a replacement for her last one who amicably quit last month to pursue her master’s degree.

Evelyn: I know it makes me sound like a wretched fool, but I swear, I do not know how people get by without an assistant. Suffice to say, if I had one, then I would’ve hired one already rather than forgetting in the mess of everything else I’m failing to keep track of because I don’t have one.

Jack: Guess I’m lucky I stayed on your calendar today, then.

Evelyn: We’re lucky I can even still see my calendar under the stacks of proposals on my desk. Anyway, if you know of any good recs, feel free to send them my way.

Interesting… noted, Evelyn. Noted.

INT. NYU - SMALL THEATER - DAY

Auditions are being held in one of the smaller theater venues on campus, giving students the bona fide experience of the process. Many of the students are gathered in the audience, chatting in between phases of the auditions.

Lucas sticks out like a sore thumb, clearly lost and knowing he’d be unable to hold a competent conversation with most of these people. This is like Adams on steroids, or vice versa, and it’s something he definitely didn’t miss. Without Riley there to guide him, he knows he doesn’t fit in.

It’s a relief when Nigel enters, spotting him and greeting him when he approaches. Lucas visibly relaxes a bit, grateful for the friendly face who knows what he’s doing. Nigel suggests they sit in one of the rows in the middle back, leading the way through the seats towards the center. As they go, Lucas questions if Nigel is performing today, and he explains he signed up for an audition slot later in the day to give him a little more time to figure things out.

When they settle, it’s not long before they’re joined by some peers from class, including Imogen and EVAN SCOTT. Nigel introduces Lucas to both of them as they file into the row in front of them, Evan exchanging a hand shake with him.

Imogen: Riley’s elusive, fabled boyfriend. What a pleasure.

Evan: Seriously. I’m sure we’ve crossed paths before with the arts school stuff, but it’s cool to actually meet you. Riley’s said so much about you. [ preemptively ] All good things.

Imogen: Any surprise there? It’s Riley…

Evan asks Lucas a bit more about him, like if he’s enjoying checking out NYU and whereabout in the city he dwells. Imogen asks the more pointed questions, like whether he goes to a school nearby or what he’s studying… forcing Lucas to give the short version of his collegiate pickle.

Lucas: So yeah, um, I deferred for now, but planning to get there next fall. Provided stuff works out.

Evan: Man, that sucks. Sorry. It’s great you’re being so chill about it, though. Have the plan and everything.

Oh, Evan, you have no idea. Imogen raises her eyebrows.

Imogen: California, huh? Bit far away.

Nigel: Just a little bit.

Imogen: [ examining him ] Well… good luck with that.

It’s said innocently enough, but it’s got that slight judgmental edge to it that crawls under your skin. Lucas tries not to take it personally -- he’s dealt with plenty of divas in his life, against his desires -- but Imogen manages to hit on all the insecurities he’s currently battling with like, zero effort at all. His plans are foolish; he’s expecting too much; he’s extremely out of place sitting there amongst the rest of them.

He’s forced to move past it when the audition circuit gets rolling again, the house lights dimming as PROFESSOR HILL calls Riley in for her audition. She makes her way towards center stage, looking cute but professional in her chosen dress for the day and hair braided intricately over her shoulders. She offers a smile.

Riley: Hi, I’m Riley Matthews. I’ll be performing “Maybe This Time” from Cabaret.

And so she goes… the swing bass line floats in…

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Maybe This Time” as performed by Cabaret Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Riley Matthews

Somewhat of a different shade for Riley, leaning less on her ingenue charm and more on a layered, nuanced portrayal of hope. It showcases her vocal ability well, the slow build into the famous crescendo giving her the chance to work up to the harder notes rather than just leaping straight into a belt like Maya might. But she demonstrates bravado and control, a solid showing for a freshman audition.

As she auditions, we intercut --

INT. HIGH-END STORE - DAY

With Jade on her shopping spree with Anya, the latter leading her into the mysterious allure of the luxury world. While Riley is building to her climactic notes, Jade is cycling through wardrobe options, sort of living the classic chick flick montage of a makeover. Although they aren’t changing much about her, her closet is definitely getting an upgrade -- Anya gives her advice and personal styling consultation, occasionally holding up things against her or adjusting her looks, showing her the proper way to carry herself to pull off certain pieces.

It’s impressive, the transformation a little change of wardrobe can cause. Just in changing out of her Old Navy pants and simple work blouse, trying on more of the sleek and sharp items, Jade looks stronger. Less effacing, more like she belongs on that top floor with Anya and Melanie. She probably won’t wear any of these looks, but even to try them on while getting feedback from one of the biggest names in fashion right now is like a drug hallucination.

INT. NYU - SMALL THEATER - DAY

We come back to Riley in the final stretch, singing her heart out center stage. She’s finally figured out how to channel that energy from “Rose’s Turn,” without needing adverse conditions to get it out of her.

Maybe this time, I’ll win!

INT. HIGH-END STORE - DAY

As the instrumental winds down through the end, Jade comes out of the fitting room with a final contender for her mixer outfit. It’s a sleek jade green silk blouse with lantern sleeves, paired with plain but trendy high-waisted black pants. It’s a definite serve -- Jade almost doesn’t recognize herself as she stands in front of the mirror. She’s never put this much effort into an outfit that wasn’t for a formal. Asher would probably collapse in disbelief.

Anya comes up behind her, taking a look at her through the reflection. Then, she smiles lightly, giving Jade a nod. That’s the one.

INT. NYU - SMALL THEATER - DAY

Riley finishes her audition and gives a slight bow, bright smile on her face as she thanks the audience for their time.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - DAY

Isa is sitting at the kitchen table by the window, on another video call with Chai. They’re running through the logistics of their Bennet assignment, and even as they’re talking, they can tell that their girlfriend is kind of zoned out. Chai is clearly scrolling on her phone while they talk, even if the device isn’t visible on the screen. They slow their roll a bit, pausing, wondering if they should say something. Maybe it’s just because they’ve been so focused on other relationships for class, or maybe Chai has always done this on calls and they just never noticed…

Isa: Is there something you’re supposed to be doing?

Chai: Hm? [ lifting her gaze ] What?

Isa: I just -- you seem distracted. If you like, have other stuff to do --

Chai: What? No, sorry, I’m good. I was listening.

Isa: … seriously, I mean, like don’t let me keep you.

Chai: Isa, it’s chill. I’m fine. Anyway, you were saying?

Isa: What was I saying? Do you know what I was talking about?

Chai: Yeah. You were… talking about an assignment for class.

Isa: Oh. Yeah.

Chai: Lucky guess…

Isa isn’t great about sarcasm, so they don’t quite get the hint, but it’s clear something might be up. The vibes just feel off, not as easygoing as they once were.

Isa: You’re sure it’s all good?

Chai: I guess… I just feel like we talk about your school stuff a lot. And that’s fine, you know, happy to listen, but we used to talk about other stuff too. Didn’t we? Maybe we should try to do more of that again.

Isa: Okay… sorry. I like hearing your opinion on stuff going on, that’s all.

Chai: And that’s sweet. But it kind of feels like we talk so much about the things going on, but we’re not really… you know what, nevermind. I don’t know what I’m talking about.

Isa: [ not sure what to say ] You know you can say whatever --

Chai: And like, to be honest, sometimes I don’t think you actually want to hear my opinion.

Isa: What? Since when? What do you mean?

Chai: Like, it’s easy when I agree with what you have to say. Like the Maya stuff, or whatever. But if I don’t, I feel like you don’t really want to hear that. For example, with this relationship thing -- I don’t think looking at your real-life friends is a good idea.

Isa: Why not? Better than trying to unpack something that isn’t real.

Chai: Um, for like a million reasons. One, it’s an invasion of privacy -- I wouldn’t want someone unpacking us without me knowing about it.

Isa: That seems a little strong. People people-watch all the time.

Chai: Two, you might see or learn things you didn’t want to know. When you start to put people under a microscope, you notice things you didn’t before. Part of the reason humans are able to coexist is because we spend so much time wrapped up in our own lives, we don’t fixate on the shit other people are doing most of the time. That’s how we stay sane. I just feel like, if you’re watching these relationships so closely, especially ones you’re close to, it’s playing a dangerous game.

Isa: Please. I mean, I get what you’re saying, but the ones I’m surrounded by are so like, damningly consistent --

Chai: And I don’t think you should necessarily be observing and casting judgment on other people’s relationships when you can’t even focus on --

Chai self-edits, cutting herself off before she gets too deep and says something she regrets. Isa stares at the screen, able to fill in that blank on their own… but they have no idea how to react. In their head, they know this is probably the moment they’re supposed to do something helpful, jump to patch up whatever hole is starting to tear at their foundations. They should feel compelled to act; they need to do something.

But instead, Isa freezes up. They wait in the silence, empty words on the tip of their tongue, paralyzed with the sudden conflict bubbling up in an area they thought they had quieted into a constant state of stable. Finally, Chai sighs, running a hand through her hair.

Chai: Sorry. I don’t know what I’m… I had an exam this morning, so I was up super late studying. I need more caffeine.

Isa: No, that’s okay. Like I said, don’t let me keep you up.

Chai: Yeah. Yeah, I should probably go. Get some rest.

The window to have a conversation is closing fast. If Isa doesn’t say something now, they know they’re missing an opportunity to patch things up. They can hear what Eric would tell them loud and clear in their head -- communication works!

But for whatever reason, they stall, and fumble the moment. Instead, Isa lets Chai go, wishing her good night and claiming they’ll talk in the morning. Chai offers a smile, but it’s tight. When the call ends, the silence in the room is deafening, the solitude total.

Almost. To their left, Farkle has reappeared in the desk chair, this time styled in his senior prom rose pink suit. He opens his mouth to comment but Isa cuts him off, holding up a hand. They refuse to look at him.

Isa: Don’t. Fucking. Speak.

Oop. Well… fair enough. Farkle raises his hands in innocent surrender, slouching back in the chair and resuming his role as the elephant in the room.

INT. NYU - SMALL THEATER - DAY

Nigel is backstage, on deck for his audition. He seems to be in decent spirits, running through the more upbeat, eclectic song he’s chosen under his breath. The student assistant tells him he’s going to be up in a minute.

As the one on stage is wrapping up, Nigel gets a text on his phone. It’s Jade, letting him know that something completely unexpected came up at work and she can’t make it out for lunch, but break a leg! She can’t wait to hear all about it, and is sure he’ll kill it.

Of course, Nigel understands that things happen. He gets that work is important, especially this opportunity and especially to Jade. But as understanding as he is, he can’t hide his disappointment. The air seems to have been let out of his tires -- and with it, some of the mild confidence he had going into this.

Hill, off-screen: Nigel?

Shoot. No time to dwell on it now. Nigel takes a deep breath, trying to steel himself and get back some of the energy he had moments earlier. He marches out from the wings and onto the stage, heading towards center.

All of a sudden, it’s like he forgets everything he’s ever learned about performing. Standing in the glare of the lights, unable to see the crowd but knowing they’re all out there staring at him, has him feeling paralyzed. He’s always had a little bit of stage fright due to his shyness, but it’s never felt like this.

Hill: Whenever you’re ready.

Nigel clears his throat, willing himself to act.

Nigel: Hello. I’m Nigel Chey, and I’m going to be… I’ll be performing “Music Of The Night” from Phantom Of The Opera.

In fight or flight, the safe option rises to the surface. Nigel nods to the pianist.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - GARAGE - NIGHT

Zay is feeling a bit off his game too. He’s been working on his half of the choreography all evening, but he’s struggling. The combinations don’t feel like they’re clicking together; it’s not flowing. It’s hard for him to figure out how to structure his moves when he has no sense of what the other half of the routine is going to be like. He can’t even begin to guess -- with past collaborators at Adams, he knew them well enough to have a sense of their taste, what they might come to the table with. Vanessa, on the other hand, is a very opaque blank slate.

He can’t seem to pull it together alone when it’s supposed to be a team effort. He groans in frustration and lowers himself to the cold floor of the garage, laying on his stomach and pressing his forehead to his crossed arms.

INT. USC - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

At the same time, Charlie releases a sigh, uncrossing his arms from over his eyes. He’s laying on his back, staring at the ceiling in the dance studio Farkle helped him reserve. He’s trying to work on the choreography for Maya’s project -- the clock is ticking down fast -- but he’s at a similar dead end. When he sits up and pulls his choreo sheet towards him and between his legs, it offers no brilliant answers.

It’s concerningly, hauntingly empty.

He can’t have lost it. He knows that’s not possible. He’s getting in his own head. He’s been here before, too, feeling lost and directionless and out of touch with himself. He got it back then; he can do it now. He just needs to recenter. He needs to loosen up and get back to that place, that core inside of him that lives to dance.

Loosening up used to be par for the course. After a moment of thought, Charlie gets an idea, climbing to his feet and reaching for his phone.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S GARAGE - NIGHT

Zay seems to have a similar thought. Sometimes, with dancer’s block, what you need is more dance. If he does a little freestyle to shake off the slog, get back into the groove, then he can power through. He just needs to remember why he loves it, why he’s doing this in the first place.

Thankfully, he’s got just the song. He opens music on his phone as well, queuing up the track just at the same time as Charlie presses play in California…

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Garden (Say It Like Dat)” as performed by SZA || Instrumental

In one of AMBITION’s finer editing moments, this dance performance weaves together choreography from three different settings into one seamless routine. As the song starts out, it’s just about Zay and Charlie each shaking it out and loosening up their movements, doing a few simple freestyle moves and stretches to get back into the right headspace. The first stretch of the verse simply cuts between the two of them, doing two seemingly unrelated (yet still complementary) sets of moves.

That is, until we hit the first chorus, Zay’s foot just about to hit the ground --

INT. AAA - DANCE STUDIO - FLASHBACK - DAY

And it does -- only an echo from another time. Junior year Zay is sticking the landing, just in time to spin and face Charlie and stick his tongue out at him. They’re hanging out in their studio, spending time the way they used to spend most of their afternoons in the fall of junior year -- playfully competing with mini dance-offs. The purest expression of dance there is.

And infused with plenty of joy. That’s the clearest thing about watching Season 2 era Zay and Charlie freestyle with and against each other, how happy and freeing it is for both of them. They’re loose, naturally a little flirty (of course, Zay has to sing some of the lyrics at Charlie as they go), full of laughter and smiles and teasing touches to throw the other off.

This SZA bop was one of their go-tos, so it’s no surprise both of them gravitated towards it now.

INT. USC - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

This is how two becomes three -- once the flashbacks have been introduced, then the performance seamlessly cuts between the past and the present, showing how the ghost of those freestyles still influences and lingers in both of their movements like muscle memory. Even in the segments when junior Zay and Charlie are dancing together, a playful pas de deux, their present choreography follows the same mold, just with small tweaks and twists to make it a solo.

I believe you when you say it like dat You must really love me…

INT. AAA - DANCE STUDIO - FLASHBACK - DAY

As the song eases into its instrumental outro (after plenty of groovy, engaging intercut dance moves), junior Zay and Charlie have drifted back together, no longer in competition so much as they’re half-slow dancing, half-mocking each other.

Zay leans in for a kiss and Charlie pulls away -- at first on instinct, a reminder for us of how things used to be -- but he manages to shift it into something playful, reframing it more as another tease than a signal of how doomed their romance is. Zay grins and reaches after him, missing his arm by an inch which causes Charlie to laugh in triumph. But Zay isn’t finished, instead swiping lower and grabbing his leg instead.

That catches Charlie off-guard, and a few moments later they’re both falling to the ground, descending into hysterical laughter and sprawling across the studio floor.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - GARAGE - NIGHT

Zay finishes out a drop into a split and rolls over onto his side, more relaxed than before and a smile on his face. He leans back --

INT. USC - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

And Charlie lands on his back, releasing a satisfied exhale. He’s smiling too, like an idiot, something in that song some kind of pure magic. Though not all of that can be credited to SZA (amazing as she is) -- most of it, he knows, is thanks to the memories tied so deeply into it.

But it did the trick. Suddenly inspired, Charlie sits upright, reaching for the choreography sheet. He picks up the pen and pulls off the cap with his teeth, starting to hurriedly jot down ideas.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

Farkle is at the kitchen table when Maya enters with another handful of shopping bags. She greets him by standing on her tippy-toes to kiss the top of his head -- helps that he’s sitting down -- then begins to debrief all of the remaining details for tomorrow. She speaks so fast, it’s hard to keep up, but the most important part he catches perfectly clear.

Maya: And you’ve got our director, right?

Farkle: I asked someone, yes. Haven’t heard back yet. But I wouldn’t get --

The next instant, his phone buzzes -- a new text from Jordan. Farkle frowns, then glances to Maya.

Farkle: How the hell do you do that?

Maya, proudly: My aura cleanser says I have a powerful cosmic energy.

Hard to deny that… she asks what he’s said. Do they have a director? Farkle skims the message, finding the most important information: Jordan has agreed to join the project.

Farkle, surprised: He’s in.

Maya claps excitedly, thanking Farkle profusely. She tells him to get his email, as Maya will want to make sure he has the pitch deck and the most up-to-date version of the song. Then she flurries back to her room, swinging her bags as she goes.

Maya: [ singing boldly ] Tomorrow! Tomorrow! I love ya, tomorrow…

Farkle focuses back on the messages, actually reading it in full before he crafts up the response asking for an email. Jordan’s included some feedback about the song as sent, and the samples Farkle sent him of old performances Maya has available online. All of it seems positive, but one line stands out, in reference to one of the videos that happened to be a duet between Farkle and Maya:

“You weren’t so bad yourself, Minkus. You certainly know how to captivate an audience.”

Wow. Well that’s… nice. Farkle rereads it to make sure it’s actually there amidst all the other stuff. He has no idea how to respond, so he ignores it, starting to type his request for his email address.

INT. CHEY APARTMENT - NIGHT

Nigel is in the living area with REYNA CHEY and PAOLO CHEY, helping his little brother with his spelling homework. He steps away into the hallway when Jade lights up his caller ID, though, taking the call away from the questioning ears of his family.

Jade immediately apologizes, saying she feels terrible for missing the audition. Nigel shrugs.

Nigel: It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. It’s not like you haven’t seen me audition dozens of times, right?

Jade: Still, I know this was a big deal. First college one and everything. And I wanted to be there, seriously, but things just happened so fast. One minute I’m getting my lunch from the staff kitchen, the next I’m in a car with Anya Kelly heading to 5th Avenue.

Nigel: Wow. That’s… wow.

Jade: Yeah. But I completely dropped the ball, and I’m so sorry about that.

Nigel: No, no worries. Seems like something you wouldn’t want to miss. I want you to be able to like, do all that, you know?

Jade: I know. Because you’re way too sweet. But I still want to hear all about it.

Jade suggests they have dinner tomorrow night, before her event with Anya. That way, they can catch up on everything… and he can preview the outfit she got for the mixer, exclusive first look. She thinks it looks pretty good, if she does say so herself.

Nigel doesn’t doubt it, and he isn’t going to say no to that. He reiterates that she doesn’t need to make it up to him, but agrees to dinner. Based on the small smile on his face, the promise of it is already enough to lift his mood.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - RILEY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Lucas is reclined on Riley’s bed, flipping through the admissions pamphlets he pilfered while on campus. They’re crinkled and creased from being folded in his pockets all day, but that does nothing to detract from the sheer joy radiating off all of the models in the photos. Supposedly regular college students, like Riley, Nigel, and Isa, going about their day bursting with zest for life and basking in the NYU glow. A natural piece of the puzzle.

One that Lucas doesn’t fit. He’s always felt this way, like college wasn’t a place he was meant to inhabit, but after visiting NYU with Riley the past couple of days it feels more stark than ever. He knows Davis would be different -- different school, different vibe -- but at this point it’s a wonder whether that will even matter. He doesn’t match the photo, he can’t mirror the models. Riley’s classmates could sense it from a mile away.

He doesn’t belong.

Riley announces her presence by releasing a pointed sigh, causing Lucas to lift his head. She’s leaning against the wall by the door, arms crossed and head tilted back, watching him idly with an absentminded smile on her face.

Lucas: [ quietly amused ] What are you doing?

Riley: Just… taking it all in. Painting a mental picture. [ holding her hands up to frame him ] Don’t make any sudden movements, you might ruin the rendering.

Lucas: Please…

Riley: Let me be. Let me savor it. [ a beat ] Okay, savoring done. Come here.

Lucas obliges, gladly putting the pamphlets to the side and sitting up as Riley comes to join him on the bed. She plops down in front of him and steals a kiss off him, beaming when they pull apart.

Riley: Hi, roomie.

Lucas: That’s never gonna get old to you, is it?

Riley: Nope. All part of the savoring.

Riley starts to undo one of her braids, Lucas reaching forward to help. She lets him take over, smiling as he scoots closer and gently runs his fingers through her hair to loosen it from the style. It’s clear from the familiarity of the routine that they’ve done this multiple times before.

While Lucas plays with her hair, Riley asks him what he thought of the audition circuit today. Totally different vibe from Adams, huh? Lucas can agree that’s probably true, although it’s not a fair comparison considering he’s only seen one round of auditions at Tisch and about five-hundred thousand at Adams against his will. And if he’s going to be candid, he wasn’t paying attention that often.

Riley: What did you think of the Tisch competition? Any standouts?

Lucas: You were incredible.

Riley rolls her eyes, bashful smile on her lips.

Riley: I meant other than me. You don’t have to flatter me.

Lucas: There were other people?

She crinkles her nose at him and playfully shoves his knee, but considering she steals another kiss when she leans closer, he’s not saying the wrong things. Lucas shifts to her other braid, gently detangling it, and reiterates that it’s not as if he’s the tastemaker of musical theater. Everyone else was kind of just a big blur.

Lucas: I liked the song you sang. No clue what it was, but --

Riley: It’s from Cabaret. One of the classics. You know, Liza Minelli?

Lucas: Please tell me you’re kidding and you don’t actually expect me to know who that is.

Riley: Yes, I know who I’m dealing with. I think I’d know my boyfriend well enough after three years. It’s great you liked the song, though. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.

Lucas: [ with a shrug ] You were the one singing it.

God… you know, it’s the unaffected, earnest way Lucas says stuff that really makes it hit home. He may not think he has any understanding of words, how to use them effectively, but it’s evident he always knows exactly what to say to Riley -- usually without even realizing it.

He finishes combing out her hair with his fingers and brushes it over her shoulder, lifting his hand to nudge some of it behind her ear and cupping her face in the process. She can’t help but smile, leaning into the touch and turning to place a kiss against his palm for good measure.

Then she shifts topics, asking about how he’s enjoyed his campus days with her. How has he liked NYU? Has it been fun meeting all her peers and seeing the day-to-day collegiate life?

Riley: Not the most glamorous thing to write home about, I’m sure, but I mean, are you having fun? Doesn’t it make you so excited for Davis next year?

Lucas hesitates, words caught in his throat. Fun is definitely not the word he’d use to describe it… being with her is fine, and she can manage to make any situation brighter, but his experiences at NYU so far haven’t exactly bolstered his enthusiasm. But he doesn’t want to tell her that -- he can’t look her in the eyes and kill her excitement, that sparkle in her eyes at how keen she is to have him tagging along.

So he does the next best thing -- distraction. Lucas shrugs coyly, as if the reason he doesn’t want to talk about it is more out of playful withholding rather than a desire to talk about literally anything else.

Lucas: It’s hard to say. I haven’t really been all that focused on NYU.

Riley: What do you mean?

Lucas: Well, I would be, but…

He licks his lips, letting the thumb he’s been caressing her cheek with stretch a bit to brush at the corner of her mouth. Riley glances down then meets his eyes again, cautiously intrigued smile ghosting over her features. Does he mean what she thinks he means… Lucas lets himself drift closer, speaking softly.

Lucas: I’ve got a pretty distracting tour guide.

Yeah, okay. He totally means what she thinks he means. And to that, in Riley’s opinion, God bless! Lucas closes the space between them to give her a soft kiss… then initiates another one, a little deeper. A little more pointed.

Riley giggles as he transitions to kissing her jaw, then dips down to her neck. He could not have picked a more effective route to get her mind promptly onto an entirely alternate track. But just to be sure…

Lucas: [ against her neck ] Sorry, were we talking about something?

Riley: Shh, shh. I’m savoring. As you were, or you’ll ruin the rendering.

Mission accomplished. Lucas obliges, dutifully returning to kissing her collarbone. Riley wraps her arms around his shoulders and pulls him closer, then laughs as she rolls onto her side and drags him down with her. Just as they’re getting comfortable, exchanging a drawn-out kiss, Riley’s phone vibrates in her pocket, startling her and causing both of them to burst into chuckles.

Riley: Sorry, sorry.

Lucas: I thought we were savoring.

Riley: Oh, we’re fucking savoring, I just need to put the rest of the world on silent first --

And she fully intends to do just that, digging her phone out of her pocket -- but the message lighting up her screen causes her to pause. It’s from Charlie, a link followed by one message:

“Have you seen this?”

Riley frowns, immediately drawing concern from Lucas. He asks what’s up, Riley shaking her head in confusion and unlocking her phone. He helps her sit upright and then leans closer to look with her, the link Charlie sent taking them to a Facebook post of a video that seems to be making the rounds on conservative social media.

It’s a recent interview with JEFFERSON DAVIS GRAHAM, one from a local news station taken just after a fundraising event of some kind. The newscaster asks if he’s heard the rumor that former principal of Adams, Jackson Hunter, might be considering a bid for the open school board seat. Graham maintains his calm, scoffing lightly with the perfect dose of condescension.

Graham: I don’t address rumors, and an intent to run is not the same thing as a formal candidate. But I’ll say this much -- what the school board needs right now, in Morris’s steadying absence, is not more chaos and instability. I’m sure that the good people of Manhattan would agree wholeheartedly. Now is the time for us to be focused on the issues folks care about, maintain discipline and order, and bring integrity and excellence back to the Manhattan school district.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - MASTER BEDROOM - DAY

By the time morning rolls around, Graham’s little commentary has made the rounds and is relevant enough to be playing on local news -- echoing behind Jack as he scrambles to get ready for an already stressful day.

Graham, voiceover: For those familiar with Jackson Hunter, and some of his antics as of late, I’m sure they’d find he’s not the steadying force we need in this period of transition. And I think, if Hunter cares about the district schools as much as he claims, he’ll recognize his own ability -- or lack thereof -- and make the right decision about whether to pursue such a position.

Graham can shut it, but if anyone saw Jack this morning, they might think he has a point. He’s more frazzled than usual, the interview having gotten under his skin and heightening all the other whirlwind of emotions he’s been battling with this week. And today is challenging enough -- he’s got his meet-and-greet with the other more conservative board members this afternoon, the folks already squarely in Graham and Yancy’s camp and likely not interested in giving him the time of the day. It’s a courtesy lunch they’ll have more than anything else, but still, Jack has to stick it out.

And he’d be able to face that head-on no problem… if he had his lucky suit jacket. He can’t seem to find it anywhere, as it’s not in the box he saw it in earlier this week. In fact, he can’t find the box at all. So much of their stuff seems to have been unpacked like magic, now hidden throughout the room.

Jack curses under his breath, throwing open the closet -- and finding an even bigger logistical nightmare. All of his and Eric’s things have been thrown together, put away nicely but all mixed up. He doesn’t even know where to begin to find the suit jacket.

And he’s going to be late. He doesn’t have time to dig through a bunch of crap that isn’t his. He lets out another “fuck” and forfeits, grabbing his bag and phone and heading out of the room.

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

Isa is over having breakfast with Eric before class, the two of them engaged in idle conversation. Eric is trying to explain to them why Dead Poets Society is an instant classic, but their debate is interrupted when Jack flurries into the room.

Eric: There he is. Jack, please help me explain to Isa why --

Jack, abruptly: Where’s my suit jacket?

Jack’s tone is harsher than usual, and it immediately sets the room on edge. It’s plain as day that he’s upset, even if it’s restrained in that way Jack has trained himself to be with his emotions. Eric pauses, then proceeds with caution.

Eric: Which suit jacket?

Jack: My favorite one. You know, the dark one with the -- it was in a box. I knew where it was, I had it in a box.

Eric: Okay. Well, I unpacked things --

Jack: [ with a scoff ] Oh, yeah, I noticed. You sure did!

Okay, the snark is certainly not warranted. Eric gets to his feet, asking what Jack is so worked up about. He brushes off the concern at first, but Eric doesn’t budge, holding his ground. Isa watches the whole exchange with rapt attention, eyes wide and dead silent.

Eric: Look, is this about the Graham interview? Because that’s really not that big a --

Jack: No, it’s not. I don’t want -- I don’t want to talk about them right now. That’s not the problem.

Eric: Then what is? Because unless you’re going to explain, I don’t see why I should accept you talking to me this way.

Jack: Because you moved all my shit, Eric! You just went and put it all away.

Eric: … um, yeah? Because we’re unpacking? In the house that we got together --

Jack: I didn’t ask you to touch my stuff. You didn’t ask me first. And now it’s all… mixed up, now it’s all thrown together and I can’t find anything!

Eric: And is that a problem? We’re moving in together. That’s what happens, you mix your stuff, you share --

Jack: Well maybe I don’t want it all mixed up, did you even think about that? Maybe I’m not ready for everything to become all… tangled up! Especially when you go and lose the things that I actually need!

Okay, wow. Eric stares at Jack for a long moment, not firing back, trying to figure out what the hell has gotten into him. Then he walks out of the room, seemingly ending the conversation.

Jack stands there, anger already receding now that the emotion isn’t so immediate… and when he glances at Isa, sitting there gaping at him, it evaporates entirely, leaving him sheepish and off-kilter in its wake. What is wrong with him? Why is it all of a sudden he’s lashing out like he’s trapped, when building a place like this was everything he always wanted?

Eric reenters the kitchen, carrying the lucky suit jacket in his hands. He comes to stand in front of Jack again, locking eyes with him. His tone is calm, but somehow that’s almost worse than if he raised his voice and fed into Jack’s fire with some of his own.

Eric: It was on the coat rack. I put it there, because I knew you were going to want to wear it today. [ bluntly ] Sorry I moved it without asking. I won’t touch your things again.

Jack holds his gaze, wilting under it. He wants to apologize, to explain himself, to make sense of why he reacted the way he did -- but he can’t right now, because he doesn’t know.

So he flees instead, taking the jacket in silence and stepping out of the kitchen. Eric lets him go without comment, but it’s harder to maintain his cool when he glances at Isa. They’re still shell-shocked, not sure how to process the argument they just witnessed. After making mountains out of molehills for them all week, seeing an actual disagreement up close and personal has really shaken them up.

If they were looking for conflict, boy, did they stumble upon it.

END OF PART 1.

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

As promised, Zay and Vanessa both roll up to the studio bright and early Thursday morning. It’s going to be a long day, and they’re both prepared for the worst, dressed to sweat and glares determined. They meet in the middle of the room once they’re situated, each with their choreography sheets prepped like a shield.

After sizing each other up for a moment, Vanessa reaches and smoothly snatches Zay’s sheets from his hands to assess them for herself. He swallows his petty irritation and holds his tongue, accepting her sheets when she loftily hands them over without looking at him.

The room stays quiet as they review the other’s work… with no immediate volcanic eruption. In fact, based on the subtle shifts in their expressions as they skim, they’re decently impressed. But they stay neutral as they turn their gazes on each other.

Vanessa: Well?

Zay: I can work with this. Surprisingly. [ off her eye roll ] You?

Vanessa: It’s not bad. Can work with it.

So all there is left to do is bring them together -- find a way to mesh. The two of them lock eyes, steeling their resolve. Our focus shifts to their dance shoes, standing at opposite ends of the frame with gaping distance between them…

Then Zay takes the first step.

INT. WAREHOUSE SHOOT - DAY

And Farkle takes the next, pushing open a pair of industrial doors and leading the way into the space, Jordan following behind him and taking in the scenery as they go.

Maya might be unhinged, but she sure knows how to pull a function together on short notice. They’ve picked a converted warehouse as the location for the video shoot, the whole place feeling very eclectic, grassroots Hollywood. The lighting is moody but bright at the center where the filming will take place, and old-school pop is playing over the speakers to keep the mood hype. There’s a staff of about 10 - 15 people (mostly students, by the looks of it), talent and technicians alike, all moving with purpose.

Jordan: Pretty decent set-up.

Farkle: Mhm. You can imagine who paid for it.

Jordan chuckles. Farkle continues to weave through the organized chaos, only glancing over his shoulder occasionally to make sure Jordan is keeping up.

Three cameras are set up at different angles towards the main soundstage, where the woman of the hour is currently. She’s dressed in one of her outfits for the shoot, a shimmery Britney-esque unitard, blonde hair blown out to glossy perfection. Right now, she’s running through choreography with Charlie, the two of them discussing a combination in the middle of the number. Miraculously, it seems like they’re actually conversing like equals, Maya taking his work seriously and aiming to perfect the final touches.

That being said, she still has to put her Maya flair on it. She references a series of moves that she thinks is a bit too bland, Charlie quickly running through the steps next to her to make sure they’re on the same page. Maya nods, confirming he’s understood her, then clarifies her point.

Maya: And that’s fine, like basic foundation, but what if we added a little, you know --

Maya does the same set of moves back to him, only she adds a very characteristic hip roll and sashay to add some spice and top it off.

Maya: A little sparkle, you know, like that.

Charlie blinks, trying to process her suggestion and how it fits into the greater choreography. He almost instinctively mimics the move again just to try it for himself -- and have faith, there’s no doubt Charlie could pull off a little hip shimmy of his own -- but he seems to think better of it when he remembers there’s a dozen strangers around potentially watching them. Instead, he offers a thumbs up, shrugging.

Charlie: By all means, flair away, Maya.

She beams at him, flipping her hair off her shoulder.  

Her attention is drawn away when she spots Farkle making his way over, and she enthusiastically rushes over to greet him and their guest director. She welcomes Jordan to the set, shaking his hand with that charismatic charm and thanking him for taking on the project.

Maya: I assume Farkle forwarded you the song and pitch deck.

Jordan: He did. Nice track. A lot of energy, a good base for your concepts. The deck was helpful for getting a sense of the vision.

Maya: Excellent. I’m excited to hear what you’re thinking -- Farkle tells me you’re quite the perceptive director. He only recommends the best.

Jordan: Well, I don’t know if I’m the best so much as the only…

Jordan’s tone is teasing -- he’s well aware this is a slapdash, last-minute project being thrown together -- but Farkle is sheepish all the same. Why is it he always feels so… wah around him?

Maya brushes past the comment, assuring him she has no doubt he’ll be a boon to the project. And in the meantime, if at any point today he needs anything, he should feel free to call upon Farkle.

Jordan: Oh?

Farkle: Oh…

Maya: Consider him your assistant director of sorts. He’s at your beck and call. Anything we need to make the guest director feel welcome, just send it his way.

Jordan: How lovely.

Farkle: For the third time this week, thanks for the heads up, Maya.

She gives him a bright grin, then clasps her hands together. Now that they’re all there, it’s time to get cracking! There’s a lot to do before they can even begin moving through the shot list. As Maya flounces away and starts to gather the troops, Jordan exchanges a look with Farkle, giving him an intrigued eyebrow raise. Farkle manages a smile in response, not sure what to say.

How does one begin to explain Maya Hart?

INT. SCHOOL BOARD OFFICES - HALLWAY - DAY

Jack is trying to shake off his bad energy and nerves, pacing outside the offices of the conservative board member he’s meeting with that morning. He murmurs his rehearsed talking points under his breath, occasionally checking his watch restlessly.

Finally, a secretary pokes her head out and informs him that the board member will be ready in just a moment. Jack nods and thanks her, waiting until she’s gone to take a deep breath and center himself. He adjusts his stance so that he can check his reflection in the glass of the window, fixing his hair and straightening his tie…

Then he freezes, realizing a mistake. He glances down to confirm -- he’s put on one of Eric’s ties by accident. In his haste this morning, and with all their things mixed up, he must’ve grabbed from the wrong selection. And boy, did he really pick one: it’s one of Eric’s statement ties, the ones he cycles through on Fridays to add a little fun to the last day of the week. The one he’s got on right now is the one Jack always jokingly calls the “fruit salad” tie, dark evergreen embroidered with charming little fruits.

Shoot! What is he gonna do? Today of all days… does he take it off and risk looking like a slob, or keep it and have the board members think he isn’t taking this seriously? They already tend to lean on the side of believing he’s negligent, or reckless, or too freewheeling in leadership -- surely colorful thread strawberries and oranges aren’t going to help that case!

Secretary: Mister Hunter? Dr. Langley will see you now.

Jack pulls himself together in a snap, offering a smile to the secretary and following her into the offices. He takes care to straighten the tie on the way in -- no turning back now.

INT. WAREHOUSE SHOOT - DAY

The production is in full swing, Maya now donned in a sultry pink bikini top and shiny dance shorts underneath the coat we saw her pick out at the thrift store. She’s touching up her own make-up, chatting with a couple of the college technicians about the set-up of the new scene they’ve configured. Jordan is behind the cameras, musing with the operators about the best way to frame the current shot.

His part of the job basically finished, Charlie has found a place to perch apart from the commotion. He’s seated cross-legged on top of a tall stack of acting blocks and crates, allowing him to survey it all while staying out of the way. He’s got his journal open on his lap, and based on what we can glimpse, it seems like he’s writing about the shoot experience as it’s happening.

Jordan: Farkle? Farkle!

Charlie lifts his head, looking towards where Farkle is lurking in the shadows observing the whole thing go down. He’s forced back into the light when Jordan calls for him, though, spotting him amidst the others and waving him over.

Jordan: Farkle, come here for a sec.

Farkle cautiously approaches, not sure what he’s going to ask of him. Should he grab a water or coffee, just to be a proactive errand boy? But on the contrary, Jordan actually wants to pick his brain -- he gestures him closer, lightly pulling him towards the camera.

Jordan: What do you think of this angle? We’re torn between -- Maya, can you look over here for a second?

Maya looks up and turns on her high-wattage diva smile, in perfect view of the camera in question. Jordan continues to walk Farkle through what he’s thinking, not moving away a bit when Farkle inherently leans closer to peer through the camera’s point of view. In fact, while Farkle is examining the shot, Jordan is taking the time to examine him, searching his reaction…

Interesting. Charlie smirks to himself, popping a handful of almonds from the makeshift craft services table into his mouth.

Farkle offers his opinion -- the current shot is fine -- and then Jordan locks with that angle, directing everyone to set up for the next round of shots. While the rest of the crew flurries into action to prepare, Maya at the center of it all, Jordan sticks with Farkle and strikes up conversation as they saunter back into the shadows towards the food. He asks if Farkle has had his audition for the winter musical yet.

Farkle: Not yet. I got last of the lot, so I’m slated for this afternoon. I’m lucky Maya gifted me mercy to be able to dip out and show up for it.

Jordan laughs. So what is Farkle thinking for his audition? He shrugs, admitting he hasn’t given it that much thought. They say freshmen never make it, so he wasn’t sweating it too much. He’s going to do something classic, like Anything Goes or Company and call it a day.

Jordan: Oh no. No, no, no, Minkus.

Farkle: What? I’ll have you know, “Being Alive” has done me more than a few favors --

Jordan: No, not that. Company is fine. But you could do better than that. You should do better.

Farkle: … “Being Alive” is actually quite a challenging number --

Jordan: Forget Company. Let’s talk about you. That’s a great number, and I’m sure you perform it well. Hell knows you can emote well enough for it. But it doesn’t say anything about you. I mean, not that you can’t relate, I wouldn't know, but any chump freshman can do Company. And all the freshmen will do that -- pick a go-to musical theater, something traditional. Something safe.

Farkle: Right…

Jordan: But you’re not traditional, Minkus. Safe be damned. You’re weird, unconventional, unique -- you gotta lean into that. It might be a risk, but they’ll remember you. And the show they’re auditioning isn’t “traditional” anyway. Not to mention, the director this round, Mrs. Kaplan, she’s all about eccentric. She always takes the show and bends it into something new. She’ll jump at an audition that goes against the grain -- but you didn’t hear that from me.

Wow, look at this insider intel! Farkle processes this, a bit surprised that Jordan is even giving him tips at all. He hesitates.

Farkle: So I should throw it to the wind and do something completely different? The same day as the audition?

Jordan: You tell me. You’re the one who said you can’t change yourself. [ popping a cheese cube in his mouth, then shrugging ] I just think you should show them what they’re getting if they invest in you, give them something worth talking about. Of course, you should still do what you’re good at -- emoting, subtlety, all that jazz -- but you don’t need Rodgers & Hammerstein to do that. Use an audition to show them who you are… untraditional as that might be.

