Q. Do you ever miss her?
It's 3.17pm when he kisses her for the first time since the beach and the bridge and the trial. He ducks one hand into his pocket as he does, the other sweeping loose blonde strands from her face as it combs into her hair. Veronica doesn't argue, doesn't pretend to be shocked – she just pushes herself up on tip toes, leaning as close to him as she can without tipping off balance. Their bodies aren't touching at all and it seems right that there should be something for them to work towards – some distance to overcome.
His mouth hovers over hers as they break away, only inches remaining between them. The hand in her hair adjusts as he runs a thumb across her cheekbone. His lips twist as if around the word 'sorry' but neither has the time to hear as her hands reach the back of his neck, pulling his parted mouth against hers firmly as she presses the line of her body against his – closing the gap between them. He pulls his hand out from his pocket, letting it rest on her hip just above her own.
When she pulls back her eyes are wide and he doesn't hold her. The hand in her hair slips away and he shoves his other hand back into his pocket awkwardly. Logan nods at her, foot shuffling on the warm tarmac and Veronica's not quite sure what to make of it. As he turns to leave she raises one hand in a half-wave – not certain that goodbye is really appropriate.
Q. Does it ever bother you, what people say?
She doesn't kiss him during school. Sometimes if no one's looking then she will press a quick peck against his closed mouth, or let her thumb curl up over his hand, but generally they don't have any physical relationship in the grounds of Neptune High. They don't meet in janitor's closets or the bathroom or behind the infamous bike shed – they just wait until they see each other next, usually it's not very long.
People talk, of course they do, but since they have no evidence they have no story. The 09ers will always sub to Logan's version of events when pressured. That's why he can drive her home if he feels like it and she can meet him on the beach, gather the front of his shirt and catch a lip between her teeth – if she feels like it. The gossip about them seems so uncontroversial that it quickly fades away.
Veronica taps her fingers on the dash in an irregular rhythm, leaning her head back into the seat as she tries to ignore the group of sophomores whispering about them across the parking lot. Logan's taking his time with the music and the A/C and generally getting the hell out of dodge.
He looks up, taking in what she's watching. After a moment he catches her gaze, smiling dangerously at her with his mouth closed. "Why not give them a show?" he mumbles leaning over to catch her in a heavy kiss as his hand skims up under her shirt.
She's tempted to kiss him back, but she's laughing too hard – pushing him off she runs a hand through her hair and he grins. She can't help but return the expression as their audience gets wide-eyed and embarrassed, flitting away quickly with this new social ammo. She punches him in the arm, shaking her head in amusement. "You scared them."
He rubbed his arm absentmindedly. "I think you scared them with that reputation of yours."
"Which is no better thanks to you," she shot back.
"You're welcome."
Q. Do you ever wish for something more?
They aren't together. Not in the strictest sense. Although they talk and kiss and make out in private they haven't ever verbalized their relationship, it just seems like needless tension and commitment that neither of them are really ready for. She doesn't kiss any other boys and he doesn't kiss any other girls but they are certainly not an actual couple. That's far too complicated and a lot less comfortable than whatever they have worked out between them.
Logan rolls off the bed, reaching out a hand to pull her up. Veronica sighs reluctantly as she stands, "I should get home."
He draws her in mumbling against her lips, "yeah, probably," he breaks away, "come on, I'll drive you."
Veronica shakes her head with a smile. "It's cool."
"No, y'know, I want to," he insists.
"Logan, my car's just down the street."
"Okay, sure," he takes a step back, withdrawing from her.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
She nods quietly, "okay. I'm just—I'm gonna go."
"See you," he mutters, gaze on the carpet.
"Yeah," she takes a small breath, "bye."
Q. Does it ever get you down?
Her fingertips trail up his knuckles, trying to coax his hands out of the fists he has held tightly on the table. He doesn't look up at her, just keeps staring at the rim of his coffee cup as she barely strokes his skin. Logan doesn't even drink coffee, but it's hard to crack out a fake ID when everybody knows who you are, and nowhere else is open at this time of night.
Nothing extraordinary has happened. Just sometimes – when he dwells on things – they all seem a little too much to deal with on your own. It's nights like these that she becomes less like a girlfriend and more like the girl he knew platonically, mostly because when he gets like this Logan can't bear to be touched. Human contact has never, ever brought him much solace and he's not stupid enough to think that kissing her, or even fucking her – now, like this – would make things okay.
