"Anna?"

Anna was sitting on a dirty couch, wedged between a husky singer from the opera performance—who was debating with another very large performer— and a couple who'd been making out for almost an hour. Hans Calloway stood over her, grinning. He was a welcome sight to behold. Anna felt her cheeks glowing. He had called her 'Anna,' not 'Annie' or 'kiddo.' She always shuddered at that one.

"What are you doing here?"

"Extra credit project for school. Although I could probably count it as sex education too." She nodded at the passionate couple. At least they were still clothed.

"Musicians know how to party," Hans hauled her off the couch and led her out onto the back porch. The moon bathed everything in silvery light.

"It's beautiful." Anna breathed.

"Were you at the opera?" He smiled at her again, and she felt herself melt.

"Yeah, it was so—"

"Having fun?"

"I'm cold, but otherwise—".

"You must be freezing," He slipped off his fleece pullover, and gently tugged it over her head, as she protested. "Here, I'm hot."

No kidding.

"Thanks," Anna pushed at her hair which was now plastered to her face with static cling.

"Anything for a damsel in distress." He bowed, his eyes never leaving hers.

"A true prince charm—."

"Have you seen Ella? I didn't make it to the actual thing, so I should probably find her."

She nodded. "In the kitchen, talking to Sara."

"Thanks," Hans squeezed her shoulder and went back inside.

"Want your jacket?"

"I'll get it," He winked and Anna's eyes followed him. 'Calloway' would make a fantastic last name, in her opinion. Now if he would just ask her out.

Bjorn opened his eyes, unfocused and heavy with sleep. His phone was ringing. He rolled over Sven, almost knocking the phone off his side table. Sven protested by clawing him in the side.

"What?"

"Bjorn? Are you awake"

"Anna?" Bjorn rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. "D somebody die?"

"Why would you ask that?"

"You just woke me up. Someone had better be dead."

"That's dark and disturbed."

"I was sleeping."

"Not anymore."

"What do you want, Red?"

"I needed to talk."

"It's two in the morning."

"You're a college student."

"Who works two jobs and is a full-time student. I need sleep."

"But you're already awake."

"Good night."

"Please don't hang up," Anna's voice had a slight edge. "I really do need your help."

Bjorn sat up straighter, registering the muffled raucous laughter and hammering music in the background. "Where are you?"

"Ella had an opera performance this evening, and this the after party. She played amazing, by the way, and the opera was so romantic. The party's just down the block from the apartments at the fraternity house."

"Where's Ella?"

"I don't know and I don't feel like finding her right at the moment. I'm sort of stuck."

"Stuck?" Bjorn heard banging and laughter. "Where?"

"A closet."

"You're stuck in a closet?"

"Sort of," She grunted, like she was straining against something heavy. "It has a window, so is it really a closet?"

"And you can't get out because?" He stood and pulled on his jeans, his phone tucked under his ear.

"Because, I would rather not be in the middle of a drunken face suck. But they're getting a little vigorous."

Bjorn knew he shouldn't laugh, but he did anyway.

"It's not funny, Iceman."

"It kinda is, though."

"Are you coming or not?"

"Yeah," Bjorn sighed. "Give me ten minutes."

"I totally owe you."

No kidding.

He hung up, pulled on a sweatshirt, and shoved his feet into his boots, lacing them loosely. Sven followed him out of the apartment, but Bjorn didn't bother to leash him. He yawned and shook his head. Out of all the people she could've called, she called him.

Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

He was about to find out.

Anna sat in the chair she had jammed underneath the door nob, doodling on the back of her opera program with the pencil stub she'd found on the floor. The full moon shown bright on the page as she traced geometric shapes with her mother's thimble. It helped pass the time as she waited for Bjorn. She checked her watch, hoping he would hurry. There were some very interesting sounds coming from outside the door.

And now you're thinking about sex.

Anna stopped tracing circles around the small metal thimble and tucked it into her pocket. She started pairing some of her favorite names with Calloway, writing each in neat flowing script.

Jack Calloway.

Rosemary Calloway.

Seamus Calloway.

Lenna Calloway.

She frowned, studying the list. They sounded like soap opera characters.

The walk took Bjorn less than ten minutes, but there were so many people stumbling around, it took another ten minutes to locate the closet in the upper left corner of the third floor where two very drunk individuals were making out. Bjorn shook his head, and shoved at the guy with his foot.

A few colorful words were tossed in his general direction.

She owes you big.

Bjorn grabbed the girl by the elbow and hauled her to the side.

"What the hell—"

"Move." Bjorn shouldered past, and knocked gently on the door. "Anna?"

"Who is it?"

Who else would it be?

