Aaaand here I go again with the lack of updates. e_e I apologize.

Here's the next part, though! Hope you enjoy it.

"My gate's right over there. Gate P6," Dez informs Kye, who had taken it upon himself to drive his new friend to the LAX airport. The drive had been quiet for the most part, and Kye knew better than to pry. The moment Dez had entered his car after the chat he had alone with Trish, Kye understood. The look on the redhead's face said everything necessary to explain the situation. However, many questions had stirred up in the other boy's mind during the half-hour drive.

"So…That's it, huh? I guess you're not coming back here. Well, until you get a chance work in Hollywood – which I don't doubt," he asks Dez, lightly and playfully tapping the taller boy's shoulder with his fist.

"Well, I'm not exactly wanted here." Dez shakes his head, staring at the dashboard in front of him as he fiddles with a loose thread at the hem of his shirt. "I really thought we were making some kinda progress – but she shut me out. Again," he adds, releasing the thread and gesturing with his hands in frustration.

"It's because you were in such a hurry to leave, Dez." Kye parks the car in front of Dez's flight gate, then turns to him. "You hurt her, Dez. Of course she's going to be defensive."

"She started it!" Dez counters with his arms crossed, his tone resembling a six-year-old.

"Dez…"

"Okay, okay. But it's not like I can do anything about it now, can I?" He folds his lips, blinking away the wetness in his eyes. He opens the passenger door and steps out, while Kye presses a button to open the trunk of his van.

"You guys might just need some time to let things simmer down. It'll be okay," Kye makes an effort to soothe him. Although he isn't sure if he truly believes what's coming out of his mouth, Kye wishes to supply Dez with at least some sense of hope – if nothing else.

"We tried that already, Kye. No amount of time is going to help us. It'll just be the same thing over and over again - and I don't think I can take it anymore." Dez walks around the back, pulling his bright orange carry-on out of the trunk. "Anyways, thanks for the ride, man. And…For everything else, too. I needed a buddy." Kye sticks his head out of the driver's side window to return his newfound friend's gratitude with an "anytime". He opens his mouth to speak, but freezes up upon looking over the redhead's shoulder.

"…You okay? Something wrong?" Dez's eyebrows push together, eyes now flickering with nervousness as paranoia fills his mind. Is there a gunman behind me with a pistol pointed my way?, he can't help but wonder. He gently puts down his carry-on, raises his hands up in the air as a "white flag" of sorts, and makes a slow turn to face the possible danger.

Not a gunman, thankfully. Although, it's someone he's even more unequipped to face.

"Trish?!" he drops his hands back down to his sides. "Why are you-? How did you-? What-?" he stutters, trying to form proper sentences to no avail. The girl raises a hand up to silence him, then approaches him swiftly. "Trish what the heck are you–?" he starts, as the girl shoves him back forcefully. "Oof! Wh-hey! Did you really follow me all the way out here just to shove me? Trish, I said I'm done–," he's cut off again as she gives him another push, this one much more forceful than the last. He falls back, rump hitting the cement as he cries out in mild pain from the impact.

"Trish, stop!" Kye calls out, jumping out from his side of the vehicle. He rushes over to help Dez up, only to have Trish hold a hand out in front of him – stopping him. "Trish – you've done enough. Just leave him alone," the boy begs, slightly shaking from fright at the sight of the abrasive girl. She ignores his words and walks on over to the boy she had pushed down, extending a hand out to him.

Dez glares up at her, brows together and lips tightened – his face alerting her to back off. He picks himself up off of the ground, dusting his asphalt-stained hands off on his pants as he continues to glower her way. She drops the hand, the look on her face mirroring the ferocity of his own. He grabs the handle of his carry-on and turns to Kye. "Bye, Kye," he nods at the boy, who reciprocates his gesture. Kye maintains his position, refusing to return to the car until he makes sure that Dez gets past security safely. The boy looks between the girl and the redhead, ready to jump into action in case anything else occurs.

Dez pulls the suitcase as he walks up along the ramp towards the gate, with Trish watching him make the climb.

"Don't–" she chokes out, finally breaking her stone-cold front, with the smallest of voices squeaking out of her. As much as her broken sound urges him to turn around, he cannot allow himself fall back into that abyss. It'll just end up being painful, messy, and will get us nowhere, he tells himself. He continues up the ramp.

