AN:

Yeah, I don't think I know anything about word count and what that means.

This chapter was supposed to be five thousand words and it ended up being over six thousand words. I don't even know how much it'll really add up to together, but it should definitely be over twelve thousand or something. That's way more than I intended for it to be, especially since in my outline I basically changed everything up - this wasn't supposed to be as continuous as it was; scenes were supposed to be bits not continuous. I don't even know if it's alike in any way, but it doesn't matter. I definitely like this new version more.

Nevertheless, this chapter is a little important to the story - well, every chapter is. When you finish reading it, or even as you read, you might understand why, or the meaning it holds as the story unfolds, but it connects to selflessness and how important that is to love, friendships, or even relations with people. A lot of times in this society it gets hard to understand what love is and how it can extend beyond romance and into platonic relationships so I made this chapter exclusively for that.

Just keep that in mind.

Anyway, you can read now. I babble way too much for my liking on here.

2.
The Highway Situation

It's an early Friday morning, near the end of October, when Kim walks into the living room and decides that enough is enough.

She had been working all week, so who was she to judge? Typically, every morning she spent it the same way: trying to get her car to turn on, running through city streets, and pacing through office halls with files and files in her hands. She barely had time to breathe throughout the day, especially when she had the weight of her dad's company on her shoulders. Kim never really thought she'd be the type to be the CEO of anything, but she was managing it―as ever terribly as she could. When her dad told her about the position, she struggled for a while. She struggled all morning trying to find paperwork, mentally shaking herself to remember where it is, and to remember little presentation notes as best as she could. She never really got the hang of it―and still doesn't now―but she does the best that she can. Nevertheless, forget about that, Kim tells herself, this isn't about you right now.

It's about Jerry.

Jerry―where can she even start? That guy, she doesn't know what it is, but he's been acting strange, or at least, stranger than usual. He barely talks to anybody, barely goes outside, and barely asserts himself as confidently as he used to. And on some days, he'll avoid her all day. He'll slip past her in the hallway, sneak into the bathroom, or do chores just to avoid talking to her―he's been mopping, sweeping, and cooking all week. He probably doesn't do it on purpose, probably isn't aware of it, but she doesn't really know what's going on with him so she can't help but make absurd guesses. She doesn't like it. She wants her Jerry back―the delinquent, the man who thinks he's a womanizer when he's not, the loud, flamboyant dancer, not this quiet and docile guy―and it stings at her sometimes because then she realizes that she misses him, even though he's already here. It's a frustrating fight between her and her strange tangle of emotions.

Anyway, she wants Jerry around, not the quiet pushover or the meek homebody, so she decides to bring him along for some errands. Pull Jerry out of his comfort zone and into Kim's little fun box. He always has fun with her anyway.

"Put on some shoes, Jer, we're going out," Kim starts, flipping her keys as she points her head to the door as if to indicate for him to follow her out. He's sitting on the dark phthalo couch, resting nicely―or at least was, until Kim walked in―when he faces her.

He isn't immediately responsive, but he sees Kim tense, and decides to stand on his feet. "Okay," Jerry murmurs, briefly turning around to fold the green blanket properly on the couch. The action itself concerns Kim since he really wasn't a clean guy and everything about him was supposed to be gross, but he's cleaning and folding things like it's second nature now. Nevertheless, she lets him fix the green blanket in his hands, as ever slowly and properly as he can, before he faces her again and goes to fish for his sneakers.

They have a lot of "work" to do.

Somewhere across the other side of the city, next to the shore, Jack and Eddie decide to walk across the boardwalk on a warm sunny morning.

Jack's in some vibrant blue sweater, dark jeans, and blue sneakers as he treks. Eddie's wearing a colorfully effaced shirt, zipped along with a hooded jacket, light jeans, and purple shoes. Both walk quietly along the boardwalk without many words to say. Usually, they talk incessantly about a certain event or happening of some sort, but recently things have been pretty smooth and mellow. Jack doesn't have much to complain about―though he never really did―ever since he took up small physical fitness classes, which he intends on learning in order to expand his horizons. Eddie, on the other hand, has been busy managing his small, but ever expanding, furniture store that really has taken up a storm. It absorbs most of his time so he never really hangs out with the crew anymore, but he tries his best in keeping up with them and visiting them as much as possible.