"Prince Charming," His tone was flat and annoyed.

The door opened and Anna heaved a sigh of relief, "Hello."

"Hi," Bjorn turned and walked by the couple who refused to take their business elsewhere. He glanced down and saw Anna looking away, blushing furiously. How did she end up in the middle of this?

Probably Hans.

Bjorn felt his stomach tighten at the thought. She should know better.

Anna tucked one arm around her middle and held her glasses on her face with the other as they were jostled on all sides. She held her breath, squeezing her eyes shut. Bjorn moved closer, and put one arm around her shoulder, buffeting the rollicking crowds with his other arm.

Sven barked happily when they pushed through the last of the stragglers on the porch. Bjorn dropped his arm and Anna ran forward and knelt, hugging the big black dog.

After she had her face thoroughly washed by Sven, she started digging in her pockets. Bjorn frowned at the jacket she was wearing. It looked like a tent on her. A familiar tent. He sighed when he realized it probably belonged to Hans.

And yet she manages to make it look cute.

Anna stopped rifling through the jack and bit her lip.

"What?"

"I think I left my key to the apartment in there." Anna looked back at the frat house. "Somewhere."

"Do you have a spare?"

"That was the spare."

"Maybe Ella will be home."

She nodded and started for home, Sven bounding ahead. Bjorn followed just behind them. When they got to Anna's apartment, she banged on the door for a good five minutes with no results. The place was dark and silent. Bjorn stood with his arms crossed, while she paced, dialing Ella's phone once, twice, three times. After the fourth time, he turned and walked towards his apartment.

"Come on," he muttered. "You can sleep on the couch."

"I can't sleep on your couch," she hissed. "Not with you, alone."

Bjorn snorted, turning, "I will not be sleeping on the couch with you."

Anna blushed, and hid her face behind her hands.

"Do what you want, Red. I'm going to bed."

He kept walking. He smiled when he heard Anna's timid footsteps follow him. When they reached the top of the stairs, Bjorn dug into his pocket and stopped.

Oh hell no.

He tried the knob but he knew it was locked, "Shit."

"What?"

"I don't have my key." He kicked the door.

"You're not funny"

"Shut up," he snapped.

Anna frowned and folded her arms as he kicked the door again, grunting in frustration. Sven barked, tangling himself between Bjorn's legs.

"Please stop."

Bjorn took a deep shuddering breath and pressed his eyes closed, willing himself not to shout. It wasn't her fault. Not entirely. When he opened his eyes, Anna was gone. He glanced over the railing and saw her standing in the parking lot, looking up at him.

"What are you doing?"

"Walking. Come on."

"Why are we walking?" Bjorn jogged down the stairs, Sven following.

"I'm starving, and we both know neither of our roommates will be back anytime soon."

He scowled down at her, "You look stupid in that jacket."

"I was cold." She quipped, tucking her hands into the sleeves of the fleece, and holding them up the her nose. Anna made a face and pulled the jacket off.

"Keep it if you're cold."

"I don't need it," Anna folded it up and leaving it on the stairs. "I need food and so do you, Iceman."

"Fine. What do you want?"

"Lucky you, I know the perfect place for waffles."

"I'd rather starve."

Anna turned around, pointing a finger at him. "You can't let me walk to the diner by myself."

"Do you know how far away it is?"

"Grump."

"Two miles," Bjorn called after her, but she kept going. He rolled his eyes, and shuffled along, yawning. "Tomorrow is going to suck."

"It's already tomorrow."

"Exactly."

"It's an adventure."

Bjorn snorted.

"It's my day, anyways."

"Whatever."

"This place is a dump," Bjorn took a long drink from his orange juice.

Anna ignored him, stacking wedges of cut waffle onto her fork and shoving the giant bite into her mouth.

"It was either here or a gas station," She said around her food.

"How can you eat like that at three in the morning?"

"I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry."

"I like food," Anna shrugged. "Want some toast?"

"You eat like a man."

"I do not," She put butter and strawberry jam on the toast, and set it on a napkin in front of him. "Eat."

"Yes, you do," He picked up the jam-butter sandwich and ate half of it in one bite.

"I have a healthy appetite."

Bjorn cocked an eyebrow,"Very healthy."

Anna swallowed another mouthful and gulped down half a glass of water. Bjorn licked his fingers and took a slice of bacon off her plate. The song playing on the jute box finished and she dug around in her pocket for a nickel, "Make yourself useful and pick a song."

"I'm keeping you from getting fat. That's useful."

"You can't say that to girls."

"I just did."

"Pick a song, Iceman."