Light sobs and gasps escape the curly-headed girl – lost as to how to save this. Lost. Guilt-ridden. Her tears do little to mend anything, however. Pointless. Pointless tears. She wipes them away with her sleeve. "Dez!" she cries out with the last of her vocal strength. The last half hour had been tough on her, to say the least. And it's likely that she'll be required to pay for the damages she had done to her dorm room a few moments after Dez had left her.

When Dez doesn't turn around, she forces herself to go after him. She runs up the ramp, calling his name out a few more times to try and get his attention. Kye, who had been watching her every move, rushes after her in case she decides to tackle Dez to the ground. However, sometimes little obstructions in the way can throw everyone off-guard.

Trish lets out a shriek as she falls to ground, her hands not quick enough to catch her before her face hits the ground. She groans in pain, already tasting the blood in her mouth.

"Trish!" Kye runs to her side, crouching down beside her.

"Quick, go inside and ask the medical department for a first aid kit," Dez speaks up, causing Kye to flinch as Dez seemed to suddenly appear beside Trish. Kye gives him a nod, then does as told – running in through the double-doors of the airport.

Dez cautiously lifts up Trish's head, wincing at the sight of the pool of blood that had formed underneath. He turns her around, setting her head down on his lap as he inspects the damage.

"Dez–" she begins, grabbing onto his forearm. He pulls his arm free, tilting his head as he continues to examine her injuries.

"Shut up," he orders her harshly, carefully tilting her head back to get a better look. Normally, she'd retaliate somehow. She absolutely loathes hearing those words – and from Dez, no less – however now isn't the time to be getting into any new arguments. "Your nose might have a slight fracture, but you'll live," he assures her, helping her sit up on her knees. "And now that you've got my attention – why are you here, Trish?" He pulls out a tissue from his pocket and starts dabbing away the blood under her nose.

"I don't want you to go." It seems that the commanding tone she intended on having would not escape her, and the words come out in the form of a desperate plea. As much as she hates sounding this way, she continues in the same manner. "Please…" She grasps onto both of his forearms in a state of distress. The very thought of her sinking to this level shakes the very core of her being, but there is no other way. It's him or her pride, and at this point she cannot have both. She attempts to gain eye-contact with the boy, but he refuses – focusing his eyes on the injuries to her nose.

"I guess we're even now. You hurt my nose, and now yours is, too. Is that like karma or something?" he says, diverting away from her pleas. He exhales sharply out of mild amusement. Not that seeing her get hurt is of any joy to him – yet the irony of the situation is remarkable. Here she is, begging him to stay and suffering a nasal injury, when not long ago he was in the same position.

"Dez, please. Listen, I'm–"

"–You had your chance already, Trish. Too many chances, actually. Give me one good reason why I should listen to you now," he snaps back at her coldly, eyes finally meeting hers.

"Because I'm here, Dez. And that's more than I can say for you," she retorts sharply, her assertiveness returning to her. She cannot help it. All this boy ever did was made her angry. And distressed. And irrevocably blissful in a way she couldn't possibly explain to anyone – and she hated it, and she loved it.

Silenced by her quick comeback, an ability she has that he cannot help but admire, he has trouble figuring out a response. He immediately understands what she is referring to, as the thoughts and guilt he carries from it had never left him; the day he refused to show up at the airport as she took her leave from Miami. The very day he ruined it all between them – whatever little they had.

He grabs hold of her chin as he gets a better look at her face. Streaks decorate her cheeks, her eyes reddened and puffier than he'd ever seen them before. "You've been crying."

"No shit, Sherlock," she hisses through gritted teeth, her fierce brown eyes still focused on his mellow blue ones, unwavering.

"Over me?" he asks humorlessly, his brows knitting together – his face dropping a few years into innocence as he tilts his head slightly to the side.

"You're such an idiot," she utters with little force, sounding almost good-natured in a way. She shakes her head as she looks down at her lap, allowing herself to form a small smile.

"I love you," he repeats his words from earlier. "I love you, Trish," he reiterates. Her eyes find his again, her smile refusing to let up.