However, now, Jack and Eddie don't have quite as much to talk about.

"How are you?" Jack tries asking, facing his friend.

Eddie tries thinking about his week and how it all went, how his sales are doing well, how his wife and he haven't fought in months, but he comes up with nothing―no drama. And really, is that all they find conversation in―drama? He turns at Jack, smiling weakly, saying, "I'm good. What about you?"

He has no idea where this is going. He's suddenly just hoping Jack has some drama to stir up the conversation. It's strange and uncomfortable when nothing has happened and there isn't any silly, moronic stuff to talk about. It's a foreign thing, talking to his friend seriously and honestly. Why haven't they done this before?

"Oh, I'm good," Jack responds, itching the side of his nose, "I've been doing some fitness college courses just to challenge myself, you know? And it's going good. I mean, I've been busy all week; Tiffany's having some reading club thing with her friends on Saturday―I agreed to cook so I might be busy this weekend too."

"Oh yeah!" Eddie excitedly answers, lifting his finger towards the sky. "Candy told me about that. She told me it'd be fun if I go, but I don't know if I want to be around women all day. I've dealt with six months worthy of women and I guess I might be a little tired."

It hasn't been that long since Candy and he got married, but it has felt like a while. Eddie met her back in his seventh year of college, in other words, his bachelor's, when he was studying business and communications. He wasn't an amazing student, but he was there―mostly struggling to get everything and anything done, but he was there. Candy had worked at the coffee shop a little down a block away from the school. She hadn't been studying anything, mostly because she worked two jobs: barista and hair stylist. She was, and is, awesome with hair and got it to fly up in shapes and swirls that Eddie had never seen before. She was also incredibly smart―photogenic probably, because she could read anything and remember every single line if she really put her mind to it―and she knew about five different languages.

Candy had to travel consistently for her job, "helping movie stars fix their edges one strand at a time," she says, and the languages helped a little, she probably had to head to places that even Eddie couldn't pronounce the name of.

But, besides her genius IQ and incredible talent, Candy was extremely pretty. She was a warm, tawny brown girl with hints of sapphire on her cheeks and mouth. Her hair was jet black and smooth, a little wavy at the ends, and it glimmered under the glare of the sun. She was similar to Eddie's height, and thick-boned as well. Candy was curvaceous and small at the waist, but she was not slim. Her stomach stuck out at the bottom, and her arms were broad and hard from months and months of gym membership; she was, by society's standards, pretty average. And Eddie was absolutely in love with her the first day he met her.

"Six months, huh?" Jack breaks his thoughts, lifting an eyebrow as he folds his arms, "try two years."

Then, Jack stares at Eddie, as if he just had a revelation, because yeah, he was getting sick of women too―or at least, he was tired of them. He never really noticed because all was well when he wasn't thinking, but the notion always ticked in his head like a bomb. If he wasn't at his physical education classes, with the thousands of girls sitting by him taking quiet notes, he was with Tiffany and her friends. And, he had nothing against his girlfriend―no, he had nothing against her. She was amazing, she's been amazing since the first day he met her.

Tiffany was a bumbling, clumsy girl with dark shades of blue and black liner, paint, and gloss scattered on her face. She had long, curly black hair, and cool pink tones in her brown cheeks. She wasn't exactly small, but she wasn't big either. And sometimes, Jack would see that she'd fluctuate in size, expanding more than usual, and other times just staying small for a good period of time. He never really minded because it's not his body to begin with, and she was always pretty anyway, but she was an ever complex girl. She liked comic books and heavy metal, and her favorite thing was pink roses and abstract paintings―and sometimes those things changed over time. Nonetheless, she was the same girl he met at Eddie's wedding party―a friend of Candy―and he loved her just as much as he loved her yesterday.

The only problem was: she didn't really give him time for himself―or well, anything. Some of that isn't her fault, especially with his tight-knit schedule at the dojo and course work, but it doesn't help that he needs to juggle some of her things along with his. He never really thought about it before Eddie brought it up, but he really is tired of women―or at least he thinks he is. Tiffany doesn't really give him much time to think, let alone breathe; he's been busy since he can last remember, and most of those events were parties Tiffany had set up. He is, by the past five months that he can recall, tired of women.

