Chapter 22
Title: Reese's Peanut Butter Cups
Pairing: Callie/Arizona
Rating: M
Disclaimer: I do not own Grey's Anatomy and/or any of the characters in it. All rights belong to ABC, the producers of Grey's Anatomy and Shonda Rhimes. I do not own any rights to Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.
Made for entertainment purposes only.
A/N: Wow! I absolutely loved all the reviews I got last time. They gave me an idea of which approach to take and what parts you guys want cleared up. That's what I'm working on now. Have fun reading!
#
Arizona's POV
A geometric blade of brown paper skids across the counter, swooshing straight over the faded laminate and then swerving to a halt like a skateboard.
It lies there no more than three seconds before a discordant nasal voice booms from the back of the restaurant; I imagine from the kitchen. I only see the wide stained back of the chef's uniform from where I stand, but he must be terrifying. Instantly, the skinny boy at the counter jumps into action, bouncing up from his metal stool like one of those roadrunner cartoons. Slipping his hands inside of the tan sheet, he stretches it into a hollow rectangle and begins piling in oyster-pail shaped takeout containers. He stacks them like cups, whistle-stop and practiced, one on top of the other until the bag's mouth widens into a jagged opening and there are no more boxes left to stack.
The big man in the kitchen and the small one at the greasy red counter go at each other in angry Cantonese, their voices scratchy like a bad radio frequency. I wonder how they even hear each other over the commotion, the pans sizzle and the flames roar and the pots clang – it sounds like a hailstorm. I see long flowy blue blazes and short orange sparks flying from behind the chef, his hands juggling hot aluminum as he tosses bits of green Courgettes and noodles to the ceiling.
"And a Snapple please!" Callie's voice chips in. The boy at the front desk barely acknowledges her. He drudges to the refrigerator in the corner though, that's how we know for sure he heard her. The cold storage is poorly stocked, giving away the lax delivery trucks owing to the holidays.
"Which?"
Callie picks the pink Snapple and I pick the Root Bear, then we shut up, waiting for the guys to pack up and send us off.
I have heard a lot about the Golden Lotus, but I've never actually been here. It's a compact box-like little structure right smack in the middle of the city; hidden shrewdly between McAffee's Adult Video Store and a Nail Salon, you can only find it if you know where to look. Lined with a bright-crimson plasticky couch and two circular tables, it is actually inviting on the inside. The walls are a pistachio green with patterned wallpaper and a giant 3-D dragon blowing out puffs as it coasts along both ends of the dining area. It's just the two of us in here, standing awkwardly, like we are amateurs interrupting something important – but two is a crowd. It's humid and loud and smells like sherry and pork.
Meanwhile, Callie is standing next to me watching all the commotion like it's her first time; dressed so incongruously in her long black dress-pants and her tailored coat I could almost laugh. I think it's cute that she brought me here. She remembered I like Chinese, that's something. So I can't stop smiling. Not even now, when my stomach feels like it may shrivel up and die because it took us so goddamn long to get here. I didn't want to be a nag constantly badgering her about which exit to take, but let's just say Callie has zero sense of direction. Zero.
After spinning around the city and crossing the Narrows Bridge twice, she finally zoned in on where exactly her GPS was pointing to. We parked in a suspicious looking alley across the street and trekked through the snow to get here. The evil little boy wouldn't let us sit in and eat because they are closing up, but upon intense pleading (and because the stove was still hot) he agreed to make us something and pack it up to go.
The shift in temperature is abrupt. Sharp, small slivers of ice pinch us all over, biting into our toes and burning our lips into a pale shade of cerulean as we exit the restaurant.
"Jesus –" Callie growls, hugging herself with a white polythene bag hooked in her hand.
"Okay, where are we going?"
She shrugs, so we keep walking, too tired to stop and too hungry to talk.
"No w-way am I walking to your car Callie –" I huff out a lungful of steam, "- you parked in frickin' India"
Callie rolls her eyes, "Fine. You pick."
All I'm saying is – if this was dinner with any, and I mean any other woman? I'd fake beep my pager.
It's nearing midnight but there are still quite a few fellow walkers on the streets. Snowy and sludgy as it may be, Seattle trains its people with years of seasoning. There is salt on the roads, melting through snow and making holes in it like a big cream sponge so the cars can drive by safely. Most restaurants and convenient-stores are twinkling with lights in preparation of New Years. The mammoth city which is usually a whir of stark buildings and metal rain manages to look like a small town today. Homey and safe, a fuzzy picture of Walpole hovers over me; I shoo it away.