Jordan leaves him with that unsolicited sage wisdom, raising his eyebrows pointedly as he backs up towards the soundstage again. Farkle watches him go, the advice kind of itching at his brain. Like it reminds him of something…

He pulls his phone from his pocket, going to his calls. He looks at that outgoing call to Isa from last month -- one that, clearly, went unanswered.

He’s eccentric, all right. He’s a walking risk, with a knack for fucking things up… even worse when he doesn’t even know what he did wrong.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Mess It Up” as performed by Gracie Abrams || Performed by Farkle Minkus

Farkle starts the melancholy performance from where he stands, the camera slowly easing out from him until he’s just a frozen entity lost amidst the activity and action of the video shoot. For all the commotion around him, it’s like he’s not even there, lost in his own head.

Did I fall out of line when I called you? When I told you I’m fine, you were lied to

He continues to watch the action unfold from a distance, Maya preening and dancing feeling like a thousand miles away. His gaze always seems to drift back to Jordan, too, this intimidating but illustrious presence. But Farkle has to stay in the shadows, self-relegated to the safe zone of the background where he seems to have learned he belongs.

INT. WAREHOUSE SHOOT - BACKSTAGE - DAY

Farkle continues into the next verse traversing through the clutter and darkness of the space behind the soundstage where everyone is focused. He climbs over boxes, weaves through curtain wires and swings across the beams of scaffolding, moving towards nothing in particular. Thanks to the way light is leaking through from the soundstage, his shadows are thrown even larger against the wall behind him, looming over him as he goes.

When he gets to the end of the second chorus and almost emerges out of the shadows, he peers around the side and catches another glimpse of the ongoing production from the other side. He settles on Jordan again, in conversation with Maya and still with the ever-present intense look of concentration. As the camera pans around, the scene is blocked for a moment… and then when we can see again, it’s no longer Jordan there but Isa, theoretically having the directorial discussion with Maya and wearing a similar look of thoughtful concentration.

As the music cuts out and Farkle breathes out the final line of the chorus he ducks back in the shadows, hiding from the reminder. There’s a reason he can’t seem to connect with his new peers; why he stumbles around every interaction with Jordan like he’s incapable of interfacing. Whatever happened with Isa has made it clear enough:

Cause every time I get too close I just go mess it up!

EXT. LOS ANGELES STREETS - DAY

The warehouse must not be far from campus, because when the outro bridge kicks up, Farkle is biking through the neighborhoods around USC, heading back for his audition. The world passes him by in a blur, intercut with --

INT. WAREHOUSE SHOOT - DAY

The continued mirage of what could be, a version of reality where everything hasn’t fallen apart for reasons he can’t understand. Isa’s still directing Maya, the two of them having their usual banter and eagerly building off one another’s creative energy. And Farkle is right in the center of the action with them, grinning at their conversation and contributing his opinion even when Isa inevitably shoots it down.

EXT. LOS ANGELES STREETS - DAY

Farkle’s eyes are glossy as he sings through the final lines, pedaling harder as if that’ll burn the anxiety away.

INT. WAREHOUSE SHOOT - BACKSTAGE - DAY

In reality, Farkle still hangs in the darkness, willing himself to have the courage to step back into the light. He finally manages to, stepping around the corner and getting washed in the bright lights of the soundstage…

INT. USC - AUDITION ROOM - DAY

Which fades from white to him standing at the front of a small classroom in the theater building, wrapping up his audition in front of a small panel of USC faculty. This includes IRENE KAPLAN (40s), the aforementioned creative director of the winter musical.

Whatever Farkle gave them, it certainly wasn’t the usual fodder they get from the freshmen. Kaplan finishes jotting down notes then lifts her gaze to meet Farkle’s, giving him a nod.

Kaplan: Thank you, Farkle. The cast list will be posted tomorrow afternoon.

That’s all, then. Farkle offers a nod, thanking them for their time.

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

True to their word, Vanessa and Zay have put hours in today. Both of them are sweaty and tired, but it seems they’ve been able to loosen up significantly in that stretch of time. There’s less tension in their frames, their occasional back and forth is less strained. Zay’s currently on the floor, laying out their choreography sheets and checking that they’ve managed to thread everything together; Vanessa is rehydrating, pacing while she drinks but keeping one eye on Zay.

He determines they’ve done most of the hard work -- though they haven’t tried to run it through yet, which will be the true test -- except they need to nail the transition before the midpoint. It’s clear they’ve been putting it off, because Vanessa remains reluctant to discuss it now.

Zay: We need to put something here. It’s the biggest sweep of the track, if we just step through it, it’s gonna look sus.

Vanessa: The rest of the choreo is good. That’ll speak for itself.

Zay: It is, I’m not saying it’s not -- it’s half me, after all. [ off her eye roll ] But we’re going to look like amateurs if we pass over an obvious musical cue to up the ante. We need to weave in something -- a lift, a dip…

Vanessa: Okay, sure. That’s easy for you to say.

Zay: What’s that supposed to mean? 

Vanessa: You’ve got the easy job.

Zay: The easy job? Carrying your ungrateful ass?

Vanessa: First of all, double meaning caught and rejected. Second, yes. Yeah, you need to have strength to lift or catch or whatever, but you’re not the one taking the leap. Doing a move like that requires…

Trust. Hm… yeah. Zay sighs, sitting back and leaning on his palms as he stares at the choreo sheets. He can’t fault her for her hesitation on that front, but he knows his instincts are right. They don’t just need to survive this routine, they need to bring it.

Zay: Well, you’re welcome to lift me if you’d rather.

Vanessa: Ha ha ha. Like you trust me not to drop your ass and take you out of the running either.

Zay: You’re right, I don’t. But we both want this to be good -- unfortunately, in this case, our fates are tied. If you can’t trust me on my merits, can you at least trust that I care enough about this not to purposefully harpoon it and take us both down? Can’t we grant each other that much self-serving credit?

Maybe so… but the question is bigger than that. They both know it. They’ve managed to collaborate this long, but taking the next step requires a lowering of defenses. True cooperation. Partnership.

Zay is asking her to trust him. Just this once, just for now. Vanessa stares at him, torn between sabotaging self-preservation and opening herself up to vulnerability to progress. All things considered, they feel like an even match, a deadlock stalemate… but there’s a curiosity in play, too. Perhaps a reckless kind, one she should run from one-hundred miles in the other direction, but there’s always been something crackling between them that runs underneath the disdain. The same force that makes her brain stop functioning. She knows damn well it’s dangerous, knows she’s destined to get burned…

But it’s that curiosity that tips the scales. Vanessa exhales, dropping her arms at her side in defeat.

Vanessa: Fine.

Zay lifts his head to look at her, surprised. But he’s going to take what he can get. He immediately jumps up and starts running through ideas, steps and next-level moves they can incorporate if they can figure out how to fit it together. Vanessa crosses her arms, still a bit on defense, but she doesn’t back away as Zay steps closer to show her the sheets and point through what he’s thinking.

INT. WAREHOUSE SHOOT - DAY

Back at the video shoot, things are getting serious as they ramp up to actually start shooting. Jordan finishes discussing with Maya, back in her glitter unitard, then claps and signals for everyone to get to their places. He takes his place behind the main camera, Charlie hovering a few paces behind him.

Here goes nothing. Jordan holds up a hand to signal quiet.

Jordan: Camera ready?

Camera: Ready.

Jordan: Roll sound. [ once the boom ops signal they’re ready ] Hart Music Video, Take 1.

Our camera passes Jordan and eases back towards Maya, standing center amidst her set. She takes a deep breath, centering herself…

Jordan, off-screen: Action!

A polished smirk takes over her lips… and she inhales --

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - OFFICES - DAY

Josh lets out air between his lips, slouched in his desk chair. He’s rolling a hacky sack between his palms like a stress ball, but there’s not much to be stressed about at the moment -- there’s basically nothing going on at the office that afternoon. In fact, he’s one of the only people left, everyone else either out on meetings, starting a long weekend, or having headed out early.

He glances at the clock on his computer. The seconds are ticking down until he’s supposed to go socialize… party and have a good time like a normal twenty-something… so why is he filled with unmistakable dread? He’s never exactly considered himself an introvert…

But right now, he’s dying for a reason not to go. He gets out of his chair and paces for a bit, burning off some of his restless energy. He keeps tossing the hacky sack, catching it, then tossing it a bit further away… and a bit further… just haphazardly making his way towards Justin and Melissa’s office…

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - JUSTIN’S OFFICE - DAY

JUSTIN MILLER notices Josh hanging around so inconspicuously outside their office door. Real smooth. He smirks, then leans back in his chair.

Justin: Josh?

Josh appears in the doorway again in an instant, eager to be called upon.

Josh: Yeah. Yes? What’s up?

Justin: Oh, nice toy. [ getting up ] Toss me the sack.

Josh steps in the doorway, tossing the hacky sack up and kicking it in his direction. Justin catches it and juggles it between his hands, then does a couple tricks before bopping it back to Josh. They manage to pass it back and forth for a bit before Josh fumbles, Justin managing to dive and catch it. He jumps up and raises his arms in triumph.

Justin: In for the save! We’re masters, really. We should take this on the road. Anyway. [ tossing it back to Josh ] What do you want?

Josh: Me? Nothing. Why do you ask?

Justin: Oh, yeah, sure, sure. You just always hover outside our office like a little lost puppy.

Josh: … don’t I?

Justin makes a face, then gestures for Josh to take the usual chair opposite his. Justin comes around the front of his desk and hops onto it, asking what’s going on. Josh keeps casual, simply wondering if there’s any work he and Melissa have that he might be able to take on. You know, just being a helpful, productive junior producer.

Justin: Nope. Not right now.

Josh: … nothing? Because really, I’m happy to do the grunt work --

Justin: And even if we do -- which I’m not saying we do -- I wouldn’t give it to you in the middle of the afternoon. That would be cruel and unusual punishment. I’m not trying to keep you here overtime any more than absolutely necessary… both because I’m a good boss, and because GB hates paying overtime.

But Justin, that’s what he wants! He senses that, asking what’s really up. Why is Josh so desperate to hang around? Josh sighs, then caves, wondering if Justin always sees through him because he’s perceptive or because Josh is just pathetically obvious about everything.

Josh: My friends want me to come out with them tonight. 

Justin: Nice! Always like a Thirsty Thursday outing. It’s like the socially acceptable week edition of day-drinking.

Josh: We wouldn’t normally go out on a work night, but it’s a friend’s birthday, and she insisted. She really wants to do the classic night on the town celebration thing.

Justin: And good for her! Good to get at least one of those in. [ with a smirk ] She hot?

Josh: Jasmine? No -- I mean, yeah, no, I didn’t -- [ starting over ] She’s beautiful, but we’re not like that. We’ve been friends since college, that’s all it is.

Justin: Ah, gotcha, gotcha. Well, even without the potential to score if that’s not on the agenda, I still say play over work here. So I will not be enabling your avoidance. You’re in withdrawal, Josh. You need to have a night out to remember what’s worth living for again.

Josh: So everyone keeps saying…

Though if your actual boss is saying so, then maybe they have a point. Justin gives Josh his blessing to go let loose for the evening, and he better fucking enjoy it!

Justin: I expect a report tomorrow of all your adventures, escapades, and conquests. And if you even so much as mention work as part of your evening experiences, we’re going to have to sit down and have a big talk. [ wisely ] Life’s only as fun as you make it, Josh. It’s all out there for you to take -- whatever you want. The world is your oyster, you just have to go out there and claim it.

If only it felt that easy. Josh reluctantly takes his (somewhat forced) leave, thanking Justin for the advice.

INT. SCHOOL BOARD OFFICES - HALLWAY - DAY

Despite how stressed he was going into it, Jack seems in better spirits when he exits the office with board member DR. SHARON LANGLEY after their chat. Although they obviously don’t see eye to eye on a number of perspectives, she claims there’s much about Jack that she respects, and she sees no reason why he shouldn’t run. He’s put in many years to the school district, and he works hard. No guarantee that he’ll win, of course, and she’ll naturally be putting her support behind Connelly. But she would never deter him from trying.

Langley: And despite what my colleagues may think, I don’t begrudge some of the choices you’ve made while principal. I don’t envy many of the decisions you’ve had to make.

Jack: Thank you for that. It hasn’t always been easy.

Langley: I don’t doubt that. And the way you revolutionized Adams while you were there -- I mean, I remember what the test scores were like before you showed up and started raising standards. Turning over a new leaf like that for a whole school is no easy feat, let alone carrying it all on your shoulders.

Something about that bumps Jack, and he finds himself compelled to respond.

Jack: Well, I wasn’t totally on my own. I had a great staff with me, excellent team members. It was a group effort. [ a beat, with realization ] We share that victory.

Either way, Langley respects it -- and she certainly doesn’t pick up on whatever personal epiphany Jack is having. She congratulates him preemptively on his run and states she’ll wait for word of his official announcement. She starts to return to her office, then doubles back, a bit less professional but notably warmer.

Langley: By the way, meant to say -- I love that tie. So charming and fun.

Jack glances down at the mistaken fruit-laden tie that felt like such a big deal earlier. He touches the end of it and smiles lightly in spite of himself.

INT. BEAMON HOME - JADE’S BEDROOM - DAY

Jade is putting the finishing touches on her look for dinner with Nigel and the outing with Anya later, wearing the fashionable outfit she chose when shopping with her. To be frank, she looks fantastic -- though she’s still getting used to it, given she rarely dresses up like this. And she’s really struggling with the make-up thing, giving her best to the Herculean effort that is eyeliner. She accidentally pokes her eye, cursing to herself.

Jade: I’m gonna have to call Dylan and Asher for help. [ after a beat ] It’s truly so tragic that those words just came out of my mouth.

Hey, don’t knock ‘em! Everybody’s jealous of a master… Jade is distracted from her beauty industry battle when she hears the doorbell ring.

Nigel is early. Shoot! Jade frowns and quickly touches up the make-up, then darts out of the room. Thankfully, she knows Nigel can handle waiting around while she finishes getting ready.

INT. BEAMON HOME - DAY

Jade hurries into the entryway, passing all three of her brothers -- ETHAN BEAMON, TREVOR BEAMON, and ELLIOT BEAMON -- congregated in the kitchen around the snack bowl they’re sharing at the island counter. She shoots them all a disgruntled look.

Jade: Gee, Jade, do you need someone to answer the door like a decent, polite host since you seem pretty preoccupied? Why, yes, brothers, that would be lovely, thank you!

Elliot: Why are you getting on us? Usually you don’t want us anywhere near your precious Nigel.

Ethan: True. Can’t have it both ways, J.

Trevor: I guess this time it would be worth it so she can finish glamming up. You never dress this nice, even for him -- are you dying?

Elliot: Is he dying?

Jade tosses all of them a middle finger, earning a mocking ooh from them. Once she reaches the door, they amp up the teasing, all pretending to get nervous and excited to see Nigel. They do the classic obnoxious thing of making kissy faces, Jade rolling her eyes…

Which is enough to be sure that none of them are prepared for who they see when Jade pulls open the door. Her eyes widen, mouth hanging open slightly.

Jade: Anya.

Anya, indeed. Anya Kelly has arrived, looking subtly glamorous in her outfit for the mixer and sporting a pair of what must be one-thousand dollar sunglasses. Behind Jade, her brothers all drop their jaws, immediately clamming up from their ruthless teasing.

Anya: Hey, J. Bee. Ready to kick it?

Anya steps inside without waiting for an invitation, Jade instinctively shrinking back to let her pass. It takes her a minute to process that the Anya Kelly is actually in her house -- and she’s standing there in her bare feet and 3/4ths ready. Anya takes off her sunglasses and takes a look around, nodding slowly to herself as if she’s making some cosmic judgment.

Anya: Cute. Very quaint. [ pointing to the painting in the entryway ] Love this piece, super eclectic.

Ethan: Thanks. It was a really difficult one to acquire -- courtesy of Trevor, Age 10.

Trevor, Age 15, looks like he’s about to combust. If Jade’s a fan of Anya’s work, then Trevor is a super fan -- and it’s taking everything in him not to pass out right now. Jade manages to get her feet working again and steps in to introduce them.

Jade: Um, Anya, these are my brothers. Ethan, Elliot, and Trevor. Brothers, Anya Kelly.

Anya: Pleasure.

She extends her hand and shakes with each of them, Ethan the most put together given he’s the eldest and generally calmest in all respects. Elliot can’t believe someone with so many Instagram followers is standing in their kitchen right now.

Jade: Dylan’s been here before.

Ethan: True. He just hit 100K, no?

Elliot: Yeah, but that’s like, Dylan.

Anya: Dylan?

Jade, helpfully: Dylan Orlando. He’s --

Anya: Oh, DylVlogs? I love his videos. He’s a force. If you know him, we’ll talk -- I’ve been thinking it might be sweet to get him to do a promotion. Good market appeal.

Well, Jade was going to say “a friend and best friend’s boyfriend,” but suppose all the above works too. Introductions out of the way, Anya turns to Jade again, offering her a sly smile and asking if she’s all ready to go. The night is just getting started!

Anya: Though I hope you’ll be putting on shoes. No judgment if not. A statement’s a statement.

Jade: Um. No, yeah, I’m gonna wear shoes. I just -- I thought the event wasn’t until 9?

Anya: Correct. But we have to go for pre-event cocktails, it’s an absolute must. I booked dinner at one of my faves, you’ll love it.

Ethan: Uh, she can’t drink. She’s underage.

Anya: You have brotherly concern. That’s adorable. But not to worry -- a mocktail is double the fun. [ heading back towards the door ] Don’t wait up, the driver is waiting for us. [ from the entryway ] Can I pick your shoes?

Jade frantically rushes to grab her things, slinging her purse over her shoulder and scurrying after Anya. She waves goodbye to her brothers and follows her out, leaving the three of them to process what the hell just happened.

Trevor, dazed: Anya Kelly was in our kitchen.

Elliot: How whack is it that she knows about Dylan? He literally threw up in here once because he ate too many Pixy Stix.

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - DANCE STUDIO - NIGHT

Having threaded the remaining pieces together, Zay and Vanessa are stepping through the transition section they just finished choreographing. This requires them to actually touch, walking through the moves just at half-pace but with all the steps, hands, and support it requires.

They’re both obviously more stiff than they would be on their own, or with people they liked, but even at a slow speed the routine seems promising. And although they’re not as fluid together as tried and true partners are (some of that also being because the steps are so new), they dance well in tandem.

The two of them step into one of the riskier moves, stepping through a combination and then leaning Vanessa into a dip. She nearly touches the floor, and they have to move through it quickly -- hard to slow-motion a dip -- but it goes well. You wouldn’t even notice Vanessa’s hands trembling, if you didn’t know to look for it. She takes a deep breath and looks up at Zay, torn between uncertain faith and daring him to drop her.

He does not. He merely quirks his eyebrows -- see, easy -- then they move back into the remaining steps. Zay pulls her back upright and they move through a couple more complicated steps, culminating in a spin that’ll set them up for the next stretch of cha-cha box steps. Vanessa spins into him and Zay lifts her, holding her against him as they circle twice in slow rotation.

When Vanessa lands back on her feet and they face each other again, ready for the box combination, she glances up and realizes how close they are. His face is literally right there. Her heart is pounding again, but she doesn’t think it’s from the dance.

All of a sudden, she’s light-headed. Vanessa stumbles slightly and Zay steps forward to catch her, steadying her stance.

Vanessa: Whoa.

Zay: Jesus. You okay?

Vanessa: Yeah. Um, yeah. Sorry.

Zay: If you’re dizzy after that, I don’t feel good about our prospects at full speed.

Vanessa shoots him a look, but a weak laugh slips out too. She brushes off the concern, stepping away from him and searching for a logical explanation. They’ve been working like this all day, and haven’t taken many breaks. She hasn’t gotten to eat well today.

You know what, fair. Zay agrees, claiming they could probably afford a break since they’ve managed to at least get a full routine down. They can split for dinner, then come back this evening and do a full step-through. Vanessa takes that, very quickly making her exit.

Might seem like another rebuff, but Zay isn’t sure. And to be honest, he’s grateful for some space, too… but not necessarily for the reasons he’d expect. He watches her go, only realizing he’s let his gaze linger once she’s out of the room and he’s still standing there without gathering his things.

He’s just tired. Gets hard to think clearly when you’ve danced all day. He shakes his head and slings his duffle over his shoulder.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - ENTRYWAY - NIGHT

Grace comes to answer the door, surprised to find Riley on the other side. Riley gives her a smile.

Riley: Hi.

Grace, uncertain: Hi, Riley. What are you doing here?

Riley: Lucas left a bag of his things here that he still hasn’t picked up. He keeps saying he’s gonna do it, but then he forgets, and if I wait until he actually puts his needs first and takes time to do it we’re going to be like, thirty and probably won’t even live in the city anymore. So I thought I’d just come pick it up for him.

Grace: Oh, well. That’s sweet of you. [ glancing over her shoulder ] I guess… you can just wait here, I’ll go take a look.

Grace steps back to let her in, gently shutting the door. Riley smiles brighter, following her.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

They make their way into the apartment, Riley assuring Grace she doesn’t have to go get it.

Riley: That’s okay, I’m totally fine to…

She trails off when she passes through the archway, finding KENNETH FRIAR seated on the couch. The unexpected sight of him shocks her frozen, though realistically she should’ve known there was a chance he’d be here. He seems equally surprised to see her, lifting his gaze from his work.

Grace: Riley, this is Kenneth. I’m… not sure if you’ve met.

Kenneth: We have, in fact. Not one on one, but pleasantly enough.

Well… lovely. Grace tells Riley she’ll be right back with the bag, crossing to Lucas’s room and disappearing inside. That just leaves the two of them… Riley is suddenly uncharacteristically quiet, averting her gaze to the floor.

Kenneth: So you’re the girlfriend, huh? [ tightly ] Apologies it took this long for us to meet more formally. Lucas hasn’t mentioned you much.

To you. Riley maintains her composure, searching for her usual easygoing politeness. It’s basically evaporated.

Riley: I’m sure he’s just trying not to clutter up your time. He knows you’re very busy.

Kenneth: [ with a skeptical scoff ] Sure. I’m sure that’s why.

He should know damn well why. He should know why Lucas doesn’t tell him anything, why he avoids him as much as possible. Riley wants to say all of this, but she holds her tongue, clasping her hands together and twisting her fingers anxiously. The last thing she wants to do is say something she’ll regret, that’ll risk more trouble for Lucas.

Kenneth keeps it civil, though, simply asking about how Eric is doing since they’re related. He offers praise for his leadership, at least as far as he’s seen in his years doing the Quincy-Adams fitness week. Far as he can tell, he’ll make a strong principal.

It is impressive, Kenneth’s ability to charm and disarm. Even to those who know what he’s capable of, what he’s done. His positive talk about Eric is enough to nudge Riley away from the knife’s edge, to feel less like the room isn’t smoldering. Enough to survive the wait until Grace returns, Lucas’s navy backpack in hand. Riley takes it with a light smile, slinging it over her shoulder.

Riley: Thanks. Sorry to bother you.

Grace: No problem. Thanks for looking out for him.

Kenneth: Good someone can. He doesn’t seem to want to take it from us.

Oh, you’re really… he’s lucky Riley is a level-headed person. She offers a tight smile and thanks Grace again, the two of them heading back towards the entryway so Grace can see her out.

After she turns to go, Kenneth opens his mouth again.

Kenneth: You make sure Lucas treats you right -- Lord knows he’s got a knack for disrespecting everything else.

Okay. Level-headed out the window. Riley turns to stare at him over her shoulder, torn between stunned he had the gall to say that unironically and filled with fury.

Riley: Is that supposed to be a joke?

Grace: Riley --

Kenneth frowns, surprised she’s reacting so coldly. What did he do wrong, wish for her well-being? Riley whips around and steps back into the living area.

Riley: You really have the nerve to say that. To make comments about respect? About him?

Kenneth: Almighty, what’s gotten into you?

Riley: Don’t speak about him like that. I can’t believe you’re speaking about him like that to me.

Kenneth: [ getting irritated ] I won’t be told how to speak in my own house. What do you think gives you the right to tell me how to behave? A guest in my house?

Grace, nervously: Riley.

Kenneth: [ with a scoff ] I guess he’s already rubbed off on you, huh? I always heard you were a good kid. Well-mannered. Well --

Riley: Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The damage you’ve caused? And you’ve got the nerve to lecture me about respect? After you --

All right, now she’s just being insolent. Kenneth climbs to his feet, taking back control of his home. He may be a bit weaker, with the cancer eating away at him, but his stature is still imposing. The same frame that makes him a boon on the football field and a king among faculty feels all the more threatening in the tight confines of the apartment.

Kenneth: Whatever that boy told you, he’s full of it. And I won’t be spoken to that way in my own home, no matter who it is.

To her insane credit, Riley doesn’t back down. She holds her ground, glaring at him and ever so lightly shaking her head. The fucking gall of him to tell her to his face that Lucas is a liar; that he’s a bad influence; to imply that he could ever, ever stoop so low to the same disrespect that Kenneth inflicts on him and Grace.

Riley, resolute: Lucas would never disrespect me. [ a beat ] He doesn’t have to hurt me to make himself feel powerful.

Ouch. Mic drop, but extremely dangerous move, Riley! Kenneth immediately demands that Riley leave -- she got what she came for, so no more need for her bratty behavior in their apartment. Riley knows she should go, but now she’s so wrapped up in the unfairness and anger of it it’s like she can’t move. Grace also tries to nudge her along, more gentle than Kenneth and getting more antsy.

Grace: Riley, please --

Kenneth: You know, I see what he sees in you! Same entitlement, same lack of regard. I just hope, for your sake, he doesn’t turn that on you.

Riley, fuming: You’re such a hypocritical -- 

Grace: Riley!

Grace raising her voice cuts Riley off, getting her attention. Riley stares at her, wide-eyed -- are you really going to let him talk about Lucas like that? They hold eye contact for a long moment… then Grace steps back to stand in front of Kenneth, crossing her arms.

Grace: You need to leave. [ softer ] Please.

Riley continues to stare, dumbstruck. All of them in this room know the truth, know how things actually are… and yet, she’s going to stand by him. Riley might be sick, she’s so incensed.

But she backs down. Not because of Kenneth, but because if Grace is asking her, she realizes she should probably heed that warning. If not for her sake, then for Grace’s. She may have already made things worse for her by losing her temper -- the least she can do is quit while she’s ahead.

It’s a tough pill to swallow, though. Riley shakes her head in disgust as he turns and storms out, grip so tight on Lucas’s bag her knuckles are white.

Kenneth: Nice to finally meet you!

The door slams. Kenneth clicks his tongue, shaking his head as he settles back onto the couch.

Kenneth: Unbelievable…

Grace doesn’t move. She’s staring at where Riley left, expression heavy.

INT. JOHNSON HOME - NIGHT

Vanessa is working on actual homework while wolfing down her dinner -- that academic stuff she’s supposedly good at that her dad thinks she’s wasting to dance -- when her mom calls for her from the bedroom. Vanessa gets to her feet.

INT. JOHNSON HOME - MASTER BEDROOM - NIGHT

Alexis is trying on the dress she’s going to wear to the cocktail event Saturday evening, asking for Vanessa’s help to zip it up. She does so, Alexis adjusting her hair in the mirror in the meantime. She’s become very good at preening over the years… once Vanessa gives her the all-clear, Alexis does a once over in the mirror then turns to Vanessa holding out her arms.

Alexis: What do we think?

She looks fantastic. No one would believe she has a college-age daughter, that’s for sure -- so maybe there’s a benefit to Vanessa being MIA. It’s also more than clear where Vanessa gets her looks from. She smiles.

Vanessa: You look beautiful.

Alexis beams, giving Vanessa an affectionate touch on the cheek. She goes back to scrutinizing her appearance, smoothing her dress. Vanessa asks if she even likes going to these conference things. She doesn’t have much stake in the family business, beyond benefiting off the income.

Alexis: Lord, no. They’re sinfully boring. That’s why they’re so much more fun when you’re there.

Vanessa: Then why go? Surely dad can handle it on his own.

Alexis: … because it’s important to him. As his wife, it’s my job to be there for him. Besides, not as though I have much else to do.

By whose design… Alexis eyes Vanessa in the mirror, clocking her disgruntled expression. She spins to face her, giving her a knowing, if slightly condescending smile.

Alexis: I know right now, it doesn’t make sense to you. You’ve always been impressively independent. But you’ll understand, some day. When you have a husband of your own.

Mm, don’t know about that. If anything, Vanessa’s internal disgust only grows at the prospect. If she can help it, the last thing she wants to be is someone’s arm candy, throwing away her passions and interests to follow them around. That’s the trap, isn’t it?

If that’s love, she wants nothing to do with it.

INT. BEAMON HOME - NIGHT

The front door is pulled open, Nigel waiting on the other side. He looks adorable in his date night fit, and he gives Ethan a friendly smile as he greets him. He’s been over dozens of times before so they automatically let him in, even though he isn’t going to be there for long.

Nigel: Jade about ready? She didn’t answer my text.

Ethan and Trevor, who’s sitting in the living area, exchange a look. The kind of look you know means trouble, enough to make Nigel nervous.

Elliot, off-screen: Didn’t she tell you?

They all turn to face Elliot, who’s hanging over the banister of the stairs. He came back down just to see if his ears were deceiving him, or if Nigel actually still showed up.

Elliot: She’s already gone. Anya Kelly, in the flesh, came and swept her away like the tide.

Ethan: Riptide, more like…

Trevor: [ still in disbelief ] Anya Kelly was in our house…

Based on the look on his face, nope, this is all news to Nigel. We hang on him absorbing that…

INT. CHUBBIES - NIGHT

Zay is having his dinner break at Chubbies, though he’s passing on the fries since he still has to dance. He’s not that hungry, though, scrolling on his phone instead to distract himself. His expression is about as subtly sour as Nigel’s after the day’s events. He may have made minimal progress with Vanessa, at least enough to save their routine if they can pull it off, but only after hours of dragging their feet and taking shots at each other. As good as his snark game is -- and it’s excellent, thank you very much -- it gets more exhausting than the dancing.

That changes though when he flips to another part of his home screen, where he has the photo widget set up. It’s giving him a photo memory from this day two years ago, Charlie asleep in the passenger seat of his car. Zay hesitates, then clicks into the photo widget, which automatically gives him a full slate of the photos from this day in the past.

They’re basically all of Charlie.

The memory comes back like lightning -- it was the Saturday he convinced Charlie to take a day trip to Coney Island, a surprisingly chilly weekend in mid-October. He had to have taken dozens of pictures that day, like he just couldn’t help himself. A handful of selfies, a hilarious shot of Charlie’s face after Zay got him to eat one of Coney’s disgustingly greasy fair foods, one of Zay giving Charlie behind the camera the finger right after he lost one those carnival games no one ever wins (but Zay insisted he could, thanks to that Leo pride streak). There’s a series of shots that are favorites, from when they were walking along the boardwalk and Charlie got stupid excited because he thought he saw wildlife on the water (he didn’t). Zay must’ve been actively on his phone at the time, because he was able to catch the best moments -- Charlie leaning over the railing to point out what he claims he’s seen, his indignant smile when he turned to argue with Zay and realized he had the camera on him, then when he descends into embarrassed laughter.

It was October of junior year, peak honeymoon phase for their relationship. Two years ago… how the fuck does time fly so fast?

The warmth of it hasn’t waned at all, though, the smile on Zay’s face now as natural as it must’ve been then. Makes him wish he was here… he’s been feeling that ache a lot lately, actually. He knows he can’t ask him to come back like he has that power, but that doesn’t mean he can’t miss him. He switches to his messages and pulls up their message thread.

Zay Babineaux: hey, you busy? thinkin its been a min since we caught up

Charlie’s typing bubble pops up almost immediately. Man, does Zay prefer it when he sees that bubble…

catholic demon: Surprisingly, yes. There’s a lot going on here tonight.

Zay Babineaux: everything ok?

catholic demon: Oh yeah, I’m just along for the ride. Maya’s doing this secret project, and she -- brace yourself for this one, it’s an Agatha Christie worthy plot twist -- roped me into being a part of it. She asked me to help with dance.

Zay’s eyebrows rise at that. What crackpot idea has Maya dreamed up now? Is she finally acknowledging that Charlie is actually talented? And more than that, is Charlie at risk for destruction by being roped into whatever scheme she’s cooking? Suffice to say, he’s got many questions.

Zay Babineaux: i have no idea where to begin

Zay Babineaux: what project? how is it going?? is she actually listening to u? when you say “roped” is that figurative or literal? is she holding you hostage?? charlie, if you need help, send me a sign. say something you’d never say, like Josh Groban is boring and overrated

catholic demon: You keep joking about Groban, but you still haven’t listened to his self-titled have you? Come back when you’ve heard “You’re Still You,” then we’ll talk.

God, he’s such a dork… Zay can’t help his smile, chewing his lip to keep from grinning like an idiot and looking insane sitting alone in a booth at Chubbies.

catholic demon: But no, it’s actually been a fun experience. Still no clue if it’s going to turn out well, or how she wants it, but it’s been interesting without a doubt.

catholic demon: Talk tomorrow? I’ll tell you everything (provided it doesn’t violate Maya’s NDA)...

Now he is grinning. Zay agrees immediately, grateful for the fact that texts allow him to come off more casual and aloof than he feels.

Zay Babineaux: sounds good to me

When Zay clicks back to his home screen, his widget is showing a photo from the end of that Coney Island day -- when they went up to his room to hang out and Charlie dozed off, Zay having snuck a semi-selfie of Charlie asleep against him.

He can barely remember what that feels like, being that close with someone. When he gets hit with the nostalgia like this, he becomes all too aware of how lonely the last couple years have been at times…

Patience. Faith. They’re virtues Zay has never been good with, but he’s gotta keep trying. Doesn’t he?

He’s spared from the thought as Isa enters the diner, waving when they spot him. He returns it and welcomes them when they walk over to chat, asking how things are going. Is Turner… turning?

Zay: Oh, shitty and cutthroat as ever. The concerning part is the fact that I thrive on that. How about you, how’s NYU?

Isa: When I finally process the experience in twenty years, I’ll let you know.

Zay chuckles at that -- he’s always appreciated Isa’s blunt delivery. They slide into the booth opposite him, giving a taste of the bullshit they’re working with by vaguely describing the assignment for Bennet’s class. Zay is a good audience for the complaint, empathizing with the annoyingness of being asked to examine other people’s dynamics -- fictional or otherwise.

Zay: First of all, it’s like, mind your business. Secondly, why the fuck would I want to spend time overanalyzing fictional relationships? Dealing with them IRL is tired enough.

Isa: Dude, that’s what I’m saying! And not to be a bitch, but like -- do you ever feel like, with our friends, like… why is everyone fucking dating?

Zay barks out a laugh. Isa elaborates, pointing out their examples -- Riley and Lucas. Jade and Nigel. Even Eric and Jack, who are old and should be past all this romantic nonsense. At least Dylan and Asher aren’t still around to add to it. Like, great they’re happy and everything, but isn’t this shit relentless? Zay nods along.

Zay: You don’t have to tell me. It’s not just our friends, either. I had to start my day this morning watching my annoying classmate make out with her boyfriend outside the studio for like five minutes. And she was not shy about it -- it was basically intentional.

Isa looks genuinely disgusted. Thank God Riley and Lucas aren’t like that.

Isa: Ew. That’s deranged.

Zay: Correct. And also it’s like, fucking relax. We’re in class, you’ll see each other in an hour. I already am well aware I am single, you do not need to remind me.

Isa: So annoying. And you know what, it’s all pointless anyway. It’s never stable, love never lasts. Stupid shit always comes between people and blows everything up -- even the people you think are supposed to be untouchable. It’s great you’re single. Like, what’s the point?

Zay doesn’t seem to agree with that, necessarily… but he’s more so confused. He blinks, frowning.

Zay: … don’t you have a girlfriend?

Isa: [ after a beat ] Oh. Yeah.

Well, that shit’s also fucked, but whatever. It’s fine. Everything is fine. Zay widens his eyes slightly, silently judging, but he’s not going to say anything. Never a dull conversation with Isa De La Cruz…

INT. ANYA’S TOWN CAR - NIGHT

Jade and Anya are chatting in the backseat as the driver approaches Emerald City. Anya is finishing touching up her makeup with a vintage compact hand mirror as she runs Jade through all the personalities and celebrities they might meet while there. She glances at Jade and notes that her eyeliner is a bit messy -- she reaches forward and does a quick touch-up, Jade freezing and letting her since she’s the style expert. Like they’re friends, getting ready for girls night out, not boss and employee.

Anya: How’s the fit, by the way? It looks vicious.

Jade: Oh, it’s great. Still getting used to it, and the pockets are a little -- they’re kind of like those fake pockets they put on girl pants, so they don’t hold much --

Anya: God, those are so fucking annoying. It’s like oh, guess because we’re women, we don’t have anything to carry since men will do it for us. God forbid a woman have possessions. Don’t worry, I can have one of the seamstresses fix it for you next week.

Jade: Oh, that’s okay. I can do it, if I find the instructions --

Anya: J. Bee, never do work that someone else can do for you. Save your mental labor for the stuff that matters.

As the person who was the “someone else” for so long, Jade isn’t sure how to respond to that. But it hardly matters, as they arrive outside the club seconds later. Anya thanks her driver and leads the way out of the car, Jade sliding across the seat and rushing to keep up.

And true to her word, those fake pockets fail her. She steps out of the car and her phone falls out of her pocket and face down onto the car seat, left behind as they slam the door behind them.

As the thumping beats of Dua Lipa float in…

INT. EMERALD CITY LOUNGE - NIGHT

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Levitating” as performed by Dua Lipa || Instrumental

Anya leads the way into the club, greeting the wait staff with a smile as they’re quite familiar with her. Jade follows in after her, slower in stride, as she takes in the spectacle with wide eyes.

While some in our ensemble may have been to the Emerald City before, none have seen it at night like this yet. The mixer Maya and Zay attended was one thing, but when actual somebodys are around, they pull out all the stops. It feels a bit like being in the Capitol in Panem, or a circus, but in a trendy chic way (though equally as grandiose and extravagant). Beautiful outfits, good-looking people all around, alcohol flowing freely.

Suffice to say, this is a scene Jade never thought she would be living. Anya gestures for her to follow her through the crowd -- their crowd is upstairs.

As Jade ascends into the madness --

INT. L.A. DANCE CLUB - NIGHT

Josh and his friends are getting an early start on their night of fun, a horde of 20-somethings dressed for a night out and enjoying their dwindling youth. JASMINE (25), the birthday girl, raises her shot glass first and then they all clink them together in cheers, knocking back whatever liquor they’re drinking.

The sequence continues cutting back and forth between Jade’s world and Josh’s, both full of dancing, excess, and interesting characters. It’s kind of like expectation versus reality -- Jade and the high-fashion industry living the expectation of luxury and glamor, Josh and his average young adults doing the cheaper, realistic imitation but still making the most of it.

Well… everyone but Josh. It doesn’t help that he’s not a good dancer upfront (he kind of looks like that Jacob Tremblay gif), but mainly it’s just that his mind is not in the club. He’s still mentally in the studio, ruminating on his career troubles and trying to figure out what tricks he needs to pull off to break through. As he says to one of his friends:

Josh: [ with dread ] At this rate, I might have to turn to TikTok.

It goes without saying, but right now, no one cares, Josh. Jasmine tries to get him to change his tune, pulling him by the hand onto the dance floor with her about an hour into the night.

Jasmine: Your turn to dance with the birthday girl!

Josh: No, Jaz...

Jasmine: Oh, come on, Joshie. Don’t I get one wish?

Fine, fine… Josh relents, letting her pull him into dancing. They chat idly while they do, Jasmine giggling when Josh spins her under his arm.

Jasmine: I’m really glad you’re here. It feels like we haven’t seen each other in ages.

Josh: Yeah. I mean, you know, shit’s busy, and stuff.

Jasmine: Totally. Being an adult fucking sucks!

Josh: You’re telling me.

Jasmine: I’m trying to change that with 25. You know? I want this to be my year. Taking control, doing what I want, living my damn life. [ looking at him ] Being clear about what I want.

Josh: That’s great. I like the sound of that.

Jasmine: Yeah?

Josh: For sure. Doing our thing at 25. I could definitely use that mojo.

This is going better than Jasmine expected! She chews her lip.

Jasmine: And what does that mean to you? You know… doing your thing?

Josh: Well, mainly, I would hope it means I’ll finally find a way to fucking break out with a hit.