"Two years? I couldn't even imagine," Eddie comments, his eyes ever big when he's interested, "but wait, isn't that when you met Tiffany? Two years ago?"

"Yeah," Jack replies, nodding as he thought about the repercussions of what he said and what he probably meant, "I mean, I love Tiffany, but, I don't know, I guess it's just a little overwhelming and exhausting. I'm juggling tea parties and comic book clubs all the while course work. And all I ever see is girls in flower dresses squealing about how exciting the next volume of Batman is, and how terrible the next movie saga is gonna be―and honestly, I really don't care―"

"Yeah, neither do I," Eddie adds, "Candy keeps talking about it―since she thinks I'm a guy and all―but sometimes I just really want to water my flowers."

"Yes!" The taller boy extends his palm towards the other, relieved and ecstatic that someone understood him. "I don't know about every other organism in the ecosystem, but the flowers in my kitchen aren't going to drink themselves. They need water, care, love, and affection and the air isn't going to do that by itself!"

Eddie nods fervently, grinning as Jack spoke. It was so relieving to find someone who could agree with him about gardening, especially since Candy always ignored him. It's the reason they had been fighting for two months about negligence in the house hold. Candy was rather vexing about it; she knew that he mostly listened to respect her, but it was just cruel for her to talk about it all night until he fell asleep before he could tend to himself―and his sunflowers: Lulu and Jenny. Batman and all his other friends could wait.

"You know what we need?" Jack continues, placing his palm among Eddie's chest to stop his tracks, "We need a man cave."

"Yeah," the smaller boy coincides, "we just need to join a man club, one of those groups where we hang out with guys and talk about manly stuff. There's one on Penny Ave―right where the motorcycle gang hangs out sometimes, but they're never really there because Manny's always at the hospital."

"Manny?" Jack lifts his eyebrows again―but this time from confusion.

"Yeah, Manny's the leader. He's really cool and he loves gardening too! He's just always getting into bar fights all the time," his friend answers, nodding his head as he speaks. Jack is a little scared that he knows this much about an infamous motorcycle gang around Penny Ave, but he doesn't push any farther―since he doesn't really want to know―and just decides that it's better if Jack and Eddie make their own club, without criminals who like daises and sometimes aren't in the hospital.

"Yeah." The confused, but all too concerned, friend steps backward. "I was thinking we could just make our own club, like, like a gardening club, you know?"

Eddie nods. "Yeah, that could be fun―but we can't tell Candy or she'll make me go to the comic book tea parties and I don't think I can hear another Batman versus Superman fight again."

"Yeah," Jack agrees, "I don't think I can either―I mean, I might just actually start reading them, and who knows how many flowers will start dying by then?"

The car is silent.

Kim tightens her hands among the wheel, wrapping her small fingers around the black fabric, before she relaxes and lets out a breath. What is going on with her? With them? Why is this so awkward?

The warm glow of the sun radiates against the car windows; it only looks to be around 3:45 PM. She barely glances at the small green clock, above the radio, as the gold shafts strike her eyes.

Jerry is quiet on the other side of the car. He sits facing the window, eyes rolling back and forth as he watches the cars on the other side of the highway. He hasn't said anything to her since they stopped for some gas, and it was just a muted "no" when she asked him if he wanted some water from the small convenience store. With distant eyes, he had looked at her, and it was just the strangest feeling. It was like he was looking at her, but his mind was somewhere else, like he wanted to be somewhere else―somewhere far from Kim. And that had hurt a little. Even now, he still looks just as distant, and maybe a little irritated, but she'll never know if she never asks―and she won't. She's already been treading on thin ice, very, very thin ice, and she doesn't exactly know how to ice-skate in the first place.

Cars, some red, some gray, and some black, stop before her―traffic―and Kim gradually removes her hand from the wheel and sits back.

Why isn't he talking to her? Talk to me, she thinks, turning her head to face him. Quietly gazing out the window, Jerry doesn't notice her eyes. He has his head pressed against the black car seat and the gray seat belt across his chest. He looks a little like a curious toddler, eyeing and dissecting things. Small kids always spoke though, why doesn't he? But, most importantly, why does she care? She should be relaxing and letting the silence lull her into comfort, not asking for him to go on and on about whatever he wants to―but she does! She misses him, she misses everything about him, and she wants him to fill her in on everything in the world, because they're best friends, they're best friends, and she loves the sound of his ridiculous commentary and generic slang. And yeah, she loves him, like she loves all the other boys at the dojo.

