In tribute to mjrrgr's "True Path" for Rachel in the Love is Strange visual novel.

I cannot explain how free I feel.
Most days, I am a solid, quietly vibrating in place, barely touching the things around me.
Some days, beautiful days, I am liquid, flowing in the world, taking in its beauty with my camera, bathed in warmth.
But right now, with the high wind whipping Rachel's golden hair against my face while we kiss, I am gaseous. I fill the world. There is an electricity that jumps from her skin and from her laughter as she clears holds her hair back to keep it out of our mouths that sets me free.
I know she can feel it too. Freedom in this moment, as if the lighthouse reached up to the sky.

It is not so much electric anymore when Rachel says, "C'mon," tugging at my arm a little towards the door. The playfulness ever-present in her smile is back, but it's wider, warmer than before.

For once, I'm the one who doesn't want to leave yet. There's too much time left to wait for the golden hour, but the wind and the heat and the vast ocean are too much for me to give up just yet. "Not just yet. A few more minutes, okay?"
Rachel's eyes sparkle like ocean water, and she nods.

As we descend the steps of the light house, we finally break apart as Rachel all but runs down the steps - she stops halfway to look up at me, carefully trudging down one step at a time. She cackles a little as I shoot her a withering look - "Hey, come on now," I plead.
"Oh, sorry, I got the breadsticks from our date and I have to go," she gestures at shoving apparently dozens of breadsticks into an invisible purse with a look of fear on her face. Once apparently all of the breadsticks have been taken, though, she cracks a smile, winks at me, and dashes down the stairs before I c an catch up to her.

She's waiting with her back to the door, hand covering the steel handle while I'm coming down the last few steps. I feel my phone vibrate and slow even further on the steps as I draw it from my pocket. It vibrates again as I do, apparently the beginning of a small barrage of messages from Chloe.

Chloe: yo
Chloe: where did you and rachel go?

There is a very short pause before the next message.

Chloe: smoochin?
Chloe: well, wherever you are, get to my house by dinner
Chloe: make it snappy

I look up at Rachel as I reach the bottom of the steps and ask, "Did you get a text from Chloe?"
Rachel's extremely expressive eyebrows tip me an incredulous look. "Just the standard 500 a day proclaiming her undying friendship and loyalty, you know - oh," she cuts off, interrupted by the somewhat loud buzzing from her high-waisted jeans.

"Yo," she says, in a deep, rugged voice, clearly in imitation of Chloe. "News team, assemble." A short pause, and then, "I've got some news, and I need you and Max here for it." Pause, "ASAP."
Rachel's eyes slip away from the phone and over to me, a pensive look forming on her face. As I approach the door and her, I do my best to imitate it, as if I understand what's provoking that level of intensity. Is she just worried that Chloe's calling us in? I begin to worry almost immediately, and open my mouth to ask, "Do you th-"
"What do you t-"

Rachel and I both pause, and I gesture that she should go first.
She smiles, "What do you think we should send back?"
I grin in respond as her smile turns mischievous, and take another step towards her, breaking the barrier of arm's length just enough just enough for a smolder to emerge in her eyes. "I've got an idea," I say, a little too loudly, and finally her grin matches mine as she leans back against the door, pushing it open in one swift move. I step forward, as if to catch her, but then she has her hand on my arm and is guiding me back out into the light.

A few minutes later, a photograph is sent from both Rachel and I's phones:

Rachel and I sit on the bench over the cliff face. Rachel's arm is wrapped around my shoulder, and the other sits on an invisible steering wheel with a totally serious 'cool guy' face. One arm of mine holds up the camera off to the side, hiding the fact that Rachel's steering wheel hand grasps nothing, but the other forms faux sun glasses over my eyes.
A caption is included,

Max: Cruisin' with the bae.
Max: Back in the bay for burritos?
Rachel: "Cruisin' down the street in my '64."

Chloe shoots back a text, but only to Max:

Chloe: hell yeah

Rachel manages to snag us a ride into town with some dude setting up a bonfire on the beach for a party that night. As we drive back, Rachel rolls down her window and her hair whips around, blue feather earring fluttering rapidly, like she's a goddess flying over the freeway.

Rachel never bothers to knock at the door of Chloe's house, and today is no exception - she marches right in, slips off her flats, and turns the corner to the kitchen. I follow a second later, but stop short once I find the kitchen in a sorry state. Four different pots and pans, all of different sizes and sets sit on the stove, and each looks like it is set to max heat. A wooden spoon covers a huge pot, and each pan looks like it's cooking a different vegetable or sauce.
"Oh, honey . . ." Rachel trails off in abject horror as she notices that the water is nearly boiling over the pot, and moves into the kitchen for assistance.