Bjorn got heavily to his feet and stood in front of the jute box, tapping his thumb against his leg. Anna watched him out of the corner of her eye, and ordered another side of toast and bacon. Sven rustled under the table, and Anna shushed him. The head waitress had made a fuss about Sven until Anna dug Bjorn's wallet out of his back pocket—ignoring his protests—and showed Sven's service dog registration card.

A mellow dramatic electric ballad scratched from the old jute box as Bjorn sat back down.

"How did you manage to find the most depressing song in that machine?" She asked.

"This was the best choice, trust me."

"Could you try to like happy music?"

"No," Bjorn slurped the last of his orange juice through his straw. "Why does it matter?"

The waitress set down the extra bacon and toast.

"Music affects people's moods and thoughts, like any art." Anna nabbed a piece of bacon before Bjorn ate it all.

"None of the music in that jute box is art." Bjorn shrugged. "At least sad music makes people think."

"But it doesn't make you happy. You could use a little happy."

"It's hard to be happy in the middle of the night."

Okay, he had a point. This was the second time he had come to her rescue.

"I'll make it up to you."

"How?" He sounded skeptical.

Anna took a bite of cheesy hash browns, and chewed slowly, thinking. "I'll surprise you."

"I don't like surprises."

"Of course you don't. Is there anything you do like?"

"Sven."

Anna threw her crumpled napkin at him. "You really should have a vest or something for him."

"He's got one. I left it in D.C."

"Speaking of D.C., what's you're story there?" Anna leaned on her elbows and scrutinized him.

"That's a terrible segue."

"Pretend it was better. Everyone has a story. Your has 'mysterious' written all over it."

"Do you always ask people invasive questions?"

"Only my friends."

"I'm not—"

"We already decided that we are friends," Anna interrupted. "When I killed my car, remember. Besides, we have a lot in common."

"I'm not annoying, loud, nosy or rude."

"You're delusional, but I don't mind. I like you the way you are."

Bjorn stared at her. He shifted and reached under the table, scratching Sven's ears. "Why?"

"Because I can tell you've had a rough time," she shrugged, "and so have I. We do the best we can and I know you're trying."

He didn't answer. Anna yawned and glanced out the window.

"Should we walk back?"

"Probably," Bjorn stood, stretched, and picked up the ticket before she had a chance to protest.

Anna watched as he payed for her breakfast and then walked Sven out of the restaurant, not waiting for her. She still thought he was rude, but she had meant what she said; she didn't mind it at all. Not much. Life hadn't been kind to Bjorn, and Anna knew what it was like to want to forget. She pulled the wrinkled opera program from her pocket and glanced at the list of names she'd written. Then she crumpled it up and left it on the table.

Crowds packed themselves in for Wandering Oaken's monthly Mic Night. Bjorn fiddled with his guitar case clasps, feeling his stomach roll around. He'd left Sven in the car asleep, and he was alone in the crowded room.

With his father.

Magnus Westergaard had driven up just as Bjorn was loading his guitar into his car. Now his father was sitting, sipping a strong Americano, like any other dad visiting his son. Except he'd apparently driven eight hours from D.C. to listen to Bjorn play.

It was going to be a long night.

Bjorn had already put his name in to the lottery, and he couldn't take it back, no matter how much he'd rather eat his own vomit than play for his dad.

It was going to be a very long night.

He glanced around. At least he didn't recognize anybody else in the crowd. Ella's promises to accompany him were looking like most of her promises. She had a busy performance schedule and would practice on campus for hours on end. Bjorn was just glad he wouldn't be forced to introduce her to his dad.

"Your girlfriend is in this crowd, I presume."

Bjorn stiffened, "I told you I don't date anymore."

"I did not like Violet. None of us did. But you shouldn't let her keep you from living your life."

"Dad."

"Son?"

"Who told you I have a girlfriend?"

His father glanced over his coffee at him, and sighed, looking tired, "Your grandmother Ingrid mentioned she'd seen you with a very pretty girl."

Bjorn throat tightened, "She did?"

"Yes. A young lady with long dark hair who seemed to be quite fond of your dog. It sounded promising since Violet hated Sven and Sven hated her."

"Dad, I don't know who she—" Bjorn began, confused, and then he stopped.

He did know. Or thought he did.

The day she brought him her books, Grandma Ingrid must have seen Anna.

Bjorn sucked in a breath as Anna appeared at his elbow, as if summoned by his thinking of her.

Oh no.

"Who's you're friend, Iceman?" Without waiting for a reply, Anna stuck out her hand and gave his father a firm, confident shake. "I'm Anna."

"You have terrible timing," Bjorn growled under his breath as his father studied Anna a moment. Maybe, for once, his father wouldn't be the smartest man in the room. He glanced at Bjorn and smiled.