"I know." She nods, putting her hand over his without breaking eye-contact.

"So…?" he pushes further, hoping for more.

"C'mon, you're not gonna make me say it, are you?" she rolls her eyes, a small sigh escaping her. Pride, Trish. Let it go, she mentally chides herself. The boy looks to her, widened eyes filled with guileless hope.

"Dez..."

"Yeah…?" he asks, leaning in towards her. He places his hands down on her thighs, continuing to lean in – as she allowed him to do so.

"I–," Her sentence goes unfinished, but the words aren't necessary to him. The way she smiled had communicated it all. He presses his lips to hers tenderly, closing his eyes as his hands travel up to her shoulders. He pulls away shortly after at the taste of blood, wiping it off his own lips with a sweep of his thumb and dabbing the tissue over hers before guiding her back into the kiss. Her hands lift up and grab his face, returning the kiss with full-force, as painful as it is to her slightly-injured lips. She pulls back, groaning as the pressure against his face became too much for her hurt nose to handle.

"Oww." She grips her nose with her index finger and thumb, as Dez laughs lightly, dropping his grasp on her shoulders. He takes her free hand within his own.

"Wow. I leave for a minute, and everything's resolved itself," Kye jokes, returning with a medical aid kit. He hands it over to Dez, who smirks at him then promptly puts it to use, cleaning up Trish's scars and taping down her nose with some adhesives. "You two need some time alone?" the boys asks them, putting on a smug smirk of sorts.

"I…I can't. I need to catch my flight," Dez reminds them, gesturing to the double doors. "Kye, take Trish to the hospital." Trish is prompt to thwak him at the side of his head – causing Kye to laugh out suddenly. Dez rubs the attacked area on his head, glaring back at her a bit. "Hey, what was that for?!"

"After all that, you're still leaving me?" she growls at him, shoving him yet again as she picks herself up off the ground. He hops back onto his feet as well, holding his hands out to her in defense.

"They're not gonna give me a refund if I bail on my flight, y'know. I told you, I don't have that kinda money on me. If I miss this flight, I'll need to raise the funds for me to fly back," he explains to her, grabbing hold of his carry-on's handle.

"I'll spot you the cash for it, doofus. You're staying," she proclaims adamantly. He bites his lower lip, uncertainty in his eyes.

"I can't let you do that."

"It's my money; I can do what I want with it. You're staying."

"It's not just that…" he continues, his eyes diverting to the ground.

"Well then, what is it?"

"It's just that…If I stay any longer, something's definitely going to go wrong. It always does, Trish. And I don't want to leave you like that." He caresses her cheek gently with his knuckles, her gripping onto his forearm immediately as he does so. "Let me leave while we're both not mad at each other."

"I will get mad at you if you leave," she informs him, tightening her grip on his forearm.

"Trish…You're hurting my arm." He winces from the pressure, trying to tug his arm out of her clutches.

"Oh, I know," she smiles tightly at him, vexation in her eyes.

"Um, can I say something?" a new voice suddenly speaks up.

"It's about time, Trent," Trish berates him, looking in the boy's direction.

"Sorry…Finding parking was crazy." He approaches Dez, hands clasped together. "Dez, you can't leave."

"I'm gonna miss my flight–"

"–Forget the flight! You're gonna miss your interview!" Trent interrupts him.

"Interview? What interview?" the redhead scrunches his brows together. What is Trent up to now?

"Look, my granddad is on the board of directors for UCLA. Trish told me you applied and got rejected. I convinced him to let the school give you another shot for this upcoming semester."

"What?"

"Yeah – I mean, they didn't even know that you did Austin's music videos. If they'd known that, they woulda accepted you, man – why didn't you put that in your application?" Trent asks, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Dez rubs the back of his neck, unsure of how exactly to answer that. Trish looks between the boys, shocked by what she's heard.

"I guess…I guess I didn't want my application to have anything to do with Austin's success? I mean, I wanted to get this on my own," Dez clarifies, dropping his hand from his neck.

"Dude, it's more like you are part of Austin's success. Not the other way around – you deserve this."