The cars ahead of her trail slowly forward after another; the traffic is moving sluggishly. Kim places her hands on the wheel and pushes the car only two feet forward. It isn't that far ahead, but she's glad it's moving anyway. It's too much of a nice day to be stuck inside of this car and she can't wait to go out and walk about. Until then though, she isn't sure of what to do. Maybe they could listen to some music?

Kim leans forward in her seat, planting her hands on the small dial. She turns it, leisurely spinning it on her tips as she tries to find something she can listen to.

Different rhythms and sounds churn out of her speakers for a good few seconds, all interrupting each other in a very obnoxious and confusing way, until she hears a small noise beside her. Or a small voice. Jerry's voice.

"What?" Kim looks at him, waiting on his response.

He shakes his head, softly, like a small tiny bird―one she wanted to crush in her hands because it never, ever, said anything to her. "Never mind," he mutters.

Irritated, she keeps her hand stoic on the dial. Her eyes do not move, they grow harsher, but they do not move. Kim waits patiently for the words to roll off her tongue like a nice person would do for any friend, before she bites at him. She doesn't necessarily understand why he's acting this way―and how did she not notice when he moved in―but there's always a reason, so she tries being extremely nice and passive about it. "No, what did you want to tell me?"

"Nothing." He shrugs, placing his hands under his chin, as he looks outside the window again. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does, Jerry," she says a little more nicely than she thought she would, "come on, what is it?"

Gradually, like a bird stepping closer, he turns to her. And, it feels like she's messing with a hothouse flower. Don't say this, don't say that; she's fighting with her mind and her mouth again. She absolutely hates doing that and she won't, because ultimately her mouth matters most.

"What is it, Jerry!?" Kim leans further in.

Jerry flinches a little, but he finally opens his mouth. "I just wanted you to keep the radio station on―the one on right now."

"Oh." Kim removes her hand off the dial. He turns his head back to the window.

There's a small twinge of something rattling in her stomach, but she doesn't really spend time to decipher what it is. She leans back in her seat, settles into the warmth of the sun beside her, and never really removes her eyes off of Jerry. She didn't have to snap at h―it doesn't matter right now. She presses her lips together, kicks her eyebrows to the top of her head, and pats her hands against her lap. What can she do to get Jerry to talk? What does Jerry possibly love enough to start smiling or something? There was a whole file of things that he loved, most of those things being food, but she doesn't pick at them at all when she glides her eyes over to the dial. Jerry loves dancing, he loves music, but he loves dancing. Placing her small hands onto the knob beside the one she turned a few minutes ago, she circles it in her fingertips until the volume is high enough to burst Jerry's fun little box open―or at least hers―and then removes it.

"So you grab your girls and you grab a couple more. . ."

Kim snaps her fingers to the rhythm, bobbing her head left and right, as the music spills out of the speakers. Jerry still faces the windows.

"Said the air is thick, it's smelling right. . ."

She wraps her fingers into a fist and pounds them in the air against her chest as she arches her back and straightens it once more. Kim does it at least ten times in a row, in small controlled movements, before Jerry turns to look at her and see that she's attempting to either dance or have a heart attack. He's not really sure which, since both look entirely plausible, but either way, he thinks it's funny. Kim doesn't notice this until she opens her eyes and sees two brown irises looking at her and a lazy smile.

"I wanna rock your body, please stay. . ."

Kim begins pounding one fist to the side and kicking her leg beneath the dashboard softly, until Jerry begins to understand that she's dancing―not having a heart attack―so he smiles. But, Kim notices that it's a little bigger than usual, as if small sounds of laughter are in route, so she feels almost inclined to continue.

And she does, until Jerry starts laughing and he can't breathe anymore.

"I like these more," Eddie comments, flicking at a white packet listed as Blue Boy Cornflower Seeds.

