a/n: for my soulmate, bee (lucyharding), whom i adore with every fiber of my being and legit one of my favorite people to talk to, especially when i'm feeling down. love you, always and forever!
WHY TRY
By: lucians
(Beta: Goth Albino Angel)
'Oh baby, look at us, we been living like angels, living like devils.'
She's doing it again.
It takes Lucy approximately ten minutes to snap from her trance and be cognizant of her shameful actions. It takes even more time to ease away the accumulated jitters from her distraught thoughts and focus on what really matters.
As instructed by her makeup artist, Lucy purses her lips, feeling the slick sensation of the creamy lip-liner glide against the circumference. Immorally, she's performing her best in impersonating a woman who isn't tuning into the two adults curled up together a yard away— when in reality, that's exactly what Lucy is doing.
"This one... rate her." insists a feminine voice. Through the vanity mirror, Lucy watches the tawny-colored beauty snuggle into the man next to her, exhibiting her cell phone. Jealousy fogs Lucy's state of mind, causing her shapely thick eyebrows to droop, along with the corners of her lips.
"Come on, Shay." the male protests. "Don't make me do this. I have a girlfriend."
"You mean the girlfriend you've failed to mention the name of every single time the topic pops up?" Shay inquires, the blatant sarcasm oozing from her voice. Cocking an eyebrow, Lucy continues further listening to hear Ian's response.
As expected, he chuckles and it's uncomfortably unnerving. An abundant full of chills vibrate down her spine. Ian Harding is known to excel at many things, but unplanned lying doesn't top those charts. It's tough not being able to express their newly clandestine relationship to everyone, especially to those who dare to flirt with him while she's around, but it's essential for the last three weeks of shooting for the show. The contract she signed states clearly that no romances are to ignite in order to keep the chemistry between the actors and their characters unscathed.
Lucy has never despised anything more than that one rule.
Not even her exes could climb to the top with such arrogant, pretentious behavior and top the fact that she isn't able to have a nice meal with him out in the city without being bombarded by the parasitic masters in black attire and flashing cameras.
She's never been the jealous type.
Neither has Ian.
But witnessing someone else with their head snuggled into Ian's chest and being so touchy flirty evokes a series of negative emotions. It isn't that she's envious of Shay's beauty. She's just disappointed that she can't show her affection to him the way she wants to. Public endearment isn't her scene, but what she really enjoys is exhibiting the gold trophy she's acclaimed.
Ian's looking at her, but she doesn't notice. She's too absorbed in thinking about him as opposed to surveying him with her eyes.
He's noticed that, too. Lucy gets stuck in daydreaming these days; sometimes, it's so much that it interferes with work. He doesn't say anything, nonetheless.
Until the contract is over, he's useless.
And he hates feeling this way.
-x-
Her excuse on why she hasn't been answering his texts is the typical justification: work. She embroils herself in her music, her gigs, the company of her best friends, anything that involves evading Ian. Her statements are true, but not the full truth.
He, on the other hand, isn't able to distinguish the difference.
She doesn't particularly fathom why she's ignoring him. She's sure she isn't upset with him, but feeling that clogging sensation in her throat when his name pops into her mind tells her otherwise. Maybe she's just at a point in her life where her highs have reached a climax, and now she's heading downhill.
But isn't something supposed to be different now that she's with Ian? Isn't she supposed to be drowned in elation with this new relationship?
She's taking this for granted. She's taking him for granted, and she feels disgusted with herself. It's exactly what she's done in the past, why her previous relationships didn't work. It's why she's been called pompous by her previous exes, for her lack of interest in the connection.
Lucy's the type of person that gets too caught up in the minuscule details to fully appreciate the bigger picture. She gives the guys their space, but what she doesn't notice is just how much she's pushing them away. Now, Ian is involved in her sick little games that not even she knows how to end.
She's remarkably selfish. The one thing that she could do in order to prevent further heartbreak is to break up with him now, while he has the chance to remain in the shadows, never unveiled to witness the monster within her, and she can't do that one thing. She's in desperate need to give them a shot, primarily because of those meager thoughts that flooded her mind for the past five years, consisting of how good Ian's arms looked in a particular shirt or how sexually appealing his lips looked when they were in that half-smirk.