Wishful thinking.

"A pleasure, Anna. I'm Magnus."

"Magnus. That's a nice name—wait." She glanced at Bjorn. "Holy cats, you're his dad." Anna glanced from Bjorn to his dad and back again, her eyes widening.

Her face hardened and she reached over, smacking the back of Bjorn's head—hard.

"What?" He glared and Anna glared back.

"You're a jerk, Bjorn Westergaard."

His father turned in his chair watching Anna march away, "If you aren't dating her, you should be." His dad kept his face placid. "I like her."

Me too.

Anna stumbled behind the counter and pulled on an apron. She may as well end her break ten minutes early. Bjorn hadn't breathed a word about his stupid family and here he was with his stupid dad in tow and he didn't even warn her. She slammed the coffee maker on.

"Anna?" Ella leaned against the counter, looking radiant in a shimmering blue dress. "Why are you slamming things?"

"You look great." The flat tone of Anna's voice made Ella raise her eyebrows.

"What's wrong?"

"Did Bjorn ever tell you about his family?"

"Not willingly. Why?"

Anna felt her face burn as her stomach dropped to her feet, and she slumped forward, leaning her head on the coffee urn. Of course he told Ella. He told Ella everything. Forget Anna. She was just a friend—because she forced him to be her friend. Ella and Bjorn still rode to class together, but now he drove, to pay her back for gas, he said.

"I'm such an idiot." Anna whispered to the coffee urn.

It was so obvious they were dating, and naturally they hadn't said a word. He must have brought his dad to meet her.

"What's wrong?"

"Mr Westergaard is here," Anna felt like crying.

He deserves something happy.

So why did that make her sad?

"I should introduce myself before we play," Ella reached out and gave her hand a squeeze. "You can tell me what's bothering you later."

Anna's tears started falling as she grabbed her "Back in Five" sign and wove through the crowd. She shut the door to the supply closet, leaving a large crack, hugging her arms around her waist.

What was the matter with her?

Bjorn could date Ella, or anyone else he wanted. She'd thought they were dating before and it made perfect sense. People hung out, and were into each other, then they dated. She wanted to date Hans, didn't she?

Maybe not anymore.

Anna tried to hold back a sob. She did't want to think it, but the truth cut through her excuses. She hadn't spoken to Hans in weeks. He wasn't interested in her—not really. She cried harder. Bjorn had been nice to her, but he'd never said anything to make her think that he liked her.

Not like that.

Someone knocked. Anna gasped, letting out a small yelp. She turned away as the door opened. She didn't want Lars to see she'd been crying.

Bjorn introduced Ella to his father, managing the pleasantries well enough, but he was watching Anna out of the corner of his eye. He'd done something to make her mad, and now she looked even more upset as she ducked into the supply closet.

Women are weird.

"Be right back."

His father nodded, making small talk with Ella. They were discussing Beethoven sixth symphony, which Mr. Westergaard contended was the best. Ella claimed the fifth symphony as being far superior.

"They could call our name any minute," Ella murmured as he stood.

"Start without me," Bjorn wove through the crowd until he stood in front of the supply closet door, listening. He thought he heard sniffing.

Had he made her cry?

You always do that.

He knocked and Anna let out a startled sound. Maybe knocking was a bad idea.

"Anna?" He pushed the door open and flipped the light switch.

"I'm okay, I just needed to, I just wanted to—" She was talking quickly, trying to straighten her hair and apron. Her back was to him, and he saw her shudder.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm fine."

Bjorn reached out and gently turned her around to face him, "You're crying."

"I cry a lot."

"What did I do?"

Why do you care, Westergaard?

"Nothing." Anna still wasn't looking at him.

Bjorn turned her face towards him, his hand lingering on her cheek, the contact brought all rational thought to a grinding halt. Anna was so soft and warm. He brushed her blotchy cheek with his thumb. Her face went dark again, hurt and confusion flashing across her eyes. Bjorn flinched, and he dropped his hand like he'd been stung.

"You're mad at me," he folded his arms across his chest, his hand burning as it remembered her skin on his. "Why?"

She pressed her lips together.

"I can stand here all night, Red."

"You brought your dad, and you didn't say anything."

"I never say anything."

"Exactly."

"Is that a problem?" Bjorn willed himself to be calm, even as he felt frustration boil in his stomach.

It wasn't Anna's fault she knew nothing about him. But why did she always have to poke and prod?

"I'm your friend and friends tell each other stuff. But you just shut people out. You shut me out."

"And you poke around other people's business. My business."