I move after her, but quickly notice the crowding, and then the staining. Pasta has clearly spurt repeatedly over the stove and counters, but it looks like Chloe has done little to mitigate the disaster.

"Now, I know this doesn't look great, but guys, I swear, this spaghetti is going to be great, trust me." Chloe's voice is higher than normal, though, and Rachel takes this into very little consideration as she pushes Chloe off to the side, immediately decreasing the heat on everything and picking up the spoon to stir the noodles around.
"How long have those been in there?" she asks, pointing to the noodles in the large pot.

Chloe scratches the back of her head, thinking, while leaning against the side counter. "I don't know, like fifteen, twenty minutes? They've probably almost ready, I don't exactly have a recipe."
"Oh god," Rachel groans, shutting off the heat.

Having successfully pushed the work onto someone else, Chloe tiptoes past Rachel and descends on me, pulling me into a tight hug over the shoulders. "Oh man, it's Max the Great, photographic legend, gracing the humble Price residence with her presence." She lets go a little, just enough to start pulling me to the other side of the kitchen so that Rachel can't rope her back into things. "Now, I know I agreed to the burritos thing, but it turns out we don't have beans. Or tortillas. We got a shit ton of pasta and Famous Amos, as it turns out, though."

I roll my eyes and sit up on the kitchen counter, futzing a little with my bracelets. "You know, normally when you say you're gonna cook something for us, I expect Joyce to do it. As in, you know, I expect to eat."
"Pff," Chloe snorts dismissively, leaning back against her fridge. "Nah, Max, I got this dinner thing on lock and we're gonna have a hella fine meal, just you wait and see."
"The noodles are mush," Rachel protests, pulling out some noodles with the spoon and holding them up for Chloe and I to see. They just look like noodles to me, and as Chloe looks to me for confirmation, we shrug. Neither of us have much cooking experience. Nobody was a fan of us in the Two Whales kitchens when we were kids, and especially now that we're teenagers.

"Where is Joyce anyway?" I ask, watching Rachel as she tries to bring back the culinary dead.
Chloe shrugs, but immediately adds the answer, "Got called into Two Whales - apparently there's some sort of soccer party going on and they didn't call in ahead of time? Anyway, apparently it's hell, so we've got the place to ourselves."

Fifteen minutes later, Chloe is apologetically pouring almond milk into Rachel and I's bowls of cereal. I always cringe a little at breakfast with Rachel, as she eats this weird organic maple pecan stuff in a milk container and I have my Tastee's Froasted Rounds in a neon box as tall as my forearm. Not that the maple stuff is bad, it just looks so . . . plain. It's such an inversion of how I normally feel comparing something of mine to something of Rachel's that I feel overindulgent.
Once Rachel and I are situated, Chloe pulls a chair out for herself and grabs my box of cereal, filling her bowl nearly halfway with milk before adding the cereal to it. Typically, Rachel winces and lets out a sound of disgust at seeing Chloe pour cereal onto milk.
"You barbarian," she whines, but Chloe only grins as she begins shoving the rounds down below the milk's surface. "It's good you have so many other lovable qualities, because I swear the lord tests me every time we have cereal."

Chloe winks, but doesn't speak again until she's pouring her third bowl of cereal. And when she does, she sets her spoon down on the floating rings, leaning onto her hands, elbows on the table. I barely notice the intent look she's giving us before she says it.
"Guys. I'm leaving."

I immediately turn to look at Chloe, but it takes Rachel a second longer before her eyebrows pinch down, giving Chloe a slitted look. Her spoon is in her mouth for a second before she realizes she has to finish swallowing.
"What? What do you mean?" Rachel asks, waving her spoon around as if casting an incantation.

The expression on Chloe's face is hesitant, and it's clear each phrase is effort to push past her teeth, but when it comes, it's in a rush: "I'm leaving Arcadia Bay. Tomorrow, actually."

I give Rachel a side eye to see if she knew anything about this, but I only see her returning the same look to me. Then, our looks focus back on the blue haired girl whose look has dropped down to her cereal, pushing it back into the shallow pool of milk.
"I . . . wait, for how long? Like, will you be back in time for classes Monday or . . .?" Even as I form the question I doubt it, know that that's not what she's saying. She shakes her head, and I feel like my heart is falling into my stomach.

She takes a bite of cereal, chewing far more deliberately than usual. "Nah. I mean, maybe, I guess, but I don't think so. I need some days, man, or weeks, I dunno. But I need out for a while."

A strange wave of guilt floods over me, warm like shame in my cheeks. While I had been prying off my ethereal cage of doubt, the walls had been closing in around Chloe. It's not like I had no idea - this sort of talk wasn't new to her. I just hadn't realized how close the deadline was. Not for either of them.
Rachel responds while I feel familiar doubt wrapping around me.
"Chlo, why didn't you say anything? I know you wanted to leave, I get it, but I just didn't think you'd . . ." Rachel gestures with a sweeping hand, indicating Chloe's quick departure. "Just like that, you know?"
Chloe sounds defensive, "What, leave? I can, you know - I always could. I just haven't had the guts. Until now."