Consternation bombards the solution like a dam, blocking away a source to the answer. She blames it on the stress entirely, for all the appointments she's booked throughout the week that extends for a few months at the most. The brunette is mindful of just how soon those grey hairs will appear, and she wastes no time picking up a package of brown hair dye before swinging over to Annie's.
She shows up at work with inexpensive shades that do its job to encase the repulsing bags under her eyes, which would later be fixed with makeup that'd weigh a tonne on her face, at the very least. It's the second to last day she has to show up and the very last day of shooting. The day after is put aside to gather every belonging they've always claimed they'd come back for the next day (but never end up doing) and saying goodbyes, despite harboring the knowledge that they'd all remain in touch after the show. It's been an enormous part of everyone's lives, and therefore an enormous amount stashed away in their hearts.
Everyone but Lucy is flaunting the grins on their faces, bathing within all the limited time they have. She, on the other hand, is at a level of deep insomnia, where she's forfeited a frightening loss of sleep. Even to this second as she zones out to the shimmering of a certain area on the floor where the sunshine spills through the window, her mind act like nuts and bolts, stirring and clanking at all times. Her thoughts consume and devour her whole, day and night.
She could be over this stage by now by breaking up with the man that absorbs ninety nine percent of her mind, but she's unwilling to let him slip through her fingers so easily. It's exactly what she's done in the past and she won't do it again. She determines what remaining factor she needs to change about herself, what'll be the most effective in order to progress herself and them as a couple in the right direction.
She's cried so much, so much that she can't release another drop of the salty liquid that always collides with the powdered blush in the centers of her cheeks. Now, she's merely a skinned corpse on autopilot, taking her year day by day.
-x-
In an unexpected haze, Ian shows up at her house at what could possibly be the best, or worst, time, sometime when the dark skies dim into a beautifully deep blue with the assistance of the beaming full moon.
Lucy's drunk. So drunk, in fact, that it's nothing but a miracle how she unlocked and opened the door to her apartment. Ian notices that prior to entering and shutting the door behind him.
She sways vigorously on the spot with a bottle of vodka just barely fitting her petite palms and its clear just how much of a struggle it is for her to keep firm eye contact, almost as hard as it is for Ian to acknowledge the mere existence of Almond Joys. They don't exchange words when Ian scoops her up easily and carries her into the living room. He hears the blaring crash of the bottle hitting the floor and he swears he felt something pierce his now bare feet, presumably the glass that just scattered only seconds ago.
After laying her down on the couch, she immediately squeezes her eyes shut severely, as though she's blocking away all of the horrors that threaten to creep up and lunge at her. As he gently thumbs her cheeks, he's forced to ponder over why in the world she's so wasted. By perchance, it could tie into her abnormal behavior and why she's been so crazed.
His eyes wander over to the mess in the living room. The last thing he wants is for Lucy's feet to be harmed, so he tiptoes around the mess and scours every kitchen cupboard until he finds stacks of hand towels and newspapers to thoroughly polish the floor, assuring it'd head back into its squeaky clean state once again.
When he finally turns his full attention back to Lucy, he has to blink several times to assure that the sight prevailing itself upon him is real before averting his eyes, trying to look anywhere aside from the woman whose entire body is ridden of her clothes, presently clad in just a bra and undies. Her oversized shirt and shorts are visibly rolled up and bunched in its own world on the floor.
Clearing his throat, he timidly informs her that she needs to put her clothes on, but she inarticulately refuses.
"Come here." she slurs in a demanding tone and because he doesn't want her standing up to reveal any more of herself, he abides and sits next to her on the couch.
Next thing he knows, her lips crash against his feverishly and it takes him so aback that his eyes are open for at least ten seconds. The taste of alcohol taints his lips. This is Lucy, someone Ian's found highly attractive since day one, hence the only valid reason he reciprocates her gesture by allowing her access to explore his tongue just as he does. He's aware of how immoral this type of contact with a half-naked, drunk woman is, but he rules out mind over matter. A couple of fueled kisses would hurt no one.
His subconscious comes alive when Lucy takes it one step too far. When he instinctively yanks her hand away, he watches her doe eyes stare naively up at him, just as though she's doing nothing wrong. He's almost expecting her to well up, to exhibit her insecurities, even to hit or attack him with the hands that tried to unbuckle him.
But she does none of the above. Instead, she questions him. "Do you love me?"
