MAKE SURE FRENCH COMES

That's that the message said. Buck sighed. Although Steve sent the message to the group chat, he knew it was meant for him. French wasn't a part of that group chat, having left it weeks ago with a message about how they were all stupid to still believe in her. Buck had countered that belief was never stupid, but French was already gone.

It was almost 10pm on a Thursday night, and Buck knew he was probably at home after getting his brothers in bed.

He backed out of the group chat and opened his thread with French. They hadn't been talking as much recently. The last messages were from almost two weeks ago. The last message was sent from Buck, French never replied.

French was busy, Buck told himself. Otherwise they would still talk. But deep down he knew that the only reason they talked in the first place was because of OA, and now that she was gone, they were slowly reverting to the natural order of things.

He let out another sigh, a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding, and sat down heavily onto his bed. He laid down on the bed with his feet still on the floor, one arm by his side, the other holding his phone on his stomach. Staring at the ceiling, he wondered what surprise would be. He was excited at the aspect that Steve had a plan that, knowing Steve, had to do with finding OA or at least proving her stories to be truth. But the idea of texting French filled him with a trepidation he didn't fully understand. It shouldn't be that hard.

He knew Steve wanted them to hurry, hence the all caps, but group chats didn't have read receipts, so Buck could just claim he didn't see the messages right away.

Better to get it over with, he finally decided. And he sent a quick text to French.

Hey. Steve says he has a surprise and wants us to meet him.

The response was almost instantaneous, making him jump when it came through. He hadn't expected that.

What is it now?

I don't know, that's what "surprise" means. Buck responded.

I don't have time for Steve tonight.

Buck read the message, and without thinking he sent another.

What about for me?

This time, the reply was slower. He almost sent another text, wanting to take the first one back somehow, hating himself for putting himself in a position to so easily be hurt. But the bubbles at the bottom of the screen showed that French was typing. Then he wasn't. Then again. Indecisive, the bubbles disappeared and reappeared a few time before French finally sent his message.

Where are we meeting?