It's a little after an hour since they've arrived from the boardwalk and into the closest home improvement or services local store. They had been walking a little aimlessly around the small aisles for a while, before they decided on packets, flowers to pick. It didn't help either that they really knew nothing about flowers or anything of that kind. Jack was only great at tending and taking care of them, but he wasn't too sure on the plant itself so when a small lady comes around and starts helping them pick things Jack is grateful. She's only a little smaller than him with white hair that falls to her arms, but she talks so much he wasn't even sure if her small body could handle it. Then again, she was very old―elders always have a lot to say from their experiences. Besides, it helped them; she's the only one who redirected them into this aisle where they could start their gardening pretty simple.

Jack faces her, handling two or three packets of his own in his hand. "Which one do I pick, I mean, I think they're both really nice but―"

"Get both," the lady answers simply, shrugging as she speaks, "cornflowers are very easy to grow, you just need to be careful to sow them properly is all. But getting two is always a blast because they're very, very pretty."

Jack and Eddie nod, facing the girl with as much radiance as she beams at them. The dark blue, red, purple, and white flower seeds shake in their hands as they jiggle the packets in their hands. It's been such a boring week so far, but this excites them to a whole other level―especially since Jack's never actually taken this serious before. He has two tulips standing beside his window, but he feels a little sorry for them when he sees them crane their leaves towards the sunlight. The thing is: he doesn't have anywhere to plant them―no greenhouse, no backyard, no front yard. He lives in an apartment...he lives in an apartment―

"Eddie!" He turns to face his smaller friend.

Eddie, himself, follows suit to the boy's actions. Looking slightly confused, he places the packets down in the small red cart. "What?"

"We don't have anywhere to put these flowers, remember? We live in an apartment," he tries to whisper, holding his friend in both his hands. The small packets slip through the gaps of his fingers as he holds him. They're in the middle of a narrow, but occupied aisle, and he's trying to have a private discussion with him. He realizes that his plan isn't well thought out, when the smaller-than-both-of-them old lady cranes her neck and faces them.

"I have a greenhouse...and a small garden out back," she supplies, lifting a shoulder as if she's asking.

Jack and Eddie look at each other for a moment, outweighing the pros and cons of sharing a greenhouse with an older lady, as well as hanging out with one, but they come up with nothing. They like talking to her mostly, and she isn't irritating. The only question is: wouldn't she already have no space to plant their own flowers? Besides, she might have other things to be doing than to hang out with a couple of adults who think they know everything there is to know. Jack shifts his eyes away for a second, trying to find the exact words to say to her without coming off defensive or anything like that. She's nice after all; offering something like this isn't exactly something everybody does.

"Oh, but, we wouldn't want to intrude or―" he tries to say, before she waves her hand in the air and shrugs at him.

"I'm offering because I have nothing else I'd rather be doing. I mean, I haven't gardened since he died; honestly, I only came in here to check some stuff out. I wasn't expecting to want to garden again." She blinks at him as the side of her lip begins to resemble a smile.

Jack finds himself agreeing to her offer before she can fully smile at him. "Well, then I'd be glad to garden at your greenhouse...or your small garden out back," he gulps, pressing his lips together to the form of a smile.

"Yeah," Eddie adds, smiling from ear to ear, "I'm Eddie, by the way. He's Jack."

"Lily," she responds, ducking her head a little.

And then Jack smiles because the irony was a little heartwarming and he found it was probably the nicest name he's heard in a while.

Somewhere across the highway near the bay, Kim is a little surprised that it's been over two hours―or 3:00 to 5:56 PM to be exact―since she started driving. She had no idea that the traffic was going to be this bad, other wise she never would have left the house, especially since those "errands" she had to do weren't necessarily real. She just wanted to get out the house―with Jerry, or maybe for Jerry? Nonetheless, she couldn't believe she had been in this car for so long.

Facing the boy next to her, she sighs. "Are all pop hits this bad?"

"Is it like the ocean? What devotion? Are you?"

Jerry looks at her, blinking his eyes for a bit, until he nods his head. A small smile curls into his cheeks and he's laughing before Kim realizes what's funny, and then she does. And then it really is funny and she's laughing before she can stop herself.

"What? This song sucks, I'm sorry," she adds unapologetic, trying not to be as mean as she sounds―although who was she to care, she didn't make the song?