The answer flashes in his mind, fully in color. There's no doubt in his mind that he loves her, that he's loved her since forever, even as those feelings that were once platonic morphed into something further. He's isn't afraid to tell her, but had she not been drunk out of her mind, his timidness would've been exposed to the bone.
"Don't." she warns, all too suddenly. Any source of friskiness is now gone (although the slurring remains in place), and a more darker person is instated. He doesn't open his mouth; he listens. "If you love me, you'll end up hating me in the end. I don't want to hurt you."
But before Ian's able to efficiently soak it in, the female falls on her back and snuggles into the couch. In moments, her snores are deafening to his ears.
-x-
She doesn't remember anything from that night and he doesn't bother telling her.
What else can he do? He's apprehensive to know what her reaction may be and he's even more than hesitant to find out if these drinking habits occur frequently than not.
So, he does what he should have been doing since the first day. He calls her periodically, requests more dates, and he even finds a way to work around his audition bookings up to the point where it won't affect him financially. He does whatever he can to get closer to her, to keep an eye on her— not in the standpoint of a reviling parent, but as a friend in need.
It's then that he comes to the realization of her actions. She's visibly ignoring him, eluding his calls and telling him that she isn't able to make it with the common, 'you know how it is with being a celebrity fresh out of long-time work.'
But he isn't willing to cut any slack, not for a long while.
What he's confused most about is her words from that night in relations to her alerts. It's as clear in his mind as it was when he first heard it, but if he speaks out, he'd only be digging his own grave. It's something he'll have to untangle on his own.
There's only one thing that is crystal clear, nevertheless. He isn't the only damaged one in their relationship.
-x-
In a perfect world, Lucy doesn't have something that feels like the weight of the world on her shoulders. She has Ian, whom she grants to be in her future if her dilemma doesn't dust itself off. They live together behind the beautiful gates of a place they're able to call home and they even progress their jobs together as passionate actors.
Who is she kidding? Herself? There's never really a happy ending for those who don't have luck in the palms of their hands.
Her fantasies appear so authentic that she has a hard time determining what's real and what isn't. It interferes with her life. While she's certain she went to a party a few nights ago with her friends, they deny that it ever happened and give her the crazy look.
The charm that she once had when entering her auditions is gone. The smiling ball of sunshine is no more and in place is this woman whom every director insinuates lost the spark she's known for. She feels like a burnout.
She doesn't want Ian seeing her like this. She despises herself and what she's evolved into. Ian's out acclaiming connections in the real world while she begins this estranged and risqué life of partying and it haunts her to comprehend that all she's worked for in the last ten years could possibly be routing down the drain.
-x-
He calls her every three hours for the entire week.
She ignores every single one of them.
-x-
When Ian shows up at her door, he's greeted by her roommate and best friend, Annie, instead.
"Looking for Lucy?" Annie inquires, although the answer is more palpable than ever. There's no other reason why he'd be at her door unannounced. The blonde grants him access to the large apartment and disappears elsewhere.
Ian floats around the familiar premises in advance of noticing the brunette who steps out from the crook of the other side, where the bathroom is. She's radiant, literally. Beaded water droplets skim down her bare shoulders and disappear in the gap of her towel clad body, and it very much replicates Ian's perspiring forehead.
Their eyes meet and Lucy has to blink her eyes rapidly for several moments in order to discern his presence. Shock eclipses her face; in fact, she appears so shocked that the towel on her head falls from grip and lands into a pool on the floor, unmasking the flowing tresses that torrent down her shoulders and her back. It's most definitely a sight for sore eyes.
"What the hell are you doing here?" she questions. If Ian didn't know better, he would've guessed she was angry with him.
"I can't visit my girlfriend?" he counters, cocking an eyebrow to emphasize his point.
"Without an invitation? No." she retorts with no effort to camouflage her discourtesy. He knows he shouldn't make any means out of her words, but it's inevitable that his feelings are entangled in these deranged comments that she's spitting out ever so impulsively. Her eyes reflect a source of ominousness that startles him for moments at a time. He doesn't know what she's gotten herself into, nor is his optimism leading him to believe she'll disclose such information.
A very frightening thought darkens his mind— is she really this person?
No. He refuses to believe the woman is anywhere near the person she embodies now. This person is one of the most compassionate he's ever met and after five years of knowing her, he's sure that if there was any source of maliciousness within her, it'd be exposed by now. He's ashamed that he's even permitted his thoughts to go the way he's let them.