Her face crumpled and Bjorn suddenly felt sick. She tried to push past him, but he stepped in front of her, "Wait, Anna."

His name was being called, and he glanced over his shoulder. Ella caught his eye and jerked her head. It was their turn.

Anna ducked past him and disappeared into the crowd.

"Damn it."

Bjorn didn't know why he even bothered trying to change.

You always ruin things.

Anna didn't watch Bjorn set up his guitar and she didn't watch as he adjusted his amp, the mic, and the soundboard. Anna took a couple of orders, then pulled out her stool and started studying Magnus Westergaard. It only made her feel worse.

Magnus was tall and had the same brown eyes and dusty brown blonde hair as Bjorn. They had the same face shape too, although his father sported only a neat mustache. Anna had never thought about facial hair but Bjorn had grown a full, short beard since his grandma's funeral. It looked so much better on him than she thought hair on a face could look.

It was probably Ella's idea.

Stupid beard.

Anna hopped down and started a fresh pot of coffee, but she resisted the urge to plug her ears as Bjorn started using a loop pedal to lay down several riffs. Her hands fell to her sides as she listened. Bjorn had a confident command of his voice and the guitar. She snuck a glance over her shoulder. Ella was playing her violin and adding harmony. They worked well together. His performance received a substantial cheer and Anna sighed.

If someone had told her the tall, rude, greasy haired boy she'd met six months ago could sing like that, could play like that, she would have laughed in their face. Bjorn looked sort of happy when he sang. Well, at least he looked not grouchy. Both Ella and Bjorn seemed to fit, singing together. Tears stung at her eyes again.

What is your deal?

She shouldn't care this much.

Anna busied herself stocking and restocking and organizing the impeccable counter. She gave herself to the exact artistical placement of the cake stands After that, she'd tackle the reusable mugs. When Bjorn walked up, arms folded, waiting for her, she busily refilled the napkin containers she'd just emptied, ignoring him.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you."

Anna turned set the napkin containers in a neat row.

She wouldn't ask him about his relationship status.

"Are you—are you and Ella, you know?"

"Are we what?"

Jerk. He never gave anyone an inch.

Anna sighed. "Are you two together? For real this time?"

"Together?" Bjorn looked annoyed. "Why would you think that?"

"Because whenever you're around, she's around, and whenever she's around, you're around. It's fine, really. Totally."

"I don't date."

"I'd be totally happy, thrilled even. So thrilled I might even throw a freaking party. I mean, for the miracle of you actually having a nice girlfriend. Which Ella is super nice so you better be nice to her—"

Traitorous words were spilling out of her mouth like opening a soda can after someone gave it a good shake.

"Anna, stop."

She pressed a hand over her mouth.

"Did you hear what I said?"

"You don't date?" She squeaked. "Are you serious?"

"That bothers you."

It wasn't even a question.

"No it doesn't," Anna shook her braids off her shoulders, and looked around for something to make. She grabbed a cup and filled it with a scoop of ice.

"You look like you're about to cry."

"I have allergies." She filled the cup with coffee.

"We're inside."

"Indoor allergies are a thing."

"Anna—"

She handed him a tall iced coffee.

"What's this for?"

Why did she make him coffee? She was supposed to be mad at him and he was supposed to be dating Ella. Only he didn't date, which made her feel better and worse at the same time.

"Why don't you date?"

"It's a long story."

"You owe me," Anna crossed her arms. "As a friend."

"Maybe," Bjorn shook his head, "but not today."

Anna opened her mouth to argue, but a glance at the calendar made her snap it shut again. It was his day and he had apologized.

And he isn't dating Ella.

"Thank you for tonight." Bjorn's dad turned off the car and they sat in the dark.

"You should've told me you were coming."

"Maybe so."

"Why are you here, Dad?"

"I had some estate business of your grandmother's to tend to," his father folded his hands in his lap. "You miss her, son."

"Are you going to make this a habit?" Bjorn unbuckled himself, and opened the car door.

"Not likely," His father chuckled. "Gas is expensive. Make sure you bring that feisty girlfriend of yours to visit your mother. She would like her."

"Dad, she isn't my girlfriend."

"Not yet."

Bjorn sighed, rolling his eyes, "She likes someone else, okay?"

"So, you fight for her." His father shrugged. "Simple."

"If a fight was all it would take, I'd win."

"Stop being your own problem, Bjorn."

"Good night, Dad," Bjorn slammed the car door and dragged Sven up the stairs to the apartment. He tossed his things on the floor before throwing himself onto his bed.

He knew he could beat the shit out of Hans if he had to. He'd done it before. His father was right, like he always was.

Hans wasn't really Bjorn's problem.

How do you win a fight against yourself?