"But I'm already going to FSU and–"

"–Yeah, yeah, that's great and all," Trent continues, stopping him. "But wouldn't you rather be here? Near Hollywood – the hotspot for filmmaking? With Trish…"

"I…" he looks between Trent and Trish, trying to figure out how to respond to all of this.

"Wait, wait, wait – hold on a second – you applied to UCLA?" Kye speaks up.

"Well, yeah…It has a great film school," Dez answers him. Kye shakes his head, lips tightening in disappointment.

"Well now you sound like a hypocrite. You got upset at Trish for applying and leaving you in Florida– what if you got accepted and she didn't?" he interrogates the taller boy, putting his hands on his hips. Trish nods, in agreement, as the thought had occurred to her, as well.

"I woulda found a way to take her with me, Kye," Dez explains, quick to respond. "There's no way I could succeed without her. I need her. But she…She wanted to get away from me." Trish's gaze finds its way to the ground, knowing that what he's saying is – was – the truth. Kye nods, putting a gentle hand on Trish's shoulder. Trent, feeling the conversation heat up, butts back into it.

"Look, Dez, you can't miss out on this opportunity, okay? Please, stay," he insists, once again.

"Why're you even doing this for me? We're not even friends," Dez inquires of him, releasing his grip on the suitcase handle.

"First of all – ouch," he puts a hand over his chest in mock-hurt. "I'd like to think that we are. And I'm not a bad guy, okay? I told y'all, I'm tryna redeem myself with whatever I got. I still feel bad about duping you guys, and I just want to make amends, alright? Is that so wrong? 'Sides, my grandmomma's gonna get pissed at me if I don't try and resolve things." He adds, rubbing his arm. "So…Whaddaya say? You'll stay? Just until after the interview, at least?" Trent finishes off, clasping his hands together in front of him. Trish raises her eyes back up to Dez, pleading him with them silently. Kye does the same, folding his lips in anticipation at the redhead's response.

Dez looks between the three of them, contemplating over the situation. If I stay, there's still a chance to mess everything up, he thinks it over. But if I go, she may never speak to me again. He approaches the curly-haired girl, taking both her hands. She keeps her eyes fixated on his, chewing on her lower lip.

"Don't do that, you're gonna make the cut worse," he smiles at her, releasing one of her hands in order to playfully tap her lower lip with his index finger to get her to stop nibbling on it. It proves effective, as she ceases doing so. "Do you really want me to stay?" She nods swiftly – almost too eagerly for her own liking. He lets go of her hands, then wraps his arms around her, pulling her head into his chest. "Then I'll stay." She returns the hug, tightly embracing him around the waist in her own arms as he kisses the top of her head.

Kye and Trent high-five one another, grins wide – feeling accomplished.

"Alright, alright, enough of this," Trish says as she pulls herself out of Dez's grasp, amused at the pout on his face that formed as she did so. "I forgot to eat dinner, and I'm starving."

"Hold it – first we need to get you to a hospital to check on your nose, Missy. Then we can go. What's open at this hour, anyway?" Dez asks, checking his watch. "It's almost one in the morning."

"There's this deli near the campus that's open twenty-four hours," Kye inputs.

"Sounds good. I'll get my face checked out, then we'll grab a bite," Trish agrees, grasping Dez's hand and giving it a tight squeeze – just in case he makes any last-minute attempts to leave. He manages to pull free, however, resulting in a very panic-stricken Trish. She looks up at him, alarmed, hoping that he didn't suddenly change his mind about staying.

Dez holds his hands out to her reassuringly, grabs the handle of his suitcase and wheels it down the ramp. He hoists it back into the trunk of Kye's van, much to Trish's comfort. He then returns beside her, grabbing hold of her hand, once again. "You think they make marshmallow-salmon paninis at this deli?" he asks, scratching the side of his head with his free hand. Trish scrunches her face in disgust.

"Remind me why I want you to stay?" she jokes, releasing her hand from his grip and playfully jabbing him in the arm with her fist. Although, a bit harder than intended, as he whimpers out of mild pain, rubbing his arm. He shoots another glare, but breaks it quickly enough – he can't help but smile.

Welp. Thought y'all had enough heartbreak. Hope this helped mend some feels, yes?

And we finally figured out what the heck Trent was up to. o:

Story's not over yet, though!

Hang in there, my dears.

-AJ