Oh. Of course. It’s Josh, so of course he means his career. Jasmine tries to hide her disappointment, but she does visibly deflate. Not that Josh notices -- she’s got him on a tangent again, trying to decide if it’s worth it for him to debase himself by searching for click-bait clients rather than actually focusing on what matters, aka the music.

Jasmine’s heard this spiel dozens of times, though maybe not as subtly frantic as Josh is these days. She interrupts him and claims she’s gonna go get a drink.

Josh: Oh, sure. Do you want me to get it for you?

Jasmine: No, that’s okay. I need the walk.

She pushes through the crowd away from him. Josh watches after her, certain something about that wasn’t quite right… when Andrew swoops in and pulls him to the side.

Andrew: Dude, what is your damage? Aside from the obvious.

Josh: What do you mean? I’m here. I’m dancing.

Andrew: You are bringing the mood down so low with your work talk, man. We’re partying, no one wants to think about work tomorrow.

Josh: Well, maybe that’s why you shouldn’t have a party on a Thursday…

Andrew gives him a look, which shuts him up. As if Josh’s obsession is based on any day of the week.

Andrew: The least you could do is shut it around Jaz. All she wants to do is spend time with you, but you’re making it painful.

Josh: What? Why? She’s got like ten other friends here.

Andrew: [ like it’s obvious ] Because she’s on your dick, Josh. She’s been in love with you for like three years.

Genuinely, honest to God, Josh had no idea. His jaw drops open.

Josh: What? Since when?

Andrew: I swear -- Lord, give me the strength -- you are my cross to bear, Josh Matthews. Look, if you can’t manage it on your own, let’s at least get you drunk enough that you can actually have some fun.

Well… worth a shot. Josh nods, letting Andrew go behind him and push him by the shoulders to the bar.

EXT. EMERALD CITY LOUNGE - ROOFTOP BAR - NIGHT

The fashion and fantasy are even more surreal on the roof, where the true stars of the night have gathered. There’s a celebrity spotting amongst the crowd here and there, but it’s mainly notable names in the design world, which to Jade is all the more exciting anyway. The style of dress ranges from elegant to eccentric -- anywhere you look, someone is making a statement.

Jade sticks close to Anya, mostly politely listening in on her conversations with others after being introduced and absorbing as much secondhand knowledge as she can.

More than once, Anya sings her praises of how competent she’s already proven herself. While Jade isn’t sure how she feels about all the extravagance, that was worth the night out alone.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - RILEY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Lucas is alone at the moment, on the phone catching up with Dylan and Asher. Based on the subtle smile on his face, it’s nice to talk to them.

Lucas: Haven’t seized control of the diner yet. I promise, Dylan, if that happens you’ll be the first to know.

Although we can’t hear them, based on Lucas’s expressions and responses, we get the gist of what they’re asking. His features soften a bit after a long pause.

Lucas: No, yeah, she’s doing good. Really good. I’m sure she’s told Dylan some of it. [ a beat ] Yeah, exactly. She’s really doing great. It’s been cool, getting to see her like, in her element and stuff. [ a beat ] It’s… interesting. I don’t know how it would compare to your schools, but… um, yeah, I mean. It’s a school.

Based on the fact that Riley was so excited to bring him along, things must be good on their front as well. Right? Everything is going swell in the camp of Riley and Lucas?

Lucas: Yeah. Yeah, for sure. Since I like, live here now and everything you’d at least hope so. But I guess we’ll see how long that lasts. [ off their reassurances ] No, no, I know. I’m just joking. She’s… yeah. It’s good. I’m just… we’re…

How are things? Sometimes, it’s hard to say. Objectively, they’re great, at least strictly within the context of the two of them. When nothing else matters, if it’s just her and him, it feels like they could take on the world. But then there’s… everything else. And when you factor in the everything else…

Lucas shrugs wordlessly, trying to find the words. And somehow, pigs must be flying, because the staccato string opening starts up --

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “A Part Of That” as performed by The Last Five Years Original Cast Recording || Performed by Lucas James Friar

That’s right, it’s our seasonal installment of “Lucas actually sings.” I trust it goes without saying at this point that it’s not amazing, the most brilliant vocal performance you’ll ever see, but that’s hardly the point. What matters are the sentiments -- and this song is full of them.

Lucas starts it from right where he is, on the phone with Dylan and Asher reclined on Riley’s bed. Then the screen quickly flips --

INT. NYU APARTMENT - DAY

To Lucas on the couch, reading that biology textbook again. He’s studying pretty effectively, but he gets distracted by Riley cursing under her breath. He looks up towards the bay window, where she’s sitting with a scene for class in her lap.

And then she’s off on a trip to Rileytown…

Riley’s got her eyes closed, mouthing to herself, a slight frown creasing her features. In fact, she almost looks like she might cry. Lucas silently debates if he should say something -- he’s not great about consoling, but he’ll try his best for her…

But then she exhales, opening her eyes and looking down at her script. She breezes over the words… and then breaks into a smile, proud of herself for remembering her lines.

And then she smiles Her eyes light up and deep within the ground Without a sound, a moment comes to life

Oh. Duh. She was acting. Lucas is relieved it’s not more serious, and a bit endeared by how deeply she throws herself into her performing. He doesn’t understand it at all, but with Riley, it’s charming. Just another thing that makes her so special. She glances towards him and realizes she’s distracted his studying, giving him an apologetic smile.

He shakes his head. No worries. Her smile brightens, then she goes back to her scene work, leaving him to look at her just a few moments longer.

I’m a part of that…

And then screen flips again, to another vignette --

INT. NYU APARTMENT - NIGHT

A different evening, another slice of life. Lucas, Riley, and Isa are making dinner together as the song describes, chatting animatedly as they do. Seems like a pretty chill, cozy night in store…

Then Riley gets a call on her phone -- something related to Jack’s campaign. She’s been trying to get a few grassroots New York organizations and publications to run his announcement when it comes out, and it seems like they’re withholding. She apologizes to Isa and Lucas and steps into the living area to take the call, shifting into organizer mode.

Then she gets on the mule train to Rileytown

Time passes as the camera rotates around, starting on Lucas and Isa shrugging and going back to cooking… then past Riley again, pacing the floor and speaking calmly but firmly as she negotiates on Jack’s behalf. She’s got her entire focus on this call, giving it her all.

The camera rotates back to Lucas and Isa, who are done cooking now and just watching Riley do her Riley thing. They’re leaned against the kitchen counter, observing the phone call like must-see TV, curious to see if Riley can pull it off or not. Isa chews idly on a green bean.

Then, Riley breaks into a grin. She nods enthusiastically and launches into chipper goodbyes, obviously having succeeded at her negotiation. When we shift back to Lucas, he’s watching her fondly, eyes shining with admiration.

Then she smiles Her eyes light up, and how can I complain? Yes, she’s insane But look what she can do

Riley hangs up and bounds back over to them cheerfully, plucking a green bean from the colander and biting off a piece. She wiggles her eyebrows at them, mission accomplished, then playfully nudges Lucas’s hands on the countertop.

He’s a part of that. If her word is true, then he’s a part of her world where all these things are possible -- and a big part of it.

EXT. NYU - CAMPUS - DAY

Then we cut to campus, Lucas walking along behind Riley as she eagerly leads the way and acts as his pseudo-tour guide. Following her lead, letting her pave the way and call the shots.

And it’s true, I tend to follow in her stride Instead of side-by-side I take her cues

INT. CHUBBIES - DAY

But Lucas is trying. He’s got dreams of his own… they’re just a little harder to reach. He reiterates this point to himself as he works on a deferment piece of paperwork behind the counter at Chubbies.

There’s no question, there’s no doubt I said I’d stick it out and follow through

Riley is seated at the booth opposite the counter with Isa, Nigel, and Zay, chatting away about something or other. In the midst of the conversation, she turns and steals a look at him, smiling bashfully when she realizes he’s already looking at her.

That smile… Lucas mirrors it.

And when I do…

INT. NYU APARTMENT - DAY

The rest of the song takes us through a quick montage as the music swells, capturing all these domestic, memorable moments in Lucas’s mind -- the ones where that Riley smile is his to behold.

When it’s just the two of them having dinner, cooking together in the small kitchen and not overthinking their behavior because it’s just the two of them. Lucas spins Riley towards him and hugs her from behind, causing her to laugh and sway them side to side.

EXT. CENTRAL PARK - DAY

The two of them hanging out at Central Park, a place they still escape to on the weekends when there’s time to spare. Riley gets playful and pulls him towards her but he slips out of her grasp, resulting in a very brief chase that ends with Riley jumping on his back.

INT. NYU - THEATER CLASSROOM - DAY

Riley is in the middle of a performance, working opposite another classmate. Lucas is in the back row, a guest rather than a fellow student, but he’s probably watching the scene more attentively than the rest of them. When they wrap and Riley beams, giving a bow to their applause, Lucas can’t help but smile himself.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - RILEY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

When it’s truly just the two of them, lights low and sharing an intimate moment together in the safe haven of her room. They exchange a deep kiss and then Riley pulls back to catch her breath, breaking into a smile even through the haze of desire.

And then she smiles And nothing else makes sense

She brushes her thumb against his cheek, pressing their foreheads together before leaning into another kiss. As they fall back onto the pillows --

EXT. CENTRAL PARK - DAY

Lucas stumbles and Riley slips off his back, both of them clumsily falling onto the grass. Riley cracks up and Lucas smiles through his wince, shifting onto his side. Riley climbs onto his side and asks if he’s all right, Lucas nodding and then breaking into chuckles at how ridiculous this is. They’re infectious, Riley descending into giggles.

He rolls onto his back and Riley rests against his chest, brushing some hair off his forehead. Then she gives him a soft kiss.

And I’m a part of that

INT. NYU - THEATER CLASSROOM - DAY

Riley finishes her bows and then turns to fist bump with her classmate, the two of them heading back to their seats. Lucas remains secluded in the back, not included in the mass of students, a literal afterthought. He continues to repeat the mantra to himself, but watching Riley glow in the midst of her fellow creatives, the sentiment seems less sure.

I’m a part of that… Aren’t I?

INT. NYU APARTMENT - NIGHT

Lucas is in the window seat now, looking out towards the city at night. His reflection is in the glass of the window, mirroring his uncertainty and insecurity back to him. Still, he tries to focus on reality, staring at the neighborhood he’s a stranger to and willing himself to believe it.

I’m a part of that I’m a part of that I’m a part of that…

His meditation is interrupted by Riley, poking her head out from the doorway of her bedroom. Is he coming to bed?

There she is. Always thinking of him, checking up on him, waiting to make sure he doesn’t get left behind. Lucas smiles lightly, getting up from the window. Riley smiles -- there it is again -- and holds out her hand, taking his as he approaches and leading him back into her room.

He gently shuts the door behind them, letting the music fade and the screen fade to black.

INT. L.A. DANCE CLUB - NIGHT

Back in the present, the night is still rolling. Unfortunately for Andrew, his gambit failed -- getting Josh drunker actually made him worse, as now he’s just one-note and overly emotional about how stuck his shit is at Global Beat. The group of his friends begrudgingly listen to him rant about the situation, only Jasmine and one of her girl friends managing to escape under the guise of going to the bathroom.

Josh: It just all feels so… hopeless. You know? What’s the point of doing anything, loving anything, if it’s destined to go nowhere? Some philosophy dude said doing the same thing and expecting different results is the definition of insanity, but what am I supposed to do when I’ve run out of other things to do? You know? The tunnel has narrowed at Global Beat. The clock is ticking down. I’m twenty-four, and what have I accomplished? Nothing. Why did I even want to do this in the first place?

Andrew: I think I’ll speak for everyone when I say this, but it’s like I’ve said a hundred times -- QUIT, MAN!

Josh whines, shaking his head. Nooo, that’s not the answer. He knows that, even if everything else feels so out of his control. In his gut, he knows music isn’t the problem. It’s not about walking away entirely… but he knows something about how things are right now isn’t working.

And that’s sweet that he knows how important it is to him, but it makes reasoning with him basically impossible -- especially when he’s drunk. Jasmine and her friend return, announcing that they’ve decided they’re club-hopping. They want to go halfway across town to this other rave-type joint.

The rest of the group is keen to roll out and really get the night started, but Josh doesn’t move. Getting out here was asking enough of him, and he just clearly isn’t in the headspace to be raving.

Josh: You guys go on without me. I’m harshing the mood. If I feel better, I’ll catch up.

Jasmine looks disappointed -- and a little bit frustrated -- but she doesn’t fight him on it. Can’t time your quarter-life crises, sorry! Andrew tells the rest of the group to go on, then hangs back with Josh for a second. He places a hand on his shoulder.

Andrew: I don’t want to leave you here. I feel like that would be socially irresponsible.

Josh: No, no. I’m fine. Fine, fine, fine. You go have fun.

Andrew: How am I supposed to know if you get home? [ a beat, then taking Josh’s face ] Hey, look at me. Make me a promise, all right?

Josh: Sure, bestie.

Andrew: You’re going to stay here. You’re not going anywhere. I’ll go to the rave thing for an hour, and then I’ll come back and pick you up and we’ll call a Lyft together. Okay? Do you understand?

Josh: [ with a wobbly salute ] Aye, aye, cap’n.

Andrew: You cause me so much stress. I love you, silly white boy. Text me if you need me. [ backing away ] Stay put. Got it?

Josh throws up a hang-ten sign like Justin, signaling he’s got it. Andrew heads out to catch up to the crew and Josh sighs, slumping down so low in the booth if he’s not careful he’s going to end up on the floor.

EXT. EMERALD CITY LOUNGE - ROOFTOP BAR - NIGHT

The night is growing quite late in New York, but the FashionFest mixer is still in full swing. These industry types know how to keep a party going. Jade has surprisingly had a great time, growing more involved in conversations as the night wore on. Time has flown by, she hasn’t even thought about it.

That grinds to a halt when a couple of models and a designer join their circle, Anya doing the usual routine of introducing Jade. The models treat her normally, but the designer is a bit weirder, his 40-something ass looking her over and grinning.

Designer: Nice! Fresh blood. Welcome to the jungle. [ with another once-over ] You got a boyfriend, Jade?

Oh. Well, that’s uncomfortable. Jade doesn’t even know how to react, the others in the circle doing it for her and chastising the designer. Like, damn, you just met her! She’s barely out of high school!

Anya: Could you not be such a fucking creep, Lorenz?

Lorenz shrugs, raising his hands in surrender. That’s the industry, babes, they all know it! That launches into a whole other discussion, but Jade finds a way to excuse herself, suddenly not as blissfully enamored with the setting as before. She slips away from the crowd and tries to find a corner to get some fresher air and a second to breathe.

She makes it to the far corner of the bar, pushing her hair behind her ear and looking out at the city lights. Looking around her, she realizes how out of place she is… aside from some of the models, she’s definitely the youngest person here, and Anya is the only familiar face. No friends or comforting presences to turn to. Guess that’s going out on your own… but she doesn’t like the feeling very much.

Jade reaches into her pocket to text someone -- one of the techie boys has to still be awake, and their silliness would be a welcome tension-breaker right now -- but she comes up empty. Patting her pockets reveals there’s nothing there. Her phone is gone.

Now she’s panicked. Jade spins in a circle, checking illogically as if it would have just dropped out of her pocket now.

Jade: Shit. Oh no --

Anya makes her way over, having found her. She apologizes immediately for Lorenz’s behavior.

Anya: He is like, the resident Manhattan sleaze in this circle, so don’t take it personally. But if you want to spit in his drink, I’ll absolutely help you in the mission. [ noticing her distress ] Seriously, he’s not a threat to you --

Jade: No, it’s not that. I can’t find my phone. I have no idea where it is.

Anya catches up quick, changing gears and telling her they’ll retrace her steps. She’ll look with her.

Anya: The party’s fizzling out anyway -- Lorenz is the king buzzkill.

So they can find it, and then roll out. Jade nods, trying to keep her cool as they begin to scan the rooftop for her phone.

INT. FARKLE’S TOWN CAR - NIGHT

Farkle’s driver pulls up outside the Nelson estate, a compound with a gated entrance on the outskirts of Beverly Hills. It’s the kind of place the Minkuses would likely have, if they were Hollywood moguls in L.A. rather than business legends in New York (where there’s markedly less sprawl for an estate).

The chauffeur gets out of the car and begins unloading Jordan’s film equipment from the trunk, one of the Nelson family employees coming out to help. Jordan and Farkle remain in the car, privileged rich boys that they are, able to have a proper goodbye rather than lugging their own stuff like normal people.

Farkle thanks Jordan for agreeing to work on the video, especially since it went so late into the night. Jordan shrugs, assuring him it was fun. An interesting experiment, if nothing else, to see what throwing a music video together so last-minute is like.

Jordan: I’d doubt its likelihood of success, but that Maya Hart seems to know what she’s doing. From my perspective, it seems like all the pieces are there to put together something noteworthy. [ a beat ] Of course, doesn’t hurt that she’s gorgeous. 

Farkle: [ with a soft laugh ] Um... yeah. Yeah, that she is. 

Jordan: Makes my job that much easier. It’s less work to make someone look good when they already fought half the fight on the battlefield of genetics.

Farkle: For sure. Couldn’t pull that trick with me.

Jordan looks at him, narrowing his eyes in thought.

Jordan: I wouldn’t say that.

Farkle gives him a cynical look. He can’t be serious.

Farkle: I’m no Maya Hart.

Jordan: No, that’s definitely true. No arguments there. But you have your own charms. You have… a unique look. That’s more of an asset than you realize.

Okay… so is he actually saying Farkle is hot? Farkle stares at him, absolutely zero clue what he’s trying to say or how he should react. But he sure is feeling decidedly wah…

Jordan’s staff knocks lightly on the window, letting him know the equipment is all ready to go. So that’s his cue. Jordan slings his bag over his shoulder and opens the door, meeting Farkle’s eyes one last time.

Jordan: You’re not like everybody else, Minkus. That’s a power, not a curse.

When you put it like that… Jordan bids him goodnight, climbing out of the car. Farkle watches him go, still processing his advice and trying not to overthink the flippy feeling in his stomach.

EXT. EMERALD CITY LOUNGE - NIGHT

Jade and Anya have emerged without luck, waiting for Anya’s car to arrive. Anya assures Jade that if it’s truly lost, she’ll pay to replace it.

Jade: Oh, no. You don’t have to do that. It was my fault --

Anya: J. Bee, it’s like, a penny out of my pocket. You were with me, therefore it’s on me. A boss has to look out for her team, or else it’s like, why bother, you know?

Jade absorbs that, still unsure about the favor but appreciative. They climb into the car when the driver arrives, Jade sliding in first and Anya following suit.

INT. ANYA’S TOWN CAR - NIGHT

Anya begins telling a story to try and make her feel less self-conscious about the time she lost her Prada bag at Paris Fashion Week -- not the most relatable anecdote, but there was an attempt -- but she stops mid-sentence when she suddenly sits on something. She reaches underneath her on the seat and voila, there’s Jade’s phone, exactly where she dropped it as she got out.

Jade’s eyes light up in relief, Anya holding it up like ta-dah.

Jade: Oh, thank God.

Anya: Magic of FashionFest. [ handing it over ] Cute case, by the way. So twee.

Jade cradles the phone in her hands, flipping it over. It’s long since died, but at least that can be fixed. At least she doesn’t have to buy an entirely new one.

Now that she can breathe again, the car gets going, heading back to her place. Anya informs Jade that she made quite the favorable impression tonight -- everyone thought she was so adorable, and Anya talked her up well. Not a bad way to start off on the right foot.

Anya: You’ve got mad potential, Jade. Stick with me, and we’ll take you to the top.

Who would pass that up? Jade smiles, feeling as though her career is already getting started.

INT. L.A. DANCE CLUB - BAR - NIGHT

Josh has faithfully remained at the dance club, though maybe that isn’t the best idea. It keeps him too conveniently close to the alcohol, and when he sidles up to the bar and clumsily orders another drink, he must be broke down enough to draw attention. A woman currently standing at the bar, a beautiful, plus-sized Black woman, turns to glance at him. This is RUBY (40s).

For a moment, she clearly debates whether or not she should say something… and then she decides to, gifting him a friendly, sympathetic laugh.

Ruby: Oh, honey. I hope I’m not overstepping here, but if I may so, I think it might be time to dial back on the drinks for the night.

Josh isn’t perturbed by her interference -- he’s far too tingly to care about such things -- but he does wave off her concern.

Josh: S’all right. Nothing matters anyway. My life’s over, down the toilet. [ imitating a toilet flushing ] Sunk at twenty-four.

Ruby: Twenty-four? Oh, lord, now you are way too young to be angsting about your life being over. You’ve got to wait until at least thirty for that.

You know what, maybe so. Ruby determines that this might be a true cry for help moment though, shifting her attention fully to him and asking if he wants to let anything out. Josh waves her off again at first, but she insists, promising him she’s a good listener. As a youth pastor at one of the local Los Angeles churches, she’s gotten pretty good at parsing through existential angst -- especially in this town.

Josh: What’s a youth passer doing at a dance club on Thursday night?

Ruby: All right, fair question, so you’ve still got your wits about you. [ nodding to the opposite end of the club ] Bachelorette party. My girl Sasha is finally making it official. And I love my gals, but sometimes, they get a little too silly. I come to the bar to get away from the drinks.

Josh: Wow. That’s profound.

Ruby: It’s the vodka, hon. Everything is profound.

Sasha, as it turns out, had a breakdown at twenty-four as well and thought her life was over too. That was over a man -- one that if she had stayed with, she never would’ve found the one. It’s a false misery, to convince yourself it’s all over at twenty-four… Josh releases a heavy sigh, melancholy gripping him again.

Josh: I think I may have wasted the first twenty years of my life.

He ends up spilling, confessing to Ruby all of the things that have been weighing on him since Iris. The dead end job moves, the catastrophic client pool, the way his soul feels like it’s being sucked out of his body a little every single day. It’s like being dropped by his most promising client has woken him up, and now he can’t help but see all of the terrible things about this industry. He came here for the music, but now he’s not sure he can hear it anymore underneath all the bullshit.

Ruby must be a good youth mentor, because she manages to hone in on exactly what Josh needs. She’s empathetic but firm in her advice, pointing out clearly, Josh is no stranger to struggling for the art. But he clearly also is very passionate about music, and that’s pushed him through this long. If something isn’t clicking anymore, it could very well be that his circumstances at the moment aren’t right -- not his passion or his choices. He can still prioritize music, he just needs to figure out what that means to him.

Ruby: I moved out here twenty years ago, around your age, because I thought I wanted the same thing. To jump into the industry, make a splash in the R&B scene, become the next Jennifer Hudson. That didn’t happen, but I’m happier now than I ever was back then.

Josh: [ captivated, wide-eyed in his tipsy state ] How did you do it?

Ruby: I figured out what was actually important to me. I love singing, yes, but I didn’t have to be a star to live up to that. Well, correction -- I am a star, but I didn’t have to make everyone else see that. I sing with the choir at church now, and that’s enough for me. Getting to share the music with people I care about, who all share the same excitement and passion, with none of the compromise. And I found other things to supplement that and make my life whole. My husband, my beautiful children. Just because something isn’t working out now, the way you have it now, doesn’t mean it’s broken forever. Life is full of changes, some you never see coming -- you might just have to let go of the plan and be open to whatever curveballs come your way. You’ll end up where you’re meant to be when the time is right.

Normally, Josh would be dismissive of this “there’s a higher plan” type comfort, but in his drunken state and low morale, it’s kind of blowing his mind right now. He thanks her for saying all that, even if it’s going to take him like twenty-four hours and some change to process it. It already has assuaged some of his existential dread, leaving room for some renewed hope. She gives him a beam, patting his forearm.

Ruby: Stay resilient, hon. This is a tough town, you’ve just got to find your own music to dance through it.

Josh: I’m trying. I’ll try.

Ruby: You will. Best of luck…?

Josh: Josh. 

Ruby: Josh. [ offering her hand ] Ruby. Nice to meet you.

Josh: You too. Thanks for saving my life.

She laughs, giving him a wink before pushing away from the bar to head back to her friends. Definitely not how Josh expected to spend the night, talking to some 40-something stranger at the bar (and probably not a story Justin will find thrilling come Monday), but somehow exactly what he needed.

Sometimes, you just need to hear from someone who’s been there before that it’ll all be okay.

INT. BEAMON HOME - JADE’S BEDROOM - DAY

Jade’s phone is vibrating on her nightstand, ringing with her work alarm, but she doesn’t make any immediate moves to answer it. She’s exhausted after last night -- who thought having gatherings on a Thursday was a good idea? -- and she didn’t even drink. She manages to push herself up, running a hand through her hair and grabbing her phone to check the time now that it’s finally charged.

Jade: Oh, shit --

She must’ve hit snooze without realizing it, because she’s going to be late. Now she’s awake. She pushes herself upright, throwing the covers off and scrambling to get ready.

A few seconds later though, she’s back in frame, something about her phone registering only after the panic about being late. She scrolls through her notifications again, freezing when she sees a couple of texts from Nigel.

“On my way!”

“Here”

“Your brothers just told me you went out with Anya. They’re messing with me, right? Trying to figure out how long I should wait in the car here before the joke is up…”

And the last one, worst of all:

“If you had better plans, you could’ve at least told me.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit! In the whirlwind of Anya Kelly, she completely forgot, and then when she left her phone in the car… oh, shit. Jade murmurs a hollow “no” to herself, cussing under her breath and dials his number, keeping the phone to her ear while she gets moving again. It goes to voicemail, which Jade tries to convince herself is just because he’s in class. She thinks. She actually isn’t sure what his class schedule is…

Jade: Hi, it’s me. Nigel, I am so fucking sorry. Like, oh my God. Anya just showed up and then I lost my phone and… it was a whole spectacle. I’ll explain, just please answer. I’ll keep calling, but… okay, yeah. I’m sorry, I love you, give me a call back if you get this before I reach you. Okay… bye.

What a mess. But she can’t afford to harp on it much longer, she’s already late. Jade presses her palms to her eyes and takes a deep breath, then pulls herself together to get out the door.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - MASTER BEDROOM - DAY

Nigel isn’t the only one dealing with interpersonal conflict. Eric finishes tying his tie in the mirror, ready for another day at Adams… then turns to look at the bed. Jack’s side is perfectly made, untouched from the previous night. When he walked out in such a state Thursday morning, it seems he didn’t come back.

Eric is not happy about this, to say the least. That’s clear on his face… but he keeps his cool, willing himself to be patient. To have faith.

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

Just in case, though, he scribbles a note to leave on the fridge door. It signals that if -- when -- Jack sees it, he wants to talk ASAP. If Jack happens to come home when he’s at work, he hopes he’ll at least see that and get the sign that they aren’t just going to brush this under the rug.

Suddenly, for a moment, Isa’s suggestion about a prenuptial for cohabiting doesn’t sound so bad… Eric releases a sigh, securing the note to the door.

From the doorway, we watch him grab his bag and head out, Jack’s suit jacket conspicuously gone from the coat rack by the door.

INT. JOHNSON HOME - VANESSA’S BEDROOM - DAY

The clock is ticking down towards having to return to the studio, and Vanessa does not look happy about it. She looks a bit ill, actually, which is bizarre because nerves have never been a problem for her. She realizes she’s chewing her fingernails and stops, which only makes her notice how her hands are still trembling.

She can’t do this. She gets out her phone and pulls up her (sparse) conversation with Zay. Even texting him suddenly feels like a lot at the moment, but she powers through it anyway.

“Have to cancel. Something came up”

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - LOCKER ROOM - DAY

Zay is already at Turner when he gets the text, and he is predictably not happy to get it. He scowls, quickly typing back that he isn’t going to get a bad grade because of her. They have to rehearse the number in full at least a few times, and they haven’t even done it once. He taps his feet impatiently while he watches the bubbles on her side of the screen, until she responds.

“We can meet tonite. Later. I swear”

Zay doesn’t look convinced, but he has to take what he can get. He agrees to that, begrudgingly, but tries one more push for just holding their plans. Is whatever she has going on really more important than this?

The bubbles reappear, then disappear a couple seconds later. Then they pop up again, typing for a much longer handful of seconds… then nothing. Finally, her response comes through.

“I can’t”

Peachy. Zay shakes his head, lightly hitting the locker next to him as he heads out without rehearsing.

EXT. NYU - CAMPUS - DAY

Nigel emerges from his morning class, finding a flurry of missed calls from Jade. He slows his pace, contemplating whether or not to listen to the voicemails -- for the first time, he finds he doesn’t really want to hear her voice at the moment. But she solves that dilemma for him, conveniently calling another time and putting the impetus on him to decide now.

If there’s one thing about Nigel, it’s that he’s gonna avoid conflict. Ignoring her call seems like a bigger risk than having the awkward conversation, so he takes a deep breath and accepts the call.

Nigel: Hello?

Jade, emphatic: Thank God, you picked up. Nigel, I am so, so sorry about last night. I don’t know if you’ve gotten any of my voicemails but -- fuck -- I feel so terrible. I cannot believe I did that.

Nigel: Yeah, me either.

Jade: I was going to tell you all this stuff that happened that made it happen, but then I realized, that’s just making up a bunch of excuses. Like, they happened, but you don’t care about that part, and understandably. I completely understand if you’re upset or if you hate me or… I don’t know. I know I’d be mad. But I hope you believe me when I say I didn’t mean to put you in that position and I am so incredibly sorry.

It’s hard not to believe her, especially considering Jade isn’t usually so effusive. And despite what he thought moments ago, it’s actually very nice to hear her voice, even when he’s upset… he sighs, kicking at a rock on the pathway while he walks.

Nigel: You sure you’re not an actor? You’re very convincing. Your ethos is outstanding.

Jade: … is that an apology accepted?

Nigel: It’s an apology acknowledged and appreciated. Acceptance still pending.

Jade: I totally get that. And I’ll make it up to you, I swear. 

Nigel: And while I appreciate your point, I would actually be interested in hearing the excuses. I just hope they’re really good…

Jade: You have no idea. And if you want them, I will happily tell you all about it. It’s a trip. How about you come over tomorrow, and we can talk about everything. And like I said, I’ll make it up to you.

Nigel: Well, I’m not sure how you plan to do that --

Jade: My parents are taking the twins to their soccer match, and Ethan is back at Vassar. Believe me, I can come up with something.

Okay, well, that’s compelling… what would Mama Chey say, Jade! But she’s won Nigel over for now -- more than anything, she makes him laugh, and he just really wants to actually spend time with her. He agrees to come over tomorrow. Weekends are their sacred time, after all.

Once he hangs up, he’s almost immediately accosted by Riley. Her eyes are bright with excitement as she takes his wrist.

Riley: Callbacks are up.

They waste no time out here, huh? Nigel feels a rush of panic but signals for Riley to lead the way, letting her drag him by the hand at a run towards the theater department.

INT. NYU - TISCH SCHOOL OF THE ARTS - DAY

Riley and Nigel skitter down the “Broadway Block” of hallways to arrive at the right place where the callbacks have been posted, unsurprised to find a crowd of hopefuls already craning to get a good look. She exchanges a look with him and squeezes his hand.

Riley: Good luck.

Nigel: [ with a nod ] Fair fortune.

She gives him a small smile, then the two of them weave through the crowd to get a look for themselves. Evan is already hanging towards the front, beaming when he spots Riley. She tries not to read into that grin, not letting anything preface her glimpse of the list before she sees it for herself…

But she should have. Because she made the cut. She’s being considered further for a role in the winter musical. A grin of her own takes over her features, genuine surprise mixed in as well.

Evan comes to join her, leaning closer to tell her congratulations over the din of the assembled students. She scans the name for his list and is pleased to find he’s also been granted a callback. She returns the sentiment, offering a playful elbow nudge.

She turns to eagerly chat with Nigel, but she goes quiet when she sees the look on his face. It’s blank, concealing any potential reaction, but his hands have gone cold.

He’s not on the list. No callback for Nigel Chey.

Riley eyes him sympathetically, searching for words to offer that will help. But he can’t even look at her. He looks like he wants to melt into the floor and disappear.

So much for new year, new Nigel.

Break 3.

INT. YINDRA’S APARTMENT - BEDROOM - DAY

Yindra is up and moving early, singing along to her favorite playlist and getting ready for her big day in the studio. She’s clearly excited, and the outfit she picked out from the thrift store looks killer on her. Finally, her moment is here, and she’s feeling good.

She grabs her purse and slings it over her shoulder, reaching for her songwriting notebook. Gold in hand, she heads out, still feeling the groove.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

Farkle is finishing up breakfast, greeting Maya when she emerges from her bedroom. Despite her jam-packed day yesterday she’s still on full energy mode, though at least she’s allowed to dress more comfortably. And smartly, apparently -- she’s sporting a trendy pair of fake eyeglasses today.

She returns his good morning and plops a wrapped gift basket on the table in front of him with a thud. He jumps slightly and then gets a better look, intrigued.

Farkle: For me? You shouldn’t have.

Maya: Don’t be silly. My friendship is the best gift I’ll ever give you. [ ignoring his eyebrow raise at that ] It’s for Jordan, obviously.

Farkle: [ looking at the tag ] Oh, my dad loves this company. He uses them all the time for business… [ shifting his gaze to her ] Have you been talking to my dad? Just for fun?

Maya: It’s not for fun, it’s for strategy. Your father is a master businessman, I’m simply trying to start my career business on the right foot. His recommendations are the highest caliber -- you had to get your taste from somewhere, surely.

Farkle: Think my mom would take great offense to that, but okay.

Maya: Anyway, I need you to give this to Jordan. I’m going to be at the library all day until this evening when he said he’d let me into the editing suites at ‘SC to show me the ropes. I can build the basic rough cut on the library computers, but Lord knows it’ll take me hours.

Um, hold on. She wants him to give his student director gifts now? How much more humiliation can he take? Farkle tries to argue, pointing out that Maya is literally going to see him later, but she won’t hear it. He’s guaranteed to see him first, and promptness is key to a successful partnership.

Farkle: But --

Maya: I’d love to chat more, but editing time is of the essence. Kisses --

She leans close and exchanges quick cheek kisses with him, sweeping past him without waiting for a reply. Farkle throws his hands up in defeat, letting his spoon clatter into his cereal bowl.

INT. NYU - SMALL THEATER - DAY

Riley’s turnaround time for the callback is fast -- a bit of a mental mind-game test all its own, perhaps -- but she came prepared. She had another potential audition song in her back pocket, which she’s planning to employ now on her short notice opportunity. In the audience, Nigel joins their other classmates in the seats to watch, far less keen than usual.

She paces backstage before her slot, taking a deep breath and keeping her nerves calm. Other students waiting for their imminent callbacks are roaming backstage as well, including Evan, who is hovering by the back curtain and observing the current audition. Riley brightens when Lucas sneaks his way into the wings, coming to wish her luck.

Riley: Feel good, being back behind the scenes?

Lucas: Honestly, think I might have PTSD. You should be glad I’m strong enough to be here.

Riley shakes her head at him, dismissing his silliness but also grateful for the laughter. It puts her at ease, as does taking his hand and holding it for a few seconds before the student assistant approaches and lets her know she’s on deck.

Lucas: Break a leg. You’re going to kill it.

Riley, sincere: I’m so glad you’re here. With me.

She’s loved it, having him be around all week. It feels better, right, when he’s there. Lucas offers a shy smile, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

Lucas, softly: With you.

From the theater where Professor Hill is sitting, Riley is called to the stage. She accepts one more hand squeeze from Lucas then turns to make her entrance, exhaling out her nerves as she walks onto the stage and into the stage lights. She hands the pianist her sheet music, then takes her place center stage.

Riley: Hi, I’m Riley Matthews, and I’ll be performing “Thinking Of Him” from a lesser-known gem, Curtains.

Hill makes an intrigued face as she jots down some notes, then signals for Riley to start whenever she’s ready. Riley takes another subtle breath, then nods to the pianist.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Thinking Of Him” as performed by Curtains Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Riley Matthews (feat. Evan Scott)

While the piano notes delicately guide us into the number, Riley closes her eyes and immerses herself in the music, settling into the right emotional headspace. A simple, uncomplicated but emotional number, this selection offers a great contrast to the first audition piece Riley did by showing off her capability at channeling emotional nuance.

It’s hardly difficult for her to find that mental place. It may be just a coincidence that she had this song in her back pocket… but it’s topical, if glimpsing the lyrics is any indication. It feels like a distant echo of 212’s “My Man,” quietly pensive yet equally compassionate. Riley sings it sweetly, with commitment, authentically affecting with just a hint of the conflicted insecurity central to the number.

And while her performance on its own would be strong, things really get interesting near the end. In the show, Curtains, the gaffe occurs when the composer and ex-husband of the singer, Aaron, attempts to sing along with the male lyrics and is interrupted by Bobby, her actual male co-star (the overlap that occurs at 1:25). Here, the transgression is less awkward but more unexpected -- it seems Evan knows his stuff and also agrees that Curtains is an underrated classic, because he knows the melody well.

He proves that well enough he steps past Lucas from where they were both watching in the wings and out onto the stage, picking up the Bobby lines and joining Riley in her audition.

It’s definitely a risky move. If we’ve been competing all episode for who can find the biggest one to take in an audition, Evan seems to have found it. Hill raises her eyebrows, watching with rapt attention but hard to read how it’s going over; the other students are stunned, some reacting in silent hysterics like Imogen and Abby trying hard not to laugh out loud or with secondhand mortification like Nigel. Lucas watches in confusion from the wings -- he’s pretty sure this isn’t how auditions are supposed to work. Right?

To her immense credit, Riley doesn’t falter. Shock flits across her face for half a second before she adapts to the sudden scene partner intruding on her audition. A good performer knows how to improvise, and she’s been well-trained at keeping her cool in unexpected situations -- and Evan is working with her rather than stealing the spotlight. It’s just now, all of a sudden, her solo is a duet.

So she does the only thing she can: roll with it. She holds his gaze as he comes to meet her at center stage, effortlessly singing back her remaining share of the lyrics. Say what you want about the stunt, but there’s no denying Riley and Evan have a palpable chemistry.

Isn’t it high time you were thinking of you Thinking of me, too?

The pianist brings the number to a close, leaving Riley and Evan holding eye contact at center stage, the rest of the world holding its breath to see how the hell such an unexpected move is going to go over.

‘Cause seriously, that’s not how auditions work, right?

INT. INDIE RECORDING STUDIO - DAY

Yindra makes her way into the recording studio lobby, doing her best to maintain an effortlessly cool and aloof facade… but kind of failing a little bit. Because how insanely dope is this? She’s there, she’s about to record an actual demo. She made it!

The receptionist at the front desk gets her attention, drawing her out of the fangirling going on in her head and asking if there’s something they can do for her. She pulls herself together and confidently approaches the desk, stating that she has an appointment. Yindra Amino? She should be on the calendar. The receptionist doesn’t seem to recognize her, but goes to check… then their face falls.

Receptionist: Oh, honey. Did nobody tell you?

Uh-oh. Yindra’s confidence dims somewhat, and she shakes her head. What was she supposed to have heard? The receptionist looks genuinely reluctant to tell her, but they gently inform her that she got bumped off the schedule. Another, bigger name needed to use the space, and they bought out the time. Bigger client, higher priority…

Receptionist: Your payment will be reimbursed in full though. Will probably take a few business days, but no worries, you’ll get it all back for the time not spent. Sorry about that.

Money is the last thing on Yindra’s mind. Right then, as the dream comes crumbling down around her yet again, she’s solely focused on trying not to cry in public. She manages to thank the receptionist and numbly exits the studio.

EXT. INDIE RECORDING STUDIO - DAY

Yindra steps back out into the mockingly cheerful L.A. sunshine, feeling about two inches tall. Who knows when another spot is going to open up again -- and even if it does, who’s to say this won’t all happen again? Why is it so easy to just brush her off? Is her whole career going to be like this?

More importantly, is she ever going to get a career at this rate?

Isa, pre-lap: How are you being so calm about this?

INT. AAA - PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE - DAY

Isa is back to bothering Eric in his office, but the mood is notably more muted today. Since they bore witness to the argument between him and Jack, it’s hard for Isa to continue on like everything is peachy keen and normal. They were mostly joking about the pre-nuptial thing -- they don’t want that to actually be true.

Isa: Are you seriously not concerned about what happened? I don’t get how you can be so level.

Isa feels shaken enough for the both of them. The couple observation thing was all fun and games until it wasn’t. Eric maintains said composure, but he does admit it’s not easy. Has he had anxious, worst-case scenario thoughts all afternoon? Certainly, but he can’t let that dominate his life or emotions. He has to get through the day. And wasting his energies on dreading the worst isn’t going to help anyone.