Almost every kid in my ward looks forward to snowfalls. They don't even mind just sitting next to their windows watching all the cold drama unfold out in the world. I love it.
"How's this?" Callie stops brusquely, her boots making a synthetic whish-whish sound as they sink into the powdery snow.
I turn around, her shoulders are slumped and I see her breath in short bursts as it mixes with the weather.
A bus-stop. A dark wooden rectangle that I suspect is from another era, and is barely wide enough to fit the two of us. I concede.
We stuff our bodies onto the bench, sandwiched between two planks of wood, the arms of our jackets mush into each other. We waste no time with the task at hand. The hot parcels on our laps are ripped apart within seconds; we distribute the containers among ourselves, balancing the Lo Mein with our thighs and holding the Mongolian beef to our chins. I have to suppress a loud moan at how tangy and tender and crispy everything is.
Our mouths jam-packed, chopsticks sifting through white boxes, we only stop to breathe. In the interval, Callie bends down to her feet and pulls something out of a plastic bag. She passes me my drink. There's a loud pop and hiss when we unscrew the caps. It would almost be startling in the quiet if it weren't for the delicious diversion in our arms. Callie's lipstick is shimmery and her cheeks are stuffed; she looks like a well-dressed chipmunk.
"Yum…" she mumbles, a limp bamboo-shoot braced with her chopsticks; her eyes have a distinctive gloss on them, like fluid glass – excitement.
"Mhmm" I smile, nodding in agreement. I haven't seen her this way, not ever.
The food is hot, searing violently against the frigid night and the Root Beer is cold, colder than December as it slides down my throat.
It's divine.
"Reminds me of med-school" Callie says, swallowing.
Her eyes smile into the pastel pink bottle she's holding.
"What's that?"
She glances to me, self-conscious, then back to the landscape ahead, "Eating out of the box. Being so… spontaneous"
"Spontaneous" I repeat, chopsticks sieving through the noodles for a Shitake mushroom.
As crammed as it is in this little vessel, I feel Callie shift against my side; she folds a leg and sits on it, adjusting to face me. Half my body is forced into the rough wood of the bus-stand, face sandpapered against it. Before I can open my mouth to protest, Callie stops fidgeting and I scoot back to my spot. An impish grin spreads across her face, her teeth brilliant in the dark.
"What?" I ask, a little nervous.
Narrowing her eyes, she hisses, "What were you like? Back in the day?"
I can't help the laugh from my mouth at her expression. She is the most womanly woman I know and yet, she's like a kid.
"What does that mean 'back in the day' Calliope?" I sip my soda, "Are you calling me old?"
"Oh c'mon!" she elbows me, our jackets make a loud rustle, "You know what I mean"
I blow out a filament of vapor, focusing on a snow-covered fire hydrant across the road. It's like a Red Velvet Cupcake, blood red underneath with buttercream frosting on top.
"I was umm… perky –"
"Pchh… shocker" she interjects haughtily.
Throwing her a dirty glare, I continue, trying not to smile at the childlike interest on her face, "- I was pretty much how you'd expect; I don't know what to say! I mean – I followed the rulebook to the T, I was kind of a brownnoser, a little bit competitive, y'know? Type A"
Callie opens her mouth and then closes it again, dabbing her lips with a tissue paper, determined eyes trying to read my face like it's a crossword puzzle.
"No" she states plainly.
"No?"
"No –" Callie folds her arms across her chest and I'm momentarily distracted by the small window of cleavage hidden behind a gray muffler, "- that's not any real information. That's fluff. I want specifics. I want to know… the real Arizona Robbins" she rolls the last syllable on her tongue, playing with it like a bad boyfriend.
I have to swallow and blink. And shake my head. Her lips are luscious, dazing.
"I was a whore" my voice is hoarse.
Big brown eyes blink, shutting and opening a second too late.
"A whore?" she says like she's never heard the word before.
"You asked" I shrug, placing my shredded beef between my feet, melting up the ice underneath.
She looks dumbfounded.