Jerry pulls a hand out from his gray hoodie, pale and smaller than she remembers, and places his tips on the round dial against the dashboard. It rolls around his fingers for a good while; different sounds and songs shift into one another as he changes the tunes. She finds that almost nothing on the radio is as good as it used to be, but everyone knows that already. It's not like it's really a surprise. Nonetheless, she sits patiently as the sounds roll over and over and it suddenly becomes comfortable to listen to. The sun no longer hovers through her window, it mostly falls along the horizon like a warm sea of orange and red. She can almost feel the heat sink into her car.

Cutting her thoughts off, Jerry stops rolling the small dial onto a very familiar song. He ducks his head as she watches him and murmurs, "sorry, I just hate that song."

Kim shakes her head, forming a small grin on her face. "No, it's okay."

She hears the rhythm falling through the speakers―base, drums, and some keyboard on each side of the car. She recognizes the music, it's familiar. Sticking out her hand out―this time with a little more piqued interest―she rolls the dial beside the radio and increases the volume. It's not until the music is loudly blaring on each side of the car that she recognizes the song, almost like an old child's tale, and begins to bounce, gradually increasing with the rhythm that rolls through her veins and blood.

"Uh, but does she really wanna, but can't stand to see mewalk out the door...

Jerry's murmuring the lyrics, quietly on the other side of the car. Tapping his fingers on his lap, he's almost entranced. She tries not to be too obvious that she's watching, dancing and keeping her line of vision to the side of her car, and then when he's really floating in his mind she'll look. Oh god, why is it so hard to just look and talk to him now? This is so ridiculous; she doesn't even do this with Tyler.

"Alright," she huffs out loud, "dance."

Jerry faces her, a little confused on what she's talking about―or to. "What?"

"I said," she pulls his arm, gently, closer, "dance...―with me?"

Oh my god, why is she asking? Why is she being so demure about something that she wants and should have? Jerry is a dancing machine; a year ago, if she would have asked him to dance he would've pushed her aside and busted into some silly, but great, dance that he's created himself. She wouldn't have to soften her voice, stare at him in the eyes, and pretend that she isn't totally nervous with just doing that. And why is she? He's just her best friend, even though he tends to be more fragile than usual. She doesn't have to―she shouldn't have to―gosh, she's so irritated.

"I mean, you're Jerry, right?" Kim pushes further, leaning closer to the boy who sits beside her, who nods almost diligently. "Then dance! Pull some Martinez moves."

"Well, uh, I can't really dance―"

Kim blinks, then blinks again, and then blinks again. Did he just say he can't dance? Is he joking or...? "You're kidding, right? That's funny," she sneers, chuckling lightly.

Then, she notices he isn't laughing or smiling or anything for that matter. He's staring at her blankly, eyes a little glassy, but overall empty. And he said it with such honesty too, like he meant every syllable, but he was always good at lying. He was always―just like he was always joking around. Kim tries searching through his face to see if there's an ounce of one of those things, but there isn't. He really thinks he isn't that good at dancing anymore. Are you serious? Are you― "Jerry, you're amazing at dancing! Everything about the way you dance is great. You're enthusiastic, energetic, and fluid, and people can see that. Don't, don't ever say that again. Not even as a joke, Jerry. I'll punch you right in the gut if you ever think about joking about something like that again. You're, you're Jerry, dancing is yours, and only yours, that's what you were born to do. I mean―"

She presses her eyebrows together; she's mad―both angry and a little crazy. "Dance."

"What? Kim, I can't," he sputters, "I can't dance."

"Stop saying that!" Kim shoves his shoulders, and he flinches a little too quickly for her liking. "Dance. I want you to dance. Dance, however you like, but just dance."

"You think you've got it, oh, you think you've got it..."

Jerry turns from her, looking back at her again just to make she isn't joking, until he faces straight across the windshield. He doesn't really know how to get into the groove―it's been a long time. And her eyes on him don't really help, he's just left doing some weird light and dry version of her own bouncing. He's not really sure if he's even doing it right―perhaps she even dances better than him now.

Kim squeezes her eyebrows closer, before she presses a hand on his chest. He's a little scared she'll hit him, but she's soft when she lands. "Dance for real, Jerry. Dance from the heart."

"But separate's always better when there's feelings involved..."