Eric: Some things just take time. But I trust Jack. He’s going to make mistakes -- he’s human -- but I have faith in him. I believe he’ll come back around, and then we can have a conversation about it. Once we’re able to talk things through, when I’ve had a chance to truly assess the situation, then I can panic if need be.

Isa: I don’t understand that. How you can do that. The faith or the conversation.

As the reigning royal of avoidance (tied maybe only with Lucas), no kidding, Isa. But Eric doesn’t pick on them, contemplating his approach instead.

Eric: Some of it comes with maturity. Some of it is experience -- you and I have had very different life experiences, which has led us to develop different response plans. Faith in others is hard for you, which isn’t shocking given the context of your family history.

Isa: Okay, you’re foraying a bit back into counselor mode.

Eric manages a sheepish smile, raising his hands in surrender. Guilty as charged. In any case, Eric doesn’t want Isa to be worrying about him and Jack. They’re going to be fine, and that’s his problem to figure out. Isa should be focused on their own issues -- aside from the assignment to examine everyone else.

Easier said than done, for the avoidant royalty.

INT. NYU - SMALL THEATER - DAY

In between callbacks, Imogen and Abby are debriefing their thoughts on what they’ve seen so far. Nigel makes his way over and comes to sit behind them, both girls greeting him cheerfully. Better than sitting alone.

They’re currently on Evan and Riley’s little stunt, laying down some pretty sharp judgment. Abby dismisses the whole thing as a cheap stunt tactic, but she does have sympathy for Riley. Evan was way bold for intruding on someone else’s audition like that -- she would’ve jumped his het male privilege ass. Imogen rolls her eyes.

Imogen: Oh, come on. As if Matthews wasn’t 100% in on it? They obviously planned the thing together. They’ve been inseparable since the school year started -- there’s no way Riley didn’t know it was coming. She handled it way too smoothly.

Abby: Really? I thought she seemed genuinely surprised.

Imogen: Girl. Hello? It’s called acting.

Touché. They turn to Nigel, asking what he thinks. He’s known Riley the longest out of all of them -- what are the odds she was in on it?

Nigel knows this is dangerous territory. The girls aren’t speaking favorably about her either way, and the smart move would be to do what he always does and keep his mouth shut. But honestly, he doesn’t know. Would Riley have even told him the plan if she did? He’s tired of feeling disconnected, silent, like he’s on the fringes of everyone’s life -- and frankly, he’s burned by how the auditions went and how yet again, Riley Matthews managed to defy the norm and come out on top.

Nigel: I don’t know… but to be honest, I wouldn’t put it past her.

Abby: Seriously?

Nigel: I love Riley, but she is a strategist through and through. There’s a reason she planned her boyfriend’s campaign senior year -- and he got elected against all odds. She’s smart. She knows how to play the game.

Imogen: [ with a theatrical gasp ] A schemer… I would have never suspected it.

Abby: She comes across so innocent.

Imogen: Now you’ve got to say more, Nigel. What other secret tricks does Riley Matthews have up her sleeve?

Gossip is a fickle friend… but damn, it feels nice to be eagerly included in the conversation. Nigel smiles, not planning to say anything more, but grateful to finally have people listening to him.

INT. NYU - HALLWAY - DAY

Evan is quietly running through the lines of his upcoming audition when Riley steps out of the theater and into the hall, catching his attention. He gives her a smile and commends her on a job well done -- and how about that surprise duet, huh? That’ll definitely get people talking, won’t it? Riley’s response is soft, but pointed.

Riley: I’m sure it will. Just kind of wish I’d been in on it considering it was my audition.

Evan blinks, surprised. Is she upset? Riley shrugs, not sure how to articulate what she’s feeling. She isn’t totally sure of that herself. Evan senses he may have overstepped, so he raises his hands in surrender.

Evan: Hey, if I messed up, I’m sorry. Genuinely. I would’ve let you in on it, believe me, but even I didn’t think about doing it until you were singing. It just hit me in the moment.

Riley: What?

Evan: That it would be pretty dang memorable. That’s what matters, isn’t it? Giving them an audition to remember. I thought it would give us both a leg-up. I already knew the words, so I thought… you’re right, though, I shouldn’t have done it without asking. I’m sorry.

He’s fully sincere in his apology, and his explanation actually makes sense. Still not necessarily okay, but reasonable from an impassioned performer perspective. Riley waves off his apology, shock of it starting to wear off a bit.

Riley: No, that’s okay. I wasn’t… I think I was just surprised. I wasn’t ready for it, that’s all.

Evan: Understandably. Again, I apologize.

Riley: Let’s just hope you’re right, and the gamble pays off.

Soon enough, they’ll find out… the student assistant pokes their head into the hallway and gives Evan the same warning about being on deck to audition. He nods and starts to follow her back inside the theater.

Riley: Break a leg.

Evan: Thanks. If you want payback and need to jump in on my time, be my guest.

She giggles, allowing that to break the remaining tension for now. Evan disappears back into the theater and leaves Riley alone, standing solitary in the quiet of the hall to process. Only time will tell if a risk is worth the pay off…

INT. USC - THEATER CLASSROOM - DAY

Unless you’re Farkle, in which case, the moment is right now. Farkle is stunned to discover he’s been selected as one of the principal actors of the upcoming production of The Last Five Years, one of four chosen duos that will be cycling through performances.

The only freshman on the list, at that. NATALIA and BUZZ congratulate Farkle as they pass, Director Kaplan emerging from her office to survey the current scene. She brightens when she spots Farkle, similarly congratulating him on his strong audition and subsequent casting. She was quite impressed with his audition -- particularly as a freshman contender.

Farkle: I have an uncanny knack for setting myself apart. For better or worse.

Kaplan: In this case, I would certainly say better. But you know, it wasn’t your age that set you apart. It was your unconventional approach. Almost ten years I’ve been doing productions at USC, and only thrice in my tenure has anyone been bold enough to break out of the box of musical theater for their audition. I’ll confess, I have no idea who Gracie Abrams is, but that hardly matters. The song you chose was informed, it fit the theme of the show without being from it, and you were authentic. I felt what you were conveying, it felt real -- an absolute essential for a show like The Last Five Years.

Suffice to say, she’s very excited to work with him and see what else they can get out of him. She has no doubt he’ll be well suited to the show. The next step isn’t callbacks, but rather she’ll be gathering the chosen actors to do chemistry reads so she can pair them off properly. He should be getting an email about that sometime next week.

Farkle is evidently excited for the opportunity -- and, honestly, just for the chance to get to dive into a production again. He thanks Kaplan, assuring her he’s very enthusiastic for things to get going.

Seems like Jordan’s advice was well given… and what if he had never pulled him into Maya’s scheme to get that advice?

Zay, pre-lap: You can tell Maya I said this, but it sounds like she is on crack.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

Charlie cracks up, phone pressed to his ear. He’s sitting on the couch with his knees up and feet propped on the coffee table. His journal is in his lap, having obviously been in the middle of writing an entry when Zay called. 

Zay: Like, she’s been insane, but that’s next-level of her to think she could pull all this random shit together with like, zero connections and Farkle’s pocketbook. But she just really threw herself in full throttle, huh?

Charlie: She did. That’s an accurate descriptor.

Zay: Jesus fuck. Has anyone done a mental health check on her? I know she’s always off the shits, but this might be a new level of desperation. Cry for help vibes.

Charlie: I thought it was nuts too, but then, I find most of the stuff out here in Hollywood crazy. But she seemed to know what she was doing. I was impressed by how much it all came together.

INT. BABINEAUX HOME - ZAY’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Zay flops down onto his bed, laying on his stomach. The conversation continues intercut between the two of them.

Zay: So do you think it’s going to work? Like, is she gonna stick the landing? As my inside man, you have to give me the diagnostic report.

Charlie: Honestly, I have no idea. I wouldn’t pretend to be an expert on performing stunts like this anyway… but it was pretty good from what I could see. I don’t think Maya’s an editor, so that’ll be a hurdle, but she’s picked up weirder skills in less time before.

Zay: Dude, for real. Remember when she was dying for us to do Burlesque -- not even a certified Broadway musical that was never going to happen in a high school -- because she was in her Christina phase sophomore year, so she taught herself how to do acrobatic tricks? As if that would sell Angela on it?

Charlie laughs again, shaking his head. Zay smiles, mostly because it’s just nice to hear his laugh again…

Zay: Well, if it ends up even being a fraction worthy of the hype she’s throwing on it on social media, I’m sure most of that is going to be thanks to your choreography.

Charlie: I don’t know about that. But thanks.

Zay: I’m legit dying to see it. I can’t imagine how you could choreograph for Maya Hart when your tastes are as compatible as orange juice and toothpaste.

Charlie: Yeah, it was a bit… there were creative negotiations.

Zay: You’re so diplomatic.

Charlie: But it worked out. And yeah, it was a stretch for me, but it was fun. Really fun. You know, once I reminded my limbs how to move and what dance even is and all that.

Zay: Like you could ever forget how to dance. Drama king. [ a beat ] Was it really that hard to get back into it after traveling?

Charlie: Kind of. Obviously some of it was in my head, but… I just had to find it again. Get back in touch with that part of me, whatever’s at my core.

As he says it, he smiles to himself. He’s absentmindedly scribbling with his pen, darkening the “Z” of the “Dear Zay,” written at the top of the open page.

Zay pauses, deciding if he wants to ask the question on the tip of his tongue. Ignorance is bliss, and he thinks it’s easier not knowing… and yet…

Zay: Speaking of getting back in touch… what’s the travel schedule looking like now? Any idea when you’ll be back in the city?

Charlie’s smile falters. No matter how hard he tries to be aloof, Charlie can pick up on the hope in Zay’s voice. And he knows how impatient he is -- he knows he wants clarity, a concrete plan. If it were just as simple as making him happy, Charlie would say anything.

But it’s not. Charlie can’t tell him what he wants to hear, because he doesn’t have the answer. He’s still figuring things out -- homecoming is around the corner, but how far, he doesn’t know for sure.

Charlie: [ with a timid laugh ] You know, you’d think after so many months I’d have everything all mapped out. That’s what I’m supposed to do on this thing, right? Get the whole thing set in stone. But um… I’m not sure. Yet.

Zay shouldn’t have asked. He knew he shouldn’t have. He closes his eyes and tries not to feel his disappointment. He doesn’t know what game he’s playing with himself -- he knows how things are.

And yet, somehow, it seems to hit harder each time he gets his hopes up.

Charlie, quickly: I’ve still got some stuff I wanted to see, and then I’m trying to figure out how exactly I even want to make the trip back. So you know, lots of logistical things, but --

Zay: No, no, yeah. Totally. Makes sense.

Charlie can tell that isn’t what he wanted to hear. He wishes he had the right thing to say; that some of the things he wants to say were easier to articulate. That he wasn’t so certain they shouldn’t be said until he’s back and can look him in the eyes.

Charlie: I’m excited, though, to come back. I can’t wait to see you, tell you everything.

Zay: [ with a weak smile ] Yeah. Yeah, same.

The mood has effectively been dampened, so Zay says he should probably go. Unfortunately, he has to go torture himself dancing with a partner who can’t stand him and hope they don’t tank each other’s prospects.

Charlie: Well, if they’re mad about getting to dance with you, they don’t know what they’ve got.

It’s the stuff like this… nice as it is, it almost makes it all ache more. Zay manages a thanks and says he’ll tell him about it later, provided he survives it.

They say goodbye and hang up, Zay staring at his phone for a moment afterwards to process. He’s glad they talked -- it was so good to hear his voice -- but he honestly can’t say if he feels better than before. In some ways, it all feels worse. Like things are good, the two of them are good. It was so natural to talk… so why does it still feel wrong? When is it ever going to feel right? And can he stomach waiting for it to be?

What is he even waiting for, really… and is it even worth it?

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

Charlie is also looking at his phone after, seeming similarly conflicted. He isn’t sure he said the right things; he knows he should’ve said more. But if he can’t even handle casual conversations with the distance between them, how is he supposed to risk saying anything of substance?

He tilts his head back against the couch, letting his phone fall flat to rest on his torso.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

Eric returns back from Adams, late on a Friday like usual after a busy week… and immediately he notices changes. The living room has been tidied up; a set of flowers is decorating the coffee table. The coat rack is already occupied, Jack’s favorite suit jacket hanging where Eric put it before. There’s noise coming from the kitchen, and the lights are on in the dining room.

And it smells good. Eric cautiously heads towards the noise, curiosity piqued.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - DINING ROOM - NIGHT

The table has been set for two, a simple but clean place setting at both the head of the table and the seat catty-cornered to the left of it. More flowers are in here, too, placed in a vase at the center of the dining table. Eric knows he sure didn’t do all this before he left this morning… and he doesn’t recognize the dishware on the table. It’s not from his boxes.

When he turns to face the kitchen, Jack appears in the doorway at the same moment. The two of them lock eyes, not saying anything for a few seconds… then Jack offers a sheepish smile, holding up the spoon in his hand.

Jack: Dinner’s almost ready. Made your favorite.

Eric: … I could eat. [ a beat ] I hope you’re ready to talk. Because we need to talk.

Jack nods, holding up a finger. One second. He disappears back into the kitchen to put things on simmer, then reenters the dining room, gesturing for them to sit. He pulls out Eric’s chair for him at the head, then goes to sit in the left-hand chair, pulling it closer to the corner of the table so there’s less space between them.

He lightly holds up one of the plates.

Jack: What do you think of these?

Interesting opener. Not quite what Eric was hoping to discuss, but he’ll bite. He examines it -- faux-ceramic style with a pretty paint-like coloring along the outer edge -- and offers a shrug.

Eric: It’s nice. I like the green.

Jack: Good. Good, because I bought them for us. They’re plates for this house. They’re ours.

Ours, shared. Eric waits patiently for more, Jack delicately placing the plate back down. Then he meets Eric’s eyes, voice soft with sincerity.

Jack: I’m sorry for the way I acted yesterday. It was completely out of line, and I should not have spoken to you like that.

Eric: Agreed.

Jack: And listen, if it happens again, you have every right to walk right out. Don’t let me lash out. I’ve seen -- I know what a partnership like that looks like, okay? I watched my mom and dad for enough years before they divorced to know what we shouldn’t be. And I don’t think I am, or that we will be, but don’t ever think you have to settle for that.

Eric, gently: I’m not concerned about that, Jack.

Well… that’s reassuring. Jack offers a timid smile. What Eric is concerned about, though, is the why… Jack nods, pausing to collect his thoughts. He takes a deep breath, then after a moment, he scoffs a laugh.

Jack: You know… we spend so much time talking to the kids, telling them how to do things. How to process shit, handle their conflicts… I lecture Lucas all the time about his problems, but it’s like I forget I’ve got my own. Think I could do with a bit of taking my own advice sometime.

Eric: They think you turn 30 and have it all figured out. And since we’re absolutely ancient, we must know all.

Jack: I wish. But alas… [ shaking his head ] I know I’ve been acting weird about stuff. The mixing things together, our lives becoming so intertwined. And the thing is, I want that. I know it’s what comes with the territory, that’s why I wanted to share territory in the first place. I want that with you, Eric. I do.

Eric smiles, not interrupting. Jack searches for the right words.

Jack: So my logical brain, it gets all that. It’s ready for it. But emotionally… so much of my life has been independent. Fiercely independent. With my parents the way they were, dad gone all the time and mom a bit of an… eccentric, I had to figure all that shit out real quick. My rise or fall, anything I wanted or anything I accomplished, it all came down to me. And I did it, okay, I made it work. I got really damn good at being independent… maybe a little too good. I’m out of that situation, but sometimes, it’s like deep down I’m still that scruffy kid trying to claw my way out of the trailer park.

He’s had to go it alone for so long, entirely on his own, that the idea of melding his life with someone else’s spooked him in a way he wasn’t anticipating. It’s odd, redefining your own narrative, and he just had to reflect and remind himself that sharing himself that way, having other people see him as part of a set rather than a standalone figure, isn’t necessarily a dangerous thing.

So he just had to figure that out. But he’s sorry that Eric had to get caught in the middle in the process -- he hopes he didn’t feel like he had to take Isa up on their alimony support in the meantime. Eric laughs, shaking his head.

Eric: I had faith you’d come around. Know you too well not to. But thank you for apologizing, and for telling me that.

Jack nods, taking Eric’s hand on the tabletop.

Jack: Thank you for knowing me. [ a beat ] And I will always talk to you about things. Whenever something goes awry, or shit gets complicated, I want us to be able to sit down in our home and talk it out.

Eric agrees -- that’s what they’d tell the kids to do, anyway. But they’re right. They’re grown adults, and as any mature adult knows, the best way to confront an unideal situation is to talk things out. Open, honest, authentic. Better that than let it fester, doing nothing about it.

Jack: You ready for pasta, then?

Eric: Oh, I am always ready for pasta.

They laugh, Jack leaning forward to give Eric a kiss and then getting up eagerly to get dinner. The camera pans away from the dining room… to the staircase, where we find Isa is sitting, having overheard most of the conversation. The men likely don’t realize they’re there, but they are, and the things Jack and Eric said about communication and honesty seems to have hit them. Their eyes are glossy, but even so, there’s a subtle determination in their expression.

Suddenly, they know what they have to do.

INT. USC - EDITING SUITE - NIGHT

Amidst other USC film students, Maya sticks out like a theatrical, glamorous sore thumb. She only blends in because of the darkness of the editing room and because for now, Jordan is with her, having let her in to put together the basic building blocks of her music video and teach her how to use the software.

Now, though, he’s got to go, so the rest is on her. She asks if she’ll be able to stay here on her own, and he waves off the concern.

Jordan: Between us, the check-in and check-out system they have here is mainly for show -- so long as they can hang onto your ID while you’re here, it’s whatever. And I’m pals with the attendant right now, so I’ll slide her a bill or two. She’ll look the other way.

Works for Maya! Jordan lets her continue to borrow his production headset too, commenting that she can have Farkle pass them off on Monday. She thanks him profusely for all his help -- he’s been a lifesaver.

Jordan: My pleasure. It was fun. You’ve got talent, Maya. I look forward to seeing where it takes you. [ with a shrug ] As for the labor, we can just say Farkle owes me one.

He doesn’t sound displeased with that, either… the two of them exchange goodbyes and Jordan leaves Maya alone. Before she gets back to work, she takes a mental break to check her phone. Too eager to wait, she preps a text to mass send to a bunch of her close friends, giving them the heads up about the drop to come. She starts listing out all the obvious recipients -- her mother, of course; Zay; Riley; Yindra; Darby.

Isa. She writes the name instinctively, only second-guessing a moment later when her brain catches up to her fingers. She stares at it, uncertain. It could be a good way to break the ice… but as far as she can tell, Isa doesn’t want the ice broken. The wall has frozen solid between them, and there’s no desire from their end to thaw it out. There’s hardly a point in trying to cross a burnt bridge -- no matter how much you may miss what’s on the other side.

No doom and gloom. Not on the cusp of something as epic as this. Maya deletes Isa’s name and puts her phone back in her pocket, slipping on Jordan’s headset and getting back to work.

She wants it to be perfect, so she’s in for a long night.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - NIGHT

Farkle owes one to Charlie, too -- which he’s achieving not with a payout but seemingly by buying him dinner. They’re making a night in of it, both dressed in comfortable clothes and all pretensions of coolness lowered (not that there was much to begin with). Farkle must have chosen the music, because Glee is playing on his bluetooth speaker. They’re drinking wine coolers. It’s a bona fide queer theater kid sleepover in here.

Farkle accepts takeout from the delivery boy and then comes to join Charlie in the living area, placing the food on the coffee table. Charlie beams and sits up from his spot on the couch, helping him unload it all so they can dig in.

Farkle: Sorry there’s no big paycheck. This is the best I have to offer.

Charlie: [ with a laugh ] This is fine, seriously. You know I love a carb.

Farkle: Yeah… demon.

Charlie grins wider. As they start to divvy out food for themselves, they chat about the week, Charlie starting by congratulating Farkle for making the cast of the musical. That’s exciting! Farkle hums and nods, finishing chewing the food he just put in his mouth before speaking.

Farkle: Thanks. It’s gonna be interesting, since I’m pretty sure I was the only freshman cast, but it should be good. We’re doing like, a rotating cast of duos for The Last Five Years, and they’re doing a bunch of unconventional interpretations and twists on the combinations -- you know, like acknowledging gay people exist, for example.

Charlie: Whoa, whoa, whoa. They do?

Farkle: I know, I’m blowing your Catholic golden boy mind right now. But yeah, the rendition I’m a part of is about examining gender roles and turning certain tropes on their head, so I’m going to be taking on the Cathy role. I’m grateful for that, honestly -- Jamie has some incredible songs, and I relate to the Jewish disaster thing, but God he’s an asshole.

To think he could’ve turned out like that… frightening. But no, instead he became a more tolerable but unhinged little freak. Charlie raises his drink in mock cheers.

Charlie: Freaks flock.

Hear, hear! Both of them take a drink, then shift conversation to the spectacle that was Maya’s project. They’re definitely curious to see how that turns out as a final product… Farkle commends Charlie on his choreography. It elevated the performance for sure.

Charlie: Thanks. It was a bit out of my wheelhouse, but it was fun. Though to be candid, I don’t think I could ever be in Maya’s wheelhouse.

Farkle: Well, you made her look good, which is the most important bar to clear. I know she acts like she disdains you, but she doesn’t. And she definitely thinks highly of your dancing ability -- she wouldn’t have asked you in the first place if she didn’t.

Charlie: Yeah… yeah, it was nice to get back to it. Think I kind of needed the nudge.

Farkle: Or violent Maya shove, however you wanna phrase it.

Charlie points out that much of whether it’ll look good will come down to Jordan, so it’s a good thing he seemed to know his stuff. He was professional, and had a lot of great ideas. Not to mention he dealt with Maya impressively well for a newbie. Farkle nods along.

Farkle: I agree. I was worried about the… Maya of it all, but they seemed to mesh well. Miraculous, but so was him joining the project in the first place. When I asked him earlier in the week, I never thought he’d say yes. I was just desperate.

Charlie: It’s really nice that he decided to help.

Farkle: Yeah.

Charlie: Not surprising, though, since he’s obviously into you.

Charlie tosses off that observation so casually, like duh, but Farkle does not react casually. He nearly chokes on his food, staring at Charlie in bewilderment. He must’ve misheard him.

Farkle: I’m sorry, what?

Charlie meets his eyes, clocking his confusion… and then he breaks into a smile.

Charlie: Farkle. Come on.

Farkle: Don’t patronize me, Chuck. Don’t look at me like that. 

Charlie: You’re joking. You had to have picked up on it. You had to have known.

Farkle, frazzled: Um, no, I absolutely did not have to know. I don’t know! You think that Jordan Nelson -- no, no. You’re wrong.

Charlie: I’d bet money I’m not.

Farkle: You’re unhinged. You want to take some of my mood stabilizers? Or are you still an easy drunk -- is half a wine cooler too much?

Charlie scoffs a laugh. He doesn’t get why Farkle is being so defensive about this -- why such strong denial? The signs are all there. Farkle remains doubtful, so Charlie begins to list them out, starting from when he first saw Jordan chase Farkle out of class a month ago to how he acted towards him at the shoot yesterday. Farkle is in disbelief to start, but the more Charlie lays out, the more uncertain he grows.

Charlie: He called you over to look at the camera angles like, ten times. He’s a sophomore production student and a reputable director -- you think he really needs your layman opinion on how the cameras are set up? [ leaning forward ] Or is it just a convenient way to put your faces really close? It’s the film student equivalent of teaching you how to bowl.

As a certified hopeless romantic, Charlie would know. The truth of his points sink in, Farkle finding no arguments to refute them. Jordan might actually be into him.

But rather than excitement, Farkle erupts into anguish.

Farkle: This is terrible!

Charlie frowns, totally lost. Not the reaction one would expect. Farkle restlessly gets out of the armchair and starts to pace, Charlie questioning what the heck is the matter. Someone has a crush on him. Shouldn’t that be good news?

Farkle: No. No it isn’t.

Charlie: … is it about Jordan? Do you not like him?

Farkle: No. No, it’s not him. He’s…

Farkle trails off, contemplating the question for the first time. Does he like him? He’s still getting to know him, and he’s intense, but intense has never turned him away before. Takes one to know one. That could explain the wah of it all… but God, now he has to contemplate it all!

Farkle: He’s not the problem. I’m the problem.

Charlie: Why?

Farkle: Um, because I’m an insane little freak? Did we not just cover that? I don’t know how to… have flirtations with people. I’ve never had a serious relationship. Hell, I’ve never had a relationship, period. I have enough of a trial maintaining my friendships, and even then, I end up ruining all of them eventually. It’s in my programming to blow it all up. And what would he want with me, anyway? Has he met me?

Charlie: Well, hey…

Farkle: I’m not cool. I’m not cute. I’m barely sane, and I have nothing to offer him. Like, what am I supposed to do if he like -- oh my God, what if he wanted to kiss me? I’ve never kissed anyone. That word doesn’t even sound real to me -- kiss -- like that’s a fake word!

Charlie: No credit to Riley then…

Farkle: That’s a stage kiss, it doesn’t count. Everything in my life is like that -- staged. I have nothing to go on otherwise. Never been kissed. Never had a partner. God, I’ve never even held hands with someone! 

Charlie: Farkle.

Farkle: I can’t even control my hands! Did you know that? They act with a mind of their own, they -- [ exaggeratedly demonstrating ] FLEX!

Charlie: Farkle!

Charlie gets to his feet, coming to stand in front of Farkle and stopping his frantic pacing. He grabs his shoulders, then his face, making him look at him. He holds eye contact for a second, giving him a nod of affirmation -- then pulls him in, giving him a brief but intentional kiss.

That’s certainly enough to get him to shut up. Farkle freezes and accepts it, sort of half returning it once his brain catches up and realizes Charlie Gardner is actually kissing him. When Charlie pulls back, Farkle stays still and quiet, blinking a couple of times like he has to mentally reboot.

Charlie holds out his arms, offering a smile.

Charlie: Now you’ve had a kiss. Was that so bad?

Farkle: … [ mumbling ] No, no, I guess not, no…

Charlie’s smile widens, amused. Farkle crosses his arms and scratches his ear, still processing.

Farkle: You’re, um, pretty good at that.

Charlie, proudly: [ with a nod and a smirk ] It’s not my first one.

Good for you, king. Look how far they’ve come… Charlie sighs, speaking more matter-of-factly.

Charlie: Look, if I’ve learned… anything in the last couple years, it’s that every experience is what you make of it. If you get in your head about things -- and trust me, I have plenty of skill with that -- then you’ll get trapped there. That’s not to say that you have to… go wild, but the fear isn’t worth holding yourself back. The unknown is scary, but the best stuff of your life might be what’s waiting on the other side. And even if it’s not, a little extra experience isn’t a bad thing either. Things are only a big deal if you want them to be, if you decide they’re important. Otherwise, it’s just… practice, fun, whatever you want to make of it. The only person who gets to decide what matters at the end of the day is you.

Wise words, and applicable to much more than just relationships. And a true display of growth for Charlie, who definitely could’ve afforded to hear that for himself just as recently as last year.

Farkle absorbs that, taking it seriously. He nods a thanks, still not sure what he’s going to do about Jordan but not feeling quite so panicked about it anymore. In fact, the kiss seems to have fried his brain from any and all fear responses for the time being -- and based on how he keeps glancing at Charlie’s lips, he’s stuck on a totally different mental train. He taps his fingers on his forearms, going for casual.

Farkle: So, um… if things are just… you know, casual or practice or what have you… [ clearing his throat ] Might be good to get a little more practice in. For preparedness, you know.

Charlie, tickled: … are you trying to kiss me again?

Farkle: I just think I really need the practice --

Farkle takes the initiative this time, stepping closer and pulling Charlie into another kiss. Charlie half-laughs through it, something inherently and undeniably ridiculous about the situation, but he doesn’t shy away from it.

It must be so nice for Farkle to get this out of his system after years of repression and bitingly calling Charlie a sexy Catholic. Enjoy practice, lads!

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

Finally having managed to come together to do a full run-through, Vanessa and Zay are just about ready to try it at full speed. Vanessa is putting on her character shoes while Zay paces, absentmindedly talking through the steps to himself as he reviews the choreo sheets. He’s half thinking out loud, reasoning about the prospects of their project and how it’s coming together. He figures so long as they pull it off seamlessly, and bring their usual level of stage presence, they’ll still come out on top.

Zay: Hopefully, enduring this test should save me a little face from sitting out during endurance.

Vanessa: [ after a beat ] I still can’t believe you did that.

Zay, defensive: I know, I know. Arrogant and entitled of me to sit out a class. You can save the usual rant.

Vanessa: That’s not what I meant. [ softer ] Sort of the opposite, actually.

Now that genuinely surprises Zay. He stops pacing, turning to look at her. She glances up at him, then averts her gaze back to the floor, intently focused on buckling her shoe.

Vanessa: It kind of impressed me. Choosing to sit out.

Zay: I wouldn’t have chosen to if I could’ve.

Vanessa: But you did. Even when you didn’t want to. [ a beat ] I know I don’t know you, and I don’t know what happened to you. The injury, or whatever. I just know that… if something like that happened to me, if I couldn’t dance… I think it’d break me. And if I had to make the same choice… [ swallowing her pride ] I don’t think I would do it. What you did. I don’t think I could.

Vanessa keeps her head down even though her shoes are ready to go. And good thing, because that gives Zay all the room in the world to gape at her. He’s at a loss for what to say, no snarky return or defensive comeback ready on his tongue because she didn’t do anything to invite it. For once, the walls are down, a strange, fragile authenticity resting between them. It’s like he’s actually seeing her for the first time -- just another dancer who lives for the art, terrified of messing it up or never reaching the heights she wants to reach. So dedicated that sometimes, she doesn’t know where to draw the line -- and willing to take down anything that gets in the way.

It’s surreal, seeing someone for their full humanity after so long of reducing them to a caricature… thankfully, they have a convenient escape from the heaviness. They’ve got a number to rehearse. Zay suggests they get going on it, as it’s already late and they want to be able to bounce back for another rehearsal this weekend before performing on Monday.

Vanessa nods, and Zay extends the temporary truce further by walking over and offering her a hand to pull her to her feet. After a moment of trained hesitation, she accepts it.

Nothing left to do but dance. Zay goes to cue up the music, Vanessa standing at the center of the room and waiting for Zay to come back and join her face-to-face.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Sway” as performed by The Pussycat Dolls || Instrumental

A classic cha-cha romp if there ever was one, Zay and Vanessa have chosen a great track for their assignment. Can always count on PCD to deliver. Their rendition is dynamic, dramatic, and sultry -- just like Zay and Vanessa’s choreography. As it turns out, their trick of breaking the number up and threading their pieces together works well, both of their sensibilities shining through.

That only works, though, because the other is competent enough to pull it off… and damn, are they competent. It was no secret they were some of the fiercest competition in the transfer cohort, but it’s bold, highlighted, and underlined when you pair them up. Their steps are sharp, their movements fluid, and it must be said, they look good together. Whatever sparks are always threatening to catch fire between them when they’re beefing, it brings the captivating factor up to eleven when they dance.

Even more so when they’re showing off their skill. When the transition build comes about a minute and a half in, they hit every single move perfectly… and then nail the dip. Vanessa trusts Zay and falls into it, making the transition seamless, and then they flow into the latter half with ease. They do the spin lift into the faster dance break without missing a beat -- Vanessa doesn’t get dizzy this time around.

In the second half, they inevitably drift closer, by virtue of the cha-cha choreography and a natural pull into the rhythm of the routine. Just before three minutes, when Nicole Scherzinger is singing those breathy “sway me” lines, they’re doing just that, slowing their tempo and flowing with the music. Zay’s flush up against her, breath warm against her neck…

And then they’re moving again, stepping through a couple more quick combos and poses as the number rounds out. They finish it off by Zay spinning Vanessa back towards him, this crash into each other much more elegant than their tumble in the first week of class. The song peters out and they stay in position, basically nose to nose, breathing hard after a strong performance. Time to break away…

Vanessa does the opposite. Without thinking, she leans in and kisses him.

It seems to catch both of them by surprise. Vanessa pulls away quickly, meeting his eyes only out of sheer embarrassment. Zay just stares at her, not giving anything away.

Of all the stupid things. Talk about making yourself vulnerable! Vanessa can’t even speak to apologize, backing off and starting to step away from him --

But Zay keeps his hold on her arm, stepping after her and pulling her back in his direction. She spins just in time, colliding with him and into another kiss. This one is much deeper than the last, inviting more, and Vanessa reciprocates, placing her hands on his hips and pulling him closer.

Hold me close, sway me more…

INT. BEAMON HOME - LIVING ROOM - DAY

The next morning, Jade is sitting on her couch and trying to act casual while she waits for her family to roll out for the soccer match. They’re taking their sweet time, Trevor and Elliot bickering about something inane while mom and dad usher them towards the car.

Jade: [ under her breath ] Come on, come on…

She has her phone ready, waiting to send the all-clear text to Nigel. She hasn’t heard from him since yesterday, and it’s starting to unnerve her. She can’t fix things if she’s not given the chance to…

She jumps slightly when her phone starts buzzing, but it’s not Nigel calling. It’s an unfamiliar number, but the phone’s memory based on texts and previous calls is able to offer a guess.

Maybe: Anya

Jade stares at the screen, not sure whether to believe it… then she accepts the call. It is in fact Anya, and she greets her brightly when she answers.

Anya: Sorry to call you on the weekend. I know you’re off the clock.

Jade: Oh, no, that’s… no problem. What’s up?

INT. ANYA KELLY DESIGN STUDIO - ANYA’S OFFICE - DAY

Anya has the phone pressed between her shoulder and ear as she goes through a rack of clothes that have just been delivered. They’re ballroom-style gowns, absolutely gorgeous even still in their protective wraps.

Anya: What are you doing this morning? We just got a delivery in of the dresses for the gala, and they are vicious. Thought you might want to come take a look at them before they get picked up tomorrow.

OMG, does she… but no. She can’t. Jade doesn’t want to let down Nigel again, no matter how exciting the prospect might be. She tentatively declines.

Jade: That sounds amazing, and I would definitely like opportunities like that in the future if possible. But I actually have plans today.

Which is valid, because it’s Saturday. Anya doesn’t necessarily seem pleased by the rejection, but not especially bothered either. She assures her no biggie, and that she’ll catch her on Monday.

Anya: By the way, was super great having you at the mixer. Made it infinitely more bearable.

Jade: That’s so nice. Thanks. I mean, thank you for even letting me come.

Anya: Course. It’s good to know I have an apprentice I can actually rely on.

Jade can’t believe how well things seem to be working out. She thanks Anya again.

INT. JACK AND ERIC’S PLACE - ISA’S BEDROOM - DAY

Isa is pacing the floor nervously, sweatshirt sleeves pulled over their hands so they can’t chew their fingernails. Their laptop is open on the desktop by the window, waiting for them. Their voice is uncharacteristically shaky.

Isa: Okay… here we go. [ with an exhale ] I can do this.

Isa marches to the desk and settles down into the chair. They hesitate for a moment longer, then steel their resolve, going to their video calling app and clicking on a certain name.

The time it takes to ring is excruciating. Isa almost chickens out, mouse hovering over the end call button… but Chai answers soon enough, more put together than Isa since her day is already well into the afternoon.

Chai: Hi.

Isa: Hey. [ a beat ] Thanks for letting me call on short notice. Especially after… how we ended things last time.

Chai: Sure. That’s kind of how couples are supposed to be, I think.

Right. Chai settles onto her bed, asking what’s up, though her attention seems pretty non-committal. That changes when Isa braves speaking again, though.

Isa: I, um… I wanted to talk about stuff. Between you and me.

Now they’ve got Chai’s attention. Her expression grows more serious.

Chai: Yeah? Is something wrong?

Isa: I… don’t really know. Exactly. I kind of was hoping to ask you that.

Chai, uncertain: … but you never want to talk about stuff.

Isa: [ with a nod ] I know. And I know that’s frustrating, so I’m sorry about that. But I think… I don’t think not talking about it is doing what I think it is. If you’re not happy, or something isn’t working, then it’s only fair we should discuss it. That’s what mature adults would do.

Chai: You’ve met better adults than me, I guess.

Isa scoffs a laugh, allowing that to pierce the tension just a bit.

Isa: So… are you? Happy? With us.

Chai: Are you?

Huh. Wasn’t expecting that self-reflection required so fast. Isa pauses to seriously contemplate the question, wanting to give Chai an honest conversation to the best of their ability.

Isa: I’m not… not happy. I like talking to you. 

Chai: But is that happy? Is that a relationship?

It’s certainly a relationship of some sort… but maybe not a couple. Not the kind of relationship Chai maybe wants. Still, she’s patient, letting Isa think through it for themself.

Isa: I don’t know. I guess that depends on what you want from it. [ timid ] I think… what we have is comfortable. It’s safe. It’s easy. I like that it doesn’t have to change everything… but maybe easy isn’t always right.

Chai offers a weak smile, not disagreeing. Isa turns it back to her, inviting her the chance to reflect too. They may not be the most perceptive partner, but they definitely noticed she’d been distant lately. Their conversations have been a bit one-sided, but Isa doesn’t think that’s just their fault for talking about the same old things. Chai grows more shy, but nods.

Isa: Are you mad at me?

Chai: No. No, Isa, I’m not. Part of it is just… [ shaking her head ] I mean, there’s distance, obviously, like physically, but also…

She’s obviously nervous. Isa tries to be the steady one, waiting for her to look at the camera again.

Isa: Listen. You can tell me whatever it is. I promise, I can take it -- I’ve been through worse shit than a difficult convo.

Okay, true. Chai laughs a bit at that, still anxious, but she takes a deep breath and tries to find the words.

Chai: It’s the stupidest thing but… ever since… [ with a sigh ] this is going to sound so, so shitty. Like, I hate how it sounds. I don’t mean anything bad by it, or towards you, I swear --

Isa: Trust me, I could believe I’ve warranted some bad commentary. I know I’m not the best partner, like I said…

Chai: No, it’s not that. You’re fine. It’s… [ clearing her throat ] Ever since you told me you’re nonbinary, it’s felt… different. I feel different.

Isa: Oh.

Chai: And I don’t mean that in a bad way. Like, you’re still you. And all the things I really like about spending time with you, and talking with you, all of that is still true. Nothing about that has changed. But it’s just like, I don’t know, with that knowledge it’s like my brain is like…

She shakes her head, getting a little choked up. For a moment, they’re quiet.

Isa: It’s okay.

Chai: No, it isn’t. It doesn’t feel like it. I don’t want you to think things changed because you’re not a girl, or --

Isa: Chai, seriously. That’s okay. I do not pretend to understand a fucking thing about sexuality, since I barely get my own, but like… [ with a shrug ] You’re a lesbian. You like women. I no longer identify as a woman. I know that doesn’t change things for some people, but… sometimes it does.

Besides, that was far from the only thing creating distance in their relationship. Both of them know that. Isa sucks at communicating; it’s hard to feel connected when they’re so far apart. And now there’s nothing to talk about without the common world of Adams. Isa claims it sucks, but Chai questions if it really feels like such a loss. Aside from the friendly aspects of their dynamic…

Chai: My stuff was somewhat related to gender politics, but I mean… be honest, Isa. Have you really felt anything towards me since I left? You know, in that way, beyond friendly affection. Have you sat up for hours thinking about me, felt your heart race at my voice, daydreamed about the next time you’d see me?

Asking the tough questions now… and Isa knows the answer. They know the answer is no, but even more chilling, they realize that there’s a twist underneath it. They haven’t felt that way about Chai in weeks, no… but they have felt that way about someone else. Someone they’ve spent an inordinate amount of time pushing away and avoiding because of those very things.

Isa’s silence speaks for them. Chai nods, as she already figured, but she doesn’t seem angry. The tears in her eyes -- in both of their eyes, actually -- are more bittersweet than hurt. It’s a relief to have this conversation, to face the truth as it is and get these things off their chest, but it’s sad. It’s always sad when the winds of change blow, and you know things will never be the same after.

Chai takes a deep breath, letting it out in a huff.

Chai: So. I guess that’s kind of that, then.

Isa: Yeah… [ a beat ] Just to clarify, we’re… breaking up, right? That’s what this is?

Chai laughs, fond smile on her face. She nods.

Chai: Yeah. It’s a break up.

Isa: Cool. Got it.

Chai: And if anyone asks, it was mutual. So you don’t have to tell people you were dumped by Confessions Page Chai.

