As Jess introduced the flavored fizz known as Coke into her mouth, she realized just how basic her name was. God, "Jess" was printed on practically every bottle in that run-down deli down the block. Why couldn't her name be some hippie thing? All hippie and cool? Like Freedom or Arvette. Or Rivyre. Or Moon 'n' Stars. That'd be pretty rad.

"Jess. Swallow," came the deadpan voice of that awesome model that was totally smart and stuff. Man, what would beautiful mermaid Cece choose as her hippie name? They could be modern day flower children. Women. Mermaids. An idea, an extremely great idea to be honest, struck inside Jess' brain along with the other bullshit she never realized was bullshit. And just as the words began to slip off her tongue, all creaky and sweet in her signature tone, the Coke creates a crime scene on the hardwood floor and then she can almost feel Schmidt's motherly instincts flash alive in his gut, telling him a catastrophe (by his definition) has brewed.

"Good lord," Cece sighed.

"We have to go to the Mermaid Parade! In Coney Island! I read about it! Its like great, very, and you're a beautiful mermaid so please," Jess finally managed, eyes wide behind her big dumb nerd glasses she loves and her voice increasing on octaves as the seconds passed by.

Cece, her face scrunched around her perfect nose, shook her head. "Jess, babe, I don't know who you're looking at. Like, your eyes are doing that thing again. The lazy thing. Is there a freakin' ghost here somewhere? Are you even looking at me? I'm so uncomfortable."

Jess blinked her baby blue eyes and connected them with her best friend's deep, warm brown ones. And she tries to forget who else has brown eyes. Winston. Winston has 'em. And Coach. Why would she try to forget about them? They have 'em. And they're wonderful.

"We should go though," Jess responded quietly, her lips pinched together in slight embarrassement.

"You think I'm letting you go to the fuckin' east coast when you can't even look directly at me?" Cece snapped bitterly. Jess laughed. "Yeah, yeah, Cece, you're right. Your bossiness has convinced me. I'll just curl into a little bunny ball. Lil' bun bun fluff ball. And bask in the glory of my imagination," Jess said and followed through as she said she would. "By the way, if you like, take an appropriately large sip of that Coke and just slosh it around like mouth wash, it fizzes up and it feels cool. Hey, can you get me a straw? I wanna make bubbles," Jess explained and asked for no apparent reason at all. No. Nope. Not tryna distract herself or anything.

Cece rolled her eyes and let a smile grace her face. Jess returned the gesture and watched as Cece headed to the kitchen, grabbed a couple bags of chips hidden in the cupboard, along with a blanket and headed back to where her non-blood sister lay miserably.

"I'll only pig out just this once. You up for Clueless?" Cece asked as she wrapped the blanket around her own and Jess' shoulders, who sat up.

Jess, who was thankful, shy, and feeling so small and innocent, nodded with a tiny grin and a blush spread across her fair cheeks. She leaned into the other woman's shoulder and she can feel a little flower blooming past the ache in her chest. Feelings suck, but not when you're with the person who'll be your sun through the rain. Yeah, Jess is into those cliche things, obviously. The movie started, filled with Alicia Silverstone's flawless blondeness, and prided herself for talking to the lonely girl in the library.

Jess has known at least, like, five Nick's in her whole life. Excluding Nick Andopolis from Freaks and Geeks. Why did they cancel that show? It was perfection. She'll rewatch it on Netflix and call up Abby and be all like "hey, Abs, not as in hardened abdominal muscles, but as in Abby, guess what I'm watching? You kissing Nick Andopolis." The uncanny resemblance between her older sister and Lindsay Weird always scared Jess. For all she knew, it probably was Abby up there on the screen. Practically everything can be traced back to Abby, if you're smart enough.

Who was she talking about again?

Oh, yeah. Nicks.

From shaving.

"Jessica Day, what is the meaning of this absolute ATROCITY," Schmidt yelled a little too loud, pointing to the drying soda on the floor. When Jess stutters, Schmidt continues. "I am completely and utterly disappointed in you, Jessica. I have suffered through enough messes in this damn loft without any help or contribution from any of you pigs and I deserve an explanation. I work my ass off for your ass, young lady, and you are chronically making me regret it!"

Jess pulled a turtle face, once again trying not to blow her apologetic and quiet cover.

"I'm sorry, mom," Jess let out.

"You better be, young missy. You've been out of control since… since you abruptly ended your public relations with the wonderful and one and only Ni-" Schmidt began and stopped himself, "N-word."

"Stick all of your money inside the douchebag jar, mother," Jess demanded softly, her expression indifferent and staring at her roommate.

Schmidt chuckled nervously as he reached into his front pocket and took out his wallet. "Okay, Jessica, but, forrealzies," (Jess cringed) "how're you feelin'? Holdin' up? Because there is not enough concealer in the world to cover the bags under your piercing azul ojos that represent your sleepless nights dedicated to none other than N-word Miller."

"Schmidt, shut up!" Jess commanded, her voice cracking throughout. The man before her who was absolutely no help at all grinned "reassuringly." He literally just held eye contact with her, his hand on her shoulder, and nodding at her for, like, ten hours before saying "okay, Jess. I'm here for you."

Jess flashed an obviously fake, close-lipped smile. "Just, just clean up the mess. I've had enough of you," Jess stated, gently pushing Schmidt backwards before making her way to her room, where she would blast Billy Joel and Norah Jones and overrated stupid pop music. When she was about to enter her domain, she hears the front door unlock and open, revealing the caue of her troubles in his dummy moronic idiot cute flannel shirt that was red and blue.