And he thinks about that―about the way his heart feels. It's a little tired, a little hurt―well, a lot―but most of all, it feels shut. It feels shut in this small cage he put it in a while ago. When he broke up with Poppy, his heart hurt...a lot. He couldn't, can't, even think about her without getting this really bad pain in his chest, and then sometimes he couldn't breathe. What was he supposed to do without her? She made him, she made every single part of him, and now she's gone―and so is all those little jagged parts. Poppy wasn't an exactly amazing person, but he could handle life with her around. He could live with her around. Now that she's not with him, and now that he's away, he doesn't know how he's going to do it. He knows he once could, and once again can, but he doesn't know how. She made him feel like he couldn't; she made him feel like a mess, she made him feel―...like nothing.

Kim rubs her hand on his shoulder. "Jerry?"

"Yeah," he answers, shaking his head, remembering why he left and why he should―needs―to be happy.

"Are you okay?" She continues to ask, a little more worried than she should probably be.

And he nods, he nods, and he starts to dance. It's silly little moves here and there, but they actually feel a little more genuine than the ones he tried to do earlier. There's a smile on his face too, maybe not as big as he'd like it, but it's also genuine. It's real, just like how he feels, all of his feelings are real.

"Hey... ya, hey... ya, hey... ya, hey... ya..."

He's dancing, it's not as big and as flamboyant as usual, but he's dancing, Kim notes. His movements are demure and simple, but they're energetic and fluid. She's smiling so wide that she feels her cheeks sting lightly, and her bouncing has moved off tempo―not like she was really in tempo to begin with. She pays so much attention to the boy sitting across from her, sliding his feet from the left to the right in the car, and his abysmal vocal cords floating through the air, that she's basically forgotten how terrible her dancing―and the traffic―is.

But, it's not like it bothers her. She wouldn't have it any other way.

They'd been moving things out of the small greenhouse for over two hours. Eddie and Jack didn't expect it to be as full as it had been when they began, but the sun was already setting by now. There were bags of old fertilizer, rusted tools, and ceramic bowls full of years old dirt; they couldn't even see light within the darkness until they removed everything there was to remove from the place. Nevertheless, the greenhouse looks really good, it was exhausting to accomplish, but it looks really good. They couldn't have expected the work to last long, but it really paid off in the end.

Lily stands before the doors, holding onto the left frame behind Eddie and Jack. She hasn't said anything since they've started to work on it hours ago, but she feels words rolling out of her tongue as she looks around the place. "It's good, it's really good."

Eddie and Jack turn to face Lily herself. Wrapped up in her yellow jacket that she hasn't removed yet, she walks in, rubbing her eyes as she looks up and sees the clouds in the skies. And then, she starts crying.

"You're happy," Eddie comments, grinning as always. Jack doesn't say anything, because Eddie's already said it, but he smiles at her anyway.

"Yeah, yeah," she replies, wiping the small tears from her face, "I just haven't been here in a while, but I miss this place, and it's so nice to see it like this. Thank you."

Jack and Eddie glance at each other, small little smiles―and grins, on Eddie's part. It's a little longer than their typical stares, especially since it looks like they're planning something. Lily doesn't know what it is yet, or if it's anything at all, but she sees the look they give each other. She sees the small steps they make towards her. Before she understands what they're doing or what they're attempting to do, they move at her side as if they were casually walking up to her. Her own brown eyes face up at them, wondering what their next move is or just what they're trying to do. Then quickly, suddenly, they jump at her, like two tiny cubs tackling their mama bear, wrapping their arms around her shoulder, hugging her.

"Oh gosh," she blurts, laughing as she holds her chin up, "okay, okay, are we working on these flowers or what?"

Then, Eddie and Jack release her, stepping out of her grasp, and into the narrow greenhouse they've cleared. There's some dust on the long, red, and faded counters arranged by the windows, aligned like the tables you see in front of a diner's front window, but it all looks good. It all looks good.

Who knew their man cave would be in the shape of this place?