Isa manages a smile, shaking their head. They just look at each other for a moment longer.

Chai: Love you, Isa. Thanks for starting this conversation.

Isa: [ with a nod ] Love you, too. And I hope you’ll save another convo for me when you’re back for the holidays.

Chai: It’s a date. Just… not.

Ha ha, jokes… Chai exhales a laugh and then swipes at her eyes, claiming she has to get ready for her evening class. Isa lets her go, the two of them exchanging thanks again for being brave enough to talk things out. It feels lighter now. Better.

EXT. USC - CAMPUS - DAY

Charlie has chosen a new venue for a change of scenery, using his basic boy camouflage to spend the early morning at University Park. He’s enjoying getting to savor the beautiful L.A. weather, but his true upbeat mood comes from the fact that he’s in the midst of video-calling his family.

ROSIE GARDNER is on the other end of the line, walking him around the house as they chat. She’s upstairs at the moment -- presumably having been in her room -- and she stops by another room to yell at DAISY GARDNER.

Rosie: Charlie’s calling. Do you want to talk to him?

Daisy: [ with a shrug ] What do I have to say to him?

Charlie: Wow, okay. I’m so missed, I see.

Rosie: That’s just Daisy. She’s gotten even more teenager-glib in your absence.

Charlie: As a wee teen yourself, I’m not sure you can be the judge of that…

Rosie: Oh my gosh, I’m literally fifteen.

Yeah, exactly his point… Charlie grins. Despite her dismissal, Daisy gets up to follow Rosie as she continues their journey through the house. They find AMBROSE GARDNER in the living area, in his usual armchair reading on the iPad. He smiles when Rosie leans over the back of the chair to let him say hi.

Rosie: We’re saying hi to Charlie, because Daisy wouldn’t even do that.

Daisy, off-screen: Shu -- stop. That’s not even what I meant.

Ambrose: [ fondly amused, playing along ] Hi, Charlie.

Charlie smiles wider.

Charlie: Hi, dad.

Rosie pulls away and is on the move again, entering the kitchen and grabbing an apple from the bowl on the counter. She takes a big bite even as she continues to talk to him.

Rosie: I mean, I think that’s basically it. I don’t know what else you want me to show you. Your bookshelves? The balcony? [ lowering her voice mischievously ] Your liquor cabinet?

Charlie: Okay, that’s…

Rosie: Shh… do you hear that? That tiny, helpless voice… [ mockingly ] “We miss you, Charlie! Come back to me!” Is that the books, or the vodka?

Charlie shushes her on instinct even though she’s already whispering, shaking his head. He truly is never gonna live that down. He aims to shift topics, thinking she’s left out a pretty obvious visit.

Charlie: Is mom there?

Rosie pauses.

Rosie: Um, no. She had a thing with the church ladies, so she’s there right now.

Charlie: Oh.

Rosie: I told her that you were gonna call, but I guess the church stuff was just really important. I’m sure she’ll be here next time.

Charlie: Yeah. Of course. [ a beat ] Um, well, tell her I miss her. I miss all of you.

Rosie: I will. But you know what the solution to that is, don’t you? [ putting the camera super close to her face ] Come home!

Charlie laughs. From off-screen, Daisy scrambles back into the room, instructing Rosie that there’s still one more person to say goodbye. Rosie’s eyes brighten, and then the camera is rotating out of selfie mode -- to show Daisy cradling Skippy in her arms like a baby.

Charlie lets out a pathetic little noise -- you know, the “I miss my pet” whine -- while Rosie gets closer so the camera is right in Skippy’s face.

Charlie: Hi, boy! Hi, Skip.

Daisy: He’s like, “who is that?”

Charlie: No!

Daisy: Yeah.

Rosie: Skippy and I are best friends now. You’ve been usurped. The era of Charlie is over; it’s Rosie’s turn.

Charlie: Skippy would never betray me like that. You’ll see. He’s loyal. Right, Skip?

Rosie: Guess there’s only one way to prove it…

The camera flips back to selfie mode, showing Rosie and Daisy together.

Rosie/Daisy: COME HOME!

It’s like a Greek chorus around here. Charlie waves them off and promises he’ll see them soon. Still vague, but time will fly by. So it’s goodbye for now, Rosie and Daisy saying adieu and Daisy making Skippy wave his paw.

As good as it was to see them again, the fact that Eleanor wasn’t there lingers with Charlie after he hangs up. He shouldn’t overthink it -- his mom has always put the church first, and she’ll see him before they know it -- but something about it still sets him on edge in a way he can’t articulate.

Time to distract himself. He pulls up his messages and clicks into his thread with Zay, searching for something to say just to get the conversation going again. Even if it’s imperfect right now, talking to him is always a salve.

“Morning! Hope your rehearsal went okay -- you’re still alive, right?”

INT. JOHNSON HOME - DAY

The text goes unread for now, Zay’s phone buried in his duffle somewhere. He’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday, quietly stepping around Vanessa’s home. Even more caution required, since it’s so unfamiliar.

He doesn’t get away with his smooth escape, though. Just as he’s slinging his bag over his shoulder, Vanessa speaks.

Vanessa: Sneaking out without saying goodbye?

Zay hesitates, then turns to look at her. She’s leaning in her doorframe, hair tangled and wearing an oversized sweatshirt. She crosses her arms.

Vanessa: Kind of arrogant. Though I admit, I didn’t take you for a walk of shame type…

The barbs are still up and tension remains well intact between them… but it’s different now. It carries a different edge -- a little less serrated, a little more familiar. Whether they prefer it that way remains to be seen. A long way off.

Zay: I don’t do shame. I’d say don’t project on me, but I know if you’ve been with me, shame isn’t what you’ve been feeling. [ a beat ] See, now that was arrogant.

Vanessa’s ice cracks slightly, the faintest of smiles piercing her armor. Then she shifts to aloof, shrugging.

Vanessa: It wasn’t bad. Surprisingly.

Zay: Same to you. Could work with it.

Vanessa: But this was a one-time thing. It’s not… this isn’t a thing. I want that clear.

Zay: Agreed. It’s cute that you even thought you needed to say so.

Well… the way you keep looking at each other, with the loaded eye contact, think she’s got reason, Zay! But that’s it. They got that out of their system, whatever it was, so now it’s back to the grind. Zay is competition; nothing more. Vanessa is enemy number one; it was nice to be close to someone like that with all of the… things he’s been feeling lately, but that’s all it is.

So come Monday, the dance better be flawless.

Vanessa: Be there an hour before so we can run through it again. [ holding his gaze ] Don’t chicken out.

For multiple reasons. Zay doesn’t flinch.

Zay: Keep dreaming. [ just a hint softer ] See you Monday.

It’s certain they will, yes. A welcome predictably, concrete plans he can rely on… Zay makes his exit, Vanessa watching him go.

INT. CHUBBIES - DAY

Lucas is back behind the counter in his Chubbies uniform, and weirdly, there’s a strange kind of solace to being back. It might be a schlubby shack of a diner, but the people are familiar and the vibes are good. At least here, he knows he belongs.

JOE reminds him as much with his blunt welcome back, slinging a washcloth over Lucas’s shoulder and telling him table eight needs bussing before he finishes up his shift. Get to it! He does ask how the time at NYU went, feigning curiosity, and Lucas shrugs.

Lucas: Collegiate. [ off Joe’s scoff ] Nah, it was all right. Riley fits in great. I just don’t know if…

He doesn’t finish the sentiment. It feels dangerous to say it -- he doesn’t know if he belongs there? He doesn’t know if he can share the same world as his girlfriend, the most important person in his life? He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to hack it at college at all?

All the above stays unspoken, yet somehow, Joe gets the gist. In a rare moment of softness, he gives Lucas a bracing pat on the shoulder, waiting for him to meet his eyes.

Joe: You’ll be gold, kid.

Lucas absorbs that. Unspecific as it might be, it hits as intended, especially coming from gruff manager Joe. Lucas smiles lightly, nodding.

And with that, back to work. Lucas heads over to table eight and clears it, focused on that as Riley pushes her way through the door. She scans the diner for him and finds him soon enough, a natural grin blossoming on her face. It’s obvious, from the way she looks at him -- even when he’s not paying any attention -- that all of the insecurities Lucas may have don’t even register in her mind. Whether walking the intellectual grounds of campus or cleaning up grease, she sees him the same.

There’s no world she can envision where he doesn’t fit in, where he doesn’t shine. No possible world where he doesn’t belong with her.

Once she’s gotten her fill of the view, she approaches and greets him, exchanging a quick kiss. She asks if he’s ready to go, because apparently they’ve got an important place to be this afternoon. Lucas nods, finishing up with the table and jogging to the back room to remove his apron.

Then they head out together, Lucas accepting her held out hand and letting her lead the way.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

Farkle and Maya are seated at the table having breakfast, finally enjoying a restful morning now that the hardest tasks have been completed. Charlie returns from USC and they both greet him -- well, Farkle greets him, while Maya merely sagely nods her head in acknowledgement of his presence.

Farkle: Please help yourself. Maya overdid it on the thank you gifts, so we’re overflowing with fruit.

Charlie: Oh, sweet. Thanks.

Charlie grabs a bowl and puts together some of the cut fruit from the arrangement at the center of the table, sitting opposite Farkle with Maya on the side between them. Charlie comments that Maya didn’t come home until super late last night -- was she at the editing suite that late?

Maya: One has to work until the job is done. But I can safely assure you both that the job is done, and it looks absolutely fabulous. Prepare for a big, big drop tomorrow, boys.

Farkle: Can’t wait to see it. Mainly just to see proof that it actually did come together and I didn’t fever dream this whole thing.

Charlie chuckles down at his fruit. Maya eyes them both, sharing a chortle at her expense… and decides not to spare them, flipping her ponytail off her shoulder.

Maya: Well, I wasn’t in the suite the entire night. Unfortunately, the USC facilities are only open until a certain hour, so I had to make other arrangements. [ a beat ] When I stopped by to grab some things, I couldn’t help but notice you weren’t on the couch, Charlie.

Oh. Farkle looks to Charlie, expression dropping slightly. Charlie also hesitates but does a better job of holding his cards -- he’s had a lot of practice, after all.

Charlie: Was I not? Weird. I can’t remember when I went to sleep…

Maya: Sounded like you two were chatting, actually. At least, that’s what I assumed… must’ve been discussing some pretty funny things.

Farkle: We’re friends. We talk. Friends talk.

Maya: Of course.

Charlie: Yeah, uh, must’ve just been laughing about something. We talk about a lot of stuff, so.

Maya: Mhm… pretty fun conversations, then.

Maya smiles at Charlie, who glances at Farkle, who is staring at his food. Be cool… be cool… Maya then slowly turns her knowing smile to Farkle, propping her chin on her laced fingers and batting her eyelashes.

She doesn’t say a word, but her relentless gaze does plenty for her. Within seconds, Farkle cracks, blurting out a self-defense.

Farkle: [ at the speed of light ] We just did hand stuff!

Charlie chokes on his fruit and drops his fork. Maya’s eyes widen, smile still on her face, though at this point it’s more an amused stage of surrealist rather than genuine. She looks back and forth between them, then delicately clasps her hands on the table in front of her, continuing to let her silence speak volumes.

Chaos sprite… Charlie decides to just emergency exit the conversation, because he still can’t quite believe Farkle is that incapable of holding under pressure. And he thought he was bad…

Charlie: Well. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go… pray.

Farkle hides his head in his hands, embarrassed, while Charlie surreptitiously makes his exit. Don’t see why he needs to leave the entire apartment to pray… Maya watches him go and then turns her gaze back to Farkle, mischievous smile still on her face.

Farkle: It wasn’t like… we’re not serious. Or a thing. Or anything. Really, it was just a --

Maya: I don’t know why you’re explaining yourself to me. I just wanted to see Charlie Gardner squirm a little, but your business is your business. [ a beat ] I mean, I do not get the appeal at all, but you know, Babs was all over him too. I don’t know what kind of gay pixie dust Saint Charles has in his GAP jeans pocket, but apparently it’s like catnip.

Farkle pauses, frowning slightly -- he didn’t realize Maya knew about Zay and Charlie… and since when? -- but he chooses not to dig further. Maya doesn’t wait up anyway, moving on past the hook-up silliness to get back to the things that matter. She tells Farkle her vision came together for the video exactly as she imagined and then some.

Maya: Most of which I know was only possible because of you, on a number of fronts. I am extremely lucky to have you in my corner. So thank you.

Farkle: You’re welcome. You know I’m there for you any time -- at least until you bankrupt my family.

Maya giggles, though honestly, wouldn’t put it past her. She smiles fondly at him for a long moment, then elbows him on the tabletop.

Maya: I was glad you were there. It felt good to collaborate like that again. Almost like old times.

Farkle: Yeah. It was nice.

Her smile widens, mirroring his. Since they’ve already blown through any potential awkwardness this morning, Farkle broaches a new subject.

Farkle: So, what did you think of Jordan?

Maya: Oh, he was great. A bit derivative, and falls a little too naturally into intellectual white boy condescension, but his skill was sufficient enough that I let it slide. He took my creative control seriously, which I appreciated. I can see why he chose you for his mentee.

Farkle: … yeah?

Maya: Yes. Aside from the obvious -- that you’re the most talented person in that school -- you share an intensity. Sometimes he reminded me of you, the way you approach things. That wouldn’t work for everyone, but it did for me. Only thing better would’ve been working with you.

Aw… that’s so sweet. Farkle isn’t a director, so no chance of that, but the sentiment is touching all the same. Farkle smiles, taking that in… then he continues.

Farkle: Cool. [ a beat ] I’m thinking about asking him out.

This earns an eyebrow raise from Maya. She seems genuinely surprised. Not because he couldn’t hack it -- anyone would be lucky to have the chance to be courted by him -- but she just didn’t realize there was interest there. But what’s she gonna do, tell him no? If Farkle wants to date, that’s his prerogative… though the topic does ding her upbeat mood somewhat.

But he seems pleased about it, so for now, that’s enough.

INT. AAA - COUNSELOR’S OFFICE - DAY

A makeshift announcement set-up has been put together in the vacant counselor’s office, offering a blank slate to act as the backdrop for Jack’s campaign announcement video. He’s looking sharp as ever, Eric helping him slip on the lucky suit jacket and then smoothing the shoulders for him. Jack smiles at him and gives him a brief kiss.

Then it’s off to the races. Jack goes and settles into the chair behind the desk, and as we rotate around, we see that Riley, Lucas, and Isa are all here, too. Riley’s operating the camera, keeping it simple and filming it on her phone, but set up on a tripod and with the best technology possible to assist. Isa has configured the lighting with their film expertise, so Jack is as well lit as he could be.

Eric goes to join the three of them behind the camera as Riley cues it up, holding up a finger. Almost ready… and… she nods eagerly to Jack, signaling for him to go. Jack takes a deep breath, then smiles his signature administrator smile. Poised, eloquent, direct -- an echo of our first introduction to him all those years ago in the Adams recruitment video, only now imbued with a warmth that maturity, experience, and a strengthened community has given him.

Jack: Hi there. Some of you might know me as the former principal of Adams Academy for the Arts, or simply as that one principal who got into a tussle with the school board. Others of you might know me as your former history teacher, in which case, long time no see, and I hope you’re doing well. I’m also a citizen of Manhattan, a school advocate, a brother, partner, and son -- and an impassioned civil servant. Today, as I address you all, I’m all of those things… and I hope to be something more. It’s my mission to join the school board here in Manhattan, and I’d like to tell you a little bit about why.

He’s a natural. Riley glances at Lucas and grins, abuzz with the excitement of a new campaign. Lucas returns it, already smiling from watching Jack.

All of them listen enthusiastically as Jack walks through the rest of his campaign announcement, that strengthened community right there by his side.

INT. BEAMON HOME - JADE’S BEDROOM - DAY

Jade is relieved when Nigel finally does arrive, leading him into her room. Since they’re home alone, she’s not shy about greeting him with a kiss, which he returns. When they pull apart, Jade apologizes for the untidy state of her room -- she’s barely had a second to think, let alone clean up.

Nigel: Yeah, I’m familiar…

As she starts to pick up a couple of things off the floor anyway, Nigel asks how her big night went. He side-steps the fact that she stood him up incidentally to go, but it does hang over them like a shadow. Jade also decides not to address it, claiming the night went fine. Kind of wild, and she lost her phone which was panic stations, but it all worked out. And it should be really good for her career, based on what Anya said people thought about her.

Nigel: Wow. That’s great.

Jade: But whatever, whatever. We’re not talking about that. I want to hear about you. [ settling onto her bed ] Tell me all about this week. How was your audition? What did you end up going with? And how did it turn out?

Nigel: I mean… it was fine. Can’t really be the judge of it myself… but apparently, not good enough. [ awkwardly ] I didn’t get a callback.

Jade’s face falls.

Jade: Oh. Shoot. I’m sorry, Nige.

Nigel: [ with a shrug ] It’s… you know, it’s okay. Most freshman don’t get them, so.

Jade: Still. They don’t know what they’re missing out on.

Nigel: Anyway, don’t be too sad. Sure, I didn’t get one… but Riley did.

Based on his tone, he’s not fully pleased about that. Some of that industry bitterness leaking through again… Jade misses this, though, thinking about it more objectively instead.

Jade: Hm. Well, I guess that makes sense.

Nigel blinks at her.

Nigel: It makes sense?

Jade: I don’t mean like -- not because of your talent, or anything. I’m thinking logistically. Riley’s a musical theater major, so this is kind of her area of focus. When straight play season rolls around, then you’ll surely have a leg up in that regard. 

Nigel: … [ with a scoff ] sure. Okay.

He crosses his arms, making himself smaller and leaning against the dresser. Jade frowns, sensing something is up.

Jade: Is everything okay? Are we good?

Nigel: Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?

Jade: I don’t know. You’ve just seemed… kind of off lately. Like not yourself.

Nigel: How would you even know that? You hardly see me.

Oop. Jade shifts uncomfortably, shaking her head as if to dismiss the thought.

Jade: That’s not true.

Nigel: It’s not true? Coming from the girl who stood me up twice in the last week?

Jade: Okay, you know I didn’t want to do that. But stuff with work --

Nigel: I know, Jade. I know you’ve got stuff with work. You’ve always got stuff with work.

Jade: And you told me it was fine. You said you were cool with it.

Nigel: Would it have made any difference if I said I wasn’t?

Jade opens her mouth… then closes it. Because she doesn’t know. Nigel has always been so laid back about things, so supportive about her ambitions. In some ways, the concept of him pushing back had never occurred to her.

Nigel: And what would you even have me say? “No, screw your passions, put me first instead?” As if I’m auditioning for misogynistic 50’s man of the household?

Jade: No. And I’m not saying I think you feel that way. But if you just tell me everything is fucking fine, then what do you expect me to do? Read your mind? Because clearly, that is not the case!

Nigel: I’d expect you to not keep making promises if you’re just going to break them. I’d expect you to have the decency to tell me if there’s no time left for me in your life, rather than shoving me to the wings so I can walk on whenever you happen to have a free moment.

Jade: That is not how I feel. Where is this even coming --

Nigel: I’d expect, at least from my partner, that I wouldn’t be the perpetual second choice. And you could, God forbid, spare at least a second to text me so I’m not standing on your doorstep like an idiot!

Yeah… that’s a fair point. Not that it was totally Jade’s fault, but this has really just spun spectacularly out of hand. In the heat of the moment, Jade scoffs, shaking her head in disbelief. She hides her head in her hands.

Jade: This is so… I can’t believe I blew off an opportunity to see actual Armani gowns just so we could have this stupid argument.

Oh… wrong thing to say, Jade. Nigel clams up, clenching his jaw.

Nigel: I didn’t realize I was impeding so much on your opportunities. My apologies.

Jade: Shit. That isn’t what I meant.

Nigel: If that’s how you feel, then please, let me get out of your way.

Nigel pulls open the door, stepping out into the hallway. Jade cusses and jumps up, going after him.

Jade: Nigel, wait -- !

INT. BEAMON HOME - DAY

Jade makes it to the stairs, stumbling down them just as Nigel pulls open the front door.

Jade: Nigel!

He doesn’t wait up, slamming the door behind him. Jade stares at the door in disbelief -- what the hell just happened? What the fuck has gotten into him? And did she really just screw up her relationship? She drops down onto the steps and runs her hands through her hair, hiding behind them again.

When the hell did everything get so complicated?

INT. NYU APARTMENT - ISA’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Isa returns back to their room, releasing a sigh as they drop their travel bag and shut the door behind them. They lean against it for a moment, closing their eyes and letting the events of the week sink in.

Lucas moved in. Jack and Eric almost moved out, or so it seemed to them, because they always assume the worst-case scenario. Still no word from Zachary. They and Chai broke up.

They’re single. They’re on their own.

Farkle, off-screen: So what did you learn this week?

Isa, eyes still closed, makes a face. Of course. They release a sigh and then push away from the door, heading towards their bed. They step over Farkle’s legs in the process again, though we don’t get a glimpse of him in full that time.

Isa: What is this, the fucking Disney Channel?

They flop on the bed, facing the ceiling. What did they learn this week? It feels like their brain is still processing Monday.

Isa: Relationships are a lot more complicated than do you like me, check yes or no.

On every front. Romantic, platonic, familial, rivalrous -- it’s all too complicated, too complex. You can like someone, but not enough. You can love someone, until you don’t. You can hate someone with every fiber in you, only to realize you didn’t know enough to really know.

Isa: It’s such a headache. So much effort, so much communication. You can try and try and still get messed up. You hurt someone even if you don’t want to. You can say the wrong thing and mess it all up -- you can wait to say the right thing, to get it right, and that fucks it up too. But say nothing at all, and that’s its own sin. Two people in any sort of interaction is a conflict in it of itself, to say nothing of a… stupid romance. It’s so damn convoluted. I don’t get why anyone even bothers, it makes absolutely zero sense.

Isa opens their eyes, letting their gaze drift to the side of their desk. Back to the photo of the London Eye, the one that’s been so difficult to look at lately.

Isa: But we do it anyway.

Farkle: We do.

The voice is coming from beside them now. Isa slowly looks to the ceiling again, peering out of the corner of their eye in the other direction.

Farkle is laying next to them on the bed, also looking up at the ceiling. This time, he’s dressed like the last time they saw him, when they said goodbye before his move. His expression is contemplative, muscles relaxed -- they’ve laid like this multiple times before, at sleepovers and during late night rehearsals and philosophical afternoon hangouts. Their shoulders are centimeters from touching, but not quite -- Isa still hasn’t dropped that defense.

Isa tilts their head to look at him, while he’s still faced towards the ceiling, taking him in. Remembering the freckles on his nose, the curve of his angular jaw, the way their heart pounds when they hear his voice. How they feel when it comes to him -- and it always comes back to him.

They feel everything.

They face the ceiling again, shaking their head in disbelief.

Isa: [ with an incredulous scoff ] We fucking do it anyway.

Farkle’s turn to gaze. He tilts his head to look at them, letting the silence linger for a heavy moment.

Farkle, softly: Do you?

What a question. Does Isa? They haven’t let themself authentically feel things in so long… and half the time, they don’t even know what it is they feel. They’ve never been the best communicator, and all the times they’ve been burned -- past and present, as recent as this summer -- have left their scars. They thought they were doing it right with Chai, but that wasn’t a relationship; it was a shield. A convenient armor to keep on and act as though they were doing something, doing things the way everyone else does, but in the end they were wrong about that, too. It’s not enough to have the label and call it a day. You can’t phone it in. It’s so much effort, so much emotion, so much everything. Can dropping your guard for all of that ever be worth the risk?

Isa doesn’t turn to look at him, and doesn’t answer the question. It seems like they’re not going to acknowledge it at all… and then, ever so cautiously, Isa moves their hand. They let it inch away from the safe proximity to their own body and drift towards where Farkle’s is laying on the blanket, timidly lessening the distance between them.

Finally, their pinky grazes his. The first touch they’ve allowed, trepidatious as it might be, gentle and fragile. Like if they breathe, it’ll shatter it. Slowly, their pinkies link… and the rest of their fingers follow suit, developing into a delicate hand hold.

Isa’s eyes are glossy again, this time from sheer overwhelming emotion. When they turn on their side and curl into the blanket, Farkle obviously is nowhere to be seen, but that hardly matters. The line has been breached; the dam has broken. There’s no more running from the truth.

They like Farkle. They like Farkle Minkus.

INT. USC - THEATER CLASSROOM - DAY

On Monday, Farkle has another one-on-one rehearsal with Jordan. It’s not as awkward as it was prior to their Maya-Hart-spurred adventure, but now, Farkle is nervous for a different reason. He finds himself continually looking at Jordan’s eyes, noting where they’re looking -- how often they’re looking at him.

It’s a different kind of torture, so it’s almost a relief when their meet-up ends. As Jordan packs up, Farkle asks how he liked the complimentary fruit bouquet from Maya.

Jordan: It was nice, thanks. The cantaloupe was superb.

Farkle: Oh. Perfect.

Farkle reaches into his bag and retrieves a sizable Tupperware filled with leftover fruit. Jordan laughs as he drops it onto the table in front of him.

Farkle: Maya went overkill.

Jordan: I’m getting the sense she has a knack for that.

Farkle: So we have plenty, which means more for you. Congratulations.

Jordan: Lovely. My mother is obsessed with healthy living and aesthetic Instagram food blogs, so I’m sure she’ll revel in the opportunity to play around with these.

Jordan takes the fruit and searches for a place to put it in his bag. Farkle takes the opportunity to thank him again, for taking a chance on Maya and hearing out his request for help. He had no reason to go out on a limb for him, and he knows he probably had better things to do with his time. And it made Maya really happy, so it means a lot.

Jordan: No time with you could be wasted, Minkus.

It totally disarms Farkle, the way he says stuff like that with such easygoing confidence. And with his cool, plain tone, it’s impossible to tell whether he should read into it or not -- like, was that a flirtation, or was he just being polite? In any case, Jordan points out the whole situation will look great on his resume, not to mention he’ll have the directing credit if this blows up the way Maya seems to be manifesting. Win-win, in his book.

If Farkle wants any clarity, he’s going to have to buck up and get it for himself. Jordan’s halfway towards the door when Farkle stops him, calling after him and waiting for him to turn and face him. Jordan quirks an eyebrow, inviting him to go on.

Now or never.

Farkle: I was wondering if you’d maybe want to get dinner or something sometime. 

Jordan: Sure. We could always do a late rehearsal and eat beforehand, if you’re hungry…

Okay, that might be an embarrassing rejection for the books… or maybe Jordan is teasing him. Testing him, seeing if he’ll really go through with it. Farkle clears his throat.

Farkle: I mean… not because of class. Like… non-platonically. [ a beat ] Am I hot or cold?

That earns a smirk from Jordan. He pauses, holding Farkle in suspense a bit longer… then he nods.

Jordan: I could be into that. Just name the time and place.

He lets his gaze linger, smile still intact, then heads out. Farkle watches him go, smiling to himself and then doing a small little jig when it hits him that that actually happened. He actually asked someone out, and they said yes.

Now it’s starting to feel like the rest of his life.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - OFFICES - DAY

Josh is in better spirits, too, coming back from the studio that morning feeling refreshed. He had a decent session with Floyd, for once, and it feels like the creative juices are flowing again. He may not have a plan figured out to restart his career, but at least his musical heart seems to be beating again. He just has to keep the dream in focus. He has to remember what matters.

Like most 20-something emotions, that conviction and optimism lasts about, oh, the three minute walk down the hall into the Box Office. When he gets there there’s quite a stir, the assistants and junior producers buzzing as they gather around Brian’s laptop. Brian eagerly gestures Josh over.

Brian: Dude, come here, you’ve got to come see this!

Josh rushes to come join them, squeezing in between Brian and Phelps. When he asks what’s going on, Phelps clues him in.

Phelps: Apparently this video has been blowing up on social media. It started gaining traction on Youtube, but then it exploded on TikTok. 

Brian: This girl came out of fucking nowhere, too! Like, where has she been this whole time?

Josh: Who?

Brian: She uploaded this yesterday, and now we’re at 2 million views. In under 24-hours! What did she put in this, crack?

Josh: Can we fucking see it already?

The excitement is killing all of them! No more suspense. Brian tells them all to simmer down, promising he’s going to queue it up. He goes to the right Youtube link, letting it buffer and hitting full screen.

Josh’s expression drops before the video even gets rolling. All he needs to see is the name on the account that’s posted it.

Maya Hart.

We ease in to the screen as the video queues up, immersing us in the music video…

INT. WAREHOUSE SET - DIVA STAGE - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ Maya’s Original Song, “On My Grind (OMG)” || Similar to “Pushing 20” as performed by Sabrina Carpenter || Performed by Maya Hart

Imagine your favorite pop diva music video. We’re talking Ariana. Britney. Taylor, Selena, perhaps even Sabrina Carpenter herself. Absorb the vibes of those projects, the aesthetics, the unequivocal intersection of talent, creativity, and confidence. Take all of that, and channel it into one production, perhaps clearly produced on a dime yet still stylistically appealing.

That is how it feels to watch Maya’s debut music video for her debut self-made single, “On My Grind (OMG).”

The reason the comparable here is “Pushing 20,” rather than any other similar pop anthem, is due to the directly applicable lyrical message. Maya wrote this song in the fury of her confrontation with Josh, grappling with her frustration at feeling shut out of the industry. No one could see her brilliance, so now she’s forcing them to see it -- saying loudly and proudly here I am, and if you’re not on my level -- in this case, on my grind -- then boy, bye.

I’m pushing 20 ain’t got time for others Who aren’t on the same wave, yeah, on the same page

The concept for the video is split into three different aesthetics, all references and glorifying characterizations of the things she’s been criticized for in the past. The first set is the “diva” set, very Sharpay vibes in its execution and design. This is probably the Maya we see most in real life, and where we start. She’s wearing the pink coat she got at the thrift store here, but aesthetically, you could look to this for some similarity. She mainly sits at her fake vanity and glams up in this set, doing a lot of glossy singing to the camera (until the third act after the bridge, when she throws a “diva tantrum” and destroys everything on the set in a “Blank Space” type meltdown).

On the wall behind her, in big, neon cursive pink letters, reads the word “BRAT.”

INT. WAREHOUSE SET - GRIND STAGE - DAY

The second stage is dedicated to Maya’s “grind” persona -- how everyone is always saying she takes things too far, is relentless, never takes a fucking rest. This is a stylish workout aesthetic in the vein of “Baby One More Time,” or the pink-top section of “Fast Times.”

This is also where we get to see Charlie’s choreography most effectively, in long, well-paced stretches of precise grooving. He truly does undersell himself, because the moves are sharp, exciting, and fun -- and quite sexy, it must be said. Some of that could just be the flair Maya adds, but the foundation speaks for itself. More than that, it makes one fact crystal clear: Maya Hart can fucking dance, make no mistake.

INT. WAREHOUSE SET - GLAMOR STAGE - DAY

The final stage incorporated is the most elaborate, dedicated to her love of glamor. It’s all white gold, diamond in the rough vibes, showing where the shimmery unitard comes into play (sort of like this, but sparkle instead of lace). This is definitely in the realm of “Toxic,” playing with mirrors, reflections, and light the way “no tears left to cry” might. This is where Maya is certainly at her most damningly gorgeous, but she’s also the most obscured -- you can appreciate her beauty, but you can’t really see her. Not head on, not in a way that isn’t filtered by the camera, lights, or mirrors.

All three of these versions of Maya’s personalities interplay and flow seamlessly between each other as the banger song progresses, making for a visually entrancing viewing experience. The song is a total earworm, too -- you can easily see why it blew up on TikTok, since Maya has an ear for catchy and knows how to exploit trends -- and it helps that the song is so confident. Everyone loves an unapologetic, empowering bop! And while she certainly draws allusions and inspiration from the pop divas that have inspired her before, what’s remarkable about her video is how it still feels unique. She’s not just carbon-copying these ideas, she’s building on them and making them her own.

Above all, though, what the project proves is that Maya has the goods. Her voice is incredible, at peak performance, and she’s carefully crafted the song to show off her range at the best parts. This is especially true on the bridge, when her glam persona hits the high note with a killer run and the mirrors around her shatter, exploding in a spectacular shimmering mirage.

INT. WAREHOUSE SET - DIVA STAGE - DAY

After a stunning ride, the video rolls to an end, closing out with Maya stealing Dyl Pickle’s “Bad Blood” trick and letting her diva rampage conclude by bashing the camera. She turns to face it and offers her most charming, slightly unsettling diva grin -- then she clocks the camera with her chunky heel, sending it crashing to the floor and the video smashing to black.

Then the credits roll, ending the experience.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - OFFICES - DAY

So there are three takeaways here.

In case there was any doubt, Maya Hart is a triple threat -- and the threat is alive and well.

Never assume Maya can’t do something, even with the odds stacked against her. She’s relentless, just like her reputation precedes -- and if she wants it, she will deliver.

Maya Penelope Hart is here to stay.

This is exciting for the Global Beat folks, who haven’t witnessed an indie smash onto the scene like this in… well, basically the entire time most of them have been in the industry. Talk about making buzz!

That is, except for Josh. He’s at the center of the chatter, but he’s silent, staring at the computer screen in dumbfounded disbelief. This is what he’s going to be known for. That he, Josh Matthews, was the one who said no to Maya Hart.

And to her word, Blondie wasn’t kidding. After this?

Everything changes.

END OF EPISODE.

#OH HERE WE GO y'AAL...... ITS REAL NOW #s4 #403 #episodes

[g-on-ef]

Hey is it possible to ask for Striker being extra protective over 8 month pregnant Blitz?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Anon 2: Hellos I was hoping you still did prompts because I would Love to see one of Striker being over protective of a heavily pregnant Blitz if possible

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A/N: Since these two prompts are relatively the same I decided to combine them together ^^ hope you guys enjoy it ^^ also sorry for being MIA I wasn't feeling good but today is a good day ^^ my boys got a number 1 on Billboard for a second week ^^

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Month 1

Finding out he was pregnant was the scariest thing to ever happen to him, seriously knowing that there was a new life growing inside him was scaring him shitless, what made it worse was he wasn't sure how to tell the baby's father.

After vomiting out his lunch in his and Striker’s bathroom Blitz began to think what to do next.

It's not like Striker would leave him or anything, he was just scared that he wouldn't want the baby or worse would leave him once he finds out he was pregnant.

It was weird to think like that since he has shown time and time again what an amazing father he is, than again Loona wasn't a little kid nor was she a baby so maybe that's why it was easier for him to be a parent to her than it would be an actual baby.

Blitz leans against the bathroom wall as he thinks about what to do, lying to Striker was out of the question, the man knew Blitz better than anyone and knew when he was lying so there was no point in doing it.

Maybe he could avoid Striker...who was he kidding he could barely go a day without his beloved no way he was gonna be able to go nine months without him.

Blitz curled into a ball and wrapped his tail around himself. No avoiding him won’t work. Maybe he could ease him into letting him know he’s pregnant like letting him know by dropping hints and let him figure it out himself.

"Blitz?"

The city imp jumped a little as he turned to see Striker approach him.

"Loona told me you were, whoa are you okay?" Striker stared at his beloved who was curled in a ball and face was a little paler than it should be.

“Umm...well...you see...” 

Striker approached the city imp he placed his hands on his forehead and checked his temperature.

“You seem a little warmer than usual but nothing a bowl of soup can fix,”

“I’m pregnant!” so much for easing him into the news.

Striker stare at his beloved for a good minute.

The silence was making Blitz a little uncomfortable, he wasn’t sure if this was him trying to find the words to say something sarcastic or him to try and find the words that he didn’t want the baby without upsetting Blitz.

“If...if you don’t want the baby your more than welcome to leave, I won’t stop you,”

That seem to snap Striker out of his trance.

“Not want the-Blitz are you crazy?”

Blitz shrugged his shoulders, Striker just stare at his mate and saw how scared he looked, Striker didn’t blame him, he probably thought Striker didn’t want the baby since he was...silent...

“Oh, shit Blitz,” he grabbed the smaller imp and placed him on his lap Blitz curled himself against Striker as his cowboy began to stroke his cheek.

“Oh baby, I was quiet because I was trying to think of ways to tell you to get rid of the baby I was just quiet because I am shocked that you and I are gonna have a baby,”

Blitz pulled back a little to stare at Striker,

“So...you’re not gonna leave me and our baby?”

“What? Of course not baby,” he held Blitz closer to his body.

“I would never leave you or our misfit family,”

Blitz smiled as he purred and got closer to Striker. Striker stood up and carried Blitz out of the bathroom and into their own bed.

He tucked him and placed a kiss on his forehead.

“Get some rest my beautiful, you’ll need it, and you,” he began to rub Blitz small tummy.

“You take it easy on your daddy okay?” Blitz smiled as he watch Striker place a kiss on his tummy, maybe things won’t be so bad.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Month 3

What was Blitz thinking that things wouldn’t be so bad with Striker knowing he was pregnant. 

Seriously Blitz was just 3-months pregnant and Striker baby proof not only their apartment but his office.

There were times he couldn’t find the stapler and whenever he asked Striker he would take the papers and stable them himself.

Blitz was still looking for the damn thing.

He was worse with Moxxie, the poor assassin came rushing in with a pair of scissors and Striker respond with a punch to the face.

He gave the cowboy an earful for that and made him sleep on the couch.

Striker wouldn’t let him do any heavy lifting and while Blitz love being pampered Striker was taking it to far.

He can still lift a stack of papers.

“Ugh, your not even born yet and daddy dearest is already protective of you,”

“SIR!” and there goes Moxxie no doubt being thrown around because he was carrying a glass of soda...again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Month six

He was gonna kill Striker, no seriously he was gonna kill him. Loona and Nathan (he’s still surprised that the little imp agreed to join their family with no questions asked) ate all the chips, cookies, and other sugary sweets and process food there was in the kitchen.

“Where the fuck are all my chocolate?!”

“Dad told us we can eat them,” Nathan asked as he munch on some nachos.

“Why the fuck did he do that?!”

“It’s not good for the baby,” Loona said as she finished the last of the soda.

He glared at his two teenage children, the two tagged team with Striker to make sure that no harm came to Blitz or the baby.

Honestly he was beginning to think his family of three where just using the “we are protecting you” excuse to hurt anyone that came near him.

He was still apologizing to Charlie for Loona shooting at her when she was coming to congratulate her brother and was excited for being an aunt.

Not to mention he owed Angel Dust some whisky after Nathan caught him in a trap.

“You didn’t have to eat all of my snacks he whined.

Loona passed him a box of sliced apples and strawberries.

“What the fuck is this?”

“Food that will be good for you and the baby,”

Blitz groan, he was killing Striker when he got back. 

“Hey Blitz-”

Striker felt pain in his groin, he kneeled down and watched as Blitz walked away from him.

“He’s still pissed about his diet?”

His kids nodded their heads as they kept eating Blitz’s junk food.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Striker maybe protective but he was so sweet like now how he was rubbing his tummy and singing to his tummy,

Moonchild you shine When you rise, it's your time C'mon yo Moonchild don't cry When moon rise, it's your time C'mon yo Moonchild you shine When moon rise, it's your time C'mon yo

Blitz always loved Striker’s voice and hearing it sing to their baby was the best thing for him especially when their little one always calmed down when they heard their daddy’s singing voice.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Month 8

Blitz held onto his children, someone was in their home, an overlord...and not just any overlord, Valentino, the moth pimp was still pissed at him for refusing to kill an innocent child all because Vox dumped his ass.

He, Loona, and Nathan were hiding in the closet as Val and his men destroyed his house, he prayed that Striker would return soon from the human world.

The door to the closet opened and Val stood there with a wide grin.

“Found you,”

He brought Nathan and Loona closer to his body while both teenagers wrapped their arms around Blitz’s stomach in an attempt to protect his belly.

“You know Blitz you shouldn’t have refused me, if you didn’t maybe your sweet family wouldn’t be harm.

His eyes landed on Loona,

“Oh yes, your little hellhound would make a fine addition to my collection,” Loona growled as Blitz held her closer.

Val’s eyes landed on Nathan,

“The little imp boy and the thing inside you will definitely serve my clients really well,” Nathan whimpered as Blitz growled at him.

“Touch my kids and I’ll kill you,”

Val laughed.

“You? Kill me? now how could you possibly do that?”

A loud bang could be heard in the house making the family sigh in relief.

“What the fuck?” 

Before Val could turn around Striker began to stab him with a holy blade.

The moth demon howl in pain as the knife was stabbed inside of him repeatedly Striker stabbed the moth multiple times, he didn’t stop, not until he was certain the moth was dead.