"Nicholas!" Schmidt greeted, which Jess took as her cue to scramble into her room. She left the door open just a crack, and it was totally by accident.

"Schmidty!" Nick replied equally as loud, laughing hysterically. "There is a huge pimple on my elbow and whenever I try to lean on something or pop it it fucking BURNS AND IT REMINDS ME OF MY PERSONALITY," Nick shouted unnecessarily thunderously before emitting dry sobs. "COACH TOLD ME TO RUN A COUPLE WEEKS AGO AND I NEEDED LIFE ALERT AFTER LIKE NEGATIVE TWO SECONDS," Nick resumed.

"Oh no, Nick. Is this because of J-word?"

The sobs increased dramatically in volume.

And then her intuition calls to her.

"He wants your attention!" it told her in neon lights.

"What a fucking middle schooler," Jess mumbled to herself.

Two could play at that game.

They missed each other as friends anyways, right?

Jess exited her kingdom and skipped out to the two stupid man-babies in their living room, who were currently intertwined on the floor.

Jess, not at all fazed and used to this scene, scanned them quickly. They needed professional help.

"Pop it with tweezers and ignore the pain, dude," suggested Jess with a shrug.

"Jeh-heh-HES," Nick smiled awkwardly, "I am extremely embarrassed that you heard that, dear lord."

"Its kinda, its kinda hard not to."

"Panic moonwalk away. Nicholas, you are a broken man," Schmidt hissed into Nick's ear.

"I'm fine, Schmidt!" Nick exclaimed as he shoved his face away. "I do not feel, I am a dragon!"

"Fine!" spat Schmidt as he stood up, his posture sharp and meant to be intimidating but it honestly never was. "Suit yourself. I'll be off exploring the world in my sex palace."

"Oh god," both Nick and Jess muttered and moaned in disbelief. Once Nick sat up properly, Jess did the same across from him, her legs crossed into a pretzel.

They both decided that eye contact and thick, undeniable sexual tension was inevitable, 'cause ice blue met dark brown as they spoke each other's names. They could feel the storm between them, sucking all the energy around their forms and carving it into them.

They're both melting under the heat and pressure of it all and are grateful when they hear something crash. They whip their heads to the assumed source.

"GODDAMMIT," they hear, confirming their suspicions, and they simultaneously groan.

So there's the end of that.

Jess couldn't tell if she should leave or not.

"I'm gon-gonna pop that zit," Nick tripped over his own words as he got to his feet.

"Yeah, me too, good luck," Jess replied without thinking and slapped her own forehead shortly afterwards. "Good night, Merry Thanksgiving," she wished him impulsively as she sprinted away.

She could've sworn she saw the hint of a smile stretching his lips.

Jess tossed and turned with the knowledge of her future fatigue. Everything sucked, which was typical when you're sad, she guessed. She remembers when her and Nick used to do the do throughout the night, and she didn't care if they ended up not sleeping, because they just kept laughing at the stupid stuff and if she had to describe it all in one word, it would be lovely. She tries not to think about the bad, 'cause there's no time for that. She should write a song with that line. Maybe she can start an indie folk band and run away from her problems.

Beads of sweat were running down the back of her thighs and it tickled and grossed her out at the same time. "That's nasty," Jess whispered to herself in the dark. Leave her alone, she's suffering from insomnia and lonely.

She tried to let the moonlight soother her to sweet dreams, but consistently failed. Maybe the universe was trying to tell her something? Jess stood up and adjusted her pink polka-dotted shorts and baggy white shirt. She let loose her brunette curls from its ponytail and allowed it to cover her face.

"Don't think. Let that animal in you take over. You were born to do this, Jess. Fuck yeah. You're a badass getting what you want," Jess motivated herself as she slowly reached for the doorknob.

And then there's a knock.

Her face twists all horrified, her limbs spazzing and her brain screaming at her. "Oh my fucking Jesus horse motherfucker," Jess mouthed in panic.

"You've got this, Jess. You are a strong woman," she thought to herself, trying to calm down.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Twist the knob.

And its him.

"Uh… I popped my elbow pimple," Nick said. He bit his lip very stupidly and raised both his fists in the air. Jess fought the urge to bang her head against the wall.

"I can barely sleep anymore, Nick," Jess stated tepidly, although a hint of emotion hung at the end. Nick instantly sobered at the sound, his face giving away his guilt as his arms relaxed at his sides.

"Me neither," he agreed.

"What're we gonna do?" Jess asked somewhat rhetorically and quietly. "You want some tea or warm milk?" Nick offered. He would do a lot for her, Jess realized.

Jess shook her head with a small, sad grin. "No, thanks."

A comfortable silence overcame the moment as they gazed at each other. Brown on blue and blue on brown. "I want us to slip up," Jess broke the hush with. "Just this once."

Without hesitation, Nick stepped forward, took her face in a firm hold, and planted a kiss onto her cheek. He shut the door with his foot, cutting them off from the rest of the world. His mouth trailed down to her jaw and her neck and then his arms were around her back and waist. She sighs contentedly and lolls her head to the side, feeling the sparks again.

He then finally brushes his lips against hers, after too long, too much time, and they're consumed by it.

They feel back home again.