"Is there something I did?" Ian inquired thoughtfully, keeping his voice low and fragile so Annie couldn't hear him from wherever location she resides in the apartment. The walls are shamefully thin, a colossal disadvantage for the two. "Something I did to offend you? Was it when I said something about Sofia Vergara— because trust me, she's a big time celebrity that I'll never ever meet and I only called her hot because I thought we could be honest and you've said things ab—"
"God, Ian!" Lucy finally spoke up, sighing her way into her sentence as she adjusted the towel she's been strenuously attempting to hold up. Her eyes fluttered rapidly as her hand swooped to compress her forehead. "It's not about that! I just don't like you barging in here without calling."
He doesn't mention all the times she's materialized at his place without any notice.
"I'm busy, so please leave." Lucy says, a noticeable drop in her voice causing the mood to drastically strain.
"Busy doing what?" he questions, ignoring the second half of her demand. He's sure she usually took showers after she finished errands and such. The extents of her eluding is crystal clear.
Instead of answering, she flees into elsewhere, into the crook of the apartment where Ian infers is her bedroom. He's growing disheartened and a part of him knows that it's best to just give her the space she palpably desires (maybe the forever type of space, where he leaves her alone for good) but he can't, so he leaves her apartment to think things through and concoct another plan.
He has to remind himself that time is of the essence.
-x-
They're just rumors, they're just rumors.
Lucy's feeding herself every type of self-assurance she possibly can to drive her state of mind away from the magazine inhabited on her lap. She's been twisted in the contortions of many false scandals, so she knows that it can't be true. Ian's with her, not with Shay, as it shows on the cover of the publication in the small bubble. They appear to be together in Ian's Volvo; their faces are more than prominent in the flash of the light, which doesn't bounce off the glare of the window.
Even if they aren't rumors, Lucy knows she has absolutely no right to lament or protest or whatever because she drove him to that point. It's her fault this article even exists, and as she flips to the ninetieth page and skims through every word behind her tear-suffused eyes, she realizes that it's okay if he decides to use his mind and renovate from what little sanity he has now by ending their one-sided relationship.
She's herded him out of her life as best as possible (and even better now that the show has ended) and he's now teetering on the edge to make a fateful decision.
I feel happy, she tells herself. For the most part, she's able to accept the lies she repeats to herself over and over again, but now, she doesn't believe herself in the least.
In order to clear her conscious, she finally goes to the source for the first time in weeks. To her incredible surprise, the one person she wants to talk about is there. While she feels those preposterous tears begin to teem, Ian's joyful face darkens and Shay, who stands right behind him, is utterly oblivious to the situation and grins happily at the sight of her ex-costar.
So, Lucy walks away.
And Ian follows her, begs her to stay or go somewhere else with him, but she makes a snappy remark about how he should go back to his ridiculously beautiful friend and drives off and out of sight.
It's dark and the streets are blurry in Lucy's eyes, which are still brimmed with the large pools of dismay induced droplets, drowning her dark green orbs. All she can think about is her mistakes, her idiocy, what she could have if she plays her cards right. But within it all, she fails to acknowledge the MAC semi-truck that blurs in front of her and honks loudly, amidst the blaring depressing country song that's turned to the max.
And too suddenly...
Everything's black.
-x-
He gets the call no more than three or four hours after his attempts to stop her from leaving his house, and needless to say, he's a rabid mess.
Shay is no longer with him, just like she shouldn't have been hours before. If he hadn't accepted her request to 'hang out', then he would have been lingering around his house, wrapping up on the final installments of a book trilogy. Lucy would have showed up, they'd have talked everything out and perhaps she would have had a safer drive back to her destination.
He's panic-stricken to the bone. He's frightened of the endless outcomes, and besides her physical state, all he can think about is that all of it is entirely his fault. He had the chance to do something about it; he had the chance to run after her, but instead he granted her permission to walk away.
It was the first time she's approached him in weeks, and that has to be an accomplishment to progression, but at the end of the day, there's no point of it all if the person who made the decision to make a difference isn't alive to bask in her celebration.
When Ian is outside of her hospital door, he witnesses a hoard of women (Annie being in the collective crowd) and maneuvers his way around them, disinterested in what they have to say to him.