Once he saw that the demon was reduce to ash he turned to his family.

Opening his arms his children and Blitz ran to him. He wrapped his arms and tail around them, thanking La Santa Muerte that his family was okay and nothing bad happened to them.

He checked them all one by one stroking their faces, checking to see if there was a scratch on them or not hugging them close to his body.

He rubbed Blitz’s tummy and bend down to kiss it.

“Are you okay Blitz?”

“Yeah, we’re fine, don’t worry about us,”

Striker just hugged his family Blitz purred and was thankful that Striker came to save them than again, he knew Striker and knew that his mate would always be there to protect him, their teenage children, and their unborn baby.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

A/N: So what do you guys think? remember if you have any Striker and Blitz Prompts send them my way ^^ I will be posting more as week goes by ^^ GoNEF out ^^ and remember Armys to stream butter !!!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~    

#striker x blitzo #helluva blitzo #helluva boss striker #Helluva Boss #blitzstriker #blitzo x striker #helluva boss blitzo #helluva striker #answers asked #anonymous #anon

[ambrial-blog]

A Therapy Session from Hell.

therapist (see your version of a feral Striker coming towards her office and planting himself firmly on the couch. Red eyes spiraling a squirming Blitzo coiled in his tail.

Striker: (Teeth clenched tail crushes Blitzo) (We need some mating Therapy: I need time alone with Blitzy, without his vermin

Therapist: OK, not that sort of Therapist: sees the hell knife flashing in the cowboy's hand, but for you, I'll make an acceptation. . are you hungry? Do you need a snicker? I have a bunch of them in my top draw along with Twixt.

Therapist: no whiskey, no coffee.

Striker: his nails sink deep into Blitzo skin as he puts his face into Blitzo's back as he fights off another bout of anger.

Blitzo: cries out in pain, trying to twist away. But Striker wraps his arms around him, nipping a little harder.

Striker pulls Blitzo into his lap, his tail caressing his face.

Blitzo:(growling could be heard: his mouth full of a torn pieces of cloth drenched in chloroform is fighting to stay awake.

Striker: Blitz, please accept me. I need you. I need you to be a part of this. Can't you see I don't want to do this alone? My sugar cube, I'm sorry.

Blitzo: managed to fight the cloth from his mouth, "You shot Millie and Moxie before we came here! With your blessed weapons, and left their bodies to rot in a grimy alley. You shoved your cock up my ass and rutted for about half an hour before pulling me up and sinking your fangs, leaving your mark. A mark, I can't wash away! I have three or four mating marks, thanks to you!

Blitzo: How am I going to run a business now! Stolas well ask questions. You worried about being alone. Well, Asshole, I am alone, I'll die alone, and everyone I love leaves my ass. So I leave them first, so I have some control over my life.

Striker: pulls a bottle of chloroform from his pocket, takes the rag, and presses to Blitz's face as Blitzo reaches for the blood-red hilt of Striker's knife but gasps when the blade slides deep into his rib cage.

Striker: why don't you understand Blitz? I said we are tethered together till the day you die. Striker twists the knife. How does that feel, partner? Eyes swirling red.

Blitzo: hears his inner demons voices "No one loves you BlitzO, your gonna die alone BlitzO, you are nothing more than a plaything Blitzy his hand reaches out, his claws digging into Striker's forearm as his consciousness begins to fade.

Therapist: Thinking about clearing out her calendar for a whole year for these two. (I will help any way I can, Striker, but you need to let up on Blitz. There is no fault here, and pregnancy can be beautiful: heals Striker's side, your little hellion is strong. And is the best of both worlds. Blitzo is going through some deep shit, and it is hard. Little by little, he is getting there, but you need to have patience, cowboy. And I know patience is not a common thing around here, especially in your state.

I do agree you need some time with Blitz to get him out of the city. The thing with Blitzo is he thinks no one loves him. He is wrong. But he can't accept that. Years of abuse can do that. You don't look at yourself as a person but as a thing.

Striker: (Mouth runs, dry) as he cards his fingers across Blitzo face. His eyes start to tear before the swirling red eyes are back.

Striker: Stolas... Veerosika... Fizzuroli... himself and that shit-bag of a father of his were to blame. But how could he help Blitz defeat his inner demons? He swallows thickly, dislodging his blade from Blitz's rib-cage Striker puts Blitz's hand on his stomach. As he coos into his ear. "Sugar cube, what you feel now is our child kicking, Our little hellion will love you so much Blitzy, your heart will burst with joy: upon hearing its heartbeat, I've seen how you treat Loony, you'll be over the moon with this spawn.

And I'll finely be happy with you by my side. I don't care who I have to go through to get you. Your place is and forever will be by my side.

Therapist: Great, we just had a breakthrough.

Striker's tail grabs a blanket for Blitz, wrapping themselves up stares pointedly at the Therapist, his tail rattling with minor agitation.

Striker: I want Stolas dead! I want my claws drenched in his fucking blood to feel it seep through my fingers. I want Blitz crushed beneath me, screaming my name for all eternity. I want to feel the thrum of his body as he twists and writhes, drenched in the blue blood's life force high on blood lust.

Therapist: sits back down: with a shaky smile.

Striker: I attend to carve out the pop star's heart the next time I see her crab-infested pussy. I'll rip open her heart and give it to him as a memento of my love.

Therapist:  Romance is vital in keeping any relationship alive. 

Striker: leans in closer, careful of the baby and his mate. The Therapist leans in closer, too, trying not to wake the drugged-out Blitzo.

Striker: I'll track down that Harlequin reject and shred his body before scattering to the corners of hell.

Therapist: Jots down notes. I'll replace my darker half every night. I will fill his body so full of my love that he shits my seed for a week. I will contort his body so the next time he is the one to get pregnant and suffer through these horrid mood swings.

Therapist, I feel like Chinese. Do you feel like Chinese? on the phone with the restaurant: get you a pound of ragoons and some beef Lo- Mein and Teriyaki chicken, a side of green tea ice cream, and a sweet pickle and a half and half iced tea. 

Striker: nods head. 

Striker: takes a shuddering breath. His eyes start to fade back to their impish green. His tail continues to rattle as he smiles watches Blitz snuggle into his side. He could feel the baby reaching out to its father.

Striker: If he rejects me again, If I have to fight him like a feral beast. (Striker got a faraway look in his eyes- I'll put my fist through his chest, I'll rip out his beating heart and place it into my chest so I can take him everywhere I go.

Therapist: So same time next week, and I'll bring a Stolas size punching bag.

Striker: Blitzo, well forgive me, won't he?

Therapist: He would be a fool not to, but you need to take better care of your mate no more chloroforming him at our sessions. Let our little Harlequin speak. 

#Hellvua Boss #striker x blitzo

[ryosei-hime]

Candlelight

Stolas catches Blitz on a bad day in the office. Squeezing this one in under the line! No time for editing! *yeets it onto the internet* Also available on AO3

Stolas sat on the couch in the IMP office, bouncing a crossed leg as he waited for Blitz to see him. He knew the likelihood that Blitz had actual business to attend to was rather low. But Blitzy loved to tease him. The waiting only made him want the little imp more, the anticipation making it all the sweeter when he finally managed to steal a bit of his attention outside of their full moon rendezvous. 

“Can I get you something to drink, your highness?” Moxxie asked, clearly nervous in his presence. 

Stolas held up a hand in dismissal. 

“No, thank you. But if you could check when your boss will be able to see me, I’d appreciate it.” 

“Yes, sir,” Moxxie replied, hurrying off to Blitz’s office. 

Stolas looked around the office calmly, patiently waiting, and entirely oblivious to the gesturing shadows in the window of the door behind him. Soon, Moxxie returned and cleared his throat. 

“He can see you now.” 

“Thank you.” 

Stolas stood elegantly and made his way to Blitz’s office, closing the door behind him before having a seat across from him. Blitz was on the phone, tapping his fingers on the desk. 

“I’m on hold with the power company,” he explained. “But since I won’t be talking to a living fucking person for the next five years, what do you want?” 

Stolas leaned against the desk, chin in hand, as he gave Blitz a seductive look.

“Oh, nothing in particular. I just miss my Blitzy.” 

Blitz rolled his eyes and rubbed his temples with his free hand. 

“I’m trying to run a business here, Stolas!”

“And you do it so well.” 

Blitz didn’t try to hide his offense at the condescending tone. 

“Yeah, I do!” he shot back. “I break my god damn back keeping this business going. Especially on the full moon!” 

Stolas didn’t seem moved by his anger, still making eyes at him. 

“You certainly do.” 

“Listen-!” 

Before Blitz could completely lose his temper, the lights suddenly went out.  

“Oh are you fucking shitting me!?” 

He slammed the phone down, missed the cradle, and just swiped the whole thing off into the floor. 

“Now we won’t have power until I fix this shit on Monday! Fucking great!” 

“Sir,” Moxxie began, lightly knocking. 

“I KNOW MOXX!! Just go home early!” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Blitz put his head in his hands before slamming them on the desk. 

“Well! I have all the time in the goddamn world now, Stolas! What is it?!”

“Perhaps, we should find some light,” Stolas suggested gently. “Do you keep any candles?”

He sounded a little concerned, but Blitz just let his head hit the desk. He couldn’t deal with this right now.

“I don’t know. Go check the break room. Sounds like something Moxxie would keep around.” 

Stolas stood and left him, returning after a while with the candles. Blitz didn’t look up but he could see the light increase as he lit each of them. Blitz sighed heavily as he sat up at last. 

“I’ve had gem of a fucking week. Let’s just get this over with.” 

He started removing his jacket.

“Blitzy, please. I’m not an animal. Well, I’m not always an animal.” He smirked for a moment before his face dropped into a concerned expression. “I can see you’re having a hard time. Tell me what I can do to fix it.” 

Blitz let his jacket drop around him and gave him a devious grin. 

“I might feel better if you go down to the power company and Medusa the shit out of Markus from customer service.” 

Stolas gave him an amused look and leaned over the desk again. 

“I’ll think about it, for you.” 

Blitz leaned back and stretched before dragging his hands down his face with a groan. 

“I don’t know. Shit’s been all over the place. Fucking up jobs, Loona’s not even talking to me, and Moxxie’s treating me like a fucking baby.” 

“He cares about you.” 

“Who does that?” Blitz scoffed. 

Stolas reached across and took Blitz’s hand, bringing it up to his beak, kissing it gently. 

“I do, Blitzy.” 

“Oh, great, now you’re gonna start.” 

He jerked his hand back and crossed his arms stubbornly. 

“I don’t need your pity.” 

Stolas sighed and stood. He moved around the desk to kneel at Blitz’s side, causing him to look down in surprise and turn his chair. Stolas placed his hands on Blitz’s knees and turned his red eyes up in adoration. 

“It’s not pity, Blitz. So many people care for you. Let them. If not me, your friends.” 

Blitz felt a heat crawling up his cheeks as he stared down at Stolas. The candlelight kissed that pale face of his softly, bringing out the soft curve of his beak. Blitz was stubborn, but he had never lied to himself about how attractive Stolas could be. 

And he’d said his name right.

Blitz cupped his mask-like face in thick, calloused hands. 

“No,” he replied, tone childish and stubborn. 

Slender fingers grasped his wrists, thumbs brushing over them. The shadows shifted on Stolas’ face as he turned his head slightly into a palm, creating a more sinister appearance.

“Then let me at least relieve some of your tension.” 

“Oh, yeah, you’ll do that just for me.” Blitz replied sarcastically. 

“I didn’t say that,” Stolas chuckled. “But what do we have if not a mutually beneficial relationship.” 

Blitz grinned back and undid his pants with a quirked eyebrow. Okay, he could admit it when Stolas turned him on. And having the royal on his knees begging for a taste of him could be a real high. Especially here in the dark with the candlelight sending flickering shadows over everything. It made things seem intimate and isolated. Like it was okay to just let go and let himself have this one even if it was what Stolas wanted, too. 

#Stolitz Week #Helluva Boss #Stolitz #Stolas Goetia #Blitzo Helluva Boss #stuffididmyself #myfanfics

[kiddoryder]

Hidden Blind Rage

Wow...It’s been since I wrote a fanfic huh? Well I’m really sorry about that. I mean you have to admit, 2020 was hell with all the crazy stuff that was happening I felt stress and lost my happy and spark on writing. 

 But thanks to the new year and new Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel clips and episodes coming out, I feel back and better than ever! 

 So this story is about one of my best friends Lolli-Momo1908 OC Blitz going through a struggle on the day of his and Sophie’s parents’ death. 

 So relax and enjoy the story! 

Blitz, Sophie, their parents and Ryan belong to @loli-momo1908

 An alarm was ringing loudly, and Blitz sleepily turned it off. He sat up and yawned and scratched his back. Blitz rubbed his eyes and for some reason, instead of feeling like his regular self, he just felt more...depressed and numb. He turned to his calendar and discovered why: Today was the anniversary of his and Sophie’s parents' death thanks to Ryan O’Grady AKA the Evil Eye Killer. Ever since that day, Blitz had the responsibility to take care of his baby sister Sophie from the danger of their life in Hell. 

 Blitz felt like he didn’t want to do anything but sleep on this terrible grim day, but he knew he had one job he can never quit on, and that was taking care of his sister. Blitz got out of bed and went to the bathroom to wash up and change his clothes. After putting on his clothes, he began to brush his teeth and come his hair. When he was done, he looked in the mirror to his hair, but he saw a flashback of fire and Ryan’s evil smile. Blitz shook his hair and saw nothing. He sighed in sadness and heard a knock on the door. Blitz got out the bathroom and saw Sophie. 

 Blitz - “Oh hey Sophie. What’s up?”

 Sophie - *a little sad and nervous* “Hi Blitzy. I saw on my calendar what today is...Are we going to be okay?”

 Blitz saw how unsure Sophie was feeling. Hating to make his baby sister sad, Blitz kneeled down to her height and said: 

 Blitz - “Don't worry Sophie. I know today is a hard and sad day for us but trust me: things will get better.”

 Sophie - *smiles* “Thank you big brother. And I know someday Mommy and Daddy will come back to us soon.”

 Those words struck Blitz’s heart like a knife. He didn’t have the heart to tell her there’s a chance their parents aren’t coming back. However, he feels like want to keep that hope for Sophie’s sake so she wouldn’t be feeling depressed. 

 Blitz - *smiles* “Yeah. That’s right. Someday they will come back but soon. Let’s go get some breakfast.”

 ()()()()()()()()

 Downstairs they saw Niffty making some breakfast. Charlie, Vaggie, Husk, and Angel Dust was sitting on the table waiting for breakfast to be done. 

 Blitz - “Morning everybody.”

 Charlie - “Oh good morning Blitz and Sophie! How you guys slept?”

 Blitz - *shrugs* “Okay I guess.”

 Niffty - “Ooh! Hello guys! Do you want some breakfast? I’m making some pancakes and bacon!” 

 Sophie - “Ooh yes please!”

 Blitz - “To be honest, I’ll just have some coffee.”

 Niffty - “Coffee? Are you sure? I mean big growing men like you need their strength from food so you can have big strong muscles.”

 Blitz - “It’s fine Niffty. I’m not that hungry anyway.”

 Niffty - “Well alright.”

 Blitz sat down to Angel looking a bit sad. Angel noticed and said: 

 Angel - “Are you alright Blitz?”

 Blitz - *depressed* “Huh? Oh yeah. I’m fine.”

 Angel - “Are ya sure? You don’t seem like your regular self.”

 Blitz - “I’m fine Angel. I’m just a little tired. Didn’t sleep well last night.”

 Angel - “Oh Blitz. You know you are always welcome to sleep in my bed for some *flirty* fun nights.”

 Blitz’s left eye twitch a bit, and then he bopped Angel on the head with his fist. 

 Blitz - “Don't go horny on me dumbass! Besides, I’m not in the mood for your flirty games.”

 Then there was a knock on the door. 

 Charlie - “I’ll get it.”

 Charlie got up from her seat and opened the door. She saw it was her youngest cousin Sonya holding her book bag. 

 Sonya - “Hey Cousin Charlie!” 

 Charlie - “Oh hey Sonya!”

 Charlie gave her a baby cousin a big hug. Even Liz in her shadow form hugged her as well. Charlie let her cousin inside the hotel and into the kitchen. 

 Charlie - “Hey guys! Guess who joined us for breakfast.”

 Husk - “Oh. You brought the weird little boy over. Great.”

 Sonya - *annoyed* “I’m a weird little girl.” 

 Husk - *shrugged* “Whatever.”

 Sophie - “Hi Sonya! Hi Lizzy!”

 Sonya - *chuckles* “Liz said “Hi Squirt.”

 Sophie giggled and Blitz slightly smiled and shook his head. Sonya sat down and began to eat some breakfast. 

 Angel - “So kid, what’s bring you here? In this so-called lovely hotel?”

 Sonya - “My parents went out of town for a week and said I have to come here.”

 Angel - “Can’t you and Liz stay home by yourself? I mean you both are like what? 12?”

 Vaggie - *annoyed* “They are 11 Angel. They are still a little too young.”

 Angel - *scoff* “Oh please at their age not only I was already staying home by myself, but I already learned how to learn how to use a gun.”

 Husk - “At that age, I already knew how to mix drinks.”

 Blitz look down and look a bit sad. He remembers how when he was 11 years old, he would spend a lot of time with his parents. He would cook with his mother, his father would read books to him, and his parents would always comfort him whenever he was feeling down. Then Blitz snapped out of his thoughts when he heard Sonya moaning and rolling her in annoyance. 

 Charlie - “What is it Sonya?”

 Sonya - “It’s my parents. They keep asking me questions like if I’m alright and stuff. They should know that I'm okay cause Liz and I are tough, and I’m with you guys. *sighs* they can be such a pain in the butt sometimes. I mean, we are almost teenagers I don’t need them to keep hovering over me and Liz. We aren’t babies. 

 Blitz - *stand up, points at her and snapped* “Hey! Be lucky you and Liz actually have parents that care and love you alright?!”

 Everybody looked shocked at Blitz outburst. They never saw Blitz yelled at a kid like that. Even Sophie looked appalled on how her big brother yelled at her friend. Blitz realized what he had done and then slump back down in his seat. 

 Blitz - *guilty and embarrassed* “Sonya I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to yell at you. I...Didn’t sleep well last night and I've been feeling a little tense.”

 Charlie - *concerned* “Maybe you should go upstairs to rest.”

 Blitz - “Yeah...Good idea.”

 Blitz got out of his seat and went upstairs to his room. Everybody was still shocked on Blitz behavior. 

 Husk - “Geez what’s the hell up his ass?”

 Sophie - “Blitz is sad. Today is the day we lost our Mommy and Daddy.”

 Now everybody at the table looks concerned and sad. They should have known today was going to be a hard day for Blitz and Sophie. 

 Angel - *concerned* “Oh my poor Blitzy Que. No wonder he’s all upset.”

 Vaggie - “Are you alright Sophie?”

 Sophie - “Yeah. I mean, I know it’s sad, but I know someday Mommy and Daddy will come back. It’s Blitzy I’m worried about.``

 Charlie - “Maybe we should let Blitz rest it off. I’m sure he needs it for a day like this.”

 ()()()()()()()()

 Blitz was laying down on his bed. He was trying to rest. But he couldn’t. All he could think about that awful day Ryan came and lost his parents. He tried to think of something else, but he couldn’t. 

 “You’re a failure kid.”

 Blitz’s ears twitched and his eyes widened. He turned around and saw Ryan in the mirror. Blitz walked up to the mirror and his eyes turned red. 

 Blitz - “Shut up.”

 Ryan - “Let face it. You can’t protect your ass from me anymore.”

 Blitz - “You don’t know what you’re talking about!” 

 Ryan - “I know deep down you’re just a scared sad little boy. You’re afraid I’ll hunt you and killed you and your baby sister the way I killed your parents. I’m getting ready for that. And when that day comes. You will die.”

 Blitz - “No you won’t! I’ll still fight you no matter what!”

 Ryan - “That what your father said and look what happened to him. Face it, you’re a failure to parents because you fail to protect them. Just like you’re gonna fail to protect your sister. You’re a disgrace to them.”

 Blitz - *angry* “SHUT UP!!”

 He punched the mirror so hard that it broke into pieces. Blitz snapped out his thoughts and realize that he was just going through a hallucination. He winces in pain and saw how his hand had some glass shards and was bleeding. Blitz went to the bathroom, got some bandages, and began to take out the glass shards first, the. wrap up his hand. Then he heard on the knock on the door and when Blitz went to open it, it was Angel. 

 Angel - “You okay?”

 Blitz - “I’m fine why?”

 Angel - “Well I- *see his bandage hand* What happens to your hand?”

 Blitz - *tries to cover it up* “I just had a little accident with my mirror that’s all.” 

 Angel - *disbelief* “Accident? Really? Tell me the truth.”

 Blitz - “It’s none of your business Angel.”

 Angel rolled his eyes and said:

 Angel - “Look babe, I’m worried about ya. I mean you act so...tense and stuff. Even ya sister worried about you because of what happened.”

 Blitz - “Look, it something I can deal with on my own. Can we just drop it okay?”

 Just when Angel was about to say something, he heard a ring on his phone. He looked at his phone to see who was texting him. Angel grimace and text back on his phone. 

 Angel - “Look Blitz, I gotta go to work. Please just let me know what’s wrong. You’re one of few people I can fully talk too.”

 Blitz just crossed his, turn his back away, and said.

 Blitz - “Whatever Angel…”

 Angel sadly sighed and left Blitz’s doorway. Blitz looked a bit ashamed on how he acted toward Angel and felt a weird, strange feeling in his chest. It was a mix of pain, yet something that slowly unlocking inside of him. He decides to ignore that feeling. 

 Blitz - *to himself* “Come on Blitz, you can get through the day.” 

 ()()()()()()()()()

 Blitz went downstairs and was now at the hotel’s lobby. He saw Husk mixing some drinks and sat on one of the stools. 

 Husk - “What the fuck you want?”

 Blitz - *annoyed* “Some orange soda please. Big bottle.”

 Husk - “Huh. Rare time I get ask for something non-alcohol related drinks.”

 Blitz - “Well you should know that I don’t drink.”

 Husk - *shrugged* “Whatever.”

 As Husk was getting Blitz his drink, Blitz kept looking down in sadness. He felt guilty that not only he snapped at Sonya but ignored and was rude to Angel. Angel was right: Blitz was one of the few people Angel can talk his true feelings too since Angel only trust a few people. Blitz decided when Angel gets back, he will apologize to him. Then Husk gave him a big glass bottle of soda. 

 Husk - “Here. Go nuts.”

 Blitz - *sarcastic* “Geez you really are a ball of sunshine aren’t ya?”

 Husk - “Yeah cause my job in this fucking hellhole involve two things I love: drinking and ignoring the shit out of people.”

 Blitz rolled his eyes and began to drink his soda. Husk then said:

 Husk - “So...The kid told me is the day ya lost your Ma and Pops.”

 Blitz - “Which kid told you that?”

 Husk - “Your sister.”

 Blitz - “Oh right. You don’t know how hard it is. 4 years since that bastard took our parents away and always trying to come after us and kill us.”

 Husk - “Well ya only beat the crap of the guy.”

 Blitz - “But that doesn’t help with how he killed my parents.”

 Husk - “So ya lost your Ma and Pops. Get the fuck over it! Everybody lose people but it’s no excuse to be a fucking crybaby about it. Get the fuck over it!”

 Those words made Blitz furious. Blitz took his glass bottle, broke it in half, and grab Husk by the bow tie pulling him close with one hand, and the bottle with his other hand bringing it close to Husk face. 

 Blitz - *dark and serious with red eyes* “You wanna say that again?”

 “Blitz what are you doing?!!”

 Blitz turned around and saw Charlie, Vaggie, Sophie, Niffty and Sonya looked appalled at how Blitz was about to hurt Husk with a broken glass bottle. Blitz’s eyes turned back to normal and let go of Husk and drop the bottle on the floor. 

 Niffty - “Ooh! A mess! I’ll clean it up because a handsome man like Blitz shouldn’t do such a dangerous clean up. It could leave him getting cut and that ruin his looks!”

 Niffty quickly got a broom and dustpan and quickly began to clean up. Charlie went to Husk and said:

 Charlie - *concerned* “Are you alright Husk?”

 Husk - *dust himself* “Eh. I had it worse than just a broken bottle on my face.”

 Vaggie - *mad* “Blitz! What were you thinking?!”

 Blitz - *defensive* “Look I’m sorry okay! It won’t happen again.”

 Charlie - *Blitz this isn't cool at all. I know today is a sad day for you and Sophie, but you shouldn’t lash out at others!”

 Blitz - “I wasn’t lashing out!”

 Sonya - *calm but serious* “Then what would you have called it?”

 Blitz didn’t have an answer to that and was holding his chest. That feeling was coming back again, but stronger. He was trying to keep it down and even hide but his friends look concerned about him. 

 Vaggie - “Blitz, maybe you should just talk about how you are feeling.”

 Blitz - “Don't worry about me. I’ll be okay.”

 Sophie - “Blitzy, don't be sad please.”

 Blitz - “I’m not sad Sophie. I’m just feeling...something else.”

 Sophie - “But this isn’t good on how you are feeling! Mommy and Daddy wouldn’t like this for you.”

 Blitz - “Well Mommy and Daddy aren’t here anymore Sophie.”

 Sophie - “I know but if you have huge hopes like me, they will come back someday.”

 Blitz - *snapping* "They're not coming back, alright?! So, just shut up about it!

 Then, Blitz noticed how the girls looked appalled. Even Husk had a disgusted look on his face. Blitz didn’t understand why, but when he looked down, he saw what always broke his heart: Sophie had tears in his eyes and looked shocked and hurt on how her older brother had just yelled at her. 

 Blitz - *regretfully* “Sophie...I-I’m so sorry I-I…”

 Can’t find any words to excuse his actions, Blitz just ran out the hotel door. He was deeply ashamed on how he took out his anger on his own sister. The last person he would want to hurt. Sophie saw her brother leaving and said:

 Sophie - “Big bro! Wait!”

 Sophie was about to run after him, but Sonya gently held Sophie’s arm. 

 Sonya - “Sophie, let Blitz go.”

 Vaggie - “Yeah she’s right. I think he needs some time to cool down.”

 Sophie - *worried* “But will he come back?”

 Charlie - *kneeled down and hug Sophie* “Aw don’t worry sweetie. Blitz will come back; he just needs some time. 

 ()()()()()()()()()()

 Blitz kept walking in the city not caring about the dangers or yelling of other demons. What was stuck in his head right now is how he yelled at his own baby sister. The last thing he wanted to do Sophie was to hurt her and feeling horribly guilty. Today not only he hurt Sophie, but he hurt his friends too. All they wanted to do is just help Blitz and cheer him up, and he just pushed them away. The feeling in his chest was getting stronger and he kept trying to hide them. He didn’t know what it was, but he didn’t want to let it out. Blitz kept on walking until he heard a disgusting voice that he hated beside Ryan’s. 

 “Well, Well, Well. Look what the cat, or should I say bat brought of the bag.”

 Blitz turned his head and saw Valentino standing outside his Porn Studio building. Valentino had two women in his arms and was smoking his cigarette and did a mocking smile. Blitz rolled his eyes and said:

 Blitz - “What the fuck you want?”

 Valentino - “What? I can’t say hello?”

 Blitz - “I don’t have time for your shit.”

 Valentino - “Oh what’s the matter? Having a bad day? Why don’t you cry to your mama and daddy? Or you don’t have any? Which wouldn’t surprise me at all.”

 Valentino began to mockingly laugh at Blitz. Blitz felt rage inside of him. Just when he was about to fly and beat the shit out of Valentino, he heard: 

 “Bosses stop it!”

 They both turned and saw Angel Dust. He looked sad and worried about Blitz. He was about to walk toward Blitz, but then Valentino stood in front of him. 

 Valentino - “Where you think you are going Angel Cakes?”

 Angel - “To comfort Blitzy.”

 Valentino - “Oh Angel honey, don’t you remember? You need to play your part in the film “Sex and the City of Sexville.” 

 Angel - “I-I know Val. But Blitz is more important.”

 Angel was going to walk toward Blitz again, but Valentino grabbed Angel’s upper right arm tightly. Angel wince, as Valentino brought him closer to his face look mad. 

 Valentino - *seriously* “Are you disrespecting me sugar?”

 Angel - *glared* “For once, yeah! Because Blitz is more important than your stupid ass fucking movie and your stupid ass fucking face!”

 Val raise his hand up high and gave Angel a hard slap to the face and Angel fell on the ground. Just as when Angel was about to get up, Val lift his foot up, and stomp on the right side of Angel’s face very hard. Angel since in pain and Val move his foot a little on Angel’s face and kept moving it like if he was putting out a cigarette. 

 Valentino - *calm and angry* “You seem to forget Angel: I OWN YOU! YOU are nothing but a toy that I can play with it! Without me, you’re a fucking worthless slut! And maybe you would realize that once I have to punish you again in my room, and make you remember it!!”

 Seeing Val hurting Angel Dust in front of him was the last straw. All the anger Blitz felt, the memory of Ryan hurting him, killing his parents, burning down his home, and continue to hunt him and Sophie unleashed. Valentino and Angel then saw Blitz transforming. Blitz’s eyes grew deep red, claws were getting longer, was growing larger, more fur around him, and he was growling. All of a sudden Blitz was now a size of a giant tower and let out a huge roar. He kicked the Porn Studio, and it was into giant piles of rubble. Valentino looked horrified and got his foot of Angel’s face and screamed: 

 Valentino - *weeping* “My precious porno home! It’s all ruined and gone! *angrily point to giant Blitz* “You're gonna pay for that you motherfucking-“

 Blitz lifts up his foot and stomps on Valentino multiple times. Then he let out a huge war and began to walk to the city causing chaos not caring about the screaming demons. Angel got up and not only saw Val in a bloody broken mess but was horrified on how his lover turned into his final demon form. 

 Angel - “I gotta stop him!”

 ()()()()()()()()()

 At the hotel lobby, Sophie was sadly coloring in her coloring book. Normally she loves to draw and color but was still feeling sad how not only Blitz yelled at her, but then left. She feels like it was her fault for angering her brother and making him leave. Then Sonya came and said: 

 Sonya - “Hey Sophie it’s okay. Blitz didn’t mean it.”

 Sophie - *sad* “But I made him mad…”

 Sonya - “People get mad sometimes, but they don’t mean to take it out on the people they love.”

 Sophie - “But will Blitzy come back? It's been a long time and I’m worried about him.”

 Sonya - “I’m sure he will be back. Come on, let go watch tv with the others.”

 Sophie - “Well okay.”

 Sonya grabbed Sophie’s hand and they both walk to the couch where Charlie, Vaggie, Husk and Niffty was watching TV. As soon they sat down, the 666 News came on.

 Katie - “Good afternoon! I’m Katie Killjoy.”

 Tom - “And I’m Tom Trench! Chaos is happening today here in Pentagram City as a giant monster demon is attacking the city.”

 Katie - “That’s right Tom! Instead of the usual shitty turf wars, this giant monster is destroying half of the city. Let’s take a look.”

 The camera show of Blitz in his final demon form roaring and knocking down buildings. Many demons ran away in fear, some even stupidly try to fight back, but they were no match for Blitz in his final demon form. Blitz let out a huge sonic scream that destroyed some building and hurt some demons.

 “My ears! I can’t hear anything!”

 “My home!”

 “My car!”

 “My leg!”

 Katie - “Ooh this monster is destroying everything shitty thing it sees huh?”

 Tom - “I agree Katie. If this keep ups, then the big guns would have to come to take care of this beast.”

 Katie - “Ooh that would make more juicy stories and railings will be high! Ooh! Now I’m getting word that this monster is coming toward another building! Can’t wait to see the sorry motherfucking bitches who next.”

 Tom - *scared* “Umm...Katie?”

 Katie - “What you tiny sick Jackass?”

 Tom - “WE are the sorry motherfucking bitches that monster gonna attack!”

 Katie - *scared and confused* “Wait what?!”

 Then they screamed as Blitz stepped on them, destroy the news station, and the tv went statistic and had a “PLEASE STAND BY”. 

 Charlie, Vaggie, Sonya, Sophie, Niffty and even Husk’s eyes were widening, and their jaw was dropped. 

 ()()()()()()()()()()

 Angel - *running* “Blitz! Blitz! Stop!”

 But Blitz didn’t listen. He kept on causing a rampage at the city. Angel saw how some of the demons were running away and stupidly trying to fight back. They were throwing things like rocks, food, drinks, glass bottles, some demons even tried to shoot him with guns. As much as Angel wanted to shoot them for trying to hurt Blitz, he didn’t see any point since those things just bounced off of Blitz like if he was wearing some kind of rubbery armor. However, this just made Blitz angrier and attack more. Not even Sir Pentious’s blimp and his weapons could stop Blitz. Angel was getting scared and concerned about Blitz getting hurt. Then to his horror, he saw Cherri with a bazooka gun about to shoot Blitz. 

 Cherri - “Say goodnight your giant hairball!”

 Just when Cherri was going to shoot, Angel quickly ran and said:

 Angel - “NO!”

 Angel push Cherri, and she ended up missing and the gun went straight toward a building. Luckily, it missed Blitz, but he was busy causing havoc. 

 Cherri - *pissed* “Angel! What the hell?! I was gonna shoot that giant monster!”

 Angel - “You can’t shoot him!”

 Cherri - “Why not?” 

 Angel - “Cause that’s Blitz!”

 Cherri - *shocked* “What?!”

 “Angel!”

 Angel and Cherri turned around and saw Charlie and the others. 

 Angel - “Don't hurt him! It’s-“

 Vaggie - “We know it’s Blitz! We saw it on the news.”

 Sophie - *scared* “Blitz looks so scary! I want him back!”

 Charlie - *horrified* “How did he get like this?!”

 Angel - *scared* “I-I don’t know! I was at my job, my boss was yelling, and then Blitz turn into that!”

 Husk - “That son of a bitch is going to turn the city into dust if we don’t stop him!”

 Niffty - “Or worst! They’ll bring out the big guns! I hope we see muscular men!” *get crush by a building piece* I’m okay!”

 Cherri - “What the fuck are the big guns anyway?”

 Charlie - “A special army that work for my Dad. They would come and destroy monsters that are WAY too strong. They even have angelic weapons!”

 All - “WHAT?!”

 Sonya - “That's why we have to do something quick! The big guns could really hurt Blitz or worst!”

 Sophie - *whimpers* “I don’t want them to hurt my brother!”

 Charlie - “Don't worry Sophie we will think of something!” 

 Cherri - “Well we can’t fight him. He’s too strong!”

 Husk - “And I doubt he would listen to any of us.”

 Angel - *sad* “Oh...We should have been there more for him! *determined* But we still can! He’s my Blitzy Que and we gotta do whatever it takes to turn him back to the man I love.”

 Vaggie - “But we don’t even have a plan!”

 The word love rings into Sophie’s ears. She suddenly had an idea. While the others were talking, Sophie began to fly high up in the air. While she didn’t master flying like her brother, she didn’t want it to stop her to help save her brother from rampage. Then Liz said in her shadow form to Sonya:

 Liz - *in shadow form* “Uhh dude?”

 Sonya - “This isn’t the best time now!”

 Liz - “Yes, it is! Cupcake is in the sky!”

 Sonya - *confused* “Cupcake in the sky?”

 Sonya looked up and saw Sophie flying toward Blitz. 

 Sonya - *horrified* “HOLY SHIT SOPHIE IS IN THE SKY!!!”

 Everybody heard Sonya yelling and they all looked up in the sky. They were all horrified to see Sophie flying toward Blitz who was roaring and destroying a city. 

 Charlie - *horrified* “SOPHIE! WHAT IN DAD’S NAME ARE YOU DOING?! GET DOWN NOW!!!”

 Sophie - “No! I have an idea to save Blitzy!”

 Blitz let out a huge roar and continue to destroy buildings. Then he felt something on his chest. He looked down and saw Sophie hugging Blitz tightly on his chest. Despite all the fur, he can see clearly that his baby sister was trying to hug him. 

 Sophie - “Blitzy! I know you’re in there. I know you are mad what that monster Ryan did to Mommy and Daddy. I know I’m mad too! But acting like this won’t help at all! It makes things worst. You make be scary now, but you’re still the best big brother I know and love. Please come back Blitz.”

 Blitz growling went lower and lower, his eyes went from red to normal. The others were seeing this, and Charlie's eyes widened. 

 Charlie - “Guys! I got an idea!”

 Charlie whispered her plan to the others. They all nodded and know exactly what to do. They all ran toward Blitz, jump on things like broken half buildings, cars, and landed on Blitz. Charlie and Sonya landed on his right arm, Niffty and Husk landed on his leg, and Cherri and Vaggie  landed on his left arm. They were all giving Blitz a big hug. 

 Charlie - “Blitz! I know the feelings you are having! Trust me, I feel like that every extermination. You don’t have to hide your deep feelings away! You can always come to me!”

 Vaggie - “Yeah! I’m always here if you ever wanted to talk about something that bothers you.”

 Sonya - “You have always been there for me! You automatically accepted Liz and I for being a Gemini. We accepted you for how you are! Even in your monster form!”

 Cherri - “Hell yeah Blitz! You save mine and Angel asses every time! I don’t mind saving your ass once in a while cause you’re a cool dude!”

 Husk - “Listen! You’re one of the few people that I actually like! Even though I enjoy ignoring the fuck out of people, I wouldn’t mind if you talk to me about what problems you have.”

 Niffty - “Yeah! Handsome men like you have feelings! We don’t mind your feelings!”

 Blitz was seeing how all of his friends, and sister were hugging him and comforting him. He felt tears coming out of his eyes. Blitz was feeling loved but noticed somebody was missing. That when he heard a loud: 

 “BLITZ!!!”

 His eyes looked up, and saw Angel did a really high jump from a tall building. Angel landed on Blitz’s snout and slowly walk up to his eyes and said:

 Angel - “Blitz...You don’t have to hide your feelings from us. Especially me. You must have been afraid of showing this side to me but trust me: I’m not scared. If you can let me show my feelings and ugly side to you, I don’t have any problem if you did it to me. I’ll always love and care for you. Just like you always done for me.”

 Angel gave Blitz a kiss on his face. Blitz felt tears coming out his eyes and dropping to the ground. He never felt anything like this in a long time. That’s when he began to glow in a big light orb. 

 ()()()()()()()()()()

 Blitz groaned and began to open his eyes. He saw that all of his friends were staring at him with relief in their eyes. He slowly sat up and saw that they were not only on top of a building, but Blitz was now back to normal. Despite his clothes being a bit ripped up, he was finally back to his normal self. Blitz’s suddenly felt his waist being held tightly and it was Sophie who was hugging him tightly.

 Sophie - “Oh big brother! I’m so glad that you’re okay! I thought I lost you forever!”

 Blitz - “Sophie…”

 Then was in a tight hug thanks to Angel. 

 Angel - “Oh Blitz! I’m so glad you are okay! I can’t imagine my life without you!”

 Blitz began to remember what Angel and the other said to him while they were hugging him in his final demon form. Then Blitz hugged Angel back tightly. In a rare time, Blitz felt tears coming out of his eyes, and he began to cry. He began to cry hard and kept on hugging Angel tightly as he continued to cry. All Angel did was smile and kept on hugging Blitz who was busy letting out his emotions. The others were smiling in relief that not only Blitz was okay, but finally letting his feelings out. 

 ()()()()()()()()()

 Blitz was now in his room staring out his window. It was nighttime and he was in his pajamas. He was thinking about what happened to him. He was shocked on how he has a final demon form that was extremely deadly. However, Blitz already knew that everybody in Hell has a demon form that was deadly. Even a sweet person like Charlie has a final demon that was extremely deadly. He did felt relief that he has all his feelings out, but something was still that wasn’t relief yet. Then he heard a knock on the door, and it was Angel in his comfy pajamas. 

 Angel - “You okay hon?”

 Blitz - “To be honest in a way yeah…”

 Angels walk up to Blitz and they both stared out the window. For a place like Hell, the night did look really beautiful. 

 Angel - “Really nice night huh?”

 Blitz - *chuckles* “Yeah…Angel...Did you really mean those words you said to me when I was...A beast?”

 Angel - “Of course I did. Why?”

 Blitz - “It just...I never been in my final demon like that. I was afraid that I could have hurt you and Sophie. I can’t believe that I transformed into my final demon form. I mean I cause havoc in Hell.”

