Leonard Benson sat alone at a breakfast table in the hotel lobby, styrofoam coffee cup in hand, the newspaper spread across the table, his thick-rimmed glasses perched on his nose as he pored over the headlines. He took a tentative sip of coffee, testing the temperature on his tongue before swallowing. As his eyes roamed around the lobby, a family emerged from the elevator and noisily began making their way to the complimentary breakfast buffet. He watched as the mother tiredly scooped scrambled eggs and bacon on to a plate, and led her little girl over to the toaster as the father held the baby, gently bouncing and yawning hugely. Leonard swallowed hard.
More than anything, he wanted to look away, go outside, just leave, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the family. The baby started whimpering, causing Leonard to subconsciously clench his jaw. The father murmured into the baby's ear, rocking him in his arms, until the baby's cries subsided. Leonard swallowed hard and stood up, leaving the newspaper behind as he walked out the door. He didn't look back.
Sam sat on a stool in Freddie's apartment, her feet curled beneath her. She squinted at the computer screen of Freddie's laptop, periodically glancing at the glowing green numbers of the microwave clock. Freddie had instructed her to read through the preliminary guest list, for them to discuss when he got home. The metallic twisting of a key grinding through a lock echoed through the quiet apartment, causing Sam to leap to her feet and turn the doorknob at the same time Freddie did. His eyes lit up as they soaked in the sight of her. To be drunken by Freddie's eyes filled Sam with an exuberant warmness that filled her in a way that no amount of food ever could. She leaned up and pressed her lips to hers, and they stood there, kissing in the doorway.
Carly stretched out across the living room couch, a junkyard find that Spencer had restuffed and reupholstered, a blanket wrapping her in a cocoon and a pint of Ben and Jerry's ice cream melting on the coffee table. She wiggled around in the blanket, trying to figure out the best way to slide her arm out to eat. Leaning forward, she balanced on the edge of the couch cushion, and reached for the ice cream carton when the door banged open, sending her toppling to the ground.
"What's up, Carls?" Gibby asked, walking into the living room and dropping his jacket on the back of the couch. "Really, Gibby? Really?" she grumbled, crawling back onto the couch. "You look like you need a sack," he said with a chuckle. "Not the time, Gib," Carly snapped, but smiled in spite of herself at the ridiculous memory. "Why not?" he asked, reaching for the ice cream carton. She said nothing and sat silently, watching as he maneuvered the spoon around the inside of the ice cream carton, strategically digging out the biggest chocolate chunks.
Later, the ice cream long gone and the movie credits rolling, Carly bit her lower lip as she watched Gibby sleep, his face was relaxed into a shadow of boyishness. Growing up, Carly often felt motherly and protective towards him. That had started to change when she realized the way Sam and Freddie felt towards each other. Letting go of Freddie was one of the hardest things Carly had ever had to do. Selfishly, she considered him her back up plan, and she knew that he would do anything for her. But watching him interact with Sam made her realize that she could never make him happy the way Sam could.
That was right around the time that Gibby slowly became part of their group. He had been on the fringes of iCarly since the beginning, but as Sam and Freddie got closer, Carly invited Gibby along to everything to avoid feeling like a third wheel. But falling in love with him had never been part of the plan.
Their lips were moving together in the rhythm they knew so well. Their hands were grabbing at each other desperately, frantically pulling closer, both minds wiped blissfully clean. Sam took a shaky step forward, still clinging to Freddie, and he followed eagerly, pulling the apartment door shut behind them.
Marissa was perched on the edge of her favorite hazard-free chair in the living room, eyes glued to the television screen, tears streaming down her face. She had been flipping through the channels, looking for something to play in the background as she mopped the floors, when she stumbled across the opening credits for "A Walk to Forget," her ultimate guilty pleasure in sappy movies. Her cleaning plans were instantly forgotten as she sat down to watch. Two hours later, here she sat, bawling as the ending credits scrolled across the screen. A tentative knock at her door forced her to pull herself together. Hiccupping, she did her best to clear her throat and called out, "Who's there?" as she walked to the doorway to peer through the peephole. "It's just me, Marissa. Leonard. May I come in?"