"Tim and I –" I almost stutter when I remember my breakdown this afternoon, but if Callie noticed she doesn't let on, " – we had competitions when I was in college. Who can bed more girls in one night?" I recite the last part like a cheesy TV show host, a smirk playing on my lips at the memory.
"And who won?" she asks doe eyed.
I try to chuckle, but the sound dies on my lips.
Who won?
The air streams across the Townsend Bay, picking up bits of winter off the water. There is a whistle, long cold ribbons of the West Winds trickle and dip and hop and swim over the river, gliding through white water and around the little bus-stop we are sat in. I nearly hear the twinkle, the rich baritone texture of Tim's laughter; it touches me, just barely before swirling away into some other world.
"It was a tie" I swallow, eyes snapping up to the waiting woman next to me.
There is a symmetrical, kind smile on her face. Callie's expression is not an easy one to read, but the sympathy about her says she sees through me. She doesn't push the subject.
Something clicks in me, like the fiber of a Tungsten Bulb; heating all over and then sweltering gold.
"Why are you getting divorced?"
I'm impressed; if she's rattled at all, she masks it well. Two of her fingers play with the cap of her drink, popping the middle in and out so that it sounds like a Grandfather Clock.
"You know?" there is a line between her eyes as they zone in on mine, like she's just realizing something right now, "For a long time I thought if we didn't make it, it would be because of him – his affairs, but now – now I see the cheating was just a symptom of everything. It had very little to do with the end of our marriage"
"He cheated on you?" I don't mean to sound so naïve, but the idea sounds ludicrous – cheating on Callie.
Adept and slow, her tongue runs over the inside of her lips, as though arranging every thought in her mind.
"He loved me –" a broken smile ghosts over her mouth, it's so bittersweet it almost makes me want to mourn their marriage, "He loved me like I could have never loved him. Not even before th-the baby, I see that now, I see it. I guess he found out –" she shrugs, letting out a tired breath.
"I – I mean I know cheating is wrong, there isn't an excuse –" she looks at me suddenly, testing my response, "- I'm not defending him, it isn't ever excusable. All I mean is, things are just never, never black or white"
Hoarse and angry, there is something haunting about the way she says the last part. Like it has more layers than anybody could rip off, layers buried abysmal into the earth and spread like roots through oceans and time.
"Long story short –" she takes a swig of her drink, shaking out of her reverie, " – we weren't happy anymore"
"And so, then what are we doing? You and I?"
Callie laughs into the bottle, her eyes moving to me, "You don't mince words do you?"
Quirking an eyebrow, I gesture my can of soda toward her, "Nope"
"I don't know. What are we doing?" she smiles stirringly, liking the topic.
A small burst of annoyance hits me when I realize she's just joking around. I wonder if she would have been more serious had this scenario been with a man. As quick as the thought arises, I tamp it down.
"We've already made out, eaten ice-cream together and gone to second base –" her voice interrupts my thoughts, "- so we can round this off to our sixth-ish date?"
My mouth drops open. I pick it back up again.
"Date?"
Callie's eyebrows knit together, the faintest of doubt settling over her features, "Oh – a – are we not on a date?"
Pink tinges her cheeks, reddening the tan of her skin even in the lack of light.
"I – are we?" I stutter.
"I mean – I was kidding about the – the sixth date obviously, obviously this would be our first date. Well not date. Or non-date-date. Since you didn't even know that we were on a… a date" she trails off sheepishly, cringing at herself, "I – I was – that was presumptuous"
Like swirls of a thick chocolate smoothie, sugary butter whirls in my stomach, twists and flutters until I laugh. Reaching forward, I hook my fingers into Callie's, stealing her warmth.
"This can be our sixthish non-date-date Calliope –" I bite my lip, "- I'd find that absolutely jive turkey"
The most adorable of innocent mortification grips her body. Before she can say anything, I bend forward, resting a hand on her leg and kissing her cheek.
Callie's all red but she smiles, bashful and cute.
"But –" I gather myself, still close to her eyes, "- I don't think we should go on our first Date-Date until you're ready"
"Ready?"
"Your divorce isn't even finalized yet –" I loop a strand of her hair around my index finger, carefully tucking it behind her ear, "- you should take some time. Take some time for yourself, and for Allegra, and then – when you're ready, I'll be waiting"
Brown eyes fall to my lap; she holds my hand and pulls it close to her chest. Then she looks at me, inside my eyes with such intensity I almost blink.