 Angel - *comforting* “Aw babe don’t worry about it. I mean some of the building was old and shitty anyway. Some of them are getting rebuilt. Besides, it’s Hell. Nobody gave a shit.”

 Blitz - “I know but…It was so horrifying to find out that I have this side of me that could be deadly.”

 Angel - “We all have that. It’s Hell. But you didn’t mean to turn into your final demon form.”

 Blitz - “I was just so angry. I was angry on how that bastard Ryan took away my parents, always trying to hunt me and Sophie down. How even once kidnapped you and beat you to the point you had to go to the hospital. I’m most angry at myself…I took my anger at you guys and almost push you away…” 

 Angel - Blitz listen to me *held his hand and cup his face* Even though it’s great that you care about others, sometimes you need to care about yourself as well. If you don’t, you became a big mess.”

 Blitz’s eyes grew in surprised. It’s one of the rare time Angel actually made valid point when he wasn’t being an asshole or trying to make excuses of his destructive action. Blitz realize his parents wouldn’t just want him to take care of Sophie, but himself as well. He wouldn’t be any good if he didn’t take care of himself. 

 Blitz - “You’re right Angel...I been so busy on taking care of Sophie and even you guys when you get sick or hurt, I forgot to even take care of myself. It just feels like it’s been so long...I didn’t want to be burden to anybody. I just wanted to protect you.”

 Angel - “And that’s what I love about you. But if you don’t be honest about your feelings out, you could end up in your final demon again but much worst.”

 “Blitzy?”

 Both Blitz and Angel turned around and saw Sophie in the doorway. She was in her pajamas and holding her stuff animals Fluffy. She said:

 Sophie - “Are you feeling better?”

 Blitz - *smiles* “Yes Sophie I am. *kneeled down to her height* Listen Sophie, I’m really sorry for what I said to you earlier. I was just really angry and sad on how Ryan took away Mom and Dad.”

 Sophie - *smile and sad* “It’s okay, I miss them too.”

 Blitz - “But honestly...I have high hopes for them coming back soon.”

 Sophie - *eyes sparkled* “You do?”

 Blitz - “Yeah. I mean who knows...Maybe Ryan didn’t really kill them, or they escape but hiding somewhere. Maybe they will come back, but just not right now. But I can promise you one thing: I will never keep my feelings bottle up like that ever again.”

 Sophie - *raise up her pinky* “Pinky promise?”

 Blitz - *smiles* “Pinky promise.”

 Blitz and Sophie did a pinky promise and they tightly hug each other. 

 Angel - “Aw so cute! Well we better get some shut eye. Come on Sophie.”

 Sophie - “Okay Angel! Good night Big Brother!”

 Blitz - *smiled* “Good night Sophie.”

 Angel - “Good night Blitzy Que! *chuckles but was smack on the side of the head* “Ow!”

 Blitz - *annoyed* “Don’t push your luck.”

 Both Angel and Sophie left Blitz’s room. Blitz went to his bed and took something from his nightstand drawer. It was a family portrait of him, his parents and Sophie. And he was also holding his mother’s necklace. He smiled and tear slid down his eye, even though he believes they are truly gone, another side had hope that they will return someday to him and Sophie. 

 Blitz - “Good night Mom and Dad. I miss you.”

 He put them down on his nightshade and fell asleep. Feeling more at peace with himself knowing that despite losing his parents, he always has his sister and friends to love and care about him. While he was sleeping, his mother’s necklace began to glow.  

 “You think he will figure out where we are Josephine?”

 “Only time will tell Arthur.”

 “You know I’ll always be proud of him.”

 “So will I.”

 Hope you all like it!

#hazbin hotel #fanfic #my first one in a long time #blitz and sophie arent my oc

[misterewrites]

Hellish Blitz (Welcome to the Underground)

Hey everyone! E here after a pretty long month. Sorry it's been a rough one and I've barely had time to actually write the next part down but it is here, it is ready and I hope you all enjoy it! I am very pleasantly surprised how well this original work is doing and I appreciate everyone who reads this story or shares with your friends. Thank you so much and I hope you keep enjoying it. Stay safe, wash your hands, wear you mask and take care of each other. E out have a great week!

Here’s the link if you wanna read it on ao3!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/73437030

Chapter summary:  Now trapped in prison for a demonic hellspawn, Abigail and co. race to find the seal that will weaken the demon and prevent its a escape before it grows too powerful to stop. As Abigail and Oliver search for the seal, it is up to the forsaken paladin Fen and Archibald to distract the demon long enough for everyone to escape.

-----

“You’re terrible.”

“And?”

Abigail frowned, unsure how to respond to the simple matter of fact tone of that answer.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” She asked curiously.

“Why should it?” Oliver eyed her carefully.

“It might affect my opinion of you.”

“So?” Oliver began plucking books off their shelves and tossing them to the floor haphazardly “I don’t really care about your opinion.”

Abigail pursed her lips unhappily “You’re just the worst.”

Oliver kicked over a chair “Maybe but I’m exactly who I said I am. I’m not pretending and putting lives in danger.”

Abigail said nothing, opting to check under a rug for any sign of the seal.

“Besides what do you care?” Oliver shot back “It’s not like we’re not friends.”

“I’m trying to be polite.” Abigail mumbled softly under her breath.

“Don’t.” Oliver said simply “Speak your mind. You might not get a chance later.”

Abigail bit her lips, unsure if this was a trap or some other angle the bard had planned.

Oliver leaned against the wall, arms crossed and eyes focused on Abigail.

Abigail sighed and rose to her feet, brushing away the dust from her hands and pants “I think you are a jerk who has never learned manners ever. I think you get your kicks from pissing off people and making them feel miserable. I can’t get a bead on you and it’s frustrating! Every time I think you might not be that bad, you go and kick a paladin when they’re down! And now I’m going to die with you being an ass.”

“All better?”

“Yeah actually.” Abigail admitted, surprised how much anger and frustration she been holding in. Three days and she hadn’t really realized how much was eating at her.

“Good.” Oliver pushed off the wall, his eyes darting around for any sign of a hiding place “Let’s get a move on.”

“That’s it?” Abigail tilted her head “You’re not gonna say what you hate about me? How much of a goody two shoes I am or that I’m annoying?”

“Nope”

And like that Oliver disappeared deeper into the house, not another word escaping his lips.

-----

The creaking of the house did not help Archibald’s nerves as he and Fen moved silently through the unhallowed halls of the prison.

Archibald’s six months with the Swift Slivers brought him vital battlefield experience he never got as a recruit on the surface but nothing prepared him for this nightmarish situation: Hunting a demonic being from another plane alongside a forsaken paladin with the only goal being stalling long enough for Abigail and Oliver to find a well hidden seal and figuring out how to restrengthen it without any prior experience or knowledge. He didn’t have his family of warriors, clerics and Cecilia his basically sister. He was fumbling in the dark surrounded by strangers whose shared goal was trying not to die.

“Does your bard always make friends this way? Insults and disrespect?” Fen asked bitterly, lute locked in a death grip.

Archibald sighed. Fen had been poking and prodding about Oliver since they parted ways and always with a harsh tone.

Archibald wasn’t sure what to make of Oliver and while he only known him for a day, there was something about the bard that brought him an odd comfort. He was sharp and not just with his tongue. His quick decisive thinking had saved their lives and his firmness reminded him of Borrick. He saw through Fen’s deceit and within moments already figured out the severity of the situation and knew the paladin must’ve arrived with some sort of plan. He subtly pushed everyone into the roles he knew they would be best at: Him and Abigail the noncombatants searching for the seal and the fighters keeping the hellspawn occupied.

Archibald wasn’t sure if he liked Oliver but he knew as long as their goal aligned, he could trust him. Still wouldn’t pay to see him sing though. Too pitchy for his taste.

Out of all the terrain the archer found himself in his six months in the underground, this had been so far the worst. Nothing about this house made any sense: Halls seemed to stretch into impossible lengths, doors tilted and opened at odd angles with rooms changing each time he took his eyes off them. Fen told him the demon would regain more control of the house the more the seal weakened and was no doubt alternating any and everything it could to disorient and distract them. The good news that Oliver and Abigail should be free of such issues as the demon was more concerned with those hunting it.

“On guard” Fen firmly ordered as the pair stepped into a large dining room that no way should’ve fit inside this tiny house.

The room would’ve been spacious to move about if not for the long dinner table centered in the middle. Rusted cups and plates laid rotten and decayed across its surface as the dust swirled about in the air.

Archibald held his bow in one hand with an arrow at the ready resting between his fingers. The holy water vial was safely tucked away in his cloak pocket. He already dipped the arrow within the blessed liquid but he’d doubt a single arrow would slow the demon for long.

“Let us pray your bard is good as he claims he is.” Fen narrowed his eyes, searching through the dark for their prey.

Archibald could feel his skin shiver as the air turned hot and stuffy, a low growl faintly echoed from the shadows.

The beast asked something once more in its infernal tongue but Archibald had never been good at other languages aside common. Borrick taught him dwarvish curse words he’d never use though he desperately wished he could now.

“Steel yourself” Fen murmured unhelpfully

‘No shit’ Archibald thought to himself, notching the arrow in his bow.

-----

“So there’s nothing you believe in?”

Oliver sighed, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice as he pushed a chair onto the floor. The search was going poorly and little time remained.

Abigail rolled her eyes “I take that as no.”

“I didn’t say that, I’m just annoyed.”

“Nothing new then.”

“Well more so.”

“Just answer the question bard. I’m trying not to panic.”

Oliver paused thoughtfully, pursing his lip in concentration before answering “I’m really big in The Choir.”

Abigail raised an eyebrow “A choir? Isn’t that a little too tight knit for such a….solo act?”

Oliver shrugged “Sometimes you need an aria and sometimes you need the marching band.”

“I have no idea what you just said.”

“Yeah that’s par for the course.” Oliver sighed tiredly “We’re getting nowhere.”

“We need to think like the people who made this place.”

“No duh” Oliver scoffed “Okay. This is a prison for a demonic hellspawn.”

“Right.”

“So.” Oliver began to pace back and forth, the creaking of the wood thundering in the silence of the house “It would have to be hidden so the demon didn’t claw at it to break free.”

“Of course.”

“But they couldn’t just let it roam around here unchecked.” Oliver continued “they must’ve intended to come back periodically to check on the prison. Doesn’t matter that they suck at their jobs and forgot!” he threw his hand up in exasperation “Whatever. They needed it somewhere they could access it quick and easy.”

“I know you’re not actually listening to me but I feel uncomfortable just standing here.”

Oliver paused, Abigail could practically see his brain whirling and steaming as he tried to will whatever he was putting together into existence.

And into existence it came when Oliver let out longest unhappy groan Abigail ever heard.

“FUUUUUUU...”

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“...UUUUUUU...”

“Okay you can stop now, we don’t have forever. We don’t actually know how much time we have so be dramatic later.”

“...UUUUUUCK. It’s in the front.”

“What?! SERIOUSLY!?”

“Yes!” Oliver grunted before bolting down the hall “It makes the most sense!”

“Hey wait up!”

“Like you said no time!”

-----

“On your left!” Fen warned but Archibald already ducked under the wide swing of the demon, darting forward underneath its arm to clear some space for his shot on its backside.

The demon was prepared for this though: its arm elongated then bent itself backwards, twisting inhumanly with a sickening crunch of bones as it began to reach for Archibald.

‘Are you kidding?!’ he thought to himself as he dove sideways. He slid across the wide end of the table, knocking the various decayed silverware and plates to the floor as the arm snaked after him in pursuit. He braced himself against the wood and jabbed the holy water tipped arrow in his hand wildly.

The demon grimaced as the hand reeled back, smoke and the hiss of burning infernal flesh filling the room. Archibald scrambled backwards, allowing himself to hit the aged floor with a creaky thud.

“Regain your bearings!” Fen shouted from somewhere “I’ll distract the beast!”

Fen bull rushed the hellspawn and brought down his full weight into his swing. The demon’s face curled into something that reassembled pained surprise as Oliver’s lute crashed into its shoulder, the unmistakable sound of cracking bone filling Archibald’s ears. The demon stumbled back in a moment seemingly confused. Fen pressed the attack, chasing after his hated foe with reckless fury.

Archibald wished Fen focused more on fighting than trying to direct the archer. Any useful information he attempted to convey was already too late and pointless by the time he said it. It was clear he was not used to working in a team: In the Swift Slivers, Borrick more or less taught them to act with autonomy and to trust your fellow mercs. Fighters fought and kept the enemy distracted, archers aimed for the most dangerous foe and Cecilia blasted everything with arcane magic.

Archibald scampered to his feet, his eyes trying to readjust the chaotic back and forth of the battle: Fen fought as furiously as his opponent, trading vicious blows with the demon but making it almost impossible for Archibald to get a clear shot. The demon’s reddish skin contrast with the darkness somehow made it difficult to determine where the wall began and the creature ended. The stuffy air its mere presence created dried his eyes and impaired his vision ontop of everything else.

He gritted his teeth and backed away, arrow loose in his hand as he searched for the opening he needed.

-----

Fen could feel his body surge with the battle fury he hadn’t felt in such a long time. He felt like he had a purpose again, a calling and it was intoxicating.

Normally this infernal beast of hell would be no problem for a warrior of his caliber but at this moment he was no holy chosen of a higher being, he was merely a man and this hellspawn was not of this world.

The bard had not lied about his instrument. It bypassed the beast’s resistance to mortal weapons, bruising and batter more purplish splotches across its body as Fen laid into it.

Fen smashed the lute into its arm again, the crunch of bones heavenly to his ears. The demon snarled, swiping with its free hand but Fen brought his weapon up, the claws scraping harmlessly across the magical instruments surface. Fen countered driving the lute deep into the stomach of the demon. He winced as his wrist ached at the solid mass of muscles the lute ran into. He had forgotten this was not a sword but a mere bard’s instrument.

-----

The demon took advantage of this momentary lapse: It lashed out, trying to catch Fen’s throat. The paladin stumbled to the side. He flinched as the demonic claws raked against his aged armor, the sound of metal scraping against metal overwhelming him for a moment. He realized his mistake too late as he caught sight of the elongated arm snaked above him as it raced forward towards his head.

The demon reeled back in pain, its screams roaring like thunder across the house. The elongated arm retracted, its skin blackened and shriveled as the arrow embedded within blazed with holy light for a moment.

It shot a dirty look towards the archer whom was already prepping another sanctified payload. It growled angrily as it broke the shaft of the now normal arrow. Its skin bubbled and popped, dislodging the arrowhead from within as the demon focused on the archer.

The elongated arm swelled, the skin and muscle mass returning to normal as it launched towards the irritation with deadly intent. The archer had barely managed to dip the next arrow into the cursed water when he dove out of the way, the elongated arm barely missing the prey’s head as it dug deep into the walls.

The paladin yelled, throwing himself back into the fray with religious fever but it was not concerned. The seal weakened and each passing moment it regained more of its unholy strength. The blows from whatever the warrior was hitting it with hurt but sooner or later these human pests would be spent and all demons were well familiar with pain. It waited this long. A few moments more mattered not.

-----

Abigail could see the panic in Oliver’s eyes as he rushed back and forth, tearing the room apart in a desperate search for the seal.

Not that Abigail was much better: she was furiously throwing everything just as manically as Oliver.

They knew every second wasted was a second too long and there was still the task of actually figuring out how to strengthen the seal once more.

“THIS IS WHY I HATE CLERICS AND PALADIN!” Oliver shouted in frustration “WHY CAN’T THEY MAKE THIS EASY!? WHAT KIND OF GROUP FORGETS ABOUT A FUCKING DEMON ON A RANDOM SIDE PATH?! It’s kinda a big deal guys!”

Abigail said nothing, opting find the seal instead.

“We’re running out of time!” Abigail cried.

“No shit! Keep looking! It has to be something they could spot easily and get to!”

Abigail was about to angrily retort that she knew when she spotted something: A sunburst, same as the one on Fen’s armor, embedded in the wall near the front door.

“Oliver!” Abigail gestured hurriedly.

Luckily the bard was quick on the uptake. He made a mad dash for the symbol, eyes glowing with the soft golden light from before. Small fancy looking words surrounded the sunburst but Abigail couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

“It’s celestial.” He murmured more to himself than anything else “Of course it’s the language of the gods.”

“How are you doing that?” Abigail asked curiously as a way to distract herself “I know it’s a spell but…”

“Comprehend languages” Oliver answered honestly “Super basic spell. Normally I’d just cast it as a ritual to save energy but we don’t have ten minutes.”

“What’s it say?”

“The protection of heaven is granted by the sacrifice of pain.”

“That’s...oddly ominous. There’s nothing else?”

Oliver shook his head “And nothing’s scratched out. This is the seal they used but I’m not sure I’m getting what I’m supposed to do! This is oddly dark for the God of Redemption.”

Abigail paused for a moment, trying to remember the few sayings her family taught of the Solius. The protection of heaven is granted by the sacrifice of pain? That didn’t sound right.

“Wait” a thought came to her “Does the spell perfectly translate words? I don’t know about spells but if it’s super basic….”

“No!” Oliver cheered “It translates the most direct version of the words. So it’s not saying the protection of heaven is granted by the sacrifice of pain. It’s saying something similar.

“The path to redemption” Abigail quoted “is made by self sacrifice. That’s the closest quote I can think of in Common.”

“Give me your dagger.”

Abigail was unsure what Oliver had planned but did what the bard asked of.

Oliver took carefully and without a moment of hesitation, jabbed it directly into his palm.

“Oliver!”

But he didn’t responded. Instead he placed his bloody palm in the middle of the seal. The celestial words glowed with a soft gentle light as the blood slowly formed a circle of around the heavenly quote. The blood turned from a dark red to a pure white and the house hummed with a silent energy.

The sounds of battle, formerly unheard, now boomed from the next room. Grunts of effort and the thrashing of broken furniture echoing loudly down the hallway.

Oliver stood up “We need to go.”

“Oliver, your hand.”

“After” Oliver said with a hint of finality “When we’re all safe. Now let’s go get our solider boy. And the paladin I guess.”

The two broke into a sprint, resisting the syrupy urge to rest ebbed at their weary bodies.

“How did you know that would work? Why didn’t you tell me?” Abigail asked, trying to stay focus.

Oliver shrugged “Never ask someone else for something you won’t do. It needed to be done. If I asked you, I needed to convince you and it was going to be painful. Besides it’s about self sacrifice. It had to be willing. No hesitation knowing the freaking religion.”

Abigail said nothing.

With victory and safety filling their resolve, the two made their way into the dining room, Archibald letting loose an arrow towards some unseen threat.

Abigail sighed in relief as Oliver moved to call to the mercenary.

Their faces fell to horror as the demons elongated arm dug deeply into Archibald’s stomach, lifting him off his feet in some sickening display of victory.

“ARCHIE!”

#my work #welcome to the underground #my story #Original Work

[forkanna]

[AO3] [WATTPAD]

WARNING: Another NSFW chapter, though this one contains more plot.

NOTE: I apologise for taking nearly a month off from posting. Just haven't been in a writing mood. I'll be trying to get back to our regularly scheduled programme soon!

                                                  ~ o ~

The appointed hour had arrived. Rise watched Ai's face carefully as it was screwed up in concentration, trying to ignore the anxious flutter in the pit of her stomach. This situation was life-or-death, because if it went in a direction she didn't like she would probably want to throw herself off the nearest bridge.

"Well…?"

"Hmm… it's like… a shiny flower… butterfly… thing."

"What?!"

Huffing, Ai pushed up on her elbows a little more. "Well, what do you want me to say?! That's what it looks like, spread open like that!"

"Ughh, you don't have to make me feel like my body is weird! I'm doing this for you, remember?"

"Yes, and I appreciate it, of course," she conceded with a roll of her eyes. "But don't act like I don't have a point; that is what it reminds me of. I'm just being honest."

Now all Rise wanted to do was close her legs. But she had to ask one more question. "Does… does that mean you don't like it?"

"What? No way, don't be an idiot!" Crawling forward to look straight into her eyes, she whispered, "You're the hottest chick at Yasogami. Well, besides me." They both smirked. "And every part of you is beautiful, do you hear me?"

"Okay, okay," she muttered glumly, trying not to pout. "Sorry."

"No, no, I get it. Suddenly I'm the bitch whose opinion matters a lot because my body is the only one that gets really close to yours. Like, you're obviously going to be worried that I'm not into your body as much as you're clearly into mine."

"Geez, you don't have to put it like that, Ebi-chan. I'm not a pervert! I just… I really like my girlfriend, it's normal! Well… not that liking girls is."

Ai shrugged as she reached down to pet her fingers up and down over Rise's abdomen. They were on the tatami in the middle of their hotel room, the setting sun barely lighting up the walls, and Ai was still fully dressed whereas her girlfriend had fully disrobed, to give her the chance to examine her body at her leisure. It was a little weird, and she felt like a lab experiment, but she knew Ai had probably felt much the same when she was sniffing around her dick before. Fair was fair.

"I think it's pretty normal," Ai protested as her flawlessly-buffed fingernails teased through Rise's well-trimmed strip of pubic hair. Why was that not just hot, but somehow yet hotter because they were such delicate fingers?

"Mmhhh… well, I… I feel so guilty, still. Like we're sneaking around and doing something naughty."

Her lips quirked into another smirk. "Oh, we're definitely naughty. But sneaking around? It's kind of a social media blitz for you or whatever, so… either we're not doing that at all, or we are amazingly shitty at it."

"Shut up," she snorted, bopping Ai on the ear with her knee. It was the easiest thing to reach. "But um… I guess that's true."

"Everything's completely fine, girl," she told her in that extremely rare tone of gentleness that made Rise's heart pound double-time. "We're golden — it's Golden Week. Loosen up."

Snorting, she shot back, "I could have said that to you this morning." Ai rolled her eyes. "Y'know, when my finger was in y-"

"Yes, I get it, I get it." Her head tilted to one side, honey-hued locks pooling on the floor. "Did you like that?"

"Well… it was weird, and kinda gross at first. But!" she protested when Ai started to grimace. "I'd do it just to make you happy, even if it was horrible. And it wasn't, okay? I even…"

When Rise still hadn't finished that sentence after a few seconds, Ai wound up prompting her, "You even… liked it? Hated it? Give me something to go on here."

"No. It's too weird."

"Come on, it's just us. You gotta get used to trusting me sometime. Or don't, I guess."

"Are you… guilting me?"

"See? You already don't trust me." But when Rise pouted, she snorted and poked her in the tummy. "Just playing with you… but maybe also making a point. I know I'm kind of a bitch, but I'm trying to trust you despite almost outing me to the entire school. Can it start cutting both ways?"

Thoroughly chagrined, she whispered, "Well… that's not exactly what this is. But I get it. I'm just embarrassed and you know that, but I'll try to open up… if you do."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. So if I admit I thought it was pretty hot, watching you get all squirmy… will you admit that you liked me slipping a finger up there?"

Stalemate. Both of them were staring into each other's eyes, trying not to give ground. A perfect example that both of them were correct in their estimations of what areas they needed to work on. Eventually Ai took a breath and sighed, "Okay, okay, you're right. I just… it's almost like admitting weakness. Which is so dumb that I care, we should both be getting more comfortable with each other."

"Okay. Just this time, even though you didn't say it, I'll accept that as you admitting you liked it," Rise said in a slight sing-song. When her girlfriend pouted, she went on, "And I thought it was hot. Like, not the butt part exactly? But fingering you…" She could feel her cheeks heating up from having to put it into words.

"Yeah. I mean, I get that. Just because it's… where it is, doesn't mean you didn't fuck me right."

"EBI-CHAN!" she hissed in a scandalised tone.

"What? You did. I mean, now that we're being honest…" Ai still had to clear her throat, even if she was doing a better job of keeping an even tone of voice. "Your finger started hitting really deep — hit my spot, and it was all over. I've never, ever felt like that before. It was like my fingers and toes and nose and tits were all orgasming with me."

Rise had been gaping at her until the very end, when she let out a weak little laugh. "Nose and toes, huh? Wow. But I'm really happy I could help; I just wanted to make you feel good, and find out if that was one way we could do that."

"Definitely. Like, now that I'm past trying to pretend I don't need it." Ai squirmed a little. "Uhh…"

She sat up a little more, petting through her hair. And she leaned into the touch. Had she ever done that before? "Do you want me to do it again? Not right now!" she reassured her, and Ai relaxed a little. "But just, um, just in the future."

"I think so. Is that weird? You're my girlfriend, you shouldn't have to fuck me in the ass like a dude."

"Mm. Well, then I'll fuck you in the ass like a lady."

Ai giggled a little, crawling up to curl around her body. "I don't know exactly what that means, but I'm there. I'll offer you the same anytime you want."

"Oh, I think I'll be okay," she laughed easily. "I've never had any interest in that. Before! Before now. Wait — no, I still don't have any interest in having mine… d-do we really have to keep discussing this?"

"No," Ai told her with a slight smirk as she leaned in to kiss her cheek so tenderly that Rise briefly forgot that she was even nervous about the topic of conversation. "We could go back to talking about that phone call."

A brief pause. "So about my butt…"

"Come on, it can't have been that bad," she challenged her with a little snort. "You're just gonna keep being your fabulous self, and so will I, and Japan will join the fucking twenty-first century."

"Yeah, I just… talking about it… I'd rather focus on you, on us. On Okinawa! This is one of our last little flings — especially for you, senpai."

Clearly, that hint wasn't lost on her. She sighed and cuddled a little closer. "You're right. We should enjoy it while we can."

"Mmm, it feels like somebody already is."

"That's- it's an involuntary reaction! I was literally staring down the barrel of your pussy two seconds ago — anybody with one of these would have theirs sticking straight up, too!"

Voice the tiniest bit haughty, she said, "Well. I'm not going to assume anything, okay? I know you don't want me to… give you a little kiss down there… or caress with my fingers… or-"

"What a goddamn tease," she muttered.

"You love it." When Ai didn't answer, she grinned and pressed a soft kiss to her lips, pulling her in yet closer. They didn't really need any words anymore. As hard as it was to ignore that firm presence, given how unfamiliar Rise was with such things, she just tried to keep her focus on those sweet lips pressing against her own, on the warm back beneath her palms. On the woman she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

That realisation bowled her over. Even though they had been trending in that direction, she had yet to truly think about their future together. Sure, they would have to list Ai as male in order to get a marriage certificate… or would they? Maybe they really shouldn't worry about it. Not being able to enjoy the same status as her straight friends would be frustrating, yes, but it wasn't the end of the world. As long as she could live with her lover and share their lives, that was good enough.

By the time they finally parted, Ai managed to breathe, "I want you so bad…"

Careful to keep her tone neutral, she whispered, "How?"

"Any way I can have you. I… shit, what the hell did you turn me into?"

"Then I'm all yours. You can… have my mouth again, if that's what you like. Or did you wanna go, um… go all the way?"

"I don't know!" she groused as she pulled at her hair. Not that this minor crisis was reducing her arousal any; it was still grinding into Rise's hip and driving her up a wall. "UGH! I want to be as close to you as I can, and that seems like the way, but I also don't want to be the 'boy', you know?"

Drawing her in for another brief kiss, she whispered, "You won't be. Not to me; you'll always just be Ai. My cute little Ebi-chan. I… do you want me to use my finger on you again? I'd love to! I wanna do anything that makes you happy!"

"I… kind of? But no, not right now. I want to make you happy this time."

"Oh." Rise felt another flush of shame, trying not to remember the very obvious fact that she didn't have a stitch of clothing on her person. "Well, um… I want what you want." Did she just give her permission?!

"Good. Then let me try, um… with my mouth. I'll probably suck, but hey, no time like the present to start practicing. Especially if I ever want to be able to do this right."

"Sure! Yeah, that's… that's the same thing I was thinking while doing it for you." With a slight squirm, she then lowered her voice to barely a whisper, "I'm just… I'm sorry if it tastes, or smells… you know…"

Ai lifted a hand to waft away such thoughts. "You'll be fine. It's you. I mean, even if you weren't the sweetest girl in the universe, you're still Risette; that label of yours wouldn't let you have some stanky puss."

Bright red. Like a stoplight. Even though Ai was saying hers wouldn't be so aromatic, the very idea of it meriting a word such as "stanky" made her want to take a bath with a toaster. "U-uhm… thanks?"

"Anytime, girl."

And that seemed to be all the warning she got before Ai was kissing her way down her chest toward a clear goal. This was it; she was finally going to get as good as she gave. Unless she thought of some legitimate reason to ask the teen queen to pull back… but her mind was a blank. All she could think about was those perfect lips dimpling the skin of her abdomen, the lusty gaze being shot up in her direction as she moved lower, and lower…

Lowest. She felt a kiss in her hairs and she couldn't entirely suppress an anxious squeak. Her eyes slid closed as one leg moved up to drape over her girlfriend's back, hoping that would somehow encourage her — prove that she was ready. Even if she wasn't.

"This alright?"

Oh no. Ai was calling her bluff; it was glaringly obvious how high her nerves were running. "Y-yeah… it's just really, um, new?"

"I get that."

Then Ai moved again, and Rise almost curled into a ball. "WOW! That's- you kissed my…"

There was a slight sheen on Ai's smirk when she raised up to look at her properly. "You are soaking fucking wet, Kujikawa. How bad have you been needing it?"

"I haven't been! Honestly, I'm- NNH, how are you doing this?!"

"Pretty easy," she shot back before leaving a long lick along the entirety of her vulnerable flesh. Rise reached down instinctively to grip the hair attached to that head that was giving her so much pleasure it was overloading her system. Did everybody experience this? Was she oversensitive, or was it normal to feel like every inch of her skin was on fire, like she was losing all control?

"God, this is getting me so hard," Ai breathed before diving back in. Which didn't help matters in the slightest; Rise already felt like she was losing her mind, and knowing her girlfriend was nearly as bad off only heightened her pleasure, making her want to roll over and rut on her face. Or…

Or go further. Ai wasn't ready, and she would respect that, but if just her lips and tongue were making her feel this phenomenal, what would it be like for them to really go for it? Uniting their bodies had to be just as good as taking care of each other in turn, if not better.

"NH!" she finally burst out when she felt the pleasure rising. "I'm… I'm about to- it's gonna happen!"

"Yeah?" Ai panted as she used her thumb to caress that tortured flesh, gazing up at her with glazed eyes. "That mean… should I finish you off?"

The volume at which the word "YES!" ripped from her throat left their ears ringing. Rise would feel embarrassed about that — later. When she had time. Right now, she was too busy literally dragging Ai's head back down to devour her anew, moaning as her hips rolled up into their point of union. A little more — and the way her tongue was hitting her clit was spurring her on faster, making it-

Ai brought her to the hardest climax she had ever experienced. Feeling this one made her realise she had been only getting close to a real orgasm all those years since she first began to awaken sexually; a real orgasm blew those pretenders to the throne out of the water so easily. Guess that was what she got for never truly masturbating, or finding anybody who could take care of it for her.

Once the most intense of those sensations began to fade, Rise started coming back to her senses. A few things surprised her: she felt the tatami suddenly pressing into her back, because she had lifted herself upward. Ai's shirt moved when she started pulling her leg back, because her toes had clenched so hard in the fabric. The same was true of her hair — which she let go of first, feeling a few strands come away with her fingers with a little flare of guilt that she hadn't been gentler. Her mind had literally gone somewhere else while the ecstasy overwhelmed. It was almost scary, but mostly just… damn.

"Whoa," Ai breathed simply. The whole experience had left both of them speechless. After swallowing and clearing her throat, she licked her lips before wiping them on the back of her hand and crawling up to hover above her girlfriend. "You okay?"

"Hmnah!" was the best she could do. Ai giggled, so she tried to do better this time. "Yeah!"

Grinning, she pressed her face into Rise's neck. "Yeah. I can handle that review, I guess. Still wanna know if I did anything stupid, though; like, this was my first attempt, I can't have been perfect."

"Oh… you… close to… heaven." She hadn't meant to say 'heaven', it just slipped out.

"Really? Well… good, that's good." Ai was kissing her neck a little more firmly, more frequently. It suddenly occurred to Rise that she could feel that bulge digging into her hip; poor Ai hadn't gotten off since that morning, even if she did get there twice.

"You… want help?"

"Huh? Oh, naw, I can ignore it. Don't even trip."

"But you… I wanna… I like your friend." She took a couple of breaths, finally beginning to fully recover. "What can I call her?"

"Annoying," she snorted, and Rise rolled her eyes while she grinned into her hair. "Bitch that won't leave the party."

Nodding, she kissed into her scalp and earned herself a little sigh of appreciation in return. "I like her. That doesn't mean you have to, or like… that you have to keep her or like her for my sake. But just so you know, we get along pretty well. I mean, for a girl and an, um, appendage."

"Dork. But thanks. And it makes me mad that we have to have this conversation… but I appreciate that you get it. That you can really, uh, want my D without forgetting that I don't want it at all."

"Yeah, of course. I might have been dumb when we first started out but I learn fast."

"You do," she agreed with a little squeeze. Rise wrapped her arms more tightly around her girlfriend, appreciating their warmth, their connection. "It's honestly refreshing. Like, I got so much hate when I came out… even from my own family. I had started to believe it was impossible to expect people to get me. Then here comes this prissy famous bitch."

Rise smacked her on the arm, which only earned a harsh chuckle. "Who's the bitch here, really?" But then she moved her hand down to her bulge. "Let me take care of this. Like, it doesn't have to be anything special, or… not unless you want more."

"Mmhh… annoying." But Ai looked away, biting her lower lip. Again, Rise questioned why she found watching that to be so hot but she tried to relegate that question to the back of her mind for the time being.

"What is it?"

"Your mouth is so good… fuck, I'm sorry. Like, that's a lot to ask, twice in one d-"

"You got it." When Ai just blinked at her, she shrugged bashfully. "I'd do that. I'd use my finger again, I'll give you whatever you want. As long as you're okay with me figuring out how to do it as I go, I don't mind! It's nice that we can help each other out."

Though it took her a second, she started to nod with a slight smile. "It is really nice. Weird, but like, I guess it's not since we're dating."

"Yeah," Rise giggled. "We're just not used to dating, right?"

"Mm. You're sure I didn't mess up while muff diving?"

"While WHAT?! Excuse me? You can't call it that!"

Smirking a little as she sat up and started to disrobe, she purred, "I can call it whatever I want, Risette. Now perform for me. Maybe I'll just jerk off onto your butt."

"NO! Ew, why would you do that when I- that's gonna be all sticky, we'd have to take another bath!"

"So what? The last one turned out to be a real event…"

"Yeah, for you! And you were definitely writhing and squealing all over the place!"

"Y-yeah, well, that was your fault!" she shot back as that ready-and-willing cock bounced out into the open air. "Maybe I'll take you up on your mouth just so you can't say mean things to me."

Rise pursed her lips for a moment before saying, "Maybe I won't be as careful with my teeth this time."

"Hey, don't joke like that," Ai said with a shiver. "I might not want to keep her but that is NOT how I wanna lose her."

"Then behave," she purred as she crawled toward her lap, rubbing her cheek against the warm length. "And I'll behave exactly the way you want."

Ai complied. She complied for the following ten minutes, and got exactly what the doctor ordered — because the alluring Nurse Rise was tending her every need. Five star service.

                                               To Be Continued…

#We'll Face Ourselves #Saphir de Lune #forkanna writes #persona 4 fanfiction #p4 fanfic #rise x ai #jess the writer

[carpetreveiws]

Helluva Boss Episode 6 Review

It's Saturday, the twenty-first of August. I wake up at ten. This week has been, to say the least, taxing. My morning routine has fallen into a lull lately. I wake up, find something to eat (usually nothing more than a slice of bread). I open my phone, and the rather rigid itinerary continues:

Open discord

Open twitter

Open instagram

Open snapchat

Open youtube

Open any games that give free daily rewards (though I barely play them anymore).

This routine is borne not out of a personal need for structure, but purely out of apathy towards anything I see. I don't care about updates, I don't scroll through social media, I very rarely type in comments sections. I am done in five to ten minutes.

So, I had kind of forgotten about Helluva Boss. As a matter of fact, it didn't even appear in my youtube recommended, which it has unfailingly done for its past 5 episodes. I had said, a few months ago, when I wrote my last review, that I was losing faith in the series. I didn't think Vivenne had the right mindset for writing, visible in the series' basic structure and frankly cringeworthy sense of humour. By this time yesterday, I had no expectations left for Helluva Boss and no concern over what its future was going to look like. About a year ago I bought a funny little Hazbin Hotel merch t-shirt that I am wearing right now (Ironically, I was wearing it before realizing a new episode had been released. I put it on this morning because it was Saturday and I don't have to see anybody. I like the colors).

So fast forward. It's now around five-thirty in the evening, and I am checking my twitter again. There's an image on my feed, captioned by somebody (I can't remember what the caption is). A Helluva Boss screenshot. I close the tab instantly, and go to youtube, typing into the bar "Helluva Boss episode 6". There it is. I look at the timestamp, 22 minutes, and immediately think to myself: Oh shit, it's review day.

And it is. So here's my review. This intro was a joke, and most of it's made up.

Summed up: This episode is a step in the right direction. All these random character points, that felt too simple, or too back-seated in previous episodes get to take center stage (finally). It's focused only on Blitzo and Moxxie, but by the end of it, they actually feel like fairly complete characters. We start in the center of the action, which works perfectly for a show like this. Even though it's been two months, I am pulled back into the show almost instantly. It opens with some clever animation, of the tv screens, but these aren't the best visuals we'll be seeing this episode by any stretch of the word. In a few quick lines, each character is not only placed into their element: Blitzo's vulgar admonishments, Moxxie's sardonic reproach. Millie is aggressive, but we're again reminded how much she cares for Moxxie. She shouts at Loona to open the gate, and Loona refuses, citing her knowledge of Blitzo, and how she knows he's serious. It's perfect. I love it.

From here we have Moxxie and Blitzo restrained in a high security facility, as some agents begin to question them. The next scene is my personal favorite, of possibly the entire series, because we finally get to see Blitzo and Moxxie acting in sync, being friends, I guess, when we've only gotten bits of that before. They've mostly just bounced off of each other, so it's some nice character development. Good job.The rest will come in a bit. Rogers also gets to show off a bit his knack for the snappy dialogue. Though, every silver cloud: the scene ends with a "your mom" "my mom's dead" joke, that would hardly be funny in a reddit thread. It is downright awful here.

Loona and Millie are infiltrating the facility for a violent intermission.

So here's the real meat of the episode: The agents release into the room a "truth gas" that does exactly what the name implies (oddly enough, they never bother to question the imps before the gas dissipates). After realizing what the gas does, both Moxxie and Blitzo enter musical hallucinations, in which they confront each other, and the personal issues in each of them that contribute to their flawed relationship. Before, I continue, I want to note that the music and animation here are stellar, but again, the episode has better visuals still on the way. This number is essentially what all those bits of development between them were leading up to, and it's great. All of it is paying off. The series will change from here on out, hopefully: We'll get to see a healed Blitzo and Moxxie taking on all the villains that were set up. I was going to mention it later, but I guess I'll just awkwardly shoehorn it in now: Each episode has set up a new villain and none have recurred yet and that is not at all a good thing. I have no idea how Vivienne gonna get through all of them in a meaningful way. Back to the scene at hand: We're going through Moxxie's natural submissiveness, and Blitzo's fear of both intimacy and of being alone (does some of the dialogue here feel too imitative of Rick and Morty? I don't know. That's your call). When it's over, Blitz realizes his love for Stolas (romantic) and for Moxxie (platonic) (probably). They agree to be better friends. Congrats. We did it. The payoff is here.

Let's celebrate with a big ol beautifully animated fight scene that's just as edgy as these 2012 deviantart furries (Loona is back as a wolf, thank you). It's fast, bloody, at one point Blitzo pulls out a comically large rocket launcher labeled "MY DICK" and it shoots a missile labeled "PUSSY DESTROYER" and to my absolute shock, I laugh. That's right: This episode made me laugh one time. But honestly, that doesn't matter to me too much, because this isn't trying nearly as hard as the other episodes to be comedic. It's focused on other things, and I can appreciate it for that. As a twist, the original two agents escape, and slam that big red button. They're locked inside, guns pointed at them, and when it seems as though all hope is lost, Stolas arrives, which a demonstration of his power. Yet another piece of this episodes that fills some previously teased aspect. He's possessing people, raising dead in here, and his "true form" is what I mentioned a few times earlier: the most beautiful visual in the series yet. Or maybe I just like owls.