She's leashed in endless amount of cords and an oxygen mask covers her face, although the large scar outlined from her right temple to her cheekbone is the only thing unable to be veiled behind the mask. She's angled oddly, but still on her back. The sight enough leaves Ian heartbroken and grossed at the sight.
He takes baby steps towards her, as though one wrong step would cause the electrocution of Lucy and cause her even more pain than she already seems to be in. He feels a severe weight launch on his shoulders, the weight of guilt. He's positive he's the reason for her misfortune. He should be the one in that hospital bed, not her.
"We don't know what's going to happen to her." a voice— Annie's— speaks from behind him. It's enough for him to harden up even more than he already is. His eyes aren't competent to tear themselves away from the sight of his girlfriend.
"What happened?" he questions, his voice almost cracking in the process.
"I told you over the phone, Ian." He's able to feel Annie's presence merely a foot behind him. "She got into this terrible accide—"
"No." he interrupts. "That's not what I mean. I just.. I don't know how this could have happened."
His hand zooms to his hair, clutching it in defeat. His heart races desperately, and it's inevitable that reality won't set in until he hears certain words that'll make his heart stop wholly.
-x-
Fifteen hours, forty-two minutes, and nine seconds.
His eyes haven't closed with the mere exception of blinking, and despite Lucy's friends' suggestions to go home and get some rest, he doesn't dare.
The pulse monitor shows that Lucy's breathing, but barely. The oxygen mask is what suffices her enough to take in the extra air. Her skin is ghostly pale and he's had the misfortune to watch her cracked lips turn from its natural pink shade to different hues of black and blue.
"Take this." Annie whispers, waving a paper coffee cup in his face. It's the only source of heat he's felt within his hands. The room is as cold as the North Pole.
He doesn't move from the chair that's lodged right next to Lucy, in fear that she'll wake up during a bathroom break— or worse, have the monitor go from the nineties to... zero. Perhaps not being present in the event of her death was an okay thing. It'd mean that he wouldn't have to go through the most absolute worst type of suffering, which is seeing someone you care dearly about leaving this earth and him not being able to do anything about it.
Ian hears Lucy's voice in his head, lightly reprimanding his mindset. She'd say something about how immoral he's being, flash another one of her enticing smiles to demonstrate her kidding and move on.
At least, the old Lucy would do that.
What went wrong? Ian's been racking through his brain to search for their timeline, from the moment he asked her to finally be his girl until this very second. Nothing makes sense to him anymore.
And still her words from that night follow him, no matter how hard he tries to shove it down into the depths of his mind. She's warned him not to love her, but it's too late. Even if he truly wants to, it isn't going to happen. She's got him under this spell, and unfortunately, this spell is too far away from her mind. He can't read her like he used to. Maybe that'll be his downfall in retrieving the ultimate prize— her.
Ian?
He almost chuckles. He's thinking of her so much that her angelic voice is materializing in his head.
"Ian." Wait—
His eyes, which are half-closed from the force of sleep deprivation, shoot open and gawk at the female in the hospital bed. Her eyes opening is what causes this massive heft to lift off his shoulders and consume a mass amount of air. Not only is she awake, but she's able to move one hand to her face to remove her oxygen mask and rest the other one on his hand.
"Lucy." he breaths once he's found a way to formulate words. His fingers intertwine with hers, squeezing pulses after pulses in a gesturing motion. It's the only thing he feels he's able to do until he knows that she's capable of hugs. "I thought you ju— you were... you're okay!"
"You think I'm going to die so soon?" she questions, her voice feeble and weak as it can get. She cracks a delicate smile, expressing her diversion to her own joke. It's enough to make him laugh and make his eyes water simultaneously.
He bows his head so that it's resting on the pair of hands and closes his eyes, luxuriating in the moment. He's never felt something so much more powerful than this emotion. The watching, the waiting, the obscure cloud of doubt that's rolled into his mind and given him the lack of faith that Lucy might not wake up and that the last time he saw her was when they had their first argument as a couple.
But that isn't the case anymore. Because she's here.
-x-
When you feel like you're at your lowest point and you're watching everything around you disappear into thin air, you feel powerless. But this life altering event has made Lucy think everything through, from point A to point Z. It sounds too cliche, even for her, but she feels like she's been put into a different light and she's looking at things the way she looked at them a few months ago.