"I'm ready" she whispers.
Tugging at her grasp, I bring it to my mouth. I press my lips to her knuckles, not noticing the hiss of air leaving her lips.
"You're not" I say softly, apologetically.
#
There is nobody on the street when Callie's car rounds my building. It's past 1 A.M. I kind of dozed in and out of sleep the whole way here. I'm dog-tired. But so content. Oh so content.
It's odd, you only hear of this feeling in the movies. Or read about it in those silly teenage novels. But that's how I feel. I feel like giggling, like sewing clothes out of floral drapes and skipping into the prairies and twirling on top of the mountains of Salzburg bursting into ballads. That's how Callie makes me feel.
I've become stupid.
It's an unwarranted, idiotic feeling. Not to mention incredibly dangerous considering Callie has made no commitment to this thing past her sixth-ish date comment. But I won't think about that tonight. Tonight, I'm just too exhausted and too in love to think about any of that grownup crap.
I suppress a yawn with the back of my hand, peeping to the side to see if Callie noticed.
She stops the car in front of my doorway, leaving the headlights on.
"You're sleepy" she turns to me, half her face blurry in the dark.
"No, n – " yawn" – not really"
She chuckles, that husky yummy sound filling the vehicle, "Convincing"
"Fine, you got me" I try to suppress another wide yawn, "How are you so awake? Jeez –" I glance to my watch, "It's like one thirty!"
"Ah I slept well today" Callie raises her eyebrows suggestively.
"Don't I know it" I roll my eyes, gathering my things, "Either way, get your stuff; it's too late to drive home now"
"What?"
I look up to the genuine question on Callie's face, "What do you mean 'what'?"
"I'm not coming up to your apartment Arizona" her lips turn up, almost abashedly.
My mouth falls open, astonished at her immaturity, "You're kidding me right?" I run a hand through my hair, "You are such a child!" I smack her arm.
"Ow! What the –"
"Calliope, you are coming upstairs and sleeping at my place tonight. I have a spare bedroom and I know your daughter is away at camp roasting marshmallows right now – nobody is home – not to mention you live in the middle of nowhere! Get your butt out of the car!"
"It's our first date Arizona! Also – I'm a surgeon and a grown woman – I have driven home at later hours" she protests, staring at me like I have seven ears.
"Callie –" I stress the word so she knows I mean it, "- the roads are slippery, its dark and you live a long way from here. Don't drive"
Callie bites her lip, a geeky smile hiding behind her teeth, "You're so adorable when you worry"
I'm stumped for a second, a warm blush spreading over my face. But I get my bearings together, "Flattery – Calliope – will get you nowhere in five minutes or less" I try to stabilize my voice.
"Ooooh –" she widens her eyes, mocking me and folding her arms across her chest.
I open my mouth and then close it again, fatigue rendering my mind short of arguments.
"Uhg – fine, whatever–" I huff, clicking open the door, "But for the record, I want it noted that if some poor old fisherman finds your car wrapped around a pole somewhere inside the Puget Sound – I told you so!"
"Ok ok! –"she yanks at my arm, one of my legs dangling awkwardly out the passenger seat, "- Fine! Listen, I'll make an offer!"
I jerk my hand from her grasp, stepping out into the snow until cold white sand reaches halfway up my boots. Stumbling at first, I hop out and balance myself on the ground.
"I'm tired–" I deflate, the temperature slowly creeping up my legs, "Make it fast"
Callie looks amused- for the lack of a better word. And while it usually wouldn't, right now, when I'm grasping at mere shreds of consciousness – it annoys me.
"I have an Arthroscopic Saucerization scheduled in about three hours –" she glances to the radio-clock with a grimace, "- it's a long one on a seven year old with a Grade B Discoid Meniscus. So, I'll just grab a nap in an On-Call room instead of driving back, how about that?"
"A Discoid Meniscus? Wow –" I'm impressed and my tired flashing eyes give it away, "-Where did you find that? The residents must be circling the O.R.'s like vultures waiting on you"
I must admit, for all the quirks Callie has, she is one of the most adventurous surgeons I've met. A Discoid Meniscus is a rare abnormality which is usually treated with nothing more than some intensive physiotherapy. However, if it's a complete detachment, a Grade B Discoid Meniscus, the series of surgical procedures required are grueling and tedious with a small success rate.