The episode is over, and I close the tab, thinking about how I'm going to write this review. I'm astounded. I had legitimately lost hope for this series. And just when I least expect it, Vivienne comes with an episode on par, maybe even better, than the second. Each character is realized, the animation is stunning, it feels like it's exactly what it wants to be. To put things into perspective though, I still don't think this episode nears the series' hypothetical full potential. It's certainly not on par with the best of some of the shows it recalls. The comedy still suffers, and the character development doesn't have a ton to work off of, and I that age warning at the beginning still feels misplaced. But you know what? Vivenne has made something half-decent here. And I can appreciate that. If the show keeps this up, hopefully even getting better, and minds bringing back one of those six or seven villains that have already been set up, then the future looks bright. It is with pride, joy, and definitely definitely tears in my eyes that I give this episode a 6/10.

#helluva boss

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Is It Really THAT Bad?

Cats has been a divisive show ever since it opened in 1981. Some people hate it for being a plotless spectacle that focuses more on the visuals than on music and story, while others love it for those same reasons, as well as for being utterly campy and fun. I’m firmly in the latter category, to the point I can’t  really comprehend the opposition to the film. Stuff like the jab at this film in The Critic or the mockery of it in Hey Arnold just seem weird to me; what is it about this fun, silly musical about cats that makes people’s blood boil so much?

Perhaps all these people saw into the future where the film was released.

Cats had a long, troubled history getting from stage to screen. In the 90s, Amblimation was set to make an animated version of the movie, set during the Blitz of WWII. Unfortunately, the inability of writers to find a way to turn this episodic showcase of random singing cats into a cohesive narrative combined with the failure of Amblimations films caused the project to dissolve, leaving behind nothing but some really cool concept art. 

But see, this perfectly demonstrates the problem with adapting Cats: the musical is a spectacle, a showcase, it’s all about the dancing, costumes, and the songs. It doesn’t have a story to speak of, instead contenting itself with showing us a bunch of different cats and having them sing about themselves for a bit before moving on to the next cat. Sure, there’s a bit of continuity and whatnot, but this really isn’t the sort of show that’s trying to deliver a deep narrative. It just wants you to have a good time, nothing more, nothing less.

No one told any of this to Tom Hooper, apparently. This director of the grounded, gritty, realistic adaptation of Les Mis was tapped to utilize this same style in a musical about magical singing cats, all while not even knowing what catnip is or how animation works. Hooper was apparently constantly butting heads with the VFX team due to his lack of understanding of how animating works. He tried to get the team to watch videos of cats performaing the stuff he wanted and forced them to give 90 hour work weeks, cementing Tom Hooprt as one of the biggest douchebags imaginable. On top of all this, the guy tried to weave this plotless showcase of felines into a cohesive narrative, and tapped a bunch of talent of various degrees of questionability to play parts. And what was the result?

An absolute disaster. The film was savaged by critics, with most positives being that the film was so bad it’s good. The film (of course) won a bunch of Razzies, and was the subject of mockery and memes before, after, and during its run in theaters. Hell, as soon as the trailer dropped, the film was mocked to death. Not helping was the rushed VFX which, again, was due to the team being under pressure from a draconian idiot who had no idea what he was doing. The film received an unprecedented bug fix, so to speak, in the form of an updated version with slightly better VFX that was shipped to theaters after the initial negative reaction. This obviously did nothing to help the movie’s reputation, of course. Hell, even in my initial review, I wasn’t super keen on the film. Most damning of all, though, was Andrew Lloyd Webber himself calling the film ridiculous, and even said "The problem with the film was that Tom Hooper decided that he didn’t want anybody involved in it who was involved in the original show."

But after ruminating on it, and after watching the film once more, I’ve decided to ask the usual question: Is it really that bad? It’s weird to ask this about a film that’s so new; I usually wait for hindsight to kick in, and look at older films considered bad. But even now, Cats is building up a reputation as a campy cult classic, with such figures as Martin “LittleKuriboh” Billamy watching the film with alarming frequency. And after reading the nightmarish behind the scenes and considering everything… yeah, I think this film deserves a re-evaluation.

This is going to be a little different, though: I’m sort of going to go through the film part by part, since this film has an interesting issue where, generally speaking, the first half is where the worst problems are, and the second half is where things start to pick up. So let’s get the bad out of the way first, then move onto the good.

THE BAD

So, I’m actually not going to pick on the VFX too much, and not just because of the horrible treatment of the VFX artists. In all honesty, the weird human/cat people, while not even remotely as cool as the insane costumes of the stage show, eventually stop being super distracting and kind of just become something you accept. Like, I’m not gonna pretend like this work is amazing, but I dunno, I think it gets harped on too much. There is some stuff that stands out as noticeably bad, though, and we’ll get to that.

A consistent problem with the film that I can’t even try to defend is the problem with the scaling. It’s seriously hard to tell how big these cats are supposed to be in relation to anything else. They honestly seem to change size from scene to scene. It’s seriously weird and baffling and there’s never any way to get a good sense of scale. Even when the cats are alongside mice and roaches, it just boggles the mind what size anything is actually supposed to be.

Mr. Mistoffelees, one of the most flamboyant and enjoyable characters of the stage show, is one of the biggest character issues with the film. Gone is the tricky, confident magician who prances and dances, and here is a meek, sniveling twerp who can barely do anything without tripping over himself. This is because the actor who plays him had a terrible audition that left him miserable due to a lack of singing and dance background. So, rather than find someone who could, you know, sing and dance, they decided to rewrite Mr. Mistoffelees into comic relief, which is just an insulting slap in the face. The cherry on top of course is how they straightwash the character and excise his homoerotic tension with Rum Tum Tugger, instead making him completely and totally straight and giving him a thing for Victoria. Out of everyone in the entire film, they did Mr. Mistoffelees the dirtiest.

Now, let’s get onto the actual “plot.” The film actually starts out fairly well, with some cool shots, good dancing, and some setup for Macavity, whose intro has a neat little nod to the fact he’s based on Moriarty. The issues don’t really start showing up until we reach the first of the Jellicle choices… Jennyanydots.

Jennyanydots is portrayed by Rebel Wilson, which is the first issue. Rebel Wilson is probably one of the worst actresses ever. She is just a horrendously, relentlessly unfunny human being, and she brings that exact quality to her role here. For her song, the vocal talent is secondary to the cringeworthy comedy Wilson puts on display. And yet, somehow, Wilson isn’t the worst part of the scene. No, that would be the horrendous CGI human-faced mice and roaches, which look like they came out of a PS3 game.

This horrendous spectacle is followed up with the appearance of Rum Tum Tugger, portrayed by Jason Derulo. I’m of two minds about this. On the one hand, I do think Derulo has the necessary egotistical celebrity swagger to play Rum Tum Tugger (especially when you consider he responded to negative criticisms of the film by calling the movie  “one of the greatest pieces of art ever made”) and his design is actually one of the better ones in the film, but on the other hand, his singing and the musical choice for his song are not very impressive and really just doesn’t work all too well. It’s at least something of a step up from Rebel Wilson and her CGI abominations, but that’s not really saying much, is it?

Next up we have Bustopher Jones, played by James Corden and, if I’m being totally honest… he’s not quite as awful as he could be. Corden is basically the male equivalent to Rebel Wilson, but at least while he’s singing he manages to be somewhat amusing, whimsical, and enjoyable even. The problem comes when he throws in jokes, including one where he claims to be self-conscious about his weight… a joke that occurs in the middle of his song where he is bragging about how fat he is. Talk about sending mixed messages. I wish I didn’t have to be so harsh on Bustopher, but sadly he is bogged down by really bad shtick.

Bustopher Jones also highlights a problem with the cats in this first half. These minor roles – Jennyanydots, Rum Tum Tugger, and Bustopher Jones – are all being played by relatively big celebrities, and as such they’re going to want a lot of time to sing. As a result, songs that were ensemble numbers on stage become more one-man songs here, with Bustopher Jones being the most egregious example, turning this positive fat character into a walking James Corden fat joke as he sings his own praises rather than having his praises sung.

Following him up we have Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer, who are usually fun characters with a fun little pseudo-villain song, but alas, they manage to screw that up by using a slow, jazzy version of the song originally used in earlier London productions rather than the more up-tempo version from later productions, making the song sound awkward and forgettable. Topping it all off is the bargain bin Mr. M popping in at the end for some wacky shenanigans, but at this point, the movie takes a turn towards…

THE GOOD

So as soon as Dame Judi Dench shows up as Old Deuteronomy, the film gets a sort of inverse of what happened at the start. Where the film starts somewhat awkward and promising, it slowly gets stupider and stupider when Rebel Wilson, Jason Derulo, and James Corden botch their scenes in the ways described above. Here, things start a bit shaky and unsure, but Dench is a sign things are about to pick up. What makes her so enjoyable is how, despite how utterly silly things are, she treats her role with the dignity and gravitas of something out of Shakespeare. The only thing as good as an actor in a silly movie like this going full-on ham and cheese is an actor treating their role dead serious and injecting it with such class and dignity you can’t help but enjoy it. Thankfully, Dench isn’t the only person to take her role seriously.

Jennifer Hudson as Grizabella technically appears briefly in the earlier portions of the film, but here we get to hear her belt out “Memory,” and by god does she do a fantastic job. The raw emotion and passion she injects into Grizabella is phenomenal, and it’s even more powerful when it comes back for its reprise in the finale. Victoria gets a sort of response song to “Memory,” called “Beautiful Ghosts,” and it’s a decent song in its own right, but you can tell it was a more modern composition and it just doesn’t gel super well with the rest of the songs. Still, all this is good stuff, and the “Memory”/”Beautiful Ghosts” scene is a nice, refreshing bit of emotion after the incredibly weird and silly extended dance number that is the Jellicle Ball.

The movie doesn’t stop pulling punches; shortly after Grizabella we are given Gus the theater cat, an elderly actor whose number is all about reminiscing of the old days of theater and his many stellar roles from days gone by. Naturally, the only actor who could possibly perform this role properly is Sir Ian McKellan. I am completely unironic when I say this: This is to McKellan what Patrick Stewart’s performance of Xavier in Logan is. This sounds ridiculous, but think of it: Gus is an aging thespian, clearly a bit senile and desiring to be reborn because he has reached the end of the line, and McKellan fills him with this genuine, incredibly honest performance that really makes you feel emotional. It’s powerful. It feels so personal and resonant, like McKellan has inserted some of his own feelings into his performance, which may very well be the case. Oh, and after his song Macavity kidnaps him with a big autograph book and apparates away while saying his name, which gets me every time.

And now, my friends, the lord and savior arrives: Skimbleshanks.

This is, hands down, the best scene in the entire film. Everything comes together here: the music is absolutely fantastic, the dancing is choreographed extremely well, and it’s clear that everyone involved is having a blast. This is a concentrated essence of what Cats should be, and it’s really a shame Hooper didn’t understand that this is the energy needed for the entire production. The most crucial element, of course, is Steven McRae, who not only has a lovely singing voice and looks dapper as all hell in his red suspenders, but is a tap dancing maniac. This man has feet of fire, and his tapping adds a whole new layer of fun to the song. Overall, this is a perfect scene, and probably one of my favorite scenes in any film ever. For a brief four minutes, everything about this film works. I literally have no idea why this cat wants to be reincarnated, he is straight balling in this life.

But the hits don’t stop! Right after this song, Taylor Swift descends from the ceiling, and we get “Macavity.” In the stage productions, this is a song sung by Bombalurina to describe how nasty Macavity is, since she’s traditionally a good cat; here, she’s reimagined as a villain, and so this song is basically her acting as Macavity’s hype man, singing his dastardly praises, and best of all, Macavity joins in at the end! I’m certainly not a Taylor Swift fan, but she really kills it here, and definitely makes this one of the best songs in the movie with her hilariously forced accent and insane energy. It’s just a shame that from here on out Macavity ditches his villainous pimp coat and is now a nude Idris Elba, but I suppose this is equivalent exchange for Skimbleshanks being so amazing.

While not as incredible as the previous two songs and not quite as good as the stage version due to the removal of the latent homoeroticism, Mr. Mistoffelees’s song is actually okay. It’s nice that he gets to sing his own praises here, but it’s just nothing compared to the stage version, even if it has a fun little finale and it actually is genuinely heartwarming when Old Deuteronomy returns and sings along. It’s a sweet moment that almost makes up for how much Mr. M has sucked the whole movie. Oh, also, all of the Jellicle choices Macavity kidnapped fight back against their captor Growltiger, with Skimbleshanks aggressively tapdancing at him and Gus using his acting skills to make him fall into the Thames. This is so goofy that it wraps back around to being awesome.

The movie winds down in the goofiest way possible after the gorgeous reprise of “Memory,” with Macavity being caught on a big sculpture and apparently running out of magic, leaving him stranded like a regular cat. Then we get one final fourth-wall breaking song where Judi Dench directly addresses the camera that has the music swell up to the point where it seems like the song is ending numerous times without actually ending, and each time is funnier than the last. Really, what better way could you end such a silly film than with this?

Now, a general thing that’s great about the film is the choreography. The dancing in the movie is spectacular. I don’t really have a bad thing to say about it. And, in a broad sense, the music is good too, even if the singers aren’t always perfect, the backing tracks are great, and there’s a lot of fun in the tracks in the latter half of the movie. McRae and Taylor Swift’s contributions in particular are great, and Hudson’s version of “Memory” is incredibly powerful, as is McKellan’s take on Gus’ song.

Is It Really THAT Bad?

No.

Look, it’s hard to be like “Wow this is a fantastic masterpiece of film” or anything like that, because the movie has blatant and evident problems. But this is literally the reason I made this review series; I’m asking if the movie is really as bad as people say, and in this case, no, there’s too much genuinely enjoyable in the film for me to say it’s deserving of several Razzies and a spot on the Bottom 100 of IMDB that places it above Master of Disguise and The Emoji Movie. Like, seriously? This is worse than the 90 minute commercial starring the abusive dick who called a bomb threat on his girlfriend? Hell, this movie is rated worse than Artemis Fowl, which is definitely a contender for the worst film ever made (and amusingly enough also features Judi Dench in it). Artemis Fowl has next to no redeeming qualities in it, and it certainly doesn’t have Skimbleshanks, whereas Cats has several fun scenes and also has Skimbleshanks.

I definitely think there’s more of an argument for this film being so bad it’s good or camp at best, but it’s definitely more enjoyable than you’d think it would be. If you can learn to live with the weird CGI, it’s a fun, goofy romp that you might find yourself feeling for at times. After my second watch, I have to say… I’ve started to unironically enjoy this movie. It might even be one of my favorites of all time. I can’t even deny that it has a lot of stuff I don’t like, and it falls flat in a lot of ways the 1998 film soars, and it screwed up some of my favorite characters… but there are so many moments where the fun and heart of Cats shines through brighter than it has any right to, and all the failures of Hooper and Universal seem distant for a just a few minutes.

So yeah, is this movie good all around? No way. But is it fun, does it have value, and is there more redeeming qualities than the critics let on? Oh yes there is.

#Is it really that bad #IIRTB #review #movie review #Cats #Cats 2019 #Andrew Lloyd Webber #musical #so bad it's good #Tom Hooper #Judi Dench #Rebel Wilson #James Corden #Jason Derulo #Taylor Swift #Idris Elba #Sir Ian McKellan #Steven McRae

[barrysjumpsuit]

blindsided - oc x rafe cameron (ch. 2)

me??? posting chapters two days in a row???? (who is she)

part one

word count: 3k

warnings: abuse and mentions of past abuse, cannabis use, cocaine use, mentions of sex, plot/timing holes (just dont think abt canon too much it’s pretty loose)

synopsis:  christy is a lifelong resident of the outer banks. after a series of hookups with rafe cameron, kook royalty, she’s smitten. what she doesn’t know is about what her boyfriend and brother are involved in behind her back

a/n: really enjoying how this is coming along bc i’m totally just making it up as i go. ya boy jj makes an appearance in this one!! and BARRY!!!! next chapter has more plot i PROMISE 

 --------

The sun was about to set as Christy arrived home.

“Home” was a relative term. She lived in a trailer with a leaky roof, messy yard, and weird smell. Strange people she didn’t know were always there, and it was hard to truly feel at peace when she was there. The only thing that kept her coming back, especially after getting with Rafe, was her brother. 

Barry truly was the only thing she had left. The two of them had always been as thick as thieves – they still were, but their own respective businesses had changed them. Christy just grew and sold a bit of weed. She made a couple hundred bucks here and there, mostly targeting tourists. Barry’s dealings were much more illegal, and all the bad things that came with selling blow naturally happened at her house. 

She could hear the crackling of a fire as she rounded the corner of the trailer. Barry and a couple others sat there, whooping and hollering. “Look who finally decided to make an appearance,” she heard her brother yell. He raised a beer in the air as if to make a toast. “My favorite sister!” 

“Just making sure you’re not twitched out somewhere, B,” Christy said back, not altering her path to the door. Right as she went to pull open the screen door, someone pushed it open, stumbling out of the trailer. “Excuse you.” 

“Watch your mouth when you speak to me, little girl,” the man growled at her. 

“I’m the one who lives here,” Christy replied flatly, not budging, and the man suddenly had her pinned to the wall of the trailer, a forearm pressing against her throat. 

“Yo Luke, lay off of her!” she heard Barry call. Her hands were grabbing at Luke Maybank’s arm, her eyes forced to meet his. His pupils were blown up and delirious. “What the fuck, man!” 

Barry pried Luke off of her, and Christy leaned against the cheap railing on the front steps to catch her breath. “Get the fuck out of here,” she heard Barry tell him before he turned to her. “Bro, you good? Where have you been the past few days?” 

“I’m fine,” Christy said. Her heart felt like it was going to beat through her chest. Barry reached out to grab her shoulder, but she instinctively flinched away. “I’ve been staying with someone.” 

She was aware of Barry watching her as she pulled open the screen door and went into the trailer. It was hot and stuffy. Inevitably, somewhere, something was growing mold, and they would have to deal with it like they had to almost every other time a storm knocked out power. It made her feel guilty as hell, knowing she was staying with Rafe in his kook mansion, while her brother was stuck here, alone, with whatever coked out friends he had with him. 

After deciding there was nothing she wanted to eat, Christy made her way through the messy living room and down the hallway to her bedroom. She kept the door locked. Fishing the key out of her back pocket, she unlocked the padlock and stepped into her bedroom. 

Her plants were moved hastily in front of her window, since the power knocked out the lights they normally sat under. They took up most of the space in her bedroom, and they also occupied her parent’s old bedroom. Christy couldn’t be bothered to water them; she just took off her shirt and laid on her bed, sweaty and with nothing to do. 

She rolled over, pulling out an already loaded bowl and lighter from her nightstand. Pushing herself up, Christy brought the pipe to her lips and lit up, breathing deeply and bringing the smoke into her lungs. She blew out a thick cloud, almost having to cough. The greens were strong but tasted good. She took another hit, then another, before leaning back and closing her eyes. 

It was almost unnerving to think about how quickly she had fallen for Rafe. They sporadically hooked up throughout the past couple years. A lot of times they were each other’s rebound. Other times, it was at parties. Despite being from the Cut, Christy was often welcome at kook parties, going where her brother wouldn’t dare going to move product. She didn’t like having a middle man. Grow, harvest, sell, consume. That’s how she liked her bud to go. 

She knew Barry and Rafe had a history. But Barry has beef with a lot of people, and so did Rafe. Christy didn’t side with either. Rafe hadn’t paid Barry enough, failing to hold his end of the deal. But Barry had ripped Rafe off, knowing his family had more than enough money to repay him. It spiralled from there until they fought and beat each other an inch from death. Since then, Rafe had cleaned up his act as well as sobered up, and she hadn’t seen him at her place since. It was better that way. She didn’t have to worry about the crossover between her relationship with him and her relationship with her brother. 

Barry was a shitty person. Everyone knew that. He moved more cocaine than anyone else on the island. It was impossible for him to hold onto a relationship for more than a week or two. He had a temper, and a mouth and fists to back it up. Despite this, Christy knew he was her lifeline, and she was his. Whenever they had to run errands or go anywhere on the island, they tried to go together. Safety in numbers. 

Both of them had people that hated them. 

Barry more so than Christy, but they both had enemies. It was just how the politics of drug dealing worked. Christy mainly targeted tourists, playing her cards smartly. In and out, one and done. She premeasured the bud into $10 bags, or as joints using cigarettes. It was a big hit. At each kegger she went to, she could usually pull two or three hundred bucks. 

Christy took another hit before inspecting her pipe. A friend of hers had blown and crafted it for her birthday this past winter. It was a swirling design of pinks, yellows, and oranges. It looked like a sunset; every night, she would smoke on their west-facing dock and watch the sunset. 

Except tonight. The sky was dark by the time she made her way outside. Barry was no longer by the fire, which was dying. Two of his buddies were still there, laughing at something funny only to them. Christy walked past them, down the dock and onto their little boat. She sat down next to Barry, their shoulders lightly touching on the small bench seat. 

Her mind was still racing, and she lit her bowl again. “You’re not going to that kook party tonight?” Barry asked, his voice still with its disinterested tone. 

“Nah. With the power out I’m not sure how much bud I’m going to able to get through this. They need light to grow.” 

“I’ve been rotatin’ them in front of the windows for you. And watering them,” Barry said. She could tell he was coming down from a high he had likely been riding all day. 

Christy could also tell he brought this up for a reason. 

“How much short are we?” she asked quietly. “I can see if I can pick up extra shifts.” 

He shook his head beside her before putting his head in his hands. “I don’t know man, but we’re short. Fuckin’ Agatha fucked us over, man. I can’t get any more for another couple weeks and I don’t have much left.” 

“A lot of mine won’t be ready to harvest for a few weeks. Shit, B, why didn’t you tell me?” 

“It’s not like you were here,” he said. His words stung, and I knew he was right. “It’s not like you’re ever here anymore except to smoke pot.” 

“Barry,” Christy said, trying to be as stern as possible. “I’ve been working every fucking day. Agatha scared people away, so I’m not making good tips. It’ll bounce back soon, okay? I’ll make ends meet. Every time I come home you’re just blitzed to high heaven off your own product. You’re as guilty as I am.” 

Her brother’s shoulders shook with a laugh, and he wiped his nose with a forearm while she took another hit. “I suppose so. You’ve got something on your neck, by the way. Who’s that from?” 

Christy stiffened and almost launched into a coughing fit, and Barry knew he caught her. He looked over at her, expecting an answer after she exhaled the smoke. “Some tourist I met the other night at a kegger. Thought he could strike a deal with me.” 

“Hmmm,” Barry mused. She couldn’t tell if he was buying it or not. “You’ve gotta be careful with them tourons and kooks, never know how they’re gonna use you.” 

The weed had hit her enough so that Barry’s words didn’t fully register in her brain. “They’re always up to something,” she agreed. The swaying of the boat underneath her was an odd feeling and she leaned back in the seat, throwing an arm on the back of the seat behind Barry. 

The stars were brilliant on the south side of the island, with no light pollution to drown them out. Two nights ago, she and Rafe sat on the roof of the Cameron house, looking at the same sky, but the lights were so bright you could see only a handful of the stars. 

It was the simplicity of being a pogue that Christy liked. She didn’t have to worry about her social life or schedule outside of work. She didn’t have to worry about her image. She didn’t have to worry about businesses or making people happy or petty things that Rafe worried about. She could do what she wanted, when she wanted.

With the sky stretching endlessly above her, she felt like she was inside a dome. Like she was in a snowglobe. Agatha was the shake, mixing everything and everyone up. Now, the snowflakes were settling into new positions. Some were unstable, perched on plastic trees or people or houses, bound to fall to the ground. Some were already on the ground, back to their original positions. Others still, small little pieces of glitter, swirled around in the liquid inside. 

She didn’t want to inevitably settle back into her old life. It was too mindless and mundane. Wake up, work at The Wreck, sell weed to tourists, hook up with random people. It was repetitive. Christy wanted something with meaning and risk. What was the view like, perched on top of the tallest tree in the snowglobe? Sure, it had potential to fall back to the ground like all the other pieces of snow. But there was also potential to stay there, seeing things no one else could and experiencing something it hadn’t experienced before. 

Maybe Rafe was her tree. Holding her up with supportive branches, his roots deep into the soil of Tannyhill. He was here to stay, at least for now. 

Maybe it was Christy’s turn to join him.

--

By four in the afternoon, Christy was done with her day. 

She woke up early, tending to her plants before locking up the two rooms and heading to work. The morning shifts were her favorite. Less asshole tourists and more local residents. Christy knew them well, making polite small talk with the older people and getting plenty of tips. Working at The Wreck was nice. It gave Christy a sense of anonymity, making her feel less like a pogue and more like a normal person. For her work shifts she cleaned up nicely, interacting with people who didn’t know about her relation to Barry or her side hustle. 

After Christy clocked out for the afternoon after her ten hour shift, she shouldered her backpack and lazily threw her apron over one shoulder. Under her work clothes she wore her swimsuit, ready for an afternoon of surfing with Rafe and his friends. 

Stepping outside into the bright sun, she saw Kiara talking with her friends. Christy liked Kiara – she was one of her closer friends, but their relationship didn’t touch the bond she had with those three boys. Christy was friendly enough with them, and she gave them a wave as she walked past. 

“Hey, Christy!” 

A voice called out behind her and she turned around to see JJ jog up to her. John B rolled his eyes as he left the group to follow Christy. “Yeah, JJ?” she asked. 

“Hey, uh, we’re going to have a kegger at the Boneyard tonight, if you’d like to come. I’d like to do some business with you.” 

“How much you want?” Christy asked, ignoring any euphemisms people often use when asking for weed. “You better claim yours now, I’m running low.” 

“You and everyone else on the island,” JJ said, smiling. “Five grams?” 

“You got it, I can bring it to you tonight.” Christy pulled her cigarette carton from her pocket, taking one out and lighting it. “By the way, tell your father it’s rude to assault people at their own home and my brother doesn’t want to see him again for some time.” 

JJ’s face dropped. “What did he do? Did he hurt you?” 

She blew out the smoke before answering. “Pinned me against a wall. Nothing that hasn’t happened before, but… B’s stressed out and it won’t be good for either of them or for us if he sees him any time soon.” Christy lowered her voice slightly. “If he needs any blow, let me know and I can be a middle man. Okay?” 

“He’s a piece of shit,” JJ muttered, not answering her question. 

“JJ,” Christy said sternly, and JJ’s wandering eyes returned to meet hers. “Give him my contact information. I’ll deal with it so you don’t have to. Okay?” 

“He’s not your problem,” JJ said, but Christy knew she got through to him as good as she could. “Thanks, Christy. I’ll see you tonight?” 

“You got it,” Christy answered, giving him a playful salute with the hand that held her cigarette. At that, they turned away from each other and she started off to where she told Rafe she would meet him to go surfing. 

The cigarette gave her a slight buzz. It felt like a warm hug, enveloping her. That little bit of pep was what she needed, coming off an early morning and long shift. Pretty soon, the pavement turned into sand, and she could see several figures ahead holding surf boards. 

“How was work, baby?” Rafe asked as she walked up to them. He pulled her into a kiss before she could answer. Christy’s hands rested on his bare shoulders, standing on her tiptoes in the sand to reach his lips. 

“It was good,” she replied. “Glad I’m here and not there, though.” 

Kelce fake gagged at her words, and Rafe rolled his eyes at him. “Fuck off, Kelce,” Rafe said, kicking sand towards him. Rafe was wearing his sea foam green board shorts, the color glowing against his tanned skin. 

“He’s just jealous,” Christy cooed, walking away from Rafe to give Kelce a hug. “It’s okay Kelce, I love you too.” 

“Oh wait a second, was that the L word?” Topper asked, breaking Christy and Kelce apart. Topper looked from Christy to Rafe, raising his eyebrows. 

Christy looked at Rafe, who jumped in. “Sure was, Top,” he said nonchalantly. “Now can we shut the fuck up and get into the water?” 

Kelce gave Christy a confused look at Rafe’s short temper, and Christy just shrugged. They had brought her board, which she left at Rafe’s house. After taking off her clothes, much to the boys’ delight, she slipped the band around her ankle and the four of them started towards the water. 

It was a good evening for waves. The water was refreshing, and it was nice to do something normal after Agatha. Rafe’s idea of a date defaulted to a ride on the Druthers, as if to wow her, followed by expensive wine and sex on the boat. It was nice, and she enjoyed it, but Christy had had sex on plenty of boats and it was never her favorite thing.

Surfing with Rafe and his friends was much more up her alley. She was a good surfer, and Rafe knew it. While they were on the water, Topper and Kelce gave him shit for having his ass owned by hers. Christy countered right back, pointing out that she was also owning their asses. It gave her a small victory: something she was better at than the kooks.

They tired quickly, and Christy mentioned the kegger at the Boneyard. “Bring Sarah, it’ll be like a double date,” she told Topper, much to Kelce’s dismay. “And Kelce, look at you. You’re gorgeous, all wet and glistening and half naked. Just stand in the water like that tonight and the girls will be all over you. I’ll make it my personal mission to find you someone.” 

The kooks were never one to turn down a party, especially one with easy pickings for both fights and girls. Topper called Sarah while they were walking back to Rafe’s truck; they put their boards in the bed and Christy climbed into the front seat, while Topper and Kelce crammed into the back of the cab. 

“She’ll come,” Topper reported. Rafe dropped off Kelce before driving to the Cameron estate.

Topper left to find Sarah, while Rafe took Christy to his bedroom. “Can I shower?” she asked, and he nodded. 

The Camerons had hot running water. Another thing she didn’t have on the Cut. It brought up those conflicting emotions again, as she remembered hearing Barry grumble about not being able to shower, which was a very non-Barry thing to complain about. Christy had insisted he use some of the distilled water she had for her plants, but he refused. 

She would have to swing back home before the party tonight to get weed, both for JJ and the tourists. Not much was left – she wanted some to keep for herself, but she needed money. 

Christy really didn’t want Rafe anywhere near her place. 

She just had to hope Barry was out, and that no one was there, or things could get bad.

----

taglist (reply, reblog, or ask to be added!!!) @stargazingstarkey @letsgofullkook @macchiatohno @ampanonyg @hoeforpankow @jjsmentalpolaroids @drewstarkey @obbx-tings @bricksatanakinswindow

#outer banks #rafe cameron #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfiction #jj maybank #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fanfiction #drew starkey #rudy pankow #john b routledge #kiara carrera #sarah cameron

[subwalls]

WHUMPTOBER 2021 - 6/30

No. 6 - TOUCH AND GO bruises | touch starved | hunger

Also available on AO3!

The first time George crosses the void, it’s to attend his best friend’s funeral.

Mostly for the purposes of rejecting it altogether. 

“You know he’s not dead, right?” George says. He adjusts his goggles, pressing tenderly at the indents the frame leaves on his face. “Let’s just get out of here. He doesn’t die that easily.”

“I know,” Sapnap says, frustrated. “I know he’s not dead. He’s just gone .” 

George can’t argue that. Neither of them remember their friend’s name—that’s damning enough, even without the week Sapnap spent nearly scalding the inside of his skull, scouring the city with the All-Seeing Eyes of the Gods without care for how much heat they generated, only for the search to turn out without so much as a grain of evidence that their friend even existed at all.

That’s the problem, George is pretty sure. The All-Seeing Eyes peel back the bells and whistles of lies and magic, exposing nothing but the raw truth of the world around them.

And the truth is that invisible werewolves can disappear themselves so thoroughly they can make the world be as though they never existed to begin with.

The Eyes can’t see them because there is nothing to see. 

Allegedly.

George is well aware that he shouldn’t know this. If their friend truly diluted his existence so thinly that nobody could find him, then neither he nor Sapnap should even remember that he existed. But they do; they remember his pronouns, even—and, if George strains for the faintest edges of his memory, the sound of his laughter.

So there are traces. It’s not a perfect vanishing act, which means there has to be a way to reverse it.

George tells Sapnap as much, when they leave the… gathering of people forgetting that they’re mourning even as they do it. Sapnap nods in agreement.

“Phil said most of the invisible werewolves have a token of some kind,” Sapnap says. “Like, a cypher that can bring them back. They tried to do it with this person, but it didn’t work.”

“What was it?”

“I think it had something to do with the Eyes? He didn’t tell me the details. It’s private.”

A part of George wants to snipe that they must not have been good friends then, if such a key detail couldn’t be shared with them. 

Logically, he’s certain that they did know, at some point. It just faded along with the rest of their memories of him.

“Okay,” says George. “We don’t need a cypher of whatever anyway.” He brings his hands up to his goggles, but the moment his fingers brush the cool, pitch-black glass, he hesitates.

It’s funny. The memory of that event—the figure leaning out of the sky with unending wings and crossed halos and an unmarked sphere of pale light that spoke so softly, choose who will see this through to the End —it’s glitchy, like a trying to straighten out a crumpled-up photo. The lines of wear and tear are there.

George knows that people have opinions about his friends jumping into SMP City without him, about his blacked-out goggles and their unnaturally glowing blue eyes. Most of them assume they left him behind, sacrificed his flawed sight to split the rewards between them both—Sapnap has whined about it before, most recently in the context of that Blood Breed conflict that roped him into the Syndicate.

In reality, George never gave up anything.

Or, better phrased: George was the only one who didn’t give something up.

He shoves the goggles up, and the All-Seeing Eyes of the Gods spring open with the near-musical string of notes that aren’t unlike the chimes of a computer’s start-up sequence.

Immediately, a headache of information slams into him with all the force of a ten-inch steel wall, WALL WALL BRICK BACKROOM DOOR AND STAIRWAYS DOWN A HUNDRED SOULS IN A CONCRETE ARENA ENDER FLESH BREAKING NETHER BLOOD DRIPPING HUMA CROWDS WATCHING WATCH WATCH—

George shudders in a breath, the blue-tinted view of his surroundings fizzling too-bright too-much, and he can almost hear someone in the back of his head, chiding, “If you’d just practiced instead of shutting it down and pretending like you don’t have it, George, you could easily handle that neural load by now. I’m telling you, you can’t keep pretending it isn’t there!”

George says, “I hate this part.”

Sapnap laughs at him. George turns towards him on instinct and sees the star-riddled void under that cloth eyepatch, a dead eye in form but a vacuum in function, A DEBT INCURRED A DEBT REPAID SIGHT FOR SIGHT AN EYE FOR AN EYE AND THE HOLE LEFT BEHIND AS THE HIGHER HAND TAKES AND THE HIGHER HAND GIVES AND THE CONTRACT REMAINS THE CONTRACT REMAINS—

—and oh, oh, he knows how to do it, he knows what to look for. 

If you could back out of a divine contract by just dissipating, then it wouldn’t be much of a divine contract, would it? Here stands George and Sapnap, two-thirds or maybe two-fourths of a contract etched in song and history and the pupils of their eyes. The other parties must exist.

They already do; the Eyes hum, blitzing through reams upon reams of information, lighting up not just George’s face but Sapnap’s as well, and because they exist, so must be the one who paid for their existence.

( Choose who will see this through to the End. )

(“If you have to take something, take it from me!”)

(We forgive your transgression. But we do not revoke the payment we have taken.)

(“Fine by me. This is better than what it was gonna be, anyway.”)

George’s eyes burn, escalating to an awful, awful heat that feels like it’s going to boil the blood in his veins, but still he sees, still he looks for those hairline fractures in reality, A SHADOW WAS HERE AND A FOOTSTEP THERE SEE IT SEE IT IT IS TRUE SO MAKE IT TRUE—

The gears of light twist, shrieking out some incomprehensible song, crackling with power in front of his eyes, and he can taste blood in the back of his throat and on his lips and it’s dripping to the floor now but still he looks.

A pressure on his wrist, tight enough to bruise.

“Okay,” rasps a SHADOW SILHOUETTE FIGMENT OF PRESENCE DRAWN BACK TOGETHER figure that flickers, wavering. “Stop, stop it, that’s enough, I’m here, I’m here—”

George slams his other hand over that pressure at his wrist and feels at first only the rough fabric of his own jacket, but then, abruptly, the softer cotton of a warm jumper.

“Turn them off, oh my god,” says—says—says Dream, waving his free hand through the light of the Eyes like he’s trying to dismiss them, just barely shuttering back into some normal level of existence. His grip on George tightens, desperate; his good eye meets George’s gaze pleadingly, while his other, an identical match to Sapnap’s, remains a featureless expanse of stars. “You’re going to roast the one brain cell you have left, you idiot, turn them off—”

George shuts his Eyes, and the stream of information dies abruptly. The silence in his head leaves him reeling, for a second, which gives Sapnap just enough time to scream in fury and tackle Dream to the ground, dragging George down with them.

“Don’t do that!” Sapnap shrills, making an aborted movement like he wants to strangle the life out of Dream but isn’t sure he won’t just give way under his touch. “You’re the worst, you’re the actual worst—”

“ What? How? I didn’t—”

“—and you suck, and the next time you get cornered by a Blood Breed you gotta call for help before you get muffined—”

The two of them fall into bickering so easily it’s comforting, like a backdrop of rain, just a wash of noise so smooth out the ruffled edges the Eyes left behind.

George reaches up, catching Dream’s arm before he can elbow Sapnap into oblivion. “You’re so annoying,” he tells him. “You said you specifically came here so you I didn’t have to use these things.”

“Well,” Dream says, “that’s not the only reason.”

“Still! You broke your promise!”

“I didn’t promise anything,” Dream complains, warm and alive and more present than ever. “You’re just being a baby. Both of you are.”

Sapnap shifts, and George pulls his goggles back over his eyes just in time to see Dream go still as Sapnap practically cradles his head between his hands.

“Remember what we said about us being your token?” Sapnap asks.

“Mhm.”

“I’m taking it back.” And then, as Dream’s face crumples, “I mean! I know you can’t like, change it, because it’s what makes you want to go come back no matter what and that stuff. But you can’t do this again, Dream. You were gone.” His voice lowers. “We barely knew you.”

Something in Dream’s gaze cracks, and he’s pushing himself up, clipping distractedly through them. Sapnap and George scramble upright as he sits primly a clean inch away from them both and says, “I know, but it’s not like I wanted to. I got snuck up on, okay? It’s not like I like being—being less, and untouchable, and spreading myself so thin I can’t feel anything at all.” 

He shudders, then, and some of the color bleeds from his clothes.

“It doesn’t feel great for me, either, Pandas,” Dream says, and Sapnap makes a wounded noise and lurches forward to wrap him in a hug.

George watches them, for a moment, and nearly envisions a void yawning wide between them before he realizes that Sapnap is pulling him into it too, and now they’re all wrapped around each other and stifling laughter about it, and it’s warm, and oh, George has been alone—on the other side of the void, reluctant to step past the dragon’s den—for so long now.

He’s missed this. The bracing tightness of Sapnap squeezing them like he’s got something to prove, the low hum in Dream’s chest as he relaxes, George’s own skin feeling almost too tight for the nostalgia that wells up in his throat, almost too warm to lean into it, but also offended at the very thought of trying to extract himself from it.

“How’s this,” Dream says, cautiously, muffled against Sapnap’s shoulder, “we let George move in with you, you Sap, and I—”

“Stop sleeping in the Syndicate’s offices and join us?” Sapnap says, poking fun.

“It’s comfortable,” Dream grumbles. “And there’s free food. And no biased landlord.”

George squints at him. “Is this about the Huma-only thing?” he says, and Sapnap nods quickly. “Isn’t your whole thing about avoiding that kind of stuff, Dream? How does a landlord affect you at all?”

Dream opens his mouth, stops, and then shuts it. And then, “Shut up.”

“Wow,” Sapnap says. “I think you left a few brain cells behind when you came back.”

Dream shoves his head away, messing up Sapnap’s hair. “The only thing I left behind was my breakfast,” he declares. “I’m hungry. Can we go get something to eat now, instead of sitting in a… random alley in the middle of nowhere?” He looks around, only just now noticing that they are, in fact, sitting in a random alley in the middle of nowhere. “Is this—where are we?”

Sapnap perks up. “Oh, yeah,” he says, “while we were looking for you, I—George—we saw what looked like one of those underground fighting rings. The entrance is kinda close to here. D’you think it’s that Las Nevadas crew Phil and Tech have been looking for?”

“Only one way to find out,” Dream says cheerfully, and looks at George.

George sputters. “I-I can’t believe you. I set my eyeballs on fire for you,” he says, indignant, “and this is how you repay me? By asking for more?”

Sapnap laughs, knocking their heads together, and something in George’s chest settles with a burst of rightness. “Maybe later,” he says. “Dream’s right, I’m starving. And tired. Your Eyes suck, George.”

“Thanks, you bought them for me,” George says, at the same time that Dream says, “I’m always right.”

#my fics #i wanted so badly to write this from dre's pov but im saving that for tmr