A little late in the night, around seven, Kim and Jerry have finally arrived to their destination―or at least, "errands." It had been a long drive, mostly due to traffic, but they had both welcomed the walking distance that was to come. Kim wasn't necessarily as happy as she thought she would be by it, since it had been a really, really long drive and anyone would have been happy, but "anyone" hadn't been with Jerry in that car. Riding in that car with him was nice and a little better than she thought it was going to be, so to finally step out of the familiar little fun box was scary. She actually had a good time, a really, really good time. And it was nice to be with him again, even if it was over three hours stuck in a car with him. Now, she didn't know if things were going to get awkward again―she didn't know if she was going to lose what they had built.

Once she parked the car, there was just silence again. The lights were off, though the cars, buses, and buildings illuminated in the night, and it felt like he wasn't even in the car anymore―again. He wasn't even moving, the only thing she could hear was his breathing―that is, until, he spoke.

"I'm hungry," he mumbles, laughing at the odd declaration in the middle of silence.

Kim smiles, turning to face him, though she could only see the edge of his nose and his eyes. "Well, what do you want to eat? Come on, it's on me―"

Jerry shakes his head, his teeth glistening as he grins. "Nah, it's okay. I'll pay―"

Kim shakes her head much like he had, only her smile is wider and she looks a little bolder. She wasn't going to let him pay when she had just said she'll pay―and Kim never pays for anyone, including herself sometimes, so if she's going to pay then at least let her. "Jerry, don't worry about it, I'll pay―"

"Kim, girl, I―"

"No, Jerry, come on―"

"―you don't have to, I―"

"―Jerry! Just let me pay! I want to pay for you," she suddenly sputters, leaning forward, "I haven't seen you in forever; I want to treat you."

Jerry turns his head downward, and Kim thinks she sees small tints of pink sprinkling his face, but all she can truly see is his eyes, nose, and curl of his hair. If she could see his smile then surely she'd be able to catch the tints of crimson on his cheek. He's blushing; oh my goodness, he's blushing.

"You don't have to do that, Kim," he mumbles, struggling to look at her.

She giggles, shaking her head at him. He was such a guy sometimes―such a guy. "Jerry, you're my best friend. I'm going to do things like this for you, because I care about you. And when people care about you, they do nice things."

"Yeah, well, sometimes, they don't," he replies, flashing his eyes at her as if there was more to that statement. And Kim didn't like that it seemed like there was.

"Well, then they don't care about you." Kim faces him, pressing her hand on his shoulder. "Because if someone cares about you, and I mean, really cares about you, then they will always do nice things for you―always."

Jerry is quiet in his seat after that, tearing his face away from hers, and solemnly sitting in his seat. The lights from the buildings, cars, and buses swirl around them, and she can feel them heat up the car slowly. It was a little breezy in the morning, but as the day passed before them, it grew a little colder―not as cold as winter in states far away from here―but cold. However, she could feel the lights, and the condensed air in the car, as well as Jerry's smile heat her up. And it felt nice, she liked it.

"Now, come on, let's get some food," she gingerly adds, lifting the door handle as she pushes it open. Quickly stepping her boots out on the smooth cement, she lifts her head and faces the other side. Kim smiles to see Jerry, and he beams at her under the moonlight.

It's a strange feeling to actually feel love vibrate through your bones, swimming through your head, but it's there―she loves him. She loves Jerry.

AN:

What did you think? What did you like most about this chapter? What did you like least? What constructive criticism do you have? And how does that disrupt the flow of the story? What do you think happened to Jerry? What do you think is happening to Kim?

I like to make sure my writing is clear to you. I like to make sure you're not having a difficult time as you read. I also want to make sure that as readers I'm listening to you guys. Earlier a specific reader, optimistic girl94, told me that one of my paragraphs were really big and I had to cut it in half. As I proofread this chapter, I tried to cut some paragraphs in half but I couldn't see which ones were necessarily too big and others that were just normal for a book. However, I'll try to cut it in half if I see that it's too big on the actual web page.

And, there I go babbling again. Sorry, I just feel like there's a lot I want to tell you guys and not enough space to say it. I'm really glad you guys liked the first chapter, I worked really hard on it and it's nice to see positive feedback - but don't hold back from criticism either. I can be very objective with my work if I have to be so go on and leave comments if you wish. But, thank you, thank you, thank you for the comments. You guys are too sweet and I smile until my face stings when I read your comments.

Okay, okay, I'll stop talking, I promise. I'll stop.