It's funny to her, how things can go oh-so wrong in just a matter of weeks. One day, she's earning her biggest paycheck of her life for completing the show she's been involved in for the past five years and the next month, she's at a half-person income and she's pushing away everyone in her life to hide her scars.
But there's one person that never gave up on her, no matter how much she wants to believe he should have and he's trying to get her to eat the awful tasting beef stew he purchased and cooked, but she's pursing her mouth shut. If her other hand wasn't in a cast, she'd have found ways to tape her mouth to secure that not even a droplet would touch any part of her lips.
"Try it!" Ian insists. "I promise, you'll love it. It smells amazing."
"Yeah, well, smells can be very deceiving," Lucy informs after turning her head so that she'd be able to speak without worrying about the spoon touching her lips. "You know, like you."
He pulls the spoon away from her face, only for a moment to address her last words. "Hey, what's that suppose to mean?"
"It means that you kind of stink," she admits with a grin. Not that it's exactly his fault, it's mostly hers. He's been attentive to her every move while she's been populated at his house, ever since three days ago, when she was released from the hospital. Since Annie's been at Atlanta for a very important family gathering, Ian stepped up to the plate to take care of the injured woman.
In the meantime, they've decided it's best that Lucy stayed at Ian's house. An apartment is much inferior to roam around in a wheelchair, rather than a large house with lots of empty capacity.
He hasn't been able to leave her alone, in fear that her practices of trekking around the living room would result in the fatal meeting of the stairs. Instead, he feeds her, baths her (with extreme caution), and entertains her.
They're both thankful of the time they've been able to have with each other, not especially under the given circumstances. They haven't addressed their situation, not once, in fear of ruining the light ambiance between them. Things have been less tense, less forced, but they both still feel the need to step up to these unneeded expectations.
"Open your mouth." Ian appeals. "Do it. Or the beef stew gods won't be happy with you."
"Are you kidding? They'll be mad at you for changing the meaning of beef stew to what cats eject from their—"
"Okay, okay." Ian interrupts her with a laugh, aware of the vulgar word she would have pulled out. "Fine. I'll just order us some pizza."
"I'll order." she offers, holding out her free hand to accept a concealed phone. "Go wash up."
He agrees, handing her the phone and making a final warning not to call a friend and rack up more '0's' for his phone bill. She agrees but with no promises, and he departs to the bathroom right across the living room.
It's nice for Lucy to finally have some sort of independence. She's always taken that for granted and Ian's presence and hourly pestering of whether it's time for her to take her medicine or another back rub has made her come to full appreciation of her freedom. But overall, the experience of finally being with him for so long as her boyfriend without the load of her past to perturb her is something she's been looking forward to for a very long time.
After ordering like she said she would, she really contemplates calling someone on Ian's phone. Her phone is all the way upstairs, which she's incapable of ascending in a wheelchair, and she bores very easily.
Her eyes wander around the room until they reach the bathroom door, which is ajar and giving an indistinct view of Ian. His head pokes out, but the rest of him remain hidden with the help of the glass door. He does a combination of rotations before settling to loll underneath the mist of the shower head. When he licks his lips, Lucy does the same, and the sudden gesture causes her to snap her eyes away and comprehend her improper actions.
Instead of widening her eyes in horror like the chaste girl she once was, she laughs. She doesn't know why she's laughing, but she continues to do so until her stomach sends ferocious waves that connect to her slightly damaged spine and shoots pains into her back.
Her smile disappears, but only for a while, because the sight of Ian in a towel is enough for her to grin once again. Many different thoughts, varying from innocent to suggestive, flood her mind.
"What?" he asks, perking an eyebrow when he notices her gazing. He takes a seat next to her as she shakes her head.
"You're doing that on purpose." she comments. Her eyes glance at his chest before bouncing to his hair. Her fingers follow, rolling through and twisting them through her petite fingers.
"Doing what on purpose?" he inquires. His face shows oblivion, but his tone says otherwise. His mission to tantalize her is obvious and it's undoubtedly working.
Impetuously, her sleepy eyes close and she leans in and does what she's been wanting to do for the entire stay, and based on his response, he does the same. Their hearts race synchronously, matching each other's pulses as though they're in utter harmony.
In this moment, they're okay because they're together. And perhaps, for now, together is all they need.