"Damn straight –" Callie smirks, an air of pride shimmering off her face; but she sobers quickly, "- She's a student's dream, four cases in one. Poor girl's got all three markers -hypoplasia of the LTS, squaring of the lateral condyle and a cupping of the LTP; and that's just off the MRI God only knows what I'm going to find once I get in there"
"Jesus! All this at seven?" my arms are wrapped snuggly around my torso, protecting my bodily heat from running away with the hooting wind, "How could it have gotten this bad?"
Callie lets an exasperated breath out her mouth, "Nine orthopedic surgeons diagnosed the swelling as fractures, can you believe that? She kept doing what seven year olds do on her knee and the tears got worse. The disk is as thick as the idiot diagnosticians, showed up on 5 sections of the scans. It's unbelievable…" she trails off, shaking her head, "… But I guess that's what happens when your Mom has three jobs and shares crappy Medical Insurance with her deadbeat husband who gets into a lot of bar brawls"
"That's brutal"
"Tell me about it" she twists her lips in understanding, "But she's a fighter. She's got this, I know it"
Callie has this way of talking, it's like she means every word out of her mouth with more passion than normal people can muster in pages. If my kid was sick, I'd want her to be the one to tell me it'd all be ok. She's confident, and it shows. She's amazing.
"So – you accept my offer Dr. Robbins?" her playful tone snaps me out of my thoughts.
I quirk an eyebrow, "You're telling me you'd rather sleep in a crummy On-Call room than at my place?"
Callie collapses animatedly, her head bumping against the steering, "There's no winning with you is there Arizona?"
I chuckle, stepping away from the car, "Alright, I accept your offer Dr. Torres! I'll see you soon –" I have to raise my voice over the shrill of the wind, "- Thank you for dinner!"
Without looking back, I step and skip across the road, trying to avoid any black ice or slushy puddles on the way. Riffling through my bag I fish out my keys, bouncing up and down to warm up in front of the entrance. The atmosphere is drier now, I can almost feel my skin cracking from the lack of moisture.
I have an early morning; I should get as much sleep as I can.
"Hey!"
On instinct I spin around to the voice, unsuspectingly dashing into a soft solid. Strong arms wrap around me, steadying my feet.
Staring down at me with wild dark hair flowing against the wind is Callie, her eyes a special kind of warm. I feel it then, ultimate safety. Lost in the sturdy hold of Callie's arms I feel like nothing could touch me, not ever. Then I remember this is exactly how I felt that night at Joe's, when Callie hugged me because I was sad.
"What happened?" I whisper, my voice trailing off under the force of the look she's giving me.
The corners of dark pink lips sneak up, teeth pressing into the crook of her mouth like she wants to say something but has thought better of it.
"I wanted to say good night –" the moist air from her mouth hits my cheekbones and I feel dizzy, "- it is a non-date-date"
No words seem to come out of my mouth, I just look at her.
It's tangential, the sensation; the hot skin of her mouth just barely brushes my forehead, exhaling into my hair and then it's gone. My eyes fall close; I can't tell if it's from sleep or some other feeling overwhelming me so acutely that I'm leaving my body. Mingling with the rumbles of the atmosphere I hear my own breath, and Callie's, and then my chest.
The fitted wool she's wearing presses into my front, her chest against mine as my hands lay on her biceps, slipping lower and wrapping around the girth of her forearms.
With my nose buried in the crook of her shoulder, inhaling the cinnamon-ey scent that is so distinctive of Callie, for the first time ever I notice the smallest of scars on the base of her neck. It's like an incision site from a Central Catheter; you really have to squint to see it. I file away the tidbit somewhere in the back of my cloudy mind.
Distracting me are her hands, the boldness in them as they run up my waist, slipping into my jacket and pressing into my stomach with nothing but the fabric of a flimsy turtleneck separating our skin. A small moan escapes from my chest at the contact and the next thing I feel is Callie's mouth against mine. This time, the kiss isn't soft, it isn't cautious or unsure. It's inescapable.
The velvety skin of her lips envelopes my mouth in a nearly proprietorial hold. In the first instant, the waft of peach hits my most primal senses; the saccharine zest of the fruit making me want to drink into everything Callie.