I can see how much this is catching Rachel off guard, like it is me. I would have thought her expression unreadable if I had not seen it just a few days before, when we talked about how Chloe would respond when she found out about the modeling contract. I don't think Rachel ever expected to be on this end of things.

"No, I get that," Rachel begins, and I hear her voice catch. Evidently, so does Chloe.
Chloe is quick to interrupt, but her tone is quiet, shaky - "Babe, it's okay. I promise, this won't fuck up our plans for LA, I'm not using our money or anything. It's just like - like, you know, a spirit quest. Or a coming of age thing. I've never been outside of Arcadia Bay, not like you guys have." She lowers her spoon while she talks, and reaches a hand out, managing to get a few of her long fingers around Rachel's down the length of the table.

I understand that what she's proposing isn't forever. In the scheme of things, it isn't even particularly long. But I've been with Chloe almost every day since I came back to Arcadia Bay. She has been my best friend my entire life. I don't know what this place even is without her.
I see that this is hard for her, but that she means it.

"I get it," I say more firmly than I imagined I would. I nod, as if convincing myself. "It's kind of like a right of passage. And you wouldn't be the first Blackwell student to go soul searching during the school year."
To my surprise, Rachel backs me up with a nod and, "I mean, Evan's soul searching is like an annual thing . . . plus, if you come back with some sweet tattoos, it'll probably add a sexy layer of mystery and everything."

Chloe's eyes are a bit distant, but she nods to that. "I mean, I'm already one hot motherfucker with this one," she says, indicating her right arm, "But I might have to step it up a notch to pick up all your model friends when we're down in LA."
"Pull-ups too," I add. They both look at me expectantly for an explanation. "Uh, I mean, everyone likes hot girls doing pull-ups, right?"
They murmur agreement.

Nevertheless, Chloe can't stay detracted for too long. She scratches the back of her head, knowing her cereal's going soggy but wanting to finish up. "I just mean . . . Max, Rachel. You two are my best friends in the whole world. This is some written-in-the-stars level shit, I know that. But I gotta do this for me. Just for a little while, I promise. What I really want is . . ." she trails off a bit, face pinched in a look of familiar embarrassment.
We give her the moment that she needs to get over it. "I want your blessing. I want to know that you guys get it. And, I mean, I need to make sure you two aren't going to do too much interesting shit while I'm gone, because this trip is really supposed to make me the hella cool one and make you two look like the townies." By the end of this, she's in a flat out grin.
Rachel sticks out her tongue and I roll my eyes.

But there, in the silence, we're left with a moment to say what we think. Chloe would probably stay if we asked, if we really asked. She is nothing if not loyal to her friends.
But she doesn't have a copyright on loyalty.
"You should do it," Rachel concludes aloud, sitting up straight and flipping her hair almost dismissively behind her shoulder.
"Yeah, Chloe, you've got it. My blessing - so long as you send us lots of photos of all the cool shit you're seeing without us townies."

Chloe's face is soft, and her bright eyes are warm. All the sarcasm and bullshit is drained away for a few seconds. Her voice breaks as she says, "Thanks, guys."

There is a strange tension as Chloe drives away late that night, leaving Rachel and I in the Blackwell parking lot. I don't feel electric. I feel kind of numb, even after the night of bullshitting with Chloe and Rachel. Chloe even did me the courtesy of staying sober for the night, insisting that she needed to 'save all her weed for the road.'

It feels strange to feel numb next to Rachel.

As we reach the steps though, she grasps onto my arm as if to guide me, despite the fact that we both know well where we're going. The disconnect between my feelings and my recollection of the day feel so weird, that as we pass the Blackwell fountain I ask, "Was today real? Did all of that happen?"

A smile plays on her lips, as if she knows exactly what I'm asking. She pulls me a little closer, bringing her arm off of mine and instead wrapping it around my shoulders. There's a firm kiss in my hair for a second, and I want to relax, but it still isn't working. "Yeah, it was real. I promise."

I wish I could fall right to sleep in bed, but I can't. I want to text Chloe, but I feel like I'll only stress her out worse about the whole thing.

I open my messages to Rachel.

Max: Promise?

The reply is back faster than I thought possible.

Rachel: Promise ;)
Rachel: goodnight!

I lay my phone down on my chest, wondering if the phone will vibrate with another text dump like I can usually expect from her, but it doesn't come.
Today, I saw her for the first time. But I'm not sure I can see her right now.

I can wait. It's worth it.