Her fingers are on his wrist now, like they are searching for a pulse. He shifts, slightly uncomfortable about her exploring the sensitive skin under his arm that is littered with veins and tiny little bones.
She doesn't stop touching him, but she does move away from his wrist – settling her hands so that her thumb is pressed into the nook between his thumb and index finger. The heel of her hand rests, a little clammy; on the sticky table top and he looks up from the bitter brown substance this diner is trying to pass off as coffee.
She tries to smile but her mouth is tight, and he point blank refuses to cry so his jaw is too tense to smile back.
"The pancakes are good," she attempts in vain.
He doesn't respond.
"Waffles?"
He remains silent.
"Toast?"
"I don't want anything to eat, Veronica," he bites out.
"Okay," she gestures towards his coffee, "are you going to drink that?"
He pushes it across the table towards her in response.
She shakes her head. "I don't want it."
Logan pulls it back and lets the cup just sit between his hands, the tepid warmth seeping through the thick ceramic. No bone china here. Veronica doesn't reach out to him again – she would really like to crawl into his lap and wrap herself around him, say that he will be okay – but she doesn't bother. He wouldn't let her if she tried.
Q. Do you ever feel normal?
When they're out he buys her ice cream and chips and soda. She doesn't really approve and it's not an agreement, but whenever he decides it's time to refuel he buys twice the amount of food required – and what girl is going to turn down ice cream or diet soda? It's the closest they get to date-mentality and although occasionally the amount he pays for makes her nervous Veronica lets it slide. If they argue about it then that means defining boundaries and therefore their relationship.
She doesn't want to label this. It doesn't fit any of the predefined categories, and she knows that sounds pretentious but it doesn't matter because she won't ever have to say it out loud if she can help it. Logan seems to agree as he steals a handful of her chips, not bothering to apologize and settling back against the uncomfortable outside chairs – chained to the restaurant but bathed in sun.
He pushes a can of diet soda in front of her, setting down a full-sugar one on his side of the table. She eyes him for a moment before swapping the cans around.
"It'll rot your teeth," she warns playfully.
"It'll make you fat," he counters, switching the cans back.
Veronica presses her lips together, giving him an unimpressed glare as she snaps back the ring pull – listening to the hissing crack of metal breaking open. They both settle back into their chairs and there is a moment more silence before he starts:
"You're not fat though."
She laughs at his awkward backtracking and completely fails to maintain her faux-pout.
Q. Do you think this will end well?
Christmas is awkward – for the first time they have a reason to solidify whatever they are indulging in, but neither knows if the other necessarily wants to. She doesn't know whether or not to get him a present, he doesn't know how much to spend and neither know if they'll even be in town for the day itself and whether they should break convention and their own unwritten rules by making plans to see each other before then.
He turns up on her doorstep, Christmas Eve, his hand closed around a small package wrapped in shiny gold paper with tacky metallic red ribbon. It looks like he's wrapped it himself.
Logan's mouth quirks in greeting and she takes a step out onto the cold porch, barefoot and in pajama pants as she closes the door behind her. He shrugs uncomfortably, pressing the small gift into her hand.
"Merry Christmas, or whatever."
"Thanks," she replies nervously, fingers working at the ribbon, "I didn't get you anything," she regrets but Logan just waves her off. By the time Veronica gets down to the paper his own fingers are tapping a nervous rhythm against the banister and she just tears the wrapping away, losing all semblance of being careful and delicate.
Inside is a small rape whistle attached to a long, black cord. It's shiny and silver and maybe, she thinks, his detached way of making sure she is okay. He swallows, waiting for a response as she stares carefully at the small object in the palm of her hand.
Veronica drops the paper, letting the cord fall around her wrist as she pushes herself against him forcefully – sending them back against the banister as her mouth grabs at his. Tongue pressing hot and fast past his lips as she wraps one arm around his neck, pulling her closer, higher, her other hand knotting itself in his hair. Logan responds, a warm hand pressing tightly into the small of her back – bringing Veronica flush against him.
The sound of Keith's voice breaks them apart with a start. "Veronica, honey, the movie's starting!" resonates from inside.
She gives Logan an apologetic smile which he returns with a shrug of his mouth. "Merry Christmas," she offers with the smallest hint of a grin.
As he turns to leave Veronica pockets the whistle and she thinks that maybe, if her dad wasn't home, she would have invited Logan in and maybe, if that had happened, she would have slept with him. It was Christmas Eve after all – horribly romantic things happen over the holidays.
Instead she pads softly back inside the apartment to join her dad and a movie, a faint smile catching the edges of her lips.