Callie's tongue runs over my lips, hot and wet as it dampens my mouth and slips inside, meeting my tongue in the most tender of touches. I can't control the gasp at the sensation, being so close to, so devoured by this woman. The pads of her fingers play over my ribcage, tracing the bone under my skin. I'm almost stunned when I feel her hands falter, only for a second before her thumbs ghost over the bottom of my bra.
I'm lost.
So utterly lost that I can't do anything except move my mouth against her's, except press my body into the toned femininity of her breasts, that's all I'm capable of in this moment. My fingers are gripped tightly around her arms, too shocked to move.
Suddenly, like she just remembered she forgot to turn the stove off she pulls away. I'm still holding on to her. The longing in my stomach overrides every rational thought in my mind and I push myself up on my toes, pressing my mouth into her's one last time.
Opening my eyes takes more energy than I expected, but I do it. Somehow, with her face, honest and bare in front my eyes, I hear my heart pound louder than I did before.
Callie's hands slide out of my shirt and I almost whine at the loss of heat. She touches my face, the touch is a stark opposite to her kiss, so gentle I want to ask her to do it again.
"You're so beautiful…" she says, a little above a whisper.
I want to say 'You too' but no words form. So I just smile.
"I wanted to –" she stops, swallowing down something liken to vulnerability, "- This is – I – I'm worth waiting for Arizona… It may not seem like it, but I am"
I didn't expect that. For a moment I have to fight the urge to step away from her, then to fight the urge to hold her.
"I know" I croak out, I shrug, "It seems like you are"
I can't read her expression but she seems satisfied with my reply. Only then do I notice how her lipstick is a little bit smudged. Pressing my thumb into the border of her mouth, I rub off the mauve streaks.
"I'll see you tomorrow?"
I kind help but smile at the innocent hope across her features, "Yeah"
"Have a good surgery Calliope" I say against the wind. Callie turns around and waves in acknowledgment and I don't even feel embarrassed to be watching her all the way until she drives away.
I watch as the steam swirls out of my mouth, willing my legs to move again.
#
The purple door to my apartment comes open. I step into the tidy living room, happy with the warmth in the atmosphere. Chucking my keys into the crystal bowl Mark gave me as a Housewarming gift, I drudge into the bedroom. Stripping out of the layers of Gore-Tex and Thermal underwear I toss them onto the closet floor, too exhausted to pluck down a hanger.
I flick on the hallway light, pulling on a sweatshirt and fleecy pajamas. The toothbrush is propped in my mouth by the time I'm crawling halfway into my closet searching for a pair of clean socks. Pulling one on, I rinse my mouth. A vanilla bean moisturizer and a quick brushing of the hair later, I'm all set to enter my bed. The foam mattress and the thick quilt look as inviting as hot chocolate right now.
Walking out into the kitchen for a glass of water, I notice the blinking '3' on my answering machine. A familiar Australian accent fills the hush in the room.
"Hello, Dr. Remar? I'm Gemma calling on behalf of Dr. Sasha Thrush regarding your calls from the Seattle Grace Mercy West Psychiatry Department. I'm sorry for the inconvenience but the clinic has only opened this morning owing to the hols. I understand you wanted information on a patient. However, Dr. Thrush wanted to talk with you personally. If it'd be possible, could you contact with her by Monday morning? Have a good day Doctor, thank you for your time."
YES! I do a small fist-pump to myself. I have to figure out what is going on with Rita Brown, I won't be able to sleep at night if I don't.
Jennifer Remar is the dinosaur of the SGMW Psychiatry Department. Nobody has reported to have seen her showing up to work since late August of 2009. So I figured using her name as an alias wouldn't be too damaging.
I lock the message, turning off the lights on the way and burying inside of my bed. I feel myself sinking into the cushion of the mattress; my body heavy with slumber as fatigue pulls me into dreamland like sinking sand. My vision is blurry as it blinks to the ceiling, eyelids finally drooping shut.
Cautiously, I trace the outline of my lips, the tips of my fingers running over my mouth until I'm back there again – Standing in the frigid air, standing in Callie's arms with her lips against mine.
#
A/N: I hope you guys liked it. Remember Sasha Thrush? The name ringing any bells? What do you guys think will happen next?
There is one surprise coming up in the next couple of chapters, I don't know if you all will like it or be super annoyed, but it's something that just felt right.
Let me know what you thought, hit that review button!